UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES

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X

A^/^^a^

THE

POETICAL WORKS

07

ROBERT BURNS,

WITH

A MEMOIR OE THE AUTHOR'S LIEE
Aim
4 . QLOSSAP-Y, „

LONDON :

MILNER AND COMPANY,
PATERNOSTER ROW.

• • ^ • • •

U 1 'N.

urn

MEMOIR

OP

THE LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

' This celebrated Bard was born on the 25th of January, 1769,
on the banks of the Doon, about two miles froni Ayr, near
■• to which stand the ruins of AllowayKirk, rendered immortal
' by his admirable Tale of " Tarn o' Shanter,"

His father, William Burns, was a farmer in Ayrshire, a
man of very respectable character and of more than ordinary
information and capacity. It is stated by Burns, that to
his father's observations and experience, he was indebted
for most of his little pretensions to wisdom. From such a
son this eulogium cannot be thought undeserving. In 1757
he married Asnes Brown. Our Poet was the first fruit of
this union. He was sent to school when about six years old,
where he was taught to read English and to write a little ;
and so great was his progress; that he became a critic in
English Grammar at the age of eleven, and was also remark-
able for the correctness of his pronunciation. His rudiments
of arithmetic he got from his father in the winter evenings.
He says of himself, in his letter to Doctor Moore, "At those
years I was by no means a favourite with any body. I was
a good deal noted for a retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy
something in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot piety
I Wiy, idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Thougrh

ir LIFE OF BURNS.

i: cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent
i.iiglish scholar; and by the time I was ten or eleven years
of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and participles^
In my infant and my boyish days, too, I owed much to an old
woman who resided in the family, remarkable for her igno-
rance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the
largest collection in the country, of tales and songs con-
cerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks,
spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, appari-
tions, cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other
tnimpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry; hut
had 80 strong an effect on my imagination, that to this hour,
in ray nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out
in suspicious places ; and though nobody can be more scep-
tical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes an eflForl
of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors."

Before he was nine years of age, he had acquired a strong
propensity for reading, which, however, was greatly checked
by his want of access to books. He read the life of Hannibal
tlirough with great avidity, and eagerly perused every other
book that came in his way. Even at this early period, his
scLsibility was extraordinary; yet he had not discovered
any signs of that striking ready wit for which he was after-
wards remarkable, nor betrayed the smallest symptom of
his inclinatian to music and poetry.

About a twelvemonth previous to the death of his father.
Burns, who had then attained his twenty-fourth year, became
anxious to be fixed in a situation to enable him to marrv.
His brother Gilbert and he had for several years held a small
portion of land from their father, on which they chiefly
raised flax. In disposing of the produce of their labour, our
Author took it into his head to commence flax-dresser. —
He accordingly continued at that business for about six
tnonths, but it proved an unlucky concern ; for the shop
^^ome time after taking fire, was utterly destroyed, and he
uas left not worth a sixpence.

LIFE OF BUlliXS. V

Imnaediately before the death of their father, Burns and
his brother took the farm at Mossgiel, consisting of 118
acres, at £90 per annum. It was stocked by the property
and individual savings of the whole family, and was a joint
concern. But the first year, from buying bad seed, and the
second from a late harvest, they lost half their crops.

It was about this time that he formed the connection with
Miss Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns. When the effects
of this intimacy could no longer be concealed, our Poet, in
order to screen his partner from the consequences of their
imprudence, agreed to make a written acknowledgment of
their marriage, and then endeavour to push his fortune in
Jamaica, till Providence enabled him to support a family
comfortably. This was, however, strenuously opposed by
her relations; and her father, with whom she was a gieat
favourite, advised her to renounce every idea of such an
union, conceiving that a husband in Jamaica was little better
than none. She was therefore prevailed upon to cancel the
papers, and thus render the marriage null and void. When
this was mentioned to Burns, he was in a state bordering on
aistraction, Ho offered to stay at home, and provide for
his family in the best manner possible ; but even this w as
rejected.

He then agreed with a Dr. Douglas to go to Jamaica, ae
an assistant overseer or clerk, and made every preparation
to cross the Atlantic; bat, previous to his setting off, he was
advised to publish a volume of his poems by subscription.
With the first fruits of his poetical labours, he paid his pas-
sage, and purchased a few articles of clothing, &c. Hi?
chest was already on the way to Greenock, when a letttr
fromDr. Blacklock, signifying his approbation of the poems,
and an assurance that Burns would meet with encourage-
ment in Edinburgh for a second edition, completely changed
his intentions.

Soon after his arrival in Edinburgh, (early in December,
1786,) his poems procured him the admiratioii of all condj-

VI LIFE OF BURNS.

tions. Persons of rank and power were not above taking
notice of him : and in a short time the name of Burns was
celebrated over all the kingdom. It ought here to be men-
tioned to his honour, that he had been in Edinburgh onlv
a few months, and was still in the midst of poverty,
when he erected a monument in Canon-gate church-yard
to the memory of the celebrated but unfortunate poet,
I'ergusson.

In Edinburgh, Burns beheld mankind in a new light.
Surrounded on all sides by admirers, his days were spent in
the company of the great, his evenings in dissipation. This
kind of life he led nearly a twelvemonth, when his friends
suggested to him the necessity of seeking a permanent
establishment.

Having settled accounts with his publisher in February
1788, Burns became master of nearly £500. With this sum
he returned to Ayrshire, where he found his brother Gilbert
struggling to support their aged mother, a younger brother,
and three sisters in the farm of Mossgiel. He immediately
advanced £200 to their relief. With the remainder, and
what further profits might accrae to him from his poems,
Burns seriously resolved to settle for life, and resume the
occupation of agriculture.

Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, offered him the choice of r
farm on his estate at his own terms. Burns readily accepted
this generous offer. He took with him two friends to value
the land, and fixed on the farm of EUisland, about six miles
above Dumfries, on the banks of the river Nith, on whLh
he entered at Whitsunday, 1788.

Previously to this period, however, he had been recom-
mended to the Board of Excise, by Mr. Graham, of Fintia,
and had his name enrolled among the list of candidates for
th£ humble office of an exciseman. Expecting that the Board
would appoint him to act in the district where his farm was
situated, he began assiduously to qualify himself for the
proper exercise of the employment, in the fond hopes of

LIFE OF BURNS. vii

soon uniting with success the labours of the farmer with the
duties of his new profession.

No sooner had he arranged the plan of his future pur-
suits, than his whole thoughts were bent towards the object
who had ever been nearest and dearest to his heart. Her
relations now endeavoured to promote their union with
more zeal than they had formerly opposed it; and they were
immediately united by a regular marriage, thus legalizing
their union, and rendering it permanent for life.

His fame naturally drew upon him the attention of his
neighbours, and he soon formed a general acquaintance in
the district in which he lived. Their social parties, how-
ever, too often seduced him from his rustic labours and his
rustic fare, overthrew the unsteady fabric of his resolutions,
and inflamed those propensities which temperance might
have wealcened, and prudence ultimately suppressed. It was
not long, therefore, before Burns began to view his farm
with dislike and despondence, if not with disgust.

Unfortunately he had for several years lool^ed to an office
in the excise as a certain means of livelihood, should his
other expectations fail. As has already been mentioned, he
had been recommended to the Board of Excise, and had
received the instructions necessary for such a situation. He
now applied to be employed; and, by the interest of Mr.
Graham, of Fintra, was appointed to be exciseman, or, as it
is vulgarly called, ganger, of the district in which he lived.
The duties of this disagreeable situation, besides exposing
him to numberless temptations, occupied that part of his
time which ought to have been bestowed in cultivating hut
farm ; which, after this, was in a great measure abandoned
to servants. It is easy to conjecture the consequences.
Notwithstanding the moderation of the rent, and the prudent
management of Mrs. Burns, he found it convenient, if not
necessary, to resign his farm into the hands of Mr. Miller,
after having possessed it for the spaee of three years and a
half. The stock and crop being afterwards sold by public

T" LIFE OF BUEICS.

auction, he removed, with his family, to a small house in
Dumfries about the end of the year 1791, to devote himself
to an employment which seemed from the firet to afford but
little hopes of future happiness.

He resided four years at Dumfries. During this time he
had hoped for promotion in the excise; but an event oc-
curred which at least delayed its fulfilment. The events of
the French revolution were commented on by him in a
manner very different from what might have been expected
from an officer under government. Information of thi«
was given to the Board of Excise. A superior officer in
that department was authorized to enquire into his conduct.
Burns defended himself in a letter addressed to one of the
Board, written wilh great independence of spirit, and with
more than his accustomed eloquence. The officer appointed
to enquire into his conduct gave a favourable report. His
steady friend, Mr. Graham, of Fintra, interposed hig good
offices in his behalf; and he was suffered to retain his situ-
ation, but was given to understand tha^ his promotion was
deferred, and must depend upon his future behaviour.

In the month of June, 1796, he removed to Brow, in
Annandale, about ten miles from Dumfries, to try the effect
of sea-bathing ; a remedy that at first, he imagined, relieved
rheumatic pains in his limbs, with which he had been
afflicted for some months: but this was immed.ately followed
by a new attack of fever. M'hen broueht back to his own
house in Dumfries, on the iMh of July, he was no longer
able to stand upright. The fever increased, attended with
delirium and debility, and on the 21st he expired, in the
thirty-eighth year of his age. He left a widow and four
sons. The ceremonial of his interment was accompanied
with military honours, not only by the corps of Dumfries
volunteers, of which he was a member, but by the Fencible
Infantry, and a regiment of the Cinque Port Cavalry, thea
quartered in Dumfries,

DEDICATIOlSr.

TO

THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN

OP THE

CALEDONIAN HUNT.

My Lords and Gentlemex,
A. Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest
ambition is to sing in his Country's service — where shall he
so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious names of
his native land; those who bear the honours and inherit the
virtues of their ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my country
found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha— at the
plough, and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She
bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes, and rural
pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue : I tuned
my wild, artless notes as she inspired. She whispered me
to come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay
my Songs under your honoured protection : I now obey her
dictates.

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not ap-
proach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of
Ipdication, to thank you for past favours; that path is so

ix

X DKDICATIOX.

hackneyed by prostituted Learning, that honest Rusticity Is
ashamed of it. Nor do I present this address with the venal
Boul of a servile author, looking for a continuation of those
favours : I was bred to the plough, and am independent. I
come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my
illustrious Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I glory
In the title. I come to congratulate my country, that the
blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated; and
that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, 6he
may expect protection, wealth, and liberty. In the last
place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the Great
Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your
welfare and happiness.

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the ancient
and favourite amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure
ever be of your party ; and may Social Joy await your re-
turn : when harassed in courts or camps, with the jostlings
of bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness
of injured Worth attend your return to your native seats;
and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet
you at your gates 1 May Corruption shrink at your kindling,
indignant glance; and may tyranny in the Ruler, and
licentiousness in the people, equally find you an inexorable
foe!

I have the honour to be.
With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect.
My Lords and Gentlemen,

Your most devoted humble Servant,

ROBERT BURNS.

JEdinhnrgh, Aj>ril 4, 1787

CONTENTS.

rAOH.

The Twa Dogs, a Tale I

Scotch Drink 8

The Author'g Earnest Cry and Prayer 18

The Holy Fair 19

Death and Doctor Hornbook 26

TheBri?s of Ayr 33

The Ordination 40

The Calf 44

Address to the Dell 45

The Death and dying words of Poor Mailie 50

Poor Maine's Elegy 52

To James Smith, Mauchline 34

A Dream 60

The Vision 64

Address to the unco Gude 74

Tarn SumBon's Elegy 76

Halloween 80

The Farmer's Salutation to his auld Mare Maggie 90

To a Mouse i 94

A Winter Night 96

Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 99

The Lament 103

Despondency, an Ode 106

Winter, a Dirge 108

The Cotter's Saturday Night 109

Man was made to mourn, a Dirge lln

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death 118

Stanzas on the same Occasion ....... 119

Verses left at a Friend's House 12i'

ii

Xn CONTioNTS.

The First Psalm \2\

A. Prayer under the Pressure of violent Anguish ib.

The first Six Verses of the Nineteenth Psalm 122

To a Mountain Daisy 123

To Ruin 1 25

To Miss Logan 126

Epistle to a Younsj Friend ib.

On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies 129

To a Haggis 131

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq 133

To a Louse 137

Address to Edinburgh 138

Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard 141

To the same 145

To William Simpson, Ochiltre 149

Epistle to John Rankin, enclosing some Poems 155

Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on Nithside l;"/8

Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. of 151)

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson 161

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots Ka

To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintra 167

Lament for James. Earl of Glencairn 170

To Sir John Whitefoord, with the foregoing Poem 172

Tarn o'Shanter, a Tale .' 173

On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me 1 79

Address to the Shade of Thomson ISO

On the late Captain Grose's Perigrinations 181

To Miss Cruikshanks, a very young Lady 183

On the Death of John M'Le'od, &c 18*

The humble Petition of Bruar Water 185

On scaring some Water-Fowl, in Loch Turit 188

Written in the Inn at Kenmnre, Taymouth 189

Written at the Fall of Fyers, near Loch-Ness 100

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child 101

Second Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet JPy

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer H)4

On the Death of a Lap-Dog, named Echo 1 i'S

Inscription to the Memory of Fergusson 1P6

Epistle to R. Graham, E>q ib.

Fragment, inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox V.19

To Dr. Blacklock £00

Prologue spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries 203

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of ilonboddo 204

CONTKi\T.S. Xill

Tiie Rights of Woman . . 2U3

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle 208

Verses, to a Young Lady 2('8

Verses addressed to a Lady ib.

Address to Mr. William Ty tier 209

To a Gentleman on receiving a Newspaper 210

Poem on Pastoral Poetry 212

Sketch. — New Year's Day 213

Extempore on the late Mr. William Smellie 216

Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Independence .... ib.

Answer to a Mandate 216

To a Young Lady... 818

Extempore ib.

To Mr. S**e, with a Present of Porter ib.

Poem, addressed to Mr. Mitchell 219

Sent to a Gentleman whom he had offended 220

Poem on Life lb.

Address to the Tooth-ache 222

Holy Willie's Prayer 223

Epitaph on Holy Willie 226

The Kirk's Alarm 227

Letter to John Goiidie, Kilmarnock 230

The Twa Herds 231

To Mrs. Dunlop, on Sensibility 234

Sonnet on hearing a Thrush 23.5

To the Guidwife of Wauchope House 236

To J. Ranken 23tJ

Address to an Illegitimate Child 239

To a Tailor 240

Lament of a Mother for the Death of her Son 242

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq 243

On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 244

Letter to J s T 1, of Gl— nc— r 24.5

Verses on a Young Lady .! 248

Lines presented to an old Sweetheart, then married.... ib.

Extempore. — The Invitation 249

Written in a Lady's Pocket Book ib.

Lines on Miss J. Scott, of Ayr ib.

EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, ice.

On a celebrated Ruling Elder 250

On a noisy Polemic ib.

On Wee Johnny ib.

XIV CONIENTS.

For the Author's Father 250

For Robert Aiken, Esq 251

For Gavin Hamilton, Esq 251

A Bard's Epitaph ib.

On John Dove 252

On a Friend 25a

On a Wag, in Mauchline ib.

The Henpeck'd Husband ib.

The Highland Welcome 254

A Grace before Dinner ib.

On Captain Grose ib.

SONGS AXD BALLADS.

The Jolly Beggars 2.'5

The Rigs o' Barley 207

Now Westlin Winds 266

Behind yon Hills where Lugar flows 270

Green grow the Rashes 271

Again Rejoicing Nature sees 272

The gloomy Night is gathering fast 270

From thee, Eliza, I must go 274

The Farewell 275

No Churchman am I 276

Highland Mary 277

Auld Rob Morris 273

Duncan Gray 279

Galla Water 280

The Soldier's Return 281

Meg o' the Mill 2t<3

O Logan, sweetW didst thou glide ib.

The Lea-Rig. ..'. 2i<5

Wandering Willie ib.

Had I a Cave on some wild distant Shore 286

Whistle and I'll come to thee, rfly Lad ib.

Dainty Davie .' 287

Auld Lang Syne 288

Robert Bruce's Address at Bannockburn 289

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes 290

Slie says she lo'es me best of a' 291

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks 292

For a' that and a' that 293

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet 298

Her Answer.— 0 tell na me o' wind and rain ib.

CONTENTS. ^^

Their Groves o' sweet Myrtle 2^6

0 this is na my ain Lassie 28?

Scottish Ballad. — Last May a braw wooer 298

Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher 299

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear 800

The Bilks of Aberfeldy 801

Blithe was she 302

My Chloris, mark how green the groves ib.

1 love my Jean. — Of a' the airts the wind can blaw .... 80S

Willie brew'd a Peck o' Mant 304

Tarn Glen 305

What can a young Lassie do wi' an auld man ? 306

O, for ane and twenty, Tam 307

The Banks o' Doon ib.

Sic a Wife as Willie had 308

Wilt thou be my Dearie ? 309

She's fair and fause ib.

O wat ye wha's in you Town 310

The red, red Rose 311

Song of Death 312

Imitation of an old Jacobite Song 313

To Mary in Heaven ib.

Nuebody 814

To Mary 816

Bonnie Lesley SKI

Mary Morison 817

Blithe hae I been on yon hill ib.

Bonnie Jean 818

Tibbie, I hae seen the day 820

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 821

Fair Jenny 822

Husband, husband, cease your strife ib.

How lang and dreary is the night 324

It was the charming month of May ib.

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair 825

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 826

My Nannie's awa ih.

'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin 827

Fairest Maid on Devon banks 828

The Young Highland Rover ib.

Where braving angry Winter's Storms 329

The Braes o' Ballochmyle ib.

Farewell thou Stream that winding flows 830

XVI CONTEXTS.

VAOB.

John Anderson my jo 8S1

A Rose-bud by my early walk ib.

The joyful Widower 032

Fair Eliza 833

The parting Kiss 334

Musing on the roaring Ocean ib.

Lord Gregory 835

Open the Door to me, oh ! 836

Clarinda S87

Craigie-burn ib.

Isabella. — Raving Winds around her blowing 838

The Whistle.— I sing of a Whistle 8.S9

G L03SARV 343

POEMS,

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH.

THE TWA DOGS.

A TALE.

TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o* Auld King Coili
Upon a honnie day in June,
When wearing through 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 CcesuTf
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure j
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 lockit, letter'd, braw brass collar,
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar ;
But though he was o' high degree.
The fient a pride, nae pride had he j
But wad hae spent an hour caressin
Wi' ony tinkler gipsy's messin :
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stant't as glad to see him.
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie,
A rhymmg, ranting, roving billie,
17 B 1

burns' poems.

Wha for his friend and comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,
After some dog in Highland sang,*
Was made lang syne— Gude kens how lang.

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

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither.
And unco pack and thick thegither ;
Wi' social nose whyles snuffd and snowkit ;
Whiles mice and raoudieworts they howkit ;
Whiles scour'd awa in lang excursion,
And worried ither in diversion ;
Until wi' daffin weary grown.
Upon a knowe they sat them down,
And there began a lang digression,
About the lords of the creation.

C^SAR.

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath,
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ;
An' when the gentry's life 1 saw.
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.

Our Laird gets in his racked rents,
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents;
He rises when he likes hirasel' ;
His flunkies answer at the bell :
He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ;
He draws a bonny silken purse,

• CachuUin's dog in Ossian's Fingal.

burns' poems.

As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeks,
The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks.

Frae mom to e'en it's nought but toiling,
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ;
And thouy:h the gentry first are stechin,
Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie,
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' ;
And what poor cot-folk pit their painch in,
I own it's past my comprehension.

LXJATH.

Trowth, Csesar, whiles they're fash't eneugU;

A cottar howkin in a sheugh,

Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke,

Baring a quarry, and sic like ;

Ilimsel', a wife, he thus sustains,

A sraytrie o' wee duddy weans.

And nought but his ban' darg to keep

Them right and tight in thack and rape.

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

But then, to see how ye're negleckit,
How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit ;

BURNS POEMS.

L— d man ! our gentry care sae little
For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle ;
They gang as saucy by poor folk,
As i wad by a stinking brock.

Ive noticed, on our Laird's court-day
And mony a time my heart's been wae,
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash,
How they mon thole a factor's snash ;
He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear,
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ;
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble
And bear it a* and fear and tremble !
I see how folk live that hae riches ;
But surely poor folk maun be wretches.

LUATH.

They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think ;
Though constantly on poortith's brink :
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight,
The view o't gi'es them little fright.

Then chance and fortune are sae guided,
They're aye in less or mair provided ;
And though fatigued wi' close emploj'ment,
A blink o' rent's a sweet enjoyment.

The dearest comfort o' their lives.
Their grushie weans and faithfu' wives ;
The prattling things are just their pride,
That sweetens a' their lire-side.

And whiles twal penny 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 and priests,
■\Vi' kindling fury in their breasts ;
Or tell what new taxation's comin.
And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on.

burns' poems.

As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns,
They get the jovia.1, rantin kirns,
When ruial life o' every station,
Unite in common recreation ;
Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth
Forget there's Care upo' the earth.

That merry day the year begins
They bar the door on frosty win's ;
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,
And sheds a heart- inspiring stream ;
The lunting pipe, and sneeshing mill,
Are handed round wi' right gude-will ;
The canty auld folk cracking crouse,
The young anes ranting through the house.
My heart lias been sae fain to see them,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.

Still it's owre true that ye hae said.
Sic game is now owre often play d.
There's mony a creditable stock
O' decent, honest-fassont folk,
Are riven out baith root and branch,
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,
Wha thinks to knit hirasel the faster
In favour wi' some gentle master,
Wha, aiblins, thrang a-parliamentin.
For Britain's gude his saul indentiji.

C^SAR.

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ;

Fur Britain's gude ! gude faith I doubt it

Say rather, gaun, as Premiers lead him.

And saying ay or no's they bid liim !

At operas and plays parading.

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading.

Or maybe, in a frolic daft.

To Hague or Calais take a watt,

BURNS' POEMS.

To mak a tour and tak a whirl,
To learn bo7i ton, and see the warl.*

There, at Vienna, or Versailles ,
He rives his father's auld entails ;
Or by Madrid he takes the route,
To thrum guitars and fetcht wi' nowt ;
Or down Italian vista startles,
Wh-re-hunting aman^ groves o* myrtles ;
Then bouses drumly German water,
To mak himsel look fair and fatter,
And clear the consequential sorrows,
Love-gifts of carnival signoras,
For JBritain's gnde I for her destruction !
Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction.

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

O wad they stay aback frae courts.
And please themselves wi' country sports,
It wad for every ane be better,
The laird, the tenant, and the cottar !
For the frank, ran tin, rambling billies,
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows,
Except for breaking o' their timmer.
Or speaking lightly o' their limmer.
Or shooting o' a hare or moor-cock.
The ne'er a bit, they'r ill to poor folk.

But will ye tell me, Maister Ccesar,
Sure great folk's life's a life of pleasure !
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer tlieiu,
The very thought o't needna fear them,

BURNS' POEMS.
C^SAR.

L— d, man ! were ye but whiles where I am,
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em.

It's true, they needna starve or sweat,
Thro' winter's cauld or simmer's heat ;
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes,
And fill auld age wi' grips and 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,
And aye the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them :
A country fellow at the pleugh.
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh ;
A country lassie at her wheel ;
Her dizzens done, she's unco weel ;
But gentlemen, and ladies warst,
Wi' evendown want o' wark are curst.
They loiter, lounging, lank and lazy ;
Though de'il huet ails them, yet uneasy ,
Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless ;
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless ;
And e'en their sports, their balls, and races,
There galloping through public places ;
There's sic parade, sic pomp and art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.
The men cast out in party matches.
Then souther a' in deep debauches :
Ae night they're mad wi' drink and wh-ring,
Neist day their life is past enduring.
The ladies arra-in-arra, in clusters,
As great and gracious a' as sisters ;
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither,
They're a' run de'ils and jades thegither.
Whiles, owre the wee bit cup and plaitie,
They sip the scandal-potion pretty ;

burns' poems.

Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks,
Pore owre the devil's picture beuks ;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stack-yard.
And cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard.

There's some exception, man and woman
But this is gentry's life in common.

By this the sun was out o' sight,
And darker gloamin brought the night ;
The bum-clock humra'd wi' lazy drone.
The kye stood rowtin* i' the loan ;
When up they gat and shook their lugs.
Rejoiced they were na men but dogs ;
And each took aff hia several way.
Resolved to meet some ither day.

SCOTCH DRINK.

GiG him strong drink until he wink,

That's sinking in despair;
And liqour gude to fire his blude,

Thai's prest wi' grief and care ;

There let him bouse, and deep carouse.

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

And minds his griefs no more.

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6,

Let other poets raise a fracas,

'Bout vines, and wines, and drunken Bacchus,

And crabbit names and stories wrack us.

And grate our lug,
I sing the juice Scotch Bear can mak us,

In glass or jug.

O thou, mv Muse ! gude auid Scotch Brink I
Whether through wimplin^ worms thou jink

burns' poems.

Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,

In glorious faern,
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink,

To sing thy name !

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn,
And aits set up their awnie horn.
And pease and beans at e'en or mom,

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

Thou king o' grain!

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,
In souple scones, the wale o' food !
Or tumbling 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, and keeps us livin ;
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,
When heavy dragg'd wi pine and grievin ;

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

Wi' rattlin glee.

Thou clears 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 ;
His wee drap parritch, or his bread,

Thou Idichens fine.

r.') burns' poems.

Thou art the life o' public haunts ;

But thee, what were our fairs and rants ?

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saints,

By thee ispired,
When gaping they besiege the tents,

Are doubly fired.

That merry night we get the com in,
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in !
Or reekin on a New-year mornin

In cog or bicker,
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual bum in,

And gusty sucker !

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,
And ploughmen gather wi' their gaith,
O rare ! to see thee fizz and freath

I' the luggit caup !
The Bumewin* comes on like death

At ev'ry chaup.

Nae mercy then for aim or steel :
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel.
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel

The strong forehammer,
Till block and studdie ring and reel

Wi' dinsome clamour.

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

Wae worth the name I
Nae howdie gets a social night,

Or plack frae them.

• Bumewin — Burn—tlie—Tvvid—i\ie Blacksmith.

burns' poems. U

When neebors anger at a plea,
And just as wud as wud 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 countrymen wi' treason ;
But monie daily weet their weason

Wi' liqours nice,
And hardly, in a winter's season.

E'en spier her price.

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash !
Fell source o' mony a pain and brash !
Twins monie a poor, doylt drucken hash

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

To her warst faes.

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well !
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,
Poor plackless deevils like mysel !

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

Of foreign gill.

May gravels round his blather wrench,
And gouts torment them inch by inch,
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch

O' sour disdain,
Out-owre a glass o' tvhisky -punch.

Wi' honest men.

O Whisky ! soul of plays and pranks I
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks !

12 burns' poems.

When wanting tbee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses !

Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks

At ither's a— s !

Thee Ferintosh ! O sadly lost !
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast !
?fow colic grips, and barking 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 ^VhishJ Stells their prize !
Hand up thy ban', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice!

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

For poor d— n'd drinkers.

Fortune ! if thouHl but gie me still
Hale breeks, a sconce, and Whisky gill.
And routh o' rhyme to rave at will,

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

Directs thee best.

BURNS* POEMS. 13

THE author's

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER*

TO THE

SCOTCH KEPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OP

COMMONS.

Dearest of Distillation ? last and best

How art thou lost I

Parody on Milton.

Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires,
Wha represeJit our burghs and shires,
And doucely manage our affairs

In parliament,
To you a simple Poet's prayers

Are humbly sent.

Alas ! my roupet muse is hearse !

Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce,

To see her sitting on her a—

Low i* the dust,
And scriechin out prosaic verse.

An' like to brust ?

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

On Aquavitce ;
An' rouse them up to strong conviction,

An' move their pity.

• This was written before the act anent the Scottish Dis-
Ulleries, of session 1786, for which Scotland and the author
return their most grateful thanKs.

14 burns' poems.

stand forth, and tell yon Premier Youtk,

The honest, open, naked truth ;

Tell him o' mme and Scotland's drouth,

His servants humble :
The muckle deevil blaw ye south,

If ye dissemble !

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom !
Speak out, and never fash your thumb :
Let posts and pensions sink or soom

\Vi' them wha grant 'em ;
If honestly they canna come,

Far better want 'em.

In gatherin votes you were na slack ;
Now stand as tightly by your tack ;
Ne'er claw your lug, and fidge your back.

And hum and haw ;
But raise your arm, and tell your crack

Before them a'.

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrisscl,
Her mutchkin-stoup as toom's a whissel;
And damm'd Exciseman in a bussel,

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,
And cheek-for-chow, a chuffie 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 blude rising hot,

burns' poems. 15

To see his poor auld Mither's pot

Thus dung in staves,
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat

By gallows knaves ?

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight,
Trod i' the mire clean out o' sight !
But could I like MontgoirCrie fight.

Or gab like JBoswell,
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight,

And tie some hose well.

God bless your honours ! can ye see't,
The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet,
An' no get warmly to your feet,

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

Ye winna bear it !

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

To mak liarangues ;
Then echo thro' St. 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' Gi-aham ;t
An' ane, a chap that's d — n'd auldfarran,

JDundas his name.

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ;
True Campbells, Fredericli, an' Ilay ;

♦ Sir Adam Ferguson.
tThe present Duke of Mratrose.— (1800.)

16 burns' poems.

An' Limngstone, the bauld Sir Willie ;

An' mony ithers,
Wham auld Demostlienes or Tully

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,

You'll see't or lang.
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle,

Anither sang.

This while she's been in cank'rous mood,
Her lost militia fired her bluid ;
(Deil na they never mair do guid,

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

About her whisky.

Ah', L— d, 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 cannie wi' the hair.
An' to the muckle house repair,

Wi' instant speed.
An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear.

To get remead.

Yon ill-tongued tinkler, Charlie Fox,
May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks
But gie him't bet, my hearty-cocks !

E'en cowe the caddis,
And send him to his dicing-box

And sportin lady.

burns' rOEMS.

Tell yon guld blnid o' auld Boconnochs,
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bannocks,
An' drink his health in auld Nanse TinnccTiS*

Nine times a week,
If he some scheme, like tea and winnocks,

Wad kindly seek.

Could he some commutation broach,
I'll pledge my aith in gude braid Scotch,
He needna fear their foul reproach.

Nor erudition,
Yon mixtie-raaxtie, queer hotch-potch.

The Coalition.

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ;
Slie's just a deevil wi' a rung ;
An' if she promised auld or young

To tak their part,
Tliough by the neck she should be strung,

She'll no desert,

A.n' 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'll snap your fingers, poor and hearty.

Before his face.

(rod bless your Honours a* your days,
Wi* soups o' kail and brats o' claise,
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes

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

While Rab his name is.

• A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where
:»e sometimes studied politics over a glass of gude auld Scotjh
Drink.

17 c

18 burns' poems.

POSTSCRIPT.

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

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

Tak aff their whisky.

What though their Phoebus kinder warms,
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms !
When wretches range in famished swarms

The scented groves,
Or bounded forth, dishonour arms

In hungry droves.

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ;
They downa bide the stink o* powther ;
Their bauldest thought's a hankering swither

To Stan' or run,
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, sic is royal George's will,

And there's the foe,
He has nae thous;ht but how to kill

Twa at a blow.

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him i
Death comes ! — wi' fearless ee he sees him j
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him ;

And when he fa's,
Hi3 latest draught o' breathin' lea'es him

In faint huzzas.

burns' poems.

Sages their solemn een may steek,
And raise a philosophic reek,
And physically causes seek,

In clime and season ;
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek,

I'll tell the reason.

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither !
Though whyles ye moistify your leather,
Till whare ye sit, on crapa o' heather,

Ye tine your dam :
Freedom and Whisky gan thegither,

Tak aff your dram !

THE HOLY FAIR.*

A robe of seeming truth and trust

His crafty observation ;
And secret hung, with poison'd crust,

The dirk of Defamation :
A mask that like the gorget show'd,

Dye-varying on the pigeon ;
And for a mantle large and oroad.

He wrapt him in religion.

Hypocrisy-la-Mode.

