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POEMS,

CHIEFLY IN THE

SCOTTISH DIALECT,

B Y

ROBERT BURNS.

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THE Simple Bard, unbroke by rules of Art, He pours the wild effufions of the heart : And if infpir'd, 'tis Nature's pow'rs infpire ; Her's all the melting thrill, and her's the kindling fire.

Anonymous.

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REPRINT M?D F AC-SI MILE

OF THE

ORIGINAL KILMARNOCK EDITION.

(Limited to 600 Copies, being the extent of the original issue.)

PRINTED AT KILMARNOCK, IN 1867, BY

No.

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( iii )

PREFACE.

HpHE following trifles are not the production of the Poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and perhaps amid the elegan- cies and idleneffes of upper life, looks downfqr a rural theme, with an eye to Theocrites or Virgil. To the Author of this, thefe and other celebrated names their contrymen are, in their original languages, c A fountain Ihut up, and a ' bookfealed.' Unacquainted with the neceflary requifites for commencing Poet by rule, he fings the fentiments and manners,he felt and faw in him- felf and his ruftic compeers around him, in his and their native language. Though a Rhymer from his earlieft years, at leaft from the earlieft impulfes of the fofter paflions, it was not till very lately, that the applaufe, perhaps the partiality,

of Friendfhip, wakened his vanity fo far as to

a 2

• ( iv )

make him think any thing of his was worth mow- ing ; and none of the following works were ever compofed with a view to the prefs. To amufe himfelf with the little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life; to tranfcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breaft ; to find fome kind of counterpoife to the ftruggles of a world, always an alien fcene, a talk uncouth to the poeti- cal mind ; thefe were his motives for courting the Mufes, and in thefe he found Poetry to be it's own reward.

Now that he appears in the public character of an Author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obfcure, namelefs Bard, fhrinks aghaft, at the thought of being branded as ' An imperti- nent blockhead, obtruding his nonfenfe on the world ; and becaufe he can make a fhift to jingle a few doggerel, Scotch rhymes together, looks upon himfelf as a Poet of no fmall confequence forfooth.'

It is an obfervation of that celebrated Poet, * whole divine Elegies do honor to our language,

* Shenltone.

' ( v )

our nation, and our fpecies, that ' Humility has depreffed many a genius to a hermit, but never raifed one to fame.' If any Critic catches at the word genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himfelf as pofleft of fome poetic abilities, otherwife his publishing in the manner he has done, would be a manoeuvre be- low the worft character, which, he hopes, his worft enemy will ever give him : but to the genius of a Ramfay, or the glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Fergufon, he, with equal unaffected 7 fincerity, declares, that, even in his higheft pulfe of vanity, he has not the moft diftant pretenfions. Thefe two juftly admired Scotch Poets he has of- ten had in his eye in the following pieces; but ra- ther with a view to kindle at their flame, than for fervile imitation.

To his Subfcribers, the Author returns his moft fincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the Bard, confcious how much he is indebted to Bene- volence and Friendfhip, for gratifying him, if he deferves it, in that deareft wifh of every poetic bofom to be diftinguifhed. He begs his read-

( vi )

ers, particularly the Learned and the Polite, who may honor him with a perufal, that they will make every allowance for Education and Circumftances of Life: but, if after a fair, candid, and impartial criticifm, he fhall ftand convicted of Dulnefs and Nonfenfe,let him be done by, as he would in that

cafe do by others let him be condemned,

without mercy, to contempt and oblivion.

**-■$•-*«*

*

Vll

CONTENTS

The Twa Dogs, a Tale, - - page 9

Scotch Drink, - - - 22

The Author's earneft cry and prayer, to the right honorable and honorable, the Scotch reprefentatives in the Houfe of Commons, 29 The' Holy Fair, 40

Addrefs to the Deil, - - 55

The death and dying words of Poor M aillie, 62 Poor Maillie's Elegy, - - 66

To J. S****, 69

A Dream, - - 79

The Vifion, - - - 87

Halloween, - - - - 101

The auld Farmer's new-year-morning Salu- tation, to his auld Mare, Maggy, on giving her the accuftomed ripp of Corn to han- fel in the new year, - - 118

The Cotter's Saturday night, infcribed to

R. A. Efq; - - - 124

To a Moufe, on turning her up in her Neft,

with the Plough, November, 1 785, 138

Epiftle to Davie, a brother Poet, - 141

The Lament, occalioned by the unfortunate

iffue of a friend's amour, - - 150

Defpondency, an Ode, - - 156

Man was made to mourn, a Dirge, - 160

( viii )

Winter, a Dirge, - - - 166

A Prayer in the profpecl of Death, - 1 68 To a Mountain-Daify,on turning one down,

with the Plough, in April, 1786, - 170 To Ruin, - - - - 174

Epiftle to a young Friend, - - 1 76

On a Scotch Bard gone to the Weft Indies, 1 8 1 A Dedication to G. H. Efq ; - - 185 To a Loufe, on feeing one on a Lady's bon- net at Church, - - - - 192 Epiftle to J. L*****k, an old Scotch Bard, 1 95

to the fame, - 202

to W. S*****n, Ochiltree, - 208

to J. R******? enclofmg fome Poems, 2 1 8

Song, It was upon a Lammas night, 222

Song, Now weftlin winds, and flaught'ring

guns, - - - 224

Song, From thee, Eliza, I mult go, - 227 The Farewell, - - - 228

Epitaphs and Epigrams, - - 230

A Bard's Epitaph. - - - 234

THE

TWA DOGS,

TALE

WAS in that place o' Scotland's Hie, That bears the name o' auld king COIL, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Tiva .Dogs, that were na thrang at hame,

Forgather'd ance upon a time.

A

( io ) The firft I'll name, they ca'd him Cafur, Was keepet for His Honor's pleafure ; His hair, his fize, his mouth, his lugs, Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, But whalpet fome place far abroad, Where failors gang to fifh for Cod.

His locked, letter'd, braw brafs-collar Shew'd him the gentleman an' fcholar ; But tho' he was o' high degree, The fient a pride na pride had he, But wad hae fpent an hour careflan, Ev'n wi' a Tinkler-gipfey's mejfan : At Kirk or Market, Mill or Smiddie, Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er fae duddie, But he wad ftan't, as glad to fee him, An' ftroan't on ftanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,

( II )

After fome dog in * Highland fang,

Was made lang fyne, lord knows how lang.

He was a gafh an' faithlu* tyke, As ever lap a fheugh or dyke. His honest, fonfie, bawPnt face, Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; His breaft was white, his towzie back, Weel clad wi' coat o* glofly black ; His gawfie tail, wi* upward curl, Hung owre his hurdies wi' a fwirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; Wi' social nofe whyles muff *d an' fnowket ; Whiles mice and modewurks they howket ; Whiles fcour'd awa in lang excurfion, An* worry'd ither in diverfion ; Till tir'd at last wi' mony a farce, They fet them down upon their arie, An' there began a lang digreffion About the lords o the creation.

* Cuchullin's dog in Offian's Fingal.

I 2

C JE S A R.

I've aften wonder'd, honeft Luath, What fort o' life poor dogs like you have ; An' when the gentry s life I faw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava.

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kane, an' a* his ftents : He rifes when he likes himfel ; His flunkies answer at the bell ; He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horfe ; He draws a bonie, filken purfe As lang's my tail, whare thro' the fteeks, The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks.

Frae morn to een it's nought but toiling, At baking, roafting, frying, boiling ; An' tho* the gentry firft are fteghan, Yet ev'n the bd folk fill their peghan Wi' fauce, ragouts, an* fie like trafhtrie, That's little fhort o' downright waftrie. Our Whipper-iti, wee, blaftet wonner, Poor, worthlefs elf, it eats a dinner,

( '3 ) Better than ony Tenant-man

His Honor has in a' the Ian' :

An' what poor Cot-folk pit their painch in,

I own it's paft my comprehenhon.

L U A T H.

Trowth, Casfar, whyles their faih't e- nough ; A Cotter howkan in a fheugh, Wi' dirty ftanes biggan a dyke, Bairan a quarry, an' fie like, Himfel, a wife, he thus fuftains, A fmytrie o' wee, duddie weans, An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep Them right an' tight in thack an' raep.

An' when they meet wi' fair difafters, Like lofs o' health or want o' matters, Ye maift wad think, a wee touch langer, An' they maun ftarve o' cauld and hunger : But how it comes, I never kent yet, They're maiftly wonderfu' contented ;

( H ) An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies, Are bred in fie a way as this is.

C M S A R.

But then, to fee how ye're negleket, How huff 'd, an' cuff 'd, an' difrefpeket ! L — d man, our gentry care as little For delvers, ditchers, an' lie cattle ; They gang as faucy by poor folk, As I wad by a ftinkan brock.

I've notie'd, on our Laird's court-day, An' mony a time my heart's been wae, Poor tenant bodies, fcant o' cafh, How they maun thole a. factor's fnafh ; He'll ftamp an' threaten, curfe an' fwear, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; While they maun ftan', wi' afpecl humble, An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble !

I fee how folk live that hae riches ; But furely poor-folk maun be wretches !

( 15 )

L U A T H.

They're no fae wretched 's ane wad think ; Tho' conftantly on poortith's brink, They're fae accuftom'd wi' the fight, The view o't gies them little fright.

Then chance and fortune are fae guided, They're ay in lefs or mair provided ; An' tho' fatigu'd wi' clofe employment, A blink o' reft 's a fweet enjoyment.

The deareft comfort o' their lives, Their grufhie weans an' faithfu' wives ; The prattling things are juft their pride, That fweetens a' their fire fide.

An' whyles twalpennie-worth o' nappy Can mak the bodies unco happy ; They lay afide their private cares, To mind the Kirk and State affairs ; They'll talk o' patronage an' priefls, Wi' kindling fury i' their breafts,

( i6 ) Or tell what new taxation's comin, An' ferlie at the folk in LON'ON.

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmafs returns, They get the jovial, rantan Kir?is, When rural life, of ev'ry ftation, Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks, Wit flaps, an' focial Mirth Forgets there's care upo' the earth.

That merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frofty win's ; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, An' fheds a heart-infpiring fteam ; The luntan pipe, an' fneefhin mill, Are handed round wi' right guid will ; The cantie, auld folks, crackan croufe, The young anes rantan thro' the houfe- My heart has been fae fain to fee them, That I for joy hae barket wi' them.

Still it's owre true that ye hae faid, Sic game is now owre aften play'd ;

( »7 ) There's monie a creditable Jlock O' decent, honeft, fawfont folk, Are riven out baith root an' branch, Some rafcal's pridefu' greed to quench, Wha thinks to knit himfel the fafter In favor wi' some ge?itle Ma/Ier, Wha aiblins thrang a parliamentin, For Britain's guid his faul indentin

C M S A R.

Haith lad ye little ken about it ;

For Britain \r guid ! guid faith! I doubt it.

Say rather, gaun as PREMIERS lead him,

An' saying aye or ?id>& they bid him :

At Operas an' Plays parading,

Mortgaging, gambling, mafquerading :

Or maybe, in a frolic daft,

To HAGUE or CALAIS takes a waft,

To make a tour an' tak a whirl,

To learn bon ton and fee the worP.

There, at VIENNA or VERSAILLES,

He rives his father's auld entails ;

B

( i8 )

Or by MADRID he takes the rout, To thrum guittars an' fecht wi' nowt ; Or down Italian Vijla startles, Wh — re-hunting amang groves o' myrtles Then bowfes drumlie German-water, To mak himfel look fair and fatter, An' purge the bitter ga's an' cankers, O' curft Venetian b — res an' ch — ncres.

For Britain \f gnid ! for her deftruclion ! Wi' diflipation, feud, an' faction !

v L U A T H.

Hech man ! dear firs ! is that the gate, They wafte fae mony a braw eft ate ! Are we fae foughten and harafs'd For gear to gang that gate at laft !

O would they ftay aback frae courts, An' pleafe themfels wi' couritra sports, It wad for ev'ry ane be better, The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! For thae frank, ran tan, ramblan billies, Fient haet o' them 's ill hearted fellows ;

( 19 ) Except for breakin o' their timmer, Or ipeakin lightly o' their Limmer, Or fhootin of a hare or moorcock, The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk.

But will ye tell me, mafter Cafar, Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleafure ? Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can fleer them, The vera thought o't need na fear them.

C JE S A R.

L — d man, were ye but whyles where I am, The gentles ye wad neer envy them !

It's true, they need na ftarve or fweat,

Thro' Winter's cauld, or Summer's heat ;

They've nae fair-wark to craze their banes,

An' fill auld-age wi' grips an' granes ;

But human-bodies are fie fools,

For a' their colledges an' fchools,

That when nae real ills perplex them,

They mak enow themlels to vex them ;

B 2

( 2° )

An' ay the lefs they hae to fturt them, In like proportion, lefs will hurt them.

A country fellow at the pleugh, His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh ; A country girl at her wheel, Her dizzerfs done, fhe's unco weel ; But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warft, Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curft. They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy ; Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneafy ; Their days, infipid, dull an' taftelefs, Their nights, unquiet, lang an* reftlefs.

An' ev'n their fports, their balls an' races, Their galloping thro' public places, There's fie parade, fie pomp an' art, The joy can fcarcely reach the heart.

The Men caft out in party-matches, Then fowther a' in deep debauches. Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' wh — ring, Nieft day their life is part enduring.

( 2, )

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clutters, As great an' gracious a' as lifters ; But hear their abfent thoughts o' ither, They're a run deils an' jads thegither. Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, They ftp the fcandal-potion pretty ; Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbet leuks, Pore owre the devil's piEtur'd beuks ; Stake on a chance a farmer's ftackyard, An' cheat like ony unhang d blackguard.

There's fome exceptions, man an' woman ; But this is Gentry's life in common.

By this, the fun was out o' sight, An' darker gloamin brought the night : The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, The kye ftood rowtan i' the loan ; When up they gat an' fhook their lugs, Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; An' each took off his feveral way, Refolv'd to meet fome ither day.

( 22 )

SCOTCH DRINK.

Gie himjlrong Drink until he wink,

Thafs finkitig in defpair; Art liquor guid tojire his bluid,

Thafs prejl wP grief art care: There let him bowfe art deep caroufe,

WP bumpers flowing o'er, Till he forgets his loves or debts,

Art minds his griefs no more.

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7.

LET other Poets raife a fracas 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' druken Bacchus, An' crabbed names an' ftories wrack us,

An' grate our lug, I ling the juice Scotch bear can mak us,

In glafs or jug.

( 23 )

O thou, my MUSE! guid, auld SCOTCH DRINK!

Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,

In glorious faem, Infpire me, till I Ufp an' wink,

To fing thy name !

Let hufky Wheat the haughs adorn, And Aits fet up their awnie horn, An' Peafe an' Beans, at een or morn,

Perfume the plain, Leeze me on thee John Barleycorn,

Thou king o' grain !

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, In fouple fcones, the wale o' food ! Or tumbling in the boiling flood

Wi' kail an' beef; But when thou pours thy ftrong hearfs blood,

There thou Ihines chief.

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,

( 24 ) When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ;

But oil'd by thee, The wheels o' life gae down-hill, fcrievin,

Wi' rattlin glee.

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; Thou chears the heart o' drooping Care ; Thou firings the nerves o' Labor-fair,

At's weary toil ; Thou ev'n brightens dark Defpair,

Wi' gloomy fmile.

Aft, clad in mafly, filler weed, Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; Yet humbly kind, in time o* need,

The poor man's wine ; His wee drap pirratch, or his bread,

Thou kitchens fine.

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? Ev*n godly meetings o' the faunts,

By thee infpir'd,

( *5 ) When gaping they befiege the tents,

Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in, O fweetly, then, thou reams the horn in ! Or reekan on a New-year-morni?i

In cog or bicker, An' juft a wee dr^ff ritual burn in,

An' gully fucker !

When Vulcan gies his bellys breath, An* Ploughmen gather wi' their graith, O rare ! to fee thee fizz an' freath

I' the lugget caup ! Then Burnewin comes on like Death

At ev'ry chap.

Nae mercy, then, for aim or fteel ;

The brawnie, banie, ploughman-chiel

Brings hard owrehip, wi' fturdy wheel,

The ftrong forehammer,

Till block an' ftuddi£ ring an' reel

Wi' dinfome clamour. C

( *6 ) When fkirlin weanies lee the light, Thou maks the goflips clatter bright, How fumbling coofs their dearies flight,

Wae worth them for't ! While healths gae round to him wha, tight,

Gies famous fport.

When neebors anger at a plea, An' juft as wud as wud can be, How eafy can the barley-brie

Cement the quarrel ! It's aye the cheaper!; Lawyer's fee

To tafte the barrel.

Alake ! that e'er my Mufe has reafon, To wyte her countrymen wi' treafon ! But monie daily weet their weafon

Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in, a winter feafon,

E'er fpier her price.

Wae worth that Brandy, burnan trafh ! Fell fource o' monie a pain an' brafh !

( *7 )

Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hafh

O' half his days ;

An' fends, befide, auld Scotland's cafh

To her warft faes.

Ye Scots wha wifh auld Scotland well, Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor, placklefs devils like mjr/el,

It fets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,

Or foreign gill.

May Gravels round his blather wrench, An' Gouts torment him, inch by inch, Wha twifts his gruntle wi' a glunch

O' four difdain, Out owre a glafs o' Whijky-punch

Wi' honeft men !

O Whijky I foul o' plays an' pranks ! Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! When wanting thee, what tunelefs cranks

Are my poor Verfes !

C 2

( *8 )

Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks

At ither's arfes !

Thee Fermtojh ! O fadly loft ! Scotland lament frae coaft to coaft ! Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoaft,

May kill us a' ; For loyal Forbes' Chartered boaji

Is ta'en awa !

Thae curft horfe-leeches o' th' Excife, Wha mak the Whijky Jiells their prize ! Haud up thy han' Deil ! ance, twice, thrice !

There, fieze the blinkers ! An' bake them up in brunftane pies

For poor d — n'd Drinkers.

Fortune, if thou'll but gie me ftill Hale breeks, a fcone, an' whijky gill, An' rowth o* rhyme to rave at will,

Tak a' the reft, An' deal't about as thy blind fkill

Directs thee beft.

( *9 )

THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER, TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND HONORABLE, THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Dear eft of Diftillation ! laft and beft !- How art thou loft !

Parody on Milton.

YE Irijh lords, ye knights an' /quires, Wha reprefent our Brughs an' Shires, An' doufely manage our affairs

In Parliament, To you a fimple Bardie's pray'rs

Are humbly fent.

