■Hill iMBBHBHHflHBl diss T lfo3 oo ^ A3 PRESENTED BY »• 33 * IE (DIB IB with a * 1///' j S'/y/~r// 0/-'/tr.s\£/fc WUftmvad ■<■■«'/'' s sTltf TEB BV W 1819. THE POEMS & SONGS OF ROBERT BURNS, WITH A £ife of tfje autfjor, CONTAINING A VARIETY OF PARTICULARS, DRAWN FROM SOURCES INACCESSIBLE BY FORMER BIOGRAPHERS. «0 WHICH IS SUBJOINED, AN APPENDIX, CONSISTIVG Or' A PANEGYRICAL ODE, ANli A DEMONSTRATION OF BURNS* SUPERIORITY TO EVERY OTHER POET AS A WRITER OF SONGS, BY THE REV HAMILTON PAUL, MINISTER OF BROUGHTON, GLENHOLM & KILBUCH*. AIR: FRINTEB- BY WILSON, M'CORMICK & CAXNIE. 1819.. f OBnteieti in Stationers JpaU. J CONTENTS. ► Page * Introductory Ode, by the Rev. H. Paul - x ; The Life of Robert Burns l - Preface to the First Edition of Burns' Poems, pub- lished at Kilmarnock - xiv ; Dedication of the Second Edition of the Poems | formerly printed. To the Noblemen and Gen- tlemen of the Caledonian Hunt - - xlvii POEMS. The Twa Dogs, a Tale - - - - - 1 Scotch Drink 7 1 The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the Representatives in the House of Commons, with a Postscript ----- 10 The Holy Fair 15 Death and Di: Hornbook - 22 The Brigs of Ayr, a Poem inscribed to j # b*********, Esq. Ayr 27 The Ordination 3:5 The Calf. To the Rev. Mr. 37 Address to the Deil - - - - 38 The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie 41 Poor Mailie's Elegy ----- 43 To J. S**** • 45 A Dream 49 The Vision 53 Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous ------ 60 Tam Samson's Elegy - - - - - 62 The Epitaph 64 Halloween - - > - 65 The Auld Farmer's New- Year Morning Saluta- tion to his Auld Mare Maggie 73 To a Mouse, on turning her up in her nest with the Plough, November 1785 76 A Winter Night - - - - - 77 Epistle to Davy, a Brother Poet 80 The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate is- sue of a Friend's Amour 84 Despondency, an Ode - - - 86 Winter, a Dirge ----- 88 The Cottar's Saturday Night ii*. a 2 IV CONTENDS. Page Man was made to Mourn, a Dirge - - 93 A Prayer in the prospect of Death - - 95 Stanzas on the same occasion - - 96 Verses left by the Author, in a Room where he slept, having lain at the House of a Reve- rend Friend --.-_. 97 The First Psal m - - ib. A Prayer, under the pressure of violent anguish 98 The first Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm - 99 To a Mountain Daisy. On turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786 - - ib. To Ruin 101 To Miss L , with Beattie's Poems as a New Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787 - - - 102 Epistle to a Young Friend - ib. On a Scot jh Bard, gone to the West Indies 104 To a Haggis - 105 A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton. Esq. - 107 To a Louse, on a Lady's Bonnet at Church 110 Address to E liuburgh - - - - 112 Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard - 113 To the Same 117 To W. S.*****n, Ochiltree, May, 1785 with P. S. 119 Epistle to J. R****** enclosing some Poems 124 John Barleycorn, a Ballad - - - 126 A Fragment - 128 Song. — It was upon a Lammas night - - 130 Song, composed in August - 131 Song — Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows 132 Green grow the Rashes, a Fragment - - 133 Song — Again rejoicing nature sees - - 134? Song — The gloomy night is gathering fast - 135 Song — From thee, Eliza, I must go 136 The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's Lodge, Tarbolton - 137 Song — No Churchman am I for to rail and to write 138 Written in Friar's Carse Hermitage, on Nith- side 139 Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson - - 140 The Epitaph 143 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, on the ap- proach of Spring ib. CONTENTS. V Page On the death of Sir James Hunter Blair - 145 To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintra . - 146 Lament for Jarnes, Earl of Giencairn - - 149 Tarn O'Shanter, a Tale - - - - 151 On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which a fellow had just shot at - - - - 15S Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crown- ing his Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire, with Bays - - - - -- 157 EPITAPHS, &c. On a celebrated Ruling Elder - 158 On a Noisy Polemic ----- ib. On Wee Johnnie ----- ib. For R. \. Esq. ------ ib. For G. H. Esq. - - - - - ib. For the Author's Father ... - ib. A Bard's Epitaph ----- 159 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES OF POETRY. Oh the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland, collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom - - - - - 160 To Miss Cruikshanks, a very young Lady. Written on the blank leaf of a Book, pre- sented to her by the Author - - - 161 On reading in a Newspaper the Death of John M'Leod, Esq Brother to a young Lady, a particular Friend of the Author's 162' The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the Nobie Duke of Athoie - - - - 163 On scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch-Turit 165 Written with a Pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loeh-ness - - - - 165 On the Birth of a Posthumous Child. Born in peculiar Circumstances of Family Distress 167 The Whistle, a Ballad - - . 168 Second Epistle to Davie - - 170 Song — In Mauchiine there dwells six proper young Belles - - - -• 172. Written on a blank leaf of a Copy of the Poems presented to an old Sweetheart then married - - ib. The Joily Beggars - - - - - ib. a 3 IV CONTENTS. Page The Kirk's Alarm— a Satire - - - 181 The Twa Herds - - - - - 183 Holy Willie's Prayer 186 Epitaph on Holy Willie - - - - 188 The Inventory 189 The Henpeck'd Husband .... 191 Address to an illegitimate Child - ib. Epigram .-...-. 192 Elegy on the year 1788 - ib. Verses written on the window of the Inn at Carron - - - - - - 19i Lines at the Meeting of the Dumfries shire Volunteers ...... ib. Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer - ib. On my Early days - „ - - - 196 The Farewell 197 SONGS. The Lea Rig 198 My Wife's a Winsome Wee thing - - 199 Bonnie Lesley ._..-- ib. To Mary - 200 Highland Mary ib. To Mary in Heaven ----- 201 My Mary's no more 202 The Lass o' Baiiochmyle .... 203 Auld Rob Morris 204 Duncan Gray ...... ib. O Poortith cauld, and restless love - - 205 Galia Water 206 Lord Gregory 207 M try Morison ------ ib. Wandering Willie - 203 Open the door to me, oh ! . - - » 209 Jessie ib. When wild W r ar*s deadly blast was blawn - 210 Meg G' the Mill 211 Farewell thou Stream that winding flows Blythe hae 1 been on yon bill ... ib. O L >g n, sweetly didst thoa glide - - 213 Bonnie Jean ..-.-- 214? Phiilis the Fair - - ~ - - - 215 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore - 216 Bjr Allan stream I chanc'd to rove ib- BONTENTS. Vli O whistle and I'll come to you, my lad Adown winding N : it!i I did wander Come, let me take thee to my breast Dainty Davie Behold the hour, the boat arrive - Thou hast left me ever, Jamie Auld Lang Syne .... Bannock- Burn — Bruce's address to his army Fair Jenny ------ Thine am I, my faithful fair - Husband, husband, cease your strife - Wilt thou be my dearie - Banks of Cree Verses to a young Lady, with a present of Thomson's Songs - On the Seas and far away Hark ; the mivis' evening sang She says she io'es me best of a' Saw ye my Phely? - - - How long and dreary is the night Let not woman e'er complain The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress My Chi oris, mark how green the groves Lassie wi' the lint-white locks - - O Phiily, happy be that day Contented wi' little, and cantie wi* mair Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? My N T maie's avva - For a' xh it and a' that - ■Sweet fa's the eve on Crai^ie-burn Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? - Her Ans.ver — - ; tell m me o' wind and rain" Address to the Wood-Lark ... On Chloris being ill - Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon - *Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin How cruel are the parents .... 1 see a form, I see a face To Mr. Cunningham — Vow Spring has clad. &c. O bonnie was yon rosy brier 'Tis friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend Forlorn, my love, no comfort near rage 217 213 219 ib. 220 ib. 221 222 ib. 223 ib. 224. 225 ib. 226 227 228 229 ib. 230 ib. 231 232 ib. 234? ib. 235 ib. 236 237 238 ib. 239 240 ib. 241 242 243 ib. 241. CONTENTS. Last May a braw wooer came down the Jang glen Fragment — Why, why tell thy lover Hey for a lass wi' a tocher Altho' thou maun never be mine Full well thou know'st I love thee dear The Birks of Aberfeldy Stay my charmer, can you leave me ? Strathallan's Lament The Young Highland Rover Raving Winds around her blowing Musing on the roaring ocean Blythe was she A Ro>e-bud by my early walk Where braving angry Winter's storms Tibbie, I hae seen the day Ciarinda The Day returns, ray bosom burns The Lazy Mist O, were I on Parnassus' hill I love my Jean The braes o' Ballochmyle' . Willie brew'd a peck o' maut The blue- eyed lassie The banks of Nith John Anderson my jo Tam Glen My tocher's the jewel Then guidwife count the lawin What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man The bonnie wee thing O, for ane and twenty, Tam ! Be-os and her spinning wheel Country Lassie Fair Eiza The Posie The Banks o' D ) >n Sic a wife as Aillie had Gloomy December Evan Banks Wilt thou be my dearie •She's fair and fause Afton Water Bonnie Bell CONTENTS. The gallant Weaver Louis, what reck I by thee ? For the sake of Somebody The lovely lass of Inverness The Mother's Lament for the death of her son VI ay, thy morn O, wat ye wha's in yon town f A red, red rose A Vision Up in the morning early 1 dream'd I Jay where flowers were springing Beware o' Bonnie Ann Bonnie Mary There's a Youth in this City My Heart's in the Highlands The Rantin Dog the Daddie o't. Craigie-Burn Wood I do confess thou art so fair Yon wild Mossy Mountains . Wha is that at my Bower Door ? My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border o' Though cruel fate should bid us part Fragment — One night as I did wander Fragment — There was a lad was born in Kyle Fragment — When first I came to Kyle-Stewart Fragment — Although my bed were in yon muir . ...... Fragment — O raging fortune's with'ring blast Ae fond kiss and then we sever Yestreen I had a pint of wine Caledonia . . Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair O wha is she that lo'es me Jockey's taen the parting kiss My Peggy's face, my Peggy's- form The Dei) cam fiddling thro' the town Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass The banks of the Devon The Chevalier's lament On a bank of flowers Appendix Glossary IX Page 270 271 ib. ib. 272 ib. 273 274 ib. 275 276 ib. 277 ib. 278 ib. 279 280 ib. 281 282 283 284 ib. 285 ib. 286 ib. 287 ib. 289 290 291 ib. ib. 292 293 ib. 294 295 313 INTRODUCTORY ODE, BY THE REV. H. PAUL, 1819. Not with more joy the cottage fair, Whose bosom love refines, The flow'ry garland for her hair With rosy finger twines, Than I, this hawthorn shade beneath, Whose blossoms bend the bough, While fragrant zephyrs round me breathe, Inweave the panegyric wreath To deck the Poet's brow. Not with more joy the faithful youth Folds in his bridal arms The fair, who, to his plighted truth, Resigns her blooming charms, Than I, at rise or fall of day, Clasp to my breast, by turns, The volumes, which embrace the lay Of lorn love, or effusion gay, Breath'd from the soul of Burns. Then come, ye lovely virgin throng, That grace the banks of Ayr, Or roam Doon's bonnie braes among. While Nature's face is fair ; Come, and I'll lead you to the vale, Where flowers perennial spring, And perfumes sweeter far exhale, Than those which the Sabean gale,. Bears on his balmy wing — INTRODUCTORY ODE. XI Nor you, with many a furrow'd line, Whose cheeks are wrinkled o'er, Forget how once at beauty's shrine Ye gloried to adore ; But oft revolve the moral page, Which eild and poortith mourns ; Or listen to the counsels sage, Or tales to soothe the woes of age, Penn'd by the hand of Burns. Your sense and lair I envy not, Whose upcast jaundic'd eye Perceives an universal blot In our poetic sky ; Your blood is cold, your pulse is still, Your stream of life scarce flows, But stagnates like a frozen rill, Of Love the pure, the tender thrill, Your bosom never knows. You seem to think, a lengthen'd face, Whence every smile is driven, Will rank you on the lists of Grace, As Denizens of Heaven ; Can peace within his bosom dwell Who taste and feeling spurns ? No — 'tis the residence of Hell, Whose gloom defies th' united spell Of Music, Song, and Burns. Illustrious Shades, if from the skies You still can bend an ear, Your friends' regrets, their tears and sighs, You will delighted hear ; Xll INTRODUCTORY ODE. Oft ! when you linger'd here below, We spent the social hour, And while we felt the genial glow, Bade for his fate our sorrows flow, Within his native Bower : And you, who in the vale of years Are to our wishes left, Of you — say our foreboding fears., We soon will be bereft; I've pour'd the melancholy strain O'er many timeless urns, But oh ! comparisons are vain, • For all the pleasure and the pain Are swallow'd up in Burns. THE LIFE or ROBERT BURNS. XT is not from contemporary praise or blame that we can fairly estimate the merit or demerit of a cha- racter. It is not till the objects of panegyric or ani- madversion are sleeping with their fathers, and the passions which had been excited by difference of sen- timent in respect to politics, opposition with regard to religious opinions, emulation in the pursuit of literary fame, or rivalship in love, are lulled to rest, that men are capable of surveying with Calm and unprejudiced minds the deformity, or contemplating with unjaun- diced eyes the beauty of the moral scene—or that we can hope to obtain from the Biographer, or general Historian, an impartial view of human affairs, or a faithful delineation of the characters of men. Hence, it not unfrequently happens, that the most enlightened statesmen, the most liberal divines, and the most up- right moralists, are branded with every mark of infamy — while the vilest traitors, the basest hypocrites, and the most furious zealots, are invested with every virtue under Heaven, by the partial tongue or the venal pen. It need not, therefore, furnish matter of astonish- ment, that a character, the lines of which are so deep- ly imprinted and so various as that of Robert Burns, should not yet, after an interval of twenty years, be t b 11 THE LIFE OP susceptible of impartial definition, or that a pheno- menon in the poetical department of literature, should be viewed in different lights by different observers of human conduct. So apt is religious enthusiasm to warp the under- standing, that we have heard men, calling themselves evangelical, maintain, that good poetry and vicious sentiments are incompatible, and that none but a vir- tuous character can lay claim to the title of a good poet. So much has already been said and written on the subject of this memoir, that it may be deemed super- fluous in us, on offering a new Edition of his Poems to the public, to give them any thing but an abridged sketch of the short life of this singularly endowed man, and truly accomplished Poet. But if we can show this luminary of wit and genius in a different phasis from what he has already been displayed in, we shall not consider the devoting of a few pages to the sub- ject, a work of supererogation. Robert Burns, the eldestson of William Burnes, originally from Kincardineshire, was born on the 25th of January, 1759, in that Cottage which, with its neigh- bours Allowa* Kirk and the Auld Brig o' Doon, have acquired celebrity, as forming principal features of that charming portion of the classic ground of Caledonia. The Cottage is situated about two miles to the south of the town of Ayr, on the side of the road which runs through the district of Carrick to Portpatrick. The walls were originally of mud, and contained an apart- ment at each end, called a Butt and a Ben.* William Burnes .emigrated from his native county, in which his condition was that of a peasant or farmer of the lowest rank, in search of employment as a garden- Koie. That is, a without and a within. " Comebe-m, go be-out." ROBERT BURNS. ill er. His first employer in Ayrshire was the Laird of Fairlie, from whom he transferred his services to Mr. Crawford, of Doonside He afterwards took a feu of seven acres of land from Dr. Campbell, Physician in Ayr, and commenced the business of a Nurseryman. — '. At this period (1757) he married Agnes brown, having previously built, with his own hands, the Cottage al- ready mentioned ; but he was scarcely entered on his occupation as a Public Gardener, when he relinquished it for the service of Mr. Fergusson of Doonholm, by whom he was engaged in the capacity of Horticultural Overseer. Still, however, he resided in the Cottage, which was not far distant, and which, at the epoch of his undertaking the duties of his new vocation (1759) became the scene of our Poet's Birth. William Burnes being a man of tolerable education, strong good sense, and respectable attainments in religion and morals, was at considerable pains in forming the hearts and evolv- ing the intellectual faculties of his children. Robert, when six years of age, was sent to a school at Alloway Mill, about a mile distant, but his progress here was interrupted by the appointment of the Schoolmaster. whose name was Campbell, to a situation in the work- house of Ayr. To supply this want, William Burnes became one of an association of neighbours, who en- gaged Mr. Murdoch to teach their families, at a spe- cified salary, he living alternately in the houses of his employers. Under the tuition of this Gentleman, Robert acquired reading, writing, and English gram- mar, in all of which his proficiency was gratifying to his Teacher. William Burnes having, in 1766, taken a lease of the Farm of Mount-Oliphant from Mr. Fergusson, and entered on possession, his family were deprived of Mr. Murdoch's superintending care. During their stay at Mount-Oliphant, which ulti- b 2 IV THE LIFE OF tnately, owing to the poverty of the soil, and want o£ capital, proved a ruinous concern, the family of William Burnes were taught, in the evenings, by their father himself, from whom they derived some know- ledge of arithmetic. Robert and Gilbert were sent, with a view to their improvement in penmanship, to the parish school of Dalrymple, about three miles distant. As their manual labour was now become of some avail in the farming operations, the two boys went, week about, to school, during the summer quarter. In the meantime, Mr. Murdoch, who had been engaged in his vocation as a teacher in Carrick, Dumfries, and elsewhere, was established as English Teacher, in the Parochial School of Ayr, an event of considerable im- portance to the juvenile Poet, and his brother, for, owing to the vicinity, Mr. Murdoch usually spent his holydays at Mount-OHphant, and contributed, by conversation and supplying them with books, to form the taste and enlarge the understandings of his former pupils. In 1773, Robert spent about three weeks in Ayr with Mr. ?.luruocn in revising nis grammar, and in the study of the French language, which proved the means of introducing him to the acquaintance of some young persons of superior refinement, especially the family of Dr. Malcolm, Whose sons afterwards distin- guished themselves in the East Indies and America in their military capacities. From Mr. Robertson, the Writing- Master in the school of Ayr, and Mr. Murdoch's bosom friend, Robert derived some in- structions with respect to acquiring, without the aid of a Teacher, a competent knowledge of the Latin tongue ; Robertson himself having attained consider- able eminence in that department of classical learning, without the assistance of a master. His application to this new branch of study was by ROBERT BURNS. V fits and starts. A variety of causes combined to in? terrupt his progress, and to impel him to relinquish the pursuit altogether for Burns had now arrived at that stage of life so in- teresting to the individual, which is finely described by Beattie on introducing his Minstrel to manhood, . «' And now the downy cheek and deep'ned voice Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime." Depressed as he was in spirits by incessant toil and family misfortune, indignant as he felt at the harshness of the factor, whom he has '* damned to everlasting fame,*' in his tale of the Twa Dogs, and tortured as his filial sensibilities were by the effect which approach- ing age and want produced on his father's mind, he was nevertheless tremblingly alive to those softer emo- tions, which the more beautiful portion of the creation is calculated to awaken. The harvest, that busy season of the year when the husbandman fondly looks forward to the remuneration of his toil, found him exerting himself to keep pace with his elder competitors, who were employed, agree- ably to the description of Thomson — (i Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky And unperceiv'd unfolds the spreading day-; Before the ripen'd field the Reapers stand In fair array, each bythe lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil. — " Burns was entering on his sixteenth year. His part- ner on the rig was a year younger : she was '* a bonnie sweet sonsie lass," and, as might have been ex- pected, without apparent design on her part, without seducing demeanour on his, but merely from. the con- stitution of the human frame, agitated by juxta-position, " a mutual flame was quickly caught,'' and for the first time, " love slyly stole into his Dreast'' — liiis b3 Vl *ft*E Llffe OF nymph, who was afterwards married to a Carrtcfe farmer, and became the mother of many sons and daughters, and who, when we saw her in 1811, still retained the characteristic of sonsieness, so fascinated her helpmate in the work of harvest, as to betray him into the sin of rhyme. She sung delightfully, and he wrote a copy of verses to her favourite air or reel. On the death of Provost Fergusson, his landlord and benefactor, William Burnes, availing himself of a 'break in the lease, removed from Mount-Oliphant to Lochlea, in the parish of Tarbolton, where, for the •space of four years, fortune seemed to smile on him and his family ; but being involved in a lawsuit with the Proprietor of his farm, he was, after three years of litigation, relieved from all his earthly cares, and died of consumption on the 13th of February 1784, leaving his family on the brink of ruin, the process having ter- minated in favour of Iris antagonist. During the residence of the family in the parish of Tarbolton, Burns was the constant victim of the tender passion, and wore the willing fetters of some fair enslaver ; bat he yielded implicitly to that law of nature, by which every thing under the sun is liable to change, and which he offers, in one of his songs, as an apology for his inconstancy. It was here tha't he "first met w-ith Annie, the inter- view with whom, '" on a lammds night, when com rigs were bonnie," he has described in such voluptuous strains. If we may judge from her appearance at the commencement of this century, she was qualified to raise a flame in souls less combustible than that of Burns. There was a smiling freslmess in her looks, and she reminded us of the picture of " Roy's Wife df Aldivafl- loch," as delineated in the ballad. It was here too that Burns was initiated in the 'sublime mysteries of Masonry— an institution venerable for its .antiquity— ROBERT BURNS. Vlt WhhtWe xfti awount of the benevolence of its designs — and useful as a mean of diffusing a spirit 6f brotherly kindness and charity^-btit certainly adapted to with- draw the warm-hearted noviciate from the serious pur- suits of business, and indirectly to encourage habits of dissipation, though its tales are directly contrary.— Here also he met with that profane, witty, boon com- panion, John Ranken, to whom he addressed a humor- ous epistle in which he comically alludes to his first •deviation from the path of morality in a licentious amour, and which proved the subject of a lively pro- duction, " the Poet's welcome.* 1 Finding that, in his vocation of a farmer, he could scarcely keep the banes green, Burns bethought himself of some other employment, by which he might be enabled to support a family, having formed the laud- able resolution of marrying with all convenient speech The rural and domestic economy at Lochlea was a model of perfection in regard to a country life. The father allowed his two sons the same wages for their work, as he gave to others engaged in the same oc- cupation — whatever articles of clothing were manu- factured for them in the family, these were accounted a part Of then- wages ; amfd though their allowance was scanty, yet by industry, 'frugality and sobriety, they contrived to make an annual saving. The two brothers had been 'in the practice of raising flax on a part of the farm, for which they paid their father a stipulated rent. His acquaintance with this species of crop induced Burns to turn his attention to the business of a flax-dresser. He, accordingly, enter- ed on the occupation, along with a practitioner in the art, in the town of Irvine ; but, owing to an accident which reduced his workshop to ashes, and himself to his last farthing,. he relinquished the pursuit, and re- turned to his father's, with a mind alienated from that Vlll THE LIVE OF sobriety of thinking, to which he had been trained by precept and example under the parental roof; for in Irvine he had met with polished characters, who effec- tuated a change on the rigour of his morality, and the austerity of his orthodoxy. He was about this time on the eve of matrimony with one, whom his fertile imagination had decorated with every angelic quality, and who, after pledging her vir- gin troth, jilted him in a manner calculated to torture his ardent soul, and exaggerate his constitutional me- lancholy. As William Burnes's moveables were at his death swallowed up in the gulf of legal expenses, his family entered into a joint concern, and stocked, with the earnings which they had accumulated by hard labour and thrifty management, the farm of Mossgiel, of which they took a subset from Gavin Hamilton, Esq. a gen- tleman, whose memory is still revered, on account of his generous and humane qualities, and for the patron- age which he extended towards the Bard in the early stages of his poetical career. The rent of Mossgiel was £90 per annum, and the cultivation was carried on by the united iabour of the family, consisting of three brothers and three sisters, who received their respective fees according to the rate of farm wages in the district at the time. Though the wages of the Poet did not, one year with another, amount to more than £7, yet his expenditure never ex- ceeded his slender income. Owing to the high situation and intractable soil of Mossgiel, in spite of the assiduous energy of the fami- ly compact, and in spite of the humanity of the land- lord, the occupants were obliged to resign the lease, after four years struggling with the adverse circum- stances of late springs and frosty autumns. The farm bemg situated in the neighbourhood »f ROBERT BURNS. IX Mauchline, a populous village which could boast of a considerable portion of female beauty, Burns found se- veral subjects of amatory panegyric ; but he singled out from among the rest Jean Armour, as his darling and permanent theme of song. With her he formed a clandestine connexion, and not being in a situation to support her as his avowed wife, it was agreed on be- twixt tltem, that their marriage should be privately so- lemnized, and that he should go to push his fortune in the West Indies, and look forward to more propitious times. The parents of Miss Armour, who doated on her with more than ordinary fondness, on being apprized of her marriage, and of her situation, which could no longer be concealed, were thrown into a paroxysm of grief and frenzy, bordering on insanity; and by their real or well-acted sorrow, wrought on her feelings to such a degree, as to induce her to cancel the marriage lines ; and they also prevailed on Burns, though pierced through with the keenest anguish, to consent to the dissolution of the marriage. Dr. Douglas having kindly undertaken to send him Out to Jamaica in the capacity of a book-keeper, or assistant to his brother in that Island, Burns was advised by his friend, Mr. Hamilton, to improve the intervening time, and to publish his poems by subscrip- tion. He followed the advice, and accordingly the first edition of his poems was printed in Kilmarnock, in the year 1786. The impression consisted of 600 copies, and the number of subscribers amounted to 350, among whom the name of William Parker, Esq. ap- peared for thirty-five. Previous to publication, manuscript copies of several df the poems had been handed about, and read with general applause in convivial meetings ; but none con- tributed more to give them celebrity than the late X THE LIFE OF Robert Aiken, Esq. who, to a cultivated taste and a warm and feeling heart, added a powerful eloquence and an energetic manner of recitation. Burns, though then in the zenith of his poetical glory, was so sensible of this, that he said, " I never knew there was any merit in my " poems, till Mr. Aiken read me into repute." The Printer was not furnished with any regular ma- nuscript of the poems, but Burns brought them one by one to Kilmarnock, and after they were carefully pointed, they were put to press. On producing his Holy Fair, and the question being asked, " Burns, are you not afraid to use such freedom with these Gentry?'' meaning the Clergy, the Poet replied, " Why, as to my purse, you know they can make nothing of it, and for my person, you see," brandishing his oak stick, " I carry an excellent cudgel.'* The whole impression was quickly disposed of, and the clear profits amounted to twenty pounds. In his visits to Kilmarnock, the Poet formed many new acquaintances. It was during this period, that he became intimate with, and wrote the Elegy on Tam Samson of sporting memory. Tan* having reached his grand climacteric, used to say at the commencement o£ the shooting season, " This will be the last of my fields.'* He u resolved and re-resolv- ed," and thus afforded Burns an admirable theme for the exercise of his descriptive powers. When Tam first heard the poem read in a jovial party, he was so exasperated, that he made several attempts to chastise the Bard, who, to pacify him, wrote the concluding stanza, terminating with " Tam Samson's living." This produced the desired effect of conciliating the veteran sportsman, and securing to the Poet his lasting friend- ship. In Kilmarnock Burns first saw Nannie, the subject of one of his most popular ballads. She captivated him as well by the charms of her person as by the ROBERT BURNS. XI melody of her voice. As he devoted much of his spare time to the society of Nannie, and listened to her sing- ing with the most religious attention, her sister, who had a vein of pleasantry, observed to him, that he paid more attention to Nannie's singing than he would do to a preaching — he retorted with an oath, " Madam, there's no comparison." Having now obtained possession of what to him ap- peared a considerable sum of money, Burns was on the eve of embarking for Jamaica, when he was diverted from his purpose by a letter from Dr. Blacklock, who had become acquainted with his merit as a poet, to the Rev. Dr. Laurie, Minister of Loudoun. Dr. Laurie communicated the contents of the letter to Mr. Ha- milton, and he to Burns. Dr. Blacklock expressed the highest approbation of the poetical talents of the Ayr- shire Ploughman, and testified his confidence, that if a second edition were to make its appearance, it would meet with very general encouragement. The friend- ship of Dr. Laurie, the brotherly kindness of Mr. Ha- milton, and the eulogy of Dr. Blacklock, induced Burns to try a second and an enlarged edition of his poems For this purpose he repaired to Edinburgh, where he was introduced to many of the first charac- ters in the nation in point of rank and literature. The patronage of the Earl of Glencairn, who was a mem- ber of the Caledonian Hunt, led him to dedicate the work to that most respectable association. The adula- tion, the fame, the fortune, which this new edition ac- quired him, banished from his thoughts the plan of ex- changing his native air for the inhospitable climate of the West Indies ; paved the way for that series of im- prudence, and consequent misfortune, which accompa- nied him to the grave ; and, indeed, to use his own ver- nacular idiom, " laid the cap-stane o' his woes." In his sehool-boy days Burns might be regarded as a XII THE LIFE OF fixed star of unsullied purity. While he resided at Lochlea and Mossgiel, we view him in the light of a planet whose aberrations are scarcely discernible ; but we are now to contemplate him as a comet of al- most incalculable eccentricity. Before we display him in that great but dangerous attitude, we shall revert to certain passages of his pre- vious history. In his seventeeth year, with a view to acquire an easy gracefulness of manner, he went to a country dancing school. At the age of nineteen, he lived for a season with a brother of his mother in the parish of Kirkoswald, and attended the parochial school, at that time taught by an eminent teacher of the various branches of education, especially mathematics. Here he attained to tolerable proficiency in the study of geometry. From the celebrity of Mr. Rodgers, his school was well frequented, and many of Burns's con- temporaries were possessed ot talents, spirit and taste. It was a practice for the boys who were farthest ad- vanced in their studies, to range themselves on dif- ferent sides, and carry on a debate respecting some topic of their own choosing, or suggested by the teacher, who sometimes presided on the occasion, and sometimes took a share in the disputation; and when worsted, exulted in his defeat, and congratulated himself on the display of eloquence and logical acumen made by his pupils. On leaving that seminary of edu- cation, Burns carried on a literary correspondence with those of his former school-fellows to whom he had become attached by a congeniality of mind and pursuit ; and this will in some degree account for that excellence in epistolary composition to which he afterwards reached. The drier study of mathematics was abandoned for the delusions of love. A beautiful girl in the im- ROBERT BURNS. XIH mediate neighbourhood so completely engrossed his thoughts, as to make him fly off at a tangent from geometrical demonstration. It is probable she was the original of the following portrait, ** Her hair is the wing of the blackbird, Her eye is the eye of the dove, Her lip is the sweet dewy rosebud, Her bosom's the palace of love. Alas ! when I sit down to study I now can do naething ava', My book I indeed keep my eyes on, But my thoughts are wi' her that's awa." This is certainly a juvenile composition, and in part borrowed from the ballad intitled, the " charming Miss Weir," *' O Cupid my mind it runs muddy ! And I fear it will never run clear, For whene'er I sit down to study, My mind runs on lovely Miss Weir." The improvement Burns made in mental accomplish- ments was counterbalanced by the encouragement he met with to indulge the ruling propensities of his con- stitution, which may be comprehended in love for the triad, " His dear girl, his friend and pitcher.'' The practice of smuggling, or the contraband trade, was at the height of prosperity on the Carrick shore about this time. Many respectable characters were engaged in this illicit traffic, which in those days was scarcely regarded as illegal, and not at all dishonour- able. The Farmers on the coast were in general possessed of old leases at a low rent. They neglected agriculture for the more lucrative, though less certain pursuit of smuggling. The influx of wealth introduced a laxity of morals, and a relaxation of religious strict- ness. They lived in a princely style, and as many of them had visited Bourdeaux, Flushing, Guernsey, XIV THE LIFE OP Ireland, and the Isle of Man, their manners had ac- quired a polish, and their hair-breadth escapes, " on Flood and Field, '' awakened the curiosity, and in- terested the inquisitive mind of Burns, ever ready " to catch the manners living as they rise." The naval en- gagements which the smugglers had had with the King's cruisers, the pitched battles which they had fought with the Revenue Officers aided by the military, were adventures, the detail of which opened up a source of entertainment to the mind of the youthful Bard, similar to that which he afterwards derived from the perusal of the novels of Fielding and Smollet. From scenes " of swaggering riot," as he calls them, Burns returned with a mind enlightened by the study of mankind, but in a considerable degree debauched, when compared to that purity of manners, which he had formerly exhibited in the domestic circle. The school exercises suggested the plan of a debating club in Tarbolton, and another afterwards in Mauch- line, the regulations of which were drawn up by our Poet. It was during his residence in the vicinity of these two villages, that in one of his rambles he met with " the Bonnie lass o* Ballochmyle," and that he had his first and last interviews with " High- land Mary." The scenery of the Ayr from Sorn to the ancient Burgh at its mouth, though it may be equalled in grandeur, is scarcely any where surpassed in beauty. To trace its meanders, to wander amid its green woods, to lean over its precipitous and rocky banks, to explore its coves, to survey its gothic towers, and to admire its modern edifices, is not only highly delightful but truly inspiring. If the Poet in his excursions along the banks of the river, or in penetrating into the deepest recesses of the grove, be accompanied by his favourite fair one, whose admiration of rural and sylvan beauty is akin ROBERT BURNS. XV to his own, however hazardous the experiment, the bliss is ecstatic. To warn the young and unsuspecting of their danger is only to stimulate their curiosity. — The well meant dissuasive of Thomson is more se- ductive in its tendency than the admirers of that poet's morality are aware — " All ! then, ye Fair, Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts ; Dare not the infectious sigh — nor in the bower, Where woodbines flaunt and roses shed a couch, While evening draws her crimson curtains round, Trust your soft minutes with betraying man." We are decidedly of opinion, that the inexperienced fair will be equally disposed to disregard this senti- mental prohibition, and to accept the invitation of another bard, whose libertinism is less disguised, " Will you go to the bower I have shaded for you ? Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew." Let the traveller from Ayr to Mauchline pause at the spot where the Fail disembogues itself into the A.yr.— Let him take his station near the neat little cottage, on the sloping green at the side of the wood, and let him cast his eyes across the stream, where the trees recede from one another and form a vista, on the gray rocks, which, mantled over with tangling shrubs, wild roses, heath and honeysuckle, project from the op- posite side, and we will tell him, that there, or there- about, the Poet " took his last fareweel of his sweet Highland Mary.*' The Castle of Montgomery, which, with its " banks an' braes, an' streams around,'' forms a distinguished ornament of that beautifully interest- ing and distressingly tender ballad, is Coilsfield, one of the seats of the Earl of Eglinton. The society in Edinburgh, to which the electrical effect of his poems introduced this untutored prodigy, c 2 XVI THE LIFE OF was of the most refined and fascinating description. With Professor Dugald Stuart he had become ac- quainted the preceding month at Catrine, his seat in Ayrshire, and he soon numbered among his patrons and friends, Dr. Blair, Mr. Mackenzie, Mr. Dalziel, &c. His Poems were recommended to public notice by an elegant paper in the Lounger, from the pen of the Man of Feeling ; and he attracted the notice of Lord Monboddo, Mr. Fraser Tytler, Dr. Robertson, Dr. Gregory, and many other distinguished literary characters. The publication proved uncommonly productive. He entered for a time into the dissipation of the Capi- tal, it being regarded as a fashionable boast by the noble, the learned, the gay and the fair, to have been in company with the Ayrshire Ploughman, the Bard of Coila. Resolving to avail himself of the opportunity which was now presented of visiting the sublime and beautiful scenes of Caledonia, Burns set out on a tour, accompanied part of the way by Mr. Ainslie, W. S. son of Mr. Ainslie of Berry well, in Berwickshire. The two friends left Edinburgh on Saturday the 6th of May 1787, and reached Berrywell that night ; on Sunday they went to church at Dunse, and on Monday dined at Coldstream. Ii\ the course of his perambulations the Poet met with the most flattering reception from Brydone the traveller, Sir Alexander Don, Dr. Somer- ville, and the Magistrates of Jedburgh by whom he was presented with the freedom of that ancient Burgh, Sir James Hall, Mr. Scott of Wauchope, Dr. Elliot, and others. He visited Kelso, Melrose, Selkirk, Dry- burgh, and a variety of romantic scenes on the Tweed, the Teviot, and the Etterick, He afterwards crossed the Border, visited Alnwick Castle, Warkworth, Mor- peth and Newcastle. From thence he proceeded by Hexham and Wardrue to Carlisle. He returned to ROBERT BURNS. XVII Mossgiel by way of Annan, Dumfries, and Sanquhar, on the 8th of June 1787, to the no small joy of his mother, brothers and sisters, who regarded Inm as a superior being, and to whom he gave tjie most ample demonstrations of his unaltered filial and fraternal affection. Having spent a few days ami4 this happy domestic group, he returned to Edinburgh, and imr mediately set out on a new tour to the Western High- lands. This journey was short, extending only as far as Inverary by Dumbarton and Lochlomond. In a letter to his friend Ainslie he makes honourable men-, tion of highland hospitality. The month of July was spent in Ayrshire with his relatives and friends, an,d iir August he returned to Edinburgh, whence, accompani- ed by Dr. Adair of Harrowgate, he prosecuted a jour-, ney of wider circuit. Their route led them by Linlith- gow and Carron to Stirling, where they fell in with Mr. William Nicol,one of the Masters of the High School of Edinburgh, a man whose acquaintance proved to Burns a present pleasure and a future curse. From Stirling our tourists proceeded to Harvieston, in the beautiful and picturesque vale of Devon, at that time in- habited by the mother of his trusty friend and benefactor Gavin Hamilton. Here they iingered for about ten days, making short excursions to the romantic scenes in that neighbourhood, particularly Castle Campbell, the Rumbling Bridge, and the Caldron Linn ; and here Dr. Adair formed a tender attachment for Mrs* Hamilton's eldest daughter, with whom he afterwards enjoyed much conjugal felicity During this tour, they visited Mrs Bruce of Clackmannan, a venerable lady upwards of ninety years of age, who told them that Robert Bruce was a cadet of her family, and who in- vested them with the order of knighthood, by means of the helmet and sword of the hero of Bannockburn. On visiting the Abbey and Abbey-church of Dani- c 3 XV111 THE LIFE OF fermline, Dr. Adair mounted the cutty-stool, and Burns from the pulpit gave him a rebuke in the style of a ca- ricature of that which he himself had received in com- mon with seven other culprits in the church of Mauch- line. In September, he made a still more extensive tour to the North Highlands. His travelling companion was William Nicol. Their journey lay through Crieff and by Taymouth, down the Tay to Dunkeld, thence to Blair, where every polite attention was shewn to the Poet by the noble family of Athole. They proceed- ed as far as Fort George, surveying in their career Grant Castle, Cawdor, Inverness, and the Fall of Fy- ers. The Poet slept one night at Brodie of Brodie's, and dined one day at Gordon Castle ; but having left Mr. Nicol with the chaise at the Inn of Fochabers, that high-minded man of classical erudition, indignant at what he termed insulting neglect, forced Burns, by the threat of forever withdrawing the beams of his fa- vour, to take an abrupt leave of the bonnie Duchess and her noble family. The travellers returned to Edinburgh along the eastern coast. In the neighbour- hood of Stonehive, Burns met with several of his fa- ther's near relatives, with whom he spent two days. Nicol and he reached Edinburgh on the 16th Septem- ber, 1787, and in " Scotia's darling seat" the Poet re- mained for the greater part of .the ensuing winter, mingling again with rank, and fashion, and beauty, and licentiousness, together with an occasional ebullition of Jacobitism. On winding up his accounts with Mr. Creech, his publisher, Burns found himself in possession of five hundred pounds, over and above all his necessary and thoughtless expenditure. He immediately remitted two hundred pounds to his brother Gilbert, on whom the charge of the family had now devolved, and who ROBERT BURNS. XIX was still struggling with difficulties at Mossgiel ; with the remainder, and what more might ultimately accrue to him from the sale of his works, he resolved to stock a farm, being determined to resume the pursuits of agriculture. His poems had recommended him to Mr. Millar of Dalswinton, from whom he obtained a lease of the farm of Ellisland, situated on the Nith, about eight miles above Dumfries. He entered on possession of his farm at Whitsunday 1788. The rent was fixed by two of his friends, who were intimately acquainted with husbandry, and who surveyed the farm at his de- sire. He was now also become an Expectant of a commission in the Excise, having been previously re- commended to the Board, and the recommendation warmly seconded by Mr. Graham of Fintry, to whom he had~been introduced at Blair Athole. Firmly resolved to bid an everlasting fVirewell to crowds, and courts, and foiiies, he remembered Jean, and by a public declaration of marriage, restored that peace to her bosom, and that tranquillity to his own mind, which for several years had been strangers there. He was now led to serious reflection. His wife, his children, the rebuilding of the farm house, and the cul- tivation of the fields, engrossed his attention. His ha- bits were entirely altered, and he was become a new creature. But as Mrs. Burns could not be' removed from her father's for a season, he paid occasional visits to Ayrshire ; and having to spend a night or more on the road, he met with good-feiiows at the several inns, forgot his resolutions, and relapsed into inebriety. Having sat down to dinner in one of these inns, while on his way from Ellisla id to Mauchiine, with a pleasant party, Burns was resolved to consecrate the evening to conviviality. The dinner was near a close, and the wit of the Bard was beginning ,to flash. He was struck with admiration of the Waiter, who was a XX THE LIFE OF handsome, well-dressed, active, obliging young man. He remarked to the company, that he had hardly ever seen one of a more prepossessing demeanour. One of the maid-servants assisted in taking away. She had a rencounter with the Waiter in the lobby, a gentle struggle took place, and the company were diverted at the noise of the contest, which seemed to proceed from an endeavour on the part of the Waiter to ravish a kiss from his sweet-heart. In the midst of the frolic, the young man instantaneously dropped down dead at the feet of his mistress. The sensibility of the Bard was touched to the quick by the distressing catastrophe, his wit ceased to sparkle, and