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POETICAL  WORKS 


©F 

^ROBERT  BURNS: 

TO  WHICH  IS  PREFIXEB 

HIS  LIFF., 

Aa WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF, 
AND  CONTINUED  OR  COMMENTED  ON  BY  OTHERS 


PHILADELPHIA  : 
PRINTED  FOR  BENJAMIN  CHAPMAN. 


A,   SMALL,   PRINTEH, 


tsiu 


> 


-X     ^v>^A 


^    K^ 


ADDRESS 

FOR  THE  PRESENT  EDITION, 


!OF  the  works  of  our  Poet,  it  was  said,  when  but  few 
Editions  had  appeared,  that  all  which  had  merit,  or  were 
^  advantageous  to  his  fame  had  already  been  published — 
,  After  editions  have  shewn  the  error  of  that  assertion : 
some  of  his  finest  pieces  have  shice  appeared  :  and 
some  then  published,  might  have  been  suppressed — even 
now  (in  the  present  offering,}  late  as  it  is,  will  be  found 
many  excellent  pieces  which  have  hitherto  escaped  the 
atteniion  or  knowledge  of  Editors. 

That  there  are,  which  "  dying  he  might  wish  to  blot," 
must  be  acknowledged  ;  among  these  however,  cannot  be 
\  admitted  those  which  bear  on  certain  classes  of  charac- 
ter ;  aberrations  of  professional  men  are  fair  game- 
that  he  "  lo'ed  the  lasses  too''  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  he 
wrote  as  though  he  did,  has  crav'd  forgiveness,  and  few 
we  trust  there  will  bo  who  will  not  join  in  the  Amen- — ■ 
Of  those  entirely  exceptionable  the  first  lines  only  ai-e 
given.  -i" 

The  arrangement  therefore  stands  thus 
Pieces  of  first  merit,  first. 

*   Songs follow. 

The  appendix  receives  all  others. 

All  whiclv^an  possibly  be  deemed  exceptionable,  yet 
possessing  merit  are  therein  inserted — Those  decidedly 


iv  ADDRESS. 


exceptionable  (or  what  seldom  occurs)  without  merit  o 
interest,  are  excluded,  except  the  first  line  of  each  ;  so 
that  those  that  wish  to  shun  pieces  of  certain  character, 
have  but  to  close  the  book  at  the  appendix.  Or  if  thcy^ 
ivill  read  on^  they  have  permission  to  keep  their  own 
counsel. 

The  present  edition  it  is  believed,  contains  at  least  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pieces  or  first  lines  more  than  any  other 
edition  yet  published  :  we  do  not  say  that  they  are  all  new ; 
of  that  description,  few  c^n  now  be  expected, — we  offer 
the  present  therefore  as  possessing  the  greatest  niunber 
of  best  pieces  ever  published. 


\ 


CONTENTS, 


A  gude  new  year     To  his  mare  Maggie      -  -  4.5 

A  rose  bud  by  my  early  walks         -             -  -  249 

Adieu!  a  heart  warm  fond  adieu           -         -  -  244 

Ae  day  as  Death      To  J.  Rankin        .         -  -  392 

Ae  bonie  mornin*      T/ie  Siller  gun         -  -  J 93 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever          -      -  -  253 

Again  rejoicing  nature  sees         -                -  -  318 

Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time      To  Miss  /..  -  115 

A'  ye  wha  live  by  sowps    On  a  Scots  Bard  -  62 

Although  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir           -  •  -  307 

Although  thou  maun  never  be  mine         -  -  337 

All  hail  inexorable  Lord     7b  Rui?i       -         -  -*  66 

Among  the  heathy  hills     Onthe  fall  of  Fyers  -  174 

Amang  the  trees  where  humming  bees  -  296 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee      To  December         -  -  183 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest     Ejiiiaph  -  184 

An',  O  for  ane  and  twenty  Tarn         -         -  -  237 

As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  towe#    A  vision  -  184 

As  Maiiie  an*  her  lambs      The  death  of  Mailie  -  104 

As  father  Adam   On  a  Henjieck'^d  Country  squire  SSQ' 

As  on  the  banks  of  wandering  Nith           -  -  207 

As  I  was  a  wand'ring  ae  morning  in  Spring  -  257 

As  down  the  burn  they  took  their  way  -  262 

As  Tarn  the  Chapman  Epitaph  for  T.  Kennedy  -  395 

Auld  Chuckle  Reekie  *s,  sair  distressed  -  203 

Awa  wi'  your  witchcraft             -             -  -  508 

Ay  waking  O            -               -               -  -  349 

Beauteous  rose  bud     To  3[iss  Cruikshank  -  186 

Behind  yon  hills  where  Lugar  flows           -  -  306 

Blythe,  blythe,  and  merry  was  she        -  -  534 

Bonnie  lassie,  will  ye  go      ^    -               -  -  .353 

Bonnie  wee  thing,  cannie  \TCe  thing          -  -  321 

By  yon  castle  wa',  at  the  close  of  the  day  -  283 

By  Allan  stream  I  chancM  to  rove           -  -  293. 

Cauldblaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west  >  3:>7 

Cease  ye  prudes     On  Miss  Burns             -  -  39 1 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul           -             -  .  247 

Come  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast  : !  4 


\i  CONTENTS. 

» 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  \vi'  mair 
Curse  on  ungrateful  man  _  -  . 

Curst  be  the  man      The  henpecked  husband 
Dear  S.  the  sleest  p.aiky  thief     7b  J.  S. 
Dire  was  the  fate      IVie  deem  of  Faculty 
Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat 
Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo 

Dweller  in  yon  dungeon     To  the  memory  of- 

Edina  \  Scotia's  darling  seat  Addrefiu  to  Edb- burgh 

Expect  na  Sir,  in  this  narration     To  G.  H.  esq.  - 

Fwir  empress  of  the  poet's  soul      To  a  lady 

Fair  fa  your  honest    To  a  Haggis 

Fair  the  face  of  orient  day      To  Delia 

Fate  gave  the  word     ^  mother'*s  lament 

Farewell  ye  dungeons  da;rk  and  strong 

Farewell  thou  fair  day  -  - 

F^vrewell  ihou  stream  that  winding  IIom  s    . 

Farewell  dear  Mistress  of  my  soul 

Fairest  maid  on  Devon's  banks 

Fi'-st  lines  of  Sundry  Pieces  -  .    - 

First  when  Maggie  waj^ny  care 

Flow  gently  sweet  AftOL  -  - 

For  Lords  or  Kings        Rlegy  on  1788 

From  thee  Elizii  I  must  go  -  •  - 

Fiiend  of  the  poet     To  Mr.  Mitchell 

Gane  is  the  day,  and  mirk  's  the  night 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine 

Gr:nt  me  indulgent     In  a.huh/s  fiocket-book 

Gude  mornin'  to  your  i;  ajeslie     A  drcaia 

Gude  spetd  an:^  furder      To  J.  Lajiraik 

Hark,  the  Uiavis'  evening  sang  -  -       - 

B.ai  poesie  thou  nymph  reserv'd 

Ha  !  whar  ye  i^aun      To  a  I.ouse         -         -  - 

H.d  I  a  cave  on  some  wild  disUint  shore     - 

Hu>^  aukl  Kilmariiock      TaimSam&om's  elegy 

Health •  to  l!>e  Mxwells      T^Terraughiy 

Hear  land  o'  ci.kes      Grose's  peregrinations 

Here  Sovvter,  ****  in   dt^.th  does  sleep  Epitaph 

Here  lies  J.  B.     Jbpitaph  on  J.  JB. 

Here  aw  a  tiicre  awa  -  -  -  • 

Here  holy  Willie's     Epitaph  on  Holy  llillie 

Here  lies  in  e.irtli      On  D.  C.  _         .  , 

Heie  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower 


CONTENTS.  vii 

Here  *s  a  health  to  ane  I  loe  clear         -                 -  254 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that's  avva     -                -  254 

Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing           -         -  320 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad             -               -  291 

How  lung  and  dreary  is  tiie  night              -           -  333 

How  cold  is  that  bosom     Monody          -                -  210 

How  pleasant  the  banks               -             -             -  183 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife           -         -  286 

I  call  no  goddess      To  R.  Grahain             -            -  211 

I  dream'd  I  lay  where  flowers  were  springing  -  214 

I  gaed  A  waefu,  gate  yestreen             -         -          -  310 

I  gat  your  letter     To  IV,  S.             -          -           -  141 

I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain              -               -               -  386 

I  hold  it  sir,  my  bounden  duty      To  G.  Hamilton  215 

i  lang  hae  i  bought   To  a  ijoung  friend         -         -  60 
I  mind  it  weel  in  early  date      To  the  guidivife  of 

Wauchofie 'house-,                                  -           -  191 

I  murder  hate  by  field  or  flood                   -           -  374 

I  sing  of  a  whistle      The  Whittle              -              -  168 

If  thou  shalt  meet  a  lassie              -               -         -  349 

I'll  ae  call  in  by  yon  town              #            -            -  558 

Ilk  care  and  fear  when  tliou  art  near         -           -  297 

I  "'m  three  times  doubly      Second  ejdatle  to  Davie  52 

Inhuman  man      On  a  ivounded  hare         -              -  166 

In  Mauchline  there  dwells                   -                   -  338 

In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn          -           -  246 

In  politics  if  thou  wotildst  mix              -                 -  374 

Instead  of  a  song     JRodriei/s  victory          -            -  215 

Is  there  a  whim  inspired  fool  li/nta/ih  on  himself  68 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty              -              -          -  284 

It  was  upon  a  lammas  night                 -                  -  279 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May           -          -  313 

John  Anderson  r.iy  jo,  John                  -                  -  357 

*Jocky 's  taen  the  parting  kiss                  -                -  278 

Kembie  thou  cur'st  n.y  uiii)e^f     To  Mr.  K.       -  217 

Ken  ye  ought  o'  captain  Grose    To  Mr.  Cardonnel  212 

Kind  sir  I 've  read      To  a  Gentleman          -           -  213 

Kilmarnock  Wabsters      The  Qrdina(.io7i                -  38 1 

'Know  thou,  v)  stranger    Efiitafhfor  R.  A.  esq.  -  180 

Late  crippled  of  an  arsn      To  R.  G.                       -  160 

Lament 'm  Mauchline     On  a  ivag  in  Mauchline  -  390 

Lament  in  rhyme      Poor  Maidens  elegy                -  106 

Lassie  wi'  the  lintwhite  locks                -               -  336 


viii  CONTENTS. 

I^ast  May  a  braw  wooer 

Let  not  woman  c*er  complain 

Let  other  poets  raise  a  fracas     Scotch  drink 

Life  ne'er  exulted     Elegy  on  Miss  Burnett 

Louis  what  reck  I  by  thee,  -         - 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion 

Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean  -         -  . 

My  curse  on  your  envenom'd   stang     To  the 

Tootfi-ache  -  -  - 

My  heart  is  a  breaking  dear  Titlie 
My  heart  is  sair  1  dare  na  tell 
My  honor'd  Colonel,  deep  I  feel  On  life 
My  Lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear  Brnar  water  - 
My  lov'd  my  honor'd  The  Cotter^ s  Saturday  night 
My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form 
My  cantie,  wittie   &c.      The  Gude  ivij<:^s  address 
IMy  Mary,  dear  departed  shade 
My  bottle  is  a  holy  pool  -         .         .         - 

My  Mary's  face,  my  Mary's  form 
My  heart 's  in  the  Hijiphlnnds  ,  -         _ 

My  Father  was  a  farmer  -  .  . 

N:  e  gentle  dames,  tho'  e'er  so  fair 
No  churchman  am  I  -  -  - 

No  more  of  your  guests     To  Mr.  S.  -         - 

No  more  ye  warblers     On  the  death  of  Mr.  H.  - 
No  sculptur'd  marble     Epitaph  on  Eergusson    - 
Now  bank  and  brae  are  cloth'd  in  green 
Now   Kobin  lies  in  his  last  lair     Elegy  on  the 

death  of  Robert  Ruisstaux 
Now  nature  hangs  her  mantle  green     Lament  of 

Mary  queen  of  Scots  -  - 

Now  westlin  winds  -  -  -         - 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  with  flowers 
Now  in  her  green  mantle  -  -  - 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  grove  in  green 
O  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks     The  Twa  Herds 
O  bonie  was  yon  rosy  brier  .         -  . 

O  cam  ye  here     Battle  of  Sheriff-Muir 
O  Death  hadst  thou     Epigram 
O  Death  thou  tyrant    Elegy  on  Cafit.  Henderson 
O  Goudie  terror  of  the  whigs     To  John  Goudlc 


CONTENTS.  ix 

U  had  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mmd  To  Mr.  S.  -  238 

O  how  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad             -  -  256 

O  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  -  273 

O  leave  novels  ye  Slauchline  Belles          -  -  332 

O  leeze  me  on  my  spmnin-wheel         -  -  250 

O  lassie;  art  thou  sleeping  yet               -  -  544 

O  luve  will  venture  in               -             -  "  ^^^ 

O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide             -  -  ^^^ 

O  my  luve  's  like  a  red,  red  rose            -  -  252 

O  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  beauty  -  S18 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne*er  so  sweet         -  -  223 

O  mirk,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour        -  -  270 

O  Mary  at  thy  window  be              -             -  •  ^^^ 

O  once  I  lov'd  a  bonny  lass             -             -  -  330 

O  Poortith,  cauld  an  restless  love         -  -  ^l*^ 

O  rough,  rude,  ready  witted  R.     To  J.  Rankin  -  132 

O  raging  fortune's  withering  blast             -  -  330 

O  saw  ye  bonie  Leslie              -              -  -  326 

O  stay  sweet  warbling  woodlark,  stay     -  -  315 

O  thou  who  in  the  heav'ns    Boiij  JViliie's  firai/r  368 

O  thou  who  kindly     Grace  de/bre  meat  -  147 

t)  thou  in  whom  we  live    Grace  after  Meat  -  148 

O  thou  dread  pow'r    Left  at  a  friends  house  •  58 

O  thou  great  Being    A  Prayer                 -  -  66 

O  thou  pale  Orb      The  Lament         -              -  -  54 

O  thou  the  first  and  greatest  The  90ih  psabn  -  10 

O  thou  unknown     A  jirayer             -          -  -  56 

O  thou  !  whatever  title  Address  to  the  Deil  -■  107 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day         -             -  -  S35 

O  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie             „           -  .  34.S 

O  tell  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain               -  -  345 

O  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  town            «•           -  -  25 1 

O  were  I  on  Parnassus  hill             -           -  -  381 

O  wha  is  she  that  loes  me             -           "  -  348 

O  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o*  maut             -  -  323 

O  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair              -         -  •  233 

O  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine             -  -  332 

O  whistle  and  I  '11  come  to  you  my  lad  -  299 

O  yc  wha  are  sae  gude      To.  the  Unco  Guid  -  33 

O  ye  whose  cheek  the  tear  On  his  Father  -  67 

Oh  !  had  each  Scot     On  Miss  Scott         -  ^  180 


CONTENTb. 


Oh  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  bldst 

Oh,  open  the  door  some  pity  to  shew     - 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 

Old  winier  with  his  frosty  be^rd     Ivifiromfitu    - 

Once  fondly  lov'd      To  an  old  Siveet heart 

On  Cessnock  bunks  there  lives  a  lass 

On  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer's  day 

OppressM  with  grief     Desfiondency 

Orthodox,  orthodox     The  Kirk's  Jlarm 

Out  over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north 

Powers  celestial  whose  protection 

Raving  winds  around  her  blowing 

Revered  defender     To  IV.. Ty tier 

Right  sir !  your  text     The  Calf 

Sad  thy  tale      On  the  death  of  J.  APL. 

Sad  bird  of  niglit     To  the  owl 

Sae  fitixen  were  her  ringlets         -  -  - 

Scenes  of  woe  and  scenes  of  pleasure 

Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled 

Sensibility  how  charming 

She  's  fair  and  fause  -  -  - 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 

Sing  on  sweet  thrush      The  Author'* s  birth-day  - 

Sir,  as  your  mandate      The  Inventory 

Sir  o'er  a  gill  I  got  your  card     To  Mr.  M'-Adam 

Slow  spreads  the  gloom  -  .  - 

Sleep'st  thcu  or  wak'st  thou  fairest  creature 

Some  books  are  lies     Death  and  Dr,  Hornbook 

Some  sing  of  sweet  Mally  -  -  - 

Stop  passenger     Epitaph 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains 

Sweet  flowr'et  On  the  birth  of  a  posthumous  child 

Sweet  fa's  the  eve  on  Craigie  burn 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen 

The  day  returns  .  -  -  - 

The  devil  got  notice     Epigram  on  E.  Grose 

The  friend  whom  wild      7'o  one  he  had  offended 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast  ' 

The  heather  was  blooming 

The  lamp  of  day     On  the  death  cf  Sir  J.  H.  B,  - 

The  lazy  mist      -      -        .      . 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness 


344. 
301 
338 
227 
239 
341 
351 

31 
393 
256^ 
259 
312 
233 
384 
181 
239 
269 
242 
327 
332 
278 
328 
238 
223 
231 
253 
300 

84 
285 
157 
295 
174 
313 
282 
312 
147 
237 
280 
356 
218 


CONTENTS.  xi 

The  man  in  life     The  \st  Psalm            -  »  59 

The  poor  man  weeps     OnG.H.             -  -  230 

The  small  birds  rejoice             -.             -  -  339 

The  smilint^  sprin.^  comes  in  rejoicing  -  308 

The  si'iiple  bard     The  Brigs  of  Ayr         -  -  24 

The  sun  had  closed      The  -uisioji                  -  -  35 

The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea  -  311 

The  wind  blew    Lament  for  the  earl  of  Glencairn  1 63 

The  wintry  west      Winter  a  dirge          -  -  89 

Thee  Caledonia  thy  wild  heaths  among  -  219 

Their  groves  of  sweet  myrtle              -  -  270 

There 's  auld  Rob  Morris             -                -  -  274 

There's  a  youth  in  this  city                 -  -  357 

There  's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  ban'  -  342 

There  was  a  lass  and  she  was  fair            -  -  288 

There  were  three  kings     John  Barleycorn  -  225 

There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle          -  -  355 

There  was  once  a  day     CUedojiia             -  -  234 

There  's  braw,  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes  -  322 

Thickest  night  o'erhang  my  dwelling  -  310 

Thine  be  the  volumes      To  a  young  lady  -  232 

This  day  time  winds     J^'ew  Yearns  day  -  229 

This  wot  all  ye    Orz  dining  with  Lord  Dacr  -  1  50 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part             -  -  329- 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind     To  Indeliendence  23$ 

Thou  whom  chance   On  Friars  Carse  Hermitage  152^ 

Thou  who  thy  honor     To  Sir  J.  Whiteford  -  165 

Thou  lingering  star  with  lessening  ray  -  |^5 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever  Jamie                  -  -  328 

»  Thou  whom  chance  might  hither  lead  -  182 

Thou's  welcome  wean    To  an  illegitimate  child  -  389 

To  thee  lov'd  Nith,  thy  gbdsome  plains  -  321 

To  Crochallan  came     On  TV,  S  236 

True  hearted  was  he                  -             -  -  293 

Turn  again  thou  fair  Eliza             -             -  -  275 

'Twas  in  that  place      The  twa  Dogs         -  -  U 

'Twaseven — the  dewy  fields  were  green  -  294 

'Twas  na  her  bonnie  blue  e'e  was  my  ruin  -  268 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  m.orn   The  M^iy  Fair  -  77 

Upon  that  night     Halloween               ~  116 

Wae  is  niy  heart,  and  the  tear's  in   ...      ,.  275 

,  ''•^Vee  modest  crimson     To  a  mounta'^^i^,: .  9 


xii  CONTENTS. 

Wee,  sleekit,  cowrin,     To  a  Mouse  -  22 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair  To  Lord  G.  243 

What  ails  ye  now     To  a  Tailor              -  -  378 

What  can  a  young  lassie              -          -  -  322 

When  biting  Boreas     A  Winter  Mg he  -  125 

When  death's  dark  stream                 -  -  237 

When  chapman  billies     Tarn  o"*  Shantcr  -  69 

When  chill  November's  Man  ivas  made  to  mourn  6 

When  Guilford  good                     -  -  178 

When  January  winds  were  blowing  cold  -  302 

When  o*er  the  hill  the  eastern  star         -  -  262 

When  wild  wars  deadly  blast  was  blawn  -  263 

When  lyart  leaves     Jolly  Beggars             -  -  359 

When  rosy  May  comes  in  wi*  flowers  -  305 

While  briers  an*  woodbines     To  J.  Lafiraik  -  134 

While  new  ca'd  kye     To  J.  Lafiraik         -  -  138 

While  virgin  spring     To   the  shade  of  Thomson  165 

While  winds  frae  off     To  Da-vie     '       -  -  48 

While  at  the  stook     To  the  rev.  J.  M^Math  -  371 

While  larks  with  little  wing         -         -  -  304 

Whoe'er  thou  art     On  luee  Johnny             -  -  220 

Why  am  I  loth     Stanzas  on  death          -  -  57 

Why  yc  tenants     On  scaring  Water -fowl  -  173 

Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the  morning  266 

Where  braving  angry  winter's  storms  -  324 

Wha  is  that  at  my  Bow'r  door                 -  -  346 

Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here     Ejiigram  -  ^7S 

With  awe  struck  thought  and  pitying  tears  -  224 

Willie  Wastle  dwelt  on  Tweed               -  -  266 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie                    -  -  249 

Wow  but  your  letter    To  Br.  Blacklock  -  240 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonie  Doon             -  -  274 

Ye  Irish  lords   Theauthor'*s  earnest  cry  andjiray*r  93 

Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth  M  a  tavern  Dunfries  392 

Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around  -  287 

Ye  gallants  bright  I  rede  ye  right           -  -  305 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine                 -  -  320 

Young  Jockie  was  the  blythest  lad         -  -  258 

Young  Peggy  blooms  our  boniest  lass         '  >  260 


THE 


LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS, 


AS   WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF, 


AND  CONTINUED  OR  COMMENTED  ON  BY  OTHERS. 


TO  Dr.  MOORE. 

Mauchline,  2d  August-,  1787. 


SIR. 


"  For  some  months  past  I  have  been  rambling 
over  the  country,  but  I  am  now  confined  with  some 
lingering  complaints,  originating  as  I  take  it,  in  the 
stomach.  To  divert  my  spirits  a  little  in  this  mise- 
rable fog  of  ennuij  I  have  taken  a  whim  to  give  you 
a  history  of  myself.  My  name  has  made  some  little 
noise  in  this  country  ;  you  have  done  me  the  honour 
to  interest  yourself  very  warmly  in  my  behalf;^  and 
1  think  a  faithful  account  of  what  character  of  -a  man 
I  am,  and  how  I  came  by  that  character,  may  per- 
luxps  amuse  you  in  an  idle  moment,  I  will  give  you 
an  honest  narrative,  though  I  know  it  will  be  often 
at  my  own  expense  ;  for  I  assure  you.  Sir,  I  have, 
like  Solomon,  whose  character,  excepting  in  the  tri- 
fling affair  of  ivisdoni^  \  sometimes  think  1  resemble, 
I  have,  I  say,  like  him  turned  my  eyes  to  beholc  madness 
and  folly -i  and  like  him  too,  frequently  shaken  hands  with 

B 


5i'i\r  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

their  intoxicating  friendship.  *  *  *  After  you  have 
perused  these  pages,  should  you  think  them  trifling  and 
impertinent,  I  only  be^  leave  to  tell  you,  that  the  poor 
author  wrote  them  under  some  twitching  qualms  of  con- 
science, arising  from  a  suspicion  that  he  was  doing  what 
he  ought  not  to  do ;  a  predicament  he  has  more  than 
once  been  in  before. 

"  I  have  not  the  most  distant  pretensions  to  assume 
that  character  which  the  pye-coated  guardians  of  escut- 
cheons call,  a  Gentleman.  When  at  Edinburgh  last 
winter,  I  got  acquainted  in  the  herald's  office,  and  look- 
ing through  that  granary  of  honours,  I  there  found  al- 
most every  name  of  the  kingdom  ;  but  for  me, 

"  My  ancient  but  ig'noble  blood 
*'  Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the  flood. 

Gules,  Purpure,  Argent,  Sec.  quite  disowned  me. 

"  My  father  was  of  the  north  of  Scotland,  the  son  of  a 
farmer,  and  was  thrown  by  early  misfortunes  on  the 
world  at  large ;  where,  after  many  years  wanderings  and 
sojournings,  he  picked  up  a  pretty  large  quantity  of  ob- 
servation and  experience,  to  which   I  am  indebted  for 

most  of  my  little  pretensions  to  wisdom I  have  met 

with  few  who  understood  men^  their  manners^  and  their 
r[vai/f,-f  equal  to  him  ;  but  stubborn,  luigainly  integrity, 
and  headlong  ungovernable  irrascibility,are  disqualifing 
circumstances ;  consequently  I  was  born  a  very  poor 
man's  son.  For  the  first  six  or  seven  years  of  my  life, 
my  father  was  gardener  to  a  worthy  gentleman  of  small 
estate  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ayr.  Had  he  continued 
in  that  station,  I  must  have  marched  oft'  to  be  one  of  the 
little  undei'lings  about  a  farm-house  ;  but  it  was  his  dear- 
est wish  and  prayer  to  have  it  in  his  power  to  keep  his 
children  under  his  own  eye,  till  they  could  discern  be- 
tween good  and  evil :  so  with  the  assistance  of  his  gene- 
rous master,  my  father  ventured  on  a  small  farm  on  his 
estate.  At  those  years  I  was  by  no  means  a  favourite 
with  any  body.  I  was  a  good  deal  noted  for  a  retentive 
memory,  a  stubborn  sturdy  something  in  my  disposition, 

and  an  enthusiastic  ideot  piety I  say  ideot  piety,  be- 

s:.ause  I  was  then  but  a  ^hild.  Though  it  cost  the  school 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xv 

master  some  thrashings,  I  made  an  excellent  English 
scholar  ;  and  by  the  time  I  was  ten  or  eleven  years  of 
age,  I  was  a  critic  in  substantives,  verbs  and  particles. 
In  my  infant  and  boyish  days  too,  I  owed  much  to  an 
old  woman  who  resided  in  the  family,  remarkable  foi» 
her  ignorance,  credulity,  and  superstition.  She  liad,  I 
suppose,  the  largest  collection  in  the  country  of  tales 
and  songs  concerning  devils,  ghosts,  fairies,  brownies, 
witches,  warlocks,  spunkies,  kelpies,  elfcandles,  dead- 
lights, wraiths,  apparitions,  cantraips,  giants,  inchanted 
towers,  dragons,  and  other  trumpery.  This  cultivated  the 
latent  seeds  of  poetry  ;  but  had  so  strong  an  effect  on  my 
imagination,  that  to  this  hour  in  my  nocturnal  rambles, 
I  sometimes  keep  a  sharp  look  out  in  suspicious  places ; 
and  though  nobody  can  be  more  sceptical  than  I  am  in 
such  matters,  yet  it  often  takes  an  effort  of  philosophy 
to  shake  off  these  idle  terrors.  The  earliest  composition 
that  I  recollect  taking  pleasure  in,  was  The  Vision  of 
Mirza^  and  a  hymn  of  Addison's,  beginning,  Hoiu  are  thy 
servanta  blest,  O  Lord!  I  particularly  remember  ony 
half-stanza  which  was  music  to  my  boyish  ear 

'*  For  tboug-h  on  dreadful  whirb  we  hung-, 
"  High  on  the  broken  wave..., 

I  met  with  these  pieces  in  Mason's  Etiglish  Collection^ 
one  of  my  school-books.  The  two  first  books  I  ever 
read  in  private,  and  which  gave  me  more  pleasure  than 
any  two  books  I  ever  read  since,  were.  The  life  of  Han- 
7iibal,  and  The  Historij  of  Sir  IVilliam  Wallace.  Hanni- 
bal gave  my  young  ideas  such  a  turn,  that  I  used  to 
strut  in  raptures  up  and  down  after  the  recruiting 
drum  and  bag-pipe,  and  wish  myself  tall  enough  to  be  a 
soldier,  while  the  story  of  Wallace  poured  a  Scottish  pre- 
judice into  my  veins,  which  will  boil  along  there  till  the 
flood-gates  of  life  shut  in  eternal  rest. 

"  Polemical  divinity  about  this  time  was  putting  the 
country  half  mad,  and  I,  ambitious  of  shining  in  conver- 
sation parties  on  Sundays  between  sermons,  at  funerals, 
Sec.  used  a  few  years  afterwards  to  puzzle  Calvinism 
with  so  much  heat  and  indiscretion,  that  I  raised  a  hue 


xvi  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

and  cry  of  heresy  against  me,  which  has  not  ceased  to 
this  hotrr. 

"  My  vicinity  to  Ayr  \vas  of  some  advantage  to  me. 
My  social  disposition,  when  not  checked  by  some  'nodi- 
tication  of  spited  pride,  was  like  our  catechism  definition 
of  infinitude,  ivithout  bounds  or  limits.  I  formed  several 
connections  with  other  younkers  who  possessed  superior 
advantages  ;  the  ijoungling  actors  who  were  busy  in  the 
rehearsal  of  paits  in  which  they  were  shortly  to  appear 
on  the  stage  of  life,  where  alas  1  I  was  destined  to  drudge 
behind  the  scenes.  It  is  not  commonly  at  this  gjreen  age, 
that  our  young  gentry  have  a  just  sense  of  the  imvrense 
distance  between  them  and  their  ragged  play-fellows.  It 
takes  a  few  dashes  into  the  world,  to  give  the  young 
great  man  that  proper,  decent,  unnoticing  disregard  for 
the  poor,  insignificant  stupid  devils,  the  mechanics  and 
peasantry  around  him,  who  were  perhaps  born  in  the 
same  village.  My  young  superiors  never  insulted  the 
clouterly  appearance  of  my  plough-boy  carcase,  the  two 
extremes  of  which  were  often  exposed  to  all  the  incle- 
mencies of  all  the  seasons.  They  would  give  me  stray 
volumes  of  books  ;  among  them,  even  then,  I  could  pick 
up  some  observations,  and  one,  whose  heart  I  am  sure 
not  even  the  Munny  Begum  scenes  have  tainted,  helped 
me  to  a  little  French.  Parting  with  these  my  young 
friends  and  bene^ictors,  as  they  occasionally  went  off  for 
the  East  or  West  Indies,  was  often  to  me  a  sore  afflic- 
tion, but  I  was  soon  called  to  more  serious  evils.  My 
father's  generous  master  died  ;  the  farm  proved  a  ruin- 
ous bargain  ;  and  to  clench  the  misfortune,  we  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  factor,  who  sat  for  the  picture  I  have 
drawn  of  one  in  my  Tale  of  Twa  Dogs.  My  father  was 
advanced  in  life  when  he  married  ;  I  was  the  eldest  of 
seven  children,  and  he,  worn  out  by  early  hardships  was 
unfit  for  labour.  My  father's  spirit  was  soon  irritated, 
but  not  easily  broken.  There  was  a  freedom  in  his 
lease  in  two  years  more,  and  to  weather  these  two  years 
we  retrenched  our  expenses.  We  lived  very  poorly; 
I  was  a  dexterous  ploughman  for  my  age  ;  and  the  next 
eldest  to  me  was  a  brother  (Gilbert)  who  could  drive  the 
plough  very  well,  and  help  me   to  thrash  the  corn.     A 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xvii 

novel  writer  might  perhaps  have  viewed  these  scenes 
-with  some  satisfaction,  but  so  did  not  I ;  my  indignation 

yet  boils  at  the  recollection  of  the  s 1  factor*s  insolent 

threatening  letters,  which  used  to  set  us  all  in  tears. 
'••""This  kind  of  life. ..the  cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit, 
with  the  unceasing  moil  of  a  galley-slave,  brought  me 
to  my  sixteenth  year;  a  little  before  which  period  I  first 
committed  the  sin  of  Rhyme.  You  know  our  country 
custom  of  coupling  a  man  and  woman  together  as  part- 
ners in  the  labours  of  harvest.  In  my  fifteenth  autumn,  my 
partner  was  a  bewitching  creature,  a  year  younger  than 
myself.  My  scarcity  of  English  denies  me  the  power  of 
doing  her  justice  in  that  language,  but  you  know  the 
Scottish  idiom ;  she  was  a  bonnie  sweet  sofisie  lass.  In 
short,  she  altogether  unwittingly  to  herself,  initiated  me 
in  that  delicious  passion,  wliich  in  spite  of  acid  disap- 
pointment, gin-horse  prudence,  and  book-worm  philo- 
sophy, I  hold  to  be  the  first  of  human  joys,  our  dearest 
blessing  here  below  !  How  she  caught  the  contagion  I 
cannot  tell ;  you  medical  people  talk  much  of  infection 
from  breathing  the  same  air,  the  touch,  &c.  but  I  never 
expressly  said  I  lov'd  her Indeed  I  did  not  know  my- 
self why  I  liked  so  much  to  loiter  behind  with  her,  when 
returning  in  the  evening  from  our  labours  ;  jvhy  the 
tones  of  her  voice  made  my  heart-strings  thrill  like  an 
iEolian  harp ;  and  particularly  why  my  pulse  beat  suchafu- 
riousratan  when  I  looked  and  fingered  over  her  little  hand 
to  pick  out  the  cruel  nettle-stings  and  thistles.  Among 
her  other  love-inspiring  qualities,  she  sung  sweetly  :  and 
it  was  her  favourite  reel  to  which  I  attempted  giving  an 
embodied  vehicle  in  rhyme.  I  nas  not  so  presumptuous 
as  to  imagine  that  I  could  make  verses  like  printed  ones, 
composed  by  men  who  had  Greek  and  Latin;  but  my  girl 
sung  a  song  which  was  said  to  be  composed  by  a  small 
country  laird's  son,  on  one  of  his  father's  maids,  with  whom 
he  was  in  love ;  and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  might  not  rhyme 
as  well  as  he ;  for  excepting  that  he  could  smear  sheep,  and 
cast  peats,  his  father  living  in  the  Moorlands,  he  had  no 
more  scholar  craft  than  myself. 

"  Thus  with  me  began  love  and  poetry  :  which  at  times 
Ihave  been  my  only,  and  till  within  the  last  twelve  month.9> 
have  been  my  highest  enjoyment.  My  father  su*uggled  «n 


xviii  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

till  he  reached  the  freedom  in  his  lease,  when  he  entered  on 
a  larger  farm,  about  ten  miles  farther  in  the  country.  The 
nature  of  the  bargain  he  made,  was  such  as  to  throw  a  little 
ready  money  into  his  hands  at  the  commencement  of  his 
lease,  otherwise  the  affair  would  have  been  impracticable. 
For  four  years  we  lived  comfortably  here,  but  a  difference 
commencing  between  him  and  his  landlord  as  to  terms,  af- 
ter three  years  tossing  and  whirling  in  the  vortex  of  litiga- 
tion, my  father  was  just  saved  from  the  horrors  of  a  gaol, 
by  a  consumption,  which,  after  two  years  promises,  kindly 
stepped  in,  and  carried  him  away,  to  where  the  wicked  cease 
from  troubling^  and  ivhere  the  iveary  art  at  rest  ! 

"  It  is  during  the  time  that  we  lived  on  this  farm,  that 
my  little  story  is  most  eventful.  I  was,  at  the  beginning  of 
this  period,  perhaps,  the  most  ungainly  awkward  boy  in  the 
parish. ...no  solitaire  \f as  less  acquainted  with  the  ways  of 
the  world.  What  I  knew  of  ancient  story  was  gathered 
from  Sal mo7i's  -and  Gwi'//77e'.s' geographical  grammars  ;  arid 
the  ideas  I  had  formed  of  modern  manners,  of  literature 
and  criticism,  I  got  from  the  S/icctafor.  These,  with  Po/ie''s 
JVorks,  some  plays  of  Shakesf2care,  Tull  and  Dickson  on 
Agriculture^  the  Pantheon^  Lockc*s  Essay  on  the  Human 
Understandings  Stackhouse'^s  History  of  the  Bible^  Justice's 
British  Gardener''s  Directory,  Bayle^s  Lectures^  Mian 
Ramsay^s  M'orks,  Taylor^s  Scri/it7ire  Doctrine  of  Original 
Sin^  A  Select  Collection  of  English  Songs,  and  Harvey's 
Meditations,  had  formed  the  whole  of  my  reading.  The 
collection  of  Songs  was  my  vade  mecum.  I  pored  over 
them  driving  my  cart,  or  walking  to  labour,  song  iiy  song, 
verse  by  verse ;  carefully  noting  the  true,  tender  or  sub- 
lime, from  affectation  and  fustian.  I  am  convinced  I  owe 
:o  this  practice,  much  of  my  critic-craft  such  as  it  is. 
"  In  my  seventeenth  year,  to  give  my  manners  a  brush, 

I  went  to  a  countiy  dancing-school My  father  had  an 

unaccountable  antipathy  against  these  meetings,  and  my 
goiHg  was  what  to  this  moment  I  repent,  in  opposition  to 
his  wishes.  My  father,  as  I  said  before,  v/as  subject  ta 
strong  passions;  from  that  instance  of  disobedierice  ia 
me,  he  took  a  sort  of  dislike  to  me,  which  I  believe  was 
one  cause  of  the  dissipation  which  marked  niy  succeed- 
ing years.  I  say  dissipation,  comparatively  with  the 
"Strictness  and  sobriety,  and  regularity  of  a  Presbyterian 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xix 

country  life :  for  though  the  will-o-wisp  meteors  of 
thoughtless  whim  were  almost  the  sole  lights  of  my 
path,  yet  early  ingrained  piety  and  virtue,  kept  me  for 
several  years  afterwards  within  the  line  of  innocence. 
The  great  misfortune  of  my  life  was  to  want  an  aim.  I 
had  felt  early  some  stirrings  of  ambition,  but  they  were 
the  blind  gropings  of  Homer's  Cyclops  round  the  walls 
of  his  cave.  I  saw  my  father's  situation  entailed  on  me 
perpetual  labour.  The  only  two  openings  by  which  I 
could  enter  the  temple  of  fortune,  was  the  gate  of  nig- 
gardly economy,  or  the  path  of  little  chicaning  bargain- 
making.     The  first  is  so  contracted  an  aperture  I  never 

could  squeeze  myself  into  it the  last  I  always  hated,... 

there  was  contamination  in  the  very  entrance  1  Thus 
abandened  of  aim  or  view  in  life,  with  a  strong  appetite 
for  sociability,  as  well  from  native  hilarity,  as  from  a 
pride  of  observation  and  remark ;  a  constitutional  melan- 
choly or  hypochondriasm  that  made  me  fly  solitude  ;  add 
to  these  incentives  to  social  life,  my  reputation  for  book- 
ish knowledge,  a  certain  wild  logical  talent,  and  a  strength 
of  thought,  something  Vike  the  rudiments  of  good-sense, 
and  it  will  not  seem  surprising  that  I  was  generally  a 
welcome  guest  where  I  visited,  or  any  great  wonder  that 
always  where  two  or  three  met  together,  there  was  I 
an.ong  them.  But  far  Ijeyond  all  other  impulses  of  my 
heart,  was  un  Jienchunt  a  Vadorable  moitiee  du  genre  hu- 
mame.  My  heart  was  completely  tinder,  and  was  eter- 
nally lighted  up  by  some  goddess  or  other ;  and  as  in 
every  other  warfare  in  this  world,  my  fortune  was  vari- 
ous ;  sometimes  I  was  received  with  favour,  and  some* 
times  I  was  mortified  with  a  repulse.  At  the  plough, 
scythe,  or  retip-hook,  I  feared  no  competitor,  and  thus  I 
sei  absolute  want  at  defiance;  and  as  I  never  cared  far- 
ther for  my  labours  than  while  I  was  in  actual  exercise, 
I  spent  the  evenings  in  the  way  after  my  own  heart.  A 
country  lad  seldom  carries  on  a  love  adventure  without 
an  assistant  confidant.  I  possessed  a  curiosity,  zeal,  and 
intrepid  dexterity,  that  recommended  me  as  a  proper  se- 
cond on  these  occasions,  and  I  dare  say,  I  felt  as  much 
pleasure  in  being  in  the  secret  of  half  the  loves  of  the  pa- 
rish ol  Tarbolton,  as  ever  did  statesman  in  knowiusj  t!ie 
intrigues  of  half  the  courts  of  Europe. ...The  very  goose'- 


XX  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

feather  in  my  hand,  seems  to  know  instinctively  the  well- 
worn  path  of  my  imagination,  the  favourite  theme  of  my 
song ;  and  is  with  difficulty  restrained  from  giving  you  a 
couple  of  paragraphs  on  the  love-adventures  of  my  com- 
peers, the  humble  inmates  of  the  farm-house,  and  cot- 
tage: but  the  grave  sons  of  science,  ambition,  or  ava- 
rice, baptize  these  things  by  the  name  of  Follies.  To 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  labour  and  poverty  they  are 
matters  of  the  most  serious  nature  ;  to  them  the  ardent 
hope,  the  stolen  interview,  the  tender  farewell  are  the 
greatest  and  most  delicious  parts  of  their  enjoyments. 

"  Anether  circumstance  in  my  life  which  made  some 
alteration  in  my  mhid  and  manners,  was,  that  I  spent  my 
nineteenth  summer  on  a  smuggling  coast,  a  good  dis- 
tance from  home,  at  a  noted  school,  to  learn  mensura- 
tion, surveying,  dialling,  &c.  in  which  I  made  a  pretty 
good  progress.  But  I  made  a  greater  progress  in  the 
knowledge  of  mankind.  The  contraband  trade  was  at 
that  time  very  successful,  and  it  sometimes  happened  to 
me  to  fall  in  with  those  who  carried  it  on.  Scenes 
of  swaggering  riot  and  roaring  dissipation  were  till  this 
time  new  to  me,  but  I  was  no  enemy  to  social  life.  Here, 
though  I  learnt  to  fill  my  glass,  and  to  mix  without  fear  in 
a  drunken  squabble,  yet  I  went  on  with  a  high  hand  with 
my  geometry;  till  the  sun  entered  Virgo,  a  month  which 
is  always  a  carnival  in  my  bosom,  when  a  charming 7?/- 
iette  who  lived  next  door  to  the  school,  overset  my  trigo- 
nometry, and  set  me  off  at  a  tangent  from  the  sphere  of 
my  studies.  I  however  struggled  on  with  my  sines  and 
co-sines  for  a  few  days  more  ;  but  stepping  into  the  gar- 
den one  charming  noon  to  take  the  sun's  altitude,  there 
I  met  my  angel 

"  Like  Proserpine  gathering  flowers, 
"  Herself  a  fairer  flower. — 

<'  It  was  in  vain  to  think  of  doing  any  more  good  at 
school.  The  remaining  week  I  staid,  I  did  nothing  but 
cruze  the  faculties  of  my  soul  about  her,  or  steal  out  to 
meet  her  ;  and  the  two  last  nights  of  my  stay  in  the  coun- 
try, liad  sleep  been  «  mortal  sin,  the  image  of  this  modest 
and  innocent  girl  had  kept  me  guiltless. 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxi 

^'  I  returned  home  very  considerably  improved.  My 
reading:  was  enlarged  with  the  very  important  addition  of 
Thomson's  and  Shenstone's  Works  ;  I  iTad  seen  human 
nature  in  a  new  phasis  :  and  I  engaged  several  of  my 
school-fellows  to  keep  up  a  literary  correspondence  with 
me.  This  improved  me  in  composition.  I  had  i.et  with 
a  collection  of  letters  by  the  wits  of  Queen  Anne's  reign, 
and  I  pored  over  them  most  devoutly.  I  kept  copies 
of  any  of  my  own  letters  that  pleased  me,  and  .i  compari- 
son between  them  and  the  composition  of  m^vt  of  my 
correspondents,  flattered  my  vanity.  I  carried  tiiis  whim 
so  far,  that  though  I  had  not  three  farthings  worth  of  bu- 
siness in  the  world,  yet  almost  every  post  brought  me  as 
many  letters  as  if  I  had  been  a  broad  plodding  son  of  day- 
book and  ledger. 

"  My  life  flowed  on  much  in  the  same  course  till  my 
twenty-third  year.  Vive  l^amour,  ei  vive  la  bagatelle^  were 
my  sole  principles  of  action.  The  addition  of  two  more 
authors  to  my  library  gave  me  great  pleasure  ;  Sterne  and 
M'-Kenzic...  Tristram  Shandy  and  the  Man  of  Feeling  were 
my  bosom  favourites.. ..Poesy  v/as  still  a  darling  walk  for 
my  mind,  but  it  was  only  indulged  in  accordi)>g  to  the 
humour  of  the  hour.  I  had  usually  half  a  dozen  or  more 
pieces  on  hand ;  I  took  up  one  or  other  as  it  suited 
the  momentary  tone  of  the  mind,  and  dismissed  the  work 
as  it  bordered  on  fatigue.  My  passions,  when  once  light- 
ed up,  raged  like  so  many  devils,  till  they  got  vent  in 
rhyme  ;  and  then  the  conning  over  my  verses,  like  a  spell, 
soothed  all  into  quiet !  None  of  the  rhymes  of  those  days 
are  in  print,  except,  JVinter,  a  Dirgc^  the  eldest  of  my 
printed  pieces,  The  Death  of  poor  Mailliv^John  Barleycorn^ 
and  songs  first,  second,  and  third.  Song  second  was  the 
ebullition  of  that  passion  which  ended  the  forementioned 
school-business. 

"  My  twenty-third  year  was  to  me  an  important  sera. 
Partly  through  whim,  and  partly  that  I  wished  to  set 
about  doing  something  in  life,  I  joined  a  flax-dresser  in 

a  neighbouring  town,  (Irvin)  to  learn  his  trade This 

was  an  unlucky  affair.       My  *  *  * 

and  to  finish  the  whole,  as  we  were  giving  a  welcoming- 
carousal  to  the  new  year,  the  shop  took  fire  and  burnt 


xJrii  THE  LtFE  OF  BURNS. 

to  ashes,  and  I  was  left  like  a  true  poet,  not  worth  a  six- 
pence. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  give  up  this  scheme  ;  the  clouds 
of  misfortune  were  gathering  thick  round  my  father's 
head ;  and  what  was  worst  of  all,  he  was  visibly  far  gone 
in  a  consumption  :  and  to  crown  my  distresses,  a  belle 
Jille^  whom  I  adored,  and  who  had  pledged  her  soul  to 
meet  me  in  the  field  of  matrimony,  jilted  me,  with  pecu- 
liar circumstances  of  mortification.  The  finishing  evil 
that  brouQ:ht  up  the  rear  of  this  infernal  file,  was  my  con- 
stitutional melancholy  being  increased  to  such  a  degree, 
that  for  three  months,  I  was  in  a  state  of  mind  scarcely 
to  be  envied  by  the  hopeless  wretches  who  have  t^ot  their 
mittimus dejiart  from  me^  ye  cursed, 

"  From  this  adventure  I  learned  something  of  a  toviii 
life  ;  but  the  principal  thing  which  gave  my  mind  a  turn, 
was  a  friendship  I  formed  with  a  young  fellow,  a  very 
noble  character,  but  a  hapless  son  of  misfortune.  He 
was  the  son  of  a  simple  mechanic  ;  but  a  great  man  in 
the  neighbourhood  taking  him  under  his  patronage,  gave 
him  a  genteel  education,  with  a  view  of  bettering  his  si- 
tuation in  life.  The  patron  dying  just  as  he  was  ready  to 
launch  out  into  the  world,  the  poor  fellow  in  despair  went 
to  sea;  where  after  a  variety  of  jj^ood  and  ill  fortune, 
a  little  before  I  was  acquainted  with  him,  he  had  been 
set  ashore  by  an  American  privateer,  on  the  wild 
coast  of  Connaught,  stripped  of  every  thing.  I  cannot 
quit  this  poor  fellow's  story  without  adding,  that  he  is  at 
this  time  master  of  a  large  West-Indiaman  belonging  to 
the  Thames. 

"  His  mind  v/as  fraught  with  independence,  magnani- 
mity, and  every  manly  virtue.  I  loved  and  admired  him 
to  a  degree  of  enthusiasm,  and  of  course  strove  to  imi- 
tate him.  In  some  measure  I  succeeded  :  I  had  pride 
before,  but  he  taught  it  to  flow  in  proper  channels.  Hi» 
knowledge  of  the  world  was  vastly  superior  to  mine,  and 
I  was  all  attention  to  learn.  He  was  the  only  man  I  ever 
saw,  who  was  a  greater  fool  than  myself,  where  woman 
was  the  presiding  star;  but  he  spoke  of  illicit  love  with 
the  levity  of  a  sailor,  which  hitherto  I  had  regarded  with 
hprror.     Here  his  friendship  did  me  a  mischief,  and  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxiii 

consequence  was,  that  soon  after  I  resumed  the  plough,  I 
wrote  the  Poet's  Welcome.*  My  readmg  only  increased 
while  in  this  town  by  two  stray  volumes  of  Pamela^  and 
one  of  Ferdinand  Count  Fathom^  which  gave  me  some 
idea  of  novels.  Rhyme,  except  some  religious  pieces  that 
are  in  print,  I  had  given  up ;  but  meeting  with  Ferguson's 
Scottish  Poeinsf  I  strung  a-new  my  wildly-sounding  lyre 
with  emulating  vigour.  When  my  father  died,  his  all 
went  among  the  hell-hounds  that  growl  in  the  kennel  of 
justice  ;  but  we  made  a  shift  to  collect  a  little  money 
in  the  family  amongst  us,  with  which,  to  keep  us  together, 
my  brother  and  I  took  a  neighbouring  farm.  My  brother 
wanted  my  hair-brained  imagination,  as  well  as  my  social 
and  amorous  madness ;  but  in  good  sense,  and  every  so- 
ber qualification,  he  was  far  my  superior. 

"  I  entered  on  this  farm  with  a  full  resolution,  com<?,5>-o 
to,  Ii'oillbe  wise  1 1  read  farming  books,  I  calculated  crops ; 
I  attended  markets;  and  in  short,  in  spite  of  the  devil, 
and  the  world,  and  thejlesh,  I  believe  I  should  have  been 
a  wise  man  ;  but  the  first  year,  from  unfortunately  buying 
bad  seed,  the  second  from  a  late  harvest,  we  lost  half  our 
crops.  This  overset  all  my  wisdom,  and  I  returned,  like 
the  dog  to  his  vomit,  and  the  sow  that  was  washed,  to  her 
wallowing  in  the  mire. 

"  I  now  began  to  be  known  in  the  neighbourhood  as  a 
maker  of  rhymes.  The  first  of  my  poetic  offspring  that 
saw  the  light,  was  a  burlesque  lamentation  on  a  quarrel 
between  two  reverend  Calvinists,  both  of  them  dramatis 
fiersonoe  in  my  Holy  Fair.  I  had  a  notion  myself  that  the 
piece  had  some  merit;  but  to  prevent  the  worst,  I  gave 
a  copy  of  it  to  a  friend  who  was  very  fond  of  such  things, 
and  told  him  that  I  couid  not  guess  who  was  the  authorof  it, 
but  that  I  thought  it  pretty  clever.  With  a  certain  des- 
cription of  the  clergy,  as  well  as  laity,  it  met  with  a  roar 
of  applause.  Holy  J r///zVs  Proz/cr  next  made  its  appear- 
ance, and  alarmed  the  kirk-session  so  much,  that  they 
held  several  meetings,  to  look  over  their  spiritual  artille- 
ry, if  haply  any  of  it  might  be  pointed  against  profane 
rhymers.  Unluckily  for  me,  my  wanderings  led  me  on 
^mother  side,  within  point  blank  shot  of  their  heaviest 

*  Jtob  tJtfi  lifanner's  Welcome  to  his  bastard  child. 


xxiv  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

metal.  This  is  the  unfortunate  story  that  gave  rise  to  my 
printed  poem,  the  Lament.. 'Y\i\%  was  a  most  melancholy  af- 
fair, which  I  cannot  yet  bear  to  reflect  on,  and  had  very 
nearly  given  me  one  or  two  of  the  principal  qualifications 
for  a  place  among  those  who  have  lost  the  chart,  and  mis- 
taken the  reckoning  of  Rationality.  I  gave  up  my  part 
of  the  farm  to  my  brother;  in  truth  it  was  onlynominall) 
mine  ;  and  made  what  little  preparation  was  in  my  power 
for  Jamaica.  But,  before  leaving  my  native  country  for 
ever,  I  resolved  to  publish  my  poems.  I  weighed  my 
productions  as  impartially  as  was  in  my  power ;  I  thought 
they  had  merit,  and  it  was  a  delicious  idea  that  I  should 
be  called  a  clever  fellow,  even  though  it  should  never 
reach  my  ears.. .a  poor  negro  driver.. .or  perhaps  a  victim 
to  that  inhospitable  clime,  and  gone  to  the  world  of  spi- 
rits !  I  can  truly  say,  that  pauvre  inconnu  as  I  then  was,  I 
had  pretty  nearly  as  high  an  idea  of  myself  and  of  my  works, 
as  I  have  at  this  moment,  when  the  public  has  decided  in 
their  favour.  It  ever  was  my  opinion,  that  the  mistakes 
and  blunders  both  in  a  rational  and  religious  point  of  view, 
of  which  we  see  thousands  daily  guilty,  are  owing  to  their 

ignorance  of  themselves To  know  myself  had  been 

all  along  my  constant  study.  I  weighed  myself  alone ; 
Irbalanccd  myself  with  others  ;  I  watched  every  means  of 
information,  to  see  how  much  ground  I  occupied  as  a 
man  and  as  a  poet:  I  studied  assiduously  nature's  design 
in  my  formation ;  where  the  lights  and  shades  in  my  cha- 
racter were  intended.  I  was  pretty  confident  my  poems 
would  meet  with  some  applause  ;  but  at  the  worst,  the 
roar  of  the  Atlantic  would  deafen  the  voice  of  censure, 
and  the  novelty  of  West-Indian  scenes  make  me  forget 
neglect.  I  threw  off  six  hundred  copies,  of  which  I  had 
got  subscriptions  for  about  three  hundred  and  fifty.  My 
vanity  was  highly  gratified  by  the  reception  I  met  with 
from  the  public  ;  and  besides,  I  pocketed,  all  expenses 
deducted,  nearly  twenty  pounds.  This  sum  came  very 
seasonably,  as  I  was  thinking  of  indenting  myself,  for  want 
of  money  lo  procure  my  passage.  As  soon  as  I  was  mas- 
ter of  nine  guineas,  the  price  of  wafting  me  to  the  torrid 
zone,  I  took  a  steerage  passage  in  the  fii'st  ship  that  was 
to  sail  from  the  Clyde,  for, 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxv 


"  Hungry  ruin  had  me  in  the  wind, 

I  had  been  for  some  days  skulking  from  covert  to  covert, 
under  all  the  terrors  of  a  jail ;  as  some  ill-advised  people 
had  uncoupled  the  merciless  pack  of  the  law  at  my  heels. 
I  had  taken  the  last  farewell  of  my  few  friends ;  my  chest 
was  on  the  road  to  Greenock,  I  had  composed  the  last 
song  I  should  ever  m.easure  in  Caledonia,  The  gloomy 
night  is  gathering  fast  y  when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Blacklock 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  overthrew  all  my  schemes,  by  open- 
ing new  prospects  to  my  poetic  ambition.  The  doctor 
belonged  to  a  set  of  critics,  for  whose  applause  I  had  not 
dared  to  hope.  His  opflnion,  tl^at  I  would  meet  with  en- 
couragement in  Edinburgh  for  a  second  edition,  fii^dme 
so  much,  that  away  I  posted  for  that  city,  without  a  sin- 
gle acquaintance,  or  a  single  letter  of  introduction.  The 
baneful  star  that  had  so  long  shed  its  blasting  influence 
in  my  zenith,  for  once  made  a  revolution  to  the  Nadir ; 
and  a  kind  providence  placed  me  under  the  patronage  of 
one  of  the  noblest  of  men,  the  Earl  of  Glencairn.  Oublie 
moiy  grand  Vieu,  d  jamais  je  V oublie  ! 

"  I  need  relate  no  farther.  .At  Edinburgh  I  was  in  a 
new  M^orld ;  I  mingled  among  many  classes  of  men,  but 
all  of  them  new  to  me,  and  I  v/as  all  attention  to  catchxhQ 
<:haracters  and  the  7na7niers  living  as  they  rise.  Whether 
I  have  profited  time  will  shew. 


'^ 


"  My  most  ixispectfiri  compliments  to  Miss  W.  Her 
very  elegant  and  friendly  letter  I  cannot  answer  at  pre- 
sent, as  my  presence  is  requisite  in  Edinburgh,  and  I  set 
out  to-morrow.* 

"  R.  BURNS." 

*  There  are  various  ^copies  of  this  letter,  in  the  author's  hand- 
writing- ;  and  one  ol' these,  evidently  corrected,  is  in  the  book  in 
which  lie  had  copied  several  of  his  letters.  This  has  bec!i  used 
for  the  prcsi^  with  some  omissions,  and  one  3^igbt  alteration  sug"- 
gestcd  by  Gilbert  15 urns. 


xxvi  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

At  the  period  of  our  poet's  death,  his  brother,  Gilbert 
Burns,  was  ignorant  that  he  had  himself  written  the  fore- 
going narrative  of  his  life  while  in  Ayrshire  ;  and  having 
been  applied  to  by  Mrs.  Dunlop  for  some  memoirs  of  his 
brother,  he  complied  with  her  request  in  a  letter,  from 
which  the  following  narrative  i-s  chiefly  extracted.  When 
Gilbert  Burns  afterwards  saw  the  letter  of  our  poet  to  Dr. 
Moore,  he  made  some  annotations  upon  it,  which  shall  be 
noticed  as  we  proceed. 

Robert  Burns  was  bora  on  the  29th  day  of  January, 
1759,  in  a  small  house  about  two  miles  from  the  town  of 
Ayr,  and  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  Alloway  Church, 
which  his  poem  of  Tarn  o^Shanfcr  has  rendered  immor- 
tal*. The  name  which  the  poet  and  his  brother  moder- 
nized into  Burns,  was  ©riginally  Burnes  or  Burness. 
Their  father,  William  Burnes,  was  the  son  of  a  farmer 
in  Kincardineshyre,  and  had  received  the  education  com- 
mon in  Scotland  to  perso'hs  in  his  condition  of  life  ;  he 
could  read  and  write,  and  had  some  knowledge  of  arith- 
metic. Ilis  family  having  fallen  into  reduced  circum- 
stances, he  was  compelled  to  leave  his  home  in  his  nine- 
teenth year,  and  turn  his  steps  towards  the  south,  in 
quest  of  a  livelihood.  The  same  necessity  attended  his 
elder  brother  Robert.  "  i  have  ofter  heard  my  father," 
says  Gilbert  Burns,  in  his  letter  to  iVi.s.  DunlCp,  "  des- 
cribe the  anguish  of  mind  he  felt  when  they  parted  on 
the  top  of  a  hill,  on  the  confines  of  their  native  place, 
each  going  off  his  several  way  in  search  of  new  ad- 
ventures, and  scarcely  knowing  whither  he  went.  My 
father  undertook  to  act  as  a  gardeeer,  and  shaped  his 
course  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  wrought  hard  when  he 
could  get  work,  passing  through  a  variety  of  difficulties* 
Still  however  he  endeavoured  to  spare  somethinglbr  the 
support  of  his  aged  parent,  and  I  recollect  hearing  him 
mention  his  having  sent  a  bank-note  for  this  purpose, 
when  money  of  that  kind  was  so  scarce  in  Kincardine-- 
shire,  that  they  scarcely  knew  how  to  employ  it  when  itar- 

• 

*  Tills  house  is  on  the  rig-ht  hand  sidS*of  the  road  from  Ayr  to 
May -bolt,  which  forms  apart  of  the  road  from  Glasgow  to  Port- 
Patrick.  When  tiie  poet's  father  afterwards  removed  to  Tarbol- 
ton  parish,  he  soid^his  iease-iiold  riglit  in  this  hoii.<^  and  a  few 
acrts  of  land  adjoining,  to  the  corporation  of  shoemakers  in  Ayr. 
It  is  now  a  country  ale-house. 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxvii 

rfived.'*  From  Edinburgh  William  Burnes  passed  west- 
Avard  into  the  county  of  Ayi',  where  he  engaged  himself 
as  a  gardener  to  the  laird  of  Fairly,  with  whom  he  lived 
two  years,  then  changing  his  service  for  that  of  Craw- 
ford of  Doonside.  At  length  being  desirous  of  settling 
in  life,  he  took  a  perpetual  lease  of  seven  acres  of  land 
from  Dr.  CamplTbll,  physician  iii  Ayr,  with  the  view  of 
commencing;  nursery  man  and  public  gardener;  and  hav- 
ing built  a  house  upon  it  with  his  own  hands,  married  in 
13eccmber,  1757,  Agnes,  Brown,  the  mother  of  our  poet, 
who  still  survives.  The  first  fruit  of  this  marriage  was 
Robert,  the  subject  of  these  memoirs,  born  on  the  29th 
of  January,  1759,  as  has  already  been  mentioned.  Before 
William  Buraes  had  made  much  progress  in  preparing 
his  nursery,  he  was  withdrawn  from  that  undertaking  by 
Mr.  Ferguson,  who  purchased  the  estate  of  Doonholm, 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  and  engaged  him  as  his 
gardener  and  overseer  ;  and  this  was  his  situation  when  our 
poet  w^s  born.  Though  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Ferguson,  he 
lived  in  his  own  house,  his  wife  managing  her  family  and 
her  liKle  dairy,  which  consisted  sometimes  of  two,  some- 
times of  three  milch  cows  ;  and  this  state  of  unambitious 
content  continued  till  the  year  1766..  His  son  Robert  was 
sent  by  him  in  his  sixth  year  to  a  school  at  AUoway  Miln, 
about  a  mile  distant,  taught  by  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Campbell ;  but  this  teacher  being  in  a  few  months  appointed 
master  of  the  workhouse  at  Ayr,  William  Burnes,  in  con- 
juTictidn  with  some  other  heads  of  families,  engaged  John. 
'Murdoch  in  his  stead.  The  education  of  our  poet,  and 
his  brother  Gilbert  was  in  common,  and  of  their  profici- 
ency under  Mr.  Murdoch,  we  have the-following account: 
"  With  him  we  learnt  to  read  English  tolerably  well,* 
and  to  write  a  little.  He  taught  us  too  the  Englisli 
grammar.  I  was  too  young. to  profit  much  by  his  lessons 
in  grammar,  but  Robert  made  some  proficiency  in  it,  a 
circumstance  of  considerable  weight  in  the  unfolding  of  his 
genius  and  character  ;  as  he  soon  became  remarkable  for 
thcfluency  and  correctness  of  his  expression,  and  read 
the  few  books  that  came  in  his  way  with  much  pleasure 
and  improveme*nt;  for  even  then  he  was  a  reader  when 
-  % 
*  Letter  from  Gilbert  Burirslo  Mrs,  Dunlop. 


xxviii  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

he  could  get  a  book.  Murdoch,  whose  library  at  that  time^ 
had  no  great  variety  in  it,  lent  him  Tlie  Life  of  Haniiibal^ 
which  was  the  first  book  he  read,  (the  school-books  ex- 
cepted) and  almost  the  only  one  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
reading  while  he  was  at  school  ;  for  The  Life  of  Wallace^ 
which  he  classes  with  it  in  one  of  his  letters  to  you,  he 
did  not  see  for  some  years  afterwards,  vriien  he  borrowed 
it  from  the  blacksmith  who  shod  our  horses.'* 

It  appears  that  William  Burnes  approved  himself 
greatly  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Ferguson,  by  his  intelli- 
gence, industry,  and  integrity.  In  consequence  of  this, 
with  a  view  of  promoting  his  interest,  Mr.  Ferguson 
leased  him  a  farm,  of  which  we  have  the  following  ac- 
count. .^ 

"  The  farm  was  upwards  of  seventy  acres,*  (between 
eighty  aitd  ninety  English  statute  measure)  the  rent  of 
which  was  to  be  forty  pounds  annually  for  the  first  six  years, 
and  afterwards  forty-five  pounds.  My  father  eTideavour- 
ed  to  sell  his  leasehold  property  forth75  purpose  of  stock- 
ing his  farm,  but  at  that  time  was  unable,  and  IVfr.  Fer- 
guson lent  him  a  hundred  pounds  for  that  purpose,  'He 
re ;>.oved  to  his  new  situation  at  Whitsuntide  1766.  It 
was  I  think  not  above  two  years  after  this  that  Murdoch, 
our  tutor  and  friend,  left  this  part  of  the  country,  and 
there  being  no  school  near  us,  and  our  little  services 
being  useful  on  the  farm,  my  father  undertook  to  teach 
us  arithmetic  in  the  winter  evenings  by  candle  light,  and 
in  this  way  my  two  elder  sisters  got  ail  the  education  th«y 
received.  I  remember  a  circumstance  that  happened  at" 
this  time,  which,  though  trifling  in  itself,  is  fresh  in  my 
memory,  and  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  early  character  of 
my  brother.  Murdoch  came  to  spend  a  night  with  us, 
and  to  take  his  leave  when  he  was  about  to  go  into  Car- 
rick.  He  brought  us  as  a  present  and  memorial  of  him, 
a  small  compendium  of  English  Grammar,  and  the  trage- 
dy of  Titus  Androriicus^  and  by  way  of  passing  the  even- 
ing he  began  to  read  the  play  aloud.  We  were  all  atten- 
tion for  some  time,  till  presently  the  whole  party  \vas 
dissolved  in  tears.  A  female  in  the  play  (I  have  but  a 
confused  remembrance  of  it)  had  her  hancls  chopt  off,  and 

•  The  name  of  this  farm  is  ^louut-Oliphant,  in  Ayr  parish. 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxU 

liei*  tongue  cut  out,  and  then  was  insultingly  <lesired  to 
call  for  water  to  wash  her  hands.  At  this,  in  an  agony 
of  distress,  we  with  one  voice  desired  he  would  read  no 
more.  My  father  observed,  that  if  we  would  not  hear  itj  ; 
it  would  be  needless  to  leave  the  play  with  us.  Robert 
replied,  that  if  it  was  left  he  would  burn  it.  My  father 
was  going  to  chide  him  for  his  ungrateful  return  to  his 
tutor's  kindness;  but  Murdoch  interfered,  declaring  that 
he  liked  to  see  so  much  sensibility  ;  and  he  left  The 
School  for  Lovcy  a  comedy  (translated  I  think  from  the 
French)  in  its  place*." 

"  Nothing,"  contiiuies  Gilbert  Burns,  "  could  be  more 
retired  than  our  general  manner  of  living  at  Loan-house; 
we  rarely  saw  any  body  but  the  members  of  our  own  fa- 
mily. There  were  no  boys  of  our  own  age,  or  near  it 
in  the  neighbourhood.  Indeed  the  greatest  part  of  the 
land  in  the  vicinity,  was  at  that  time  possessed  by  shop- 
kcepers,  and  people  of  that  stamp,  who  had  retired  froni 
business,  or  who  kept  their  farm  in  the  country  at  the 
same  time  that  they  followed  business  in  town.  Ivly 
father  was  for  some  time,  almost  the  only  companion  we 
had.  He  conversed  familiarly  on  all  subjects  with  us  as 
if  we  had  been  men,  and  was  at  great  pains  while  we  ac- 

*  It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  poet  was  only  jilne  years  of 
age,  and  the  relator  of  this  incident  under  eight,  at  the  time  it 
happene<l.  Tiie  effect  was  ver'y  natural  in  children  of  sensibility 
at  tlieir  age.  At  a  more  mature  period  of  the  judgment,  such  ab- 
su'*d  representations  are  calculated  rather  to  produce  disg-ust  or 
laughter  than  tears.  The  scene  to  which  Gilbert  Burns  alludes, 
opens  thus : 


I'itio  Andronicxts,  Act  II.  scene  5. 

Elite)-  Domemus  a?ifi  Chiron,  ivith  Lavinia  ravished,  her  hands  ctti 
off,  and  her  tongue  cut  out. 

Why  is  this  silly  play  still  printed  as  Shakespeare's,  against  th(3 
opinion  of  all  the  best  critics  ?  The  bard  of  Avoii  was  guilty  of 
many  extravagancies,  but  he  always  performed  what  he  intended 
to  perform.  That  he  ever  excited  in  a  British  mind,  (for  the 
French  critics  must  be  set  aside)  disgust  or  ridicule,  wliere  he 
meant  to  have  awakened  pity  or  horror,  is  what  will  not  be  impu-- 
ted  to  tliat  master  of  the  passions. 

G  2 


XXX  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

companied  him  in  the  labours  of  the  farm,  to  lead  the 
conversation  to  such  subjects  as  might  tend  to  increase 
our  knowledge,  or  confirm  us  in  virtuous  habits.  He 
borrowed  Salmo7i*s  Geograjihical  Grammar  for  us,  and  en- 
deavoured to  make  us  acquainted  with  the  situation  and 
history  of  the  different  countries  in  the  world  ;  while  from 
a  book  society  in  Ayr,  he  procured  for  us  the  reading  of 
DerhawLS  Physico  and  Astro-Theology  .^  and  Ray^s  Wisdom  of 
God  in  the  Creation^  to  give  us  some  idea  of  astronomy 
and  natural  history.  Robert  read  all  these  books  with  an 
avidity  and  industry  scarcely  to  be  equalled.  My  father 
had  been  a  subscriber  to  Stackhouse^s  History  of  the  Biblcy, 
then  lately  published  by  James  Meuros  in  Kilmarnock  j 
from  this  Robert  collected  a  competent  knowledge  of  an- 
cient history  :  for  no  book  was  so  voluminous  as  to  slack- 
en his  industry,  or  so  antiquated  as  to  damp  his  resear- 
ches. A  brother  of  my  mother  who  had  lived  with  us 
some  time,  and  had  learnt  some  arithmetic  by  our  win- 
ter evening's  candle,  went  into  a  bookseller's  shop  in 
Ayr,  to  purchase  The  Ready  Reckoner .^  or  Tradesman's 
Sure  Guide^wwiX  a  book  to  teach  him  to  write  letters.  Luc- 
kily, in  place  of  The  Comfilete  Letter-Writer^  he  got  by 
mistake  a  small  collection  of  Letters  by  the  most  emi- 
nent writers,  with  a  few  sensible  directions  for  attain- 
ing an  easy  epistolary  stile.  This  book  was  to  Robert  of 
the  greatest  consequence.  It  inspired  him  with  a  strong 
desire  to  excel  in  letter-writing,  while  it  furnished  him 
with  models  by  some  of  the  first  writers  in  our  lan- 
guage. 

"  My  brother  v»?as  about  thirteen  or  fourteen,  when  my 
father,  regretting  that  we  wrote  so  ill,  sent  us  week  about 
during  a  sum.::er  quarter,  to  the  parish  school  of  Dal- 
rymple,  which,  though  between  two  and  three  miles  dis- 
tant, was  the  nearest  to  us,  that  we  might  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  remedying  this  defect.  About  this  time  a  book- 
ish acquaintance  of  my  lather's  procured  us  a  reading  of 
two  volumes  of  Richardson's  Piincla^  which  was  the  first 
novel  we  read,  and  the  only  part  of  Richardson's  works 
my  brother  was  acquainted  with  till  towards  the  period  of 
his  commencing  author.  Till  that  time  too  he  remained 
unacquainted  v/ith  Fielding,  with  Smollet(two  volumes  of 
JFerdinand  Count  Fathom^  and  t\f0  volumes  oi  Fertgrine 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxxi 

Fickle  excepted)  with  Hume,  with  Robertson,  and  almost 
all  our  authors  of  eminence  of  the  latter  times.  I  recol- 
lect indeed  my  father  borrowed  a  volume  of  English  his- 
tory from  Mr.  Hamilton  of  Bourtreehill's  gardener.  It 
treated  of  the  reign  of  James  the  first,  and  his  unfortunate 
son  Charles,  but  I  do  not  know  who  was  the  author,  all, 
that  I  remember  of  it  is  something  of  Charles'«<  conversa- 
tion with  his  children.  About  this  time  Murdoch,  our 
former  teacher,  after  having  been  in  different  places,  in 
the  country,  and  having  taught  a  school  some  time  in 
Dumfries,  came  to  be  the  established  teacher  of  the  En- 
glish language  in  Ayr,  a  circumstance  of  considerable 
consequence  to  us.  The  remembrance  of  my  father's 
former  friendship,  and  his  attachment  to  my  brother, 
made  him  do  every  thing  in  his  power  for  our  improve- 
ment He  sent  us  Pope's  Works,  and  some  other  poe- 
try, the  first  that  we  had  an  opportunity  of  reading,  ex- 
cepting what  is  contained  in  The  English  Collection^  and 
in  the  volume  of  The  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  1772; 
excepting  also  those  excellent  new  songs  that  are  hawked 
about  the  country  in  baskets,  or  exposed  on  stalls  in  the 
streets. 

"  The  summer  after  we  had  been  at  Dajrymple  school, 
•my  father  sent  Robert  to  Ayr  to  revise  his  English  gram- 
mar, with  his  former  teacher.  He  had  been  there  only 
one  week,  when  he  was  obliged  to  return,  to  assist  at  the 
harvest.  When  the  harvest  was  over,  he  went  back  to 
school,  where  he  remained  two  weeks  ;  and  this  com- 
pletes the  account  of  his  school  education,  excepting  one 
summer  quarter  some  time  afterwards,  that  he  attended 
with  the  parish  school  of  Kirkoswalds  (where  he  lived 
with  a  brother  of  my  mother's)  to  learn  surveying. 

**  During  the  two  last  weeks  that  he  was  with  Mur- 
doch, he  himself  was  engaged  in  learning  French,  and 
he  communicated  the  instructions  he  received  to  my 
brother,  who  when  he  returned,  brought  home  with  him 
a  French  dictionary  and  gramaiar,  and  the  Adventures  of 
Telemachus  in  the  original.  In  a  little  while,  by  the  as- 
sistance of  these  books,  he  had  acquired  such  a  know- 
ledge of  the  language,  as  to  read  and  understand  any 
French  avuhor  in  prose.  This  was  considered  as  a  sort 
of  prodigy,  and  through  the  medium  of  Murdoch,  procu- 


xxxii  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

red  him  the  acquaintance  of  several  lads  in  Ayr,  wlio 
were  at  that  time  gabbling  French,  and  the  notice  of  some 
families,  particularly  that  of  Dr.  Malcolm,  where  a  know- 
ledge of  French  was  a  recommendation. 

"  Observing  the  facility  with  which  he  had  ac(|uired 
the  French  language,  Mr.  Robinson,  the  established  wri- 
ting-master in  Ayr,  and  Mr.  Murdoch's  particular  friend, 
having  himself  acqtiired  a  considerable  knowledge  of  the 
Latin  language  by  his  own  industry,  witliout  ever  having 
learnt  it  at  school,  advised  Robert  to  make  the  same  at- 
tempt, promising  him  every  assistance  in  his  power. 
Agreeably  to  this  advice,  he  purchased  The  Rudiments  of 
the  Latin  Tongue^  but  finding  this  study  dry  and  uninte- 
resting, it  was  quickly  laid  aside.  He  frequently  return- 
ed to  his  Rudiments  on  any  little  chagrin  or  disappoint- 
ment, particularly  in  his  love  affairs  :  but  the  Latin  sel- 
dom predominated  more  than  a  day  or  two  at  a  time,  or 
a  week  at  most.  Observing  himself  the  ridicule  that 
would  attach  to  this  sort  of  conduct  if  it  were  known,  he 
made  two  or  three  humourous  stanzas  on  the  subject, 
which  I  cannot  now  recollect,  but  they  all  ended, 

"  So  1  7/  to  my  Latin  again. 

*'  Thus  you  see,  Mr.  Murdoch  was  a  prhicipal  means 
of  my  brother's  i;i  provement.  Worthy  manl  though 
foreign  to  my  present  purpose,  I  cannot  take  leave  of 
him  without  tracing  his  future  history.  He  continued  for 
some  years  a  respected  and  useful  teacher  at  Ayr,  till 
one  evening  that  he  had  been  overtaken  in  liquor,  he 
happened  to  speak  somewhat  disrespectfully  of  Dr.  Dal- 
rymple,  the  parish  minister,  who  had  not  paid  him  that 
attention  to  which  he  thought  himself  entitled.  In  Ayr 
he  might  as  well  have  spoken  blasphemy.  He  found  it 
proper  to  give  up  his  appointment.  He  went  to  London, 
where  he  still  lives,  a  private  teacher  of  the  French. 
He  has  been  a  considerable  time  married,  and  keeps  a 
shop  of  stationary  wares. 

"  The  father  of  Dr.  Puterson,  now  a  physician  at  Ayr, 
was  I  believe  a  native  of  Aberdeenshire,  and  was  one  of 
the  established  teachers  in  Ayr  v/hen  my  father  settled 
in  the  neighbaurhood.  He  early  recognised  my  father  as^  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  BTJRNS.  xxxiii 

fellow-native  of  the  north  of  Scotland,  and  a  ce»(aii\  degre'e 
of  intimacy  subsisted  between  them  during  Mr.  Pater- 
son's  life.  After  his  death,  bis  widow,  who  is  a  very- 
genteel  woman,  and  of  great  worth,  delighted  in  doyig 
what  she  thought  her  husband  would  have  wished  t6  have 
done,  and  assiduously  kept  up  her  attentions  to  all  his  ac- 
quaintance! She  kept  alive  the  intimacy  witli  our  family, 
by  frequently  inviting  my  father  and  mother  to  her  house 
on  Sundays,  when  sh^  met  them  at  church.  . 

"  When  she  came  to  know  my  brother's  passion  for 
books,  she  kindly  offered  us  the  use  of  her  husband's  li* 
brary,  and  from  her  we  got  the  Sfiectator^  Pofie^s  Trans- 
lation of  Homer  J  and  several  other  books  that  were  of 
use  to  us.  Mount  Oliphant,  the  farm  my  father  posses- 
sed in  the  parish  of  Ayr,  is  almost  the  very  poorest  soil  I 
know  of  in  a  state  of  cultivation.  A  stronger  proof  of 
this  I  cannot  give,  than  that,  notwithstanding  the  extra- 
ordinary rise  in  the  value  of  lands  in  Scotland,  it  was,  af- 
ter a  considerable  sum  laid  out  in  improving  it  by  the 
proprietor,  let,  a  few  years  ago,  five  pounds  per  annutti 
lower  than  the  rent  paid  for  it  by  my  father  thirty  years 
ago.  My  father  in  consequence  of  this  soon  came  into 
difficulties,*which  were  increased  by  the  loss  of  several  of 

his  cattle  by  accidents  and  disease To  the  buffetings  of 

misfortune,  we  could  only  oppose  hard  labour  and  the  most 
rigid  economy.  We  lived  very  sparingly.  For  several 
years  butcher's  meat  was  a  stranger  in  the  house,  while 
all  the  members  of  the  family  exerted  themselves  to  the  ut- 
most of  their  strength,  and  rather  beyond  it,  in  the  labours 
of  the  farm.  My  brother  at  the  age  of  thirteen  assisted  in 
threshing  the  crop  of  corn,  and  at  fifteen  wa^  the  princi- 
pal labourer  on  the  farm,  for  we  had  no  hired  servant, 
male  or  female.  The  anguish  of  mind  we  felt  at  our 
tender  years,  under  these  strait§  and  difficulties,  was  very 
great.  To  think  of  our  father  growing  old  (for  he  was 
now  above  fifty)  broken  down  with  the  long  continued  fa- 
tigues of  his  life,  with  a  wife  and  five  other  children,  and 
in  a  declining  state  of  circumstances,  these  reflexions 
produced  in  my  brother's  mind  and  mine  sensations  of  the 
deepest  distress.  I  doubt  not  but  the  hard  labour  and 
sorrow  at  this  period  of  his  life,  was  in  great  measure  the 
cause  of  that  depression  of  spirits  with  which  Robert  was 


xxxiv  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

so  ofteD  ajSicted  through  his  whole -life  afterwards.  At 
this  time  he  was  almost  constantly  afflicted  in  the  even- 
ings with  a  dull  head-ache,  which  at  a  future  period  of 
hi^i  life,  was  exchanged  for  a  palpitation  of  the  hean, 
and  a'threatening  of  fainting  and  suffocation  in  his  bed, 
in  the  night  time.    ' 

"  By  a  stipulation  in  my  father's  lease  he  liad  a  right 
to  throw  it  up  if  he  thought  proper,  at  the  5nd  of  every 
sixth  year.  .  He  attempted  to  fix  himself  in  a  better  farm 
at  the  end  of  the  first  six  years,  but  failing  in  that  at- 
tehipt,  he  continued  where^  he  was  for  six  years  more. 
He  then  took  the  farm  of  Lochlea,  of  130  acres,  at  the 
rent  of  twenty  shillings  an  acre,  in  the  parish  of  Tarbol- 

ton,  of  Mr. then  a  merchant  in  Ayr, 

and  now  (1797)  a  merchant  in  Liverpool.  He  removed 
to  this  farm  at  Whitsunday  1777,  and  possessed  it  only 
seven  years.  No  writing  had  ever  been  made  out  of  the 
conditions  of  the  lease,  a  misunderstanding  took  place  re- 
specting them  ;  the  subjects  in  dispute  were  submitted 
t6  arbitration,  and  the  decision  involved  my  father's  af- 
fairs in  ruin.  He  lived  to  know  of  this  decision,  but  not 
to  see  any  execution  in  consequence  of  it.  He  died  oa 
tlie  13th  of  February  1784.  * 

"  The  seven  years  we  lived  in  Tarbolton  parish  (ex- 
tending from  the  seventeenth  to  the  twenty-fourth  of  my 
brother's  age)  were  not  marked  by  much  literary  im- 
provement; bVit  during  this  time,  the  foundation  was  laid 
of  certain  habits  in  my  brother's  character,  which  after- 
wards became  but  too  prominent,  and  which  malice  and 
envy  have  taken  delight  to  enlarge  on.  Though  when 
young  he  WcCs  bashful  and  awkward  in  his  intercourse  with 
women,  yet  when  he  approached  manhood,  his  attach- 
ment to  their  society  became  very  strong,  and  he  was 
constantly  the  victim  of  spme  fair  enslaver.  The  symp- 
toms of  his  passion  were  often  such  as  nearly  to  equal 
those  of  the  celebrated  Sappho.  I  never  indeed  knew, 
that  he,  fainted^  sujik,  and  died  away^hnX.  the  agitations  of 
his  mind  and  body,  exceeded  any  thing  of  the  kind  I  ever 
knew  in  real  life.  He  had  always  a  particular  jealousy 
of  people  who  were  richer  than  himself,  or  who  had  more 
consequence  jn  life.  His  love  therefore  rarely  settled 
on  persons  oT  this  description.     When  he  selected  any 


THE  IJFE  OF  BURNS.  xxxv 

une  out  of  the  sovereignty  of  his  good  pleasure  to  whom 
he  should  pay  his  particular  attention,  she  was  instantly 
invested  with  a  sufficient  stock  of  charms,  out  of  the 
plentiful  sto'res  of  his  own  imagination,  and  there  was 
often  a  great  dissimilitude  between  his^fair  captivator,  as 
she  appeared  to  others,  and  as  she  seemed  when  invested 
with  the  attributes  he  gave  her.  One  generally  reig^ned 
paramount  in  his  aifections,  but  as  Yorick*s  affections 

flowed  out  towards  Madame  de  L at  the  remise  door, 

while  the  eternal  vows  of  Eliza  were' upon  him,  so  Ro- 
bert was  frequently  encounteringotheraKractions,  which' 
formed  so  many  underplots  in  tne*drama  of  his  love.  As 
thfese  connexions  were  governed  by  the  strictest  j'ules  of 
virtue  and  modesty  (fron^which  he  never  deviated  till  he 
reached  his  23d  year)  he  be.came  anxious  to  be  in  a  si- 
tuation to  marry.  This  was  not  likely  to  be  soon  the 
case,  while  he  remained  a  farmer,  as  the  stocking  of  a 
ftirm  required  a  sum  of  money  he  -had  no  probability  of 
being  master  of  for  a  great  while.  He  began  thcrefo^re 
to  think  of  trying  some  other  line  of  life.  He  and  I  had 
for  several  years  taken  land  of  i«y  father,  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  flax  on  our  own  account.  In  the  course  of 
selling  it,  Robert  began  to  think  of  turning  flax-dre.sser, 
both  as  being  suitable  to  his  grand  viewof  settling  in  life, 
and  as  subservient  to  the  flax-raising.  He  accordingly 
wreught  at  the  business  of  a  flax-dresser  in  Irwine  for  six 
months,  but  abandoned  it  at  that  period,  ^^s  neither  agree- 
ing with  his  health  nor  inclination.  In  Irwine  he  had 
contracted  some  acquaintance,  of  a  freer  manruer  of  thinl^- 
ing  and  living  than  he  had  been  used  to,  whose  society 
prepared  him  Tor  overleaping  the  bounds  of  rigM  virtue, 
which  bad  hitherto  restrained  him.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  period  under  review  (in  his  2r4th  year)  and  soon  after 
his  father's  death,  he  was  furnished  with  the  subject  of 
his  epistle  to  John  Rankin.  During  this  period  also  he 
became  a  free-mason,  which  was  his  first  introdTiction  to 
the  life  of  a  boon-companion.  Yet  notwithstanding  thess 
circumstances,  and  the  praise  he  has  bestowed  on  Scotch 
drink  (which  seems  to  have  misled  his  historians)  I  do 
not  recollect,  during  these  seven  years,  nor  till  towards 
^he  end  of  his  commencing  author  (when  his  growing 
celebrfty  occasioned  his  being  often  in  company)  to  have 


xxxvi  THE  LIFE  OF  BUl^NS. 

ever  seen  him  intoxicated,  nor  was  he  at  all  given  lo 
drinking.  A  stronger  proof  of  the  general  sobriety  of 
his  conduct  need  not  be  required  than  what,  I  am  about 
to  give.  During  the  whole  of  the  time  we  lived  in  the 
farm  of  Lochlea  ^ith  my  father,  he  allowed  my  brother 
and  me  such  wages  for  our  labour,  as  he  gave  to  other 
labourers,  as  a  part  of  which,  every  article  of  our  cloath- 
ing  manufactured  in  the  family  was  regularly  accounted 
for.  When  my  father's  affairs  drew  near  a  crisis,  Robert 
and  I  took  the  farm* of  Mossgiel,  consisting  of  118  acres, 
'at  the  rent  of  9(71.  per  apnum,  (the  farm  on  which  I  live 
at  present)  from  Mr.  Gavin  Hamilton,  as  an  asylum  for 
the  family  in  case  of  the  worst.  It  was  stocked  by  the 
property'and  individual  savingstof  the  whole  family,  and 
was  adjoint  concern  among  us.  Every  member  of  the  fa- 
mily was  allowed  ordinary  wages  for  the  labour  he  per- 
formed on  the  farm.  My  brother's  allowance  and  mine 
;t  was  seven  pounds  perannum  each.  And  during  the  whol€ 
time  this  family  concern  lasted,  which  was  four  years, 
aS  well  as  during  the  preceding  period  at  Lochlea,  his 
expenses  never  in  any  one  year  exceeded  his  slender 
income.  As  I  was  intrusted  witk  the  keeping  of  the 
family  accounts,  h  is  not  possible  that  there  can  be  any 
faflacy  in  this  statement,  in  my  brother's  favour.  His 
temperance  and  frugality  were  every  thing  that  could  be 
wished. 

V  The  farm  o£^ Mossgiel  lies  very  high,  and  mostly  on 
a  cold  wet  bottom.  The  first  four  years  that  we  were 
on  the  farm  were  very  frosty,  and  the  spring  was  very 
late.  Our  crops  in  consequence  were  very  unprofital?le, 
and  notwithstanding  our  utmost  diligence  and  econoiny, 
we. found  ourselves  obliged  to  giye.up  our  bargain,  with 
the  loss  of  a  considerable  part  of  our  original  stock.  It 
was  during  these  four  years  that  Robert  formed  his  con- 
nexion with  Jean  Armour,  afterwards  Mrs.  Burns.  This" 
connexion  could  no  longer  be  concealed^  about  t!ie  time  we 
came  to  a  final  determination  to  quit  the  farm.  Robert 
durst  not  engage  with  a  family  in  his  poor  unsettled  state, 
but  was  anxious  to  shield  his  partner  by  every  means  in 
his  power  from  the  consequences  of  their  imprudence. 
It  was  agreed  therefore  between  them  tjjat  they  should- 
make  a  legal  acknowledgment  of  an  irregular  and  pri- 


THE.LIFlL  OF  BURNS.  xxxvii 

vale  marriage,  that  he  should  go  to  Jamaica  to  fitish  hia 
fortune^  and  that  she  should  I'emain  with  her  father  till  it 
might  please  providence  to  put  the  means  of  supporting 
a  family  in  his  power. 

"  Mrs.  Burns  was  a  great  favourite  of  her  father's. 
The  intimation  of  a  private  marriage  was  the  first  sug- 
gestion he  received  of  her  real  situation.  He  was  in  the 
greatest  distress  and  fainted  away.  The  marriage  did 
not  appear  to  him  to  make  the  matter  any  better.  A  hus- 
band in  Jamaica  appeared  to  him  and  to  his  wife  little  bet- 
ter than  none,  and  an  effectual  bar  to  any  other  prospects 
of  a  settlement  in  life  that  their  daughter  might  have. 
They  therefore  expressed  a  wish  to  her,  that  the  written 
papers  which  respected  the  marriage  should  be  cancelled^ 
and  thus  the  marriage  rendered  void.  In  her  melancho- 
ly state,  she  felt  the  deepest  remorse  at  having  brought 
such  heavy  affliction  on  parents  that  loved  her  so  tenderly, 
and  submitted  to  their  intreaties.  Their  wish  was  men- 
tioned to  Robert.  He  felt  the  deepest  anguish  of  mind. 
He  offered  to  stay  at  home  and  provide  for  his  wife  and 
fati.ily  in  the  best  manner  that  his  daily  labours  could 
provide  for  them  ;  that  being  the  only  means  in  his  power. 
Even  this  offer  they  did  not  approve  of;  for  humble  as 
Miss  Armour's  station  was,  and  great  though  her  impru- 
dence had  been,  she  still,  in  the  eyes  of  her  partial  pa- 
rents, might  look  to  a  better  connexion  than  that  with  my 
frieiidless  and  unhappy  brother,  at  that  time  without  house 
or  biding-place.  Robert  at  length  consented  to  their 
wishes.  But  his  feelings  oii  this  occasion  were  of  the 
most  distracting  nature,  and  the  impression  of  sorrow 
was  not  effaced,  till  by  a  regular  marriage  they  were  in- 
dissolubly  united.  In  the  state,  of  mind  which  this  separa- 
tion produced,  he  wished  to  leave  the  country  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  agreed  with  Dr.  Douglas  to  go  out  to  Ja- 
maica, as  an  assistant  overseer,  or  as  I  believe  it  is  called 
a  book-keeper,  on  his  estate.  As  he  had  not  sufiicient 
money  to  pay  his  passage,  and  the  vessel  in  which  Dr. 
Douglas  was  to  procure  a  passige  for  him  was  not  ex- 
pected to  sail  for  some  time,  Mr.  Hamilton  advised  him 
to  publish  his  poems  in  the  mean  time  by  subscription, 
as  a  likely  way  of  getting  a  little  money  to  provide  him 
mbre  liberally  in  necessaries  for  Jamaica.     Agreeably  to 

D 


xxxviii  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

this  advice,  subscription  bills  were  printed  immediately, 
and  the  printing  was  commenced  at  Kilmarnock,  his  pre- 
parations going  on  at  the  same  time  for  his  voyage.  The 
reception  however  which  his  poems  met  with  in  the 
world,  and  the  friends  they  procured  him,  made  him 
change  his  resolution  of  going  to  Jamaica,  and  he  was  ad- 
vised to  go  to  Edinburgh  to  publish  a  second  edition.  On 
his  return,  in  happier  circumstances,  he  renewed  his  con- 
nexion with  Mrs.  Burns,  and  rendered  it  permanent  by 
an  union  for  life. 

"  Thus,  Madam,  have  I  endeavoured  to  give  you  a 
simple  narrative  of  the  leading  circumstances  in  my 
brother's  early  life.  The  reinaining  part  he  spent  in 
Edinburgh,  or  in  Dumfries-shire,  and  its  incidents  arc 
as  well  known  to  you  as  to  me.  His  genius  having  pro- 
cured him  your  pauonage  and  friendship,  this  gave  rise 
to  the  correspondence  between  you,  in  which  I  believed 
his  sentiments  were  delivered  with  the  most  respectful, 
but  most  unreserved  confidence,  and  which  only  termi- 
nated with  tlie  last  days  of  hjs  life." 

This  narrative  of  Gilbert  Burns  may  serve  as  a  com- 
mentary on  the  precedmg  sketch  of  our  poet's  life  by 
himself.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  distraction  of  mind 
which  he  mentions  (p.  23.)   arose  from  the  distress  and 

sorrow  in  which  he  had  involved  his  future  wife The 

whole  circumstances  attending  this  connexion  are  certain- 
ly of  a  very  singular  nature.* 

The  reader  will  perceive,  from  the  foregoing  narra- 
tive, how  much  the  children  of  William  Burnes  were  in- 
debted to  their  father,  who  was  certainly  a  man  of  uncom- 
inon  talents  ;  though  it  does  not  appear  that  he  possessed 
any  portion  of  that  vivid  imagination  for  which  the  sub- 
ject of  these  memoirs  was  distinguished.  In  page  28,  it 
is  observed  by  our  poet,  that  his  fother  h.»dan  unaccount- 
able antipathy  to  dancing-schools,  and  that  his  attending 
one  of  these,  brought  on  him  his  displeasure,  and  even 
dislike.     On  this  observation   Gilbert   has  made  the  fol- 

*  In  pr.ge  25,  tlie  poet  mentions  l^is — "  skulking  from  covert  to 
covert,  under  ten-or  of  a  jail." Tiie  '*  pack  of  the  law  were  un- 
coupled at  hir,  tieels,"  to  oblige  him  to  fuid  security  for  tlie  main- 
tei..'i)ce  of  his  twin-cliiklren,  whom  lie  was  not  permitted  to  le- 
gitimate by  ii  marriage  with  their  mother  1 


TriE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xxxix 

lov.-ing;  remark,  which  seeiTis  entitled  to  implicit  credit. 
— ''  I'wonder  how  Robert  could  attribute  to  our  father 
that  lastini^  resentmein  of  his  going  to  a  dancing-school 
against  his  will,  of  which  he  was  •incapable.  1  believe 
the  truth  was,  that  he  about  this  time  began  to  see  the 
dangerous  impetuosity  of  my  brother's  passions,  as  \yell 
as  his  not  being  amenable  to  counsel,  which  often  irrita- 
ted my  father  :  and  which  he  would  naturally  think  a  dan- 
cing-schooi  Avas  not  likely  to  correct.  But  he  was  proud 
of  Robert's  genius,  which  he  bestowed  more  expense  in 
cultivating,  than  on  the  rest  of  the  family,  in  the  instan- 
ces of  sending  him  to  Ayr,  and  Kirk-Oswald  schools; 
and  he  was  greatly  delighted  with  his  warmth  of  heart, 
and  his  conversational  powers.  He  had  indeed  that  dis- 
like ot  dancing-schools  which  Robert  mentions;  but  so 
far  overcame  it  during  Robert's  first  month  of  attendance, 
that  he  allowed  all  the  rest  of  the  family  that  were  fit  for 
it,  to  accompany  him  during  the  second  month.  Robert 
excelled  in  dancing,  and  was  for  some  time  distractedly 
fond  of  it." 

In  the  original  letter  to  Dr..  Moore,  our  poet  describ- 
ed his  ancestors  as  "  renting  lands  of  the  noble  Keith's 
of  Marischal,  and  as  having  vhad  the  honour  of  sharing 
their  fate.  I  do  not,"  continues  he,  "  use  the  word  ho- 
nour  with  any  reference  to  political  principles  ;  /oz/«/and 
disloval.,  I  take  to  be  merely  relative  terms,  in  that  ancient 
and  formid-ible  court,  known  in  this  country  by  the  name 
of  Club-law,  where  the  ri,^-ht  is  always  with  the  strong- 
est. But  those  who  dare  welcome  ruin,  and  shake  hands 
with  infamy,  for  v/hat  they  sincerely  believe  to  be  the 
cause  of  their  God,  or  their  king,  are,  as  Mark  Antony 
says  in  Shakespeare,  of  Brutus  and  Cassius,  honourable 
men.  I  mention  this  circumstance  because  it  threw  my 
father  on  the  world  at  large." 

This  paragraph  has  been  omitted  in  printing  the  let- 
ter, at  the  desire  of  Gilbert  Burns,  and  it  would  have 
been  unnecessary  to  have  noticed  it  on  the  present  oc- 
casion, had  not  several  manuscript  copies  of  that  letter 
been  in  circulation.  "  1  do  not  know,"  observes  Gilbert 
Burns, ''  how  my  brother  could  be  misled  in  the  account 
he  has  given  of  the  Jacobitism  of  his  ancestors.  I  believe 
the  Earl  Marischal  forfeited  his  title  and  estate  in  1715, 


>:l  THE  LIFE  ©F  BURNS. 

!>efore  my  father  was  born  ;  and  amonjj  a  collection  oil 
parish  certificates  in  his  possession,  I  have  read  one,  sta- 
ting that  the  bearer  had  no  concern  in  the  laie  wicked 
rebenionj*  On  the  information  of  one  who  knew  WiiliSPm. 
.Burnes  soon  after  he  arrived  in  the  county  of  Ayr,  it  may 
be  mentioned,  that  a  report  did  prevail,  that  he  had  taken 
the  field  with  the  youn^  Chevalier,  a  report  which  the 
certificate  mentioned  by  his  son,  was  perhaps  intended  to 
counteract.  8trang-ers  from  the  North,  settling  in  the 
low  country  of  Scoii-.nd,  were  in  those  days  liable  to  sus- 
picions, of  having  been,  in  the  familiar  phrase  of  the 
touniry,  "  out  in  the  forty-five,"  (1745)  especially  when 
ihey  had  any  stateliness  or  reserve  about  them,  as  was 
the  case  with  William  Burnes.  It  may  easily  be  concei- 
ved, that  our  poet  would  cherish  the  belief  of  his  father's 
having  been  engaged  in  the  daring  enterprise  of  princa. 
■"hailcs-Edward.  The  generous  attachment,  the  heroic 
nlour,  and  the  final  misfortunes  of  the  adherents  of  the 
ilouse  of  Stewart,  touched  with  sympathy  his  youthful 
I'nd  ardcRt  mind,' and  inPiUenced  his  original  political  opi- 
•iions.* 

*  There  is  another  obscn-alion  of  Gilbert  Burns  on  his  brothef-'s 
riaiTative,  in  which  seme  persons  will  be  interested.  It  refers  to 
page  13,  where  the  poet  speuks  of  his  youthful  friends.  "  My  bi»o- 
ihei-,"  says  Gilbert  Burns,  "  seenns  to  set  ofl  his  early  companions 
'n  too  consequential  a  manner.  The  principal  acquaintance  we 
had  in  Ayr,  while  boys,  were  four  .sons  of  Mr.  Andrew  M'Culloch, 
a  distant  relation  of  my  mother's,  who  kept  a  tea-shop,  and  had 
made  a  little  money  in  the  contraband  trade,  very  common  at  that 
time.  Ke  died  while  the  boys  were  young,  and  my  father  was  no- 
minated one  of  the  tutors.  The  two  eldest  were  bred  shopkeep- 
ers, the  tliird  a  surgeon,  and  the  younj^est,  the  only  surviving  one, 
•was  bred  in  a  counting-house  in  Glasgow,  where  he  is  now  a 
r£spectable  merchant.  1  believe  all  these  boys  went  to  th.e  West 
Indies.  Then  there  were  two  sons  oi'Dr.  Malcolm,  whom  I  have 
mentioned  m  my  letter  to  ISIrs.  Dunlop.  The  eldest,  a  very  worthy 
young  man,  went  to  the  East-Indies,  where  he  had  a  commission 
'in  the  army  ;  he  is  the  person  whose  heart  my  brotiier  says  the 
^funny  Begvm  scenes  could  not  corrnpt.  The  other,  by  tiie  interest 
of  Lady  Wallace,  got  an  ensig-ncy  in  a  regiment,  raised  by  the 
Duke  of  Ilamdton,  during  the  American  v/ar.  I  believe  neither  cf 
ihem  are  now  (1797)  alive.  We  also  knew  the  prer.cnt  Dr.  Pater- 
son  of  Ayr,  and  a  younger  brotlier  of  his  now  in  Jamaica,  who 
wcvi:  much  younger  than  us.  I  had  almost  forgot  to  mer.iion  Dr. 
J  '       '     .  •  f  Ayr,  who  wns  a  little  ohler  than  my  brother,  and  wiih 


THE  LIFE  or   BURNS.  xli 

The  father  of  our  poet  is  dosrribed  by  one  who  knew 
him  towards  the  latter  end  of  his  life,  as  above  the  com- 
mon stature,  thin,  and  bent  with  labour.  His  countenance 
was  serious  and  expressive,  and  the  scanty  locks  on  his 
head  were  grey.  He  avas  of  a  religious  turn  of  mind,  and, 
as  is  usual  among  the  Scottish  peasantry,  a  good  deal 
conversant  in  speculative  theolo«:y.  There  is  in  Gilbert's 
hands,  a  little  manual  of  religious  belief,  in  the  form  of 
a  dialogue  between  a  father  and  his  son,  composed  by 
him  for  the  use  of  his  children,  in  which  the  benevolence 
of  his  heart  seems  to  have  led  him  to  soften  the  rigid 
Calvinism  of  the  Scottish  church,  into  somethingapproach- 
ing  to  Arminianism.  He  was  a  devout  nun,  and  in  the 
practice  of  calling  his  family  together,  to  join  in  prayer. 
It  is  known  that  the  exquisite  picture,  in  the  Coiter''.<i 
Saturday  Mif/it,  represents  Wiiiiam  Burnes  and  his  fa- 
mily at  their  evenh)g  devotions,  beginning 

"  The  cheerful  supper  done,  with  serious  l*:xe, ' 

Of  a  family  so  interesting  as  th'.vt  which  inhabited^ 
the  cottage  of  Vvilliam  Burnes,  and  particularly  of  the 
father  of  the  family,  the  reader  will  perhaps  be  willing  > 
to  listen  to  some  farther  account.  What  follows  is  giv- 
en by  one  already  mentioned  with  so  much  honour,  in 
the  narriitive  of  Gilbert  Burnes,  Mr.  Murdoch,  the  pre- 
ceptor of  our  poet,  w!io,  in  a  letter  to  Joseph  Cooper 
Walker,  Esq.  of  Dublin,  author  of  T/ie  Historical  Me- 
moir of  the  Italian  Tragedy^  lately  published,  thus  ex- 
presses himself: 


**  I  was  lately  favoured  with  a  letter  from  our  worthy 
friend,  the  Rev.  William  Adair,  in  which  he  requested 
me  to  communicate  to  you  whatever  particulars  I  could 
recollect  concerning  Robert  Burns,  the  Ayrshire  poet. 
My  business  being  at  present  multifarious  and  harassing, 
my  attention  is  consequently  so  much  divided,  and  I  am 

whom  we  had  a  longer  and  closer  intimacy  than  with  any  of  the 
others,  which  did  not  however  continue  in  after  life." 

D   % 


Klii  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

so  little  in  the  habit  of  expressing  my  thoughts  on  paper, 
that  at  this  distance  of  time,  I  can  give  but  a  very  imper- 
fect sketch  of  the  early  part  of  the  life  of  that  extraor- 
dinary tj;enius,  with  which  alone  I  am  acquainted. 

"  William  Burnes,  the  father  of  the  poet,  was  born  in 
the  shire  of  Kincardine,  and  bred  a  cjardener.  He  had 
been  settled  in  Ayrshire,  ten  or  twelve  years  before  I 
knew  him,  and  had  been  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Crawford 
of  Doonside.  He  was  afterwards  employed  as  a  garden- 
er and  overseer,  by  Provost  Ferguson,  of  Doonholm,  in 
the  parish  of  Alloway,  which  is  noAv  united  with  that  of 
Ayr.  In  this  parish,  on  the  road  side,  a  Scotch  mile  and 
a  half  from  the  town  of  Ayr,  and  half  a  m.ile  from  the 
bridge  of  Doon,  William  Burnes  took  a  piece  of  land, 
consisting  of  about  seven  acres,  part  of  which  he  laid  out 
in  garden  ground,  and  })art  of  which  he  kept  to  graze  a 
cow,  See  still  continuing  in  the  employ  of  Provost  Fergu- 
son. Upon  this  little  farm  was  erected  a  humble  dwel- 
ling, of  which  William  Burnes  was  the  architect.  It  was, 
with  the  exception  of  a  little  straw,  literally  a  tabernacle 
of  clay.  In  this  mean  cottage,  of  which  I  myself  was  at 
times  an  inhabitant,  I  really  believe  there  dwelt  a  larger 
portion  of  content,  than  in  any  palace  in  Europe.  The 
Cotter^s  Saturday  Mght^  will  giye  some  idea  of  the  tem- 
per and  manners  that  prevailed  there. 

«  In  1765,  about  the  middle  of  March,  Mr.  W.  Burnes 
came  to  Ayr,  and  sent  to  the  school,  where  I  was  impro- 
ving in  writing,  under  \\,y  good  friend  Mr.  Robison,  de- 
siring that  I  would  come  and  speak  to  him  at  a  certain 
inn,  and  brint;  my  writiug-book  with  me.  This  was  im- 
mediately complied  with.  Having  examined  my  writing, 
he  was  pleased  with  it;. ..(you  will  readily  allow  he  was  not 
difficult)  and  t^-ld  ntc  that  he  had  received  very  satisfactory 
infornicition  of  Mr.  Tcnnant,  the  master  of  the  English 
school,  Gonceriilng  niy  improvement  in  English,  and  in 
his  method  of  teaching.  In  the  month  of  May  following, 
I  was  engaged  by  Mr.  Burnes,  and  four  of  his  neighbours, 
to  teach,  and  accordingly  began  to  teach  the  little  school 
at  Alloway,  which  was  siuuited  a  few  yards  from  the  ar- 
g  llaceous  fabric  above-mentioned.  My  five  employers 
u.iderlook  to  board  mc  by  turns,  and  to  make  up  a  cer- 
tain salary,  at  the  end  of  ilic  year,  provided  my  quarterly 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xliii 

>aytnents  from  the  different  pupils  did  not  amount  to 
hat  sum. 

"  My  pupil,  Robert  Burns,  was  then  between  six  and 

jeven  years  of  age  ;  his  preceptor  about  eighteen Ro- 

jert  and  his  younger  brother,  Gilbert,  had  been  grounded 
1  little  in  English,  before  they  were  put  under  my  care. 
They  both  made  a  rapid  progress  in  reading  ;  and  a  tole- 
.•a^e  progress  in  writing.  In  reading,  dividing  words 
into  syllables  by  rule,  spelling  without  book,  parsing  sen- 
tences, &c.  Robert  and  Gilbert  were  generally  at  the  up- 
per end  of  the  class,  even  when  ranged  with  boys  by  far 
their  seniors.  The  books  most  commonly  used  in  the 
school  were  77/ c  Sfidlln^  Book^  The  .Vcw  Testament ^^  The 
Biblc^  Maso7t's  Collection  of  Prose  and  Verse,  and  Fisher'' s 
English  Graimnar.  They  committed  to  memory  the 
hymns,  and  other  poems  of  that  collection  with  uncom- 
mon facility.  This  facility  was  partly  owing  ta  the  me- 
thod  pursued  by  their  father  and  me  in  instructing  them, 
which  was,  to  make  them  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  meaning  of  every  word  in  each  sentence,  that  was  to 
be  committed  to  memory.  By  the  bye,  this  may  be  ea- 
sier done  and  at  an  earlier  period,  than  is  generally 
thought.  As  soon  as  they  were  capable  of  it,  I  taught 
them  to  turn  verse  into  its  natural  prose  order ;  some- 
times to  substitute  synonimous  expressions  for  poetical 
words,  and  to  supply  all  the  ellipses.  These,  you  know 
are  the  means  of  knowing  that  the  pupil  understands 
his  author.  .  These  are  excellent  helps  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  words  in  sentences,  as  v/ell  as  to  a  variety  of  ex- 
pression. 