( 3° )

Alas! my roupet Mufe is haerfe! Your Honor's hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To fee her fittan on her arfe

Low i' the duft, An' fcriechan out profaic verfe,

An' like to bruft !

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an* m£s in great affliction, E'er fin' they laid that curft reftriction

On AQUAVITS; An' roufe them up to ftrong conviction,

An' move their pity.

Stand forth and tell yon PREMIER YOUTH, The honeft, open, naked truth : Tell him o* mine an' Scotland's drouth,

His fervants humble : The muckle devil blaw you fouth,

If ye diflemble !

Does ony great ma?i glunch an' gloom ? Speak out an* never fafh your thumb.

( 3« )

Let pojis an' petifions fink or iwoom

Wi' them wha grant them :

If honeftly they carina come,

Far better want them.

In gath'rin votes you were na flack, Now ftand as tightly by your tack : Ne'er claw your lug, an' ridge your back,

An' hum an' haw, But raife your arm, an' tell your crack

Before them a'.

Paint Scotland greetan owre her thrifsle ; Her mutchkln Jloisop as toom's a whifsle ; An' d — mn'd Excife-men in a bufsle,

Seizan a St ell, Triumphant crufhan't like a mufcle

Or laimpet fhell.

Then on the tither hand prefent her, A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner,

Colleaguing join,

( 3* )

Picking her pouch as bare as Winter,

Of a' kind coin.

Is there, that bears the name o* SCOT, But feels his heart's bluid riiing hot, To fee his poor, auld Mither's pot,

Thus dung in ftaves, An* plunder'd o' her hindmoft groat,

By gallows knaves ?

Alas ! I'm but a namelefs wight, Trode i' the mire out o' fight ! But could I like MONTGOMERIES fight,

Or gab like BOSWELL, There's fomefark-necks I wad draw tight,

An' tye some hofe well.

God blefs your Honors, can ye fee't, The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, An' no get warmly to your feet,

An' gar them hear it, An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat,

Ye winna bear it ?

( 23 )

Some o* you nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' paufe, An' with rhetoric claufe on clauie

To mak harangues ; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's

Auld Scotland's wrangs.

Dempjler, a true-blue Scot Fie warran ; Thee, aith-detefting, chafte Kilkerran ; An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron,

The Laird o' Graham ; And ane, a chap that's d — mn'd auldfarran,

Dundas his name.

Erjkine, a ipunkie norland billie ; True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay ; An' Liviftone, the bauld Sir Willie;

An' monie ithers, Whom auld Demofthenes or Tully

Might own for brithers.

Aroufe my boys ! exert your mettle,

To get auld Scotland back her kettle !

D

( 34 )

Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle,

Ye'll fee't or lang,

She'll teach you, wi' a reekan whittle,

Anither fang.

This while fhe's been in crankous mood, Her loft Militia fir'd her bluid ; (Deil na they never mair do guid,

Play'd her that plifkie !) An' now fhe's like to rin red-wud

About her Whijky.

An' L — d ! if ance they pit her till't, Her tartan petticoat fhe'll kilt, An' durk an' piftol at her belt,

She'll tak the ftreets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt,

I' th' firft fhe meets !

For G — d-fake, Sirs! then fpeak her fair, An' ftraik her cannie wi' the hair, An' to the muckle houfe repair,

Wi' inftant fpeed,

( 35 )

An' ftrive, wi' a' your Wit an' Lear,

To get remead.

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; But gie him't het, my hearty cocks !

E'en cowe the cadie ! An' fend him to his dicing box,

An' fportin lady.

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's, I'll be his debt twa mafhlum bonnocks, An' drink his health in auld * Nanfe Tinnoclis

Nine times a week, If he fome fcheme, like tea an' winnocks,

Wad kindly feek.

Could he fome commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He need na fear their foul reproach

Nor erudition,

* A worthy old Hoftefs of the Author's in Mauchline, where he fometimes ftudies Politics over a glafs of guid, auld

Scotch Drink.

D 2

( 36 )

Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch,

The Coalition.

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; She's juft a devil wi' a rung ; An' if fhe promife auld or young

To tak their part, Tho' by the neck ihe mould be ftrung,

She'll no defert.

And now, ye chofen FIVE AND FOR- TY,

May ftill your Mither's heart iupport ye ; Then, tho' a M'uiifler grow dorty,

An' kick your place, Ye'll fnap your fingers, poor an' hearty,

Before his face.

God blefs your Honors, a' your days, Wi' fowps o' kail and brats o' claife, In fpite o' a' the thievifh kaes

That haunt St. Jamie's ! Your humble Bardie lings an' prays

While Rab his name is.

( 37 )

POSTSCRIPT

Let half-ftarv'd Haves in warmer flues, See future wines, rieh-cluft'ring, rife ; Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies,

But blythe an' frifky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys,

Tak aff their Whifky.

What tho' their Phcebus kinder warms, While Fragrance blooms an' Beauty charms ! When wretches range, in famifh'd fwarms,

The fcented groves, Or hounded forth, dijhonor arms

In hungry droves.

Their gun's a burden on their mouther ; They downa bide the ftink o' powtber ; Their bauldeft thought's a hank'ring fwither,

To ftan' or rin,

( 3« ) Till fkelp — a mot — they're aff, a' throw- 'ther,

To fave their fkin.

But bring a SCOTCHMAN frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, fuch is royal GEORGE'S will,

An' there's the foe, He has nae thought but how to kill

Twa at a blow.

Nae cauld, faint-hearted dqubtings teafe him; Death comes, wi' fearlefs eye he fees him ; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ;

An' when he fa's, His lateft draught o' breathin lea'es him

In faint huzzas.

Sages their folemn een may fteek, An' raife a philofophic reek, An' phyfically caufes feek,

In clime an' feafon.

( i9 ) But tell me Wh'ifkfs name in Greek,

I'll tell the realbn.

SCOTLAND, my auld, refpeded Mither ! Tho' whyles ye moiftify your leather, Till whare ye fit, on craps o* heather, ,

Ye tine your dam ; FREEDOM and WHISKY gang the- gither,

Tak aff your dram !

^^Wf

( 4° )

-ft-fcA* tJf^LJKl;LJ^ldLJKl4jKi!^?iS!^Lrf

THE

HOLY FAIR.

A robe offeeming truth and trujl

Hid crafty obfervation ; And Jeer et hu?ig, with poiforfd crujl,

The dirk of Defamation ; A mafk that like the gorget fhow'd,

Dye-varying, on the pigeon ; And for a mantle large and broad,

He wrapt him in Religion.

Hypocrisy a-la-Mode.

t

I.

UPON a fimmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' muff the callor air.

( 4i )

The rifing fun, our GALSTON Muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintan ;

The hares were hirplan down the furrs, The lav'rocks they were chantan

Fu' fweet that day.

II.

As lightfomely I glowr'd abroad,

To fee a fcene fae gay, Three bizzies, early at the road,

Cam fkelpan up the way. Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,

But ane wi' lyart lining ; The third, that gaed a wee a-back,

Was in the fafhion mining

Fu' gay that day.

III.

The two. appear'd like fifters twin,

In feature, form an' claes ;

Their vifage wither'd, lang an' thin,

An' four as ony flaes :

E

( 4* ) The third cam up, hap-ftep-an'-loup,

As light as ony lambie, An' wi' a curchie low did ftoop, As foon as e'er fhe faw me,

Fu' kind that day.

IV.

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lafs,

" I think ye feem to ken me ; " Pm fure I've feen that bonie face,

" But yet I canna name ye." Quo' fhe, an' laughan as fhe fpak,

An' taks me by the han's, " Ye, for my fake, hae gien the feck

" Of a' the ten comment's

A fcreed fome day."

V.

" My name is FUN— your cronie dear, " The neareft friend ye hae ;

" An' this is SUPERSTITION here, " An' that's HYPOCRISY.

( 43 ) " Pm gaun to ********* holy fair,

" To fpend an hour in daffin: " Gin ye'll go there, yon runkPd pair, " We will get famous laughin

At them this day."

VI.

Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't ;

" I'll get my funday's fark on, " An' meet you on the holy fpot ;

" Faith, weYe hae fine remarkin !" Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,

An' ibon I made me ready ; For roads were clad, frae* fide to fide,

Wi' monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.

VII.

Here, farmers gafh, in ridin graith,

Gaed hoddan by their cotters ;

There, fwankies young, in braw braid-claith,

Are fpringan owre the gutters.

E 2

( 44 )

The laffes, fkelpan barefit, thrang,

In filks an' fcarlets glitter ; Wi' fweet-milk cheefe, in monie a whang,

An' far Is, bak'd wi' butter,

Fu' crump that day.

VIII.

When by the plate we fet our nofe,

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, A greedy glowr black-bo?inet throws,

An' we maun draw our tippence. Then in we go to fee the (how,

On ev'ry fide they're gath'ran ; Some carryan dails, fOme chairs an' ftools,

An* fome are bufy bleth'ran

Right loud that day.

IX.

Here {lands a fried to fend the fhow'rs,

' An' fcreen our countra Gentry ; There, racer Jefs, an' twathree wh — res, Are blinkan at the entry.

( 45 )

Here fits a raw o' tittlan jads,

Wi' heaving breafts an' bare neck ;

An' there, a batch o' Wabjier lads, Blackguarding frae K*******ck

For full this day.

X.

Here, fome are thinkan on their fins,

An' fome upo' their claes ; Ane curfes feet that fyl'd his fhins,

Anither fighs an' prays : On this hand fits an ElecJ fwatch,

Wi' fcrew'd-up, grace-proud faces; On that, a fet o' chaps, at watch,

Thrang winkan on the laffes

To chairs that day.

XL

O happy is that man, an' bleft !

Nae wonder that it pride him ! Whafe ain dear lafs, that he likes beft,

Comes clinkan down befide him !

( 46 ) , Wi' arm repof 'd on the chai?~-back,

He fweetly does compofe him ; Which, by degrees, flips round her neck, An's loof upon her bofom

Unkend that day.

XII.

Now a' the congregation o'er

Is filent expectation ; For ****** fpeels the holy door,

Wi' tidings o' f — lv — t — n. Should Hornie, as in ancient days,

'Mang fons o' G — prefent him, The vera fight o' ***** *'s face,

To's ain bet hame had fent him

Wi' fright that day.

XIII.

Hear how he clears the points o' Faith

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,

He's ftampan, an' he's jumpan !

( 47 )

His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd up fnout, His eldritch fqueel an' geftures,

O how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plaifters

On fie a day !

XIV.

But hark ! the tent has chang'd it's voice ;

There's peace an' reft nae langer ; For a' the real judges rife,

They canna fit for anger. ***** opens out his cauld harangues,

On pracllce and on morals ; An' aff the godly pour in thrangs,

To gie the jars an' barrels

A lift that day.

XV.

What fignifies his barren ihine, Of moral powers an' reafon?

His Englifh ftyle, and gefture fine, Are a' clean out o' ieafon.

( 48 )

Like SOCRATES or ANTONINE,

Or fome 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

Againft fie poofion'd noftrum ; por ****** *^ frae the Water-fit,

Afcends the holy rojlrum : See, up he's got the word o' G — ,

An' meek an' mim has view'd it, While COMMON-SENSE has taen the road, An' aff, an' up the Cowgate

Faft, faft that day.

XVII.

Wee ****** neift, the Guard relieves,

An' Orthodoxy raibles, Tho' in his heart he weel believes,

An' thinks it auld wives' fables :

( 49 )

But faith ! the birkie wants a Manfe,

So, cannilie he hums them ; Altho' his carnal Wit an' Senfe

Like hafflins-wife o'ercomes him

At times that day.

XVIII.

Now, butt an' ben, the Change-houfe fills,

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : Here's crying out for bakes an' gills,

An' there the pint-ftowp clatters ; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang,

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, They raife 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 Colledge :

It kindles Wit, it waukens Lear,

It pangs us fou o' Knowledge.

F

( 5° ) Be't wbi/ky-gill or petwy-wbeep,

Or ony ftronger potion, It never fails, on drinkin deep, To kittle up our notion,

By night or day.

XX.

The lads an' laffes, blythely bent

To mind baith faul an' body, Sit round the table, weel content,

An' fleer about the toddy. On this ane's drefs, an' that ane's leuk,

They're makin obfervations ; While fome are cozie i' the neuk,

An' forming affignations

To meet fome day.

XXI.

But now the L — 's ain trumpet touts,

Till a' the hills are rairan, An' echos back return the fhouts ;

Black ****** is na fpairan :

( 5' )

His piercin words, like Highlan fwords, Divide the joints an' marrow ;

His talk o' H — 11, whare devils dwell, Our vera * " Sauls does harrow"

Wi' fright that day !

XXII.

A vaft, unbottom'd, boundlefs Pit,

Fill'd fou o' low an brunjlane, Whale raging flame, an' fcorching heat,

Wad melt the hardeft whun-ftane ! The half ajlcep ftart up wi' fear,

An' think they hear it roaran, When prefently it does appear,

'Twas but fome neebor fnora?i

Afleep that day.

XXIII.

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell,

How monie ftories paft, An' how they crouded to the yill,

When they were a' difmift : * Shakefpeare's Hamlet.

( J2 )

How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches ;

An' cheefe an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches,

An' dawds that day.

XXIV.

In comes a gawfie, gafh Guidivife,

An' fits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife ;

The lafTes they are fhyer. The auld Guldmen, about the grace,

Frae fide to fide they bother, Till fome ane by his bonnet lays,

An' gies them't, like a tether,

Fu' lang that day.

XXV.

Waefucks ! for him that gets nae lafs,

Or lafTes that hae naething ! Sma' need has he to fay a grace,

Or melvie his braw claithing !

( Si ) O Wives be mindfu', ance yourfel,

How bonie lads ye wanted, An' dinna, for a kcbbiick-heel, Let lafTes be affronted

On fie a day !

XXVI.

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlan tow,

Begins to jow an' croon ; Some fwagger hame, the beft they dow,

Some wait the afternoon. At (laps the billies halt a blink,

Till lafTes ftrip their moon : Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink,

They're a' in famous tune

For crack that day.

XXVII.

How monie hearts this day converts,

O' finners and o' LafTes ! Their hearts o' ftane, gin night are gane,

As faft as ony flefh is.

( 54 ) There's fome are fou o' love divine ;

There's fome are fou o' brandy ; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in Honghmagandie

Some ither day.

( 55 )

A Q in i Q i o i 0 1.4- »■ ft- ft— -ft- ft ft -■< — it 0 ft ft ft ft" 8 ft ft »'" ♦ O » » 0

"fr » '» 0 0 9 < » "♦" ♦ >'♦" ♦ "' ♦ ♦" »" »"♦ i.Qi,i»iiiQ Q 1,4 4 iiQ i0 ft ft ^

ADDRESS

T 0

THE D E I L.

0 Prince, 0 chief of many throned powers, That led tU embattled Seraphim to war —

Milton.

OThou, whatever title fuit thee ! Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Wha in yon cavern grim an' footie,

Clof 'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunftane cootie,

To fcaud poor wretches !

( 56 ) Hear me, aald Hangie, for a wee, An' let poor, damned bodies bee ; I'm fure fma' pleafure it can gie,

Ev'n to a dell^ To fkelp an' fcaud poor dogs like me,

An' hear us fqueel !

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; Far kend an' noted is thy name ; An' tho' yon lowan heugWs thy hame,

Thou travels far; An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame,

Nor blate nor fcaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roaran lion, For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; Whyles, on the ftrong-wing'd Tempeft flyin,

Tirlan the kirks ; Whyles, in the human bofom pryin,

Unfeen thou lurks.

I've heard my rev'rend Graunie fay, In lanely glens ye like to ftray ;

( 57 ) ■ Or where auld, ruin'd caftles, gray,

Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way,

Wi' eldritch croon.

When twilight did my Graiuiie fummon, To fay her pray'rs, doufe, honeft woman ! Aft 'yont the dyke hhe's heard you bum- man,

Wi' eerie drone; Or, ruftling, thro' the boortries coman,

Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The ftars fhot down wi' fklentan light, Wi' you, myfel, I gat a fright,

Ayont the lough ; Ye, like a rafh-bufs, ftood in light,

Wi' waving fugh.

The cudgel in my nieve did ihake,

Each briftl'd hair ftood like a ftake,

When wi' an eldritch, ftoor quaick, quaick,

Amang the fprings, G

( 5« )

Awa ye fquatter'd like a drake,

On whiffling wings.

Let Warlocks grim, an' wither' d Hags, Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, They fkim the muirs an' dizzy crags,

Wi' wicked fpeed ; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,

Owre howcket dead.

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; For Oh ! the yellow treafure's taen

By witching fkill ; An' dawtet, twal-pint Hawkins gane

As yell's the Bill.

Thence, myftic knots mak great abufe, On Young-Guidmen, fond, keen, an' cfoofe ; When the beft wark-lume i' the houfe,

By cantraip wit, Is, inftant made no worth a loufe

Juft at the bit.

( 59 )

When thowes diffolve the fnawy hoord, An' float the jinglan icy boord, Then, Water-kelpies haunt the foord,

By your direction, An' nighted Travelers are allur'd

To their deftrudlion.

An' aft your mofs-traverfing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : The bleezan, curft, mifchievous monkies

Delude his eyes, Till in fome miry flough he funk is,

Ne'er mair to rife.

When MASONS' myftic word an' grip, In ftorms an' tempefts raife you up, Some cock or cat, your rage maun ftop, # Or, ftrange to tell !

The youngeji Brother ye wad whip

Aff ftraught to #— //.

Lang fyne in EDEN'S bonie yard,

When youthfu' lovers firft were pair'd,

G 2

( 6° )

An' all the Soul of Love they fhar'd,

The raptur'd hour,

Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry fwaird,

In fhady bow'r.

Then you, ye auld, fnick-drawing dog ! Ye cam to Paradife incog, An' play'd on man a curfed brogue,

(Black be your fa' !) An' gied the infant warld a fhog,

'Maift ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Wi' reeket duds, an' reeftet gizz, Ye did prefent your fmoutie phiz,

'Mang better folk, An' fklented on the man oflfzz,

Your fpitefu' joke &

An how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak him out o' houfe an' haP, While fcabs an' botches did him gall,

Wi' bitter claw,

•

( 6i )

An' lowf'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl

Was warft ava ?

But a' your doings to rehearfe, Your wily fhares an* fechtin fierce, Sin' that day * MICHAEL did you pierce,

Down to this time, Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erfe,

In Profe or Rhyme.

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkan, A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, Some lucklefs hour will fend him linkan,

To your black pit ; But faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkan,

An' cheat you yet.

But fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben ! O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken —

Still hae zjlake — I'm wae to think upo' yon den,

Ev'n for your fake !