he maintained a gloomy silence for --the remainder of the evening. The neighbourhood of Dumfries was both a blessing and a misfortune to Burns j here he met with the most refined, and at the same time the most dangerous soci- ety. To associate with the Poet was deemed a distin- guished honour. His company was courted — convi- vial parties were formed on his account — he was often seduced from home — the business of the farm was in a great measure neglected — embarrassment ensued, and despondency trode on its heels. Having acquired the requisite qualifications, Burns applied for employment in the Excise ; and was, by the interest of Mr. Graham, appointed Excise Officer or Guager in the district wherein he resided. His time was now divided between his occupation as a farmer and his duty as a revenue officer. At one time we find him in the guise of an husbandman, engaged in the healthful exercise of ploughing or sowing, at another time we hear of him in the costume of an officer of ex- cise, traversing the neighbouring moors, or exploring the glens, in quest of the receptacles of illicit distilla- tion, and conning over, with whimsical recollection, his ROBERT BURNS. XXI own anathema against the profession, by which he consigned them over to the Devil — " To bake them up in brunstane pies " For poor d d drinkers." The two callings were almost incompatible. To en- able the farmer to pay his rent, the exclusively de- voting of his time to the various branches of agricul- ture is indispensable. He must either labour with his own hands, or closely superintend his work people. He must attend markets, keep regular books of expen- diture and profit, and he must study the various im- provements in machinery, implements of husbandry, and modes of cultivation, calculated to abridge the number of operative assistants, to facilitate labour, or to increase produce, otherwise he may indeed exist, but he can hardly be said to live. To join another ac- tive profession with this multifarious vocation is prepos- terous and detrimental. Accordingly, Burns, after an ineffectual trial of three years and a half, renounced his lease, left Ellisland, and removed to Dumfries, sup- porting himself and his family on his salary as a sub- altern officer of excise, and trusting to speedy promo- tion for an augmentation of income. His hopes of promotion were, however, blasted by an event, which deceived many, but which to the san- guine mind, warm temperament, and unguarded elo- quence of Burns, proved extremely fatal. By an incongruity of character, not uncommon with exalt- ed genius, which spurns at vulgar rules, Burns pro- fessed himself a decided partizan of the dethroned and exiled house of Stuart, and at the same time a de- voted admirer of those who were instrumental in over- turning the legitimate throne of France. In clubs and convivial meetings he advocated the cause of certain friends of the people, to whom the Judges of the land, those able state physicians, recora- XX11 THE LIFE OF mended and prescribed the air of Botany Bay for a term of years, as an efficacious remedy for their political complaints. The sentiments of Burns, expressed with much energy and imprudence, were repeated to those in power, an investigation into his conduct was institut- ed by the Board of Excise, and though he defended him- self with much ability, and though nothing calculated to criminate him as a mover of sedition was expiscated by the inquiry, yet his promotion was retarded, and he was saved from expulsion from his office solely by the interest of Mr. Graham. In the town of Dumfries, a considerable proportion of our Poet's time was spent in the tavern. With a few exceptions, the routine of official duty could be accomplished in the forenoon, and the evening could be devoted to convivial enjoyment. The affluent, the idle, the curious, the men of taste and feeling, were ambitious of ranking among the associates of Burns> and of repeating to their families and friends, his flashes of merriment, his bursts of satire, his epigrams, and his eulogies. The traveller lengthened his stay in that delightful retreat of elegance and politeness, in order that he might have an opportunity of being introduced to the pride of Caledonia. Frequent intoxication, late hours, and sudden transition from the reeking bowl and snug parlour to the damp and chill air of mid- night, undermined a constitution naturally robust but not strong in proportion to its nervous configuration. He felt the approach of age before he had reached the noon of life, and by a kind of presentiment of lus own premature decay, he had previously character- ised forty-five as the evening of life's closing day — " When ance that five-and-forty's speel'd, " See crazy, weary, ji^-iess eild, " Wi' w rink I'd face, " Comes hostin, hirplin, owre the field, «* Wi' creepin pace." ROBERT BURNS. XX11I Finding medical aid of no avail, Burns retired for a short season to Brow, for the purpose of trying the ef- fects of sea-bathing. This too proved unavailing. He became duly sensible of his approaching dissolution, and on paying a forenoon's visit to one of the most sin- cere and amiable of his female friends, he asked her if she had any commands for the other world. In a few weeks after he became delirious by access of fever, and terminated his earthly course on the 21st of July, 1796, in the thirty-eighth year of his age, and twelfth of his fame as a poet. He was interred in the church -yard of Dumfries, with military honours and every demonstration of sorrow and regret which the occasion could suggest. Every attention which humanity could bestow was shown to his family in their distressed and interesting circum- stances, Mrs. Burns having been delivered of a son on the morning of her husband's funeral ; and every ho- nour, short of canonization^ has been paid to his me- mory. THE PERSONAL FIGURE OF BURNS. In his form Burns was stout and muscular. Broad shoulders — manly limbs — coarse features — dark ex- pressive eyes and black hair, generally queued, were the distinguishing characteristics of his exterior. His dress usually consisted of snuff-brown drapery with half- boots. His shoulders had acquired a rotundity, or bend, indicative of his original occupation. His ad- dress demonstrated him to be, not indeed a man of rank and fashion, but far above the level of a plough- man or peasant. Even before he had an opportunity of conversing with the great, he displayed an inde- pendence of manner, and a freedom from mauvaise Jionte which the society of the noble neither corrupt- ed nor improved. XXIV THE LIFE OF THE LANGUAGE OF BURNS. The attainments of Burns in respect of conversational powers were truly astonishing. A fluent expression — a correct enunciation — a felicitous and emphatical choice of words — surprised the scholar and confound- ed the pedant. To the noble and the mean, the ser- vile and the insolent, he addressed himself in words exactly adapted to their characters and conditions, and when conveying the voice of sentiment or the language of love to the ears of the daughters of beauty, he fairly carried them off their feet. The ascendant which Burns acquired and maintained over the female heart was no inconsiderable proof of the transcendency* of his personal merit. No woman is naturally a prude. Unless they have been educated under the auspices of ancient maidens, who have been crossed in love, and who " constantly deave them and bid them beware of young men,'' the fair are candid and confidential — They will even make the first advances where they meet with a man of whose good sense they are con- vinced, in whose honour they can confide, and to whose secrecy ihey can trust. The Poet, especially, who can pay them an original and well turned compliment, or pen a delicious sonnet to their eye-brows, they are disposed to caress ; and they prefer the man in shep- herd garb and ploughman guise, who is capable of conversing rationally, to the .insipid popinjay who is " perfumed like a milliner," but whose fine speeches are borrowed from the novels of the day ; for the one is as far inferior to the other, as a mere retailer of Joe Miller's jests is to a Henry Erskine. THE LITERATURE OF BURNS. To call Burns illiterate with a view of surrounding his productions with an air of the miraculous, is not to ROBERT BURNS. XXV give the true estimate of his merit and attainments. Burns possessed a considerable portion of learning ; for although his attendance on school-exercises was very limited, " short and far between," yet when we take into our consideration his intercourse with Mr. Murdoch — his dialogues with tae Malcolms — his dis- puting with his school-fellows, and even with his teachers — his presiding in debating clubs and masonic societies — his controversial rencounters with the dab- blers in divinity -together with his incessant reading when he could snatch a favourable moment, our won- der will be greatly diminished. It is not from schools and colleges alone that education is acquired ; indivi- dual perseverance is the most successful mean of pro- moting erudition ; and though Burns was deficient in constancy, yet -hen he did study, the intenseness of his application supplied the want of continual exertion ; and it is manifest from his writings, that before he be- came an author, he was acquainted with the works of the most eminent of our British poets, as well as with so me >f the Greek aud Roman Classics through the medium of translations. He ha 1 a smattering of French, and night be able to read a few of the less obscure writers of that fashionable language. That he hu in pity ?" &c. A writer thoroughly convinced of the divine origin of Christianity would hardly express himself in lan- guage so sceptical as the following, " Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters, I trust thou art no im- postor." The conclusion of the paragraph, indeed, is more like the language of a christian. THE POLITICS OF BURNS. Entertaining a kind of traditionary belief that his forefathers had fought under the banners of the Pre* tenders to the British throne, Burns avowed himself hostile to the legitimacy of the claims of tht House of Brunswick, and in speech, writing, and action, gave violent displays of the spirit of a partisan. [« E Jin- burgh he celebrated the birth day of Charles S rart, and wrote an animated ode on the occasion. He also poured out some bitter invectives against the reigning family, and was guilty of other extravagancies in pro* mm gating his sentiments, which operated as a bar to his promotion in the Excise. THE ERRORS OF BURNS, AND THE AN- ALOGY WHICH THEY BEAR TO THOSE OF MANKIND IN GENERAL. We wish it to be distinctly understood, that our ad- miration of Burns is confined chiefly to his genius, and to the exhibition of that genius in his authenticated writings, and not to his character as a man ; but whefa we charge him with conduct which we do not attempt to justify, we are willing to divide the blame, and not to load his head exclusively witii reproach. XXX THE LIFE OF The faults of Burns that were of a more prominent cast are said to have been, profaneness, intemperance, sensuality. He is accused of quoting scripture with impious levity. Burns was thoroughly versed in the Sacred Scriptures. This he owed as well to his taste for the sublime, as to the habitual practice of reading a chapter morning and evening in the exercise of family worship. His knowledge of Holy Writ, how- ever, was rather that of a critic than a divine. Ac- quaintance with scripture language h|is no more a ne- cessary tendency to render the character religious, than intimacy with the polite literature of Greece and Rome has to communicate refinement to the mind and polish to the manners of the pedagogue. The introduction of an apposite quotation from Scripture gives a charm to conversation, an energy to prose composition, and an ineffable beauty to poetry; and in numberless instances the practice is as innocent as the quoting of a passage fro n a classical work. It is in our opinion hardly ever &o offensive as the ever- lasting cant of the hypocrites of the day, who mouth the Scripture on the most trivial occasions, as applica- ble to their own experiences of the peculiar favour of Heaven, and as if none but themselves were of sufficient importance to engage the attention of the Parent of the Universe. By a few references we shall endeavour to point out the guilt and innocency of Burns in his Scriptural al- lusions. To apply to our own case those passages of the sacred volume which the Saviour of men appropri- ated to himself is very reprehensible. In his letter to Dr. Moore, the following quotation, though beautifully appropriate, is, for the reason above-mentioned, of a blameable description, " It will not seem surprising that where two or three met together there was I among thew^ ROBERT BURNS. XXXI In his letters to Mrs. Duniop, his allusions are some- times similarly objectionable, — " I am almost an evan- gelical man in Nithsdale ; for I have scarce any takere to lay my head.'* — " As to a Laird farming- his own property, sowing his own corn in hope, and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in gladness, knowing that none can say unto him what dost thou ?" In a letter to Mr Cuninghame, we consider the seria -mixta joe is as out of season — " Now to thee be given the precious things brought forth by the sun, and the precious things brought forth by the moon, and the benignest influences of the stars, and the living streams which flow from thejountam of life, and by the tree of life, for ever and ever, amen. y * The following are in- troduced with a portion of exquisite humour, but such as is unsuitable to the awful grandeur of the occasions when they were originally pronounced, Cucbullin's dog in Ossian's FingaL t A 2 He was a gash an' faithful tyke, As ever lap a sheugh or dike. His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, Ay gat him friends in ilka place. His breast was white, his towzie back Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; His gaucy tail, wi' upward curl, Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; Wi' social nose whyles snufF'd and snowkit, Whyles mice an' moudiworts they howkit ; Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion An' worry'd ither in diversion ; Until wi' dafnn weary grown, Upon a knowe they sat them down, An' there began a lang digression About the lords o the creation, CESAR. I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; An' when the gentry's life I saw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava. Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kain, and a' his stents : He rises when he likes himsel ; His flunkies answer at the bell : He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; He draws a bonnie 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 trashtrie, That's little short o' downright wastrie. Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, Better than ony tenant man His Honor has in a' the Ian' : An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 1 own it's past my comprehension. • LUATH. Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't enough ; A cottar howkin in a shcugh, Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, Baring a quarry, and sic like, Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, A smytrie o' wee dud die weans, An' nought bat his nan' darg, to keep Them right and tight in thack an' rape. An' when they meet wi' sail* disasters, Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, An' they maun starve o' cauld "and hunger ; But, how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, Are bred in sic a way as this is. C.£SAR. But then to see how ye're negleckit, How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit ! L — d, man, our gentry care as little For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; They gang as saucy by poor fo'k, As I wad by a stinking brock. I've notie'd, on our Laird's court-day, An' mony a time my heart's been wae, Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's snash : He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; While they maun stan', 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 no sae wretched's ane wad think ; Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, The view o't gies them little fright. Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, They're ay in less or mair provided ; A 2 An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employm#nt, 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 mina 1 the Kirk and State affairs : They'll talk o' patronage and priests, Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, Or tell what new taxation's comin, An' ferlie at the folk in Lonon. As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns* They get the jovial, ranting kirns, When rural life, o' ev'ry station, Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks, Wit slaps ; an' social Mirth Forgets there's Care upon the earth. That merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frosty winds ; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, Are handed roun' wi' right guid will ; The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, The young anes rantin thro' the house, — My heart has been sae fain to see them, That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. Still it's owre true that ye hae said, Sic game is now owre aften play'd. There's monie a creditable stock O' decent, honest, fawsont fo'k, Are riven out baith root and branch, Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster In favour wi' some gentle Master, Wha' aiblins, thrang a parliamentin, For Britain's guid his saul indentin — CiESAR. Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; For Britain s girid! guid faith ! I doubt it. Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him ; An' saying aye or no's they bid him: At operas aii' plays parading, Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: Or may be, in a frolic daft, To Hague or Calais takes a waft, To mak a tour, an' tak a whirl, To learn bon ton an' see the woii'. There, at Vienna or Versailles He rives his father's auld entails ; Or by Madrid he takes the rout, To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' now*-; Or down Italian vista startles, Wh-re-hunting amang groves o' myrtles ; Then bouses drumly German water, To mak himsel look fair and fatter, An* clear the consequential sorrows, Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. For Britain s guid ! for her destruction i Wi* dissipation, feud, an' faction. LUATH. Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate They waste saeinony a braw estate I Are we sae fought en an' harass' d For gear to 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 Cottar ! For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, Fient haet o 1 them's ill-hearted fellows i Except for breakin o' their timmer, Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. But will ye tell me, Master C XIII. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Wi* rattlin an* wi' thumpin ! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath^ Ee's stampin aa' he's jumpin ! 19 His lengthen' d chin, his tum'd up snout* His eldritch squeel and gestures, Oh how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plasters, On sic a day ! XIV. But, hark J the tent has changM its voice There's peace an* rest nae langer^* For a' the Teal judges rise,. They canna sit for auger. ***** opens, out his cauld harangues^ On practice and on morals.; An* aft* the godly pour in timings, To. gie the jars an' barrels A lift that day.. XV. What signifies his barren shine- Gi' moral pow'rs and reason ? His English style, an' gesture fine^ Are a* clean out o' season, Like Socrates or Jintonine x Or some auld pagan Heathen, The moral man he does define, But ne'er a word o' faith in That's right that day,.. XVI. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poisonM nostrum ; For *******, frae the water-fit, Ascends the holy rostrum : See, up he's got the word, o' G — ,. An* meek an' mim has view'd it, While Common- Sense has ta'en the road, An' afl^ an' up the Cowgate, * Fast, fast, that day. XVII. Wee ******, niest, the Guard relieves, An' Orthodoxy raiblesj Tho' in his heart he weel believes, An' thinks it auld wives' fables : * A street so called which faces the tent in - 20 But, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse> So cannily he hums them ; Altho* his carnal wit an' sense Like hafiiins-ways o'ercomes him At times that day.. XVIII. Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, Wi' yill-caup Commentators ; Here's crying out for bakes and gills, An* there the pint stoup clatters ; While thick an* thrang, an* loud an* lang^. Wi* Logic, an* w? Scripture, They raise a din, that in the end Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. XIX. Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair Than either School or College : It kindles wit, it waukens lear, It pangs us fbu o' knowledge. Be't whisky-gill, or penny-wheep, Or ony stronger potion, It never fails, on drinking deep, To kittle up our notion By night or day, XX. The lads an* lasses, blythely bent, To mind baith saul an* body, Sit round the table weel content, An 7 steer about the toddy. On this ane's dress, an* that ane's leuk, They're making observations ; While some are cozie i' the neuk, An* forming assignations, To meet some day. XXI. But now the-L — d's ain trumpet touts, Till a' the hills are rairin, An' echoes back return the shouts : Black ****** is na spairia: 21 His piercing words, like Highlan* swords, Divide the joints and mairow ; His talk o' H-ll, where devils dwell, Our vera saul does harrow* Wi' fright that day. XXII. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Fill'd fti* o' lowin brunstane, Wha's ragin flame, an* scorchin heat, Wad melt the hardest whun-stane \ The half asleep start up wi' fear, An' think they hear it roaiin, When presently it does appear 'Twas but some neebor snorin, Asleep that day. XXIII. 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, How monie stories past, An' how they crowded to the yill, When they were a* dismist : How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms and benches ; An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches, An' dauds that day. XXIV. In comes a gaucy, gash Guidwife, An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; The lasses they are shyer. The auld Guidmen, about the grace, Frae side to side they bother, Till some ane by his bonnet lays, An' gi'es them't like a tether, Fu* lang that day. XXV. 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 ! ShafespeweY Hamlets O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel, How bonnie lads ye wanted, An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, Let lasses be affronted On sic a day ! XXVI. Now Clinlaimbell, 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 ^trip their shoon : Wi* faith and 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 ony flesh is. There's some are feu o' love divine ; There's some are fou o' brandy ; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. DEATH & Dr. HORNBOOK. A TRUE STORY. SOME books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn'd ; Ev'n Ministers, they hae been ken'd, In holy rapture, A rousing whid, at times, to vend, And nail't wi' Scripture*- But this that I am gaun to tell, "Which lately on a night befel,. 23 Is just as true's the Deil's in h-Il Or Dublin city : That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. The Clachan yill had made me canty, I was na fou, but just had plenty : I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay To free the ditches ; An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay Frae ghaists 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 could 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 did forgather, That pat me in an eerie swither ; An awfu' scythe out-owre ae shouther, Clear-dangling, hang ; A three-tae'd leister on the ither La} r , 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 mawi ' When ither folk are busy sawin ?** It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', But naething spak ; At length, says I, * Friend, whare ye gaun, ' Will ye go back?' * This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. 24 It spak right hoWe, — ' My name is Death, But be na' fley'd.'— Quoth I, « Guid faith, Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; * But tent me billie : I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, ' See, there's a gully f 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 mind it, no, that spittle * Out-owre my beard. Weel, weel !' says I, ' a bargain he't; Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, * Come, gie's your news ; This while* ye hae been mony a gate ' At mony a house.' Ay, ay !' quo' he, an' shook his head, It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed Sin' I began to nick the thread, * An' choke the breath > Folk maun do something for their bread, ' An' sae maun Death. Sax thousand years are near-hand fled Sin' I was to the hutching bred, An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid To stap or scaur me ; Till ane Hornbook's \ ta'en up the trade, ' An' faith, he'll waur me. Ye ken Joel: Hornbook i the Clachan, Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! He's grown sae weel acquant wi' Buchan J An' ither chaps, ' The weans haud out their ringers laughin * An pouk my hips. * An epidemical fever was then raging in the country. •| This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of the Sovereign Order of \he Ferula ; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary. Surgeon, and Physician. \ Buchan's Domestic Medicine. 25 * See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 4 They hae pierc'd niony a gallant heart ; 1 But Doctor Hornbook, wi' liis art * And cursed skill, * Has made them baith no worth a f — t, < Damn'd haet they'll kill. { 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 1 I threw a noble throw at ane ; ' Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; ' But deil-ma-care, 1 It just play'd dirl on the bane, ' But did nae mair. 1 Hornbook was vy, wi' ready art, < And had sae fortify'd the part, * That when I looked to my dart, * It was sae blunt, * Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart * O' a kail-runt. * I drew my scythe in sic a fury, * I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, ' But yet the bauld Apothecary 1 Withstood the shock ; 1 I might as weel hae try'd a quarry * O' hard whun rock. * Ev'n them he canna get attended, 1 Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 1 Just in a kail-blade, and send it, * As soon's he smells't, 1 Baith their disease, and what will mend it, c At once he tell'st. * And then o' doctor's saws an' whittles, * O' a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, ' A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, ' He's sure to hae ; 1 Their Latin names as fast he rattles < As A B C. * Calces o' fossils, earth, an' trees ; ' True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; ' The Farina o' beans and pease, ' He lias't in plenty ; ' Aqua-fontis, what you please, ' He can content ye. tc 26 1 Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, * Urinus Spiritus of capons ; * Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, ' Distill' d per se ; * Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, 1 And mony mae.' 1 Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,' ^uo' I, * if that the news be true ! His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, ' Sae white an' bonnie, * Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the pleugh ; * They'll ruin Johnny /• The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, And says, ' Ye need na yoke the pleugh, ' Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, 1 Tak ye nae fear : ' They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh ' In twa-three year. * Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, * By loss o' blood or want o' breath, * This night I'm free to tak my aith, ' That Hornbook's skill ' Has clad a score i' their last claith, 1 By drap an' pill. ' An honest Wabster to his trade, * Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, 1 Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 1 When it was sair ; ' The wife slade cannie to her bed, * But ne'er spak mair. * A countra Laird had ta'en the bats, ' Or some curmurrin in his guts, * His only son for Hornbook sets, ' An' pays him well. ' The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 1 Was laird himsel. ' A bonnie lass, ye ken her name, ' Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame : 4 She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, * In Hornbook's care * The Grave-digger. 27 * Horn sent her affto her lang hame, 1 To hide it there. * That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's- way, 1 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' my lawf'u' prey, *< Wi' his d-nin'd dirt : 1 But, hark ! I'll tell you o' a plot, 1 Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ; ' I'll nail the self-conceited Scot, 1 As dead's a herrfci : * Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, ' Pie gets his fairia !' But just as he began to tell, The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell Some wee short hour ayont the ttval, Which rais'd us baith : I took the way that pleas'd mysel, And sae did Death. THE BRIGS OF AYR. A POEM. Inscribed to J. .»*********, Esq. Ayr. The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush ; The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill j Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, To hardy Independence bravely bred, By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, And train' d to arms in stern .Misfortune's field j 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 ? C 2 28 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, SkilPd in the secret, to bestow with grace; When B********* befriends tiia humble name, And hands the rustic stranger up to fame. With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap ; Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brunstane 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 carnage lie : (What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : The hoary morns precede the sunny days, Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze, While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, Ae night, w T ithin 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 narrate ; * A noted Tavern at the Auld Brig end* 29 Or whether, rapt in meditation high, He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) The drowsy Dungeon-clock* had number'd two, And IVallace-Tuw'r* 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 tow'r and tree : The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, Crept, gently crusting, o'er the glittering stream. — When, lo ! on either hand, the list'ning Bard, The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard ; Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, Swift as the Gos\ drives on the wheeling hare ; Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. (That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual fo'k ; Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, And ev'n the vera deiis 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 warstl'd lang, Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco b: New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, That he, at Loji'oji, frae ane Adams, go: ; In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, Wi* virls and whirlygigums at the head. The Goth was stalking round with anxious search,. Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; It chane'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! WP thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, He, down the water, gies him this guideen : — AULD BRIG. I doubt na, fiien', ye'il think ye're nae sheep-shank, Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank! But gin ye Dj a brig as auld as me, Tho 5 faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; * * The two steeples. f The gos-bawk, or falcon, C 3 30 There'll be, if that date come, I'll 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' bonnie Brigs o' modern time ? There's men o' taste would tak the Ducat-stream,* Tho' they should cast the very sark and swim, Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. AULD BRIG. Conceited gowk ! pufF'd up wi' windy pride ! This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sa.ir forfairn, I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! As yet ye little ken about the matter, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. When heavy, dark, continued, a' -day rains, Wi' deep'ning deluges o'erflow the plains ; When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, Or where the" Greenock winds his moorland course, Or haunted Garpal-f draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes ; While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; And from Glenbuck, \ down to the Ratton-Jcey, § Auld Ayr is just one lengthen^!, tumbling sea; Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! And dash the gumhe jaups up to the pouring skies. A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, That Architecture's noble art is lost ! * A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. f The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the Wes •f Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name c Qhaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. \ The source of the river Ayr. § A small landing-place above the large key, . s SI NEW BRIG. Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't f The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest, With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; Forms might be worshiped on the bended knee, \ And still the second dread command be free. Their likeness is not found on earthy 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 latter times,, wha held the notion That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; Fancies that our guid Br ugh denies protection, And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! AULD BRIG. O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealfngs, Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings I Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, To whom our moderns are but causey-cle ners ; Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, Wha meekly gje your hurdies to the smiters ; And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers ; A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ? How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, To see each melancholy alteration ; And agonizing, curse the time and place When ye begat the base, degeh'rate race ! Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory* In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story. Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 32 But staumrel, corky -headed, graceless Gentry, The herryment and ruin of the country ; Men, three-parts made by Tailors and oy Barbers, Wha waste your well-hain'd gear on d — d nevo Brigs and Harbours ! NEW BRIG. Now haud you there ! for faith ye've said eneugh, And muckle mair than j^e can mak to through, As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle ; But, under favor o' your langer beard, Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : To liken them to your auld-warld squad, I must needs say, comparisons are odd. In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can liae 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 ; 3 priggin owre hops an' raisins, jial views in Bonds and Seisins. s, on a random tramp, 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 clishmaclaver might been said, 'What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, No man can tell ; but all before their sight, A. fairy train appeared in order bright : icring stream they featly dane'd ; noon their various dresses glanc'd ; fced o'er the watVy glass so neat, leneath their feet: relsy among them rung, And ig Bards heroic ditties sung. O had inn-inspiring Sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, i thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with Highland rage, Or when they e truck old Scotia's melting airs, irM joys or bleeding cares; * A well known performer of Scottish music on die violin. I 33 How would his Highland lug been nobler nVd, And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! No guess could tell what instrument appeared, 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-lillies 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 fiow'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 ; I Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, By Hospitality with cloudless brow. Next foiiow'd Courage with his martial stride, From where the Feat wild-woody coverts hide; Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: Learning and Worth in equal measures trode From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : Last, white rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, To rustic Agriculture did bequeath The broken iron instruments of death ; At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. THE ORDINATION. For sense they little owe to Frugal Heav'n — - To please the Mob they hide the little giv'n. I. Kilmarnock Wabsters fidge an* claw, An' pour your creeshie nations ; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, Of a' denominations, Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an* a% An* there tak up your stations ; Then aff to B-gb — 's in a raw, An* pour divine libations For joy this day.. 34, ii. Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-11, Cam in wi* Maggie Lauder ;* But O ******* aft made her yell, An* R***** sair misca'd her ; This day M ******* taks the flail, And he's the boy will biaud her ! He'll clap a shangan on her tail, An' set the bairns to daub her Wi* dirt this day. III. Mak haste an* turn king David owre, An' lilt wi? holy clangor ; * O' double verse come gie us four, An' skirl up the Bangor ; This day the kirk kicks up a stoure, Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, For Heresy is in her pov. 'r, An* gloriously shall whang her Wi* pith this day. IV. Come, let a proper text be read, An* touch it affwi* vigour, How graceless Ham* leugh at his Dad, Which made Canaan a niger ; Or Phineasf drove the murdering blade, Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; Or Zipporah,% the scauldin jade, Was like a bluidy tiger F tli* inn that day. V. There, try his mettle on the creed, And bind him down wi' caution. That Stipend is a carnal weed He taks but for the fashion ; * Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late Reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Laigh Kirk, * Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. f Numbers, ch. xxv. vei. 8. \ Exodus, ch. iv. ver, - 35 And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, And punish each transgression ; Especial, rams that cross the breed, Gie them sufficient threshin, Spare them nae day. VI. Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, And toss thy horns fu' canty ; Nae mair thou'It rowte out-owre the dale, Because thy pasture's scanty ; For lapfu's large o y gospel kail Shall fill thy crib in plenty, An' runts o grace, the pick and wale, No gi'en by way o' dainty, But ilka day. VII. Nae mair by BabeVs 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 ; Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, An' a' like lamb-tails flyin Fu' fast this day ! VIII Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aim, Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, As lately F-mv-ck, sair forfairn, Has proven to its ruin : Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn, He saw mischief was brewin ; And like a godly elect bairn, He's wal'd us out a true ane, And sound this day. IX. Now R******## harangue nae mair, But steek your gab for ever : Or try the wicked town of A**, For there they'll think you clever ; S6 Or, nae reflection on your lear, Ye may commence a Shaver ; Or to the N-th-rt-n repair, And turn a Carpet-weaver Aff-hand this day. X. M***** and 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 honour maun detach, Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, Fast, fast this day XL See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes She's swingein thro' the city : Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! I vow its unco pretty : There, Learning, wi' his Greekish face, Grunts out some Latin ditty ; And Common Sense is gaun, she says, To mak to Jamie Beattie Her plaint this day. XII. 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' i'tllj As ane were peelin onions ! Now there-they're packed aff to hell, And 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 rind quarter : 37 !£<##***#, R**### f arG t l le b y S> That Heresy can torture ; They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, And cow her measure shorter By th' head some day* XIV. Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, And here's, for a conclusion, To every New Light* mother's son, From this time forth, confusion : If mair they deave us with their din, Or Patronage intrusion, We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, We'll rin them aff in fusion Like oil, some day* THE CALF. TO THE REV. MR. - On his Text, Malachi, eh. iv. ver. 2. " And they shall go fortli, w and grow up, like calves of the stall." Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, Though Heretics may laugh ; For Instance, there's yoursel just now, God knows, an unco Calf! And should some Patron be so kind, As bless you wi' a kirk, I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, Ye 're still as great a Stirk. But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour Shall ever be your lot, Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, You e'er should be a Stot I Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, Your but-and-ben adorns, The like has been, that you may wear A noble head of horns, * New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for tho$e religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has defended so stre* nuously. t d 38 And in your lug, most reverend James, To hear you roar and rowte, Few men o* sense will doubt your claims To rank amang the novate. And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, Below a grassy hillock, W? justice they may mark your head — ' Here lies a famous Bullock/' ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. O Prince ! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, That led th' embattled Seraphim to war. MUton. 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 ! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, An* let poor damned bodies be ; I'm sure sma 5 pleasure it can gie, E'en to a deil, To skelp an* scaud poor dogs like me, An' hear us squeel ! Great is thy pow'r, an* great thy fame ; Far kend and 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, rangin like a roarin lion, £or prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, Tirlin the kirks ; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, Unseen thou lurks. 39 I've heard my rev'rend Grannie say, In lanely glens ye like to stray ; Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. When twilight did my Grannie summon, To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, Wi' eerie drone ; Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy, winter night. The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, Wi' you f mysel, I gat a fright, Ayont the lough : Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, Wi' waving sugh. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick — quaick-*. Amang the springs, Awa ye squattered, like a drake, On whistlin wings. 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, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen By witching skill ; An' dawtit, twal-pint Haivkie's gaen As yell's the Bill. Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; When the best wark-lume i' the house, By cantrip wit, D 2 40 Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoorcl^ An' float the jinglin icy-boovd, Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction, An* 'nighted Trav'llers are allur'd To their destruction. An' aft your moss-traversing Spunhies, Decoy the wight that 3ate an' drunk is : The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys,. Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise. When Masons' mystic xcord 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 Aft* draught to hell ! : Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'cl, An' all the soul of love they shar'd The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, In shady bow'r : Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! Ye came to Paradise incog, An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, (Black be your fa' !) An* gied the infant warld a shog 'Alaist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, W 7 i' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 'Mang better fo'k, 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' hall, 41 While scabs an' blotches did him gall, Wi' bitter claw, An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 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 thinking A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, Some luckless hour will send him linkin, To your black pit ; But, faith ! Ke'll turn a corner jinkin, An' cheat you yet. But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben I O wad ye tak a th ought 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 I THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. AN UNCO JIOURNFu' TALE, As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, Were ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a. hitch, An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : There, groaning, dying, she did lie, When Hughoc* he cam doytin by. * Vide Milton, Book VL * A-neelor herd-caUafl.- D 3 42 Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's, IPoor Hughoc like a statue Stan's. He saw her days were near-hand ended, But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it ! He gaped wide, but naething spak ! At length poor Mailie silence brak. ' O thou, whase lamentable face Appears to mourn my woefu' case-! My dying words attentive hear, . An' bear them to my Master dear. * Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a sheep, O, bid him never tie them mail* Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair \ But ca' them out to park or hillj An' let them wander at their will ; 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, W teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. * An' may they never learn the gaets Gf ither vile wanrestfu' pets ! To slink thro' siaps, 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 : §o wives will gie them bits o' bread, An' bairns greet for them when they're dead, ' My poor toop-Iamby my son an' heir, O, bid him breed him up wi' care I An', if he live to be a beast, To pit some havins in his breast! 42 An* warn him, what I winna name,, To slay content \vi' yowes at hame ; An' no to rin an' wear his cioots, Like ither menseless, graceless, brutes.. 