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Book. 


PRESENTED  ETi' 


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BURNS. 


^^^V    Mc^H:/--— 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


ROBEET    BURNS 


O 


EDITED   FROM   THE 

BEST  PRINTED  AND  MANUSCRIPT  AUTHORITIES 

WITH   CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE  OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  WORKS 
4ND  GLOSSARIAli  INPSX 


NEW  YORK: 

HURST  AND  COMPANY. 

PUBLISHERS, 


/  ?  9'  -  ? 


\^  ^ 


^A 


0^-2Xlib 


CONTENTS. 


1:1 


Page 
Chronologic  Ai,  Table v 

POEMS. 

The  xwu  Dt?g8 17 

l?coU:h  i3rink 22 

Tlie  Author's  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer.. .  25 

The  Holy  Fair 28 

Ueatli  and  Doctor  llorubook 33 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr 37 

The  Oniiualion  42 

The  Calf  43 

Addre.-s  to  the  Deil 44 

The  Death   and  Dying  Words  of  Poor 

Mailie,  ilie  Autlior's  only  Pet  Yowe..  45 

Poor  Mailie's  Elegy. 46 

To  James  Smith 47 

A  Dream 49 

Ttie  Vision . 50 

Address  to  tbs  ITnco  Guid,  or  the  Rigidly 

Righteous 54 

Tam  Samson's  Elegy 55 

Halloween 56 

The  Jolly  Beggars  ...   60 

The  Auld  Farmer's  New-Year  Morning 

Salutation  to  his  Auld  Mare,  Maggie..  65 
To  a  Mouse,  on  turning  her  up  in  her  nest 

with  the  plough 66 

A  Winter  Night 67 

Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet 68 

The  Lament,  occasioned  by  ihe  Unfortu- 
nate Issue  of  a  Friend's  Amour 70 

Despondency 71 

Winter 72 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 73 

Man  was  made  to  mourn 76 

A  Prayer,  in  the  Prospect  of  Death 77 

Stanzas  on  the  same  occasion 78 

Verses  left  by  Burns  in  a  Room  where 

he  slept '. .  78 

The  First  Psalm 79 

A  Prayer,  under  the  pressure  of  violent 

anguish 79 

The    First   Six  Vers.s  of  the  Nintieth 

Psalm 79 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  on  turning  one 

with  the  plough 80 

To  Ruin 80 

To  Miss  Logan,  with  Beattie's  Poems. . .  81 

Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend 81 

On  a  Scotch  Bard,  gone  to  the  West 

Indies 82 

To  a  Haggis 83 

A  Deiii'  atiou  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  E-q.. .  83 
To  a  Louse,  on  seeing  one  on  a  Lady's 

Bonnet  at  Church       ..... , && 


Address  to  Edinburgh 85 

Epistle  to  John  Lapraik,  an  old  Scottish 

Bard RQ 

To  the  Same nH 

To  William  Simpson ' ...      s^a 

Epistle  to  John  Rankine Qi 

Written  in  Friars-Carse  Hermitage     L3 

Ode,  Sacred    to    tlie    Memory  of  lilrs. 

Oswald   nj 

Elegy  on  Ca4Jt.  Matthew  Henderson 94 

Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  ou  ll.c 

Approacli  of  Spring Ofi 

Epistle  to  R.  Graham,  Fsq 97 

To  IJobei  t  Graham,  of  Fintry,  Esq 98 

Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  (41encairn ...     10  1 
Lines  sent  to  Sir  John  Whiteford,  of 
Whiteford,  Bart.,  with  the  foregoing 

Poem iJi 

Tam  O'Shanter 101 

On  tlie  late  Captain  Grose'a  Peregrina- 
tions through  f^cotland 104 

On  seeing  a  Woundt  d  Hare  1  i  mp  by  me , .     105 
Address  to  the  Shade  of  Thom!-.ou,  on 

crowning  his  Bust  at  Ednam 10? 

To  Miss  Cruiksha' k ]  (i 

On  the  Death  of  John  M'Leod,  Esq..     .     1  )ii 
The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Wat*  r  to 

the  noble  Duke  of  Athole 107 

The  Kirk's  Alarr« ws 

Address  to  the  Toothache 102 

Written  with  a  Pciicil  over  the  Chimncv- 
piece,  in  the  Parlour  of  the  Inn  at  Ilcii- 

more,Taymouth 110 

On  the  Birth  of  a  Posthumous  Child,  born 
in  Peculiar  Circimistances  of  Family 

Distress Ill 

Written  with  a  Pencil,  standing  by  the 

Fall  of  Fyers, near  Loch-Ness Ill 

Second  Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet.     Ill 
The  Inventory  of  the  Poet's  Goods  a.  d 

Chattels 112 

The  Wnistle 113 

Sketch,  ins<  ribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J. 

Fox 115 

To  Dr.  Blacklock 116 

Prologue  spoken  at  the  Theatre,  Dum- 
fries    117 

El- gy  on  the  late  ]\Iis3  Burnet 117 

The  following  Poem  was  written  to  a 
gentleman  who  h"id  sent  liim  a  nrws- 
paper,  and  offered  to  continue  it  free 

of  expense llg 

Lines  on  an  interview  with  Lord  Daer. .     119 
The  Rights  of  Woman.  ProlOL,ue  spoken 

b    Miss  Fontenelle 119 

Address,  spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle. . . .    120 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Verses  toa  Yontig  Lady., 121 

Poem  on  Pastoral  Poetry , 121 

Verses  to  Chloris.  with  a  copy  of  the  last 

Editli  n  of  his  Poems .          ...  122 

Poetical  Address  to  Mr.  William  Tytler.  122 

Skelcli— I>^evv-Year  Day 123 

Extempore,  on  Mr.  William  Smellie.  ...  123 

Inscription  for  an  Altar  to  Independence  -124 

Monody  on  a  Lady  famed  for  her  Caprice  124 
Sonnet  on  the  Death  of  Kobert  Riddel, 

Esq.,  of  Glenriddel 125 

Impromptu,  on  Mrs.  Riddel's  Birthday..  125 

To  Mis's  Jessy  Lewars,  Dumfries 126 

Verses  \\ritt<  n  under  violent  grief 126 

Extempore  to  Mr.   Syme,  on  refusing  to 

dine  with  him 126 

To  Mr.  Syme  , 126 

Sonnet,  on  hearing  a  Thrush  sing 127 

Poem,  addressed  to  Mr.  Mitchell 127 

feient   to   a   Gentleman  whom   he   had 

offended 128 

Poem  on  Life 128 

To  Kobert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintry 128 

Epitaph  on  a  Friend 129 

Verses  written  at  Selkirk 129 

Inscription  on  the  Tombstone  jf  the  Poet 

Fergusson 130 

A  Gnice  before  Dinner 130 

A  Verse,  repeated  on  taking  leave  at  a 

place  in  the  Highlands 130 

Lil)erty 131 

Fragment  of  an  Ode  to  the  Memory  of 

Prince  Charles  Edward  Stuart 132 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Ruisseaux  132 
Answer  to  Verses  addressed  to  the  Poet 

by  the  Guidwife  of  Wauchope-House.  132 

To  J .  Lapraik 133 

TheTwaHerds 133 

To  tiie  Rev.  John  M'Math 135 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer 138 

Ei)itiiph  on  Holy  Willie 137 

On  scaring  some  Water  Fowl  in  Loch- 

Turit  . 137 

To  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.,  Mauchline. ...  138 

Kp's^tle  to  Mr.  M'Adam 13S 

To  Captain  Riddel,  Glenriddel 139 

Verses  intended  to  be  written  below  a 

noble  Earl's  Picture 139 

To  Tt  rraughty ,  on  his  Birthday 139 

To  a  Lady,  with  a  i)resent  of  a  Pair  of 

Drinking  Glasses 140 

The  Vowels 140 

Skttch 141 

Prologue  for  Mr.  Sutherland's  Benefit..  141 

Elegy  on  the  Year  1788 142 

Verses  written  under  thePortraitof  Fer- 
gusson the  Poet  143 

Lament,  written  at  a  time  when  the  Poet 

was  about  to  leave  Scotland 143 

Delia 143 

On  the  Death  of  Sir  James  Hunter  Blair  144 

To  Miss  Ferrier  145 

Verses  to  an  old  Sweetheart,  then  mar- 
ried       145 

The  Poet's  Welcome  to  his  Illegitimate 

Child 145 

Letter  to  John  Goudie,  Kilmarnock.   ...  146 

Letter  to  James  Tennant,  Glenconner. .  146 

Epistle  from  Esopus  to  Maria *  147 

On  a  Suicide e.. ...... ..........  148 


foot 

A  Farewell 149 

The  Farewell 149 

Epistle  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq    149 

Stanzas  on  the  Duke  of  Queensberry . . ..  153 
Verses  on  the  Destruction  of  the  Woods 

near  Drumlanrig 153 

Epistle  to  Mcijor  Logan 152 

Epitaph  on  tne  Poet's  Daughter 154 

Epitaph  on  Gabriel  Richardson 154 

On  Stirling 154 

Lines  on  being  told  that  the  foregoii.g 

Poem  would  affect  his  Prospects 154 

TheReply 154 

Epistle  to  Hugh  Parker 155 

Address  of  Beelzebub  to  the  President 

of  the  Highland  Society  155 

To  Mr.  John  Kennedy 156 

On  the  Death  of  Robert  Dundas,  Esq...  156 

To  John  M'Munlo,  Esq 157 

On  the  Death  of  a  Lap-dog,  named  Echo  157 

Lines  written  at  Loudon  Marse 158 

Orthodox,  On  hodox.    A  Second  Version 

of  the  Kirk's  Ahum 158 

The  Selkirk  Grace 159 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  P.  g  Nicholson. . .  160 
On  seeing  Mi;s  Funtenelle  in  a  favorite 

Character    166 

The  Leaijuc  and  Covenant 16*' 

On  Miss%Jessy  Lewars , 160 

Epitaph  on  Miss  Jessy  Lewars... 160 

The  Recovery  of  Jessy  Lewars.'. 160 

The  Toast I6r 

TheKirk  of  Lamington 161 

Written  ona  blank  leaf  of  one  of  Miss 
Hannah  More's  Works,  which  she  had 

given  him  161 

Inscription  on  a  Goblet     161 

The  Book-worms 161 

OnRobert  Riddel 161 

Willie  Chalmers 162 

ToJohnTayior 162 

Lines  written  on  a  Bank-note 162 

The  Loyal  Natives'  Verses 163 

Burns's  Reply— Extempore  IHS 

Remorse 163 

The  Toad-Eater 103 

To 164 

"In  vain  would  Prudence" 164 

"Though  fickle  Fortune  " 164 

"I  burn,  I  l)urn" 164 

Epigram  on  a  noted  Coxcomb  165 

Tam  the  Chapman 165 

To  Dr.  Maxwell,  on  A'. iss  Jessy  Craig's 

Recovery 165 

Fragment lf»5 

There's  Naethin  like  the  honest  Nappy. .  105 
Prologue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Woods  on  his 

Benefit-night 165 

Nature's  Law.  A  poem  humbly  inscribed 

toG.  H.,  Esq 166 

The  Catg  like  Kitchen 167 

Tragic  Fragment 167 

Extempore.    On  passing  a  Lady's  Car- 
riage    167 

Fragments 168 

Epitaph  on  William  Nicol 169 

Answer  to  a  Poetical  Epistle  sent  the 

Author  by  a  Tailor 169 

Extempore  lines,  in  answer   to  a  card 

from  an  intimate  Friend  of  Burns 170 


CONTENTS. 


Lines  written  Extempore  in  a  Lady's 

Pocket-bowk 170 

The  Henpecked  Ihibiband 170 

Epitaph  on  a  Heiipeck'd  Country  Squire  171 

Epigram  on  said  occasion 171 

Another 171 

Verses  written  on  a  Window  of  the  Inn 

at  Carron 171 

Lines  on  being  a^ked  why  God  had  made 

Miss  Davis  to  little  and  Mrs. so 

large ..  171 

Epigram.     Written  at  In  verary 172 

A  Toast.      Given  at  a  meeting  of    the 

Dumfries-shire  Volunteers 172 

Lines  said  to  have  bee  n  written  by  Burns, 
while  on  his  Deathbed,  to  John  Ran- 

kine, 172 

Verses  addressed  to  J.  Rankine 172 

On  seeing  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord  Gal- 
loway   , 172 

On  the  Same 173 

On  the  Same 173 

To  the  Same,  on  the  Author  being  threat- 
ened with  liis  Resentment 173 

Verses  to  J.  Rankine 173 

Extemporaneous  Effusion,  on  being  ap- 
pointed to  the  Excise  173 

On  heaiiiig  that  there  was  Falsehood  in 

liie  Rev.  Dr.  B 's  very  Looks 173 

Poverty 174 

On  a  Schoolmaster  in  Cleish  Parish 174 

Lines  written    and  presented    to    Mrs, 

Kemble    174 

Lines  written  on  a  Window  at  the  King's 

Arms  Tavern,  Dumfries 174 

Lines  writttn    on  the  Window  of  the 

Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries 174 

Extempore  in  the  Court  of  Session 175 

Lines  written  under  the  Picture  of  Miss 

Burns 175 

On  Miss  J.  Scott,  of  Ayr 175 

Epigram  on  Captain  Francis  Grose  175 

Epigram  on  Elphinstone's  Translation  of 

Martial's  Epigram  ..     175 

Epitaph  on  a  Country  Laird 176 

Epitaph  on  a  Noisy  Polemic 176 

Epiaph  on  Wee  Johnny 176 

Epitaph  on  a  celebrated  ruling  Elder 176 

Epitaph  for  Robert  Aiken,  Esq.. 176 

Epitiiph  for  Ga\  in  Hamilton,  Esq 176 

A  Bard"s  Epitaph 177 

Epitaph  on  my  Father 177 

Ei)itaph  on  John  Dove  177 

Epitaph  on  John  Bushby  177 

Epitaph  on  a  Wiig  in  Mauchline 178 

Epitaph  on  a  Person  i  icknamed  "The 

Marquis" 178 

Epitiph  on  Walter  S ...    178 

On  Himsdf  178 

Grace  before  Meat 178 

On  Commissary  Goldi«-'s  Brains 178 

Impromptu  179 

Addressed  to  a  Lady  whom  ttie  Author 

feared  he  had  oflieiided  179 

Epigram 179 

Lines  inscribed  on  a  Platter 179 

To .' 179 

On  Mr.  M'Murdo 179 

To  a  Lady  who  was  looking  up  the  Text 

during  Sermon 180 


Page 

Impromptu.   , , 180 

To 180 

To  a  Painter 180 

Lines  written  on  a  Tumbler 180 

On  Mr.  W.   Cruikshank,  of   the    High 

School,  Edinburgh 180 

SONGS. 

The  Lasso' Ballochmyle 181 

Song  of  Death 181 

My  ain  kind  Dearie  O 182 

Anld  Rob  Morris 1C2 

Naebody 583 

My  Wife's  a  winsome  wee  Thing Ib3 

Duncan  Gray 183 

O  Poortith 183 

Gaim  Water 184 

Lord  Gregory. 184 

Open  the  Door  to  Me,  oh  ! 184 

Meg  o' the  Mill 185 

JCfSie 185 

Wandering  W'illie 185 

Logan  Braes  186 

There  was  a  Lass 186 

Phillis  the  Fair 187 

By  Allan  Stream 187 

Had  I  a  Cave 188 

Whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  Lad..  188 

Husband,  Husband,  cease  your  Strife. ..  188 

Deluded  Swain 189 

Song 189 

Wilt  thou  be  my  Dearie  ? 189 

Banks  of  Cree 189 

On  the  Seas  and  far  away 190 

Hark  1  the  Mavis 190 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a' 191 

How  lang  and  dreary 191 

The  Lover's  Morning  Salute  to  his  Mis- 
tress    191 

Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-white  Locks 192 

TheAuldMan 192 

Farewell,  thou  Stream 192 

Contented  wi' little 192 

My  Nannie's  awa', 193 

Sweet  fa's  the  Eve 193 

0  Las.-ie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet  ? 193 

Sons' 194 

'Twas  na  her  bon-e  blue  Ee 194 

Address  to  tlie  Woodlark 195 

How  cruel  are  the  Parents., 195 

Mark  Yonder  Pomp 195 

1  see  a  form,  I  see  a  Face 195 

O  bonie  was  yon  rosy  Briar 195 

Forlorn,  my  Love 196 

Last  May  a  braw  Wooer ,  196 

Hey  for  a  Lass  wi' a  Tocher 196 

Ali'.io'  thou  maun  never  be  mine... 19^ 

The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy \^/6 

The  young  Highland  Rover 199 

Stay,  my  Charmer 199 

Full  well  thou  know'st ...  199 

Strathallan's Lament ..   .  199 

Raving  Winds  around  hfr  bloM'ing..    -•  199 

Musing  on  the  roaring  Ocean 200 

Blithe  was  slie 200 

Peggy's  Charms 20.0 

TheiazyMist 200 

A  Rose-bud  by  my  ear'.y  Walk 201 


CONTENTS, 


Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  theDay...  ...  201 

I  love  my  Jean 202 

O,  vvute  I  on  Parnassus'  Hill  202 

The  blissful  Day 202 

The  Braes  o' Ballochmyle 202 

The  liappv  'JYio   203 

The  blue-eyed  Lassie  - 203 

John  Anderson  my  Jo 203 

Tarn  Glen 203 

Giinw  is  the  Day 204 

My  Tocher's  the  Jewel 204 

W  hat  can  a  young  Lassie  do  wi'  an  Old 

Man? 204 

(),  for  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn  1 205 

'i'he  bonie  wee  Thing 205 

Tiie  Banks  of  Nith 205 

Bessie  and  her  spinnin'  Wheel. 205 

\:;ou)'try  Lassie 206 

Fair  Eliza 206 

She's  fair  and  fause.. 207 

ThePosie 207 

The  Banks  o' Doon 208 

Version  printed  in  the  Musical  Museum  208 

nioomy  December 208 

Behold  the  Hour 209 

Willie's  Wife 209 

Afton  Water 209 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee  ? 210 

B<mie  Bell 210 

For  the  sake  of  Somebody  210 

t>  May,  thy  Morn 210 

The  lovely  Lass  of  Inverness 211 

A  red,  red  Rose 211 

(),  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  Town? 211 

AVision 211 

I),  wert  thou  in  thecauld  blast 212 

The  Highland  Lassie 212 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  Kiss 213 

Peggy's  Charms 213 

Up  in  the  Morning  early 213 

Tho'  cruel  Fate  213 

I  dream'd  I  lay    where  Flowers  were 

springing  213 

Bonie  Ann 214 

My  Bonie  Mary 214 

My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands 214 

There's  a  Youth  in  this  City 214 

The  rautin  Dog  the  Daddie  o't 215 

I  do  confess  thou  art  sae  fair 215 

Yon  wild  mossy  Mountains 215 

VV  ha  is  that  at  my  Bower  Door 216 

Farewell  to  Nancy ...  216 

The  bonie  Blink  o' Mary's  Ee.. 216 

Out  o'er  the  Forth 217 

'i'he  bonie  Lad  that's  far  away 217 

The  Gowden  Locks  of  Anna  .     217 

Banks  of  Devon 217 

Adown  winding  Nith 218 

Streams  that  glide 218 

The  Deil's  awa  wi'  the  exciseman 219 

Biifhe  hae  I  been  on  yon  Hill 219 

O  were  my  Love  yon  Lilac  fair 219 

Come,  let  me  take  thee 219 

Where  are  the  Joys  ? 219 

O  saw  ye  my  Dear  ? 220 

Thrm  hasr,  left  me  ever,  Jamie 220 

MyChloris 2m 

Charming  Month  of  May 221 

Let  not  Woman  e'er  complain 221 

0  Puilly ._...  221 


John  Barleycorn 222 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus  ?.... 223 

On  Chloris  being  ill 223 

When  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood, . ..  223 

The  Rigs  o' Barley 224 

Farewell  to  Eliza 224 

MyNanieO 224 

Green  grow  the  Rashes 225 

Now  westlin  Winds 225 

The  big  bellied  Bottle 226 

The  Author's  Farewell    to   his    native 

Country 226 

The  Farewell .....' 2;i7 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat 227 

Highland  Mary 228 

Auld  Lang  Syne 228 

Bannockburn 228 

The  gallant  Weaver ,  229 

Song 229 

For  a' that  and  a' that 229 

Dainry  Davie 230 

To  Mr,  Cunningham 230 

Clarinda ,..  2''0 

Why,  why  tell  thy  Lover 231 

Caledonia 231 

On  the  battle  of  Sheriflf-Muir 233 

The  Dumfries  Volunteers 232 

O  wha  is  she  that  lo'esme  ? .  ...  233 

Captain  Grose 233 

Whistle  owre  the  Lave  o't 234 

O,  once  I  lov'd  a  bonie  Lass. ^ 234 

Young  Jockey 234 

M'Pherson's  FareAvell 23^ 

The  Dean  of  Faculty 2:]S 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  y  n\  Town 235 

A  Bottle  and  a  Friend..     .  235 

I'll  kiss  thee  yet  236 

On  Cessnock  Banks 236 

Prayer  for  Mary 237 

Young  Peggy 237 

There^'ll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes 

hame    237 

There  was  a  Lad 238 

To  Mary 238 

Mary  Morison 238 

The  Sodger's  Return 239 

My  Father  was  a  Farmer 239 

A  Mother's  Lament  for  the  Death  of  her 

?on 240 

Bonie  Le-ley 240 

Amans:  theTrees 241 

When'^first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle 241 

On  Sensibiliiy 242 

Montgomerie's  Peggy 241 

On  a  Bank  of  Flowers 241 

O  raging  Fortune's  wi;hering  Blast. , 242 

Evan  Banks 242 

Women's  Minds 242 

To  Mary  in  Heaven.., 243 

To  M&rj 243 

O  Leave  Novels ,.   .  243 

Address  to  General  Dumourier 244 

Sweetest  May 244 

One  Night  as  I  did  wander £41 

The  Winter  it  is  Past 244 

Fragment 244 

The  ' 'hevalier's  Lament 244 

The  Belles  of  Mauchline 245 

The  Tarbolton  Lasses 245 

The  Tarbolton  Lasses ,  915 


CONTENTS. 


vu 


yk- 


Here's  a  Health  to'  them  that's  awa' . . . , 

I'm  owreyouns:  to  marry  yet 

Damon  and  Sylvia 

"My  Lady's  Gown  there's  Gail  8  upon't., 

O  ay  my  Wife  sLie  dang  me 

The  Banks  of  Nith.... , 

Bonie  Peg , 

O  lay  tiiy  Loof  in  mine,  Lass 

O  giiid  Ale  comes , 

O  why   the  Deuce ... 

Polly    Stewart .  

Robin  shure  in  hairst 

The  five  Carlins  

The  Deuk's  dang  o'er  my'Daddie  

Lass  that  made  the  Bed  to  me 

The  Union 

There  was  a  bonie  Lass 

My  Harry  was  a  Gallant  gay,..  ., , 

Tibbie  Dunbar 

Wee  Willie , 

Craigie  burn-wood 

Here's  his  Health  in  Water 

As  down  the  Burn  they  took  their  Way, 

LadyOnlie 

As  I  was  a  Wandering 

Bannocks  o'  Barley , 

Our  Thrissles  flourished  fiesl  .and  fair. , 

Peg-a-Ramsey , 

Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie    

Braw  Lads  of  Galla  Water 

Coming;  through  the  Rye 

The  Lass  of  Lcclefechan 

The  Slave's  Lament 

HadlfheWyte 

HeeBalou 

Mer  Daddie  forbad 

Here's  lo  thy  He«lth,  my  bo;  de  Lass  — 

Hey,  the  dusty  Miller ...   ...  

The  Ciirdin  o't 

The  joyful  Widower 

ThenielMenzie's  bonie  Mary 

The  Farewell . . 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  Face 

Jamie,  come  try  me  .. 

Landlady,  count  the  Lawin 

My  Love  she's  but  a  Lassie  j  tt 

My  Heart  was  ance 

Lovely  Davies 

Kenmure'a  on  and  awa 

The  Captain's  Lady .... 

Lady  l^lary  Ann 

The  Highland  Widow's  Lamea^ 


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Merry  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  Heckle 2^3 

Rattlin',  roarin' Willie 262 

OMaily'b  metk,  Mally's  sweet 262 

Sae  far  awa .  263 

O  steer  her  up... .   , 263 

O,  whar  di*i  >e  get £63 

The  Fett  Champetre 264 

fcJmimer's  a  pleasant  lime 264 

The  blade  red  Roffeat  Yule  may  blaw...  264 

The  Highlaud  Laddie. 263 

The  Cooptro' Cuddle  ..  265 

Nithsdale's  welcome   Hame 266 

TheTuilor 266 

Thetither  Morn 266 

The  Carle  of  Kellyburn  Braes 267 

There  was  a  Lats , 268 

The  weary  Puiid  o'  Tow 268 

The  Ploughman  269 

The  Carles  of  Dysart 269 

Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray 269 

MyHoggie 270 

Where  hae  ye  been 270 

Cock  up  your  Btaver        270 

The  Heron  Ballade.    First  Ballad  ....  270 

TheElociion.     Second   Ballad 272 

An  excellent  new  Song.    Third  Ballad..  272 

John  Bui^hby"8  Lamentation 272 

Ye  Sons  of  Old  Killie 273 

Ye  Jacobites  byname 274 

Song— Ah,  Chloris 274 

Whan  I  sleep   I  dream 274 

Katharine   Jaffray 275 

The  Co  lier  Laddie.     . ..  275 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  Days...  ...  274 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  Plain 275 

The  Heather  was  blooming 275 

Wae  is  my  Heart 276 

Eppie  M'Nab 276 

An,0!myEpp'e 877 

Gudeen  to  you  Kimmer  — 277 

O  that  I  h  )d  ne'er  been  married 277 

There's  News,  Lasses 277 

Scroggam  . .' 278 

Fraethe  Friends  and  Land  I  love 278 

The  Laddies  by  the  B'Miks  o'  Nith....  278 

The  bonie  LasS  of  Albany .-  278 

Song 279 

Appfndix  ' — 

rie<ry 281 

E  tempore.    To  Mr.  Gavin  Hamilton.  281 

Versicles  oa  Sign-posts 282 


CHROKOLOGICAL  TABLF. 


BUKNS'S    LIFE    AND    WOEKS 


ALLOWAY. 
1759. 

January  25.— Robert  Burns  born  at  Alloway,  parish  of  Ayr,  in  a  clay -built  cottage,  the  worH 
o/  his  father's  own  hands.  Hie  father,  William  Kurnes  (so  ihe  family  name  was  always  written 
until  chaufjjed  by  the  poet),  was  a  native  of  Kincardineshire,  born  November  11,  17;il.  His 
mother,  Agnes  Brown,  born  March  17,  1733,  was  dauf^liter  of  a  farmer  in  Canick,  A\rshire. 
The  poet's  parents  were  married  December  15,  1757.  William  Burnes  was  then  a  gardener  and 
farm  overseer. 

1765— (Etat.  Six). 

Sent  to  a  school  at  Alloway  Mill,  kept  by  one  Campbell,  who  was  succeeded  in  May  by  John 
Murdoch,  a  young  teacher  of  uncommon  merit,  engaged  by  William  Burnes  and  four  of  his 
neighbors,  who  boarded  him  alternately  at  their  houses,  and  guaranteed  him  a  small  salary. 
Two  advantages  were  thus  possessed  by  the  poet— an  excellent  father  and  an  excellent  teacher. 

MOUNT   OLIPHANT. 

1766— (Seven). 
William  Burnes  removed  to  the  farm  of  Mount  Ohpliant,  two  miles  distant.    His  sons  still 
attended  Alioway  school.     The  books  used  were  a  t^pelling-book,  the  New  Testament,  the  Bible, 
Mason's  Collection  of  Prose  and  Verse,  im(\.  Fisher's  English  Grammar. 

1768— (Nine). 

Murdoch  gave  up  Alloway  school.  Visiting  the  Burnes  family  before  his  departure,  he 
took  with  him,  as  a  present,  the  i)lay  of  Titus  Andronicus.  He  read  part  of  the  play  aloud, 
but  the  horror  of  the  scene  shocked  and  distressed  the  children,  and  Kobert  threatened  to  burn 
1  the  book   if  it  was    left.     Instead  of  it,  Murdoch  gave  them  a  comedy,  the  School  for  Love 

« translated  from  the  French)  and  an  English  Grammar.  He  had  previously  lent  Robert  a  Life 
f  Hannibal,  '-'the  earliest  comijosition  that  I  recollect  taking  any  j)lea8iire  in,"  says  the 
')oet,  "was  the  Vision  of  Mirza,  und.  a,  hymn  of  Addison's  beginning,  IIoio  are  Thy  servants 
blest,  0  Lord!    I  parlicuiarly  remember  one  half-stanza,  which  was  music  to  my  boyish  ear, — 

•  For  though  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung] 
nigh  on  the  broken  wave  1 '  " 

He  had  found  these  in  Mason's  Collection.  The  latent  seeds  of  poetry  were  further  cul- 
tivated in  his  mind  by  an  old  woman  living  in  the  family,  Betty  Davidson,  who  had  a  great 
■  tore  of  tales,  songs,  ghost-stories,  and  legendary  lore. 

1770-(Eleven). 

By  the  time  he  was  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age  he  was  an  excellent  English  scholar,  "  a  critic 
In  substantives,  verbs,  and  particles."  After  the  departure  of  Murdoch  William  Burnes  was 
the  only  instructor  of  his  sons  and  other  children.  He  taught  them  aritnmctic,  and  procured 
for  their  use  Sahnon's  Geographical  Grammar,  IJerham's  Physics  and  Astro- Theology^  and  Ilay'^a 
Wisdom  of  God  in  the  Creation.     These  gave  the  boys  some  idea  of  Geography,  Astronomy, 


±  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 

and  Natural  History,  He  had  al  so  Stackhonse's  Eistory  of  (he  Bible,  Taylor's  Scripture  Doctrine 
of  Original  Sin,  a  volume  of  English  History  (reigns  of  James  I.  and  Charles  I. ).  The  black- 
smith lent  the  common  metrical  Life  of  Sir  Wiitiafn  Wallace  (which  was  read  with  Scottish 
fervor  and  enthusiasm),  and  a  maternal  uncle  supplied  a  Collection  of  Letters  by  ihe  wits  of 
Queen  Anne's  reign,  which  inspired  Robert  with  a  strong  desire  to  excel  in  letter-writing. 

1772-(Thirteen). 

To  improve  their  penmanship,  William  Burnes  sent  his  song,v.  ..vk  about,  during  the 
summer  quarter,  to  the  parish  school  of  Dalrymple,  two  or  three  miles  distant.  This  year 
Murdoch  was  appointed  teacher  of  English  in  Ayr  school,  and  he  renewed  his  acquaintance 
with  the  Burnes  family,  sending  them  Pope's  Wovks  and  "some  other  pa-;try." 

1773— (Fourteen). 

Robert  boarded  three  weeks  with  Murdoch  at  Ayr  in  order  to  revise  his  English  Grammar. 
He  acquired  also  a  smattering  of  French,  and  on  returning  home  he  took  with  him  a  French 
Dictionary  and  French  Grammar,  and  a  copy  of  Telemaqve.  He  attempted  Latin,  but  soon 
abandoned  it. 

1774— (Fifteen). 

His  knowledge  of  French  introduced  him  to  some  respectable  families  in  y^yr(Dr.  Mal- 
colm's and  others).  A  lady  lent  him  the /Speo^otor,  Pope's //ome/',  and  several  other  books. 
In  this  year  began  with  him  love  and  poetry.  His  partner  in  the  harvest-field  was  a  "  bewitch- 
ing creature"  a  year  younger  than  himself,  Nelly  Kilpatrick,  daughter  of  the  blacksmith,  who 
sang  sweetly,  and  on  her  he  afterwards  wrote  his  first  song  and  first  effort  at  rliyme,  0,  once  I 
loved  a  bonnie  lass. 

1775— (Sixteen). 

About  this  time  Robert  was  the  principal  laborer  on  the  farm.  From  the  unproductiveness 
of  the  soil,  the  loss  of  cattle,  and  other  causes,  William  Burnes  had  got  into  pecuniary  diflicuK 
ties,  and  the  threatening  letters  of  the  factor  (the  Jaimlord  being  dead)  used  to  set  the  d  stressed 
family  all  in  tears.  The  character  of  the  factor  is  drawn  in  the  Tale  of  Twa  Doc/s.  The  hard 
labor,  poor  living,  and  sorrow  of  this  period  formed  the  chief  cause  of  the  poet's  subsequent 
melancholy,  frequent  headaches,  and  palpitation  of  the  heart. 

1 776— (Seventeen). 

Spent  his  seventeenth  summer  (so  in  poet's  MS.  British  Museum  ;  Dr.  Curne  altered  the 
flate  to  nineteenth)  on  a  smuggling  coast  in  Ayrshire,  at  Kirko-wald,  on  purpose  to  learn  men- 
suration, surveying,  etc.  lie  made  good  progress,  though  mixing  somewhat  in  the  dissipation 
of  the  place,  whicti  had  then  a  flourishing  contraband  trade.  Met  the  second  of  his  po<  tical 
hei'oines,  Peggy  Thomson,  on  whom  he  afterwards  wrote  his  fine  song.  Now  westlin  winds  and 
tlavghVring  guns.  The  charms  of  this  maiden  "  overset  his  trigonometry  and  set  him  ofl:  at 
a  tangent  from  the  sphere  of  his  studies."  On  his  return  from  Kirkoswald  ("  in  my  seven- 
teenth year,"  he  writes)  he  attended  a  dancing  school  to  "give  his  m:inners  a  brush."  His 
father  had  an  antipathy  to  these  meetings,  and  his  going  "  in  absolute  defiance  of  his  father'.s 
command  "  (sic  in  orig.)  was  an  "  instance  of  rebellion  "  which  he  conceived  brought  on  him 
the  paternal  resentment  and  even  dislike.  Gilbert  Burns  dissents  altogether  from  tliis  conchi- 
Bion  :  the  poet's  extreme  sensibility  and  regret  for  his  one  act  of  disobedience  led  him 
Unconsciously  to  exaggerate  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  At  Kirkoswald  he  had  enlarged 
his  reading  by  the  addition  of  Thomson's  SinA  Shenstone's  Woi'ks,  and  among  the  other  booksi 
to  which  he  had  access  at  this  period,  besides  those  mentioned  above,  were  some  plays  of 
Shakespeare,  Alta7i  Ramsay's  Works,  Hervey's  Meditations,  and  a  Select  Collection  of  English 
Songs  ("  The  Lark,"  2  vols.).  This  last  work  was,  he  says,  his  vade  mect/m  ;  he  pored  over  \\. 
driving  his  cart  or  walking  to  labor,  and  carefully  noted  the  true,  tender  or  sublime  from  affec- 
tation and  fustian.  He  composed  this  year  two  stanzas,  I  dream'd  I  lay  wher^ flowers  were 
springing. 

LOCHLEA. 

1777— (Eighteen). 

William  Burnesand  family  remove  to  a  larger  farm  at  Lochlea,  parish  of  Tarbolton.  Take 
possession  at  Whitsunday.  Affairs  for  a  time  look  briifhtcr,  and  all  woik  diligently.  Robert 
'<ind  Gilbert  have  £7  per  annum  each  as  wages  from  their  father,  and  they  also  take  land  from 
liim  for  the  purpose  of  raising  flax  on  their  own  account.  "Though,  when  young,  the  poet 
was  bashful  and  awkward  in  his  intercourse  with  women,  as  he  approached  manhood  his 
attachment  to  their  society  became  very  strong,  and  he  was  constantly  the  victim  of  some  fair 
enslaver."  (Gilbert  Burns.)  He  was  in  the  secret,  he  says,  of  half  the  loves  of  the  parish  of 
Tarbolton. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLM  Xi 


1778— (Nineteen). 
**I  was,"  he  says,  "about  eighteen  or  iiineteeu  when  I  sketched  the  outlines  of  a  tragedy.'* 
*£h«  whole  had  escaped  his  meuiory,  except  a  fragmeiit  of  twenty  Ihies  :   All  devil  as  lam,  etc. 

1780— C'r WEN  IT  one)  . 
The  "Bachelors' Club,"  established  at  Taibulton  by  Robert  and  Gilbert  Barns,  and  five 
other  young  men.    Meetings  were  held  once  a  month,  and  questions  debated.    The  sum  ex- 
pended by  each  member  was  not  to  exceed  threepence. 

1781— (Twenty-two). 
David  Sillar  admitted  a  member  of  the  Bachelors'  Club.  He  describes  Burns  :  "I  rccol- 
lert  heariuij  his  neighbors  ob.-tive  lie  had  a  great  dtal  to  say  for  himself,  and  that  they 
suspected  his  i-'rinciples  (his  religious  pimciples).  He  wore  the  only  titd  hair  in  the  parish, 
anil  in  the  church  his  plaid,  wliich  was  of  a  particular  color,  I  think  fi:lem"t,  he  wrapped  in  a 
particular  maunt  r  round  his  slioulders.  Between  sermons  we  often  took  a  walk  in  the  fitlds  ; 
in  thfse  walks  I  have  frequently  been  struck  by  his  facility  in  addressing  the  fair  sex,  and  it 
was  generally  a  death-blow  to  cur  conversation, however  agreeable,  to  meet  a  female  acquaint- 
ance. Some  book  lie  always  carried  and  read  when  not  otiierwise  employed.  It  was  likewise 
his  custom  to  read  at  table.  In  one  of  my  visits  to  Lochlea,  in  the  tune  of  a  sowen  supper,  he 
was  so  intent  on  reading,— I  think  Tristratn  Shandy,— xhixi  his  spoon  falling  out  of  his  hand 
made  him  exclaim  in  a  tone  scarcely  imitable,  "Alas,  Poor  Yorick  ! '  "  The  poet  had  now 
added  to  his  colleciion  of  books  Mackenzie's  Man  of  Feelivg  iwhich  he  said  he  prized  next  to 
the  Bible)  and  Man  of  the  Woiid,  Sterne's  Works,  and  Marphn>ou's  Ossian.  He  would  appear 
also  to  hsve  had  the  poetical  works  of  Young.  Among  the  fair  ores  whose  society  he  courted 
was  a  superior  young  woman,  bearing  the  unpoeiical  name  of  Ellison  Begbie.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  small  farmer  at  Galston,  but  W'as  servant  with  a  family  on  the  banks  of  the 
Cessnock.  On  her  he  wrote  a  "  snng  of  similes,"  beginning  On  Cessnock  banks  there  lives  a 
la.<is,nnd  the  earliest  of  his  printed  correspondence  is  addressed  to  Ellison.  His  letters  are 
grave,  sensible  epistles,  written  with  remarkable  purity  and  correctnes--  of  language.  At  this 
time  poesy  was,  he  says,  "a  darling  walk  for  his  mind."  The  oldest  of  his  printed  pieces 
were  [Viriter,  a  Dirge,  the  Death  of  Poor  Mailie,  John  Barleycorn,  and  the  three  songs  It  was 
vjion  a  Lammas  Night,  Now  tvestlin  tvindsand  slaughfririg  guns,  and  Behind  yon  hills  where 
Sfinchar  flows.  We  may  add  to  these  0  Tibbie  Ihae  seen  the  daif  and  My  father  was  a  farmer. 
His  exquisite  lyric,  OMary,  at  thy  tvindow  be,  was  also,  he  says,  one  of  his  juvenile  works. 

1782— (Twenty-three). 
Ellison  Begbie  refuses  his  hand.  She  was  about  to  leave  her  situation,  and  he  expected 
hims^lf  to  '•  remove  a  little  further  off."  He  went  to  the  town  of  Irvine.  "  My  twenty  third 
year,"  he  says,  "  was  to  me  an  important  era.  Partly  through  whim,  and  partly  that  I  wished 
to  set  about  doing  something  in  life,  I  joined  a  flax-dresser  in  a  neighboring  town  to  learn  his 
trade,  and  cany  on  the  business  of  manufacturing  and  retailing  fiax.  This  turned  out  a  sadly 
unlucky  affair.  IMy  partner  was  a  scoundrel  of  ihe  first  water,  who  made  money  by  the  mystery 
of  thieving,  and  to  finish  the  whole,  while  we  wore  giving  a  welcoming  carousal  to  the  New 
Year,  our  shoi),  by  the  drunken  carelessness  of  my  partner's  wife,  took  fire,  and  was  burned  to 
ashes  ;  and  left  me,  like  a  true  poet,  not  worth  a  sixpence."*  In  Irvine  liis  reading  was  only 
increasiu.  he  says,  bv  two  volumes  of  Pamela,  and  one  of  Ferdinand,  Count  Fathom,  which 
gave  him  some  idea  of  novels.  Rhyme,  except  some  religious  pieces  that  are  in  print,  he  had 
given  up,  but  meeting  with  Fergnsson's  Scottish  Poems,  he  "  strung  anew  1  is  1\  re  with  emulat- 
ing vigor."  He  also  formed  a  friendship  for  a  young  fellow,  "  a  very  noble  character,"  Rich- 
ard Brown,  and  with  others  >f  a  freer  manner  of  thinking  and  living  thnn  lie  had  been  used  to, 
"  the  consequence  of  w  liich  was."  he  says,  "  that  soon  after  I  resumed  the  pl>)Ugh,  1  wrotf 
Ihe  Poefs  TlWc^owe"  (to  liis  illegitimate  child).  But  this  was  not  till  the  summer  of  1784, 
Before  leaving  Lochlea  he  became  a  Freemason. 

MOSSGIEL. 
1784— (Twenty-five). 
_  February  13.— William  Burnes  died  at  Lochlea  in  his  sixty-fourth  year,  his  affairs  in  utter 
ruin.     His  sons  and  two  grown-up  daughters  ranked  as  creditors  of  their  father  for  arrears  of 
wages,  and  raised  a  little  money  to  stock  another  farm.     This  new  farm  was  that  of  Mossgiel, 
*  From  orig.  in  Brit.  Museum.    Burns  wrote  an  interesting-  and  affecting:  letter  to  his  father,  from 
frvine.    Dr.  Currie  dates  it  1781,  -which  we  think  is  an  error.    I.'he  poet's  statement  is  corroborated  by  his 
brother's  narrative,  and  the  stone  chimney  of  the  room  occupied  Ijy  the  poet  is  inseribed,  evidently  by  his 
own  hand,  "  R.  B.,  1788."    Hj  consoled  himself  tor  his  loss  after  this  fashion: 

"  O,  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine. 
And  be  an  ill  forebodcr? 
I'm  twenty-three,  and  five  feet  niike, 
I'll  go  and  be  a  sodger. 


xii  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLB. 

parisli  of  Mauchline,  which  had  been  sublet  to  them  by  Gavin  Hamilton,  writer  (or  attorney} 

in  Mauchline.  They  entered  on  the  farm  in  Marcli :  '*  Come,  go  to,  I  will  be  wise,"  resolved 
the  poet,  but  bad  seed  and  a  late  harvest  deprived  ihem  of  half  their  expected  crop.  Poeiry 
was  henceforth  to  be  the  only  successful  vocation  of  Eobert  Burns.  To  this  year  may  be 
assigned  the  Epistle  to  John  Jiankine  (a  Btrain  of  rich  humor,  but  indelicate),  and  some  minor 
pieces.  In  April  or  May  he  commenced  his  acquaintance  with  "Bonnie  Jean  "—Jean 
Armour— an  eveutwhich  colored  all  his  future  life,  imparting  to  it  its  brightest  lights  and  its 
darkest  shadows. 

1785— (TWENTT-SIX), 

In  January  the  Epistle  to  Davie  completed  :  Death  and  Dr.  Hornhoolc  written  aboult 
February.  Epistles  to  J.  Lapraik,  April  1,  21,  and  September  13.  Epistle  to  W.  Simpson  iu 
May.  The  Tiva  Herds,  or  tlie  Holy  Tulzie:  this  satire  was  the  first  of  his  poetic  offspring  that 
saw  the  liglit  (excepting  some  of  his  songs),  and  it  was  received  by  a  certain  description  of  the 
clergy,  as  well  as  laity,  with  a  "  roar  of  applause."  Burns  had  now  taken  his  side  with  the 
"  New  Light,"  or  rationalistic  section  of  the  church,  then  in  violent  antagonism  to  the  "  Auld 
Light,"  or  evangelistic  party,  which  comprised  the  great  bulk  of  the  lower  and  middling  classes. 
To  this  year  belong  The  Jolly  Beggars,  Halloween,  The  Coiter''s  Saturday  Night,  Man  was 
made  to  Mourn,  Address  to  the  Deil,  To  a  Mouse,  A  Winter  Night,  Holy  Willie'' s Prayer,  and  The 
Holy  Fair  (early  MS.  in  British  Museum),  Epistle  to  Jaines  Smith,  etc. 

1786~(Twenty-seven). 
In  rapid  succession  were  produced  Scotch  Drink,  The  Authored  Earnest  Ci-y  and  Prayer, 
The  Twa  Dogs,  The  Ordination,  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid,  To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  Epistle  to  a 
Toung  Friend,  A  Bard's  Epitaph,  The  Lament,  Despondency,  etc.  Such  a  body  of  original 
poetry,  written  within  about  twehe  mouths, — poetry  so  Uiitiiral,  forcible,  and  picturesque,  so 
quaint,  sarcastic,  humorous,  and  tender,— had  unquestionably  not  appeand  since  Sliakespeare. 
Misfortunes,  however,  were  gathering  round  the  poet.  The  farm  had  proved  a  failure,  and  the 
connection  with  Jean  Armour  brought  grief  and  shame.  He  gave  her  a  written  acknowledgment 
of  marriage,  but  at  the  urgent  entreaty  of  her  father  she  consented  that  this  document,  should  be 
destroyed.  The  poet  was  frantic  with  distress  and  indignation,  lie  resolved  on  qiiitling  the 
country,  and  engaged  to  go  out  to  Jamaica  as  bookkeeper  on  an  estate,  and,  to  raise  money  for 
his  passage,  arranged  to  publish  his  poems.  Subscription  papers  were  issued  in  April.  In  the 
meantime,  in  bitter  resentment  of  the  perfidy,  as  he  esteemed  it,  of  the  unfirtunate  Jean 
Armour,  he  renewed  his  intimacy  with  a  former  love,  Mary  Campbell,  or  "Highland  Mary," 
who  had  been  a  servant  in  the  family  of  Gavin  Hamilton,  and  was  now  dairy-maid  atCoilsfield. 
He  proposed  marriage  to  Mary  Campbell,  was  accepted,  and  Mary  left  her  service  and  went  to 
her  parents  in  Argyleshire,  preliminary  to  her  union  with  the  poet.  They  parted  on  the  banks 
of  the  Ayr,  on  Sunday,  May  14,  exchanging  bibles  and  vowing  eternal  fidelity.  No  more  is 
heard  of  Mary  until  after  her  death,  which  took  place  in  October  of  th's  year.  The  poema 
were  published  in  August,  an  edition  of  600  copies,  and  were  received  with  enthusiastic 
applause.  The  poet  cleared  about  £20  by  the  volume,  took  a  passage  in  the  first  ship  that  was 
to  sail  from  the  Clyde  (nothing  is  said  of  Mary  accompanyirg  him),  and  was  preparing  to 
embark,  when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Blacklock,  offering  encouragement  for  a  second  edition, 
roused  his  poetic  ambition,  and  led  him  to  try  his  fortune  in  Edinburgh.  Before  starting  he 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,  the  most  valued  and  one  of  the  most  accom- 
I  pushed  of  his  correspondents, 
'  EDINBURGH. 

November  28, 1786.— Burns  reaches  the  Scottish  capital,  and  instantly  brcomes  the  lion  of 
me  season.    He  is  courted  and  caressed  by  the  witty,  the  fashionable,  and  the  learned— by 

IDugald  Stewart,  Harry  Erskine,  Hugh  Blair,  Adam  Ferguson,  Dr.  Robertson,  Lord  Monboddo, 
Dr.  Gregory,  Eraser  Tytler,  Lord  Glencairn,  Lord  Eglinton,  Patrick  Miller  (the  ingenious  laird 
of  Dalswinton),  the  fascinating  Jane,  Duchess  of  Gordon,  Miss  Burnet,  ttc.  Henry 
Mackenzie,  the  "  Man  of  Feeling,"  writes  a  critique  on  thfi  poems  in  the  Lounger,  —the  mem- 
bers of  the  Caledonian  Hunt  subscribe  for  a  hundred  copies  of  the  new  edition,—  and  the  poet 
is  in  a  fair  way,  as  he  says,  of  becoming  as  eminent  as  Thomas  a  Kempis  or  JohnBunyan. 

1787— (Taventy-eight.) 
Burns  applies  for  and  obtains  permission  to  erect  a  tombstone  in  Canongate  Churchyard  over 
the  remains  of  Fergusson  the  pot  t.  In  April  appears  the  second  edition  of  the  Poems,  consist- 
ing of  3000  copies,  with  a  list  of  subscribers  prefixed,  and  a  portrait  of  the  po«t.  In  this 
edition  appe^ared  Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook,  the  07'dination,  and  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid, 
which  were  excluded  from  the  first  edition,  and  several  new  pieces,  the  best  of  which  are  the 
Brigs  of  Ayr  and  Tarn  Samson'^s  Elegy.     On  the  4th  of  May  the  poet  sets  off  on  a  tour  with  a 

}roung  friend,  Robert  Ainslie,  in  order  to  visit  the  most  interesting  scenes  in  the  souih  of  Scot- 
and.  Crossing  the  Tn'eed  over  Coldstream  bridge.  Burns  knelt  down  on  the  English  side  and 
poured  forth,  uncovered,  and  with  strongemotion,  the  prayer  for  Scotland  contained  in  the  two 
last  st:inzas  of  tlie  C'>t/rr's  Saturday  Night.  June  4th,  he  was  made  an  honorary  burgess  of  the 
town  of  Dumfries,  after  which  he  proceeded  to  Ayrshire,  and  arrived  at  Mauchline  on  the  9th 
Pt  June.    *'  it  will  easily  be  conceived,"  ©ays  Dr.  Currie,  "  with  what  pleasure  and  pri4e  lie  wai 


CHBONOLOGIGAL  TABLS.  xlfl 

received  by  his  mother,  his  brothers,  and  his  sisters.  He  had  left  tliem  poor  and  conipara. 
tiv'ily  friendless;  hereturued  to  tliemhigh  in  public  estimation,  and  easy  in  his  circumstances." 
At  this  time  the  poet  renewed  his  intimacy  with  Jean  Armour.  Towards  the  end  of  the  month 
he  made  a  short  Highland  tour,  in  which  lie  visited  Loch  Lomond  and  Dumbarton,  and  return- 
in?  to  Mauchline,  we  find  him  (July  25)  presiding  as  Lepute  Grand  Master  of  tlie  Tarboltou 
Mason  Lodge,  and  admitting  Proft'Ssior  Dugald  Stewart,  Mr.  Alexander,  of  Ballochmyle,  and 
others,  as  honorary  members  of  the  Lodge.  On  the  25th  of  August  the  poet  set  off  from 
Edinburgh  on  a  northern  tour  with  William  Nicol  of  the  High  School.  They  visited  Bannocli- 
burn,  spent  two  days  at  Blair  with  tlie  Dulve  of  Athole  and  family,  i)rocceded  as  far  as 
Inverness,  then  by  way  of  Elgin,  Fochabers  (dining  with  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Gordoi:),  on 
to  Aberdeen,  Stonehaven,  and  Montrose,  where  he  met  his  relatives  the  Burnese?.  Ai  rived  at 
Edinburgh  on  tlie  16th  of  Septeml)Lr.  In  December  made  the  acquaintance  of  Clarinda, 
or  Mrs.  M'Lehose,  with  whom  he  kept  up  a  passionate  correspondence  for  about  thi  ee  months. 
Overset  by  a  drunken  coachman,  and  sent  home  with  a  severely  bruised  knee,  wliicli  confined  . 
him  for  several  weelis.  Mr.  A.  Wood,  surgeon  "  lang  sandy  Wood,"  applies  to  Mr  Graham  of  i 
Fintry,  Commissioner  of  Excise,  and  gets  Burns'  name  enrolled  among  the  number  (  f  expect- ' 
ant  Excise  ofiicers.  During  all  tlais  wmter  the  poet  zealously  assists  Mr.  James  Johnson  ia 
his  publication,  the  Scots  Musical  Museum. 

1788— (Twenty-nine). 
Left  Edinburgh  for  Dumfries  to  inspect  Mr.  Miller's  lands  at  Dalswinton.  Stopped  by  the 
way  at  Mossgiel,  February  23rd.  Poor  Jean  Armour,  who  had  again  loved  not  wisely,  but  too 
well,  was  living  apart,  separated  from  her  i)arent:^,  and  supported  by  Burns.  He  visited  her 
the  day  before  nis  departure  for  Dumfries  (apparently  February  24th),  and  it  is  painful  to  find 
him  writing  thus  to  Clarinda:  "  I,  this  morning  as  I  came  home,  cabed  for  a  certain  woman. 
I  am  disgusted  vrith  her.  I  cannot  endure  her.  I,  while  my  heart  smote  me  for  the  profanity, 
tried  to  compare  ber  with  my  Clarinda  ;  'twas  setting  the  expiring  glimmer  of  a  farthing  taper 
be.^ide  the  cloudless  glory  of  the  meridian  sun.  Here  was  tasteless  insipidity,  vulgarity  of 
soul,  and  mercenary  fawning  ;  there,  polished  good  sense,  Heaven-born  genius,  and  the  most 
generous,  the  most  delicate,  the  most  tender  passion.  I  liave  done  with  her,  and  she  with 
^le."*  In  lei^s  than  two  months  they  were  married  I  In  this,  as  in  the  Highland  Mary  episode, 
Bnvns's  mobility,  or  "  excfssive  susceptibility  of  immediate  impressions,"t  seems  something 
marvellous,  and  more  akin  to  the  French  than  the  Scotch  character.  Returned  to  Edinburgh 
in  March,  and  on  the  13th  took  a  le;ise  of  the  farm  of  Ellisland,  on  the  banks  of  the  Nith.  On 
the  19th  settled  with  Creech,  the  profits  of  the  Edinburgh  edition  and  copyright  being  about 
£")00,  of  which  the  poet  gave  £180  to  his  brother  Gilbert,  as  a  loan,  to  enable  him  to  continue 
(with  the  family)  at  Mossgiel.  In  the  latter  end  of  April  Burns  was  privately  married  to  Jean 
Armour,  and  shor'ly  afterwards  wrote  on  her  his  two  charming  songs  0/ a''  the  airts  the  wind 
can  blaxo  and  0^  were  Ion  Parnassus  Hill! 

ELLISLAND. 

In  June  the  poet  went  to  reside  on  his  farm,  his  wife  remaiaing  at  jiauchline  until  a  new 
house  should  be  built  at  EUisland.  Formed  the  acquaintance  of  Captain  Riddel  of  Glenriddel, 
a  gentleman  of  literary  and  antiquarian  tastes,  who  resided  at  Friars  Carse, within  a  mile  of 
Eilisland.  On  2Sth  June  wrote  Verses  in  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  August  5,  the  poet  at 
Mauchline  made  public  announcement  of  his  marriage  before  the  Kirk  Session,  at  the  same 
time  giving  "a  guinea  note  for  behoof  of  the  poor."  In  December  conducted  Mrs.  Burns  t» 
the  banks  of  the  Nith.    IJiae  a  wife  o'  my  ain! 

1789— (Thirty). 

Visited  Edinburgh  in  February,  and  received  about  £50  more  of  copyright  money  from 
Creech.  August  18,  son  born  to  the  poet,  named  Francis  W^allace.  About  the  same  time  re- 
ceived appointment  to  the  Excise.  October  16,  the  great  bacchanalian  contest  for  the  W^histle 
took  place  at  Friars  Carse  in  presence  of  the  poet.  On  the  20th  of  October  (as  calculated,  and 
indeed  proved  by  Mr.  Chambers)  the  sublime  and  affecting  lyric,  To  Mary  in  Heaven,  was  com- 
posed. Met  Grose  the  antiquary  at  Friars  Carse,  and  afterwards  wrote  the  humorous  poem 
On  Captain  Grose's  Perigrinations.  In  December  was  written  the  election  ballad  The  Five 
Carlines. 

1790- (Thirty-one). 

January  2.— Write-s  to  Gilbert  that  his  farm  is  a  ruiuuus  affair.  On  the  14th,  addressing  his 
friend  Mr.  Dunbar,  W.  S.,  lelative  to  his  Excise  appointment,  he  says  :  "  I  found  it  a  very 
convenient  business  to  have  £50  per  annum  ;  nor  have  I  yet  felt  any  of  those  mortifying  cir- 
cumstances in  it  I  was  led  to  fear."  The  duties  were  hard  ;  he  had  to  ride  at  least  200  miles 
every  week,  but  he  still  contributed  largely  ti  the  Scots  Musical  Museum,  wrote  the  elegy  On 
Captain  Matthew  Henderson  (one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  the  poet's  productions),  and  iu 
autumn  produced  Tarn  O'Shanter,  by  universal  assent  the  crowning  glory  and  masterpiece 
of  its  author. 

*  From  the  original,  published  in  "  Banffshire  Journal." 

+  So  defined  by  Byron. who  was  hiineelf  a  victim  to  this  ''unhappy  attribute."  See  ''  Don  Jnaa,** 
canto  xv^,  97, 


Siv  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE, 


1791— (ThIKT  Y-TWO) . 

In  February  wrote  Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  and  Lament  for  James  Earlof  Gteru 
cairn.  In  March  had  his  right  arm  broken  by  the  fall  of  his  horse,  and  was  for  some  weeks 
disabled  from  writing.  In  this  month  also  occurred  an  event  which  probably  caused  deeper 
pain  than  the  broken  arm.  First,  as  Mr.  Chambers  says,  "  we  have  a  poor  girl  lost  to  the  rep- 
utable world  ;"  (this  was  "Anna  with  the  gowden  locks,"  niece  to  the  hostess  of  the  Globe 
Tavern  ;)  "  next  we  have  Burns  seeking  an  asylum  for  a  helpless  infant  at  his  brother's  ;  then, 
a  magnanimous  wife  interposing  with  the  almost  romaniicallygenerous  offer  to  become  herselfj 
its  nurse  and  guardian.*  AprilO,  a  Ihird  son  born  to  the  poet,  and  named  William  Nicol.  Atf 
the  close  of  the  month  the  poet  sold  his  crop  at  Ellisland,  "  and  sold  it  well."  Declined  to 
attend  the  crowning  of  Thomson's  bust  at  Ednara,  but  wrote  verses  for  the  occasion.  la 
November  made  a  short  visit— his  last— to  Edinburgh,  and  shortly  afterwards  wrote  his  inimi- 
table farewell  to  Clarinda,  Aefoncl  kiss  and  then  we  sever.  The  fourth  etanza  of  this  6ong  Sir 
Walter  Scott  said  contained  "  the  essence  of  a  thousand  love  talos." 

DUMFRIES. 

At  Martinmas  (Nov.  11),  the  poet  having  disposed  of  his  stock  and  other  effects  at  Ellisland, 
and  surrendered  the  lease  of  the  farm  to  Mr.  Miller  the  proprietor,  removed  with  his  family  to 
the  town  of  Dumfries.  Ee  occupied  for  a  year  and  a  half  three  rooms  of  a  second  floor  on  the 
north  side  of  Bank  Slreet  (then  called  the  Wee  Vennel).  On  taking  up  his  residence  in  th<; 
town.  Burns  was  well  received  by  the  higher  class  of  inhabitants  and  the  neighboring  gentry, 
One  of  the  most  accomplished  of  the  latter  was  Mrs.  Walter  Riddel  nee  Maria  Woodley),  then 
r.gid  only  about  eighteen.  This  lady,  with  her  husband,  a  brother  of  Captain  Riddel  of  Glen- 
riddel,  lived  on  a  small  estate  about  four  miles  from  Dumfries,  which  in  compliment  to  the 
lady  they  called  Woodley  Park  (now  Goldielea). 

1792.— (Thirty-three). 
February  27.— Burns  behaved  gallantly  in  seizing  and  boarding  a  emuggUng  brig  in  the  Sol- 
way.  The  vessel,  with  her  arms  and  stores,  was  sold  by  auction  in  Dumfries,  and  Burns 
purchased  four  carronades  or  small  lmius,  for  which  he  paid  £3,  These  he  sent,  with  a  letter, 
to  the  French  Convention,  but  they  were  retained  at  Dover  by  the  Custom-house  authoriiies. 
This  circumstance  is  supposed  to  have  drawn  on  the  poet  the  notice  of  his  jealous  superiors. 
Tie  warmly  sympathized  with  the  French  people  in  their  struggle  agaii.st  despotism,  and  the 
Board  of  Excise  ordered  an  inquiry  into  the  poet's  political  conduct,  though  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  reprimand  was  ever  given  him.  In  S'  ptember,  Mr.  George  Thomf  on,  Edinburgh, 
commenced  his  publication  of  national  songs  and  melodies,  and  Burns  cordially  lent  assistance 
to  the  undertaking,  but  disclaimea  all  idea  or  acceptance  of  j)ecuiiiary  remuneration.  On  the 
14th  of  November  he  transmitted  to  Thomson  the  song  of  Hiijliland  Mary,  and  next  month 
one  of  the  most  arch  and  humorous  of  all  his  ditties,  Duncan  Ch'ay  cam  here  to  woo. 

1793— (Thirtx-four). 
The  poet  continues  his  invaluable  and  disinterested  labors  for  Mr.  Tnorason's  publica- 
tion. In  Julv  he  makes  an  excursion  into  Galloway  with  his  friend  Mr.  Syme,  stamp 
distributor,  and  according  to  that  gentleman  (though  Burns's  own  statement  on  the  subject 
is  different),  he  composed  his  national  song,  Scots  wha  hae.  in  the  midst  of  a  thunderstorm 
on  the  wilds  of  Kenmure.  The  song  was  sent  to  Thomson  in  September,  along  with  one  no  less 
nopular.  Avid  Lang  Syne.  At  Whitsuntide  the  poet  removed  from  the  "  Wee  Yennel  "  to  a 
better  house  (rent  £8  per  annum)  in  the  Mill-Hole  Brae  (now  Burns  Street),  and  in  this 
house  he  lived  till  his  death.     Bis  widow  continued  to  occupy  it  till  her  death,  JNjarch  26,  1834. 

1794— (Thirty-five). 
'  At  a  dinner-party  at  Woodley  Park,  on  one  occasion  the  poet,  like  most  of  the  guests,  having 
exceeded  in  wine,  was  t;ui  ty  of  some  act  of  rudeness  to  the  accomplished  hostess  which  she 
and  htr  friends  resented  veiy  warmly.  A  rupture  took  place,  and  for  nearly  a  twelvemonth 
there  Avas  no  intercourse  between  the  parties.  During  this  interval  Burns  wrote  several  lam- 
poons on  ?ilrs.  Riddel,  wholly  unworthy  of  him  as  a  man  or  as  a  poet.  April  4,  Captain  Riddel 
of  Glenriddel  died  unreconciled  to  Burns,  yet  the  latter  honored  his  memory  with  a  sonnet. 
August  12,  another  son  born  to  the  poet,  and  named  James  Glencairn.  During  this  autumn  and 
winter  Burns  wrote  some  of  his  finest  songs,  inspired  by  the  charms  of  Jane  Lorimer,  the 
"Chloris"  of  many  a  lyric.  In  November  1  e  composed  his  lively  song.  Contented  wV  little  and 
cantie  wV  mair,  which  he  intended  as  a  picture  of  lii«  own  mind  ;  but  it  is  only,  as  Mr. 
Chambers  says,  the  picture  of  one  aspect  of  his  mind.     Mr.  Perry  of  i\w  Morning  Chronicle, 

*  Mrs.  Burns  was  much  attachedto  the  child,  ^vho  remained  with  her  till  she  was  seventeen  years  of 
8ge,  when  she  married  a  soldier,  John  Thomson  of  the  Stirling  Militia.  She  is  ?till  living:,  and  s.jrongly 
resembles  her  father.  Poor  Anna  the  mother  felt  deeply  the  disgrace  ;  she,  however,  made  a  decent  ma*" 
.  rlage  in  Leith,  but  died  comparatively  young,  without  any  family  by  her  husband. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  xv 

wishes  to  engage  Burns  as  a  contributor  to  his  paper,  but  the  "  truly  generous  offer  "  is  declined. 
Jest  connection  with  the  Whig  journal  should  injur.i  his  prospects  in  the  Excise.  For  a  short 
time  he  acted  as  supervisor,  and  thought  that  his  political  sins  were  forgiven. 

1795— (Thiett-six). 

In  Jaaaary  the  poet  composed  his  manly  and  independent  song,  For  'a  that  and  'a  that.  His 
Intercourse  with  Maria  llidclel  is  renewed,  and  she  sends  him  occasionally  a  book,  or  a  copy  of 
verses,  or  a  ticket  for  the  theatre.  He  never  relaxes  his  genial  labors  for  the  musical  works  of 
Johnson  and  Thompson,  ai.d  he  writes  a  series  of  election  ballads  in  favor  of  the  Wh'g  candi- 
date, Mr.  Heron.  He  joins  the  Dumfrieshire  corps  of  Volunteers,  enrolled  in  the  month  of 
March,  and  writes  his  loyal  and  patriotic  song.  Does  haughty  Gaul  intasion  threat  f  also  his  fine 
national  strain.  Their  groves  of  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon^  and  one  of  the  best  of  his 
ballads.  Last  May  a  hraw  wooer.  The  poet's  health,  however,  gives  way,  and  premature 
age  has  set  in. 

1795.— (Thirty-seven). 

The  decline  of  the  poet  is  accelerated  by  an  accidental  circumstance.  One  night  in  January  he 
Bat  late  in  the  Globe  Tavern.  There  was  deep  snow  on  the  ground,  and  in  going  home  he  8;.nk 
down,  overpowered  by  drowsiness  and  the  liquor  he  had  taken,  and  slept  for  some  hours  in  the 
open  air.  Fiom  the  cold  cauudit  on  this  occasion  he  never  wholly  recovered.  He  s;  ill,  h.»w- 
ever,  continued  his  song-writiiig,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  most  touching  of  liis  1\  lics 
was  also  one  of  his  latest,  'i'his  was  the  song  haginmng  Here' s  a  health  to  ane  I lo  e  dear, 
written  on  J(.ssy  Lewars,  a  maiden  of  eighteen,  sister  to  a  brother  exciseman,  who  pruved  a 
"ministoriig  anjiel"  to  the  poet  in  his  last  illness.  In  May,  another  election  called  forth 
another  ballad,  Wha  will  tmy  my  troggin?  And  about  the  middle  of  June  we  find  the  poet 
writing  despondingly  to  his  old  fnenci  Johnson,  and  requesting  a  copy  of  the  Scots  Musical 
i5/«/sei/m  to  prc.<eni,  to  a  young  lady.  This  was  no  doubt  the  copy  presented  to  Jissy  Lewar.-^, 
June  26,  inscribed  with'the  vt-rses.  Thine  he  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair.  As  a  last  effortfor  health. 
Burns  went  on  f  e4th  of  July  to  iJrow,  a  sea-bathing  hamlet  on  the  Sohvay.  There  he  was 
visited  by  Maria  Kiddel,  who  tliought  "  the  stamp  of  death  was  imprinted  on  his  features."  lie 
was  convinced  himself  that  his  illness  would  prove  fatal,  and  some  time  before  this  he  had  sa'-d 
to  his  wife,  "  Don't  be  afraid  ;  I'll  be  more  respected  a  hundred  years  after  I  am  dead,  than  I 
am  at  present."  Mrs.  Riddel  saw  the  poet  again  on  the  5th  of  July,  when  they  parted  to  meet 
no  more.  On  the  7th  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Alexander  Cunningham  to  move  the  Commissioners 
of  Excise  to  continue  his  full  salary  of  £oO  instead  of  reducing  it,  as  was  the  rule  in  the  case 
of  excisemen  off  duty,  to  £85.  Mr.  Findlater,  his  superior  officer,  says  he  had  no  doubt  this 
would  have  bc(  n  done  had  the  poet  lived.  On  the  10th  Burns  wrote  to  his  brother  as  to  his 
hopeless  condition,  his  debts,  and  his  despair;  and  on  the  same  day  he  addressed  a  request  to 
his  father-in-law,  stern  old  James  Armour,  that  he  would  write  to  Mrs.  Armour,  then  in  Fife, 
to  come  to  the  assistance  of  her  daagiiter,  the  poet's  wife,  during  the  time  of  her  confinement. 
Hia  thoughts  turned  also  to  his  friend  Mrs.  Dnnlop,  who  had  unaccountably  been  silent  for 
sometime.  He  recalled  her  interesting  correspondence  :  "  With  what  pleasure  did  I  use  to 
break  up  the  seal  !  The  remembrance  adds  yet  one  pulse  more  to  my  poor  palpitating  heart. 
Farewell  I"  Close  on  this  dark  hour  of  anguish  came  a  lawyer's  letter  urging  p.iyment— and 
no  doubt  hinting  at  the  serious  consequences  of  non-payment— of  a  haben  ashcr's  account. 
This  legal  missive  served  to  conjure  up  before  the  distracted  poet  the  image  of  a  jail  with 
all  its  horrors,  and  on  the  12th  he  w;'ote  two  letters— one  to  his  cousin  in  Montrose  begging  an 
advance  of  £10,  and  one  to  Mr.  George  Thomson  imploring  £5.  "  Forgive,  forgive  m  ■  I" 
He  left  the  sea-side  on  the  18th,  weak  and  feverish,  but  was  able  the  same  day,  on  arriving  at 
his  house  in  Dumfries,  to  address  a  second  note  to  James  Armour,  reiterating  the  wish 
expressed  six  days  before,  but  w  ithout  eliciting  any  reply  :  '•  Do  for  Heaven's  sake,  send  Mrs. 
Armour  here  immediately."  From  this  jx  riod  he  was  closely  confined  to  b;  d  (according  to  the 
f-tatcment  of  his  widow),  and  was  scarcely  "himself"  for  half  an  hour  toijethei-.  He  was  aware 
of  this  infirmity,  and  told  his  wife  she  was  to  touch  him  and  remind  him  when  he  was  going- 
wrong.  One  day  he  got  out  of  his  bed,  and  his  wife  found  him  sittiuir  in  a  corner  of  the  room 
with  his  bedclothes  about  him;  she  e.ot  assistance,  and  he  suffered  "himself  to  be  gently  Jed 
back  to  bed.  The  day  before  he  died  he  called  very  quickly  and  with  a  halo  vo'ce,  "Gilbert  ! 
Gilbert !  "  On  the  morning  of  the  21st.  at  daybreak,  death  was  obvi-^aisiy  near  at  hand,  and 
the  children  wore  sent  for.  They  had  bf^en  removed  to  the  house  of  Je*=sy  Lewars,  and  her 
brother,  in  order  tliat  the  poet  s  dv.elling  might  be  kept  quiet,  and  they  v/efe  now  summoned 
back  that  they  m\giit  have  a  last  look  of  their  illustrious  father  in  life.     He  v.-as  insensible,  his 

mind  lost  in  d(  lirium,  and,  according  to  his  eldest  son.  his  last  words  were"  That  d d  rascal, 

Matthew  Pen  !  "—an  execration  asrainst  the  legal  agent  who  had  written  the  dunning  letter. 
And  so  ended  this  snd  and  stormy  life-drama,  and'^the  poet  passed,  as  Mr.  Carlyle  has  said, 
"not  softly  hilt  speedily  into  tha"  still  country  where  the  hail-storms  and  fire-showers  do  not 
reach,  and  the  hejiviest-lanon  wayfarer  at  length  lays  down  his  load."  On  the  evening  of  Sum- 
day,  the  24th  of  July,  the  poet's  remains  were  removed  from  his  house  to  U; .  3^0wu  Hall,  au<i 
next  day  were  interred  with  military  honors, 


THE  POEMS  OF  ROBERT  BTTR^9 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 

A  TALE. 

TwAS  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle, 
That  bears  the  name  o'  Auld  King  Coil, 
Upon  a  bonie  day  in  June, 
When  wearing  thro '  the  afternoon, 
Twa  dogs,  that  were  na  thrang  at  hame, 
Forgather'd  ance  upon  a  time. 

The  first  I'll  name,  they  ca'd  him  Caesar, 
Was  keepit  for  his  Honour'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, 
Where  sailors  gang  to  fish  for  Cod. 

His  locked,  letter'd,  braw  brass  collar, 
Shew'd  him  the  gentleman  and  scholar  ; 
But  tho'  he  was  o'  high  degree. 
The  fient  a  pride— nae  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. 
iNae  tawted  dyke,  tho' e'er  sae  duddie. 
But  he  wad  stan't,  as  glad  to  see  him, 
An'  stroan't  on  stanes  and  hillocks  wi'  him. 

The  tither  was  a  ploughman's  collie, 
A  rhyming,  ranting,  raving  billie, 
Wha  for  his  friend  and  comrade  had  him, 
An'  in  his  freaks  had  Luath  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  dike. 
His  honest,  sonsie,  baws'nt  face, 
A^  gat  him  friends  in  ilka  place  ; 
Hi  breast  was  white,  his  touzie  back 
Weel  clad  wi'  coat  o'  glossy  black : 
His  gawcie  tail,  wi'  upward  curl, 
Hung  owre  his  hurdles  wi'  a  swirl. 

Nae  doubt  but  they  were  fain  o'  ither, 
An'  unco  pack  an'  thick  thegither  : 
Wi'  social  nose  whyles  snuff 'd  and  snowkit : 
WhjiBs  mice  and  moudieworts  thej  howkit ; 

n 


18  THE  TWA  DOGS. 

Whyles  scour'd  awain  lang  excursion. 
An'  worry'd  itlier  in  diversion  ; 
Until  wi'  daffin  weary  grown, 
Upon  a  knowe  they  sat  them  down. 
An'  there  began  a  lang  digression 
About  the  lords  o'  the  creation. 

I've  aften  wonder'd,  honest  Luath, 
What  sort  o'  life  poor  dogs  like  you  have  ; 
An'  when  the  gentry's  life  I  saw, 
'  What  way  poor  bodies  lived  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  tail,  whare  thro'  the  stceks. 
The  yellow  letter'd  Geordie  keeks. 

Frae  morn  to  e'en,  it's  nought  but  toiling: 
At  baking,  roasting,  frying,  boiling ; 
An'  tho'  the  gentry  first  are  stechin, 
Yet  evn  the  ha'  folk  fill  their  pechan, 
Wi'''sauce,  ragouts,  and  such  like  trastrie, 
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  Honour  has  in  a'  the  Ian  : 
An'  what  poor  cot-folk  pit  their  painch  in 
I  own  it's  past  my  comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth,  Caesar,  wdiyles  they're  fash't  enough 
A  cotter  howkin  in  a  sheugh, 
Wi'  dirty  stanes  biggin  a  dyke, 
Baring  a  quarry,  and  siclike, 
Himsel,  a  wife,  he  thus  sustains, 
A  smytrie  o'  wee  duddie  weans. 
An'  nought  but  his  han'  darg,  to  keep 
Them  right  an'  tight  in  thack  an'  rape. 

An'  when  they  meet  wi'  sair  disasters, 
Like  loss  o'  health,  or  want  o'  masters. 
Ye  maist  wad  think,  a  wee  touch  langer, 
An'  they  maun  starve  o'  cauld  and  hunger; 
But,  how  it  comes.  I  never  kend  yet. 
They're  maistly  wonderfu'  contented  ; 
An'  buirdly  chiels,  an'  cleverhizzies, 
Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 

CiESAR. 

But  then  to  see  how  ye're  neglecktt. 
How  huff'd,  an'  cuff'd  an*  disrcspeckit ! 


IS 


ttOtd,  TBan,  -  -^  ^cniij  care  vib  iiU_«. 
For  delvers,  ditchers,  an'  sic  cattle. 
They  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk, 
As  I  wad  by  a  stinking  brock. 

I've  no!  iced  on  our  Laird's  court  day. 
An'  mouy  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  ge;ir  : 
While  they  maun  stan',  wi'  aspect  hu:.   ;!e. 
An'  hear  it  a',  an'  fear  an'  tremble  ! 
I  see  how  folk  live  that  hae  riches  ; 
But  surely  poor  folk  maun  be  wretches. 

LUATH. 

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

Then  chance  an'  fortune  are  sae  guided, 
They'r  ay  in  less  or  mair  provided  ; 
An'  tho'  fatigu'd  wi'  close  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  sweetens  a'  their  fire-side. 

An'  whyles  twapennie  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  taxations  comin, 
An'  ferlie  at  the  folk  in  Lun'on. 

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

That  merry  day  the  year  begins, 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  winds  ; 
The  nappy  reeks  wi'  mantling  ream, 
An'  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam  ; 
The  luntin  pipe,  an'  sneeshin  mill, 
Are  handed  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  barket  wi'  them. 

Still  it's  owre  true  that  ye  hae  said. 
Sic  game  is  now  owre  af  ten  placed. 


ZO  THE  TWA  BOGS. 

There's  monie  a  creditable  stock 
O'  decent,  honest,  fawsout  folk, 
Are  riven  out  baith  root  an'  branch. 
Some  rascal's  pridefu'  greed  to  quench, 
Wha  thinks  to  knit  himsel  the  faster 
In  favour  wi'  some  gentle  Master, 
Wha,  aiblins,  thrang  a  parliamentin. 
For  Britain's  guid  his  saul  indentin  — 

C^SAR. 

Haith,  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it ; 
For  Britain's  guid  !  guid  faith  !  I  doubt  it. 
Say  rather,  gaun  as  Premiers  lead  them. 
An'  sayiug  aye  or  no's  they  bid  him  : 
At  operas' an'  plays  parading. 
Mortgaging,  gambling,  masquerading : 
Or  maybe,  in  a  frolic  daft. 
To  Hague  or  Calais  takes  a  waft, 
To  make  a  tour,  an'  tak  a  whirl, 
To  learn  bon  ton  an'  see  the  worl'. 

There,  at  Vienna  or  Versailles, 
He  rives  his  father's  auld  entails  ; 
Or  by  Madrid  he  taks  the  rout, 
To  thrum  guitars,  an'  fecht  wi'  nowt ; 
Or  down  Italian  vista  startles. 
Whore-hunting  amang  groves  o'  myrtles  : 
Then  bouses  drumly  German  water, 
To  mak  himsel  look  fair  and  fatter. 
An'  clear  the  consequential  sorrows, 
Love-gifts  of  Carnival  Signoras. 
For  Britain's  guid  !  for  her  destruction  1 
Wi'  dissipation,  feud,  an'  faction  ! 

LUATH. 

Hech,  man  !  dear  sirs  !  is  that  the  gate 
They  waste  sae  mony  a  braw  estate  ? 
Are  we  sae  foughten  an'  harass'd 
For  gear  to  gang  that  gate  at  last  ? 

O  would  they  stay  aback  frae  courts. 
An'  please  themsels  wi'  countra  sports. 
It  wad  for  ev'ry  ane  be  better, 
The  Laird,  the  Tenant,  an'  the  Cotter  1 
For  thae  frank,  rantin,  rambliu  billies, 
Fient  haet  o'  them's  ill-hearted  fellows  ; 
Except  for  breaking  o'  their  timmer. 
Or  speaking  lightj^y  o'  their  limmer, 
Or  shootin  o'  a  hare  or  moor-cock, 
The  ne'er-a-bit  they're  ill  to  poor  folk. 

But  will  ye  tell  me,  Master  Caesar, 
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. 


THE  TWA  D0Q8,  81 

C^SAR. 

Lord,  man,  were  ye  but  whyles  whare  I  asp. 
The  gentles  ye  wad  ne'er  euvy  'em. 

It's  true,  they  need  na  starve  or  sweat, 
Thro'  winter's  cauld,  or  simmer's  heat ; 
They've  nae  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. 
They  mak  enow  themselves  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  ; 
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,  yet  uneasy  ; 
Their  days  insipid,  dull,  an'  tasteless ; 
Their  nights  unquiet,  lang,  an'  restless  ; 

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'  drink  an'  whoring. 
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  a'  run  deils  an'  jads  thegither. 
Whyles,  owre  the  wee  bit  cup  an'  platie. 
They  sip  the  scandal  potion  pretty  ; 
Or  lee-lang  nights,  wi'  crabbit  leuks, 
Pore  ower  the  devil's  pictur'd  beuks  ; 
Stake  on  a  chance  a  farmer's  stackyard, 
An'  cheat  like  ony  unhung'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  gloamin  brought  tl^.e  night  : 
The  bum-clock  humm'd  wi'  lazy  drone. 
The  kye  stood  rowtin  i'  the  loan  ; 
When  up  they  gat,  an'  shook  their  lugs, 
Rejoic'd  they  were  na  men  but  dogs; 
An'  each  took  aff  his  several  way, 
Resolv'd  to  meet  some  ither  day. 


23  SCOTCH  DBINK, 

SCOTCH  DRINK. 

Gie  him  strong  drink,  until  he  wink, 

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

That's  pre!?sed  with  grief  an'  care  ; 
There  let  him  bou!?e,  an'  deep  carouse, 

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

An'  minds  his  griefs  no  more. 

Solomon's  Provbbbs,  xxxi.  6,  T. 

Let  other  Poets  raise  a  fracas 

'Bout  vines,  an'  wines,  an'  drunken  Bacchus, 

An'  crabbit  names  an'  stories  wrack  us, 

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

In  ghxss  or  jug. 

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

In  glorious  faem. 
Inspire  me,  till  I  lisp  an'  wank, 

To  sing  thy  name  1 

Let  husky  Wheat  the  haughs  adorn, 
An'  Aits  set  up  their  awnie  horn. 
An'  Pease  an'  Beans  at  een  or  morn, 

Perfume  the  plain, 
Leeze  me  on  thee,  John  Barleycorn, 

Thou  King  o'  grain  I 

On  the  aft  Scotland  chows  her  cood, 
In  souple  scones,  the  w^ale  o'  food  ! 
Or  tumblin  in  the  boiling  flood 

Wi'  kail  an'  beef  ; 
But  when  thou  pours  thy  strong  heart's  blood. 

There  thou  shines  chief. 

Food  fills  the  wame,  an'  keeps  us  livin; 
Tho'  life's  a  gift  no  worth  receivin. 
When  heavy-dragg'd  wi'  pine  an'  grievin  ; 

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

Wi'  rattlin  glee. 

Thou  clear  the  head  o'  doited  Lear  : 
Thou  cheers  the  heart  o'  drooping  Care  ; 
Thou  strings  the  nerves  o'  Labour  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. 


saorcii  liniNK.  ^s 


His  wee  drap  panitch,  or  his  bread, 

Thou  kitchens  tine. 

Thou  art  the  life  o'  public  haunts  ; 

But  thee,  what  were  our  fairs  and  rants  ? 

Ev'n  godly  meetings  o'  the  saunts. 

By  thee  inspir'd, 
"When  gaping  they  besiege  the  tents, 

Are  doubly  fir'd. 

That  merry  night  we  get  the  corn  in  I 
O  sweetly,  then,  thou  reams  the  horn  inl 
Or  reekin  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!  lo  see  thee  tizz  an'  freath 

I'  th'  lugget  caup  1 
Then  Burnewin  comes  on  like  Death 

At  ev'ry  chaup. 

Nae  mercy,  then,  for  airn  or  steel ; 
The  brawnie,  banie,  ploughman  chiel, 
Brings  hard  owrehip,  wi'  sturdy  wheel, 

The  strong  forehammw. 
Till  block  an'  studdie  ring  an'  reel 

Wi'  dinsome  clamour. 

'When  skirlin  weanies  see  the  light, 
Thou  maks  the  gossips  clatter  bright. 
How  fumblir'  cuifs  their  dearies  slight, 

Wae  worth  the  name  ! 
Nae  Howdie  gets  a  social  night, 

Or  plack  frae  them. 

When  neebors  anger  at  a  plea. 
An'  just  as  wud  as  w^ud  can  be  : 
How  easy  can  the  barley-bree 

Cement  the  quarrel ! 
It's  aye  the  cheapest  Lawyer's  fee, 

To  taste  the  barrel. 

Alake !  that  e'er  my  Muse  has  reason 
To  wyte  her  countryman  wi'  treason  ! 
But  monie  daily  weet  their  weason 

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

E'er  spier  her  price. 

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

O'  hash  his  days  ; 
An'  sends,  beside,  auld  Scotland's  cash 

To  her  warst  f  aes. 


^4  TBE  A  tTHORS  EARNEST  CRY  ASD  t^A TER 

Ye  Scots,  wha  wisli  auld  Scotland  well. 
Ye  chief,  to  you  my  talk  I  tell, 
Poor  plackless  devils  like  mysel' 

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

Or  foreign  gill. 

Hay  gravels  round  bis  blather  wrench  ; 
An'  gouts  torment  him,  inch  by  inch, 
Wha  twists  his  gruntle  wi'  a  glunch 

O'  sour  disdain, 
Out  owre  a  glass  o'  Whisky  punch 

Wi'  honest  men  I 

O  Whisky  !  soul  o'  plays  an'  pranks  I 
Accept  a  Bardie's  grateful  thanks  ! 
When  wanting  thee,  what  tuneless  cranks 

Are  my  poor  verses  1 
Thou  comes — they  rattle  i'  their  ranks 

At  ither's  a — s  ! 

Thee,  Ferintosh  !  O  sadly  lost ! 
Scotland,  lament  frae  coast  to  coast  I 
Now  colic-grips,  an'  barkin  hoast, 

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

Is  ta'en  awa ! 

Thae  curst  horse-leeches  o'  th'  Excise, 
Wha  mak  the  Whisky  Stells  their  prize  !  _ 
Hand  up  thy  ban',  Deil  !  ance,  twice,  thrice  I 

There,  seize  the  blinkers  I 
An'  bake  them  up  in  brunstane  pies 

For  poor  damn'd  drinkers. 

Fortune  !  if  thou  but  gie  me  still 
Hale  breeks,  a  scone,  and  Whisky  gill. 
An'  rowth  o'  ryme  to  rave  at  will, 

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

Directs  thee  best. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER 

TO  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  AND  HONOURABLE  THE  SCOTCH  REPB.F.«T?.J5JTA- 
TIVES  IN  THE  HOUSE  OP  COMMONS. 

Dearest  of  Distillation  I  iast  and  best— 
—How  art  thou  lost  ?— 

Parody  on  Milton. 


Ye  Irish  Lords,  ye  Knights  an'  Squires, 
Wha  represent  our  brughs  an'  shires. 
An'  doucely  manage  our  affairs 

In  Parliament, 
To  you  a  simple  Bardie's  prayers 

Are  humbly  sent 


THE  A  UTHOBS  EAUNEST  CRT  AND  PMA  YER  2^ 

Alas  !  my  roupet  muse  is  hearse  ; 

Your  Honours'  heart  wi'  grief  'twad  pierce. 

To  see  her  sitting  on  her  a — 

Low  i'  the  dust. 
An'  scriechin  out  prosaic  verse, 

An'  like  to  brust ! 

Tell  them  wha  hae  the  chief  direction, 
Scotland  an'  me's  in  great  affliction. 
E'er  since  they  laid  that  curst  restriction 

On  Aquavitse  ; 
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  ! 

Does  ony  great  man  glunch  an'  gloom  ? 
Speak  out,  an'  never  fash  your  thumb  1 
Let  posts  an'  pensions*  sink  or  soom 

Wi'  them  wha  grant  'em : 
If  honestly  they  canna  come. 

Far  better  want  'em. 

In  gath'ring  votes  you  were  na  slack  ;     ^ 
Now  stand  as  tightly  by  your  tack  ; 
Ne'er  claw  your  lug,  an'  fidge  your  back. 

An'  hum  an'  haw  ; 
But  raise  your  arm,  an'  tell  your  crack 

Before  them  a'. 

Paint  Scotland  greetin  owre  her  thrissle  ; 
Her  mutchkin  stoup  as  toom's  a  whissle ; 
An'  damn'd  Excisemen  in  a  bussle. 

Seizin  a  Stell, 
Triumphant  crushin't  like  a  mussel 

Or  lampit  shell. 

Then  on  the  tither  hand  present  her, 

A  blackguard  Smuggler  right  behint  her. 

An'  check-for-chow,  a  chuffic  Vintner, 

Colleaguing  join. 
Picking  her  pouch  as  bare  as  Winter 

Of  a'  kind  coin. 

Is  there,  that  bears  the  name  o'  Scot, 
But  feels  his  heart's  bluid  rising  hot. 
To  see  his  poor  auld  Mither's  pot 

Thus  dung  in  staves. 
An'  plunder'd  o'  hindmost  groat 

By  gallows  knaves  ? 

Alas  I  I'm  but  a  nameless  wight, 
Trode  i'  the  mire  out  o'  sight  I 


26  THE  A XITH0W8  SAHNEST  CRY  AND  PUAYML 

But  could  I  like  Montgomeries  fight. 

Or  gab  like  Boswell, 

There's  some  sark-nccks  I  wad  draw  tight. 
An"  tie  some  hose  welL 

God  bless  your  Honors,  can  ye  see't, 
The  kind,  auld,  cantie  Carliu  greet. 
An'  no  get  warmly  to  your  feet, 

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

Ye  winna  bear  it  I 

Some  o'  you  nicely  ken  the  laws. 
To  round  the  period  an'  pause, 
An'  with  rhetoric  clause  on  clause 

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

Auld  Scotland's  wrangs. 

Dempster,  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  damn'd  auldfarran, 

Dundas  his  name. 

Erskine,  a  spunkie  Norland  billie  ; 
True  Campbells,  Frederick  an'  Hay  ; 
An'  Livingstone,  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  ; 
Or  faith  !  I'll  wad  my  new  pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'U  see't  or  lang. 
She'll  teach  you,  wi  a  recking  whittle, 

Anither  sang. 

This  while  she's  been  in  crankous  mood. 
Her  lost  Militia  tir'd  her  bluid  ; 
(Deil  na  they  never  mair  do  guid, 

Play'd  her  that  pliskie  I) 
An'  now  she's  like  to  rin  red-wud 

About  her  Whisky. 

An'  Lord,  if  ance  they  pit  her  till't, 
Her  tartan  petticoat  she'll  kilt, 
An'  durk  an'  pistol  at  her  belt. 

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

I'  th'  first  she  meets  ! 

For  God  sake.  Sirs  !  then  speak  her  fair. 
An'  straik  her  cannic  wi'  the  hair. 
An'  to  the  muckle  house  repair, 

Wi'  instant  speed. 


THE  A  XTTEOR'S  EAUNEST  CRT  AND  PRATER,  27 

An'  strive,  wi'  a'  your  wit  and  lear, 
To  get  remead. 

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

E'en  cowe  the  cadie  J 
An'  send  him  to  his  dicing-box 

An'  sportin  lady. 

Tell  yon  guid  bluid  o'  auld  Boconnock's 
I'll  be  his  debt  twa  mashlum  bonnocks, 
An'  drink  his  health  in  auld  JSfanse  Tinnock's 

Nine  times  a-week, 
If  he  some  scheme,  like  tea  an'  winnocks. 

Wad  kindly  seek. 

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

Nor  erudition. 
Yon  mixtie-maxtie  queer  hotch-potch. 

The  Coalition. 

Auld  Scotland  has  a  raucle  tongue  ; 
She's  just  a  devil  wi'  a  rung  ; 
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  Five-and-Forty, 
May  still  your  Mither's  heart  support  ye  ; 
Then,  though  a  Minister  grow  dorty. 

An'  kick  your  place, 
Ye'U  snap  your  fingers,  poor  an'  hearty, 

Before  his  face. 

God  bless  your  Honors  a'  your  days, 
Wi'  sowps  o'  kail  an'  lyi-ats  o'  claise, 
In  spite  o'  a'  the  thievish  kaes 

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

While  Kab  his  name  is. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Let  half -starved  slaves,  in  warmer  skies, 
See  future  wines,  rich-clust'ring  rise  ; 
Their  lot  auld  Scotland  neer  envies, 

But  blythe  and  frisky. 
She  eyes  her  free-born,  martial  boys, 

Tak  aff  their  Whisky. 

What  th  j'  their  Phoebus  kinder  warms, 
Whib  fragrance  blossoms  an'  beauty  charms  J 
Wb.en  wretches  range,  in  famish'd  swarms. 
The  scented  groves. 


23  TBE  EOL  T  FAIR 

Or  hounded  forth,  dishonour  arms 

In  hungry  droves. 

Their  gun's  a  burden  on  their  shouther  ; 
They  downa  bide  the  stink  o'  powther  ; 
Their  bauldest  thouglit's  a  hank'riug  swithel 

To  Stan'  or  rin, 
Till  skelp— a  shot— they're  aff,  a'  throwther. 

To  save  their  skin. 

But  bring  a  Scotsman  frae  his  hill, 
Clap  in  his  cheek  a  Highland  gill. 
Say,  such  is  royal  George's  will, 

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

Twa  at  a  blow. 

Nae  cauld,  faint-hearted  doubtings  tease  him  ; 
Death  comes,  wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees  him  ; 
Wi'  bluidy  han'  a  welcome  gies  him  ; 

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

In  faint  huzzas. 

Sages  their  solemn  ecu  may  steek. 
An'  raise  a  philosophic  reck. 
An'  physically  causes  seek, 

In  clime  an'  season  ; 
But  tell  me  Whiskey's  name  in  Greek, 

I'll  tell  the  reason. 

Scotland,  my  auld,  respected  Mither  1 
Tho'  whyles  ye  moistify  your  leather, 
Till  whare  ye  sit,  on  craps  o'  heather, 

Ye  tine  your  dam  ; 
Freedom  and  Whisky  gan  tlicgither  ! 

Tak  aff  your  dram  I 

THE  HOLY  FAIR. 

A  robe  of  ?eeming  truth  and  trust 
Hid  crafty  Observation  ; 
And  secret  hung,  with  poison'd  crust, 
The  dirlv  of  Defamation  ; 
A  ma!?k  that  like  the  gorget  show'd, 

Dye-varying  on  tlie  pigeon  ; 
And  for  a  mantle  large  and  broad, 
He  wrapt  him  in  Eeligion. 

Hypocrisy  a-la-mode. 

tJpoN  a  simmer  Sunday  morn. 

When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 
I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn. 

An'  snuff  the  caller  air. 
The  risin'  sun,  owre  Galston  muirs, 

Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin  ; 
The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furrs. 

The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 

Fu'  sweet  that  dfay. 


THE  UOLT  FAIR.  89 

As  lightsomely  I  glowr'd  abroad. 

To  see  a  scene  sae  gay. 
Three  Hizzies,  early  at  the  road, 

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

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

Was  in  the  fashion  shining 

Fu'  gay  that  day. 

The  twa  appear'd  like  sisters  twin,  "     , 

In  feature,  form,  an'  claes  ; 
Their  visage  wither'd,  lang  an'  thin. 

An'  sour  as  ony  slaes  : 
The  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,  *'  Svveet  lass, 

I  think  ye  seem  to  ken  me  ; 
I'm  sure  I've  seen  that  bonie  face. 

But  yet  I  canna  name  ye." 
Quo'  she,  an'  laughin'  as  she  spak, 

An'  taks  me  by  the  ban's. 
Ye,  for  my  sake,  hae  gi'en  the  feck 

Of  a'  the  ten  comman's 

A  screed  some  day. 

"  My  name  is  Fun — your  cronie  dear. 

The  nearest  friend  ye  hae  ; 
An'  this  is  Superstition  here. 

An'  that's  Hypocrisy. 
I'm  gaun  to  Mauchliiie  Holy  Fair, 

To  spend  an  hour  in  daffin  : 
Gin  ye'll  go  there,  yon  runkl'd  pair, 

We  will  get  famous  laughin 

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  the  holy  spot ; 

Faith,  we'se  hae  fine  remarkin  I  " 
Then  I  gaed  hame  at  crowdie  time, 

An'  soon  I  made  me  ready  ; 
For  roads  were  clad,  frae  side  to  side, 

Wi'  monie  a  wearie  bodie, 

In  droves  that  day. 

Here,  farmers  gash,  in  ridin  graith 

Gaed  hoddin  by  their  cotters. 
There,  swankies  young,  in  braw  braid-claithp 

Are  springin  owre  the  gutters. 
The  lasses,  skelpin  barefit,  thrang, 

Jja  silk5  an'  scarlets  glitter ; 


80  TEE  EOL  Y  FAIR 

Wr  sweet-milk  cheese,  in  monie  a  whang. 
An'  farls,  bak'd  wi'  butter, 

Fu'  crump  that  day. 

When  by  the  plate  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  sec  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,  racer  Jess,  an'  twa-three  whores. 

Are  blinkin  at  the  entry. 
Here  sits  a  raw  o'  titlin  jades, 

Wi'  heaving  breast  an'  bare  neck, 
An'  there,  a  batch  o'  wabster  lads. 

Blackguarding  frae  Kilmarnock 

For  fun  this  day. 

Here,  some  are  thinkin  on  tlieir  sins. 

An'  some  upo'  their  claes  ; 
Ane  curses  feet  that  fyl'd  his  shins, 

Anither  sighs  an'  praj's  : 
On  this  hand  sits  a  chosen  swatch, 

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

Thrang  wiukin  on  the  lasses 

To  chairs  that  dayo 

O  happy  is  that  man  an'  blest ! 

Nae  wonder  that  it  pride  him  ! 
Wha's  ain  dear  lass,  that  he  likes  best, 

Comes  clinkin  down  beside  him  1 
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  Moodie  speels  the  holy  door, 

Wi'  tidings  o'  damnation. 
Should  Hornie,  as  in  ancient  days, 

'Mang  sous  o'  God  present  him. 
The  verra  sight  o'  Hoodie's  face, 

To's  ain  bet  hame  had  sent  him 

Wi'  fright  that  day. 

Hear  how  he  clears  the  points  o'  faith 
Wi'  rattlin  and  wi'  thumpin  ! 


THE  SOL  T  FAIR.  ^^ 

Kow  meekly  calm,  now  wild  in  wrath. 

He's  stanipin  an'  he's  jumpin  ! 
His  leugtlien'd  chin,  his  turned-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  its  voice  -, 

There's  peace  an'  rest  nae  langer : 
For  a'  the  real  judges  rise, 

They  canna  sit  for  anger. 
Smith  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues. 

On  practice  and  on  morals  ; 
An'  alf  the  godly  pour  in  thrangs, 
•  To  g;  e  the  iars  an'  barrels 

A  lift  that  day. 

What  signifies  his  barren  shine 

Of  moral  po^'rs  an'  reason  ? 
His  E  iglish  style,  an'  gesture  fine. 

Are  a'  clean  out  o'  season. 
Like  Locrates  or  Antonine, 

Or  some  auld  pagan  Heathen, 
The  moral  man  he  doth  define, 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That's  right  that  day. 

In  guid  time  comes  an  antidote 

Agains'  sic  poison'd  nostrum  ; 
For  Peeblfco,  frae  the  water-fit, 

Ascends  th«i  holy  rostrum  : 
See,  up  he's  got  the  word  o'  God^ 

An'  meek  an'  mim  has  view'd  it. 
While  Common  Sense  has  ta'en  the  road. 

An'  aft",  an'  up  the  Cowgate 

Fast,  fast,  that  day. 

Wee  Miller,  neist,  the  Guard  relieves. 

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

An'  thinks  it  auld  wives'  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  times  that  day. 

Kow,  butt  an'  ben,  the  Change-house  fills, 

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

An'  tliere  the  piot-stowp  clatters  ; 
While  thick  an'  thrang,  and  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. 


32  THE  HOLT  FAIR, 

Leeze  me  on  Drink  'i  it  gi'es  us  mair 

Than  either  School  or  College  : 
It  kindles  Wit,  it  waukens  Lair, 

It  pangs  us  fou  o'  Knowledge. 
Be't  whisky  gill  or  penny  wheep, 

Or  ony  stronger  potion, 
It  never  fails,  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  table,  weel  content, 

An'  steer  about  the  toddy. 
On  this  ane's  dress,  an'  that  ane's  leuk. 

They're  makin  observations  ; 
While  some  are  cozie  i'  the  neuk, 

An'  formin  assignations 

To  meet  some  day. 

But  now  the  Lord's  ain  trumpet  tc  its,  , 

Till  a'  the  hills  are  rairin. 
An'  echoes  back  return  the  shouts  ; 

Black  Russel  is  na  spairin  : 
His  piercing  words,  like  Highlan  swords. 

Divide  the  joints  an'  marrow  ; 
His  talk  o'  Hell,  where  devils  dwell. 

Our  very  "  sauls  does  harrow  " 

Wi'  fright  that  day  J 

A  vast,  unbottom'd,  boundless  pit, 

Fill'd  fou  o'  lowin  brunstane, 
Wha's  ragin  flame,  an'  scorchin  heat, 

Wad  melt  the  hardest  whun-stane  1 
The  half  asleep  start  up  wi'  fear. 

And  think  they  hear  it  roarin, 
When  presently  it  does  appear, 

"Twas  but  some  neighbor  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": 
How  drink  gaed  round,  in  cogs  an'  caups, 

Amang  the  furms  and  benches  ; 
An'  cheese  an'  bread,  frae  women's  laps. 

Was  dealt  about  in  lunches. 

An'  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  auld  Guidmen,  about  the  grace, 

Frae  side  to  side  they  bother. 


DEATH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK. 

Till  some  ane  by  his  bonnet  lays 
An'  gi'es  them't  like  a  tether, 

Fu'  lang  that  day. 

Waesucks  !  for  him  that  gets  nae  lass. 

Or  lasses  that  hae  naething  ! 
Sma'  need  has  he  to  say  a  grace, 

Or  melvie  his  braw  claithing  ! 
O  Wives,  be  mindfu',  ance  yoursel 

How  bonie  lads  ye  wanted, 
An'  dinna,  for  a  kebbuck-heel. 

Let  lasses  be  affronted 

On  sic.  a  day  ! 

Now  Clinkumbell,  wi'  rattling  tow. 

Begins  to  jow  and  croon  ; 
Some  swagger  hanie,  the  best  they  dow. 

Some  wait  the  afternoon. 
At  slaps  the  billies  halt  a  blink, 

Till  lasses  strip  their  shoon  : 
Wi'  faith  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  on^-  flesh  is. 
There's  some  are  fou  o'  love  divine. 

There's  some  are  fou  o'  brandy  ; 
An'  monie  jobs  that  day  begin, 

May  end  in  Houghmagaudie 

Some  ither  day. 


DEATH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK. 

A  TRVE  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, 
A  rousing  whid,  at  times,  to  vend. 

And  nail't  wi'  Script ure. 

But  this  that  I  am  gaun  to  tell, 
Whic^  lately  on  a  night  befell, 
^  just  as  true's  the  Deil's  in  hell 

Or  Dublin  city : 
That  e'e  •  he  nearer  comes  ourse'i 

's  a  muckle  pity. 

The  Clachan  yill  had  made  me  canty. 

I  wasna  fou,  but  just  had  plentv  ; 

I  stacher'd  -v  hyles,  but  yet  took  tent  »y 

To  free  the  ditcUes : 


34  DEATll  AND  DOCTOR  IIOBNBOOK. 

An'  hillocks,  stanes,  an'  bushes,  kenn'd  ay 

Frae  ghaists  an'  wit^ihes. 

The  rising  moon  began  to  glowr 
The  distant  Cumnock  hills  out-owre  : 
To  count  her  horns,  wi'  a'  my  pow'r, 

I  set  mysel ; 
But  whether  she  had  three  or  four, 

I  cou'd  na  tell. 

I  was  come  round  about  the  hill, 
And  todlin  down  on  AVillie's  mill. 
Setting  my  staff,  wi'  a"  my  skill, 

To  keep  me  sicker ; 
Tho'  leeward  whylcs,  against  my  will, 

I  took  a 'bicker. 

I  there  wi'  Something  did  forgather. 

That  pat  me  in  an  eerie  swither  ; 

An  awfu'  scythe,  out-owre  ae  sliouther. 

Clear-dangling,  harg: 
A  three-taed  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  lient  a  wame  it  had  ava, 

And  then  its  shanks. 
They  were  as  thin,  as  sharp  an'  sma' 

As  cheeks  o'  l^-anks. 

"  Guid-cen,"  quo'  I ;  "  Friend  !  hae  3'^u  beei-  r^^irV^'^; 
When  ither  folk  are  busy  sawin  ?  " 
It  seem'd  to  make  a  kind  o'  stan', 

But  naething  spqk ; 
At  length,  says  I,  "  Friend,  wliare  ye  gau'i', 

Will  ye  go  back  ?  " 

It  spak  right  howe — "  M}^  name  is  Death, 
But  be  na  tiey'd." — Quoth  I,  "  Guid  faith, 
Ye're  maybe  come  to  stop  my  breath  ; 

But  tent  me,  billi^  * 
I  red  ye  weel,  tak  car  o'  skaith, 

See,  there's  a  gully  \  " 

"Gudeman,"  quo'  he,"  put  up  your  whittle, 
I'm  no  designed  to  try  its  mettle  ; 
But  if  I  did,  I  wad  be  kittle 

To  be  mislear'd, 
I  wad  na  mind  it,  no  that  spittle 

Out-owre  my  beard." 

"  Weel,  weel ! "  says  I,  "  a  baKgain  be't  ; 
Come,  gics  your  hand,  an  sae  we're  gree't  \ 
We'll  ease  our  shanks  an'  tak  a  seat. 

Come  gies  your  news ; 
This  while  jv.  hae  been  mony  a  gate, 

4-t.  mony  a  house." 


DEATH  ANL   DOCTOR  HORNBOOK.  ^5 

*'  Ay,  ay  !"  quo'  he,  an'  shook  his  head, 
*'  It's  e'en  a  lang,  lang  thne  indeed 
Sin'  I  began  to  nick  the  thread, 

An'  choke  the  breath  : 
Folk  maun  do  something  for  their  bread, 

An'  sae  maun  Death. 

"  Sax  tliousand  years  are  near-hand  fled. 

Sin'  I  was  to  the  butchin^  bred, 

An'  mony  a  scheme  in  vaiu's  been  laid, 

To  stap  or  scaur  me  ; 
Till  ane  Hornbook's  ta'en  up  the  trade, 

An'  faitli,  he'll  waur  me- 

"  Ye  ken  Jock  Hornbook  i'  the  Clachan, 
Deil  mak  his  king's-hood  in  a  spleuchan  ! 
He's  grown  sae  well  acquaint  wi'  Buchan 

An'  ither  chaps, 
The  weans  hand  out  their  fingers  lauglnn 

And  pouk  my  hips. 

"  See,  here's  a  scythe,  and  there's  a  dart, 
They  hae  picrc'd  mony  a  gallant  heart ; 
But  Doctor  Hornbook,  wi'  his  art 

And  cursed  skill, 
Has  made  them  baith  no  worth  a  f — t, 

Damn'd  haet  they'll  kill 

'*  'Twas  but  yestreen,  nae  farther  gaen, 

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  bane, 

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 

O'  a  kail-runt. 

"  I  drew  my  scythe  in  sic  a  fury, 
I  near-hand  cowpit  wi'  my  hurry, 
But  yet  the  bauld  Apothecary 

Withstood  the  shock  ; 
I  might  as  weel  hae  try'd  a  quarry 

O'  liard  whin  rock. 

"  E'en  them  he  canna  get  attended, 
Altho'  their  face  he  ne'er  had  kend  it. 
Just  sh —  in  a  kail-blade,  and  send  it, 

As  sooii's  he  smell8% 
Baith  their  disease,  and  what  will  mend  it. 
At  once  he  tells't. 

*'  And  then,  a'  doctor's  saws  and  whittles. 
Of  a'  dimensious.  shapes,  an'  mettles, 


36  BE  A  TH  AIT'^  DOVTOU  HORNBOOK. 

A'  kinds  o'  boxes,  mugs,  an'  bottles, 

He's  sure  to  hae  ; 

Their  Latin  names  as  fast  he  rattles 
As  A  B  C. 

"  Calces  o'  fossils,  earths,  and  trees  ; 
True  Sal-marinuni  o'  the  seas  ; 
The  Farina  of  beans  and  pease, 

He  has't  in  plenty ; 
Aqua  fontis,  what  you  please. 

He  can  content  ye. 

"  Forbye  some  new,  uncommon  weapons, 

Urinns  Spiritus  of  capons  ; 

Or  Mite-horn  shavings,  tilings,  scrapings, 

Distil'd  jjc;'  se  ; 
Sal-alkali  o'  Midge-tail  clippings. 

And  mony  mae." 

**  Waes  me  for  Johnny  Gi'd's  Hole  now," 
Quoth  I,  "if  that  thae  news  be  true  ! 
His  braw  calf- vard  whare  gowans  grew, 

Sae  white  and  bonie, 
Nae  doubt  they'll  rive  it  wi'  the  p!ew  ; 

They'll  ruin  Johnnie  P 

The  creature  grain'd  an  eldritch  laugh, 
And  says,  "  Ye  needna  yoke  the  pleugh, 
Kirk-yards  will  soon  be  till'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  of  breath. 
This  night  I'm  free  to  tak  my  aith, 

That  Hornbook's  skill 
Has  clad  a  score  i'  their  last  claith, 

By  drap  and  pill. 

"An  honest  Wabster  to  his  trade, 

Whase  wife's  tu'a  nieves  were  scarce  well-bred. 

Gat  tippence- 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, 

An'  pays  him  well. 
The  lad,  for  twa  guid  gimmer-pets, 

Was  Laird  himsel. 

"  A  bonuie  lass,  ye  kend  her  name, 

Some  ill-brewn  drink  had  hov'd  her  wame  : 

She  trusts  hersel,  tp  hide  the  shame, 

In  Hornbook's  care ; 


THE  BRIG h  fyjp  ^iH.  97 

Horn  sent  Lor  ail  to  her  lang  harae, 

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  damn'd  dirt. 

"  But,  hark  !  I'll  tell  you  of  a  plot, 
Tho'  dinna  ye  be  speaking  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  I " 

But  just  as  he  began  to  tell, 

The  auld  kirk-hammer  strak  the  bell 

Some  wee,  short  hour  ayont  the  twal. 

Which  rais'd  us  baith : 
I  took  the  way  that  pleas'd  mysel, 

And  sae  did  Death. 


.  THE  BRIGS  OF  AYR. 

A  POEM. 
INSCRIBED   TO  JOHN  BALLANTINE,    ESQ,,    AYR. 

The  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic  plough. 

Learning  his  tuneful  trade  from  ev'ry  bough  ; 

The  chanting  linnet,  or  the  mellow  thrush  ; 

Hailing  the  setting  sun,  sweet,  in  the  green  thorn  bush  % 

The  soaring  lark,  the  perching  red-breast  shrill, 

Or  deep-ton'd  plovers,  grey,  wild-whistling  o'er  the  Mile 

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  ; 

Shall  he  be  guilty  of  their  hireling  crimes. 

The  servile,  mercenary  Swiss  of  rhymes  ? 

Or  labour  hard  the  panegyric  close. 

With  all  the  venal  soul  of  dedicating  Prose  ? 

No!  though  his  artless  strains  he  rudely  sings. 

And  throws  his  hand  uncouthly  o'er  the  strings. 

He  glows  with  all  the  spirit  of  tl^e  Bard, 

Fame,  honest  fame,  his  great,  his  aear  reward. 

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

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

When  Ballantyne  befriends  his  humble  name 

And  hands  the  rustic  Stranger  up  to  fame, 

With  heartfelt  throes  his  grateful  bosom  sweUs 

The  godlike  bliss,  to  give,  alone  excels. 


3  8  THE  BRiaS  OF  A  YR. 

'Twas  when  the  stacks  get  on  their  -winter-hap. 
And  thack  and  rape  secure  the  toil-won  crap  ; 
Potatoe-bings  are  snugged  up  frac  skaith 
O'  coming  Winter's  biting,  frosiy  breath  ; 
The  bees,  rejoicing  o'er  their  summer  toils, 
Unnumber'd  buds  and  fiow'rs,  delicious  spoils, 
Seal'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  massive  waxen  piles, 
Are  doom'd  by  man,  that  tyrant  o'er  the  weak, 
Tlie  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  lield-mates,  bound  by  Nature's  tie, 
Sires,  mothers,  children,  in  one  carnage  lie  : 
(What  warm,  poetic  heart,  but  inly  bleeds, 
And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless  deeds  !) 
Nae  mair  the  flow'r  in  field  or  meadow  springs  ; 
Nae  mair  the  grove  Avith  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  noontide  blaze. 
While  thick  the  gossamour  waves  wanton  in  the  rays. 

'Twas  in  that  season  ;  when  a  simple  Bard, 
Unknown  and  poor,  simplicity's  reward, 
Ae  night,  within  the  ancient  brugli  of  Ayr, 
By  whim  inspir'd.  or  hapl}^  prest  wi'  care. 
He  left  his  bed  and  took  his  wayward  rout. 
And  down  by  Simpson's  wheel'd  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  clock  had  number'd  two, 
And  Wallace  Tow'r  had  sworn  the  fact  was  true : 
The  tide-swoln  Firth,  wi'  sullen-sounding  roar. 
Through  the  still  night  dash'd  hoarse  along  the  shore 
All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed  e'e  ; 
The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tow'r  and  tree : 
The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam. 
Crept,  gentl3'--crusting,  owre  the  glittering  stream. — 

When,  lo  !  on  either  hand  the  list'ning  Bard, 
The  clanging  sugh  of  whistling  wings  is  heard  ; 
Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  midnight  air, 
Swift  as  the  Gos  drives  on  the  wheeling  hare  ; 
Ane  on  th'  Auld  Brig  his  airy  shape  uprears. 
The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers  : 
Our  warlock  Rhymer  instantly  descry'd 
The  Sprites  that  owre  the  Brigs  of  Ayr  preside. 
(That  Bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae  joke. 
And  ken  the  lingo  of  the  sp'ritual  folk  ; 
Fays,  Spunkies,  Kelpies,  a',  they  can  explain  them, 
And  ev'n  the  vera  deik  they  brawly  ken  them.) 
Auld  Brig  appear'd  o'  ancient  Pictish  race, 
The  vera  wrinkles  Gothic  in  his  face  : 


THE  Bix±xxiS  OF  A  YB.  39 

He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  bad  warstl'd  lang. 
Yet,  teughly  doiire,  he  bade  au  luico  bang. 
New  Brfg  was  buskit,  in  a  braw  new  coat, 
That  lu!,"at  Lon'on,  frae  ane  Adams  got  ; 
In's  hand  live  taper  staves  as  smooth's  a  bead, 
Wi'  virls  an'  whirlygigunis  at  the  head. 
The  Goth  was  stalking  round  with  anxious  search. 
Spying  the  time-worn  flaws  in  evry  arch  \ 
It  clianc'd  liis  new-come  neebor  took  liis  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  guid-een  : — 

AULD   BEIG. 

I  doubt  na,  Frien',  yell  think  ye're  nae  sheep-shank, 
4-iice  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'll  never  see  ; 
There'll  be,  if  that  day  come,  I'll  wad  a  boddle. 
Some  fewer  whigmeleeries  in  your  noddle. 

NEW  BRIG. 

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

AULD  BRIG. 

Conceited  gowk  !  puff'd  up  wi'  windy  pride  ! 
This  mony  a  year  I've  stood  the  flood  an'  tide  ; 
And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild  I'm  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  heav}^  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains, 
Wi'  deepening  deluges  o'erflow  the  plains ; 
When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil, 
Or  stately  Lugar's  mossy  fountains  boil. 
Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland  course 
Or  haiuited  Garpal  draws  his  feeble  source, 
Arous'd  by  blust'ring  winds  an'  spotting  thowes  ; 
In  mony  a  torrent  down  his  snaw-broo  rowes  ; 
While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  soaring  spate, 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate ; 
A.nd  from  Glenbuck,  down  to  the  Ratton-key, 
Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthen'd,  tumbling  sea  ; 
Then  down  ye'll  hurl,  dJil  nor  ye  never  rise  1 
And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring  skies. 


^^  'THE  BRIGS  OF  A  TR, 

A  lesson  sadly  teaching,  to  your  cost, 
That  Architecture's  noble  art  is  lost ! 

NEW  BRIG. 

Fine  Architecture,  trowth,  I  needs  must  say't  o*ts. 
The  Lord  be  thankit  that  we've  tint  the  gate  o't ! 
Gaunt,  ghastly,  ghaist-alluring  edifices. 
Hanging  with  threat'ning  jut,  like  precipices  ; 
O'er  arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring  coves. 
Supporting  roofs,  fantastic,  stony  groves  : 
Windows  and  doors  in  nameless  sculptures  drest. 
With  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  still  the  second  dread  command  be  free, 
Their  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. 
That  sullen  gloom  was  sterling,  true  devotion  ; 
Fancies  that  our  guid  Brugh  denies  protection, 
And  soon  may  they  expire,  unble&t  with  resurrectiea ! 

AULD  BRIG. 

O  ye,  my  dear-remember 'd,  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  moderns  are  but  causey-cleaners  ! 
Ye  godly  Councils  wha  hae  blest  this  town  ; 
Ye  godly  Brethren  o'  the  sacred  gown, 
Wha  meekly  gie  your  hurdles  to  the  smiters"; 
And  (what  would  now  be  strange)  je  godly  Writers: 
A'  ye  douce  folk  I've  borne  aboou  the  broo, 
Were  ye  but  here,  what  would  ye  say  or  do  I 
How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep  vexation, 
lo  see  each  melancholy  alteration ; 
And  agonizing,  curse  the  time  and  place 
When  ye  begat  the  base,  degen'rate  race  ! 
Nae  langer  Kev'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,  corky-headed,  srraceless  Gentry, 
The  herryment  and  ruin  of  the  country  ; 
Men,  three-parts  made  by  Tailors  and  by  Barbers 
Wha  waste  you  weel-hain'd  gear  on  damn'd  new  Briffs  and 

Harbours  I  ® 


TME  BRIGS  OF  ATR  4\ 

NEW  BRIG. 