* Vide Milton. Book 6th.

\

( 62 )

THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS

O F

POOR MAILIE,

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE,

AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE.

AS MAILIE, an* her lambs thegither, Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot fhe cooft a hitch, An' owre fhe warfl'd in the ditch : There, groaning, dying, fhe did ly, When * Hughoc he cam doytan by.

* A neibor herd-callan.

( 63 ) Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted hanV, Poor Hughoc like a ftatue flan's ; He faw her days were near hand ended, But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it ! He gaped wide, but naething i'pak, At length poor Mailie filence brak.

" O thou, whale lamentable face Appears to mourn my woefu' cafe ! My dying words attentive hear, An' bear them to my Mafter dear.

Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a.Jbeeft, O, bid him never tye them mair, Wi' wicked firings o' hemp or hair ! But ca them out to park or hill, An' let them wander at their will : So, may his flock increafe an' grow To /cores o' lambs, an' packs of woo' !

Tell him, he was a Mafler kin', An' ay was guid to me an' mine ;

( 64 ) An' now my dying charge I gie him, My helplefs lambs, I trufl them wi' him.

O, bid him fave their harmlefs lives, Frae dogs an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, Till they be fit to fend themfel ; An' tent them duely, e'en an' morn, Wi' taets o' bay an' ripps o' com.

An' may they never learn the gaets,

Of ither vile, wanreftfu' Pets !

To flink thro' flaps an' reave an' Ileal,

At flacks o' peafe, or flocks o' kail.

So may they, like their great forbears,

For monie a year come thro' the fheers :

So wives will gie them bits o' bread,

An' bairns greet for them when they're dead.

* My poor toop-lamb, my fon an' heir,

O, bid him breed him up wi* care !

An' if he live to be a beafl,

To pit fome havins in his bread !

( 65 )

An' warn him ay at ridin time, To ftay content wi' yowes at hame ; An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, Like ither menfelefs, gracelefs brutes.

An' nieft my yowie, filly thing, Gude keep thee frae a tether firing ! O, may thou ne'er forgather up, Wi' onie blaftet, moorlan toop ; But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, Wi' fheep o' credit like thyfel !

And now, my bairns, wi' my laft breath, I lea'e my bleifin wi' you baith : An' when ye think upo' your Mither, Mind to be kind to ane anither.

Now, honeft Hughoc, dinna fail, To tell my M after a' my tale ; An' bid him burn this curfed tether, An' for thy pains thou'fe get my blather.

This faid, poor Mail'ie turn'd her head,

An' clof 'd her een amang the dead !

H

( 66 )

POOR MAI LIE'S ELEGY.

LAMENT in rhyme, lament in profe, Wi' faut tears trickling down your nofe ; Our Bardies fate is at a clofe,

Paft a' remead ! The laft, fad cape-ftane of his woes ;

Poor Mall'ifs dead !

It's no the lofs o' warl's gear, That could fae bitter draw the tear, Or make our Bardie, dowie, wear

The mourning weed : He's loft a friend and neebor dear,

In Mailie dead.

Thro' a' the town Ihe trotted by him ; A lang half-mile fhe could defcry him ; Wi' kindly bleat, when fhe did fpy him,

She ran wi' fpeed : A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him,

Than Mailie dead.

( c7 )

I wat ihe was a Jheep o' ienie, An' could behave herfel wi' menfe : I'll lay't, (lie never brak a fence,

Thro' thieviili greed. Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the fpence

Sin' Maine's dead.

Or, if he wanders up the howe, Her living image in her yowe, Comes bleating till him, owre the knowe,

For bits o' bread ; An' down the briny pearls rowe

For Mailie dead.

She was nae get o' moorlan tips, Wi' tauted ket, an' hairy hips ; For her forbears were brought in mips,

Frae'yont the TWEED A bonier fleejh ne'er crofs'd the clips

Than Maine's dead.

Wae worth that man wha ririt did fhape,

That vile, wanchancie thing — a racp I

H 2

( 68 )

It maks guid fellows girn an' gape,

Wi' chokin dread ;

An' Robin'' s bonnet wave wi' crape

For Mailie dead.

O, a' ye Bards on bonie DO ON ! An' wha on AIRE your chanters tune ! Come, join the melancholious croon

O' Robin'' s reed ! His heart will never get aboon !

His Maine's dead !

0^L

( 69 )

TO J. s****.

Friend/hip, myjlerious cement of the foul ! Siuee? ner of Life, and folder of Society ! I owe thee much

Blair.

DEAR S * * * *, the fleeft, pawkie thief, That e'er attempted ftealth or rief, Ye furely hae fome warlock-breef

Owre human hearts ; For ne'er a bofom yet was prief

Againft your arts.

For me, I fwear by fun an' moon, And ev'ry ftar that blinks aboon, Ye've coft me twenty pair o' fhoon

Juft gaun to fee you ;

( 7° ) And ev'ry ither pair that's done,

Mair taen I'm wi' you.

That auld, capricious carlin, Nature, To mak amends for fcrimpet ftature, She's turn'd you off, a human-creature

On herjirft plan, And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature,

- She's wrote, the Man.

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, My barmie noddle's working prime, My fancy yerket up fublime

Wi' hafty fummon : Hae ye a leifure-moment's time

To hear what's comin ?

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lafh ; Some rhyme, (vain thought !) for needfu'

cafh; Some rhyme to court the countra claih,

An' raife a din ; For me, an aim I never fafh ;

I rhyme for fun.

( 7' ) The itar that rules my lucklefs lot, Has fated me the ruflet coat, An' damn'd my fortune to the groat ;

But, in requit, Has bleft me with a random-Jhot

O' countra wit.

This while my notion's taen a fklent, To try my fate in guid, black prent ; But ftill the mair I'm that way bent,

Something cries, "Hoolie! " I red you, honeft man, tak tent !

Ye'll fhaw your folly.

" There's ither Poets, much your betters, " Far feen in Greek, deep men o' letters, " Hae thought they had enfur'd their debtors,

"A' future ages; " Now moths deform in fhapelefs tatters,

"Their unknown pages."

Then farewel hopes of Laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows !

( 7* )

Henceforth, I'll rove where bufy ploughs

Are whiftling thrang,

An' teach the lanely heights an' howes

My ruftic fang.

I'll wander on with tentlefs heed, How never-halting moments fpeed, Till fate fhall fnap the brittle thread ;

Then, all unknown, I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,

Forgot and gone !

But why, o' Death, begin a tale ? Juft now we're living found an' hale ; Then top and maintop croud the fail,

Heave Care o'er-fide ! And large, before Enjoyment's gale,

Let's tak the tide.

This life, fae far's I underftand, Is a' enchanted fairy-land, Where Pleafure is the Magic-wand,

That, wielded right,

( 73 ) 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 fpeel'd, See, crazy, weary, joylefs Eild,

Wi' wrinkl'd face, Comes hoftan, hirplan owre the field,

Wi' creeping pace.

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, Then fareweel vacant, carelefs roamin ; An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin,

An' focial noife; An' fareweel dear, deluding woman,

The joy of joys !

O Life ! how pleafant in thy morning,

Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning !

Cold-paufing Caution's leiTon fcorning,

We frifk away, I

( 74 )

Like fchool-boys, at th' expected warning,

To joy and play.

We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rofe upon the brier, Unmindful that the thorn is near,

Among the leaves ; And tho' the puny wound appear,

Short while it grieves.

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry fpot, For which they never toiPd nor fwat ; They drink thejweet and eat the fat,

But care or pain ; And hap'ly, eye the barren hut,

With high difdain.

With fteady aim, Some Fortune chafe ; Keen hope does ev'ry finew brace ; Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race,

And fieze the prey : Then canie, in fome cozie place,

They clofe the day.

( 75 )

And others, like your humble fervan', Poor wigbts ! nae rules nor roads obfervin ; To right or left, eternal fwervin,

They zig-zag on ; Till curft with Age, obfcure an' ftarvin,

They aften groan.

Alas ! what bitter toil an' {training — But truce with peevifh, poor complaining ! Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ?

E'en let her gang ! Beneath what light fhe has remaining,

Let's fing our Sang.

My pen I here fling to the door, And kneel, * Ye Powers, and warm implore, 1 Tho' I ihould wander Terra o'er,

* In all her climes, 1 Grant me but this, I afk no more,

1 Ay rowth o' rhymes.

1 Gie dreeping roafts to countra Lairds,

1 Till icicles hing frae their beards;

I 2

( 76 ) 1 Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards,

i And Maids of Honor ; i And yill an* whifky gie to Cairds,

' Until they fconner.

' A Title, DEMPSTER merits it; ' A Garter gie to WILLIE PIT; ' Gie Wealth to fome be-ledger'd Cit,

* In cent per cent ; 4 But give me real, fterling Wit,

' And I'm content.

' While ye are pleaf 'd to keep me hale, I'll fit down o'er my fcanty meal, 1 Be't water-brofe, or mufli?i-kail,

* Wi' chearfu' face, * As lang's the Mules dinna fail

* To fay the grace.'

An anxious e'e I never throws Behint my lug, or by my nofe ; I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows

As weel's I may ;

( 77 )

Sworn foe to for row, care, and profe,

I rhyme away.

O ye, doufe folk, that live by rule, Grave, tidelefs-blooded, calm and cool, Compar'd wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool !

How much unlike ! Your hearts are juft a (landing pool,

Your lives, a dyke !

Nae hare-brain'd, fentimental traces, In your unletter'd, namelefs faces ! In ariofo trills and graces

Ye never ftray, But graviffimo, folemn bafles,

Ye hum away.

Ye are fae grave, nae doubt ye're wife ; Nae ferly tho' ye do defpife The hairum-fcairum, ram-ftam boys,

The rambling fquad : I fee ye upward caft your eyes —

— Ye ken the road —

( 7« ) Whilft I— but I {hall haud me there- Wi' you I'll fcarce gang ony where — Then yamie, I fhall fay nae mair,

But quat my fang, Content with YOU to mak a pair ■,

Whare'er I gang.

( 79 )

A DREAM.

Thoughts, words and deeds, the Statute blames

with reafon ; Butfurely Dreams were ne'er indicled 1 'reafon.

ON READING, IN THE PUBLIC PAPERS, THE LAUREATE'S ODE, WITH THE OTHER PARADE OF JUNE 4th, 1786, THE AUTHOR WAS NO SOON- ER DROPT ASLEEP, THAN HE IMAGINED HIM- SELF TRANSPORTED TO THE BIRTH-DAY LE- VEE; AND, IN HIS DREAMING FANCY, MADE THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS.

I.

GUID-MORNIN to your MAJESTY ! May heaven augment your bliiTes, On ev'ry new Birth-day ye fee, A humble Bardie wifhes !

{ So ) My Bardlhip here, at your Levee,

On fie a day as this is, Is fure an uncouth fight to fee, Amang thae Birth-day dreffes

Sae fine this day.

II.

I fee ye're complimented thrang,

By many a lord an' lady ; " God lave the King" 's a cukoo fang

That's unco eafy faid ay : The Poets too, a venal gang,

Wi' rhymes weel-tum'd an' ready, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,

But ay unerring fteady,

On fie a day.

III.

For me ! before a Monarch's face, Ev'n there I winna flatter ;

For neither Penfion, Poft, nor Place, Am I your humble debtor :

( 8i )

So, nae refledtion on YOUR GRACE,

Your Kingfhip to befpatter ; There's monie waur been o' the Race,

And aiblins ane been better

Than You this day.

IV.

'Tis very true, my fovereign King,

My fkill may weel be doubted ; But Fa&s are cheels that winna ding,

An' downa be difputed : Your royal neji^ beneath Tour wing,

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, And now the third part o' the firing,

An' lefs, will gang about it

Than did ae day.

V.

Far be't frae me that I afpire

To blame your Legiflation, . Or fay, ye wifdom want, or fire,

To rule this mighty nation ;

( 82 )

But faith ! I muckle doubt, my SIRE,,

Ye've trufted 'Miniftration, To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,

Wad better fill'd their ftation

Than courts yon day.

VI.

And now Ye've gien auld Britain peace,

Her broken fhins to plaifter ; Your fair taxation does her fleece,

Till Ihe has fcarce a teller : For me, thank God, my life's a leafe,

Nae bargain wearing falter, Or faith ! I fear that, wi' the gede,

I fhortly booft to palture

P the craft fome day.

VII.

I'm no miltrufting Willie Pit,

When taxes he enlarges, (An' WiWs a true guid fallow's get,

A Name not Envy fpairges) That he intends to pay your debt,

An' leflen a' your charges ;

( 83 ) But, G — d-fake ! let nae favhig-Jit Abridge your bonie Barges

An' Boats this day.

VIII.

Adieu, my LIEGE! may Freedom geek

Beneath your high protection ; An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck,

And gie her for direction ! But fince I'm here, I'll no neglect,

In loyal, true affection, To pay your QUEEN, with due refpeel,

My fealty an' fubjection

This great Birth-day.

IX

Hail, Majejly mq/l Excellent !

While Nobles ftrive to pleafe Ye, Will Ye accept a Compliment,

A fimple Bardie gies Ye ?

Thae bonie Bairntime, Heav'n has lent,

Still higher may they heeze Ye

K 2

( 84 )

In blifs, till Fate fome day is fent, For ever to releafe Ye

Frae Care that day.

X.

For you, young Potentate o* W — ,

I tell your Highnefs fairly, Down Pleafure's ftream, wi' fwelling fails,

I'm tauld ye' re driving rarely ; But fome day ye may gnaw your nails,

An' curie your folly fairly, That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,

Or rattPd dice wi' Charlie

By night or day.

XL

Yet aft a ragged Cowte's been known,

To mak a noble Aiver ; So, ye may doufely fill a Throne,

For a' their clifh-ma-claver : There, Him at Agincourt wha fhone,

Few better were or braver ;

( 35 )

And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir * John, He was an unco (haver

For monie a day.

XII.

For you, right rev'rend O ,

Nane fets the lawn-Jleeve fweeter, Altho' a ribban at your lug

Wad been a drefs compleater : As ye difown yon paughty dog,

That bears the Keys of Peter, Then fwith ! an' get a wife to hug,

Or trouth ! ye'll ftain the Mitre

Some lucklefs day.

XIII.

Young, royal TARRY-B REEKS, I learn,

Ye've lately come athwart her ; A glorious f Galley, item and ftern,

Weel rigg'd for Venus barter ; But firft hang out that (he'll difcern,

Your hymeneal Charter,

* Sir John FaHtarT, Vide Shakefpeare.

| Alluding to the Newfpaper account of a certain royal Sailor's Amour.

( 86 )

Then heave aboard your grapple aim, An', large upon her quarter,

Come full that day.

XIV.

Ye laftly, bonie bloflbms a',

Ye royal Lajfes dainty, Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,

An' gie you lads a plenty : But fneer na Britifh-boys awa ;

For King's are unco fcant ay, An' German-Gentles are but fma\

They're better juft than want ay

On onie day.

XV.

God blefs you a' ! confider now,

Ye' re unco muckle dautet ; But ere the courfe o' life be through,

It may be bitter fautet : An' I hae feen 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.

( 87 )

THE VISION.

D U A N FIRST.

THE fun had cloi'd the winter-day, The Curlers quat their roaring play, And hunger'd Maukin taen her way

To kail-yards green, While faithlefs fnaws ilk ftep betray

Whare fhe has been.

The Threfher's weary flhigin-tree, The lee-lang day had tir'd me ;

* Duan, a term of Ofllan's for the different divifions of a digreffive Poem. See his Cath-Loda, Vol. 2. of M'Pherfon's Tranflation.

( 88 )

And when the Day had clofd his e'e,

Far i' the Weft,

Ben i' the Spence, right penfivelie,

I gaed to reft.

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, I fat and ey'd the fpewing reek, That fill'd, wi* hoaft-provoking fmeek,

The auld, clay biggin ; And heard the reftlefs rattons fqueak

About the riggin.

All in this mottie, mifty clime, I backward muPd on wafted time, How I had fpent my youthful prime,

An' done nae-thing, But ftringing blethers up in rhyme

For fools to fing.

Had I to guid advice but harket, I might, by this, hae led a market, Or ftrutted in a Bank and clarket

My Cajh- Account ;

( «9 ) ' While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-farket,

Is a' th' amount.

I ftarted, mutt'ring blockhead ! coof ! And heav'd on high my wauket loof, To fwear by a' yon ftarry roof,

Or fome rafh aith, That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof

Till my laft breath —

When click ! xhtjiring xhefnick did draw ; And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; And by my ingle-lowe I faw,

Now bleezan bright, A tight, outlandifh Hizzie, braw,

Come full in fight.

Ye need na doubt, I held my whifht ;

The infant aith, half-form'd, was crufht ;

I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dufht,

In fome wild glen ;

When fweet, like modeft Worth, me blufht,

And ftepped ben. L

( 9° ) Green, Jlender, leaf-clad Holly-boughs Were twifted, gracefu', round her brows, I took her for fome SCOTTISH MUSE,

By that fame token ; And come to flop thofe recklefs vows,

Would foon been broken.

A " hare-brain'd, fentimental trace" Was ftrongly marked in her face ; A wildly-witty, ruftic grace

Shone full upon her; Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty fpace,

Beam'd keen with Honor.

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan fheen, Till half a leg was fcrimply feen ; And fuch a leg ! my BESS, I ween,

Could only peer it ; Sae ftraught, fae taper, tight and clean,

Nane elfe came near it.

Her Mantle large, of greenifh hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew ;

• ( 9i )

Deep lights and Jhades, bold-mingling, threw

A luftre grand ;

And feem'd, to my aftonifh'd view,

A well-known Land.

Here, rivers in the fea were loft ; There, mountains to the fkies were toft : Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coaft,

With furging foam ; There, diftant fhone, Arfs lofty boaft,

The lordly dome.

Here, DO ON pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; There, well-fed I R WINE ftately thuds: Auld, hermit AIRE ftaw thro' his woods,

On to the fhore ; And many a letter torrent feuds,

With feeming roar.

Low, in a fandy valley fpread,

An ancient BOROUGH rear'd her head;

Still, as in Scottijh Story read,

She boafts a Race, L 2

( 9* )

To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,

And polifh'd grace.

i

DUAN SECOND.

With mufing-deep, aftonifh'd ftare, I view'd the heavenly-feeming Fair ; A whifp'ring throb did witnefs bear

Of kindred fweet, When with an elder Sifter's air

She did me greet.

4 All hail ! my own infpired Bard ! 1 In me thy native Mufe regard !

* Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,

* Thus poorly low !

* I come to give thee fuch reward,

' As we beftow.

