PR 430Z Book HSS CjOFXRIGHT DEEOSm .1 Issued Semi-Monthly \ Number 77 April 3, 1895 THE I COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT AND OTHER POEMS BY ROBERT BURNS ^ IV/T// A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH EXPL A NA TOR Y NO TES, A ND A GLOSSARY. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY I Boston : 4 Park Street New York: u East 17TH Street Chicago: 158 Adams Street E\)t JStbfrsiUe ^rtss, CamfiriUge IjUffi/dfim Single Numbers FIFTEEN CEI^TS Double Numbers THIRTY CENTS Yearly Subscription (18 Numbers) $2.50 SOME LITERARY MASTERPIECES REQUIRED FOR ADMISSION TO AMERICAN COLLEGES. FOR THE TEARS The Sir Koger de Coverley Papers. In Riverside Litera- 1895 1698 ture Series, Nos. GO, (51. Paper, 15 cents eaclu In one volume, cloth, 40 cents. Irving's Sketch Book. In Rivei"side Literature Series, 1895 Nos. 51, 52. Paper, 15 cents each. In one volume, cloth, 40 cents. Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. In Riverside 1895 1896 Literature Series, No. 56. Paper, 15 cents. 1898 Macaulay's Essay on Milton. 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PAQE Biographical Sketch . . . • 5 The Cotter's Saturday Night 9 Tam O' Shanter 17 The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, the Au- thor's ONLY Pet Yowe 25 Poor Mailie' s Elegy 28 To A Mouse 30 To A Mountain Daisy 32 To A Haggis 34 Epistle to Davie 36 Epistle to a Young Friend 41 Epistle to John Lapraik . . . . . . . 44 The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the Noble Duke of Athole 49 On Pastoral Poetry 52 Elegy on the Year 1788 55 A Bard's Epitaph 56 Versicles. The Selkirk Grace ; The Book-Worms ; On a Noted Coxcomb 58 Songs. For a' that and a' that 59 AuLD Lang Syne 60 My Father was a Farmer 61 John Anderson . 64 Duncan Gray 64 Last May a Braw Wooer 66 Flow Gently, Sweet Afton 68 Highland Mary 69 iv CONTENTS. To Mary in Heaven 70 I Love My Jean 71 Oh, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast .... 72 A Red, Red Rose 73 Mary Morison 74 Wandering Willie 75 My Nannie's Aw a' 75 Bonny Lesley 76 The Rose-Bud 77 The Posie 78 Bonnie Doon 80 Logan Braes 80 Out over the Forth 82 Somebody 82 Address to the Woodlark 83 The Highland Laddie 83 My Heart's in the Highlands ..... 84 The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast . . . 85 The Dumfries Volunteers 86 Here's a Health to them that's Awa' . . . »8 Bruce to his Men at Bannockburn .... 89 Glossary ^^ ROBERT BURNS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. " For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of becoming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John Bunyan ; and you may expect henceforth to see my birthday inserted among the wonderful events, in the Poor Robin's and Aberdeen Almanacks, along with the Black Monday and the Battle of Bothwell Bridge." So Burns wrote to a friend in the brief heyday of his prosperity at Edinburgh. When his last illness came upon him, and his life seemed a shipwreck, he told his wife : " Don't be afraid : I '11 be more respected a hundred years after I am dead than I am at present." Both of these prophecies, the jocose and the serious, have been completely verified, for the 25th of January, 1759, Robert Burns's birthday, is a date to be found in many a list of the world's memorable events ; and now that he has been dead a century, his fame lives secure with that of the great poets. His father, William Burns, at the time of the poet's birth was a gardener and farm-overseer at Alloway in Ayrshire in Scotland, and was always a poor man. Like many others of his class in Scotland, he prized highly every mental accomplishment, and gave his children, of whom the second son Gilbert was always the most closely identified with his elder brother Robert, every advantage within his limited reach. Through him an excellent teacher was brought to the village. An autobiographical letter from Burns to a friend acknowledges his early debt to this man for sound instructions, and, no less generously, to an igno- 6 ROBERT BURNS. rant old woman who plied him as a child with all the local fairy-stories and superstitions which filled her credulous brain. Thus, he says, were " the latent seeds of poetry " cultivated. They were further developed by the reading of such books of verse, Scottish and English, as the school- master put into the eager boy's hands. By the time he was twenty-two, he spoke of Poesy, as he might have done long before, " as a darling walk for my mind." Many things had befallen him, however, through his youth. At fifteen he had had his first experience of love- making, and to the end of his life he could truly say in the words of his own song : — " The sweetest houi-s that e'er I spend • Are spent amang the lasses, ! " His bitterest hours, too, were often the direct result of these pleasures, for there was more of impulse than of wisdom in his constant dealings with "the lasses." One writer has said of him : " In almost all the foul weather which Burns encountered, a woman may be discovered flitting through it like a stormy petrel." In the period of youth, also, he formed his habits of conviviality. Full of wit and glad to escape from a naturally melancholy self, it is no wonder that when, at seventeen, he went to study trigonometry and mensuration at a village on the Ayrshire coast much fre- quented by smugglers, their free ways appealed to him strongly. Many men before and since Burns have had to pay heavily for the very qualities which have made them attractive to others : the pity of it is that, as in the case of Burns, the tavern too often becomes the theatre of actions which finally subdue the real good in a man to the evil about him. Except for another absence from home, in a fruitless attempt to learn the trade of a flax-dresser. Burns lived with his own people, earning like his brother Gilbert £7 a year for his work on the farm, until the father died insol- vent in 1784, when Robert was twenty-five years old. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 Thereupon Gilbert and he contrived to enter upon a new farming venture at Mossgiel in the parish of Mauchline. Their enterprise met with very indifferent success, though Kobert, with the resolve, "Come, go to, I will be wise," tried hard to lead a prudent life. Yet the second and third years at Mossgiel were marked by the production of some of his most memorable poems. In 1786 Burns's affairs vrere so complicated by his relations with a girl of the neighborhood, Jean Armour, that he determined to go as a book-keeper to Jamaica, and begin a new life. In the same year the more beautiful love-passages with Mary Campbell, or "Highland Mary," occurred. To raise the money for his passage to America Burns published his poems, and soon received £20 for their sale. Their rare merit was quickly recognized, and just as the poet was about to embark on a ship from the Clyde, he received an urgent appeal to try his fortunes in Edinburgh with a sec- ond edition of the poems. This jumped with his inmost wishes, and his departure was abandoned. In Edinburgh he soon found himself the lion of the hour. In the dedication of his poems to the Gentlemen of the Cale- donian Hunt he told the true secret of his glory then and since in saying : " The poetic genius of my country . . . bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue. I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she inspired." No poet was ever more thoroughly of his own country than Burns. The very fact of his lowly origin and opportunities made him then, as it makes him still, the more conspicuous as a poet born and not made to sing. The second edition was an imme- diate success, and the Ayrshire ploughman was feted by all the wise and great, as they were thought, of the Scottish capital. He