Kow  hand  you  there  !  faith  ye've  said  enough. 
And  muckle  mair  than  ye  can  niak  to  through  : 
As  for  your  Priesthood,  I  i-hall  say  but  Httle, 
Corbies  and  Clergy  arc  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  Ayr,  Wag-wits  na?  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  priggiu  owre  hops  an  raisins. 
Or  gather'd  lib'ral  views  in  bonds  and  seisins. 
If  haply  Knowledge,  on  a  random  tramp. 
Had  shor'd  them  Vvi'  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp. 
And  would  to  Common-sense  for  once  betray'd  them. 
Plain,  dull  Stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them. 

What  farther  clishmaclaver  might  been  said, 
What  bloody  wars,  if  Sprites  had  blood  to  shed. 
No  man  can  tell  ;  but  all  before  their  sight 
A  fairy  train  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 : 
While  arts  of  Minstrelsy  among  them  rung, 
And  soul-ennobling  Bards  heroic  ditties  sung. 
O  had  M'Lauchlan,  thairm-inspiring  sage, 
Been  there  to  heur  this  heavenly  band  engage. 
When  thro'  his  dear  strathspeys  they  bore  with  Highland  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  inspir'd  1 
No  guess  could  tell  what  instrument  appear'd. 
But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was  heard  ; 
Harmonious  concert  rung  in  every  part, 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving  on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  Stream  in  front  appears, 
A  venerable  Cliief ,  advanc'd  in  years  ; 
His  hoary  head  with  water-lilies  crown'd. 
His  manly  leg  with  garter  tangle  bound. 
Kext  came  the  loveliest  pair  in  all  the  ring. 
Sweet  Female  Beauty  hand  in  hand  with  Spring  ; 
Then,  crown'd  with  flow'ry  hay,  came  Rural  Joy, 
And  Summer  with  his  fervid-beaming  eye : 
All-cheering  Plenty,  with  her  flowing  horn, 
Led  yollow  Autumn  wreath 'd  with  nodding  cofL  , 
Then  Winter's  time-bleach'd  locks  did  hoarv  show, 
Bj  Hospitality  with  cloudless  brow  ;  *    . 


4^ 


THE  ORDINATIOU. 


Next  follow'd  Courage  with  his  martial  stride. 

From  where  the  Feal  wild-^voody  coverts  hide ; 

Benevolence,  with  mild,  benignant  air, 

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

Learning  and  Wortli  in  equal  measures  trode 

From  simple  Catrine,  their  long-lov'd  abode  : 

Last,  white-rob'd  Peace,  crowned  with  a  hazel  wreath. 

To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 

The  broken,  iron  instruments  of  death  : 

At  sight  of  whom  our  Sprites  forgat  their  kindling  wrath. 


THE  ORDINATION. 

For  sense,  they  little  owe  to  frugal  Heav'n— 
To  please  the  mob,  they  hide  the  littk  giv'n. 


Kilmarnock   Wabsters,    fidge    and 
claw, 

An'  pour  your  creeshie  nations  ; 
An'  ye  wha  "leather  rax  an'  draw. 

Of  a'  denominations  ; 
Swiii  to  the  Laigli  Kirk,  ane  an'  a'. 

An  there  tak  up  your  stations  ; 
Then  alf  to  Begbie's  in  a  raw, 

An'  pour  divine  libations 

For  joy  this  day. 

Curst  Common-sense,  that  imp  o'  hell, 

Cam  in  wi'  Maggie  Lauder  ; 
But  Olipliant  oft  made  her  yell. 

An'  Russel  sair  misca'd  her  ; 
This  day  M'Kinhiy  take  the  flail, 

An'  he's  the  boy  will  blaud  her  ! 
He'll  clap  a  shangan  on  her  ail. 

An'  set  the  bairns  to  daud  her 

Wi'  dirt  this  day. 

Hak  haste  an'  turn  King  David  owre. 

An'  lilt  wi'  holy  clangor  ; 
O'  double  verse  come  gie  us  four, 

An'  skirl  up  the  Bangor  : 
This  day  the  Kirk  kicks  up  a  stoure, 

Nae  mair  the  knaves  shall  wrang 
her 
For  Heresy  is  in  her  pow'r, 

And  gloriously  she'll  w^hang  her 
Wi'  pith  this  day. 

Come,  let  a  proper  text  be  read. 
An'  touch  it  off  wi'  vigour. 

How  graceless  Ham  leugh  at  his  Dad, 
Which  made  Canaan  a  niger  ; 


Or  Phineas  drove  the  murdering  blade, 
Wi'  whore-abhorring  rigour ; 

Or  Zipporah,  the  scauklin  jad, 
Was  like  a  bluidy  tiger 

r  th'  Inn  that  day. 

There,  try  his  mettle  on  the  creed, 

And  bind  him  down  wi'  caution. 
That  Stipend  is  a  carnal  weed. 

He  takes  but  for  the  fashion  ; 
An'  gie  him  o'er  the  flock,  to  feea, 

And  punish  each  transgression  ; 
Especial,  rams  that  cross  the  bvced, 

Gie  them  sufficient  threshin, 

Spare  them  nae  day. 

Now  auld  Kilmarnock,  cock  thy  tail. 

An'  toss  thy  horns  fu'  canty  ; 
Nae  mair  thou'lt  rowte  out-owre  the 
dale. 

Because  thy  pasture's  scanty  ; 
For  lapfu's  large  o'  gospel  kail 

Shall  fill  thy  crib  in  plenty. 
An'  runts  o'  grace  the  pick  an'  wale. 

No  gi'en  by  way  o'  dainty, 
But  ilka  day. 

Nae  mair  by  Babel  streams  we'll  weep, 

To  think  upon  our  Zion  : 
And  hing  our  fiddles  up  to  sleep, 

Like  baby-clouts  a-dryin  :^ 
Come,  screw    the    pegs    wi'    tunefu* 
cheep. 

And  o'er  the  thairms  be  tryin  •, 
Oh  rare  1  to  see  our  elbucks  wheep, 

And  a'  like  lamb-tails  flyin 

Fu'  fast  this  day ! 


TSE  CAim 


43 


Lang,  Patronage,  wi'  rod  o'  airn, 

Has  slior  d  the  Kirk's  undoin, 
As  latei}^  Feuwick,  suir  forfairu. 

Has  proven  to  his  ruin  ; 
Our  Patron,  honest  man  !  Glcncairn, 

He  saw  mischief  was  brewiu  ; 
And  like  a  godly,  elect  bairn, 

He's  wal'd  us  out  a  true  ane, 

And  sound  this  day. 

Now  Robinson  harangue  nae  mair, 

But  steek  your  gab  lor  ever  : 
Or  try  the  wicked  town  of  Ayr, 

For  there  they'll  think  you  clever; 
Or,  nae  reliection  on  your  lear, 

Ye  may  commence  a  Shaver ; 
Or  to  the  Netiierton  repair, 

And  turn  a  Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand  this  day. 

iMutrie  and  you  were  just  a  match. 

We  never  had  sic  twa  drones  : 
Auld    Hornie    did    the  Laigh    Kirk 
watch. 

Just  like  a  winkin  baudrons  : 
And  ay  he  catch'd  the  tither  wretch, 

To  fry  them  in  his  caudrons  ; 
But  now  his  Honour  maun  detach, 

Wi'  a'  his  brimstone  squadrons, 
Fast,  fast  this  day. 

See,  see  auld  Orthodoxy's  faes 
She's  swingein  thro'  the  city  ; 

Hark,  how  the  nine-tail'd  cat  she  plays  1 
I  vow  it's  unco  pretty  1 


There,  Ijearniug,  with  his  Greekisb 
face. 
Grunts  out  sonie  Latin  ditty  ; 
And  Common-sense  is  gaun,  she  says, 
To  mak  to  Jamie  Beattie 

Her  plaint  this  d&y. 

But  there's  Morality  hirasel, 

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  ! 
No  there,  they're  packed  aff  to  hell. 

And  banish'd  our  dominions. 

Henceforth  this  day. 

O  happy  day  !  rejoice,  rejoice  ! 

Come  bouse  about  the  porter  1 
Morality's  demure  decoys 

Shall  here  nae  "mair  find  quarter  : 
M'Kinlay,  Russel  are  the  boys 

That  heresy  can  torture  ; 
Th.ey^l  gie  her  ou  a  rape  a  hoyse. 

And  cowe  her  measure  shorter 

By  th'  head  some  daj 

Come,  bring  the  tither  mutchkin  in. 

And  here's,  for  a  conclusion. 
To  every  New  Light  mother's  son, 

From  this  time  forth,  Confusion  : 
If  mair  they  deave  us  wi'  their  din. 

Or  Patronage  intrusion, 
We'll  light  a  spunk,  and,  ev'ry  skin. 

We'll  riri  them  aff  in  fusion 

Like  oil,  some  day. 


THE  CALF. 

TO  THE  lt:iV.   MK.   JAMEW  STEVENS,  ON  HIS  TEXT,   MALACHI,  CH.   IT.  VEB.  2. 

•'  And  ye  shall  go  forth,  and  grow  up  as  calves  of  the  stall." 


Right,  Sir  !   your  text  I'll  prove  it 
true, 

Tho'  Heretics  may  laugh  ; 
For  instance,  there's  yoursel  just  now, 

God  knows,  an  unco  Calf  1 

And  should  some  Patron  be  so  kind. 

As  bless  you  wi'  a  kirk, 
I  doubt  na.  Sir,  but  then  we'll  find, 

Ye're  still  as  great  a  Stirk. 


But,  if  the  Lover's  raptur'd  Lour 

Shall  ever  be  your  lot. 
Forbid  it,  ev'ry  lieavenly  Power, 

You  e'er  should  be  a  Stot ! 

Tiio',    when    some    kind,    connubial 
Dear, 

Your  but-and-ben  adorns. 
The  like  has  been  that  you  may  wear 

A  loble  head  of  liorns. 


44 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL. 


And,    in    your   lug,    most    reverend  And  when  ye're  number'd   wi'  the 

James,  dead, 

To  hear  you  roar  and  rowte.  Below  a  grassy  hillock, 

Few    men    o'  sense  will  doubt  your  Wi'    justice    they    may    mark    your 

claims  head — 

To  rank  among  the  Nowte.  "  Here  lies  a  famous  BullocK  !" 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL. 

O  Prince  !  O  Chief  of  many  throned  Pow'rs, 
That  led  th'  embattled  Seraphim  to  war  ^Milton. 


O  THOU  !  whatever  title  suit  thee, 
Auld  Hornie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie, 
Wha  in  yon  cavern  grim  an'  sootie, 

Clos'd  under  hatches, 
Spairges  about  the  brunstane  cootie, 

To  scaud  poor  wretches  J 

Hear  me,  auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee. 
An'  let  poor  damned  bodies  be  ; 
I'm  sure  sma'  pleasure  it  can  gie, 

Ev'n  to  a  deil. 
To  skelp  an'  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me. 

An'  hear  us  squeel  1 

Great  is  thy  pow'r,  an' great  thy  fame; 
Far  keud  and  noted  is  thy  name  ; 
An'  tho'  yon  lowiu'  heugh's  thy  hame. 

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

Nor  blate  nor  scaur. 

"Whyles,  ranging  like  a  roarin  lion. 
For  prey,  a'  holes  an'  corners  tryin  ; 
Whyles  on  tlie  strong-wiug'd  Tempest 
flyin, 

Tirlin  the  kirks  ; 
"Whyles  in  the  human  bosom  pryin. 

Unseen  thou  lurks. 

il've  heard  my  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'rer's  way, 

Wi'  eldritch  croon. 

When  twilight  did  my  Grannie  sum- 
mon, 

To   say   her    pray'rs,    douce,  honest 
woman  ! 

Aft  yont  the  dyke   she's  heard  you 
bummin, 

Wi'  eerie  drone  ; 


Or,  rustl:^,  thro'  the  boortrees  comin, 
Wi'  heavy  groan. 

Ae  dreary,  windy,  winter  night, 
The    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. 

The  cudgel  in  my  nieve  did  shake. 
Each  bristled  hair  stood  like  a  stake, 
When  wi'  an  eldritch,  stoor  quaick^ 
quaick, 

Amang  the  springs, 
Awa  ye  squattered  like  a  drake. 

On  whistling  wings, 

Let  warlocks  grim,  an'  wither'd  haga. 
Tell  how,  wi'  you  on  ragweed  nags, 
They  .skin  the  muirs,  an'  dizzy  crags, 

Wi'  wicked  speed  ; 
And  in  kirk-yards  renews  their  leagues, 

Owre  howkit  dead. 

Thence,   contra  wives,    wi'    toil  an* 

pain, 
May  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn  in 

vain  ; 
For,  oh  !  the  yellow  treasure's  taen 

By  witching  skill  ; 
An'  dawtit,  twal-pint  Hawkie's  gaea 
As  yell's  the  Bill. 

Thence,  mystic  knots  mak  great  abuse. 
On  young  Guidmen,  fond,  keen,  an' 

crouse  ; 
When    the     best    wark-lume    i'    the 

By  cantrip  wit, 
Is  instant  made  no  worth  a  louse. 

Just  at  the  bit 


THE  DEATH  AND  DTINQ  WORDS  OF  POOR  MAILIE.        45 


When    tho\ves    dissolve    the    smawy 

lioord, 
An'  float  tlie  jinglin  icy-boord, 
Then,  AVater  kelpies  haunt  the  foord, 

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

To  their  destruction. 

An'  aft  your  moss-traversing  Spuukies 
Decoy  the  wight  that  late  an'  drunk  is: 
Tue  bleezin,  curst,  mischievous  mou 
kies 

Delude  his  eyes, 
Till  in  some  miry  slough  he  sunk  is, 
Ne'er  mair  to  rise. 

"When  Masons'  mystic  word  an'  grip, 
In  storms  an'  tempests  raise  you  up, 
Some  cock  or  cat  your  rage  maun 
stop, 

Or,  strange  to  tell ! 
The  youngest  Brother  ye  wad  whip 

All:  straught  to  hell. 

Lang  syne,  in  Eden's  bonie  yard, 
When  youthf  u'  lovers  lirst  were  pair'd. 
An'  all  the  soul  of  love  Ihey  shar'd, 

The  rapti.r'd  hour. 
Sweet  on  the  fragrant,  fiow'ry  iwaird. 

In  shady  bow'r : 

Then    you,   ye    auld    snick-dviwing 

dog ! 
Ye  caiue  to  Paradise  incog. 
An'  play'd  on  man  a  cursed  bro^jc, 

(Black  be  you  fa  !) 
An'  gied  the  infant  warld  a  shog, 
Maist  ruin'd  a'. 


D'ye  mind  that  day,  when  in  a  bizz, 
Wi'  reckit  duds,  an'  reestit  gizz. 
Ye  did  present  your  smoutie  phiz, 

'Mang  better  folk. 
An'  sklented  on  the  man  of  Uz 

Your  spiteful  joke ! 

An'  how  ye  gat  him  i'  your  thrall. 
An'  brake  him  out  o'  house  and  hall', 
While  scabs  an'  blotches  did  him  gall, 

Wi'  bitter  claw. 
An'    lows'd    his  ill-tongued    wicked 
Scawl, 

Was  warst  ava  ? 

But  a'  your  doings  to  rehearse. 
Your  wi]y  snares  an'  fetchin  tierce. 
Sin'  that  day  Michael  did  you  pierce, 

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

In  prose  or  rhyme. 

An'  now,   auld  Cloots,  I  ken  ye'rs 

thinkin, 
A  certain  Bardie's  rantin,  drinkin. 
Some  luckless  hour  v/ill  send    him 
linkin. 

To  your  black  pit  ; 
But,  faith  !  he'll  turn  a  corner  jinkin. 
An'  cheat  you  yet. 

But,  fare  you  weel,  auld  Nickie-ben  \ 
O  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  an'  men'  1 
Ye  aiblins  might— I  dinna  ken — 

Still  liae  a  stake — 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Ev'u  for  your  sake  I 


THE  DEATH  AND  DYING  WORDS  OF  POOR  MAILIE, 
THE  AUTHOR'S  ONLY  PET  Y^OWE. 


AN  UNCO  MOURNFU'  TALE. 


'  As  Mailie,  an'  her  lambs  thegither. 
Was  ae  day  nibbling  on  the  tether, 
I  Upon  her  cloot  she  coost  a  hitch, 
I  An'  owre  she  warsl'd  in  the  ditch  ; 
I  There,  groaning,  dying,  she  did  lie, 
,  When  Hughoc  he  cam  doytin  by. 
I      Wi'  glowrin  een,  an'  lifted  ban's, 
I  Poor  Hughoc  like  a  statue  §tan'§  ; 


He    saw  her  days  were  near  han^ 

ended, 
But,    waes  my  heart !    he   could   na 

mend  it  ! 
He  gaped  wide,  but  nnething  spak. 
At  length  poor  Mailie  silence  brak. 
"  O  thou,  whase  lamentable  face 
Appears  to  mourn  my  woefu'  case  I 


46 


POOR  MAILlE'8  ELEGY, 


My  dying  words  attentive  hear, 
An'  bear  them  to  my  Master  dear. 

"  Tell  him,  if  e'er  again  he  keep 
As  muckle  gear  as  buy  a  sheep, 
O,  bid  him  never  tie  them  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'  lambs,  an'  packs  o'  woo'  ! 

"  Tell  him,  he  was  a  Master  kin'. 
An'  ny  was  guid  to  me  an'  mine; 
An'  now  my  dying  charge  I  gie  him, 
My  helpless  lambs,  I  trust  them  wi' 
him. 

"O,   bid  him  save  their  harmless 
lives, 
Frae    dogs,   an'   tods,    an'    butchers' 

knives  ! 
But  gie  them  guid  cow-milk  their  fill. 
Till  they  be  tit  to  fend  Ihemsel: 
An'  tent  them  duly,  e'en  an'  morn. 
Wi'  teats  o'  hay  an'  ripps  o'  corn. 

"  An'  may  they  never  learn  the  gaets 
Of  ither  vile  wanrestfu'  pets  ! 
To  slink  thro'  slaps,  an'  reave  an''-  steal, 
M  stacks  o'  pease,  or  stocks  o'  kail. 
l'9  may  they,  like  their  great  Forbears, 
I'or    monie  a  year    come    thro'    the 

sheers; 
So  wives  will  gie  them  bits  o'  bread, 


An'  bairns  greet  for  them  when  they're 

dead. 
"My  poor  toop-lamb,  my  son  am* 

heir, 
O,  bid  him  breed  him  up  wi'  care  i 
An',  if  he  live  to  be  a  beast. 
To  pit  some  bavins  in  his  breast  ! 
An'  warn  him,  what  I  winna  name, 
To  stay  content  wi'  yowes  at  hame ; 
An'  no  to  rin  an'  wear  his  cloots. 
Like  ither  menseless,  graceless  brutes 

"  An'  niest  my  yowie,  silly  thing, 
Gude  keep  thee  frae  a  tether  string  I 
O,  may  thou  ne'er  forgather  up 
Wi'  ony  blastit,  moorland  toop  ; 
But  ay  keep  mind  to  moop  an'  mell, 
Wi'  sheep  o'  credit  like  thysel  ! 

"  And  now,  my  bairns,  wi'  my  last 

breath 
I  lea'e  my  blessin  wi'  you  baith  : 
An'  when  you  think  upo'your  Mither. 
Mind  to  be  kind  to  ane  anither. 

"Now,  honest  Hughoc,  dinna  fail. 
To  tell  my  master  a'  my  tale  ; 
An'  bid  him  burn  this  cursed  tether, 
An'  for  thy  pains,   thou'se    get  my 

blether." 

This  said,  poor  Mailie  turn'd  her 
head. 
An'  clos'd  her  een  amang  the  dead  I 


POOR  MAILIE'S  ELEGY. 


Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 
Wi'   saut  tears  trickling  down  your 

nose  ; 
Our  Bardie's  fate  is  at  a  close. 

Past  a'  remead  ; 
The  last,  sad  cape-stane  of  his  woes  ; 

Poor  Mailie's  dead  I 

It's  no  the  loss  o'  warl's  gear, 
'That  could  sae  bitter  draw  the  tear. 
Or  mak  our  Bardie,  dowie,  wear 

Tlie  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, 

§he  tm  wi'  spee(i  ; 


A  friend  mair  fajthfu'  ne'er  cam  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  biak  a  fence. 

Thro'  thievish  greed. 
Our  Bardie,  lanely,  keeps  the  spence 

Sin'  Mailie's  dead. 

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

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


TO  JAMES  SMITH. 


4? 


She  was  nae  get  o'  moorland  tips, 
Wi  tawted  ket,  an'  hairy  hips  ; 
For    her  forbears    were    brought    in 
ships, 

Frae  yont  the  Tweed  ; 
A.  bonier  fleesh  ne'jr  cross'd  the  dips 

Tbj,n  Mailie's  dead. 

Wae  worth  the  man  wha  first  did 

shape 
That  vile,  waachancie  thing — a  rape  I 


It  maks  guid  fellows  grin  an'  gape, 
Wi'  cliokin  dread  ; 

An'  Robin's  bonnet  wave  wi'  crape. 
For  Mailie  dead. 

O,  a'  ye  Bards  on  bonie  Doon  ! 

An'  wha  on  Ayr  your  chanters  tune  ! 

Come,  join  the  melancholious  croon 

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

His  Mailie's  dead  I 


owe  thee  much. 

Dear  Smith,  the  sleeest,  paukie  thief, 
That  e'er  attempted  stealth  or  rief, 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock-breef 

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

Against  your  arts. 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  an*  moon. 
And  ev'ry  star  that  blinks  aboon, 
Ve'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'  youc 

That  auld,  capricious  carlin,  Nati/re, 
I  To  mak  amends  for  scrimpit  stature, 
I  She's  turn'd  you  aff ,  a  human  creature 
1  On  her  first  plan, 

I  And  in  her  freaks,  on  ev'ry  feature, 
;  She's  wrote,  "  The  Man.' 

{  Just  now  I've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme, 
]\Iy  barmie  noddle's  working  prime, 
My  fancie  yerkit  up  sublime 

Wi'  hasty  summon  : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure-moment's  time 

To  hear  what's  comin  ? 

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

uecdfu'  cash  ; 
Some  rhyme  to  court  the  contra  clpsli, 

An'  raise  a  din  ; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  fash; 

I  rhyi\T£  for  fun. 


TO  JAMES  SMITH. 

Friendship  I    mysteriou?  cement  of  the  eonl  f 
Sweet'ner  of  Life,  and  solder  of  Society  I 
I  owe  thee  much.  Blair. 


'Vho,  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot. 

I'as  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 

An'  damm'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat 

But,  in  requit, 
B  is  blest  me  with  a  random  shot 

O'  countra  wit,, 

li^in  while  my  notion's  taen  a  sklent, 
Tc  try  my  fate  in  guid,  black  prent ; 
B\it  still  the  mair  I'm  that  way  bent, 

Something  cries,  "  Iloolie 
I  rrl  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent  ' 

Ye'll  shaw  your  folly. 

I'here's  ither  poets,  much  your  betters. 
Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters 
Hae  thought  they  had  ensured  tUeii 
debtors, 

A'  future  ages  ; 
Now  moths  deform  in  shapeless  tattersi 

Their  unknown  pages." 

Then  farewell  hopes  o'  laurel  boughs,, 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows  ! 
Henceforth     I'll     rove    where    hn^y 
ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang, 
An'  teach  the  lanely  heights  an'  howes 

My  rustic  sang. 

I'll  wander  on,  wi'  tentless  heed 
How  never-halting  moments  speed, 
Till  fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread  ? 

Then,  ail  unknown, 
f7<  I?f  "iji-.  w"'th  th'  inglorious  dea^t 

Y^XSP*^'  9-'^^  gone  I 


48 


TO  JAMES  SMITH. 


But  why  o'  Death  begin  a  tale  ? 
Just  now  we're  living  sound  an'  hale  ; 
Then    top  and    maintop   crowd    th3 
sail, 

'  Heave  Care  o'er  side  ! 
And  large,  before  Enjoyment's  gale, 
Let's  tak  the  tide. 

riiis  life,  sae  far's  I  understand. 

Is  a'  enclianted  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  JEild, 

Wi'  wrinki'd  face, 
Comes  hoistin,  hirpliu  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creepin  pace. 

When  ance  life's  day  draws  near  the 

gloamin. 
Then  f areweel  vacant  careless  roamirr : 
An'  f  areweel  cheerf  u'  t;i  ukards  f  oamin. 

An'  social  noise  ; 
An'  fareweel  dear  deluding  woman. 

The  joy  of  joys  ! 

O  life  !  how  pleasant  in  thy  morning, 
Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning ' 
l!old-pausing  Caution's  lesson  sconv 
ing, 

Wc  frisk  awa}^ 
Like  schoolboys,  at  th'  expected  warn- 
ing, 

To  joy  and  play. 

We  wander  there,  we  wander  here. 
We  eye  the  rose  upon  the  brier, 
Unmindful  that  the  tliorn  is  near, 

Among  the  leaves  ; 
And  tlio'  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, 

But  care  or  pain  ; 
And,  haply,  eye  the  barren  hut 

With  high  disdain. 

A^'ith  steady  aim,  some  Fortune  chase; 
Keen  hope  does  ev'ry  sinew  brace  ; 


Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  ths 
race. 

And  seize  the  prey  ; 
Then  canie,  in  some  cozie  place. 
They  close  the  day. 

A^nd  others,  like  your  humble  servan', 
Poor  wights  !  uae  rules  nor  roads  ob- 

servin,. 
To  right  or  left,  eternal  swcrvin, 

Tliey  zig-zag  on  ; 
Till  curst  with  age,  obscure  an'  starvin, 

The}^  aften  groan. 

Alas  I  what  bitter  toil  an'  straining — 
But  truce  wi'  peevish,  poor  complain- 
ing ! 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  Luna  waning  ? 

E'en  let  her  gang  ! 
Beneath  what  liglit  she  has  remaining, 

Let's  sing  our  sang. 

My  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door. 
And  kneel,  "  Ye  Pow'rs  !  "  and  wavir 

implore, 
*'  Tho'  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er. 

In  all  her  climes. 
Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more. 

Ay  rowth  o'  rhymes. 

'  Gie  dreepiug  roasts  to  countra  Lairds, 
Till  icicles  hing  frae  their  beards  ; 
Gie  fine  braw  claes  to  fine  Life-guards, 

And  Maids  of  Honour  ; 
And  yill  an'  whisky  gie  to  Cairds, 

Until  they  sconner. 

'■'  A  Title,  Dempster  merits  it  ; 

A  Garter  gie  to  Willie  Pitt  ; 

Gie  Wealth  to  same  be-ledger'd  Tit, 

In  cent  per  cent  ; 
But  gie  me  real,  sterling  AVit, 

And  I'm  content. 

"  While  Ye  are  pleased  -to  keep  me 

hale, 
I'll  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal, 
Be't  water-brose,  or  muslin  kail, 

W'i'  cheerf u'  face. 
As  lang's  the  Muses  dinna  fail 

To  say  the  grace." 

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

As  weel's  I  may  ; 
Sworn  foe  to  Sorrow,  Care,  and  Prose, 

I  rhyme  away. 


a  DREAM. 


49 


0  ye  douce  folk ,  that  live  t)y  rule, 

Grave,  tideless-blooded.calin,  and  cool, 
Compar'd  wl'  you — O  fool !  fool !  fool ! 

HoV  much  unlike  ! 
YowY  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool. 

Your  lives,  a  dyke  ! 

Nae  hair-brain'd  sentimental  traces, 
In  your  unletter'd,  nameless  faces  ! 
In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray. 
But  gravissimo,  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 


Ye  are  sae  grave,  nae  doubt  ye're  wise  i 

Nae  ferly  tho'  ye  do  despise 

The  hairuniHecairum,  ram-stam  boys, 

The  rattlin  squad  : 
I  see  you  upward  cast  your  eyes — 

Ye  ken  the  road. — 

Whilst  I — but  I  shall  baud  me  there— 
Wi'  you  I'll  scarce  gang  ony  where- 
Then,  Jamie,  I  shall  say  nae  mair,- 

But  quat  my  sang, 
Content  with  You  to  make  a  pair, 

Whare'er  I  gang. 


A  DREAM. 


Thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  the  Statute  blames  with  reason  ; 
But  surely  Dreams  were  ne'er  indicted  Treason. 

[On  reading,  in  the  public  papers,  the  Laureate's  Ode,  with  the  other  parade  of  June  4, 1786, 
the  author  was  no  sooner  dropt  asleep,  than  he  imagined  himself  transported  to  the  Birth-daj 
I^evee  ;  and  in  his  dreaming  fancy,  made  the  following  Address.] 


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, 

Amaug  thae  Birth-day  dresses 
Sae  fine  this  day. 

I  see  ye're  complimented  tlirang, 

By  mony  a  lord  an'  lady  ; 
"  God  save  the  King  !"  's  a  cuckoo 
sang 

That's  unco  easy  said  ay  ; 
The  Poets,  too,  a  venal  gang, 

Wi'  rhymes  weel-turn'd  and  ready. 
Wad  gar  you  trow  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  ay  unerring  steady. 
On  sic  a  day. 

For  me  !  before  a  Monarch's  face, 

Ev'n  tJiere  I  winna  flatter  ; 
For  neither  pension,  post,  nor  place, 

Am  I  your  humble  debtor  : 
So,  nae  reflection  on  Your  Grace, 

Your  Kingship  to  bespatter  ; 
1  here's  monie  waur  been  o'  the  Race, 

And  aiblins  ane  been  better 

TJtaa  You  1^  day. 


'Tis  very  true,  my  sovereign  King, 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubted  : 
But  Facts  are  cheels  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  !  I  muckle  doubt,  my  Sire, 

Ye've  trusted  Ministration 
To  chaps,  wha,  in  a  barn  or  byre. 

Wad  better  fill'd  their  station 

Than  courts  yon  day. 

And  now  3-e'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  lease 

Nae  bargain  wearing  faster. 
Or,  faith  !  I  fear  that  with  the  geese, 

J  shortly  boost  to  pasture 

V  thje  craft  sojpae  daj. 


50 


ThjU  vision. 


I'm  no  mistrusting  Willie  Pitt, 

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

A  name  not  envy  spairges,) 
That  he  intends  to  pa}'  your  debt, 

An'  lessen  a'  your  eluirges  ; 
But,  God's  sake  !  let  nae  saving-fit 

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  aiiection, 

To  pay  your  Queen,  v^'ith  due  respect. 

My  fealty  an'  subjection 

This  great  Birth-day. 

Hail,  Majesty  most  Excellent ! 

While  nobles  strive  to  please  Ye, 
Will  ye  accept  a  compliment 

A  simple  Poet  gies  Ye  ? 
Thae  bonny  bairntime  Ileav'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. 

For  you,  young  Potentate  o'  Wales, 

I  tell  your  Highness  fairly, 
Down  Pleasure's  stream,  wi'  swelling 
sails 

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

An'  curse  your  folly  sairly, 
'.«..aat  ere  ye  brak  Diana's  pales. 

Or  rattl'd  dice  wi'  Charlie, 
By  night  or  day. 

Yet  aft  a  ragged  cowte's  been  known 

To  mak  a  noble  aiver  ; 
Bae,  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, 

He  was  an  unco  shaver 

For  monie  a  day. 

For  you,  right  rev'rend  Osnaburg, 
Name  sets  the  lawn-sleeve  sweeter. 

Altho'  a  ribban  at  your  lug- 
Wad  been  a  dress  completer  : 

As  ye  disown  yon  paughty  dog 
That  bears  the  Keys  of  Peter, 

Then,  swith  !  an'  get  a  wife  to  hug. 
Or,  troth  !  ye'll  stain  the  Mitre 
Some  luckless  day. 

Young,  royal  Tarry  Breeks,  I  learn, 

Ye've  lately  come  athwart  her  ; 
A  glorious  galley,  stem  and  stern, 

Weel  rigg'd  for  Venus'  barter  ; 
But  first  hang  out,  that  she'll  discern 

Your  hymeneal  charter. 
Then  heave  aboard  your  grapple  airn. 

An',  large  upon  her  quarter. 
Come  full  that  day. 

Ye,  lastly,  bonie  blossoms  a', 

Ye  royal  Lasses  dainty, 
Heav'n  mak  jou  guid  as  weel  as  br:iw, 

An'  gie  you  lads  a-plenty  : 
But  sneer  na  British  boys  awa', 

Foi  Kings  are  unco  scant  ay  : 
An'  German  Gentles  are  but  sma', 

They're  better  just  than  Avant  ay 
On  ouie  day. 

God  bless  you  a'  !  consider  now 

Ye're  unco  muckle  dautet ; 
T'~xl,  e'er  the  course  o'  life  be  th.'oughj 

It  may  be  bitter  sautet : 
An'  I  hae  seen  their  coggie  fou, 

That  yet  hae  tarrow't  at  it ; 
But  or  the  day  was  done,  I  trow, 

The  laggen  they  hae  clautet 
Fu'  clean  that  day. 


THE  VISION. 

DUAN   FIRST. 


The  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter  day. 
The  Curlers  quat  their  i  oarin  play, 
An'  hunger'd  Maukiu  taen  her  way 

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

Whare  she  has  been. 


The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me  ; 
And  whan  the  day  had  clos'd  his  e' 

Far  i'  tlie  west, 
Ben  1'  the  Spence,  right  pensivelie, 

I  gaed  to  rest. 


TEE  VISION. 


51 


There,  lanely,  by  the  ingle-cheek, 
I  sat  and  ey'd  the  spewing  reek, 
That  hll'd,  wi'  hoasi-provoking  smeek, 

The  aiild,  cla}^  higgin  ; 
An'  heard  the  restless  rattous  squeak 

About  the  riggin. 

AH  in  this  mottle,  misty  clime, 
I  backward  mus'd  on  wasted  time, 
Kow  I  had  spent  my  youthful  prime. 

An'  done  nae-thing. 
But  stringin  blethers  up  in  rhyme. 

For  fools  to  sing. 

Had  I  to  guid  advice  but  harkit, 
I  might,  by  this,  hae  led  a  market, 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank,  and  clarkit 

My  cash-account : 
While  here,  half-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,  w^ould  be  rhyme- 
proof 

Tin  my  last  breath — 

When  click  !   the  string  the  snick  did 

draw ; 
And  jee  !  the  door  gaed  to  the  wa' ; 
And  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw. 

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

Come  full  in  sight. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht ; 
The    infant    aith,    half-form'd,    w^as 

crusht  ; 
I  glowr'd  as  eerie's  I'd  been  dusht 

In  some  wild  glen  ; 
When  sweet,  like  modest  worth,  she 
blusht. 

And  stepped  ben. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 
Were    twisted,    gracefu',    round   her 
brows, 
I     I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse, 
I  By  that  same  token  ; 

I     And  come  to  stop  these  reckless  vows, 
I  Would  soon  been  broken. 


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

Shone  full  uix)n  her  ; 
Her  eye,  ev'n  turn'd  on  empty  space, 
Beam'd  keen  with  Honour, 

Down  flow'd  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen, 
Till  half  a  leg  v/as  scrimply  seen  ;■ 
And  such  a  leg  1  my  bouie  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  w^onder  chiefly  drew  ; 
Deep  lights  and  shades,  bold-mingling 
threw^ 

A  lustre  grand ; 
And  seem'd,  to  my  astonish'd  view 

A  well-known  Land. 

Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 
There,   m.ountains  to  the  skies  wx-re 

YOSt  ; 
Here,   tumbling   billows  mark'd  the 
coast 

With  surging  foam  ; 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 
The  lordly  dome. 

Here,  Doon    pour'd    down    his   far 

fetch'd  floods  ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds. 
Auid  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  rcar'd  her  head  r 

Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read. 

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

And  polish'd  grace. 

By  stately  tow'r  or  palace  fair. 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air. 

Bold  stems  of  Heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern  ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  tfl 
dare, 

Witii  feature  ste^^. 


62 


TEE  VISTOIV: 


My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel. 

To  see  a  Race  heroic  wheel, 

A-nd  brandish  round  tlie  deep-dy'd  steel 

In  sturdy  blows  ; 
While  back-recoihng  seem'd  to  reel 

Their  Suthron  foes„ 

His  Country's  Saviour,  mark  him 

well  ! 
Bold  Richardton's  heroic  swell ; 
The  Chief  on  Sark  who  glorious  fell. 

In  high  command  ; 
And  He  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  sceptr'd  Pictish  shade 
Stfilk'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. 


Thro'  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove, 
Near  many  a  liermit-fancy'd  cove, 
(Fit  haunts  for  Friendship  or  for  Lore 

In  musing  mood,) 
An  aged  Judge,  I  saw  him  rove. 

Dispensing  good. 

With  deep-struck  reverential  awe 
The  learned  Sire  and  Son  1  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  I  well  could  spy, 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye  ; 
Who  call'd  on  Fame,  low  standing  by, 

To  hand  him  on, 
W^herc  many  a  Patriot  name  on  high, 

And  Hero  shone. 


DUAN  SECOND. 


With  musing-deep,  astonish'd  stare^ 
(  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  I 
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. 

"  Kno^v,  the  great  Genius  of  this  land 
Has  maay  a  light,  aerial  band. 
Who,  air  Leneath  his  high  command. 

Harmoniously, 
As  Arts  or  Arms  they  understand, 

Their  labours  ply. 

"  They    Scotia's    Race    among    them 

share  ; 
Some  fire  the  Soldier  on  to  dare  ; 
Some  rouse  the  Patriot  up  to  bare 

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

The  tuaef  ui  art. 


"  'Mong   swelling   floods  of   reeking 

gore. 
They,  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour ; 
Or,  'nn'd  the  venal  Senate  s  roar, 

They,  sightless,  stand. 
To  mend  the  honest  Patriot  lore. 

And  grace  the  hand. 

"  And  when  the  Bard,  or  hoary  Sage, 
Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age, 
They  bind  the  wild,  Poetic  rage 

In  energy. 
Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 

Full  on  the  eye. 

"  Hence,   Fullarton,    the  brave  and 

young  ; 
Hence,       Dempster's       zeal-inspired 

tongue  ; 
Hence,  sw-eet  harmonious  Beattie  sung 

His  *  Minstrel  lays ' ; 
Or  tore,  with  noble  ardour  stung. 
The  Sceptic's  bays. 

"  To  lower  orders  are  assign'd 
The  humbler  ranks  of  human-kind, 
The  rustic  Bard,  the  lab'ring  Hind, 

The  Artisan  ; 
All  choose,  as  various  they're  inclin'd. 

The  various  ma». 


THE  VISIOJT. 


63 


"  Wlien  yellcw  waves  tlie  heavy  grain, 
The  threat'ning  storm  some  strongly 

rein  ; 
Soiiie  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain 

With  tillage-skill  ; 
And  some  instruct  the  Shepherd-train, 

Blytlie  o'er  the  hill. 

"  Some  hint  the  Lover's  harmless  wile; 
Some  grace  the  Maiden's  artless  smile  ; 
Some  soothe  the  Lab'rer's  weary  toil. 

For  humble  gains, 
And  make  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

His  cares  and  pains. 

*'  Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space, 
Explore  at  large  Man's  infant  race, 
To  mark  the  embryotic  trace 

Of  rustic  Bard  ; 
And  careful  note  each  op'ning  grace, 

A  guide  and  guard. 

'•'  Of  these  am  I — Coila  my  name  ; 
And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim, 
Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of 
fame, 

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

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  wheii   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, 
J  saw  thee  eye  the  gen'ral  mirth 

With  boundless  love- 


"When  ripen'd  fields,  and  azure  skies, 
Cali'd    forth    the    Reaper's    rustling 

noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  ev'ning  joys. 

And  lonely  stalk, 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise 

In  pensive  walk. 

"  When  youthful  Love,  warm-blush- 
ing strong, 
Keen-shivering  shot  thy  nerves  along, 
Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adored  Name, 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song, 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

"  I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play. 
Wild   send   thee    Pleasure's    devious 

way, 
Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor  ray,        * 

By  Passion  driven  ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  Heaven. 

"I     taught     thy     manners  painting 

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

Thy  fame  extends  ; 
And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains. 
Become  thy  friends. 

**  Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show. 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape- 
glow  ; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe. 
With  Shenstone's  art ; 
Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 
Warm  on  the  heart. 

"  Yet,  all  beneath  th'  unrivaU'd  rose. 
The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows  ; 
Tho'  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws 

His  army  shade, 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows, 

Adown  the  glade. 

"  Then  never  murmur  nor  repine  ; 
Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine 
And  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine. 

Nor  King's  regard. 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine^ 

A  rustic  Bard. 


64 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  UNCO  QUID. 


"  To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one, 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan  | 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  Man, 

With  8oul  erect ; 
And  trust,  the  Universal  Plan 

Will  all  protect. 


"  And  wear  thou  this  " — she  solemn 

saidp 
And  bound  the  Holly  round  my  head  : 
The  polish'd  leaves,  and  berries  red, 

Did  rustling  play  ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled 

In  light  away. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    UNCO    GUID,    OR    THE    RIGIDLY 

RIGHTEOUS. 

My  son,  these  maxims  make  a  rule, 

And  lump  them  aye  thegither  ; 
The  Rigid  Righteous  is  a  fool, 
The  Rigid  Wise  anither  : 
^  The  cleanest  corn  that  e'er  was  dight, 

May  hae  some  pyles  o'  cafi  in  : 
So  ne'er  a  fellow-creature  slight 
For  random  fits  o'  d^ffin. 

Solomon.— Eccles.  vii.  16. 


O  TfE  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
Ye've  nought  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

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

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

And  still  the  clap  plays  clatter. 

Ziear  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  mis- 
takes, 

Their  failings  and  mischances, 

fe  see  your  state  wi'  their's  compar'd. 

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

What  maks  the  mighty  differ  ; 
Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave 

That  purity  ye  pride  in, 
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, 
Tv  hat  raging  must  his  veins  convulse, 

That  still  eternal  gallop  : 
vf  i'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail. 

Right  on  3^e  scud  your  sea-way  ; 
gut  in  the  teeth  o'  baith  to  sail, 

^  juakes  an  unco  leeway. 


See  Social  life  and  Glee  sit  down, 

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

Debauchery  and  Drinking : 
O  would  they  stay  to  calculate 

Th'  eternal  consequences ; 
Or  your  more  dreaded  hell  to  state, 

Damnation  of  expenses ! 

Ye  high,  exalted,  virtuous  Dames, 

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

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

A  treacherous  inclination— 
But,  let  me  whisper  i'  your  lug, 

Ye're  aiblins  nae  temptation. 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  JVIai' 

Still  gentler  sister  Woman  ; 
Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wran^. 

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

The  moving  ^Vhy  they  do  it  ; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark. 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedlj^  can  try  us. 
He  knows  each  chord  its  various  tone. 

Each  spring  its  various  bias  : 
Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 

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

But  know  Dot  what's  resisted. 
I  ^ 


TAM  SAMSOX'8  ELEGY. 


55 


TAM  SAMSOK'S  ELEGY. 

An  honegt  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God.— Pope. 


Has  auld  Kilmarnock  seen  the  Deil  ? 
Or  great  M'Kinlay  thrawn  his  heel  ? 
Or  llobiusou  again  grown  weel, 

To  preach  an'  read  ? 
"  Na,  waur  than  a'  ! "  cries  ilka  chiel, 

"  Tarn  Samson's  dead  1 " 

iCilmarnock  lang  may  grunt  an'  grane, 
An'  sigh,  an'  sab,  an'  greet  her  lane. 
An'  deed  her  bairns,  man,  wife,  an' 
wean. 

In  mourning  weed ; 
To  Death,  she's  dearly  paid  the  kaue, 
Tarn  Samson's  dead  1 

The  Brethren  o'  the  mystic  level 
]\Iay  hing  their  head  in  woef  u'  bevel, 
"VV^hile  by  their  nose  the  tears  will  revel. 

Like  ony  bead  ; 
Death's  gien  the  Lodge  an  unco  devel. 

Tarn  Samson's  dead ! 

"When  Winter  muffles  up  his  cloak. 
And  binds  the  mire  like  a  rock  ; 
AVhen  to  the  loughs  the  Curlers  flock 

Wi'  gleesome  speed, 
Wha  will  they  station  at  the  cock. 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  V 

He  was  the  king  o'  a'  the  Core, 
To  guard,  or  drav/,  or  wick  a  bore. 
Or  up  the  rink  like  Jehu  roar 

In  time  o'  need  ; 
But  now  he  lags  on  Death's  Jiog-score, 

Tam  Samson's  dead  I 

Now  safe  the  stately  Sawmont  sail. 
And  Trouts  bedropp'd  wi'  crimson  hail. 
And  Eels  weel  kend  for  souple  tail. 

And  Geds  for  greed, 
Since  dark  in  T)ciiih! sfish-cvccl  we  wail 

Tam  Samson's  dead  ! 

Rejoice,  yc  birring  Paitricks  a' ; 

Ye  coolie  3Ioorcocks,  crousely  craw ; 

Ye  Maukins,  cock  your  f  ud  f u'  braw, 

Withouten  dread ; 
Your  mortal  Fae  is  now  awa', 

Tam  Samson's  dead  ! 


That  woef u'  morn  be  ever  m^Mrn'd 
Saw  him  in  shootin  graith  a^orn'd, 
While  pointers  round  impatient  burn'd, 

Frae  couples  freed  ^ 
But,  Och  I  he  gaed  and  ne'er  return'd  I 

Tam  Samson's  dead  I 

In  vain  auld  age  his  body  batters  , 
In  vain  the  gout  his  ancles  fetters  ; 
In   vain  the   burns  came  down    like 
waters, 

An  acre  braid  ! 
Now  ev'ry  auld  wife,  greetin,  clatters, 
"  Tam  Samson's  dead  I  " 

Owre  mony  a  weary  hag  he  limpit. 
An'  ay  the  titlier  shot  he  thumpit, 
Till  coward  Death  behind  him  jumpit 

Wi'  deadly  feide  ; 
Now  he  proclaims,  wi'  tout  o'  trum 
pet, 

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  trigger 

Wi'  weel-aim'd  heed  ; 
"  Lord,  five  I '"  he  cry'd,  an'  owre  did 
stagger; 

Tam  Samson's  dead  1 

Ilk  hoary  hunter  mourn'd  a  brither  ; 
Ilk    sportsman    youth    bemoan'd    a 

father  ; 
Yon    auld    gray    stane,    smang    the 
heather, 

Marks  out  his  head, 
Whare  Burns  has  wrote,  in  riiyming 
blether, 

"  Tam  Samson's  dead  1" 

There,  low  he  lies,  in  lasting  rest  ; 
Perhaps  upon  his  mould'ring  breast 
Some  j^pitefu'  muirfowl  bigs  her  nest, 

To  hatch  and  breed  ; 
Alas  !  nae  mair  lie'll  them  molest  ! 

Tam  Samson's  dead  1 


56 


HALLOWBEH. 


When    August    winds    the    heather 

wave, 
A.nd  sportsmen  wander  by  yon  grave. 
Three  vollies  let  his  mem'ry  crave 

O'  pouther  an'  lead, 
Till  Echo  answer  frae  lier  cave, 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  ! 


jMeav'n  rest  his  saul,  whare'er  he  he  I 
Is  til'  v/ish  o'  mony  mae  tlian  me  : 
He  had  twa  faults,  or  maybe  three. 

Yet  what  remead  ? 
Ae  social,  honest  man  want  we  : 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  I 


THE  EPITAPH. 

Tam  Samson's  weel-worn  clay  hcTG 
hes. 

Ye  canting  zealots,  spare  him  1 
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'  Killia 
Te'll  ev'ry  social,  honest  billie 

To  cease  his  grievin. 
For  yet,  unskaith'd  by  Death's  gleg 
guUie, 

Tam  Samson's  livin  \ 


HALLOWEEK* 

[The  f  ollowInj»  Poem  will  by  many  readers  be  well  enough  understood  ;  but  for  the  pake  o* 
those  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  manners  and  traditions  of  the  country  where  the  ecen'=" 
is  cast,  notts  are  added  to  give  gome  account  of  the  principal  charms  and  spells  of  that  nigh 
80  big  with  prophecy  to  the  peasantrv  in  the  west  of  Scotland-  '1  he  passion  of  prying  intt 
futurity  makes  a  striking  part  of  the  liistory  of  human  nature,  in  its  rude  state,  in  all  ages  and 
nations  ;  and  it  may  be  some  entertainment  to  a  philosophic  mind  if  any  euch  should  hoE'iir 
the  Author  witli  a  perusal,  to  see  the  remains  of  it,  among  the  more  unenlightened  in  oui 
own.    li.  B.] 

Yes  I  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
The  fimple  pleasures  of  the  lowly  train  ; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  tO  my  heart, 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  glofs  of  art. 

Goldsmith. 


Some  merir,  friendly,  countra  folks. 

Together  4id  convene. 
To  burn    their    nits,    an'    pou  tbeir 
stocks, 
An'  hand  their  Halloween 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 

The  lasses  feat,  ai'  cleanly  neat, 

Mair  braw  than  wher\  they're  fine  ; 
Their  faces  blythe,  fu'  sweetly  kythe, 

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

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

Gar  lasse's  hearts  gang  startin 

Whyles  fast  at  night. 

*  Isthoughttob^  anight  when  witches,  devils  and  other  mischief-making  beings  are  ah 
abroad  on  their  baneful  midnight  errands  ;  particularly  those  aerial  people,  the  fairies,  are  said 

"VSSdMe!?!^^^^^  the  ancient  .eat  of  the 

^T  A  no?e^civer,fne?rColean-ho^s.^  called  the  Cove  of  Colean  ;  which  as  well  as  Cassilis 
Downaiis,  is  famed  in  country  story  for  being  a  favorite  haiuit  ot  fairies^   R  ^A.y.^.^c.*  nf  hi- 
§  The  famous  family  of  that  name,  the  ancestors  of  Kobert,  the  great  deliverer  of  hu 
country,  were  Earls  of  Carriclc   E.  B, 


Upon  that  night,  when  fairies  light 
On  Cassilis  Downans  f  dance. 

Or  owre  the  lays,  in  splendid  blaze. 

On  sprightly  coursers  prance  ; 

Or  for  Colean  the  rout  is  ta'en. 
Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beams  ; 

There,   up  the   Cove,:}:  to   stray  an* 
rove 
Amaiig  the  rocks  and  streams 
*  To  sport  that  night ; 

Amang  the  bonie,  winding  banks. 
Where  Doon  rins,  wimplin,  clear. 

Where  Bruce  §  ance  rul'd  the  martial 

I  ranks, 

An'  shook  his  Cairick  spear. 


BALLOWEBHr. 


67 


Then,  first  an'  foremost,  thro'  the  kail. 
Their  stocks  *  maun  a'  be   souglit 
ance  : 
They  steek  their  een,  an'  grape,   an* 
wale. 
For  muckle  anes,  an'  straught  anes. 
Poor  hav'rel  Will  fell  aff  the  drift, 
An'  wander'd  thro'  the  Bow-kail, 
An'  pou't,  for  want  o'  better  shift, 
A  runt  was  like  a  sow-tail, 

Sae  bow't  that  night. 

Then,  straught  or  crooked,   yird  or 
naue. 

They  roar  an'  cry  a'  throu'ther  ; 
The  vera  wee  things,  toddliu,  rin, 

Wi'  stocks  out-owre  their  shouther ; 
An'  gif  tne  custocks  sweet  or  sour, 

Wi'  joctelegs  they  taste  them  j 
8yne  cbziely,  aboon  the  door, 

Wi'  C'^nie  care,  they've  placed  them 


iThe  lassea  staw  frae  'mang  them  a' 

To  pou  their  stalks  o'  corn  ;  f 
But  liab  slips  out,  an'  jinks  about, 

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

Loud  skirl'd  a'  the  lasses ; 
But  her  tap-pickle  maist  was  lost, 

When  kiutlin  i'  the  fause-liouse  J 
Wi'  him  that  night. 

The  auld  guidwif e's  weel-hoordit  nits  § 
Are  round  an'  round  divided, 

An'  monie  lads'  and  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. 

Jean  slips  in  twa,  wi'  tentie  e'e  ; 

Wha  'twas,  she  wadna  tell  ; 
But  this  is  Jock,  and  this  is  mu. 

She  says  in  to  hersel : 
He   bleez'd  owre  her,  an'  she   owrs 
him, 

As  they  wad  never  mair  part ; 
Till  fuff  I  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  Mallie, 
An'  Mary,  nae  doubt,  took  the  drunt, 

To  be  compar'd  to  Willie  : 
Mall's  nit  lap  out,  wi'  pridefu'  fling. 

An'  her  ain  lit  it  burnt  it  ; 
While  Willie  lap,  an'  swoor  by  jing; 

'Twas  just  the  way  he  wanted 
To  be  that  night. 

Nell  had  the  fause- house  in  her  min'V 

She  pits  hersel  an'  Rob  in  ; 
In  loving  bleeze  they  sweetly  join, 

Till  white  in  ase  they're  sobbin  : 
Nell's  heart  M^as  dancin  at  the  view ; 

She  whisper'd  Rob  to  leuk  for't : 
Rob,  stownlins,  prie'd  her  bonuie  mou, 

Fu'  cozie  in  the  neuk  for't, 
Unseen  that  night. 


*  The  first  ceremony  of  Hcalloween  is  pulling  each  a  c<rfoc^,  or  plant  of  kail.  They  must  go 
out  hand  in  hand,  with  eyes  shut,  and  pull  the  first  they  meet  with.  Its  being  big  or  litt  e, 
straight  or  crooked,  is  prophetic  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the  gr^nd  object  of  all  their  spells — 
the  husband  or  wife.  If  nny  yi.7'd,  or  earth,  stick  to  the  root,  that  is  tocher,  or  fortune  :  and 
the  taste  of  the  cvstocl^  that  "is  the  heart  of  the  stem,  is  indicative  of  the  natural  temper  and 
disposition.  Lastly,  the  stems,  or  to  give  them  their  ordinary  appellation,  the  runts,  are  placed 
somewhere  above  the  head  of  the  door  ;  and  the  Christian  names  of  the  people  whom  chance 
brings  into  the  house  are.  according  to  the  priority  of  placing  the  runts,  the  names  in  question. 
R.  B. 

+  They  go  to  the  barn-yard  and  pull  each,  at  three  different  times,  a  stalk  of  oats.  If  the 
third  stnlk  wants  the  tap-jiickle,  that  is,  the  grain  at  the  top  of  the  stalk,  the  party  in  question 
will  come  to  the  marriage-bed  anything  but  a  maid.    R.  B. 

X  When  the  corn  is  in  a  a  doubtful  state,  it  being  too  green,  or  wet,  the  stack-builder,  by 
means  of  old  timber,  etc.,  makes  a  large  apartment  in  his  stack,  with  an  opening  in  ihu  side 
whi<  h  is  fairest  exposed  to  the  wind  :  this  he  calls  a  Fause-hoiise.    R.  B. 

§  Burning  the  nuts  is  a  famous  charm.  They  name  the  lad  and  the  lass  to  each  particular 
mat.  as  they  Jay  them  in  the  fire  :  and  accordingly  as  ihey  burn  quietly  together,  or  start  from 
beside  one  another,  the  course  and  issue  of  the  courtship  will  be.    B.  B. 


68 


KALLOWEEK. 


But  Merran  sat  beliint  their  backs, 

Tier  thoughts  on  Andrew  Bell  ; 
She  lea'es  them  gashin  at  their  cracks. 

An'  slips  out  by  hersel : 
She  thro'  the  3'ard  the  nearest  taks, 

An'  to  the  kiln  she  goes  then, 
An'  darklins  grapit  for  the  banks. 

And  in  the  blue-clue  *  throws  then, 
Right  fear't  that  night. 

^n'  aye  she  win't,  an'  ay  she  swat, 

i  wat  she  made  nae  jaukin  ; 
Till  something  held  within  the  pat, 

Guid  Lord  !  but  she  was  quaukin  I 
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  night. 

Wee  Jenny  to  her  Grannie  says, 

"  Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  Grannie  ? 
Ill  eat  the  apple  f  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"t  na,  an  aizle  brunt 

Her  braw  new  worset  apron 
Out  thro'  that  night. 

"  Ye  little  Skelpie-limmer's  face  ! 

I  daur  you  try  sic  sportin, 
As  seek  the  foul  Thief  ony  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  got  a  fright, 
An'  liv'd  an'  di'd  deleeret, 
On  sic  a  night. 


"  Ae  Hairst  afore  the  Sherra-moof. 

I  mind't  as  weel's  yestreen, 
I  was  a  gilpey  then,  I'm  sure 

I  was  na  past  fyfteen  : 
The  simmer  had  been  cauld  an'  wat, 

An'  stuH  was  unco'  green  ; 
An'  ay  a  rantin  kirn  we  gat, 

An'  just  on  Halloween 

It  fell  that  night. 

"  Our  stibble-rig  was  Rab  M'Graen, 

A  clever,  sturdy  fallow  ; 
His  sin  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean, 

That  liv'ci  in  Achmacalla  ; 
He  gat  hemp-seed, :j:  I  mind  it  weel. 

An'  he  made  unco  lig-ht  o't  ; 
But  monie  a  day  was  by  himsd. 

He  was  sae  sairly  frighted 
That  vera  night." 

Then  up  gat  fechtin  Jamie  Fleck, 

An'  he  swoor  by  his  conscience. 
That  he  could  saw  hemp-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  graip  he  for  a  harrow  taks. 

An'  haurls  at  his  curpin  : 
An'  ev'ry  pow  an'  then,  he  says, 

"Hemp-seed,  I  saw  thee. 
An'  her  that  is  to  be  my  lass. 

Come  after  me  an'  draw  thee 
As  fast  this  night." 


*  Whoever  would,  with  success,  try  this  epell,  mnst  strictly  observe  those  directions  :  Steal 
out,  all  alone,  to  the  kiln,  and  darkling,  throw  into  the  pot  a  cine  of  hlue  yarn :  wind  it  in  a 
-Qew  ciu^-  o£f  the  old  one  ;  and  towards  the  latter  end  something  wil  hold  the  thread  ;  demand 
Wha  hands  ?  i.e.,  who  holds  ?  an  answer  will  be  returned  trom  the  kiln-pot,  by  naming  the 
Christian  and  surname  of  your  future  spouse.    R.  B. 

t  Take  a  candle  and  go  alone  to  a  looking-glass  ;  eat  an  apple  before  it,  and  some  trar^itiong 
say  you  should  comb  your  hair  all  the  time  ;  the  face  of  your  conjugal  companion  to  he  will  be 
Been  in  the  glass,  as  if  peeping  over  your  shoulder.    R.  B. 

%  Sreal  out  unperceived  and  sow  a  handful  of  iiemp-seed.  harrowing  it  with  anything  you 
can  conveniently  draw  after  you.  Repeat  now  and  then,  "  Hemp-seed,  I  saw  thee,  hemp-seed, 
I  saw  thee  ;  and  him  (or  her)  that  is  to  be  my  true-love,  come  after  me  and  pou  thee."  Lof)k 
over  your  left  shoulder,  and  you  will  see  the  appearance  of  the  person  invoked  in  the  attitude 
of  pulling  hemp.  Some  traditions  c-ay,  "  come  after  me  and  shaw  thee,"  that  is,  show  thyself : 
in  which  case  it  simply  appears.  Others  omit  the  harrowing,  and  say,  "  come  after  roc  and 
harrow  thee."    R.  B. 


HALLOWEEN, 


59 


He  whistl'd  ui  Lord  Lenox'  march, 

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

He  was  sae  flej^'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  wi'  a  wintle 

Out-owre  that  night. 

He  roar'd  a  horrid  murder-shout, 

Li  dreadfu'  desperation  ! 
An'  young  an'  auld  come  rinnin  out, 

An'  hear  tiic  sad  narration  : 
He  swoor  'twas  hilchin  Jean  M'Craw, 

Or  crouchie  Merran  Humphie, 
Till  stop  !  she  trotted  thro'  them  a' ; 

An'  wha  was  it  but  GrumpMe 
Asteer  that  niffht  1 


Meg  fain  wad  to  the  barn  gaen 

To  winn  three  wechts  o'  naething ;  ^ 
But  for  to  meet  the  Deil  her  lane. 

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

And  twa  red-cheekit  apples, 
To  watch,  while  for  the  barn  she  seta. 

In  hopes  to  see  Tam  Kipples 
That  vera  night. 

She  turns  the  key,  wi'  cannie  thraw. 

An'  owre  the  threshold  ventures  ; 
But  first  on  Saw^nie  gies  a  ca', 

Syne  bauldly  in  she  enters  ; 
A  ratton  rattl'd  up  the  wa'. 

An'  she  cry'd.  Lord  preserve  her  ! 
An'  ran  thro'  midden-hole  an'  a', 

An'  pray'd  wi'  zeal  an'  fervour, 
Fu'  fast  that  niffht. 


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

They  hecht  him  some  fine  braw  ane , 
It  chanced  the   stack    he    faddom'i 
thrice  f 

Was  timmer-propt  for  thrawin  : 
He  takes  a  swirlie,  auld  moss-oak, 

For  some  black,  grousome  Carlin ; 
An'  loot  a  wince,  an'  drew  a  stroke, 

Till  skin  in  blypes  cam  haurlin 

Atf's  nieves  that  night." 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was, 

As  cantie  as  a  kitllin  : 
But  Och!  that  night,  amang  the  shaws, 

She  gat  a  fearfu'  sett  I  in  ! 
She  thro'  the  whins,  an'  by  the  cairn. 

An'  owre  the  hill  gaed  scrievin, 
Whare  three  lairds'  lands  met  at  a 
burn,:}: 

To  dip  her  left  sark-sleeve  in, 
.  Was  bent  that  night. 

Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays. 

As  thro'  the  glen  it  wimpl't ; 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scar  it  strays ; 

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

Wi'  bickering,  dancing  dazzle  ; 
Whyles  cookit  underneath  the  braes, 

Below  the  spreading  hazel, 

Unseen  that  night. 

Amang  the  brachens  on  the  brae. 

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

Gat  up  an'  gae  a  croon  : 
Poor  Leezie's  heart  maist  lap  the  hoQi\ 

Near  lav'rock  height  she  jumpit, 
But  mist  a  fit,  an'  in  the  pool 

Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plumpit, 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 

*  This  charm  mnst  likewise  be  performed  unperceived  and  alone.  You  po  to  the  ftarw  and 
open  both  doors,  taking  them  off  the  hini^^es,  if  possible  ;  for  iliere  is  danger  that  th  being 
abont  to  ai)i)ear  may  shut  the  doors,  and  do  you  some  mischief.  Then  lake  that  insrrnment 
iis<'d  iii  winnowing  the  corn,  which  in  our  country  dialect  we  call  a  wecht,  and  go  throunh  all 
ihe  attitudes  of  letting  down  c.rn  against  the  wind.  Repeat  it  three  times  ;  and  the  third  time 
jin  apparition  will  pass  through  the  barn,  in  at  the  windy  door  and  out  at  tiio  other,  having 
both  the  fi^'ure  in  questiou  and  the  appearance  or  retinue"  marking  the  employment  or  station 
in  life.    R.  13. 

t  Take  an  opportunity  of  going,  unnoticed,  to  a  Bear-stack,  and  fathom  it  three  times  round. 
The  last  fa: horn  of  the  la^t  time  you  will  catch  iu  your  arms  the  appearance  of  your  future 
conjngai  yoke  fellow.    R.  B. 

X  You  ■  <)  nut.  one  or  more  (for  this  is  a  social  spell),  to  a  south  running  spring  or  rivulet, 
whore  "  three  lairds'  lands  meet,"  and  dip  your  left  shirt  sleeve.  Go  to  bed  in  siL'htof  a  fire, 
and  hang  your  wet  8l«^eve  before  it  to  dry.  Lie  awake,  and  somewhere  near  nniluight  an 
apparition  baling  the  exact  figure  of  the  grand  object  in  question,  will  come  and  turn  the 
sleeve,  as  i^  to  4rir  the  othei  side  of  it.    R.  B. 


1 


60 


THE  JOLL  T  BEGGARS. 


In  order,  on  the  clean  hearth-stane. 

The  luggies  three*  are  ranged  ; 
And  ev'ry  time  great  care  is  taen, 

To  see  them  duly  changed  : 
Auld  uncle  John,  wha  wedlock's  joys 

Sin'  Mar's-year  did  desire. 
Because  he  gat  the  toom  dish  thrice. 

He  heav'd  them  on  the  fire 
I  Xn  wrath  that  night. 


Wi'  merry  sangs,  and  friendly  cracks, 

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

Their  sports  were  cheap  and  cheary ; 
Till  butter'd  So'ns,f  wi'  fragrant  lunt. 

Set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin  ; 
Syne,  wi'  a  social  glass  o'  strunt, 

They  parted  aff  careerin 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 

A  CANTATA. 
EECITATrV^O. 


When  lyart  leaves  bestrow  the  yird, 
Or,  wavering  like  the  bauckie  bird, 

Bedim  caiild  Boreas'  blast : 
When  hailstanes  drive  wi'  bitter  sky  te, 
And  infant  fro&is  begin  to  bite, 

In  hoary  cranreuch  drest  ; 
Ae  night,  at  e'en,  a  merry  core 

O'  randie,  gangrel  bodies, 
tn  Poosie-Nansie's  held  the  splore. 
To  drink  their  orra  duddies  : 
Wi'  quaihng  and  laughing, 

They  ranted  and  they  sang  ; 
Wi'  jumping  and  thumping. 
The  verra  girdle  rang. 


First,  nicst  the  fire,  in  auld  red  raga, 
Ane  sat,  weel  brac'd  wi'  meaK  ba^s. 

And  knapsack  a'  in  order  ; 
His  doxy  lay  within  his  arm, 
Wi'  usquebae  and  blankets  warm. 

She  blinket  on  her  sodger  ; 
An'  aye  he  gies  the  towsie  drab 

The  tither  skelpin'  kiss. 
While  she  held  up  her  greedy  gab, 
Just  like  an  aumous  dish  ; 
Ilk  smack  still,  did  crack  still, 

Just  like  a  cadger's  whip. 
Then  staggering,  and  swaggering, 
He  roar'd  this  ditty  up — 


AIR. 

Tune—"  Soldier's  Joy." 

I  AM  a  son  of  Mars,  who  have  been  in  many  wars, 
And  show  my  cuts  and  scars  wherever  I  come ; 
This  here  was  for  a  wench,  and  that  other  in  a  trench, 
When  welcoming  the  French  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

Lai  de  dandle,  etc. 

My  'prentiship  I  pass'd  where  my  leader  breath'd  his  last. 
When  the  bloody  die  was  cast  on  the  heights  of  Abram  ; 
I  serv'd  out  my  trade  when  the  gallant  game  was  play'd. 
And  the  Morro  low  was  laid  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

Lai  de  dandle,  etc. 

I  lastly  was  with  Curtis,  among  the  floating  batt'ries, 
And  there  I  left  for  witness  an  arm  and  a  limb  : 
Yet  let  my  country  need  me,  with  Elliot  to  head  me, 
I'd  Clatter  on  my  stumps  at  the  sound  of  a  drum. 

Lai  de  dandle,  etc. 

*  Take  three  diphes  :  put  clean  water  in  one,  foul  water  in  the  other,  and  leave  the  third 
empty.  Blindfold  a  person,  and  lead  him  to  the  hearth  where  the  dishes  are  ranged  ;  he  (or 
she)  dips  the  left,  hand  :  if  by  chance  in  tne  clean  water,  thefnture  husband  or  wife  will  come 
to  the  bar  of  matrimony  a  maid  ;  if  the  foul,  a  widow  ;  if  in  the  empty  dish,  it  foretells  with 
equal  certainty  no  nVarrince  at  all .  It  is  repeated  three  limes,  and  every  time  the  arrangement 
©f  the  dishes  is  altered.     K.  B. 

t  Sowens,  with  butter  instead  of  milk  to  them,  is  always  the  Halloween  Supper.    K.  B. 


THE  JOLL  Y  BEGGARS.  61 

And  now,  iho'  I  must  beg,  with  a  wooden  arm  and  leg. 
And  many  a  tatter'd  rag  hanging  orer  my  bum, 
I'm  as  happy  with  my  wallet,  my  bottle,  and  my  callet. 
As  when  I  us'd  in  scarlet  to  follow  a  drum. 

Lai  de  daudlc,  etc. 

What  tho'  with  hoary  locks,  I  must  stand  the  winter  shocks. 
Beneath  the  woods  and  rocks,  oftentimes  for  a  home  ; 
When  the  t'other  bag  I  sell,  and  the  t'other  bottle  tell, 
I  could  meet  a  troop  of  hell  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

RECITATIVO. 

He  ended  ;  and  the  kebars      euk  A  fairy  fiddler  frae  the  neuk, 

Aboon  the  chorus  roar  ;  He  skirl'd  oat  encore  ! 

While  frightened   rattons  backward  But  up  arose  the  martial  chuck 

leuk,  And  laid  the  loud  uproar. 
And  seak  the  benmost  bore  ; 

AIR. 

Tune—"  Soldier  Laddie.** 

I  ONCE  was  a  maid,  tho'  I  cannot  tell  when. 
And  still  my  delight  is  in  proper  young  men  ; 
Some  one  of  a  troop  of  dragoons  was  my  daddfe. 
No  wonder  I'm  fond  of  a  sedger  laddie.' 

Sing,  Lai  de  lal,  etc. 

The  first  of  my  loves  was  a  swaggering  blade. 
To  rattle  the  thundering  drum  was  his  trade  ; 
His  leg  was  so  tight,  and  his  cheek  was  so  ruddy, 
Transported  I  was  with  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  etc. 

But  the  godly  old  chaplain  left  him  in  the  lurch, 
So  the  sword  I  forsook  for  the  sake  of  the  church  ; 
He  ventur'd  the  soul,  I  risked  the  body, 
'Twas  then  I  prov'd  false  to  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  etc. 

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  more  but  a  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  etc. 

But  the  peace  it  reduc'd  me  to  beg  in  despair, 
Till  I  met  my  old  boy  at  a  Cunningham  fair ; 
His  rags  regimental  they  flutter'd  so  gaudy. 
My  heart  it  rejoic'd  at  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  etc. 

And  now  I  have  liv'd — I  know  not  how  long, 

And  still  I  can  join  in  a  cup  or  a  song  ;  , 

But  whilst  with  both  hands  I  can  hold  the  glass  steady. 

Here's  to  thee,  mj  hero,  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Jjal  de  laX,  ete. 


€$ 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 


RECITATIVO. 

Poor  Merry  Andrew,  in  the  neuk 
Sat  guzzling  wi'  a  tinkler  liizzie  , 

They  mind't  na  wlia  the  chorus  tcuk, 
Between  themselves  they  were  sae 
bizzy  ; 

^t  length,   wi'   drink  and    courting 
dizzy, 
He  stoitered  up  an'  made  a  face  ; 
Then   turn'd,    an'   laid    a  smack  on 
Grizzy, 
Syne    tun'd    his    pipes  wi'    grave 
grimace. 

AIR. 

Tune— "Auld  Syr  Syraon." 

Sir  Wisdom's  a  fool  when  he's  fou, 
Sir  Knave  is  a  fool  in  a  session  ; 

He's  there  but  a  'prentice  I  trow, 
But  I  am  a  fool  by  profession. 

My  grannie  she  bought  me  a  beuk. 
And  I  held  awa  to  the  school ; 

I  fear  I  my  talent  misteuk, 
But  what  will  ye  hae  of  a  fool  ? 

For  drink  I  would  venture  my  neck  ; 

A  hizzie's  the  half  o'  my  craft ; 
Biit  what  could  ye  other  expect, 

Of  ane  that's  avowedly  daft  ? 

I  ance  was  ty'd  up  like  a  stirk, 
For  civilly  swearing  and  quaffing  ; 

I  ance  was  abus'd  i'  the  kirt , 
For  towzling  a  lass  i'  my  da*Iln. 

Poor  Andrew  that  tumble?  for  sport. 
Let  naebody  name  wi'  a  jeer ; 

There's  ev'n,  I'm  tauld,  i'  the  court, 
A  tumbler  ca'd  the  Premier. 

Observ'd  ye,  you  reverend  lad 
Maks  faces'to  tickle  the  mob  ; 

B.8  rails  at  our  mountebank  squad—* 
It's  rivalship  just  i'  the  job. 

And  now  my  conclusion  I'll  tell, 
For  faith  I'm  confoundedly  dry ; 

The  chiel  that's  a  fool  for  himsel', 
Gude  Lord,  is  far  dafter  than  I. 

RECITATIVO. 

Tiien  niest  outspak  a  raucle  carlin, 
Wlia  kent  fu'  weel  to  deck  the  ster- 
ling. 


For  monie  a  pursie  sue  nad  hodked , 
And  had  in  monie  a  well  been  dooked 
Her  dove  had  been  a  Highland  laddiQ 
But  weary  fa'  the  waefu'  woodie  ! 
Wi'  sighs  and  sabs,  she  thus  began 
To  wail  her  braw  John  Highlandman : 

AIR. 

Tune—"  O,  an'  ye  were  dead,  Guidman." 

A  Highland  lad  my  love  was  born, 
The  Lawlan'  laws  he  held  in  scorn  : 
But  he  still  was  faithfu'  to  his  clan, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Higlilandmai^. 

CHORUS. 

Sing,  hey,  my  braw  John  Highland- 
man  ! 

Sing,  ho,  my  braw  John  Highland' 
man  ! 

There's  no  a  lad  in  a'  the  Ian' 

Was  match  for  my  John  Highland- 


With  his  philibeg  an'  tartan  plaid. 
And  gude  claymore  down  by  his  side. 
The  ladies'  hearts  he  did  trepan. 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  etc. 

We  ranged  a'  from  Tweed  to  Spey, 
And  liv'd  like  lords  and  ladies  gay  j 
For  a  Lawlan'  face  he  feared  nane. 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  etc. 

They  banish'd  him  beyond  the  sea. 
But  ere  the  bud  was  on  the  tree, 
Adown  my  cheeks  the  pearls  ran. 
Embracing  my  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  etc. 

But,  oh  !  they  catch'd  him  at  the  laat 
And  bouud  him  in  a  dungeon  fast ; 
My  curse  upon  them  every  ane. 
They've  hang'd  my  braw  John  High 
landman 

Sing,  hey,  etc, 

And  now  a  widow,  I  must  mourn 
The  pleasures  that  will  ne'er  rcturt. , 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  can, 
When  I  think  on  John  Highlandman 
Sing,  hey,  etc 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 


69 


RECITATIVO. 

A  pigmy  Scraper  wi'  his  fiddle, 
Wha  us'd  at  trysts  aud  iairs  to  driddle, 
Her  strappi'i  limb  aud  gaucy  middle 

(He  reached  iiae  higher), 
Had  hol't  Ills  heartie  like  a  riddle, 

And  blawu't  ou  tire. 

Wi'  hand  on  haunch,  aud  upward  ee, 
He  croon'd  his  gamut,  one,  two,  three, 
Then,  in  an  Arioso  key, 

The  wee  Apollo 
Set  aii,  wi'  Allegretto  glee 

His  iiio-a  solo. 


He  sv/oor,  by  a'  was  svv^earing  worthy 

To  spit  him  like  a  piiver. 
Unless  lie  wad  from  that  time  forth 

Relinquish  her  for  ever. 

Wi'  ghastly  ee,  poor  tw^eedle-dea 
Upon  his  hunkers  bended. 

And  pray'd  for  grace,  wi'  ruefu'  itacq 
And  sae  the  quarrel  ended. 

But  tho'  hi3  little  heart  did  grieve 
When  round  the  tinkler  presl  her, 

He  feigned  to  snirtle  in  his  sleeve, 
When  thus  the  Cai.rd  address'd  her 


Tune- 


air. 

Whistle  ovvre  the  laveo't.* 


Let  me  ryke  up  to  dight  that  tear. 
And  go  wd'  me  and  be  my  dear, 
And  then  your  every  care  and  fear 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 


I  am  a  fiddler  to  my  trade. 
And  a'  the  tunes  tl-at  e'er  I  play'd, 
The  sweetest  still  to  wife  or  maid, 
Was  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

lAt  kirns  and  weddings  we'se  be  there, 
jAnd  oh  !  sae  nicely's  we  will  fare  ; 
'We'll  bouse  about,  till  Daddie  Care 
j     Sings  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
!  I  am,  etc. 

iSae  merrily ''s  the  banes  we'll  pyke, 
I  And  sun  oursels  about  the  dyke, 
(And  at  our  leisure,  when  ye  like, 
I    Well  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

I  am,  etc. 

Bu's    bless    me    wi'    your    heav'n    o' 

charms, 
And  T/aile  I  kittle  hair  on  thairms, 
Hunger,  cauld,  and  a'  sic  harms, 
(    May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
I  I  am,  etc. 

I  RECITATIVO. 

tier  charms  had  struck  a  sturdy  Caird, 
:    As  well  as  poor  Grut-scraper  ; 

re  taks  the  fiddler  by  the  beard. 
And  draws  a  reostj  rapier — 


AIR. 

Tune—"  Clout  the  Cauldron," 

My  bonnie  lass,  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinkler  is  my  station  ; 
I've    travell'd     round    all     Christian 
ground 
In  this  my  occupation  ; 
I've  ta'en  the  gold,  I've  been  enroll'd 

In  many  a  noble  squadron  ; 
But    vain    they  search'd  when  ofL"  1 
march'd 
To  go  and  clout  the  cauldron. 

I've  ta'en  the  gold,  etc. 

Despise    that    shrimp,  that    wither'(f 
imp, 

Wi'  a'  his  noise  and  cap'riti', 
And  tak  a  share  wi'  those  that  bear 

The  budget  and  the  apron  ; 
And  by  that  sioup,  my  fr.itli  and  houp 

And  by  that  dear  Kilbagie, 
If  e'er  ye  want,  or  meet  wi'  scant, 

May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie. 

And  by  that  stoup,  etc 


RECITATIVO. 

The  Caird  prevail'd— th'   unblushing 
fa^'r 

In  his  embraces  sunk, 
Partly  wi'  love  o'ercome  sae  sair. 

And  partly  she  was  drunk. 
Sir  Violino,  with  an  air 

That  show'd  a  man  o'  spunk, 
Wish'd  unison  between  the  paii. 

And  made  the  bottle  clunk 

To  their  heaJtii  that  td^^. 


14: 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 


J^ut  hurchin  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, 

Thro'  hmpin'  wi'  the  spavie, 
He  hirpl'd  up,  and  lap  like  daft, 

And  shor'd  them  Dainty  Davie. 
O  boot  that  night. 

He  was  a  care-defying  blade 

As  ever  Bacchus  listed. 
Thro'  Fortune  sair  upon  him  laid, 

His  heart  she  ever  miss'd  it. 
He  had  nae  wish,  but— to  be  glad. 

Nor  want  but — when  he  thirsted  ; 
He  hated  not  but — to  be  sad. 

And  thus  the  Muse  suggested 
His  sang  that  night. 

AIR. 

Tune—"  For  a'  that,  and  a'  t'aat." 
I  AM  a  bard  of  no  regard 

Wi'  gentlefolks,  an'  a'  that ; 
jBut  Homer-like,  the  glowran  byke, 

Frae  town  to  town  I  draw  that. 

CHORUS. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

And  twice  as  meikle's  a'  that  ; 
I've  lost  but  ane,  I've  twa  behin', 

I've  wife  eneugh  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,  etc. 

Great  love  I  bear  to  a'  the  fair, 
Tlieir  humble  slave,  an'  a'  that  ; 

But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 
A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 

For  a'  that,  etc. 

In  raptures  sweet,  this  hour  we  meet, 
Wi'  mutual  love,  an'  a'  that ; 

But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang, 
Let  inclination  law  that, 

For  a  that,  etc. 

riieir  tricks  and  craft  hae  put  me  daft. 
They've  ta'en  me  in,  an'  a'  that ; 

But  clear  your  decks,  and  here's  the 
sex  ! 
I  Mke  the  jads  for  a'  that 


For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

And  twice  as  muckle's  a'  that. 
My    dearest    bluid,  to  do    them 
guid. 
They're    welcome  till't    for  a' 
that. 

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,  an'  pawn'd 

their  duds. 
They  scarcely  left  to  co'er  their  fuds. 

To  quench  their  lowan  drouth. 

Then  owre  again,  the  jovial  thrang 

The  poet  did  request. 
To  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,  fill  your  glasses." 

See  !  the  smoking  bowl  before  us, 
Mark  our  jovial  ragged  ring  ; 

Round  and  round  take  up  the  chorus- 
And  in  raptures  let  us  sing  : 

CHORUS. 

A  fig  for  those  b}^  law  protected  / 
Liberty's  a  glorious  feast  ! 

Courts  for  cowards  were  erected. 
Churches  built  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,  how  or  where  ! 

A  fig,  eta 

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,  etc 

Does  the  train-attended  carriage 
Thro'  the  country  lighter  rove  ? 

Dees  the  sober  bed  of  marriage 
Witness  brighter  scenes  of  love  ? 
A  fig,  eU% 


THE  AULD  FARMER'S  JS^EW-TEAR  8ALUTA  TION. 


65 


Life  is  all  a  variorum, 

We  regard  not  how  it  goes  ; 

L'Bt  them  caul  about  decorum 
Who  have  characters  to  lose. 

A  fig,  etc. 


Here's  to  budgets,  bags,  aud  wallctfc  \ 
Here's  to  all  the  wandering  train  .' 

Here's  our  ragged  brats  and  callets  ! 
One  and  all  crj  out,  Amen  ! 

A  fig,  etc. 


THE  AULD   FARMER'S   NEW-YEAR   MORNING   SALU^ 
TATION  TO  HIS  AULD  MARE,  MAGGIE. 

ON  GIVING  HER  THE  ACCUSTOMED  RIPP  OF  CORN  TO  HANSEL  IN  THE   NEW  TEAR. 

A  GUiD  New- Year  I  wish  thee,  Mag- 
gie ! 
Hae,  there's  a  ripp  to  thy  auld  baggie  : 
1*ho'    thou's    howe-backit,   now,   an' 
knaggie, 

I've  seen  the  day. 

Thou  could  hae  gane  like  ony  staggie 

Out-owre  the  lay. 

Tho'  now  thou's  dowie,  stiff,  an'  crazy. 
An'  thy  auld  hide's  as  white's  a  daisie, 
Ive  seen  tlieedappl't,  sleek  an'  glaizie, 

A  bonie  gray  : 
He  should  been  tight  that  daur't  to 
raize  thee, 

Ance  in  a  day. 

Thcc  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank, 
A-  filly  buirdly,  stoeve,  an'  swank, 
A.n'  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'  tliou  was  my  guid-father's  meere  ; 
He  gied  me  thee,  o'  iocher  clear, 

An'  fifty  mark  ; 
Tho'  it  was  sma',  'twas  weel-won  gear, 

An'  thou  was  stark. 

Wh3n  first  I  gaed  to  woo  my  Jenny, 
Yc  then  was  trottin  wi'  your  minnie  , 
Ti.o'  ye  was  trickle,  slee,  an'  funnie. 

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

An'  unco  sonsie. 

Tliat  day,  ye  pranc'd  wi'  muckle  pride, 
W'.en  ye  bure  hame  my  bonie  bride  ; 
/„ji'  fcwcct  an'  gracefu'  she  did  ride, 

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

For  sic  a  pair. 


Tho'  now  ye  dow  but  hoy  te  and  hobxc_ 
An'  wintle  like  a  saumont-coble. 
That  day  ye  was  a  jinker  noble 

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

Far,  far  bdiin'. 

When  thou  an'  I  were  young  and 

skeigh, 
An'  stable-meals  at  fairs  were  driegh. 
How  thou  wad  prance,  an'  snore,  an" 
skriegh 

An'  tak  the  road  ! 
Town's-bodies  ran,  and  stood  abeigh, 
An'  ca't  thee  mad. 

When  thou  was  corn't,  an'  I  was  mel- 
low. 
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  pny't  them  hollow, 

Whare'er  tliou  gaed. 

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

An'  gart  them  whaizle  : 
Nae  whip  nor  spur,  but  just  a  wattle-- 

O'  saugli  or  liazeL 

Thou  was  a  noble  fittie-lan'. 

As  e'or  in  tug  or  tow  was  drawn  . 

Aft  thee  an'  X,  in  aught  hours  gaun. 

On  guid  March- weathei, 
Hae  turn'd  sax  rood  beside  our  liaa'. 

For  days  thegitiisr, 

TV^ii  nev-^r  'jraindg't,  an'  fetch't,  an* 

fliskit, 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  wlus^^ 


66 


TO  A  MOUSE, 


Aii'    tf^read    abreed    tby    weel-fill'd 
briskit, 

Wi'  pith  an'  pow'r, 
Till  spritty   knowes  wad   rair't  and 
riskit, 

An'  sly  pet  owre. 

When  frosts  lay  lung,  an'  snaws  were 

deep, 
A.:'  threat en'd  labour  back  to  keep, 
:  gied  thy  cog  a  wee-bit  heap 
Abocn  the  timnier ; 
i  ken'd  my  Maggie  wad  na  sleep 
"^For  that,  or  simmer. 

In  cart  or  car  thou  never  reestit ; 
The  stevest  brae  thou  w^ad  hae  face't 

it; 
Thou    never     lap,    an'    sten't,     an 
breastit, 

Then  stood  to  blaw  ; 
But  just  thy  step  a  w^ee  tiling  hastit, 
Thou  snoov't  awa. 

My  pleugh  is  now  thy  bairn-time  a'  : 
Four  gallant  brutes  as  e'er  did  draw  : 


Ferbye  sax  mae,  I've  sell't  awa. 

That  thou  hast  nurst  ; 
They  drew  me  thretteen  pund  an'  twaj 

The  vera  warst. 

Monic    a    sair    daurk    we    tz^a    ha*, 

wrought, 
An'  wd'  the  w^eary  warl'  fought  ! 
An'  monie  an  anxious  daj',  I  thought 

We  w  ad  be  beat  ! 
Yet  here  to  crazy  age  ^ve're  brought, 

Wi'  something  yet. 

And  think  na,  my  auld,  trusty  servan', 
That  now  perhaps  thou'sless  deservin, 
An'  thy  auld  days  may  end  iii  starvin', 

For  my  last  fou, 
A  heapit  stimpart,  I'll  reserve  ane 

Laid  by  for  you. 

We've  worn  to  crazy  years  thcgilher  , 
AVe'll  toyte  about  wi'  ane  anither  ; 
W"i'  tentie  care  I'll  flit  thy  tether 

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

Wi'  sma'  fatigue. 


TO   A  MOUSE,    OK  TURNING  HER  UP   IN  HER   NEST 
WITH  THE  PLOUGH,  NOVEMBER,  1785. 

Wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin,  tim'rous  beastie, 
O,  what  a  panic's  in  thy  breastie  ! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty, 

Wi'  bickering  brattle  ! 
I  w^ad  be  laith  to  rin  an'  chase  thee, 

Wi'  murd'ring  pattle  1 

I'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion. 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union. 
An'  justities  that  iil  opinion. 

Which  makes  thee  startle. 
At  me,  Ihy  poor,  earth-born  compan- 
ici:, 

An'  fellow-mortal  1 

I  doubt  na,   wdiiles,    but  thou  may 

thieve  ; 
What  then  ?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun 

live  ! 
A  daimeu-icker  in  a  thrave. 

'S  a  sma'  request  : 

X'll  get  a  biessin  wi'  the  lave, 

And  never  miss't  1 


Thy  w^ee  bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin  ! 
Its  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin  ! 
Al'  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane. 

6'  foggage  green  ! 
An'  bleak  Decen.ber's  winds  ensuin, 

Baith  snell  an'  keen  1 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  and 

w^aste, 
An'  weary  winter  comin  fast. 
An'  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast, 

Tiiou  thought  to  dwell 
Till  crash  !  the  cruel  coulter  past 

Out  tliro'  thy  cell. 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an'  stibble 
Has  cost  thee  mony  a  weary  nibble  I 
Kow    thou's    turn'd    out,  for  a'  thy 
trouble, 

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

An'  cranreuch  cauid  I 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 


69 


But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane, 
In  proving-  foresight  may  ha  vain  : 
Tlie  best  laid  scliemes  o'  mice  an'  men 

Gang  aft  a-gley, 
A»'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pain. 

For  promis'd  joy. 


Still  thou  art  blest,  compar'd  wi'  me  ' 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee  : 
But,  Och  1  I  backward  cast  my  e'e 

On  prospects  drear  I 
An'  forward,  tho'  1  canna  see, 

I  guess  an'  fear. 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  peliing  of  this  pitiless  storm  I 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides. 
Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  you, 
From  seasons  such  as  these  ? 

Shakespeare. 


When  biting  Boreas,  tell  and  doure, 
Sharp  shivers  thro"  the  leafless  bow'r  ; 
When  Pha^bus  gies  a  short-liv'd  glow'r. 

Far  south  the  lift, 
Dim-dark'ning  thro'  the  tiaky  show'r. 

Or  whirling  drift : 

Ae    night     the     storm    the     steeples 

rocked. 
Poor  Labour  sv/eet  in  sleep  was  locked. 
While  burns,  wi'  snawy  w^reeths  up- 
choked, 

Wild-eddying  swirl, 
Or  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bocked, 

Down  headlong  hurl. 

List'uing,    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     d.ift,    deep-lairing, 
sprattle. 

Beneath  a  scar. 

Ilk  happing  bird,  wee,  helpless  thing  ! 
That,  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring. 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing. 

What  comes  o'  thee  ? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering 
win' 

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  spoild 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pity  less  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats. 


Now  Phoebe,  in  her  midnight  reign, 
Dark  muffl'd,  view'd  the  dreary  plain  ; 
Still    crowding    thoughts,   a  pensive 
train, 

Rose  in  my  soul. 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain, 

Slow,  solemn,  stole — 

"Blow,     blow,     ye    winds,     with 

heavier  gust ! 
And    freeze,    thou    bitter-biting 

frost  ! 
Descend,     ye     chilly,     smothering 

snows  ! 
Not  all  your  rage,  as  now,  united 

show^s 
More  hard  unkindness,  unrelent- 

Vengeful  malice  unrepenting, 
Than  heav'n-illumin'd  man  on  brother 
man  bestows  ! 
See  stern  Oppression's  iron  grip, 
Or  mad  Ambition's  gory  hand. 
Sending,  like  blood-hounds  from  the 
slip, 
Woe,  want,  and   murder  o'er  a 
_  land  ! 
Ev'n  in  the  peacefid  rural  vale. 
Truth,  w^eeping,  tells  the  mournfu! 
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. 


68 


EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE,  A  BROTHER  POET, 


Whose  toil  upholds  the  glitt'ring 
sliow, 
A  creature  of  another  kind, 
8ome  coarser  substance,  unrei5n'd, 
Plac'd    for  her  lordly  use  thus  far, 
thus  vile,  below. 

"  Where,    where    is    Love's    fond, 

tender  throe, 
With  lordly  Honour's  lofty  brow, 
'i'lie  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  honour  turns  away. 
Shunning  soft  pity's  rising  sway, 
Regardless  of  the  tears,  and  unavail- 
ing pray'rs ! 
Perhaps    this    hour,     in     mis'ry's 

squalid  nest, 
She  strains  your  infant  to  her  joy- 
less breast, 
And  with  a  mother's  fears  shrinks  at 
the  rocking  blast  ! 

"Oh  ye!    who,  sunk  in  beds  of 

down, 
Feel  not  a  want  hut  what  yourselves 

create, 
Think,    for    a    moment,     on    his 

wretched  fate. 


Whom  friends  and  fortune  qmx^ 
disown  ! 
Ill-satisfied  keen  nature's  clam'rouu 
call, 
Stretch  d  on  his  straw  he  lays  him- 
self to  sleep. 
While  thro'   the  ragged   roof  and 

cliinky  wall, 
Chill  o'er  liis_  slumbers,   piles  the 

drifty  heap  ! 
Think  on  the  dungeon's  grim  con 

fine. 
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  dis- 
tress ; 
A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite 
the  bliss  ! " 

I  heard  nae  mair,  for  Chanticleer 
Shook  oif  the  pouthery  snaw, 

And  hail'd  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 
A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impress'd  my  mind 
Thro'  all  His  works  abroad, 

The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 
The  most  resembles  God. 


EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE,  A  BROTHER  POET. 


While   winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond 

blaw, 
And  bar  the  doors  wi'  driving  snaw, 

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

In  hamely,  westlin  jingle. 
While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

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


January  —  [1784], 

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

To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour. 

To  see  how  things  are  shar'd  ; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whyles  in  want, 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands 
rant. 
And  ken  na  how  to  wair't : 
But,  Davie,  lad,  ne'er  fash  your  head, 

Tho'  we  hae  little  gear, 
We're  fit  to  win  our  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. 
Is  only  but  to  beg. 


EPISTLE  TO  DAVIK  A  BROTHEIt  POET. 


68 


To  lie  in  kilns  and  barns  at  e'en, 
When  l)anes  are  craz'd,  and  bluid  is 
thin, 
Is,  doubtless,  great  distress  ! 
Yet  then  content  would  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,  j^ou'll  find  still, 

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

What  tho',  like  commoners  of  air. 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where. 

But  either  house  or  hal'  ? 
Fet  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. 
With  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound, 
To  see  the  coming  year  : 
On  braes  when  we  please,  then, 
We'll  sit  and  sowth  a  tune  ; 
Syne  rhyme  till't,  we'll  time  till't, 
And  sing't  when  we  hae  done. 

It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank  ; 

It's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank. 

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

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

And  centre  in  the  breast, 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great. 
But  never  can  be  blest : 

Nae  treasures,  nor  pleasures, 

Could  make  us  happy  lang  ; 
The  heart  ay's  the  part  ay. 

That  makes  us  right  or  wrang. 
Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 
Wha  drudge  and  drive  thro'  wet  an' 
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, 
Thry  riot  in  excess  ! 
Baith  careless,  and  fearless. 
Of  either  heav'n  or  hell  1 
Esteeming,  and  deeming 
It's  a'  an  idle  tale  ! 

Then  let  us  cheerfu'  acquiesce  ;  • 
Nor  make  our  scanty  pleasures  less. 

By  pining  at  our  state  ; 
And,  even  should  misfortunes  come, 
I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some, 

An's  thankfu'  for  them  yet. 
They  gie  the  wit  of  age  to  youth  ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel : 
They  mak  us  see  the  naked  truth. 
The  real  guid  and  ill. 
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  flatt'ry  I  detest) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I ; 
And  joys  that  riches  ne'er  could  buy  ; 

And  joys  the  very  best. 
There's  a'  the  pleasures  o'  the  heart, 

The  lover  an'  the  fricn'  ; 
Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part. 
And  I  my  darling  Jean  1 
It  warms  me,  it  charms  me. 

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

O  all  ye  pow'rs  who  rule  above  ! 
O  Thou,  whose  very  self  art  love  ! 

Thou  know'st  my  words  sincere  ! 
The  life-blood    streaming    thro'   my 

heart. 
Or  my  more  dear  immortal  part. 

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

Deprive  my  soul  of  rest. 
Her  dear  idea  brings  relief 
And  solace  to  my  breast. 
Thou  Being,  All-seeing, 

O  hear  my  fervent  pray'r ; 
Still  take  her,  and  make  her 
Thy  most  peculiar  care  1 


76 


THE  LAMENT, 


AH  hail,  ye  tender  feelings  clear  ! 
The  smile  of  love,  the  friendly  tear, 

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

Had  it  not  been  for  you  ! 
Fate  still  has  blest  me  with  a  friend. 

In  every  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endearing  baud, 
A  tie  more  tender  still. 
It  lightens,  it  brightens 
The  teuebrific  scene. 
To  meet  with,  and  greet  with 
My  Davie  or  my  Jean. 


O,  how  that  name  inspires  mysiyie! 
The  words  come  skelpin,  rankandfile, 

Aniai.->t  before  I  ken  ! 
The  iv^ady  measure  rins  as  fine, 
As  Pha'bus  and  the  fan.ous  Nine 

Were  glowriu  owre  my  pen. 
M}"  spaviet  Pegasus  will  limp, 

Tiil  ance  lie's  fairly  het  ; 
And  then  he'll  hilch  and  stilt  and  jimp^ 
An  rin  an  unco  fit : 
But  lest  then,  the  beast  then. 
Should  rue  his  hasty  ride, 
I'll  light  now,  and  dight  now 
His  sweaty,  wizen'd  hide. 


THE  LAMBNT, 


OCCASIONED  BY  THE  UNFORTUNATE  ISSUE  OP  A  FRIENI>  9  AMOUR. 

Alas  I  how  oft  does  Goodness  wound  itself, 
And  sweet  Affection  prove  the  spring  of  woe  I 

—Home. 


0  THOU  pale  Orb,  that  silent  shines. 
While  care-untroubled  mortals  sleep! 

Thou  seest  a  wretch  that  inly  pines, 
And  wanders  here  to  wail  and  weep  ! 

With  woe  I  nightly  vigils  keep. 
Beneath  thy  wan,  unwarming  beam: 

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

1  joyless  view  thy  rays  adorn 
The  faintly  marked,  distant  hill: 

I  joyless  view  thy  trembling  horn. 
Reflected  in  the  gurgling  rill : 

jMy  fondly-fluttering  heart,  be  still  ! 
Thou   busy   pow'r.  Remembrance, 
cease  ! 

Ah  !  must  the  agonizing  thrill 
Forever  bar  returning  peace  ! 

No  idly-feign'd  poetic  pains. 

My  sad,  love-lorn  lamentings  claim; 
No  shepherd's  pipe— Arcadian  strains; 

No  fabled  tortures,  quaint  and  tame: 
The  plighted  faith,  the  mntual  flame; 

The  oft  attested  Pow'rs  above  ; 
The  promis'd  father's  tender  name  : 

These  were  the  pledges  of  my  love  ! 

Enc'iOled  in  her  clasping  arms. 
How  have  the  raptur'd    moments 
flown  ! 
How    have    I    wish'd    for    fortune's 
charms, 
For  her  dear  sake,  and  hers  alone  I 


And  must  I  think  ii !  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  b?ar  so  base  a  heart. 
So  lost  to  honour,  lost  to  truth, 
As  from  the  fondest  lover  part. 

The  plighted  husband  of  her  youth  ! 
Alas  !  life's  path  may  be  unsmooth  ! 
Her  way  may  lie  thro'  rough  dis- 
tress ! 
Then,  who  her  pangs  and  pains  will 
soothe, 
Her  sorrows  share,  and  make  them 
less? 

Ye  winged  houis  that  o'er  us  past, 

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

My  fondly-treasur'd  thoughts  em- 
ploy'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  wish  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  suffer,  lingering,  sloW^ 


DESPONDEyCY, 


71 


Full  many  a  pang,  and  many  a  throe, 
Keen  recollection's  direful  train, 

Must  wriug  my  soul,  ere  Phoebus,  low. 
Shall  kiss  the  distant,  western  main 

And  when  my  nightly  couch  I  try, 
Sore-harass'd    out    with    care    and 
grief. 
My  toil-beat  nerves,  and  tear-worn  eye. 
Keep  watchings   with   the  nightly 
thief  : 
Cr  if  I  slumber,  Fancy,  chief, 

Reigns,  haggard-wild,   in  sore    af- 
fright : 
E'vn  day,  all-bitter  brings  relief. 
From  such  a  horror-breathing  night. 

O  thou  bright  Queen,  who  o'er  th' 
expanse 


Now  highest  reign'st,  with  boundless 
sway  ! 
Oft  has  thy  silent-marking  glance 
Observ'd      us,      fondly-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. 

O  scenes  in  strong  remembrance  set ! 

Scenes,  never,  never  to  return  1 
Scenes,  if  in  stupoi*  I  forget, 

Again  I  feel,  agnin  I  burn  ! 
From  ev'ry  joy  and  plcr.sure  torn. 

Life's  weary  vale  I'll  wander  thro*; 
And  hopeless,  comfortless,  I'll  mourn 

A  faithless  woman's  broken  vow. 


DESPONDENCY. 


AN    ODE. 


Oppkess'd  with  grief,  oppress'd  with 

care, 
A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear, 

I  set  me  down  And  sigh  : 
0  life  I  thou  art  a  galling  load. 
Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road, 

To  wretches  such  as  I  ! 
Dim-backward  as  I  cast  my  view, 
Wh;it  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  shall  close  ne'er, 
But  with  the  closing  tomb  I 

Happy,  ye  sons  of  busy  life. 
Who,  equal  to  the  bustling  strife, 

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

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

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

Forget  each  grief  and  pain  ^ 
1,  listless,  yet  restless. 
Find  every  prospect  vain. 


Hov/  blest  the  Solitary's  lot. 
Who,  all-forgetting,  all-forgot. 

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

Beside  his  crystal  w^ell  ! 
Or,  haply,  to  bis  ev'ning  thought. 

By  unfrequented  stream. 
The  ways  of  men  are  distant  brought, 
A  faint-collecled  dream: 
While  praising,  and  raising 

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

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

Less  tit  to  play  the  part ; 
The  lucky  moment  to  improve, 
And  just  to  stop,  and  just  to  moY6, 

With  self-respecting  art : 
But  ah  I  those  pleasures,  loves,  a^L; 
joys. 
Which  I  too  keenly  taste. 
The  Solitary  can  despise. 
Can  want,  and  yet  be  blest  1 
He  needs  not,  he  heeds  not. 

Or  human  love  or  hate, 
U^hilst  I  here,  must  cry  her' 
At  perfidy  ingrate  I  ' 


72 


THE  (JOTTER  ;l  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


Oh,  enviable,  early  days  ! 
When  dancing  thoughtless  pleasure's 
maze, 

To  care,  to  guilt  unknown  ! 
How  ill  exchang'd  for  riper  times. 
To  see  the  follies,  or  the  crimes. 

Of  others,  or  mj-  own  I 


Ye  tiny  elves  that  guiltless  sport. 

Like  linnets  in  the  bush, 
Ye  liitle  know  cKe  ills  ye  court, 
When  manhood  is  your  wish  1 
The  losses,  the  crosses, 

That  active  men  engage  ! 
The  fears  all,  the  tears  all, 
Of  dim-decliniug  age. 


WINTER. 


A  DIRGE. 


The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast. 

And  hail  and  rain  does  blaw  ; 
Or,  the  stormy   north  sends  driving 
forth, 

The  blinding  sleet  and  snaw  : 
While,   tumbling    brown,    the    burn 
comes  down, 

And  roars  f  rae  bank  to  brae  : 
And  bird  and  beast  in  covert  rest, 

And  pass  the  heartless  day. 

"  The  sweeping  blast,   the  sky  o'er- 
cast," 

The  joyless  winter-day, 
Let  others  fear,  to  me  more  dear 

Than  all  the  pride  of  May ; 


The    tempest's   howl,  it   soothes  mj 
soul, 

My  griefs  it  seems  to  join  ; 
The  leafless  trees  my  fancy  please. 

Their  fate  resembles  mine  ! 


Thou  Pow'r  Supreme,  whose  mighty 
scheme 

These  woes  of  mine  fulfil. 
Here,  firm,  I  rest,  they  must  be  best. 

Because  they  are  Thy  will  ! 
Then  all  I  want,  (Oh  !   do  thou  grant 

This  one  request  of  mine  !) 
Since  to  enjo}'  thou  dost  deny_ 

Assist  me  to  resign, 


T^E  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


INSCRIBED    TO  ROBERT  AIKEN,  ESQ.,  OP  ATB. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Tlieir  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grand-nrhear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  smiple  annais  of  the  Poor. 

— Grat. 

My  lov'd,  my  honour'd,  much  respected  friend  I 

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  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  laj^s, 

Tlie  lowly  train  in  life's  sequester'd  scene  ; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways  ; 

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

jN"ovember  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh  ; 

The  shorl'ning  winter-day  is  near  a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  f  rae  the  pleugh ;  < 

The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose  , 


TBE  COTTER 'S  SA  TURD  A  Y  NmHT,  73 

The  toil-%Yorn  Cotter  f  rae  liis  labour  goes, 

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

Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward  bend. 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view. 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree  ; 
Th'  expectant  wee-things,  toddlin,  stacher  through 

To  meet  their  Dad,  wi'  flichterin  noise  an'  glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinkin  bonilie. 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thrifty  wifie's  smile. 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee. 

Does  a'  his  weary  carking  cares  beguile. 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labour  an'  his  toil. 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drapping  in. 

At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' , 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  town  : 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman-grown, 

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

Or  deposite  her  sair-won  penny-fee. 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

"With  joy  unfeign'd  brothers  and  sisters  meet. 

An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers : 
The  social  hours,  swift-wing'd,  unnotic'd  fleet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears  ; 
The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years  ; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  sheers, 

'  Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's  the  new ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due. 

Their  master's  an'  their  mistress's  command, 

The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey  ; 
An"  mind  their  labours  wi'  an  eydent  hand. 

An'  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play : 
An'  O  !  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway, 

**  An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 

Luplore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright  I" 

But  hark  !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door. 

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

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

Sparkle  in  Jennys  e'e,  and  flush  her  cheek  ; 
Wi'  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 

While  Jenny  hati^ins  is  afraid  to  speak  ; 
Wee]  pleas'a  the  mother  hears,  it's  nae  wild,  worthless  rake. 


74  TBE  COTTER '8  8 A TURDA  T  NIGHT. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome,  Jenny  brings  him  ben  ; 

A  strappan  youth  ;  he  takes  the  mother's  eye  ; 
Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  ta'en  ; 

The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye. 
The  yovmgster's  artless  heart  o'erfiows  wi'  joy, 

But  bhUe  and  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave ; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy 

^Vhat  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  an'  sae  grave  ; 
Weel-pleas'd  to  think  her  bairn's  respected  like  the  lave. 

O  happy  love  !  where  love  like  this  is  foimd  1 

O  heart-felt  raptures  !  bliss  beyond  compare  I 
I've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal  round, 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare — 
*'  If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare 

One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 
'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  1 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth? 
Curse  on  his  perjur'd  arts  !  dissembling  smooth  \ 

Are  honour,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exil'd? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth. 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o  cr  tiieir  child  ? 
Then  paints  the  ruin'd  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild  . 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

The  healsome  parritch,  chief  o'  Scotia's  food  : 
The  soupe  their  only  Hawkie  does  afford, 

That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood  ; 
The  dame  brings  forth  in  complimental  mood, 

To  grace  thelad,  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck,  fell. 
An'  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  guid  ; 

The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell. 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  1'  the  bell. 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face. 

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

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

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  an'  bare  ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide. 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care. 
And  "  Let  us  worship  God  !  "  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise  : 
They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim  ; 

PerhaiDS  Dundee's  wild  warbling  measures  rise. 
Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  of  the  name  •. 


TRE  COTTER* S  8ATTIRDA T  MOHT,  i^ 

Or  noble  Elgin  beets  the  lieav'nward  flame, 

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

The  tickl'd  ears  no  heartfelt  raptures  raise  ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 

How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high  ; 
Or  Moses  bade  eternal  w'arfare  wage 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny  ; 
Or  how  the  royal  Bard  did  groaning  lie 

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

Or  wrapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  tire  ; 
Or  other  holy  Seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme. 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed  ; 
How  He,  who  bore  in  Heaven  the  second  name. 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head; 
How  His  first  followers  and  servants  s^ped  ; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land  : 
How  he,  Avho  lone  in  Patmos  banished. 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand  , 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounc'd  by  Heavens  command. 

Then  kneeling  d"  wn,  to  Heaven's  Eternal  King, 

The  saint,'  the  father,  and  the  husband  pn:ys  : 
Hope  "  springs  exulting  on  triumpiiant  wing," 

That  thus  they  aii  shall  meet  in  future  days  : 
There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

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

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear  ; 
While  circling  Time  moves  round  in  an  eternxil  sphere 

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

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

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace,  except  the  heart ! 
The  Power,  iucens'd,  the  pageant  will  desert, 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole  ; 
But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 

May  hear,  v/ell  pleas'd,  the  language  of  the  30ul ; 
And  in  his  Book  of  Life  the  inmates  poor  enrol. 

Then  homeward  all  take  olf  their  sev'ial  w^ayj; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest : 
The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heav'n  the  warm  request. 
That  He  wdio  stills  the  raven's  clam'^-ous  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  ; 
Bu"  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 


76  MAH  WAS  MADE  TO  MOURHi. 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs 

That  makes  her  lov'd  at  home,  rever'd  abroad  : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings,  ^ 

"  An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God" 
And  certes,  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road. 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind  ; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load. 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  relin'dl 

O  Scotia  !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent  I 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  contentl 
And,  oh  I  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile; 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  w^hile. 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-lov'd  Isle. 

O  Thou  !  who  pour'd  the  patriotic  tide 

That  stream'd  thro'  Wallace's  undaunted  heart ; 
"W  ho  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!) 
Oh  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert. 

But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot-bard, 
Jn  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard  1 


MAN  WAS  MADE  TO  MOURN. 

A  DIRGE. 

When  chill  November's  surly  blast  The  sun  that  overhangs  yon  moors, 

Made  fields  and  forests  bare,  Out-spreading  far  and  wide, 

One  ev'uing  as  I  wander'd  forth  Where  hundreds  labour  to  support 

Along  the  banks  of  Ayr,  A  hauglity  lordling's  pride  ; 

I  spy'd  a  man,  whose  aged  step  I've  seen  yon  weary  winter  sun 

\     Seem'd  weary,  worn  with  care ;  Twice  forty  times  return  : 

'  His  face  was  f  urrow'd  o'er  with  years,  And  ev'ry  time  has  added  proofs. 

And  hoary  was  his  hair.  That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

Young  stranger,   whither    wand'rest 

thou?  O  man  !  while  in  thy  early  years. 

Began  the  rev'rend  Sage  ;  How  prodigal  of  time  ! 

Post  thirst  of    wealth  thy  step  con-  Mis-spending  all  thy  precious  hours, 

strain,  Thy  glorious  youthful  prime  I 

Or  youthful  pleasure's  rage?  Alternate  follies  take  the  sway  ; 

Or,  haply,  prest  with  cares  and  woes,  Licentious  passions  burn  ; 

Too  soon  thou  hast  began  Which    tenfold    force   give    natural 

To  wander  forth,  with  me,  to  mourn  law, 

The  miseries  of  Man.  That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 


A  PRATER,  IN  TEE  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH. 


77 


Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime. 

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

Supported  in  his  right, 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 

With  cares  and  sori'ows  worn. 
Then  age  and  want,  oh  !    ill  match'd 
pair! 

Show  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

A  few  seem  favourites  of  fate, 

In  pleasure's  lap  carest ; 
Yet,  think  not  all  the  rich  and  great 

Are  likewise  truly  blest. 
But,  oh  !  what  crowds  in  ev'ry  land 

Are  wretched  and  forlorn  ; 
Thro'  weary  life  this  lesson  learn. 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

Many  and  sharp  the  num'rous  ills 

Inwoven  witli  our  frame  ! 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves. 

Regret,  remorse,  and  shame  ! 
And  man,  whose  heaven-erected  face 

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

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn  1 

8ee  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  fellow- worm 

The  poor  petition  spurn, 
Unmindful,  tho'  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

If  I'm  desigu'd  yon  lordling's  slave. 

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

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

His  cruelty,  or  scorn?     - 
Or  why  has  man  the  will  and  pow'i 

To  make  his  fellow  mourn  ?  i 

Yet,  let  not  this  too  much,  my  son. 

Disturb  thy  youthful  breast : 
This  partial  view  of  humankind 

Is  surely  not  the  last  ! 
The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man. 

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

To  comfort  t-hose  that  mourn! 

O  Death  !    the    poor    man's    dearest 
friend. 

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

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest! 
The  great,  the  wealthy,  fear  thy  blow. 

From  pomp  and  pleasures  torn; 
But,  oh  !  a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary-laden  mourn! 


A  PRAYER,  IN  THE  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH 


O  Tnou  unknown.  Almighty  Cause 

Of  all  my  hope  and  f«ar! 
In  whose  dread  presence,  ere  an  hour, 

Perhaps  I  must  appear! 

If  I  have  wander'd  in  those  paths 

Of  life  I  ought  to  shun  ; 
As  something,  loudly  in  my  breast, 

Remonstrates  I  have  done  ; 

(Thou  know'st  that  Thou  hast  form'd 
me. 
With  passions  wild  and  strong; 


And  list'ning  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where    human  weakness    has  come 
short, 

Or  frailty  stept  aside, 
Do  Thou,  Ail  Good !  for  such  Thou  art, 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 

Where  vvith  intention  I  have  err'd, 

iS[o  other  plea  I  have, 
But,   Thou  art  good ;    and 
still 

Pelightetli  to  forgive. 


78  LINES. 


STANZAS  ON  THE  SAME  OCCASIONo 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene  ? 

Have  I  so  found  it  full  of  pleasing  charms  ? 
Some  drops  of  jo}'  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  guiit,  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  ofTence  1" 

Fain  promise  never  more  to  disobey  ; 
But,  should  my  Author  health  again  dispense, 

Again  1  migbt  desert  fail  virtue's  way  ; 
Again  in  folly's  path  might  go  astray  ; 

Again  exalt  the  brute,  aiid  smk  the  man  ; 
Then  how  should  I  for  Heavenly  mercy  pray. 

Who  act  so  counter  Heavenly  mercy's  plan  ? 
Who  sin  so  oft  have  mourn'd,  yet  to  temptation  ran  ? 

O  Thou,  great  Governor  of  all  below  I 

If  I  may  dare  a  lifted  eye  to  Thee, 
Thy  nod  can  make  the  t(Mnpest  cease  to  blow. 

And  still  the  tunmlt  of  the  raging  sea  : 
With  that  controlling  pow'r  assist  ev'n  me. 

Those  headlong  furious  passions  to  contine, 
For  all  unfit  I  feel  my  powers  to  be. 

To  rule  their  torrent  in  th'  allowed  line  ; 
Oh,  aid  me  with  Thy  help,  Omnipotence  Divine ! 


LYING  AT  A  REVEREND  FRIEND'S  HOUSE  ONE  NIGHT, 

THE  AUTHOR  LEFT  THE  FOLLOWING  VERSES  IN  THE  ROOM  WHERE  HE  SLEPT. 

O  Thoo  dread  Pow'r,  who  reign'st  Their  hope,  their  stay,  their  darling 

above,  youth, 

I  know  thou  wilt  me  hear  ;  In  manhood's  dawning  blusb  ; 

,WIien  for  this  scene  of  peace  and  love.  Bless  him,  thou  God  of  love  and  truth. 

I  make  my  pray'r  sincere.  Up  to  a  parent's  wish. 

„,     ,  .        ^,  .  1    i     .  The  beauteous,  seraph  sister  band, 

The  hoary  sire-the  mortal  stroi^e,  ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^.^^ 

Long,  long,  be  pleas  d  to  spare  ;  ^,^      ^^^^,,^^  ^^^^  ^^^^.^^  ^^;^.^..     1^^^^^^ 

To  bless  his  little  filial  nock,  .      __  .    .  .      •  » 

And  show  what  good  men  are. 


Guide  Thou  their  steps  alway. 

When   soon  or  late  the}"  reach  that 
She,  who  her  lovely  offspring  eyes  coast. 

With  tender  hopes  and  fears,  O'er  life's  rough  ocean  driven, 

O,  bless  her  with  a  mother's  joys.  May  they  rejoice,  no  wand'rer  lost, 


But  spare  a  rngther's  tears  1  ,  A  family  in  HeaN  cu 


SIX  VERSES  OF  THE  NINETIETH  PSALM. 


79 


THE  FIRST  PSALM. 


Thf  man,  in  life  wherever  plac'd, 

H^ith  happiness  in  store, 
Who  walks  not  in  the  wicked's  way, 

Nor  learns  their  guilty  lore  : 

ITor  from  the  seat  of  scornful  pride 
Casts  forth  his  eyes  abroad, 

Silt  with  liumility  and  awe 
Still  walks  before  his  God. 

Tliat  man  shall  flourish  like  the  trees 
Which  by  the  streamlet  grow  ; 


The  fruitful  top  is  spread  on  high. 
And  firm  the  root  below. 

But  he  whose  blossom  buds  in  guilt 
Shall  to  the  ground  be  cast. 

And  like  Ihc  rootless  stubble  tost,  ■ 
Before  the  sweeping  blast. 

For  why  ?  tliat  God  the  good  adore 
Hath  giv'n  them  peace  and  rest, 

But  iiath  decreed  that  wicked  iiiea 
Shall  ne'er  be  truly  blest. 


A    rRAYER,    UNDER    THE    PRESSURE    OF    VIOLENT 

A11GUISH. 


O  Thou  great  Being  !  what  Thou  art 

Surpasses  me  to  know  : 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  thy  works  below. 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands. 

All  wretched  and  distrest ; 
Yet  sure  those  ills  tliat  wring  my  soul 

Obey  Thy  high  behest, 


Sure,  Thou,  Almighty,  canst  not  act 

From  cruelty  or  wrath  ! 
Oh,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears, 

Or  close  them  fast  in  death  ! 

But  if  I  must  afflicted  be, 

To  suit  some  wise  design  : 
Then,  man  my  soul  with  Arm  rcsoives 

To  bear  and  not  repine  ! 