Upon a simmer Sunday mom,

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

And snuff the caller air:
The rising sun o'er Galston muirs,

Wi' glorious light was glintin ;
The hares were hirpling down the furs,

The lav'rocks they were chantin
Fu' sweet that day.

• Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland
for a Sac?araental occasion.

20 burns' foems.

As lightgomely I glowr'd abroad,

To see a scene so g-ay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,

Cam skelpin up the way :
Twa had manteeles o* dolefu' blacl<,

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

Was in the fashion shining,

Fu' gay that day.

The tica appear'd like sisters twin,

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

And sour as ony slaes ;
The third cam up, hap-stap-and-loup,

As light as ony lambie,
And wi' a kutchie low did stoop.

As soon as e'''r she saw me.

Fn' kind that day.

Wi* bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass,

I think ye seem to ken me ;
I'm sure I've seen that bonny face,

But yet I canna name ye."
Quo' she, and laughing as she spalc.

An' tales me by the hands,
" Ye for my sake, hae gi'eu the feck

Of a' the Ten Commands

A screed some day.

" My name is F?m— your cronie dear.

The nearest friend ye hae ;
And this is Svperstition here,

And that Hypocrisy.
I'm gaun to ******** HoJy FaiVy

To spend an hour in daffin :
Gin ye'U gae there, yon runkled pair,

We vill get famous laughin'

A : them this day."

BUiliNS' rOKMS. 2j

Quoth 1, " Wi' a' my heart, I'll do't :

I'll get mj' Sniiday's sark on,
And meet you on the holy spot ;

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

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

Wi' mony a weary hody,

In droves that day.

Here farmers gash, in riding graith,

Gaed hoddin by their cottars ;
There, swankies young, in braw braid claith,

Are swingin o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,

In silks and scarlets glitter ;
Wi' sioeet milk-cheese in mony a whang,

And farls baked wi' butter,

Fa' crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws.

And we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,

On every side they're gatherin,
Some gathering dales, some chairs and stools

And some are busy blethrin

Right loud that day.

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,

An' screen our countra Gentry,
There iricer Jess, au' twa-three wh-rcs,

Are blinkiu at the entry.
Here sits a raw of tittling jades,

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck.
And there a batch o' wabster lads,

Blackguardin frae K ck

Tor fun this day.

•2 3UK>;S POEMS.

Here some are thinkin on their sins,

An' some upon their claes ;
Aue curses feet that fyl'd his shins,

Anither sighs and prays :
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,

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

Thrang winkin on the lasses

To cha'rs that day.

O happy is that man and blest !

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

Comes clinkindown beside him.
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,

Unkenn'd that day.

Now a' the congregation o'er

In silent expectation ;
For M***ie speels the holy door,

Wi' tidings o' d-mn-t — n.
Should Ilornie as in ancient days,

'Mang sons o' G — present him,
The vera sight o' M***ie's face,

To's ain het home had sent him
Wi' fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o' faith,

Wi' rattlin and wi' thumpin ;
How meekly calm, how wild in wrath.

He's stampin and he's jumpin !
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd up snout,

His eldritch squeel and gestures,
Oh ! how they fire the heart devout.

Like cantharidian plasters,
On sic a day.

BURNS POEMS. 23

But hark ! the tent has changed its voice ;

There's peace and rest nae langer j
For a' the real judges rise,

They canna sit for anger.
S**th opens out his cauld harangues

On practice and on morals ;
And aff the godly pour in thrangs,

To gie the jars and barrels

A lift that day.

What signifies his barren shine

Of moral powers and reason ?
His English style, and gestures fine,

Are a' clean out o' season.
Like Socrates or Antomine,

Or some auld pagan heathen,
The moral man he does define,

But near a word o' faith in

That's right that day.

In guid time comes an antidote

Against sic poisoned nostrum;
P**bles, frae the water-fit.

Ascends the holy rostrum :
See, up he's got the word o' G— ,

And meek and raim has view'd it,
While Common Sense has ta'en the road,

And aff, and up the Cowgate,*
Fast, fast that day.

Wee M****r, neist, the guard relieves,

And Orthodoxy raibles.
Though in his heart he weel believes,

And thinks it auld wife's fables ;
But faith ! the birkie wants a manse.

So cannily he hums them ; -

* A street so called which faces the tent in K .

24 K urns' i'OEMS.

Altliough liis carnal wit and sense

Like haffins-way o'erconies him,

At times tliat day.

Now butt and ben the change-liouse fills

WV yill-caup commentators;
Here's crying out for bakes and pills,

And there the pint-stoup clatters ;
"While thick and thrang, and loud and lang,

Wi' Logic and wV Scripture,
They raise a din, that in the end

Is like to breed a rupture.

0' wrath that day.

Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair

Tiian either School or College,
It khidles Wit, it waukens Lear,

It bangs us fu' o' Knowledge :
Be't whisky-gill, or penny wheep,

Or ony stronger potion,
Ii never fails, on drinking deep,

To kittle up our notion.

By night or day.

The lads and lasses, blytlioly bent

To mind baith soul and body,
Sit round the table weel content,

And steer about the toddy.
On this ane's dress, and that ane's lent.

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

And forminir assignations,

To meet some day.

But now the L— d's ain trumpet touts,

Till a' the hills are rairin.
And echoes back return the shouts :

Black ll*»**l is ua spairin ;

BURNS rOEilS.

His piercing words, like Highland swords,
Divide the joints and marrow ;

His talk o' H-11, whare devils dwell,
Our vera sauls does harrow!*

Wi' fright that day.

A vast unbottom'd boundless pit,

Fill'd fu' o' Jo win brunstane,
Wha's ragin flame, and scorchin heat,

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane !
The hauf asleep start up wi' fear,

And think they hear it roarin,
V»'iien presently it does appear,

'Twas but some neighbour snorin
Asleep that day.

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell

How mony stories past.
And how they crowded to the yill.

When they were a* dismist ;
How drink gaed round, in cogs and caups,

Amang the furms and benches.
And cheese and bread, frae women's laps,

Was dealt about in lunches.

An' dawds that day.

I

In comes a gaucie, gash Gudewife,

And sits down by the fire,
Syne draws her kebbuck and her knife ;

*^The lasses they are shyer.
The auld Gudenieu, about the grace,

From side to side they bother,

Till some ane by his bonnet lays.

And gies theni't like a tether,

Fu' lang that day

• Sliaksijeare's Hamlet.

.2l3 BURKS POEMS.

\^'aesuck's 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 bonnie lads ye wanted,
And 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 hame the best they dow,

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

Till lasses strip their shoon ;
Wi' faith and hope, and love and drink,

They're a' in famous tune

For crack that day.

How mony hearts this day converts,

O' sinners and o' lasses !
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane

As soft as ony flesh is.
There's some are fou o' love divine ;

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

May end m Hougmagandie
Some ither day.

DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK.

A TRUE STORT.

Some books are lies frae end to end,^
And some great lies were never penn'd ;

burns' poems. 27

Ev*n ministers, tliey hae been kenn'd,

In holy rapture,
A rousing whid, at times to vend.

And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a ni^fht befell,
Is just as true's the Dell's in hell,

Or Dublin city ;
That e'er he nearer comes oursel

'S a muckle pity.

The Clachan yill had made me canty,

I was na fou, but just had plenty ;

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay

To free the ditches :
And hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kenn'd ay

Frae ghaists and witches.

The rising moon began to glow'r
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'dna tell.

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

To keep me sicker ;
Though leeward whyles against my will,

I took a bicker.

I there wi' Something did forgather,

Tliat put me in an eerie swither ;

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,

Clear-dangling hang ;
A three -taed leister on the ither

Lay, large and lang.

2ft BURr;s' ioj-.ms.

Its stature seem'd lang ScotcL elis twa,
The queerest shane that e'er I saw.
for fient a wame it had ava !

And then its shanks,
They were as thni, as sharp, as sraa

As clieeks o' branks !

" Gude-een," quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye been mawin
AVhen itlier folk are busy sawin ?"*
It seem'd to mak a kind o' staun,

But naethins^ spak;
At length, says I, *• Friend ! whare ve gaun?

Will ye gae back?" *

It spak right howe : — " My name is Death —
But be no'tiey'd." — Quoth I, " Gude faith,
Ye're may be come to stop my breath j

But tent me, billie;
I red ye wee^ tak care o' skaith.

See, there's a gully !*

"Guderaan," quo' he, " put up your whittle,
I'm no design'd to try its mettle !
But if I did, I wad be kittle

To be mislear'd,
I wadna mind it, no that spittle ;

Out-owre my beard."

*' Weel, weel," says I, "a bargain be't ;
Come, gie's your hand, and say we're greet ;
We'll ease our shanks and tak a seat,

Come, gie's your news ;
This whilet ye hae been mony a gate,

At monv a house."

• This rencounter happened in seed-time, in 1785.

t An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.

BURNS POEMS.

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

And choke the breath ;
Folk maun do something for their bread,

And sae maun Death.

" Sax thousand years are near hand fled.
Sin' I was to the butch'ring bred,
And mony a scheme in vain's been laid

To stap or scaur me ;
Till ane Hornbook's* taen up the trade.

And faith he'll waur me.

" Ye ken Joch Hornbook V the Clachan
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan !
lie's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan^

And ither chaps.
The weans baud out their fingers, laughin

And pouk my hips.

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart,
They hae pierced mony a gallant heart :
But Doctor Hornbook^ wi' his art

And cursed skill.
Has made them baith nae worth a f— t,

Damn'd haet they'll kill.

" 'Twas but yestreen, na farther gane,
I threw a noble dart at ane:
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ;
But deil-ma-care,

• This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brother
jf the Sovereign Order of the Fernla; but, by intuition and
inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician.

t Buchan's Domestic Medicine.

30 burns' poems.

It just play'd dirl on the bane,

But did nae mair.

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art,
And had sae fortified 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' ray hurry.
But yet the bauld Apothecary

Withstood the shock ;
I might as weel hae tried a quarry

O' hard whin-rock.

" Ev'n them he canna get attended,
Although their face he ne'r had kenn'd it,
Tu8t in a kail-blade and send it ;

As soon's he smells't,
Baith their disease, and what will mend it,

At ance he tell'st.

" And then o* doctor's saws and whittles,
Of a' dimensions, shapes, and mettles,
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles.

He's sure to hae :
Their Latin names as fast he rattles

As A, B, C.

" Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ;
True sal-marinum o' the seas ;
The farina o' beans and j)ease,

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

He can content ye.

burns' poems. 81

" Forbye some new uncommon weapons,

Urinus spiritus o' capons :

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,

Distill'd per se ;
Sal-alkali o* midge-tail clippings.

And monie mae."

" Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,"
Quoth I, " if that the news be true !
His braw calf-ward, whare gowans grew

Sae white and bonny,
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew :

They'll ruin Johnny .'"

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,
And says, " Ye needna yoke the pleugh.
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh,

Tak ye na fear ;
They'll a* be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh,

In twa-three year.

" Where I kill'd ane a fair strae death,
By loss o' bluid, or want o' breath,
This night I'm free to tak my aith,

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

By drap and pill.

" An honest "Wabster to his trade,

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred,

Gat tippence-worth to mend her head,

When it was sair ;
The wife slade cannie to her bed,

But ne'er spak mair.

• The grave-di^cger.

32 burns' poems,

" A countra Laird had ta'en the b;iLts,
Or some curraurrin^ in his guts ;
His only son for Hornbook sets,

And pays him well :
The lad, for twa sude gimraer pets,

Was Laird himsel'.

" A bonny lass, ye kenn'd her name,
Some ill-brewn drink liad hoved her wame
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,

In Hornbook's care ;
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,

To hide it there.

" That's just a swatch o' HornlooTis way
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay,

An's weel paid for't ;
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey

Wi' his d-mn'd dirt :

" But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot,
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ;
I'll nail the self-conceited Scot

As dead's a herrin :
Niest time we meet, I wad a groat,

He gets his fairin!"

But just as he began to tell,

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell

Some wee short hour ayont the twdl.

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

And sae did Death.

burns' poems, 33

THE BRIGS OF AYR

Inscribed to J. Ballantyne, Esq. Ayr.

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,

Learning his tuneful trade from every bougJi ;

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,

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

The soaring lark, the perching redbreast shrill,

Or deep-ton'd plovers, gray , wild whistling o'er the hill

Shall he, nurs'd 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 1

Or labour hard the panegyric close,

With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ?

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings.

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings.

He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,

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

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 heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells.

The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels.

'Twas when the stacks get on their winter hap,
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap ;
Potato-bings are snugged up frae skaith
Of coming Winter's biting frosty breatli :
17 t)

34 BUllNS' POEMS,

The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils,
Unnuraber'd buds and flow'rs, delicious spoils,
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles,
Are doora'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak,
Tlie death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek :
The thundering guns are heard on evey side,
Tlie wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide;
The feather'd field 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 I)
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow sprin.;s ;
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings,
Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee.
Proud o' the height o' some bit aaut'-lang tree ;
The lioary morns precede the sunny days,
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze,
While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the rajs.
Twaa in that season, when a simple Bard,
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward,
Ae night, within the ancient brugh o' Ayr,
By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care.
He left his bed, and took his wayward route,
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 wrapt in meditation high.
He wander'd out he knew not wJiere nor why :)
The drowsy Dungeon-clocM had number'd two.
And Wallace ToweT\ had sworn the fact was true :
The tide-swoln frith, with sullen sounding roar.
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along tlje shore;
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed ee ;
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree :

* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end.
t The two steeples-

burns' poems. 35

The cliilly frost beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream-
When lo ] on either hand the list'ning Bard,
The clanging sugh of whistling winds he heard ;
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air,
Swift as the Goss* drives on the wheeling hare ;
Ane on the Auld Brig his airy shape uprears.
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers.
Our warlike 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 o'the sp'ritual folk :
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a' they can explain thera,
And ev'n the very deils they brawly ken thera.)
A uld Brig appear d of ancient Pictish race.
The very wrinkles Gothic in his face ;
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warsl'd lang.
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.
Neio Brig was buskit in a braw new coat.
That he, at London, frae ane Adams got ;
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead,
Wi' virls and whirlygiguras at the head.
The Goth was stauking round wi' anxious search,
Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch ;
It chanc'd his new come neighbour took his ee,
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 gude-e'en —

AULD BRIG.

I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank,
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank.
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me,
Tho' faitii, that day, I doubt, ye'll never see j

* The Goss-hawk. or Falcon.

36 M urns' poems.

Tliere'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddlo,
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle.

NEW BRIG.

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense,
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ;
Will your poor narrow foot-path o' a street,
Where twa wlieelbarrows tremble when they meet,
Your ruin'd, formless bulk, o' stane and lime,
Compare wi' bonny Brigs o' modern time ?
There's men o' taste wad tak the Ducat stream'*
Tlio' they should cast the very sark and swim,
Ere they wad grate their feelings wi' the view
O' sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you.

AULD BRIG.

Conceited gowk ! puffd up wi' windy pride !

Tnis mony a year I've stood the flood and 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,

Bat twa-three winters will inform ye better.

When heavy, 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 haunted Garpal\ draws his feeble source,

Arous'd by blust'ring winds and spotting thowes,

In mony a torrent down the siiaw-broo rowes ;

While crashing ice, bom on the roaring speat.

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

• A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig,
t The banks of Oarpal Water is one of the few places
'm the West of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beines.
known by the name of Qhaiits, still continue pcrtinaciou^l}
to inhabit.

burns' poejis. • 87

And from Glenhuck* down to the Botteii-'key^^
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling sea ;
Then down ye'U hurl — deil nor ye never rise !
And dash the juralie joups up to the pouring skies.
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't !
The L— d bethankit that we've tint the gate o't '
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-allnring edifices,
Hanging, with threat'ning jut, like precipices ;
O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ;
Win^lows and doors in nameless sculpture 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 fros'ty maids forsworn the dear embrace ;
Or cuifs' of latter times, wha held the notion
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ;
Fancies that our good Brugh denies protection.
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection I

AULD BRIG.

O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings,
Were ye but here to share ray wounded feelings !

• Thp source of the river Ayr.
+ A small landing-placo above the large Vev.

28 burns' foems.

Ye worthy Proveses and mony a Bailie,
Vv'ha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye :
Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveners,
To whom our modems 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 siniters ;
(And what wad now be strano^e) ye godly Writers !
A' ye douce folk I've bom aboon the broo,
Were ye but here, what wad ye say or do ?
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation,
To see each melancholy alteration j
And, agonizing, curse the time and place
When ye begat the base degenerate race !
xsae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory,
In plain braid Scots baud forth a plain braid story !
Kne langer thrifty Citizens, and douce,
;Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ;
]3ut staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,
The herriment and ruin of the country :
Mt-n, three-parts made by tailors and by barber?,
"W ha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d — d new Lrijs
and Harbours !

NEW BRIG.

Xow baud you there ! for faith ye've said enow,

And muckle mair than ye can mak to through,

As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,

Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle :

l]ut, under favour o' your langer beard,

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd j

To liken them to your auld-warl' squad,

I must needs say, comparisons are odd.

In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle

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

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street.

In a' the pomp of ignorant conceit ;

Men wha grew wise piiggin owre hops an' raisins,

Or gathcr'd liberal views in bonds and seisins.

KURNS' POEMS.

What farther clishmadaver might be^^^
A fairy train appear'd in order brinx ^^^^^

While arts of ^f'^^g^tSc ditties smg.

fe„ro.:^h''hSrrM.=;<r*T--.H

The lover's raptur <l joys or Dieeai g

How would his H;fl™fl"|,Xg"e° touch inspir'd !

And eVn W» »ateWe^s h»d^^^^^^^^^ ,^^

rv^rrp"SdVpoSr"d ^ovfnl on the heart.

The Genius of the Stream in.front appears,
/,^L?:We Chief ad^a-,,nyears^^^^

His hoary head «'*''rt'f, angle bound.

His manly kfX JeTpa^?"u all the ring^. .

^reL'^^^):?;:^^::^;^!^!^^

. A ,eU-know perto^.r of Scot.i.h musia on .b. vicUn.

40 burns' roEMs.

Tlien crowii'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye :
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding com ;
Then Winter's tirae-bleach'd locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow.
]Vext foJow'd Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ;
Benevolence, with mild benia:nant air,
A female form, came Iroin the tow'rs of Stair ;*
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode :
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd 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 Hearen —
To please the Mob they hide the little given.

Kilmarnock Wabsters, fidge and claw,

And pour your creeshie nations ;
And ye wha leather rax and draw

Of a' denominations ;
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane and a'

And there tak up your stations ;
Then aff to Begbie's in a raw,

And pour divine libations

For joy this day.

• The poet hcrealludes to ^Irs. Stewart of Stair.— Stairs as
then in her possession. She afterwards removed to Atton-
Lodge, on the banks of the Afton, a stream which he after-
-^anls celebrated in a song, entitled "Afton Water."

burns' poems. 41

Curst Common-Sense, that imp o' hell,

Cam in wi' Maggy Lauder,*
But Oliphant aft made her yell.

And Russel sair misca'd her ;
This day M' Kinlay taks the flail,

And he's the boy will blaud her !
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,

And set the bairns to daub her
Wi' dirt this day.

Mak haste and turn King David owre,

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

And skirl up the Bangor :
This day the Kirk kicks up a st.oure,

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang lier,
For Heresy is in her power.

And gloriously she'll whang her
Wi' pith this day.

Come, let a proper text be read,

And touch it afT with vigour,
How graceless Ha?n\ leugh at his dad,

Which made Canaan a Niger ;
Or PhineasX drove the murdering blade,

Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ;
Or Zipporah,% the scaulding jade,

Was like a bluidy tiger

I' th' inn that day.

There, try his mettle on the creed,
And bind him down wi' caution.

• Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the
admission of the late Reverend and worthy Mr, L. to the
Laigh Kirk.

t Genesis, ix. t Numbers, ixv. ^ Exodus, iv.

BURNS rOEMS.

That stipend is a carnal weed

He taks but for the fashion ;
And gie him o'er the flock to feed,

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

Gie thera sufficient threshin,

Spare them nae day.

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail,

And toss thy horns fu' scanty ;
Nae mair thou'lt rowt out-owre the dale,

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

Shall find thy crib in plenty,
And nmts o' grace, the pick and wale.

No gien by way o' dainty,

'But ilka day.

Nae mair by BaheVs streams we'll weep,

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

Like baby-clouts a-drying ;
Come, screw the pegs wi' tuneful cheep.

And o'er the thairms be trying ;
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep.

And a' like lamb-tails fly in

Fu' fast this day ;

Lans" Patronage wi' rod o' aim.

Has shor'n the Kirk's undoin.
As lately Fenwlck, sair forfairn,

Has proven to its ruin :
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn,

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

He's waled us out a true ane.

And sound this day.

BURxNS POEMS. 43

Now, Robinson, harangue nae niair,

But steek j'our gab for ever ;
Or try the wicked town o' Ayr,

For there they'll think you clever j
Or, nae reflection on your lear,

You may commence a Shaver;
Or to the Netherton repair,

An turn a. carpet weaver

Aff-hand this day.

Mutrie and you were just a match,

We never had sic twa drones ;
And Hornie did the Laig Kirk watch,

Just like a winkin baudrons ;
And aye 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 Orthodox's faes.

She's swingein through the city.
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays !

I vow its unco pretty :
There Learning, wi' his Greekish face,

Grunts out some Latin ditty ;
And Common-Sense is gaun, she says

To mak to Jamie Beattie

Her 'plaint this day.

But there's Morality himsel'

Embracing a' opinions ;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell.

Between his twa companions ;
See how she peels the skin and fell,

As ane were peeling onions !
Now there — they're packed aff to hell

And banish'd our dominions,

Henceforth tliis d.iy.

44 burns' poems.

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice!

Come bouse about the porter!
Morality's demure decoys

Shall here nae raair find quarter :
M'Kinlay, Rnssel, are the boys

That heresy can torture :
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,

And cow her measure shorter

By th' head some day.

Come bring the tither mutchkin in

And here's for a conclusion,
To every Neio 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,

>ye'll rin them aff in fusion

Like oil, some day.

THE CALF.

TO THE REV. MR. .

On his Text, Malachi, chap. iv. ver. 2— "And Ihev shall
go forth, and grow up like calves of the stall."

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

Though heretics may laugh ;
For instance, there's yourseT just now,

God knows, an unco Ca{f!

• New Lights is a cnnt phr;ise in the West of Scotland, for
those religious opinions wliich Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, h.is
defended so strenuously.

BUllNS POKMS. 45

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 raptured hour

Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it every heavenly Power,

You e'er should be a Stoti

Tho' when some kind, connubial dear,

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

A noble head o' homis I

And in your lug, most reverend James,

To hear you roar and rowt,
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims

To rank among the Nowte!

And v/hen your number'd wi' the dead,

Below a grassy hillock,
Wi' justice they may mark your head —

" Here lies a famous Bullock /"

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.

O Prince ! O Chief of many throned pow'rs,
That led the embattled seraphim to war.

Milton.

O Thou, whatever title suit thee,
Auld Homie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim and sootie,
Clcs'd under hatches.

46 BUR.NS' POEMS.

Spairges about the brunstane cootie,

To scaud poor wretches ;

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

E'en to a deil,
To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me,

And hear us squeel !

Great is thy pow'r, and great thy fame.
Far kend and noted is thy name ;
And tho' yon lowan heugVs thy harae,

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

Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, rangin like a roarin lion,
For prey, a' holes and comers tryin ;
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin,

Tirling the kirks ;
Vyhyles, in the human bosom pryin,

Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my rev'rend Grannie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray,
Or where auld-ruin'd castles, gray,

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

Wi' eldritch croon.

When twilight did ray Grannie summon
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman.
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you buiumiu,

Wi' eerie drone !
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin,

Wi' heavy groan !

BURNS* POEMS. 47

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,

The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright,

Ayont the loch ;
Ye, like a rash-bush, 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—

Araang the springs
Away ye squatter'd, like a drake.

On whistling wings.

Let warlocTis grim, and wither'd hags,
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags.
They skim the muirs and dizzy crags

Wi' wicked f»poed,
And in kirkyards renew their leagues,

Owre howkit dead.

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain.
May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain j
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen

By witchin skill ;
And dawtit, twal-pint Haiokie's gaen

As yell's the Bill.

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse

On young gudeman, fond, keen, and crouse j

When the best wark-loom i' the house

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

Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
And float the jinglin icy boord,

48 burns' poems.

When Water-kelpies haunt the foord
By your direction,

And 'nighted trav'llers are allur'd

To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing Spinihies
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is ;
The lileezin, curst, mischievous monlieys

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

When Mason's mystic itord and grnp
In storms and tempests raise ye up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,

Or, strange to tell !
The yoimgest Brither ve wad whup

Aff straight to hell !

Lang sjTie, in Eden's bonny yard,
When youtht'u' lovers first were pair'J
And a' the soul of love they shar'd,

The raptur'd hour.
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird,

In shady bow'r :

Then you, ye auld sneck-drawin* dog I

Ye cam to Paradise incog,,

And play"d on man a cursed brogue,

(Black be your fa' !)
And gied the infant warld a shog,

'Maist ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reekit duds and reestit gizz,
Ye did present your snioutie phiz
'Mang better folk.

burns' poems. 49

And sklented on the man of Uz
Your spitefu' joke ?

And how ye gat hhn i' your thrall,
And brak him out o' house and hall
While scabs and blotches did him gall,

Wi' bitter claw,
And lows'd his ill-tongued wicked scawl,

Was warst ava'.

But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares and fechtin fierce,
Sin' that day Michael* did you pierce,

Down to this time.
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.

And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin,
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin

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

And cheat you yet.

But, fare ye weel, auld Nichie-hen I
O wad ye tak a thought and men' !
Ye aiblins might— I dinna ken —

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

Ev'n for your sake !

• Vide Milton, Book VI.

17

60 BURNS* POEMS.

Tfl^ DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF
POOR MAILIE.

THE AUTHOli'S ONLY PET YOWE.

An unco mournfu' Tale.

As Mailie and her lambs, thegither,
Were ae day nibbling on the tether
Upon the cloot she coost a hitch,
And owre she warsled in the ditch
There, groaning, dying, she did lie,
When Hughoc* he came doytin by

Wi' glowriu een, and lifted han'a,
Poor Hughoc like a statue s tan's ;
He saw her days were near-hand endit,
By, waes my heart ! he cou'dna mend it
He gaped wide, but naething spak !
At length poor Mailie silence brak :

" O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case !
My dying ivords attentive hear,
And 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 Ihem mair
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair
But ca' them out to park or hill.
And let them wander at their will ;
So may his flock increase, and grow
To scores o' lambs and packs o' woo.

A neighbour herd-callau

lUHiNs' pr)r.3is. 51

" Tell him, he was a Master kin ,
And aye was gude to me and mine ;
And now my dying charge I gie him,
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him,

" O, bid him save their harmless lives,
Frae dogs, and tods, and butcher's knives !
But gie them gude cow-milk their fill,
Till they be fit to fend themsel :
And tent them duly, e'en and mom,
Wi' teats o' hay and rips o' corn.

" And may they never learn the gaets
Of ither vile -wanrestfu' pets !
To slink thro' slaps, and reave and steal
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail.
So may they, like their great forbears.
For mony a year come thro' the sheers
So wives will gie them bits o' bread.
And bairns greet for them when they're dead. •

" My poor toop-lamh, my son and heir,
O, bid him breed him up wi* care !
And if he live to be a beast.
To pit some havins in his breast ;
And warn him, what I winna name.
To stay content wi' yows at hame ;
And no to rin and wear his cloots.
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes.

" And neist my yowie, silly thing.
Gude keep thee frae a tether string !
O, may thou ne'er forgather up
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop !
But aye keep mind to moop and mell
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel.

" vVnd now, my bairns, wi' my last breath,
I leave my blessin wi' you baith ;
And when you think upon your mither,
Mind to be kmd to ane anither,

52 burns' poems.

" i^ow, honest Hughoc, dinna fail
To tell my master a' my tale ;
And bid him burn this cursed tether ;
And for thy pains thou's get my blether."

This said, poor Mailie tum'd her head,
And clos'd her een araang the dead !

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY.

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose,
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ;
Our bardie's fate is at a close,

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

Poor Maine's dead !

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

The mourning weed ;
He's lost a friend and neebor dear.

In Mail\e dead.

Thro' a* the town she trotted by him ;
A lang half-mile she could descry him ;
Wi' kSidly bleat, when she did spy him ;

She ran wi' speed ;
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him.

Than Mailie dead.

I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
And could behave herself wi' mense ;
III say't, she never brak a fence

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

Sin' xilailie's dead.

BURiNS' POEMS. G'6

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

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

'Box Mailie dead.

She was nae get o* muirland tips,

Wi' tawted ket, and hairy hips ;

For her forbears were brought in ships

Frae yont the Tweed I
A bonnier ^ee5^ ne'er cross'd the clips

Than Mailie dead.

Wae worth the man who first did shape
That vile wanchancie thing— a rape !
It.maks gude fellows girn and gape

Wi' chokin dread ;
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape,

For Mailie dead.

O, a' ye bards on bonny Doon !
And wha on Ayr your chanters ^unel
Come, join the me'lancholious croon

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

His Mailie dead !

54 burns' poems.

TO JAMES SMITH,

MAUCHLINE.

Friendship! mysterious cement of the 80ul>

Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society I

I owe thee much. Blair.

Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief,
Tliat ere attempted stealth or rief,
You surely hae some warlock-breef

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

Against your arts.

For me, I swear by sun and moon,
And every star that blinks aboon,
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon.

Just gaun to see you.
And every ither pair that's done,

Mair ta'en I'm wi' yoii.

That auld capricious carlin, Nature,
To mak amends for scrimpit stature,
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature

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

She's wrote — the Man.

Just now I've ta'en the fit of rhyme,
My barraie noddle's working prime,
My fancy yerkit up sublime

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

To hear what's comin?

BURNS' POEMS.

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ;

Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash ;

Some rhyme to court the countra clash,

And raise a din ;
For me, an aim I never fash —

I rhyme for fun.

The star that rules my luckless lot,

Has fated me the russet coat,

And damn'd my fortune to the groat ;

But, in requit.
Has blest me wi' a random shot

O' countra wit.

This while my notion's taen a sklent,
To try my fate in gude black prent ;
But still the more I'm that way bent,

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

Ye'll shaw your folly.

"There's ither poets, much your betters,
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters,
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors

A' future ages ;
Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters,

Their unknown pages."

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs,
To garland my poetic brows !
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs

Are whistling thrang.
And teach the lonely heights and howes

My rustic sang.

I'll wander on, wi' tentless heed
How never-halting moments speed,

66 burns' poems.

Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread :
Then, all unknown,

I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,
Forgot and gone !

But why o' Death begin a tale?

Just now we're living sound and hale ;

Then top and maintop crowd the sail.

Heave Care o'er side ?
And large, before Enjoyment's gale,

Let's tak the tide.

This life, sae far's I understand,

Is a' enchanted fairy-land,

\Yhere pleasure is the magic wand,

That, wielded right.
Make hours like minutes, hand in hand.

Dance by fu' light.

The magic wand then let us wield :
For, ance that five-and-forty's speel'd,
See crazy, weary, joyless eild,

Wi' wrinkled face,
Comes hoastin, hirplin owre the field,

Wi' creepin pace.

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin.
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ;
And fareweel cheerful tankards foamin.

And social noise ;
And fareweel dear deluding icoman,

The joy o' joys!

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning.
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning !
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning.
We frisk away.

BURNS' POEMS. 57

Like school-boys at tli' expected warning,
To joy and play.

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

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

Short while it grieves.

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spat,
For which they never toil'd nor swat ;
They druik the sweet, and eat the fat,

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

Wi' high disdam.

Wi' steady aim, some Fortune chase ;
Keen Hope does every sinew brace ;
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race,

And seize the prey :
Then cannie, in some cozie place,

They close the day.

And ithers, like your humble servan',
Por wights ! nae rules nor roads observin ;
To right or left, eternal swervin.

They zigzag on ;
Till curst wi' age, obscure and starvin.

They aften groan.

Alas ! what bitter toil and strainin ! —
But truce wi' peevish, poor complainin;
Is Fortune's fickle Luna wanin ?