felt, however, that this new life was not for him, and, having tasted of it, took a lease in the spring of 1788 of the farm of Ellisland on the banks of the Nith. Moreover he made such amends to Jean Armour as he could by taking her as his wife to share his new home. 8 ROBERT BURNS. Farming was again a failure, and but for Burns's ap- pointment as an exciseman with a salary of £50 a year, the very necessities of life would have been most meagrely sup- plied. As it was, the farm had to be abandoned in 1791, and the family, steadily growing, took lodgings in the town of Dumfries. As from Ellisland Burns had sent song after song to Edinburgh for the Scots Musical Museum^ so from Dumfries he kept Mr. George Thomson constantly supplied with beautiful lyrics for his collection of national songs and melodies. In Dumfries matters did not mend. A growing feeling of resentment against the world made the poet more defiant of society than ever. He quarrelled with some of his best friends, and M^as generally at odds with his surroundings. The end was not far off, for in 1796, after sleeping one niglit for several hours in the snow, an illness beset him to which he soon succumbed. His last days were clouded by debts and the threat of prison, yet his friends and faithful wife did all in their power to bring him comfort. On the 21st of July, he died. The voice of censure is not to be raised too bitterly against such as Burns. It has been written of him : " It is difficult to carry a full cup and not to spill it." Instead of mourning the results of human passions that lacked an ade- quate guiding hand, let us be thankful that with them was joined Burns's abundant gift of poetry. Because he was so human, so full of true feeling, common sense, humor, and susceptibility of every sort, his songs are exactly what they are. The handsome, impulsive fellow, endowed with many a rarer faculty than that " prudent, cautious self-con- trol " which he himself honored as " wisdom's root," put himself without reservation into everything he wrote ; and if his life was not a worldly success, perhaps it is something more to live on as the chief glory of a national literature, and as a singer of songs which stand second to none in their true human music and direct inspiration. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. " Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. The short and simple annals of the poor." Gray. The Cotter^s Saturday Night was written in 1785, while Burns and his brother Gilbert were living and working on the farm at Mossgiel. In writing of the Cotter's household devotions, Burns was on familiar ground, for before his father's death he used to take his part by reading " the chapter " and giving out the psalm. Afterwards, as the eldest son, he conducted the prayers himself, with an impressiveness long remembered. Gilbert Burns has left the record : " He had frequently remarked to me that he thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the phrase, * Let us worship God,' used by a sober head of a family intro- ducing family- worship. To this sentiment of the author the world is indebted for The Cotter's Saturday Night. The hint of the plan and title of the poem were taken from Fergusson's Farmer's Ingle. When Robert had not some pleasure in view in which I was not thought fit to participate, we used frequently to walk together, when the weather was favorable, on the Sun- day afternoons (those precious breathing times to the laboring part of the community), and enjoyed such Sundays as would make one regret to see their number abridged. It was in one of these walks that I first had the pleasure of hearing the author repeat The Cotter's Saturday Night. I do not recollect to have heard anything by which I was more highly electrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth, thrilled with a pe- culiar ecstasy through my soul." 10 ROBERT BURNS. My loved, my honored, much-i 3spected friend ! No mercenary bard his homage pays ; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end ; My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise. 5 To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; What Aiken in a cottage would have been : Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! ^■*fc' 4. 10 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating f rae the pleugh. The black'ning trains o' craws to their re- pose : The toil-worn cotter f rae his labor goes, — 15 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 hame- ward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, 20 Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th' expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee. His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily. His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile, 25 The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 11 Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun' : 30 Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town ; Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, 35 Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet. And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet ; 40 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 and her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new — 45 The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. Their master's and their mistress's command, The younkers a' are warned to obey ; And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play : 50 " And oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! And mind your duty, duly, morn and night ! Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. Implore His counsel and assisting might : They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright ! " 55 But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. 12 ROBERT BURNS. 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 60 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; Wi' heart-struck anxious care inquires his name. While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel pleased the mother hears it 's nae wild, worth- less rake. Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 65 A strappin' youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; Blithe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill-ta'en ; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate and laithf u', scarce can weel behave ; 70 The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashf u' and sae grave ; Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like the lave. Oh, happy love ! where love like this is found ! Oh, heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond com- pare ! 75 I 've paced much this weary, mortal round. And sage experience bids me this declare : — If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair 80 In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale. 80, 81. Compare with the lines from Milton's U Allegro : — " And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale." THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 13 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, &5 Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth ! Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 90 Then paints the ruined 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 hawkie does afford. That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 95 The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell. And aft he 's prest, and aft he ca's it guid ; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. How 't was a towmont auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 100 The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride ; His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 105 His lyart haffets wearing thin and 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 sol- emn air. 14 ROBERT BURNS. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; no They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; Perha23s Dundee s wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs^ worthy of the name, Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 115 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page — How Abram was the friend of GoD on high ; 120 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 ; 125 Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme — How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed : How He, who bore in heaven the second name, 130 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, 135 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. 111-113. Dundee, Martyrs, and Elgin are the names of old hymn-tunes found in many books. The adjectives applied to each are peculiarly fitting. 133. Saint John. t THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 15 Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days : 140 There ever bask in uncreated rays. No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. Together hymning their Creator's praise. In such society, jQt still more dear ; While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 145 Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art. When men display to congregations wide Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 150 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul ; And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. Then homeward all take off their several way ; 155 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 clamorous nest, And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 160 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 pre- side. 138. Quoted from Pope's Wmdsor Forest. 16 ROBERT BURNS. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : 165 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, " An honest man 's the noblest work of God ; " And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind : What is a lordling's pomp ? — a cumbrous load, 170 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 175 Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con- tent ! And oh ! may Heaven their simple lives pre- vent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, ho^ve'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, 180 And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. O Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide, That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 185 (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 166. Quoted from Pope's Essay on Man. 182. William Wallace, the peer of Robert Bruce among Scot- tish heroes. TAM 0' SHANTER. 17 His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward ! ) Oh never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! TAM O' SHANTER. A TALE. " Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." Gawin Douglas. Tam o' Shanter was written in a single day of the year 1790, while Burns was living at Ellisland. An antiquarian, Captain Grose, was travelling through Scotland, and found Burns full of information and sympathy on the points of local tradition which he wished especially to investigate. According to Gilbert Burns : " Robert reqxiested of Captain Grose, when he should come to Ayrshire, that he would make a drawing of Alloway Kirk, as it was the burial-place of his father, where he himself had a sort of claim to lay down his bones when they should be no longer serviceable to him ; and added, by way of encouragement, that it was the scene of many a good story of witches and apparitions, of which he knew the captain was very fond. The captain agreed to the request, provided the poet would furnish a witch-story, to be printed along with it. Tam o' Shanter was produced on this occasion, and was first published in Grose's Antiquities of Scotland" (1791). In a letter to Captain Grose, Burns told in prose two marvellous stories of Alloway Kirk, from the second of which Tain o' Shanter grew. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late. And folk begin to tak the gate ; 5 While we sit bousing at the nappy, And gettin' fou and unco happy. We think na on the lang Scots miles. 18 ROBERT BURNS. The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, 10 Where sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 15 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonny lasses.) O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, 20 A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou wasna sober ; That ilka melder, wi' the miller. Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 25 That every naig was ca'd a shoe on. The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that, late or soon, 30 Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk. By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, To think how monie counsels sweet, 28. The Kirkton is the name given in Scotland to the village where the parish church is situated. One John Kennedy, who kept a public house, is here meant by Kirkton Jean. TAM 0' SHANTER. 19 35 How monie lengthened sage advices, The husband f rae the wife despises ! But to our tale : — Ae market-night, Tarn had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 40 Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither — They had been f ou for weeks thegither ! 45 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, And aye the ale was growing better ; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious ; The souter tauld his queerest stories, 50 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; The storm without might rair and rustle — Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy. E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ! 55 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure : Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. But pleasures are like poppies spread, — 60 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; Or like the snowfall in the river, — ■ A moment white — then melts forever ; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place ; 65 Or like the rainbow's lovely form. 20 ROBERT BURNS, Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide ; The hour approaches Tam maun ride : That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane, 70 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 't wad blawn its last ; The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 75 The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed : That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 80 (A better never lifted leg,) Tam skelpit on through dub and mire. Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet. Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 85 Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares. Lest bogles catch him unawares : — Kirk-AUoway was drawing nigh. Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, 90 Where in the snaw the chapman smoored ; And past the birks and meikle stane. Where drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; And through the whins, and by the cairn. Where hunters f and the murdered bairn ; 95 And near the thorn, aboon the well. Where Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. TAM 0' SHANTER. 