' Know, the great Genius of this Land, 4 Has many a light, aerial band,

* Who, all beneath his high command,

1 Harmonioufly,

( 93 )

4 As Arts or Arms they underftand,

4 Their labors ply.

4 They SCOTIA'S Race among them fhare; 4 Some fire the Sodger on to dare ; 4 Some roufe the Patriot up to bare

4 Corruption's heart : 4 Some teach the Bard, a darling care,

4 The tuneful Art.

4 'Mong fwelling floods of reeking gore, 1 They ardent, kindling fpirits pour ; 4 Or, mid the venal Senate's roar,

4 They, fightlefs, ftand, 4 To mend the honeft Patriot-lore,

4 And grace the hand.

4 Hence, FULLARTON, the brave and young ; 4 Hence, DEMPSTER'S truth-prevailing

tongue ; 4 Hence, fweet harmonious BEATTIE fung

4 His "Minftrel lays;"

( 94 ) 4 Or tore, with noble ardour ftung,

4 The Sceptic's bays.

4 To lower Orders are affign'd, 4 The humbler ranks of Human-kind, The ruftic Bard, the lab'ring Hind,

4 The Artifan ; 4 All chufe, as, various they're inclin'd,

4 The various man.

4 When yellow waves the heavy grain, 4 The threat'ning Storm, fome, ftrongly, rein ; 4 Some teach to meliorate the plain,

4 With tillage-Jkill '; 4 And fome inftruct. the Shepherd-train,

4 Blythe o'er the hill.

4 Some hint the Lover's harmlefs wile ; 4 Some grace the Maiden's artlefs fmile; 4 Some foothe the Lab'rer's weary toil,

4 For humble gains, 4 And make his cottage-fcenes beguile

4 His cares and pains.

( 95 )

4 Some, bounded to a diftridl-fpace, 4 Explore at large Man's infant race, 4 To mark the embryotic trace,

' Oiruftic Bard; And careful note each op'ning grace,

4 A guide and guard.

4 Of thefe am I — COILA my name; 4 And this diftricl: as mine I claim, 4 Where once the CampbeWs, chiefs of fame,

4 Held ruling pow'r : 4 I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame,

4 Thy natal hour.

4 With future hope, I oft would gaze, 4 Fond, on thy little, early ways, 4 Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrafe,

4 In uncouth rhymes, 4 Fir'd at the fimple, artlefs lays

4 Of other times.

4 I faw thee feek the founding more, 4 Delighted with the darning roar;

( 96 )

4 Or when the North his fleecy ftore

4 Drove thro' the iky,

4 I faw grim Nature's vifage hoar,

' Struck thy young eye.

4 Or when the deep-green-mantl'd Earth, 4 Warm-cherifh'd ev'ry floweret's birth, ' And joy and mufic pouring forth,

* In ev'ry grove, 4 I faw thee eye the gen'ral mirth

4 With boundlefs love.

1 When ripen'd fields, and azure fkies, 4 CalPd forth the Reaper's ruftling noife, 4 I faw thee leave their ev'ning joys,

4 And lonely flalk, 4 To vent thy bofom's fwelling rife,

4 In penfive walk.

4 When youthful Love, warm-blufhing, ftrong, 4 Keen-fhivering mot thy nerves along,

( 97 )

4 Thole accents, grateful to thy tongue,

* Th' adored Name,

4 I taught thee how to pour in long,

4 To foothe thy flame.

1 I faw thy pulfe's maddening play, 4 Wild-fend thee Pleafure's devious way, 4 Milled by Fancy's meteor-ray,

4 By Pafhon driven ;

4 But yet the light that led aftray,

4 Was tight from Heaven.

4 I taught thy manners-painting ftrains, 4 The loves, the ways of fimple fwains, 4 Till now, o'er all my wide domains,

4 Thy fame extends ; 4 And fome, the pride of Coilds plains,

4 Become thy friends.

4 Thou canft not learn, nor I can mow, 4 To paint with Tbomforfs landfcape-glow ; 4 Or wake the bofom-melting throe,

4 With Shenji one's art ;

M

( 9» )

4 Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow,

4 Warm on the heart.

4 Yet all beneath th'unrivall'd Rofe, 4 The lowly Daify fweetly blows ; 4 Tho' large the foreft's Monarch throws

4 His army fhade, 4 Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows,

4 Adown the glade.

< Then never murmur nor repine ; 4 Strive in thy humble fph ere to mine ; ' And truft me, not Potofls mine,

4 Nor Kings regard, * Can give a blifs o'ermatching thine,

4 A rujiic Bard.

4 To give my counfels all in one, 4 Thy tuneful flame ftill careful fan ; 4 Preferve the dignity of Man,

4 With Soul ered ; 4 And truft, the UNIVERSAL PLAN

4 Will all protea.

( 99 ) 1 And wear thou this'' — She folemn faid, And bound the Holly round my head : The polifh'd leaves, and berries red,

Did ruftling play ; And, like a palling thought, fhe fled,

In light away.

THE following POEM will,by many Read- ers, be well enough underftood; but, for the fake of thofe who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the fcene is caft, Notes are added, to give fome account of the principal Charms and Spells of that Night, fo big with Prophecy to the Peafantry in the Weft of Scotland. The paflion of prying into Futurity makes a ftriking part of the hiftory of Human-nature, in it's rude ftate, in all ages and nations ; and it may be fome entertainment to a philofophic mind, if any fuch fhould honor the Author with a perufal, to fee the remains of it, among the more unenlightened in our own.

( ioi )

HALLOWEEN. *

Yes! let the Rich deride, the Proud difdain, The fwiple pie af ure s of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the glofs of art.

Goldsmith.

I.

'PON that night, when Fairies light, On Caffilis Downans \ dance, Or owre the lays, in fplendid blaze, On fprightly couriers prance ;

* Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and o- ther mifchief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands : particularly, thofe aerial people, the Fairies, are faid, on that night, to hold a grand Anniverfary.

\ Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh- bourhood of the ancient feat of the Farls of Caflilis.

( io2 )

Or for Colcan, the rout is taen, Beneath the moon's pale beams ;

There, up the Cove, * to ftray an' rove, Amang the rocks an' ftreams

To fport that night.

II.

Amang the bonie, winding banks,

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear, Where BRUCE f ance rul'd the martial ranks,

An' fhook his Carrick fpear, Some merry, friendly, countra folks,

Together did convene, To burn their nits, an' pou their flocks,

An' haud their Halloween

Fu' blythe that night.

* A noted cavern near Colean-houfe, called the Cove of Colean ; which, as well as Caffilis Downans, is famed, in coun- try ftory, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies.

f The famous family of that name, the anceftors of RO- BERT the great Deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.

( *°3 )

III.

The lafles feat, an' cleanly neat,

Mair braw than when they're fine ; Their faces blythe, fu' fweetly kythe,

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : The lads fae trig, wi' wooer-babs,

Weel knotted on their garten, Some unco blate, an' fome wi' gabs,

Gar lafTes hearts gang ftartin

Whyles faft at night.

IV.

Then, firft an' foremoft, thro' the kail, Their Jtoc&s * maun a' be fought ance;

* The firft ceremony of Halloween, is, pulling each a Stock, or plant of kail. They muft go out, hand in hand, with eyes (hut, and pull the firfl: they meet with : its being big or little, (Iraight or crooked, is prophetic of the fize and fhape of the grand objedl of all their Spells — the hufband or wife. If any yird, or earth, flick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune ; and the tafte of the cujloc, that is, the heart of the Item, is indicative of the natural temper and difpofition. Laftly, the ftems, or to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed fomewhere above the head of the door ; and the chriltian names of the people whom chance brings into the houfe, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in quefHon.

( io4 )

They fteek their een, an' grape an' wale, For muckle anes, an' ftraught anes.

Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, An' wander'd thro' the Bow-kail,

An' pow't, for want o'- better fhift, A runt was like a fow-tail

Sae bow't that night.

V.

Then, ftraught or crooked, yird or nane,

They roar an' cry a' throw'ther ; The vera wee-thingsy toddlan, rin,

Wi' ftocks out owre their fhouther : An' gif the cuftoctfs fweet or four,

Wi' joctelegs they tafte them ; Syne coziely, aboon the door,

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them

To lye that night.

VI.

The laffes ftaw frae 'mang them a', To pou l\iz\rjlalks 0' cor?i ; *

* They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three feveral

*

( >°5 )

But Rab Hips out, an' jinks about,

Behint the muckle thorn : He grippet Nelly hard an' faft ;

Loud fkirl'd a' the lafles ; But her tap-pickle maift was loft,

When kiutlan in the Faufe-houfe

Wi' him that night.

VII.

The auld Guid wife's weel-hoordet nits

Are round an' round divided, An' monie lads an' laffes fates

Are there that night decided :

N

times, a ftalk of Oats. If the third (talk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the (talk, the party in queflion will want the Maidenhead.

* When the corn is in a doubtful ftate, by being too green, or wet, the Stack-builder, by means of old timber, tsY. makes a large apartment in his (rack, with an opening in the fide which is fairefl: expofed to the wind : this he calls a Faufe-houfe.

| Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad and lafs to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire ; and according as they burn quietly together, or ftart from be- fide one another, the courfe and ifTue of the Courtfhip will be.

( io6 )

Some kindle, couthie, fide by fide,

An' burn thegither trimly ; Some ftart awa, wi' faucy pride,

An' jump out owre the chimlie

Fu' high that night.

VIII.

yean flips in twa, wi' tentie e'e ;

Wha 'twas, (he wadna tell ; But this is "Jock, an' this is me,

She fays in to herfel : He bleez'd owre her, an' fhe owre him,

As they wad never mair part, Till fuff ! he ftarted up the lum,

An' Jean had e'en a fair heart

To fee't that night.

IX.

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, Was brunt wi' primfie Mallie ;

An' 'Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compar'd to Willie :

( i°7 ) Mali's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling,

An' her ain fit, it brunt it ; While Willie lap, and fwoor by jing, 'Twas jufl: the way he wanted

To be that night.

X.

Nell had the Faufe-boufe in her min',

She pits herfel an' Rob in ; In loving bleeze they fweetly join,

Till white in ale they're fobbin : Nell's heart was dancin at the view ;

She whifper'd Rob to leuk for't :

Rob, flownlins, prie'd her bonie mou,

Fn' cozie in the neuk for't,

Unfeen that night.

XL

But Merran fat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell \ She lea'es them gaihan at their cracks,

An' flips out by herfel :

N 2

( io8 )

She thro' the yard the neareft taks, An* for the kiln fhe goes then,

An' darklins grapet for the banks, And in the blue-clue * throws then,

Right fear't that night.

XII.

An' ay fhe win't, an' ay ihe fwat,

I wat fhe made nae jaukin ; Till fomething held within the pat,

Guid L — d ! but fhe was quaukin ! But whether 'twas the Bell himfel,

Or whether 'twas a bank -erf, Or whether it was Andrew Bell,

She did na wait on talkin

To fpier that night.

XIII.

Wee Jenny to her Graunie fays, 4 Will ye go wi' me Graunie ?

* Whoever would, with fuccefs, try this fpell, mult (tricUy obferve thefe directions. Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot, a clew of blue yarn : wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and towards the latter end, fome-

( io9 ) 4 I'll eat the apple* at the glafs,

4 I gat frae uncle Johnie :' She fuff't her pipe wi' fie a hint,

In wrath fhe was fae vap'rin, She notic't na, an aizle hrunt

Her braw, new, worfet apron

Out thro' that night.

XIV.

1 Ye little Skelpie-limmer's-face !

* I daur you try fie fportin, 4 As feek the foul Thief onie place,

4 For him to fpae your fortune : 4 Nae doubt but ye may get a fight 1

1 Great caufe ye hae to fear it ; 4 For monie a ane has gotten a fright,

4 An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret,

4 On fie a night.

thing will hold the thread : demand, wha hands ? i. e. who holds ? and anfwer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by nam- ing the cbriitian and firname of your future Spoufe.

* Take a candle, and go, alone, to a looking glafs : eat an apple before it, and fome traditions fay you fhould comb your hair all the time : the face of your conjugal companion, to be* will be feen in the glafs, as if peeping over your Ihoulder.

I IO

XV.

1 Ae Hairft afore the Sherra-moor,

4 I mind't as weel's yeftreen, ' I was a gilpey then, I'm fure,

4 I was na paft fyfteen : 4 The Simmer had been cauld an' wat,

4 An' Stuff was unco green ; 4 An' ay a rantan Kirn we gat,

4 An' juft on Halloween

4 It fell that night.

XVI.

* Our Stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,

4 A clever, fturdy fallow ; 4 His Sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean,

4 That liv'd in Achmacalla : 4 He gat hemp-feed, * I mind it weel,

4 An1 he made unco light o't ;

* Steal out, unperceived, and fow a handful of hemp-feed ; harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and then, ' Hemp feed I faw thee, Hemp ' feed I faw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my trae-love, ' come after me and pou thee.' Look over your left moulder, and you will fee the appearance of the perfon invoked, in the

( hi )

4 But monie a day was by bimfel, 4 He was fae fairly frighted

4 That vera night.'

XVII.

Then up gat fechtan Jai?iie Fleck,

An' he fwoor by his confcience, That he could faw hemp-feed a peck ;

For it was a' but nonfenfe: The auld guidman raught down the pock,

An' out a handfu' gied him ; Syne bad him flip frae 'mang the folk,

Sometime when nae ane fee'd him,

An* try't that night.

XVIII.

He marches thro' amang the ftacks,

Tho' he was fomething fturtan ; The graip he for a harrow taks,

An* haurls at his curpan :

attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions fay, ' come afiei ' me and (haw thee/ that is, (how thyfelf; in which cafe it (imply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and fay, k come 1 after me and harrow thee.'

K

( 112 )

And ev'ry now an' then, he fays,

' Hemp-feed I faw thee, 1 An' her that is to be my lafs,

4 Come after me an' draw thee

4 As faft this night.'

XIX.

He whiftl'd up lord Lenox* march,

To keep his courage cheary ; Altho' his hair began to arch,

He was fae fley'd an' eerie : Till prefently he hears a fqueak,

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; He by his fhowther gae a keek,

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle

Out owre that night.

XX.

He roar'd a horrid murder-fhout,

In dreadfu' defperation ! An' young an' auld come rinnan out,

An' hear the fad narration :

( "3 )

He iwoor 'twas hllchan yean M'Craiv, Or crouchie Merran Humphie,

Till ftop ! the trotted thro' them a'f* An' wha was it but Grumphie

Afteer that night ?

XXI.

Meg fain wad to the Bar// gaen,

To ivinn three ivecbts o' naeth'mg ; * But for to meet the Deil her lane,

She pat but little faith in : She gies the Herd a pickle nits,

An' twa red cheeket apples, To watch, while for the Bar?i me fets,

In hopes to fee Tarn Kipples

That vera night. O

* This charm mud likewise be performed, unpeiceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors ; naking them off the hinges, if potlible ; for there is dang :r, that the Be- ing, about to appear, may (hut the doors, and do you fome mif- chief. Then take that inftrument ufed in winnowing the corn, which, in our country-dialect, we call a wecht ; and go thro' all the attitudes of letting down corn againft the wind. Re- peat it three times ; and the third time, an apparition will pais thro' the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in quelHon, and the appearance or re- tinue, marking the employment or ftation in life.

( lH ) XXII.

She turns the key, wi' cannie thraw,

An' owre the threihold ventures ; But firft on Sawnle gies a ca',

Syne bauldly in fhe enters : A rattoTi rattl'd up the wa',

An' fhe cry'd, L — d preferve her ! An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a',

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour,

Fu' faft that night.

XXIII.

They hoy't out Will, wi' fair advice ;

They hecht him fome fine braw ane ; It chanc'd the Stack htfaddom^t thrice, *

Was timmer-propt for thrawin : He taks a fwirlie, auld mofs-oak,

For fome black, groufome Car I'm ;

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear-flacky and fathom it three times round. The lair, fathom of the la(f time, you will catch in your arms, the appearance of your fu- ture conjugal yoke-fellow.

( "5 ) An' loot a winze, an' drew a ftroke, Till fkin in blypes cam haurlin

Aff's nieves that night.

XXIV.

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As cantie as a kittlen ; But Och ! that night, amang the (haws,

She gat a fearfu' fettlin ! She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,

An' owre the hill gaed fcrievin, Whare three Lairds' latfs met at a burn, *

To dip her left far k-Jleeve in,

Was bent that night.

XXV.

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't ;

O 2

* You go out, one or more, for this is a locial fpell, to a fouth-running Spring or rivulet, where ' three Lairds' lands 4 meet,' and dip your left fhirt-lleeve. Go to bed in light of a (ire, and hang your wet fleeve before it to dry. Ly awake ; and fometime near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand objeel in queftion, will come and turn the fleeve, as if to dry the other fide of it.

( ->6 )

Whyles round a rocky fear it ftrays ;

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,

Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle ; Whyles cooket underneath the braes,

Below the fpreading hazle

Unfeen that night.

XXVI.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,

Between her an' the moon, The Deil, or elie an outler Quey,

Gat up an' gae a croon : Poor Leezie's heart maift lap the hool ;

Near lav'rock-height fhe jumpet, But mift a fit, an* in the pool,

Out owre the lugs fhe plumpet,

Wi' a plunge that night.

XXVII.

In order, on the clean hearth-ftane, The Luggies * three are ranged ;

* Take three difhes ; put clean water in one, foul water in

( "7 )

And ev'ry time great care is taen,

To fee them duely changed : Auld, uncle yohn, wha wedlock's joys,

Sin' Mar's-year did defire, Becaule he gat the toom dim thrice,

He heav'd them on the fire,

In wrath that night.

XXVIII.

Wi' merry Tangs, an' friendly cracks,

I wat they did na weary ; And unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

1 neir iports were cheap an' cheary : Till buttered So'ns, * wi' fragrant hint,

Set a' their gabs a fteerin ; Syne, wi' a focial glafs o' ftrunt,

They parted aff careerin

Fu' blythe that night.

another, and leave the third empty : blindfold a perfon, and lead him to the hearth where the dimes are ranged; he (or me) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future hufband or wife will come to the bar of Matrimony, a Maid ; if in the foul, a widow ; if in the empty dim, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times ; and every time the arrangement of the dimes is al- tered.

* Sowens. with butter inftead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Suffer.

( "8 )

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR- MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE, ON GIV- ING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW- YEAR.

Guld New-year I wifh you Maggie ! Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie; Tho' thou's howe-backet, now, an' knaggie,

I've leen the day, Thou could hae gaen like ony ftaggie

Out owre the lay.