E'en let her gang !
Beneath what light she Jias reraainin

Let's sing our sang.

5S burns' poems.

My pen I here fling to the door,

And kneel, " Ye powers ! and warm inr.plore.

Though I should wander terra o'er

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

Aye rowth o' rhymes.

" Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds,
Till icicles hing frae their beards ;
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards,

And maids of honour :
And yill and whisky gie to cairds

Until they sconner.

**' A title, Dempster merits it ;
A garter gie to Willie Pitt ;
Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,

In cent, per cent.
But gie me real, sterling wit,

And I'm content.

" While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale,
I'll sit down owre my scanty meal,
Be't tcater-brose or imisliji-hail,

Wi' cheerfu' face,
As lang's the Muses dinna fail

To say the grace."

An anxious ee I never throws
Behint ray 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.

O ye douce folk, that live by rule,
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,

BURNS* POEMS. 69

Corapar'd wi' you— O fool! fool! fool!

How much unlike !
Your hearts are just a standing pool,

Your lives a dyke !

Nae harebrain'd sentimental traces
In your unletter'd nameless faces '
In arioso trills and graces,

Ye never stray,
But, gravissimo, solemn basses,

Y^e hum away.

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

Nae ferly tho' ye do despise

The hairum-scalrum, ram-stam boys,

The rattling 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 mak a pair,

Whare'er I gang.

60 burns' ror.Ms.

A DREAM.

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason,
But surely Dreams were ne'er indited trsason.

[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 trans-
ported to the Birth-day Levee; and in his dreaming fancy,
made the following Address.]

GuDE-MORNiKG to vout Mojesty,

May Heav'n auorment your blisses,
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see,

A humble poet wishes!
My hardship here, at your levee,

On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,

Amang the birth-day dresses
Sae fine this day.

I see ye're complimented thrang.

By mony a lord and lady !
'God save the King !' 's a cuckoo sang

That's unco easy said aye ;
The poets, too, a venal gang,

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

But aye unerring steady,
On sic a day.

For me ! before a monarch's face,

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

Am I your humble debtor;

BURNS* POEMS. 61

Sae, nae reflection on your grace.

Your kingship to bespatter ;
There's mony waur been o' the race,

And aiblins ane been better

Than you this day.

Tis very true my sovereign king,

My skill may weel be doubted ;
But facts are chiels that winna ding,

And downa be disputed ;
Your royal nest, beneath your wing.

Is e'en right left and clouted,
And now the third part o' the string,

And 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 their station

Than courts yon day.

And now ye've given auld Sriiain peace,

Her broken shins to plaster ;
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 tliat, wi' the geese,

I shortly boost to pasture

I' the craft some day.

I'm no mistrusting Willlie Pitt,
When taxes he enlarges,

62 BTTRXS' P0E3IS.

(And Will's a true gude fallow's get,

A name not envy spairges),
That he intends to pay your debt.

And lessen a' your charges ;
But, G-d sake ! let nae saving fit

Abridge your bonny barges

And boats this day.

Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geek

Beneath your high protection:
And may ye rax Corruption's neck,

And gie'her for dissection.
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,

In loyal, true affection,
To pay your Queen, with due respect,

My fealty and subjection

This great birth-day.

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent !

While noblea strive to please ye,
Will ye accept a compliment

A simple poet gies ye ?
Thae bonny bairntirae, Heav'n has lent,

Still higher may they heeze ye?
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent,

For ever to release ye

Frae care that day.

For you, young potentate of 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,

And curse your folly sairly,
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,

Or rattled dice wi' Charlie,
By night or day.

burns' poems. 63

Yet aft a ragged coiote's been known

To mak a noble aiver;
Sae ye may doucely fill a throne,

For a' their clishmaclaver :
There, him* at Agincourt wha shone,

Few better were or braver ;
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,i

He was an unco shaver

For mony a day.

For you, right reverend Osnaburg,

Nane sets the laivn-sleeves sweeter
Although a ribband at your lug

Wad been a dress completer!
As ye disown yon paughty dog

That bears the keys of Peter,
Then, swith ! and get a wife to hug,

Or, troth! ye'll stain the mitre
Some luckless day.

Young, royal Tarry Breehs, I learn,

Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious galley, X 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-aim.

And, large upo' her quarter,

Come full that day.

Ye, lastly, bonny blossoms a',
Qe royal lasses dainty,

•King Henry V.
tSlr John Falstaff. See Sliakspeare's Henry IV.
t Alluding to the newspaper-account of a certain Royal
Sailor's amour.

6-1 BURNS^ POEMS.

Heav'n mak you gude as weel as braw,
And gie you lads a-plenty !

But sneer na British Boys awa
For kings are unco scant aye :

And German gentles are butsma'
They 're better just than icaiit aye^
On ony day.

God bless you a' ! consider now

Ye're unco muckle dautit ;
But ere the cmirse of life be through,

It may be bitter sautit ;
And I hae seen their coggie fou,

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

The laggan they hae clautit
Fu' clean that day.

THE VISION.

DUAN FIRST.*

The sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
And hunger'd maukin ta'en her way

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

Whare she has been.

The thresher's we^ry fiin gin-tree
The lee-lang day had tired me ;

• Duan, a term of Ossian's for the difiFtrent divisions of i
digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii.of M'Pherson'
traislatioD.

burns' poems. 65

And whan the day had clos'd his ee,

Far i' the west,
Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie,

I gaed to rest.

There, lanely, by the ingle cheek

I sat, and ee'd the spewin reek,

That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking sraeek,

The auld clay biggin ;
And heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin.

A' in this motty, misty clime,

1 backward mus'd on wasted time,

How I had spent my youthfu' prime,

And done nae thing,
But stringing blethers up in rhyme,

For fools to sing.

Had I to gude advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or struttit 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, wad be rhyme-proof'

Till my last breath —

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

New bleezing bright,
17 F

66 burns' poems.

A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw,
Come full in sight.

Ye needna doubt, I held ray whisht ;
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht :
I glow'rd as aerie's I'd been dusht

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

And stepped ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad hoUy-hovglis
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ;
I took her for some Scottish Muse,

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

Wad soon been broken.

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

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

Beam'd keen wi' honour.

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen,
Till half a leg was scrimply seen j
And sic a leg ! my bonny Jean

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

Nane else cam near it.

Her mantle large, o' greenish hue.

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ;

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw

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

A.'u'ell-knoicn land.

BURNS* POEMS. 67

Here, rivers in the sea were lost,
There, mountains to the skies were tost ;
Here, tumbling billows marked the coast,

Wi' 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 Iricine stately thuds :
Auld hermit Ayr staw through his woods.

On to the shore ;
And mony a lesser torrent scuds,

Wi' seemin roar.

Low, in a sandy valley spread,

An ancient borough rear'd her head ;

Still, as in Scottish story read,

She boasts a race,
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,

And polish'd grace.

By stately tow'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 seera'd to dare,

Wi' feature stern.

My heart did glowing transport feel.

To see a race* heroic wheel,

And brandish round the deep-dyed steel

In sturdy blows":
While back recoiling seem'd to reel

Their soutliron foes.

The Wallaces.

C8 burns' poems.

His Country's Saviour,* mark him well ;
Bold Richa7-dto7i'si heroic sw^ll ;
The chief on Sark,t who glorious fell,

In high command ;
And He, whom ruthless fates expel

His native land.

There, where a scepter'd Pictish^ shade
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,

I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd

In colours strong ;
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undisraay'd,
They strode along.

Through many a wild romantic grove,||
jVear many a'hermit-fancy'd cove,
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love),

In musing mood,
An aged judge, I saw him rove,

Dispensing good.

With deep-struck reverential aweH
The learned sire and son I saw.

• TVilliam Wallace.

i Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal
preserver of Scottish independence.

J Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command
under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the
banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was
principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour
of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after
the action.

§ Coilus, Kingof thePicts, from whom the district of Kyle
is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the
family seat of the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, where hie
burial-place is still shewn.

II Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk.

^ Catrine, the sea< of the late Doctor, and present Professor
Stewart.

burns' poems. C9

To Nature's God and Nature's law

They gave tlieir lore :
This, all its source and end to draw,

That, to adore.

Brydone'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,
Where many a patriot-name on high,

And hero shone.

DUAN SECOND

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

Of kindred sweet.
When with an elder sister's air

She did me greet.

" All hail ! my own inspired Bard,
In me thy native Muse regard !
Nor longer mourn thy fate as hard,

Thus poorly low I
I come to give thee such reward

As we bestow.

" Know, the great genius of this land
Has many a light, aerial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,

Harmoniously,
As arts and arms they understand,

Their labours ply.

Colonel Fulb.rton.

rO BUR.VS POEMS.

" They Scotia's race among them sharo,
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 tuneful art.

** *Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour j
Or,''mid 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 De7npster's zeal-inspiring tongue ;
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung

His ' Ministrel lays ;'
Or tore, with nobler ardour stung,

The sceptic's bays.

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

The Artisan ;
All chuse, as various they're incliu'd

The various man.

" When yellow waves the heavy gram.
The threat'ning storm some strongly rein

burns' poems. 71

Some teach to meliorate the plain

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

Blythe o'er the hill.

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile ;
Some grace the maiden's artless smile ;
Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toil

For humble gains,
And make his cottage-scenes beguile

His cares and pains.

" Some, hounded 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 — Coil a my name ;

And this district as mne I claim,

Where once the Camphells, 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 dasliing roar ;
Or when the north his fleecy store

Drove through the sky,

72 burns' ioems.

I saw grim Nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.

" Or when the deep green-mantled earth
Warm cheris'd every flow'ret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth

In ev'ry grove,
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth

With boundless love.

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies,
Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their evening joys,

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

In pensive walk.

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

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

To soothe thy flame.

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play,
U'ild send thee pleasure's devious way,
]\Iisled by fancy's meteor ray.

By passion driven I
But yet the light that led astray

Was light from heaven,

" I taught thy manners-painting stmins,
"'lie loves, the ways of simple swains,
Till now, owre all'my wide domains,

T)iy ifrime extends ;
And some, the pride of Colla's plains,

Bi'como tliv friends

KURKS POEMS.

" 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' unrivall'd rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows ;
Though large the forest 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'erraatching thine,

A rustic Bard.

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

With soul erect !
And trust, the Universal Plan

Will all protect.

"And tcear thou this" — she solemn said,
And bound the Holly round my head ;
And polish'd leaves and berries red

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

In liijrht away.

71 burns' poems.

ADDRESS

TO THE UNCO GCDE, OK THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.

My son, these maxims maVe a rule,
And lump them aye thegither;

The Rigid Righteous is a fool,
The Rigid Wise anither:

The cleanest com that e'er was dight
May hae some piles o' caff in ;

Sae ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o' daffin.

Solomon. — Eccles. vii.

O Ye wha are sae gude 5 oursel

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

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

Supply'd wi' store 0' water,
The heapit hnpper's ebbing still,

And still the clap plays clatter.

Hear me, ye venerable core,

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

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

Wad here propone defences,
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakesj

Their failings, and mischances.

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd

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

What miikes the niiglitv differ ?

burns' poems. 75

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 whallop,
What ragins must his veins convulse,

That still eternal gallop ;
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail.

Right on ye scud your sea-way j
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,

It maks an unco lee-way.

See Social Life and Glee sit down,

A' joj'ous and unthinking.
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown

Debauchery and drinking ;
O wad they stay to calculate

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

Damnation of expenses !

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames.

Tied up in godly laces,
Before you gie Tpoov 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 man,

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

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

The moving whi/ they do it ;

BUR^S POEMS.

And just as lamely can ye mark,
How far perhaps tliey'rue it.

Wha made the heart, 'tis He alone

Decidedly can try us,
He knows each cord, its various tone,

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

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

But ken na what's resistet.

TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY.

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

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil ?
Or great M^K'mlayi thrawn his heel ?
Or Bobinsont again grown weel,

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

" Tarn Samson's dead."

Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane,
And sigh, and sab, and greet her lane,

• When this worthy old sportsman went out lastniuir-fowl
season, he supposed it was to he, in Ossian's phrase, "the last
of his fields," and expressed an ardent wish to die and be
buried in the muirs. On this hint the author comiiosed hia
elegy and epitaph.

t A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million.
fide the '* Ordination," stanza 2.

I Another preacher, an equiil favourite with the few, who
was at that time ailing. For him see also the "Orriination,"
stanza 'J.

burns' POEiis. 77

And deed her bairns, man wife, and wean,

In mourning weed ;
To death she's dearly paid the kane,

Tarn Samson's dead.

The brethren o' the mystic level
May hing their head in wofu' bevel,
While by their nose the tears will 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 ;
When to the loughs the curlers flock,

Wi' gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the coch ?

Tam Samson's dead !

He was the king o' a' the core.
To guard, or draw, 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 !

Now safe the stately saumont sail.
And trouts bedvop'd wi' crimson hail.
And eels, weel kenn'd for souple tail,

And geds for greed,
Since dark in death's ^sA-creeZ we wail

Tam Samson's dead !

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ;
Ye cootie muirococks, crousely ciaw:
Ve maukins, cock your fuds fu' braw
Withouten dread ;

8 burns' poems.

Your mortal fae is now awa',

Tarn Samson's dead.

That wofa' mom be ever mourn'd
Saw him in shooting-graith adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd,

Frae couples freed ;
But, och ! he gaed, and ne'er return'd

Tarn Samson's dead !

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

An acre braid !
Now every auld wife, greeting, clatters,

Tam Samson's dead !

Owre monie a weary hag he limpit,
And aye the tither shot he thumpit^
Till coward Death behint him jumpii,

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

Tam Samson's dead I

When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger,
But yet he drew the mortal trigger

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ;
" Lord five !" he cried, and owre did stagger

Tam Samson's dead !

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ;
Ilk sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father ;
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather,

Marks out his head,
Whave Burns has wrote in rhyming blether,

Tam Samson's de('^ ■'

BtmNy' POEMS. 79

There low he lies, in lasting rest ;
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest

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

Tam Samson's dead !

When August winds the heather wave,
And sportsmen wander by yon grave.
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave

O' pouther and lead ;
Till Echo answers frae her cave,

Tam Samson's dead !

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be !
Is th' wish o* mony mae than me ;
He had twa fauts, or may be three,

Yet what remead ?
Ae social honest man want we —

Tam Samson's dead !

THE EPITAPH.

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies,
Ye canting zealots spare him !

If honest worth in heaven rise,
Ye'U mend or ye win near him.

PER CONTRA,

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly

Through a' the streets and neuks o* Killie,*

Tell every social, honest billie

To cease his grievin ;
For yet, unscaith'd by death's gle^ gullie,

Ta7n Samson's livin '

• Kilmarnock.

80 BUUNS' PaEMS.

HALLOAYEEN.*

The following Poem will, by many readers, be well eno;;?li
understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted
with the manners and traditions of the country whert the
scene is cast, Notes are added, to give some account of the ,
principal Charms and Spells of that night, bo big witli
Prophecy to the Peasantry in the "U'est of Scotland. Tlie
passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the
history of Human Nature in its rude state, in all ages and
nations; and it may be some entertainment in a philosophic
mind, if any such should honour the author with a perusal.
to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in
our own.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Goldsmith.

Upon that night, when fairies light,

On Cassilis Doicnansf 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 Cox^e,X to stray and rove

Amang the rocks and streams,

To sport that night,

• Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other
mischief-making beings are all abroad on their baneful mid-
night errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies,
are said, on that night, to hold a grand anniversary.

+ Certain little romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh-
bourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.

X A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of
Colean, which, as well as Ca=sili« Downans, is faro<>d ic
country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies.

BURNS' POEMS. 81

Araang the bonny winding banks,

Where Doon rins wimplin clear,
Where Bruce* ance rul'd the martial ranks,

And shook the Carrick spear,
Some merry, friendly contra folks

Togetlier did convene,
To burn their nits, and pou their stocks,

And haud their Halloiceen,

Fu' blithe that night.

The lasses feat, and cleanly neat,

Mair braw tlian when they're fine ;
Tlieir faces blithe, fu' sweetly kythe,

Hearts leal, and warm, and kin' :
The lads sae tritr, wi' wooer-babs,

Well knotted on their garten,
Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs,

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin,

Whyles fast at night.

Then first and foremost, thro' the kail.
Their stocks^ maun a' be sought ance;

They steek their een, and graip and wale,
For rauckle anes, and straught anes.

• The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert,
the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.

tThe first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a stoch,
or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with evf s
shut, and pull ihe first they meet with ; its being big or little,
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the
object of all their spells — the husband or wife. If any yirrf,
or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher or fortune; and
the taste of the custoc, 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.
17. G

go burns' poems.

Poor hav'rel Will fell af the drift,
And wander'd tliro' the how-kail,

And pou't, for want o' better shift,
A runt was like a sow-rail,

Sae bow't that night.

Tlien, stranght or crooked, yird or nane,

They roar" and cry a' throu'tlier;
The verv wee tilings, todlin, rin

\Vi' stocks out-owre their shouther ;
And gif the custoc's sweet or sour,

\Vi' jocrelegs they taste them ;
Svne coziely,"aboon the door,

'Wi' cannie care they've plac'd them
To lie that night.

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a',

To pou tlieir stalks o' corn ;*
But Rab slips out, and jinks about

Behind the muckle thorn :
He grippet Nelly hard and fast;

Loud skirled a' the lasses ;
But her tap-pickle maist was lost.

When kiutlin i' the fause-hous-ef
Wi' him that night.

The auld gudewife's weel-hordet niis,X
Are round and round divided,

•They go to the barn-vard and pull each, at three
several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the
top-pickle, that is the grain at the top of the stalk, the party
In question will come "to the mariage-bed any thing but a

*"t When the corn is in a doubtful state, by bein? too green
or wet, the stack-buikler, hy means of old timber, &c. makes
a larce apartment in his stack, with an openmg m tl.p side
which is most exposed to the wind; thiB he calls a /au^e-

^''rLumint: the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the
kd and lass to each particuhir nut. as they lay them ii. lue

BUIiNS' POEMS. S3

And monie lads* and lasses' fates

Are there that niKJit decided :
Some kindle, couthie, side by side,

And bum thegither trimly ;
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride,

And jump out-owre the chimlie
Fu' high that night,

Jean slips in twa, wi' ten tie ee ;

Wha twas, she wadna tell ;
But this is Jock, and this is me^

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

As they wad never raair part ;
Till futf ! he started up the lum,

And Jean had e'en a sair heart,
To see't that night.

Poor Willie, wi* his how-kail runt

Was hrxmt wi' prirasie Mallie ;
And Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt,

To be compar'd to Willie ;
Mall's niD lap out wi' pridefu' fling,

And her aiii tit it brunt it ;
While W^illie lap, and swoor by jing,

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

Nell had the fause-house in her min*, •

She pits herself and Rob in ;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,

Till white in ase they're sobbin :
Nell's heart was dancing at the view ;

She whisper'd Rub to leuk for't :

fire; and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start
fiora beside one anotlier, tlie course aad issue o! the court
ship will be.

84 burns' poems.

Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonny raou,
Fu' cozie in the neuk fort,

Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell,
She lea'es them gasliin at their cracka,

And slips out by hersel:
She thro' the yard the nearest taks,

And to the kiln she goes tlien,
And darklins graipit for the banks,

And in the blue-clew* throws them,
Right fear't that night.

And ay she win't, and aye she swat ;

I wat she made nae jaukin :
Till something held within the pat,

Gude L— d ! but she was qnakin !
But whether 'twas the De'il himsel,

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en',
Or whether it was Andrew Bell,

She didna wait on talkin

To spier that night.

"Wee Jenny to her Grannie says,
" Will ye go wi' me, Grannie ?

I'll eat the apple t at the glass
I gat frae uncle Johnnie :

• Wboever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly
observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln,
and, darklins, throw in the pot a clew of blue yarn; wind
it in anew clew off the old one; and, towards the latter end,
something will hold the thread; demand, Tl'hti hands? i.e.
who holds? an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot,
by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.

t Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an
bpjile befure it; and some traditions say, you should comb

burns' poems.

She fufl^d her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin,

She notic'd na, an aizle brunt
Her braw new worset apron

Out thro' that night.

" Ye little skelpie-Iimmer's face !

How dare you try sic sportin,
As seek the foul tliief ony place,

For him to spae your fortune :
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight !

Great cause ye hae to fear it ;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,

An' liv'd and died deleeret
On sic a night.

" Ae hairst afore the Sherra-Moor,

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

I was no past fyfteen :
The simmer had been cold and wat.

And stuff was unco green ;
And ay a rantin kirn we gat,

And just on HaVoioeen

It fell that night.

" Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,

A clever sturdy fallow ;
He's sin gat Epple Sim wi' wean,

That liv'd in Achmacalla;
He gat hemp-seed* I mind it wee],

And he made unco light o't ;

your hair all the time; the face of your conjugal com-
panion to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peepin? over
your shoulder. f f s

' Steal out, unperceived, and sow an handful of hemp-
seed, harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently

g-3 BURNS POEMS.

But niony a day was hxj liinisel,
He was sae sairly friofhted

That vera night."

Then up gat fechtin Jaraie Fleck,

And lie swoor by his conscience,
That he couhl smc hemp-seed a peck

For it was a' but nonsense :
The auld guderaan rautiht down the pock,

And out a handfu' gied him ;
Svne bade him slip tVae 'mang the folk,

'Some time wiien nae ane seed him,
And try't that night.

He marches thro' amang the stacks,

Tho' he was soinethin^r sturtin ;
The graip he for a harrow tacks,

And haurls at his curpin :
And ev'ry now and then, he says,

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee,
And her that is to be ray lass.

Come after me and draw thee,
As last this night.

He whistled up Lord Lennox' march,
To keep his courage cheery ;

Altho' his hair beaan to arch.
He was sae fley'd and eerie :

draw after you. Repeat, now and then, "Hernp-seed I
saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and h.m (or her that is
to be my true-l..ve, come alter me and pou thee," Look
over your left shoulder, and you will see the person invoked,
?n the attitude of pnHinK hemp. Some traditions say,
"Come after me and shaw thee." that is, show thyself; m
which case it simplv appears. Others orait^the harrowing,
and say, "Come after me, and harrow thee.

burns' poems. 87

Till presently he hears a squeak,

And then a grane an' gruntle:
He by his shouther gae a keek,

And tumbled wi' a win tie

Out-owre that night

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,

In dread fu' desperation !
And young and auld cam rinnin out,

To hear tiie sad narration ;
He svvoor 'twas liilcliiii Jean M'Craw,

Or Crouchie Merran Hunipliie,
Till stop ! she trotted tliro' them a' :

And wha was it but grwnphie

Asteer that uight.

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gane ,

To icin three icechts o' naething ;*
But for to meet the deil her lane,

She put but little faith in :
She gies the herd a pickle nits.

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

In hopes to see Tam Kipples

Tliat very night.

* This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived and
alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking
them off the hingfes if possible, for there is danger that the
being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some
mischief. Then take that instrument used iu winnowing the
corn, wliich, in our country d.alect, we call a wecht, and ro
through all the attitudes of letting down corn against tiie
wind. Repeat it tlrree times : and the third time an appa-
rition will pass througii the barn, in at the windy door and
out at the other, having botli the figure in question, and the
ai)i)earance or retiiiue marking the employment or station
•u life.

y BURNS pop:ms.

She turns the key wi' cannie thrav7,

An' owre the tlireshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca',

Syne bauldly in she enters :
A ration ratrled up the wa',

And she cried, L— d preserve her I
And ran thro' midden-hole and a',

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour,
Fu' fast that night.

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

They liecht him some fine braw ane ;
It chanc'd the stack hefaddoni'd thHce*

Was timmer propt for tlirawin :
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak,

For some black grousome carlin ;
And loot a winze, and drew a stroke,

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin

' Aff's nieves that night.

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As cantie as a kittlin ;
But, och! that night, amang the shaws,

She gat a fearfu' settlin !
She thro' the whins, and by the cairn,

And owre the hill g.ted scrievin,
Wliare three lalrcW lands met at a burn^^

To dip her left sark sleeve in,

Was bent that night.

• Take an opportunity of 5roiii<r, unnoticed, to a bean-stack,
and fatlioiii it three times round. The last fathom of the
last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your
IiitU'-e conjiis;;il yoke-fellow.

+ You go oit, one or more, for this is a social ?pell, to a
south-running sprin?, or rivulet, where "three lairdi'
lands meet," and dip your left snirt sleeve. Go to bed in
sight of a fire, and hanjj your we', sleeve before it to dry.

burns' poems. 89

Whyles owre the linn the burnie plays,

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

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

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

Below the spreading hazel,

Unseen that night. *

Amang the brachens, on the brae, '

Between her and the moon.
The deil, or else an outler quey,

Gat up and gae a croon ;
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ;

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit;
But miss'd a fit, and in the pool

Out-owre the lugs she plurapit,

Wi' a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,

The higgles three* are ranged,
And every time great care is ta'en

To see them duly changed !

Lie awake ; and, some time near midnight, an aj'parition
having the exact tifjure of the grand object in question,
will come and turn tiie s'eeve, as if to dry the other side of it.
• I'ake three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in
another, and leave the third empty. Blindfold a person,
and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged : he
(or she) dips the 1 ft. hand : if by chance in the clean water,
the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matri-
mony a maid ; if in the fi)ul, a widow ; if in the empty dish,
it furetels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It i*
repeated three times; and every time the arrangement o-.
the dishes is attjered.

00 BURNS POEMS.

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,

In wrath that night.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,

I wat they didna weary ;
And unco tales, and funny jokes,

Their sports were cheap and cheery.
Till buttered su'iis.* wi' fragrant luut,

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

They parted aff careerin

Fu' blythe that night.

THE

AULD FARMER'S

NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD
MARE MAGGIE,

On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Com to hansel in th»
New Year.

A Glide New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie ;
The' thou's howe-backit now, and knaggie,

I've seen the day.
Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie

Out-owre the lay.

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, and crazy,

And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, ^

• Sowens, with butter instead of milk to thena, is always

the Halloween supper.

BCIINS' POEMS. 91

I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, ■■

A bonny gray :
He should been tight that daiir't to raize thee

Ance hi a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
^ filly buirdly, steeve, and swank,
And set weeldown a shapely sliank

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

Like ony bird.

It's now some nine-and-twenty year,
Sni' thou was my guid father's vieere,
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

And fifty mark :
Though it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,

And thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie :
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, and funny,

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

And unco sonsie.

That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my l)onnie bride :
And sweet and gracei'u' she did ride,

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

For sic a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
And wintle like a saumont-coble,
That day ye was a jinker noble,

For heels and vim'.

92 BURNS' F(!P:M3.

And ran them till they a' did wauble
Fiii, far behin'.

When thou and I were young and skeigh,

And stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,

How thou wad prance, and snort, and skreigh,

And tak the road,
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeish.

And ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, and I was mellow,
We took the road ay like a swallow ;
At brooses thou had ne'er a fallow,

For pith and speed ;
But every tail thou pay't them hollow,

Whare'er thou gaed.

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

And gar't them whaizle ;
Xae whip nor spur, hut just a whattle

O' saugh or hazel.

Thou was a nohle Jit tie-Ian'

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ;

Aft thee and I, in aught hours gaun,

On sude March weather,
Has tum'd sax rood beside our han',

For days thegither.

Thou never braindff't, and fech't, and fliskit,
But thy au'd t;iil tliou wad liae whi;kit.
And spread abreed rhy weel-fill'd brisket,

Wi' pith and power,
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket,

An' slypet owre.

burns' poems. 93

When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep.
And threaten'd labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap,

Aboon the timnier ;
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit ;

The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ;

Thou never lap, and sten'r, and breastit,

Then stood to blaw ;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,

Thou snoov't awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ;
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw j
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa,

Tiiat thou hast nurst :
They drew me thretteen pund and twa,

The very warst.

Mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought.
And wi' the weary warl' fought !
And mony an anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat !
Yet here to crazy age were brought!

Wi' something yet.

And think na, my auld trusty servan'.
That now, perhaps, thou's less deservin,
And thy auld days may end in starvin,

For my last fou,
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane

Laid by for you.

We've worn to crazj' years tbegither ;
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ;

94 BUR.NS- POEMS.

Wi' tentie care I'll fit thy tether
To some hain'd rig,

Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi' sma' futi;:ue.

TO A MOUSE,

OV TUBXIKQ HEB W IW HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH.

NovenibeTy 1785.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie!
O, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need iia start awa sae hastie,

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

Wi' murd'rin pattle.

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

Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

An' J'elloiu- mortal.

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

'S a sma' request :
I'll get a bleesing wi' the lave,

And never miss't.

Thy wee bit Jioiisie, too, in ruin !
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin 1
An naething now to big a new ane
O' foggage green !

burns' poems. 95

An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell and keen !

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
An' weary winter cominor fast,
An' co/ie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thoujrht to dwell,
Till crash ! the cruel coulter past

Out through thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble !
^ow thou's tum'd out, for a' thy trouble,

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

And cranreucli cauld !

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In provingybrmr//i< may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice and men

Gancr aft a-trley,
And lea'e us nought but grief and paia,

For promis'd joy.

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me :
T\\e present only touchetl; tliee;
But, och! I backward cast my ee,

On prospects drear !
And forward, though I canna see.

I guess zxCJeax.

96 burns' poems.

A WINTER JflGHT.

Poor naked ■nretches, wlieresop'er you are,
That bide the peltin? of this pitiless storm 1
How shall your houseless lieads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? —

Shakspeare,

When biting Boreas^ fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro' the leaflpss bow'r ;
When Phcehus ^ries a short-liv'd glow'r

Far south the lift —
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r

Or whirling drift :

Ae night the storra the steeples rocked,
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi' snawy wreaths r.p-choked

Wild-eddying swirl,
Or thro' the mining outlet. ])ock'd^

Down headlong hurl.

List'ning the doors and winnocks rattle,
I tho+ight me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle,

0' winter war,
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle

Beneath a scar.

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing !
That, in the merry montlis o' spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,

What comes o' thee?
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittenng wing

And close thy ee?

BURiNS' poe:,is. h7

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd,
Lone from your savage homes exil'd,
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cot spoil'd,

My heart forgets,
While pitiless the tempest wild

Sore on you beats.

Now Phabe, in her midniorht reign,
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain,
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,

Rose hi my soul.
When on my ear this plaintive strain,

Slow, solemn, stole

" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust !
And ireeze, thou bitter-biting frost !
Descend, ye chilly, smother. n^; snows !
Not all your rage, as now united, shows

More hard unkuidness, unrelenting.

Vengeful malice, unrepenting,
Thau heav'n-illumin'd Man on brother Man bestows.

See stem Oppression's iron grip,
Or mad Ambition's gory hand.

Sending, like blood-houuds from the slip.
Woe, want, and murder, o'er a land !

Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale,

Truih, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
How [lamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side,

The pur<usite empoisoning her ear.

With all the servile wretches in the rear.
Looks o'er proud Property extended wide.

And eyes the simple, rustic Hind,
Whose toil upholds the flittering show,

A creature of another kind.

Some coarser substance, unrefin'd,
Placed for her lordly uoe thus far, thus vile below.

Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe.

With lordly Honour's lofty brow.
Tile pow'rs you proudly own?

1/ H

98 BURKS* POEMS.

Is there, beneath Love's noble name,

Can harbour, dark, tlie seMsh aim,
To bless himself alone?

Mark maiden-innocence a prey
To love-pretending snares ;

This boasted iionour turns away,

Shunning soft Pity's rising sway.
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs !

Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's squalid nest,

She strains your infant to her joyless breast,
And with a mother's fears shriiiks at the rocking blast !
Oh ye ! wlio, sunk on beds of down,

Feel not a want but wliat yourselves create,

TJiink, for a moment, on his wretched fate,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown I
Ill-satisfyd keen Nature's clani'rous call,

Stretcli'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep,
While tiiro' the ragged roof and cliiuky wall,

Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drit ty heap !

Think on the dungeon's •rrira confine.

Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine !

Guilt, erring man, relenting view!

But shall thy regal rage pursue

The wretch already crushed low

By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ?
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ;
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !"

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shook otFthe pouthery snaw.

And hail'd the morning wi' a cheer,
A cottage-rousing craw.