21 Before him Doon pours all liis floods ; The doubling storm roars through the woods ; The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 100 Near and more near the thunders roll ; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ; Through ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 105 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; Wi' usquebae, we '11 face the devil ! — The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, no Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light ; And, vow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 115 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; Nae cotillion brent new f rae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, 120 There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. To gie them music was his charge ; He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl. Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 125 Coffins stood round, like open presses. That shawed the dead in their last dresses ; 97. The river Doon flows into the sea at Ayr. 105. John Barleycorn = a facetious name for whiskey. 22 ROBERT BURNS. And "by some devilish cantrip slight Each in its cauld hand held a light : By which heroic Tarn was able 130 To note upon the haly table, A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns ; A thief, new-cutted frae the rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 135 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, — 140 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft : Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'. Which even to name wad be unlawfu' ! As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious. The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 145 The piper loud and louder blew ; The dancers quick and quicker flew ; They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. And coost her duddies to the wark, 150 And linket at it in her sark ! Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans, A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen. Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen ! 155 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 154. Seventeen-hunder linen =: a fine variety, woven in a reed of 1700 divisions. TAM 0' SHANTER. 23 That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles, For ae blink o' the bonny burdies ! But withered beldams, auld and droll, 160 Rigwooddie hags wad spean a foal, Louping and flinging on a cummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tarn kenned what was what fu' brawlie ; There was ae winsome wench and walie, 165 That night enlisted in the core, (Lang after kenned on Carrick shore ; For monie a beast to dead she shot, And perished monie a bonny boat. And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 170 And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn. That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude though sorely scanty. It was her best, and she was vauntie. 175 Ah ! little kenned thy reverend grannie That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('t was a' her riches), Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 180 Sic flights are far beyond her power ; — To sing how Nannie lap and flang (A souple jade she was, and Strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitched. And thought his very e'en enriched ; 171. Paisley shawls are famous to-day ; the witch's costume was less valuable. 24 ROBERT BURNS. 185 Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain, And hotched and blew wi' might and main : Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint liis reason a' thegither, And roars out : " Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " 190 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 ; 195 As open poussie'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, 200 Wi' monie an eldritch screech and hollow. Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin' ! In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin' ! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ; Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 205 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the keystane o' the brig ; There at them thou thy tail may toss ; A running-stream they darena cross ! But ere the keystane she could make, 210 The fient a tail she had to shake ! 206. " It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any further than the mid- dle of the next running-stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller that, when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back." — This note to the poem was supplied by Burns himself. POOR MAILIE. 25 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 ! 215 Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 220 Ilk man and mother's son, take heed ! Whene'er to drink you are inclined, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear, — Kemember Tam o' Shanter's mare. THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE : AN UNCO MOUKNFU' TALE. One day in the fiekls a neighboring herd-boy came to Burns and his brother with the information that a ewe they had just obtained was entangled in her tether and lying in the ditch. " Robert was much tickled," says Gilbert Burns, " with Hughoc's [the boy's] appearance and posture on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set to rights ; and when he returned from the plough in the evening, he repeated to me her Death and Dying Words pretty much in the way they now stand." This was in 1781. As Mailie, and her Iambs thegither, Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, And owre she warsled in the ditch : 5 There, groaning, dying, she did lie. When Hughoc he cam doytin' by. 26 ROBERT BURNS. Wi' glow'rin' een and lifted ban's, Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; He saw her days were near-hand ended, 10 But, waes my heart ! he couldna mend it. He gaped wide, but naething spak — At length poor Mailie silence brak. " O thou, whose lamentable face Appears to mourn my woef u' case ! 15 My dying words attentive hear, And bear them to my master dear. " Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a sheep, Oh, bid him never tie them mair 20 Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! But ca' them out to park or hill, And let them wander at their will ; So maj^ his flock increase, and grow To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' ! 25 " Tell him he was a master kin'. And aye was guid to me and mine ; And now my dying charge I gie him — My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. " Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 30 Frae dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives ! But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. Till they be fit to fend themsel ; And tent them duly, e'en and morn, Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn. POOR MAILIE. 27 35 " And may they never learn the gaets Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets ; To slink through slaps, and reave and steal At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail. So may they, like their great forbears, 40 For monie a year come through the shears ; So wives will gie them bits o' bread, And bairns greet for them when they 're dead. " My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir, Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ; 45 And if he live to be a beast. To pit some havins in his breast ! And warn him, what I winna name, To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; And no to rin and wear his cloots, 50 Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. " And neist my yowie, silly thing, Gude keep thee frae a tether string ; Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop, 55 But aye keep mind to moop and mell Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel. " And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : And when you think upo' your mither, 60 Mind to be kin' to ane anither. " Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail To tell my master a' my tale ; 28 ROBERT BURNS. And bid him burn his cursed tether, And, for thy pains, thou's get my blether." 