Tho' now thou's dowie, ftiff an' crazy, An1 thv auld hide as white's a daifie,

( ny )

I've teen thee dappl't, lleek an' glaizie,

A bonie gray :

He Ihould been tight that daur't to raize thee,

Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremoft rank, AJi/Iy buirdly, fteeve an' fwank, An' fet weel down a fhapely {"hank,

As e'er tread yird ; An' could hae flown out owre a ftank,

Like onie bird.

It's now iome nine-an'-twenty-year, Sin' thou was my Guidf lather's Meere ; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

An' fifty mark ; Tho' it was fma', 'twas weel-ivon gear,

An' thou was ftark.

When firft I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottan wi' your Minnie: Tho' ye was trickie, flee an' funnie,

Ye ne'er was doniie ;

( l2° )

But namely, tawie, quiet an' cannie,

An' unco i'onfie.

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, When ye bure hame my bonie Bride : An' fweet an' gracefu' me did ride

Wi' maiden air ! KYLE-STEWART I could bragged wide,

For fie a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, An' wintle like a faumont-coble, That day, ye was a jinker noble,

For heels an' win* ! An' ran them till they a' did wauble,

Far, far behin' !

When thou an' I were young an' ikiegh, An' Stable-meals at Fairs were driegh, How thou wad prance, an' fnore, an* fcriegh,

An* tak the road ! Towns-bodies ran, an' flood abiegh,

An' ca't thee mad.

( 12' )

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, We took the road ay like a Swallow : At Broofes thou had ne'er a fellow,

For pith an' fpeed ; But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,

Whare'er thou gaed.

The fma', droot-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; Vtutfax Scotch mile, thou try't their mettle,

An' gart them whaizle : Nae whip nor fpur, but juft a wattle

O' faugh or hazle.

Thou was a noble Fittie-lan\ As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,

On guid March-weather, Hae tumdjiix rood befide our han',

For days thegither.

Thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an rlifket,

But thy auld tall thou wad hae whifket,

P

( 122 )

An' fpread abreed thy weel-fill'd brijket,

Wi' pith an' pow'r,

Till fprittie knowes wad rair't an' rifket,

An' flypet owre.

When frofts lay lang, an' fnaws were deep, An' threaten'd labor back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap

Aboon the timmer ; I ken'd my Maggie wad na fleep

For that, or Simmer.

In cart or car thou never reeftet ; The fteyeft brae thou wad hae fac't it ; Thou never lap, an' ften't, an' breaftet,

Then ftood to blaw ; But juft thy ftep a wee thing haftet,

Thou fnoov't awa.

My Pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; Four gallant brutes, as e'er did draw ; Forby fax mae, I've fell't awa,

That thou haft nurft ;

( I23 )

They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,

The vera warft.

Monie a fair daurk we twa hae wrought, An' wi' the weary warP fought ! An' monie an' anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat ! Yet here to crazy Age we're brought,

Wi' fomething yet.

An' think na, my auld, trufty Servan\ That now perhaps thou's lefs defervin, An' thy auld days may end in ftarvin',

For my laft fow, A heapet Stimpart, I'll referve ane

Laid by for you.

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether,

To fome hain'd rig, Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,

Wi' fma' fatigue.

P 2

( 1 24 )

THE

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, Efq;

Let not Ambition mock their ufeful toil, Their homely joys, and dejliny obfeure ;

Nor Grandeur hear, with a difdainful fmile, The Jhort andfimple annals of the Poor.

Gray. I.

Y lov'd, my honor'd, much refpected friend,

No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; With honeft pride, I fcorn each felfifh end, My deareft meed, a friend's efteem and praife :

( "5 )

To you I ling, in iimple Scottifh lays,

The lowly train in life's fequefter'd fcene ;

The native feelings ftrong, the guilelefs ways, What A**** in a Cottage would have been ;

Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween !

II.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry fugh ;

The fliort'ning winter-day is near a clofe ; The miry beafts retreating frae the pleugh ;

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repofe : The toil-worn COTTER frae his labor goes,

This ?iight his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his Jpades, his mattocks and his hoes.

Hoping the morn in eafe and reft to fpend, And weary, o'er the moor, his courfe does hameward bend.

III.

At length his lonely Cot appears in view, Beneath the lhelter of an aged tree ;

( "6 )

The expectant wee-things, toddlan, ftacher through To meet their Dad, wi' rlichterin noife and glee. His wee-bit ingle, blinkan bonilie,

His clean hearth-ftane, his thrifty Wijifs

fmile, The lifping infant, prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.

VI.

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At Service out, amang the Farmers roun* ;

Some ca' the pleugh, fome herd, fome tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town :

Their eldeft hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,

In youthfu' bloom, Love lparkling in her

e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to fhew a braw new

gown,

( "7 ) Or depofite her fair-won penny-fee, To help her Parents dear, if they in hard- ihip be.

V.

With joy unfeign'd, brothers and Jijiers meet, And each for other's weelfare kindly fpiers : The focial hours, fwift-wing'd, unnotie'd

fleet; Each tells the uncos that he fees or hears. The Parents partial eye their hopeful years ;

Anticipation forward points the view ; The Mother, wi' her needle and her fheers, Gars auld claes look amaift as weePs the new ; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

VI.

Their Matter's and their Miftrefs's command, The youngkers a' are warned to obey ;

And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, And ne'er, tho' out o' light, to jauk or play :

( i28 )

c And O ! be fure to fear the LORD al- way ! ' And mind your duty, duely, morn and night ! ' Left in temptation's path ye gang aftray, 4 Implore his coimfel and aflifting might : 4 They never fought in vain that fought the LOPvD aright/

VII.

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ;

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the fame, Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor,

To do fome errands, and convoy her hame. The wily Mother fees the co?ifcious flame

Sparkle in Jennfs e'e, and flufh her cheek, With heart-ftruck, anxious care enquires his name,

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to fpeak ; Weel-pleaPd the Mother hears, it's nae wild, worthlefs Rake.

( 129 )

VIII.

With kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; AJlrappanyouth ; he takes the Mother's eye; Blythe Jenny fees the vififs no ill taen ;

The Father cracks of horfes, pleughs and kye. The Youngjler 's artlefs heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate and laithfu', fcarce can weel behave ; The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can fpy What makes the youth fae bafhfu' and fae grave ; Weel-pleaf'd to think her bairn's refpected like the lave.

IX.

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heart-felt raptures ! blifs beyond com- pare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And fage EXPERIENCE bids me this declare —

0.

( l3° ) * If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleafure fpare, 4 One cordial in this melancholy Vale, 1 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modejl Pair, ' In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, 4 Beneath the milk-white* thorn that fcents the ev'ning gale.'

X.

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — A Wretch ! a Villain ! loft to love and truth !

That can, with ftudied, fly, enfnaring art,

Betray fweet Jenny's unfufpecting youth ?

Curfe on his perjur'd arts ! difTembling fmooth !

Are Honor, Virtue, Confcieiice, all exil'd ? Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth,

Points to the Parents fondling o'er their Child ? Then paints the ru'ni'd Maid, and their dif- fraction wild !

( '3' ) XL

But now the Supper crowns their iimple board, The healfome Porritcb, chief of SCO- TIA'S food: The loupe their only Hawkie does afford, That 'yont tne hallan fnugly chows her cood : The Dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd keb- buck, fell, And aft he's preft, and aft he ca's it guid ;

The frugal Wlfie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond auld, fin' Lint was i' the bell.

XII.

The chearfu' Supper done, wi' ferious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ;

The Sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, The big ba'-Bib/e, ance his Father's pride :

( '3* )

His bonnet rev'rently is laid afide,

His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; Thofe {trains that once did fweet in ZION glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; ' And let us worjhip GOD !' he fays with folemn air.

XIII.

They chant their artlefs notes in fimple guile ;

They tune their hearts, by far the no- bleft aim : Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling meafures rife,

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,

The fweeteft far of SCOTIA'S holy lays: Compar'd with thefe, Italian trills are tame ;

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raife ; Nae unifon hae they, with our CRE A- TOR'S praife.

( J33 ) XIV.

The prieft-like Father reads the lacred page,

How Abram was the Friend of GOD on high ; Or, Mofes bade eternal warfare wage,

With Amalefts ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal Bard did groaning lye,

Beneath the ftroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ;

Or rapt Ifaiatfs wild, feraphic fire ; Or other Holy Seers that tune they acred lyre.

XV.

Perhaps the Chrijlian Volume is the theme,

How guiltlcfs blood for guilty man was fhed ; How HE, who bore in heaven the fecond name, Had not on Earth whereon to lay His head : How His firft followers and fervants fped ; The Precepts fage they wrote to many a land :

( i34 )

How he, who lone in Patmos baniihed,

Saw in the fun a mighty angel ftand ; And heard great BabHorfs doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command.

XVI.

Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S E- TERNAL KING,

The Saint, the Father, and the Hufband prays : Hope ' fprings exulting on triumphant wing,' * That thus they all mall meet in future days : There, ever bafk in uncreated rays,

No more to figh, or ihed the bitter tear, Together hymning their CREATOR'S praife,

\nfuch fociety, yet ftill more dear ; While circling Time moves round in an e- ternal fphere.

XVII.

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art,

* Pope's Windfor Forefh

( <.?5 )

When men difplay to congregations wide,

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! The POWER, incenfd, the Pageant will defert, The pompous ftrain, the facredotal ftole ; But haply, in fome Cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleaf'd, the language of the Soul ; And in His Book of Life the Inmates poor enroll.

XVIII.

Then homeward all take off their iev'ral way; The youngling Cottagers retire to reft : The Parent-pair their fecret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm re- queft, That HE who ftills the r averts clam'rous neft, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,

{ «36 )

Would, in the way His Wifdom lees the beft, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace di- vine prefide.

XIX.

From fcenes like thefe, old SCOTIA'S grandeur fprings, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd a- broad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, * ' An honeft man's the noble work of GOD : And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road,

The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind : What is aJordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, Difguifing oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of Hell, in wickednefs refin'd !

XX.

O SCOTIA ! my dear, my native foil !

For whom my warmeft wifh to heaven is fent !

( ill )

Long may thy hardy fons of rujlic foi/y

Be bleft with health, and peace, and fweet content ! And O may Heaven their fimple lives prevent

From Luxury s contagion, weak and vile ! Then howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous Populace may rife the while, And ftand a wall of fire around their much- lov'd ISLE.

XXI.

O THOU! who pour'd the patriotic tide,

That ftream'd thro' great, unhappy WAL- LACE'heart; Who dar'd to, nobly, ftem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the fecond glorious part : (The Patriot's GOD, peculiarly thou art,

His friend, infpirer, guardian and reward 7) O never, never SCOTIA'S realm defert,

But (till the Patriot, and the Pat riot- Bard,

In bright fucceflion raife, her Ornament and

Guard !

R

( '38 )

^■>t t»»t %*■

t o

A MOUSE,

On turning her up in her NeJI, with the Plough, November, 1 785.

WEE, ileeket, cowran, tim'rous beajiie^ O, what a panic's in thy breaftie ! Thou need na ftart awa fae hafty,

Wi' bickering brattle ! I wad be laith to rin an' chafe thee,

Wi' murd'ring pattle !

I'm truly forry Man's dominion Has broken Nature's focial union, An' juftifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee ftartle,

( J39 )

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

An' fellow-mortal !

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; What then ? poor beaftie, thou maun live ! A daimen-icker in a thrave

'S a irna' requeft : I'll get a bleflin wi' the lave,

An' never mils' t !

Thy wee-bit houfie, too, in ruin ! It's filly wa's the win's are ftrewin ! An' naething, now, to big a new ane,

O' foggage green ! An' bleak December's winds enfuin,

Baith fnell an' keen !

Thou faw the fields laid bare an' waft,

An' weary Winter comin faft,

An' cozie here, beneath the blaft,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till cram ! the cruel coulter paft

Out thro' thy cell. R 2

( T4° )

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' ftibble, Has coft thee monie a weary nibble ! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,

But houfe or hald, To thole the Winter's^^K dribble,

An' cranreuch cauld !

But Moufie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving for e/igbt may be vain : The beft laid fchemes o' Mice an' Men,

Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promiPd joy !

Still, thou art bleft, compar'd wi' me ! The prefent only toucheth thee : But Och ! I backward caft my e'e,

On profpedls drear ! An' forward, tho' I canna^,

I guefs an* fear !

( '4' )

<$»•>•«£>•«•<$>> ■■<$> <^>""<^>-4^-*4»~*t^""<4t>,-^4t»~-<4>>"-<^»,»"4'»""*^>->-«^>-<4>

EPISTLE TO DAVIE,

A

BROTHER POET'

January

I.

HILE winds frae off BEN-LO- MOND blaw, And bar the doors wi' driving fnaw,

And hing us owre the ingle, I fet me down, to pais the time, And fpin a verfe or twa o' rhyme, In hamely, zvejllin jingle.

( I42 )

While frofty winds blaw in the drift,

Ben to the chimla lug, I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift, That live fae bien an' fnug : I tent lefs, and want lefs Their roomy fire-fide ;

i

But hanker, and canker, To fee their curfed pride.

II.

It's hardly in a body's pow'r,

To keep, at times, frae being four,

To fee how things are fhar'd ; How beft o' ch'iels are whyles in want, While Coofs on countlefs thoufands rant,

And ken na how to wair't : But DAVIE lad, ne'er fafh your head,

Tho' we hae little gear, We're fit to win our daily bread,

As lang's we're hale and fier : 4 Mair fpier na, nor fear na,' * Auld age ne'er mind a feg ;

* Ramfay.

( '43 )

The lalt o't, the warft o't, Is only but to beg.

III.

To lye in kilns and barns at e'en, When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin,

- Is, doubtlefs, great diftrefs ! Yet then contejit could make us bleft ; Ev'n then, fometimes we'd match a tafte

Of truefl happinefs. The honeft heart that's free frae a'

Intended fraud or guile, However Fortune kick the ba', Has ay fome caufe to fmile : And mind ftill, you'll find (till,

A comfort this nae fma' ; Nae mair then, we'll care then, Nae farther we can fa\

IV.

What tho', like Commoners of air, We wander out, we know not where, But either houfe or hal' ?

( H4 )

Yet Natures charms, the hills and woods, The fweeping vales, and foaming floods,

Are free alike to all. In days when Daifies deck the ground,

And Blackbirds whiftle clear, With honeft joy, our hearts will bound, To fee the coming year :

On braes when we pleafe then,

We'll fit and fowth a tune; Syne rhyme till't, well time till't, And fing't when we hae done.

V.

It's no in titles nor in rank ;

It's no in wealth like Lor? on Bank,

To purchafe peace and reft ; It's no in makin muckle, mair: It's no in books; it's no in Lear,

To make us truly bleft : If Happinefs hae not her feat

r

And center in the breaft, We may be wife, or rich, or great, But never can be blejl :

( '45 )

Nae trealures, nor pleasures Could make us happy lang ;

The heart ay's the part ay, That makes us right or wrang.

VI.

Think ye, that fie as you and /,

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry,

Wi' never-ceafing toil ;

Think ye, are we lefs bleft than they,

Wha fcarcely tent us in their way,

As hardly worth their while ?

Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood,

GOD'S creatures they opprefs !

Or elfe, neglecting a' that's guid,

They riot in excefs !

Baith carelefs, and fearlefs,

Of either Heaven or Hell ;

Efteeming, and deeming,

It a' an idle tale ! S

( H6 )

VII.

Then let us chearfu' acquiefce ; Nor make our fcanty Pleafures lefs,

By pining at our ftate : And, ev'n mould Misfortunes come, I, here wha fit, hae met wi' fome,

An's thankfu' for them yet. They gie the wit of Age to Youth ;

They let us ken ourfel ; They make us fee the naked truth, The real guid and ill. Tho' lories, and croffes,

Be leffons right fevere, There's wit there, ye'll get there, Ye'll find nae other where.

VIII.

But tent me, DAVIE, Ace o9 Hearts ! (To fay aught lefs wad wrang the cartes,

And flatt'ry I deteft) This life has joys for you and I ; And joys that riches ne'er could buy ;

And joys the very beft.

( H7 )

There's a' the Pleafures o* the Heart,

The Lover and the Frierf ; Ye hae your MEG, your deareft part, And I my darling JEAN ! It warms me, it charms me,

To mention but her name : It heats me, it beets me, And fets me a' on flame !

IX.

O, all ye Powers who rule above ! O THOU, whofe very felf art love !

THOU know'ft my words fincere ! The life blood ftreaming thro' my heart, Or my more dear Immortal part,

Is not more fondly dear ! When heart-corroding care and grief

Deprive my foul of reft, Her dear idea brings relief,

And folace to my breaft.

Thou BEING, Allfeeing,

O hear my fervent pray'r ! S 2

( '48 )

Still take her, and make her, THY moft peculiar care !

X.

All hail ! ye tender feelings dear ! The fmile of love, the friendly tear,

The fympathetic glow ! Long fmce, this world's thorny ways Had number'd out my weary days,

Had it not been for you ! Fate ftill has bleft me with a friend,

In ev'ry care and ill ; And oft a more endearing band, . A tye more tender ftill. It lightens, it brightens, The tenebrific fcene, To meet with, and greet with, My DAVIE or my JEAN !

XL

O, how that name infpires my ftyle ! The words come fkelpan, rank and file, Amaift before I ken!

( H9 )

The ready meaiure rins as fine, As Phcebus and the famous Nine

Were glowran owre my pen. My fpavet Pegafus will limp,

Till ance he's fairly het ; And then he'll hilch, and ftilt, and jimp, And rin an unco fit :

But leaft then, the beaft then, Should rue this hafty ride, I'll light now, and dight now, His fweaty, wizen'd hide.

^f%

*j-$"-i*

( '50 )

THE

LAMENT.

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE

O F

A FRIEND'S AMOUR.

Alas ! how oft does goodnefs wound itfelf ! Andfweet Affection prove the fpring of Woe!

Home. I.

OThou pale Orb, that filent mines, While care-untroubled mortals fleep ! Thou feeft a wretch, who inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep !

( '5' )

With Woe I nightly vigils keep,

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam ;

And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream !

II.

I joylefs view thy rays adorn,

The faintly-marked, diftant hill : I joylefs view thy trembling horn,

Reflected in the gurgling rill. My fondly-fluttering heart, be ftill !

Thou bufy pow'r, Remembrance, ceafe ! Ah ! muft the agonizing thrill,

For ever bar returning Peace !

III.

No idly-feign'd, poetic pains,

My fad, lovelorn lamentings claim :

No fhepherd's pipe — Arcadian {trains ; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame.