But deep this truth impress'd my mind-
Through all His works abroad.

The heart benevolent and kind
Tiie most resembles God.

burns' poems. 99

EPISTLE TO DAVIE,"

A BIIOTHER POET.

January .

While winds frae &S 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,
I grudge a wee the great folk's gift,
That live sae bien an' snug :
I tent less, and want less.

Their roomy fire-side j
But hanker and canker
To see their cursed pride.

It's hardly in a body's power

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,

Though we hae little gear,
We're tit to win our daily bread,
As lang's we're hale and fier :
" Mair spier na, nor fear na,"t
Auld Age ne'er mi)id a feg ;
The last o't the warst o't,
Is only for to beg.

• David Sillar, one of the club at Tarbolton. the author of
a Votume of Poems iu the Scottish dialect,
t Ramsay.

\()0 BURKS' rOE3IS.

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en

When banes are crazed, and blude is thin,

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

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

Intended fraud or guile,
However Fortune kick the ba',
Has ay some cause to smile ;
And raind still, you'll tind 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 hall ?
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods,
Tne sweeping vales, and foaming floods,

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

And blackbirds whistle clear,
Wi' lionest joy our hearts will bound,
To see the coming year :

On braes when we please, then,

We'll sit an' sowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't,
And siug't when we hae done.

It's no in titles nor in rank ;

Ic's no in wealth like Lon'on bank,

To purchase peace and rest ;
It's no in makin muckle vuiir :
It's no in books, its no in lair,

To make us truly blest :
II" Happiness hae riot her seat,

Aj.o centre in the breast;

burns' pokms. lOi

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 tlirough wet and dry,

Wi' never-ceasing toil ;
Think ye, are we less blest than they,
Wisa 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 gude.

They riot in excess !

Baith careless, and fearless
Of either heav'n or hell;
Esteeming and deeming
It's a' an idle tale 1

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'3 thankfu' for them yet.
They gie the wit o' age to youth ;

They let us ken oursel ;
They make us see the naked truth.
The real guid and ill.
Tho' losses and crosses

Be lessons right severe.
There's wit there, ye'll get there,
Ye'U find nae ither where.

1 02 burns' pokms.

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts,

(To say auffht less wad wrang the cartes,

And flat'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' t1i£ heart,

The lover and the frien' ;
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part,
And i my darling Jean :
It warms me, it charms me,

To mention but her name :
It heats me, It beets me,
And sets me a' on flame.

0, 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 ray breast.
Thou Being, all-seeing,

O hear my fervent pray'r I
Still take her, and make her
Thy most peculiar care !

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

The sympathetic glow ;
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 ;

BURNS' POEMS. 103

And oft a more endearing band,
A tie more tender still.
It lightens, it briiihtens,

Tlie tenebrific scene,
To meet with, and greet with
My Davie or my Jean.

O, how that name inspires my style !
Tiie words come skelpin rank and file,

Amaist before I ken !
The ready measure rins as fine
As Phoebus and the famous Nine

Were glowrin owre my pen.
My spaviet Pegasris will limp,

Till ance he's fairly het ;
And then he'll hilcli, and stilt, and jimp,
An rin an unco fit ;
But lest then, the beast then.
Should rue this hasty ride,
I'll light now, and dight now,
His sweaty wizen'd hide.

THE LAMENT,

OOCASIONED BY THE UNyORTUXATE ISSUE OF A FRIEKU'S

AMOUil.

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself!
And sweet AfTection prove the spring of wo.

Home.

O Thou pale orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep !

Thou see'st a wretch tliat inly pines.
And wanders here to wail and weep !

104 burns' POE3r3.

With wo I nightly vigils keep.
Beneath thy wan, unwarmin',' beam,

And moum, in lamenta'^n deep,
How life and love are all a dream.

I joyless view thy rays adorn

The faintly-marked distant hill ;
I joyless view thy trembling horu

Reflected in the gurgling rill ;
My fondly-fluttering lieart, be still !

Thou busy power. Remembrance, cease !
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill

For ever bar returning peace !

No idly-feign'd poetic pain^,

My sad, love-lorn lamenting claim ;
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ;

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame ;
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ;

Tlie oft-attested Powers above ;
The promised Father's tender name ;

Tliese were the pledges of my love !

Encircled in her clas]>ing arms,

IIow have the raptured moments flown!
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms,

For her dear sake, and her's alone !
And must I think it! is she gone?

My sacred heart's exulting boast I
And does she heedless liear my groan ?

And is she ever, ever lost ?

O ! can she bear so ha?e a I'cart,
So lost to honour, lost to truth,

As from the fondest lover part.
The plisrhted husband of her youth !

Alas ! life's patii may be unsmooth I
Her way may lie through rough dlstrer.3 1

BURIJiS' POEMS. lOo

Then who her pangs and pains will sooth.
Her sorrows share, and make them less !

Ye winged hours that o'er us past,

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

My fondly-treasur'd thouiihts empioy'd.
That breast, how dreary now, and void,

For her too scanty once of room !
Ev'n every ray of hope destroy 'd,

And not a wish to gild the gloom !

The morn that warms th' approaching day,

Awakes me up to toil and wo :
I see the hours in long array,

Tliat I must suffer, lingering, slow.
Full many a pang and many a throe,

Keen Recollection's direful train,
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low,

Shall kiss the distant western main.

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:
Or, if I slumber, Fancy, chief.

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright :
Even day, all bitter, brings relief,

From such a horror- breathing night.

O thou bright queen, who o'er the expanse.

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway :
Oft has tiiy silent-marking glance

O'oserv'd us, fondly, wand'ring, stray ;
The time, unheeded, sped away.

While Love's luxurious pulse brat high,
Beneath tliy silver-gleaming ray,

To mark thy mutual kindling eye.

lOG BURNS* POESiS.

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set !

Scenes, never, never to return ;
Scenes, if in stuyior I forget,

Airain I ieel, again I burn!
From every joy and pleasure torn,

Life's weary vale I'll wander through;
And hopelessj comfortless, I'll mourn

A faithless woman's broken vow.

DESPONDENCY.

Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,

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

To wretches such as I !
Dim backward as I cast ray view,

What sick'ning scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me through.
Too justly I may fear !
Still ca'ring, despairing,

Must be n'y bitter doom ;
My woes here shall close ne'er,
But with the closing tomb !

Happy, ye sons of busy life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,

No otlier view regard ;
Even when the wished ends denied,
Yet while the busy means are plied,

They bring tlieir own reward :
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight.

Unfitted with an aim.

burns' poems. 107

Meet every sad returning night,
And joyless morn the same.
You, bustling, and justling,

Forget eacli grief and pain ;
I listless, yet restless,
Find every prospect vain.

How 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 well !
Or, haply, to his evening thought,

By unfrequented stream.
The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint collected dream ;
While praising, and raising

His thoughts to heaven 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 fit to play the part ;
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop, diTidjust to move,

With self-respectuig art;
But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys,

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

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

IC^ burns' pokms.

Oh I envinblp, early days,

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,

To care, to guilt, unknown !
How ill exchanff'd for riper times,
To feel the follies or the crimes,

Of others, or ray own !
Ye tiny elves that'euiltless sport

Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
When inan'^iood is your wish !
The losses, the crosses,

That active man engage!
The fears all, the tears all,
Of dim-declining age.

WINTER.

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 bum comes down

And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

* The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,'*

The joyless winter-day
Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May :
The tempest's howl, it sooths ray soul,

My griefs it seems to join :

• Dr. Young.

burns' poems. 109

Th" leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine.

Thou Power Supreme, M'hose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil,
Plere, firm, I rest, they vimt be best,

Because they are Thy Will !
Then all I want, (O, do thou grant

Tills one request of mhie !)
Since to enjoy Thou must deny,

Assist me to resign.

THE

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

IKSCRIBED TO B. AITKEN, ESQ.

Let not ambition mock their useful toil.
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor graii'leur liear, with a disdainful smile,
The shojt but simple annals of tiie poor. — Qray,

My lov'd, my honour'd, much-respected friend !

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

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise ;
T.) you 1 sing, in simple Scottish lays.

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene :
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways,

What Aitkcn in a cottage would have been ;
Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there,
weeu 1

110 BUR^S' POEMS

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ;

The shortening winter-day is near a close ;
The miry beasts retreating irae the pleugh ;

The blackening train o' craws to their repose :
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,

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

Hoping the morn in case and rest to spend.
And weary, o'er the muir, his course does hameward
bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ;
Th' expectant icee-things, todlin, stacher through

To meet their Dad, wi' flitcherin noise and glee.
His wee-bit ingle, blinkin bonnilie.

His clean hearthstane, his thrifty icifie's smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,
And makes him quite forget his labour and 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 sparklin in her ee.
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown.

Or deposits her sair-worn penny fee.
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

Wi' joy unfeiou'd brothers and sisters meet,
And eacii for other's weelfare kindly spiers:

The social hours, swift- wiiig'd, unnotic'd fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ;

Tlie parents, pairtial, ee their hopefu' years :
Anticipation forward points the view:

BURNS POEMS. Ill

The Mother, wi' her needle and her sheers,

Gars auld claes look araaist as weePs the new ;
The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's and their mistress's command

The younkers a' are warned to obey ;
And mind tiieir labours wi' an eydent hand,

And ne'er, though out o' sisht, to jauk and play;
* And O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway !

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

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

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door,

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

To do some errands, and convoy lier hame.
The wily mother sees tlie concious flame

Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush lier cheek;
With heart-struck anxious care inquires his name,

While Jenny haffiins is afraid to speak :
Weel-pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild worthless
rake.

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben :

A strappan youth ; he taks tlie mother's eye :
Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-taen;

The father cracks o' horses, pleughs, and kye.
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,

But blate and faithfu', scarce can weel behave ;
The mother wi' a woman's wiles, cnn spy

Wliat maks the yourh sae baslifu' and sae grave:
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respectit like the lave.

O happy love ! where love like this is found !
O heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond compare I

112 EURNS' rOEMS.

I've paced much this weary, mortal round,

And sage Experience bids me this declare—
* If Ileav'n a drauulit of heavenly pleasure spare,

One cordial in this luelanclioly vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,

In other's arnis breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the eveniue
gale.'

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

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth !
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,

Betray sweet 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'er their child ?
Then paints the r uin'd maid, and their distraction wild 1

But now the supper crowns their simple board,

The \rd.\^&ome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food;
The soupe their only Ilawkie does afford.

That 'yont the ha'llan snugly chows her cood :
The dame brings forth in complimental mood,

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

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell.
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' luit was i' the bell.

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,

They round tlie ingle form a circle wide;
Tlie sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace,

The big hiC-Bible, ance his father's pride :
His bonnet rev'reutly is laid aside.

His lyart haft'ets wearing thin and bare ;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zioii glide, •

He wales a portion with judicious care,
Aud 'Ltt us icumhlp (!oD !' he says, witii solemn <;!/.

burns' pokms. 113

They chant tneir artless notes in simple guise ;

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ;
Perpaps JJnndee^s wild vvarl)lin5: measures rise.

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'n-ward flume,

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays:
Compar'd wi' these, Italian trills are tame ;

The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they wi' our Creator's praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page.

How Ahram was the friend of God on high ;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage,

With Amalek's ungracious progeny !
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie

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

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire :
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ;
How /fe,who bore in Heaven the second name.

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head :
How his first followers and servants sped,

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land :
How he, who lone in Patinos banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ;
And heard great Bab Ion's doom pronounc'd by
Heaven's command.

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal Kingt
The saint, the father, and the hn.thand prays :

Hope * springs exulting on triumphant winu.'*
That thus they all shall meet in tutur^' days ;

Pope's Wiiirls.)r VoTOft.

I

lU nURNS' POEMtS.

There ever bask in uncreated rays

No more to sigh or shed tlie bitter tear,

Tosrether hymning tlieir Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear ;

While circling time moves round in an eternal sphtre.

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

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

Devotion's every erace, except tlie heart.
The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert,

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply, in some cottage far apart.

May hear, well pleas'd, the lanjiuage of the soul ;
And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol.

Then homeward all take off their several way ;

The youngling cottagers retire to rest ;
The parent pair their secret homage pay.

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request.
That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest,

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride.
Would, in the way iiis wisdom sees the bes.t,

For them and for their little ones provide ;
But chiefly in their hearts with grace dimne preside

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 jja/ace far behind ;
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load,

Disguising oft tlie wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness retin'd !

0> Scotia! my dear, my native soil;

For whom mv warmest wish to Heaven is sent ?

BORxNS' POEMS. 115

Long may tliy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content !
And, O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile !
Tlien, however croicns and coronets be rent,

A virUtous populace may rise the while.
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide,

That streara'd through Wallace's undaunted heart j
Who dared 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 !)
O never, never Scotia's realm desert ;

But still the patriot, and the patriot bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

When chill November's surly blast

Made fields and forests bare,
One evening as I wander'd forth

Along tlie banks of Ayr,
I spy'd a man, whose aged step

Seem'd weary, worn with care ;
His face was furrow'd o'er with years,

And hoary was his hair.

Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?

Began the reverend sage ;
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,

Or youthful pleasure's rage ?

110 burns' poems.

Or. haply, prest with care and woes.

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

The miseries of man !

The sun that overhangs yon moors,

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

\ haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter sun

Twice forty times return ;
And every time has added proofs.

That man was made to mourn.

O man ! while in thy early years,

How prodigal of time!
Mis-spending all their precious hours,

Tliy glorious youthful prime !
Alternate follies take the sway :

Licentious passions burn ;
Which tenfold force gives nature's laws,

That man was made to mourn.

Look not alone on youthful prime,

Or manliood's active mii;ht ;
Man then is useful to his kind,

Supported is his riglit :
But see hira on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn,
Then age and want, oh! ill-match'd paii'I

Shew man was made to mourn.

A few seem favourites of fate.

In pleasure's lap carest ;
Yet tliink not all tlie rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.
But, oh ! what crowds in every land,

Are wretclied and forlorn !

IirRNci' POE.^IS 117

Thro' weary life this lesson learn,
Tliat man was mude 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 heav'n-erected face

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

Makes countless thousands moum.

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,

So abject, mean, and vile,
\Vlio begs a brother of the earth

To give him leave to toil ;
And see liis \ord\y feflow-ivorm

The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, thou'^h a weeping wife.

And helpless offspring, mourn.

If I'm yon haughty 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 sulyect to

His cruelty or scorn ?
Or why has man the will and pow'r

To make his fellow mourn ?

Yet let not this too much my sou.
Disturb thy youthful breast:

This partial viewr of human kind
Is surely not the last.

The poor, oppressed, honest man,
Had never, sure, been born.

1 18 BURNS* POEMS.

Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn.

0, Death, the poor man's dearest friend,

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

Are laid with thee at rest,
The {Treat, the wealthy, fear thy blow,

From pomp and pleasure torn !
But, oh ! a blest relief to those

That weary-laden mourn !

A PRAYER

IN TH3 PROSPECT OF DEATH.

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear.
In whose dread presence, ere an hour,

Perhaps I must appear !

If I have wander'd in those paths

Of life I ought to shun ;
As something loudly in my breast

Remonstrates I have done j

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;

And list'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human xcealtness has come short.

Or frailty stept aside,
Do thou, All-Good, for such thou art.

In shades of darkress hjdf^.

BUIiNS' POEMS. 119

Where with intention I have err'd,

No other plea I have,
But — Thou art good ; and goodness still

Dellghteth to Torsive.

STANZAS

ON THE SAME OCCASION.

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ?

Have I so found it full of pleasintr charms ?
Some drops of joy, vi^ith draughts of ill between:

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms :
Is it departing- pangs my soul alarms ?

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ?
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ;

I tremble to approach an angry God,
And justly smart beneath his sm-avenging rod.

Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul offence !'

Fain promise never more to disobey ;
But, should my Author healtii again dispense,

Again 1 might desert fair virtue's way ;
Again in folly's path might go astray !

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ;
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray,

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ?
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran,

O Thou, great Governor of all below !

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,

Or still the tumult of the raging sea :
With tliat controlling power assist e'en me,

Those headlong furious passions to confine ;
For all unfit I feel my ]jow'rs to be,

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line :
O, aid uie with thy help, Oituiipottnce Blvbu.

12i) DiRNs' roE.'.rs.

VERSES

LEFT AT A PRIEXD'S HOUSE, WHERE THE AUTIIOI.
SLEPT ONE yiOHr.

O TiiOTT dread Pow'r, who reign'st above,

I know tliou wilt me hear ;
When for this scene of peace and love,

I make my pray'r sincere.

The hoary sire — the tcortal stroke,

LoiiLf, lonsr be pleas'd to spare!
To bless his little filial flock,

And show what good, men are.

She, wlio her lovely offspring eyc4

With tender hopes 'ind fears,
O bless her with a mother's joys.

But spare a mother's tears !

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,

In manhood's dawning blush ;
Bless him, thou God of love and truth.

Up to a parent's wish !

The beauteous seraph sister-band.

With earnest tears I pray,
Thou know'st the snares on every hand,

Guide thou their steps alway !

When soon or late they reach that coast,

O'er life's roush ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,

A family in heaven I

burns' poems. 121

THE FIRST PSALM.

The man, in life wherever placed,

Hatli iiappiness in store,
Who walks not in the wicked's way,

Nor learns the guilty lore !

Nor from the seat of scornful pride.
Casts forth his eyes abroad.

But with huinility"^and awe
Still walks before his God.

That man shall flourish like the trees

Which by the streamlets grow;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Sliall to the ground be cat;t,

And, like tlie rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.

For why ? that God the good adore
Hath given them peace and rest,

But liath decreed that wicked meu
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

-0-

A P R A Y E R.

UNDEK THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT AXftUISK.

O Thou Great Beinor \ what thou art

Surpasses me to know :
Yet sure I am, that known to thee

Arc all thy v/orks below.

\'22 BUR^'S' POEMS.

Thy creature here below thee startds,
All wretched and distrest;

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul
Obey thy high behest.

Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act

From cruelty or wrath !
O, free my wearj' 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 firm resolves
To bear and not repine !

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NliVETIETH
PSALM.

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend

Of all the liuman race !
Whose strong right liand has ever been

Their stay and dwelling-place.

Before the mountains heav'd their heads

Beneath thy forming hand,
Before tliis pond'rous globe itself

Arose at thy command.

That pow'r which rais'd and still upholds

This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning tune

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years
Wlitch seem to us so vast.

burns' poems. l-i3

Appear no more before thy sight
Than yesterday that's past.

Thou giv'st the wor^i : Thy creature man,

l3 to existence brousht :
Again thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men,

* Return ye into nought !'

Thou layest them, with all their cares,

In everlasting sleep ;
As with a flood thou tak'st them off

With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flow'r,

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

All wither'd and decay'd.

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,

ox TURNING ONE DOWN AVITH THE PLOUGH,
IN APRIL, 1786.

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

Thy slender stem ;
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,

Thou bonnie gem !

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie Lark, companion meet !
Bending thee 'mang tlie dewy weet,

Wi' speckled breast,
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet

The purpling east.

1C4 burns' pokms.

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

Amid the storm,
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth

Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield
But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or stane,
Adorns the hlstie stibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble^ guise:
But now the share uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies !

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
S'weetfloiu'ret of the rural shade,
By love's simplicity betrayed,

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 I

Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent Lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blew hard.

And whelm him o'er !

Snch fate to sifffering icortfi is given.
Who long with wants and woes has striven

BURNS' POEMS. 125

By human pride or cunning: driven,

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

He, ruin'd, sink !

Ev'n thou who moum'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine — no distant date ;
Stem Ruin's ploughshare drives elate,

Full on thy bloom,
fill crush'd beneath the furrow's weight.

Shall be thy doom.

TO RUIN.

All hail ! inexorable lord

At whose destruction-breatliing word

The mightiest empires fall,
Thy cruel, wo-delitrhted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,

A sullen welcome, all !
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,

I see each aimed dart ;
For one has cut my dearest tie,
And quivers in my heart,
Then low'ring, and pouring,

The storm no more I dread ;
Tho' thickening, and blackeniiig
Round my devoted head.

And thou, grim power, by life abhorr'd.
While life 2l pleasure can afford,

Oh ! hear a wretcli's prayer !
No more I shrink appall'd afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care !

1-20 burns' poems.

When shall my soul, in silent peace,

Resign ]U'e'» joyless day ;
My weary heart in throbbin^s cease,
Cold mouldering in the clay ?
No fear more, no tear more,

To stain ray lifeless face ;
Enclasped, and grasped
Within thy cold embrace 1

TO MISS LOGAN,

U'lTH BEATTIE'S poems, AS A NEW-YEA R's GIFT,
JANUAKY 1, 1787.

Again the silent wheels of time

Their annual round have driven,
And you though scarce in maiden prime,

Are so much nearer Heaven.

No gifts have I from Indian coasts

The infant year to hail ;
I send you more than India boasts.

In Edwin's simple tale.

Our sex with guile and faithless love

Is charged, perhaps, too true !
But may, dear maid, each lover prove

An Edwin still to vou !

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.

May 1786.

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to hae sent you

BUii.Ns' roEMS. 127

T!io' it should serve nae other end

Than just a kind memento ;
But how the subject-theine may gang,

Let time and chance determine ;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,

Perliaps turn out a sermon.

Sfe'll try the world soon, my lad,

And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'II Hnd mankind an unco squad,

And muckle they may grieve ye :
For care and trouble set your thought,

Even when your end's attained ;
And a' your views may come to nought,

Where every nerve is strained.

I'll no say men are villains a* :

The real, harden'd wicked,
VVha hae nae check but human law.

Are to a few restricted :
But, och ! mankind are unco weak.

And little to be trusted ;
\i self the wavering balance shake.

It's rarely right adjusted !

Yet they who fa' in fortune's strife.

Their fate we should na censure.
For still til' important end o' life

They equally may answer :
A man may hae an honest heart,

Tho' poortith hourly stare him,
A man may tak a neebor's part,

Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff han' your story tell,

When wi' a bosom-crony ;
But still keep something to yoursel

Ye scarcely tell to ony

128 burns' pokms.

Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can

Frae critical dissection ;
But keek thro' every other man

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection.

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love

Luxuriantly indulg-e it;
But never tempt tli' illicit rove,

Tho' naethinir should divulge it,
I wave the quantum o' the sin,

The hazard of concealing :
But och? it iiardens a' within,

And petrifies the feeling.

To catch dame fortune's prolden smile.

Assiduous wait upon her ;
And gather gear by every wile.

That's jusrify'd by honour ;
Not for to hide it in a hedge.

Nor for a train-attendant;
But for the dorious privilege

Of being indejiendent.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip.

To hand the wretch in order;
But where you feel your honour grip.

Let that aye be your border :
In slightest touches, instant pause —

Debar a' side pretences ;
And resolutely keep its laws,

Uncaring consequences.

The great Creator to revere,
Must sure become the creature ;

But still the preaching cant forbeai,
And ev'n the rigid feature ;

Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,
Be complaisance extended !

burets' poems. lUO

And Atheist's 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-driv'n

A conscience but a canker —
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n

Is sure a noble anchor.

Adieu, dear, amiable youth !

Your heart can ne'er be wanting :
May Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth,

Erect your brow undaunting !
In plougliraan-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 soups o' drink,
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,
A' ye wha live and never think,

Come, mourn wi' me \
Our Milieus gi'en us a' a jink.

And owre the sea.

Lament him a' ye rantin core,
Wha dearly like a random-splore :
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar,

In social key :
17 K

130 burns' poems.

For now he's ta'en anither shore.
And owre the sea.

The bonny lasses weel may wiss him,
And in their dear petitions place him ;
The widows, wives, and a' may bless him

Wi' tearfu' ee ;
For weel I wat they'll sair'y miss him

That's owre'the sea !

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ;
Hadst thou ta'en afi"some drousy bumrale
Wha can do nouc^-ht hut fyke and fumble,

'Twad been nae plea ;
But he was gleg as ony wuinble,

That's owre the sea !

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,
And stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ;
Twill mak her poor auld heart, 1 fear,

In flinders flee ;
He was her laureate mony a year,

That's owre the sea !

He saw Misfortune's cauld nor'-tcest
Lang musterincr up a bitter blast ;
A jillet brak his heart at last,

111 may she be!
So, took a birth afore'the mast.

And owre the sea!

To tremble under Fortune's curamock
Or surce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
Wi' his proud independent stomach;

Could ill agree.
So row't his hurdles in a hammock,

And owre tlie sea.

burns' poems. 13J

He ne'er was gi'en to great misffuiding,
Yet coin his pouches wad nae bide in ;
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ;

He dealt it free :
The Muse was a' that he took pride in,

That's owre the sea.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
And hap him in a cozie biel ;
Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,

And fu' o' glee !
He wad na wrancr'd the vera deil,

That's owre the sea.

Farewell, my rhyine-componng hillie !
Your native soil was right ill-willie ;
But may ye flourish Uke a lily,

Now bonnilie ! ■».^..

I'll toast yc in my hindmost gillie,

Tlio' owre the sea.

TO A HAGGIS.

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding race !
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

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

As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your ])in wad help to mend a mill

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

Like amber bead.

l<?-2 BUK.Nb' POEMS.

His knife see rustic labour di^ht,
And cut you up wi' ready sleiorht,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright

Like ony ditch ;
And then, 0 what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich.

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

And bent like drums ;
Then auld guderaan, maist like to rive,

Bethankit hums.

Is there that o'er his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Ot fricassee wad niak her spew

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

On sic a dinner 1

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash.

As feckless as a wither'd rash.

His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash.

His neive 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 blade,

He'll mak it whissle ;
And legs, and arms, and heads will sued,

Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye powers, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out thf^ir bill o' fare,

BUKiNS' POEMS. 13;

Anld Scotland wants nae skinkling ware

That jaups in lugiiied;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r,

Gie her a HaggU !

A DEDICATION

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.

Expect na, sir, in this narration,
A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication,
To roose you up, and ca' you guid,
And sprung o' great and noble bluia,
Because ye're sirnamed like his Grace,
Perliaps 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
May please the great folk for a wamefou ;
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow,
For, Lord be thankit ! I can pleugh '
And when I downa yoke a naig,
Then, Lord be thankit t I can beg !
Sae I shall say, and that's nae flatterin,
Its just sic poet, and sic patron.

The Poet, some guid angel help him !
Or else, I fear, some ill aue 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 shoTild be.

134 burns' POEiiri,

I readily and freely grant,
He downa see a poor man want ;
What's no his ain lie winna tak it.
What ance he says he winna break it ;
Ought he can leiid he'll no refus't,
Till aft his guidness is abused ;
And rascals whyles that do him wrang,
Ev'n thaty he does na mind it lang :
As master, landlord, husband, father,
He does na fail his part in either.

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that }
iN ae godly symptom ye can ca' that ,
It's naething but a milder feature
Of our poor sinfu' corrupt nature :
Ye'll get the best of moral works,
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks,
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi,
Wha never heard of orthodoxy.
That he's the poor man's friend in nevd,
The gentleman in word and deed.
It's no thro' terror of d-mn-ti-n j
It's just a carnal inclination.

Morality, thou deadly bane,
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ;
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is
In moral mercy, truth, and justice!

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ;
Abuse a brother to his back ;
Steal thro* a tvinyiock frae a wh-re,
But point the rake that taks the door ;
Be to the poor like ony whunstane,
And baud their noses to the grunstane ;
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ;
Xo matter, stick to sound believing.

Learn three-mile pray'rs and half-mile graces,
Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry iaces ;

burns' poems. 135

Grunt up a solemn lengfthen'd groan,
And damn a' parties but your own ;
I'll warrant then, ye're na deceiver,
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer.

O ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin^
For guvilie dubs o' your ain delvin!
Ye sons of heresy and error,
Ye'l) some day squeel in quaking terror I
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath,
And in the fire tlirows the sheath ;
Wlien Ruin, with his sweeping besom,
Just frets till Heav'n corainission gies him :
While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans,
And strikes the ever-deepening tones,
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans !

Your jjardon, sir, for this digression,
I maist forgat my dedication ;
But when divinity comes cross me,
My readers still are sure to lose me.

So, sir, ye see, 'twas nae daft vapour ;
But I maturely thought it proper,
When a' my works I did review,
To dedicate them, sir, to You:
Because (ye need na tak it ill)
I thought them something like yoursel'.

Then patronize them wi' your favour.

And your petitioner shall ever

I had amaist said, ever pray,

But that's a word I need na say :

For praying I hae little skill o't ;

I'm baith dead-sweer, and wretched ill o't ;

But I'se repeat each poor man's praifr,

'^hat kens or hears about you, sir

1:36 burns' poems.

" May ne'er Misfortune's growlin bark
Howl thro' the dwellinjj o' the Clerk.
May ne'er his gen'rous honest heart,
For that same gen'rous spirit smart!
May Kennedy's far-honour'd name
Lang beet his hymeneal flame,
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen,
Are I'rae their nuptial labours risen :
Five bonny lasses round their table,
And seven braw fellows, stout and ab'.a
To serve their king and country weel,
By word, or pen, or pointed steel !
May heal til and peace, wi' mutual rays,
Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ;
Till his wee curlie Jolui's ier-oe,
When ebbing life nae niair shall flow,
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !"

I will not wind a lang conclusion,
Wi' complimentary effusion;
But whilst your wishes and endeavours
Are blest wi' fortune's smiles and favours,
I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble servant.

Bui if (which Pow'rs above prevent !)
That iron-hearted carl. Wmit,
Attended in his grim advances,
By sad mistakes, and black mischances.
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures tiy him.
Make you as poor a dog as I am,
Your humble servant then no more ;
For who would humbly serve the poor !
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heaven !
"W hile recollection's power is given,
Jf, in the vale of humble life,
Tue victim sad of icrtaue's strife

BUR.NS' POEMS. 137

I, tliro the tender gushing tear,

Should recognize my master dear,

If friendless, low, we meet thegither,

Then, sir, your hand — my friend and brother.

TO A LOUSE,

on SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH.

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crawlin ferlie !
Your impudence protects you sairly ;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely.

Owre gauze and lace ;
The' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely

On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt and sinner,
How dare you set your fit upon her,

Scie fine a lady !
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner

On some poor body.

Swlth, in some beggar's haffet squattle !
There ye creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred jumpin cattle.

In shoals and nations ;
Whare horn nor hayie ne'er dare unsettle

Your thick plantations.

Now baud you there, ye're out o' sight.
Below the t'att'rills, snug and tiu:ht ;
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'U no be right

Till ye've got on it,
The vera tapraosr, tow'rin^ height

O' Miss's honnei.

lf3S BURNS POEMS.

My sooth ! ria:ht bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as oiiy grozet ;

0 for some rank mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red sraeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,

Wad dress your droddutn !

1 wad na been surprised to spy
You on an auld wife's flannen toy ;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,

On's wyliecoat ;
But Miss's fine Lunardi ; fie,

How dare you do't !

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head.
And set your beauties a' a bread !
Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's makin !
Thae loinks ond finger-ends, I dread,

Are notice takin !

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us
To see onrsels as others see us ;
It wad frae monie a blunder free us

And foolish notion :
'Vhat airs in dress and gait wad lea'e us.

And ev'n Devotion !

ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH.

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat !

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once beneath a monarch's feet

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs !

burns' POE5TS. 139

From marking wildly- scattered flow'rs,

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,

I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

Here wealth still swells the golden tide.

As busy trade his labours plies ;
There architecture's noble pride

Bids elegance and splendour rise ;
Here justice, from her native skies,

High wields her balance and her rod ;
;^'here learning, with his eagle eyes,

Seeks science in her coy abode.

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind,

With open arras 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 ciaim ;
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 the 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 gleams afar ;

Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms.
And mark'd with many a seamy scar ;

Tlie pond'rous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,

I iO burns' rOEMS.

Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repeil'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 home :
Alas ! how chang'd the times' to come I

Their royal name low in the dust!
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam

Tho' rigid laws cries out, 'twas just !

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,

Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Thro' hostile ranks and ruiii'd gaps

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore :
Even /, who sing in rustic lore,

Happy iny sires have left their shed.
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar.

Bold-following where your fathers led !

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat !

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once bene-ath a monarch's feet

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs !
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
\nd singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,

I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

UL'KNS' POEMS. 141

EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK-

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD.