THE   FIRST  SIX  VERSES  OF   THE  NINETIETH   PSALM. 


O  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  frienvi 

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

Their  stay  and  dwelling-Dlace  ! 

iefore   the   mountains    heav'd    their 
heads 
Beneath  Thy  forming  hand. 
Before  this  ponderous  globe  itself 
Arose  at  'Ihj  command  ; 

That  pow'r  which  rais'd  and  still  up- 
holds 

This  universal  frame, 
From  countless,  unbeginning  tim.o 

Was  ever  still  the  same. 

Those  miglity  periods  of  years 
Wliich  seem  to  v&  so  vast. 


Appear  no  more  before  Thy  sight 
Than  yesterday  that's  past.    , 

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

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

"Return  ye  into  nought  !  " 

Thou  Liycst  them,  with  all  their  cares, 

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

With  overwhelming  sweep  ; 

They  flotu-ish  like  the  morning  flow'ii 

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

All  wither'd  and  decay 'd. 


60 


TO  TiUTJy, 


TO  A  MOUNT AIN  DAISY, 

ON  TTTRNING  ONE  DOWN  WITH  THE  PLOUGH,  IN  APRIL,   J786. 


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

Thy  slender  stem. 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  pow'r. 

Thou  bonie  gem. 

AIns  !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonie  Lark,  companion  meet  ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet ! 

\Vi'  sprecki'd  breast. 
When   upward-springing,    blythe,   tc 
greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth  ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  fortli 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  rear'd  above  the  parent-earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The    flaunting   flow'rs    our    gardens 

yield. 
High  shelt'ring  woods  and  wa's  maun 

shield. 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adcrr3  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 

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


Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 
In  humble  guise  ; 

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

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  Inlaid, 
Sweet  flow 'ret  of  the  rural  shade ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betray'd, 

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

Low  i'  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  Bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starr'd 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore, 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er  .' 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  giv'n, 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  hiis 

striv'n. 
By  human  pride  or  cunning  driv'n 

To  mis'ry's  brink, 
Till  wrench'd  of  ev'ry  stay  but  Heav'n, 

He,  ruin'd,  sink  ! 

Ev'n  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's 

fate, 
That  fate  is  thine— no  distant  date  ; 
Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives,  elate. 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till    crush'd    beneath    the    furrow's 
weight. 

Shall  be  thy  doom  I 


TO  KUIK 


All  haii  !  inexorable  lord  ! 

i.vt  whose  destruction-breathing  word 

Tho  mightiest  empires  fall  ! 
Thy  cruel,  woe-delighted  train, 
I'hc  ministers  of  grief  and  pain, 

A  sullen  welcome,  all  ! 
With  stern-resolv'd,  despairing  eye, 

I  see  each  aimed  dart  ; 
t'or  one  has  cut  my  dearest  tie, 
And  quivers  in  my  heart. 
Then  low'ring,  and  pouring. 

The  storm  no  more  1  dread  ; 
Tho'  thick'ning  and  black'ning 
Eound  my  devoted  head,  . 


And, thou  grim  pow'r,  by  life  abhorr'd 
While  life  a  pleasure  can  afford. 

Oh  !  hear  a  wretch's  pray'r  !  ! 

No  more  I  shrink  appall'd,  afraid  ; 
I  court,  I  beg  thy  friendly  aid. 

To  clo&e  this  scene  of  care  ! 
When  shall  my  soul,  in  silent  peace. 

Resign  life's  joyless  day  ; 
My  weary  heart  its  throbbings  cease, 
Cold-mould'ring  in  the  clay  ? 
'No  fear  more,  no  tear  more. 
To  stain  my  lifeless  face, 
Enclitsped,  and  grasped 
Within  thy  cold  embrace  | 


EPISTLE  TO  A  TOUKQ  FRIEND. 


81 


TO  MISS  LOGAN,  WITH  BEATTIE'S  POEMS, 

FOR  A  NEW  TEAR  S  GIFT,  JANUARY  1,   1787. 


Again  the  silent  ^viieels  of  time 
Their  annual  round  have  driv'n, 

A.nd  you  tho' scarce  in  maiden  prime. 
Are  so  much  nearer  Heav'n. 

^|?>  gifts  have  I  from  Indian  coasts 
Tlie  infant  year  to  hail ; 


I  send  you  more  than  India  boasts. 
In  Edw  in's  simple  tale. 

Our  sex  with  guile  and  faithless  love 
Is  charg'd,  perhaps  too  true  ; 

But  may,  dear  Maid,  each  lover  prove 
An  Edwin  still  to  3^0 u  ' 


EPISTLE  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND. 


MAY,   1786. 


I  LANG  hae    thought,   my  youthfu' 
friend, 

A  som.ething  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento  ; 
But  how  the  subject  theme  may  gang, 

l^Jh  time  and  chance  determine  ; 
Perhaps,  it  may  turn  out  a  sang. 

Perhaps,  turn  out  a  sermon. 

Ye'll  try  the  world  soon,  my  lad, 

And,  Andrew  dear,  believe  nv 
Ye'll  find  mankind  an  unco  sqv    '., 

And  muckle  tiiey  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. 

I'll  no  say,  men  are  villains  a' ; 

The  real,  harden'd  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law. 

Are  to  a  few  rcstricked  ; 
B'ut  Och  !  mankind  are  unco  weak, 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
\i  self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It's  rarely  right  adjusted  I 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  fortune's  strife, 

Their  fate  we  should  na  censure, 
For  still  tli'  important  end  of  life 

They  equally  may  answer  ; 
A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 

Tho'  poortith  hourly  stare  him  ; 
k-  man  may  tak  a  neebor's  part, 

yet  h,ae  nae  cas.h  to  spare  hiio- 


Aye,  free,  aff  han*  your  story  tell, 

AVhen  wi'  a  bosom  crony  ; 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony  ; 
Conceal  yoursel  as  vreel's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection  ; 
But  keek  thro'  ev'ry  otiier  man, 

Wi'  sharpen'd,  sly  inspection. 

The  sacred  lowe  0'  w^el-plac'd  love. 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it ; 
But  never  tempt  th'  illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naethir.g  sl-ould  divulge  it; 
I  wave  the  quantum  o'  the  sin, 

The  hazard  o'  concealing  ; 
But  Och  1  it  hardens  a'  wiUiin, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling  I 

To  catch  dame  Fortune's  golden  smile 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her  ; 
And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 

That's  jusl^ify'd  by  honour  ; 
Nor  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Not  for  a  train  attendant; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 

Of  being  independent. 

The  fear  o'  hell's  a  hangman's  whip, 

To  baud  the  wu-etcli  in  order  ; 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honour  grip, 

Let  that  aye  be  your  border  : 
Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause— 

Debar  a'  side  pretences  ; 
And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Xlnoirmg  consequenci^. 


82 


ON  A  SCOTCH  BARD,  GONE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIES. 


Tlie  great  Creator  to  revere, 

Must  sure  become  the  creature  ; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear, 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature  : 
Yet  ne'er  with  wits  pi'ofane  to  range, 

Be  complaisance  extended  ; 
An  Atheist-laugh's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended  ! 

When    ranting   round    in    pleasure's 
ring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded  ; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting. 

It  may  be  little  minded  ; 


But  when  on  life  we're  tempest  driy'tt 
A  conscience  but  a  canker — 

A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heaven 
Is  sure  a  noble  anchor  ! 

Adieu,  dear,  amiable  Youth  ! 

Your  heart  can  ne'er  be  wanting  1 
May  prudence,  fortitude,  and  I  ruth, 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting  ! 
In  ploughman  phrase,  "  God  send  you 
speed," 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser  ; 
And  may  ye  better  reck  the  rede, 

Than  ever  did  th'  Adviser  ! 


ON  A  SCOTCH  BARD,  GONE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIES. 


A' YE  wha  live  by  sowps  o'  drink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  crambo-clink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  an'  never  think. 

Come  mourn  wi'  me  ! 
Our  billie's  gi'en  us  a  jink, 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

Lament  iiim  a'  ye  rantin  core, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  random-splore, 
Nae  mair  he'll  join  the  merry  roar. 

In  social  key  ; 
For  now  lie's  taen  anither  shore. 

An'  owre  the  sea  1 

The  bonie  lasses  weel  may  wiss  him. 
And  in  their  dear  petitions  place  him  ; 
The  widows,  wives,  an'  a'  may  bless 
him, 

Wi'  tearf  u'  e'e  ; 
For  weel  I  wat  they'll  sairly  miss  him 

That's  owre  the  sea  ! 

O  fortune,  they  hae  room  to  grumble! 
Hadst   thou    taen   aff    some    drowsy 

bummle, 
Wha    can    do  nought    but  fyke  an' 
fumble, 

'Twad  been  nae  plea  ; 
But  he  was  gleg  as  ony  wumble, 

That's  owre  the  sea  ! 

Auld,  cantie  Kyle  may  w^eepers  wear, 
An'  stain  them  wi'  the  saat,  saut  tear  : 
•Twill  make  her  poor,  }.,uld  heart,    I 
fear, 

In  flinder3  flee  ; 
He  was  her  Laureat  monie  a  year 

Ths-Vs  owre  the  sea  I 


He  saw  misfortune's  cauld  nor-west 
Lang  mustering  up  a  bitter  blast ; 
A  jillet  brak  his  heart  at  last, 

111  may  she  be  ! 
So,  took  a  berth  afore  the  mast. 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

To  tremble  under  Fortune's  cummock. 
On  scarce  a  belly fu'  o'  drummock, 
Wi'  his  proud,  independent  stomach, 

Could  ill  agree  ; 
So,  row't  his  hurdles  in  a  hammock, 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

He    ne'er   w^as    gi'en   to    great    mis- 

guidin', 
Y'et  coin  his  pouches  wad  na  bid** 

in  ; 
Wi'  him  it  ne'er  was  under  hidin*. 

He  dealt  it  free  : 
The  Muse  w^as  a'  that  he  took  pride  in. 
That's  owre  the  sea. 

Jamaica  bodies,  ur,e  him  weel. 
An'  hap  him  in  a  cozie  biel ; 
Y^e'll  find  him  ay'  a  dainty  chiel, 

And  fu'  o'  glee  ; 
He  wad  na  wrang'd  the  vera  dcil, 

That's  owre  the  sea. 

Farewell,  my  rhyme-composing  billie 
Your  native  soil  v/as  right  ill-willie  ; 
But  may  ye  flourish  like  a  lily, 

IN'ow  bonilie  ! 
I'll  toast  ye  in  my  hindmost  gillie 

The'  owre  the  sea  k 


A  DEDICATION  TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ. 


83 


TO  A  ;^-IAGGIS. 


Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face 
Great  chieftain  o'  tlie  puddin-race  ! 
Aboon  them  a'  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painch,  tripe,  or  thairm: 
Weel  are  ye  wordy  o'  a  grace 

As  lang's  my  arm. 

The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill, 
Your  hurdles  like  a  distant  hill. 
Your  pin  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 

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

Like  amber  bead. 

His  knife  see  rustic  labour  dight. 
An'  cut  3^ou  up  wi'  ready  slight, 
Trenching  your  gushing  entrails  bright 

Like  onie  ditch  ; 
And  then,  0  what  a  glorious  sight, 

Warm-reekin,  rich  1 

Then,  Iiorn  for  horn  they  stretch  an' 

strive, 
Deil  tak  the  hindmost,  on  they  drive. 
Till  a'  their  weel-swall'd  kytes  belyv3 

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

Bethankit  hums. 


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

Wi'  perfect  sconner. 
Looks  down    wi'    sneering,    scornftf 
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  Jash, 

His  nieve  a  nit : 
Thro'  bloody  flood  or  field  to  dash, 

O  how  unfit ! 

But  mark  the  rustic,  haggis-fed. 
The    trembling    earth    resounds    his 

tread. 
Clap  in  his  walie  nieve  a  ^lade, 

He'll  rau,K  it  whissle  ; 
An'  legs,  an'  arms,  an'  heads  will  sned. 

Like  taps  o'  thrissle. 

Ye  Pow'rs,  v/ha  mak  mankind  yoi;i 

care> 
And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 
Auld  Scotland  warts  nae  stinking  ware 
That  jaups  in  higgles  : 
But,  if  you  want  her  gratefu'  prayer. 
Gie  her  a  Haggis  i 


A  DEDICATIOISJ"  TO  GAYIK  HAMILTON",  ESQ. 


Expect  na.  Sir,  in  this  narration, 
A  fleechin,  fieth'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  ye, 
Wi'  mony  a  fulsome,  sinfu'  lie. 
Set  up  a  face,  how  I  stop  short, 
For  fear  your  modesty  be  hurt. 

This  may   do — maun  do.  Sir,  wi' 

them  wha 
Maun  please  the  great  folk  for  a  wame- 

fou  ; 
For  me  !  sae  laigh  I  needna  bow, 
For,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  plough  ; 
And  v/hen  I  downa  yoke  a  naig. 
Then,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  beff  : 


Sae  I  shall  say,  an'  that's  nae  flatfrin^ 
Its  just  sic  Poet  an'  sic  Patron. 

The  Poet,  some  guid  angel  help  him. 
Or  else,  I  fear,  some  ill  ane  skelp  him  ! 
He  may  do  weel  for  a'  he's  done  yet. 
But  only — he's  no  just  begun  yet. 

The  Patron  (Sir,  ye  maun  forgie  me 
I  winna  lie,  come  what  will  o'  me). 
On  ev'ry  hand  it  will  allow'd  be. 
He's  just — nae  better  than  he  sh&ula 
be. 

I  readily  and  freely  grant. 
He  downa  see  a  poor  man  want 
What's  no  his  ain  he  winna  tak  it, 
What  ance  he  says  he  winna  break  ii- 
Ought  he  can  lend  he'll  not  refus't, 
Till  aft  ids  guidness  is  abus'd } 


84 


A  DEDIGATIOK  TO  GATIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ. 


And  rascals  whyles  that  do  him  wn.:  g, 
Ev'n  that,  he  does  na  niind  it  lang  : 
As  master,  hmdlord,  husband,  father. 
He  docs  na  fail  his  part  in  either. 

But  then,  nae  thanks  to  him  for  a' 
.  that ; 
Nae  godly  symptom  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    bliick     Gcnloos    and     Pagan 

Turks, 
Or  hunters  wild  on  Ponotaxi, 
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  damnation  ; 
It's  just  a  carnal  inclination. 

Morality,  thou  deadly  bane, 
Thy  tens  o'  thousands  thou  hast  slain  ! 
Vain   is  his    hope,   whase    stay   a^'d 

trust  is 
In  moral  mercy,  truth,  and  justice  < 

No— stretch  a  point  to  catch  a  plack  ; 
Abuse  a  brother  to  his  back  ; 
Steal  thro'  the  winnock  frae  a  whore 
But  point  that  rake  that  taks  the  door : 
Be  to  the  poor  like  onie  wdiunstane, 
And  baud  their  noses  to  the  grunstane, 
Ply  ev'ry  art,  o'  legal  thieving  ; 
No  matter,  stick  to  sound  believing. 

Learn  three-mile  pray'rs,  an'  half- 
mile  graces, 
Wi'  weel-spread  looves,  an'  lang,  wry 

faces ; 
Grunt  up  a  solemn,  lengthcn'd  groan, 
And  damn  a'  parties  but  your  own  ; 
I'll  w^arrant  then,  ye'ro  nae  deceiver, 
A  steady,  sturdy,  staunch  behever. 

O  ye  wha  leave  the  springs  of  Calvin, 
For  gumlie  dubs  of  jowv  ain  delvin  ! 
Ye  sons  of  heresy  and  error, 
Ye'll    some   day    squeel    in   quaking 

terror  ! 
"When  vengeance  drav/s  the  sword  in 

wrath. 
And  in  the  fire  throws  the  sheath  ; 
When  Ruin,  with  his  sweeping  besom, 
Just  frets  till  Heav'n  commission  gies 


"While    o'er    the    harp    pale    misr'y 

moans. 
And  strikes  the  ever-deep'nii:g  tones. 
Still     louder     shrieks,    and     heavier 

groans  ! 

Your  pardon,  Sir,  for  this  digression 
I  iraist  forgat  my  Dedication  ; 
T>  -J  when  divinity  comes  'cross  me. 
My  readers  still  arc  sure  to  lose  me. 

So,  Sir,  ye  see  'twas  nae  daft  vapour, 
But  I  maturely  thought  it  proper, 
"When  a'  my  works  I  did  re\  iew, 
To  dedicate  them,  Sir,  to  You  : 
Because  (ye  need  na  tak  it  ill) 
I  thought  them  something  like  yoursel. 

Then     patronize    them    wd'    your 

favour. 
And  your  petitioner  shall  ever — 
I  had  amaist  said,  ever  pray  : 
But  that's  a  word  I  need  na  say  ; 
For  prayin  I  hae  little  skill  o't ; 
I'm  baith   dead-sweer,   an'  wretched 

ill  o't ; 
But  I'se  repeat  each  poor  man's  pray'r, 
That  kens  or  hears  about  you.  Sir. — 

"  May  ne'er  misfortune's  gowling 

bark 
Howl  thro'  the  dwelling  o'  the  Clerk  ! 
May  ne'er  his  gen'rous,  honest*  heart, 
For  that  same  gen'rous  spirit  smart  ! 
IMay  Kennedy's  far-honourd  name 
Lang  beet  his  hymeneal  tlame, 
Till  Hamiltons,  at  least  a  dizen. 
Are  frae  their  nuptial  labours  risen  : 
Five  bonie  lasses  round  their  table, 
And  seven  braw  fellows,  stout  an'  able 
To  serve  their  King  and  Country  weel, 
By  word,  or  pen,  or  pointed  steel  ! 
May  health  and  peace,  with  mutual 

rays, 
Shine  on  the  evening  o'  his  days  ; 
Till  his  wee,  curlie  John's  ier-oe, 
"When  ebbing  life  nae  mair  shall  fiow„ 
The  last,  sad,  mournful  rites  bestow  1 " 

I  will  not  wind  a  lang  conclusion, 
Wi'  complimentary  eifusion  : 
But     whilst    your    wishes    and    en. 

deavours 
Are  blest  with  Fortune's  smiles  and 

favours, 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  with  zeal  most  fervent, 
your  inuch  indebted,  humble  servant 


ADDRESS  TO  EDmBURGH. 


85 


But  if  (which  Pow'rs  above  prevent) 
That  iron-hearted  carl,  Want, 
Attended  in  his  grim  advances, 
By    sad    mistakes,    and     black    mis- 
chances, 
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? 


Buf.,  by  a  poor  man's  hopes  in  Heav'n\ 
Vv'hile  recollection's  pow'r  is  given. 
If,  m  the  vale  of  humble  life, 
The  victim  sad  of  fortune  s  strife, 
I,  thro'  the  tender  gushing  tear. 
Should  recognise  my  Master  d^ar, 
If  friendless,  low,  we  meet  together 
The-i,  Sir,  your  hand— m.y  Friend  ana 
Brother  1 


TO  A  LOUSE,  ON  SEEING  ONE  ON  A  LADY'S  BONNET, 

AT  CHURCH. 


Ha  I  whare  yegaun,  ye  crowlin  ferlie  ! 
Your  impudence  protects  you  sairly  : 
I  canna  say  but  ye  strunt  rarely, 

O.vre  gauze  and  lace  ; 
Tho'  faith,  I  fear  ye  dine  but  sparely 

On  sic  a  place. 

Ye  uglj',  crcepin,  blastit  wonner, 
Detested,  shunn'd  by  saunt  an'  sinner, 
How  dare  ye  set  your  iit  upon  her, 

Sae  fine  a  lady  ! 
Oae  somewhere  else,  and  seek  your 
dinner 

On  some  poor  body. 

Swith,     in     some     beggar's     haffet 

squattle  ; 
There  ye  may  creep,  and  sprawl,  and 

sprattle 
Wi'  ither  kindred,  jumping  cattle. 
In  shoals  and  nations  ; 
Whare  horn  nor  bane  ne'er  dare  un- 
settle 
.     Your  thick   plantations. 

Xow  baud  ye  there,  ye're  out  o'  sight. 
Below  the  fatt'rels,  snug  an'  tight ; 
Na,  faith  ye  yet !  ye'll  no  be  right 
Till  ye've  got  on  it, 


The  vera  tapmost,  tow'ring  height 
O'  Miss's  bonnet. 

My  sooth !   right  bauld  ye  set  your 

nose  out. 
As  plump  and  gray  as  onie  grozet ; 

0  for  some  rank,  mercurial  rozet. 

Or  fell,  red  smeddum, 
I'd  gie  you  sic  a  hearty  doze  o't. 

Wad  dress  your  droddum  I 

1  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  tine  Lunardi  !   fie, 
How  daur  ye  dot ? 

O,  Jenny,  dinna  toss  your  head. 
An'  set  your  beauties  a'  abread  ! 
Ye  little  ken  what  cursed  speed 

The  beastie's  makin  ! 
Thae  winks  and  finger-ends,  I  dread, 

Are  notice  takin  ! 

O  w^ad  some  Pow'r  the  giftie  gie  us 

To  see  oursels  as  others  see  us  ! 

It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us 

And  foolish  notion : 
What  airs  in  dress  an'  gait  wad  lea'e  us, 

And  ev'n  Devotion  ! 


ADDRESS   TO   EDINBURGH. 


Edina  !     Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

Ail  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  1 


From  marking  wildly  scatter'd  fiow'rs. 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours^ 

I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 


86 


EPISTLE  TO  JOim  LAPRAIK. 


Here  Wealth  still  swells  the  golden 
tide, 

x^s  busy  Trade  his  labours  plies; 
There  Arcliitccture's  noble  pride 

Bids  elegance  and  splendour  rise  ; 
Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies, 

High  wields  her  balance  and  lier  rod; 
'There  Learning  with  his  eagle  eyes, 

Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

Thy  sons,  Edina,  social,  kind. 

With  open  arms  the  stranger  hail  ; 
Their    views    enlarg'd,   their    lib'ral 
mind. 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale  ; 
Attentive  still  to  sorrow's  wail. 

Or  modest  merit's  silent  claim  : 
And  never  may  their  sources  fail ! 

And  never  envy  blot  their  name  ! 

Thy    daughters    bright     thy    walks 
adorn. 

Gay  as  the  gilded  summer  sky, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  tlie  raptur'd  thrill  of  joy  : 
Fair  Burnet  strikes  th'  adoring  eye. 

Heaven's    beauties    on    my    fancy 
shine  ; 
I  see  the  Sire  of  Love  on  high. 

And  own  his  work  indeed  divine  ! 

There  watching  high  the  least  alarms. 

Thy   rough,    rude   fortress  gleiims 

afar ; 

Like  some  bold  vet'ran,  gray  in  arms, 

And  mark'd  with  many  a  seamy 

scar ; 


The  pond'rous  wall  and  massy  bar. 
Grim-rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock^ 

Have  oft  withstood  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  kings  of  other  years, 

Fam'd  heroes,  had  their  royal  l;oni;\ 
Alas,  how  chang'd  the  times  to  come  i 

Their  roj^al  name  low  in  the  dust  ! 
Their    hapless    race    wild-wand'ring 
roam  ! 

Tho  rigid  law  cries  out,  'twas  just ! 

Wild  beats  my  heart,  to  trace  your 

steps. 
Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore, 
Thro'  hostile  ranks  and  ruin'd  gap.9 

Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore  ; 
Ev'n  I  who  sing  in  rustic  lore. 

Haply    my    sires    liiive    left    their 
shed, 
And    fac'd    grim    danger's   loudest 
roar. 
Bold-following  wliere  your  fathers 
led! 

Edina  !  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  nnd  tow'rs. 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  tiow'rs. 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray 'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 


Ej-ISTLE  to  JOHN  LAPRAIK,  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  HARD. 

April  1,  1785. 


While  briers  an'  woodbines  budding 

green, 
An'  paitricks  scraichin  loud  at  e'en, 
An'  morning  poussie  whiddin  seen. 

Inspire  my  Muse, 
This  freedom,  in  an  unknown  f rien', 

I  pray  excuse. 

On  Fasten-een  we  had  a  rockin. 

To  ca'  the  crack  and  weave  our  stock 

in ; 
And  there  was  muckle  fun  and  jokin. 
Ye  need  na'  doubt ; 


At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin 
At  sang  about. 

There  was  ae  sang,  amang  the  rest, 
Aboon  them  a'  it  pleas'd  me  best, 
That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest 

To  some  sweet  wife  : 
It  thirl'd  the  heart-strings  thro'  the 
breast, 

A'  to  the  life. 

I've  scarce  heard  ought  describ'd  sae 

weel. 
What  gen'rous,  manly  bosoms  feel 


BPISTLB  ro  JOHN  LAPBAiK. 


Sir 


Thought  I,  '*  Can   this  be   Pope,  or 
Steele, 

Or  Beattic's  wark  !  " 
The}"  told  me  'twas  an  odd  kind  chiel 

About  Muirkirk. 

It  pat  me  fidgin-fain  to  liear't. 
And  sae  about  him  there  I  spier't ; 
The  n  a'  that  ken'd  him  round  declar'd 

He  had  ingine, 
That  name  exeell'd  it,  few  cam  near't, 

it  was  sae  fine. 

That,  set  him  to  a  pint  of  ale, 

An"  either  douce  or  merry  tale. 

Or  rhymes  aii'  sangs  he  d  made  himse.', 

Or  witty  catches, 
'Twcen  Inverness  and  Tiviotdale, 

He  had  few  matches. 

Then  up  I  gat,  an'  swoor  an  aitli, 
Tho'  I  should  pawn  my  pleugh  and 

gvaitli, 
Or  Uie  a  cadger  pownie's  death, 

At  some  dyke-back, 
A  pint  an'  gill  I'd  gie  them  baith 

To  hear  your  crack. 

But,  first  an'  foremost,  I  should  tell, 
Amaist  as  soon  as  I  could  spell, 
1  to  the  crambo-jingle  fell, 

Tho'  rude  an'  rough 
Yet  crooning  to  a  body's  set. 

Does  weel  enough. 

I  am  nae  Poet,  in  a  sense, 

But  just  a  Rliymer,  like,  by  chance, 

An'  iiae  to  learning  nae  pretence, 

Yet,  what  the  matter  ? 
Whene'er  my  Muse  does  on  me  glance, 

I  jingle  at  her. 

Your  critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose. 
And  say,  "  How  can  you  e'er  propose. 
You  wha  ken  hardly  verse  frae  prose, 

To  mak  a  sang  ?  " 
But,  by  your  leaves,  my  learned  foes, 

Ye're  maybe  wrang. 

What's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  schools. 
Your  Latin  names  for  horns  an'  stools; 
If  honest  nature  made  you  fools, 

What  sairs  your  grammars  ? 
Ye'd  better  ta'en  up  spades  and  shools. 

Or  knappin-hammers. 


A  set  o'  dull,  conceited  hashes, 
Confuse  their  brains  in  college  classes ! 
They  gang  in  stirks,  and  come  out 
asses, 

Plain  truth  to  speak  ; 
An'  syne  they  think  to  climb  Parnassus 

By  dint  o'  Greek  ! 

Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  fire, 
That's  a'  the  learning  I  desire ; 
Then  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dub  an'  mire 

At  pleugh  or  cart, 
My  Muse,  though  liamely  in  attire. 

May  touch  the  heart. 

0  for  a  spunk  o'  Allan's  glee, 

Or  Ferguson's,  the  bauld  an'  slee. 
Or  bright  Lapraik's,  my  friend  to  be, 

If  I  can  hit  it  ! 
That  would  be  lear  eneugh  for  me. 

If  I  could  get  it. 

Now,  Sir,  if  ye  hae  friends  enow, 
Tho'  real  friends,  1  b'lieve,  are  few, 
Yet,  if  your  catalogue  be  fou, 

I'se  no  insist. 
But  gif  ye  want  ne  friend  that's  true, 

I'm  on  your  list. 

1  winna  blaw  about  mysel. 
As  ill  I  like  my  fauts  to  tell  ; 

But  friends,  an'  folks  that  wish  me 
w^ell, 

They  sometimes  roose  me  ; 
Tho'  I  maun  own,  as  monie  still 

As  far  abuse  me. 

There's  ae  wee.  faut  they  whyles  lay 

to  me, 
I  like  the  lasses — Gude  forgie  me  ! 
For  monie  a  plack  they  wheedle  frae 
me. 

At  dance  or  fair  ; 
Maybe  some  ither  thing  they  gie  me 
They  w^el  can  spare. 

But  jMauchline  race,  or  Mauchline  fair, 
I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there; 
We"se  gie  ae  night's  discharge  to  care, 

If  we  forgather, 
An'  hae  a  swap  o'  rhymin-ware 

Wi'  ane  anither. 


To  THE  SAME. 


The  four-gill   chap,    we'se  gar   him 

clatter, 
.in'  kirsen  him  wi'  reekin  watev 
Syne    we'll    sit    down    an'    tak    our 
whitter. 

To  cheer  our  heart ; 
An'  faith,  we'se  be  acquainted  better 
Before  we  part. 

t  Awa,  ye  selfish,  warly  race, 
Wlia  think    that    havins,   sense,   an' 

grace, 
Ev'n  love  an'  friendship,  should  give 
place 

To  catch-the-plack  I 
I  dinna  like  to  see  your  face, 

Nor  hear  your  crack. 


But  ye  whom  social  pleasJure  charms, 
Whose  hearts  the    tide  of  kindness 

warms, 
"VVho  ])old  your  being  on  the  terms, 
"Each  aid  the  others," 
Come    to    my    bowl,    come    to    my 
arms. 

My  friends,  my  brothers  ' 

But  to  conclude  my  lang  epistle. 
As    my    auld    pen's    worn    to    the 

grissle  ; 
Twa    lines    frae    you  wad    ^ar    me 
lissle, 

"Who  am,  most  fervent, 
"While  I  can  either  sing,  or  whissle. 
Your  friend  and  servant 


TO  THE  SAME. 

APi.IL  21,  1785. 


"While  new-ca'd   kye  rowte  at  the 

stake, 
An'  pownies  reck  in  pleugh  or  braik, 
This  hour  on  e'enin's  edge  I  take. 

To  own  I'm  debtor, 
To  honest-hearted,  auld  Lapraik, 

For  his  kind  letter. 

Forjesket  sair,  witli  weary  legs, 
Rattlin  the  corn  out-owre  the  rigs, 
Or  dealing  tbro'  amang  the  naigs 

Their  ten-hours'  bite. 
My  awkart  Muse  sair  pleads  and  begs, 

I  would  na  write. 

The  tapetless,  ramfeezl'd  hizzie. 
She's  saft  at  best,  and  something  lazy. 
Quo'  she,  "Ye  ken,  we've  been  sae 
busy, 

This  month  an'  mair. 
That  troth  my  head  is  grown  quite 
dizzie. 

An'  something  sair." 

Her  dowff  excuses  pat  me  mad  ; 
"Conscience,"  says  I,  "Ye  thowless 

jad  ! 
I'll  write,  an'  that  a  hearty  blaud, 

This  verra  night ; 
So  dinna  ye  affront  your  trade, 

But  rhyme  it  right- 


"Shall  bauld  Lapraik,  the  king  o' 

hearts, 
Tho'  mankind  were  a  pack  o'  cartes, 
Roose  you  sae  weel  for  your  deserts, 

In  terms  sae  friendly, 
Yet  ye'll  neglect  to  shaw  your  parts, 

An'  thank  him  kindly  1 " 

Sae  I  gat  paper  in  a  blink. 

An'  down  gaed  stumpie  in  the  ink  : 

Quoth  I,  "  Before  I  sleep  a  wink, 

I  vow  I'll  close  it ; 
An'  if  ye  winna  mak  it  clink. 

By  Jove  I'll  prose  it  1 " 

Sae  I've  begun  to  scrawl,  but  whethei 
In  rhyme,  or  prose,  or  baith  thegither, 
Or  some    hotch-potch    that's  rightl}) 
neither. 

Let  time  mak  proof  ; 
But  I  shall  scribble  down  some  blethef 
Just  clean  aff-loof. 

My  worthy  friend,  ne'er  grudge  an' 

carp 
Tho'  fortune  use  you  hard  and  sharp ; 
Come,  kittle  up  your  moorland  harp 

"Wi'  gleesome  touch  ! 
Ne'er    mind    how  fortune    waft  an' 
warp  ; 

She's  btt  a  bitch. 


TO  WILLIAM  SniPSON, 


m 


She's  glen  me  moxjie  a  iirt  an'  tieg, 
Siu'  I  could  strMdle  owre  a  rig  ; 
But,  by  the  Lora,  tiio'  I  should  beg 

Wi'  Ij^art  pow, 
I'll  laugh,  an'  sing,  an'  shake  my  leg. 

As  iang's  I  dow  1 

Kow  comes  the    sax    an'    twentieth 

simmer, 
I've  seen  the  bud  upo'  the  timmer, 
Still  persecuted  by  the  limmer 

Frae  year  to  year  : 
But  yet,  despite  the  kittle  kimmer, 

I,  Rob,  am  here. 

Do  ye  envy  the  city  Gent. 

Behind  a  kist  to  lie  an'  sklent, 

Or  purse-proud,  big  wi'  cent  per  cent  ; 

K\\  muckle  wame. 
In  some  bit  Brugh  to  represent 

A  Bailie  s  name  ? 

Of  is  't  the  paughty,  feudal  Thane, 
Wi'  ruffl'd  sark  an'  glancing  cane, 
SSflvd  thinks  himsel   nae  sheep-shank 
bane. 

But  lordly  stalks. 
While  caps  and  bonnets  atf  are  taen, 
As  by  he  walks  ? 

"  O  Thou  wha  gives  us  each  guid  gift  [ 

Gie  me  o'  wit  an'  sense  a  lift. 

Then  turn  me,  if  Thou  please,  adrift. 

Thro'  Scotland  wide  ; 
Wi'  cits  nor  lairds  I  wadna  shift. 

In  a'  their  piide  !  " 


Were  this  the  charter  of  our  state, 
"  On  pain  o'  hell  be  rich  an'  great,'* 
Damnation  then  would  be  our  f;ite. 

Beyond  remead  ; 
But,  thanks  to  Heaven  !   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  of  the  ragged  Nine, 
Poor,    thoughtless    devils  !   yet  may 
shine 

In  glorious  light. 
While  sordid  sons  of  Mammon's  line 

Are  dark  as  night. 

Tho'  here  they  scrape,  an'  squeeze,  an' 

growl. 
Their  worthless  nievef  u'  of  a  soul 
May  in  some  future  carcase  howl. 
The  forest's  fright ; 
Or  in  some  day-detesting  owl 

May  shun  the  light. 

Then  may  Lapraik  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  WILLIAM  SIMPSON, 

OCHILTREE. 


May,  1785. 


T  SAT  your  letter,  winsome  Willie  ; 
vVi'    gratefu'     heart     I     thank    you 

brawlie  ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say't,  I  wad  be  silly. 

An'  unco  vain. 
Should  I  believe,  my  coaxin  billie, 

Your  flatterin  strain. 

But  I'se  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it, 
I  sud  be  laith  to  'think  ye  hinted 
Ironic  satire,  sidelins  sklented 

^  On  my  poor  Musie  ; 
Tho'    in    sic    phrasin    terms    ye've 
penn'd  it, 

I  scarce  excuse  ye. 


My  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel, 
Should  I  but  dare  a  hope  to  speel, 
Wi'  Allan,  or  wi'  Gilbertfield, 

The  braes  o'  fame  ; 
Or  Ferguson,  the  writer-chiel, 

A  deathless  name. 

(O  Ferguson  !  thy  glorious  parts 
111  suited  law's  dry,  musty  arts  ! 
My  curse    upon   your  whunstane 
hearts, 

Ye  Enbrugh  Gentry  i 
The    tytlie    o'    what    ye    waste    at 
cartes 

Wad  stow'd  his  pantry  ^ 


90 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSOm 


Yet  when  a  tale  comes  i'  my  head,. 
Or  lassies  gie  my  heart  a  screed, 
As  whiles  they're  like  to  be  my  dead. 

(b  sad  disease  !) 
1  kittle  up  my  rustic  reed  ; 

It  gies  me  ease. 

Auld  Ccila,  now,  may  fidge  fu'  fain, 

She's  gotten  Poets  o'  her  ain, 

Chiels  wha  their  chanters  winna  hain. 

But  tune  their  lays. 
Till  echoes  a'  lesouud  again 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

Nae  Poet  thought  her  worth  his  while. 
To  set  her  name  in  measur'd  style  ; 
She  lay  like  some  unkeud-of  isle. 

Beside  New  Holland, 
Or  where  wild-meeting  oceans  boil 

Besouth  Magellan. 

Ramsay  an'  famous  Ferguson 
Gied  Forth  an'  Tay  a  lift  aboon  ; 
Yarrow  an'  Tweed,  to  mony  a  tune, 

Owre  Scotland's  rings, 
While  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon, 

Naebody  sings. 

Th'  Ilissus,  Tiber,  Thames,  an'  Seine, 
Glide  sweet  in  mony  a  tunefu'  line  ! 
But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine. 

An'  cock  3'our  crest. 
We'll    gar    our    streams  an'   burnies 
shine 

Up  wi'  the  best. 

We'll  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells. 
Her  moors  red-brown  wi'  heather  bells. 
Her  banks  an'  braes,  her  dens  an'  dells, 

Where  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells, 

Frae  Southron  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. 

0,  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs  an'  woods, 
^hen    lintwhites    chant    amang    the 

buds, 
And  jinkin  hares,  in  amorous  whids. 

Their  loves  enjoy. 
While    thro'    the    braes    the    cushat 
croods 

Wi'  wailf  u'  ciy  I 


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  ! 

O  Nature  !  a'  thy  shews  an'  forms 
To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  liae  charms', 
Whether  the  sunnner  kindl}^  warms, 

Wi'  life  an'  light. 
Or  winter  howls,  in  gusty  storms, 

The  laug,  dark  night  ! 

The  muse,  na  Poet  ever  fand  her, 
Till  by  himsel  he  learn'd  to  wander, 
Adown  some  trottin  burn's  meander, 

An'  no  think  lang  ; 
O  sweet,  to  stray  an'  pensive  ponder 

A  heart-felt  sang  ! 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive, 
Hog-shouther,     jundie,    stretch,    an' 

strive. 
Let  me  fair  Nature's  face  descrive. 

And  I,  wi'  pleasure, 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive 

Bum  owre  their  treasure. 

Fareweel,     "my     rhyme-composing 

brither  !  " 
We've    been  owre    lang  unkenn'd  to 

ither  : 
Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither. 

In  love  fraternal  : 
May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether. 

Black  fiend,  infernal  1 

While  Highlandmen    hate    tolls    an' 

taxes  ; 
While  moorlan'  herds  like  guid,  fat 

braxies  ; 
While  Terra  Firma,  on  her  axis, 

Diurnal  turns. 
Count  on  a  friend,  in  faith  an'  practice. 
In  Robert  Burns. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

My  memory's  no  worth  a  preen  ; 

I  had  amaist  forgotten  clean. 

Ye  bade  me  write  you  what  tiiey  mean 

By  this  New-Light, 
'Bout  which  our  herds  sae  aft  have 
been 

Maist  like  to  fight. 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSON. 


n 


lu    days    when    mankind    were    but 

calkins 
At  grammar,  logic,  an'  sic  talents, 
They  took  nae  pains  their  speech  to 
balance, 

Or  rules  to  gie, 
But  spak  their  thoughts  in  plain,  braid 
Lallans, 

Like  3^ou  or  rne. 

In  thae  auld  times,  they  thought  the 

moon. 
Just  like  a  sark,  or  pair  o'  shoon, 
Wore  b}  degrees,  till  her  last  roon, 

Gaed  past  their  viewin. 
An'  shortly  after  she  was  done. 

They  gat  a  new  one. 

This  past  for  certain,  undisputed  ; 
It  ne'er  cam  i'  their  heads  to  doubt  it, 
Till  chiels  gat  up  an'  wad  confute  it. 

An'  ca'd  it  wrang  ; 
An'  muckle  din  there  was  about  it. 

Both  loud  an'  lang. 

Some    herds,    weel  learn'd  upo'  the 

beuk, 
Wad  threap  auld  fcilk  the  thing  mis- 

teuk  ; 
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  deny'd,  it  was  affirm'd  ; 
The  herds  an'  hissels  were  alarm'd  : 
The    rev'rend    gray-beards  rav'd   an' 
storm'd, 

That  beardless  laddies 
Should    think    they   better  were    in- 
form'd 

Than  their  auld  daddies. 

Frae  less  to  mair  it  gaed  to  sticks  ; 
Frae    words  an'   aiths  to   clours  an 

nicks  ; 
An'  monie  a  fallow  gat  his  licks, 

Wi'  hearty  crunt  ; 
An'  some,    to    learn  them  for   their 
tricks, 

Were  hans'd  an'  brunt. 


This  game  was  play'd  in  monie  lands. 
An'  auld-light  caddies  bure  sic  hands, 
That,    faith,  the  youngsters  took  the 
sands 

Wi'  nimble  shanks. 
The    lairds    forbad,    by    strict    com- 
mands, 

Sic  bluidy  pranks. 

But  new-light  herds  gat  sic  a  cowe; 
Folk    thought  them  ruin'd    stick-an- 

stowe, 
Till  now  amaist  on  ev'ry  knowe 

Ye'll  find  ane  plac'd  ; 
An'  some,  their  new-light  fair  avow. 

Just  quite  barefac'd.     _. 

Nae  doubt  the  auld-light  flocks  are 

bleatin  ; 
Their    zealous   herds    are  vex'd    an' 

sweatin  ; 
Mysel,  I've  even  seen  them  greetin 

W^i'  giruin  spite. 
To  hear  the  moon  sae  sadly  He'd  on 
By  word  an'  write. 

But  shortly  they  will  cowe  the  louns  I 
Some  auld-light  herds  in  neebor  towns 
Are  mind't,  in  things  they  call  bal- 
loons. 

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  gauti  to 

lea'e  them, 
The  hindmost  shaird,  they  l\  fetch  it 
wi'  them. 

Just  i'  their  pouch. 
An'  when  the    new-light    billies    se© 
them, 

I  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  brulzia 


H 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN  RANKTNB. 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN  RANKINE, 


ENCLOSING  SOME  POEMS. 


O   Rough,  rude,  ready-witted  Ran- 

kiiie, 
1  riie  wale  o'  cocks  for  fun  an'  drinkin  ! 
'  There's  monie  godly  folks  are  tliinkin, 

Your  dreams  an'  tricks 
Will  send  you,  Korah-like,  a-sinkin, 
Straught  to  auld  Nick's. 

Ye  hae  sae  monie  cracks  an'  cants, 
And  in  your  wicked,  druken  rants. 
Ye  make  a  devil  o'  the  saunts. 

An'  till  them  fou  ; 
And   then   their   failings,    flaws,  an' 
wants, 

Are  V  seen  thro'. 

Hypocrisy,  in  mercy  spare  it ! 
That  holy  robe,  O  dinna  tear  it ! 
Spare 't   for   their   sakes   wha   aften 
wear  it. 

The  lads  in  black  ; 
But  your  curst  wit,  when  it  comes 
near  it, 

Rives't  aff  their  back. 

Think,    wicked    sinner,    wha    ye're 

skaithing, 
It's    just   the   blue-gown   badge  an' 

claithing 
O'  saunts ;    tak  that,  ye  lea'e  them 
naithiug 

To  ken  them  by, 
Frae  ony  unregenerate  heathen 
Like  you  or  I. 

I've  sent  you  here  some  rhyming  ware, 
A'  that  I  bargain'd  for,  an'  mair  ; 
Sae,  when  ye  hae  an  hour  to  spare, 

I  will  expect, 
Yon  sang,  ye'll  sen't,  wi'  cannie  care. 

And  no  neglect. 

Tho',  faith,  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  sing  1 
My  Muse  dow  scarcely  spread    her 

wing  I 
I've  play'd  mysel  a  bonie  spring, 
An'  danc'd  my  fill  I 
I'd  better  gaen  an'  sair't  the  king 
At  Bunker's  Hill. 


'Twas  ae  night  lately,  in  my  fun, 

I  gaed  a  roving  wi'  the  gun. 

An'  brought  a  paitrick  to  the  grun, 

A  bonie  hen, 
And,  as  the  twilight  was  begun. 

Thought  nane  wad  kea, 

The  poor,  wee  thing  was  little  hurt ; 

I  straikit  it  a  wee  for  sport. 

Ne'er  thinkin  they  wad  fasli  mc  for't ; 

But,  Deil-nia-care  ! 
Somebody  tells  the  poacher-court 

The  hale  aliair. 

Some  auld,  us'd  hands  had   ta'en  a 

note, 
That  sic  a  hen  had  got  a  shot  ; 
I  was  suspected  for  the  ])lot ; 

I  scoru'd  to  lie  ; 
So  gat  the  whissle  o'  my  groat. 

An'  pay't  the  fee. 

But,  by  my  gun,  o'  guns  the  wale, 
An'  by  my  pouther  an'  my  hail, 
An'  by  my  hen,  an'  by  her  tail, 

I  vow  an'  swear  ! 
The  game  shall  pay,  o'er  moor  an'  dale, 

For  this,  niest  year. 

As  soon's  the  clockin-time  is  by. 
An'  the  wee  pouts  begun  to  cry. 
Lord,  I'se  hae  sportin  by  an'  by. 

For  my  gowd  guinea : 
Tho'  I  should  herd  the  buckskin  kyc 

For't,  in  Virginia. 

Trowth,  they  had  muckle  for  to  blame  J 
'Twas  neither  broken  wing  nor  limb, 
But  tv,'a-three  draps  about  the  wame 

Scarce  thro'  the  feathers  ; 
An'  baith  a  yellow  George  to  claim, 

An'  thole  their  blethers  I 

It  pits  me  aye  as  mad's  a  hare  ; 
So  I  can  rhj-me  nor  write  nae  mair ; 
But  pennyworths  again  is  fair. 

When  time's  expedient: 
Meanwhile  I  am,  respected  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient. 


WRITTEN  IN  FlilARS-CJ-BSE  HERMITAGE. 


93 


WRITTEN  IN  FRIARS-CARSE  HERMITAGE, 


ON  NITH-SIDE. 


Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  tJiou  clad  in  russet  weed. 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole. 
Grave  these  counsels  on  thy  soul. 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost ; 
Hope  not  sunshine  ev'ry  hour, 
Fear  not  clouds  will  alv»'ays  lour. 
As  Youth  and  Love,  with  sprightly 

dance, 
Beneath  thy  morning  star  advance, 
Pleasure  with  her  syren  air 
May  delude  the  thoughtless  pair  ; 
Let  Prudence  bless  Enjoyment's  cup. 
Then  raptur'd  sip,  and  sip  it  up. 

As  thy  day  grows  warm  and  high, 
Life's  meridian  flaming  nigh. 
Dost  thou  spurn  the  humble  vale  ? 
Life's  proud  summits  wouldst  thou 

scale  ? 
Check  thy  climbing  step,  elate. 
Evils  lurk  in  felon  wait  : 
Dangers,  eagie-pinioned,  bold^ 
Soar  around  each  cliffy  hold, 
While   cheerful    Peace,   with    linnet 

song, 
Chants  the  lowly  dells  among. 

As  the  shades  of  ev'ning  close, 
Beck'ning  thee  to  long  repose  ; 
As  life  itself  becomes  disease, 
Seek  the  chimney-nook  of  ease. 
There  ruminate  with  Swber  thought. 
On  all  t^ou'st  seen,  and  heard,  and 

wrought ; 
And    teach    the    sportive    younkers 

round. 
Saws  of  experience,  sage  and  sound. 
Say,  man's  true,  genuine  estimate. 
The  grand  criterion  of  his  fate, 
Is  not — art  thou  high  or  low  ? 
Did  thy  fortune  ebb  or  flow  ? 
Did  many  talents  gild  thy  span  ? 
Or  frugal  Nature  grudge  thee  one  ? 
Tell  them,  and  press  it  on  their  mina, 
As  thou  thyself  must  shortly  find. 
The  smile  or  frown  of  awful  Heav'n 
To  Virtue  or  to  Vice  is  giv'a. 
Saj,  to  be  just,  and  kind^  and  wise. 


There  solid  self -enjoyment  lies  ; 
That  foolish,  selfish,  faithless  ways, 
Lead  to  be  wretched,  vile,  and  base.  . 

Thus  resign'd  and  quiet,  creep 
To  the  bed  of  lasting  sleep  ; 
Sleep,  whence  thou  shait  ne'er  awake, 
Night,  where  dawn  shall  never  break, 
Till  future  life,  future  no  more. 
To  light  and  joy  the  good  restore. 
To  light  and  joy  unknown  before. 

Stranger,  go  !  Heaven  be  thy  guide! 
Quod  the  Beadsman  of  Nith-side. 

Glenriddel  Hermitage.  June  28, 1788,  from 

THE  MS. 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole. 
Grave  these  maxims  on  thy  soul. 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most. 
Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost : 
Hope  not  sunshine  every  hour. 
Fear  not  clouds  ^ill  always  lour. 
Happiness  is  but  a  name. 
Make  content  a^.d  ease  thy  aim. 
Ambition  is  a  meteor  gleam, 
Fame,  an  idle  restless  dream  : 
Peace,  the  tenderest  flower  of  spring  ; 
Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing  ; 
Those  that  sip  the  dew  alone. 
Make  the  butterflies  thy  own  ; 
Those  that  would  tlie  bloom  devour, 
Crusli  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  dishonour  not  thy  kind. 
Reverence,  with  lowl}^  heart. 
Him  whose  wondrous  work  thou  art : 
Keep  HLs  goodness  still  in  view. 
Thy  Trust,  and  Thy  Example  too. 
Stranger,  go  !    Heaven  be  thy  guide  I 
Quod  tJie  Beadsman  of  Nith-side. 


94 


ELEOT, 


ODE,  SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  OSWALD. 


Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark, 
Hangman  of  creation,  mark  ! 
Who  in  widow-weeds  appears. 
Laden  witii  unlionour'd  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  humanity's  sweet  melting 

grace  ? 
Note  that  eye,'  tis  rheum  o'ertlows, 
Pity's  flood  there  never  rose. 
SL;e    those  hands,    ne'er  stretch'd    to 

save. 
Hands  that  took — but  never  gave. 
Keeper  of  Mammon's  iron  chest, 
Lo,  there  she  goes,  unpitied  and  iin- 

blest; 
She  goes,  but  not  to  realms  of  eTei- 

lasting  rest  I 


ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer  of  armies,  lift  tliine  eyes, 
(A  while  forbear,  ye  tort'ring  fiends,' 
Seest  thou  those  step  unwilling  hither 

bends  ? 
Ko  fallen  angel,  hurl'd    from    uppei" 

skies  : 
'Tis  thy  trusty  quondam  mate, 
Doom'd  to  share  thy  fier}"  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'ry  of  the  pompous  bier, 

While  down  the  wretched   vital  part 

is  driv'u  ! 

ave-lodg'd 

science  clear. 
Expires  in  rags,  unknown,  and  goer 

to  Heav'n. 


ELEGY  ON  CAPT.  MATTHEW  HENDERSON, 


A  GENTLEMAN  WHO  HELD  THE  PATENT  FOU  HIS  HONOURS  IM3IEDIATELT  FROM  ALMIGHTY  GOD. 

But  now  his  radiant  course  is  run, 

For  Matthew's  course  was  bright; 
His  soul  was  like  the  glorious  sun, 

A  matchless,  JHeav'nly  Light. 


O    Death  \    thou     tyrant    fell    and 

bloody  ! 
The  meikle  devil  wi'  a  woodie 
Haurl  thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie, 

O'er  hurcheon  hides. 
And    lik3    stock-fish    come    o'er    his 
studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides  ! 

He's  gane,  lie's  gane!  he's  frae  us  torn, 
The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born  ! 
Thee,    Matthew,    Nature's  sel'    shall 
mourn 

By  wood  and  wild. 
Where,  haply,  Pity  strays  forlorn, 

Frae  man  exil'd. 


Ye  hills,  near  neebors  o'  the  stams. 
That    proudly     cock    your    cresting 

cairns  ! 
Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  earns, 
Where  echo  slumbers  ! 
Come     join,    ye    Nature's     sturdiest 
bairns, 

JNIy  wailing  numbers  I 


Mourn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens  ! 
Ye  haz'lly  shaws  and  briery  dens  ! 
Ye  buruics,  wimplin  down  your  glens 

Wi'  ioddlin  dili, 
Or  foaming  Strang,  \\i  hasty  stens, 

Frae  lin  to  lin. 


ELECf  ji 


95 


Mourn,  I:ttle  harel^ells  o'er  the  lee  ; 
Yq  stately  foxgloves  fair  to  see ; 
Ti  2  woodbines  hanging  bonilie, 

la  scented  bow'rs  ; 
Ye  roses  on  your  tljorny  tree, 

T.2e  iirst  o'  tlow'rs. 

At  dawn,  when  ev'ry  grassy  hlade 
Droops  with  a  diamond  at  his  head, 
At  ev'n,  when  beans  their  fragrance 
shed, 

til'  rustling  gale, 
Ye  maukins  whiddin  thro'  the  glade, 
Come  join  my  wail. 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood  ; 
Ye  grouse  that  crap  the  heather  bud  ; 
Ye  curfews  calling  thro'  a  clud  ; 

Ye  whistling  plover; 
And    mourn,    ye    whirring    paitrick 
brcod  ; 

He's  gane  for  ever  ! 

Mc/urn,    sooty    coots,    and    speckled 

teals. 
Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels  ; 
Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake  ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels 

Rair  for  his  sake. 

Mourn,   clam'riug  craiks  at  close  o' 

day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flow'ring  clover  gay  ; 
And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore. 
Tell  thae  far  warlds,  wha  lies  in  clay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 

Ye  houlots,  frae  your  ivy  bow'r. 
In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch  tow'r, 
What  time  the  moon,  wi' silent  glowr, 

Sets  up  her  horn, 
Wail  thro'  the  dreary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn  ! 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains  ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  ^ny  canty  strains  : 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  of  woe  ; 
And  frae  my  een  the  d rapping  rains 

Maun  ever  flow. 

Mourn,  spring,   thou  darling  of    the 

year  1 
Dk  cow&Up  cup  shall  kep  a  tear : 


while     eacli    corn^ 


Thou,     simms 

spear 

Shoots  up  its  head, 
Thy  gay,  green,  flow'ry  tresses  siiea??, 
For  him  that's  dead  ! 

Thou,  autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair. 
In  grief  thy  sallow  mantle  tear! 
Thou,  winter,  hurling  thro'  the  air 

The  roaring  blast, 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  v»'orld  declare 

The  worth  we've  lost ! 

Mourn  him,  thou  sun,  great  source  oi 

light  ! 
Mourn,  empress  of  the  silent  night  ! 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright 

My  Matthew  mourn  ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he's  ta  en  hif 
flight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

O  Henderson  !  the  man  !  the  brother  • 
And    art    thou    gone,   and  gone  for 

ever  ? 
And    has    thou   crost  that  unknow? 
river. 

Life's  dreary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 
The  world  around  ? 

Go  to  your  sculptur'd  tombs,  ye  G  'ea' 
In  a"  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state  ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  1 11  wait, 

Thou  man  of  worth  ! 
And  weep  thee  ae  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 


THE  EPITAPH. 

Stop,  passenger  !  nw  story's  brief, 
And  truth  I  shall  relate,  man  ; 

I  tell  nae  common  tale  o'  grief, 
For  Matthew  was  a  great  man. 

If  thou  uncommon  merit  hast, 

Yet  spurnd  at  fortune's  door,  mat 

A  look  of  pity  hither  cast. 
For  Matthew  was  a  poor  man. 

If  thou  a  noble  sodger  art. 

That  passest  by  this  grave,  man, 

There  moulders  here  a  gallant  hear^ 
For  Matthew  was  a  brave  man. 


96 


LAMENT  OF  MART  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 


It  thou  on  men,  their  works  and  ways, 
Caust  throw  uncommon  light,  man  ; 

Here  lies  wha  weel  had  won  thy  praise, 
For  Mattliew  was  a  bright  man. 

If  *.hoii  at  friendship's  sacred  ca' 
Wad  life  itself  resign,  man  ; 

The  sympathetic  tear  maun  fa', 
For  Matthew  was  a  kind  man. 

if  thou  art  staunch  without  a  stain, 
Like  the  unchanging  blue,  man  ; 


This  was  a  kinsman  o'  thy  ain, 
For  jMatthew  was  a  true  man. 

If  thou  hast  wit,  and  fun,  and  fire. 
And  ne'er  gudo  wine  did  fear,  mjui 

This  was  thy  billie,  dam,  and  sire, 
For  Matthew  was  a  queer  man. 

If  only  whiggish  whingin  sot. 
To  blame  poor  Matthew  dare,  maS 

May  dool  and  sorrow  be  his  lot, 
For  Matthew  was  a  rare  man. 


.AMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS,  ON  THE 
APPROACH  OF  SPRING. 


Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  every  bloondng  tree, 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  daisies  white 

Out-owre  the  grassy  lea  : 
Now     Phoebus    cheers     the    crystal 
streams. 

And  glads  the  azAire  skies  • 
But  nought  can  giad  the  weary  wight 

That  fast  in  durance  lies. 

N"ow  laverocks  wake  the  merry  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. 

iTGV7  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank. 

The  primrose  down  the  brae  ; 
The  hawthorn's  budding  in  the  glen 

And  milk-white  is  the  sine  : 
The  meanest  kind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  tlicir  sweets  amang  ; 
But  1,  the  Queen  of  a'  Scotland, 

Maun  lie  in  prison  Strang. 

li  77-. s  the  Queen  o'  bonie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been, 
jTu'  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn, 

A  blythe  lay  doAvn  at  e'en  : 
And  I'm  the  sov'reign  of  Scotland, 

^d  mom  ^  U-aitor  there ; 


Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands. 
And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman, 

M}'  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim  vengeance,   yet,    shall   whet  & 
sword 

That  thro'  thy  soul  shall  gae  : 
The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee  ; 
Nor  th'  balm  that  draps  on  wounds  of 
woe 

Frae  woman's  pitying  ee. 

My  son  !  my  son  !  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine  ; 
And   may    iiiose  pleasures  gild   thy 
reign. 

That  ne'er  wad  blink  on  mine  ! 
God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother's  faes. 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee  : 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's. 
friend. 

Remember  him  for  me  ! 

Oh  !   soon,  to  me,  may  summer-suns 

Xae  mair  light  ud  the  morn  !  ^ 
Nae  mair,  to  me,  the  autumn  winds 

Wave  o'er  the  yellow  coin  ! 
And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave  ; 
And  the  next  flow'rs  that  deck  th* 
spring, 

Bloom  en  my  peaceful  gifivp  I 


EPISTLE  TO  R.  QBAHAM,  ESQ.  07 


EPISTLE  TO  R.  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 

When  Nature  her  great  master-piece  design'd, 
And  frani'd  her  last,  best  work,  the  human  mind, 
Her  eye  intent  on  all  the  mazy  plan, 
She  form'd  of  various  parts  the  various  man. 
Then  first  she  calls  the  useful  many  forth  •, 
Plain  plodding-  industry,  and  sober  worth  : 
Thence  peasants,  farmers,  native  sous  of  earth, 
And  merchandise'  whole  genus  take  their  birth  : 
Each  prudent  cit  a  warm  existence  finds, 
And  all  mechanics'  manj^-aprou'd  kinds. 
Some  other  rarer  sorts  are  wanted  yet, 
The  lead  and  buoy  are  needful  to  the  net : 
The  caput  mortuum  of  gross  desires 
Makes  a  material  for  mere  knights  and  squires  ; 
The  martial  phosphorus  is  taught  to  flow, 
She  kneads  the  lumpish  philosophic  dough, 
Then  marks  the  unyielding  mass  with  grave  designs. 
Law,  physic,  politics,  and  deep  divines  : 
Last,  slie  sublimes  th'  Aurora  of  the  poles, 
The  flashing  elements  of  female  souls. 

The  order'd  system  fair  before  her  stood, 
Nature,  well-pleas'd,  pronounc'd  it  very  good  ; 
But  ere  she  gave  creating  labour  o'er, 
Half- jest,  she  try'd  one  curious  labour  morj  ; 
Some  spumy,  fiery,  ignis  fatuus  matter. 
Such  as  the  slightest  breath  of  air  might  scatter; 
With  arch  alacrity  and  conscious  glee 
(Nature  may  have  her  whim  as  well  as  we, 
Her  Hogarth-art  perhaps  she  meant  to  show  it) 
She  forms  the  thing,  and  christens  it— a  Poet. 
Creature,  th'o'  oft  the  prey  of  care  and  sorrow, 
When  blest  to-day,  unmindful  of  to-morrow. 
A  being  form'd  t'  amucc  his  graver  friends, 
Admir'd  and  pr^as'd — and  there  the  homage  ends  i 
A  mortal  quite  unfit  for  Fortune's  strife. 
Yet  oft  the  sport  of  all  the  ills  of  life  ; 
Prone  to  enjoy  each  pleasure  riches  giye, 
Yet  haply  wanting  wherewithal  to  live  : 
Longing  to  wipe  each  tear,  to  heal  each  groan. 
Yet  frequent  all  unheeded  in  his  own. 

But  honest  Nature  is  not  quite  a  Turk, 
She  laugh'd  at  first,  then  felt  for  her  poor  work. 
Pitying  the  propless  climber  of  mankind, 
She  cast  about  a  standard  tree  to  find  ; 
And,  to  support  his  helpless  woodbine  state, 
Attach'd  him  to  the  generous  truly  great, 
A  title,  and  the  only  one  I  claim, 
To  lay  strong  hold  for  help  on  bounteous  Graham. 

Pity  the  timeful  muses'  hcipless  train. 
Weak,  timid  landsmen  on  life's  stqrmv  muu  1 


$'8  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ 

TLcir  hearts  no  selfish  stern  absorbent  stuff, 

That  never  gives— tho'  humbly  takes  enough ; 

The  little  fate  allovrs,  they  =^hare  as  soon. 

Unlike  sage,  proverb'd,  wisaom's  hard  wrung  boon. 

The  world  were  blest  did  bliss  on  them  depend, 

Ah,  that  "  the  friendly  e'er  should  want  a  friend  !  " 

Let  prudence  number  o'er  each  sturdy  son, 

Who  life  and  wisdom  at  one  race  begun, 

Who  feel  by  reason,  and  who  give  by  rule, 

(Instinct's  a  brute,  and  sentiment  a  fool  !) 

Who  make  poor  "  will  do"  wait  upon  "  I  should"— 

We  ov/n  they're  prudent,  but  who  feels  they're  good  t 

Ye  wise  ones,  hence  1  ye  hurt  the  social  eye  ! 

God's  image  rudely  etch'd  on  base  alloy  ! 

But  come  ye,  who  the  godlike  pleasure  know, 

Heaven's  attribute  distinguish'd — to  bestow  ! 

Whose  arms  of  love  would  grasp  tho  human  race  : 

Come  thou  who  giv'st  with  all  a  courtier's  grace ; 

Friend  of  my  life,  true  patron  of  my  rliymes  ! 

Prop  of  my  dearest  hopes  for  future  times. 

Why  shrinks  my  soul,  half-blushing,  half-afraid, 

Backward,  abasli'd  to  ask  thy  friendly  aid  ? 

I  know  my  need,  I  know  thy  giving  hand, 

I  crave  thy  friendship  at  thy  kind  command ; 

But  tliere  are  such  who  court  the  tuneful  nine — 

Heavens  !  should  the  branded  character  be  mine  ! 

Whose  verse  in  manhood's  pride  sublimely  flows. 

Yet  vilest  reptiles  in  their  begging  prose, 

Mark,  how  their  lofty  independent  spirit 

Soars  on  the  spurning  wing  of  injur'd  merit ! 

Seek  not  the  proofs  in  private  life  to  find  ; 

Pity  the  best  of  words  should  be  but  wind  ! 

So,  to  heaven's  gates  the  lark's  shrill  song  ascends. 

But  grovelling  on  the  earth  the  carol  ends. 

In  all  the  clam'rous  cry  of  starving  want, 

They  dun  benevolence  with  shameless  front ; 

Oblige  them,  patronize  their  tinsel  lays, 

•They  persecute  you  all  your  future  days  ! 

Ere  my  poor  soul  such  deep  damnation  stain, 

My  hoVny  fist  assume  the  plough  again  ; 

The  piebald  jacket  let  me  patch  once  more  ; 

On  cighteen-pence  a  ..'eek  I've  liv'd  before. 

Tho  ,  thinks  to  Her.ven,  I  dare  even  that  last  shift, 

I  trust,  meantime,  my  boon  is  in  thy  gift ; 

Thc'X,  plr.c'd  by  "hee  upon  the  wish'd-for  height, 

Wh :;rc,  man  ::nd  nature  fairer  in  her  sight. 

My  nuise  may  imp  her  wing  for  some  sublimer  flight. 

TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  OF  FINTRA,  ESQo 

Late  crippl'd  of  an  arm,  and  now  a  leg,  ^ 
Abon;  to  beg  a  pass  for  leave  to  beg  ; 
Dull,  listless,  teas'd,  dejected,  and  deprest 
CN?.ture  is  adverse  to  9.  cripolft's  r«st) ; 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ.  99 

Will  generous  Graham  list  to  his  Poet's  wail  ? 
(It  soothes  ^^oor  Misery,  heark'ning  to  her  tale,) 
And  h^ar  him  curse  the  light  he  tirst  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  t 
Thou  giv'st  the  ass  his  hide,  the  snail  his  shell, 
T.'i'  cuvenom'd  v/asp,  victorious,  guards  his  cell.— 
Thy  minions,  Iiingc  defend,  control,  devour, 
In  all  til'  omnipotence  of  rule  and  power.— 
Foxc3  and  statesmen,  subtile  wiles  ensure  ; 
The  cit  and  polcc::^t  stink,  and  arc  secure. 
Toads  with  thoir  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  eycc,  her  dreaded  spear  and  darts 

But  Oh  !  thou  bitter  step-mother  and  hard, 
To  thy  poor,  fenceless,  naked  child — the  Bard  T 
A  thing  unteachablc  in  world's  skill, 
And  hc^lf  m  idiot  too,  more  helplecc  still. 
No  heek  to  bear  him  from  the  op'ning  dun  ; 
No  claws  to  dig,  his  hated  sight  to  shun  ; 
No  horns,  but  those  by  lucklccs  Hymen  worn, 
And  those,  alas  !  not  Amalthea's  horn  : 
No  nervc3  olfact'ry,  Mamnicn'c  trusty  cur, 
Clad  in  rich  Dulness'  comfortable  f':r, 
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  that  ten  Monroes  ; 
He  hacks  to  teach,  they  mangle  to  expose. 

His  heart  by  causeless,  wanton  malice  wrung, 
By  biockheads'  daring  into  madness  stung  ; 
His  well-wen  bays,  than  life  itself  more  dear, 
By  miscreants  torn,  who  ne'er  one  sprig  must  weai 
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  inspir'd, 
Low  sunk  in  squalid,  unprotected  age. 
Dead,  even  resentment,  for  his  irjur'd  page. 
He  heeds  or  feels  no  more  the  ruthless  critic's  rage  \ 

So,  by  some  hedge,  the  generous  steed  deceas'd. 
For  lialf-starv'd  snarling  curs  a*  dainty  feast ; 
By  toil  and  famine  wore  to  chin  and  bone, 
Lies,  senseless  of  each  tugring  biteh's  son. 

O  Dulness  !  portion  of  the  truly  blest  I 
Calm  ghelter'd  haven  of  eternal  rest  I 


100  A  LAMENT, 

Thy  sons  ne'er  madden  in  the  fierce  extremes 
Of  Fortune's  polar  frost,  or  torrid  beams. 
If  mantling  high  she  tills  the  golden  cup. 
With  sober  seliish  ease  they  sip  it  up  ; 
Conscious  the  bounteous  meed  th(;y  well  deserve. 
They  only  wonder  "  some  folks  "  do  not  starve. 
The  grave  sage  hern  thus  easy  picks  his  frog. 
And  thinks  the  mallard  a  sad  worthless  dog. 
When  disappointment  snaps  the  clue  of  hope, 
And  thro'  disastrous  night  they  darkling  grope. 
With  deaf  endurance  sluggishly  they  bea'\ 
And  just  conclude  that  "  fools  are  fortune's  care." 
So  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's  shocks, 
Strong  on  the  sign-post  stands  the  stupid  ox. 

Not  so  the  idle  Muses'  mad-cap  train. 
Not  such  the  workings  of  their  moon-struck  brain  ; 
In  equanimity  they  never  dwell, 
By  turns  in  soaring  heav'n,  or  vaulted  hell. 

'l  dread  thee,  Fate,  relentless  and  severe, 
With  all  a  poet's,  husband's,  father's  fear  1 
Already  one  stroug-hold  of  hope  is  lost, 
Glencairn,  the  truly  noble,  lies  in  dust  ; 
(Fled,  like  the  sun  eclips'cl  as  noon  appears, 
And  left  us  darkling  in  a  world  of  tears  :) 
Oh  !  hear  my  ardent,  grateful,  selfish  pray'r  1 
Fintra,  my  other  stay,  long  bless  and  spare  ! 
Thro'  a  long  life  his' hopes  and  wishes  crown. 
And  brightlu  cloudless  skies  his  sun  go  down  I 
May  bliss  domestic  smooth  his  private  path  ; 
Give  energy  to  life  ;  and  soothe  his  latest  breath. 
With  many  a  tilial  tear  circling  the  bed  of  death  I 

LAMENT  FOR  JAMES,  EARL  OF  GLENCAIRK 

1  HE  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills,  **  Ye  scatter'd  birds  that  faintly  sing. 

By  fits  the  sun's  departing  beam  The  rcliques  of  the  vernal  quire  ! 

Look'd  on  the  fading  yellow  woods  Ye  woods  that  shed  on  a'  the  winds 

That  wav'd   o'er  "Lugar's  winding  The  honours  of  tlie  aged  year  ! 

stream  :                "  A  few  sliort  months,  and    glad  and 

Beneath  a  craigy  steep,  a  Bard,  gay, 

Laden  with  years  and  meiklepain.  Again  ye'll  charm  the  ear  and  e*e  ; 

In  loud  lament  bewail'd  his  lord,  But  nocht  in  all  revolving  time 

Whom  death  had  all  untimely  taen.  Can  gladness  bring  again  to  me. 

He  lean'd  him  to  an  ancient  aik,  "  I  am  a  bending  aged  tree. 

Whose  trunk  was  mould'ring  down  That  long  has  stood  the  wind  and 


with  years  ; 


ram 


His  locks  were  bleached  white  wi'  time.  But  now  has  come  a  cruel  blast, 
His  hoary  cheek  was  wet  wi'  tears  ;  And  my  last  hold  of  earth  is  gane : 

And  as  he  touch'd  his  trembling  harp,  Nae    loaf    o'    mine    shall    greet    the 
And  as  he  tun'd  his  doleful  sang,  spring. 

The  winds,    lamenting    thro'    their  Nae  simmer  s\in  exalt  my  bloom  ; 

caves,  But  I  maun  lie  before  the  storm, 
To  echp  bore  the  notes  alang.  And  ithers  plant  Uiem  in  my  roona. 


TAM  0'  SHANTEB. 


101 


*'  I've  seen  so  many  changefu'  years. 

On  ei\rvh  I  am  a  stranger  grown  ; 
I  wander  in  the  ways  of  men, 

Alike  unknowing  and  unknown  : 
Unheard,  unpitied,  unreliev'd, 

I  bare  ahme  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  flow'r  amang  our  barons  bold, 

Plis  country's  "pride,   his  country's 
stay  : 
In  weary  being  now  I  pine, 

For  a'  the  life  of  life  is  dead. 
And  hope  has  left  my  aged  ken. 

On  forward  wing  for  ever  fled. 

*'  Awake  thy  last  sad  voice,  my  harp  ! 

The  voice  of  woe  and  wild  despair  ! 
Awake,  resound  thy  latest  lay. 

Then  sleep  in  silence  evermair  ! 
And  thou,  my  last,  best,  only  friend, 

That  fillest  an  untimely  tomb. 
Accept  this  tribute  from  the  Bard 

Thou  brought  from  fortune's  mirk- 
est  gloom. 


"  In  Poverty's  low  ban'en  vale. 

Thick  mists,  obscure,  involv'd  me 
round  ; 
Though  oft  I  turn'd  the  wistful  eye, 

No  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  !  why  has  worth  so  short  a  date  ? 

"W  hile  villains  ripen  gray  with  time  ! 
Must  thou,  the  noble,  gen'rous,  great, 

Fall    in      bold    manhoods    hardy 
prime  ? 
Why  did  I  live  to  see  that  day  ? 

A  day  to  me  so  full  of  woe  ? 
O  !  had  I  met  the  mortal  shaft 

Which  laid  my  benefactor  low  ! 

"  The  bridegroom  may  forget  the 
bride 

Was  made  his  wedded  wife  yestreen; 
The  monarch  may  forget  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, 

And  a'  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  mind's  reproach,  nought  earthly  fear'st. 

To  thee  this  votive  offering  I  impart. 

The  tearful  tribute  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  friend  thou  valued'st,  I,  the  Patron,  lov'd  ; 

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. 


TAM   O'  SHANTER. 

A    TALE. 

Of  Brownyis  and  of  Bogilis  full  in  this  Buke. 

Gawin  Douglas. 


When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neebors,  neebors  meet, 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late, 
An'  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate  ; 


While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy. 
An'  getting  fou  and  unco  happy. 
We  think  na  on  the  lang  Scots  miles, 
The  messes,  waters,  slaps,  and  sfjk* 


i02 


TAM  0'  SHANTE&. 


That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 
Wliare  sits  our  sulky  sullen  dame, 
Galberiug  her  brows  like   gathering 

storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  w^arm. 
This    truth    fand    honest    Tarn   o' 
Shauter, 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter, 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  sur- 
passes, 
Foi  honest  men  and  bonie  lasses.) 

O  Tarn !  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise, 
As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice  ! 
Slie  tauld  thee  weel  thou  wast  a  skel- 

lum, 
A    blethering,     blustering,    drunken 

blellum  ; 
That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober  ; 
That  ilka  melder,  wi'  the  miller, 
'I'iiou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller  ; 
That  ev'ry  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on. 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on; 
That  at  the  Lord's    house,   ev'n  on 

Sunday, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirton  Jean  till  Mon- 
day. 
She  prophesy'd  that,  late  or  soon,, 
I'hou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd 

in  Doon  ; 
Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk, 
By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

'Ah,  gentle  dames  !  it  gars  me  greet, 
To  think  how  monie  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lengthcn'd,  sage  advices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises  ! 
But  to  our  tale  :     Ae  market  night, 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right ; 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming    swats,  that    drank    di- 
vinely ; 
And  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnny, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony  ; 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither  ; 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither. 
Tlie  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs   and 

clatter  ; 
And  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better  : 
The  landkdy  and  Tam  grew  gracious, 
Wi'  favours,  secret,  sweet,  and  pre- 
cious : 
The  souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories  ; 
The     landlord's    laugh    was     ready 
ehorus  : 


The  storm  without  might  rair  and 

rustle, 
Tam  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 
Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drown'd  liimsel  amang  the  nappy: 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure, 
Th»  minutes  wing'd   their   way  wi' 

pleasure  ; 
Kings  may  be  blest,   but  Tam  was 

glorious  ! 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious  ! 
But    pleasures    are    like    poppies 

spread. 
You  seize  the  flow'r,  its  bloom  is  shed; 
Or  like  the  snow-falls  in  the  river, 
A   moment   white  —  then   melts   for 

ever  ; 
Or  like  the  borealis  race. 
That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place ; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form 
Evanishing  amid  the  storm. — ■ 
Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide  ; — 
The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride  ; 
That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the 

key-stane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast 

in  ; 
And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in, 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 
The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its 

last ; 
The    rattling    show'rs    rose    on    the 

blast  ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swal- 
low'd  ; 
Loud,   deep,   and  lang,  the  thunder 

bellow'd  : 
That  night,  a  child  miglit  understand. 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 
Weel  mounted   on  his  gray  mare, 

Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg, 
Tam  skelpit  on  thro'  dub  and  mire. 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  tire  ; 
Whiles  holding  fast  his   gude  blue 

bonnet  ; 
AVhiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots 

sonnet  ; 
Whiles  glow'ring  round  wi'  prudent 

cares. 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares  ; 
Kirk-AUoway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Whare  ghaists  and  houlets    nightly 


TAM  a  SHATTER. 


103 


By  this  time  be  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare  in    the    snaw,   the    chapman 

smoor'd  ; 
And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane, 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak's  neck- 
bane  ; 
And  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn, 
Whare   hunters    fand    the    murder'd 

bairn  ; 
And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well, 
Whare  Mungo's   mither  hang'd  lier- 

sel. — 
Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods ; 
The  doubling  storm  roars  thro'  the 

woods  ; 
The    lightnings    flash    from    pole  to 

pole  ; 
Kear  and  more  near    the    thunders 

roll ; 
When,  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning 

trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze  ; 
Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glanc- 
ing ; 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  danc 

ing. — 
Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn  ! 
What  dangers  thou    canst  make  us 

scorn  ! 
Wi'  tippenny,  we  fear  nae  evil  ; 
Wr  usquebae,  we'll  face  the  devil  !  — 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tammie's 

noddle, 
Fair  play,  he  car'd  na  deils  a  boddle. 
But  ]\Iaggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd, 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonish'd, 
She  ventur'd  forward  on  the  light ; 
And,  vow  !  Tam  saw  an  unco  sight  l 
Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance  : 
Nae  cotillion  brent  sew  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and 

reels, 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 
A  winnock-bunker  in  the  east, 
There    sat   auld    Nick,    in    shape  o' 

beast ; 
A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large, 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge  : 
He  screw'd   the   pipes  and  gart  them 

skirl  ; 
Till  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl. — 
Coffins  stood  round  like  open  presses, 
That  shaw'd   the  dead  in  their  last 

dresses  i 


And  by  some  devilish  cantraip  slight 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light,—' 
By  which  heroic  Tam  was  able 
To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 
A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  nirns  ; 
Twa     span-lang,    wee,     unchristen'd 

bairns ; 
A  thief,  new-cutted  frae  the  rape, 
Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape  ; 
Five    tomahawks,    "wi'    blude "    rec3 

rusted  ; 
Five  scymitars,  wi'  murder  crusted  : 
A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled, 
A  knife,  a  father's  throat   had  man- 
gled ; 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft, 
The  gray  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ; 
Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu'. 
Which  ev'n  to  name  wad  be  unlawf u' . 
As    Tammie  glowr'd,   amaz'd,  and 
curious. 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew^  fast  and  furi- 
ous : 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew  ; 
The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew  ; 
They  reel'd,  tliey   set,   they  cross'd, 

they  cleekit, 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit, 
And  coost  her  dud  dies  to  the  wark. 
And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark  ! 
Now  Tam,  O  Tam !  had  thae  been 
queans, 
A'  plump    and     strapping    in    their 

teens  ; 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flan- 

nen. 
Been    snaw-white    seventeen   bunder 

linnen  ! 
Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  m^y  only  pair, 
That  ance  were  plush,  o'  gude  blue 

hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  off  my  hurdles, 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonie  burdies  ! 
But  witherd    beldams,    auld    and 
droll, 
Rigwooddie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal, 
Lowping  and  flinging  on  a  crummock, 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 
But  Tam  kend  what  was  what  fu* 
brawlie, 
There  was  ae  winsome  wench   and 

walie, 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core, 
(  Lang  after  kend  on  Carrick  shore  ; 


104 


ON  CAPTAIN  GROSE'S  l^EREiJRINATIONS. 


For  mouy  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot, 
And  perish'd  mony  a  bonie  boat, 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear, 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear,) 
Her  catty  sark,  o'  Paisley  harn, 
Tlint  wliile  a  lassie  she  had  worn, 
In  longitude  tho'  sorcl^y  scanty. 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie. — 
Ah  !  little  kend  thy  reverend  grannie, 
That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nan- 
nie, 
Wi'  twa  pund   Scots  ('twas  a'    her 

riches ), 
Wnd  ever  grac'd  a  dance  of  witches  ! 
13 ut  here  my  muse  her  wing  maun 

cour  ; 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  lier  pow'r  ; 
To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  tiang, 
(  A  souple  jade  she  was,  and  Strang,) 
And   how   Tam  stood,   like   aue    be- 

witch'd. 
And  thought  his  very  een  enrich'd  ; 
Even  Satan  glowr'd,   and   lidg'd  fu' 

fain, 
And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and 

main  : 
Till  tirst  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 
Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 
And  roars  out,    "  Weel  done,  Cutty- 

sark  !  " 

And  in  an  instant  all  was  dark  : 

And  scared}^  had  he  jNIaggie  rallied, 

IVHien  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke. 

When  plundering  herds  assail  their 

byke ; 


As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes. 

When,   pop  !  she  starts  before  their 

nose  ; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd, 
When,    •'  Catch  the  thief  !  "  resounds 

aloud  ; 
So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 
Wi'  moiiie  an    eldritch  skreech   and 
hollow. 

Ah,  Tam  !  ah,  Tam  !  thou'll  get  thy 
fjurin  ! 
In  hell  they'll  roast  thee  like  a  herrin  ! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin  ! 
Kate  soon  will  be  awoefu'  woman  ! 
Now^  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  key-stane  of  the  brig  ; 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  ma}'  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  darena  cross. 
But  ere  the  ke\-stane  slie  could  make, 
The  tient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake  I 
For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest. 
Hard  upon  noble  ]\Iaggie  prest, 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle  ; 
But  little  wist  she  ]\[aggie's  mettle  — 
Ae    spring  brought  oil'    her    master 

hale, 
But  left  behind  her  ain  gray  tail  ; 
The  cavlin  claught  her  by  the  rump. 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  slump. 

Now,  wha  this   tale  o'  truth  shall 
read. 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son,  take  heed  ; 
AVhene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclin'd, 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind, 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joys  o'er  dear. 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mare. 


ON    THE    LATE    CAPTAIN"  GROSE'S  PEREGRINATIONS 
THRO'  SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING  THE  ANTIQUITIES  OP  THAT  KINGDOM. 


Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes,   and   brither 

Scots, 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnny  Groats  ; — 
If  there's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 

I  rede  you  tent  it  : 
A  chield's  amang  you  taking  notes, 

And,  faith,  he'll  prent  it. 

If  in  your  bounds  ye  chance  to  light 
Upon  a  fine,  fat,  fodgel  wight. 
0'  stature  short,  but  genius  bright, 


That's  he,  mark  weel— 
And  wow  !  he  has  an  unco  slight 
O'  cauk  and  keel. 

By  some  auld,  houlct-haunted  biggin. 
Or  kirk  deserted  by  its  riggin, 
It's  ten  to  ane  ye'll  find  him  snug  in 

Some  eldritch  part, 
Wi'  deils,  they  say,  Lord  save's  1  cc^ 
leaguin 

At  some  black  art. — 


ON  SEEING  A  WOUNDED  HARE  LIMP  BY  ME. 


105 


Ilk   ghaist  that  haunts    auld   ha'  or 

chamer, 
Ye  gipsj-gang  that  deal  in  glamor. 
And  you  deep  read  in  hell's   black 
grammar, 

Warlocks  and  witches, 
Yt;'ll  quake  at  his  conjuring  hammer, 
Ye  midnight  bitches. 

It's  tauld  he  was  a  sodger  bred, 
And  ane  wad  rather  fa'n  than  fled  ; 
But  now  he's  quat  the  spurtle-blade, 

A  dog-skin  wallet, 
And  taen  the  —  Antiquarian  trade, 

I  think  they  call  it. 

He  has  a  fouth  o'  auld  nick-nackets  : 
Rusty  aim  caps  and  jinglin  jackets. 
Wad    hand    the    Lothians    three   in 
tackets, 

A  towmont  gude  ; 
And    parritch-pats,    and     auld   saut- 
backets, 

Before  the  Flood. 

Of  Eve's  first  fire  he  has  a  cinder  , 
Auld  Tubalcain's  fire-shool  and  fender^ 


That  which  distinguished  the  gender 
O'  Balaam's  ass  ; 

A  broom-stick  o'  the  witch  of  Endor, 
V/eel  shod  wi'  brass. 

Forbye,  he'll  shape  you  aff,  fu'  gleg 
The  cut  of  Adam's  philibeg  ; 
The  knife  that  nicket  A  bet's  craig 

He'll  prove  you  full3'> 
It  was  a  faulding  jocteleg, 

Or  lang-kail  gullie. — 

But  wad  ye  see  him  in  his  glee. 
For  meikle  glee  and  fun  has  he, 
Then  set  him  down,  and  twa  or  three 

Gude  fellows  wi'  liim  ; 
And  port,  O  port  !  shine  thou  a  wee, 

And  then  ye'll  see  him  ! 

Now,  by  thePowr's  o'  verse  and  prose! 
Thou  art  a  dainty  chield,  O  Grose!  — 
Whae'er  o"  thee  shall  ill  suppose. 

They  sair  misca'  thee  ; 
I'd  take  the  rascal  by  the  nose, 

Wad  say,  Shame  fa'  theel 


ON  SEEING  A  WOUNDED   HaRE  LIMP  BY  ME, 


WHICH  A  FELLOW    HAD  JUST  SHOT  AT. 


[Aprih  17»9.1 


InhUxMAN  man  !  curse  on  thy  barb"rous  art, 

And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye  ; 

May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 
Nor  ever  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart  ! 

Go,  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field. 

The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  ; 

No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  WTetch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest. 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed  ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  wdiistiing  o'er  thy  head. 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest. 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith,  I,  musing,  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  oer  the  dew^y  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless  fate. 


106 


THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  M'LEOD,  ESQ. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SHADE  OF   i  HOMSON, 

ON  CROWNING  HIS  BUST   AT  EDNAM,   ROXBURGH-SHIRR,   WITH  BAYS. 


While  virgin  Spring,  by  Eden's  flood, 
Unfolds  her  tender  mantle  green, 

Or  pranks  the  sod  in  frolic  mood, 
Or  tunes  Eolian  strains  between  ; 

While  Summer,  with  a  matron  grace 
Retreats    to    Dryburgh's     cooling 
shade, 

Yet  oft,  delighted,  stops  to  trace 
The  progress  of  the  spiky  blade  ; 

While  Autumn,  benefactor  kind, 
By  Tweed  erects  his  ag^d  head, 


And  sees,  with  self-approving  mind. 
Each  creature  on  his  bounty  fed  ; 

While  maniac  Winter  rages  o'er 
The  hills   whence   classic   Yarrow 
flows, 

Rousing  the  turbid  torrent's  roar, 
Or  sweeping,  Avild,  a  waste  of  snows; 

So  long,  sweet  Poet  of  the  year. 
Shall  bloom  that  wreath  thou  weL 
hast  won  : 
While  Scotia,  with  exulting  tear, 
Proclaims  that  Thomson  was  her 
son. 


TO  MISS  CRUIKSHANK, 


A  VERY  YOUNG  LADY, 
WRITrSN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OF  A  BOOK,  PRESENTED  TO  HER  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 

]May'st  thou   long,   sweet  crimson 

gem. 
Richly  deck  thy  native  stem  ; 
Till  some  evening,  sober,  calm. 
Dropping  dews,  and  breathing  balm, 
While  all  around  th(  woodland  rings, 
And  every  bird  thy  requiem  sings  ; 
Thou,  amid  the  diVgeful  soinid. 
Shed  thy  dyinj  honours  roimd. 
And  resign  to  parent  earth 
The    loveliest    form    she    e'er    gave 

birth. 


BEAUTEOUS  rose-bud,  young  and  gay. 
Blooming  in  thy  early  ^lay, 
Never  may'st  thou,  lovely  Flow'r, 
Chilly  shrink  in  sleety  show'r  ! 
Never  Boreas'  hoary  path. 
Never  Eunia'  pois'nous  breath, 
Never  baleful  stellar  lights. 
Taint  thee  with  untimely  blights  -. 
Never,  never  reptile  thief 
Riot  on  thy  virgin  leaf  ! 
Nor  even  Sol  too  fiercely  view 
Thy  bosom  blushing  still  with  dew  1 


ON  READING,   IN  A  NEWSPAPER, 


THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  M'LEOD,  ESQ., 

BROTHER  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY,  A  PARTICULAR  FRIEND  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S. 


Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page. 

And  rueful  thy  alarms  : 
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  oie  noon,  succeeding  clouds 
Succeeding  hopes  bcguil'd. 


Fate  oft  tears  the  bosom  chords 
That  Nature  finest  strung  : 

So  Isal)ella'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 
To  scenes  beyond  the  grave. 

Virtue's  blossoms  there  shall  blow^ 
And  fear  no  withering  blast ; 

There  Isabella's  spotless  worth 
Shall  happy  be  at  last. 


PETITION  OF  BRUAR  WATER. 


107 


THE  HUMBLE  PE  i  ITION  OF  BRUAR  WATER  TO 

THE  NOIVLE  DIJKK   OF   ATHOLE. 


My  Lord,  I  know  your  nob:.'  (-.ir 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain  ; 
Embolden  (1  thus,  I  beg  3'ou'il  hear 

Your  humble  Slave  complain, 
How  saucy  Phoebus'  scorching  beams, 

In  flaming  summer-pride. 
Dry-withering,      waste     my     foamy 
streams, 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide. 

The  lightly-jumping  glowrin  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  Vv-aters  play, 
If,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts. 

They  near  the  margin  stray  ; 
If,  hapless  chance  !  they  iinger  iang, 

I'm  scorching  up  so  shallow, 
They're    left    the    whitening    stanes 
amang. 

In  gasping  death  to  wallow. 

Last  da}^  I  grat  wi'  spite  and  teen, 

As  Poet  Jjurns  came  by, 
That  to  a  Bard  I  sliould  be  seen 

Wi'  half  my  channel  dry  : 
A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween, 

Even  as  I  was  he  shor'd  me  ; 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been, 

He,  kneeling,  wad  ador'd  me. 

Here,  foaming  down  the  shelvy  rocks, 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin  ; 
There,     liigli     my     boiling     torrent 
smokes, 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  linn  : 
Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  well 

As  Nature  gave  !  \em  me, 
I  am,  altho'  I'say't  mysel, 

Worth  gaun  a  mile  to  see. 

Would  then  my  r.oblc  master  please 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes. 
He'll  shade  my   banks  wi'   tow'ring 
trees. 

And  bonie  spreading  bushes. 
Dcliglited  doublj^  then,^my  Lord, 

You'll  v,^ander  on  my  banks. 
And  listen  monie  a  grateful  bird, 

Return  you  tuneful  thanks. 

The  sober  laverock,  warbling  wild, 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire  ; 
The  go;^■dspink,  Music's  gayest  child. 

Shall  sv.eetly  join  the  ciioir : 


The  blackbird  strong,   the  lintwhite 
clear, 

The  mavis  mild  and  mellow  • 
Tlie  robin  pensive  Aiitumn  cheer. 

In  all  her  locks  of  yellow  : 

This,  too,  a  covert  shall  ensure. 

To  s'nield  them  from  the  storm  j 
And  coward  maukiu  sleej)  secure, 

Low  in  her  grassy  forn:  : 
Here   shall    the   shepherd  make  his^ 
seat, 

To  weave  his  crown  of  flow'rs  ; 
Or  find  a  sheltering  safe  retreat, 

From  prone-descending  show'rs. 

xVnd  here,  by  sweet  endearing  stealth, 

Shall  meet  the  loving  pair, 
Despising  worlds  with  all  their  wealth 

x^s  empty,  idle  care  : 
The  flow'rs  shall  vie  in  all  their  charm 

The  hour  of  heav  n  to  grace. 
And  birks  extend  their  frag".'ant  arms, 

To  screen  the  dear  embrf  3e. 

Here  hapl}^  too,  at  vernal  dawn, 

Some  musing  bard  may  stray, 
And  eye  the  smoking,  dewy  lawn, 

And  misty  mouLtain,  gi'ay  ; 
Or,  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam, 

Mild-ehequeriiig  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-bei^iding  in  the  pool. 

Their  shadows'  wat'ry  bed  ! 
Let  fi-agrant  birks  in  woodbines  drest 

IMy  craggy  clilTs  adorn  ; 
And,  for^iie  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 

Tlieir'honour'd  nati^e  laud  ! 
So  n-iay  thro'  Albion's  fartiiest  ken. 

To  social-flowing  glasses 
The  grace  be—"  Atholes  honesi  men. 

And  Athole's  boni-i  laioses  I " 


108  TILE  KIRK'S  ALARM. 

THE  KIRK'S  ALARM. 

A  SATIRE. 
A  Ballad  Tune— "Push  about  the  Brisk  Bowl." 

OnTHODOx,  Orthodox,  wlia  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  conscience  : 

There's  a  heretic  blast  has  been  blawn  i'  the  wast, 
•'  That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense." 

Dr.  Mac,  Dr.  Mac,  you  should  stretch  on  a  rack. 

To  strike  evil-doers  wi'  terror  ; 
To  join  laith  and  sense  upon  onie  pretence. 

Is  heretic,  damnable  error. 

Town  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr,  it  was  mad,  I  declare, 

To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a-brewing  ; 
Provost  John  is  still  deaf  to  the  church's  relief, 

And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin, 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild,  tho'  your  heart's  like  a  child. 

And  your  life  like  the  new  driven  snaw, 
Yet  that  winna  save  ye,  auld  Satan  must  have  ye. 

For  preaching  that  three's  ane  and  twa. 

Rumble  John,  Rumble  John,  mount  the  steps  wi'  a  groan. 

Cry  the  book  is  wi'  heresy  cramm'd  ; 
Then  lug  out  your  ladle,  deal  brimstane  like  adle. 

And  roar  ev'ry  note  of  the  damn'd. 

Simper  James,  Simper  James,  leave  the  fair  Killie  dames. 

There's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view  ; 
I'll  lay  on  your  head,  that  the  pack  ye'll  soon  lead, 

For  puppies  like  you  there's  but  few. 

Singet  Sawney,  Singet  Sawney,  are  ye  herding  the  penny. 

Unconscious  what  evils  await  ? 
Wi'  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl,  alarm  every  soul, 

For  the  foiil  thief  is  just  at  your  gate. 

Daddy  Auld,  Daddy  Auld,  there's  a  tod  in  the  fauld, 

A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  Clerk  ; 
Tho'  ye  can  do  little  skaith,  ye'll  be  in  at  the  death, 

An^  gif  ye  canna  bite,  ye  may  bark. 

Davie  Bluster,  Davie  Bluster,  if  for  a  saint  ye  do  muster. 

The  corps  is  no  nice  of  recruits  : 
Yet  to  worth  let's  be  just,  royal  blood  ye  might  boast, 

If  the  ass  was  the  king  of  the  brutes. 

Jamy  Goose,  Jamy  Goose,  ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose. 

In  hunting  the  wicked  Lieutenant ; 
But  the  Doctor's  your  mark,  for  the  L — d's  haly  ark. 

He  has  cooper'd  and  caw'd  a  wrang  pin  in't. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE.  109 

Poet  Willie,  Poet  Willie,  gie  the  Doctor  a  volley, 

Wi'  your  "  liberty's  chain"  and  your  wit ; 
O'er  Pegasus'  side  ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride, 

Ye  but  smelt,  man,  the  place  where  he  sh-t. 

Andro  Gouk,  Andro  Gouk,  ye  may  slander  the  book. 

And  the  book  no  the  waur,  let  me  tell  ye  J 
Ye  are  rich,  and  look  big,  but  lay  by  hat  and  wig. 

And  ye'll  hae  a  calf's  head  o'  sma'  value. 

Barr  Steenie,  Barr  Steenie,  what  mean  ye  ?  what  mean  ye  ? 

If  ye'll  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter. 
Ye  may  hae  some  pretence  to  liavins  and  sense. 

Wi'  people  whia  ken  ye  nae  better. 

Irvine  Side,  Irvine  Side,  wi'  your  turkeycock  pride, 

Of  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share  ; 
Ye've  the  figure,  'tis  true,  even  your  faes  will  allow. 

And  your" friends  they  dare  grant  you  nae  mair. 

Muirland  Jock,  Muirland  Jock,  when  the  Lord  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  v.as  wit  i'  your  skull. 

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  rai^  for  an  hour. 

Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons,  seize  your  sp'ritual  guns. 

Ammunition  ^  ^u  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  pries t-skelping  turns. 

Why  desert  ye  your  auld  native  shire  ? 
You  muse  is  a  gipsie,  e'en  tho'  she  were  tipsie. 

She  cou'd  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE. 

WHITTEX  WHEN   THE   AUTHOR  WAS  GRIEVOUSLY  TORMEN'TED   BY   THAT  JildGB.Ob'^. 

Mt  curse  upon  your  venom'd  stang,  Wi'  pitying  moan  : 

That  shoots  my  tortur'd  gums  alang  ;  But  tliee — thou  hell  o'  a'  diseases, 
And  thro'  my  lugsgies  monieatwang,  Ay  mocks  our  groan  I 

Wi'  gnawing  vengeance  ; 
Tearing  '"y^^.^-v-  ™r  ^^^^^^  ^^^ 

^      *=  I  throw  the  wee  stools  o  er  the  mickl^ 

When  fevers  burn,  or  ague  freezes,  As  rcunc^  the  fire  the  giglets  keckle 
Rheumatics  gnaw,  or  cholic  squeezes  ;  To  see  me  ioup  ; 

Our  neighbour's  sympathy  may  eq,se  While,  raving  mad,  I  wish  a  heckle 
U3,  Were  iu  their  doup. 


1  i  0  WRITTEX  WITH  A  PENCIL. 

0'  a'  the  numerous  human  dools,  In  dreadfu*  raw, 

111    har'sts,    daft      bargains,     cutty  Thou,  Toothache,  surely  bear'st  the 

stools, —  bell 

Or  worthy  friends  rak'd  i'  the  mools,  Amang  them  a*  1 

Sad  sight  to  see  ! 

The  tricks  o'  knaves,  or  fash  o'  fools,  ^  ,,  .         -    ■,  ■  ^       ^  •        i  .  i 

Ti,^,,  T^»o,.'et  tiw^  n-v  w.  ^  t^^c>u  grim  mischief-makingchiel, 

iliou  Dear  st  tne  2,roe.  m    ♦  .i         ,       t  ■>•       °j  i 

^  Ihat  gars  the  notes  ot  discord  squeel 

Where'er  that  place  be  priests  ca'  hell.  Till  dai't  m.-nikind  aft  dance  a  reel 
Whence  a'  the  tones  o'  mis'ry  j^ell.  In  gore  a  shoe-thick  ;^ 

And   ranked   plagues  their  numbers  Gie  a'  the  facs  o'  Scotland's  v.-eal 
tell,  A  towmout's  Toothache 


WRITTEN  WITH  A  PENCIL 

OTEB  TUB  CillMNEY-PIECK  IN  THE  PAliLOUR  OF  TUE   INN  AT  KENMORE,  TATHOCTH. 

Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace. 

These  northern  scenes  with  weary  feet  I  trace ; 

O'er  many  a  winding. dale  and  painful  steep, 

Th'  abodes  of  covey'd  grouse  and  timid  sheep. 

My  savage  journe3%  curious,  I  pursue. 

Till  fam'd  Breadalbane  opens  to  my  view. — 

The  meeting  cliifs  each  deep-sunk  glen  divides. 

The  woods,"\viid  seatter'd,  clothe  tiieir  ample  sides  ; 

Th'  outstrc^tching  lake,  embosom'd  'mong  the  hills. 

The  eye  with  wonder  and  amazement  fills  ; 

The  I'ay  meand  ring  sv/eetin  infant  piide, 

The  palace  rising  on  his  verdant  side  ; 

The  lav/us  wood-fringed  in  Nature's  native  taste 

The  hillocks  dropt  in  Nature's  careless  hnste  ; 

The  arches  striding  o'er  the  new-born  slream  ; 

The  village,  e:littering  in  the  noontide  beam — 


Poetic  ardours  in  my  bosom  swell, 

Lone  wanil'ring  by  the  hermit's  mossy  cell : 

The  sv.eeping  theatre  of  hanging  woods  ; 

Th'  incessant  roar  of  headlong  tumbling  floods- 


Here  Poesy  might  wake  her  huav'n-taught  lyre, 

And  looli  through  Nature  with  creative  fire  ; 

Here,  to  the  wrongs  of  Fate  half  reconcil'd, 

Mlsfort\;ne's  lighten'd  steps  miilit  wander  wild  ; 

And  Disappointment,  in  these  lonely  bounds, 

Find  balm  to  sooth  her  bitter,  rankling  wounds  : 

Here  heart-struck  Gri.t  might  heav'nward  stretch  her  scail, 

And  injur'd  Worth  r.orget  and  pardon  man. 


aECOMD  EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE. 


Ill 


OK  THE  BIRTH  OF  A  POSTHUMOUS  CHILD, 

EOnX  IN  PECULIAR  CIRCUMSTANCES  OF  FAIIILY  DISTRESS. 


Sweet  flow'ret,  pledge  o'  meikle  love. 
And  ward  o'  inoiiy  a  prayer, 

What  lie:irt  o'  stane  wad  thou  na  move, 
Sae  helpless'  sweet,  and  fair, 

November  liirples  o'er  the  lea. 
Chill,  ou  thy  lovely  form  ; 

And  gane,  alas  !  the  shelt'ring  tree, 
Should  shield  thee  frae  the  storm. 

May  He  who  gives  the  rain  to  pour, 
And  wings  tlie  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  motliei  plant. 
And  heal  her  cruel  wounds. 

But  late  she  flourish'd,  rooted  fast, 
Fair  in  the  summer  morn  : 

Now,  feebly  bends  she  in  the  blast, 
Uushelter'd  and  forlorn. 

Biest  be  thy  bloom,  thou  lovely  gem 
Unscath'd  by  ruffian  hand  ! 

And  from  thee  many  a  parent  stem 
Arise  to  deck  our  land. 


WRITTEN  WITH  A  PENCIL. 

STANDING  BY  THE   FALL  OP  FYERS.  NEAR  LOCH  NESS,. 

Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods 

The  roaring  Fyers  pours  his  mossy  floods  ; 

Till  full  he  dashes  on  the  rocky  mounds, 

Where,  ihro'  a  shapeless  breacij,  his  stream  resounds. 

As  high  in  air  the  bursting  torrents  flow, 

As  deep  recoiling  surges  foam  below, 

Prone  down  the  rock  the  whitening  siieet  descends. 

And  viewless  Echo's  ear,  astonished,  rends. 

Dim-seen,  thro'  rising  mists  and  ceaseless  show'rs, 

The  hoary  cavern,  wide-surrounding,  low'rs, 

Still,  thro'  the  gap  the  struggling  river  toils. 

And  still,  below,  the  horrid  cauldron  boils — 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  DAYIE,  A  BROTHER  POET. 

Aui  D  NEEBOR,  Hale  be  your  heart,  hale  be  your  5d 
I  I'm    throe    times    doubly    o'er    your  die ;' 

debtor.  Lnng  mav  your  elbuck  jink  and  did- 
For  yoiu-  iii'd-farrant,  fren'ly  letter  ;  die,  ' 

Txio' I  maun  say't,  I  doubt  ye  flatter,  To  cheeryou  through  the  weary  widdlo 
\                         Ye  speak  sae  fair.  O'  war'ly  cares, 

\  y  t??  my  puir,  silly,  rhymin  clatter  Till  bairns'  bairns  kindly  cuddle 
I                       Sqit^?  1p^?  ?liaun  sair.  y9'4i"  auld  gray  hairs, 


112 


THE  INVENTORY, 


But  Davie,  lad,  I'm  red  ye're  glaikit ; 
I'm  tauld  the  Muse  ye  hae  negleckit ; 
And  gif  it's  sae,  ye  sud  be  licket 

Until  ye  fyke  ; 
Sic  hauns  as  you  sud  ne'er  be  f aikit. 

Be  hain't  wha  like, 

For  me,  I'm  on  Parnassus'  brink, 
Rivin'  the  words  to  gar  them  clink  ; 
Whyles  daez't  wi'  love,  whyles  daez't 
wi'  drink, 

Wi'  jads  or  masons  ; 
An'  whyles,  but  aye  owre  late,  I  think 

Braw  sober  lessons. 

Of  a'  the  thoughtless  sons  o'  man, 
Commend  me  to  the  Bardie  clan  ; 
Except  it  be  some  idle  plan 

O'  rhymin  clink. 
The  devil-haet,  that  I  sud  ban. 

They  ever  think. 


Nae  thought,  nae  view,  nae  scheme  o 

livin', 
Nae  cares  to  gie  us  joy  or  grievin' ; 
But  just  the  pouchie  put  the  nieve  in, 

An'  while  ought's  there, 
Then  hiltie  skiltie,  we  gae  scrievin'. 

An'  fash  nair  mair. 

Leeze  me  on  rhyme  !  it's  aye  a  treasure. 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure. 
At  hame,  a-fiel',  at  wark  or  leisure, 

The  Muse,  poor  hizzie  I 
Tho'  rough  an'  raploch  be  her  measure. 

She's  seldom  lazy. 

Hand  to  the  Muse,  my  dainty  Davie  ; 
The    warl'   may   play  you   monie   a 

shavie  ; 
But  for  the  Muse,  she'll  never  leave  ye^ 

Tho'  e'er  sae  puir, 
Ka,  even  tho'  limpin'  wi'  the  spavie 

Frae  door  tae  door. 


THE  INVENTORY, 


nr 


ANSWER    TO   THE    USUAL    MANDATE    SENT    BT    A    SURVEYOR    OF  THE  TAXES,   REQUIRING  A 
RETURN   OF  THE  NUMBER  OF  HORSES,  SERVANTS,  CARRIAGES,  ETC.,  KEPT. 


Sir,  as  your  mandate  did  request, 
I  send  you  here  a  faithfu'  list, 
O'  gudes  an'  gear,  an'  a'  my  graith. 
To  which  I'm  clear  to  gi'e  my  aith. 
Imprimis  then,  for  carriage  cattle, 
I  have  four  brutes  o'  gallant  mettle. 
As  ever  drew  afore  a  pettle  ; 
My  han'  afore's  a  gude  auld  has-been, 
An'  wight  an'  wilfu'  a'  his  days  been  ; 
My  han'  ahins  a  weel  gaun  tillie. 
That    aft  has  borne  me  hame  frae 

Killie, 
An'  your  auld  burrough  monie  a  time, 
In  days  when  riding  was  nae  crime  — 
But  ance  whan  in  my  wooing  pride 
I  like  a  blockhead  boost  to  ride. 
The  wilfu'  creature  sae  I  pat  to, 
(Lord,    pardon  a'  my  sins  an'    that 

too  !) 
I  play'd  my  tillie  sic  a  shavie, 
She's  a'  bedevild  wi'  the  spavie. 
My  furr-ahin's  a  wordy  beast. 
As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  trac'd, — 
The    fourth's,    a    Highland    Donald 

hastie, 
A  damn'd  red-"^ud  Kilburnie  blastie, 


Foreby  a  Cowte,  o'  Cowte's  the  wale. 

As  ever  ran  afore  a  tail ; 

If  he  be  spar'd  to  be  a  beast, 

He'll  draw  me  fifteen  pun  at  least. — 

Wheel  carriage  I  ha'e  but  few, 
Three  carts,  an'  twa  are  feckly  new  ; 
Ae  auld  wheelbarrow,  mair  for  token, 
Ae    leg,    an'    baith    the    trams,    are 

broken  ; 
I  make  a  poker  o'  the  spin'le. 
An'  my  auld  mother  brunt  the  trin'le. 
For  men,    I've  three    mischievous 

boys, 
Run  de'ils  for  rantin'  an'  for  noise  ; 
A  gaudsman  ane,  a  thrasher  t'other. 
Wee  Davock    bauds    the    nowte    in 

fotlier. 
I  rule  them  as  I  ought  discreetly, 
An'  often  labour  them  completely. 
An'  ay  on  Sundays  duly  nightl}'", 
I  on  the  questions  tairge  them  tightly  ; 
Till  faith,  wee  Davock's  grown  sae 

Tho'  scarcely  langer  than  my  leg. 
He'll  screed  you  aff  Effectual  Calling, 
As  fast  asonie  in  the  dwall'ng.— . 


THE  WHISTLE,  113 

I've  nane  in  female  ser van*  station,  And  now.  remember,  Mr.  Aiken^ 

!  Lord  keep  me  ay  f  rae  a'  temptation  ! )  Nae  kind  of  license  out  Fm  takin' ; 

.  ha'e  naewife,  and  that  mj^  bliss  is,  Frae  this  time  forth,  I  do  declare, 

An'  ye  have  laid  nae  tax  on  misses  ;  I'se  ne'er  ride  liorse  uor  hizzie  mair ; 

An'  then  if  kirk  folks  dinua  clutch  me,  Thro'  dirt  and  dub  for  life  I'll  paidle, 

I  ken  the  devils  dare  na  touch  me.  Ere  I  sae  dear  pay  for  a  saddle ; 

AVi'  weans  I'm  mair  than  weel  con-  My  travel  a'  on  foot  I'll  shank  it, 

tented,  I' ve  sturdy  bearers,  Gude  be  thankit  !— 

Heav'n    sent    me    ane    mae    than    I  The  Kirk  an"  you  may  tak'  you  that 

wanted.  It  puts  but  little  in  your  pat ; 

iy  sonsie  smirking  dear-bought  Bess,  Sae  dinna  put  me  in  your  buke. 

She  stares  the  daddy  in  her  face,  Kor  for  my  ten  v/hite  shillings  luke,. 
Enough  of  ought  ye  like  but  grace.  This  list  wi'  my  ain  lian'  I  wrote  it. 

But  her,  my  bonie  sweet  wee  lady.  Day  an'  date  as  under  notit : 

I've  paid  enough  for  her  already,  Then  know  all  ye  whom  it  concerns. 

An'  gin  ye  tax  her  on  her  mitheV,  Subscripsi  huic, 
B'  the  lord,  ye'se  get  them  a'  thegither.  Robekt  Burns, 

Mosssgiel^ 
February  £2.  1785- 

THE  WHISTLE. 

A   BALLAD. 

1  BiNa  of  a  "Whistle,  a  Whistle  of  worth, 

I  sing  of  a  Whistle,  the  pride  of  the  North, 

Was  brought  to  the  court  of  our  good  Scottish  king, 

And  long  with  this  Whistle  all  Scotland  shall  ring. 

Old  Loda,  still  rueing  the  arm  of  Fingal, 
The  god  of  the  bottle  sends  down  from  his  hall  — 
**  This  Whistle's  your  challenge,  in  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  champions  ventur'd  what  champions  fell ; 
The  son  of  great  Loda  was  conqueror  still, 
And  blew  on  the  Whistle  their  requiem  shrill. 

Till  Robert,  the  lord  of  the  Cairn  and  the  Scaur, 
Unmatch'd  at  the  bottle,  unconquer'd  in  war. 
He  drank  his  poor  god-ship  as  deep  as  the  sea. 
No  tide  of  the  Baltic  e'er  drunker  than  he. 

Thus  Robert,  victorious,  the  trophy  has  gain'd, 
Which  now  in  his  house  has  for  ages  remain'd ; 
Till  three  noble  chieftains,  and  all  of  his  blood. 
The  jovial  contest  again  have  renew 'd. 

Three  joyous  good  fellows,  with  hearts  clear  of  flaw  ; 
Craigdarroch,  so  famous  for  wit,  worth,  and  law  ; 
And  trusty  Gleniiddel,  so  skill'd  in  old  coins  ; 
And  gallant  Sir  Robert,  deep-read  in  old  wines. 

Craigdarroch  began,  with  a  tongue  smooth  as  oil^ 
P^rin^  Gleni'iddel  to  ^ield  up  the  spojl ; 


114  TUE  WmSTLE. 

Or  else  he  would  muster  the  heads  of  the  clai:i, 
And  once  more,  in  claret,  try  which  was  the  man. 

■'  By  the  gods  of  the  ancients  1 "  Glenriddel  replies, 
**  Before  I  surrender  so  glorious  a  prize, 
I'll  conjure  tlie  ghost  of  the  great  Rorie  More, 
And  bumper  his  horn  with  him  twenty  times  o'er." 

Sir  I^obert,  a  soldier,  no  speech  would  pretend, 
But  he  ne'er  turu'd  his  back  on  his  foe  —  or  his  friend. 
Said,  toss  down  the  AVhistle,  the  prize  of  the  field. 
And  knee-deep  in  claret,  he'd  die  ere  he'd  yield. 

To  the  board  of  Glenriddel  our  heroes  repair. 

So  noted  for  drowning  of  sorrow  and  care  ; 

But  for  wine  and  for  welcome  not  more  known  to  fame. 

Than  the  sense,  wit,  and  taste  of  a  sweet  lovely  dame. 

A  bard  was  selected  to  witness  the  fray, 
And  tell  future  ages  the  feats  of  the  day ; 
A  bard  who  detested  all  sadness  and  spleen. 
And  wish'd  that  Parnassus  a  vineyard  had  been. 

The  dinner  being  over,  the  claict  they  ply. 

And  ev'ry  new  cork  is  a  new  spring  of  joy  ; 

In  the  bands  of  old  friendship  and  kindre'd  so  set, 

And  the  bands  grew  the  tighte.  the  more  they  were  wet. 

Gay  Pleasure  ran  riot  as  bumpers  ran  o'er  ; 
Bright  Phccbus  ne'er  witness'd  so  joyous  a  core, 
And  vow'd  that  to  leave  them  he  was  quite  forlorn. 
Till  Cynthia  hinted  he'd  see  them  next  morn 

Six  bottles  a-piece  had  well  wore  out  the  night, 
When  gallant  Sir  Ivobert,  to  finish  the  fight, 
Turn'do'er  in  one  bumper  a  bottle  of  red, 
And  swore  'twas  the  way  that  their  ancestors  did. 

Then  worthy  Glenriddel,  so  cautious  and  sage. 
No  longer  the  warfare  ungodly  would  wage  ; 
A  high  ruling  elder  to  wallow  in  wine  1 
He  left  the  foul  business  to  folkfe  less  divine. 

The  gallant  Sir  Robert  fought  hard  to  the  end  ; 
But  who  can  with  Fate  and  quart  bumpers  contend  ? 
Though  Fate  said,  a  hero  should  perish  in  light ; 
So  up  rose  bright  Phoebus  —  and  down  fell  the  night. 

ISTcxt  up  rose  our  bard,  like  a  prophet  in  drink  : 
"  Craigdarroch,  thou'lt  soar  when  creation  shall  sink; 
But  if  thou  would  flourish  immortal  in  rhyme. 
Come  —  one  1  ottle  more  —  and  have  at  the  sublime  i 

•'  Thy  line,  tl  at  have  struggled  for  freedom  with  Bruce. 

Sha'.l  heroes  tnd  patriots  ever  produce  : 

So  thine  be  the  laurel,  and  mine  be  tlie  bay  : 

Tlie  field  thou  hast  won,  b^  you  bright  god  of  day  1 " 


SKETCH.  115 


SKETCH. 

INSCRIBSID  TO  THE  EIGHT  HON.  C.  J.  FOX. 

How  Wisdom  and  Folly  meet,  mix,  and  unite  • 
How  Virtue  and  Vice  blend  their  black  and  their  white  • 
How  Genius,  th'  illustrious  father  of  fiction,  ' 

Confounds  rule  and  law,  reconciles  contradiction  — 
I  sing  ;  If  these  mortals,  the  Critics,  should  bustle, 
I  care  not,  not  I  —  let  the  Critics  go  whistle  ! 

But  now  for  a  Patron,  whose  name  and  whose  glory. 
At  once  may  illustrate  and  honor  my  story. 

Thou,  first  of  our  orators,  first  of  our  wits  ; 

Yet  whose  parts  and  acquirements  seem  just  lucky  hits  ; 

With  knowledge  so  vast,  and  with  judgment  so  strong  * 

No  man,  with  the  half  of  'em,  e'er  could  sio  wrong  . 

With  passions  so  potent,  and  fancies  so  bright. 

No  man  with  Ihe  half  of  'em  e'er  could  go  rio'lit  • 

A  sorry,  poor,  t.iisbcgot  son  of  the  Muses,     ° 

For  using  thy  nanie  offers  fifty  excuses. 

Good  Lord,  what  i?  ni'^.n  )  for  as  simple  he  looks. 

Do  but  try  to  develop  hi^  hooks  and  liis  crooks, 

With  his  depths  and  his  shallows,  his  good  and  his  evil. 

All  in  all,  he's  a  problem  mu^t  puzzle  the  devil. 

On  his  one  ruling.  Passion  Sir  Pope  hugely  labours. 

That,  like  th'  old  Hebrew  walking-swit'ch^  eats  up  its  nei"-hbo^ 

.dankmd  are  his  show-box  — a  irieul,  would  ycu  know  him  ? 

Pull  the  string.  Ruling  Passion,  the  oicture  ^'"iH  s.Vot^^  him 

What  pity,  in  rearing  so  beauteous  a  sysiem. 

One  trifling  particular.  Truth,  should  have  missd  liim  I 

For,  spite  of  his  fine  theoretic  positions. 

Mankind  is  a  science  defies  definitions. 

Some  sort  all  our  qualities  each  to  his  tribe. 

And  think  Human-nature  they  truly  describe  ; 

Have  you  found  this,  or  t  other  ?  there's  more  in  the  V'ii?4 

As  by  one  drunken  fellow  his  comrades  you'll  find. 