65 This said, poor Mailie turned her head, And closed her een amang the dead. POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; Our bardie's fate is at a close. Past a' remead ; 5 The last sad cape-stane of his woes — Poor Mailie 's dead! It 's no the loss o' warl's gear. That could sae bitter draw the tear, Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 10 The mourning weed : He 's lost a friend and neebor dear, In Mailie dead. Through a' the toun she trotted by him; A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 15 Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. She ran wi' speed : A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him Than Mailie dead. I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 20 And could behave hersel wi' mense : I '11 say 't she never brak a fence. Through thievish greed. POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 29 Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Sin' Mailie 's dead. 25 Or, if lie wanders up tlie howe, Her living image in her yowe Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, For bits o' bread ; And down the briny pearls rowe 30 For Mailie dead. She was nae get o' moorland tips, Wi' tawted ket, and hairy hips. For her forbears were brought in ships Frae yont the Tweed : 35 A bonnier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips Than Mailie dead. Wae worth the man wha first did shape That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape ! It makes guid fellows girn and gape, 40 Wi' chokin' dread ; And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, For Mailie dead. O a' ye bards on bonny Doon I And wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 45 Come, join the melancholious croon- O' Robin's reed ! His heart will never get aboon — His Mailie 's dead ! 30 ROBERT BURNS. TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEM- BER, 1785. The lines To a Mouse seem by report to have been composed while Burns was actually ploughing. One of the poet's first editors wrote : " John Blane, who had acted as gaudsman to Burns, and who lived sixty years afterwards, had a distinct rec- ollection of the turning up of the mouse. Like a thoughtless youth as he was, he ran after the creature to kill it, but was checked and recalled by his master, who he observed became thereafter thoughtful and abstracted. Burns, who treated his servants with the familiarity of fellow-laborers, soon after- wards read the poem to Blane." Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie. Oh, what a panic 's in thy breastie I Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle ! 5 1 wad be laith to rin and chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle ! I 'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union. And justifies that ill opinion, 10 Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earthborn companion, • And fellow-mortal ! I doubtna, whiles, but thou may thieve ; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 5, 6. The boy's attempt to kill the mouse may well have been in the poet's mind here. J TO A MOUSE. 31 15 A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request : I '11 get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss 't ! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 20 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! And naething now to big a new ane O' foggage green, And bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell and keen ! 25 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, And weary winter comin' fast. And cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash ! the cruel coulter passed Out through thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! Now thou 's turned out for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, 35 To thole the winter's sleety dribble, And cranreuch cauld I But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane. In proving foresight may be vain : The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-giey. And lea'e us nought but grief and pain. For promised joy. 37. No thy lane = not alone. 32 ROBERT BURNS. Still tliou art blest, compared wi' me ! The present only toucheth thee : 45 But, och ! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear ! And forward, though I canna see, I guess and fear. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower. Thou 's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem : 5 To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonny gem. Alas ! it 's no thy neebor sweet, The bonny lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 10 Wi' speckled breast. When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east ! Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; 15 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storai. Scarce reared above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 20 High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 33 But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. 25 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, 30 And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, J5 Till she, like thee, all soiled, 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 40 Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering worth is given. Who long with wants and woes has striven, 45 By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink. Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink ! 34 ROBERT BURNS. Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 60 That fate is thine — no distant date ; Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. Full on thy bloom. Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom. TO A HAGGIS. The Haggis is a Scotch dish, supposed to be of French origin. It is hard to think of it as a subject for poetry when one reads of what it is compounded. Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face. Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race : Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm ; 5 Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang 's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill ; Your pin wad help to mend a mill 10 In time o' need. While through your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic labor dight. And cut you up wi' ready slight, 15 Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like ony ditch ; And then, oh, what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich ! TO A HAGGIS. 35 Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, 20 Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums ; Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, " Bethankit ! " hums. 25 Is there that owre his French ragout. Or olio that wad staw a sow. Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner. Looks dowi^ wi' sneering, scornfu' view 30 On sic a dinner ! Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a withered rash. His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit ; 35 Through bloody flood or field to dash, Oh, how unfit ! But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 40 He 11 mak it whissle ; And legs, and arms, and heads will sned, Like taps o' thrissle. Ye Powers wha mak mankind your care. And dish them out their bill o' fare, 45 Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies ; But, if ye wish her gratef u' prayer, Gie her a Haggis ! 36 ROBERT BURNS. EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. The Epistle to Davie (1784) was addressed to one David Sil- lar, a member of a literary club of yomig men which Kobert and Gilbert Burns formed before their father's death. In one copy of the verses, in the poet's handwriting, Davie is defined as " a Brother Poet, Lover, Ploughman, and Fiddler." From the idea suggested by Gilbert Burns, of printing the poem, Robert's first intention of giving himself definitely to authorship is said to have sprung. 