"  Gilbert  always  appeared  to  me  to  possess  a  more 
lively  imagination,  and  to  be  more  of  the  wit  than  Ro- 
bert. I  attempted  to  teach  them  a  little  church-music. 
Here  they  were  left  far  behind  by  all  the  rest  of  the 
school.  Robert's  ear,  in  particular,  was  remarkably  dull, 
and  his  voice  untunable.  It  was  long  before  I  could  get 
them  to  distinguish  one  tune  from  another.  Robert's 
countenance  was  generally  grave,  and  expressive  of  a 
serious,  contemplative,  and  thoughtful  mind.  Gilbert's 
face  said.  Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live  ;  and  certainly, 
if  any  person  who  knew  the  two  boys,  hud  been  asked, 
Vhich  of  them  was  the  most  likely  to  court  the  muses,  he 


xliv  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

would  surely  have  never  guessed  that  Robert  had  a  pro- 
pensity of  that  kind. 

"  In  the  year  1767,  Mr.  Burnes  quitted  his  mud  edifice, 
and  took  possession  of  a  farm,  (Mount  Oliphant)  of  his 
own  improving,  while  in  the  service  of  Provost  Fergu- 
son. This  farnj  being  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
school,  the  boys  could  not  attend  regularly ;  and  some 
changes  taking  place  among  the  other  supporters  of  the 
school,  I  left  it,  having  continued  to  conduct  it  for  nearly 
two  years  and  a  half. 

"  In  the  year  1 772,  I  was  appointed  (being  one  of  five 
candidates  who  were  examined)  to  teach  the  English 
school  at  Ayr;  and  in  1773,  Robert  Burns  came  to  board 
and  lodge  with  me,  for  the  purpose  of  revising  English 
grammar,  Sec.  that  he  might  be  better  qualified  to  instruct 
his  brothers  and  sisters  at  home.  He  was  now  with  me 
day  and  night,  in  school,  at  all  meals,  and  in  all  my  walks. 
At  the  end  of  one  week,  I  told  him,  that,  as  he  was  now 
pretty  much  master  of  the  parts  of  speech,  Sec.  1  should 
like  to  teach  him  something  of  French  pronunciation^ 
that  when  he  should  meet  with  the  name  of  ta  French 
town,  ship,  officer,  or  the  like  in  the  news|)apers,  he 
might  be  able  to  pronounce  it  something  like  a  French 
word.  Robert  was  glad  to  hear  this  proposal,  and  imme- 
diately we  attacked  the  French  with  great  courai^e. 

"  Now  there  was  little  else  to  be  heard  but  the  declen- 
sion of  nouns,  the  conjugation  of  verbs,  &C.  When 
walking  together,  and  even  it  meals,  I  was  constantly 
telling  him  the  names  of  different  objects,  as  they  pre- 
sented themselves,  in  French  ;  so  that  he  was  hourly  lay- 
ing in  a  stock  of  words,  and  sonieiimes  little  phr:.ses.  In 
short  he  took  such  pleasure  in  learning,  and  I  in  teach- 
ing, that  it  is  difficult  to  sry  which  of  the  two  was  the 
most  zealous  in  the  business;  and  about  the  end  of  the 
second  week  of  our  study  of  the  French,  we  began  to 
read  a  little  of  the  Adventures  of  Tdemachus^m  Fenelon's 
own  words. 

"  But  now  the  plains  of  Mount  Oliphant  began  to 
whiten,  and  Robert  was  suniinoned  to  relinquish  the 
pleasing  scenes  tiiat  surrounded  the  grotto  of  Caiypso, 
and,  ahmtii' with  a  sickle,  to  seek  glory  by  sigTK.libing 
himself  in  the  fields  of  Ceres — and  so  he  did  ;  for  although 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xlv 

but  about  fifteen,  I  was  told  that  he  performed  the  work 
of  a  man. 

"  Thus  was  I  deprived  of  my  very  apt  pupil,  and  con» 
seqiiently  agreeable  companion,  at  the  end  of  three 
^veeks,  one  of  which  was  spent  entirely  in  the  study  of 
Eni^lish,  and  the  other  two  chiefly  in  that  of  French.  I 
did  not,  however,  lose  sight  of  him ;  but  was  a  frequent 
visitant  at  his  father's  house,  when  I  had  my  half  holi- 
day, and  very  often  went  accompanied  with  one  or  two 
persons  more  intelligent  than  myself,  that  good  William 
Burnes  might  enjoy  a  mental  feast.  Then  the  labouring 
oar  was  shifted  to  some  other  hand.  The  father  and  the 
son  sat  down  with  us,  when  we  enjoyed  a  conversation, 
wherein  solid  reasoning,  sensible  remark,  and  a  mode- 
rate seasoning  of  jocularity,  were  so  nicely  blended,  as 
to  render  it  palatable  to  all  parties.  Robert  had  a  hun- 
dred questions  to  ask  me  about  the  French,  Sec.  and  the 
father,  whc  had  always  rational  information  in  view,  had 
still  some  questions  to  propose  to  my  more  learned 
friends,  upon  moral  or  natural  philosophy,  or  some  such 
interesting  subject.  Mrs.  Burnes  too  was  of  the  party  ^s 
much  as  possible. 

"  Bat  still  the  house  affairs  Vv-ould  draw  her  thencCj 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She  'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear. 
Devour  up  thtir  discourse " 

And  particularly  that  of  her  husband.  At  all  tin^eg^ 
and  in  all  companies,  she  listened  to  him  with  a  more 
marked  attention  than  to  any  body  else.  When  under 
the  necessity  of  being  absent  while  he  was  speaking,  she 
seemed  to  regret,  as  a  real  loss,  that  she  had  missed 
what  the  good  man  had  said.  This  worthy  woman., 
Agnes  Brown,  had  the  most  thorough  esteem  for  her 
husband,  of  any  woman  I  ever  knew.  I  can  by  no  means 
wonder  that  she  highly  esteemed  him  ;  for  I  myself  have 
always  considered  William  Burnes  as  by  far  the  best  of 
the  huiT.an  race  that  ever  I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  ac- 
quainted with — and  many  a  worthy  chai-acter  I  have 
known.  I  can  cheerfully  join  wiih  Robert  in  the  last 
lines  of  his  epitaph,  (borrowed  from  Goldsmith.) 


xlvi  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

"  And  ev'n  his  failings  lean'cl  to  virtue's  side." 

<'  He  was  an  excellent  liusband,  if  I  may  judge  front 
his  assiduous  attention  to  the  ease  and  comfort  of  his 
worthy  partner ;  and  from  her  affectionate  behaviour  to 
him,  as  well  as  her  unwearied  attention  to  the  duties  of 
a  mother. 

"  He  was  a  tender  and  affectionate  father ;  he  took 
pleasure  in  leadini];  his  children  in  the  path  of  virtue  ; 
not  in  drivins^  them,  as  some  parents  do,  to  the  perform- 
ance of  duties  to  which  they  themselves  are  averse.  He 
took  care  to  find  fe.ult  but  very  seldom ;  and  therefore  when 
he  did  rebuke,  he  was  listened  to  with  a  kind  of  reve- 
i^ential  awe.  A  look  of  disapprobation  was  felt;  a  re- 
proof was  severely  so ;  and  a  stripe  with  the  taivs^  even 
on  the  skirt  of  the  coat,  gave  heart-felt  pain,  produced  a 
loud  lamentation,  and  brought  forth  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  He  had  the  s^xX.  of  gaining  the  esteem  and  good-will 
of  those  that  were  labourers  under  him.  I  think  I  never 
saw  him  angry  but  twice ;  the  one  tiiiiC  it  was  with  the 
foreman  of  the  band,  for  not  reaping  the  field  as  he  was 
desired  ;  and  the  other  time  it  was  with  an  old  man  for 
using  smutty  inuendoes  and  double  entendres.  Were 
every  foul-moiuh'd  old  man  to  receive  a  seasonable  check 
in  this  way,  it  would  be  to  the  advantage  of  the  rising 
generation.  As  he  was  at  no  time  overbearing  to  inferi- 
ors, he  was  equally  incapable  of  that  passive,  pitiful,  pal- 
try spirit,  that  induces  some  people  to  kecfi  booing  and 
booing  in  the  presence  of  a  great  man.  He  always  treat- 
ed his  superiors  with  a  becoming  respect ;  but  he  never 
gave  the  smallest  encouragement  to  aiistocratical  arro- 
gance. But  1  must  not  pretend  to  give  you  a  description  of 
ail  the  manly  qualities,  the  rational  and  Christian  virtues, 
of  the  venerable  Vv'illiam  Burnes.  Time  would. fail  me. 
I  shall  only  add,  that  he  carefully  practised  every  known 
duty,  and  avoided  every  thing  that  was  criminal;  or,  in 
the  apostles's  words,  Herein  did  he  exercice  himself^  in  liv- 
ing a  life  void  of  offence  torjards  God  and  towards  men.  () 
for  a  world  of  men  of  such  dispositions  !  We  should  then 
have  no  wars.  I  have  often  wished,  for  the  good  of  man- 
kind, that  it  were  as  customary  to  honour  and  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  those  who  excel  in  moral  rectitude,  as  )• 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xivii 

is  to  extol  what  are  called  heroic  actions : — then  would 
the  mausoleum  of  the  friend  of  my  youth,  overtop  and 
surpass  most  of  the  monuments  I  see  in  Westminster 
Abbey. 

"  Although  I  cannot  do  justice  to  the  character  of  this 
worthy  man,  yet  you  will  perceive,  from  these  few  parti- 
culars, what  kind  of  person  had  the  principal  hand  in  the 
education  of  our  poet.  He  spoke  the  English  language 
with  more  propriety  (both  with  respect  to  diction  and 
pronunciation)  than  any  man  I  ever  knew,  with  no  great- 
er advantages.  This  had  a  very  jjood  effect  on  the  boys, 
who  began  to  talk,  and  reason  like  men,  much  sooner 
than  their  neighbours.  I  do  not  recollect  any  of  their 
eotemporaries  at  my  little  seminary,  who  afterwards 
made  any  great  figure  as  literary  characters,  except  Dr. 
Tennant,  who  was  chuplain  to  Colonel  Fullarton's  regi- 
ment, and  who  is  now  in  the  East  Indies.  He  is  a  man 
of  genius  and  learning  ;  yet  aSF.ible,  and  free  from  pedan- 
try. ^ 

"  Mr.  Burnes,  in  a  short  time,  found  that  he  had  over- 
rated Mount  Oliphant,  and  that  he  could  not  rear  his  nu- 
merous family  upon  it  ....After  being  there  some  years, 
he  removed  to  Lochlea,  in  the  parish  of  Tarbolton, 
where,  I  believe,  Robert  wrote  most  of  his  poems. 

"  But  here.  Sir,  you  will  permit  me  to  pause.  I  can 
tell  you  but  little  more  relative  to  our  poet.  1  shall, 
however,  in  my  next,  send  you  a  copy  of  one  of  his  let- 
ters to  me,  about  the  year  1783.  1  received  one  since, 
but  it  is  mislaid.  Please  remember  me  in  the  best  man- 
ner, to  my  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Adair,  when  you  see  him, 
or  write  to  hi;n." 

Hurt 'Street^  Bhonnhury-scjtia  rt', 
London,  reO.  22,  1799. 


'i'HE  scene  that  opr-ned  on  our  Bard  in  Edinburgh  was 
altogether  new,  and  in  a  variety  of  other  respects  highly 
interesting  ;  especiaily  to  one  of  his  disposition  of  mind. 
To  use  an  expression  of  his  own,  he  found  himself  "  sud- 
denly translated  from  the  verit;st  shades  of  life/'  into  the 


xlviii  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

presence,  and  indeed,  into  the  society,  of  a  nrimber  of 
persons,  previously  known  to  him  by  report  as  of  the  high- 
est distinction  in  his  country,  and  whose  characters  it 
was  natural  for  him  to  examine  with  no  common  curiosity. 

From  the  men  of  letters,  in  generzil,  his  reception  was 
particularly  flattering.  The  late  Dr.  Robertson,  Dr. 
Blair,  Dr.  Gregory,  Mr.  Stewart,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  and 
Mr.  Frazer  Tytler,  may  be  mentioned  in  the  list  of  those 
who  perceived  his  uncommon  talents,  who  acknowledg- 
ed more  especially  his  powers  in  conversation,  and  who 
interested  themselves  in  the  cultivation  of  his  genius. 
In  Edinburgh  literary  and  fashionable  society  are  a  good 
deal  mixed.  Our  bard  was  an  acceptable  guest  in 
Ihe  gayest  and  most  elevated  circles,  and  frequently  re- 
ceived from  female  beauty  and  elegance,  those  attentions, 
above  all  others  most  grateful  to  him.  At  the  table  of 
Lord  Monboddo  he  was  a  frequent  guest ;  and  while  he 
enjoyed  the  society,  and  partook  of  the  hospitalities  of 
the  venerable  judge,  he  experienced  the  kindness  and 
condescension  of  liis  lovely  and  accomplished  daughter. 
The  singular  beauty  of  this  young  lady  was  illuminated 
by  that  happy  expression  of  countenance  which  results 
from  the  union  of  cultivated  taste  and  superior  under- 
standing, with  the  finest  affections  of  the  mind.  The  in- 
fluence of  such  attractions  was  not  unfelt  by  our  poet. 
<'  There  has  not  been  any  thing  like  Miss  Burnet,'*  said 
he  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  in  all  the  combination  of 
beauty,  grace  and  goodness,  the  Creator  has  formed, 
since  Milton's  Eve  on  the  first  day  of  her  existence." 
In  his  Address  to  Edinburgh^  she  is  celebrated  in  a  strain 
of  still  greater  elevation. 

Burns  had  entertained  hopes  of  promotion  in  the  ex- 
cise ;  but  circumstances  occurred  which  retarded  tlieir 
fulfilment,  and  which  in  his  own  mhid  destroyed  all  ex- 
pectation of  their  being  ever  fulfilled.  The  extraordi- 
nary events  which  ushered  in  the  revolution  of  France, 
interested  the  feelings,  and  excited  the  hopes  of  men  in 
.every  corner  of  Europe.  Prejudice  and  tyranny  seemed 
about  to  disappear  from  among  iiien,  and  the  day-star  of 
reason  to  rise  upon  a  benighted  world.  In  the  dawn  of 
this  beautiful  morning  the  genius  of  French  freedom  ap- 
peared on  our  southern  horizon  with  the  couijtenance  oi 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  xlix 

an  angel,  but  speedily  assumed  the  features  of  a  demon, 
and  vanished  in  a  shower  of  blood. 

Though  previously  a  Jacobite  and  a  cavalier,  Burns 
had  shared  in  the  original  hopes  entertained  of  this  asto- 
nishing revolution  by  ardent  and  benevolent  minds.  The 
novelty  and  the  hazard  of  the  attempt  meditated  by  the 
F'irst  or  Constituent  Assembly,  sepved  rather,  it  is  pro- 
bable, to  recommend  it  to  his  daring  temper ;  and  the  un- 
fettered scope  proposed  to  be  given  to  every  kind  of  ta- 
lents, was  doubtless  gratifying  to  the  feelings  of  con- 
scious but  indignant  genius.  Burns  foresaw  not  the 
mighty  ruin  that  was  to  be  the  immediate  consequence 
of  an  cnterprize,  which,  on  its  commencement,  promis- 
ed so  much  happiness  to  the  human  race.  And  even 
after  the  career  of  guilt  and  of  blood  commenced,  he 
could  not  inmiediately,  it  may  be  presumed,  withdraw 
his  partial  gaze  from  a  people  who  had  so  lately  breath- 
ed the  sentiments  of  universal  peace  and  benignity,  or 
obliterate  in  his  bosom  the  pictures  of  hope  and  of  hap- 
piness to  v/hich  those  sentiments  had  given  birth.  Under 
these  impressions,  he  did  not  always  conduct  himself 
with  the  circumspection  and  prudence  which  his  de- 
pendent situation  seemed  to  demand.  He  engaged  in- 
deed in  no  popular  association,  so  common  at  the  time  of 
which  we  speak;  but  in  company  he  did  not  conceal  his 
opinions  of  public  measures,  or  of  the  reforms  required 
in  the  practice  of  our  government :  and  sometimes  in 
his  social  and  unguarded  moments,  he  uttered  them  with 
a  wild  and  unjustifiable  vehemence.  Information  of  this 
was  given  to  the  board  of  excise,  with  the  exaggerations 
so  general  in  such  cases.  A  superior  officer  in  that  de- 
partment >vas  authorized  to  inquire  into  his  conduct. 
Burns  defended  himself  in  a  letter  addressed  to  one  of 
the  Board,  written  with  great  independence  of  spirit, 
and  with  more  than  his  accustomed  eloquence.  The  of- 
ficer appointed  to  enquire  into  his  conduct  gave  a  fa- 
vourable report.  His  steady  friend,  Mr.  Graham,  of  Fin- 
try,  interposed  his  good  offices  in  his  behalf ;  and  the  im- 
prudent ganger  was  suffered  to  retain  his  situation,  but 
given  to  understand  that  his  promotion  was  deferred," 
and  must  depend  on  his  future  behaviour. 

This  circumstance  made  a  deep  impression  on  the 

E 


1  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

mind  of  Burns.  Fame  exaggerated  his  misconduct,  and 
represented  him  as  actually  dismissed  from  his  office. 
And  this  report  induced  a  gentleman  of  much  respecta- 
bility to  propose  a  subscription  in  his  favour.  The  of- 
fer was  refused  by  our  poet  in  a  letter  of  great  elevation 
of  sentiment,  in  which  he  gives  an  account  of  the  whole 
of  this  transaction,  and  defends  himself  from  the  imputa- 
tion of  disloyal  sentiments  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  th© 
other  from  the  charge  of  having  made  submissions,  for 
the  sake  of  his  office,  unworthy  of  his  character. 

"  The  partiality  of  my  countrymen,"  he  observes 
"  has  brought  me  forward  as  a  man  of  genius,  and  has 
given  me  a  character  to  support.  In  the  poet  I  have 
avowed  manly  and  independent  sentiments,  which  I  hope 
have  been  found  in  the  man.  Reasons  of  no  less  weight 
than  the  support  of  a  wife  and  children  have  pointed  out 
my  present  occupation  as  the  only  eligible  line  of  life 
within  my  reach.  Still  my  honest  fame  is  my  dearest 
concern,  and  a  thousand  times  have  I  tremibled  at  the 
idea  of  the  degrading  epithets  that  malice  or  misrepre- 
sentation may  affix  to  my  name.  Often  in  blasting  an- 
ticipation have  I  listened  to  some  future  hackney  scrib- 
bler, with  the  heavy  malice  of  savage  stupidity,  exult 
ingly  asserting,  that  Burns,  notwithstanding  i\\Qfnfaron- 
ade  of  independence  to  be  found  in  his  works,  and  after 
having  been  held  up  to  public  view,  and  to  public  estima-A 
tion,  as  a  man  of  some  genius,  yet  quite  destitute  of  re- 
sources within  himself  to  support  his  borrowed  dignity^ 
dwindled  into  a  paltry  exciseman,  and  slunk  out  the  rest 
of  his  insignificant  existence  in  the  meanest  of  pursuits, 
and  among  the  lowest  of  mankind. 

"  In  your  illustrious  hands,  Sir,  permit  me  to  lodge 
my  strong  disavowal  and  defiance  of  such  slanderous 
falsehoods.  Burns  was  a  poor  man  from  his  birth,  and 
an  Exciseman  by  necessity  ;  but I  ivill  say  it !  the  ster- 
ling of  his  honest  worth,  poverty  could  not  debase,  and 
liis  independent  British  spirit,  oppression  might  bend, 
but  could  not  subdue." 

It  was  one  of  the  last  acts  of  his  life  to  copy  this  letter 
into  his  book  of  manuscripts,  accompanied  by  some  ad- 
ditional remarks  on  the  same  subject.  It  is  not  surprise 
ing,  that  at  a  season  of  universal  alarm  for  the  safety  of 


TtiE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  li 

the  constitution,  the  indiscreet  expressions  of  a  man  so 
powerful  as  Burns,  should  have  attracted  notice.  The 
times  certainly  required  extraordinary  vigilance  in  those 
entrusted  with  the  administration  of  the  government,  and 
to  ensure  the  safety  of  the  constitution  was  doubtless 
their  first  duty.  Yet  generous  minds  v.ill  lament  that 
their  measures  of  precaution  should  have  robbed  the  ima- 
gination of  our  poet  of  the  last  prop  on  which  his  hopes 
of  independence  rested,  and  by  embittering  his  peace, 
have  aggravated  those  exces'ocs  which  were  soon  to  con- 
duct him  to  an  untimely  grave. 

Though  the  vehemence  of  Burns's  temper,  increased 
as  it  often  was  by  stimulating  liquors,  might  lead  him 
into  many  improper  and  unguarded  expressions,  there 
seems  no  reason  to  doubt  of  his  attachment  to  our  mix- 
ed form  of  government.  In  his  common-place  book, 
where  he  could  have  no  temptation  to  disguise,  are  the 
following  sentiments...."  Whatever  might  be  my  senti- 
ments of  republics,  ancient  or  modern,  as  to  Britain, 
1  ever  abjured  the  idea.  A  constitution,  which  in  its 
original  principles,  experience  has  proved  to  be  every 
way  fitted  for  our  happiness,  it  would  be  insanity  to 
abandon  for  an  untried  visionary  theory."  In  conform- 
ity to  these  sentiaients,  when  the  pressing  nature  of 
public  affairs  called  in  1795,  for  a  general  arming  of 
the  people.  Burns  appeared  in  the  ranks  of  the  Dum- 
fries volunteers,  and  employed  his  poetical  talents  in  sti- 
mulating their  patriotism  ;  and  at  this  season  of  alarm 
he  brought  forward  that  hymn,  worthy  of  the  Grecian' 
Muse,  when  Greece  was  most  conspicuous  for  genius 
and  valor ;         beginning 

"  Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,  and  ye  skies." 

Though  by  nature  of  an  athletic  form,  Burns  had  in 
his  constitution  the  peculiarities  and  the  delicacies  that 
belong  to  the  temperament  of  genius^  He  was  liable, 
from  a  very  early  period  of  life,  to  that  interruption  in 
the  process  of  digestion,  which  arises  from  deep  and 
anxious  thought,  and  which  is  sometimes  tlie  effect,  and 
sometimes  the  cause  of  depression  of  spirits.  Connected 
with  this  disorder  of  the  stomach,  there  was  a  disposition 


m  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

to  head-ache,  affecting  more  especially  the  temples  and 
eye-balls,  and  freiitiently  accompanied  by  violent  and  ir- 
regular movements  of  the  heart.  Endowed  by  nature 
with  great  sensilnlity  of  nerves,  Burns  was,  in  his  corpo- 
real, as  well  as  in  his  mental  system,  liable  to  inordinate 
impressions  ;  to  fever  of  body,  as  v»-ell  as  of  mind.  This 
predisposition  to  disease,  which  strict  temperance  in  diet, 
regular  exercise,  and  sound  sleep,  might  have  subdued, 
habits  of  a  very  diflcrcnt  nature  ^:t^cngthened  and.  in- 
flamed. 

It  was  hoped  by  some  of  his  friends,  that  if  he  could 
live  through  the  months  of  spring,  the  succeeding  sea- 
son might  restore  him.  But  they  were  disappomted. 
The  genial  beams  of  the  sun  infused  no  vigour  into  his 
languid  frame  ;  the  summer  wind  blew  upon  him,  but 
produced  no  refreshment.  About  the  latter  end  of  Jane 
he  was  advised  to  go  into  the  country,  and  impatient  of 
medical  advice,  as  well  as  of  every  species  of  controul, 
he  determined  for  himself  to  try  the  effects  of  bathing 
in  the  sea.  For  this  purpose  he  took  up  his  residence 
at  Brow,  in  Annandale,  about  ten  miles  east  of  Dumr 
iVieF.,  on  the  shore  of  ;^  Sol  way-Firth. 

It  happened  that  at  ^'tliat  time  a  lady  with  v/hom  he 
had  been  connected  in  friendship  by  the  sympathies  of 
kindred  genius,  was  residing  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood. Being  informed  of  his  arrival  she  invited 
iiim  to  dinner,  and  sent  her  carriage  for  him  to  the  cot- 
tage where  he  lodged,   as  he  was  unable  to  walk "  I 

was  struck,'*  says  this  lady  (in  a  confidential  letter  to  a 
friend  written  soon  after)  "  with  his  appearance  on  en- 
tering the  room.  The  stam.p  of  death  was  impressed  on 
his  features.  He  seemed  already  touching  the  brink 
of  eternity.  His  first  salutation  was,  "  Well,  Madam, 
have  you  any  commands  for  the  other  world."  I  re- 
plied that  it  seemed  a  doubtful  case  which  of  us  should 
be  there  soonest,  and  that  I  hoped  he  would  yet  live  to 
write  my  epitaph.  (I  Avas  then  in  a  poor  state  of  health.) 
He  looked  in  my  face  with  an  air  of  great  kindness,  and 
expressed  liis  concern  at  seeing  me  look  so  ill,  with  his 
accustomed  sensibility.  At  table  he  ate  little  or  nothing, 
and  he  complained  of  having  entirely  lost  the  tone  of  his 
stomach.     We  had  a  long  and    sci  ioys   conversation   a- 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  Hi 

bout  his  present  situation,  and  the  ^approaching  termi- 
nation of  all  his  earthly  prospects.  He  spoke  of  his 
death  without  any  of  the  ostentation  of  philosophy,  but 
with  firmness  as  well  as  feeling.. ..as  an  eventlikely  to  hap- 
pen very  soon,  and  which  gave  him  concern  chiefly 
from  leaving  his  four  children  so  young  and  unprotected, 
and  his  wife  in  so  interesting  a  situation.. ..in  hourly  ex- 
pectation of  lying  in  with  a  fifth.  He  mentioned,  wiih 
seeming  pride  and  satisfaction,  the  promising  genius  of 
Lis  eldest  son,  and  the  flattering  marks  of  approbation  he 
had  received  from  his  teachers,  and  dwelt  particularly 
on  his  hopes  of  that  boy's  future  conduct  and  merit. 
His  anxiety  for  his  family  seemed  to  hang  heavy  upon 
him,  and  the  more  perhaps  from  the  reflection  that  he 
had  not  done  them  all  the  justice  he  was  so  well  quali- 
fied to  do.  Passing  from  this  subject,  he  shewed  great 
concern  about  the  care  of  his  literary  fame,  and  particu- 
larly the  publication  of  his  posthumous  works.  He  said 
he  was  well  aware  that  his  death  would  occasion  some 
noise,  and  that  every  scrap  of  his  writing  v/ould  be  revi- 
ved against  him  to  the  injury  of  his  future  reputation  r 
that  letters  and  verses  written  with  unguarded  and  im- 
proper freedom,  and  which  he  earnestly  wished  to  have 
buried  in  oblivion,  Avould  be  handed  about  by  idle  vanity, 
or  malevolence,  when  no  dread  of  his  resentment  would 
restrain  them,  or  prevent  the  censures  of  shrill-ton gued 
malice,  or  the  insidious  sarcasms  of  envy,  from  pouring 
forth  all  their  venom  to  blast  his  fame. 

"  He  lamented  that  he  had  written  many  epigrams 
on  persons  against  whom  he  entertained  no  enmity,  and 
whose  characters  he  should  be  sorry  to  wound  ;  and 
many  indifferent  poetical  pieces,  which  he  feared  would 
now,  with  all  their  imperfections  on  their  head,  be 
thrust  upon  the  world.  On  this  account  he  deeply  re- 
gretted having  deferred  to  put  his  papers  into  a  state  of 
arrangement,  as  he  was  now  quite  incapable  of  the  ex- 
ertion."— The  lady  goes  on  to  mention  many  other  to- 
pics of  a  private  nature  on  which  he  spoke. — "  The  con- 
versation," she  adds,  '*  was  kept  up  with  great  evenness 
and  animation  on  his  side.  I  had  seldom  seen  his 
mind  greater  or  more  collected.  There  was  frequent- 
ly a  considerable  degree  of  vivacity  in  iiis  sallies,,  and 
E  2 


liv  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

they  wowlcl  probably  have  had  a  greater  share,  had  not 
the  concern  and  dejection  I  could  not  disguise,  damp- 
ed the  spirit  of  pleasantry  he  seemed  not  unwilling  to 
indulge.'* 

"  We  parted  about  sun-set  on  the  evening  of  that  day, 
(the  5th  of  July,  1796)  ;  the  next  day  1  saw  him  again, 
and  we  parted  to  meet  no  more !" 

When  brought  back  to  his  own  house  in  Dumfries,  on 
the  18th  of  July,  he  was  no  longer  able  to  stand  upright. 
At  this  time  a  tremor  pervaded  his  frame  ;  his  tongue 
was  parched,  and  bis  mind  sunk  into  delirium,  when  not 
roused  by  conversation.  On  the  second  and  third  day 
the  fever  increased,  and  his  strength  diminished.  On 
the  fourth,  the  sufferings  of  this  great  but  ill-fated  ge- 
nius were  terminated,  and  a  life  was  closed  in  which  vir 
tue  and  passion  had  been  at  perpetual  variance. 

Burns  died  in  great  poverty,    but  the  independence  of 
3us  spirit,  and  the  exemplary  prudence  of  his  wife,  had 
preserved  him   from  debt.     He  had   received  from  his 
poems  a  clear  profit  of  about  nine  hundred  pounds.     Of 
this  sum,  the  part  expended  on  his  library  (which  was  far 
tVom  extensive)  and  in  the  humble  furniture  of  his  house, 
remained  ;  and  obligations  were  found  for  two  hundred 
pounds  a.dvanced   by  him  to  the   assistance  of  those  to 
'^vhom  he  was  united  by  the  ties  of  blood,  and  still  more 
"by  those  of  esteem  and  affection.     When  it  is  consider- 
ed that  his  expenses  in  Edinburgh,  and  on  his  various 
ournies,  could  not  be  inconsiderable  ;  that  his  agricultu- 
ral -undertaking  was  unsuccessful ;  that  his  income  from 
the  excise  v/as  for  some  lime  as  low  as  fifty,  and  never 
rose  to  above  seventy  pounds  a  year;  that  his  family  was 
large,  and  his  spirit  liberal — no  one  will  be  surprised  that 
his  circumstances  were  so  poor,  or  that  as  his  health  de- 
cayed, his  proud  and  feeling  heart  sunk  under  the  secret 
consciousness  of  indigence,   and   the   apprehensions  of 
absolute   want.      Yet  poverty  never  bent  the   spirit  of 
Burns  to  any  pecuniary  meanness.     Neither  chicanery 
nor  sordidness  ever  appeared  in  his  conduct.  He  carried 
his  disregard  of  money  to  a  biameable  excess.     Even  in 
the  midst  of  distress  he  bore  himself  loftily  to  the  world, 
and  received  with  a  jealous  reluctance  every  offer  of 
.friendly  assiBtance.      His  printed  poems  bad  procureti 


THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS.  ly 

him  great  celebrity,  and  a  just  and  fair  recompense  for 
the  letter  offsprings  of  his  pen,  might  have  produced  him 
considerable  euiolument.  In  the  year  1795,  the  Editor 
of  a  London  newspaper,  high  in  its  character  for  litera- 
ture and  independence  of  sentiment,  made  a  proposal  to 
him,  that  he  should  furnish  them  once  a  week  with  an 
article  for  their  poetical  department,  and  receive  from 
them  a  recompense  of  fifty-two  guineas  per  annum  ;  an 
ofier  which  the  pride  of  genius  disdained  to  accept.  Yet 
he  had  for  several  years  furnished,  and  was  at  that  time  fur- 
nishing, the  Museum  of  Johnson  with  his  beautiful  lyrics 
without  fee  or  reward,  and  was  obstinately  refusing  all 
recompense  for  his  assistance  to  the  greater  work  of 
Mr.  Thomson,  which  the  justice  and  generosity  of  that 
gentleman  was  pressing  upon  him. 

The  sense  of  his  poverty,  and  of  the  approaching  dis- 
tress of  his  infant  family,  pressed  heavily  on  Burns  as  he 
lay  on  the  bed  of  death.  Yet  he  alluded  to  his  indigence, 
at  times,  with  something  approaching  to  his  wonted  gaie- 
ty... .''•  What  business,"  said  he  to  Dr.  Maxwell,  who  at- 
tended him  with  the  utmost  zeal,  "  has  a  physician  to 
waste  his  time  on  me  ?  I  am  a  poor  pigeon  not  worth 
plucking.  Alas  !  I  have  not  feathers  enough  upon  me  to 
carry  iiiC  to  my  grave."  And  when  his  reason  was  lost 
in  delirium,  his  ideas  run  in  the  same  melancholy  train  ^ 
the  horrors  of  a  jail  were  continually  present  to  his  trou- 
bled imagination,  and  produced  the  most  affecting  excla- 
mations. 


ELEGY 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

BY  ROSCOE. 


JlEAR  high  thy  bleak  majestic  hills, 

Thy  shelter'd  vallies  proudly  spread, 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills, 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blossoms  red 
But  ah  !  what  poet  now  shall  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign, 
Since  he,  the  sweetest  bard  is  dead 

That  ever  breath'd  the  soothing  strain  ? 

As  green  thy  towering  pines  may  grow. 

As  clear  thy  streams  may  speed  along, 
As  bright  thy  summer  suns  may  glow, 

As  gaily  charm  thy  feathery  throng  ; 
But  now,  unheeded  is  the  song, 

And  dull  and  lifeless  all  around. 
For  his  wild  harp  lies  all  unstrung. 

And  cold  the  hand  that  wak'd  its  sound- 

What  tho*  thy  vigorous  offspring  rise, 

In  arts,  in  arms  thy  sons  excel ; 
Tho'  beauty  in  thy  daughter's  eyes, 

And  health  in  every  feature  dwell; 
Yet  who  shall  now  their  praises  tell, 

In  strains  impassion'd,  fond  and  free, 
Since  he  no  more  the  song  shall  swell 

To  love,  and  liberty,  and  thee  ? 


Ivii 

With  stcp-dame  eye  and  frown  severe 

His  hapless  youth  why  didst  thou  view  ? 
For  all  thy  joys  to  him  were  dear, 

And  all  his  vows  to  thee  were  due  : 
Nor  greater  bliss  his  bosom  knew, 

In  opening  youth's  delightful  prime, 
Than  when  thy  favouring  ear  he  drew 

To  listen  to  his  chaunted  rhyme. 

Thy  lonely  wastes  and  frowning  skies 

To  him  were  all  with  rapture  fraught  ; 
He  heard  with  joy  the  tempest  rise 

That  wak'd  him  to  sublimcr  thought ; 
And  oft  thy  winding  dells  he  sought, 

Where  wild-flowers  jjour'd  their  rathe  perfume. 
And  with  sincere  devotion  brought 

To  thee  the  summer's  earliest  bloom. 

But  ah  !  no  fond  maternal  smiie 

His  unprotected  youth  enjoy'd  ; 
His  limbs  inur'd  to  early  toil. 

His  days  with  early  hardships  tried, 
And  more  to  mark  the  gloomy  void, 

And  bid  him  feel  his  misery, 
Before  his  infant  eyes  would  glide 

Day-dreams  of  inimortaii'Ly. 

Yet,  not  with  cold  neglect  depress'd, 

W^ith  sinewy  arm  lie  turn'd  the  soil. 
Sunk  with  the  evcniirg  sun  to  rest, 

And  met  at  morn  his  earliest  smile. 
Wak'd  by  his  rustic  pipe,  meanwhile 

The  powers  of  fancy  came  along. 
And  sooth'd  his  Icngthen'd  Jiours  of  toil 

With  native  wit  and  sprightly  song. 

.Ah  I  days  of  bliss,  too  swifily  fled, 
When  vigorous  health  from  labour  springa^ 

\nd  bland  contentment  smooths  the  bed. 
And  sleep  his  re:\dy  opiate  brings; 


Wui 

And  hoverinp;  round  on  airy  wings 
Flout  the  light  forms  of  young  desire. 

That  of  unutterable  things 

The  soft  and  shadowy  hope  inspire. 

Now  spells  of  mightier  power  prepare, 

Bid  brighter  phantoms  round  him  dance  ; 
Let  flattery  spread  her  viewless  snare, 

And  fame  attract  his  vagrant  glance  ; 
Let  sprightly  pleasure  too  advance, 

Unveil'd  her  eyes,  unclasp'd  her  zone, 
'Till  lost  in  love's  delirious  trance, 

He  scorn  the  joys  his  youth  has  knowa. 

Let  friendship  pour  her  brightest  blaze, 

Expanding  all  the  bloom  of  soul  ; 
And  mirth  concenter  all  her  rays, 

And  point  them  from  the  sparkling  bowl  j 
And  let  the  careless  moments  roll 

In  social  pleasures  imconfin'd, 
And  confidence  that  spurns  controul 

Unlock  the  inmost  springs  of  mind. 

And  lead  his  steps  those  bowers  among, 

Where  elegance  with  splendour  vies, 
Or  science  bids  her  favour'd  throng 

To  more  refin'd  sensations  rise  : 
Beyond  the  peasant's  humbler  joys. 

And  freed  from  each  laborious  strife. 
There  let  him  learn  the  bliss  to  prize 

That  waits  the  sons  of  polish'd  life. 

Then  whilst  his  throbbing  veins  beat  high 

With  every  impulse  of  delight. 
Dash  from  his  lips  the  cup  of  joy. 

And  shroud  the  scene  in  shades  of  night ; 
And  let  despair  with  wizard  light, 

Disclose  the  yawning  gulph  below, 
And  pour  incessant  on  his  sight 

Her  specterM  ills  and  shapes  of  woe  : 


lix 

And  shew  beneath  a  cheerless  shed, 

With  sorrowing  heart  and  streaming  eyeS; 
In  silent  grief  where  droops  her  head. 

The  partner  of  his  early  joys  ; 
And  let  his  infants'  tender  cries 

His  fond  parental  succour  claim, 
And  bid  him  hear  in  agonies 

A  husband's  and  a  father's  name. 

'Tis  done,  the  powerful  charm  succeeds  ; 

His  high  reluctant  spirit  bends  ; 
In  bitterness  of  soul  he  bleeds. 

Nor  longer  with  his  fate  contends. 
An  ideot  laugh  the  welkin  rends 

As  genius  thus  degraded  lies  ; 
"'Till  pitying  heaven  the  veil  extends 

That  shrouds  the  Poet's  ardent  eyes, 

....Rear  high  thy  bleak  majestic  hills, 

Thy  shelter'd  vallies  proudly  spread, 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills. 

And  wave  thy  h#aths  with  blossoms  red ; 
But  never  more  shall  Poet  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign. 
Since  he,  the  sweetest  bard  is  dead 

That  ever  breath'd  the  soothing  strain. 


THE 

COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT, 

INSCRIBED    TO    R.    A****,   ESq. 


I^t  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile. 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  Poor. 


CRAY. 


MY  lov'd,  my  honored,  much  respected  friend  ! 

No  mercenary  Bard  his  homage  pays ; 
With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  selfish  end, 

My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise  ; 
To  you  I  sin^,  in  simple  Scottish  lays, 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  seouesterM  scene ; 
The  native  feelini^s  strong,  the  guileless  ways, 

What  A****  in  a  cottage  would  have  been ; 
Ah  I  tho*  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween ! 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh ; 

1  he  short*ning  winter-day  is  near  a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh ; 

The  black*ning  trains  o*  craws  to  their  repose : 
The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labour  goes, 

This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end. 
Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 

Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
.\nd  weary,  o*er  the  moor,  his  course  does  homeward 
bend. 

B 


2  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF' 

At  length  his  lonely  Cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  tl.e  shelter  of  an  ai^ed  tree; 
Th'  expectant  wee-things^  toddlin,  stacher  throU£]:h 

To  meet  their  Dad,  \vi'  flichterin  noise  and  giee. 
His  wee-bit  ingle,  blinkin  bonilie. 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  ihriity  M'rfie's  smile, 
The  lisping  infant,  prattling  on  his  knee, 

Does  a*  his  weary  kiuiigh  and  care  beguile, 
And  makes  him  quiie  forget  his  labor  and  his  toil. 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drapping  in, 

At  service  out,  amang  the  Farmers*  roun' ; 
Some  ca*  the  plcugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  towri: 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenmj,  woman  grown. 

In  youthfu'  bloom.  Love  sparkling  in  her  e'e. 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  biaw  new  gown, 

Or  deposite  her  fair-won  penny-fee. 
To  help  her  Parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  bCp 

With  joy  unfeign'd,  brothers  and  sisters  meet. 

And  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers  : 
The  social  hours,  switt-wing'd,  urnotic'd  fleet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears. 
The  Parents,  partial,  eye  tfieir  hopeful  years; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view ; 
The  Mother^  wi'  her  needle  and  her  shears. 

Gars  auid  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's  the  new ; 
The  Father  mixes  a*  wi*  admonition  due. 

Their  Master's  and  their  Mistress's  command, 

1  he  youngkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey  ; 
And  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent  hand, 

And  ne'er,  tho'  out  o*  sight,  to  jauk  or  play ; 
'  And  O  1  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway  ! 

'  And  minti  your  duty^  duly,  morn  and  night ! 
<  Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 

'  Implore  his  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
'  They  never  sought  in   vain  that   sought   the   Lord 
'  aright.* 


ROBERT  BURNS.  S 

But  hark  I  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door  ; 

Jennijn,  wha  kens  the  meaning;  o'  the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor, 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  fl^me 

Sparkle  in  Jcnnifs  e'e,  and  iiush  her  cheek, 
With  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  en  quires  his  name, 

While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak  ; 
We  el  pleas'd  the  Mother  hears,  it's  nae  wild,  worthless 
Rake. 

With  kindly  welcome,  Jenny  brings  him  hen  ; 

A  strappan  youth  ;  he  takes  the  Mother's  eye ; 
Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  i!l  taen  ; 

The  Father  cracks  of  horses,  pleui^jhs,  and  kyc. 
The  Youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 

Bui  blate  an'  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave; 
The  Mother,  wi*  a  woman's  wiles  can  spy 

What  makes  the  Youth  sae  bashfu'  and  sae  grave; 
Weel  pleas'd  to  think  her  dairn*s  respected  like  the  lave. 

O  happy  love  !  where  love  like  this  is  found  I 
O  heart-felt  raptures !  bliss  beyond  compare  I 

I've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal  rounds 

And  sage  Experience  bids  me  this  declare 

*  If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare, 
'  One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  Vale, 

<  'Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair, 

^  In  other's  arms,  breathe  out  the  tender  tale, 

<  Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  ev'ning 

*  gale.* 

Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart — 

A  Wretch  !  a  Villain !  lost  to  love  and  truth ! 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art. 

Betray  sweet  Jemn/s  unsuspecting  youth  ? 
Curse  on  his  perjur'd  arts  1  dissembling  smooth  i 

Are  Honor,  Virtue,  Conscience  all  exii'd  ? 
Is  there  no  Pity,  no  relentiuii;  Ruth, 

Points  to  the  Parents  fondling  o'er  their  child  ? 
Then  paints  the  ruin'd  Maid,  and  their  distraction  wilO. 


4  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01' 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

^  The  healsome  Parritch,  chief  of  Scotia'a  food  : 
The  boupe  their  only  Haivkie  does  afford, 

That  *yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood  : 
The  Dame  brings  forth,  in  complimental  mood, 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck,  fell, 
And  aft  he*s  prest,  and  aft  he  ca's  it  guid; 

The  frugal  Wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell. 
How  *twas  a  towmond  auld,  'sin  Lint  was  i*  the  bell. 

The  cheerfu'  Supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  with  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  ha-Bible^  ance  his  Father's  pride  : 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside. 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  and  bare ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care  ; 
•=  And  let  us  nuorshifi  God  !'  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise  ; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim  : 
Perhaps  Dundee's  wild  warbling  measures  rise, 

Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  of  the  name  ; 
Or  noble  J'llgin  beets  the  heav'n-ward  flame, 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays : 
Co    par'd  with  these,  Italian  trills' are  tame  ; 

The  tickl'd  ears  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise  ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator*s  praise. 

The  priest-like  Father  reads  the  sacred  page. 

How  jibra?n  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high  ; 
Or,  Mosea  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 

With  Amali'k's  ungracious  progeny  : 
Or  how  the  royal  Bard  did  groaning  lye 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire  ; 
Or  Joh\  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry ; 

Or  rapt  Isaiah" s  wild  seraphic  fire  ; 
Or  other  holy  Seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  Volume  is  the  theme, 
How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  men  was  shed ; 


ROBERT  BURNS.  S 

How  He)  who  bore  in  Heav*n  the  second  name, 
Had  not  on  Earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head : 

How  His  first  followers  and  servants  sped  ; 
The  Precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land  ; 

How  A(?,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished, 
Saw  in  the  Sun  a  mighty  angel  stand ; 

And  heard  great  Bah'lorCs  doom  pronounc'd  by  Heav'n's 
command. 

Then  kneeling  down  to  Heaven's  Etehnal  King, 

The  Saint ^  the  Father ^  and  the  Husband^  prays  : 
Hope  '  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing*, 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  hi  future  days  : 
There,  ever  bask  in  imcreated  rays. 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear. 
Together  hymning  their  Creator'* s  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear; 
While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

Compar'd  with  this,  how  poor  Religion's  pride, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method,  and  of  art. 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide. 

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace,  except  the  heart  I 
The  FoivW)  incens'd,  the  Pageant  vv'ill  desert. 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stele  ; 
But  haply,  in  some  Cottage  far  apart, 

M^iy  hear,  well-pleas'd,  the  language  of  the  Soul  j 
And  in  His  Book  of  Life  the  Inmates  poor  enroll. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  sev'ral  way; 

The  youngling  Cottagers  retire  to  rest : 
The  Parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay. 

And  proffer  up  to  Heav'n  the  warm  request^ 
That  He  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest, 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flow'ry  pride, 
Would,  in  the  way  His  Wisdom  sees  the  best, 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide  ; 
But  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  Grace  divine  preside » 

From  scenes  like  these,  o\di  Scotia* s  grandeur  springs^ 
That  mukes  her  lov'd  at  home,  rever'd  abroad : 

*  Pope's  Windsor  Forest. 

B  % 


5  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  O? 

Princes  and  Lords  are  but  the  breath  of  Kings, 
'  An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God  :' 

And  cerfes,  in  fair  Virtue's  heavenly  ro.id, 
The  Cottcg-e  leaves  the  Palace  far  behind  : 

What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load, 
Cisi^uising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 

Studied  in  arts  of  Hell,  in  wickedness  refin'd  ! 

O  Scotia  I  my  dear,  my  native  ^oil  1 

For  whom  my  Witri  est  wish  to  Heav'n  is  sent  1 
Lonpj  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil. 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content  I 
And,  O  !  may  Heav'n  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  Luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile  ! 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  pofiulace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much  lov'd  Me. 

O  Thou  I  who  pour'd  the  patriotic  tide, 

That  stream'd  thro'  Wallace^s  undaunted  heart ; 
Who  dar'd  to,  nobly,  stem  tyrannic  pride, 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part; 
(The  Patriot's  God^  peculiarly  thou  art. 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward  I) 
O  never,  never  Scotia* a  realm  desert ; 

But  still  the  Patriot  and  the  Patriot-Bard^ 
Ir*  bright  succession  raise,  her  Ornament  and  Guard  ! 


I^LIN  WAS  IVIADE  TO  MOURN, 

A  DIRGE. 

WHF.N  chill  November's  surly  blast 

Made  fi-.-lds  and  forests  bare. 
One  ev'i.iiig,  as  1  wand'red  forth 

Along  the  btnks  of  ^</r, 
I  spy'd  a  man,  whose  aged  step 

Seeni'd  weary,  worn  with  care  ; 
His  fcico  was  furrow'd  o'er  with  years. 

And  hoary  wus  his  hair. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

Young  stranger,  whither  wand'rest  thou  ? 

Began  the  rev'rend  Sage  ; 
Does  thirst  of  wealth  thy  step  constrain, 

Or  youthful  Pleasure's  rage  ? 
Or  haply,  prest  with  cares  and  woes, 

Too  soon  thou  hast  began, 
To  wander  forth,  with  me,  to  mourn 

The  miseries  of  Man. 

The  Sun  that  overhangs  yon  moors. 

Out-spreading  far  and  wide. 
Where  hundreds  labour  to  support 

A  haughty  lordling's  pride : 
I've  seen  yon  weary  winter-sun 

Twice  forty  times  return  ; 
And  ev'ry  time  has  added  proofs, 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 


O  Man  !  while  in  thy  early  years. 

How  prodigal  of  time  ! 
Mis-spending  all  thy  precious  hoursj 

Thy  glorious,  youthful  prime  ! 
Alternate  Follies  take  the  sway  ; 

Licentious  passions  burn  ; 
Which  tenfold  force  gives  Nature's  law. 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime, 

Or  Manhood's  active  might ; 
Man  then  is  useful  to  his  kind, 

Sufifiorted  is  his  right : 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 

With  Cares  and  Sorrows  worn. 
Then  Age  and  Want,  Oh  !  ill  match'd  pair  I 

Show  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

A  few  seem  favorites  of  Fate, 

In  pleasures  lap  carest ; 
Yet,  think  not  all  the  Rich  and  Great 
f      Are  likewise  truly  blest. 
But,  Oh  !  what  crowds  in  ev'ry  land. 

All  wretched  and  forlorn, 


8  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Thro*  weary  life  this  lesson  learn, 
That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

Many  and  sharp  the  numerous  Ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame  I 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves, 

Regret,  Remorse,  and  Shame  ! 
And  Man,  whose  heav*n-erected  face. 

The  smiles  of  love  adorn, 
Man's  inhumanity  to  Man 

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn  1 

See  yonder  poor,  o'erlabour'd  wight, 

So  abject,  mean,  and  vile. 
Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil; 
And  see  his  lordly /c/Zow-wor;?:, 

The  poor  Petition  spurn. 
Unmindful,  tho'  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

If  I'm  design'd  yon  loi-dling's  slave, 

By  nature's  law  design'd, 
"Why  was  an  independent  wish 

E'er  planted  in  my  mind  ? 
If  not,  why  am  I  subject  to 

His  cruelly,  or  scorn  ? 
Or  why  has  Man  the  will  and  pow'r 

To  make  his  fellow  mourn? 

Yet,  let  not  this  too  much,  my  Son, 

Disturb  thy  youthful  breast : 
This  partial  view  of  human-kind 

Is  surely  not  the  last  I 
The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man 

Had  never,  sure,  been  born, 
Had  there  not  been  some  recompense 

To  comfort  those  that  mourn  ! 

O  Death  !  the  poor  man's  dearest  friend. 

The  kindest  and  the  best ! 
Welcome  the  hour,  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest ! 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

The  Great,  the  Wealthy  fear  thy  blow, 
From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 

But,  Oh !  a  blest  relief  for  those 
That  weary-laden  mourn ! 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY. 

On  turning  one  down,  with  a  plough,  in  April  1786. 

WEE,  modest,  crimson -tipped  flow'r, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem : 
To  spare  thee  novv  is  past  my  pow*r, 

Thou  bonie  gem. 

Alas !  its  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonie  Lark^  companion  meet ! 
Bending  thee  *mang  the  dewy  weet  I 

Wi*  spreckl'd  breast. 
When  upward-springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  East. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  North 
Upon  thy  early,  huisble  birth  ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm. 
Scarce  rear*d  above  the  Parent-earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flow'rs  our  Gardens  yield, 
High  sheit'ring  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield  j 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  hislie  stibble-Jield^ 
Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sun-ward  spread. 


10  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01- 

Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise  ; 

But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 
And  low  tliou  lies  1 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  Maid, 
Sweet 7?07y'7Vif  of  the  rural  shade  ! 
By  Love*s  simplicity  betrtiy'd, 

And  guileless  trust. 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soii'd,  is  laid 

Low  i*  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  Bard, 
On  Life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starr'd  I 
Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  Prudent  Lorcy 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  giv*n, 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  hi.s  striven, 
By  human  pride  or  cunning  driv*h 

To  Mis'ry's  brink. 
Till  wrench'd  of  every  stay  but  Heaven, 

He,  ruin'd,  sink  I 

Ev'n  thou  who  mourn'st  the  daisy's  fate^ 
That  fate  is  thine — no  distant  date; 
Stern  Ruin's /^/owgA-iAar*?  drives,  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight, 

Shall  be  thy  doom ! 


THE  FIRST  SIX  VERSES 

OF  THE  NINETIETH  PSALM. 

O  THOU,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend 

Of  all  the  human  race! 
Whose  strong  right  hand  has  ever  been 

Their  stay  and  dwelling-place  ! 


ROBERT  BURNS.  11 


Before  the  mountains  heav'd  their  heads 

Beneath  Thy  forming  hand, 
Before  this  pond'rous  globe  itself 

Arose  iit  Thy  command : 

That  pow'r  which  rnis*d  and  still  upholds 

This  universal  frame, 
From  countless,  unbeginning  time 

Was  ever  still  the  same. 

Those  mighty  periods  of  years 

Which  seem  to  us  so  vdst, 
Appear  no  more  before  T'.y  sight 

Than  yesterday  that's  past. 

Thou  giv'st  the  word  ;  Thy  creature,  man, 

Js  to  existence  brought  ; 
Again  Thou  say'st,  '  Ye  sons  of  men, 

<  Return  ye  into  nought  I' 

Thou  layest  them  with  all  their  cares 

In  everlasting  sleep  ; 
As  witli  a  flood  Thou  tak'st  them  off 

With  overwhelming  sweep. 

They  flourish  like  the  morning  flow'r 

In  beauty's  pride  array'd  ; 
But  long  ere  night  cut  down  it  lies 

All  wither'd  and  decay'd. 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 

A  TALE. 

'TWAS  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle, 
That  beurs  the  name  o'  j^idd  King'  Cuily 
Upon  a  bonie  day  in  June, 
When  wearing  thro'  the  afternoon, 
Twa  Dogs,  that  were  na  thrang  at  hame, 
Forguther'd  ance  upon  a  ti^i.e. 


12  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  first  I'll  name,  they  ca*d  him  Casar^ 
Was  keepit  for  his  Honor's  pleasure ; 
His  hair,  his  size,  his  mouth,  his  lugs, 
Shew'd  he  was  nane  o*  Scotland's  dogs, 
But  whalpit  some  place  far  abroad, 
Whare  sailors  gang  to  fish  for  Cod. 

His  locked,  lettered,  braw  brass  collar 
Shew'd  him  the  gentleman  and  scholar  j 
But  tho'  he  was  o'  high  degree. 
The  fient  a  pride  nu  pride  had  he, 
But  wad  hae  spent  an  hour  caressin, 
Ev*n  wi*  a  tinkler-gipsey's  messin : 
At  kirk  or  market,  mill  or  smiddie, 
Nae  tauted  tyke,  tho'  e'er  sae  duddie, 
But  he  wad  stan't,  as. glad  to  see  him. 
An'  stroan't  on  stanes  an'  hillocks  wi*  him. 

The  tither  was  a  ploughman's  collie, 
A  rhyming,  ranting,  raving  biliie, 
Wha  for  his  friend  an'  comrade  had  him. 
And  in  his  freaks  had  Luuth  ca'd  him. 
After  some  dog  in  Highland  sang*. 
Was  made  lang  syne, — Lord  knows  how  lang. 

He  was  a  gash  an*  faithfu'  tyke, 
As  ever  lap  a  sheugh  or  dyke. 
His  honest,  sonsie,  baws'nt  face, 
Ay  gat  him  friends  in  ilka  place  : 
His  breast  was  white,  his  towzie  back 
Weel  clad  wi'  coat  o'  glossy  black; 
His  gaucie  tail,  wi*  upward  curl. 
Hung  owre  his  hurdics  wi'  a  swirl. 

Nae  doubt  but  they  were  fain  o'  ither, 
An*  unco  pack  an'  thick  thegither ; 
Wi'  social  nose  whyles  snuff'd  an'  snowkit  ; 
Whyles  mice  and  moudieworts  they  howkit  j 
Whyles  scour'd  awa  in  lang  excursion, 
An'  worry'd  ither  in  diversion  ; 

*  CuchulUn's  dog  in  Ossian's  Fingal. 


ROBERT  BITRNS.  13 

Till  tir'd  at  last  wi*  mony  a  farce, 
They  sat  them  down  upon  their  a—, 
An'  there  began  a  lang  digression 
About  the  lords  o*  the  creation. 

C^SAR. 

I're  aften  wonder'd,  honest  Luath, 
What  sort  o'  life  poor  dogs  like  you  have  j 
An*  when  the  gentry's  life  I  saw, 
What  way  poor  bodies  liv'd  ava. 

Our  Laird  gets  in  his  racked  rents, 
His  coals,  his  kain,  an'  a'  his  stents  : 
He  rises  when  he  likes  himsel ; 
His  flunkies  answer  at  the  bell  ; 
He  ca's  his  coach ;  he  ca's  his  horse  ;  '^ 

He  draws  a  bonie  silken  purse 
As  lang's  my  vail,  whare,  thro'  the  steeksj 
The  yellow  letter'd  Geordie  keeks. 

Frae  morn  to  e'en  it's  nought  but  toilingj 
At  baking,  roasting,  frying,  boiling  ; 
An*  tho*  the  gently  first  are  stechin, 
Yet  ev'n  the  ha'  folk  fill  their  pechan 
Wi'  sauce,  ragouts,  an*  sic  like  trashrie, 
That's  little  short  o'  downright  wastrie. 
Our  Whipper-in,  wee,  blastit  wonner, 
Poor,  worthless  elf,  it  eats  a  dinner, 
Better  than  ony  tenant  man 
His  Honor  has  in  a*  the  Ian* : 
An*  what  poor  cot-folk  pit  their  painch  inp 
I  own  it's  past  my  comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth,  Caesar,  why'les  they're  fash't  enough  ^ 
A  cotter  howkin  in  a  sheugh, 
Wi'  dirty  stanes  biggin  a  dyke, 
Baring  a  quarry,  an'  sic  like, 
'Himsel,  a  wife,  he  thus  sustains, 
A  smvrtie  o*  wee  duddie  weans> 

C 


14  THK  FOBTIGAL  WORKS  01 

An'  nought  but  his  han*  darg,  to  keep 
Them  right  an'  tiglrt  in  thack  an'  rape. 

An*  when  they  meet  vvi'  sair  disasters, 
Lfike  loss  o'  health  or  want  o'  masters, 
Ye  maist  wad  think,  a  wee  touch  Linger, 
An'  they  maun. starve  o'  cauld  an'  hunger; 
B«Jt  how  it  comes,  I  never  kend  yet, 
They're  maistly  wonderfu'  contented  ; 
An'  buirdly  chiels,  an'  clever  hizzies, 
Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 

CiE.SAR, 

But  then,  to  see  how  ye're  negleckit, 
How  hufF'd,  an'  cuff 'd,  an'  disrespeckit  i 
L — d,.man,  our  gentry  care  as  little 
For  delvers,  ditchers,  an'  sic  cattle ; 
They  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk, 
As  I  wad  by  a  stinking  brock. 

I've  notic'd,  on  our  Laird's  court  day, 
An'  j.iony  a  time  my  heart's  been  wae, 
Poor  tenant  bodies,  scant  o'  cash. 
How  they  maun  thole  a  factor's  snash  ; 
He'll  stamp  an'  threaten,  curse  an*  swear. 
He'll  apprehend  them,  poind  their  gear; 
While  they  maun  stan',  vvi*  aspect  hnmbic. 
An'  hear  it  a',  an'  fear  an'  tremble  ! 

I  see  how  folk  live  that  hae  riches ; 
But  surely  poor  folk  maun  be  wretches  ! 

LUATH. 

They're  no  sae  wretched's  anc  wad  think  ; 
Tho'  constantly  on  poortith's  brink, 
They're  sae  accusioui'd  wi'  the  sight, 
The  view  o't  gies  them  little  fright. 

Then  chance  and  fortune  are  sae  guided. 
They're  ay  in  less  or  mair  provided ; 


BOBERT  BURNS.  1^^ 


An'  tho'  fatigu'd  wi*  dose  employment, 
A  blink  o*  rest's  a  sweet  enjoyment. 

The  dearest  comfort  o'  their  lives, 
Their  grushie  weans  an'  faithfu'  wives  ; 
The  prattling  things  are  just  their  pride, 
That  sv*reetens  a'  their  fire-side. 

An'  whyles  twalpennie  worth  o'  nappy 
Can  mak  the  bodies  unco  happy ; 
They  lay  aside  their  private  cares, 
To  mind  the  Kirk  and  state  affairs ; 
They'll  talk  o'  patronage  an'  priests, 
Wi'  kindling  fury  i'  their  breasts, 
Or  tell  what  new  taxation's  comin, 
An'  ferlie  at  the  folk  in  London. 

As  blenk-fac'd  Hallowmas  returns, 
They  get  the  jovial,  ranting  Kirns, 
When  rural  life^  of  ev'ry  station, 
Unite  in  common  recreation  ; 
Love  blinks.  Wit  slaps,  an'  social  Mirth 
Forgets  there's  Care  upo'  the  earth. 

That  merry  day  the  year  begins, 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  wins  ; 
The  nappy  reeks  wi'  mantling  ream, 
An'  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam ; 
The  luntin  pipe,  an'  sneeshin  mill, 
Are  handed  round  wi'  right  guid  will ; 
The  cantie  auld  folks  crackin  crouse, 
The  young  anes  ranting  thro'  the  house- 
My  heart  has  been  sae  fain  to  see  them, 
That  I  for  joy  hae  barkit  wi'  them. 

Still  it's  owre  true  that  ye  hae  said, 
Sic  game  is  now  owre  aften  play'd ; 
There's  monie  a  creditable  stock 
O'  decent,  honest,  fawsont  folk, 
Are  riven  out  baith  root  an'  branch. 
Some  rascal's  pridefu'  greed  to  quench. 


16  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Wha  t^inks  to  knit  himsel  the  faster 
I;j  tavour  wi'  some  gentle  Master, 
V*  ha    L)!ins  throng  a  parliamentin, 
For  Lritidn's  i^uid  his  saul  indentin 

e^SAR. 


Haith,  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it  j 
J*'o7^  Britain*s  guid  I  guid  faith  !  I  doubt  it. 
Say  rather,  gaun  as  Premievfi  lead  him, 
An'  saying  aye  or  no^s  they  bid  him  : 
At  Operas  an'  Plays  parading, 
Mortgaging,  gambling,  masquerading  : 
Or  may  be,  in  a  froiic  daft, 
To  Hague  or  Calais  taks  a  waft, 
To  mak  a  tour  an'  tak  a  whirl. 
To  learn  ban  ton  an'  see  the  worl*. 

There,  at  Vienna  or  Versailles^ 
He  rivt-s  his  father's  auld  entdils  ; 
Oi-  by  Madrid  he  taks  the  rout. 
To  thnmi  guittars  an'  fecht  wi'  nowt ; 
Or  down  Italian  Vista  startles, 
Wh-re  hunting  amang  groves  o'  myrtles : 
Then  bouses  drunilie  German  water. 
To  mak  hmi  sel*  look  fair  and  fatter. 
An'  clear  fne  consequential  sorrows, 
Love  gilts  of  Carnival  Signioras. 

For  Britain's  guid  I  for  her  destruction  ! 
Wi'  dissipation,  feu<i  an'  faction  ! 

LUATH. 

Hcch  mar:  I  dear  sirs  !  is  that  the  gat? 
They  waste  sae  raony  a  braw  estate  ! 
Are  we  sae  foughten  and  harass'd 
For  gear  to  gang  that  gate  at  last] 

O  would  they  stay  aback  frae  courts, 
An'  please  themsels  >vi'  countra  sports^ 


ROBERT  BURNS.  IT 

It  wad  for  ev'ry  ane  be  better, 
The  Laird,  the  Tenant,  an'  the  Cotter  ! 
For  thae  frank,  rantin,  rambiin  billies, 
Fient  haet  o'  them  's  ill  hearted  fellows  j 
Except  for  breakin  o'  their  timmer, 
Or  speakin  lightly  o'  their  Limmer, 
Or  shooting  o'  a  hare  or  moorcock, 
The  ne'er-a-bit  they're  ill  to  poor  folk. 

But  will  ye  tell  me,  master  Ccesar, 
Sure  great  folk's  life's  a.  life  o'  pleasure  ? 
Nae  cauld  nor  hunger  e'er  can  steer  them, 
The  vera  thought  o't  need  na  fear  them. 

C^SAR. 

L — d,  man,  were  ye  but  whyles  whare  I  am, 
The  genties  ye  wad  ne'er  envy  'cm. 

It's  true  they  need  na  starve  or  sweat. 
Thro'  Winter's  cauld,  or  Simmer's  heat; 
They've  na  sair  wark  to  craze  their  banes. 
An'  fill  auld  age  wi'  grips  an'  granes ; 
But  human  bodies  are  sic  fools, 
For  a'  their  colleges  and  schools. 
That  when  nae  real  ills  perplex  them,  ^Mk 

They  make  enow  themsels  to  vex  them,  ^^ 

An'  ay  the  less  they  hae  to  sturt  them, 
In  like  proportion,  less  will  hurt  them. 

A  country  fellow  at  the  pleugh, 
His  acre's  till'd,  he's  right  eneugh  j 
A  country  girl  at  her  wheel, 
Her  dizzen's  done,  she's  unco  weel  : 
But  Gentlemen,  an'  Ladies  warst, 
Wi'  ev'n  down  want  o'  wark  are  curst. 
They  loiter,  lounging,  lank,  an'  lazy; 
Tho'  deil  haet  ails  them,  \et  uneasy ; 
Their  days,  insipid  dull  an'  tasteless, 
Their  nights,  unquiet,  lang,  and  restless 
C  2 


18  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

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

The  Men  cast  out  in  party  matches, 
Then  sowther  a'  in  deep  debauches. 
Ae  night,  they're  mad  wi'  drhik  an'  wh-ring 
Niest  day  their  life  is  past  enduring. 

The  ladies  arm-in-arm  in  clusters. 
As  great  an'  gracious  a'  as  sisters  ; 
But  hear  their  absent  thoughts  o'  ither. 
They're  fc'  run  deils  an'  jads  thegither. 
Whyles,  owre  the  wee  bit  ci,ip  an'  platie, 
They  sip  the  scandal  potion  pretty  ; 
Or  lee-)ang  nights,  wi'  crabbit  Icuks, 
Pore  o^^  re  the  devil's  piciur'd  beuks, 
Stake  on  a  chance  a  farmer's  stackyard, 
An'  cheat  like  ony  unhang'd  blackguard. 

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

By  this,  the  sun  was  out  o*  sight. 
An'  darker  gloaniin  brought  the  night : 
The  buv^^Jck  hummM  wi'  lazy  drone, 
The  kye  s*t:ood  rowtin  i'  the  loan  ; 
When  up  they  gat  an'  shook  their  Kigs^ 
Rcjoic'd  they  were  na  men,,  but  doga ; 
An'  each  took  aft*  his  several  way, 
Resolv'd  to  meet  some  ither  day. 


ROBERT  RURNS.  19 


SCOTCH  DRINK. 

Oie  him  strong  drink  until  he  wink. 

That's  sinking-  in  despair  ; 
An'  liquor  guid  to  fire  his  bluid, 

That's  prest  wi*  grief  an'  care  : 
There  let  him  bouse  an'  deep  carouse^ 

Wi'  bumpers  flowing  o'er. 
Till  he  forgets  his  loves  or  debtSt 

An'  minds  his  griefs  no  more. 

Solomon's  Puov.  xxxi.  6,  7. 

LET  other  Poets  raise  a  fracas, 

'Bout  vines,  an  'wines,  an'  druken  Bacchus^ 

An'  crabbit  names  an'  stories  wiwck  us, 

An'  grate  our  lug, 
I  sing  the  juice  Scotch  beer  can  mak  us. 

In  glass  or  jug. 

O  thou,  my  Muse  !  guid  auld  Scotch  Drink  I 
Whether  thro'  wimplin  worms  thou  jink, 
Or,  richly  brown,  ream  owre  the  brink, 

In  glorious  faem, 
Inspire  me,  till  I  lisp  an'  wink, 

To  sing  thy  name  ! 

Let  husky  Wheat  the  haughs  adorn, 
An'  Aits  set  up  their  awnie  horn,  ^ili 

An'  Pease  and  Beans,  at  e'en  or  morn,  ~ 

Perfume  the  plain, 
Lceze  me  on  thee,  John  Barleycorn^ 

Thou  king  o'  grain  1 

On  thee  aft  Scotland  chows  her  cood. 
In  soupie  scones,  the  wale  o'  food  ! 
Oi  tumbling  in  the  boiling  flood, 

Wi'  kuil  cin'  beef; 
But  when  thou  pours  ttiy  strong  heart*  blood, 

There  thou  shines  chief. 

Food  fills  the  wame,  an'  keeps  us  livin ; 
Tho'  life's  a  gift  no  worth  receivin, 
When  heavy-drag'd  wi'  pine  an'  grievinj 
But  oil'd  by  thee, 


20  THE  POETICAL  AVORKS  OF 

The  wheels  o*  life  gae  down-hill,  scrievin, 
Wi*  rattlin  glee. 

Thou  clears  the  head  o*  doited  Lear ; 
Thou  chears  the  heart  o*  drooping  Care ; 
Thou  strings  the  nerves  o'  Labor  sair, 

At*s  weary  toil ; 
Thou  even  brightens  dark  Despair, 

Wi'  gloomy  smile. 

Aft,  clad  in  massy  siller  weed, 
Wi'  Gentles  thou  erects  thy  head ; 
Yet  humbly  kind,  in  time  o'  need. 

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

Thou  kitchens  fine. 

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

By  thee  inspired, 
When  gaping  they  besiege  the  tents^ 

Are  doubly  fir'd. 

That  merry  night  we  get  the  corn  in, 
O  sweetly,  then,  thou  reams  the  horn  in  I 
Or  I'^ciph  on  a  New -year  mornin, 

In  cog  or  bicker. 
An'  just  a  wee  drap  sp*ritual  burn  in. 

An'  gusty  sucker  I 

When  Vulcan  gies  his  bellows  breath, 
An*  Ploughmen  gather  wi'  their  graith, 
O  rare  1  lo  see  thee  fizz  an'  freath, 

r  th'  lugget  caup 
Then  Burneivin  comes  on  like  Death 

At  ev'ry  chap. 

Nae  mercy,  then,  for  airn  or  steel ; 
The  biawnie,  bainie,  ploughman  chiel 
Brings  hiird  owrehip,  wi'  sturdy  wheel, 

The  strong  ibrehammer- 


ROBERT  BURNS.  21 


Till  block  an'  studdie  ring  an'  reel 

VVi'  diiisome  clamour. 

When  skirlin  weanies  see  the  light, 
Thou  maks  the  gossips  clatter  bright, 
How  fumbling  Cuifs  their  Dearies  slight, 

Wa.e  worth  the  name  I 
Niie  Howdie  gets  a  social  night. 

Or  plack  frae  them. 

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

Cement  the  quarrel  1 
It's  aye  the  cheapest  Lawyer's  fee 

To  uisie  ihe  barrel. 

Alake  I  that  e'er  my  muse  has  reason, 
To  wyte  her  countrymen  wi'  treason  1 
But  monie  daily  wet  their  weason 

Wi'  liquors  nice, 
An*  hardly,  in  a  winter  season. 

E'er  spier  her  price. 

Wae  worth  that  brandy^  burning  trashi 
Fell  source  o'  monie  a  pain  an'  brash  1 
Twins  monie  a  poor,  doylt,  druken  hash 

O'  half  his  days ; 
An'  sends,  beside,  auld  Scotland'n  cash 

To  her  warst  faes. 

Ye  Scots,  wha  wish  auld  Scotland  well, 
Ye  chief,  to  you  my  tale  I  tell, 
Poor,  plackless  devils  like  mysel, 
It  sets  you  ill, 
Wi'  bitter,  dearthfu'  wines  to  mell, 
Or  foreign  gill. 

May  gravels  round  his  blather  wrench. 
An'  gouts  torment  him,  inch  by  inch, 
Wha  twists  his  gruntle  wi'  a  glunch 
O'  sour  disdain, 


22  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Out  owre  a  glass  o*  Whisky  Pumh 

Wi'  honest  men ! 

O  Whiaky  !  soul  o*  plays  an'  pranks  1 
Accept  a  Bardie's  t^ratefu'  thanks ! 
When  wanting  thee,  what  tuneless  cranks 

Are  ray  poor  Verses  I 
Thou  comes they  rattle  i'  their  ranks 

At  ither's  a ! 

Thee  Ferintosh  !  O  sadly  lost  ! 
Scotland  lament  frae  coast  to  coast  1 
!Now  colic  grips,  an*  bar  kin  ho^tSt, 

May  kill  us  a'  ; 
Por  loyal  Forbes'  charter'd  boast 

Is  ta'en  awa ! 

Thae  curst  horse-leeches  o*  th'  Excise, 
Wha  mak  the  nvhiskey  stells  their  prize ! 
Hand  up  thy  hau'  Deil  i  ance,  twice,  thrice  I 

1  here,  seize  the  blinkers  ! 
An'  bake  them  up  in  brunstane  pies 

For  poor  d — n'd  drinkers. 

Fortune,  if  thou'll  but  gie  me  still 
Hale  breeks,  a  scone,  an'  nvhisky  gilly 
An'  ro#th  o'  rhyme  to  rave  at  will, 

Tak  a'  the  rest, 
An'  deal't  about  as  thy  blind  skill 

Directs  thee  best 


TO  A  MOUSE. 

On  turning  her  up  in  her  Nest,  with  the  Plough,  November  17&3\ 

WEE,  sleekit,  cowrin,  tim'rous  beastie, 
O,  what  a  panic's  in  thy  breastie  !  * 

Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hastf, 

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

Wi'  murd'ring  fiattle  ! 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

I'm  truly  sorry  Man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union, 
An*  justifies  that  ill  opinion, 

Which  makes  thee  startle, 
At  me,  thy  poor,  earth-born  companion. 
An*  felloiv-mortal ! 

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

'S  a  sma'  request: 
I'll  get  a  blessin  wi*  the  lave 

An'  never  miss't ! 

Thy  wee-bit  housie^  too,  in  ruin  ! 
It's  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin  I 
An'  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 

O'  foggage  green  I 
An'  bleak  December's  winds  ensuin, 

Baith  snell  an'  keen  i 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  an'  waste, 
An'  weary  Winter  comin  fast, 
An'  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast. 

Thou  thought  to  dwell, 
Till  crash     the  cruel  coulter  past 

Out  thro'  thy  cell. 

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

But  house  or  hald, 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble. 

An'  cranreuch  cauld  1 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane, 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain  : 
The  best-laid  schemes  o'  Mic€  an'  Men, 

*  Gang  aft  a-gley, 

An'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pdn, 
For  promis'd  joy  ? 


24  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Still  thou  art  blest,  compar*d  vvi'  me  ! 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee  j 
But,  Och  !  I  backward  cast  my  e'e 

On  prospects  drear  I 
An*  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  diW*  fear  ! 


THE  BRIGS  OF  AYR. 

A  POEM. 

INSCllIBED  TO  J.  B*********,  ESQ.     AYR. 

THE  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic  plough, 

Learning  his  tuneful  trade  from  ev'ry  bough  9 

The  chanting  linnet,  or  the  mellow  thrush, 

Hailing  the  setting  sun,  sweet,  in  the  green  thorn  busli. 

The  soaring  lark,  the  perching  red-breast  shrill, 

Ordeep-ton'd  plovers,  grey,  wild-whistling  o'er  the  hill; 

Shall  he,  nurst  in  the  Peasant's  lowly  shed, 

To  hardy  Independence  bravely  bred, 

By  early  Poverty  to  hardship  steel'd, 

And  train'd  to  arms  in  stern  Misfortune's  field, 

Sh.ill  he  be  guilty  of  their  hireling  crimes, 

The  servile,  mercenary  Swiss  of  rhymes^ 

Or  labour  hard  the  panegyric  close, 

With  all  the  venal  soul  of  dedicating  Prose? 

No !  though  his  artless  strains  he  rudely  sings, 

And  throws  his  hand  uncouthly  o'er  the  strings, 

He  glows  with  all  the  spirit  of  the  Bard, 

Fame,  honest  Fame,  his  great,  his  dear  reward. 

Siill,  if  some  Patron's  gen'rous  care  he  trace, 

Skill'd  in  the  secret,  to  bestow  with  grace  ; 

When  B*********  befriends  his  humble  name, 

And  hands  the  rustic  Stranger  up  to  fame,  ff 

With  heart-felt  throes  his  grateful  bosom  swells, 

The  godlike  bliss,  to  give,  alone  excels. 


liOBERT  BURNS.  25 


'Tvvas  when  the  stacks  get  on  their  winter  hap, 
And  thack  and  rape  secure  the  toil -won  crap ; 
Potatoe-bings  are  snugged  up  frae  skaith 
Of  coming  Winter's  biting,  frosty  breatn  ; 
The  Bees,  rejoicing  o'er^their  Summer-toils, 
Unnumber'd  buds  an'  flow'rs'  delicious  spoils, 
Seai'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  missive,  waxen  piles, 
Are  doom'd  by  Man,  that  tyrant  o'er  the  weak, 
The  death  o'  devils,  smoor'd  wi'  brimstone  reek  : 
The  thund'ring  guns  are  heard  on  ev'ry  side, 
The  wounded  coveys,  reeling,  scatter  wide  ; 
The  feather'd  field  mates,  bound  by  Nature's  tie, 
Sires,  mothers,  children,  in  one  carnage  lie  : 
(What  wann,  poetic  heart  but  inly  bleeds. 
And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless  deeds!) 
Nae  mair  the  flo  .v'r  in  field  or  meadow  springs  j 
Nae  mair  the  grove  with  airy  concert  rings. 
Except  perhaps  the  Robin's  whistling  glee, 
Proud  o'  the  height  o'  some  bit  half-lang  tree : 
The  hoary  morns  precede  the  sunny  days, 
Mild,  calm,  serene,  wide-spreads  the  noon-tide  blaze 
While  thick  the  gossamour  waves  wanton  in  the  ray 

'Twas  in  that  season,  when  a  simple  Bard, 

Unknown  and  poor,  simplicity's  reward, 

Ae  night,  within  the  ancient  brugh  of  Ayr, 

By  whim  inspired,  or  haply  prest  wi'  care, 

He  left  his  bed,  and  took  his  wayward  rout, 

And  down  by  Sim/ison's*'  wheePd  the  left  about; 

(Whether  impell'd  by  all-directing  Fate, 

To  witness  what  I  after  shall  narrate  ; 

Or  whether,  rapt  in  meditation  high, 

He  wander'd  out  he  knew  not  where  nor  why.) 

The  drowsy  Dungeon-docki  had  number'd  two, 

And  Waliace''Tow*r\  had  sworn  the  fact  was  true  : 

The  tide-swoln  Firth,  with  sullen-sounding  roar, 

Through  the  still  night  daahM  hoarse  along  the  shore 

All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed  e*e  I 

The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tow'r  and  tree  ; 

*  A  noted  tavern,  at  the  ^tild  Brig-  end, 

.  t  The  two  steepkB. 

D 


} 


se,  t 


26  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Oi 

The  chilly  Frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam, 
Crept,  gently-crusting,  o*er  the  glittering  stream.- 

When,  lo  I  on  either  hand  the  list'ning  Bard, 

The  clanging  sui^h  of  whistling  wings  is  heard  j 

Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  midnight  air, 

Swift  as  the  Gos*  drives  on  the  wheeling  hare; 

Ane  on  th'  ^uld  Brig  his  airy  shape  uprears, 

The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers  : 

Our  Warlock  Rhymer  instantly  descry'd 

The  Sprites  that  owre  the  Brigs  of  Axjr  preside. 

(That  Bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae  joke. 

And  ken  the  lingo  of  the  sp'ritual  folk  ; 

Fays,  Spunkies,  Kelpies,  a%  they  can  explain  them. 

An'  ev'n  the  vera  deils  they  brawly  ken  them.) 

Auld  Brig  appear'»d  of  ancient  Pictish  race, 

The  vera  wrinkles  Gothic  in  his  face : 

He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  had  warstl'd  lang, 

Yet,  teughly  doure,  he  bade  an  unco  bang. 

Nenv  Brig  was  buskit  in  a  braw  new  coat, 

That  he,  at  Lon'on^  frae  ane  Adams^  got ; 

In's  hand  five  taper  staves  as  smooth's  a  bead, 

Wi'  virls  an'  whirlygigums  at  the  head. 

The  Goth  was  stalking  round  with  anxious  search, 

Spying  the  timc-woin  flaws  in  ev'ry  arch  ; 

It  chanc'd  his  new-come  neebor  took  his  e'e. 

And  e'en  a  vex'd  and  angry  heart  had  he  ! 

Wi'  thieveless  sneer  to  see  his  modish  mien. 

He,  down  the  water,  gies  him  this  guideen— 

AULD  BRIG. 

I  doubt  na,  frien',  ye'U  think  ye're  na  sheep-shank, 
Ance  ye  were  streekit  owre  frae  bank  to  bank  ! 
But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  me, 
Tho'  faith,  that  date,  I  doubt,  ye'U  never  see  ; 
There'll  be,  if  that  day  come,  I'll  wad  a  boddle, 
Some  fewer  whigmeleeries  in  your  noddle. 

*  The  gos-hawk,  or  falcon. 


ROEEIIT  BURNS.  27 

NEW  BRIG. 

Auld  Vandal,  ye  but  show  your  little  mensc. 
Just  much  about  it  wi'  your  scanty  sense ; 
Will  your  poor,  narrow  foot-p^th  of  a  street, 
Where  twa  wheelbarrows  tremble  when  they  meetj 
Your  ruin'd,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  and  lime, 
Compare  wi'  bonie  Brigs  o»  modern  time  ? 
There's  men  o'  taste  wou'd  tak  the  Diicat-stream*^ 
Tho'  they  should  cast  the  vera  sark  an'  swim, 
Ere  they  would  grate  their  feelings  wi'  the  view 
Of  sic  an  ugly,  Gothic  hulk  as  you. 

AULD  BRIG. 

Conceited  gowk  !  puff'd  up  wi'  windy  pride  ! 

Tliis  mony  a  year  I've  stood  the  flood  an'  tide  j 

And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild  I'm  sair  forfairn, 

I'll  be  a  Brig  when  ye're  a  shapeless  cairn  ! 

As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  matter, 

But  twa-three  winters  will  inform  ye  better. 

When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains, 

Wi'  deepening  deluges  overflow  the  plains; 

When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil^ 

Or  stately  Lugar*^  mobsy  fountains  boil. 

Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland  course, 

Or  haunted  Garfial]  draws  his  feeble  source, 

Arous'd  by  blustering  winds  an'  spotting  thowes, 

In  mony  a  torrent  down  the  snaw-broo  rowes  ; 

While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  spcat. 

Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate ; 

And  from  Glenbuck\^  down  to  Ratton-key^^ 

Auld  Aijr  is  just  one  lengthen'd,  tumbling  sea  ; 

Then  down  ye'il  hurl,  deil  nor  ye  never  rise  ! 

And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring  skies, 

A  lesson  sadly  teaching,' to  your  cost. 

That  Architecture's  noble  art  is  lost  ! 

*  A  noted  ford,  just  ubove  the  Auld  Brig, 
f  The  Banks  of  Garpal-JVater  is  one  of  the  few  places  in  the 
West  of  Scotland  where  those  funcy-scanng  beings,  known  by  the 
name  of  Ghaists,  still  continue  pertinaciously  to  inhabit. 
±  The  source  of  the  river  of  Ayr. 
I  §  A  small  landing'-place  above  the  large  key. 


•  I 

ea.       J 


28  THE  POETICAL  WOBKS  OJ^ 

NEW  BRIG. 

Fine  arckitcchire,  trowth,  I  needs  must  say't  oH  ' 
The  L — d  be  thankit  that  we've  lint  the  gate  o't 
Gaunt,  ghastly,  ghaist-alhiring  edifices, 
Hanging,  with  threatening  jut,  like  precipices  j 
O'er-arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring  coves, 
Supporting  roals,  fantastic,  stony  groves  : 
Windows  and  doors  in  nameless  sculptures  drest 
W  ith  order,  symmetry,  or  taste  unblest ; 
Forms  like  some  bedlam  Statuary's  dream, 
The  craz'd  creations  of  misguided  whim  ; 
Forms  might  be  worshipp'd  on  the  bended  knee 
And  siiil  the  second  dread  co'mmand  be  free, 
Tneir  likeness  is  not  found  on  earth,  in  air,  or  sea. 
Mansions  that  would  disgrace  the  building-taste 
Of  any  mason,  reptile,  bird,  or  beast; 
Fit  only  for  a  doited  Monkish  race. 
Or  frosty  maids  forsworn  the  dear  embrace, 
Or  Cuifs  of  later  times,  wha  held  the  notion, 
Thttt  sullen  gloom  was  sterling  true  devotion  : 
Fancies  that  our  guid  Brugh  denies  protection, 
^ud  soon  may  they  expire,  unblest  with  resurrection  1 

AULD  BRIG. 

O  ye,  my  dear-rememberM,  ancient  yealings, 
Were  ye  but  here  to  share  my  wounded  feelings  I 
Ye  worthy  Proveses^  an'  mony  a  Bailie^ 
Wha^in  the  paths  o'righteousness  did  toil  ay  ; 
Ye  dainty  Deacons.,  an'  ye  douce  Conveeners, 
To  whom  our  m.oderns  are  but  causey-cleaners  : 
Ye  godly  Councils.,  wha  hae  blest  this  town  ; 
Ye  godly  Brethren  o'  the  sacred  gown, 
Wha  meekly  gae  your  hurdles  to  the  siniters  ; 
And  (what  would  now  be  strange)  ye  godly  IVriiers : 
A'  ye  douce  folk  I've  borne  aboon  the  broo, 
Were  ye  but  here,  what  would  ye  say  or  do ! 
How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep  vexation. 
To  see  each  melancholy  alteration  ; 
And,  agonizing,  curse  the  time  and  place 
When  ye  begat  the  base,  degen'ratc  race  1 


ROBERT  BURNS.  tli 

Nae  lauger  Rev'rend  Men,  their  country's  glory, 
In  plain,  braid  Scots,  hold  forth  a  plain,  braid  story  ; 
Nae  langer  thrifty  citizens,  an'  douce, 
Meet  owre  a  pint,  or  in  the  Council-house  ; 
But  staumrel,  eorky-headed,  graceless  Gentry, 
The  herryment  and  ruin  of  the  country ; 
Men,  three-parts  made  by  Taylors  and  by  Barbers, 
Wha  waste  your  weel-hainM  gear  on  d— -d  neiv   Brig. 
and  Harbours! 

J  NEW  BRIG. 

Now  haud  you  there  I  for  faith  ye've  said  eneiigh. 

And  muckle  mair  than  ye  can  mak  to  through. 

As  for  your  Priesthood,  I  shall  say  but  little, 

Corbies  and  Ciergij  are  a  shot  right  kittle  ; 

But,  under  favour  o'  your  langer  beard, 

Abuse  o'  Magistrates  might  weel  be  spar'd  ; 

To  liken  them  to  your  auld-warld  squad, 

I  must  needs  say,  comparisons  are  odd. 

In  Jyr^  Wag-wits  nae  mair  can  have  a  handle 

To  mouth  <  A  Citizen,'  a  term  o'  scandal : 

Nae  mair  the  Council  waddles  down  the  street, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  ignorant  conceit : 

Men  wha  grew  wise  priggin  owre  hops  an'  raisins. 

Or  gather'd  lib'ral  views  in  Bonds  and  Seisins. 

If  haply  Knowledge,  on  a  random  trair.p, 

Had  shor'd  them  with  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp. 

And  would  to  Common-sense  for  once  betray'd  th^ihp 

Plain,  dull  Stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them* 


What  farther  clishmaclaver  might  been  said, 
What  bloody  wars,  if  Sprites  had  blood  to  shed,. 
No  man  can  tell ;  but,  all  before  their  sight, 
A  fairy  train  appear'd  in  order  bright : 
Adown  the  glittering  stream  they  featly  danc'd ; 
Bright  to  the  moon  their  various  dresses  glanc'd  ? 
They  footed  o'er  the  wat'ry  glass  so  neat. 
The  infant  ice  scarce  bent  beneath  their  feet  i 
D  3 


30  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

While  arts  of  Minstrelsy  among  them  rung, 
And  soul-ennobling  Bards  heroic  ditties  sung. 

O  had  M^Lauchlan*^  thairm-inspiring  Sage, 
Been  there  to  hear  this  heavenly  band  engage. 
When  thro'  his  dear  Strathsfieys  they  bore  with  High 

land  rage ; 

Or  when  they  struck  old  Scotia's  melting  airs, 
The  lover's  raptur'd  joys  or  bleeding  cares  ; 
How  would  his  Highland  lug  been  nobler  fir'd, 
And  ev'n  his  matchless  hand  with  finer  touch  inspired  I 
No  guess  could  tell  what  instrument  appear'd, 
But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was  heard  ; 
Hf^rmonious  concert  rung  in  evVy  part, 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving  on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  Stream  in  front  appears, 

A  venerable  Chief  advanc'd  in  years ; 

His  hoary  head  with  water-lilies  crown'd. 

His  manly  leg  with  garter  tangle  bound. 

Next  came  the  loveliest  pair  in  all  the  ring. 

Sweet  Female  Beauty,  hand  in  hand  with  Spring ; 

Then,  crownM  with  flow'ry  hay,  came  Rural  Joy, 

And  Summer,  with  his  fervid-beaming  eye  : 

All-cheering  Plenty,  with  her  flowing  horn, 

Led  yellow  Autumn,  wreathM  with  nodding  corn; 

Then  Winter's  time-bleach'd  locks  did  hoary  show, 

By  Hospitality  with  cloudless  brow. 

Next  follow'd  Courage  with  his  martial  stride. 

From  where  the  Feal  wild-woody  coverts  hide  : 

Benevolence,  with  mild,  benignant  air, 

A  female  form,  came  from  the  tow'rs  of  Stair: 

Learning  and  Worth  in  equal  measures  trode, 

From  Simple  Catrine^  their  long-lov'd  abode  : 

Last,  white-robM  Peace,  crown'd  with  a  hazle  wreath, 

To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 

The  broken,  iron  instruments  of  Death, 

At  sight  of  whom  our  Sprites  forgat  their  kindling  wrath. 


*  A  well  known  performer  of  Scottish  music  on  the  violin. 


ttOBERT  BURNS.  31 

DESPONDENCY. 

AN  ODE. 

OPPRESSED  with  grief,  oppress'd  with  care, 

A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear,  '    • 

I  set  me  down  and  sigh  : 
O  life  !  thou  art  a  galling  load, 
Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road, 

To  wretches  such  as  I  I 
Dim-backward  as  I  cast  my  view, 
What  sick'ning  Scenes  appear  ! 
What  Sorrows  yet  may  pierce  me  thro', 
Too  justly  I  may  fear ! 
Still  caring,  despairing, 

Must  be  my  bitter  doom ; 
My  woes  here  shaU  close  ne'er. 
But  with  the  closing  tomb  ! 

Happy  !  ye  sons  of  Busy-life, 
Who,  equal  to  the  bustling  strife, 

No  other  view  regard  ! 
Ev'n  when  the  wished  end's  deny'd, 
Yei  while  the  busy  means  are  ply'd, 

They  bring  their  own  reward  ; 
Whilst  I,  a  hope-abandon'd  wight, 

Unfitted  with  an  aim^ 
Meet  ev'ry  sad  returning  night, 
And  joyless  morn  the  same. 
You,  bustling  and  justling, 

Forget  each  grief  and  pain  ; 
I  listless,  yet  restless, 
Find  ev'ry  prospect  vain. 

How  blest  the  Solitary's  lot, 
W'ho,  all- forgetting,  all-forgot, 

Within  his  humble  cell. 
The  cavern  wild  with  tangling  roots, 
Sits  o*er  his  newly-gather'd  fruits, 

Beside  his  chrystal  well  1 
Or  haply,  to  his  ev'ning  thoughtj 

By  unfrequented  stream, 


32  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  ways  of  men  are  distant  brought, 
A  faint-collected  dream : 
While  praising,  and  raising 

His  thoughts  to  Heav'n  on  high. 
As  wandering,  meand'ring, 
He  views  the  solemn  sky. 

Than  I,  no  lonely  Hermit  plac'd, 
Where  never  human  footstep  trac'd, 

Less  fit  to  play  the  part, 
The  lucky  moment  to  improve, 
And  just  to  stop,  and  just  to  move, 

With  self-respecting  art : 
But  ah !  those  pleasures,  Loves  and  Joys, 

Which  I  too  keenly  taste. 
The  Solid. rtj  can  despise, 
Can  want,  and  yet  be  blest  1 
He  needs  not,  he  heeds  not, 

Or  human  love  or  hate  ; 
Whilst  I  here,  must  cry  here^ 
At  perfidy  ingrate ! 

Oh  1  enviable,  early  days, 

When  dancing  thoughtless  Pleasure's  maze 

To  Care,  to  Guilt  unknown  ! 
How  ill  exchanged  for  riper  times, 
To  feel  the  follies,  or  the  crimes, 

Of  others,  or  my  own  ! 
Ye  tiny  elves,  that  guiltless  sport, 

Like  linnets  in  the  bush. 
Ye  little  know  the  ills  ye  court. 
When  Manhood  is  your  wish  I 
The  losses,  the  crosses. 

That  active  Man  engage  ; 
The  fears  all,  the  tears  all, 
Of  dim  declining  Jge  I 


a<i)BERT  EITRNS.  33 

ADDP.ESS 

TO 

THE  UNCO  GUID, 

OR 

IHE  RIGIBLY  RIGHTEOUS. 

My  Son,  these  maxims  make  a  rule, 

And  lump  them  ay  thegither  ; 
The  Riffid  RighteoHs  is  a  lool. 

The  Rigid  Wise  anither : 
The  cleanest  corn  that  e'er  was  dight 

May  hae  some  pyies  o'  caff  in ; 
So  ne'er  a  fellow-creature  slight 

For  random  fits  o'  dafiin. 

Solomon— Eccles.  vii.  16> 

O  YE  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
YeVe  nought  to  do  but  aiark  and  tell 

Your  Neebours'  fauts  and  folly  ! 
Whase  life  is  like  a  weel-gaun  mill, 

Supply'd  wi'  store  o'  water. 
The  heaped  happer's  ebbing  still, 

And  still  the  clap  plays  clatter. 

Hear  me,  ye  venerable  Core, 

As  counsel  for  poor  mortals. 
That  frequent  pass  douce  Wisdom's  door 

For  glaikit  Folly's  portals  ; 
I,  for  their  thoughtless,  careless  sakes, 

Would  here  propone  defences, 
Their  donsie  tricks,  their  black  mistakes. 

Their  failings  and  mischances. 

Ye  see  your  state  wi'  theirs  compar'd, 

And  shudder  at  the  niffer. 
But,  cast  a  moment's  fair  regard 

What  maks  tbe  mighty  differ; 
Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave, 

That  purity  ye  pride  in, 


34  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

And  (what's  aft  mair  than  a'  the  lave) 
Your  better  art  o'  hiding. 

Think,  when  your  castigated  pulse 

Gies  now  and  then  a  wallop, 
What  ragings  must  his  veins  convulse. 

That  sliil  eternal  gallop: 
\Vi'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail, 

Right  on  ye  scud  your  sea  way  ; 
But,  in  the  teeth  o*  baith  to  sail, 

It  maks  an  unco  leeway. 

See  Social-life  and  Glee  sit  down, 

All  joyous  and  unthinking, 
Till,  quite  transmugrify'd,  they're  grown 

Deb.iuchery  and  Drinking: 
O  would  they  stay  to  calculate 

Th'  eternal  consequences ; 
Or  your  more  dreaded  h-11  to  state, 

D-mnation  of  expenses! 

Ye  high,  exalted,  virtuous  Dames, 

Ty'd  up  in  godly  laces. 
Before  ye  gie  poor  Frailty  names, 

Suppose  a  change  o*  cases  ; 
A  dear-lov'd  lad,  convenience  snug, 

A  treacherous  inclination 

But,  let  n.e  wiiisper  i'  your  lug, 

Ye're  aiblins  nae  temptation. 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  Man, 

Still  gentler  sister  Woman  ; 
Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wrang, 

To  step  aside  is  human  ; 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark. 

The  moving  Vlhy  they  do  it ; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark, 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us. 
He  knows  each  chord  its  various  tone, 

Each  spring  its  various  bias  : 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What's  done  we  partly  may  compute. 

But  know  not  what's  resisted. 


THE  VISIO]\. 

DUAN  FIRST.* 

THE  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter-day, 
The  Curlers  quat  their  roaring  p'^y? 
An*  hunger'd  Maukin  taen  her  way 

To  kail-yards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray 

Whare  she  has  been. 

The  Thresher's  \fec\vy  Jlingcn-tree, 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me; 
And  when  the  Day   had  clos'd  his  e'e 

Far  i'  the  West, 
Ben  i'  the  S/ience,  right  pensivelie, 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

There,  lanely,  by  the  ingle-cheek, 
I  s  it  and  ey'd  the  spewing  reek, 
That  fill'd,  wi'  hoast-provoking  smeek, 

The  auld,  clay  biggin  ; 
And  heard  the  restless  rattons  squeak 
About  the  riggin. 

All  in  this  mottie,  misty  clime, 
I  backward  mus'd  on  wasted  time. 
How  I  had  spent  my  youthfu'  prime, 

An'  done  naething. 
But  stringin  blethers  up  in  rhyme 

For  fools  to  sing. 

*  Dttan,  a  term  of  Ossian's  for  the  dlfTerent  divisions  of  a  di- 
gressive poem.  Seejiis  Cath-Loda,  vol.  U.  of  M'Fherson's  Trans- 
iation. 


36  THE  POETICAL  ^VORKS  OF 

Had  I  to  guid  advice  but  harkit, 
I  r.iiijbt,  by  this,  hae  led  a  market, 
Or  strutted  in  a  Bank  and  cU\rkit 

My  cash  account : 
While  here,  hulf-mad,  half-fed,  half-sarkit 
Is  a'  th'  amount. 

I  started,  mutt'ring,  blockhead  !  coof ! 
And  heav*d  on  high  my  waukit  loof, 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  roof, 

Or  some  rash  aith, 
That  I,  henceforth,  would  be  rhyme  fir  oof 
Till  my  lust  breath — 

When  click  !  the  string  the  sneck  did  draw 
AiKl  jee  1  the  door  gaed  to  the  wa' ; 
And  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw, 

Now  bieezin  bright, 
A  tight,  outlandish  Hizzie^  braw, 

Come  full  in  sight. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht; 
The  infant  aith,  half-form'd,  was  crusht ; 
I  glowr'd  as  eerie's  I'd  been  dusht 

In  some  wild  glen : 
When  sweet,  like  modest  Worth,  she  blushlf 

And  stepped  ben. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  Holly-boughs 
Were  twisted,  gracefu'  round  her  brows, 
I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse, 

By  that  same  token  ; 
And  come  to  stop  those  reckless  vows, 

Would  soon  be  broken ^ 

A  *  hair-brain'd,  sentimental  trace* 
Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face  ; 
A  wildly  witty,  rustic  grace 

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

Beam'd  keen  with  Honon 


ROBERT  BURNS, 

Down  flow'd  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheenj 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply  seen ; 
And  such  a  leg  !  my  bonie  Jean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sae  straught,  sae  taper,  tight,  and  clean, 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

Her  Mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue, 

My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew  ; 

Deep  lights  and  shades^  bold-mingling,  threw 

A  lustre  grand  : 
And  seem'd,  to  my  astonishM  view, 

A  ive II' known  Land. 

Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 
There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were  tost: 
Hci'e,  tumbling  billows  mark'd  the  coast, 

With  surging  foam ; 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 

The  lordly  dome. 

Here,  Boon  pour'd  down  his  far-fetch'd  floods ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds: 
Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods, 

On  to  the  shore  ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds. 

With  seeming  roar. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  spread, 
'An  ancient  Borough  rear'd  her  head  ; 
Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read, 

She  boasts  a  Race, 
To  ev'ry  nobler  virtue  bred. 

And  polish'd  grace. 

By  stately  tow^',  or  palace  fair. 
Or  ruins  pendant  in  the  air, 
Bold  stems  of  Heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern, 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  son.e  seem'd  to  dare, 
With  feature  stern. 
E 


38  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

•  My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel, 
To  see  a  Race  *  heroic  wheel, 
And  brandish  round  the  deep-dy*d  steel 

In  sturdy  bloAvs  ; 
While  back-recoiling  seem*d  to  reel 

Their  Southern  foes. 

His  Country's  Saviour!,  mark  him  well  I 
Bold  Ri  char  (It  071*  8  4:  heroic  swell; 
The  Chief  on  Sark^  who  glorious  fell, 

In  high  command; 
And  He  whom  ruthless  Fates  expel 

His  native  lund. 

There,  where  a  sceptr'd  Pictish  **  shade 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
I  mark'd  a  martial  Race,  pourtray'd 

In  colours  strong; 
Bold,  soldier-featur*d,  undismay'd 

They  strode  along. 

It  Thro'  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove, 
Near  many  a  hermit-fancy'd  cove, 
(Fit  Haunts  for  Friendship  or  for  Love, 

In  musing  mood) 
An  aged  Judge^  I  saw  hini  rove. 

Dispensing  good. 

*  The  Wallaces. 

I  William  Wallace. 

^  Adam  Wallace  of  Rlchardton,  cousin  to  the  immortal  pre- 
server of  Scottish  Independence. 

§  Wallace  Laird  of  Craigie,  who  was  second  in  commandundev 
Douglas  earl  of  Ormond,  at  the  famous  battle  on  the  banks  of  Sai  k, 
fought  ^nno  1448.  That  g-lorious  victor)  was  pnncipally  owing  to 
the  judicious  conduct  and  intrepid  valour  of  the  gallant  Lairci  of 
Cii;igie,  who  died  of  his  wounds  after  the  action. 

**  Coilus  king  of  the  Picts,  from  whom  the  district  of  Kyle  is 
said  to  take  its  name,  lies  buried,  as  tradition  says,  near  the  fa- 
mily seat  of  the  Montgomeriesof  Coils-field,  where  his  burial-place 
is  s'jU  shown. 

ft  Barskiniming,  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Justice  Cierk. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

*  With  deep  struck  reverential  awe. 
The  learned  Sh-e  and  Son  I  saw, 
To  Nature's  God  and  Nature's  law 

They  gave  their  lore, 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw, 
That,  to  adore. 

Brydon*s  brave  Ward  1 1  well  could  spy, 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye ; 
Who  call'd  on  Fame,  low  standing  by. 

To  hand  him  on, 
Where  many  a  Patriot-name  on  high 

And  Hero  shone. 


DUAN  SECOND. 

With  musing-deep,  astonish'd  stare, 
I  view'd  the  heavenly-seeming  Fair; 
A  whisp'ring  throb  did  witness  bear 

Of  kindred  sweet, 
When  with  an  elder  Sister's  air 

She  did  me  greet, 

<  All  hail !  my  own  inspired  Bard  ! 

*  In  me  thy  native  muse  regard  ! 

^  Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

'  Thus  poorly  low  ! 

*  I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

*  As  we  bestow. 

*  Know,  the  great  Ge7iius  of  this  Land 
'  Has  many  a  light,  aerial  band, 

'  Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

*  Harmoniously, 

*  As  Arts  or  Arms  they  understand, 

'  Their  labours  ply. 

*  Catrine,  the  seat  of  the  late  Doctor,  and  present  Professor 
Srewai't. 

t  Colonel  PuUarton, 


40  'f  HE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

<  They  Scotia^s  Race  amonji;  them  share ; 

*  Some  lire  the  Soldier  on  to  dare  ; 

*  Some  rouse  the  Patriot  up  to  bare 

*  Corruption's  heart; 

<  Some  teach  the  Bard,  a  darling  care, 

*  The  tuneful  art. 

<  'Mong  swelling  floods  of  reeking  gore, 

*  They  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour; 

<  Or,  iiiid  the  venal  Senate's  roar, 

*  They,  sightless  stand, 

*  To  mend  the  honest  Pat  riot -lore 

'  And  grace  the  hand. 


<  And  when  the  Bard,  or  hoary  Sage, 
«  Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age, 

*  1  hey  bind  the  wild,  Poetic  rage 

*  In  energy, 
«  Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 

*  Full  on  the  eye. 

<  Hence,  Fullarton^  the  brave  and  young ; 

<  Hence,  Z^fm/zs^e?-**  zeal-inspired  tongue; 

*  Hence,  sweet  harmonious  Beattie  sung 

'  His  "  Minstrel  lays  ;** 
^  Or  tore,  with  noble  ardour  stung-, 

'  The  Sccptic*s  bays. 

*  To  lower  Orders  are  assigned 

<  The  humble  ranks  of  Human-kind, 

*  The  rustic  Bard,  the  lab'ring  Hind, 

*  The  Artisbn  ; 

*  All  chuse,  as,  various  they're  inclined, 

'  The  various  man. 

*  AVhen  yellow  waves  the  heavy  grain, 

<  The  threiit'ning  Storm,  some,  strongly,  rein 

*  Some  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain, 

*  With  tillage-skill ; 

*  And  some  instruct  the  Shepherd  train, 

t  Blythe  o'er  the  hill. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  41 

<  Some  hint  the  Lover's  harmless  wile ; 

<  Some  grace  the  Maiden's  artless  smile ; 

*  Some  soothe  the  Laborer's  weary  toil, 

'  For  humble  gains, 

*  And  make  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

'  His  cares  and  pains. 

*  Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space, 

*  Explore  at  large  Man's  infant  race, 
'  To  murk  the  embryotic  trace 

<  Of  rustic  Bard; 

'  And  careful  note  each  op'ning  grace, 

*  A  guide  and  guard. 

'  Of  these  am  T — Coila  my  name  ; 
'  And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim, 
'  Where  once  the  Camfibells^  chiefs  of  fame, 

*  Held  ruling  pow'r  : 
'  I  markVj  thy  embryo-tuneful  flame, 

*  Thy  natal  hour. 

«  With  future  hope,  I  oft  would  gaze, 
«  Fond,  on  thy  little,  early  ways, 

*  Thy  rudely-caroll'd,  chiming  phrase, 

'  In  uncouth  rhymes^ 
»  Fir'd  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

*  Of  other  times. 

*  I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
»  Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar; 

'  Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

*  Drove  thro'  the  sky^ 

<  I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar, 

<  Struck  thy  young  eye> 

*  Or  when  the  deep  green-mantl'd  Earth> 

*  Warm  cherish'd  ev'ry  flow'ret's  birth, 

*  And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth, 

'  In  ev'ry  grove, 

*  I  saw  thee  eye  the  gen'ral  mirth 

*  With  boundless  loyCv 

E  % 


42  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  GF 

*  When  ripen'd  fields,  and  azure  skies, 

<  Caird  forth  the  Reaper's  rustling  noise, 

<  I  saw  thee  leave  their  ev'ning  joys, 

*  And  lonely  stalk, 

*  To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise, 

<  In  pensive  walk. 