While briers and woodbines budding greeu,
And paitricks scraiching loud at e'en,
And mornin poussie whiddin seen,

Inspire my muse,
This freedom in an unknown frien*

I pray excuse.

On Fasten-een we had a rockin.

To ca' the crack, and weave our stockin ;

And there was rauckle fun and jokin,

Ye need na doubt ;
At length we had a hearty yokin

At sang about.

There was ae sayig araang 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 described sae weel,
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ;
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele,

Or Beattie's wark !"
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel

About Muirkirk.

It pat me fidgin fain to hear't,
And sae about him there I spier't,

14*2 burns' poems.

Then a' that kent hira round declar't

He had inline.
That nane excell'd it, few cam neart,

It was sae fine.

That, set him to a pmt o' ale.

And either douce or merry tale,

Or rhymes and sangs he'd made himsel,

Or witty catches,
•Tween Inverness and tiviotdale,

He had few matches.

Then up I g-at, and swore an alth,

Tho' I should pawn my pleu^h and graith,

Or die a cadger pownie's death.

At some dyke-back,
A pint and gill I'd gie them baith

To hear j our crack.

But, first and foremost, I should tell,
Amaist as soon as I could spell,
I to the craj/ibo-Jingle fell,

Tho' rude and rough,
Yet crooning to a body's sel.

Does weel enough.

I am nae poet, in a sense.

But just a rhymer, like, by chance.

And hae to learning nae pretence.

Yet, what the matter ?
Whene'er my muse does on me glance,

I jingle at her.

Your critic-folk may cock their nose,
And say, * How can you e'er propose,
You, w'ha ken hardly rerse frae prose,
To mak a sanq V

BUKNS' POEMS. 143

But, by your leaves, my learned foes,
Ye're maybe wrang.

What's a* your jargon o' your schools,
Your Latin names for horns and stools,
If honest nature made you fools,

What sairs your fjrammars ?
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools,

Or knappin-hammers.

A set o' dull conceited hashes,
Confuse their brains in college classes!
They gang in stirks, and come out asses,

Plain truth to speak ;
And syne they tliink to climb Pamassna

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 and mire

At pleugh or cart.
My muse, tho' hamely in attire,

May touch the heart.

O for a spunk o' Allan's glee,

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee,

Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be.

If I can hit it ;
That would be lear eneugh for me.

If I could get it.

Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow,
Tho' real friends, I believe, are few.
Yet if your catalogue be fou,

I'se no insist,
But gif you want a friend that's true,

I'm on vour list.

144 burns' poems. I

I winna blaw about mysel ;

As ill I like ray fauts to tell ;

But friends, and folk that wish me well,

They soraetimes roose me !
Tho' I maun own, as monie still

As far abuse me.

There's ae weefant they whyles lay to me,

I like the lasses— Gude forgie me !

For mony a plack they wheedle frae me,

At dance or fair ;
May be some ither thing they gie me !

They weel can spare.

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair,
I should be proud to meet you there ;
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care,

If we forgather,
And hae a swap o' rhyndn-ivare

Wi' ane anither.

Tlie four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter,

And kirsen him wi' reekin water ;

Syne we'll sit down and tak our whitter.

To cheer our heart ;
And faith we'se be acquainted better

Before we part.

Awa, ve selfish warly race,

Wha think that bavins, sense, an' grace,

E?'n love and friendship, should give place

To catch-the-plack!
I dinna like to see your face,

Nor hear your crack.

But ye whom social pleasure charms.
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms,

burns' poems. 145

Who hold 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 gar me fissle.

Who am, most fervent.
While I can either sing, or whistle,

Your friend and servant.

TO THE SAME.

Aiiril 21, 1785

While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake,
And pownies reek in pleuyh or braik,
This hour on e'ening's edge I take.

To own I'm debtor
To honest-hearted, auld LapraiJf,

For his kind letter.

Forjesket sair, wi* weary legs,
Rattlin the corn out-owre tiie rigs,
Or dealing through amang the naigs

Their ten-hours bite,
My awkward Muse sair pleads and begs,

I wadna write.

The tapetless ramleezl'd hizzy,

She's saft at best, and sometlihig lazy,

Quo' she, ' Ye ken, we've been sae bizzie

This month and niair.
That, trouth, my head is grown right dizzie,

And something sair.'
17 I.

146 burns' poems.

Her dowff excuses pat me mad :

' Conscience,' says I, ye thouwless jade

I'll write, and that a hearty blaud,

This vera night ;
Sae dinna ye affront your trade,

But rhyme it right.

* Shall bauld Zapraik, 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 show your parts.

And thank him kindly !

Sae I gat paper in a blink.

And down gaed shanpie V the ink :

Quoth I, * Before I sleep a wink,

I vow I'll close it ;
And if ye winna mak it clink.

By Jove I'll prose it !

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether
In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither,
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

Let time mak prooY ;
But I shall scribble down some blether

Just clean aff-loof.

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge and carp,
Tho' fortune use you hard and sharp ;
Come, kittle up your vivirland harp

Wi' gleesome touch I
Ne'er mind how fortune waft and warp ;

She's but a b-tch.

She's ffien me mony a jirt and fleg,
Sin I could striddle owre a rig;

BURNS' POEMS. 147

Bat by the L— d, tho* I should beg

Wi' lyart pow,
I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg,

As lang'8 I dow !

Now comes the sax and twentieth simmer
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer,
Still persecuted by the limmer

Frae year to year ;
But yet, despite the kittle kiramer,

/, Rohy am here.

Do ye envy the city gent,

Behint a kist to lie and sklent,

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent.

And muckle wame,
In some bit brugh to represent

A bailie's name ?

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane,
Wi' ruffled sark and glancin cane,
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane,

But lordly stalks.
While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en,

As by he walks.

♦ O, Thou wha gies us each gude gift,
Gie me o* wit and sense a lift,

Then turn me, if 2'hou please, adrift.

Thro' Scotland wide ;
Wi' cits or lairds I wadna shift,

In a' their pride.'

Were this the charter of our state,

* On pain o' hell be rich and great,
Damnation then would be our fate,

Beyond remead ;

148 burns' poems.

But, thanks to Heav'n ! that's no the gate
We learn our creed.

For thus the royal mandate ran,
When first the human race began,
* The social, friendly, honest man,

Whate'er he be,
Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan,

And none but ?ie !'

O mandate glorious and divine !

The ragged followers o' the nine.

Poor thoughtless deevils, yet may shine

In glorious light,
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line

Are dark as night.

Tho* here they scrape, and squeeze, and growl,
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul
May in some future carcass howl.

The forest's fright,
Or in some day-detesting owl

May shun the light.

Then may Lapraik and Bums arise.
To reach their native, kindred skies.
And sing their pleasures, hopes, and joys

In some mild sphere.
Still closer knit in friendship's ties,

Each passing yenr.

BURNS' POEMS. 149

TO WILLIAM SIMPSON,

OCHILTREE.

May, 1785.

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie :
WV gratefu' heart, I thank you brawlie ;
Though I maun say't I wad be silly,

And 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 ;
Though in sic phrasin terms ye've penn'd it,

I scarce excuse ye.

My senses wad be in a creel.
Should I but daur a hope to speel,
Wi' Allan f or wi' Gilbertfield,

The braes o' fame ;
Or Fergicsson, the writer chiel,

A deathless name

(O Fergmson ! thy glorious parts

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ;

My curse upon your whunstane hearts,

Ye Enbrugh gentry !
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes

Wad stow'd his pantry !)

Yet when a tale comes i* my head,
Or lassie gie my heart a screed,

150 burns' roEMs.

As whyles they're like to be my dead,
(O sad disease !)

I kittle up my rustic reed,

It gies me ease.

Auld Coila 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' resound again

Her weel-sung praise.

Nae poet thought her worth his while,
To set her name in measur'd style ;
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle

Beside Neio Holland,
Or whar wild-meeting oceans boil

Besouth Magellan.

Ttamsay and famous Fergusson
Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon j
Yarrow and Ticeed, to monie a tune,

Owre Scotland rings,
While Irwin, Lxigar, Ayr, and Doon,

Naebody sings.

Th' Illissiu, Tiber, Thames, and Seine,
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ;
But, Willie, set your fit to mine.

And cock your crest,
We'll gar our streams and bumies shuie

Up wi' the best.

We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells,
Her muirs red-brown wi' heather-bells,
Her banks and braes, her dens and dells,
Whare glorious Wallace

burns' poems. 1''>1

Aft bure the gree, as story tells,

Frae southron billies

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood
But boils up in a springs-tide flood !
Oft hae our fearless fathers strode

By Wallace' side,
Still pressing onward red-wet shod,

Or glorious died.

O sweet are Coila's haughs and woods,
When lintwhites chant araang the buds,
And jinking hares in amorous whids,

Their loves enjoy.
While through the braes the cushat crood^

Wi' wailfu' cry.

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me,
When winds rave through 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 and forms,
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms !
Whether the summer kindly warms

Wi' life and light.
Or winter howls, in gusty storms,

The lang dark night !

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her.
Till by himsel he learned to wander,
Adown some trottin burn's meander,

And no think lang ;
O sweet, to stray and pensive ponder

A heart-felt sang !

!52 burns' poems.

The war'ly race may drudge and drive,
Hog-shouther, jundle, stretch, and strive,
Let me fair Nature's face descrive,

And I, wi' pleasure,
Shall let the bizzy, grumbling hive

Bum o'er their treasure.

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither,"
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither :
?fow let as lay our heads thegither,

In love fraternal :
May Envy wallop in a tether,

Black fiend, infernal !

While Hiffhlandmen hate tolls and taxes ;
While Muirlan' herds like gude fat braxies ;
While Terra Firma, on her axis

Diurnal turns,
Count on a friend, in faith and practice,

In Robert Burns.

POSTSCRIPT.

My memory's no worth a preen ;

I had araaist forgotten clean,

Ye bade me write you what they mean

By this veia-Iight,*
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been

Maist like to fight.

In days when mankind were but callans
Atgranimar, logic, and sic talents.

• See Note, Page 44,

burns' poems. 1o3

Tiiey took nae pains their speech to balance,

Or rules to gie,
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans.

Like you or me.

In thae auld times, they thought the moon
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon,
Wore by degrees, till her last roon

Gaed past their viewin,
And shortly after she was done,

They gat a new ane.

This past for certain, undisputed ;

It ne'er cam in their heads to doubt it,

Till chiels gat up and wad confute it,

And ca'd it wrang ;
And muckle din there was about it,

Both loud and lang.

Some herds, weel leam'd upo' the beuk.
Wad threap auld folk the thing raisteuk ;
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk.

And out o' sight,
And backlins-comin, to the leuk

She grew mair bright.

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd ;

The herds and hirsels v/ere alarm'd ;

The rev'rend greybeards rav'd and storm'd,

That beardless laddies
Should think they better were inform'd

Than their auld daddies.

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ;
Frae words and aiths to clours and nicks,
And mony a fallow gat his licks,
Wi' hearty crunt ;

164 burns' poems.

And some, to learn them for their tricks,
Were hang'd and brunt.

This game was play'd in mony lands,
And auld-light caddies bure sic hands.
That faith, the youngsters took the sands

\Vi' nimble shanks,
Till lairds forbade, by strict commands.

Sic bluidy pranks.

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe.
Folk thought them rurn'd stick and stowe,
Till now amaist on every knowe,

Ye'll find ane plac'd ;
And some, their 7ieio-light fair avow,

Just quite barefac'd.

Nae doubt the auld-light flochs are bleatin:
Their zealous herds are vex'd and sweatin ;
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin

Wi' gimin spite,
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on

By word and write.

But shortly they will cowe the loons,
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons.

To tak a flight,
And stay ae month araang the moons,

And see them right.

Gude observation they will gie them ;

And when the auld ynoon's gaun to lea'e them,

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them.

Just i' their pouch,
And when the neio-light billies see them,

I think they'll crouch.

burns' poems. 165

Sae, ye observe, that a' this clatter

Is naething but a " moonshine matter ;"

But though dull-prose folk Latin splatter

In logic tulzie,
I hope we bardies ken some better

Than mind sic bruilzie.

EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKIN,

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS.

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankin,
The wale o' cocks for fun and driiikin !
There's mony godly folks are thinkin

Your dreams* and tricks
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin,

Straught to auld Nick's.

Ye hae sae mony cracks and cants,
And in your wicked, drucken rants,
Ye mak a deevil o' the saunts,

And fill them fu' ;
And then their failings, flaws, and wants.

Are a' seen through.

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it !
That holy robe, O dinna tear it !
Spare't for their sakes wlia aften wear it,

The lads in hlack !
But your curst wit, when it comes near it,

Rives't aff their back.

* A certain humorous dream of nis was then making a
noiso in the country-side.

150 burns' poems.

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're scailhing,
It's just the hlue-goicn badge and claithihg
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething

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 and mair ;
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare,

I will expect
Yon sang ;* ye'U sen't, wi* cannie care,

And no neglect.

Though faith, sma' heart hae I to sing !
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring,

And danced my fill ;
I'd better gane and sair't the king,

At Bunker's Hill.

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun,

I gaed a roving wi' the gun.

And brought a patrick to the gnin,

A bonnie hen,
And, as the twilight was begun.

Thought nane wad ken.

The poor wee thing was little hurt ;

I straikit it a wee for sport.

Ne'er thinkin they would fash me for't ;

But deil-ma-care !
Somebody tells the poacher-court

The hale affair.

• A song he had promised the Author.

burns' poems. 167

Some auld us'd hands had ta'en a note,
That sic a hen had got a shot ;
I was suspected for the plot ;

I scorn'd to lie ;
So gat the whissle o' my groat,

And pay't the fee.

But, my gun, o' guns the wale,
And by my pouther and my hail,
And by my hen, and by her tail,

I vow and swear.
The game shall pay, o'er muir and dale,

For this, neist year.

As soon's the cockin-time is by,
And the wee pouts begin to cry,
L — d, I'se hae sportin by and by,

For my gowd guinea,
Though I should herd the bucksJdn kye

For't, in Virginia.

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame !
Twas neither broken wing nor limb,
But twa-three draps about the wame.

Scarce through the feathers ;
And baith a yellow George to claim.

And thole their blethers !

It pits me aye as raad's a hare ;
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair !
But pennyworths again are fair.

When time's expedient :
Meanwhile I am, respected sir,

Your most obedient.

158 burns' poems.

written in
FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,

ON KITHSIDE.

Thou whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deck'd in silken stole,
'Grave these counsels on thy soul.

Life is hut a day at most,
Sprung from ni^rht, in darkness lost ;
Hope not sunshine every hour,
Fear not clouds will always lower.

As youth and love, with sprightly dance,
Beneath thy morning star advance.
Pleasure with her siren 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 would'st thou scale ?
Check thy climbing step, elate.
Evils lurk in felon wait :
Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, 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 :

159

As life itself becomes disease,

Seek the chimney-nook of ease,

There ruminate with sober thought,

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought,

And teach the sportive 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 tliy fortune ebb or flow ?

Did many talents gild thy span !

Or frugal nature grudge thee one ?

Tell ihera, and press it on their mind.

As thou thyself must shortly find.

The smile or frown of awful Heav'n,

To virtue or to vice is giv'n,

Say, to be just, and kind, and wise,

There solid self-enjoyment lies ;

That foolish, selfish, faithless ways.

Lead to the wretched, vile and base.

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep ;
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
Night, where davpn shall never break.
Till future life, future no more.
Till light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before.

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide !
Quod the beadsmen of Nith-side.

ODE,

SACRED TO TiriS M£MOKY OF MRS. — OP

Dweller in yon dungeon dark,
Hansman of creation mark !

IGO BURNS POEMS.

Who in widow-weeds, appears,
Laden with unhonour'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'erflows,
Pity's flood there never rose.
See those hands ne'er stretch'd to save,
Hands that took — but never gave.
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest !

AXTISTROPHB.

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes,
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,)
Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither benJs 1

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies:
Tis thy trusty quondam mate,
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate.

She, tardy, hellward plies.

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 mockery of the pompous bier,

While down the wretched vital part is driven '.
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear.

Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heavei.

BUKNS' POEMS. 161

ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON,

X GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THEPATfiVrFOR HIS HONOUJV^
IMMEDIATEIiT FilOM AI^MIGHTY OyU.

But now his radiant course is run,
For Mattliew's course was bri^jht;

His soul was like tlie glorious sun,
A matchless, heav'nly light.

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bioody !
The meikle deevil wi' a woodie
Haurl thee hame to his black sraiddie,

O'r hurcheon hides,
And like stock-tish come o'er his studdie

Wi' thy auld sides!

He's gane ! he's gane ! he's frae us torn,

The ae best fellow e'er was born !

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mouru

By wood and wild,
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn,

Frae man exiled.

Ye hills, near neebors o* the starns,
Tliat proudly cock your crestin cairns !
Ye cliffs, the haunt of sailinji- yearns,

Where echo slumbers ;
Come join ye. Nature's sturdiest bairns,

My wailing numbers !

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens !
Ve haz'lly shaws and briery dens !
Ye bumies, wimplin down your glens,

Wi' tcdlin din,
17 M

165 burns' poems.

Or foaraing Strang, wi' hasty steas,
Frae linn to linn.

Moum, little harebells o'er the lee ;
Ye stately foxgloves, fair to see I
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie,

In scented bow'rs ;
Ye roses on your thorny tree.

The first of flow'rs.

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade

Droops with a diamond at his head,

At e'en, when beans their fragrance 5»ht.'d,

I' the rustling' gale,
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade.

Come johi my wail.

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ;
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ;
Ye curlews calling through a clud ;

Ye whistling plover ;
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood;

He s gane for ever !

Mourn, 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'ring 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,

Wliani we deplore.

burns' poems. 1(33

Ye liowlets, frae your ivy bow'r,
In some auld tree or Eldritch tow'r,
What time the moon, wV silent glow'r,

Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hotir

Till waukrife morn !

O, rivers, forests, hills, and plains !
Oft have ye heard my canty strains :
But now, what else for me remains

But tales of wo ;
And frae my een the drapping rains

Maun ever flow.

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year !
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear :
Thou simmer, while each corny spear

Shoots up its head,
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear.

For him that's dead I

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 world declare

The worth we've lost!

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light f
Mourn, empress of the silent night !
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright.

My Matthew mourn !
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight,

Ne'er to return.

O Henderson I the man ! the brother !
And art thou gone, and gone for ever !

164 burns' poems

And hast thou crost that unknown river,
Life's dreary bound !

Like thee, where shall I find another,
The world around !

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great,
In a' tne tinsel trash o' state !
But by thy honest turf I'll wait,

Thou man of worth !
And weep the ae best fellow's fate

E'er lay in earth.

THE EPITAPH.

Stop, passensrer ! my 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 spum'd at fortune's door, man,

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 heart,
For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou on men, their works and ways.
Canst throw uncommon light, man.

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise,
For Mattliew was a bright man.

If thou at friendship's sacred ca',
Wad life itself resign man;

burns' poems. 165

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa',
For Matthew was a kin' man !

If thou art staunch without a stain,

Like the unchanging blue, man ;
This was a kinsman o' thy ain,

For Matthew was a true man.

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire.
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man ;

This was thy billie, dam, and sire,
For Matthew was a queer man.

If ony whiggish whingin sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man,

May dool and sorrow be his lot,
For Matthew was a rare man.

LAMENT Of MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

0» THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now Nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white

Out o'er the grassy lea :
Now Phoebus cheers tlie crystal streams,

And glads the azure skies ;
But nought can glad the weary wight

That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,

Aloft on dewy wing ;
The merle, hi liis noontide bow'r,.

Makes woodland echoes ring ;

16(5 burns' poems.

The mavis wild, wi' many a note,

Sings drowsy day to rest ;
In love and freedom they rejoice,

Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose down the brae ;
The hawthorn's budding in the gif n,

And milk-white is the slae :
Tlie meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove their sweet amang ;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,

Maun lie in prison Strang.

I wag the Queen o' bonnie France,

Where happy I hae been ;
Fu' lightly rose I in the morn.

As blithe lay down at e'en :
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,

And mony a traitor there ;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands.

And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,

My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance, yet shall whet a sword

That through thy soul shall gae :
The weeping blood in woman's breast

Was never known to thee !
Nor the balm that draps on wounds of wo

Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars

Upon thy fortune shine ;
And may those 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 :

BURNS POEMS. 107

And when thoumeet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me !

O ! soon to me, may summer-suns

Nae mair light up the morn !
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds

Wave o'er the yellow corn ;
And in the narrow house o' death

Let winter round me rave ;
And the next flowers that deck the spring,

Bloom on my peaceful grave.

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ.

OF FINTRA.

La-TE crippled of an arm, and now a leg,
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ;
Dull, listless, teased, dejected and deprest,
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;)
Will generous Graham list to his poet's wail ?
(It soothes poor misei-y, hearkening to her tale,)
And hear him curse the light he first survey 'd.
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade.

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign;
Of thy caprice maternal I complain.
The lion and the bull thy care have found,
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground ;
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell,
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell.
Thy minions, kings defend, control, devour.
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. —
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure j
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure.
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug,
The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug.

IfiS nURNS' POT5MS.

Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts,

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts.

But oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard,
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard !
A tiling unteachable in world's skill,
And half an idiot too, more helpless still.
No heels to bear him from the opening dun ;
No claws to dig. his hated sight to shun ;
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn,
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn :
No nerves olfactr'y, Mammon's trusty cur,
Clad in rich dulness, comfortable fur.
In naked feeling, and in aching pride,
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side ;
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the' heart,
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart.

Critics — appall'd, I venture on the name.
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame :
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes-
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose.

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung,
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ;
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear,
Jiy miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear:
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 injur'd page,
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage.

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas'd.
For half-st'uv'd snarlinf; curs a dainty feast;

BURNS POEMS. It

By toil and famine wore to skin and bone,
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son.

0 dulness ! portion of the truly blest !
Calm-shelter'd haven of eternal rest !

Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams.
If mantling high she fills the golden cup,
With sober selfish ease they sip it up :
Conscious the bounteous meed they 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 bear,
And just conclude, that " fools are fortune's care."
So, heavy, passi^ve 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 vaunted hell.

1 dread thee. Fate, relentless and severe,
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear !
Already one strong hold of hope is lost,
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ;
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd at noon appears.
And left us darkling in a world of tears :)
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r !
Fintra, ray other stay, long bless and spare !
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown^
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down !
May hliss domestic smooth his private path,
Give energy to life, and sooth his latest breath
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death 1

. 170 burns' poems.

LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL Of
GLENCAIRN.

The wind blew hollow frae the hills,

By fits the sun's departing beam
Look'd on the fading yellow woods

That wav'd o'er Lutrar's winding stream:
Beneath a craigy steep a bard,

Laden with years and meikle pain,
In loud lament bewail'd his lord,

Whom death had all untumiely ta'en.

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,

Whose trunk was mould'ring down wi' years
His locks were bleached white wi' time,

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ;
And as he touch'd his trembling harp,

And as he tjin'd his doleful sang,
The winds, lamenting thro' the caves

To echo bore the notes alang.

" Ye scatter'd birds, that faintly sing

The reliques of the vernal quire !
Ye woods, that shed on a' the winds

The honours of the aged year !
A few short months, and glad and gay,

Again ye'll charm the ear and ee ;
But nought in all revolving time

Can gladness bring again to me.

" I am a bending, aged tree,

That long has stood the wind and rahi ;
But now has come a cruel blast,

And ray last hold of earth is gane :
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring,

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ;

burns' poems. 171

IJut I maun lie before the storm,
And ithers plant them in my room.

" I've seen ?ae mony changefu* years,

On earth I am a stranger grown ;
r wander in the ways of men,

Alike unknowing and unknown ;
Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd,

I bear alane my lade o' care.
For silent, low, on beds of dust.

Lie a' that would my sorrows share.

" And last, (the sum of a* my griefs !)

My noble master lies in clay ;
The flower amung our barons bold,

His country's pride, his country's stay ;
In weary beurig 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 wo and wild despair !
Awake, resound thy latest lay.

Then sleep in silence everraair !
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 barren vale.

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round ;
Though oft I turned the wistful eye,

Nae ray of fame was to be found :
Thou found'st me, like the morning sun

Tliat melts the fogs in limpid air.
The friendless bard and rustic song,

Became alike thy fosteruig care.

172 lU'UN.s' POEMS.

" O ! why has worth so short a date,

While villains ripen gray with time?
Must thou, the noble, penVous, great,

Fall in hold raanliood's hardy prime !
Why did I live to see that day ?

A day to me so full of wo !
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' tliat thou hast done for me I"

LINES

SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, OP WHITEFOORD, BART.
WITH THE FOREGOING POEM.

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earl lily

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 thedreary path to that darkworld unknown.

burns' poems. 173

TAM 0' SHANTER,

A TALE.

Of Brownyia and of Bogilia full is this Buke. Oawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearin late,
And folk begin to tak the gate ;
While we sit bousin at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy,
We think nae on tlie lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles.
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gatherin her brows like gatherin storm,
JJ ursin her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shantei ,
As he I'rae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, whom ne'er a town supasses
For honest men and bonny lasses.)

Oh, Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice !
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober ;
That ilka raelder wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ;
That every naiu was ca'd a shoe on.
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on ;
That at the L— d's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday.

174 burns' poems.

She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou wad be found deep drown'd in Doon ;
Or catch'd wi warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloicay's auld haunted kirK.

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advises.
The husband frae the wife despises !

But to our tale : Ae market-night,
Tarn had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi reaming swats that drank divbely,
And at his elbow, Souter Jolmny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tain lo'ed him like a very brither ;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi* sangs and clatter ;
And aye the ale was growin better ;
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious ;
The souter tauld his queerest stories ;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ;
Tfie storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy ;
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure.
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;
Kings may be blest, but Ta/n was gloriou?,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious !

But pleasures are like poppies spread.
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ;
Or like the snow-falls in the river,
A moment white — then melts for ever ;

burns' poems. 175

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 Tani maun ride !

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stiuie,

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 j
The rattlin;j^ show'rs rose on the blast ;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd :
That nii^ht a child might understand,
The deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Megj
A better never lifted leg.
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ;
Whiles handing fast his gude blue bonnet ;
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ;
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares.
Lest bogles catcii him unawares ;
Kirk-Alloicay was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Cfiarlie brak's neck-bane ;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunter's fand the murder'd bairn ;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd heraeJ. —

176 burns' poems.

Before him Doon pours all his floods ;
The doubling storm roars through the woods
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ;
Near and more near the thunders roll ;
When, glimmering thro' the croaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ;
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.—

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn !
What dangers thou canst make us scorn !
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ;
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil ! —
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he car'd nae deils a bodle.
But Maggie stood right sair astOTiish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand adraonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, wow ! Tarn saw an unco sight;
"Warlocks and witches in a dance ;
Nae cotillon brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reeb,
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 sorew'd the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof aud rafters a' did dirl. —
CoflBns stood round like open presses.
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ;
And by some devilish cantrip sleight,
Each in his cauld hand held a light. —
By which heroic Tarn was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's bauus in gibbet-alrns ;
Twii span-lang, wcc, ui:c:irisLeu'd bairns;

BURNS' POEMS. 177

A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted ;
A garter, which a babe had strangled ;
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted,
A knife, a father's thoat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ;
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfa'

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious :
The piper loud and'louder blew :
The dancers quick and quicker flew ;
They reel'd, tliey set, they cross'd, they cfeekit,
Tillilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linkit at it in her sark !

Now Tarn, O Tarn! had thae been queans,
A' plump and strappin' in their teens ;
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-white se'enteen hunder linen I
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush o' gude blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles,
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tani kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie.
There was ae winsome wench and walie,
Tiiat night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore !
17 N

178 burns' poems.

For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a boniiie boat.
And shook haitli muckle corn and bear.
And kept the country side in fear;)
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley barn.
That wliile a lassie siie had worn,
In lonofitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was Iier best, and she was vanntie —
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend g-rannie.
That sark she coft for her wee Namiie,
Wi' twa pund Scots, (twas a' her riches,)
Wad ever grac'd a danoe of witches!

But here my muse her wincr maun cour;
Sic flight are far beyond her power ;
To sing how Natmie lap and fiang,
(A simple jade she was and stranir,)
And how Tarn stood, like one bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd ;
Even Satan glow'rd and fidg'd fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main ;
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tarn tint his reason a' thegitlier,
And roars out, " Weel dore, Cutty-sark !"
And in an instant a' was dark :
And scarcely had he Marjrjie rallied,
When out thf hellish legion sallied.

As bees biz 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-crow'd,
When " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud ;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi monie an eldritch skreech and hollow.

Ah, Tanil ah, Tani'. thou'lt get thy fairiu
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin f

BUllKS' POKMS. 179

In vain thy Kate awaits thy corain !
Kate soon will be a waefu' woman !
Now, do thy speedy utmost Meg,
And win the key stane* of the brig ;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A runningr stream they darena cross,
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake !
For Nannie, tar beibre the rest,
Hard upon noble Macjgie prest,
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle—
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
Bat left behind her ain grey tail :
The carlin clau^ht her by the rump.
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed :
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys ower dear,
Remember Tarn o' Shantefs mare.

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME

WHICH A FELLOW HAD JCST SHOT AT.

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye !
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,

IS or ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart !

* It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spi-
rits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than
the middle of the next running stream. — It may be proper
likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when
he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going
forward, there is much mote hazard in turning baok.

180 burns' poems.

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,

The bitter little that of life remains :

No more the thickeninar hrakes and verdant plain^
T thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed !
The sheltering rushes whistling'o'er thy head,

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,
111 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless
fate.

ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON,

0» CBOWyiNQ HIS BUST AT EBXAM, KOXBrHGHSHIRB,
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 aged head,
And sees, with self-approving mind,

Each creature on his bounty fed :

BUK-NS' rOEMS. 181

While maniac Winter rages o'er
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows :

So long, sweet Poet of the year,

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won j
While Scotia, with exulting tear,

Proclaims that Thomson was her son.

ON THE LATE

CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS
THROUGH SCOTLAND,

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's ;
If there's a hole in a' your coats,

I rede you tent it :
A chield's araang you, taking notes,

And, faith, he'll prent it !

If in your bounds ye chance to light

Upon a fine, fat, fodgei wight,

O' stature short, but genius bright,

That's he, mark weel —
And now ! he has an unco slight

0' cauk and keel.

By some au!d, houlet-haunted biggin,*
Or kirk deserted by its riggin,

• Vide his Antiquities of Scotland.

lS-2 BURi>;s roTMS.

It's ten to ane ye'll find him STiuof in

Some eldritch part,
Wi' deils, they sav, L— d save's ! colleagnin'

At some black art. —

Ilk ghaist that hannts anld ha' or chaumer,

Ye sipsy-eansr that deal in glamour,

And you deep-read in hell's black grammar,

Warlocks and witches ;
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,

Ye midnight b es.

It's tauld he was a sodger bred,
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled '
But now he's quat the spurtle blade.

And dog-skin wallet.
And ta'en the— AijtigiiaHan trade,

I think they call it.

He has a fouth o' anld nic-nackets;
Rusty aim caps and jinglin' jackets,*
Wad baud the Lothians^ three in tackets,

A towmont guid ;
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 tlie gender

O' Balaam's ass ;
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,

Weel shod wi brass.

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg
The cut of Adam's philibeg ;

• Tide his Treatise on Ancient Armour and \7eapons.

BURKS' POEMS. 183

Xlie knife that nicket Abel's craig

He'll prove you fully,
It was a faulding joctelenr,

Or lang-kail gullie.

But wad ye see him m his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three

Guid fellows wi' him,
And port, O port i shine thou a wee,

And then ye'U see him !

Xow, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose I
Tliou art a dainty chiel, O Grose !
Wliae'er o' thee shall ill suppose.

They sair raisca' thee ;
I'd take the rascal by the nose.

Wad say. Shame fa' thee.

TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS,

A VERY YOUNa LADY,

Written on the Blank Leaf of a Book, presented
to her by the Author.

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay,

Blooming in thy early May,

Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r

Chilly shrink in sleety show'r !

Never Boreas' hoary path,

Never Euvus' 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

Tiiy bosom blushing stiU with dew .''