But  such  is  the  flaw,  or  the  depth  of  the  plan 

In  the  make  of  the  wonderful  creature  call'd  Man 

No  two  virtues,  whatever  relation  they  claim,       ' 

Nor  even  two  different  shades  of  the  same, 

Though  like  as  was  ever  twin-brother  to  brother 

Possessing  the  one  shall  imply  you've  the  other. 

But  truce  with  abstraction,  and  truce  with  a  muse 
Whose  rhymes  you'll  perhaps,  Sir,  ne'er  deign  to  peru«e 
Will  you  leave  your  justings,  your  jars,  and  your  quarrels, 
Contendmg  with  Billy  for  proud-nodding  laurels  t 
My  much-honour'd  Patron,  believe  your  poor  Poet 
Your  courage  much  more  than  your  prudence  you  show  it 
In  vain  with  Squire  Billy  for  laurels  30 u  struggle 
He'll  have  them  bj  fair  trade,  if  not  he  will  smuggle  • 


116 


PROLOGUE. 


Kot  cabinet^  ere^  of  klugs  would  conceal  'em, 
He'd  up  the  b:ick-stairs,  and  by  G  —  be  would  steal  'em. 
Then  feats  like  Squire  Billy's  you  ne'er  can  achieve  'em. 
It  is  not,  outdo  him  —  the  tttsk  is.  out-thieve  him. 


TO  DR.  BLACKLOCK. 

ELLIEI.AXD,  2l4T  OCT.,  1789. 


Wow,but  your  \ei\/^-  jB?/^e  me  vaunt ie ! 
And  are  ye  hale,  andweel,  andcautie? 
I  kenn'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-tln'ef  blaw  the  Heron  south  ! 
And  never  drink  be  near  his  drouth  ! 
He  tald  mysel  by  word  o'  mouth. 

He'd  tak  my  ktter  ; 
I  lippen'd  to  the  chicl  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  tir'd  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear  on, 

E'en  tried  the  body. 

Biv  what  d'ye  think,  my  trusty  fier, 
I'll,  turn'd  a  ganger  —  Peace  be  here  ! 
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  wimplin'  strcamies, 
JLowp,  sing,  and  lave  your  pretty  lim- 
bics. 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken, 
Chat  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Mrpg  sons  o'  men. 


1  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee  hiddies, 
They  maun   hae  brose   and   brats  o 

dud  dies  ; 
Ye  ken  yoursels  my  heart  right  proijta 
is  — 

I  need  na  vaunt. 
But  I'll  sued  besoms  —  thriiiv/  saugi* 
woodies. 

Before  they  wo  at. 

Lord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care  ! 
I'm  weary  sick  o't  late  and  air  1 
Not  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  monie  itlicrs  ; 
But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare. 

And  a'  men  brithers  ? 

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  ; 
Wlia  does  the  utmost  that  he  can. 

Will  whyles  do  mak. 

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. 
That's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life. 

My  compliments  to  sister  Beckie  ; 
And  eke  the  same  to  honest  Lucky, 
I  wat  she  is  a  daintie  chuckie. 

As  e'er  tread  clay  I 
And  gratefully,  n:y  guid  auld  cockie. 

Lm  yours  for  ay. 

.Robert  JBurks. 


PROLOGUE. 

|l^}KEN  A.   THE  THEATRE,  DUMFRIES,   ON    NEW  YEAr's  DAT  EVENING.      [1730. 

Ko  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  yon  great  city 
That  queens  it  o'er  our  taste — the  more's  the  pitv  • 
Tho',  by-the-by,  abroad  why  will  you  roam  ? 
&oo^  sepse  and  taste  are  natives  here  at  Jioics 


ON  THE  LATE  MISS  BXTBNET.  '^^"^ 

But  not  for  panegyric  I  appear, 

I  come  to  wish  you  all  a  i;ood  new-year  I 

Old  Father  Time  deputes  me  here  before  ye, 

Not  for  to  preach,  but  tell  his  simple  story  : 

The  sage  grave  ancient  cough'd,  and  bade  me  saj, 

*•  You're  one  year  older  this  important  day." 

If  wiser  too— he  hinted  some  suggestion. 

But  'twould  be  rude,  you  know,  to  ask  the  question  ; 

And  with  a  would-be  roguish  leer  and  wink. 

He  bade  me  on  you  press  this  one  word—"  Think  I  ^  ^ 

Ye  sprightly  youths,  quite  flush  with  hope  and  spirit. 
Who  think  to  storm  the  world  by  dint  of  merit, 
To  you  the  dotard  has  a  deal  to  say, 
In  his  sly,  dry,  setentious,  proverb  way  ! 
He  bids  you  mind,  amid  your  thoughtless  rattle. 
That  the  first  blow  is  ever  half  the  battle  ; 
That  tho'  some  by  the  skirt  may  try  to  snatch  him. 
Yet  by  the  forelock  is  the  hold  to  catch  him  ; 
That  whether  doing,  suffering,  or  forbearing, 
You  may  do  miracles  by  persevering. 

Last,  tho'  not  least  in  love,  ye  youthful  fair. 
Angelic  forms,  high  Heaven's  peculiar  care  ! 
To  you  old  Bald-pate  smooths  his  wrinkled  brow. 
And  humbly  begs  you'll  mind  the  important— A^t^w  / 
To  crown  your  happiness  he  asks  your  leave. 
And  offers  bliss'  to  give  and  to  receive. 

For  our  sincere,  tho'  haply  weak  endeavours, 
"With  grateful  pride  we  own  your  many  favours  ; 
And  howsoe'er  our  tongues  may  ill  reveal  it, 
Believe  our  glowing  bosoms  truly  feel  it. 


ELEGY  OK  THE  LATE  MISS  BURNETT, 

OF    MONBODDO. 

Life  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize 

As  Burnet,  lovely  from  her  native  skies  ; 

Nor  envious  death  so  triumph'd  in  a  blow, 

As  that  which  laid  th'  accomplish'd  Burnet  lo-w. 

Thy  form  and  mind,  sweet  maid,  can  I  forget  ? 

In  richest  ore  the  brightest  jewel  set  ! 

In  thee,  high  Heaven  above  was  truest  shown, 

And  by  his  noblest  work  the  Godhead  best  is  known 

In  vain  ye  flaunt  in  sumraevs  pnde,  ye  groves  ; 

Thou  crystal  streamlet  with  thy  flowery  shore. 
Ye  woodland  choir  that  chant  your  idle  loves, 

Ye  cease  to  charm— Eliza  is  no  more  1 

Ye  heathy  wastes,  immix'd  with  reedy  fens  ; 

Ye  mossy  streams,  with  sedge  and  rushes  stor  d  ; 
Ye  rugged  cliffs  o'crhanging  dreary  glens. 

To  you  I  fly,  ye  with  my  soul  accord. 


118 


TO  A  GENTLEMAN. 


Princes,  T/liose  cumbrous  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, 
So  from  it  ravish'd,  leaves  it  bleak  and  bare. 


THE  FOLLOWING  POEM  WAS  WRITTEN 


fO  A  GENTLEMAN  WHO   HAD  SENT   HIM  A  NEWSPAPER,  AND  OFFERED  TO 
CONTINUE  IT  FREE  OF  EXPENSE. 


read 


your    paper 

'twas  really  new  ! 
Sir,   what  maist  I 


Ke\>u    Sir,    I've 

tiirough, 
A  ad,  failh,  to  me, 
iioiv  guess'd  ye, 

wanted  ? 
Tl,is  monie  a  day  I've  grain'd  and 

gaunted. 
To  ken  what   French   mischief  was 

brewin'  ; 
Or   what    the    drumlie    Dutch  were 

doin'  ; 
That     vile    doup-skelper,     Emperor 

Joseph, 
If  Yenus  yet  had  got  his  nose  off  ; 
Or  how  the  collieshangie  works 
Atween  the  Russians  and  the  Turks  ; 
Or  if  the  Swede,  before  he  halt, 
\Vould  play  anither  Charles  the  Twalt : 
II  Denmark,  any  body  spak  o't  ; 
Or  Poland,  wha  had  now  the  tack  o't ; 
ilow  cut  throat  Prussian  blades  were 

hingin  ; 
How  libbet  Italy  was  singin  ; 
If  Spaniard,  Portuguese,  or  Swiss, 
•  Were  sayin  or  takin  aught  amiss  : 
Or  how  our  merry  lads  at  hame, 
m  Britain's  court,  kept  up  the  game  : 
flow  royal  Georgti,  the  Lord  leuk  o'er 

him  ! 
Was  managing  St.  Stephen's  quorum ;_ 


If  slcekit  Chatham  Will  was  livin. 
Or  glaikit  Charlie  got  his  nieve  in  ; 
How    dad  die    Burke    the    plea   waa 

cookin, 
If  Warren  Hastings  neck  was  yeukin  ; 
How  cesses, stents,  and  fees  were  rax'd, 
Or  if  bare  a-s  yot  were  tax'd' ; 
The  news  o'  princes,  dukes,  and  carls, 
Pimps,  sharpers,  bawds,  and  opera- 
girls  ; 
If  that  daft  Buckie,  Geordie  Wales, 
Was  threshin  still  at  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  despnir'd  of. 
So  gratefu',back  your  news  I  send  you. 
And  pray  a'  guid  things  may  attend 

you  ! 
Ellisland,  Monday  Morning,  1790. 

^Remonstrance  to  the  Gentleman  to  whom 
the  foregoing  Poem  icas  addressed. 

Dear  Peter,  dear  Peter, 
We  poor  sons  of  metre 

Are  often  negleckit,  ye  ken  ; 
For  instance,  your  sheet,  man, 
(Though  glad  I'm  to  see't,  man,) 

I  get  it  no  ae  daj  in  ten. — R.  B. 


TBB  RIGHTS  OP  ^VOMAir 


lid 


LINES  ON  AN  INTERVIEW  WITH  LORD  DAER, 


This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 
I,  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
i  ^i^.'er  lo  be  forgotten  day, 
5ae  far  I  sprachled  up  the  brae, 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

I've  been  at  druken  writers'  feasts, 
Nay,    been     bitch-fou   'mang    godly 
priests, 

Wi'  rev'rence  be  it  spoken  ; 
I've  even  join'd  the  houour'd  jorum. 
When  mighty  Squireshij)s  of  the  cjuo- 
rum 

Their  hydra  drouth  did  sloken. 

But  wi'  a  Lord — stand  out  my  shin  ; 
A  Lord — a  Peer — an  Earl's  son, 

Up  higlier  yet,  my  bonnet  ! 
And  sic  a  Lord — lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
Our  F  ;ernge  he  o'erlooks  them  a', 

As  I  look  o'er  my  sonnet. 
But,  O  for  Hogarth's  magic  pow'r  ! 
lo  show  Sir  Bardie's  willy  art  glow'r, 
And  how  he  star'd  and  stam- 
mev'd. 


When  goavan,  as  if  led  wi'  branks. 
An'  stumpin  on  his  ploughman  shanks, 
He  in  the  parlor  hamnier'd. 

I  sidling  shelter'd  in  a  nook, 
An'  at  his  Lordship  steal't  a  look. 

Like  some  portentous  omen  ; 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee. 
An'  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  unconmion 

I  watch 'd  the  symptoms  o'  the  Greas, 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state, 

The  arrogant  assuming ; 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he, 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  plough 
man. 

Then  from  his  Lordship  I  shall  learn, 
Henceforth  to  meet  with  unconcern 

One  rank  as  w eel's  another ; 
Nae  honest  wortl.iy  man  need  care 
To  meet  with  noble  youthful  Daer, 

For  he  but  meets  a  brother 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  WOMAN. 

PROLOGUE  SPOKEN  BY  MISS  FONTENELLE  ON  HEH  BENEFIT-NIGHT.       [nOV.  26,   1708.] 

While  Europe's  eye  is  fix'd  on  mighty  tilings. 
The  fate  of  Empires  and  the  fall  of  Kings  ; 
While  quacks  of  State  must  each  produce  his  plan. 
And  even  children  lisp  The  Rights  of  Man ; 
Amid  the  mighty  fuss  just  let  me  mention. 
The  Rights  of  Woman  merit  some  attention. 

First,  in  the  Sexes'  intermix'd  connection  , 
One  sacred  Right  of  Woman  is,  Protection. 
The  tender  flower  that  lifts  its  head,  elate, 
Helpless,  must  fall  before  the  blasts  of  Fate, 
Sunk  on  the  earth,  defac'd  its  lovely  form, 
Unless  your  shelter  ward  th'  impending  storm. 

Our  second  Right— but  needless  here  is  caution. 
To  keep  that  Right  inviolate's  the  fashion, 
Each  man  of  sense  has  it  so  full  before  him. 
He'd  die  before  he'd  wrong  it — 'tis  Decorum. 
.There  was,  indeed,  in  far  less  polish 'd  days, 
A  time,  when  rough  rude  men  hdd  naughty  ways  j 
Would  swagger,  swear,  get  drunk,  kick  up  a  riot. 
Nay,  even  thus  invade  a  Lady's  quiet  1 


120  MTSS  FONTENELLE. 

Now,  thank  our  stars  !  those  Gothic  times  are  fled  j 
Kow,  well-bred  men — and  you  are  all  well-bred  ! 
Most  justly  think  (and  we  are  much  the  gainers) 
Such  conduct  neither  spirit,  wit,  nor  manners. 
For  Right  tlie  third,  our  last,  our  best,  our  deares* 
That  Right  to  fluttering  female  hearts  the  nearest 
Which  even  the  Rights  of  Kings  in  low  prostratio^ 
Most  humbly  own — 'tis  dear,  dear  Admiration  1 
In  that  blest  sphere  alone  we  li\e  and  move  ; 
There  ta-te  tliat  life  of  life— immortal  love. 
Sighs,  tears,  smiles,  glances,  tits,  flirtations,  airs, 
'Gainst  such  an  host  what  flinty  savage  dares — 
When  awful  Bcaut}^  joins  with  all  her  charms. 
Who  is  so  rash  as  rise  in  rebel  arms  ? 

Then  truce  with  kings,  and  truce  with  constitutions. 
With  bloody  armaments  and  revolutions  1 
Let  Majesty  your  lirst  attention  summon. 
Ah  I  ?a  ira  1  The  Majesty  of  Woman  1 


ADDRESS  SPOKEN  BY  MISS  FONTENELLE, 

ON    HEB    BENEFIT-NIGHT,     DECEMBER    4,     1795, 
AT     THE     THEATBE,     DUMFRIES. 

Still  anxious  to  secure  your  partial  favour. 
And  not  less  anxious,  sure,  this  night,  than  ever, 
A  Prologue,  Epilogue,  or  some  such  matter, 
'Twould  vamp  my  "bill,  said  I,  if  nothing  better ; 
So  sought  a  Poet,*^  roosted  near  the  skies. 
Told  him  I  came  to  feast  my  curious  eyes ; 
Said,  nothing  like  his  works  was  ever  printed  ; 
And  last,  my  Prologue-business  slily  hinted. 
"  Ma'am,  let  me  tell  you,"  quoth  my  man  of  rhymes, 
"  I  know  your  bent— these  are  no  laughing  times : 
Can  you— but.  Miss,  I  own  I  have  my  fears-^ 
Dissolve  in  pause— and  sentimental  tears  ? 
Witli  laden  sighs,  and  solemn-rounded  sentence, 
Rouse  from  his  sluggish  slumbers  fell  Repentance  ; 
Paint  verigeance  as  lie  takes  his  horrid  stand, 
Waving  on  high  the  desolating  brand. 
Calling  the  storms  to  bear  him  o'er  a  guilty  land  ?" 

I  could  no  more — askance  the  creature  e3T'ing, 
D'ye  think,  said  I,  this  face  was  made  for  crying  ? 
I'll  laugh,  that's  poz— nay,  more,  the  world  shall  know  i%  } 
And  so,  your  servant !  gloomy  Master  Poet  ! 

Firm  as  my  creed,  Sirs,  'tis  my  fix'd  belief. 
That  ]\[i.ser3^'s  another  word  for  Grief; 
I  also  tliink — so  may  I  be  a  bride  ! 
That  so  much  laughter,  so  much  life  enjoy'd. 

Thou  man  of  crazy  care  and  ceaseless  sigk. 
Still  under  bleak  ^Misfortune's  blasting  eye  ; 
Doom'd  to  that  sorest  task  of  man  alive — 
To  make  three  guineas  do  the  work  of  five ; 


POEM  OW  PASTORAL  POETRY.  1^1 

Laugh  in  Misfortune's  face — the  beldam  witch  I 
Say,  you'll  be  meriy,  tho'  you  can't  be  rich. 

Thou  other  man  of  care,  the  wretch  in  love, 
Who  long  with  jiltish  arts  and  airs  hast  strove ; 
Who,  as  the  boughs  all  temptingly  project, 
Measur'st  in  desperate  thought — a  rope — thy  neck—* 
Or,  where  the  beetling  cliif  o'erhangs  the  deep, 
Peerest  to  meditate  the  healing  leap  : 
Wouldst  thou  be  cur'd,  thou  silly,  moping  elf  ? 
Laugh  at  her  follies — laugh  e'en  at  thyself  : 
Learn  to  despise  those  frowns  now  so  terrific. 
And  love  a  kinder — that's  your  grand  specific. 

To  sum  up  all,  be  merry,  I  advise  ; 
And  as  we're  merry,  may  we  still  be  wise. 


VERSES  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY, 

WITH  A  PRESENT   OF  SONGS. 

Hetie,  where  the  Scottish  Muse  immortal  lives, 
In  sacred  strains  and  tuneful  numbers  join'd. 

Accept  the  gift  ;  tho'  humble  he  who  gives. 
Rich  is  the  tribute  of  the  grateful  mind. 

So  may  no  ruffian-feeling  in  thy  breast 
Discordant  jar  thy  bosom-chords  among  \ 

But  Peace  attune  thy  gentle  soul  to  rest. 
Or  Love,  ecstatic,  wake  his  seraph  song  1 

Or  Pity's  notes,  in  luxury  of  tears. 
As  modest  Want  the  tale  of  woe  reveals ; 

While  conscious  Virtue  all  the  strain  endears. 
And  heaven-born  Piety  her  sanction  seals  I 


POEM  ON  PASTORAL  POETRY. 

Hail,  Poesie  !  thou  ISTymph  reserv'd  !  In  Homer's  craft  Jock  Milton  thrives  ; 

In  chase  o'   thee,   what  crowds  hae  Eschylus' pen  Will  Shakespeare  drives; 

swerv'd  Wee  Pope,  the  knurlin,  'till  him  rives 
Frae  common  sense,  or  sunk  enerv'd  Horatian  fame  ; 

'Mang  heaps  o'  clavers  ;  In  thy  sweet  sang,  Barbauld,  survives 
And  och  !  o'er  aft  thy  joes  hae  starv'd.  Even  Sappho's  flame. 

'Mid  a'  thy  favours  !  ^  r^,         .  ,  , 

But  thee,  Theocritus,  wha  matches  ? 

Say,  Lassie,  why  thy  train  amang,  They're    no    herd's    ballats,    Maro's 
While  loud  the  trump's  heroic  clang,  catches  ; 

And  sock  or  buskin  skelp  alang  Squire  Pope  but  busks  his  skinklin 

To  death  or  marriage  ;  patches 

Scarce  ane  has  tried  the    shepherd-  O'  heathen  tatters  : 

sang  I  pass  by  hunders,  nameless  wretches, 
But  wi'  miscarriage?  That  ape  their  betters. 


122 


TO  MR.    WILLIAM  TTTLER. 


£n  this  braw  age  o'  wit  and  lear, 
"^Vill    naue    the    Shepherd's    whistle 

mail' 
Bhiw  sweetly  in  its  native  air 

And  rural  grace  ; 
A-iid  wi'  the  far-fani'd  Grecian  share 

A  rival  place  ? 

Yes  !  there  is  ane  ;  a  Scottish  callan — 
There's    ane ;    come    forrit,     honest 

Allan  ! 
Thou  need  na  jouk  behint  the  hallan, 

A  chiel  sae  clever  ; 
The  teeth  o'   Time  may  gnaw  Tam- 
tallan. 

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; 


Where  bonie  lasses  bleach  their  claesj 
Or  trots  by  haze  11}^  shaws  and  braes, 

Wi'  hawthorns  gray, 
Where  blackbirds  join  tlie  shej 'herd'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 

O'  witchin'  love  ; 
That   charm   that  can   the  strongest 
quell, 

The  sternest  mcve. 


WRITTEN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OF  THE  LAST  EDITION 
OF  HIS  POEMS, 


PRESENTED  TO  THB  LADT  WHOM  HE  HAD  OFTEV  CELEBRATED  UNDER  THE  NAME 
OP  CHLORIS. 


Tis  Friendship's  pledge,  my  young 
fair  friend, 

Nor  thou  the  gift  refuse. 
Nor  with  unwiliing  ear  attend 

The  moralizing  Muse. 

Since  thou,   in  all  thy    youth    and 
charms. 
Must  bid  the  world  adieu, 
(A  world  'gainst   peace  in    constant 
arms) 
To  join  the  friendly  few. 

Since,  thy  gay  morn  of  life  o'ercast. 
Chill  came  the  tempest's  lower, 

(And  ne'er  misfortune's  eastern  blast 
Did  nip  a  fairer  flower.) 


Since  life's  gay  scenes  must  charm  no 
more. 

Still  much  is  left  Dchind  : 
Still  nobler  wealth  hast  thou  in  store— 

The  comforts  of  the  mind  ! 

Thine  is  the  self-approving  glow. 
On  conscious  honours  part  ; 

And,  dearest  gift  of  heaven  beloWj 
Thine  friendship's  truest  heart. 

The  joys  refin'd  of  sense  and  taste, 

With  every  muse  to  rove  : 
And  doubly  were  the  poet  blest. 

These  joys  could  he  improve, 


POETICAL  ADDRESS  TO  MR.  WILLIAM  TYTLER, 

WITH   THE  PRESENT   OP   THE  BARD'S  PICTUKB. 

Revehed  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart, 

Of  Stuart,  a  name  once  respected, 
A  name,  wiiich  to  love,  was  the  mark  of  a  true  hearty 

But  now  'tis  despisd  and  neglected. 


NEW  TEAR  DAT.  123 

Tho*  something  like  moisture  conglobes  in  my  eye, 

Let  no  one  misdeem  me  disloyal ; 
A  poor  friendless  wand'rer  may  well  ckiim  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  v.ould  spurn  their  degenerate  son. 

That  name  should  he  scofhugly  slight  it. 

Still  in  prayers  for  King  George  I  most  heartil}^  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  this  epocha  make  such  a  fuse, 

That  gave  us  the  Hanover  stem  ? 
If  bringing  them  over  was  lucky  for  us, 

I'm  sure  'twas  as  lucky  for  them. 

But,  loyalty,  truce  !  we're  on  dangerous  ground. 

Who  knows  how  the  fashions  may  alter  ? 
The  doctrine,  to-day,  that  is  loyalty  sound. 

To-morrow  may  bring  us  a  halter. 

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  in  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. 

EXTEMPORE,  ON  MR.  WILLIAM  SMELLIE, 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY, 
AND  MEMKER  OF  THE  ANTIQUARIAN  AND  ROYAL  SOCIETIES  OF  EDINBURGH, 

To  Crocliallan  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 
Yettho'  his  caustic  wit  was  biting,  rude, 
His  heart  was  warm,  benevolent,  and  good. 

SKETCH.— NEW-YEAR  DAY.     [1790.] 

TO   Mrs.   DUNLOP. 

This  day  Time  winds  th'  exhausted  I  see  the  old,  bald-pated  fellow, 

chain,  With  aMent  eyes,  complexion  sallow 

To    run     the  ttvelvetnonth's    length  Adjust  the  unimpair'd  machine 

again :  To  wheel  the  equal,  dull  routine. 


124 


MONODT  ON  A  LADY. 


The  absent  lover,  minor  heir, 

In  vain  assail  liiin  with  their  prayer. 

Deaf,  as    my   friend,   he    sees  them 
press. 

Nor   makes   the  hour    one    monent 
less. 

Will    you     (the    Major's    with    the 
hounds, 

jThe  happy  tenants  share  his  rounds  ; 

jOoiia's  fair  Haclicl's  care  to-day, 

,/v.nd  blooming  Keith's  engaged  with 
Gray  ) 

From  housewife  cares  a  minute  bor- 
row— 

—That  grandchild's  cap  will  do  to- 
morrow— 

And  join  v.ith  me  a  moralizing, 

This  day's  propitious  to  be  wise  in. 
First,    what    did    ye^torniglit    de- 
liver ? 

''Another  year  has  gone  forever." 

And  what  is  this  day's  strong  sugges- 
tion ? 

"  T)ie  passing  moment's  all  we  rest 
on  1" 

Rest    on— for   what  ?    what    do    we 
here  ? 

Or  why  regard  the  passing  year  ? 


"Will  Time,  amus'd  with  proverb'd  lore^ 
Add  to  our  date  one  minute  more  ? 
A  few  days  may,  a  few  j^ears  must. 
Repose  us  in  the  silent  dust ; 
Then  is  it  wise  to  damp  our  bliss  ? 
Yes — all  such  reasonings  are  amiss  I 
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  worlds  unlvnown 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone  ; 
^Vhether  as  heavenly  glory  bright, 
Or  dark  as  misery's  wof  ul  night. 
Since  then,    my    honor'd,    first  -'f 
friends, 
On  this  poor  being  all  depends  ; 
Let  us  th'  important  Now  employ. 
And  live  as  those  that  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  may  claim  your  chief  regar<* 
Tourself,  yoa  wait  your  bright  re- 
ward. 


IlSrSCRIPTION  FOR  AK  ALTAR 

rO  aiDKPENDENCI!,  AT  KEKROUGIITRT,  SEAT  Or   MR.  HEROK,  WBITTBN  IN  SXntOIEB,  179Bw 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind, 

■\Villi  soul  resolv'd,  wuth  soul  resign'd  ; 

Prepar'd  Power's  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. 


MONODY  ON  A  LADY  FAMED  FOR  HER  CAPRICE. 

How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once  fired. 

How  pale  is  that  cheek  where  the  rouge  lately  glisteo'd  I 

How  silent  that  tongue  which  the  echoes  oft  tir'd. 
How  dull  is  that  car  which  to  flattery  so  iisten'd  1 

K  sorrow  and  anguish  their  exit  await, 
From  friendship  and  dearest  affection  removed ; 

How  doubly  severer,  Maria,  thy  fate. 
Thou  diedst  unwept,  a«  thou  livedst  unlov'd. 


ox  MRS.  RIDDEL*8  SmTHDAT,  126 

Loves,  Graces,  and  Virtues,  I  call  not  on  you  ; 

So  shy,  grave,  and  distant,  ye  shed  not  a  tear  : 
But  come,  all  ye  offspring  of  Folly  so  true. 
And  flowers  let  us  cull  "from  Maria's  cold  bier. 

We'll  search  thro'  the  garden  for  each  silly  fio^wer. 
We'll  roam  through  the  forest  for  each  idle  ^eed  j 

But  chiefly  the  nettle,  so  typical,  shower. 
For  none  e'er  approach'd  her  but  rued  the  rash  deed. 

We'll  sculpture  the  marble,  we'll  measure  the  lay  ; 

Here  Vanity  strums  on  her  idiot  lyre  ; 
There  ke^'n  Indignation  shall  dart  on  her  prey, 

V/hicii  spurning  Contempt  shall  redeem  from  his  ire. 

THE  EPITAPH. 

Here  lies,  now  a  prey  to  insulting  neglect, 

vVhat  once  was  a  butterfly,  gay  in  life's  beam  ; 

Want  only  of  wisdom  denied  her  respect, 
Want  only  of  goodness  denied  her  esteem. 

SONNET,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RIDDEL,  ESQ. 
OF  GLENRIDDEL. 

[April,  1794.] 
No  more  ye  warblers  of  the  wood — no  more  ! 

Nor  pour  your  descant,  grating  on  my  soul ; 

Thou  young-eyed  Spring,  gay  in  thy  verdant  stole. 
More  welcome  were  to  me  p-rim  Winter's  wildest  roar. 

How  can  ye  charm,  ye  flow'rs,  with  all  your  dyes  ? 

Ye  blow  upon  the  sod  that  wraps  my  friend  : 

How  can  I  to  the  tuneful  strain  attend  ? 
That  strain  flows  round  th'  untimely  tomb  where  Riddel  lies. 

Yes,  pour,  ye  warblers,  pour  the  notes  of  woe  I 
And  sooths  the  Virtues  weeping  o'er  his  bier  : 
The  Man  of  Worth,  and  has  not  left  his  peer. 

Is  in  his  ' '  narrow  house  "  for  ever  darkly  low. 

Thee,  Spring,  again  with  joys  shall  others  greet ; 
Me,  raem'ry  of  my  loss  will  only  meet. 

IMPROMPTU,  ON  MRS.  RIDDEL'S  BIRTHDAY,  NOYEM- 

BER  4,  1793. 

Old  Winter  with  his  frosty  beard,  Now,  Jove,  for  once  be  mighty  civil, 

Thus  once  to  Jove    his  prayer  pre-  To  counterbalance  all  this  evil  ; 

ferr'd, —  Give  nie,  and  I've  no  more  to  say, 

"  What  have  I  done  of  all  the  year.  Give  me  Maria's  natal  day  : 

To  boar  this  hated  doom  severe  ?  That    brilliant    gift    will    so    enrich 

My  cheerless  p.uiis  no  pleasure  know  ;  me, 

Niglit's  horrid  car  drags,  dreary  slow;  Spring,    Summer,    Autumn,     cannot 

My  vilsmal  months  no  joys  are  crown-  match  me." 

ing,  *"Tis  done  I "  says  Jove  :  so  ends  my 

But  spjeeny  English,  hanging,  drown-  '         story, 

ifl^.                                      .  And  Winter  once  rejoic'4  iJi  glor/. 


126 


TO  MR.  STME. 


TO  A  YOUNG  LADY,  MISS  JESSY  LEWARS,  DUMFRIES. 

WITH  BOOKS  WniCD  THE  BARD  PRESENTED  HER.      [tuNE  2Gtll,  1796.] 

THT^'E  be  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair,  And  wakeful  caution  still  a\Y;:re 

And  with  tliera  take  the  Poet's  pray 'r —  Of  ill— but  chief,  man's  felon  snare  : 

Tiiat  fate  may  in  iier  fairest  page.  All  blameless  joys  on  earth  we  tind, 

Witii  every  kindliest,  best  pre.sago  And  all  the  treasures  of  I  lie  mind — 

*M  future  bliss,  enrol  thy  name  ;  These  be  thy  guardian  and  reward  \ 

W  Uh  native  worth,  and  spotless  fame.  So  prays  thy  faithful  friend,  the  Bard 


VERSES 


WRI-CTEN   UNDER  VIOLENT   GRIEF. 


Accept  the  gift  a  friend  sincere 
'.Vatl  on  thy  worth  be  pressin'; 
1-ieniembrance  oft  may  start  a  tear, 
L  :t  oh  !  that  tenderness  forbear, 
Tiiough  'twad  my  sorrows  lessen. 

}\y  morning  raise  sae  clear  and  fair, 

i  thought  sair  storms  wad  never 
Bedew  iho  scene  ;  but  grief  and  care 
In  wildest  fury  hae  made  bare 
iVly  peace,  my  hope,  for  ever ) 


You  think  I'm  glad  ;  oh,  I  pay  weel 

For  a'  the  joy  1  borrow, 
In  solitude — then,  then  i  feel 
I  canna  to  mysel'  conceal 

My  deeply-ranklin'  sorrow. 

Farewell !  within  thy  bosom  free 

A  sigh  may  whiles  awaken  ; 
A  tear  may  Avet  thy  laughin'  ee. 
For  Scotia's  son — ance  gay  like  thee— 
Now    hopeless,     comfortless,    for 
saken  1 


EXTEMPORE  TO  MR.  SYME, 

ON  REFUSING  TO  DINE  WITH  HIM, 
4SrrEB    HAYINO    BEEN    PROMISED    THE   FIRST    OF    COMPANY,    AND    THE    FIRST    OP    COOEEBTc 

17  i.h  December _  1795. 
No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  tilled  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. 


JmiMtkm,  Tavern, 


TO  MR.  SYME, 

WITH  A  PRESENT  OP  A  DOZEN  OP  PORTES, 

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  Syme  were  fit. 

Dumfries. 


TO  MB.  MITCHELL,  125 


SONNET, 

ON  HBABmO  A  THRUSH  BING  IN  A  MORNING  WALK  IN  JANUARY,  WRITTEN  25tll  JANUAET,  1708 
THE   BIRTH-DAY  OF   THE  AUTHOR. 

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  blythe  carol  clears  his  furrow'd  brow. 

So  in  lone  Poverty's  dominion  drear 
Sits  meek  Content  with  light  unanxious  heart, 
Welcomes  the  rapid  moments,  bids  them  part, 

i^^or  asks  if  they  bring  aught  to  hope  or  fear. 

I  tliank  thee,  Author  of  this  opening  day  ! 

Tiiou  whose  bright  sun  now  gilds  the  orient  skies  I 

Riches  denied,  tli}^  boon  was  purer  joys. 
What  wealth  could  never  give  nor  take  aw  ay  1 

Yet  come,  thou  child  of  poverty  and  care  ; 

The  mite  high  Heaven  bestow'd,  that  mite  with  thee  I'll  share 


f  OEM,  ADDRESSED  TO   MR.  MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR  OF  EXCISE,   DUMFRIES.      [DECEMBER,   1795.] 

Frienl.  or'  the  poet,  tried  and  leal, 

Wha,  wa.'itmg  thee,  might  beg  or  steal ; 

^lake,  alake,  the  meikle  Deil  „«„„,„^    „ 

VYi- a;  his  witches  postscript. 

kxe  at  it,  skelpin  !  iig  and  reel,  ^r  >      i,      ^  ^.i  •       i  -i    i        t>      i. 

Li  Jy^poor  pouches.  ^e  ve  heaixi  this  while  how  I've  been 

I  modestly  f u'  fain  wad  hint  it.  And  by  fell  death  was  nearly  nicket : 

That  one  pound  one,  I  sairly  want  it :  Grim  loon  !  he  gat  me  by  the  feckei, 

If  wi'  the  hizzia  down  ye  sent  it,  And  sair  me  sheuk  ; 

It  would  be  kind  ;  But  by  guid  luck  I  lap  a  wicket, 

And  while  my  heart    wi'  life-blood  And  turn'd  a  neuk. 
dunted, 

I'd  bear't  in  inind.  But  by  that  health,  I've  got  a  share  o't 

3  au] 
ing 


G^  rY>oTT+i,r.  o„i.i  ^^„«  ^« .,* ^.^        Andby  that  life,  I  m  promised  niairot 

bo  may  the  auld  year  gang  out  moan-      -it    i     i       i         ^  yn  ^  i  >..  ■ 

■^'  J         5     6  ^  j^Iy  ileal  and  weal  1 11  take  a  care  o  t 

A  tentier  w;iy  : 
"'  -    -      '< 


To  see  the  new  come  laden,  frroaniny:.      mi       j;  i  i^n     i  •  j       -j  i    •      > 

Wi'  double  plenty  o'er  the  oanin      "        ^hen  fareweel  folly  In^e  and  hair  o' 
To  thee  and  thine  ;  For  ance  and  aye. 


Domestic  peace  and  comforts  crowning 
The  hale  design. 


i28 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 


SENT  TO  A  GENTLEMAN  WHOM  HE  HAD  OFFENDED, 


The  friend  whom  wild  from  wisdom's 
vray 
The  furaes  of  wine  infuriate  send  ; 
^Not  moony  madness  more  astray  ; ) 
Who    biit    deplores    that    hapless 
friend  ? 


Mine  was  th'  insensate  frenzied  pan, 
Ah,  whv  should  I  such  scenes  out 
nve"? 

Scenes  so  abhorrent  to  my  heart ! 
'Tis  thine  to  pity  and  forgive. 


POEM  ON  LIFE, 

ADDRESSED  TO  COLONEL  DE  PEYSTER,  DUMFRIES,  1796. 


My  honor'd  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. 

Oh,  what  a  canty  warld  were  it, 
Would  i")ain,  and  care,  and  sickness 

spare  it  ; 
And  fortune  favour  worth  and  merit, 

As  they  deserve  : 
(And  aye  a  rowth, roast  beef  and  claret; 

Syne  wha  wad  starve  ?) 

Dame  Life,  tho'  fiction  out  may  trick 

her, 
And  in  paste  gems  and  f  ripp'ry  deck 

her  ; 
Oh  !  liick'ring,  feeble,  and  unsicker 

I've  found  her  still, 
Aye  yv'av'ring  like  the  willow  wicker, 
'Tvreen  good  and  ill. 

Then   that    curst    carmagnole,    auld 

Satan, 
*^^atches,  like  baudrons  by  a  rattan, 
)ur  sinfu'  saul  to  get  a  claut  on 

Wi'  felon  ire  ; 
^yne,  whip  !  his  tail  ye'll  ne'er  cast 
saut  on. 

He's  off  like  fire. 


Ah  Nick  !  ah  Nick  !  it  isna  fair, 
First  shewing  us  the  tempting  ware. 
Bright  wine  and  bonnie  lasses  rare. 

To  put  us  daft ; 
Syne  weave,  unseen,  thy  spider  snare 

O'  liell's  damn'd  waft. 

Poor  man,  the  Hie,  aft  bizzies  by, 
As  aft  as  chance  he  comes  thee  nigh, 
Thy  auld   damn'd    elbow  yeuks  wi 

joy. 

And  hellish  pleasure  • 
Already  in  thy  fancy's  eye, 

Tliy  sicker  treasure.  « 

Soon  heels  o'er-gowdie  !  in  he  gangs, 
And  like  a  sheep-head  on  a  tangs. 
Thy  girning  laugh  enjoys  his  pangs 

And  nmrd'ring  wrestle^ 
As,  dangling  in  the  wind,  he  hangs 

A  gibbet's  tassel. 

But  lest  you  think  I  am  uncivil . 

To  plague  you  with  this  diaunting 

drivel. 
Abjuring  a'  intentions  evil, 

I  quat  my  pen  : 
The  Lord  preserve  us  fi-ae  the  Devil  '• 

Amen  !  amen  t 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  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  m}''  heart  returns, 
F'or  boons  recorded,  goodness  ever  new, 
fbe  ^if t  ^iill  dearer,  as  the  givei  yon. 


VERSES  WRITTEN  AT  SELKIRK. 

Thou  orb  of  day  !  thou  other  paler  light  I 
And  all  ye  many  sparkling  stars  of  night ; 
If  aught  that  giver  from  my  mind  efface  ; 
If  I  that  giver's  bounty  e'er  disgrace  ; 
Then  roll  to  me,  along"  your  wand'ring  spheres. 
Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years  I 

EPITAPH  ON  A  FRIEND. 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest, 
As  e'er  God  with  his  image  blest ; 
The  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth  ; 
The  friend  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  : 
Few  hearts  like  him,  with  virtue  warm'd. 
Few  hearts  witli  knowledge  so  inform'd  • 
If  there's  another  world,  he  lives  in  bliss  ; 
If  there  is  none,  he  made  the  best  of  this. 


129 


VERSES  WRITTEN  AT  SELKIRK, 

ADDBESSED  TO  MR.  CREECH,   13tH  MAY,   1787. 


AtJLD  chuckie  Reekie's  sair  distrest, 
Down  droops  her  ance  weel  burnish't 

crest, 
Nae  joy  her  bonnie  buskit  nest 

Can  yield  ava, 
Iler  darling  bird  that  she  lo'es  best, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

Oh,  Willie  was  a  witty  wight, 
And  had  o'  things  an  unco  slight ; 
Auld  Reekie  ay  he  keepit  tight. 

An'  trig  an'  braw  : 
3ut  now  they'll  busk  her  like  a  fright, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

The  stiff  est  o'  them  a'  he  bow'd  ; 
The  bauldest  o'  them  a'  he  cow'd  ; 
They  durst  nae  mair  than  he  allow'd. 

That  was  a  law  : 
We've  lost  a  birkie  weel  worth  gowd, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

Now  gawkies,  tawpies,  gowks,   and 

fools, 
Frae  colleges  and  boarding-schools, 
May  sprout  like    simmer    puddock- 
stools 

In  glen  or  shaw  ; 
H§  wha  cciild  brush  them  down  to 
mools, 

Willie's  awa  \ 


The  brethren  o'  the  Commerce-Chau- 

mer 
May  mourn  their  loss  wi'  doof  u'  clam' 

our ; 
He  was  a  dictionar  and  grammar 

Amang  them  a'  ; 
I  fear  they'll  now  mak  mony  a  stam- 
mer, 

Willie's  awa  I 

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  ! 

Now  worthy  Gregory's  Latin  face, 
Tytler's  and  Greentield's  modest  grace; 
Mackenzie,  Stewart,  sic  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  hke  some  bewilder'd  chicken 
Scar'd  frae  its  minnie  and  the  cleckia 

By  hoodie-craw  ; 
(xrief's  ^ien  his  heart  an  unco' kickin*, 

WiUie's  awg,. 


130  A  YEBSE. 

Now  ev'ry  sour-mou'd  grinnin'  blel-  May  I  be  Slander's  common  speech  i 

lum,  A  text  for  infamy  to  preach  ; 

And  Calvin's  folk,  are  fit  to  fell  him  ;  And  lastly,  streekit  out  to  bleach 
And  self-conceited  critic  skellum  la  winter  snaw  ; 

His  quill  may  draw  ;  When  I  forget  thee,  Willie  Creech, 
He  wha  could    brawlie    ward  their  Tho'  far  awa  ! 

bellum,  ]y[ay    never   wicked    Fortune    touzlc 
Willie  s  awa  !  -'     ^aia  \ 

Up  wimpling  stately  Tweed  I've  sped,  May  never  wicked    men   bamboozle 

And  Eden  scenes  on  crystal  Jed,  "       him  ! 

And  Ettrick  banks  now  roaring  red,  Until  a  pow  as  auld's  Mcthusalem 

While  tempest  blaw  ;  He  canty  claw  ! 

But  every  joy  and  pleasure's  fled.  Then  to  the  blessed.  New  Jerusalem 

Willie's  awa  I  Fleet  wing  awa  1 


INSCRIPTION  ON   THE   TOMBSTONE 

ERECTED  BY  BURNS  TO  THE  MEMORY  OP  FERGUSSON. 

"  Here  lies  Robert  Fergusson,  Poet, 
Born  September  5th,  1751— 
Died  16th  October,  1774," 

Kg  sculptur'd  marble  here,  nor  pompous  lay, 
"  No  storied  urn  nor  animated  bust"  ; 

This  simple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia's  way 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  her  Poet's  dust. 

She  mourns,  sweet  tuneful  youth,  thy  hapless  fate, 
Tho' all  the  powers  of  song  thy  fancy  fir'd, 

Yet  Luxury  and  Wealth  lay  by  in  State, 
And  thankless  starv'd  what  they  so  much  admir'd. 

This  humble  tribute  with  a  tear  he  gives, 
xV  brother  Bard,  he  can  no  more  bestow  : 

But  dear  to  fame  thy  Song  immortal  lives, 
A  nobler  monument  than  Art  can  show. 


A  GRACE   BEFORE   DINNER. 

O  THOU,  who  kindly  dost  provide  And,  if  it  please  thee.  Heavenly  Guide, 

For  every  creature's  want  I  May  never  worse  be  sent ; 

We  bless  thee,  God  of  Nature  wide.  But  whether  granted,  or  denied, 

For  all  thy  goodness  lent  •  Lord,  bless  us  with  content  ! 


Amen  I 


A   YERSE 


COMPOSED  AND  REPEATED    BT  BTTRNS,    TO    THE    MASTER    OP    THE    HOUSE,    OK   TAKINO   1,EAV? 
AT    A    PLAOE    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, 

Tiian  just  a  Highland  welcome 


FRAGMENT  OF  AN  ODB,  131 


LIBERTY.  J 

A   FRA  GMENT. 

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  !  "  j 

Beneath  the  hallow'd  turf  where  Wallace  lies.  j 

Hear  it  not,  Wallace,  in  thy  bed  of  death  I  : 

Ye  babbling  winds,  in  silence  sweep  ; 

Disturb  not" ye  the  hero's  sleep,  j 

Nor  give  the  coward  secret  breath.  i 

Is  this  the  power  in  Freedom's  war,  < 

That  wont  to  bid  the  battle  rage  ?  | 

Behold  that  eye  which  shot  immortal  liate,  I 

Crushing  the  despot's  proudes*.  bearing,  : 

That  arm  which,  nerved  with   Plundering  fate,  ! 

Brav'd  usurpation's  bolder:, '^  daring  ! 
One  quench'd  in  darkness  .ike  the  sinking  &tar. 
And  one  the  palsied  .rm  of  tottering,  powerless  age. 


fpagment  of  an  ode 

TO   THE   MEMORY    OF    PRINCF    CHARLES    EDWARD   STUART. 

F.aLSE  flatterer,  Hrpe  away  ! 
Nj^  think  to  lure  ui  as  in  days  of  yore  ;  .; 

We  solemnize  thi?  sorrowing  natal-day  | 

fo  prove  our  loyal  truth  ;  we  can  no  morfi ;  1 

And  owning  Heaven's  mysterious  sway,  j 

Submissive  low  adore. 

Ye  honour'd  mighty  dead  !  i 

Who  nobly  perish'd  in  the  gloriouf^  cause,  j 

Yonr  king,  your  country,  and  )\'dv  laws  !     ^  j 

Yyow  great  Dundee  vvdio  sn-Llng  victory  led,  ; 

And  fell  a  martyr  in  her  a^^ns  j 

(What  breast  of'^nortl.ern  ice  but  warms  ?) 

To  bold  Balmerino's  undying  name. 
Whose  soul  of  fipo.  lighted  at  heaven's  high  flame, 
Deserves  the  proudest  wreath  departed  heroes  claim. 

Nor  unavenged  your  fate  shall  be,  ; 

It  only  lags  the  fatal  hour  ;  j 

Your  blood  shall  with  incessant  cry  ■ 

Awake  at  last  th'  unsparing  power  ;  i 

As  from  the  cliff,  with  thundering  course,  | 

The  snowy  ruin  smokes  along,  ■ 
With  doubling  speed  and  gathering  force, 

Till  deep  it  crashing  whelms  the  cottage  in  the  vale  !  ' 
Sove<ageftnce        .        ,        ,        «        . 


132 


VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  POET. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RUISSEAUX. 


Now  Kobia  lies  in  his  last  lair, 
He'll  gabble  rhyme,  nor  sing  nae  mair, 
Cauld  poverty,  wi'  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  hush't 

'em, 


Tho'  e'er  sae  short. 
Then  wi'  a  rhyme  or  sang  he  lasht  'em, 
And  thouglit  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 
Clark, 

Yc  roos'd  him  than  1 


ANSWER  TO  VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  POET 


BY  TUB  GUIDWIFB  OF  WAUCUOPE  HOUSE. 


£1787.1 


GUIDWIFE, 

I  MIND  it  weel,  in  early  date, 
When  I  was  beardless,   young,  and 
blate. 
An'  first  could  thresh  the  barn, 
Or  baud  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh, 
An'  tho'  forfoughten  sair  eueugh, 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn  : 
"When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  I  reckon 'd  was, 
And  wi'  the  lave  ilk  merry  morn 
Could  rank  m}'  rig  and  lass, 
Still  shearing,  ;uid  clearing 

The  tither  stooked  raw, 

Wi'  claivers,  an'  haivers. 

Wearing  the  day  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. 
Some  usefu'  plan,  or  beuk  could  make. 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 
The  rough  bur-thistle,  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  bearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  the  weeder-clips  aside. 
An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear : 
No  nation,  no  station, 

My  envy  e'er  could  raise  ; 
A  Scot  still,  but  blot  still, 
^  I  knew  nae  higher  praise, 


But  still  the  elements  o'  sang 

In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang, 

Wild  floated  in  my  brain  ; 
Till  on  that  har'st  I  said  before. 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core, 

She  rous'd  the  forming  strain  ; 
I  see  her  yet,  the  sousie  quean. 

That  lighted  up  my  jingle. 
Her  witching  smile,  her  pauky  een, 
That  gart  my  heart-strings  tingle  ; 
I  fired,  inspired. 

At  ev'ry  kindling  keek. 
But  bashing,  and  dashing, 
I  feared  aye  to  speak. 

Health  to  the  sex,  ilk  guid  chiel  says, 
Wi'  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  miudfu'  o'  your  mither  : 
She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye're  connected  with  her. 
Ye're  wae  men,  ye're  nae  men, 
That  slight  the  lovely  dears  ; 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye. 
Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 


THE  TWA  HERBS. 


138 


For  you,  no  bred  to  barn  or  byre, 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre, 

Thanks  to  yon  for  your  line  : 
The  marled  plaid  ye  kindly  spare, 
By  nie  should  gratefully  be  ware  ; 

'Twad  please  me  to  the  nine, 
['d  be  more  vauntie  o'  my  hap, 

Douce  hingin'  owre  my  curple. 


Than  ony  ermine  ever  lap, 
Or  proud  imperial  purple. 
Farewell  then,  lang  heal  then. 

An'  plenty  be  your  fa' : 
May  losses  and  crosses 
Ne'er  at  your  hallan  ca'. 
yrarch,  1787. 


TO  J.  LAPRAIK. 

SEPT.  13th,  1785. 


'JrUiD  speed  an'  f urder  to  you,  Johny, 
«ruid  health,  hale  ban's,  and  weather 

bonie 
Now  when  ye're  nickan  down  f  u'  cany 

The  staff  o'  bread. 
Hay  ye  neer  want  a  stoup  o'  bran'y 
To  clear  your  head. 

May  Boreaii  never  thresh  your  rigs. 
Nor  kick  y  uir  rickles  aff  tlieir  legs, 
Sendiu'  th^.  ^tuff  o'er  muirs  and  hags 

Like  drivin'  wrack  ; 
But  may  tbe  tapmast  grain  that  wags 

Come  to  the  sack. 

I'm  bizzie  too,  an'  skelpin'  at  it, 

But  bitter,  daudin  showers  hae  wat  itp 

Sae  my  auld  stumpie  pen  I  gat  it 

Wi'  muckle  wark. 
An'  took  my  jocteleg  an'  whatt  it. 

Like  ouie  clerk. 

It's  now  twa  month   that  I'm  your 

debtor. 
For  your  braw,  nameless,  dateless  let- 
ter, 
Abusin'  me  for  harsh  ill-nature 

On  holy  men. 
While  Deil  a  hair  yoursel'  ye're  better. 
But  mair  profane. 

But  let  the  ki»-k-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'  whisky  stills. 
They  are  the  Muses. 

Your  friendship,  Sir,  I  winna  quat  it. 
An'  if  ye  make  objections  at  it. 
Then  han'  in    nieve  some  day  we'll 
knot  it. 

An'  witness  take. 
An'  when  wi  Usquebae  we've  wat  it 

It  winna  break. 

But  if  the  beast  and  branks  be  spar'd 
Till  kye  be  gaun  without  the  herd. 
An'  a'  the  vittel  in  the  yard. 

An'  theek'it  right, 
I  mean  your  ingle-side  to  guard 

Ae  winter  night. 

Then  muse-inspirin'  aqua-vitae 

Shall  make  us  baith  sae  blithe  an'  witty 

Till  ye  forget  ye're  auld  an'  gatty. 

An'  be  as  canty 
As  ye  were  nine  years  less  than  thretty, 

Sweet  ane  an'  twenty  1 

But  stooks  are  cowpet  wi'  the  blast. 
An'  now  the  sinn  keeks  in  the  west, 
Then  I  maun  rin  amang  the  rest 

An'  quit  my  chanter  j 
Sae  I  subscribe  mysel  in  haste. 

Yours,  Rab  the  Ranter 


THE  TWA  HERDS.     [April,  1785.] 

Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhor, 

But  Fool  with  Fool  is  barbarous  civil  war.— Pope. 


O  A  ye  pious  godly  flocks, 
Weel  feed  on  pastures  orthodox, 
Wha  now  will  keep  you  frae  the  fox, 

Or  worrying  tykes  ? 
Or  wha  will  tent  the  waifs  and  crocks, 

About  the  dykes  ? 


The  twa  best  herds  in  a'  the  wast. 
That  e'er  gae  gospel  horn  a  blast. 
These  five  and  twenty  summers  paati 

O  dool  to  tell  ! 
Plae  had  a  bitter  black  out-cast, 

Atween  themsel. 


134 


THE  TWA  B^nDS. 


O,  Moodie,  man,  and  wordy  Russel, 
How  could  you  raise  so  vile  a  bustle, 
Ye'll  see  how   new-light   herds  will 
whistle, 

And  think  it  fine  ! 
The  Lord's  cause  ne'er  gat  sic  a  twistle 

Sin'  I  hae  min'. 

O,  Sirs,  whae'er  wad  hae  expeckit. 
Your  duty  ye  wad  sae  uegleckit, 
Ye  wha  were  ne'er  by  lairds  respeckit, 

To  wear  the  plaid, 
But  by  the  brutes  themselves  eleckit 

To  be  their  guide. 

What  flock  wi'  Moodie's  flock  could 

rank, 
Sae  hale  and  hearty  every  shank, 
Nae  poison'd  soor  Arminians  tank 

He  let  them  taste, 
Frae  Calvin's    well,   aye  clear,   they 

^^^°^=   O' sic  a  feast! 

The  thummart  wil'-cat,  brock  and  tod, 
Weel  kend  his  voice  thro'  a'  the  wood, 
He  smell'd  their  ilka  hole  and  road, 

Baith  out  and  in, 
And  weel  he  lik'd  to  shed  their  bluid. 

And  sell  their  skin. 

What  herd  like  Russel  tell'd  his  tale, 
llis  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  gos])el  club, 

And    new-light    herds    could    nicely 

^^^'^^'      Or  pay  their  skin. 
Could  shake  them  owre  the  burning 

^^^^'        Or  heave  them  in. 

Sic  twa— O  !  do  I  live  to  see't, 
Sic  famous  twa  should  disagreet, 
An'  names,   like   "villain,"    "hypo- 
crite,"    iikithergi-en. 
While  new-light  herds  wi'   laughin' 
^P^*^'      Say,  "  neither's  liein  ! " 

A'  ye  wha'  tent  the  gospel  fauld, 
I'here's  Duncan    deep,   and    Peebles 
shaul. 


But  chiefly  thou,  apostle  Auld, 
AVe  trust  in  thee, 
That  thou  wilt  work  them,  hot  and 
cauid,     ^.jj  ^^^^^  .jg^pg^ 

Consider,  Sirs,  how  we're  beset, 
There's  scarce  a  new  herd  that  we  get, 
But  comes  frae  'mang  that  cursed  set 

I  wiuua  name, 
I  hope  frae  heaven  to  see  them  yet 

In  fiery  flame. 

Dalrymple  has  been  lang  our  fae, 
M'Gill  has  wrought  us  meikle  wae, 
And  that  curs'd  rascal  ca"d  ^PQuhae, 

And  bailh  the  Shaws, 
That  aft  hae  made  us  black  and  blae, 

Wi'  vengef  u'  paws. 

Auld  Wodrow  lang  has  hatch'd  miS' 

chief, 
We  thought  ave  death  wad  bring  re- 
lief. 
But  he  has  gotten,  to  our  grief, 

Ane  to  succeed  him, 
A  chiel  wha'll  soundly  buff  our  beef  i 
I  meikle  dread  him. 

And  monie  a  ane  that  I  could  tell, 
Wha  fain  would  openly  rebel, 
Forby  turn-coats  amang  oursel, 

There's  Smith  foi  ane, 
I  doubt  he's  but  a  gray  nick  quill. 

And  that  ye'll  tin'. 

O  !  a'  ye  flocks,  owre  a'  the  hills, 
By  mosses,  meadows,  moors,  and  fells. 
Come  join  your  counsels  and  your 

skills,      ^^  ^^^g  ^j^g  \ii\vdi^. 
And  get  the  brutes  the  power  themsels 
To  choose  their  herds. 

Then  Orthodoxy  yet  may  prance, 
And  Learning  in  a  wordy  dance. 
And  that  fell  cur  ca'd  Common  Sense, 

That  bites  sae  sair. 
Be  banish'd  owre  the  seas  to  France  ; 

Let  him  bark  there. 

Then    Shaw's    and    D'rymple's    elo- 
quence, 
M'Gill's  close  nervous  excellence, 
M'Quhae's  pathetic  manly  sense. 

And  guid  M'Maith, 
Wi'  Smith,  wha  thro'  the  heart  can 
glance.   May  a' pack  aff . 


TO  THE  BEV.  JOHN  IP  MATH. 


130 


TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  M'MATH, 


BlffCLOSING  A  COPY  OF  HOLY  WILLIE'S 

While  at  the  stook  tlie  shearers  cowr 
To  shun  the  bitter  blaimdin'  show'r, 
Or  in  gulravage  rinuiu  scour 

To  pass  the  time, 
To  you  I  dedicate  the  hour 

In  idle  rhyme. 

My  Musie,  tir'd  wi'  monie  a  sonnet 
On  gown,  an'  ban,  an'  douse  black 

bonnet, 
Is  grown  right  eerie  now's  she's  done  it, 

.  Lest  they  shou'd  blame  her, 
A.n'  rouse  their  holy  thunder  on  it. 
And  anathem  her. 

I  own  'twas  rash,  and  rather  hardy, 
That  I,  a  simple  countra  bardie, 
Shou'd  meddle  wi'  a  pack  so  sturdy, 

Wha,  if  they  ken  me. 
Can  easy,  wi'  a  single  wordie, 

Lowse  hell  upon  me. 

But  I  gae  mad  at  their  grimaces. 
Their    sighin',     cantin',   grace-proud 

faces. 
Their  three-mile  prayers,   and  hauf 
mile  graces. 

Their  raxin'  conscience, 
Whase  greed,  revenge,  an'  pride  dis- 
graces 
Waur  nor  their  nonsense. 

There's   Gaun,   misca't  waur  than  a 

beast, 
Wha  has  mair  honour  in  his  breast 
Than  monie  scores  as  guid's  the  priest 

Wha  sae  abus'd  him  ; 
An'  may  a  bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they've  us'd  him  ? 

See  him,  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need. 
The  gentleman  in  w^ord  an'  deed, 
An'  shall  his  fame  an'  honour  bleed 

By  worthless  skellums, 
An'  no  a  Muse  erect  her  head 

To  cowe  the  blellums  ? 

O  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire's  darts 
To  give  the  rascals  their  deserts, 
I'd  rip  their  rotton.  hollow  hearts, 

And  tell  aloud 
Their  juggling'  hocus-pocus  arts 

To  cheat  the  crowd. 


PRAYER,  WHICH  HE  HAD  REQUi;gTED. 

Sept.  nth,  IT85. 
God  knows,  I'm  no  the  thing  I  shou'd 

be, 
Nor  am  I  even  the  thing  I  could  be, 
But,  twenty  times,  I  rather  would  be 

An  atheist  clean. 

Than  under  gospel  colours  hid  be, 

Just  for  a  screen. 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass. 
An  honest  man  may  like  a  lass, 
But  mean  revenge,  an'  malice  fause, 

He'H  still  disdain. 
An'  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel  laws, 

Like  some  we  ken. 

They  tak  religion  in  their  mouth  ; 
They  talk  o'  mercy,  grace,  an'  truth. 
For  what  ?  to  gie  their  malice  skoutli 

On  some  puir  wight, 
An'  hunt  him  down,   Q'er  right   an* 
ruth. 

To  ruin  straight. 

All  hail,.  Eeligion  !  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'  blotcht  an'  foul  wi'  monie  a  stain. 

An  far  unworthy  of  thy  train, 

Wi'  trembling  voice  I  tune  my  strain 

To  join  W'i'  those. 
Who  boldly  daur  thy  cause  maintain 

In  spite  o'  foes  : 

In  spite  o'  crowds,  in  spite  o'  mobs. 
In  spite  of  undermining  jobs. 
In  spite  o'  dark  banditti  stabs 

At  w^orth  an'  merit. 
By  scoundrels,  even  wi'  holy  robes, 

But  hellish  spirit. 

O  Ayr  !  my  dear,  my  native  ground  I 
Within  thy  presbyterial  bound, 
A  caudid  lib'ral  band  is  found 

Of  public  teachers, 
As  men,  as  Christians  too,  renown'd. 

An'  manly  preachers. 


136 


HOLY  WTLLIE'8  PBATEn. 


Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  nam'd, 
Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  fam'd  : 
An'  some,  by  whom  your  doctrine's 
blam'd  ; 
(Which  gies  you  honour,) 
Even,    Sir,    by    them     your    heart's 
esteem 'd, 

An'  winninjy  manner. 


Pardon  this  freedom  I  have  ta'en, 
An'  if  impertinent  I've  been, 
Impute  it  not,  good  Sir,  in  ane 

Whase   heart   ne'er  wrang'di 

ye, 

But  to  his  utmost  would  befriend 
Ought  that  belang'd  ye. 


HOLY  WILLIE'S  PRAYER. 


0  Tnou,   wha  .^  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  onie  guid  or  ill 

They've  done  afore  thee  ! 

1  bless  and  praise  thy  matchless  might, 
When  thousands  thou    hast  left    in 

night, 
That  I  am  here  afore  thy  sight. 

For  gifts  an'  grace, 
A  burnin  an'  a  sliinin  light, 

To  a'  this  place. 

What  was  I,  or  my  generation, 
That  I  should  get  sic  exaltation  ? 
I,  wha  deserve  sic  just  damnation. 

For  broken  laws. 
Five  thousand  years  '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. 
Where  damned  devils  roar  and  yell, 

Chain'd  to  a  stake. 

Yet  I  am  here  a  chosen  sample, 

To  show  thy  grace  is  great  and  ample; 

I'm  here  a  pillar  in  thy  temple. 

Strong  as  a  rock, 
A  guide,  a  buckler,  an  example 

To  a'  thy  tlock. 

O  Lord,  thou  kens  what  zeal  I  bear. 
When  drinkers  drink,  and  swearers 

swear. 
And  singin  there  and  dancin  here, 

Wi'  great  an'  sma'  : 
For  I  am  keepit  by  thy  fear, 

Free  frae  them  a'. 


But  yet,  O  Lord  !  confess  I  must. 
At  times  I'm  fash'd  wi'  fleshy  lust. 
An'  sometimes  too,  wi'  warldly  trust, 

Vile  self  gets  in  ; 
But  thou  remembers  we  are  dust, 

Defil'd  in  sin. 

O  Lord  !     yestreen,    thou  kens,   wf 

Meg — 
Thy  pardon  I  sincerely  beg, 
O  !  may  it  ne'er  be  a  livin  plaguty 

To  my  dishonour. 
An'  I'll  ne'er  lift  a  lawless  leg 
Again  upon  her. 

Besides  I  farther  maun  allow, 

Wi'  Lizzie's  lass,  three  times  I  trow^ 

But  Lord,  that  Friday  I  was  fou, 

When  I  came  near  her. 
Or  else  thou  kens  thy  servant  true 

Wad  ne'er  hae  steer'd  her. 

May  be  thou  lets  this  fleshly  thorn 
Beset  thy  servant  e'en  and  morn. 
Lest  he  owre  high  and  proud  should 
turn, 

'Cause  he's  sae  gifted  ; 
If  sae,  thy  hand  maun  e'en  be  borne. 

Until  thou  lift  it. 

Lord,  bless  thy  chosen  in  this  place. 
For  here  thou  hast  a  chosen  race  ; 
But  God  confound  their  stubborn  face. 

And  blast  their  name, 
Wha  bring  thy  elders  to  disgrace, 

An'  public  shame. 

Lord,  mind  Gawn  Hamilton's  deserts, 
He  drinks,   an'  swears,   an'  plays  at 

cartes, 
Yet  has  sae  monie  takin  arts, 

Wi'  grit  an'  sma', 
Frae  God's    ain    priest    the  people'^ 
hearts 

He  steals  aiva'. 


ON  SCARING  SOME  WATER  FOWL. 


137 


An'  whan  we  cliasten'd  him  therefor, 
Thou  kens  how  he  bred  sic  a  splore, 
As  set  the  warld  in  a  roar 

O'  laughin  at  us  ; 
Curse  thou  his  basket  and  his  store, 

Kail  and  potatoes. 

Lord,  hear  my  earnest  cr}^  an'  pray'r, 
Against  that  presbyt'ry  o'  Ayr  ; 
Tliy  strong  right  hand,  Lord,  make  it 
bare, 

Upo'  their  heads  ; 
Lord,  weigh  it  down,  and  dinna  spare. 

For  tlieir  misdeeds. 

O  Lord  my  God,  that   Glib-tongued 

Aiken, 
My  very  heart  and  soul  are  quakin, 


To    think    how    w^e    stood    sweatin, 
shakin, 

An'  p — d  wi'  dread, 
While  he,  wi'  hingin  lips  an'  snakin'. 
Held  up  his  head. 

Lord,  in  the  day  of  vengeance  try  him ; 
Lord,  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,  Lord,  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,  Amen. 


EPITAPH  0:N"  holy  WILLIE. 


Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay 

Taks  up  its  last  abode  ; 
His  saul  has  taen  some  other  way, 

I  fear  the  left-hand  road. 

Stop  !  there  he  is,  as  sure's  a  gun, 
Poor  silly  body,  see  him  ; 

Nae  wonder  he's  as  black's  the  grun. 
Observe  wha's  standing  wi'  him. 

Your  brunstane  devilship,  I  see, 
Has  got  him  there  before  ye  ; 


But  haud  your  nine-tail  cat  a-wee. 
Till  ance  you've  heard  my  story. 

Your  pity  I  will  not  implore. 

For  pity  ye  have  nane  ; 
Justice,  alas^ !  has  gien  him  o'er. 

And  mercy's  day  is  gane. 

But  hear  me,  Sir,  deil  as  ye  are. 
Look  something  to  your  credit ', 

A  coof  like  him  wad  stain  your  name, 
If  it  were  kent  ye  did  it. 


ON   SCARING   SOME  WATER   FOWL 

IN  LOCH  TURIT,   A  WILD  SCENE  AMONG  THE  HILLS  OF  OCHTERTTKE. 


Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake. 
For  me  your  wat'ry  haunt  forsake  ? 
I  Tell  me,  fellow-ereatures,  why 
V\t  my  presence  thus  you  fly  ? 
Why  disturb  your  social  joys, 
Parent,  filial,  kindred  ties  ? — 
Common  friend  to  you  and  me. 
Nature's  gifts  to  all  are  free  : 
Peaceful  keep  your  dimpling  wave, 
Busy  feed,  or  wanton  lave  ; 
Or,  beneath  the  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  pride. 
Tyrant  stern  to  all  beside. 

The  eagle,  from  the  cliffy  brow. 
Marking  you  his  prey  below. 
In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells. 
Strong  Necessity  compels. 
But  Man,  to  whom  alone  is  giv'n 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  Heav'n, 
Gloricb  in  his  heart  humane — 
And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slaia 

In  these  savage,  liquid  plains. 
Only  known  to  wand'ring  swains, 
Where  the  mossy  riv'let  strays. 
Far  froiii  human  haunts  and*  ways  ; 
All  on  Nature  you  depend, 
And  life's  poor  season  peaceful  spend. 


138 


TO  MB,  M'ADAM. 


Or,  if  man's  superior  might 
Dare  invade  your  native  riglit, 
On  tlie  lofty  etlier  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. 


TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ.,  MAUCHLINE, 

KECOMMENDING  A  BOY.  MosgavUle,  Mmj  3,  1786. 


I  HOLD  it.  Sir,  my  bounden  duty, 
To  warn  you  how  that  Master  Tootie, 

Alias  Laird  M'Gaun, 
Was  here  to  lure  the  lad  away 
'Bout  whom  ye  spak  the  tither  day. 

An'  wad  hae  don't  aff  han' : 
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  enough, 
An'   'bout    a    house  that's  rude  an' 
rough. 

The  boy  might  learn  to  swear ; 
But  then  wi'  you,  he'll  be  sae  taught, 
An'  get  sic  fair  example  straught, 

I  hae  na  onie  fear. 
Ye'U  catechize  him  every  quirk. 


An'  shore  him  weel  wi'  hell ; 

An'  gar  him  follow  to  the  kirk 

— Ay  when  ye  gang  yoursel. 
If  ye  then,  maun  be  then 

Frae  hame  this  comin'  Friday, 
Then  please,  Sir,  to  lea'e,  Sir, 

The  orders  Mi'  your  lady. 

My  word  of  honour  I  ha'e  gi'en, 
In  Paisley  John's,  that  night  at  e'en. 
To  meet  the  Warld's  worm  j 
To  try  to  get  the  twa  to  gree, 
An'  name  the  airles  an'  the  fee, 

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  jon, 

Ye  ken  your  Laureat  scorns  : 
The  pray'r  still,  you  share  still. 
Of  grateful  Minstrel. 

Burns. 


EPISTLE  TO  MR.  M^ADAM, 


or    CRAIGEN-GILLAN,  IN  ANSWER    TO  AN  OBLIGING    LETTER    HE    SENT    IN   THE   COMMENCEMENT 

OF     MT     rOETIC    CAREER. 


Sir,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card, 

I  trow  it  made  me  proud  ; 
*■'  See  wlia  taks  notice  o'  the  Bard  !  " 

I  lap  and  cry'd  fu'  loud. 

"  Now  deil-ma-care  about  their  jaw. 
The  senseless,  gawky  million  ; 

I'll  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'  weel, 
Is  aye  a  blest  infection. 

Tho',  by  his  banes  wha  in  a  tub 
Match'd  Macedonia^  Sandy  I 


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  ; 
A  lee  dyke-side,  a  sybow-tail. 

And  barley-scone  shall  cheer  me. 

Heaven  spare  3^bu  lang  to  kiss  the 
breath 

O'  monie  flow'ry  simmers  ! 
And  bless  your  bonie  lasses  baith, 

I'm  tald  they're  loosome  kimmers  ! 

And  God  bless  young  Dunaskin's  laird, 
The  blossom  of  our  gentry  ! 

And  may  he  wear  an  auld  man's  beard, 
A  credit  to  his  country. 


to  tbebaVohtt. 


139 


TO  CAPTAm  RIDDEL,  GLENRIDDEL. 

EXTEMPOI'vE   LINES   ON     RETUKNING    A    NEY/SPAPER. 

J^ilidand,  Monday  Evening. 
Your  News  and  Keview,  Sir,  I've  read  through  aud  through,  Sir, 

With  little  admiring  or  blaming  ; 
The  papers  are  barren  of  home-news  or  foreign, 

No  murders  or  rapes  worth  the  naming. 

Our  friends  the  lleviewers,  those  chippers  and  hewers. 

Are  judges  of  mortar  aud  stone,  Sir  ; 
But  of  meet,  or  unmeet,  in  a  fabrick  complete, 

I'll  boldly  pronounce  they  are  uone,  Sir. 

My  goose-quill  too  rude  is  to  tell  all  your  goodness 

Bestow'd  on  your  servant,  the  Poet  ; 
Would  to  God  I  had  one  like  a  beam  of  the  sun. 

And  then  all  the  world,  Sir,  should  know  it ! 


VERSES 


INTENDED  TO  BE  WRITTEN    BELOW  A    NOBLE    EARL  S    PICTURE, 


Whose  is  that  noble,  dauntless  brow  ? 

And  whose  that  eye  of  fire  ? 
And  whose  that    generous   princely 
mien 

Even  rooted  foes  admire  ? 

Stranger,  to  justly  shew  that  brow. 

And  mark  that  eye  of  fire, 
Would  take  His  hand,  whose  vernal 
tints 

His  other  works  admire. 


Bright  as  a  cloudless  summer  sun. 
With  stately  port  he  moves  ; 

His  guardian  seraph  eyes  with  awe 
The  noble  ward  he  loves. 


Among  the  illustrious  Scottish  sons 
That  chief  thou  may'st  discern ; 

Mark  Scotia's  fond  returning  ej^e. 
It  dwells  upon  Glencairn. 


TO  TERRAUGHTY, 

Health    to    the    Maxwells'    vet'ran 

Chief  ! 
Health,  aye  unsour'd  by  care  or  grief  ; 
Inspir'd,  I  turn'd  Fate's  sibyl  leaf 

This  natal  morn, 
I  see  thy  life  is  stuff  o'  prief , 

Scarce  quite  half  worn. 

This  day  thou  metes  threescore  eleven. 
And  I  can  tell  that  bounteous  Heaven 
(The  second-sight,  ye  ken,  is  given 

To  ilka  Poet) 
On  thee  a  tack  o'  seven  times  seven 

Will  yet  bestow  it. 

If  envious  buckles  view  wi'  sorrow 
Thy  lengthen'd  days    on    this    blest 

morrow, 
May  desolation's  lang-teeth'd  harrow, 
Nine  miles  an  hour. 


ON  HIS  BIRTHDAY. 

Rake    them,   like     Sodom   and    Go- 
morrah, 

In  brunstane  stoure — 

But  for  thy   friends,    and    they  are 

monie, 
Baith  honest  men  and  lassies  bonie. 
May  couthie  fortune,  kind  and  cannie, 

In  social  gk^e, 
Wi'    mornings     biithe    and   e'enings 
funny 

Bless  them  and  thee  ! 

Fareweel,  auld  birkie!  Lord  be  near  ye. 
And  then  the  Deil  he  daurna  steer  ye  : 
Your  friends  aye  love,  your  faes  aye 
f,c'ar  ye  ; 

For  me,  shame  fa'  me. 
If  neist  my  heart  I  dinna  wear  ye 

While  Burns  thej  ca'  me. 


14C  TEE  VOWELS. 

TO  A  LADY, 

WITH  A  PRESENT    OP    A  PAIR  OP  DRINKING    GLASSES. 

Pair  Empress  of  tlie  Poet's  sou\,  And  pledge  me  in  the  generous  toast-* 

And  Queen  of  Poetesses  ;  "  The  whole  of  human  kind  ! " 

Clarinda,  take  this  little  boon, 

This  humble  pair  of  glasses.  t,m   ,^  ,     ,  ,„  ,  ^„ 

®  "To  those  who  love  us  !   — second  ^\\ 

And  fill    them    liigh   with   generous  But  not  to  those  whom  we  love  ; 

jwice,  Lest  we  love  those  who  love  not  us  I 

As  generous  as  your  mind  ;  A  third— "  to  thee  and  me,  Love  I** 


THE  VOWELS. 

►    A   TALE. 

fwAS  where  the  birch  and  sounding  thong  are  ply'd. 
The  noisy  domicile  of  pedant  pride  ; 
Where  ignorance  her  darkening  vapour  throws, 
\.nd  cruelty  directs  the  thickening  blows  ; 
iJpon  a  time  Sir  Abece  the  great, 
In  all  his  pedagogic  powers  elate. 
His  awful  chair  of  state  resolves  to  mount. 
And  call  the  trembling  Vowels  to  account. 

First  enter'd  A,  a  grave,  broad,  solemn  wight. 
But  ah  !  deform 'd,  dishonest  to  the  sight  ! 
His  twisted  head  look'd  backward  on  his  way, 
And  flagrant  from  tlie  scourge,  ho  grunted,  ai! 

Reluctant,  E  stalk'd  in  ;  with  piteous  race. 
The  jostling  tears  ran  down  his  honest  face  ! 
That  name,  that  well-worn  name,  and  all  his  own, 
Pale  he  surrenders  at  the  tyrant's  throne  ! 
The  pedant  stitles  keen  the  Koman  sound 
Not  all  his  mongrel  diphthongs  can  compound  ; 
And  next,  the  title  following  close  behind. 
He  to  the  nameless,  ghastly  wretch  assigned. 

The  cobweb'd  gothic  dome  resounded,  Y  I 
In  sullen  vengeance,  I,  disdain'd  reply  : 
The  pedant  swung  liis  felon  cudgel  round. 
And  knock'd  the  groaning  vowel  to  the  ground  ! 

In  rueful  apprehension  enter'd  O, 
The  wailing  minstrel  of  despairing  woe  ; 
Th'  Inquisitor  of  Spain  the  most  expert. 
Might  there  have  learnt  new  mysteries  of  his  art* 
So  grim,  deform'd,  with  horrors  entering  U, 
His  dearest  friend  and  brother  scarcely  knew  1 

As  trembling  U  stood  staring  all  aghast. 
The  pedant  in  his  Ijit  hand  clutch'd  him  fast, 
In  helpless  infants'  tears  he  dipp'd  his  right, 
Baptizd  him  eu,  and  kick'd  him  from  his  sight. 


PROLOGUE,  141 


SKETCH. 


A  LITTLE,  upriglit,  pert,  tart,  tripping  wight. 
And  still  his  precious  self  his  dear  delight ; 
Yv^ho  loves  his  own  smart  shadow  in  the  streets 
Better  than  e'er  the  fairest  she  he  meets  : 
A  man  of  fashion  too,  he  made  liis  tour, 
Learn'd  vive  la  bagatelle,  et  vive  I'amour  ; 
So  travell'd  monkeys  their  grimace  improve, 
Polish  their  grin,  nay,  sigh  for  ladies'  love. 
Much  precious  lore,  but  little  understood ; 
Veneering  oft  outshines  the  solid  wood  : 
His  solid  sense — by  inches  you  must  tell, 
But  mete  his  cunning  by  the  old  Scots  ell ; 
His  meddhng  vanity,  a  busy  fiend, 
Still  making  work  his  selfish  craft  must  mend. 


PROLOGUE. 

FOB  MR.  Sutherland's  benefit-night,  Dumfries.    [1790.) 

"What  needs  this  din  about  the  town  o'  Lon'on, 
How  this  new  play  an'  that  new  sang  is  comin'  ? 
Why  is  outlandish  stuff  sae  meikle  courted  ? 
Does  nonsense  mend  like  whisky,  when  imported  ?  J 
Is  there  nae  poet,  burning  keen  for  fame. 
Will  try  to  gie  us  sangs  and  plays  at  hame  ? 
For  comedy  abroad  he  need  na  toil, 
A  fool  and  knave  are  plants  of  every  soil ; 
Kor  need  he  hunt  as  far  as  Rome  and  Greece 
To  gather  matter  for  a  serious  piece  ; 
There's  themes  enow  in  Caledonian  story, 
Would  show  the  tragic  muse  in  a'  her  glory. 
Is  there  no  daring  Bard  will  rise,  and  tell 
How  glorious  Wallace  stood,  how^  hapless  fell  ? 
Where  are  the  Muses  fled  that  could  produce 
A  drama  worthy  o'  the  name  o'  Bruce  ; 
How  here,  even  here,  he  first  unsheath'd  the  sword 
'Gainst  mighty  England  and  her  guilty  lord  ;  : 

And  after  monie  a  bloody,  deathless  doing,  i 

Wrench'd  his  dear  country  from  the  jaws  of  ruin  ?  i  i 

O  for  a  Shakespeare,  or  an  Otway  scene,    . 
To  draw  the  lovely,  hapless  Scottish  Queen  ! 

Vain  all  th'  omnipotence  of  female  charms  i 

'Gainst  headlong,  ruthless,  mad  Rebellion's  arms. 
She  fell,  but  fell  with  spirit  truly  Roman, 
To  glut  the  vengeance  of  a  rival  woman  ; 

A  woman,  tho'  the  phrase  may  seem  uncivil,  \ 

As  able  and  as  cruel  as  the  devil  ! 
One  Douglas  lives  in  Home's  immortal  page. 
But  Douglases  were  heroes  every  a^e  : 


142  ELEQT  ON  THE  TEAR  1788. 

And  tho'  your  fathers,  prodigal  of  life, 
A  Douglas  follow'd  to  the  martial  strife, 
Perhaps,  if  bowls  row  right,  and  Right  succeeds. 
Ye  yet  may  follow  where  a  Douglas  leads  I 

As  ye  hae  geuerous  done,  if  a'  the  laud 
Would  tak  the  Muses'  servants  by  the  hand  ; 
Not  only  hear,  but  patronize,  befriend  them. 
And  where  ye.  justly  can  commend,  commend  them; 
And  aiblins  when  they  winna  stand  the  test. 
Wink  hard  and  say,  the  folks  hae  done  their  best  1 
AVould  a'  tlie  land  do  this,  then  I'll  be  caution 
Ye'll  soon  hae  poets  o'  the  Scottish  nation. 
Will  gar  Fame  blaw  until  her  trumpet  crack, 
And  warsle  Time  an'  lay  him  on  his  back  ! 

For  us  and  for  our  stage  should  onie  spier, 
**  Whase  aught  thae  chiels  maks  a'  this  bustle  here?* 
My  best  leg  foremost,  I'll  set  up  my  brow, 
We  hae  the  honour  to  belong  to  you  1 
We're  j^our  ain  bairns,  e'en  guide  us  as  ye  like. 
But  like  good  mithcrs,  shore  before  ye  strike — 
And  gratefu'  still  I  hope  j'c'll  ever  find  us. 
For  a'  the  patronage  and  meikle  kindness 
We've  got  frae  a'  professions,  sets  and  ranks  : 
Grod  help  us  I  we're  but  poor— Ye'se  get  but  thanks. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  YEAR  1788. 

SKETCH. 

For  Lords  or  .Kings  I  dinna  mourn.  E'en  monie  a  plack,  and  monie  a  peels 

E'en  let  them  die— ^for  that  they're  born:  Ye  ken  yoursels,  for  little  feck. 
But  oh  !   prodigious  to  reHec'  !  Ye  bonie  lassies,  dight  your  een, 

A  Towmont,  Sirs,  is  gane  to  wreck  1  For  some  o'  you  hae  tint  a  frien' ; 

O  Eighty-eight,  in  thy  sma'  space  In  Eighty-eight,  ye  ken,  was  ta'en 

AVhat  dire  eVents  hae*  taken  place  !  What  ye'll  ne'er  hae  to  gie  again. 
Of  what  enjoyments  thou  hast  reft  us  !       Observe  the  very  nowt  an'  sheep, 

In  what  a  pickle  thou  hast  left  us  !  How  dowf  and  daviely  they  creep  ; 

The  Spanish  empire's  tint  a  head,  Nay,  even  the  ylrth  itsel  does  cry. 

And  my  anld  teethless  Bawtie's dead  !  For  Embrugh  wells  are  grutten  dry. 
The  tuizie's  sair  'tween  Pitt  an'  Fox,  O  Eighty-nine,  thou's  but  a  bairn. 

An'  our  gudewife's  wee  birdy  cocks  ;  An'  no  owre  auld,  I  hope,  to  learn  ! 

The  tane  is  game,  a  bludie  devil.  Thou  beardless  boy,  I  pray  tak  care. 

But  to  the  hen-binls  unco  civil ;  Thou  now  has  got  thy  daddie's  chair, 

The  tither's  something  dour  o'  treadin,  Nae  hand  cutT'd,  mizzl'd,  hap-shackl'd 
But  better  stuff  ne'er  claw'd  a  midden.  Regent, 

Ye  ministers,  come  mount  thepoupit.  But,  like  himsel,  a  full  free  agent. 

An'  cry  till  ye  be  haerse  an'  roupet.  Be  sure  ye  follow  out  the  plan 

For  Eighty-eight  he  wish'd  you  weel,  Nae  waur  than  he  did,  honest  man  : 

And  gied  you  a'  baith  gear  an'  meal  j  As  tmickle  better  as  you  can. 

Jan-mry  1«  17S8|^ 


3)ELIA,  143 

VERSES  WRITTEN  UNDER  I'HE  PORTRAIT  OF 
FERGUSSON  THE  POET, 

IN  A   COPY  OF  THAT  AUTHOR'S  WORKS 
PEESENTED  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY  IN  EDINBURGH,    MARCH  I9tH,  1787. 

Curse  on  ungrateful  man,  that  can  be  pleas'd, 
And  yet  can  starve  the  author  of  the  pleasure  I 
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  ? 

LAMENT  {see  Note), 

WRITTEN  AT  A  TIME  WHEN  THE  POET  WAS  ABOUT  TO  LEAVE  SCOTLANO. 

O'er  the  mist-shrouded  cliffs  of  the  lone  mountain  straying. 

Where  the  wild  winds  of  winter  incessantly  rave, 
What  woes  wring  my  heart  while  intently  surveying 

The  storm's  gloomy  path  on  the  breast  of  the  wave. 

Ye  foam-crested  billows,  allow  me  to  wail, 

Ere  ye  toss  me  afar  from  my  lov'd  native  shore  ; 
Where  the  flower  which  bloom'd  sweetest  in  Coila's  green  vale, 

The  pride  of  my  bosom,  my  Mary's  no  more, 

Ko  more  by  the  banks  of  the  streamlet  we'll  wander, 
And  smile  at  the  moon's  rimpled  face  in  the  wave  ; 

No  more  shall  my  arms  cling  with  fondness  around  her, 
For  the  dew-drops  of  morning  fall  cold  on  her  grave. 

No  more  shall  the  soft  thrill  of  love  warm  my  breast, 

I  haste  with  the  storm  to  a  far  distant  shore  ; 
Where  unknown,  unlamented,  my  ashes  shall  rest. 

And  joy  shall  revisit  my  bosom  no  more. 


DELIA. 

AN  ODE. 

Pair  the  face  of  orient  day,  The  flower-enamoured  busy  bee 

Fair  the  tints  of  op'niug  rose  ;  The  rosy  banquet  loves  to  sip  ; 
But  the  fairer  still  my  Delia  dawns.  Sweet  the  streamlet's  limpid  lapse 

More  lovely  far  her  beauty  blows.  To  the  sun-brown'd  Arab's  lip  ; 

Sweet  the  lark's  wild-warbled  lay.  But,  Delia,  on  thy  balmy  lips 

Sweet  the  tinkangrill  to  hear  ;  Let  me,  nO  vagrant  insect  rove  I 
But,  Delia,  more  delightful  still  O  let  me  steal  one  liquid  kiss  ! 

Steal  tUine  acc^p,ts  on  mine  ear.  For  oh  I  my  soul  is  parched  wit|i  lova 


144  81E  JAMES  HUNTER  BLAIR. 


ON  THE   DEATH  OF  SIR  JAMES  HUNTER  BLAIR. 

The  lamp  of  day,  with  ill-presaging  glare 

Dim,  cloudy,  sunk  beneath  the  western  wave  ; 

Th'  inconstant  blast  howl'd  thro'  the  dark'ning  air. 
And  hollow  whistl'd  in  the  rocky  cave. 

Lone  as  I  wander'd  by  each  cliff  and  dell, 
Once  the  lov'd  haunts  of  Scotia's  royal  train  ; 

Or  mus'd  where  limpid  streams,  once  hallow'd  well. 
Or  mould'ring  ruins  mark  the  sacred  fane. 

Th'  increasing  blast  roar'd  round  the  beetling  rocks, 
The  clouds  swift-wing'd  flew  o'er  the  starry  sky. 

The  groaning  trees  untimely  shed  their  locks, 
And  shooting  meteors  caught  the  startled  eye. 

The  paly  moon  rose  in  the  livid  east, 
And  'mong  the  cliffs  disclos'd  a  stately  Form, 

In  weeds  of  woe  that  frantic  beat  her  breast, 
And  mix'd  her  wailings  with  the  raving  storm, 

"Wild  to  my  heart  the  filial  pulses  glow, 
'Twas  Caledonia's  trophied  shield  I  view'd  \ 

Her  form  majestic  droop'd  in  pensive  woe. 
The  lightning  of  her  eye  in  tears  imbued. 

Revers'd  that  spear,  redoubtable  in  war, 
Reclin'd  that  banner,  erst  in  fields  unfurl'd, 

That  like  a  deathf iil  meteor  gleam'd  afar. 

And  braved  the  mighty  monarchs  of  the  world.— 

"  My  patriot  son  fills  an  untimely  grave  !  " 
With  accents  wild  and  lifted  arms  she  cried^; 

*'  Low  lies  the  hand  that  oft  was  stretch'd  to  save, 
Low  lies  the  heart  that  swell'd  with  honest  pride  ! 

*'  A  weeping  country  joins  a  widow's  tear, 
The  helpless  poor  mix  with  the  orphan's  cry  ; 

The  drooping  arts  surround  their  patron's  bier. 
And  grateful  science  heaves  the  heartfelt  sigh. — 

"  I  saw  my  sons  resume  their  ancient  fire  ; 

I  saw  fair  Freedom's  blossoms  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  liear  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  vanish'd  with  the  sweeping  blast.   . 


THE  POET'S  WELCOME, 


la 


TO  MISS  FERRIER, 

ENCLOSING  THE  ELEGT  ON  SIR  J.   H.   BLAIR. 


Kae  heathen  name  shall  I  prefix 
Frae  Pindus  or  Parnassus  ; 

Auld  Reekie  dings  them  a'  to  sticks. 
For  rhyme-inspiring  lasses, 

jove's  tunefu'  dochters    three   times 
three 

Made  Homer  deep  their  debtor  ; 
But,  gi'en  the  body  hauf  an  ee, 

Nine  Ferriers  wad  done  better  ! 

Last  day  my  mind  was  in  a  bog, 
Down  George's  street  I  stoited  ; 


A  creeping,  cauld,  prosaic  fog 
My  very  senses  doited. 

Do  what  I  dought  to  set  her  free, 

My  saul  lay  in  the  mire  ; 
Ye  turned  a  neuk — I  saw  your  ee— 

She  took  the  wing  like  lire  ! 

The  mournf  u'  sang  I  here  enclose. 

In  gratitude  I  send  you  ; 
And  wish  and  praj^  in  rhyme  sincere, 

A'  gude  things  may  attend  you. 


WRITTEN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF 

OP  A  COPT  OP  THE  FIRST  EDITION  [OP    HIS  POEMS],  WHICH  I  PRESENTED  TO    AN  OLD 

HEART,  THEN  MARRIED. 

Once  fondly  Iov'q,  and  still  remember'd  dear, 
Sweet  early  object  of  my  youthful  vows. 

Accept  this  mark  of  friendship,  warm,  sincere  ; 
Friendship  !  'tis  all  cold  duty  now  allows. 

And  when  you  read  the  simple,  artless  rhymes. 
One  friendly  sigh  for  him,  he  asks  no  more. 

Who  distant  burns  in  flaming,  torrid  climes. 
Or  haply  lies  beneath  th'  Atlantic  roar. 


THE  POET'S  WELCOME  TO  HIS  ILLEGITIMATE  CHILD. 


Thou's  welcome,  wean  I  mishanterfa' 

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  bonie  Betty, 
I  fatherly  will  kiss  and  daut  thee. 
As  dear  an'  near  my  heart  I  set  thee 

Wi'  as  gude  will. 
As  a'  the  priests  had  seen  me  get  thee 

That's  out  o'  hell. 

What  tho'  they  ca'  me  fornicator, 
An*  tease  my  name  in  kintra  clatter ; 
The  mair  they  talk  I'm  kent  the  better, 

E'en  let  them  clash  ; 
An  auld  wife's    tongue's  a  recKless 
matter 

To  gie  ane  fash* 


Sweet  fruit  o'  monie  a  merry  dint. 

My  funny  toil  is  now  a'  tint, 

c.  '  ■'bou  came  to  the  warl  asklent, 

Which  fools  may  scoff  at; 
In  my  last  plack  thy  part's  be  in't— 

The  better  haff  o't. 

An'  if  thou  be  what  I  wad  hae  thee, 
An'  tak  the  counsel  I  shall  gie  thee, 
A  lovin'  father  I'll  be  to  thee, 

If  thou  be  spared 
Thro'  a'  thy  childish  years  I'll  ee  thee. 

An'  think't  weel  war'd. 

Gude  grant  that  thou  may  aye  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, 

Thm.  stockit  mai^m. 


Ud 


LETTER  TO  JAMES  TENNANT. 


LETTER  TO  JOHN  GOUDIE,  KILMARNOCK, 


ON  THE  PUBLICATION  OP  HIS  ESSAYS. 


O  GouDiE  !  terror  of  the  Whigs, 
Dread  o'  black  coats    and   rev'rend 

wigs. 
Sour  Bigotry,  on  her  last  legs, 

Girnin'  looks  back, 
Wishin'  the  ten  Egyptian  plagues 

Wad  seize  you  quick. 

Poor  gapiu'  glowrin'  Superstition, 
Waes  me  !  she's  in  a  sad  condition  ; 
Fy,  bring  Black-Jock,  her  state  phy- 
sician. 

To  see  her  water  ; 
Aliis  !  there's  ground  'o  great  suspicion 

She'll  ne'er  get  better. 

Auld  Orthodoxy  lang  did  grapple, 
But  now  she's  got  an  unco'  ripple  ; 
Haste,  gic  her  name  up  i'  the  chapel. 


Nigh  unto  death  ; 
See  how  she  fetches  at  the  thrapple. 
An'  gasps  for  breath. 

Enthusiasm's  past  redemption, 
Gaen  in  a  galloping  consumption, 
Not  a'  the  quacks,  with  a'  their  gump 
tion. 

Will  ever  mend  her. 
Her  feeble  pulse  gies  strong  presump 
tion. 

Death  soon  will  end  her 

'Tis  you  and  Taylor  are  the  chiet, 
AVha  are  to  blame  for  this  mischief  ; 
But  gin  the  Lord's  ain  folks  gat  leave 

A  toom  tar-barrel 
An'  twa  red  peats  wad  send  relief. 

An'  end  the  quarrel. 


LETTER  TO  JAMES  TENNANT,  GLENCONNER 


Auld  comrade  dear  and  brither  sin- 
ner. 
How's  a'  the  folk  about  Glenconner  ; 
How  do  you  this  blae  eastlin  wind. 
That's  like  to  blaw  a  body  blind  ? 
For  me,  my  faculties  are  frozen, 
My  dearest  member  nearly  dozen'd. 
I've  sent  you  here  by  Johnie  Simson 
Twa  sage  philosophers  to  glim^^^     .^  ; 
Smith,  wi'  his  sympathetic  feenng, 
An'  Reid,  to  common  sense  appealing. 
Philosophers  have  fought  an'   wran- 
gled. 
An'  meikle  Greek  an'  Latin  mangled. 
Till  wi'  their  logic-jargon  tir'd. 
An'  in  the  depth  of  Science  mir'd. 
To  common  sense  they  now  appeal, 
What  wives  an'  wabsters  see  an'  feel. 
But,  hark  ye,  friend,  I  charge  you 

strictly, 
Peruse  them*^  an'  return  them  quickly. 
For  now  I'm  grown  sae  cursed  douse, 
I  pray  an'  ponder  butt  tl;e  house, 
My  shins,  my  lane,  I  there  sit  roastin, 
t*erusing  Bunyan,  Brow  j  an'  Boston  ; 
Till  by  an'  by,  if  I  baud  on, 
m  grunt  a  real  Gospel -groan : 


Already  I  begin  to  try  it, 
To  cast  my  een  up  like  a  pyet, 
When  by  the  g!m  she  tumbles  o'er, 
Flutt'ring  an'  gaspin  in  her  gore  : 
Sae  shortly  you  shall  see  me  bright, 
A  burning  an'  a  shining  light. 

My  heart-warm  love  to  guid  auld 

Glen, 
The  ace  an'  wale  of  honest  men  : 
When  bending  down  wi'  auld  gray 

hairs, 
Beneath  the  load  of  years  and  cares. 
May  He  who  made  him  still  support 

him. 
An'  views  beyond  the  grave  comfort 

him. 
His  worthy  fam'ly  far  and  near, 
God  bless  them  a'  wi'  grace  and  gear.' 
My    auld    school-fellow,    Preachei 

Willie, 
The  manly  tar,  my  mason  Billie, 
An'  Auclienba}^  I  wish  him  joy  ; 
If  he's  a  parent,  lass  or  boy. 
May  he  be  dad,  and  JNIeg  the  mither. 
Just  five-and-forty  years  togither  I 
An'  no  forgetting  wabster  Charlie, 
I'm  told  he  offers  very  fairlj. 


EPISTLE  FROM  ES0PU8  TO  MARIA.  147 

Au  Lord,  remember  siugiiig  Sannock,  An'  lastly,  Jamie,  for  yoursel, 

Wi'  hale-breeks,  saxpence,  au'  a  ban-  May  guardian  angels  tak  a  spell, 

nock.  An'  steer  you  seven   miles  south  o' 

An'    next,    my    auld    acquaintance,  hell  : 

Nancy,  But    first,   before    you    see    heav'n's 

Since  she  is  fitted  to  her  fancy  ;  glory, 

An'  her  kind  stars  hae  airted  till  her  May  ye  get  monie  a  merry  story, 

A  good  chiel  wi'  a  pick'ie  siller  Monie  a  laugh,  and  monie  a  drink, 

My  kindest,  best  respects  I  sen  it.  An'  aye  enough  o'  needful  clink. 

To  cousin  Kate  an'  sister  Janet ;  Now  fare  ye  weel,  an'  joy  be  wi* 

Tell  them  from  me,  wi'  cliiels  be  cau-  .             you, 

tious.  For  my  sake  this  I  beg  it  o'  you, 

For,   faith,   they'll  aiblins  fin'  them  Assist  poor  Simson  a'  ye  can, 

fashions  :  Ye'll  fin'  him  just  an  honest  man  ; 

To  grant  a  heart  is  fairly  civil,  Sae  I  conclude  and  quat  my  chanter 

But    to    grant    a    maidenhead's    the  Yours,  saint  or  sinner, 

devil. —  ^OB  THE  Ranteb 


EPISTLE  FROM  ESOPUS  TO  MA.^t^. 

From  those  drear  solitudes  and  frowsy  cells?.. 

Where  nifaray  Vv^ith  sad  repentance  dwells  ; 

"Where  turnkeys  make  the  jealous  portal  fast. 

And  deal  from  iron  hands  the  spare  repast ; 

Where  truant  'prentices,  yet  young  in  sin. 

Blush  at  the  curious  stranger  peeping  in  ; 

Where  strumpets,  relics  of  tha  drunken  roar, 

Resolve  to  drink,  nay,  half  to  whore,  no  more  ; 

Where  tiny  thieves  not  destin'd  yet  to  swing. 

Beat  hemp  for  others,  riper  for  the  string  : 

From  the^e  dire  scenes  my  wretched  lines  I  date. 

To  tell  Maria  her  Esopus'  fate. 

"  Alas  !  1  feel  I  am  no  actor  here  ! " 

'Tis  real  hangmen,  real  scourges  bear  ! 

Prepare,  Maria,  for  a  horrid  tale 

Will  turn  thy  very  rouge  to  deadly  pale  ; 

Will  make  thy  hair,  tho'  erst  from  gipsy  poU'd, 

By  barber  woven,  and  by  barber  sold. 

Though  twisted  smooth  with  Harry's  nicest  care. 

Like  hoary  bristles  to  erect  and  stare. 

The  hero  of  the  mimic  scene,  no  more 

I  start  in  Hamlet,  in  Othello  roar  ; 

Or  haughty  Chieftain,  mid  the  din  of  arms. 

In  Highland  bonnet  woo  IMalviua's  charms  ; 

While  sans  culottes  stoop  up  tlie  mountain  high. 

And  steal  from  me  Maria's  prying  eye. 

Bless'd  Highland  bonnet !    Once  my  proudest  dress. 

Now  prouder  still,  Maria's  temples  press. 

I  see  her  wave  thy  towering  plumes  afar, 

And  call  each  coxcomb  to  the  wordj  w^x. 


148  EPISTLE  FROM  ESOPUS  TO  MARIA. 

I  see  her  face  the  first  of  Ireland's  sons. 

And  even  out-Irisli  his  Hibernian  bronze ; 

The  crafty  colonel  leaves  the  tartan'd  lines. 

For  other  wars,  where  he  a  hero  shines  : 

The  hopeful  .youth,  in  Scottish  senate  bred. 

Who  owns  a  Bushby's  heart  without  the  head. 

Comes  'mid  a  string  of  coxcombs  to  display. 

That  veni,  vidi,  xici,  is  his  way  ; 

The  shrinking  bard  adowu  an  aley  skulks, 

And  dreads  a  meeting  worse  than  Woolwich  hulks; 

Though  there,  his  heresies  in  church  and  state 

Might  well  award  him  ]\[uir  and  Palmer's  fate  : 

Still  she  undaunted  reels  and  rattles  on, 

And  dares  the  public  like  a  noontide  sun. 

(What  scandal  call'd  Maria's  jaunty  stagger. 

The  ricket  reeling  of  a  crooked  swagger  ?' 

Whose  spleen  e'en  worse  than  Burns's  venom  when 

He  dips  in  gall  unmix'd  his  eager  pen, — 

And  pours  his  vengeance  in  the  burning  line. 

Who  christen'd  thus  Maria's  lyre  divine  ; 

The  idiot  strum  of  vanity  bemused. 

And  even  th'  abuse  of  poesy  abused  ; 

Who  call'd  her  verse  a  parish  workhouse,  made 

For  motley,  foundling  fancies,  stolen  or  stray'd  ?) 

A  workhouse  !  ah,  that  sound  awakes  my  woes, 

And  pillows  on  the  thorn  my  rack'd  repose  1 

In  durance  vile  here  must  I  wake  and  weep. 

And  all  my  frowzy  couch  in  sorrow  steep  ; 

That  straw  where  many  a  rogue  has  lain  of  yore. 

And  vermin'd  gipsies  litter'd  heretofore. 

Why,  Lonsdale,  thus  thy  wrath  on  vagrants  pour. 

Must  earth  no  rascal,  save  thyself,  endure  ? 

Must  thou  alone  in  guilt  immortal  swell. 

And  make  a  vast  monopoly  of  hell  ? 

Thou  know'st,  the  virtues  cannot  hate  thee  worse, 

The  vices  also,  must  they  club  their  curse  ? 

Or  must  no  tiny  sin  to  others  fall. 

Because  thy  guilt's  supreme  enough  for  all  ? 

Maria,  send  me  to  thy  griefs  and  cares  ; 

In  all  of  thee  sure  thy  Esopus  shares. 

As  thou  at  all  mankind  the  flag  unfurls, 

Who  on  my  fair-one  satire's  vengeance  hurls  ? 

Who  calls  thee  pert,  affected,  vain  coquette, 

A  wit  in  folly,  and  a  fool  in  wit  ? 

Who  says  that  fool  alone  is  not  thy  due, 

And  quotes  thy  treacheries  to  prove  it  true  ? 

Our  force  united  on  thy  foes  we'll  turn. 

And  dare  the  war  with  all  of  woman  born  : 

For  who  can  write  and  speak  as  thou  and  I  ? 

My  periods  that  decyphering  defy. 

And  thj  still  matchless  tongue  that  conquers  aU  repl^. 


i 

SPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  QRABAM,  ESQ  149       i 


ON  A  SITICIDE. 


Earth'd  up  here  lies  an  imp  o'  hell. 

Planted  by  Satan's  dibble — 
Poor  silly  wretch,  he's  danin'd  himsel* 
To  save  the  Lord  the  trouble. 

A  FAREWELL.  j 

Farewell,  dear  Friend  !  may  guid  luck  hit  you,  ] 

And,  mang  her  favourites  admit  you  !  i 

If  e'er  Detraction  shore  to  smit  you,  j 

May  nane  believe  him  I  j 

And  ony  De'il  that  thinks  to  get  you,  ^ 

Good  Lord  deceive  him. 

THE  FAREWELL. 

Farewell,   old    Scotia's   bleak  do-  When    bursting    anguish    tears    my 

mains,  heart. 

Far  dearer  than  the  torrid  plains  From  thee,  my  Jeany,  must  I  part  ? 

Where  rich  ananas  blow  !  Thou  weeping  answ'rest  "no  ! " 

Farewell,  a  mother's  blessing  dear  !  Alas  !  misfortune  stares  my  face, 

A  brother's  sigh  i  a  sister's  tear  !  And  points  to  ruin  and  disgrace, 

My  Jean's  hart-rending  throe  !  I  for  thy  sake  must  go  ! 

Farewell,  my  Bess  !  tho'  thou'rt  bereft  Thee,  Hamilton,  and  Aiken  dear. 

Of  my  parental  care  ;  A  grateful,  warm  adieu  1                           i 

A  faithful  brother  I  have  left,  I,  with  a  much-indebted  tear,                       1 

My  part  in  him  thou'lt  share  !  Shall  still  remember  you  !                         ] 

Adieu  too,  to  you  too.  All-hail  then,  the  gale  then. 

My  Smith,  my  ])osom  frien';  Wafts  me  from  thee,  dear  shore  1 

When  kindly  you  mind  me.  It  rustles,  and  whistles, 

O  then  befriend, my  Jean  !  I'll  never  see  thee  more  I 

EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ., 

OF  FIN  TRY. 

ON  THE  CLOSE  OP    THK  DISPUTED    ELECTION    BETWEEN     SIR    JAMES    JOHNSTONE  AND  CAPTAIN 

MILLER,   FOR   THE   DUMFRIES   DISTRICT   OF   BOROUGHS.  ; 

FiNTRY,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife,  ' 

Friend  o'  my  Muse,  friend  o'  my  life,  .  ■ 

Are  ye  as  idle's  I  am  ?  ] 

Come  then,  wi'  uncouth,  kintra  fleg,  i 
O'er  Pegasus  I'll  fling  my  leg. 

And  ye  shall  see  me  try  him.  \ 

I'll  sing  the  zeal  Drumlanrig  bears 

Who  left  the  all-important  cares  i 

Of  princes  and  their  darlings  ;  . 

And,  bent  on  winning  borough  towns,  | 

Came  shaking  hands  wi'  wabster  loons,  ] 

And  kissing  barefit  carlins. 

■    -      .         >    •  ] 


150  EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 

Combustion  tliro'  our  boroughs  rode. 
Whistling  his  roaring  pack  abroad 

Of  mad  unnmzzled  lions ; 
As  Queensberry  buff  and  blue  unfurl'd. 
And  Westerha'  and  Hopeton  hurl'd 

To  every  Whig  defiance. 

But  cautious  Queensberry  left  the  war, 
Th'  unmanner'd  dust  might  soil  his  star ; 

Besides,  he  hated  bleeding ; 
But  left  behind  him  heroes  bright. 
Heroes  in  Csesarean  fight, 

Or  Ciceronian  pleading. 

O  !  for  a  throat  like  huge  IMons-Meg, 
To  muster  o'er  each  ardent  Whig 

Beneath  Drumlanrig's  banner  I 
Heroes  and  heroines  commix, 
All  in  the  field  of  politics. 

To  win  immortal  honour. 

M'Murdo  and  his  lovely  spouse, 

(Th'  euamour'd  laurels  kiss  her  brows  !) 

Led  on  the  loves  and  graces  : 
She  won  each  gaping  burgess'  heart. 
While  he,  all-conquering,  play'd  his  part 

Among  their  wives  and  lasses. 

Craigdarroch  led  a  light-arm'd  corps, 
Tropes,  metaphors  and  figures  pour, 

Like  Hecla  streaming  thunder : 
Glenriddel,  skill'd  in  rusty  coins, 
Blew  up  each  Tory's  dark  designs, 

And  bared  the  treason  under. 

In  either  wing  two  champions  fought, 
Redoubted  Staig,  who  set  at  naught 

The  wildest  savage  Tory  : 
And  Welsh,  who  ne'er  yet  flinched  his  ground. 
High-waved  his  magnum-boiunn  round 

With  Cyclopean  fury. 

Miller  brought  up  th'  artillery  ranks, 
•     The  many-pounders  of  the  Banks, 

Resistless  desolation  ! 
While  Maxwelton,  that  Baron  bold, 
*jMid  Lawson's  port  entrench'd  his  hold, 

And  threatened  worse  damnation. 

To  these  what  Tory  hosts  oppos'd. 
With  these  what  Tory  warriors  clos'd. 

Surpasses  my  descriving  : 
Squadrons  extended  long  and  large, 
With  furious  speed  rush  to  tlie  charge, 

Like  raging  devils  driving. 


EPISTLE  TO  nOBERT  GHAHAM,  ESQ.  ISt 

What  verse  can  sing,  what  prose  narrate. 
The  butcher  deeds  of  bloody  fate 

Amid  this  mighty  tulzie  I 
Grim  Horror  girn'd  —  pale  Terror  roar'd. 
As  Murther  at  his  thrapple  shor'd. 

And  Hell  mix'd  in  the  brulzie. 

As  Highland  crags  by  thunder  cleft. 
When  lightning's  fire  the  stormy  lift. 

Hurl  down  with  crashing  rattle ; 
As  flames  among  a  hundred  woods  ; 
As  headlong  foam  a  hundred  floods  ; 

Such  is  the  rage  of  battle  ! 

The  stubborn  Tories  dare  to  die ; 
As  soon  the  rooted  oaks  would  fly 

Before  th'  approaching  fellers  : 
The  Whigs  come  on  like  Ocean's  roar. 
When  alHiis  wintry  billows  pour 

Against  the  Buchan  Bullers. 

Lo,  from  the  shades  of  Death's  deep  night. 
Departed  Whigs  enjoy  the  fight, 

And  think  on  former  daring  : 
The  muffled  murtherer  of  Charles 
The  Magna  Charta  flag  unfurls. 

All  deadly  gules  its  bearing: 

Nor  wanting  ghosts  of  Tory  fame, 

Bold  Scrimgeour  follows  gallant  Graham, 

Auld  Covenanters  shiver. 
(Forgive,  forgive,  much  w^rong'd  Montrose  I 
Now  death  and  hell  engulf  thy  foes. 

Thou  liv'st  on  high  forever  !) 

Still  o'er  the  field  the  combat  burns, 
The  Tories,  Whigs,  give  way  by  turns  : 

But  Fate  the  word  has  spoken. 
For  woman's  wit  and  strength  o'  man, 
Alas  1  can  do  but  what  they  can  ! 

The  Tory  ranks  are  broken. 

O  that  my  e'en  were  flowing  burns  1 
My  voice  a  lioness  that  mourns 

Her  darling  cubs'  undoing  I 
That  I  might  greet,  that  I  might  cry. 
While  Tories  fall,  while  Tories  fly. 

And  furious  Whigs  pursuing  ! 

What  Whig  but  melts  for  good  Sir  James  ? 
,  Dear  to  his  country  by  the  names 

Friend,  patron,  benefactor  I 
Not  Pulteney's  wealth  can  Pulteney  save  I 
And  Hopeton  falls,  the  generous  brave  ! 

And  Stewart,  bold  as  Hector  f 


153 


ON  THE  DUKE  OF  QXfEENSBERRY, 


Thou,  Pitt,  shall  rue  this  overthrow  ; 
And  Thurlow  growl  a  curse  of  woe  ; 

And  Melville  melt  in  wailing ! 
How  Fox  and  Sheridan  rejoice  ! 
And  Burke  shall  sing,  "  O  Prince,  arise, 

Thy  power  is  all-prevailing  !  '* 

For  your  poor  friend,  the  Bard,  afar 
He  only  hears  and  sees  the  war, 

A  cool  spectator  purely  ! 
So,  when  the  storm  the  forest  rends, 
The  robin  in  the  hedge  descends, 

And  sober  chirps  securely. 


STANZAS  ON  THE  DUKE  OF  QUEENSBERRY. 


How  shall  I  sing  Drumlanrig's  grace, 
Discarded  remnant  of  a  race 

Once  great  in  martial  story  ? 
His  forbears'  virtues  all  contrasted — 
The  very  name  of  Douglas  blasted — 

His  that  inverted  glory. 

Hate,  envy,  oft  the  Douglas  bore  ; 


But  he  has  superadded  more 

And  sunk  them  in  contempt : 
Follies  and  crimes  have   stain'd  the 

name. 
But,  Queensberry,   thine   the   virgin 
claim, 
From  aught  that's  good  exempt. 


VERSES 


ON  THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE 

As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith, 

Ae  smiling  simmer-morn  I  stray'd. 
And  traced  its  bonie  howes  and  haughs 

Where  linties  sang  and  lambkins 
play'd, 
I  sat  me  down  upon  a  craig. 

And  drank  my  fill  of  fancy's  dream, 
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 

Amang  his  eaves,  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. 

"  There  was  a  time,  it's  nae  langsyne. 
Ye  might  hae  seen  me  in  my  pride, 

When  a'  my  banks  sae  bravely  saw 
Their  woody  pictures  in  my  tide  ; 


WOODS  NEAR  DRUMLANRIG. 

When  hanging  beech  and  spreading 
elm 
Shaded  my  stream  sae  clear  and  cool, 
And  stately  oaks  their  twisted  arms 
Threw  broad  and  dark  across  the 
pool ; 

•*  When  glinting,  through  the  trees, 
appear'd 

The  wee  white  cot  aboon  the  mill, 
Aud  peacefu'  rose  its  ingle  reek, 

That  slowly  curled  up  the  hill. 
But  now  that  cot  is  bare  and  cauld. 

Its  branchy  shelter's  lost  and  gane, 
And  scarce  a  stinted  birk  is  left 

To  shiver  in  the  blast  its  lane." 

"  Alas  !  "  said  I,  "  what  ruefu'  chance 

Has  twined  ye  o'  your  stately  trees  ? 
Has  laid  your  rocky  bosom  bare  ? 

Has  stripp'd  the  deeding  o'  your 
braes  ? 
Was  it  the  bitter  eastern  blast. 

That  scatters  blight  in  early  spring? 
Or  was't  the  wil'tire  scorched  their 
boughs. 

Or  canker-worm  wi'  secret  sXing  t " 


EPISTLE  TO  MAJOR  LOQAK 


153 


**  Kae  eastlin'  blast,"  tlie  sprite  replied; 

"  It  blew  na  here  sae  fiei;;pe  and  fell, 
/^nd  on  mj'  diy  and  lialesome  banks 

Nae  canker  worms  get  leave  to  dwell; 
JVIan  J  cruel  man  ! "  the  genius  sigh'd — 


As  through  the  cliffs  he  sank  him 

down — 
The  worm  that  gnaw'd  my  bonie 

trees, 
That  reptile  wears  a  ducal  crown," 


EPISTLE  TO  MAJOR  LOGAN. 


Hail,  thairm  inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie  ! 
Though  fortune's  road  be  rough  an' 

hilly 
To  every  fiddling,  rhyming  billie, 

We  never  heed. 
But  take  it  like  the  unback'd  filly. 

Proud  o'  her  speed. 

When  idly  goavan  whyles  we  saunter, 
Yirr,  fancy  barks,  awa'  we  canter 
Uphill,  down  brae,  till  some  mishan- 
ter, 

Some  black  bog-hole, 
Arrests  us,  then  the  scathe  an'  banter 

We're  forced  to  thole. 

Hale  be  your  heart  !    Hale  be  your 

fiddle  ! 
Lang  may  your  eibuck  jink  and  diddle, 
To    cheer    you    through    the    weary 
widdle 

O'  this  wild  warl', 
Until  you  on  a  crummock  driddle 
A  gray-hair'd  carl. 

Come  wealth,  come  poortith,  late  or 

soon, 
Heaven  send  your  heart-strings  ay  in 

tune. 
And  screw  your  temper-pins  aboon 

A  fifth  or  mair, 
The  melancholious,  lazie  croon, 
O'  cankrie  care. 

May  still  your  life  from  day  to  day 
Nae  "  lente  largo  "  in  the  play. 
But  "  allegretto  forte  "  gay 

Harmonious  flow 
A  sweeping,  kindling,  bauld  strath- 
spey- 
Encore  !    Bravo  1 

A  blessing  on  the  cheery  gang 
Wha  dearly  like  a  jig  or  sang. 
An'  never  think  o'  right  an'  rang 

By  square  an'  rule. 
But  as  the  clegs  o'  feeling  stang 

Are  wise  or  fool. 


My  hand-waled  curse  keep  hard    in 

chase 
The  harpy,  hoodock,  purse-proud  race, 
Wha  count  on  poortith  as  disgrace — 

Their  tuneless  hearts 
May  fire-side  discords  jar  a  base 

To  a'  their  parts  ! 

But  come,   your  hand,   my  careless 

brither, 
I'  th'  ither  warl'  if  there's  anither, 
An'  that  there  is  I've  little  swither 

About  the  matter ; 
We  cheek  for  chow  shall  jog  thegither, 

I'se  ne'er  bid  better. 

We've  faults  and  failings  —  granted 

clearly. 
We're  frail  backslidingmortals  merely. 
Eve's  bonie  squad  priests  wyte  them 
sheerly 

For  our  grand  fa'  ; 
But  still,  but  still,  I  like  them  dearly — 
God  bless  them  a'  I 

Ochon  for  poor  Castalian  drinkers. 
When  they  fa'  foul  o'  earthly  jinkers. 
The  witching  cursed  delicious  blinkers 

Hae  put  me  hyte. 
And    gart    me    weet    my  waukrife 
winkers, 

Wi'  girnin  spite. 

But  by  yon  moon  !  —  and  that's  high 

swearin' — 
An'  every  star  within  my  hearin' ! 
An'  by  her  een  wha  was  a  dear  ane  ! 

I'll  ne'er  forget  j 
I  hope  to  gie  the  jads  a  clearin' 

In  fai.'"  play  yet. 

My  loss  I  mourn,   >ut  not  repent  it, 
I'll  seek  my  pur^  j  whare  I  tint  it, 
Ance  to  the  Indies  I  were  wonted, 

Some  cantraip  hour. 
By  some  sweet  elf  I'll  yet  be  dinted, 

Then  vim  V  amour  I 


154  nSPLT  TO  m-R  MimSTEn  OT  ^LADSMVriR. 

Faites  mes  bai.^cmainfi  respect ucv fie,  An'  trowtli  my  rhymin'  ware's  nae 

To  sentimental  sister  Susie,  tre^ure  \ 

An'  honest  Lucky  ;  no  to  roose  you,  But  when  in  Ayr,  some  half  hour's 

Ye  may  be  proud,  '  leisure, 

That  sic  a  couple  Fate  allows  ye  Be't  light,  be't  dark. 