*  When  youthful  Love,  warn^ -blushing,  strong, 
'  Keen-shivering  shot  thy  nerves  along, 

'  Those  accents,  gratefinj  to  thy  tongue, 

<  Th*  adored  Mime, 

*  I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song, 

*  To  soothe  thy  flame. 

<  I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play, 

*  Wild-send  thee  Pleasure's  devious  way, 

*  Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor-ray, 

*  By  passion  driven ; 

*  But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray, 

<  Was  light  from  Heaven. 

f  *  I  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains, 

*  The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains, 
'  Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains, 

*  Thy  fame  extends  j 

*  And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains, 

*  Become  thy  friends. 

*  Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  I  can  show, 

"  To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape -glow  ; 

*  Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe, 

*  W  ith  Shenstone^s  art ; 

*  Or  pour,  with  Gray^  the  moving  flow, 

*  Warm  on  the  heart. 

<  Yet,  all  beneath  th'  unrivall'd  Rose, 

*  The  lowly  Daisy  sweetly  blows ; 

*  Tho'  large,  the  forest's  Monarch  throws 

'  His  army  shade, 

<  Yet  green  the  juicy  Hawthorn  grows, 

Adowri  the  glade. 


KOBERT  BURNS. 

•  Then  never  murmur  nor  repine ; 

*  Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine  ; 

*  And  trust  me,  not  PotosVs  mine, 

<  Nor  King's  regard, 

*  Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

*  A  rustic  Bard. 

<  To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one, 

*  Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan 

*  Preserve  the  dignittj  of  Man, 

'  With  Soul  erect ; 
'  And  trust,  the  Universal  Plan 

*  Will  all  protect. 

*  And  ivear  thou  this* — she  solemn  said? 
And  bound  the  Holly  round  my  head  : 
The  polish'd  leaves,  and  berries  red, 

Did  rustling  play ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled 
In  light  away. 


TO  A  HAGGIS. 

FAIR  fa*  your  honest,  sonsie  face, 
Great  Chieftan  o'  the  Puddin-race  ! 
Aboon  them  a*  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painch,  tripe,  or  thairm 
Weel  are  ye  wordy  of  a  grace 

As  lang*s  my  arm. 

The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill, 
Your  hurdles  like  a  distant  hill, 
Your /2m  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 

In  time  o'  need, 
While  thro'  your  pores  the  dews  distil 

Like  amber  bead. 


^  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

His  knife  see  Rustic-labour  dight, 
An'  cut  you  up  wi'  ready  slight, 
Trenching  your  gushing  entrails  bright 

Like  onie  ditch ; 
And  then,  O  what  a  glorious  sight, 

Warm-reekin,  rich  ! 

Then,  horn  for  horn  they  stretch  an'  strive^ 
Deil  tak  the  hindmost,  on  they  drive. 
Till  a'  their  weel-swall'd  kytes  belyve 

Are  bent  like  drums  ; 
Then  auld  Guidman,  maist  like  to  rive, 

Bethankit  hums. 

Is  there  that  owre  his  French  ragout, 
Or  olio  that  wad  staw  a  sow. 
Or  fricassee  wad  mak  her  spew 

Wi'  perfect  sconner, 
Looks  down  wi'  sneering,  scornfu'  view, 

On  sic  a  dinner  ? 

Poor  devil !  see  him  owre  his  trash, 
As  feckless  as  a  wither'd  rash. 
His  spindle  shank  a  guid  whip-lash. 

His  nieve  a  nit  j 
Thro'  bluidy  flood  or  field  to  dash, 

O  how  unfit  I 

But  mark  the  Kustic,  haggis-fed, 
The  trembling  earth  resounds  his  tread, 
Cli.p  in  his  walie  nieve  a  blade, 

He'll  mak  it  whissle  j 
An*  legs,  an'  arms,  an*  heads  will  sned. 

Like  taps  o'  thrissle. 

Ye  Pow'rs  wha  mak  mankind  your  care, 
And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 
Auld  Scotland  wants  nae  skinking  ware 

That  jciups  in  luggies  : 
But,  if  ye  wish  her  gratcfu'  pray'r, 

Gie  her  a  Huggis  i 


ROBERT  BURNS.  4.5 

THE  AiULD  FARMER'S 

NEW- YEAR  MORNING  S^ULUTATION 

TO    HIS 

AULD  MARE,  MAGGIE. 

On  giving  her  the  accustomed  Ripp  of  Corn  to  Hansel  in  the 
New-Year. 

A  GUID  JVeiV'Year  I  wish  thee,  Maggie  ! 
PLlC,  there's  a  rififi  to  thy  auld  bai^gie  : 
Tho'  thou's  howe-backit,  now,  an'  knaggie, 

I've  seen  the  day 
Thou  eould  hae  gaen  like  onie  stag^ie 

Out  owre  the  lay. 

Tho'  now  thou's  dowie,  stiff,  an'  crazy, 
An*  thy  auld  hide  as  white's  a  daisie, 
I've  seen  thee  dappi't,  sleek  an'  gldzie, 

A  bonie  gr;iy : 
He  should  been  tight  that  daur't  to  raize  thee, 

Ance  in  a  day.        ^ 

Thou  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank, 
KJilly  buirdly,  steeve,  an'  swank. 
An'  set  weel  down  a  shapely  shank, 

As  e'er  tread  yird ; 
An'  could  hae  flown  out-owre  a  stank. 

Like  onie  bird. 

It's  now  some  nine-an'-twenty  year, 
Sin'  thou  was  i:y  Guid-father's  Meere ; 
He  gied  me  thee,  o'  tocher  clear. 

An'  fifty  mark  ; 
Tho',  it  was  sma',  'twas  weel-won  gear, 
An'  thou  Wtis  stark. 


46  THE  IPOETICAL  WORKS  OF 

When  first  I  v-ixed  to  woo  my  Jenny^ 
Ye.  then  was  trottin  wi*  your  Minnie  : 
Tao'  ye  was  trickie,  slee,  an*  lunnie, 

Ye  ne'er  was  donsie  ; 
But  hamely,  tawie,  quiet,  an*  cannie, 

An*  unco  sonsie. 

That  day,  ye  pranc'vi  wi'  nuickle  pride. 
When  ye  bure  hanrie  my  bonie  Brick : 
An'  sweet  an'  graceiu'  she  did  ride, 

Wi'  maiden  air ! 
Kyle-Stewart  I  could  bragged  wide, 

For  sic  a  pair. 

Tho'  now  ye  dow  but  hoyte  and  hobble, 
All'  wintle  like  a  saumont-cobble, 
Th.'.t  day,  ye  was  a  jinker  noble, 

For  heels  an'  win' ! 
An'  ran  them  till  they  a'  did  waubie, 
Far,  far  behin'  1 

When  thou  an*  I  were  young  an'  skiegh, 
An'  stable-meals  at  Fairs  were  driegh. 
How  thou  wad  prance,  an'  snore  an'  skriegh^ 

An'  tak  the  road  I 
Town's-bodies  ran,  an'  stood  abiegh, 

An'  ca't  thee  mad. 

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

For  pith  an'  speed  ; 
But  ev'ry  tail  thou  pay't  them  hollow, 
Whare'er  thou  gaed. 

The  sma',  droop-rumpl't,  hunter  cattle, 
Might  aiblins  waur*t  thee  for  a  brattle; 
But  sax  Scotch  miles  thou  try't  their  mettle^ 

An'  gar't  them  whaizle  : 
Nae  whip  nor  spur,  but  just  a  wattle 

O'  saugh  or  hazle. 


ROTiERT  BURNS  47 

Thou  was  a  noble  Fitti€-lan\ 
As  e'ei*  in  tu^  or  tow  was  c'rawn  ! 
Aft  thee  an'  I,  in  au^ht  hours  gaun, 

On  guid  March-weather, 
Hae  turn'd  sax  rood  beside  our  han', 
For  days  thegither. 

Thou  never  braing't  an'  fetch't  an*  fliskitj 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  whiskit, 
An*  spread  abraid  thy  weel-fill'd  brisket, 

\Vi*  pith  an'  pow*r, 
Till  spritty  knowes  wad  rair't  an*  riskit, 

An'  slypet  owre. 

When  frosts  lay  lang,  an'  snaws  were  deep, 
An'  threaten'd  labor  back  to  keep, 
I  gied  thy  co^  a  wee-bit  heap 

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

For  that,  or  Simmer. 

In  cart  or  car  thou  never  reestit ; 
The  steyest  brae  thou  wad  hae  fac  t  it ; 
Thou  never  lap,  an'  sten't,  an'  breastit, 
Then  stood  to  blaw ; 
But  just  thy  step  a  wee  thing  hastit. 
Thou  snoov't  awa. 

My  Pleugh  is  now  thy  bairn-time  a» ; 
Four  gallant  brutes  as  e'er  did  draw ; 
Forbye  sax  mae,  Tve  sell't  awa, 

That  thou  hast  nurst : 
They  drew  me  thretteen  pund  an'  twa, 
The  vera  warst. 

Monie  a  sair  daurk  we  twa  hae  wroughtj 
An'  wi'  the  weai7  warl'  fought  I 
An*  monie  an  anxious  day,  I  thought 

We  wad  be  beat ! 
Yet  here  to  crazy  Age  we  le  broueht, 

Wi'  something  yet. 


48  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

An'  thmk  na,  my  auld,  trusty  Servan', 
That  now  perhaps  thou  s  less  deservin, 
An  thy  auld  days  m.ny  end  in  starvin', 

For  my  last  foiv, 
A  heapit  Stimfiart^  I  U  reserve  ane 
Laid  by  for  you. 

We've  worn  to  crazy  years  thegither; 
We  11  toyte  about  wi'  ane  anither; 
Wi  tenlie  care  I'll  flit  thy  tether, 

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

Wi'  sma'  fatigue. 


EPISTLE 

TO 

DAVIE,  A  BROTHER  POET. 

Januai'y- 

WHILE  winds  frae  off  Ben-Lomond  blaw. 
And  bar  the  doors  wi'  driving  snaw, 

And  hing  us  owre  the  ingle, 
I  set  me, down,  to  pass  the  time, 
And  spin  a  verse  or  tvva  o'  rhyme, 

In  hamely,  wcsilin  jingle. 
While  frosty  winds  biaw  in  the  drift; 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug, 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  Great-folk's  gift. 
That  live  sa  bien  an'  snug  : 
I  tent  less,  and  want  less 
Their  roomy  fire-side ; 
But  hanker,  and  canker, 
To  see  their  cursed  pride. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

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

To  keep,  at  times,  fr..e  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shard  ; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whyles  in  want, 
While  Coofs  on  countless  thousands  rant. 

And  ken  nu  how  to  wair't: 
But  Davie^  lad,  ne'er  fash  your  head, 

Tho*  we  hae  little  gear, 
"We're  fit  to  win  cor  daily  bread, 
As  lang's  we*re  hale  and  fier  : 
*  Mair  spier  na,  nor  fear  na'*, 
Auld  age  ne'er  mind  a  feg  ; 
The  last  o't  the  warst  o't, 
It  is  only  but  to  beg. 

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

Is  doubtless,  great  distress  ! 
Yet  then  content  could  make  us  blest  ; 
Ev'n  then,  sometimes  we'd  snatch  a  taste 

Of  truest  happiness. 
The  honest  heart  that's  free  frae  a' 

Intended  fraud  or  guile, 
However  Fortune  kick  the  ba', 
Has  ay  some  cause  to  smile  : 
And  mind  still,  you'll  find  still, 

A  comfort  this  nae  s  na'; 
Nae  mair  then,  we'll  care  then, 
Nae  farther  we  can  fa'. 

What  tho';  like  Commoners  of  air, 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  wnere. 

But  either  house  or  hal'  ? 
Yet  Nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales,  and  foaming  floods, 

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

And  Blackbirds  whistle  clear, 
Wi'h  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound, 

To  see  the  coming  year  : 

*  Ramsay. 

F 


^Q  iHE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

On  braes  when  we  please,  then, 
We'll  sit  and  sowth  a  tune : 

Syne  rhyme  \X\Vu  well  time  till't, 
An  sing*t  when  we  hae  done. 

It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank ; 

It's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  Bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest ; 
It's  no  in  makin  muckle,  wair  : 
It's  no  in  books ;  it's  no  in  lear, 

To  make  us  truly  blest: 
If  Happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

And  cer.tre  in  the  breast, 
We  Ti.ay  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great. 
But  never  can  be  blest: 

Nae  treasures,  nor  pleasures. 
Could  make  us  happy  lang ; 
The  heart  ay's  the  part  ay. 
That  makes  us  right  or  wrang. 

Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 

W'ha  drudge  and  drive  thro'  wet  and  dry. 

Wi'  never  ceasing-toil ; 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  they, 
Wha  scarcely  tent  us  in  their  way. 

As  hardly  worth  their  while  ? 
Alas  !  how  aft,  in  haughty  mood, 
God's  creatures  they  oppress  ! 
Or  else,  neglecting  a'  that's  guid, 
They  riot  in  excess ! 

Baith  careless,  and  fearless. 

Of  either  Heaven  or  Hell; 
Esteeming  and  deeming 
It  a'  an  idle  tale ! 

Then  let  us  chearfu'  acquiesce  ; 
Nor  make  our  scanty  Pleasures  less, 

By  pining  at  our  state  : 
And,  ev'n  should  Misfortunes  come, 
I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some, 

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

They  lei  us  ken  oursel  j 


BOBERT  BURNS.  51 


They  make  us  see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  guid  and  ill. 
Tho'  losses,  and  crosses, 

Be  lessons  right  severe. 
There's  wit  there,  ye'll  get  there, 
Ye*ll  find  nae  other  where. 

But  tent  me,  Davie,  Ace  o*  Hearts  ! 
(To  say  aught  less  wad  wrang  the  cartes. 

And  fldtt'ry  I  detest) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I ; 
And  joys  that  riches  ne*er  could  buy ; 

/\.nd  joys  the  very  best. 
There's  a'  the  Pleasures  o*  the  Heart, 

The  Lover  an*  the  Frien* ; 
Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part, 
And  I  my  darling  Jeati !    . 
It  warms  me,  it  charms  me, 
^:To  mention  but  her  name  : 
It  heats  me,  it  beets  me, 
' ,  And  sets  me  a*  on  flame  ! 

O,  all  ye  Pow*rs  who  rule  above ! 
O  Thou,  whose  very  self  art  love  ! 

Thou  know*st  my  words  sincere ! 
The  life-blood  streaming  thro'  my  hearty 
Or  my  more  dear  Immortal  part. 

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

Dep;'ive  my  soul  of  rest, 
Her  dear  idea  brings  relief, 
And  solace  to  my  breast. 
Thou  Being,  All-seeing, 
"    G-hear  my  fervent  pray'r  ! 
Still  take  her,  and  make  her 
Thy  most  peculiar  care  I 

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

The  sympathetic  glow ! 
Long  since,  this  world's  thorny  ways 
Had  numbered  out  my  weary  days, 

Had  it  not  been  for  you  ! 


52  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Fate  still  has  blest  n  e  with  a  friend, 

In  ev'ry  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endeating  band, 
A  tie  n.ore  tender  still. 
It  lit^htens,  ii  brightens, 
The  tenebrific  scene. 
To  iTicet  \vitli,  and  greet  with 
My  Davie,  or  my  Jean  ! 

O,  how  that  nme  inspires  my  style ! 
The  words  come  skelpin,  rank  and  file, 

Amaist  beiore  I  ken  ! 
The  ready  n»easurc  rins  as  fine, 
As  PhcEbus  and  ti.e  famous  Nine 

Were  glowrin  owrc  my  pen. 
My  spdviet  Piga^vs  will  li:;  p, 

liii  ance  he's  fairly  het ; 
And  tiicn  he'll  hilch,  and  stilt,  and  jimp. 
And  rin  an  unco  fit  : 

But  least  then,  the  beast  then, 
Should  rue  this  hasty  ride, 
I'll  light  row,  and  dight  now 
HiS  sweaty,  wizen'd  hide. 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO 

DAVIE,  A  BROTHER  POET. 

/^.ITI.n    NEEBOR, 

I'M  three  times,  doubly  owre,  your  debtor. 
For  your  auld-farrunt,  frien'ly  letter  : 
Tho*  I  maun  say'i,  I  doubt  ye  flatter, 

Ye  speak  sae  fair; 
For  my  poor,  silly,  rhymin  clatter, 

Some  less  maun  sair. 

Hale  be  your  heart,  hale  be  your  fiddle. 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  an'  diddle, 
To  chear  you  thro'  the  weary  widdle 

O*  war'iy  cares, 
Till  bairns'  bairns  kindly  cuddle 

Your  auld  grey  hairs. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ^3 

But,  Davie  lad,  I'm  rede,*  ye'ie  glaikitj 
I'm  tauld  the  muse  ye  hae  negleldt; 
An'  gif  its  sue,  ye  shouM  be  iickit ; 

Until  ye  fyke ; 
Sic  hand  as  you  shou'd  ne'er  be  faikit, 

Be  hain't  wiia  like. 

For  me,  I'm  on  Parnassus's  brink, 
Ry  vin  the  words,  to  gar  them  clink ; 
Whyles  daizt  svi'  love,  whyles  ddizt  wi*  drink, 

Wi'  jads  or  masons ; 
An'  whiles,  but  ay  owre  late,  I  think, 
Braw  sober  lessons. 

O'  a'  the  thoughtless  sons  o'  men, 
Commend  me  to  the  Bardie  clan  ; 
Except  it  be  some  idle  plan, 

O'  rhy  :  in  clink, 
The  devil-haet,  that  I  shou'd  ban. 

They  ever  think. 

Nae  thought,  nae  view,  nae  scheme  o'  liviil, 
N  le  cares  to  gie  us  joy  or  grievin  ; 
But  just  the  pouch  to  put  the  nieve  in, 

An'  while  ought's  there, 
Then  hiltie,  skiltie,  we  gae  scrivin, 

An'  fash  nae  mair. 

Leeze  me  on  rhyne  !  it's  ay  a  treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure. 
At  hame,  a-fiel',  at  wark  or  leisure, 

The  Muse,  poor  hizzie  ! 
Tho'  rough  an'  raploch  be  her  measure, 
She's  seldom  lazy. 

*  The  word  rede  which  properly  sig-nifies  to  advise  or  ivarii,  and 
is  in  some  editions  improperly  spelled  red,  is  here  used  for  rud,  a 
Word  in  universal  use  all  along  the  border,  particularly  towai'ls 
the  west,  both  on  the  Scots  ancl  Ens^lish  side,  and  signi^es  afraid 
or  douhtful,  "  Fm  radye're  glaikit"" — I  am  afraid  or  doubtful  you 
are  foohsh  or  crazy.    E. 

F  2 


54  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  ©P 

Hand  to  the  Muse,  my  dainty  Davie  ; 
The  vvarl'  may  play  you  mony  a  shavie; 
But  for  the  Muse,  she'll  never  leave  ye, 

Tho'  e'er  sae  poor, 
Na,  e'en  tho'  limpin  wi'  the  spavie 

Frae  door  to  door. 


THE  LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  UNFORTUNATE  ISSUE 

OF   A 

FRIEND'S  AIVIOUR. 


Alas  !  how  oft  does  Goodness  wound  itself! 
And  sweet  Jiffestion  prove  the  spring-  of  Woe  ! 


0  THOU  pale  Orb,  that  silent  shines, 
While  care-untroubled  mortals  sleep  I 

Thou  seest  a  Wretch,  who  inly  pines. 
And  wanders  here  to  wail  and  weep  ! 

With  Woe  I  nightly  vigils  keep, 
Beneath  thy  wan,  un warming  beam; 

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

1  joyless  view  thy  rays  adorn 

The  faintly-marked,  distant  hill : 
I  joyless  view  thy  trembling  horn, 

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

Thou  busy  pow'r.  Remembrance,  cease! 
-Ah  1  must  the  agonizing  thrill 

For  ever  bar  returning  Peace  ! 


HoMfi, 


ROBERT  RURNS. 

No  idly-feip^nM  poetic  pains, 

My  sad,  love-lorn  lamentings  claim : 
No  shepherd's  pipe — Arcadian  strains  ; 

No  fabled  tortures,  quaint  and  tame  ; 
The  plighted  faith  ;  the  mutual  flame  ; 

The  oft-attested  Pow*rs  above  ; 
The  promised  Father* s  tender  name  ; 

These  were  the  pledges  of  my  love  I 

Encircled  in  her  clasping  arms, 

How  have  the  raptur'd  moments  flown  ! 
IIow  have  I  wish*d  for  fortune's  charms, 

For  her  dear  sake,  and  her's  alone  ! 
And,  must  I  think  it !  is  she  gone. 

My  secret  heart's  exulting  boast  ? 
And  does  she  heedless  hear  my  groan  ? 

And  is  she  ever,  ever  lost? 

Oh  !  can  she  bear  so  base  a  heart, 

So  lost  to  Honor,  lost  to  Truth, 
As  from  the  fondest  lover  part. 

The  plighted  husband  of  her  youth  ? 
Alas  1  Life's  path  may  be  unsmooth  ! 

Her  way  may  lie  thro*  rough  distress  ! 
Then,  who  her  pangs  and  pains  will  soothe. 

Her  sorrows  share  and  make  them  less  ? 

Ye  winged  Hours  that  o'er  us  past. 

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

My  fondly-treasur'd  thoughts  employ'd. 
That  breast,  how  dreary  now,  and  void, 

For  her  too  scanty  once  of  room  ! 
Ev'n  ev'ry  ray  of  Hope  destroy'd. 

And  not  a  Whh  to  gild  the  gloom  ! 

The  morn  that  warns  th'  approaching  day, 

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

That  I  must  sufier,  lingering,  slow. 
Full  many  a  pang,  and  many  a  throe, 

Keen  Recollection's  direful  train. 
Must  wring  my  soul,  ere  Phoebus,  low, 

Shall  kiss  the  distant,  western  main. 


56  THE  POETieAL  WORKS  01' 

And  when  my  nightly  couch  I  try, 

Sore-harassM  out,  with  care  and  grief, 
My  toil-beat  nerves,  and  tear-won  eye, 

Keep  watching  with  the  nightly  thief : 
Or  if  I  slumber,  Fancy,  chief. 

Reigns,  haggard-wild,  in  sore  affright ; 
Ev'n  day,  all-bitter,  brings  relief, 

From  such  a  horror-breathing  night. 

O  !  thou  bright  Queen,  who,  o'er  th'  expanse. 

Now  highest  reign'st,  with  boundless  sway ! 
Oft  has  thy  silent-marking  glance 

ObservM  us,  fondly-wand'ring,  stray ! 
The  time,  unheeded,  sped  away, 

While  Love's  luxurious  pulse  beat  high, 
Beneath  thy  silver-gleaming  ray. 

To  mark  the  mutual-kindling  eye. 

Oh  !  scenes  in  strong  remembrance  set ! 

Scenes  never,  never  to  return  ! 
Scenes,  if  in  stupor  I  forget, 

Again  I  feel,  again  I  burn  ! 
From  ey'ry  joy  and  pleasure  torn. 

Life's  weary  vale  Til  wander  thro' ; 
And  hopeless,  comfortless,  I'll  mourn 

A  faithless  woman's  broken  vow. 


A  PRAYER 


THE  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH. 

O  THOU  unknown,  Almighty  Cause 

Of  all  my  hope  and  fear  ! 
In  whose  dread  Presence,  ere  an  hour, 
.    Perhaps  I  must  appear ! 


110BEUT  BURNS.  .5'; 


If  I  have  wander'd  in  those  paths 

Of  life  1  ought  to  shun  ; 
As  So?nething^  loudly  in  my  breast. 

Remonstrates  1  have  done ; 

Thou  know'st  that  Thou  hast  formed  me 
With  Passions  wild  and  strong  ; 

And  listening  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where  human  nveakness  has  come  short, 

Ov  frailty  stept  aside, 
Do  Thou,  All-Good !  for  such  Thou  art, 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 

Where  with  intention  I  have  err'd, 

No  other  Plea  I  have, 
But,  Thou  art  good ;  and  Goodness  still 

Delighteth  to  forgive. 


STANZAS 

ON  THE  SAME  OCCASION. 

WHY  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene  ? 

Have  I  so  found  it  full  of  pleasing  charms  ? 
Some  drops  of  joy  with  draughts  of  ill  between  ; 

Some  gleams  of  sunshine  mid  renewing  storms 
Is  it  departing  pangs  my  soul  alarms  ? 

Or  Death's  unlovely,  dreary,  dark  abode  ? 
For  guilt,  for  guilt,  my  terrors  are  in  arms  ; 

I  tremble  to  approach  an  angry  God, 
And  justly  smart  beneath  his  sin-avenging  rod. 

Fain  would  I  say,  '  Forgive  my  foul  offence !' 

Fain  promise  never  more  to  disobey ; 
But,  should  my  Author  health  again  dispense. 
Again  I  might  desert  fair  Virtue's  way ; 
Again  in  Folly's  path  might  go  astray ; 


58  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Again  exalt  the  brute  and  sink  the  man  ; 
Then  how  should  I  for  Heavenly  Mercy  pray, 

Who  act  so  counter  Heavenly  Mercy's  plan? 
Who  sin  so  oft  have  mourn'd,  yet  to  temptation  ran  ? 

€)  Thou,  Great  Governor  of  all  below  1 

If  I  may  dare  a  lifted  eye  to  Thee, 
Thy  nod  can  make  the  tempest  cease  to  blow. 

Or  still  the  tumult  of  the  raging  sea : 
With  that  controuling  pow*r  assist  ev'n  me, 

Those  headlong,  furious  passions  to  confine  j 
For  all  unfit  I  feel  my  powers  be, 

To  rule  their  torrent  in  th'  allowed  line ; 
G,  aid  me  with  Thy  help,  Omnifiotence  Divine  ! 


LYING  AT  A  REVEREND  FRIEND'S  HOUSE  ONE  NIGHT, 
THE  AUTHOR  LEFT  THE  FOLLOWING  VERSESVS  THE 
ROOM  WHERE  HE  SLEPT. 

O  THOU  dread  Pow*r,  who  reign'st  above  1 

I  know  Thou  wilt  me  hear  ; 
When  for  this  scene  of  peace  and  love, 

I  make  my  pray*r  sincere. 

The  hoary  Sire — the  mortal  stroke, 

Long,  long  be  pleas'd  to  spare  j 
To  bless  his  little  filial  flock. 

And  show  what  good  men  are. 

She,  who  her  lovely  Offspring  eyes 

With  tender  hopes  and  fears, 
O  bless  her  with  a  Mother's  joys, 

But  spare  a  Mother's  tears ! 

Their  hope,  their  stay,  their  darling  youth, 

In  manhood's  dawning  blush ; 
Hess  him,  Thou  God  of  love  and  truth, 

Up  to  a  Parent's  wish. 


KOBKRT  BURNS.  59 


The  beateous,  seraph  Sister-band, 

With  earnest  tears  I  pray, 
Thou  know*st  the  snares  on  ev*ry  hand. 

Guide  Thou  their  steps  alway. 

When  soon  or  late  they  reach  that  coast, 
C)*er  life's  rough  ocean  driven. 

My  they  rejoice,  no  wand'rer  lost, 
A  Family  in  Heaven ! 


THE  FIRST  PSALM. 

THE  man,  in  life  where-ever  plac'd, 

Hdth  happiness  in  store, 
Wiio  walks  not  in  the  wicked's  way, 

Nor  learn's  their  guilty  lore  ! 

Nor  from  the  seat  of  scornful  Pride 

Casts  forth  his  eyes  abroad, 
Bui  with  humility  and  awe 

Still  walks  before  his  God. 

That  man  shall  flourish  like  the  trees 
Which  by  the  streamlets  grow ; 

The  fruitful  top  is  spread  on  high, 
And  firm  the  root  below. 

But  he  whose  blossom  buds  in  guilt 

ShuU  to  the  ground  be  cast, 
And  like  the  rootless  stubble  tost. 

Before  the  sweeping  blast. 

For  why  ?  that  God  the  good  adore 
Hath  giv'n  them  peace  and  rest. 

But  hath  decreed  that  wicked  men 
Shall  ne'er  be  truly  blest. 


60  THE  POETICAL  VvORKS  OP 

EPISTLE 

TO 

A  YOUNG  FRIEND. 


May 1786: 


I  LANG  hae  thought,  my  yoiithfu'  friend, 

\  Something  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento  ; 
But  how  the  subject  thenie  may  gang, 

Let  time  and  chunce  determine  j 
Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  Sang  ; 

Perhaps,  turn  out  a  Sermon. 

Ye'll  try  the  world  soon,  my  ladj 

And  ^ndrciv  dear,  believe  me, 
Ye'll  find  mankind  an  unco  squadj 

And  ti^uckle  they  may  grieve  ye : 
For  care  and  trouble  set  your  thought, 

Ev'n  when  your  end's  attained  ; 
And  a'  your  views  may  come  to  nought, 

Where  ev'ry  nerve  is  strained. 

1*11  no  say,  men  are  villains  a' ; 

The  real,  hardened  wicked, 
Wha  hue  nae  check  but  human  law, 

Are  to  a  few  restricked  : 
But  Och,  mankind  are  unco  weak, 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
If  Sdft\\^  wavering  balance  shake. 

It's  rarely  right  adjusted  ! 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  Fortune's  strife. 
Their  fate  we  should  na  censure, 

For  still  th'  important  end  of  life. 
They  equally  may  answer : 


ROBERT  BURNS.  61 


A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 
Tho'  Poortith  hourly  stare  him ; 

A  man  may  tak  a  neebor*s  part, 
Yet  hae  nae  cash  to  spare  him. 

Ay  free,  aff  han',  your  story  tell, 

When  wi'  a  bosom  crony  ; 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony. 
Conceal  yoursel  as  weel's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection ; 
But  keek  thro*  ev'ry  other  man, 

Wi'  sharpen*d,  sly  inspection. 

The  sacred  lowe  o'  weel-plac'd  love? 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it; 
But  never  tempt  th'  illicit  rove^ 

Tho'  naething  Should  divulge  it : 
I  wave  the  quantum  o'  the  sin ; 

The  hazard  of  concealing ; 
But  Och  !  it  hardens  a*  within, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling  I 

To  catch  Dame  Fortune's  golden  smilCj 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her ; 
And  gather  gear  by  evVy  wile 

That's  justify'd  by  Honor  : 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Not  for  a  train-attendant ; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 

Of  being  indefiendent* 

The  fear  o'  Hell's  a  hangman's  whip, 
To  baud  the  wretch  in  order ; 

But  where  ye  feel  your  Honor  grip, 
Let  that  ay  be  your  border: 

It's  slightest  touches,  instant  pause- 
Debar  a'  side-pretenees ; 

And  resolutely  keep  it's  Idws, 
Uncaring  consequences. 
G 


Q2  iHB  POETICAL  WORKS  OF- 

The  great  Creator  to  revere, 

Must  sure  become  the  Creatnj-e ; 
But  still  the  pieychmg  cant  forbear, 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature : 
Yet  ne'er  with  W  its  profane  to  range. 

Be  complhisai'ce  extei.ded  ; 
An  Atneist-hmgh's  a  poor  exchange 

lor  Deity  oliended ! 

\Vhen  ranting  round  in  Pleasure's  ring, 

Keligion  may  be  blinded  : 
Or  if  she  gie  a  rajidom  stingy 

It  may  be  little  minded; 
But  when  on  Life  we're  tempest-driv*n, 

A  Conscience  but  a  canker — 
A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heuv'n, 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor  / 

Adieu,  dear,  amiable  Youth  ! 

Your  I'.ei.rt  can  lic'cr  be  wanting  1 
^ay  Prudence,  Fortitude,  and  Truth 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting  I 
In  ploughman  phrase,  '  God  send  you  speed. 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser ; 
And  may  ye  better  reck  the  rede^ 

Than  ever  did  th'  Adviser  \ 


97i    A 

SCOTCH  BARD 

€ONE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIES. 

A'  YE  whi  live  by  sowps  o'  drink, 
A'  yt  v.'Ijo  live  by  cran»bo-clhjk, 
A'  yc  wha  live  and  never  think, 

Con  e,  mourn  wi'  me ! 
Oar  hillH^s  gien  us  a'  a  jink, 

An*  owre  the  Sea. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ^3 


l-ament  him,  a*  ye  raiitin  core, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  yandom-splore ; 
Nae  mair  he'll  join  the  Jiierry  roar, 

In  social  key ; 
For  now  he's  taen  anither  shore, 

An'  ovvre  the  Sea ! 

The  bonie  lasses  weel  may  wiss  him, 
And  in  their  dear  p.etitions  place  him  : 
The  widows,  wives,  an'  a'  may  bless  him, 

Wi'  tearfu'  e'e ; 
For  weel  I  wat  they'll  sairly  miss  him 

That's  owre  the  Sea! 

O  Fortune,  they  hae  room  to  grumble  ! 
H.tdst  thou  taen  afF  some  drowsy  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'  stain  them  wi'  the  saut,  saut  tear : 
'Twill  mak  her  poor,  auld  heart,  I  fear, 

In  flinders  flee  : 
He  was  her  Laurent  monie  a  year. 

That's  owre  the  Sea ! 

He  saw  Misfortune's  cauld  JSTor-wesi 
Lang  mustering  up  a  bitter  blast ; 
A  Jillet  brak  his  heart  at  last, 

111  may  she  be  ! 
So,  took  a  birth  afore  the  mast. 

An'  owre  the  Sea. 

To  tremble  under  Fortune's  cummock^ 
On  scarce  a  bellyfu'  o'  drummock, 
Wi'  his  proud,  independent  stomach, 

Could  ill  agree  ; 
So,  row't  his  hurdies  in  a  hammock. 
An'  owre  the  Sea; 


04,  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

He  ne'er  was  gien  to  great  misguiding, 
Yet  coin  his  pouches  wad  na  bide  in  ; 
Wi'  him  it  ne*er  was  under  hiding ; 

He  dealt  it  free  : 
The  Muse  was  a'  that  he  took  pride  in, 

That's  owre  the  Sea. 

Jamaica  bodies^  use  him  weel, 
All'  hap  hi   .  in  a  cozie  biel : 
Ye*ll  find  him  ay  a  dainty  chiel, 

An*  fou  o'  glee  : 
He  wad  na  wrang'd  the  vera  Deil, 

That's  owre  the  Sea. 

Fareweel  my  rhyme'comimsing  hillie  I 
Your  native  soil  was  right  ill-wiliie  ; 
But  may  ye  flourish  like  a  lily, 

Now  bonilie ! 
I'll  toast  ye  in  n.y  hindmost  gillie, 

Tho*  owre  the  sea  I 


TO  A  LOUSE, 

On  seeing  one  on  a  Lady's  Bonnet  at  Church. 

HA  !  whare  ye  gaun,  ye  crowlin  ferlie  I 
Your  impudence  protects  you  sairiie : 
I  canua  sae  but  ye  strunt  rarely, 

C/wre  gauze  and  lace  ; 
Tho'  faith,  I  fear,  ye  dine  but  sparely 

On  sic  a  place. 

Ye  ugly,  creepin,  blastit  wonner, 
Detested,  shunnM,  by  saunt  an'  sinner, 
How  dare  ye  set  your  fit  upon  her, 

Sae  fine  a  Lady  ! 
Gae  somewhere  else  and  seek  your  dinner, 

On  some  poor  body. 


ROBERT  BURNS,  65 

Swith,  in  some  beggar's  haffet  squattie ; 
There  ye  m^iy  cieep,  and  sprawl,  and  sprattlc 
Wi*  ither  kindred,  jumping  cattle, 

In  shoals  and  nations  ; 
Whare  horn  nor  bane  ne'er  dare  unsettle 

Your  thick  plantations. 

Now  haud  ye  there,  ye're  out  o'  sight, 
Below  the  fatt'rels,  snug  and  tight ; 
Na  faith  ye  yet !  ye'll  no  be  right 

Till  ye've  got  on  it, 
The  vera  tapmost,  tow'ring  height 

O'  Miss's  bonnet. 

My  sooth  !  right  bauld  ye  set  your  nose  out, 
As  plump  an'  gray  as  onie  grozet : 
O  for  some  rank,  mercurial  rozet, 

Or  fell,  red  smeddum, 
I'd  gie  you  sic  a  hearty  dose  o't, 

Wad  dress  your  droddum  ! 

I  wad  na  been  surpris'd  to  spy 
You  on  an  auld  wife's  flainen  toy  ; 
Or  aiblins  some  bit  duddie  boy, 

On's  wyliecoat ; 
But  Miss's  fine  Lunardie  !  fie  ! 

How  dare  ye  do'ti 

O,  Jenny^  dinna  toss  your  head, 
An'  set  your  beauties  a'  abread  I 
Ye  little  ken  what  cursed  speed 

The  blastie's  makin  I 
Thae  winks  and  Jinger-ends,  I  dread, 

Are  notice  takin  I 

O  wad  some  Pow'r  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursein  as  other  see  us  I 
It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us 

An'  foolish  notion : 
What  airs  in  dress  an'  gait  wad  le  ='e  us, 

And  ev'n  Devotion  I 

G   ^ 


66  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

A  PRAYER, 

Under  the  Pressure  of  violent  Anguish. 

O  THOU  great  Being !  what  Thou  art, 

Surpasses  me  lo  know  : 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  Thy  works  below. 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands, 

AH  wretched  and  distrest; 
Yet  sure  those  ills  that  wring  my  soul 

Obey  Thy  high  behest. 

Sure  Thou,  Alirighty,  canst  not  act 

From  cruelty  or  wrath  ! 
O,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears, 

Or  close  them  fast  in  death ! 

But  if  I  must  afflicted  be, 

To  suit  some  wise  design  ; 
Then,  ir.an  my  soul  with  firm  resolves 

To  bear  and  not  repine  ! 


TO  RUIN. 

ALL  hail !  inexorable  lord ! 

At  whose  destruction-breathing  word, 

The  mightiest  empires  fall  I 
Thy  cruel,  woe-delighted  tr.iin, 
The  ministers  of  Grief  and  Puin, 

A  sullen  welcome,  all  ! 
With  stern-vesolv'd,  despairing  eyCj 

I  see  each  aimed  dart ; 
VoT  one  has  cut  my  dearest  tye^ 

And  quivers  in  my  heart. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

Then  lowering,  and  pouring, 
The  Storm  no  more  1  dread  ; 

Tho'  thick'ning,  and  black'ning, 
Round  my  devoted  head. 

And  thou  grim  Pow'r,  by  Life  abhorr'd, 
"While  Life  ^  f ilea  sure  CAXi  afford, 

Oh  I  hear  a  wretch's  pray'r! 
No    uore  I  shrink  ap  pal  I'd,  afraid  j 
I  court,  I  beg  thy  friendly  aid, 
To  close  this  scene  of  care! 
When  shall  my  soul,  in  silent  peace, 

Resign  lAie^s  joyless  day  ? 
My  weary  heart  it's  throbbings  ceasei, 
Cold  mould'ring  in  the  clay  ? 
No  fear  more,  no  tear  more, 
To  stain  my  lifeless  face, 
Enclasped,  and  grasped, 
Within  thy  cold  embrace  ! 


EPITAPH 

FOR  THE  AUTHOR'S  FATHER. 

O  ye  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains. 

Draw  near  with  pious  rev'rence,  and  attend! 
Here  lie  ihe  loving  Husband's  dear  remains. 

The  tender  Father,  and  the  gen*rous  Friend. 
The  pitying  heart  that  felt  for  human  Woe  ; 

The  dauntless  heart  that  fear'd  no  human  Pride 
The  Friend  of  Man,  to  vice  alone  a  foe ; 

<  For  ev'n  his  failings  lean'd  to  Virtue's  side*.* 

•*  Goldsmith. 


6r 


68  THE  POETICAL  WORICS  OF 

BURN'S  EPITAPH, 

BY  HIMSELF. 

IS  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 
Ovvre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for  rule, 
Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  proud  to  snool, 

Let  him  draw  near: 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool, 

And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  Bard  of  rustic  song, 
Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  among, 
That  weekly  this  area  throng, 

O,  pass  not  by  ! 
But,  with  a  frater-feeling  strong. 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man,  whose  judgment  clear, 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer. 
Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career. 
Wild  as  the  wave, 
Here  pause— and,  thro'  the  starting  teap, 
Survey  this  grave  I 

The  poor  Inhabitant  below 
Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know, 
And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow,  ^ 

And  softer  Jlame  ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  staiij!d  his  name  1 

Reader,  attend— whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 
Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole. 

In  low  pursuit, 
Know,  prudent,  cautious,  self-controul 
Is  Wisdom's  ropt. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  $9 


DELIA. 


FAIR  the  face  of  orient  d^y, 
Fair  the  tints  of  op'ning  rose ; 
But  furer  still  my  Delia  dawns, 
More  lovely  far  her  beauty  blows- 
Sweet  the  Lark's  wild- warbled  lay. 
Sweet  the  tinkling  rill  to  hecir  ; 
But,  Delia,  more  delightful  still, 
Steal  thine  accents  on  mine  ear. 

The  flower-enamourM  busy  Bee 
The  rosy  banquet  loves  to  sip ; 
Sweet  the  streamlet's  limpid  lapse 
To  the  sun-brown'd  Arab's  lip ; 

But,  Delia,  on  thy  balmy  lips 
Let  me,  no  vagrant  insect,  rove  ! 
O  let  me  steal  one  liquid  kiss  ! 
For  Oh !  my  soul  is  parch'd  with  love 


TAM  O'  SHANTEH. 

A  TALE. 

Of  Brownyis  and  of  Bogillis  full  in  this  Buke. 

GAWIN    DOUGLAb'. 

WHEN  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
An*  drouthy  neebors,  neebors  meet. 
As  market-days  are  wearin  late, 
An'  folk  begin  to  lak  the  gate; 
While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
An'  gettin  fou  an'  unco  happy. 


J'O  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01" 

"VVe  think  na  on  the  langj  Scots  miles, 
The  mosses,  vaters,  siaps,  an'  styles, 
That  lie  between  us  an'  our  ha  .  e, 
M  l.are  sits  our  sulkj^  sullen  dame, 
G-.th'rin  her  brows  like  gath'rki  storm, 
Kursin  her  wiath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tarn  o'  Sharitevy 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  nii^ht  did  canter, 
(Auld  Ayr  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses, 
For  honest  men  an  bonie  lasses.) 

O  Tarn  !  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise, 
As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate\<s  advice  ! 
She  tuuld  thee  weel  thou  was  a  skellum, 
A  bletherin,  blusterin,  drucken  blellum ; 
That  frae  Nove  ,  ber  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober  ; 
1  hdt  ilka  melder,  wi'  the  miller, 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  h.id  siller ; 
That  ev'ry  naig  was  caM  a  shoe  on, 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  rodrin  fou  on  ; 
That  at  the  L — d's  house,  ev'n  on  Sunday, 
7I10U  drunk  wi'  Kirton  Jean  till  Monday. 
She  prophesy'd,  thttt,  late  or  soon, 
Thou  wad  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon; 
Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  i'  the  mirk, 
By  Alloway*s  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames  !  it  gars  me  gree^, 
To  think  how  mony  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lenghthen'd  Sdge  advices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises ! 

But  to  our  tale  :  Ae  market  night, 
Tain  had  got  planted  unco  right ; 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely ; 
An'  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnny^ 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony  ; 
Tarn  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither ; 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegitheri 


ROBBHT  BURNS.  y^i 

The  night  drave  on  wi*  sangs  an*  cktter ; 
An'  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better  : 
The  landlady  and  Tarn  grew  gracious, 
W'i'  favours,  secret,  sweet,  and  precious  : 
The  Souter  tauid  his  queerest  stories  ; 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus : 
The  storm  without  .nightrfair  and  rustle, 
Tarn  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy, 
E'en  drown'd  himself  amang  the  nappy  : 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o*  treasure, 
The  minutes  wing'd  their  way  wi'  pleasure  : 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tarn  was  glorious, 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious  1 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread, 
Y  )U  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed; 
Or  like  the  snow-fdls  in  the  river, 

A  moment  white then  melts  for  ever  5 

Or  like  the  borealis  race. 

That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place  ; 

Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  for  in, 

Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 

K  xe  man  can  tether  time  or  tide ; 

The  hour  approaches  Tu?n  maun  ride ; 

That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the  key-stane. 

That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in; 

An'  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in. 

As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last ; 
The  rattling  show'rs  rose  on  the  blast; 
T  ie  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd; 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellowM ; 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand, 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 

Weel  mounted  on  his  grey  mare,  Megy 
A  better  never  lifted  leg. 
Tarn  skelpit  on  thro*  dub  an'  mire, 
Despising  wind,  an'  rain,  an'  fire ; 


y2  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Whiles  holding  fast  his  guid  blue  bonnet; 
Whiles  crooning  o*er  some  auld  Scots  Sonnet; 
Whiles  glow' ring  round  wi'  prudent  cares, 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares : 
Kirk-Alloivay  was  drawing  nigh, 
Where  ghaists  an*  howlets  nightly  cry.-~ 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare  in  the  snaw  the  chapman  s^soor'd; 
An'  past  the  birks  an^  meikle  stane, 
Whare  drucken  Charlie  brak's  neck-bane: 
An'  thro'  the  whins,  an'  by  the  cairn, 
Whare  hunters  fand  the  murder'd  bairn; 
An'  near  the  thorn  aboon  the  well, 
Whare  Mungo^s  mither  hang'd  hersel. — 
Before  him  Doon  pours  a'  his  floods ; 
The  doublin  storm  roars  thro'  the  woods ; 
The  lightnings  flash  frae  pole  to  pole  ; 
>iear  an'  more  near  the  thunders  roll  : 
When,  glimmering  thro'  the  groanin  trees, 
Kirk-Mloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze  ; 
Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancin  ; 
An'  loud  resounded  mirth  an'  dancin. — 

Inspiring,  bold  John  Barleycorn  ! 
What  dangers  thou  canst  mak  us  scorn  i 
Wi'  tippeny,  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Vv  i'  usquabae  we'll  face  the  devil  !— 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tajninie's  noddle, 
Fair  play,  he  car'd  na  deils  a  boddle. 
But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd, 
Till  by  the  heel,  an'  hand  admonish'd, 
She  ventur'd  forward  on  the  light ; 
An  ,  vow  !   Tarn  saw  an  unco  sight  I 
Warlocks  an'  witches  in  a  dance  ; 
Nae  cotillion  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  an'  reels. 
Put  life  an'  mettle  i'  their  heels  ; 
A  winnock-bunker  i'  the  east, 
There  sat  auid  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast : 
A  lowzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  an'  large, 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge  : 


ROBERT  BURNS.   -  7-3 

He  screw'd  the  pipes,  an'  gart  them  skirl, 
Till  roof  an'  rafters  a'  did  dirl. — 
Coffins  stood  round,  like  open  presses, 
That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses  : 
And  by  some  dev'lish  cantraip  slight, 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light — 
By  which  heroic  Tarn  was  able, 
To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 
A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  aims; 
Twa  span-lang,  wee,  unchristen'd  bairns  ; 
A  thief  new-cutted  frae  a  rape, 
Wi*  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape ; 
Five  tomahawks,  wi'  blude  red-rusted  j 
Five  scymiters,  wi'  murder  crusted ; 
A  garter  which  a  babe  had  strangled, 
A  knife,  a  farther's  throat  had  mangled, 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft. 
The  grey  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft; 
(Three  lawyers'  tongues  turn'd  inside  out> 
Wi'  lies  seem'd  like  a  beggar's  cluut ; 
And  priests'  hearts,  rotten,  black  as  muck, 
Lay  stinking,  vile,  in  every  neuk.) 
Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  an'  awfu', 
Which  ev'n  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glowr'd,  amazM,  an*  curious j 
The  mirth  an'  fun  grew  fast  an'  furious : 
The  piper  loud  an'  louder  blew  ; 
The  dancers  quick  an'  quicker  flew  : 
They  reel'd,  they  set,  they  cross'd,  they  cleekit. 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit, 
An'  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark, 
An'  linket  at  it  in  her  sark  ! 

Now  Tam^  O  Tarn  I  had  thae  been  queansj 
A'  plump  an'  strappin  i'  their  teens, 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen, 
Been  snaw-white  seventeen  hunder  iinnen  \ 
Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair. 
That  ance  were  plush,  o'  gude  blue  hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  aff  my  hurdies, 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonie  burdies  \ 
U 


74  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

But  vitherVi  beldams,  auld  an'  droll, 
Rigwoodie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal, 
Lowpin  an'  flingin  on  a  crummock, 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 

But  Tarn  kend  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie  ; 
There  was  ae  winsome  wench  an'  walie, 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core, 
(Lang  after  kend  on  Carrick  shore  ; 
For  monie  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot, 
An'  perishM  monie  a  bonie  boat, 
An'  shook  baith  meikle  corn  an'  bear, 
An'  kept  the  country-side  in  fear)  ; 
Her  cutty  sark,  o'  Paisley  harn. 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn  ; 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scanty. 
It  was  her  best,  an'  she  was  vauntie, — 
Ah  1  little  kend  thy  reverend  Grannie, 
That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
V  i'  twa  pund  Scots,  ('twas  a*  her  riches), 
Wad  ever  gracM  a  dance  of  witches  I 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun  cour ; 
Sie  flights  are  far  beyond  her  pow'r  j 
To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  an'  flang, 
(A  soupie  jade  she  was  an'  Strang), 
An'  how  Tain  stood,  like  ane  bewitch'd, 
An'  thought  his  very  cen  enrich'd  ; 
Ev'n  SatiiU  glov/r'd,  an'  fidg'd  fu'  fain. 
An'  hotch'd  an'  blew  wi'  might  an'  main. 
Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither. 
Tarn  tint  his  reason  a'  thegiiher. 
An'  roars  out,  '  Wee!  done,  Cutty-sark  I' 
An'  in  an  instant  a'  was  dark  : 
An'  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied, 
When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke  ; 
"When  plunderin  herds  assail  their  byke  j 
A«-  open  pussie's  mortal  foes, 
Wb^n,  pop  I  she  starts  before  their  nose  ; 
As  eae;;ei  runs  the  murkei-crowd, 
When  '  Catch  the  thief!'  resounds  aloud; 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 

Wi'  monie  an  eldritch  skreech  an'  hollow. 

Ah,  Tarn!  Ah,  Tarn!  thou'il  get  thy  fairin  ! 
In  hell  they'll  roast  thee  like  a  herrin  I 
In  v^in  thy  Kale  awaits  thy  comin  1 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  wo '.an  ! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
An'  win  the  key-stane  *  of  the  brig  ; 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  darcna  cross. 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make, 
The  ficnt  a  tale  she  had  to  shake  I 
For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest. 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest. 
An'  flew  at  Tarn  wi'  furious  ettle  ; 

But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  tuettle ■ 

Ae  spring  brought  off  her  master  hale. 
But  left  behind  her  ain  grey  tail : 
The  carlin  claught  her  by  the  rump, 
An'  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son  take  heed  ; 
Whane'er  to  drink  you  are  inclin'd, 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  i'  your  mind. 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joy's  o'er  dear, 
ReiTiember  Tarn  o'  Shunter'' s  mare. 


*  It  is  a  well  known  fact,  that  witches,  or  any  evil  spirits,  have 
no  power  to  follow  a  poor  wight  any  farther  than  the  middle  of  the 
next  running  stream — It  may  be  proper  likewise  to  mention  to 
the  benighted  traveller,  that  when  he  falls  in  with  bogles,  what- 
ever danger  may  be  in  his  going  forward,  there  is  much  more  ha- 
zard in  turning  back. 


7t>  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

ADDRESS 

TO  THE  TOOTH-ACHE^ 

(Written  by  the  Author  at  a  time  when  he  whs  grievously  tor- 
mented by  that  Disorder.) 

MY  curse  on  your  envcnom'd  staiig, 
That  shoots  my  tortur'd  gums  alang, 
An'  thro*  my  lugs  gies  mony  a  bang 

Wi*  gnuwin  vengeance; 
Tearing  my  nerves  wi*  bitter  twang, 

Like  racking  engines. 

A'  down  my  beard  the  slavers  trickle, 
I  Cast  the  wee  stools  owre  the  meikle, 
While  round  the  fire  the  bav*rels  keckle, 

To  see  me  loup; 
I  curse  an'  ban,  an'  wish  a  heckle 

Were  i'  tliere  doup. 

Whan  fevers  burn,  or  agues  freeze  us, 
Rheui:  atics  gnaw,  or  colics  squeeze  us, 
'  Our  neebors  sympathize,  to  ease  us, 

Wi'  pitying  moan ; 
But  thou — the  hell  o*  a'  diseases. 

They  mock  our  groan. 

O*  a'  the  num'rous  human  dools, 
III  har'sts,  daft  bargains,  cutty-stools^ 
Or  worthy  friends  laid  i'  the  mools, 

Sad  sight  to  see ! 
The  tricks  o'  knaves,  or  fash  o'  fools, 

Thou  bear'st  the  gree 

Whare*er  that  place  be,  priests  ca'  hell, 
Whare  a'  the  tones  o'  misery's  yell. 
An'  plagues  in  ranked  number  tell 

In  deadly  raw,  *■- 

Thou,  Tooth'ttchCy  surely  bear'st  the  bell 
Aboon  them  a'  I 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ?7 

O  !  thou  grim  mischief-makin  chiel, 
That  gars  the  notes  o'  discord  squcel, 
Till  human-kind  aft  dance  a  reel 

In  gore  a  shoe  thick, 
Gie  a*  the  faes  o'  Scotland's  weal 

A  towmond's  tooth-achs  ! 


THE  HOLY  FAIR*. 

A  robe  of  seeming  truth  and  trust 

Hid  crafty  observation ; 
And  secret  hung,  with  poison'd  crust. 

The  dirk  of  Defamation : 
A  mask  that  like  the  gorget  show'd, 

Dye-var_ving,  on  the  pigeon  ; 
And  for  a  mantle  larp;-e  and  broad. 

He  wrapt  him  in  Religion. 

Hypocrisy  a-la-mode* 

UPON  a  simmer  Sunday  mornj 

When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 
I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn. 

An'  snuff  the  caller  air. 
The  rising  sun,  owre  Galston  muirs, 

Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin  ; 
The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furs, 

The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 

Fu'  sweet  that  day. 

As  lightsomely  I  glowr'd  abroad, 

To  see  a  scene  sae  gay, 
Three  Hizzies,  early  at  the  road, 

Cam  slielpin  up  the  way. 
Twa  had  manteeles  o'  dolefu'  blacky 

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

Was  in  the  fashion  shining 

Fu'  gay  that  day. 

*  Holy  Fair  is  a  common  phrase  in  the  West  of  Scotland  for  a 
sacramental  occasion. 


?8  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  ^wa  appeared  like  sisters  twin, 

In  feature,  form,  an'  claes  ; 
Their  visage  wither'd,  lang  an*  thin, 

An'  sour  as  ony  slaes : 
Tiie  third  cam  up,  hap-step-an'-lowp. 

As  light  as  ony  lambie, 
An'  wi'  a  curchie  low  did  stoop. 

As  soon  as  e'er  she  saw  me, 

Fu'  kind  that  day. 

Wi'  bonnet  aff,  quoth  I,  *  Sweet  lass, 

*  I  think  ye  seem  to  ken  me ; 

*  I'm  sure  I've  seen  that  bonie  face, 

*  But  yet  1  canna  name  ye.' 
Quo  she,  an'  laughin  as  she  spak, 

An'  taks  me  by  the  hauns, 

*  Ye,  for  my  sake,  hae  gi'en  the  feck 

*  Of  a'  the  ten  cam  maun  s 

*  A  screed  some  day. 

*  My  name  is  Fun — your  cronie  dear, 

'  The  nearest  friend  ye  hae  ; 

*  An'  this  is  Sufierstition  here, 

'  An'  that's  Hypocrisy. 
'  I'm  gaun  to  Mauchline  Holy  Fair, 

*  To  spend  an  hour  in  daffin  : 

<  Gin  ye'll  go  there,  yon  runkl'd  pair, 
'  We  will  get  famous  lauyhin 

*  At  them  this  day.' 

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

*  I'll  get  my  Sunday's  sark  on, 
'  An'  meet  you  on  tlie  holy  spot  ; 

*  Faith,  we'se  hue  fine  re    arkin  !* 
Then  T  gaed  hame  at  crowdie-time. 

An'  soon  I  made  n)C  ready; 
For  roads  were  cladf  irae  side  to  side, 
Wi*  monie  a  wearie  body. 

In  droves  that  day. 

Here,  farmers  Rash,  in  ridin  graith, 

Gaed  hoddin  by  their  colters  ; 
There,  swankics  yc»ung,  in  braw  braid-claith. 

Are  springin  owre  the  gutters. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  79 


The  lasses,  skelpin  barefit,  thrang, 

In  silks  an'  scarlets  glitter  ; 
\Vi'  siveet'jnilk  cheese^  in  i.onie  a  whang, 

An*  farlsy  bak'd  wi'  butter, 

Fu'  crump  that  day. 

When  by  the  filate  we  set  our  nose, 

Weel  heaped  up  wi'  ha^pence, 
A  greedy  glowr  Black  Bonnet  throws, 

An'  we  maun  draw  our  tippence. 
Then  in  we  go  to  see  the  show, 

On  ev*ry  side  they're  gath*rin ; 
Some  carryin  dails,  some  chairs  an'  stools, 

An'  some  are  busy  bleth'rin 

Right  loud  that  day. 

Here  stands  a  shed  to  fend  the  show'rs. 

An*  screen  our  countra  Gentry, 
There,  racei-  Jess,  an'  twa-three  wh-res, 

Are  blinkin  at  the  entry. 
Here  sits  a  raw  o'  tittlin  jads, 

\\  i*  heaving  breast  an'  bare  neck  ; 
An'  there,  a  batch  o'  wabster  lads, 

Blackguarding  frae  Kilmarnock 
For  fim  this  day. 

Here,  some  are  thinkin  on  their  sins, 

An*  soi*  e  upo*  their  claes  ; 
Ane  curses  feet  that  fy'ld  his  shins, 

Anither  si^hs  an'  prays  : 
On  this  hand  sits  a  chosen  swatch, 

Wi'  screw'd-up,  grace-proud  faces; 
On  that,  a  set  o'  Chaps,  at  watch, 

Thrang  winkin  on  the  lasses  1 

To  chairs  that  day. 

O  happy  is  that  man,  an'  blest ! 

Nae  wonder  that  it  pride  ',i  (1  ! 
Wha's  ain  dear  lass^  that  he  likes  bestj 

Comes  clinkin  down  beside  him  I 


gQ  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Wi'  arm  repos'd  on  the  chair-back, 
He  sweetly  does  compose  him  ; 

Which,  by  degrees,  slips  round  her  neck, 
An's  loof  upon  her  bosom 

Unkend  that  day. 

Now  a'  the  congregation  o'er 

Is  silent  expectation ; 
For  M e  speels  the  holy  door, 

Wi*  tidings  o'  d-mn-t-n. 
Should  Hornie^  as  in  ancient  days, 

'Mang  sons  o'  G — d  present  him. 
The  vera  sight  o'  M g's  face, 

To's  ain  het  hame  had  sent  him 

Wi'  fright  that  day. 

Hear  how  he  clears  the  points  o'  Faith 

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

He's  stampin,  an'  he's  jumpin  ! 
His  lengthen'd  chin,  his  turn'd-up  snout. 

His  eldritch  squeel  an'  gestures, 
O  how  they  fire  the  heart  devout, 

Like  cantharidian  plasters, 

On  sic  a  day  ! 

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

There's  peace  and  rest  nae  langer ; 
For  a^  the  real  judges  rise. 

They  canna  sit  for  anger. 
S — h  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues, 

On  practice  and  on  n. orals ; 
An'  aff  the  i?odly  pour  in  thrangs, 

To  gie  the  jars  an'  barrels 

A  lift  that  day. 

What  signifies  his  barren  shine. 

Of  moral  pow'rs  an'  reason  ? 
His  English  style,  and  gesture  fine? 

Are  a'  clean  out  o'  season. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  81 


Like  Socrates  or  ^ntonine^ 

Or  some  aulu  pagan  Heathen, 
The  moral  man  he  does  define, 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That's  right  that  day. 

In  guid  time  comes  an  antidote 

Against  sic  poison'd  nostrum ; 
For  P s,  frae  the  water-fit, 

Ascends  the  holy  rostrum  ; 
See,  up  he's  got  the  word  o'  G — d, 

An'  meek  an'  mim  has  view'd  it, 
While  Common- Sense  has  ta'en  the  road> 

An'  aff,  an'  up  the  Cowgate* 

Fast,  fast  that  day. 

Wee  M — 11 — r  niest,  the  Guard  relieves^ 

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

An'  thinks  it  auld  wife's  fables  : 
But  faith  !  the  birkie  wants  a  Manse> 

So,  cannilie  he  hums  them  ; 
Altho'  his  carnal  wit  an'  sense 

Like  hafflins-wise  o'ercomes  him 
At  til  res  that  day. 

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

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

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

Wi'  Logic,  an'  wi'  Scripture, 
They  raise  a  din,  that,  in  the  end. 

Is  like  to  breed  a  rupture 

O'  wrath  that  day. 

Leeze  me  on  Drink  !  it  gies  us  mair 
Than  either  School  or  College  : 

It  kindles  Wit,  it  waukens  Lair, 
It  pangs  us  fou  o'  Knowledge. 

*  A  street,  so  called,  which  faces  the  tent  in- 


82  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Be't  wbisky  gill,  or  penny  vvheep. 

Or  ony  stronger  potion, 
It  never  fijls,  on  drinkin  deep, 

To  kittle  up  our  notion, 

By  night  or  day. 

The  lads  an'  lasses,  blythely  bent 

To  mind  baith  saul  an'  body, 
Sit  round  the  l^ble,  weel  content, 

An'  steer  about  the  toddy. 
On  this  ane's  dress,  an'  that  ane's  leuk, 

They're  makhi  observations ; 
While  some  are  cozie  i'  the  neuk, 

An'  formin  assignations 

To  meet  some  day. 

But  now  the  L — d's  ain  trumpet  touts, 

Till  a'  the  hills  are  rairin, 
An'  echoes  back  return  the  shouts ; 

Black  R — ss — 1  is  na  sparin  : 
His  piercing  vv^ords,  like  Highlan  swords, 

Divide  the  joints  an'  marrow  ; 
His  talk  o'  H-11,  whare  devils  dwell, 

Our  vera  *  Sauls  does  harrow*' 

Wi'  fright  that  day. 

A  vast,  unbottom'd,  boundless  Pit, 

Fill'd  fou  o'  lowin  brunstane, 
Wha's  raging  flame,  an'  scorchin  heat, 

Wad  melt  the  hardest  whun-stane  I 
The  half  asleep  start  up  wi'  fear, 

An'  think  they  hear  it  roarin, 
When  presently  it  does  appear, 

'Twas  but  some  neebor  snorin 

Asleep  that  day. 

'Twad  be  owre  lang  a  tale  to  tell, 

How  monie  stories  past. 
An'  how  they  crowded  to  the  yill. 

When  they  were  a'  dismist : 

*  Shakespeare's  Hamlet. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  §3 


How  drink  gaed  round,  in  cogs  an'  caups, 
A  '^an^  the  turms  an*  benches; 

An*  cheese  an*  bread,  frae  women's  laps, 
Was  dealt  about  in  iunches, 

An*  dawds  that  day. 

In  comes  a  gaucie,  gash  Guidwife, 

An'  sits  down  by  the  fire, 
Syne  draws  her  kebbuck  an'  her  knife. 

The  lasses  they  are  shyer. 
The  auid  Guidnien,  about  the  graccy 

Frae  side  to  side  they  bother, 
Till  some  ane  by  his  bonnet  lays, 

An'  gies  them't,  like  a  tether, 

Jbu'  lang  that  day. 

Wac sucks  !  for  him  that  gets  nae  lass, 

Or  k;sses  that  hae  naetliing  I 
Siiia'  need  has  he  to  say  a  grace. 

Or  melvie  his  braw  claithing! 
O  Wives  be  mindlu'  ance  yoursel, 

Kosv  bonie  lads  ye  wanted, 
An'  dinna,  for  a  kebbuck-heel, 

Let  lasses  be  affronted 

On  sic  a  day ! 

Now  Clinkumbdl^  wi'  rattlin  tow, 

begins  to  jow  an'  croon ; 
Some  swagger  hame,  the  best  they  dow, 

Some  wait  the  afternoon. 
At  slaps  the  billies  halt  a  blink. 

Till  lasses  strip  their  shoon: 
Wi'  laith  an'  hope,  an'  love  an'  drink, 

They're  a'  in  famous  tune 

For  crack  that  day. 

How  monie  hearts  this  day  converts 

O'  Sinners  and  o'  Lasses! 
Their  hearts  o'  stane  gin  night  are  gane, 

As  saft  as  onie  ilesh  is. 


^4.  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

There  some  are  fou  o'  love  divine  ; 

There's  some  are  fou'o'  brandy  ; 
An'  monie  jobs  that  day  begin, 

May  end  in  Hough  ragandie 

Some  ither  day. 


DEATH 

?-.  .  AND 

DOCTOR  HORNBOOK  i 

A  TRUE  STORY. 

SOME  books  are  lies  frae  end  to  end, 
And  some  great  lies  were  never  penn'd  ; 
Ev'n  Ministers  they  hae  been  kenn'd, 

In  holy  rapture. 
Great  lies  and  nonsense  baith  to  vend. 

And  nail*t  wi'  Scripture, 

But  this  that  I  am  gaun  to  tell, 
Which  lately  on  a  night  befel, 
Is  just  as  true's  the  Deii's  in  h-11, 

Or  Dublin  city : 
That  e'er  he  nearer  comes  oursel 

'S  a  muckle  pity. 

The  Clachan  yill  had  made  me  canty, 

I  was  na  fou,  but  just  had  plenty  ; 

I  stacher'd  whyles,  but  yet  took  tent  ay 

To  free  the  ditches  ; 
An'  hillocks,  stanes,  an'  bushes  kenn'd  ay 

Frae  ghaists  an'  witches. 

The  rising  Moon  began  to  glowr 
The  distant  Cu?nnock  hills  out-owre  ; 
To  count  her  horns,  wi'  a*  my  pow'r. 

1  set  mysel, 
But  whether  she  had  three  or  four, 

I  cou'd  na  tell. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ^^ 

I  was  come  round  about  the  hill, 
And  todlin  down  on  TVillie's  milly 
Setting  mf  staff  wi*  a*  my  skill, 

To  keep  me  sicker ; 
Tho'  leeward  whyles,  against  my  will, 

I  took  a  bicker. 

I  there  yrV  Something  does  forgather, 

That  pat  me  in  an  eerie  swither ; 

An  awfu*  scythe,  out-owre  ae  shouther. 

Clear-dangling,  hang ; 
A  three-tae'd  leister  on  the  ither  ^ 

Lay,  large  an*  lang, 

Its  stature  seem'd  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
The  queerest  shape  that  e*er  I  saw, 
For  ficnt  a  wame  it  had  ava, 

And  then  its  shanks. 
They  were  as  thin,  as  sharp  an'  sma' 

As  cheeks  o'  branks. 

*  Guid-e'en,'  quo'  I ;  '  Friend  !  hae  ye  been  mawinj 

<  When  ither  folk  are  busy  sawin*  I* 
It  seeni'd  to  mak  a  kind  o'  stan,* 

But  naething  spak ; 
At  length,  says  I,  *  Friend,  whare  ye  gauti^ 
'  Will  ye  go  back  ?* 

It  spak  right  howe — *  My  name  is  Deaths 

*  But  be  na  fleyM.'— Quoth  I,  *  Guid  faith  ! 
'  Ye're  maybe  come  to  stap  my  breath ; 

'  But  tent  m€,  biliie ; 

*  I  rede  ye  weel,  tak  care  o'  skaith, 

'  See,  there's  a  gully  I' 

<  Guidman,'  quo'  he,  <  put  up  your  whittle, 

*  I'm  no  design'd  to  try  its  mettle  ; 

<  But  if  I  did,  I  wad  be  kittle 

'  To  be  ipislear'd, 

*  I  wad  na  mind  it,  no  that  spittle 

'  Out-owre  my  beard.' 

"*=  This  rencounter  happened  in  seed-time,  1782f 
I 


86  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

<  Weel,  weel  !*  says  I,  *  a  bargain  be*t; 

*  Comes,  gies  your  band,  an*  sue  we're  gree*t 

*  We'll  ease  our  shanks  an'  tak  a  seat, 

'  Come,  gifcs  your  news ! 

*  This  while  *  ye  hae  been  mony  a  gate, 

*  At  mony  a  house.* 

*  Ay,  ay !'  quo'  he,  «  an'  shook  his  head, 

<  It's  e'en  a  lang,  lang  tir  e  indeed 
«  Sin'  I  began  to  nick  the  thread, 

*  An'  choke  the  breath  ; 

<  Folk  maun  do  something  for  their  bread, 

*  An  sue  maun  Death, 

*  Sax  thousand  years  are  nearhand  fled 

<  Sin'  1  was  to  the  hutching  bred, 

*  And  mony  a  scheme  in  vain's  been  laid, 

'  1  o  stap  or  scar  nic  ; 

*  1  ill  ane  Hornbook's  t  ti^'en  up  the  trade, 

*  And  faith,  he'll  waur  m§. 

*  Ye  ken  Jock  Hornbook  i'  the  Clachan, 

*  Deil  mak  iiis  king's-hood  in  a  spieuchani 

*  He's  grown  sae  weel  acquaint  wi*  Buchan^. 

*  And  ither  chaps, 

*  The  weans  baud  out  their  fingers  laughin, 

*  And  pouk  my  hips. 

<  See,  here's  a  scythe,  and  there's  a  dart, 

<  '1  hey  hae  pierc'd  mony  a  gallant  heart ; 

*  But  Doctor  hornbooky  wi'  his  art 

*  And  cursed  skill, 

*  Has  made  them  baiih  no  worth  a  f — t, 

t  D-mn'd  haet  they'll  kill  ! 


*  An  epidemical  fever  w.is  then  raging  in  that  country. 

■\  Tills  gentleman,  Dr.  Hornbook,  is,  professionally,  a  brothel' 
of  tiie  sovereign  order  of  the  Ferula;  but  by  intuition  and  inspi- 
ration, IS  at  once  an  Apothecaz'y,  Surg-eon,  and  Physician. 

^  Bachaii's  Domestic  Medicine. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  87 

*  'Twas  but  yestreen,  nae  fi^nher  gaen, 

*  I  threw  a  noble  throw  at  ane  ; 

«  Wi*  less,  I'm  sure,  I've  hundreds  slain  ; 
*  But  deil-ma-care ! 

*  It  just  play'd  dirl  on  the  bnne, 

'  But  did  nae  mair. 

<  Hornbook  was  by,  wi'  ready  art, 

*  And  had  sae  fortify'd  the  part, 

«  That  when  I  looked  to  my  dart, 

*  It  was  sae  blunt, 

«  Fient  haet  o't  wad  hae  pierc'd  the  heart 

*  Of  a  kail  runt. 

*  I  drew  my  scythe  in  sic  a  fury, 

*  I  nearhand  cowpit  wi*  Tiny  hurry, 
<■  But  yet  the  bauid  Ajiothecary 

'  Withstood  the  shock ; 

<  I  might  as  weel  hae  try'd  a  quarry 

<  O*  hard  whin-rock* 

*  Ev'n  them  he  canna  get  attended, 

*  Altho*  their  face  he  ne'er  had  kend  it, 
'  Just  sh—  in  a  kail-blade,  and  send  it, 

'  As  soon's  he  smells  *t, 
^  Baith  their  disease,  and  what  will  mend  it;, 

*  At  once  he  tells  't. 

*  And  then  a'  doctors'  saws  and  whittles, 
«  Of  a'  dimensions,  shapes,  an'  mettles, 

<  A'  kinds  o'  boxes,  mugs,  an'  bottles, 

He's  sure  to  hae; 

<  Their  Latin  names  as  fast  he  rattles 

t  As  A  B  C, 

*  Calces  o'  fossils,  earths,  and  trees  ; 

*  True  Sal-marinum  o'  the  seas  I 

*  The  Farina  of  beans  and  pease, 

*  He  has  't  in  plenty  , 

<  Aqua-fontis,  what  you  please, 

'  He  can  content  ye. 


gg  THE  POBTICAL  WORKS  OF 

*  Forbye  some  new,  uncommon  weapons, 

*  Uriims  Spiritus  of  capons  ; 

«  Or  Mite-horn  Bhavings,  filings,  scrcspings, 
*  DistillM  per  se  ; 

<  Sal-alkali  o'  Midge-tail-clippings, 

'  And  mony  raae.* 

*  Waes  mc  for  Johnny  Gcd^.^-Hole  *  now,' 
Quoth  I,  *  if  that  thae  news  be  true  ! 

«  His  braw  culf-ward  whare  gowans  grew, 

'  Sae  white  an  bonie, 
^  Nae  doubt  they'll  rive  it  wi'  the  plew ; 

*  They'll  ruin  Johnie  /' 

The  creature  gnanM  an  eldritch  laugh, 
And  says,  *  Ye  needna  yoke  the  pleugh, 
'  Kirk-yards  will  soon  be  tiil'd  eneugh, 

<  Tak  ye  nae  fear : 
^  They'll  a*  be  trench'd  wi'  mony  a  sheugh, 

*  In  twa- three  year. 

<  Whare  I  kill'd  ane,  a  fair  strae-death, 

*  By  loss  o'  blood,  or  want  o'  breath, 
«  This  night  I'm  free  to  tak  my  aith, 

*  That  Hornbook's  skill 
«  Has  clad  a  score  i'  their  last  claith, 

'  By  drap  an'  pill. 

*  An  honest  Wabster  to  his  trade, 

*  Whase  wife's  twa  nieves  were  scarce  weel-bred, 
'  Gat  tippencC'Worth  to  mend  her  head, 

*  When  it  was  sair ; 

<  The  wife  slade  cannie  to  her  bed, 

*  But  ne'er  spak  mair. 

<  A  countra  Laird  had  ta'en  the  batts, 

<  Or  some  curmurring  in  his  guts, 

*  His  only  son  for  Hornbook  sets, 

*  And  pays  him  well, 
«  The  lad,  for  twa  guid  gimmer-pets, 

«  Was  Laird  himsel. 

*  The  grave-digger. 


ROBERT  BURN  89 

*  A  bonie  lass,  ye  kend  her  name, 

*  Some  ill-brewn  drink  had  hov'd  her  wame, 

*  She  trusts  hersel,  to  hide  the  shame, 

*  In  Hornbook*s  care ; 
«  Horn  sent  her  aff  to  her  lang  hame, 

*  To  hide  it  there. 


<  That's  just  a  swatch  o*  Hornbook'^s  way, 

<  Thus  goes  he  on  from  day  to  day, 

<  Thus  does  he  poison,  kill,  an'  slay, 

*  An*s  weel  pay'd  for't : 
'  Yet  stops  me  o*  my  lawfu*  prey, 

*  Wi'  his  d-mnM  dirt  ! 

<  But,  hark !  I'll  tell  you  of  a  plot, 

<  Tho'  dinna  ye  be  speakin  o't ; 
'  I'll  nail  the  self-conceited  Sot, 

*  As  dead's  a  herrin  : 

<  Niest  time  we  meet,  I'll  wad  a  groat, 

<  He  gets  his  fairin  1' 

But  just  as  he  began  to  tell, 

The  auld  kirk-hammer  strack  the  bell 

Some  wee  short  hour  ayont  the  tival-. 

Which  rais'd  us  baith  : 
I  took  the  way  that  pleas  d  mysel. 

And  sae  did  Death, 


WINTER. 

A  DIRGE. 

tt.  THE  Wintry  West  extends  his  blast, 
And  hail  and  rain  does  blaw : 
Or,  I  he  stormy  North  sends  driving  forth 
The  blinding  sleet  and  snaw : 
12 


9Q  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

While,  tumbling  brown,  the  Burn  comes  dowrtj 

And  roars  frae  bank  to  brae  ; 
And  bird  and  beast,  in  covert,  rest, 

And  pass  the  heartless  day. 

*  The  sweeping  blast,  the  sky  o'ercast  *,' 

The  joyless  winter  day, 
Let  others  fear,  to  me  more  dear, 

Than  all  the  pride  of  May  : 
The  Tempest's  howl,  it  soothes  my  soul, 

My  griefs  it  seenis  to  join  ; 
The  leafless  trees  'i  y  fancy  please, 

Their  fate  resembles  mine  ! 

Thou  PoiiPr  SufiremCi  whose  mighty  Scheme 

1  bese  woes  of  mine  fulfil  ; 
Here,  firm,  I  rest,  they  must  be  best, 

Because  they  are  Thy  Will ! 
Then  all  I  want  (Oh,  do  thou  grant 

This  one  request  of  mine  !) 
Since  to  enjoxj  Thou  dost  deny, 

Assist  me  to  resign  ! 


ADDRESS 

TO  EDINBURGH. 

EDINA  !  Scotia's  darling  seat! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs. 
Where  once,  beneath  a  Monarch's  feet? 

Sat  Lei;islatior.'s  sov'reign  pow'rs  I 
From  marking  wildly-scatt'red  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  siruy'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours. 

I  shelter  in  thy  honor'd  shade. 

*  Vis.  Young-.i 


ROBERT  BURNS.  91 

Here  Wealth  still  swells  the  golden  tide, 

As  busy  Trade  his  labours  plies ; 
There  Architecture's  noble  pride 

Bids  elegance  and  splendor  rise ; 
Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies, 

High  wields  her  balance  and  her  rod; 
There  Learning,  with  his  eagle  eyes, 

Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

Thy  Sons,  Edina^  social,  kind, 

With  open  arms  the  Stranger  hail ; 
Their  views  enlargM,  their  libVal  mind, 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale  : 
Attentive  still  to  Sorrow's  wail, 

Or  modest  Merit's  silent  claim  ; 
And  never  may  their  sources  fail ! 

And  never  envy  blot  their  name  ! 

Thy  Daughters  bright  thy  M'alks  adorn, 

Gay  as  the  gilded  summer  sky. 
Sweet  as  the  dewy,  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  the  raptur'd  thrill  of  joy  1 
Fair  B—  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 

Heav'n's  beauties  on  my  fancy  shine; 
1  see  the  Sire  of  Love  on  high. 

And  own  his  work  indeed  divine  ! 

There,  watching  high  the  least  alarms. 

Thy  rough,  rude  Fortress  gleams  afar ; 
Like  some  bold  Vet'ran,  gray  in  ar>iis. 

And  mark'd  with  many  a  seamy  scar  : 
The  pond'rous  wall  and  massy  bar, 

Grim  rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock, 
Have  oft  withstood  assailing  War, 

And  oft  repell'd  th'  Invader's  shock. 

With  awe^struck  thought,  and  pitying  tears, 

I  view  that  noble,  stately  Dome, 
Where  Scotia's  kmgs  of  other  years, 
^    Fam'd  heroes  1  had  their  royal  home ; 


92  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Alas,  how  chang'd  the  times  to  come  1 
Their  royal  Name  low  in  the  dust ! 

Their  hapless  Race  wild-wind*ring  roam  I 
Tho'  rigid  Law  cries  out,  'twas  just  1 

"Wild  beats  my  heart,  to  trace  your  steps, 

Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore, 
Thro*  hostile  ranks  and  ruin'd  gaps 

Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore  : 
Ev*n  /  who  sing  in  rustic  lore, 

Haply  my  Sires  have  left  their  shed, 
And  fac*d  grim  Danger's  loudest  roar, 

Bold-following  where  your  Fathers  led  ! 

Edina  !  ScotiaPs  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
"W'here  once,  beneath  a  Monarch's  feet, 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatt'red  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  >/iyr  I  strayM, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honor'd  shade. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  93t 

THE  AUTHOR'S 

EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER*, 

To  the  Right  Honourable  and  Honourable^  the  Scotch 
Representatives  in  the  House  of  Commons. 

Dearest  of  Distillation  !  last  and  best ! 

——How  art  thou  lost ! 

Parody  on  Milton. 

YE  Irish  Lords,  ye  Knights  an*  Squires, 
Wha  retirement  our  brui^hs  an'  shires, 
An'  doucely  mcinage  our  affaits 

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

Are  humbly  sent. 

Alas !  my  roupet  Muse  is  hearse  ! 
Your  Honors'  hearts  wi'  grief  'twad  pierce> 
To  see  her  sittin  on  her  a — 

Low  i'  the  dust, 
An'  screechin  out  pi  osaic  verse, 

An'  like  to  brust ! 

Tell  them  wha  hae  the  chief  direction, 
Scotland  an'  me*s  in  great  afRictlon, 
E'er  sin'  they  laid  that  curst  restriction, 

On  Aquavit  a  ; 
An'  rouse  them  up  to  strong  conviction. 

An'  move  their  pity. 

Stand  forth,  an'  tell  yon  Premier  Youth 
The  honest,  open,  naked  truth  ; 
Tell  him  o'  mine  an'  Scotland's  drouth, 

His  servants  humble : 
The  muckle  devil  blaw  ye  south. 

If  ye  dissemble  ! 

*  This  v/as  wrote  befo;e  the  Act  anentthe  Scotch  Distilleries, 
of  session  1786 ;  for  which  Scotland  and  the  Author  return  their 
most  grateful  thanks. 


94  THE  POETICAL  WOHKS  OF 

Does  ony  great  man  glunch  an'  gloom  ? 
Speak  out  an'  never  lasli  your  thumb  ! 
Let  posts  an'  pensions  sink  or  soom 

Wi'  iheni  wha  grant  *em  j 
If  honestly  they  canna  come, 

Far  belter  want  'em. 

In  gath.'rin  votes  you  were  na  slack ; 
Now  stand  as  tightly  by  your  tixk  : 
Ke'er  claw  your  lu^j,  an'  fidge  your  back. 

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

Before  them  a'. 

Pr.int  Scotland  greetin  owre  her  ihrissle  ; 
Her      utchkin-stoup  as  toom's  a  whissle  ; 
An*  d-mn'd  Excisemen  in  a  bussle, 

Seizin  a  Steil, 
Triumphant  crushin't  like  a  mussel 

Or  lampit  shell. 

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

Colleaguing  join, 
Picking  her  pouch  as  bare  as  VVinter, 

Of  a'  kind  coin. 

Is  there,  that  bears  the  name  o*  Scoty 
But  feels  his  heart's  bluid  rising  hot, 
To  see  his  poor  aukl  Mither's  fiot, 

Thus  dung  in  staves, 
An*  plunder'd  o'  her  hindmost  groat 

By  gallows  knaves  ? 


Alas !  Tm  but  a  nameless  wight, 
Trode  i'  the  mire  out  o*  sight! 
But  could  I  like  Montgomcries  fight, 

Or  gab  like  Bosivell, 
There's  some  sark-necks  I  wad  draw  tight, 

An*  tie  some  hose  v/ell. 


ROBKRT  BURNS.  95 


Crod  bless  your  Honors,  can  ye  sec't, 
The  kind,  auld,  cantie  Carlin  greet, 
An'  no  get  warmly  to  your  feet, 

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

Ye  winna  bear  it ! 

Some  o'  you  nicely  ken  the  laws, 
To  round  the  period  an'  pause, 
An'  with  rhetoric  clause  on  clause 

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

Auld  Scotland  s  wrangs. 

Demfister,  a  true-blue  Scot  I'se  warran ; 
Thee,  aith-detesting,  chaste  Kilkerran  ; 
An'  that  glib-gabbet  Highland  Baron, 

The  Laird  o'  Graham; 
An'  ane,  a  chap  that's  d-mn'd  auldfarran, 

Dunclas  his  name. 

Urskine,  a  spunkie  Norland  billie, 
True  Cam/ibells^  Frederick  an'  Hay  ; 
An  Li-uistone^  the  bauld  Sir  Willie  ; 

An'  monie  ithers, 
Whom  auld  Demosthenes  or  TuUy 

Might  own  for  brithers. 

Arouse,  my  boys  !  exert  your  mettle, 
To  get  auld  Scotland  back  her  kettle ! 
0\  faith!  I'll  wad  my  new  pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll  see't  or  lang, 
She'll  teach  you,  wi'  a  reekin  whittle, 
Anither  sang. 

This  while  she's  been  in  crankous  mood, 
Her  lost  Militia  firM  her  bluid  : 
(Deil  na  they  never   .iair  do  guid, 

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

About  her  Whisky. 


^Q  THE  rOB  riCAL  WORKS  01 

An'  L— d,  if  ance  they  pit  her  till't, 
Her  tartiui  pciiicout  she'll  kilt, 
An*  durk  an'  pialol  at  her  belt, 

She  11  tak  the  streets, 
An*  rin  her  whittle  to  the  hilt, 

r  th'  first  she  meets ! 

For  G — d  sake,  Sirs  !  then  speak  her  fair, 
An*  straik  her  cannie  wi'  the  hair, 
An'  to  the  muckle  house  repair, 

♦  Wi'  instant  speed, 
An'  strive  wi'  a'  your  Wit  an'  Leur, 

To  get  remead. 

Yon  ill-tongu'd  tinkler,  Charlie  Fox^ 
Muy  touni  you  wi'  his  ieers  an'  mocks ; 
But  gic  him't  het,  my  hearty  cocks ! 

E'en  cowc  the  cadic! 
An'  send  him  to  bis  dicing  box 

An*  sportin  lady. 

Tell  yon  guid  bluid  o'  auld  liocormock'/f^ 
V\\  be  his  debt  twa  mash  him  bannocks,  * 
An'  drink  his  hcivllh  in  auld  Miusr  'rimiocCa  i 

Nine  times  a  week. 
If  he  some  sch«me,  like  tea  an*  vinnorks. 
Wad  kindly  seel. 

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

Nor  erudition, 
Yon  mixtie-maxtie,  (pieer  hoich-potch, 

Thr  Cuiilition . 


*  nMnnhlttm  JSainwcln — Krcud  made  with  a  mixture  ot*  fj^rAinft. 
In  this  case  il  nmsi  b^;  understood  of  Burley  jind  I'eas.  In  Eng-.' 
land  vuishlum  is  always  Wlieat  and  Uye.    I'. 

I  A  worthy  old  Hostess  of  the  Author's  in  JMamliUne,  where  It* 
sometimes  studies  I'olitics  over  a  glasa  of  gudc  auld  Hcotch  Drink 


ROBERT  BURNS;  9f 


Auld  Scotland  has  a  raiicle  tongue  : 
She's  just  a  devil  wi'  a  run^  ; 
An'  if  she  promise  auld  or  young 

To  tak  their  part, 
Tho'  by  the  neck  she  should  be  strung, 

She'll  no  desert. 

An*  now  ye  chosen  Fivcand-Forty^ 
May  still  your  Mither's  heart  support  ye  ; 
Then,  tho'  a  Minister  grow  dorty, 

An'  kick  your  place, 
Ye'li  snap  your  fingers  poor  an'  hearty, 
13eforc  his  face. 

Clod  bless  your  Honors,  a'  your  days, 
Wi'  sowps  o'  kail  an'  brats  o'  claisc. 
In  spite  o'  a'  the  thievish  kaes 

That  haunt  St.  Jamie* a  I 
Your  humble  Bardie  sings  an'  prays 

While  Rab  his  name  is. 


POSTCRIPT. 

Let  half-starv'd  slaves  in  warmer  skies. 
See  future  wines,  rich-clustring,  rise  ; 
Their  lot  auld  Scotland  ne'er  envies, 

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

Tak  aff  their  Whisky. 

What  tho'  their  Phoebus  kinder  warms, 
While  Fragrance  blooms  and  Beauty  charms! 
When  wretches  range,  in  famish'd  swarms, 

I'he  scented  groves, 
Or  hounded  forth,  dishonor  arms 

In  hungry  droves. 

K 


9g  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Their  gun's  a  burden  on  their  shouther  j 
They  downa  bide  the  stink  o'  powther ; 
Their  bauldest  thought's  a  hank'ring  swither 

To  Stan'  or  rin, 
Till  skelp — a  shot — they're  aff,  a'  throuther, 

To  save  their  skin. 

But  bring  a  Scotchman  frae  his  hill, 
Clap  in  » is  cheek  a  Hii<hland  gill, 
Say,  such  is  royal  George^s  will, 

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

Twa  at  a  blow. 

Nae  cauld,  faint-hearted  doublings  tease  him; 
eath  comes,  wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees  him  ! 
\Vi'  bluidy  han'  a  welcome  gies  hv.\. ; 

An'  when  he  fa's, 
His  latest  draught  o'  breathin  lea'es  him 
In  faint  huzzas. 

Sages  their  solemn  een  may  steck, 
An'  raise  a  philosophic  reek. 
An'  physically  causes  seek, 

In  clime  an'  season, 
But  tell  me  Whisky*s  name  in  Greek, 

I'll  tell  the  reason. 

Scotland,  my  auld,  respected  Mither  ! 
Tho'  whyles  ye  moistily  your  leather, 
Till  whare  ye  sit,  on  craps  o'  heather, 

Ye  tine  your  dam ; 
Freedom  and  Whisky  gang  thet;irher, 

Tak  aff  your  dram  ' 


ROBERT  BLTl^S.  99 


Priendship  !  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul ! 
S^vcet'ner  of  Life,  and  solder  of  Society  ! 
I  owe  thee  much— — — 

Blair, 

DEAR  S****,  the  sleest,  paukie  thief, 
That  e'er  attempted  stealth  or  rief, 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock-brecf 

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

Against  your  arts; 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  an'  moon, 
And  ev'ry  star  that  blinks  aboon, 
Ye've  cost  me  twenty  pair  o*  shoon 

Just  gaun  to  see  you; 
And  ev'ry  ither  pair  that's  done, 

Mair  taen  I'm  wi'  you. 

That  auld,  capricious  carlin.  Nature, 
To  mak  amends  for  scrimpet  stature, 
She's  turn'd  you  off,  a  hu  nan  creature 

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

She's  wrote,  the  Man. 

Just  now  I've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme, 
My  barmie  noddle's  working  prime. 
My  fancy  yerkit  up  sublime 

Wi*  liasty  summon  : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure-moment's  time 

To  hear  wh^'s  comin  ? 

Some  rhyme  a  neebor's  name  to  lash  : 
Some  rhyme  (vain  thought !)  for  needfu'  cash 
Some  rhyme  to  court  the  countra  clash, 

An'  raise  a  din; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  lash  ; 

I  rhyme  for  fun. 


100  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot, 
HjS  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 
An'  damri'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat ; 

But,  in  requit. 
Has  blest  me  with  a  random  sltot 

O'  countru  wit. 

This  while  my  notion's  taen  asklent, 
To  try  my  fr.te  in  guicl  black  prent : 
But  still  the  mair  Vm  that  way  bent, 

Something-  cries,  *  Hoolie  ! 

*  I  red  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent  I 

'  Ye'li  shaw  your  folly. 

*  There's  ither  Poets,  much  your  betters, 

*  Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters, 

*  Hae  thought  they  had  ensur'd  their  debtors, 

*  A'  future  at^es  ; 
'  Now  moths  deform,  in  shapeless  tatters, 
'  Their  unknown  pages.' 

Then  farewel  hopes  o'  laurel-boughs, 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows  ! 
Henceforth  I'll  rove  where  busy  ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang, 
An'  teach  the  lanely  heights  an'  howes 

My  rustic  sang. 

I'll  wander  on  with  tentless  heed, 
How  never-halting  moments  speed, 
Till  fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread: 

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

Forgot  and  gone  ! 

But  why  o'  Death  begin  a  tale  ? 
Just  now  we'^re  living,  sound  an'  hale  ; 
Then  top  and  maintop  croud  the  sail, 

Heave  Care  o'er  side  ! 
And  large,  before  Enjoyment's  gale, 
Let's  tak  the  tide. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  101 

This  life,  sae  far's  I  understand, 
Is  a'  enchanted  fairy-land, 
Where  Pleasure  is  the  Magic  Wand, 

That,  wielded  right, 
Maks  Hours  like  Minutes,  hand  in  hand, 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 

The  magic  wand  then  let  us  wield  ; 
For,  ance  that  five-an'-forty's  speel'd, 
See,  crazy,  weary,  joyless  Eild, 

Wi'  wrinkl'd  face, 
Comes  hostin,  hirplin  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creeping  pace. 

When  ance  life'*6  day  draws  near  the  gloamin, 
Then  fareweel  vacant,  careless  roamin  ; 
An'  fareweel  chearfu'  tankards  foamin. 

An'  social  noise  ; 
An'  fareweel  dear,  deluding  ivoman, 

The  joy  of  joys ! 

O  Life  !  how  pleasant  in  thy  morning. 
Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning ! 
Cold-pausing  Caution's  lesson  scorning. 

We  frisk  away. 
Like  school-boys  at  th'  expected  warning, 
To  joy  and  play. 

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

A-mang  the  leaves  ; 
And  tho'  the  puny  wound  appear. 

Short  while  it  grieves. 

Some,  lucky,  find  a  flow'ry  spot, 
For  which  they  never  toil'd  nor  swat ; 
They  drink  the  sweet  and  eat  the  fat  j 

But  care  or  pain ; 
Andj  haply,  eye  the  barren  hut 

With,  high  disdain. 


102  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

With  steady  aim,  some  Fortune  chase : 
Keen  Hopes  does  ev'ry  sinew  brace; 
Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  the  race, 

And  seize  the  prey : 
Then  cannie,  in  some  cozie  place, 

They  close  the  day. 

And  others,  like  your  humble  servan', 
Poor  wights  !  nae  rules  nor  roads  observin  ; 
To  right  or  left,  eternal  swervin. 

They  zig-zag  on ; 
Till  curst  with  age,  obscure  an'  starvin? 

They  aften  groan. 

Alas  !  what  bitter  toil  an'  straining — 
But  truce  with  peevish,  poor  complaining  1 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  Luna  waning  ? 

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

Let's  sing  our  sang. 

My  pen  I  here  {ling  to  the  door, 
And  kneel,  *  Ye  Pow'rs !  and  warm  implore 5 

*  Tho'  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er, 

*  In  all  her  climes, 

*  Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more, 

'  Ay  rowth  o'  rhymes. 

'  Gie  dreeping  roasts  to  countra  Lairds, 
«  Till  icicles  hing  frae  their  beards ; 
<  Gie  fine  braw  claes  to  fine  Life-guards, 

*  And  Maids  of  Honor  : 
^  And  yill  an*  whisky  c?:ie  to  Cairds, 

'  Until  they  sconner. 

«  A  Title,  Demfidter  merits  it  ; 

*  A  Garter  gie  to  Willie  Pin  ; 

'  Gie  Wealth  to  some  be-ledger'd  Cit, 
'  In  cent,  per  cent. ; 

*  But  give  me  real.  Sterling  Wit, 

'  And  I'm  content. 


liOBERT  BURNS.  IQc 


«  While  Ye  are  pleas'd  to  keep  me  hale, 

*  I'll  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal, 

*  Be't  ivater-brose,  or  muslin-kail^ 

'  Wi'  chearfii'  face, 

*  As  lang's  the  Muses  dinna  fail 

'  To  say  the  grace.' 

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

As  weers  I  may ; 
Sworn  foe  to  Sorrow,  Care,  and  Prose, 
I  rhyme  away. 

O  yc  douce  folk,  that  live  by  rule, 
Grave,  tideless-blooded,  calm  and  cool, 
Compar'd  wi'  you — O  fool  I  fool  I  fool ! 

How  nmch  unlike  ! 
Vour  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool. 

Your  lives  a  dyke  ! 

Nae  hair-bi'ain'd,  sentimental  traces, 
In  your  unletter'd  nameless  fiices  ! 
In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray. 
But  gravissimo^  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 

Ye  are  sae  grave^  nae  doubt  ye're  tvlse :, 
Nae  ferly  tho'  you  do  despise 
The  hairum-scairum,  ram-stam  boys, 

The  rattling  squad  : 
I  see  ye  upward  cast  your  eyes — 

— Ye  ken  the  road — 

Whilst  I — but  I  shall  baud  me  there — • 
Wi'  you  I'll  scarce  gang  ony  nvhere — 
Then,  Jamie^  I  shall  say  nae  mair 

But  quat  my  sang, 
Content  with  You  to  mak  a  pair. 

Whare'er  1  gang. 


104  I'HE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


DEATH  AND  DYING  WORDS  OF 

POOR  MAILIE, 
THE  AUTHOR'S  ONLY  PET  YOAVE. 

An  Unco  Moui*nfu'  Tale. 

AS  Mailie,  an'  her  lambs  thegither, 
Was  ae  day  nibbling  on  the  tether, 
Upon  her  cloot  she  coost  a  hitch, 
An*  owre  she  warsl'd  in  the  ditch  ; 
There,  groaning,  dying,  she  did  lie, 
When  Hughoc  *  he  carne  doytin  by. 

Wi*  glowrin  een,  an'  lifted  ban's, 
Poor  Hughoc  like  a  statue  Stan's ; 
He  saw  her  days  were  near  hand  ended. 
But,  waes  my  heart !  he  could  na  mend  it  ? 
He  gaped  wide,  but  naething  spak, 
At  length  poor  Mailie  silence  brak  : 

*  O  thou,  whase  lamentable  face 
Appears  to  mourn  my  woefu*  case  I 
My  dijing  nvorda  attentive  hear. 
An'  bear  them  to  my  master  dear. 

'  Tell  him,  if  e'er  again  he  keep 
As  muckle  gear  as  buy  a  sheep, 
O,  bid  him  never  tie  them  mair 
Wi'  wicked  strings  o'  hemp  or  hair  ! 
But  ca'  them  out  to  park  or  hill. 
An'  let  them  wander  at  their  will : 
So  may  his  flock  increase,  an'  grow 
To  scores  o'  laii.bs,  an'  packs  o'  woo* ! 

*  A  neebor  herd-callan. 


ROBERT  BUR:N'S,  105 

*  Tell  him,  he  was  a  Muster  kin', 
An'  uy  was  guid  to  me  an'  mine  ; 
Aii'  now  my  ciyin;^  charge  1  gie  him, 
My  helpless  lambs,  I  trust  them  wi'  hini- 

<  O,  bid  him  save  their  harmless  lives, 
F?'  le  dot^s  an'  tods,  an'  buichers  knives  ! 
Bu''  gie  them  guid  cow-milk,  their  fiil. 
Till  they  be  fit  to  fend  themsel ; 
An'  tent  them  duly  e'en  an'  morn, 
Wi'  teats  o*  hay  an'  rips  o'  corn. 

'  An'  may  they  never  learn  the  gaets 
Of  ither  vile,  wanrestfu'  tiets  I 
To  slink  ti>ro'  slaps,  an'  reave  an'  steal, 
At  stacks  o'  pease,  or  stocks  o'  kail. 
So  may  they,  like  their  great  Forbears, 
For  monie  a  year  come  thro'  the  sheers: 
So  wives  will  ^ie  them  bits  o'  bread. 
An'  bairns  greet  for  them  when  they're  dead. 

*  My  poor  toofi-lamb^  my  son  on'  heii'j 
O,  bid  him  breed  him  up  wi'  care  \ 
An'  if  he  live  to  be  d  beast. 

To  pit  some  havins  in  his  breast  ! 
An'  warn  him,  what  I  winna  name, 
To  stay  content  wi'  yowes  at  harae  ; 
An'  no  to  rin  an'  wear  his  cloots, 
Like  ither  menseless,  graceless  brutes, 

*  An'  neist  my  yowie^  silly  thing, 
Gude  keep  thee  frae  a  tether  string  ! 
O,  may  thou  ne'er  forgather  up 
"VVi'  ony  blastit,  moorland  toop  ; 

But  ay  keep  mind  to  moop  an'  meli 
Wi'  sheep  o'  credit  like  thysel ! 


'  And  now,  my  bairns,  wi'  my  last  breath; 
I  lea'e  my  blessin  wi'  you  baith  : 
An'  when  you  think  upo'  your  Mither, 
INlind  to  be  kind  to  ane  anither. 


JQ5  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

'  Now,  honest  Hug/ioc,  dinna  fail 
To  tell  my  Master  a'  my  tale  ; 
An'  bid  hi      burn  this  cursed  tether, 
An*  for  thy  pains  thoii'se  get  my  blather.' 

This  said,  poor  Mailie  turn'd  her  head, 
An'  clos'd  her  een  amang  the  dead ! 


POOR  MAILIE'S  ELEGY. 

LAMENT  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 
Wi'  saut  tears  trickling  down  your  nose ; 
Our  Bardie's  fate  is  at  a  close, 

Past  a*  remead4 
The  last,  sad  cape-stane  of  his  woes ; 

Poor  Mailie* 8  dead. 

Its  no  the  loss  o'  v/arl's  gear. 
That  cou'd  sae  bitter  draw  the  tear, 
Or  mak  our  Bardie,  dowie,  wear 

The  mourning  weed  : 
He's  lost  a  friend  and  neebor  dear, 
In  Mailie  dead. 


Thro'  a'  the  toun  she  trotted  by  him ; 
A  lang  half-mile  she  could  descry  him  ; 
Wi'  kindly  bleat,  when  she  did  spy  him. 

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

Than  Mailie  dead. 

I  wat  she  was  a  sheep  o'  sense. 
An'  could  behave  hersel  wi'  mense: 
I'll  say't,  she  never  brak  a  fence. 

Thro'  thievish  greed : 
©ur  Bardie,  lanely,  keeps  the  Spence 
Sin'  Maine's  dead. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  X07 


Or,  if  he  wanders'iip  the  howe, 
Her  living  i  iiage  in  her  yoive^ 
Comes  bleating  to  him,  owre  the  knowe. 

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

For  Mailie  dead. 

She  was  nae  get  o'  moorland  tips, 
Wi'  tauted  ket,  an'  hairy  hips  : 
For  her  forbears  were  brought  in  ships, 
Fraeyontthe  Twetd: 
A  bonier  Jieesh  ne'er  cross  d  the  clips 
Than  Mailie* s  dead. 

Wae  worth  the  man  wha  first  did  shape 
That  vile,  wanchancie  thing —  a  rape  I 
It    iiaks  guid  fellows  giro  an'  gape 

Wi'  chokin  dread : 
An'  Robin*s  bonnet  wave  wi'  crape 
For  Mailie  dead. 

O,  a'  ye  Bards  on  bonie  D0071  / 
An'  wha  on  ^yr  your  chunters  tune  ! 
Come,  join  the  melncholious  cioon 

O  Rodin  fi  reed  ! 
His  heart  will  never  get  aboon  ! 

His  Maine's  dead. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL. 

O  Prince  !  O  chief  of  many  throned  Pow'rs, 
That  led  th'  embattl'd  Seraphim  to  war 


MlLTO^", 


O  THOU  !  whatever  title  suit  thee, 
Auld  Hoinie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie. 
Wha  in  yon  cavern  grim  an'  sootie, 

Clos'd  under  haxhes, 
Spairges  about  the  brunstane  cootie, 

To  scaud  poor  wretches  ! 


JOS  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Hear  me,  auld  ffangiey  for  a  wee, 
An'  Itt  poor,  damned  bodies  be; 
I';t.  sure  sma*  pleasure  it  can  gie, 

Ev*n  to  a  deil. 
To  skelp  an'  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me, 

An'  hear  us  squeel  I 

Great  is  thy  pow'r,  an'  great  thy  fame ; 
Far  kend  an'  noted  is  thy  name ; 
An'  tho'  yon  lowin  heugh's  thy  hame. 

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

Nor  blate  nor  scaur. 

Whyles,  ranging  like  a  roaring  lion, 
por  prey,  a'  holes  an'  corners  tryin  ; 
Whyles,  on  the  strong- wing'd  Tempest  flyiti- 

Tiriin  the  kirks  ; 
Whyles,  in  the  human  bosom  pryin. 
Unseen  thou  l«rks. 

I've  heard  ny  reverend  Grannie  say, 
In  lanely  glens  ye  like  to  stray  ; 
Or  where  auld,  ruin'd  castles,  gray. 

Nod  to  the  moon, 
Ye  fright  the  nightly  wand'rers  w^y, 

Wi'  eldritch  croon. 

When  twilight  did  my  Grannie  summos, 
To  say  her  pray'rs,  douce,  honest  woman ! 
Aft  yont  the  dyke  she's  heard  you  bummin, 

Wi'  eerie  drone  ; 
Or,  rustlin,  thro'  the  boortries  comin, 

Wi'  heavy  groan. 

Ae  dreary,  windy,  winter  night, 
Th  •  stars  shot  down  wi'  sklentin  light; 
Wi   you,  mysel,  I  gat  a  fright, 

Ayont  the  lough ; 
Ye,  like  a  rash-buss,  stood  in  sight, 

Wi*  waving  sugh. 


ROBERT  BURNS',  109 

The  cudgel  in  my  nieve  did  shake, 
Each  bristl'd  hair  stook  like  a  stake. 
When  wi*  an  eldritch,  stoor  quaick,  quaicfcj 

Amang  the  springs, 
Awa  ye  squatter'd  like  a  drake, 

On  whistling  wingSo 

Let  warlocks  grim,  an'  wither'd  hags^ 
Tell  how  wi*  you  on  ragweed  nags. 
They  skim  the  muirs  an'  dizzy  crugs, 

Wi'  wicked  speed  ; 
And  in  kirk-yards  renew  their  leayjues, 

Owre  howkit  dead. 

Thence,  countra  wives,  wi'  toil  an'  pain^ 
M.iy  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn  in  vain ; 
For,  Oh  I  the  yellow  treasure's  taen 

By  witching  skill ; 
An'  dawtit,  twal-pint  Haivkie'^s  gaen 
As  yell's  the  Bill. 

Thence,  mystic  knots  mak  great  abuse, 
On  young  Guidmen,  fond,  keen,  an'  crouse  ; 
When  the  best  wark-lume  i'  tlie  house, 

By  cantraip  wit,   , 
Is  instant  made  no  worth  a  louse, 
Just  at  the  bit. 

When  thowes  dissolve  the  snawy  hoord, 
An'  float  the  jinglin  icy-board, 
Then,  Water-keljiies  haunt  the  foord, 
By  your  direction, 
An'  nighted  Trav'liers  are  aliur'd 

To  their  destruction. 

An'  aft  your  moss-traversing  Sfiunkies 
Decoy  the  wight  that  late  an'  drunk  is: 
The  bleezin,  curst,  mischievous  monkies. 

Delude,  his  eyes. 
Till  in  some  miry  slouj^^h  he  sunk  is, 
Ne'er  mair  to  rise. 


1 10  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

When  Masons  mystic  ivord  an*  grifiy 
In  storms  an*  tempests  raise  you  up, 
Some  cock  or  cat  your  rage  maun  stop, 
Or,  strange  to  tell  i 
The  youngest  Brother  ye  wad  whip 

Aff  straught  to  h-U 

Lang  syne,  in  Eden's  bonie  yard, 
When  youthfu'  lovers  first  were  pair'dj 
An*  all  the  Soul  of  Love  they  shar'd, 
The  raptur'd  hour, 
Sweet  on  the  fragrant,  flow*ry  swaird, 
In  shady  bow*r : 

Then  you,  ye  auld,  snick-drawing  dog  I 
Ye  cam  to  Paradise  incog, 
An'  play*d  on  man  a  cursed  brogue, 

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

'Maist  ruin*d  a*. 

D'ye  mind  that  day,  when  in  a  bizzj 
WV  reekit  duds,  an*  reestit  gizz. 
Ye  did  present  your  st.-.outie  phiz, 

*Mang  better  folk, 
An'  sklented  on  the  man  of  Uzz 

Your  spite fu'  joke  ? 