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, 5 And spin a verse or two o' rhyme, In hamely westlin' jingle. While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Ben to the chimla lug, I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, 10 That live sae bien and snug : I tent less, and want less Their roomy fireside ; But hanker and canker To see their cursed pride. 15 It 's hardly in a body's power To keep, at times, frae being sour, To see how things are shared ; How best o' chiels are whiles in want, While coof s on countless thousands rant, 20 And ken na how to wair 't ; 1. Ben-Lomond = a mountain to the north — for Burns and " Davie." EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 87 But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head ; Though we hae little gear, We 're fit to win our daily bread, As lang 's we 're hale and fier : 25 " Mair spier na, nor fear na," Auld age ne'er mind a f eg, The last o 't, the warst o 't, Is only but to beg. To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 30 When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin, Is doubtless great distress ! Yet then content could make us blest ; Even then, sometimes we 'd snatch a taste Of truest happiness. 35 The honest heart that 's free f rae a' Intended fraud or guile. However fortune kick the ba', Has aye some cause to smile : And mind still, you '11 find still 40 A comfort this nae sma' ; Nae mair then we '11 care then, Nae farther can we fa'. What though, like commoners of air. We wander out we know not where, 45 But either house or hal' ? Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods. The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. Are free alike to all. In days when daisies deck the ground, 50 And blackbirds whistle clear, 25. A line from Allan Ramsay, one of Burns's favorite poets. 38 ROBERT BURNS. With honest joy our hearts will bound To see the coming year : On braes when we please then, We '11 sit and sowth a tune ; 55 Syne rhyme till 't, we '11 time till 't, And sing 't when we hae dune. It 's no in titles nor in rank, It 's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. To purchase peace and rest ; 60 It 's no in making muckle mair ; It 's no in books ; it 's no in lear, To mak us truly blest ; If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, 65 We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest ; Nae treasures nor pleasures Could make us happy lang ; The heart aye 's the part aye 70 That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, Wi' never-ceasing toil ; Think ye, are we less blest than they 75 Wha scarcely tent us in their way. As hardly worth their while ? Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood, God's creatures they oppress ! Or else, neglecting a' that 's guid, 80 They riot in excess ! Baith careless and fearless Of either heaven or hell ! EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 39 Esteeming and deeming It's a' an idle tale. 85 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 met wi' some, 90 An 's thankfu' for them yet. They gie the wit of age to youth ; They let us ken oursel ; They mak us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill. 95 Though losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There 's wit there, ye '11 get there, Ye '11 find nae other where. But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 100 (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. 105 There 's a' the pleasures o' the heart, The lover and the f rien' ; Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, And I my darling Jean ! It warms me, it charms me, no To mention but her name : 107. Sillar had a sweetheart, named Margaret (Meg) Orr, who, however, did not marry him. 108. Jean Armour, afterwards Burns's wife. 40 ROBERT BURNS. It heats me, it beets me, And sets me a' on flame ! O all ye powers who rule above ! O Thou whose very self art love ! 115 Thou know'st my words sincere ! The life-blood streaming through my heart. Or my more dear immortal part, Is not more fondly dear ! When heart-corroding care and grief 120 Deprive my soul of rest. Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast. Thou Being, all-seeing, Oh, hear my fervent prayer ! 125 Still take her, and make her Thy most peculiar care ! All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! The smile of love, the friendly tear, The sympathetic glow ! 130 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 ; 135 And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens The tenebrific scene. To meet with, and greet with 140 My Davie or my Jean ! EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 41 Oh, how that name inspires my style ! The words come skelpin', rank and file, Amaist before I ken ! The ready measure rins as fine 145 As Phoebus and the famous Nine Were glow'rin' owre my pen. My spaviet Pegasus will limp, Till ance he 's fairly het ; And then he '11 hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 150 And rin an unco fit : But lest then, the beast then Should rue this hasty ride, I '11 light now, and dight now His sweaty, wizened hide. EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. The Epistle to a Young Friend was written in May, 1786, to Andrew Aiken, a son of the Robert Aiken to whom The Cotter's Saturday Night was inscribed. I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you. Though it should serve iiae ither end Than just a kind memento ; 5 But how the subject-theme may gang, Let time and chance determine ; Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon. Ye '11 try the world fu' soon, my lad, 10 And, Andrew dear, believe me, 150. An unco fit =r at a good pace. 42 ROBERT BURNS. Ye '11 find mankind an unco squad, And muckle they may grieve ye. For care and trouble set your thought, Even when your end 's attained ; 15 And a' your views may come to nought. Where every nerve is strained. I '11 no say men are villains a' ; The real, hardened wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law, 20 Are to a few restricked : But, och ! mankind are unco weak, And little to be trusted ; If self the wavering balance shake, It 's rarely right adjusted ! 25 Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, Their fate we shouldna censure. For still th' important end of life They equally may answer : A man may hae an honest heart, 30 Though poortith hourly stare him ; A man may tak a neebor's part. Yet hae nae cash to spare him. Aye free, aff han' your story tell. When wi' a bosom crony ; 35 But stiU keep something to yoursel Ye scarcely tell to ony. Conceal yoursel as weel 's ye can Frae critical dissection. But keek through every other man 40 Wi' sharpened, sly inspection. EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 43 The sacred lowe o' weel-placecl love, Luxuriantly indulge it ; But never tempt tli' illicit rove, Though naething should divulge it. 45 1 waive the quantum o' the sin, The hazard o' concealing ; But, och ! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling ! To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, 50 Assiduous wait upon her ; And gather gear by every wile That 's justified by honor ; Not for to hide it in a hedge. Nor for a train-attendant, 55 But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip, To hand the wretch in order ; But where ye feel your honor grip, 60 Let that aye be your border : Its slightest touches, instant pause — Debar a' side-pretences ; And resolutely keep its laws. Uncaring consequences. e5 The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature ; But still the preaching cant forbear. And even the rigid feature. Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 70 Be complaisance extended ; 54. Train-attendant = the retinue attending a rich man. 44 ROBERT BURNS. An Atheist laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended ! When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded ; 75 Or if she gie a random sting, It may be little minded ; But when on life we 're tempest-driven, A conscience but a canker, A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven 80 Is sure a noble anchor ! Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! May prudence, fortitude, and truth. Erect your brow undaunting ! 85 In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," Still daily to grow wiser ; And may you better reck the rede Than ever did th' adviser ! EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. Johii Lapraik, an old man living at Muirkirk, was supposed to be the author of some verses which pleased Burns very greatly when he heard them sung at Mossgiel in 1785, at a rustic social gathering called a " rocking." The " rock " was a distaff famil- iar before the spinning-wheel. When the women came together to spin, the men often appeared also, and every one who could sing gave a song for the general entertainment. While briers and woodbines budding green. And paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en, 87. Reck the rede = heed the advice. EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 45 And morning poussle whicldin seen, Inspire my Muse, 5 This freedom in an unknown frien' I pray excuse. On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin'. To ca' the crack and weave our stockin' ; And there was muckle fun and jokin', 10 Ye needna doubt ; At length we had a hearty yokin' At sang about. There was ae sang, amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 15 That some kind husband had addrest To some sweet wife : It thirled the heart-strings through the breast, A' to the life. I 've scarce heard ought described sae weel 20 What generous manly bosoms feel ; Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, Or Beattie's wark?" They tauld me 't was an odd kind chiel About Muirkirk. 25 It pat me fidgin-f ain to hear 't. And sae about him there I spier 't. Then a' that kent him round declared He had ingine, That nane excelled it, few cam near 't, 30 It was sae fine. 7, Fasten or Fasten's E'en corresponds to the English Shrove-Tuesday, the day before Lent begins. 22. James Beattie, a Scotch poet admired by Burns. 46 ROBERT BURNS. That, set him to a pint of ale, And either douce or merry tale, Or rhymes and sangs he 'd made himsel, Or witty catches, 35 'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale, He had few matches. Then up I gat, and swore an aith, Though I should pawn my pleugh and graith, Or die a cadger pownie's death 40 At some dyke back, A pint and gill I 'd gie them baith To hear your crack. But, first and foremost, I should tell, Amaist as soon as I could spell, 45 1 to the crambo-jingle fell, Though rude and rough, Yet crooning to a body's sel. Does weel eneugh. I am nae poet, in a sense, 50 But just a rhymer, like, by chance. And hae to learning nae pretence. Yet, what the matter ? Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. 55 Your critic folk may cock their nose, And say : " How can you e'er propose, You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose, To mak a sang ? " But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 60 Ye 're maybe wrang. EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 47 What 's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools? If honest Nature made you fools, What sairs your grammars ? 05 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, 70 Plain truth to speak ; And syne they think to climb Parnassus By dint o' Greek ! Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire! That 's a' the learning 1 desire ; ^ 75 Then though I drudge through dub and mire At pleugh or cart. My Muse, though hamely in attire, May touch the heart. Oh, for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 80 Or Fergusson'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 could get it ! 85 Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow. Though real friends I b'lieve are few, 7o. Krr™:.son, another SeotUsK poet dear to Bun. OnP of the first things Burns , more. i¥<7A-, to make. Mailin, farm. Maukin, hare. Maun, must. Maunna, must not. Mavis, thrush. Melder, corn or grain of any kind sent to tlie mUl to be ground. Mell, to meddle. Mense, good manners. Menseless, mannerless. Midden, dunghill. Mirk, dark. Mither, mother. Monie, many. i»/ooj9, to keep company with. Mou\ mouth. Mournfu\ mournful. 3fuckle, much. f, myself. Na\ not, no. JVae, no. Naething, nothing. Naig, nag. None, none. iVfl;?73y, ale. Neebor, neighbor. Neist, next. Niest, next. Nieve, fist. iVi<, nut. 94 GLOSSARY. Nocht, nothing. Noicte, cattle. 0\ of. Ony, any. Oarsel, ourselves. Owre, over. PaidPt, paddled. Painch, paunch, stomach. Paitrick, partridge. Parr itch, porridge, oatmeal boiled in water. Pnt, put. Pattle, plough-staflf. Penny-fee, wages. Plack, an old Scotch coin, third part of a Scotch penny. Plaidie, dim. of plaid. Pleugk, plough. Poortiih, poverty. Posie, bouquet. Pou, to pull. Poussie, hare. Pow, head, skull. Pownie, pony. Pm', to pull. Punds, pounds. Pu''pit, pulpit. Pair, to roar. Pape, rope. Bash, a rush. Reaming, foaming. Reekin'', smoking. Reekit, smoked. Remead, remedy. Restricked, restricted. Rigwooddie, withered, sapless. Rin, run. Ripp, a handful of unthrashed corn. Rive, to burst. Rives, tears to pieces. Rockin\ a social gathering, the women spinning on the rede or distafif. Roose, to praise. Roupet, hoarse as with a cold. Row, to roll. Rozet, rosin. Rung, cudgel. Sue, so. Sair, sore, to serve. Sairly, sorely. Sark, shirt. Savni, saint. Saut, salt. Scaith, hurt. Scunner, disgust. Sel, self. ShachVt, deformed. Shaw, show, a wooded dell. Shools, shovels. Shoon, shoes. Shorhl, offered. Shouiher, shoulder. Sic, such. Siller, money. Simmer, summer. Sin'', since. Sinsyne, since. Skeigh, shy, proud, disdainful. Skellum, a worthless fellow. Skelp, to run. Skelpin\ walking smartly. Skelpit, hurried. Skinking, thin. Skinklin\ glittering. Skirl, to shriek. Slaps, gates, stiles, breaches in hedges. Sleekit, sleek. Smeddum, dust, powder. Smoor^d, smothered. Snaw, snow. Sned, to lop, to cut. Siiell, bitter, biting. Snool, to cringe, to submit tamely. Sonsie, jolly, comely. Soupe, a spoonful, a small quantity of anything liquid. Soitple, supple. Souter, shoemaker. Soicth, to try over a tune with a low whistle. Spak, spake. Spate, a flood. Spaviet, having the spavin. Spean, to wean. Spence, the country parlor. Spier, to ask, inquire. Spier't, inquired. Sprattle, to struggle. Squnttle, to sprawl. Stacher, to stagger. Stack, stuck. Stane, a stone. Staw, stole. Steer, to injure. Stibble, stubble. Still, halt. Stirk, a cow or bullock a year old. Sioure, dust. Strang, strong. Strathspey, a Scottish dance. Striint, to strut. Sugh, a rushing sound. SwaWd, swelled. Sivats, ale. Swith, swift. Syne, then. Taen, taken. Tak, to take. Tane, the one. Tapmost, topmost. Taps, tops. Tatdd, told. Tawled, matted, uncombed. Teats, small quantities. Teen, provocation, chagrin. Tent, to take heed, mark. Tentie, heedful. Thae, these. 1 } GLOSSARY. 