To  grace  your  blood.  Sir  Bard  will  do  himself  the  pleasure 
,r           .      ^             *         T  To  call  at  Park. 

Nae  mair  at  present  can  I  measure  Robert  Bukns. 

Mossgiel,  ZOth  October,  1786. 

EPITAPH  ON  THE  POET'S  DAUGHTER. 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose. 

Blasted  before  its  bloom  ; 
Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose 

Beyond  that  flower's  perfume. 
To  those  who  for  her  loss  are  grieved, 

This  consolation's  given — 
She's  from  a  world  of  woe  relieved. 

And  blooms  a  rose  in  heaven. 


EPITAPH  ON  GABRIEL  RICHARDSON. 

Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  fire's  extinct. 

And  empty  all  his  barrels  : 
He's  blest — if,as  he  brew'd,  he  drink. 

In  upright  honest  morals. 


ON  STIRLING. 

Here  Stuarts  once  in  glory  reign'd. 
And  laws  for  Scotland's  weal  ordain'd  ; 
But  now  unroof 'd  their  palace  stands, 
Their  sceptre's  sway'd  by  other  hands ; 
The  injured  Stuart  line  is  gone, 
A  race  outlandish  fills  their  throne. 
An  idiot  race  to  honour  lost, 
Who  know  them  best,  despise  them  most. 


LINES 

ON  BEING   TOLD  THAT  THE  ABOVE  VERSES  "WOULD  AFPECT    HIS  PROSPECTS. 

Rash  mortal,  and  slanderous  poet,  thy  name 

Shall  no  longer  appear  in  the  records  of  fame  ; 

Dost  not  know  that  old  Mansfield,  who  writes  like  the  Bible, 

Says  the  more  'tis  a  truth,  sir,  the  more  'tis  a  libel  ? 

REPLY  TO  THE  MINISTER  OF  GLADSMUIR. 

Like  Esop's  lion,  Burns  says,  sore  I  feel 
All  others  scorn — but  damn  that  ass's  heel. 


ADJURESS  OF  BEELZiSBUB. 


155 


EPISTLE  TO  HUGH  PARKER. 


fN  this   strange    land,    this  uncouth 

clime, 
A  land  unknown  to  prose  or  rhyme  ; 
Where  words  ne'er  crost  the  Muse's 

heckles, 
Nor  limpit  in  poetic  shackles  ; 
A  land  that  prose  did  never  view  it, 
Except    when    drunk    he     stacher't 

through  it  ; 
Here,  ambush'd  by  the  chimla  cheek, 
Hid  in  an  atmosphere  of  reek, 
I  hear  a  wheel  thrum  i'  the  neuk, 
I  hear  it — for  in  vain  I  leuk, — 
The  red  peat  gleams,  a  fiery  kfernel, 
Enhusked  by  a  fog  infernal  : 
Here, for  my  wonted  rhyming  raptures, 
I  sit  and  count  my  sins  by  chapters  ; 
For  life  and  spunk  like  ither  Chris- 
tians, 
I'm  dwindled  down  to  mere  existence, 
Wi'  nae  converse  but  Gallowa'  bodies, 
Wi'  nae  ken  face  but  Jenny  Geddes. 
Jenny,  my  Pegasean  pride  ! 
Dowie  she  saunters  down  Nithside, 
And  ay  a  westlin  leuk  she  throws. 
While  tears  hap  o'er  her  auld  brown 
nose  I 


Was  it  for  this,  wi'  canny  care. 
Thou  bure  the  Bard  through  many  a 

shire  ? 
At  howes  or  hillocks  never  stumbled, 
And  late  or  early  never  grumbled  ? — 
O,  had  I  power  like  inclination, 
I'd  heeze  thee  up  a  constellation, 
To  canter  with  the  Sagitarre, 
Or  loup  the  ecliptic  like  a  bar  ; 
Or  turn  the  pole  like  any  arrow  ; 
Or,    when  auld  Phoebus  bids  good- 
morrow, 
Down  the  zodiac  urge  the  race, 
And  cast  dirt  on  his  godship's  face  ; 
For  I  could  lay  my  bread  and  kail 
He'd  ne'er  cast  saut  upo'  thy  tail. — 
Wi'  a'  this  care  and  a'  this  grief. 
And  sma',  sma'  prospect  of  relief, 
And    nought   but    peat    reek    i'  my 

head. 
How  can  I  write  what  ye  can  read  ? — 
Tarbolton,  twenty-fourth  o'  June, 
Ye'll  find  me  in  a  better  tune  ; 
But  till  we  meet  and  weet  our  whistle, 
Tak  this  excuse  for  nae  epistle. 

Robert  Burns. 


ADDRESS   OF  BEELZEBUB 


TO  THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  HIGHLAND  SOCIETY. 


Long  ]ife,myLord,an'  health  be  yours, 
Unskaith'd    by    hunger'd    Highland 

boors  ; 
Lord  grant  no  duddie  desperate  beg- 
gar, 
Wi'  dirk,  claymore,  or  rusty  trigger. 
May  twin  auld  Scotland  o'  a  life 
She  likes — as  lambkins  like  a  knife. 
Faith,  you  and  Applecross  w^ere  right 
To  keep  the  Highland  hounds  in  sight, 
I  doubt  na'  !  they  wad  bid  nae  better 
Than  let  them  ance  out  owre  the  water 
Than  up  nmang  thae  lakes  and  seas 
They'll  mak'  what  rules  and  laws  they 

please  ; 
Some  daring  Hancock,  or  a  Franklin, 
May  set  their  Highland  bluid  a  rank- 
lin': 


Some  Washington  again   may  head 

them, 
Or  some    Montgomery  fearless  lead 

them, 
Till  God  knows  what  may  be  effected 
When  by  such  heads  and  hearts  di- 
rected ; 
Poor  dunghill  sons  of  dirt  and  mire 
May  to  Patrician  rights  aspire  ! 
Nae  sage  North,  now,  nor  sager  Sack- 

ville, 
To  watch  and  premier  o'er  the  pack 

vile. 
An'  whare  will  ye  get  Howes  and 

Clintons 
To  bring  them  to  a  right  repentance, 
To  CO  we  the  rebel  generation. 
An'  save  the  honour  o'  the  nation  ? 


156 


ON  TEE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  DUNDA8,  ESQ. 


Tliey  an'  be  d — d  !  what  right  hae  they 
To  meat  or  sleep,  or  light  o'  day  ! 
Far  less  to  riches,  pow'r,  or  freedom, 
But  what  your  lordship  likes  to  gie 
them? 

But  hear,  my  lord  !   Glengarry,  hear  1 
Your  hand's  owre  light  on  them,  I 

fear  ; 
Your  factors,   grieves,  trustees,  and 
i  bailies, 

I  canna'  say  but  they  do  gaylies  ; 
They  lay  aside  a'  tender  mercies. 
An'  tirl  the  hallions  to  the  birses ; 
Yet  while  they're  only  poind't  and 

herriet. 
They'll  keep  their  stubborn  Highland 

spirit ; 
But  smash  them  !  crash  them  a'  to 

spalls  ! 
An'  rot  the  dyvors  i'  the  jails  ! 
The  young  dogs,  swinge  them  to  the 

labour  ! 
Let  wark  an'  hunger  mak'  them  sober  I 
June  1,  Anno  Mundi,  5790. 


The  hizzies,  if  they're  aughtlins  faw* 

sont, 
Let  them  in  Drury-lane  be  lesson'd  ! 
An'  if  the  wives  an'  dirty  brats 
E'en  thigger  at  your  doors  an'  yetts 
Flaffan  wi'  duds  an'  gray  wi'  beas', 
Frightin'  awa  your  deucks  and  geese, 
Get  out  a  horsewhip  or  a  jowler. 
The  langest  thong,  the  fiercest  growles", 
An'  gar  the  tatter'd  gypsies  pack 
Wi'  a'  their  bastarts  on  their  back  ! 
Go  on,  my  lord  !    I  lang  to  meet  you. 
An'  in  my  house  at  hame  to  greet  you  ; 
Wi'  conunon  lords  ye  shanna  mingle. 
The  beumost  neuk  beside  the  ingle, 
At  my  right  hand  assign'd  your  seat 
'Tween  Herod's  hip  an'  Polycrate, — 
Or  if  you  on  your  station  tarrow 
Between  Almagro  and  Pizarro, 
A  seat,  I'm  sure,  ye're  weel  desorvin't ; 
An'  till  ye  come — ^your  humble  ser- 
vant, 

Beelzebub. 


TO  MR.  JOHN  KENNEDY. 


Kow  Kenned}^,  if  foot  or  horse 
E'er  bring  you  in  by  Mauchline  Corss, 
Lord  man,  there's  lasses  there  wad 
force 

A  hermit's  fancy. 
And   down  the  gate  in   faith  they're 
worse 

And  mair  unchancy. 

But  as  I'm  sayin'  please  step  to  Dow's 
And  taste  sic  gear  as  Johnny  brews. 
Till  some  bit  callan  brings  me  news 

That  you  are  there. 
And  if  we  dinna  have  a  bouze 

I'se  ne'er  drink  mair. 

It's  no  I  like  to  sit  an'  swallow. 
Then  like  a  swine  to  puke  an'  wallow, 


But  gie  me  just  a  true  good  fallow 

Wi'  right  ingine. 
And  spunkie  ance  to  make  us  mellow, 

And  then  we'll  shine. 

Now  if  ye're  ane  o'  warl's  folk, 
Wlia  rate  the  wearer  by  the  cloak. 
An'  sklent  on  poverty  their  joke, 

Wi'  bitter  sneer, 
Wi'  you  no  friendship  I  will  troke 

Nor  cheap  nor  dear. 

But  if,  as  I'm  informed  weel. 
Ye  hate  as  ill's  the  vera  deil. 
The  flinty  hearts  that  canna  feel — 

Come,  Sir,  here's  tae  you  ; 
Hae  there's  my  liaun'  I  wiss  you  weel 

An'  gude  be  wi'  you. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  DUNDAS,  ESQ.. 

OP  AKNISTON,  LATE  LORD  PRESIDENT  OP  THE  COURT  OP  SESSION. 

Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills  the  straying  flocks 
Shun  the  fierce  storms  among  the  sheltering  rocks ; 
Down  from  the  rivulets,  red  with  dashing  rains, 
The  gathering  floods  burst  o'er  the  distant  plains  ; 
Beneath  the  blasts  the  leafless  forests  groan ; 
The  hollow  caves  return  a  sullen  moan. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LAP-DOG,  15? 

Ye  hills,  ye  plains,  ye  forests,  and  ye  caves. 
Ye  howling  winds,  and  wintry  swelling  waves  ! 
Unheard,  unseen,  by  human  ear  or  eye, 
Sad  to  your  sympathetic  scenes  I  fly  ; 
Where  to  the  whistling  blast  and  water's  roar. 
Pale  Scotia's  recent  wound  I  may  deplore. 

O  heavy  loss,  thy  country  ill  could  bear  1 

A.  loss  these  evil  days  can  ne'er  repair  ! 

Justice,  the  high  vicegerent  of  her  God, 

Her  doubtful  balance  eyed,  and  sway'd  her  rod' 

Hearing  the  tidings  of  the  fearful  blow, 

She  sunk,  abandon'd  to  the  wildest  woe. 

Wrongs,  injuries,  from  many  a  darksome  den. 
Now  gay  in  hope,  explore  the  paths  of  men : 
See  from  his  cavern  grim  Oppression  rise. 
And  throw  on  Poverty  his  cruel  eyes  ; 
Keen  on  the  helpless  victim  see  him  fly. 
And  stifle,  dark,  the  feebly-bursting  cry  : 

Mark  ruflian  Violence,  distain'd  with  crimes. 

Rousing  elate  in  these  degenerate  times  ; 

View  unsuspecting  Innocence  a  prey, 

As  guileful  Fraud  points  out  the  erring  way ; 

While  subtle  Litigation's  pliant  tongue 

The  life-blood  equal  sucks  of  Right  and  Wrong  • 

Hark,  injured  Want  recounts  th'  unlisten'd  tale, 

And  much-wrong'd  Mis'ry  pours  th'  unpitied  wail ! 

Ye  dark  waste  hills,  and  brown  unsightly  plains. 
To  you  I  sing  my  grief-inspired  strains ; 
Ye  tempests  rage  !  ye  turbid  torrents,  roll  I 
Ye  suit  the  joyless  tenor  of  my  soul. 
Life's  social  haunts  and  pleasures  I  resign, 
Be  nameless  wilds  and  lonely  wanderings  mine. 
To  mourn  the  woes  my  country  must  endure. 
That  wound  degenerate  ages  cannot  cure. 


TO   JOHN  M'MURDO,  ESQ. 

O,  COULD  I  give  thee  India's  wealth.  But  golden  sands  did  never  grace 

As  I  this  trifle  send  !  The  Heliconian  stream  ; 

Because  thy  joy  with  both  would  be  Then  take  what  gold  could  never  buy- 
To  share  them  with  a  friend.  An  honest  Bard's  esteem. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LAP-DOG 

NAMED  ECHO, 

In  wood  and  wild,  ye  warbling  throng.  Ye  jarring,  screeching  things  around. 

Your  heavy  loss  deplore  ;  Scream  your  discordant  joys  ; 

Now  half-extinct  your  powers  of  song.  Now  half  your  din  of  tuneless  sound 

3weet  ^cjtio  is  no  more.  WitJti  Echo  siieat  lies. 


158 


ORTHODOX,  ORTHODOX. 


LINES   WRITTEN  AT  LOUDON    MANSE. 


The  night  was  still,  and  o'er  the  hill 
The  moon  shone  on  the  castle  wa'; 

The  mavis  sang,  while  dew-drops  han^ 
Around  her  on  the  castle  wa'. 


Sac  merrily  they  danced  the  ring 
Frae  cenin'  till  the  cock  did  craw 

And  aye  the  o'erword  o'  the  spring. 
Was  Irvine's  bairns  are  bonie  a'. 


ORTHODOX,  ORTHODOX. 

A     SECOND     VEUSION     OF     THE     KIRK'S    ALABM. 


Orthodox,  orthodox, 
Who  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  con- 
science— 
There's  an  heretic  blast, 
lias  been  blawn  i'  the  wast 
That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  non- 
sense, 

Orthodox, 
That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  non- 
sense. 

Doctor  Mac,  Doctor  Mac, 

Ye  should  stretch  on  a  rack. 
To  strike  evil-doers  wi'  terror  ; 

To  join  faith  and  sense. 

Upon  any  pretence, 
Was  heretic  damnable  error. 

Doctor  Mac, 
Was  heretic  damnable  error. 

Town  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr, 

It  Avas  rash,  I  declare, 
To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a-brewing  ; 

Provost  John  is  still  deaf 

To  the  church's  relief, 
And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin, 

Town  of  Ayr, 
And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin, 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild, 
Tho'  your  heart's  like  a  child. 
And  your   life  like   the   new-driven 
snaw. 
Yet  that  winna  save  ye, 
Old  Satan  must  have  ye 
For  preaching  that  three's  ane  an'  twa, 

D'rymple  mild. 
For  preaching  that  three's  ane  an'  twa. 

Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons, 
Seize  your  spiritual  guns. 
Ammunition  you  never  can  need  ; 
Your  hearts  are  the  stuff. 
Will  be  powder  enough. 


And  your  skulls  are  a  storehouse  of 

lead, 

Calvii?.'s  sons. 
And  your  skulls  are  a  storehouse  of 

lead. 

Rumble  John,  Rumble  John, 
Mount  the  steps  with  a  groan. 

Cry  the  book  is  with  heresy  cramm'd , 
Then  lug  out  your  ladle, 
Deal  brimstone  like  aidle. 

And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd. 
Rumble  John, 

And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd. 

Simper  James,  Simper  James, 
Leave  the  fair  Killie  dames. 

There's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view  ,• 
I'll  lay  on  your  head, 
That  the  pack  ye'll  soon  lead, 

For  puppies  like  you  there's  but  fevy, 
Simper  James, 

For  puppies  like  you  there's  but  fe'w . 

Singet  Sawnie,  Singet  Sawnle, 

Are  ye  herding  the  penny. 
Unconscious  what  danger  awaits  ? 

With  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl, 

Alarm  every  soul, 
For  Hannibal's  just  at  your  gates, 

Singet  Sawnie, 
For  Hannibal's  just  at  your  gates. 

Andrew  Gowk,  Andrew  Go  A^k, 
Ye  may  slander  the  book, 
And  the  book  nought  the  waar  -let 
me  tell  you  ; 
Tho'  ye're  rich  and  look  big, 
Yet  lay  by  hat  and  wig, 
And  ye'll   hae   a  calf's  head  o'  sma' 
value, 

Andrew  Gowk, 
And  ye'll  hae  a  calf's-head  o'  sma' 
value. 


THE  SELKIRK  GRACE. 


159 


Poet  Willie,  Poet  Willie, 
Gie  the  doctor  a  volley, 
Wi'  your  "liberty's  chain"  and  your 
wit ; 
O'er  Pegasus'  side 
Ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride, 
Ye  only  stood  by  when  he  sh — , 

Poet  Willie, 
Ye  only  stood  by  when  he  sh — . 

Bar  Steenic,  Bar  Steenie, 

What  mean  ye  ?  what  mean  ye  ? 

If  ye'll  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter, 
Ye  may  hac  some  pretence,  man, 
To  havins  and  sense,  man, 

Wi'  people  that  ken  you  nae  better, 
Bar  Steenie, 

Wi'  people  that  ken  you  nae  better. 

Jamie  Goose,  Jamie  Goose, 
Ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose, 
O'  hunting  the  wicked  lieutenant ; 
But  the  doctor's  your  mark 
For  the  Lord's  holy  ark, 
He  has  cooper'd  and  ca'd  a  wrong  pin 
in't. 

Jamie  Goose, 
He  has  cooper'd  and  cad  a  wrong  pin 
in't. 

Davie  Bluster,  Davie  Bluster, 
For  a  saunt  if  ye  muster. 

It's  a  sign  they're  no  nice  o'  recruits, 
Yet  to  worih  let's  be  just. 
Royal  blood  ye  might  boast. 

If  the  ass  were  the  King  o'  the  brutes, 
Davie  Bluster, 

If  the  ass  were  the  King  o'  the  brutes. 

Muirland    George,    M  u  i  r  1  a  n  d 

George, 
Whomlhe  Lord  made  a  scourge. 
To  claw  common  sense  for  her  sins  ; 
If  ill  manners  were  wit. 
There's  no  mortal  so  fit 


To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  ancCp 

Muirland  George, 
To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  auce, 

Cessnockside,  Cessnockside, 

Wi'  your  turkey-cock  pride, 

O'  manhood  but  sma'  is  3  our  share  ! 

You've  the  figure,  it's  true. 

Even  your  foes  maun  allow, 

And  your  friends  daurna  say  ye  hae 

mair, 

Cessnockside, 
And  your  friends  daurna  say  ye  had 
m^ir. 

Daddie  Auld,  Daddie  Auld, 

There's  a  tod  i'  the  fauld, 
A  tod  meikle  M-aur  than  the  clerk  ; 

Tho'  ye  downa  do  skaith, 

Yc'll  be  in  at  the  death, 
And  if  ye  canna  bite  ye  can  bark, 

Daddie  Auld, 
And  if  ye  canna  bite  ye  can  bark. 

Poet  Burns,  Poet  Burns, 

Wi'  your  priest-skelping  turns. 

Why  desert  ye  3'our  auld  native  shire  ? 
Tho'  your  Muse  is  a  gipsy, 
Yet  were  she  even  tipsy. 

She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are, 
Poet  Burns, 

She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are, 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Af ton's  Laird,  Af ton's  Laird, 

When  your  pen  can  be  spared, 
A  copy  o'  this  I  bequeath. 

On  the  same  sicker  score 

I  mentioned  before, 
To  that  trusty  auld  worthy  Clackleith, 

Aftou's  Laird, 
To  that  trusty  auld  worthy  Clackleitb. 


THE  SELiaRK  GRACE. 

Some  hae  meat,  and  canna  eat. 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it 

But  we  hae  meat  and  we  can  eat. 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  tbankefc. 


160  THE  REGO  VER T  OF  JESSIE  LEWARS. 


ELEGY  OK  THE  DEATH  OF  PEG  NICHOLSON. 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare,  Peg  Nicliolson  was  a  gude  bay  mare. 

As  ever  trode  on  airn  ;  An'  ance  she  bare  a  priest ; 

But  now  she's  floating  down  the  Nith,  But  now  she's  floating  down  the  Nith, 

An'  past  the  mouth  o'  Cairn.  For  Sohvay  fish  a  feast. 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare,  Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare. 

An'  rode  thro'  thick  an'  thin  ;  An'  the  priest  he  rode  her  sair  ; 

But    now    she's    floating    down    the  An'  meikle  oppress'd  an'  bruised  sIm 

Nith,  was, 

An'  wanting  even  the  skin.  As  priest-rid  cattle  are. 


ON  SEEING  MISS  FONTENELLE 

IN    A    FAVOURITK    CHARACTER. 

Sweet  naivete  of  feature,  Wert  thou  awkward,  stiff,  affected^ 
Simple,  wild,  enchanting  elf,  Spurning  nature,  torturing  art; 

Kot  to  thee,  but  thanks  to  Nature,  Loves  and  graces  all  rejected. 
Thou  art  acting  but  thyself.  Then  indeed  Ihou'dst  act  a  part. 


THE  SOLEMN  LEAGUE  AND  COVENANT. 

The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant 
Now  brings  a  smile,  now  brings  a  tear  ; 

But  sacred  Freedom,  too,  was  theirs  ; 
If  thou'rt  a  slave,  indulge  thy  sneer. 


ON  MISS  JESSY  LEWARS. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  savages  But  Jessy's  lovely  hand  in  mine, 

From  Afric's  burning  sun,  A  mutual  faith  to  plight, 

No  savage  e'er  could  rend  my  heart.  Not  ev'n  to  view  the  heavenly  choii 

As,  Jessy,  thou  hast  done.  Would  be  so  blessed  a  sight. 


EPITAPH  ON  MISS  JESSY  LEWARS. 

Say,  Sages,  what's  the  charm  on  earth 

Can  turn  Deatl'i's  dart  aside  ? 
It  is  not  purity  and  worth, 

Else  Jessy  had  not  died. 


THE  RECOVERY  OF  JESSY  LEWARS. 

But  rarely  seen  since  Nature's  birth, 

The  natives  of  the  sky, 
Yet  still  one  Seraph's  left  on  earth, 

^ov  ies&j  did  noi  dis^ 


ON  ROBERT  RIDDEL,  161 


THE  TOAST. 

Fill  me  with  the  rosy  wine. 
Call  a  toast,  a  toast  divine  ; 
Give  the  Poet's  darling  flame. 
Lovely  Jessy  be  the  name  ; 
Then  thou  mayest  freely  boast. 
Thou  hast  given  a  peerless  toast. 


THE  KIRK  OF  LAMINGTOK 

As  cauld  a  wind  as  ever  blew, 
A  caulder  kirk,  and  in't  but  few ; 
As  cauld  a  minister's  e'er  spak, 
Ye'se  a'  be  het  ere  I  come  back. 


WRITTEN  ON  A  BLANK  LEAF 

OP   ONE    OP    MISS    HANNAH    MORB'S  WORKS,    WHICH    SHE    HAD    GIVEN    HIM. 

Thou  flattering  mark  of  friendship      She  show'd  her  tastes  refined  and  juf#, 

kind,  When  she  selected  thee. 

Still  may  thy  pages  call  to  mind  Yet  deviating  own  I  must 

The  dear,  the  beauteous  donor  ;  For  so  approving  me. 

Though  sweetly  female  every  part,  But  kind  still,  I'll  mind  stiil 

Yet    such   a    head,    and    more    the  The  giver  in  the  gift ; 

heart,  I'll  bless  her  and  wiss  her 

Does  both  the  sexes  honour.  A  Friend  above  the  Lift. 


INSCRIPTION  ON  A  GOBLET. 

WRITTEN  IN  THE    HOUSE  OP  MR.   STME. 

There's  death  in  the  cup — sae  beware  ! 

Nay,  more — there  is  danger  in  touching ; 
But  wha  can  avoid  the  fell  snare  ? 

The  man  and  his  wine's  sae  bewitching  ! 

THE  BOOK-WORMS. 

Through  and  through  the  inspired  leaves. 
Ye  maggots,  make  your  windings  ; 

But,  oh  !  respect  his  lordship's  taste, 
And  spare  his  golden  bindings. 

ON  ROBERT  RIDDEL. 

To  Riddel,  much-lamented  man. 

This  ivied  cot  was  dear  ; 
Beader,  dost  value  matchless  worth  ? 

Tljis  ivied  cot  rever§. 


102 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  A  BANK-NOTE. 


WILLIE    CHALMERS. 


Wi*  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride, 

And  eke  a  braw  new  brechan, 
My  Pegasus  I'm  got  astride, 

And'up  Parnassus  pechin  ; 
Whiles  ovvre  a  busb   wi'   downward 
crush, 

The  doiled  beastie  stammers  ; 
Then  up  he  gets  and  off  he  sets 

For  sake  o'  Willie  Chalmers. 

^  doubt  na,  lass,   that  weel  kenn'd 
name 

May  cost  a  pair  o'  blushes  ; 
I  am  nae  stranger  to  your  fame 

Nor  his  warm  urged  wishes. 
Your  bonie  face  sae  mild  and  sweet, 

His  honest  heart  enamours, 
And  faith  ye'll  no  be  lost  a'  whit, 

Tho'  waircd  on  Willie  Chalmers. 

Auld  Truth  hersel'  might  swear  ye're 
fair, 

And  Honour  safely  back  her. 
And  Modesty  assume  your  air. 

And  ne'er  a  ane  mistak'  her  : 
And  gic  tvA^a  love-inspiring  een 

]\Iighi  fire  even  holy  Palmers  ; 
No  wonder  then  they've  fatal  been 

To  honest  Willie  Chalmers. 


I  doubt  na  fortune  may  you  shore 

Some        mini  -  mou'd        pouther'd 
priestie, 
Fu'  lifted  up  wi'  Hebrew  lore. 

And  band  upon  his  brea&tie  : 
But  oh  !  what  signifies  to  you, 

His  lexicons  and  grammars ; 
The  feeling  heart's  the  royal  blue. 

And  that's  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 

Some  gapin'  glowrin'  count ra  laird 

May  warsle  for  your  favour  ; 
May  claw    his    lug,   and    straik  his 
beard, 

And  host  up  some  palaver. 
My  bonie  maid,  before  ye  wed 

Sic  clumsy-witted  hammers. 
Seek  Heaven  for  help,   and    barefit 
skelp, 

Awa'  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 

Forgive  the  Bard  !  my  fond  regard 

For  ane  that  shares  my  bosom. 
Inspires  my  muse  to  gie  'm  his  dues. 

For  de'il  a  hair  I  roose  him. 
May  powers  aboon  unite  you  soon, 

And  fructify  your  amours — 
And  every  year  come  in  mair  dear 

To  you  and  Willie  Chalmers. 


TO   JOHN  TAYLOR 


With  Pegasus  upon  a  day, 

Apollo  weary  flying. 
Through  frosty  hills  the  journey  lay. 

On  foot  the  way  was  plying. 

Poor  slip-shod  giddy  Pegasus 

Was  but  a  sorry  walker  ; 
To  Vulcan  then  Apollo  goes. 

To  get  a  frosty  calker. 


Obliging  Vulcan  fell  to  work, 
Threw  by  his  coat  and  bonnet. 

And  did  Sol's  business  with  a  crack 
Sol  paid  him  with  a  sonnet. 

Ye  Vulcan's  sons  of  Wanlockhead, 

Pity  my  sad  disaster  ; 
My  Pegasus  is  poorh'  shod — 

I'll  pay  you  like  my  master 


LINES  WRITTEN   ON  A  BANK-NOTE. 

Wae  worth  thy  power,  thou  cursed  leaf  ! 
Fell  source  o'  a'  my  woe  and  grief  ! 
For  lack  o'  thee  I've  lost  my  lass  1 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  scrimp  my  glass  t 
I  see  the  children  of  afliiction 
Uuaided,  thro'  thy  curs'^  refitrictioix. 


THE  TOAD-EATER.  163 

I've  seen  the  oppressor's  cruel  smile. 
Amid  his  hapless  victim's  spoil. 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  leave  this  much-lov'd  shore. 
Never,  perhaps,  to  greet  old  Scotland  more. 

R.  B.  Kyle, 

THE   LOYAL  NATIVES'  VERSES. 

Te  sons  of  sedition,  give  ear  to  my  song. 
Let  Syme,  Burns,  and  Maxwell  pervade  every  throng, 
With  Cracken  the  attorney,  and  Mundell  the  quack,  j 
Send  Willie  the  monger  to  hell  with  a  smack. 

These  verses  were  handed  over  the  table  to  Burns  at  a  convivial  meeting,  and  he  endorsed  tht 
sul^oined  reply : 

BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Ye  true  "  Loyal  Natives,"  attend  to  my  song. 

In  uproar  and  riot  rejoice  the  night  long  ; 

From  envy  and  hatred  your  corps  is  exempt ; 

But  where  is  your  shield  from  the  darts  of  contempt  ? 

REMORSE. 

Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our  peace, 

That  press  the  soul,  or  wring  the  mind  with  anguish, 

Beyond  comparison  the  worst  are  those 

That  to  our  folly  or  our  guilt  we  owe. 

In  every  other  circumstance,  the  mind 

Has  this  to  say — "  It  was  no  deed  of  mine  **; 

But  when  to  all  the  evil  of  misfortune 

This  sting  is  added — "  Blame  thy  foolish  self  I" 

Or  worser  far,  the  pangs  of  keen  Remorse  ; 

The  torturing,  gnawing  consciousness  of  guilt — 

Of  guilt  perhaps,  where  we've  involved  others ; 

The  young,  the  innocent,  who  fondly  lov'd  us, 

Nay,  more,  that  very  love  their  cause  of  ruin  ! 

O  burning  hell  !  m  all  thy  store  of  torments, 

There's  not  a  keener  lash  ! 

Lives  there  a  man  so  firm,  who,  while  his  heart 

Feels  all  the  bitter  horrors  of  his  crime. 

Can  reason  down  its  agonizing  throbs  ; 

And,  after  proper  purpose  of  amendment. 

Can  firmly  force  his  jarring  thoughts  to  peace  ? 

O,  happy  !  happy  !  enviable  man  ! 

O  glorious  magnanimity  of  soul  ! 

THE  TOAD-EATER. 

What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supt, 
And  of  dukes  that  you  dined  with  yestreen  ? 

Lord  !  a  louse.  Sir,  is  still  but  a  louse, 
Though  it  crawl  on  the  curls  of  a  Queen. 


164  I BXTRN,  I  BURN, 

TO . 


Moscgiel, ITSi 


Sir, 

Yours  this  moment  I  unseal.  But  foorsday,  Sir,  my  promise  leal 

And  faith  I  am  gay  and  hearty  I  Expect  me  o'  your  party, 

To  tell  the  truth  an'  shame  the  Deil  If  on  a  beastie  1  can  speel, 

I  am  as  fu'  as  Bartie  :  Or  hurl  in  a  cartie.            R.  B, 

"  IN  VAIN  WOULD  PRUDENCE." 

In  vain  would  Prudence,  with  decorous  sneer. 
Point  out  a  cens'ring  world,  and  bid  me  fear  ; 
Above  that  world  on  wings  of  love  I  rise, 
I  know  its  worst — and  can  that  worst  despise. 
**  Wrong'd,  injur'd,  shunn'd  ;  unpitied,  unredrcsfc. 
The  mock'd  quotation  of  the  scorner's  jest." 
Let  Prudence'  direct  bodements  on  me  fall, 
Glarinda,  rich  reward  1  o'erpays  them  all ! 

"THOUGH  FICKLE  FORTUNE.'' 

Though  fickle  Fortune  has  deceiv'd  me. 

She  promis'd  fair  and  perform'd  but  ill ; 
Of  mistress,  friends,  and  wealth  bercav'd  me. 

Yet  I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me  still.— 

I'll  act  with  prudence  as  far's  I'm  able. 

But  if  success  I  must  never  find, 
Then  come  misfortune,  I  bid  thee  welcome, 

I'll  meet  thee  with  an  undaunted  mind.— 

"I  BURN,  I  BURN." 

**  I  BURN,  I  burn,  as  when  thro'  ripen'd  corn 

By  driving  winds  the  crackling  flames  are  borne,** 

Now  maddening,  wild,  I  curse  that  fatal  night ; 

Now  bless  the  hour  wliich  charm'd  my  guilty  sight. 

In  vain  the  laws  their  feeble  force  oppose  : 

Chain'd  at  his  feet  they  groan.  Love's  vanquish'd  foes 

In  vain  religion  meets  my  sinking  eye  ; 

I  dare  not  combat — but  I  turn  and  fly  ; 

Conscience  in  vain  upbraids  th'  unhallow'd  fire  ; 

Love  grasps  his  scorpions — stifled  they  expire  I 

Reason  drops  headlong  from  his  sacred  throne. 

Your  dear  idea  reigns  and  reigns  alone  ; 

Each  thought  intoxicated  homage  yields. 

And  riots  wanton  in  forbidden  fields  ! 

By  all  on  high  adoring  mortals  know  I 
By  all  the  conscious  villain  fears  below  ! 
By  your  dear  self  !  — the  last  great  oath  I  swear ; 
K'or  life  nor  soul  were  eyer  half  so  dear  I 


i^MuLOOtlM.  166 


EPIGRAM  ON  A  NOTED  COXCOMB. 

Light  lay  the  earth  on  Billy's  breast. 

His  chicken  heart  so  tender  ; 
But  build  a  castle  on  his  head, 

His  skull  will  prop  it  under. 

TAM  THE  CHAPMAN. 

As  Tarn  the  Chapman  on  a  day 

Wi'  Death  foregather'd  by  the  way, 

Weel  pleased,  he  greets  a  wight  sae  famous. 

And  Death  was  nae  less  pleased  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  and  garters. 

Death  takes  him  hame  to  gie  him  quarters. 

TO  DR.  MAXWELL. 

ON  MISS  JESST  STAIG's  RECOVERY. 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave. 

That  merit  I  deny  : 
You  save  fair  Jessy  from  the  grave  1 

An  Angel  could  not  die. 

FRAGMENT. 

Kow  health  forsakes  that  angel  face,  The  cruel  powers  reject  the  prayer 
Nae  mair  my  dearie  smiles  ;  I  hourly  mak'  for  thee  ; 

Pale  sickness  withers  ilka  grace.  Ye  heavens,  how  great  is  my  despair, 
And  a'  my  hopes  beguiles.  How  can  I  see  him  dee  ! 

THERE'S  NAETHIN  LH^E  THE  HONEST  NAPPY. 

There's     naethin    like    the    honest  I've  seen  me  daez't  upon  a  time  ; 

nappy  !  I  scarce  could  wink  or  see  a  styme  ; 

Whaur'll  ye  e'er  see  men  sae  happy.  Just    ae    hauf    mutchkin    does    me 
Or  women  sonsie,  saft  an'  sappy,  prime, 

'Tween  morn  an'  morn,  Ought  less  is  little. 

As  them  wha  like  to  taste  the  drappie  Then  back  I  rattle  on  the  rhyme 

In  glass  or  horn.  As  gleg's  a  whittle  > 

PROLOGUE. 

SPOKEN  BT  MR.  WOODS,  ON  HIS  BENEFIT-NIGHT,  MONDAY,  APRH.  16,  1787. 

When  by  a  generous  public's  kind  acclaim. 
That  dearest  meed  is  granted— honest  fame  ; 
When  here  your  favour  is  the  actor's  lot. 
Nor  even  the  man  in  private  life  forgot  j 


166  N-ATXTBE'S  LAW. 

What  breast  so  dead  to  heav'nly  virtue's  glow. 
But  heaves  impassioned  with  the  grateful  throe  ? 

Poor  is  the  task  to  please  a  barb'rous  throng, 
It  needs  no  Siddons'  power  in  Southerns'  song  : 
But  here  an  ancient  nation,  fani'd  afar 
For  genius,  learning  high,  as  great  in  war  — 
Hail,  Caledonia  !  name  for  ever  dear  ! 
Before  whose  sons  I'm  honour'd  to  appear  I 
Where  every  science,  ever}^  nobler  art — 
That  can  inform  the  mind,  or  mend  the  heart, 
Is  known  ;  as  grateful  nations  oft  have  found, 
For  as  the  rude  barbarian  marks  the  bound. 
Philosophy,  no  idle,  pedant  dream. 
Here  holds lier  search,  by  heaven-taught  Reason's  beam, 
Here  History  paints  with  elegance  and  force, 
The  tide  of  Empire's  flu2tuating  course  ; 
Here  Douglas  forms  wild  Shakespeare  into  plan. 
And  Harley  rouses  all  the  god  In  man, 
AVhen  well-form'd  taste  and  sparkling  wit  unite. 
With  manly  love,  or  female  beauty  bright, 
(Beauty,  whose  faultless  symmetr}'  and  grace 
Can  only  charm  us  in  the  second  place,) 
Witness  my  heart,  how  oft  with  panting  fear, 
As  on  this  night,  I've  met  these  judges  liere  1 
But  still  the  hope  Experience  taught  to  live. 
Equal  to  judge — you're  candid  to  forgive. 
No  hundred-headed  Riot  here  we  meet, 
With  decency  and  law  beneath  his  feet, 
Nor  Insolence  assumes  fair  Freedom's  name  ; 
Like  Caledonians,  you  applaud  or  blame. 

O  Tiiou,  dread  Power  !  whose  empire-giving  liand 
Has  oft  been  stretch'd  to  shield  the  honour'd  land, 
Strong  may  she  glow  with  all  her  ancient  fire  ; 
May  every  son  be  worthy  of  his  sire  ; 
Firm  may  she  rise  with  generous  disdain 
At  Tyranny's,  or  direr  Pleasure's  chain  ; 
Still  self-dependent  in  her  native  shore. 
Bold  may  she  brave  grim  Danger's  loudest  roar, 
Till  Fate  the  curtain  drop  on  worlds  to  be  no  more. 


NATURE'S  LAW. 

1  POEM  HUMBLY  INSCRIBED  TO  G.   H.,  ESQ. 

Great  nature  spoke,  observant  man  obeyed. 

Pope. 

Let  other  heroes  boast  their  scars  Great  Nature  spoke,  with  air  benign, 

The  marks  of  sturt and  strife  :  "Go  on,  ye  human  race  ! 

And  other  Poets  sing  of  wars,  This  lower  world  I  you  resign  ; 

The  plagues  of  human  life  ;  Be  fruitful  and  increase. 

Shame  fa'  the  fun  ;  wi"  sword  and  gun      The  liquid  fire  of  strong  desire 

To  slap  mankind  like  lumber  !  I've  pour'd  it  in  each  bosom  ; 

I  sing  his  name  and  nobler  fame.  Here,  in  this  hand, does  mankind  stand, 

Wha  multiplies  our  number.  .  And  there,  is  Beauty's  blossom  1 " 


TBAGIG  FRAGMENT,  167 

The  Hero  of  these  artless  strains,  Auld,  cantie  Coil  may  count  the  day, 

A  lowly  Bard  was  he,       '  As  annual  it  returns, 

Who  sung  his  rhymes  in  Coila's  plains  The  third  of  Libra's  equal  sway. 

With  meikle  mirth  an'  glee  ;  That  gave  another  Burns, 

Kind  Nature's  care  hadgiven  his  share,  With  future  rhymes,  an'  other  times. 

Large,  of  the  flaming  current  ;  To  emulate  his  sire  ; 

And,  all  devout,  he  never  sought  To  sing  auld  Coil  in  nobler  style 

To  stem  the  sacred  torrent.  With  more  poetic  fire. 

He  felt  the  powerful,  high  behest.  Ye  Powers  of    peace,   and  peaceful 

Thrill,  vital,  thro'  and  thro':  song, 

And  sought  a  correspondent  breast.  Look  down  with  gracious  eyes  ; 

To  give  obedience  due  ;  And  bless  auld  Coila,  large  and  long, 

Propitious  Powers  screen'd  the  young  With  multiplying  joys. 

flow'rs,  Long  may  she  stand  to  prop  the  land, 

From  mildews  of  abortion  ;  The  flow'r  of  an(;ient  nations  ; 

A.nd  lo  !  the  Bard,  a  great  reward.  And  Burnses  spring,  her  fame  to  sing, 

Has  got  a  double  portion  I  To  endless  generations  1 

THE  CATS  LIKE  KITCHEK 

The  cats  like  kitchen  ;  chorus. 

The  dogs  like  broo  ;  And  we're  a'  noddin. 

The  lasses  like  the  lads  weel,  Nid,  nid,  noddin. 

And  th'  auld  wives  too.  We're  a'  noddin  fou  at  e'ea, 

TRAGIC  FRAGMENT. 

All  devil  as  I  am,  a  damned  wretch, 

A  harden'd,  stubborn,  unrepenting  villain, 

Still  my  heart  melts  at  human  wretchedness  ; 

And  with  sincere  tho'  unavailing  sighs 

I  view  the  helpless  children  of  distress. 

With  tears  of  indignation  I  behold  the'  oppressor 

Rejoicing  in  the  honest  man's  destruction. 

Whose  unsubmitting  heart  was  all  his  crime. 

Even  you,  ye  helpless  crew%  I  pity  you  ; 

Ye,  whom  the  seeming  good  think  sin  to  pity  ; 

Ye  poor,  despis'd,  abandon'd  vagabonds. 

Whom  Vice,  as  usual,  has  turn'd  o'er  to  Ruin. 

0  but  for  kind,  tho'  ill-requited  friends, 

1  have  been  driven  forth  like  you  forlorn. 

The  most  detested,  worthless  wretch  among  you  ! 

O  injur'd  God  !     Thy  goodness  has  endow'd  me 

With  talents  passing  most  of  my  compeers. 

Which  I  in  just  proportion  have  abus'd. 

As  far  surpassing  other  common  villains. 

As  Thou  in  natural  parts  hadst  given  me  more. 

EXTEMPORE. 

ON  PASSING  A  lady's  CARRIAGB.      [mRS.  MARIA  RIDDBL'S.] 

If  you  rattle  along  like  your  mistress's  tongue. 

Your  speed  will  out-rival  the  dart  ; 
But,  a  fly  for  your  load,  you'll  break  down  on  the  road„ 

If  your  stuff  be  as  rott^ja's  her  heart. 


I6d 


FRAQMENTB. 


FRAGMENTS. 


Ye  hae  lien  a'  wrang,  lassie, 

Ye've  lien  a'  wrang  ; 
Ye've  lie  in  an  unco  bed. 

And  wi'  a  fremit  man. 
O  ance  ye  danced  upon  the  knowes. 

And  ance  ye  lightly  sang — 
But  in  herrjing  o'  a  bee  byke, 

I'm  rad  ye've  got  a  stang. 


0  GiE  my  love  brose,  brose, 

1  Gie  my  love  brose  and  butter  ; 
For  uane  in  Carrick  or  Kyle 

f    Can  please  a  lassie  better. 
The  lav'rock  lo'es  the  grass, 
I    The  muirhen  lo'es  the  heather  ; 
But  gie  me  a  braw  moonlight, 
And  me  and  my  love  together. 


liASS,  when  your  mitlier  is  fra  hame, 

Might  I  but  be  sae  bauld 
As  come  to  youi  bower-window. 

And  creep  in  frae  the  cauld. 
As  come  to  your  bower-window. 

And  when  it's  cauld  and  wat. 
Warm  me  in  thy  sweet  bosom  ; 

Fair  lass,  wilt  thou  do  that  ? 

Young  man,  gif  ye  should  be  sae  kind. 

When  our  gudewife's  frae  hame. 
As  come  to  my  bower-window, 

Wliare  I  am  laid  my  lane, 
And  warm  thee  in  my  bosom — 

But  I  will  tell  thee  what, 
The  way  to  me  lies  througli  the  kirk  ; 

Young  man,  do  you  hear  that  ? 


I  MET  a  lass,  a  bonnie  lass. 

Coming  o'er  the  braes  o'er  Couper, 
Bare  her  leg  and  bright  her  een. 

And  handsome  ilka  bit  about  her. 
Weel  I  wat  she  was  a  quean 

Wad  made  a  body's  mouth  to  water; 


Our  Mess  John,  wi  his  lyart  pow 
His  haly  lips  wat  licKit  at  her. 


O  WAT  ye  what  my  minniedid, 
My  minnie  did,  my  minnie  did, 

0  wat  ye  what  my  minnie  did. 
On  Tysday  'teen  to  me,  jo  ? 

She  laid  me  in  a  saf  t  bed, 

A  saft  bed,  a  saf  I  bed, 
She  laid  me  in  a  saft  bed, 

And  bade  gudeen  to  me,  jo. 

A-n'  wat  ye  what  the  parson  did, 

The  parson  did,  the  parson  did. 
An'  wat  ye  what  the  parson  did, 

A'  for  a  penny  fee,  jo  ? 
He  loosed  on  me  a  lang  man, 

A  mickle  man,  a  Strang  man. 
He  loosed  on  me  a  lang  man, 

That  might  hae  worried  me,  jo. 

An'  I  was  but  a  young  thing, 
A  young  thing,  a  young  tiling. 

An'  1  was  but  a  young  thing, 
Wi'  nane  to  pity  me,  jo, 

1  wat  the  kirk  was  in  the  wyte, 
In  the  wyte,  in  the  wyte, 

To  pit  a  young  thing  in  a  fright. 
An'  loose  a  man  on  me ,  jo. 


0  CAN  ye  labour  lea,  young  man, 
An'  can  ye  labour  lea  ; 

Gae  back  the  gate  ye  cam'  again, 
Ye'se  never  scorn  me. 

1  feed  a  man  at  Martinmas, 
W'  arle  pennies  three  ; 

An'  a'  the  taut  I  fan  wi'  him. 
He  couldna  labour  lea. 

The  stibble  rig  is  easy  plough'd. 

The  fallow  land  is  free  ; 
But  wlia  wad  keep  the  handless  coof 

That  coudna  labour  lea  ? 


Jenny  M'Craw,  she  has  ta'en  to  the  heather. 
Say,  was  it  the  covenant  carried  her  thither  ; 
Jenny  M'Craw  to  the  mountain  is  gane. 
Their  leagues  and  their  covenjints  a'  she  has  ta'en  ,- 
My  head  and  my  heart,  now  quo'  she,  are  at  rest. 
And  as  for  the  lave,  let  the  Deil  do  his  best. 


AJUSWBB  TO  A  POETICAL  EPISTLE, 


169 


The  last  braw  bridal  that  I  was  at, 

'Twas  on  a  Hallowmass  day, 
And  there  was  routh  o'  drink  and  fun, 

And  niickle  mirth  and  play. 
The  bells  they  rang,  and  the  carlins 
sang. 

And  the  dames  danced  in  the  ha' ; 
The  bride  went  to  bed  wi'  the  silly 
bridegroom. 

In  the  midst  o'  her  kimmers  a*. 


O  Thou,  in  whom  we  live  and  move. 

Who  mad'st  the  sea  and  shore  ; 
Thy  goodness  constantly  we  prove. 

And  grateful  would  adore. 
And  if  it  please  thee,  Pow'r  above. 

Still  grant  us  with  such  store  ; 
The  friend  we  trust,  the  fair  we  love. 

And  we  desire  no  more. 


Lord,  we  thank  an'  thee  adore. 
For  temp'ral  gifts  we  little  merit ; 

At  present  we  will  ask  no  more. 
Let  William  Hyslop  give  the  spirit 


There  came  a  piper  out  o'  Fife, 
I  watna  what  they  ca'd  him  ; 

He  play'd  our  cousin  Kate  a  springy 
When  fient  a  body  bade  him. 

And  ay  the  mair  he  hotch'd  an'  blew, 
The  mair  that  she  forbade  him. 


The  black-headed  eagle, 

As  keen  as  a  beagle. 
He  hunted  o'er  height  and  owre  how©, 

But  fell  in  a  trap 

On  the  braes  o'  Gemappe, 
E'en  let  hirn  come  out  as  he  dowe. 


EPITAPH  ON  WILLIAM  NICOL. 

Ye  maggots  feast  on  Nicol's  brain. 
For  few  sic  feasts  ye've  gotten  ; 

And  fix  your  claws  in  Nicol's  heart. 
For  de'il  a  bit  o't's  rotten. 


ANSWER  TO  A  POETICAL  EPISTLE 

SENT  THE  AUTHOR  BY  A  TAILOR. 


What  ails  ye  now,  ye  lousie  bitch, 
To  thresh  my  back  at  sic  a  pitch  ? 
Losh,  man  I  hae  mercy  wi'  your  natch, 

Your  bodkin's  bauld, 
I  didna  suffer  ha'f  sae  much 

Frae  Daddie  Auld. 

I  What  tho'  at  times  Avhen  I  grow  cross 

I I  gi'e  their  wames  a  random  pouse, 
lis  that  enough  for  you  to  souse 

Your  servant  sae  ? 
Gae  mind  your   seam,   ye  prick-the- 
louse. 
An'  jag-the-flae. 

King  David  o'  poetic  brief. 
Wrought  'mang  the  lasses  such  mis- 
chief 
As  fill'd  his  after  life  wi'  grief 

An'  bloody  rants, 
An'  yet  he's  rank'd  nmang  the  chief 
0'  laug-syne  saunts. 


And  maybe,  Tam,  for  a'  my  cants. 
My  wicked  rhymes,  an'  drucken  rant% 
I'll  gie  auld  cloven  Clooty's  haunts 

An  unco  slip  yet, 
An'  snugly  sit  amang  the  saunts, 

At  Davie's  hip  yet. 

But  fegs,  the  Sessions  says  I  maun 

Gae  fa'  upo'  anither  plan, 

Than  garren  lasses  cowp  the  cran 

Clean  heels  owre  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,  an'  answer  for't, 

Ye're  blam'd  for  jobbin'/' 


170  THE  HENPEGK'D  HJJSBAND. 

Wi'  pinch  I  put  a  Sunday's  face  on,  "Na,  na,"  quo'  I,  "J'ni  lio  foi  ^k^ 

An'  snoov'd  awa'  before  the  Session —  Gelding's  nae  better  than  'tis  ca't, 

I  made  an  open  fair  confession,  I'd  rather  suffer  for  my  faut, 

I  scorn'd  to  lie  ;  A  hearty  flewit. 

An'  syne  Mess  John,  beyond  expres-  As  sair  owre  hip  as  ye  can  draw'tf 
sion,  Tho'  I  should  rue  it. 

Fell  foul  o'  me. 

.   -       •    .     1        1        ^^,A  "  Or  gin  ye  like  to  end  the  bothei, 

A  f urnicator-loun  he  call  d  me,  r^^  pkase  us  a',  I've  just  ae  ithor. 

An  said  my  fau  t  f rae  bliss  expell  d  ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^,^,  ^,^,^  ^^^^  j  forgather, 

1  /wi'    .1  *        1     *  ^^>A  Whate'er  betide  it, 

I  own  d  the  tale  was  true  he  tell  d  me,  pjj  ^    ^^    ^,^  1^^,,.,^  .^,  thegithe., 
n     ,,   .LK^t  what  the  mater?"  An' let  her  guide  it." 

Quo  I,     I  fear  unless  ye  geld  me,  ^ 

I'll  ne'er  be  better."  ^^^^    g.^^   ^j^j^    ^^^^^^^.^    t^,^^^    ^^^^ 

"Geld  you  1 "  quo'  he,  "and  what-  ava, 

fore  no  ?  An'    therefore,    Tam,    when    that    I 
If  that  your  right  hand,  leg  or  toe,  saw, 

Should  <3ver  prove  your  sp'ritual  foe,  I  said,  "  Gude  night,"  and  cam  awa. 

You  shou'd  remember  And  left  the  Session  ; 

To  cut  it  aff,  an'  w^hatfore  no  I  saw  they  were  resolved  a' 

Your  dearest  member  ?  "  On  my  oppression. 

EXTEMPORE  LINES, 

ijr  ANSWER  TO  A  CARD  FROM  AN  INTIMATE  FRIEND  OF  BURNS,  WISHINO  lOU 
;  TO  SPEND  AN  HOUR  AT  A  TAVERN. 

The  King's  most  humble  servant  I, 

Can  scarcely  spare  a  minute  ; 
But  I'll  be  wi'  ye  by  an'  bye ; 

Or  else  the  Deil's  be  in  it. 


My  bottle  is  my  holy  pool, 
That  heals  the  wounds  o'  care  an'  dool. 
And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout. 
An'  ye  drink  it,  ye'll  find  him  out. 

LINES 

WRITTEN  EXTEMPORE  IN  A  LADY's  POCKET-BOOK.      [MISS  KENNEDl 
SISTER-IN-LAW  OF  GAATN  HAMILTON.] 

Grant  me,  indulgent  Heav'n,  that  I  may  live 
To  see  the  miscreants  feel  the  pain  they  give  ; 
Deal  Freedom's  sacred  treasures  free  as  air. 
Till  slave  and  despot  be  but  things  w^hich  were, 

THE  HENPEGK'D  HUSBAND. 

Ctjrs'd  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in  life. 
The  crouching  vassal  to  the  tyrant  wife  ! 
Who  has  no  will  but  by  her  liigh  permission ; 
Who  has  not  sixpence  but  in  her  possession  ; 


LtNm  15^1 


Who  must  to  her  his  dear  friend's  secrets  tell ; 
Who  dreads  a  curtain  lecture  worse  than  hell. 
Were  such  the  wife  had  fallen  to  my  part, 
I'd  break  her  spirit,  or  I'd  break  her  heart: 
I'd  charm  her  with  the  magic  of  a  switch, 
rd  kiss  her  maids,  and  kick  the  perverse  bitch. 


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. 

0  Death,  had  thou  but  spar'd  his  life  Ev'n  as  he  is,  cauld  in  his  graff. 
Whom  we,  this  day,  lament  !  The  swap  we  yet  will  do't ; 

We  freely  wad  exchang'd  the  wife.  Take  thou  the  carlin's  carcase  aflj, 
And  a'  been  weel  content.  Thou'se  get  the  saul  o'  boot 

ANOTHER. 

One  Queen  Artemisia,  as  old  stories  tell, 
When  depriv'd  of  her  husband  she  loved  so  well, 
In  respect  for  the  love  and  affection  he'd  show'd  her. 
She  reduced  him  to  dust  and  she  drank  up  the  powder 

But  Queen  Netherplace,  of  a  diff'rent  complexion, 
When  call'd  on  to  order  the  fun'ral  direction. 
Would  have  eat  her  dead  lord  on  a  slender  pretence, 
Not  to  ^.hovv  her  respect,  but — to  save  the  expense. 

VERSES 

T7RITTEN  ON  A  WINDOW  OF  THE  INN  AT  CARRON. 

We  came  na  here  to  view  your  warks.  But  when  we  tirl'd  at  your  door, 

In  hopes  to  be  mair  wise,  Your  porter  dought  na  hear  us  ; 

But  only,  lest  we  gang  to  hell,  Sae  may,shou'd  we  to  hell's  yetts  come, 

It  may  be  nae  surprise.  Your  billy  Satan  sair  us  1 

LINES 

ON  BEING  ASKED  WHY  GOD  HAD  MADE  MISS  DAVIES  SO  LITTLE 
AND  MRS.  *  *   *  SO  LARGE, 

Written  on  a  Pane  of  Glass  in  the  Inn  at  Moffat. 

Ask  why  God  made  th.c  gem  so  small, 

An'  why  so  huge  the  granite  ? 
Because  God  meant  mankind  should  set 

That  higher  value  on  it. 


172  ON  THE  SEAT  OF  LORD  GALLOWAY. 


EPIGRAM 

WRITTEN  AT  INVBRART, 

Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here.  There's  naething  here  but  Highland 

I  pit}^  much  his  case,  pride, 

Unlesshe  come  to  wait  upon  And  Higiihmd  scab'and  hunger  ; 

The  Lord  their  God,  his  Grace.  If  Providence  has  sent  me  here, 

'Twas  surely  in  his  anger. 

A  TOAST 

GIVEN  AT  A  MEETING  OP  THE  DUMPRRIES-SHIRB  VOLUNTEERS,  HELD  TO  COMMEMORATB 
THE   ANNIVERSARY  CF  RODNEY'S  VICTORY,  APRIL   12tH,  1782. 

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  Avhile  the  world  goes  round. 
The  next  in  succession,  I'll  give  you  the  King, 
Who'er  would  betray  him,  on  high  may  he  swing  I 
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  Tyranny  damn'd  ; 
And  who  would  to  Liberty  e'er  prove  disloyal, 
May  his  son  be  a  hangman,  and  he  the  first  trial ! 

LINES 

8AID  TO  HAVE  BEEN  WRITTEN  BY  BURNS,  WHILE  ON  HIS  DEATH-BED,  TO   JOHN  RANKINI, 
AYRSHIRE,  AND  FORAVARDED  TO  HIM  IMMEDIATELY  AFTER  THE  POET'S  DECEASE. 

He  who  of  Rankine  sang,  lies  stiff  and  dead  ; 
And  a  green  grassy  hillock  hides  his  head  ; 
Alas  !  alas  !  a  devilish  change  indeed  ! 

VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  J.  RANKINE, 

ON  HIS  WRITING  TO  THE  POET  THAT  A  GIRL  IN  THAT  PART  OP  THE  COUNTRY 
WAS  WITH  CHILD  TO  HIM.   * 

il  AM  a  keeper  of  the  law  I  hae  been  found  in  f or't  ance  or  twice^ 

'in  some  sma'  points,  altho'  not  a' ;  And  winna  say  owre  far  for  thrice. 

Some  people  tell  we  gin  I  fa',  Yet  never  met  with  that  surprise 

One  way  or  ither,  That  broke  my  rest. 

The  breaking  of  ae  point,  tlio'  sma',  But  now  a  rumour's  like  to  rise, 

Breaks  a'  thegither.  A  whaup's  i'  the  nest. 

ON  SEEING  THE  BEAUTIFUL  SEAT  OF  LORD 
GALLOWAY. 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair  ? 

Flit,  Galloway,  and  find 
Some  narrow,  dirty,  dungeon  cave. 

The  picture  of  thy  mind. 


VEBSES  TO  J,  BANKINE.  l73 

ON   THE    SAME. 

No  Stewart  art  thou,  Galloway, 

The  Stewarts  all  were  brave  ; 
Besides  the  Stewarts  were  but  fools 

Not  one  of  them  a  knave. 

ON    THE    SAME. 

Bright  ran  thy  line,  O  Galloway, 
Thro'  many  a  far-famed  sire  ! 
So  ran  the  far-fam'ed  Roman  way. 
So  ended  in  a  mire  !  I 

TO    THE    SAME, 
ON  THB  AUTHOR  BEING  THREATENED  WITH  HIS  RESENTMENT. 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  Galloway, 

In  quiet  let  me  live  : 
I  ask  no  kindness  at  thy  hand. 

For  thou  hast  none  to  give. 

VERSES  TO  J.  RANKINE. 

Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  gruesome  carl,  "By  God    I'll    not  be   seen  behint 

Was  driving  to  the  tither  warF  them, 

A  mixtie-maxtie  motley  squad.  Nor  'mang  the  sp'ritual  core  present 

And  monie  a  guilt-bespotted  lad  ;  them, 

Black  gowns  of  each  denomination.  Without  at  least,  ae  honest  man, 

And  thieves  of  every  rank  and  station.  To  grace  this  damn'd  infernal  clan." 

From   him  that  wears  the  star  and  By  Adamhill  a  glance  he  threw, 

garter,  "  Lord  God  !"  quoth  he,  "  I  have  it 
To  him  that  wintles  in  a  halter  ;  now, 

Asham'd  himsel  to  see  the  wretches.  There's  just  the  man  I  want,  i'  faith," 

He  mutters,  glowrin  at  the  bitches,  And  quickly  stoppit  liankine's  breath. 

EXTEMPORANEOUS  EFFUSION, 

ON  BEING  APPOINTED  TO  THE  EXCISE. 

Searching  auld  wives'  barrels, 

Och,  hon  !  the  day  ! 
That  clarty  barm  should  stain  my  laurels : 

But —  what'll  ye  say  ? 
These  movin'  things,  ca'd  wives  and  weans. 
Wad  move  the  very  heart's  o'  stanes  ! 

ON  HEARING  THERE  WAS  FALSEHOOD  IN  THE  REV. 
DR.  B 'S  VERY  LOOKS. 

That  there  is  falsehood  in  his  looks, 

I  must  and  will  deny ;  - 
They  say  thei]'  master  is  a  knav®- 

And  sure  they  do  not  }i§, 


174  LINES. 


POVERTY 


In  politics  if  thou  wouldst  mix. 
And  mean  thy  fortunes  be  ; 

Bear  this  in  mind, — be  deaf  and  blind. 
Let  great  folks  hear  and  see. 


ON  A  SCHOOLMASTER. 

IN  CLEISH  PARISH,  FIFESHIRE. 

Here  lie  Willie  Michie's  banes  ; 

O  Satan,  when  ye  tak  him, 
Gic  him  the  schoolin'  of  your  weans, 

For  clever  deils  he'll  mak  them  I 


LINES 

VRrrTEN    AND   PRESENTED    TO    MRS.    KEMBLE,    ON    SEEING    HER   IN    THE    CHARACTBR 
OF  YARICO  IN  THE  DUMFRIES  THEATRE,   1794. 


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 


LINES. 


I  MURDER  hate  by  field  or  flood,  The  deities  that  I  adore 

Tho'  glory's  name  may  screen  us  ;  Are  social  Peace  and  Plenty, 

In  wars  at  hame  I'll  spend  my  blood,  I'm  better  pleased  to  make  one  more, 

Life-giving  war  of  Venus.  Than  be  the  death  of  twenty. 


LINES 

WBITTEN  ON   A  WINDOW,   AT  THE  KING'S  ARMS  TAVERN,  DUMFRIilS. 

Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  wiiy  all  this  sneering 
'Gainst  poor  Excisemen  ?  give  the  cause  a  hearing  ; 
What  are  your  landlords'  rent-rolls  ?  taxing  ledgers: 
What  premiers,  wiiat  ?  even  Monarchs'  mighty  gangers : 
Nay,  w^hat  are  priests,  those  seeming  godly  wise  men  ? 
What  are  they,  pray,  but  spiritual  Excisemen  ? 

LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  WINDOW  OF  THE   GLOBE  TAVERN,   DUMFRIES. 

The  gray  beard.  Old  Wisdom,  may  boast  of  his  treasures. 

Give  me  with  gay  Folly  to  live  : 
I  grant  him  his  calm-blooded,  time-eettled  pleasure^, 

But  Folly  has  raptures  to  give. 


EPIQ  RAM  ON  ELPHIN8T0NE.  1 75 

EXTEMPORE  IN  THE  COURT  OF  SESSION. 

Tune—"  Killiecrankie." 
LORD   ADVOCATE.  MR.    ERSKENE. 

He  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist,        Collected  Harry  stood  awee, 

He  quoted  and  he  hinted,  Then  open'd  out  his  arm,  man  ; 

Till  in  a  declamation-mist,  His  lordship  sat  wi'  ruefu'  e'e. 

His  argument  he  tint  it  :  And    ey'd    the    gathering    storm. 

He  gaped  for't,  he  graped  for't,  man  : 

He  fand  it  was  awa,  man  ;  Like  wind-driv'n  hail  it  did  assail; 

But   what  his   common   sense  came          Or  torrents  owre  a  linn,  man  ; 

short.  The  Bench  sae  wise,  lift  up  their  eyes, 

He  eked  out  wi'  law,  man.  Half-wauken'd  wi'  the  din,  man. 


LINES 

WRITTEN    UNDER    THE    PICTURE   OP   MISS    BURNS. 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing. 
Lovely  Burns  has  charms— confess  : 

True  it  is,  she  had  one  failing. 
Had  a  woman  ever  less  ? 


ON  MISS  J.  SCOTT,  OF  AYR. 

Oh  !  had  each  Scot  of  ancient  times 
Been,  Jeauie  Scott,  as  thou  art. 
The  bravest  heart  on  English  ground 
Had  yielded  like  a  coward. 


EPIGRAM  ON  CAPTAIN  FRANCIS  GROSE, 

THE  CELEBRATED  ANTIQUARY. 

The  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was  a-dying. 

So  whip  !  at  the  summons,  old  Satan  came  flying  ; 

But  when  he  approach'd  where  poor  Francis  lay  moaning. 

And  saw  each  bed-post  with  its  burden  a-groaning, 

Astonish'd  !  confounded!  cry'd  Satan,  '*By  God, 

I'll  want  'im,  ere  I  take  such  a  damnable  load." 


EPIGRAM    ON   ELPHINSTONE  S    TRANSLATION  OP 

MARTIAL'S  EPIGRAMS. 

O  THOU  whom  Poetry  abhors. 
Whom  Prose  had  turned  out  of  doors, 
Heard'st  thou  yon  groan  ? — proceed  no  further^ 
'Twa^  laurel'd  Martial  calling  murther, 


176  EPITAPH  FOR  QA  VIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ, 

EPITAPH  ON  A  COUNTRY  LAIRD, 

NOT  QUITE  SO  WISE  AS  SOLOMON. 

Bless  Jesus  Christ,  O  Cardoness, 

With  grateful  lifted  eyes, 
Who  said  that  not  the  soul  alone. 

But  body  too,  must  rise  : 
For  had  he  said,  "  The  soul  alont 

From  death  I  will  deliver," 
Alas,  alas  !  O  Cardoness, 

Then  thou  hadst  slept  for  ever  I 

EPITAPH  ON  A  NOISY  POLEMIC. 

Below    thir  stanes  lie  Jamie's  banes: 

O  Death,  it's  my  opinion, 
Thou  ne'er  took  such  a  bleth'rin'  bitch 

Into  thy  dark  dominion  I 

EPITAPH  ON  WEE  JOHNNY. 

Ilicjacet  wee  Johnny. 

Whoe'ek  thou  art,  O  reader,  know 
That  death  has  murder'd  Johnnie  ! 

An'  here  his  body  lies  f u'  low  — 
For  saul  he  ne'er  had  ony. 

EPITAPH  ON  A  CELEBRATED  RULING  ELDER, 

Here  souter  Hood  in  Death  does  sleep  :, 

To  Hell,  if  he's  gane  thither, 
Satan,  gie  him  th}"  gear  to  keep. 

He'll  baud  it  weel  thegither. 


EPITAPH  FOR  ROBERT  AIKEN,  ESQ. 

Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame 
Of  this  much  lov'd,  much  honour'd  name, 
(For  none  that  knew  him  need  be  told) 
A  warmer  heart  death  ne'er  made  cold. 


EPITAPH  FOR  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ. 

The  Poor  man  weeps — here  Gavin  sleeps. 
Whom  canting  wretches  blam'd  : 

But  with  such  as  he,  where'er  he  be, 
Jflay  I  be  sav'd  or  damn'd  1 


EPITAPH  ON  JOHN  BU8HB7, 


177 


A  BARD'S  EPITAPH. 


IS  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 

Owre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for 

rule, 
Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  proud  to 
snool, 

Let  him  draw  near  ; 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool, 
And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  Bard  of  rustic  song, 

Who,    noteless,     steals    the    crowds 

among, 
That  weekly  this  area  throng, 

O,  pass  not  by  ! 
But,  with  a  frater-feeling  strong, 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear, 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer. 


Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career. 
Wild  as  the  wave  ; 

Here  pause  —  and,  thro'  the  starting 
tear. 

Survey  this  grave. 

The  poor  Inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  knoWj 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame, 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stain'd  his  name  ! 

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-control 

Is  wisdoms  root. 


EPITAPH  ON  MY  FATHER. 

O  YE,  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains, 
Draw  near  with  pious  rev'rence  and  attend  I 

Here  lie  the  loving  husband's  dear  remains, 
The  tender  father,  and  the  gen'rous  friend. 

Tlie  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." 


EPITAPH  01^  JOHN  DOVE, 

INNKEEPER,  MAUCHLINE, 


Here  lies  Johnny  Pidgeon ; 

What  was  his  religion  ? 

Wlia  e'er  desires  to  ken, 

To  some  other  warl' 

]\Iaun  follow  the  earl, 

For  here  Johnny  Pidgeon  had  nane  ! 


Strong  ale  w^as  ablution,  — 
Small  beer  persecution, 
A  dram  w^as  memento  mori ; 
But  a  full  flowing  bowl 
Was  the  saving  his  soul, 
And  port  was  celestial  glory. 


EPITAPH  ON  JOHN  BUSHBY, 

■WRITER,  IN  DUMFRIES. 

Here  lies  John  Bushby,  honest  man  I 
Qh£2i  ium,  DeyiJ,  if  jou  cajj. 


178  01^  COMMISSARY  GOLDIE'8  BRAINS. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  WAG  IN  MAUCHLINE. 

Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a',  Ye  Maiichline  bairns,  as  on  ye  pass 

He  aften  did  assist  ye  ;  To  school  in  bands  thegither, 

For  had  ye  staid  whole  weeks  awa,  O  tread  ye  lightly  on  his  grass, 

Your  wives  they  ne'er  had  miss'd  ye.  Perhaps  he  was  your  father. 


EPITAPH    ON    A     PERSON    NICKNAMED    "THE  MAR 

QUIS," 

WHO   DESIRED   BURNS   TO  WRITE  ONE  ON  HIM. 

Here  lies  a  mock  INIarquis  whose  titles  were  shamm'd, 
If  ever  he  rise,  it  will  be  to  be  damn'd. 


EPITAPH  ON  WALTER  R [RIDDEL]. 

Sic  a  reptile  was  Wat, 
Sic  a  miscreant  slave 
That  the  worms  ev'n  damn'd  him 
When  laid  in  his  grave. 
"  In  his  flesh  there's  a  famine," 

A  starv'd  reptile  cries  ; 
"  An'  his  heart  is  rank  poison," 
Another  replies. 


ON  HIMSELF. 

Here  comes  Burns 

On  Rosin  ante  ; 
She's  d poor. 

But  he's  d canty  I 


GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT. 

O  Lord,  when  hunger  pinches  sore. 

Do  thou  stand  us  in  need. 
And  send  us  from  thy  bounteous  store, 

A  tup  or  wether  head  !     Amen. 


ON  CO^IMISSARY^  GOLDIE  S  BRAINS, 

Lord,  to  account  who  dares  thee  call, 

Or  e'er  dispute  th}^  pleasure  ? 
Else  why  within  so  thick  a  wall 

Enclose  so  poor  a  treasure  ? 


ON  MR.  M'MURDO,  179 

IMPROMPTU 

OK  AN  INNKEEPER  NAMED  BACON  WHO    INTRUDED  HIMSELF  INTO  ALL  COMPANIBS. 

At  Brownhill  we  always  get  dainty  good  cheer, 
And  plenty  of  bacon  each  day  in  the  year  ; 
We've  all  things  that's  nice,  and  mostly  in  season, 
Bat  why  always  Bacon  —  come,  give  me  a  reason  ? 

ADDRESSED  TO   A  LADY 

WHOM  THE  AUTHOR  FEARED  HE  HAD  OFFENDED. 

Rusticity's  ungainly  form  Propriety's  cold  cautious  rules 
May  cloud  the  highest  mind  ;  Warm  fervour  may  o'erlook  ; 

But  when  the  heart  is  nobly  warm.  But  spare  poor  sensibility 
The  good  excuse  will  find.  The  ungentle,  harsh  rebuke. 

EPIGRAM. 

When ,  deceased,  to  the  devil  went  down, 

'Twas  nothing  would  serve  him  but  Satan's  own  crown  ; 

"  Thy  fool's  head,"  quoth  Satan,  *'  that  crown  shall  wear  never, 

I  grant  thou'rt  as  wicked,  but  not  quite  so  clever." 

LINES  INSCRIBED   ON  A  PLATTER. 

My  blessing  on  ye,  honest  wife.  Heaven  keep  you  clear  of  sturt  ana 

■  I  ne'er  was  here  before  :  strife, 

Ye've  wealth  o'  gear  for  spoon  and  Till  far  ayont  four  score, 

knife  —  And  by  the'  Lord  o'  death  and  life^ 

Heart  could  not  wish  for  more.  I'll  ne'er  gae  by  your  door  1 

TO . 


Your  billet,  sir,  I  grant  receipt ; 

Wi'  you  I'll  canter  ony  gate, 

Though  'twere  a  trip  to  yon  blue  warl*, 
Whare  birkies  march  on  burning  marl : 
Then,  sir,  God  willing,  I'll  attend  ye. 
And  to  his  goodness  I  commend  ye. 

R.  Burns. 


ON  MR.  M^MURDO. 

Blest  be  M'Murdo  to  his  latest  day. 
No  envious  cloud  'o'ercast  his  evening  ray 
No  wrinkle  furrow'd  by  the  hand  of  care. 
Nor  even  sorrow  add  one  silver  hair  ! 
Oh,  may  no  sou  the  father's  honour  stain, 
Nor  ever  daughter  give  the  mother  pain. 


180 


ON  MR.   W.  CRUIKSHANE. 


TO  A  LADY 

WHO  WAS  LOOKIxNG  UP   THE  TEXT  DURING  SERMON. 

Fair  maid,  you  need  not  take  the  hint. 

Nor  idle  texts  pursue  : 
'Twas  guilty  sinners  that  he  meant  — 

Not  angels  such  as  j^ou  ! 

IMPROMPTU. 

How  daur  ye  ca'  me  howlet-faced. 
Ye  ui^ly,  glowering  spectre  ? 

My  face  was  but  the  keekin'  glass, 
jind  there  ye  saw  your  picture. 


TO  MR.  MACKENZIE,  SURGEON,  MAUCHLINE. 

For  me  I  would  be  mair  than  proud 
To  share  the  mercies  wi'  you. 
If  Death,  then,  wi'  skultli,  then, 
Some  mortal  licart  is  hechtin'. 
Inform  him,  and  storm  him. 
That  Saturday  you'll  fetclit  him. 

Robert  Burns. 
Mossgiel,  An.  M.  5790, 


Friday  first's  the  day  appointed 
By  the  Kight  AVorshipful  anointed, 

To  hold  our  grand  procession  ; 
To  get  a  blad  o'  Johnie's  morals. 
And  taste  a  swatch  o'  Hanson's  barrels 

I'  the  way  of  our  profession. 

The  Master  and  the  Brotherhood 
Would  a'  be  glad  to  see  you  ; 


TO  A  PAINTER. 


Dear ,  I'll  gie  ye  some  advice 

You'll  tak  it  no  uncivil  : 
Yov  shouldna  paint  at  angels  mair, 

But  try  and  paint  the  devil. 


To  paint  an  angel's  kittle  wark, 
Wi'  auld  Nick  there's  less  danger ; 

You'll  easy  draw  a  weel-kent  face. 
But  no  sae  weel  a  stranger. 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  A  TUMBLER. 


You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ; 

You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ; 
There's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May, 

That's  half  sae  welcome's  thou  art. 

Come,  bumpers  high,  express  your  joy, 
The  bowl  we  maun  renew  it ; 


The  tappit-hen,  gae  bring  her  ben, 
To  welcome  Willie  Stewart, 

May  foes  be  Strang,   and  friends  be 
slack, 

Ilk  action  may  he  rue  it  ; 
May  woman  on  him  turn  her  back, 

That  wrangs  thee,  WilHe  Stewart .' 


ON  MR.  W.  CRUIKSHANK 

OF    THE    HIGH    SCHOOL,    EDINBURGH. 

Honest  Will  to  heaven  is  gane, 
And  mony  shall  lament  him  ; 

His  faults  they  a'  in  Latin  lay, 
In  English  nane  e'er  kent  tli§ni^ 


SONGS. 


THE  LASS  O'  BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune—"  Miss  Forbes's  Farewell  to  Banff,  or  Ettrick  Banks. 


'TwAS  even — the  dewy  fields  were 
green, 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  do  hang ; 
The  Zephyrs  wanton'd  round  the 
bean. 

And  bore  its  fragrant  sweets  alang  : 
In  every  glen  the  Mavis  sang, 

All  nature  listening  seem'd  the  while: 
Except  where  green-wood  echoes  rang, 

Amang  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

With  careless  step  I  onward  stray'd. 

My  heart  rejoic'd  in  nature's  joy. 
When  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 

A  maiden  fair  I  chanc'd  to  spy  ; 
Her    look    was    like    the    morning's 
eye. 

Her  hair  like  nature's  vernal  smile, 
Perfection  whisper'd  passing  by. 

Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle  1 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 
And  sweet  is  night  in  Autumn  mild, 

When  roving  thro'  the  garden  gay. 
Or  wandering  in  a  lonely  wild  : 


But  Woman,  Nature's  darling  child  I 
There  all  her  charms  she  does  com,, 
pile  ; 

Ev'n  there  her  other  works  are  foil'd 
By  the  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

O,  had  she  been  a  country  maid. 

And  I  the  happy  country  swain, 
Tho'  shelter'd  in  the  lowest  shed 

That  ever  rose  on  Scotland's  plain  1 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain. 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Then  pride  m.ight  dimb  the  slipp'ry 
steep. 
Where    fame    and    honours    lofty 
shine  ; 
And  thirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the 
deep,' 
Or  downward  seek  the  Indian  mine ; 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine. 

To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil, 
And  every  day  have  joys  divine, 
With  the  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 


I  SOISTG  OF  DEATH. 

j  A    GAELIC  AIR. 

Scene.— A  field  of  battle.     Time  of  the  day  -Evening.    The  wounded  aud  dying  of  the 
victorious  army  are  supposed  to  join  in  the  song. 

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  tremble,  fell  Tyrant  I  but  know, 

No  terrors  hast  thou  for  the  brave  1 

181 


182  A  ULD  ROB  MORRIS. 

Thou  strik'st  the  dull  peasant— he  sinks  in  the  dark. 

Nor  saves  e'en  the  wreck  of  a  name  : 
Thou  strik'st  the  young  hero— a  glorious  mark  ! 

He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame  ! 

In  the  field  of  proud  honour— our  swords  in  our  hands, 

Our  King  and  our  Country  to  save — 
While  victory  shines  on  life's  last  ebbing  sands, 

O  1  who  would  not  die  with  the  brave  ! 


MY  AIN  KIKD  DEARIE  O. 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star  Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er  sae  wild, 

Tells  bughtin-time  is  near,  my  jo  ;  And  I  were  ne'er  sae  wearie  O, 

And  owsen  frae  the  f urrow'd  field  I'd  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

Return  sae  dowf  and  wearie  O  ;  My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

Down  by  the  burn,  where  scented  birks  ^,     ,            ,  ,       , 

Wi'  dew  are  hanging  clear,  my  io,  The  hunter  lo  es  the  morning  sun,  ^ 

ril  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig,  ,  To  rouse  the  mountaui  deer  my  jo  g 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O.  ^t  noon  the  fisher  seeks  the  glen. 

Along  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo  ; 

In  mirkest  glen,  at  midnight  hour,  Gie  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin  gray, 

I'd  rove,  and  ne'er  be  eerie  O,  It  maks  my  heart  sae  cheery  O 

If  thro'  that  glen  I  gaed  to  thee.  To  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O.  My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 


AULD  ROB  MORRIS. 

There's  auld  Rob  Morris  that  wons  in  yon  glen, 
He's  the  king  o'  gude  fellows  and  wale  of  auld  men  ; 
He  has  gowd  in  iiis  colfers,  he  has  owsen  and  kine. 
And  ae  bonie  lassie,  his  darling  and  mine. 

She's  fresh  as  the  morning,  the  fairest  in  May  ; 
She's  sweet  as  tlie  ev'ning  amang  the  new  hay  ; 
As  blythe  and  as  artless  as  the  lamb  on  the  lea, 
And  dear  to  my  heart  as  the  light  to  my  ee. 

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. 

Oh  had  she  but  been  of  a  lower  degree, 
I  then  might  hac  hop'd  she  wad  smil'd  upon  me  ; 
O  how  past  dcsciiving  had  then  been  my  my  blisa, 
As  now  my  distraction  no  words  can  express  I 


dunoan  ghat. 


\m 


KAEBODY. 

I  HAE  a  wife  o'  my  ain, 

I'll  partake  v/i'  naebody ; 
I'll  tak  cuckold  frae  nane, 

I'll  gie  cuckold  to  naebody. 

I  liae  a  penny  to  spend. 
There — thanks  to  naebody  ; 

I  hae  nothing  to  lend, 
I'll  borrow  frae  naebody. 

I  am  naebody 's  lord, 

I'll  be  slave  to  naebody  ; 
I  hae  a  guid  braid  sword, 

I'll  tak  dunts  frae  naebody. 

I'll  be  merry  and  free, 

I'll  be  sad  for  naebody : 
If  naebody  care  for  me, 

I'll  care  for  naebody. 

MY     WIFE'S   A    WINSOME 

WEE    THING. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing. 
She  is  a  bonie  wee  thing. 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine 

I  never  saw  a  fairer, 

I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer, 

And  neist  my  heart  I'll  wear  her, 

For  fear  my  jewel  tine. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 

The  warld's  wrack,  we  share  o't. 
The  warstle  and  the  care  o't ; 
Wi'  her  I'll  blytliely  bear  it. 
And  think  my  lot  divine. 

DUNCAN  GRAY. 

Duncan  Gray  came  here  to  woo. 

Ha,  ha  the  wooing  o't. 
On  blytlie  yule  night  when  we  were 
fou, 

Ha,  ha,  tlie  wooing  o't. 
Maggie  coost  her  head  fu  high, 
Look'd  asklent  and  unco  skeigh, 
Gart  poor  Duncan  stand  abeigh  ; 
Ha,  ha.  the  wooing  o't. 


Duncan  fleech'd,  and  Duncan  pray'd  ; 
Ha,  ha,  &c. 

Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  ecn  baitli  bleer't  and  bl'm 
Spak  o'  lowpin  o  er  a  linn  ; 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide. 

Ha,  ha,  ttc. 
Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide, 

Ha,  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,  &c. 
Meg  grew  sick — as  he  grew  well, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Something  in  her  bosom  wrings, 
For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings  ; 
And  O,  her  ecu,  they  spak  sic  things  \ 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 

Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace. 

Ha,  ha,  &c, 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Duncan  couldna  be  her  deat^ 
Swelling  pity  smoor'd  his  wrafn  ; 
Now  they're  crouse  and  cantie  baith ! 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't 


O  POORTITH. 

TUNE—"  I  had  a  liorse." 

O  POOKTiTH  cauld,  and  restless  love, 
Ye  wreck  my  peace  between  ye  ; 
Yet  poortith  a'  I  could  forgive. 
An'  'twerena  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. 
0  why,  &c. 


184 


OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  OH. 


Her  een  sae  bonie  blue  betray 
How  she  repays  my  passion  ; 

But  prudence  is  her  o'erworcl  aye, 
She  talks  of  rank  and  fasliion. 
O  why,  &c. 

O  wha  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sic  a  lassie  by  him  ? 
O  wha  can  prudence  think  upon. 

And  sae  in  love  as  I  am  ? 
O  why,  &c. 

How  blest  the  humble  cotter's  fate  ! 

He  woos  his  simple  dearie  ; 
The  silly  bogles,  wealth  and  state. 
Can  never  make  them  eerie. 
O  why  should  fate  sic  pleasure 
have. 
Life's  dearest  bands  untwining? 
Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love 
Depend  on  Fortune's  shining  ? 


GALLA  WATER. 

There's  braw  braw  lads  on  Yarrow 
braes, 
That   wander   thro'  the   blooming 
heather  ; 
But  Yarrow  braes  nor  Ettick  shaws 
Can  match  the  lads  o'  Galla  Water. 

But  there  is  ane,  a  secret  ane, 
Aboon  them  a'  I  lo'e  him  better  ; 

And  I'll  be  his,  and  he'll  be  mine, 
The  bonie  lad  o'  Galla  Water. 

Altho'  his  daddie  was  nae  laird. 
And  tho'  I  hae  nae  meikle  tocher-, 

Yet  rich  in  kindest,  truest  love. 
We'll  tent  our  flocks  by  Galla  Water. 


It  ne'er  was  wealth,  it  ne'er  was  wealtlv 
That    coft  contentment,   peace    ot 
pleasure  ; 
The  bands  and  bliss  o'  mutual  love, 
O  that's  the  chiefest  warld's  treas- 
ure ! 


LORD  GREGORY. 

O  MIRK,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour. 
And  loud  the  tempest's  roar  ; 

A  waefu'  wanderer  seeks  thy  tow'r. 
Lord  Gregory,  ope  th}^  door. 

An  exile,  frae  her  father's  ha'. 

And  a'  for  loving  thee  ; 
At  least  some  pity  on  me  shaw, 

If  love  it  mayua  be. 

Lord  Gregory,  mind'st  thou  not  the 
grove. 

By  bonie  Irwine  side, 
Where  first  I  owned  that  virgin-love, 

I  lang,  lang  had  denied  ? 

How  aften  didst  thou  pledge  and  vow. 
Thou  wad  for  aye  be  mine  ! 

And  my  fond  heart,  itsel'  sae  true. 
It  ne'er  mistrusted  thine. 

Hard  is  thy  heart.  Lord  Gregory, 

And  flinty  is  thy  breast ; 
Thou  dart  of  heaven  that  flashest  by, 

O  wilt  thou  give  me  rest ! 

Ye  mustering  thunders  from  above, 

Your  willing  victim  see  ! 
But  spare,  and  pardon  my  fause  love, 

His  wrangs  to  heaven  and  me  1 


OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  OH ! 

WITH   ALTERATIONS. 

Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  shew, 

O,  open  the  door  to  me.  Oh  ! 
Tho'  thou  hast  been  false,  I'll  ever  prove  true. 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me,  Oh  ! 

Cauld  is  the  blast  upon  my  pale  cheek. 
But  caulder  thy  love  for  me,  Oh  1 

The  frost  that  freezes  the  life  at  my  heart. 
Is  nought  to  my  pains  frae  thee.  Oh  I 


JESSIE.  185 

The  wan  moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave. 

And  time  is  setting  with  me,  Oh  ! 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell !  for  mair 

I'll  ne'er  trouble  them,  nor  thee.  Oh  ! 

She  has  opened  the  door,  she  has  opened  it  wide ; 

She  sees  his  pale  corse  on  the  plain.  Oh  ! 
My  true  love,  she  cried,  and  sank  down  by  his  side, 

Never  to  rise  again,  Oh  ! 


MEG   O'  THE   MILL. 

Air—"  0.  bonie  Lass,  will  you  lie  in  a  Barrack." 

O  KEN  you  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten 
An'  ken  you  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  ? 
She  has  gotten  a  coof  wi'  a  claut  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  knurl ; 
She's  left  the  guid  fellow  and  ta'en  the  churl. 

The  Miller  he  hecht  her  a  heart  leal  and  loving  •, 
The  Laird  did  address  her  wi'  matter  mair  movingj 
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  is  fix'd  on  a  mailen  I 
A  tocher's  nae  word  in  a  true  lover's  parle. 
But,  gie  me  my  love,  and  a  fig  for  the  warl  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  llie  lily,  unheeded  the  rose. 
Love  sits  in  her  smile,  a  wizard  ensnaring  ; 

Enthron'd  in  her  een  he  delivers  his  law  : 
And  still  to  her  charms  she  alone  is  a  stranger  ! 

Her  modest  demeanour's  the  jewel  of  a'. 


186 


THEBE  WAS  A  LASS. 


WANDERING  WILLIE. 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie, 
Here  awa,  there  awa,  hand  awa,  hame  ; 

Come  to  ni}'  bosom,  my  ain  only  dearie, 

Tell  me  thou  bringst  me  my  Willie  the  same. 

Winter  winds  blew  loud  and  cauld  at  our  parting, 
Fears  for  my  Willie  brought  tears  in  my  ee  ; 

Welcome  now  simmer,  and  welcome  my  Willie, 
The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me  ! 

Rest,  ye  wild  storms,  in  the  cave  of  your  slumbers 
How  your  dread  howling  a  lover  alarms  ! 

Wauken"  ye  breezes,  row  gently,  ye  billows. 
And  waft  my  dear  laddie  ance  mair  to  my  arms. 

But  oh,  if  he's  faithless,  and  minds  nahis  Nannie, 
Flow  still  between  us,  thou  wide-roaring  main  ; 

May  I  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow  it. 
But,  dying,  believe  that  my  Willie's  my  ain. 


LOGAN  BRAES. 

Tune—"  Logan  Water." 

0  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  the  flow'ry  banks  appear 
Like  drumlie  winter,  dark  and  drear, 
While  my  dear  lad  maun  face  his  faes, 
Far,  far  frae  me  and  Logan  Braes, 

Again  the  merry  month  o"  May 
Has  made  our  hills  and  valleys  gay  ; 
The  birds  rejoice  in  leaf}'  bowers. 
The  bees  hum   round   the  breatning 

flowers  ; 
Blithe  morning  lifts  his  rosy  eye. 
And  evening's  tears  are  tears  of  joy  : 
My  soul,  delightless,  a'  surveys. 
While  Willie's  far  frae  Logan  Braes. 

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. 

0  wae  upon  you,  men  o'  state, 
That  brethren  rouse  to  deadly  hate  ! 


As  ye  mak  monie  a  fond  heart  mourn, 
Sae  may  it  on  your  heads  return  ! 
How  can  your  flinty  hearts  enjoy 
The  widow's  tears,  the  orphan's  cr^  r 
But  soon  may  peace  bring  happy  days, 
And  Willie  hame  to  Logan  Braes  ! 


THERE  WAS  A  LASS. 

Tune—"  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  mammio«i 
wark. 

And  ay  she  sang  sae  merrily  ; 
The  blythest  bird  upon  the  bush 

Had  ne'er  a  lighter  heart  than  she. 

But  hawks  will  rob  the  tender  joys 
That  bless  the  little  lintwhite's  nest ; 

And  frost  will  blight  the  fairest  flowers, 
And  love  will  break  the  soundest 
rest, 

Young  Robie  was  the  brawest  lad. 
The  flower  and  pride  of  a'  the  glen  > 

And  he  had  owsen,  sheep  and  kye, 
And  wanton  naigies  nine  or  tea. 


BY  ALLAN  STREAM. 


1^7 


He  gaed  wl'  Jeanie  to  the  tryste, 
He  danc'd  wi'  Jeanie  on  tlie  down  ; 

And  lang  ere  witless  Jeanie  wist, 
Her  heart  was  tint,  her  peace  was 
stown. 

As  in  the  bosom  o'  the  stream 

The  moon-beam    dwells    at  dewy 
e'en  ; 

So  trembling,  pure,  was  tender  love. 
Within  the  breast  o'  bonie  Jean. 

And  now  she  works  her  mammie's 
wark, 

And  aye  she  sighs  wi'  care  and  pain  ; 
Yet  wistna  what  her  ail  might  be. 

Or  what  wad  make  her  weel  again. 

But  didna  Jeanie's  heart  loup  light, 
And  didna  joy  blink  in  her  ee, 

As  Robie  tauld  a  tale  o'  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  whisperd  thus  his  tale  o'  love  : 

O  Jeanie  fair,  I  lo'e  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  shaltna  drudge. 
Or  naething  else  to  trouble  thee  ; 

But  stray  amang  the  heather-bells, 
And  tent  the  waving  corn  wi'  me. 

Now  what  could  artless  Jeanie  do  ? 

She  had  nae  will  to  say  him  na  : 
At  length  she  blush'd  a  sweet  consent. 

And  love  was  ay  between  them  twa. 


PHILLIS  THE  FAIR. 

Tune—"  Robin  Adair." 

While  larks  with  little  wing 

Fann'd  the  pure  air. 
Tasting  the  breathing  spring, 

Forth  I  did  fare  : 
Gay  the  sun's  golden  eye 
Peep'd  o'er  the  mountains  high  ; 
Such  thy  morn  !  did  I  cry, 

Phillis  tlic  fair. 

In  eacli  bird's  careless  song 
Glad  did  I  share  ; 


While  yqn  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  mark'd  the  cruel  hawk 

Caught  in  a  snare  : 
So  kind  may  Fortune  be, 
Su3h  make  his  destiny. 
He  who  would  injure  thee, 

Phillis  the  fair. 


BY  ALLAN  STREAM, 

Tune— "Allan  Water." 

By  Allan  stream  I  chanc'd  to  rove, 
While  Phoebus  sank  beyond  Ben» 
leddi  ; 
The  winds  were  whispering  thro'  the 
grove, 
The  yellow  corn  was  waving  ready  : 
I  listen'd  to  a  lover's  sang, 
And  thought  on  youthfu'  pleasures 
monie  ; 
And  ay  the  wildwood  echoes  rang — 
O,  dearly  do  I  love  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  1 
Her  head  upon  my  throbbing  breast, 

She,  sinking,  said  "  I'm  thine  for- 
ever ! " 
While  monie  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  fol- 
low ; 
How  cheery  thro'  her  shortening  day 
Is  autumn,  in  her  weeds  o'  yellow  ! 
But  can  they  melt  the  glowing  heart, 
Or  chain  the    soul    in    speechless 
pleasure, 
Or,  thro'  each  nerve  the  rapture  dart, 
Like  meeting  her,  our  bosom's  treas* 
ure  ? 


188  HUSBAND,  HUSBAND,  CEASE  TOUR  STRIFE. 


HAD  I  A  CAVE. 

Tune— "Robin  Adair." 

Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild,  distant  shore. 
Where  the  winds  howl  to  the  waves'  dashing  roar ; 
There  would  I  weep  my  woes, 
There  seek  my  last  repose, 
I  Till  grief  my  eyes  should  close, 

Ne'er  to  wake  more. 

Falsest  of  womankind,  canst  thou  declare 
All  thy  fond  plighted  vows— fleeting  as  air  ? 

To  thy  new  lover  hie, 

Laugh  o'er  thy  perjury, 

Then  in  thy  bosom  try. 
What  peace  is  there  J 

WHISTLE,  AND  I'LL  COME  TO  YOU,  MY  LABc 

Tune—"  My  Jo,  Janet," 

O  WHISTLE,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad ; 
O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad : 
Tho'  father  and  mither  and  a'  should  gae  mad, 
O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad. 

But  warily  tent,  when  ye  come  to  court  me, 
And  come  na  unless  the  black-yett  be  a-jec ; 
Syne  up  the  back-stile,  and  let  naebody  see. 
And  come  as  3^e  were  na  comin  to  me. 
And  come,  etc. 

O  whistle,  etc. 

At  kirk,  or  at  market,  whene'er  ye  meet  me. 
Gang  by  me  as  tho'  that  ye  car'd  na  a  flie  : 
But  steal  me  a  blink  o'  your  bonie  black  ee. 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  lookin  at  me. 
Yet  look,  etc. 

Ay  vow  and  protest  that  ye  care  na  for  me. 
And  whiles  ye  may  lightly  my  beauty  a  wee  ; 
But  court  na  anither,  tho'  jokin  ye  be. 
For  fear  that  she  wyle  your  fancy  f rae  me. 
For  fear,  etc. 

O  whistle,  etc. 

HUSBAND,     HUSBAND,  '  *  One  of  two  must  still  obey, 

CEASE  YOUR  STRIFE.  isS7n  o'JwoLkn.  say. 

Tune—"  My  Jo.  Janet."  My  spouse,  Nancy  ? 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife,  If  'tis  still  the  lordly  word. 

Nor  longer  idly  rave,  sir  ;  Service  and  obedience  ; 

Tho'  I  am  your  wedded  wife,  I'll  desert  my  sov'reign  lord. 

Yet  I  am  not  your  slave,  sir.  And  so  good-bye  allegiance  I 


BANKS  OF  CBEE. 


189 


"  Sad  will  I  be,  so  bereft, 

Nancy,  Nancy  ! 
Yet  I'll  try  to  make  a  shift, 
My  spouBe,  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. 

"  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'll  try  to  daunt  you  ; 

Ever  round  your  midnight  iDed 
Horrid  sprites  shall  haunt  you. 

"  I'll  wed  another,  like  my  dear 

Nancy,  Nancy ; 
Then  all  hell  will  fly  for  fear, 

My  spouse,  Nancy. ' 


DELUDED  SWAIK 

Tune—"  The  Collier's  Dochter." 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 
The  tickle  Fair  can  give  thee, 

Is  but  a  fairy  treasure. 
Thy  hopes  will  soon  deceive  thee. 

The  billows  on  the  ocean 
The  breezes  idly  roaming. 

The  clouds'  uncertain  motion. 
They  are  but  types  of  woman. 

O  !  art  thou  not  ashamed 

To  doat  upon  a  feature  ? 
If  man  thou  wouldst  be  named. 

Despise  the  silly  creature. 

Go,  find  an  honest  fellow  ; 

Good  claret  set  before  thee  : 
Hold  on  till  thou  art  mellow. 

And  then  to  bed  in  glory. 


SOKG. 

Tune—"  The  Quaker's  Wife. 

Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair. 
Thine,  my  lovely  Nancy  ; 

"Ev'ry  pulse  along  my  veins, 
Ev'ry  roving  fancy. 


To  thy  bosom  lay  my  heart. 
There  to  throb  and  languish  : 

Tho'  despair  had  wrung  its  core 
That  would  heal  its  anguish. 

Take  away  those  rosy  lips. 
Rich  with  balmy  treasure  ! 

Turn  away  thine  eyes  of  love, 
Lest  I  die  with  pleasure  ! 

What  is  life  when  wanting  love  : 
Night  without  a  morning  ! 

Love's  the  cloudless  summer  sun, 
Nature  gay  adorning. 


WILT    THOU    BE    MY 
DEARIE  ? 

A    NEW    SCOTS    SONG. 

Tune-"  The  Sutor's  Dochter." 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  ? 

When  sorrow  wrings  thy  gentle  heart 

Wilt  thou  let  me  cheer  thee  ? 

By  the  treasure  of  my  soul. 

That's  the  love  I  bear  thee  ! 

I  swear  and  vow  that  only  thou 

Shalt  ever  be  my  dearie — 

Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow, 

Shalt  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Lassie,  say  thou  lo'es  me  ; 
Or  if  thou  wilt  na  be  my  ain. 
Say  na  thou'lt  refuse  me  : 
If  it  winna,  canna  be, 
Thou  for  thine  may  choose  me. 
Let  me,  lassie,  quickly  die. 
Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me — 
Lassie,  let  me  quickly  die. 
Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me. 


BANKS  OF  CREE. 

Tune— "  The  Flowers  of  Edinburgh." 

Here  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower. 
All  underneath  the  birchen  shade  ; 

The  village-bell  has  toli'd  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, 

TJie  dew^  star  of  eve  to  bail 


190 


HARK!  THE  MAVIS. 


It  is  Maria's  voice  I  hear  ! 

So  calls  the  woodlark  in  the  grove 
flis  little  faithful  mate  to  cheer, 

At  once  'tis  music — and  'tis  love. 

A.nd  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  Croe. 


ON   THE    SEAS   AND    FAR 
AWAY. 

Tune—'  O'er  the  Iliils  and  far  away." 

IT  w  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad, 
WJien  absent  from  my  Sailor  Lad  ? 
How  can  I  the  thought  forego, 
lie'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. 

cnoRus. 
On  the  seas  and  far  away. 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away  ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
^  re  aye  with  him  that's  far  away. 

When  in  summer's  noon  I  faint. 
As  weary  flocks  around  me  pant, 
Haply  in  this  scorching  sun 
My  Sailor's  thund'ring  at  his  gun  : 
Bullets,  spare  my  only  joy  ! 
Bullets,  spare  my  darling  boy  ! 
Fate,  do  with  me  what  you  may, 
Spare  but  him  that's  far  away  ! 
On  the  seas,  etc. 

At  the  starless  midnight  hour, 
AVlien    winter  rules   with  boundless 

power  ; 
As  the  storms  the  forest  tear, 
And  thunders  rend  the  howling  air, 
Listening  to  the  doubling  roar,  • 

Surging  on  the  rocky  shore. 
All  I  can — I  weep  and  pray. 
For  his  weal  that's  far  away. 

On  the  seas,  etc. 

Peace,  thy  olive  wand  extend, 
And  bid  wild  War  his  ravage  end. 


Man  with  brother  man  to  Pieet, 
And  as  a  brother  kindly  greet  ; 
Then    may  heaven    with    prosperous 

gales 
Fill  my  Sailor's  welcome  sails. 
To  my  arms  their  charge  convey, 
My  dear  lad  that's  far  away, 

On  the  seas,  etc. 


HARK  !  THE  MAVIS. 

Tune—"  Ca'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes." 
*  CHORUS. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grow*. 
Ca'  them  wdiere  the  burnie  rows, 
My  bonie  dearie. 

Hark  !  the  mavis'  evening  sang 
Sounding  Clouden's  woods  amang. 
Then  a  faulding  let  us  gang, 
My  bonie  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  etc. 

"We'll  gae  down  by  Clouden  side. 
Thro'  the  hazels  spreading  wide, 
O'er  the  waves  that  sweetly  glide 
To  the  moon  sae  clearly. 
Ca'  the,  etc. 

Yonder  Clouden's  silent  towers, 
AVhere  at  moonshine  midnight  hours, 
O'er  the  dewy -bending  flowers, 
Faries  dance  sae  cheery. 
Ca'  the,  etc. 

Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear ; 
Thou'rt  to  love  and  Heaven  sae  dear, 
Nocht  of  ill  may  come  thee  near, 
My  bonie  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  etc. 

Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art. 
Thou  hast  stown  my  very  heart ; 
I  can  die — but  canna  part, 
My  bonie  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  etc. 

While  waters  wimple  to  the  sea  ; 
While  day  blinks  in  the  lift  sae  hie  ; 
Till  clay-cauld  death  shall  blin'  my  ee. 
Ye  shall  be  my  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  etc. 


THE  LOVER'S  MORNING  SALUTE. 


19i 


SHE    SAYS    SHE   LOE'S  ME 
BEST  OF  A'. 

Tune—"  Onagh's  Water-fall." 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets, 

Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue, 
Bewitchingly  o'erarching 

Twa  laughing  een  o'  bonie  blue. 
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  aye  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  gracef u'  air  ; 
Ilk  feature — auld  Nature 

Declar'd    that    she    could    do    nae 
mair : 
Hers  are  the  willing  chains  o'  love, 

By  conquering  beauty's  sovereign 
law  ; 
And  aye  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm. 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 

Let  others  love  the  city. 

And  gaudy  show  at  sunny  noon  ; 
Gie  me  the  lonely  valley, 

The  dewy  eve,  and  rising  moon 
Fair  beaming,  and  streaming 

Her  silvery  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'  ? 

HOW  LANG  AND  DREARY. 

Tune—"  Cauld  Kail  in  Aberdeen." 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night. 
When  I  am  f rae  my  dearie  ; 

I  restless  lie  frae  e'en  to  morn,- 
Tho'  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary. 


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  that  seas  between  us  roar, 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie  ! 
For  oh,  etc. 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours  ; 

The  joyless  day  how  drearie  ! 
It  wasna  sae  ye  glinted  by. 

When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 
For  oh,  etc. 


THE     LOVER'S    MORNING 
SALUTE  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 

Tune—"  Deil  tak  the  Wars." 

Sleepest  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  thro'  the  leafy  woods. 
And  by  the  reeking  floods. 

Wild  Nature's  tenants,  freely,  gladly 
stray  ; 
The  lintwhite  in  his  bower 
Chants  o'er  the  breathing  flower  ; 
The  lav'rock  to  the  sky 
Ascends  wi'  sangs  o'  joy, 

While  the  sun  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  sight. 
When  thro'  my  very  heart 
Her  beaming  glories  dart — 

'Tis  then  I  wake  to  life,  to  light,  and 


1Q2 


CONTENTED  WF  LITTLE, 


LASSIE  Wr  THE  LINT- 
WHITE  LOCKS. 

Tune— "  Rothiemurchus's  Rant." 
CHORUS. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-wliitc  locks, 
Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie, 

Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  O  ? 

Kow  nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea, 
And  a'  is  young  and  sweet  like  thee  ; 
O  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  wi'  me, 
And  say  thou'll  be  my  dearie  O  ? 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

And  when  the  welcome  simmer-shower 
Has  cheer'd  ilk  drooping  little  flower, 
We'll  to  the  breathing  woodbine  bower 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

When  Cynthia  lights,  wi'  silver  ray. 
The  wTary  sJicarer's  hamewaid  way, 
Thro'  yellow  waving  fields  we'll  stray. 
And  talk  o'  love,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

And  when  the  howling  wintrj'^  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest ; 
Enclasped  to  my  faithf u'  breast, 
I'll  comfort  thee,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 

Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie. 
Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie,  O  ? 


THE  AULD  MAN. 

Tune—"  The  Death  of  the  Linnet." 
But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green 

The  w^oods  rejoic'd  the  day, 
Thro'   gentle    showers   the   laughing 
flowers 
In  double  pride  were  gay  : 


But  now  our  joys  are  fled, 

On  winter  blasts  awa  ! 
Yet  maiden  May,  in  rich  array, 

Again  shall  bring  them  a'. 

But  my  white  pow,  nae  kindly  thowe 

Shall  melt  the  snaws  of  age  ; 
My  trunk  of  eild,  but  buss  or  bield, 

Sinks  in  time's  wintry  rage. 
Oh,  age  has  weary  days, 

And  nights  o'  sleepless  ]iain  ! 
Thou  golden  time  o'  youthful  prime, 

Why  com'st  thou  not  again  ? 

FAREWELL,  THOU 
STREAM. 

Tune— "Nancy's  to  the  Greenwood  gane." 
Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding 
flows  " 
Around  Eliza's  dwelling  ! 

0  Mem'ry  !  spare  the  cruel  throes 
Within  my  bosom  swelling  : 

Condemn'd  to  drag  a  hopeless  chain, 
And  yet  in  secret  languish. 

To  feel  a  fire  in  ev'ry  vein. 
Nor  dare  disclose  my  anguisli. 

Love's    veriest    wretch,   unseen,   un- 
known, 
I  fain  my  griefs  would  cover  : 
The    bursting    sigh,    tli'    unweeting 
groan. 
Betray  the  hapless  lover. 

1  know^  thou  doom'st  me  to  despair. 
Nor  wilt  nor  canst  relieve  me  ; 

But  oh,  Eliza,  hear  one  prayer. 
For  pity's  sake  forgive  me  .' 

The  music  of  thy  voice  I  heard. 

Nor  wist  while  it  enslav'd  me  ; 
I  saw  thine  eyes,  yet  nothing  fear'd, 

1  ill  fears  no  more  had  saved  me  : 
Th'  unwary  sailor  thus  aghast. 

The  wiieeling  torrent  viewing, 
'Mid  circling  horrors  sinks  at  last 

In  overwhelming  ruin. 


CONTENTED  WI'  LITTLE. 

Tune—"  Lumps  o'  pudding." 
Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  inair, 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  sorrow  and  care, 
T  gie  them  a  skelp  as  they're  creepin'  alang, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  i^ude  swats,  and  an  auld  Scpttjsb  san^. 


0  LASSIE,  ART  THOU  SLEEPING  TETf 


193 


I  whyles  claw  the  elbow  o'  troublesome  thought ; 

But  man  is  a  soger,  and  life  is  a  faught : 

My  mirth  and  gude  humour  are  coin  in  my  pouch, 

And  my  freedom's  my  lairdship  nae  monarch  dare  toueko 

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  devil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road  he  has  past  ? 

Blind  Chance,  let  her  snapper  and  stoyte  on  her  waj, 
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  I 

MY  :n^annie's  aw  a. 

Tune—"  There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame." 
Kow  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature  arrays, 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes. 
While  birds  warble  Avelcomes  in  ilka  green  shaw  ; 
But  to  me  it's  delightless— my  Nannie's  awa. 
The  snaw-drop  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  ivie  o'  Nannie— my  Nannie's  awa. 

Thou  laverock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  o'  the  lawn,' 
The  shepherd  lo  warn  o'  the  gray-breaking  dawn, 
And  thou,  yellow  mavis,  that  hails  the  night-fa', 
Gie  over  for  pity— my  Nannie's  awa. 

Come  autumn  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  and  gray. 
And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay  ; 
The  dark,  dreary  winter,  and  wild-driving  snaw, 
Alane  can  delight  me— now  Nannie's  awa. 


SWEET  FA'S  THE  EVE. 

Tune—"  Craigieburn-wood." 

SwEEt  fa's  the  eve  on  Craigie-burn, 
And  b/ytlie  awakes  the  morrow, 

But  a'  the  pride  o'  spring's  return 
Can  yield  me  nocht  but  sorrow. 

I  see  tlie  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  ^a-axQ  nil  for  your  anger  ; 

But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart, 
If  I  Qonceal  it  langer, 


If  thou  refuse  to  pity  me. 

If  thou  Shalt  love  auither; 
When  yon  green  leaves  fa.'f  rae  the  tree, 

Around  my  grave  they'll  wither. 


O      LASSIE,      ART      THOIT 
SLEEPING  YET? 

TtJNE— "  Let  me  in  this  ae  night." 
O  Lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet  ? 
Or  art  thou  wakin,  I  would  wit  ? 
For  love  has  bound  me  hand  and  foot> 
An4  I  would  fain  be  in,  -lio- 


1^4 


'TWAS  NA  HER  BONIS  BLUE  EB. 


CHORUS. 

O  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 

This  ae,  ae,  ae  night ; 
For  pity  sake  this  ae  night, 

O  rise  and  let  me  in,  jo. 

Thou  hear'st,  the  winter  wind  and  weet, 
Nae  star'  bliul^s  thro'  the  driving  sleet ; 
Tak  pity  on  my  weary  feet. 
And  sliic'ld  me  frae  the  rain,  jo. 
O  let  me  in,  &c. 

The  bitter  hhist  that  round  me  blaws. 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's  ; 
The  cauldness  o'  thy  heart's  the  cause 
Of  all  my  grief  and  pain,  jo. 
O  let  me  in,  &c. 


HER  ANSWER, 

O  TEi.L  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain, 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  cauld  disdain  1 
Gae  back  the  gait  ye  cam  again, 
1  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 


CHORUS. 

I  tell  you  now  this  ae  night. 

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     waud'rci 

pours. 
Is  nocht  to  what  poor  she  endurea 
That's  trusted  faithless  man,  jo. 

I  tell  you  now,  &c. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  deck'd  tho 

mead, 
Kow  trodden  like  the  vilest  weed  ; 
Let  simple  maid  the  lessen  read. 
The  weird  may  be  her  ain,  jo. 

I  tell  you  now,  «&c. 

The  bird  that  charm'd  hi?  summe»-day 
Is  now  the  cruel  fowler  s  prey  ; 
Let  witless,  trusting  womao  Siiy 
How  aft.  her  fate's  the  same,  jc 
I  tell  you  now,  &c. 


SONG. 

TUNE—"  Humours  of  Glen." 
Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtles  let  foreign  lands  reckon. 

Where  bright-beaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume  ; 
Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  brcck:iii, 

Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellov.'-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  wiid  llowers, 
A  listening  the  linnet,  aft  wanders  my  Jean. 

Thro'  rich  is  the  breeze  in  their  gay  sunny  valleys, 

And  cauld  Caledonia's  blast  on  the  w^ave  ; 
Their  sweet-scented  woodlands  that  skirt  the  proud  palac; 

What  are  they  ?     The  haunt  of  the  tyrant  and  slave  ! 

The  slave's  spicy  forests,  and  gold-bubbling  fountains, 

The  brave  Caledonian  views  wi'  disdain  ; 
He  wanders  as  free  as  the  winds  of  his  mountains. 

Save  love's  willing  fetters,  the  chains  o'  his  Jean. 


'TWAS  NA  HER  BONIE  BLUE  EE. 

Tune—"  Laddie,  lie  near  me." 
*TwAS  na  her  bonie  blue  ee  was  my  ruin  : 
Fair  tho'  she  be,  that  was  ne'er  my  undoing  ; 
*Twas  the  dear  smile  when  naebody  did  mind  us, 
'Twas  the  bewitcliing,  sweet,  stown  gjaace  p'  kiadnesgr 


/  SEE  A  FORM,  1  SEE  A  FACE. 


195 


Sair  do  I  fear  that  to  hope  is  denied  me, 
Sair  do  I  fear  that  despair  maun  abide  me ; 
But  tho'  fevl  fortune  should  fate  us  to  sever. 
Queen  shall  she  be  in  my  bosom  for  ever. 

Chloris,  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. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  WOOD- 
LARK. 

Tune—"  WhereMl  bonie  Ann  lie." 
O  STAY,  sweet    warbling    woodlark, 

stay, 
Kor  quit  for  me  the  trembling  spray, 
A  hapless  lover  courts  thy  lay. 
Thy  soothing  fond  complaining. 

Again,  again  tiiat  tender  part. 
That  I  may  catch  thy  melting  art  ; 
For  surely  that  wad  "touch  her  heart, 
Wha  kills  me  wi'  disdaining. 

Say,  was  thy  little  mate  unkind. 
And  heard  thee  as  the  careless  wind'? 
Oh,  nocht  but  love  and  sorrow  join'd 
Sic  notes  o'  wae  could  waukcn. 

Thou  tells  o'  never-ending  care  ; 
O'  speechless  grief,  and  dark  despair  ; 
For  pity's  sake,  sweet  bird,  nae  mair  ! 
Or  my  poor  heart  is  broken  ! 

HOW  CRUEL  ARE  THE 
PARENTS. 

Tune— "John  Andergon  my  Jo." 
How  cruel  arc  the  parents 

Who  riches  only  prize. 
And  to  the  wealthy  booby 

Poor  women  sacrifice. 
Meanwhile  the  hapless  daughter 

Has  but  a  choice  of  strife. 
To  shun  a  tyrant  father's  hate 

Become  a  wretched  wife. 

The  ravening  hawk  pursuing. 

The  trembling  dove  thus  flies, 
To  shun  impelling  ruin 

A  while  her  pinions  tries  ; 
Till  of  escape  despairing, 

No  shelter  or  retreat, 
She  trusts  tlie  ruthless  falconer, 

^d  drops  beaeath  his  feet. 


MARK  YONDER  POMR 

Tune—"  Deil  tak  the  Wars." 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costiy  fash 
ion. 
Round  the  wealthy,  titled  bride  : 
But  when  compar'd  with  real  p;is 
siou. 
Poor  is  all  that  princely  pride. 
What  are  their  showy  treasures  ? 
What  are  their  noisy  pleasures  ? 
The  gay,  gaudy  glare  of  vanity  and 
art : 
The  polish'd  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  she  chains 
the  willing  soul  ! 
Ambition  would  disown 
The  world's  imperial  crown  ; 
Even  Avarice  would  deny 
His  worshipp'd  deity. 
And  feel  thro'  every  vein  Love's  rap- 
turous roll. 


I   SEE   A   FORM,   I   SEE   A 
FACE. 

Tune — "  This  is  my  ain  house." 

O  THIS  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 

,  Fair  tho'  the  lassie  be  ; 

0  weel  ken  I  my  ain  lassie, 

Kind  iQve.is  in  h^r  ee. 


1^)6 


LAST  MAT  A  BRA W  WOOER. 


\  see  a  form,  i  see  a  face, 
Ye  weel  may  wi'  the  fairest  place  ; 
It  wants,  to  me,  the  witching  grace. 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  ee, 
O  this  is  no,  &c, 

She's  bonie,  blooming,  straight,  and 

tall. 
And  lang  has  had  my  heart  in  thrall ; 
And  aye  it  charms  my  very  saul. 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  ee. 

O  this  is  no,  &c. 

A  thief  sae  pawkie  is  my  Jean, 
To  steal  a  blink,  by  a'  unseen  ; 
But  gleg  as  light  are  lovers'  een, 
When  kind  love  is  in  the  ee. 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 

It  may  escape  the  courtly  sparks, 
It  may  escape  the  learned  clerks  ; 
But  weel  the  watching  lover  marks 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  ee, 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 

O  BONIE  WAS  YON  ROSY 
BRIER. 

Tune—"'  I  wish  my  love  was  in  a  mire.' 
O  BONIE  was  yon  rosy  brier. 

That  blooms  sae  fair  f rae  haunt  o' 
man : 
And  bonie  siie,  and  ah,  how  dear  ! 

It  shaded  f  rae  the  e'cning  sun. 

Yon  rosebuds  in  the  morning  dew, 
How  pure  amaug   the    leaves  sae 
green  ; 
But  purer  was  the  lover's  vow 
They  witne&s'd  in  their  shade  yes- 
treen. 


All  in  its  rude  and  prickly  bower, 
That  crimson  rose  how  sweet  and 
fair  ! 

But  love  is  far  a  sweeter  tiower 
ximid  life's  thorny  path  o'  cure. 

The  pathless  wild,  and  v/impling  burn, 
Wi'  Chloris  in  my  arms,  be  mine. 

And  I,  the  world,  nor  wish,  nor  scorn, 
Its  joys  and  griefs  alike  resigp. 

FORLORN,  MY  LOVE. 

Tune—"  Let  me  in  this  ae  night.'' 
Forlorn,  my  love,  no  comfort  near. 
Far,  far  from  thee,  I  wander  here  ; 
Far,  far  from  thee,  the  fate  severe 
At  which  I  most  repine,  love. 

CHORUS, 

O  wert  thou,  love,  but  near  me. 
But  near^  near,  near  me  ; 
How  kindly  thou  wouldst  cheer  me. 
And  mingle  tighs  with  mine,  love. 

Around  me  scowls  a  wintry  sky, 
That  blasts  each  bud  of  hope  and  joy. 
And  shelter,  shade,  nor  home  liave  I, 
Save  in  those  arms  of  thine,  love. 
O  wert,  &c. 