Ah'  how  ye  gat  him  i'  your  thrall, 
An'  brak  him  out  o'  house  an'  hal*. 
While  scabs  an*  botches  did  him  gall, 

VVi'  bitter  claw. 
An'  lows'd,  his  ill-tonguM  wicked  Scawl> 

Was  warst  ava  ? 

But  a'  your  doings  to  rehearse. 
Your  wily  snares  an'  fechtin  fierce, 
Sin*  that  day  Michatl*  did  you  pierce, 

Down  to  this  time, 
Wad  ding  a  Lallan  tongue,  or  Erse, 

In  prose  or  rnyme. 

*  Vide  Maton,  Book  \T 


ROBERT  BUJRNS.  HI 

An*  now,  aukl  Cloots^  I  ken  ye're  thinkin, 
A  certain  Bardie's  rantin,  drinkin, 
Some  luckless  hour  will  send  him  linkin, 

To  your  black  pit ; 
But,  faith  I  he'll  turn  a  corner  jinkin, 

An'  cheat  you  yet. 

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

Still  hae  a  stake-^ 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Ev'n  for  your  sake  ! 


A  DREAM. 


Thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  the  Statute  blames  with  reason ; 
But  surely  Dreams  were  ne'er  indicted  Treason. 

£0n  reading)  in  the  fiuhlic  fiapersy  the  Laureate's  Ode, 
ivith  the  other  parade  of  June  4,  1786,  the  author  was  no 
sooner  drofit  asleefi^  than  he  imagined  himself  transport- 
ed to  the  Birth-day  Levee;  and^  in  his  dreaming  fancy ^ 
made  the  following  address. J 

GUID-MORNIN  to  your  Majesty  ! 

May  Heaven  augment  your  blisses, 
On  ev'ry  new  Birth-day  ye  see, 

A  humble  Bardie  wishes  ! 
My  Bardship  here,  at  your  Levee, 

On  sic  a  day  as  this  is. 
Is  sure  an  uncouth  sight  to  see, 

Amang  the  Birth-day  dresses 

Sae  fine  this  day. 


112  THB  POETICAL  WORKS  Ox 

I  see  ye're  cor  plimented  thrang, 

By  m.Jiy  a  lord  dii'  lady ; 
<  God  save  ihe  King  1'  's  a  cuckoo  sang 

That's  unco  e^sy  said  ay  : 
The  roetsy  too,  a  venal  g-ng, 

Wi'  rhymes  weel-tuin'd  and  ready, 
"Wad  gar  you  tiovv  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  ay  unerring  steady v 

0K  sic  a  day. 

For  me !  before  a  Monarch's  face, 

Ev'n  there  I  winna  flutter; 
For  neither  Pension,  Post,  nor  Place, 

Am  I  your  humble  debtor: 
So'  ncte  reflection  on  Your  Grace, 

Ygur  Kiniiship  to  bespatter; 
There's  nionie  waur  been  o'  the  Race, 

And  aiblins  ane  been  better 

Than  You  this  day. 

*Tis  very  true,  my  sovereign  King, 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubled  : 
But  Facts  are  Chiels  that  winna 'ding, 

An'  downa  be  disputed  : 
Your  Royal  Nest,  beneath  Your  wing, 

Is  e'en  right  reft  an'  clouted, 
And  now  the  third  part  of  the  string, 

An'  less,  will  gang  about  it. 

Than  did  ae  day. 

Far  be't  frae  me  that  I  aspire 

To  blame  your  Legislation, 
Or  say,  ye  wisdom  want,  or  fire, 

To  rule  this  mighty  nation  ; 
But,  faith  1  I  muckle  doubt,  my  Sire, 

Ye've  trusted  Ministration 
To  chaps,  wha,  in  a  barn  or  byre, 

Wad  better  fili'd  their  station 

Than  courts  yon  day. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ii> 


And  now  ye've  gien  auld  Britain  peace. 

Her  broken  shins  to  plaister ; 
Your  sair  taxation  does  her  fleece, 

Till  she  has  scarce  a  tester : 
For  me,  thank  God,  my  life's  a  ieascj 

Nae  bargain  wearing  faster, 
Or,  faith  !  I  fear,  that  wi'  the  geese, 

I  shortly  boost  to  pasture 

1'  the  craft  Some  day, 

I'm  no  mistrusting  Willie  Pitt^ 

Whea  taxes  he  enlarges, 
(An*  Will's  a  true  guid  fallow's  Get,. 

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

An*  lessen  a'  your  charges, 
But,  G — d  sake  !  let  nae  saving-Jit 

Abridge  your  bonie  Barges 

An*  Boats  this  day. 

Adieu,  my  Liege  !  may  Freedom  geek 

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

And  gie  her  for  dissection ! 
But  since  I'm  here,  I'll  no  neglect, 

In  loyal,  true  affection, 
To  pay  your  Queen^  with  due  respect. 

My  fealty  an'  subjection 

This  great  Birth-day. 

Hail,  Majesty  most  Excellent  ! 

While  Nobles  strive  to  please  Ye, 
Will  ye  accept  a  Compliment 

A  simple  Bardie  gies  Ye  ? 
Thae  bonie  Bairntime,  Heav'n  has  lent? 

Still  higher  may  they  heeze  Ye 
In  bliss,  till  Fate  some  day.  is  sent. 

For  ever  to  release  Ye 

Frae  Care  that  day, 

L3 


114  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

For  you,  younpj  Potentate  o'  W s, 

I  tell  your  Highness  fairly, 
Down  Pleasure's  stream,  wi'  swelling  sails, 

I'm  tauld  ye're  driving  rarely  ; 
But  some  day  ye  may  gnaw  your  nail?, 

An'  curse  your  folly  sairly, 
That  e'er  ye  brak  Diana*s  pales, 

Or  rattl'd  dice  ^V  ChaHie 

By  night  or  day. 

Yet  aft  a  ragged  CQrjte\s  been  known 

To  mak  a  noble  Ji-ver  ; 
So,  ye  may  doucely  fill  a  Throne, 

For  a'  their  clish-ma-claver  ; 
There,  Him  *  at  Agincourt  wha  shone. 

Few  better  were  or  braver ; 
And  yet,  wi'  funny,  queer  Sir  John  f, 

He  was  an  unco  shaver, 

For  monie  a  day. 

For  you,  right  rev 'rend  O g^ 

Nane  sets  the  laivn  sleeve  sweeter, 
Altho'  a  ribban  at  your  lug 

Wad  been  a  dress  completer  : 
As  ye  disown  yon  paughty  dog 

That  bears  the  keys  o'  Peter, 
Then,  swith!  an'  get  a  wife  to  hug, 

Or,  trowth  !  ye^U  stain  the  Mitre 

Some  luckless  day= 

Young,  royal  Tarry-Breeks^  I  learn, 

Ye've  lately  come  athwart  her ; 
A  glorious  Galley  \^  stem  and  stern, 

Wecl  rigg'd  for  Venus'*  barter  ; 
But  first  hang  out,  that  she'll  discern, 

Your  hymeneal  charter, 
Then  heave  abrot.d  your  grapple  airn. 

An',  large  upon  her  riuarter 

Come  full  that  day 

*  King-  Henry  V.        f  Sir  John  Folstaff.  Vide  Shakespeare. 

:^  Alluding  to  the  News-paper  aecoont  of  a  certain  Royal  S&ii- 
•r's  amoui'. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  115 


Ye,  lastly,  bonie  blossoms  a*, 

Ye  royal  Lasses  d  unty, 
Heav'n  mak  you  guid  us  vveel  as  braw, 

An'  gie  you  lads  a  plenty  : 
But  sneer  na  British  boys  awa*, 

For  Kings  are  unco  scant  ay ; 
An'  Gernan  Gentles  are  but  sina\ 

They're  better  just  than  want  ay 
On  onie  day. 

GoH  bless  you  a' !  consider  now, 

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

It  may  be  bitter  sautet : 
An'  I  hae  seen  their  coggie  fou, 

That  yet  hae  tarrow't  at  it  ; 
But  or  the  day  was  done,  I  trow. 

The  iaggen  they  hae  clautet 

Fu'  clean  that  day, 


TO  MISS  L- 


With  Beattie's  Poems ybr  a  JVew-Year^s  Gift. 

JAN.  1,  1787. 

AGAIN  the  silent  wheels  of  time 

Their  annu  li  round  have  driv'n, 
Anc'  you,  tho*  scarce  in  maiden  prime, 

Are  so  much  nearer  H-jav'n. 

No  gifts  have  I  from  Indian  coasts 

The  infunt  year  to  hail ; 
I  send  you  more  than  India  boasts 

In  Edwin's  si^iple  tale. 

Our  Sex  with  guile  and  futhless  love 

Is  chcirg'd,  perhaps  too  true  ; 
But  mciy,  dear  M  'id,  each  Lover  prove 

An  Edwin  siiii  to  you. 


116  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


THE  following  POEM  will,  by  many  Readers,  be  well  enough 
understood ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  unacquainted 
with  the  manners  and  traditions  of  the  country  where  the  scene 
is  cast,  Notes  are  added,  to  give  some  account  of  the  principal 
Charms  and  spells  of  that  night,  so  big  with  Prophecy  to  the  Pea- 
santry in  the  West  of  Scotland.  The  passion  of  prying  into  Fu- 
turity makes  a  striking  part  of  the  history  of  Human  Nature,  in 
its  rude  state,  in  all  ages  and  nations  ;  and  it  may  be  some  enter- 
tainment to  a  philosophic  mind,  if  any  such  should  honour  the  Au- 
thor with  a  perusal,  to  see  the  remains  of  it,  among  the  more  un- 
enlightened in  our  own. 


HALLOWEEN*. 


Yes  !  let  the  Rich  deride,  the  Proud  disdain. 
The  simple  pleasures  of  the  lowly  train  ; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art ! 

Goldsmith, 

UPON  that  night,  when  Fairies  light, 

On  Cassilis  Doivnans  f  dance, 
Or  owre  the  lays,  in  splendid  blaze, 

On  sprightly  coursers  prance  ^ 
Or  for  Colean  the  rout  is  taen, 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beams ; 
There,  up  the  Cove  X^  to  stray  an*  rove, 
^  Amang  the  rocks  an'  streams 
**  To  sport  that  night. 

*  Is  thought  to  be  a  night  when  Witches,  Devils,  and  other  mis- 
chief-making beings,  are  all  abroad  on  their  baneful  midnight  er- 
rands ;  particularly,  those  aerial  people,  the  Fairies,  are  said,  on 
that  night,  to  hold  a  grand  Anniversary. 

f  Certain  little,  romantic,  rocky,  green  hills,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Cassilis  • 

i  A  noted  cavern  near  Colean-house,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean  ; 
which,  as  well  as  Cassilis  Downans,  is  famed,  io  country  story,  fos 
being  a  favoui'ite  haunt  oi  Fairies. 


ROBERT  KURNS-.  1 1 7 

Amang  the  bonie,  winding  banks, 

Where  Doon  rins,  wimplin,  clear, 
Where  Bruce*  ance  rul'd  the  nriartial  ranks, 

An*  shook  his  Carrick  soear, 
Some  merry,  friendly,  countra  folks. 

Together  did  convene, 
To  burn  their  nits,  an'  fiou  their  stocks, 

An'  baud  their  IMloween 

Fu'  biythe  that  night. 

The  lasses  feat,  an'  cleanly  neat, 

Mair  braw  than  when  they're  fine  ; 
Their  faces  biythe,  fu'  sweetly  kythe, 

Hearts  leal,  an'  warm,  an'  kin' : 
The  lads  sae  trig,  wi'  \yooer-babs, 

Weel  knotted  on  their  garten, 
Soi'e  unco  Ulate,  an'  some  wi'  gabs, 

Gar  lasses  hearts  gang  startin 

Whyles  tast  at  night* 

Then,  first  an*  foremost,  thro*  the  kiiil, 

Their  atocks  \  maun  a'  be  sougiit  ance  ; 
They  steek  their  een,  an'  grape  un'  wale. 

For  muckle  anes,  an'  stiaught  anes : 
Poor  hav'rel  Will  fell  atf  the' drift. 

An'  vvander'd  thro'  the  Bow-kail^ 
An'  pou't  for  want  o^  better  shift, 

A  runt  was  like  a  sow-tail, 

Sae  bow't  that  night. 

*  The  famous  family  of  that  name.  the.  ancestors  of  liohert^  the 
great  Deliverer  of  his  country,  were  earls  of  Carrick. 

f  The  first  ceremony  of  Halloween,  is  pulling  each  a  Stock^QV 
plant  of  kail.  They  must  go  out,  hand  in  hand,  wirh  eyes  shut, 
arid  pull  the  first  they  meet  with  :  its  being  big  or  little,'  straight 
or  crooked,  is  prophetic  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the  i^rand  object 
of  all  their  Spells — the  h>isbrxnd  or  wife.  If  -awx  yird  or  earth 
stick  to  the  root,  that  is  Tocher,  or  Fortune  ;  and  'he  lasie  of  the 
custoc,  that  is  the  heart  of  the  Stem,  is  indicative  <.f  the  natural 
temper  and  disposition.  Lastly,  the  stems,  or,  vo  give  them  their 
ordinary  appellation,  the  runts,  are  placed  somewhere  above  the 
head  of  the  door  ;  and  the  Christian  names  of  the  peupi  whom 
chance  briniirs  into  the  house,  arc,  according  to  th.e  priority  of 
placing  the  Himts,  the  names  in  question. 


118  THB  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Then,  straught  or  crooked,  yird  or  nane. 

They  roar  an'  cry  a'  throuther ; 
The  vera  wee-things,  toddlin,  rin, 

Wi'  stocks  out-owre  their  shouther  : 
An*  gif  the  custock*8  sweet  or  sour, 

Wi*  joctelegs  they  taste  them ; 
Syne  coziely,  aboon  the  door, 

Wi'  cannie  care  they've  piac*fl  them 
To  He  that  night. 

The  lasses  staw  frae  *mang  them  a% 

To  pou  their  stalks  o'  coi-n  * ; 
But  Rub  slips  out,  and  jinks  about> 

Behint  the  muckle  thorn  : 
Jle  grippet  Nelly  hard  an'  fast ; 

Loud  skirlM  a*  the  lasses  ; 
But  her  tafi-fiickle  maist  was  lost, 

When  kiutlin  in  the  Fause-house  f 
Wi'  him  that  night. 

The  auld  Guldwlfe's  weel-hoordet  niis  \ 

Are  round  an*  round  divided, 
An*  monie  lads  an'  lasses  fates 

Are  there  that  night  decided  : 
Some  kindle,  couthie,  side  by  side, 

An'  burn  thegither  trimly  ; 
Some  start  awa,  wi'  saucy  pride, 

An*  jump  out-owre  the  chimlie 

Fu*  high  that  night. 

*  They  g"o  to  the  barn-yard,  and  pull  each,  at  three  severaT 
times,  a  stalk  of  Oats.  If  the  third  stalk  wants  the  top-pickle,  that 
is,  the  grain  at  the  top  of  the  stalk,  the  party  in  question  will  come 
to  the  marriage -bed  any  thing  but  a  Maid. 

f  When  the  corn  is  in  a  doubtful  state,  by  being  too  green  or 
wet,  the  stack-builder,  by  means  of  old  timber,  &c.  makes  a  large 
apartment  in  his  stack,  with  an  opening  in  the  side  which  is  fair- 
est  exposed  to  the  wind  :  this  he  calls  a  Fauae-house. 

\  Burning  the  nuts-  is  a  favourite  charm.  They  name  the  lad  and 
lass  to  each  particular  nut,  as  they  lay  them  in  the  fire  ;  and  ac- 
cording as  they  burn  quietly  tog-ether,  or  start  from  beside  one  a- 
nother,  the  course  and  issue  of  the  Courtship  will  be. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  1J9 

Jean  slips  in  twa,  wi'  tentie  e*e  ; 

Wha  *twas,  she  wadna  tell ; 
But  this  is  Jock^  an*  this  is  me. 

She  says  in  to  hersel : 
He  bleez'd  owre  her,  and  she  owre  him, 

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

An'  Jean  had  e'en  a  sair  heart 

To  see't  that  night. 

Poor  Willie,  wi*  his  bow-kail  runt^ 

Was  brunt  wi*  primsie  Maillie ; 
An'  Mary,  nae  doubt,  took  the  drunt, 

To  be  compar'd  to  Willie : 
Mall's  nit  lap  out'  wi'  pridefu'  fling, 

An'  her  ain  fit  it  brunt  it ; 
While  Willie  lap,  an'  swoor  byjing^ 

'Twas  just  the  way  he  wanted 

To  be  that  night. 

Nell  had  the  Fause-house  in  her  min'. 

She  pits  hersel  an*  Rob  in; 
In  loving  bleeze  they  sweetly  join, 

Till  white  in  ase  they're  sobbin  ; 
Neil's  heart  was  dancin  at  the  view ; 

She  whisper'd  Rob  to  leuk  for't; 
Rob,  stownlins,  prie'd  her  bonie  mou, 

Fu'  cozie  in  the  neuk  for't. 

Unseen  that  night. 

But  Merran  sat  behint  their  backs, 

Her  thoughts  on  Andrew  Bell ; 
She  lea'es  them  gashin  at  their  cracks, 

An'  slips  out  by  hersel : 
She  thro'  the  yard  the  nearest  taks, 

An'  to  the  kiln  she  goes  then. 
An'  darklins  grapit  for  the  bauks. 

And  in  the  Blue-clue  *  throws  then. 

Right  fear't  that  night. 

•  Whoever  would,  with  success,  try  this  spell,  must  strictly  ob- 
lerve  these  directions  :  Steal  out,  all  alone,  to  tht.  kiln,  and,  dark- 
ing,  throw  mto  \h^  pot  a  clue  of  blue  yarn  ;  wind  it  in  a  v^f^vj 


120  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

An'  ay  she  win't,  an'  ay  she  swat, 

I  wad  she  made  nae  jaukin  ; 
Till  something  held  within  the  pat, 

Guid  L — d  !  but  she  was  quakin  ! 
But  whether  'twas  the  Deil  himsel, 

Or  whether  'twas  a  bauk-en*, 
Or  whether  it  was  Andrew  Bell, 

She  did  na  wait  on  talkin 

To  spier  that  niglu. 

Wee  Jenny  to  her  Grannie  says, 
'  Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  Grannie  ? 

<  I'll  cat  the  afifile  *  at  the  glass^ 

'  I  gat  frae  uncle  Johnie  :' 
She  fuff't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  lunt. 

In  wrath  she  was  sae  vap'rin, 
She  notic'l  na,  an  aizle  brunt 

Her  braw  new  worset  apron 

Out  thro'  that  night. 

*  Ye  little  Skelpie-limmc's  face  I 
'  I  daur  you  try  sic  sportin, 

<  As  seek  the  foul  Thief  onie  place, 

'  For  him  to  spae  your  fortune  : 
«  Nae  doubt  but  ye  may  get  a  sight ! 

*-  Great  cause  ye  hae  to  fear  it; 
«  For  monie  a  ane  has  gotten  a  fright, 

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

*  On  sic  a  night. 

<  Ae  Hairst  afore  the  Sherra-moor, 

'  I  miud't  as  weefs  yestreen, 
«  I  was  a  gilpey  then,  I'm  sure 
<  1  was  na  past  fyfteen: 

clew  off  the  old  one  ;  and,  towards  the  latter  end,  something' 
will  hold  the  thread  :  demand,  -who  hands  P  i.  e.  who  holds  ?  and 
answer  will  be  returned  fi'om  the  kiln- pot,  by  naming  the  Chris- 
tian  and  Surname  of  your  future  Spouse. 

*  Take  a  candle,  and  go  alone  to  a  looking,'  glass  ;  eat  an  apple 
before  it,  and  some  traditions  say,  you  should  comb  your  hair 
all  the  time  ;  the  face  of  your  conjugal  companion,  to  be,  will  be 
seen  in  the  ghiss,  as  if  peeping  over  your  shoulder. 


RORERT  P. URNS.  121 

<  The  Simmer  had  been  caulcl  an'  wal, 

*  All'  stuff  was  unco  green ; 

<  An*  ay  a  rantin  kirn  we  gat, 

*  All*  just  on  Halloween 

<  It  fell  that  night. 

<  Our  Stibble-rig  was  Rab  M'Gruen, 

*  A  clever,  sturdy  fallow; 

«  Hia  Sin  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean, 

*  rhat  liv'd  in  Achmacalla  : 

<  He  gat  hem/i'seed  *,  I  ;Tiind  it  wee  I, 

*  An'  he  made  unco  light  o't; 

<  But  monic  a  day  was  by  himself 

«  He  was  sae  sairly  frighted, 

*  That  vera  night.' 

Then  up  gat  fechtin  Jamie  Fleck, 

An'  he  swoor  by  his  conscience, 
That  he  could  saiv  hem/i-seed  a  peck  ; 

For  it  was  a*  but  nonsense : 
The  auld  guidman  raught  down  the  pock, 

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

Sometime  when  nae  ane  see'd  him, 
An'  try't  that  night. 

He  marches  thro'  amang  the  stacks, 

Tho*  he  was  something  sturtin; 
The  >^rai/i  he  for  a  harrow  taks. 

An'  hciurls  at  his  cur  pin  : 
And  ev\y  now  an'  then,  he  says, 

*  Hemp-seed  I  s.w  thee, 

«  An'  her  that  is  to  be  my  lass, 

*  Come  after  me  an'  dr  .w  rhee 

<  As  fast  this  night.* 

*  Steal  out  unperceived,  and  sow  a  handful  of  hemp-seed ;  har- 
rowing it  with  any  thing-  you  can  conveniently  draw  after  you. 
Repeat,  now  nnd  then,  "  Hemp-seed  I  saw  thet- ,  Hemp-seed  I  skw 
*'  tiiee ;  and  lnm  (or  her)  iha'  is  to  be  my  true  love,  come  aficr 
*'  me  and  pou  thee."  Look  over  your  left  shoulder,  and  you  wili 
see  the  appearance  of"  th<'  p.-rson'ir>voke.l,  in  the  attitude  of  pul- 
hwj;  hemp.  Svme  traditions  say,  •'  Come  after  me  and  shaw  thee," 
that  is,  s])ovv  rh\'9elf';  in  wliich  cas-"^  it  simply  appett-s.  Otiiers 
omit  the  harrowing,  and  say,  "  C^ime  after  me  and  iiarrow  the^  " 

M 


<i22  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Ot 

He  whisll*cl  up  Lord  Lennox'  march, 

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

He  was  sae  fley'd  an'  eerie  : 
Till  presently  he  hears  a  squeak. 

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

An'  tumbl'd  \vi'  a  wintle 

Out-owi'c  that  night. 

He  roar'd  a  horrid  murder-shout, 

In  dreadfu'  desperation! 
An'  young  an'  auld  come  rinnin  out, 

An'  hear  the  sad  narration  : 
He  swore  'twas  hilchin  Jean  M'Craw, 

Or  crouchie  Merran  Humphie, 
Till  stop  !  she  trotted  thro'  them  a'  ; 

An'  wha  was  it  but  Grumfihie 

Asteer  that  night  I 

Meg  fain  wad  to  the  Barn  gaen, 

To  ivinn  three  nvechts  o'  naething  *  ; 
But  for  to  meet  the  Deil  her  lane, 

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

An'  twa  red  cheekit  apples, 
To  watch,  while  for  the  Barn  she  sets. 

In  hopes  to  see  Tarn  Kipples 

That  vera  night. 

*  This  charm  must  likewise  be  performed,  unperceived  and  a- 
lone.  You  go  to  the  Barn,  and  open  both  doors,  taking-  them  off 
the  hinges  if  possible  ;  for  there  is  danger,  that  the  being-,  about 
to  appear,  may  shut  the  doors,  and  do  you  some  mischief  Then 
take  that  instrument  used  in  winnowing  the  corn,  which,  in  our 
country  dialect,  we  call  a  JVecht,  and  go  thro*  all  the  attitudes  of 
letting  down  Corn  against  the  wind.  Repeat  it  three  times  ;  and 
the  third  time,  an  apparition  will  pass  thro'  the  Barn,  in  at  the 
windy  door,  and  out  at  the  other,  having  both  ihe  figure  in  ques- 
tion, and  the  appearance  or  retinae,  marking  the  employment  or 
?»tiition  in  life. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  123 

She  turns  the  key,  wi*  cannie  thraw, 

An'  owre  the  threshold  ventures  ; 
But  first  on  Sawnie  gics  a  ca', 

Syne  bauldly  in  she  enters  : 
A  ration  rattl'd  up  the  wa', 

An'  she  cry'd,  L — d  preserve  her ! 
An'  ran  thro'  midden-hole  and  a', 

An'  pray'd  wi'  zeal  an'  fervour, 

Fu'  fast  that  night. 

They  hoy't  out  Will,  wi*  sair  advice  ; 

They  hecht  hi.n  some  fine  braw  ane  ! 
It  chanc'd  the  Stack  YiQ  faddom^ t  thrice  *, 

Was  timmer-propt  for  thravvin  : 
He  taks  a  swirlie,  auld  moss-oak, 

For  some  black,  grousome  Carlin  ; 
An'  loot  a  winze,  an"*  drew  a  stroke,  i 

Till  skin  in  biypes  cam  haurlin 

Aif's  nieves  that  night. 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was, 

As  cantie  as  a  kitllin  ; 
But,  Och  I  that  night,  amang  the  shawsj 

She  gc-.t  a  fearfu'  settlin  ! 
She  thro'  tJie  whins,  an'  by  the  cairn, 

An'  owre  the  hill  gacd  scrievin, 
Wh-.tre  three  Laird's  lands  met  at  a  burn  f, 

To  dip  her  left  sark-sleeve  in, 

Was  bent  that  night. 

*  Take  an  opportunity  of  going,  unnoticed,  to  a  Bear-stach,  and 
fathom  it  three  times  round.  Tlie  last  fathom  of  t!ie  lasl-time, 
yod  will  catch  in  your  arms  the  appearance  of  your  future  conju* 
g^al  yoke-fellov/. 

t  You  go  out,  one  or  more,  for  this  is  a  social  spell,  to  a  south - 
running  springer  rivulet,  vhere  "  three  Lairds'  lands  meet,"  and 
dip  your  left  shirt-sleeve.  Go  to  bed  in  sight  of  a  fire,  and  hang' 
your  wet  sleeve  before  it  to  dry.  Lie  awake  ;  and,  some  time  near 
midnight,  an  apparition,  having  the  exact  figure  of  the  grand  ob- 
ject in  question,  will  come  and  turn  the  sleeve,  as  if  to  dry  the  a- 
ther  side  of  it. 


124  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays, 

As  thro'  ihe  glen  it  wimpl't; 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scar  it  strays  j 

Whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dinipl't ; 
Whyles  glitter'd  to  the  nij^hlly  rays, 

Wi'  bickering,  dancing  dazzle  ; 
Whyles  cookit  undenicatli  tlse  braes, 

Below  the  spreading  hazle, 

Unseen  that  night. 

Amang  the  brachens,  on  the  brae, 

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

Gut  up  an'  gae  a  croon  : 
Poor  Leezie's  heart  maist  lap  the  hool  ; 

Near  lav'rock-height  she  jumpit, 
But  mist  a  fit,  an'  in  the  Pool 

Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plum  pit, 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 

In  order,  on  the  clean  hearth-stane, 

The  lAtggies  three  *  are  ranged  ; 
At/  ev'ry  u-.-se  grc^t  care  is  taenj 

To  see  them  duly  changed  : 
Auld  uncle  John,  whx  wedlock's  joys 

Sin*  Alarms-year  did  desire, 
Because  he  gat  the  toom  dish  thrice, 

He  iieav/d  them  on  the  fire. 

In  wrath  that  night. 

Wi'  merry  sangs,  an'  Oiendly  cracks, 

I  wat  they  did  na  weary:  « 
And  unco  talcs,  an'  fuimie-jokes, 

Their  sporB  were  cheap  un'  t,heary  : 

*  Take  tlu'ee  dishes  ;  put  clt.Hn  water  in  one,  foul  water  In  aue- 
ther,  and  leave  the  third  empty  :  blindfold  a  person,  and  lead  him 
to  the  hearth  where  the  diihes  are  rs'.n.^ed ;  lie  (or  she)  dips  the 
lefc  hand ;  if  by  chraice  in  the  clean  witter^  the  fuiure  hnsbund  or 
wife  wUl  come  to  the  bar  of  Matrimony  a  maid ;  if  in  the  foul,  a 
widow:  if  in  the  empty  dish,  if  foretells,  with  equal  certainty,  no 
marrictge  at  all.  Ii  is  repealed  livree  times  ;  and  every  ti.2ne  the 
arrangement  of  the  difshes  is  altered. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  13^ 


Till  buttered  So^ns  *,  \vi'  fragrant  lunt, 

Set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin  ; 
Syne,  wi'  a  social  glass  o*  strunti, 

They  parted  aft'  careerin 

Fu'  biythe  that  night. 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 


Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are. 
That  bide  the  pelting-  of  this  pityless  storm  ! 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides. 
Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these 


Shakespeari;, 


WHEN  biting  Boreas^  fell  and  doure, 
Sharp  shivers  thro'  the  leafless  bow*r ; 
When  Phcebus  gies  a  short-liv'd  glow'r, 

Far  south  the  lift, 
Dim-dark*ning  thro'  the  flaky  show*r, 
Or  whirling  drift. 

Ae  night  the  Storm  the  steeples  rocked, 
Poor  Labour  sweet  in  sleep  was  locked, 
While  burns,  wi'  snawy  wreeths  up-choked^ 

Wild-eddying  swirl, 
Or  thro'  the  mining  outlet  booked, 

Down  headlong  hurl. 

Listening,  the  doors  an'  winnocks  rattle^ 
I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle, 
Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle 

O'  winter  war. 
And  thro'  the  drift,  deep-lairing,  sprattle. 

Beneath  a  scar. 


*  Sowens,  with  butter  instead  of  milk  to  them,  is  always  tBe 

ffalloweett  Supper. 

M2 


126  THE  POETICAL  WOIiKS  ©F 

Ilk  happing  bird,  wee  helpless  thing ! 
That,  in  the  n.erry  months  o'  Spring, 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

What  comes  o'  thee  ? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering  wing, 
An'  close  thy  e'e  ? 

Ev'n  you  on  murd*ring  errands  toil'd, 
Lone  from  your  savage  homes  exil'd, 
The  blood-stain*d  roost,  and  sheep-cote  spoii'd, 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pityless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats. 

Now  Phabe^  in  her  midnight  reign, 
Durk-muffl'd,  view'd  the  dreary  plain  ; 
Still  crouding  thoughts,  a  pensive  train, 

Rose  in  my  soul, 
W^hen  on  my  car  this  plaintive  strain, 

Slow-solemn,  stole — 

*  Blow,  blow,  ye  Winds,  with  heavier  gust  I 

♦  And  freeze,  thou  bitter-biting  Frost ! 

*  Descend,  ye  chilly,  s   .othering  Snows! 

*  Not  all  your  rage,  as  now,  united  shows 

*  More  hard  unkindness,  unrelenting, 

*  Vengeful  malice,  unrepentlng, 

<  Than  heaven-iliuniin*d  Man  on  brother  Man  bestows  ! 

«  See  stern  Oppression's  iron  grip, 

*  Or  mad  Ambition's  gory  iiand, 

*  Sending,  like  blood-hounds  from  the  slip, 

'  Woe,  Want,  and  Murder  o'er  a  land! 

<  E'vn  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale, 

<  Truth,  weeping,  tells  the  mournful  tale, 

•  How  pamper'd  Luxury,  Flatt'ry  by  her  side, 

*  The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear, 

»  With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the  rear, 

•  Looks  o'er  proud  Property,  extended  wide; 

*  And  eyes  the  simple,  rustic  Hind, 

*  Whose  toil  upholds  the  glitt'ring  show, 
'  A  creature  of  another  kind, 

*  Some  coarser  substance,  unrefin'd, 

♦Plac'd  for  her  lordly  use  thus  far,  thus  vile,  below  i 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ij27 

<  Where,  where  is  Love*s  fond  tender  throe, 
'  Willi  lordly  Honor's  lofty  brow, 

<  The  pow'rs  you  proudly  own  ? 

*  Is  there,  beneath  Love's  noble  name, 

*  Can  harbour,  dark,  the  selfish  aim, 

*  To  bless  himself  alone  ! 

*  Mark  Maiden-innocence  a  prey 

*  To  love-pretending  snares, 

<  This  boasted  Honor  turns  aw.y, 

«  Shunning  soft  Pity's  rising  sway, 

*  Regardless  of  the  tears,  and  unavailing  pray'rs ! 

<  Perhaps,  this  hour,  in  Mis'ry's  squalid  nest, 

<  She  strains  your  infant  to  her  joyless  breast, 

*  And  with  a  Mother's  fears  shrinks  at  the  rocking  blast ! 

*  Oh  ye  !  who,  sunk  in  beds  of  down, 

»  Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create, 

*  Think,  for  a  moment,  on  his  wretched  fate, 

*  Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown  ! 

*  Ill-satisfyM,  keen  Nature's  clam'rous  call, 

*  Stretch'd  on  his  straw  he  lays  himself  to  sleep, 

*  While  thro'  the  ragged  roof  and  chinky  wall, 

*  Chill,  o'er  his  slumbers,  piles  the  drifty  heap  I 

*  Think  on  the  dungeon's  gri  i  confine, 

*  Where  Guilt  and  poor  Misfortune  pine  ! 

*  Guilt,  erring  Man,  relenting  view  I 

*  But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue 

<  The  Wretch,  already  crushed  low 

'  By  cruel  Fortune's  undeserved  blow  ? 

*  Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress ; 

*  A  Brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite  the  bliss  i*  ^ 

I  heard  nae  mair,  for  Chanticleer 

Shook  off  the  pouthery  snaw, 
And  hail'd  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 

A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impress'd  my  mind— - 

Thro'  all  his  works  abroad. 
The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 

Tiie  most  resembles  God, 


128  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

A  DEDICATION 

TO  G -N  H ^LT— N,Esq. 

EXPECT  na,  Sir,  in  this  narration, 
A  fleechin,  fleth'rin  Dedication, 
To  roose  you  up,  an'  ca'  you  guid, 
An'  sprung  o'  great  an'  noble  bluid ; 
Because  ye're  sirnam'd  like  His  grace, 
Perhaps  related  to  the  race  : 
Then  when  I'm  tir'd — and  sae  are  t/c, 
Wi'  monie  a  fulsome,  sinfu'  lie, 
Set  up  a  face,  how  I  stopt  short, 
For  fear  your  modesty  be  hurt. 

This  may  do — maun  do,  Sir,  wi'  them  wha 
Maun  please  the  Great  Folk  for  a  wamefou  ; 
For  me  !  sae  laigh  I  need  na  bow, 
For,  Lord  be  thankit,  /  ca7i  plough  ; 
And  when  I  downa  yoke  a  naig, 
Then,  Lord  be  thankit,  /  can  beg  ; 
Sae  I  shall  say,  and  that's  nae  flatt'rin. 
It's  just  sic  Poet  an'  sic  Patron. 

The  Poet,  some  guid  Angel  help  him, 
Or  else,  I  fear,  some  ill  anc  skclp  him  ! 
He  may  do  weel  for  a'  he's  done  yet, 
But  only — he's  no  just  begun  yet. 

The  Patron,  (Sir,  ye  maun  forgie  me, 
I  "vfinna  lie,  come  what  will  o'  me) 
On  ev'ry  hand  it  will  allow'd  be, 
He's  just— nae  better  than  he  shou'd  bc: 

I  readily  and  freely  grant, 
He  downa  see  a  poor  man  want ; 
What's  no  his  ain,  he  winna  tak  it ; 
What  ance  he  says,  he  winna  break  it  > 


UOBERT  BURNS.  12^ 

Ought  he  can  lend  he'll  no  refus't, 
Till  aft  liis  guidness  is  abused  ; 
And  rascals  whyles  that  do  him  wrang, 
Kv'n  that^  he  does  na  mind  it  lane; : 
As  Master,  Landlord,  Husband,  Father, 
He  does  na  fail  his  part  in  either. 

But  then,  nae  thanks  to  him  for  a'  that; 
Nae  godly  sym/itom  ye  can  ca'  that ; 
It's  naething  but  a  milder  feature. 
Of  our  poor,  sinfu'  corrupt  Nature  : 
Ye'll  get  the  best  o'  moral  works, 
*Mang  black  Gciitoos,  and  Pagan  Turks, 
Or  hunters  wild  on  Fono(axiy 
Wha  never  heard  of  Orthodoxy. 
That  he's  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need, 
The  Gentleman  in  word  and  deed, 
It's  no  thro'  terror  of  D-mn-t~n  j 
lt*s  just  a  carnal  inclination. 

Morality,  thou  deadly  bane, 
Tbv  tt  US  o*  thousands  thou  hast  slain  ! 
Vam  is  his  hope,  whase  stay  cin'  iru^t  is 
In  moral  Mercy,  Truth  and  Justice  ! 

No — stretch  a  point  to  catch  a  plack  ; 
Abuse  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  whunstane, 
And  hand  their  noses  to  the  grunstane  ; 
Ply  ev'ry  art  o'  legal  thieving  ; 
No  matter-~stick  to  tound  believing. 

Learn  three-mile  pray'rs,  an'  half-mile  graces, 
Wi'  weel-spreud  looves,  an'  lang,  wry  faces  ; 
Grunt  up  a  solemn,  lengthen'd  groan. 
And  damn  a'  Parties  but  your  own  ; 
I'll  warrant  then,  ye're  nae  Deceiver, 
A  steady,  sturdy,  staunch  Believer. 


130  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

O  ye  wha  leave  the  springs  o'  Calvw^ 
¥or  gianlie  duds  of  your  ain  clelviii  ! 
Ye  sons  of  Heresy  and  Error, 
Yc'll  some  day  squeel  in  quaking  terror  1 
"When  V^engeance  draws  the  sword  in  wrath, 
And  in  the  fire  throws  the  sheath ; 
When  Ruin,  with  his  sweeping  besom^ 
Just  frets  till  Heav'n  commission  gies  him  ; 
While  o'er  the  Harji  pale  Mis'ry  moans, 
And  strikes  the  ever-deep'ning  tones, 
Still  louder  shrieks,  and  heavier  groans  ! 

Your  pardon,  Sir,  for  this  digression, 
I  maist  forgat  my  Dedication  ; 
Bur  when  Divinity  comes  cross  me, 
My  readers  still  are  sure  to  lose  me. 

So,  Sir,  you  see  'twas  nae  daft  vapour, 
But  I  maturely  thought  it  proper, 
Wncn  a'  my  works  I  did  review, 
Tt)  dedicate  them  Sir,  to  You: 
Bcc  luse  (ye  need  na  tak  it  ill) 
I  tiiought  them  something  iike  yoursel. 

Tlien  patronize  them  wi'  your  favor, 

And  your  Petitioner  shall  ever 

I  --ad  amaist  s.dd,  ever  firay^ 

But.  that's  a  woi'd  I  need  na  say  : 

For  praym  I  nae  litttle  skill  o't  ; 

I'uj  baith  dead-sweer,  an'  wretched  ill  o't; 

But  I'se  repeat  each  poor  ,.  an's  firai/r^ 

That  kens  or  hears  about  you,  Sir 

<  May  ne'er  Misfortune's  gowling  bark, 
«  H',wl  thro'  the  dwelling  o'  the  Clerk  I 
<  May  ne'er  his  gren'rous,  honest  heart, 

*  For  that  same  gen'rous  spirit  smart ! 

*  May  K *s  far-honour'd  name 

*  Lang  beet  his  hymeneal  flame, 

«  Till  H It — n's,  at  le.  sr  a  diz'n, 

*  Are  frae  their  nuptial  labours  risen : 


} 


} 


ROBERT  BURNS.  13| 

*  Fivie  bonie  Lasses  round  their  table, 

<  And  sev'n  braw  Fellows,  stout  an'  able, 

*  To  serve  their  King  an'  Country  weel, 
«  By  word,  or  pen,  or  pointed  steel  ! 

<  Muy  Health  and  Peace,  with  mutual  rays, 

<  Shine  on  the  ev'ning  o'  his  days  ! 
«  Till  his  wee,  curlie  John's  ier-oe, 
«  When  ebbing  life  nae  mair  shall  flow, 
'  The  last,  sad,  mournful  rites  bestow  !' 

I  will  not  wind  a  lang  conclusion, 
With  complimentary  effusion  : 
But  whilst  your  wishes  and  endeavours, 
Are  blest  with  Fortune's  smiles  and  favourr.; 
I  am,  Dear  Sir,  with  zeal  most  fervent, 
Your  much  indebted,  humble  servant. 

But  if  (which  Pow*rs  above  prevent) 
That  iron-hearted  Carl,  Wa7it^ 
Attended,  in  his  grim  advances. 
By  sad  mistakes,  and  black  a.ischances, 
While  hopes,  and  joys,  and  pleasures  fly  him, 
Make  you  as  poor  a  dog  as  I  am. 
Your  humble  servant  then  no  more  ; 
For  who  would  humbly  serve  the  Poor  ? 
But,  by  a  poor  man's  hopes  in  Heav  n  ! 
While  recollection's  pow'r  is  giv'n, 
If,  in  the  vale  of  humble  life, 
The  victim  sad  of  Fortune*s  strife, 
I,  thro'  the  tender-gushing  tear. 
Should  recognise  my  Master  dear,. 
If  friendless,  low,  we  meet  together. 
Then,  Sir,  your  hand — my  /^"riend  and  Brother  1 


132  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

EPISTLE  TO  J.  RANKIN, 

Inclosing-  some  Poems. 

O  ROUGH,  rude,  ready-witted  Pankin, 
The  wale  o'  cocks  for  fun  an'  drinkin  ! 
There's  monie  godly  folks  are  thinkin, 

Your  dreamii  *  an*  tricks    . 
Will  send  you,  Koiah-like,  a-sinkin, 

Straught  to  auld  Nick's. 

Y«  hae  sae  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*  seen  thro'. 

Hypocrisy,  in  mercy  spare  it  ! 
That  holy  robe,  dinna  tear  it ! 
Spare't  for  their  sakes  wha  aften  wear  it, 

The  lads  in  black ; 
But  your  curst  wit,  when  it  comes  ne»r  it, 
Rives't  aff  their  back. 

Think,  wicked  Sinner,  wha  ye're  sk'-.ithing, 
Is  just  the  Blue-gown  badge  an'  claithing 
O*  Sc.unts ;  tak  that,  ye  Ica'e  them  naething 

To  ken  them  by, 
Frae  ony  unregenerate  Heatiien, 

Like  you  or  I. 

I've  sent  you  here  some  rhyming  ware, 
A'  that  I  bargained  for,  an'  mnir  ; 
S.  e,  when  ye  hae  an  hour  to  spare, 

1  Will  expect, 
Yon  Sang  f  ye'U  sen't,  wi'  cannie  care, 

And  no  neglect. 

*  A  certain  humorous  dream  of  his  was  then  making"  a  noise  in 
the  country-side. 

f  A  son^  he  had  promised  the  Author. 


IIOBBRT  BURNS.  133 


Tho'  faith,  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  sing ! 
My  Muse  dow  scarcely  spread  her  wing  t 
I've  play'd  mysel  a  bonie  spiing, 

An'  danc'd  my  fill ! 
I*d  better  gaen  and  sair*t  the  king, 

At  Bunker^s  Hill. 

'Twas  ae  night  lately,  in  my  fun, 
J  gaed  a  roving  vvi'the  gun, 
An'  brought  a  Paitrick  tu  the  grun', 

A  bonie  hen, 
And,  as  the  twilight  was  begun. 

Thought  n<ine  wad  ken. 

The  poor,  wee  think  was  little  hurt  s 
I  str  iikit  it  a  wee  for  sport, 
Ne'er  thinkin  they  wad  fash  me  for't ; 

Bui,  Deil-ma-care : 
Somebody  tells  the  Poacht-r-court 

The  hale  itffair. 

Some  auld,  us'd  hands  had  taen  a  notCj 
Thit  sic  a  hen  had  got  a  shot ; 
J  was  suspected  for  the  plot; 

I  scorn'd  to  lie ; 
So  gat  the  whissle  o*  my  groar., 

An'  pay 't  the. /e^. 

But,  by  my  gun,  o*  guns  the  wale, 
An'  by  my  pouther  an'  my  hail, 
An'  by  my  hen,  an'  by  her  tail, 

I  vow  an'  swear ! 
The  Game  shall  p.-y,  o'er  moor  an'  dale. 

For  this,  niest  year. 

As  soon's  the  clockin-time  is  by, 
An'  the  wee  pouts  begun  to  cry, 
L — d,  Ps  hae  sportin  by  an'  by. 

For  my  gowd  guinea  i 
Tho'  I  should  herd  the  buckskin  kyo 
For't,  in  VirgiiUr\ 
N 


134 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


Trowth,  they  had  muckle  for  to  blame  1 
*Twtis  neither  broken  wing  nor  limb, 
But  twa-three  clri».ps  about  the  wame 

Scarce  thro'  the  feathers  ; 
An'  baith  a  yellow  George  to  claim, 

An'  thole  their  blethers  ? 

It  pits  me  aye  as  mad's  a  hare ; 
So  I  can  rhyme  nor  write  nae  mair ; 
But  Pennyworths  again  is  fair. 

When  time's  expedient : 
Meanwhile  I  am,  respected  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient. 


EPISTLE  TO  J.  I^PRATK, 

AN  OLD  SCOTCH  BARD. 

^pril  1,  1785, 

WHILE  briers  an'  woodbines  budding  green, 
An'  Paitricks  scraichin  loud  at  e'en, 
And  morning  Poussie  whiddin  seen, 

Inspire  my  Muse, 

in  unknown  frie 

I  pray  excuse. 

On  Fasten-een  we  had  a  rockin, 
To  ca'  the  crack  and  weave  our  stockiu  ^ 
And  there  was  muckle  fun  an  jokin. 

Ye  need  na  doubt ; 
At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin 
At  aang  about. 

There  was  ae  sang^  amang  the  rest, 
Aboon  them  a'  it  p.eas'd  me  best, 
That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest 

l"o  some  sweet  wife: 
It  thirl'd  the  heart-strings  ihro'  the  breast^ 

A'  to  the  hie. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  135 

I*ve  scarce  heard  ought  described  sae  weel, 
What  gen'rous,  manly  bosoms  feel; 
Thought  I,  *  Can  this  be  Pope,  or  Steele, 

<  Or  Beattie's  wark  ?* 
They  tauld  me  'twas  an  odd  kind  chiel 
About  Muirkirk. 

It  pat  me  fidgin-fain  to  hear't; 
An'  sae  about  him  there  I  spier't ; 
Then  a'  that  ken't  him  round  declar'dj 

He  had  ingine^ 
That  nane  excellM  it,  few  cam  near't, 
It  was  sae  fine. 

That,  set  him  to  a  pint  of  ale, 
An'  either  douce  or  merry  tale, 
Or  rhymes  an'  sangs  he'd  made  himset, 

Or  witty  catches, 
'Tween  Inverness  and  Tiviotdale 

•     He  had  few  matches-. 

Then  up  I  gat,  an*  swoor  an  aith, 
Tho'  I  should  pawn  my  pleugh  an  graithj 
Or  die  a  cadger  pownie's  death, 

At  some  dyke -back, 
A  pint  an*  gill  I'd  gie  them  buith, 

To  hear  your  crack. 

But,  first  an'  foremost,  I  should  tell^ 
Amaist  as  soon  as  I  could  spell, 
I  to  the  crambo 'jingle  fell, 

Tho'  rude  an*  rough, 
Yet  crooning  to  a  body's  sel, 

Does  weel  eneugh. 

I  am  nae  Poet^  in  a  sense. 
But  just  a  Rhymer^  like,  by  chance, 
An'  hae  to  Learning  nae  pretence. 

Yet,  what  the  matter  ? 
Whene'er  my  Muse  does  on  me  glance* 

I  jingle  at  her. 


136  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Oil 

Your  Critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose, 
And  say,  *  How  can  you  e*er  propose, 
*  You  wha  ken  hardly  vrrse  frae  prose 

*  To  mak  a  safig- .?' 
But,  by  your  leaves,  my  learned  foes, 

Ye're  maybe  wrung. 

What's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  Schools, 
Your  Latin  names  for  horns  an'  stools  ; 
If  honest  Nature  made  you  fooia^ 

What  sairs  your  Grammars? 
Ye'd  better  taen  up  spades  and  shools 

Or  knappin-hammers. 

A  set  o'  dull,  conceited  Hashes, 
Confuse  their  brains  in  College-classes  ! 
Tiiey  ^ang  in  Stirks,  and  co?ne  out  Asses'j 

Plain  truth  to  speak  ; 
An'  syne  they  think  to  cli.;  b  Parnassus^ 

By  dint  o'  Greek  ! 

Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nuture's  fire, 
Th;,t's  a'  the  learning  I  desire  ; 
Then  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dub  an'  nnre 

At  pleugh  or  cart, 
My  Muse,  tho'  ha    eiy  in  attire, 

May  touch  the  heart 

O  for  a  spunk  o'  Milan's  glee. 
Or  Ferguson'' s,  the  bttuld  an  slee. 
Or  bi-ight  Lafiraik's^  n^y  friend  to  be^ 

If  I  Ci»n  hit  it ! 
That  would  be  /cur  eneuj.^h  for  me, 

If  1  could  get  it. 

Now,  Sir,  if  ye  hae  friends  enow, 
Tho'  real  friends  I  b'iieve  are  few, 
Yet^,  if  your  catalogue  bt  fow, 

I'se  no  insist ; 
But,  gif  ye  want  ae  friend  that's  true, 

I'm  on  your  list^ 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ISJ' 

I  winna  blaw  about  raysel, 
As  in  I  like  my  fauts  to  tell ; 
But  friends  an'  folk  that  wish  me  well, 

They  sometimes  roose  me ; 
Tho'  I  maun  own,  as  monie  still 

As  far  abuse  me. 

There's  ae  nveefaut  they  whiles  lay  to  me, 
I  like  the  lasses — Gude  forgie  me  ! 
For  monie  a  Plack  they  wheedle  frae  me. 

At  dance  or  fair : 
Maybe  some  ithcr  tiling  they  gie  me 

They  weel  can  spare. 

But  Mauchllne  Race  or  MauchUne  Fair, 
I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there ; 
We'se  gie  ac  night's  discharge  to  care, 

If  we  forgather, 
An'  hae  a  swap  o'  rhymin-ivare 

Wi'  ane  anither. 

The  four-gill  chap,  we'se  gar  him  clatter. 
An'  kirsen  him  wi*  reekin  water; 
Syne  we'll  sit  down  an'  tak  our  whitter, 

To  chear  our  heart ; 
An'  faith,  we'se  be  acquainted  better 

Before  we  part. 

Awa  ye  selfish,  warly  race, 
Wha  think  that  havins,  sense,  an'  grace, 
Ev'n  love  an'  friendship,  should  give  placC) 

To  catch-the-fiiack  I 
I  dinna  like  to  see  your  face, 

Nor  hear  your  crack. 

But  ye  whom  social  pleasure  charms. 
Whose  hearts  the  tide  of  kindness  warm«, 
Who  hold  your  being  on  the  terms, 

*  Each  aid  the  others,' 
Come  to  my  bowl,  come  to  my  arms, 

M,y  friends,  my  brothers ! 

N2 


158  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

But  to  conclude  my  1  ng  epistle, 
As  my  auld  pen's  worn  to  the  grissle : 
Twa  lines  frae  you  wac-  gar  me  fissle, 

Who  am,  most  fervent, 
While  I  can  eiiher  sing,  or  whissle. 

Your  friend  and  servant* 


TO  THE  SAME. 

April  21,  1785*, 

W^HILE  new-ca'd  kye  rowte  at  the  stake. 
An'  pownies  reek  in  pleugh  or  braik, 
This  hour  on  e'enins  edge  I  take. 

To  ovi^n  I'm  debtor, 
To  honest-hearted,  auld  Lapraik, 

For  his  kind  letter. 

Forjesket  sair,  with  weary  legs, 
Rattlin  the  corn  out-owre  the  rigs, 
Or  dealing  thro'  amang  the  naigs 

Their  ten-hours  bite^ 
My  awkart  Muse  sair  pleads  and  begs, 
I  would  na  write. 

The  tapetless,  ramfeez^ld  hizzie, 

She's  saft  at  best  an»  something  lazy, 
Quo'  she,  *  Ye  ken  we've  been  sae  busy 

*  This  month  an'  mair, 

•  That  trowth,  my  head  is  grown  right  dizzifej 

*  An*  something  sair.' 

Her  dowfF  excuses  pat  me  m.ad  ; 

*  Conscience,*^  says  I,  *  ye  thowless  jad ! 

*  I'll  write,  an'  that  a  hearty  blaud, 

'  This  vera  night ; 

•  So  diima  ye  affront  your  trade, 

«  But  rhyme  it  right? 


ROBERT  BURNS.  139 

<  Shall  banld  Lap.raiky  the  king  o'  hearts, 

*  Tho'  mankind  were  a  pack  o'  cartes, 

*  Roose  you  sae  weel  for  your  deserts, 

'  In  terms  sje  friendly, 

*  Yet  yeMl  neglect  to  shaw  your  parts 

*  An'  thank  him  kindly  ?* 

Sae  I  gat  paper  in  a  blink. 
An*  down  gaed  stutnfiie  in  the  ink  s 
Quoth  I,  '  Before  I  sleep  a  wink, 

*  I  vow  ril  close  it; 

*  An'  if  ye  winna  mak  it  clink, 

<  By  Jove  I'll  prose  it  V  ^ 

Sae  Tve  begun  to  scrawl,  but  whether 
In  rhyme,  or  prose,  or  baith  thegitber. 
Or  some  hotch-potch  that's  rightly  neither, 

Let  time  mak  proof; 
But  I  shall  scribble  down  some  blether 
Just  clean  afT-loof. 

My  worthy  friend,  ne'er  grudge  an'  carpj 
Tho'  Fortune  use  you  hard  an'  sharp ; 
Come,  kittle  up  your  moorland  harfi 

Wi'  gleesome  touch  ! 
Ne'er  mind  how  Fortune  loaft  an  ivar/i^ 

She's  but  a  b-tch. 

She's  gien  mte  monie  a  jirt  an'  fleg? 
Sin  I  could  striddle  owre  a  rig  ; 
But,  by  the  L — d,  tho'  I  should  beg 

Wi'  lyart  pow, 
I'll  laugh,  an'  sing,  an*  shake  my  leg. 
As  lang's  I  dow  ! 

Now  Gomes  the  sux  an'  twentieth  simmey^ 
I've  seen  the  bud  upo'  the  timmer. 
Still  persecuted  by  the  limmer 

Frae  year  to  year  ; 
But  yet,  desyite  the  kittle  kimnier, 

Jj  Hod)  e^m  i^ere^. 


t40  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Do  you  envy  the  city  Gent, 
Behint  a  kisi  to  lie  an  sklent, 
Or  purse-proud,  big  vvi  cent,  per  cent. 

An'  muckle  wame, 
In  some  bit  Brugh  to  represent 

A  Bailie's  name  ? 

Or  is't  the  paughty,  feudal  Thane, 
Wi'  ruffl'd  sark  an'  glancing  cane, 
Wha  thinks  himsel  nae  sheep-shank  bane, 

But  lordly  stalks. 
While  caps  an'  bonnets  aft"  are  taen, 

As  by  he  walks  ? 

<  O  Thou  wha  gies  us  each  guid  gift 

<  Gie  me  o*  wit  an'  sense  a'  lift, 

*  Then  turn  me,  if  Thou  please,  adrift, 

'  Thro'  Scotland  wide  5 

*  Wi'  cits  nor  lairds  I  wadna  shift, 

'  In  a'  their  pride  !' 

Were  this  the  charter  of  our  state, 

<  On  pain  o'  hell  be  rich  an'  great,' 
Damnation  then  would  be  our  fate, 

Beyond  remead  ; 
But,  thanks  to  Hea"v'n,  that's  no  the  gate 
We  learn  our  creed. 

For  thus  the  royal  Mandate  ran, 
When  first  the  human  race  began, 
^  The  social,  friendly,  honest  man, 

'  Whate'er  he  be, 

*  *Tis  he  fulfils  great  Nature's  plan, 

'  And  none  but  he.^ 

O  Mandate,  glorious  and  divine  ! 
The  followers  o'  the  ragged  Nine, 
Poor,  thoughtless  devils  !  yet  may  shine 

In  glorious  light. 
While  sordid  sons  o'  Mammon's  line 
Are  dark  as  night*. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  14t 

Tho'  here  they  scrape,  an'  squeeze,  an'  growl? 
Their  worthless  nievefu'  of  a  soul 
May  in  some  Juture  carcase  howl, 

The  forest's  fright  j 
Gr  in  some  day-detesting  owl 

May  shun  the  light. 

Then  may  Lafiraik  and  Burns  arise, 
To  reach  their  native,  kindred  skies, 
And  sing  their  pleasures,  hopes  an'  joys-, 

In  some  mild  sphere, 
Still  closer  knit  in  friendship's  ties 

Each  passing  year! 


•TO  \V.  S**=^**N,  Ochiltree. 

May,  mS, 

I  GAT  your  letter,  winsome  WilUe  ; 
"V^'i'  gratefu'  heart  I  thank  you  brawlie  j 
Tho'  1  maun  say't,  I  wad  be  silly, 
An*  unco  vAuy 
Sliould  I  believe,  my  coaxin  billie, 

Your  fliitterin  strain> 

But  I"*se  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it, 
I  sud  be  laith  to  think  ye  hinted 
Ironic  satire,  sidelins  sklented 

On  my  poar  Musie  ; 
Tho'  in  sic  phraisin  terms  ye've  penn'd  it, 
I  scarce  excuse  ye. 

My  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel, 
Should  I  but  dare  u  ho/ie  to  speel, 
Wi'  Jlian,  or  wi'  Gilbertfidd^ 

The  braes  o'  fame ; 
Or  Ferguson^  the  writer-chiel, 

A  deathless  nam^. 


142  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

(  O  Ferguson  !  thy  glorious  parts 
ni  suited  law*s  dry,  musty  arts ! 
My  curse  upon  your  whunstane  hearts, 

Ye  Enbrugh  Gentry ! 
The  tythe  o*  what  ye  waste  at  cartes 

Wad  stow'd  his  pantry  !) 

Yet  when  a  tale  comes  i'  my  head, 
Or  lasses  gie  my  heart  a  screed, 
As  whyles  they're  like  to  be  my  dead, 

(O  sad  disease  I) 
I  kittle  up  my  rustic  reed\ 

It  gies  me  ease. 

Auld  Coila^  now,  may  fidge  fu*  fain, 
She's  gotten  Bardies  o'  her  ain, 
Chiels  wha  their  chcinters  winna  hain, 
But  tune  their  lays. 
Till  echoes  a'  resound  again 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

Nae  Poet  thought  her  worth  his  while> 
To  set  her  name  in  measur'd  style  ; 
She  lay  like  some  unkend-of  isie 

Beside  JVew  Holland. 
Or  whare  wild-meeting  oceans  boil 
Besouth  Magellan, 

Ramsay  an*  famous  Ferguson 
Gu^  I   r-jith  uii'  Tay  a  lift  a  boon  t 
Yarrow  an'  Tweed,  to  monie  a  tune, 

Owre  Scotland  rings, 
While  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon, 
Naebody  sings. 

Th'  TllissuH,  Tiber,  Thames,  an*  Seine, 
Glide  sweet  in  monie  a  tunefu*  line; 
But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine, 

An'  Cock  your  crest, 
We'll  gar  our  streams  an'  burnies  shine 

Up  wi*  the  best. 


nOBERT  BURNS.  I43 


We'll  sing  auld  Collars  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  story  tells, 

Frae  Suthron  billies. 

At  Wallace*  name,  what  Scottish  blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood ! 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

By  Wallace'*  side, 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat  shod, 

Or  glorious  dy'd ! 

O  sweet  are  Collars  haughs  an'  woods, 
When  lintwhites  chant  amang  the  buds. 
And  jinkin  hares,  in  amorous  whids, 
Their  loves  enjoy, 
While  thro'  the  braes  the  cushat  croods 
With  wailfu'  cry  ! 

Ev'n  winter  bleak  has  charms  to  me. 
When  winds  rave  thro'  the  naked  tree  ; 
Or  frosts  on  hills  of  Ochiltree 

Are  hoary  gray; 
Or  blinding  drifts  wild-furious  flee, 

Dark'ning  the  day  I 

O  Kature  I  a'  thy  shews  an'  forms 
To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  hae  charms  ! 
Whether  the  Summer  kindly  warms, 

Wi'  life  an'  light, 
Or  Winter  howls,  in  gusty  storms. 

The  lang,  dark  night ! 

The  Muse,  nae  Poet  ever  f^nd  her, 
Till  by  himsel  he  learn'd  to  wander, 
Adown  some  trotting  burn's  meander, 

An'  no  think  lang  ; 
O  sweet,  to  stray  an'  pensive  ponder 

A  heart-felt  sang  ! 


J  4.4  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive, 
Ho£>-shouther,  jundie,  stretch  an'  strive, 
Let  me  fair  jYature''s  face  descrive, 

And  I,  wi'  pleasure. 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive, 

Bum  ov^re  their  treasure. 

Fareweel,  *  my  rhyme-composini;'  brither 
We've  been  owre  lang  uiikenn'd  to  ither  : 
Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither, 

I»  love  fraternal : 
May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether, 

Black  fiend,  infernal  I 

While  Highlandmen  hate  tolls  an'  taxes ; 
While  moorlan  herds  like  guid,  fut  braxies^ 
While  Terra  Firma,  on  her  axis, 
Diurnal  turns, 
Count  on  si  friend,  in  f^ith  an'  practice, 
In  Robert  Burn  a. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

My  memory's  no  worth  a  preen ; 
I  h.  d  amaist  iorgoiten  clean. 
Ye  bade  me  write  you  what  they  mean 

By  this  new'light  *,  .\ 

'Lout  which  our  /lerds  sae  aft  hae  beea 
Maist  like  to  fight. 

In  days  when  mankind  were  but  callans 
At  Grammar^  Logic^  an'  sic  talenis, 
They  took  nae  pains  their  speech  to  balance, 

Or  rules  to  gie. 
But  spak  their  thoughts  in  plain,  braid  Lallans^ 

Like  you  or  me. 

*  JsTe-wUght  is  a  cant  phrase,  i  Iv  Wes,  of  Scotland,  for  thffse 
rellg-'ous  opinions  whicii  Dr.  Taylor  ot  Norwich  has  defended  so 
strenuouslv. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ^45 

In  thae  aiikl  times,  they  thought  th€  Moo?!, 
Just  like  a  stirk,  or  pair  o*  shoon, 
\V  ore  by  degrees,  till  her  lust  roon 

Gaed  past  their  viewing, 
An'  shortly  after  she  was  done, 

They  gat  a  new  ane. 

This  past  for  certain,  undisputed : 
It  ne'er  cam  i*  their  heads  to  doubt  it, 
Till  chiels  gat  up  an'  wad  confute  it, 

An'  caM  it  wrting ; 
An'  muckle  din  there  was  ubout  it, 

Baith  loud  an'  lang. 

Some  herds^  weel-learn'd  upo'  the  beuk, 
Wad  threap  auid  folk  the  tiling  misteuk; 
For  'twas  the  auld  moon  turn'd  a  neuk, 

An'  out  o'  sight, 
An*  backlins  comin,  to  the  leuk. 

She  grew  mair  bright. 

This  was  denyM,  it  was  affirm'd  ; 
The  herds  an'  hiasels  were  alann'd  ; 
The  rev\end  gray-beards  rav'd  an'  storm'd, 

Thut  beardless  laddicS 
Should  think  they  better  were  infortn'd 

Than  their  auid  daddies. 

Frae  less  to  mair  it  gaed  to  stieks ; 
Frae  words  an*  aiths  to  clours  an'  nicks ; 
An'  monie  a  fallow  g^at  his  licks, 

Wi*  hearty  crunt ; 
An'  some,  to  learn  them  for  their  tricks, 

Were  hang'd  an*  brunt. 

This  game  was  play'd  in  monie  lands, 
An'  auld-light  caddies  bure  sic  hands. 
That  fuith,  the  youngsters  took  the  sands 

Wi'  nimble  shanks, 
Till  Lairds  forbade,  by  strict  commands, 
Sic  bluidy  pranks. 
O 


146 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


But  neiv-light  herds  gat  sic  a  cowe, 
Folk  thought  them  luin'd  stick-an-stovve, 
Till  now  amaist  on  ev'ry  knowe 

Ye'll  fine  ane  plac'd  ; 
An'  some,  their  new-light  fair  avow, 

Just  quite  burefuc'd. 

Nae  doubt  the  auld-light  Jocks  are  bleatin  ; 
Their  zealous  herds  are  vex'd  an'  sweatin; 
Mysel,  I've  even  seen  them  greetin 

Wi'  girnin  spite, 
To  hear  the  Moon  sae  sadly  lie'd  on 

By  word  an'  write. 

But  shortly  they  will  cowe  the  louns  I 
So    e  auld-light  herds  in  neebor  towns 
Are  mind't  in  things  they  ca'  balloons^ 
To  tak  a  flight, 
An'  stay  ae  month  amang  the  Moons, 
An'  see  them  right. 

Guid  observation  they  will  gie  them  ; 
An'  when  the  auld  Moon''s  gaun  to  lea'e  them. 
The  hindmost  shaird,  they'll  fetch  it  wi'  them, 

Just  i'  their  pouch, 
An'  when  the  new-light  billies  see  them, 

1  think  they'll  crouch ! 

Sae,  ye  observe  that  a'  this  clatter 
Is  naething  but  a  *  moonshine  matter  ;' 
But  tho'  dull  prose-folk  Latin  splatter 

In  logic  tulzie, 
I  hope,  we  Bardies  ken  some  better 

Than  mind  sic  brulzie.. 


IIORERT  RUIiNS.  t47 


EPIGR^\M 

ON  CAPT.  FRANCIS  GROSE 

THE   CELEBRATED  ANT  I  Q.U  ARI  AN. 


The  folloiving  Efiigramy  ivritten  in  a  moment  of  festivity  by 
Burns^  was  so  much  relished  by  Grose^  that  he  made  it 
serve  as  an  excuse  for  firolongiyig  the  convivial  occasion 
that  gave  it  birth^  to  a  very  late  hour. 

THE  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was  a-dying, 

So  whip  1  at  the  suuimons,  old  Saitin  came  flying; 

But  when  he  approached  where  poor  Francis  lay  moau- 

And  saw  each  bed-post  with  its  burden  a-groaning,* 
Astonished  !  confounded  !  cry'd  Satan,  by  G-d, 
I'll  want  'im,  ere  I  take  such  a  d         — bie  load. 


GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT. 

O  THOU,  who  kindly  does  provide 
For  ev'ry  creatures  want; 
We  bless  thee,  God  of  nature  Wide> 
For  this  thy  goodness  lent. 

And  if  it  please  thee,  Heav'nly  Guide? 
May  never  worse  be  sent. 
But  whether  granted  or  deny'd, 
Lord  bless  us  with  content. 

*  Mr.  Grose  was  exceedingly  corpulent,  and  used  to  rally  hinv 
self  with  the  greatest  good  humour,  on  the  singular  rotundity  of 
his  figure. 


l48  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

GRACE  AFTER  INIEAT, 

O  THOU,  in  whom  we  live  and  move, 
"Who  mad'st  the  sea  and  shore, 
Thy  goodness  ccMistcintly  we  prove, 
And  grateful  would  adore. 

And  if  it  please  thee,  Pow'r  above, 
Still  grant  us  with  such  store, 
The  Fritnd  we  trust  ;  the  rair  WQ.  love  ; 
And  Ave  desire  no  more. 


ON  THE  LATE  CAPTAIN  GROSE'S 

PEREGRINATIONS  THRO'  SC0TL4ND. 

Collecting  the  Antiquities  of  that   kingdom. 

HEAR,  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  brither  Scots, 
Frae  M^'idenkirk  to  Johnny  Groats, 
If  there's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 

I  rede  you  tent  it ; 
A  chiel's  amang  you,  takin  notes. 

And,  faith  !  he'll  prent  it. 

If  in  your  bounds  ye  chance  to  light 
Upon  a  fine,  fat,  fodgel  wight, 
O'  stature  shoi  t,  but  genius  bright, 

That^s  he,  mark  weel — = 
An  WGW  !  he  has  an  unco  sligl.t 

O'  cauk  and  keel. 

By  some  9uld,  houlet  haunted  biggin  *, 
Or  kirk  desetteci  by  its  riggin, 
It's  ten  to  ane  yt'Il  find  him  snug  in, 

Some  eldritc;i  pait, 
\\V  deils,  they  say,  L — d  safe's !  coileaguin 

At  some  bl.ck  art — 

*  Yide  his  Antiquities  of  Scotbmd 


ROBERT  BURNS.  149 

Ilk  p:haist  that  haunts  auld  ha'  or  chamer, 
Ye  gypsy-gang,  that  deal  in  glamor, 
And  you  deep-read  in  hell's  black  grammer, 

Warlocks  and  witches ; 
Ye'll  quake  at  his  conjurin  hammer, 

Ye  midnight  b— es. 

It's  tauld  he  was  a  sodger  bred, 
An  ane  wad  rather  fa'n  than  fled ; 
But  now  he's  quat  the  spurtle-blade, 

An  dogskin  wallet. 
An  taen  the-— -^Antiquarian  trade., 

I  think  they  call  it. 

He  has  a  fouth  o'  auld  nick-nackets, 
Rusty  airn  caps,  an'  jingling  jackets  *, 
Wad  haud  the  Loudians  three  in  tackets? 

A  towmond  gude. 
And  parritch  pats,  an*  auld  saut-backets, 

Before  the  flood. 

O'  Eve's  first  fire  he  has  ae  cinder ; 
Auld  Tubal-Cain's  fire-shool  and  fender  \. 
That  which  distinguished  the  gender 

O'  Balaam's  ass ; 
A  broom-stiek  o'  the  witch  o'  Endor, 
Weel  shod  wi'  bras3, 

Forbye,  he'll  shape  you  aff  fu'  gleg, 
The  cut  o'  Adaii  's  philibeg, 
The  knife  that  nicket  Abel's  craig 

He'll  prove  you  fully; 
It  was  a  fauldin  jocteleg. 

Or  lang  kail-gully. 

But  wad  ye  see  him  in  his  glee, 
For  meikle  glee  and  fun  has  he, 
Then  set  him  down,  and  twa  or  three 

Gude  fellows  wi'  him  5 
And  port^  O  port  !  shine  thou  a  wee, 

And  then  ye'll  see  him  I 

*  Yide  his  Treatise  on  Ancient  Armour  and  Weap^g^. 


150  THE  POETICAL  -WORK&OF 

Now,  by  the  powers  o'  verte  i^nd  prose  1 
Thou  art  a  dainty  chiel,  O  Grose  I 
Whae'er  o'  thee  shall  ill  suppose, 

They  sair  misca'  thee, 
I'd  tak  the  rascal  by  the  nose, 

Wcwd  say,  Shame  fa*  thee. 


EXTEMPORE  VERSES. 

ON  DINING  WITH  LORD  DAER. 


Moss^iel,  October  2StFt 


THIS  wot  all  ye  whom  it  concerns, 
I,  rhymer  Rab,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er  to  be  forgotten  day  ! 
Sae  far  I  sprachPd  up  the  brae, 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

I've  been  at  drucken  Writers*  feasts ; 
Nay,  been  bitch  fou  'mang  godly  Priests  y 

(Wi'  reverence  be  it  spoken  !) 
I've  even  join'd  the  honour'd  jorum, 
When  mighty  Squireships  o'  the  Quorum 

Their  hydra  drouth  did  sloken. 

B>it  wi'  a  Lord  ! — stand  out  my  shin  I 
A  Lord — a  Peer — an  Earl's  Son — 

Up  hiu:her  yet,  my  bonnet  1 
An'  such  a  Lord — lang  Scotch  ells  twa  j 
Our  Peerage  he  looks  o'er  them  a'. 

As  1  look  o'er  my  sonnet. 

But,  O  1  for  Hogarth's  magic  pow'r, 
To  shew  Sir  Bardie's  willyart  glowr, 

An'  how  he  star'd  an'  stammer'd  I 
When  goavan's  he'd  been  led  wi'  b ranks, 
A.i'  stumpan  on  his  ploughman  shanks, 

He  in  the  parlour  hammered. 


ROBERT  RT^RNS.  lol 

To  meet  good  Stuart  little  pain  is, 
Or  Scotia's  sacred  Demosthenes, 

Tiiinks  I,  they  are  but  men  ! 
But  Ikirns,  my  Lord — Guid  G — dl  I  doited i 
My  knees  on  itnc  anither  knoited, 

As  fuultering  i  gaed  ben  I 

I  sidling'  shelter'd  in  a  neuk 
An'  at  his  Lordship  staw  a  leuk, 

Like  some  portentous  omen ; 
Except  GOOD  SENSE,  an  social  glee. 
An'  (what  surprisM  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  uncommon. 

I  watcb'd  the  symptoms  o'  the  great, 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state, 

The  arrogant  assunning ; 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he, 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state,  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  Ploughman. 

Then  from  his  Lordship  I  shall  learn, 
Henceforth  to  meet  with  unconcern, 

One  rank  as  well's  another  : 
Nae  honest,  worthy  man  need  care. 
To  meet  wi'  noble,  youthfu'  Daer, 

For  he  but  meets  a  Brother. 

DEAR  SIR, 

I  NEVER  spent  an  afternoon  among"  great  folks  with  half  that 
pleasure  as  when  in  company  uith  you.  1  had  the  honour  of  pay- 
,  ing  my  devoirs  to  that  plain,  honest,  worthy  man,  tiie  Professor. 
1  would  be  delig-hted  to  see  him  perforin  acts  of  Lindntss  and 
irlendship,  though  I  were  not  the  object,  he  does  it  witli  such  a 
grace. — I  think  his  character,  divided  into  ten  parts,  stands  thus 
— four  parts  Socrates — four  pans  Nathaniel — and  two  parts 
Shakespeai-e's  Brutus. 

Tlie  foregoing  verses  were  really  extempore,  but  a  little  cor- 
rected suice.  They  may  entertain  you  a  little,  with  the  help  of 
that  partiality  with  which  you  arc  so  good  as  favour  the  pevfoi'Ki" 
auces  oi', 

*  DEAR  SIR, 

Your  very  humble  servant, 
Wednesday  morning.  aOBERT  BUiyMS, 


152  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01' 

VERSES. 

Tfritten  in  Friars-Carse  Hermitage,  on  A'tth-Side^ 

THOU  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clcid  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
*  Grave  these  counsels  on  thy  souL 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost  ? 
Hope  not  sunshine  ev'ry  hour, 
Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lour. 

As  Youth  and  Love,  with  sprightly  dancf. 
Beneath  thy  morning  star  advance, 
Pleasure  with  her  siren  air 
May  delude  the  thouj^htless  pair  ; 
Let  Prudence  bless  Enjoyment's  cup. 
Then  raptur'd  sip,  and  sip  it  up.  /- 

"T 

As  the  day  grows  warm  an"d  high. 
Life's  meridian  flaming  nigh. 
Dost  thou  spurn  the  humble  vale  ? 
Life's  proud  summits  wouldst  thou  scale  f 
Check  thy  climbing  step,  elate, 
Evils  lurk  in  felon  wait: 
Dangers,  eagle-pinion'd,  bold. 
Soar  around  each  cliffy  hold, 
While  chearful  Peace,  with  linnet  song, 
Chants  the  lowly  dells  amOng. 

As  the  shades  of  ev'ning  close, 
Beck'ning  thee  to  long  repose  ; 
As  Life  itself  becomes  disease, 
Seek  the  chimney-nook  of  ease. 
There  ruminate  with  sober  thought. 
On  all  thou'st  seen,  and  heard,  and  wrought ; 
And  teach  the  sportive  yownkers  round, 
Laws  of  experience,  sage  and  sound. 
Say,  mtin's  true,  genuine  estimate, 
The  grand  criieriom  of  his  fate. 


KOBERT  BURNS.  153 


Is  not,  art  thou  high  or  low  ? 
Did  thy  fortune  ebb  or  ftow  ? 
Did  many  talents  gild  thy  span  ? 
Or  frugal  Nature  grudge  tUee  one  ? 
Tell  them,  and  press  it  on  their  mind, 
As  thou  thyself  must  shortlyfind, 
The  smile  or  frown  of  awful  Heav'ii, 
To  Virtue  or  to  Vice  is  g>v'n. 
Say,  to  be  just,  and  kind,  and -wise, 
There  solid  Self-enjoyment  lies  ; 
That  foolish,  selfish,  f-iithless  ways, 
Lead  to  be  wretched,  vile  and  base. 

Thus  resigned  and  quiet,  creep 
To  the  bed  of  lasting  sleep; 
Sleep,  whence  thou  shalt  ne'er  awake, 
Night,  when  dawn  shall  never  break, 
Till  Future  Life,  future  no  nwre, 
To  light  and  joy  the  good  restt)re, 
To  light  and  joy  unknown  before. 

Stranger,  go  !  Heav'n  be  thy  guide  I 
Quod  the  Beadsman  of  Nith-side. 


} 


ODE,  SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF  Mrs. OF . 

DWELLER  in  yon  dungeon  dark, 
Hangman  of  creation,  mark  ! 
Who  in  widow  weeds  appears, 
Laden  with  unhonoured  years, 
Noosing  with  care  a  bursting  purse, 
Baited  with  many  a  deadly  curse  ? 

STROPHE. 

View  the  wither'd  beldam's  face- 
Can  thy  keen  inspection  trace 
Aught  of  Hu  t  anity's  sweet  melting  grace  ? 
Note  that  eye,  'tis  rheum  o'erfiows, 
Pity*s  flood  there  never  rose. 


154  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

See  those  hands,  ne'er  stretch'd  to  save, 

Hands  that  took but  never  gave. 

Keeper  of  Mammon's  iron  chest, 

Lo,  there  she  goes,  ii?ipitied  and  unblest 

She  goes,  but  not  to  realms  of  everlasting  rest 


J 


ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer  of  armies,  lift  thine  eyes  ! 
(A  while  forbear,  ye  tort'ring  fiends), 
Seest  thou  whose  step,  unwilling,  hither  bends? 
No  fallen  angel,  hurl'd  from  upper  skies  ; 
'Tis  thy  trusty  quondam  mate^ 
Doom'd  to  share  thy  fiery  fate, 
She,  tardy,  hell-ward  plies.  . 

EPODE. 

And  are  they  of  no  more  avail, 
Ten  thousand  glitt'ring  pounds  a-year  ? 
In  other  worlds  can  Mammon  fail, 
Omnipotent  as  he  is  here  ? 
O,  bitter  mock'iy  of  the  pompous  bier^ 
While  down  the  wretched  vital  part  is  driv'n ! 
The  cave-lodg'd  beggar,  with  a  conscience  v  lean, 
Expires  in  rags,  unknown,  and  goes  to  Heav'n. 


ELEGY  ON  Capt.  MATTHEW  HENDERSON, 

s4  Gentleman  who  held  th^  Patent  for  his  Honors  imme- 
diately from  Almighty  God  I 

But  now  his  rarliant  course  is  run, 

Ft)r  Matthew's  course  was  brig-ht ; 
His  soul  WHS  like  the  glorious  sun, 

A  matchless  Heav'nly  Light  !^ 

O  DEATH !  thou  tyrant  fell  an'  bloody  ! 

The  meikle  devil  wi'  a  woodie 

HttUrl  thee  hame  to  his  blaek  smiddie, 

O'er  hurcheon  hides, 
An'  like  stock-fish  come  o'er  ins  studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  -sides  ! 


ROBERT  BURNS.  j^^ 


He's  game,  he's  gane  !  he's  frae  us  torn, 

The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born  ! 

Thee,  Matthew,  Nature's  sel'  shall  mourn 

By  wood  an'  wild, 
Where,  haply,  Pity  strays  forlorn, 

Frae  man  exil'd. 

Ye  hills,  near  neebors  o'  the  starns, 
That  proudly  cock  your  crestinc:  cairns  ! 
Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  o'  sailing  yearns, 

Where  EciiO  slumbers  1 
Come  join,  ye  Nature's  sturdiest  bairns. 

My  wailing  numbers  I 

Mt)urn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens  ! 

Ye  huzly  shaws  and  briery  dens  ! 

Ye  burnies,  wimplin  down  your  glens, 

Wi'  toddlin  din, 
Or  foaming,  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens, 

Frae  lin  to  lin. 

Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lee; 
Ye  stately  foxk^loves  fair  to  see  ; 
Ye  woodbines  hanging  bonilie, 

.In  scented  bow'rs  i 
Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree, 

The  first  o'  flow'rs. 

At  dawn,  when  ev'ry  grassy  blade 
Droops  wi'  a  diamond  at  his  head. 
At  e'en,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed; 

r  th'  rustling  gale. 
Ye  maukins,  whiddin  thro'  the  glade, 

Come  join  my  wail. 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songster's  o'  the  wood  ; 
Y'    grouse  that  crap  the  heather  bud ; 
\       urlews  calling  thro'  a  clud  ; 

Ye  whistling  plover; 
And  mourn,  ye  whirring  paitrick  brood; 

He's  gane  for  ever  ! 


^^  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Mourn,  sooly  cools,  an'  speckled  teals  ; 
"Ye  fisher  iieions,  waicl.ing  eels; 
\e  cluck  an'  drtike,  ui'  diy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake  ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Kidr  for  his  sake. 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks  at  close  o*  day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flow'ring  claver  gay  ; 
An'  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

P>ae  our  Chuld  shore, 
Tell  thae  far  warlds,  wha  lies  in  ciay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 

Ye  houlets,  frae  your  ivy  bow'r, 

In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch  tow'r, 

W  hat  time  the  moon,  wi*  silent  glowr, 

Sets  up  her  horn, 
"Wail  thro'  the  dreary  midnight  l.our 

Till  waiikrife  morn  I 

O,  rivers,  forests,  hills  and  plains! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  canty  strains : 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  o'  woe  ?  . 
And  frae  my  een  the  drapping  rains 

Maun  ever  flow. 

Mourn,  Spring,  thou  darling  o'  the  year! 
Ilk  cowslip  cup  s.'iall  kep  a  tear: 
Thou,  Simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 

Shoots  up  iis  head, 
Thy  gay,  green,  flow'ry  tresses  shear, 

For  him  that's  dead  I 

Thou,  Autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair, 
In  grief  thy  sallow  mantie  tear! 
Thou,  Winter,  hurling  thro'  the  air 

The  roaring  blast, 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we*ye  lost ! 


ROBERT  BURNS.  157 


Mouvn  him,  thou  Sun,  great  source  of  light  I 
Mourn,  Empress  of  the  silent  Night ! 
An'  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright, 

My  Matthew  mourn  ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he's  taen  his  flight. 

Ne'er  to  return. 

O,  Henderson  I  the  man  !  the  brother  ! 
And  art  tl.ou  gone,  and  gone  for  ever  ! 
And  hast  thou  crost  that  unknown  rivep, 

Life's  dreary  bound ! 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 

The  world  around  1 

Go  to  your  scnlptur'd  tombs,  ye  Great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state  ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I'll  wait, 

Thou  man  o'  worth  ! 
A.n'  weep  the  ae  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 


THE  EPITAPH. 

STOP,  passenger!  my  story's  brief, 
And  truth  1  shall  relate,  man  ; 

I  tell  nae  common  tale  o'  grief. 
For  Matthew  was  a  great  man. 

If  thou  uncommon  merit  hast, 

Yet  spurn'd  at  Fortune's  door  man  ; 

A  look  of  pity  hither  cast, 
For  Matthew  was  a  poor  man. 

If  thou  a  nobler  sodger  art, 

That  passeth  by  this  grave,  man  ; 
There  moulders  here  a  gallant  heart, 
•    For  Matthew  was  a  brave  man. 

P 


158  'AlIE  rOETICAL  WORKS  01 

If  thou  on  men,  their  works  and  ways, 
Canst  throw  iincomrr.on  light,  man  ; 

Here  lies  wha  wccl  had  won  thy  praise, 
For  Matthew  was  a  bright  man. 

If  thou  at  Friendship's  sacred  ca' 

Wad  life  itself  resign,  man  ; 
Thy  syr  pathetic  tear  maun  fa', 

For  Matthew  was  a  kind  man. 

If  thou  art  staunch  without  a  stain. 
Like  the  unchanging  blue,  man  ; 

This  was  a  kinsman  o'  thy  ain, 
For  Matthew  was  a  true  man. 

If  thou  hast  wit,  an'  fun  an'  fire. 

And  ne'er  gude  wine  did  fear,  man  ; 

This  was  thy  billie,  dam,  an'  sire, 
For  Matthew  was  a  queer  man. 

If  ony  whiggish  wliingin  sot, 

'1  o  blame  poor  Matthew  dare,  man ; 

M.vy  dool  an'  sorrow  be  his  lot, 
For  Matthew  was  a  rare  man  ; 


LAMENT 

OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

ON   THE   APPROACH   OF    SPRIXG. 

NOW  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  every  blooming  tree, 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  diiisies  white 

Out  o  er  the  grassy  lea: 
Now  Phoebus  chears  the  crystal  streams. 

And  glacis  the  azure  skies; 
But  nought  Cdh  glc.d  the  weary  wight 

That 'fast  in  durance  lies. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  159 


Now  laverocks  wake  the  meny  morn, 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing  ; 
The  merle,  in  his  noontide  bow^r. 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring; 
The  mavis  mild,  wi'  many  a  note, 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest : 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice, 

Wi*  care  nor  thrall  opprest. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  down  the  brae  ; 
The  hawthorn's  budding  in  the  glen, 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae : 
The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  their  sweets  amang  ; 
But  I,  the  queen  of  a'  Scotland, 

Maun  lie  in  prison  Strang. 

I  was  the  queen  o*  bonie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been  : 
Fu'  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en: 
And  I'm  the  sov'reign  of  Scotland, 

And  mony  a  traitor  there ; 
Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands. 

And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman, 

My  sister  and  my  fae. 
Grim  vengeance  yet  shall  wet  a  sword 

That  thro'  thy  soul  shall  gae  : 
The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee  ; 
Nor  th'  balm  that  draps  on  wounds  of  wop 

Frae  woman's  pitying  c'c. 

My  son  I  my  son  !  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine  ; 
And  may  those  pleasures  gild  thy  reigi"- 

That  ne'er  v/ad  blink  on  mine  ! 


IQO  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother*s  faes, 

Or  tnin  th  ir  hearts  to  tliee  : 
And  where  ihou  meet'si  thy  mother's  friend. 

Kemember  him  for  me  ! 

O  !  soon,  to  me,  may  summer-suns 
■    Nae  mair  light  up  the  morn  ! 
>^'ac  man-,  to  me,  the  iiuuimn  winds 

Wave  o*er  the  yellow  corn  ! 
And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave  ; 
And  the  next  flow'rs  that  deck  the  spring, 

Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave. 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  OF  FINTRY,  Es^• 

LATE  crippl'd  of  an  ariln,  and  now  a  leg, 
About  to  beg  a  fm^s  for  leave  to  beg  ; 
Dull,  listless,  leas'd,  dejected  and  deprest, 
(Nature  is  adverse  to  a  cripple's  rest)  ; 
"VVill  generous  Graham  list  to  his  Poet's  wail  ? 
(It  soothes  poor  Misery,  heark'ning  to  her  tale), 
And  hear  him  curse  the  light  he  first  survey'd, 
And  doubly  curse  the  luckless  rhyming  trade. 

Thou,  Nature,  partial  Nature,  I  arraign ; 
Of  thy  caprice  maternal  I  complain  : 
The  lion  and  the  bull  thy  care  have  found, 
One  shakes  the  forests,  and  one  spurns  the  ground : 
Thou  giv'st  the  ass  his  hide,  the  snail  his  shell, 
The  envenom'd  wasp,  victorious  guards  his  ceil. — 
Thy  minions,  kings  defend,  controul  devour, 
In  all  th'  omnipotence  of  rule  and  power. — 
Foxes  and  statesmen,  subtile  wiles  ensure  ; 
The  cit  and  polecat  stink,  and  are  secure. 
Toads  with  their  poison,  doctors  with  their  drug, 
The  priest  and  hedgehog  in  their- robes,  are  snug. 
Ev'n  silly  woman  has  her  warlike  arts, 
Her  tongue  and  eyes,  her  dreaded  spear  and  ditrt^. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  151 

But  Oh  !  thou  bitter  step-mother  and  hard, ' 
To  ihy  poor,  fenceless,  n  tked  ehild— the  Bard  ! 
A  thin^  uiiteachable  in  world's  skill, 
An  half  an  idiot  too,  more  helpless  still  : 
No  heels  to  bear  hi  i  from  the  op*ning  dun  ; 
No  claws  to  dii^,  his  hated  sight  to  shun  ; 
No  horns,  but  those  by  luckless  Hymen  worHj 
And  those,  alas  !  not  Amalthaea's  horn  : 
No  nerves  olfact'ry.  Mammon's  trusty  cur, 
Clad  in  rich  Dulness'  comfortable  fur. 
In  naked  feeling,  and  in  aching  pride, 
He  bears  th'  unbroken  blast  from  ev*ry  side  : 
Vampyre  booksellers  drain  him  to  the  heart, 
And  scorpion  Critics  cureless  venom  dart.; 

Critics — appall'd,  I  venture  on  the  name, 
Those  cut-throat  bandits  in  the  paths  of  fame; 
Bloody  dissectors,  worse  than  ten  Monroes  ; 
He  hacks  to  teach,  theymangle.to  expose. 

His  heart  by  causeless  wanton  malice  wrung, 
By  blockheads  daring  into  madness  stung ; 
His  well-won  bays,  than  life  itself  more  dear. 
By  miscreants  torn,  who  ne'er  one  sprig  must  Wear  i 
Foil'd,  bleeding,  tortur'd,  in  th'  unequal  strife, 
The  hapless  Poet  flounders  on  thro'  life. 
Till  fled  each  hope  that  once  his  bosom  fir'd, 
And  fled  each  Muse  that  glorious  once  inspired, 
Low-sunk  in  squalid,  unprotected  age,  1 

Dead,  even  resentment,  for  his  injured  page,  > 

fie  heeds  or  feels  no  more  the  ruthless  Critic's  rage  !  J 

So,  by  some  hedge,  the  gen'rous  steed  deceas'd, 
For  half-starv'd  snarling  curs  a  dainty  feast ; 
By  toil  and  famine  worn  to  skin  and  bone, 
Lies,  senseless  of  each  tugging  bitch's  son. 

O  Dulness  I  portion  of  the  truly  blest ! 
Cal  n-shelter'd  haven  of  eternal  rest! 
Thy  sons  ne'er  madden  in  the  fierce  extrem^es 
Of  Fortune's  polar  frost,  or  torrid  beams. 
P2 


162  THE  POETICAL  W0RKS  OF 

If  mantlins^  high  she  fills  the  golden  cup, 
\^  ith  sober  selfish  Ease  they  sip  it  up  : 
Conscious  the  bounteous  meed  they  well  deservCy 
They  only  wonder  "  some  folks"  do  not  starve. 
The  i^rave  sage  hern  thus  easy  picks  his  frog, 
And  thinks  the  mallard  a  sad  worthless  do£;. 
When  Disappointment  snaps  the  clue  of  Hope, 
And  thro'  disastrous  night  they  darkling  grope, 
"W  ith  deaf  Endurance  sluggishly  tliey  bear, 
And  just  conclude,  that  "  fools  are  Fortune's  care.*^ 
So,  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's  sliocks, 
Strong  on  the  sign-post  stands  the  stupid  ox. 

Not  so  the  idle  Muses'  mad-cap  train. 
Not  such  the  workings  of  their  moon-struck  brain  ; 
In  equanimity  they  never  dwell. 
But  turns  in  soaring  heav'n,  or  vaulted  hell. 


I  dread  thee,  Fate,  relentless  and  severe, 
"With  all  a  poet's,  husband's,  father's  fear  ! 
Already  one  strong  hold  of  hope  is  lost, 
Glcncairn^  the  truly  noble,  lies  in  dust  ; 
(Fled,  like  the  sun  eclips'd  as  noon  appears. 
And  left  us  darkling  in  a  world  of  tears:) 
O  !  hear  my  ardent,  grateful,  selfish  pray'r  ! 
Fintry,  my  other  stay,  long  bless  and  spare  ! 
Thro'  a  long  life  his  hopes  and  wishes  crown  ; 
And  bright  in  cloudless  skies  his  sun  go  down  ! 
May  bliss  domestic  smooth  his  private  path ; 
Give  energy  to  life ;  and  soothe  his  latest  breath, 
With  many  a  filial  tear  circling  the  bed  af  death  I 


■  ] 


ROBERT  13UR^%7  I63 


LAMENT 

FOR  JAMES  EARL  OF  GLENCAIRIST. 

THE  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills 

By  fits  the  sun's  departing  beam 
Look'd  on  the  fading  yellow  woods 

That  wav'd  o'er  Lugar's  winding  stream  : 
Beneath  a  craigy  steep,  a  Bard, 

Laden  with  years  and  meikle  pain, 
In  loud  lament  bewail'd  his  lord. 

Whom  death  had  all  untimely  taen. 

He  lean'd  him  to  an  ancient  aik. 

Whose  trunk  was  mould'ring  down  with  yeafs  ; 
His  locks  were  bleached  white  with  time, 

His  hoary  cheek  was  wet  wi'  tears  ; 
And  as  he  touch'd  his  trembling  harp. 

And  as  he  tun'd  his  doleful  sang. 
The  winds,  lamenting  thro'  their  caves, 

To  echo  bore  the  notes  alang. 

"  Ye  scatter'd  birds  that  faintly  sing, 

"  The  relics  of  the  vernal  quire  ! 
"  Ye  woods,  that  shed  on  a*  the  winds 

"  The  honours  of  the  aged  year  I 
"  A  few  short  months,  and  glad  and  gay, 

"  Again  ye'll  charm  the  ear  and  e'e  ; 
"  But  nocht  in  all  revolving  time, 

"  Can  gladness  bring  again  to  me. 

"  I  am  a  bending  aged  tree, 

"  That  long  has  stood  the  wind  and  rain ; 
"  But  now  has  come  a  cruel  blast, 

"  And  my  last  hold  of  earth  is  gane  ; 
"  Nae  leaf  o'  mine  shall  greet  the  springs 

"  Nae.  simmer  sun  exalt  my  bloom  ; 
"  But  I  maun  lie  before  the  storm, 

<  'And  ithers  plant  them  in  my  rpom» 


1(34  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

"  I've  seen  sae  mony  chmigefu'  years, 

"  On  earth  I  am  a  stranger  grown  ; 
"  I  wander  in  the  ways  of  men, 

"  Alike  unknowing  an^  unknown  : 
"  Unheard,  unpitied,  unifeliev'd, 

"  I  bear  alane  my  lade  o'  care, 
"  For  silent,  low,  on  beds  of  dust, 

"  Lie  a'  that  would  my  sorrows  share. 

"  And  last,  (the  sum  of  a'  my  griefs  !) 

"  My  noble  master  lies  in  clay  ; 
"  The  flower  amang  our  barons  bold, 

"  His  country's  pride,  his  country's  stay: 
"  In  weary  being  now  I  pine, 

"  For  a*  the  life  of  life  is  dead, 
«  And  hope  has  left  my  aged  ken, 

"  On  forward  wing  for  ever  fled. 

"  Awake  thy  last  sad  voice,  my  harp  ! 

"  The  voice  of  woe  and  wild  despair  ! 
"  Awake,  resound  thy  latest  lay, 

"  Then  sleep  in  silence  evermair  1 
"  And  thou,  my  last,  best,  only  friend, 

«  That  fillest  an  untimely  tomb, 
"  Accept  this  tribute  from  the  Bard 

"  Thou  brought  from  Fortune's  mirkest  gloorp. 

"  In  Poverty's  low  barren  vale, 

"  Thick  mists,  obscure,  involved  me  round  j 
"  Though  oft  I  turn'd  the  wistful  eye, 

"  Nae  ray  of  fame  was  to  be  found  : 
"  Thou  found'st  me,  like  the  morning  sun 

"  That  melts  the  fogs  in  limpid  air, 
«  The  friendless  Bard  and  rustic  song, 

"  Became  alike  thy  fostering  care. 

"  O  I  why  has  worth  so  short  a  date  ? 

"  While  villains  ripen  grey  with  time  ! 
*<  Must  thou,  the  noble,  gen'rous,  great, 

«  Fall  in  bold  manhood's  hardy  prime  I 


ROBERT  BURNS.  tes^ 

»'  Why  did  1  live  to  see  tliat  day 

"  A  dciy  to  me  so  full  of  woe  ? 
"  O  I  had  I  met  ihe  mortal  shaft 

*'  Which  laid  my  benefttctor  low ! 

"  The  bride f^room  may  forget  the  bride 

"  Was  uiacle  his  wedded  wife  yestreen  j 
"  The  monarch  may  for.u;et  the  crown 

"  That  on  his  head  an  hour  has  been  ; 
"  The  mother  may  forget  the  child 

"  That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee; 
«  But  I'll  remember  thee,  Glencairn, 

"  An'  it'  that  thou  hast  done  for  me  i" 


LINES,  SENT  TO  SIR  JOHN  WHITEFORD  OF  WHITE- 
FORD,  BART.  WITH  THE  FOREGOING  POEM. 

THOU,  who  thy  honour  as  thy  God  rever'st, 

Who,  save  thy  wmrf*.9  reJiroacJ^  nought  earthly  fear'st, 

To  thee  this  votive  off'ring  I  impart, 

The  tearful  tribute  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  Friend  thou  valued'st,  I,  the  Patron^  lov'dj 

His  worth,  his  honour,  all  the  world  approv'd  ; 

We'll  mourn  till  we  too  go  as  he  has  gone, 

And  tread  the  dreary  path  to  that  dark  world  unknown* 


ADDRESS 

TO  THE  SHADE  OF  THOMSON, 

On  crovjning  his  Bust,  at  Rdnam^  Roxburghnhire^ 
ivith  Bays. 

WHILE  virgin  Spring,  by  Eden's  flood> 

Unfolds  her  tender  mantle  green, 
Or  pranks  the  sod  in  frolic  mood, 

Or  tunes  Eoliun  strains  between  : 


166  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

While  Summer  with  a  matron  grace 
Retreats  to  Dryburgh's  cooling  shade, 

Yet  oft,  delighted,  stops  to  trace 
The  progress  of  the  spiky  blade : 

While  Autumn,  benefactor  kind, 

By  Tweed  erects  his  aged  head, 
And  sees,  with  self-approving  mind, 

Each  creature  on  his  bounty  fed; 

While  maniac  Winter  rages  o'er 

The  hiils  whence  classic  Yarrow  flows, 

Rousing  the  turbid  torrent's  roar. 

Or  sweeping,  wild,  a  waste  of  snows. 

So  long,  sweet  Poet  of  the  year. 

Shall  bloom  that  wreath  thou  well  hast  won ; 
While  Scotia,  with  exulting  tear. 

Proclaims  that  Thomson  was  her  son. 


ON  SEEING  A  WOUNDED  HARE 

LIMP  BY  ME,  WHICH  A  FELLOW  HAD  JUST  SHOT  AT< 

INHUMAN  man  1  curse  on  thy  barb^'ous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder  aiming  eye  ; 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh. 

Nor  ever  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart  I 

Go  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  : 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 

To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest, 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head. 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest 


ROBERT  BURNS.  167 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith,  1,  musing,  wait 

The  sober  eve,  or  hail  tlie  cheerful  dawn, 
I  II  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless  fate. 


EPITAPH 

ON  J— IS  B Y,  Writer,  D- 


IIERE  lies  J — n  B y,  honest  man  ! 

Cheat  him,  Devil,  if  you  can. 


THE  WHISTLE. 

A  BALLAD. 

As  the  autlientic  prose  historij  of  the  WHISTLE  is  curious,  I 
shall  here  g-ive  it. — lii  lUe  train  of  Anne  i)f  Denmark,  when  she 
ca,me  to  Scotland  with  our  Jureies  the  Sixth,  there  came  ovier  al- 
so a  Danish  gentleman  of  gigantic  stature  and  great  prowess,  and 
a  ma  chless  champion  of  B.icchus.  He  had  a  little  ebony  Whistle, 
which,  at  the  coijiimencement  of  the  org-ies,  he  laid  on  the  table  ; 
and  wlioever  was  last  able  to  blow  it,  every  body  else  being-  disa- 
bled by  the  potency  of  the  bottle,  was  to  carry  off  tiie  Whistle  as 
a  trophy  of  victory. — The  Dane  produced  credentials  of  his  victo- 
ries, without  a  single  defeat,  at  the  Courts  of  Copenhagen,  Stock- 
holm, Moscow,  Warsaw,  and  several  of  the  petty  courts  m  Ger- 
many :  and  challenged  the  Scots  Bacchanalians  to  the  alternative 
of  crying  his  prowess,  or  else  of  acknowledging  their  inferiority. 
—After  many  overthrows  on  the  part  of  the  Scots,  the  Dane  was 
en  ountered  by  Sir  Robert  Lowrie  of  Maxwelton,  ancestor  to  the 
present  worthy  baronet  of  that  name  ;  who,  after  three  days  und 
tiiree  nights  hard  contest,  left  the  Scandinavian  under  the  table, 
"  And  blew  on  the  Whistle  his  requiem  shrill." 

Sir  Walter,  son  to  su*  Robert  before  mentioned,  afterwards  lost 
tlie  WUistle  to  Walter  Riddel  of  Glennddel,  who  had  married  a 
sister  of  sir  Waler's. — On  Friday,  the  16tli  October,  1790,  at  Fri- 
ars-Carse,  the  Whistle  was  once  more  contended  for  as  related  in 
tlie  Ballad,  by  the  present  sir  Robert  Lowrie  of  Maxwelton  ; 
R  )bert  Riddel,  esq.  of  Glenriddei,  lineal  descendant  and  repre- 
sen  ative  of  Walter  Riddel,  who  won  the  Whistle,  and  in  wiiose 
family  it  had  continued:  and  Alexander  Ferguson,  esq.  of  Craig- 
darro  h,  likewise  descended  of  the  great  sir  Robert ;  which  last 
Qjirried  off'  tUe  hard  won  hoivours  of  the  field. 


158  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

I  SING  of  a  Whistle,  a  Whistle  of  worth, 
I  sing  of  a  Whistle,  the  pride  ot  the  North  , 
Was  brought  to  the  court  of  our  good  Scottish  king, 
And  long  with  this  Whistle  all  Scotland  shall  ring. 

Old  Loda*,  still  rueing  the  arm  of  Fingal, 
The  god  of  the  bottle  sends  down  from  his  hall — 
"  This  Wliistle's  your  challenge,  to  Scotland  get  o'er, 
"  And  drink  them  to  hell,  Sir,  or  ne'er  see  me  more  I" 

Old  Poets  have  sung,  and  old  chronicles  tell, 
What  chai!  pions  ventured,  what  champions  fell; 
The  son  of  great  Loda  was  conqueror  still, 
And  blew  on  the  Whistle  his  requiem  shrill. 

Till  nobert,  the  lord  of  the  Cairn  an'  the  Scaur, 
Unmatch'd  at  the  bottle,  unconquer'd  in  war, 
He  drank  his  poor  godship  as  deep  as  the  sea. 
No  tide  of  the  Baltic  e'er  drunker  than  he. 

Thus  Robert,  victorious,  the  trophy  has  gain'd, 
Which  now  in  his  house  has  for  uges  remain'd  ; 
Till  three  noble  chieftains,  and  all  of  his  bloovl, 
The  jovial  contest  again  have  renew'd 

Three  joyous  good  fellows,  with  hearts  clear  of  flaw 
Craigdarroch,  so  famous  for  wit,  worth,  and  law  ; 
And  trusty  Glen  riddel,  so  skill'd  in  old  coins  ; 
And  gallant  Sir  Robert,  deep-read  in  old  wines. 

Craigdarroch  began,  with  a  tongue  smooth  as  oil, 
Desiring  Glenriddel  to  yield  up  the  spoil; 
Or  else  he  would  muster  the  heads  of  the  clan, 
And  once  more,  in  claret,  try  which  was  the  man. 

"  By  the  gods  of  the  ancients  !''  Glenriddel  replies, 
"  Before  I  surrender  so  glorious  a  prize, 
"  ril  conjure  the  ghost  of  great  Rorie  Moref, 
"  And  bumper  his  horn  with  him  twenty  times  o'er.'* 

*  See  Ossian's  Carac-thura. 

t  See  Johnson's  tour  to  the  Hebrides. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  I59 

Sir  Robert,  a  soldier,  no  speech  wotild  pretend, 
But  he  ne'er  turned  his  back  on  his  foe — or  his  friend^ 
Said,  toss  down  the  Whistle,  the  prize  of  the  field, 
And,  knee  deep  in  claret,  he'd  die  or  he'd  yield. 

To  the  board  of  Glenriddel  our  heroes  repair, 
So  noted  for  drowning  of  sorrow  and  care; 
But  for  wine  and  for  welcome  not  more  known  to  fame; 
Than  the  sense,  wit  and  taste  of  a  sweet  lovely  dame* 

A  Bard  was  selected  to  witness  the  fray. 
And  tell  futdre  ages  the  feats  of  the  day  ; 
A  Bard  who  detested  all  sadness  and  spleen, 
And  wish'd  that  Parnassus  a  vineyard  had  been- 

The  dinner  being  over,  the  claret  they  ply. 
And  ev'ry  new  cork  is  a  new  spring  of  joy  : 
In  the  bands  of  old  friendship  and  kindred  to  set. 
And  the  bands  grew  the  tighter  the  more  they  were  wet.- 

Gay  pleasure  ran  riot  ai  bumpers  ran  o'er ; 
Bright  Phoebus  ne*er  witness'd  so  joyous  a  core, 
And  vowM  that  to  leave  them  he  was  quite  forlorn. 
Till  Cynthia  hinted  he'd  see  them  next  morn. 

Six  bottles  a-piece  had  well  wore  out  the  night, 
When  gallant  Sir  Robert,  to  finish  the  fight, 
Turn'd  o'er  in  one  bumper  a  bottle  of  red. 
And  swore  'twas  the  way  that  their  ancestor  did. 

Then  worthy  Glenriddel,  so  cautious  and  sage.* 
No  longer  the  warfare,  ungodly  would  wage ; 
A  high  ruling  elder  to  wallow  in  wine  ! 
He  left  the  foul  business  to  folks  less  divine. 

The  gallant  Sir  Robert  fought  hard  to  ilie  end ; 
But  v/ho  can  with  Fate  and  Quart  Bumpers  contend? 
Though  Fate  said, — a  hero  should  perish  in  light ; 
So  uprose  bright  Phoebus — and  down  fell  the  knight.^ 

Q 


1^0  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Kcxt  uprose  our  Bard,  like  a  prophet  in  drink  :-^ 
"  Craigdarroch,  thoul't  soar  when  creation  shall  sink ! 
"  But  if  thou  would  flourish  immortal  in  rhyme, 
*"  Come — one  bottle  more — and  have  at  the  sublime  I 

"  Thy   line   that    have   struggled    for  freedom  Tvith 
Bruce", 
"  Shall  heroes  and  patriots  ever  produce : 
*'  So  thine  be  the  laurel,  and  mine  be  the  bay; 
"  The  field  thou  hast  won,  by  yon  bright  god  of  day  !  ' 


THE   HUMBLE  PETITION- 

OF  BRUAR  WATERS 
TO  THE  NOBLE  DUKE  OF  ATIIOLE, 

MY  Lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain  : 
Embolden'd  thus,  I  beg  you'll  hear 

Your  humble  slave  complain, 
How  saucy  Phcebus'  scorching  beams, 

In  framing  summer-pride. 
Dry-withering,  waste  my  foamy  3trea!ms, 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide. 