The plighted 'faith ; the mutual Jlame ; The oft-attcjled Powers above ;

( «5* )

The promipd Father's tender ?iame ; Thefe were the pledges of my love !

IV.

Encircled in her clafping arms,

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! How have I wifh'd for Fortune's charms,

For her dear fake, and her's alone ! And, muft I think it ! is fhe gone,

My fecret-heart's exulting boaft ? And does fhe heedlefs hear my groan ?

And is me ever, ever loft ?

V.

Oh ! can fhe bear fo bafe a heart,

So loft to Honor, loft to Truth, As from the fondeji lover part,

The plighted hnjband of her youth ? Alas ! Life's path may be unfmooth !

Her way may lie thro' rough diftrefs ! Then, who her pangs and pains will foothe,

Her forrows fhare and make them lefs ?

( 153 )

VI.

Ye winged Hours that o'er us part,

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breaft,

My fondly-treafur'd thoughts employ'd. That breaft, how dreary now, and void,

For her too fcanty once of room ! Ev'n ev'ry ray of Hope deftroy'd,

And not a Wi/fj to gild the glbom !

VII.

The morn that warns th' approaching day,

Awakes me up to toil and woe : I fee the hours, in long array,

That I muft fuffer, lingering, flow. Full many a pang, and many a throe,

Keen Recollection's direful train, Muft wring my foul, ere Phcebus, low,

Shall kifs the diftant, weftern main.

VIII.

And when my nightly couch I try,

Sore-harafs'd out, with care and grief,

T

( l54 ) My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: Or if I number, Fancy, chief,

Reigns, hagard-wild, in fore afright : Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief,

From fuch a horror-breathing night.

IX.

O! thou bright Queen, who, o'er th'expanfe,

Now higheft reign'ft, with boundlefs fway ! Oft has thy filent-marking glance

Obferv'd us, fondly-wand'ring, ftray ! The time, unheeded, fped away,

While Love's luxurious pulfe beat high, Beneath thy filver-gleaming ray,

To mark the mutual-kindling eye.

X.

Oh ! fcenes in ftrong remembrance fet ! Scenes, never, never to return !

( '55 )

Scenes, if in ftupor I forget, Again I feel, again I burn !

From ev'ry joy and pleafure torn, Life's weary vale I'll wander thro'

And hopelefs, comfortlefs, I'll mourn A faithlefs woma?i>s broken vow.

*?&**&

TgT

( 156 )

DESPONDENCY,

AN ODE.

I.

OPPRESS 'D with grief, opprefs'd with care, A burden more than I can bear,

*

I fet me down and figh : O Life ! Thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road,

To wretches luch as I ! Dim-backward as I call my view,

What iick'ning Scenes appear ! •

( '57 )

What Sorrows yet may pierce me thro', Too juftly I may fear ! Still caring, defpairing,

Muft be my bitter doom ;

My woes here, mail clofe ne'er,

But with the clofing tomb !

II.

Happy ! ye Ions of Buly-life, Who, equal to the buftling ftrife,

No other view regard ! Ev'n when the wifhed end^s deny'd, Yet while the bufy means are ply'd,

They bring their own reward : Whilft I, a hope-abandon'd wight,

Unfitted with an aim, Meet ev'ry fad-returning night, And joylefs morn the fame. You, buftling and juftling,

Forget each grief and pain ; I, liftlefs, yet reftlefs,

Find ev'ry prolpecl vain.

( 158 )

III.

How bleft 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,

Befide his cryftal well ! Or haply, to his ev'ning thought,

By unfrequented ftream, The ways of men are diftant brought, A faint-collected dream : While praiiing, and railing

His thoughts to Heaven on high, As wand'ring, meand'ring, He views the folemn fky.

IV.

Than I, no lonely Hermit plac'd Where never human footflep trac'd,

Lefs fit to play the part, The lucky moment to improve, And jujl to flop, and jujl to move,

With fc If- rcfpc fling art :

( '59 )

But ah ! thole pleaiures, Loves and |oys,

Which I too keenly talte, The Solitary can defpile,

Can want, and yet be bleft ! He needs not, he heeds not,

Or human love or hate ; Whilft I here, mult cry here, At perfidy ingrate !

V.

Oh, enviable, early days,

When dancing thoughtlefs Pleafure'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 guiltlefs fport,

Like linnets in the bum, Ye little know the ills ye court, When Manhood is your wifh ! The loffes, the crolfes,

That a&ivc man engage; The fears all, the tears all, Of dim declining Age!

( «6o )

^1 -j*^4-^tAi^ -J*©S® *>$- -^fe^afcS^-^-^-^lt

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN,

A

DIRGE.

i.

WHEN chill November's furly blaft Made fields and forefts bare, One ev'ning, as I wand'red forth,

Along the banks of AIR E, I fpy'd a man, whofe aged ftep

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; His face was furrow'd o'er with years, And hoary was his hair.

( '6i )

II.

Young ftranger, whither wand'reft thou ?

Began the rev'rend Sage ; Does thirft of wealth thy ftep conftrain,

Or youthful Pleafure's rage ? Or haply, preft with cares and woes,

Too foon thou haft began, To wander forth, with me, to mourn

The miferies of Man.

III.

The Sun that overhangs yon moors,

Out-fpreading far and wide, Where hundreds labour to fupport

A haughty lordling's pride ; I've feen yon weary winter-fun

Twice forty times return ; And ev'ry time has added proofs,

That Man was made to mourn.

IV.

O Man ! while in thy early years,

How prodigal of time !

U

( r62 )

Mifpending all thy precious hours,

Thy glorious, youthful prime ! Alternate Follies take the fway ;

Licentious Paffions burn ; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,

That Man was made to mourn.

V.

Look not alone on youthful Prime,

Or Manhood's aclive might ; Man then is ufeful to his kind,

Supported is his right : But fee him on the edge of life,

With Cares and Sorrows worn, Then Age and Want, Oh ! ill-match'd pair !

Show Man was made to mourn.

VI.

A few feem favourites of Fate,

In Pleafure's lap careft ; Yet, think not all the Rich and Great,

Are likewife truly bleft.

( '<V, )

But Oh ! what crouds in ev'ry land,

All wretched and forlorn, Thro' weary life this leffon learn,

That Man was made to mourn !

VII.

Many and fharp the num'rous Ills

Inwoven with our frame ! More pointed (till we make ourfelves,

Regret, Remorfe and Shame ! And Man, whofe heav'n-erected face,

The lmiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to Man

Makes countlefs thoufands mourn !

VIII.

See, yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,

So abject, mean and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth

To give him leave to toil ; And lee his lordly fellow-worm,

The poor petition fpurn,

U 2

( i64 )

Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife, And helplefs offspring mourn.

IX.

If I'm defign'd yon lordling's flave,

By Nature's law defign'd, Why was an independent wifh

E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I fubjecT: to

His cruelty, or fcorn ? Or why has Man the will and pow'r

To make his fellow mourn?

X.

Yet, let not this too much, my Son,

Difturb thy youthful breaft : This partial view of human-kind

Is furely not the laji ! The poor, oppreffed, honeft man

Had never, fure, been born, Had there not been fome recompence

To comfort thofe that mourn !

( 1 65 )

XL

O Death ! the poor man's clearer!: friend,

The kindeft and the beft ! Welcome the hour, my aged limbs

Are laid with thee at reft ! The Great, the Wealthy fear thy blow,

From pomp and pleafure torn ; But Oh ! a bleft relief for thofe

That weary-laden mourn !

*

-•?— $•-$*

*

( .66 )

•*--*• 4- •*- -*■ @ ■*--*• -^/S^ •*- -*•©•*--*• * **- -*•

WINTER,

A DIRGE,

I.

THE Wintry Weft extends his blaft, And hail and rain does blaw ; Or, the ftormy North lends driving forth,

The blinding fleet and fnaw : While, tumbling brown, the Burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beaft, in covert, reft, And pafs the heartleis day.

( 1 67 )

II.

4 The fweeping blaft, the fky o'ercaft,' *

The joylefs winter-day, Let others fear, to me more dear,

Than all the pride of May : The Tempeft's howl, it foothes my foul,

My griefs it feems to join ; The leaflefs trees my fancy pleafe,

Their fate refembles mine !

III.

Thou POW'R SUPREME, whole mighty Scheme,

Thefe woes of mine fulfil ; Here, firm, I reft, they mujl be beft,

Becaufe they are Thy Will ! Then all I want (Oh, do thou grant

This one requeft of mine !) Since to enjoy Thou doft deny,

Aftift me to refign !

* Dr. Young.

( '68 )

PRAYER,

IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.

I.

OTHOU unknown, Almighty Caufe Of all my hope and fear ! In whofe dread Prefence, ere an hour, Perhaps I muft appear !

II.

If I have wander'd in thofe paths

/

Of life I ought to Ihun ;

( .69 )

As Something, loudly, in my breaft, Remonftrates I have done;

III.

Thou know'ft that Thou haft formed me, With Paflions wild and ftrong;

And lift'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong.

IV.

Where human weaknefs has come fhort,

Or frailty ftept afide, Do Thou, ALL-GOOD, for fuch Thou art,

In fhades of darknefs hide.

V.

Where with intention I have err'd,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good ; and Goodnefs ftill

Delighteth to forgive.

X

( J7° )

TO A

MOUNTAIN-DAISY,

On turning one down, with the Plough, in A- pril 1786.

EE, modeft, crimfon-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crufh amang the ftoure

Thy flender ftem : To fpare thee now is paft my pow'r,

Thou bonie gem.

Alas ! it's no thy neebor fweet, The bonie Lark, companion meet !

( >7i )

Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet !

Wi's fpreckl'd breaft, When upward-fpringing, blythe, to greet

The purpling Eaft.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North Upon thy early, humble birth ;

Yet chearfully thou glinted forth

Amid the ftorm,

Scarce rear'd above the Parent-earth

Thy tender form.

The flaunting Jiow'rs our Gardens yield, High-fhelt'ring woods and wa's maun ihield, But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or ftane, Adorns the hiftie Jiibble-jield,

Unfeen, alane.

There, in thy fcanty mantle clad, Thy fnawie bofom fun-ward fpread, Thou lifts thy unafluming head

In humble guile ;

X 2

( '7* )

But now the Jhare uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies !

Such is the fate of artlefs Maid, Sweet faivy ret of the rural fhade ! By Love's fimplicity betray'd,

And guilelefs truft, Till fhe, like thee, all foil'd, is laid

Low i' the duft.

Such is the fate of fimple Bard, On Life's rough ocean lucklefs ftarr'd ! Unfkilful he to note the card

Of prudent Lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er !

Such fate Xafuffering worth is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has ftriv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n

To Mif'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry ftay but HEAV'N,

He, ruin'd, fink !

( ■ 73 )

Ev'n thou who mourn'ft the Daiffs fate,

That fate is thine no diftant date ;

Stern Ruin's p bug h-fh arc drives, elate,

Full on thy bloom, Till cruih'd beneath the furrow1 s weight,

Shall be thy doom !

WL

|Ag

( i74 )

TO RUIN.

» i.

AL L hail ! inexorable lord ! At whofe deftruction-breathing word,

The mightieft empires fall ! Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, The minifters of Grief and Pain,

A fullen welcome, all ! With ftern-refolv'd, defpairing eye,

I fee each aimed dart; For one has cut my deareji tye,

And quivers in my heart.

( "75 ) Then low'ring, and pouring,

The Storm no more I dread ; Tho' thick'ning, and black'ning,

Round my devoted head.

II.

And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd, While Life a pleafure can afford,

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! No more I fhrink appall'd, afraid ; I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To clofe this fcene of care ! When fhall my foul, in filent peace,

Refign Life's joylefs day ? My weary heart it's throbbings ceafe, Cold-mould'ring in the clay ? No fear more, no tear more, To ftain my lifelefs face, Enclafped, and grafped, Within thy cold embrace !

( l76 )

5**

EPISTLE

T O A

YOUNG FRIEND

May 1786.

I.

I Lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A Something to have fent you, Tho' it fhould ferve nae other end

Than juft a kind memento ; But how the fubject theme may gang,

Let time and chance determine ; Perhaps it may turn out a Sang ; Perhaps, turn out a Sermon.

( i77 ) II.

Ye'll try the world loon my lad,

And ANDREW dear believe me, Ye'll find mankind an unco fquad,

And muckle they may grieve ye : For care and trouble fet your thought,

Ev'n when your end's attained ; And a' your views may come to nought,

Where ev'ry nerve is ftrained.

III.

I'll no fay, men are villains a' ;

The real, harden'd wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law,

Are to a few reftricked : But Och, mankind are unco weak,

An' little to be trufted ; If Self the wavering balance fhake,

It's rarely right adjufted !

IV.

Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's ftrife, Their fate we mould na cenfure, For ftill th' import a tit end of life,

They equally mav anfwer :

Y

( >78 ) A man may hae an honejl heart,

Tho' Poortith hourly flare him ; A man may tak a neebor's part,

Yet hae nae cajh to fpare him.

V.

Ay free, aff han', your ftory tell,

When wi' a bofom crony ; But ftill keep fomething to yourfel

Ye fcarcely tell to ony. Conceal yourfel as weel's ye can

Frae critical diffection ; But keek thro' ev'ry other man,

Wi' fharpen'd, fly infpeclion.

VI.

Thejacred lowe o' weel plac'd love,

Luxuriantly indulge it ; But never tempt th* illicit rove,

Tho' naething mould divulge it : I wave the quantum o' the fin ;

The hazard of concealing ; But Och ! it hardens c? within,

And petrifies the feeling !

( > 79 ) VII.

To catch Dame Fortune's golden fmile,

Affiduous wait upon her ; And gather gear by ev'ry wile,

That's juftify'd by Honor: Not for to hide it in a hedge,

Nor for a train-attendant ; But for the glorious priviledge

Of being independant.

VIII.

The fear o' HeWs a hangman's whip,

To haud the wretch in order ; But where ye feel your Honor grip,

Let that ay be your border : It's flighteft touches, inftant pause —

Debar a' fide-pretences ; And refolutely keep it's laws,

Uncaring confequences.

IX.

The great CREATOR to revere,

Muft fure become the Creature;

But ftill the preaching cant forbear,

And ev'n the rigid feature :

Y 2

( i8o )

Yet ne'er with Wits prophane to range,

Be complaifance extended ; An athiefl-laiigti' s a poor exchange

For Deity offended I

X.

When ranting round in Pleafure's ring,

Religion may be blinded ; Or if fhe gie a random-flings

It may be little minded ; But when on Life we're tempeft-driven,

A Confcience but a canker — A correfpondence fix'd wi' Heav'n,

Is fure a noble anchor!

XL

Adieu, dear, amiable Youth !

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! May Prudence, Fortitude and Truth

Erecl your brow undaunting ! In ploughman phrafe c GOD fend you fpeed,'

Still daily to grow wifer ; And may ye better reck the redey

Than ever did th' Advifer !

( i8i )

rgt»" » ^>f^J^g^s==B^^^^^ ^^

ON A

SCOTCH BARD

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES.

A' Ye wha live by fowps o' drink, A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, A' ye wha live and never think,

Come, mourn wi' me ! Our billic's gien us a' a jink,

An' owre the Sea.

( >82 •)

Lament him a' ye rantan core, Wha dearly like a random-fplore ; Nae mair he'll join the merry roar,

In focial key ; For now he's taen anither more,

An' owre the Sea !

The bonie lafTes weel may wifs him, And in their dear petitions place him : The widows, wives, an' a' may blefs him,

Wi' tearfu' e'e; For weel I wat they'll fairly mifs him

That's owre the Sea !

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! Hadft thou taen aff fome drowfy bummle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble,

'Twad been nae plea ; But he was gleg as onie wumble,

That's owre the Sea !

Auld, cantie KYLE may weepers wear, An' ftain them wi' the faut, faut tear:

( '83 ) 'Twill mak her poor, auld heart, I fear,

In flinders flee : He was her Laureat monie a year,

That's owre the Sea !

He faw Misfortune's eauld Nor-weji Lang-muftering up a bitter blaft ; A Jillet brak his heart at laft,

111 may me be ! So, took a birth afore the maft,

An' owre the Sea.

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, On fcarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, Wi' his proud, independant ftomach,

Could ill agree ; So, row't his hurdies in a hammock,

An' owre the Sea.

He ne'er was gien to great mifguidin, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; Wi' him it ne'er was under hid'ui ;

He dealt it free :

( i84 ) .

The Mufe was a' that he took pride in,

That's owre the Sea.

yamaica bodies, ufe him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel : Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel,

An' fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'd the vera Die I,

That's owre the Sea.

Fareweel, my rhyme-compofing billie ! Your native foil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourifh like a lily,

Now bonilie ! I'll toaft you in my hindmoft gillie,

Tho' owre the Sea !

( 1 85 )

Gfe"" '""Jggffl"" '".*g

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DEDICATION

T O

EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, A fleechan, fleth'ran Dedication, To roofe you up, an' ca' you guid, An* fprung o' great an' noble bluid ; Becaufe ye're firnam'd like His Grace, Perhaps related to the race : Then when I'm tir'd — and fae are ye, Wi' monie a fulfome, hnfV lie,

{ ,86 )

Set up a face, how I flop fhort, For fear your modefty be hurt.

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha Maun pleafe the Great-folk for a wamefou ; For me ! fae laigh I need na bow, For, LORD be thanket, I can plough ; And when I downa yoke a naig, Then, LORD be thanket, I can beg; Sae I mail fay, an' that's nae flatt'rin, It's juftyfc Poet an' fie Patron.

The Poet, fome guid Angel help him, Or elfe, I fear, fome ill ane {kelp him ! He may do weel for a' he's done yet, But only — he's no juft 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 juft — nae better than he fhould be.

I readily and freely grant, He downa fee a poor man want; What's no his ain, he winna tak it ; What ance he fays, he winna break it ;

( i87 )

Ought he can lend he'll not refuPt,

Till aft his guidnels is abufd ;

And ralcals whyles that do him wrang,

Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang :

As Mafter, Landlord, Hulband, Father,

He does na fail his part in either.

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; Nae godly fymptom ye can ca' that ; It's naething but a milder feature, Of our poor, finfu', corrupt Nature : Ye'll get the beft o' moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos, and Pagan lurks, Or Hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of Orth-d-xy. That he's the poor man's friend in need, The GENTLEMAN in word and deed, It's no through terror of D-mn-t-n ; It's juft a carnal inclination, And Och ! that's nae r-g-n-r-t-n !

Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thoufands thou hart flain ! Vain is his hope, whafe ftay an' trull is, In moral Mercy, Truth and Juilice !