Cold,  alter'd  friendship's  cruel  part. 

To  poison  fortune's  ruthless  dart — 

Let  me  not  break  thy  faithful  heart. 

And  say  that  fate  is  mine;  love. 

O  wert,  i&c. 

But  dreary  tho'  the  moments  fleet, 
O  let  me  think  we  yet  shall  meet  1 
That  only  ray  of  solace  sweet 
Can  on  thy  Chloris  shine,  love. 
O  wert,  &c. 


LAST  MAY  A  BRAW  WOOER. 

Tune — "  Lothian  Lassie." 
Last  May  a  braw  wooer  came  down  the  lang  glen. 

And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave  me  : 
I  said  there  was  naething  I  hated  like  men, 

The  deuce  jae  wi'm  to  believe  me,  believe  me. 

The  deuce  gae  wi'm  to  believe  me. 

He  spak  a'  the  darts  in  my  bonie  black  een. 
And  vow'd  for  my  love  he  was  dying  ; 

I  said  he  might  die  when  he  liked  for  Jean : 
The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lying,  for  lyln^. 
The  iord  forgie  rjie  for  lying  1 


HEY  FOR  A  LASS  W2'  A  TOGHElt,  iOI 

A  weel-stocked  mailen,  himsel  for  the  laird, 

And  marriage  off-hand,  were  his  proffers  : 
I  never  loot  on  that  I  kend  it,  or  car'd  ; 

But  thought  I  miglit  hae  waur  offers,  waur  offers^ 
But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers. 

But  what  wad  ye  think  ?  in  a  fortnight  or  less, 

The  deil  tak  liis  taste  to  gae  near  her  ! 
He  up  the  lang  loan  to  my  black  cousin  Bess, 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad  !    I  could  bear  her,  could  bear  hef  j, 

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. 

Lest  neebors  miglit  say  I  was  saucy  ; 
My  wooer  he  caper'd  as  he'd  been  in  drink, 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie,  dear  lassie. 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie. 

I  spier'd  for  my  cousin  fu'  couthy  and  sweet. 

Gin  she  had  recovered  her  hearin. 
And  how  her  new  shoon  fit  her  auld  shachl't  feet— ^ 

But,  heavens  !  how  he  felV  a  swearin,  a  swearin. 

But,  heavens  1  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  maun  wed  him  to-morrow,  to-morrow, 

I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow. 


HEY  FOR  A  LASS  WI'  A  TOCHER. 

Tune—"  Baiinamona  ora." 

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. 

CHORUS. 

Then  hey,  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher,  then  hey,  for  a  lasg 

wi'  a  tocher, 
Then  hey,  for  the  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  rai:)turous  charm  o'  the  bonie  green  knowes. 
Ilk  spring  they're  new  deckit  wi'  bonie  white  jowes, 
Then  hey,  etc. 


108  THE  BIBKS  OF  ABERFELD7, 

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,  etc. 


1 


ALTIIO'  THOU  MAUN  NEVER  BE  MINE. 

Tune — "  Here's  a  health  to  tliem  that's  awa,  Hiney." 
CHORUS. 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear, 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear  ; 

Thou  art  as  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet. 

And  soft  as  their  parting  tear — Jessy  I 

Altiio'  thou  maun  never  be  mine, 

Altho'  even  hope  is  denied  ; 
Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing. 

Than  aught  in  the  world  beside — Jessy  I 
Here's  a  health,  &c. 

1  mourn  thro'  the  gay,  gaudy  day, 

As,  hopeless,  I  nmse  on  thy  charms  : 
Bnt  welcome  th€  dream  of  sweet  slumber. 

For  then  I  am  lockt  in  thy  arms — Jessy  I 
Here's  a  health,  &c, 

I  guess  by  the  dear  angel  smile, 

I  guess  by  the  love-rolling  ee  ; 
But  why  urge  the  tender  confession 

'Gainst  fortune's  cruel  decree — Jessy  I 
Here's  a  health,  &c. 


THE 


3IRKS     OF 
FELDY. 


ABER. 


CHORUS. 

3onit,  .assie,  will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 

will  ye  go, 
Bonib    Lassie,  will    ye  go    to  the 

Birkh  of  Aberfeldy  ? 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes. 
And  o'er  the  crystal  streamlet  plays. 
Come  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  days 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie  lassie,  &c. 

While  o'er  their  heads  the  hazels  hing, 

The  little  birdies  blythely  sing, 

Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 

Inlhe  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Borne  lassie,  «S;c. 


The  braes  ascend  like  lofty  wa's. 
The  foaming  stream  deep  roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung     wi'     fragrant     spreading 

shaws. 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy, 

Bonie  lassie,  &c. 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown'd  wi'  flow- 
ers, 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours. 
And  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonie  lassie,  &c. 

Let  fortune  s  gifts  at  random  flee, 
They   ne'er  sliall  draw  a  wish  frae 

me, 
Supremely  blest  wV  love  and  thee^ 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonie  lassie,  &c. 


BAVINQ  WINDS  AROUND  HER  BLOWING. 


199 


THE    YOUNG    HIGHLAND 
ROVER. 

Tune—"  Morag." 

Loud  blaw  the  frosty  breezes, 

The  snaws  the  mountain  cover  ; 
Like  winter  on  me  seizes, 

Since  my  young  Highland  Rover 

Far  wanders  nations  over. 
Where'er  he  go,  where'er  he  stray. 

May  Heaven  be  his  warden  : 
Keturn  him  safe  to  fair  Strathspey, 

And  bonnie  Castle- Gordon  ! 

The  trees  now  naked  groaning, 
Shall  soon  wi'  leaves  be  hinging. 

The  birdies  dowie  moaning, 
Shall  a'  be  blythely  singing. 
And  every  flower  be  springing, 

Sae  I'll  rejoice  the  lee-lang  day, 
When 'by  his  mighty  warden 

My  youth's  returned  to  fair  Strath- 
spey, 
And  bonie  Castle-Gordon  ! 

STAY,  MY  CHARMER. 

Tune—"  An  gille  dubh  ciar  dhubh." 
Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me  ? 
Cruel,  cruel  to  deceive  me  ! 
Well  you  know  how  much  you  grieve 
me  ; 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

By  my  love  so  ill-reqidled  ; 

By  the  faith  you  fondly  plighted 

By  the  pangs  of  lovers  slighted  ; 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so  ! 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so  ! 

FULL    WELL   THOU 
KNOW'ST. 

Tune—"  Kothiemurchus's  rant." 
CHORUS. 

Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks, 
Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 

Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside. 
And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do  ? 

Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee 

dear, 
Couldst  thou  to  malice  lend  an  ear  ? 


0,  did  not  love  exclaim,  "Forbeai:, 
Nor  use  a  faithful  lover  so  ?  " 
Fairest  maid,  (kc. 

Then  come,  thou  fairest  of  the  fair, 
Those  wonted  smiles,  O,  let  me  share  *. 
And  by  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear. 
No  love  but   thine  my  heart  shall 
know. 
Fairest  maid,  &c. 

STRATH  ALLAN'S  LAMENT. 

Thickest  night,  o'erhang  my  dwel- 
ling ! 

Howling  tempests,  o'er  me  rave  ! 
Turbid  torrents,  wintry  swelling, 

Still  surround  my  lonely  cave  I 

Crystal  streamlets  gently  flowing. 
Busy  haunts  of  base  mankind. 

Western  breezes  softly  blowing. 
Suit  not  my  distracted  mind. 

In  the  cause  of  right  engag'd. 
Wrongs  injurious  to  redress. 

Honour's  war  w^e  strongly  wag'd, 
But  the  heavens  deny'd  success. 

Ruin's  wheel  has  driven  o'er  us. 
Not  a  hope  tliat  dare  attend  ; 

The  wide  world  is  all  before  us — • 
But  a  world  without  a  friend  ! 

RAVING  WINDS  AROUND 
HER  BLOWING. 

Tune— M'Gregorof  Ruara's  lament. 

RxVviNG  wands  around  her  blowing, 

Yellow  leaves  the  woodlands  strowing. 

By  a  river  hoarsely  roaring, 

Isabella  stray'd  deploring  : 

"  Farewell,  hours  that  late  did  meas- 
ure 

Sunshine  days  of  joy  and  pleasure  ; 

Hail,  thou  gloomy  night  of  sorrow. 

Cheerless  night  that  knows  no  mor- 
row ! 

**  O'er  the  pa.st  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. 
Oh,  how  gladly  I'd  re-^ign  thee. 
And  to  dark  o])livion  join  thee  V* 


200 


THE  LAZY  MIST. 


MUSING  ON  THE  ROARING 
OCEAN. 

Tune—"  Druimion  dubh." 

Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean 
Which  divides  my  love  and  me  ; 

Wearying  Heaven  in  warm  devotion, 
For  his  weal  vrhere'er  he  be. 

Hope  and  fears'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  wiio  never  shed  a  tear, 
Care-untroubled,  joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy  day  to  you  is  dear. 

Gentle  night,  do  thou  befriend  me  ; 

Downy  sleep  the  curtain  draw  ; 
Spirits  kind,  again  attend  me, 

I'alk  of  him  that's  far  awa  1 


BLYTHE  WAS  SHE. 

Tune — "  Andro  and  his  cuttie  gun." 
CHORUS. 

Blytlie,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
JBlythe  was  she  but  and  ben  ; 

Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Ern, 
And  blythe  in  Glenture's  glen. 

By  Ochtertyre  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  flower  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  onie  lamb's  upon  a  lee  ; 

Thje  evening  sun  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 
As  was  the  blink  o'  Pliemie's  ee. 
Blythe,  &c. 

The  Highland  hills  I've  wander'd  wide, 
And  o'er  the  Lowland's  Ihae  been  \ 

But  Phemie  was  the  blythest  lass 
That  ever  trod  the  dewy  green. 
Blythe,  &c. 

PEGGY'S    CHARMS. 

Tune— "Neil  Gow's  lamentation  for  Aber- 
cairuy." 

Where,     braving     angry     winter's 
storms, 

The  lofty  Ochils  rise, 
Far  in  their  sliade  my  Peggy's  charms 

First  blest  my  wandering  eyes. 
As  one  who,  by  some  savage  stream, 

A  lonely  gem  surveys, 
Astonish'd  doubly,  marks  it  beam 

With  art's  most  polish'd  blaze. 

Blest  be  the  wild,  sequester'd  shade. 

And  blest  the  daj^  and  hour, 
Where  Peggy's  cha'"m'?  I  fir.^t  survey'd 

When  first  I  felt  their  pow'r  ! 
The  tyrant  death  with  gr'm  control 

May  seize  my  fleeting  breath'; 
But  tearing  Peggy  from  my  soul 

Must  be  a  stronger  death. 


THE  LAZY  MIST. 

Irish  Air— "  Coolun." 

The  lazy  mist  hangs  o'er  the  brow  of  the  hill, 

Concealing  the  course  of  the  dark-winding  rill ; 

How  languid  the  scenes,  late  so  sprightly,  appear. 

Autumn  to  winter  resigns  the  pale  year  ! 

The  forests  are  leafless,  the  meadows  are  brown, 

And  all  the  gay  foppery  of  summer  is  flown  ; 

Apart  let  me  wander,  apart  let  me  muse. 

How  quick  time  is  flying,  how  keen  fate  pursues  ; 

How  long  I  have  lived,  but  how  much  lived  in  vain 

How  little  of  life's  scanty  span  may  remain  ; 


TIBBIE,  I  HAE  SEEN  THE  DA  Y. 


201 


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. 


ROSE-BUD      BY 
EARLY  WALK. 


MY 


Tune—"  The  Shepherd's  Wife." 

A  ROSE-BUD  by  my  early  walk, 
Adown  a  corn-enclosed  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  the  early  morning. 

Within  the  bush,  her  covert  nest 
A  little  linnet  fondly  prest. 
The  dew  sat  chilly  on  her  breast 
Sae  early  in  the  morning. 

She  soon  shall  see  her  tender  brood, 
The  pride,  the  pleasure  o'  the  wood, 
Amang  the  fresh  green  leaves  bedew'd. 
Awake  the  early  morning. 

So  thou,  dear  bird,  young  Jeany  fair. 
On  trembling  string  or  vocal  air, 
Shall  sweetly  pay  the  tender  care 
That  tents  thy  early  morning. 

So  thou,  sweet  rose-bud,  young  and 

gay, 
Slialt  beauteous  blaze  upon  the  day, 
And  bless  the  parent's  evening  ray 
That  watch'd  thy  early  morning. 


TIBBIE,  I 


HAE  SEEN  THE 
DAY. 


Tune—"  Invercauld's  reel." 
CHORUS. 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day. 
Ye  would  na  been  sae  shy  ; 

For  laik  o'  gear  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  fiemt  a  hair  care  I. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

I  doubt  na,  lass,  but  ye  may  think, 
Because  ye  hae  the  name  o'  clink, 
That  ye  can  please  me  at  a  wink. 
Whene'er  ye  like  to  try. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

But  sorrow  tak  him  that's  sae  mean, 
Altho'  his  pouch  o'  coin  were  clean, 
Wha  follows  ony  saucy  quean 
That  looks  sae  proud  and  high. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

Altho'  a  lad  were  e'er  sae  smart, 
If  that  he  want  the  yellow  dirt, 
Ye'll  cast  your  head  anither  airt, 
And  answer  him  f u'  dry. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

But  if  ye  hae  the  name  o'  gear, 
Ye'll  fasten  to  him  like  a  brier, 
Tho,  hardlj^  he,  for  sense  or  lear. 
Be  better  than  the  kye. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

But,  Tibbie,  lass,  tak  my  advice. 
Your    daddy's    gear  maks    you    sae 

nice  ; 
The  deil  a  ane  wad  spier  your  price. 
Were  ye  as  poor  as  I. 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

There  lives  a  lass  in  yonder  park, 
I  would  na  gie  her  in  her  sark, 
For  thee  wi'  a'  thy  thousand  mark: 
Ye  need  na  look  sae  high. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae.  &c. 


^02 


THE  BRAES  0'  BALLOCffMTLE. 


I  LOVE  MY  JEAN. 

Tune—"  Miss  Admiral  Gordon's  Strathspey." 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

J.  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
Tliere  wild  w^oods  grow,  and  rivers 

TOW, 

And  monie  a  hill  between  ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 
Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean, 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair  : 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air  : 
There's  not  a  bonie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green  ; 
There's  not  a  bonie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 


O,    AVERE    I    ON    PARNAS- 
SUS' HILL  ! 

Tune—"  My  Love  is  lost  to  me." 

O,  "WERE  I  on  Parnassus'  hill ! 
Or  had  of  Helicon  my  fill  ; 
That  1  might  catch  poetic  skill, 

To  sing  how  dear  I  love  thee. 
But  Nith  maun  be  my  Muses  well, 
My  Muse  maun  be  thy  bonie  sel ; 
On  Corsincon  I'll  glowr  and  spell, 

And  write  how  dear  I  love  thee. 

Then  come,  sweet  Muse,  inspire  my 

lay! 
For  a'  the  lee-lang  simmer's  day, 
I  could  na  sing,  I  could  na  say. 

How  much,  how  dear,  I  love  thee. 
I  see  thee  dancing  o'er  the  green. 
Thy  waist   sae   jimp,  thy   limbs  sae 

clean. 
Thy  tempting  looks,  thy  roguish  een — 

By  Heaven  and  earth  I  love  thee  1 

By  night,  by  day,  a-field,  at  hame. 
The   tiioughts    o'    thee    my    breast 

inflame  ; 
And  aye  I  muse  and  sing  thy  name  — 
I  only  live  to  love  thee. 


Tho'  I  were  doom'd  to  wander  on. 
Beyond  the  sea,  beyond  the  sun, 
Till  my  last  weary  sand  was  run  ; 
Till  then  —  and  then  I'd  love  thee. 

THE  BLISSFUL  DAY. 

Tune — "  Seventh  of  November.'" 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns, 

The  blissful  day  we  twa  did  meet ; 
Tho'  winter  wild  in  tempest  toil'd, 
Ne'er    summer-sun     was    half   sac 
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  theo 
mine. 

While  day  and  night  can  bring  delighi. 

Or  nature  aught  of  pleasure  give  ; 
While  joys  above  my  mind  can  move, 

For  thee,  and  thee  alone,  I  live  ! 
When  that  grim  foe  of  life  below 

Comes  in  between  to  make  us  part ; 
The  iron  hand  that  breaks  our  band. 

It  breaks  my  bliss — it  breaks  my 
heart. 

THE  BRAES  O'  BALLOCH. 
MYLE. 

Tune—"  Miss  Forbes's  farewell  to  Banff." 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen, 

The  flowxTS  decay 'd  on  Catrine  lea, 
Nae  lav'rock  sang  on  hillock  green. 

But  nature  sicken'd  on  the  ee. 
Thro'  faded  groves  Maria  sang, 

Hersel  in  beauty's  bloom  thewhyle, 
And  aye  the  wild-w^ood  echoes  rang, 

Fareweel  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Low  in  your  wintry  beds,  ye  flowers, 

Again  ye'll  flourish  fresh  and  fair  ; 
Ye  birdies  dumb,  in  with'ring bowers. 

Again  ye'll  charm  the  vocal  air. 
But  here,  alas  !  for  me  nae  mair 

Shall    birdie    charm,    or    floweret 
smile  ; 
Fareweel  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr, 

Fareweel,  fareweel,  sweet  Ballochr 
myle. 


TAM  GLBN. 


^03 


THE  HAPPY  TRIO. 

Tune—"  Willie  brcw'd  a  pecli  o'  maut." 

O,  "Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut, 
And  Rob  and  Allan  cam  to  see  ; 

Three   blytlier    hearts,    that  lee-lang 
night, 
Ye  wad  na  find  in  Christendie. 

CHORUS. 

We  are  na  fou,  we're  no  that  fou. 
But  just  a  drappie  in  our  ee  , 

The  cock  may  craw,  the  day  may  daw, 
And  ay  we'll  taste  the  barley  bree. 

Here  are  we  met,  three  merry  boys, 
Three  merry  boys,  I  trow,  are  we; 

And  nionie  a  night  we've  merry  been, 
And  monie  m.'ie  we  hope  to  be  I 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 

[t  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 
That's  blink  in  in  the  lift  sae  hie  ; 

She  shines  sae  bright  to  wyleushame. 
But  by  my  soolli  she'll  wait  a  wee  1 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 

Wha  first  shall  rise  to  gang  awa, 
A  cuckold,  coward  loun  is  he  1 
Wha  first  beside  his  chair  shall  fa' , 
is  the  King  among  u 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 


THE  BLUE-EYED  LASSIE. 

Tune— "  The  blathrie  o't." 

I  GAED  a  waeful  gate  yestreen, 

A  gate,  I  fear,  I'll  dearly  rue  •, 
I  gat  my  death  frae  Iwa  sweet  een, 

Twa  lovely  een  o'  bonie  blue. 
'Twas  not  lu-r  golden  ringlets  bright, 

Her  lips  like  roses  wat  wi'  dew, 
Iler  heaving  bosom  lily-white  ; — 

It  was  her  een  sae  bonie  blue. 

She  talked,  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  een  sae  bonie  blue. 
But  spare  to  speak,  and  spai-e  to  s])eed  ; 

SIkHI  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow  : 
Should  she  refuse,  I'll  lay  my  dead 

To  her  twa  een  sae  bonie  blue. 


JOHN  A.NDERSON  MY  JO. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent. 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonie  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  clanib  the  hill  thegither  ; 
And  monie  a  canty  day,  John, 

We've  had  wi'  ane  anither  : 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go. 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson  my  jo, 

TAM  GLEN. 

Tune—"  The  mucking  o'  Geordie's  byre  ** 

My  heart  is  a  breaking,  dear  Title, 
Some  counsel  unto  me  come  len'. 

To  anger  them  a'  is  a  pity  ; 
But  what  will  I  do  wi'  Tarn  Glen  ? 

I'm  thinking  wi'  sic  a  braw  fellow, 
In  poortith  I  might  mak  a  fen'  ; 

What  care  I  in  riches  to  wallow, 
If  I  maunna  marry  Tam  Glen  ? 

There's  Lowrie  the  laird  o'  Dumeller, 

"  Guid-day    to    you,    brute!"    he 

comes  ben  : 

He  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller, 

But  when  will  he  dance  like  Tam 

Glen? 

My  minnie  docs  constantly  deave  me. 
And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men  ; 

They  fl.itter  slie  says,  to  deceive  me  ; 
But  wha  can  think  sae  o'  Tam  Glen  ? 

My  daddic  says,  gin  I'll  forsake  him; 

He'll  gie  me  guid  hunder  marks  ten; 
Bui,  if  it's  oi-dain'd  I  maun  take  him, 

O  wha  will  I  get  but  Tam  Glen  ? 

Yestreen  at  the  Valentine's  dealing, 
JVIy  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a  sten  ; 

For  thrice  I  drew  ane  without  failing. 
And   thrice    it  was  written,   Tam 
Glen. 


204  WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE  DOf 

The  last  Halloween  I  was  waukin  CHORrjs. 

My  droukit  sark-sleeve,  as  ye  ken :        m,  -j    •*  *  *i     i      •      ^t 

His  Le,.ss  cam  up  .he  housi  stauk-      Then  gujdw.fe  ^count_^the  lawm,  the 

And^the^  very  gray  brocks  o'  Tarn      Then  guidwife^count  tJ.e.  lawin.  and 

Come  coimsel,  dear  Tittle,  don't  tarry;       There's  wealth  and  ease  for  gentlemen, 
I'll  gie  you  my  bonie  black  hen,  And  semple-folk  maun  fecht  and  feu', 

Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry  But  here  we're  a'  in  ae  accord, 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tarn  Glen.        For  ilka  man  that's  drunk's  a  lord, 

Then  guidwife  count,  &c. 

GANE  IS  THE  DAY.  My  coggie  is  a  haly  pool, 

Tune— "Guidwife  count  the  lawin."  That  heals  the  wounds  o'  care  and 
Gane  is  the  day,  and  mirk's  the  night,  dool ; 

But  we'll  ne'er  stray  for  faute  o'  light.  And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout. 

For  ale  and  brandy's  stars  and  moon.  An'  ye  drink  it  a'  ye'll  find  him  out. 
And  bluid-red  wine's  the  risin'  sun.  Then  guidwife  count,  &c. 

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  can  brawlie 

My  Tocher's  the  jewel  has  charms  for  liim. 

It's  a'  for  the  apple  he'll  nourish  the  tree  ; 

"^t's  a'  for  the  hiney  he'll  cherish  the  bee  ; 
;^i^  laddie's  so  meikle  in  luve  wi'  the  siller, 

He  canna  hae  luve  to  spare  for  me. 

Your  proffer  o'  luve's  an  airle-penny, 

My  Tocher's  the  bargain  ye  wad  buy  ; 
But  an  ye  be  crafty,  I  am  cnninin, 

Sae  ye  wi'  anither  your  fortune  maun  try. 

Ye're  like  to  the  timmer  o'  yon  rotten  wood  ; 

Ye're  like  the  bark  o'  yon  rotten  tree  ; 
Ye'll  slip  frae  me  like  a  knotless  thread. 

And  ye'll  crack  your  credit  wi'  mae  nor  me. 

WHAT  CAi^  A  YOUNG  LASSIE   DO  WF  AN  OLD  MAN? 

Tune—"  What  can  a  Lassie  do." 

What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a  young  lassie, 
What  can  a  young  lassie  do  wi'  an  aiild  man  ? 

Bad  luck  on  the  penny  that  tempted  my  minnie 
To  sell  her  poor  Jenny-  for  siller  an'  Ian  ! 
Bad  luck  on  the  penny,  &c. 

He's  always  compleenin  frae  mornin  to  e'nin, 
He  hosts  and  he  hirples  the  weary  day  lang : 

He's  doylt  and  he's  dozing,  his  bluid  it  is  frozen, 
O,  dreary's  the  night  wi'  a  crazy  auld  man  1 


BESSIE  AND  HER  SPINNIN  WHEEL. 


205 


He  hums  and  iiB  hankers,  he  frets  and  he  cankers, 
I  never  can  please  him  do  a'  that  I  can  ; 

He's  peevish,  and  jealous  of  a'  the  young  fellows  ; 
O,  dool  on  the  day,  I  met  wi'  an  auld  man  I 

My  auld  auntie  Katie  upon  me  takes  pity, 
I'll  do  my  endeavor  to  follow  her  plan  ; 

I'll  cross  him,  and  rack  him,  until  I  heart-break  him. 
And  then  his  auld  brass  will  buy  me  a  nev/  pan. 


O,  FOR  ANE  AND  TWENTY, 
TAM  ! 

Tune—"  The  Moudiewort." 
CHORUS. 

An  O  for  ane  and  twenty,  Tam  ! 

An   hey,   sweet    ane    and    twenty, 
Tam! 
I'll  learn  my  kin  a  rattlin  sang, 

An  I  saw  ane  and  twenty,  Tam. 

They  snool  me  sair,  and  haud  me 
down. 
And  gar  me  look  like  bluntie,  Tam  ! 
But  three  short  years  will  soon  wheel 
rouu', 
And  then  comes  ane  and  twenty, 
Tam. 
An  O  for  ane,  etc. 

A  gleib  o'  laud',  a  claut  o'  gear. 
Was  left  me  by  my  auntie,  Tam  ; 

At  kith  or  kin  I  need  na  spier. 
An  I  saw  ane  and  twenty,  Tam. 
An  O  for  ane,  etc. 

They'll  hae  me  wed  a  wealthy  coof , 

Tho'  I  niysel'  hae  plenty,  Tam  ; 
But  hear'st  thou,  laddie,  there's  my 
loof, 
I'm  thine  at  ane  and  twenty,  Tam  ! 
An  O  for  ane,  etc. 

THE  BONIE  WEE  THING. 

Tune—"  The  Lads  of  Saltcoats," 

BoNiE  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 
Ix)vely  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  bonie  face  o'  thine  ; 

And  my  heart  it  stounds  wi'  anguish, 
Jjcst  my  wee  thing  be  na  ijii-ne. 


Wit,  and  gra^e,  and  love,  and  besiuty. 

In  ae  constellation  shine  ; 
To  adore  thee  is  my  duty, 

Goddess  o'  this  soul  o'  mine  I 
Bonie  wee,  etc. 


THE  BANKS  OF  NITH. 

Tune—"  Robie  Donua  Gorach." 

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  honoured  land. 

That  winding  stream  I  love  so  dear  ! 
Must  wayward  "fortune's  adverse  hand 

For  ever,  ever  keep  me  here  ? 

How  lovely,  Nith,  thy  fruitful  vales. 
Where  spreading  hawthorns  gaily 
bloom  ; 
How  sweetly  wind  thy  sloping  dales. 
Where  lambkins  wanton  thro'  the 
broom  ! 
Tho'  wandering,   now,   must  be  my 
doom. 
Far  from  thy  bonie  banks  and  braes. 
May  there  my  latest  hours  consume, 
Amang  the  friends  of  early  days  ! 

BESSY  AND  HER  SPINNIN 
WHEEL. 

Tune—"  Bottom  of  the  Punch  Bowl." 

O  LEEZE  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel, 
O  leeze  me  on  my  rock  and  reel ; 
Frae  tap  to  tae  that  deeds  me  bieu, 
And  haps  me  fiel  and  warm  at  e'en  I 
I'll  set  me  down  and  sing  and  spin. 
While  laigh  descends  the  simmer  sun, 
Blest  wi'  content,  and  mi'k  and  meal— ' 
O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel. 


206 


FAIR  ELIZA. 


On  Ilka  band  the  burnies  trot, 
And  meet  below  my  theekit  cot ; 
The    scented    birk    and    bawtliorne 

white, 
Across  the  pool  their  arms  unite, 
Alike  to  screen  the  birdie's  nest, 
And  little  tishes'  caller  rest : 
The  sun  blinks  kindly  in  the  bid', 
Where  blythe  I  turn  my  spiunin  wheel. 

On  lofty  aiks  the  cushats  wail, 
And  echo  cons  the  doolfu'  tale  ; 
The  lintwhites  in  the  hazel  braes, 
Delighted,  rivjil  ither's  lays  : 
The  craik  amang  the  claver  hay. 
The  paitrick  whirrin  o'er  the  ley, 
The  swallow  jinkin  round  my  shiel, 
Amuse  me  at  my  spinuin  wheel. 

Wi'  sma'  to  sell,  and  less  to  buy, 
Aboon  distress,  below  envy, 
O  wha  wad  leave  this  humble  state, 
For  a'  the  pride  of  a'  the  great  ? 
Amid  their  tlarin,  idle  toys. 
Amid  their  cumbrous,  dinsome  joys, 
Can  they  the  peace  and  pleasure  feel 
Of  Bessy  at  her  spinniu  wheel  ? 

COUNTRY  LASSIE. 

^■^^    Tune — "John,  come  kiss  me  now." 

In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn, 

And  corn  wav'd  green  in  ilka  field, 
While  claver  blooms  white  o'er  the 
lea, 

And  roses  blaw  in  ilka  bield  ; 
Blythe  Bessie  in  the  milking  shiel, 

Says,  "  111  be  wed,  come  o"t  what 
will ;  ' 
Out  spoke  a  dame  in  wrinkled  eild, 

"  O'  guid  advisement  comes  nae  ill. 

"  It's  ye  hae  wooers  monie  ane, 

And,  lassie,  ye're  but  young  ye  ken; 
Then  wait  a  wee,  and  cannie  wale 

A  routhie  butt,  a  routhie  ben  : 
There's  Johnie  o  the  Buskie-glen, 

Fu'  is  his  barn,  fu'  is  his  byre  ; 
Tak  this  frae  me,  my  bonie  hen, 

its  plenty  beets  the  luver's  fire," 

"  For  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen 

I  dinua  care  a  single  flie  ; 
He  lo'es  sae  weel  his  craps  and  kye, 

He  has  nae  luve  to  spare  for  me  ; 


But  blithe's  the  blink  o'  Robie's  ee, 
And  weel  I  wat  ho  lo'es  me  dear ; 

Ae  blink  o'  him  I  wad  nae  gie 
For  Buskie-glen  and  a'  his  gear." 

"  O  thoughtless  lassie,  life's  a  f aught ! 

The  canniest  gate,  the  strife  is  sail  ; 
But  aye  fu'  han't  is  fechtiii  best, 

A  hungry  care's  an  unco  c"^re  : 
But  some  will  spend,  and  bo^iq  will 
spare, 

An'  wilfu'  folk  maun  hae  their  will  ; 
Syne  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair. 

Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drink  th<»- 

.  yiii." 

"  O,  gear  will  buy  me  rigs  o'  land. 
And  gear  will  buy  me  sheep  and 
kye  ; 
But  the  tender  heart  o'  leesome  luve 

The  gowd  and  siller  canna  buy  : 
We  may  be  poor — llobie  and  I, 

Light  is  the  burden  luve  lays  on  ; 
Content  and  luve  brings  peace  aD(i, 
joy, 
What    mair    hae    queens    upon    a 
throno  ?  " 

FAIR  ELIZA. 

Tune—"  The  bonie  bnicket  Lassie,'* 
Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza, 

Ae  kind  blink  before  we  part. 
Hue  on  th}^  despairing  lover  ! 

Canst  thou  break  his  faithfu'  hean  f 
Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza  ; 

If  to  love  thy  heart  denies. 
For  pity  hide  the  cruel  sentenf*e 

Under  friendship's  kind  disguise  i 

Thee,  dear  maid,  hae  I  offended  ? 

The  offence  is  loving  thee  ; 
Canst  thou  wreck  his  peace  for  ever, 

Wha  for  thine  wad  gladly  die  ? 
While  the  life  beats  in  my  bosom. 

Thou  shalt  mix  in  ilka  throe  : 
Turn  again,  thou  lovely  maiden, 

Ae  sweet  smile  on  me  bestow. 

Not  the  bee  upon  the  blossom. 

In  the  pride  o'  sinny  noon ; 
Not  the  little  sporting  fairy. 

All  beneath  the  simmer  moon  ; 
Not  the  poet  in  the  moment 

Fancy  lightens  in  his  ee. 
Kens  the  pleasure,  feels  the  raptur%. 

That  thy  presence  gies  to  pie. 


THE  POSIE.  207 


SHE'S  FAIR  AND  FAUSE. 

She's  fair  and  fause  that  causes  mj  Whae'er  ye  be  that  woman  love, 

smart,  To  this  be  never  blind, 

I  lo'ed  her  meikle  and  lang  .-  Nae  ferlie  'tis  tho'  fickle  she  prove. 

She's  broken  her  vow,  she's  broken  A  woman  Iias't  by  kind  : 

my  heart,  O  Woman  lovely.  Woman  fair  ! 

And  I  may  e'en  gae  hang.  An    Angel's    form's    faun    to    thy 

A  coof  cam  in  wi'  rowth  o'  gear,  share. 

And  I  hae  tint  my  dearest  dear,  'Twad  been  o'er  meikle  to  gienthae 

But  woman  is  but  warld's  gear,  mair, 

Sae  let  the  bonie  lass  gang.  I  mean  an  Angel  mind. 


THE  POSIE. 

O  LUVE  will  venture  in,  where  it  daur  na  weel  ne  seen, 
O  luve  will  venture  in,  where  wisdom  ance  has  Deen  ; 
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  bonie  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',  wi'  its  locks  o'  siller  grey. 
Where,  like  an  aged  man,  it  stands  at  break  o'  lay. 
But  the  songster's  nest  within  the  bush  I  winni.  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  tliamond  drops  o'  dew  shall  be  her  een  sae  clear ; 
The  violet's  for  modesty  which  weel  she  fa's  to  wear. 
And  a'  to  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

I'll  tie  the  Posie  round  wi'  the  silken  band  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  remuvej 
And  thi§r  jiiW  l^.  a  Posie  to,  my  ain  dear  May. 


208 


GLOOMY  DECEMBER. 


THE  BANKS  O'  DOOIsr. 

Tune—"  The  Caledonian  Hunt's  delight." 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  httle  birds, 

And  I  sae  weary  f  u'  o'  care  ! 
Thou'll  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling 
bird, 

That  wantons  thro'   the  flowering 
thona  : 
Thou  minds  me  o'  departed  joys, 

Departed — never  to  return. 

Thou'lt  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird. 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate, 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang. 

And  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 
Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine  ; 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 

And  fondly  sae'did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Fu'  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree  ; 
And  my  fause  luver  stole  my  rose. 

But  ah  !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 
"Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Upon  a  morn  in  June  ; 
And  sae  I  flourisli'd  on  the  morn. 

And  sae  was  pu'd  on  noon. 


VERSION     PRINTED     m 
THE  MUSICAL  MUSEUM. 

Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  blume  sae  fair  ! 

How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care. 


Thou'll  break  my  heart,  thou  bonio 
bird. 

That  sings  upon  the  bough  ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days, 

When  my  fause  luve  was  true. 

Thou'll  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird, 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate  •, 
yor  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang, 

And  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon, 
To  see  the  wood-bine  twine. 

And  ilka  a  bird  sang  o'  its  love, 
And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Frae  off  its  thorny  tree. 
And  my  fause  luver  staw  the  ros^ 

And  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


GLOOMY   DECEMBER. 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December  I 

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  farewell  for  ever. 

Is  anguish  unmingl'd  and  agony  pure, 

Wild  as  the  winter  now  tearing  the  forest. 

Till  the  last  leaf  o'  the  summer  is  flown, 
Such  is  the  tempest  has  shaken  my  bosom. 

Since  my  last  hope  and  last  comfort  is  gone  ; 
Still  as  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December, 

Still  shall  I  hail  thee  wi'  sorrow  and  care ; 
For  sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember. 

Parting  wi'  Nancy,  oh  !  jie'er  to  meet  mair. 


AFTON  WATER 


BEHOLD  THE  HOUR. 

Tune—"  Oran  Gaoil." 

Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrive  ! 
Thou   goest,    thou  darling  of    my 
heart : 
8ever'd  from  thee  can  I  survive  ? 
But  fate  has  will'd,  and  we  must 
part  ! 
I'll  often  greet  tliis  surging  swell  ; 
Yon  distant  isle  will  often  hail  : 
"  E'en  here  I  took  the  last  farewell  ; 
There   latest  mark'd   her  vanish'd 
sail." 

Along  the  solitary  shore. 
While  flitting  sea-fowls  round  me 
cry, 
Across  the  rolling,  dashing  roar, 

I'll  westward  turn  my  wistful  eye  : 
"Happy,  thou  Indian  grove,"  I'll  say, 
"  Where  now  my  Nancy's  path  may 
be! 
While  thro'  thy  sweets  she  loves  to 
stray, 
O  tell  me,  does  she  muse  on  me  ?  " 

WnXIE'S  WIFE. 

Tune—"  Tibbie  Fowler  in  the  Glen." 

Willie  Wastle  dwelt  on  Tweed, 
The  spot  they  ca'd  it  Linkumdod- 
die, 

Willie  was  a  wabster  guid, 
Cou'd  stown  a  clue  wi'  onie  bodie  ; 


He  had  a  wife  was  dour  and  din, 
O  Tinkler  Madgie  was  her  mither  •, 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 
I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 

She  has  an  ee,  she  has  but  ane, 

The  cat  has  twa  the  very  colour 
Five  rusty  teeth,  forbye  a  stump, 
A  clapper  tongue  wad  deave  a  mil« 
ler ; 
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  shin- 
n'd. 
Ae  limping  leg  a  hand-breed  short- 
er ; 
She's  twisted  right,  she's  twisted  left. 

To  balance  fair  in  ilka  quarter  : 
She  has  a  hump  upon  her  breast. 
The  twin  o'  that  upon  her  shou- 
ther  ; 
Sic  a  wife,  &c. 

Auld  baudrons  by  the  ingle  sits, 

An'  wi'  her  loof  her  face  a-washin  ; 
But  Willie's  wife  is  nae  sae  trig. 
She  dights  her  grunzie  wi'  a  hush- 
ion  ; 
Her  walie  nieves  like  midden-creels. 
Her   face  wad  fyle  the  Logan-wa» 
ter ; 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 
I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 


AFTON  WATER. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes. 
Flow  gently,  I'll  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murnmring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den. 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills, 
For  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear,  winding  rills 
There  daily  I  w^ander  as  noon  rises  high, 
Kj  flocks  ^)xd  my  Mary's  sweet  col  in  mjey§. 


MQ 


0  MAY,  THY  MORN. 


How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow  ; 
There  oft  as  mild  ev'ning  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave. 
As  gathering  sweet  flow'rets  she  stems  thy  clear  ware. 

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. 


LOUIS,  WHAT  RECK  I  BY 
THEE. 

Tune— "  My  Mother's  aye  glowering  o'er  inc." 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee, 
Or  Geordie  on  his  ocean  ? 

Dyvour,  beggar  loons  to  me, 
I  reign  in  J^anie's  bosom. 

Let  her  crown  my  love  her  law, 
And  in  her  breast  enthrone  me  : 

Kings  and  nations,  swith  awa  ! 
Keif  randies,  I  disown  ye  ! 

BONIE  BELL. 

The  smiling  spring  comes  in  rejoic- 
ing, 
And  surly  winter  grimly  flies  : 
Now  crystal  clear  are  the  falling  wa- 
ters. 
And    bonnie    blue  are  the    sunny 
skies  ; 
Fresh  o'er  the  mountains  breaks  forth 
the  morning. 
The  evening  gilds  the  ocean's  swell ; 
All  creatures  joy  in  the  sun's  return- 
ing. 
And  I  rejoice  in  my  bonie  Bell. 

The  flowery  spring  leads  sunny  sum- 
mer, 
Then  in  his  turn  comes  gloomy  win- 
ter. 
Till  smiling  spring  again  appear. 
Thus  scasons'dancing,  lie  advancing, 
Old  Time  and  Nature  their  changes 
tell. 
But  never  ranging,  still  unchanging 
X  adore  my  bonie  BeU- 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  SOME 
BODY. 

Tune—"  The  Highland  Watcli's  Farewell.' 

My  heart  is  sair,  I  dare  na  tell, 

My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody  ; 
I  could  wake  a  winter  night, 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody  ! 
Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 
Oh-hey  !  for  somebody  ! 
I  could  ra-nge  the  world  around. 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody. 

Ye  powers  that  smile  on  virtuous  love, 

O,  sweetly  smile  on  somebody  ! 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  somebody. 
Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 
Oh-hey  !  for  somebody  ! 
I  wad  do — what  would  I  not  ? 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody  ! 


O  MAY,  THY  MORN. 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  so  sweet, 
As  the  mirk  night  o'  December, 

For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine. 
And  private  was  the  chamber  : 

And  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 
But  I  will  aye  remember. 
And  dear,  &c. 

And  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  guid  watch  o'er  them  ; 

And  here's  to  them  we  dare  na  tell. 
The  dearest  of  the  quorum. 
A"d  here's  to,  &c. 


A  YI8I0K 


211 


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  aye  the  saut  tear  blins  her  ee  : 
Drumossie  moor,  Drumossie  day, 

A  waef  ii'  day  it  was  to  me  ; 
For  there  I  lost  my  father  dear, 

jNIy  father  dear,  and  brethren  three. 

Their  winding-sheet  the  bluidy  clay, 
Their  graves  are  growing  green  to 
see  ; 
And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 
That  ever  blest  a  woman's  ee  ! 
Now  wae  to  thee,  thou  cruel  lord, 

A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be  ; 
For  monie   a  heart  thou  hast  made 
sair. 
That  ne'er  did  wrong  to    thine  or 
thee. 

A  REB,  RED  ROSE. 

TuNK— "  Wishaw's  favourite.  ' 
O,  MY  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose, 

That's  newly  sprung  in  June : 
O,  my  hive's  like  the  melodie 

That's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonie  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  : 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  v*^eel,  my  only  luve. 
And  fare  thee  weel  awhile  ! 

And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 
Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 

O,  WAT  YE  WHA'S  IN  YON 
TOWN. 

TuNE^-"  The  bonie  Lass  in  yon  town." 
O,  WAT  ye  wha's  in  yon  town, 

Ye  see  the  e'enin  sun  upon  ? 
The  fairest  dame's  in  yon  town, 

Tiiat  e'enin  sun  is  shining  on. 


Now  haply  down  yon  gay  green  stiaw, 
She  wanders  by  yon  spreading  tree : 

How  blest,  ye  fiow'rs  that  round  her 
blaw, 
Ye  catch  the  glances  o'  her  e'c  ! 

How  blest,  ye  birds  that  round  her 
sing. 

And  welcome  in  the  blooming  yearj 
And  doubly  welcome  be  the  spring, 

The  season  to  my  Lucy  dear  ! 

The  sun  blinks  blithe  on  yon  town, 
And  on  your  bonie  braes  of  Ayr ; 

But  my  delight  in  you  town. 
And  dearest  bliss,  is  Lucy^fair. 

Without  my  love,  not  a'  the  charms 
0'  Paradise  could  yield  me  joy  ; 

But  gie  me  Lucy  in  my  arms. 

And   welcome    Lapland's    dreary 
sky. 

My  cave  wad  be  a  lover's  bower, 
Tho'  raging  winter  rent  the  air  ; 

And  she  a  lovely  little  flower. 
That  I  wad  tent  and  shelter  there. 

0  sweet  is  she  in  yon  town. 

Yon  sinkin  sun's  gane  down  upon  ; 
A  fairer  than's  in  yon  town, 
His  setting  beam  ne'er  shone  upon. 

If  angry  fate  is  sworn  my  foe, 

And  suffering  I  am  doom'd  to  bear  ; 

1  careless  quit  all  else  below. 

But  spare  me,  spare  me  Lucy  dear. 

For  while  life's  dearest  blood  is  warm, 
Ae  thought  f  rae  her  shall  ne'er  de- 
part, 

And  she — as  fairest  is  her  form. 
She  has  the  truest,  kindest  heart. 


A  VISION. 

Tune— "Cumr-C"k  Psalms." 

As  I  Stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 
Where  the  wa'   flower  scents  the 
dewy  air. 
Where  the  howlet  mourns  in  her  ivy 
bower, 
And  tells  the  midnight  moon  her 
care: 


312 


THE  HIGHLAND  LASSIE. 


CHORUS. 

A  lassie,  all  alone,  was  making  her 
moan, 
Lamentiuo-  our  lads  beyond  the  sea  : 
In  the  bluidy  wars  they  fa',  and  our 
honour's  gane  an'  a', 
And  broken-hearted  we  maun  die. 

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-eciioing  glens  reply. 

The  stream,  adown  its  hazelly  path, 
Was  rushing  by  the  ruin'd  wa's, 

Hasting  to  join  the  sweeping  Nith, 
Whase  "distant  roarings  swell  and 
fa's. 

The  cauld  blue  north  was  streaming 
forth 

Her  lights,  wi'  hissing,  eerie  din  ; 
Athort  the  lift  they  start  and  shift, 

Like  fortune's  favors^  tint  as  win. 

By  heedless  chance  I  turn'd  mine  eyes, 
And,  by  the  moonbeam,  shook  to  see 

A  stern  and  stalwart  ghaist  arise, 
Attir'd  as  minstrels  wont  to  be. 

Had  I  a  statue  been  o'  stane 

His  darin  look  had  daunted  me : 

And  on  his  bonnet  grav'd  was  plain 
The  sacred  posy — Libertie  ! 

And  frae  his  harp  sic  strains  did  flow, 
Might  rous'd  the  slumbering  dead  to 
hear ; 

But  oh,  it  was  a  tale  of  woe, 
As  ever  met  a  Briton's  ear  ! 

He  sang  wi'  joy  his  former  day. 
He  weeping  wail'd  his  latter  times  ; 

But  what  he  said  it  was  nae  play, 
I  winna  venture't  in  my  rhymes. 

O,  WERT  THOU  IN  THE 
CAULD  BLAST. 

Tune—"  The  Lass  of  Livingstone." 

O,  WERT  thou  in  the  cauld  blast. 
On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 

My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 
J'd  shelter  tUee,  I'd  slielt«r  tljee. 


Or  did  misfortunes  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, 

Of  earth  and  air,  of  earth  and  air, 
The  desart  were  a  paradise. 

If  thou  wert  there,   if  thou  wert 
there. 
Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  only  jewel  in  my  crown 

Wad   be  my  queen,   wad    be    my 
queen. 


THE  HIGHLAND  LASSIE. 

Tune — "  The  deulis  dang  o'er  my  daddy." 

Nae  gentle  dames,  tho'  e'er  sae  fair. 
Shall  ever  be  my  Muse's  care  : 
Their  titles  a'  are  empty  show  ; 
Gie  me  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 

CHORUS. 

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. 

Oh,  were  yon  hills  and  valleys  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'll  dare  the  billow's  roar, 
For  her  I'll  trace  a  distant  shore. 
That  Indian  wealth  may  lustre  throw 
Around  my  Highland  lassie,  O 
WitJUin  the  glen,  &c. 


I  LAY  WHERE  FLOWERS  WERE  SPRINGING. 


213 


She  has  my  heart,  she  has  my  hand, 
By  sacred  truth  and  honour's  band  ! 
Till  the  mortal  stroke  shall  lay  me  low, 
I'm  thine,  my  Highland  lassie,  0. 

Fare w  eel  the  glen  sae  bushy,  O  ! 
Fareweel  the  plain  sae  rushy,  O  ! 
To  other  lands  I  now  must  go, 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie,  O  I 


JOCKEY'S    TA'EN   THE 
PARTING  KISS. 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss. 
O'er  the  mountains  he  is  gane  ; 

And  with  him  is  a'  my  bliss, 
Nought  but  griefs  with  me  remaia 

Spare  my  luve,  ye  winds  that  blaw, 

Plashy  sleets  and  beating  rain  ! 
Spare  my  luve,  thou  feathery  snaw, 
{    Drifting  o'r  the  frozen  plain  ! 

When  the  shades  of  evening  creep 
O'er  the  day's  fair,  gladsome  ee, 

Sound  and  safely  may  he  sleep, 
Sweetly  blythe  his  waukening  be  ! 

He  will  think  on  her  he  loves. 
Fondly  he'll  repeat  her  name  : 

f  W  where'er  he  distant  roves. 
Jockey's  heart  is  still  at  hame. 


PEGGY'S   CHARMS. 

My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form, 
The  frost  of  hermit  age  might  warm  ; 
.My  Peggy's  worth,  my  Peggy's  mind, 
IMight  charm  the  first  of  human  kind. 
I  love  my  Peggy's  angel  air. 
Her  face  so  truly,  heavenl}^  fair. 
Her  native  grace  so  void  of  art ; 
But  I  adore  my  Peggy's  heart. 

The  lily's  hue,  the  rose's  dye. 
The  kindling  lustre  of  an  eye  ; 
Who  but  owns  their  magic  sway. 
Who  but  knows  they  all  decay  ! 
The  tender  thrill,  the  pitying  tear. 
The  generous  pui'posc,  nobly  dear, 
The  gentle  look  that  rage  disarms, 
These  are  all  immortal  charms. 


UP  IN  THE  MORNING 
EARLY. 

CHORUS. 

Up  in  the  morning's  no  for  me. 
Up  in  the  morning  early  ; 

When  a'  the  hills  are  cover'd  wi' 
snaw, 
I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 

Cauld  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to 
west. 

The  drift  is  driving  sairly  ; 
Sae  loud  and  shrill's  I  hear  the  blast, 

I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 

The  birds  sit  cluttering  in  the  thorn, 
A'  day  they  fare  buf  sparely  : 

And  lang's  the  night  frae  e'en  to  morn, 
I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 
Up  in  the  morning,  &c. 


THO'  CRUEL  FATE. 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part, 
As  far's  the  pole  and  line  ; 

Her  dear  idea  round  my  heart 
Should  tenderly  entwine. 

Tho'  mountains   frown    and    deserts 
howl. 

And  oceans  roar  between  ; 
Yet,  dearer  than  my  deathless  soul, 

I  still  would  love  my  Jean. 


I  DREAM'D  I  LAY  WHERE 

FLOWERS  WERE 

SPRINGING. 

I  DREAMED  I  lay  wlicrc  flowers  were 
springing 
Gaily  in  the  sunny  beam  ; 
List'ning  to  the  wild  birds  singing. 

By  a  falling,  crystal  stream  : 
Straight  the  sky  grew  black  and  dar- 
ing ; 
Thro'    the    woods   the   whirlwinds 
rave  ; 
Trees  with  ag^d  arms  were  warring, 
O'er  the  swelling,  drumlie  wave. 


2U 


THERE' 8  A  YOUTH  IN  THIS  CITY. 


Such  was  my  life's  deceitful  morning, 

Sucli  the  pleasures  I  enjoy'd  ; 
But  lang'or  noon,  loud  tempests  storm- 
ing 

A'  my  flowery  bliss  destroy 'd. 
Tho'  fickle  fortune  has  deceiv'd  me. 

She  promis'd  fair,and  perform'd  but 
ill; 
Of  monie  a  joy  and  hope  bereav'd  me, 

I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me  still. 

BONIE  ANK 

Ye  gallants  bright,  I  red  you  right, 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann  : 
Her  comely  face  sae  f u'  o'  grace. 

Your  heart  she  will  trepan. 
Her  een  sae  bright,  like  stars  by  night. 

Her  skin  is  like  the  swan  : 
Sae  jimpy  lac'd  her  genty  wais*:, 

Til  at  sweetly  ye  might  span. 

Youth; grace, and  love, attendant  move, 
And  pleasure  leads  the  van  ; 

In  a'  their  charms,    and   conquering 
arms. 
They  wait  on  bonie  Ann. 


The   captive  bands   may   chain   the 
hands. 

But  love  enslaves  the  man  : 
Ye  gallants  braw,  I  red  you  a'. 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann. 

MY^  BONIE  MARY. 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine,  | 

An'  till  it  in  a  silver  tassie  ; 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  bonie  lassie. 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  of  Leith  ; 

Fu'   loud  the  wind  blaes  frae  the 
ferry  ; 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law, 

And  1  maun  leave  my  bonie  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  no  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Wad  makes  me  langer  wish  to  tarry; 
Nor  shout  o'  war  that's  heard  afar, 

It's  leaving  thee,  my  bonie  Mary. 


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  the  deer ; 
Chasing  tlie  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highhuids  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  forever  I  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  cover'd  with  snow  ; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below ; 
Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hanging  woods  ; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here  ; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlahds,  a-chasing  the  doer  ; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 


THERE'S  A  Y^OUTH  IN  THIS  CITY. 

Tune — "  Neil  Gow's  lament." 
There's  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were  a  great  pity. 

That  he  from  our  lasses  should  wander  awa  ; 
For  he's  bonie  and  braw,  weel-favour'd  witha'. 

And  his  hair  has  a  natural  buckle  and  a'. 


YON  WILD  MGSSY  MOUNTAIN'S. 


dl5 


His  coat  is  the  hue  of  his  bonnet  sae  blue ; 

His  fecket  as  white  as  the  new  driven  suaw  ; 
His  hose  tliey  are  blae,  and  his  shoou  like  the  slae, 

And  his  clear  siller  buckles  they  dazzle  us  a'. 
His  coat  is  the  hue,  <ii:c. 

For  beauty  and  fortune  the  laddie's  been  courtin  ; 

Weel-featur'd,  weel-tocher'd,  weel-mounted  and  brav 
But  chiefly  the  siller,  that  gars  him  gang  till  her, 

The  pennie's  the  jewel  that  beautities  a'. 
There's  Meg  wi'  the  mailin,  that  fain  wad  a  haeu  him, 

And  Susy  wliase  daddy  was  Laird  o'  the  ha'i 
There's  lang-tocher'd  Nancy  maist  fetters  his  fancy, 

— But  the  laddie's  dear  sel  he  lo'es  dearest  of  a'. 


THE 


RANTIK 
DADDIE 


DOG 
O'T. 


THE 


Tune—"  East  nook  o'  Fife." 
O  WHA  my  babie-clouts  will  buy  ? 
Wlia  will  tent  me  when  I  cry  ? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  whare  I  lie  ? 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 

Wha  will  own  he  did  the  faut  ? 
Wha  will  buy  my  groanin  maut  ? 
Wiia  will  tell  me  how  to  ca't  ? 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 

When  I  mount  the  creepie-chair, 
Wha  will  sit  beside  me  there  ? 
Gie  me  Rob,  I  seek  nae  mair, 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 

Wha  will  crack  to  me  my  lane  ? 
Wha  will  mak  me  fidgin  fain  ? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  o'er  agin  ? 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 


I  DO  CONFESS  THOU  ART 
SAE  FAIR. 

I  DO  confess  thou  art  sae  fair, 
I  wad  been  o'er  the  lugs  in  luve; 

Had  I  not  found  the  slightest  prayer 
That  lips  could  speak,  thy  heart 
could  muve. 

^ido  confess  thee  sweet,  but  find 
Thou  art  sae  thriftless  o'  thy  sweets. 

Thy  favours  are  the  silly  wind 
That  kisses  ilka  thing  it  meets. 

See  yonder  rose-bud  rich  in  dew, 
Amang  its  native  briers  sae  coy, 

How  soon  it  tines  its  scent  and  hue 
When  pu'd  and  worn  a  common  toy  ! 

Sic  fate  ere  lang  shall  thee  betide, 
Tho'  thou  may  gaily  bloom  a  while ; 

Yet  soon  thou  shalt  be  thrown  aside. 
Like  onie  common  weed  and  vile. 


YON  WILD  MOSSY  MOUNTAINS. 

Yon  wild  mossy  mountains  sae  lofty  and  wide. 
That  nurse  in  their  bosom  the  youth  o'  the  Clyde, 
Where  the  grouse  lead  their  coveys  thro'  the  heather  to  feed. 
And  the  shepherd  tents  his  flock  as  he  pipes  on  his  reed  ; 
AVhere  the  grouse,  &c. 

Not  Gowrie's  rich  valley,  nor  Forth's  sunny  shores. 
To  me  hae  the  charms  o'  yon  wild  mossy  moors  ; 
For  there,  by  a  lanely,  secjuester'J  clear  stream. 
Resides  a  sweet  lassie,  my  thought  and  my  dream. 

Amang  thae  wild  moimtains  shall  still  be  my  path, 
Ilk  stream  foaming  down  its  ain  green  narrow  strath  ; 
For  there  wi'  my  lassie,  the  day  la^ng  I  rove. 
While  o'er  us  unheeded  fly  the  swift  hours  o'  love. 


J 


216  THE  BONIE  BLINK  0 '  MABT'S  ES. 

She  is  not  the  fairest,  altho'  she  is  fair  ; 
O'  nice  education  but  sma'  is  her  share  ; 
Her  parentage  humble  as  humble  can  be, 
But  I  lo'e  the  dear  lassie  because  she  loe's  me. 

To  beauty  what  man  but  maun  yield  him  a  prize. 
In  her  armour  of  glances,  and  blushes,  and  sighs  ? 
And  when  wit  and  refinement  hae  polish'd  her  darts. 
They  dazzle  our  een,  as  they  fly  to  our  hearts. 

But  kindness,  sweet  kindness,  in  the  fond  sparkling  ee^ 
Has  lustre  outshining  the  diamond  to  me  ; 
And  the  heart-beating  love,  as  I'm  clasped  in  her  arms, 
O,  these  are  my  lassie's  all-conquering  charms  ! 


n 


WHA  IS  THAT  AT  MY 
BOWER  DOOR  ? 

Wha  is  that  at  my  bower  door  ? 

O  wha  is  it  but  Findlay  ; 
Then  gae  your  gate,  ye'se  nae  be  here  ! 

Indeed  maun  I,  quo'  Findlay. 
What  mak  ye  sae  like  a  thief  ? 

O  come  and  see,  quo'  Ffndlay ; 
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'll  keep  me  waukin  wi'  your  din  ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 
In  my  bower  if  ye  should  stay  ; 

Let  me  stay,  quo'   Findlay  ; 
I  fear  ye'll  bide  till  break  o'  day  ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

Here  this  night  if  ye  remain  ; 

I'll  remain,  quo'  Findlay  ; 
I  dread  ye'll  learn  the  gate  again  ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay, 
What  may  pass  witliin  this  bower — 

Let  it  pass,  quo'  Findlay  ; 
\Ye  maun  conceal  till  your  last  hour  ; 
^    Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

FAREWELL  TO  NANCY. 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever  ! 

Ae  fareweel,  alas,  for  ever  ! 

Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I'll  pledge 

thee. 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage 

thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  fortune  grieves  him 
While  the  star  of  hope  she  leaves  him  ? 
Me,  nae  cheerf  u'  twinkle  lights  me, 
park  despair  around  benights  me. 


I'll  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy ; 
But  to  see  her,  was  to  love  her  ; 
Love  but  her,  and  love  forever. 
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  1 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure. 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever  ; 
Ae  fareweel,  alas,  for  ever  ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  pledge 

thee. 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage 

thee. 


THE    BONIE    BLINK    O' 
MARY'S   EE. 

Now  bank  an'brae  are  claith'd  in  green 

An'scatter'd  cowslips  sweetly  spring, 
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. 
There  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love. 

The  bonie  blink  o  Mary's  ee  ! 

The  child  wha  boasts  o'  warld's  wealth, 

Is  aften  laird  o'  meikle  care; 
But  Mary,  she  is  a'  my  ain, 

Ah,  fortune  canna  gio  me  mair  ! 
Then  let  me  range  by  Cassillis"  banks, 

Wi'  her  the  lassie  dear  to  me. 
And  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love, 

Thb  bonnie  blink  o'  Mary's  ee  I 


BANK8  OF  DEVOS. 


ni 


DVT  OVER  THE  FORTH. 

vtUT  over  the  Forth   I  look  to  the 
north, 
Bill  what  is  the  north  and  its  High- 
lands to  me  ? 
The  south  nor  the  east  gie  ease  to  my 
breast, 
The  far  foreign  land,  or  the  wild 
roiling  sea. 

But  I  look  to  the  west,  when  I  gae  to 
rest, 
That  happy  my  dreams   and  ray 
slumbers  may  be  ; 
For  far  in  the  west,  lives  he  I  lo'e 
best. 
The  lad  that  is  dear  to  my  babie 
and  me. 


THE  BONIE  LAD  THAT'S 
FAR  AWAY. 

Tune—"  Owre  the  hills  and  far  away." 

O  HOW  can  I  be  blithe  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  ? 

It's  no  the  frosty  winter  wind, 

It's  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw  ; 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  ee. 
To  think  on  him  that's  far  awa. 

My  father  pat  me  f rae  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  gae  to  me. 

And  silken  snoods  he  gae  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'll  come  hame  that's  far  awa. 

THE  GOWDEN  LOCKS   OV 

ANNA. 

Tune — "  Banks  of  Banna." 
Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine, 

A  place  where  body  saw  na' ; 
Yestreen  lay  on  this  breast  o'  mine 

The  gowden  locks  of  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  west, 

I'rae  Indus  to  Savannah  ! 
Gie  me  within  my  straining  grasp 

The  melting  form  of  Anna. 
There  I'll  despise  imperial  charms. 

An  Empress  or  Sultana, 
While  dying  raptures  in  her  arms, 

I  give  and  take  with  Anna  ! 

Awa,  thou  flaunting  god  o'  day  1 

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  ! 

POSTSCKIPT. 

The  kirk  and  state  may  join,  and  tell 

To  do  such  things  I  mauna  : 
The  kirk  and  state  may  gae  to  hell, 

And  I'll  gae  to  my  Anna. 
She  is  the  sunshine  o'  my  ee. 

To  live  but  her  I  canna  ; 
Had  I  on  earth  but  wishes  three. 

The  first  should  be  my  Anna. 


BANKS  OF  DEVON. 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear  winding  Devon, 

With  green-spreading  bushes,  and  flowers  blooming  fair  1 

But  the  boniest  flower  on  the  banks  of  the  Devon 
Was  once  a  sweet  bud  on  the  braes  of  the  Ayr, 


Si6 


STREAMS  TSAT  GLtDS. 


Mild  be  the  suu  on  this  sweet  blushing  flower, 
In  the  gay  rosy  morn  as  it  bathes  in  the  dew  I 

And  gentle  the  fall  of  the  soft  vernal  shower. 
That  steals  on  the  evening  each  leaf  to  renew. 

O,  spare  the  dear  blossom,  ye  orient  breezes. 
With  chill  hoary  wing  as  ye  usher  the  dawn  ! 

And  far  be  thou  distant,  thou  reptile  that  seizes 
The  verdure  and  pride  of  the  garden  and  lawn  ^ 

Let  Bourbon  exult  in  his  gay  gilded  lilies. 
And  England  triumphant  display  her  proud  rose  ; 
A  fairerlhan  either  adorns  the  green  valleys 
Where  Devon,  sweet  Devon,  meandering  flows. 


ADOWN    WINDING    NITH. 

Tune—"  The  muckin  o'  Gordie's  byre." 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander. 
To  mark  the  sweet  flowers  as  they 
spring  ; 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander, 
Of  Phillis  to  muse  and  to  sing. 

CHORUS. 

Awa  wi'  your  belles  and  your  beauties. 
They  never  wi'  her  can  compare  : 

Whaever  has  met  wi'  my  Phillis, 
Has  met  wi'  the  (jueen  o'  the  fair. 

The  daisy  amus'd  my  fond  fancy. 
So  artless,  so  simple,  so  wild  ; 

Thou  emblem,  said  I,  o'  my  Phillis, 
For  she  is  Simplicity's  child. 
Awa,  etc. 

The    rose-bud's    the    blush    o'    my 
charmer, 
Her  sweet  balmy  lip  when  'tis  prest : 
How  fair  and  how  pure  is  the  lily, 
But  fairer  and  purer  her  breast. 
Awa,  etc. 

Yon  knot  of  gay  flowers  in  the  arbour. 
They  ne'er  wi'  my  Phillis  can  vie  : 
Her  breath  is  the  breath  of  the  wood- 
bine, 
Its  dew-drop  o'  diamond,  her  eye. 
Awa,  etc. 

5er  voice  is  the  song  of  the  morning 
That    wakes    through    the    green- 
spreading  grove 
4/Vhen  Pha^bus  peeps  over  the  moun- 
tains, 
On  music,  and  pleasure,  and  love. 
Awa,  etc- 


But  beauty  how  frail  and  how  fleeting^ 
The  bloom  of  a  tine  summer's  day  I 

While  worth  in  the  mind  o'  my  Phillis 
Will  flourish  without  a  deca>. 
Awa,  etc. 


STREAMS  THAT  GLIDE. 

Tune— "Morag." 

Str?:ams  that  glide  in  orient  plains. 
Never  bound  by  winter's  chains  ! 
Glowiug  here  on  golden  sands. 
There  commix'd  with  foulest  stains 
From  tyranny's  empurpled  bands  : 
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, 
Or  the  ruthless  native's  way. 
Bent  on  slaughter,  blood,  and  spoil  i 
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  control. 
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'll  musing  rave, 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave, 
Where  waters   flow  and  wild  woods 
wave. 
By  bonie  Castle  Gordon. 


WHERE  ABE  fHE  JOtS. 


M 


THE  DEIL'S  AWA'  WI'  THE 
EXCISEMAN. 

The  Deil  cam  fiddling  thro'  the  town, 
And  dauc'd  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman; 

And  ilka  wife  ciy'd  "  Auld  Malioun, 
We  wish  you  luck  o'  your  prize, 
man. 

**  We'll  mak  our  maui,  and  brew 
our  drink, 
Well  dance,   and  sing,   and  re- 
joice, man  ; 
And  monie  thanks  to  the  muckle 
black  De'il 
That  danc'd  awa  wi'  the  Excise- 
man. 

"  There's  threesome  reels,  and  four- 
some reels, 
There's  hornpipes  and  strathspeys, 
man  ; 
But  the  ae  best  dance  e'er  cam  to  our 
Ian', 
Was — the  De'il's  awa  wi'  the  Excise- 
man. 
We'll  mak  our  maut."  etc, 

BLITHE    HAE    I   BEEN  ON 
YON  HILL. 

Tune — "Liggeram  cosh." 
Blithe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill, 

As  the  lambs  before  me  ; 
Careless  ilka  thought  and  free. 

As  the  breeze  flew  o'er  me  : 
Now  nae  langer  sport  and  play, 

Mirth  or  sang  can  please  me  ; 
Lesley  is  sae  fair  and  coy, 

Care  and  anguish  seize  me, 

Heavy,  heavy  is  the  task, 

Hopeless  love  declaring : 
Trembling,  I  dow  nocht  but  glowr, 

Sighing,  dumb,  despairing  ! 
K  she  winna  ease  the  thraws 

In  my  bosom  swelling, 
Underneath  the  grass-green  sod 

Soon  maun  be  my  dwelling. 


O   WERE   MY    LOVE    YON 
LILAC  FAIR 

Tune—"  Hugliie  Graham." 

O  WEKE  my  love  yon  lilac  fair, 
Wi'  purple  blossoms  to  the  spring  j 

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  ! 

•But  I  wad  sing  on  wanton  wing. 
When  youthfu'  May  its  bloom  re 
new'd. 

O  gin  my  love  were  yon  red  rose 
That  grows  upon  the  castle  wa'. 

And  I  mysel'  a  drap  o'  dew. 
Into  her  bonie  breast  to  fa'  I 

Oh,  there  beyond  expression  blest. 
Id  feast  on  beauty  a'  the  night  • 

Seal'd  on  her  silk-saft  faulds  to  resb. 
Till  fley'd  awa'  by  Phoebus'  light. 


COME,  LET  ME  TAKE 
THEE. 

Tune—"  Cauld  kail." 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast, 

And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder  , 
And  I  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 

The  warld's  wealth  and  grandeur  : 
And  do  I  hear  my  Jeanie  own 

That  equal  transports  move  her  ? 
I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone 

That  I  may  live  to  love  her. 

Thus  in  my  arms  wi'  all  thy  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure  ; 
I'll  seek  na  mair  o'  heaven  to  share, 

Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure  : 
And  by  thy  een,  sae  bonie  blue, 

I  swear  I'm  thine  forever  ! 
And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow. 

And  break  it  shall  I  never. 


WHERE  ARE  THE  JOYS. 

Tune—"  Saw  ye  my  Father  ?  " 
Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the  morning. 

That  danc'd  to  the  lark's  early  sang  ? 
Where  is  the  peace  that  awaited  my  wand'ring. 

At  evening  the  wild  woods  amang  ? 


M 


MY  GHLORIS. 


No  more  a-winding  the  course  of  yon  river. 

And  marking  sweet  flowrets  so  fair  : 
No  more  I  trace  the  light  footsteps  of  pleasure. 
But  sorrow  and  sad  sighing  care. 

Is  it  that  summer's  forsaken  our  valleys, 

And  grim,  surly  winter  is  near  ? 
No,  no,  the  bees  humming  round  the  gay  rose«. 

Proclaim  it  the  pride  of  the  year. 

Fain  would  I  hide  what  I  fear  to  discover. 
Yet  long,  long  too  well  have  I  known  : 

All  that  has  caus'd  this  wreck  in  my  bosom. 
Is  Jennie,  fair  Jenny  alone. 

Time  cannot  aid  me,  my  griefs  are  immortal. 

Nor  hope  dare  a  comfort  bestow  ; 
Come,  then,  enamour'd  and  fond  of  my  anguish. 

Enjoyment  I'll  seek  in  my  woe. 


O  SAW  YE  MY  DEAR. 

Tune— "When  she  cam  ben  s'he  bobbit." 
O  SAW  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely  ? 
C)  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely  ? 
She's  down  i'  the   grove,  she's  wi'  * 
new  love, 
She  wiuna  come  home  to  her  Willy» 

What  saj^s  she,  my  dearest  Phely  ? 
What  says  she,  my  dearest,  Phely  ? 
She  lets  thee  to  wit  that  she  has  thee 
forgot. 
And  forever  disowns  thee  her  Willy. 

O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Phely  I 
O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Phely  ! 
As  light  as  the  air,  and  fause  as  thou's 
fair, 
Thou'st  broken    the   heart   o'   thy 
Willy, 

THOU  HAST  LEFT  ME 
EVER,  JAMIE. 

Tune — "  Fee  him,  father." 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever  ; 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever. 
Aften  hast  thou  vowed  that  death 

Only  should  us  sever  ; 
Now  thou'st  left  thy  lass  for  aye — 

I  maun  see  thee  never,  Jamie, 
I'll  see  thee  never  1 


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  een  I'll  close — 

Never  mair  to  waken,  Jamiu, 
Ne'er  mair  to  waken  1 


MY  CHLORIS. 

Tune— "My  lodging  is  on  the  cold  ground.* 

My    Chloris,    mark   how  green    the 
groves, 

The  primrose  banks  how  fair  : 
The  balmy  gales  awake  the  flowers. 

And  wave  thy  flaxen  hair. 

The  lav'rock  shuns  the  pa/ace  gay. 

And  o'er  the  cottnge  sings  : 
For  Nature  smiles  as  sweet,  I  ween. 

To  shepherds  as  to  kings. 

Let  minstrels  sweep  the  skillfu'  string  » 
In  lordly  lighted  ha' :  I 

The  shepherd  stops  his  simple  reed, 
Blythe,  in  the  birken  shaw. 

The  princely  revel  may  survey 
Our  rustic  dance  wi'  scorn  ; 

But  are  their  hearts  as  light  ac  ours 
Beneath  the  milk-white  Ikora  f 


I 


0  PHILLT. 


file  shepherd,  in  the  flowery  glen, 
In  shepherd's  phrase  will  woo  : 

The  courtier  tells  a  finer  tale, 
But  is  his  heart  as  true  ? 

These  wild-wood  flowers  I've  pu'd,  to 
deck 
That  spotless  breast  o'  thine  : 
The    courtier's    gems    may    witness 
love — 
But  'tis  na  love  like  mine. 


CHARMING  MONTH  OF 
MAY. 

Tune—''  Dainty  Davie." 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
When  all  the  flowers  were  fresh  and 

One  morning,  by  the  break  of  day, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe  ; 

From  peaceful  slumber  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  the  pearly  lawn, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

The  feather'd  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-rival'd  by  the  radiant  eyes 
Of  jouthful,  charming  Chloe. 
Lovely  was  she,  &c. 


LET   NOT   WOMAN   EVER 
COMPLAIN. 

Tune— ''Duncan  Gray." 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 

Of  inconstancy  in  love, 
Let  not  woman  e'er  complain, 

jFicj^le  roan  is  apt  to  jrpv^ : 


Look  abroad  through  Kature*s  range, 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change ; 

Ladies,  would  it  not  be  strange, 
Man  should  then  a  monster  prove  ? 

Mark  the  winds,  and  mark  the  skies ; 

Ocean's  ebb,  and  ocean's  flow  : 
Sun  and  moon  but  set  to  rise, 

liound  and  round  the  seasons  go. 

Why  then  ask  of  silly  man. 

To  oppose  great  Nature's  plan  ? 

We'll  be  constant  while  we  can — ■" 
You  can  be  no  more,  you  know. 


O  PHILLY. 

Tune—"  Tiie  sow's  tail." 
HE. 

O  Philly,  happy  be  that  day 
When,  roving  thro'  the  gather'd  hay. 
My  youthfu'  heart  was  stown  away, 
And  by  thy  charms,  my  Philly. 

SHE. 

O  Willy,  aye  I  bless  the  grove 
Where  first  I  owri'd  my  maiden  love. 
Whilst  thou  didst  pledge  the  Powers 
above 
To  be  my  ain  dear  Willy. 

HE. 

As  songsters  of  the  early  year 
Are  ilka  day  mair  sweet  to  hear. 
So  ilka  day  to  me  mair  dear 
And  charming  is  my  Philly. 

SHE. 

As  on  the  brier  the  budding  rose 
Still  richer  breathes  and  fairer  blows, ' 
So  in  my  tender  bosom  grows  * 

The  love  I  bear  my  Willy. 

HE. 

The  milder  sun  and  bluer  sky. 
That  crown  my  harvest  cares  wi'  joy. 
Were  ne'er  sae  welcome  to  my  eye 
As  is  the  sight  o'  Philly. 


The  little  swallow's  wanton  wing, 
Tho'  wafting  o'er  the  flowery  spring. 
Did  ne'er  to  me  sic  tidings  bring 
As  meeting  o'  mj  Wilfy. 


222 


JOHN  BARLEYCORN. 


HE. 


The  bee  that  thro'  the  sunny  hour 
Sips  nectar  in  the  opening  flower, 
Compar'd  wi'  my  delight  is  poor, 
Upon  the  lips  o'  Philly. 


The  woodbine  in  the  dewy  weet 
When  evening  shades  in  silence  meet 
Is  nocht  sac  fragrant  or  sae  sweet 
As  is  a  kiss  o'  Willy. 


Let  fortune's  wheel  at  random  rin, 
And  fools  may  tyne,  and  knaves  may 

win  ; 
]My  thoughts  are  a'  bound  up  in  ane, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Philly. 

SILE, 

What's  a'  the  jo;  s  than  gowd  can  gie  ! 
I  care  na  wealth  -.  single  tiie  ; 
The  lad  I  love's  uie  lad  for  me, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Willy. 


JOHN  BARLEYCORK 

A   BALLAD. 

TnhJKE  was  three  Kings  into  the  east. 
Three  Kings  both  great  and  high. 

And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 
John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  plough'd  him 
down, 

Put  clods  upon  his  head, 
And  i\\Qj  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  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. 

His  colour  sicken'd  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age  ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  shew  their  deadly  rage. 

They've    ta'en   a  weapon,   long  and 
sharp. 

And  cut' him  by  the  knee  ; 
Then  tied  him  fast  upon  a  cart. 

Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 

They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back, 
And  cudgeil'd  him  full  sore  ; 

They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm, 
x\nd  turn'd  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim, 
They  heaved  in  John  Barleycorn, 

There  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

They  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor. 
To  w^ork  liim  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   between  two 
stones. 

And  they  hae  ta'en  his  very  hearts 
blood. 
And  drank  it  round  and  round  ; 
And  still  the  more  and  more  they 
drank. 
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  w^oe  ; 

'Twill  heighten  all  his  joy  : 
'Twill  make  the  widow's  heart  to  sing„ 

Tho'  the  tear  were  in  her  eye. 


Then  let  us  toast  John  Barleycorn 
Each  man  a  glass  in  hand  ; 

And  may  his  great  posterity 
Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland  I 


II 


WHEN  GUILFORD  GOOD  OUR  PILOT  STOOD. 


223 


CANST   THOU   LEAVE   ME 
THUS  ? 

Tune— "Roy's  Wife." 
Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katy  ? 
Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katy  ? 
Well  thou  kuow'st  my  aching  heart, 
And  canst  thou  leave  me  thus  for  pity  ? 

Is  this  thy  plighted,  fond  regard, 
Thus  cruelly  to  part,  my  Katy  ? 

Is  this  thy  faitliful  swain's  reward-^ 
An  aching,  broken  heart,  my  Katy  ? 
Canst  thou,  &c. 

Farewell !  and  ne'er  such  sorrows  tear 

That  fickle  heart  of  thine,  my  Katy  ! 

Thou  may'st  find  those  will  love  thee 

dear — 

But  not  a  love  like  mine,  my  Katy. 

Canst  thou,  &c. 

ON  CHLORIS  BEING  ILL. 

Tune—"  Aye  waukin  o." 
Long,  long  the  night. 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow. 
While  my  soul's  delight 

Is  on  her  bed  of  sorrow. 

Can  I  cease  to  care. 
Can  I  cease  to  languish, 

While  my  darling  fair 
Is  on  the  couch  of  anguish  ? 
Long,  &c. 

Every  hope  is  fled. 
Every  fear  is  terror  ; 

Slumber  e'en  I  dread. 
Every  dream  is  horror. 
Long,  &c. 

Hear  me,  Pow'rs  divine  ! 

Oh,  in  pity  hear  me  ! 
Take  aught  else  of  mine, 

But  my  Chloris  spare  me  I 
Long,  &c. 

WHEN    GUILFORD    GOOD 
OUR  PILOT  STOOD. 

A   FRAGMENT. 

Tune—"  Gillicrankie." 
When  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood, 

An'  did  our  hellim  thraw,  man, 
Ae  night,  at  tea,  began  a  plea, 

Wiihin  America^  man : 


Then  up  they  gat  the  maskin-pat, 
And  in  the  sea  did  jaw,  man  ; 

An'  did  nae  less,  in  full  Congress, 
Than  quite  refuse  our  law,  man. 

Then    thro'   the    lakes   Montgomery 
takes, 

I  wat  he  was  na  slaw,  man  ; 
Down  Lowrie's  burn  he  took  a  turn. 

And  Carleton  did  ca',  man  : 
But  yet,  what-reck,  he,  at  Quebec, 

Montgomery-like  did  fa',  man, 
Wi'  sword  in  hand,  before  his  band, 

Amang  his  en'mies  a',  man. 

Poor  Tammy  Gage,  witliin  a  cage 

Was  kept  at  Boston  hi',  man  ; 
Till  Willie  How^e  took  o'6|-  the  knowe 

For  Philadelphia,  man  : 
Wi'  sword  an'  gun,  he  thought  a  sin 

Gnid  Christian  bluid  to  draw,  man, 
But  at  New  York,  wi'  knife  an'  fork. 

Sir  Loin  he  hacked  sma',  man. 

Burgoyne  gaed  up,  like  spur  an'  whip, 

Till  Eraser  brave  did  fa',  man  ; 
Then  lost  his  way,  ae  misty  day. 

In  Saratoga  shaw,  man. 
Cornwallis  fought  as  lang'she  dought, 

An'  did  the  Buckskins  claw,  man  ; 
But  Clinton's  glaive  f rae  rust  to  save. 

He  hung  it  to  the  wa',  man. 

Then  Montague,  an'  Guilford  too, 

Began  to  fear  a  fa',  man  ; 
And  Sackville  doure,  wha  stood  tho 
stoure. 

The  German  Chief  to  thraw,  man  *. 
For  Paddy  Burke,  like  ony  Turk. 

Nae  mercy  had  at  a',  man  ; 
An'  Charlie  Fox  threw  by  the  box, 

An'  lows'd  his  tinkler  jaw,  man. 

Then  Rockingham  took  up  the  game  j 

Till  death  did  on  liim  ca',  man  ; 
When  Shelburne  meek  held  up  his 
cheek, 

Conform  to  gospel  law,  man  ; 
Saint  Stephen's  boys,  wi'  jarring  noiso> 

They  did  his  measures  thraw  man. 
For  North  and  Fox  united  stocks, 

An'  bore  him  to  the  wa',  man. 

Then  Clubs  an'  Hearts  were  Charlie's 
cartes, 
He  swept  the  stakes  awa',  man. 


224 


MT  NANNIE,  0. 


Till  the  Diamond's  Ace, of  Indian  race, 
Led  him  a  sair  faux  pas,  man  : 

The  Saxon  lads,  wi'  loud  placads, 
On  Chatham's  boy  did  ca',  man  ; 

An'  Scotland  drew  her  pipe,  an'  blew, 
"  Up,  Willie,  waur  them  a'  man  !  " 

Behind  the   throne   then    Grenville's 
gone 

A  secret  word  or  twa,  man  ; 
While  slee  Dundas  arous'd  the  class 

Be-north  the  Roman  wa',  man  ; 
An'   Chatham's  wraith,-  in  heavenly 
graith, 

(Inspired  Bardie's  saw,  man,) 
Wi' kindling  eyes  cry 'd,  "  Willie,  rise  I 

Would  I  hac  feard  them  a',  man  !  " 

But, word  and  blow, North, Fox  an'  Co. 

Gowft'd  AVillie  like  a  ba',  man, 
Till  Suthron  raise,  an'  coost  their  claise 

Behind  him  in  a  raw,  man  ; 
An"  Caledon  threw  by  the  drone, 

An'  did  her  whittle  draw,  man  ; 
An'  swoorf  u'  rude,  thro'  dirt  an'  blood, 

To  make  it  guid  in  law,  nian. 


THE    RIGS    O'    BARLEY. 

Tune—"  Corn  riss  are  bonie." 
It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night, 

When  the  corn  rigs  are  bonie. 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 

I  held  awa  to  Annie  : 
The  time  flew  by,  wi'  tentless  heed, 

Till  'tween  the  late  and  early, 
Wi'  sma'  persuasion  she  agreed. 

To  see  me  thro'  the  barley. 

The  sky  was  blue,  the  wind  was  still, 

The  moon  was  shining  clearly  ; 
1  set  her  down,  wi'  right  good  will, 

Amaug  the  rigs  o'  barley  ; 
I  ken't  her  heart  was  a'  my  ain  ; 

I  lov'd  her  most  sincerely  ; 
I  kiss  d  her  owre  and  owre  again 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

I  lock'd  her  in  my  fond  embrace  ; 

Her  heart  was  beating  rarciy  ; 
My  blessings  on  that  happy  place, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley  ! 
But  by  the  moon  and  stars  so  bright, 

That  shone  t2:achour  so  clearly  ! 
She  ay  snail  bless  that  happy  night 

Amang  tlie  ri^s  p'  l)a.rlpy. 


I  hae  been  blythe  wi'  comrades  dear  j 

I  hae  been  merry  di  inking  ; 
I  hae  been  joyf  u'  gath'rin  gear  -, 

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  rigs  o'  barley 

CHORUS. 

Corn  rigs,  an'  barley  rigs. 
An'  corn  rigs  are  bonie  : 

I'll  ne'er  forget  that  happy  night 
Amang  the  rigs  wi  Annie. 

FAREWELL    TO    ELIZA. 

Tune—"  Gilderoy." 

Feom  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go. 

And  from  my  native  shore  ; 
The  cruel  fates  between  us  throw 

A  boundless  ocean's  roar  : 
But  boundless  oceans,  roaring  wide. 

Between  my  Love  and  me. 
They  never,  never  can  divide 

My  heart  and  soul  from  thee. 

Farewell,  farewell,  Eliza  dear, 

The  maid  that  I  adore  ! 
A  boding  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

We  part  to  meet  iic  more  ! 
But  the  last  throb  ihat  leaves  my  liear£. 

While  deatli  stands  victor  by. 
That  throb,  Eliza,  is  thy  part. 

And  tbine  that  latest  si":h  1 


MY  NANIE,  O. 

Behind    you    hills    where    Stinchas 
flows, 

'Mang  moors  an'  mosses  many,  O, 
The  wintry  sun  the  day  has  clos'd. 

And  I'll  awa'  to  Nanie,  O. 

The  westlin  wind  blaws  loud  an'shill ; 

The  night's  baith  mirk  and  rainy,  O: 
But  I'll  get  my  plaid,  an'  out  I'll  steal. 

An'  owre  the  hill  to  Nanie,  O. 

My    Nanie's    charming,    sweet,    an 
young  : 

Nae  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O  : 
M^ay  ill  befa'  the  flattering  tongue 

TJbiat  wad  beguile  mj  Naiw,  Q» 


N^OW  WE8TLIN  WIND 8. 


22li 


Her  face  is  fair,  her  heart  is  true, 
As  spotless  as  she's  bonie,  O  : 

The  op'ning  gowan,  wat  wi'  dew, 
Isae  purer  is  than  Nauie,  O. 

A  country  lad  is  my  degree, 

An'  few  there  be  that  ken  me,  O  ; 

But  what  care  I  how  few  there  be, 
I'm  welcome  aye  to  Nanie,  O. 

My  riches  a's  my  penny-fee, 
An'  I  maun  guide  it  cannie,  O  : 

But  warl's  gear  ne'er  troubles  me. 
My  thoughts  are  a',  my  Nanie,  O! 

Our  auld  Guidman  delights  to  view 
His  sheep  an'  kye  thrive  bonie,  O. 

But    I'm    as    blythe  that  hands  his 
pleugh. 
An'  has  nae  care  but  Nanie,  O . 

Come  weel,  come  woe,  I  care  na  by, 
I'll  tak  what  Heav'n  will  send  me,  O; 

Nae  ither  care  in  life  have  I. 
But  live,  an'  love  my  Nanie,  O. 

GREEIT    GROW    THE 
RASHES. 

A   FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ; 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  , 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend, 

Are  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'  'were  na  for  the  lasses,  O. 
Green  grow,  &c. 

The  wai'ly  race  may  riches  chnse, 
An'  riches  still  may  fly  them,  O  ; 

Av'  tho  at  last  they  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  0. 
Green  grow,  &c. 

But  gie  me  a  canny  hour  at  e'en, 
My  arms  abou<;  my  dearie,  O  ; 

A*.'  warly  cares,  an'  warly  men. 
May  a'  gae  tapsalteerie,  O  ! 
Green  gro'  ',  &c. 

For  you  ^^e  ''  ouse,  ye  sneer  at  this, 
Ye're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  0  : 

The  ^^  isest  man  the  warl'  saw, 
He  d(  arly  lov'd  the  lasses,  O, 
Greeukrow  &c. 


Auld  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  deaifii 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O  ; 

Her  prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O. 
Green  grow,  &c, 

NOW  WESTLIN   WINDS, 

Tune—"  I  had  a  horse,  I  had  nao  mair." 
Now  westlin  winds  and  slaught'  ring 
guns 

Bring  autumn's  pleasant  wesither  ; 
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  \ 
rove  at  night 

To  muse  upon  my  charmer. 

The  partridge  loves  the  fruitful  fells  ^ 

The  plover  loves  the  mountains  ; 
The  woodcock  loves  the  lonely  dells  . 

The  soaring  hern  the  fountains  : 
Thro'  lofty  groves  the  cushat  roves. 

The  path  of  man  to  shun  it  ; 
The  hazel  bush  o'erhangs  the  thrush. 

The  spreading  thorn  the  linnet. 

Thus  ev'ry  kind  their  pleasiu'e  And, 

The  savage  and  the  tender  ; 
Some  social  join,  and  leagues  combine; 

Some  solitary  wander  : 
Avaunt,  away  !  the  cruel  sway. 

Tyrannic  man's  dominion  ; 
The  sportsman's  joy,  the  murd'ring 
cry. 

The  flutt'ring,  gory  pinion  ! 

But,  Peggy  dear,  the  ev'ning's  clear, 

Thick  flies  the  skimming  swallow  j 
The  sky  is  blue,  the  fields  in  view, 

All  fading-green  and  yellow  • 
Come  let  us  stray  our  gladsome  way, 

And  view  the  charnis  of  nature  ; 
The  rustling  corn,  the  fruited  thorn, 

And  ev'ry  happy  creature. 

We'll  gently  walk,  and  sweetly  talk, 

Till  the  silent  moon  shine  clearly  , 
I'll  grasp  thy  waist,  and,  fondly  prest, 

Swear  how  I  love  thee  dearly  : 
Not  vernal  show'rs  to  budding  flow'rs, 

Not  autunm  to  the  farmer, 
So  clear  can  be,  as  thou  to  me, 

My  fair,  my  lovely  charmer  ! 


226  FAREWELL  TO  HIS  NATIVE  COUNTRT. 

THE   BIG-BELLIED  BOTTTLE. 

Tune—"  Prepare,  my  dear  brethren,  to  the  tavern  let's  fly.*' 

No  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to  write. 
No  statesman  nor  soldier  to  plot  or  to  fight, 
No  sly  man  of  business  contriving  a  snare, 
For  a  big-belly'd  bottle's  the  whole  of  my  care. 

The  peer  I  don't  envy,  I  give  him  his  bow  ; 

I  scorn  not  the  peasant,  tho'  ever  so  low  ; 

But  a  club  of  good  fellows,  like  those  that  are  there. 

And  a  bottle  like  this,  are  my  glory  and  care. 

Here  passes  the  squire  on  his  brother— a  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  !  she  did  die  ; 
For  sweet  consolation  to  church  I  did  fly ; 
I  found  that  old  Solomon  proved  it  fair, 
That  the  big-belly'd  bottle's  a  cure  for  all  care. 

I  once  was  persuaded  a  venture  to  make  ; 
A  letter  informed  me  that  all  was  to  wreck  ; 
But  the  pursy  old  landlord  just  waddled  up  stairs, 
With  a  glorious  bottle  that  ended  my  cares. 

"  Life's  cares  they  are  comforts,"  a  maxim  laid  down 
By  the  bard,  what  d'ye  call  him,  that  wore  the  black  gowB, 
And,  faith,  I  agree  wi'  the  old  prig  to  a  hair. 
For  a  big-belly'd  bottle's  a  heav'n  of  a  care. 

A  STANZA  ADDED  m  A  MASON'S  LODGE. 

Then  fill  up  a  bumper,  and  make  it  o'erflow, 
And  honours  masonic  prepare  for  to  throw  ; 
May  every  true  brother  of  the  compass  and  square 
Have  a  big-belly'd  bottle  when  harass'd  with  care. 

THE     AUTHOR'S     FAHE-  Across  her  placid,  azure  sky, 

WELL  TO  HIS  NATIVE  ^^^?  ^^^^  ^^^^  scowling  tempest  fly  : 

pmTXr''I^'RV  Chill  runs  my  blood  to  hear  it  rave, 

^w  u  IM  n  1 .  J  ^j^j^j^  yp^^j^  ^j^^.  stormy  wave. 

Tune— "Roslin  Castle."  Where  many  a  danger  t  must  dar^ 

The  gloomy  night  is  gath'ring  fast,  Far  fi'om  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 
iioud  ro;'.rs  the  wild  inconstant  blast,  ,rt^^        .  .-,  •       i  -n      > 

Ton  murk  V  cloud  is  foul  with  rain,      .     ,^ .^is  no   the  surging  bdlow  s  roar. 

I  see  it  driving  o'er  the  plain  ;  ^is  not  that  tatal,  deadly  shore  ; 

The  hunter  nSw  has  left  the  i^ioor,  ^ho  death  m  ev  ry  shape  appear, 

The  scattered  covevs  meet  secure,  ^^f  wretclied  have  no  more  to  fear  : 

While  here  I  wander,  prest  with  care,  ^^^    round    my    heart   the   ties    are 

Along  the  lonely  banks  of  Ayr.  m    .  i,     I  . '         •      -i      -n 

®  -^  ■^  That  heart  transpierc  d  with  many  a 

The  Autumn  mourns  her  rip'ning  wound  ; 

corn  These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I  tear. 

By  early  Winter's  ravage  torn  ;  To  leave  the  booie  banks  of  Ayi*. 


*  1 


AND  MA  UN  I  STILL  ON  MENIE  BOAT, 


S,*"  7 


Farewell,  old  Coila's  hills  and  dales, 

Her  healthy  moors  and  winding  vales  ; 

The  scenes  where  wretched  fancy- 
roves. 

Pursuing  past,  unhappy  loves  ! 

Farewell,  my  friends  !  Farewell,  my 
foes  ! 

My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with 
those — 

The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare, 

Farewell,  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 


THE  FAREWELL. 

TO  THE  BRETHREN  OF  ST.  JAMES'S  LODGE, 
TARBOLTON, 

Tune—"  Guid  night,  and  joy  be  wi'  you  a'." 

Adieu  !  a  heart-warm,  fond  adieu  ! 

Dear  brothers  of  the  mystic  tie  I 
Ye  favor'd,  ye  enlighten'd  fevv% 

Companions  of  my  social  joy  ! 
Tho'  I  to  foreign  lands  must  hie. 

Pursuing  Fortune's  slidd'ry  ba', 
With  melting  heart  and  brimful  eye, 

I'll  mind  you  still,  tho'  far  awa'. 

Oft  have  I  met  your  social  band. 
And    spent    the    cheerful,    festive 
night ; 
Cft,    honour'd  with  supreme    com- 
mand, 
Presided  o'er  the  sons  of  light : 
And  by  that  hieroglyphic  bright. 
Which    none    but    craftsmen  ever 
saw  ! 
8trong   mem'ry  on  my   heart    shall 
write 
Those  happy  scenes  when  far  awa'! 

May  freedom,  harmony  and  love, 

Unite  you  in  the  grand  design. 
Beneath  th'  Omniscient  eye  above. 

The  glorious  Architect  Divine  ! 
That  you  may  keep  the  unerring  line, 

Still  rising  by  the  plummet's  law, 
Till  order  bright  completely  shine. 

Shall  be  my  pray'r  when  far  awa'. 

And    You,  farewell  !    whose    merits 
claim, 
Justly,  that  highest  badge  to  wear  1 
Heav'n    bless  your  honour'd,    noble 
name, 
To  Masonry  aud  Scotia  dear  I 


A  last  request  permit  me  herC; 

When  yearly  ye  assemble  a", 
One  round,  I  ask  it  with  a  tear, 

To  him,  the  Bard  that's  far  8\va . 

AND  MAUN  I  STILL  ON 
MENIE  DOAT. 

Tune— "  Jockie's  grey  breeko." 

Again  rejoicing  natui^e  sees    . 

Her  robe  assume  its  vernal  hues, 
Her  leafy  locks  wave  in  the  breeze, 

All    freshly    steeped    in    morning 
dews. 

CHORUS. 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat. 
And  bear  the  scorn  that's  in  htr  o'e  ? 

For  it's  jet,  jet  black,  an'  its  like  a 
hawk. 
An'  it  winna  let  a  body  be  ! 

In  vain  to  me  the  cowslips  blaw, 
In  vain  to  me  the  vi'lets  spring  . 

In  vain  to  me,  in  glen  or  shaw, 
The  mavis  and  the  lintwhite  sing. 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

The  merry  ploughboy  cheers  his  team. 

Wi'  joy  the  tentie  seedsman  stalks, 
But  life  to  me's  a  weary  dream, 

A  dream  of  ane  that  never  wanks 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

The  wanton  coot  the  water  skims, 
Amang  the  reeds  the  ducklings  cry, 

The  stately  swan  majestic  swims. 
And  everything  is  blest  but  I. 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

The  sheep-herd    steeks  his  faulding 
slap, 
And  owa-e  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  mauo  I  still,  &a 


228 


BANNOCKBURN. 


Come  winter  with  thine  angry  howl. 
And  raging  bend  the  naked  tree  ; 

Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  cheerless 
soul, 
When  Nature  all  is  sad  like  me  ! 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  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  ! 

HIGHLAND  MARY. 

Tune— "Katharine  Ogie." 
Ye    banks  and  braes,   and    streams 
around 
The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  j^our  woods,  and  fair  your 
flowers, 
Your  waters  never  druralie  ! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  laugest  tarry  ; 

For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  JMary. 

How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green 
birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom  ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings. 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie  ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life. 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'    monie  a  vow,   and  lock'd  em- 
brace, 

Our  parting  wns  f  u'  tender  ; 
And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder  ; 
But  oh  !  fell  death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipped  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  ! 
Apd    closed     for    ay    the    sparkling 
glance, 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly  ! 
And  mould'ring  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly  ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  cor^ 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary, 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot. 

And  never  brought  to  niin'  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  oe  forgot, 

And  days  o'  lang  syne  ? 

CHORUS. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We'll  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes. 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine  ; 
But  we've  wander'd  mouy  a  weary 
foot 
Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  burn, 
From  morning  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  wj'll  tak  a  right  guid  wiUie- 
waught, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 
And  surely  ye'll  be  your  pint-siowp» 

And  surely  I'll  be  mine  ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 
For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

BANNOCKBURN. 

EGBERT  BRUCE's  A"0DRE?S  TO  HIS  ARMT. 

Tune—"  Hey  tuttie  tattie." 

Scots,  wha  hae  Avi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led  ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed. 
Or  to  glorious  victorie. 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour  ; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower  ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power- 
Edward  !  chains  and  slaverie  ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grays  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Traitor  1  coward  !  turn  and  flee  ! 


FOn  A'  THAT  AND  A*  THAT. 


22d 


Wha  for  Scotland's  King  and  law 
freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw. 
Free-man  stand,  or  free-man  fa' ; 
Caledonia  !  on  wi'  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains  ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins. 
But  they  shall— they  shall  be  free  I 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low  1 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
i^iberty's  in  every  blow  ! 
Forward  !  let  us  do,  or  die  1 


THE  GALLAN.T  WEAVER. 

Tune—"  The  auld  wife  ayont  the  fire." 

Where  Cart  rins  rowin  to  the  sea, 
By  monie  a  llow'er    and    spreading 

tree. 
There  lives  a  lad,  the  lad  for  me, 
He  is  a  gallant  weaver. 

Oh  I  had  wooers  aught  or  nine. 
They  gied  me  rings  and  ribbons  fine  ; 
And  I  was  feard  my  heart  would 
tine, 
And  I  gied  it  to  the  weaver, 

My  daddie  si^n'd  my  tocher-band. 
To  gie  the  lad  that  has  the  land  ; 
But  to  my  heart  I'll  add  my  hand. 
And  gie  it  to  the  weaver. 

While  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers  ; 
While  bees  rejoice  in  opening  flowers; 
While  corn  grows  green  in  simmer 
showers, 
I'll  love  my  gallant  weaver. 


SONG. 

Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  fire, 
And  waste  my  soul  with  care  ; 

But  ah  !  how  bootless  to  admire. 
When  fated  to  despair  ! 

Yet  in  thy  presence,  lovely  fair, 
To  hope  may  be  forgiven  ; 

For  sure,  'twere  impious  to  despair 
So  much  in  sight  of  heaven. 


FOR    A'    THAT    AND    A' 
THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty. 

That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that  ? 
The  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by. 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Our  toil  obscure,  and  a'  that ; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stampj 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 
Wear  hodden-gray,  and  a'  that  ; 
Gie  folks  their  silks,  and  knaves  their 
wine, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that ; 
The  honest  man,  tho'  e'er  sae  poor, 
Is  King  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 
Wha    struts,    and    stares,    and    a' 
that ; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word. 
He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that : 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that, 
The  man  of  independent  mind, 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 
But    an    honest    man's    aboon    his 
might, 
Guid  faith  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that, 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o' 
worth. 
Are  higher  rank  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may. 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that ; 
That    sense    and    worth,  o'er  a'  the 
earth,     • 
May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that. 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 


Q^O 


OtABiNM. 


DATO  .  Y  DAVIE. 

"Now  rosy  May  eonies  in  wi'  ilowers, 
To   deck  her'  I'-ij,    <2,reen    spreading 

bowers  ; 
And  now  conies  In  my  happy  hours, 
To  wander  wi'  iny  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  crystal  waters  round  us  fa', 
'I'he  merry  birds  are  lovers  a', 
Tlie  scented  breezes  round  us  blaw, 
A  wandering-  wi'  my  Davie. 

Meet  me,  etc. 

Whan  purple  morning  starts  the  hare. 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare. 
Then  through  the  dews  I  will  repair. 
To  meet  my  faithf u'  Davie. 

Meet  me,  etc. 

When  day,  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  o'  Nature's  rest, 
1  tiee  to  his  arms  I  lo'e  best, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Davie. 
Meet  me,  etc. 


The  little  flow'ret's  peaceful  lot, 

In  yonder  clilf  that  grows, 
Which,  save  ^lie  linnet's  flight,  I  wot, 

Nae  ruder  visit  knows. 
Was  mine  ;  till  love  has  o'er  me  past, 

And  blighted  a'  my  bloom, 
And  now  beneath  the  withering  blast 

My  youth  and  joy  consume. 

The      waken 'd      lav'rock      warbling 
springs. 

And  climbs  the  early  sky, 
Winnowing  blithe  her  dewy  wings 

In  morning's  rosy  eye  ; 
As  little  reckt  I  sorrow's  power. 

Until  the  flowery  snare 
O'  witching  love  in  luckless  hour. 

Made  me  the  thrall  o'  care 

O    had    my    fate    been    Greenland's 
snows, 

Or  Afric's  burning  zone, 
Wi'  man  and  nature  leagu'd  my  foes, 

So  Peggy  ne'er  I'd  known  ! 
The  wretch  whase  doom  is,  "  Hope 
nae  mair  ! " 

What  tongue  his  woes  can  teL 
Within  whose  bosom,  save  despair 

Nae  kinder  spirits  dwell. 


TO  MR.  CUNNINGHAM. 

Tune—"  The  hopeless  lover." 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  groves  in 
green. 

And  strew'd  the  lea  wi'  flowers  ; 
The  f  urrow'd  waving  corn  is  seen 

Rejoice  in  fostering  showers  ; 
While  ilka  thing  in  nature  join 

Their  sorrows  to  forego, 
O  why  thus  all  alone  are  mine 

The  weary  steps  of  woe  ! 

The  trout  within  yon  wimpling  burn 

Glides  swift,  a  silver  dart, 
And  safe  beneath  the  shady  thorn 

Defies  the  angler's  art : 
My  life  was  once  that  careless  stream, 

That  wanton  trout  was  I  ; 
But  love,  wi'  unrelenting  beam, 

JHas  scorch'd  my  fountain  dry. 


CLARINDA. 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul. 
The  measur'd  time  is  run  ! 

The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  polb 
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  day  : 

And  shall  a  glimmering  planet  fix 
My  worship  to  its  ray  ? 


CALEDOmA,  231 

WHY,  WHY  TELL  THY  LOVER. 

Tune—"  Caledonian  Hunt's  delight," 
V/hy,  why  tell  thy  lover,  O  why,  while  faucy,  raptur'd.  slum- 

Bliss  he  never  must  enjoy  ?  bers, 

Why,  why  undeceive  him,  Chloris,  Chloris  all  the  theme  ^ 

And  give  all  his  hopes  the  lie  ?  Why,  why  wouldst  thou,  cruel, 

Wake  thy  lover  from  his  dream  ' 

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  pledg'd  her  their  godheads  to  warrant  it  good. 

A  lambkin  in  peace,  but  a  lion  In  war. 

The  pride  of  her  kindred  the  heroine  grew  ; 
Her  grandsire,  old  Odin,  triumphantly  swore, 

"  Whoe'er  shall  provoke  thee,  th'  encounter  shall  rue  I" 
With  tillage  or  pasture  at  times  she  would  sport. 

To  feed  her  fair  flocks  by  her  green  rustling  corn  : 
But  chiefly  the  woods  were  her  fav'rite  resort. 

Her  darling  amusement,  the  hounds  and  the  horn. 

Long  quiet  she  reign'd  ;  till  thitherward  steers 

A  flight  of  bold  eagles  from  Adria's  strand  ; 
Repeated,  successive,  foi  many  long  years. 

They  darken'd  the  air,  and  they  plunder'd  the  land. 
Their  pounces  were  murder,  and  terror  their  cry, 

Tbey  conquer'd  and  ruin'd  a  world  beside  ; 
She  took  to  her  hills,  and  her  arrows  let  fly, 

The  daring  invaders  they  fled  or  they  died. 

The  fell  Harpy-raven  took  wing  from  the  north, 

The  scourge  of  the  seas,  and  the  dread  of  the  short ; 
The  wild  Scandinavian  boar  issu'd  forth 

To  wanton  in  carnage  and  wallow  in  gore  ••  ^ 
O'er  countries  and  kingdoms  their  fury  prevail'd. 

No  arts  could  appease  them,  no  arms  could  repel ; 
But  brave  Caledonia  in  vain  they  assail'd. 

As  Largs  well  can  witness,  and  Loncartie  tell. 

The  Cameleon-savage  disturb'd  her  repose, 

With  tumult,  disquiet,  rebellion,  and  strife  ; 
Provok'd  beyond  bearing,  at  last  she  arose, 

And  robb'd  him  at  ouce  of  his  hopes  and  his  life : 
The  Anglian  lion,  the  terror  of  France, 

Oft  prowling,  ensanguin'd  the  Tweed's  silver  flood ; 
But,  taught  by  the  bright  Caledonian  lance, 

He  learned  to  fear  in  his  own  native  wood. 


n^ 


TME  DUMFRIES  VOLUKTEEMS. 


Thus  bold,  independent,  imconquer'd,  and  free. 

Her  bright  course  of  glory  for  ever  shall  run  : 
For  brave  Caledonia  immortal  must  be  ; 

I'll  prove  it  from  Euclid  as  clear  as  the  sun : 
Rectangle-triangle  the  figure  we'll  choose. 

The  upright  is  Chance,  and  old  Time  is  the  base ; 
But  brave  Caledonia's  the  hypothenuse  ; 

Then  ergo,  she'll  match  them,  and  match  them  always 


ON   THE    BATTLE    OF 
SHERIFF-MUIR, 

BETWEEN  THE  DUKE  OP  ARGTLE   AND  THE 
EAHL  OP  MAR. 

Tune— "The  Cameronian  rant." 

"O  CAM  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun, 
Or  herd  the  sheep  wi'  me,  man  ? 
Or  were  you  at  the  Sherra-muir, 
And  did  the  battle  see,  man  ?  " 
I  saw  the  battle,  sair  and  teugh. 
And  reeking-red  ran  monie  a  sheugh, 
My  heart,  "for  fear,    gae  sough    for 

sough, 
To  hear  the  thuds,  and  see  the  cluds 
i.)  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  monie  a  bouk  did  fa',  man  : 
And  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  men  died  awa,  man. 

But  had  jon  seen  the  philibegs, 
And  skyrin  tartan  trews,  man, 
When  in  the  teeth   they  dar'd    our 
whigs. 
And  covenant  true  blues,  man  ; 
In  lines  extended  lang  and  large. 
When  bayonets  oppos'd  the  targe. 
And  thousands  hasten'd  to  the  charge, 
Wi'  Highland   wratli  they  frae    the 

sheath 
Drew  blades  o'  death,    till,    out    of 
breath, 
They  fled  like  frighted  doos,  man. 


"  O  how  dell,  Tam,  can  that  be  true? 

The  chase  gaed  frae  the  north,  man  : 
I  saw  mysel,  they  did  pursue 

The  horseman  back  to  Forth,  man  ; 
And  at  Dumblane,  in  my  ain  sight. 
They  took  the  brig  wi'  a'  their  might, 
And  straught  to  Sterling  wing'd  their 

flight ; 
But,  cursed  lot !  the  gates  were  shut, 
And  monie  a  huntit,  poor  red-coat, 

For  fear  amaist  did  swarf,  man." 

My  sister  Kate  cam  up  the  gate 

Wi'  crowdie  unto  me,  man  ; 
She  swore  she  saw  some  rebels  run 
Frae  Perth  unto  Dundee,  man  : 
Their  left-hand  general  had  nae  skill. 
The  Angus  lads  had  nae  guid-will. 
That  day  their  neebors'  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. 

They've  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  tight, 
Some  fell  for  wrang,and  some  for  right 
But  monie  bade  the  world  guid-night  ; 
Then  ye  may  tell,  how  pell  and  mell. 
By  red  clajmiores,  and  muskets'  knell, 
Wi'  dying  yell,  the  tories  fell, 
And  whigs  to  hell  did  flee,  man. 


THE  DUMFRIES  VOLUN- 
TEERS. 

Tune—"  Push  about  the  jorum." 

April,  1759. 

Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ?  , 
Then  let  the  loons  beware.  Sir, 

There's  wooden  walls  upon  our  seas^. 
And  volunteers  on  shore,  Sir, 


CAPTAIN  OROSE. 


238 


Kith  shall  rim  to  Corsincon, 
And  Criffel  sink  to  Solway, 
"Ere  we  permit  a  foreign  foe 
On  Britisli  ground  to  rally  ! 

Fal  de  ral,  &c. 

0  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  ! 
Fal  de  ral  &c. 

The  kettle  o'  the  kirk  and  state, 

Perhaps  a  claut  may  fail  in't ; 
But  dell  a  foreign  tinkler  loon 

Shall  ever  ca'  a  nail  in't. 
Our  fathers'  bluid  the  kettle  bought. 

And  wha  ^  ad  dare  to  spoil  it ; 
By  heaven,  the  sacrilegious  dog 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it. 

Fal  de  ral,  &c. 

I'he  wretch  that  wad  a  tyrant  own, 
And     the    wretch    his     true-born 
brother. 
Who  would  set  the  mob  aboon  the 
throne, 
May  they  be  damned  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'll  ne'er  forget  Mie  Peopie. 


O  WHA  IS  SHE  THAT  LO'ES 
ME? 

Tune—"  Morag." 

O  WHA  is  she  that  lo'es  me. 
And  has  my  heart  a-keeping  ? 

O  sweet  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
As  dews  o'  summer  weeping. 
In  tears  the  rose-buds  steeping. 

CHORUS. 

C  that's  the  lassie  o'  my  heart, 

My  lassie  ever  dearer  ; 
0  that's  the  queen  o'  womankind, 

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, 
Erewhile  thy  breast  sae  warmings 
Had  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  ; 
When  f  rae  her  thou  hast  parted, 

if  every  other  fair  one, 
But  her,  thou  hast  deserted, 
And  thou  art  broken  hearted  ; 
O  that's,  &c.  ' 

CAPTAIN  GROSE. 

Tune — "  Sir  John  Malcolm." 
Ken  ye  ought  o'  Captain  Grose  ? 

Igo,  and  ago. 
If  he's  amang  his  friends  or  foes  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  South,  or  is  he  North  ? 

Igo,  and  ago, 
Or  drowned  in  the  river  Forth  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  slain  by  Highland  bodies  ? 

Igo,  and  ago,  ■ 
And  eaten  like  a  wether-  haggis  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  to  Abram's  bosom  gane  ? 

Igo,  and  ago. 
Or  haudin  Sarah  by  the  wame  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Where'er  he  be,  the  Lord  be  near  him  1 

Igo,  and  ago, 
Asfor  the  deil,  he  daur  na  steer  him. 
"  Iram,  coram,  dago. 

But  please  transmit  th'  enclosed  letter, 

Igo,  and  ago. 
Which  will  oblige  your  humble  debtor, 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

So  may  ye  hae  auld  stanes  in  store, 

Igo,  and  ago, 
The  very  stanes  that  Adam  bore. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 


234 


MCPHERSON'S  FAREWELL. 


»o  may  ye  get  in  glad  possession, 

Igo,  and  ago, 
I'he  coins  o'  Satan's  coronatioiji  I 

I  ram,  coram,  dago. 


WHISTLE    OWRE 
LAVE  OT. 


THE 


First  when  Maggy  was  my  care. 
Heaven,  I  thought,  was  in  her  air  ; 
Now  we're  married — spier  nae  mair- 
Whistle  owre  tlie  lave  o't. 

Meg  was  meek,  and  Meg  was  mild, 
Bonie  Meg  was  nature's  child — 
Wiser  men  than  me's  beguil'd  ; — 
Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

How  ^e  live,  my  Meg  and  me. 
How  we  love  and  how  we  'gree , 
I  Cure  na  by  how  a  few  may  see — 
Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

Wha  I  wish  were  maggots'  meat,  . 
Dish'd  up  in  her  winding  sheet, 
I  could  write — but  Meg  maun  see't- 
Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 


O,  ONCE  I 


LOV'D  A 

LASS. 


BONIE 


Tune—"  I  am  a  Man  unmarried." 

O,  ONCE  I  lov'd  a  bonie  lass, 

Ay,  and  I  love  her  still, 
And  whilst   that  virtue  warms    my 
breast 
I'll  love  my  handsome  Nell. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  &c 

As  bonie  lasses  I  hae  seen. 

And  monie  full  as  braw, 
But  for  a  modest  gracefu'  mien 

The  like  I  never  saw. 

A  bonie  lass,  I  will  confess 

Is  pleasant  to  the  ee, 
But  without  some  better  qualities 

She's  no  lass  for  me. 

But  Nelly's  looks  are  blythe  and  sweet 

And  what  is  best  of  a', 
Her  reputation  is  complete. 

And  fair  without  a  flaw. 

She  dresses  aye  sae  clean  and  neat, 
Both  decent  and  genteel ; 


And  then  there's  something  in  her  gait 
Gars  onie  dress  look  Meel. 

A  gaudy  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. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  &c. 

YOUNG  JOCKEY. 

Young  Jockey  was  the  blithest  lad 

In  a'  our  town  or  here  awa  ; 
Fu'  blithe  he  whistled  at  the  gaud, 

Fu'  lightly  danc'd  he  in  the  ha'  1 
He  roos'd  my  een  sae  bonie  blue, 

He  roos'd  my  waist  sae  genty  sma''} 
An'  aye  my  heart  came  to  my  mou, 

When  ne'er  a  body  heard  or  saw. 

My  Jockey  toils  upon  the  plain, 

Thro'  wind  and  weed,   thro'  frost 
and  snaw  ; 
And  o'er  the  lea  I  look  fu'  fain 

When  Jockey's  owsen  hameward 
ca'. 
An'  aye  the  night  comes  round  again. 

When  in  his  arms  he  takes  me  a'; 
An'  aye  he  vows  he'll  be  my  ain 

As  lang's  he  has  a  breath  to  draw. 

M'PHERSON'S  FAREWELL. 

Farewell,   ye  dungeons  dark  and 
strong, 

The  wretch's  destinie  : 
M'Pherson's  time  will  not  be  long 

On  yonder  gallows  tree. 

CHORUS. 

Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 
Sae  dauntiugly  gaed  he  ; 

He  play'd  a  spring  and  danc'd  It 
round, 
Below  the  gallows  tree. 

Oh,  what  is  death  but  parting  breath?— 

On  monie  a  bloody  plain 
I've  dar'd  his  face,  and  in  this  place 

I  scorn  him  yet  again  ! 

Sae  rantingly,  &c. 


A  BOTTLE  AND  FRIEND. 


236 


Untie  these  bands  from  off  my  hands, 
And  bring  to  me  my  sword  ! 

And  there's  no  a  man  in  all  Scotland, 
But  I'll  brave  him  at  a  word. 
Sae  rantingly,  &c. 

I've  liv'd  a  life  of  sturt  and  strife  ; 

I  die  by  treacherie  : 
It  burns  my  heart  I  must  depart 

And  not  avenged  be. 

Sae  rantingly,  &c. 

Now  farewell   light,    thou    sunshine 
bright, 
And  all  beneath  the  sky  ! 
May  ccward  shame  disdain  his  name. 
The  wretch  that  dares  not  die  ! 
Sae  rantingly,  &c. 


THE  DEAN  OF  FACULTY- 

A   NEW   BALLAD. 

Tune—''  The  Dragoa  of  Wautlej'." 

Dire  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  'twixt  Hal  and  Bob  for  the  fa- 
mous  job— 

Who  should  be  Faculty's  Dean,  Sir. 

This  Hal  for  genius,  wit,  and  lore. 

Among  tlie  tirst  was  number'd  ; 
But  pious  Bob,  'mid  learning's  store. 

Commandment    the    tenth   remem- 
ber'd . 
Yet  simple  Bob  the  victory  got. 

And  won  his  heart's  desire  ; 
Which  shews  that  heaven  can  boil  the 
pof, 

Though  the  devil  piss  in  the  fire. 

Squire  Hal  besides  had,  in  this  case. 

Pretensions  rather  brassy, 
Foi'  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  ali,  d'ye 
see, 

To  their  gratis  grace  and  goodness. 


As  once  on  Pisgah  purg'd  was  the  sighl 

Of  a  son  of  Circumcision, 
So  may  be,  on  this  Pisgah  height, 

Bob's  purblind,  mental  vision  ; 
Nay,  Bobby's  mouth  may  be  open'd 

yet, 

Till  for  eloquence  you  hail  him. 
And  swear  he  has  the  Angel  met 
That  met  the  Ass  of  Bjilaam. 

In  your  heretic  sins  may  ye  live  and 
die, 

Ye  heretic  eight  and  thirty  ! 
But  accept,  ye  sublime  Majority, 

My  congratulations  hearty. 
With  your  Honors  and  a  certain  King» 

In  your  servants  this  is  striking — 
The  more  incapacity  they  bring. 

The  more  they're  to  your  liking. 


I'LL   AY  CA'   IN   BY   YON 
TOWN. 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 

And  by  yon  garden  green  again  ; 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town. 

And  see  my  bonie  Jean  again. 

There'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'll  wander  by  the  aiken  tree 
When  trystin-time  draws  near  again 

And  when  her  lovely  form  I  see, 
O  haith,  she's  doubly  dear  again ! 