The  lightly-jumping,  glowrin  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  waters  play, 
I.f,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts, 

They  near  the  margin  stray  : 
If,  hapless  chance  !  they  linger  lang, 

I'm  scorching  up  so  shallow. 
They're  left,  the  whitening  stanes  amang, 

In  gasping  death  to  wallow. 

*  Bruar  Falls,  in  Athole,  are  exceedingly  picturesque  and 
beautiful ;  but  thei*-  effect  is  much  impaired  by  the  want  of  trees 
aijd  shrubs. 


ROBERT  BURNS,  171 


Last  day  I  grat  wi'  spite  an'  teen, 

As  poet  Burns  came  by, 
That,  to  a  bard,  I  should  be  seen 

Wi'  half  my  channel  dry  : 
A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween, 

Even  as  I  was  he  shorM  me, 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been. 

He,  kneeling,  wad  ador'd  me. 

Here,  foaming  do\vn  the  shelvy  rocks, 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin  : 
There,  high  my  boiling  torrent  smokes, 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  lin : 
Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  wdl 

As  Nature  gave  them  me, 
I  am,  altho'  I  say't  mysel. 

Worth  gaun  a  mile  to  see. 

Would  then  my  noble  master  please^ 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes, 
He'll  shade  my  banks  wi'  tow'ring  tfees, 

And  bonie  spreading  bushes. 
Delighted  doubly  then,  my  Lord, 

You'll  wander  on  my  banks, 
And  listen  mony  a  grateful  bird 

Return  your  tuneful  thanks. 

The  sober  laverock,  warbling  wild, 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire  ; 
The  gowdspink.  Music's  gayest  child, 

Shall  sweetly  join  the  choir : 
The  blackbird  strong,  the  lintwhite  clear, 

The  mavis  mild  and  mellow  ; 
The  robin  pensive  Autumn  cheer, 

Li  all  her  locks  of  yellow. 

This  too,  a  covert  shall  ensure. 
To  shield  them  from  the  storms  ; 

And  coward  maukins  sleep  secure, 
Low  in  their  grassy  forms  : 


If 2  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  shepherd  here  shall  make  his  seat, 
To  weave  his  crown  of  flow'rs  ; 

Or  find  a  sheltering  safe  retreat, 
From  prone  descending  show'rs. 

And  here,  by  sweet  endearing  stealth, 

Shall  meet  th«  loving  pair, 
Despising  worlds  with  all  their  wealth 

As  empty  idle  care  : 
The  flow'rs  shall  vie  in  all  their  charms 

The  hour  of  heav'n  to  grace, 
And  birks  extend  their  fragrant  arais 

To  screen  the  dear  embrace. 

Jlere  haply  too,  at  vernal  dawn, 

Some  musing  bard  may  stray, 
And  eye  the  smoking,  dewy  law:;, 

And  misty  mountain,  grey  ; 
Or,  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam, 

Mild-chequering  thro'  the  trees, 
Rave  to  my  darkly-dashing  stream^ 

Hoarse-swelling  on  the  breeze. 

Let  lofty  firs,  and  ashes  cool, 

My  lowly  banks  o'erspread. 
And  view,  deep-bending  in  the  pool,^ 

Their  shadows*  wat'ry  bed  : 
Let  fragrant  birks  in  woodbines  drest 

My  craggy  cliffs  adorn  ; 
And,  for  the  little  songster's  nest, 

The  close  embow'ring  thorn. 

So  may,  old  Scotia's  darling  hope, 

Your  little  angel  band 
Spring,  like  their  fathers,  up  to  prop 

Their  honour'd  native  land  ! 
So  may  thro*  Albion*s  farthest  ken, 

To  social  flowing  glasses, 
The  grace  be^ — — "  Athole's  honest  men, 

*'  And  Athole's  bonie  lasses  i" 


ROBERT  BURNS.  173 


ON  SCARING  SOME  WATER-FOWL,  IN  LOCH-TURIT,  A 
WILD  SCENE  AMONG  THE  HILLS  OF  OUGHTERTYRE, 

•     WHY,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake, 
For  me  your  wat'ry  haunt  forsake? 
Tell  me,  fellow-creatures,  why 
At  my  presence  thus  you  fly  ? 
Why  disturb  your  social  joys, 
Parent,  filial,  kindred  ties  ? — 
Common  friend  to  you  and  me, 
Nature's  gifts  to  all  are  free  : 
Peaceful  keep  your  dimpling  wavcy 
Busy  feed,  or  wanton  lave ; 
Or,  beneath  the  sheltering  rock, 
Bide  the  surging*  billow's  shock. 

Conscious,  blushing  for  our  race, 
Soon,  too  soon,  your  fears  I  trace, 
Man,  your  proud  usurping  foe, 
Would  be  Lord  of  all  below: 
Plumes  himself  in  freedom's  pridCs 
Tyrant  stern  to  all  beside. 

The  eagle,  from  the  cliffy  brow, 
Marking  you  his  prey  below, 
In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells. 
Strong  necessity  compels. 
But  man,  to  whom  nlone  is  giv'n 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  Heav'n, 
Glories  in  his  heart  humane — — 
And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slain^ 

In  these  savage  liquid  plains. 
Only  known  to  wandering*  swains. 
Where  the  mossy  riv'let  strays, 
Fiir  from  human  haunts  and  ways  ; 
All  on  Nature  you  depend, 
And  life's  poor  season  peaceful  spend 

Or,  if  man's  superior  might 

Bare  invade  your  native  right, 

Q2 


1 74  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  CF 

On  the  lofty  ether  borne, 
Man  with  all  his  pow'rs  you  scorn ; 
Swiftly  seek,  on  clanging  wings. 
Other  lakes  and  other  springs  ; 
And  the  foe  you  cannot  brave, 
Scorn  at  least  to  be  his  slave. 


WRITTEN  WITH  A  PENCIL,  STANDING  BVTHE  FALL  OF 
FYERS,  NEAR  LOCH-NESS. 

AMONG  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods 

The  roaring  Fyers  pours  his  mossy  flxjods; 

Till  full  he  dashes  on  the  rocky  mounds, 

"WHiere,  thro'  a  shapeless  breach,  his  stream  resounds. 

As  high  in  air  the  bursting  torrents  flow, 

As  deep  recoiling  surges  foam  below. 

Prone  down  the  rock  the  whitening  sheet  descends. 

And  viewless  Echo's  ear,  astonish'd,  rends. 

Dim-seen,  through  rising  mists  and  ceaseless  show'^s-, 

The  hoary  cavern,  wide-surrounding,  lovv'rs. 

Still  thro'  the  gap  the  struggling  river  toils, 

And  still,  below,  the  horrid  caldron  boils — — 


©N  THE  BIRTH  OF  A  POSTHUMOUS  CHILD,  BORN  IN  PE- 
CULIAR CHICUMSTANCES  OF  FAMILY-DISTRBSS, 

SWEET  flow'ret'  pledge  o*  meikle  love. 

And  ward  o'  mony  a  prayer, 
What  heart  o'  stane  wad  thou  na  fi^ove, 

Sae  helpless,  sweet  and  fair. 

November  hirples  o'er  the  lea, 

Chill,  on  thy  lovely  form  ; 
And  gi^ne,  alas  1  the  shelt'ring  tre£,' 

Should  shield  thee,  from  the  stornv. 


ROBERT  BtlRNS  ir^ 


May  He  who  gives  the  rain  to  pour, 
And  wings  the  blast  to  blaw, 

Protect  thee  frae  the  driving  show'r, 
The  bitter  frost  and  snaw. 

May  He,  the  friend  of  woe  and  want, 
Who  heals  life's  various  stounds, 

Protect  and  guard  the  mother  plant, 
And  heal  her  cruel  wounds. 

But  late  she  flourish'd,  rooted  fast, 
Fair  on  the  summer  morn  : 

Now,  feebjy  bends  she,  in  the  blast, 
Unshelter'd  and  forlorn. 

Blest  be  thy  bloom,  thou  lovely  gera> 
Unscath'd  by  ruffian  hand  ! 

And  from  thee  many  a  parent  stem 
Arise  to  deck  our  land. 


TAM  SAMSON'S*  ELEGY. 

An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God — 


HAS  auld  Kilmarnock  seen  the  Deil  ? 

Or  great  M' y  f  thrawn  his  heel ! 

Or  R n,  \  again  grown  weel. 

To  preach  an*  read  ? 
*  Na,  waur  than  a  !*  cries  ilka  chiel, 

^' Tarn  Sa7nson''s  dG<kd  I* 

*  When  this  worthy  old  Sportsman  went  out  last  muh'-fowl 
season,  he  supposed  it  was  to  be,  in  Ossian's  phrase,  '  the  last  of 
his  fields  ;'  and  expressed  an  ardent  wish  to  die  and  be  buried 
in  the  muirs.  On  this  hint  the  Author  composed  his  Elegy  and 
Epitaph. 

J  A  certain  Preacher,  a  great  favourite  with  the  MilUon.  Fide 
the  ORDINATION. 

i  Another  Preacher,  an  equal  favourite  with  the  Few,  who  was 
at  that  time  ailing.  For  him  see  also  the  ORDINATION,  stai^za  IX. 


176  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

Kilmarnock  lang  may  grunt  an*  grane, 
An*  sigh  an'  sob,  an'  greet  her  lane, 
An'  deed  her  bairns,  man,  wife,  an'  wean. 

In  mourning  weed  ; 
To  Death  she's  dearly  paid  the  kane, 

Tarn  Samson's  dead ! 

The  Brethren  o'  the  mystic  level 
May  hing  their  head  in  wofu'  bevel, 
While  by  their  nose  the  tears  will  reveJ, 

Like  ony  bead ; 
Death's  gien  the  Lodge  an  unco  devel, 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  I 

When  Winter  muffles  up  His  cloak, 
And  binds  the  mire  like  a  rock  ; 
When  to  the  loughs  the  Curlers  flock, 

Wi'  gleesome  speed, 
Wha  will  they  station  at  the  cock^ 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  ? 

He  was  the  king  of  a'  the  Core, 
To  guard,  or  draw,  or  wick  a  bore, 
Or  up  the  rink  like  Jehu  roar, 

In  time  o'  need  ; 
But  no-w  he  lags  on  Death's  hog-score, 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  ! 

Now  safe  the  stately  Sawmont  sail, 
And  Trouts  bedropp'd  wi'  crimson  hail, 
And  Eels  weei  kend  for  souple  tail. 

And  Geds  for  greed. 
Since  dark  in  DeUh^sJifih-creel  we  wail 

Tam  Samson's  dead  ! 

Rejoice,  ye  birring  Paitricks  a' ; 
Ye  cootie  Moorcocks,  crousely  craw ; 
Ye  Maukins,  cock  your  fud  fu'  braw, 

Withouten  dread  ; 
Your  mortal  Fae  is  now  awa', 

Tam  Samson's  dead  I 


IIOBERT  BURNS.  ljr;r 

That  >v>oefu*  morn  be  ever  mourn'd 
Saw  him  in  shootin  graith  adorn'd, 
While  pointers  round  impatient  burn'd, 

Frae  couples  freed ; 
13 ut,  Och  !  he  gaed  and  ne'er  return'cl ! 

Tarn  Samson's  dead ! 

In  vain  Auld-age  his  body  batters  j 
In  vain  the  Gout  his  ancles  fetters  ; 
In  vain  the  burns  cam  down  like  waters? 

An  acre-braid  ! 
Now  ev'ry  auld  wife,  greetin  clatters, 

*  Tam  Samson*s  dead'!' 

Owre  mony  a  weary  hag  he  limpit, 
An'  ay  the  tither  shot  he  thumpit, 
Till  coward  Death  behint  him  jumpit^ 

Wi'  deadly  feide  ; 
Now  he  proclaims,  wi'  tout  o'  Trumpet, 

Tam  Samson's  dead  I 

When  at  his  heart  he  felt  the  dagger, 
He  reel'd  his  wonted  bottle-swagger, 
But  yet  he  drew  the  mortal  trigi^cr 

Wi'  weel-aim'd  heed ! 
*  L — d,  five  !'  he  cry'd,  an  owre  did  stagger; 

Tam  Samson's  dead  I 

Ilk  hoary  Hunter  mourn'd  a  brither  ; 
Ilk  Sportsman-youth  bemoan'd  a  father ; 
Yon  auld  gray  stane,  amang  the  heather, 

Marks  out  his  head, 
Whare  Burns  has  wrate  in  Rhyming  blether, 

Tam  Samsoii's  dead  ! 

When  August  winds  the  heather  wave, 
And  Sportsmen  wander  by  yon  grave. 
Three  vollies  let  his  mem'ry  crave 

O'  pouther  an'  lead. 
Till  Echo  answer  frae  her  cave, 

Tam  Samson's  dead  I 


IT'S  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Heav'ft  rest  his  saul,  \vhare*er  he  be  ! 
Is  th'  wish  of  mony  mae  than  me  : 
He  had  twa  fauts,  or  maybe  three, 

Yet  what  remead  ? 
Ae  social,  honest  man  want  we  : 

Tarn  Samson's  dead- 

THE  EPITAPH. 

T'am  Samson's  weel  worn  clay  here  lies-, 
Ye  canting  Zealots,  spare  him  ! 

If  honest  Worth  in  Heaven  rise, 
Ye'll  mend  or  ye  win  near  him, 

PER  CONTRA. 

Go,  Fame,  an^  canter  like  a  filly 
Thro'  a*  the  streets  an'  neuks  o'  JGllie  *, 
Tell  ev'ry  social,  honest  billie 

To  cease  his  grievin, 
>For  yet,  unskaith'd  by  Death's  gleg  gulUe, 
Tarn  Samson's  livinl 


A  FRAGMENT. 

Time,  Gillicrankie. 

WHEN  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood, 

An'  did  our  hellim  thraw,  man, 
Ae  night,  at  tea,  began  a  plea, 

Whithin  Atyierica^  man : 
Then  up  they  gat  the  maskin-pat, 

And  in  the  sea  did  jaw,  man ; 
An*  did  nae  less,  in  full  Congress, 

Than  quite  refuse  our  law,  man. 

*  KilUe  is  a  phrase  the  country-folks  sometimes  use  for  Kil- 
marnock. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  179 


Then  thro'  the  lakes  Montgomery  take^, 

I  wat  he  was  na  slaw,  man  ? 
Down  Lonurie's  burn  he  took  a  turn, 

And  Carleton  did  ca',  man : 
But  yet,  whatreck,  he,  at  Quebec^ 

Montgomery-like  did  fa',  man, 
Wi'  sword  in  hand,  before  his  band, 

Amang  his  en'mies  a',  man. 

Poor  Tammy  Gage  within  a  cage 

Was  kept  at  Boston-ha\  man  ; 
Till  M'illie  Howe  took  o'er  the  knowe 

For  Philadellihia^  man  : 
\Vi*  sword  an*  gun  he  thought  ^  sin 

Guid  Christian  bluid  to  draw,  man  ; 
But  at  J^Pew-York^  wi'  knife  an'  fork, 

Sir  Loin  he  hacked  sma',  man. 

Burgoyne  gaed  up,  like  spur  an'  whip, 

Till  Fraser  brave  did  fa',  man  ; 
Then  lost  his  way,  ae  misty  day, 

In  Saratoga  shaw,  man. 
Cornivallia  fought  as  lang's  he  dough>. 

An'  did  the  Buckskins  claw,  man ; 
But  Clinton's  glaive  frae  rust  to  save 

He  hung  it  to  the  wa',  man. 

Then  Montague^  an  Guilford  too, 

Began  to  fear  a  fa',  man  ; 
An'  Sackville  doure,  wha  stood  the  stQure, 

The  German  Chief  to  thraw,  man  : 
For  Paddy  Burke.,  like  ony  Turk, 

Nae  mercy  had  at  a',  man ; 
An'  Charlie  Fox  threw  by  the  box. 

An'  lows'd  his  tinkler  jaw,  man. 

Then  Rockingham  took  up  the  game  ; 

Till  Death  did  on  him  ca',  man  : 
When  Shelburne  meek  held  up  his  cheeky 

Conform  to  Gospel  law,  man  :  • 


180  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  QB 

Saint  Stephen's  boys,  wi'  jarring  noise. 
They  did  his  measures  thraw,  man, 

For  JVorth  an'  Fox  united  stocks, 
An*  bore  him  to  the  wa',  man. 

Then  Clubs  an'  Hearts  were  Charlie' %  cartels, 

He  swept  the  stakes  awa',  man, 
Till  the  Diamond's  Ace,  of  Indian  race. 

Led  him  a  iixiv  faux  fias,  man : 
The  Saxon  lads,  wi'  loud  placads, 

On  Chatham'' s  Boy  did  ca',  man  ; 
An'  Scotland  drew  her  pipe  an'  blew, 

<  Up,  Willie,  waur  them  a'  man  1' 

}3ehind  the  throne  then  Grerwille's  gone, 

A  secret  word  or  twa,  man  ; 
While  siee  Dundas  arous'd  the  class 

Be-north  the  Roman  wa',  man  : 
An'  ChathairCs  wraith,  in  hcav'nly  graith, 

(Inspired  Bardies  saw,  man) 
Wi'  kindling  eyes  cry'd,  *  Willie^  rise  ! 

'  Would  I  hae  fear'd  them  a',  man !' 

But,  word  an'  blow,  JVorth^  Fox,  and  Co. 

Gowff'd  Willie  like  a  ba',  man, 
Till  Suthron  raise,  an'  coost  their  claise 

Behind  him  in  a  raw,  man  : 
An'  Calcdon  threw  by  the  drone, 

An'  did  her  whittle  draw,  man; 
An'  swoor  fu'  rude,  thro'  dirt  an'  blood, 

To  mak'  it  guid  in  law,  man. 

*****  5jf  -* 


EPITAPH  FOR  R.  A.  ESQ. 

Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame 
Of  this  much  lov'd,  much  honoured  name ! 
(For  none  that  knew  him  need  be  told) 
A  warmer  heart  Death  ne'er  made  cold. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  181 

On    readings   in   a   J^ejvspapeh,    the  DzAfH  of  J • 

M'L ,  Esq.  Brother  to  a  Yhung  LjDr,  a  particu- 

lar  Friend  of  the  Author's. 

SAD  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page, 

And  rueful  thy  alarms  : 
Death  tears  the  brother  of  her  love 

From  Isabella's  arms. 

Sweetly  deckt  with  pearly  dew 

The  morning  rose  may  blow : 
But  cold  successive  noontide  blasts 

May  lay  its  beauties  low. 

Fair  on  Isabella's  morn 

The  sun  propitious  smil'd ; 
But,  long  ere  noon,  succeeding  clouds 

Succeeding  hopes  beguil'd. 

Fate  oft  tears  the  bosom  chords 

That  Nature  finest  strung  : 
So  Isabella's  heart  was  form'd, 

And  so  that  heart  was  wrung. 

Dread  Omnipotence,  alone. 

Can  heal  the  wound  He  gave; 
Can  point  the  brimful,  grief-worn  eyes 

To  scenes  beyond  the  grave. 

Virtue's  blossom's  there  shall  blow. 

And  fear  no  withering  blast  j 
There  Isabella's  spotless  worth 

Shall  happy  be  at  last. 


LINES. 

Written  Extempore  in  a  Lady's  Pocket-Book, 

GRANT  me,  indulgent  Heav'n,  that  I  may  lis^e 
To  see  the  miscreants  feel  the  pains  they  give ; 
Deal  Freedom's  sacred  treasures  free  as  flur. 
Till  slave  and  despot  be  but  things  which  wert. 

R 


482  1'li'  POLTICAL  WORKS  OF 


IJNES  ATRITTEN  IN  A  HERMITAGE. 

Thou  vhom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
'Grave  these  maxims  on  thy  soul. 

I/ife  is  but  a  day  at  most. 
Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost : 
Hope  not  sunshine  ev'ry  hour ; 
Fear  not  clouds  will  ever  lour. 
Happiness  is  but  a  name, 
IVIake  content  and  ease  thy  aim. 
AtTibition  is  a  meteor-gleam  : 
Fame,  an  idle  restless  dream  : 
Peace,  the  tend'rest  flow*r  of  spring ; 
Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing. 
Those  that  sip  the  dew  alone, 
Make  the  butterflies  thy  own  ; 
Those  that  would  the  bloom  devour, 
Crush  the  locusts,  save  the  flower. 
For  the  future  be  prepar'd, 
Guard  wherever  thou  canst  guard  ; 
But  thy  utmost  duly  done. 
Welcome  what  thou  canst  not  shun. 
Follies  past  give  thou  to  air. 
Make  their  consequence  thy  care  : 
Keep  the  name  of  man  in  mind, 
And  dishonor  not  thy  kind. 
Keverence  with  lowly  heart 
Him  whose  wond'rous  work  thou  art ; 
Keep  his  goodness  still  in  view. 
Thy  trust  and  thy  example  too. 
Stranger  go  I  heaven  be  thy  guide  ! 
Quod  tlie  Bcrtdesman  of  Nith-side. 


ROBERT  BUItXS.  Ig. 


On  a  Young  Ladij^  residing  on  the  banks  of  the  s?ncll  twicer 
JDcyjcn,  in  Clackmannanshire^  but  ivhose  infant  years 
were  spent  in  AijrHhire. 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clciir-winding  Devon, 
With  green-spreading  bushes,  and  flowers  bloonaing 
fair  ; 

But  the  bonniest  flower  on  the  banks  of  the  Devon 
^V'a3  once  a  sweet  bud  on  tlie  braes  of  the  Ayr. 

Mild  be  the  sun  on  this  sweet  blushing  flower, 
In  the  gay  rosy  morn  as  it  bathes  in  the  dew  ! 

And  gentle  the  fall  of  the  soft  vernal  shower, 
That  steals  on  the  evening  each  leaf  lo  rene\r. 

O  spare  the  dear  blossom,  ye  orient  breezes, 
With  chiil  hoary  wing  as  ye  usher  the  dawn  ! 

And  far  be  thou  distant,  thou  reptile  that  seizest. 
The  verdure  and  pride  of  the  garden  and  lawn  1 

Let  Bourbon  exult  in  his  gay  gilded  lilies, 

And  England  triumphant  display  her  proud  rose, 

A  fairer  than  either  adorns  the  green  vallies 
Where  Devon,  sweet  Devon,  meandering  flows. 


GLOOMY  DECEMBER. 

ANCE  mair  I  hail  thee  thou  gloomy  December  \ 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee  wi'  sorrow  and  care  ; 
Sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember. 

Parting  wi*  Nancy,  Oh  !  ne'er  to  meet  mair. 
Fond  lovers  parting  is  sweet  painful  pleasure, 

Hope  beaming  mild  on  the  soft  parting  hour; 
But  the  dire  feeling,  O  farenvell for  ever^ 

Is  anguish  unmingl'd  and  agony  pure. 


184  I'ii^   POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Wild  as  the  -winter  now  tearing  the  forest, 

'Till  the  last  leaf  o'  the  summer  is  flown, 
Such  is  the  tempest  has  shaken  my  bosom, 

Since  my  last  hope  and  last  comfort  is  gone  ; 
Still  as  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December, 

Siill  shall  I  hail  thee  \vi'  sorrow  and  care  ; 
For  sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  .ne  remember, 

Parting  Avi'  >yancy.  Oh,  ne*er  to  mectmair. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  FKIEND. 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest, 
As  e'er  God  with  his  Image  blest, 
I'he  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth ; 
The  friend  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  ; 
Few  hearts  like  his,  with  virtue  warm'd,. 
Few  heads  with  knowledge  so  inform'd : 
If  there's  another  world,  he  lives  in  bliss  i 
If  there  is  none,  he  made  the  best  of  this. 


A  VISIOINT. 

As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 

Where  the  wa' -flower  scents  the  dewy  air. 
Where  th'  howlet  mourns  in  her  ivy  bower, 

And  tells  the  midnight  moon  her  care. 

The  winds  were  laid,  the  air  was  still, 
The  stars  they  shot  alang  the  sky; 

The  fox  was  howling  on  the  hill. 

And  the  distant-echoing  glens  reply. 

The  stream,  adown  its  hazelly  path, 
Was  rushing  by  the  ruin'd  wa's, 

*  Hasting  to  join  the  sweeping  Nith, 
Whase  distant  roaring  swells  and  fa's. 


Vuriation.  To  join  yon  rtver  on  the  StratU- 


ROBERT  BURNS.  18.T 

The  caukl  blue  north  was  streaming  forth, 

Her  lights,  wi*  hissin  eerie  din  ; 
Athort  the  lift  they  start  and  shift, 

Like  fortune's  favors,  tint  as  win. 

*  By  heedless  chance  I  turn'd  mine  eyes, 

And,  by  the  nioon-beam,  shook,  to  sec 
A  stern  and  stalwart  ghaist  arise, 

Attir'd  as  minstrels  wont  to  be. 

Had  I  a  statue  been  o'  stane, 

His  darin  look  had  daunted  me ; 
And  on  his  bonnet  graved  was  plain, 

The  sacred  posy — Libertie  ! 

And  frae  his  harp  sic  strains  did  flow, 

Might  rous'd  the  slumb'ring  dead  to  hear  j 

But  oh,  it  was  a  tale  of  woe. 
As  ever  met  a  Briton's  ear  ! 

He  sang  wi'  joy  his  former  day, 

He  weeping  wail'd  his  latter  times; 
But  what  he  said  it  was  nae  pU»y, 

I  winna  ventur't  in  my  rhymes.f 

*  Variation.  Now  lookhig  over  firth  and  faukl. 

Her  hqrn  the  pale-fac'd  ^Jynthia  rear'd  ; 
When,  lo,  in  form  of  minstrel  auld, 
A  stern  and  stalwart  gliaist  appear'd. 

f  This  poem,  an  imperfect  copy  of  which  was  printed  iu  John- 
son's Museum,  is  here  ijiven  from  the  poet's  MS  with  his  last 
corrections.  The  scenery  so  finely  described  is  taken  from  nature. 
The  poet  is  supposed  to  be  musing  by  night  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  Cleuden,  and  by  the  ruins  of  Lincluden-Abby,  founded  in 
the  twelfth  century,  in  the  reign  of  Malcolm  IV,  of  whose  pre- 
sent situation  the  reader  may  find  some  account  in  Pennant's  tour 
in  Scotland,  or  Grose's  antiquities  of  that  division  of  the  island. 
Such  a  time  and  such  a  place  are  well  fitted  for  holding  converse 
with  aerial  beings.  Though  this  poem  has  a  political  bias,  yet  it 
may  be  presumed  that  no  reader  of  taste,  whatever  his  opinions 
may  be,  would  forgive  its  bemg  omitted.  Our  poet's  prudence 
suppressed  the  song  of  Liberties  perhaps  fortunately  for  his  re- 
putation. It  may  be  questioned  whether  even  in  the  resources  of 
his  genius,  a  strain  of  poeti-y  could  have  been  found  worthy  of  the 
grandfeur  and  solemnity  of  this  preparation. 

R2 


186  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Of 

TO  MISS  CRUIKSHANKS, 

A  VERY  YOUNG  LADY. 

Written  on  the  blank  leaf  of  a  book  presented  to  her  by 
the  author. 

BEAUTEOUS  rose-bud,  young  and  gay, 
Blooming  on  thy  early  May, 
Never  may'st  thou,  lovely  flow'r, 
Chilly  shrink  in  sleety  show'r  I 
Never  Boreas'  hoary  path, 
Never  Eurus'  pois*nous  breath, 
Never  baleful  stellar  lights, 
Taint  thee  with  untimely  blights  I 
Never,  never  reptile  thief 
Riot  on  thy  virgin  leaf ! 
Nor  even  Sol  too  fiercely  view 
Thy  bosom  blushing  still  with  dew  i 

May'st  thou  long,  sweet  crimson  gem,. 
Richly  deck  thy  native  stem  ; 
'Till  some  ev'ning,  sober,  calm. 
Dropping  dews   and  breathing  balm. 
While  all  around  the  woodland  rings: 
And  ev'ry  bird  thy  requiem  sings  : 
Thou,  amid  the  dirgeful  sound, 
Shed  thy  dying  honours  round, 
And  resi,:n  to  parent  earth 
The  loveliest  Ibrm  she  e*er  gave  birth. 


A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT, 

FOR  THE  BEATH  OF  HER  SON. 

Tune—"  Finlayston  House.'* 

FATE  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped, 

And  pierc'd  my  darling's  heart  t 
And  with  him  all  the  joys  are  fled 

Life  can  to  me  impart 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ig^ 


By  cruel  hands  the  saplmg  drops, 

In  dust  dishonor'd  laid  : 
So  fell  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes, 

My  age's  future  shade. 

The  mother  linnet  in  the  brake 

Bewails  her  ravish'd  young  ; 
So  I,  for  my  lost  darling's  sake, 

Lament  the  live-day  long. 
Death  oft  I  fear'd  thy  fatal  fatal  blow, 

Now,  fond  1  bare  my  breast, 
O,  do  thou  kindly  lay  me  low, 

With  him  I  love  at  rest. 


POEM, 

Addressed  to  Mr.  Mitchell,  Collector  of  Excise,  Dumfries,  1796, 

FRIEND  of  the  poet  tried  and  leal, 
Wha,  wanting  thee  might  beg  or  steal 
Alake,  alake  the  n.eikle  deil 

Wi'  a'  his  witches 
Are  at  it,  skelpin  !  jig  and  reel, 

In  my  poor  pouches 

I  -modestly  fu'  fain  wad  hint  it. 
That  one  pound  one,  I  sairly  want  it. 
If  wi'  the  hizzie  down  ye  sent  it. 

It  would  be  kind; 
And  while  my  heart  wi'  life-blood  dunted 

I'd  bear't  in  mind. 

So  may  the  auld  year  gang  out  moaning 
To  see  the  new  come  laden,  groaning, 
Wi'  double  plenty  o*er  the  loanin 

To  thee  and  thine  ; 
Domestic  peace  and  comforts  crowning 

The  hale  design. 


I  gg  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've  heard  this  while  how  I've  been  licket, 
And  by  fell  death  was  nearly  nicket : 
Grim  loon  I  he  gat  me  by  the  fecket, 

And  sair  me  sheuk 
But  by  gude  luck  I  lap  a  wicket, 

And  turn'd  a  neuk. 

But  by  that  health,  I've  got  a  share  o't, 
And  by  that  life,  I'm  promis'd  mair  o't, 
My  hale  and  weel  I'll  take  a  care  o't 

A  tentier  way  : 
Then  farewell  folly,  hide  and  liair  o't 

For  ance  and  ay. 


POEM  ON  PASTORAL  POETllY. 

HAIL  Poesie  !  thou  Nymph  reserved  ; 
In  chase  o'  thee,  what  crouds  hae  swerv'd 
Frae  common  sense,  or  sunk  enerv'd 

'Mang  heaps  o'  clavers  ; 
And  och  !  o'er  aft  thy  joes  hae  starved, 

Mid  a'  thy  favours  I 

Say,  Lassie,  why  thy  train  amang, 
"While  loud,  the  trump's  heroic  clang. 
And  sock  or  buskin  skelp  alang 

To  death  or  marriage  ; 
Scarce  ane  has  tried  the  shepherd-siing 

But  wi'  miscarriage  ? 

In  Homer's  craft  Jock  Milton  thrives 
Eschylus'  pen  Will  Shakespeare  drives  ; 
Wee  Pope,  the  knurlin,  'till  him  rives 

Horatian  Fame  ; 
In  thy  sweet  sang,  Barbauld,  survives 

Even  Sappho's  flame. 


ROBEUT  RUllXS.  I89 


But  thee  Theocritus,  Avha  matches  ? 
They're  no  herd's  ballats,  Maro's  catches  ; 
Squire  Pope  but  busks  his  skinklin  patches 

O'  heathen  tatters  : 
I  pass  by  hunders,  nameless  wretches, 

That  ape  their  betters. 

In  this  braw  age  o*  wit  and  lear, 
AVill  nane  the  Shepherd's  whistle  mair 
I31aw  sweetly  in  its  native  air 

And  rural  grace ; 
And  wi*  the  far  fam'd  Grecian  share 

A  rival  jilace  ? 

Yes  !  there  is  ane  ;  a  Scottish  eallan  ! 
There's  ane  ;  come  forrit,  honest  Allan  ! 
Thou  need  na  jouk  behint  the  hallan, 

A  chiel  sae  clever; 
The  teeth  o'  time  may  gnaw  Tamtallan, 

But  thou's  for  ever. 

Thou  paints  auld  nature  to  the  nines, 

In  thy  sweet  Caledonian  lines  ; 

Nae  gowden  stream  thro'  myrtles  twines, « 

Where  Philomel, 
While  nightly  breezes  sweep  the  vines, 

Her  griefs  will  tell  1 

In  gowany  glens  thy  burnie  strays, 
Where  bonnie  lasses  bleach  their  claes  ! 
Or  trots  by  hazelly  shaws  and  braes, 

Wi*  hawthorns  gray. 
Where  blackbirds  join  the  shepherd's  lays 

At  close  o'  day. 

Thy  rural  loves  are  nature's  sel ; 
Nae  bombast  spates  o'  nonsense  swell ; 
Nae  snap  conceits,  but  that  sweet  spell 

C  witehin  love. 
That  charm,  that  can  the  strongest  quell, 

The  sternest  move. 


190  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

THE  GLIDWIFE  OF  WAUCIIOPE  HOUSE.* 

Addressed  to  Burns,  Feb.  178?". 

IVIY  canty,  witty,  rhyming  ploughman, 

I  hafflins  doubt  it  is  na  true,  man, 

That  ye  between  the  stilts  was  bred, 

Wi'  ploughmen  school'd,  wi'  ploughmen  fed. 

I  doubt  it  sair,  ye've  drawn  your  knowledge 

Either  frae  grammar-school,  or  college. 

Guid  troth,  your  saul  and  body  baith 

War'  better  fed,  I'd  gie  my  aith. 

Than  theirs  who  sup  sour  milk  and  parritch, 

An'  bummil  thro'  the  single  caritch. 

^Vhaever  heard  the  ploughman  speak, 

Could  tell  gif  Homor  was  a  Greek? 

He'd  flee  as  soon  upon  a  cudgel, ' 

As  get  a  single  line  of  Virgil. 

An'  then  sae  slee  ye  crack  your  jokes 

O'  Willie  Pitt  an'  Charlie  Fox. 

Our  great  men  a  sae  weel  descrive, 

An'  how  to  gar  the  nation  thrive, 

Ane  maist  wacUswear  ye  dwelt  amang  them,, 

An'  as  ye  saw  them,  sae  ye  sang  them. 

But  be  ye  ploughman,  be  ye  peer, 

Ye  are  funny  blade  I  swear. 

An'  tho'  the  cauld,  I  ill  can  bide. 

Yet  twenty  miles,  an'  mair,  IM  ride, 

O'er  moss,  an'  muir,  an'  never  grumble, 

The''  my  auld  yad  shou'd  gae  a  stumble, 

To  crack  a  winter-night  wi'  thee, 

An'  hear  thy  sangs  an'  sonnets  slee. 

A  guid  saut  herring,  an'  a  cake 

Wi'  sic  a  chiel  a  feast  wad  make. 

I'd  rather  scour  your  rumming  yill, 

Or  eat  o'  cheese  an'  bread  my  fill, 

Than  wi'  dull  lairds  on  turtle  dine. 

An'  ferlie  at  their  wit  an'  wine. 

•  This  poem  is  introduced  merely  as  a  necessary  prelude  to  tb^ 
answer,  which  could  not  wiih  propriety  be  left  out.        E. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  191 

O,  gif  I  kend  but  whare  ye  baide, 

l*d  send  to  you  a  marled  plaid ; 

*Twad  baud  your  shoulders  warm  and  braw, 

An*  douse  at  kirk,  or  market  sbaw. 

Far  south,  as  weel  as  north,  my  lad, 

A'  honest  Scotsmen  lo*e  the  iiiaud.  , 

Kight  wae  that  weVe  sae  far  frae  ither ;       ^ 

Yet  proud  I  am  to  ca'  ye  brither. 

Your  most  obed.  E.  S. 


THE  ANSWER. 

CUIDWIFE, 

I  MIND  it  weel  in  early  date, 

When  I  was  beardless  young  an'  blate, 

An'  first  cou'd  thresh  the  barn, 
Or  baud  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh, 
An'  tho'  fu'  foughten  sair  eneugh 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn. 

When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  I  reckoned  was ; 
An'  with  the  lave  ilk  merry  morn 
Could  rank  my  rig  and  lass ; 
Still  sheering  and  clearing 
The  tither  stooked  raw  ; 
With  clavers  and  haivers 
Wearing  the  time  awa' : 

Ev'n  then  a  wish  (I  mind  its  power) 
A  wish,  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast, 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake 
Soms  useful  plan  or  book  could  make, 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 

The  rough  bur-thistle  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  bearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  my  weeding  heuk  aside, 

An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear. 


192  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

No  nation,  no  station 
My  envy  e'er  could  raise  ; 
A  Scot  still,  but  blot  still, 
I  knew  no  higher  praise. 

sang 
In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang, 

Wild  floated  in  my  brain  ; 
Till  on  that  hairst  I  said  before, 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core. 

She  rous'd  the  forming  strain. 

I  see  her  yet,  the  sonsy  quean, 
That  lighted  up  my  jingle  ; 
Her  pauky  smile,  her  kittle  eon. 
That  gar*t  my  heart-strings  tingle. 
So  tiched,  bewitched, 
I  rav'd  aye  to  mysel ; 
But  bashing  and  dashing, 
I  kend  na  how  to  tell. 

Hale  to  the  set,  ilk  guid  chiel  says, 
\Vi'  merry  dance  in  winter-days, 

An'  we  to  share  in  common : 
The  gust  o'  joy,  the  balm  of  woe. 
The  saul  o'  life,  the  heav*n  below, 

Is  rapture-giving  woman. 

Ye  surly  sumphs,  who  hate  the  name. 

Be'  mindfu'  o'  your  mither : 
She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye're  connected  with  her. 

YeVe  wae  men,  ye're  nae  men. 
That  slight  the  lovely  dears : 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye, 
Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 

For  you,  na  bred  to  barn  and  byre, 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre, 

Thanks  to  ye  for  your  line. 
The  marrd  plaid  ye  kindly  spare, 
By  me  should  gratefully  be  ware : 

'Twad  please  me  to  the  $^ine. 


ROBERT  BUKN?  19^ 


I*d  be  mair  vantie  o'  my  hap, 

Douse  hingin  o'er  my  curple. 
Than  ony  ermine  ever  lap, 
Or  proud  imperial  purple. 

Farewell  then,  lang  hale  then, 
An'  plenty  be  your  fa* ; 
May  losses  and  crosses 
Ne'er  at  your  hallan  ca'. 


THE  SILLER  GUN^ A  POEM, 

AE  bonnie  momin',  clear  and  sunny, 
Our  trades  wha  like  ay  to  be  funny. 
And  spend  a  wee  flight  o'  their  money 

On  Usquabae ; 
Forgathered  for  their  siller  gunny 

To  shute,  that  day. 

Wi'  hat  as  black  as  ony  raven, 
Weel  powther'd  wiggie,  beard  new  shaven, 
An  ilka  kind  o'  deeding  havin 

In  trim  array  ; 
Furth  cam  ilk  ane,  some  cheap  years  saving, 
To  wear  that  day. 

Fair  fa'  them,  honest  edgie  carls, 
Lang  may  they  live  ay  free  o*  quarrels, 
And  tipple  ay  frae  gude  tight  barrels ; 

For  by  my  certie, 
They  were  as  braw  as  ony  Earls, 

And  e'en  right  hearty. 

Nae  feck  o*  fowk  could  boast  mae  dainties, 
Albeit  our  Lairds,  now  rack  their  renties, 
Whilk  gars  our  canty  cock-a-benties, 

Wear  hodden  gray ; 
Yet  ilka  journeyman  and  prentice 

Was  snod  that  day. 

*  The  Siller-gim  was  presents  1  to  the  tradesmen  in  SIcotlandj 
to  be  shot  for  every  year. 


194  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

For  as  they  gaed  alang  the  causey 
Wi'  ilka  thing  sae  trig  an'  gaucy, 
They  staw  the  heart  o'  monie  a  lassie 

Right  blate  away, 
Which  gart  them  wha  afore  were  saucy 
Look  doylt  that  day. 

As  generals  aft  their  troops  convene,' 
To  see  they  a*  be  trig  and  clean  ; 
Sae  now  the  dinlin  drums  I  ween 

Were  beat  to  arms, 
And  honest  fowk  were  deav*d  bedeen 
Wi*  wars  alarms. 

Syne  auld  and  young  o*  ilka  lallan 
Were  a*  in  order  made  to  fall  in, 
And  ay  the  mair  to  keep  the  saul  in 
And  banish  wae, 
The  bonnie  bells  made  sic  devallin 
Wi*  joy  that  day. 

Hechj  sirs,  what  crouds  were  gathered  roun' 
To  see  them  daiker  through  the  town — 
Lad,  lass  and  wean,  wives,  black  and  brown, 

Wi'  age  grown  gray, 
Cam,  fidging  fain,  to  gie  their  boon 

O  praise  that  day. 

E*n  blythc  to  see  them  tightly  drest, 
Auld  E^ips  was  there  amang  the  rest, 
.  And  while  wi*  joy  her  sides  she  prest, 

Like  mony  mae, 
^er  approbation  was  exprest 

In  words  like  thae. 

Wow,  but  it  gars  ane's  heart  loup  light 
To  see  auld  folks  sae  cleanly  dight, 
E'en  now  our  Geordie  looks  as  tight 

As  the  first  lime 
His  blooming  haffet*s  bless'd  my  sight 

When  in  his  prime. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  195 

But  silence  on  ilk  lassie's  part 
Spak  mair  than  words  could  ere  impart, 
Deep  sighsj  the  language  o'  the  heart, 

Will  oft  reveal 
A  flame  which  a'  th'  pow'r  of  art 

Could  ne'er  conceal. 

\Vi'  fiddles  playing,  colours  fleeing, 
And  mony  a  thing  weel  wordy  seeing, 
Down  to  the  Craig's  a*  weel  agreeing. 

They  gaed  awa  ; 
'Twa'd  made  ane  laugh,  tho*  they'd  been  deeing, 

To  see  them  a*. 

As  fierce,  I  trow,  as  ony  gled 
Ilk  deacon  march'd  afore  his  trade, 
Auld  chiels  wha  had  to  arms  been  bred 

Lang  e'er  Belleisle, 
Them  a'  like  ony  sodgers  led 

In  rank  and  file. 

Ilk  ane  had  guns,  there's  mony  trimmer, 
For  maist  o'  them,  I'd  lay  a  brimmer, 
Had  na  been  shot  this  mony  a  simmer, 

They  gied  sic  dunts  ; 
And  some  through  fear  had  bits  o*  timmer 

Instead  o'  flints. 

Ither's  (for  need  maks  mony  a  fen) 
Fill'd  up  their  touch-hole's  wi'  a  pin. 
And  as  in  twenty,  there  was  ten 

Worm-eaten  stocks, 
Sae  here  and  there  a  rozet  end 

Held  on  their  locks. 

And  then  to  shaw  what  diff'rent  stands 
Twiest  him  that  gets  and  gies  commands. 
Swords  that  unsheath'd  sin  Preston  Pans 

Neglected  lay. 
Were  now  brought  out  to  deck  the  hands 
O  chiefs  that  day. 


196  TMB  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Ye  wha  hae  been  at  Hallow  fair 
An'  seen  the  plays  that  happened  there, 
Or,  aiblins  read  its  frolics  rare 

In  Rabbie's  lay, 
Can  only  now  wi'  it  compare 

The  sports  that  day. 

Like  ony  camp  afound  a  hill 
Were  Booricks  made  wi*  meikle  skill, 
Pang'd  to  the  e'e  wi'  mony  a  gill 

O'  a'  kind  liquor, 
Where  fowk  might  coz'Iy  crack  their  fill, 

Or  bend  the  bicker. 

Snug  in  thae  tents  where  fowk  could  see, 
On  divet  seats,  kuir'd  wi*  a  tree, 
Auld  birkies  innocently  slee 

Upo*  their  doup, 
Were  e'en  as  blythe  as  blythe  could  be, 

Wi'  cap  an'  stoup. 

Pleas'd  they'd  recount  wi'  meikle  joy 
How  alt  they'd  been  at  sic  a  ploy, 
Wi'  a'  their  names,  their  eild  employ 

And  youthful  play, 
Wha'd  ever  won  this  tirley  toy 

Sin  Jamie's  day. 

And  mony  a  crack  and  weel  warlM  tale 
'Bout  bald  forbears,  whilk  ne'er  does  fail 
Baith  saul  and  body  to  regale 

Wi'  matchless  pow'r 
Wad  through  the  lee  lang  day  prevail 
Till  a'  was  owre. 

When  wives  or  ither  cares  perplex  us. 
When  senseless  gilligawkies  vex  us, 
Or  waesuck  eild,  and  poortith  geeks  us 

Wi'  ragged  duds, 
Dcil  haet  sae  weel  frae  grief  protects  us 

As  reeming  scuds. 


KOBERT  BURNS.  19jr 

Here  rowth  o'.ginge -bread  stans  were  seen, 
Where  lasses  dancing  unco  keen, 
Aft  winking  wi'  their  pawkie  e'en, 

Sic  i^Linces  gie 
As  gart  some  wanton  fellows  green 

For  night  that  day. 

When  some  auld-farran  nackie  billXe 
Hands  to  his  joe  wi'  mony  a  gillie, 
Wha  shaws  her  breast  as  white's  a  lily 

And  Icggies  tight, 
Gosh,  could  a  priest  restrain  his  willie 
In  sic  a  plight. 

Sae  to  the  whins  frae  'mang  the  thrang 
Whiles  ane  or  twa  or  sae  wad  gang, 
Whare  tales  o'  love  and  eke  a  sang 

Shot  time  away, 
And  youngsters  got  what  they  did  lang 

For  mony  a  day. 

Amang  the  lave  was  kintry  Johny 
Wi'  his  joe,  Meg,  as  braw  as  ony, 
She  thought,  nae  doubt,  hersel'  as  boiviit; 

As  ony  there. 
But  lang  or  night  her  cockernony 

Was  touzled  sair. 

She,  silly,  simple,  hame-bred  hizzie 
Had  never  seen  a  rakish  phizzy, 
Sae  took  frae  c  hie  Is  wha  were  right  bizzy 

O'  usquabae, 
Till  lack  a  nie,  baith  sick  and  dizzy, 

Wae  she  that  day. 

At  times  like  this,  when  chiels  are  skairin, 
Wi'  ilka  ane  they  meet  a  fairin, 
They'll  never  stop  to  cry  for  mair  in 

O'  liquor  dear. 
But  women  fowk  should  ay  be  sparin 

O  sic  can  gear. 

S3 


198  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

For  owre  the  mind  when  drink  presides, 
To  pranks  of  sin  and  shame  it  guides, 
In  wisdom's  ways  it  never  prides, 

But  brings  to  light 
A  thousand  fauts  which  reason  hides 
Clear  out  o'  sight, 

By  this  time  now,  wi*  mony  a  dunner. 
The  guns  were  rattlin  afF  like  thunner  ; 
Auld  fowks  wi'  joints  maist  dug  asunner, 

Were  in  dismay. 
For  shouther-blades  got  mony  a  lunnep 

Frae  guns  that  day. 

Hech,  sic  a  weary  wark  was  there 
' Tween  mad  ambition  and  base  fear  ; 
It  seldom  fails,  be't  far  or  near, 

That  mony  a  score 
Are  keen  o'  trades  which  nature  ne'er 

Design'd  them  for. 

Ac  fellow  there,  poor  silly  calf. 
Held  out  his  gun,  as't  been  a  staff, 
Turn'd  back  his  head,  tho'  haff  an*  haff. 

He  was.  they  say. 
And  panting,  cry'd,  sirs,  is  she  aff, 
Wi'  fear  that  day. 

Anither  chiel,  wae  worth  the  loon, 
RampagM  and  curs'd  like  a  dragoon. 
But  leaning  on  his  hunkers  down, 

To  let  her  aff. 
He  fil'd  his  breeks,  which  did  confound 

And  mak  them  laugh. 

Poor  gowk,  ne'er  us'd  wi*  wars  alarms, 
Or  taught  to  handle  fire-arms. 
His  fears  foresaw  a  thousand  harms 
Approaching  fast, 
Till  nature  v^Iing  a'  her  charms 

Gie'd  way  at  kst. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  199 


To  crown  the  hale,  about  the  gloamin 
The  Siller  Gun  was  won  by  no  man  :* 
Warse  deeds  hae  gi'en  to  mony  a  Roman 

Eternal  fame ; 
But  prodigies  are  grown  sae  common 

They've  tint  the  name. 

Proud  wi*  their  luck  afore,  tho'  douce 
And  quaint  as  ony  half-fellM  mouse, 
E'en  now  the  Taylor  crawM  sae  crouse, 

ril  gie  my  aith. 
Had  ony  ane  cry'd,  '  Prick  the  louse,' 

There  had  been  skaith. 

Syne  hame  they  gaed  like  magic  spell, 
Some  stoiter'd  owre,  and  ithers  fell ; 
While  mony  a  ane  the  muse  could  tell. 

Like  new  spain'd  weans, 
Could  neither  gang  unheld  themsels 

Nor  Stan'  their  lanes. 

But  should  the  canty  muscy  reel 
Owre  a'  the  pranks  o'  ilka  chiel. 
She'd  may-be  tramp  on  some  sair  heel 

O*  dool  and  wae, 
Whase  nieves  wad  aiblins  gar  her  squeel 

For  that  some  day. 

As  in  the  course  of  some  campuin 
The  grun  is  cover'd  o*er  wi*  slain, 
Sae  now  in  Barleycornian  strain 

Ye  eith  might  view 
Ahint  the  lave  some  fellows  fain 

To  lye  and  spew. 

Ithers  again,  just  haff  an'  haff, 
Ay  nichrin  out  the  tither  gaff, 
Dang  mony  a  hat  and  wii^gie  aff 

In  wanton  play, 
Till,  peace  be  here,  wi'  nie ve  >md  staff 

They  fought  that  day. 

•  It  was  won  by  a  taylor. 


200  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

As  sparks  frae  flames  their  greatness  rear, 
Aft  daffin  leads  to  bluidy  weir ; 
It  chanc'd  a  dainty  souter  here 

Like  Crispin  dress'd, 
Had  a'  the  robes  which  princes  wear 

At  birth-day  feast. 

This  day,  tho*  nought  could  happen  droller, 
Bred  the  poor  souter  meikle  dolour  j 
A  taylor-fellow,  nae  great  scholar, 

Wi*  mony  a  bann, 
Took  honest  Crispin  by  the  collar. 

And  thus  began. 

Taylor.,.Xt.  guid  for  naething  souter  hash, 
Tho*  powther  decks  your  carrot  pash, 
Tell  me,  I  say,  sin*  griev'd  I  fash 

Withouten  charter. 
What  right  ye  hae  to  wear  this  sash. 

Or  star  and  garter  ? 

Crispin... .het  gang  your  grips,  or  by  my  saul, 
Were  I  but  ance  within  my  stall. 
By  a'  that's  gude,  my  peggin  awl. 

Ye  devil's  buckie. 
Should  jag  and  tear  you  spaul  frae  spaul, 

Like  onie  chuckie. 

It  sets  ye  weel  indeed  to  jeer, 
Or  question  me  for  what  I  wear, 
I  represent  king  Crispin  here, 

While,  fye  for  shame, 
Your  lousy  craft  to  manhood  ne'er 

Could  yet  lay  claim* 

Taylor. ...King  Crispin,  waleo'  ilka  loun 
That  ever  robb'd  or  rul'd  a  town  j 
1  mind  to  he^i,  like  some  baboon 

Ihat  apes  its  betters, 
He  claim'd  pretensions  to  a  crown 

Ao'  deed  in  fetters* 


ROBERT  BURKS.  oqi 


Crisfiin... .Insult  my  chieftain,  ony  place. 
Shall  never  ane  o*  taylor's  race  ! 
And,  sir,  ye've  dar'd  afore  my  face 

His  name  to  blacken, 
Ye'se  either  fight  or  dree  disgrace 

To  save  your  bacon. 

Agreed,  quo'  Prickie,  when  he  faun 
Himsel  in  sic  a  hubble  drawn. 
That  tho*  a  taylor,  I'm  a  man 

Ye*se  own  content, 
Else,  as  ye  fin  me,  judge  the  clan 

I  represent. 

Now  expectation  fill'd  each  breast 
Wi'  dread  o'  what  raight  happen  iiiest, 
Sae  crouse  the  twa  set  up  their  criest 

Afore  the  uiilie ; 
Fowk  thought  in  ither's  wames  at  least, 

They'd  sheath  a  gullie. 

Arm'd  with  the  lapboard  and  the  sheers, 
The  taylor  in  the  front  appears, 
While  Crispin,  wha  in  Charlie's  weirs 

Had  nobly  bled, 
A  hazel  rung  in  triumph  rears 

And  dauntless  said  : 

Now  tak  thou  warst  o'  worthless  things ; 
The  vengeance  due  frae  slighted  Kings ; 
Wi'  that  his  doublet  aff  he  flings. 

And  in  a  wee 
The  cudgel  on  the  lapboard  rings 
Alternately. 

To  see  fair  play,  or  help  a  frien', 
Fowk  stammerM  frae  a'  airth's  bedeenj 
Auld  wives  to  red  them  ran  between 

Like  Amazons, 
And  nought  was  heard  sync  owre  the  green 

But  shraiks  and  groans.. 


202  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  .OF 

Nor  cou'cl  ye  ken  \vi'  nicest  care 
Whu  won  or  wha  was  licket  there; 
Peil-mell  they  fought,  foul  play  or  fair 

Was  a*  the  same, 
An'  friensan'  faes  lay  every  where 

Baith  blin'  and  lame. 

To  comfort  thae  inch  thick  o*  glar; 
His  e'en  japannM  and  chafts  a  char, 
Be  thankfu*,  sirs,  it  is  na  war, 

(Quo'  Yaedam  Bryen) 
A  lievin'  dog  is  better  far 

Than  a  dead  lyon. 

Let  ane,  tho'  crooked,  tak  a  chappin. 
He'll  think  there's  few  mair  tight  or  strappin, 
Fu'  crousely  will  he  cock  his  tappin 

Like  man  o'  weir, 
"Wha  fresh  had  but  a  gun  been  snappin 

Would  swat  wi*  fear. 

Sae  was't  that  day,  for  rowth  o'  thae 
Wha  wanting  drink,  nae  mettle  hae, 
Here  mony  a  fearfu'  lunncr  gae 

But  dread  or. shame, 
Till  they  wi'  ribs  baith  black  and  blae 

Were  draggled  hame. 

When  fowk  are  in  a  merry  pin 
Weel  fortify'd  wi'  Highland  Gin, 
They'll  eiihly  thole  a  weel  pay'd  skin. 
Like  leather  teughj 
And  neither  care  nor  sorrow  fin 

For  lang  eneugh. 

But  soon  as  sober  sense  returns. 
Yestreen's  debauch  the  drunkard  mourns, 
His  feckless  body  aft  he  turns 

The  pain  to  lay ; 
Sair  griev'd  baith  head  and  heart-ache  burns 
Wi'  him  niest  day. 


ROBERT  BURNS,  203 

WRITTElNi  IN  A  SOLITARY  INN, 
IN  SELiaRK. 

Auld  chuckle  Reekie*s  *  sair  distrest, 
Down  droops  her  ance  weel  bumish't  crest, 
Nae  joy  her^bonie  buskii  nest 

Can  yield   ava, 
Her  darling  bird  that  she  loe's  best 
Willie's  avva  ! 

0  Willie  was  a  witty  wight, 

And  had  o'  things  an  unco*  slight ; 
Auld  Reekie  ay  he  keep  it  tight, 

And  trig  an'  braw  : 
But  now  they'll  busk  her  like  a  fright 
Willie's  awa! 

The  stiffest  o'  them  a'  he  bowM, 
The  bauldest  o'  them  a*  he  cow'd ; 
Vhey  durst  nae  mair  than  he  allow'd 

That  was  a  law  : 
We've  lost  a  birkie  weel  worth  gowd, 
Willie's  awa ! 

Now  gawkies,  tawpics,  gowks  and  fools, 
Frae  colleges  and  boarding  schools, 
May  sprout  like  simmer  puddock-stools 

In  glen  or  shaw  ; 
He  wha  could  brush  them  down  to  mock 
Willie's  awa ! 

The  breth*ren  o'  the  Commerce-Chaumerf 
May  mourn  their  loss  wi'  doolfu'  clamour; 
He  was  a  dictionar  and  grammar 

Amang  them  a' ; 

1  fear  they'll  now  make  mony  a  stammer 

Willie's  awa ! 

*  Edinburgh. 

t  The  Chamber  of  commerce  of  Edinburgh,  of  wftich  Mjr 
€.  was  Secretary. 


204  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Nae  mair  we  see  his  levee  door 
Philosophers  and  Poets  pour,* 
And  toothy  critics  by  the  score 

In  bloody  raw  ! 
The  adjutant  o'  a'  the  core 

Willie's  awa  I 

Now  worthy  G*****y's  latin  face, 
T****r's  and  G*********'s  modest  grace  ; 
]^^K****e,  S****t,  such  a  brace, 

As  Rome  ne'er  saw  ; 
They  a*  maun  meet  some  ither  place, 
Willie's  awa ! 

Poor  Burns — e'en  Scotch  drink  canna  quicken, 
He  cheeps  like  some  bewildered  chicken, 
Scar'd  frae  it's  minnie  and  the  cleckin 

By  hoodie-craw ; 
Grief's  gien  his  heart  an  unco  kickin', 
AVillie*s  awa ! 


Now  ev'ry  sour-mou'd  girnin'  blellum. 
And  Calvin's  fock,  are  fit  to  fell  him ; 
And  self-conceited  critic  skellum 

His  quill  may  draw ; 
He  wha  could  brawlie  ward  their  bellum 
Willie's  awa  ! 


Up  wimpling  stately  Tweed  I've  sped. 
And  Eden  scenes  on  chiystal  Jed, 
And  Ettrick  banks  now  roaring  red 

While  tempests  blaw ; 
But  every  joy  and  pleasure's  fled 

Willie's  awa  I 


*  Many  literary  gentlemen  were  accustomed  to  meet  at  Mr. 
C — ^'s  house  at  breakfast.  Burns  often  met  with  them  there  when 
he  called,  and  hence  the  name  of  Levee. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  205 


May  I  be  slander's  common  speech ; 
A  text  for  infamy  to  preach  ; 
And  lastly,  streekit  out  to  bleach 

In  winter  snaw; 
When  I  forget  thee  !  Willie  Creech, 
Tho'  far  awa ! 

May  never  wicked  fortune  touzle  him  I 
May  never  wicked  man  bamboozle  him  ! 
Until  a  pow  as  auld's  Methusalem ! 
He  caniy  claw ! 
Then  to  the  blessed,  New  Jerusalem 
Fleet  wing  awa ! 


EPITArJI 

OX  A  CELEBRATED  RULING  ELDER. 

HERE  Sowter  ****  in  Death  does  sleep : 

To  H-11,  if  he's  gane  thither, 
Satan,  gie  him  thy  gear  to  keep, 

He'll  baud  it  weel  thegither. 


EPISTLE  TO  J.  LAPRAIK. 

Sept.  ISUi.  1785. 
GUID  speed  an'  furder  to  you  Johny, 
Guid  health,  hale  ban's,  an*  weather  bony ; 
Now  when  ye're  nickan  down  fu'  cany 

The  staff  o'  bread, 
May  ye  ne'er  want  a  stoup  o'  brany 

To  clear  your  head. 

May  boreas  never  thresh  your  rigs, 
Nor  kick  your  rickles  aff  their  legs, 
Sendin'  the  stuff  o'er  muirs  an'  haggs 

Like  drivin'  wrack  ; 
But  rilay  the  tapmast  grain  that  wags 

Come  to  the  sack 
T 


206  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  ^%/  j 

I'm  bizzie  too,  an*  skelpin'  at  it, 
But  bitter,  daudin  showers  hae  vvat  it, 
Sae  my  auld  stumpie  pen  I  gat  it 

Wi'  muckle  wark, 
An'  took  my  jocteleg  an'  whatt  it, 

Like  ony  dark. 

It'  s  now  twa  month  that  I'  m  your  debtor, 
For  your  braw,  nameless,  dateless  letter, 
Abusin'  me  for  harsh  ill  nature 

On  holy  men, 
While  deil  a  hair  yoursel  ye're  better, 

But  mair  profane, 

But  let  the  kirk-folk  ring  their  bells, 
Let's  sing  about  our  noble  sels  ; 
We'll  cry  nae  jads  frae  heathen  hills 

To  help,  or  roose  us, 
But  browster  wives  an'  whiskie  stills, 

Thexj  are  the  muses. 

Your  friendship  sir,  I  winna  quat  it. 

An'  if  ye  mak  objections  at  it, 

Then  han'  in  nieve  some  day  we'  11  knofft, 

An'  witness  take, 
An*  when  wi'  Usquabae  we've  wat  it 

It  winna  break. 

But  if  the  beast  and  branks  be  spar'd 
Til!  kye  be  guun  without  the  herd, 
An'  a'  the  vittel  in  th«  yard. 

Be  theckit  right, 
I  mean  your  ingle-side  to  guard 

Ae  winter  night. 

llien  muse-inspirin'  aqua-vitae 

Shall  make  us  baith  sae  blythe  an'  witty, 

Till  ye  forget  ye  're  auld  an'  gatty. 

An'  be  as  canty 
As  ye  were  nine  year  less  than  thretty. 

Sweet  ane  an'  twenty  \ 


ROBERT  BURNS,  307" 


But  Stocks  are  cowpet  wP  the  blast, 
An'  now  the  sinn  keeks  in  the  west, 
Then  I  maun  ring  amang  the  rest 

An*  quat  my  chanter  ; 
S'ae  I  subseribe  mysel  in  haste, 

Your's,  Rab  the  Rant^.*. 


ON  SEEING  HIS  FAVOURITE  WALKS  DESPOILET>, 
OF  THEIR  WOOD, 

AS  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith, 
Ae  smiling  simmer  morn  I  stray'd, 
And  traced  its  bonny  howms  and  haughs, 
Where  Unties  sung)  and  lambkins  play'd, 

I  sat  me  down  upon  a  craig", 
And  drank  my  fill  o'  Fancy's  drevim ; 
When  from  the  eddying  deep  below 
Uprose  the  Genius  of  the  stream. 

Dark  like  the  frowning  rock  his  brow? 
And  troubled  like  his  wintry  wave  ; 
And,  deep  as  sughs,  the  boding  wind 
Among  his  caves^  the  sigh  he  gave. 

"  And  came  ye  here,  my  son,  he  cried, 
To  wander  in  my  birken  shade, 
To  muse  some  favourite  Scottish  theme, 
Or  sing  some  favourite  Scottish  maid  ? 

*  Rab  the  Ranter — It  is  very  probable  that  the  poet  thus  named 
himself  after  the  Border  Piper^  so  spiritedly  introduced  in  the 
popular  son  of  Maggie  Lauder  : 

**  For  I'm  a  piper  to  my  trade. 

My  name  is  Rab  the  Ranter  ,- 
The  lasses  loup  as  they  were  daft, 

When  I  blaw  up  mv  chanter." 


208  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

There  was  a  time,  its  nae  lang  syne, 
Ye  migLi  hae  seen  me  in  my  pride ; 
Wjien  a*  my  banks  sae  bravely  saw 
Their  woody  pictures  in  my  tide ; 

When  hanging'  beech  and  spreading  elm 
Shaded  my  stream  sae  clear  and  cool, 
And  stately  aiks  their  twisted  arms 
Threw  broad  and  dark  across  the  pool ; 

When,  glinting  through  the  trees,  appcar'd 
That  wee  white  cot  aboon  the  mill, 
And  peacefu'  rose  its  ingle  reek 
That  slowly  curled  up  the  hill. 

But  now  the  cot  is  bare  and  cauld, 
Its  branchy  shelters  Icfet  and  gane, 
And  scarce  a  stinted  birk  is  left, 
To  shiver  in  the  blast  its  lane.'* 

"  Alas  !  said  I,  what  ruefu'  chance 
Has  twin'd  ye  o'  your  stately  trees  ? 
Has  laid  your  rocky  bosom  bare? 
Has  stripp'd  the  cleading  o'  your  braes  ? 

Vv'as  it  the  bitter  feastling  blast 

That  scatters  blight  in  early  spring, 

Or  was't  the  wilfire  scorch'd  their  boughs  ^ 

Or  canker-worm  wi'  secret  sting  ?" 

"  Nae  eastlin  blast,  the  sprite  replied. 
It  blew  na  here  sae  fierce  and  fell ; 
And  on  my  dry  and  halesome  banks 
Nae  canker-worms  get  leave  to  dwell. 

Man  ! — cruel  man  I— the  Genius  sigh'd. 
As  through  the  cliff's  he  sank  him  down> 
The  worm  that  gnawM  v\y  bonny  trees. 
That  reptile  wears  a  ducal  crovrn  I'" 


ROBERT  BURNS.  209 

TO  A  LADY, 

With  a  present  of  a  pair  of  Drinking  Glasses. 

FAIR  Empress  of  the  Poet's  soul, 

And  Queen  of  Poetesses; 
Clarinda,  take  this  little  boon, 

This  humble  pair  of  glasses. — 

And  fill  them  high  with  generous  juice, 

As  generous  as  your  mind  ; 
And  pledge  me  in  the  generous  toast — 

"  The  whole  of  hwnan  kind  I" 

*'  To  those  who  love  us  .'" — second  fill ; 

But  not  to  those  whom  we  love ; 
Lest  we  love  those  who  love  not  us  !— — 
A  third—'*  to  thee  and  me^  love  /" 


TO  TERRAUGHTY,* 

ON  HIS  BIRTH-DAT. 

HEALTH  to  the  Maxwell's  vet'ran  Chief  \ 
Health,  ay  unsour'd  by  care  or  grief: 
Inspir'd,  I  turn*d  Fate's  sybil  leaf. 

This  natal  morn, 
Fsee  thy  life  is  stuff  o'  prief, 

Scarce  quite  half  worn.-^ 

This  day  thou  metes  threescore  elevenj 
And'  I  can  tell  that  bounteous  Heaven 
(The  seoond  sight,  ye  ken,  is  given 

To  ilka  Poet,) 
On  thee  a  tack  o'  seven  times  seven 

Will  yet  bestow  it. 

^  Mr.  Maxwell,  of  Terraughty,  near  Dumfrfee, 
T3 


210  TiU:  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

If  envious  buckics  view  \vi'  sorrow 
Thy  lengthen'd  clays  on  this  blest  morrow, 
May  desolation's  lang-teeth'd  harrow, 

Nine  miles  an  hour, 
Rake  them,  like  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 

In  brunstane  stoure — 

But  for  thy  friends,  and  they  are  mony, 
Baith  honest  men  and  lasses  bonie, 
May  couthie  fortune,  kind  and  cannie. 

In  social  glee, 
Wi*  mornings  blythe  and  e'enings  funny 

Bless  them  and  thee  I 

Fareweel,  auld  birkie  !  Lord  be  near  ye. 
And  then  the  Deil  he  daur  na  steer  ye : 
Your  friends  ay  love,  your  faes  ay  fear  ye  : 

For  me,  shame  fa'  me, 
If  neist  my  heart  I  dinna  wear  ye 

While  Burns  they  ea'  me. 


MONODY, 

ON  A  LAt>i' FAMED  FOR  HER  CAPRICE. 

MOW  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once  fired, 

How  pale  is  that  cheek  where  the  rouge  lately  glis- 
^tened; 

How  silent  that  tongue  which  the  echoes  oft  tired. 
How  dull  is  that  ear  which  to  flattery  so  listened. 

If  sorrow  and  anguish  their  exit  await, 

From  friendship  and  dearest  affection  removed ; 

Plow  doubly  severer,  Eliza  thy  faie. 

Thou  diedst  unwept,  as  thou  livedst  unloved. 

Loves,  graces,  and  virtues,  I  call  not  on  you, 
So  shy,  grave  and  distant,  ye  shed  not  a  tear : 

But  come,  all  ye  oifspring  of  folly  so  true, 
And  flowers  let  us  cull  for  Eliza's  cold  bier-. 


ROBERT  BUKNir.  211 

We'll  search  through  tbe  e^arden  for  each  silly  flower, 
We'll  roam  through  the  forest  for  each  idle  weed ; 

But  chiefly  the  nettle  so  typical  shower, 
For  none  e*er  approached  her  but  rued  the  rash  deed. 

We'll  sculpture  the  marble,  we'll  measure  the  lay  ; 

Here  vanity  strums  on  her  idiot  lyre  ; 
There  keen  indignation  shall  dart  on  her  prey, 

Which  spurning  contempt  shall  redeem  from  his  ire. 


THE  EPITAPH. 

Here  lies  now  a  prey  to  insulting  neglect, 

What  once  was  a  butterfly,  gay  in  life's  beam 

Want  only  of  wisdom  denied  her  respect, 
Want  only  of  goodness  denied  her  esteem. 


TO  ROBERT  GR2VHAM,  Esq,  OF  FINTRY, 

On  receiving"  a  Favour. 

I  CALL  no  goddess  to  inspire  my  strains, 
A  fabled  Muse  may  suit  a  bard  that  feigns  ; 
Friend  of  my  life  !  my  ardent  spirit  burns, 
And  all  the  tribute  of  my  heart  returns, 
For  boons  accorded,  goodness  ever  new, 
The  gift  still  dearer,  as  the  giver  you. 

Thou  orb  of  day  I  thou  other  paler  light ! 
And  all  ye  many  sparkling  stars  of  night ; 
If  aught  that  giver  from  my  mind  efface  ; 
If  1  that  giver's  bounty  e'er  disgrace  ; 
Then  roll  lo  me,  along  your  wandering  spheres^;> 
Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years  I 


212  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


WRITTEN  IN  A  WRAPPER  INCLOSING  A  LETTER  TQ 
CAPT.  GROSE,  TO  BE  LEFT  WITH  MR.  CARDONNEL^ 
ANTIQUARIAN. 

Tune — '  Sir  John  Malcom.' 

KEN  ye  ought  o'  Captain  Grose  ? 

7^0,  ^  ago. 
If  he's  among  his  friends  or  foes  I 

Iram^  coram^  dago. 

Is  he  South,  or  is  he  North  ? 

IgOy  l!f  ago. 
Or  drowned  in  th«  river  Forth  ? 
Irani,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  slain  by  Highland  bodies  ? 

Igo,  Isf  ago. 
And  eaten  like  a  wether-haggis  I 
Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  to  Abram's  bosom  gane  ? 

Igo,  iSf  ago. 
Or  haudin  Sarah  by  the  wame  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Where'er  he  be,  the  Lord  be  near  him  i 

Igo,  U"  ago. 
As  for  the  deil  he  daur  na  steer  him, 

Irum,  coram,  dago. 

But  please  transmit  th*  inclosed  letter, 

Igo,  l2^  ago. 
Which  will  oblige  your  humble  debtor, 
Iram,  coram,  dago. 

So  may  ye  hae  auld  stanes  in  store, 

Igo,  ^  ago.  ' 

The  very  stanes  that  Adam  borc;^ 

Iram,  coram,  dage,  .    ^      ■ 


t 


ROBEtlT  BURNS.  213 


So  may  ye  get  in  glad  possession ; 

Igo^  SiT*  ago. 
The  coins  o'  Satan's  coronation  ! 

Iram^  coram,  dago. 


THE  FOLLOWIJ^G  POB.M  Tf'JSWHTTTE.y  TO  Jt  GE^'^ 
TLEMA.N-  WHO  HAD  SEM'T  HIM  A  jYEWSPAPER, 
AXJD  OFFERED  TO  COJVTIjYUE  IT  FREE  OF  EX-^ 
PEjXSE. 

KIND  Sir,  I've  read  your  paper  through, 

And  faith,  to  me,  *t\vas  really  new  I 

How  guessed  ye.  Sir,  whatmaist  I  v/anted? 

This  mony  a  day  I've  grain *d  and  gaunted, 

To  ken  wh?t  French  mischief  was  brewin  ; 

Or  what  the  drumlie  Dutch  were  doin ; 

That  vile  doup-skelper.  Emperor  Joseph, 

If  Venus  yet  had  got  his  nose  off; 

Or  how  the  collieshangie  works 

Atween  the  Russians  and  the  Turks  ; 

Or  if  the  Swede,  before  he  halt. 

Would  play  anither  Charles  the  twalt : 

If  Denmark,  any  body  spak  o't ; 

Or  Poland,  wha  had  now  the  tack  o't ; 

How  cut-throat  Prussian  blades  were  hingln 

How  libbet  Italy  was  singin; 

If  Spaniard,  Portuguese,  or  Swiss, 

Were  sayin  or  takin  aught  amiss : 

Or  how  our  merry  lads  at  hame, 

In  Britain's  court  kept  up  the  game  : 

How  Royal  George,  the  Lord  leuk  o'er  him  I 

Was  managing  St.  Stephen's  quorum  ; 

If  sleekit  Chatham  Will  was  livin, 

Or  glaikit  Charlie  got  his  nieve  in  ; 

How  daddie  Burke  the  plea  was  cookin,  \ 

If  Warren  Hasdngs'  neck  was  yeukin  ; 

How  cesses,  stents,  and  fees  were  rax'd, 

Or  if  bare  a —  vet  were  tax'd  ; 


214  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  news  o'  princes,  dukes  and  earls, 
Pimps,  sharpers,  bawds  and  opera-giris ; 
If  that  daft  buckie,  Geordie  Wales, 
Was  threshin  still  ai  hizzies  tails, 
Or  if  he  was  grown  oughtlins  douser. 
And  no  a  perfect  kintra  cooser. 
A*  this  and  mair  I  never  heard  of; 
And  but  for  you  I  might  despair'd  of. 
So  gratefu'  back  your  news  I  send  you, 
And  pray,  a*  gude  things  may  attend  you  I 


TWO  STANZAS, 

COMPOSED  AT  THE  AGE  OF  SEVENTEE>^, 
Cite  of  the  oldeit  of  his  printed  pieces. 

I  dreum'd  I  lay  where  flowers  were  springing, 

Guily  in  the  sunny  beam  ; 
Listening  to  the  wild  birds  singing, 

By  a  falling,  chrystal  stream  ; 
Straight  the  sky  grew  black  and  daring ; 

Thro'  the  woods  the  whirlwinds  rave  ; 
Trees  with  aged  arms  were  warring. 

O'er  the  swelling  drumlie  wave, 
Such  was  my  life's  deceitful  mornings 

Such  the  pleasures  I  enjoyed; 
But  lang  or  noon,  loud  tempests  storming 

A'  my  flow'ry  bliss  destroy'd. 
Tho'  fickle  fortune  has  deceiv'd  me, 

She  promis'd  fair  and  performed  but  ill ; 
Of  mony  a  joy  and  hope  bereav'd  me, 

I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me  still. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  215 


At  a  meeting  of  the  Dumfrieshire  Volunteers,  held  to  commemo- 
rate the  anniversary  of  Rodney's  Victoi'y,  (April  12th,  1782,) 
Burns  was  called  upon  for  a  song,  instead  of  which  he  deliver- 
ed the  following  lines  extempore, 

INSTEAD  of  a  song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a  toast, 
Here's  the  memory  of  those  on  the  twelfth  that  we  lost 
That  we  lost,  did  I  say,  nay  by  Heav'n  that  we  found, 
For  their  fame  it  shall  last  while  the  world  goes  round. 
The  next  in  succession,  I'll  give  you  the  King, 
Whoe'er  would  betray  him,  on  high  may  he  swing ; 
And  here's  the  grand  fabric  our  free  Constitution, 
As  built  on  the  base  of  the  great  Revolution ; 
And  longer  with  Politics,  not  to  be  cramm'd, 
Be  Anarchy  curs'd,  and  be  tyranny  damn'd  ; 
And  who  would  to  Liberty  e'er  prove  disloyal, 
May  his  son  be  a  hangman,  and  he  his  first  trial 


TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  Esq.  Mauchline. 

(Recommending  a  boy) 

MosgavillCy  May  3,  1*86, 

I  HOLD  it,  Sir,  my  bounden  duty 
To  warn  you  how  that  Master  Tootie, 

Alias  Laird  M'Gaun,* 
Was  here  to  hire  yon  lad  away 
'Bout  whom  ye  spak  the  tither  day, 

An'  wad  hae  don't  aff  han' : 


*  Mastev  Tootie  then  lived  in  IVfaucldine,:  a  dealer  In  Cows.  It 
was  his  common  practice  to  cut  the  nicks  or  markings  from  the 
horns  of  cattle,  to  disguise  their  age.-He  was  an  artful,  trick-con- 
triving character;  hence  he  is  called  a  Snick -dra-tver.  In  the 
Poet's  ^*  Address  to  the  Deil,'*  he  styles  that  august  personage  an 
iiuldt  snick -dra-wing  dog  ! 


216  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Ot 

But  lest  he  learn  the  callan  tricks, 

As  faith  I  muckle  doubt  him, 
Like  scrapin'  out  auld  Crummie's  nicks, 
An'  tellin  lies  about  them  ; 
As  lieve  then  I'd  have  then, 

Your  clerkship  he  should  sair, 
If  sae  be,  ye  may  be 
Not  fitted  otherwhere. 

Altho*  I  say't,  he's  gleg  eneugh. 
An*  bout  a  house  that's  rude  an*  rough, 

The  boy  might  learn  to  swear 
But  when  \vi*  you,  he  '11  be  sae  taught, 
An*  get  sic  fair  example  straught, 
I  hae  nae  ony  fear. 
Ye'll  catechise  him  every  quirk. 

An'  shore  him  weel  wi'  hell ; 

An'  gar  him  follow  to  the  kirk 

— Ay  when  ye  gang  yourself 
If  ye  then,  maun  be  then 

Frae  hame  this  comin  Friday, 
Then  please  sir,  to  lea'e  sir. 
The  orders  wi'  your  lady. 

My  word  of  honor  I  hae  gien, 
In  Paisley  John's  that  night  at  e'en. 

To  meet  the  WarlcCs  worm  ; 
To  try  to  get  the  twa  to  gree. 
An'  name  the  airles*  an'  the  f6e. 

In  legal  mode  an'  form : 
I  ken  he  weel  a  Snick  can  draw. 

When  simple  bodies  let  him  ; 
An'  if  a  Devil  be  at  a'. 

In  faith  he  's  sure  to  get  him. 
To  phrase  you  an'  praise  you. 

Ye  ken  your  Laureat  scorns  : 
The  pray'r  still,  you  share  still. 
Of  grateful  Minstrel  Burns. 

*  The  ^ir/(?5— Earnest  raonfey. 


ROBERT  RHRNS.  217 

LINES 

WRITTEN  AND  PRESENTED  TO  MRS.  ICEMBLE, 

On  seeing  her  in  the  character  of  Yarico. 

KEMBLE,  thou  cur*st  my  unbelief 

Of  Moses  and  his  rod  ; 
At  Yarico's  sweet  notes  of  grief, 

The  rock  with  tears  had  flow'd. 


LOUIS  WHAT  RECK  I  BY  THEE. 

LOUIS  what  reck  I  by  thee, 

Or  Geordie  on  his  ocean: 
Dyvor,  beggar  louns  to  me, 

1  reign  in  Jeanie's  bosom. 

Let  her  crown  my  love  her  law, 

And  in  her  breast  enthrone  me: 
Kings  and  nations,  swith  awa ! 

Reif  randies  I  disown  ye  ! 


VERSES, 

.WRITTEN  UNDER  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  FERGUSSON, 
THE  POET. 

Curse  on  ungrateful  man,  that  can  be  pleas'd, 
And  yet  can  starve  the  author  of  the  pleasure. 
O  thou  my  elder  brother  in  misfortune, 
By  far  my  elder  brother  in  the  muses. 
With  tears  I  pity  thy  unhappy  fate  ! 
Why  is  the  bard  unpitied  by  the  world, 
Yet  has  so  keen  a  relish  of  its  pleasures  ? 

U 


218  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF 

SIR  JAMES  HUNTER  BLxllR. 

THE  lamp  of  day  with  ill-presaging  glare, 
Dim,  cloudy,  sunk  beneath  the  western  wave  ; 

Th'  inconstant  blast  howl'd  thro*  the  darkening  air. 
And  hollow  whistled  in  the  rocky  cave. 

Lone  as  I  wandered  by  each  cliff  and  dell, 

Once  the  lov'd  haunts  of  Scotia's  royal  train  ;* 

Or  musM  where  limpid  streams  once  hallow'd,  Avell,t 
Or  mould'ring  ruins  mark'd  the  sacred  Fane.^ 

Th'  increasing  blast  roarM  round  the  beetling  rocks, 
The  clouds  swifi-wing'd  flew  o'er  the  starry  sky, 

The  groaning  trees  untimely  shed  their  locks, 
And  shooting  meteors  caught  the  startling  eye. 

The  paly  moon  rose  in  the  livid  east, 
And  'mong  the  cliffs  disclos'd  a  stately  form, 

In  words  of  woe  that  frantic  beat  her  breast, 
And  mix-d  her  wailings  with  tlie  raging  storm. 

Wild  to  my  heart  the  filial  pulses  glow, 
'Twas  Caledonivi's  trophied  shield  I  view'd  : 

Her  form  majestic  droop'd  in  pensive  woe, 
The  lightning  of  her  eye  in  tears  imbued. 

Revers'd  that  spear,  redoubtable  in  war, 
Recliu'd  that  banner,  erst  in  fields  unfiu'l'd, 

That  like  a  deathful  meteor  .c;leam'd  afar. 
And  brav'd  the  mighty  monarchs  of  the  world. — 

"  My  patriot  son  fills  an  untimely  grave  !'* 
With  accents  wild,  and  lifted  iirms  she  cried  ; 

"  Low  lies  the  hand  that  oft  was  stretch'd  to  save, 
"  Low  lies  the  heart  that  swelPd  with  honest  pride  ! 

*  The  King's  Park,  at  Holyrood-house'. 
t  St.  Antiiony's  Well. 
^  St.  Anthony's  Chapel. 


UOBEUT  BURNS.  219 

"  A  weeping  country  joins  a  widow's  tear, 
"  The  helpless  poor  mix  with  the  orphan's  cry  ; 

"  The  drooping  arts  surround  their  patron's  bier, 
"  And  grateful  science  heaves  the  heartfelt  sigh. — 

"  I  saw  my  sons  resume  their  ancient  fire ; 
"  I  saw  fair  freedom's  blo?>soms  richly  blow : 

"  But  ah  how  hope  is  born  but  to  expire  ! 
»'  Relentless  fate  has  laid  their  guardian  low.-— 

"  My  patriot  falls,  but  shall  he  lie  unsung, 
"  While  empty  greatness  saves  a  worthless  name ! 

*'  No  ;  every  Muse  shall  join  her  tuneful  tongue, 
"  And  future  ages  hear  his  growing  fame. 

"  And  I  will  join  a  mother's  tender  cares, 
"  Thro'  future  times  to  make  his  virtues  last ; 

"  That  distant  years  may  boast  of  other  Blairs" — 
She  said,  and  vunish'd  with  the  sweeping  blast. — 


SKETCH  OF  A  STAJSrZA  TO  LIBERTY, 

THEE,  Caledonia,  thy  wild  heaths  among, 
Thee,  famed  for  martial  deed  and  sacred  song, 

To  thee  I  turn  with  swimming  eyes ; 
Where  is  that  soul  of  freedom  fled  ? 
Immingled  with  the  mighty  dead  ! 

Beneath  that  hallowed  turf  where  Wallace  lies  ! 
Hear,  it  not,  Wallace,  in  thy  bed  of  death  ! 

Ye  babbling  winds,  in  silence  weep  ; 

Disturb  not  ye  the  hero's  sleep, 
Nor  give  the  coward  secret  breath 

Is  this  the  power  in  freedom's  war 

That  wont  to  bid  the  battle  rage  ? 
Behold  that  eye  which  shot  immortal  hate, 

Crushing  the  despot's  proudest  bearing, 


220  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

That  arm  which,  nerved  with  thundering  fate, 

Braved  usurpation's  boldest  daring  I 
One  quenched  in  darkness  like  the  sinking  star, 
And  one  the  palsied  arm  of  tottering,  powerless  ajje. 


HIC  JACET  WEE  JOHNNY. 

WHOE'ER  thou  art,  O  reader  know. 
That  death  hus  murderM  Johnnie  1 

An'  here  his  body  lies  fu'  low 

For  saul  he  ne'er  had  ony. 


ON  THE  BATTLE  OF  SHERIFF-MUIR 

2  etwee:?  the  duke  OF  ARGYLE  and  the  EARL  OF  MAll 

<«  O  CAM  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun, 

"  Or  herd  the  sheep  wi*  me,  man  ? 
"  Or  ware  ye  at  the  Sherra-muir, 

"  And  did  the  battle  see,  man  ?" 
I  saw  the  battle,  sair  and  tough. 
And  reekin-red  ran  mony  a  sheugh, 
My  heart  for  fear  gae  sough  for  sough, 
To  hear  the  thuds,  and  see  the  cluds 
O'  clans  frae  woods,  in  tartan  duds, 

Wha  glaum'd  at  kingdoms  three,  man. 

The  red-coat  lads  wi*  black  cockades 

To  meet  them  were  na  slaw,  man  ; 
They  rush'd  and  push'd,  and  blude  outgush'd, 

And  mony  a  bouk*  did  fa',  man  : 
The  great  Argyle  led  on  his  files,^ 
I  wat  they  glanced  twenty  miles  : 
They  hack'd  and  hash'd  while  broad  swords  clash'd, 
And  thro'  they  dash'd,  and  hew'd  and  smash'd, 

'Till  fey  menf  died  awa,  man. 

*  Bouk — dead  body.  f  Fey  men — enemies. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  221 

But  had  you  seen  the  philibegs, 

And  skyrin  tartan  trews,  man, 
When  in  the  teeth  they  dar'd  our  whigs, 

And  covenant  true  bhies,  man  ; 
In  lines  extended  lang  and  large, 
When  bayonets  oppos'd  the  targe, 
And  thousands  hasten'd  to  the  charge, 
Wi'  Highland  wrath  they  frae  the  sheath 
Drew  blades  o*  death  'till,  out  o'  breath, 

They  fled  like  frighted  doos,  man. 

"  O  how  deil  Tarn  can  that  be  true  ? 

"  The  chase  gaed  frae  the  north,  man  ; 
"  I  saw  myself,  they  did  pursue 

"  The  horsemen  back  to  Forth,  man; 
"  And  at  Dunblane,  in  my  ain  sight, 
"  They  took  the  brig  wi'  a'  their  might, 
"  And  straught  to  Stirling  winged  their  flight ; 
"  But  cursed  lot ;  the  gattis  were  shut ; 
"  And  mony  a  huntit,  poor  red-coat 

*<  For  fear  amaist  did  swarf,  man." 

My  sister  Kate  cam  up  the  gate 

Wi'  crowdie  unto  me,  man  : 
She  swoor  she  saw  some  rebels  run 

Frae  Perth  unto  Dundee,  man  : 
Their  left-hand  general  had  nae  skill, 
The  Angus  lads  had  nae  good  will 
That  day  their  neebers  blood  to  spill ; 
For  fear,  by  foes,  that  they  should  lose 
Their  cogs  o'  brose;  all  crying  woes, 

And  so  it  goes  you  see,  man  ; 

TheyVe  lost  some  gallant  gentlemen, 

Amang  the  Highland  clans,  man ; 
I  fear  my  Lord  Panmure  is  slain. 

Or  fallen  in  whiggish  hands,  man  : 
Now  wad  ye  sing  this  double  fight. 
Some  fell  for  wrang,  and  some  for  right ; 
But  mony  bade  the  world  gude  night ; 
Then  ye  may  tell,  how  pell  and  mell, 
By  red  cktymores  and  musket's  knell, 
Wi  dying  yell  the  lories  fell. 

And  whigs  to  hell  did  flee,  man. 
U2 


ooo  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

ELEGY. 

ON  THE  LATE  MISS  BURNET,  OT  MONBODDO. 

LIFE  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize, 
As  Burnet,  lovely  from  her  native  skies  ; 
Nor  envious  death  so  triumphed  in  a  blow, 
As  that  which  laid  th*  accomplish'd  Burnet  low. 

Thy  form  and  mind,  sweet  maid,  can  I  forget ; 
In  richest  ore,  the  brightest  jewel  set ! 
In  thee  high  Heaven  above,  was  truest  shown, 
As  by  his  noblest  work  the  Godhead  best  is  known. 

In  vain  ye  flaunt  in  summer's  pride,  ye  groves ; 

Thou  chrystal  streamlet  with  thy  flowery  shore^ 
Ye  woodland  choir  that  chant  your  idle  loves, 

Ye  cease  to  charm  ;  Eliza  is  no  more. 

Ye  heathy  wastes  immix'd  with  reedy  fens, 

Ye  mossy  streams,  with  sedge  and  rushes  stor'd, 

Ye  rugged  clifts  o'erhanging  dreary  glens, 
To  you  I  fly,  ye  with  my  soul  accord. 

Princes  whose  cumb'rous  pride  was  all  their  worth* 
Shall  venal  lays  their  pompous  exit  hail  ? 

And  thou  sweet  excellence !  forsake  our  earth, 
And  not  a  muse  in  honest  grief  bewail. 

We  saw  thee  shine  in  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 
And  virtue's  light  that  beams  beyond  the  spheres  ; 

But  like  the  sun  eclips'd  at  morning  tide. 
Thou  left'st  us  darkling  in  a  world  of  tears. 

The  parent's  heart  that  nestled  fond  in  thee, 
That  heart  how  sunk,  a  prey  to  grief  and  care  : 

So  deckt  the  woodbine  sweet  yon  aged  tree, 
Se  from  it  ravish'd,  leaves  it  bleak  and  bare. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  223 

POEM  ON  LIFE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  COLONEL  DE  PEYSTER. 

.  MY  honored  colonel,  deep  I  feel 
Your  interest  in  the  poet's  weal ; 
Ah !  now  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  speel 

The  steep  Parnassus, 
Surrounded  thus  by  bolus  pill. 

And  potion  glasses. 

O  what  a  canty  warld  were  it, 
Would  pain  and  care,  and  sickness  spare  it  j 
And  fortune  favor  worth  and  merit, 

As  they  deserve : 
(And  ay  a  rowth,  roast  beef  and  claret ; 

Syne  wha  would  starve  ?) 

Dame  life,  tho'  fiction  out  may  trick  her. 
And  in  paste  gems  and  frippery  deck  her ; 
Oh  !  flickering,  feeble,  and  unsicker 

I've  found  her  still. 
Ay  wavering  like  the  willow  wicker, 

*Tween  good  and  ill. 

Then  that  curst  carmagnole  auld  Satan, 
Watches,  like  bawd'rons  by  a  rattan. 
Our  sinfu'  saul  to  get  a  claute  on 

Wi*  felon  ire ; 
Syne,  whip  !  his  tail  ye'll  ne'er  cast  saut  on, 

He's  off  like  fire. 

Ah  !  Nick,  ah  Nick  it  is  na  fair, 
First  shewing  us  the  tempting  ware, 
Bright  wines  and  bonnie  lasses  rare, 

To  put  us  daft ; 
Syne  weave,  unseen,  thy  spider  snare 

O  hell's  damned  waft> 


224  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Poor  man  the  flie,  aft  bizzes  bye, 
And  aft  as  chance  he  comes  thee  nigh, 
Thy  auld  damned  elbow  yeuks  wi'  joy, 

And  hellish  pleasure ; 
Already  in  thy  fancy's  eye, 

Thy  sicker  treasure. 

Soon  heels  o'  gowdie !  in  he  gangs, 
And  like  a  sheep-head  on  a  tangs. 
Thy  girning  laugh  enjoys  his  pangs 

And  murdering  wrestle, 
As  dangling  in  the  wind  he  hangs 

A  gibbet's  tassel. 

But  lest  you  think  I  am  uncivil, 
To  plague  you  with  this  draunting  drivel, 
Abjuring  a'  intentions  evil, 

I  quat  my  pen  : 
The  Lord  preserve  us  frae  the  devil 

Amen !  amen  ! 


ON  VIEWIKG  THE  PALACE 

OF  HOLY-ROOD-HOUSE, 

THE  RESIDENCE  OF  THE  KI^GS  OF  SCOTLAND. 

WITH  awe-struck  thought,  and  pitying  tears, 

I  view  that  noble,  stately  dome, 
Where  Scotia's  kings,  of  other  years, 

Fam'd  heroes  I  had  their  royal  home. 

Alas  !  how  changM,  the  times  to  come, 

Their  royal  name,  low  in  the  dust ; 
Their  hapless  race,  wild-wand' rir.-g  roam, 

Though  rigid  law  cries  out,  "  'twas  just.'* 


KOBERT  BURNS.  225 


Wild  beats  my  heart,  to  trace  your  steps, 
Whose  ancestors  in  days  of  yore, 

Through  hostile  ranks,  and  ruin'd  gaps, 
Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore. 

E'en  I  who  sing  in  rustic  lore. 

Haply  7ny  sires  have  left  their  slied, 

And  fac'd  grim  danger's  loudest  roar. 
Bold  following  where  ijour  fathers  led. 


JOHN  BARLEYCORN*,  A  BALLAD 

THERE  were  three  kings  into  the  east, 

Three  kings  both  great  and  high 
An'  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  ploughed  him  down, 

Put  clods  upon  his  head, 
And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  IBarleycorn  was  dead. 

But  the  cheerful  spring  came  kindly  on, 

And  show'rs  began  to  fall ; 
John  Barleycorn  got  up  again, 

And  sore  surpris'd  them  all. 

The  sultry  suns  of  summer  came, 

And  he  grew  thick  and  strong, 
His  head  weel  arm'd  wi'  pointed  spears,, 

That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 

The  sober  autumn  enter'd  mild, 

When  he  grew  wan  and  pale  ; 
His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 

Show'd  he  began  to  fail. 

*  This  is  partly  composed  on  the  plan  of  an  old  song^  knowri 
by  the  same  name. 


226  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

His  colour  sickenM  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age  ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  shew  their  deadly  rage. 

They've  taen  a  weapon,  long  and  sharp, 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee  ; 
Then  ty'd  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 

Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 

They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back, 
And  cudgeli'd  him  full  sore ; 

They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm, 
And  turn*d  him  o'er  an  o'er. 

They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim, 
They  heaved  in  John  Barleycorn, 

There  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

They  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor, 

To  work  him  farther  woe, 
And  still,  as  signs  of  life  appear'd, 

They  toss'd  him  to  and  fro. 

* 

They  wasted  o'er  a  scorching  flame, 

The  marrow  of  his  bones  ; 
But  a  miller  us'd  him  worst  of  all, 

For  he  crush'd  him  'tween  two  stones. 

And  they  hae  taen  his  very  heart's  blood, 
And  drank  it  round  and  round ; 

And  still  the  more  and  more  they  dr^nk, 
Their  joy  did  more  abound. 

John  Barleycorn  was  a  hero  bold, 

Of  noble  enterprise. 
For  if  you  do  but  taste  his  blood, 

'Twill  make  your  courage  rise, 

'Twill  make  a  man  forget  his  woe  ; 

'Twill  heighten  all  his  joy  : 
'Twill  make  the  widow's  heart  to  sing, 

Tho*  the  tear  were  in  her  eye, 


ROBERT  BURNS.  227 


Then  let  us  toast  John  Barleycorn, 
Each  man  a  glass  in  hand ; 

And  may  his  great  posterity 
Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland ! 


IMPROMPTU,  ON  Mrs. S  BIRTH-DAY. 

OLD  winter  with  his  frosty  beard, 
Thus  once  to  Jove  his  prayer  preferred  ; 
What  have  I  done  of  all  the  year, 
To  bear  this  hated  doom  severe? 
My  cheerless  suns  no  pleasure  know  ; 
Night's  horrid  car  drags,  dreary,  slow : 
My  dismal  months  no  joys  are  crowning, 
But  spleeny  English,  hanging,  drowning. 

Now  Jove  for  once  be  mighty  civil. 

To  counterbalance  all  this  evil ; 

Give  me,  and  I've  no  more  to  say. 

Give  me  Maria's  natal  day  ! 

That  brilliant  gift  will  so  enrich  me. 

Spring,  summer,  autun;n,  cannot  match  me  ; 

'Tis  done  !  says  Jove ;  so  ends  my  story. 

And  winter  once  rejoic'd  in  glory. 


ANSWER  TO  A  SUPERVISOR'S  MxlNDATE. 

SIR,  as  your  mandate  did  request, 

I  send  you  here  a  faithfu'  list. 

My  horses,  servants,  carts  and  graith, 

To  which  I'm  free  to  take  my  aith. 

Imprimis,  then  for  carriage  cattle, 

I  hae  four  brutes  o'  gallant  mettle. 

As  ever  drew  before  a  pettle. 

My  hand-afore^  a  guid  auld  has  been. 

And  wight  and  wilfu'  a'  his  days  seen  ; 


228  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

My  hand-a-hin^  a  gude  brown  filly, 
Wha  aft  has  borne  me  safe  frae  Killic  ; 
And  your  auld  borough  mony  a  time, 
In  days  when  riding  was  nae  crime  : 
Myy'wr-a-Am,  a  guid,  gray  beast, 
As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  trac'd  : 
The  fourth,  a  Highland  Donald  hasty, 
A  d-mn'd  red-wud,  Kilburnie  blastie. 
For-by  a  cowte,  of  cowtes  the  wale, 
As  ever  ran  before  a  tail ; 
An'  he  be  spar'd  to  be  a  beast, 
He'll  draw  me  fifteen  puod  at  least. 

Wheel  carriages  I  hae  but  few, 
Three  carts,  and  twa  are  feckly  new ; 
An  auld  wheel-barrow,  mair  for  token, 
Ae  leg  and  baith  the  trams  are  broken ; 
I  made  a  poker  o'  the  spindle, 
And  my  auld  mither  brunt  the  trundle. 
For  men,  I've  three  mischievous  boys, 
Run-deils  for  rantin  and  for  noise ; 
A  gadsman  ane,  a  thresher  tother. 
Wee  Davoc  bauds  the  nowte  in  fother« 
I  rule  them  as  I  ought  discreetly. 
And  often  labour  them  completely. 
And  ay  on  Sundays  duly  nightly, 
I  on  the  questions  tairge  them  tightly, 
'Till  faith  wee  Davoc's  grown  sae  gleg, 
(Tho'  scarcely  langer  than  my  leg) 
He'll  screed  you  off  effectual  calling; 
As  fast  as  ony  in  the  dwalling. 

I've  nane  in  female  servant  station. 
Lord  keep  me  ay  frae  a'  temptation  ! 
1  hae  nae  wife,  and  that  my  bliss  is, 
And  ye  hae  laid  nae  tax  on  misses ; 
For  weans  I'm  mair  than  weel  contented, 
Heaven  sent  me  ane  mair  than  I  wanted  3 
My  sonsie,  smirking,  dear-bought  Bess, 
She  stares  the  daddie  in  her  face, 
Enough  of  ought  ye  like  but  grace. 


} 


ROBERT  BURNS.  Z29 

But  her,  my  bonny,  sweet,  wee  lady, 
I've  said  enough  for  her  already, 
And  if  ye  tax  her  or  her  mither. 
By  the  L— d  ye'se  get  them  a'  theg  ither  ! 

And  now,  remember,  Mr.  Aiken, 

Nae  kind  of  licence  out  I'm  taking. 

Thro'  dirt  and  dub  for  life  I'll  paidle. 

E'er  I  sae  dear  pay  for  a  saddle ; 

I'  ve  sturdy  stumps,  the  Lord  be  thank  it '. 

And  a'  my  gates  on  foot  I'll  shank  it. 

This  list  wi*  my  ain  hand  I've  wrote  it, 
The  day  and  date  as  under  noted  ; 
Then  know  all  ye  whom  it  concerns 
Subscrijisi  huic 

ROBERT  BURNS. 

SIvETCH.    NEW  YEAR'S  DAY. 

TO  Mrs.  DUNLOP. 

THIS  day.  Time  winds  th'  exhausted  chain. 
To  run  the  twelvemonth's  length  again  :— 
I  see  the  old,  bald-pated  fellow. 
With  ardent  eyes,  complexion  sallow, 
Adjust  th'  unimpair'd  machine. 
To  wheel  the  equal,  dull  routine. 

The  absent  lover,  minor  heir. 
In  vain  assail  him  with  their  prayer, 
Deaf  as  my  friend,  he  sees  them  press, 
Nor  makes  the  hour  one  moment  less. 
Will  you  (the  Major's  with  the  hounds. 
The  happy  tenants  share  his  rounds ; 
Coila's  fair  Rachel's  care  to-day, 
And  blooming  Keith's  engaged  with  Gray ;) 
From  housewife  cares  a  minute  borrow— 
—That  grandchild's  cap  will  do  to-morrow — 
And  join  with  me  a  moralizing. 
This  day's  propitious  to  be  wise  in. 
X 


230  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

First,  what  did  yesternight  deliver  ? 

"  Another  year  is  gone  for  ever." 

And  wliat  is  this  day's  strong  suggestion  ? 

"  The  passing  moment's  all  we  rest  on  !'* 

Jlest  on —  for  what  ?  what  do  we  here  ? 

C)v  why  regard  the  passing  year  ? 

Will  time,  amus'd  with  proverbM  lore, 

Add  to  our  date  one  minute  more  ? 

A  few  days  may — a  few  years  must — 

Repose  us  in  the  silent  dust. 

Then  is  it  wise  to  damp  our  bliss  ? 

Yes — ^11  such  reasonings  are  amiss  ! 

The  voice  of  nature  loudly  cries. 

And  many  a  message  from  the  skies 

That  something  in  us  never  dies  : 

That  on  this  frail,  uncertain  state, 

Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight ; 

That  future-life  in  wodds  unknown 

Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone  : 

Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright, 

Or  dark  as  misery's  woeful  night — 

Since  then,  my  honor'd,  first  of  friends, 

On  this  poor  being  all  depends ; 

Let  us  th'  important  now  employ 

And  live  as  those  who  never  die. 

Tho'  you  with  days  and  honors  crown'd, 

Witness  that  filial  circle  round, 

(  A  sight  life's  sorrows  to  repulse, 

A  sight  pale  envy  to  convulse) 

Others  now  claim  your  chief  regard ; 

Yourself,  you  wait  your  bright  reward. 


EPITAPH  FOR  G.  II.  Esc^. 

The  poor  man  weeps — here  G n  sleeps, 

Whom  canting  wretches  blam'd  : 

But  with  such  as  hc^  where'er  he  be, 
May  I  be  sav''d  or  d   •   <  d ! 


} 


ROBERT  BURNS.  231 


TO  MR.  M' ADxlM,  OF  CRAIGEN-GILLAlSr, 

In  answer  to  an  obliging  letter  he  sent  in  tllfe  commencement  of 
my  poetic  career. 

SIR,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card, 

I  trow  it  made  me  proud  ; 
See  wha  taks  notice  o'  the  bard  ! 

I  lap  and  cry'd  fu'  loud. 

Now  dcil-ma-care  about  the  jaw, 

The  senseless,  gawky  million  ; 
I  '11  cock  my  nose  aboon  them  a', 

I  'm  roos'd  by  Craigen-Gillan  ! 

'Twas  noble.  Sir ;  'twas  like  yoursel, 

To  grant  your  high  protection  : 
A  great  man's  smile  ye  ken  fu'  well. 

Is  ay  a  blest  infection. 

Tho'  by  his*  banes  wha  in  a  tub 

Match'd  Macedonian  Sandy ! 
On  my  ain  legs  thro'  dirt  and  dub, 

I  independent  stand  ay. — 

And  when  those  legs  to  gude,  warm  kail, 

Wi'  welcome  canna  bear  me  j 
A  lee  dyke-side,  a  sybow-tail, 

A  barley-scone  shall  cheer  me. 

Heaven  spare  you  lang  to  kiss  the  breath 

O'  mony  flow*ry  simmers  ! 
And  bless  your  bonie  lasses  baith, 

I  *m  tald  they  're  loosome  kimmers  ! 

And  God  ble^s  young  Dunaskin's  laird, 

The  blossom  of  our  gentry  ! 
And  may  he  wear  an  auld  man's  beard, 

A  credit  to  his  country. 

*  Diogenes. 


232  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

ELEGY 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RUISSEAUX*. 

NOW  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair, 
He  '11  gabble  rhyme,  nor  sing  nae  mair, 
Cauld  poverty  \vi'  hungry  stare, 

Nae  mair  shall  fear  him  ; 
Nor  anxious  fear,  nor  cankert  care 

E'er  mair  come  near  him. 

To  tell  the  truth,  they  seldom  fash't  him, 
Except  the  moment  that  they  crush't  him  ; 
For  sune  as  chance  or  fate  had  husht  'em 

Tho'  e'er  sae  short, 
Then  wi'  a  rhyme  or  song  he  lash't  'em 

And  thought  it  sport. — 

Tho'  he  was  bred  to  kintra  wark, 
And  counted  was  baith  wight  and  stark, 
Yet  that  was  never  Robin's  mark 

To  mak  a  man  ; 
But  tell  him,  he  was  learn *d  and  dark, 
Ye  roos*d  him  then ! 


TO  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

WITH  A  PRESENT   OF  BOOKS. 

THINE  be  the  volumes  Jessy  fair, 
And  with  them  take  the  poet's  prayer  ; 
That  fate  may  in  her  fairest  page, 
AVith  every  kindliest,  best  presage. 
Of  future  bliss,  enrol  thy  name  : 
With  native  worth,  and  spotless  fame, 
And  wakeful  caution  still  aware 
Of  ill—but  chief,  man's  felon  snare ; 

*  JRuisseaux'^a,  play  on  his  own  name 


ROBERT  BURNS.  233 


All  blameless  joys  on  earth  we  find, 
And  all  the  treasures  of  the  mind — 
These  be  thy  guardian  and  re\/ard ; 
So  prays  thy  faithful  friend,  the  bard. 


POETICAL  ADDRESS  TO  Mr.  Wm.  TYTLER, 

WITH  THE  PRESENT  OF  THE  BARD'S  PICTURE. 

REVERED  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart, 

Of  Stuart,  a  name  once  respected, 
A  name  which  to  love  was  the  mark  of  a  true  heart. 

But  now  'tis  despised  and  neglected  : 

Tho'  something  like  moisture  conglobes  in  my  eye, 

Let  no  one  misdeem  me  disloyal ; 
A  poor  friendless  wand'rer  may  well  claim  a  sigh, 

Still  more,  if  that  wand*rer  were  royal. 

My  fathers,  that  name  have  rever'd  on  a  throne  ; 

My  fathers  have  fallen  to  right  it ; 
Those  fathers  would  spurn  their  degenerate  son> 

That  name  should  he  scoffingly  slight  it. 

Still  in  prayers  for  King  George  I  most  heartily  join^ 
The  Queen,  and  the  rest  of  the  gentry. 

Be  they  wise,  be  they  foolish,  is  nothing  of  mine  ; 
Their  title  *s  avow'd  by  my  country. 

But  why  of  that  epocha  make  such  a  fuss, 

But  loyalty  truce  !  we  're  on  dangerous  ground. 
Who  knows  how  the  fdshions  may  alter, 

The  doctrine,  to-day,  that  is  loyalty  sound, 
To-morrow  may  bring  us  a  halter. 
X2 


234  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

I  send  you  a  trifle,  a  head  of  a  bard, 

A  trifle  scarce  worthy  your  care  ; 
But  accept  it,  good  sir  as  a  mark  of  regard, 

Sincere  as  a  saint's  dying  prayer. 