Z 2

( i88 )

No — ftretch a point to catch a plack ; Abufe a Brother to his back ; Steal thro' the ivinnock frae a wh-re, But point the Rake that taks the door ; Be to the Poor like onie whunftane, And haud their nofes to the grunftane ; Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; No matter — flick to found believing.

Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces Wi' weel fpread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; Grunt up a folemn, lengthen'd groan, And damn a' Parties but your own ; I'll warrant then, ye're nae Deceiver, A fteady, fturdy, ftaunch Believer.

O ye wha leave the fprings o' C-lv-n, For gnmlie dubs of your ain delvin ! Ye fons of Herefy and Error, Ye'Mfome day fqueel in quaking terror ! When Vengeance draws the fword in wrath, And in the fire throws xhtjheath ; When Ruin, with his fweeping bejbm, Juft frets till Heav'n commiffion gics him;

( '«9 ) While o'er the Harp pale Mifery moans, And itrikes the ever-deep'ning tones, Still louder fhrieks, and heavier groans !

Your pardon, Sir, for this digreflion, I maift forgat my Dedication ; But when Divinity comes crofs me, My readers then are fure to lole me.

So Sir, you fee 'twas nae daft vapour, But I maturely thought it proper, When a' my works I did review, To dedicate them, Sir, to YOU : Becaufe (ye need na tak it ill) I thought them fomething like your/el.

Then patronize them wi' your favor, And your Petitioner ihall ever — I had amaift faid, ever pray, But that's a word I need na fay : For prayin I hae little (kill o't ; I'm baith dead-fweer, an' wretched ill o't ; But Ffe repeat each poor man's prafr, That kens or hears about you, Sir

( l9° )

4 May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark, Howl thro' the dwelling o' the CLERK ! May ne'er his gen'rous, honelt heart, For that fame gen'rous fpirit fmart ! May K ****** 5s far-honor'd name Lang beet his hymeneal flame, Till H ****** *'s, at leaft a diz'n, Are frae their nuptial labors rifen : Five bonie Lafles round their table, And fev'n braw fellows, flout an' able, To ferve their King an' Country weel, By word, or pen, or pointed fteel ! May Health and Peace, with mutual rays, Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; Till his wee, curlie yobrfs ier-oe, When ebbing life nae mair {hail flow, The laft, fad, mournful rites beftow!'

I will not wind a lang conclulion, With complimentary effufion : But whilft your wifhes and endeavours, Are bleft with Fortune's lmiles and favours,

( '9> ) I am, Dear Sir, with zeal moft fervent, Your much indebted, humble lervant.

But if, which Pow'rs above prevent, That iron-hearted Carl, Want, Attended, in his grim advances, l&yfud mijl akes, and black mifcha?ices, While hopes, and joys, and pleafures fly him, Make you as poor a dog as I am, Your humble fervant then no more ; For who would humbly ferve the Poor ? But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! While recollection's pow'r is giv'n, If, in the vale of humble life, The victim fad of Fortune's ftrife, I, through the tender-gufhing tear, Should recognife my Majler dear, If friendlefs, low, we meet together, Then, Sir, your hand — my FRIEND and BROTHER.

( *92 )

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TO A

LOUSE,

'0« Seeing one on a Ladfs Bonnet at Church.

A ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie ! Your impudence protects you fairly: I carina fay but ye ftrunt rarely,

Owre gawze and lace ; Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but fparely,

On fie a place.

Ye ugly, creepan, blaftet wonner, Detefted, fhunn'd, by faunt an' finner,

( *93 )

How daur ye let your lit upon her,

Sae line a Lady !

Gae fomewhere elle and leek your dinner,

On fome poor body.

Swith, in fome beggar's haffet fquattle ; There ye may creep, and fprawl, and fprattle, \Vi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,

In fhoals and nations ; Whare horn nor ba?ic ne'er daur unfettle,

Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there, ye're out o' light, Below the fatt'rels, Inug and tight, Na faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right,

Till ye've got on it, The vera tapmoft, towrin height

O' Miffs bonnet.

My footh ! right bauld ye fet your nofe out,

As plump an' gray as onie grozet :

O for fome rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red fmeddum, A a

( J94 )

I'd gie you fie a hearty dole o't,

Wad drefs your droddum !

I wad na been furpriz'd to fpy You on an auld wife's fiainen toy ; Or aiblins fome bit duddie boy,

On's wy le coat ; But Mifs's fine Lunar di, fye !

How daur ye do't \

O Jenny dinna tofs your head, An' fet your beauties a' abread ! Ye little ken what curfed fpeed

The blaftie's makin ! Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,

Are notice takin !

O wad fome Pow'r the giftie gie us To fee our/els as others fee us! It wad frae monie a blunder free us

An' foolifh notion : What airs in drefs an' gait wad lea'e us,

And ev'n Devotion !

( '95 )

-*--*•■

EPISTLE

T O

L * * * * * £

AN OLD SCOTCH BARD.

April i/?, 1785.

WHILE briers an' woodbines bud- ding green, An' Paitricks icraichan loud at e'en, And morning Pooffie whiddan feen,

Infpire my Mufe, This freedom, in an unknown frien',

I pray excufe. A a 2

( >9<5 )

On Fafteneen we had a rockin, To ca' the crack and weave our ftockin ; And there was muckle fun and jokin,

Ye need na doubt ; At length we had a hearty yokin,

At fang about.

There was aefang, amang the reft, Aboon them a' it pleaf 'd me beft, That fome kind hufband had addreft,

To fome fweet wife : It thirl'd the heart-ftrings thro' the breaft,

A' to the life.

I've fcarce heard ought defcrib'd fae weel, What gen'rous, manly bofoms 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 fidgean-fain to hear't, An' fae about him there I fpier't ;

( '97 )

Then a' that kent him round declar'd,

He had ingine,

That nane excell'd it, few cam near't,

It was fae fine.

That fet him to a pint of ale, An' either doufe or merry tale, Or rhymes an* fangs he'd made himfel,

Or witty catches, 'Tween Invernefs and Tiviotdale,

He had few matches.

Then up I gat, an fwoor an aith, Tho' I mould pawn my pleugh an' graith, Or die a cadger pownie's death,

At fome dyke-back, A //';// an' gill I'd gie them baith,

To hear your crack.

But firft an' foremoft, I mould tell, Amaift as foon as I could fpell, I to the crambo-jingle fell,

Tho' rude an' rough,

( '98 )

Yet crooning to a body's fel,

Does weel eneugh.

I am nae Poet, in a fenfe, But juft a Rhymer like by chance, An' hae to Learning nae pretence,

Yet, what the matter ? Whene'er my Mufe does on me glance,

I jingle at her.

Your Critic-folk may cock their nofe, And fay, ' How can you e'er propofe, ' You wha ken hardly verfe frae profe,

1 To mak a fang /" 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' ftools ; If honeft Nature made you fools,

What fairs your Grammars ? Ye'd better taen upjpades and fhools,

Or knappin-bammers.

( i 99 )

A let o' dull, conceited Hafhes, Confufe their brains in Colledge-clajfes ! They gang in Stirks, and come out AfTes,

Plain truth to fpeak; An' fyne they think to climb Parnaffus

By dint o' Greek !

Gie me ae fpark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I defire ; Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire

At pleugh or cart, My Mule, tho' namely in attire,

May touch the heart.

O for a fpunk o' ALLAN'S glee, Or FERGUSON'S, the bauld an' flee, Or bright L*****K'S, my friend to be,

If I can hit it ! That would be lear eneugh for me,

If I could get it.

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, . Tho' real friends I b'lieve are few,

( 200 )

Yet, if your catalogue be fow,

I'fe no infill: ; But gif ye want ae friend that's true,

I'm on your lift.

I winna blaw about myfel, As ill I like my fauts to tell ; But friends an' folk that wifh me well,

They fometimes roofe me ; Tho' I maun own, as monie ftill,

As far abufe me.

*

There's ae iveefaut they whiles lay to me, I like the laffes — Gude forgie me ! For monie a Plack they wheedle frae me,

At dance or fair: Maybe fome ither thing they gie me

They weel can fpare.

But MAUCHLINE Race or MAUCH- LINE Fair, I fhould be proud to meet you there ; We'fe gie ae night's difcharge to care,

If we forgather,

( 2QI )

An' hae a fwap o' rhymin-ivare,

Wi' ane anither.

The four-gill chap, we'fe gar him clatter, An' kirPn him wi' reekin water ; Syne we'll fit down an' tak our whitter,

To chear our heart ; An' faith, we'fe be acquainted better

Before we part.

Awa ye felfifh, warly race, Wha think that havins, fenfe an' grace, Ev'n love an' friendfhip mould give place

To catch-the-plack! I dinna like to fee your face,

Nor hear your crack.

But ye whom focial pleafure charms,

Whofe hearts the tide ofkindnefs warms,

Who hold your being on the terms,

' Each aid the others,'

Come to my bowl, come to my arms,

My friends, my brothers ! B b

( 202 )

But to conclude my lang epiftle, As my auld pen's worn to the grifsle ; Twa lines frae you wad gar me fifsle,

Who am, moft fervent, While I can either fing, or whifsle,

Your friend and fervant.

TO THE SAME.

April 2\Ji, 1785.

WHILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the ftake, An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'enin's edge I take,

To own I'm debtor, To honeft-hearted, auld L ***** K,

For his kind letter.

Forjefket fair, with weary legs, Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs

Their ten-hours bite,

( 2°3 )

My awkart Mufe fair pleads and begs,

I would na write.

The tapetlefs, ramfeezl'd hizzie, She's faft at beft an' fomething lazy, Quo' fhe, ' Ye ken we've been fae bufy

* This month an' mair, 4 That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie ,

4 An' fomething fair.'

Her dowf excufes pat me mad ; 4 Confcience,' fays I, ' ye thowlefs jad ! 1 I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,

4 This vera night ; 4 So dinna ye affront your trade,

4 But rhyme it right.

4 Shall bauld L*****K, the king o' hearts, 4 Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 4 Roofe you fae weel for your deferts,

4 In terms fae friendly, 4 Yet ye'll neglect: to maw your parts

4 An' thank him kindlv?' H b 2

(. 2°4 )

Sae I gat paper in a blink, An, down gzeAJiumpie in the ink: Quoth I, c Before I fleep a wink,

* I vow I'll clofe it ; 4 An' if ye winna mak it clink,

4 By Jove I'll profe it !'

Sae I've begun to fcrawl, but whether In rhyme, or profe, or baith thegither, Or fome hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

Let time mak proof ; But I mall fcribble down fome blether

Juft clean aff-loof.

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Tho' Fortune ufe you hard an' fharp ; Come, kittle up your moorlan harp

Wi' gleefome touch ! Ne'er mind how Fortune ivaft an' warp ;

She's but a b-tch.

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, Sin I could ftriddle owre a rig ;

( 205 )

But by the L — d, tho' I mould beg

Wi' lyart pow,

I'll laugh, an' fing, an' (hake my leg,

As lang's I dow !

Now comes t\itfax an' twentieth fimmer, I've feen the bud upo' the timmer, Still perfecuted by the limmer

Frae year to year ; But yet, defpite the kittle kimmer,

7, Rob, am here.

Do ye envy the city-gent, Behint a kift to lie an' fklent, Or purfe-proud, big wi' cent per cent,

An' muckle wame, In fome bit Br ugh to repreient

A Bai/Iie's name ?

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, Wi' ruffl'd fark an' glancin cane, Wha thinks himfel nzzjheep-jhank bane,

But lordly (talks,

( 2°6 )

While caps an' bonnets aff are taen,

As by he walks ?

4 O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 4 Gie me o' wit an' fcufe a lift, 4 Then turn me, if Thou pleafe, adrift,

4 Thro' Scotland wide ; 4 Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna Ihift,

4 In a' their pride !'

Were this the charter of our ftate, 4 On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' Damnation then would be our fate,

Beyond remead ; But, thanks to Heaven, that's no the gate

We learn our creed.

For thus the royal Mandate ran, When firft the human race began, 4 The focial, friendly, honeft man,

4 Whate'er he be, 4 'Tis he fulfils great Nature }s plan,

4 And none but he?

( 207 )

O Mandate, glorious and divine! The followers o' the ragged Nine, Poor, thoughtlefs devils ! yet may fhine

In glorious light, While fordid fons o' Mammon's line

Are dark as night !

Tho' here they fcrape, an' fqueeze, an' growl, Their worthlefs nievefu' of a foul, May in fame future car cafe howl,

The foreft's fright ; Or in fome day-detefting owl

May Ihun the light.

Then may L*****K and B**** arife, To reach their native, kindred fkies, And fug their pleafures, hopes an' joys,

In fome mild lphere, Still clofer knit in friendfhip's ties

Each paiTing year !

( 208 )

T O

\y. S ***** N, OCHILTREE.

May 1785.

I Gat your letter, winfome Willie ; Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; Tho' I maun fay't, I wad be filly,

An' unco vain, Should I believe, my coaxin billie,

Your flatterin ftrain.

But I'fe believe ye kindly meant it, I fud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic fatire, fidelins fklented,

On my poor Mufie ; Tho* in fie phraifm terms ye've penn'd it,

I fcarce excufe ye.

( 2°9 )

My fenfes wad be in a creel, Should I but dare a hope to fpeel, Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield,

The braes o' fame; Or Fergufon, the writer-chiel,

A deathlefs name.

(O Fergufon ! thy glorious parts, 111-fuited law's dry, mufty arts ! My curfe upon your whunftane hearts,

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! The tythe o' what ye wafte at cartes

Wad ftow'd his pantry !)

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, Or lafles gie my heart a fcreed, As whiles they're like to be my dead,

(O fad difeafe!) I kittle up my rujlic reed ;

It gies me eafe.

Auld COILA, now, may fidge fu' fain, She's gotten Bardies o' her ain,

( 2JO )

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,

But tune their lays,

Till echoes a' refound again

Her weel-fung praife.

Nae Poet thought her worth his while, To fet her name in meafur'd ftyle ; She lay like fome unkend-of ifle

Befide New Holland, Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil

Befouth Magellan.

Ramfay an' famous Fergufon Gied Forth an* lay a lift aboon ; Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune,

Owre Scotland rings, While Irwin, Lngar, Aire an' Doon,

Naebody fings.

Th' Illijfus, Tiber, Thames an' Seine, Glide fweet in monie a tunefu' line ; But Willie fet your fit to mine,

An' cock your creft,

( *" )

We'll gar our ftreams an' burnies fhine

Up wi' the beft.

We'll fmg auld COILA'S plains an' fells, Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells,

Where glorious WALLACE Aft bure the gree, as ftory tells,

Frae Suthron billies.

At WALLACE' name, what Scottifh blood, But boils up in a fpring-tide flood ! Oft have our fearlefs fathers ftrode

By WALLACE' fide, Still preffing onward, red-wat-fhod,

Or glorious dy'd !

O fweet are COILA'S haughs an' woods, When lintwhites chant amang the buds, And jinkin hares, in amorous whids,

Their loves enjoy, While thro' the braes the cufhat eroods

With wailfu' cry!

C C 2

( 2I2 )

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me,

When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; Or frofts on hills of Ochiltree

Are hoary gray ; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,

Dark'ning the day !

O NATURE! a' thy fhews an' forms To feeling, peniive hearts hae charms! Whether the Summer kindly warms,

Wi' life an' light, Or Winter howls, in gufty ftorms,

The lang, dark night !

The Mufe, nae Poet ever fand her, Till by himfel he learn'd to wander, Adown fome trottin burn's meander,

An' no think lang; O fweet, to ftray an* penfive ponder

A heart-felt fang !

The warly race may drudge an' drive, Hog-mouther, jundie, ftretch an' flrive,

( 2*3 )

Let me fair NATURE'S face defcrive,

And I, wi' pleafure,

Shall let the bufy, grumbling hive

Bum owre their treafure.

Fareweel, ' my rhyme-compofing' brither !

We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither :

Now let us lay our heads thegither,

In love fraternal : May Envy wallop in a tether,

Black fiend, infernal !

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; While moorlan herds like guid, fat braxies ; While Terra firma, on her axis,

Diurnal turns, Count on a friend, in faith an' practice,

In ROBERT BURNS.

( 2I4 )

POSTSCRIPT.

My memory's no worth a preen ; I had amaift forgotten clean, Ye bad me write you what they mean

By this new-light, * 'Bout which our herds fae aft hae been

Maiftlike to fight.

In days when mankind were but callans, At Grammar, Logic, an' fie talents, They took nae pains their fpeech to balance,

Or rules to gie, But fpak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans,

Like you or me.

In thae auld times, they thought the Moon, ]uft like a fark, or pair o' moon, Woor by degrees, till her laft roon

Gaed paft their viewin, An' Ihortly after fhe was done

They gat a new ane.

* A cant-term for thofe religious opinions, which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has defended fo rtrenuoufly.

( "5 )

This pafi: for certain, undiiputed ; It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it,

* An' ca'd it wrang ; An' muckle din there was about it,

Raith loud an' lang.

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing mifteuk ; For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a newk

An' out o' fight, An' backlins-comin, to the leuk,

She grew mair bright.

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd ; The herds an' hijfels were alarm'd ; The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' ftorm'd,

That beardlefs laddies Should think they better were inform'd,

Than their auld dadies.

Frae lefs to mair it gaed to fticks ; Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ;

( 2i6 )

An' monie a fallow gat his licks,

Wi' hearty crunt ;

An' fome, to learn them for their tricks,

Were hang'd an' brunt.

This game was play'd in monie lands, An' auld-light caddies bure fie hands, That faith, the youngfters took the fands

Wi' nimble fhanks, Till Lairds forbad, by ftridl commands,

Sic bluidy pranks.

But new-light herds gat fie a cowe, Folk thought them ruin'd ftick-an-ftowe, Till now amaift on ev'ry knowe

Ye'll find ane plac'd ; An' fome, their New-light fair avow,

Juft quite barefac'd.

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatan ; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' fweatan ; Myfel, I've ev'n feen them greetan

Wi' girnan fpite,

( "7 )

To hear the Moon fae fadly He'd on

By word an' write.

But fhortly they will cowe the louns ! Some an Id-light herds in neebor towns Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons,

To tak a flight, An' ftay ae month amang the Moons

An' fee them right.

Guid obfervation they will gie them ; An' when the auld Moon's gaun to le'ae them, The h'mdmoft. J/jaird, they'll fetch it wi' them,

Juft i' their pouch, An' when the new-light billies fee them,

I think they'll crouch !

Sae, ye obferve that a' this clatter

Is naething but a ' moonfhine matter ;*

But tho' dull profe-folk latin fplatter

In logic tulzie,

I hope we, Bardies, ken fome better

Than mind lie brulzie. D d

( 218 )

•^###^:^:^^###^:##:#^:#########

EPISTLE TO J. R

******

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS.