A  BOTTLE   AND   FRIEND. 

Here's  a  bottle  and  an  honest  friend  ! 

What  wad  ye  wish  for  mair,  man  ? 
Wha  kens,  before  his  life  may  end. 

What   his  share  may  be    o'   care, 
man  ? 
Then  catch  the  moments  as  they  fly. 

And  use  them  as  ye  ought,  man : 
Believe  me,  happiness  is  sliy, 

And  comes  not  ay  when  scught, 
man. 


230 


ON  CE88N0CK  BANKS. 


I'LL  KISS  THEE  YET. 

Tune— '-The  Braes  or"  Balquhidder." 
CHORUS. 

I'll  kiss  tliee  yet,  yet, 
-A.nd  ril  kiss  thee  o'er  again. 

And  I'll  kiss  thee  yet,  yet, 
My  bonie  Peggy  Alison  ! 

Ilk  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near, 

I  ever  mair  defy  them,  O  ; 
Young  kings  upon  their  hansel  throne 

Are  no  sae  blest  as  I  am,  O  ! 
I'll  kiss  thee,  &c. 

When  in  rny  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 
I'll  kiss  thee,  &c. 

And  by  the  een  sac-  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  1 
I'll  kiss  thee,  &c. 


ON  CESSNOCK  BANKS. 

¥WNE— "  If  he  be  a  Butcher  neat  and  trim." 

On  Cessnock  banks  a  lassie  dwells  ; 
Could   I  describe    lier    shape   and 
mien  ; 
Our  lasses  a'  she  far  excels. 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

She's  sweeter  tlian  the  morning  dawn 
V    When  rising  Phoebus  first  is  seen, 
^And  dew-drops  twinkle  o'er  the  lawn  ; 
^    An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

She's  stalely  like  yon  youthful  ash 
That  grows  the  cowslip  braes  be- 
tween, 
And  drinks  the  stream  with  vigour 
fresh  ; 
An'  she.  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

She's  spotless  like  the  flow'ring  thorn 
With  flow'rs  so  white  and  leaves  so 
green, 


When  purest  in  the  dewy  mom  ; 

An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueisb 
een. 

Her  loooks  are  like  the  vernal  May, 
When  ev'ning  Phoebus  shines  serene, 

While  birds  rejoice  on  every  spray  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  hair  is  like  the  curling  mist 
That  climbs  the  mountain-sides  at 
e'en. 

When  flow'r-reviving  rains  aie  past ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 


Her  forehead's  like  the  show'ry  bow, 
When  gleaming  sunbeams  intervene 

And  gild  the  distant  mountain's  brow  •, 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 


Her  cheeks  are  like  yon  crimson  gen\ 
The  pride  of  all  the  flowery  scene. 

Just  opening  on  its  thorny  stem  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  roguei^ 
een. 

Her  teeth  are  like  the  nightly  snow 

When  pale  the  morning  rises  keen. 
While  hid  the  murmuring  streamlets 
flow, 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
eea 

Her  lips  are  like  yon  cherries  ripe,'' 
That    sunny    walls    from    Boreas 
screen  ; 
They  tempt  the  taste  and  charm  the 
sight ; 
An'  she  has  two  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep, 
With  fleeces  newly  washen  clean, 

That  slowly  mount  the  rising  steep  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  glancin'  sparklin' 
een. 

Her  breath  is  like  the  fragrant  breeze 
That  gently  stirs  the  blossom'd  bean, 

When  Phoebus  sinks  behind  the  seas ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 


NEYEB  BE  PEACE  TILL  JAMIE  COMES  HAME. 


237 


Her  voice  is  like  the  ev'ning  thrush 
That  sings  on  Cessnock  banks  un- 
seen. 
While  his  mate  sits  nestling  in  the 
bush  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

^t  its  not  her  air,  her  form,  her  face, 
Tho'     matching     beauty's     fabled 
queen, 
'Tis  the  mind    that   shines   in  every 
grace. 
An'  chiefly  in  her  rogueish  een. 


PRAYER  FOR  MARY. 

Tune— "Blue  Bonnets." 

Lowers  celestial,  whose  protection 

Ever  guards  the  virtuous  fair. 
While  in  distant  climes  I  w^ander. 

Let  my  Mary  be  your  care  : 
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, 

Soothe  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. 

Tune—"  Last  time  I  cam  o'er  the  Muir." 


lass, 


our  bonniest 


Her  blush  is  like  the  morning, 
The  rosy  dawn,  the  springing  grass, 

With  early  gems  adorning. 
Ker  eyes  outshine  the  radiant  beams 

That  gild  the  passing  shower, 
And  glitter  o'er  the  crystal  streams. 

And  cheer  each  fresli'ning  flower. 

Her  lips  more  than  the  cherries  bright, 

A  richer  dye  has  grac'd  them  ; 
They  charm  th'  admiring  gazer's  sight. 

And  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  relent  her. 
As   blooming    Springs    unbends    the 
brow 

Of  surly,  savage  Winter, 
Distraction's  eye  no  aim  can  gaia. 

Her  winning  powers  to  lessen  ; 
And  fretful  Envy  grin  in  vain, 

The  poison'd  tooth  to  fasten. 

Ye    Pow'rs   of   Honour,    Love,    and 
Truth, 

From  ev'ry  ill  defend  her  ; 
Inspire  tlie  highly  favour'd  youth 

The  destinies  intend  her  ; 
Still  fan  the  sweet  connubial  flame 

Responsive  in  each  bosom  ; 
And  bless  the  dear  parental  name 

With  many  a  filial  blossom. 


THERE'LL    NEVER    BE    PEACE    TILL    JAMIE    COMES 

HAME. 

A    SONG. 

By  yon  castle  wa',  pt  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'll  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'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  conies  liame. 


238 


MARY  MO  BISON. 


My  seven  braw  sons  for  Jamie  drew  sword, 
And  now  I  greet  round  their  green  beds  in  the  yerd  ; 
It  brak  the  sweet  heart  o'  my  faithf u'  auld  dame — 
There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

Now  life  is  a  burden  that  bows  me  down, 
Sin'  I  tint  my  bairns,  and  he  tint  his  crown ; 
But  till  my  last  moments  my  words  are  the  same — 
There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 


THERE  WAS  A  LAD. 

Tune—"  Dainty  Davie." 
There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kjde, 
But  what'n  a  day  o'  wliat'n  a  style 
I  doubt  it's  haiS.ly  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 
AVas  five-and-twenty  days  begun, 
'Twas  then  a  blast  o'  Janwar  win' 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 

The  gossip  keekit  in  his  loof , 
Quo'  scho  wha  lives  will  see  the  proof, 
This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof, 
I  think  we'll  ca'  him  Robin. 

ITe'll  hae  misfortunes  grgat  and  sma', 
Rut  ay  a  heart  aboon  them  a' ; 
He'll  be  a  credit  till  us  a', 
We'll  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin. 

But  sure  as  three  times  three  mak  nine, 
I  see  by  ilka  score  and  line, 
This  chap  will  dearly  like  our  kin', 
So  lecze  me  on  thee.  Robin. 

Guid  faith,  quo'  scho,  I  doubt  you.  Sir, 
Ye  gar  the  lassies  lie  aspar, 
But^twenty  fauts  ye  may  hae  waur. 
So  blessings  on  ye,  Robin, 

Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boy, 

Rantin'  rovin',  rantin'  rovin' ; 

Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boj^ 
Rantin'  rovin'  Robin. 

TO   MARY. 

Tune — "  Ewe-bughts,  Marion." 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

And  leave  auld  Scotia's  shore  ? 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

Across  the  Atlantic's  roar  ? 


0  sweet  grows  the  lime  and  the  orange^ 
And  the  apples  on  the  pine  ; 

But  a'  the  charms  o'  the  indies 
Can  never  equal  thine. 

1  liae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  my 

Mary, 
I  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  be 

true  ; 
And  sae  may  the  Heavens  forget  me. 
When  I  forget  my  vow  ! 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mar^^ 
And  plight  me  your  lily-white  hand; 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
Before  I  leave  Scotia's  strand. 

We  hae  plighted  our  troth,  my  Mary, 
In  mutual  affection  to  join. 

And  cr.rst  be  the  cause  that  shajj  part 
us  ! 
The  hour,  and  the  moment  o'  time  ! 


MARY   MORISON. 

Tune—"  Bide  Ye  Yet." 

0  Mary,  at  thy  window  be, 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour  ! 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see, 

That  makes   the    miser's    treasure 
poor  ; 
How  blythely  wad  I  bid  the  stoure, 

A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun  ; 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure. 

The  lovely  ]Mary  Morison. 

Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string 
The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha', 

To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  or  saw  : 

Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  wasdraw^ 
And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 

1  sigh'd,  and  said  amang  them  a', 

"  Ye  are  nae  Mary  Morisoii." 


MY  FATHER  WAS  A  FARMER. 


239 


0  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 
Wha  for  thy  sake  would  ghidly  die? 

Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  liis, 
Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee  ? 

If  love  for  love  thou  "Svilt  na  gie, 
At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown  1 

A  thought  ungentle  cannabe 
The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison, 

THE    SODGER'S    RETURN. 

Tune-"  The  Mill  Mill  O." 
When  wild  war's  deadly  blast  was 
blaw^n, 
And  gentle  peace  returning, 
Wi'  many  a  sweet  babe  fatherless, 
And  mony  a  widow  mourning  : 

1  left  the  lines  and  tented  lield, 
Y/here  lang  I'd  been  a  lodger, 

My  humble  knapsack  a'  my  w^calth, 
A  poor  and  honest  sodger. 

A  leal,  light  heart  was  in  my  breast, 

My  hand  unstain'd  wi'  plunder  .♦ 
And  for  fair  Scotia,  hame  again 

I  cheery  on  did  wander. 
I  thought  upon  the  banks  o'  Coil,, 

I  thought  upon  my  Nancy, 
1  thought  upon  the  witching  smile 

That  caught  my  youthful  fancy. 

At  length  I  reached  the  bonie  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  ! 
Au(^  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  blossom, 

O  happy,  happy  may  he  be, 
That's  dearest  to  thy  bosom  ! 


My  purse  is  light,  iVe  far  to  gang. 
And  fain  wad  be  tliy  lodger  ; 

I've  servd  mj    King   and    Country 
lang — 
Take  p:ty  on  a  sodger  1 

Sae  wistfully  she  gaz'd  on  me. 

And  loveliei*  was  than  ever : 
Quo'  she,  a  sodger  ance  I  lo'ed, 

Forget  hiin  shall  I  never  : 
Our  humble  cot,  and  hamely  fare. 

Ye  freely  shall  partake  it, 
That  gallaut  badge,  the  dear  cockade, 

Ye're  w:.'lcome  for  the  sake  o't. 

She  gaz'd  —she  redden'd  like  a  rose- 
Syne  piile  like  onie  hly  ; 

She"  sank  within  my  arms  and  cried, 
Art  th.iu  my  ain  dear  AVillie  ? 

By  Him  who  made  yon  sun  and  sky, 
By  whom  true  love's  regarded, 

I  am  tha  man  ;  and  thus  may  still 
True  lovers  be  rewarded  ? 

The  wars  are  o'er,  and  I'm  come  hame. 

And  lind  thee  still  true-hearted  ; 
Tho'  poor  in  gear,  w^'re  rich  in  love. 

And  mair  we'se  ne'er  be  parted. 
Quo'  she,  j\Iy  grandsire  left  me  go^^  cC 

A  mailen  plenish'd  fairly  ; 
And  come,  my  faithful  sodger  lad. 

Thou'rt  welcome  to  it  dearly  ! 

For  gold  the  merchant  ploughs  the 
main, 

The  farmer  plows  the  manor  ; 
But  glory  is  the  sodger's  prize  ; 

The  sodger  s  wealth  is  honour  : 
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. 


MY  FATHER  WAS  A  FARMER. 

Tune— "The  Weaver  and  his  Shuttle,  O." 
My  Father  wns  a  Farmer  upon  the  Carrick  border,  O 
And  cnrefully  he  bred  me  in  decency  and  order,  O 
He  bade  me  net  a  manly  part,  though  I  had  ne'er  a  farthing,  O 
For  without  an  honest  inanly  iieart,  no  man  was  worth  regarding,  O. 

Then  out  into  the  world  my  course  I  did  determine,  O 
Tho'  to  be  rich  was  not  mv  wish,  yet  to  be  great  was  charming,  Q 
My  talents  they  w^ere  not  the  worst :  nor  yet  luy  education,  Q 
Jiesolv'd  was  I,  «it  least  to  try,  to  meDd  my  situation,  0. 


§40  BONIE  LESLEY. 

In  many  a  way,  and  vain  essay,  I  courted  fortune's  favour  ;  O 
Some  cause  unseen  still  stept  between,  to  frustrate  each  endeavour,  O 
Sometimes  by  foes  I  was  overpowered  ;  sometimes  by  friends  forsaken  ;  O 
And  when  my  hope  was  at  the  top,  I  still  was  worst  mistaken,  O. 

Then  sore  harass'd,  and  tired  at  last,  with  fortune's  vain  delusion  ;  O 
I  dropt  my  schemes,  like  idle  dreams,  and  came  to  this  conclusion  ;  O 
The  past  was  bad,  and  the  future  hid  ;  its  good  or  ill  untried  ;  O 
But  the  pres'ent  hour  was  in  my  pow'r,  and  so  I  would  enjoy  it,  O, 

No  help,  nor  hope,  nor  view  had  I !  nor  person  to  befriend  me  ;  O 
So  I  must  toil,  and  sweat  and  bioil,  and  labour  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  wander,  O 
Till  down  my  weary  bones  I  lay  in  everlasting  slumber  ;  O 
No  view  nor  care,  but  shun  whale'er  might  breed  me  pain  or  sorrow  ;  O 
I  live  to-day  as  well  s  I  may,  regardless  of  to-morrov/,  O. 

But  cheerful  still,  I  am  as  well  as  a  monarch  in  a  palace,  O 

Tho'  fortune's  frown  still  hunts  me  down,  with  all  her  wonted  malice  ;  O 

I  make  indeed  my  daily  bread,  but  ne'er  can  make  it  farther  ;  O 

But  as  daily  bread  is  all  I  need,  I  do  not  much  regard  her,  O. 

When  sometimes  by  my  labour  I  earn  a  little  money,  O 
Some  unforeseen  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'll  ne'er  be  melancholy,  O, 

All  you  who  follow  wealth  and  power  with  unremitting  ardour,  O 
The  more  in  this  you  look  for  bliss,  you  leave  the  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. 

A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT  FOR  BONIE  LESLEY. 

THE  DEATH  OF  HER  SON.  Tune-"  The  collier's  bonuie  Dochter." 

Tune-''  Finlayston  House."  q  g^^  ^^  -^q^:^^  Lesley 

Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped,  As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  ? 

And  pierc'd  my  darling's  heart ;  She's  gane,  like  Alexander, 

And  with  him  all  the  joys  are  fled  To  spread  her  conquests  farther. 

Life  can  to  me  impartj  rp^  g^^  j^^^  jg  ^^  lo^e  l^e^.^ 

By  cruel  nands  the  sapling  drops,  ^^^  j^^^  ^^^  1^^^.  forever  ; 

In  dust  dishonour  d  laid  :  p^^.  Nature  made  her  what  she  is, 

So  fell  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes,  ^^^  ^^,^^  ^^^^  g^c  auither  ! 

My  age's  future  shade. 

r^,          .1      ,.       ...Ill  Thou  art  a  queen,  Fair  Lesley, 

The  mother-lmnet  in  the  brake  ,j,j     subjects  we,  before  thee  : 

Bewails  her  ravish'd  young  ;  r^^^^  ^^,^  ^j^i^^^^  ^..^i,.  i^^^x^j^ 

So  I,  for  my  lost  darling  s  sake,  ,pj^^  \i^r^x{^  o'  men  adore  thee. 

Lament  the  live-day  long. 

Death,  oft  I've  feared  thy  fatal  blow,  The  Deil  he  could  na  scaith  thee. 

Now,  fond,  I  bare  my  breast.  Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee  ; 

O,  do  thou  kindly  lay  me  low  He'd  look  into  thy  bonie  face, 

With  him  I  love,  at  rest  1  And  say,  "  I  canna  wrang  the§, 


ON  A  BANK  OF  FLOWERS. 


Ul 


The  Powers  aboon  will  tent  thee  ; 

Misfortune  sha'na  steer  thee  ; 
Thou'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely, 

That  ill  they'll  ne'er  let  near  thee. 

Return  again,  Fair  Lesley, 

Return  to  Caledonie  ! 
That  we  may  brag,  we  hae  a  laSfs 

There's  nane  again  sae  bonie. 

AMANG  THE  TREES. 

Tune — "  The  King  of  France,  he  rade  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  Pibrock,  Sang,  Strathspey,  or 
Reels, 

She  dirl'd  them  aff  fu'  clearly,  O 
When  there  cam   a  yell    o'   foreign 
squeels. 

That  dang  her  tapsalteerie,  O. 

Their  capon  craws  and  queer  lia  ha's. 

They  made  our  lugs  grow  eerie  ;  O 
The  hungry  bike  did  scrape  and  pike 

Till  we  were  wae  and  wearie  :  O — 
But  a  royal  ghaist  wha  ance  was  cas'd 

A  prisoner  aughteen  year  awa. 
He  fir'd  a  fiddler  in  the  north 

Tnat  dang  them  tapsalteerie,  O. 

AVHEN  FIRST  I  CAME   TO 
STEWART   KYLE. 

Tune—"  I  had  a  horse  and  I  had  nae  jnair." 
When  first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle, 

My  mind  it  was  na  steady. 
Where'er  I  gaed,  where'er  I  rade, 

A  mistress  still  I  had  aye  : 
But  when  I  came  roun'  by  Mauchline 
town, 

Not  dreadin'  onie  body, 
My  heart  was  caught  before  I  thought, 

And  by  a  Mauchline  lady. 

ON  SENSIBILITY. 

TO  MT  DEAR  AND    MUCH  HONOURED  FRIEND, 
MRS.  DUNT.OP,  OF  DUNLOP. 

Air-    '  Sensibility." 
Sensibility,  how  charming. 

Thou,  my  friend,  canst  truly  tell ; 
But  distress,  with  horrors  arming, 

TJiou  ]ia£,t,  ^\&o  kjiQwn  too  well  i 


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. 


MONTGOMERIE'S    PEGGY. 

Tune—"  Galla  Water." 
Altho*  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir, 

Amang  the  heather,  in  my  plaidie. 
Yet  happy,  happy  would  I  be. 
Had    I    my    dear    Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 
When  o'er  the  hills  beat  surlj  storms. 
And  winter  nights  were  dark  and 
rainy, 
I'd  seek  some  r^ell,  and  in  my  arms 
I'd     shelter    dear     Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 

Were  I  a  Barou  proud  and  high, 
And    horse    and  servants    waiting 
ready. 
Then  a'  'twad  gie  o'  joy  to  me, 

The     sharin't    wi'  *  Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 

ON  A  BANK  OF  FLOWERS. 

On  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer 
day. 

For  summer  liglitly  drest. 
The  youthful  blooming  Nelly  lay. 

With  love  and  sleep  opprest ; 

When    Willie    wand'ring    thro'    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, 
Ji  riclifir  dy'4  th^  rosjs. 


242 


WOMEN'S  MIJWS. 


The  springing  lilies  sweetly  prest, 
"Wild-wanton  kiss'd  her  rival  breast ; 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd,  he   fear'd,   he 
blush'd, 
His  bosom  ill  at  rest. 

Her  robes,  light  waving  in  the  breeze 
Her  tender  limbs  embrace  ! 

Her  lovely  form,  her  native  ease, 
All  harmony  and  grace  I 

Tumultuous  tides  his  pulses  roll, 
A  faltering  ardent  kiss  he  stole  ; 
He  gaz'd,  he   wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he 
blush'd, 
And  sigh'd  his  very  soul. 

As  flies  the  partridge  from  the  brake 

On  fear-inspir'd  wings  ; 
So  Nelly,  starting,  half  awake. 

Away  affrighted  springs  : 

But  Willie  follow'd — as  he  should, 
He  overtook  her  in  the  wood  : 
He  vow'd,  he  pray'd,  he  found  the 
maid 
Forgiving  all,  and  good. 

O    RAGING    FORTUNE'S 
WITHERING    BLAST. 

O  RAGING  fortune's  withering  blast 
Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  !  O 

O  raging  fortune's  withering  blast 
Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  1  O 

My  stem  was  fair,  my  bud  was  green. 
My  blossom  sweet  did  blow  ;  O 

Thedew  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. 

EVAN  BANKS.     {Seenote.) 

Tune—"  Savouma  "Delish." 

Slow  spreads    the    glcom    my    soul 

desires. 
The  sun  from  India's  shore  retires  ; 
To  Evan  Banks  with  temp'rate  ray. 
Home  of  mj  youth,  he  leads  the  daj. 


Oh  Banks  to  me  for  ever  dear  I 
Oh  stream,  whose  murmur  still  I  hears 
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  partiug  sigh, 
And  long  pursued  me  with  her  eye  : 

Does  she,   with  heart  unchang'd  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, 
AVhich  sweetly  winds  so  far  below  : 

What  secret  charm  to  mem'ry  brings. 
All  that  on  Evan's  border  springs  ! 
Sweet  Banks  ye  bloom  by  Mary's  side, 
Blest  stream  !  she  views  thee  haste  to 
Clyde. 

Can  all  the  wealth  of  India's  coast 
Atone  for  years  in  absence  lost ! 
Return,  ye  moments  of  delight, 
With  richer  treasures  bless  my  sight  I 

Swift  from  this  desert  let  me  part. 
And  fly  to  meet  a  kindred  heart ! 
Ko  more  may  auglit  my  steps  divide 
From  that  dear  stream  which  flows  to 
Clyde  ! 

WOMEN'S  MINDS. 

Tune—  "For a'  That" 

Tho'  women's  minds  like  winter  winds 
May  shift  and  turn,  and  a'  that, 

The  noblest  breast  adores  them  maist, 
A  consequence  I  draw  that. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
And  twice  as  meikle's  a'  that 

The  bonie  lass  that  I  loe  best 
She'll  be  my  ain  for  a'  that 

Great  love  I  bear  to  all  the  fair, 
Their  humble  slave,  and  a'  that 

But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 
A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 
For  a'  that,  &c- 


0  LEAVE  NOVELS, 


243 


But  there  is  ane  aboon  the  lave, 
Has  wit,  and  sense,  and  a'  tiiiit ; 

A  bonie  lass,  I  like  her  best. 
And  wha  a  crime  dare  ca  that  ? 
For  a'  that,  &c. 

In  rapture  sweet  this  hour  we  meet, 
Wi'  mutual  love  and  a'  that  ; 

But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang. 
Let  inclination  law  that. 
For  a'  that,  &c. 

Their  tricks  and  craft  hae  put  me  daft. 

They've  ta'en  me  in,  and  a'  that  ; 
But  clear  your  decks,  and  here's  "  The 
Sex  I " 
I  like  the  jades  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  &c. 


TO  MARY  IN  HEAVEN. 

Tune— "Miss  Forbes'  farewell  to  Banff." 

Thou  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  iislier'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn, 
O  Mary  !  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend 
his  breast  ? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget  ? 

Can  I  forget  the  hallow'd  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, 
,     O'eihung  with  wild  woods,  thick- 

'ning  green  ; 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar 

Twin'd  am'rous  round  the  raptur'd 
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, 
4n(J  fpndly  broocjs  with  miser  c^el 


Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper 
wear. 
My  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  1 

Where  is  thy  blissful  place  of  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 
Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his 
breast  ? 

TO  MARY. 

Could  aught  of  song  declare  my  pains. 
Could  artful  numbers  move  thee, 

The    Muse    should  tell,   in  labour'd 
strains, 
O  Mary,  how  I  love  thee  ! 

They  who  but  feign  a  wounded  heart 
May  teach  the  lyre  to  languish  ; 

But  what  avails  the  pride  of  art, 
When  wastes  the  soul  with  anguish? 

Then  let  the  sudden  bursting  sigh 
The  heart-felt  pang  discover  ; 

And  in  the  keen,  yet  tender  eye, 
O  read  th'  imploring  lover  ! 

For  well  I  know  thy  gentle  mind 
Disdains  art's  gay  disguising  ; 

Beyond  what  fancy  e'er  refin'd, 
The  voice  of  nature  prizing. 


O  LEAVE  NOVELS. 

O  LEAVE  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles, 
Ye're  safer  at  your  spinning  wheel  ; 

Such  witching  books  are  baited  hooks 
For  rakish  rooks,  like  Rob  Mossgiel. 

Your  fine  Tom  Jones  and  Grandisons, 
They  make  your  youthful  fancies 
reel, 
They  heat  your  brains,  and  fire  your 
veins. 
And  then  you're  prey  for  Rob  Moss- 
giel. 

Beware  a  tongue  that's  smoothly  hung, 
A  heart  that  warmly  seems  to  feel  • 

That  feeling  heart  but  acts  a  part, 
'Tis  rakish  art  in  Rob  IMossgiel. 

The  frank  address,  the  soft  caress. 
Are  worse  than  poison'd  darts  of  steet 

The  frank  address,  and  politesse, 
Afe  ^11  fiiiessis  in  Bob  Mossgiel. 


244 


THE  CHEVALIER'S  LAMENT, 


ADDRESS  TO  GENERAL 
DUMOURIER. 

A  PARODY  ON  KOBIN  ADAIR. 

^Tou're  welcome  to  Despots,  Dumou- 

rier  : 
You're  welcome  to  Despots,  Dumou- 

rier  ; 
How  does  Dampi^r  do  ? 
Aye,  and  Bournonville  too  ? 
Why  did  they  not  come  along  with 

you.  Dumourier  ? 

I  will  fight  France  with  you,  Dumou- 
rier ; 

I  will  fight  France  with  you,  Dumou- 
rier ; 

I  will  figiit  France  with  you, 

I  will  take  n\y  chance  with  you  ; 

By  my  soul  I'll  dance  a  dance  with 
you,  Dumourier. 

Then  let  us  fight  about,  Dumourier  ; 
Then  let  us  fight  about,  Dumourier  ; 
Then  let  us  fight  about, 
Till  freedom's  spark  is  out, 
TUtin  we'll  be  damned  no  doubt — Du- 
mourier. 


SWEETEST  MAY. 

Sweetest  May.  let  love  inspire  thee ; 
Take  a  heart  which  he  designs  thee  ; 
As  \\\y  constant  slave  regard  it  ; 
For  its  faith  and  truth  reward  it. 

Proof  o'  shot  to  birth  or  money. 
Not  the  wealthy,  but  the  bonie  ; 
Not  high-born,  but  noble-nu'nded. 
In  love's  silken  hand  can  bind  it  1 


ONE  NIGHT  AS  I  DID 
WANDER. 

Tune—"  John  Anderson  my  Jo.'* 

One  night  as  I  did  wander, 
When  corn  begins  too  shoot, 

I  sat  me  down  to  ponder, 
Upon  an  auld  tree  root : 

Auld  Ayr  ran  ])y  before  me, 
And  ])icker'd  to  the  seas  ; 

A  cushat  crooded  o'er  me 
That  echoed  thro'  the  bmes, 


THE  WINTER  IT  IS  PAST. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

The  winter  it  is  ])ast,  and  the  simmer  comes  at  last» 
And  the  small  birds  sing  on  ever}'  tree  ; 

Now  everything  is  glad,  while  I  am  very  sad, 
But  my  true  love  is  parted  from  me. 

The  rose  upon  the  brier  by  the  waters  running  clear. 
May  have  charms  for  the  linnet  or  the  bee  ; 

Their  little  loves  are  blest,  and  their  little  heart*  at  rest. 
But  my  true  love  is  parted  from  me. 


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  ! 


FRAGMENT. 

Her  lips  are  roses  wet  wi'  dew  I 
O,  what  a  feast  her  bonie  mouf 

Her  cheeks  a  mair  celestial  hue, 
A  crimson  still  divmcr  \ 


THE  CHEVALIERS  LAMENT, 

TuNK—"  Captain  Kean." 
The  small  birds  rejoice  in  tl;e  green  leaves  refiirning. 


The  murmuring  streamlet  winds  c'loar  thro"  the  vaJe; 
lie  hawthorn  trees  blow  in  the  devvs  of  the  morning 
A-ud  wfl(J  sca.tter'd  cowslips  bedeck  tbe  ^reen  da]^ 


THE  TARBOLTOir  LASSES.  845 

But  what  can  give  pleasure,  or  what  can  seem  fair, 
While  the  lingering  moments  are  number'd  by  care  ? 

No  tlov/ers  gaily  springing,  nor  birds  sweetly  aiuging. 
Can  soothe  the  sad  bosom  of  joyless  despair. 

The  deed  that  I  dar'd  could  it  merit  their  malice, 

A  King  or  a  Father  to  place  on  his  throne  ? 
His  right  are  these  hills,  and  his  right  are  these  valleys. 

Where  the  wild  beasts  find  shelter,  but  I  can  find  none. 

But  'tis  not  my  suiTerings  thus  v.retchcd,  forlorn  ? 

My  brave  gallant  friends,  'tis  your  ruin  I  mourn: 
Your  deeds  prov'd  so  loyal  in  hot  bloody  trial, 

Alas  I  can  I  make  you  no  sweeter  return  ? 

THE  BELLES  OF  MAUCHLINE. 

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' : 

Miss  Miller  is  fine,  Miss  Mariiland's  divine. 

Miss  Smith  she  has  wit,  and  Miss  Betty  is  braw : 

There's  beauty  and  fortune  to  get  wi'  Miss  Morton, 
But  Armour's  the  jewel  for  mc  o'  them  a'. 

THE  TARBOLTOlSr  LASSES. 

Ip  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill-tap,  If  she  be  shy,  lier  sister  try, 
Ye'll  there  see  bonie  Peggy  ;  Ye'll  maybe  fancy  Jenny, 

She  kens  her  father  is  a  laird.  If  ye'll  dispense  wi'  want  o'  sense— 
And  she  forsooth's  a  leddy.  She  kens  hersel  she's  bonie. 

There  Sophy  tight,  a  lassie  bright.  As  ye  gae  up  by  yon  hill-side, 

Besides  a'handsome  fortune  :  Speer  in  for  bonie  Bessy  ; 

Wlia  cnnna  win  her  in  a  night.  She'll  gi'e  ye  a  beck,  and  bid  ye  ligh^ 

Has  little  art  in  courting.  And  handsomely  address  ye. 

Gae  down  by  Faile,  and  taste  the  ale,  There's  few  sae  bonie,  nane  sae  gude; 

And  tak  a  look  o'  JNIvsie  ;  In  a'  King  George'  dominion  ; 

*  She's  dour  and  din,  a  deil  within.  If  ye  should  doubt  the  truth  o*  this- 

But  aiblins  she  may  please  ye.  It's  Bessy's  ain  opinion  1 

THE  TARBOLTON  LASSES. 

In  Tiirbolton,  ye  ken,  there  are  proper  young  men. 

And  proper  young  lasses  and  a',  man  ; 
But  ken  ye  the  Ronalds  that  live  in  the  Bennals, 

They  carry  the  gree  frae  them  a',  man. 

Their  father's  a  laird,  and  wcel  he  can  spare't, 

Braid  money  to  tocher  them  a',  man, 
To  proper  young  men,  he'll  clink  in  the  hand 

Ctowd  guineas  a  huuder  or  twa,  man. 


246  THE  TARBOLTON  LASSES. 

There's  ane  they  ca'  Jean,  I'll  warrant  ye've 
As  bonle  a  lass,  or  as  braw,  man, 

But  for  sense  and  giild  taste  she'll  vie  wi'  ■the  beeftii 
And  a  conduct  that  beautifies  a',  man. 

The  charms  o'  the  min',  the  langer  they  shine. 
The  mair  admiration  they  draw,  man  ; 

While  peaches  and  cherries,  and  roses  and  lilies. 
They  fade  and  they  wither  awa,  mpoi. 

If  ye  be  for  Miss  Jean,  tak  this  frae  a  frien', 

A  hint  o'  a  rival  or  twa,  man, 
The  Laird  o'  Blackbyre  wad  gang  through  the  fire. 

If  that  wad  eutice  her  awa,  man. 

The  Laird  o'  Braehead  has  been  on  his  speed. 
For  mair  than  a  towmond  or  twa,  man, 

The  Laird  o'  the  Ford  will  straught  on  a  board. 
If  he  cauna  get  her  at  a',  man. 

Then  Anna  comes  in,  the  pride  o'  her  kin. 
The  boast  of  our  bachelors  a',  man  : 

Sae  sonsy  and  sweet,  sae  fully  complete. 
She  steals  our  affections  awa,  man. 

If  I  should  detail  the  pick  and  the  wale 
O'  lasses  that  live  here  awa,  man, 

The  fault  wad  be  mine,  if  tluy  didna  shine 
The  sweetest  and  best  o'  th«m  a',  man. 

!  lo'e  her  mysel,  but  darena  weel  tell, 
My  poverty  keeps  me  in  awe,  man, 

For  making  o'  rhymes,  and  working  at  times. 
Does  little  or  naething  at  a  ,  man. 

STet  I  wadna  choose  to  let  her  refuse, 
Nor  ha'e't  in  her  power  to  say  na,  man. 

For  though  I  be  poor,  unnoticed,  obscure, 
My  stomach's  as  proud  as  them  a',  man. 

Though  I  canna  ride  in  weel-booted  pride. 
And  flee  o'er  the  hills  like  a  craw,  man, 

i  can  baud  up  my  head  wi'  the  best  o'  the  breed. 
Though  fluttering  ever  so  braw,  man. 

^y  coat  and  my  vest,  they  are  Scotch  o'  the  best, 
O'  pairs  o'  giiid  breeks  I  ha'e  twa,  man. 

And  stockings  and  pumps  to  put  on  my  stumps, 
I  ne'er  wrang  a  steek  in  them  a',  man. 

My  sarks  they  are  few,  but  five  o'  them  new, 
Twal'  hundred,  as  white  as  the  snaw,  man, 

A  ten  shilling  s  hat,  a  Holland  cravat  ; 
There  are  no  mony  poets  so  braw,  man. 

I  never  had  frien's,  weel  stockit  in  means. 
To  leave  mc  a  Imndred  or  twa,  man, 

Nae  weel  tochered  aunts,  to  wait  on  their  drants. 
And  wish  them  in  hell  for  it  a',  man. 


MT LADY'S  GOWN^  TlinuWS  GAITtS  UPON*T, 


ui 


I  never  was  canny  for  boarding  o'  money. 
Or  claughtin't  together  at  a',  man, 

I've  little  to  spend,  and  naething  to  lend. 
But  deevil  a  shilling  I  awe,  man. 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO 

THEM  THAT'S  AW  A. 

Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa. 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa  ; 
And  wha  winna  wish  guid  luck  to  our 

cause, 
May  never  guid  luck  be  their  fa*. 
It's  guid  to  be  merry  and  wise. 
It's  guid  to  be  honest  and  true, 
It's  guid  to  support  Caledonia's  cause. 
And  bide  by  the  buff  and  the  blue. 
Here  s  a  health  to  them  that  s  awa. 
Here's  a  health  to  tliem  that's  awa. 
Here's  a  health  to  Charlie  the  chief  o' 

the  clan, 
Altlio"  that  his  band  bfe  but  sma' 
May  liberty  meet  wi'  success  ! 
May  prudence  protect  her  frae  evil  1 
May  tyrants  and  tyranny  tine  in  the 

mist. 
And  wander  their  way  to  the  devil  I 
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  Nor- 
land laddie, 
That  lives  at  the  lug  o'  the  law  ! 
Here's  freedom  to  liim  that  wad  read, 
Here's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  write  ! 
There's  naue  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  Mc'Leod,  a  Chieftain 

worth  gowd, 
Tho'  bred  among  mountains  o'  snaw  1 


CHORUS. 

I'm  owre  young,  I'm  owre  your  g^, 
I'm  owre  young  to  marry  yet ; 

I'm  owre  young,  twad  be  a  sin 
To  take  frae  my  mammie  yet. 

My  mammie  coft  me  a  new  gown. 
The  kirk  maun  hae  the  gracing  i'*  - 

Were  I  to  lie  wi'  you,  kind  Sir, 
I'm  fear'd  ye'd  spoil  the  lacing  o't. 
I'm  owre  young,  &c. 

71allowmas  is  come  and  gane^ 

The  nights  are  lang  in  winter,  sir^ 

And  you  an'  I  in  ae  bed. 

In  troth  I, dare  na  venture.  Sir. 
I'm  owre  3'oung,  &c. 

Fu'  loud  and  shrill  the  frosty  wind 
Blaws  thro'  the  leafless  timmer.  Sir; 

But  if  ye'll  come  this  gate  again, 

I'll  aulder  be  gin  simmer.  Sir, 

I'm  owre  young,  &c. 


DAMON  AND  SYLVIA. 

Tune—"  The  tither  morn,  as  I  forlorn.** 

Yon  wand'ring  rill,  that  marks  the 
hill. 

And  glances  o'er  the  brae.  Sir : 
Slides  by  a  bower  where  monie  a  flowei 

Sheds  fragrance  on  the  day,  Sir. 

There  Damon  lay,  with  Sylvia  gay  : 
To  love  they  thougiit  nae  crime,  Sir  s 

The  wild  birds  sang,  the  echo's  rang. 
While  Damon's  heart  beat  time,  Sir. 


I'M   OWRE   YOUNG 
MARRY  YET. 


TO 


I  AM  my  mammie's  ae  bairn, 
Wi'  unco  folk  I  weary.  Sir 

And  lying  in  a  man's  bed, 
I'm  fley'  wad  mak  me  eerie,  sir. 


MY  LADY'S  GOWN 
THERE'S  GAIRS  UPON'T. 

My  lady's  gown  there's  gairs  upon't, 
And  gowden  flowers  sae  rare  upon'tJ 
But  Jenny's  jimps  and  jirkinet. 
My  lord  thinks  muckle  mair  upou'l 


248 


0  LA7  TBI  LOOF  IN  MINE, 


My  lord  a-hunting  lie  is  gane, 

But  hounds  and  hawks  wi'  him  are 

nane. 
By  Colin's  cottage  lies  his  game. 
If  Colin's  Jenny  be  at  hame. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

My  lady's  white^  my  lady's  red. 
And  kith  and  kin  o^  Cassilis  blude. 
But  her  ten-pun  lands  o'tocher  guid 
Were  a'  the  charms  his  lordship  lo'ed. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

Out  o'er  yon  muir,  ou.t  o'er  yon  moss, 
Whare  gor-cocks    chro'  the    heather 

pass. 
There  wons  old  Colin's  bonie  lass, 
A'lily  in  a  wilderness. 

My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

Sae  sweetly  move  her  genty  limbs, 
Like  music  notes  o"  lover's  hymns  : 
The  diamond  dew  in  her  een  sae  blue, 
Whfire    laughing    love    sae    wautoii 
swims. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

My  lady's  dink,  my  lady's  drest, 
The  flower  and  fancy  o'  the  west ; 
But  tlie  lassie  that  a  man  lo'es  best, 
O  that's  the  lass  to  make  him  blest. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 


O  Al?  MY  WIFE  SHE  DANG 
ME. 

CHORUS. 

(O  ay  my  wife  she  dang  me, 
^An'  aft  my  wife  did  bang  me  ; 
'if  ye  gie  a  woman  a'  her  will. 
Guid  faith  she'll  soon  o'ergang  ye. 

On  peace  and  rest  my  mind  was  bent, 
And  fool  I  was  I  marry'd  ; 

But  never  honest  man's  intent 
As  cursedly  miscarry'd. 

Some  sa'r  o'  comfort  still  at  last, 
"When  a'  thir  days  are  done,  man. 

My  pains  o'  hell  on  earth  are  past. 
I'm  sure  o'bliss  aboon.  wian. 
0  ay  mv  wife,  &e. 


THE  BANKS  OF  NlTR 

A  BALLAD. 

To  thee,   lov'd    Nith,   thy  gladsomfl" 
plains, 
Where  late  wi'  careless  thought  I 
rang'd, 
Though  prest  wi'  care  and  sunk  m 
woe, 
To  thee  I  bring  a  heart  unchang'd. 

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  f 

BONIE    PEG. 

As  I  camo  in  by  our  gate  end. 
As  day  was  waxin'  w^eary,' 

O  wha  come  tripping  down  the  street, 
But  Bonnie  Peg,  my  dearie  ! 

Her  air  sae  sweet,  and  shape  complete, 
Wi'  nae  proportion  wanting. 

The  Queen  of  Love  did  never  move 
Wi'  motion  more  enchanting. 

Wi'  linked  hands,  we  took  the  sands 
Adown  yon  winding  river  ; 

And,    oh  !    that    hour   and    broomy 
bower. 
Can  I  forget  it  ever  ? 

O  LAY  THY  LOOF  IN  MINE, 

LASS. 

CHORUS. 

O  lay  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass. 

In  mine,  lass,  in  mine,  lass, 
And  swear  in  thy  white  hand,  !ass, 

That  thou  wilt  be  my  ain. 

A  SLAVE  to  love's  unbounded  sway. 
He  aft  has  wrought  me  meikle  wa,3  • 
But  now  he  is  my  deadly  fae. 
Unless  thou  be  my  ain. 
O  lay  thy  loof,  &c. 

There's  monie  a  lass  has  broke  my 

rest, 
That  for  a  blink  I  hae  lo'ed  best ; 
But  thou  art  Queen  within  my  breast; 
For  ever  to  remain. 

O  laj  thj  loof,  ^ 


THE  FIVE  CARLmS. 


249 


0  GiriD  ALE  COMES. 


0  guid  ale  comes,  and  guid  ale  goes 
Guid  ide  gars  me  sell  my  hose, 
Sell  my  hose,  and  pawn'my  shoon, 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 

I  HAD  sax  owsen  in  a  pleugh. 
They  drew  a'  weel  eneugh, 
I  sell'd  tiiera  a'  just  ane  by  ane  ; 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 

Guid  ale  hands  me  bare  and  busy, 
Gars  me  moop  wi'  the  servant  hizzie 
Stand  i'  the  stool  when  I  hae  done 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 
O  guid  ale,  &c. 

O  WHY  THE  DEUCE. 

EXTEMPOKE.      APRIL,  1782. 

0  WHY  the  deuce  should  I  repine. 
And  be  an  ill  foreboder  ? 

I'm  twenty-three,  and  five  feet  nine— 
I'll  go  and  be  a  sodger. 

1  gat  some  gear  wi'  meikle  care, 

1  held  it  weel  thegither  ; 

But  now  it's  gane  and  something  mair, 
I'll  go  and  be  a  sodger. 

POLLY  STEWART. 

Tune— "Ye're  welcome,  Charlie  Stewart." 
CHORUS. 

O  lovely  Polly  Stewart, 
O  charming  Polly  Stewart, 

There's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May 
That's  half  so  fair  as  thou  art. 

The  flower  it  blaws,  it  fades,  it  fa's. 
And  art  can  ne'er  renew  it ; 

But  worth  and  truth  eternal  youth 
Will  gie  to  Polly  Stew^art. 

May  he,  whase  arms  shall  fauld  thy 
charms. 
Possess  a  leal  and  true  heart ; 
To  him  be  given  to  ken  the  heaven 
He  grasps  in  Polly  Stewart. 
O  lovely,  &a 


ROBIN  SHURE  IN  HAIRST. 

CHOKUS. 

Robin  shure  in  hairst, 

I  sure  wi'  him, 
Fient  a  heuk  had  I, 

Yet  I  stack  by  him. 

I  GAED  up  to  Dunse, 
To  warp  a  wad  o'  plaiden. 

At  his  daddie's  yett, 
Wha  met  me  but  Robin. 

"Was  na  Robin  bauld, 

Tho'  I  was  a  cotter, 
Play'd  me  sick  a  trick 

And  me  the  eller's  dochter  t 

Robin  promis'd  me 

A'  my  winter  vittle  ; 
Fient  haet  he  but  three 

Goose  feathers  and  a  whittle. 
Robin  shure,  &c. 


THE   FIVE  CARLINS. 

AN    ELECTION  BALLAD.      1789. 

Tune—"  Chevy  Chase." 

There  were  five  Carlins  in  the  south, 

They  fell  upon  a  scheme. 
To  send  a  lad  to  Lon'on  town 

To  bring  us  tidings  hame. 

Not  only  bring  us  tidings  hame. 

But  do  our  errands  there, 
And  aiblins  gowd  and  honor  baith 

Might  be  that  laddie's  share. 

There  was  Maggie  by  the  banks  o* 
Nith, 

A  dame  wi'  pride  eneugh  ; 
And  Majorie  o'  the  monie  Lochs 

A  Carlin  old  an'  teugh. 

And  blinkin  Bess  o'  Annanda'xe, 
That  dwells  near  Sol  way  side, 

And  whiskey  Jean  that  took  her  gill 
In  Galloway  so  wide. 

An'  old   black  Joan   frae  Creighton 
peel, 

O'  gypsy  kith  an'  kin, 
Five  wighter  Carlins  were  na'  foue' 

TJie  south  kintra  withiL. 


250 


THE  DEtTK'S  DAl^O  O'ER  MT  DADDY. 


To  send  a  lad  to  Lon'on  tov/n 

They  met  upon  a  day. 
And  riionie  a  Knight  and   nionie  a 
Laird, 

That  errand  fain  would  gae, 

O  !  monie  a  Knight  and  mouie  a  Laird, 
This  errand  fain  would  gae  ; 

But  uae  ane  could  their  fancy  please, 
O  1  ne'er  a  ane  but  twae. 

The  first  one  was  a  belted  Knight, 

Bred  o'  a  border  clan. 
An'  he  wad  gae  to  Lon'on  town. 

Might  nae  man  him  withstan'  : 

And  he  would  do  their  errands  weel 

And  meikle  he  wad  say. 
And  ilka  a  ane  at  Lon'on  court 

Wad  bid  to  him  guid  day. 

Then  neist  came  in  a  sodger  youth ' 
And  spak  wi'  modest  grace. 

An'  he  wad  gae  to  Lon'on  town. 
If  sae  their  pleasure  was. 

He  wad  na  hecht  them  courtly  gift, 
Nor  meikle  speech  pretend  ; 

But  he  would  hecht  an  honest  heart 
Wad  ne'er  desert  his  friend. 

jSFow  wham  to  choose  and  wham  re- 
fuse, 

To  strife  tliae  Carlins  fell ; 
For  some  had  gentle  folk  to  please, 

And  some  wad  please  themsel. 

Then  out   spak  mim-mou'd   Meg  o' 
Nith, 

An'  she  spak  out  wi'  pride, 
An'  she  wad  send  the  sodger  youth 

Whatever  might  betide. 

For  the  auld  guMman  o'  Lon'on  court 

She  dindna  ca.     a  pin. 
But  she  would  senu   he  sodger  youth 

To  greet  his  eldest  son. 

Then  up  sprang  Bess  o'  Annandale  : 

A  deadly  aith  she's  ta'en, 
Tliat  she  wad  vote  the  border  Knight, 

Tho'  she  should  vote  her  lane. 

Fcr  far  aff  fowls  hae  feathers  fair. 
An'  fools  o'  change  are  fain  ; 

But  I  hae  tried  the  border  Knight, 
I'll  try  him  yet  again. 


Says  auld  black  Joan  frae  CreigbtoQ 
peel, 

A  Carlin  stoor  and  grim, 
The  auld  guidman  or  young  guidman. 

For  me  may  sink  or  swim. 

For  fools  may  freit  o'  riglit  and  wrang, 
While  knaves  laugh  them  to  scorn  : 

But  the  sodgers'  friends  hae  blawn  the 
best, 
Sae  he  shall  bear  the  horn. 

Then  whiskey    Jean    spak  o'er  her 
drink. 

Ye  weel  ken  kimmers  a' 
The  auld  guidman  o'  Lon'on  court. 

His  back's  been  at  the  wa'. 

And   monie  a  friend  that  kiss'd  his 
caup. 

Is  now  a  f  rammit  wight ; 
But  it's  ne'er  sae  wi'  whiskey  Jean, — 

We'll  send  the  border  Knight. 

^    len    slow    raise    Marjorie    o'   the 
Lochs, 

And  wrinkled  was  her  brow  ; 
Her  ancient  weed  was  russet  gray. 

Her  auld  Scots  bluid  was  true. 

There's  some  great  folks  set  light  by 
me, 

I  set  as  light  by  them  ; 
But  I  will  send  to  Lon'on  town, 

Wha  I  lo'e  best  at  hame. 

So  how  this  weighty  plea  will  end 
Nae  mortal  wight  can  tell  ; 

God  grant  the  King  and  ilka  man 
May  look  weel  to  himsel '  1 


THE  DEUK'S  DANG  O'ER 
MY  DADDIE. 

The  bairns  gat  out  wi'  an  unco  shout. 

The  deuk's  dang  o'er  my  daddie,  O  I 
The  fient  ma  care,  quo'  the  feirie  auld 
wife. 

He  was  but  a  paidlin  body,  O. 
He  paidles  out,  and  he  paidles  in, 

An'  he  paidles  late  and  early,  O  j 
This  seven  lang  years  I  hae  lien  by 
his  side. 

An'  he  is  but  a  f  usionless  carlie,  0- 


Tmi  trmoir. 


th\ 


0  baud  your  tongue,  my  feirie  auld 

wife, 

0  baud  your  tongue  now,  Nansie,  O. 
T've  seen  the  day,  and  sue  liae  y^. 

Ye  wadua  been  sae  donsie,  O. 
I've  seen  the  day  ye  butter'd  my  brose 

And  cnddle'd  me  kite  and  earlie,  O  ; 
But  downa  do's  come  o'er  me  now, 

And,  oh,  I  find  it  sairly,  O  ! 

THE  LASS  THAT  MADE 

THE  BED  TO  ME. 

When    Januar'    wind    was    blawing 
cauld. 
As  ta  the  north  I  took  my  way, 
The  mirksome  night  did  me  enfauld^ 

1  knew  na  where  to  lodge  till  day. 

By  my  good  luck  a  maid  I  met. 
Just  in  the  middle  o'  my  care : 

And  kindly  she  did  me  invite 
To  walk  into  a  chamber  fair. 

1  bow'd  fu'  low  unto  this  maid. 
And  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie  ; 

I  bow'd  fu'  low  unto  this  maid. 
And  bade  her  mak  a  bed  to  me. 

She  made  the  bed  baith  large  and  wide, 
Wi'  twa  white  hands  she  spread  it 
down  ; 
She  put  the  cup  to  her  rosy  lips, 
And    drank,    "Young    man,    now 
sleep  ye  soun." 

She  snatch'd  the  candle  in  her  hand, 
And    frae   my   chamber  went  wi' 
speed  ; 

But  I  cail'd  her  quickly  back  again 
To  lay  some  mair  below  my  head. 

A  cod  she  laid  below  my  head, 
And  served  me  wi'  due  respect ; 

And  to  salute  her  wi'  a  kiss, 
I  put  my  arms  about  her  neck. 

''  Hand  aff  your  hands,  young  mar," 
she  says, 

"  And  dinna  sae  uncivil  be  : 
If  ye  hae  onie  love  for  me, 

O  wrang  na  my  virginitie  !  " 

Her  hair  was  like  the  links  o'  gowd, 
iier  teeth  were  like  the  ivorie  ; 


Her  cheeks  like  lilies  dipt  in  wine, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

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. 

I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again. 
And  aye  she  wist  no  what  to  say  ; 

I  laid  her  between  me  and  the  wa',^ 
The  lassie  thought  na  lang  till  day. 

Upon  the  morrow  when  we  rose, 
I  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie .   f" 

But   aye   she  blush'd,   and   aye  she 
sigh'd. 
And  said,  "  Alas  !  ye've  ruin'd  me." 

I  clasp'd  her  waist,  and  kiss'd  her  syne. 
While  the  tear  stood  twinkling  iu 
her  ee  ; 

I  said,  "My  lassie,  dinna  cry. 
For  ye  ay  shall  mak  the  bed  to  me." 

She  took  her  mither's  Holland  sheets. 
And  made  them  a'  in  sarks  to  me  : 

Blythe  and  merry  may  she  be. 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

The  bonie  lass  made  the  bed  to  me, 
The  braw  lass  made  the  bed  to  me  : 

I'll  ne'er  forget  till  the  day  I  die, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  ma  I 


THE   UNIOK 

\ri7i<fE— "  Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation," 

Fareweel  to  a'  our  Scottish  fame, 

Fareweel  our  ancient  glor}' ; 
Fareweel  even  to  the  Scottish  name, 

Sae  fam'd  in  martial  story  ! 
Xow  Sark  runs  o'er  the  Sol  way  sands, 

And  Tweed  rins  to  the  ocean. 
To  mark  where  England  s   prcvince 
stands  ; 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation. 

What  guile  or  force  could  not  subdue. 

Through  many  warlike  ages, 
Is  wrought  nov/  by  a  coward  few. 

For  hireling  traitors'  wages. 
The  English  steel  we  could  disdain. 

Secure  in  valour's  station, 
But  English  gold  has  been  our  bane  ; 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation  I 


25fi 


WEE  WILLIE. 


O  would,  or  had  I  seen  the  day 

That  treason  thus  could  sell  us, 
My  auld  grc}^  head  had  lien  in  clay, 

Wi'  Bruce  and  loyal  Wallace  ! 
But  pith  and  power,  till  my  last  hour 

I'll  mak  this  declaration, 
We're  bought  and  sold  for  English 
gold: 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation  \ 

THERE    WAS    A    BONIE 

LASS. 

There  was  a  bonie  lass,  and  a  bonie, 
bonie  lass, 
And  she  lo'cd  her  bonie  laddie  dear  ; 
Till  war's  lord  alarms  lore  lier  laddie 
frae  her  arms, 
Wi'  monie  a  sigh  and  tear. 

Over  sea,  over  shore,  where  the  can- 
nons loudly  roar. 
He  still  was  a  stranger  to  fear : 
And  uocht  could  him  quell,  or  his 
bosom  assail. 
But  the  bonie  lass  he  lo'cd  sae  dear. 


MY  HARRY  WAS  A   GAL. 
LANT  GAY. 

Tune—"  Highlander's  lament." 

My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay, 

Fu'  stately  strade  he  on  the  plain  I 

But  now  he's  banished  far  away, 
I'll  never  see  tjim  back  again. 

CHORUS. 

0  for  him  back  again, 
O  for  him  back  again, 

1  wad  gie  a'  Knockhaspie's  land, 
For  Highland  Harry  back  agaia 

When  a'  the  lave  gae  to  their  bed, 
I  wander  dowie  up  the  glen  ; 

I  sit  me  down  and  greet  my  fill. 
And  ay  I  wish  him  back  again. 
Ofor  him,  &c. 

O  were  some  villains  hangit  high, 
And  ilka  body  had  their  ain, 

Then  I  might  see  the  joyfu'  sight. 
My  Highland  Harry  back  again  J 
O  for  him,  &c. 


TIBBIE   DUNBAR. 

Tune—"  Johnny  M'Gill." 

O  WILT  thou  go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar  ? 

0  wilt  thou  go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar  ? 
Wilt  thou  ride  on  a  horse,  or  be  drawn  in  a  car  ? 
Or  walk  by  my  side,  O  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar  ? 

1  care  na  thy  daddie,  his  lands  and  his  money, 
I  care  na  thy  kin,  sae  high  and  sae  lordly  : 
But  say  thoii  wilt  hae  me  for  better  or  waur, 
And  come  in  thy  coatie,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar. 


WEE   WILLIE. 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet ; 

Peel  a  willow-wand,  to  be  him  boots  and  jacket : 

The  rose  upon  the  briar  will  be  him  trouse  and  doublet. 

The  rose  upon  the  briar  will  be  him  trouse  and  doublet  1 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet ; 

Twice  a  lily  flower  will  be  him  sark  and  cravat ; 

Feathers  of  a  flee  wad  feather  up  his  bonnet, 

Feathers  of  a  flee  wad  feather  up  his  bonnet. 


LADT  ONLIE. 


253 


CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD. 

CHORUS. 

Beyond  thee,  dearie,  beyond  thee, 
dearie. 
And  O  to  be  lying  beyond  thee, 

0  sweetly,  soundly,  weel  may  he 

sleep. 
That's  laid  in  the  bed  beyond  thee. 

Sweet  closes  the  evening  on  Craigie- 
biirn-wood. 
And  blythely  awakens  the  morrow; 
But   the   pride   of  tlie  spring  in  the 
Craigie-burn-wood 
Can  yield  tome  nothing  but  sorrow. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 

I  see  the  spreading  leaves  and  flowers, 

1  hear  the  wild  birds  singing  ; 
But  pleasure  they  hae  nane  for  me, 

While  care  my  heart  is  wringing. 
Beyond  thee,  «S:c. 

I  canna  tell.  I  maun  na  tell, 

I  dare  na  for  jour  anger  ; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart 

If  I  conceal  it  hmger. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 

I  see  thee  gracefu',  straight  and  tall, 
I  see  thee  swe(;t  and  bonie. 

But  oh,  what  will  my  torments  be. 
If  thou  refuse  thy  Johnie  ! 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 

To  see  thee  in  anither's  arms, 
In  love  to  lie  and  languish, 

'Twad  be  my  dead,  that  will  be  seen, 
My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  anguish. 
Beyond  thee,  ifce. 

But,  Jeanie,  say  thou  wilt  be  mine 
Say  thou  lo'es  nane  before  me  ; 

An'  a'  my  days  o'  life  to  come, 
I'll  gratefully  adore  thee. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 


HERE'S     IILS    HEALTH    IK 
WATER. 

Tune -"The  jol)  of  journey-work." 

Altiio'  my  back  be  at  the  wa , 
4j3(J  t]^o'  Jie  be  tbe  fautor ; 


Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa'. 

Yet,  here's  his  health  in  water  ! 
O  !  wae  gae  by  his  wanton  sides, 

Sae  brawlie  he  could  flatter 
Till  for  his  sake  I'm  slighted,  sair. 

And  dree  the  kintra  clatter. 
But  tho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa'. 

And  tho'  he  be  the  fautor, 
But  tho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa'. 

Yet,  here's  his  health  in  water  1 


AS   DOWN  THE  BURN 
TIIEl^  TOOK  THEIR  ^\ NX . 

As  down   the  burn  they  took  their 
way. 

And  thro'  the  flowery  dale  ; 
I  lis  cheeks  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay. 

And  love  was  a'  the  tale. 

"With  "  ^lary,  when  shall  we  return. 

Sic  pk'MSure  to  renew  ?  " 
Quoth    3I;iry,    "  Love,    I    like    the 
burn. 

And  ay  shall  follow  you." 


LADY  OiVTLIE. 

Tune—"  Ruffian'a  rant." 

A'  THE  lads  o'  Thornie-bank, 

AVhcn  they  gae  to  the  sliore  o'  Buck, 
They'll  step  in  an'  tak'  a  ]Hnt 
Wi'  Lilly  Unlic,  honest  Lucky  I 
Lady  Onlie,  honesi  Lucky. 

Brews  gr.d«^  ale  at  shore  o'Bucky; 
I  wish  her  sale  for  lier  gude  ale, 
The  best  on  a'  the  shore  o'  Bucky. 

""Icr  house   sae   bien,    her   curch  sao 
clcnn 
I  wat  she  is  a  dainty  chucky  ; 
And  cheerlie  blinks  the  inii;le-glced 
Of  Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky  ! 
Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky, 

Brews  gude  ale  at  shore  o'  Bucky; 
I  wish  her  sale  for  her  gude  ale, 
The  best  on  a'  the  shore  o*  Buckjr. 


354        0277?  THRI88LE8  FLOURISHED  FRESH  AJH)  FAIh, 
AS  I  WAS   A  WANDERING. 

Tune  -"  Rinn  meudial  mo  mhealladh." 
As  I  was  a  wand'ring  ae  midsummer  e'enin', 

The  pipers  and  youngsters  were  making  their  game. 
Amang  them  I  spied  my  faithless  fause  lover, 
Which  bled  a'  the  wounds  o'  my  dolour  again. 

Weel,  since  he  has  left  me,  may  pleasure  gae  wi'  him  ; 

I  may  be  distress'd,  but  I  winna  complain  ; 
I  flatter  my  fancy  I  may  get  anither, 

My  heart  it  shall  never  be  broken  for  ane. 

I  could  na  get  sleeping  till  dawin'  for  greetin'. 
The  tears  trickled  down  like  the  hail  and  the  rain ; 

Had  I  na  got  greetin',  my  heart  M'ad  a  broken, 
For,  oh  !  love  forsaken's  a  tormenting  pain. 

Altho'  he  has  left  me  for  greed  o'  the  siller, 

I  dinna  envy  him  the  gains  he  can  win  ; 
I  rather  wad  bear  a'  the  lade  o'  my  sorrow 

Than  ever  hae  acted  sae  faithless  to  him. 

Weel,  since  he  has  left  me,  may  pleasure  gae  wi'  him. 

I  m;.y  be  distress'd,  but  I  winna  complain  ; 
I  flatter  my  fancy  I  may  get  anither, 

My  heart  shall  never  be  broken  for  ane. 

BANNOCKS  O'  BARLEY. 

TuNE-"TheKilIogie." 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal.  Bannocks  o'  bear  meal. 

Bannocks  o'  Barley  ;  Bannocks  o'  Barley  ; 

Here's  to  the  Ilighlandman's  Here's  to  the  lads  wi' 

Bannocks  o'  barley.  The  bannocks  o'  barley  ; 

Wha  in  a  brulzie  Wha  in  his  wae-days   • 

Will  first  cry  a  parley  ?  AVere  loyal  to  Charlie  ? 

Never  the  lads  wi'  Wha  but  the  lads  wi' 

The  bannocks  o'  barley.  The  bannocks  o'  barley. 

OUR  THRISSLES  FLOURISHED  FRESH  AND  FAIR. 

Tune— "Awa  Whigs,  awa." 

cnoRus. 

Awa  Whigs,  awa  !  Our  sad  decay  in  Church  and  State 

Awa  Whigs,  awa  !  Surpasses  my  descriving  : 

Ye're  but  a  pack  o'  traitor  louns,  The  Whigs  came  o'er  us  for  a  curse, 

Ye'll  do  nae  good  at  a'.  And  we  hae  done  with,  thriving. 

Our  thrissles  flourish'd  fresh  and  fair,       c.,j„,  vengeance  lang  has  ta'en  a  na] 

R  '^  w>  -?'"'  vi"^ ''''/  'T'  '  T  But  we  may  see  him  wauken  ; 

But  Whigs  came   :ke  a  frost  in  June,       (.^.j^  j^^j    t,/,  ,|      ^^.^^  ^  j.^^^, 

And  wither  d  a  our  posies.  ^.^  ^^^^^^  U^^^  ^  m^u^iL 
Our  ancient  crown's  fa'n  in  the  dust — 

Deil  blin'  them  wi'  the  stoure  o't ;  Awa  Whigs,  awa  ! 
And  write  their  names  in  his  black  Awa  Whigs,  awa  ! 

heuk,  Ye're  but  a  pack  o'  traitor  louns, 

Wliae  ^ae  the  Whigs  the  power  o't.  Ye'll  4o  n^e  gude  at  a'. 


COMING  THROUGH  THE  RTE. 


255 


PEG-A-RAMSEY. 

Tune—"  Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast." 
Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast 

O'  Boreas  o'er  the  pool, 
And  dawiu'  it  is  dreary 

When  birks  are  bare  at  Yule. 

O  bitter  blaws  the  e'enin'  blast 
When  bitter  bites  the  frost, 

And  in  the  mirk  and  dreary  drift 
The  hills  and  glens  are  lost. 

Ne'er  sae  murky  blew  the  night 
That  drifted  o'er  the  hill, 

But  bonie  Peg-a-Ramsey 
Gat  grist  toher mill. 

:OME  BOAT  ME    O'ER  TO 
CHARLIE. 

Tune — "  O'er  the  water  to  Charlie." 
!;!oME  boat  me  o'er,  come  row  me  o'er. 

Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie  ; 
''11  gie  John  Ross  another  bawbee, 
To  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie, 
We'll  o'er  the  water  and  o'er  the 
sea, 
We'll  o'er  the  water  to  Charlie  ; 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we'll  gather 
and  go, 
And  live  or  die  wi'  Charlie. 

:  lo'e  weel  my  Charlie's  name, 
Tho'  some  there  be  abhor  him  ; 

3ut  O,  to  see  auld  Nick  gaun  hame, 
And  Charlie's  faes  before  him  I 

;  swear  and  vow  by  moon  and  stars, 

And  sun  that  shines  so  early, 
f  I  had  twenty  thousand  lives, 
I'd  die  as  oft  for  Charlie. 
We'll  o'er  the  water  and  o'er  the 
sea, 
We'll  o'er  the  water  to  Charlie  ; 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we'll  gather 
and  go. 
And  live  or  die  wi'  Charlie  ! 

BRAW  LADS   OE  GALLA 
WATER. 

Tune—"  Galla  Water," 
CHORUS, 

Braw,  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water ; 
O  braw  Uds  of  Galla  water  I 


I'll  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee. 
And  follow  my  love  through  the 
water. 

Sae  fair  her  hair,  sae  bent  her  brow, 
Sae  bonie  blue  her  een,  my  dearie  ; 

Sae   white  her  teeth,  sae  sweet  her 
mou'. 
The  mair  I  kiss  she's  ay  my  dearie  , 

O'er  yon  bank  and  o'er  yon  brae, 
O'er  yon  moss  amang  the  heather  ; 

I'll  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee. 
And  follow  my  love  through  the 
water. 

Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 
The  lassie  lost  a  silken  snood. 
That  cost  her  mony  a   blirt    and 

bleary. 
Braw,  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water  ; 

O  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water  : 
I'll  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee, 
And  follow  my  love  through  the 
water. 

COMING  THROUGH  THE 
RYE. 

Tune—"  Coming  through  the  rye." 

Coming  through  the  rye,   poo? 
body, 

Coming  through  the  rye, 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie,. 

Coming  through  the  rye. 
Jenny's  a'  wat,  poor  body, 

Jenny's  seldom  dry  ; 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie. 

Coming  through  the  rye. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body — 
Coming  through  the  rye  : 

Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body — 
Need  a  body  cry  ? 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Coining  through  the  glen, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body — 

Need  the  world  ken  ? 
Jenny's  a'  wat,  poor  body  ; 

Jenny's  seldom  dry  ; 
She  draiglet  a'  her  jx^tticoatie 

Coming  through  the  rye. 


*jo6 


HEE  BALOU. 


THE  LASS  OF  ECCLE- 
FECHAISJ. 

Tune—"  Jacky  Latin." 

Gat  ye  me,  O  gat  ye  me, 
O  gat  ye  me  wi'  naething  ? 

Rock  and  reel,  and  spinnin'  wheel, 
A  mickle  quarter  basin. 

Bye  attour,  my  gucher  has 
A  hich  house  and  a  laigh  ane, 


A'  forbye,  my  bonie  sel*. 

The  toss  of  Ecclefechan. 

0  naud  your   tongue    now,   Lucki6 

Laing, 

0  haud  your  tongue  and  jauner  ; 

1  held  the  gate  till  you  I  met, 

Syne  I  began  to  wander  : 
1  tint  my  whistle  and  my  sang, 

1  tint  my  peace  and  j^leasure  ; 

But  your   green  graft',  now,  Luckic 
Laing, 
Wad  airt  me  to  my  treasure. 


THE  SLAVE'S  LAMENT. 

It  was  in  sweet  Senegal  that  my  toes  did  me  enthral, 

For  the  lauds  of  Virginia,  O  ; 
Torn  from  that  lovely  shore,  and  must  never  see  it  more. 

And  alas  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 

All  on  that  charming  coast  is  no  bitter  snow  or  frost, 

Like  the  lands  of  Virginia,  O  ; 
There  streams  for  ever  flow,  and  there  flowers  for  ever  blow. 

And  alas  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 

The  burden  I  must  bear,  while  the  cruel  scourge  I  fear. 

In  the  lands  of  Virginia,  O  ; 
And  I  think  on  friends  most  dear,  with  the  bitter,  bitter  tear. 

And  alas  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 


HAD  I  THE  WYTE. 

Tune—"  Had  I  the  wyte  she  bade  me." 

Had  I  the  wyte,  had  I  the  wyte. 

Had  I  the  wyte  she  bade  me  ; 
She  watch'd  me  by  the  hie-gate  side, 

And  up  the  loan  she  shaw'd  me  ; 
And  when  I  wadna  venture  in, 

A  coward  loon  she  ca'd  me  ; 
Had  kirk  and  state  been  in  the  gate, 

I  lighted  when  she  bade  me. 

Sae  craftilie  she  took  me  ben. 

And  bade  me  make  na  clatter  ; 
*'  For  our  ramgunshoch  glum  gude- 
man 

Is  out  and  ower  the  water  "  : 
Whae'er  shall  say  I  wanted  grace, 

When  I  did  kiss  and  dawte  her. 
Let  hiiiLbe  planted  in  my  place. 

Syne  say  I  was  the  fautor. 

Could  I  for  shame,  could  I  for  shame, 
Qo\M  I  forshavQie  refused  her  ? 


And  wadna  manhood  been  to  blame. 

Had  I  unkindly  used  her  ? 
He  clawed  her  wi'  the  ripplin-kame, 

And  blue  and  bluidy  bruised  her  ; 
When  sic  a  husband  was  frae  home. 

What  wife  but  had  excused  her  V 

I  dighted  ay  her  een  sae  blue. 

And  bann'd  the  cruel  randy  ; 
And  weel  I  wat  her  v^iliing  mou' 

Was  e'en  like  sugar-candy. 
A  gloamin-shot  it  was  I  trow, 

I  lighted  on  the  Monday  ; 
But  I  cam  through  the  Tysday's  dew 

To  wanton  Willie's  brandy. 

HEE  BALOU. 

Tune— "The  Highland  balou." 

Hee  balou  !  my  sweet  wee  Donald, 
Picture  of  the  great  Clanronald  ; 
Brawlie  kens  our  wanton  chief 
Wha  ^ot  mj  joun§  Hii^hland  Met* 


HET,  THE  DUSTY  MILLER. 


257 


Leeze  me  on  thy  bonie  craigie, 
A;i'  M'ou  live,  tliou'll  steal  a  naigie-. 
Travel  the  country  thro'  and  thro', 
And  bring  liame  a  Carlisle  cow. 

Til  re   ".lie  Lawlands,  o'er  the  border, 
Weel,  my  babie,  may  thou  furder  : 
lierry  the  louns  o'  the  laigh  countree, 
iSy^'c  CO  the  Highlands  hame  to  me. 


HER    DADDIE    FORBAD. 

Tune— "Jumpin  John." 

Her  daddie  forbad,  her  minnie  for- 
bad ; 
Ibrbidden  she  wadna  be  : 
91' J  wadna    trow't,   the    browst    she 
brew'd 
Wad  taste  sae  bitterlie. 

The   lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled  the  bonie  lassie, 
The  lang    lad   they  ca'  Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled  the  bonie  lassie. 

A  cow  and  a  cauf ,  a  yowe  and  a  hauf, 
And  Miretty  gude  shillin's  and  three  ; 
A   very   good   tocher,  a  cotter-man's 
dochter, 
The  lass  Wxtli  the  bonie  black  ee. 
The   lang   lad   thej^   ca'  Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled  the  Iconic  lassie. 
The  lang  lad   they  ca'  Jumpin' 
John 
Beguilea  the  bonie  lassie. 


IIEP.E'S  TO  TI\Y  HEALTH, 
MY  BONIE   I  ASS. 

Tune— "Lag^in  Burn.' 

Here's  to  thy  health,  my  bonie  lasg, 
Giulc  night,  and  joy  be  wi'  thee  ; 

I'll  come  nae  mair  to  thy  bower  door. 
To  tell  liiee  that  I  lo'e  thee. 

0  dimia  think,  my  pretty  pink, 
That  '  can  live  without  thee: 

1  vow  ;n:(i  swear  I  dinna  care 

Uow  lung  ye  look  about  je, 


Thou'rt  ay  sae  free  informing  mi 
Thou  hast  nae  mind  to  marry  , 

I'll  be  as  free  informing  thee 
Nae  time  hae  I  to  tarry. 

I  ken  thy  friends  try  ilka  means,- 
Frae  wedlock  to  delay  thee  ; 

Depending  on  some  higher  chance- 
But  fortune  may  betray  thee. 

I  ken  they  scorn  my  low  estate. 

But  that  does  never  grieve  me  ; 
But  I'm  as  free  as  any  he, 

Sma'  siller  will  relieve  me. 
I  count  my  healtli  my  greatest  w.:alth, 

Sae  long  as  I'll  enjoy  it  : 
I'll    fear    nae    scant.    111    bode    nae 
want, 

As  lang's  I  get  employment. 

But  far  aif  fowls  hae  feathers  fair. 

And  ay  until  ye  try  them  ; 
Tho'    they    seem    fair,   still    have    a 
care, 
They  ma}^  prove  waur  than  I  am. 
But  at  twal  at  night,  when  the  moon 
shines  bright, 
My  dear,  I'll  come  and  see  thee  ; 
For  the  man  that  lo'es  his   mistresc 
weel 
Nae  travel  makes  him  weary. 


HEY,  THE  DUSTY  MILLER 

Tune— "The  Dusty  Miller." 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller, 

And  his  dusty  coat  ; 

He  will  win  a  shilling, 

Or  he  spend  a  groat. 

Dusty  was  the  coat. 

Dusty  was  the  color, 
Dusty  was  the  kiss 
That  I  got  fra  the  miller. 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller, 
And  his  dusty  sack  ; 
Leeze  me  on  the  calling 
Fills  the  dusty  peck. 
Fills  the  dusty  peck. 

Brings  the  dusty  siller ; 
I  wad  gic  my  coatie 
For  the  dusty  millef. 


258 


THE  FAB^^yELL, 


THE  CARDIN'   O'T. 

Tune— "Salt  Fi^h  and  Dumplinge." 

I  COFT  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo', 

To  make  a  coat  to  Johnny  o't ; 
For  Johnny  is  my  only  jo, 
I  lo'e  him  best  of  ony  yet. 

The  cardin'  o't,  the  spinnin'  o't ; 

The  warpin'  o't,  the  winnin'  o't ; 
Wlien  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat, 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin'  o't. 

For  though  his  locks  be  lyart  gray, 

And  though  his  brow  be  held  aboon  ; 
Yet  I  hae  seen  him  on  a  day 
The  pride  of  a'  the  parishen. 
The  cardin'  o't,  the  spinnin'  o't. 

The  warpin' o't,  the  winnin'  o't ; 
When  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat. 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin  o't. 


THE    JOYFUL   WIDOWER. 

Tune— "  Maggie  Lauder." 

I  MARiiTED  with  a  scolding  wife 

The  fourteenth  of  November  ; 
She  made  me  weary  of  my  life, 

By  one  uuruh^  member. 
Long  did  I  bear  the  heavy  yoke, 

And  many  griefs  attended  ; 
But,  to  my  comfort  be  it  spoke, 

Now,  now  her  life  is  ended. 

\Yc  lived  full  one-and-twenty  years 

A  man  and  wife  together  ; 
At  length  from  me  her  course  she 
steer'd, 

And  gone  1  know  not  whither  ; 
Would  1  CO '.lid  guess,  I  do  profess, 

I  speak,  and  (io  not  flatter, 
Of  all  the  women  in  the' world, 

I  never  could  come  at  her. 

Her  body  is  bestowed  well, 

A  handsome  grave  does  hide  her  ; 
But  sure  her  soul  is  not  in  hell, 

The  cieil  would  ne'er  abide  her. 
I  rather  think  she  is  aloft, 

And  imitating  thunder ; 
For  why, — methinks  I  hear  her  voice 

Tearing  the  clouds  asunder. 


TKENIEL  MENZIE'S  BONIE 
MARY. 

Tune—    The  Ruffian's  rant." 

In  coming  by  th*^.  brig  o'  Dye, 

At  Darlet  we  a  blink  did  tarry  ; 
As  day  was  dawin  in  the  sky. 
We  drank  a  healtli  to  bonie-  Mary 
Theniel  Menzie'3  iconic  Mary, 

Theniel  MenzieV  bonie  Mary 

Charlie  Gregor  tint  his  plaidie, 

Kissin'  Theniel's  bonie  Mary. 

Her  een  sae  bright,  her  brow  sae  white 
Her  liaffet  locks  as  brown'^  a  berry^ 
An'  ay  they  dimpled  wi'  a  smile. 
The  rosy  cheeks  o'  bonie  Mary. 
T^heniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary, 

Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary  ; 
Ch^irlie  Gregor  tint  his  plaidie, 
Ivc'^in'  Theniel's  bonie  JNIary.  . 

We  lap  an  danced  the  lee-lang  day. 
Till  piper  lads  were  wae  an'  weary. 
But  Charlie  got  the  spring  to  pay 
For  kissin'  Theniel's  bonie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary, 

Theniel  Mer^-ie's  bonie  Mary  ; 
Charlie  Gregor  l»nt  his  plaidie, 
Kissin'  Theniel's  bonie  Mar;^. 

THE  FAREWELL. 

Tune—"  It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King." 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King, 
We  left  fair  Scotland's  strand  ; 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

My  dear  ; 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

Now  a'  is  done  that  men  can  do, 

And  a'  is  done  in  vain  ; 
My  love  and  native  land  farewell, 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main, 
My  dear; 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main. 

He  turned  him  right  and  round  about 

Upon  the  Irish  shore  ; 
And  gae  his  bridle-reins  a  shake. 

With  adieu  for  evermore, 
My  dear ; 

With  adieu  for  evermore. 


MY  LOVE  SHE'S  BUT  A  LASSIE  YET. 


259 


The  sodger  from  the  wars  returns. 

The  sailor  frae  the  main  ; 
But  I  hae  parted  frae  my  love, 

Never  to  meet  again, 

My  dear  ; 

Never  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gane  and  night  is  come. 
And  a'  folk  bound  to  sleep  ; 

I  think  on  him  that's  far  awa'. 
The  lee-laug  night,  and  weep, 

JMy  dear  ; 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 

IT  IS  NA,   JEAN,   THY 
BONIE   FACE. 

Tune—"  The  Maid's  Complaint." 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  face, 

Nor  shape  that  I  admire. 
Although  thy  beauty  and  thy  grace 

Might  weel  awake  desire. 
Something,  in  ilka  part  o'  thee, 

To  praise,  to  love,  I  find  : 
But  dear  as  is  thy  form  to  me. 

Still  dearer  is  thy  mind. 

Nae  mair  ungen'rous  wish  I  hae, 

Nor  stronger  in  my  breast, 
Than  if  I  cauna  mak  thee  sae, 

At  least  to  see  thee  blest. 
Content  am  I,  if  Heaven  shall  give 

But  happiness  to  thee  : 
And  as  wi'  thee  I'd  wish  to  live. 

For  thee  I'd  bear  to  die. 


JAMIE,  COME   TRY   ME. 

Tune—"  Jamie,  come  try  me." 


Jamie,  come  try  me, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ; 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me. 

If  thou  should  ask  my  love, 

Could  I  deny  thee  ? 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 

Jamie,  come  try  me. 

If  thou  should  kiss  me,  lore, 
Wha  could  espy  thee  ? 


If  thou  wad  be  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me. 
Jamie,  come  try  me,  &c. 


LANDLADY,   COUNT    THE 
LA  WIN. 

Tune—"  Hey  tutti,  taiti." 

Landlady,  count  the  lawin. 
The  day  is  near  the  dawin  ; 
Ye're  a'  blind  drunk,  boys. 
And  I'm  but  jolly  fou. 

Hey  tutti,  taiti, 

How  tutti,  taiti — 

Wha's  fou  now  ? 

Cog  an'  ye  were  ay  fou, 
Cog  an'  ye  were  ay  fou, 
I  wad  sit  and  sing  to  you 
If  ye  were  ay  fou. 

Weel  may  ye  a'  be  ! 
Ill  may  we  never  see  ! 
God  bless  the  King,  boys. 
And  the  companie  1 

Hey  tutti,  taiti, 

How  tutti,  taiti — 

Wha's  fou  now  ? 


MY    LOVE    SHE'S    BUT    A 
LASSIE   YET. 

Tune—"  Lady  Badinscoth's  reel." 

My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet ; 

My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet ; 
We'll  let  her  stand  a  year  or  twa, 

She'll  no  be  half  sae  saucy  yet. 
I  rue  the  day  I  sought  her.  O, 

I  rue  the  day  I  sought  her,  O  ; 
Wha  gets  her  needs  na  sae  she's  woo'd. 

But  he  may  say  he's  bought  her,  O  ! 

Come,  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o't  yet ; 

Come,  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o'J 
yet: 
Gae  seek  for  pleasure  where  ye  will, 

But  here  I  never  missed  it  yet. 
We're  a'  dry  w'i  drinking  o't. 

We're  a'  dry  wi'  drinking  o't ; 
The  minister  kiss'd  the  fiddler's  wife. 
An'  could  na  preach  for  think  in  '  o't. 


260 


KENMURE'S  ON  AND,  AW  A. 


MY  HEART   WAS   ANCE. 

Tunis—"'  To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go." 

My  heart  was  ance  as  blythe  and  free 

As  .simmer  days  were  lang, 
But  a  bonie,  westliu  weaver  lad 
Has  gart  me  change  my  sang. 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go,  fair 
maids, 
To  tlie  weavers  gin  ye  go  ; 
I  rede  you  right  gang  ne'er   at 
night, 
To  tiie  weavers  gin  ye  go, 

Ily  mither  sent  me  to  the  town, 

To  warp  a  plaiden  wab  ;  _ 
But  the  weary,  weary  warpin  o't 

Has  gart  me  sigh  and  sab. 

A  bonie  westlin  weaver  lad 

Sat  working  at  his  loom  ; 
He  took  my  heart  as  wi'  a  net. 

In  every  knot  and  thrum. 

I  sat  beside  my  warpin-wheel, 

And  ay  I  Qa'd  it  roun'; 
But  every  shot  and  every  knock, 

My  heart  it  gae  a  stoun. 

The  moon  was  sinking  in  the  west 

Wi'  visage  pale  and  wan, 
As  my  bonie  westlin  weaver  lad 

Convoy'd  me  through  the  glen. 

But  what  was  said,  or  what  was  done, 

Shame  fa'  me  gin  I  tell ; 
But  oh  !  I  fear  the  kintra  soon 

Will  ken  as  weel's  mysel. 

To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go,  fair  maids, 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go  ; 

I  rede  you  right  gang  ne'er  at  night, 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go. 


LOVELY  DAVIES. 

Tune— "Miss  Muir." 

O  HOW  shall  I,  imskilfu',  tiy 

The  poet's  occupation. 
The  tunef  u'  powers,  in  happy  hours, 

That  whisper  inspiration  ? 
Even  they  maun  dare  an  effort  mair, 

Than  aught  they  ever  gave  us, 
Or  they  rehearse,  in  equal  verse, 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Dav;es, 


Each  eye    it  cheers,   when  she  ap. 
pears. 
Like  Phoebus  in  the  morning, 
When  past  the    shower,    and    ev'ry 
Hovver 
The  garden  is  adorning. 
As  the  wretch    looks   o'er    Siberia's 
shore, 
When  winter-bound  the  wave  is  ; 
Sae  droops  our  heart  when  Ave  maun 
part 
Frae  cliarming  lovely  Davics. 

Her  smile's  a  gift,  frae  'boon  the  lift, 

That  mak's  us  mair  than  princes  ; 
A  scepter'd  hand,  a  King's  command, 

Is  in  her  darting  glances  ; 
The  man  in  arms, 'gainst  female  charn\'5 

Even  he  her  witling  slave  is  ; 
He  hugs  his  chain,  and  owns  the  reiga 

Of  conquering,  lovely  Davies. 

My  Muse  to  dream  of  such  a  theme, 

Her  feeble  powe/s  surrender ; 
The  eagle's  gaze  alone  surveys 

The  sun's  meridian  splendour  ; 
I  wad  in  vain  essay  the  strain. 

The  deed  too  daring  brave  is  ; 
I'll  drap  the  lyre,  and  mute  admire, 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Davies. 

KENMURE'S  ON  AND 
AWA. 

Tune—"  O  Kenmiire's  on  and  awa,  Willie." 

O  Kenmure's  on  and  awa,  Willie  ! 

O  Kenmure's  on  and  awa  ! 
And  Kenmure's  lords  the  bravest  lord 

That  ever  Galloway  saw. 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band,  Willie  ! 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band  ; 
There's  no  a  heart  that  fears  a  Whig 

That  rides  by  Kenmure's  hand. 

Here's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine,  Wil- 
lie ! 
Here's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine  ; 
There    ne'er  was  a   coward  o'  Ken- 
mure's blude, 
Nor  yet  o'  Gordon's  line. 

O  Kenmure's  lads  are  men,  Willie  ! 

0  Kenmure's  lads  are  men  ; 
Their  hearts  and  s^vords  are  metal  true 

And  that  their  faes  shall  ken. 


THE  monLAND  WIDOW'S  LAMmT. 


261 


They'll  live  of  die  wi'  fame,  Willie  ! 

They "11  live  or  die  wi'  fame]; 
But  soon,  with  sounding  victorie, 

May  Kenmure's  lord  come  hame. 

Here's  him  that's  far  awa,  Willie  ! 

Here's  him  that's  far  awa  ; 
And  here's  the  flower  that  I  love  best — 

The  rose  that's  like  the  snaw  ! 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

Tune—"  O  mount  and  go." 
CHORUS. 

O  mount  and  go, 

Mount  and  make  you  ready ; 
O  mount  and  go, 

And  be  the  Captain's  Lady. 

When  the  drums  do  beat, 

And  the  cannons  rattle. 
Thou  shalt  sit  in  state, 

And  see  thy  love  in  battle. 

When  the  vanquish'd  foe 
Sues  for  peace  and  quiet. 

To  the  shades  we'll  go, 
And  in  love  enjoy  it. 

O  mount  and  go, 

Mount  and  make  you  ready ; 
O  mount  and  go. 

And  be  the  Captain's  Lady. 

LADY  MARY  ANN. 

TuKE— "  Cragtown's  growing." 

O,  Lady  Mary  Ann 

Looks  o'er  the  castle  wa'. 
She  saw  three  bonie  boys 

Playing  at  theba'; 
The  youngest  he  was 

The  flower  amang  them  a'; 
My  bonie  laddie's  young, 

But  he's  growin'  yet. 

O  father  !    O  father  ! 

An'  ye  think  it  fit. 
We'll  send  him  a  year 

To  the  college  yet ; 
We'll  sew  a  green  ribbon 

Round  about  his  hat, 
And  that  will  let  them  ken 

He's  to  marry  yet. 


Lady  Mary  Ann 

Was  a  flower  i'  the  dew, 
Sw^eet  was  its  smell, 

Bonie  was  its  hue  ! 
And  the  langer  it  blossom'd 

The  sweeter  it  grew  ; 
For  the  lily  in  the  bud 

Will  be  bonier  yet. 

Young  Charlie  Cochran 

Was  the  sprout  of  an  aik  ; 
Bonie  and  bloomin' 

And  straught  was  its  make  ; 
The  sun  took  delight 

To  shine  for  its  sake, 
And  it  will  be  the  brag 

O'  the  forest  yet. 

The  simmer  is  gane 

When  the  leaves  theywere  green 
And  the  days  are  awa 

That  we  hae  seen  ; 
But  far  better  days 

I  trust  will  ccme  again, 
For  my  bonie  laddie's  young. 

But  he's  growin'  yet. 


THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW'S 
LAMENT. 

Oh  !  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie  ! 
Without  a  penny  in  my  purse. 

To  buy  a  meal  to  me. 

It  w^as  nae  sae  in  the  Highland  hills, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie  ! 
Nae  woman  in  the  country  wide 

Sae  happy  was  as  me. 

For  then  I  had  a  score  o'  kye, 

Och-on,  och-on,  oc  lirie  ! 
Feeding  on  yon  hills  so  high. 

And  giving  milk  to  me. 

And  there  I  had  three  score  o'  yowes, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie  ! 
Skipping  on  yon  bonie  knowes, 

And  casting  woo'  to  me. 

I  was  the  happiest  of  the  clan, 

Sair,  sair,  may  I  repine. 
For  Donald  was  the  brawest  lad. 

And  Donald  he  was  mine. 


202  0  MALLt'S  MEEK,  MALLT'S  SWEET. 

Till  Charlii  Stewart  came  at  last,  My  Donald  and  his  country  fell 

Sae  far  .o  set  us  free  ;  Upon  C'ulhxlen's  lield. 

My  Doual.rs  arm  wtis  wanted  then.  ^^^  ,  j  ^^„^  ^.^,„^^.  ^^^  „,^.  ^,,^^.  ^.^.^^irf. 


For  i^  otland  and  for  me 


Oeli-on.  oeh-on,  oeh  lie  ! 


Th''ir  waefu'  fate  what  need  I  tell,  Nae  woman  in  the  world  wide, 

Kight  to  the  wran^'  did  yield  :  Sae  wretched  now  jus  me. 

jMEKUY  JIAE  I  HEEX  TEETlllN'  A    HECKLE. 

Tune—"  Lord  Breadulbam-'e  March." 
O  MKKUV  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  heckle, 

And  merry  hae  I  been  shapin'a  spoon; 
O  merry  hat  I  been  eloutin  a  kettle, . 

And  kissin'  my  Katie  when  a'  was  done. 
O  a'  the  lani,'  day  I  cu'  at  my  hammer. 

An'  a'  the  lani:  day  I  whistle  and  sini:, 
A'  the  lani;  ni<rht  I  cuddle  my  kimmer. 

An'  a'  the  lani;  night  as  happ}  s  a  King. 

Bitter  in  dool  I  lickit  my  winnins, 

O'  marrying  Hess  to  gie  Ikt  a  slave  : 
Bless'd  be  the  hour  she  cool  d  in  her  linrx-ns, 

And  blythe  b<'  the  t)ir(l  that  >ings  on  her  grave. 
Come  to  my  arms,  my  Katie,  my  Katie, 

An'  come  to  my  arms,  and  ki-^s  me  again  ! 
})runken  or  solnr.  here's  to  thee.  Katie  ! 

And  blexs'd  be  the  day  I  did  it  again. 

i{.\r'rMN\  lioAKiN-  w  lij.ii:. 

TcsK— "lUtllin"  roariu'  Willif." 

<)  rattmn'.  renin'  Willie,  If  I  should  s(  11  my  fiddle, 

<),  he  held  to  the  fair.  The  warl'  would  think  I  was  ma<i 

An'  for  to  sell  his  liddle,  For  mony  a  raiilin'  day 

An"  buv  some  other  ware;  My  fiddle  and  1  liae  had. 

Hut  parting  wi'  his  tidjUe.  ^^  j  ^.^^,^^  ^      ('nH-hallan, 

1  he  saut  far  blin  t  h is  ee  ;  ,  ,.,,„„i,,.-i,,,.i,i,  i,,.-' 

Andralllin    n.ar.n   W  .he.  Ratllin'.  roarin'  Willie. 

\  e  re  weleome  hame  to  me  !  ^^-^^^  ^j„j,,^,  .^,  ^.,,,,  ,^,^^^j  ^^,^ 

()  Willie,  come  sell  yourtiddle,  Sitting  at  yon  board  en', 

()  s<'l!  your  liddle  sac  line  ;  And  anmiig  guid  companic  ; 

U  Willie*  come  sell  yourtiddle,  KattJin'.  roariu'  Willie. 
And  buy  a  pint  o"  wine  !  Ve're  welcome  hame  to  me  1 

O  .AIALLV'S  .MEEK,  .MALLY\S  SWEET. 

O  M ally's  meek,  I^Ially's  sweet, 

Mally's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally's  rare.  Mally's  fair' 

^Mally's  every  way  complete. 
As  I  was  walking  up  the  street, 

A  baretU  maid  I  chanced  to  meet; 
But  ()  the  road  was  very  hard 

For  that  fair  maidens  tender  feet. 


0,   WnAR  DID  Yh:  GET.  263 

It  were  mair  meet  that  those  fine  feet  x 

Were  wcel  kiccd  up  in  silken  shoon, 
And  'twere  more  tit  that  she  should  sit 

Within  your  chariot  gilt  aboon. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare, 

Comes  trinkling  down  her  swan-white  neck, 
And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies. 

Would  keep'a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck, 
O  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet, 

Mally's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mallys  rare,  Mally's  fair, 

^lally's  every  way  complete. 

SAE  FAR  AWA.  O  STEER  TIER  UP. 

Tune-"  Dalk.  itli  Mniden  Bridge."  Tcnb— "  O  Pteer  her  up.  ami  baud  ber  gaun." 

O  s\i)  and  heavy  should  I  part,  O  stkkk  her  up.  and  baud  her  gaun— 

Hut  for  her  sake  .sae  far  awa  ;  Her  mother's  at  the  null,  jo  ; 

I'nknowing  what  mv  wav  may  thwart  And  gin  she  wiiuia  take  a  man, 

Mv  native  land  >ae  far'awa.  Hen  let  her  take  her  will,  jo  : 

Thoii  that  of  a'  thin-rs  Maker  art.  First  shore  her  wi"  a  kindly  kiss, 

That  form'd  this  Fair  >ae  far  awa.  And  cu'  another  gill,  jo, 

Gie  bodv  strength,  then  ill  ne  er  start  And  gin  she  take  the  thing  amiss. 

At  this  my  wiiy  sae  far  awa  E'en  let  her  llyte  her  hll,  jo. 

ITow  true  is  love  to  ptire  (h'sort,  O  steer  her  up,  and  be  na  blate, 

So  love  to  her.  sae  far  awa  :  An'  gin  she  tak  it  ill.  jo. 

AikI  noeht  can  heal  mv  bosom's  smart.  Then  lea'e  the  lassie  till  her  fate, 

Whih-.  oh  !  she  is  sae  far  awa.  And  time  nae  lang«r  spill,  jo ; 

Nam-  other  love,  nane  other  dart.  Ne'er  break  your  heart  for  ae  rebutO, 

I  feel  but  hers,  sae  far  awa  ;  Hut  think  upon  it  still,  jo  ; 

Hut  fairer  never  touch'd  a  heart  Then  gin  the  la^Me  winna  do't, 

Than  hers,  the  fair  sae  far  awa.  Ye  II  tin'  anillu  r  will,  jo. 

O,  WHAR  DID  YE  GET. 

TUNK—  ■  Hnnie  Dundee." 

0  wn.\R  did  ve  get  that  hauver  meal  baiuuK-k  ? 
()  silly  blind  IxKly.  ()  dinna  ye  see  ? 

1  gat  it  frae  a  brisk  young  sodger  la.ldie. 

H<'twe«n  Saint  .lolinston  and  bonic  Dundee. 
()  gin  I  saw  the  laddie  that  giw  met  ! 

Aft  has  he  doudled  me  on  his  knee  ; 
Mj?v  Heaven  protect  my  bonie  Scotch  laddie. 

xVnd  .send  him  .s^ife  hame  to  his  babie  ami  me  I 

Mv  blessin's  upon  thy  sweet  we<-  lippie. 

'Mv  ble.s.sin's  upon  thy  bonie  e'e  brie  I 
Thy'smiles  are  .sae  like  my  blythe  sodger  laddie, 

Thou's  ay  the  dearer  and  dearer  to  me  1 
But  I'll  big  a  bower  on  yon  honie  banks. 

Where  Tav  rins  winii>lin'  by  .<ae  clear  ; 
And  I'll  deed  thee  in  the  tartan  s;ie  line, 

And  mak  thee  a  man  like  thy  daddic  dear. 


264 


THE  BL  UDE  liED  HOSE  AT  TCtLE  MA  Y  BLA  W. 


THE  F£TE  CIIAMPfiTRE. 

Tune—"  Killiecrankie." 
O  wnA  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house, 

To  do  our  errands  there,  man  ? 
O  wlia  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house, 

O'  th'  nierr}'  lads  of  Ayr,  man  ? 
Or  will  we  send  a  man-o'-law  ? 

Or  will  we  send  a  sodger  ? 
Or  him  wha  led  o'er  Scotland  a' 

The  nu'ikle  Ursa-]\Iajor  ? 

Come,  will  ye  court  a  noble  lord, 

Or  buy  a  score  o'  lairds,  man  ? 
For  worth  and  honour  pawn  their  word 

Their  vote  shall  be  Glencaird's,man? 
Ane  gies  them  coin,ane  gies  them  wine 

Anither  gies  them  clatter  ; 
Anbank,  whaguess'd  the  ladies'  taste, 

He  gies  them  Fete  Champ6tre. 

When  Love  and  Beauty  heard    the 
news. 
The  gay-green  woods  amang,  man  ; 
Where  gathering  flowers  and  busking 
bowers, 
They  heard  the  blackbird's  sang, 
man  ; 
A  vow,  they  seal'd  it  with  a  kiss 

Sir  Politics  to  fetter. 
As  their's  alone,  the  patent-bliss, 
To  hold  a  Fete  Champ^tre. 

Then  mounted   Mirth,    on   gleesome 
wing, 

O'er  hill  and  dale  she  flew,  man  ; 
Ilk  wimpling  burn,  ilk  cr^^stal  spring, 

Ilk  gk'U  and  shaw  she  knew,  man  : 
She  summon'd  ever}-  social  sprite, 

That  sports  by  wood  or  water, 
On  til'  bonie  banks  of  Ayr  to  meet, 

And  keep  this  Fete  Champetre, 

Cauld  Boreas,  wi'  his  boisterous  crew. 
Were  bound  to  stakes  liliiC  kye,  man  ; 

And  Oynthia's  car'  o'  silver  fu', 
('lamb  up  the  starry  sky,  man  : 

Retiected  beams  dwell  in  the  streams. 
Or  down  the  current  shatter  ; 


The  western  breeze  steals  through  the 
trees. 
To  view  this  F^te  Champetre. 

How  many  a  robe  sae  gaily  floats  ! 

That  sparkling  jewels  glance,  man  \ 
To  Harmony's  enchanting  notes, 

As  moves  the  mazy  dance,  man  ! 
The  echoing  wood,  the  winding  flood, 

Like  Paradise  did  glitter. 
When  angels  met,  at  Adam's  yett, 

To  hold  their  Fete  Champetre. 

When  Politics  came  there,  to  mix 

And  make  his  ether-stane,  man  ! 
He  circled  round  the  magic  ground. 

But  entrance  found  he  nane,  man  : 
He  blush'd   for  shame,   he  cjuat  his 
name. 

Forswore  it,  every  letter, 
Wi'  humble  prayer  to  join  and  share 

This  festive  Fete  Champetre. 

SIMMER'S  A  PLEASANT 
TDIE. 

TcNB— "  Ay  waiikin,  O." 
Simmer's  a  pleasant  time, 
Flow'rs  of  ev'ry  colour  : 
The  water  rius  o'er  the  heugh. 
And  I  long  for  my  true  lover, 
Ay  waukin  O. 

Waukin  still  and  wearie  : 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 
For  thinking  on  my  dearie.. 

When  I  sleep  I  dream, 
AVhen  I  wauk  I'm  eerie  ; 

Sleep  I  can  get  nane 
For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  lave  are  sleeping  ; 
I  think  on  my  bonie  lad 

And  I  bleer  my  een  with  greetin'. 
Ay  waukin  O. 

Waukin  still  and  wearie  ; 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 
For  thinking  on  my  dearie 


THE  BLUDE  RED  ROSE  AT  YULE  MAY  BLAW. 

Tune—"  To  daunton  me." 
The  blude  red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw. 
The  simmer  lilies  bloom  in  snaw. 
The  frost  may  freeze  the  deepest  sea  : 
But  an  auld  man  shall  never  dauuton  mQ 


THE  COOPER  0'  CXTDDIZ 


^65 


To  daunton  me,  and  me  sae  young, 
Wi'  his  faiise  lieart  and  flatt'ring  tongue, 
That  is  the  thing  you  ne'er  shall  see  ; 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

For  a'  his  meal  and  a'  his  maut. 
For  a'  his  fresh  beef  and  liis  saut, 
For  a'  Ills  gold  and  white  monie. 
An  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

His  gear  may  buy  him  kye  and  yowes, 
His  gsar  may  buy  him  glens  andknowes  ; 
But  me  he  shall  not  buy  nor  fee, 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

He  hirples  twa  fauld  as  he  dow, 
Wi'  his  teethless  gab,  and  his  auld  held  pow, 
And  the  rain  rains  down  frae  his  red  bleer'd  ee- 
That  old  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

To  daunton  me,  and  me  sa  young, 
Wi'  his  fause  heart  and  flatt'ring  tongue. 
That  is  the  thing  you  ne'er  shall  see  ; 
For  an  old  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 


THE   HIGHLAND   LADDIE. 

Tune—"  If  thou'lt  play  rae  fair  play." 

The  boniest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw, 

Bonie  laddie.  Highland  laddie, 
Wore  a  plaid  and  was  fu'  braw, 

Bonie  Highland  laddie. 
On  his  head  a  bonnet  blue, 

Bonie  laddi;',  Highland  laddie, 
His  royal  heart  was  lirm  and  true, 

Bonie  Highland  laddie. 

Trumpets  sound  and  cannons  roar, 
Bonie  lassie,  Lawland  lassie, 

And  a'  the  hills  wi'  echoes  roar, 

I     Bonie  Lawland  lassie. 

J  Glory.  Honour,  now  invite, 
Bonie  lassie,  Lawland  lassie. 

For  Freedom  and  my  King  to  fight, 
Bonie  Lawland  lassie. 

The  sun  a  backward  course  shall  take, 

Bonie  laddie.  Highland  laddie. 
Ere  aught  thy  manly  courage  shake  ; 

Bonie  Highland  laddie. 
Go,  for  yoursel  procure  renown, 

Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie, 
And  for  your  lawful  King  his  crown, 

Bonie  Highland  laddie  1 


THE   COOPER  O'  CUDDIE. 

Tune— "Bab  at  the  bowpter." 

The  cooper  o'  Cuddie  cam  here  awa, 
And  ca'd  the  girrs  out  owre  us  a'  — 
And  our  gude-wife  has  gotten  a  ca' 

That  anger'd  the  silly  gude-man,  O 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door ; 
Behind  the  door,  behind  the  door  ; 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door. 

And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  O. 

He  sought  them  out,  he  sought  them 

in, 
Wi',  Deil  hne  her  !  and,  Deil  hae  him  ! 
But  the  body  was  sae  doited  and  blin', 
He  wist  na  where  he  was  gaun,  O. 

They  cooper 'd  at  e'en,  they  cooper'd 

at  ni'^rn, 
Till  our  gude-man  has  gotten  the  scorn  ; 
On  ilka  brow  she's  planted  a  horn. 

And  swears  that  they  shall  stan',  O. 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door. 
Behind  the  door,  beliind  the  door  ; 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 

And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  O. 


266 


TUB  fiTHEn  Mons. 


NITHDALE'S  WELCOME   HAME. 


The  noble  Maxwells  and  their  powers 

Are  comiug  o  ur  the  border, 
Attd  they'll  gae  bigg  Terreagle's  tow- 
ers, 

An'  set  them  a'  in  order. 
And  they  declare  Terreagle's  fair, 

For  their  abode  they  chose  it ; 
There's  no  heart  in  a'  the  land, 

But's  lighter  at  the  news  o't. 


Tho'  stars  in  skies  may  disappear. 

And  angry  tempests  gather ; 
The  happy  hour  may  soon  be  near 

That  brings  us  pleasant  weather  : 
The  weary  night  o'  care  and  grief 

May  hae  a  joyful  morrow  ; 
So    dawning    day    has    brought    ri' 
lief— 

Fareweel  our  night  o'  sorrow  ! 


THE  TAILOR. 

Tune—"  The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a'." 
The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a'. 
The  Tailor  fell  tliro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a'; 
The  blankets  were  thin,  and  the  sheets  they  were  sma*. 
The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a'. 

The  sleepy  bit  lassie,  she  dreaded  nae  ill, 
The  sleepy  bit  lassie,  she  dreaded  nae  ill ; 
The  weather  was  cauld,  and  the  lassie  lay  still. 
She  thought  that  a  tailor  could  do  her  nae  ill. 

Gie  me  the  groat  again,  canny  young  man  ; 
Gie  me  the  groat  again,  canny  young  man  ; 
The  day  it  is  short  and  the  night  it  is  lang, 
The  dearest  siller  that  ever  I  wan  ! 

There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying  her  lane  ; 
There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying  her  lane  ; 
There's  some  that  are  dowie,  I  trow  wad  be  fane 
To  see  the  bit  tailor  come  skippin  again, 

THE  TITHER  MORN. 


The  tither  morn, 

When  I  forlorn, 
Aneath  an  aik  sat  moaning, 

I  did  na  trow, 

I'd  see  my  Jo, 
Beside  me,  gain  the  gloaming. 

But  he  sae  trig, 

Lap  o'er  the  rig, 
And  dawtingly  did  cheer  me. 

When  I,  what  reck, 

Did  least  expec', 
To  see  my  lad  so  near  me. 

His  bonnet  he, 

A  thouglit  ajee,  [me  ; 

Cock'd  sprush  when  first  he  clasp'd 

And  I,  I  wat, 

Wi'  faintness  grat. 
While  in  his  grips  he  press  d  me, 


Deil  tak'  the  war  I 

I  late  and  air, 
Hae  wish  since  Jock  departed  ; 

But  now  as  glad 

I'm  wi'  my  lad, 
As  short  syne  broken-hearted. 

Fu'  aft  at  e'en 

Wi'  dancing  keen. 
When  a'  were  blythe  and  merry. 

I  car'd  na  by, 

Sae  sad  was  I 
In  absence  o'  my  dearie. 

But,  praise  be  blest. 

My  mind's  at  rest, 
I'm  happy  wi'  my  Johnny  : 

At  kirk  and  fair, 

I'se  ay  be  there. 
And  be  as  canty 's  oney. 


THE  CARLE  OF  KELLYBURN  BRAES.  ^67' 

THE   CARLE   OF   KELLYBURN   BRAES. 

Tune—"  Kellyburn  braes." 

There  lived  a  carle  on  Kellyburn  braes 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
4nd  he  had  a  wife  was  the  plague  o'  his  days ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  iDrime. 

Ae  day  as  the  carle  gaed  up  the  lang  glen 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme). 
He  met  wi'  the  Devil ;  says,  "  How  do  you  fen  ?" 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

"  I've  got  a  bad  wife,  sir  ;  that's  a'  my  complaint 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme),  ^ 
'■'  For,  saving  your  presence,  to  her  ye're  a  saint ;" 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

*'  It's  neither  your  stot  nor  your  staig  I  shall  crave 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
*'  But  gie  me  your  wife,  man,  for  her  I  must  have  "; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

*'  O  welcome,  most  kindly,"  the  blytlie  carle  said 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
'''  But  if  ye  can  match  i^er,  ye're  war  nor  ye're  ca'd  "; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  Devil  has  got  the  auld  wife  on  bis  back 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
And  like  a  poor  pedlar,  he's  carried  his  pack  ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

He  carried  her  hame  to  his  ain  hallan-door 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
Syne  bad  her  gae  in,  for  a  b — li  and  a  w — e  ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

Then  straight  he  makes  fifty  the  pick  o'  his  band 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  growls  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
Turn  out  on  her  guard  in  the  clap  of  a  hand  ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  carlin  gaed  thro'  them  like  ony  wud  bear 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
Wha'er  she  gat  hands  on  came  near  her  nae  mair  ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

A  reekit  wee  Devil  looks  over  the  wa' 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 
"  O,  help,  master  help,  or  she"  11  ruin  us  a': 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  Devil  he  swore  by  the  edge  o'  his  knife 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  \vi'  thyme), 
He  pitied  the  man  that  was  tied  to  a  wife  ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 


268  THE  WEARY  PUND  0'  TOW, 

The  Devil  he  swore  by  the  kirk  and  the  bell 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  tliyme), 

He  was  not  in  wedlock,  thank  heav'n,  but  in  hell ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

Then  Satan  has  travell'd  again  wi'  his  pack 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

And  to  her  aukl  husband  he's  carried  her  back  ; 
And  tlie  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

**  I  hae  been  a  Devil  the  feck  o'  my  life  " 

(He3%  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

*'  But  ne'er  was  in  bell,  till  I  met  wi'  a  wife  ; " 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

THERE  WAS  A  LASS. 

Tune—"  Duncan  Davson." 
There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg, 

And  she  held  o'er  the  moors  to  spin  ; 
There  was  a  lad  that  foUow'd  her. 

They  ca'd  liim  Duncan  Davison. 
The  moor  was  driegli,  and  Meg  was  skiegh. 

Her  favour  Duncan  could  na  win  ; 
For  wi'  the  rock  she  wad  him  knock,. 

And  ay  she  shook  the  temper-pin. 

As  o'er  the  moor  they  lightly  foor, 

A  burn  was  clear,  a  glen  was  green, 
Upon  the  banks  they  eased  their  shanks. 

And  ay  she  set  the  v.iieel  between  : 
But  Duncan  swore  a  haly  aith, 

That  Meg  should  be  a  bride  the  morn  ; 
Then  Meg  took  up  her  spinnin'  graith, 

And  liung  them  a'  out  o'er  the  burn. 

We'll  big  a  liouse  —  a  wee,  wee  house. 
And  we  will  live  like  King  and  Queen, 

Sae  blythe  and  merry  we  wiTl  be 
When  ye  set  by  the  wheel  at  e'en. 

A  man  may  drink  and  no  be  drunk ; 
A  man  may  fight  and  no  be  slain  ; 

A  man  may  kiss  a  bonie  lass, 
!  And  ay  be  welcome  back  again. 

THE  WEARY  PUND  O'  TOW. 

Tune—"  The  weary  puud  o'  tow." 
The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund.  There  sat  a  bottle  in  a  lio.e. 

The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ;  Beyond  the  ingle  low, 

I  think  my  wife  will  end  her  life  And  ay  she  took  the  tither  souk 

Before  she  spin  her  tow.  To  drouk  the  stowrie  tow. 

I  bought  my  wife  a  stane  o'  lint  Quoth  I,  For  shame,  ye  dirty  dame. 

As  gude  as  e'er  did  grow  ;  Gae  spin  your  tap  o'  tow  ! 

And  a'  that  she  has  made  o'  that,  She  took  the  rock,  and  wi'  a  knock 

Is  ae  poor  pund  o'  tow.  She  brak  it  o'er  my  pow. 


THE  CABLES  OF  DTSART. 


269 


At  last  her  feet  —  I  sang  to  see't — 

Gaed  foremost  o'er  the  knowe  ; 
And  or  I  wad  anither  jad, 
I'll  wallop  in  a  tow. 

The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund, 

The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ! 
I  tliink  my  wife  will  end  her  life 
Before  she  spin  her  tow. 


THE  PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune— "  Up  wi'  the  Ploughman." 

The  ploughman  he's  a  bonie  lad. 

His  mind  is  ever  true,  jo, 
His  garter's  knit  below  his  knee, 

His  bonnet  it  is  blue,  jo. 

CHORUS, 

Then  up  wi't  a',  my  ploughman  lad, 
And  hey,  my  merry  ploughman  ; 

Of  a'  the  trades  that  I  do  ken. 
Commend  me  to  the  ploughman. 

My  ploughman  he  comes  hame  at  e'en, 
He's  aften  wat  and  weary  ; 

Cast  off  the  wat,  put  on  the  dry. 
And  gae  to  bed,  my  Dearie  ! 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 

1  will  wash  my  ploughman's  hose. 

And  I  will  dress  his  o'erlay  ; 
I  will  mak  m.y  ploughman's  bed. 

And  cheer  him  late  and  early, 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 

I  hae  been  east,  I  hae  been  west, 
I  hae  been  at  Saint  Johnston, 

The  boniest  sight  that  e'er  1  saw 
Was  the  ploughman  laddie  dancin'. 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 

Snaw-white  stockins  on  his  legs. 
And  siller  buckles  glancin' ; 

A  gude  blue  bonnet  on  his  head, 
And  O,  but  he  was  handsome  ! 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 

Commend  me  to  the  barn-yard, 

And  the  corn-mou',  man  ; 
I  never  gat  my  coggie  fou 

Till  I  met  wi'  the  ploughmaij. 
Up  wi't  a',  &c, 


THE  CARLES  OF  DYSART. 

Tune—"  Hey,  ca'  thro\" 
Up  wi'  the  carles  of  Dysart, 

And  the  lads  o'  Buckhaven, 
And  the  kimmers  o'  Largo, 
And  the  lasses  o'  Leven. 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 

For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ; 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado. 

We  hae  tales  to  tell,  i 

And  we  hae  sangs  to  sing  ;  ' 

We  hae  pennies  to  spend. 
And  we  hae  pints  to  bring. 

We'll  live  a'  our  days, 

And  them  that  come  behin', 
Let  them  do  the  like, 

And  spend  the  gear  they  win. 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 

For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ; 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado. 

WEARY    FA'    YOU,    DUN- 
CAN GRAY. 

Tune—"  Duncan  Gray." 
Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
Wae  gae  by  you,  Duncan  Gray— 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
When  a'  the  lave  gae  to  their  play, 
Then  I  maun  sit  the  lee-lang  day. 
And  jog  the  cradle  wi'  my  tae, 

And  a'  for  the  girdin  o't ! 

Bonie  was  the  Lammas  moon— 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
Glowrin'  a'  the  hills  aboon — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
The  girdin  brak,  the  beast  cam  down, 
I  tint  my  curch,  and  baith  my  shoon ; 
Ah  !  Duncan,  ye're  an  unco  loon — 

Wae  on  the  bad  girdin  o't  ! 

But,  Duncan,  gin  ye'll  keep  youraith, 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
Ise  bless  you  wi'  my  hindmost  breath — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
Duncan,  gin  ye'll  keep  your  aith, 
The  beast  again  can  bear  us  baith, 
And  auld  i\Iess  John  will  mend  the 
skaith. 

And  clout  the  bad  fisjrdin  o't  1 


270 


THE  HERON  BALLAD!^. 


MY   HOGGIE. 

Tune— "What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die.  ' 

What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die  ? 

My  joy,  my  pride,  my  Hoggie  ! 
My  only  beast,  I  hae  na  mae, 

And  vow  but  I  was  vogie  ! 

The   lee-lang  night  we  watch'd  the 
fauld, 

Me  and  my  faithfu'  doggie  ; 
We  heard  nought  but  the  roaring  linn, 

Amang  the  braes  sae  scroggie  ; 

But  the  howlet  cry'd  frae  the  castle 
wa', 

The  blitter  frae  the  boggie. 
The  tod  reply'd  upon  the  hill, 

I  trembled  for  my  Hoggie. 

When  day  did  daw,  and  cocks  did 
craw, 

The  morning  \i  was  foggie  ; 
An  unco  tyke  lap  o'er  the  dyke, 

And  maist  has  killed  my  Hoggie. 

WHERE  HAE  YE  BEEN. 

Tune—"  Killiecrankie." 

Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad  ? 

Where  hae  ye  been  sae  brankie  O  ? 
O,  whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw  lad  ? 

Cam  ye  by  Killiecrankie,  O. 
An'  ye  hae  been  whare  I  hae  been, 

Ye  had  nae  been  so  cantie,  O  ; 
An'  ye  hae  seen  wliat  I  had  seen, 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O. 

I  fought  at  land,  I  fought  at  sea  ; 

At  hame  I  fought  my  auntie,  O  ; 
But  I  met  the  Devil  an'  Dundee, 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O. 
The  bauld  Pitcur  fell  in  a  furr. 

An'  Clavers  got  a  clankie,  O  ; 
Or  I  had  fed  an  Athole  gled. 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O. 

COCK  UP  YOUR  BEAVER. 

Tune—"  Cock  up  your  beaver." 

When  first  my  brave  Johnnie  lad 

Came  to  this  town, 
He  had  a  blue  bonnet 

That  wanted  the  crown ; 


But  now  he  has  gotten 
A  hat  and  a  feather — 

Hey,  brave  Johnnie  lad. 
Cock  up  your  beaver  ! 

Cock  up  your  beaver, 

And  cock  it  f  u'  sprush, 
We'll  over  the  border 

And  gie  them  a  brush  ; 
There's  somebody  there 

We'll  teach  better  behavior- 
Hey,  brave  Johnnie  lad, 

Cock  up  your  beaver  ! 


THE  HERON  BALIADS. 

FIRST  BALLAD. 

Whom  will  you  send  to  London  town. 

To  Parliament  and  a'  that  ? 
Or  wha  in  a'  the  country  round 
The  best  deserves  to  fa'  that  ? 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 
Thro'  Galloway  and  a'  that ! 
Where   is  the  laird  or  belteri 

knight 
That  best  deserves  to  fa'  that  ■* 

Wha  sees  Kerroughtree's  open  yett. 

And  wha'  is't  never  saw  that  ? 
Wha  ever  wi'  Kerroughtree  meets 
And  has  a  doubt  of  a'  that  ? 
For  a'  that,  an'  a  that. 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
The  independent  patriot, 
The  honest  man,  an  a'  that. 

Tho'  wit  and  worth  in  either  sex, 
St.  Mary's  Isle  can  shaw  that ; 
Wi'  dukes  and  lords  let  Selkirk  mix, 
And  well  does  Selkirk  fa'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  ! 
The  independent  commoner 
Shall  be  the  man  for  a'  that. 

But  why  should  we  to  nobles  jouk. 

And  is't  against  the  law  that  ? 
For  wiiy,  a  lord  may  be  a  gouk, 
Wi'  ribbon,  star,  an'  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  1 
A,  lord  may  be  a  lousy  loun, 
Wi'  ribbon,  star,  an'  a'  that 


THE  ELECTION'. 