95 Thairm, fiddlestrings. Thegithe?; together. Themsel^ themselves. Thir, th^e. Thole, to suffer, to endure. Thou '*, thou art. Thrave, twenty-four sheaves of corn, inchiding two shocks. Thrissle, thistle. Thysel, thyself. Till, unto. Till V, to it. Tine, to go astray. Tinkler, a tinker. Tint, lost. Tippeny, twopenny. Tips, rams. Tods, foxes. Toop, a ram. Toun, a hamlet. Toiumont, a twelvemonth. Towzie, shaggy. Toy, an old fashion of female headdress. Tulzie, a quarrel. Tiva, two. Tyke, a vagrant dog. Unco, very strange. Uncos, strange things, news of the countryside. Unfauld, to unfold. Unlawful unlawful. Upo\ upon. Usquebae, usquebaugh, a kind of whis- key. Wa\ wall. Wad, would. Wae, woe. Wae loorth, woe befall. Wair V, spend it. Wale, to choose. Walie, ample, large. Wanchancie, unlucky. Wanrestfu'', restless. Wark, work. Warld, world. Warlock, wizard. Warly, worldly. Warsle, to wrestle. Wat, wot, know. Waxiken, to waken. Waur, worse. Wee, little. Weel, well. Weet, wet. We^se, we shall or will. Westlin'', western. Wha, who. Wham, whom. Whare, where. Whiddin, running as a hare. Whins, furze bushes. Whissle, whistle. Whitter, a hearty draught of liquor. Whiles, sometimes. Wi\ with. WV ''in, with him. Wifie, dim. of wife. Willie-ivaught, a hearty draught. Winna, will not. Winnock-bunker, a seat in a window. Wins, winds. Woefu'', woeful. Wonner, a wonder, a term of con- tempt. Woo\ wool. Wordy, worthy. Wrung, wrong. Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. Yirth, the earth. Yokin\ yoking, a bout, a set to. Yont, beyond. Younkers, youngsters. Yoursel, yourself. Youthfu'', youthful. Yowe, ewe. Clje Bibemtie Literature ^eriesi. [A list of the first fifty-three numbers is given on the next /'age.] 54. Bryant's Sella, Thanatopsis, and Other Poems. 55. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Edited for School Use by S\MUEL TuURBER, Mastev in the Girls" High School, Boston.**^ * 56. Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration, and the Oration on Adams and Jefferson. , -r.- i 57. Dickens's Christmas Carol. With Notes and a Biography. 58. Dickens's Cricket on the Hearth. [A'os. 57 and 58 also in one volume, linen, 40 cents.] . ^ 59. Verse and Prose for Beginners m Readmg.** 60. 61. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. In two parts. | 62 John Fiske's War of Independence. With Maps and a Bio- graphical Sketch. {Double Nuynber, 30 cents ; linen, 40 cents.) 6i Longfellow's Paul Revere's Ride, and Other Poems.* 64, 65. 66. Tales from Shakespeare. Edited by CiiAitLEs aud Mart ' Lamb. In three parts. [Also in one rolume, linen, 50 cents.] 67. Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.** * 68 Goldsmith's Deserted Village, The Traveller, etc. 69. Hawthorne's Old Manse, and A Few Mosses.* 70. A Selection from Whittier's Child Life in Poetry. 71. A Selection from Whittier's Child Life in Prose. [No^ 70 and 71 also in one volume, linen, 40 cfnts,] 72. Milton's L'AUegro, II Penseroso, Comus, Lycidas, and Sonnets. 73. Tennyson's Enoch Arden, and Other Poems. 74. Gray's Elegy, and Other Poems ; Cowper's John Gilpin, and Other Poems. , t^ , , ht r ^o 75. Scudder's George Washington. (Double Ninnber, oO cents; linen, 40 cents.) _ 76. Wordsworth's On the Intimations of Immortality, and Other Poems. -, ^ , ,, 77. Burns's Cotters Saturday Night, and Other Poems. 78. Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. [Double Numbtr, 30 cents; linen, 40 cents.) 79. Lamb's Essays of Elia. 80. Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, and Other Poems. * 11 and 63 also in one volume, linen, 40 cents ; likewise 40 and 69 ; and 55 and 67. ** Also bound in linen, 25 cents, t Also in one volume, linen, 40 cents. EXTRA NUMBERS. A American Authors and their Birthdays. Programmes and Suggestions for the (Celebration of the Birthdi-ys of Authors. By A. S, Roe. B Portraits and Biographical Sketches of Twenty Amer- ican Authors. . ^ , ,. <-, , 1 J C A Longfellow Night. Eor the Use of Catholic Schools and Catholic Literary Societies. By Katharine A. O'Keeffe. D Literature in School. Essays by Horace E. Scudder. J£ Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dialogues and Scenes. J^^ Longfellow Leaflets. (Each a Double Number, 30 cents ; linen, G Whittier Leaflets. 40 cents.) Poems and Prose Passages H Holmes Leaflets. for Beading and Kecitatiou. I The Riverside Manual for Teachers, containing Suggestions and Illustrative Lessons leading up to Primary Reading. By I. F. Hall. K The Riverside Primer and Reader. [Special Number.) In paper covers, with cloth back, 25 cents. In strong linen binding, dO cents.^ L The Riverside Song Book. Containing Classic American Poems set to Standard Music. ( Double Number, 30 cents ; boards, 40 cents.) M Lowell's Fable for Critics. With Outline Portraits ot Au- thors. {Double Number, 30 cents.) HOUGHTON. MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. €]^e KibctfiSilie literature ^erteur"'^ With Introductions, Notes, Historical Sketches, and Biographical Sketches. Each regular single number, paper, 15 cents. 1. Longfellow's Evangeline ** \X 2. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish ; Elizabeth.** 3. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. Dramatized 4. Whittier's Snow-Bound, and Other Poems.** XX * 5. Whittier's Mabel Martin, and Other Poems.* 6. Holmes's Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, etc. 7. 8, 9. Hawthorne's True Stories from New England His. tory. 1620-1803. In three parts.f 10. Hawthorne's Biographical Stories, With Questions.* 11. Longfellow's Children's Hour, and Other Selections.* 12. Studies in Longfellow. Thirty-Two Topics for Study. 13. 14. Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha. In two partsf 15. Lowell's Under the Old Elm, and Other Poems.* 16. Bayard Taylor's Lars ; a Pastoral of Norway. 17. 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. lu two ptuts.J 19, 20. Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography. In two parts.J 21. Benjamin Franklin s Poor Richard's Almanac, etc. 22, 23. Hawthorne's Tangle-wood Tales. In two j.arrs.J 24. Washington's Rules of Conduct, Letters and Addresses.** 25, 26. Longfello-w's Golden Legend. In two imrrs.J 27. Thoreau's Succession of Forest Trees. Sounds, and 'Wild Apples. With a Biographical Sketcli by K. W. EiMEKson. 28. John Burroughs's Birds and Bees,* 29. Hawthorne's Little Daffydow^ndilly, and Other Stories.* 30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other Pieces. J J * 31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain, and Other Papers. 32. Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech, and Other Papers 33. 34, 35. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. In three parts. [The three part" also in one volume, linen, 50 cents.] 36. John Burroughs's Sharp Eyes, and Other Papers.* 37. Charles Dudley Warner's A-Hunting of the Deer, etc.** 38. Longfellow's Building of the Ship, and Other Poems. 39. Lowell's Books and Libraries, and Other Papers. 40. Hawthorne's Tales of the White Hills, and Sketches.* 41. Whittier's Tent on the Beach. 42. Emerson's Fortune of the Republic, and Other Essays, including the American Scholar. 43. Ulysses among the Phaeacians, From W. C. Bryant's Trans- lation of Homer's Odyssey. 44. Edgeworth's "Waste Not, Want Not, and The Barring Out 45. Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. 46. Old Testament Stories in Scripture Language. 47. 48. Fables and Folk Stories, Second Header Grade. Phrased by Horace E. Scudder. In two parts.J 49, 50. Hans Andersen's Stories. In two parts.f 51, 52. Washington Irving: Essays from the Sketch Book. [51.] Rip Van Winkle and other American Essays, [52,] The Voyage, and other English Essays. In two parts.J 53. Scott's Lady of the Rake, Edited by W. J, Rolfe. With copious notes and nnmerous illustrations. {Double Number, 30 cents. Also, in Rolfe^s Students' Series, cloth, to Teachers, 53 cents.) * 29 and 10 also in one volume, linen, 40 cents ; likewise 28 and 36, 4 and 5, 15 and 30, 40 and 69, and 11 and 63, ** Also bound in linen, 25 cents, t Also in one volume, Unen, 45 cents. % Also in one volume, linen, 40 cents. J$ 1, 4, and 30 also in one vol- ame, linen, 50 cents. Continued on the inside of this cover. RBA| ^HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111