O Rough, rude, ready-witted R******? The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin ! There's monie godly folks are thinkin,

Your dreams * an' tricks

Will fend you, Korah-like, a finkin,

Straught to auld Nick's.

Ye hae fae monie cracks an' cants, And in your wicked, druken rants, Ye mak a devil o' the Saunts,

An' fill them fou ; And then their failings, flaws an' wants,

Are a' feen thro'.

* A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noife in the world.

( "9 )

Hypocrify, in mercy fpare it ! That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! Spare't for their fakes wha aften wear it,

The lads in black ; But your curft wit, when it comes near it,

Rives't aft their back.

Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're fkaithing: It's juft the Blue-goiv?i badge an' claithing, O' Saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething,

To ken them by, Frae ony unregenerate Heathen,

Like you or I.

I've fent you here, fome rhymin ware, A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair ; Sae when ye hae an hour to fpare,

I will expect, Yon Sang* ye'll fen't, wi' cannie care,

And no neglect.

Tho' faith, fma' heart hae I to fing !

My Mufe dow fcarcely fpread her wing :

D d 2

* A Sottg he had promifcd the Author.

( 220 )

I've play'd myfel a home Jpring,

An' danced my fill !

I'd better gaen an' fair't the king,

At Bunker's hill.

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, I gaed a rovin wi* the gun, An' brought a Paitrick to the grun\

A bonie hen, And, as the twilight was begun,

Thought nane wad ken.

The poor, wee thing was little hurt ; \Jlraiket it a wee for fport, Ne'er thinkan they wad fafh me for't ;

But, Deil-ma-care ! Somebody tells the Poacher-Court,

The hale affair.

Some auld, uf'd hands had taen a note, That Jic a hen had got &Jhot ; I was fufpedled for the plot ;

I fcorn'd to lie;

( 221 )

So gat the whiisle o' my groat,

An' pay't (he fee.

But by my gun, o' guns the wale, An' by my pouther an' my hail, An' by my hen, an' by her tail,

I vow an' fwear ! The Game fhall Pay, owre moor an' dail,

For this, nieft year.

As foon's the clockin-time is by, An' the wee powts begun to cry, L — d, I'fe hae fportin by an' by,

For my gowd guinea ; Tho' I mould herd the buck/kin kye

For't, in Virginia !

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three draps about the isoame

Scarce thro' the feathers ; An' baith a yellow George to claim,

An' thole their blethers !

( 222 )

It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; "But pennyworths again is fair,

When time's expedient : Meanwhile I am, refpected Sir,

Your moft obedient.

— ^X^— :

o

N

G

Tune, Corn rigs arc bonie. I.

IT was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light,

I held awa to Annie: The time flew by, wi' tentlefs head,

Till 'tween the late and early ; Wi' fma' perfuafion fhe agreed, To fee me thro' the barley.

( 223 ) II.

The fky was blue, the wind was ftill,

The moon was mining clearly ; I fet her down, wi' right good will,

Amang the rigs o' barley : I ken't her heart was a' my ain ;

I lov'd her moft fincerely ; I kifs'd her owre and owre again,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

III.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ;

Her heart was beating rarely : My bleflings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o* barley ! But by the moon and ftars fo bright,

That fhone that night fo clearly ! She ay fhall blefs that happy night,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

IV.

I hae been blythe wi' Comrades dear ; I hae been merry drinking ;

( 224 )

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;

I hae been happy thinking : But a' the pleafures e'er I faw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, That happy night was worth them a',

Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

O

N

G,

COMPOSED IN AUGUST.

Tune, I had a horfe, I had nae in air.

I.

OW weftlin winds, and flaught'ring

guns Bring Autumn's pleafant weather;

( "5 )

And the moorcock fprings, on whirring wings,

Amang the blooming heather : Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary Farmer ; And the moon mines bright, when I rove at night,

To mufe upon my Charmer.

II.

The Partridge loves the fruitful fells ;

The Plover loves the mountains ; The Woodcock haunts the lonely dells ;

The foaring Hern the fountains : Thro' lofty groves, the Cufhat roves,

The path of man to fhun it ; The hazel bum o'erhangs the Thrum,

The fpreading thorn the Linnet.

HI.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleafure find,

The favage and the tender;

Some focial join, and leagues combine;

Some folitary wander:

E e

( 226 )

A vaunt, away ! the cruel fway,

Tyrannic man's dominion ; The Sportfman's joy, the murd'ring cry, The flutt'ring, gory pinion !

IV.

But PEGGY dear, the ev'ning's clear,

Thick flies the fkimming Swallow ; The fky is blue, the fields in view,

All fading-green and yellow : Come let us ftray our gladfome way,

And view the charms of Nature ; The ruftling corn, the fruited thorn,

And ev'ry happy creature.

V.

We'll gently walk, and fweetly talk,

Till the filent moon mine clearly ; I'll grafp thy waift, and fondly preft,

Swear how I love thee dearly : Not vernal fhow'rs to budding flow'rs,

Not Autumn to the Farmer, So dear can be, as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely Charmer !

( 227 )

S O N G.

Tu/ie, Gilderoy.

I.

FROM thee, ELIZA, I muft go, And from my native more :

The cruel fates between us throw

A boundlefs ocean's roar ; But boundlefs oceans, roaring wide,

Between my Love and me, They never, never can divide

My heart and lbul from thee.

II.

Farewell, farewell, ELIZA dear,

The maid that I adore ! A boding voice is in mine ear,

We part to meet no more ! But the lateft. throb that leaves my heart,

While Death ftands victor by, That throb, ELIZA, is thy part,

And thine that lateft figh !

E e 2

( 228 )

(&&**

=^^5^'—

980

THE FAREWELL.

TO THE BRETHREN OF St. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON.

Time, Goodnight and joy be wP you a*

I.

ADIEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! Dear brothers of the myjllc tye ! Ye favored, enlightened Few,

Companions of my focial joy ! Tho' I to foreign lands muft hie, Purfuing Fortune's flidd'ry ba',

With melting heart, and brimful eye, I'll mind you ftill, tho' far awa.

II.

Oft have I met your focial Band,

And fpent the chearful, feftive night ;

Oft, honor'd with fupreme command, Prefided o'er the Sons of light :

And by that Hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but Craft/men ever faw !

( 22CJ )

Strong Mem'ry on my heart fhall write Thole happy icenes when far awa !

III.

May Freedom, Harmony and Love

Unite you in the grand Defign, Beneath th' Omnifcient Eye above,

The glorious ARCHITECT Divine! That you may keep th' unerring line,

Still rifing by the plummet \r law, Till Order bright, completely mine,

Shall be my Pray'r when far awa,

IV.

And YOU, farewell ! whole merits claim,

Juftly that highejl badge to wear ! Heav'n blefs your honor'd, noble Name,

To MASONRY and SCOTIA dear ! A laft requeft, permit me here,

When yearly ye alfemble a', One round, I alk it with a tear,

To him, the Bard, thafs far awa.

( 230 )

EPITAPH ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE.

As father Adam firft was fooPd,

A cafe that's ftill too common, Here lyes a man a woman ruPd,

The devil rul'd the woman.

EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION.

O Death, hadft thou but fpar'd his life,

Whom we, this day, lament ! We freely wad exchang'd the wife,

An' a' been weel content.

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff,

The fwap we yet will do't ; Tak thou the Carlin's carcafe aff,

Thou'fe get the faui o' boot,

ANOTHER.

One Queen Artemifa, as old ftories tell, > When depriv'd of her hufband fhe loved fo well,

( 231 )

In refpect for the love and affection he'd

fhow'd her, She reduc'd him to duft, and (he drank up

the Powder.

But Queen N**********, of a diff'rent complexion, When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction, Would have eat her dead lord, on a (lender

pretence, Not to mow her refpecl:, but — to fave the ex- pence.

EPITAPHS.

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.

Here Sowter **** in Death does fleep;

To H — 11, if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,

He'll haud it weel thegither.

( 232 )

ON A NOISY POLEMIC.

Below thir ftanes lie Jamie's banes ;

O Death, it's my opinion, Thou ne'er took fuch a bleth'ran b — tch,

Into thy dark dominion !

ON WEE JOHNIE. Hie jacet wee Jobnie.

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, That Death has murder'd Johnie;

An' here his body lies fu' low— — Yorfaul he ne'er had ony.

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

O ye whofe cheek the tear of pity ftains, Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend!

Here lie the loving Hufband's dear remains, The tender Father, and the gen'rous Friend.

( *33 ) The pitying Heart that felt for human Woe ; The dauntlefs heart that fear'd no human Pride ; The Friend of Man, to vice alone a foe ; 4 For ev'n his failings lean'd to Virtue's fide. * '

FOR R. A. Efq;

Know thou, O ftranger to the fame Of this much lov'd, much honor' d name ! (For none that knew him need be told) A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold.

FOR G. H. Efq;

The poor man weeps — here G N fleeps,

Whom canting wretches blam'd :

But with fuch as he, where'er he be,

May I be>T;Vor d V/

F f

* Goldfraith.

( 234 )

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

IS there a whim-infpir'd fool, Owre faft for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to feek, owre proud to fnool,

Let him draw near ; And o'er this graify heap fing dool,

And drap a tear.

Is there a Bard of ruftic fong, Who, notelefs, fteals the crouds among, That weekly this area throng,

O, pafs not by ! But with a frater-feeling ftrong,

Here, heave a figh.

Is there a man whofe judgment clear, Can others teach the courfe to fleer, Yet runs, himfelf, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave,

( 235 )

Here pauie — and thro' the ilarting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor Inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wife to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And Jbjier flame ; But thoughtlefs follies laid him low,

And ftain'd his name !

Reader attend — whether thy foul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,

In low purfuit, Know, prudent, cautious,Je/f-controu/

Is Wifdom's root.

FINIS.

( »j6 )

GLOSSARY.

Words that are univerfally known, and thofe that differ from the Englifh only by the elifion of letters by apoftrophes, or by varying the ter- mination of the verb, are not inferted. The terminations may be thus known; the parti- ciple prefent,inftead of ing, ends, in the Scotch Dialect, in an or in; in an, particularly, when the verb is compofed of the participle prefent, and any of the tenfes of the auxiliary, to be. The paft. time and participle paft are ufually made by fhortening the ed into V.

ABACK, behind, away Abiegh, at a diflance Ae, one

Agley, wide of the aim Aiver, an old horfe Aizle, a red ember Ane, one, an Afe, alhes Ava, at all, of all Awn, the beard of oats, &c.

B

B

A1RAN, baring Banie, bony

Bawf 'nt, having a white {tripe

down the face Ben, but and ben, the country

kitchen and parlour Bellys, bellows

Bee, to Id bee, to leave in quiet Biggin, a building Bield, fhelter Blaftet, worthlefs Blather, the bladder Blink, a glance, an amorous

leer, a fhort fpace of time Blype, a fhred of cloth, &c. Booft, behoved Brafh, a fudden illnefs Brat, a worn lhred of Cloth Brainge, to draw uniteadily

( 237 )

Braxie, a morkin fheep Brogue, an affront Breef, an invulnerable charm BreaAet, fprung forward Burnewin, q.d. burn the wind, a Blackfmith

CA' to call, to drive Caup, a fmall, wooden

difh with two lugs, or handles Cape ftane, cope (tone Cairds, tinkers Cairn, a loole heap of (tones Chuffie, fat-faced Collie, a general and fome-

times a particular name for

country curs Cog, or coggie, a fmall wood- en dim without handles Cootie, a pretty large wooden

dim Crack, converfation, to con-

verfe Crank, a harm, grating found Crankous, fretting, peevish Croon, a hollow, continued

moan Crowl, to creep Crouchie, crook-backed Cranreuch, the hoar frolt Curpan, the crupper Cummock, a mort ftafF

D

DAUD, the noife of one falling flat, a large piece of bread, &c. Daut, to carefs, to fondle Daimen, now and then, feldom Daurk, a day's labour Delceret, delirious

Dead-fweer, very loath, averfe

Dowie, crazy and dull

Donfie, unlucky, dangerous

Doylte, ftupified, hebetated

Dow, am able

Dought, was able

Doyte, to go drunkenly or ftu-

pidly Drummock, meal and water

mixed raw Drunt, pet, pettifh humor Dufh, to pufh as a bull, ram, Sec. Duds, rags of clothes

E

ERIE, frighted ; parti- cularly the dread of fpi-

nts

Eldritch, fearful, horrid,

ghaftly Eild, old age Eydent, conltant, bufy

FA', fall, lot Fawfont, decent, orderly Faem, foam

Fatt'rels, ribband ends, &c. Ferlie, a wonder, to wonder ;

alfo a term of contempt Fecht, to fight Fetch, to flop fuddenly in the

draught, and then come on

too hastily Fier, found, healthy Fittie Ian', the near horfe of

the hindmoft pair in the

plough Flunkies, livery fervants Fley, to frighten Flecfh, fleece Flifk, to fret at the yoke

( ^8 )

Flichter, to flutter

Forbears, anceflors

Forby, befides

Forjefket, jaded

Fow, full, drunk ; a bufliel, &c.

Freath, froath

Fuff, to blow intermittedly

Fyle, to dirty, to foil

GASH, wife, fagacious, talkative ; to converfe

Gate, or gaet, way, manner, practice

Gab, the mouth ; to fpeak boldly

Gawfie, jolly, large

Geek, to tofs the head in pride or wantonnefs

Gizz, a wig

Gilpey, a young girl

Glaizie, fmooth, glittering

Glunch, a frown ; to frown

Glint, to peep

Grufhie, of thick, flout growth

Gruntle, the vifage ; a grunt- ing noife

Groufome, loathfomely grim

H

HAL, or hald, hold, bid- ing place Hafh, a term of contempt Haverel, a quarter-wit Haurl, to drag, to peel Hain, to fave, to fpare Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit Hecht, to forebode Hiftie, dry, chapt, barren Howe, hollow Hofle or Hoaft, to cough Howk, to dig Hoddan, the motion of a fagf

country farmer on an old

cart horfe Houghmagandie, a fpecies of

gender compofed of the

mafculine and feminine u-

nited Hoy, to urge incelfantly Hoyte, a motion between a

trot and a gallop Hogfhouther, to juftle with

the moulder

IC K E R, an ear of corn Ier-oe, a great grand child Ingine, genius Ill-willie, malicious, unkind

J

J A U K, to dally at work Jouk, to (loop Jodteleg, a kind of knife Jundie, to juflle

K

KA E, a daw Ket, a hairy, ragged fleece of wool Kiutle, to cuddle, to carefs, to

fondle Kiaugh, carking anxiety Kirfen, to chriflen

LAGGEN, the angle at the bottom of a wood- en dim Laithfu', bafhful Leeze me, a term of congra- tulatory endearment

( 239 )

ea

<y

Leal, loyal, true Loot, did let Lowe, flame ; to flame Lunt, fmokc ; to fmoke Limmer, a woman or

virtue Link, to trip along Lyart, grey Luggie, a fmall. wooden dim

with one handle

M

Penny-wheep, fmall beer

Pine, pain, care

Pirratch, or porritch, pottage

Pliikie, trick

Primfie, affectedly nice

Prief, proof

Q

0^

UAT, quit, did quit Quaikin, quaking

R

MANTEELE, a mantle Melvie, to foil with

meal Menfe, good breeding Mell, to meddle with Modewurk, a mole Moop, to nibble as a fheep Muflin kail, broth made up

fimply of water, barley and

greens

N

N

OWTE, black cattle Nieve, the fift

O

OW R E, over Outler, lying in the fields, not houfed at night

RAMFEEZL'D, over- fpent Raep or rape, a rope Raucle, flout, clever Raible, to repeat by rote Ram-flam, thoughtlefs Raught, did reach Reeftet, lhrivelled Reeft, to be reftive Reck, to take heed Rede, counfel, to counfel Ripp, a handful of unthrefhed

corn, &c. Rief, reaving Rifk, to make a noife like the

breaking of fmall roots with

the plough Rowt, to bellow Roupet, hoarfe Runkle, a wrinkle Rockin, a meeting on a winter

evening

PACK, intimate, familiar Pang, to cram Painch, the paunch Paughty, proud, faucy Pattle or pettle, the plough-

ftaff Peghan, the crop of fowls, the ftomach

SA I R, fore Saunt, a faint Scrimp, fcant ; to flint Scriegh, to cry fhrilly Scrieve, to run fmoothly and

fwiftly Screed, to tear

( Ho )

Scawl, a Scold

Sconner, to loath

Sheen, bright

Shaw, a little wood ; to fhow

Shaver, a humorous mif- chievous wag

Skirl, a fhrill cry

Sklent, to flant, to fib

Skiegh, mettlefome, fiery, proud

Slype, to fall over like a wet furrow

Smeddum, powder of any kind

Smytrie, a numerous collection of fmall individuals

Snick-drawing, trick-contriv- ing

Snalh, abufive language

Sowther, to cement, to folder

Splore, a ramble

Spunkie, fiery ; will o' wifp

Spairge, to fpurt about like wa- ter or mire, to foil

Sprittie, rufiiy

Squatter, to flutter in water

Staggie, diminutive of Stag

Steeve, firm

Stank, a pool of (landing water

Stroan, to pour out like a fpout

Stegh, to cram the belly

Stibble-rig, the reaper who takes the lead

Sten, to rear as a horfe

Swith, get away

Syne, fince, ago, then

T

Tarrow, to murmur at one's allowance

Thowlefs, flack, pithlefs

Thack an' raep, all kinds of neceffaries, particularly clothes

Thowe, thaw

Tirl, to knock gently, to un- cover

Toyte, to walk like old age

Trafhtrie, train

W

WAUKET, thickened as fullers do cloth Water-kelpies, a fort of mif-

chievousfpirits that are faid

to haunt fords, &c. Water-brofe, brofe made Am- ply of meal and water Wauble, to fwing Wair, to lay out, to fpend Whaizle, to wheez Whifk, to fweep Wintle, a wavering, fwinging

motion Wiel, a fmall whirlpool Winze, an oath Wonner, wonder, a term of

contempt Wooer-bab,thegarter knotted

below the knee with a couple

of loops and ends Wrack, to vex, to trouble

"ELL, dry, fpoken of a

TAPETLESS, un think- ^T]

ing X cow

Tawie, that handles quietly Ye, is frequently ufed for the

Tawted, or tawtet, matted to- lingular

gether Young-guidman, a new mar-

Taet, a fmall quantity ried man

PR Burns, Robert

4300 Poems

1786ab

K5

v.l

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