Iis4 burns' poems.

May'st thou lona, sweet crimson gem,
Richly deck thy native stem ;
Till some evening, sober, calm,
Droppin": dews, and breathins' balm,
While all around the woodland rings,
And every bird thy requiem sings;
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound.
Shed tliy dying honours round,
And resign to parent earth.
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.

READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH 0?
JOHN M'LKOD, Esq.

Brother to a Younrj 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 mornins rose may "blow :
But cold successive noontide blasts

May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smiled ;
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds

Succeeding hopes beguiled.

Fnte oft tears the bosom cords

That nature finest strung :
So Isabella's heart was form'd,

And so that heart was wraug.

burns' pokms. 185

Were it in the poet's power,

Stronsr as he shares the grief
That pierces Isabella's heart,

To give that heart relief.

Dread Omnipotence, alone,

Can heal the wound he gave :
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes

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.

THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER.*

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OP ATHOLE.

My Lord, I know, your noble ear

Woe ne'er assails in vain !
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear

Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phfiebus' scorching beams

In flying- summer-pride.
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,

And drink my crj stal tide.

The lightly-jumping glow'rin trouts,

That thro' ray waters play.
If, in their random, wanton spouts.

They near the margin stray ;

* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and
■eautifulj but their effect is much impaired Ij the want of
trees aud shruos.

Ib6 burns' poems.

If, hapless chance ! they linger lang,

I'm scorching up so sliallow,
They're left the whitening stanes amang.

In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,

As Poet Burns came hy,
That to a hard I should be seen

Wi' half my channel dry :
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,

Ev'n 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, high ray boiling torrent smoke?,

Wild-roaring o'er a linn :
Enjoying large each spring and well,

As' nature gave them me,
I am, altho' 1 say't mysel,

Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please

To grant my highest wishes,
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring treed,

And bonnie spreading bushes;
Deliglited doubly then, my Lord,

You'll wander on my banks.
And listen mony a grateful bird

Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober laverock, warbling wild,

Shall to the skies aspire ;
The gowdspink, music's gayest child,

Siiall sweetly join the choir:
Tlie blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,

The mavis mild and mellow ;

BURNS rOK-VT?!. 187

The robin, pensive autumn cheer,
In ail her locks of yellow :

This, too, a covert shall insure,

To shield them from the storm;
And coward raaukin sleep secure,

Low in her grassy form :
Here shall the shepherd make his seat,

To weave his crown o' flow'rs :
Or find a sheltering safe retreat.

From prone descending show'rs.

And here, by sweet endearing stealth,

Shall meet the loving pair.
Despising worlds with all their wealth

As empty idle care ;
The flowers shall vie in all their charnis

The hour of heaven to grace.
And birks extend their fragrant arms

To screen the dear embrace.

Here haply too, at vernal dawn,

Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn.

And misty mountain grey ;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,

Mild-chequering thro' the trees.
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream,

Hoarse swelling' on the breeze.

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool.

My lowly banks o'erspread.
And view,*dee|t-bending in the pool.

Their shadows' wat'ry bed !
Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest,

My craggy clilfs adorn ;
A!'(l, for the' little songster's nest,

The close embow'ring thorn.

18"^ BURNS POEMS.

So may old Scotia's darling hope,

Your little ancrel band,
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop

Tlieir honour'd native land!
So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken.

To social flowing glasses,
The grace be — " Athole's honest raen,

Aud Athole's bonuie lassies!"

ON

SCARING SOME WATER FOWL

In Loch-Turit, a icild scene among the Hills of
Oughtertyre.

Why, ye tenants of the lake,
For rae your wat'ry haunt forsake ?
Tell me,' fellow-creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly ?
Why disturb your social joys.
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? —
Common friend to you and me,
iS'ature's sifts 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 fiears I trace.
3Ian, your proud usurping foe,
Wouhi be lord of all below ;
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,
Tyrant stem to all beside.

The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
^farking you his prey below.

BUKNS' POEMS. 189

In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels,
But man, to whom alone is giv'n
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n
Glories in his heart humane —
And creatures for his pleasure slain.

In these savage liquid plains.
Only known to wand'riug swains,
Where the mossy riv'Jet strays,
Far from human haunts and ways ;
All on Nature you depend,
And life's poor season peaceful spend.

Or, if man's superior might
Dare invade your native right.
On the lofty ether borne,
Man with all his pow'rs j'ou scorn ;
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other springs;
And the foe you cannot brave.
Scorn at least to be his slave.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL,

Over the Chimney-piece in the parlour of the Inn
at Ken/nwe, Tay mouth.

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet 1 trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covied grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue.
Till fam'd Breadalbaae opens to my view, —
Tlie meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides
The woods, wild-fccatter'd, clothe their ample sides;

];0 KLRNS^ POEMS.

Th' outstretching lake, emhosora'd 'inong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ;
The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant pride,
The palace risinu" on its verdant side ;
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ;
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste;
The arches, striding o'er the new-horn stream ;
The village, glittering in the noontide heam —
******

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell :

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ;

Th' ince^s•int roar of headlong tumbling floods —

* « j» * * ^*

Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre,
And look through Nature with creative fire ;
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd.
Misfortune's lighten'd steps misht wander wild ;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds:
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch

her scan,
And injur'd Wortli forget and pardon man.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL.

Stayiding hy the Fall of 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, thro' a shapeless beach his stream resounds,

As high in air the bursting torrents flow,

As deep-recoiling snrgf^s foam below,

Prone down therock the whitening sheet descend^',

And viewless Echo's ear astonish'd, rends.

burns' poe:.is. 191

Dim-seen, throup:h rising mists and ceaseless showers,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, lowers,
Still thro' the gap tlie struggling: river toil:-,
And still below, the horrid cauldron boils —
******

ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,

Born under peculiar Circunutances
of Family Distress.

Sweet floweret, pledge o' raeikle love,

And ward o' mony a pray'r.
What heart o' stane wad thou na move,

Sae, helpless, sweet, and fair.

November hirples o'er the lea,

Chill, on thy lovely form ;
And gane, akis ! the slieltering trew,

Should shield thee frae the storm.

May He who gies the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw,

Protect thee frae the driving show'r,
The bitter frost and snaw !

May He, the friend of wo and want,
Who heals life's various stounds,

Protect and guard the mother plant,
And heal her cruel wounds !

But late she fiourish'd, rooted fast,
Fair on the summer morn ;

Now freely bends she in the blast,
Unshelter'd and forlorn.

192 burns' foems.

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unsheatli'd by ruffian hand f

And from thee many a parent stem
Arise to deck our land.

SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE,
A Brother Poet*

AULD NEEBOUR,

I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor,
For your auld-farrant frien'ly letter ;
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt you flatter,

Ye speak sa'e fair;
For my puir, silly rymin' clatter

Some less maun sair.

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ;
Lang may your elbock jink and diddle,
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle

O' war'ly cares,
Till bairns* bairns kindly cuddle

Your auld, grey hairs.

But, Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit j
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckil :
And gif it's sae, ye sud be licket

Until ye fyke ;
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket,

Be haint wha like.

• This is prefixed to the i)oera3 of David Sillar, published
at Kilmarnock, 1781).

BURKS' POEMS. 11

For me, I'm on Paniassus' brink,

Rivin' the words to gar them clink ;

Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink,

Wi' jads or masons ;
And whyles, but aye owre late, I think,

Braw sober lessons.

Of a* the thoughtless sons o' man,
Coramen' me to the Bardie clan ;
Except it be some idle plan

O' rhyming' clink,
The deil-haet, that I sud ban,

Tiiey 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,

And while ought's there,
Then hiltie skiitie, we gae scrievin'.

And fash nae 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 !
Tho' rough and raploch be her measure,

Slie's seldom lazy.

Haud 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,
Na, even tho' limpin wi' tlie snavie

Frae duor to d.jor.

17

1<M BT-RNS' POEMS.

LIXES 0.\ AX INTERVIE^y WITH
LORD DAER.

This wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer' Roljin, alias Burns,

October twenty-third,
A ne'er-to-be-fori:otten day,
Sae far I sprachled up the brae,

I dinner'd wi' a Lord.

I've been at drucken writers' feasts,
Nay, been bitch-fou 'man? sodly priests,

Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ;
I've ev'n join'd the honour'd jorura,
\Yhen misihty Squiresliins of the quorum,

Their iiydra drouth did sicken.

But wi' a Lord — stand out ray shin,
A Lord— a Peer — an earl's son !

Up hiiiher yet my bonnet !
And sic a Lord— lang Scotch ells twa.
Our Peerage he overlooks theni a',

As I look o'er my sonnet.

But, oh ! for Hoprarth's masic pow'r !
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r,

And how he star'd and stammer'd,
When goavan, as if led wi' branks,
An' stumpin' on his ploughman shanks.

He in the parlour hammer'd.

I sidling shelter'd in a nook,
An' at his lordship steal't a look

Like some portentous oraen

burns' poems. 196

Except good-sense and social glee,
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty,

I marked nought uncommon. '

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,

The arrogant assuming;
The feint a pride, iiae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see,

Mair than an honest ploughman.

Then from his lordship I shall learn,
Henceforth to meet with unconcern

One rank as weel's another ;
Nae Jionest toorthy man need care,
To meet with noble youthful Daer,

For he but meets a brother.

ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-I)OG.
NAMED ECHO.

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng

Your heavy loss deplore :
Now half-extinct your powers of song,

Sweet Echo is no more.

Ye jarring, screecliing things around,
bcreani your discordant joys ;

Now half your din of tuneless sound
With Echo silont lies.

INSCRTPTIOX TO THE MEMORY
OF FURGUSSON.

HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET.

Bom, September by VJbb—Died, October 16,1774

No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,
" No storied urn nor animated bust,"

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way
To pour iier sorrows o'er her poet's dust.

EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.

Whex Nature her great masterpiece design'd,
And fram'd her last, best work, tiia liuman mhid,
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,
She form'd of various parts the various man.

Then first she calls the useless many forth ;
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth :
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of eartJi,
And merchandise' whole genus take their binh :
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds,
And all mechanics' miiny apron'd kinds.
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet,
The lead and buoy are needful to the net :
The caput niortuuiu of gross desires
Miikes a material for mere knights and squires ;
Tiie martial pliosphorus is tauuht to flow,
Slie kneads the lumpisli jihiiosophic dough,
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs,
Law, physic, polirics, and deep divines :
Lust, she sublimes tiie Aurora of the poh s.
The flashiag elemoiUs of itii.aie soiila.

BUiliNS' POEMS. li>7

The order'd system fair before her stood,
Xiiture, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good ;
I3iit ere she gave creating labour o'er,
Hcilf-jest, she try'd one curious labour more.
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fahms matter ;
Such as the lightest 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 foriitis the thing, and christens it— a poet.
Cieature, tho' oft the prey or' cure and sorrow,
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow,
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends,
Admir'd and prais'd— and there the homage ends :
A mortal quire unfit for Fortune's strife,
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ;
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give
Vet 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 left for her poor work.
Pitying the prople^^s climber of mankind,
She cast about a standard tree to find ;
And, to support his helpless woodbine state,
Attach'd him to the generous tndy great,
A title, and the only one I claim.
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham.

Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train.
Weak, timid landmen on Lite's stormy main!
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff.
That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough j
The little fate allows, they share as soon,
Unlike sage provorb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon
The world were blest did bliss on them depend,
\li, that " the friendly e'er should want a friend I"

I us BLKiNs poj::.is.

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 own they're prudent, but who feels they're good ?

Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the sociiil eye !

God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy !

But, come, ye who the godlike pleasure know,

Ilnaven's attribute distinguish'd— to bestow !

AV'iiose arras of love would grasp the human race ;

Come thou, who s"iv'st with all a courtier's grace ;

Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes !

Prop of my dearest hopes for future times.

Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid,

Backward, abash'd, to ask thy friendly aid ?

I know my need, I know thy giving hand,

I crave thy friendship at thy kind command :

But there are such who court the tuneful nine —

Heavens I should the branded character be mine !

Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows.

Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.

Islark, 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 j

Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays,

They persecute you all your future days !

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain,

My homy list assume the plough asjain ;

The piebald jacket let rne patch once more ,

On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd before.

Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last sliift '.

1 trust, meantime, iny booii is in thy girt :

BUKiNS' POEMS. 109

That plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, \
Where, Man and Nature fairer in her sight, f

My muse may imp her wing for some sublimeri'

flight.* y

FRAGMENT,

Inscribed to the Bight Hon. J. C. Fox.

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ;
How virtue and vice blend their black and their white ;
Uow 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 honour my story.

Thou first of our orators, firrt of our wits ;
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky

hits;
With knowled^jje so vast, and v/ith judgment so strong,
Nu man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ;
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright,
No man with the half em ever went quite right;
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses,
For using tliy name offers fifty excuses.

Good L— d, what is man ! for as simple he looks,
Do but try to develope his hooks and iiis crooks;

• This is our Poet's first epistlp to Graham of Fintra. It is
not equal to the second; but iicoiUaiiis too much of the cha-
racteristic vigour of its author to be suppressed. A little mor*>
kiiowled'^e of natural history, or of chemistry, was wanted to
viiahle hiui tu execute the onsiniil conception correctly.

2' 10 BURNS' POKMS.

With his depths and his shallow?, his good ai d his evil,
All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil.

On his one rulincr passion Sir Pope hus;ely labours,
That, like th' old Hebrew walking switch, eats up its

neighbours :
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would vou know

him?
Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will shew

him.
What pity, in rearinir so hf-autfous a system,
One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd him ;
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions,
-Mankind is a science defies definitions.

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe,
And think human nature they truly describe;
I lave you found this, or t'otiier ? tliere's more in the

wind,
Vs by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find.
iiut such is the flaw, or the deptii of the plan,
in the make of that wonderful creature call'd Man,
So two virtues, whatever relation they claim,
iVor even two different shades of the same,
rhougii like as was evor twin brother to brother,
t'ossessing the one shall imply you've the oti)er.

TO DR. BLACKLOCK.

Ellishind, '2\st Get. 1789.

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie !
And are ye'ha.'e, and weel, and cantie?
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie

Wad bring ye to ;
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye,

And then ye'll do.

burns' poems. 201

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south !
And never drink be near his drouth !
He tauld mysel, by word o' mouth,

He'd tak my letter j
I lippen'd to the chield in trouth,

And bade nae better.

But, aiblins, honest Master Heron
Had at the time some dainty fair one
To ware his theologic care on,

And holy study ;
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on,

E'en tried the body.*

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,
I'm turn'd a gauger — Peace be here !
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,

Ye'll now disdain me,
And then my fifty pounds a-year

Will little gain me.

Ye glaiket. gladsome, dainty daraies,
Wha, by Castalia's wimpliu' streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbics,

Ye ken, ye ken,
That Strang necessity supreme is

'Mang sons o' men.

[ hae a wife and twa wee laddies,
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies :
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is,
I need nae vaunt,

Mr. Heron, author of the History of Scotland, find cl
ous o- her works

202 burns' poems.

Kut I'll sned besoms— thraw saugh woo dies,
Before they want.

Lord help me thro' this warld o* care !
I'm weary sick o't late and air!
Not but i hae a richer share

Than mony ithers ;
But why should ae man better fare,

And a' men brithers ?

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man !
And let us mind, faint lieart ne'er wan

A lady fair ;
Wha does the utmost that he can,

Will whyles do uiair.

But to conclude my silly rhyme,
(I'm scant o' veri-e, and scant o' time,)
To make a happy fireside 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 v/at she is a dainty chuckie.

As e'er tread clay !
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,

I'm yours for aye,

Robert Burxs.

burns' P0E3IS. 20o

PROLOGUE,

Spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, on JVew-Year'S'
Day Evening.

N o song nor dance I bring from yon great city '

That queen's it o'er our taste— tlie more's the pity :

The', by the bye, abroad why will you roam ?

Good sense and taste are natives nearer home :

But not for panegyric I appear,

I come to wish you all a good new year !

Old Father Time deputes me here defore ye,

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story :

The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say,

" Your one year older this important day."

If wiser, too— he hinted some suggestion,

Bat '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 !"

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush'd 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, sententious, proverb way :
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle.
That the first blow is ever half the battle ;
Tiiat 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 forbearin
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—now

■2i)A burns' poems.

To crown your happiness he asks your leave.
And offers bliss to give and to receive.

For our sincere, tho* haply weak endeavours,
^Vith grateful pride we own your many favours ;
And howsoe'er onr tonscues may ill reveal it,
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

ELEGY

ON THE LATE MISS BCKNET OP MONBODPO.

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ;
Xor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow,
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low.

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?

In richest ore the brightest jewel set !

in thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,

As by his noblest work the Godhead best is knowa

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ;

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
Ve woodland choir that chant your idle loves,

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more !

Ve heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens ;

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rusties stor'd ;
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord.

Princes, whose curab'rous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?

\nd thou, sweet excellence I forsake our earth,
And not a muse in honest grief bewail?

BUllMS POE.MS. 'JOO

We 8aw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond tlie sphere's ;

But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide.
Thou lefL'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 RIGHTS OF WOMAN.

An occasional Address spoTten by Miss Fontenelk
on her Be^iejit- Night.

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
The fate of empires and the fall of kings ;
While quacks of state must each produce his plau,
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.

First in the sexes' intermix'd connexion,
One sacred Kiglit of Woman is protection. —
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate.
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate,
Sunk ou the earth, defac'd its lovely form,
Unless your siielter ward th' impending storm. —

Our second Right— but needless here to caution.
To keep that right invioiate's the fashion.
Each mti< 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 man had naughty way* ;

•206 burns' poems.

Wodld svvag:2er, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot,
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet —
Now, thank our stars ! these Gotliic times are fled •
Now, 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 the third, our last, our best, our dearest,
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest.
Which ev'n the Rights of Kings in low prostration
Most humbly own— 'tis dear, dear admiration !
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ;
There taste that life of life — immortal love.^
Smiles, glances, si^fhs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs,
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares —
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms,
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ?

But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions,
With bloody armaments and revolutions ;
Let Majesty your flrst attention summon,
Ah! caira! the Majesty of Woman!

ADDRESS,

Spoken by Miss FonteneVe, on her Bevefit-Nighf,
December 4, il'db, at the Theatre, 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 nothin^f better;
So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies.
Told him I came to feast ray cnrious eyes
Said, notliinsj; like his works was every printed ;
And last, ray Prolosue-business slily hinted,
'• Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes,
" I know your bent— these are no laughing tunes :

burns' poems. 207

Can you— but, Miss, I own I have my fears.
Dissolve in pause— and sentimental tears—
Witii laden sifrhs, and solemn rounded sentence,
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance ;
Paint Vengeance as he 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 eyeing,
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying?
rii laugh, that's poz— nay more the world shall knotr

it;
And so your servant I gloomy Master Poet !

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief,
That Misery'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 sigh.
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ;
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive —
To make tbree guineas do the work of five :
Laugh in Misfortune's face — tlie beldam witch !
Say you'll be merry, tho you can't be rich.

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love.
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hath strove ;
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st in desperate thought— a rope — thy neck
Or, where the beetling cliff" o'erhangs the deep,
Peerest to meditate the healing leap :
Would'st thou be cured, 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 PSEoEST OP SONGS.

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives.

In sacred strains and tuneful numbers johi'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.

Or pity's notes in luxury of tears.

As modest want the tale of woe reveals ;

While conscious virtue all the strain eudears,
Ana heaven-born piety her sanction seala.

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A
COPY OF HIS POEMS.

Presented to a Lady, rohom he had often Cele-
brated under the name of Chloris.

Tis friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,

Nor thou the gift refuse,
Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu,
(A world 'gahist peace in constant arms)

To join tlie friendly few.

BUli.NS POEMS. 2CQ

Since, thy gay mom of life o'ercast,

Chill came the tempest's lower ;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast

Did nip a fairer flow'r).

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

Still much is left behind ;
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store,

The comforts of the mind !

Thine is the self-approving glow,

On conscious honour's part ;
And, dearest gift of Heaven belov/,

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.

COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS TO
MR. WILLIAM TYTLER.

With the Present of the Bard's Picture.

Reverend defender of beauteous Stuart,

Of Stuart, a name once respected,
A name, which to love was tbe mark of a true heart.

But now 'tis despised and neglected.

rho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye.

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ;
A poor friendless wanderer may well claim a sigh.

Still more, if that wand'rer were roval.

17 p

^10 burns' poems.

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ,

My fathers have fallen to right it ;
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,

That name should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry ;

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine;
Their title's avow'd by my country.

But why of this epocha make such a fuss,

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 triflle scarce worthy your care ;
But accept it, good Sir,'as a mark of regard,

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye

A.nd ushers the long dreary night ;
But you, like the star that a'thwart gilds the sky,

Your course to the latest is bright.

THE FOLLOWING POEM

Was written to a Gentleman tcho had sent him a
Netcspaper, and offered to continue it, fre^.
of expense.

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through,
And, faith, to me, 'twas really new !

BURNS POEMS. "il

How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ?

This mony 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-sl^elper. Emperor Joseph,

If Venus yet had got his nose off;

Or how the coUieshangie works

Atween the Russians and the Turks ;

Or if the Swede, before he halt.

Would play anither Charles the Twalt :

If Denmark, any body spak o't :

Or Poland, whahad now the tak o't ;

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hlngin* :

How libbet Italy was singhi' :

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,

Were sayiu' or takin* aught amiss :

Or how our merry lads at hame.

In Britain's court, kept up tlie game :

How royal George, tiie Lord leuk o'er him ;

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ;

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin',

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in :

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin'.

If Warren Hastings* neck was yeukin' :

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd

Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ;

The news o' princes, dukes, and earls.

Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls ;

If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,

Was threshin' still at hizzie's tails,

Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,

And no a perfect kiutra cooser.

A' this and mair I never heard of;

And but for you I might despair'd of ;

So gratefu', back your news I send you,

And pray a' guid things may attend you !

Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1700

21-2 BURNS* POKMS.

POEM OX PASTORAL POETRY.

Hail, Poesie ! thou i^ymph reserv'd !
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd,

'Mang heaps o' clavers ;
And, och ! o'er ait thy joes hae starv'd,

'Mid a' thy favours !

Say, Lassie why thy train amang-,
While loud, the trump's heroic clang,
And sock or buskin skelp alang

To death or marriage :
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang

But wi' miscarriage ?

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ;
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives ;
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives

Horatian fame :
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives

Even Sappho's flame.

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ?
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches :
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches

O' heathen tatters.
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches,

That ape their betters.

In this braw age o' wit and lear,
Will nane the shepherd's whistle mair
Blaw sweetly in its native air

And rural grace ;
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share

A rival place ?

burns' poems. 21a

Yes ! there is ana ; 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 Tantallan,

But thou's for ever.

Thou paints auld nature to the nines,

In thy sweet Caledonian lines :

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,

Where Philomel,
While nightly breezes sweep the vines,

Her griefs will tell !

In gowany glens thy burnie strays,
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes ;
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,

Wi' hawthorns gray,
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays

At close o' day.

Thy rural loves are nature's sel* ;
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ;
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet speU

O' witchin love,
That charm that can the strongest quell.

The sternest move.

SKETCPL— NEW YEAR'S DAY.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again :
1 see the old, bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,

2\i

Adjust the imimpair'd raacbine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.

The absent lover, minor heir,
In vain assail him with their prayer ;
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
IVor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's with the hounds.
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day.
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow —
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow-
And join with me in moralizing,
Tiiis day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
" Another year is gone for ever."
And what is this day's strong suggestion?
"• The passing moment's all we rest on."
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 years must —
Repose us in the silent dust.
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ?
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss !
The voice of jVature loudly cries,
And many a message from' the skies.
That something in us never dies :
That on tliis frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight;
That future life in worlds unknown,
Must take its hue from this alone ;
AVhether as heavenly g:\ory bright,
Or dark as misery 'swoeful night, —
Since, then, my honour'd first of friends
On this poor being all depejids.

burns' poems. 215

Let us th' important noic employ,
And live as those who never die,
Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd.
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight, pale envy to convulse,)
Others now claim your chief regard ;
Yourself, you wait your hright reward.

EXTEMPORE ON THE LATE MR. W.
SMELLIE,

Author of the Philosophy of Natural History, and
Member of the Aiitiquarian and Royal Societies
of Edinburgh.

To Crochallan came
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same ;
His bristling beard just rising in its might,
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night ;
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd ;
A head, for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd j
Vet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude.
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

POETICAL INSCRIPTION

For an Alter to Independence, at KerrougJitry,
the Seat of Mr. Heron ; icritten in Summer,
1795.

Thou of an independent mind,

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd ;

Prepar'd Power's proudf.st frown to brave,

Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ;

Virtue alone who dost revere.

Thy own reproach alone dost fear,

A pproach iJuis shrine, and worship here.

'216 UCR.NS' POEMS.

AK'SWER TO A MAJvDATE

Sent hy the Surveyor of Taxes, to each Fariner^
ordering him to send a Signed List of his
Horses, Servants, Wheel- Carriages, §'c. and
tchether he was a Married Man or a Bache-
loTf and what Children they had.

Sir, as your mandate did request,
] send you here a faithfu' list,
My horses, servants, carts, and graith,
Towhich I'm free to tak my aith.

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
I hue four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew before a pettle ;
My hand-a-fore, a guid auld has-been,
And wiglit and wilfu' a' his days been ;
My han ahin's a weel gaun filly,
Wha af c has borne me hame frae Killie,
And your auld borough mony a time.
In days when riding was nae crime :
My fiir-a-hin a guid grey beast.
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd :
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty,
A d-mn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie,
Forbye a cowte, of cowtes the wale.
As ever ran before a tail ;
An' he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pund at least.

Wheel-carriages I hae but few,
Tiiree carts, and twa are feckly new ;
An auld wheelbarrow, raair for token,
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken ;
I made a poker o' the spindle,
\ud uiy auld mitiier brunt the tr-mdle.

burns' poems. 217

For men, I've three mischievous boys,
Run-deils for rantin and for noise ;
A gadsman ane, a thresher t'other,
Wee Davoc hauds the nowte in fother.
I rule then), as I ought, discreetly,
And often labour them completely ;
And aye on Sundays duly nightly,
I on the questions tairge them tightly,
Till faith wee Davoc's grown sae gleg,
(Tho' scarcely langer than my leg,)
He'll screed you oW effectual calling
As fast as ony in the dwalling.

I've nane in female servant station,
Lord keep me aye frae a' temptation !
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is,
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ;
For weans I'm mair than weel contented,
Heaven sent me ane more than I wanted ;
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddie in the face.
Enough of ought ye like but grace.

But her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady,

I've said enough for her already,

And if ye tax her or her mither.

By the L— d ye'se get them a' thegither !

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken,
Nae kind of license out I'm taking ;
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle :
I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thankit !
And a' my gates on foot I'll shank it.
This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it,
Tiie day and date as under noted ;
Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Subscrwsi huic

KoBERT Burns.

218 BURNS* POEMS.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

MISS JE3ST ^ , DCMFBIES,

With Books icMch the Bard presented her.

Thixe be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the poet's prayer ;
That fate may in her fairest page
With every kindliest, best presage
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ;
With native worth, and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution still aware
Of ill— but chief, man's felon snare ;
All blameless joys on earth we find.
And all the treasures of the mind —
These be thy guardian and reward ;
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard.

EXTEMPORE,

2'o Mr. S**e, on refusing to Dine tclth him, aftei
having been promised the first of Company,
and the first of Cookery ; Mth December, 1795.

No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cook'ry the first in the nation ;

Who is proof to thy personal converge and wit,
Is proof to all other temptation.

TO MR. S*''E. WITH A PRESENT OF A
DOZEN OF PORTER.

O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind,

Or hops the flavour of thy wit I
Twere drink for first of Imman kind,

A gift that e'en for S**e were fit.

BFTIXS' POEMS. 219

POEM.

Addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise,
Dumfries, 1796.

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal,
Wha wanting thee, might beg or steal ;
Alake, alake, the raeikle deil

Wi' a' his witches
Are at it, skelpin' ! jig and reel,

In my poor pouches.

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,
That one pound one, I sairly want it,
If wi' the hizzie dov/n ye sent it,

It would he kind ;
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted.

I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin'

To thee and thine ;
Domestic peace and comforts crowning

The hale design.

POSTCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,
And by fell death was nearly nicket :
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket,

And sair me sheuk ;
But by guid luck I lap a wicket.

And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't,
And by ttiat life, I'm promis'd mair o't

220 suRXs' po]:ms.

;M y hale and weel I'll take a care o't
A tentier way :

Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't
For ance and aye.

SEXT TO A GENTLEMAIS" WHOM HE
BAD OFFEXDED.

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way,
The fumes of wine infuriate send ;

(\ot moony madness more astray ;)
Who but deplores that hapless friend?

Mine was th' insensate frienzied part,
Ah, why should I such scenes outlive !

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ?
'Tis thine to pity and forgive.

P O E M O.V L I F E.

Addressed to Colonel de Peyster^ Dwnfries, 1798

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel
Your interest in the Poet's weal ;
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel

Tlie steep Parnassus,
Surrounded thus by bolus pill,

'And potion glasses.

O what a canty warld were it,
Would pain and care, and sickness spare it ;
And fortune favour wortli and merit
As thev deserve :

burns' 1'0e:.is. 221

(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret ;
Syrie, wha wad starve ?)

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,
And in paste gems and frippery deck hei,
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker

I've found her still.
Aye wavering like the willow wicker,

'Tween good and ill.

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,
Watches like baudrans by a rattan,
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on

Wi' felon ire ;
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on—'

He's aff like fire.

Ah! Nick! ah Nick ! it is na fair,
First showing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,

To put us daft :
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare

O' hell's damn'd waft.

Poor man, the file aft bizzes by,
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh.
Thy auld daipn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,

And hellish pleasure ;
Already in thy fancy's eye,

Thy 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 murdering wrestle.
As, dangling in the whid, he hangs

A gibbet's tassel.

222 BURMS' POEMS.

But lest you think T am uncivil,

To plague you with thi3 draunting drivel,

Abjuring a' intentions evil,

I quat my pen :
The Lord preserve us frae the devil !

Amen ! amen !

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE.

My curse upon thy venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ;
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,

Wi' gnawing vengeance ;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines !

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes,
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us,

Wi' pitying moan;
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, —

Aye mocks our groan !

Adown my beard the slavers trickle!
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
As round the fire the giglets keckl^.

To see me loop ;
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle

Were in their doup.

O' a' the num'rous human dools,

111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty stooh,

Or worthy friends rak'd i' tlie mools,

Sad siglit to see 1
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,

Tlxour bear'st the gree.

burns' POE.AIS. 223

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whence a' the tones o' rais'ry yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell.

In di^eadfu' raw,
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell

Amang them a' !

O thou grim mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes of discord squeel.
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel.

In ijore a shoe-thick : —
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal

A towmond's Toothe-ache,

HOLY WILLIES PRAYER.

0 Thou, wha in the heav'ns dost dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best thysel'.

Sends ane to heav'n an-d ten to hell,
A' for thy glory.

And no for ony &uid or ill

They've done afore thee.

1 bless and t)raise thy matchless misht,
Whan thousands thou hast left in niglit,
That I am here afore thy sight,

For gifts an' grace,
A burning and a shin in* light,
To a' this place,

What was I, or my generation,
That I should get such exaltation ?
I, wha deserve sic just damnation.

For broken laws.
Five thousand years 'fore my creatiou,

Thro' Adam's cause.

224 burns' poems.

When frae ray raither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plunged me in hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail.

In burning 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 hi thy temple,

Strong' as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, an' example

To a' thy flock-

O L— d thou kens what zeal I bear.
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear,
And singing there, and dancin here,

Wi' great an' sma',
For I am keepit by thy fear.

Free frae them a'.

But yet O L — d ! confess I must.
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust,
And sometimes too, wi' wardly trust,

Vile self gets in ;
But thou remembers we are dust,

Defil'd in sin.

Besides, I farther maun allow,

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ;

But L — d, that Friday I was fou ;

When'l came near her,
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her.

Maybe thou lets t\\\s fleshly thorn,
Beset thy servant e'en and morn,

burns' poems. 22.3

Lest he owie high and proud should turn,
'Cause he's sae gifted ;

If sae, thy han* maun e'en be borne,
Until thou lift it.