Now  life's  chilly  evening  dim  shades  on  your  eye, 

And  ushers  the  long  dreary  night : 
But  you  like  the  star  that  athwart  gilds  the  sky, 

Your  course  to  the  latest  is  bright. 


CALEDONIA. 

Tune — "  Caledonian  Hunt's  delight." 

THERE  was  once  a  day,  but  old  Time  then  was  young, 

That  brave  Caledonia,  the  chief  of  her  line, 
From  some  of  your  northern  deities  sprung, 

(Who  knows  not  that  brave  Caledonia's  divine  ?) 
From  Tweed  to  the  Orcades  was  her  domain, 

To  hunt,  or  to  pasture,  or  do  what  she  would : 
Her  heavenly  relations  there  fixed  her  reign, 

And  pledged  their  godheads  to  warrant  it  good. 

A  lambkin  in  peace,  but  a  lion  in  war, 

The  pride  of  her  kindred,  the  heroine  grew : 
Her  grandsire,  old  Odin,  triumphantly  swore,* — 

"  Whoe'er  shall  provoke  thee  th*  encounter  shall  rue  !" 
With  tillage  or  pasture  at  times  she  would  sport. 

To  feed  her  fair  flocks  by  her  green  rustling  corn. 
But  chiefly  the  woods  were  her  fav'rite  resort. 

Her  darling  amusement  the  hounds  and  the  horn. 

Long  quiet  she  reigned  !  till  thitherward  steers 

A  flight  of  bold  eagles  from  Adrians  strand  :* 
Repeated  successive  for  many  long  years. 

They  darken'd  the  air  and  they  plunderM  the  landj 
Their  pounces  were  murder,  and  terror  their  cry, 

They  conquer'd  and  ruin'd  a  world  beside: 
She  took  to  her  hills  and  her  arrows  let  fly, 

The  daring  invaders  they  fled  or  they  died. 

*  The  Romans. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  235 

The  fell  Harpy-raven  took  wing  from  the  north, 

The  scourge  of  the  seas  and  the  dread  of  the  shore  ;* 
The  wild  Scandinavian  boar  issued  forth 

To  wanton  in  carnage  and  wallow  in  gore  :t 
O'er  country  and  kingdoms  their  fury  prevail'd, 

No  arts  could  appease  them,  no  arms  could  repel ; 
But  brave  Caledonia  in  vain  they  assail'd, 

As  Largs  well  can  witness  and  Loncartie  tell.l 

The  Camelion -savage  disturbed  her  repose. 
With  tumult,  disquiet,  rebellion  and  strife  ; 

Provok'd  beyond  bearing,  at  last  she  arose, 

And  robbM  him  at  once  of  his  hopes  and  his  life  :§ 

The  Anglian  lion  the  terror  of  France, 

Oft  prowling  ensanguinM  the  Tweed's  silver  flood  ; 
But,  taught  by  the  bright  Caledonian  lance, 

He  learned  to  fear  in  his  own  native  wood. 

Thus  bold,  independent,  unconquer'd  and  free. 

Her  bright  course  of  glory  forever  shall  run , 
For  brave  Caledonia  immortal  must  be  ; 

I'll  prove  it  from  Euclid  as  clear  as  th6  sun  : 
Rectangle-triangle,  the  figure  we'll  chuse. 

The  upright  is  Chance,  and  old  time  is  the  base, 
But  brave  Caledonia's  the  hypotenuse ; 

The  ergo  she'll  match  them,  and  match  them  always. 


THE  LAZY  MIST. 

The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
Concealing  the  course  of  the  dark  winding  rill; 
How  languid  the  scenes,  late  so  sprightly,  appear, 
'  s  autumn  to  winter  resigns  the  pale  year. 


t 


*  The  Saxons.  f  The  Danes, 

famous  battles  In  whicl 

5  The  Highlanders  of  the  isles. 


i  Two  famous  battles  In  which  the  Danes  or  Norwegians  were 
defeated. 


236  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  forests  are  leafless,  the  meadows  are  brown, 

And  all  the  gay  foppery  of  summer  is  fiqwny 

Apart  let  me  wander,  apart  let  me  muse, 

How  quick  time  is  flying,  how  keen  fate  pursues ; 

How  long  I  have  liv'd — but  how  much  liv'd  in  vain  ; 

How  little  of  life's  scanty  span  may  remain : 

What  aspects,  old  time,  in  his  progress  has  worn ; 

What  ties,  cruel  fate,  in  my  bosom  has  torn. 

How  foolish,  or  worse,  'till  our  summit  is  gain*d  ! 

And    downward,    how  weaken'd,    how  darken*d,    how 

pain'd  I 
This  life  's  not  worth  having  with  all  it  can  give, 
For  something  beyond  it  poor  man  sure  must  live. 


EXTEMPORE, 

ON  THE  LATE  Mr  WILLL^M  SMELLIE. 

To  Crochallan  came 
The  old  cock'd  hat,  the  grey  surtout,  the  same ; 
His  bristling  beard  just  rising  in  its  might, 
'Twas  four  long  nights  and  days  to  shaving-night. 
His  uncomb*d  grizzly  locks  wild  staring,  thatch'd, 
A  head  for  thought  profound  and  clear,  unmatch'd, 
Yet  tho'  his  caustic  wit  was  biting,  rude, 
His  heart  was  wai'm,  benevolent  and  good. 


POETICAL  INSCRIPTION, 

FOR  AN  ALTAR  TO  INDEPENDENCE. 

THOU  of  an  independent  mind 
With  soul  resolv'd^  wiih  soul  resigned ; 
PreparM  pow'rs  proudest  frown  to  brave, 
Who  wilt  not  be,  nor  have  a  slave ; 
Virtue  alone  who  dost  revere. 
Thy  own  reproach  alone  dost  fear, 
Approach  this  shrine,  and  worship  here. 


} 


ROBERT  BURNS.  237 

SENT  TO  A 

GENTLEMAN  WHOM  HE  HAD  OFFENDED. 

THE  friend  whom  wild  from  wisdom's  way, 
The  fumes  of  wine  infuriate  send  ;        -v- 

(Not  moony  madness  more  astray) 

Who  but  deplores  that  hapless  friend  ? 

Mine  was  th*  insensate  frenzied  part, 

Ah  why  should  I  such  scenes  outlive  I 
Scenes  so  abhorrent  to  my  heart  ! 

'Tis  thine  to  pity  and  forgive. 


A  verse  composed  and  repeated  by  Burns,  to  the  Master  of  the 
house,  on  taking  leave  at  a  place  in  the  Highlands  where  he- 
had  been  hospitably  entertained. 

WHEN  death's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o*er, 

A  time  that  surely  shall  come  ; 
In  heaven  itself,  I'll  ask  no  more, 

Than  just  a  Highland  welcome. 


SONNET,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  Mr.  RIDDEL. 

No  more,  ye  warblers  of  the  wood,  no  more, 
Nor  pour  your  descant  grating  on  my  ear; 
Thou  young-eyed  spring,  thy  charms  I  cannot  bear ; 

More  welcome  were  to  me  grim  winter's  wildest  roar. 

How  can  ye  please,  ye  flowers  with  all  your  dyes  ? 

Ye  blow  upon  the  sod  that  wraps  my  friend  : 

How  can  I  to  the  tuneful  strain  attend  ? 
That  strain  pours  round  th'  untimely  tomb  where  Riddel 
lies. 


238  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

SONNET,  ON  HEARING  A  THRUSH  SING 

ON  THE  MORNING  OF  HIS  BIRTH-DAY. 

SING  on  sweet  thrush  upon  the  leafless  bough, 
Sing  on  sweet  bird,  I  listen  to  thy  strain. 
See  aged  winter  'mid  his  surly  reign, 

At  thy  blithe  carrol  clears  his  furrowed  brow, 

So  in  lone  poverty's  dominion  drear. 

Sits  meek  content  with  light  unanxious  heart, 
Welcomes  the  rapid  moments,  bids  them  part, 

Nor  asks  if  they  bring  ought  to  hope  cfr  fear. 

I  thank  thee,  author  of  this  opening  day  ! 

Thou  whose  bright  sun  now  gilds  yon  orient  skies ! 

Riches  denied,  thy  boon  was  purer  joys. 
What  wealth  could  never  give  nor  take  away  ! 

Yet  come  thou  child  of  poverty  and  care. 
The  mite  high  heav*n  bestowM,  that  mite  with  thee  I  '11 
share. 


EXTEMPORE. 

ON  REFUSING  TO  DINE  WITH  Mr.  S**E, 

No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled  or  not 
And  Cook'ry  the  first  in  the  nation  : 

Who  is  proof  to  thy  personal  converse  and  wit, 
Is  proof  to  all  other  temptation. 


TO  MR.  S^^E, 

WITH  A  PRESENT  OF  A  DOZEN  OF  PORTER. 

O  HAD  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mind, 

Or  hops  the  flavour  of  thy  wit ; 
'Twere  drink  for  first  of  human  kind, 

A  gift  that  e'en  for  S**e  were  fit. 


ROBERT  BtJRNS.  239 

SENT  AVITH  A  COPY  OF  HIS  POEMS 

TO  AN  OLD  SWEETHEART. 

ONCE  fondly  lov'd  and  still  remember'd  dear, 
Sweet  early  object  of  my  youthful  vows, 

Accept  this  mark  of  friendship,  warm,  sincere, 
Friendship  1  'tis  all  cold  duty  now  allows. — 

And  when  you  read  the  simple  artless  rhymes 
One  friendly  sigh  for  him,  he  asks  no  more, 

Who  distant  burns  in  flaming  torrid  climes, 
Or  haply  lies  beneath  th'  Atlantic's  roar. 


TO  THE  OWL. 

Sad  bird  of  night,  what  sorrow  calls  thee  forth. 
To  vent  thy  plaints  thus  in  the  midnight  hour  ? 

Is  it  some  blast  that  gathers  in  the  north, 
Threat'ning  to  nip  the  verdure  of  thy  bow'r? 

Is  it,  sad  owl,  that  autumn  strips  the  shade. 
And  leaves  thee  here,  unshelter'd  and  forlorn  ? 

Or  fear  that  winter  will  thy  nest  invade  ? 
Or  friendless  n\glancholy  bids  thee  mourn  ? 


Shut  out,  lone  bird,  from  all  the  feather'd  train, 
To  tell  thy  sorrows  to  th'  unheeding  gloom  j 

No  friend  to  pity  when  thou  dost  complain. 
Grief  all  thy  thought,  and  solitude  thy  home. 

Sing  on,  sad  mourner  !  I  will  bless  thy  strain, 
And  pleas'd  in  sorrow  listen  to  thy  song  : 

Sing  on,  sad  mourner  1  to  the  night  complain, 
While  the  lone  echo  wafts  thy  notes  along. 

Is  beauty  less,  when  down  the  glowing  cheek 

^ad,  piteous  tears,  in  native  sorrows  fall  ? 
tLess  kind  the  heart  when  anguish  bids  it  break  ? 
*     Less  happy  he  who  lists  to  pity's  call  ? 


■^ 


240  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Ah  no,  sad  owl !  nor  is  thy  voice  less  sweet, 
That  sadness  tunes  it,  and  that  grief  is  there  ; 

That  spring's  gay  notes  unskiil'd,  thou  canst  repeat : 
That  sorrow  bids  thee  to  the  gloom  repair  : 

Nor  that  the  treble  songsters  of  the  day, 

Are  quite  estrang'd,  sad  bird  of  night !  from  thee ; 

Nor  that  the  thrush  deserts  the  evening  spray. 
When  darkness  calls  thee  from  thy  reverie.—- 

From  some  old  tow'^  thy  melancholy  dome. 
While  the  gray  wst..  And  desert  solitudes. 

Return  each  note,  respoi:sive  to  the  gloom 
Of  ivied  coverts  and  surrounding  woods  ; 

There  hooting  ;  I  will  list  n^re  pleas'd  to  thee, 

Than  ever  lover  to  the  nightingale  ; 
Or  drooping  wretch,  oppressed  with  misery, 

Lending  his  ear  to  some  condoling  tale. 


TO  Dr.  BLACKLOCK. 

Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie  ! 
And  are  ye  hale,  and  weel,  and  cantie  ? 
I  ken*d  it  still  your  wee  bit  jauntie, 

Wad  bring  ye  to  : 
Lord  send  you  ay  as  weel's  I  want  ye, 

And  then  ye  '11  do. 

The  ill-thief  blaw  the  Heron  south  I 
And  never  drink  be  near  his  drouth ! 
He  tald  mysel  by  word  o'  mouth, 

He  'd  tak  my  letter  ; 
I  lippen'd  to  the  chiel  in  trouth, 

And  bade  nae  better. 

But  aiblins  honest  master  Heron, 
Had  at  the  time  some  dainty  fair  one. 
To  ware  his  theologic  care  on. 

And  holy  study  ; 
And  tired  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear  on, 

E'en  tried  the  body. 


.^^ 


ROBEBT  BURX3.  241 

But  what  d'ye  think,  my  trusty  fier, 
I'm  turn'd  a  gauger— Peace  be  here  I 
Parnassian  queens,  I  fear,  I  fear, 

Ye*ll  now  disdain  me, 
And  then  my  fifty  pounds  a  year 

Will  little  gain  me. 

Ye  glaiket,  gleesome,  dainty  damies, 
Wha  by  Castalia's  whimplin  streamies, 
Lowp,  sing,  and  lave  your  pretty  limbics. 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken, 
That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Mang  sons  o'  men. 

I  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee  laddies, 
They  maun  hae  brose  and  brats  o*  duddies  i 
Ye  ken  yoursel  my  heart  right  proud  is, 

I  need  na  vaunt. 
But  I'll  sned  besoms — thraw  saugh  woodiesj* 
Before  they  want. 

Lord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care  I 
I*m  weary  sick  o't  late  and  air ! 
Not  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  mony  ithers ; 
But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare, 

And  a'  men  brithers  I 

Come  Firm  Resolve  take  thou  the  van, 
Thou  stalk  o'  carl-hemp  in  man  ! 
And  let  us  mind  faint  heart  ne*er  wan 

A  lady  fair  : 
Wae  does  the  utmost  that  he  can. 

Will  whyles  do  mair. 

But  to  conclude  my  silly  rhyme, 
(I'm  scant  o'  verse,  and  scant  o'  time,) 
To  make  a  happy  fire-side  clime 
^  To  weans  and  wife, 

%hat's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 
Of  human  life. 

*  To  twist  withes. 


242  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Or 

My  compliments  to  sister  Beckie  ; 
And  eke  the  same  to  honest  Lucky, 
I  wat  she  is  a  dainty  chuekie, 

As  e*er  tread  clay  1 
And  gratefully  my  good  auld  cockie, 
I'm  yours  for  ay. 

ROBERT  BURNS. 


FAREWELL  TO  AYRSHIRE. 

Scenes  of  woe  and  scenes  of  pleasure, 
Scenes  that  other  thoughts  renew, 

Scenes  of  woe  and  scenes  of  pleasure? 
Now  a  sad  and  last  adieu  ! 

Bonny  doon  sae  sweet  at  gloamin, 

Fare  thee  weel  before  I  gang  : 
Bonny  doon  whare  early  roaming, 

First  I  weav'd  the  rustic  sang  I 

Bowers  adieu  !  whare  Love,  decoying, 
First  enthrall'd  this  heart  o'  mine, 

There  the  saftest  sweets  enjoying — 
Sweets  that  mem'ry  ne'er  can  tine 

Friends  so  near  my  bosom  ever. 

Ye  hae  render'd  moments  dear, 
But  alas  1  when  forc'd  to  sever, 

Tnen  the  strock,  O  how  severe  I 

Friends !  that  parting  tear  reserve  it, 

Tho'  'tis  doubly  dear  to  me ! 
Could  I  think  I  did  deserve  it. 

How  much  happier  would  I  be  ! 

Scenes  of  woe  and  scenes  of  pleasure, 
Scenes  thc.t  former  thoughts  renew, 

Bcene^-  of  woe  and  scenes  of  pleasure. 
Now  a  sad  and  last  adieu  ! 


ROBERT  BUHNS.  2^3 

(♦ 

ON  SEEING 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  SEAT  OF  LORD  G. 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair  ? 

Flit  G and  find 

Some  narrow,  dirty,  dungeon  ca^, 

The  picture  c^  thy  mind  ! 


EPITAPH  ON  FERGUSSON. 

No  sculptur'd  marble  here,  ixor  pompous  lay, 
"  No  storied  urn  nor  animated  bust ;" 

This  siiTiple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia's  way. 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  her  poet's  dust. 


SONGS. 


THE  FAREWELL,  TO  THE  BRETHERN 

OF  St.  JAMES'S  LODGE,  TARBOLTON. 

Tune,  *  Goodnight  and  joy  be  wi'  you  a." 

ADIEU  !  a   heart-warm,  fond  adieu  ! 

Dear  brothers  of  the  7nystic  tye  ! 
Ye  favoured,  ye  enlightened  few, 

Companions  of  my  social  joy  ! 
Tho'  I  to  foreign  lands  must  hie, 
^;|it^Pursuing  fortune's  sliddVy  ba', 
with  melting  heart  and  brimful  eye, 

I'll  mind  you  still,  tho*  far  awa'. 

Oft  have  I  met  your  social  band. 

And  spent  the  cheerful  festive  night ; 
Oft,  honour'd  with  supreme  command, 

Presided  o'er  the  sons  o'  light  : 
And  by  that  hieroglyfihic  bright, 

Which  none  but  craftsmen  ever  saw  ! 
Strong  mem'ry  on  my  heart  shall  write 

Those  happy  scenes  when  far  awa' ! 

May  freedom,  harmony  and  love, 

Unite  you  in  the  grand  design^ 
Beneath  th'  omniscient  eye  above, 

The  glorious  Arcldtect  divine  ! 
That  you  may  keep  th*  unerring  line ^ 

Still  rising  by  the  filummet^s  lanv^ 
Till  order  bright  completely  shine, 

Shall  be  my  prayer  when  far  awa' 


IIOBERT  BURNS.  245 


And  you  farewell !  whose  merits  claim, 

Justly  that  highest  bidge  to  wear  ! 
Heav'n  bless  your  honourM  noble  name, 

To  Masonrij  and  Scotia  dear  I 
A  last  request  permit  me  here, 

When  yearly  ye  assemble  a*, 
One  rounds  I  ask  it  with  a  tear^ 

To  him,  the  Bard  that'* s  far  a^a\ 


TAM  GLEN. 

My  heart  is  a-breaking,  dear  Tittie, 
Some  counsel  unto  me  come  len'  ; 

To  anger  them  a'  is  a  pity, 

But  what  will  I  do  wi'  Tarn  Glen  ? 

I'm  thinking  wi*  sic  a  braw  fallow. 

In  poortith  1  might  mak  a  fen  : 
What  care  I  in  riches  to  wallow. 

If  I  mauna  marry  Tani  Glen. 

There's  Lowrie  the  Laird  o'  Dumeller, 
"  Gude  day  to  you,"  brute !  he  comes  ben 

He  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller. 
But  when  will  he  dance  like  Tarn  Glen? 

My  minnie  does  constantly  deave  me. 
And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men. 

They  flatter,  she  says  to  deceive  me. 
But  wha  can  think  sae  o*  Tam  Glen. 

My  daddie  says,  gin  I'll  forsake  him, 
He*ll  gie  me  gude  hunder  marks  ten  : 

But,  if  its  ordain'd  I  maun  tak  him, 
O  wha  will  I  get  but  Tam  Glen? 

Yestreen  at  the  Valentine's  dealing, 
My  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a  sten  ; 

For  thrice  I  drew  ane  without  failing. 
And  thrice  it  was  written  Tam  Glen  I. 
¥2 


246  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

The  last  Hallowe'en  I  was  waukiri 
My  dioukit-sark  sleeve,  as  ye  ken  ; 

His  likeness  cam  up  the  house  staukin, 
And  the  very  grey  breeks  o'  Tain  glen  I 

Come  counsel,  dear  Tittle,  don't  tarry ; 

I'll  gie  you  my  bonnie  black  hen, 
Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tarn  Glen.     "♦ 


COUNTRY  LASSIE. 

IN  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn, 

And  corn  wav'd  green  in  ilka  field, 
While  clover  blooms  white  o'er  the  lea. 

And  roses  blaw  in  ilka  bield ; 
.Blythe  Bessie  in  the  milking  shiel, 

Says  I'll  be  wed  come  o't  what  will ; 
Out  spak  a  dame  in  wrinkled  eild, 

O'  gude  advisement  comes  nae  ill. 

Its  ye  hae  wooers  mony  ane, 

And  lassie  ye  're  but  young  ye  ken ; 
Then  wait  a  wee,  and  cannie  wale, 

A  routhie  butt,  a  routhie  ben  : 
There's  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen, 

Fu'  is  his  barn,  tii'  is  his  byre  ; 
Tak  this  frae  me,  my  bonnie  hen. 

It's  plenty  beets  the  lover's  fire. 

For  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen, 

I  dinna  care  a  single  flie  ; 
He  loes  sae  well  his  crijps  and  kye 

He  has  nae  love  to  sj^are  for  me  : 
But  biythe's  the  blink  o'  Robie's  e'e, 

And  weel  I  wat  he  lo'es  me  dear : 
Ae  blink  o'  him  I  wad    a  gic 

For  Buskie-glen  and  a'  his  gear. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  24; 


O  thoughtless  lassie,  life's  a  faught, 

The  canniest  i^ate,  the  strife  is  sair ; 
But  ay  fu'  han*t  is  fechtin  best, 

A  hungry  care  's  an  unco  care  : 
But  some  will  spend,  and  sos-.e  will  spare, 

An'  wilfu'  folk  maun  hae  their  will  : 
Syne  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair, 

Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drhik  the  yill. 

O  gear  will  buy  me  rigs  o'  land. 

And  gear  will  buy  me  sheep  and  kye  ; 
But  the  tender  heart  o*  leesome  love, 

The  gowd  and  siller  cunna  buy  : 
We  may  be  poor  Robie  and  I, 

Light  is  the  burden  love  lays  on  ; 
Content  and  love  brings  peace  and  joy, 

What  mair  hae  queens  upon  a  throne  ? 


CLABINDA. 

CLARINDA,  mistress  of  my  soul, 

The  measur'd  time  is  run  ! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole, 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 

Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie; 
Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light, 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy. 

We  part — but  by  these  precious  drops, 

That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes  ! 
No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps, 

'Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 

She,  the  fair  sun  of  all  her  sex* 
Has  blest  my  glorious  d  ;y  : 

And  shall  a  glimmering  planet  fix 
My  wiirsliip  to  it3  ray  ? 


248  TWE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


THEPOSIE. 

O  LUVE  will  venture  in,  where   it  ddur  na  weel  be 

seen, 
O  luve  will  venture  in  where  wisdom  ance  has  been  ; 
But  I  will  down   yon   river  rove,  amang  the  wood   sae 

green, 
And  a'  to  pu'  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  primrose  I  will  pu',  the  firstling  o'  the  year, 
And  I  will  pu'  the  pink,  the  emblem  o'  my  dear. 
For  she's  the  pink  o'  womankind,  and  blooms  without  a 
peer, 
And  a*  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

I'll  pu'  the  budding  rose,  when  Phoebus  peeps  in  view» 
For  it's  like  a  baumy  kiss  o'  her  sweet  bonnie  mou  ; 
The  hyacinth's  for  constancy  wi'  its  unchanging  blue, 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  lily  it  is  pure,  and  the  lily  it  is  fair, 
And  in  her  lovely  bosom,  I'll  place  the  lily  there  : 
The  daisy's  for  simplicity  and  unaffected  air. 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  hawthorn  I  will  pu',  w^ith  its  locks  o'  siller  grey, 
Where  like  an  aged  man,  it  stands  at  break  o'  day. 
But  the  songsters's  nest  within  the  bush,  1  winna  tak 
away ; 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  woodbine  I  will  pu'  when  the  e'ening  star  is  near. 
And  the   diamond-draps  o'  dew  shall  be  her  e'en  sae 

clear ; 
The  violet  for  modesty  which  weel  she  fa's  to  wear, 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

I'll  tie  the  posie  round  wi*  a  silken  band  o'  luve. 
And  I'll  place  it  in  her  breast,  and  I'll  swear  by  a*  above, 
That  to  my  latest  draught  o'   life  the  band  shall   ne'er 
remuve. 
And  this  will  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May, 


ROBERT  BURNS.  249 


WILT  1 IIOU  BE  MY  DEARIE. 

WILT  thou  be  my  dearie  ; 

When  sorrow  wrings  the  gentle  heart, 
O  wilt  thou  let  me  cheer  thee  ; 

By  the  treasure  of  my  soul, 
And  that's  the  love  I  bear  thee ! 

I  swear  and  vow,  that  only  thou, 
Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow, 

Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Lassie  say  thou  lo'es  me  ; 

Or  if  thou  wilt  na  be  my  ain, 
Say  na  thou  'It  refuse  me : 

If  it  winna,  canna  be, 
Thou,  for  thine,  may  chuse  me  ; 

Let  me,  lassie,  quickly  die, 
Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me. 

Lassie,  let  me  quickly  die, 

Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me. 


A  ROSE-BUD  BY  MY  EARLY  WALKS. 

A  ROSE-bud  by  my  early  walks, 
Adown  a  corn-inclosed  bawk, 
Sae  gently  bent  its  thorny  stalk, 
All  on  a  dewy  morning. 

Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled, 
In  a'  its  crimson  glory  spread. 
And  drooping  rich  the  dewy  head, 
It  scents  tlie  early  morning. 

Within  the  bush,  her  covert  nest 
A  little  linnet  fondly  prest, 
The  dew  sat  chilly  on  her  breasl 
Sae  earlv  in  the  mornin^r. 


250  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

She  soon  shall  see  her  tender  brood, 
The  pride,  the  pleasure  o*  the  wood, 
Amang  the  fresh  green  leaves  bedew *d; 
Awak  the  early  morning. 

So  thou,  dear  bird,  young  Jeany  Mr, 
On  trembling  string  or  vocal  air, 
Shall  sweetly  pay  the  tender  care 
That  tents  thy  early  morning. 

So  thou,  sweet  rose-bud,  young  and  gay 
Shalt  beauteous  blaze  uj>on  the  day, 
And  bless  the  parent's  evening  ray 
That  watch'd  thy  early  morning. 


BESS  AND  HER  SPINNING  WHEEL. 

O  LEEZE  me  on  my  spinnin-wheel, 
O  leeze  me  on  my  rock  and  reel ; 
Frae  tap  to  tae  that  deeds  me  bien, 
And  haps  me  fie  1  and  warm  at  e*en  I 
I'll  set  me  down  and  sing  ana  spin, 
While  laigh  descends  the  simmer  sun, 
Blest  wi'  content,  and  milk  and  meal— 
O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin-wheel. 

On  ilka  hand  the  burnies  trot, 
And  meet  below  my  theekit  cot : 
The  scented  birk  and  hawthorn  white 
Across  the  pool  their  arms  unite, 
Alike  to  screen  the  birdie's  nest, 
And  little  fishes  caller  rest: 
The  sun  blinks  kindly  in  the  biel*, 
Where,  blythe  I  turn  my  spinnin  wheel- 
On  lofty  aiks  the  cushats  wail, 
And  echo  cons  the  doolfu*  tale ; 
The  lintwhites  in  the  hazel  braes^. 
Delighted  rival  ither's  lays  : 


ROBERT  BURNS.  251 


The  craik  anian.^  the  clover  hay, 
The  paitrick  whirrin  o'er  the  ley", 
The  swallow  jinkin  round  my  shiel, 
Amuse  me  at  my  spinnin  wheel. 

Wi'  sma'  to  sell  and  less  to  buy, 
Aboon  distreess,  below  envy, 
O  wha  wad  leave  this  humble  state, 
For  a*  the  pride  of  a*  the  great  ? 
Amid  their  flaring,  idle  toys. 
Amid  their  cumb'rous  dinsome  joys, 
Can  they  the  peace  and  pleasure  feel 
Of  Bessy  at  her  spinnin  wheel ! 


O  WHAT  YE  WHA'S  IN  YON  TOWN 

O  WAT  yc  "wha's  in  yon  town, 

Ye  see  the  e^enin  sun  upon, 
The  fairest  dame's  in  yon  town. 

That  e'enin  sun  is  shining  on. 

Now  haply  down  yon  gay  green  shaw : 
She  wanders  by  yon  spreading  tree, 

How  blest  ye  flow'rs  that  round  her  blaw, 
Ye  catch  the  glances  o*  her  e*e. 

How  blest  ye  birds  that  round  her  sing. 
And  welcome  in  the  blooming  year. 

And  doubly  welcome  be  the  spring, 
The  season  to  my  Lucy  dear. 

The  sun  blinks  blythe  on  yon  town. 

And  on  yon  bonnie  braes  of  Ayr ; 
But  my  delight  in  yon  town, 

And  dearest  bliss  is  Lucy  fair. 

Without  my  love,  not  a*  the  charms, 

O*  paradise  could  yield  me  joy  ; 
But  gie  me  Lucy  in  my  arms. 

And  welcome  Lapland's  dreary  sky. 


252  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Or 

My  cave  wad  be  a  lover's  bower, 
Tho'  raging  winter  rent  the  air ; 

And  she  a  lovely  little  flower, 

That  I  wad  tent  and  shelter  there. 

0  sweet  is  she  in  yon  town. 

Yon  sinkin  sun's  gane  down  up»n  ; 
A  fairer  than's  in  yon  town, 
Plis  setting  beam  ne'er  shone  upon. 

If  angry  fate  is  sworn  my  foe, 

And  suffering  I  am  doom'd  to  bear  I 

1  careless  quit  aught  else  below. 

But  spare  me,  spare  me  Lucy  dear. 

For  while  life's  dearest  blood  is  warm, 
Ae  thought  frae  her  shall  ne'er  depart, 

\nd  she — as  fairest  is  her  form  ! 
She  has  the  truest,  kindest  heart. 


A  RED,  RED  ROSE 

O  !MY  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose. 
That's  newly  sprung  in  June  ; 

0  my  luve's  like  the  melodic 
That's  sweetly  play'd  in  tunc. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I : 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear^ 

'Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 

'Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun  : 

1  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear. 

While  the  sands  o*  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve  ! 

And  fare  thee  weel,  a  while  ! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve. 

The'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  253 


SONG. 


AE  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ; 
Ae  fareweel,  alas,  for  ever  ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  fortune  grieves  him 
While  the  star  of  hope  she  leaves  him  ? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu*  twinkle  lights  me ; 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 

I  '11  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy : 
But  to  see  her,  was  to  love  her ; 
Love  but  her,  and  love  for  ever. 
Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  kindly, 
Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  blindly, 
Never  met — or  never  parted. 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 
Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest i 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure  ! 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ; 
Ae  fareweel,  alas,  for  ever ! 
Peep  in  heart  wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee, 


EVAN  BANKS. 

^LOW  spreads  the  gloom  my  soul  desires, 
The  sun  from  India's  shore  retires ; 
To  Evan  Banks,  with  temp'rate  ray. 
Home  of  my  youth,  he  leads  the  day. 
Oh  banks  to  me  forever  dear ! 
Oh  streams  whose  murmurs  still  I  hear'! 
Z 


254  'fHE  POETICAL  WORKS  Ol 

All,  all  my  hopes  of  bliss  reside 
Where  Evan  mingles  with  the  Clyde. 

And  she,  in  simple  beauty  drest, 
Whose  image  lives  within  my  breast ; 
Who  trembling  heard  my  parting  sigh, 
And  long  pursued  me  with  her  eye  ; 
Does  she,  with  heart  unchanged  as  mine, 
Oft  in  the  vocal  bowers  recline  ? 
Or  where  yon  grot  o'erhangs  the  tide, 
Muse  while  the  Evan  seeks  the  Clyde  ? 

Ye  lofty  banks  that  Evan  bound  ! 

Ye  lavish  woods  that  wave  around, 

And  o'er  the  stream  your  shadows  throw, 

W^hich  sweetly  winds  so  ftir  below ; 

What  secret  charm  to  mem'ry  brings. 

All  that  on  Evan's  border  springs  ? 

Sweet  banks!  ye  bloom  by  Mary's  side  : 

Blest  stream  I  sh6  views  thee  haste  to  Clyde.- 

Can  all  the  wealth  of  India's  coast 
Atone  for  years  in  absence  lost  I 
Return,  ye  moments  of  delight. 
With  richer  treasures  bless  my  sight  1 
Swift  from  this  desert  let  me  part, 
And  fly  to  n  eet  a  kindred  heart! 
Nor  more  may  ought  .1  y  steps  divide 
From  that  dear  stream  which  flows  to  Clyde. 


PATRIOTIC  S0NG'^U?ifi?2ished 

HERE  'S  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa. 

Here  's  a  health  to  tl'Cm  that 's  awa  ; 

And  wha  winna  wish  gude  luck  to  our  cause; 

May  never  gude  luck  be  their  fa' ! 

It 's  gude  to  be  merry  and  wise, 

It 's  glide  to  be  honest  and  true, 

It's  gude  to  support  Caledonia's  cause, 

And  bide  by  the  butT  and  the  blue. 


ilOBEKT  BUU^'S.  2^5 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa ; 

Here 's  a  health  to  Charlie,  the  chief  o'  the  clan, 

Altho'  that  his  band  be  sma\ 

May  liberty  meet  wi'  success  ! 

May  prudence  protect  her  frae  evil ! 

May  tyrants  and  tyranny  tine  in  the  mist, 

And  wander  their  way  to  the  devil ! 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

Here  's  a  health  to  Tammie,  the  Norland  laddie, 

That  lives  at  the  lug  o'  the  law  ! 

Here  's  freedom  to  him,  that  wad  read, 

Here  's  freedom  to  him,  that  wad  write  ! 

There  's  nane  ever  fear'd  that  the  truth  should  be  heard, 

But  they  wham  the  truth  wad  indite. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that  's  awa, 

Here  *s  Chieftain  M*Leod,  a  chieftain  worth  gowd* 

Tho'  bred  amang  mountains  o'  snaw ! 

*  *  *  * 


SONG. 

Now  bank  an*  brae  are  claith'd  in  greeny 

An'  scatter'd  cowslips  sweetly  springs 
By  Girvan's  fairy  haunted  stream 

The  birdies  flit  on  wanton  wing. 
To  Cassillis*  banks  when  e'ening  fa's 

There  wi'  my  Mary  let  me  flee, 
Xhere  catch  her  ilka  glance  of  love 

The  bonie  blink  o'  Mary's  e'e  I 

The  cheil  wha  boast  o'  warld*s  walth, 
Is  aften  laird  o'  meikle  care  ; 

But  Mary  she  is  a'  my  ain, 

Ah,  fortune  canna  gie  me  mair  ! 


256  THE  POETICAL  WOUKS  OF 

Then  let  me  range  by  Cassiliis'  banks, 
Wi'  her  the  lassie  dear  to  me, 

And  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love, 
The  bonie  blink  o*  Mary*s  e*e  1 


THE  BONIE  LAD  THAT  ^S  FAR  AWA. 

O  HOW  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad, 

Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  braw, 
When  the  bonie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 

Is  o'er  the  hills  and  far  awa  ? 

Its  no  the  frosty  winter  wind. 

Its  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw  ; 
But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  e*e, 


My  father  pat  me  frae  his  door, 

My  friends  they  hae  disown*d  me  a'. 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak  my  part, 
The  bonie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

A  pair  o*  gloves  he  gave  to  me, 

And  silken  snoods  he  gave  me  twa  ; 

And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 
The  bonie  lad  that  's  far  awa. 

The  weary  winter  soon  will  pass, 

And  spring  will  deed  the  birken-shaw 

And  my  sweet  babie  will  be  born, 
And  he  *I1  come  hame  that  's  far  awa. 


SONG. 

Out  over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north, 

But  what  is  the  north  and  its  Highlands  to  me  ^ 

The  south  nor  the  east  gie  ease  to  my  breast, 
The  far  foreign  land,  or  the  wild  rolling  sea. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  257 

But  I  look  to  the  west,  when  I  gae  to  rest, 

That  happy  my  dreams  and  my  slumbers  may  be  ; 

For  far  in  the  west  lives  he  I  lo'e  best, 
The  lad  that  is  dear  to  my  babie  and  me. 


LINES  ON  A  PLOUGHMAN. 

As  I  was  a  wand'ring  ae  morning-  in  spring, 

I  heard  a  young  Ploughman  sae  sweetly  to  sing, 

And  as  he  was  singin*  thir  words  he  did  say, 

There  's  nae  life  like  the  Ploughman  in  the  month  o* 

sweet  May — 
The  lav*rock  in  the  morning  she  'II  rise  frae  her  nest, 
And  mount  to  the  air  wi'  the  dew  on  her  breast. 
And  wi*  the  merry  Ploughman  she  Ml  whistle  and  sing, 
And  at  night  she  '11  return  to  her  nest  back  again. 


WHISTLE  O'ER  THE  LAVE  O'T, 

# 
FIRST  when  Maggy  was  my  care, 
Heaven,  I  thought,  was  in  her  air ; 
Now  we  *re  married — spier  nae  mair — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't. — 
Meg  was  meek,  and  Meg  was  mild, 
Bonie  Meg  was  nature's  child — 
—Wiser  men  than  me  's  beguil'd ; 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't. 

How  we  live,  my  Meg  and  me. 
How  we  love  and  how  we  'gree, 
I  care  na  by  how  few  may  see ; 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't, — 
Wha  I  wish  were  Maggot's  meat, 
Dish'd  up  in  her  winding  sheet, 
I  could  write — but  Meg  wad  see  't — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't— 
Z  2 


258  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


I  LL  AY  CA'  IN  BY  YON  TOWN 

I  '11  ay  ca*  in  by  yon  town, 

And  by  yon  garden  green,  again  ; 

I  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 

And  see  my  bonie  Jean  again. 

Ther  's  nane  sail  ken,  there  's  nane  sail  guess. 

What  brings  me  back  the  gate  again. 
But  she  my  fairest  faithfu'  lass, 

And  stownlins  we  sail  meet  again. 

She  *J1  wander  by  the  aiken  tree, 

When  trystin-timc  draws  near  agaiii  ; 

\nd  when  her  lovely  form  I  see, 
O  haiih,  she  's  doubly  dear  again  ! 


YOUNG  JOCKEY. 

YOUNG  Jockey  was  the  blythest  lad 

In  a'  our  town  or  here  awa  ; 
Fu'  blythe  he  whistled  at  the  gaud, 

Fu'  lightly  danc'd  he  in  the  ha* ! 
He  roos'd  my  e'en  sue  bonie  blue. 

He  roos'd  my  waist  sae  genty  sma  ; 
An'  ay  my  heart  came  to  my  mou, 

When  ne'ier  a  body  heard  or  saw. 

My  Jockey  toils  upon  the  p^lain, 

Thro'  wind  and  w^eet,  thro'  frost  and  snaw  ;. 
And  o'er  the  lee  1  leuk  fu'  fain 

When  Jockey's  owsen  hameward  ca*. 
An*  ay  the  night  comes  round  agam, 

When  in  his  arms  he  taks  lile  a'; 
An'  ay  he  vows  he  Ml  be  my  ain 

As  iang  as  he  has  breath  to  draw- 


ROBERT  BURNS.  259 

MCPHERSON'S  FAREWEL. 

FAREWEL  ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong, 

The  wretch's  destinie  ! 
M^Pherson's  time  will  not  be  long, 

On  yonder  gallows  tree. 

Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 

Sae  dauntingly  g'aed  he  ; 
He  play'd  a  spring-  and  danc'd  it  roun(.l, 

Below  the  g-allows  tree. 

Oh,  what  is  death  but  parting  breath  ? — 

On  mony  a  bloody  plain 
I  've  dar'd  his  face,  and  in  this  place 

I  scorn  him  yet  again  ! 

Sae  rantingly,  &c. 

Untie  these  bands  from  off  my  hands, 

And  bring  to  me  my  sword ; 
And  there's  no  a  man  in  all  Scotland, 

But  I  *11  brave  him  at  a  word. 

Sae  rantingly.  Sec. 

I  *ve  liv'd  a  life  of  sturt  and  strife  ; 

I  die  by  treacherie  :  j^ 

It  burns  my  heart  I  must  depart 

And  not  avenged  be. 

Sae  ranting-ly,  &c. 

Now  farewel  light,  thou  sunshine  bright, 

And  all  beneath  the  sky ! 
May  coward  shame  distain  his  name, 

The  wretch  that  dares  not  die  ! 

Sae  rantingly,  &c. 


SONG. 

Powers  celestial,  whose  Drotection 
Ever  guards  the  virtuSus  fair. 

While  in  distant  climes  I  wander, 
Let  my  Mary  be  your  care  i 


260  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Let  her  form  sae  fair  and  faultless, 
Fair  and  faultless  as  your  own  ; 

Let  my  Mary's  kindred  spirit, 

Draw  your  choicest  influence  down. 

Make  the  gales  you  waft  around  her 

Soft  and  peaceful  as  her  breast ; 
Breathing  in  the  breeze  that  fans  her, 

Sooth  her  bosom  into  rest : 
Guardian  angels,  O  protect  her, 

When  in  distant  lands  I  roam  : 
To  realms  unknown  while  fate  exiles  me, 

Make  her  bosom  still  my  home. 


YOUNG  PEGGY. 

Young  Peggy  blooms  our  boniest  lass, 

Her  blush  is  like  the  morning. 
The  rosy  dawn,  the  springing  grass, 

With  early  gems  adorning  : 
Hfer  eyes  outshine  the  radiant  beams 

That  gild  the  passing  shower. 
And  glitter  o'er  the  crystal  streams. 

And  clieer  each  fresh'ning  flower. 

Her  lips  more  than  the  cherries  bright, 

A  richer  die  has  grac'd  them, 
They  charm  th*  admiring  gazer's  sight 

Anti  sweetly  tempt  to  taste  them: 
Her  smile  is  as  the  ev'ning  mild. 

When  feather'd  pairs  are  courting. 
And  little  lambkins  wanton  wild. 

In  playful  bands  disporting. 

Were  Fortune  lovely  Peggy's  foe, 
Such  sweetness  would  releat  her, 

As  blooming  spring  unbends  the  brow. 
Of  surly,  savage  winter. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  261 


J  e traction's  eye  no  aim  can  gain 
Her  winning  pov/'rs  to  lessen: 

And  fietful  envy  grins  in  vain, 
The  poisonM  tooth  to  fasten. 

Ye  pow'is  of  Honor,  Love,  and  Truth 

From  ev'ry  ill  defend  her ; 
Inspire  the  highly  favor'd  youth 

Ttie  destinies  intend  her  : 
Still  fan  the  sweet  connubial  flame 

Responsive  in  each  bosom  ; 
And  bless  the  dear  parental  name 

With  many  a  filial  blossom. 


AFTON  WATER, 

FLOW  gently  sweet  Afton  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  muraiuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock  dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Thou  green  crested  lawping  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  z\fton,  thy  neighbouring  hills, 
Far  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear,  winding  rills  ; 
Their  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high. 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  vallies  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow ; 
There  oft  as  mild  evening  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet  scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  chrystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 

And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 

How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave, 

As  gathering  sweet  flowerets  she  stems  thy  clear  wave 


262  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


THE    LEA-RIG. 

WHEN  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star, 

Tells  bughtin-time  is  near,  my  jo; 
And  owsen  frae  the  furrow'd  field, 

Return  sae  dowf  and  weary  O ; 
Down  by  the  burn,  where  scented  birlts 

Wi'  dew  are  hanging  clear,  my  jo, 
I'll  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

In  mirkest  glen,  at  midnight  hour, 

I'd  rove,  and  ne'er  be  eerie  O, 
If  thro'  that  glen  I  gaed  to  thee, 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 
Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er  so  wild, 

And  I  were  ne'er  so  wearie  O, 
I'd  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

The  hunter  lo'es  the  morning  sun, 

To  rouse  the  mountain  deer,  my  jo  j 
At  noon  the  fisher  seeks  the  glen, 

Along  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo ; 
Gie  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin  grey, 

It  maks  my  heart  sae  cheery,  O, 
To  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 


DOWN  THE  BURN  DAVIE. 

AS  down  the  burn  they  took  their  way^, 

And  thro'  the  flowery  dale  ; 
His  cheek  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay. 

And  love  was  ay  the  tale. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  ^6: 


With  "  Mary,  when,  shall  we  return, 

Sic  pleasures  to  renew  ?" 
Quoth  Mary,  "  Love,  I  like  the  burn, 

And  ay  shall  follow  you." 


WHEN  WILD  WAR'S  DEADLY  BLAST,  &c. 

^/r— "  The  Mill  mill  O," 

WHEN  wild  war's  deadly  blast  was  blawn, 

And  gentle  peace  returning, 
Wi'  mony  a  sweet  babe  fatherless. 

And  mony  a  widow  mournini^  ; 
I  left  the  lines  and  tented  field. 

Where  lang  I'd  been  a  lodger. 
My  humble  knapsack  a'  my  wealth, 

A  poor  and  honest  sodger. 

A  leal,  light  heart  was  in  my  breast, 

My  hand  unstain'd  wi'  plunder ; 
And  for  fair  Scotia,  hame  again, 

I  cheery  on  did  wander. 
1  thought  upon  the  banks  o'  Coil, 

I  thought  upon  my  Nancy, 
I  thought  upon  the  witching  smile 

That  caught  my  youthful  fancy  : 

At  length  I  reach'd  the  bonny  glen. 

Where  early  life  I  sported  : 
I  pass'd  the  mill,  and  trysting  thorn. 

Where  Nancy  aft  I  courted  : 
Wha  spied  I  but  my  ain  dear  maid, 

Down  by  her  mother's  dwelling  I 
And  turn'd  me  round  to  hide  the  flood 

That  in  my  een  was  swelling. 

Wi'  alter'd  voice,  quoth  I,  sweet  lass, 

Sweet  as  yon  hawthorn's  blossom, 
O  !  happy,  happy  may  he  be, 

That's  dearest  to  thy  bosom  : 


264  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

My  purse  is  light,  I  've  far  to  gang, 
And  fain  wad  be  thy  lodger  ; 

I've  servM  my  king  and  countra  lang. 
Take  pity  on  a  sodger. 

Sae  wistfully  she  gaz'd  on  me, 

And  lovelier  was  than  ever  ; 
Quo'  she,  a  sodger  ance  I  lo'ed, 

Forget  him  shall  I  never : 
Our  humble  cot,  and  hamely  fare, 

Ye  freely  shall  partake  it, 
That  gallant  badge,  the  dear  cockade, 

Ye  're  welcome  for  the  sake  o't. 

She  gaz*d — she  redden'd  like  a  rose — 

Syne  pale  like  ony  lily ; 
She  sank  within  my  arms  and  cried, 

Art  thou  my  ain  dear  Willie  ? 
By  him  who  made  you  sun  and  sky — 

By  whom  true  love's  regarded, 
I  am  the  man  ;  and  thus  may  stili 

True  lovers  be  rewarded. 

The  wars  are  o'er,  and  I  *m  come  hume, 

And  find  thee  still  true-hearted ; 
Tho'  poor  in  gear,  we  're  rich  in  love, 

And  mair  we*se  ne'*er  be  parted. 
Quo'  she,  my  grandsire  left  me  gowd, 

A  mailin  plenishM  fairly  ; 
And  come,  my  faithful  sodger  lad 

Thou  'rt  welcome  to  it  deaiiy  I 

For  gold  the  merchant  ploughs  the  main, 

The  farmer  ploughs  the  manor  ; 
But  glory  is  the  sodger*s  prize, 

The  sodger's  wealth  is  honor  ; 
The  brave  poor  sodger  ne'er  despise, 

Nor  count  him  as  a  stranger. 
Remember  he  *s  his  country's  stay 

In  day  and  hour  of  danger. 


ROBERT  BUR^S.  265 


TO  MARY  IN  HEAVEN 


THOU  lingering  star,  with  lessening  ray. 
That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 

Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 
My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 

O  Mary !  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Sae'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget, 

Can  I  forget  the  hallowed  grove, 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love ! 

Eternity  will  not  efface, 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past ; 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace  ; 

Ah  !  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last ! 

Ayr  gurgling  kiss'd  his  pebbled  shore, 

0*erhung  with  wild  woods,  thickening  green  ; 

The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar, 
Twin'd  am'rous  round  the  rapturM  scene= 

The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 
The  birds  sang  love  on  ev'ry  spray, 

'Till  too,  too  soon  the  glowing  west, 
Proclaim'd  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

Still  o*er  these  scenes  my  mem'ry  wakes. 
And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care ; 

Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes, 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 

My  Mary  dear  departed  shade! 

Where  is  thy  blissful  place  of  rest  ? 
See*st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 
A  A 


266  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

FAIR  JENNY. 

"  Tune — "  Saw  ye  Mi^  Father  F*'-' 

Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the  mornhig*, 
That  danc'cl  to  the  lark's  early  song  ? 

Where  is  the  peace  that  awaited  my  wand'ring, 
At  evening  the  wild  woods  among  ? 

No  more  a'  winding  the  course  of  yon  river, 
And  marking  sweet  flow'rets  so  fair  ; 

No  more  I  trace  the  light  footsteps  of  pleasure, 
But  sorrow  and  sad-sighing  care. 

Is  it  that  summer's  forsaken  our  vallies, 

And  grim  surly  winter  is  near  ? 
No,  no,  the  bees  humming  round  the  gay  roses, 

Proclaim  it  the  pride  of  the  year. 

Fain  would  I  hide  what  I  fear  to  discover, 
Yet  lang,  lang  too  well  have  I  known, 

All  that  has  caused  this  wreck  in  my  bosoai. 
Is  Jenny,  fiiir  Jenny  alone. 

Time  cannot  aid  me,  my  griefs  are  immortal, 

Nor  hope  dare  a  comfort  bestow  : 
Come  then,  enamour'd  and  fond  of  my  anguisli. 

Enjoyment  I'll  seek  in  my  woe. 


SIC  A  WIFE  AS  WILLIE  HAD. 

WILLIE  Wastle  dwelt  on  Tweed, 
The  spot  they  ca'd  it  Linkumdoddie, 

Willie  was  a  wabster  gude, 

Cou'd  stown  a  clue  wi'  ony  bodie ; 

He  had  a  wife  was  dour  and  din, 

0  Tinkler  Madgie  was  her  mithcr  ; 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 

1  wad  na  gle  a  button  for  her. 


ROBERT  BURKS.  Sf67 


;She  has  an  e'e,  she  has  hut  ane, 
The  dit  has  twa  the  very  colour  ; 

Five  rusty  teeth  forbye  a  stump, 

A  clapper  tongue  wad  cleave  a  miller; 

A  whiskin  beard  about  her  mou, 

Her  nose  and  chin  they  threaten  ither 

Sic  a  wife,  &.c. 

She's  bow-hough'd,  she's  hein  shinn'd, 
Ae  limpin  leg  a  hand  breed  shorter  ; 

Slie's  twisted  right,  she's  twisted  left, 
To  balance  fltir  in  ilka  quarter  : 

She  has  a  hump  upon  her  breast, 

The  twin  o'  that  upon  her  shouthcr  , 

Sic  a  wife,  &c. 

Auld  baudrans  by  the  ingle  sits, 
An'  wi'  her  loof  her  face  a  washin  ; 

But  Willie's  wife  is  nae  sae  trig, 
She  digbts  hor  grunzle  wi'  a  hushion 

Her  walie  nieves  like  midden-creels, 
Her  face  wad  fyle  the  Logan- water  ; 

Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 

1  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 


SOiSG — TurtE — Logaji  Water o 

O,  LOGAN,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide, 
That  day  I  was  my  Willie's  bride ; 
And  years  sinsyne  hae  o'er  us  run, 
Like  Logan  to  the  simmer  sun. 
But  now  thy  flowery  banks  appear 
Like  drumlie  winter,  dark  and  drear, 
While  my  dear  lad  maun  face  his  faes, 
Far,  far  frae  me  and  Logan  braes. 

Again  the  merry  month  o'  May, 
Has  made  our  hills  and  viallies  gay  ; 


^68  A'lIE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

The  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bovvers, 

The  bees  hum  roand  the  breathing  flowers  :    # 

Biythe  morning  lifts  his  rosy  eye, 

And  evening's  tears  arc  tears  of  joy  ; 

My  soul  delightless,  a'  surveys, 

While  Willie's  far  frae  Logan  braes. 

Within  yon  milk-white  hawthorn  bush, 
Amang  her  nestlings  sits  the  thrush  ; 
Her  faithfu'  mate  will  share  her  toil, 
Or  wi'  his  song  her  cares  beguile  : 
But  I,  wi'  my  sweet  nurslings  here, 
Nae  mate  to  help,  nae  mate  to  cheer, 
Pass  widow'd  nights  and  joyless  days, 
While  Willie's  far  frae  Logan  braes. 

O  wae  upon  you,  men  of  state, 
That  brethren  rouse  to  deadly  hate ! 
As  ye  make  mony  a  fond  heart  mourn, 
Sae  may  it  on  your  heads  return  I 
How  can  your  flinty  hearts  enjoy, 
The  widow's  tears  the  orphan's  cry  ; 
But  soon  may  peace  bring  happy  days 
And  Willie  hame  to  Logan  braes  ! 


SONG. 

e'e  was  my  ruin  ; 
Fair  tho'  she  be,  that  was  ne'er  my  undoing  : 
'Twas  the  dear  smile  when  naebody  did  mind  us, 
Twas  the  bewitching,  sweet,  stown  glance  o'  kindness 

Sair  do  I  fear  that  to  hope  is  denied  me. 
Sair  do  I  fear  that  despair  maun  abide  me  ; 
But  tho*  fell  fortune  should  fate  us  to  sever, 
Queen  she  shall  be  in  my  bosom  for  ever. 

Mary,  I  'm  thine  wi'  a  passion  sincerest, 
And  thou  hast  plighted  me  love  o*  the  dearest; 
And  thou  'rt  the  angel  that  never  can  alter, 
sooner  the  sun  in  his  motion  would  falter. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  269 

SHE<|gAYS  SHE  LO'ES  ]ME  BEST  OF  A\ 

SAE  flaxen  were  her  ringlets, 

Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue, 
Bewitchingly  o'er-arching 

Twa  laughmg  een  o'  bonie  bhie. 
Her  smiling  sae  wyling, 

Wad  make  a  wretch  forget  his  woe^ 
What  pleasure,  what  treasure, 

Unto  these  rosy  lips  to  grow : 
Such  was  my  Chloris'  bonie  face, 

When  first  her  bonie  face  I  saw, 
And  ay  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm. 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a\ 

Like  harmony  her  motion  ; 

Her  pretty  ancle  is  a  spy 
Betraying  fair  proportion, 

Wad  make  a  saint  forget  the  sky. 
Sae  warming,  sae  charming, 

Her  faultless  form  and  graccfu'  air  ; 
Ilk  feature — auld  nature 

DeclarM  that  she  could  do  nae  mair  : 
Her's  are  the  willing  chains  o'  love, 

By  conquering  beauty's  sovereign  law  , 
And  ay  my  Chloris*  dearest  charm, 

She  says  she  lo*es  me  best  of  a'. 

Let  others  love  the  city, 

And  gaudy  shew  at  sunny  noon ; 
Gie  me  the  lonely  valley, 

The  dewy  eve,  and  rising  moon 
Fair  beaming,  and  streaming, 

Her  silver. light  the  boughs  amang  ; 
While  falling,  recalling, 

The  amorous  thrush  concludes  his  sang  ; 
There  dearest  Chloris,  wilt  thou  rove 

By  wimpling  burn  and  leafy  shaw, 
And  hear  my  vows  o*  truth  and  love. 

And  say  thou  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 
A  A  2 


270  THE  PGETICxVL  WORKS  0h 

SONG — TUNE — Humours  of  Glen^ 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 

Wh^re  biight-oeaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume, 
Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o*'  green  breckan, 

Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellow  broom : 
Far  dearer  to  me  are  yon  humble  broom  bowers, 

Where  the  blue  bell  and  gowan  lurk  lowly  unseen : 
For  there,  lightly  tripping  amang  the  wild  flowers, 

A  listening  the  linnet,  aft  wanders  my  Jean. 

The'  rich  is  the  breeze  in  their  gay  sunny  vallies, 

Andcauld  Caledonia's  blast  on  the  wave; 
'fheir  sweet-scented  woodlands  that  skirt  the  proud  pa*- 
lace, 

What  are  they  ?  The  haunt  o'  the  tyrant  and  slave  j 
The  slave's  spicy  forests,  and  gold-bubbling  fountains, 

The  brave  Caledonian  views  wi'  disdain  ; 
Tie  wanders  as  free  as  the  winds  of  his  mountains. 

Save  Love's  willing  fetters,  the  chains  o*  his  Jean- 


LORD  GREGORY. 

O  MIRK,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour, 

And  loud  the  tempest's  roar. 
A  waefu"*  wanderer  seeks  thy  tower. 

Lord  Gregory  ope  thy  door. 

An  exile  frae  her  father's  ha', 

And  a'  for  loving  thee  ; 
At  least  some  pity  on  me  shaw, 

If  love  it  may  na  be. 

Lord  Gregory,  mbid'st  thou  not  the  gfi'ove^ 

By  bonie  Irwine-side, 
Where  first  I  own'd  that  virgin-love 

I  lang,  lang  had  denied. 

How  aften  didst  thou  pledge  and  vow. 

Thou  wad  for  ay  be  mine  : 
And  my  fond  heart,  itsel'  sac  triiej. 

It  ne'er  mistrusted  thine. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  271 


Hard  is  thy  heart,  Lord  Gregory, 

And  flinty  is  thy  breast : 
Thou  dart  of  heav*n  that  flashest  by, 

O  wilt  thou  give  me  rest  1 

Ye  mustering  thunders  from  above 

Your  willing  victim  sec  ! 
But  spare,  and  purdon  my  fause  love, 

His  wrangs  to  heaven  and  me 


MY  NANIE  S  AWA. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  nature  arrays, 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes. 
While  birds  warble  welcome  in  ilka  green  shaw  ; 
But  to  me  its  delightiess — my  Nanie  's  awa. 

'The  snaw-drap  and  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn^ 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o*  the  morn  ; 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw, 
They  mind  me  o'  Nanie — and  Nanie's  awa. 

Thou  lavVock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  of  the  lawn, 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  grey-breaking  dawn, 
x\nd  thou  mellow  mavis  that  hails  the  night  fa', 
Give  over  for  pity — my  Nanie's  awa. 

Come  autumn  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  and  grey, 
And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay : 
The  dark,  dreary  winter,  and  wild-driving  snaw, 
A  lane  can  delight  me — now  Nanie's  awa. 


BALLAD — TUNE — The  Lothian  Lassie, 

Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down  the  lang  glen, 
And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave  me  ; 

I  said  there  was  naething  I  hated  like  men, 

The  deuce  gae  wi'  'm,  to  believe  me,  believe  me,- 
The  deuce  gae  wi'  'm,  to  believe  mc, 


272  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

He  spak  o'  the  darts  in  my  bonie  black  e'en, 

And  vowM  for  my  love  he  was  dying  ; 
I  said  he  might  die  when  he  liked,  for  Jean,. 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lyingj,  for  lying, 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lying  ! 

A  well-stocked  mailen,  himself  for  the  laird, 
And  marriage  aff-hand,  were  his  proffers  : 

I  never  loot  on  that  I  kend  it,  or  car'd, 

But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers,  wa^r  offers, 
But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers. 

But  what  wad  ye  think  ?  in  a  fortnight  or  less, 

The  deil  tak  his  taste  to  go  near  her ! 
He  up  the  lang  loan  to  my  black  cousin  Bess, 
-   Guess  ye  how,  the  jad !  I  could  bear  her,  could  bear 
her, 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad  !  I  could  bear  her. 

But  a'  the  niest  week  as  I  fretted  wi'  care, 

I  gaed  to  the  tryste  o'  Dalgarnock, 
And  wha  but  my  fine  fickle  lover  was  there, 

I  glowr*d  as  I'd  seen  a  warlock,  a  warlock. 

I  glowr*d  as  I'd  seen  a  warlock. 

But  owre  my  left  shouther  I  gae  him  a  blink. 

Least  neebors  might  say  I  was  saucy  ; 
My  wooer  he  caperM  as  he'd  been  in  drink, 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie,  dear  lassie, 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie. 

1  spier'd  for  my  cousin  fu*^  couthy  and  sweet, 

Gin  she  had  recover'd  her  hearin, 
And  how  her  new  shoon  fit  her  auld  shackrt  feet. 

But,  heavens  !  how  he  fell  a  swearin,  a  swearin,. 

But,  heavens  I  how  he  fell  a  swearin. 

He  begged,  for  Gudesake !  I  wad  be  his  wife. 

Or  else  I  wad  kill  him  wi'  sorrow  : 
So  e'en  to  preserve  the  poor  body  in  life 

I  think  I  .«  aun  wed  him  to-morrow,  to-morraw? 

1  think  I  ma\in  wed  him  to-morrow. 


UOBEllT  BUli:yS. 

MEG  O' THE  MILL. 

O  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten, 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o*  the  Mill  has  gotten  ? 
She  has  gotten  a  coof  wi'  a  claute  o'  siller, 
And  broken  the  heart  o*  the  barley  Miller. 

The  Miller  was  strappin,  the  Miller  was  ruddy : 
A  heart  like  a  lord  and  a  hue  like  a  lady  : 
The  laird  was  a  widdiefu',  bleerit  knur! ; 
She's  left  the  gude -fellow  and  taen  the  churl. 

The  miller  he  heclit  her,  a  heart  leal  and  loving : 
The  Laird  did  address  her  wi'  matter  mair  moving. 
A  fine  pacing-horse  wi'  a  clear  chained  bridle, 
A  whip  by  her  side,  and  a  bonie  side-saddle. 

O  wae  on  the  siller,  it  is  sae  prevailing ; 
And  wae  on  the  love  that's  fix'd  on  a  mailin  ! 
A  tocher's  nae  word  in  a  true  lover's  parle. 
But,  gie  me  my  love,  and  a  fig  for  the  warl  I 


SONG. 

MY  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form, 
The  frost  of  liermit  age  might  warm  : 
My  Peggy's  worth  my  Peggy's  mind, 
Might  charm  the  first  of  human  kind . 
I  love  my  Peggy's  angel  air, 
Her  face  so  truly,  heavenly  fair, 
Her  native  grace  so  void  of  art 
But  I  adore  my  Peggy's  heart. 

The  lily's  hue,  tlie  rose's  dye, 
The  kindling  lustre  of  an  eye  ; 
Who  but  owns  their  magic  sway, 
"Who  but  knows  they  all  decay  I 
The  tender  thrill  the  pitying  tear, 
The  generous  purpose  nobly  dear, 
The  gentle  look,  that  rage  disarms^ 
These  are  all  immortal  charms. 


274  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Ci" 

AULB  ROB  MORRIS. 


THERE  'S  auld  Rob  Morris  that  wons  in  yon  glen, 
He  's  the  king  o'  gude  fellows  and  wale  of  auld  iiiei 
He  lias  gowd  in  his  coffers,  he  has  owsen  and  kin«. 
And  ae  bonie  lassie,  his  darling  and  mine. 

She  's  fresh  as  the  morning,  the  fairest  in  May  ; 
She  's  sweet  as  the  ev'ning  amang  the  new  hay  ; 
As  blythe  and  as  artless  as  the  lambs  on  the  lea, 
And  dear  to  my  heart  as  the  light  to  my  e'e. 

But  Oh  !  she  's  an  heiress,  auld  Robin's  a  laird, 
And  my  daddie  has  nought  but  a  cot-house  and  yard 
A  wooer  like  me  maunna  hope  to  come  speed, 
The  wounds  I  must  hide  that  will  soon  be  my  dead. 

The  day  comes  to  me,  but  delight  brings  me  nane ; 
The  night  comes  to  me,  but  my  rest  it  is  gane  : 
I  wander  my  lane  like  a  night  troubled  ghaist. 
And  I  sigh  as  my  heart  it  wad  burst  in  my  breast. 

0  had  she' but  been  of  a  lower  degree, 

1  then  might  hae  hop'd  she  wad  smil'd  upon  me  ! 
O,  how  past  descriving  had  then  been  my  bliss. 
As  now  my  distraction  no  words  can  express  I 


THE  BANKS  0»  BOON. 

YE  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair  ; 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  weary,  fu'  o'  care ! 
Thou  '11  break  my  heart  thou  warbling  bird, 

That  wantons  thro*  the  flowering  thorn  ; 
Thou  minds  me  o*  departed  joys^ 

Departed  never  to  return. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  27o 


Oft  have  1  rov'd  by  bonnie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  kive, 

And  fondly  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 
Wi*  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Fu*  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree  ; 
And  my  faiise  luver  stole  my  rose, 

But  ah  !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


WAE  IS  MY  HEART. 

NVAE  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear  's  in  my  e'e ; 
Lang,  lang  joy  's  been  a  stranger  to  me  ; 
Forsaken  and  friendless  my  burden  I  bear, 
And  tiie  sweet  voice  o'  pity  ne'er  sounds  iii  my  ear. 

Love  thou  hast  pleasures  :  and  deep  hae  I  loved  ; 
l^ove  thou  hast  sorrows  ;  and  sair  hae  I  proved  : 
But  this  bruised  heart  that  now  bleeds  in  my  breast, 
I  can  feel  by  its  throbbings  will  soon  be  at  rest. 

O  if  I  were,  where  happy  I  hae  been  ; 
Down  by  yon  stream  and  yon  bonie  castlle  green  : 
For  there  he  is  wand'ring  and  musing  on  me, 
Wha  wad  soon  dry  the  tear  from  his  Phillis's  e'e. 


FAIR  ELIZA.     A  GAELIC  AIR. 

TURN  again  thou  fair  Eliza, 

Ae  kind  blink  before  we  part, 
Rew  on  thy  despairing  lover  ! 

Canst  thou  break  his  faithfu'  heart ! 
Turn  again  thou  fair  Eliza  ; 

If  to  love  thy  heart  denies. 
For  pity  hide  the  cruel  sentence 

Under  friendship's  kind  disguise  1 


276  THB  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Thee,  dear  maid,  have  I  offended  ? 

The  offence  is  loving  thee  : 
Canst  thou  wreck  his  peace  for  ever, 

Wha  for  thine  wad  gladly  die  ! 
While  the  life  beats  in  my  bosom, 

Thou  shalt  mix  in  ilka  throe  : 
Turn  again,  thou  lovely  maiden, 

Ae  sweet  smile  on  me  bestow. 

Not  the  bee  upon  the  blossom, 

In  the  pride  o'  sinny  noon ; 
Not  the  little  sporting  fairy. 

All  beneath  the  simmer  moon  i 
Not  the  poet  in  the  moment 

Fancy  lightens  on  his  e'e. 
Kens  the  pleasure,  feels  the  rapture 

That  thy  presence  gies  to  me. 


MUSING  ON  THE  ROARING  OCEATs 

MUSING  on  the  roaring  ocean, 

Which  divides  my  love  and  me  ; 
Wearying  heaven  in  warm  devotion. 

For  his  weel  where'er  he  be. 

Hope  and  fear's  alternate  billow 

Yielding  late  to  Nature's  law, 
Whisp'ring  spirits  round  my  pillow 

Talk  of  him  that's  far  awa. 

Ye  whom  sorrow  never  wounded. 

Ye  who  never  shed  a  tear, 
Care-untroubled,  joy-surroun  ded, 

Gaudy  day  to  you  is  dear. 

Gentle  night  do  thou  befriend  me  ; 

Downy  sleep,  the  curtain  draw ; 
Spirits  kind  again  attend  me. 

Talk  of  him  that's  far  awa  I 


ROBERT  BURN5.  2^/ 

SONG.     Composed  in  August. 

NOW  westlin  winds,  and  slaughtering  guns 

Bring  autumn's  pleasant  weather  ; 
The  moorcock  springs,  on  whirring  wings, 

Amang  the  blooming  heather  : 
Now  waving  grain,  wide  o'er  the  plain, 

Delights  the  weary  farmer  ; 
And  the  moon  shines  bright,  when  I  rove  at  night, 

To  muse  upon  my  charmer. 

The  partridge  loves  the  fruitful  fells ; 

The  plover  loves  the  mountains  ; 
The  woodcock  haunts  the  lonely  dells  ; 

The  soaring  hern  the  fountains : 
Thro'  lofty  groves  the  cushat  roves 

The  path  of  man  to  shun  it ; 
The  hazel  bash  o'erhangs  the  thrusli, 

The  spreading  thorn  the  linnet. 

Thus  ev'ry  kind  their  pleasure  find, 

The  savage  and  the  tender ; 
Some  social  join,  and  leagues  combine; 

Some  solitary  wander: 
Avaunt,  away  !  the  cruel  sway, 

Tyrannic  man's  dominion  j 
The  sportman's  joy,  the  murdering  cry, 

The  fluttering,  gory  pinion ; 

But  Peggy  dear,  the  ev'ning  clear, 

Thick  flies  the  skimming  swallow  ; 
The  sky  is  blue,  the  fields  in  view, 

All  fading  green  and  yellow  : 
Come  let  us  stray  our  gladsome  way, 

And  view  the  charms  of  nature ; 
The  rustling  corn,  the  fruited  thorn, 

And  ev'ry  happy  creature » 

We  '11  gently  walk,  and  sweetly  talk, 

While  the  silent  moon  shines  clearly  ^ 
I  '11  grasp  thy  waist,  and  fondly  press  't, 

Swear  how  I  love  thee  dearly  : 
Bb 


27 S  i'lii^  POETICAL  VVOKKS  OF 

Not  vernal  shovv'rs  to  budding  flow'rs, 

Nocautu.vn  to  the  farmer, 
So  dear  can  be  as  thou  to  me, 

My  fair,  my  lovely  charmer  I 


SONG. 

JOCKY'S  ta'en  the  parting  kiss, 
O'er  the  mountains  he  is  gane  : 

And  with  him  is  a'  my  bliss,  ' 

Nought  but  griefs  with  me  remain. 

Spare  my  luve  ye  winds  that  blaw, 
Plashy  sleets  and  beating  rain  I 

Spare  my  luve  thou  feathery  snaw. 
Drifting  o'er  the  frozen  plain. 

W  n  the  shades  of  evening  creep 
0*er  the  day's  fair,  gladsome  e'e, 

Souiid  and  safely  may  he  sleep, 
Sv/eetly  blythe  his  waukening  be  I 

He  will  think  on  her  he  loves, 
Fondly  he  '11  repeat  her  name  ; 

For  where'er  he  distant  roves, 
Jocky's  heart  is  still  at  hame. 


SHE  'S  FAIR  AND  FAUSE. 

SHE  'S  fair  and  faiise  that  causes  my  smart, 

1  !o>f!  her  meikle  and  lang ; 
She's  broken  her  vow,  she's  broken  my  heart 

Aiie  I  may  e'en  gae  hang. 
A  ccof  cam  in  wi'  rowth  o'  p:ear, 
And  1  hiie  tint  my  clearest  dear, 
But  women  is  but  warld's  gear, 

Sae  let  the  bonnie  lassie  gang. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  279 


Whac'er  ye  be  that  women  love, 

To  this  be  never  blind, 
Nae  feiiie  'tis  tho'  tickle  she  prove, 

A  woman  has't  by  kind : 
O  woman  lovely,  woman  fair  ; 
An  angel  form's  faun  to  thy  share, 
'Twad  been  o'er  meikle  to  gien  thee  mair, 

I  mean  an  angel  mind. 


SONG — TUNE — Corn  I^ig-s  are  bomi'ie. 

It  was  upon  a  lammas  night, 

When  corn  rigs  are  bonnie. 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 

I  held  awa  to  Annie  : 
The  time  flew  by  wi'  tentless  heed, 

'Tin  'tween  the  late  and  early ; 
Wa'  sma'  persuasion  she  agreed, 

To  see  me  thro'  the  barley. 

The  sky  was  blue,  the  wind  was  still, 

The  moon  was  shining  clearly  ! 
I  set  her  down  wi'  right  good  will, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley; 
I  kent  her  heart  was  a'  my  ain  ; 

I  lov'd  her  most  sincerely  ; 
I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

I  lock'd  her  in  my  fond  embrace ; 

Her  heart  was  beating  rarely : 
My  blessing  on  that  happy  place, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley ! 
But  by  the  moon  and  stars  so  bright, 

That  shone  that  hour  so  clearly  ! 
She  ay  shall  bless  that  happy  night. 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 


280  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

I  hae  been  biythe  wi'  comrades  dear  ; 

I  hae  been  merry  drinkin  ; 
I  hae  been  joyfu'  gath'rin  gaer  ; 

I  hae  been  happy  thinking; 
But  a'  the  pleasures  e'er  I  saw, 

Tho'  three  times  doubl'd  fairly, 
That  happy  night  was  worth  them  a" 

Amang  the  ligs  o'  barley. 

CHOKUS. 

Corn  rigs,  an'  barley  rig-s, 

An' corn  rig-s  ure  boiinie, 
I  '11  ne'er  foz'get  that  h;;ppy,  nighl^ 

Amang  the  rigs  \vi'  Annie. 


SONG. 

THE  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast, 
Loud  roars  the  -wild  inconstant  blast, 
Yon  murky  cloud  is  foul  with  rain, 
I  see  it  driving  o'er  the  plain  ; 
The  hunter  now  has  left  the  moor. 
The  scattcr-d  coveys  meet  secure, 
While  here  I  wander  prest  with  care.. 
Along  the  lonely  banks  of  Jyr. 

The  autumn  mourns  her  rip'ring  corn 
By  early  winter's  ravage  torn ; 
Across  her  placid,  azure  sky. 
She  sees  the  scowling  tempest  fly ; 
Chill  runs  my  blood  to  hear  it  rave, 
1  think  upon  the  stormy  wave, 
Where  many  a  danger  I  must  dare. 
Far  from  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

'Tis  not  the  surging  billows  roar, 
'Tis  not  that  fatal  deadly  shore  ; 
Tho'  death  in  ev'ry  shape  appear. 
The  wretched  have  namore  to  fear; 


ROBERT  BURNS.  281 

But  round  my  heart  the  ties  are  bound, 
That  heart  transpierc'd  with  many  a  wound  I 
These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I  tear, 
To  leave  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

Farewell  old  Collars  hills  and  dales, 
Her  heathy  moors  and  winding  vales  I 
The  scenes  where  wretched  fancy  roves. 
Pursuing  past,  unhappy  loves  ! 
Farewell,  my  friends  !  Farewell,  my  foes  ! 
My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with  those— 
The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare. 
Farewell  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr, 


O,  WERE  I  ON  PARNASSUS'  BILL. 

0  WERE  I  on  Parnassus'  hill 
Or  had  of  Helicon  my  fill ; 
That  I  might  catch  poetic  skill. 

To  sing  how  dear  I  love  thee. 
But  Nith  maun  be  my  Muse's  well. 
My  muse  maun  be  thy  bonnie  sell  ; 
On  Corsincon  I  '11  glowr  and  spell. 

And  write  how  dear  I  love  thee. 

Then  come,  sweet  muse,  inspire  my  lay 
For  a'  the  lee-lang  simmer's  day, 

1  coudna  sing,  I  coudna  say, 

How  much,  how  dear,  I  love  thee. 
I  see  thee  dancing  o'er  the  green. 
Thy  waist  sae  jimp,  thy  limbs  sae  cleanj 
Thy  tempting  lips,  thy  roguish  e'en — 

By  heaven  and  earth  I  love  thee  ! 

By  night,  by  day,  a-field,  at  hame, 
The  thoughts  o'  thee  my  breast  inflame ; 
And  ay  I  muse  and  sing  thy  name, 
I  only  live  to  love  thee. 

B  b2 


228  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Tho'  I  were  doomed  to  wander  on, 
Beyond  the  sea,  beyond  the  sun, 
'Till  my  last  weaiy  sand  was  run  ; 
Till  then — and  then  I  love  thee. 


THE  BRAES  O'  BALLOCHMYLE. 

'i'HE  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen. 

The  flower's  decay'd  on  Catrine  Ice, 
Nae  lav'rock  sang  on  hillock  green, 

But  nature  sickenM  on  the  e*e. 
Thro'  faded  groves  Maria  sang, 

Hersel  in  beauty's  bloom  the  while. 
And  ay  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang, 

Fareweel  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Low  in  your  wintry  beds,  ye  flowers, 

Again  ye '11  flourish  fresh  and  fair; 
Ye  birdies  dumb,  in  withering  bowers, 

Again  ye  '11  charm  the  vocal  air. 
But  here  alas  !  for  me  nae  mair, 

Shall  birdie  charm,  or  flowret  smile ; 
Fareweel  the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr, 

Fareweel,  fareweel !  sweet  Ballochmyle  i 


THE  DUMFRIES  VOLUNTEERS. 

DOES  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ? 

Then  let  the  loons  beware,  sir. 
There  's  wooden  walls  upon  our  seas, 

And  volunteers  on  shore  sir. 
The  Nith  shall  run  to  Corsincon, 

And  Criflel  sink  in  Solway, 
E'er  we  permit  a  foreign  foe 

On  British  ground  to  rally  ! 

Fall  de  rail,  &c. 


ROBERT  BURJ^S,  og,^ 


O  let  us  not  like  snarling  tykes 

In  wrangling  be  divided  : 
'Till  slap  come  in  an  unco  loon 

And  wi*  a  rung  decide  it. 
Be  Britain  still  to  Britain  true, 

Amang  oursels  united  ; 
For  never  but  by  British  hands 

Maun  British  wrangs  be  righted. 

Fall  de  rail,  &c. 

The  kettle  o'  the  kirk  and  state 

Perhaps  a  claut  may  fail  in  't 
But  deil  a  foreign  tinkler  loon 

Shall  ever  ca'  a  nail  in't. 
Our  fathers  blude  the  kettle  bought, 

And  wha  wad  dare  to  spoil  it ; 
By  heaven  the  sacrilegious  dog 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it. 

Fall  de  rail,  &c. 

\. 
The  wretch  that  wad  a  tyrant  own, 

And  the  wretch  his  true-born  brother, 
Who  would  set  the  mob  aboon  the  throne^ 

May  they  be  hang'd  together  ! 
Who  will  not  sing  "  God  save  the  king," 

Shall  hang  as  high  *s  the  steeple ; 
But,  while  we  sing  *'  God  save  the  king," 

We  '11  ne'er  forget  the  people. 


SONG. 

By  yon  castle  wa'  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
I  heard  a  man  sing,  tho'  his  head  it  was  grey  ; 
And  as  he  was  singing,  the  tears  fast  down  came — 
There  '11  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

The  Church  is  in  ruins,  the  state  is  in  jars. 
Delusions,  oppressions,  and  murderous  wars  : 
We  dare  na'  weel  say't,  but  we  ken  wha's  to  blame 
There  '11  never  be  peace  YiU  Jamie  comes  hame. 


284  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

My  seven  braw  sons  for  Jtimie  drew  sword, 
And  now  I  greet  round  their  green  beds  in  the  yerd 
It  brak  the  sweet  heart  o'  my  faithfu'  auld  da\  e — 
There  '11  never  be  peace  'till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

Now  life  is  a  burden  that  bows  me  down, 
Sin'  I  tint  n^y  bairns,  and  he  tint  his  crown  ; 
But  'till  my  last  moments  my  words  are  the  same, 
There  'II  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 


A  MAN'S  A  MAN,  FOR  A'  THAT. 

IS  there  for  honest  poverty, 

Wha  hangs  his  head  and  a'  that  ? 
The  cowurd  si;  ve  we  pass  him  by, 

And  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

V  ur  toils  obscvn'e,  an'  a'  that, 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp, 

The  man 's  the  gowd,  for  a'  that. 

What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hodden  grey,  and  a'  that  ? 
Gie  fools  tlieir  silk,  and  knaves  their  wine, 

A  man's  a  man,  for  a*  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  tinsel  show,  an'  a'  that; 
An  honest  man,  though  ne"'er  sae  poor, 

Is  chief  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts  and  stares,  and  a'  that, 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 

He's  but  a  cuii  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

His  ril-bund,  star,  and  a'  that ; 
A  man  of  independent  mind. 

Can  look,  and  laugh  at  a*  that. 


ROBERT  BURN'S.  285 


The  king  can  mak'  i\.  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that. 
An  honest  man  *s  aboon  his  might, 

Gude  faith  he  manna  fa'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

His  dignities  and  a*  that ! 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o*  worthy 

Are  grander  far  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  shall  for  a'  that ; 
That  sense  and  worth  o'er  a*  the  earth, 

Shall  bear  the  gree,  and  a*  that; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a*  that ; 
Whan  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be,  and  a'  that. 


CHARMING  NANCY. 

Some  sing  of  sweet  Mally,  some  sing  of  fair  Nelly, 

And  some  call  sweet  Susie  the  cause  of  their  pain : 
Some  love  to  be  jolly,  some  love  melancholy, 

And  some  love  to  sing  of  the  Humours  of  Glen. 
But  my  only  fancy,  is  my  pretty  Nancy, 

In  venting  my  passion,  I  '11  strive  to  be  plain, 
I'll  ask  no  more  treasure,  I  '11  seek  no  more  pleasure, 

But  thee,  my  dear  Nancy,  gin  thou  wert  my  ain. 

Her  beauty  delights  me,  her  kindness  invites  me, 

Her  pleasant  behaviour  is  free  from  all  stain. 
Therefore  my  sweet  jewel,  O  do  not  prove  cruel, 

Consent  my  dear  Nancy,  and  come  be  my  ain : 
Her  carriage  is  comely,  her  language  is  homely. 

Her  dress  is  quite  decent  when  ta'en  in  the  main ; 
She 's  blooming  in  feature,  she  's  handsome  in  stature, 

My  charming  dear  Nancy,  O  wert  thou  my  ain. 


5286  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Like  Phoebus  adorning  the  fair  ruddy  morning, 

Her  Inight  eyes  are  sparkling,  her  brows  are  serene; 
Her  yellow  locks  shining,  in  beauty  combining, 

My  charming,  sweet  Nancy,  wilt  thou  be  my  ain  ? 
The  whole  of  her  face  is  with  maidenly  graces 

Array'd  like  the  gowans,  that  grow  in  yon  glen, 
She  's  well  shap'd  and  slender,  true  hearted  and  tender, 

My  charming,  sweet  Nancy,  O  wert  thou  my  ain  ! 

I  '11  seek  thro*  the  nation  for  some  habitation, 

To  shelter  my  jewel  from  cold,  snow,  and  rain, 
With  songs  to  my  deary,  I  '11  keep  her  ay  cheary, 

My  charming,  sweet  Nancy,  gin  thou  wert  my  ain, 
I'll  work  at  rny  calling  to  furnish  thy  dwelling, 

With  ev'ry  thing  needful  thy  life  to  sustain, 
Thou  shalt  not  sit  single^  but  by  a  clear  ingle, 

I'll  marrow  thee,  Nancy,  when  thou  art  my  ain. 

I  *il  make  true  affection  the  constant  direction 

Of  loving  my  Nancy  while  life  doth  rei/jain  : 
Tho'  youth  will  be  wasting,  true  love  shall  be  lasting, 

My  charming  sweet  Naney,  gin  thou  wert  my  ain. 
But  what  if  my  Nancy  should  alter  her  fancy, 

To  favor  another  be  forward  and  fain, 
I  will  not  compel  her,  but  plainly  I  '11  tell  her, 

Begone  thou  false  Nancy,  thou'se  ne'er  be  my  ain. 


SONG— TUNE— >  JaneU 

HUSBAND,  husband,  cease  your  strife, 

Nor  longer  idly  rave,  sir; 
Tho'  I  am  your  wedded  wife, 

Yet  I  am  not  your  slave,  sir. 

"  One  of  two  must  still  obey, 

"  Nancy,  Nancy, 
"  Is  it  n.an  or  woman,  say, 

"  My  spouse  Nancy  ?" 


ROBERT  BURNS.  2^7 


If  His  still  the  lordly  word, 

Service  and  obedience ; 
I  '11  desert  my  sovereign  lord, 

And  so  good  b'ye  allegiance. 

"  Sad  will  I  be,  so  bereft, 

"  Nancy,  Nancy, 
"  Yet  I  '11  try  to  make  a  shift, 

"  My  spouse  Nancy." 

My  poor  heart  then  break  it  must, 
My  last  hour  I  'm  near  it ; 

When  you  lay  me  in  the  dust. 
Think,  think  how  you  will  bear  it. 


-ii 


I  will  hope  and  trust  in  heaven, 
"  Nancy,  Nancy ; 
Strength  to  bear  it  will  be  given, 
"  My  spouse  Nancy." 


Well,  sir,  from  the  silent  dead. 
Still  I  '11  try  to  daunt  you ; 

Ever  round  your  midnight  bed 
Horrid  sprites  shall  haunt  you. 

<'  I  Ml  wed  another,  like  my  dear, 

"  Nancy,  Nancy ; 
«  Then  all  hell  will  fly  for  fear, 

"  My  spouse  Nancy. 


HIGHLAND  MARY — ruiJE^Caiharme  Ogle. 

YE  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around, 

The  castle  o*  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers 

Your  waters  never  drumlie! 
Their  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry ; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 


288  i'HB  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

How  sweetly  bloomM  the  gay,  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom ; 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade, 

I  clasp'd  her  to  iny  bosom  ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
Uor  dear  to  me,  as  light  and  life, 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mar}' . 

Wi*  mony  a  vow,  and  lock'd  embrace. 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender; 
And,  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursels  asunder ; 
But  Oh  I  fell  death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 
Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary  ! 

O  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly  ! 
\nd  closed  for  ay,  the  sparkling  glance. 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly  ! 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust. 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly  I 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core, 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


BONIE  JEAN. 

THERE  was  a  lass  and  she  was  fair, 
At  kirk  and  market  to  be  seen  ; 

When  a'  the  fairest  maids  were  met, 
The  fairest  maid  was  bonie  Jean. 

And  ay  she  wrought  her  mammie's  wark; 

And  ay  she  sang  sae  merrilie  ; 
The  blythest  bird  upon  the  bush, 

Had  ne'er  a  lighter  heart  than  ihe. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  289 


But  hawks  will  rob  the  tender  joys 
That  bless  the  little  lintwhite's  nest ; 

And  frost  will  blight  the  fairest  flowers, 
And  love  will  break  the  soundest  resto 

Young  Robie  was  the  brawest  kd, 
The  flower  and  pride  of  a'  the  glen ; 

And  he  had  owsen,  sheep  and  kye, 
And  wanton  naigies  nine  or  ten. 

He  gaed  wi'  Jeanie  to  the  tryste, 
He  dancM  wi'  Jeanie  on  the  down  ; 

And  lang  e're  witless  Jeanie  wist, 

Her  heart  was  tint,  her  peace  was  stowft. 

As  in  the  bosom  o*  the  stream, 

The  moon-beam  dwells  at  dewy  e'en ; 

So  trembling,  pure,  was  tender  love 
Within  the  breust  o'  bonie  Jean. 

And  now  she  works  her  mammie's  wark, 
And  ay  she  sighs  wi'  care  and  pain ; 

Yet  wist  na  what  her  ail  might  be, 
Or  what  wad  mak  her  weel  again. 

But  did  na  Jeanie's  heart  loup  light. 
And  did  na  joy  blink  in  her  e'e, ' 

As  Robie  tauld  a  tale  of  love 
Ae  e'enin  on  the  lily  lea  ? 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west. 
The  birds  sang  sweet  in  ilka  grove ;; 

His  cheek  to  hers  he  fondly  prest. 
And  whisper'd  thus  his  tale  o'  love. 

O  Jeanie  fair,  I  loe  thee  dear ; 

O  canst  thou  think  to  fancy  me  ! 
Or  wilt  thou  leave  thy  mammie's  cot; 

And  learn  to  tent  the  farms  wi*  me. 

At  barn  or  byre  thou  shalt  na  drudge. 
Or  naething  else  to  trouble  thee  ; 

But  stray  amang  the  heather-bells, 
And  tent  the  waving  corn  wi'  me. 
C  c 


290  THE  POETICAL  WOllKS  Of 

Now  what  could  artless  Jeanie  do  ? 

She  had  na  will  to  say  him  ria  : 
At  length  she  blushM  a  sAveet  consent, 

And  love  was  ay  between  them  twa. 


SCOTTISH  SONG. 

O  BONIE  was  yon  rosy  brier, 

That  blooms  sae  far  frae'  haunt  o'  man  : 
And  bonie  she,  and  ah,  how  dear ! 

It  shaded  frae  the  e'enin  sun. 

Yon  rosebuds  in  the  morning  dew 

How  pure,  amang  the  leaves  sae  green, 

But  purer  was  the  lover's  vow 

They  witness'd  in  their  shade  yestreen. 

All  in  its  rude  and  prickly  bower. 

That  crimson  rose,  how  sweet  and  fair  I 

But  love  is  far  a  sweeter  flower 
Amid  life's  thorny  path  o'  care. 

The  pathless  wild,  and  wimpling  burn, 
Wi*  Chloris  in  my  arms,  be  mine  ; 

And  I  the  world,  nor  wish,  nor  scorn, 
Its  joys  and  griefs  alike  resign. 


SONG— TUNE— "  JDeil  tak  the  rmfsT , 

MARK  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion, 

Round  the  wealthy,  titled  bride  : 
But  when  compar'd  with  real  passion^ 

Poor  is  all  that  princely  pride. 

"What  are  their  showy  treasures  ? 

What  are  their  noisy  pleasures  ? 


ROBERT  BURNS.  291 

The  gay,  gaudy  glare  of  vanity  and  art : 

The  polishM  jewel's  blaze, 

May  draw  the  wond'ring  gaze, 

And  courtly  grandeur  bright, 

The  fancy  may  delight, 
But  never,  never  can  come  near  the  heart. 

But  did  you  see  my  dearest  Chloris, 

In  simplicity's  array ; 
Lovely  as  yonder  sweet  opening  flower  is, 

Shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  day. 

O  then,  the  heart  alarming, 

And  all  resistless  charming. 
In  Love's  delightful  fetters  sUg  chains  the  willing  soul  i 

Ambition  would  disown 

The  world's  imperial  crown, 

Even  Av'rice  would  deny, 

His  worshipp'd  deity. 
And  feel  thro*  every  vein  Love's  rapture  roll. 


ON  THE  SEAS  AND  FAR  AWAY, 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad, 
When  absent  from  my  sailor  lad  j 
How  can  I  the  thought  forego, 
He 's  on  the  seas  to  meet  the  foe  : 
Let  me  wander,  let  me  rove. 
Still  my  heart  is  with  my  love  ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
Are  with  him  that 's  far  away. 

CHORUS. 

On  the  seas  and  far  away. 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
Are  ay  with  him  that 's  far  away. 

When  in  summer's  noon  I  faint, 
As  weary  flocks  around  me  pant) 


292  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Hap'ly  in  this  scorching  sun 
My  sailor's  thundering  at  his  gun  : 
Bullets,  spare  my  only  joy  ! 
Bullets  spare  my  darling  boy  ! 
Fate  do  with  me  what  you  may, 
Spare  butiiim  that's  far  away  I 
On  the  seas,  &,c. 

At  the  starless  midnight  hour, 
When  winter  rules  with  boundless  power  ; 
As  the  storms  the  foi-ests  tear^ 
And  thunders  rend  the  howliftg  air, 
Listening  to  the  doubling  roar, 
Surging  on  the  rocky  shore, 
Ail  I  can — I  weep  and  pri'.y. 
For  his  weal  that 's  far  aw^y. 
On  the  seas,  &c. 

Peace  thy  olive  wand  extend, 
And  bid  wild  war  his  ravage  end, 
Mun  with. brother  man  to  meet, 
And  as  a  brother  kindly  greet : 
Then  may  heaven  with  prosp*rous  gale&j 
Fill  mv  sailor's  welcome  sails, 
To  my  arms  their  charge  convey, 
My  dear  lad  that 's  far  away. 
On  tbie  seas,  &c. 


SONG  OF  DEATH. 

FAREWELL,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,  and  ye 
skies, 

Now  gay  with  the  broad  setting  sun ; 
Farewell,  loves  and  friendships ;  ye  dear,  tender  ties, 

Our  race  of  existence  is  run ! 

Thou  grim  king  of  terrors,  thou  life's  gloomy  foe, 

Go,  frighten  the  coward  and  slave  : 
Go,  teach  them  to  tremole,  fell  tyrant!  but  know, 

Mo  terrors  uast  thou  to  the  brave  I 


ROBERT  BURNS.  293 

Thou  strik'st  the  poor  peasant — he  sinks  in  the  dark, 

Nor  saves  e'en  the  wreck  of  a  name  ; 
Thou  strik'st  the  young  hero — a  glorious  marfe-  ., 

He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame  I 

In  the  field  of  proud  honor — our  swords  in  our  handsj 

Our  king  and  our  country  to  save — 
While  victory  shines  on  life's  last  ebbing  sands— 

O,  who  would  not  die  with  the  brave  1 


JESSIE— TUNE— .*^  Bonie  Dundee:' 

TRUE  hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain  o*  the  Yarrow, 

And  fair  are  the  maids  on  the  banks  o'  the  Ayr, 
But  by  the  sweet  side  o'  the  Nith*s  winding  river, 

Are  lovers  as  faithful,  and  maidens  as  fair  : 
To  equal  young  Jessie  seek  Scotland  all  over  -, 

To  equal  young  Jessie  you  seek  it  in  vain, 
Grace,  beauty,  and  elegance  fetter  her  lover, 

And  maidenly  modesty  fixes  the  chain, 

O  fresh  is  the  rose  in  the  gay,  dewy  morning. 

And  sweet  is  the  lily  at  evening  close  ; 
But  in  the  fair  presence  o*  lovely  young  Jessie, 

Unseen  is  the  lily,  unheeded  the  rose. 
Love  sits  in  her  smile,  a  wizard  ensnaring ; 

EnthronM  in  her  een  he  delivers  his  law: 
And  still  to  her  charms  she  alone  is  a  stranger. 

Her  modest  demeanor's  the  jewel  of  a*. 


SONG. 

B  t  Allan-stream  I  chanc'^d  to  rove, 
While  Phoebus  sank  beyond  Benleddi, 

The  winds  were  whispering  thro'  the  groyc; 
The  yellow  corn  was  waving  ready  : 
C  c2 


294  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

I  listcnM  to  a  lover's  sang, 

And  thought  on  youthfu'  pleasures  mony ; 
And  ay  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang — 

O  dearly  do  I  lo'e  thee  Annie. 

O  happy  be  the  woodbine  bower, 

Nae  nightly  bogle  mak  it  eerie  ; 
Nor  ever  sorrow  stain  the  hour, 

The  place  and  time  I  met  my  dearie ! 
Her  he:»d  upon  my  throbbing  breast, 

She,  sinking  said,  '^  I'm  thine  forever!" 
While  mony  a  kiss  the  seal  imprest, 

The  sacred  vow  we  ne'er  should  sever. 

The  haunt  o-'  spring 's,  the  primrose  brae, 

The  simmer  joys  the  flocks  to  follow; 
How  cheery  thro'  her  shortening  day, 

Is  autumn  in  her  weeds  o'  yellow ; 
But  can  they  melt  the  glowing  heart, 

Or  cljain  the  soul  in  speechless  pleasure, 
Or  thro'  each  nerve  the  rapture  dart. 

Like  meeting  her,:  our  bosom's  treasure. 


THE  tfASS  0»  BALLOCHMYLE. 

-^TVVAS  even — the  dewy  fields  were  green, 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  hang ; 
The  Zephyr  wantoned  round  the  bean, 

And  bore  its  fragrant  sweets  alang  : 
In  every  glen  the  iaavis  sang. 

All  nature  listening  seemed  the  while., 
Except  when  green-wood  echoes  rang 

Amang  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

With  careless  step  I  onward  strayed, 
My  heart  rejoiced  in  nature's  joy. 

When  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 
A  maiden  fair  I  chanced  to  spy  j 


ROBERT  BURNS.  295 


Her  look  was  like  the  morning's  eye, 
Her  air  like  nature's  vernal  smile, 

Perfection  whispered  passing  by, 
Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle ! 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 

And  sweet  is  night  in  Autumn  mild  ; 
When  roving  thro'  the  garden  gay, 

Or  wandering  in  the  lonely  wild  ; 
But  woman,  nature's  darling  child  ! 

There  all  her  charms  she  does  compiles 
Even  there  her  other  works  are  foil'd 

By  the  bonny  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

O  had  she  been  a  country  maid, 

And  I  the  happy  country  swain, 
'Tho'  sheltered  in  the  lowest  shed 

That  ever  rose  on  Scotland's  plain! 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil ; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonny  lass  o*  Ballochmyle- 

Then  pride  might  climb  the  slipp'ry  steep , 

Where  fame  and  honours  lofty  shine ; 
And  thirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the  deep. 

Or  downward  sink  the  Indian  mine  j 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine, 

To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil, 
And  every  day  have  joys  divine. 

With  the  bonny  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 


GASTLE  GOUDON. 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains, 
Never  bound  by  winter's  chains ; 
Glowing  here  on  golden  sands,     . 
There  commix'd  with  foulest  stains 
From  tyranny's  empurpled  bands : 


2©6  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

These,  their  richly  gleaming  waves, 
I  leave  to  tyrants  and  their  slaves ; 
Give  me  the  stream  that  sweetly  laves 
The  banks  by  Castle  Gordon. 

Spicy  forests,  ever  gay, 
Shading  from  the  burning  ray 
Hapless  wretches  sold  to  toil, 
On  the  ruthless  native's  way. 
Bent  on  slaughter,  blood  and  spoil : 
Woods  that  ever  verdant  wave, 
I  leave  the  tyrant  and  the  slave. 
Give  me  the  groves  that  lofty  brave 
The  storms  by  Castle  Gordon. 

Wildly  here  without  controul. 
Nature  reigns  and  rules  the  whole; 
In  that  sober  pensive  mood. 
Dearest  to  the  feeling  soul. 
She  plants  the  forest,  pours  the  flood ; 
Life's  poor  day  I  '11  musing  rave. 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave, 
Where  waters  flow  and  wild  woods  wave, 
By  bonnie  Castle  Gordon. 


SONG— TUNE- — The  king  of  France  he  rode  a  raCe, 

Amang  the  trees  where  humming  bees 

At  buds  and  flowers  were  hinging,  O 
Auld  Caledon  drew  out  her  drone, 

And  to  her  pipe  was  singing  ;  O 
'Twas  Pibroch,  sang,  strathspey,  or  reels^ 

She  dirlM  them  aff,  fu'  clearly,  O 
When  there  cam  a  yell  a'  foreign  squeels, 

That  dang  her  tapsalteerie,  O — 

Their  capon  craws  and  queer  ha  ha's, 

They  made  our  lugs  grow  eerie,  O 
The  hungry  bike  did  scrape  and  pike 

'Till  we  were  wae  and  weary  O ; 


ROBERT  BURNS.  297 


But  a  royal  gliaist  wha  ance  was  casM 
A  prisoner  aughteen  year  awa, 

He  fir'd  a  fiddler  in  the  North 
That  dang  them  tapsalteerie,  O. 


SONG — TUNE — Braes  6*  Balquhidder^ 

1  kiss  thee  yet,  yet. 

An'  I  '11  kiss  thee  o'er  again, 

An'  I  '11  kiss  thee  yet,  yet. 
My  bonie  Peggy  Alison  ! 

Ilk  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near, 

I  ever  mair  defy  thenn,  O  ; 
Young  kings  upon  their  hansel  throne 

Are  no  sae  blest  as  1  am,  O  I 

I'll  kiss  thee,  &c. 

When  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure,  O  ; 
I  seek  nae  mair  o*  Heaven  to  share, 

Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure,  O  \ 

I '11  kiss  thee,  8c6. 

And  by  thy  e'en  sue  bonie  blue, 
I  swear  I  'm  thine  for  ever,  O  ! — 

And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 
And  break  it  shall  I  never,  O  ! 

I  '11  kiss  thee,  &c. 


SONG — TUNE — The  Weaver  and  his  Shuttle,  0. 

My  Father  was  a  Farmer  upon  the  Carrick  border  O, 

And  carefully  he  bred  me  in  decency  and  order,  O 

He  bade  me  act  a  manly  part,  though  I  had  ne'er  a  fau- 

thing,  O 
For  witjiout  an  honest  manly  heart,  no  man  was  worth 

regarding,  O. 


298  THB  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Then  out  into  the  world  my  course  I  did  determine,  Q 

Tho'  to  be  rich  was  not  my  wish,  yet  to  be  great  was 
charming,   O 

My  talents  they  were  not  the  worst,  nor  yet  my  educa- 
tion: O 

Resolv'd  was  I,  at  least  to  try,  to  mend  my  situation,  O. 

In  many  a  way,  and  vain  essay,  I  courted  fortune's  favor ; 
O 

Some  cause  unseen,  still  stept  between,  to  frustrate  each 
endeavour;  O 

Sometimes  by  foes  I  was  o'erpower'd ;  sometimes  by 
friends  forsaken ;  O 

And  when  my  hope  was  at  the  top,  I  still  was  worst  mis- 
taken, O. 

Then  sore  harassed,  and  tir'd  at  last,  with  fortune's  vain 

delusion ;  O 
I  di'opt  my  schemes,  like  idle  dreams,  and  came  to  this  ■ 

conclusion;  O 
The  past  was  bad,  and  the  future  hid  ;  its  good  or  ill  un- 

tryed;  O 
But  the  present  hour  was  in  my  pow*r,  and  so  I  would 

enjoy  it,  O. 

Nor  help,  nor  hope,  nor  view  had  I ;  nor  person  to  he- 
friend  me ;  O 

So  I  must  toil,  and  sweat  and  broil,  and  labor  to  sustain 
me,  O 

To  plough  and  sow,  to  reap  and  mow,  my  father  bred  me 
early;  O 

For  one,  he  said,  to  labor  bred,  was  a  match  for  fortune 
fairly,  O. 

Thus  all  obscure,  unknown,  and  poor,  thro'  life  I'm 

doom'd  to  wandfer,  O 
Till  down  my  weary  bones  I  lay  in  everlasting  slumber :  O 
No  view  nor  care,  but  shun  whate'er  might  breed  me 

pain  or  sorrow ;  O 
I  live  to  day,  as  well 's  I  may,  regardless  of  to-morroV[, 

O. 


IIOBERT  BURNS.  299 

But  cheerful  still,  I  am  as  well,  as  a  monarch  m  a  pa- 
lace, O 

Tho'  fortune*  frown  still  haunts  me  down,  with  all  her 
wonted  malice  ;  O 

I  make  indeed,  my  daily  bread,  but  ne'er  can  make  it 
farther;  O 

But  as  daily  bread  is  all  I  need,  I  do  not  much  regard 
her,  O. 

AVhen  sometimes  by  my  labor  I  earn  a  little  money,  O 
Some  unforseen  misfortune  comes  generally  upon  me  ;  O 
Mischance,  mistake,  or  by  neglect,  or  my  good-natur*d 

folly;  O 
But  come  what  will,  I  've  sworn  it  still,  I  '11  ne'er  be  me- 
lancholy, O. 

All  you  wha  follow  wealth  and  power  with  unremitting 

ardor,  O 
The  more  in  this  you  look  for  bliss,  you  leave  your  view 

the  farther ;  O 
Had  you  the  wealth  Potosi  boasts,  or  nations  to  adore 

you,  O 
\A  cheerful  honest  hearted  clown  I  will  prefer  before 

you,  O. 


SONG. 

Q  WHISTLE  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad, 
O  whistle,  and  I  Ml  come  to  you  my  lad  : 
Tho'  father  and  mither  and  a*  should  gae  mad, 
O  whistle  and  I  *11  come  to  you  my  lad. 
O  whistle,  &c. 

But  warily  tent  when  ye  come  to.  court  me, 
And  come  nae  unless  the  back-yett  be  a  jee  ;* 
Syne  up  the  back-style,t  and  let.  nae  body  see, 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin  to  me. 
O  whistle,  &c. 

*  Yettf  a  gate — a  Jee,  a  little  open.    E. 

t  St^le,  steps  to  go  over  a  fence  where  a  footpath  crosses.    E 


300  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

At  kirk,  or  at  market  whene'er  ye  meet  me, 
Gang  by  me  as  tho'  that  ye  car'd  nae  a  flie ; 
But  steal  me  a  blink  o'  your  bonie  black  €*c, 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  lookin  at  me. 

O  whistle,  &c. 

Ay  vow  and  protest  that  ye  care  na  for  me. 
And  whyles  ye  may  lightly  my  beauty  a  wee 
But  court  nae  anither,  tho'  jokin  ye  be. 
For  fear  that  she  whyle  your  fancy  frae  me. 
O  whistle,  &,c. 


SONG — TUNE — Detl  tak  the  xvars, 

SLEEP'ST  thou,  or  wak'st  thou  fairest  creature ; 

Rosy  morn  now  lifts  his  eye, 
Numbering  ilka  bud  which  nature 

Waters  wi'  the  tears  o*  joy ; 

Now  through  the  leafy  woods. 

And  by  the  reeking  floods  ; 
Wild  nature's  tenants,  freely,  gladly  stray  ; 

The  lintwhite  in  his  bower 

Chants  o'er  the  breathing  flower  : 

The  lav'rock  to  the  sky 

Ascends  wi'  sangs  o'  joy. 
While  the  sun  and  thou  arise  to  bless  the  day. 

Phoebus  gilding  the  brow  o'  morning, 

Banishes  ilk  darksome  shade. 
Nature  gladdening  and  adorning ; 

Such  to  me  my  lovely  maid. 

When  absent  frae  my  fair, 

The  murky  shades  o'  care 
With  starless  gloom  o'ercast  my  sullen  sky  ; 

But  when,  in  beauty's  light. 

She  meets  my  ravish'd  sischt, 
When  through  my  very  heart 

Her  beaming  glories  dart ; 
'Tis  then  I  wake  to  life,  to  light  and  joy. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  S^i 

OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  OH  ! 

OH  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  shew, 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me  Oh, 
Tho'  thou  hast  been  false,  I  Ml  ever  prove  true, 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me,  Oh. 

Cauld  is  the  blast  upon  my  pale  cheek, 

But  caulder  thy  love  for  me.  Oh  : 
The  frost  that  freezes  the  life  at  my  heart, 

Is  nought  to  my  pains  frae  thee,  Oh. 

The  wan  moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 

And  time  is  setting  with  me,  Oh : 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell  !  for  mair 

I  '11  ne'er  trouble  them,  nor  thee.  Oh. 

She  has  open*d  the  door,  she  has  open'd  it  wide, 
She  sees  his  pale  corse  on  the  plain,  Oh  : 

My  true  love  she  cried,  and  sunk  down  by  his  side, 
Never  to  rise  again.  Oh. 


SONG — AIR — Lumps  o'  Puddings 

CONTENTED  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair, 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  sorrow  and  care, 
I  gie  them  a  skelp,  as  they  're  creepin  alang, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  gude  swats,  and  an  auld  Scottish  sang. 

I  whyles  claw  the  elbow  o'  troublesome  thought ; 
But  man  is  a  sodger,  and  life  is  a  faught : 
My  mirth  and  good  humour  are  coin  in  my  pouch, 
And  my  Freedom's  my    lairdship  nae   monarch   dare 
touch. 

A  towmond  o'  trouble,  should  that  be  my  fa', 
A  night  o'  gude  fellowship  sowthers  it  a' : 
When  at  the  blythe  end  of  our  journey  at  last, 
Wha  the  deil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road  he  has  past, 

D  D 


302  THE  rOETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Blind  chance,  let  her  snapper  and  stoyte  on  her  way; 
Be't  to  me,  be  't  frae  me,  e'en  let  the  jade  gae : 
Come  ease,  or  come  travail ;  come  pleasure  or  pain ; 
My  warst  word  is — "  Welcome  and  welcome  again  !" 