1 An' niest my j/oru/e, silly thing, Gude keep thee frae a tether string ; O, may thou ne'er forgather up Wi' ony blastk, moorland toop ; But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel !. « And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath,. I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : An' when you think upo' your Mither, Mind to be kin' to ane anither. < Now, honest Flughoc, dinna fail To tell my Master a' my tale ; An' bid him barn this cursed tether, An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether/ This said, poor M'ailie turn'd her head, An' clos'd her een amang the dead ! POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose i Our bardie's fate is at a close j Past a' remead ; The last sad cape-stane of his woes, Poor MaiUe's dead ! Its no the loss o' warl's gear, That could sae bitter draw the tear, Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear The mourning weed : He's lost a friend and neebor dear, In Mailie dead. Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him 4. A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 44 Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him„ She ran wi' speed : A frien' mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh hinv Than Mailie dead* I wat she was a sheep o' sense, An' could behave hersel wi' mense : I'll say't, she never brak a fence, Thro' thievish greed. Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Sin' Mailie's dead. Or, if he wanders up the howe, Her living image in her yovoe, Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, For bits o' bread ; An' down the briny pearls rowe For Mailie dead. She was nae get o' moorland tips, Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; For her forbears were brought in ships Frae yont the Tiveed ; A bonnier Jleesh 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 bonnie Doon ! An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! Come, join the melancholious croon O' Robins reed i His heart will never get aboon ! His Mailie's dead. 45 TO J. S****. Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul r Sweet'ner of life, uml solder of society ! I owe thee much. Miir. Dear S****, the sleest, paukie thief, That e'er attempted stealth or rief, Ye surely hae some warlock-breef Qwre human hearts j- For ne'er a bosom yet was prief Against your arts. For me, 1 swear by sun an' moon, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon Just gaun to see you ; And ev'ry ither pair that's done, Mak taen I'm wi' you* That auld capricious carlin, Nature, To mak amends for scrimpit stature, She's turn'd you aif, a human creature On her Jirst plan, And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, She's wrote, the Maru Just now IVe 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 5, 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 coat, An damn'd my fortune to the groat ; But in requit, Has bless'd me wi' a random shot O' countra wit,. 46 This while my notion's taen a sklent, To try my fate in guid black prent / But still the niair I'm that way bent, Something cries, * Hoolie ! ' I red you, honest man, tak tent ! i Ye'll shaw your folty. c There's ither poets, much } r our betters, 1 Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 1 Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 1 A' future ages ; ' Now moths deform in shapeless tatters * Their unknown pages.' Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows ! Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs Are whistlin thrang, An' teach the lanely heights an' howes My rustic sang. I'll wander on, with tentless heed How never-halting moments speed, Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; Then, all unknown, I'll lay me with tli* inglorious dead, Forgot and gone I 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. This life, sae far's I understand, Is a' enchanted fairy land, Where pleasure is the magic wand, That, wielded right, Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, Dance by fu' light. The magic-wand then let us wield ; For, ance that five-an-forty's speePd, See crazy, weary, joyless eild, Wi' wrinkled face* Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, Wi' creepin pace. 47 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 deludin woman, The joy of joys ! O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, To joy and play. We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the brier, Unmindful that the thorn is near, Among the leaves; And though the puny wound appear, Short while it grieves. Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, For which they never toil'd nor swat ; The) r drink the sweet, and eat the tat, But care or pain ; And, haply, eye the barren hut With high disdain. With steady aim, some fortune chase ; Keen Hope does every sinew brace ; Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race ; And seize the prey ; Then cani.e, in some cozie place, They close the day. And others, like your humble servan' ; Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin ; To right or left, eternal swervin, They zig-zag on, Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin, They aften groan. Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — But, truce with peevish, poor complaining i Is fortune's fickle Luna waining ? E'en let her gang ! Beneath what light she has remaining, Let's sing our sang. 48 My pen I here fling to the door, And kneel, ' Ye Pow'rs !' and warm implore, * Tho' I should wander terra o'er, ' In all her climes, 1 Grant me but this, I ask no more, ' Ay rowth o' rhymes, * Gie dreepin roasts to countra lairds, * Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 4 Gie fine braw claes to fine lire-guards, ' And maids of honour ; * And yill an' whisky gie to cairds, 4 Until they sconner. * A title Dempster merits it ; 1 A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; « Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, In cent, per cent. ' But give me real, sterling wit, ' And I"m content. 1 While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, * I'll sit down o'er my scant}- meal, * Be't water-brose or muslin-kail, 1 Wi s cheerfu' face, ' As lang's the muses dinna fail ' To say the grace.' An anxious e'e I never throws Behint my lug, or by my nose ; I jouk beneath misfortune's blows As weel's I may ; Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, I rhyme away. O ye douce folk. by rule, Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, Compared wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! How much unlike ! Your hearts are just a standing pool, Your lives, a dyke ! Nae hair -brain' d sentimental traces In your unletter'd, nameless faces i In arioso trills and graces Ye never stra But, gravissimo, solemn basses Ye hum away* 49 Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're toise ; Nae ferly tho ye do despise The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, The rattlin squad : I see you upward cast your eyes — — Ye ken the road. — Whilst I — but I shall haud me there — Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, But quat my sang, Content wi* you to mak a pair, Whare'er I gang. ' • A DREAM. Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason ; But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. [On reading, in the public papers, the Laureates Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the lirth-day levee j and in his dreaming fancy made the following Address.] Guid-Morning to your Majesty ! May heav'n augment your blisses, On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble poet wishes ! My hardship here, at your levee, On sic a day as this is, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amang the birth-day dresses Sae fine this day. I see ye're complimented thrang, By moiiy a lord and lady ; * God save the king !' 's a cuckoo sang That's unco easy said ay ; The poets too, a venal gang, Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, But ay unerring steady, On sic a day. t E 50 For me ! before a monarch's face, Ev'n there I winna flatter ; For neither pension, post, nor place, Am I your humble debtor : So, nae reflection on your grace, Your kingship to bespatter ; There's mouie waur been o' the race, And aiblins ane been better Than you this day. 'Tis very true, my sov'reign king-, My skill may weel be doubted : But facts are chiels that winna ding, An' downa be disputed : Your royal nest, beneath your wing, Is e'en right reft and clouted, And now the third part of 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. And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, Her broken shins to plaster; Your sair taxation does her fieece, Till she has scarce a tester ; For me, thank God, my life's a lease, Nae bargain rearing faster, Or i'aith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, I shortly boost to pasture I' the craft some day. I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, When taxes he enlarges, (An' Will's a true w's get, A name not envy spairges,) That he intends to pay your debt, ^n' Jessen a' your charges : 51 But, G-d's-sake ! let nae saving-fit Abridge your bonnie 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'll no neglect, In loyal, true affection, To pay your Qacen, with 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 poet gies ye ? Thae bonnie bairntime, Heaven has lent, Still higher may they heeze ye In bliss, till fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye Frae care that day. For you, young potentate o' W , I tell your Highness fairly, Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; But some day ye may gnaw your nails, An' curse your folly sairly, That e'er ye brak Diana's, pales, Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, By night or day. Yet aft a ragged coyote's been known To mak a noble aiver ; So, ye may doucely fill a throne, For a' their clish-ma-claver : There, him* at Agincourt wha shone, Few better were or braver ; And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Jolm, •(• He was an unco shaver For monie a day. * King Henry V. + Sir John Falstaff: vide Shakespeare. E 2 52 For you, right rev'rend O , Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, Although a ribban at your lug Wad been a dress completer : As ye disown yon paughty dog That bears the keys of Peter, Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, Or, trouth ! ye'll stain 4he mitre Some luckless day. Young, royal Tarry 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'll discern Your hymeneal charter, Then heave aboard your grapple aim, An', large upo' her quarter, Come full that day. Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', Ye royal lasses dainty, Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, An' gie you lads a* plenty : But sneer nae Brithh boys awa', For kings 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 dawtet ; But, ere the course o' life be thro', 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. • Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's 53 THE VISION. DUAN FIRST,* The sun had clos'd the winter day, The curlers quat their roarin play, An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way To kail -yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The thresher's weary jlingin-tree, The lee-lang day had tired me ; And when the day had cios'd his e'e, Far i' the west, Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, I gaed to rest. There, lamely, by the ingle-cheek, I sat and ey ? d the spewing reek, That fiil'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, The auld clay biggin ; An' heard the restless rattons squeek About the riggin ; All in this inottie, misty clime, I backward mus'd on wasted time, How I had spent my youthru' prime, An' done nae-thing, But stringin blethers up in rhyme, For fools to sing. Had I to guid advice but harkit, I might, by this, hae led a market, Or strutted in a bank an* clarkit My cash account : While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, Is a' til* amount. I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coofl And heavM 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 — * Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a degressive poem. See his Quth-Loda, vol. ii. of M'PIierson's translation* E 3 54 When click ! the string the snick did draw ; And jee ! the door gaedto the wa' ; . An' 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 ; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht In some wild glen ; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, And stepped ben. Green, slender, leaf-clad holly -boughs Were twisted, graceful', round her brows ; I took her for some Scottish Muse, By that same token ; An' come to stop those reckless vows, Wou'd soon been broken. A l 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 bonnie Jean Could only peer it ; Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, Nane else came near it. Her mantle large, of greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand ; And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, A well known land. Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; There, mountains to the skies were tost : Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, With surging foam ; There, distant shone A it's lofty boast, The lordly dome. 55 Here, Doon pour'd down his f'ar-fetch'd floods, There, well-fed Iavine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, On to the shore ; And many a lesser torrent scuds, With seeming roar. Low, in a sandy valley spread, An ancient borough rear'd her head, Still, as in Scottish story read, She boasts a race, To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, An' 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. My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a race* heroic wheel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel In sturdy blows ; While back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their Southron foes. His Country's Saviour,** mark him well ! Bold Richardton'sf heroic swell : The chief on Sark, J who glorious fell, In high command ; And he whom ruthless fates expel His native land, There,- where a scepter'd Pictish shade § Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, * The Wallaces. ** William Wallace. f Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish independence, i Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, -who died of his wounds al'ier the action. § Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the iBlofltgcmenes of Coil's-field, where his burial-place is still shown, 56 I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd In colours strong ; Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd They strode along. Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,f Near many a hermit fancied cove, (Fit haunts for friendship or for love) In musing mood, An aged judge, I saw him rove, Dispensing good. With deep-struck reverential awe| The learned sire and son I saw, To Nature's God and Nature's law They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw, That, to adore. Brydone's brave ward$ I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; Who cail'd on fame, low standing by, To hand him on, Where many a patriot name on high, And hero shone. DUAN SECOND. With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 1 view'd the heav'nly-seemingya /r ; 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 ! 1 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. f Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Oerk. J Catrine, the seat of the late doctor, and present professor Stewart. § Colonel Fulhrton. 57 * Know, the great genius of this land ' Has many a light, aerial band, * Who, all beneath his high command, ' Harmoniously, 1 As arts or arms they understand, * Their labours ply. 1 They Scrrfia's race among them share ; ' Some lire the soldier on to dare ; ' Some rouse the patriot up to bare * Corruption's heart : ' Some teach the bard, a darling care, ' The tuneful art. * 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, * They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; * Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar, -' They, sightless, stand, ' To mend the honest patriot- lore, * And grace the hand. 1 And when the bard, or hoary sage, * Charm or instruct the future age, ' They bind the wild poetic rage 1 In energy, ' Or point the inconclusive page 1 Full on the eye. * Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; ' Hence Dempster's zeal inspired tongue ; * Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung * His " Minstrel lays ;" * Or tore, with noble ardour stung, ' The sceptic's bays. 1 To lower orders are assign'd * The humbler ranks of human kind, 1 The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, ' The Artisan ; * All chuse, as various they're inclin'd, * The various man. ' When yellow waves the heavy grain, ' The threat'ning storm some strongly rein^ * Some teach to meliorate the plain * With tillage-skill ; * And some instruct the shepherd-train * Blythe o'er the hill. 58 1 Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; * Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; ' Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil, ' For humble gains, < And make his cottage-scenes beguile ' His cares and painSr 1 Some, bounded to a district-space, * Explore at large man's infant race, ' To mark the embryotic trace ' Of rustic Bard ; * And careful note each op'ning grace, '.A guide and guard. * Of these am I — Coila my name ; 1 And this district as mine I claim, < Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, * Held ruling pow'r : ' I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 1 Thy natal hour. * With future hope, I oft would gaze, . ' Fond, on thy little early ways, * Thy rudely caroll'd chiming phrase, * In uncouth rhymes, f Fir'd at the simple artless lays 1 Of other times. 1 I saw thee seek the sounding shore, * Delighted with the dashing roar ; ' Or when the north his fleecy store * Drove thro' the sky, ' I saw grim nature's visage hoar, ' Struck thy young eye. * Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth ' Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, * And joy and music pouring forth ' In ev'ry grove, ' I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth ' With boundless love. 1 When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 1 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. 59 * When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, * Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, * Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, ' Th' adored Name, * I taught thee how to pour in song, ' To soothe thy flame. ' I saw thy pulse's maddening play, ' Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, * Misled by fancy's meteor ray, * By passion driven ; i But yet the light that led astray ' Was light from heaven. 1 1 taught thy manners-painting strains, ' The loves, the ways of simple swains, * Till now, o'er all my wide domains * Thy fame extends : ' And some, the pride of Coila's plains, * Become thy friends. * Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, * To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow ; * Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 1 With Shenstone's art ; ' Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow * Warm on the heart. ' Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, * The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; ' Tho' large the forest's monarch throws ' His army shade, 1 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, ' Adown the glade. ' Then never murmur nor repine ; { Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 1 And trust me, not Potosi's mine, * Nor kings' regard, * Can give a bliss o'er-matching 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. 60 * And tvear thou this V — she solemn said, And bound the Holly round my head : The polish'd leaves, and berries red, Did rustling play ; And, like a passing thought, she fled In light away. ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make a rule, And lump them ay thegither ; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither ; The cleanest corn that e'er was dight May hae some pyles o' caff in ; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight For random fits o' daffin. Solomon. — Eccles. ch. vii. ver. IQ, O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your neebour's faults and folly ! Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supply'd wi' store o' water, The heapet happer's ebbing still, And still the clap plays clatter. Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door For glaiket Folly's portals ; I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Would here propone defences, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, And shudder at the niffer, But cast a moment's fair regard, What maks the mighty differ ; Discount what scant occasion gave, That purity ye pride in, 61 And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) Your better art o' hiding. Think, when your castigated pulse Gies now and then a wallop, What ragings must his veins convulse, That still eternal gallop : "WT 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 unthinkin, Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown Debauchery and drinkin : O, would they stay to calculate Th eternal consequences ; Or your more dreaded hell to state, D-nmation of expenses ! Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Ty'd up in godly la alls, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of C i A noted cavern near Cullean-house, called The Cove of Cullean, which, as Cassillis Downans, is fumed in country story for being a fa- vourite haunt of fairies. § r J of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the- great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick. F 3 66 To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, And haud their Halloween Fu' biythe that night. The lasses feat, an* cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they're fine ; Their faces biythe, fu' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, Weel knotted on their garten, Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, Gar lasses' hearts gang startin Whiles fast that night. Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance ; They steek their een, an' graip an' wale, For muckle anes an' straught anes. Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the jirift, An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, An' pou't, for want o' better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail, Sae bow't that night. Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; The vera wee things, todlin, rin Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour, Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; Syne coziely, aboon the door, Wi' cannie care, they've placM them To lie that night. The lasses staw frae 'mang them a* To pou their stalks o' corn ;f * The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant «f kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meat with : Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is pro- phetic of the size and shape of the grand o! ject of all their spells — the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick lo the root, that is tocker, er fortune; and the taste of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stuns, 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 whcoi chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question. f They go t,o til? fcarn-yar Beneath a scar. G, 3 78 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 ? 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, a pensive train, Rose in my soul, When on my ear this plaintive strain, Slow, solemn, stole — ' Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 6 And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost 1 ' Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! ' Not all your rage, as now united, shows * More hard unkindness, unrelenting, * Vengeful malice unrepenting, • Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows \ 6 See stern oppression's iron grip, * Or mad ambition's gory hand, * Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 4 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'iy 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, unrefm'd, J Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus \Ue } below I 79 ' Where, wliere is love's fond, tender throe, * With lordly honour's lofty brow, 1 The pow'rs you proudly own ? * Is there, beneath love's noble name, * Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 1 To bless himself alone ! * Mark maiden-innocence a prey * To love-pretending snares, * This boasted honour turns away, * Shunning soft pity's rising sway, ' Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 1 Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, * She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 1 And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking « blast ! ' Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, ' Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 1 Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, * Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! ' Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call, ' Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, ' While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, ' Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap ! ' Think on the dungeon's grim confine, * Where guiit and poor misfortune pine I * Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! * But shall thy legal rage pursue * The wretch, already crushed low * By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? ' Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, ' A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' I heard 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. 80 EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET.* January While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, And hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass the time, And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, In namely westlin jingle. While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Ben to the chiinla lug, I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, That live sae bien an' snug : I tent less, and want less Their roomy fire-side ; But hanker and canker, To see their cursed 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 whiles in want, While coofs on countless thousands rant, And ken na how to wair't : But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, Tho v we hae little gear, We're fit to win our daily bread, As lang's we're hale and iier : 1 Mair spier na, nor fear na',f Auld age ne'er mind a feg,- The last ot, the warst o't, Is only but to beg. To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, When banes are craz'd and biuid 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. * David Si'Iar, one of the club at Tarbolton.. f Ramsay. 81 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'll find still A comfort this nae sma' ; Nae mair then, we'll care then, Nae farther can we fa\ What tho', like commoners of iiir. 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 daises 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'll sit an' sowth a tune ; Syne rhyme till't, we'll time tili't, And 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 rnuckle mair : It's no in books ; it's no in lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest : Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang ; The heart ay's the part ay, That makes us right or wrang. 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 hardiv worth their while ? 82 - Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, God's creatures they oppress I Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, They riot in excess ! Baith careless, and fearless Of either heav'n or hell 1 Esteeming,, and deeming It's a' an idle tale! Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; Nor make our scanty pleasures less, By pining at our state ; And, even should misfortunes come, I, here wha sit, hae jriet wi' some, An's thankfu' for them yet. They gie the wit of age to youth ; They let us ken oursel ; They make us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill. Thp' losses, and crosses, Be lessons right severe, There's wit there, ye'll get there, Ye'll find nae other where. 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 ! 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, 83 Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast. Thou Being, All-seeing, O hear my fervent pray'r ; Still take her, and make her Thy most peculiar care ! All hail, ye tender feelings dear I The smile of love, the friendly tear, The sympathetic glow ! Long since, this world's thorny ways Had numbered out my weary days, Had it not been for you ! Fate still has blest me with a friend, In every care and ill ; And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens „ The tenebrific scene, To meet with, and greet with My Davie or my Jean, O, how that name inspires my style ! The words come skelpin rank and 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'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, An' rin an unco fit : But least then, the beast then, Should rue this hasty ride, I'll light now, and dight now His sweaty wizen' d hide. 84, THE LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe ! Home. Thou pale orb, that silent shines, While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep ! With woe I nightly vigils keep, Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream. 1 joyless view thy rays adorn The faintly-marked distant hill : I joyless view thy trembling horn, Reflected in the gurgling rill : My fondly- fluttering heart, be still ! Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! Ah ! must the agonizing thrill For ever bar returning peace ! No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamenting^ 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 promised Father's i -e ; These were the pledges of my love ! Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown • How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 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 ? 85 Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, So lost to honour, lost to truth, As from the fondest lover part, The plighted husband of her youth ! Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth, Her way may lie thro* rough distress ! Then, who her pangs and pains will sooth, Her sorrows share, and make them less ? Ye winged hours that o'er us past, Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. That breast how dreary now, and void, For her too scanty once of room ! Even ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, And not a wish to gild the gloom ! The morn that warns th' approaching day, Awakes me up to toil and woe : 1 see the hours in long array, That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen recollection's direful train, Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, Shall kiss the distant, western main. And when my nightly couch I try, Sore-harass'd out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief: Or, if I slumber, fancy, 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 boundless sway ! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observ'd us, fondly-wandering, stray ! The time, unheeded, sped away, While love's luxurious pulse beat high, Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, To mark the mutual kindling eye. t H 86 Oh ! 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'll wander thro' : And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn A faithless woman's broken vow. DESPONDENCY, AN ODE. Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh : O life ! thou art a galling load, A long, a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I ! Dim backward as I cast my view, What sick'ning scenes appear J 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 i Happy, ye sons of busy life, Who, equal to the bustling strife, No other view regard ! Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, Yet while the busy means are ply'd, They bring their own reward : Whilst I, a hope-abandon' d wight, Unfitted with an aim, Meet ev'ry sad returning night, And joyless morn the same ; You,* bustling, and justling. Forget each grief and pain ; I, listless, yet restless, Find every prospect vain. 87 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, And just to stop, and just to move, With self-respecting art : But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys r Which I too keenly taste, The Solitary can despise, Can want, and yet be blest ! He needs not, he heeds not, Or human love or hate, Whilst I here, must cry here, At perfidy ingrate ! Oh ! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, To care, to guilt unknown ! How ill exchang'd for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own ! Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Like linnets in the bush, Ye little know the ills ye court, When manhood is your wish ! The losses, the crosses, That active man engage ! The fears all, the tears all r Of dim-declining age ! H 2 88 WINTER. A DIRGE. The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw ; Or, the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw : While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beast in covert rest And pass the heartless day. <* 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 sooths my soul, My griefs it seems to join, The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine ! Thou Potv'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, Because they are Thy Will ! Then all I want (O, do thou grant This one request of mine!) Since to enjoy thou dost deny, Assist me to resign* THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short but simple annals of the poor. Gray. My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! No mercenary bard his homage pays ; * Dr. Young. 89 With honest pride I scorn each selfish end ; My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise t To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; What A**** in a cottage would have been ; Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween t November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The shortening winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn Cottar frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view,. Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant tvee-tkings, toddlin, stacher thro* To meet their Dad, wi* flichterin noise an' glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonniiy, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie voifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour- an' his toil. Belyve the elder bairns come drapping 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' bioom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, An' each for other's weeifare kindiy spiers : The social hours, swift- wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; Anticipation forward points the view ; The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new •; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. II 3 90 Their master's an* their mistress's command, The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 4 An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, ' An' ne'er, tho* out o' sight, to jauk or play : ' An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! * An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! ' Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, * Implore his counsel and assisting might : * They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright 1' But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; A strappan youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; The father cracks of horses, pieughs, and kj'e. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy ; But blate and laithfu*, scarce can weel behave ; The mother, wi* a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfV an* sae grave ; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found ! heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare — ' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 1 One cordial in this melancholy vale, ' 'Tis when a youthfu' loving, modest pair, * In others arms breathe out the tender tale, * Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents theev'ninggale.* Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth I A$e honour, virtue, conscience* all exil'4 \ 91 Is there no pity, no relenting Ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild ! But now the supper crowns their simple board, The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : The soupe their only Havokie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell,. An* aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towinond auld, sin' lint was i* the bell. The cheerfu supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha bible, ance his father's pride :. His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; And ' Let us worship GOD!' he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs> worthy of the name : Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays l Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abo-am was the friend of God on high Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; 92 How He, who bore in Heaven the second name-,. Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : How his first followers and servants sped ; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand : And heard great Bab'lons doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope * springs exulting on triumphant wing,'* That thus they ail shall meet in future days : There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creators praise, In such society, yet still more dear ; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride* In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! The P<.vor incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to heaVen the warm request, That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her 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 ceii.es in fair virtue's heav'nly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; * Pope's Windsor Forest. 93 What is a Iordling's pomp ! a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! O Scotia J my dear, my native soil ! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! Long may thy hardy sous of rustic toil r Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content i And, O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, howe'er croxuns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of lire around their much-lcVd Isle, O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) O never, never, Scotia's realm desert : But still the patriot and the patriot bard-, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard \ MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, A DIRGE. When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One ev'ning as I wander'd forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spy'd a man, whose aged step Seemed 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 constrain,. Or youthful pleasure's rage ; Or haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to moum The miseries of man ! 94. 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 ! Mispending alJ thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime ! Alternate follies take the sway ; Licentious passions burn ; Which tenfold force gives nature's law,. That man was made to mourn. Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might ; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right : But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, Oh i ill match'd pair * Show man was made to mourn. A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest ; Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land, Are wretched and forlorn ; Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn. Blany 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,, 95 Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly Jellotvworm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn. If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave,— By nature's law design'd, Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my 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 recompense To comfort those that mourn ! O death ! the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best ! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest I The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn ; But, Oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn ! A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear ! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear ! If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun; As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done ; 96 Thou know'st that thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong ; And listening to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, Do thou, All-Good! for such thou art, In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But Thou art good ; and goodness still Delighteth to forgive. STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene ? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms : Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul offence I' Fain promise never more to disobey ; But, should my Author health again dispense, Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; Again in folly's path might go astray : Again exalt the brute and sink the man : Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ? Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? O Thou, great Governor of all below ! If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, Or still the tumult of the raging sea : With that controuling 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, Omnipotence Divine / 97 LYING AT A REVEREND FRrEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOAV1NG VERSES IX THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and love, I make my pray'r sincere. 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 sta}', their darling youth, In manhood's dawning blush; Bless him, thou God of love and truth, Up to a parent's wish ! The beauteous, seraph sister-band, With earnest tears I pray, Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, Guide thou .their steps alway. When soon or late (hey reach that coast, O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, A family in Heav'n ! THE FIRST PSALM The man, in life wherever plac'd, Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor learns their guilty lore ! ■t i 98 Nor from the seat of scornful pride Casts forth his eyes abroad, But with humility and awe Still walks before his God. That man shall flourish like the 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 mea Shall ne'er be truly blest. A PRAYER, ONDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. O Tnou Great Being ! what thou art Surpasses me to know : Yet ^ure I am, that known to thee Are all thy works below. Thy e-eature here before thee stands, All wretched and distrest ; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey thy high behest. Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath ! O, free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death ! But if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design ; Then, man my soul with firm resolves To bear and not repine ! 99 THE FIRST SIX VERSES OK TIIK NINETIETH PSALM. O Thou, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human raee ! Whose strong right hand has ever been Their stay and dwelling place 1 Before the mountains heav'd their heads Beneath thy forming hand, Before this pond'rous globe itself Arose at thy command ; That Pow'r which 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, 1 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 withered and decay'd. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, On turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786, Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; I 2 1 o f C 100 For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem ; To spare thee now is past my paw'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet ! Bending thee *mang the dewy weet ! Wi* spreckled breast, When upward-springing, blythe. to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble, birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie siibble-Jield, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread. Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies J Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweetjtoiv'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 * 101 Such fate to suffering worth is giv'nr, Who long with wants and woes has sti By human pride or cunning driv'n, To mis'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but tieav*n 9 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, eiate, Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom I TO RUIN. 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 lovv'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 abhorr'd, While life a pleas ure can afford, Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! No more I shrink appah'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 throbbing cease,. Cold mould'ring in the clay ? No fear more, no tear more, To stain my lifeless face j Enclasped, and grasped, Within thy cold embrace { I 3 102 TO MISS L— , \YITH BEATTIE'S POEMS AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. January 1, 1787.. Again the silent wheels of time Their, annual round have driv'n, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer Heav'n. No gifts have I from Indian coasts The infant year to hail ; I send you more than India boasts, In Edwin's simple tale. Our sex with guile and faithless love Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; But may, dear maid, each lover prove An Edwin, still to you ! EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND, Mai/ 1786. I Lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you, Tho' it should serve nae other end Than just a kind memento ; But how the subject-theme may gang, Let time and chance determine ; Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon. Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, And, Andrew dear, believe me, Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, And muckle they may grieve ye : For care and trouble set your thought, Ev'n when your end's attained ; And a' your views may come to nought^ Where ev'ry nerve is strained. Ijil no say, men are villains a* ; The. real, harden'd wicked, \Vha hae nae check but human law 4 Are to a few restricke4.; 103 But, och ! mankind are unco \vea$v An' little to be trusted ; If self the wavering balance shake,. Its 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 him, Ay free^ aff ban' your story tell, When wi' a bosom cronie ; But still keep something to yourset Ye scarcely teil to onie. Conceal yoursel as weel*s ye can. Frae critical dissection ; But keek thro' ev'ry other man, Wi' sharpened 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 wave 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 justified by honour ; Not for to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train-attendant ; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip^. To baud the wretch- in order ; But where ye feel your honour grig, Let that ay be your border ; Jts slightest touches, instant pause—* i)ebar a' side pretences ; 104 And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. The great Creator to revere, Must sure become the creature i But still the preaching cant forbear,. And ev'n the rigid feature : Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,. Be complaisance extended ; An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange- For Deity oifended 1 When ranting round in pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded ; Or if she gie a random stingy It may be little minded ; But when on life we're tempest-driven, A conscience but a canker — A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n, Is sure a noble anchor I Adieu, dear amiable youth ! Your heart can ne'er be wanting : May prudence, fortitude, and truth Erect your brow undaunting ! In ploughman phrase, ' God send you speed,* Still daily to grow wiser : And may you better reck the rede, Than ever did th' adviser ! ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. A' Ye wha live by soups o' drink,. A' ye wha live by crambo^clink, A' ye wha live and never think, Come mourn wi* me t Our billie's gien us a' a jink, An,' owre the sea, Lament him a' ye rantin core, Wha dearly like a random-splore, Kae mair he'll join the merry roar, In social key ; For now he 's taen anither shore, An' owre the sea* 105 The bonnie lasses wool may wTss him, And in their dear petitions place him : The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, Wi' tearful' e'e ; Far weel I wat they'll s-iirly miss him That's owre the sea. O Fortune, they liae room to grumble !' Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 'Twad been uae plea ; But he was gleg as onio wimib-le,. That's owre the sea. Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; 'Twill mak her poor auld heart I fear, In flinders flee ; He was her laureate monie a year, That's owre the sea. He saw misfortune's cauld nor-ivest Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; A jillet brak his heart at last, 111 may she be \ So, took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the sea. To tremble under Fortune's cummock* On scarce a belly iV o' drummock v Wi' his proud, independent stomach, Could ill agree ; So, row't bis hurdies in a hammock* An' owre the sea. He ne'er was gien to great misguiding* Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; Wi* him it ne'er was under hiding ; He dealt it 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'll find him ay a dainty chiel, And fou o' glee ; 106 He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, That's cure the sen. Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billle ! Your native soil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourish like a lilly, Now bonnilie L I'll toast ye in- my hindmost gillie, Tho' owre the sea* TO A HAGGIS. Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race ! Aboon them a* ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o' a grace, As lang's my aFm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies 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. His knife see rustic labour dight, An' cut you 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, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums ; Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, Beikankit hums. Is there that o'er his French ragout. Or olio that wad staw a sow, Qrjricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sccnner^ Locks down wi' sneerin, scornfu' view On sic a dinnet ? 107 Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a withered rash, His spindle shank a guid whip lash, His nieve a nit ; Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit ! But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll mak it whissle ; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, Like taps o' thrissle. Ye pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, Gie her a Haggis ! A DEDICATION. TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. Expect na, Sir, in this narration, A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication, To roose you up, an* ca' you guid, An* sprung o' great an' noble bluid, Because ye're surnam'd like his grace, Perhaps related to the race ; Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu* lie, Set up a face, how I stopt 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 needna bow, For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; And when I downa yoke a naig, Then, Lord be thankit, / can beg ; Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, It's just sic poet an' sic patron. 108 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'll no refus't, Till aft his guidness is abus'd : And rascals whyles that do him wrang, Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : As master,, landlord, husband, father, He does na rail his part in either. But then, uae thanks to him for a' that ; Nae godly symptonk ye can ca' that ; It's naetning but a milder feature, Of our peor, sinfu' corrupt nature : Ye'U get the best o ? moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of orthodo That he's the poor man's friend in need, The gentleman in word and dtcd, It's no thro' terror ofd-mn-tion; It's just a carnal inclination. Morality, thou deadly banc. Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is In mora! mercy, truth, and justice! Xo — stretch a point to catch a plack ; Abuse a brother to his back ; Steal thro' a xvinnqck frae a wh-re, But point the rake that taks the door : Be to the poor like onie whunstane, And hand their noses to the grunstane ; Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; No matter, stick to sound believing. } 109 Learn three-mile pray'rs, and 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'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. O ye wha leave the springs of C-h-n> For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! Ye sons of heresy and error, Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! When vengeance draws the sword in wrath, Arid 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 mis'ry moans, And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, I 'maist forgat my dedication ; But when divinity comes 'cross me, My readers still are sure to lose me. S j, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour,. But I maturely thought it proper, When a' my works I did review, To dedicate thein, Sir, to You: Because (ye need na tak it iil) I thought them something like yoursel. Then patronise them wi' your favour, And your petitioner shall ever — I had amaist said, ever pray, But that's a word I need na say : For pray in I hae little skill o't ; I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; But I'se repeat each poor man's prayr, That kens or hears about you, Sir — * May ne'er misfortune's gowiing bark, ' Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! * May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, * For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! ' May K******'s far honour'd name ' Lang beet his hymeneal flame, t K } 110 ' Till H*******'s, at least a dizen, • * Are frae their nuptial labours risen : ' Five bonnie lasses round their table," ' And seven braw fellows, stout an' able, c To serve their king and country weel, ' By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! * May health and peace, with mutual rays, * Shine on the ev'ning o' his days : ' Till his wee curlie Johns ier-oe, ' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, * The last, sad, mournful rites bestow [* I will not wind a lang conclusion, Wi' complimentary effusion : But whilst your wishes and endeavours Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, Your much indebted, humble servant. But if (which Pow'rs above prevent !) That iron-hearted carl, Want, Attended in his grim advances, By sad mistakes, and black mischances, While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, Make you as poor a dog as I am, Your humble servant then no more ; For who would humbly serve the poor But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n! W r hile recollection's pow'r is given, If, in the vale of humble life, The victim sad of fortune's strife, I, thro* the tender gushing tear, Should recognize my master dear, If friendless, low, we meet together, Then, Sir, your hand — my friend and brother .' TO A LOUSE, OK SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH. Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie ! Your impudence protects you sairly : I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace ; Tho* faith, I fear ye dine but sparely On sic a place. Ill Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonncr, Detested, shuim'd by saunt an' sinner, How dare ye set your fit upon her, Sae fine a lady ! Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, On some poor body. Swith, in some beggar's haft'et squattle ; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle, In shoals and nations ; Whare horn and bane ne'er dare unsettle Your thick plantations. Now baud ye there, ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'reis, snug an' tight ; Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right Till ye've got on it, The vera tapmost, tow'ring height, O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump and gray as onie grozet : O for some rank, mercurial rozet, Or fell, red smeddura, I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, Wad dress your droddum ! I wad na been surpris'd to spy You on an auld wife's flannen toy ; Or aibiins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat ; But Miss's fine Lunardi 1 fie, How dare ye do't ! O Jenny, dinna toss your head, An' set your beauties a' abread ! Ye little ken what cursed speed The biastie's makin ! Thae luinJcs and Jinger-ends, I dread, Are notice takin ! O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us To see oicrsels as others see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, And foolish notion : What airs in. dress an' gait wad iea'e us, And ev'n Devotion ! 112 ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once, beneath a monarch's feet, Sat legislation's sov'reign pov. 'rs ! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the lingering hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade. Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy trade his 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. Thy Sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail ; Their views enlarg'd. their lib'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural vale : Attentive still to sorrow's wail, Or modest merit's silent claim ; And never may their sources fail ! And never envy blot their name ! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn ! Gay as the gilded summer skj r , Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy i Fair B — strikes th' adoring eye, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ; I see the sire of love on high, And own his work indeed divine ! There, watching high the least alarms, Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar ; L;ke some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar : The pond'rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; Have oft withstood jssailing war, And oft repeil'd th* invader's shock. 113 With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, I view that noble, stately dome, Where Scotia's kings of other years, Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : Alas ! how chang'd the times to come ! Their royal name low in the dust ! Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Whose ancestors, in days of yore, Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps, Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : Ev'n / who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, Bold-following where your fathers led ! Edina ! Scotia s darling seat ! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, W T here once, beneath a monarch's feet, Sat legislation's sovereign pow'rs ! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray 'd, And singing, lone, the Irng'rirrg hours, I shelter in thy honour' d shade. EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. April 1st, 1785. While briers and woodbines budding green, An' paitricks scraichm loud at e'en, An' morning poussie whiddin seen, Inspire my muse, This freedom, in an unknown ft ien', I pray excuse. On fasten-een we had a rockin, To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; And there was muckle fun an' jokin, Ye need na doubt; At length we had a hearty yokin At sang about* K13 114 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. I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, "What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; Thought I, « Can this be Pope, or Steele, ' Or Beattie's wark ?' They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel About Muirkirk. It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, And sae about him there I spier't, Then a' that ken't him round declar'd He had ingine, Thatjiane 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 himsel, Or witty catches, 'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, He had few matches. Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, Tho' I should pawn my pieugh and graith, Or die a cadger pownie's death, At some dyke-back, A pint an* gill I'd gie them baith To hear your crack. But, first an' foremost. I should tell, Amaist as soon as I could spell, I to the crambo-jingle fell, Tho' rude an' rough, Yet crooning to a body's sel, Does weel eneugh. I am nae poet , in a sense, But just a rhymer, like, by chance, An' hae to learning nae pretence, Vet, what the matter? Whene'er my muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. 115 Your critic-folk may cock their nose, And say, * How can you e'er propose, * You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 1 To mak a sang f 9 But, by your leaves, my learned foes, Ye're maybe wrang. What's a* your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; If honest nature made you fools, What sairs your grammars ? Ye'd better 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 Parnassus By dint o' Greek i Gie me ae spark o* Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire ; Then tho' I drudge thro* dub an' mire At pleugh or cart, My muse, tho' namely in attire, May reach the heart, for a spunk o' Allan's glee, Or Fergussoti's, the bauld and slee, Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, If I can hit it ! That would be lear eneugh for me, If I £ould get it. Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, Tho' real friends, I b'iieve, are few, Yet, if your catalogue be fou, I'se no insist, But gif ye want ae friend that's true, I'm on your list. 1 winna blaw about mysel ; As ill I like my fauts to tell ; But friends, and folk that wish me well, They sometimes roose me, Tho* I maun own, as monie stiU As far abuse m?. 116 There's ae tveefaut they whyles lay to me, I like the lasses — Glide 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, I should be proud to meet you there ; We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, If we forgather, An* hae a swap o' rhymvn-'ware Wi' ane anither. The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; Syne we'll sit down an' tak our 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 catck-the-plack ! I dinna like to see your face, Nor hear your crack. But ye whom social pleasure charms, Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, Who hold your being on the terms, ' Each aid the others V Come to my bowl, come to my arms, My friends, my brothers ! 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 whissle, Your friend and servant. 117 TO THE SAME. April 21 tf, 1785. While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'enin's edge I take, To own I'm debtor, To honest-hearted, auld Laprmk, For his kind letter. Forjesket sair, with weary legs, RattJin the corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs Their ten-hours bite, My akwart muse sair pleads and begs, I would na write. The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, She's saft at best, and something lazy, Quo' she ' Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 1 This month an' mair, * That trowth my head is grown right dizzie, * An' something sair.' Her dowff excuses pat me mad ; * Conscience/ says I, « ye thowless jad ! * I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, ' This vera night ; * So dinna ye affront your trade, 1 But rhyme it right. 1 Shall bauld Laprailc, the king o' hearts, ' Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, * Roose you sae weel for your deserts, ' In terms sae friendly, 4 Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, * An' thank him kindly V Sae I gat paper in a blink, An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : Quoth I, * Before 1 sleep a wink, * I vow I'll close it ! * An* if ye winna mak it clink, * By Jove I'll prose it !» 118 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' gteesorne touch ! ' Ne'er mind how Fortune tvqft an' txarp • She's but a b-tch. She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg Wi' ivart pow, I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, As lang's I dow ! Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, Still persecuted by the limmer Frae year to year ; But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, i", Rob, am here. Do ye envy the city Gent, Behint a kist to lie and sklent, Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. And muckle wame, In some bit Brugh to represent A Baillie's name ? Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane, Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, But lordly stalks, While caps and bonnets aff are taen, As by he walks ? ' O Thou wha gies us t upon a eart, 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 heaved in John Barleycorn,, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor,. To work him farther woe, And still, as signs of life appear'di They tossM him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame* The marrow of his bones ; But a miller u&'d him worst of all, For he crush'd him 'tween two stones* And they hae ta'en his very hearths blood, And drank it round and round ; And still the more and more they drank* Then- joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold* Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, JTwiU make your Courage rise, 128 'Twill make a man forget his woe ; Twill heighten all his joy : Twill make the widow's heart to sing^ Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn^ Each man a glass in hand ; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland t A FRAGMENT. Tune. 'Gillicrankie.' When Guilford good our pilot stoodV And did our helm thraw, man, Ae night, at tea, began a plea, Within America, man : Then up they gat the maskin-pat, And in the sea did jaw, man ; 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, what-reck, 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 Hotve took o'er the knowe- For Philadelphia, man : Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin Guid christian blood to draw, man u But at Nexv York, wi' knife an' fork, Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an* whip^ Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; Then lost his way, ae misty day, In Saratoga shaw t man.. 129 Cormvallis 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 tear a {'a', man ; And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure, The German Chief to thraw, man : For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, Nae mercy had at a*, man ; An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, An 1 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. Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, He swept the stakes awa 5 , man, Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, Led him a sair faux pas, man : The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, On Chatham s boy did ca', man ; An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, ' Up, Willie, waur them a', man 1' Behind the throne then GrenvilWs 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 heavenly 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 Ca. GowfTd Willie like a ba', man, Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise Behind him in a raw, man ; 130 An* Caledon threw by the drone, An' did her whittle draw, man ; An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood To make it guid in law, man. SONG. Tune, * Corn rigs are Bonnie,* It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light, I held awa to Annie : The time flew by wi' tentless heed, Till 'tween the late and early ; Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, To see me thro' the barley. 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 : My blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o' barley ! But. by the moon and stars so bright, That shone that hour so clearly ! She aye shall bless that happy night, Amang the rigs o' barley. I hae been blythe wi* comrades dear; I hae been merry drinkin ; Thae been joyfu* gath'rin gear ; I hae been happy thinkin ; 131 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. CHORUS. Corn rigs, an' larley rigs, An* corn rigs are bonnie : I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs ivi Annie. SONG, COMPOSED IN AUGUST* Tune, ' I had a horse, I had nae mair.' Now westling winds, and slaught'ring guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, Amang the blooming heather : Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, Delights the weary farmer ; And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, To muse upon my charmer. The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; The plover loves the mountains ; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; The soaring hern the fountains : Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves The path of man to shun it ; The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, The spreading thorn the linnet. Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, The savage and the tender ; Some social join, and leagues combine ; Some solitary wander : A vaunt, away ! the cruel sway, Tyrannic man's dominion ; The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! But Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, • Thick ilies the skimming swallow ; The sky is blue, the fields in view, All fading-green and yellow : Come let us stray our gladsome way. And view the charms of nature ; The rustling'corn, the fruited thorn, And every happy creature. We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly ; I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, Swear how I love thee dearly : Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, Not autumn to the farmer, So dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely charmer ! SONG. Tune, ' My Nannie, OS Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows, ' Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And Til awa to Nannie, O. The westlin wind blaws Joud an' shill ; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O But I'll get my pi aid, an' out Til steal, An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' youn Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : May iil beta' the flattering tongue That wad beguile my Nannie, O. Her face is fair, her heart is true, As spotless as she's bonnie, O : The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew, Nae purer is than Nannie, O. A country lad is my degree, AnVfew there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. 133 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 Nannie, 0. Our auld Guidman delights to view His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, An' has nae care but Nannie, O. Come weel, come woe, I care na by, I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; Nae ither care in life have I, But live, an' love my Nannie, O. GREEN GROW THE RASHES. A FRAGMENT. CHORUS, Green grow the rashes, O J Green grow the rashes, 1 The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, Were spent amang the lasses, 1 There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; What signifies the life o' man, An* 'twere na for the lasses, O. Green grow, &c. The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O ; An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. Green grow, &c. But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O ; An' warly cares, an warly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! Green grow, &c. For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. Green grow, &c t M / 134 Auld Nature swears, the lovely dear* Her noblest work she classes, O : Her 'prentice han* she trf*d 6ft man, An' then she macte the lapses, (X Green grow, Ac. Tune, « Jockey's Grey Sreiks.* Again rejoicing nature see* Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the Df e«e, All freshly steep'd in marning dews. CH0MM« And maun I still on Meriief doat. And bear the scorn fhaFs in her e'e t For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk. An it ivinna 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. And maun I still, Sec* The merry ploughbdy cheers his fearn, Wi* joy the tentie Seedsman stalks, But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. And maun I still, Ac. The wanton coot the water skims, Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately 6wan majestic swims, And every thing is blest but I. And maun I still } Ac. * This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentfeaan in Edac- fcurgh. a particular friend of the author's. f Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamnt. 135 The sheep-herd sUeks his faulding slap, And owre the moorlands whistles shill, Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step I meet him on the dewy hill. And maun I still, &c. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. And maun I still, &c. Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, And raging bend the naked tree ; Thy gloom will sooth 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 f For it* s jet y jet black, an* ii?s like a hawk. An* it xoinna let a body be. SONG. Tune, * Roslin Castle.' The gloomy night is gatjh'nng fas£, Loud roars the wild inconstant bl&sit, Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain ; The hunter now has left the moor, The scatter'd coveys meet secure, While here I wander, prest wi*ti care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr. The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn By early Winter's ravage ttorn ; 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 mus,t dare, Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr, M 2 136 'Tis not the surging billow's roar* 'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; T ho* 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 bonnie banks of Ayr. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dalesy Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! Farewell, my friends ; Farewell, my foes ! My peace with these, my love with, those— The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr. SONG. Tune, ■ GUderoy: 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 last throb that leaves my heart, While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh ! 187 FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN 0F ST. JAMES's LODGE, TARBOLTON; Tune, ' Good night, and joy be xvi you a* P Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu J Dear brothers of the mystic tie.* Ye favour'd, ye enlightened 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'll 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 far awa'. May freedom, harmony, and love, Unite you in the grand design, Beneath th' omniscient eye above, The glorious Architect divine ! That you may keep th' unerring line t Still rising by the 'plummet 1 's Taw, Till order bright completely shine, Shall be my pray'r when far awa*. And you farewell ! whose merits claim, Justly, that highest badge to wear 1 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 Jar axoa\ M 3 138 SONG. Tune, ' Prepare , my dear brethren, to the Tavern let'sjly.' 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. 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. Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; But see you the croiun how it waves in the air, There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. The wife of my bosom, alas \ she did die ; For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a big-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 waddled up stairs, With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. ' Life's cares they are comforts,'* — a maxim laid down By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown ; And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care. 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 every true brother of the compass and square Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care ! • ? Young's Night Thoughts*. 139 WRITTEN IK FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,, ON NITH-SIDE. Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, Fear not clouds will always lower. As youth and Love with sprightly dance,. Beneath thy morning star advance, Pleasure with her siren air May delude the thoughtless pair ; Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup,, Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. As thy day grows warm and high, Life's meridian flaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale? Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? Check thy climbing step, elate, Evils lurk in felon wait : Dangers, eagle-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-neuk of ease. There ruminate with sober thought, On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought, And teach the sportive younkers round, Saws of experience, sage and sound. Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, The grand criterion of his fate, Is not, Art thou high or low ? Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? Did many talents gild thy span ? Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? Tell them, and .press it K>n their mind, As thou thyself must shortly find, The smile or frown of awful HeaVn, 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 the wretched, vile, and base* Thus resign' d and guiet, creep To the bed of lasting sleep ; Sleep, whence thou shall ne'er awake, Night, where dawn shall never break, Till future .life, future no more, To light and joy the good restore, To light and joy unknown before. Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! Quod the beadsman of Nith-side. i ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON, A Gentleman ivho held the Patent for his honours immediately 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, Heav'nly Light ! O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody * The meikle devil wi' a woodie Haurl thee hanie to his black smiddie, O'er hurcheon hides. And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie Wi' thy auld sides J 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 moura By wood and wild, Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, Frae man exii'd. 141 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 I Ye haz'lly 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 lee j Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, In scented bow'rs : Ye roses on your thorny tree, The first o* flow'rs. At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Droops with a diamond at his head, At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed x 1* th' rustling gale, Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, Come join my wail. Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; Ye whistling plover ; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; He's gane for ever ! Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; Ye duck and drake, wi* airy wheels Circling the lake ; Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Rair for his sake. Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day- *Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; And when ye wing your annual way Frae our cauld shore,. Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, Wham we deplore. 14£ Ye houlets, frae your ivy twwrV, In *ome auld tree, or eldritch fcow'r, What time the moon, wi' silent glowY, Sets up her horn, Wail thro* tlje dreary midinight hour Till waukrife morn ! O rivers, forests, hills, and plains i 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, flow'ry tresses shear, For him that's dead ! Thou, autumn, wi* thy yellow hair, In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air The roaring blast, Wide o'er the naked world declare The worth we've lost ! Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light ! Mourn, empress of the silent night I And you, ye twinkling starnies brigfit, My Matthew mourn ! For through your orbs he's ta'en his fligfa, Ne'er to return. O Henderson ! the man ! the brother I And art thou gone, and gone for ever! And hast thou crost that unknown river, Life'.s-dreary ibound 1 Like thee, where shall I £ad another, The world acound ! Go to ypur ficuipfeur'd tombs, ye Gteat,. In a' the tinsel trash o* state i! But by thy honest turf JKH -wait, Thou man of worth ! And weep the ae best fellow's fate E'er lay in .earth. 143 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. If thou uncommon merit hast, Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; A look of pity hither cast, For Matthew was a poor man. If thou a noble sodger art, That passest by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart ; For Matthew was a brave man*. If thou on men, their works and ways, Canst throw uncommon light, man ; Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, For Matthew was a bright man. If thou at friendship's sacred ca' Wad life itself resign, man ; Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', For Matthew was a kind man ! If thou art staunch without a stain, Like the unchanging blue, man ; This was a kinsman o' thy ain, For Matthew was a true man. If thou liast wit, and fun, and fire, And ne'er guid wine did fear, man ; This was thy billie, dam, and sire, For Matthew was a queer man. If ony whiggish whingin sot, To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; May dool and sorrow be his lot, For Matthew was a rare man. LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON the: approach ov spring. Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming t*ee> U4 And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea : Now Phcebus cheers the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies ; But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing ; The merle, in its noontide bow'r, Makes woodland echoes ring ; The mavis mild wi' many a note, Sings drowsy day to rest : In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi' care nor thrall opprest. Now blooms the lily by the bank, The primrose down the brae ; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae ; The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang ; But I, the Queen of a', Scotland, Maun lie in prison Strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Where happy I hae been ; Fu* lightly raise I in the morn, As blythe lay down at e'en : And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, And mony a traitor there ; Yet here I lie in foreign bands, And never ending care. But as for thee, thou false woman, 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 Fra'e 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 J 145 God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, Or turn their hearts to thee : And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me ! O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns Nae mair light up the morn ] Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn ! And in the narrow house o* death Let winter round me rave ; And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave ! ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. The lamp of day with ill-presaging glare, Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; TV inconstant blast howi'd thro* the darkening air, And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;* Or mus'd where limpid streams once haliow'd, well,-]' Or tnould'ring ruins mark the sacred Fane. J Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beading rocks, The clouds swifr-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky, The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. The paly moon rose in the livid east, And mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form, In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. "Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. * The King's Park, at Holy rood-house. f St. Anthony's Well. \ St. Anthony's Chapel, t N • 146 Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, That like a deathful meteor gleam d afar, And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world " My patriot son fills an untimely grave !" With accents wild and lifted arms she cried ; " Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, " Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride. " A weeping country joins a widow's tear, " The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; " The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, " And grateful science heaves the heart -felt sigh— a I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; " I saw fair freedom's blossom richly blow : 4i But ah ! how hope is born but to expire I " Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.—. " My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, " \\ hile empty greatness saves a worthless name ! " No; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, " And future ages hear his growing fame. "And I will join a mother's tender cares, " Thro' future times to make his virtues last ; " That distant years may boast of otVr Blairs" — She said, and vanish' d with the sweeping blast.— TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. OF FINTRA. Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest :) Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? (It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,) And hear him curse the light he first survey 'd, And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade ? Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 147 The lion and the bull thy care have found, One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground ; Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. — Thy minions, kings defend, contro.il, devour, In all th* omnipotence of rule and power. — 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 rones, are snug. Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard! A thing unteachabie in world's skill, And half an idiot too, more helpless still. No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun ; No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, And those, alas ! not A-malthea's horn : No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, Clad in rich dulness* comfortable fur, In naked feeling, and in aching pride, He bears th' unbroken blast from ev ry side : Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. Critics — appall'd I venture on the name, Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear i Foil'd, bleeding, tortur d, in the unequal strife, The hapless poet flounders on thro' life., Tiii fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, )• Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page, He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! m2 1 148 So, by some hedge, the gen'rolis 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. 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, sober seiiish ease they sip it up : Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, They only wonder ' some folks' do not starve. The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, And thinks the mailard a sad worthless dog. When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, And just conclude that ' fools are fortune's care.* So, heavy, passive to the tempest's 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. 1 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 eciips'd at noon appears, And left us darkling in a world of tears :) O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare ! Thro* a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! May bliss domestic smooth his private path; Give energy to life ; and sooth his latest breath, With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 149 LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 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 ta'en. He lean'd him to an ancient aik, Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years ;: His locks were bleached white wi' 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 aged year ! " A few short months, and giad and gay, " Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; " But nocht in all revolving time "Can gladness bring again to me.. " I am a bending aged tree, " That long has stood the wind and rain ; " But now has come a cruel blast, (l And my last hald of earth is gane : " Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, " Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; " But I maun lie before the storm, " And ithers plant them in my room. I've seen sae mony changefu' years* " On earth I am a stranger grown ; " I wander in the ways of men, 2 Alike unknowing and unknown ; . N 3 150 "Unheard, unpiried, unreliev'd, " I bear alane my lade o' care, " For silent, low, on beds of dust, "Lie a' that would my sorrows share. tl And last (the sun 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 aged ken, " On forward wing for ever fled. " Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! " The voice of woe and wild despair ! " Awake, resound thy latest lay, " Then sleep in silence evermair ! " And thou, my last, best, only friend, " That fillest an untimely tomb, " Accept this tribute from the bard " Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. " In poverty's low barren vale, " Thick mist, obscure, involv'd me round ; " Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, *' Nae ray of fame was to be found : u Thou found'st me, like the morning sun " That melts the fogs in limpid air, u 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 ! H The bridegroom may forget the bride " Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; f The monarch may forget the crown " That on his head an hour has been ; 151 11 The mother may forget the child " That smiles sae sweetly on her knee j " But I'll remember thee, Giencairn, " And a' that thou hast done for me !'* TAM O' SHANTER, A TALE. Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. Gawin JJjuglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate ; While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scotch 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 Tain o' Shantcr, As he frae Ayr, ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonnie lasses.) O Tarn ! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The Smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesy'd, that late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doonj Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Allovcay's auld haunted kirk. I5 C I Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greets To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen" d sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises ! But to our tale : Ae market night,. Tarn had got planted unco right ; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter ; And ay the ale was growing better : The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious :. The souter tauld his queerest stories ; Tne landlord's- laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle,. Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown 'd himself amang the nappy; As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure :• Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r — its bloom is shed ; Or like the snow-fails in the river, A moment white — then melts for ever ; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place ; . Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. — Nae man can tether time or tide ; The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 153 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his grey 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 Scotch sonnet ; Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares ; Kirk-AUo'way 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 drucken 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 Mimgo'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 glancing ; And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; Wi' usquabae we'll 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 astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light ; And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! Warlocks and witches in a dance ; Nae cotillion brent new frae France y 154 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. Put life and mettle in their heels : A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o* beast ; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge : He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirL — Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; And by some devilish cantrip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light,— By which heroic Tarn was able To note upon the haly table, A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ! Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; A garter, which a babe had strangled ; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o* life bereft, The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; Wi' mair, o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu' ! As 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, trtey 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 Tarn, O Tarn ! had they been queans. A' plump and strapping, in their teens ; Their sacks, instead o J creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen ! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies! For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies. I 155 But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping an* flinging on a crummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tarn kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, There was ae winsome wench and walie, That night inlisted in the core, (Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear), Her cutty sark, o' Paisley ham, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho* sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie.— Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scotch ('twas 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 pow'r ; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was and Strang) And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd ; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi* might and main : Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, " Weel done, 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 their byke ; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; As eager runs the market-crowd, When, " Catch the thief!'' resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. 156 Ah, Turn / ah, Turn ! thou'll get thy fairin ! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! Kate soon will be a 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 Tarn 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, tak heed : Whene'er to drink you are i^ciin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the jovs o'er dear, Remember Tarn o Shunters mare. ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. Inhuman man • curse on thy barb'rous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : May never pity sooth thee with a sigh, Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little that of life remains : No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains, To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. * It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. — It may he proper likewise to mention to the be- nighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. 157 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,. No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheering dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy haple fate. ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOxMSON, On crowning his Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire,- with Bays. While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, Or tunes Eolian strains between : While Summer with a matron grace Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace The progress of the spiky blade : While Autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his aged head, And sees, with self-approving mind, Each creature on his bounty fed : While maniac Winter rages o'er The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : So long, sweet Poet of the year, Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; While Scotia, with exulting tear, Proclaims that Thomson was her son* t O 158 EPITAPHS, &c. ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER, Here souter **** in death does sleep ; To h-11, if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, He'll haud it weel thegither. ON A NOISY POLEMIC. Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : O death, it's my opinion, Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin b-tch, Into thy dark dominion ! ON WEE JOHNNIE. Hie jacet wee Johnnie. Whoe'eji thou art, O reader, know, That death has murder'd Johnnie ! An' here his body lies fu' low For saul he ne'er had ony. FOR R. A. Esq. Know thou, O stranger to the fame Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! (For none that knew him need be told) A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. FOR G. H. Esq. The poor man weeps — here G n sleeps, Whom canting wretches blam'd : But with suck as he, where'er he be, May I be sav'd or damn'd ! FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. O "Ve, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, .Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend I 159 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 virtue's side ?*'* A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired 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 area 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 course 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 jlame, But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name i 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-controul 9 Is wisdom's root, • Goldsmith. O 2 160 ON THE LATE CAPT. GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, Collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom, Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, l ; rae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's ; If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it ; A duel's amang you taking notes, And, faith, he'll prent It. If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, O* stature short, but genius blight, That's he, mark weel — And wow ! he has an unco slight O' cauk and keel. By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,* Or kirk deserted by its riggin, It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in Some eldritch part, WT deils, they say, L — d save's ! colleague At some black art Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha* or chamer, Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, And you deep read in hell's black grammar, Warlocks and witches ; Ye'll quake at his conjuring hummer, Ye midnight b es« 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 ta'en the — Antiquarian tradc y I think they call it. He has a fouth o' auld nick nackets : Kusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,f * Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. •}• Vide liis Treaties on Ancient Armour and Weapons. 161 Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, A towmont guid ; And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Before the Flood. Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; Auld Tubal-cain's fire-shool and fender; That which distinguished the gender O' Balaam's ass ; A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, Weel shod wi' brass. Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, The cut of Adam's philibeg ; The knife that nicket Abel's craig He'll prove you fully, It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lang-kail gullie. — But wad ye see him in his glee, For meikle glee and fun has he, Then set him down, and twa or three Guid fellows wi T him y And port,' O port ! shine thou a wee, And then ye'll see him ! Now, by the povv'rs o r verse and prose I Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — Whue'er o' thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca' thee ; I'd take the rascal by the nose, Wad say, Shame fa' thee t 1Q MISS CRUIKSHANKS, A VERY YOUNG LADY, Written on the Blank Leaf of a Book presented to her. by the Author. Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay. Blooming on thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! Never Boreas' hoary path, Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 3 162 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, Propping 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. ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, Esq. Brother to a Young Lady, a particular Friend of the Author's. Sad thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms : I>eath tears the brother of her love From Isabella's arms. Sweetly deckt with pearly dew The morning ro^e may blow ; But cold successive noontide blasts May lay its beauties low. Fair on Isabella's morn The sun propitious smil'd; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 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 eye* To scenes beyond the grave. 163 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 TUK NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. My Lord, I know, your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain ; Embolden' d thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble Slave complain, How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, waste my 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. Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, As Poet B**** came by, That, to a bard I should be seen Wi' half my channel dry : A panegyric rhyme, I ween, Even as I was he shor'd me ; But had I in my glory been, He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, In twisting strength I rin ; • Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful^ but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees- and shrubs. 164 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, attho* I say't mysel, Worth gaun a mile to see. Would then my noble master please To grant my highest wishes, He'll shade my banks wi* tow'ring trees, And bonnie spreading bushes ; Delighted doubly then, my Lord, You'll wander on my banks, And listen mony a grateful bird Return you tuneful thanks. The sober laverock, warbling wild, Shall to the skies aspire ; The gowdspink, music's gayest child, Shall sweetly join the choir: The blackbird strong, the lint white clear, The mavis mild and mellow ; The robin pensive autumn cheer, In ail her locks of yellow ; This too, a covert shall ensure, To shield them from the storm ; And coward maukin sleep secure, Low in her grassy form : Here shall the shepherd make his seat, To weave his crown of flow'rs; Or find a sheltering safe retreat, From prone descending showers. And here, by sweet endearing stealth, Shall meet the loving pair, Despising worlds with all their wealth As empty idle cart : The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms The hour of heav'n to grace, And birks extend their fragrant arms, To screen the dear embrace. Here haply too, at vernal dawn, Some musing bard may stray, And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,, And misty mountain, grey ; J6J Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, Mild-chequering thro' the trees, Rave to my darkly dashing stream, Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, My lowly banks o'erspread, And view, deep-pending in the pool, Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest My craggy cliffs adorn ; And, for the little songster's nest, The close embow'ring thorn. So may old Scotia's darling hope, Your little angel band, Spring, like their fathers, up to prop Their honour-'d native land ! So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, The social-flowing glasses, The grace be — " A thole's honest men, " And Athole's bonnie lasses V ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL IN LOCH-TURIT. A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OUGHTERTYRE. Why, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? TeU 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 shelt'ring rock, Bide the surging billow's shock. Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 166 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 aione 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 pow'rs you scorn ; Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, Other lakes and other springs ; And the foe you cannot brave, Scorn at least to be his slave. WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS NEAR LOCH-NESS. Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy Hoods ; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As high in air the bursting torrents flow, As deep recoiling surges loam below, Prone down the rock the whitening sheets decends, And viewless echo's ear, astonish'd, rends.. 167 Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, low'rs. Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, And still below the horrid cauldron boils — BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS. Sweet Flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, And ward o' mony a prayer, What heart o' stane wad thou na move, Sae helpless, sweet, and fair! .November hirples o'er the lea, Chill, on thy lovely form ; And gane, alas ! the shelf 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 ! 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 fast, Fair on the summer morn : Now feebly bends she in the blast, Unshelter'd and forlorn. Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, Unscath'd by ruffian liand ! And from thee many a parent stem Arise to deck our land ! 168 THE WHISTLE. A BALLAD. 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 Bac- chus. He had a little ehony Wliistle, which, at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the table, and whoever was last able to blow it, eve- ry body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stock- holm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several cf the petty courts in Germany ; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. — After many over- throws on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Ro- bert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet of that name ; who, after three days and three nights hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, And blctv on l.lw Whistle Iris requiem shrill. Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. — On Friday, the 1 6th of October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton • Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued ; and Alexander Fenjusson, Esq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the field. I Sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, And long with this Wliistle all Scotland shall ring. Old Loda,* still rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — ",This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, " And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more !' : Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, What champions ventur'd. what champions fell ; The son of great Loda was conqueror still, And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. * See Oman's Carrit-thura. 169 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 renew'd. Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ; Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; An trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins; And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, And once more, in claret, try which was the mam " By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, " Before I surrender so glorious a prize, " I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 41 And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend,. Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. A bard was selected to witness the fray, And tell future ages the feats of the day ; A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. The dinner being over, the claret they ply, And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. * See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. t p 170 Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next 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 ancestors did. Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; A high-ruling Eider to wallow in wine! He left the foul business to folks less divine. The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend? Though fate said — a hero should perish in light ; So uprose bright Phoebus— and down fell the knight. Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — " Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink • " But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, " Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! " Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with " Bruce, " Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : " So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; " The fieid thou hast won, by yon bright god of day l y SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET.* ATJLD NIBOR, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter, Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye Hatter, Ye speak sae fair ; For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, Some less maun sair- Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, * This is prefixed to the poems of David SHlar, published *t Kil- marnock, 1*89. 171 Tae cheer you thro' the weary widdle O' war'ly cares, Till bairns' bairns kindly cud Your auld gray hair**. But, Davie, lad, I'm redye're glaikit ; I'm tauld the muse ye hae negleckit ; An' gif it'ssae, ye sad belicket Until ye fyke ; Sic hauns as you snd ne'er be faikit, Be hain't wha like. For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, Rivin the words tae 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 O' rhymm' clink, The devil-haet, that I sud ban, They ever think. Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o* livin% Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' : But just the pouchie put the nieve in, An' while ought's there. Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', An' fash nae mair. Leeze me on rhyme ! it's aye a treasure, My chief, amaist my only pleasure, At hame, a-fieP, at wark or leisure, The Muse, poor hizzie ! Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, She's seldom lazy. Hand tae the Muse, my dainty Davie : The warl' may piay you monie a shavie ; But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, Tho' e'er sae puir, Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie Frae door tae door. P 2 I?2 SONG. Tune—" Bonnie Dundee. In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a', Their carnage and dress, a stranger would guess, In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' i Miss Miller is fine, Miss Maryland's divine, Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw ; There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, But Armour's* the jewel for me o' them a'. WRITTEN On the Blank Leaf of a Copy of the Poems, presented to an Old Sweetheart, then Married. Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, Sweet early object of my youthful vows, Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. — And when you read the simple artless rhymes, One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. THE JOLLY BEGGARS. A CANTATA. EECITATIVO. When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, Or wavering like the Bauekie-bird f „ Bedim cauld Boreas' Mast ; When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, And infant frosts begin to bite, In hoary cranreuch drest ; * This is one of our Bard's early productions. Miss Armour is now Mrs. Burns. f The oid Scotch name for the Bat. 173 Ae night at e'en a merry core 0' randie, gangrel bodies, In Poosie-Nansie's heid the splore, To drink their orra daddies : Wi* quaffing and laughing, They ranted and they sang ; Wi' jumping and thumping, The vera girdle rang. First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, Ane sat, weel brac'd wi* mealy bags, And knapsack a' in order ; His doxy lay within his arm, \YY usquebae an' blankets warm — She blinket on her sodger ; An' ay he gies the tozie drab The tither skelpin' kiss, While she held up her greedy gab Just like an aumos dish.. Ilk smack still, did crack still,. Just like a cadger's whip, Then staggering and swaggering He roar'd this ditty up — AIR. Tune — " Soldiers' Joy." I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars', And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench r When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum* Lai de daudle, &c. My 'prenticeship I past where my leader broath'dhis last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram; I served out my trade when the gi ne was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum* Lai de dan die, &c I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries* And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me> I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum- Lai de dandle, &c. And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg^ And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bumy ie 3 174 I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my caliet, As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. Lai de daudle- &c What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,. Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, X could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum. Lai de daudle, &c RECITATIVO. He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, A boon the chorus roar ; While frighted rattons backward leuk, And seek the benmost bore ;■ A fairy fiddler f'rae the neuk. He skiri'd out encore ! But up arose the martial chuck, And laid the loud uproar. AIR. Tune — " Soldier Laddie." I once was a maid, tho f I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men ; Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,, No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. Sing) Lai de lal, &c. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,, Transported I was with my sodger laddie. Sing, Lai de lal, &c. But the goc!ly old chaplain left him in the lurch, The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the luily, Twos then I prov'd raise to my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de lal, &c. Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got ; From the gilded spontcon to the life I was ready,, X asked no more but a sodger laddie. Song, Lal de lal, &.q k 175 But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, Till I met my old boy at a Cuningham fair ; Ilia rags regimental they flutter' d so gaudy, My heart it rejoie'd at my sodger laddie. Sing, Lai de lal, &c. And now I have Hv'd — I know not how long, And still I can join in a cup or a song ; But whilst with both hands 1 can hold the glass steady Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de lal, &c. RECITATIVO. Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlings For monie a pursie she had hooked, And had in mouy a well been ducked. Her dove had beca a Highland laddie, Bui weary fa* the waefu' woodie ! Wi* sighs and sobs she thus began To wail her braw John Highlandman. ALR. Tune — " an ye were dead guidman." A Highland lad my love was born, The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; But he still was raithrV to his clan, My gallant braw John Highlandman. CHORUS. Sing, hey m D oraw John Highlandman £ Sing, ho iuj bravo John Highlandman ! There's not a lad in a' the Ian' Was match for my John Highlandman* With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, An' gude claymore down by his side, The ladies hearts he did trepan, My gallant braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; For a Lalland face he feared none, My gallant braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c* l?6 They banished him beyond the sea, But ere the bud was on the tree, A down my cheeks the pearls ran, Embracing my John Highiandman. Sing, hey, &c. But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast ; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. And now a widow, I must mourn, The pleasures that will ne'er return ; No comfort but a hearty cann, When I think on John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. RECITAT1VO. A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strappan limb and gau^y middle He reach'd nae higher, Had hoi'd his heartie like a riddle, An' blawn't on fire. Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, Then in an Arioso key, The wee Apollo Set off wi' Allegretto glee His giga solo. AIR. Tune — " Whistle o'er Uie lave oV.'" Let me ryke up to dight that tear, And go' wi' me and be my dear, And then your every care and fear May whistle owce the lave u't. CHORUS. I am a fiddler to my trade. And a' the tunes that e'er I played,. The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was whistle on: re the lave o'U 177 At kirns ami weddings we'se be there, And ! sae nicely's we will fare ; We'll bouse about tell Daddie Care Sings whistle owre the hive o't. I am, &c» Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, And sun ourseils about the dyke, And at our leisure, when ye like, We'll whistle owre the lave o't. I am, &c. But bless me wi* your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle hair on thairms, Hunger, cauld, and a sic harms* May whistle owre the lave o't. I am, &c. RECITATIVO. Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird, As weel as poor Gut-scraper ; He taks the fiddler by the beard, And draws a roosty rapier — He swoor by a' was swearing worth, To speet him like a pliver, Unless he wad from that time forth Relinquish her for ever. Wi' ghastly ee, poor twecdle-dee Upon his hunkers bended, And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face. And sae the quarrel ended. But tho' his little heart did giieve When round the tinker prest her, He feign'd to snirtle hi his sleeve, When thus the Caird address'd her ; AIR, Tune—" Clout the ccutdron." My bonny lass, I work in brass, A tinker is my station ; I've traveli'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation : I've taen the gold, I've been enroll'd In many a nobie squadron i 178 But vain they search'd, when off I march'd To go and clout the caudron. I've taen the gold, &c. Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, Wi' a' his noise and caprin, And tak a share wi' those that bear The budget and the apron. And by that stowp, my faith and houp, An' by that dear Keilbagie *, If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie An' by that stowp, &c. RECITATIVO. The caird prevaiPd — the unblushing fair In his embraces sunk, Partly wi* love o'ercome sae sair, An' partly she was drunk. Sir Vioiino, with an air That show'd a man of spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, An* made the bottle clunk To their health that nigh . But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, That play'd a dame a shavie, The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, Behind the chicken cavie. Her lord, a wight o y Homer'sf craft, Tho' limping wi' the spavie, He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, And shord 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 nae wish but — to be glad, Nor want but — when he thirsted ; He hated nought but— to be sad, And thus the Muse suggested His sang that night. * A peculiar sort of whisky so called ; a great favourite with Posie- Nansie's clubs. f Iloir.er is allowed to be the oldest ballad-singer on record. 179 Tune—" For a that, an a that'* I am a bard of no regard, Wi' gentle folks, an* a' that ; But Homer-like, the glowran byke, Frae town to town I draw that. CHORUS. For a that, an a' that, An' twice as muckle's a that ; I've lost but arte, I've txva behin', I've wife enoughybr a' that* I never drank the Muses* stank, Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; But there it streams, and richly reams, My Helicon I ca' that. For a' that, &c. Great love I bear to a' the fair, Their humble slave, an' a' that ; But lordly will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. For a that, &c. In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love an' a' that ; But for how lac.g the flee may stang, Let inclination law that. For a' that, &c. t Their tricks and craft have put rne daft, They've ta'en me in, an' a' that : But clear your decks, and here's the sex! I like the jads for a' that. For a' that, an a* that, An tzvice as muckle's a' that ; My dearest bluid, to do them guid, They're welcome tilVtfor a' that, RECITATIVO. So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa'i Shook with a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth ; 180 They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds, They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, To quench their lowan drouth. Then owre again, the jovial thrang, The poet did request, To loose 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 — *.* Jolly Mortals JUl your Glasses." 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 Jig for those by law protected ! Liberty's a glorious feast I Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest. What is title ? what is treasure ? What is reputation's car--? If we lead a life of pleasure, 'Lis no matter how or where J A fig, &c. With the ready trick and fable, Round we wander all the day ; And at night, in barn or stable, Hug our doxies on the hay. A fig, &c. Does the train-attended carriage Through the country lighter ro. Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love ? A fig, &c. Life is all a variorum, We regard not how it goes ; Let them cant about decorum Who have characters to lose. A %, &c 181 Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets 1 Here's to all the wandering train ! Here's our ragged brats and callets ! One and all cry out, Amen ! A jig for those by law protected ! Liberty's a glorious feast ! Courts Jot coxvards ivere erected, Churches built to please the priest. THE KIRK'S ALARM* : A SATIRE. Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; There's a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast, That what is no sense must be nonsense. Dr Mac f, Dr Mac, you should stretch on a rack, To strike evil doers \vi' terror ; To join faith and sense upon ony pretence, Is heretic, damnable error. Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad I declare, To meddle \vi' mischief a-brewing ; Provost John is .still deaf to the church's relief, And orator Bob % is its ruin. D'rymplc mild §, D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's like a child, And your life like the new driven snaw, Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, For preaching that three's ane an' twa. Rumble John |{, Rumble John, mount the steps wi* a groan, Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle, And roar every note of the daum'd. * Tliis poem was written a short time after the publication of Dr. M'GUTs Essay. | Dr. M« 11. I R 1 A n. § Dr. D e. || Mr. R 11. Q f 184 Simper James *, Simper 'James, leave the fair Killie dames, There's a holier chace in your view ; I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead, For puppies like you there's but few. Signet Sawney f, Signet Sawney, are ye herding the penny, Unconscious what evils await ; Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm ever)- soul, For the foul thief is just at your gate. Daddy Auld J, Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the fauld, A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye ii be in at the death, And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. Davie Bluster §, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do muster, The corps is no nice of recruits ; Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, li the ass was the king of the brutes. Jamy Goose |j, Janvy Goose, ye ha'e made but toom roose, In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; But the Doctor's your mark, for the L — d's haly ark, He has cooper'd and cawd a wrang pin in't. Poet Willie «j,*Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit ; O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. AndroGoukff, AndroGouk, ye may slander the bcok, And the book not the waur let me tell ye ; re rich, and look big, but lay bye hat and wig, And ye'll ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value. Steennie $$, Barr Steennie, what mean ye! what mean ye ! If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, Ye may ha'e some pretence, to haivins and sense, Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. * jVfr. M« v. f Mr. M v. i Mr. A d. § Mr. G .'O e. " || Mr. Y -. C k. k Mr. P s, N n. ft Dr. A. M U. || Mr. S- — n Y , J3— r. 1S3 Irvine side *, Irvine side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, Of manhood but soia' is your share : Ye've the figure, 'tis true, even your faes will allow, And your friends they dare grant you hae mair. Muirland Jack-}-, Muirland Jock, when the L — d makes a rack. To crush common sense for her sins, If ill manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit To confound the poor Doctor at ance. Holy Will J, Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull, When ye pilfer Yi the alms o' the poor ; The timmer is scant, when ye're ta'en for a saunt, Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, Ammunition you never can need ; Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough, And your sculls are storehouses o' lead. Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, Why desert ye your auld native shire ; Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie, She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. THE TWA HERDS §. O a* ye pious godly flocks, Well fed on pastures orthodox, W T ha now will keep you frae the fox, Or worrying tykes, Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, About the dykes ? The twa best herds in a' the wast, That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast, These five and twenty simmers past, O ! dool to tell, Ha'e had a bitter black out-cast Atween themsel. ^ * Mr. S h, G n. f Mr. S d. f An E rin M e- § This piece was among the first of our Author's productions which he submitted to the public, and was occasioned by a dispute between two Clergymen, near Kilmarnock. • Q 2 181 O, M y, man, and wordy T?, 11. How could j'ou raise so vile a bustle ? Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle, And think it fine ! The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, Sin' I ha'e mini O, Sirs ! whae'er wad ha'e expeckit, Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, To wear the plaid, But by the brutes themselves eleckit, To be their guide. What flock wi' M y's flock could rank, Sae hale and hearty every shank, Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank, He let them taste, Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, O' sic a feast J The thummart, wiT-cat, brock and tod, Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, He smelt their ilka hole and road, Baith out and in, And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, And sell their skin. What herd like R 11 tell'd his tale ? His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, O'er a' the height, And saw gin they were sick or hale, At the first sight. He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, Or nobly fling the gospel club, And new-light herds could nicely drub, Or pay their skin, Could shake them o'er the burning dub ; Or heave them in. Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't, Sic famous twa should disagreet, An' names, like villain, hypocrite, Ilk ither gi'en, While new-light herds wi' laughin' spite, Say neither's liein' J 185 A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, There's D n deep, and P s shaul, But chiefly thou, apostle A — d, We trust in thee, That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, Till they agree. Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, There's scarce a new herd that we get, But comes trae 'mang that cursed set, I winna name, I hope frae heav'n to see them yet In fiery flame. D e has been lang our fae, M' 11 has wraught us meikle wae, And that eurs'd rascal ea'd M* e, And baith the S — s, That aft ha'e made us black and blae, Wi' veogefu' paws. Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief We thought ay death wad bring relief, But he has gotten, to our grief, Ane to succeed him, A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef; I meikle dread him. And mony a ane that I could tell, Wlia fain would openly rebel, Forby turn-coats aniang oursel r There's S h for ane y I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, And that ye'll fm\ O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,. Come join your counsel and your skills, To cow e the lairds-, And get the brutes the power themse.ls, To choose their herds,. Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, And Learning in a woody dance, And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, That bites sae sair, Be banish' d o'er the sea to France : Let him bark there*. il 3 186 Then Shaw's and DYymple's eloquence, M' ii's close nervous excellence, M'Q. e's pathetic manly sense, And gude M' h, Wi' S — th, wha thro' the heart can glance, May a' pack aff. HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER, Thou, wha in the heavens do dwell, Wha, as it pleases best tliysel > , Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, A' for thy glory, And no for any gude or ill They've done afore thee J 1 bless and praise thy matchless might, Whan thousands thou hast left in night, That I am here afore thy sight, For gifts and grace, A burnin' and a shin in' light, To a' tills place. What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation, I wha deserve sic just damnation, For broken laws, Five thousand years Tore my creation, Thro' Adam*s cause. When frae my mither's womb I fell, Thou might hac plunged me in hell, To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, In burnin' lake, Whar damn d devils roar and yell, Chain' d to a stake. Yet I am here a chosen sample ; To show thy grace is great and ample ; I'm here a pilfar in thy temple, Strong as a rock> A guide, a buckler, an example.. To a' thy flock. But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, At times I'm fash/d wi' fleshly lust ; 187 And sometimes too, wi' warldly trust, Vile self gets in j But thou remembers we are dust, Defied in sin. O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg* Thy pardon I sincerely heg, O ! may't ne'er be a livin plague To my dishonour. And I'll ne'er lift a lawless 1-g Again upon her* Besides, I farther maun allow, Wi' Lizies lass, three times i trow : But L — d, that Friday I was fou, When I came near her, Or else, thou kens, thy servant true Wad ne'er hue steer'd her. Maybe thou lets this jleshlj thorn, Beset thy servant e'en and morn, Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn, ''Cause he's sae gifted $ . If sae, thy ban* maun e'en be born, Until thou lift it. L — d bless thy chosen in this place, For here thou hast a chosen race ; But G — d confound their stubborn face, And blast their name,. Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, And public shame. L — d mind G n H— ■ < — n's deserts, He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts, Yet has sae mony takin arts, Wi' grit and sma', Frae G— d's ain priests, the people's hearts, He steals awa. An* whan we chasten'dhim therefore* Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, As set the warld in a roar O' laughin at us ; Curse thou his basket and his store, Kail and potatoes, L — d hear my earnest cry and pray'r, Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr ; J 88 Thy strong right hand, L — d niak it bare Upo' their heads, L — d weigh it down, and dinna spare, For their misdeeds. O L — d my G — d, that glib-tongu'd A — n, My very heart and saul are quakin, To think how we stood sweadn, shakin, And p-d wi' dread, While he wi' hingin lips and snakin, Held up his head. L — d in the day of vengeance try him, L — d visit them wha did employ him, And pass not in thy mercy by 'em Nor hear their prayer ; But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, And dinna spare. But, L — d remember me and mine Wi' aiercies teinp'ral and cyvine, That I for gear and grace may shine, Excel i"d by nane > And a' the glory shall be thine, Amen, Amen. EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. Here Holy Willie's fair worn clay Taks up his last abode ; His saul has taen some other way, I tear the left-hand road. Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun, Poor silly body, see him ; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun* Observe wha's standing wi' him. Your brunstane devilship, I see, Has got him there before ye, But baud your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story.. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye hae nane ; Justice alas ! has gi'en him o'er,. And mercy's day is gaen. But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit ; A coof like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it. THE INVENTORY, IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. Sir, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list, O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, To which I'm clear to g?e my aith. Imjyrimis then, for carriage cattle, I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, As ever drew afore a pettle. My Lan* afore s * a gude auld has been, An' wight an' wiifu' a' his days been. My Lan y ahiyfs f a weel gaun fillie, That aft has borne me hame frae Killie J, An' your auld burro' mony a time, In days when riding was nae crime — But ance, whan in my wooing pride, J like a blockhead boost to ride, The tvilfu* creature sae I pat to, ( L — d pardon a? my sins an* that too ! ) J play* a my fillie sic a shame, She's a' bedevil 'd tvi' the spavie. My Fur ahin's § a wordy beast, As e'er in tug or tow was trae'd. — The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, A d — n'd red wud Kilnurnie blastie i Forbye a Coivt o' Cowt's the wale, As ever ran afore a tail. If he be spar'd to be a beast, He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least— Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; * The fore-horse on the left-hand in the plough. f The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough, j Kilmarnock. § The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough. 190 mair for token, Ac leg an' baith the trams are broken; I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mother brunt the trin'Ie. — For men, I've three mischievous boys, Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. Wee Davock bauds the nowt in fother. I rale them as I ought, discreetly, An' aft en labour them completely ; An* ay on Sundays duly, nightly, I on the questions targe them tightly ; Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, As fast as ony in the dvralling. — I've nane in female servan' station, (L — d keep me ay.frae a' temptation !) I ha'e nae wife — and that my bliss is, An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, I ken the devils dare nae touch me. Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. My sonsie smirking dear-bought Bess, She stares the daddy in her face, Enough of ought ye like but grace ; But her, my bonnie s-weet wee lady, I've paid enough for her already, An' gin ye tax her or her mither, B' the L—d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. And now remember, Mr. A-k-n, Nae kind of licence out I'm takin' ; Frae this time forth t I do declare, I'se ne'er ride horse norhizzie mair ; Thro' dirt and dub for lite Til paidle, Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; My travel a' on foot 1*11 shank it, I've sturdy bearers Glide be thankit. — The Kirk an you may tak you that It puts but little in your pat : Sae dinna put me in your buhe, Nor for my ten white shillings hike* 191 This list wi* my ain han' I wrote it, Day an 1 date as under notit, Then know all ye whom it concerns, Subscript/ huic, Robert Burns. Mossgiel, February 22, 17 86. THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND 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 permission ; Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; Who dreads a cur tin 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 miss her maids, and kick the pet verse b — h. ADDRESS TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. Tiiou's welcome wean, mishanter fa' me, If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, Shall ever danton me, or awe me, My sweet wee lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me Tit-ta or daddy. Wee image of my bonny Betty, I fatherly will kiss an' (Jaut thee, As dear an' near my heart I set thee Wi' as gude will As a' the priests had seen me get thee That's out o' h--ll. What tho* they ca' me fornicator, An' tease my name in kintry clatter ; The mair they tauk I'm kept the better, E'en let them clash ; An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter To gie ane fash. 192 Sweet fruit o' moiiy a merry dint, My funny toil is now a' tint, Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent, Which fools may scoff at ; In my last plack thy part's be in't, — v The better ha'f o't. An' if thou be what I wad ha'e thee, An' tak' the counsel I sail gi'e thee, A lovin' father I'll be to thee, If thou be spar'd; Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, An' think't weel war'd. Giule grant, that thou may ay inherit Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, Without his failing, 'Twill please me inair to hear an" see't, Than stocket mailins. EPIGRAM. [Bru\-s, accompanied l>y a friend, having gone to Inveraryat n when some company were there on a vL»H to his Urate the Duke of Argyll, finding himself and Lis companion entirely neglected by the [un-keeper, whose whole attention seemed to Le oecunk-d with the visitors ien, at midnight hour, Fd 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 wearie Q, I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie O. The hunter lo'es the morning sun, To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; At noon the fisher seeks the glen, Along the burn to steer my jo ; Oie me the hour o' gloamin grey, It roak's my heart sae cheery, O, To meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O. 199 MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o* mine. I never saw a fairer, I never loe'd a dearer, And neist my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. The warld's wrack we share o't, The warstle and the care o't ; Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, And think my lot divine. BONNIE LESLEY. Tune — " Collier's bonnie Lassie. 1 ' O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever ; For Nature made l»er what she is, And never made anither. Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee : Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The Deil he could na scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee ; He'd look into thy bonnie face, And say, " I canna wrang thee." 200 The powers aboon will tent thee ; Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag, we hae a lass There's nane again sae bonnie. TO MARY. 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 s roar ? sweet grows the lime and the orange, And the apple on the pine ; But a' the charms o' the Indies, Can never equal thine. 1 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 I The hour, and the moment o' time ! HIGHLAND MARY. Tune, — " Katharine Ogie." Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie I 201 There simmer first unfaulds her robes, And there they langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom' d the gay, green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me, as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender ; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder ; But Oh ! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early ! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary ! O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance, That dwalt on me sae kindly ! And mould'ring now in silent dust, That heart that loe'd me dearly ! But still within my bosom's core, Shall live my Highland Mary. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day M}' Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 202 That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love 1 Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace ; Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene, The flow'rs 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. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ! Time but th' impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wean. My Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy blissful place of rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? MY MARY'S NO MORE. O'er the mist shrouded cliffs of the low mountain straying, Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave, What woes wring my heart, while intently surveying The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave ! Ye foam-crested billows allow me to waii, Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore, Where the flow'r 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 streamlet we'll 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! 203 No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast- I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; Where unknown, un lamented, ray ashes shall rest, And joy shall revisit my bosom no more ! THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. '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, a 11 nature list'ning seem'd the while, Except where green-wood 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 ; Her look was like the morning's eye, Her hair like nature's vernal smile, Perfection whisper'd passing by, Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! Fair is the morn in flow'ry May, And sweet is night m 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 compile ; Even there her other works are foil'd By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. O, had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter' d in the lowest shade _ That ever rose in Scotland's plain ; Thro weary winter's wind and rain With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 204 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 bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. AULD HOB MORRIS. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay, the ami as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But oh ! she's an heiress, auld P^obin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; A wooer like me matronal hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; I wander my lane like a nirht troubled ghaist, Anl I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. had she but been of a lower degree, 1 then might hac hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! O, how past describing had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express ! DUNCAN GRAY. Dunca N Gray cam here to woo, Ha. ha, the ix:ooing ct, On blythe yule night when we were fu', Ha, ha, the ivooing o't. 205 Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skiegh, Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; Ha, ha, fyc. Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, fyc. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin r t Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; Ha, ha, §c. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha 9 $$e. Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, S)X. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die ? She may gae to — France for me! Ha, ha, §c. How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, fyc. Meg grew sick — as he grew heal. Ha, ha, &)C. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; And O, her een they spak sic things ! Ha, ha, Sfc. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, fyc. Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, fyc. Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they're crouse and canty baith. Ha, ha, the wooing o'f. SONG. Tune — " I had a horse'* O Poortith cauld and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye ; ts 206 Yet poorrith a' I could forglv-e, An' 'twere na' for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have, Lite's dearest bands untwining ? Or why sae sweet a flower as love, Depend on Fortune's shining ? This warld's wealth when I think on, It's pride and a' the lave o't : Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't. why, Sfc. Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray How she repays my passion ; But prudence is her o'erword ay, She talks of rank and fashion. vJiy, eye. 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 ? O ivhi/, $c. How blest the humble cottar's fate I He wooes his simple dearie ; The silly bogles, wealth and state, Can never mak them eerie ; 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 ? GALLA WATER. There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, That wander thro' 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 Til be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Gaiia water. 207 Altho' his daddie W8S bae laird, And tho' I hue na meikle tocher ; Yet fich in kindest, truest hue, We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That car'c contentment, peace, or pleasure The bands and bliss o' mutual love, that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! LOUD GREGORY. O Mirk, mirk is this midnight* ho ar a And load the tempest's roar ; A waefV ivanderer seeks thy tow'r, Lord Gregory, ope thy door. An exile frae her father's ha', And a' far leving thee ; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Invine side, Where first I own'd that virgin-love 1 lang, lang had denied. How aft en didst thou pledge and vow, Thou wad for ay be mine ! And my fond heart, itseifsue true, It ne'er mistrusted thine ! Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast : Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, wilt thou give me rest ! Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see! But spare, and pardon my fause love, His wrongs to heaven and me ! MARY MORISON. Tune, ' Side ye yet.* 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 ; & 2 208 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun ; Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. Yestreen when to the trembling string, The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha' r To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw : Tho* 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 lieart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee ? If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown ; A thottght ungentle cannabe The thought o' Mary Morrison. WANDERING WILLIE. Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud away hame ; Come to my bosom my ain only dearie ; Tell me thou bring'st me my Wiliie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms ! Waken ye breezes, row gently ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ante mair to my arms. But oh, if he's faithless and minds na his Nannie, i low still between us thou wide-roaring main ; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 209 OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH WITH ALTERATIONS. Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh ! The wan moon Is setting behind the white wave, And time is setting with me, Oh ! False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh ! She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! ^Iy true love, she cried, and sank down by his side. Never to rise again, Oh 1 JESSIE. Tune, 4 Bonnie Dundee.' True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river. Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair ; To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, And sweet is the lily at evening close ; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; EnthroivM 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' '" S3' 210 SONG. Air—" The Mill, Mill 0." When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And niony a widow mourning, I left the lines and tented fields, Where lang I'd been a lodger, My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor and honest 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, 1 thought upon my Nancy, I thought upon the witching smile That caught my youthful fai At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, Where early life I ^ported ; I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn, Where Nancy aft I courted : Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, Down by her mother's dwelling ! And turn'd me round to hide the liood That in my eeh was swelling. ^Y aiter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, ! 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. $ae wistfully she gaz'd on me, And lovelier was than ever ; Q ' she. a sodger ance I lo'ed, Forget him shall I never : Our humble cot, and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it, That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't i 211 She gazM Syne pale iiwe ony Iiiy ; She sank within my arms, and cried, Art thou my am 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 rind 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 mailin plenish'd fairly ; And come, my faithful sodger lad, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the sodger's prize. The sodger's wealth is honour ; The brave poor codger ne'er despise, Nor count him as a stranger ; Remember he's his country's stay In day and hour of danger. MEG O' THE MILL. Air, ' bonme lass, will you lie in a Br.rrack ? O Ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller, And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. The Miller was strappin. the Miller was ruddy ; A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : The laird was a widdiefu', bleer-e'ed knurl ; She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving : The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, A tine pacing horse wi' a clear chain'd bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 212 O wae on the siller, it is sac prevailing ; And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen 1 A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! SONG. Tune — " The last time I came o'er tlie Moor.* Farewell thou stream that winding flows Around Maria's dwelling ! Ah cruel mem'ry ! spare the throes Within my bosom swelling ; Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, And still in secret languish ; To feel a five in ev'ry vein, Yet dare not speak my anguish. The wretch of love, unseen, unknown, I fain my crime would cover : The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, Betray the hopeless lover. I know my doom must be despair, Thou wilt, nor canst relieve me; But oh, Maria, hear one prayer, For pity's sake forgive me. The music of thy tongue 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. The unwary sailor thus aghast, The wheeling torrent viewing ; 'Mid circling horrors yields at last To overwhelming ruin. SONG. Tunc, — l Liggeram Cash.* Blithe hae I been on yon hill, As the lambs before me ; Careless ilka thought and free, As the breeze flew o'er me : 213 Now nae longer sport and play, Mirth or sang can please me ; Lesley is sae fair and coy, Care and anguish seize me* Heavy, heavy, is the task, Hopeless love declaring : Trembling, I dow nocht butglow'r, Sighing, dumb, despairing ! If she winna ease the thraws, In my bosom swelling ; Underneath the grass-green sod, Soon maun be my dwelling. SONG. Tune, ' Logan Water* O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne have o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flow'ry banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. Again the merry month o* May, Has made our hills and valleys gay : The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, The bees hum round the breathing flowers Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, And evening's tears are tears of joy : My soul, deiightless, a' surveys, While Willie's far frae Logan braes. Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; Her faithfV mate will share her toil, Or wi* his song her cares beguile : But I wi* my sweet nurslings here, Nae mate to help nae mate to cheer, Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, While Willie's far frae Logan braes* 214 O wae upon you, men o' state, That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, Sae may it on your heads return 1 How can your flinty hearts enjoy, The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? But soon may peace bring happy days, And Willie, hame to Logan braes ! BONNIE JEAN. There was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen, When a' the fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, And ay she sang sae merrilie : The blithest bird upon the bush Had neer a lighter heart than she. But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad, The flower and pride of a' the glen ; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, And danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. As in the bosom o' the stream, The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; So trembling, pure, was tender love, Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. And now she works her mammie's wark. And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; Yet wist na what her ail might be, Or what wad mak her weel again.. 815 But did na Jennie's heart loiip light, And did na joy blink in her e'e, As Robie tar,; J a tale o'-lovo, Ae e'enin on the lily lea? The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; His cheek to hcv's he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : O Jcanie fair, I lo- e thee dear ; O canst thou think to fancy me ! Or wilt thou leave thy nmmmie's cot, And learn to tent the farms vvi* me ? At barn or byre thou slmlt na drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee ; But stray amang the heather-bells, And tent the waving corn \vi' 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. PHILLIS THE FAIR. Tune — " Rabin Adair.'* While larks with little wing, Fann'd the pure air, Tasting the breathing spring, Forth I did fare : Gay the sun's golden eye, Feep'd o'er the mountains high ; Such thy morn ! did 1 cry, Phil lis 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 fair. 216 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. SONG. To the same tune, Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, Where the winds howj to the waves' dashing roar There would I weep my woes, There seek my last repose, Till grief my eyes should close, Ne'er to wake more. Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare, AH thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air ! To thy new lover hie, Laugh o'er thy perjury, Then in thy bosom try, What peace is there. SONG. Tune, — ' Allan Water. By Allan stream I chane'd to rove, While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ; The winds were whisp'ring thro' the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready : I listen'd to a lover's sang, And thought on youthiV pleasures mony : And ay the wild-wood echoes rang — O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 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 I 217 Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever V* While mony a kiss the seal imprest, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae, The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; How cheery 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 ! WHISTLE AND I'LL COME TO YOU MY LAD. O Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad; O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. But warily tent, when ye come to court me, And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee; Syne up the back-stile, and let nae body see, And come as ye were na comin to me. And come, &c. O whistle , fyc. At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, Gang by me as tho' that )^e car'd na a flee : But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. Yet look, &c. O whistle, Sfc. Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be, For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. For fear, &c. whistle, &c. t T 218 SONG. Tune,— ' The mtickin o* Geordie*s byre* Adown winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing. chorus. Avon' lui' 'your belles and your beauties, They never ivi' her can compare .• Whoever has met vol my Phillis, Has met vol the queen o' the fair. The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, So artless, so simple, so wild ; Thou emblem, said I, o' my Chillis, For she is simplicity's child. Atva, $fc. 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. Avoa, 8fc. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. A iva, SfC. Her voice is the song of the morning, That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. Awa, fyc. But beauty how frail and how fleeting, The bloom of a fine summer's day ! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish •without a decay. Awa, Sfc* 219 SONG. Air, — ' Cauld Kail.'' Come, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; And I shall spurn as vilest dust The warld's wealth and grandeur : And do I hear my Jeanie own, That equal transports move her ? I ask for dearest life alone That I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure ; I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, Than sic a moment's pleasure : And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, I swear I'm thine for ever ! And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never. DAINTY DAVIE. Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; And now comes in my happy hours, To wander wi' my Davie. CHORUS. Meet me on the warlock knowe, Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, There Til spend the day wi* you, My ain dear dainty Davie. The crystal waters round us fa', The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw, A waud'ring wi' my Davie. Me et me, fyc. When purple morning starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then thro' the dews I will repair, To meet my faithfu' Davie. Meet me, §c. T 2 220 When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' nature's rest, I flee to his arms I lo'e best, And that's my ain dear Davie. CHORUS. Meet me on the 'warlock Jcnoive, Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie, There I'll spend the day %vi y you t My ain dear dainty Davie. SONG. Tune, — ' Oran-gaoil. 3 Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart t Sever'd from thee can I survive ? But fate has wili'd, and we must parU I'll often greet this surging swell, Yon distant isle will often hail : ** E'en here I took the last farewell ; " There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.' Along the solitary shore, While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar. I'll westward turn my wistful eye : Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll 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 1 SONG. Tune*— 'Fee him Father.' Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. Aftenhast thou vow'd that death, Only should aa §c. SONG. Tune, — * Duncan Gray." Let not woman e'er complain, Of inconstancy in love ; Let not woman e'er complain, Fickle man is apt to rove ; Look abroad through Nature's range, Nature's mighty law is change ; Ladies, would it not be strange, Man should then a monster prove ? Mark the winds, and mark the skies : Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : Sun and moon but >et to rise, Round and round the seasons go. Why then ask of silly man, To oppose great Nature's plan ? We'll be constant while we can— You can be no more, you know, THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. Tune,—' DcU tak tie H r ars. ' Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature; Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numb'ring ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy : Now thro' the leafy woods, And by the reeking floods ; Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray ; The lintwhite in his bower Chants o'er the breathing flower ; The lav'rock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o'joy, While the sun anu tuou arise to bless the day. & 231 Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, Banishes iik darksome shade, Nature gladd'ning and adorning ; Such to me my lovely maid. When absent frae my fair, The murky shades o' care With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky But when, in beauty's light, She meets my ravish'd sight, When through my very heart Her beaming glories dart; 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. SONG. Tune, — * My Lodging is on the cold ground. 1 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, Blithe, in the birken shaw. The princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; But are their hearts as light as ours Beneath the milk-white thorn ? The shepherd, in the flowery glen, In shepherd's phrase will woo : The courtier tells a finer tale, But is his heart as true ? These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine : The courtiers' gems may witness love — But 'tis na love like mine. U 2 232 LASSIE WP THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. Tune, — ' Botkkmurches Rcuit.' CHORUS. Lassie ~xi the lint-xvhite locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, Wi't thou wi 1 we tent thefiochs, Wilt thou be my dearie O ? Now nature deeds the flow'ry lea, And a* is young and sweet like thee ; O wik thou share its joys wi' me And say thou'it be my dearie O ? Lassie ivi\ §c. And when the welcome simmer-shower Has cheer'd iik drooping little flower, We'll to the breathing woodbine bower At sultry noon, my dearie O. Lassie ivi\ Sfc. When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way ; Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, And talk o' love, my dearie O. Lassie a/', fyc. And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; Enclasped to my faithfu breast, I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. Lassie m' the !iut-u:hlte loch, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie % Wilt thou wi' me tent thejloi Wilt thou be my dearie G f SONG. Tune,—' Tke Sow's Tail.' HE. O Philly, happy be that day When roving through the gather'd hay, My youthfu' heart was stown away, And by thy charms, my Philly. 233 SHE. O Willy, ay I bless the grove Where first I own'd my maiden love, Whilst thou didst 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. 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 bmer 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 flow'ry spring, Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, As meeting o' my Willy. HE. The bee that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the op'ning flower, Compared wi* my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philiy. SHE. The woodbine in the dewy weet When evening shades in silence meet, lb aooht sae fragrant or sac sweet As is a kiss o' Willy. HE., Let fortune's wheel at random nh, And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ^ My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, And that's my ain dear Philiy. U 3 S3* SHE. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie ! I care nae wealth a single flee ,* The lad I love's the lad for me, And that's my ain dear Willy. SONG. Tune, — * Lumps o' Pudding.' Contented wi' little, and cantie Wi' mair, WTiene'er I forgather wi* sorrow and care, I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auid Scottish sang. I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; But man is a sodger, and life is a faught ; My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom's my lairdshlp nae monarch dare touch. A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', A night o' guid fellowship sovvthers it a' : When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way ; Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure, or pain, My warst word is — ' Welcome, and welcome again !'* CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY? Tune, — * Roys wife.* CHOI! US. Canst thru leave me thus, my Katy? Canst thou leave me thus,, my Katy ? Well thou hwtv'st my aching heart. And canst thou leave me thus for pity t Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? Is this thy faithful swain's reward — An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? Ca«^ t/iouj 4'c. 235 Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! Thou may'st find those will love thee dear- But not a love like mine, my Katy. Canst thou, fyc. MY NANNIE'S AWA. Tune, — ' 'There 'U never be peace,' <£c. Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; But to me it's delighticss — my Nannie's awa. The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn. And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie's awa. Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,, The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa. Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, And sooth me wi' tidings o' nature's decay : The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa, FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that ; The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toil's obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp* The man's the gowd for a' that* 236 What-tho* on hamely tare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that ; For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that : For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that ; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, Tbe pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As co.ne it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that ^ For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man. the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. SONG. Tune, — ' Crai g /C ' b u m- VB MtL ' Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn r And blithe awakes the morrow, But a' the pride o' spring's return Can yield me nocht but sorrow, 237 I see the flowers and spreading trees, I hear the wild birds singing ; But what a weary wight can please, And care his bosom wringing ? Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, Yet dare na for your anger ; But secret love will break my heart, If I conceal it langer. If you refuse to pity me, If thou shalt love anithcr, "When yon green leaves fade frae the tree Around my grave they'll wither. SONG. Tune, — ' Let me in this ae night.* O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? Or art thou wakin, I would wit ? For love has bound me, hand and foot, And I would fain be in, jo. CHORUS. O let me in this ae night , This ae, ae, ae night ; Tor pity's sake this ae night , rise and let me in, jo. Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ; Tak pity on my weary feet, And shield me frae the rain, jo. O let me in, fyc. The bitter blast that round me blaws Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; The cauldness o 1 thy heart's the cause Of a' my grief and pain, jo. let me in, fyc. 238 HER ANSWER. O Tell na me o' wind and rain, Upbraid na* me wi' cauld disdain ! Gae back the gate ye cam' again, I winna let you in, jo. CHORUS. I tell you novo this ae night. This ae, ae, ae night. And mice for a' this ae niglit, I winna let you 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. / tell you novo, Sfc, 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. / tell you now, fyc. The bird that charm'd his summer-day. Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; Let witless, trusting, woman say How aft her fate's the same, jo, J tell you novo, fyc* ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. Tune, — • Where 11 bonnie Annie lie.* Or, — ■ Loch-Eroch Side* 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. 239 Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind ? Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, Sic notes o' woe could wauken. Thou tells o* never-ending care ; O* speechless grief, and dark despair ; For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae rnair, Or my poor heart is broken ! ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. Tune, — * Ay ivalcm 0.' 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? Long, 8)C. Every hope is fled. Every fear is terror ; Slumber even I dread, Every dream is horror. Long, fyc. Hear me, Pow'rs divine I Oh, in pity hear me ! Take aught else of mine, But my Chloris spare me 1 Long, 8$c. SONG. Tune, — * Humours of Glen? Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the Tang yellow broom. 240 Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunn)^ 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-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wf disdain ; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. SONG. Tune, — • Laddie lie near me.' 'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. Sajr 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. Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest J And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would faiter. SOXG. Tune, — ' John Anderson my jo. 1 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. Ml Tie ravening hawk pursuing, The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin Awhile her pinions tries ; Till of escape despairing, No shelter or retreat, She trusts the ruthless falconer, And drops beneath his feet. SONG. Tune,—' This is no my aia House** CHORUS. O this is no my ain lassie, Fair tho y the lassie be : O weel ken I my ain lassie, Kind love is in her e'e. J 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. this is no, §c. She's bonnie, 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 her e'e. O this is no, fyc. A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; But gleg as light are lovers' een When kind love is in the e'e. this is no, $)C It may escape the courtly sparks, It may escape the learned clerks ; But weel the watching lover marks The kind love that's in her e'e. This is no, fye> 242 TO MR. CUNNINGHAM SCOTTISH SONG. Now spring has clad the groves in 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 of woe ! The trout within yon wimpling burn Glides swift'a silver dart, And safe beneath the shady thorn Defies the angler's art : My life was ance that careless stream, That wanton trout was I ; But love, wi' unrelenting beam, Has scorch'd my fountains dry. The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, And blighted a' my bloom, And now beneath the withering blast My youth and joy consume. The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, And climbs the early sky, Winnowing blithe her dewy wings In morning's rosy eye ; As little reck I sorrow's power, Until the flowery snare O' witching love, in luckless hour, Made me the thrall o' 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 whase doom is, " hope nae mair,' r What tongue his woes can tell ! Within whase bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell. 243 SCOTTISH SONG. O Bon t \ t ie was yon rosy brier, That blooms sue far Frae haunt o' man ; And bonnie she, and ah, how dear I It shaded frae the e'enin sun. Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, How pure amang the leaves sae green ; But purer was the lover's vow They witness'd in their shade yestreen. All in its rude and prickly bower, That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! But love is far a sweeter flower Amid life's thorny path o' care. The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn, Its joys and griefs alike resign. Written on the blank leaf of the last Edition of hfe Poems, presented to Chloris. 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralizing 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 lower ; (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast Did nip a fairer flower). Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Still much is left behind ; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, The comforts of the mind ! X 2 ft*4 Thine is the self-approving glow, On conscious honour's part : And, dearest gift of heaven below, Thine friendship's truest heart. The joys refin'd of sense and taste, With ev'ry muse to rove : And doubly were the poet blest These joys could he improve. ENGLISH SONG. Time, — * Let me in this ae night. Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, Par, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I must repine, love. CHORUS. O xvert thou, love, lid near me, But near, near, near me ; Hotv kindly thou wovfdst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, love. Around me scowls a wintry sky, That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; And shelter, shade, nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love. O xvert, S{C. Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, To poison fortune's ruthless dart — Let me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, love. O xvert, $c. 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, O xvert, 4 c. 245 SCOTTISH BALLAD. Tune, — ' The Lothian Lassie.' Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi* his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, And vow'd for my love he was dying ; I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, The Lord forgie me for lying ! A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, And marriage aff-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. But v. hat wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, The deil take his taste to gae near her ! He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, cuul STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME. Tune, — ' An Gille dubh cinr dhubh.*' Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! Well you know how much you grieve me - K Cruel chanuer, can you go ? Cruel charmer, can you go ? 219 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. Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling ! Howling tempests o'er me rave ! Turbid torrents,, wintry swelling, Still surround my lonely cave ! Crystal streamlets gently flowing, Busy haunts of base mankind, Western breezes softly blowing, Suit not my distracted mind. In the cause of right engaged, Wrongs injurious to redress, Honour's war we strongly waged, But the heavens 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 ! THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. Tune, — ' Jtforag.' 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 bonnie Castie-Gordou ! The trees now naked groaning, Shall soon wV leaves be hinging, The birdies dowie moaning;. 250 Shall a* be blithely singing, And every flower be springing. Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, When by his mighty warden My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle Gordon. RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. Tune, — * M'Grigor of Hero's Lament.' Raving winds around her blowing, Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray'd deploring. " Farewell, hours that late did measure *• Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; w Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow, " Cheerless night that knows no morrow, " O'er the past too fondly wandering, " On the hopeless future pondering ; " Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, " Fell despair my fancy seizes. " Life, thou soul of every blessing, il Load to misery most distressing, " O how gladly I'd resign thee, " And to dark oblivion join thee !" MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. Tune,' — ' Druimion dubh.* Musing on the roaring ocean, Which divides my love and me ; Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, For his weal where'er he be. Hope and fear's alternate billow Yielding late to nature's law ; Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow Talk of him that's far awo. 251 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 ! BLYLHE WAS SHE. Blythe, blythe and merry tvas she, Blythe tvas she but and ben : Blythe by the banks of Em, And blythe in Glenturit glen. By Oughtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw ; But Phemie was a bonnier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. . Blythe, Sfc. Her looks were like a flower in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn; She tripped by the banks of Em, As light's a bird upon a thorn. Blythe, fyc. Her bonnie face it was as meek As ony lamb upon a lee ; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. Blythe, %c. The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; But Phemie was the blythest lass That ever trod the dewy green. Blythe, %c. ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. A Rose- Bud by my early walk^ Adown a corn-enclosing- bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning. 252 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. So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, On trembling string or vocal air, Shah 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. WHERE RAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. Tunc, — ' JV. Gouts Lamentation for Absrcairnij. Where braving angry winter's storms, The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shades my Peggy's charms First blest my wond'ring eyes. As one who by some savage stream, A lonely gem surveys, Astonish'd doubly marks its beam, With art's most polish'd blaze. Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, And blest the day and hour, Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, When first I felt their pow'r ! The tyrant Death with grim controul May seize my fleeting breath ; But tearing Peggy from my soul Must be a stronger death. 253 TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. Tune, — * Invercaxdd's Reel.* Tibbie, I hae seen the day, Ye tvould na been sae shy ; For laik o gear ye lightly me, But, trouth, I care na by* Yestreen I met you on the moor, Ye spak na, but gaed by like stour : Ye geek at me because I'm poor, But fient a hair care I. O Tibbie, I hae, fyc. 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. Tibbie, I hae, fyc. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, Wha follows ony saucy quean That looks sae proud and high. O Tibbie, I hae, fyc, Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, If that he want the yellow dirt, Ye'll cast your head anither airt, And answer him fu' dry. O Tibbie, I hae, Sfc. But if he hae the name o' gear, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, Tho' hardly he for sense or lear, Be better than the kye. Tibbie, I hae, fyc» 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. O Tibbie, I hae, fyc. There lives a lass in yonder park, I would na gie her in her sark, For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; Ye need nae look sae high. O Tibbie, I hae, 8$c, t Y 254 CLARINDA. 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 Svlvander hie ; Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, The sun of all his joy. We part — but by these precious drops That fill thy lovely eyes ! No other light shall guide my 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 DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. Tune, — ■ Seventh of November* 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, Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give ; While joys above, my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live ! When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part; The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 255 THE LAZY MIST. The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, Concealing the course of the dark winding rill ; How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ; How long I have liv'd — but how much liv'd in vain : How little of life's scanty span may remain : What aspects, old Time, in his progress has worn ; What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn. How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain*d ! And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd ! This life's not worth having with all it can give. For something beyond it poor man sure must live. O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL! Tune, — * My love is lost to me* O, Were I on Parnassus' hill ! Or had of Helicon my fill ; That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee. But Nith maun be my muse s well, My muse maun be thy bonnie seP ; On Corsincon I'll 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 coudna sing, 1 coudna say, How much, how dear I love thee. I see thee dancing o'er the green, Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — By heaven and earth I love thee ! By night, by day, a-field, at hame, The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame; And ay I muse and sing thy name, I only live to love thee. 256 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 love thee. I LOVE MY JEAN. Tune, — ' Miss Admiral Gordon s Strathspey. Of a* the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And raony 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 bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean. THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. The Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, 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 ay the wild-wood echoes rang, Farewell the braes o' Ballochmyle. Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, Again ye'll charm the vocal air. But here, alas ! for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile ; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle. 257 WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. O, Willie brew' J a peck o' maut, And Rob and Allan cam to see ; Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, Ye wad na find in Christendie. We are najbu, xve're na thatfou, But just a drappie in our e'e ; The cock may craiv, the clay may daw t And ay we'll taste the barley bree. Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys I trow are we ; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be 1 We are nafou, fyc. It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; She shines sae bright to wyle us ha me, But by my sooth she'll wait a wee i We are nafou, fyc. 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! We are najbu, fyc. THE BLUE-EYED LASS I Gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, i'ii dearly rue : I gat my death frae twa sweet e'en, Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright; Her lips hke roses, wat wi' dew, Her Heaving bosom, lily-white; It was her een sae bonnie blue* She talk'd, she smii'd, my heart she wyTd, She charm'd my oul I wist na h .And ay the sto ui, th< deadly w< Cam frae hei i de j,ue. 258 But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; She'll aiblins listen to my vow ; Should she refuse, I'll lay ray dead To her twa een sae bonnie blue. THE BANKS OF NITH. Tune, — • Robie Donna Gorach.' The Thames flows proudly to the sea, Where royal cities stately stand ; But sweeter flows the Nith to me, Where Cummins anee had high command . When shall I see that honour'd land, That winding stream I love so dear ! Must wayward fortune's adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here ? How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ; How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom 1 Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, Alay there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days ! JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent^ Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson raj- jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson mv jo. 259 TAM GLEN. My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come len', To anger them a* is a pity ; But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen ? I'm thinking, wi* sic a braw fellow, In poortith I might mak a fen' ; What care I in riches to wallow, If I maunna marry Tarn Glen ? There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller, " Gude day to you, brute," he comes ben : He brags and he blaws o' his siller, But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten : But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, My heart to my mou gied a sten ; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; His likeness cam up the house staukin, And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; But iittle thinks my luve I ken brawlie, My Tocher's the jewel has charms for hiss* 260 It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; My laddie's sae ineikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hae luve to spare for me. Your proffer o' luve s an airl-penny, My Tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'il crack your credit wi' mae nor me. THEN GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAW1N. Gane is the day and mirk's the night, But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, For ale and brandy's stars and moon, And bluid-red wine's the risin sun. Then guidvoife count the lavoin, the lawin, the lavoin, Then guidivife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair* There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, And semple-folk maun fecht and fen'; But here we're a' in ae accord, For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. Then ^uidvcife count, fyc. My coggie is a haly pool, That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; And pleasure is a wanton trout. An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out, Then guidwife count, 8f& WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WP AN AULD MAN? What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 1 Bad luck OM the penny that tempted my iinnnie To sell her poor Jenny fa siiier an' ian' J Had Iuck to the idling, $c. 261 He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; He's doyl't and he's dozin, his bluid 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 and jealous of a' the young fellows: O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him, And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. THE BONNIE WEE THING. Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, was thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. Wishfully I look and languish In that bonnie face o' thine ; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine. Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, In ae constellation shine ; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! Bonnie wee, fyc. O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY TAM ! Tune, — ' The Moudiewort.' An Of for ane and twenty Tarn / An hey, sweet ane and twenty. Tarn ! I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, An I saw ane and twenty, Tarn, They snool me sair, and haud me down, And gar me look like bluntie, Tarn ! But three short years will soon wheel roun', And then comes ane and twenty, Tarn. An O,for ane, fyc. Q6<2 A gleib o' Ian, a claut o' gear, Was left me by my auntie, Tarn ; At kith or kin I need na spier, An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. An 0,Jbr ane, tyc. They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam; But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam 1 An 0, for ane, fyc. BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL. O Leeze me on my spinning wheel, O leeze me on my rock and reel ; Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, And haps me fiel and warm at e'en I I'll set me down and sing and spin, While laigh descends the simmer sun, Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — O leeze ine on my spinning wheel. On ilka hand the burnies trot, And meet below my theekit cot ; The scented birk and hawthorn white, Across the pool their arms unite, Alike to screen the birdie's nest, And little fishes caller rest : The sun blinks kindly in the biel', Where blithe I turn my spinning wheeL On lofty aiks the cushats wail, Ami echo pons the doolfu' tale ; The lintwhites in the hazel braes, Delighted, rival ither's lays : The craik amang the clover hay, The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, Tiie swallow jinkin round my shiel, Amuse me at my spinning wheel. Wi' sma' to sell, a* d less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O wha wad leave this humble state, For a' the pride of a' the great ? 263 Amid their flaring, idle toys, Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? COUNTRY LASSIE. In simmer when the hay was mawn, And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While clover blooms white o'er the lea, And roses blaw in ilka bield : Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will ; Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, O' gude advisement comes nae ill. Its ye hae wooers mony ane, And lassie, ye're but young ye ken ; Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, A routhie butt, a routhie ben : There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, It's plenty beets the luver's fire. For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, I dinna care a single flee ; He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, He has nae luve to spare for me : But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie For Buskie-glen and a' 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. 264 O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve, The gowd and siller canna buy ; We may be poor — Robie and I, Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and luve brings peace and joy, What mair hae queens upon a throne ? FAIR ELIZA. A GAELIC AIR. Turn again, thou fair Eliza, Ae kind blink before we part, 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 shalt mix in ilka throe ; Turn again, thou lovely maiden, Ae sweet smile on me bestow. Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sinny noon ; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon ; Not the poet in the moment Fancy lightens on his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gies to me. THE POSIE. O Luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen, O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ; 265 But I will down yon river rove, among the wood aae green, And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 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' woman kind, and blooms without a peer; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phebus peeps in view, For its like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou ; The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue : And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air : And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away : And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'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'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band ©' love, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a* above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove, And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. THE BANKS O' DOON. Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Daon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care i t z 266 Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed never to return. Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its love, And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. Wi* lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree : And my fause iover stole my rose, But, ah J he left the thorn wi' me. SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, "Willie was a wabster gude, Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie ; He had a wife was dour and din, O Tinkler Madgie was her mither $ Sic a wife as Willie had, I ivad na gie a button for her. She has an e'e, she has but ane, The cat has twa the very colour ; . Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ; A whiskin beard about her mou, Her nose and chin they threaten ither ; Sic a tvife, 8{C. She's bow-hough'd, she's hen shinn'd, Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter ; She's twisted right, she's twisted left, To balance fair in ilka quarter : She has a hump upon her breast, The twin o' that upon her shouther ; Sic a wife, Sfc. Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, And wi' her loof her face a-washin ; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion j 267 Her walie nieves like midden creels* Her face wad fyle the Logan-water ; Sic a tvife as Willie had, I voa.l na gie a button for her. GLOOMY DECEMBER. Ance mair I hail tliee, thou gloomy December, Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes ne remember, Parting wi* Nancy, Oh ! ne'er to meet mair. Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; But the dire feeling Ofarewelljbr ever, Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 'Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember^ Parting wi' Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair. EVAN BANKS. 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, it leads the day. Oh ! banks to me for ever dear! Oh ! stream whose murmurs still I hear !^ All, all my hopes of bliss reside, Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. And she, in simple beauty drest, Whose image lives within my breast ; Who trembling heard my parting sigh, And long pursu'd me with her eye! Does she, with heart utichang'd as mine* Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ?•■ 268 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 ; 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. 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 desart let me part, And fly to meet a kindred heart ! Nor more may aught my steps divide From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE. Wilt thou be my dearie ; When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee ; By the treasure of my soul, And that's the love I bear thee ! I swear and vow, that only thou Shall ever be my dearie. Only thou 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'lt refuse me : If it winna, canna be, Thou, for thine, may chuse me : Let me, lassie, quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me. Lassie, let me quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es mey 269 SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. She's fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and Jang ; 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 bonnie lass gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love, To this be never blind, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, A woman has't by kind : woman lovely, woman fair ! An angel form's faun to thy share, 'Twad been o'er meikle to gein thee mair, I mean an angel mind. AFTON WATER. Flow gently sweet Afton among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro* the glen> Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear 1 charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far raark'd with the courses of clear winding rills ; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valKes below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; There oft as mild evening weep^ 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 clea* wave,. Z 3 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. BONNIE BELL. The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies ; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonnie 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 suns returning, And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. The flow'ry Spring leads sunny Summer, And 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 bonnie Bell. THE GALLANT WEAVER Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, By monv a flow'r and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant weaver. Oh I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; And I was fear'd my heart would tine, And I gied it to the weaver. My daddie sign'd my tocher-band To de the lad that has the land, J3ut to my heart I'll add my hand, And give it to the weaver. 271 Wliile birds rejoice in leafy bowers • While bees delight in opening flowers ; While com grows green in simmer showers I'll love my gallant weaver. LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. 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 s Kings and nations, swith awa ! Reif randies I disown ye ! FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. My heart is sair, I dare na tell, My heart is sair for somebody ; I could wake a winter night For the sake of somebody. Oh-hon ! for somebody ! Oh-hey ! for somebody ! I could range the world around, For the sake o' somebody. Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, O, sweetly smile on somebody ! Frae ilka danger keep him free, And send me safe my somebody, Oh-hon ! for somebody ! Oh-hey ! for somebody ! I wad do — what wad I not ? For the sake o' somebody 1 THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. The lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! And ay the saut tear blins her e'e : 272 Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, \ waefu' day it was to me ; For there I lost ray father dear, My father dear and brethren three. Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see ; And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e ! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A blu : dy man I trow thou be ; For mony a heart thou hast made sair, That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. Tune, — " Finlayston Home." 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, [n dust dishonour'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 ! O MAY THY MORN. O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, As the mirk night o December: For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber : And dear was she I dare na name, But I will ay remember. And dear } d>c* 2?3 And here's to them, that, like oursel, Can push about the jorum ; And here's to them that wish us well, May a' that's gude watch o'er them ; And here's to them, we dare na tell, The dearest o' the quorum. And here's to, 8$c. O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN O, Wat ye w-ha's in yon town, Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? The fairest dame's in yon town, That e'enin sun is shining on. Now haply down yon gay green shaw, She wanders by yon spreading tree ; How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw. Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. How blest ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year? And doubly welcome be the spring, The season to my Lucy dear. The sun blinks blythe on yon town, And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; But my delight in yon town, And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. Without my love, not a' the charms, O' paradise could yield me joy ; But gi'e me Lucy in my arms, And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. My 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 thers, O sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon * A fairer than's in yon town, His setting beam ne'er shone upon. If angry fate is sworn my foe, And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; I careless quit aught else below ; But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. For while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, And she — as fairest is her form ! She has the truest, kindest heart. A RED, RED ROSE. O My love's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June : O my love's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I : And I will love thee still, my dear, 'Till a' the seas gang dry. 'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun : will love thee still my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only love, And fare thee weel, a while ! And I wiil come again, my love, Tho' it were ten thousand mile. A VISION 1 . As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-iiower scents the dewy air, \\ here the howiet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care. The winds were laid, the air was still, The stars they shrt alang the sky ; The fox was howling on the bill, And the distant-echoing giens reply. TI5 The stream adown its hazelly path, Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, . Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. The cauld blue north was streaming forth Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; Athort the lift they start and shift, Like fortune's favours, tint as win. By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, And, by the moon-beam, shook, to see A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. Had I a statue been o* stane, His darin look had daunted me ; And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, The sacred posie — Libertie ! And frae his harp sic strains did flow, Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear But oh, it was a tale of woe, As ever met a Briton's ear ! He sang wi' joy his former day, He weeping wail'd his latter times ; But what he said it was nae play, 1 winna ventur't in my rhymes. UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early ; When a the hills arc 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 rnorn, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Up in in the morning, fyc. 2?6 I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING. I Dream'd I lay where flowers were springing, Gaily in the sunny beam ; Listening to the wild bird singing, By a falling, crystal stream : Straight the sky grew black and daring ; Thro* the woods the whirlwinds rave ; Trees with aged arms were warring, O'er the swelling,, drumlie wave. Such was my life's deceitful morning^ Such the pleasure I enjoy 'd ; But lang or noon, loud tempests storming A 'my flow'ry bliss destroy 'd Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ; Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, I bear a heart shall support me still. BEWARE O' BOMNIE ANN. Ye gallants bright, I red you right, Beware o' bonnie 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. Youth, grace, and love attendant move, And pleasure leads the van : In a' their charms, and conquering arms, They wait on bonnie Ann. The captive bands may chain the hands, But love enslaves the man ; Ye gallants braw, I red you a', Beware o' bonnie Ann. 277 BONNIE MARY. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie ; 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 lea'e my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glitt'ring spears are ranked ready ; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody ; But it's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar, It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. SONG. THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity, That he from our lasses should wander awa : For he's bonnie and braw, well-favour'd with a'. And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw : His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a . His coat is the hue, &c. For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin , Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel mounted and braw ; But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. — There's Meg wi' the mailen, that fain wad a haen him, And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, — But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a* + Aa 278 MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highland's a chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; "Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is r;ot here, My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. SONG. THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T. O wha my babie-clouts will buy? Wha will tent me when I cry ? Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? The rantin dog the daddie o't. — Wha will own he did the faut ? Wha will buy my groanin-maut ? 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 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. 279 SONG. CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie. Aid to be lying beyond thee, sweetly, soundly, voeel may he sleep, That's laid in the bed beyond thee. Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood, And blithely awakens the morrow ; But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-wood, Can yield to me nothing but sorrow, Beyond thee, fyc. I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 1 hear the wild birds singing ; But pleasure they hae nane for me, While care my heart is wringing. Beyond thee, fyc. I canna tell, I maunna tell, I dare na for your anger ; But secret love will break my heart, If I conceal it langer. Beyond thee, fyc. I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, I see thee sweet and bonnie, But, oh, what will my torments be, If thou refuse thy Johnie ! Beyond thee, fyc. To see thee in anither's arms, In love to lie and languish, 'Twad be my dead, that will be seen^ My heart wad burst wi' anguish. Beyond thee, fyc. But Jeanie, sav thou wilt be mine, Say, taou lo'3s nane before me ; And a' my days o' life to come I'll gratefully adore thee. Beyond thee, fyc. Aa 2 280 I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAEFAIR. I Do confess thou art sae fair, I wad been o'er the lugs in love ; Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak, thy heart could move. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art thriftless o* thv sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder rose-bud, 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 a while ; Yet sune thou shait be thrown aside, Like ony common weed and vile. YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 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 : Where the grouse, $c. Not Cowrie's richvallies, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; For there, by a lanely, and sequester'd stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath ; For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, While o'er us unheeded, flee the swift hours o' love. She is not the fairest, 311110' she is fair ; O' nice education but sma' is her share ; Her parentage humble as humble can be ; But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 281 "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 flee to our hearts. But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms, O, these are my lassie's all- conquering charms ! WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? 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'll work mischief; Indeed will I, quo* Findlay. Gif I rise and let you in — Let me in, quo' Findlay ; Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din ; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. In my bower if ye should stay — Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; I fear ye'll bide till break o' day ; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Here this night if ye remain, Pll remain, quo' Findlay ; I dread ye'll 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 ! Aa 3 282 SONG. Tune,—" The Weaver and his Shuttle, OS 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 edu- cation, O Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O. 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 tcp, I still was worst mistaken, O. 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 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 I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sus- tain 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. 283 Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro* life I'm dooin'd to wander, O. Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slum- ber, O No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-mor- row, 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 unforseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur'd folly, O But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. SONG. Tho* cruel fate should bid us part, As far's the pole and line ; Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine. 284 Tbo' mountains frown and deserts howl, And oceans roar between ; Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean. SONG— FRAGMENT. Tune, — ' John Anderson my Jo.* One night as I did wander, When corn begins to shoot, I sat me down to ponder, Upon an auld tree root : Auld Air ran by before me, And bicker'd to the seas ; A cushat crowded o'er me That echoed thro' the braes. SONG.— FRAGMENT. Tune, — ' Daintie Davie.* There was a lad was born in Kyle, But what na day o' what na style I doubt its hardly worth the while To be sae nice wi' Robin. Robin nas a ravin Boy, Raniin ravin*, rantia ravin* : Robin xvas a ravin* Boy, Raniin 1 ravin' Robin. Our monarch's hindmost year but ane Was rive-and-twenty days begun, 'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' Blew hansel in on Robin. The gossip keekit in his loof, Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof, This waly boy will be nae coof, I think we'll ca' him Robin. 285 He'll hae misfortunes great and smaY But ay a heart aboon them a* ; He'll be a credit till us a', We'll a' be proud o' Robin, But sure as three times three mak nine, I see by ilka score and line, This chap will dearly like our kin', So leeze me on thee, Robin. Guid faith quo' scho I doubt you, Sir, Ye gar the lasses * * * * But twenty fauts ye may hae waur So blessin's on thee, Robin ! Robin was a rovin* Boy, Rantin* rovin\ ra?itin' roviri ; Robin was a rovin Boy, Rantin* rovin 1 Robin. SONG —FRAGMENT. Tune, — ' i" had a Horse and I had nae mair.' When first I came to Stewart Kyle, My mind it was nae steady, Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade A mistress still I had ay : But when I came roun by Mauchline town, Not dreadin' any body, My heart was caught before I thought, And by a Mauchline lady. ******* SONG.— FRAGMENT. Tune,— « Gatta Water.' 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. 1 286 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' twad gie o' joy to me, The sharin't with Mongomerie's Feggy.— SONG.— FRAGMENT. O Raging fortune's with'ring blast Has laid my leaf full low ! O O raging fortune's with'ring blast Has laid my leaf full low ! O. My stem was fair, my bud was green, My blossom sweet did blow, O The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, And made my branches grow, O. But luckless fortune's northern storms Laid a' my blossoms low, O But luckless fortune's northern storms Laid a' my blossoms low, O. SONG. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll 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'll 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 we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met — or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 287 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. SONG. Tune, — • Banks of Banna.' Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na' ; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of A nna. The hungry Jew in wilderness Rejoicing o'er his manna, Was naething to my hinny bliss Upon the lips of Anna. Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, Frae Indus to Savannah ! Gie me within ray straining grasp The melting form of Anna. There I'll despise imperial charms, An Empress or Sultana, While dying raptures in her arms I give and take with Anna ! Awa thou flaunting god o' day ! Awa thou pale Diana ! Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray When I'm to meet my Anna. Come, in thy raven plumage, night, Sun, moon, and stars withdraw a' ; And bring an angel pen to write My transports wi' my Anna i CALEDONIA. Tune, — * Caledonian Hunt's Delight.' There was once a day, but old Time then was young, That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 288 From some of your northern deities sprung, (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine ?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign, And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew : Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, — " Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue r With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : Repeated, successive, for many long years, They darken'd the air. and they plunder'd the land : Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, The daring invaders they fled or they died. The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth, To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore : O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd. No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose, With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose. And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life : The Anglian lion, the terror of France, Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood ; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood. Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 289 For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose, The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base ; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them always. SONG. Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, Shall ever be my muse's care : Their titles a' are empty show ; Gie me my highland lassie, O. Within the glen sae bushy, O, Aboon the plains sae rushy, O, J set me down wi right good will ; To sing my highland lassie, 0, Oh, 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. Within the glen, fyc. But fickle fortune frowns on me, And I maun cross the raging sea ; But while my crimson currents flow I'll love my highland lassie, O. Within the glen, fyc. 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. Within the glen, fyc. For her I'll dare the billow's roar, For her I'll trace a distant shore, That Indian wealth may lustre throw Around my highland lassie, O. Within the glen, fyc. t z 290 She has my heart, she has my hand, By sacred truth and honour's band ! Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, I'm thine, my highland lassie, O. Farewell the glens sae bushy, ! Farewell the plains sae rushy, ! To other lands I novo must go. To sing my highland lassie } ! SONG. Tune,—' Morag* 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. that's the lassie o' my heart, My lassie ever dearer ; O that's the queen o' woman kind, And ne'er a ane to peer her. If thou shalt meet a lassie, In grace and beauty charming, That e'en thy chosen lassie, Ere while thy breast sae warming, Had ne'er sic powers alarming, O that's, Sfc. 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. that's, Sfc. 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, %c. 291 SONG. Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, O'er the mountains he is gane ; And with him is a' my bliss, Nought but griefs with me remain. Spare my love, ye winds that blaw, Plashy sleets and beating ram ! Spare my love, thou feathery snaw, Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! When the shades of evening creep O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, Sound and safely may he sleep, Sweetly blithe his waukening be t He will think on her he loves, Fondly he'll repeat her name ; For where'er he distant roves, Jockey's heart is still at hame. SONG. My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, The frost of hermit age might warm ; My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, Might charm the first of human kind. I love my Peggy's angel air, Her face so truly, heavn'ly fair, Her native grace so void of art, But I adore my Peggy's heart. The lily's hue, the rose's dye, The kindling lustre of an eye ; Who but owns their magic sway* Who but knows they all decay ! The tender thrill, the pitying tear, The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear, The gentle look, that rage disarms, These are all immortal charms. SONG, WRITTEN AND SUNG AT THE GENERAL MEETING OF THE EXCISE OFFICERS IN SCOTLAND. The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; And ilka auld wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun* " We wish you luck o' the prize mast* 29% CHORUS. " Well male our maut, and brevo our drink y " We'll dance and sing and rejoice man ; " And mony thanks to the muckle black Deil } " That dane'd atva voi' the Exciseman. " There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, " There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; " But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', " Was the Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.' , " Well mak our maut, fyc." A SONG ON MISS PEGGY K- Tune — ** Last time I came o'er the midr." Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, She's blushing like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass, With pearly gems adorning. Her eyes outshine the radiant beams, That gild the passing shower, And glitter on the crystal streams, And cheer each fresh'ning flower. Her lips more than the cherry's bright, A richer die has grae'd them ; They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, And sweetly tempt to taste them. Her smile is like 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 savage, surly winter. Distraction's eye no arm can join Her winning powers to lessen ; And spiteful envy grins in vain The poison'd tooth to fasten. Ye powers of honour, love and truth, From every ill defend her ; Inspire the highly favour'd youth The destinies intend her. 293 Still fan the sweet connubial flame, Responsive in each bosom ; And bless the dear parental name, With many a filial blossom. THE BANKS OF THE DEVON, How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair, But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon, Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing 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, VVith chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ; And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn* Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, And England, triumphant, display her proud rose j. A fairer than either adorns the green vallies, Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT AFTER THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN. Tune—" Captain Okcdru" The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murm'ring streamlet runs 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 number'd by care ? No birds sweetly singing, nor flowers gaily springing,. Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dar'd, cou'd it merit their malice, A king and a father to place on his throne ! His right are these hills, and his right are these vallies, Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. Z 3 294 But 'tis not my sufferings, 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 ! ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. On a bank of flowers one summer's day, For summer lightly dress'd, The youthful blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep oppress'd, When Willy, wand'ring thro' the wood, Who for her favour oft had su'd, He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, And trembl'd when he stood. Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, Were seal'd in soft repose, Her lips still as they fragrant breath'd, It richer dy'd the rose. The springing lilies sweetly press'd, Wild wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blus'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 flatt'ring 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 startling half awake, Away affrighted springs. But Willy follow'd as he should, He overtook her in the wood, He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid Forgiving all and good. END OF THE SONGS, APPENDIX, HHHE posthumous fame of Burns is without parallel in the annals of poetry. Soon after his death, meetings were held in various parts of the British Em- pire, commemorative of his excellencies as a son of in- spiration. Among the earliest of the anniversaries that were celebrated in honour of his memory, was one which took place in the Cottage wherein he was born. The party was small. but select, and formed a most in- teresting group, from the circumstance of nearly one half of the company having their names associated with some of the most gratifying particulars in the Po- et's history. The meeting consisted of the following sincere fiiends and admirers of their far famed coun- tryman — William Crawford, Esq. of Doonside, by whose father the father of Burns had been employed in the capacity of a Gardener. John Ballantine, Esq. to whom Burns addressed the " Twa Brigs o' Ayr." Robert Aikin, Esq. to whom he dedicated " The Cottar's Saturday Night " Patrick Douglas, Esq. of Garallan, by whose in- terest he was to have obtained a situation in Ja- maica, had he followed out his intention of re- pairing to that Island. Primrose Kennedy, Esq. of Drumellan. Hew Fergusson, Esq. Barrack- master, Ayr. David Scott, Esq, Banker, Ayr, 296 APPENDIX. Thomas Jackson, Esq. L. L. D. Professor of Na- tural Philosophy in the University of St. Andrews. The Rev. Hamilton Paul, who had been previous- ly solicited by Provost Ballantine, through the interposition of Captains Kennedy & Fergusson, to prepare a few verses suited to the occasion, and who has since written eighteen anniversary Odes, in commemoration of the Birth day of Burns, from which a few extracts are subjoined. The meeting above mentioned took place in 1801. The succeeding Festivals were honoured by the pre- sence of the most distinguished characters in the town and neighbourhood. An additional room was built to the end of the Cottage; but the numbers increased to such a degree, that they could not, without the utmost difficulty, be accommodated. At the several anniver- saries, the Odes were read by different Gentlemen. — That of 1805 was read by ^Major-General Sir Frede- rick Adam, at that time stationed with his regiment at Ayr. Some weak attempts have been made by nar- row minded men. to expose to ridicule this Burnoma' nia, as they term it ; but, like self-love converted by the plastic power of the Poet into social affection, it is spreading wider and wider every day. «* Friends, kindred, neighbours, first it doth embrace, Our country next, and next all human race." IRREGULAR ANNIVERSARY ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. Scene — The Cottage in which he was born. Here let me kneel and kiss the precious earth, For ever hallow'd by the Poet's birth. Where'er I look, around on grove or green, From this blest spot his magic gilds the scene : Here stands the Kirk, in which his wizard power, Conjur'd hobgoblins at the midnight hour ; APPENDIX. 297 AndDoon in sweet meanders winds along, 'Mid banks that bloom for ever in his song ; Thro' fairy scenes, there wnnders wood-crown'd Ayr, Scenes of his love, his musings, and his care. While rivers roll their torrents to the main, While dewy clouds refresh the thirsty plain, So long, sweet Bard, thy heavenly strains shall flow, Inspiring joy, or mitigating woe. While youthful Bards delight to strike the lyre, And pay their court with rapturous desire, To objects half infernal, half divine, Man's bane and bliss — to women, wit, and wine : So long thine amorous ditties shall be sung, And breathe enchantment from the virgin's tongue ; So long each tale of thine, each story droll, » Shall add new lustre to the sparkling bowl. You've heard the choristers of spring, Their dulcet throats attune, And far and wide responsive ring, The Braes o' bonnie Doon : And on the bushy banks of Ayr, You've heard the warbling throng, But none so witching, none so rare, None half-entitled to compare, With our sweet Robin's song. The mellow numbers, as they flow, Pour balm into the wounds of woe, Or bid the youthful fancy rove, To scenes of joy or haunts of love. Thus beams the friendly polar star, On midnight mariner from far, Whose wakeful and inquiring eye, Unceasing rambles o'er the sky, In quest of an unerring guide, To pilot him across the tide, And moor him safe from ocean's harms, Within his well beloved's arms. Ye trees, that crown the wat'ry glade, Ye birds, that chant the boughs among r Ye seem to wear a deeper shade, Ye seem to pour a sadder song. What tho' around the Poet's grave, The thistle spring, the long grass wave, The lowly bramble creep! 98 APPENDIX. What though tbe church-yard's heaps among y In slow procession move along, The friends of genius and of song, To wonder and to weep ! Yet still around the Poet's tomb, The laurel evergreen shall bloom, Shall beautify his honour'd bust, And shade his consecrated dust. Ye sacred groves, ye silver streams That glitter to the sunny beams, Your lov'd retreats we choose : To sing of him who bids you show A brighter verdure, as you blow, A sweeter murmur, as you flow, In his enchanting muse. Ye woods that grace his Coila's plain, Ye bloom and fade, and bloom again, But in his deathless verse pourtray'd, Ye blossom never more to fade. Still Spring, with hyacinthine bell, Shall grace the green groves of Rozelle, And Summer, with bewitching smile, Bloom round the borders of Bellisle. And that lov'd stream, bless'd by his song, In soft meanders glide, The Braes of Allowa among Or woodlands of Doonside. Still honest men, and maidens fair, Shall tread the bonnie banks of Ayr,. And th' annual tributary lay, With willing hearts to him we'll pay, Whose ardent soul and polish'd mind\ Restor'd the purity of song (Degraded and debas'd so long) And love's soft dialect refin'd : Who bade the youthful Scottish swain Breathe from his soul a purer strain, Expressive of love's joy or woe, Than ever yet was heard to flow From shepherd on Arcadian plain ; Who taught the ruddy rural lass, When May-morn gems the dewy grass* As bending o'er her milking pail, To pour her soft notes on the gale — APPENDIX. 299 Notes that a Vestal well might hear, And notes that would have charm'd the ear, And claim'd the sympathetic tear Of Petrarch in Vaucluse's vale ! Happy could I ascend on equal wing, And soaring hi*>h with equal vigour sing, Then Doon should roll more rapidly his floods Ayr more majestic wander thro' his woods. Beloved streams, where'er my footsteps roam, Your grateful murmurs seem to call me home ; By fancy led, I linger in your shades, And gaze enamour' d on your lovely maids- Review your palaces and wizard towers, And tread again your honeysuckle bowers — O, that the lovM Bard, ere his spirit was flown, Ere he bade a short life of misfortune adieu, Wide over my shoulders his mantle had thrown, Fd have breath'd a strain worthy of him and of you: But alas cold for ever's the soul kindling fire. Mute the tongue that could captivate, ravish, inspire* While the hands of the feeble awaken the lyre, And the Muses sigh out, " our adorers are few 1" Yet many a one, whose kindred soul, Glows with congenial fire, As years on years successive roll, Will, gathering round the mantling bowl, In ecstacy admire. That matchless magnitude of mind, That feeling heart, that taste refin'd, That self-taught art sublime, Which bid the Cottage tenant rise, Th' ennobled favourite of the skies, Whose heaven sent laurel crown defies The withering touch of time ! Where Caledonia's name is known, From Iceland to the burning Zone, Who that the witchery has tri'd, Of Coila's Lark, and Scotia's pride, As he depicts the rural scene, Tho' exil'd from his native home, Does not with ceaseless transport roam, 'Mong groves of everlasting green ? 300 APPENDIX. And where the Ganges' ocean stream Rolls, and reflects the morning beam, Or Niagara's waters play, And dance beneath the setting day, Reciin'd amid the bow'ry shade At gloaming grey or sultry noon, Who has not clasp'd his darling maid, By hermit Ayr or bonnie Doon? But chief, beneath his native shades, The ardent youths and love-sick maids, The feast of harmony prolong, And pour the very soul of song. Where nymphs and swains enamour' d stray, Along the fertile banks of Tay ; Or shepherds tune the Doric reed, And charm the holms of classic Tweed; Or roam Edina's virgin train, Where Forth meand'ring seeks the main ; Or Glotta's maids, with graceful pride, Adorn the verdant vale of Clyde ; There they attune their mellow throats And warble forth their chearful notes. But nothing can surpass the tune, That echoes from the braes of Doon : Nought with the music can compare, That floats along the banks of Ayr. Ye rivers that have roll'd your tide, Since time began to run, Whose waters will perennial glide, Coeval with the sun, When we shall yield, as yield we must, To fate, and mingle with the dust, On you shall future beauties bloom, And fresh flowers yearly shed perfume, And other Bards, profuse of praise, Delight your echoes with their lays, And other friends to merit fled Here pay due honours to the dead, And as they fan the gen'rous flame Immortalize the Poet's name ! — APPENDIX. 301 The success of Burns, at that time unrivalled, awakened the ambition of a myriad of servile imitators, who conceived that a facility of versifying, and a knack at rhyming, formed the Poet, and constituted the es- sentials of poetry. They mistook ribaldry for wit, and vulgarity of language for the true Scottish dialect. — Few of them, therefore, attained to celebrity in the path which Burns had trode. But panegyrical effusions have proceeded from the pens of the most celebrated Poets of the age, for genius, taste, and originality. — Scarcely an author of eminence has appeared since the demise of the Poet, who has not paid a compliment to the merit of Burns. In one department of poetry, that of Song, the muse of Caledonia maintains a decided pre-eminence. What a brilliant constellation might be formed by clustering together the names of Burns, Campbell, Scott and Macniel, to which might be added those of Tannahill and the Etterick Shepherd, and giving the world a selection of their most admired songs ! I mean not to institute a comparison between Burns and these writers, in respect to their longer and more elaborate compositions, but merely to show the trans- cendency of his merit as a writer of songs — To Macniel we are indebted for some exquisite touches of nature, " Saw ye my wee thing, &c. ***** I met a bonnie thing, late in the gloaming, Down by the burnie whare flow'rs the haw tree, Her hair it was lintwhite, her skin it was milkwhite, Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e, Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses, Sweet were the kisses that she gae to me — »•*■#*** + Zz 302 APPENDIX. Fair as your face is, were't twenty times fairer, Young braggart she ne'er wad gie kisses to thee, &c* " The smile gaed affher bonnie face, a I maunna lea' my mammy, She's gien me meat, she's gien me claes, She's been my comfort a' my days, My father's death brought many waes, I canna lea' my mammy — " The Etterick Shepherd has given the world some diverting strains in the true style and spirit of the simple ballad, " If Buonaparte land at Fort- William, Auld Europe nae langer shall graDe ; I laugh when I think how we'll gall him, Wi' bullet, wi* steel, an' wi' stane ; Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Gairie, We'll rattle him aff frae our shore, Or lull him asleep in a cairnie, And sing him, " Lochaber no more." " What tho' we befriended young Charlie? To tell it I dinna think shame, Poor lad ! he cam till us right barely, An' reckon'd our mountains his hame ; "Tis true that our reason forbade us, But tenderness carried the day, Had Geordie come friendless amang us, Wi' him we had a' gone away — * The latter stanza has been represented by critics as the best of the ballad — I am of a different opinion — It gives a false view of the Highland character. The Chieftains, at least, <4 befriendedyoung Charlie," because they regarded him as the representative of their legiti- mate Sovereign, and the heir apparent to the Crown.— Had any other " come friendless amang them,", they would not perhaps have maltreated him, but they would not have recognized bis claim to the support of their arms. APPENDIX. 305 The great defect, or rather excess of those composi- tions, which are avowedly adapted to an unconstrained union with vocal or instrumental music, is prolixness No species of writing requires to be short and pithy so much as the song. In this respect that song of the Etterick Shepherd, though otherwise extremely beautiful, is exceedingly faulty — •• Sing on, sing on, my Iionnie bird, The sang ye sang yestreen o\ " A song of more than ordinary length is apt to be- come languid. Our Thomson, with all his melliflu- ence, was almost incapable of writing a song with en- ergy and pathos. There is a tameness in his language which will for ever exclude his lyrical compositions from any great share of popular applause. From this reprehension we must, however, except — " Rule Britannia," and " Tell me, thou soul of her I love." His friend Mallet was very happy in " The Birks of Invermay," — The smiling morn, the breathing spring, Invite the tuneful birds to sing, And while they warble from each spray, Love melts the universal lay ; Let us, Amanda, timely wise, Like them improve the hour that flies, And in soft raptures waste the day, Among the birks of Invermay. For soon the winter of the year, And age. life's winter, will appear ; At this thy living I loom will fade, As that will strip the verdant shade ; Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, The feather'd songsters are no more ; And when they droop, and we decay, Adiea the birks of Invermay. Z z 2 304? APPENDIX. Mr. Boswell, in whose family, genius, wit, and taste, appear to be hereditary, but who writes rather as an amateur than a professed author, is remarkably happy in his courtship of the Comic Muse — " When first I went to her, on purpose to woo her, Of mighty fine things I did say a great deal, But above all the rest, that which plazed her best Was, och ! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neale V* I met four chaps yon birks amang, Wi' hinging lugs, an' faces lang, I spier'd at neelour BauMy Strang, " Wha's thae I see?'* Quo' he, " ilk cream- fac'd paukie chiel Thinks himsel cunning as the DeiJ, An' they are come awa to steal Jenny's taubee."— " She bade the Laird gae kaim his wig, The Lawyer no to be a prig, The Soldier no to look sae big, The fool he cried ' te-hee ' * I ken'd,' quo' he, ' I ne'er wad fail :' She preen'd the dish-clout till his tail, She cool'd him wi' the water-pail, An' sav'd her baubee." Tannahill was capable of accurate and natural description. " The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben-lomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene. ****** ** sweet is the brier wi' its saft faulding blossom, And sweet is the birk wi' its mantle o' green — " From Campbell the feeling heart and polished mind may derive ecstatic delight. Distress, though induced APPENDIX. 305 by bein# engaged in an unjustifiable cause, is poeti- cally affecting — ** Ah ! Gilderoy, bethought we then, So soon, so sad to part, "When first in Iloslin's lovely glen You triumph 'd o'er ray heart." " Yes — they will mock thy widow's tears, , And hate thine orphan boy, Alas ! his infant beauty wears The form of Gilderoy !" In Walter Scott's Ballad, entitled " Young Lochinvar,'' the following passage is eminently charac- teristic of the feelings called forth by the occasion — " So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace, While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bride-maidens whisper'd, ' 'Twere better by far, ' To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." But I have scarcely met with any thing that sur- passed in tenderness the following, supposed to have been sung on the eve of a battle — " The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far from love and thee, Mary. ** To-morrow night more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song thy wail, sweet Maid, It will not waken me, Mary. *•' A time will come, with feeling fiaught, For if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought, Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. Z z 3 306 APPENDIX. " And if return'd from conquer'd foes, How blithely will the ev'ning close, How sweet the linnet sing repose To ray young bride and me, Mary ?*' The name Mary is a favourite with the Caledonian songsters. From Mary, Queen of Scots, to Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow, it has maintained the as- cendant in the Scottish ballad. There is something musical in the enunciation, and it is excellently adapt- ed to the melody of a double rhyme. I am sorry to see this mellifluous dissyllable dashed out of Halloween. In the first Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions the name Mary made a conspicuous appearance — FIRST EDITION. " Poor Willie, wi' his bowkail runt, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, And Mari/, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compar'd to Willie. Mall's nit lap out, &c." CURRIE's EDITION'. " Poor Willie, wi' his bowkail runt, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, And Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compar'd to Wiilie. Mall's nit lap out, &c." To a mere English reader, the beauty of the three- fold appellation is undiscernible ; and Dr. Currie hav- ing, as appears from a variety of blunders, almost for- gotten his vernacular tongue, has destroyed what to me is the principal charm in the stanza. I conceive Burns to have diversified the name with both wit and judgment. Mallie a bouncing country quean, Mary a lady, or one who gives herself airs as such, and Mall a female of the lowest rank, and when the passage is read with emphases suited to this view, the effect is admirable — appendix. 