L— d bless thy chosen in this place,
For here thon hast a chosen race ;
But G-d confound their stubborn face,

And blast their name,
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace,

An' public shame.

L — d, mind G — n H n's deserts,

He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
He has sae monie takin arts,

VVi' grit and sma',
Frae G— d's ain priest the people's hearts

He steals awa'.

And when we chasten'd him therefore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore
As set the warld all in a roar

O' laughin at us ;
Curse thou his basket and his store,

Kail an' potatoes.

L — d, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r.

Against that presbytery o' Ayr ;

Thy strong right hand, L— d make it bare,

Upo' their heads,
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare.

For their misdeeds.

O L— d, ray G-d, that glib-tongu'd A -n

JVIy vera heart an' saul are quakin,

To think how wo stood sweatin', shakin',

And p — d wi' dread,
17 Q

226 BLKNS' POE.MS.

While he wi' liangin* lip and snakin'.
Held up his head.

L — d, in the day of vengeance try hira,
L — d, visit them wha did employ him,
An' pass not in thy mercy by 'era,

'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 nana,
And a' the glory shall be thine.

Anie7i, amen.

EPITAPH OX HOLY WILLIE

Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay

Takes up its last abode;
His saul has ta'en 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 standin' wi' turn.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
Has got him there before ye ;

But baud your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,

For pity ye hae nane ;
Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er,

Aud mercy's day is gfien,

BURNS' POEMS. 227

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.

THE KIRK'S ALARM,*

A SATIRE.

Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience :

There's a heretic blast been blawn in the wast ;
That what is no sense must be nonsense.

Dr. Mac,t Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack,

To strike evil-doers wi' terror ;
To join faith and sense upon any 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 BobJ 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 an' twa.

Rumble John,]] Rumble John, mount the steps wi' a
groan,
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd ;

* This Poem was written a short time after the publica-
tion of Mr. M'Gill's Essays.
+ Dr M'Gill. JR— tA-k-n. JMr.D e. pTr.R-ss-ll.

'2-2S Lc:i:<6' I'uEiis.

Tiien lug out the ladle, deal brimstone like adle,
And roar every note of the damn'd.

Simper Tames,* Simper Jame^, leave the fair Killic
daiues.

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 ,t Singet Sawney, are ye huirding the
penny,

Unconscious what evils await ;
Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every soul,

For the foul Thief is just at your gate.

Daddy Auld,t 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,

And g:f ye canna bite ye may bark.

Davie Blu-ter,^ Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do
muster.

The corps is so nice of recruits :
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast,

If the ass was the king of the brutes.

Jamy Goo8e,|i Jamy Goose, ye hae made but tooi;i
roose,

In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ;
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L — d's haly ark,

He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in't.

Poet "Willie,^ Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley,
Wi' your Liberty's Chain and your wit j

* Mr. il'K— y. t Mr. M y. J Mr. A— d.

) Mr. Q 1 )f Ochiltree. || Mr. Y g of Cumraocif

V Mr. P— b— s of Ayr.

BURNS POEilS. 229

OVr Peo^asus' side ye ne'er laid astride.
Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t.

Andro Gouk,* Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book
And the book not the waur, let me tell ye !

Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wio;,
And ye'll see a calf's head o* sma' value.

Barr Steenie,f Barr Sieenie, what mean ye? -what
mean ye ?

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter,
Ye may hae some pretence to bavins and sense,

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better.

Irvine side,! Irvine side, wi' your turkey-cock pride,

Of manhood but sma' is your share ;
Ve'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 L— i
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,ll Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull,
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor ;

The timmer is scant, when ye're ta'en for a saunt,
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour.

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your spir'tual guns,

Ammunition ye never can need ;
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough,

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead.

♦ Dr. A. M II. t Mr, S n Y— k of Ban-.

1 Mr. S 1) of Galst.'i- i Mr. S — d. jl Aa Eid^i- in M -

5*>0 BUE,>S' POEMS.

Poet Burns, Poet Bums, \vi' your priest-skelpi'.ig
turns,

Why desert ye your auld native shire ?
Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie,

She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are.

LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE,

KILMARNOCK,

Oil tTie Puhlicatioyi of his Essayn.

O GouDiE ! terror of the TThigs,
Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs',
Sour bijj'otry, on lier last legs,

Girnin' looks back,
Wishing the ten Ecjyptian plagues

Wad seize you quick.

Poor gapin*, glowrin' Superstition,
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ;
Fly 1 bring Black-Jock, her state physician,

To see her w-ter ;
Alas ! 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, gie her name up i' the chapel,

Nigh unto death ;
See, how she fetches at the thrapple.

And gasps for breath.

Enthusiasm's past redemption,
Gaen in a galloping consumption.
Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption,
Will ever mend her.

burns' poems. 231

Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption
Death soon will end her.

Tis you and Taylor* are the chief,
Wha are to blarae for this mischief;
But gin the Lord's ain fouk gat leave,

A toom tar-barrel
An' twa red peats wad send relief,

And end the quarrel.

THE TWA HERDS.t

O a' ye pious, godly flocks,
Weel fed on pastures orthodox,
Wha now will keep you frae the fox,

Or worrying tykes.
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks

About tlie dykes ?

Tlie twa best Herds in a' the wast,
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast,
These five-and-twentv simmers past,

Oh ! d*^ool to tell,
Ha'e had a bitter, black out-cast

Atween themsel.

O, M y, man, and wordy R 11,

How could you raise so vile a bustle,
Ye'U see how New- Light Herds will whistle,
And think it fine !

• Dr. Taylor, of Norwich,
t This piece was amnn^ the first of our Author's produc-
tions which he submitted to th" public; and was occasioned
by a dispute between two Clergymen, near Kilmamock.

232 BURNS* POHMS.

The L — d's cause ne'er got sic a twistle,
Sin' I ha'e miu'.

O, Sirs ! whae'er would ha'e expeckit.
Your duty ye wad sae netjleckit,
Ye wha were ne'er by laird respeckit !

To wear the plaid,
But by the brutes themselves eleckit,

To be their uuide.

What flock wi' M y'& flock could rank,

Sae hale and hearty every shank,
Nae poisou'd sour Arminian stank,

Ke let them taste,
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear, they drank,

O sic a feast !

The thummart wil'-cat, brock, and tod,
Weel-kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood,
He smelt their ilka liole and road,

Baith out and in.
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid.

And sell their skin.

V/hat Herd like R 11 tell'd his tale,

His voice was heard thro' muir and dale,
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail

O'er a' tlie'heiuht,
And saw gin they were siek or hale,

At the first sight.

He fine a mani^y sheep could scrub,

Or nobly fling the gospel ciub,

And iS'ew-Light Herds could nicely drub.

Or pay their skin,
Could shake tliem o'er the burning dab;

Or heave tlu-in hi.

burns' poems. 233

Sic twa ! — Oh ! do I live to see't,
Sic famous twa sliould disagreet,
An' names, like villain, Inpocrite,

Ilk ither gi'en.
While iS'ew-Light Herds, wi' laughin' spite

Say neither's liein' !

A' ye wlia tent the gospel fauld,

There's D n deep, and P s shaul,

But chiefly thou, apostle A d.

We trust in thee,
Thiit tliou wilt work them, hot and cauld,

Till they agree.

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset.
There's scarce a new Herd that we get.
But comes irae 'mang that cursed set,

I winna name ;
I hope frae heav'n to see them vet

In fiery flame.

D e has been lang our fae,

M'G 11 has wrought us meikle wae,

And that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Q e,

And baith the S 3

That aft hae made us black and blae,

Wi' vengefu' paws.

Auld W w lang has batch'd mischief.

We thought ay de'ath would bring relief,
But he has gotten, to our grief,

Ane to 6ucctr;d 'oim,
A chield wha'll soundly buif our beef j

I uieiivie dread him.

And monie a ane that I could tell,
Wiia fain wouitl openly rebe ,

2J4 burls' poems.

Forbj-e turn-coats amang oiirsel,

There S— h for ane,
I doubt he's but a ^rev-nick quili,

An' that ye'll fin'.

O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills,

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,

Come join your counsel and your skills,

To cowe the lairds,
And get the brutes tlie power themsels,

To choose their Herds.

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance.
And Learning in a woody dance,
And that fell cur ca'd Commen Sense,

That bites sae sair,
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France :

Let him bark there.

Then Shaw's and D'ryraple's eloquence

M'G ll's close nervous excellence,

M' Q — 's pathetic, manly sense,

And guid M'M h

Wi' S — h, wha thro' the heart can glance,

May a' pack afi".

OX SENSIBILITY.

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED FRIEND,
MRS DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.

Sensibility, how charming.

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell;

But distress with horrors arminar,
Thou hast also known too well !

burns' poems. 235

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.

SONNET,

Written on tJie '25th of January, 1793, the Birth'
day of the Arithor, on hearing a Thrush sing in
a Morning Walk.

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,

Nor asks if they brmg aught to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day !

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies !

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joj'S,
IVhat wealth could never sive nor take away !

l?;;!) BURKS POKMS.

Yet come thou child of poverty and care ;
The mite high Heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee
I'll share.

TO THE

GUIDWIFE OF ^VAUCHOPE-HOUSE,

IN A?«SWER TO AX EPISTLE WHICH SHE HAD
SENT THE AUTHOR.

GUIDWIFE,

I MIND it weel in early date,

When I was beardless, young, and blate,

And first could thresh the barn ;
Or haud a yokiu at the pleugli ;
An' tho' ibrfoughten sair enough,

Yet unco proud to learn ;
When first ainang the yellow corn

A man I reckon'd was.
And wi' the lave ilk inerry morn
Could rank my rig and lass,
Still shearing and clearing
The tither stooked raw,
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
Wearhig the day awa.

E'en then, a wish, I mind its pov/'r —
A wish that to luy latest hour

Shall strongly heave ray breast —
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make.

Or sing a sang at least.
The rough burr-thissle, spreading wide,

Amang the bearded bear,
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside,

And spar'd the symbol dear ;

burns' pokms. 2'67

No nation, no station,

My envy ne'er coulii 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 ray brain ;
Till on that har'st I said before,
My partner in the merry core,

She rous'd the forming strain :
I sfe her yet, the sonsie quean,

That lighted up her jingle,
Her witchin smile, her pauky e'en
That gart ray heart-strings tingle ;
I fired, hispired,

At every kindling keek.
But bashing, and dashing,
I feared ay 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 mindfu' 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.

For you nae bred to barn or byre,
Wba sweetly tune the Scottish lyre.
Thanks to you for your line •

238 BURNS POEMS.

The marled plaid ye kindly spare,
By me should gratefully be ware ;

''Twad please'me to the Nine.
I'd he mair vauntie o' my hap,

Douce hinging o'er my curple.
Than ony ermine ever lap,
Or proud imperial purple,

Fareweel then, lang heal then,

An' plenty be your fa' :
May losses and crosses
iS'e'er at your hallan ca'.
March, 1787. ' R. BURNS.

TO J. RANKEN,

On his Writing to the Author that a Girl iims
vnth child by him.

I AM a keeper of the law

In some sma' points, altho' not a' ;

Some people tell me gin I fa',

Ae way or ither,
The breaking of a point, tho' sma',

Breaks a thegithtr.

I hae been in for't ance or twice,
And winna say, o'er far for thrice,
Yet never met with that surprise

That broke my rest,
But now a rumour's like to rise,

A whaup's i' the nest.

BnRNS' POKMS. 239

ADDRESS

TO AIT ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.

Thou's welcome wean, inischanter fa' me,
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy,
Shall ever danton me, or awe me.

My sweet wee lady,
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me

Tit-ta or daddy.

Wee image of my bonny Betty,
I fatherly will kiss an' 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 :
And tease my name in kintry -clatter :
The mair they tauk I'm kent the better,

E'en let them clash ;
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter

To gie ane fash.

Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint.

My funny toil is now a' tint, ^

Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent.

Which fools may scoff at ;
In my last plack thv part's be in't—

The better half 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 spar'd ;

2W burns' poems.

Thro' a' the childish years I'll e'e thee,
An' tliink't weel war'd.

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit
Thy inither's person, grace, an' merit.
And thy poor worthless daddy's spirit,

"Without his failins,
Twill please me mair to hear an' see't,

Than stocket raailens.

TO A TAILOR,

In Answer to an Epistle which he had sent t?ie
Author.

What ails ye now, ye lousie h— h,
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ?
Losh, man I'hae mercy wi' your natch,

Your bodkin's bauld,
I did nae suffer half sae much

Frae Daddie Auld.

What tho' at times when I grow crouse,
T gie their wames a random pouse.
Is that enough for you to souse

Your servant sae ?
Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse,

An' jag'the fiae.

King David, o' poetic brief,

Wrouciht 'mang tlie lasses sic mischief

As fill'd his after life wi' grief

An' bloody rants.
An' yet he's rank'd araang the chief

O' lane: svne saunts.

BTTRNS' POEjMS. 241

And maybe, Tain, for a' my cants,
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rnnts
I'll gie auld eroven Clooty's haunts

An unco sHp yet,
An' snugly git araang the saunts,

At Davie's hip yet.

But fegs the Session says I maun

Gae fa' upo' anither plan.

Then 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 with the Session sort —
Auld Clinkum at the inner port

Cry'd three times " Robin 1
Come hither lad, an' answer for't,

Ye're blam'd for jobbin."

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on.
An' snoov'd awa' before the Session —
I made an open, fair confession,

I scorn'd to lie ;
An' syne Mess John, beyond expression,

Fell foul o' me.

A fornicator loun he call'd me.

An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me ;

1 own'd the tale was true he tell'd me,

" But what the matter,"
Quo' I, " I fear unless ye geld me,

I'll ne'er be better."

*' Geld you," quo' he, " and whatfore no,
If that vour right hand, leg, or toe,
17 ' a

242 burns' poems.

Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe,
You sbou'd remember

To cut it aff, an' whatfore no

Your dearest member !**

" Na, na," quo' I, " I'm no for that,
Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't,
I'd rather suffer for my faut,

A hearty flewit,
As sair owre hip as ye can draw't !

Tho' I should rue it.

" Or gin ye like to end the bother,
To please us a', I've just ae ither,
When next wi' yon lass I forgather,

What'er betide it,
I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither,

An' let her guide it."

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava,
An' therefore, Tam, when that I saw,
I said " Guid night," and cam awa',

An' left the Session ;
I saw they were resolved a*

On my oppression.

LAMENT

OP A MOTHER FOR THE DJiATH OF HER SOX.

Fate ffave the word, the arrow sped.
And piere'd my darling's heart :

And witli him all the joys are tied
Life can to me impart.

BURNS POEMS. 2i3

By cruel hands the sapling drops,

In dust dishonour'd laid :
So fell the pride of all my hopes, ,

My age's future shade.

The mother-linnet in the brake

Bewails her ravish'd younqr ;
So I for my lost darling's sake,

Lament the live-day long.

Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,

Now, fond I bare my breast,
O, do thou kindly lay me low

With him I love, at rest •

SONNET,

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. OP
GLENRIDDEL, APRIL, 1794.

No more, ye warblers of the wood— no more !
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul :
Thou young-ey'd Spring, gay in thy verdant stole.

More welcome were to me grim 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 ?

Tliat strain flows round th' untimely torah where
Riddel lies.

Ves, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe !
And soothe the Virtites weeping on this bier :
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer

Is in his " narrow house'' for ever darkly low.

244 burns' poems.

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet
Me, inem'ry of my loss will only meet.

VERSES

OJf THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTEB BI.AIJl

The lamp of day, with ill-presaginq: glare,
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ;

Til' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air.
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,

Once tiie lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train* ;

Or raus'd where limpid streams, once'hallow'd wellt,
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fanej ;

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,

Tn weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm.

AVi1d to my heart the filial pulses glow,
'Twas Caledonia's tropliied shield I view'd :

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe.
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.

• The Kind's Park, at Holyrood House,
t St. Anthony's Well. X Sr. Anthony's Chapel.

burns' poems. 245

Rf vers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd,

That like a dreadful meteor gleani'd afar,
And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world: —

" My patriot Son fills an untimely grave !"
With accents wild, and lifted arras 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 ;

And drooping hearts surround their patron's bier.
And grateful science heaves the heart-felt sigii,

" I saw my sons resume their ancient fire :
I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow ;

But, ah ! our hope is born but to expire !
Relentless fate has laid this guardian low.

" My patriot falls, but shall he. lie unsung,

While empty greatness saves a worthless name !

No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue,
And future ages hear his growing fame.

" And I will join a mother's tender cares.
Thro' future times to make his virtue last,

That distant years may boast of other Blairs !"—
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast.

LETTER,

TO J S T T, GL— NC — R.

AuLD comrade dear and brither sinner,
How's a' the folk about Gl— nc— r?
How do you this blae eastlin wind,
That's like to blaw a body blind ?

246 BURNS* POEMS.

For me my faculties are frozen,
My dearest member nearly dozen'd :
I've sent you here by Johnnie Simson,
Twa sage philosphers to glimpse on ;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling.
An' Reid, to common sense appealing.
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled,
An' meikle Greek and Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic- jargon tir'd
An' in the depths of science mir'd,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives an' wal)sters see an' feel ;
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly,
Peruse them and return them quickly !
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce,
I pray and ponder butt the house,
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin,
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ;
Till by an' by,"'if I haud on,
I'll grunt a Veal Gospel groan :
Already I begin to try it,
To cast my een up like a pyet,
When by the gun she tumbles o'er,
Flutt'ring an' gasping 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 with auld grey hairs,
Beneath the load of years and cares,
;May lie who made him still support him.
An'' views beyonti the grave comfort him.
His worthy fam'ly far and near,
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear.

My auld scnool-fellow. Preacher Willie,
The manly tar, my mason Billie,

burns' poems. 247

An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ;

If he's a parent, lass or boy,

May he be dad, an' Meg the mither,

Just five-an'-forty years the^ither !

An' no forgetting wabster Charlie,

I'm tauld he offers very fairly.

An' L— d remember singing Sannock,

Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock.

An' next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy,

Shice she is fitted to her fancy ;

An' her kind stars hae airted till her

A guid chiel wi' a pickle siller.

My kindest, best respects I sen' it,

To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ;

Tell them frae me, we chiels be cautious.

For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashioua :

To grant a heart is fairly civil,

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil !

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel.

May guardian angels tak a spell.

An' steer you seven miles south o* hell :

But first, before you see heav'n's glor}"^,

May ye get monie a merry story,

Monie a laugh, and monie a drink,

An' ay enough o' needfu' clink.

*

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi* you^
For my sake this I beg it o' you,
Assist poor Sirason a' ye can,
Ye'U fin' him just an honest man ;
Sae I conclude an' quat my chanter,
Your's saint or sinner,

Rob the Rantee.

21S BUKXS' POEMS.

ON A YOUNG LADY,

Residing on the Banks of the smnll River Devoriy
i)i Clack mam uuishire, hut whose infant years
were spent in Ayrshire.

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes, and flow'rs bloom-
ing fair :

But the bonniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon,
Was once a sweet bud oa the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blashinsr flower,
In the gaj', rosy morn as it bathes in the dew !

And gentle the tall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

0 spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill lioary wing as ye usher the dawn !

And far be thou distant, tiiou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn !

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, ^q

And England triuuiphant display her proud rose ;

A fairer than either adorns the green vallies
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

Writteyi on the Blank Leaf of a Copy of his
Poems, Presented to an old Sweetliearty then
Married.

OxCE fondly lov'd, and still rememberd dear.
Sweet early object of my youthful vows,

BTIRNS' POEMS. 249

\ccept 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 flamincr, torrid climes,
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar.

EXTEMPORE,

Written in Answer to a Card from an intimate of
Burns, inviting him to spend an hour at a
I'avern.

The Kin^i's most humble servant I.

Can scarcely spare a minute ;
But I'll be wi' you by and bye,

Or else the devil's in it.

EXTEMPORE.

Written in a Lady's Pocket-Book.

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give,
Deal freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things that were.

LINES

ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYK.

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times,
Been, Jeany Scott, as tliou art,
The bravest heart on English ground,
Had yielded like a coward.

250 burns' poems.

EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS,

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER,

Here souter Will in death does sleep,

To h-il, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep.

He'll haud it weel thegither.

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' b-tch

Into thy dark dominion !

ON WEE JOHNNY.

HIC JACKET WEB JOHNNY.

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,
That Death has murder'd Johnny !

And here his body lies fu' low

For saul he ne'er had ony.

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains.
Draw near with pious reverence and attend !

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father, and the generous friend ;

burns' poems. 2.j1

The pitying heart that felt for human wo !

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride !
Tlie friend of man, to vice alone a foe,

*' For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."*

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.

FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq.

The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleep.
Whom canting wretches blam'd ;

But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or d d !

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.

• Goldsmith.

Soi burns' pqems.

Is there a man, whose judj^ment clear
Can others tench the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

WiM as the wave,
Here pause — and thro' the starting tear.

Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below

Was quick, to learn, and wise to know.

And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer fia I lie.
But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And staiu'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 wisdom's root.

ON JOHN DOVE,

INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon,
What was his religion ?

Whae'er desires to ken,
To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane I

Strong ale was ablution —
Small beer persecution,

A dram was fue/nento iruyri ;
But a full flowing bowl
Was the joy of his soul,

And porD was celestial glory.

burns' poems. 263,

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 his, with virtue warin'd,
Few hearts with knowledge so inform'd :
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

ON A WAG IN MAUCIILINE.

Lament him Mauchline husbands a',

He aften did assist ye ;
For had he staid whole weeks awa,

Your wives they ne'r had raiss'd ye.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press

To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on this grass,—

Perhaps he was your father.

THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND.

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouchhig vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will, but by her high permission ;
Who has not sixpence, but in her possession :
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell !
Where such the wife had fallen to ray part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart;
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her raaids, and kick the perverse b— h

204 burns' poems.

THE HIGHLAND WELCOME.

Composed and Repeated by Burns, to the Mazier
of the House, on taking leave at a place in,
the Highlands, lohere he had been hospitably/
etdei'tained.

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er,

A time that surely shall come ;
In heaven itself, I'll ask no more,

Than just a Highland welcome.

GRACE BEFORE DINNER.

O Thou, who kindly dost provide

For every creature's want !
We bless thee, God of Nature wide,

For all thy goodness lent :
And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide,

May never worse be sent ;
But, whether granted or denied,

Lord, bless us with content !

Amen.

ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE.

The devil got notice that Grose was a dying,

So whip I at the summons, old Satan came flying;

But wlien 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 G-d !
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a damnable load !''

BURNS' POEMS. 266

SONGS AND BALLADS.

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.
A Cantata.

U E C I T A T I V O.

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird,
Or, wavering, like the bauckie* bird,

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast :
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
And infant frosts begin to bite.

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

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

They ranted and tliey sang ;
Wi" jumping and thumping,
The vera girdle rang.

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags,
Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags,

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

She blinket on her sodger ;
And aye he gies the touzie drab

The tither skelpin kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab,

Just like an auraos dish :

• The old Scottish name for a bat.

2o6 burns' poems.

Ilk smack still, did crack still,
Just like a cadger's whup,

Then stagsering, and swaggering,
He roar'd this ditty up —

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 daudle, &c.

My 'prenticeship I past wliere my leader breath'd his

last,
When the bloody dye was cast on the heights of

Abram ;
I served out ray trade when the gallant game was

play'd,
And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum,
Lai de daudle, k.c.

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 the drum.
Lai de daudle, &c.

And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and

leg,
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and ray

callet.
As when I used in scarlet to follow the drum,
Lai de daudle, &c.

BUKNS POEMS. 2o7

What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter

shocks,
Beneath the woods and rocks, oftentimes for a home ;
When the tother hag I sell, and the tother bottle tell,
r could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum
Lai de daudle &c.

RECITATIVO.

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk

Aboon the chorus' roar ;
While frighted rations backward leak,

And seek the benmost bore ;
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,

He skirl'd out encore!
But up arose the martial chuck,

And laid the loud uproar.

AIR.

Tune—" Soldier Laddie.'"

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men !
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.

Sing, Lai de lal, &c.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

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, and risked the body,
Twas then I prov'd false to niv sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.
17 8

2o8 BUUi\s' POEMS.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
Tlie 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, Lai de lal, &c.

But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair.
His rags regimental they fluttered sae gaudy,
My heart it rejoiced at ray sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, <Scc

And now I have lived — 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, ray hero, my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

KECITATIYO.

Poor Merrv Andrew, in the neuk,

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ;
They mind't na wha the chorus took,

Between themselves they were sae bizzy ;
At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy.

He stoiter'd up and made a face ;
Then turn'd and laid a smack on Grizzy,

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.

Tune— "^jfZ<i Sir Symonr

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,
Sir Knave is a fool in a session ;

He's there but 'prentice I trow.
But I am a fool by profession.

BURiNS' POEMS. 2o9

My errannie 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 wad venture my neck ;

A hizzie's the hauf o' my craft;
But what could ye other expect

Of aue that's avowedly daft ?

I ance was tied up like a stirk,

For civilly swearlnp: and quaffing;
I ance was abus'd i' the kirk,

For towzling a lass i' my daffin.

Poor Andrew that tumbles fort sport,

Let naebody name wi' a jeer ;
There's even, I'm tanld, i' the court,

A tumbler ca'd the Premier.

Observ'd ye, ydh reverend lad

Maks faces to tickle the mob ;
He 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 hirasel',

Guid L— d, is far dafter than I.

RECITATIVO.

Tlien niest outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling
For monie a pursie she had hook'd,
And had in mony a well been duck'd ;
Her dove had been a Hi2:hland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie !

260 burns' poems.

\Vi* sighs and sabs she thus began
To wail her braw John Hlghlandman.

Tune—" O, an' you were dead, Gudejnan."

A. Highland lad ray love was bom,
The Lawland laws he held in scorn ;
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, my braw John Highlandman !
Sing, ho, my braw John Highlandman !
There's not a lad in a' the Ian'
Was match for my John Highlandman.

"Wi' his philibeg and tartan plaid,
And gude claymore down by \m side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan.
My gallant braw John Highlandman,

Sing, hey, ice.

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
And lived like lords and ladies gay j
For a Lalland face he feared nane.
My gallant braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &e.

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, &c

But oh ! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast,

burns' poems. 261

My curse upon them every one,
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

And now a widow I must mourn
The pleasures that will ne'er return ;
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.

RECITATIVO.

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle.

Her strappin limb and gaucy middle

(He reach'd nae higher)
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,

And blawn't on fire.

Wi' hand on haunch, and upward ee,
He croon'd his gamut, ane, twa, three,
Then, in an Arioso key.

The wee Apollo
Set aff, wi' Alligretto glee,

His giga solo.

Tune—" Whistle o'er the Lave oY.

Let me ryke up to dight that tear,
And go wi' me and be my dear,
And then your every care and fear
May whistle owre the lave o't.

CHORUS.

I am a fiddler to my trade,

And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd.

2C2 BURxXS' POEMS.

The sweetest still to wife and maid.
Was whistle owre the lave o't.

At kinis and weddings we'se be there.
And O I sae nicely's we will fare ;
We'll bouse about, till daddie Care
Sings whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, &c.

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pylce,
And sun oursels about the dylce,
And at our leisure, when we like,
We'll whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, Sec.

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms.
And while I kittle liair on thairms,
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms.
May whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, &c

RECITATIVO.

Her charms had strnck a sturdy Caird,

As weel as poor Gut-scraper ;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,

And draws a rusty rapier —
He swoor by a' was swearing worth,

To split liiin like a pliver.
Unless he wad from that time forth

Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee

Upon his hunkers bended.
And pray'd for grace wi' rueful face,

And sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve

When round the tinker press'd her,

burns' poems. 203

He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,
When thus the Caird address'd her :

Tune—" Clout the Cauldron."

My bonny lass, I work in brass,

A tinker is my station ;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground

In this ray occupation ;
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroU'd

In many a noble squadron ;
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd

To go and clout the cauldron.

I've ta'en the gold, &c.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,

W i' a' his noise and caprin,
And tak a share wi' those that bear

The budget and the apron ;
And by that stowp, my faith and houp,

And by that dear Kilbagie,*
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,

May I ne'er wat ray craigie.

And by that stowp, &c.

RECITATIVO.

The Caird prevail'd— th' unblushing fair

In his embraces sunk,
Partly wi' love o'erconie sae sair,

And partly she was drunk.
Sir Violin 0, with an air

That show'd a man o' spunk,

*A peculiar sort of whisky so called; a great favourite
vith Poosle- Nansie's club.

2G4 burns' poems.

Wish'd unison between tlic pair,
And made the bottle clunk

To their healtli that night,

But 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' Homers craft,*

Tlio' limping wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like Daft,

And shor'd them Dainty Davie,

To boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade

As ever Bacchus listed,
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,

His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had nae wish, but — to be glad.

Nor want — but when he thirsted;
He hated nought but — to be sad,

And thus the Muse suggested

His sang that night.

AIR.

Tune— "For a' that, and a' that.**

I am a bard of no regard.

Wi' gentlefolks, and a' that
But homer-like, the glowran byke

Frae town to town I draw that.

For a' that, and a' that ;
And twice as meikle's a' that ;

Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad singer on record.

burns' poems. 205

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin,*
I've wife enough for a' that.

I never drank the Muses' stank,

Castalia's burn, and a' that ;
But there it streams, and richly reams,

My Helicon I ca' that.

For a' that, &c.

Great love I bear to a' 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.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,

Wi' mutual love, and a' that ;
But for how long the flie may stang.

Let mclination law that.

For a' that, (fee.

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,

They've ta'en me in, and a' that ;
IJut clear your decks, and " Here's the sex !"
I like the jads for a* that.
For a' that, and a' that ;

And twice as meikle's a* that,
My dearest blude to do them gude.
They're welcome till't for a* that.

RECITATIVO.

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's
Shook with the thunder of applause,

Re-echoed from each mouth ;
They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their duds,
Tliey scarcely left to co'er their fuds.

To quench their lowau drouth.

150 BU«,NS' POEMS.

Then owre agrain the jovial thrang,

The poet did request,
To loose his pack, and wale a sang,

A ballad o' the best ;

He rising, rejoicing.

Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, and found them

Impatient for the chorus.

Tune—" Jolly Mortals,Jill your Glasses.

See the smoking bowl before us,

Mark our jovial ragged ring ;
Round and rouud take up the chorus,

And in raptures let us sing :

A fig for those by 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, &e.

With the ready trick and fable,
Round we w'ander all the day ;

And at niuht, in bam or stable.
Hug OUT doxies on the hay.
A fig, due.

burns' poems. 267

Does the train-attended carriage
Thro' the country lighter rove ?

Does the sober bed of marriage
Witness brighter scenes of love ?
A fig, &c.

Life is all a variorum,
We regard not how it goes ;

Let them cant about decorum
Who liave characters to lose.
A fig, &c.

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets !

Here's to all the wandering train !
Here's our ragged brats and callets !

One and all cry out, Amen !

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

It was upon a Lammas night.

When com rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,

I held awa to Annie :
Tlie 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 :
I set her down wi' right good will,

Amang 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 ;

208 burns' poems,

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ;

Her heart was beating rarely :
My blessings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o' barley !
But by the moon and stars sae bright,

That shone that hour sae clearly,
She aye shall bless that happy night,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ;

I hae been merry drinkin' ;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear ;

I hae been happy thinkin' :
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.

Com rigs, and barley rigs.
And corn rigs are bonnie :

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amanff the riors wi' Annie.

SONG

COMPOSED IX AUGUST.

Tune — " / had a Iiorse, I had va ynwe."

Now westlhi' winds, and slaught'ring guns,

Bring Autumn's pleasant weather ;
The moorcock sprinsrs, on whirring wings,

Amang the blooming heather :
Xow waving grain, wide o'er the plain.

Delights the weary farmer ;
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night.

To muse upon ray charmer.

BURNS* POEMS. 269

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ;

The plover loves the mountains ;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ;

The soaring hern the fountains ;
Through 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 pleasure find,

The savage and the tender ;
Some social join, and leagues combine ;

Some solitary wander :
A vaunt, away ! the cruel sway,

Tyrannic man's dominion ;
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,

The flatt'ring, gory pinion !