THE  LASS  THAT  MADE  THE  BED  TO  ME. 

WHEN  January  winds  were  blawing  cauld, 

As  to  the  north  I  bent  my  way. 
The  darksome  night  did  me  enfauld, 

I  kend  na  where  lo  lodge  till  day : 
By  my  good  luck  a  lass  I  met, 

Just  in  the  middle  of  my  care, 
And  kindly  she  did  me  invite. 

To  walk  into  a  chamber  fair. 

I  bow'd  fu'  low  to  this  sam'  maid. 

And  thank'd  her  for  hei''  courtesie  ; 
I  bow'd  fu'  low  to  this  fair  maid, 

And  bade  her  make  a  bed  for  me  : 
She  made  the  bed  both  L-.rge  and  wide, 

Wi'  her  twa  white  hands  she  spread  it  down  ; 
She  put  the  cup  to  her  rosy  lip, 

And  drank,  "  Young  man,  now  sleep  ye  sound." 

She  snatch'd  the  candle  in  her  han', 

And  frae  my  chamber  went  wi'  speed ; 
But  I  call'd  her  quickly  back  again, 

To  lay  some  mair  beneath  my  head. 
A  cod  she  laid  beneath  my  head. 

And  served  me  with  due  respect ; 
Syre  to  salute  her  wi'  a  kiss, 

I  flang  my  arms  about  her  neck. 

"  Haud  aff  your  ban's,  young  man,"  said  she, 

"  And  dinna  sae  uncivil  be ; 
«>  Gif  ye  hae  ony  iuve  for  me, 

"  O  wrang  na  my  virginity  1" 


liOiiERT  BURNS.  303 


iTer  hail'  was  like  the  links  o'  gowd, 
Her  teeth  were  like  the  ivory. 

Her  cheeks  like  lilies  dipt  ia  wine, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

I  kiss'd  her  o'er  and  o'er  again, 

And  ay  she  wist  na  what  to  say ; 
I  laid  her  'tween  me  and  the  wa% 

The  lassie  thought  na  lang  till  day. 
Her  bosom  was  the  driven  snaw, 

Twa  drifted  heaps  sae  fair  to  see, 
Her  limbs  the  polish'd  marble  stane. 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

Upon  the  morrow  when  we  raise, 

I  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie  ; 
But  ay  she  sigh'd  and  cry'd,  "  Alas  ! 

"  Alas  i  young  man,  ye  've  ruin'd  m-e." 
I  look'd  her  in  her  bonny  face. 

While  the  tear  stood  twinklin'  in  her  e'e  ; 
And  said,  Sweet  lassie  dinna  cry, 

Ye  ay  shall  mak  the  bed  to  me. 

She  took  her  mither's  Holland  sheets, 
.  And  made  them  a'  in  sarks  to  me  j 
Blythe  and  merry  may  she  be, 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me  ; 
The  braw  lass  made  the  bed  to  me, 

The  bonnie  lass  made  the  bed  to  me, 
I  '11  ne'er  forsake  till  the  day  I  die. 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  SOMEBODY. 

MY  heart  is  sair  I  dare  na  tell. 

My  heart  is  Sc\ir  for  somebody; 
I  could  wake  a  winter  night 

For  the  sake  of  somebody. 


304  1  HE  POETICAL  WORKS  ®1 

Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 

Oh-hey  !  for  somebody  I 
I  could  range  the  world  around, 
I'or  the  sake  o'  somebody. 

Ye  powers  that  smile  on  virtuous  love, 

O,  sweetly  smile  on  somebody  I 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  somebodvj 
Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 
Oh-hey  1  for  somebody  I 
I  wad  do — what  wad  I  not, 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody  ! 


PKILLIS  THE  'FAlR^Tu^iL'^jR.sMn  Adau 

WHILE  larks  with  little  wing, 

Fann'd  the  pure  air, 
Tasting  the  breathing  spring, 

Forth  I  did  fare  : 
Gay  the  sun's  golden  eye,  ^ 
Peep  o'er  the  mountains  high  j 
Such  thy  morn  !  did  I  cry, 

Phil  lis  the  fair. 

In  each  bird's  careless  sottg, 

Glad,  I  did  share  ; 
While  yon  wild  flowers  among, 

Chance  led  me  there ; 
Sweet  to  the  opening  day, 
Rosebuds  bent  the  dewy  spray  ; 
Such  thy  bloom,  did  I  say, 

Phillis  the  fair. 

Down  in  a  shady  walk. 

Doves  cooing  were, 
I  marked  the  cruel  hawk 

Caught  in  a  snare  : 


ROBERT  BURNS,  305 


So  kind  may  fortune  be,  * 
Such  make  his  destiny  I 
He  who  would  injure  thee? 
Phillis  the  fair. 


BEWARE  O'  BONIE  ANN. 

YE  gallants  bright  I  rede  ye  right, 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann  ; 
Her  comely  face  sue  fu'  o*  grace, 

Your  heart  she  will  trepan. 
Her  een  sae  bright,  like  stars  by  night, 

Her  skin  is  like  the  swan  ; 
Sae  jimply  lac'd  her  genty  waist, 

That  sweetly  she  might  span. 

Youth,  grace,  and  love,  attendant  move, 

And  pleasure  leads  the  van  ; 
In  a*  their  charms,  and  conquering  arms, 

They  wait  on  bonie  Ann. 
The  captive  bands  may  chain  the  hands, 

But  love  enslaves  the  man ; 
Ye  gallants  braw,  I  rede  you  a*. 

Beware  o'  Bonie  Ann. 


THE  GARDENER  WL  HIS  PAIDLE. 

WHEN  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers. 
To  deck  her  gay,  green-spreading  bowers ; 
Then  busy,  busy  are  his  hours. 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 

The  chrystal  waters  gently  fa' ; 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a' ; 
The  scented  breezes  round  him  blaw, 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 
Dd  2 


305  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare ; 
Then  thro*  the  dews  he  maun  repair, 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 

When  day  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  of  nature's  rest  ; 
He  flies  to  her  arms  he  lo'es  best, 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 


MY  HEART  'S  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here  ; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a  chasing  tho  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the  North, 
The  birth-place  of  valour,  the  country  of  worth  ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove. 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I  love.   ^Jjj 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  cover'd  with  snow  ; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  vallies  below : 
Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild  hanging  woods ; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart  *s  in  the  Highlands,  n.y  heart  is  not  here, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  a  chasing  the  deer: 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 


SONG — TUNE — My  Nannie  0. 


Behind  yon  hills  where  Liigar  flows, 
'Mang  moors  and  mosses  many,  Oj 

The  wint'ry  sun  the  day  has  clos'd, 
And  I  '11  arwa  to  Nannie,  O. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  307 


The  westfm  wind  blaws  lowd  an*  shrill ; 

The  night's  baith  mirk  and  rainy,  O, 
But  I  '11  get  my  pkid  an*  out  I  '11  steal, 

An*  owre  the  hills  to  Nannie,  O. 

My  Nannie  's  charming,  sweet,  an'  youngs 
Nac  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O  : 

May  ill  befa*  the  flattering  tongue 
That  wad  beguile  my  Nannie,  O- 

Her  face  is  fair,  her  heart  is  true, 
As  spotless  as  she's  bonnie,  O  ; 

The  opening  gowin,  wet  wi'  dew, 
Nae  purer  is  than  Nannie,  O. 

A  country  lad  is  my  degree. 

An'  few  there  be  that  ken  me,  O  ; 

But  what  care  I  how  few  they  be, 
I  'am  welcome  ay  to  Nannie,  O. 

My  riches  a's  my  penny-fee. 
An*  I  T.iaun  guide  it  cannie,  O ; 

But  warl's  gear  ne'er  troubles  me, 
My  thjMghts  are  a'  my  Nannie,  O. 


Our  aulo^sjuidman  delights  to  view 
His  sheep  an'  kye  thrive  bonnie,  O  ; 

But  I  'm  as  blythe  that  bauds  his  pleugh, 
An'  has  nae  care  but  Nannie,  O. 

Come  weel  come  woe,  I  care  na  by, 
I'll  tak  what  Heav'n  will  sen*  me,  O  ; 

Nae  ither  cure  in  life  have  I, 
But  live,  an'  love  my  Nannie,  O. 


Altho'  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir, 
Amang  the  heather,  in  my  pkddie, 

Yet  happy,  happy  would  I  be 

Had  I  my  dear  Montgomerie's  Peg^gv, — 


308  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

When  o*er  the  hill  beat  surly  storms, 
And  winter  nights  were  dark  and  rainy ; 

I  'd  seek  some  dell  and  in  my  arms 

I M  shelter  dear  Montgomerie's  Peggy. — 

Were  I  a  baron  proud  and  high, 

And  horse  and  servants  waiting  ready, 

Then  a'  *twad  gie  o*  joy  to  me, 

The  sharin  't  with  Montgomerie's  Peggy.. 


BONNIE  BELL. 

THE  smiling  spring  comes  in  rejoicing, 

And  surly  winter  grimly  flies  ! 
Now  chrystal  clear  are  the  falling  waters. 

And  bonnie  blue  are  the  sunny  skies ; 
Fresh  o'er  the  mountains  breaks  forth  the  morning. 

The  ev''ning  gilds  the  ocean's  swell ; 
All  creatures  joy  in  the  sun's  returning, 

And  I  rejoice  in  my  bonnie  Bell. 

The  flow*ry  spring  leads  sunny  summer. 

And  yellow  autumn  presses  near. 
Then  in  his  turn  comes  gloomy  winter, 

'Till  smiling  spring  again  appear. 
Thus  season  dancing,  life  advancing, 

^Old  time  and  nature  their  changes  tell, 
;^ut  never  ranging,  still  unchanging 
1  adore  my  bonnie  Bell. 


HEY  FOR  A  LASS  WI'  A  TOCHER. 

Awa  wi'  your  witchcraft  o'  beauty*s  alarms, 
The  slender  bit  beauty  you  grasp  in  your  arms : 
O,  gie  me  the  lass  that  has  acres  o'  charms, 
O,  gie  me  the  lass  wi'  the  weel-stockit.  farms' 


ROBERT  BURNS.  3Q9 


CHORUS. 


Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher  ;  then  hey  for  a  lass  \vi'  a  tocher. 
Then  hey,  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher-;  the  nice  yellow  guineas  for  me. 

Your  beauty's  a  flower,  in  the  morning  that  blows, 
And  withers  the  faster,  the  faster  it  grows  ; 
But  the  rapturous  charm  o*  the  bonie  green  knowes, 
Ilk  spring  they  *re  new  deckit  wi*  bonie  white  yowes. 

Then  hey,  5cc. 

And  e'en  when  this  beauty  your  bosom  has  blest, 
The  brightest  o'  beauty  may  cloy,  when  possest; 
But  the  sweet,  yellow  darlings  wi'  Geordie  imprest^ 
The  langer  ye  hae  them— the  mair  they  're  carest. 

Then  hey,  &c. 


THE  LOVELY  LASS  OF  INVERNESS. 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness, 

Nae  joy  nor  pleasure  can  she  see  ; 
For  e'en  and  morn  she  cries,  alas  ! 

And  ay  the  saut  tear  blins  her  e'e  : 
Drumofsie  moor,  Drumofsie  day, 

A  waefu'  day  it  was  to  me ; 
For  there  I  lost  my  father, dear, 

My  father  dear  and  brethren  three, 

Their  winding  sheet  the  bluidy  clay, 

Their  graves  are  growing  green  to  see  i. 
And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 

That  ever  blest  a  woman^s  e'e  ! 
Now  wae  to  thee  thou  cruel  lord, 

A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be  ; 
For  mony  a  heart  thou  hast  made  sair, 

That  ne'er  did  wrong  to  thine  or  thee. 


310  THE  POETICAL  WORKS.  OP 


THE  BLUE-EYED  LASSIE. 

I  GAED  a  waefu'  gate,  yestreen, 

A  gate,  I  fear,  I  '11  dearly  rue  ; 
I  gat  my  death  frae  twa  sweet,  e'en, 

Twa  lovely  e'en  o'  bonnie  blue. 

^Twas  not  her  golden  rmglets  bright  j 
Her  lips  like  roses,  M'at  wi'  dew, 

Her  heaving  bosom,  lily-white — 
It  was  her  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 

She  talk'd,  she  smil'd,  my  heart  she  wyl'd. 
She  charm 'd  my  soul  I  wist  na  how  ; 

And  ay  the  stound,  the  deadly  wound, 
Cam  frae  her  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 

But  spare  to  speak,  and  spare  to  speed  ; 

She  '11  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow  ; 
Should  she  refuse,  I'll  lay  my  dead 

To  her  twa  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 


STRATHALLAN'S  LAMENT. 

THICKEST  night  o'erhang  my  dwelling! 

Howling  tempests  o'er  me  rave  I 
Turbid  torrents,  wintry  swelling. 

Still  surround  my  wintry  cave  ! 

Chrystal  streamlets  gently  flowing, 

Busy  haunts  of  base  mankind, 
Western  breezes  softly  blowing, 

Suit  not  my  distracted  mind. 

In  the  cause  of  right  engaged. 

Wrongs  injurious  to  redress, 
Honor's  war  we  strongly  waged, 

But  the  heavens  deny'd  succeiis. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  cAl 


Jtuin's  wheel  has  driven  o'er  us, 

Not  a  hope  that  dare  attend, 
The  wide  world  is  all  before  us**- 


But  a  world  without  a  friend 


BANKS  OF  CREE. 

HERE  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower, 
All  underneath  the  birchen  shade  ; 

The  village  bell  hus  told  the  hour, 
O  what  can  stay  my  lovely  maid. 

'Tis  not  Maria's  whispering  call ; 

*Tis  but  the  balmy  breathing  gale, 
Mixt  with  some  warbler's  dying  fall 

The  dewy  star  of  eve  to  hail. 

It  is  Maria's  voice  I  hear  I 

So  calls  the  woodlark  in  the  grove. 
His  little,  faithful  mate  to  cheer. 

At  once  'tis  music — and  'tis  love. 

And  art  thou  come  !  and  art  thou  true ! 

O  welcome  dear  to  love  and  me  ! 
And  let  us  all  our  vows  renew, 

Along  the  flow'ry  banks  of  Cree, 


THE  BANKS  OF  NITII. 

THE  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea. 

Where  royal  cities  stately  stand  ; 
But  sweeter  flows  the  Nith  to  me,    ^ 

Where  Cummins  ance  had  high  command 
When  shall  I  see  that  honor'd  land, 

That  winding  stream  I  love  so  dear ! 
Must  wayward  fortune's  adverse  hand 

For  ever,  ever  keep  me  here. 


312  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

How  lovely  IMith,  thy  fruitful  vales, 

Where  spreading  hawthorns  gayly  bloom; 
How  sweetly  wind  thy  sloping  dales 

Where  lambkins  wanton  thro*  the  broom  I 
Tho'  wandering,  now  must  be  my  doom, 

Far  from  thy  bonnie  banks  and  braes, 
May  there  my  latest  hours  consume, 

Amang  the  friends  of  early  days  ! 


THE  DAY  RETURNS,  MY  BOSOM  BURNS. 

THE  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns, 

The  blissful  day  we  twa  did  meet, 
Tho'  winter  wild  in  tempest  toil'd. 

Ne'er  summer  sun  was  half  sae  sweet. 
Than  a'  the  pride  that  loads  the  tide. 

And  crosses  o'er  the  sultry  line  ; 
Than  kingly  robes,  than  crowns  and  globes, 

Heaven  gave  me  more,  it  made  thee  mine. 

While  day  and  night  can  bring  delight, 

Or  nature  aught  of  pleasure  give  1 
While  joys  above  my  mind  can  move. 

For  thee,  and  thee  alone  I  live ! 
When  that  grim  foe  of  life  below 

Comes  in  between  to  make  us  part ; 
The  iron  hand  that  breaks  our  band. 

It  breaks  my  bliss — it  breaks  my  heart. 


RAVING  WINDS  AROUND  HER  BLOWING 

RAVING  winds  aro\ind  her  blowing, 

Yellovv  leaves  the  woodlands  strowing, 

By  a  river  hocirsely  roaring, 

Isabella  stray'd  deploring. 

*'  Farewell,  hours  that  late  did  measure 

"  Sunshine  days  of  joy  and  pleasure ; 


HGBERT  BURIiS.  Gl'S 


«  Hail,  thou  gloomy  night  of  sorrow, 
«  Cheerless  night  that  knows  no  morrow 

«  0*er  the  past  too  fondly  wandering, 
"  On  the  hopeless  future  pondering  ; 
"  Chilly  grief  my  life-blood  freezes, 
«  Fell  despair  my  fancy  seizes. 
«  Life,  thou  soul  of  every  blessing, 
"  Load  to  misery  most  distressing, 
"  O  how  gladly  I  *d  resign  thee, 
«  And  to  dark  oblivion  join  thee  1'* 


CRAGIE-BURN  WOOD. 

SWEET  fa's  the  eve  on  Cragie-bum, 
And  blythe  awakes  the  morrow. 

But  a*  the  pride  o'  spring's  return 
Can  yield  me  nocht  but  sorrow. 

I  see  the  flowers  and  spreading  trees, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  singing ; 

But  what  a  weary  wight  can  please. 
And  care  his  bosom  wringing. 

Fain,  fain  would  I  my  griefs  impart, 

Yet  dare  na  for  your  anger  ; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart, 

If  I  conceal  it  langer. 

If  thou  refuse  to  pity  me, 

If  thou  shalt  love  anither. 
When  yon  green  leaves  fade  frae  the  tree, 

Around  my  grave  they  '11  wither. 


SOJSG. 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
When  all  the  flow'rs  were  fresh  and  gay, 
One  morning,  by  the  break  of  day, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe  ; 
E  E 


314  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

From  peaceful  sluinber  she  arose, 
Girt  on  her  mantle  and  her  hose, 
And  o'er  the  flowery  mead  she  goes, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn. 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe; 

Tripping  o'er  ihe  pearly  lawn, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

The  featherM  people,  you  might  see 
Perch'd  all  around  on  every  tree, 
In  notes  of  sweetest  melody 
They  hail  the  charming  Chloe; 

'Till,  painting  gay  the  eastern  skies, 
The  glorious  sun  began  to  rise, 
Out-iiviiU'd  by  the  radiant  eyes 
Of  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

Lovely  was  she,  &c. 


SONG — AIR — Cauld  Kalu 

COME  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast, 

And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder  ; 
And  1  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 

The  warld's  wealth  and  grandeur : 
And  do  1.  hear  my  Jeanie  own. 

That  equal  transports  move  her? 
I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone 

That  I  may  live  to  love  her. 

Thus  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 
I  cksp  my  countless  treasure  ; 

I  *ll  seek  nae  mair  o'  heaven  to  sharcj^ 
Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure ; 


IIOBEIIT  BUKNS.  315 


And  by  thy  een,  sae  bonnie  blue, 
I  swear  I  'm  thine  for  ever  ! 

And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 
And  break  it  shall  I  never. 


ADDRESS  T^O  THE  WOOD-LARK. 

O  STAY,  sweet  warbling  wood-lark  stay, 
Nor  quit  for  me  the  trembling  spray, 
A  hapless  lover  courts  thy  lay, 
Thy  soothing  fond  complaining. 

Again,  again  that  tender  part, 
That  I  may  catch  thy  melting  art; 
For  surely  that  wad  touch  her  heart, 
VVha  kills  me  wi'  disdaining. 

Say,  was  thy  little  mate  unkind, 
Ami  lieard  thee  as  the  careless  wind  ? 
Oh,  nocht  but  love  and  sorrow  join'd^ 
Sic  notes  o'  woe  could  wauken. 

Thou  tells  o'  never-ending  care  ; 
O'  speechless  grief,  and  dark  despair : 
For  pity's  sake,  sweet  bird,  nae  mair  I 
Or  my  poor  hea,rt  is  broken  I 


SONG. 

FAREWELL  thou  stream  that  windin  g  flows 

Around  Maria's  dwelling ! 
Ah  cruel  mem*ry  1  spare  the  throes 

Within  my  bosom  swelling : 
CondemnM  to  drag  a  hopeless  chain 

And  still  in  secret,  languish. 
To  feel  a  fire  in  ev'ry  vein. 

Yet  dare  not  speak  my  anguish,.- 


316  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Th'e  wretch  of  love,  unseen,  unknown, 

I  fain  my  crime  would  cover  : 
The  bursting  sigh,  th*  unweeting  groan, 

Betray  the  liopeless  lover. 
I  know  my  doom  must  be  despair, 

Thou  wilt,  nor  canst  relieve  me  ; 
But  oh,  Maria  hear  one  prayer, 

For  pity's  sake  forgive  me. 

The  music  of  thy  tongue  I  heard,   * 

Nor  wist  Avhile  it  enslaved  me  ; 
I  saw  thine  eyes  yet  nothing  fear*d, 

*Till  fears  no  more  had  sav'd  me. 
The  unwary  sailor  thus  aghast. 

The  wheeling  torrent  viewing  ; 
'Mid  circling  horrors  yields  at  last 

To  overwhelming  ruin. 


MARY  MORISON—TUNE— 5^V^  ye  yel, 

0  MARY,  at  thy  window  be. 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour ; 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see. 

That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor-:- 
How  blythely  wad  I  bide  the  stour, 

A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun ; 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure. 

The  lovely  Mary  Morison. 

Yestreen  when  to  the  trembling  string. 
The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha', 

To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw  : 

Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw. 
And  you  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 

1  sigh'd  and  said  amang  them  a*, 
"  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison." 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die  ! 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his.. 

Whase  only  faiu  is  loving  thee  ! 


ROBERT  BURNS.  3iT 


If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie, 
At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown ; 

A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 
The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison, 


SONG — TUNE — I  had  a  horse, 

O  Poortith  cauld,  and  restless  love, 

Ye  wreck  my  peace  between  ye  ! 
Yet  poortith  a*  I  ceuld  forgive, 

An'  'twere  na'  for  my  Jeanie. 
O  why  should  fate  sic  pleasure  have. 

Life's  dearest  bands  untwining  ? 
Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love, 

Depend  on  Fortune's  shining  ? 

This  warld's  wealth  when  I  think  on. 

It's  pride,  and  a'  the  lave  o't ; 
Fie,  fie  on  silly  coward  man. 

That  he  should  be  the  slave  o't ; 

O  why,  See. 

Her  een  sae  bonie  blue  betray, 
How  she  repays  my  passion ; 

But  prudence  is  her  o'erword  ay- 
She  talks  of  rank  and  fashiop. 
O  why,  &,c. 

O  wha  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sic  a  lassie  by  him? 
O  wha  can  prudence  think  upon. 

An  sae  in  love  as  I  am  ? 

t)  why,  &c. 

How  blest  the  humble  cotter's  fate  I 

He  wooes  his  simple  dearie; 
The  silly  bogles  wealth  an  state, 
Can  never  make  them  eerie. 
O  why,  &c. 

Ee5 


3 1 8  i  ilE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


MY  TOCHER'S  THE  JEWEL. 

O  MEIKLE  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  beauty, 

And  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  kin ; 
But  little  thinks  my  luve  I  ken  brawlie, 

My  tocher*s  the  jewel  has  charms  for  him. 
It's  a'  for  the  apple  he  '11  nourish  the  tree ; 

It's  a'  for  the  hiney  he  '11  cherish  the  bee, 
My  laddie's  sae  meikle  in  luve  wi'  the  siller, 

He  can  na  hae  luve  to  spare  for  me. 

Your  proffer  o'  luve 's  an  airlc-penny. 

My  tocher's  the  bargain  ye  wad  buy; 
But  an  ye  be  crafty,  I  am  cunnin, 

Sae  ye  wi'  anither  your  fortune  maun  try. 
Ye  're  like  to  the  timmer  o'  yon  rotten  wood, 

Ye  're  like  to  the  bark  o'  yon  rotten  tree, 
Ye  '11  slip  fre  me  like  a  knotless  thread, 

And  ye  *11  crack  your  credit  Avi'  mae  nor  me. 


SONG — TUNE — Jockey's  grey  breeks, 

AO-AIN  rejoicing  nature  sees 

Her  robe  assume  its  vernal  hues, 
Her  leafy  locks  wave  in  the  breeze 

All  freshly  steep'd  in  morning  dews. 

CHORUS. 

And  maun  I  stiil  on  Afenie  doat, 

And  bear  the  scorn  that's  in  her  e'e  ! 

For  it'  s  jet,  jet  black,  an'' it 's  like  a  hawk. 
An'  it  winna  let  a  body  be  ! 

X;i  vain  to  me  the  cowslips  blaw. 

In  vain  to  me  the  vi'lets  spring; 
In  vain  to  me,  in  glen  or  shaw. 

The  mavis  and  the  lintwhitc  sing. 

And  maun  I  still,  ?^r 


ROBERT  BUHNS,  3I9 

The  merry  ploiighboy  cheers  his  team, 

Wi'  joy  the  tentie  seedsman  stalks, 
But  life  to  me 's  a  weary  dream, 

A  dream  of  ane  that  never  wauks. 

And  maun  I  still,  he 

The  wanton  coot  the  water  skims, 

Amang  the  reeds  the  ducklings  cry, 
The  stately  swan  majestic  swims, 

And  every  thing  is  blest  but  I. 

And  maun  I  still,  kc. 

The  sheep-herd  steeks  his  faulding  slap, 

And  ovvre  the  moorlands  whistles  shill, 
Wi*  wild,  unequal,  wand'ring  step 

I  meet  him  on  the  dewy  hill. 

And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

And  when  the  lark,  'tween  light  and  dark, 

Blythe  waukens  by  the  daisy's  side. 
And  mounts  and  sings  on  flittering  wings, 

A  woe-worn  ghaist  I  hameward  glide. 

And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

Come  Winter,  with  thine  angry  howl. 

And  raging  bend  the  naked  tree  ; 
Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  chearless  soul, 

When  nature  all  is  sad  like  me  ! 

And  maun  I  still,  &c. 


SONG. 

HAD  I  a  cave  on  some  wild  distant  shore, 
Where  the  winds  howl  to  the  waves'  dashing  roar 5 
There  would  I  weep  my  woes, 
There  seek  my  lost  repose, 
'Till  grief  my  eyes  should  close, 
Ne'er  to  wake  more. 


320  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

Falsest  of  womankind,  canst  thou  declare, 
All  thy  fond  plighted  vows — fleeting  as  air  I 
To  thy  new  lover  hie, 
Laugh  o'er  thy  perjury, 
Then  in  thy  bosom  try. 
What  peace  is  there ! 


FRAGMENT. 

Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing, 
Adown  her  neck  and  bosom  hing ; 

How  sweet  unto  that  breast  to  cling, 
And  round  that  neck  entwine  her  ! 

Her  lips  are  roses  wat  wi'  dew, 
O,  what  a  feast,  her  bonnie  mou ! 

Her  cheeks  a  mair  celestial  hue, 
A  crimson  still  diviner. 


SONG — TUNE — Banks  of  Baiina, 

YESTREEN  I  had  a  pint  o*  wine, 

A  place  where  body  saw  na* ; 
Yestreen  lay  on  this  breast  o'  mine 

The  gowden  locks  of  Anna. 
The  hungry  Jew  in  wilderness 

Rejoicing  o'er  his  manna, 
Was  naething  to  my  hinny  bliss 

Upon  the  lips  of  Anna. 

Ye  monarchs  tak  the  east  and  wesfj 

Frae  Indus  to  Savannah ! 
Crie  me  within  my  straining  grasp 

The  melting  form  of  Anna. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  22X 


There  I'll  despise  imperial  charms, 

An  Empress  or  Sultana, 
While  dying  raptures  in  her  arms 

I  give  and  take  with  Anna  1 

Awa  thou  flaunting  god  o*  day  !^ 

Awa  thou  pale  Diana  ! 
Ilk  star  gae  hide  thy  twinkling  ray 

When  I  *m  to  meet  my  Anna. 
Come,  in  thy  raven  plumage,  night, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  withdrawn  a* ; 
And  bring  an  angel  pen  to  write 

My  transports  wi*  my  Anna  I 


THE  BO]>nVIE  WEE  THING. 

BONNIE  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 
Lovely  wee  thing  was  thou  mine ; 

I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom, 
Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine. 

Wishfully  I  look  and  languish 

In  that  bonnie  face  of  thine  ; 
And  my  heart  it  siounds  wi'  anguish^ 

Lest  my  wee  thing  be  na  mine. 

Wit,  and  grace,  and  love  and  beauty, 

In  ae  constellation  shine  ; 
To  adore  thee  is  my  duty. 

Goddess  o'  this  soul  o'  mine  ! 

Bonnie  wee,  &c. 


BALLAD. 

To  thee,  lov'd  Nith,  thy  gladsome  plains, 
Where  late  wi*  careless  thought  I  rang'd-, 

Though  prest  wi'  care  and  sunk  in  woe, 
To  thee  I  bring  a  heart  unchang'd— 


322  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

I  love  thee  Nith,  thy  banks  and  braes, 
Tho'  mem'ry  there  my  bosom  tear; 

For  there  he  rov'd  that  brake  my  heart, 
Yet  to  that  heart,  ah,  still  how  dear  I 


GALL  A  WATER. 

THERE  'S  braw  braw  lads,  on  Yarrow  braes, 
That  wander  thro'  the  blooming  heather ; 

Bui  Yarrow  braes,  nor  Ettric  shaws, 
Can  match  the  lads  o'  Galla  water. 

But  there  is  ane,  a  secret  ane, 
Aboon  them  a'  I  loe  him  better  ; 

And  I  '11  be  his,  and  he  *li  be  mine, 
The  bonie  lad  o'  Galla  water. 

Altho*  his  daddie  was  nae  laird, 
And  tho'  I  hae  na  meikle  tocher ; 

Yet  rich  in  kindest,  truest  love, 

We  '11  tent  our  flocks  by  Galla  watev. 


It  ne'er  was  wealth,  it  ne'er  was  wealth, 
That  coft  contentment,  peace,  or  pleasure 

The  bands  and  bliss  o°  mutual  love, 
O  that's  the  chiefest  warld's  treasure  ! 


SONG. 

WHAT  can  a  young  la^ie,  what  shall  a  young  lassie, 
What  can  a  young  lassie  do  wi'  an  auld  man  ? 

Bad  luck  on  the  pennie  that  tempted  my  minnie 
To  sell  her  poor  Jenny  for  siller  an'  Ian'  1 

Bad  luck  on  the  pennie,  &c. 

He  's  always  compleenin  frae  morain  to  e'enin, 
He  hosts  and  he  liirples  the  weary  day  lang ; 

He  's  doylt  and  he  's  dozin,  his  blude  it  is  frozen, 
O,  dreaiy  's  the  night  wi'  a  crazy  auld  man  I 


ROBERT  BURNS.  323 


He  hums  and  he  hankers,  he  frets  and  he  cankers, 
I  never  can  please  him,  do  a'  that  I  can ; 

'  the  young  fellows, 
an  auld  man  ! 


He's  peevish,  and  jealous  of  a' 
O,  dool  on  the  day  I  met  wi* 


My  auld  auntie  Katie  upon  me  takes  pity, 
I  '11  do  my  endeavour  to  follow  her  plan ; 

I  '11  cross  him,  and  wrack  him  tmtil  I  heart-break  him, 
And  then  his  auld  brass  will  buy  me  a  new  pan. 


O  MAY  THY  MORN. 

O  MAY,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet. 
As  the  mirk  night  o'  December; 

For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine, 
And  private  was  the  chamber : 

And  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 
But  1  will  ay  remember. 

And  dear,  &c. 

An  here  *s  to  them,  that,  like  oursel, 

Can  push  about  the  jorum ; 
And  here  's  to  them  that  wish  us  weel. 

May  a'  that 's  gude  watch  o'er  them ; 
And  here  's  to  them,  we  dare  na  tell, 

The  dearest  o'  the  quorum. 

And  here  's  to,  &c. 


WILLIE  BREW  D  A  PECK  O'  MALT. 

O  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut, 

And  Rob  and  Allan  cam  to  see  ; 
Three  blyiher  hearts,  that  lee-lang  night, 

Ye  wad  na  find  in  Christendie. 

We  are  na  fou,  we  're  nae  that  fou 

But  just  a  diappie  in  our  e'e  ; 
The  cock  m..}'  craw,  the  day  may  daw. 

And  ay  we  '11  taste  the  barley  bree. 


324  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Of 

Here  are  we  met,  three  merry  boys, 
Three  merry  boys  I  trow  are  we  ; 

And  mony  a  night  we  *ve  merry  been, 
And  mony  mae  we  hope  to  be  ! 

We  are  na  fou,  &c. 

It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  har  horn, 
That 's  blinkin  in  theMift  sae  hie  ; 

She  shines  sae  bright  to  wyle  us  hame, 
But  by  my  sooth  she  'U  wait  a  wee  ! 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 

Wha  first  shall  rise  to  gang  awa, 
A  cuckold,  coward  loun  is  he  ! 

Wha  first  beside  his  chair  shall  fa*, 
He  is  the  king  among  us  three  I 

Wc  are  na  fou,  &c. 


WHERE  BRAVING  ANGRY,  &c. 

WHERE  braving  angry  winter's  storms. 

The  lofty  Ochels  rise, 
Far  in  their  shade  ir.y  Peggy's  charms 

First  biest  my  wondering  eyes. 
As  one  who  by  some  savage  stream, 

A  lonely  gem  surveys, 
Astonish'd  doubly  marked  its  beam, 

With^rt's  most  polish'd  blaze. 

Blest  be  the  wild,  sequester'd  shade, 

And  blest  the  day  and  hour. 
Where  Peggy's  charms  I  first  survey'd, 

When  first  I  felt  their  powV ! 
The  tyrant  death  with  grim  controul 

May  seize  my  fleeting  breath  ; 
But  tearing  Peggy  from  my  soul 

Must  be  a  stronger  death. 


k  '^  ROBERT  BURNS.  S%S 

SONG— -TUNE— Gz/f/e'r^?/^ 

FROM  thee,  JEllzay  I  must  go, 

And  from  my  native  shore ; 
The  cruel  fates  between  us  thro\y 

A  boundless  ocean's  roar  :  ^ 
But  boundless  oceans,  roarmg^ide, 

Between  my  love  and  me,     ^ 
They  never,  never  can  divide 

My  heart  and  soul  from  thee  ;• 

Farewell,  farewell  Eliza  dear, 

The  maid  that  I  adore  ! 
A  boding  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

We  part  to  meet  no  more  ! 
But  the  last  throb  that  leaves  my  heart, 

While  death  stands  victor  by, 
That  throb.  Eliza,  is  thy  part, 

And  thine  that  latest  sigh  1 


THEN  GUIDWIFE  COUNT  THE  LAWIN. 

GANE  is  the  day  and  mirk  *s  the  night, 
But  we'll  nc'cK  stray  for  faute  o'  light, 
For  ale  and  brandy 's  stars  and  moon, 
And  bludc  red  wine  's  the  rysin  sun. 

Then  guidwife  count  the  lawin,  the  lawin,  the  lawln. 
Then  guidwife  count  the  lawin,  and  bring  a  coggie  jnaiv 

There  *s  wealth  and  ease  for  gentlemen, 
And  semple-folk  maun  fecht  and  fen ; 
But  here  we  're  a'  in  ae  accord, 
For  ilka  man  that 's  drunk's  a  lord. 


4 


Then  guidwife  count,  &c. 

My  coggle  is  a  haly  pool. 

That  heals  the  wounds  o'  care  and  dool; 

And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout. 

An'  ye  drink  it  a*"  ye  '11  find  him  out 

Then  guidwjfe  count,  8cc. 

F  F 


326  TITE  POETICAL  WORKS  Ol 


WANDERIXG  AMLLIE. 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie, 

Now  tired  with  wandering,  hand  awa  hame  ; 

Come  to  my  bosom  my  ac  only  dearie, 

And  tell  me  thou  bring'st  me  my  Willie  the  same* 

Loud  blew  the  cauld  winrer  winds  at  our  parting: 
It  was  na  the  blast  brought  the  tear  in  my  e'e : 

Now  welcome  the  simmer,  and  welcome  my  Willie, 
The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me. 

Ye  hurricanes  rest  in  the  cave  o'  your  slumbers^ 
O  how  your  wild  horrors  a  lover  alarms  : 

Awaken  ye  breezes,  row  gently  ye  billows. 

And  waft  my  d^ar  laddie  ance  mair  to  my  arms. 

But  if  he  's  forgotten  his  faithfulest  Nanie, 

O  still  flow  between  us,  thou  wide  roaring  main ; 

May  I  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow  it, 
But  dying  believe  that  niy  Willie  's  my  ain  I 


O  sav/  ye  bonie  Lesley 

As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  ! 
She's  gane  like  Alexander, 

To  spread  her  conquesfc  farther 

To  see  her  is  to  love  her, 
And  love  but  her  forever  ; 

For  Nature  made  her  what  she  is, 
And  never  made  anither. 

Thou  art  a  queen,  fair  Lesley, 
Thy  subjects  v/e,  before  thee  : 

Thou  art  divine,  fair  Lesley, 
j^he  hearts  o'  men  adore  thee. 

The  Deil  he  could  na  scaith  thee, 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thcc  j 

lie  'd  look  into  thy  bonie  face, 
And  say  "  I  canna  v/rang  thee," 


llOBERT  BURNS.  S%7 


The  powers  aboon  will  tent  thee  ; 

Misfortune  sha'na  steer  thee  ; 
Tholi'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely, 

That  ill  they  '11  ne*er  let  near  thee. 

Return  again  fair  Lesley, 

Return  to  Caledonie  ! 
That  we  may  brag,  we  hae  a  lass 

There  's  nane  again  sae  bonie. 


SONG. 

SCOTS,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  whom  Bruce  has  aften  led  ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victorie. 

Now  's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour^ 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lour ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power- 
Chains  and  slaverie  ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  1 
Let  him  turn  and  flee  ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draW; 
Free-man  stand,  or  Free-man  fa'. 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  I 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
W^e  will  drain  our  dearest  veins. 
But  they  shall  be  free  ! 

I^ay  the  proud  usurpers  low  ' 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  I 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  * 
Let  U5  DO  or  die  1 


238  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Oi 

AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

SHOULD  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  min'  ? 
•hould  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot. 
And  days  o'lang  syne  ? 

CHORUS. 

*  I'or  auld  lang*  sync,  my  dear, 
rov  auld  lang-  syne. 
We'll  tak  a  cup  o'kin Juessyc', 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine  ; 
But  we've  wander'd  mony  a  weary  foot 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  8ic- 

"We  twa  hae  paidlct  i'  the  burn, 

Frae  mornin  sun  till  dine  : 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd, 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  &c . 

And  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fiere^ 

And  gie's  a  hand  o'  thine  ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  right  guide  wille-waught 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  &c. 

And  surely  ye '11  be  your  pint-stowp, 

And  surely  I  '11  be  mine  ; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  cupo'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auid  8cc. 


Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie,  thou  hast  left  me  ever? 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie,  thou  hast  left  me  ever^ 
Aften  hast  thou  vow'd  that  death,  only  should  us  seven 
Now  thou's  left  thy  lass  for  ay — I  maun  see  thcc  never, 
Jamie. 

I'll  sec  thee  never, 


ROBERT  BURNS.  329 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie,  thou  hast  me  forsaken, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie,  thou  hast  me  forsaken  ; 
Thou  canst  love  anither  jo,  while  my  heart  is  breaking  : 
Soon  my  weary  e'en  I'll  close — never  mair  to  waken, 
Jamie, 

Ne'er  mair  to  waken. 


SONG. — TUNE — Rothemurcfu 

CHORUS. 

Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks, 
Chrystal  Devon,  winding-  Devon, 

Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside. 

And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do. 

Full  well  thou  knowesti  love  thee  dear, 
Couldst  thou  to  malice  lend  an  ear  ! 
O  did  not  love  exclaim,  "  Forbear, 
"  Nor  use  a  faithful  lover,  so." 
Fairest  maid,  &c. 

Then  come,  thou  fairest  of  the  fair, 
Those  wonted  smiles,  O  lei  me  share  ; 
And  by  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear, 
No  love  but  thine  my  heart  shall  know. 
Fairest  maid  &c. 


SONG. 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part, 
As  far  *s  the  pole  and  line  ; 

Her  dear  idea  round  my  heart 
Should  tenderly  entwine. 


frown  and  desarts  howlj 
And  oceans  ^■SlV  between  ; 
Yet,  dearer  tl.  .j^  my  deathless  soul, 
I  still  would* '  ve  my  Jean. 


330  'i'ltE  rOETICAL  WORKS  OF 

SONG. 

O  raging  fortune's  withering  blast 

Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  1  O 
OJraging  fortune's  withering  blast 

Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  !  O 
My  stem  was  fair,  my  bud  was  green, 

My  blossom  sweet  did  blow  ;  O 
The  dew  fell  fresh,  the  sun  rose  mild, 

And  made  my  branches  grow  ;  O 
But  luckless  fortune's  northern  storms 

Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low,  O 
But  luckless  fortune's  northern  storms 

Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low,  O. 


SOXG — TUNE — lam  a  man  immar 

O  once  I  lov'd  a  bonny  lass, 

Ay,  and  I  love  her  still, 
\nd  whilst  that  honor  warms  my  breast 
I  '11  love  my  handsome  Nell. 

Falklderal,  Sec. 

As  bonnie  lasses  I  hae  seen. 

And  mony  full  as  braw, 
But  for  a  modest  gracefu'  mein 

The  like  I  never  saw. 

A  bonnie  lass  I  will  confess, 

Is  pleasant  to  the  e'e, 
But  without  some  better  qualities 

She's  no  a  lass  for  me. 

But  Nelly's  looks  are  biythe  and  swec;. 

And  what  is  best  of  a', 
Her  reputation  is  complete, 

And  fair  without  a  flaw. 

She  dresses  ay  sae  clean  and  neat, 

Both  decent  and  genteel  : 
And  then  there's  something  in  lier  ga; 

Gars  ony- dress  look  weel 


'I  en, 


ROBERT  BURNS.  .331 


A  ,^audy  dress  and  gentle  air 
May  slightly  touch  the  heart, 

But  it 's  innocence  and  modesty 
That  polishes  the  dart. 

Tis  this  in  Nelly  pleases  me, 
'Tis  this  enchants  my  soul ; 
For  absolutely  in  my  breast 
She  reigns  without  control. 

Fiil  lal  de  ral,  S;c, 


MY  BONNIE  MARY, 

GO  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

An  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie ; 
That  I  may  drink,  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  bonnie  lassie  : 
i  he  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith  ; 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  ferry, 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law, 

And  I  maun  leu'e  my  bonnie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 

The  battle  closes  thick  and  bloody  : 
But  it  *s  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore, 

Wad  make  me  langer  wish  to  tarry  ; 
Nor  shouts  o'  war  that 's  heard  afar, 

It 's  leaving  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary. 


FRAGMENT. 

MY  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  heavenly  rest? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast 


332  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


SONG,  EXTEMPORE. 

0  WHY  the  deuce  should  I  repine, 
And  be  an  ill  forebode  r  ; 

1  'm  twenty  three,  and  five  feet  nine, 

I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger. 

I  gat  some  gear  wi'  meikle  care, 

I  held  it  weel  thegither ; 
But  now  its  gane,  and  something  mair^ 

I  'II  go  and  be  a  sodger. 


FRAGMENT— TUNE—Do^za/^  Blue- 

O  LEAVE  novels,  ye  Maucline  belles, 
Ye 're  safer  at  your  spinning-wheel ; 

Such  witching  books,  are  baited  hooks 
For  rakish  rooks  like  Rob  Mossgiel. 

Sing  tal  lal  lay,  kc 

Your  fine  Tom  Jones  and  GrandisoTis, 
They  make  your  youthful  fancies  reel, 

They  heat  your  brains,  and  fire  your  veins, 
And  then  you  're  prey  for  Rob  Mossgiel. 

Beware  a  tongue  that 's  smoothly  hung  ; 

A  heart  that  warmly  seems  to  feel ; 
That  feeling  heart  but  acts  a  pan, 

'Tis  rakish  art  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 

The  frank  address,  the  soft  caress, 

Are  worse  than  poisoned  darts  of  steel, 

The  frank  address  and  politesse, 
Are  all  finesse  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 


For  he 's  far  aboon  Dunkel  the  night 
Maun  white  the  slick  and  a'  that. 


TiOBERT  BURNS. 


O  were  my  love  yon  lilack  fair, 
Wi*  purple  blossoms  to  the  spring  : 

And  I,  a  bird  to  shelter  there, 
When  wearied  on  my  little  wing. 

How  I  wad  mourn,  when  it  was  torn 
By  autumn  wild,  and  winter  rude  i 

But  I  wad  sing'  on  wanton  wing. 

When  youthfu'  May  its  bloom  renew'd. 


SENSIBILITY, 

•SENSIBILITY  how  charming, 
T/iou  7ny  friend  csiYiSi  truly  tellj 

But  distress  Mith  horrors  arming. 
Thou  hast  also  known  too  well ! 

Fairest  flower,  behold  the  lily. 
Blooming  in  the  sunny  ray  : 

Let  the  blast  sweep  o*er  the  valley, 
See  it  prostrate  on  the  clay. 

Hear  the  wood  lark  charm  the  forest 
Telling  o'er  his  little  joys  : 

Hapless  bird  !  a  prey  the  surest^ 
To  each  pirate  of  the  skies. 

Dearly  bought,  the  hidden  treasure, 
Finer  feelings  can  bestow  ; 

Chords  that  vibrate  sweetest  pleasure,. 
Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe. 


SONG — TUNE — Caidd  kail  in  Aher  deen- 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night, 

When  I  am  frac  my  dearie  ! 
T  restless  lie  frae  e'en  to  morn, 

Though  I  wre  ne'er  sac  wcarv,- 


334         THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

CHORUS. 

For  oh,  her  lanely  nights  are  lang  : 
And  oh,  her  dreams  are  eerie  ; 

And  oh,  her  widow'd  heart  is  sair, 
That's  absent  frae  her  dearie. 

When  I  think  on  the  lightsome  days 

I  spent  wi'  thee,  my  dearie  ; 
And  now  what  seas  between  us  roar, 

How  can  I  be  but  eerie. 

For  oh,  8cc. 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours 
The  joyless  day  how  dreary  : 
It  was  na  sae,  ye  glinted  by, 
When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 

For  oh,  &c. 


BLYTHE  WAS  SHE^. 

Blythe,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  was  she  but  and  ben  : 

Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Em, 
And  blythe  in  Gienturet  glen. 

BY  Oughtertyre  grows  the  aik, 

On  Yarrow  banks,  the  birken  shaw ; 

But  Phemie  was  a  bonier  lass 
Than  braes  o'  Yarrow  ever  saw. 
Blythe,  &c. 

Her  looks  were  like  a  flow'r  in  May, 
Her  smile  was  like  a  simmer  morn  { 

She  tripped  by  the  banks  of  Ern, 
As  light's  a  bird  upon  a  thorn. 
Blythe,  &c. 

Her  bonie  face  it  was  as  meek 

As  ony  lamb  upon  a  lee  ; 
The  evening  sun  was  ne''er  sac  sweet 

As  was  the  blink  o'  Phemie*s  e*e ; 

Blythe,  8;c. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  335 


The  Highland  hills  Pve  wancler'd  wide, 
And  o'er  the  Lowlands  I  hae  been  ; 

But  Phemie  was  the  blythest  lass 
That  ever  trode  the  dewy  green. 
Blythe,  Sec. 


TIBBIE— TUNE— 7;iz^^ra/c;f'5  Reel 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day 

,Yc  would  nae  been  sae  shy  : 
For  laik  o'  g-ear  ye  lightly  me, 

But  trowth,  I  care  na  by. 

YESTREEN  I  met  you  on  the  moor, 
Ye  spak  na,  but  gaed  by  like  stoure  ; 
Ye  geek  at  me  because  I  'm  poor. 
But  fient  a  hair  care  I. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

I  doubt  ria,  lass,  but  ye  may  think, 
Because  ye  hae  the  name  o'  clink. 
That  ye  can  please  me  at  a  wink, 
Whene'er  ye  like  to  try. 
O  Tibbie,  1  hae,  &c. 

But  son  ow  tak  him  that  's  sae  mean, 
Altho'  his  pouch  o'  coin  were  clean, 
Wha  follows  ony  saucy  quean 
That  looks  sae  proud  and  high. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  8ic. 

Altho'  a  lad  were  e*er  sae  smart. 
If  that  he  want  the  yellow  dirt, 
Ye  '11  cast  your  head  anither  airt. 
And  answer  him  fu'  dry. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  Sec. 

But  if  he  hae  the  name  o'  gear, 

Ye  '11  fasten  to  him  like  a  brier, 

Tho'  hardly  he  for  sense  or  lear, 

Be  better  than  the  kye. 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 


336  THE  POETICAL  WOPwKS  01- 

But,  Tibbie,  lass  tak  my  advice, 
Your  daddies  gear  maks  you  sae  nice  ; 
The  deil  a  ane  wad  spier  your  price. 
Were  yc  as  poor  as  I. 
O  Tibbie,  I  iiae,  &c. 

There  lives  a  lass  in  yonder  park. 
I  would  nae  gie  her  under  sark, 
For  thee  wi'  a'  thy  thousan'  mark  ; 
Ye  need  nae  look  sae  high. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  See. 


LASSIE  WITHE  LINT-WHITE  LOCKS. 

CHORUS- 

Lassie  wi'  thellnt-white  locks, 

Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie, 
Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks, 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  O. 

Now  nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea, 
And  a'  is- young  and  sweet  like  thee  ; 
O  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  wi'  me, 
And  say  thou  'It  be  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

And  when  the  welcome  simmer-shower 
Has  chear'd  ilk  drooping  little  flower, 
We  '11  to  the  breathing  woodbine  bower, 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

When  Cynthia  lights,  wi'  silver  ray, 
The  weary  shearer's  hameward  way ; 
Thro'  yellow  waving  fields  we'll  stray, 
And  talk  o'  love,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

And  when  the  howling  wintry  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest  j 
Enclasped  to  my  faithfu'  breast, 
m  comfort  thee,  my  dearie  O, 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 


KOBERT  BURKS.  '337 

O,  FOR  ANIE  AND  TWENTY  TA>I ! 

An  O,  for  ane  and  twenty  Tain  ! 

An  hey,  sweet  ane  andnwenty,  Tam  ! 
I'll  learn  my  kin  a  rattlin  sang-. 

An  I  saw  ane  and  twenty  Tam. 

THEY  snool  me  sair,  and  baud  me  down, 

And  gar  me  look  like  bluntie,  Tam  ; 
But  three  short  years  will  soon  wheel  roun^ 

And  then  conjes  ane  and  twenty  Tam. 
An  O,  for  ane,  &c . 

A  gleib  o'  Ian,  aclauto*  gear, 

Was  left  me  by  my  auntie,  Tam  ; 
At  kith  or  kin  I  need  na  spier. 

An  I  saw  ane  and  twenty,  Tanio 
And  O,  for  ain,  &c. 

They  '11  hae  me  wed  a  wealthy  coof, 

Tho'  I  mysel  hae  plenty,  Tam  ; 
But  hear'st  thou,  laddie,  there's  my  loot, 

I  'm  thine  at  ane  and  twenty,  Tam  I 
An  O,  for  ane,  See. 


SONG. 

CHORUS. 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear. 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear  ; 

Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet. 

And  soft  as  their  parting-  tear — Jessy  ! 

ALTHOUGH  thou  jfiaun  never  be  mine, 

Although  even  hope  is  denied ; 
'Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing 

Than  aught  in  the  world  beside — Jessy  I 
Here's  a  health,  &,c. 

I  mourn  thro'  the  gay,  gaudy  day. 

As,  hopeless,  I  muse  on  thy  charms  ; 
But  welcome  the  dream  o'  sweet  slumber, 
For  then  I  am  lockt  in  thy  arms— Jessy  ! 
Here's  a  heMth,  dsx. 

G    G 


jja  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Gi 

I  guess  by  the  dear  angel  smile, 
I  guess  by  the  love  rolHng  e'e  ; 

But  why  urge  the  tender  confession 
'Gainst  fortune's  fell  cruel  decree — Jessy 
Here's  a  health,  5cc. 


I  LOVE   MY  JEAIS 

©T  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best  : 
There  wild-woods  grow,  and  rivers  row. 

And  niony  a  hill  between  ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair  ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air : 
rherc  s  not  a  bonnie  flower,  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green. 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 


SONG — TUNE — Bonnie  Dundee. 

IN  Mauchline  there  dwells  six  proper  young  Belles, 
The  pride  of  the  place  and  its  neighbourhood  a' 

Their  carriage  and  dress,  a  stranger  would  guess. 
In  Lon'on  or  Paris  they  'd  gotten  it  a' : 

'diss  JVRUer  is^ne,  IMiss  Markland  *s  divine. 
Miss  Smith  she  has  wit,  und  Miss  Betty  is  braw ; 

There's  beauty  and  fortune  to  get  wi  Miss  Mprio?:, 
But  Ar}nour  ^s  the  jewei  for  me  o'  them  a'. 


ROBERT  BUUI*^3.  339 

THE  CHEVALIER'S  LAMENT. 

THE  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  green  leaves  returning, 
The  murmuring*  streamlet  ^vinds  cloar  thro'  the  vale  ; 
The  hawthorn  trees  blow  in  the  dews  of  the  morning, 
And  wild  scattered  cowslips  bedeck  the  green  dale  : 

But  what  can  give  pleasure,  or  what  can  seem  fair, 
While  the  lingering  moments  are  numbered  by  care  ? 
No  flowers  gayly  springing,  nor  birds  sweetly  singing. 
Can  soothe  the  sad  bosoni  of  joyless  despair. 

The  deed  that  I  dared  could  it  merit  their  malice, 
A  king  and  a  father  to  place  on  his  throne  ? 
His  right  are  these  hills  and  his  right  arc  these  vallies, 
Where  the  wild  beasts  find  shelter,  but  I  can  find  none. 

But  'tis  aot  my  sufferings  thus  wretched,  forlorn, 
My  brave  gallant  friends,  'tis  your  ruin  I  mourn  ; 
Your  deeds  proved  so  loyal,  in  hot  bloody  trial, 
Alas !  can  I  make  you  no  sweeter  return  ! 


DUNCAN  GRAY. 

DUNCAN  GRAY  cam  here  to  wjdo, 

i/c,  ha^  the  wooing  o^t^ 
On  blythe  yule  night  when  vyre  were  fu'. 

Ha^  ha.,  the  wooing  o*t. 
Maggie  coost  her  head  fu'  high, 
I^ook'd  asklent  and  unco  skeigh, 
Gart  poor  Duncan  stand  abiegh ; 

Ha^  ha,  the  wooing  o^t. 

Dunean  fleech'd,  and  Duncan  pray'd  i 

Ha,  ha,  Isfc. 
Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig, 

Ha,  ha,  isfc. 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  een  baith  blcer't  and  blin% 
Spak  o'  lowpin  o'er  a  linn  ; 

Ha,  ha,  l^c. 


340  THE  POETICAL  WORKS   Or 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide. 

Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide, 

7/a,  ha,  ^c. 
Shall  I,  like  a  fool,  quoth  he. 
For  a  haughty  hizzie  die  ? 
She  may  gae  to — France  for  me  \ 

Ha,  ha,  ^c. 

How  it  comes,  let  doctors  tell, 

Ha,  ha,  ilfc. 
Meg  grew  sick — as  he  grew  heal, 

Ha,  ha,  Isfc. 
Something  in  her  bosom  wrings, 
For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings  ; 
And  O,  her  een,  they  spak  sic  things  \ 

Ha,  ha,  iD'c. 

Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace, 

Ha,  ha,  Isfc. 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case, 

Ha,  ha,  (J'c. 
Duncan  could  na  be  her  death, 
Swelling  pity  smorr'd  his  v/rath  ; 
Now  they  're  crouse  and  canty  baith. 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 


SONG — TUNE — Duncan  Gray 

LET  not  woman  e'er  complain, 

Of  inconstancy  in  love  ; 
Let  not  woman  e'er  complain, 

Fickle  man  is  apt  to  rove  ; 

Look  abroad  through  natui'e's  range. 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change  ; 

Ladies  would  it  not  be  strange, 
Man  should  then  a  monster  prove  r 

IVIark  the  winds,  and  mark  the  skies  ; 

Ocean's  ebb,  and  Oceana's  flow : 
Sun  and  moon  but  set  to  rise, 

Roimd  and  rolmtl  the  seasons  go  * 


ROBERT  BURNS,  341 


Why  then  ask  of  silly  man, 

To  oppose  great  nature's  plan  ? 

We  Ml  be  constant  while  we  can — . 
You  can  be  no  more  you  know. 


SONG — TUNE — 7f  he  he  a  Butcher  neat  and  trim 

ON  Cessnock  banks  there  lives  a  lass, 
Could  I  describe  her  shape  and  mien  ; 

The  graces  of  her  weelfar'd  face, 
And  the  glancin'  o'  her  sparklin'  een. 

She  's  fresher  than  the  morning  dawn 

When  rising  Phoebus  first  is  seen, 
When  dew  drops  twinkle  o'er  the  lawn  , 

An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

She 's  stately  like  yon  youthful  ash. 

That  grows  the  cowslip  braes  between, 

And  shoots  its  head  above  each  bush; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  e^n. 

She 's  spotless  as  the  floAv'ring  thorn 

With  flow'rs  so  white  and  leaves  so  green^ 

When  purest  in  the  dewy  morn ; 
An'  she  's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  looks  are  like  the  sportive  lamb, 

When  flow'py  May  adorns  the  scene, 
That  wantons  round  its  bleating  dam  ; 

An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  hair  is  like  the  curling  mist 

That  shades  the  moimtain  side  at  e'ejT? 
When  flow'r-reviving  rains  are  past ; 

An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  forehead  's  like  the  show'ry  bow, 

When  shining  sunbeams  intervene 
And  gild  the  distant  mountains  brow; 

An'  she's  twa  glancin*  sparklin'  een. 
G  ©2 


34^  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Her  voice  is  like  the  ev*ning  thrush 
Th  t  sings  in  Cessnock  banks  unseen, 

While  his  mate  sits  nestling  in  the  bush ; 
An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  lips  are  like  the  cherries  ripe, 
That  sunny  walls  from  boreas  screen, 

They  tempt  the  taste  and  charm  the  sight; 
An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

IJer  teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep, 
With  fleeces  newly  washen  clean, 

That  slowly  mount  the  rising  steep  ; 
An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  breath  is  like  the  fragrant  breeze 
That  f;cntly  stirs  the  blossom'd  beac, 

When  Phoebus  sinks  behind  the  seas ; 
An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

But  it 's  not  her  air,  her  form,  her  face, 
Tho'  matching  beauty's  fabled  queen, 

But  the  mind  that  shines  in  ev'ry  grace 
And  chiefly  in  her  sparklin'  een. 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES,  O. 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O, 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O, 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spent, 

V/ere  spent  among  the  lasses,  O. 

THERE'S  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  han% 

In  ev'ry  hour  that  passes,  O  ; 
What  signifies  the  life  o'  man, 

An'  'twere  na  for  the  lasses,  O. 

The  warly  race  may  riches  chase. 

An'  riches  still-  may  fly  them,  O  ; 
An'  tho'  at  last  they  catch  them  fast, 

Their  hearts  cam  ne'er -enjoy  them,  O, 


ROBERT  BURM^.  34:3 


But  gie  me  a  canny  hour  at  e'en, 
My  arms  about  my  dearie,  O ; 

An'  warly  cares,  an'  warly  men, 
May  a'  gae  tapsalteerie,  ©  I 

For  you  sae  douse,  ye  sneer  at  this, 
Ye  're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O  ; 

The  wisest  man  the  warl'  e'er  saw, 
He  dearly  lov'd  the  lasses  O  ! 

Auld  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O  ; 

Her  prentice  han'  she  try'd  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O  ! 

Green  girw  the  rashes,  O,  &c, 


BONG— TUNE — This  is  710  viij  ain  Iiouse. 

CHORUS. 

O  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 

Fair  tUo'  the  lassie  be  ; 
O  weel  ken  I  my  ain  lassie, 

Kind  love  is  in  her  e'e. 

I  SEE  a  form,  J  see  a  face, 
Ye  weel  may  wi'  the  fairest  place  : 
It  wants  to  me,  the  witching  grace, 
The  kind  love  that 's  in  her  e'e. 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 

She's  bonie,  blooming,  straight  and  tall. 
And  lang  has  had  my  heart  in  thrall ; 
And  ay  it  charms  my  very  saul, 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  e'e. 
O  this  is  no,  Sec. 

A  ihief  sae  pawkie  is  my  Jean, 
To  steal  a  biink  by  a'  unseen  ; 
But  gleg  as  light  are  lovers  een. 
When  kind  love  is  in  the  e'e 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 


344  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

It  may  escape  the  courtly  sparks, 
It  may  escape  the  learned  clerks ; 
But  weel  the  watching  lover  marks 
The  kind  love  that 's  in  her  e'e. 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 


ADDRESSED  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

OH  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea; 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I  'd  shelter  thee,  I  'd  shelter  thee  : 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  bield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sac  black  and  bare^ 
The  desart  were  a  paradise. 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  were  there. 
Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi*  thee  to  reign  ; 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown, 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 


SONG — TUNE — Let  ?ne  in  this  ae  iitghu 

Q  LASSIE,  art  thou  sleeping  yet, 
Or  art  thou  wakin,  I  would  wit. 
For  love  has  bound  me  band  and  foot, 
And  I  would  fain  be  in,  jo, 

CHORUS. 

O  let  me  in  this  ae  night. 

This  ae,  ae,  ae  nig-ht. 
For  pity's  sake  this  ae  night; 

O  rise  and  let  me  in,  jo. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  345 


Thou  bear^st  the  whiter  wind  and  weet, 
Nae  star  blinks  through  the  driving  sleet ; 
Tak  pity  on  my  weary  feet, 

And  shield  me  frae  the  rain,  jo. 
O  let  main,  &c. 

The  bitter  blast  that  round  me  blaws 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's  : 
The  cauldness  o'  thy  heart's  the  cause 
Of  a'  my  grief  and  pain,  jo. 

O  let  me  in,  &c. 


HER  ANSWER 

O  TELL  na  me  o*  wind  and  raili. 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  cauld  disdain, 
Gae  back  the  gate  ye  cam  agaiti, 
I  winna  let  you  in,  jo, 

CHORUS. 

I  tell  you  now  this  ae  nig-ht. 

This  ae,  ae,  ae  night, 
And  ance  for  a'  this  ae  night, 

I  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 

The  snellest  blast,  at  mirkest  hours. 
That  round  the  pathless  wand'rer  pours^j» 
Is  nocht  to  what  poor  she  endures 
That 's  trivsted  faithless  man,  jo. 
I  tell  you  now,  &c. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  deck'd  the  mead, 
Now  trodden  like  the  vilest  weed  : 
Let  simple  maid  the  lesson  read, 
The  weird  may  be  her  ain,  jo. 
I  tell  you  now,  &c. 

The  bird  that  charmM  his  summer-day, 
Is  now  the  cruel  fowler's  prey ; 
Let  witless,  trusting,  women  say 
How  aft  her  fate's  the  same,  jo. 
1  tell  you  now,  &c/ 


346  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 


WHA  IS  THAT  AT  MY  BOWER  DOOR. 


WH  A  is  that  at  my  bower  door  ? 

O  wha  is  it  but  Findlay  ; 
Then  gae  your  gate  ye'se  nae  be  here 

Indeed  maun  I,  quo'  Findlay. 
What  maks  ye  sae  like  a  thief? 

0  come  and  see,  quo'  Findlay; 
Before  the  morn  ye  '11  work  mischief; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

Gif  I  rise  and  let  you  in  ? 
^  Let  me  in,  quo'  Findlay ; 
Ye  'II  keep  me  waukin  wi'  yo\ir  din  ^ 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 
In  my  bower  if  ye  should  stay  ? 

Let  me  stay,  quo'  Findlay ; 
I  fear  ye  '11  bide  till  break  o'  day ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

Here  this  night  if  ye  remain, 

1  '11  remain  quo'  Findlay  ; 

I  dread  ye  '11  learn  the  gate  again  ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay ; 
What  may  pass  within  this  bower, 

Let  it  pass,  quo'  Findlay ; 
.Ye  maun  conceal  'till  your  last  hotr  ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay ! 


MY  MARY'S  FACE, 

MY  Mary's  face,  my  Mary's  form, 
The  frost  of  hermit  age  might  warm  ; 
My  Mary's  worth,  my  Mary's  mind, 
Might  charm  the  first  of  human  kind. 
I  love  my  Mary's  angel  air, 
Her  face  so  truly  heavenly  fair, 
Her  native  grace  so  void  of  art ; 
But  I  adore  my  Mary's  heart. 


ROBERT  BUilNi).  34;? 


The  lily's  hue,  the  rose's  dye, 
The  kindling  lustre  of  an  eye — 
Who  but  owns  their  magic  sway  ? 
Who  but  knows  they  all  decay  ? 
The  tender  thrill,  the  pitying  tear, 
The  generous  purpose,  nobJy  dear, 
The  gentle  look  that  rage  disarms,— 
These  are  all  immortal  charms  ! 

SONG. 

NAE  gentle  dames,  tho*  e*er  sae  fair. 
Shall  ever  be  my  muse's  care  ; 
Their  title's  a'  are  empty  show ; 
Gie  me  my  highland  lassie  O. 

Within  the  glen  sae  bushy,  O, 
Aboon  the  plain  sae  rushy,  O, 
I  set  me  down  wi'  right  good  will  ; 
To  sing  my  highland  lassie,  O. 

0  were  yon  hills  and  vallies  mine. 
Yon  palace  and  yon  gardens  fine  ! 
The  world  then  the  love  should  know 

1  bear  my  highland  lassie,  O. 

Within  the  glen,  &:c. 

But  fickle  fortune  frowns  on  me, 
And  I  maun  cross  the  raging  sea  ; 
But  while  my  crimson  currents  flow 
I'll  love  my  highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

Altho'  thro'  foreign  climes  I  range, 
I  know  her  heart  will  never  change 
For  her  bosom  burns  with  honour's  glow 
My  faithful  highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

For  her  I  '11  dare  the  billows'  roar, 
For  her  I  '11  trace  a  distant  shore, 
That  Indian  wealth  may  lustre  throw. 
Around  my  highland  lassie,  O. 

Within  the  glen,  &c. 


348  THE  POETICAL  WORKS   OF 

She  has  my  heart,  she  has  my  hand, 
By  sacred  truth  and  honor's  band  ! 
*Till  the  mortal  stroke  shall  lay  me  low- 
I  *m  thine  my  highland  lassie,  O. 
Farewell  the  glen,  &c. 


DAINTY  DAVIE. 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  wi*  flowers, 
To  deck  her  gay,  green  spreading  bowgrb. 
And  now  comes  in  my  happy  hours. 
To  wander  wi'  my  Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet  me  on  the  warlock  knowe. 

Dainty  Davie,  dainty  Davie, 
There  I'll  spend  the  day  wi'  you 

My  ain  dear  dainty  Davie. 

The  chrystal  waters  round  us  fa'. 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a', 
The  scented  breezes  round  us  blaw, 
A  wandering  wi'  my  Davie. 

Meet  me,  &c. 

When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare. 
Then  thro*  the  dews  I  will  repair. 
To  meet  my  faithfu'  Davie. 
Meet  me,  &c. 

When  day,  expiring  in  the  west. 
The  curtain  draws  o'  nature's  rest, 
I  flee  to  his  arms  I  loe  best, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Davie. 
Meet  me,  &c. 

S  ONG — TUNE — iVo  rag", 

O  WHA  is  she  that  loe's  me, 
And  has  my  heart  a  keeping  ? 

O  sweet  is  she  that  loe's  me, 
As  dews  o'  summer  weeping, 
In  tears  the  rose  buds  steeping- 


ROBERT  BURNS.  341 


CHORUS. 


O  that 's  the  lassie  o'  my  heart, 
My  lassie  ever  dearer, 

O  that 's  the  queen  o'  woman  kind^ 
And  ne'er  a  ane  to  peer  her. 

If  thou  shalt  meet  a  lassie, 

In  grace  and  beauty  charming, 

That  e'en  thy  chosen  lassie, 

Ere  while  thy  breast  sae  warming. 
Aad  ne'er  sic  powers  alarming. 
O  that  's,  &c. 

If  thou  hadst  heard  her  talking 

And  thy  attentions  plighted. 
That  ilka  body  talking, 

But  her  by  thee  is  slighted ; 

And  thou  art  all  delighted, 
O  that 's  &c. 

If  thou  hast  met  this  fair  one ; 
Wheii  frae  her  thou  hast  parted, 

If  every  other  fair  one, 

But  her  thou  hast  deserted, 
And  thou  art  broken  hearted. — 
O  that's  &c. 


AY  WAKING,  O 

AY  waking,  O ! 
Waking  ay  and  wearie, 

Rest  I  canna  get 
For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 

O  this  love^  this  love  ! 
Life  to  me  how  dreary  I 

When  I  sleep  I  dream  ; 
O  !  when  I  wake  I  'm  eerie. 

0  this  love  J  this  love  I 

Long,  long  the  night, 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow. 

While  my  soul's  delight 
is  on  hCr  bed  of  sorrow. 

H   R 


350  THE  POETICAL  WORKS^  OP 

Can  I  cease  to  care. 

Can  I  cease  to  languish, 

While  my  darling  fair 

Is  on  the  couch  of  anguish  ? 
O  this  lovCy  this  lovCj 

Long,  long  the  night, 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow, 
While  my  soul's  delight 

Is  on  her  bed  of  sorrow. 
Ev'ry  hope  is  fled, 

Ev*ry  fear  is  terror ; 
Slumber  ev'n  I  dread, 

Ev'ry  dream  is  horror. 

O  this  love,  this  love  ! 

Long,  long  the  night, 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow, 
While  my  soul's  delight 

Is  on  the  bed  of  sorrow. 
Hear  me  powers  divine  ! 

Oh,  in  pity  hear  me  ! 
Take  aught  else  of  mine, 

But  my  Chloris  spare  me  ! 
Spare,  O  spare  my  Love  I 


HARK  THE  MAVIS,  &c 

HARK  I  the  mavis'  evening  sang 
Sounding  Clouden's  woods  amang  ; 
Then  a  fuulding  let  us  gang, 
ISIy  bonnie  dearie. 

Cu'  the  ewes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca' them  where  the  heather  g^row?. 
Ca'them  where  the  burnie  rows, 
.M'y  boniue,  bonnie,  dearie, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burn  rows. 
My  bonnie  dearie. 


ROBERT  BUR>vS.  5,5 1 


Wc  '11  gae  down  by  Clouden-side, 
Through  the  hazel's  spreading  wide 
O'er  the  waves,  that  sweetly  glide 
To  the  moon  sae  clearly. 

Ca'  the  ewes,  Sec. 

Yonder  Clouden's  silent  towers, 
Where  at  moon-shine  mid-night  hour* 
Cer  the  dewy  bending  flowers 
Fairies  dance  sae  cheery. 
Ca'  the  cwcs^  kc. 

Gaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear, 
Thou  'rt  to  love  and  heaven  sac  dciir. 
Nought  of  ill  may  come  thee  nc^r. 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

Cu'  the  ewes,  kc. 

Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Thoti  hast  stown  my  very  heart*. 
I  can  die, — but  canna  part, 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

Ca' the  ewes,  kr. 


ON  A  BANK  OF  FLOWERS,  &; 

ON  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer  day. 

For  summer  lightly  drest, 
The  youthful  blooming  Nelly  lay, 

With  love  and  sleep  opprest ; 
When  Willie,  w^and'ring  through  the  wood, 
Who  for  her  favour  oft  had  sued  ; 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 

And  trembled  where  he  stood. 

Her  closed  eyes,  like  weapons  sheath  'd, 

Were  seal'd  in  soft  repose  ; 
Her  lips,  still  as  she  fragrant  breath'd. 

It  richer  dy'd  the  rose. 


J2  llii^  POETICAL  WORKS  01' 

rhe  springing  lilies  sweetly  prest, 
Wild,  wanton  kiss'cl  her  rival  breast ; 
lie  gaz\l,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blush'd. 
His  bosom  ill  at  rest. 

Her  robes,  light  waving  in  the  breeze, 

Her  tender  li  wbs  embrace  ; 
Her  lovely  form,  her  native  case., 

All  harmony  and  grace  : 
rumultuoLis  tides  his  pulses  roll, 
A  faltering  ardent  kiss  he  stole  ; 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blush'U, 

And  sigh'd  his  very  soul. 

As  flies  the  partridge  from  the  brakc^ 

On  fear-inspired  wings ; 
So  Nelly,  starting,  half  awake, 

Away  affrighted  springs : 
But  Willie  follow'cl, —  as  he  should, 
He  overtook  her  in  the  wood  ; 
He  vow*d,  he  pray'd,  he  found  the  maid 

Forgiving  all,  and  good. 


FAREWELL,  DEAR  MISTRESS,  Lc. 

FAREWELL,  dear  mistres!i  of  my  soul, 

The  measur'd  time  is  run! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole. 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night. 

Alas  !  shall  thy  poor  wanderer  hie  ? 
Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light. 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy. 

We  part — but  by  these  precious  drops.. 

That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes  1 
No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps, 

'Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 


ROBERT  BURNS,  353 


She,  the  fair  sun  of  all  her  sex, 
Has  blest  my  happy,  glorious  day ; 

And  ne^er  shall  glimmering  planet  fix 
My  worship  to  its  ray. 


BONIE  LASSIE— AIR— .T/?e^?>is  of  Ahergddk^ 

BONIE  lassie,  will  ye  go, 

Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy  ? 
Now  simmer  blinks  on  flow'ry  braes. 
And  o'er  the  chrystal  streamlet  plays  ; 
Come,  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  d^ys 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonie  lassJe,  will  ye  go., 
Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonie  lassie  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy? 
The  little  birdies  blythely  sing. 
While  o'er  their  heads  the  hazels  hing. 
Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go. 

Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy  ? 
The  braes  ascend  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foaming  stream  deep  roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung  wi'  fragrant  spreading  shawsj 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go. 

Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy, 
Hh2 


354  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown'd  wi*  flowers, 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours, 
And,  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

Will  yc  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  g© 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy  ? 
Let  Fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee, 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish  frae  me, 
Supremely  blest  wi'  love  and  thee 
Ih  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 


NOW  SPRING  HAS  CI.AD,  &v 

NOW  Spring  has  clad  the  grove  in  er»-en. 

And  strew'd  the  lea  wi'  flowers. 
The  furrow'd  waving  corn  is  s'ect. 

Rejoice  in  fostering  showers. 
While  ilka  thing  in  nature  join 

TJicir  sorrows  to  forego, 
O  why  thus  all  alone  are  minB 

The  weary  steps  of  woe  ! 

The  trout  within  yon  wimpling  bun. 

That  glides  a  silver  dart, 
And  safe  beneath  the  shady  thorn 

Defies  the  angler's  art : 
yiy  life  was  ance  that  careless  stream,. 

That  wanton  trout  was  I ; 
But  love,  wi'  unrelenting  beam, 

Has  scorch'd  my  fountains  dry. 

The  little  flow'ret'e  peaceful  lot, 

In  yonder  cliff  that  grows, 
Which,  save  the  linnet's  flight,  I  wot? 

Nue  ruder  visit  knows, 
Was  mine — 'till  Jove  has  o'er  me  pasK 

And  blighted  a'  my  bloom  ; 
And  now  beneath  the  withering  blast 

My  youth  and  joyxonbume. 


ROBERT  BURKS.  3*.5, 

The  wakenM  lav*rock  warbling  springs, 

And  climbs  the  early  sky, 
Winnowing  blythe  her  dewy  wings 

In  morning's  rosy  eye  : 
As  little  reckt  I  sorrow's  power, 

Until  the  flowery  snare 
Of  witching  love,  in  luckless  hour, 

Made  me  the  thrall  of  care. 

O  had  my  fate  been  Greenland  snows, 

Or  Afric's  burning  zone, 
\Vi'  man  and  nature  leagu'd  my  foes. 

So  Peggy  ne'er  I  'd  known  ! 
The  wretch  whase  doom  is  "  hope  nae  mair,'* 

What  tongue  his  woes  can  tell ; 
Within  whase  bosom,  save  Despair, 

Nae  kinder  spirits  dwell ! 


FRAGMENT— TUNE— Z)ai/2/^i(?  Davh 

THERE  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle, 
But  what'n  a  day  o'  what'n  a  style 
I  doubt  its  liardly  worth  the  while 
To  be  sae  nice  wi'  Robin. 

Robin  was  a  rovin'  boy, 

Rantin' rovin',  rantin'  rovin'; 
Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boy, 

Rantin' rovin'  Robin, 

Our  monarch's  hindmost  year  but  ane 
Was  five  and  twenty  days  begun, 
'Twas  then  a  blast  o'  Jan  war  Win' 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 

The  gossip  keckit  in  his  loof, 
Quo'  scho  wha  lives  will  see  the  proof, 
This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof, 
I  think  we  '11  ca'  him  Robin. 

He  '11  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma', 
But  ay  a  heart  aboon  them  a' ; 
He  '11  be  a  credit  'till  us  a% 
We  '11  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin. 


^^Q  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

But  sure  as  three  times  three  mak  nmej 
I  see  by  ilka  score  and  line, 
This  chap  will  dearly  like  our  kin', 
So  leeze  mc  on  thee  Robin. 

Guid  faith  quo'  scho  I  doubt  you  Sir, 
Ye  gar  the  lasses     *     *     *     * 
But  twenty  fauts  ye  may  hae  waur 
I   So  blessin's  on  thee^  Robin  ! 
^  Robin  was,  &c. 


HUNTING  SONG. 

THE  heather  was  blooming ;  tl^e  meadows  were  maM^n 
Our  lads  gaed  a  hunting,  ae  the  day  at  the  dawn, 
O'er  moors  and  o'er  mosses  and  mony  a  glen. 
At  length  they  discovered  a  bonie  moor-hen, 

I  rede  you  beware  at  the  hunting',  young-  men  : 
I  rede  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  yOung  men  : 
Tak  some  on  the  "vving,  and  some  as  they  spring", 
But  cannily  steal  on  a  bonie  moor-hen. 

Sweet  brushing  the  dew  from  the  brown  heather  bells, 
Her  colors  betray'd  her  on  yon  mossy  fells  : 
Her  plumage  out-lustred  the  pride  o'  the  spring, 
And  O  I  as  she  wantoned  gay  on  the  wing. 

I  rede,  &c. 

Auld  Phoebus  himsel,  as  he  peep'd  o*er  the  hill ; 
In  spite  at  her  plumage  he  tryed  his  skill ; 
He  levell'd  his  rays  where  she  bask'd  on  the  brae-— 
His  rays  where  outshone,  and  butmark'd  where  she  lay. 

I  rede,  &c. 

They  hunted  the  valley,  they  hunted  the  hill ; 
The  best  of  our  lads  wi'  the  best  o'  their  shill ; 
But  still  as  the  fairest  she  sat  in  their  sight, 

Then,  whirr  !  she  was  over,  a  mile  at  a  flight' 

I  rede,  S;c. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

UP  IN  THE  MORNKSTG  EARLY. 

Up  in  the  morning"  's  no  for  me. 

Up  in  the  mornings  early  : 
When  a'  the  hills  are  covered  wl'  snaw, 

I  'm  sure  it  's  winter  fairly. 

Cold  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west, 

The  drift  is  driving  sairly  ! 
Sae  loud  and  shrill 's  I  hear  the  blast, 

I  'm  sure  it  *s  winter  fairly. 

The  birds  sit  chittering  in  the  thorn, 

A*  day  they  fare  but  sparely  ; 
And  lang*s  the  night  frae  e'en  to  morn, 

I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 
Up  in  the  morning',  kc. 


JOHN  ANDERSON  MY  JO. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John,  when  we  were  first  acquentj 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven,  your  bonnie   brow  was 

brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  held,  John,  your  locks  are  like  the 

snaw  ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow,  John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John,  we  clamb  the  hill  thegither ; 
And  mony  a  canty  day  John,  we've  had  wi'  ane  anither  : 
Now  we  moun  totter  down,  John,  but  hand  in  hand  we  'II 

go; 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot,  John  Anderson  my  jo* 


THERE'S  A   YOUTH  IN  TEHS  CITY. 

THERE  'S  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were  a  great  pity- 
That  he  from  our  lasses  should  wander  awa ; 

For  he  's  boni^  and  braw,  wecl-favor'd  with  a% 
And  his  hair  has  a  natural  buckle  and  a'. 

yis  coat  is  the  hue  of  his  bonnet  sao  blue  ; 
His  fecket  is  white  as  the  new-drivcn  snaw  ; 

His  hose  they  are  blae,  and  hisshoon  like  the  slae. 
Ami  his  clear  siller  buckles  they  dazzle  us  a'. 
Hivcoat  is  the  hue,  &c. 


358  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

For  beauty  and  fortune  the  laddie  's  been  courlin ; 

Weel-f©iitur'dj  weel-tocher\l,  weel-mounted  and  braw; 
But  chiefly  the  siller,  that  gars  him  gang  till  her, 

The  pennie  's  the  jewel  that  beautifies  a*. — 
There  's  Meg  wi'  the  mailin,  that  fain  wad  a  hean  him, 

And  Susy  whasc  daddy  was  Laird  o'  the  ha' ; 
There  's  lang-locher'd  Nancy  maist  fetters  his  fancy, 

— But  the  laddie's  dear  sel  he  lo'es  dearest  of  \\\ 


APPENDIX. 

THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 
A  CANTATA. 

RECITATIVO. 

WHEN  lyart  leaves  bestrow  the  yird, 
Or  wavering  like  the  Bauckie-bird, 

Bedim  cauld  Boreas'  blast ; 
When  hailstanes  drive  wi*  bitter  skyte, 
And  infant  frosts  begin  to  bite, 

In  hoary  cranreuch  drest ; 
Ae  night  at  e'en  a  merry  core 
O'  randie,  grangrel  bodies, 
In  Poosie-Nansie's  held  the  splore, 
To  drink  their  orra  duddies:* 
^Vi'  qauffing  and  laughing, 

They  ranted  and  they  sang ; 
Wi'  jumping  and  thumping, 
The  vera  girdle  rang. 

1"  irst  niest  the  fire  in  auld  red  rags, 
And^sat,  weel  brac'd  wi'  mealy  bags, 

And  knapsack  a'  in  order ! 
His  doxy  lay  within  his  arm, 
Wi'  usquebae  an'  blankets  warm, 

She  blinkiton  her  sodger: 
An'  ay  he  gies  the  tozie  drab 

The  tither  skelpin  kiss, 
WTiile  she  held  up  her  greedy  gab 

Just  like  an  aumos  dish. 

*  Orra  tluddies,'  Supernumerary  6ld  clothes. 


350  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Ilk  smack  still,  did  crack  still, 

Just  like  a  cadger's  whip, 
Ttien  staggering  and  swaggering 

He  roar'd  this  ditty  up — 

AIR — TUNE — Soldier'^s  Joij.. 

I  am  a  son  of  Mars  who  have  been  in  many  wars. 
And  show  my  cuts  and  scars  wherever  I  come ; 
This  here  was  for  a  wench,  and  that  other  in  a  trench 
When  welcoming  the  French  at  the  sound  of  the  dru 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

My  prenticeship  I  past  where  my  leader  breath'd  his  la^,.^ 
When  the  bloody  die  was  cast  on  the  heights  of  Abram ; 
I  served  out  my  trade  when  the  gallant  game  was  play'd 
And  the  Moro  low  was'  laid  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &.c. 

I  lastly  was  with  Curtis  among  the  floating  batt'ries. 
And  there  I  left  for  witness  an  ann  and  a  limb ! 
Yet  let  my  country  need  me,  with  Elliot  to  head  mc^ 
I  'd  clatter  on  my  stumps  at  the  sound  of  a  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

And  now  tho'  I  must  beg  with  a  wooden  arm  and  Ic^; 
And  many  a  tattcr'd  rag  hanging  over  my  bum, 
I  'm  as  happy  with  my  wallet,  my  bottle  and  my  callc 
As  when  I  us'd  in  scarlet  to  follow  a  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &.c. 

What  tho'  with  hoary  locks,  I  must  stand  the  winlci 

shocks, 
Beneath  the  woods  and  rocks  ofleinimes  for  a  home, 
When  the  tother  bag  I  sell,  and  the  tothcr  bottle  tell, 
I  could  meet  a  troop  of  hell,  at  the  sound  of  the  drum 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

He  ended ;  and  the  kebars  sheuk, 

Aboon  the  chorus  roar  ; 
While  frighted  rattons  backward  leuk, 

And  seek  the  benmost  bore  ; 


ROBERT  BURNS.  361 

A  fairy  fiddler  frae  the  neuk, 

He  skirl'd  out  encore  I 
But  up  arose  the  martial  chuck? 

And  laid  the  loud  uproar. 

AIR — TUNE — Soldier  Laddie* 

I  once  was  a  maid,  tho'  I  cannot  tell  when, 
And  still  my  delight  is  ia  proper  young  men  ; 
Some  one  of  a  troop  of  dragoons  was  my  daddie. 
No  wonder  I'm  fond  of  a  sodger  laddie. 

Sing-,  Lai  de  lal,  &c. 

The  first  of  my  loveS  was  a  swaggering  blade, 
To  rattle  the  thundering  drum  was  his  trade ; 
His  leg  was  so  light,  and  his  cheek  was  so  ruddy. 
Transported  I  was  with  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  Sec. 

J5ut  the  godly  old  chaplain  left  him  in  the  lurch; 
The  sword  I  forsook  for  the  sake  of  the  church  ; 
He  ventured  the  souU  and  I  risked  the  body., 
Twas  then  I  prov'd  fiilse  to  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing-,  Lal  de  hil,  &c. 

Full  soon  I  grew  sick  of  my  sanctified  sot, 
The  regiment  at  large  for  a  husband  I  got ; 
From  the  gilded  spontoon  to  the  fife  I  was  ready, 
I  asked  no  fiiore  but  a  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  8;c. 

But  the  peace  it  reducM  me  to  beg  in  despair, 
Till  I  met  my  old  boy  at  a  Cunningham  fair  ; 
His  vaga  regimental  they  fluttered  so  gaudy, 
My  heart  it  rejoicM  at  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,   S.c. 

And  now  I  hav*  liv'd — I  know  not  how  long, 

And  still  I  can  join  in  a  cup  or  a  song  j 

But  whilst  with  both  hands  1  can  hold  the  glass  steady, 

Here  's  to  thee,  my  hero,  my  sodger  laddie. 

^^  Sinir.  Lal  de  lal,  &c. 

1 1 


362  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 

RECITATIVO. 

The  niest  outspak  a  raucle  carlin, 
Wha  kent  fu*  weel  to  cleek  the  sterling, 
For  mony  pursie  she  had  hooked. 
And  had  in  mony  a  well  been  ducked. 
Her  dove  had  been  a  Highland  laddie, 
But  weary  fa*  the  waefu*  woodie ! 
Wi'  sighs  and  sobs  she  thus  began 
To  wail  her  braw  John  Highlandman. 

AIR — TUNE — 0  an  ye  were  dead  gudeman, 

A  Highland  lad  my  love  was  born, 
The  Lalland  laws  he  held  in  scorn  ; 
But  he  still  was  faithfu'  to  his  clan, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 

Sing,  hey  my  braw  John  Highlandman  ! 
Sing,  ho  my  braw  John  Highlandman  ! 
There  's  not  a  lad  in  a'  the  Ian' 
Was  match  to  my  John  Highhmdman. 

With  his  philibeg  an'  tartan  plaid, 
An'  gude  claymore  down  by  his  side. 
The  ladies'  hearts  he  did  trepan, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 

Sing,  hey,  &c. 

We  ranged  a'  from  Tweed  to  Spey, 
An'  liv'd  like  lords  and  ladies  gay  ; 
For  a  Lallund  face  he  feared  none, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 

Sing,  hey,  &c; 

They  banish'd  him  beyond  the  sea, 
But  ere  ti«e  bud  was  on  the  tree, 
A.down  my  cheeks  the  pearls  rangv 
EiYibracing  my  John  Highlandman.    ^ 
Sing,  hey,  &.C. 

But  oh  !  they  catch'd  him  at  the  last, 
And  bound  him  in  a  dungeon  f<iSt; 
My  curse  upon  them  every  <>'k^^ 
They've  hang'd  my  braw  John  Highlandman 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  36. 

And  now  a  widow  I  must  mourn 
The  pleasures  that  will  ne'er  return  ; 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  cann, 
Yhen  I  think  on  John  Highlandman , 
Sing-,  hey,  &.c- 

RECITATIVO. 

A  pigmy  scraper  wi'  his  fiddle 

Wha  us*d  at  trysts  and  fairs  to  driddje, 

Her  strappan  limb  and  gawsy  middle 

He  reached  nae  higher, 
Had  hol'd  his  heartie  like  a  riddle, 

An*  blawn't  on  fire. 

Wi'  hand  or  haunch,  an  upward  e*e, 
He  croon'd  his  gamut,  one,  two,  three, 
Then  in  an  Arioso  key, 

The  wee  Apollo 
Sei  off  ivi^  Allegretto  glee 

His  giga  solo. 

AIR — TUNE — Whistle  oxure  the  lave  o*t. 

Let  me  ryke  up  to  dight  that  tear, 
An'  go  wi'  me  to  be  my  dear, 
An'  then  your  every  care  and  fear 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

CHORUS, 

I  am  a  fiddler  to  my  trade, 

An'  a'  the  tunes  that  e'er  I  play'd. 

The  sweetest  still  to  wife  or  maid, 

Was  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
« 

At  kirns  an'  \yeddings  we'se  be  there, 
An'  O  !  sae  nicely  we  will  fare  ; 
We  '11  bouse  about  till  Daddie  Care, 
Sing,  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
I  arn,  &c. 


364  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  Of 

ae  merrily  *s  the  banes  we  'il  pyke. 
An'  sun  oursels  about  the  dyke, 
An'  at  our  leisure  when  ye  like^ 
We  '11  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
1  am,  &.C. 

But  bless  me  wi'  your  heaven  o'  channs* 
And  while  I  kittle  hair  on  thairmsj 

Hunger,  cauld  an'  a'  sic  harms. 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't, 
I  am,  &c. 

RECITATIVU. 

Her  charms  had  struck  a  sturdy  Caird. 

As  wecl  as  poor  Gutscrapcr  ; 
He  taks  the  fiddler  by  the  beard, 

And  draws  a  roosty  rapier. — 
lie  swoor  by  a'  was  swearing  worth, 

To  speet  him  like  a  pliver, 
Unless  he  would  fra'  that  time  forth. 

Relinquish  her  for  ever. 

Wi'  ghastly  e'c,  poor  tweedlc-dee 

Upon  his  hunkers  bended, 
And  prayM  for  grace  wi*  ruefu*  face, 

And  so  the  quarrel  ended. 
But  tho'  his  little  heart  did  grieve, 

When  round  the  tinker  prest  her, 
He  feign'd  to  snirtle  in  his  sleeve, 

When  thus  the  Caird  address'd  her. 

^IIR — TUNE — Clout  the  Caudron. 

My  bonny  lass  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinker  is  my  station ; 
I've  travelled  round  all  Christian  ground 

In  this  my  occupation. 
I  've  ta'en  the  gold,  I  've  been  enrolled 

In  many  a  noble  squadron ; 
But  vain  they  search'd,  when  off  I  march'd 

To  go  and  clout  the  caudron. 

I  'rC  ta'en  the  gold,  &c 


ROBERT  BURNS.  36o 


Despise  that  shrimp,  that  wither'd  imp, 

Wi'  a'  his  noise  and  caprin, 
An'  tak'  a  share  wi'  those  that  bear 

The  budget  an'  the  ajiron. 
An'  by  that  stowp  !  my  faith  an'  hoiipe. 

An*  by  that  dear  Keiibaigie, 
If  e'er  ye  want,  or  meet  wi'  scant, 

May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie, 

An'  by  that  stowp,  &.C. 

RECITATIVO. 

The  Caird  prevail'd — th'  unblushing  fair, 

In  his  embraces  sunk, 
Partly  wi'  love  o'ercome  sae  sair, 

An'  partly  she  was  drunk. 
Sir  Violino  with  an  air, 

That  show'd  a  man  of  spunk, 
Wish'd  xmison  between  the  pair. 

An'  made  the  bottle  clunk 

To  their  health  that  night. 

Butjiurchin  Cupid  shot  a  shaft 

That  play'd  a  dame  a  shavie, 
The  fiddler  rak'd  her  fore  and  aft, 

Behint  the  chicken  cavie. 
Her  lord,  a  wight  o'  Homer's  craft, 

Tho'  limping  wi*  the  spavie. 
He  hirpl'd  up,  and  lap  like  daft, 

An'  shor'd  them  Dainty  Daivie 
O  boot  that  night. 

He  was  a  care-defying  blade, 

As  ever  Bacchus  listed, 
Tho'  Fortune  sair  upon  him  laid^ 

His  heart  she  ever  miss'd  it. 
He  had  no  wish  but — to  be  glad, 

Nor  want  but — when  he  thirsted  , 
He  hated  nought  but — to  be  sad, 

And  thus  the  muse  suggested 
His  sang  that  night. 
Ii  2 


366  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

AIR — TUNE — For  d  thaty  and  «'  that, 

I  am  a  bard  of  no  regard, 

Wi'  gentle  folks,  an'  a*  that  ; 
But  Homer-like,  the  glowran  byke, 

Frae  town  to  town  I  draw  that. 

CHORUS. 

For  a*  that,  an'  a'  that. 

An'  twice  as  muckle  's  a'  that ; 

I  've  lost  but  ane,  I  've  tvva  behin', 
I  've  Tvife  enough  for  a'  that. 

I  never  drank  the  Muses'  stank, 

Castalia's  burn,  an'  a'  that ; 
But  there  it  streams,  and  richly  reams, 

My  Helicon  I  ca'  that. 

For  a' that,  Sec. 

Great  love  I  bear  to  a'  the  fair, 

Their  humble  slave,  an'  a'  that ; 
But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 

A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 

For  a'  that,  &c. 

In  raptures  sweet,  this  hour  we  meet 

Wi*  mutual  love,  an'  a'  that; 
But  for  how.lang  Xh^Jiic  may  sia?ig, 

Let  inclination  law  that. 

For  a'  that,  8cc. 

Their  tricks  and  craft  have  put  me  daft. 

They've  ta*en  me  in,  an'  a'  that: 
But  clear  your  decks,  an'  here  's  the  sex  t 

I  like  the  jads  for  a*  that. 

For  a'  that,  £tc. 

RECITATIVO. 

So  sung  the  bard — and  Nansie  's  wa's 
Shook  with  a  thunder  of  applause, 

Re-echo'd  from  each  mouth  ; 
They  toom'd  their  pocks,  and  pawn'd  their  duds. 
They  scarcely  left  to  coor  their  fuds, 

To  quench  their  lowan  drouth. 


ROBERT  BURKS.  36: 


Then  owre  again,  the  jovial  thrang, 

The  poet  did  request, 
To  lowse  his  pack  an  wale  a  sang, 
A  ballad  o*  the  best : 
He  rising,  rejoicing 

Between  his  twa  Deborahs, 
Looks  round  him,  an'  found  them 
Impatient  for  the  chorus. 


AIR — TUNE — Jolly  Mortals  Jill  ijour  glasse^s 

See  !  the  smoking  bowl  before  us, 

Mark  our  jovial  ragged  ring  ! 
Round  and  round  take  up  the  chorus, 

And  in  raptures  let  us  sing. 

CHORUS. 

A  fig'  for  those  by  law  protected ! 

Liberty  's  a  glorious  feast ! 
Courts  for  cowards  were  erected. 

Churches  buih  to  please  the  priest. 

What  is  title  ?  what  is  treasure  ? 

What  is  reputation's  care  ? 
If  we  lead  a  life  of  pleasure, 

'Tis  no  matter  hoiv  or  tvhere  I 
A  fig,  &c. 

With  the  ready  trick  and  fable, 

Round  we  wander  all  the  day  ; 
And  at  night,  in  barn  or  stable. 

Hug  our  doxies  on  the  hay. 

A  fig,  8;c. 

Does  the  train  attended  carriage, 

T'nrough  the  country  lighter  rove? 
Does  the  sober  bed  of  marriage 

Witness  brighter  scenes  of  love  ? 
,A  fig,  &c- 


368  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01* 

Life  is  all  a  variorum^ 

We  regard  not  how  it  goes ; 
Let  them  cant  about  decorum^ 

Who  have  characters  to  lose. 

A  fig-,  &c. 

Here  's  to  budgets,  bags  and  wallets  ! 

Here's  to  all  the  wand'ring  train  ! 
Here  's  our  ragged  broga  and  callets  / 

One  and  all  cry  out,  Amen  ! 

A  fig,  &c. 


HOLY  WILLIE'S  PRAYER. 

0  THOU,  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  thysel', 

Sends  ane  to  heaven  and  ten  to  hell, 
A'  for  thy  glory, 

And  no  for  ony  guid  or  ill 

They  've  done  afore  thee  f 

1  bless  and  praise  thy  matchless  might. 
Whan  thousands  thou  has  left  in  night, 

rhat  I  am  here  afore  thy  sight, 

For  gifts  an*  grace, 

\  burnin*  an'  a  shinin*  light. 

To  a'  this  place. 

What  was  I,  or  my  generation, 
That  I  should  get  such  exaltation, 
I  wha  deserve  sic  just  damnation, 

For  broken  laws. 
Five  thousand  years  'fore  my  creation, 

Thro'  Adam's  cause. 

When  frae  my  mither's  womb  I  fell. 
Thou  might  hae  plunged  me  in  hell. 
To  gnash  my  gums,  to  weep  and  wail, 

In  burnin  lake, 
Whar  damned  devils  roar  and  yell, 

Ch^in'd  to  a  stake. 


ROBEUL'  iJUllXS.  .>69 

Yet  I  am  here  a  chosen  sample, 

To  show  thy  grace  is  great  an'  anvplc  ; 

I  »m  here  a  pillar  in  thy  temple. 

4P  Strong  as  a  rock, 

A  guide,  a  buckler,  an'  example 
To  a'  thy  flock. 

But  yet,  O  L — d !  confess  I  must, 
At  times  I  'm  fash'd  wi'  fleshly  lust, 
An'  sometimes  too,  \vi'  warldly  trust 

Vile  self  gets  in  ; 
But  thou  remembers  we  are  dust, 

Defil'd  in  sin. 

O  L — d  !  yestreen,  thou  kens,  wi'  ]Meg, 

Thy  pardon  I  sincerely  beg, 

O  !  may  it  ne'er  be  a  livin'  plague, 

To  my  dishonour, 
An'  I  '11  ne'er  lift  a  lawless  leg 

Again  upon  her. 

Besides,  I  farther  maun  allow, 

Wi'  Lizie's  lass,  three  times  I  trow  : 

Uut,  L—d  that  Friday  I  was  fou', 

When  I  came  near  her, 
Or  else,  thou  kens,  thy  servant  true 

Wnd  n©'«r  hac  Steer'd  hCTj 

Maybe  thou  lets  i\\i?>Jleshlij  thorn. 
Beset  thy  servant  e'en  and  morn, 
Lest  he  owre  high  and  proud  shou'd  turn, 

'Cause  he'  sae  gifted  ; 
If  sac,  thy  han'  maun  e'en  be  born. 

Until  thou  lift  it. 

L — d  bless  thy  chosen  in  this  place, 

For  here  thou  hast  a  chosen  race  ; 

But  G — d  confound  their  stubborn  face. 

And  blast  their  name, 
"VV'ii^  bring  thy  elders  to  disgrace, 

And  public  aliamc,- 


370  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP 

L — d  mind  G n  H n's  deserts, 

He  drinks,  an'  «wearc,  an'  plays  at  carts, 
Yet  has  sae  mony  takin  arts, 

Wi'  grit  an*  sma*, 
Frae  G-— d's  an'  priests  the  people's  hearts 

He  steals  awa'. 

An'  whan  we  chasten'd  him  therefore, 
Thoii  kens  how  he  bred  sic  a  splore. 
As  set  the  warld  in  a  roar         • 

O'  laughin*  at  us ; 
Curse  thou  his  basket  and  his  store. 

Kail  an'  potatoes. 

Lr— d  hear  my  earnest  cry  and  pray'r, 

Against  that  presbyt'ry  o'  Ayr ; 

Thy  strong  right  hand,  L — d  make  it  bare, 

Upo'  their  heads, 
L— d  weigh  it  down,  and  dinna  spare, 

For  their  misdeeds. 

O  L— d  my  G-d,  that  glib-tongia'd  A — r\. 

My  very  heart  an*  saul  are  quakin', 

To  think  how  we  stood  sweatin*,  shakin', 

An'  pi — d  wi'  dread^ 
While  he  wi'  hingin'  lips  and  snakin', 

Held  up  his  head. 

L — d  in  the  day  of  vengeance  try  him.. 
L — d  visit  them  wha  did  employ  him, 
And  pass  not  in  thy  mercy  by  'em. 

Nor  hear  their  pray'r ; 
But  for  thy  people's  sake  destroy  'em 

And  dinna  spare. 

But  li — d  remember  me  and  mine, 
Wi'  mercies  temp'ral  and  divine* 
That  I  for  gear  and  grace  may  shine, 

Excell'd  by  nane ; 
An'  a'  the  glory  shall  be  thine, 

Amen,  AmcKv 


ROBERT  BURNS.  37I 

TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  IM  MATH, 

Inclosing'  a  copy  of  Holy  Willie's  prayer,  whlchhe  had.  requested. 

WHH|p  at  the  stook  the  shearers  cow'r 

To  shun  the  bitter  blaudin'  show'r, 

Or  in  gulravage  rinnin  scow*r  y 

To  pass  the  time, 
To  you  I  dedicate  the  hour 

In  idle  rhyme. 

My  musie,  tir'd  wi'  mony  a  sonnet 

On  gown,  an'  ban',  an'  douse  black  bonnet. 

Is  grown  right  eerie  now  she's  done  it. 

Lest  they  should  blame  her, 
An'  rouse  their  holy  thunder  on  it 

And  anatheni  her. 

I  own  'twas  rash,  an'  rather  hardy, 
That  I,  a  simple  countra  bardie, 
Shou'd  meddle  wi'  a  pack  sae  sturdy, 

Wha,  if  they  ken  me, 
.Can  easy,  wi'  a  single  wordie. 

Louse. hell  upon  mc. 

But  I  gae  mad  at  their  grimaces, 
Their  sighan,  cantan,  grace-prood  faces. 
Their  three-mile  prayers,  an'  hauf-mile  gracesj 

Their  raxan  conscience, 
Whaws  greed,  revenge,  an'  pride  disgraces 

Waur  nor  their  nonsense. 

There 's  Gaun^  miska't  waur  than  a  beast, 
Wha  has  mair  honor  in  his  breast 
Than  mony  scores  as  guid  's  the  priest 

Wha  sae  abus't  him. 
An'  may  a  bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they  've  use't  him. 

See  him,  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need, 
The  gentleman  in  Word  an'  deed. 
An'  shall  his  fame  an'  honor  bleed 

By  worthless  skellums, 
An'  not  a  muse  erect  her  head 

To  cowe  the  blellums  ? 


37^  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

0  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire  's  darts 
To  gie  the  rascals  their  deserts, 

1  'd  rip  their  rotten,  hollow  hearts, 

An'  tell  aloud 
Their  jugglin'  hocus  pocus  arts 

To  cheat  the  crowd'. 

God  knows,  I  'm  no  the  thing  I  shou'd  he? 
Nor  am  I  even  the  thing  I  cou'd  be, 
But  twenty  times,  I  rather  wou'd  be 

An  atheist  clean, 
Than  under  gospel  colors  hid  be 

Just  for  a  screen. 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass. 
An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass, 
But  mean  revenge,  an'  malice  fause 

He  '11  still  disdain, 
An'  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel  laws. 

Like  some  we  ken. 

They  take  religion  in  their  mouth  ; 
They  talk  o'  mercy,  grace  an'  truth, 
For  what  ?  to  gie  their  malice  skouth 

On  some  puir  wighf. 
An'  hunt  him  down,  o'er  right  an'  ruth. 

To  ruin  streight.^ 

All  hail,  religion  !  maid  divine  ! 
Pardon  a  muse  sae  mean- as  mine, 
Who  in  her  rough  imperfect  line. 

Thus  daurs  to  name  thee 
To  stigmatize  false  friends  of  thine 

Can  ne'er  defame  thee. 

Tho'  blotch't  an'  foul  wi'  mony  a  stain. 

An'  far  unworthy  of  thy  train. 

With  trembling  voice  I  tune  my  strain 

To  join  with  those, 
Who  lioldly  dare  thy  cause  maintain 

In  spite  of  foes  : 


In  Bplte  o'  ci'crvvdsj  in  spite  o'  mobsj 
Jn  §pite  Qf  un4ermimng  jobs, 
Tn  ^ite  o'  dark  banditti  gt^vb^ 

^  At  worth  an'  mRrli 

:iy  scoiindre4s)  even  wl'  holy  robey. 
But  bdlis^h  jjpliit. 

Q  Ayr,  my  dear,  my  native  gi'QOndj 
Within  thy  presbytereal  bound 
A  candid  Ub'ral  bapd  i§  found 

Of  public  tmQhoYh^ 
As  mf Hj  m  christians  too  renown'd, 

An*  manly  preacher^^v 

Sir,  iti  that;  circle  yQu  are  nam'd  j 
Sir,  in  that  circle  you  ?.re  famed  j 

\iv  Bonie,  by  whom  your  doetrlne  's  blam'd^ 
(Which  gies  you  honor) 

;ven  Sir,  by  them  your  heart  '5  esteem'd, 


An'  winning  manner. 


c* 


t/ardon  this  freedom  I  have  ta'on, 
An'  if  impertinent  X  've  been, 
Tmpute  it  notj  good  Sir,  in  ane 

Whase  heart  ne'er  wrang'd  ye 
IJut  to  his  utmost  would  befriend 

Ought  that  belan^'d  y«^. 


EFITAFIi  OH  HOLY  WILLI  li 

•;  ERE  Holy  Willie  *8  aair  worn  clay 

Talcs  up  its  last  abode  ; 
lis  saul  has  ta'cn  some  other  way, 

I  fear,  the  left  hand  road. 

Hop  !  there  he  is  as  sure  *s  a  gun. 

Poor  silly  body  see  him  ; 
\'ae  wonder  he 's  as  black  's  the  grun, 

Observe  wha  's  standing  wi'  him, 

K   K 


374  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  01^ 

Your  brunstane  devilship  I  see 

Has  gotten  him  there  before  yc  ; 
But  ha'd  your  nkie  tail  cat  a  wee ; 

Till  ance  you  've  heard  my  story. 

Vour  pity  I  will  not  implore, 

For  pity  ye  have  nane  ; 
Justice,  alas  !  has  gi*en  him  o*er, 

And  mercy's  day  is  gaen. 

But  hear  me,  Sir,  dei'I  as  ye  are, 

Look  something  to  your  credit ; 
A  coof  like  him  wou'd  stain  your  iiair.-. , 

If  it  were  kent  ye  did  it. 

LINES 

Written  on  windows  of  the  Globe  Tavern,  Duftifnes, 

I  MURDER  hate  by  field  or  flood, 

Tho'  glory's  name  may  screen  us  ; 
In  wars  at  hame  1*11  spend  my  bloody 

Life-giving  wars  of  Venus. 

The  deities  that  I  adore. 

Are  social  Peace  and  Plenty, 
I  'm  better  pleasM  to  make  one  more^ 

Than  be  the  death  of  twenty. 