307 " Poor Willie, wi' his bowkail runt, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, And Mury, nae doubt, took the drunt To be compar'd to Willie. Mall's nit lap out, &c." The Poet, in my opinion, has, in the first instance, given the rural beauty the name by which she was usually designated — in the second instance, he calls her by a genteeler appellative, but ironically, on account of her sauciness — and in the third instance, he gives her a kind of nickname out of contempt for her pride. — Thus Mall, Mallie, and Mary, are exact counterparts to Will, Willie, and William. Though Mallie, therefore, could not, with propriety, object to being emblemati- cally burnt with Willie, yet the gentler Mary might ■ entertain her scruples. I hope to see Mary restored to her place in Halloween — and also the original text of some other passages, with which "Editors have taken liberties, restored. The writers, from whose songs I have given quota- tions above, have each his peculiar excellence- — one is master of the pathetic, another of the tender, a third is an adept in the plaintive, and a fourth is distinguish- ed by a happy vein of humour ; but in all these de- partments of lyrical composition, Burns was equally and eminently successful. To prove his unrivalled excellence in this walk of literature, we need only ap- peal to the writings themselves. For bold, heroic and patriotic sentiment, expressed in language of the most energetic description, is there any thing superior to the following? '* Lay the proud usurpers low, Tyrants fall in every foe, Liberty's in every blow ! Let us do or die !" APPENDIX. '* Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark, Nor saves ev'n the wreck of a name ; Thou strik'st the young hero, a glorious mark, He falls in the blaze of his fame !" Love of country, freedom and independence, are the leading features of Caledonia — " The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling. fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain : He wanders as free as the winds on his mountains, Save love's willing fetters, the chains of his Jean." The compliment to simple rural beauty and pure innocence, was never more felicitously expressed than in his panegyrics on Jean and Nannie — " I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair; I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air ; There's not a bonnie flow'r that springs, By fountain, shaw or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings But minds me o' my Jean." * • • » » Her face is fair, her heart is true, She's spotless as she's bonnie o'; The op'ning gowan wet wi' dew Nae purer is than Nannie o\" Absence was never better depicted than it is in these affecting strains — 11 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride ! And years sinsyne hae o'er us run Like Logan to the simmer sun. APPENDIX. 309 Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, And evening's tears are tears of joy, My soul delightless a' surveys, While Willie's far frae Logan braes.' " Thou lav'roek, that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the grey breaking dawn, And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night fa', Give over for pity, my Nannie's awa." For deep, heartfelt, and touching melancholy, there is nothing in any language to match this — " How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my deary ; For dear to me, as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. ****** ** pale, pale, now those rosy lips, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly, And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance That dwalt on me sae kindly; And mould'ring now in silent dust, That heart that loe'd me dearly, Yet still within my bosom's core, Shall live my Highland Mary." - In sterling wit and genuine humour our Bard is irresistibily captivating — ** But warily tent whan ye come to court me, And come na unless the back yett be a-jee, Syne up the back style, an' let naebody see, An' come as ye were na coming to me." 310 APPENDIX. lt He spak o' the darts o' my bonnie black een> And said for ray love he was dieing, I said he might die whan he liked, for Jean, But guid forgie me for lieing." » * * * * u Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The place they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; "Willie was a wabster guid, Could stown a clue wi' onie body." Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, And wi' her loof her face a-wasbing ; But Willie's wife is no sae trig,- She dights her grunzie wi' a bushion. Her walie nitves like midden creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan water." u They'd hae me wed a wealthy coof, Tho' I mysel h^e plenty, Tam, But hear'st thou, Laddie, there's my loof, I'm thine whan ane an' twenty, Tam." In convivial and bacchanalian effusions, the merit of Burns is superlative — " It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinking in the lift sae hie, She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But by my sooth she'll wait a wee !" " Their tricks and craft have 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." " Yestreen I had a pint o' wine — " is sweet but licentious. It is unnecessary to accumu- late proofs of Burns' leaving competition far far be- APPENDIX. 311 hind. Many fine writers by too direct, minute and elaborate description, enfeeble the sentiment For instance — " The rising front by grandeur form'd, The graceful brow serene, The cheeks by health and nature warm'd, The lips of Cypria's Queen j The wavy ringlets of her hair In jetty blackness fine, Her skin most exquisitely fair, Her nose the aquiline— The heaving softness of her breast That trembling courts the touch, I strive to paint, but here I rest Lest I should paint too much !'* Even Allan Ramsay is too particular : " I'd clasp thee to this breast of mine, Whilst thou like ivy or the vine, Around my stronger limbs shouldst twine, Form'd hardy to defend thee — " But Burns's song adapted to the same air is — * above all Greek, above all Roman fame.'' There is nothing in the whole circle of lyric poetry, ancient or modern, to be named along with it — It bids de- fiance to comparison — " I see thee dancing o'er the green, Thy waist saejimp, thy limbs sae clean, Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — By Heaven and earth I love thee !" This is what may be called the paroxysm of desire — He draws the picture from Nature — he becomes en- amoured — he forgets himself — he pants for breath — he is unable to continue the description — and he gives utterance to his feelings in an oath — * By heaven and earth I tove ihee \" 312 APPENDIX. FAREWELL TO THE ALLOWA CLUB, RECITED AT THE NINTH AN NI VERS ART, BEING THE LAST AT WHICH THE AUTHOR WAS PRESENT. Nine times the annual lyre I've strung, Nine times the Poet's praises sung ; Thus have the Muses all, by turns, Paid homage to the shade of Burns, While you, the Patrons of the Nine, Delighted, charm'd, enraptur'd, fir'd, By love of poesy and wine, Politely listen'd and admir'd ; But should my day be overcast, And this effusion prove my last, In words that oft have met your ear, " This last request permit me here ; W T hen yearly, ye assemble a', One round, I ask it with a tear, To him, the Bard, that's far awa' !" END OF THE APPENDIX. GLOSSARY. The ck and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound of the English diphthong oo, is commonly spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often oc- curs in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong ae, al- ways, and ea, very often, sound like the French e masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei. A - n', and, iff A', All I nee, once Aback, axvay, aloof Ane, one. and Abeigh. at a sh,/ distance Anent, over against Anither, another Aboon, above, up Abread, abroad, in sight Ase. ashes Abreed, in breadth Asklent, asquint, aslant Ae, one A steer, abroad, stirring AfF, off ; ArF loof, unpre- \thart, athwart meditated Aught, possession, as, in Afore, before a* my aught, in all my Aft, oft' possession A ft en, often Auld Jang syne, olden Agley, off the right line, time, days of other years wrong Auld, old Aiblins, perhaps Auldfarran, or auld far- Ain, own rant, sagacious, cunning. Airl-penny, earnest-money prudent Aim, iron Ava, at all Aith, an oaih Awa* away Aits, oats Awfu', awful Aiver, an old horse Awn, the beard of barley > Aizle, a hot cinder oats, fyc. Alake, alas J Awnie, bearded Alane, alone Ayont, beyond Akwart, awkward B. Amaist, almost Ba', Ball Amang, amon'g Backets, ash boards f Cc GLOSSARY. Backlins, comin*, coming back, returning Bad, did bid Baide, endured, did stay Baggie, the belly Bainie, having large bones, stout Bairn, a child Bairntime, a family of children, a brood Baith, both Ban, to sxvear Bane, bone Bang, to beat, to strive Bardie, diminutive of bard Barefit, barefooted Barmie, of or like barm Batch, a crew, a ga?ig Batts, bolts Baudrons, a cat Bauld, bold Baw.k, bank Baws'nt, having a white stripe down the face Be, to let be, to give over, to cease Bear, barley Beastie, dimin. of beast Beet, to add fuel to fire Beld, bald Belyve, by and by Ben, into the lour Benlomond, a noted moun- tain in Dumbartonshire Bethankit, grace after meat Beuk, a book Bicker, a kind of wooden dish, a short race Bie, or Bield, shelter Bien, wealthy, plentiful Big, to build Biggin, building a house . Biggit, built he spence orpar- Bill, a bull Billie, a brother, a young fellow Bing, a heap of grain, po- tatoes, &c. Birk, birch Birken-shaw, Birchen- wood-shaw, a small wood Birkie, a clever fellow Birring, the noise of par- tridges, fyc. ivhen they spring Bit, crisis, nick of time Bizz, a bustle, to buzz Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf a term of contempt Blastit, blasted Blate, bashful, sheepish Blather, bladder Blaud, a flat piece of any thing ; to slap Blaw, to blow, to boast Bleerit, bleared, sore with rheum Bleert and blin, bleared and blind Bleezing, blazing Blellum, idle talking fellow Blether, to talk idly, non- sense Bleth'rin, talking idly Blink, a little while, a smiling look, to look kind- ly, to shine by fits Blinker, a term of contempt Blinkin, smirkin Blue-gown, one of those beggars who get annually, on the king's birth-day, a blue cloak or gown, ivith a badge Bluid, blood Bluntie, snivelling Blype, a shred, a large piece GLOSSARY Bock, to vomit, to gush in- termittently Bocked, gushed, vomited Bodle, a small gold coin Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins Bonnie or bonny, hand- some, beautiful Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of bread, a small jannack, or loaf made of oatmeal Board, a board Boortree, the shrub elder ; planted much of old in hedges of barn-yards, fyc. T3oost, behoved, must needs Bore, a hole in the wall Botch, an angry tumour Bouk, vomiting, gushing out Bousing, drinking Bow-kail, cabbage Bowt, bended, crooked Brachens )t /errc Brae, a declivity, a preci- pice, the slope of a hill Braid, abroad Braik, a kind of harrow Braing't, reel 'd forward Brainge, to run rashly forward B»*ak, broke, made insolvent Branks, a kind of wooden curb for horses Brash, a sudden illness Brats, coarse clothes, rags Brattle, a short race, hurry, fury ¥>m\\,jine, handsome Brawlyt, or brawiie, very well, finely, heartily Braxie, a morbid sheep Breastie, diminutive of breast Breastit, did spring up or forward Brecken,jtero Breef, an invulnerable or irresistible spell Breeks, breeches Brent, smooth Brewin, brewing Brie, juice, liquid Brig, a bridge Brunstane, brimstone Brisket, breast, the bosom Brither, a bi other Brock, a badger Brogue, a hum, a trick Broo, broth, liquid, water Broose, broth ; a race at country weddings, who shall 'first reach the bride- gr'oom's house on return* ingfrom church Bruah, a burgh Bruilzie, a broil a combus* tion Brunt, did burn, burnt Brust. to burst, burst Buchan-bullers, the boil- ing of the sea among the rocks on the coast of Buchan Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia Bught, a pen Bughtin-time, the time of collecting the sheep in the pens to be milked bu^idly, stout-made, broad- made Bum-clock, a humming beetle thatfiec, in the sum- mer evenings Bumming, humming as bees Bunomle, to blunder Bummler, a blunderer Bunker, a window-seat Burdies, diminutive of birds C c 2 GLOSSARY. Bure, did bear Burn, water, a rivulet Burnie, dimin of burn Burnewin, i. e. burn the wind, a blacksmith Buskie. bushy Buskit, dressed Busks, dresses Busle, a bustle, to bustle Buss, shelter But. bot, with But an* ben, the country kitchen and parlour By- himself, lunatic, dis- tracted Byke, a bee-hive Byre, a cow-stable, a sheep- pen C. Ca', to call, to name, to drive Ca't or ca'd, called, driven, calved. Cadger, a carrier Cadie, or caddie, a per- son, a ijoung fellow Caff, chaff Caird, a tinker Cairn, a loose heap of stones Calf ward, a small enclo- sure for calves Callan. a boy Callar, fresh, sound, re- freshing Canie or cannie, gentle, mild, dexterous Cannilie, dexterously, gently Cantie, or canty, cheerjul, merry Cantraip, a charm, a spell Cap-stane, cope-stone, key- stone Careerin, cheerfully Carl, an old man Carlin, a stout old woman Cartes, cards Caudron, a caldron Cauk and keel, chalk and red clay Cauld cold Caup, a wooden drinking- vessel Cesses, taxes Chanter, apart of a bag- pipe Chap, a person, a fellow, a blow Chaup, a stroke, a blow Cheekit, cheeked Cheep, a chirp, to chirp Chiel, or cheel, a young fellow Chimla, or chimlie, afire* grate, afire-place Chimla lug, the fireside Chittering, shivering, trem- bling Chockin. choking Chow, to chew ; cheek for chow, side by side Chuffie, fat-faced Clachan, a small village a- bout a church, a hamlet Claise, or claes, clothes Claith, cloth Claithing, clothing Claivers, nonsense, not speaking sense Clap, clapper of a mill Clarkit, icrote Clash, an idle tale, the sto- ry of the day Clatter, to tell little idle sto- ries; an idle story C'aught, snatched at> laid hold of Claut, to clean, to scrape Clauted, scraped Clavers, idle stories GLOSS Claw, to scratch Cleed, to clothe Cleeds, clothes Cleekit, having caught Clinkin, jerking, clinking Clinkumbell, who rings the church bell Clips, sheers Clishmaclaver, idle conver- sation Clock, to hatch, a beetle Clockin, hatching Cloot, tJie hoof of a cow, sheep, &c. Clootie, an old name for the Devil Clour, a bump or smelling after a blow Cluds, clouds Coaxin, wheedling Coble, a fishing boat Cockernonny, a lock of hair tied upon a girl's head ; a cap Coft, bought Cog, a wooden dish Coggie, dim-in. of cog Coila, from Kyle, a. district of Ayrshire, so called, saith tradition, from Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish mo- narch Collie, a general, and some- times a particular, name for country curs Collieshangie, quarrelling Commaun, command Cood, the cud Coof, a blockhead, a ninny Cookit, appeared, and dis- appeared by jits Coost, did cadt Coot, the ankle or foot Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish* — also those fowls, ARY. whose legs are clad with feathers, are said to be coolie Corbies, a species of the crow Core, corps, party, clan Corn't, fed with oats Cottar, the inhabitant qf& cot-house, or cottage Couthie, kind, loving Cove, a cove Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, to lop ; a fright ; a branch of furze, broom Cowp, to barter, to tumble over, a gang* Cowpit, tumbled Cowrin, cowering Cowte, a colt Cozie, snug Cozily, snugly Crabbit, crabbed, fretful Crack, conversation, to con* verse Crackin, cowed Craft, or croft, ajield ...car a house (in old husbandry) Craiks, cries or calls inces- santly, a bird Crambo-clink, or crambo- jingle, rhymes, doggrel verses Crank, the noise of an un- greased wheel Or&rikoirs, fretful, captious Cranreuch, the hoarj/ort Crap, a crop, to crop Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook Creel, a basket ; to have one's wits in a creel, to be craz'd, to befascinated Creeshie, greasy Ciood, 01 croud, tvtooas xi dove GLOSSARY Croon, a hollotu and conti- nued moan ; to make a noise like the continued roar of a bull; to hum a tune Crooning, humming Crouchie, crook-backed Crouse, cheerful, courageous Crousely, cheerfully, cou- rageously Crowdie, a composition of oatmeal and boiled water, sometimes from the broth of beef, mutton, §c Crowdie-time, breakfast- time Croulin, crawling Crummock, a cow with crooked horns Crump, hard and brittle ; spoken of bread Crunt, a bloiv on the head ivith a cudgel Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny Cummock, a short staff with a ci ooked head Curchie, a curtesy Curler, a player at a game on the ice, practised in Scotland, called curling Curlie, curled, whose hair falls naturally in > i aglets Curling, a well known game on the ice Curmurring, murmuring, a slight rumbling noise Curpm, the crupper Cushat, the dove, or wood- pigeon Cutty, short, a spoon bro- ken in the middle D. "Daddie, a father -Daffin, men imen t, foolish ■ ness Daft, merry, giddy, foolish Daimen, rare, now and then ; daimen-icker, an ear of corn now and then Dainty, pleasant, good hu- moured, agreeable Dales, plains, valleys Darklins, darklin Daud, to thrash, to abuse Daud, (noun) a la?ge piece, the noise of one falling fiat Daur, to dare Daurt, da' id Daurg, or daurk, a days labour Davoe, David Dawtir, or dawtet, fondled, caressed Dearies, dimin. of dears Dearthfu', dear Deavc, to deafen Deil-nia-care ! no matter ! for all that i Deieerit, delirious Descxive, to describe Dight, to wipe, to clean corn from chaff' Dight, cleanedfrom chaff Dights, c cans Ding, ton - st, io push Dinna, do Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or pain Dir.zen, or diz'n, a dozen Doited, stup.if.ed Dolt, stupified, crazed Donsie, urn Dool, sorrow; to sing dool, to lament, to mourn Doos, doves Dorty, saucy, nice Douce, or douse, sober, wise, prudent GLOSSARY. Doucely, soberly, prudently Dought, was or were able Do up, backside Poup-skelper, one that strikes the tail Dour and din, sullen, sallow Doure, stout, durable, sul- len, stubborn Douser, more prudent Dow, am or are able, can. Dowff, pithless, warding force Dovvie, worn with grief, fatigue Sec. half asleep Downa, am or are not able, cannot Doylt, stupid Drap, a drop, to drop D rapping, dropping Dreep, to ooze, to drop Dreigh, tedious, long about it Dribble, drizzling, slaver Drift, a drove Droddum, the breech Drone, part of a bagpipe Droop, rumpPt, that droops at the crupper Droukit, v:ct Drounting, drawling Drouth, thirst, drought Drucken, drunken Drumty, muddy Drummock, meal and water mixed; raw Drunt, pet, sour humour Dub, a small pond Duds, rags, clothes Duddie, ragged Dung, worsted^ pushed, driven Dunted, beaten, boxed Dush, to push as a ram, Sec, Dush't, pushed by a ram, ox, E'e, the eye E'en, the eyes E'enin, evening Eerie frighted, dreading spirits Eiid, old age Elbuck, the elbow Eldritch, ghastly, frightful Ea', end Enbrugh, Edinburgh Eneugh, enough Especial, especially Ettle, to try, attempt Eydent, diligent F Fa', fall, lot, waterfall Faddom't, Jatliomed Fae, a foe Faen, foam Faiket, unknown Fair in, a fairin, a. present Fallow, fellow Fand, did find Farl, a cake of bread Fash, trouble, care, to trou- ble, to care for Fasht, troubled Fastereen-een, Fastens- Even t'auld. a fold, to fold Fauldiag, folding Faut, fault Fawsoiit, decent, seemly Feal, afield, smooth Fearfu', frightful F 'ear 5 't, frighted Feat, neat, spruce Fecht, to fight Fechtin, fighting Feck, many, plenty Fecket, waistcoat FeckfV, large, brawny, Uout GLOSSARY. Feckless, puny, weak, silly Feckly, weakly Feg, a jig Feide, feud, enmity Fell, keen, biting ; thejlesh immediately under the skin ; afield pretty level, on the side or top of a hill Fen, successful struggle, fi'^ht Fend, to live comfortably Ferlie, orferley, towonder; a wonder; a term of con- tempt Fetch, to pull by fits Fech't, pulled intermittently Fidge, tofidget Fiel, soft, smooth Fient, fiend, a petty oath Fier, sound, healthy ; a brother, a friend Fisle, to make a rustling noise, tofidget, a bustle Fit, afoot Fittie-lan, the nearer horse of the hindmost pair in the plough Fizz, to make a hissing noise, like fermentation Flainen, fan nel Fleecii, to supplicate in a flattering manner Fleech'd, supplicated Fl eech in , supplicating Fieesb, ajhece Fleg, a kick, a random UuW FJether, to dexoy by fair too) ds Fletherin, flattering F'ey. to sea/ e, tojrighten Flichter, to flutter, as young nestlings, when their dam approaches Flickering, to meet, to en- counter vcith Flinders; sherds, broken pieces Flingin-tree, a piece of timber hung by way of partition between two horses in a stable ; ajlail Flisk, to fret at the yoke YWsVit, fretted Flitter, to vibrate like the the "wings of small birds Flittering, fluttering, vi- brating Flunkie, a servant in livery Foord, a ford Forbears, forefathers Forbye, besides Forfairn, distressed, worn out, jaded Forfoughten, fatigued Forgather, to meet, to en* counter with Forgie, to forgive Forjesket, jaded with fa- tigue F 'other, fodder You', full, drunk Foughten, troubled, ha- rassed Fouth, plenty, enough, or more than enough Fow, a bushel, §c. ; also a pitchfork Frae, from Treath,ficth Frien*, frit nd ¥u\J Fud, the scut or tail of the hare, coney, Fuff. to bliwjntermitently Fufi't, did blow Ymmiv, full of merriment Fur, a furrow Furm, a form, bench Fyke, trifling cares ; to piddle, to be in a fuss GLOSSARY. about trifles Fyle, to soil, to dirty Fyl't, soiled, dirted G. Gab, the mouth ; to speak boldly, or pertly Gaber-lunzie, an old man Gadsman, plough boy, the boy that rides the horses in the plough Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; gaen, or gane, gone; gaun, going Gaet, or gate, way, man- ner, road Gang, to go, to walk Gar, to make, to force to Gar't, forced to Garten, a garter Gash, wise, sagacious, talk- ative, to converse Gashin, conversing Gaucy, jolly, large Gawky, half-witted, fool- ish, romping Gear, riches, goods of any kind ■ Geek, to toss the head in wantonness or scorn Ged, a pike Gentles, great folks Geordie, a guinea Get, a child, a young one Ghaist, a ghost Gie, to give ; gied, gave ; gien, given Giftie, dimin. of gift Giglets, playful girls Gillie, dimin. of gill Gilpey, a half grown, half informed boy or girl, a romping lad, a hoiden Gimmer. an ewe from one to two years old Gin, if, against Gipsey, a young girl Girn, to grin, to twist the features in rage, agony Girning, grinning^ Gizz, a periwig Glaikit, inattentive, foolish Glaive, a sword Glaizie, glittering, smooth like a glass Glaund, aimed, snatched Gleck, sharp, ready Gleg, sharp, ready Gleib, glebe Glen, dale, deep valley Gley, a squint, to squint ; a gl e y> off at a side, wrong Glib-gabbet, that speaks smoothly and readily Glint, to peep Glinted, peeped Gl in-tin, peeping Gloamin, the twilight Glowr, to stare, to look, a stare, a look Glowred, looked, stared Gowan, the fiower of the daisy, dandelion, hawk- weed, fyc. Govvany, gowany glens, daisied, dales Gowd, gold Govvff, the game of Golf; to strike as the bat does the ball at golf GowfPd, struck Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of contempt Gowl, to howl Grane or grain, a groan, to groan Grain'd and gaunted, groaned and grunted. Graining, groaning GLOSSARY Graip, a pronged instru- merit for cleaning Stables Graith, accoutrements, jur- niture, dress, gear Grannie, grandmother Grape, to grope Graph, groped Grat, wept, shed tears Great, intimate, familiar Gree, to agree; to bear the gree, to be decidedly victor Gree't, agreed Greet, to shed tears, to ■weep Greetin, crying, weeping G rippet, catched, seized Groat, to get the whistle of one's groat, to play a losing game Grousome, loathsomely grim Grozet, a gooseberry Grumph, a grant, to grunt Grumphie, a sow Grun\ ground Grunstane, a grindstone Gruntle the phiz, a grunt- ing noise Grunzie, mouth Grushie, thick, of thriving growth Gude, ihe Supreme Being; good Guid, good Guid-morning, good morrow Guid-e'en. good evening Guidman and guidwife, ihe master and mi of the house ; young guidman, a man i married Gully, or gullie, a large knife Guitiiather, ggudmother, - father-in-law, and mother- in-law Gumiie, muddy Gusty, tasteful H. Ha', hall Ha' bible, the great bible that lies in the hall Hae, to have Haen, had, the participle Haet, fient haet, a petty oath of negation ; nothing Haffet, the temple, the side of the head Hafflins, nearly half partly Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses, and moors Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled in the stomach qf a cow or sheep Hain, to spare, to save Hain'd, spared Hairst, harvest Haith, a petty oath Haivers, nonsense , speak- ing without thought Hal*, or bald, an abiding place Hale, whole, tight, healthy Haly, holy Hanie, home Hallan, a particular parti- tion-zcall in a cottage, or more properly a seat of titifat the outside Hallo win as, Hcdlow-cve, the Slst of October Hamebfc homely, affable Han', or haun', hand Hap, an outer garment, mantle, plaid, S\C. to wrap, to cover, to hap Happer, a hopper Happing, hopping GLOSSARY. Hap step an* loup, hop skip and leap Harkit, hearkened Harn. very coarse linen Hash a fellow that neither knows how to dress nor act with propriety Hastit, hastened Haud to hold Hau^hs, now lying, rich lands ; valleys Haurl, to drag, to peel Haurlin, peeling Haveral, a ha f witted per- son, h^fwitted Havins, good manners de- corum, good sen 'ly Ingine, genius, ingenuity Ingle, Jire,Jire- t lace Ise, / shall or will Ither, other, one another J. J ad, jade; also a familiar term among countryfolks for a giddy young girl Jauk, to dally, to tiifie Jaukin, trifling dallying Jaup, a jerk of water ; to jerk as agitat d water Jaw, coarse raillery, to pour out, to shut, to jerk as water Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl Jimp, to jump, slender in the waist, handsome Jink, to dodge, to turn c corner, a sudden turning a corner Jinker that turns quickly, a gay sprightly girl, a wag Jin kin. dodging Jirk ; a jerk Jocteleg, a kind of knife Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head Jow, to jow, a verb which includes both the swing' ing motion and pealing sound of a large bell Jundie, tojustle Kae. a daw Kail, colewart, a kind of broth Kaii-runt. the stem of cole- wort Kain : fo /?, fyc. paid as rent by a farmer Kebbuck. a cheese Keek, a peep, to peep Kelpies, a sort of mischiev- ous spirits, said to haunt fords and ferries at night, especially in storms Ken, to know ; Kend, or Ven't, knew Kennin, a small matter Kenspeckle, well knoivn Ket, matted, hairy, a fleece of wool Kiaugh, corking anxiety Kilt, to truss up the clothes Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip Kin', kindred Kin', kind Kintra Cooser, country stallion , GLOSSARY. King's-hood, a certain part of the entrails of an OX, SfC Kintra, country Kirn, the harvest supper, a churn. Kir sen, to christen, or baptize Kist, chest, a shop counter Kitchen, any thing that eats with bread, to serve for soup, gravy, fyc. Kith, kindred Kittle, to tickle, ticklish, likely Kittlin, a young cat Kiuttle, to cuddle Kiuttlin, cuddling Knaggie, like knags, or points of rocks Knappin, a hammer, a hammer for breaking stones. Know e, a small round hil- lock Knurl, dwarf Kye, cows Kyle, a district in Air shire Kyte, the belly Kythe, to discover, to shew one's-self Laddie, dimin. of lad Laggan, the angle between the side and bottom of a wooden dish Laigh, low Lairing, wading, and sink- ing in snow, mud, $c. LaithfV, bashful, sheepish Lallans, Scottish dialect Lambie, dimin. of lamb Lampit, a kind of shellfish t Lan', land, estate Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, Sfc. myself alone Lanely, lonely Lang, long ; to think lang, to long, to weary Lap, did leap Lave, the rest, the remain- der, the others Laverock, the lark Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill Lawlan, lowland Lea'e, to leave Leal, loyal, true, faithful Lea-rig, grassy ridge Lear, (pronoun) lare, learning Lee-lang, live-long Leesome, pleasant Leeze-me, a phrase of con- gratid at ory endearment ; I am happy in thee, or proud of thee Leister, a three-pronged dart for striking fsh Leugh, did laugh Leuk, a look, to look Libbet, gelded Lift, sky Lightly, sneering, to sneer at Lilt, a ballad, a tune- to sing Limmer, a kept mistress, a strumpet Limp't, limped, hobbled Link, to trip along Linkin, tripping Linn, a waterfall, precipice \Ant,flax ; lint i* the bell, flax in flower Lint white, a linnet Loan, or loanin, the place of milking Loof, the palm of the hand Loot, did let D d Looves, plural, of I oof Loun, a feUow, a raga- muffin, a woman of easy virtue "Loup, jump, leap Lowe, ajlame Lowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence Lowes, to loose Lows'd, loosed Log, the ear, a handle Lugget, having a handle Luggie, a s?nall wooden dish "with u handle Lum, the chimney Lunch, a large piece of cheese, flesh, fyc* Lunt, a column of smoke ; to smoke Luntin, smoking Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey M. Mae, more Mair, more Maist, most, almost Maistly, mostly Mak, to make Makin, making Mailen^arw Mallie, Molly Mang, among Manse, the parsonage- house, where the mini- ster lives Manteete, a mantle Mark, marks (This and several other nouns which in English re- quire an s to form the plural, are in Scotch, like the words sheep, deer, the same in both numbers.) GLOSSARY. Mar's year, the year 1715 Mashlum, meslin, mixed corn Mask, to mash, as malt, fyc Maskin-pat, a tea-pot Maukin, a hare Maun, must Mavis, the thrush Maw, to mow Mawin, mowing Meere, Mare Meickle, much Melancholious, mournful Melder, corn, or grain of any kind, sent to the mill to be ground Mell, to meddle, also a mallet for pounding bar- ley in a stone trough. Melvie, to soil with meal Men', to mend Mense, good manners, de- corum Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impudent Messin, a small dog Midden, a dunghill Midden-hole, a gutter at the bottom of a dunghill Mini, prim, affectedly meek Min', mind, resemblance Mind't, mind it, resolved, intending Minnie, mother, dam Mirk, mirkest, dark, dark- est Misca', to abuse, to call names Misca'd, abused Mislear'd, mischievous, un- mannerly Misteuk, mistook Mither, a mother Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed GLOSSARY. Moistify, to moisten Mony or monie, many Moop, to nibble as a sheep Moorlan', of or belonging to moors Morn, the next day, to- morrow Mou, the mouth Moudiwort, a mole Mousie, dimin. of mouse Muckle or mickle, great, big, much Musie, dimin, of muse Muslin-kail, broth compos- ed simply of water, shell- ed barley, and greens Mutchkin, an English pint Mysel, myself N. Na', no, not, nor Nae, no, not any Naething, or naithing, no- thing Naig, ahorse Nane, none Nappy, ale, to be tipsy Negleckit, neglected Neebor, a neighbour Neuk, nook, Niest, next Nieve, the fist NievetV, handful Niffer, an exchange ; to ex- change, to barter Niger, a negro Nme-tailed-cat, a hang- man's whip N t, a nut Nonand, of or belonging to the north Notic't, noticed Novvte, black cattle Q>/ o. Ochels, name of mountains O haith, faith ! an oath Ony, or onie, any Or, is often used for ere, before 0\ of it Ourie, shivering, drooping Oursel, or oursels, our- selves Outlers, cattle not housed Ower, over, too Owre-hip, a way of fetch- ing a blow with the ham- mer over the arm. Pack, intimate, familiar ; twelve stone of wool Painch, paunch Pairtrick, a partridge Pang, to cram Parle, speech Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a well-known Scotch dish Pat, did put, a pot Pattle or pettle, a plough- staff Paughty, proud, haughty Pauky, or pawkie, cun- ning, sly Pay% paid, beat Pech, to fetch the breath short, as in an asthma Pechan, the crop, the sto- mach Peelin, peeling Pet, a domesticated sheep 9 fyc. Pettle, to cherish ; aplough Phiiibegs, short petticoats worn by the Higland~ men Phraise, fair speeches, flat- tery, to flatter * X) & 2 GLOSSARY. Phraisin, flattery Pibroch, a Highland War Song adapted to the bag- pipe Pickle, a small quantity Pine, pain, uneasiness Pit, to put Placard, a public proclama- tion Plack, an old Scotch coin, the third part of a Scotch penny, twelve of which make an English penny Plackless, pennyless, with- out money Platie, dimin. of plate Plew, or pleugh, a plough Pliskie, a trick Poind, to seize on cattle, or take the goods, as the laws of Scotland allow for rent Poortith, poverty Pou, to pull Pouk, to pluck Poussie, a hare or cat Pout, a poult, a chick Pou't, did pull Pouthery, like powder Pow, the head, the skull Povvnie, a little horse Powther, or pouther, pow- der Preen, a pin Prent, printing Prie, to taste Prie'd, tasted Prief, proof Prig, to cheapen, to dispute Priggin,, cheapening Primsie, demure, precise Propone, to lay down, to propose Provoses, provosts Pund, pound, pounds Pyle, a pyle o' caff, a single grain of chaff Q. Quat, to quit Quak, to quake Quey, a cow from one t9 two years old R. Ragweed, herb ragwort Raible, to rattle nonesense Rair, to roar Raize, to madden, to in* Jlame Ram-feezl'd,/af /otmp d, over- spread Ram-stam, thoughtless, forward Raploch, properly a coarse cloth, but used as an ad- noun for coarse Rarely, excellently, very well Rash, a rush ; rash-buss, a bush of rushes Ratton, a rat Raucle, rash, stout, fearless Raught, reached Raw, a row Rax. to .stretch Ream, cream, to cream Reamin, brimfu Jrothing Reave, rove Reck, to heed Rede, counsel, to counsel Red-wat-shod, walking in blood over the shoe-tops Red-wud, stark mad Ree, half drunk, fuddled Reek, smoke Reekin, smoking Reekit, smoked, smoky Remead, remedy Requite, requitted glossaW*. Rest, to stand restive Restit, stood restive, stunt ed, withered Restricked, restricted Rew, Rue, repent Rief, reef, plenty Rief randies, sturdy beggars Rig, a ridge Riii, to run, to melt ; rin- nin, running Rink, the course of the stones , a term in curling on ice Rip, a handful of unthresh- ed corn Riskit, made a noise like the tearing of roots Rockin, spinning on the rock, or distaff Rood, stands likewisefor the plural roods Roon, a shred Roose, to praise, to com- mend Roun', round, in the circle of neighbourhood Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold Routhie, plentiful Row, to roll, to wrap Row't, rolled, wrapped Rowte, to low, to bellow Rowth, or routh, plenty Rowtin, lowing Rozet, rosin Rung, a cudgel Runkled, wrinkled Runt, the stem of colewort or cabbage Ruth, a woman's name, the book so called ; sorrow Sae, so Soft, soft S. Sair, to serve, a sore Sairly, or sairlie, sorely Sair't, served Sark, a shirt Sarkit, provided in shirts Saugh, the willow Saul, soul Saumont, salmon Saunt, a saint Saut, salt Saw, to sow Sawin, sowing Sax, six Scaith, to damage, to in- jure, injury Scar, to scar y a scar Scaud, to scald Scauld, to scold Scaur, apt to be scared Scawl, a scold Scon, a kind of bread Sconner, a loathing, to loathe Scraich, to scream as a hen, partridge, 8$c Screed, to tear, a rent Scrieve, to glide swiftly along Scrievin, gleesomely, swift* Scrimp, to scant Scrimpet, did scant, scanty See'd, did see Seizin, seizing Sei, self ; a body's sel, one's self alone Sell't, did sell Sen', to send Sen't, I, he, or she sent, om did send, send it Servan', servant SettJin, settling ; to get a settlin, to be frighted into quietness Sets,, sets off. goes away D d 3 GLOSSARY. Shaird, a shred, a shard Shangan, a stick cleft at one end for putting the tail of a dog, fyc. into by •way of mischief, or to frighten him away Shaver, a humorous wag, a barber Shaw, to shew, a small wood in a hollow place. Sheen, bright, shining Sheep-shank ; to think one's self nae sheep- shank, to be conceited. Sherra-moor, sheriff-moor the famous battle fought in the Rebellion, A. D. 1715. Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a sluice. Shiel, a shed. Shill, shrill Shog, a shock, a push off' at one side Shool, a shovel Shoon, shoes Shore, to offer, to threaten Shor'd, offered Shouther, the shoulder Sic, such Sicker, sure, steady Sidelins, sidelong, slanting Siller, silver, money Simmer, summer Sin, a son Sin', since Skaith, see scaith Skellum, a worthlessfolhw Skelp, to strike, to slap ; to walk with a smart tripping step, a smart stroke Skelpy-limmer, a technical term injemale scolding Skelpin, stampin, walking Skiegh, or Skeigh, proud 9 nice, high-mettled Skinklin, a small portion Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly Skirling, shrieking, crying Skirl't, shrieked Sklent, slant, to run aslant, to deviate from truth Sklented, ran, or hit, in an oblique direction Skreigh, a scream, to scream Slae, sloe Slade, did slide Slap, a gate, a breach in a fence Slaw, slow Slee, sly ; sleest, slyest Sleekit, sleek, sly Sliddery, slippery Slype, to fall over, as a wet furrow from the plough Slypet,/etf Sma\ small Smeddum, dust, powder, mettle, sense Smiddy, a smithy Smoor, to smother Smoor'd, smothered Smoutie, smutty, obscene, o **! Smytrie, a numerous col- lection of small indivi- duals Snapper, stumble Snash, abuse, Billingsgate Snaw, snoiv. to snow Snaw-broo, melted snow Snawie, snowy Sneck, latch of a door Sned, to lop, to cut off Sneeshin, snuff Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box GLOSSARY. Smell, bitter, biting Snick-drawing, trick-con- triving Snick, latchet of a door Snool, one whose spirit is broken with oppressive slavery ; to submit tamely, to sneak Snoove, to go smoothly and constantly, to sneak Snovvk, to scent or snuff, as a dog, horse, fyc. Snowkit, scented, snuffed Sonsie, having sweet en- gaging looks, lucky, jolly Soom, to swim Sooth, truth, a petty oath Sough, a s gh, a sound dying on the ear Soapie, flexible, swift S outer, a shoemaker Sowens, a dish made of oatmeal, the seeds of oat- meal soured, fyc. boiled up till they make an agreeable pudding Soup, a spoonful, a small quantity of any thing liquid Sowth, to try over a tune with a low whistle Sowther, solder, to solder, to cement Spae, t) prophesy, to divine Spaul, a limb Spairge, to dash, to soil, as with mire Spaviet, having the spavin Speat or spate, a sweeping torrent, after rain or thaw Speel, to climb Spence, the country parlour Spier, to ask, to inquire Spier't, inquired Splatter, to splutter Spleughan,a tjbacco-pouch Spiore, a frolic, noise, riot Sprattle, to scramble Spreckled, spotted, speckled Spring, a quick air in music, a Scottish reel Sprit, a tough rooted plant, something like rushes Sprittie, full of sprits Spunk, fire, mettle, wit Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery ; will-o-wisp, or ignis fat u us Spurtle, a stick used in making oat meal pud' ding or porridge, a no' table Scotch dish Squad, a crew, a party Squatter, to flutter in water as a wild duck, fyc. Squattle, to sprawl Squeel, a scream, a screech, to scream Stacher, to stagger Stack, a rick of corn, hay, Staggie, the diminutive of stag Stalwart, strong, stout Stant', to stand; stan't, did stand Stane, a stone Stank, did stink ; a pool of standing water Stap, stop Stark, stout Startle, to run as cattle stung by the gad-fly Staumrei, a blockhead^ half-witted Staw, did steal, to surfeit Stech, to cram the belly Stechin, cramming Steek, to shut, a stitch GLOSSARY. Steer, to molest, to stir Steeve,frm, compact Stell, a still Sten, to rear as a horse Sten't, reared Stents, tribute, dues of any kind Stey, steep ; steyest, steep- est Stibble, stubble ; stibble- rig, the reaper in harvest who takes the lead Stick an stow, totally, al- together Stite, a crutch ; to halt, to limp Stimpart, the eighth part of a Winchester bushel Stirk, a cow or bullock a year old Stock, a plant or root of colewort, cabbage, &c Stockin. stocking ; throw- ing the stockin', when the bride and bridegroom are put into bed, and the candle out, the former throws a stocking at ran- dom am >ng the company, an I the person whom it strikes is the next that xvill be ma tied Stooked, made up in shocks as corn Stoor, sounding hollow, strong, and hoarse Stot. an ox Stoup, or stowp, a kind of jug or dish with a handle Stoure, dust, more parti- cularly dust in motion Stowlins, by stealth Stown, stolen Stoyte, stumble Struck, did strike Strae, straw ; to die a fair strae death, to die in bed Straik, did strike Straikit, stroked Strappan, tall and hand- some Straught, straight Streck, stretched, to stretch Striddle, to straddle Stroan, to spout, to piss Studdie, an anvil Stumpie, dimin. of stump Strunt, spirituous liquor of any kind ; to walk sturdily Stuff, corn or pulse of any kind Sturt, trouble ; to molest Sturtin, frighted Sucker, sugar Sud. should Sugh, the continued rush- ing noise of wind or water Suthron, southern, an old name for the English nation Swaird, sward SwalPd, swelled Swank, stately, jolly Swankie, or swanker, a tight stepping young fellow or girl Swap, an exchange, to bar* ter Swarf, swoon ^wat, did sweat Swatch, a sample Swats, drink, good ale Sweaten, sweating Sweer, lazy, averse ; dead- sweer, extremely averse Swoor, swore, did swear Swinge, to beat, to ivhip SwirJ, a cruve t an eddying- GLOSSARY. blast, or pool) a knot in wood Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots Swith, get away S wither, to hesitate in choice, an irresolute •wavering in choice Syne, since } ago, then Tackets, a kind of nails for driving into the heels of shoes lae, a toe ; three-tae'd, having three prongs Tairge, target Tak, to take ; takin', tak- ing Tamtallan, the name of a mountain Tangle, a sea-weed Tap, the top Tapetless, heedless, foolish Tarrow, to murmur at one's allowance Tarrow't, murmured Tarry-breeks, a sailor Tauld, or tald, told Taupie, a foolish thought- less young person Tauted, or tautie, matted together ; spoken of hair or wool Tawie, that allows itself peaceably to be handled ; spoken of a horse, cow, Teat, a small quantity Tedding, spreading after the mower Ten-hours-bite, a slight feed to the horses while in the yoke, in the fore- noon Tent, a field pulpit, heed, caution, take heed Tentie, heedful, cautious Tentless, heedless Teugh, tough Thack, thatch ; thack an* rape, clothing necessaries Thae, these Thairms, small guts, fiddle- strings Thankit, thanked Theekit, thatched Thegither, together Themsel, themselves Thick, intimate, familiar Thieveless, cold, dry, spit- ed ; spoken qf a per on's demeanour Thir, these Thirl, to thrill Thirled, thrilled, vibrated Thole, to suffer, to endure Thowe, a thaw, to thaw Thowless, slack, lazy Thrang, throng, a croxvd Thrapple, throat, windpipe Fhravr, to sprain, to twist, to contradict Thrawin, twi.ting, fyc. Thrawn, sprained, twisted, contradicted, contradic- tion Threap, to maintain by dint of assertion Threshin, thrashing Threteen, thirteen Thristle, thistle Through, to go on with, to make out Throuther, pell-mell, con- fusedly Thud, to make a loud in- termittent noise Thumpit, thumped Thysel, thyself GLOSSARY. Till't, to it Timmer, timber Tine, to lose ; tint, lost Tinkler, a tinker Tint the gate, lost the way Tip, a ram Tippence, twopence Tirl, to make a slight noise, to uncover Tirlin, uncovering Tither, the other Tittle, to whisper Tittlin, whispering Tocher, marriage portion Tod, a fox Toddle, to totter, like the walk of a child Toddlin, tottering Toom, empty Toop, a ram Toun, a hamlet, a farm- house Tout, the blast of a horn or trumpet, to blow a horn, &c. Tow. a rope Towmond, a twelvemonth Towzie, rough, shaggy Toy, a very old fashion of female head-dress Toyte, to totter like old age Transmugrify'd, transmi- grated, metamorphosed Trashtrie, trash Trews, trowsers Trickie, full of tricks Trig, spruce, neat Trimly, excellently Trow, to believe Trowth, truth, a petty oath Trysted, appointed ; to tryste, to ma : :e an ap- poi t me nt Try't, tried Tug, raw hide, of which in old times plough-traces were frequently made Tulzie, a quarrel j to quar* rel, to fight Twa, two Twa-three, a few 'Twad, it would Twal, twelve ; twal-pennie worth, a small quantity, a penny-worth. N. B, One penny English fe \2d. Scotch. Twin, to part Tyke, a dog U Unco, strange, uncouth, very, very great, prodi- gious Uncos, news Unkenn'd, unknown Unsicker, unsure, unsteady Unskaith'd, undamaged, unhurt Unweeting, unwotting, un~ knowingly Upo', upon Urchin, a hedge-hog V Vap'rin, vapouring Vera, very Virl, a ring round a column y &c. W Wa', wall; wa's, walk Wabster, a weaver Wad, would, to bei, a bet, a ptedge Wadna, would not Wae, woe, sorrowful Waesucks ! or waes me ! ala* ! the pity Waft, the cross thread that goes from the shuttle 6L0SSAAY. through the web ; woof Waifu\ wailing Wair, to lay out, to expend Wale, choice, to choose WaPd, chose-, chosen Walie, ample, large, jolly ; also an interjection of distress Warae, the belly Wamefu* a belly full Wanchansie, unlucky Wanrestfu', restless Wark, work Wark-lume, a tool to wotk with Warl, or warld, world Warlock, a wizard Warly, worldly, eager on amassing wealth Warran, a warrant, to war- rant Warst, worst Warstl'd or warsPd, wrest- led Wastrie, prodigality Wat, wet, I wat, I wot, / know Water-brose, brose made of meal and water sim- ply, without the additions of milk, butter, &c. Wattle, a twig, a wand Wauble, to swing, to reel Waught, draught Waukit, thickened, as ful- lers do cloth Waukrife, not apt to sleep Waur, worse, to worst Waur't, worsted Wean ; or Weanie, a child Wearie, or weary ; many a wearie body, marry a dif- ferent person Weason, weasand Weaving the stocking. — See — throwing the stock- ing, Wee, little ; wee things, little ones ; wee bit, a small matter Weel, well ; weelfare, xvel* fare Weet, rain, wetness Weird, fate We'se, we shall Wha, who Whaizle, to wheeze Whalpit, whelped Whang, a leathern string, a piece of cheese, breads &c. to give the strappado Whare, where : Whare- e'er, wherever Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk ; penny-wheep, small beer Whase, whose Whatreck, nevertheless Whid, the motion of a hare, running but not frighted, a lie Whidden, running as a hare or coney Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies, crotchets Whingin, crying, complain- ing, fretting Whirligigums, useless orna- ments, trifling append- ages Whissle, a whistle, to whistle Whisht, silence : to hold one's whisht, to be silent Whisk, to sweep, to lash Whiskit, lashed W hitter, a hearty draught of liquor Whun-stane, a whinstone Whyles, whiks, sometimes Wi', with GLOSSARY. Wick, to strike a stone in an oblique direction, a term in curling Wicker, willow (the smaller sort). Wiel, a small whirlpool Wifie, a diminutive or en- dearing term for wife Wimple, to meander Wimpl't, meandered Wimplin, waving, meander. ing Win, to win, to winnow Win't, winded, as a bottom of yarn Win', wind; win y s, winds Winna, will not Winnock, a window Winsome, hearty, vaunted, Wintle, a staggering mo- tion ; to stagger, to reel Winze, an oath Wiss, to wish Withoutten, without Wizen'd, hide bound, dried, shrunk Wonner, a wonder, a con- temp' nous appellation Wons, die ells Woo', zvool Woo, to court, to make love to Woodie, a rope, more pro- perly one made of Hit lis or willows Wooer-bab, the gaiter knotted below the knee with a couple of loops Wordy, worthy Worset, worsted Wow, an exclamation of pleasure or wonder Wrack, to teaze, to vex Wraith, a spirit, a ghost .• an apparition exactly Hie a living person, whose appearance is said to forebode the persons ap- proaching death Wrang, wrong, to wrong Wreeth, a drifted heap of snow Wud-mad, distracted Wumble, a wimble Wyle, beguile Wyliecoat, a flannel vest Wyte, blame, to blame Y. Ye ; this pronoun is frc* quently used for thou Yearns, longs much Yearlings, born in the same year, coevals Year, is used both for singular and plural years Yell, barren, that gives no milk Yerk, to lash, to jerk Yerkh, jerked, lashed Yestreen, yesternight Yett, a gate, suck as is usually at the entrance into a f arm-yard orfltld Yill, ale Yird, earth Yokin, yoking, a bout Yont, beyond Yoursel, yourself Yowe, an ewe Yowie, dimin. ofyewe Yule, Christmas Wilson, M'Cormick, & Carkj£> Printers, Air, 1819. IBFe W w* LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 455 019 5 A! M^MnHli ■■■■■ ^H ■BHhHHHI mSB HHHHfl ' I m Ha I I ■■ s * 1 1 ♦ ■■ H , v > v\V! »S« HH BVbHHHHI HbHVRHH izKjjw id p^SKA'* Hi 1 1 m Hi ; I 1 Hi V- . ■■.-.