271 


A  beardless  boy  comes  o'er  the  hills, 

Wi'  uncle's  purse  an'  a'  that ; 
But  we'll  liae  aue  frae  'mang  oursels, 
A  man  we  ken,  an'  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  ! 
For  we're  not  '^to  be  bought  an' 

sold 
Like  naigs,  an'  nowt,  an'  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  drink  the  Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's  laird,  an'  a  that, 
Our  representative  to  be, 

yor  weel  he's  worthy  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
A  House  of  Commons  such  as 

he. 
They  would  be  blest  that  saw 
that. 


THE  ELECTION. 

SECOND  BALLAD. 

Fy,  let  us  a'  to  Kirkcudbright, 

For  there  will  be  bickerin'  there. 
For  Murray's  light-horse  are  to  mus- 
ter. 

And  O,  how  the  heroes  will  swear  I 
An'  there  will  be  Murray  commander, 

And  Gordon  the  battle  to  win  ; 
Like  brothers  they'll  stand  by  each 
other, 

Sae  knit  in  alliance  an'  kin. 

And  there  will  be  black-lippet  John- 
nie, 

The  tongue  of  the  trump  to  them  a' ; 
And  he  gat  na  hell  for  his  haddin' 

The  Deil  gets  na  justice  ava'  ; 
An'  there  will  be  Kempleton's  birkie, 

A  l)(\y  na  sae  black  at  the  bane. 
But,  as  for  his  fine  nabob  fortune, 

We'll  e'en  let  the  subject  alane. 

An'  there  will  be  Wigton's  new  sheriff, 

Dame  Justice  fu'  brawlie  has  sped. 
She's  gotten  the  heart  of  a  Bushby, 

But,    Lord,    what's   become   o''^the 
head  ? 
An'  there  will  be  Cardoness,  Esquire, 

Sae  mighty  in  Cai'doness'  eyes  ; 
A  wight  that  will  weather  damnation. 

For  the  Devil  the  prey  will  despise. 


An'  there  will  be  Douglasses  doughty ^ 

New  christening  towns  far  and  near! 
Abjuring  their  democrat  doings, 

By  kissing  the  —  o'  a  peer  ; 
An'  there  will  be  Kenmure  sae  gen' 
rous 

Whose  honor  is  proof  to  the  storm 
To  save  them  from  stark  reprobation 

He  lent  them  his  name  to  the  firm. 

But  we  wiima  mention  Redcastle, 

The  body  e'en  let  him  escape  ! 
He'd  venture  the  gallows  for  siller. 

An'  twere  na  the  cost  o'  the  rape. 
An'  where  is  our  King's  lord  lieuteii 
ant, 

Sae  famd  for  his  gratefu'  return  ? 
The  billie  is  gettin"  his  questions. 

To  say  in  St.  Stephen's  the  morn. 

An'  there  will  be  lads  o'  the  gospel, 

Muirhead  wha's  as  good  as  he's  true  ; 
An'  there  will  be  Buittle's  apostle, 

W^'^^'s  more  o'  the  black  than  the 
Dlue  ; 
An'  there  will  be  folk  from  St.  Mary  &, 

A  house  o'  great  merit  and  note, 
The  deil  ane  Imt  honors  them  highl}^ — - 

The  deii  ane  will  gie  them  his  vote  ! 

An'  there  will  be  wealthy  young  Rich- 
ard, 

Dame  Fortune  should  hing  by  the 
neck  ; 
For  prodigal,  thriftless  bestowing — 

His  merit  had  won  him  respect  : 
And  there  will  be  rich  brother  nabobs, 

Though  nabobs,  yet  men  of  the  first; 
An'  there  will  be  CoUieston's  whiskers, 

An'  Quinton,  o'  lads  not  the  worst. 

An' there  will  be  stamp-office  Johnnie 

Tak  tent  how  you  purchase  a  dram. 
An'  there  will  be  gay  Cassencarrie, 

An' there  will  be  gleg  Colonel  Tam; 
An'  there  will  be  trusty  Kerroughtree, 

Whose  honour  was  ever  his  law, 
If  the  virtues  were  packed  in  a  parcel, 

His  worth  would  be  sample  for  a'. 

An'  can  we  forget  the  auld  major, 
Wha'll  ne'er  be  forgot  in  the  Greys. 

Our  flatt'ry  we'll  keep  for  someothei; 
Him  onlj  'ti§  justice  to  praise. 


212 


JOHN  BUSHBT'S  LAMENTATIO'S. 


An'  there  will  be  maiden  Kilkerran, 
And  also  Barskiniming'sgudeknighii ; 
An'  Uiere  will  be  roarin"  Birt whistle, 
Wha,  luckily,  roars  in  the  right. 

An'  there,  frae  the  Niddisdale's  boi 
ders, 

Will  mingle  the  Maxwells  in  droves; 
Teugh  Johnnie,  staunch  Geordie,  an' 
Wulie, 

That  griens  for  the  fishes  an'  loaves; 
An'  there  will  be  Logan  McDowall, 

Sculdudd'ry  an'  he  will  be  there, 
An'  also  the  wild  Scot  o'  Galloway, 

Sodgerin',  gunpowder  Blair. 

Then  hey  the  chaste  interest  o'  Brough- 
ton. 
An'    hey   for    the   blessings   'twill 
bring  ! 
It  may  send  Balmaghie  to  the  Com- 
mons, 
In  Sodom  'twould  make  him  a  King, 
An'  hey  for  the  sanctified  Murray, 
Our    land    who  with   chapels  has 
stor'd  ; 
He  foundered  his  horse  among  harlots, 
But  gied  the  old  nag  to  the  Lord. 


AN  EXCELLENT  NEW 
SONG. 

THIRD  BALLAD.      (MAY,  1796.) 

Wha  will  buy  my  troggin. 

Fine  election  ware  ; 
Broken  trade  o'  Broughton, 
A'  in  high  repair, ' 

Buy  braw  troggin, 

Frae  the  banks  o'  Dee  ; 
Wha  wants  troggin 
Let  him  come  to  me. 

There's  a  noble  Earl's, 

Fame  and  high  renown. 
For  an  auld  sang — 

It's  thought  the  gudes  were  stown. 
Buy'braw  toggin,  &c. 

Here's  the  worth  o'  Broughton 

In  a  needle's  ee  ; 
Here's  a  reputation 

Tint  by  Balmaghie. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 


Here's  an  honest  conscience 

Might  a  prince  adorn  ; 
Frae  the  downs  o'  Tinwald— = 

So  was  never  worn. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here's  its  stuff  and  lining, 

Cardoness'  head  ; 
Fine  for  a  sodger 

A'  the  wale  o'  lead. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c, 

Here's  a  little  wadset 

Buittles  scrap  o'  truth, 
Pawn'd  in  a  gin-shop 

Quenching  holy  drouth. 
Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here's  armorial  bearings 

Frae  the  manse  o'  Urr  ; 
The  crest,  an  auld  crab-apple 

Rotten  at  the  core. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c.   ] 

Here  is  Satan's  picture, 

Like  a  bizzard  gled, 
Pouncing  poor  Kedcastle 

Sprawlin'  as  a  ted. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here's  the  worth  and  wisdom 

Collieston  can  boast ; 
By  a  thievish  midge 

They  had  been  nearly  lost. 
Bu}"  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here  is  ^Murray's  fragments 

O'  the  ten  commands  ; 
Gifted  by  black  Jock 

To  get  them  aff  his  hands. 
Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Saw  ye  e'er  sic  troggin  ? 

If  to  buy  ye're  slack, 
Hornie's  turnin'  chapman, — 

He'll  buy  a'  the  pack. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

JOHN    BUSHBY'S    LAMEN^ 
TATION. 

Tune—"  The  Babes  in  the  Wood." 

'TwAS  in  the  seventeen  hunder  year 

O'  grace  and  ninety -five. 
That  year  I  was  the  wae'est  mas 

O'  ony  man  alive. 


TE  SONS  OF  OLD  EILLIE. 


213 


In    March     the    three-and-twentieth 
morn, 

I'he  sun  was  clear  and  bright ; 
But  oh  I  was  a  waefu'  man 

Ere  to-fa  o'  the  night. 

Yerl  Gallowry  lang  did  rule  this  land, 

Wi'  equal  right  and  fame. 
And  thereto  was  bis  kinsman  join'd 

The  Murray's  noble  name. 

Yerl  Galloway  lang  did  rule  the  land, 
Made  me  the  judge  o'  strife  ; 

But  now  Yeri  Galloway's    sceptre's 
broke, 
And  eke  my  hangman's  knife. 

'Twas  by  the  banks  o'  bonie  Cree, 
Beside  Kirkcudbright's  towers, 

The  Stewart  and  the  Murray  there 
Did  muster  a'  their  powers. 

The  Murray  on  the  auld  gray  yaud, 
Wi'  winged  spurs  did  ride, 

That  auld  gray  yaud,  yea,  Nidsdale 
rade. 
He  staw  upon  Kidside. 

An'  there  had  na  been  the  yerl  himsel/ 
O  there  had  been  nae  play  ; 

But  Garlies  was  to  London  gane. 
And  sae  the  kye  might  stray. 

And  there  was  Balmaghie,  I  ween. 
In  front  rank  he  wad  shine  ; 

But  Balmaghie  had  better  been 
Drinking  Madeira  wine. 

Frae  the  Glenkins  came  to  our  aid, 
A  chief  o'  doughty  deed  ; 


In  case  that  worth  should  wanted  be, 
O'  Kenmure  we  had  need. 

And  by  our  banners   march'd  Muir- 
head, 

And  Buittle  was  na  slack  ; 
Whase  haly  priesthood  nane  can  stain, 

For  wha  can  dye  the  black  ? 

And  there  sae  grave  Squire  Cardoness, 
Looked  on  till  a'  was  done  : 

Sae,  in  the  tower  of  Cardouness, 
A  howlet  sits  at  noon. 

And  there  led  I  a  Bushby  clan; 

My  gamesome  billie  Will  ; 
And  my  son  Maitland,  wise  as  brave, 

My  footsteps  follow'd  still. 

The  Douglas  and  the  Heron's  name 
We  set  nought  to  their  score  ; 

The  Douglas  and  the  Heron's  name 
Had  felt  our  weight  before. 

But  Douglasses  o'  weight  had  we, 

The  pair  o'  lusty  lairds, 
For  building  cot-houses  sae  famed. 

And  christening  kail-yards. 

And  there  Redcastle  drew  his  sword., 
That  ne'er  was  stained  with  gore. 

Save  on  a  wanderer  lame  and  blind, 
To  drive  him  frae  his  door. 

And  last  came  creeping  Collieston, 
Was  mair  in  fear  than  wrath  ; 

Ae  knave  was  constant  in  his  mind. 
To  keep  that  knave  frae  scaith. 


YE  SONS  OF  OLD  KILLIE. 

Tune—"  Shawnboy." 

Ye  sons  of  old  Killie,  assembled  by  Willie, 

To  follow  the  noble  vocation  ; 
Your  thrifty  old  mother,  has  scarce  such  another 

To  sit  in  that  honour'd  station. 
I've  little  to  sa}^,  but  only  to  pray, 

As  praying's  the  ton  of  your  fashion  ; 
A  prayer  from  the  Muse  you  well  may  excuse, 

'Tis  seldom  her  favorite  passion. 

Ye  powers  who  preside  o'er  the  wind  and  the  tide. 
Who  marked  each  element's  border  ; 

Who  formed  this  frame  with  beneficent  airn, 
Whose  sovereign  statute  is  order ; 


274 


WHAI^  I  SLEEP  I  DREAM. 


Within  this  dear  mansion  may  wayward  contention 

Or  withered  envy  ne'er  enter  ; 
May  secrecy  round  be  the  mystical  bound, 

And  brotherly  love  be  the  centre  ! 


YE  JACOBITES  BY  NAME. 

Tune—"  Ye  Jacobites  by  name." 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear,  give  an  ear  ; 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear  ; 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name, 
Your  fautes  1  will  proclaim, 
Your  doctrines  I  maun  blame — 
You  shall  hear. 

What  is  righc  and  what  is  wrang,  by  the  law,  by  the  law 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang  by  the  law  ? 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang  ? 
A  short  sw*ord  and  a  lang, 
A  weak  arm,  and  a  Strang 
For  to  draw. 

What  makes  heroic  strife,  fam'd  afar,  fam'd  afar. 
What  makes  heroic  strife  fam'd  afar  ? 
What  makes  heroic  strife  ? 
To  whet  th'  assassin's  knife. 
Or  to  hunt  a  parent's  life 
Wi'  bluidie  war. 

Then  let  your  schemes  alone,  in  tlie  state,  in  the  state  ; 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone  in  the  state ; 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone,. 
Adore  the  rising  sun, 
And  leave  a  man  undone 
To  his  fate. 


SONG— AH,  CHLORIS. 

TUNK— "  Major  Graham." 

Ah,  Chloris,  since  it  may  na  be, 
That  thou  of  love  wilt  hear  ; 

If  from  the  lover  thou  maun  flee, 
Yet  let  the  friend  be  dear. 

Altho'  I  love  my  Chloris  mair 
Than  ever  tongue  could  tell  ; 

My  passion  I  will  ne'er  declare, 
I'll  say,  I  wish  thee  well. 

Tho'  a'  my  daily  care  thou  art, 
And  a'  my  nightly  dream, 

I'll  hide  the'  struggle  in  my  hearty, 
And  say  it  is  esteem. 


WHAN  I  SLEEP  I  DREAM. 

Whan  I  sleep  I  dream. 

When  I  wauk  I'm  eerie. 
Sleep  I  canna  get. 

For  thinking  o'  my  dearie. 


Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  house  are  sleeping, 
I  think  on  the  bonie  lad 

That  has  my  heart  a  keeping. 
Ay  waukin  O,   waukin  ay  and 

wearie. 
Sleep  I  cannot  get,  for  thinking 
o'  my  dearie- 


THE  HEATHER  WAS  BLOOMING. 


215 


Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  house  are  sleeping, 
I  think  on  my  bonie  lad, 

An'  I  bleer  my  een  wi'  greetin'  ! 
Ay  waukin,  &c. 

KATHARINE  JAFFRAY. 

There  liv'd  a  lass  in  yonder  dale, 
And  down  in  yonder  glen,  O  ; 

And  Katharine  JatTray  was  her  name, 
Weel  known  to  many  men,  O. 

Out  came  the  Lord  of  Lauderdale, 
Out  frae  the  south  countrie,  O, 

All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid. 
Her  bridegroom  for  to  be,  O, 

He's  tell'd  her  father  and  mother  baith, 

As  I  hear  sindry  say,  O  ; 
But  he  has  na  tell'd  the  lass  hersel' 

Till  on  her  wedding  day,  O. 

Then  came  the  Laird  o'  Lochinton 
Out  frae  the  English  border, 

All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid. 
All  mounted  in  good  order. 

THE  COLLIER  LADDIE. 

O  WHARE  live  ye  my  bonie  lass, 
And  tell  me  how  they  ca'  ye  ? 
My  name,  she  says,  is  Mistress  Jean, 
And  I  follow  my  Collier  laddie. 

0  see  ye  not  yon  hills  and  dales 
The  sun  shines  on  sae  brawly  ; 

They  a'  are  mine,  and  they  shall  be 
thine. 
If  ye'll  leave  your  Collier  laddie. 

And  ye  shall  gang  in  rich  attire, 
Weel  buskit  up  fu'  gaudy  ; 

And  ane  to  wait  at  every  hand, 
If  ye'll  leave  your  Collier  laddie. 

The'  ye  had  a'  the  sun  shines  on, 
And  the  earth  conceals  sae  lowly  ; 

1  would  turn  my  back  on  you  and  it  a', 
And  embrace  my  Collier  laddie. 


I  can  win  my  five  pennies  in  a  day, 
And  spend  it  at  night  full  brawlie ; 

I  can  make  my  bed  in  the  Collier's 
neuk, 
And  lie  down  wi'  my  Collier  laddie 

Loove  for  loove  is  the  bargain  for  me, 
Tho'  the  wee  cot-house  should  hand 
me ; 
And  the  warld  before  me  to  win  my 
bread, 
And  fare  fa'  my  Collier  laddie. 

WHEN  I   THINK   ON   THE 
HAPPY  DAYS. 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  days 
I  spent  wi'  you,  my  dearie  ; 

And  now  what  lands  between  us  iie. 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie  ! 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours 
As  ye  were  wae  and  weary  ! 

It  was  na  sae  ye  glinted  by 
When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 

YOUNG  JAMIE,  PRIDE  OP 
A'  THE  PLAIN. 

Tune—"  The  Carlin  o'  the  Glen." 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a  '  the  plain, 
Sae  gallant  and  sae  gay  a  swain  ; 
Tho'  a'  our  lasses  he  did  rove. 
And  reign'd  resistless  King  of  Love  ; 
But  now  wi'  sighs  and  starting  tears. 
He  strays  amang  the  woods  and  briers; 
Or  in  the  glens  and  rocky  caves 
His  sad  complaining  dowie  raves  : 

I  wha  sae  late  did  range  and  rove, 
And  changed  with  every  moon  my  love, 
I  little  thought  the  time  was  near. 
Repentance  I  should  buy  sae  dear  ; 
The  slighted  maids  my  torment  see, 
And  laugh  at  a'  the  pangs  I  dree ; 
While  she,  my  cruel,  scjornfu'  fair. 
Forbids  me  e'er  to  see  her  mair  I 


THE  HEATHER  WAS  BLOOMING. 

The  heather  was  blooming,  the  meadows  were  mawn. 
Our  lads  gaed  a  hunting,  ae  day  at  the  dawn. 
O'er  moors  and  o'er  mosses  and  niouie  a  glen, 
At  length  they  discovi3r'd  a  bonie  moor-hcn. 


276  EPPIE  M'NAB. 

I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  young  men  ; 
I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  young  men  ; 
Tak  some  on  the  wing,  and  some  as  they  spring, 
But  cannily  steal  on  a  bonie  moor-lien. 

Sweet  brushing  the  dew  from  the  brown  heather  bells, 
Her  colours  betray'd  her  on  yon  mossy  fells  ; 
Her  plumage  out-lustered  the  pride  o'  the  spring, 
And  O  !  as  she  wunton'd  gay  on  the  wing. 
I  red,  &c. 

Auld  Pho'bus  himsel,  as  he  peep'd  o'er  the  hill. 
In  spite  at  her  plumage  he  tried  his  skill : 
He  levell'd  his  rays  where  she  b?.sk'd  on  the  brae  — 
His  rays  were  outshone,  and  but  mark'd  where  she  lay. 
I  red,  &c. 

They  hunted  the  valley,  they  hunted  the  hill. 
The  best  of  our  lads  wi'  the  best  o'  their  skill ; 
But  still  as  the  fairest  she  sat  in  their  sight, 
Then,  whirr  !  she  was  over,  a  mile  at  a  flight. 
I  red,  &c. 

WAE  IS  MY  HEART. 

Wae  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear's  in  my  ee  ; 
Lang,  laug,  joy's  been  a  stranger  to  me  : 
Forsaken  and  friendless  my  burden  I  bear. 
And  the  sweet  voice  o'  pity  ne'er  sounds  in  my  ear. 

Love,  thou  hast  pleasures  ;  and  deep  hae  I  loved  ; 
Love,  thou  hast  sorrows  ;  and  sair  hae  I  proved  : 
But  this  bruised  heart  that  now  bleeds  in  my  breast 
J  can  feel  its  throbbings  will  soon  be  at  rest, 

O  if  I  were  where  happy  I  hae  been  ; 
Down  by  yon  stream  and  yon  bonie  castle  green  : 
For  there  he  is  wand 'ring  and  musing  on  me, 
Wha  wad  soon  dry  the  tear  frae  Phillis's  ee. 

EPPIE  M'NAB. 

O  SAW  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  V 
O  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ? 
She  s  down  in  the  yard,  she's  kissin'  the  laird. 
She  winna  come  hame  to  her  ain  Jock  llab. 
O  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ! 
O  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ! 
Whal'er  tlion  has  done,  be  it  late,  be  it  soon, 
Thou's  welcome  again  to  thy  ain  Jock  Rab, 

What  s?ys  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ? 
What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nal  ? 
She  lets  thee  to  wit,  that  she 'has  thee  forgot, 
And  for  ever  disowns  thee,  her  ain  Jock  Kab. 
O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie  ]\I'Nab  1 
O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ! 
As  light  as  the  air,  and  faiise  as  thou's  fair, 
Tliou's  broken  the  heart  o'  thy  ain  Jock  R^b, 


'^HEBE'S  NEWS,  LA88IES, 


277 


AW  O  !  MY  EPPIE. 

An'  O  !  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie  ! 
Wha  wadna  be  happy 

Wi'  Eppie  A-dair  ? 
By  love,  and  by  beauty, 
By  law,  and  by  duty, 
I  swear  to  be  true  to 

My  Eppie  Adair  I 

An'  O  !  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel ,  my  Eppie  I 
Wlia  wadna  be  happy 

Wi'  Eppie  Adair  ? 
A'  pleasure  exile  me. 
Dishonor  detile  me, 
If  e'er  I  beguile  thee. 

My  Eppie  Adair  ? 


GUDEENTO  YOU,  KIMMER. 

GuDEEN  to  you,  Kimmer, 

And  how  do  ye  do  ? 
Hiccup,  quo'  Kimmer, 
The  better  that  I'm  fou. 

We're  a'  noddin,  nid  nid  noddin. 
We're  a'  noddin  at  our  house  at 
hame. 

Kate  sits  i'  the  neuk, 

Suppin'  hen  broo  ; 
Deil  tak  Kate 

An'  she  be  a  noddin  too  ! 
We're  a  noddin,  &c. 

1       How's  a'  wi'  you,  Kimmer, 
I  And  how  do  ye  fare  ? 

A  pint  o'  the  best  o't, 
And  twa  pints  mair. 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c. 

How's  a'  wi'  you,  Kimmer, 
And  how  do  ye  thrive  ; 

How  many  bairns  hae  ye  ? 
Quo'  Kimmer,  I  hae  five. 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c. 

Are  they  a'  Johny's  ? 
Eh  1  atweel  no  : 


Twa  o'  them  were  gotten 

When  Johny  was  awa. 

We're  a'  noddin,  &jc. 

Cats  like  milk. 

And  dogs  like  broo ; 
Lads  like  lasses  weel. 

And  lassies  lads  too. 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c. 


0  THAT  I  HAD  NE'ER 
BEEN  MARRIED. 

O  THAT  I  had  ne'er  been  married, 

1  wad  never  had  nae  care  ; 
Now  I've  gotten  wife  and  bairns. 

An'  they  cry  crowdie  ever  mair. 
Ance  crowdie,  twice  crowdie. 

Three  times  crowdie  in  a  day ; 
Gin  ye  crowdie  ony  more, 

Ye'll  crowdie  a'  my  meal  away, 

Waeful  want  and  hunger  fley  me, 
Glowrin  by  the  hallen  en'; 

Sair  I  fecht  them  at  the  door. 
But  ay  I'm  eerie  they  come  ben, 
Ance  crowdie,  &c. 


THERE'S  NEWS,  LASSES. 

There's  news,  lasses,  news, 

Gude  news  I've  to  tell. 
There's  a  boat  f  u'  o'  lads 
Come  to  our  town  to  sell. 
The  wean  wants  a  cradle. 

An'  the  cradle  wants  a  cod. 
An'  I'll  no  gang  to  my  bed 
Until  I  get  a  nod. 

Father,  quo'  she,  Mither,  quo'  she, 

Do  what  ye  can, 
I'll  no  gang  to  my  bed 

Till  I  get  a  man. 
The  wean,  &c. 

I  hae  as  good  a  craft  rig 
As  made  of  yird  and  stane  ; 

And  waly  f  u'  the  ley  crap 
For  I  maun  till'd  again. 
The  wean,  &c. 


278 


THE  BONIS  LASS  OF  ALBANY. 


SCROGGAM. 

There  was  a  wife  wonn'd  in  Cockpen, 

Scroggam  ; 
She  brew'd  good  ale  for  gentlemen. 
Sing  auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me, 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  rutfum. 

The  gudewife'  dochster  fell  in  a  fever, 

Scroggam  ; 
The  priest  o'  the  parish  fell  in  anither, 
Sing  auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me, 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruilum. 

They  laid  the  twa  i'  the  bed  thegither, 

Scroggam  ; 
That  the  heat  o'  the  tane  might  cool 

the  tither. 
Sing  auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me, 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum. 


FRAE  THE  FRIENL  S  AND 
LAND  I  LOVE. 

Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love. 

Driven  by  Fortune's  felly  spite.. 
Frae  my  best  belov'd  I  rove, 

Never  mair  to  taste  delight ; 
Kever  mair  maun  hope  to  find 

Ease  frae  toil,  relief  frae  care  : 
When  remembrance  wrecks  the  mind. 

Pleasures  but  unveil  despair. 

Brightest  climes  shall  mirk  appear, 

Desart  ilka  blooming  shore. 
Till  the  Fates  nae  mair  severe. 

Friendship,  love,  and  peace  restore; 
Till  revenge,  wi'  laurell'd  head, 

Bring  our  banish'd  hame  again  ; 
And  ilka  loyal,  bonie  lad 

Cross  the  seas  and  win  his  ain. 


THE  LADDIES  BY  THE 
BANKS  OF  NITH. 

ELECTION  BALLAD,  1789. 

Tune—"  Up  aiid  waur  them  a'." 

The  laddies  by  the  banks  o'  Nith 

Wad  trust  his  Grace  wi'  a',  Jamie, 
But  he'll  sair  them  as  he  sair'd  the 

King- 
Turn  tail  and  rin  awa,  Jamie. 


Up  and  waur  them  a*,  Jami6, 
Up  and  waur  them  a'; 

The  Johnstons  hae  the  guidin'o't, 
Ye  turncoat  Whigs,  aw  a. 

The  day  he  stude  his  country's  friend, 
Or  gied  her  faes  a  claw,  Jamie. 

Or  frae  puir  man  a  blessin'  wan, 
That  day  the  duke  ne'er  saw,  Jamie, 

But  wha  is  he,  his  country's  boast  ? 

Like  him  there  is  na  twa,  Jamie  ; 
There's  no  a  callant  tculs  the  kye. 

But  kens  o'  Westcrha',  Jamie. 

To  end  the  wark,  here's  Whistlebirk, 
Lang  may  his  whistle  blaw,  Jamie  ; 

And  Maxwell  true  o'  sterling  blue, 
And  we'll  be  Johnstons  a',  Jamie. 

THE  BONIE  LASS  OF 
ALBANY. 

Tune—"  Mary's  dream." 
My  heart  is  wae,  and  unco'  wae. 

To  think  upon  the  raging  sea, 
That  roars  between  her  gardens  green 

And  the  bonie  Lass  of  Albany. 

This  lovel}^  maid's  of  royal  blood 
That  ruled  Albion's  kingdoms  three, 

But  oh,  alas,  for  her  bonie  face. 
They    hae    wrang'd    the    Lass   of 
Albany. 

In  the  rolling  tide  of  spreading  Clyde 
There  sits  an  isle  of  high  degree, 

And  a  town  of  fame  whose  princely 
name 
Should  grace  the  Lass  of  Albany. 

But  there's  a  youth,  a  witless  youth. 
That  fills  the  place  where  she  should 
be; 

We'll  send  him  o'er  to  his  native  shore, 
And  bring  our  ain  sweet  Albany. 

Alas  the  day,  and  wo  the  day  ! 

A  false  usurper  wan  the  gree, 
Who  now  commands  the  towers  and 
lands — 

The  royal  right  of  Albany. 

We'll  daily  pray,  we'll  nightly  pray, 
On  bended  knees  most  ferventlie. 
The  time  may  come,  with  pipe  and 
drum 
We'll  welcome  hame  fair  Albany, 
I  _- 


m^^a. 


279 


When  first  I  saw  fair  Jeanie's  face, 

I  conidna  tell  what  ailed  me, 
My  heart  went  fluitering  pit-a-pat. 

My  een  they  almost  failed  me. 
Slie's  ay  sae  neat,  sae  trim,  sae  tight, 

All  grace  doth  round  her  hover, 
Ae  look  deprived  me  o'  my  heart, 

And  I  became  a  lover. 
She's  aye,  aye  sae  blythe,  sae  gay. 

She's  aye  sae  blythe  and  cheerie  ; 
She's  aye  sae  bonie,  blythe,  and  gay, 

O  gin  I  were  her  dearie  ! 

Had  1  Dundas's  whole  estate, 

Or  Hopetoun's  wealth  to  shine  in  ; 

Did  warlike  laurels  crown  my  brow. 
Or  humbler  bays  entwining— 


SONG. 

Tune—"  Maggie  Lauder.' » 

I'd  lay  them  a'  at  Jeanie's  feet. 

Could  I  but  hope  to  move  her. 
And  prouder  than  a  belted  kniglit, 
I'd  be  my  Jeanie's  lover. 
She's    aye,   aye    sae  blythe,   sae 
gay,  &c. 


But  sair  I  fear  some  happier  swain 

Has  gained  sweet  Jeanie's  favoui 
If  so  may  every  bliss  be  hers, 

Though  I  maun  never  have  her  : 
But  gang  she  east,  or  gang  she  west, 

'Twixt  Forth  and  Tweed  all  over, 
While  men  have  eyes,  or  ears,or  taste. 

She'll  ahvays  find  a  lover. 

She's  aye,   aye  sae  blythe,   sae 
gay,  &c. 


APPENDIX 


ji  The  following  Elegy,  Extempore  Verses  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  and  Versides  on 
'Sign-posts,  now  for  the  first  time  published,  are  extracted,  it  is  supposed  from 
the  copy  of  his  GouDnon-place  Book  which  Burns  presented  to  Mrs.  Duulop,  of 
Dunlop.  The  copy,  after  having  been  in  the  liands  of  several  persons,  and  at 
each  remove  denuded  of  certain  pages,  came  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Stillie, 
bookseller,  Princes  Street,  Edinburgh,  some  years  since,  and  is  now  the  property 
of  Mr.  Macmillan.  Besides  the  following  p'oems,  it  contains  two  stanzas  never 
before  published  of  the  Epitaph  on  Robert  Fergusson,  versions  of  Thereicasa  Lad 
was  horn  in  Kyle,  and  Gordon  Castle,  differing  in  some  respects  from  those  com- 
monly printed  :  all  of  which  have  been  embodied  in  the  notes  to  the  present 
edition.  In  the  Gommon-jjlace  Boole  the  Elegy  is  thus  introduced  : — "  The  fol- 
lowing poem  is  the  work  of  some  hapless  unknown  son  of  the  Muses,  who  de- 
served a  better  fate.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  *  The  Voice  of  Cona,'in  hissolitar}^ 
mournful  notes  ;  and  liad  the  sentiments  beeji  clothed  in  Shenstone's  language, 
they  would  have  been  no  discredit  even  to  that  elegant  poet."  Burns,  it  will  be 
seen,  docs  not  claim  the  authorship,  and,  from  internal  evidence,  the  Editor  is 
of  opinion  that  it  was  not  written  by  him.  Still,  the  Elegy,  so  far  at  least  as 
the  Editor  is  aware,  exists  nowhere  else  ;  and  if  Burns  did  not  actually  com- 
pose it,  he  at  least  thought  it  worthy  of  being  copied  with  his  own  hand  into  a 
book  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  his  own  compositions.  Even  if  it  were  cer- 
tain that  Burns  was  not  the  author,  still,  the  knowledge  that  he  admired  it,  and 
that  through  his  agency  it  alone  exists,  is  considered  sufficient  excuse  for  its 
admission  here.  The  Extempore  Verses  to  Gavin  Hamilton  are  as  certainly 
Burns's  as  is  Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook,  or  the  Address  to  the  Deil.  The  dialect, 
the  turn  of  phrase,  the  glittering  surface  of  sarcasm,  with  the  strong  under- 
current of  sense,  and  the  peculiar  off-hand  impetuosity  of  idea  and  illustration, 
unmistakeably  indicate  Burns's  hand,  and  his  onl3^  In  the  Common-jjlact 
Book,  no  date  is  given  ;  but  from  the  terms  of  the  two  closing  stanzas,  it  would 
appear  that  the  voyage  to  Jamaica  was  in  contemplation  at  the  period  of  its 
composition.  The  last  stanza  is  almost  identical  in  thought  and  expression 
with  the  closing  lines  of  the  well-known  Dedication  to  Gaun  Hamilton,  which 
was  written  at  that  time,  and  which  appeared  in  the  first  edition  of  the  Poems 
printed  at  Kilmarnock. 

The  Versicles  on  Sign-posts  have  the  following  introduction  : — "  The  everlast 
ing  surliness  of  a  Lion,  Saracen's  head,  &c.,  or  the  unchanging  blandness  ot 
the  landlord  welcoming  a  traveller,  on  some  sign-posts,  would  be  no  bad 
similes  of  the  constant  affected  fierceness  of  a  Bully,  or  the  eternal  simper  of  a 
Frenchman  or  a  Fiddler."  The  Versicles  themselves  are  of  little  worth,  and 
are  Indebted  entirely  to  their  paternity  for  their  appearance  here 


APPENDIX. 


281 


Elegy. 

Strait  rs  the  spot  and  green  the  sod, 
From  whence  my  sorrows  flow  : 

And  soundly  sleeps  the  ever  dear 
Inhabitant  below. 

Pardon  my  transport,  gentle  shade, 
While  o'er  the  turf  I  bow  ! 

Thy  earthly  house  is  circumscrib'd. 
And  solitary  now. 

Not  one  poor  stone  to  tell  thy  name. 
Or  make  thy  virtues  known  : 

But  what  avails  to  me,  to  thee, 
The  sculpture  of  a  stone  ? 

I'll  sit  me  down  upon  this  turf. 

And  wipe  away  this  tear  : 
The  chill  blast  passes  swiftly  by. 

And  flits  around  thy  bier. 

Dark  is  the  dwelling  of  the  Dead, 
And  sad  their  house  of  rest : 

Low  lies  the  head  by  Death's  cold  arm 
In  aw^ful  fold  embrac'd. 

I  saw  the  grim  Avenger  stand 

Incessant  by  thy  side  ; 
Unseen  by  thee,  his  deadly  breath 

Thy  lingering  frame  destroy 'd. 

Pale  grew  the  roses  on  thy  cheek, 
And  wither'd  was  thy  bloom, 

Till  the  slow  poison  brought  thy  youth 
Untimely  to  the  tomb. 

Thus  wasted  are  the  ranks  of  men. 
Youth,  Health,  and  Beauty  fall 

The  ruthless  ruin  spreads  around, 
And  overwhelms  us  all. 

Behold  where  round  thy  narrow  house 
The  graves  unnumber'd  lie  ! 

The  multitudes  that  sleep  below 
Existed  but  to  die. 

Some,  with  the  tottering  steps  of  age, 
Trod  down  the  darksome  way  ; 

And  some,  in  youth's  lamented  prime, 
Like  thee,  were  torn  away. 

Vet  these,  however  hard  thy  fate. 
Their  native  earth  receives  ; 

Amid  their  weeping  friends  they  died, 
And  fill  their  fathers'  graves. 


From  thy  lov'd  friends  when  first  thy 
heart 

Was  taught  by  Heaven  to  flow  ; 
Far,  far  remov'd,  the  ruthless  stroka 

Surpris'd  and  laid  thee  low. 

At  the  last  limits  of  our  isle, 
Wash'd  by  the  western  wave, 

Touch'd  by  thy  fate,  a  thoughtful  bard 
Sits  lonely  on  thy  grave. 

Pensive  he  eyes,  before  him  spread. 
The  deep,  outstretch'd  and  vast ; 

His  mourning  notes  are  borne  away 
Along  the  rapid  blast. 

And  while,  amid  the  silent  Dead 
Thy  hapless  fate  he  mourns. 

His  own  long  sorrows  freshly  bleed. 
And  all  his  grief  returns. 

Like  thee,  cut  off  in  early  youth 
And  flower  of  beauty's  pride. 

His  friend,  his  first  and  only  joy, 
His  much  loved  Stella,  died. 

Him,  too,  the  stern  impulse  of  Fate 

Resistless  bears  along  ; 
And  the  same  rapid  tide  shall  whelm 

The  Poet  and  the  Song. 

The  tear  of  pity  which  he  shed. 

He  asks  not  to  receive  ; 
Let  but  his  poor  remains  be  laid 

Obscurely;  in  the  grave. 

His  grief -worn  heart,  with  truest  joy^ 
Shall  meet  the  welcome  shock  : 

His  airy  harp  shall  lie  unstrung 
And  silent  on  the  rock. 

O,  my  dear  maid,  my  Stella,  when 
Shall  this  sick  period  close  : 

And  lead  the  solitary  bard 
To  his  beloved  repose  ? 


EXTEMPORE. 

TO  MR.  GAVIN  HAMILTON. 

To  you,  Sir,  this  summons  I've  sent. 
Pray  whip  till  the  pownie  is  frae 
thing  ; 

But  if  you  demand  what  I  want, 
I  honestly  answer  you,  naething. 


282 


APPENDIX 


Ne'er  scorn  a  poor  Poet  like  me. 
For  idly  just  living  and  breathing, 

"While  people  of  every  degree 
Are  busy  employed  about — naeth- 
ing. 

Poor  Centum-per-centum  may  fast, 
And  grumble  his  burdies  their  claitli- 
ing; 

He'll  find,  when  the  balance  is  cast, 
He's  gane  to  the  devil  for— naething. 

The  courtier  cringes  and  bows, 

Ambition  has  likewise  its  plaything  ; 

A  coronet  beams  on  his  brows  ; 
And  what  is  a  coronet  ? — naething. 

Some  quarrel  the  Presbyter  gown, 
Some  quarrel  Episcop\l  graithing. 

But  every  good  fellow  witl  own 
Their  quarrel  is  all   about — naeth 
ing. 

The  lover  may  sparkle  and  glow. 
Approaching  his  bonie  bit  gay  thing: 

But  marriage  will  soon  let  him  know 
He's  gotten  a  buskit  up  naething. 

The  Poet  may  jingle  and  rhyme 
In  hopes  of  a  laureate  wreathing, 

And  when  he  has  wasted  his  time 
He's  kindly  rewarded  with  naething. 

The  thundering  bully  may  rage, 
And    swagger    and    swear    like    a 
heathen  ; 
But  collar  him  fast,  I'll  engage, 
You'll  find  that  his  courage  is  naeth- 
ing. 

Last  night  with  a  feminine  whig, 
A  Poet  she  could  na  put  faith  in. 

But  soon  we  grew  lovingly  big, 

I  taught  her,  her  terrors  were  naeth- 
ing. 

Her  whigship  was  wonderful  pleased, 
But  charmingly  tickled  wi'  ae'  thing; 

Her  fingers  I  lovingly  squeezed, 
And  kissed  her  and  promised  her — 
naething, 


The  priest  anathemas  may  threat,— 
Predicament,  Sir,  that  were  baith 
in  ; 

But  when  honour's  reveille  is  beat. 
The  holy  artillery's  naething. 

And  now,  I  must  mount  on  the  wave, 
My  voyage  perhaps  there  is  death 
in  : 

But  what  of  a  watery  grave  ? 
The  drowning  a  Poet  is  naething. 

And  now,   as  grim    death's    in    my 
thought, 
To  you.  Sir,  I  make  this  bequeath- 
ing : 
My  service  as  long  as  ye've  aught, 
And  my  friendship,  by  G — ,  when 
ye've  naething. 


VERSICLES    ON    SIGN- 
POSTS. 

He  looked 
Just  as  your  Sign-post  lions  do. 
As  fierce,  and  quite  as  harmless  too. 

PATIENT   STUPIDITY. 

So  heavy,   passive  to  the    tempests' 

shocks. 
Strong  on  the   Sign-post  stands  the 

stupid  Ox. 


His  face  with  smile  eternal  drest. 
Just  like  the  Landlord  to  his  guest,^ 
High  as  they  hang  with  creaking  din, 
To  index  out  the  Country  Inn. 


A  head,  pure,  sinless"  quite  of  brain 

and  soul. 
The  very  image  of  a  Barber's  Poll  ; 
It  shows  a  human  face  and  wears  a 

wig. 
And    looks,    when    well    pieservcd. 

amazing  big. 


GLOSSARY. 


A\  all 

Aback,  away  from 

Abeigb,  at  a  shy  distance 

A  boon,  above 

Abread,  abroad,  in  sight 

Abreed,  in  breadth 

Abusin',  abusing 

Acquent,  acquainted 

A'-tlay,  all  day 

Adle,  xtvtrid  ivater 

Advistinent,  advice 

Ac,  one  ;  only 

All,  off' 

All  hand,  at  once 

Aff-loof,  extempoi^anemisly 

Afore,  before 

Aften,  often 

A-gley,  off  the  right  line 

Aiblins,  perhajys 

Aik,  an  oak 

Aiken,  oaken 

Ain,  oivn 

Air,  early 

Airl-penny,  earnest  money 

Airles,  earnest  money 

Aim,  iron 

Aims,  iivns 

Airt,  direction  I  the  point  from 

which   the   wind  blow's;  to 

direct 
Airted,  directed 
Aith,  an  oath 
Aiths,  oaths 
Aits,  oats 

Aiver,  an  old  horse 
Aizle,  a  hot  cinder 
Ajee,  to  the  one  side 
Alake  1  alas! 
Alang,  along 
Amaist,  almost 
Amang,  among 
An',  and 
An's,  and  is 
Ance,  once 
Ane,  one 
Anes,  ones 
A.nither,  another 
Artfu',  artful 
Ase,  ashes 

A  sklent,  obliquely  ;  aslant 
A  steer,  astir 
A'thegiiber,  altogether 
Athort,  athwart 
Atween,  betioeen 
Aught,  eight 
Anghteen,  eighteen 
Aughtlins,    anything,   in    the 

least 
Auld,  old 
Auld's,  as  old  as 
Aulder,  older 
Auldfarran,  sagac'ums 


Aumons,  alms 
Ava,  at  all 
Awa,  away 
Awe,  to  owe 
Awee,  a.  little  time 
Awfu',  awfnl 
Awkart,  awkward 
Awuie,  bearded 
Ay,  ahvays 
Ayont,  beyond 


BA',  a  ball 

Babie-clouts,  baby-clothes 
Backets,  buckets 
Bade,  endured  /  desired 
Baggie    ^dim.    of    bag)^    the 

stomach 
Bainif,  bony,  mvscnlar 
Bairns,  children 
Bairntime,  a  family  of  children 
Baitb,  both 
Bakes,  bisctiits 
Bailats,  ballads 
Ban',  band 
Banes,  bones 
Bang,  a  stroke.    An  nnco  bang, 

a  heavy  stroke  w  effoj^ 
Bannet,  a  b^iinet 
Bannock,    a  calce  of  oatmeal 

bread 
Bardie,  dim.  of  bard 
Barefit,  barefooted 
Barkit,  barked 
Barkin,  barking 
Barm,  yeast 

Barmie,  of,  or  like  barm 
Bat'h,  a  party 
Batts,  the  botts 
Bauckie-birti,  the  bat 
Baudions,  a  cat 
Banks,  cross-beams 
Bauk-en',  e}id  of  a  bank   or 

cross-beam 
Bauld,  bold 
Bauidly,  boldly 
Baumy,  balmy 

Bawk,  an  open  space  in  a  corn- 
field, generally  a  ridge  left 

untitled 
Baws'nt,  having  a  ivhite  stripe 

down  the  face 
Bawtie,  a  familiar  name  for  a 

dog 
Be't,  be  it 
Bear,  barley 
Beastie,  dim.  of  beast 
Beets,  addsfttel  to  fire 
Befa',  befall 
Behint,  behind 
Belang,  belong  to 
Belang'd,  belonged  to 


Bel«i,  -oata 

Bellum,  a  nmse,  an  attack 

Bellyfu',  bellyful 

Belyve,  by  and  by 

Ben,  into  (he  speitce  oi' parlour 

Benmost  bove,   the  innermost 

recess,  or  hole 
Bethankit,  the  grace  after  meat 
B^  uk,  a  book 

Devil's  pictur'ci  benks,  cards 
Bicker,  a  wooden  dish.;  a  few 

steps  unwittingly 
Bid,  to  wish,  or  ask 
Bide,  to  stand,  to  endure 
Biel,  a  habitation 
Bield,  shelter 
Bien,  plentiful 
comfortably 
Big,  to  build 
Bigg,  to  build 
Bigs,  builds 
Biggin,  building 
Bill,  a  bull 
Billie,  a  good  fellow 
Billies,  yung  fellows 
Bings,  heaps  of  anything,  such 

as  turnips,  potato  s 
Birdies,  dim.  of  birds 
Birk,  the  birch 
Birk  s,  birches 
Birken,  birchen 
Birk  en    ehaw,  a  small  bi?'ch 

wood 
Birkie,  a  sririted fellow 
Birring,  whirring 
Birses,  bristles 
Bit,  crisis 
Bizzard  gled,  a  kite 
Bizz,  a  bustle 
Bizzy,  busy 
Bizzie,  busy 
Bizzies,  buzzes 
Black  Bonnet,  the  elder 
Blae,  blue ;  .'harp,  keen 
Elastic,  a  tei  m  of  contempt 
Blastit,  blasted,  withered 
Blate,  shamefaced 
Blather,  bladder 
Blaud,  to  slap 

a  quantity  of  anything 
WiSLMdhi' ,  pelting 
Blaw,  to  blow  /  to  brag 
Blaws,  blows 
Blawn.  blown 
Blawn't,  had  blo^vn  it 
Bleatin,  bleating 
Bleerit,  bleared 
Bleeze,  a  blaze 
Bleezin,  blazing 
Blellum,  an  idle  talkbig  fellow 
Blether,  the  bladder  ;  nonsense 
Blethers,  nonsense 


''    -J. 


284 


GLOSSAUT. 


Bleth'rin,  talking  idly 

Biin',  blind 

Blins,  blinded 

Blink,  a  blink  o'  rest,  a  short 
period  of  rtpote  /  a  short 
time  /   a  niouie/if  /  a  look 

Blinks,  looks  smilirigiij 

Blinkers,  a  term  of  contempt  / 
pretty  f/irls 

Blmkiii,  s'nirking 

Blirt  and  bl  n.T) ,  Jits  of  crying 

Blitter,  the  rnbv,  Shipe 

Blue  gown,  one  of  those  beggars 
who  get  aiin'ndly  at  the 
king's  bb'th-dny  a  blue  coat 
or  goivn  with  a  badge 

Blade,  blood 

Bluid,  Uood 

Bludie,  Moody 

Bluidy,  bloody 

Blume,  bloom 

Bluntie,  a  sniveller,  a  stitpid 
person 

Blypes,  large  pieces 

Bocked,  vomited 

Boddle,  a  small  coin 

Boggle,  dim.  of  bog 

Bogles,  ghosts 

Bonie,  beautiful 

Bon  nocks,  thick  cakes  of  oat 
meal  bread 

Boord,  board 

Boortrees,  elder  shrubs 

Boost,  inust  needs 

Bore,  a  hole  or  rent 

Bonk,  a  corpse 

Bouses,  drinks 

Bow-hough'd,  crook-thighed 

Bow-kail,  cabbage 

Bovv't,  crooked 

Brae,  the  slope  of  a  hill 

Braid,  broad 

Braid  iSco.s,  broad  Scotch 

Braid-claith,  broad-cloth 

Braik,  a  kind  ot' harrow 

Braing't,  reeled  for  ward 

Bvsik,^did  breaJc 

Brak's,  broke  Ms 

Brankie,  well  attired 

Branks,  a  kind  of  wooden  curb 
for  horses 

Brauy,  brandy 

Bra-»h,  sickness 

Brats,  rags 

Brattl  ■,  a  short  race 

Braw,  handsome 

Brawly,  pzrftctly 

Braxies,  morbid  sheep 

Breastie,  dim.  of  breast 

Breastit,  did  spnng  up  or  for- 
ward 

Brechan,  a  horse-collar 

Breckan,/erM 

Bree,  jidce,liguid 

Breeks,  breeches 

Brent,  straight;  smooth,  un- 
zvnnkled 

Brewin,  brewing 

Brief,  a  meriting 

Brig,  bridge 

J3rither,  brother 


^rithers,  brothers 

Brock,  a  badger 

Brogue,  a  trick 

Brob,  water  ;  broth 

Brooses,  racts  at  country  wed 
dings  who  shall  fi?'st  reach 
the  bridegrootn's  house  on 
ret  urn  i  n  gfrom  chu  rch 

Browst,  as  much  malt  I'quor  as 
is  brewed  at  a  time 

Browster-w  ives,       ale-house 
xvives 

Brngn, burgh 

Biughs,  boroughs 

Biulzio,  a  broil 

Brunstane,  brimstone 

Brunt,  burned 

Brust,  bwnt 

Buckie,  dim.  of  buck 

Buck.'^kin,  an  inhabitant  of 
Virginia 

Buff,  to  beat 

Bughtin-tinie,  the  time  of  col- 
lecting the  sheep  in  the  pens 
to  be  milked 

Buirdly,  strong,  imposing- 
looking,  zvell-knit 

Buke,  book 

Bum,  to  hum 

Bum-clock,  a  beetle 

Bumming,  making  a  noise  like 
a.  bee 

Bummle,  a  blunderer 

Bunker,  a  chest 

B'lrdies,  damsels 

Bure,  bore,  did  bear 

Burns,  streams 

Burnie,  dim.  of  burn 

Burncwin,  i  e.  burn  the  wind, 
a  blacksmith 

Bur-thistle,  the  spear-thistce 

Busking,  dressing,  decorating 

Buskit,  dressed 

Busks,  adorns 

Buss,  a  bush 

Bussle,  a  bu-tle 

But,  without 

But  an'  ben,  kitchen  and  par- 
lour 

V>Y,i)asi;  apart 

By  attour,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood,  outside 

Byke,  a  multitude :  a  he^-Hv^ 


CA',  to  drive  ;  a  call 

Ca'd,  named  ;  driven 

Ca's,  calls 

Ca"t,  called 

Ca'  throu',  to  push  forward 

Cadger,  a  carrier 

Cadie,  a  fellow 

Caff,  chaff 

Cairds,  tinkers 

Calf-ward,  a  small  inclosure 

for  calves 
Callans,  boys 
CaUer,  fresh 
Callet,  a  trull 
Cam,  came 
Cankert,  cankered  ' 


Cankrie,  eanlcerei 

Canna,  cannot 

Cannie,  carefully,  eoftLy 

CanniJie,  dexterously 

Can  tie,  in  high  spirits 

Cantin',  canting 

Cantrip,  a  charm,  a  speU 

Cape-stane,  cope-stone 

Cap'rin,  capering 

Careerin,  cheerfully 

Carl,  a  carle 

Carlie,  dim.  of  carle 

Carlin,  an  old  woman 

Cartes,  cards 

Cartie,  dim.  of  cart 

Caudrons,  cauldrons 

Cauf,  a  calf 

Cauk  and  keel,  chalk  and  red 
clay 

Cauld,  cold 

Caulder,  colder 

Caups,  ivooden  dt'inking  vessels 

Causey,  causeway 

Cavie,  a  hen-coop 

Cliamer,  chamber 

Change-house,  a  tave7-n 

Chap,  a  fellow 

Chapman,  a  pedlar 

Chaup,  a  bloiv 

Cheeii  for  chow,  cheek  by  jowl 

Cheep,  cMrp 

Cheerfu',  cheerful 

Chiels,  young  fellov^s 

Cbimla,  chimney 

Chimlie,  chimney 

Chi'  tering.  trembling  with  cold 

Chows,  cheivs 

Chuckie,  dim.  of  chuck 

Chiistendie,  Christendom 

Chuffie,  fat-faced 

Clachan,  a  hamlet 

Claise,  clothes 

Claith,  cloth 

Claith'd,  cloth'd 

Claithlng,  cl  thing 

Clamb,  clomb 

Clankie,  a  sharp  stroke 

Clap,  a  clapper 

Clark,  clerkly,  pertaining  to 
erudition 

Clark  it,  wrote 

Clarty,  dirty 

Clash,  idle  talk  ;  to  talk 

Clatter,  to  talk  idly 

Kintra  clatter,  the  talk  pf 
the  country 

Claught,  caught 

Clanghtin,  catching  at  any- 
thing greedily 

Claut,  to  snatch  at,  to  lay  hold 
of  a  quantify  scrai  ed  to- 
gether by  niggardlin£SS 

Clautet,  scraped 

Claver,  clover 

Clavers,  idle  stories 

Claw,  scratch 

Clean,  handsome 

Cleckin,  a  brood 

Clesd.  to  clothe 

deeding,  clothing 

Cleek,  to  seize 


GLOSSARY. 


285 


Cleekit,  linked  themselves 

Clegs,  gad-flies 

Cliuk,  to  rhyme  I  money 

Clinkin,  sitting  doxon  suddenly 

Clinkumbell,  the  church  tsll- 
ringer 

Clips,  shears 

Clishniaclaver,  idle  conversa- 
tion 

Clockin-time,  hatching-time 

Cloot,  the  hoof 

Clootie,  Satan 

Clours,  bumps  or  swellings 
after  a  bloio 

Clout,  to  patch  ^  a  patch 

Clouts,  clothes 

Chid,  a  cloud 

Cluds,  multitudes 

Clue,  a  portion  of  cloth  or  yarn 

Clunk,  the  sound  emitttd  by 
liquor  ivhen  shaken  in  a 
cask  or  bottle,  when  the  cask 
or  bottle  is  half  empty 

Coatie,  dim.  of  coat 

Coaxin,  coaxing 

Coble,  a  fishing-boat 

Cock,  to  erect 

Cockie,  dim.  of  cock,  a  good 
fellow 

Cocks,  good  fellows 

Cod,  a  pillow 

Co'er,  to  cover 

Coft,  bought 

Cog,  a  wooden  dish 

Coggie,  dim.  of  cog 

Coila,  from  Kyle,  a  district  of 
Ayrshire,  so  called,  saith 
tradition,  from  Coil,  or 
Coila,  a  Pictii>h  monarch 

Collie,  a  country  dog 

Collieshangie,  an  uproar,  a 
quarrel 

Commans,  commandments 

Comin',  coming 

•^cmpleenin,  complaining 

Convf  rse,  conversation 

Cood,  the  cud 

Coofs,  fools,  ninnies 

Cookit,  that  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared by  fits 

Coost,  did  cast 

Cootie,  a  wooden  kitchen  dish  ; 
Foivls  10 hose  legs  are  clad 
with  feathers  are  also  said 
to  be  coolie 

Corbies,  crows 

Corn't,  fed  toith  oats 

Corss,  the  market-place 

Couldna,  could  not 

Counted,  considered 

Countra,  country 

Conr,  to  cower 

Couthie,  kindly,  loving 

Cowe,  to  terrify.  Cowe  the  ca- 
die,  terrify  the  fellow  ;  to 
lop  ;  a  fright 

Cowp  the  cran,  to  tumble  over 

Cowpet,  tumbled 

Cowpit,  tumbled 

Cow'rin,  coioering 

Cpwr,  to  cower 


Cowt,  a  colt 

Cowte,  a  colt 

Cozie,  cozy 

Crabbit,  crabbed 

Crack,  a  story  w  harangue  • 

talk 
Crackin,  conversbig,  gossiping 
Craft,  a  croft 
Craft  rig,  a  croft  ridge 
Craig,  the  throat 
Craigie,    dim,    of     craig,    the 

throat 
Craig-^,  crags 
Craigy,  craggy 
Crailis,  land?  ails 
Crambo-clink,  rhymes 
Crambo-jingle,  rhymes 
Crankous,  irritated 
Cranreuch,  hoar  frost 
Crap,  to  CIV]} 
Craps,  civps 
Craw,  to  ovw 
Crawliu,  crawling 
Creel,  my  senses  wad  be  in  a 

creel,  to  be  crazed,  to  be 

fascinated 
Creepie  chair,  the  chair  or  stool 

of  repentance 
Creeshie,  greasy 
Crocks,  old 
Crooded, cooed 
Croods,  coos 
Cronie,  a  comrade 
Croon,  a  hollow  and  continued 

moan 
Crouchie,  crook-backed 
Crouse,  gleefully,  ivith  spirit 
Crowdie,  porridge 
Crowdie-time,  breakfast-time 
Crummock,    a    staff   with    a 

crooked  head 
Crump,  crisp 
Crunt,  a  bloiv  on  the  head  loith 

a  cudgel 
Cuddle,  to  fondle 
Cuifs,  blockheads,  ninnies 
Cummock,  a  short  staff'  ivith  a 

crooked  head 
Cunnin,  cunning 
Curch,  a  female  head-dress 
Curchie,  a  curtsey 
Curmurring,  a  rumbling  noise 
Curpin,  the  crupper 
Curple,  the  crupper 
Cushats,  wood-pigeons 
Custock,  the  centre  of  a  stem  of 

cabbage 
Cut,  fashion,  shape 
Cutty,  shoi't,  bob-tailed 


DADDIE,  father 

Daez't,  stupefied 

Daffin,  merriment 

Daft,  foolish 

Bails,  deals  of  wood  for  sitting 

on 
Daimen-icker,  an  *ar  of  corn 

now  and  then 
Daisie,  the  daisy 
J)am,  wd^r 


Damies,  dim.  of  dames 

Danton,  to  subdue 

Dang,  knocked,  pushed 

Dappl't,  dappled 

Diirin,  daring 

Darklings,  darkling 

Daud,  to  pelt 

BamWu,  ])elfing 

Dauntiiigly,  d'auntlessly 

Daur,  to  dare 

Daur't,  dared 

Daur  na,  dare  not 

Daut,  to  fondle,  toiaake  mucky 

^     ^^ 

Drtwte,  to  fondle  \ 

Dawtit,  fondled,  caressed  i 

Daurk,  a  day's  labour 

Daviely,  spii  itless 

Davie's,  King  David's 

Daw,  daxon 

Dawin,  the  daivning     " 

Dawds,  lumps,  large  pieces 

Dead-sweer,  but  little  inclined 

Deave,  to  deafen 

Deils,  devils 

Dcil  hatt,  devil  a  thing 

Deil  ma  care,  devil  may  care 

Deleerit,  delirious 

Delvin,  delving 

Descrive,  to  describe 

Deservin,  deserving 

Deservin't,  deserving  of  it 

Deuk,  a  duck 

Devel,  a  stunning  blow 

Diciionar,  a  dictionary 

Diddle,  to  strike  m-  joy 

Differ,  difference 

Dight,  cleaned  from-  chaff ;  to 

ivipe  away 
Din,  dun  in  color 
Dine,  dinnei^-time 
Ding,  to  surpass  ;  be  pushed  or 

upset 
Dings,  knocks 
Dink,  neat,  trirro 
Dim  a,  do  not 
Dinner"d,  dh\ed 
Dirl,  a  vibiating  bloiv :  to  vi- 

brate 
Dirl'd,  executed  ivith  spi^Hi 
Disagreet,  disagreed 
Dizzen,  a  dozen 
Dizzie,  dizzy 
Docliter,  daughter 
Doin',  doing 
Doiled,  stujyefied 
Donsie,  unlucky 
Dooked,  ducked 
Dools,  sojivws 
Doolfu',  sorrowful 
Doos,  pigeons 
Dorty,  superc'lious,  huffy 
Douce,  grave,  sober 
Douci'ly,  sobeily 
Doudied,  dandled 
Doughf,  covld,  might 
Dough  '■  11  a.  did  not,  or  did  not 

choose  lo 
Doup,  the  backside 
Doup-skelper,  one  that  strike 


286 


GLOSSARY. 


Dour,  stubborn 
Doure,  stiibborn 
Douser,  more  decorous 
I>o\v.  do,  can 
Dowe.  do,  cd/i 
Dovvlf ,  pithless,  silly 
Dowie,  loxv  spit  Jed 
Downa  bidf ,  cannot  stand 
Do^viia  do,  a  I  kinase  sigmfying 

impotence 
Doylt,  stupid 
l)o\  tin,  lualking  stupidly 
Dnzen'd,  impotent,  toiyid 
Do/, 111,  stupefied,  impotent 
Draiglet,  draggled 
Dm  ts.  sour  humours 
Diap,  drop,  a  small  quantity 
Drappie.  dim.  of  drap 
]Jrapping,  dTGp>ping 
Dramiting,  drawling ,  of  a  slovj 

enunciation 
Dravv't,  draw  it 
Date,  to  endure 
])n;fpinjr,  dripping 
])r.'igh,  tedious 
Dr  l»bie,  drizzle. 
DruUtle,  to  play  ;  tornoveslowly 
Drift,  a  drove.    Fe.l   aff  tlie 

drift,  ivandered  from  his 

compani'  us 
Drodduin,  the  breech 
Dione,  the  bagpipe 
Droop-riimprt,  that  droops  at 

the cruppfir 
Dfouk.  to  moisten 
J)roiikit,  wet,  drenched 
Drouth.  thi7'jt 
Droiithy,  thirsty 
i)iuken,  drunken 
Drumly,  mvddy 
Druminock.  meal  and  water 

mixed  raw 
Diiint,  jwt,  sour  humour 
Diy,  thirsty 
Dubs,  small  ponds 
Duds,  garments 
Duddie,  ragged 
Daddies,  gahnents 
Dung,  knocked 
Dunted,  beat,  thumped 
Dunts,  blows,  knocks 
Durk,  a  dirk 

Dusht,  pushed  by  at  am  or  ox 
Dwalling,  divelling 
Dwalt,  dicdt 

Dyvois.    banki-upts,    disrepu- 
table feUows 


EARNS, 

Eastlin,  eastetm 

Ee,  eye  ;  to  watch 

Een,  eyes 

E'e  brie,  the  eyebrow 

E'en,  evening 

E'enins,  evenings 

Eerie,  scared,  dreading  spirits 

Eiid,  age 

Eke,  also 

El  bucks,  elbows 

Bldritch,  frightfyl 


Eleckit,  elected 
Eller,  an  elder 
Em'brugh,  Edinburgh 
Enbriigh,  Edinburgh 
En',  end 
Enow,  enough 
Ensuin,  ensuing 
Erse,  Gaelic 
Especial,  especially 
Ether-siane,  adder-stone 
Ettle,  design 
Expeckit,  expected 
Exi)ec',  expect 
Eydent,  diligent 

FA',  lot 

Fa.,  fall 

Face't, focsd 

P^addom't,  fathomed 

Fao,foe 

F-dem,  foam 

Faikit,  bated 

Fi\i\in>-,  failings 

Fair-fa',  a  benediction 

Fairin,  a  present,  a  reward 

Fairly,  entirely,  completely 

Fallow,  a  fellow 

Fa'n,  have  fallen 

F&n\  found 

Fand,'  found 

Farls,  cakes  of  oat-bread 

Fash,  tiouble  myself 

Fash  your  thumb,  trouble  your- 
self in  the  least 

Fasirt,  troubled 

Fashous,  troublesome 

F;i6ten-een,  Fasten's  even 

Fatt'rels.  ribbon-ends 

Fanght,  afiqht 

Fauld,  a  J  old 

Y ».\\\iV\ I  g,  folding 

Faulding  slap,  the  gate  of  the 
fold 

Fa.<.u,  fallen 

Fause,  false 

Finn,  fault 

Faute,  fault 

Fautor,  a  it^ansgresso)' 

Fawsont,  seemly 

Fearfu',  /  arful 

Feat,  spruce 

Fecht,  to  fight 

Fechl'm.  fighting 

Feck,  the  greater  jjortion 

Feckly,  mostly 

Fecke'r,  an  under  tvaistcoat 
with  deeves 

Feckless,  powerless,  without 
pith 

Feg,  a  fig 

Feide,/ewc? 

Feirie,  clever 

Fell,  the  flesh  immediately  un- 
der the  skin:  keen,  biting,' 
nippy,  tasty 

Fen,  a  successful  struggle,  a 
shift 

Fend,  to  keep  off;  to  live  com- 
fortably 

"Perlie,  to  wonder ,'  a  term  of 
contempi 


Fetch't,  pulled  intermittently 
Fey,  predestined 
Fidge,  to  fidget 
Ficgiu-faiii,   fidgeting    xoith 

eagerness 
Fiel,  soft,  smooth 
Fient.  a  petty  oath.    The  fient 

a,  the  devil  a  bit  of 
Fier,  healthy,  sound;  brother,, 

friend 
F\em,  friend,  comrade 
FU.ie,  a  filly 
Fm\  find 
Fissie,  to  fidget 
Fit,  foot 
Fitlie-lan.  the  near  horse  of  the 

hindmost  pair  in  the  plough 
Fiaz,  to  make  a  hissing  noise 

like  fermentation 
F]aflan,  fiajjping,  fluttering 
F]a.e,aflea 

Fiang,  didflini,  or  caper 
Flannen,  flannel 
F\&r:'m,  flaring 
Flatt'rin,  flattering 
Fleech'd.  supplicated 
Fleechin,  supplicating 
Fleesh,  a  fleece 
Fleg,  a  kick,  a  random  stroke; 

a  sudden  motion 
Fleth' -An,  flattering 
Flewit,  a  sharp  blow 
Fley'-d,  scared 
Flichterin',  fluttering 
Flie,  a  fly 
Flinders,  shreds 
Flinging,  capering 
Flingin-tree,  a  flail 
Fnsk\t,  fret  ted 
Flit,  remove 
Fhitenns:,  fluttering 
F\yte,  to  scold 
Foagei,  squat  or  plump 
Foor,  to  fare 
Foord,  ii  ford 

Foorsday,  late  in  the  afternoon 
Forheaii'.  forefathe?'s 
Forbye,  tjesides 
Forf ai  rii .  tcorn-out,  jaded 
For  f  ough  leu .  fatigued 
Forgatlier,  to  make  acquaint- 
ance loith 
Forgatlier'd,  met 
Fovpe,  forgive 

Forjesket,  jaded  ivith  fatigue 
Forvit,  f 01  ivard 
For't,  for  it 
Fothcr, fodder 
Fou.  full ;  tipsy;  a  bushel 
Foughteu,  troubled 
Fouth,  an  abundance 
FTac,f?07n 
Frammit,  estranged 
Freath,  tojroth 
Fremit,  strange,  foreign 
Fnen\  friend 
Fright,  a  person  or  thing  of  an 

extraordinary  aspect 
Fu'.  full 

Fud,  the  scut  of  the  hare 
Fuff 't,  did  blow^ 


fSFLOSSABT. 


^umblin',  awkward 

FiudeT,furtherance 
Farms,  wooden  forms  or  seats 
Fiirnicator,  fornicator 
Furr-ah'ii,  the  hindmost  horse 

on  the  right  hand  of  the 

plough 
Ynrrs,  furrows 
Fushionlegs,  jnthless 
Fy,  an  exclamation  of  haste 
Fyke,    to  be  in  a  fuss  about 

trifles 
Fyle,  to  soil  or  dirty 
Fyl'd,  dirtied 

GAB,  to  speak  fluently;   the 

mouth 
Gabs,  tongues 
Gae,  go  ;  gave 
Gaed,  walked  j  went 
Gaen,  gone 
Gaets,  manners 
Qaira,  triangular  pieces  of  cloth 

inserted  at  the  bottom  of  a 

shift  or  robe 
Gane,  gone 
Gang,  to  go 
Gangrel,  vagrant 
Gapin,  gaping 
Gar,  to  make 
Gar't,  made 
Garten,  garter 
Gash,  sagacious 
Gashin,  conversing 
Gat,  got 

G-diti^  fmmner  /  W'^y  or  road 
Gatty,  gout]/ 

Gaucie,  comfortable  looking 
Gaud,  the  plough  shaft 
Gaudsman,    a  ploiighboy^   the 

boy  who  drives  the  horses 

in  the  plough 
Gaun,  going 
Gaunted,  yawned 
Qawcie,  jolly,  large 
QsLwkiea,  foolish  persons 
GayVies,  pretty  well 
■Gear,    wealth,    goods.     Weel- 

haiu'd    gear,   well    saved 

drink 
Geek,  to  toss  the  head  in  wan- 
tonness or  scorn 
Geds,  pike 
Gentles,  great  folks 
Genty,  slender 
Geordie,  George.    The  yellow 

letter'd  Geordie,  a  guinea 
Get,  offspring 
Ghaisls,  ghosts 
Gie,  give 
Gied,  gave 
Gien,  given 
Gi'en,  given 
Gies,  give  us 
Gif '.  if 

Giftie,  dim.  of  gift 
Gigleis,  playful  children 
Gillie,  dim.  of  gill 
Gilpey,  a  young  girl 
Gimmer,  a  ewe  from  orie  to  two 

ye<wsold 


Gin,  if 

Gipsie,  gipsy 

Girdle,  a  circular  plate  of  iron 

for  toasting  cakes  on  the 

fire 
Girn,  to  grin 
Girrs,  hoops 
Gizz,  a  wig 
G 1  a  i  k  i  t ,  thoughtless 
Glaizie,  glittei^ng 
Glamor,  glamour 
Glaum'd,  grasped 
Gled,  a  kite 
Gleed,  a  live  coal 
Gleg,  sharp  ;  cleverly,  swiftly 
Gleib,  a  glebe 

Ghh-^,nhhet, thatspeaks  smooth- 
ly and  readily 
Glinted,  glanced 
Glintin,  glancing 
Gloamin,  twilight 
Gloamin-shot,  a  tivilight  inter- 

vieiv 
Glowran,  staring 
Glowr'd,      looked     earnestly, 

stared 
Glunch,  a  frown 
Goavan,  looking  round  2Vith  a 

strange,   inguiring    gaze, 

staring  stupidly 
Gotten,  got 
Gowan,  'the  daisy 
Gowany,  daisied 
Gowd,  gold 
Gowden,  golden 
GowffM,  knocked  hither  and 

thither 
Gowk,  a  foolish  person 
Gowling,"  howling 
Graflf,  a  grave 
Grained,  grinned 
Graip,   a  ptvnged  instriiment 

for  cleaning  stables 
Graith,    har?iess,  field  imple- 
ments, accoutrements 
Granes,  groans 
Grape,  to  grope 
Graped,  groped 
Grapit,  groped 
Grat,  toept 
Gratefu',  grateful 
Grannie,  graridmother 
Gree,  a  prize;  to  agree 
Greet,  to  weep 
Gree't,  agreed 
Greetin,  weeping 
Griens,  covets,  longs  for 
Grievin,  grieving 
Grippet,  gripped,  caught  hold 

of 
Grissle,  gristle 
Grit,  great 
Grozet,  a  gooseberry 
Grumphie,  the  sow 
Grun\  the  ground 
Grunstane.'  a  grindstout, 
Gruntie,   the   countenance ;    a 

grunting  noise 
Grunzie,  the  inoutti 
Griishie,    thick,    of    fJirivitig 

growUi 


Griisome,  ill  favoured 

Grutteu,  rvept 

Gude,    the    Supreme    Being '^ 

good 
Gudeen,  good  even 
Gudemau,  goodman 
Gudes,  goods,  merchandise 
Guid,  good 
Guid-e'en,  good  even 
Guid-mon  in,  good  ?nornin§ 
Guidfather,  faUm^-in-Uw 
Guidwife,  the  mistress  of  the 

house;  the  landlady 
Gully,  a  large  knife 
Gulravage,  riot 
Gumlie,  muddy,  discoloured 
Gumption,  understanding 
Gusty,  tasteful 
Gutcher,  grandfather 


HA\  hall 

Ha'  Bible,  hall-Bible 

Ha'  folk,  servants 

Haddin,  holding,  inheritance 

Hae,  leave 

Haet,    the  least   thing.     Deil 

haet,  an  oath  of  nt nation. 

Damn'd  haet,  nothing 
^iCi,  the  half 
Haflf,  the  half 
Haffets,  the  temples 
Haffet  locks,  locks  at  the  tem- 
ples 
Hafflins,  partly 
Hafflin?-wise,  almost  half 
Hag,  a  scar,  or  gulf  in  mosses 

and  moors 
Haggis,    a   kind  of  pudding 

boiled  in  the  siomach  of  a 

coiv  or  sheep 
Hain,  to  sj)are,  to  save 
Hain'd,  spared 
Hairst,  harvest 
Haith,  a  petty  oath 
Haivers,  idle  talk 
Hal',  hall 

Haid,  an  abiding-place 
Hale,     whole,     entire;     Hale 

breeks,    breeches    without 

holes;  uninjured 
Hallan,  a  2)articular  partition 

wall  in  a  cottage 
Hallions,  clowns,  common  feU 

loivs 
Hallowmas,  the  Vist  of  October 
Haly,  holy 
Hame,  home 
Hamely,  homely 
Han',  ha?id 
Han'  afore,  the  foremost  horse 

on  the  left  hand  in   the 

plough 
Ian'  ahin,  the  hindmost  horse 

on  the  left   hand  in   tne 

plough 
Hand-breed,  a  hand-breadth 
Hand-waled,  carefully  chosen, 

by  hand 
Hand  less,  without  hands,  ua« 

le6S,  awkward 


288 


GLOSSARY. 


Eangit,  hanged 

HansL'l,  luuiisel  throne,  a  tlirove 
ntwly  inherited  ;  a  gift  for 
a  'particular  season^  or  the 
first  nioney  on  any  particu- 
lar occasion 

Ean't,  handed 

Hap,  to  wrap,  "Winter  hap, 
winter  clothing 

Hap,  hop 

Ha'pence,  half-pence 

Happer,  a  liopper 

Happing,  hopping 

Hap-9tep-an'-lo\vp,  ^»/?,  step 
and  jump,  with  a  light 
airy  step 

Hark  it,  hearkened 

Harn,  yarn 

Har'sts,  harvests 

Hash,  a  soft,  useless  fellow 

Hash'd,  did  smite,  did  dis- 
figure 

Haslock,  descriptive  of  the 
finest  wool,  being  the  lock 
that  grows  on  the  hals,  or 
throat 

Has't,  has  it 

Has  tit,  hasted 

Hand,  to  hold  I  would  keep 

Hands,  Jiolds 

Hauf,  the  hjlf 

Haughs.  low-lying  lands,  mea- 
dows 

Hauns,  hands,  as  applied  to 
workmen,  pei'sons 

Haurl,  to  drag 

Haurls,  dra(is 

Hauriin,  peeling,  dragging  off 

Hanver,  oatmeal 

Havins,  good  manners 

l{a.v"re\,'hatf-icitted 

Hawkie,  a  cow,  properly  one 
with  a  white  face 

Healsome,  wholesome 

Heapet,  heaped 

Heap  t,  heaped 

Hearin',  hearing 

Hearse,  hoarse 

Hear't,  hear  it 

Heartie,  dim.  of  heart 

Hech,  an  exclamation  of  ivon- 
der 

Hechr,  foretold  ;  offered 

Hechtih',  making  to  pant 

Heckle,  a  bdard,  in  which  are 
fixed  a  number  of  sharp 
pins,  used  in  dressing 
hemp,  flax,  etc. 

Hi-'C  baloii.  a  term  used  by  nur- 
ses when  lulling  children 

Heels  o'er-gowdy,  head  over 
heels 

Heeze,  to  elevate,  to  hoist 

Heft,  haft 

Hein-sh'inn'd,  in-shinned 

Hellim.  kelm 

Hen-boo.  hen-broth 

Hernet,  harried 

Herrin.  herring 

Eerrymeiit,  2)l>-'ndering,  devas- 


Hersel,  herself 

Het,  hot.    Gie  Mwc  ^  het,  gvce 

him  it  hot 
Heugh,  a  coalpit :  a  steep 
Henk,  a  reaping-hook 
Hich,  high 
Hidiu',  hiding 
Hie,  high 
Hilch,  to  hobble 
Hilchin',  halting 
Hill-tap,  hill-top 
Hiltie  skiltie,  helter  skelter 
Himsel,  himself 
Hiney,  hone^j 
Hing,  to  hang 
Hingin',  hanging 
Hinging,  hanging 
Hirpies.  walks  with  difficulty 
Hirplin,  limping 
Hissels,  hissel,  so  many  cattle 

as  one  person  can  attend 
Histie,  dry,  barren 
Hit'  h,  a  loop  or  knot 
Hizzies,  young  women 
Hoast,  a  cough 
Hoble,  to  hobble 
Hoddin,  the  motion  of  a  man 

on  horseback 
Hoggie,  a  young  sheep  after  it 

is  smeared  and  befoi'e  it  is 

shorn 
Hog-score,  a  kind  of  distance - 

line  drawn  across  the  nnk 
Hog-shouther,  a  kind  of  horse- 
play by  justling  with  the 

shoulder 
HoPt.  hoUd,  perforated 
Hoodie  craw,  the  hooded  crow 
Hoodock,  miserly 
HogI,  the  outer  skin  or  case 
Hoolie  '  stonf 
Hoord,  hoard 
Hoordet,  hoarded 
Horn,  a  spoon  made  of  horn  ;  a 

comb  made  of  horn 
Hornie,  Satan 
Host,  a  cough 
Host  in,  cov (thing 
HotchVl,  fidgetted 
Houghmagandie,  fornication 
Houlets,  Olds 
Honsie,  dim  of  Jiouse 
Hov'd,  sivelled 
Hodwie.  a  midtvife 
Howe,  holloivly ;  a  holloio  or 

dell 
Howe-back  it,  sunk  in  the  back 
Howes,  holloivs 
Howkit,  digged  ;  dug  up 
Howlet-faced,  faced  like  an 

owl 
Hoyse,  hoist 
Hoy'd,  urged 
Hon  te,  to  amble  crazily 
Hugho;, ////f7/i 
Hiinder,  a  hundred 
Hunkers,  hams 
Huntit,  hunted 
Hurcheon,  a  hedgehog 
H urchin,  an  urchin 
llufdies,  fi,ip^ 


Hurl,  to  fall  down  ruipf»tgly  i 

to  ride 
Hushion,  a  cushion 
Hyte,  mad    ■ 


ICKER,  an  ear  of  com 

ler'oe,  a  great-grandchild 

Ilk,  each 

Ilka,  every 

111-willie,  ill-naturea 

Indentin,  indenturing 

Ingine,  genius,  ingetlmfy 

Ingle-clieek,  the  fireside 

Ingle  lowe,  the  household  fir 

In's,  in  his 

In't,  in  it 

I"se,  I  shall  or  will 

If-na,  is  not 

Ither,  other 

Itsel,  itself 

JAD,  a  jade 

Jads,  jades 

Jan  war.  January 

Jank,  to  dully,  to  trifle 

Jaukin,  trifling,  dallying 

Jauner,  foolish  talk 

Jaunt ie,  dim.  of  jaunt 

Jaups,  splashes 

Jaw,  to  pour 

Jillet,  a  jilt 

Jimp,  to  jump  ;  slender 

J  imps,  a  hind  of  easy  stays 

Jimpy,  neatly 

Jink,  to  dodge 

Jinker,  that  turns  guickly 

Jinkcrs,  gay,  sprightly  girls 

J  ink  in,  dodging 

Jirkiiiet,  an  outer  jacket  Oi 
jerkin  ivorn  by  women 

Jirt,  a  jerk 

Jo,  sweetheart,  a  term  express' 
ing  affection  and  some  dC' 
gree  (f  familiarity 

Jobbin',  joblnng 

Joctelegs,  clasp-knives 

Joes,  love?-s 

Johnny  Ged's  Hole,  the  grave 
digger 

Jokin,  joking 

Jorum,  the  jug 

Jouk,  to  duck;  to  make  obei- 
sance 

Jow,  to  sivinq  and  sound 

Jumpit,  jumped 

Jundie,  lo  justle 

KAES,  daws 

Kail,  broth 

Kail-blade,  the  leaf  of  the  coU' 
wort 

Kail  runt,  the  stem  of  the  cole- 
wort 

Kain,  farm  produce  paid  as 
rent 

Kebars,  rafters 

Kebbuck,  a  cheese 

Kebbnck-heel,  the  remaining 
portion  of  a  cheese 

gecJile,  to  cackle,  tfj  laugJ). 


GLossAnr. 


289 


dCeekin'-glasB,  a  looMng-glass 

Keekit,  peeped 

Keeks,  pe-eps 

Keepit,  kept 

Kelpies,  waier-^pirifs 

Ken,  k?iow 

Kend,  known 

Keim'd,  known 

Kennin,  a  little  bit 

Kent,  knew 

Kep,  to  catch  anything  when 
falling 

Ket,  a  Jleece 

Kiaagh,  anxiety 

Kick  in',  kicking 

Kilbagie,  the  name  of  a  certain 
kind  of  whisky 

Killie,  Kilmarnock 

Kilt,  to  tuck  up 

Kimmer,  a  girl 

Kin',  kind 

King'8-hood,  a  part  of  the  en- 
trails of  an  ox 

Kintra,  country 

Kintra  cooser,  a  ccmntry  stal- 
lion 

Kirn,  a  churn 

Kirns,  harvest-homes 

Kirsen,  to  chHsten 

Kissin',  kissing 

Kist,  a  shop  counter 

Kitchen,  anything  that  eats 
with  bread  to  set^e  for 
soup  or  gravy 

Kitchens,  seasons,  makes  pala- 
table 

l^ititle,  to  tickle  ;  ticklish 

ii^ittlin,  a  kitten 

iiiutlin,  cuddling 

iinaggie,  like  knags,  or  points 
of  rock 

)Cnappin-hammers,  haminers 
for  breaking  stones 

'inowe,  a  hillock 

Knurl,  a  churl 

Knurlin,  a  dwarf 

Kye,  cows 

Kyle,  a  district  of  Ayrshire 

Kytes,  bellies 

Kythe,  discover 


LADDIE,  a  lad 

Lade,  a  load 

Laggen,  the  angle  between  the 
side  and  bottom  of  a  wood- 
en dish 

Laigh,  low 

Laik, lack 

Lair,  Iwe 

Lairing,  wading  and  sinking 
in  snow  or  mud 

Lalth,  loth 

Lathfu',  bashful 

Lallan,  lowland 

Lambie,  dim.  of  lamb 

Lampit,  limpet 

Lan',  land,  estate 

Lane,  lone 

Lanely,  lon^jf 


Langer,  longer 

Lap,  did  leap 

Laughin',  laughing 

Lave,  the  rest 

Lav'rocks,  lark 

Lawin,  shot,  reckoning,  bill 

Lawlan',  lowland 

Lazie,  lazy 

Lea'e,  leave 

Leal,  true 

Lea-rig,  a  grassy  Hdge 

Lear,  lore,  learning 

Lee,  the  lea 

Lee-lang,  live-long 

Leesome,  pleasant 

Leeze  me,  a  phrase  ofcongraiu- 

latoi^  ehdearyhent,  I  am 

happy  in  thee,  or  proud  of 

thee 
Leister,  a  three-barred  instru- 
ment for  sticking  fish 
Len',  lend 
Leugh,  laughed 
Leuk,  look,  appearance 
Ley  crap,  lea  crop 
Libbet,  gelded 
Licket,  beating 
Lickit,  licked  rvith  desire 
Licks,    a  beating.      Gat   his 

licks,  got  a  beating 
Liein,  telling  lies 
Lien, /am 

Lift,  heaven;  a  large  quantity 
Lightly,    to    undervalue,    to 

slight 
Liken,  to  compare   ■ 
Liit,  sing 

Limbics,  dim.  of  limbs 
Limmer,  a  kept  mistress ;   a 

strumpet 
Limpit,  limped 
Lin,  a  v)ai:rfall 
Linket,  tripped  deftly 
Linkin,  tripping 
Linn,  a  waterfall 
\AXiX,flax.    Sin  lint  was  i'  the 

bell,    since  flax    was   in 

flower 
Lintiee,  linnets 
Lippened,  trusted 
Lippie,  dim.  oi  lip 
Loan,  milking  place  ;  lane 
Lo'ed,  loved 
Lon'on,  London 
Loof ,  pahn  of  the  hand 
Loosome,  lovesome 
Loot,  did  let 
Looves,  palms 
Losh,  a  petty  oath 
Lough,  a  lake 
Louns,  ragamuffins 
Loup,  to  leap 
Lovin'  loving 
Low,  flame 
Lowan,  flaming 
Lowpin,  leaping 
Lowping,  leaping 
Lows'd,  loosed 
Lowse,  to  loosen 
Lnckie,  a  designathm  applied 

k>  (m  elderly  womoa^ 


Lng,  the  ear  /  to  produce,  to 

bring  out 
Lugget,  eared.     Luggetcaup, 

eared  cup 
Luggies,  small  wooden  dishes 

xoith  handles 
Luke,  look 
Lum,  the  chimney 
Lunardie,  a  bonnet  called  after 

Lunardi  the  aeronaut 
Lunt,  a  column  of  smoke 
Luutin,  smoking 
Luve,  love 
Luvers,  lovers 
Lyart,  grey 
Lynin,  lining 


MAE,  more 

Muir,  more 

Maist,  almost ;  that  nearl]( 

Maistly,  mostly 

Mak,  7nake 

Makin,  making 

Mai  lie,  Molly 

Mailing, /arm^ 

Mang,  among 

Manse,  a  pai^sonage  houstt 

Manteels,  mantles 

Mark,  marks 

Mar's,  year,  1715,  the  year  cj 

Ma7''s  rebellion 
Mashlum,  mixed  com 
Maskin-pat,  a  tea-pot 
Maukin,  a  hare 
Maun,  must 
Maunua,  must  not 
Maut,  rtialt 
Mavis,  the  thrush 
M&v/ in,  fnoiving 
Mawn,  a  basket;  mown 
Maybe,  perhaps 
Meere,  a  mare 
Meikle,  as  much 
Melder,  corn  or  grain  of  any 

kind  sent  to  the  mill  to  be 

ground 
Mell,  to  meddle 
Melvie,  to  soil  tvith  mud 
Men',  mend 
Mense,  good  manners 
Mess  John,  the  clergyman 
Messin,  a  dog  of  mixed  breeds 
Midden,  tlie  dunghill 
Midden-creels,  dunghill  basket 
Midden-hole,  the  dunghill 
Midge,  a  gnat 
'M.mx^prim 

Mim-mou'd,  prim-mcmtlied 
Min,  remembrance 
Min',  mind 

Minds  me,  remembers  me 
Mind't-na,  cared  not 
Minnie,  mother 
Mirk,  dark 
Misca'd,  abused 
Misguidii),  misguiding 
Mishanter,  misfortune,  disas-^ 

ter,  calamity 
Miska't,  abused 


§90 


GLossAnr. 


Mist,  missed 

Misteuk,  mistook 

Mither,  mother 

Mixtie-maxtie,  confvsedly 
mixed 

Mizzl'd,  having  different 
colors 

Moistify,  to  make  moist 

Mony,  many 

Mools,  the  earth  of  graves 

Moop,  to  nibble;  to  keej)  com- 
pany with 

Moorlaii',  moorland 

Moss,  a  morass 

Mou,  mouth 

Mondieworte,  moles 

Moiisie,  dim.  ot  mouse 

Movin',  moving 

Muckle,  great  big  ;  much 

Musie,  dim.  of  muse 

Muslin-kail,  bioth  composed 
simply  of  water,  shelled 
barley,  and  greens 

Mutchkin,  an  English  pint 

Mysel,  myself 


NA',  not;  no 

"Nae,  no 

Naebody,  nobody 

Naething,  7iOthing 

Naig,  a  nag 

Naigies.  dim.  of  nags 

Nane,  none 

Nappy,  ale 

Natch,  grip,  hold.  To  natch, 
to  lay  hold  of  violently 

Near't,  near  it 

Neebors,  neighbors 

Needna,  need  not 

Negleckit,  neglected 

Neist,  ?iext 

Neuk,  nook,  corner 

New-ca'd,  newly  driven 

Nick,  to  break,  to  sever  sud- 
denly 

Nickan,  cutting 

Nicket,  cut  off ;  caught^  cut 
off 

Nick-naekets,  cunosities 

Nicks,  knocks,  blows;  Auld 
crummie's  nicks,  marks 
on  the  ho^m  of  a  cow 

Niest,  next 

Nieve-fu',  afistfidl 

Wieves,  Jlsts 

Niffer,  exchange 

Niger,  a  negro 

Nits,  nuts 

Nooht,  nothiiig 

Norland,  Northland 

Notet,  noted 

Nowt«,  cattle 


0\of 

O'erlay,  an  outside  dress,  an 

overall 
O'erword,  any  term,  frequently 

repealed,  a  refrain 


Orra,  supernumerary 

O't,  of  it 

O'ts,  of  it  is 

Ought,  aught,  anything 

Oughtlins,   anything    in    the 

least 
Onrie,  shivering 
Oursel,  ourselves 
Out-cast,  a  quarrel 
Outler,  ttn-hotised 
Owre,  over ;  too 
Owrehip,  a  way  of  fetching  a 

blow  with  the  hammer  over 

the  arm 
Owscn,  oxen 


PACK,  pack  an'  thin,  on 
friendly  or  intimate  terms 

Packs,  twelve  stones 

Paidle,  to  paddle 

Paidles,  wanders  about  witfiout 
object  or  motive 

]*ai  jrt,  paddled 

Painch,  paunch,  stomach 

Paitricks,  partridges 

Pangs,  crams 

Parishen,  tfie  parish 

Parritch,  oatmeal  boiled  in 
water,  stirabout 

Parritch-pats,  j)0?Tidge-potS 

Fat,  jntt ;  a  pot 

Pattle,  a  jylough-stqf 

Paughty,  haughty 

Paukie,  cunning,  sly 

Pay^t,  paid 

Pechin,  the  stomach 

Pcchin,  panting 

Peel,  a  tower 

Peelin,  peeling 

Penny  wheep^  S7nall  beer 

Petticoatie.  dim.  of  petticoat 

TeMe,  a  plough-staff 

Phraisin,  Jlatiering 

Pickle,  a  small  quantity 

Pit,  jjut 

Pits,  i)^is 

Placads,  public  proclamations 

Plack,  an  old  Scotch  coin,  the 
third  part  of  a  Scotch  pen- 
ny, tiuelve  of  which  make 
an  English  penny 

Pladie,  dim.  of  plaid 

Plaiden,  plaiding 

Plaister,  toj)laister 

Platie,  dim.  of  j)l ate 

Pleugh,  plough 

Pliskie,  a  trick 

Pliver,  a  plover 

Plumpit,  plumped 

Poeks,  ruallets 

Poind,  to  seize  for  sequestration 

Poind't,  poinded 

Vooxixth,  poverty 

Posie,  a  bouquet 

Pou,  to  pull 

Pouchie,  dim.  ot  pouch 

Pouk,  to  pluck 

Poupit,  the  pulpit 

Pouse,  a  push 

Poueeie.  a  U<KV 


Pon't,  puika 
Pouts,  poults,  chicks 
Pouther'd,  powdered 
Pouthery,  powdery 
Povv,  the  h  ad,  the  skuU 
Pownie,  a  pony,  a  s?nall  horsi 
Powther,  «ow;rfer 
Praise  be  blest,  an  expression 

of  thankfulness 
Praym,  praying 
Pree,  to  taste 
Preen,  a  pint 
Prent,  print 
Vn(iQtw\p7ndefvl 
PrJe'd,  tasted 
Prief ,  proof 
Priestie,  dim.  of  Priest 
Priggin,  haggling 
Primsie,  demure,  precise 
Propone,  to  propose 
Provese?,  provosts 
Pu',  to  pull 
Pn'd,  pulled 
Puddin',  a  pudding 
Puddock-Ptools,  mus/trootns 
Pund,  pounds 
Pursie,  dim.  of  purse 
Pyet,  the  magpie 
Pyke,  to  pick 
Pyles,  gimns 


QUAICK,  quack 

Q,uat,  quit ;  quitted 

Quaukin,  quaking 

Quey,  a  cow  from  one  to  tw9 

years  old 
Quo',  quoth 


Had,  afraid 

Rade,  rode 

Ragweed,  the  plant  ragwort 

Raibles,  rattles,  nonsense 

Rair,    to  roar;    Wad    rair't 

wotdd  have  roared 
Rairin,  roaring 
Raise,  rost 

Raize,  to  madden,  w  inflame 
Ramblin,  rambling 
Ramfeezld,  /aiegi/m 
Ramgunsi.ock,  rugged 
Ram-stam.  frr-^irorrl 
Randie,  quarrelsome 
Randy,  i  term  of  opprobrium 

generally   airplied      to    a 

woman 
Ranklin',  rankling 
Ranting,  noisy,  full  of  animm 

spirits 
^ants,  jo/ liflcat'ion 
Rape,  a  rope 
Raploch,  coarse 
Rash,  a  rush 

Rash-buss,  a  bush  qf  rushes 
Rattan,  a  rat 
Rations,  rats 
Raucle,  fearless 
Raught,  reached 
Baw,  a  row 
Sax.  to  streUA 


GLOSSARY. 


29'i 


ftax'd,  stretched  <nit,  extended 

KaxiD,  stretching 

yjeam.  cream 

Kebute.  a  rebut,  a  discomfiture 

Red,  counsel 

Red-wud,  MarTc  mad 

Reekm,  smoking 

Keekit,  smoked  ;  smoky 

Reeks,  smokes 

Rec^Lit,  ^oithered,  si?iged,  stood 

restive 
Retlec',  r<:,Jlect 
Reif  randies,  sturdy  beggars 
Remead,  remedy 
Remiive,  remove 
Respeokit,  respected 
Restricked,  restricted 
Rew,  to  take  jnty 
Rickles,  stocks  of  grain 
Rig,  a  ridge 
Riggin,  r({fters 
Rigwooddie.  ivithered,  sapless 
Rin,  rioi 
Rink,  the  course  of  the  stones, 

a  term  in  curling 
R.inniu,  running 
Ripp,  a  handful  of  unthrashed 

corn 
Ripple,  weakness  in  the  back 

and  reins 
Ripplin-kame,  a  flax-comb 
Ripps,  handfuls 
Riskin,  made  a  noise  like  the 

tearing  of  roots 
Rive,  to  burst 
Rives,  tears  to  pieces 
Rives't,  tears  it 
Roastin',  roasting 
Rock,  a  distaff 
Rockin,  a  social  gathering,  the 

wo?nen   spinning   on    the 

rock  or  distaff 
Roon,  round 
Roos'd,  j)raised 
Roose,  to  praise 
Roosty,  rusty 
Rouu',  round 

Roupet,  hoarse  as  with  a  cold 
Routhie,  well  filled,  abundant 
Rowes,  rolls 
Rowin,  rolling 
Row't,  rolled 
Rov^rte,  to  low,  to  bellow 
Rowth,  abundance 
Rowtin,  lovjing 
Rozet,  rosin 
Ruefii',  rueful 
Rung,  a  cudgel 
Runki'd,  wrinkled 
Runts,  the  stems  of  cabbage 
Ryke,  reach 


SABS,  sobs 
Sae,  so 
Saf t,  soft 

Sair,  sore  /  to  serve 
Sairly,  sorely 
Sair't,  served 
Sang,  song 
Sannock,  Alexander 


Sark,  a  shir^t 

Sarkit,  provided  in  shirts' 

Sauce,  scofn,  insolence 

Saugh,  t/ie  willow 

Saugh  woodier,  ropes  made  of 
willow  withes 

Saul,  sovl 

Saunt,  saints 

Saut,  salt 

Saut  backets,  salt  buckets 

Sautet,  salted 

Saw,  to  sow 

Savi'in,  solving 

Sawmont,  a  salmon 

Sax,  six 

Saxpence.  sixpence 

S?.y'f,  say  it 

Scaith,  /iu}'t 

Scaur,  to  scare 

Scaur,  frightened 

Scaud,  to  scald 

Scawl,  a  scold 

Scho,  she 

Set  oolin',  schooling,  teaching 

Scones,  baiiey  cakes 

Scoimer,  to  loathe  ;  loathing 

Scraichin,  screaming 

Scrapin',  scraping 

Screed,  a  tear,  a  rent ;  to  re- 
veal glibly 

Scriechiri,  screeching 

Scrievin,  gliding  easily 

'^cvhw^M,'  scanty 

Scrimply,  scant ly 

Scroggie,  covered  with  stunted 
shrubs 

Scuidudd'ry,  a  hidicrous  term 
denoting  fornication 

See't,  se  it 

Seizin,  seizing 

Sel,  self 

Seirt,  sold 

Sen',  send 

Sen't,  send  it 

Servan',  servant 

Set,  lot 

Sets,  becomes  ;  sets  off,  starts 

Settlin,  gat  a  fearfu'  settlin, 
tvas  frightened  into  quiet- 
ness 

Shachl't,  deformed 

Shaird,  a  shred 

Sha'na,  shall  not 

Shangan ,  a  cleft  stick 

Shank,  the  leg  and  foot 

Shanks,  legs 

Shanna,  shall  not 

Sharin't.  sha7'ingit 

Shaul,  shallow 

Shaver,  a  wag 

Shavie,  a  frick 

Shaw,  show 

Shaw'd,  shoived 

Shawe,  wooded  dells 

Sheep-shank,  wha  thinks  him- 
eel  nae  sheep-shank  bane, 
who  thinks  himself  no  un- 
irnportant  personage 

Sheers,  shears  ;  scissors 

Sherra-moor,  Sheriff-muir 

Sheugh,  a  trench 


Sheuk,  shook 

Shift!,  a  ahieling,  at 

Shill,  shrill 

Shilliu's,  shillings 

Shog,  a  shock 

Slioois,  shovels 

Shooii,  .'•hoes 

^hor\j,  threatened ;  cl 

Shore,  to  threaten 

Shouldiia,  should  not 

Shouther,  shoulder 

Shure,  did  shear,  did  cut  grain 

Sic,  such 

Sicker,  secure 

Siclike,  .suchlike 

Sideiins,  sidelong 

Sighin',  sighing 

Siller,  money;  of  the  colour  oj 

silver 
Simmer,  summer 
Simmers,  summers 
Sin',  since 
Sindry,  sundry 
Sinfu',  sinful 
Siiiget,  singed 
Sing  n',  singing 
Siug't,  sing  it 
Sirn,  the  sun 
Sin)iy,  sunny 
Sinsyne,  since 
Skaith,  injury 
Skaithing,  injuring     - 
Skeigh,     high-mettled ;    shy, 

proud,  disdain fil 
Skellum,  a  worthless  fellow 
Skelp,  a  slap  ;  to  run 
Skelpie-limmer,     a     techn' 

term  in  female  scolding 
Skelpin,     walking    smartly; 

reasoning 
Skelping,  slapping 
Skelpit,  hurried 
Skinklin,  glittering 
Skirl,  to  shriek 
Skirl'd,  shrieked 
Skirlin,  shrieking 
Sklent,  to  deviate  from  tonith 
Sklented,  slanted^ 
Sklentin,  slanting 
Skouth,  range,  scope 
Skreech,  to  scream 
Skrieigh,  to  scream 
Skyri-n ,  anything  that  strongly 

takes  the  eije,  showy,  gaudy 
Skyte,  a  sharp  oblique  stroke 
Slade,  slid 
Slae,  the  shoe 
Slaps,  flashes;    gates,  styles, 

breaches  in  hedges 
Slaw,  slow 
Slee,  shy 
Sleeest,  slyest 
Sleekit,  sleek 
Slidd'ry,  slippery 
Sicken,    to    quench,   to  alloy 

thirst 
Sly  pet,  slipped,  fell  over 
Sma',  small 

Smeddum,  dust,  powder 
Smeek,  smoke 
Smiddy,  a  smithy 


MOSSA^T. 


fimoor'd,  smothered 
Smoutie,  smutty 
Smytrie,  a  mimber  huddled  to- 
gether 
Snap,  smart 
Snapper,  to  stumble 
Sbash,  abuse  Jmpertinence 
Snaw  broo,  melted  snow 
Snawie,  snowy 
Snawy,  snoivy 
Sned,  toloj),  to  cut 
Snell,  bitter,  biting 
Snellest,  sharpest,  keenest 
Sneeehin-mill,  a  snuff-box 
Snick,  the  lalchet  of  a  door 
Snirtle,  to  laugh  slyly 
Snool.    to  cringe,    to   submit 

tamely,  to  smib 
Snoov'd,  sneaked 
Snoov't,  went  smoothly 
Snowkit,  "nnffed 
Sodger,  a  soldier 
Sodgerin',  soldiering 
Soger,  a  soldier 
Sonsie,  jolhj,  comely 
Soom,  to  swim 
So  or,  sour 
Sootie,  sooty 
Sough,  a  heavy  sigh 
Souk,  a  s'ur-k 

Soupe,   a  spoonful,    a    small 
quantity  of  anything  liquid 
Sonple,  supple 
Souter,  a  shoemaker 
Sowps,  spoonfuls 
Sowter,  a  shoemaker 
Sowth,  to  try  over  a  tune  with 

a  low  whistle 
Sowther,  to  solder,  to  make  up 
Spae,  to  prophesy 
Spails,  chips  of  wood 
Spairges,    dashes  or  scatters 
abcut 

Spairin,  sparing 

Spak,  spake 

Spate,  ajio^d 

Spavie,  a  disease 

'Sp&\\et,  having  the  spavin, 

Spean,  to  wean 

Speel,  to  climb 

Speerd,  climbed 

Speer,  to  i7iquire 

Spence,  the  country  parlour 

Spier,  to  ask,  to  inquire 

Spier'd,  inquired 

Spier't,  inquired 

Spinnin,  spinning 

Spleuchan,  a  tobacco -ponch 

Splore,  a  frolic 

Sprackled,  clambered 

Sprattle,  to  stmggle 

Spring,  a  quick  air  in  music,  a 
Scottif:h  reel 

Spritty,  fzdl  of  spirits 

Sprush,  spruce 

Spunk,  fire ;  mettle  ;  a  spark 

Spunkie,/?/^/ ofsjnritj  whisky 

Spunkiep,  WUls  o'  the  wisp 

Spurtle,  a  stick  with  which 
porridge,  broth,  etc.,  are 
stirred  whUe  ^foiling 


Squattle,  to  sprawl 

Squeel,  to  saream 

Stacher'd,  staggered,  walked 
unsteadily 

Stacher't,  staggered 

Stack,  stuck 

Staggie,  dim.  of  stag 

Staig,  a  hoi^se  of  one,  two,  or 
three  years  old,  not  yet 
broken  for  Hding,  nor  em- 
ployed in  wo?± 

Stan',  a  stand ;  \V&d  stan't, 
would  have  stood 

Stance,  stones 

Stang,  to  sting 

Stank,  apoolorpoJid 

Stap,  to  stop 

Stark,  strong 

Starn^,  sta7'S 

Starniee,  dim  of  starns 

Startin,  stai'ting 

Startles,  runs  hur7'iedly 

Starvin,  starving 

Staukin,  stalking 

Sta'amrel,  half-witted 


Staw,  to  steal ;  to  surfeit 

Stechin,  cramming,  j^^^^tlng 
xvith  repletion 

Steek,  to  close 

Steeks,  stitches,  retiadations 

Sceer,  to  injure  ;  to  stir  up 

Steer'd,  molested 

Steeve,^/'»i,  compacted 

Stells,  stills 

Sten,  a  leap  or  bound  ;  Hasty 
stens,  hasty  stretches  or 
rushes 

Sten't,  reared 

Stents,  assessments,  dues 

Steyest,  steepest 

Stibble,  stubble 

StiDble-rig,  the  reaper  tn  har- 
vest who  takes  the  lead  /  a 
stubble-ridge 

Stick-an-8towe,  totally,  alto- 
gether 

Stilt,  halt 

Stimpart,  an  eighth  part  of  a 
Winchester  bushel 

Stlrk,  a  coiv  or  bullock  a  year 
old 

Stockin,  stocking 

Stockins,  stockings 

Stock  it,  stocked 

Stocks,  plants  of  cabbage 

Stoited,  ivalked  stupidly 

Stoitered,  staggered 

Stoor,  sounding  hollowly  or 
hoarsely 

Stoppit,  stoijped 

Stot,  an  ox 

StovLTe,  dust',  dust  blown  on 
the  wind  ;  pressure  of  cir- 
cumstances 

Stown.  stolen 

Stownlins,  by  stealth 

Stowrie,  dusty 

Stoyte,  to  stumble 

6  trade,  strode 


Strae,   a   fair  straedeattt  0 

natural  death 
Straik,  to  stroke 
Straikit,  stroked 
Strak,  struck 
Strang,  strong 
Strappan,  strapping 
Strappin,  strapping 
Straught,  straight 
istieamie?,  dim.  of  streams 
Streekit,   stretched;    Eireekiv 

owre,  stretched  across 
Strewin,  strewing 
Striddle,  to  straddle 
Stringin,  stringing 
SixQSin\,]nssed 
Studdie,  a  stithy 
Slumpie,    dim.    of    stumps   a 

short  quill 
Strunt,    spirituous    liquor    of 

any  kind  /  to  walk  sturdily 
Stuff,  co7'n 

Sturt,  to  molest,  to  vex 
Sturtin,  frighted 
Styme,  see  a  styme,  see  in  the 

least 
Sucker,  sugar 
Sud,  should 
Sugh,  a  rushing  sound 
Sumphs,  stupid  fellows 
Sune,  soon 
Suppin',  supping 
Su thro 21,  Southe7'n,  English 
Swaird,  sward 
Swaird,  stvelled 
Swank,  stately 
Swankies,    strapping    youn{, 

felloivs 
Swap,  an  exchange 
Swarf,  to  swoon 
Swat,  did  sweat 
Swatch,  sample  ;  specimen 
Swats,  ale 
Swearin',  swearing . 
Sweatin,  siveating 
Swinge,  to  lash 
Swingein,  ivhipping 
Swirl,  a  cu7've 
Swith,  swift 
Swither,  doubt 
Swoor,  sivore 
Sybow,  a  leek 
Syne,  since  y  then 


TACK,  possession,  lease 
Tackettf,  a  kind  of  nails  f<A 

d7'iving  into  the    heels  q 

shoes 
Tae,  toe;   Three-tae'd,  thret 

toed 
Taed,  a  toad 
Taen,  taken 
Tairge,  to  task  severely 
Tak,  to  take 
Tald,  told 
Tane,  the  one 
Tangs,  tongs 
Tapmost,  topmost 
Tapetless,  heedless,  foolish, 
Tappit  hen,  a  guatt  measure 


*Paps,  tops 

Tapsalteerie,  topsy-iurvy 

Tarrow,  to  murmur 

Tarrow't,  miirniured 

Tarry-breeks,  a  sailor 

Tassie,  a  goblet 

Tauld,  told 

Tawie,  that  allo^vs  itself  feace- 

ably  to  be  handled 
Tawpies,  foolish,    thoughtless 

young  persons 
Tawted,  matted,  uncombed 
Teats,  small  quantities 
Teen, 2)rovocation,  chagrin 
Teird,  told 
Tellin',  telling 
Temper  pin,    ilie  wooden  pin 

used  for  teaiperlng  or  re- 

gidating  the  motion  of  a 

spinning-wheel 
Ten-hours'  bite,  a  slight  feed 

to  the  horses  while  in  yoke 

in  the  forenoon 
Tent,  to  take  heed  ;  mark 
Tentie,  heedfid 
rentier,  more  careful 
Teughly,  toughly 
Teuk,  took 

Thack  an  rape,  clothes 
rhae,  these 
Thairm.  Jiddlest?'ings 
Thankfu,  thankful 
Thaiikit,  thanked 
Theekit,  thatched,  covered  up, 

secured 
I'hegither,  together 
yhemsels,  themselves 
Thick,  pack  and  ih'\c\i,friendly 
Thieveless,  cold,  dry,  spited 
rhigger,  begging 
rhir,  these ;  their 
fhirl'd,  thrilled 
Thole,  to  suffer,  to  endure 
Thou's,  thou  art 
Thowes,  tJiaws 
Thowless,  slack,  lazy 
Phrang,  busy ;  a  croivd 
Thrapple,  the  throat 
Thrave,  twenty  four  sheaves  of 

corn,  including  two  shocks 
Thraw,  to  sprain  or  twist ;  to 

cross  or  contradict 
Thrawin,  ttvisting 
Thrawn,  twisted 
Thraws,  throes 
Threap,  to  maintain  by  dint  of 

assertion 
Thresh,  to  thrash 
Threshing,  thrashing 
Thretteen,  thirteen 
Thretty,  thirty 
Thrissle,  the  thistle 
Throwther,        a'      throwther, 

through-other,  pell  mell 
Thuds,  that  makes  a  loud  inter- 
mittent noise;  resounding 

bloivs 
Thnmmart,  the  weasel 
Thumpit,  thumped 
thysel'  thyself 
ridins,  tidings 


GLOSSARY, 

Ti)I,  vnto 

Till't,  to  it 

Timmer,  timbsr ;  the  three 
boughs 

Timmer  propt,  timber  propt 

Tine,  to  lose  ;  to  go  astray 

Tint,  lost 

Tint  as  win,  lost  as  won 

Tinkler,  a  tinker 

Tips,  rams 

Tippence,  tivopence 

Tirl,  to  strip 

Tirrd,  knocked 

Tirlin,  unroofing 

Tither,-  the  other 

Tittlin,  whispering 

Tocher,  marriage  portion 

Tocher-band,  doivi^  bond 

Todlin,  tottering 

Tods,  foxes 

Toom,  empty 

Toop,  a  ram 

Toun,  a  hamlet,  a  farm-house 

Tout,  the  blast  of  a  horn  or 
trumpet 

Touzie,  rough,  shaggy 

Touzle,  to  rumple 

To've,  to  have 

Tow,  a  rope 

Towmond,  a  ttvelvemonth 

Towzling,  a  rumpling,  dishev- 
elling 

Toy,  a  very  old  fashion  of 
female  head-dress 

Toyte,  to  totter 

Transmugrify'd,  metamoiphos- 
ed 

Trashtrie,  trash 

Treadin',  treading 

Trews,  trousers 

Trickle,  tricky 

Trig,  spruce,  neat 

Trinklmg,  trickling 

Troggin,  wares  sold  by  wander- 
ing merchants 

Troke,  to  exchange,  to  deal 
with 

Trottin,  trotting 

Trouse,  trousers 

Trow't,  believed 

Trowth,  a  petty  oath 

Try't,  have  tried 

Tulzie,  a  quarrel 

Tunefu',  tuneful 

Tup,  a  ram 

Twa,  two 

Twa-fauld,  twofold,  dmhled 
up 

Twaihree,  two  or  three 

Twal,  twelve  o'clock 

Twalpennie  worth,  twelve- 
pemmJi'orth 

Twalt,  the  twelfth 

Twang,  twinge 

Twined,  reft 

Twins,  bereaves,  takes  away 
from 

Twi8tle,  a  twist 

Tyke,  a  vagrant  dog 

Tyne,  to  lose 

Tysday'teen,  Tuesday  evening 


299 

UNCHANCY,  dangerous 
Unco,  very;  great,  extreme: 

strange 
JJncos,  strange  things^  news^ 

the  country  side 
TJnkend,  vnknotvn 
Unkenn'd,  unknown 
IJnsicker.  unsecure 
IJnskaith'd,  unhurt 
Upo',  upon 
Upon't,  upon  it 


VAP'RIN,  vapouring 
Vauntie,  proud,  in  high  spirh 
Vera,  ve?^ 
Viewin,  viewing 
Virls,  rings  round  a  column     ' 
Vittel,  victual,  graiyi 
Vittle,  victual 
Vogie,  proud,  well  pleased 
Vow,  an  interjectian  expressive 
of  admiration  or  surprise- 

WA',  a  wall 

Wa'  flower,  the  wallflower 

Wab,  a  web 

Wabster,  a  weaver 

Wad,  would ;  a  wager  ;  to  wed 

Wad  a  haen,  would  have  had 

Wadna,  would  not 

Wadset,  a  mortgage 

Wae,  sorrowful 

Wae  days,  {voful  days 

Waefu',  woful 

Waes  me,  woe''s  me 

Waesucks  I  alas .' 

Wae  worth,  woe  befall 

Waft,  the  CI  OSS  thread  that  goes 

from  the  shuttle    thiaugh 

the  web 
Waifs,  stray . 
Wair't,  spend  it 
Wal'd,  chose 
Wale,  choice.    Pick  atd  wale, 

of  choicest  quality 
Walie,  ample,  large 
Wallop  in  a  tow,  to  hang  one''. 

self 
Waly,  ample 
Wame,  thebelly 
Wamefou,  bellyful 
Wan,  did  win  ;  eatmed 
Wanchancie,  unlucky 
Wanrestfu',  restless 
War'd,  spejit,  bestowed 
Ware,  to  sperid  ;  zvorn 
Wark,  woi'k 

Wark-lume,  a  tool  to  work  with 
Warks,  wm^ks,  in  the  sense  oj 

buildings,     manufactures^ 

&c. 
Warld,  wmld 
Warlock,  a  wizard 
Warly,  worldly 
Warran,  warrant 
Warsle,  to  wrestU 
Warst,  worst 
Warstrd,  wrestled 
Waana,  was  not 
Waet,  west 


f94 


GLOSSARY 


•Wasti '%  v'rodigalliy,  riot 

Wat,  -jet  ;  wot,  know 

Wat  1  a,  wot  not 

Wate.  brose,    brose    made     of 

n  'Ml  and  water  simply 
Watt'^i,  a  wand 
WauMe,  to  swing  oi'  reel 
WauJ-  ening ,  awakening 
WauKens,  wakens 
Wau)>  it,  thickened  with  toil 
Wau)  rjfe,  wakeful 
Wau'^e,  aivakes 
Wau  ,  to  fight,  to  defeat;  worse 
Wau  't,  wo?'sted 
Wea-  ts,  children 
Weanies,  dim.  of  weans 
Weason,  the  xveasand 
Wee,  little.     A  wee,  a   short 

1 'riod  of  time.    A  wee  a- 

c  ick,  a  small  space  behind 
Wee)   tvell 

Weel  gaun,  vjell-g(nng 
Weel  kent,  well-known 
Wee( ,  wet  ;  dew  ;  rain 
We'8  !,  we  shall  or  wiV 
Wesfiin,  tvestern 
Wha  who 
Wha  e'er,  whoever 
Wha  zle,  to  wheezf 
Wha 'pit,  'Whelped 
Wham,  whom 
Whao,  xvhen 
WhaQg,  a  large  slice  ;  to  give 

ihe  strappado 
Whar,  where 
Wha  re,  where 
Wha '8,  whose 
Whase,  whose 
Whrttfore  no  ?  for  what  reason 

not  f 
Whatt,  did  whet  or  cut 
Whaup,  a  curlew 
Whaur'll.  tvhere  will 
Wheep,  flying,  nimbly 
W hidden,  running  as  c  hare 
Whigmekeries,  crochets 
Wh'ngin,  crying,  complaining, 

fretting 
Whins,  fttrze  bushes 


Wbirlygigums,  useless  orna- 
ments 

Whisht,  peace.  Held  my 
whisht,  kept  silence 

Whi:-kit,  whisked 

Whissle,  whistle.  So  gat  the 
whissle  o'  my  groat,  to  play 
a  losing  game 

Whistle,  the  throat 

Whitter,  a  hearty  draught  of 
liquor 

Whun-stane,  whinstone,  gran- 
ite 

Whup,  a  whip 

Whyles,  sometimes 

Wi',  with 

Wick,  a  term  in  curling,  U> 
strike  a  stone  in  an  oblique 
direction 

Widdiefu,  ill-tempered 

Widdle,  a  struggle  or  bustle 

Wiel,  a  small  whirlpool 

Wifie,  dim.  of  wife 

Wight,  strong,  p)Oiverful 

Wil'  cat,  the  wild  cat 

Willi  e-w  aught,  a  hearty 
draught 

Willow  wicker,  the  smaller 
species  of  willow 

Willyart,  wild,  strange,  timid 

Wimplin,  wavering,  meander- 
ing 

Wimpl't,  wimpled 

Win',  wind 

Winkin,  zoinUng 

Winna,  will  not 

Winnock- bunker,  a  seat  in  a 
window 

Winnocks,  windows 

Wins,  winds 

Win't,  did  wind 

Wintle,  a  staggenng  motion 

Wintles,  struggles 

Winze,  an  oath 

Wiss,  wish 

Witha',  withal 

Withoutten,  without 

Wonner,  a  wondef,  a  con- 
temptuous appelleiiotk 


Won  8,  dwdts 
Woo',  wool 

Woodie,   the  gallows  ;  a  n*:^-* 
7nore  properly  one  rrj^ade'qf 

withes  or  wiUouis 
Wooer-babs,   garters    knotted 

beloio  the  knee  in  a  couple 

of  loops 
Woidie,  dim.  of  word 
Wordy,  worthy 
Worl',  world 
Worset,  worsted 
Wow,  an  exclamation  of  jdeor 

sure  or  wonder 
Wrang,  wrong ;  mistaken 
Wrariged,  wronged 
Wreeths,  wreaths 
Wud,  mad 
Wumble,  a  wimble 
Wyle,  to  beguile,  to  decoy 
Wylit'coat,  a  flannel  vest 
Wyling,  beguiling 
Wyte,  to  biame,  to  reproach 


YARD,  a  garden 

Yaud,  a  xvorn-out  horse 

Yell,  barren.  As  yell's  the  Bill 

cf icing  no  more  milk  thav 

'the  bull 
Yerd,  the  churchyard 
Yerket,  jerked,  lashed 
Yerl,  an  earl 
Ye'se,  j/ou  shallo?'  will 
Yestreen ,  yesternight 
Yetts,  gates 
Yeukin,  itching 
Yeuks,  itches 
Yill,  ale 

Y'ill-caup,  oXe-stmip 
Yird,  earth 
Yirth,  the  earth 
Yokin,  yoking,  a  boui,  atetio 
Yont,  beyona 

foursel,  yow's^lves ;  \;c*ei'9^ 
Yowes,  e^ves 
Yowie,  diM.  o"  yomji 
Yule,  ChrUtmas 


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