MY  bottle  is  a  holy  pool. 
That  heals  the  wounds  o'  care  an'  dool 
iVnd  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout. 
An'  ye  drink  it,  ye  '11  find  him  out. 


IN  politics  if  thou  would'st  mix, 
And  mean  thy  fortunes  be ; 

Bear  this  in  mind,  be  (iedf  and  blind. 
Let  great  folks  hear  and  see. 


ttOBKRT  BURNS,  375 

EPIGRAM. 

■  iUllKS,  accompanied  by  a  friend,  having  gone  to  Invevary  at  a 
lime  when  some  company  were  there  on  a  visit  to  his  Grace  the 
Diike  of  Argyll,  finding  himself  and  his  companion  entirely  ne- 
glected by  the  Inn-keeper,  whose  whole  attention  seemed  to  be 
occupied  with  the  visitors  of  his  Cirace,  expressed  his  disappro- 
bation of  the  incivility  with  which  they  were  tr<";it(ed  in  \hr  fol. 
lowing  lines  t 

WHOE'ER  he  be  that  sojourns  here, 

I  pity  much  his  case, 
Unless  he  come  to  'vvait  upon 

The  Lord  their  God,  his  gvace. 
There's  naething  here  but  Highland  pride. 

And  Highland  scab  and  hunger; 
r  Providence  has  sent  me  here, 

'Twas  surely  in  an  anger. 


TO  DR.  MAXWELL, 

OJV  MISS  JESSr  STMG'S  HECOVEBY 

MAXWELL,  if  merit  here  you  crave, 

That  merit  I  deny : 
Yoti  save  fair  Jessie  from  the  grave  ! 

An  angel  could  not  die. 


THE  TWA  HERDS,  or  IIOL^  TOOLZIE 

O  A'  ye  pious  godly  flocks. 
Well  fed  on  pastures  orthodox, 
Wha  now  ^vill  keep  you  frae  the  fox, 

Or  worrying  tykes, 
Or  wha  ^vilI  tent  the  waifs  and  crocks, 

About  the  dykes. 

The  twa  best  herds  in  a'  the  wast. 
That  e'er  gae  gospel  horn  a  blast, 
These  five  and  twenty  summers  past, 

O  !  dool  to  tell, 
Hae  had  a  bitter  black  out-cast 

Atween  themsel. 


O,  M-— y,  matij  and  ^vorcly  R^^^-^Uj 

How  could  you  raise  so  vile  a  buhtle, 

Yc  '11  see  bow  new-lighl  herds  will  whistle 

And  think  it  fine  ! 
f he  Lord's  rause  ne'er  gat  sic  a  twisik, 

Sin*  I  hae  min'. 

O,  Sirs  1  V.'hac'ci-  wad  hae  cxpekitj 

>*our  duty  yc  wad  sac  ncglekit^ 

Ve  Wha  were  ne'er  by  lairds  respekifa 

To  v,ear  the  plaidi 
But  by  the  brutes  them Belves  elekit. 

To  be  their'  guide. 

^Vhat  flock  wi'  M--««y*8  flock  dould  rm\h 
?ae  hald  and  hearty  every  shahkj 
Mae  poisoned  soor  Arminian  stank  | 
He  let  them  tayte? 

Vi%&  Mm*%  well}  ay  ms^v  they  dm\ikt 
O^  m  ft  fm^i  I 

The  thumTO^rt,  wiliest,  broek  and  tod, 
Weel  kcnd  his  voice  thro'  a*  the  wood) 
He  smeird  their  ilfea  hole  and  rond) 

Baith  out  and  in, 
And  wcel  he  Uk'd  to  shed  their  bUiid, 

And  sell  their  skin. 

What  herd  like  R 11  tell'd  his'tale, 

His  voice  was  heard  thro'  muir  and  dale. 
He  kend  the  Lord's  sheep  ilka  tail, 

O'er  a'  the  height, 
And  saw  gin  they  were  sick  or  hale, 

At  the  first  sight. 

He  fine  a  mangy  sheep  could  scrub, 

Or  nobly  fling  the  gospel  club, 

And  new-light  herds  could  nicely  drub, 

Or  pay  their  skin, 
CouUl  shake  them  o'er  the  burning  dub. 

Or  hcav"  ''    "  '^ 


ROBERT  BURNS.  S7f 

Sic  twa,  O  !  do  I  live  to  see  't, 
Sic  famous  twa  should  disagreet. 
And  names,  like  villain,  hypocrite. 

Ilk  ither  gi'en, 
While  new-light  herds  wi'  laughin'  spit^. 

Say  neither's  liein'. 

A*  ye  wha  tent  the  gospel  fauld, 

There 's  D n  deep,  and  P s,  shaul, 

But  chiefly  thou,  apostle  A' — d, 

We  trust  in  thee, 
fhat  thou  wilt  work  them,  hot  and  cauld, 

Till  they  agree. 

Consider,  Sirs,  how  we  're  beset. 
There  's  scarce  a  new  herd  that  we  geir, 
Sut  comes  frae  *mang  that  cursed  set, 

I  winna  name. 
I  hope  frac  hcav'n  to  see  them  yet 

In  fiery  flame. 

D e  has  been  lang  our  fae, 

M' 11  has  wrought  us  meiklc  wac, 

And  that  cursM  rascal  ca'd  M' e. 

And  baith  the  S- f 

That  aft  hac  made  us  black  and  blae, 

V/i'  vcngefu'  paws. 

Auld  W w,  lang  has  hatch'd  nsnischief. 

We  thought  ay  death  wad  bring  relief^ 
But  he  has  gotten  to  our  grief, 

Ane  to  succeed  him, 
A  chield  wha '11  soundly  bufl'our  beef^ 

I  meikle  dread  him-. 

And  monie  a  ane  that  I  could  tell, 
Wha  fain  would  openly  rebel, 
Forby  turn-coats  amang  oursel, 

There 's  S — h  for  i^nCj 
r doubt  he's  but  a  grey  nick  quill, 

And  that  ye  '11  fin' 

Kk2 


278  THE  POETtCAL  "WORKS  OF 

O  I  a'  ye  flocks,  o'er  a'  the  hills, 

By  mosses,  meadows,  moors,  and  fells, 

Come  join  your  counsel  and  your  skills, 

To  cow  the  lairds, 
And  get  the  brutes  the  power  themselb, 

To  choose  their  herds. 

Then  orthodoxy  yet  may  prance, 
And  learning  in  a  woody  dance, 
And  that  fell  cur  caM  common  sense, 

That  bites  sae  sair. 
Be  banishM  o*er  the  sea  to  France, 

Let  him  bark  there. 

Then  Shaw's  and  Dairy mple's  eloquence,- 

M' ll's  close  nervous  excellence, 

M'Q— e's  pathetic  manly  sense, 

And  g-uid  M' h, 

VVi'  S— th  wha  thro'  the  heart  can  glance- 

May  a'  pack  afP. 


ANSWER  TO   A 

TRIMMING  LETTER  FROM  A  TAYLOR. 

WHAT  ails  ye  no-vv,  ye  lousie  b — h, 
To  thresh  my  back  at  sic  a  pitch  ? 
Losh  man  !  hae  meiey  wi'  your  natch, 
Your  bodkin's  bauid. 
did  na  suffer  ha'f  sae  much 

Frae  Daddie  Auld. 

What  though  ^t  times  when  I  grow  crouSe, 
I  gi'e  their  wames  a  random  pouse, 
Is  that  enough  for  you  to  souse 

Your  servant  sae  ? 
Gae  mind  your  seam,  ye  prick  the  louse? 

An*  jag  the  flae. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  3)^9 

King  David  o*  poetic  brief, 

Wrought  'mang  the  lasses  sic  mischief 

As  fiU'd  his  after  life  wi*  grief 

An*  bloody  rants, 
An*  yet  he 's  rank'd  amang  the  chief 

O*  lang  syTie  saunts. 

And  maybe,  Tarn,  for  a'  my  cants, 
My  wicked  rhymes,  an'  drucken  rants, 
I  '11  gie  auld  cloven  Clooty's  haunts 

An  unco  slip  yet. 
An*  snugly  sit  amang  the  saunts. 

At  Davie's  hip  yet. 

But  fegs,  the  Session  says  I  maun 

Gae  fa'  upo'  anither  plan. 

Than  garren  lasses  cowp  the  cran 

Clean  heals  owrc  body. 
And  sairly  thole  their  mither's  ban, 

Afore  the  howdy. 

This  leads  me  on,  to  tell  for  sport, 
How  I  did  wi'  the  Session  sort — 
Auld  Clinkum  at  the  Inner  port 

Cry'd  three  times,  "  Robin  I" 
•'  Come  hither  lad,  and  answer  for 't, 

«  Ye  're  blam'd  for  jobbin'." 

Wi'  pinch  I  put  a  Sunday's  face  on. 
An'  snoov'd  awa'  before  the  Session — 
I  made  an  open  fair  confession, 

I  scorn'd  to  lie  ; 
A\\  syne  Mess  John,  beyond  expression, 

Fell  foul  o'  me. 

A  furnicator  loun  he  call'd  me. 

An'  said  my  faiit  frae  bliss  expcll'd  me ; 

I  own'd  the  tale  was  true  he  tell'd  me, 

<  But  what  the  matter,' 
Quo*  I,  *  I  fear  unless  ye  geld  me, 

<  I'll  ne'er  be  better.* 


380 


TlTTE  POETICAL  WORKS  01 


«  Geld  you  I'*  quo'  he,  "  and  whatfore  no, 
"  If  that  your  right  hand,  leg  or  toe, 
"  Should  ever  prove  your  sp' ritual  foe, . 

"  You  shou'd  remember 
«  To  cut  it  aff,  an'  whatfore  no, 

«  Your  dearest  member." 

<  Na,  na,'  quo'  I,  *  I  'm  no  for  that, 

<  Gelding  's  nae  better  than  *tis  ca't, 
^  I'd  rather  suffer  for  my  faut, 

'  A  hearty  flewit, 
^  As  sair  owre  hip  as  ye  can  draw 't ! 

Tho'  I  should  rue  it. 

^  Or  gin  ye  like  to  end  the  bother, 
«  To  please  us  a',  I  've  just  ae  ither, 
*  When  next  wi*  yon  lass  I  forgather, 

<  Whate'er  betide  it, 
« I  '11  frankly  gi'  her 't  a'  thegither. 

An'  let  her  guide  it.' 

But,  Sir,  this  pleas'd  them  warst  ava, 
An'  therefore,  Tarn,  when  that  I  saw, 
I  said  *  Gude  night',  and  cam  awa. 

And  left  the  Session  ', 
r  saw  they  were  resolved  a' 

On  my  oppression. 


ON  MISS  J.  SCOTT. 


OF    ECCLEFECHAN. 

OH  !  had  each  Scot  of  ancient  times, 
Been  Jeany  Scott,  as  thou  art, 
Tl  c  bravest  heart  ori  English  ground? 
Had  yielded  like  a  coward. 


AHE  OUBlNATiOM. 

A'or  sense  they  little  o\ve  to  Frugal  Heaven.—- 
To  please  the  mob  they  hide  the  little  giv'n> 

- ILMARNOCK  Wabstei'Sj  fidge  an'  cli\W? 

An'  pour  your  ci-eeshie  nations  i 
■  n'  ye  wha  leather  rax  ah'  draW) 

Of  a'  denominations  i 
■'}with  to  the  Laigfi  Kirk)  ahe  ?ln*  a'j 

An'  there  tak  Up  your  stations  j 
Then  afif  to  Begbie^ii  in  a  t-awj 
An'  pour  divine  libaticJnS 

Foi'  joy  this  day* 

Lurst  Common^sense,  that  imp  ©*  li41| 

Cam  in  wi'  Maggie  Laudef  j 
Bat  O*'^******  aft  made  hei'  yeltj 

An'  1^.*****  feair  mhcaM  het^  i 
Thi»9  ^-ky  M'*****^***  takes  tha  Mil^ 

Aw  h§.  'a  the  bey  wlii  bli^ud  her  I 
Hg  'U  ekp  a  ^hm^an  on  her  tail, 

hx^  mi  the  bairns  tq  daud  her 

WiUUvtthis  day, 

Mak  haste  an'  turn  king  David  owre, 

An'  lilt  wl'  holy  clangor  \ 
O'  double  verse  eome  gie  us  four, 

An'  skirl  up  the  Bangor  : 
This  day  the  Kirk  kicks  up  a  stoure, 

Nae  mair  the  knaves  shall  wrang  her. 
For  Heresy  is  in  her  pow'r, 

And  gloriously  she'll  whang  her 
Wi'  pith  this  day. 

Come  let  a  proper  text  be  read, 

An'  touch  it  aff  wi'  vigour, 
How  graceless  Ham  leugh  at  his  Dad, 

Which  made  Canaan  a  niger  ; 
Or  Phineas  drove  the  murdering  blade- 

W  i^  w  h  -re  -ab  ho  r rin  g  ri  go  u  r ; 
Pr  Zijifiorah^  the  scauldin  jud. 

Was  like  a  bluidy  tiger 

1'  th'  inn  that  da-r 


382  THE  POETICAL  V/ORKS  OF 

There,  try  his  mettle  on  the  creed. 

And  bind  him  down  \vi'  caution, 
That  Stifieiicl  is  a  carnal  weed 

He  taks  but  for  the  fashion  ; 
And  gie  him  o^er  the  flock,  to  feed. 

And  punish  each  transgression ; 
Especial,  rams  that  cross  the  breed, 

Gie  them  sufficient  threshin, 

Spare  them  nae  day. 

Now  auld  Kilmarnock  cock  thy  tail, 

And  toss  thy  horns  fu'  canty; 
Nae  mair  thou  'It  rowte  out-owre  the  dale- 

Because  thy  pasture 's  scanty  ; 
For  lapfu's  large  o'  gosfiel  kail 

Shall  fill  thy  crib  in  plenty, 
An'  runts  0*  grace  the  pick  and  Vi'sde^ 

No  gi*en  by  way  o*  dainty, 

But  ilka  day. 

Nae  mair  by  BabeVs  streafm  we  *U  weep, 

To  think  upon  our  Zion  $ 
And  hing  our  fiddles  up  to  sleep, 

Like  baby-clouts  a-dryin  : 
Come,  screw  the  pegs  wi'  tunefu*  cheeps 

And  o'er  the  thairnis  be  tryin ; 
Oh,  rare  !  to  see  our  elbucks  wheep, 

And  a'  like  lamb-tails  flyin 

Fu'  fast  this  day  ! 

Lang  Patronage^  wi'  rod  o*  airn. 

Has  shor'd  the  Kirk's  undoin, 
As  lately  F-niv-ck^  sair  forfairn. 

Has  proven  to  its  ruin  : 
Our  Patron,  honest  man  !  Gl********y 

He  saw  mischief  was  brewin  ; 
And  like  a  godly  elect  bairn. 

He 's  ward  us  out  a  true  ane, 

And  found  this  day. 

Now  R********  harangue  nae  mair, 

But  steek  your  gab  for  ever  : 
Or  try  the  wicked  town  of  Ayr, 

For  there  they  '11  think  you  clever  ; 


nOBERT  BURNS  33^ 


Or,  nae  reflection  on  your  loar, 
Ye  may  commence  a  shaver  ;• 

Or  to  the  J^etherton  repair, 
And  turn  a  Carpet-wearer 

Aff-hand  this  day, 

M*****  and  you  were  just  a  match? 

We  never  had  sic  twa  drones : 
Auld  Hornic  did  the  Laigh  Kirk  watch* 

Just  like  a  winkin  baudrons  i 
And  ay'  he  catch'd  the  tither  wretch, 

To  fry  them  in  his  caudrons : 
But  now  his  honour  maun  detach^ 

\Vi*  a'  his  brimstone  squadrons, 

Fast,  fast  this  day» 

See,  see  auld  Orthodoxy's  faes 

She  '  s  swingein  thro'  the  city  ; 
Hark,  how  the  nine-tail'd  cat  she  plays ! 

I  vow  its  unco  pretty : 
There,  learning,  with  his  Greekish  face, 

Grunts  out  some  Latin  ditty  ; 
And  Common  Sense  is  gaun,  she  says. 

To  mak  to  Jamie  Beattie 

Her  plaint  this  day. 

But  there  's  Morality  himsel. 

Embracing  all  opinions ; 
Hear,  how  he  gies  the  tither  yell. 

Between  his  twa  companions  ; 
See,  how  she  peels  the  skin  an'  fell, 

As  ane  were  peelin  onions  ! 
Now  there — they  're  packed  aff  to  hell, 

And  banish'd  our  dominions. 

Henceforth  this  day. 

O  happy  day  I  rejoice,  rejoice  ! 

Come  bouse  about  the  porter  ? 
^Morality's  demure  decoys 

Shall  here  nae  mair  find  quarter : 


gg4  TliFi  fQmiQAh  W';/K>>>    ■ 

|i^<#*#*#***^  H*****j  ay.e  the  boys, 

Th?it  Heresy  pein  torture  j 
They  'U  gl?  her  on  ^  rape  ^  hpysej 

And  cow  her  i-^easyre  shorter 

5y  th-  beeid  SQine  clay 

Com^j  bring  the  tlther  xnutchkhi  \xh 

And  here  's,  for  a  conclusion, 
To  every  A(?^j  Xz^f/^?  mother's  !;on.i 

From  thi^  time  forth,  Confiision  , 
Jf.mair  they  df-ave  us  with  their  din» 

Or  Patronjvge  intrusion^ 
We  -U  light  a  spunk,  and,  ^v'ry  sKin, 

Wf  '?!  rin  them  af  In  fusion 

].iHe  oil,  gpipe  day. 


THE  CALF, 
TO  Tim  «5;y,  MR  - 

• ,',  Malacht,  ch,  iv,  ver,  g.  «  And  tbey  shall  go  fci 
^nd  ^rpw  up,  like  calves  of  the  stalL'' 

.HIGHT  Sir  1  your  textril  prove  U  true,, 

Though  Heretics  may  laugh  | 
'For  instance  ;  there's  yoursei  just  noWj 

God  knows,  an  xmco  Ca(/\' 

And  should  some  patron  b<?  so  kind. 

As  bless  you  wi*  a  kivk, 
I  doubt  na,  Sir,  but  then  we  Ml  And^ 

Yo  'rf'  still  as  great  a  ^Hrk^ 

)3ut,  if  the  I  i0ver*s  rapturM  hour 

Shall  over  he  yoMr  jpt, 
Forbid  it,  every  heavccnly  Powfr. 

You  e'er  should  be  a  Stot  / 

Tho'  when  some  kind,  eomvabiai  Ijcavj 

Yoviv  but'and'ben  edornsj 
The  like  has  been  that  you  may  wear 

A  noble  head  of  ^orm^ 


ROBERT  BURNS.  385 


And  in  your  lug,  most  reverend  J , 

To  hear  your  roar  and  rowte, 

Few  men  o'  sense  will  doubt  your  claims 
To  rank  amang  the  noivte. 

And  when  ye  're  numberM  wi'  the  dead, 

Below  a  grassy  hillock, 
Wi'  justice  they  may  mark  your  head — 

*  Here  lies  a  famous  Bullock!* 


IMITATION  OF  AN  OLD  BALLAD. 


I  HAE  a  wife  o'  my  ain, 
I  '11  partake  wi*  nae-body  ; 

I  Ml  tak  cuckold  frae  nane, 
I  '11  gie  cuckold  to  nae-body. 

i  hae  a  penny  to  spend, 

There — thanks  to  nae-body  ; 

I  hae  naething  to  lend, 
I  '11  borrow  frae  nae-body. 

I  am  nae-body's  lord, 

I  'II  be  slave  to  nae-body ; 

I  hae  a  gude  braid  sword, 
I  '11  tak  dunts  frae  nae-body. 

I  '11  be  merry  and  free, 
I  '11  be  sad  for  nae-body ; 

If  nae-body  care  for  me, 
I  '11  care  for  nae-body. 


EPITAPH  ON  D C 

HERE  lies  in  earth  a  root  of  Hell, 
Set  by  the  Diel's  ain  dibble ; 

This  worthless  body  damn'd  himsel, 
To  save  the  Lord  the  trouble* 
L  L 


386  I'Hli'  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

LETTER  TO  JOHN  GOUDIE, 

KILMARNOCK, 

ON  THE  PUBLICATION  OF  HIS  ESSAYS. 

O  GOUDIE!  terror  of  the  Whigs, 
Dread  of  black  coats  and  rev'rend  wigs, 
Soor  Bigotry,  on  her  last  legs, 

Girnin'  looks  back, 
Wishin'  the  ten  Egyptian  plagues 

Wad  seize  you  quick. 

Poor  gapin',  glowrin'  Superstition, 

Waes  me!  she  *s  in  a  sad  condition  ; 

Fy,  bring  Black-Jock,  her  state  physician. 

To  see  her  w-ter  ; 
Alas !  there  's  ground  o'  great  suspicion 

She  Ml  ne'er  get  belter. 

Auld  Orthodoxy  lang  did  grapple. 
But  now  she 's  got  an  unco  ripple. 
Haste,  gie  her  name  up  i'  the  chappel, 

Nigh  unto  deatii ; 
See  how  she  fetches  at  the  ihrapple, 

An'  gasps  for  breath. 

Enthusiasm  's  past  redemption, 

Gaen  in  a  galloping  consumption, 

Not  a'  the  quacks  wi'  a'  their  gumption. 

Will  ever  mend  her, 
Her  feeble  pulse  gies  btiong  presumption, 

Death  soon  will  end  her. 

'Tis  you  and  T aylcr  are  the  chief, 
W  ha  are  to  btume  for  this  mischief; 
But  gin  the  Lord's  uin  focks  gat  leave, 

A  toom  tar  b  rrel 
An*  twa  red  peats  wad  send  relief, 

An'  end  the  quarrel. 


KOBERT  BURNS. 

ELEGY  ON  THE  YEAR  1788. 

A    SKETCH. 

FOR  lords  or  kings  I  dinna  mourn, 
E'en  let  them  die — ibr  that  they  're  born^ 
But  oh !  prodigious  to  reflec' ! 
A  Tovjmont^  Sirs,  is  gane  to  wreck ! 
O  Eighty-eighty  in  thy  sma*  space 
What  dire  events  ha'e  taken  place  ! 
Of  what  enjoyments  thou  hast  reft  us  ! 
In  what  a  pickle  thou  hast  left  us  I 

The  Spanish  empire  *s  tint  a  head, 
An*  my  auld  teethless  Bawtie  *s  dead ; 
The  tulzie  's  sair  'tween  Pitt  and  Tox, 
And  'tween  our  Maggie-s  twa  wee  cocks  ; 
The  tane  is  game,  a  bluidie  devil, 
But  to  the  hen-birds  unco  civil ; 
The  tither  's  something  dour  o'  treadin, 
But  better  stuff  ne'er  claw'd  a  midden — 

Ye  ministers  come  mount  the  poupit, 
An'  cry  till  ye  l)e  haerse  an'  roupet. 
For  Eighty-eight  he  wish'd  you  weel. 
An'  gied  you  a'  baith  gear  an'  meal ; 
E'en  mony  a  plack,  and  mony  a  peck. 
Ye  ken  yoursels,  for  little  feck  I — 

Ye  bonie  lasses  dight  your  .e'en. 
For  some  o'  you  ha'e  tint  a  frien' ; 
In  Eighty-eighty  ye  ken,  was  ta'en 
What  ye  '11  ne'er  ha'e  to  gie  again. 

Observe  the  very  nowt  an'  sheep, 
How  dowf  and  daviely  they  creep  ; 
Nay,  even  the  yirth  itsel  does  crv, 
For  E'nburgh  wells  are  grutten  dry. 

O  Eighty-nine,  thou 's  but  a  bairn, 
An'  no  o'er  auld,  I  hope,  to  learn  ! 
Thou  beardless  boy,  I  pray  tak  care, 
Thou  noV\r  has  got  thy  Daddy's  chair, 


38; 


1 


388  'I'll^  POETlCxYL   WOKKS  Or 

Nae  hand-cuff'd  mizl'd  hap-sliackl'd  Regent. 
But,  like  himsel,  a  full  free  agent. 
Be  sure  ye  follow  out  the  plan 
Nae  waur  than  he  did,  honest  man  I 
As  muckle  better  as  you  can. 

THE  DEAN  OF  FACULTY. 

A    KEW    BALLAD. 

lilRE  was  the  hate  at  old  Harlaw, 

That  Scot  to  Scot  did  carry ; 
And  dire  the  discord  Langside  saw, 

For  beauteous,  hapless  Mary  : 
But  Scot  with  Scot  ne'er  met  so  hot, 

Or  were  more  in  fury  seen,  Sir, 
Than  'iwixt  Hal  and  Bob  for  the  famous  job — 

Who  should  be  FacuUi/s  Dean^  Sir.— 

This  Hal  for  genius,  wit,  and  lore, 

Among  the  first  was  number'd; 
But  pious  Bob^  'mid  learning's  store, 

Commandment  tenth  reniember''d,— 
Yet  simple  Bob  the  victory  got, 

And  wan  his  heart's  desire  ; 
Which  shews  that  heaven  can  boil  the  pot, 

Though  the  devil  p — s  in  the  fire. — 

Squire  Hal  besides  had  this  in  case 

Pretensions  rather  brassy, 
For  talents  to  deserve  a  place 

Are  qualifications  saucy  ; 
So  their  worships  of  the  Faculty, 

Quite  sick  of  merit's  rudeness. 
Chose  one  who  should  owe  it  all  d'  ye  see* 

To  their  gratis  grace  and  goodness. — 

As  once  on  Pisgah  purg'd  was  the  sigh* 

Of  a  son  of  Circumcision, 
So  may  be,  on  this  Pisgah  height, 

Bob'^s  purblind  mental  vision  : 


ROBERT  BURNS.  389 


Nay,  Bobby* 8  mouth  may  be  open'd  yet 
Till  for  eloquence  you  hailhimj 

And  swear  he  has  the  Angel  met 
That  met  the  ass  of  Balaam. — 


EPITAPH 

ON  A  HENPECK'D  COUNTRY  SQUIRE. 

AS  father  Adam  first  was  fool'd, 

A  case  that 's  still  too  common, 
Here  lies  a  man  a  woman  rul'd, 

The  devil  rul'd  the  woman. 


EPIGRAM  ON  SAID  OCCASION 

O  DEATH,  hadst  thou  but  spar'd  his  life. 

Whom  we,  this  day  lament ! 
We  freely  wad  exchanged  the  ivifey 

An'  a  been  weel  content. 


ADDRESS 

TO  AN  ILLEGITIMATE  CHILD. 

THOU  'S  welcome  wean,  mishaater  fa'  me. 
If  ought  of  thee,  or  of  thy  mammy, 
Shall  ever  danton  me,  or  awe  me, 

My  sweet  wee  lady, 
Or  if  I  blush  when  thou  shalt  ca'  me 

Tit-ta  or  daddy. 

Wee  image  of  my  bonny  Betty, 
I,  fatherly  will  kiss  and  dant  thee, 
As  dear  an*  near  my  heart  I  set  thee 

Wi'  as  gude  will 
As  a'  the  priests  hath  seen  me  get  thee 

That's  *'    *■ 

L  L  3 


390  THE  POETICAL- WORKS  01 

What  tho*  they  ca*  me  fornicator, 
An'  tease  my  name  in  kihtry  clatter : 
The  mair  they  tank  I  'm  kent  the  better, 

E'en  let  them  clash  : 
An  auld  wife's  tongue  's  a  feckless  matter 

To  gie  ane  fash. 

Sweet  fruit  o'  mony  a  merry  dint, 

My  funny  toil  is  now  a'  tint, 

Sin'  thou  came  to  the  warl  asklent, 

Which  fools  may  s> 
In  my  last  plack  thy  part's  be  in  't, 

The  better  ha'f  o't. 

An'  if  thou  be  what  I  wad  hae  thee. 
An'  tak  the  counsel  I  sail  gie  thee, 
A  lovin'  father  I  '11  be  to  thee, 

If  thou  be  spar'd  ; 
Thro'  a'  thy  childish  years  I  '11  e'e  thee, 

An'  think 't  weel  war'd 

Gude  grant  that  thou  may  ay  inherit 
Thy  mither's  person,  grace  an'  merit, 
An""  thy  poor  worthless  daddy's  spirit. 

Without  his  failins, 
'Twill  please  me  mair  to  hear  an'  see  't, 

Than  stockct  mailens. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  WAG  IN  ^lAUCHLINF 

LAMENT  'm  Mauchline  husbands  a\ 

He  aften  did  assist  ye  ; 
For  had  ye  stuid  whole  weeks  awa, 

Your  wives  they  ne'er  had  miss'd  yc 

Ye  Mauchline  baii*ns,  as  on  ye  pass 

To  school  in  bunds  thegither, 
O  iretid  ye  lightly  on  his  grass. 

Perhaps  he  was  ycv.r  father 


IlOBERT  RURNS.  39 1 

LINES 

Written  under  the  picture  of  the  celebrated  Miss  Burn;^. 

Cease  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing-, 

Lovely  Burns  has  charms — confess  ; 
True  it  is,  she  had  one  failing, 

Had  ae  woman  ever  less  ? 


SONG— TUNE— TA6'  big  helhfd  bottle. 

NO  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to  write, 
No  statesman  nor  soldier  to  plot  or  to  fight, 
No  sly  man  of  business  contriving  a  snare, 
For  a  big-belly 'd  bottle  's  the  whole  of  my  care. 

T^ie  peer  I  don't  envy,  I  give  him  his  bow; 

I  scorn  not  the  peasant,  tho'  ever  so  low  ; 

But  a  club  of  good  fellows,  like  those  that  are  here? 

And  a  bottle  like  this,  are  my  glory  and  care. 

Here  passes  the  squire  on  his  brother — his  horse ; 
There  centum  per  centum,  the  cit  with  his  purse  ; 
But  see  you-the  crown  how  it  waves  in  the  air, 
There  a  big  belly'd  bottle  still  eases  my  care. 

The  wife  of  my  bosom,  alas  1  she  did  die ; 
For  sweet  consolation  to  church  I  did  fly  ; 
I  found  that  old  Solomon  proved  it  fair, 
That  a  big-belly'd  bottle  's  a  cure  for  all  care. 

I  once  was  persuaded  a  venture  to  make  ; 
A  letter  inform'd  me  that  all  v/as  to  wreck  ; 
But  the  pursy  old  landlord  just  waddled  up  stairs, 
With  a  glorious  bottle  that  ended  my  cares. 

^'  Life's  cares  they  are  comforts" a  maxim  laid  down 

By  the  bard,  what  d'ye  call  him,  that  wore  the  bl^ck 
gowzi ; 


392  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

And  faith  I  agree  with  th'  old  prig  to  a  hair ; 
For  a  big-beliy'd  bottle  's  a  heaven  of  care. 

J  Stanza  added  in  a  Mason  Lodge. 

Then  fill  up  a  bumper,  and  make  it  o'erflow, 
And  honours  masonic  prepare  for  to  throw  ; 
May  every  true  brother  of  th'  compass  and  square 
Have  a  big  belly'd  bottle  when  harass'd  with  care. 


LINES 

Written  on  a  window,  at  the  King's  Arms  Tavern,  Dumfiic 

YE  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all  this  sneering, 
'Gainst  poor  Excisemen  ?  give  the  cause  a  hearing  ; 

What  are  your  landlords  rent-rolls  ?  taxing  ledgers: 
What  premiers,  what  ?  even  Monarchs  mighty  gaigers; 

Nay,  what  are  priests  ?  those  seeming  godly  wisemen : 
What  are  they  pray  ?  but  spiritual  Excisemen. 


VERSES  TO  J.  RANKEN, 

AE  day,  as  Death,  that  grusome  carl, 
Was  driving  to  the  tither  warl' 
A  mixtie-maxtie  motley  squad. 
And  mony  a  gilt-bespotted  lad  ; 
Black  gowns  of  each  denomination, 
And  thieves  of  every  rank  and  station. 
From  him  that  wears  the  star  and  garter, 
To  him  that  wintles  in  a  halter  : 
Asham'd  himsel  to  see  the  wretches, 
He  mutters  glow'rin  at  the  bitches, 
'*  By  God  I  '11  not  be  seen  behint  them, 
"  Nor  *mang  the  spVitual  core  present  them. 
"  Without,  at  least  ae  honest  man, 
^*  To  grace  this  d— ^d  infernal  clan." 


JiOBERT  BURNS. 


By  Adamhill  a  glance  he  threw, 
*'  L — d  G'd  !  (quoth  he)  I  have  it  now, 
''  There 's  just  the  man  I  want,  i'  faith," 
And  quickly  stoppit  Banken's  breath. 


THE   KIRK'S  iVLARM  :  A  SATIRE. 

ORTHODOX,  orthodox,  wha  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  ah.rm  to  your  conscience  ; 

There's  u  heretic  blast  has  been  blawn  i'  the  wast, 
That  what  is  no  sense  must  be  nonsense. 

Dr.  Mac,  Dr.  Mac,  you  should    stretch  on  a  rack. 

To  strike  evil  doers  wi'  terror  ; 
To  join  ftiiih  and  sense  upon  ony  pretence. 

Is  heretic,  damnable  error. 

Town  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr,  it  was  mad  I  declare^ 

To  meddle  wi*  mischief  a-hre wing  ; 
Provost  John  is  still  deaf  to  the  church's  relief. 

And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin, 

Drymple  mild,  Drymple  mild,  tho'  your  heart's  like  a 
child. 

And  your  life  like  the  new  driven  snaw. 
Yet  that  winna  save  ye,  auld  vSatan  must  have  ye, 

For  preaching  that  three's  ane  and  twa. 

Rumble  John,  Rumble  John,  mount  the  steps  wi'  a  groan. 

Cry  the  book  is  wi'  heresy  cramm'd  ; 
Then  iug  out  your  ladle,  deal  brimstone  like  adic, 

And  roar  every  note  of  the  damn'd. 

Simper   James,    Simper   James,   leave   the    fliir   Killic 
dames, 

There's  a  holier  chance  in  your  view  ; 
I'll  lay  on  your  head,  that  the  pack  ye'll  soon  lead. 

For  puppies  like  you  there  's  few. 

Singct  Sawney,  Singet  Sawney,  are  yc  herding  the  penny, 

Unconscious  what  evils  await; 
Wi'  a  jump,  yell  and  howl,  alarm  every  soul, 

For  the  soul  thief  is  just  at  your  gate. 


394  i'Htl  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

Daddy  Auld,  Daddy  Auld,  there's  a  tod  in  the  lauld, 

A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  Clerk  ; 
The'  ye  can  do  little  skaith,  ye  '11  be  in  at  the  death, 

And  gif  ye  canna  bite,  ye  may  bark. 

Davie  Bluster,  Davie  Bluster,  if  for  a  saint  ye  do  muster,- 

The  corps  is  so  nice  of  recruits  ; 
Yet  to  worth  let's  be  just,  royal  blood  you  might  boar 

If  the  ass  was  the  king  of  the  brutes. 

Jamy  Goose,  Jamy  Goose,  ye  ha'e  made  but  toomroosc 

In  hunting  the  wiched  Lieutenant ; 
But  the  doctor's  your  mark,  for  the  L — d's  haly  ark, 

He  has  cooper'd  and  cawd  a  wrang  pin  in't. 

Poet  Willie,  Poet  Willie,  gie  the  Doctor  a  volly, 

Wi*  your  libei'ty'^s  chain  and  your  wit  ; 
O'er  Pegasus'  side  ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride. 

Ye  but  smelt,  man,  the  place  where  he  sh — t. 

Andro  Gouk,  Andro  Gouk,  ye  may  slander  the  book. 
And  the  book  not  the  waur  let  me  tell  ye ; 

Ye  arc  rich,  and  look  big,  but  lay  by  hat  and  wig, 
And  ye  '11  hae  a  calf's  head  o'  sma'  value. 

Barr  Steennie,  Barr  Stecnnie,  what  mean  ye  ?  what  meai 


H 


ye  r  \ 

If  ye  '11  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter, 
Ye  may  hae  some  pretence  to  bavins  and  sense, 
Wi'  people  wlia  ken  ye  nae  better. 

Irvine  side,  Inline  side,  wi'  your  turkey-cock  pride. 

Of  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share  ; 
Ye've  the  figure  'lis  true,  even  your  face  will  allow, 

And  your  friends  they  dare  grant  you  nae  mair. 

Muirland  Jock,  Muirland  Jock,  whesn  the  Lprd  makes  a 
rock  -  -  -- 

To  crush  common  sense  for  her  sins, 
If  ill  manners  were  wit,  there  's  no  mortal  so  fit 

To  confound  the  poor  Doctor  at  ance. 

Holy  Will,  Holy  Will,  there  was  wit  i'  your  skuli. 

When  ye  pilfer'd  the  alms  o'  the  poor ; 
The  timmer  is  scant,  when  ye  're  ta'en  for  a  saint. 

Wha  should  swing  in  a  rape  for  an  hour. 


ROBEERT  BURNS.  395 

€alvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons,  seize  your  sp'ritual  guns, 

Ammunition  you  never  can  need  ; 
Your  hearts  are  the  stuff,  will  be  powther  enough, 

And  your  skulls  are  storehouses  o'  lead. 

Poet  Burns,  Poet  Burns,  wi'  your  priest-skelping  turns, 

Why  desert  ye  your  auld  native  shire  ; 
Your  muse  is  a  gipsie,  e'en  tho'  she  were  tipsiC) 

She  cou*d  ca'  us  nae  wauj;  than  we  are. 


THE  HENPECK'D  HUSBAND. 

CURS'D  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in  life, 
The  crouching  vassal  to  the  tyrant  wife, 
Who  has  no  will  but  by  her  high  permission  ; 
Who  has  not  sixpence  but  in  her  possession  ; 
Who  must  to  her  his  dear  friend's  secret  tell ; 
Who  dreads  a  curtain-lecture  worse  than  hell. 
Were  such  the  wife  had  fallen  ta  my  part, 
I  'd  break  her  spirit,  or  I  'd  break  her  heart ; 
I'd  charm  her  with  the  magic  of  a  switch, 
I'd  kiss  her  maids,  aad  kick  the  perverse  b — h. 


EPITAPH  FOR 

THOS.  H.KENNEDY,  NOW  OF  NEW  YORK* 

As  Tam  the  chapman  on  a  day, 

Wi'  Death  forgether'd  by  the  way, 

Weel  pleased,  he  greets  a  wight  sae  famous,. 

And  Death  was  nae  less  pleas'd  wi'  Thomas, 

Wha  cheerfully  lays  down  the  pack, 

And  there  blaws  up  a  hearty  crack, 

His  social  friendly  honest  heart, 

Sae  tickled  Death  they  could  na  part, 

Sae  after  viewing  knives  an  garters 

Death  takes  him  hame  to  gae  him  quarters. 

*  Mr.  Kennedy  was  formerly  a  travelling  pedlar  in  Scotland, 
and  an  intimate  friend  of  our  author  ; — had  been  sick  when  the 
above  epitaph  was  wrote. 


^QQ  THE  PQBTIC4:L  WOR|[S  OF 

THE  LAND  O'  THE  LEAL. 

THE  LAST  SONG  WRITTEN  BY  OUR  AUTHOR, 
ADDRESSED  TO  HIS  WIFE. 
Tune— -Sj  Titty  Tattg, 

I  *m  wearing  awa,  Jean, 
Like  snaw  when  its  thaw  Jean, 
I  'm  wearing  awa, 

To  the  Land  o'  the  Leal. 

There  's  nae  sorrow  there,  Jean, 
There 's  nae  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
The  day  is  ay  fair. 

In  the  Land  o'  the  Leal. 

Ye  've  been  leal  an'  true,  Jean, 
Your  task 's  ended  now,  Jean, 
An*  I  '11  welcome  you, 

To  the  Land  o'  the  Leal. 

Our  bonny  bairn's  there,  Jean, 
She  was  baith  gude  an'  fair  Jean  ; 
An'  we  grudg'd  her  sair, 

To  the  Land  o'  the  Leal 

Dry  that  tearfu'  e'e,  Jean, 

My  soul  langs  to  be  free,  Jean ; 

An'  angels  wait  on  me. 

In  the  Land  o'  the  Leal. 

Then  farewel  my  ain  Jean  : 
This  warld's  care  *s  vain,  Jean  ; 
We  *11  meet  an'  ay  be  fain, 

In  the  Land  o'  the  Leal. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  39/ 

JOHN  ANDERSON,  MY  JOjE, 

IMPROVED  BY  ROBERT  BURNS. 

JOHN  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  I  wonder  what  you  mean, 
To  rise  so  soon  in  the  morning,  and  sit  up  so  late  at  e'en, 
Ye*ll  blear  out  a*  your  e*en,  John,  and  why  should  you  do 

so. 
Gang  sooner  to  your  bed  at  e'en,  John  Anderson,  my  joe. 

John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  whan  nature  first  began 
To  try  her  canny  hand,  John,  her  master  work  was  man  ; 
And  you  amang  them  a'  John,  sae  trig  frae  tap  to  toe, 
She  prov'd  to  be  nae  journey-work,  John  Anderson,  my 
joe. 

John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  ye  were  my  first  conceit,* 
And  ye  need  nae  think  it  strange,  John,  tho'  L  ca'  ye  trim 

and  neat ; 
Tho'  some  folk  say  ye  're  auld,  John,  I  never  think- ye  so, 
But  I  think  ye  're  ay  the  same  to  me,  John  Anderson  my 

joe. 

John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  we  *ve  seen  our  bairns' 
bairns. 

And  yet,  my  dear  John  Anderson,  I  'm  happy  in  yo^r 
arms, 

And  sae  are  ye  in  mine,  John — I  *m  sure  ye  'II  ne'er  say  no, 

Tho'  the  days  are  gane  that  we  have  seen,  John  Ander- 
son, my  oe. 

John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  what  pleasure  does  it  gie. 
To  see  sae  many  sprouts,  John,  spring  up  'tween  you  an* 

me, 
And  ilka  lad  and  lass,  John,  in  our  footsteps  to  go. 
Make  perfect  heaven  here  on  earth,  John  Anderson,  my 

joe. 


398  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 

John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  >vhen  we  were  first  Ac- 
quaint, 

Your  locks  were  like  the  raven,  your  bonnie  brow  was 
brent, 

But  now  your  head  's  tum'd  bald,  John,  your  locks  are 
like  the  snow, 

Yet,  blessing  on  your  frosty  pow,  John  Anderson,  my  joe. 

John  Anderson  my  joe,  John,  frae  year  to  year  we  've  past, 
And  soon  that  year  maun  come,  John,  will  bring  us  to 

our  last : 
^ut  let  na  that  affright  us,  John,  Our  hearts  were  ne'er 

our  foe. 
While  in  innocent  delight  we  liv'd,  John  Anderson,  my 

joe. 

John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John,  we  clamb  the  hill  thegither. 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John,  we've  had  wi'  ane  anither; 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John,  but  hand  in  hand  we  '11 

go, 
And  we  '11  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot,  John  Anderson,  m.y 
joe. 


GLOSSARY. 

I'lIE  ch  and  ffh  have  always  the  guttural  sound.  The  sound  of 
the  English  dipthong  ooy  is  commonly  spelled  ou.  The  French 
u,  a  sound  which  often  occurs  in  the  Scottish  language,  is  mark- 
ed, 00  or  ui.  The  a  in  genuine  Scottish  words,  except  when 
forming  a  dipthong,  or  followed  by  an  e  mute  after  a  single 
consonant,  sounds  generally  like  the  broad  English  a  in  -walL 
The  Scottish  dipthong  ae,  always,  and  ea,  very  often,  sound 
like  the  French  e  masculine.  The  Scottish  dipthong  e^,  sounds 
like  the  Latin  ei. 


A',  All  Amang,  among 

Aback,  away,  aloof  An',  and,  if 

Abeigh,  at  a  shy  distance  Ance,  once 

Aboon,  above,  up  Ane,  one 

Abread,  abroad,  m  sight  Anent,  over  against 

Ae,  one  Anither,  another 
Aff,  off;  Aff  hof,  off  hand,  un-  Ase,  ashes 

premeditated  Asklent,  asquint,  slanting 

Afore,  before  Asteer,  abroad,  stirring 

Aft,  oft  Athort,  athwart 

Aften,  often  Aught,  as  in  a'  my  au^hl,  in  all 
Agley,  off  the  right  line,  wrong     my  possession 

Aiblins,  perhaps  Auld,  old 

Ain,  own  Auldfarran,  or  auld  farrant,  sa- 

Airn,  iron  gacious,  cunning,  prudent 

Airl-penny,  earnest-money  Avild  lang  syne,  long  ago,  in  for- 

Aith,  an  oath  mer  times 

Aits,  oats  Ava,  at  all 

Aiver,  an  old  horse  Awa',  away 
Aizle,  a  small  spark  of  fire,  a  Awfu',  awful 

hot  cinder  Awn,  the  beard  of  barley,  oats 

Alake,  alas  &c. 

Alane,  alone  Awnie,  bearded 

Akwart,  aukward  Ayont,  behind 

B 

Ba',  ball  Bairntime,  a  family  of  children 

Uacklins,  comiu*,  coming  back,      a  brood 

returning  Baith,  both 

Bad,  did  bid  Ban,  to  swear,  a  minced  oath 

Baide,  endured,  did  stay  Bannock,  a  kind  of  thick  cake  of 

Baggie,  the  belly  bread 

Bainie,  having  large  bones,  stout  Bane,  bone 
Bairn,  a  child  Bang,  to  beat,  to  strive 


400 

Bardie,  diminutive  of  bard  Blaud,  a  larg-e  piece  of  any  thing-, 

Barefit,  barefooted  a  slap  with  tlie  hand 

Barmie,  of,  or  like  barm  or  yest  Baudin'    driving    like    a   snow 

Batch,  a  crew,  a  gang*  storm 

Batts,  botts,  a  disease  in  horses  Blaw,  to  blow,  to  boast 

Baudrons,  a  cat  Bleezing,  blazing 

Bauld,  bold  Bleert   and   Blln,    bleered   and 

Bawk,  bank,  a  narrow  stripe  of     blind 

grass  between  ploughed  lands,  Bleerit,  bleered,  rheum  in  the 

or  ridges  eyes 

Uaws'nt,  havmg  a  white  stripe  Blellum,  idle  talking  fellow 

down  the  face  Blether,  to  talk  idly  nonsense 

Bear,  barley  Bleth'rin,  talking  idly 

Beastie,  diminutive  of  beast  Blink,  a  quick  smiling  g-lance  o 

Beet,  to  add  fuel  to  fire  the  eye,  to  shine  by  fits 

Beld,  bauld  headed  Blinker,  a  term  of  contempt 

Belyve,  bye  and  by  Biiukin*,  smirking 

Ben,  into  the  parlour  BUnuie,  snivelling 

Benlomond,  a  noted  mountain      Blue  gown,  one  of  those  beggars 
Bethankit,     an     expression     of     who  get  annually  on  the  king's 

thankfulness  birth-day,    a    blue   cloak    or 

Beuk,  a  book  gown,  and  badge,  which  gives 

Bicker,  a  kind  of  wooden  dish,     them  credit  with  the  public 

a  sliort  race  Blude,  blood 

Bield,  shelter  Blype,  a  shred,  a  large  piece 

Eien,  snug,  wealthy,  plentiful      Bock,  to  vomit,  to  gush  inter^ 
Big,  to  build  m  ittently 

Biggin,  building,  a  house  Bocked,  gushed,  vomited 

Biggit,  built  Bodle,  a  small  cogpcr  coin 

Bill,  a  bull  Bonnie,    or   bonny,    handsome, 

Billie,  a  brother,  a  young  fellow      beautiful 
Bing,    a   heap   of  grain,    pota- Bogles,  spirits,  hobgoblins 

toes,  &c.  Boor-tree,  the  shrub-elder 

Birk,  birch  Boost,  an  instrument  for  mark- 

Birkie,  a  waggish  clever  fellow      ing  sheep  or  cattle  &c.  with 
Birring,  the  noise  of  partridges,      the  owner's  cypher,  or  other 

he.  when  they  spring  mar-k 

'8irk:n-Shaw,     Birchen-Wood,  To  Boost  with,  verb  active   of 

from  Birch  a  tree,  and  Shaw      boose,  a  penn  or  stall  for  cat- 

a  small  wood  tie,  &.C. 

B'iUjiist  at  the  bit,  crisis,  nick  of  Botch,  an  angry  tumour 

time  Bousing,  drinking 

Bizz,  a  bustle,  to  buzz  Bouk,  vomiting,  gushing 

Blastie,    a   shrivelled  dwarf,  a  Bow-kail,  cabbage 

term  of  contempt  Bowt,  bended,  crooked 

Blastit,  blasted  Brackens,  fern 

Blate,  bashful,  sheepish  Brae,   a  declivity,    a  precipice, 

Blather,  bladder  the  slope  of  a  hill 


401 


Braid,  Broad 
Braik,  u  kind  of  harrow 
Brainge,  to  run  rashly  forward 
Braig-n't,  reeled  forward 
Brak,  broke  made  insolvent 
Branks,  a  kind  of  wooden  curb 


Brust,  to  burst,  burst 
Buchan-buUers,    the  boiling'  oi 

the  sea  amonj^  the  rocks  cai 

the  coast  of  Buchan 
Buckskin,  an  inhabitant  of  Vir^ 

ginia 


for  horses  Bughtin-time,  the  time  of  col- 

Brash,  a  sudden  illness  lecting  the  sheep  in  the  pens 

Brats,  coarse  clothes,  rags,  &c.     to  be  milked 
Brattle,  a  short  race,  hurry,  furyBught,  a  pen 
Braw,  fine,  handsome  Buirdly,  stout  made,  broad  built 

Bravvlyt,  or  brawlie,  very  well,  Bum-clock,  a  humming  beetle 

finely,  heartily  that  flies  in  the  summer  even- 

Braxie,  decease  in  sheep  ings 

Breastie,  dimin.  of  breast  Bumming,  humming  as  bees 

Breastit,  did  spring  up  or  for- Bum mle,  to  blunder 

ward  Bummler,  a  blunderer 

Breef,  an  invulnerable  or  irre- Bunker,  a  window  seat 


sistible  spell 
Breeks,  breeches 
Brent,  smooth 
Brewin,  brewing 
Brie,  juice,  liquid 
Brig,  a  bridge 
Brunstane,  brimstone 
Brisket,  the  breast,  the  bosom 
Brither,  a  brother 
Brock,  a  badger 
Brogue,  a  hum,  a  trick 
Broo,  broth,  liquid,  water 


Burdies,  dimin.  of  birds 

Bure,  did  bear 

Burnewin,  i.  e.  burn  the  wind,  a 
blacksmith 

Burnie,  dimin.  of  burn 

Burn,  or  Burnie,  a  water,  a  rivu- 
let 

Buskie,  bushy 

Buskit,  dressed 

Busle,  a  bustle,  to  bustle 

Buss,  a  bush 

But,  bot,  without 


Broase,  a  race  at  country  wed- But  an'  ben,  the  country  kitchen 

dings  and  parlour 

Brugh,  a  bui'gh  By  himself,  lunatic,  distracted 

Bruizie,  a  broil,  a  combustion     Byke,  a  bee-hive 
Brunt,  did  burn,  burnt  Byre,  a  cow  house 


c 


CA',  to  call  to  name,  to  drive      Calf-ward,  a  small  enclosure  for 
Ca't    or   Ca'd,    called,    driven,      calves 


calved 
Cadger,  a  carrier 
Cadie,  or  caddie,   a    person 

young  fellow 
Caff,  chaff 
Caird,  a  tinker 
Cairn^  a  loose  heap  of  stones 


Callan,  a  boy 
Caller,  fresh  sound,  refreshing 
a  Cannie,  gentle,  mild,  dextrous 
Cannilie,  dextrously,  gently 
Cantie,  or  Canty,  cheerful,  rpei:- 

ry 
Cantraip,  a  charm,  a  spell 


Mm2 


402 

Cap-stanc,  cope  stone,  key  stone  Clislimaclaver,  idle  conversation 
Careerin,  the  act  of  making  nier-  Clock,  to  hatch,  a  beetle 

ry  Clockin,  hatchins^ 

Carl,  an  old  man  Cloot,    the     hoof    of    a    co^ 

Carlin,  a  stout  old  woman  sheep,  &c. 

Cartes,  cai'ds  Clootie,  the  Devil,  commonly  re- 

Caudron,  a  caldron  presented  cloven-footed 

Cauk  and  keel,  chalk  and  red  Clour,  a  bump  or  swelling  after 

clay  a  blow 

Cauld,  cold  Cluds,  clouds 

Caup  a  wooden  'rinking-  vessel    Coaxin,  wheedling" 
Cesses,  taxes,  Coble,  a  fishing'  boat 

Chanter;  apart  of  a  bagpipe         Cockernony,  a  lock  of  hair  tied 
Chap,  a  person,  a  fellow,  a  blow      upon  a  girl's  head,  a  cap 
Chaup,  a  stroke,  a  blow  Coft,  bought 

Cheekit,  cheeked  Cog,  a  wooden  dish 

Cheep,  a  chirp,  to  chirp  Coggie  dimin.  of  cog 

Chiel,  or  cheel,  a  young  fellow    Coila,   from  Kyle,  a  district  of 
Chimla,  or  chimlie,  a  fii-egrale,      Ayrshire,  so  called,  suith  tra- 

fire  place  dition,  from  Coil,  or  Coilus,  a 

Chimla-lug,  the  fire-side  Pictish  monarch 

Chitiering,  shivering,  trembling  Collishangie,  quarreling 
Chockin,  choakmg  Collie,  a  certain  species  of  dogs 

Chow,  to  chew  ;  cheek  fov  chow,  Commaun,  command 

side  by  side  Cood,  the  cud 

ChufHe,  fat  fuced  Coof,  a  blockhead  a  ninny 

Clach.ji,  s  small  village  about  a  Cookit,  appeared,  and disappear- 

church,  a  hamlet  ed  by  fits 

Claise,  or  claes,  cloaths  Coost,  did  cast 

Claith,  cloth  Coot,  the  ankle  or  foot 

Claithing,  cloathing  Cootie,  a  wooden  kitchen  dish — 

Claivers,  nonsense,  not  speaking      also  those  fowls  vjhose  legs  are 

sense  clad  'with  feathers  are  said  to  be 

Clap,  clapper  of  a  mill  coolie 

Clarkii,  wrote  Corbies,  a  species  of  the  crow 

Clash,  an  idle  tale,  the  story  of  Core,  corps,  party,  clan 

the  day  Corn't,  fed  with  oats 

Clatter,  to  tell  Utile  stories,  an  Cotter,  the  inhabitant  of  a  cot- 

idle  story  hotise  or  cottage 

Clar  i^ht  saatched  at,  laid  hold  of  Couthie,  kind,  loving 
Claut,  to  clean,  to  scrape  Cove,  a  cove 

Ciauted,  scraped  Cowe,  to  terrify,  to  keep  under, 

claw,  to  scratch  to  lop  ;  a  fright,  a  branch  of 

clad,  cloaihed  furze,  broom,  &c. 

Cleckii,  having  caught  Cowp,  to  barter,  to  tumble  over, 

Clinkin,  jerking-,  clinking  a  gang 

Clinkumbell,     who     rings    the  Cowpit,  tumbled 

church  bell  Cow'r,  cower,  to  stoop  under  a 

Clips,  sheers  shelter 


40*3 

Cowrin,  shrinking  with  fear  Crously,  cheerfully,  courage- 
Cowte,  a  colt  ously 

Cozie,  anug  Crowclie,  a  composition  of  oat- 

Cozily,  snugly  meal,  and  cold  water 

Crabbit  crabbed,  fretful  Crowdietime,  breakfast  time,  as 

Crack,  conversation,  to  converse  we  say  mush-time,  when  some- 
Cracking,-  conversing  thing  better  than  mush  is  ex- 
Craft,  or  croft,  a  field  near  a     pected 

house,  in  old  Jmsbandry  Crowlin,  crawling 

Craiks,  cries  or  calls  incessantly,  Crummock,  a  cow  with  crooked 

a  bird  horns 

Crambo-clink,  or  crambo-jingle.  Crump,  hard  and  brittle,  spoken 

rhymes,  doggrel  verses  of  bread 

Crank,  the  noise  of  an  ungreasedCrunt,  a  blow  on  the  head  with 

wheel  a  cudgel 

Crankons,  fretful,  captious  Culf,  a  blockhead,  a  ninny 

Cranreuch,  the  hoar  frost  Cummock,  a  short  stafF'with  a 

Crap,  a  «rop,  to  crop  crooked  head 

Craw,  a  crow  of  a  cock,  a  rook  Curchie,  a  curtsey 
Creel,    a  basket;  to  have  o?ie'5 Curler,  a  player  at  a  game  on 

-ivits  in  a  creel,  to  be  craz'd,  to      the  ice,  practised  in  Scotland 

be  fascinated  called  curling 

Creeshie,  g-reasy  Curlie,  curled,  whose  hair  falls 

Crood,   or  croud,   to  coo  as   a      naturally  in  ringlets 

dove  _  Curling  a  well  known  game  on  ice 

Croon,  a  hollow  and  continued  Curmurring,  murmuring,  a  sliglit 

moan  ;  to  make  a  noise  like      rumbling  noise 

the  continued  roar  of  a  bull ;  Gurpin,  a  crupper 

to  hum  a  tune  Cushat,   the  dove,    or  wood  pi- 

Crooning,  humming  geon 

Crouchie,  crook-backed  Cutty,  short,  a  spoon  broken  in 

Crouse,  cheerful,  courageous  the  middle 

D 

X)ADDIE,  a  father  Davoc,  David 

Daffin,  merriment,  foolishness     Dawd,  a  large  piece 

Daft,  merry,  giddy,  foolish  Uawtit,  or  dawtet,    fondled,  ca*. 

Daimen,  rare,  now  and  then,  dai-      ressed 

7ne7i-icker,  an  ear  of  corn  now  Dearies,  dimin.  of  dears 

and  then  Dearthfu',  dear 

Dain  y,  pleasant,  good  humour-  Deave,  to  deafen 

ed,  agreeable  Deil-ma-care  !  no  matter  !  for  all 

Dales,  plains,  vallies  that ! 

Darkhns,  darkling  Deleerit,  delirious 

Daud,  to  thrash,  to  abuse  Descrive,  to  describe 

Daur,  to  dare  Dight,  to  wipe,  to   *clean  corn 

Daurt,  dared  from  chaff 

Daurg,  or  daurk,  a  day's  laboor  Dight,  cleaned  from  chaff 


404 

Blnna,  do  not  Downa,  am  or  are  not  able,  can 

Ding-,  to  worst,  to  push  not 

Dirl,  a  slight  tremulous  stroke  Doylt,  stupid 

or  pain  Drap,  a  drop,  to  drop 

Dizzen,  or  diz'n,  a  dozen  Drapping,  dropping 

Doited,  stupified,  Dreep,  to  ooze  to  drop 

Dolt,  stupified,  crazed  Dreigh,  tedious,  long  about  \i 

Donsie,    weakness   in   body  or  Driddle,  drizzling,  slaver 

mind  Drift,  a  drove 

Dool,  sorrow,  fo  sinj  dool,  to  la-  Droddum,  the  breech 

ment,  to  mourn  Drone,  part  of  a  bag-pipe 

Doos,  doves  Droop,  rumpl't,  that  droops  at 

Dorty,  saucy,  nice  the  crupper 

Douce,  or  douse,  sober,   wise,  Droukit,  wet 

prudent  Draunting,  drawling 

Doucely,  soberly,  prudently         Drouth,  thirst,  drought 
Dought,  was  or  were  able  Drucken,  drunken 

Doup,  backside  Drumly,  muddy 

Doup-skelper,  one  that  strikes  Drummock,    meal    and    water, 

the  tail  mixed  raw 

Doure,  stout,  durable,  stubborn,  Drunt,  pet,  sour  humour 

sullen  Dub,  a  small  pond 

Dour  and  din,  sullen,  and  slow    Duds,  rags,  clothes 
Douser,  more  prudent  Duddie,  ragged 

Dow,  am  or  are  able,  can  l^^'ng's  worsted,  pushed,  driven 

DowfF,  pithless,  wanting  force      Dunl,  boxt 
Dowie,  worn  with  grief  fatigue,  Dush,  to  push  at  a  ram,  &c 

&c.  half  asleep  Dusht,  pushed  by  a  ram,  ox,  £i^ 

E 

E'E,  the  eye  En*,  end 

Een,  the  eyes  Enbrugh,  Edinburgh 

E'enen,  evening  Eneugh,  enough 
Eerie,  frighted,  dreading  spirits  Especial,  especially 

Eild,  old  age  Ettle,  to  try,  attempt 

Elbuck,  the  elbow  Eydent,  diligent 
Eldritch,  ghastly,  frightful 


FA',  fall,  lot  to  fall  Fairin,  a  fairing,  a  present 

Fa's,  does  fall,  watei-falls  Fallow,  fellow 

Faddom*t  fathomed  Fund,  did  find 

Fae,  a  foe  Farl,  a  cake  of  bread 

Faem,  foam  Fash,  trouble,  care,  to  trouble; 

Faiket,  unknown  to  care  for 


405 


Fasht,  troubled 
Fastereen-een,  Fasten's  Even 
Fould,  a  fold,  to  fold 
Faulding,  folding 
Faut,  fault 

Fawsont,  decent,  seemly 
Feal,  a  turf  or  sod 
Fearfu'  frightful 
Fear'i,  frighted 
Feat,  neat,  spruce 
Fecht,  to  fight 
Fechtin,  fighting 
Feck,  many,  plenty 
Fecket,  waistcoat 
Feckfu',  large,  brauny,  stout 
Feckless,  puny,  weak,  silly 
Feckly,  weakly 
a  fig 


Fletherin,  flattering 
Fley,  to  scare,  to  frighten 
Flichter,    to   flutter,    as  young 
nestlings,  when  their  dam  ap-» 
proaches 
Flickering,  to  meet,  to  encount- 
er with 
Flinders,  sherds,  broken  pieces 
Flingin-tree,  a  piece  of  timber 
hung  by  way  of  partition  be- 
tween two  horses  in  a  stable, 
a  flail 
Flisk,  to  fret  at  the  yoke 
Fliskit,  fretted 
Flitter,  to  vibrate  like  the  wings 

of  jSmall  birds 
Flittering,  fluttering,  vibrating 
Flunkie,  a  servant  in  ILvery 
Foord,  a  ford 


Feg,        _ 

Feide,  feud,  enmity 

Fell,  keen,  biting ;  the  flesh  Im-  Forbears,  forefathers 

mediately  under  the  skin,  a  Forbye,  besides 

field  pretty  level,  on  the  side  Forfairn,  distressed,  worn  out, 

or  top  of  a  hill  jaded 

Fend,  to  live  comfortably  Forfoughten,  fatigued 

Fen,  subsisting  with  some  difl^- Forgather,  to  meet,  to  encount- 

culty  er  with 

Fell,  soft  smooth  Forgie,  to  forgive 

Ferlie,   or  ferly,  to  wonder  ;  a  Forjesket,  jaded  with  fatigue 

wonder,  a  term  of  contempt     Fother,  fodder 
Fetch,  to  bring  Fou',  full,  drunk 

Fetch't,  brought,  or  did  bring    Foughten,  troubled,  harrassed 
Fidge,  to  fidget  Fouth,  plenty,  enough,  or  more 

Fient,  fiend,  a  petti/ oath  than  enough 

Fier,  sound,  healthy ;  a  brother,  Fow,  a  bushel,  &c.  also  a  pitch- 

a  friend  fork 

Fisle,  to  make  a  rustling  noise,  Frae,  from 

to  fidget,  a  bustle  Freath- froth 

Fit,  a  foot  Frien',  friend 

Fittie-lan,  the  near  horse  of  the  Fu'  full 

hindni  ist  pair  in  the  plough     Fud,  the  scut,  or  tail  of  the  hare. 
Fizz,  to  make  a  hissing  noise,      cony,  &c. 

like  fermentation  Faff,  to  blow 

Fhiinen,  flannel  Fuff't,  did  blow 

Fleech,  to  supplicate  in  a  flatter-  Funnie,  full  of  merriment 


ing  manner 
Fleechin,  supplicating 
Fleech'd,  supplicated 
Fleesh,  a  fleece 
Fleg,  a  kick,  a  random  blow 


Fur,  a  furrow 

Furm,  a  form,  bench 

Fyke,  trifling  cares  ;  to  piddle, 

to  be  in  a  fuss  about  trifles 
Fyle,  to  soil,  to  dirty 


Flether,  to  decoy  by  fair  words  Fyl't,  soiled,  dirtied 


400 

G 

GAB,  the  moutli,  to  speak  bold-  Glaizie,  glittering,  smooth  like 

ly,  or  pertly  a  glass 

Gaber-lunzie,  an  old  man  Glaum'd,  aimed,  snatched 

Gadsma,   plough-boy,  the    boy  Gleek,  sharp,  ready 

that  drives  the  horses  in  the  Gleib,  glebe 

plough  Glen,  dale,  deep,  ralley 

Gae,  to  go  ;  gaed,  went ;  gaen,  Gleg,  sharp,  i-eady 

gane,  gone,  going  Gley,  a  squint,  to  squint !  off 

Gaet  or  gate,  way,  manner,  road     a  side,  wrong 
Gang,  to  go,  to  walk  Glig-gabbet,  that  speaks  smooth - 

Gar,  to  make,  to  force  to  1  y  and  readily 

Gar't,  forced  to  Glint,  to  peep 

Garten,  a  garter  Glinted,  peeped 

Gash,  wise,  sagacious,  talkative  Glintin,  peeping 

to  converse  Gloamin,  the  twilight 

Gashin,  conversing  Glowr,  to  stare,  to  look,  a  stare, 

Gaucy,  jolly,  large  a  look 

Gear,  riches,  goods  of  any  kind  Glowred,  looked,  stared 
Geek,  to  toss  the  head  in  wan-  Gowan,  wild  daisy 

tonness,  or  scorn  Gowany  glens,  daisied,  dales 

Ged,  a  pike  Gowd,  gold 

Gentles,  great  folks  GowfF;  to  strike  as  the  bat  does 

Geordie,  a  guinea  the  ball,  at  golf 

Get,  a  child,  a  young  one  Gowff'd,  struck 

Ghaist,  a  ghost  Gowk,  a  cuckoo,  a  term  of  con 

Gie,  to  give  ;  gied,  gave  ;  gien,      tempt 

given  Gowl,  to  howl 

Giftie,dimin.  of  gift  Grane,    or  grain,    a   groan,    , 

Giglets,  playful  girls  groan 

Gilie  dimin.  of  gill  Grain'd,  groaned 

Gilpey,  a  half  grown,  half  in- Graining,  groaning 

formed  boy  or^irl,  a  romping  Grained  and  Gaunted,  groaned, 

lad,  a  hoyden  and  grunted 

Glmmer,  an  ewe  from  one  to  two  Graip,  a  dung-fork 

years  old  Graith,  harness  for  draught  cat- 

Gin,  if,  against  tie 

Gipsey,  a  travelling  vagabond,  Grannie,  grandmother 

term  of  contempt  Grape,  to  grope 

Girn,  to  grin,  to  twist  the  fea-  Grapit,  groped 

tures  in  rage,  agony,  &c.  Grat,  wept,  shed  tears 

Girning,  grinning  Grat,  intimate,  familiar 

Gizz,  a  periwig  Gree,  to    agree  ;    to   bear    the 

Glaikit,  inattentive,  foolish  gree,  to  be  decidedly  victor 

Glaive,  a  sword  Grec't,  agreed 

Gawky,  half  witted,  fooUish         Greetin,  crying,  weeping 


407 

Gripetj  catched,  seized  Guid,  good 

Groat,  four  pence  sterling  Guid-mornin,  good  movrow 

Grounsome,  loathsomely,  grim     Guid-ee'n,  good  evening 

Grozet,  a  goosberry  Guidman  and  guidwife,  the  mas- 

Grumph,  a  grunt,  to  grunt  ter  and  mistress  of  the  house ; 

Grumphie,  a  sow  young  guidman,  a  man  newly 

Grun's  ground  married 

Grunstane,  a  grindstone  Guidfather,  Guidmother,  father- 

Gruntle,  the  phiz,    a  grunting     in-law,  and  mother-in-law 

noise  Gulravage,  running  in  a  confus- 

Grunzie,  mouth  ed  manner,    like  boys  when 

Grushie,     thick,      of    thriving      leaving  school 

growth  Gully,  or  gullie,  a  large  knife 

GuDE,  THE  SUPREME  BEING  ;  Gumlie,  muddy 

good  Gusty,  tasteful 

H 

IIA*  hall  Han*,  or  Haun,  hand 

Ha'  bible,  the  great  bible  that  Hap,  an  outer  garment,  mantle, 

lies  in  the  hall  plaid,  &c. 

Hae,  to  have  to  wrap,  to  cover,  to  hap 

Haen,  had  the  participle  Happer,  hopper 

Hact,  fient  head,  a  petty  oath,  Happmg,  hopping 

of  negation,  nothing  Hap  step  an'  loup,  hop  skip  and 

Haffet,  the  temple,  the  side  of     leap  ^ 

the  head  Harkit,  hearkened 

IlafRins  nearly  half,  partly  Harn,  very  coarse  linen 

Hag,  a  scar,  or  ;gulf  in  mosses  Hash,    a    fellow    that    neither 

and  moors  knows  how  to  dress  nor  act 

Haggis,  a  kind  of  pudding  boil-     with  propriety 

ed  in  the  stomach  of  a  cow  or  Hastit,  hastened 

sheep  Haud,  to  hold 

Hain,  to  spare,  to  save  Haughs  ;  low  lying,  rich  lands.; 

Hain'd  spared  valleys 

Hairst,  harvest  Haurl,  to  drag,  to  peel 

Haith,  a  petty  oath  Haurlin,  peeling 

Haivers,     nonsense,     speaking  Haverel,  a  half-witted  person, 

without  thought  half-witted 

Hal',  or  hald,  an  abiding  place    Havins,  good  manners,  decorum 
Hale,  whole,  tight,  healthy  with  good  sense 

Hame,  home  Hawkie,   a   cow,    properly  one 

Hallan,  a  partition  wall  in  a  cot-      with  a  white  face 

tage  Heapit,  heaped 

Hallowmas,  Hallow-eve,  the  31st  Healsome,  healthful,  wholesome 

of  October  Hearse,  hoarse 

Haly,  holy  Hear't,  hear  it 

Hamely,  homeljr,  affable  Heather,  heath 


408 

Hech  !  oh !  strang-e  Hog-shoiither,  a  kind  of  horse 

Hecht,  promised,  or  making  one     play,    by   josUing    with    the 

to  expect  shoulder;  to  jostle 

Hecht,  offered  Hool,  outer  skin  or  case,  a  nu"^ 

Heckle,   a  well  known  instru-     shell,  pease  swad 

ment  for  dressing  hemp   or  Hoolie,  slowly,  leisurely 

flax  Hoolie  !  take  leisure,  stop 

Heeze,  to  elevate,  to  raise  Hoord,  a  hoard  ;  to  hoard 

Helm,  the  rudder  or  helm  Hoordet  hoarded 

Herd,  to  tend  flocks,  one  who  Horn,  a  spoon  made  of  horn 

tends  flocks  Hornie,  one  of  the  many  names 

Herrin,  a  herring  of  the  devil 

Kerry,  to  plunder,  most  properly  Host,  or  hoast,  to  cough 

to  plunder  birds  nests  Hostin,  coughing 

Herryment,  plundering  devasta-  Hotch'd,  turned  topsey-turvc; 

tion  blended,  mixed 

Ilersel,  herself,  also  a  herd  of  Houghmagandie,  fornication 

cattle,  of  any  sort  Houlet,  or  Howlet,  an  owl 

Het,  hot  Housie,  dimin.  of  liouse 

Heugh,  a  crag,  a  coal-pit  Hove,  to  heave,  to  swell 

Hilch,  a  hobble,  to  halt  Hov'd,  heaved,  swelled 

Hilchi«i  halting  Howdie,  a  midwife 

Himsel,  himself  Howe,  hollow,  a  hollow  or  dell 

Hing,  to  hang  Howebackit  sunk  in  the  back 

Hiney,  honey  spoken  of  a  horse,  See. 

Hirple,  to  walk  crazily,  to  creep  Howfl*,  a  place  of  resort 
Hirsel,  so  many  cattle  as  one  Howk,  to  dig 

person  can  attend  Howkit,  digged 

JUslie,  dry,  chapt,  barren  Howkin,  digging 

Hitcht,  a  loop,  a  knot  Hoy,  to  urge 

Hizzie,  hussy,  a  young  girl  Hoy't,  urged 

Hoddin,  humble  dress  Hoyse,  a  pull  upwards 

Hoddin  Gray,  a  kind  of  coarse  Hoyte,  to  amble  crazily 

clotli  Hughoc,  dimin.  of  Hugh 

Hog-score,  a  kind  of  distance  Hurcheon,  a  hedgehog 

line,  in  curling,  drawn  across  Hurdies  the  lions,  the  crupper 

the  rink  Hushion,  cushion 


I',  in  niggardly 

Icker,  an  ear  of  com  Inginc,  genius,  ingenuity 

ler-oe,  a  great  grand-child  Ingle,  fire,  fire-place 

Ilk,  or  Ilka,  each,  every  Ise,  I  shall  or  will 

Ill-willie,illnatured,  maliciously,  Ither,  other,  one  another 


409 


J  AD,  Jade ;  also  a  familiar  term      a  sudden  turning,  a  corner 
among  country  folks  for  a  gid-  Jinker,  that  turns  quickly,  a  gay 
dy  young  girl  sprightly  girl,  a  wag 

Jauk,  to  dally,  to  trifle  Jinkin,  dodging 

Jaukin,  trifling,  dallying  Jirt,  a  jerk 

Jaup,  a  jerk  of  water ;  to  jerk  Jocteleg,  a  folding  knife 

as  agitated  water  Jouk,  to  stoop,  to  bow  the  head 

Jaw,  coarse  raillery,  to  pour  out,     to 

to  shut,  to  jerk  as  water  Jow,  to  jow,  a  verb  which  in- 

Jillet,  a  jilt,  a  giddy  girl  eludes  both  the  swinging  mo- 

Jimp,  to  jump,    slender  in  the      tion  und  pealing  sound  of  a 

waist,  handsome  large  bell 

Jink,  to  dodge,  to  turn  a  corner,  Jundie,  to  justle 

K 

KA.E,  a  daw  Kintra-cooser,  country  stallion 

Kail,  colewort,  a  kind  of  broth     Kirn,  the  harvest  supper,  a  churn 
Kail-runt,  the  stem  of  colewort  Kirsen,  to  christen,  to  baptize 
Kain,  fowls,  Sec.  paid  as  rent  by  Kist,  chest,  a  shop,  counter 

a  farmer  Kitchen,    any  thing    that    eats 

Kebbuck,  a  cheese  with  bread,  to  serve  for  soup, 

Keek,  a  peep,  to  peep  gravy,  &c. 

Kelpies,   a  sort  of  mischievous  Kith,  knidred 

spirits,   said  to   haunt   fords.  Kittle,  to  tickle,  ticklish,   diflJ- 

and  ferries  at  night,  especially      cult 

in  storms  Kittlin,  a  young  cat 

Ken,  to  know,   kend   or  ken't,  Kuittle,  a  kind  embrace,  to  hug 

knew  Kuittlin  eiTibracing,  hugging 

Kenuin,  a  small  matter  Knaggie,   like  knags,  or  points 

Kenspeckle,  well  known  of  rocks 

Ket,  carrion  of  any  kind  Knappin,  hammer,  a  hammer  for 

Kiaugh.  carking,  anxiety  breaking  stones 

Kilt,  to  truss  up  the  clothes         Knowe,  a  small  round  hillock 
Kimmer,  a  young  girl,  a  gossip    Kauri,  dwarf 
Kin',  kindred  Kye,  cow 

Km',  kind  Kyle,  a  district  in  Ayrshire 

King's-hood,  a  certain  part   of Kyte,  the  belly 

the  entrails  of  an  ox,  &;c,         Kythe  to  discover,  to  shew  one's 
Kintra,  country  self 


LADDIE,  dimin.  of  lad  side  and  bottom  of  a  woodea 

Laggen,  the  angle  between  the     dish 

Nn 


4iO 


Laigb,  low 

Lairing-  wading-  and  sinking  in 
snow,  mud,  &c. 

Laitb,  loath 

Laithfu',  bashful,  sheepish 

Lallans,  Scottish  dialect 

Lambie»  dimin.  of  lamb 

Limpit,  a  kind  of  shellfish 

Lan',  land,  estate 

Lane,  lone,  my  lane,  thy  lane,  he. 
myself  alone 

Lanely,  lonely 

Lang,  long-,  to  think  lang-,  to 
long-,  to  wear\ 

Lap,  did  leap 

Lave,  the  rest,  the  remainder, 
the  others 

I>averock,  the  lark 

Lawlan,  lowland 

Lawn,  shot,  reckoning  bill 

Lea'e,  to  leave 

Leal,  loyal,  true  faithful 

L-  ar,  lare,  learning 

Lea-rig,  grassy  ridge 

Leesome,  pleasant 

Lse-lang,  live-long 

Leeze  me,  a  phrase  of  congratu- 
latory endearment,  I  am  hap- 
py in  thee,  or  proud  of  tliee 

Leister,  a  gig,  or  three  prong'd 
barb'd  dart  for  striking  fishes 

Leugh,  did  laugh 

Leuk,  a  look,  to  look 

Libbet,  gelded 

Lift,  sky 

Liglitly,  sneeringly,  to  sneer  at 


Lilt,  a  ballad,  a  tune,  to  sing 
Limmer,    a    kept    mistress,     a 

strumpet 
Limp't,  hmped,  hobbled 
Link,  to  trip  along 
Linkin,  tripping 
Linn,  a  waterfall 
Linn,  a  precipice 
Lint,  flax,  lint  i'  the  bell,  flax  in 

flower 
Lintwhite,  a  linnet 
Loan,   or  loanin,   the   place  of 

milking 
Loof,  the  palm  of  the  hand 
Loot,  did  let 
Looves,  plural  of  loof 
Loun,  a  fellow  ;  a  ragamuffin,  a 

woman  of  easy  virtue 
Loup,  jump,  leap 
Lowe,  a  flame 
Lowin,  flaming 
Lowrie,    abbreviation  of   Law 

rence 
Lowse,  to  loose 
Lows'd,  loosed 
Lug,  the  ear,  a  handle 
Lugget,  having  a  handle 
Luggie,  a   small   wooden   dish 

with  a  handle 
Lum,  the  chimney 
Lunch,  a  large  piece  of  cheese, 

flesh,  &c. 
Lunt,  a  column  of  smoke,    to 

smoke 
Luntin,  smoaking 
Lyart,  of  a  mixed  colour,  grey 


M 


MAE,  more  in  number 

Mailen,  farm 
Mair,  more  in  quantity 
Maist,  most,  almost 
Maistly,  mostly 
Mak,  to  make 
Makin,  making 
Mallie,  Molly 
JMang,  among 


Manse,  the  parsonage  house, 
whei'e  the  minister  lives 

Manteele,  a  mantle 

Mark,  marks.  This  and  several 
other  nouns  which  in  English 
require  an  s,  to  form  the  plu- 
ral, are  in  Scotch,  like  the 
words  sheep,  deer,  the  same 
in  both  numbers 


411 


aiar's  year,  the  year,  1715  Miiid't,  mind  it,  resolved,  iu- 

Mashlum,  meslin,   mixed   corn      tending  *  ■ 

Mask,  to  mash  as  malt,  &c.          Minnie,  mother,  dam 


Maskin-pat,  a  tea-pot 
Maukin,  a  hare 
Maun,  must 
Mavis,  the  thrush 
Maw,  to  mow 
Mawin,  mowing 
Meere,  a  mare 
Meickle  much 
Melancholious,  mournful 


Mirk,  or  mirkest,  dark,  darkest 

Misca,  to  abuse,  to  call  names 

Misca'd,  abused 

Mislear'd,  mischievous,  unman- 
nerly 

Misteuk,  mistook 

Mither,  a  mother 

Mixtie-maxtie,  confusedly  mix- 
ed 


Melder,  corn,   or  grain   of  any  Moi  stify;  to  moisten 
kind  sent  to  the   mill  to  be  Mony,  or  monie,  many 
ground  Moop,  to  nibble  as  a  sheep 

Mell,  to  meddle.     Also  a  mallet Moorlan,   of   or    belonging    to 
for  pounding  barley  in  a  stone      moors 

trough  Morn,  the  next  day,  to-morrow 

Melvie,  to  soil  with  meal  Mou,  the  mouth 

Men',  to  mend  Moudiwort,  a  mole 

Mense,  good  manners,  decorum  Mousie,  dimin.  of  mouse 
Menseless,  ill-bred,  rude,  impu-  Muckle,  or  mickle,  great,  big, 

dent  much 

Messin,  a  small  dog  Musie,  dimin.  of  muse 

Midden,  a  dunghill  Muslin-kail,     broth     composed 

Midden,-hole,  a  gutter    at  the     simplyof  water,  shelled  barley 

bottom  of  a  dunghill  and  greens 

Mim,  prim,  affectedly  Mutchkin,  an  English  pint 

Min',  mind,  remembrance  Mysel,  myself 


N 


NA',  No,  not,  nor 

Nae,  no,  not  any 

Naething,  or  naithing,  nothing 

Naig,  a  horse 

Nane,  none 

Nappy,  ale,  to  be  tipsy 

Negleckit,  neglected 

Neebor,  neighbour 

Neuk,  nook 

Neives,  or  Nieve,  fists 

Niest,  next 


Nievefu*,  handful 

NifFer,  an  exchange,  to  exchange, 

to  barter 
Niger,  a  negro 

Nine-tailed-cat,  hangman's  whip 
Nit,  a  nut 
NorUnd,  of  or  belonging  to  the 

north 
Noise 't,  noticed 
Nowte,  black  cattle 


412 


o 

0%  Of  Oursel,  or  oursels,  ourselves 

Ochels,  name  of  mountains  Outlers,  cattle  not  housed 

O  haith,  O  faith  1  an  oath  Ovver,  over,  too 

Ony,  or  onie,  any  Ower-hip,  a  way  of  fetching  a 

Or,  is  often  used  for  ere,  before     blow  with  the  hammer  over 

O't,  of  it  the  arm 

Ourie,  shivering,  drooping 


PACK,  intimate, familiar,  twelve  Plackless,    pennyless,    without 

stone  of  wool  money 

Painch,  a  tripe  Platie,  dimin.  of  plate 

Paitrick,  a  partridge  Plew,  or  pleugh,  a  plough 

Pang,  to  cram  Pllskie,  a  trick 

Parlie,  speech  Poind,  to  seize  on  cattle,  or  take 

Parritch,  oatmeal  pudding  a  well     the   goods,    as    the  laws    of 

known  Scotch  dish  *  Scotland  allow  for  rent 

Pat,  did  put,  a  pot  Poortith,  poverty 

Pattle,  or  pettle,  a  plough-staff  Pou,  to  pull 
Paughty,  proud,  haughty  Pouk,  to  pluck 

Paiiky,  or  pawkie,  cunning,  sly    Poussie,  a  hare,  or  cat 
Pay't,  paid,  beat  Pout,  a  polt,  a  chick 

Fech,  to  fetch  the  breath  short,  Pou't,  did  pull 

as  in  an  asthma  Pouthery,  like  powder 

Pechan,  the  crop,  the  stomach     Pow,  the  head,  the  skull 
Peelin,  peeling  Pownie,  a  little  horse 

Pet,  a  domesticated  sheep,  Etc.    Powther,  or  pouther,  powder 
Philibegs,  short  petticoats  worn  Preen,  a  pin 

by  the  Highlandmen  Prent,  printing 

Phraise,  fair  speeches,  flattery,  Prie,  to  taste 
to  flatter  -       Prie'd,  tasted 

Phraisin,  flattery  Prief,  proof 

Pickle,  a  small  quantity  Pi'ig,  to  cheapen,  to  dispute 

Pine,  pain  uneasiness    '     .^       Priggin,  cheapening 
Pit,  to  put  "".^       Primsie,  demure,  precise 

Placad,  a  public  proclama^n,  to  Propone,  to  lay  down,  to  pro- 
publish  publicly  pose 
Plack,  an  old  Scotch   coin,  the  Proveses,  provosts 
3d  part  of  a  Scotch  penny,  ISPund,  pound,  pounds 
of   which   make  an    English  Pyle,  a  pyle  o'  caff,   a  single 
penny  grain  of  chaff. 


413 


QUAT,  to  quit 
Quak,  to  quake 


Quey,  a  cow  from  one  to  two 
years  old 


R 


RAGWEED,  herb  ragwort  Restrickecl,  restricted 

Raible,  to  rattle  nonsense  Rew,  repent 

Rair,  to  roar  Rief,  Reef,  plenty 

Raize,  to  madden,  to  inflame       Rief  randies,  sturdy  beggars 

Ram-feezl'd,  disordered  by  over-  Rig,  a  ridge 

fatigue  Rin,  to  run,  to  melt ;  rinin,  run- 

Ram-stam,  thoughtless,  forward      ning 
Raploch,  properly  a  coarse  cloth,  Rink,  the  course  of  the  stones,  a 

but   used    as  an   adnoun   for     term  in  curling  on  ice 

coarse  Rip,    a   handful  of  unthreshed 

Rarely,  excellently,  very  well         corn 
Rash,  a  rush,  rash-buss,  a  bush  Riskit,   made  a  noise   like  the 

of  rushes  -        tearing  of  roots 

Ration,  a  rat  Rood,    stands  likewise  for  the 

Raucle,  rash,  stout,  fearless  plural  roods 


R aught,  reached 

Haw,  a  row 

Rax.  to  stretch 

Rax'd,  stretched 

Ream,  cream,  to  cream 

Rcamin,  brimful,  frothing 

Reave,  rove 

Reck,  to  heed 

Rede,  counsel,  to  counsel 


Roon,  a  shred 

Roose,  to  praise,  to  commend 

Roun',  round,  in  the  circle  of 

neighbourhood 
Roupet,  hoarse,  as  with  a  cold 
Routhie,  plentiful 
Routh  o'  gaer,  plenty  of  goods 
Runkled,  wrinkled 
Row,  to  roll,  to  wrap 


Red-wat-shod,  walking  in  blood  Rovv't,  rolled,  wrapped 


over  the  shoe  tops 
Red-wud,  stark  mad 
Ree,  half  drunk,  fuddled 
Reek,  smoke 
Reekin,  smoking 
Reekit,  smoked,  smoky 
Remead,  remedy 
Requite,  requited 
Rest,  to  stand  restive 
Restit,   stood   restive,   stunted, 

^'ilhered 


Rowte,  to  low  to  bellow 

Rowth,  plenty 

Rowtin,  lowing 

Rozet,  rosin 

Rung,  a  cudgel 

Runt,  the  stem  of  colwort  or 

cabbage 
Runkled,  wrinkled 
Ruth,  a  woman's  name,  the  book 

so  called ;  sorrow 


Nn  2 


*S 


414 


S 


SAE,  so 

Saft,  soft 

Sail-,  to  serve,  a  sore 

S airly,  or  sairlie,  a  sore 

Sair't,  served 

Sark,  a  shirt 

Sarkit,  provided  in  shirts 

Saugh,  the  willow 

Saul,  soul 

Saumont,  salmon 

Saunt,  a  saint 

Saut,  salt 

Saw,  to  sow 

Sawm,  sowing 

Sax,  six 

Scar,  to  scare,  a  scare 


Shangan,  a  stick  cleft  at  one  end 
for  putting"  the  tail  of  a  dog, 
&c.  into,  by  way  of  mischief, 
or  to  frighten  him  away 

Shaver,  a  humourous  wag,  a  bar- 
ber 

Shaw,  to  shew,  a  small  wood  in 
a  hollow  place 

Shearers,  reapers 

Sheep-shank,  to  think  one's  self 
nae  sheep-shank  to  be  conceited 

Sherra-moor,  sherrifF-moor,  the 
famous  battle  fousj'lii  in  the 
Rebellion.  A.  D.  1715 

Shough,  a  ditch,  a  trench,  a 
sluice 


Scaith,  to  damage,  to  injure,  in-Shiel,  a  shed 


jury 
Scaud,  to  scald 
Scauld,  to  scold 
Scaur,  apt  to  be  scared 
Scawl,  a  scold 
Scon,  a  kind  of  bread 
Sconner,  a  loathing,  to  lothe 
Scraich,   to  screamj   a 

partridge,  &c. 
Screed,  to  tear,  a  rent 
Scrieve,  to  glide  swiftly  along 
Scrievin,  gleesomely,  swiftly 
Scrimp,  scant 
Scrimpet,  scanty 
See'd,  did  see 
Seizen,  seizing 
Sel,  self,  a  body's  sel,  one's  self, 

alone 
Sell't,  did  sell 
Sen',  to  send 
Sen't,  I,  he,  or  she  sent,  or  did 


Shill,  shrill 

Shog,  a  shock,  a  push,  off  at  one 

side 
Shool,  a  shovel 
Shoon,  shoes 

Shore,  to  offer,  to  threaten 
S  hor'd,  offered 
hen,  Shouther,  the  shoulder 
Sic,  such 

Sicker,  sure,  steady 
Sidelins,  sidelong,  slanting 
Siller,  silver,  money 
Simmer,  summer 
Sin,  a  sou 
Sin',  since 
Skaith,  to  damage,  to  injure,  iii 

jury 
Skellum,  a  worthless  fellow 
Skelp.  to  strike,  to  slap  ;  to  walk 

with  a  smart  tripping  step  ;   a 

smart  stroke 


send,  send  it  Skelpi-llmmer,  a  technical  term 

Servan',  servant,  in  female  scolding 

Settlin,  settling  ;  to  get  a  setlin,  Skelpin,  walking  smartly 

to  be  frighted  into'  quietness    Skiegh,  proud,  nice,  high  mettled 
Sets,  sets  off,  goes  away  Skinklin,  a  small  portion 

Shaird,  a  shred,  a  shard  Skirling,  shrieking,  crying 


415 

cin,  to  shriek,  to  cry  shrilly       Sough,  a  sig-h,  a  sound  dying  on 
Skiirt,  shrieked  the  ear 

Sklent,  slant,  to  run  aslant,  to  Sowansj  a  dish  made  of  thefari- 

deviate  from  truth  na  of  oats  extracted  by  means 

Sklented,  ran,  or  hit,  in  an  ob-      of  the  acitous  fermentation  and 

lique  direction  •  afterwards  sweetened   by  re- 

Skreigh,  a  scream,  to  scream  peated  washings,  boiled  up  to 

Slae,  sloe  the  consistence  of  a  pudding, 

Slude,  did  slide  and  eaten  with  milk,  &c. 

Slap,  a  gate,  a  breach  in  a  fence  Souple,  flexible,  swift 
Slaw,  slow  Souttr,  a  shoemaker 

Slee,  sly  ,  sleest,  slyest  SoM^p,  a  spoonful,  a  small  quan- 

Sleekit,  sleek,  sly  tity  of  any  thing  liquid 

Sliddery,  slippery  Sowth,  to  try  over  a  tune  with  a 

Slype,  to  fall  over,  as  a  wet  fur-     low  whistle 

row  from  the  plough  Sowther,  solder,  to   solder,  to 

Slypet,  fell  cement 

Sma%  small  Spae,  to  prophesy,  to  divine 

Smeddum,  dust,  powder,  mettle,  Spaul,  a  limb 

sense  Spairge,  to  dash,  to  soil,  as  with 

Smiddy,  a  smithy  mire. 

Smoor,  to  smother  Spates,  swollen  streams 

Smoor'd,  smothered  Spaviet,  having  the  spavin 

Smootie,  smutty,  obscene,  ugly  Speat,  a  sweeping  torrent,  after 
Smytrie,  a  numerous  collection      rain  or  thaw 

of  small  individuals  Speel,  to  climb 

Snapper,  stumble  Spence,  the  country  parlour 

Snash,  abuse,  Billingsgate  Spier,  to  ask,  to  inquire 

Snaw,  snow,  to  snow  Spier't,  inquired 

Snaw-broo,  melted  snow  Splatter,  a  splutter,  to  splutter 

Snawie,  snowy  Spleughan,  a  tobacco-pouch 

Sned,  to  lop,  to  cut  off  Rplore,  a  frolic,  noise,  a  riot 

Sneshin,  snuff  S prattle,  to  scramble 

Snesliin-mdl,  a  snuff-box  Spreckled,  spotted,  speckled 

Snell,  bitter,  biting  Spring,  a  quick  air  in  music,  a 

Sneck-drawing,  trick-contriving      Scottish  reel 
Sneck,  the  latchet  of  a  door  Sprit,  a  tough-rooted  plant,  sonie- 

Snool,  one  whose  spirit  is  broken      tiling  like  rushes 

with    oppressive    slavery;    to  Sprittie,  full  of  sprits 

submit  tamely,  to  sneak  Spunk,  fire,  mettle,  wit 

Snoove,  to  go  smoothly  and  con-  Spunkie,  mettlesome,  fiery;  will- 

stantly,  to  sneak  o-wisp,  or  ignis  fatuus 

Snook, to  scent  or  snuff,  as  a  dog  Spurtle,  a  stick  used  in  makin"* 

horse,  &c.  oat-meal  pudding  or  porridge, 

Snowkit,  scented,  snuffed  a  notable  Scotch  dish 

Sonsie,  having  sweet  engaging  Squad,  a  crew,  a  party 

looks  ;  lucky,  jolly  Squatter,  to  flatter  in  water,  as 

Soom,  to  swim  a  wild  duck,  &c. 

Sooth,  truthi  a  petty  oath  S^ualtle,  to  sprawl 


416 

Squeel,  a  scream,  a  screach,  to  Stocked,  made  up  in  shocks  as 

scream  corn 

Stacher,  to  stagger  Stoor,  sounding  hollow,  strong 

Stack,  a  rick  of  corn,  hay,  &c.  &  hoarse 

Staggie,  dimin.  of  stag  Stot,  an  ox 

Stalwart,  strong,  stout  Stoup,  or  stowp,  a  kind  of  jug 

Stant',  to  stand ;  stan*t,  did  stand      or  dish  with  a  handle 
Stane,  a  stone  Stoure,  dust,  more  particularly 

Stank,  did  stink,  a  pool  of  stand-      dust  in  motion 

ing  water  Stowlins,  by  stealth 

Stap,  stop  Stown,  stolen 

Stark,  stout  Stoyte,  stumble 

Startle,  to  run  as  cattle  stung  by  S  track,  did  strike 

the  gadfly  Strae,  straw  ;  to  die'a  fair  strap 

Staumrel,  a  blockhead,  halfwit-      death,  to  die  in  bed 

ted  Straik,  did  strike 

Staw,  did  steal,  to  surfeit  Straikit,  stroked 

Stech,  to  cram  the  belly  Strappan,  tall  and  handsome 

Stechin,  cramming  Straught,  straight 

Steek,  to  shut,  a  stich  Streek,  streiched,  to  stretch 

Steer,  to  molest,  to  stir  Striddle,  straddle 

Steeve,  firm,  compacted  Stroan,  to  spout,  to  piss 

Stell,  a  still  Studdie,  an  anvil  . 

Sten,  to  rear  as  a  horse  Stumpie,  dimin.  of  stump 

Sten't,  reared  Strunt,  spirituous  liquor  of  any 

Stents,  tribute,  dues  of  any  kind        kind  ;  to  walk  sturdily 
Stey,  steep  steyest,  steepest  Stuff,  corn  or  pulse  of  any  kind 

StibblCj  stubble,  stibble-rig,  the  Start,  trouble,  to  molest 

reaper  in  harvest  who  takes  Sturtin,  frighted 

the  lead  Sucker,  sugai^ 

Stick  an  stow,  totally,  altogether  Sud,  should 
Stilt,  a  crutch,  to  halt,  to  limp,  Sugh,    the    continued   rushing 

to  halt  noise  of  wind  or  water 

Stimpart,  the  eighth  part  of  a  Suthron,  southern,  an  old  name 

Winchester  bushel  for  the  English  nation 

Stirk,  a  cow  or  bullock  a  year  Swarf,  swoon 

old  Swaird,  sward 

Stock,  a  plant  or  root  of  cole- Swall'd,  swelled 

wort,  cabbage,  &c.  Swank,  stately,  jolly 

Stockin'  stocking  ;  throwing  the  Swankie  or  swanker,  tight  strap- 

stockin',  when   the  bride  and      pUng  young  fellow  or  girl 

bridegroom  are  put  into  bv:d,  Swap,  an  exchange,  to  barter 

and  the  candle  out,  the  former  Swat,  did  sweat 

throws  a  stocking  at  random  Swatch,  a  sample 

among  the  company,  ^and  the  Swats,  drink,  good  ale 

person  whom  it  strike's  is  the  Sweaten,  sweating 

next  that  will  be  married  Sweer,  extremely  averse 

Stock,  a  shock  of  any  kind  of  Swoor,  did  swear 

grain  Swinge,  to  beat,  to  whip 


4ir 

Swirlie,  knaggy,  full  of  knots       Swither,  to  hesitate  in  choice,  an 
Swirl,  a  curve,  an  eddying  blast,      irresolute  wavering  in  choice 

or  pool,  a  knot  in  wood  Syne,  since,  ago,  then 

Swith,  get  away 

T 

TACKETS,  a  kind  of  nails  for  Themsel,  themselves 

driving  into  the  heels  of  shoes  Thick,  intimate,  familiar 
Tae,  a  toe  ;   three  tae'd^  having  Thieveless,  cold,  dry,  tpohen  of 

three  prongs  a  persorCs  demeanor 

Tairge,  target  Thir,  these 

Tak,  to  takfe  ;  takin,  taking  Thirl,  to  thrill 

Tamtallan,  the  name  of  a  moun-  Thirled,  thrilled,  vibrated 

tain  Thole,  to  suffer,  to  endure 

Tangle,  a  sea  weed  Thowe,  a  thaw,  to  thaw 

Tap,  the  top  Thowless,  slack,  lazy 

Tapetless,  heedless,  foolish  Thrang,  throng,  a  crowd 

Tarrow,  to  murmur  at  one's  al-  Thrapple,  throat,  windpipe 

lowance  Thraw,  to  sprain,  to  twist,  t© 

Tarrow't,  murmured  contradict 

Tarry  breeks,  a  sailor  Thrawin,  twisting,  &c. 

Tauld,  or  tald,  told  Tlirawn,  sprained,  twisted 

Taupie,    a   foOlish  thoughtless  Threap,  to  maintain  by  dmt  of 

young  person  assertion 

Tauted,  or  tautie,  matted  toge-  Threshin,  thrashing 

thcr,  spoken  of  hair  or  loool       Threteen,  thirteen 
Tawie,  that  allows  itself  peacea-Thristle,  thistle 

bly  to  be  handled,  spoken  of  a  Through,  to  go  on  with,  to  make 

horse,  cotv,  t^c.  out 

Teat,  a  small  quantity  Throutber,  pell-mell,  confusedly 

Tedding,   spreading    after    the  Thud,  to  make  a  loud  intermit- 

mower  tent  noise 

Ten-hours-bite,  a  slight  feed  to  Thumpit,  thumped 

the  horses  while  in  the  yoke,  Thysel,  thyself 

in  the  forenoon  TilHt,  to  it 

Tent,  a  field  pulpit,  hed   cau-  Timmer,  timber 

tion,  to  take  heed  Tine,  to  lose  ;  tint,  lost 

Tentie,  heedful,  cautious  Tinkler,  a  tinker 

Tentless,  heedless  Tint,  the  gate,  lost  the  way 

Teugh,  tough  Tip,  a  ram 

Thack,  thatch,  thack  an*  rape,  Tippence,  two-pence 

clothing  necessaries  Tirl,  to  make  a  slight  noise,  to 

Thae,  these  uncover 

Thairms,      small-guts,     fiddle- Tirlin,  uncovering 

strings  Tither,  the  other 

Thankit,  thanked  Tittle,  to  whisper 

Thegither,  together  Tittlin,  whispering 


418 

Tocher,  marriage  portion  Trow,  to  believe 

Tod,  a  fox  Trowth,  Iruth,  a  petty  oath 

Toddle,  to  totter,  like  the  walk  Trysied,  appointed  ;  to   tryste, 

of  a  child  to  make  an  appointment 

Toddlin,  tottering  Try't,  tryed 

Toom,  empty  Tug-,  a  piece  of  rope  making 

Toop,  a  ram  part  of  a  horses'   branks  or 

Toun,  a  hamlet,  a  farm-house  halter  to  serve  as  a  bridle  rein, 

Tout,  the  blast   of  a  horn,  or      or  to  hitch  two   horses  toge- 

trumpet,  to  blow  a  horn,  8tc.         ther  in  a  plough  &c. 
Tow,  a  rope  Tulzie,  a  quarrel,  to  quarrel,  to 

Tovvmond,  a  twelve-month  fight 

Towzie,  rough,  shaggy  Twa,  two 

Toy,  a  very  old  fashion  of  female  Twa-three,  a  few 

head-dress  *Twad,  it  would 

Toyte,  to  totter  like  old  age        Twal, twelve;  twal-pennie  worth, 
Transmugrify'd,  transmigrated,     a   small    quantity,    a    penny 

metamorphosed  worth 

Trashrie,  trash  N  B.  One  penny  English,  is  12d 

Trickle,  full  of  tricks  l^cots 

'I'rig,  spruce,  neat  Twin,  to  part 

Trimly,  excellently  Tyke,  a  dog 

Trews,  trowsers 

u 

UNCO,  strange,  uncouth,  very,  Unweeting,  unwotting,  unknow- 

very  great,  prodigious  ing 

Uncos,  news  Unsicker,  unsure,  unsteady 

Unken'd,  unknown  Urchin,  a  hedge-hog 

Unskaith'd,  undamaged,  unhurt  Upo',  upon 

V 

VAP'RIN,  vapouring  Virl,  a  ring  round  a  column,  &c 

Vera,  very 

w 

WA',  wall ;  wa*s  walls  Waft,  the  cross  thread  that  goes 

Wabster,  a  weaver  from  the  shuttle  through  the 

Wad,  would,  to  bet,  a  bet  web 

Wadna,  would  not  Waifu',  wailing 

Wae,  woe,  sorrowful  Wair,  to  lay  out,  to  expend 

Waft,  woof  Wide,  choice,  to  choose 
Waesucks  !  or  waes  me,  alas  !  Ward,  chose,  chosen 

O  the  pity  I  Walie,  ample,  large,  jolly  ;  also 


419 

an  interjection  of  distress         Wheep,  to  fly  nimbly,  to  jerk ; 
Wame,  the  belly  penny-vvheep,  small-beer 

Wamefou',  a  belly  full  Whase,  whose 

Wanchansie,  unlucky  Whatreck,  nevertheless 

Wanerestfu',  restless  Whid,  the  motion  of  a  hare,  run- 

Wark,  work  ning  but  not  frighted,  a  he 

Wark-lume,  a  -"ool  to  work  with  Whiddin,  running  as  a  hare  or 
Warl  or  warld,  world  coney 

Warlock,  a  wizzard,  Whigmeleeries,  whims,  fancies, 

Warly,  worldly,  eager  on  amas-     crochets 

sing  wealth  Whingin,    crying,  complaining, 

Warren,  a  warrant,  to  warrant        fretting 

Warst,  worst  Whirligigums,     useless     orna- 

Warstl'd,  or  warsl'd,  wrestled         ments,  trifling  appendages 
Warstle,  wrestling,  struggle         Whissle,  a  whistle,  to  whistle 
Wastrie,  prodigality  Whisht,  silence,  to  hold  one's 

W^a,  wet ;  I  wat,  I  wot,  I  know         whisht,  to  be  silent 
Watir-brose,  brose  made  of  meal  Whisk,  to  sweep,  to  lash 

and  water  simply,  without  the  Whiskit,  lashed 

additions  of  milk,  butter,  St*  Whitter,  a  hearty  draught  of  li- 
Wattle,  a  twig,  a  wand  quor 

Wauble,  to  swing,  to  reel  .Whun-stane,  a  whin-stone 

Wuught,  draught  Whyles,  whiles  sometimes 

Waukit,  thickened  as  fullers  do  Wi',  with 

cloth  Wick,  to  strike  a  stone  in  ap  ob- 

Waukrife,  not  apt  to  sleep  lique  direction,  a  term  in  ciir- 

Waur,  worse,  to  worst  ling 

Waur't,  worsted  Wicker,  willow  (the  smaller  sort) 

Wean,    r  weanie,  a  child  Wiel,  a  small  whirl-pool 

Wearie,  or  Weary  ;  many  a  wea-  Wifie,    a  dimin.  or    endearing 

rie  body,  many  a  different  per-     term  for  wife 

son.  -  Wimple,  to  meander 

Weason,  the  windpipe  Wimpl't,  meandered 

Weaving   the     stocking,     knit- Wimplin,  waving,  meandering 

ting  Win,  to  wind,  to  winnow 

Wee,  little  ;   wee  things,  little  Win't,  wind,  as  a  bottom  of  yarn 

ones  ;  wee  bit,  a  small  matter  Win'  wind  ;  win's  winds 
Weel,  well ;  weelfare,  welfare    Winna,  will  not 
Weet,  rain,  wetness  Winnock,  a  window 

Wierd,  fate  Winsome,  hearty,  vaunted  gay 

We'se,  Ave  shall  Wintle,   a   staggering   motion  ; 

Wha,  Who  to  stagger,  to  reel 

Whaizle,  to  wheze  Winze,  an  oath 

Whalpit,  whelped  Wiss,  to  wish 

Whang,  a    leathern    string,    aWithoutten,  without 

piece  of  cheese,  bread,  &c.  to  Wizen'd,    hide    bound,    dried, 

give  the  strappado  shrunk 

Whare,  where,  whare*er,  where-  Wonner,  a  wonder,  a  contemp* 

ever  .      tuous  appellation 


42U 

tVons,  dwells  Wumble,  a  wimble,  an  augei^ 

Wi}o\  wool  Wraith,  a  spirit,  a  ghost  ;  appn- 

AVoo,  to  court,  to  make  love  to        rition  exactly  like-  a  living  per- 
Woodie,  a  withe  son,  whose  appearance  is  said 

Wooer-bab,  the  garter  knotted     to  forebode  tlie  person's  an. 
below  the  knee  with  a  couple     proaching  death 
of  loops  Wrang,  wrong,  to  wrong 

Wordy,  worthy  Wreeth,  a  drifted  heap  fjf  snow 

Worset,.  worsted  Wyle,  beguile 

W^ow,  an  exclamation  of  plea-  W^yliecoat,  a  child's  flannel  night 
sure  or  wonder  gown  ' 

Wrack,  to  teaze,  to  vex  Wyte,  blame,  to  blame 

Wud-mad,  distracted 


Ye  this  pronoun  is  frequently      or  field 

used  for  thou  Yill,  ale 

Yearns,  longs  much  Yird,  earth 

Yea'-lins,  born  in  the  same  year,   Y#kin,  a  journey  at  the  plough 

cocAals  &c.  a  spell  of  work  done   at 

Year,  is  used  for  both  singular     one  time  before  the  horses-  or 

and  plural,  years  cattle  are  unhitched:  ' 

Y^eil,  barren,  that  gives  no  milk    Yont,  beyond 
Yerk,  to  lash,  to  jerk  Yoursel,  yourself 

Yerh^^erked,  lashed  Yowe,  an  ewe 

»Yest^fen,  yesternight  Yowie,  dimin.  of  yowc 

;yett,  a  gale,  such  as  is  usually  at  Yule,  Christmas.' 
'  *  the  entrapce  into  a  farm  yard  • 


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Deacidified  using  the  Bookkeeper  process. 
Neutralizing  agent:  Magnesium  Oxide 
Treatment  Date:  March  2009 

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