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KILMARNOCK: 

PRINTED      BY      JOHN      WILSON. 


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M,DCC,LXXXVI. 

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POEMS, 


CHIEFLY     IN     THE 


SCOTTISH    DIALECT, 


B    Y 


ROBERT    BURNS. 


t)-3 

..<..«.«.*.<..♦.<..<.*.♦•<■.*•*<.<.<••*■+■<<•«■•*  <•<•<•<••*■<•+  <■+■<.<■<•<•*•<•■+•<••< 

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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*<j 


(  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 

24^, 4'l4«'»4'<j  +  <■•<•  <■•<■■<■•<••<■•<  ••♦■♦•«.<4»  •<<  <■<..+•♦.<■<■•< -4-*<-*<  ■«<■<*•<■  <■  <-  -  ^£ 


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     ) 


•1*  »1»  at*  sL"  n!^  J*  «A-  «//  *!•  si*  4>  *i  \t»  •!?  J/ 

t^ivt  JLytvjb  tytvj:  tvtvt  >^7iv.1!  tyrxj,<^T\j  ,t^i\j-  tyry?  tyr-j-xsT-j  isT^j-  jtylvi  gyTj.  <-/kj 


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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