But, Peggy, dear, the evening's clear,

Thick flies the skimming swallow ;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,

All fading-green and yellow :
Come let us stray our gladsome way.

And view the charms of nature; '
And 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 showers to budding flowers,

Not autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me.

My fair, and lovely charmer '

270 burns' poems.

SONG.
Tune—" My Nannie O."

Behind yon hills where Lug^ar flows,

'Mang moors and mosses many, O,
Tlie wintry sun the day has clos'd,

And I'll awa to Nannie, O.
The westlin' wind blaws loud and shill ;

The night's baitli mirk and rainy, O ;
But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll'steal,

And owre tlie hills to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, and young

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O :
May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nannie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true.

As spotless as she's bonnie, O ;
Tlie opening gowan, wet wi' dew,

Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

And few there be that ken me, O ;
But what care I how few they be,

I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O.
My riches a's my penny-fee,

And I maun guide it cannie, O ;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me.

My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.

Our auld gudeman delights to vievv
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O ;

But I'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh,
And has n;ie care but Nannie, O.

burns' poems. 271

Come weel, come wo, I care nae by,
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, 0 ;

Nae ither care in life hae I,
But live, and love my Nannie, O.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

A FRAGMENT.

There's noug-ht but care on ev'ry ban',
In every hour that passes, O :

What signifies the life o' man.
And 'twere not for the lasses, O.

Green grow the rashes, O ;

Green grow the rashes O ;
Tlie sweetest hours that e'er I spent,

Were spent amang the lasses, O.

The warly race may riches chace,
And riches still may fly them, O;

And though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow, &c.

But gie me a canny hour at e'en.
My arms about my dearie, O ;

And warly cares, and warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O !

Green grow, &c.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O j

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw.
He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.

Green grow, Sec.

272 burns' poems.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes O ;

Her 'prentice ban' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O.

SONG.

Tune—" Johnny's Grey BreeTis."

Again rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy locks wave ia the breeze,

All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

And maun I still on Menie dote,
And bear the scorn that's in her ee ?

For it's jet. jet black, and it's like a hawk.
And 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 the glen or shaw,

The mavis and the linthwhite sins'.

And maun I still, Sec.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
\Vi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ;

But life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.

And maun I still, &c.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,

The stately swan majestic swim's.
And every thing is blest but I.

And maun I still, ice.

burns' poems. 273

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorlands whistles shill,

Wi' wild, nnequal, 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 fluttering wingg

A wae-worn ghaist I haraeward glide,
And maun I still, &c.

Come Winter, with thine angry howl.

And raging bend the naked tree ;
Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless sou^,

When Nature all is sad like me !

And maun I still, &c.

SONG.

Tune—" Roslin Castle."

The gloomy night is gathering fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain :
The hunter now has left the moor.
The scatter'd coveys meet secure,
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning com
By early Winter's ravage torn j
Across her placid, azure sky,
She see? the scowling tempest fly :
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the stormy wave,
17 T

274 burns' poems.

Where raany a danj^er I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

'TIS not the surging billows' roar,
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ;
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear,
The wretched have no more to tear :
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound,
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear.
To leave the bonnie banks oi Ayr.

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and whiding vales;
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves !
Farewell, ray friends! farewell, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those—
The bursting tears my heart declare.
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr !

SOXG.
TuNB— " Gilderoy:*

From thee, Eliza, I must go.

Awl from thy native shore:
The cruel fates between us throw

A boundless ocean's roar ;
But boundless oceans roarmg 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 no more !

BUKiXs' POEMS. 276

But the last throb that leaves ray hoart,

While death stands victor by,
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,

And thine that latest si<ih !

THE FAREWELL

rO THE BRETHREN OF ST, JAMES's LODGE,
TARBOLTON.

Tune—" Good Night, and Joy be ici' you a' P*

Adieu ! a heart-warm fond adieu !

Dear brothers of the mystic tye !
Ye favour'd, ye enlightened few,

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 ;
Oft, honour'd with supreme command.

Presided o'er tlie sons of light :
And by that hieroglyphic brijjht,

Which none but crnftsnien ever saw !
Strong mera'ry on my heart shall write

Tliose happy scenes when far awa'.

May freedom, harmony, and love,

Unite you in the grand desigyi,
Bene:.ith tii' omniscient Eye above,

The glorious Architect divine !
That you may Iceep th' unerring line,

Still rising' by the plummet's law^

276 BtTR.NS' POEMS.

Till order bright completely shine,
Still be my pray'r when far awa'.

And yori, farewell ! whose merits claims,

Justly, that highest badge to wearl
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,

To Masonry and Scotia dear !
A last request, permit me here,

When yearly ye assemble a',
One round, I ask it with a tear^

To him, the Ba»» d, thaVsfar aiccC.

SOXG.

Tune—*' Prepare my dear Brethren, to the
Tavern IcV&fiy."

iVo churchman am I for to rail and to writp,
^■o 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 liere,

And a bottle like this are ray glory and care.

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse :
Tliere centum per centum, the cit with his purse ;
But see you the croron liow it waves in the air,
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases ray care.

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ;
^ found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

BURNS* POEMS. 277

I once was persuaded a venture to make ;
A letter infonn'd 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

gown;
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ;
For a big-bfeUy'd bottle's a heaven of care.

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge.

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow.
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ;
May every true brother of the compass and square,
Have a big-belly 'd bottle when harass'd with care.

HIGHLAND MARY.
Tune—" Katherine Ogie"

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers.

Your waters never drumlie ;
There simmer first unfauld her robes.

And there the langest tarry :
For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

• Young's Night Thoughts.

278 BURNS POEMS

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 !

W'l' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu' tender ;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder ;
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost.

That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod. and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary !

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And clos'd for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly !
And mouldeririEr now in silent dust

That heart that lo'ed me dearly —
But still within my bosom's core

Shall live my Highland Mary ?

AULD ROB MORRIS.

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae boanie lassie, his darling and mine.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lamb on the lea.
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

burns' poems 279

But, oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin s a laird,
And my daddy has nought but a cot-house and yard ,
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ;
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ;
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast

0 had she but been of a lower degree,

1 then might hae hop'd she wad srail'd upon me !
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!

DUNCAN GRAY.

Duncan Gray cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
On blithe yule-night when we were fou,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Maggie coost her head fu' heigh,
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 een baith bleer't and blin'^
Spak o'lowpin o'er a linn ;

Ha, ha, &c.

Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, &c.
Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, &c.

280 burns' poems.

Sliall I, like a fool, quotb he,
For a hauGfhty hizzie die ?
She may go to— France for me !
Ha, ha, &cc.

How it comes let doctors tell,.

Ha, ha, &c.
Meg grew sick as he grew heal,

Ha, ha, &c.
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings,
And 0, her een, 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 could na be her death.
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ;
How they're crouse and canty baith ;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

GALL A WATER.

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
That wander thro' the blooming heather:

But Yarrow braes, nor Ertrick shaws,
Can match the lads o' Galla water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon tliem a' I lo'e him better ;

And I'll be his, and he'll be mine.
The bonnie lad o' Galla water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher ;

BUKNS' POEMS. 281

Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Galla water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth.
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure :

TJie bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure I

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
Tune—" The Mill, Mill O."

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,

And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning ;
I left the lines and tented field,

Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,

A poor but honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,

A hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia, hame again,

I cheery on did wander.
T iliought upon the banks o' Coil,

I thought upon my Nancy ;
I thought upon the witching smile

That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen,

Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill, and trysting-thom,

Where Nancy aft I courted :
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,

Down by her mother's dwelling !
And turn'd me round to hide the flood

That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,

0 ! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !

My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger ;

I've serv'd my kink and country lang—
Take pity on a sodger ;

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,

And lovelier grew than ever ;
Quo' she, a sodtrer ance I lo'ed,

Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot and liamely fare,

Ye freely shall partake it ;
That gallant bad<ie, the dear cockade,

Ye're welcome for the sake o't.

She gazVl— she redden like a rose —

Syne pale like ony lilly.
She sank within ray arm's and cried,

Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By Hira who made yon sun and sky —

By whom true love's regarded,

1 am the man ; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded !

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,

And find thee still true-hearted !
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,

And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,

A mailen plenish'd fairly ;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly.

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the naanor ;

burns' poems. 283

But glory is the sodg:er'8 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 stay

In day and hour of danger.

MEG O' THE MILL.

Tune — " O honnie Lass will ye lie in a Barrack V

O KEN ye what Meg o* the Mill has gotten?
And keii ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coot" 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 hetcht her a heart leal and loving ;
She laird did address her wi' matter more moving,
A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear-chained bridle,
A wliip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that is fix'd on the mailen!
A tocher's nae word on a true lover's parle,
But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl' !

SONG.

Tune — " Logan luaterJ*

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide,
That day I was my Willie's bride '

*2fe4 BUHNS' POEMS.

And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun,
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face hia faes,
Far, far i'rae me and Logan braes.

Again the merry month o' May

Has made our hills and valleys gay ;

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers.

The bees hum round the breathing 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.

O, wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate !
As ye make many a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return !
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie liarae to Logan braes!

burns' poems. 286

THE LEA-RIG.

When o'er the hill the eastern star

Tells bughtin-tirae is near, ray jo,
And owsen frae the furrovv'd field

Return sae dowf and weary O,
Down by the burn, wliere scented birk:

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O.

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O,
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,

My ain kind dearie O.
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,

And I were ne'er sae wearie O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain ki»id dearie O.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,

Along the burn to steer, my jo ;
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey.

It maks ray heart sae cheery O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O.

WANDERING WILLIE.

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, baud awa harae ;

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie.
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

266 burns' poems.

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e,

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 more to my arms.

But, oh ! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main j

May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's ray ain.

SONG.

Tune—" Itobin Adair."

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar;
There would I weep ray woes,
There seek my lost repose.
Till grief my eyes should close.
Ne'er to wake more,

Falsest of womankind ! canst thou declare,
All my fond plighted vows— fleeting as air !
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Then in thy bo'som try
What peace is there !

WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU MY LAD.

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad ;
O whistle, and I'll oonie to you, my lad :
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you my lad.

burns' poems. 287

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-style, and let nae body see,
And come as ye were na coming to me.
And come, &c.
O whistle, &c.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a fiie ;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me,
Yet look, &c.
O whistle, &c.

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for mc,
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee :
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be,
For fear that she whyle your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.
O whistle, &c.

DAINTY DAVIE.

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers ;
And now comes in my happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.

Meet me on the warlock knowe!

Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend tlie day wi' you,

My ain dear dainty Davie.'

The crystal waters round us fa,'
The merry birds are lovers a',
Tlie scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.
Meet me, &c.

288 burns' poems.

When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie,
Meet me, Sec.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtains draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's mv ain dear Davie.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie,

There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.

AULD LANG SYXE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to min'?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne ?

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 tine :
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot

Sin auld lang syne.

For auld. Sec.

burns' poems. 289

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,

Frae 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' tliine ;
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,

And surely I'll be mine :
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

BANNOCKBURN.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham bruce has aft en 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 grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee !
17 u

2C0 burns' poems

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freemaiffa',
Caledonian ! on wi' me !

By oppression's woes and pains !
By our sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be — shall be free !

Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants fall in every foe !
Liberty's in every blow !
Forward ! let us do, or die !

SONG.
TuNB— " Ca' the Voices to the Knowes

CHORUS.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them whare the heather grows,
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,
My bonnie dearie.

Hark, the mavis' evening sang
Sounding Clouden's woods araang;
Then a fauldiug let us gang,
My bonnie dearie.
Ca' tiie yowes, &c.

We'll gae down by Clouden side.
Thro' the hazels spreading wide.
O'er the waves that sweetly glida
To the moon sae clearly.
l-\' the vowps, &c.

burns' poems. C91

Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight houis,
O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ca' the yowes, &c.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ;
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
Nought of ill may com^thee near,
My bonnie dearie.
Ca' the yowes, &c.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart j
I can die— but canna part.
My bonnie dearie.
Ca' the yowes, &c.

SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'
Tune—" Onagh's Water-fall.**

Sae flaxen were her ringlets.

Her eye-brows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'er-arching

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue,
Her smiling sae wyling,

Wad make a wretch forget his woe ;
What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto those rosy lips to grow :
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,

When first her bonnie face I saw.
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm,

She savs she lo'es me best of a'.

202 BQRNS' FOBMS.

Like harmony her motion ;

Her pretty ancle is a spy
Betraying fair proportion,

Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae cliarming,

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ;
Ilk feature— auld Nature

Declar'd that she could do nae mair :
Her's are the willing chains o' love,

By conquering beauty's sovereign lav/ j
And ay my Cliloris' dearest charm,

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

Let others love the city,

And gaudy shew at sunny noon ;
Gie me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve and rising moon
Fair beaming, and streaming,

Her silver light the boughs amang ;
While falling, recalling.

The amorous thrush concludes her sang
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove

By wirapling burn and leafy shaw,
And hear my vows o' truth and love,

To say thou lo'es me best of a' ?

LASSIE Wr THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.
TunB—" Both€7nurchus Rant."

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,

Wilt thou tent wi' me the flocks ?
Wilt thou be my dearie O ?

Now nature deeds the flowery lea.
And a' is young and sweet like thee

burns' poems. 293

O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou'lt 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', &cc.

When Cynthia lights, wi* silver ray,
The weary shearer's harneward way ;
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o* love, my dearie O.
Lassie wi', &c.

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ;
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O.

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie.
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ?

WUt thou be ray dearie O ?

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.

And dare be poor for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that,
Tl'.e rank is but the guinea's stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that.

2'>4 BUR.NS' POEMS.

^yhat tho' on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hoddin irrey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves ihtir wine,

A man's a man for a' that ;
For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that ;
An honest man, though 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 make 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 ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray, that come it may

As come it will for a' that,
When sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

Shall bear the gree, and a' that ;
For a' that, and a' that.

It's coming yet, for a' that.
When man and man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be, and a' that.

burns' poems. 205

SONG.

Tune — " Let me in this ae Nights

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping: yet !
Or art thou wakin', I would wit ?
For love lias bound me, hand and foot,
And I would fain be in, jo.

O let me in this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night j
For pity's sake this ae night,

O rise and let me in, jo.

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ;
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.
O let me in, &c.

The bitter blast that round me blaws
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause.
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.
O let me in, &c.

HER ANSWER.

O TELL na me o* wind and rain !
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain !
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo.

CHORUS.

r tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night :

296 burns' poems.

And ance for a* this ae night,
I wiiina let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round tlie pathless wand'rer pours,
Is nought to what poor she endures,
That's trusted faithless man, jo.
I tell you now, &c.

The sweetest flower that deck'd the raead,
Xow trodden like the vilest weed ;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.
I tell you now, &c.

The bird that charm'd the summer-day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ;
Let witless, trusting, woman, say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.
I tell you now, &c.

CALEDONIA.

TuxE— " Humours of Glen."

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreism lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume.

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
\Vi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue- bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ;

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave,

burns' poems. 297

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud
palace,
What are they ?— The haunt of the tyrant and
slave !

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views with disdain ;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save love's willing fetters, the charms ot his Jean.

SONG.
TuxE — '^This is no my am House."

O THIS is no my ain lassie,

Fair tho' the lassie be ;
O weel ken I my ain lassie,

Kind love is in her ee.

I 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 bonnie, 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 as lovers' eeii,

When kind love is in the ee.

O til is is no, &c.

203 BURNS POEMS.

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.

SCOTTISH BALLAD.

Tune—" The Lothian Lassie.'*

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;

I said there was naethins: I hated like men,
Tlie deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe m«,
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me.

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for ray love he was dyinij ;

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean,
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
The Lord forgie me for lying !

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,
And marriage afF-hand, were his proffers :

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or cared,

But thought I might 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 his taste to gae near her !

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,

Guess ye how, the jad I I could bear her, could

bear her,
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,
1 iraed to the tryste o' Dalgrii-nock,

burns' poems. 299

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 might say I was saucy ;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drmk,

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 recover'd her hearin',
And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet,

But, heav'ns ! how he fell a swearin', a swearin'

But, heav'ns ! 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 maim wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER.

Tune—" Balinamona 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

lass wi' a tocher.
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher ; the nice yellow

guineas for me.

GOO BURNS POE'MS.

Your beauty's <i flower, in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ;
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes.
Then hey, &c.

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 heyj &c.

SOXG.
Tune — " Here's a health to them thaVs awa, hiney.

CHORUS.

n erb's a health to ane I lo'e dear,

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ;

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy !

Altho' thou maun never be mine,

Altho' even hope is denied,
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,

Than aught in the world beside— Jessy !
Here's a health, &c.

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day,
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms,

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am lockt in thy arms— Jessy !
Here's a 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 fell cruel decree— Je^^y f
Here's a health, &c.

burns' P0EM3. 301

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

BoNNiB lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the I3irks of Aberfeldy ?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend lightsome days
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the Birks of Aberfeldy,
Bonnie lassie, &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.
Bonnie lassie, &c.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers.
White o'er the linns the bumie pours.
And rising weets wi' misty showers.
The Birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &;c.

Let fortune's gifts at random flee.
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.

3U2. burns' poems.

BLITHE WAS SHE.

Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben ;

Blithe by the banks of Em,
And blithe in Glenturit glen.

By Ou^htertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw ,

But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Then braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Blithe, &c.

Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn,

she tripp'd by the banks of Em
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Blithe, (Sec.

Her bonnie face it was as meek

As ony lamb upon a lee ;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.
Blithe, &c.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ;

But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blithe, &c.

SONG.

Tun e — " My Lodging is on the cold ground:

My Chloris, mark how green the groves.
The primrose banks how fair :

BUllNS' POEMS. 303

She balmy gales awake the floweris,
And wave thy flaxen hair.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,

And o'er the cottage sings ;
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,

To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string

In lordly lightly ha':
The shepherd stops his simple reed,

Blithe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may survey

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ;
But are there hearts as light as ours

Beneath the milk-white thorn ?

The 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 courtiers' gems may vv.itness love —

But 'tis na love like mine.

I LOVE MY JEAN.
Tune— "ilfm Admiral Gordon's Strathspey,
Op a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives.

The lassie I lo'e best :
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And raony a hill between ;

304 BURNS POEMS.

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 tlie air :
There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain shaw, or green.
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' rav Jean.

WILLIE BREWD A PECK O' MAITT.

O, "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.

And Rob and Allan cam to see ;
Three blither hearts that lee-lang night

Ye wad na find in Christendie. ,

We are na fou, we're na that fou.

But just a drappie in our ee ;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And aye we'll taste the barley" bree.

Here are we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys I trow are we;

And mony a night we've merry been,
And mony raae we hope to be !
We are na fou, Sec.

It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinking in the lift sae high ;

She shines sae bright to whyle us harae,
But by my sooth, she'll wait a wee !
Weare'na fou, 6cc.

WTiat first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he !

burns' poems. 303

Wha last beside his chair shall fa'.
He is the king amang us three !
We are na ifou, &c.

TAM GLEN.

My heart is a breaking, dear TittiJ',
Some counsel unto me come len',

To anger them a' is a pity ;

But what will I do wi' Tam 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 mauna marry Tam Glen ?

There's Lowrie the laird o* Drumeller,
" Gude 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 does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o* young men ;

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ;
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ?

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me guid hunder marks teii ;

But, if it's ordain 'd I maun tak him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen ?

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,
My heart to my mou gied a sten ;

For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen.

The last Halloween I was waukin
My droukit sark-sleeve as ye ken :
17 X

306 BUR.NS' POEMS.

Ilis likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very grey breekB o' Tarn Glen I

Come counsel, dear Tittle, don't tarry ;

I'll gie you ray bonnie black hen,
Oif ve will advise rae to raarrv

The lad I lo'e dearlv, Tarn Glen.

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WF AX
AULD MAN ?

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie.
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 1

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an* Ian* !
Bad luck on the pennie, &c.

He'3 always compleenin' frae momin' to e'enin',
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ;

He's doyl't, and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen,
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man;

He hums and he 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 !

My auld auntie Katie upon rae takes pity,
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ;

1*11 cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.

BURNS* POEM3. ' 30;

O FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM !
Tune—" The Moudiewort:*

An* O, for ane and twenty, Tam !

An' hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tam !
I'll leam my kin a rattlin sang,

And I saw ane and twenty, Tam.

They snool me sair, and hand me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ,

But three short years will soon wheel roun'.
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam !
An' O, for ane, &c.

A gleib o' Ian*, a claut o' gear.

Was left me my auntie, Tam ;
At kith or kin I need na spier,

An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
An' O, for ane, &c.

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,

Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ;
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof,

I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam !
An' O, for ane, &c.

THE BANKS O' BOON.

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Boon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ;

How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care !

Thou'lt break my'heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn :

808 burns' poems.

rhou minds me o' departed joys.
Departed never to return.

Oft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine j
And ilka bird sang o' its love,

And fondly sae did I o' mine.
\Vi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ;
And my fause lover stole my rose,

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they ca'd it Luikumdoddie,
Willie was a wabster guid,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie ;
He had a wife was dour and diu,
O Tinkler Maggie 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 miller ;

A whiskin' beard about her mou'.
Her nose and chin they threaten ither ;
Sic a wife, &c.

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd,
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter ;

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 shouther ;
Sic a wife, &c

burns' poems. S09

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,

An' wi' her loot' her face a-washin' ;
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ;
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,
Her face wad fyle the Logan- Water ;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?
Wilt thou be my dearie ?

When sorrows wrings thy gentle heart,
O wilt thou let me cheer thee ?

By the treasure of my soul,
And that's the love I bear thee !

I swear and vow, that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie,

Only thou, I swear and vow,

Shall ever be my dearie.

Iiassie, 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 mc ;

Let me lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.

Lassie, let me quickly die,

Trusting that thou lo'es me.

SHE'S FAIR AND PAUSE.

She's fair and fause that causes my smart,

I lo'ed her meikle and lang ;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,

^ nd I may e'en gae hang.

310 burns' poems.

A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,

And I hae tint my dearest dear,

But woman is but warld's gear,

Sae let the bonnie lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,

To this be never blind,
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,

A woman has't by kind :
O woman lovely, woman fair !
An angel form's faun to thy share,
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair,

I mean an angel mind.

O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN 7

O, WAT ye wha's in yon town.

Ye seethe e'enin' sun upon?
The fairest dame's in yon town.

That e'enin' sun is shining on.

Now haply down yon gay green shaw :
She wanders by yon spreading tree,

How blest ye flowers that round her blaw
Ye catch the glances o'lier ee.

How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year.

And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to ray Lucy dear.

The sun blinks blithe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayre ;

But my delight in yon town,
And dearest bliss, is Luev fair.

burns' poems. 311

Without my love, not a' the charms

O' Paradise could j^eld 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 sinking 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 frae her shall ne'er depart,

And she— as fairest is her form !
She has the truest, kindest heart.

THE RED, RED ROSK

O, MT luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June :

O, my luve's like the melodic
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass.

So deep in luve am I :
And I will luve thee still, my dear

Till a' the seas gang dry.

312 burns' poems.

Till a' tlie seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :

I will luve thee still, mv dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!

And fare thee weel, 'a while!
And I will come again, my luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

SOrs^G OF DEATH.

Sceyie—ajield of battle ; tinie of the day — evening ;
the wounded and dying of the victorious army
are supposed to join in thefolloicing Song.

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

Now gay with the bright setting sun ;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties,

Our race of existence is run !

Tliou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe.

Go, jfrighten the coward and slave :
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know.

No terrors hast thou to the brave !

Thou strikes 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 kuig and our country to save —
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands.

O I who would not rest with the brave:

BURNS' POEMS. 313

IMITATION OF AN OLD JACOBITE SONG.

3y yon castle wa* at the close o' the day,
[ 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 comes hame.

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 faithfu' auld dame —
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes haine.

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 he peace till Jamie comes hame.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,
Thou lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary ! dear departed shade !

Where is thy place of blissful rest ?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?

That sacred hour can I forget.
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,

814 UURNS' POEMS.

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 klss'd his pebbled shore,
"O'erhung 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 every spray,

Till too, too soon, the glowing west,
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes.
And fondly broods with miser care !

Time but th' impression deeper makes.
As streams their channels deeper wear.

My Mary, dear departed shade !

Where is thy blissful place of rest ?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?

N A E B O D Y.

I HAE a wife o' ray ain,
I'll partake wi' naebody :

I'll tak cuckold frae nane,
I'll gie cuckold to naebody.

I hae a penny to spend.
There— thanks to naebody

burns' poems. 315

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 j

I'll be merry and free,

I'll be sad for naebody ;
If naebody care for me,

I'll care for naebody.

TO MARY.

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
And'leave old Scotia's shore ?

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across th' Atlantic's roar ?

0 sweet grows the lime and the orange,
And the apple on the pine ;

But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.

1 ii«e 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 Mary,
And plight me your lily-white hand j

O plight me your faith, my Mary,
Before I leave Scotia's strand.

813 burns' poems.

We hae pliuhted our troth, my Mary

In mutual affection to join,
And curst be the cause tliat shall part ns !

The hour, and the moment o' time.

BONNIE LESLEY.

O SAW ye bonnie Lesley,
As she gaed o'er the border?

She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her.
And love but her for ever :

For nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither ;

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee :

Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.

The deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee ;

He'd look into thy bonnie face.
And say, " I canna wrang thee."

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 !
Taat we may brag, we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonme.

burns' poems, 317

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 make the miser's treasure poor ;
How blithely wad I hide the stoure,

A weery s^lave frae sun to sun :
Could I the rich reward sec ure,

The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',

To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw :

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a',
" Ye are na Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,

At least be pity to me shown :
A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morison.

SONG.

Tune—" Liggeram Cosh.**

Blithe hae I been on yon hill.
As the lambs before me ;

318 BUKNS' I: OEMS.

Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o'er me :

Now nae longer 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 glow'r,

Sighing, dumb, despairing !
If she winna ease the thraws,

In my bosom swelling.
Underneath the grass-green sod,

Soon maun be my dwelling.

BONNIE 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 bonnie Jean.

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she sang sae merrilie ;

The blithest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little Untwhite'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 naifjies nine or ten.

BURNS* POEMS. S19

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danced wi' Jeanie on the down ;

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.

As in the bosom o' the stream,
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ;

So trembling, pure, was tender love,
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.

And now she works her mammie's wark,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ;

Yet wist na what her ail might be.
Or what wad make her weel again.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,

And did na joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,

As e'eing on the lily lea ?

The sun was sinking in the west,
The bird sang sweet in ilka grove ;

His cheek to her's he fondly prest.
And whisper'd 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 bam or byre thou shalt na drudge,

Or naething else to trouble thee ;
But stray amang the heather bells.

And tent the waving corn wi' me."

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 aye between them twa.

.320 BURNS* POEMS.

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
Tune—" InvercaulcVs Beel."

CHORUS.

0 Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
Ye would na been sae shy ;

For lack 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 fient a hair care I,
O Tibbie, I hae, <fcc.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye nae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ve 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 queen,
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,
Y^e'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'U fasten to him like a brier-

BURNS' POEMS. 321

Tho' hardly he for sense or lear
Be better than the kye.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak ray advice,
Your daddie'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 wad na gie her in her sark.
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ;
Ye need na look sae high.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

17

SONG.
Tune—" Fee him, FatJier."

Thou hast left me ever, Ja»nie,

Thou hast left me rver.
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,

Thou hast left me ever.
Aften hast thou vow'd 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.

Tliou 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, Jamie,
Ne'er mair to w.iken.
Y

322 burns' poems.

FAIR JEXNY.
Tune—" Saw ye my Father^

Where are the joys I have met in the morning,
That danc'd to the lark's early song ?

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring,
At evening the wild woods among ?

No more a winding the course of yon river,
And marking sweet flow'rets so' fair ;

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure.
But sorrow and sad sighing care.

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys,

And grim, surly winter is near ?
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses

Proclaim it the pride of the year.

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover.
Yet long, long too well have I known ;

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom
Is Jenny, 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 anguisb.
Enjoyment I'll seek in my wo.

SOXG.
Tune—" To JaneU"

Husband, husband, cease your strife,

Nor longer idly rave, sir {
Though I am your wedded wife,

Yet I am not your slave, sir J

BURNS* POEMS. 323

" One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;

Is it man or woman, sa'
My spouse, Nancy ?

•ay,

If 'tis still the lordly word,

Service and obedience ;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,

And so, good bye allegiance !

" Sad will I be, so bereft,

Nancy, Nancy ;
Yet I'lltry to make a shift,

My spouse, Nancy."

My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it ;

When you lay me in the dust.
Think, think how you will bear it.

" I will hope and trust in Heav'n,

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 bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt yon.

" I'll wed another, like my dear

Nancy, Nancy.
Then all hell will fly for fear,

My spouse Nancy."

324 burns' POEMS-

SONG.
Tune—" Cauld hail in Aberdeen.

Ho-w lang and dreary is the night
When I am frae my dearie ;

I restless lie frae e'en to mom,
Though I were ne'er sae weary.

For, oh ! her lanely nights are lang,
And, oh ! her dreams are eerie ;

And, oh! her widow'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her dearie.

When I think on the lightsome days

I spent wi' thee, my dearie,
And now what seas between us roar,

How can I be but eerie?
For, oh ! &c.

How slewly ye move, ye heavy hours !

The joyless day how dreary !
It was na sae ye glinted by

When I was wi' my dearie.
For, oh ! &c.

SONG.

ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH 0:NfE.

It was the charming month of May,
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay,
One morning, by the break of day.
The youthful, charming Chloe ;

burns' poems. 326

Irora peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

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-rivall'd by the radiant eyes

Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she, &c.

SONG.

Tu^E—" Lumps o' Pudding.'*

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' tnair,
When'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
T gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang,
Wi* a cog o' gujd swats, and an auld Scottish sang.

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught :
My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch,
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare
touch.

A towmond o* trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a' j

320 BUR^'S* POEMS.

When at the blithe end o* our journey at last,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past !

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way ;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae :
Come ease, or come travail, come pleasure or pain,
My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again !'

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY?
Tune—" Roy's Wife:*

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And canst thou leave me thus for pity 1

Is this thy plighted fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ?

Is this thy faithful 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.

MY NANNIE'S AWA.

Tune — " TTiereHl never be peace, ^'C."

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braca ;

BURNS* POEMS. 327

While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw j
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa.

The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o* Nannie— and Nannie's awa.

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn ;
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn,
And thon, mellow mavis, that hails the night fa,*
Give over for pity— my Nannie's awa.

Come, Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And sooth me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay ;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa.

SONG.

Tune — " Laddie, lie near me.^'

'TwAS na her bonnie 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 bewitching, sweet stovvn glance o' khidneos

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me.
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou'rt the angel that never can altar.
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

'^^^ BURNS* POEMS.

SONG.

Tlne — *' Bothermurche.

Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,

Wilt tliou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou were wont to do

Full well thou know'st I love thee, dear,
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear !
O, did not love exclaim, " Forbear,
" Nor use a faithful lover so ?"
Fairest maid, &c.

Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ;
And, by thy beauteous self I swear,
No love but thine my heart shall know.
Fairest maid, &c.

THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER
Tune—" Morag."

Loud blaw the frosty breezes,

The snaws the mountains 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 ;
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,

And bonnie Castle-Gordon !

The trees now naked groaning.
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging.

burns' poems. 329

The birdies dowie moaning,

Shall a' be blithely singing,

And every flower be springing,
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,

When, by his mightly warden.
My youth's retum'd to fair Strathspey,

And bonnie Castle-Gordon.

WHERE, BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.
Tune — " JV. Gold's Lamentation for Ahercairny."

Where, braving angry winter's storms,

The lofty Ochels rise,
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms

First blest my wondering eyes.
As one who, by some savage stream

A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam,

With art's most polish'd blaze.

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade,

And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,

When first I felt their pow'r !
The tyrant Death, with grim control,

May seize my fleeting breath ;
But tearing Peggy from my soul

Must be a stronger death.

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay 'd on Catrine lea ;

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green.
But nature sicken'd ou the ee.

330 BURNS' POEMS.

Thro' faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle,

And aye the wild-wood 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 bonnie banks of Ayr,

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle.

FAREWELL THOU STREAM.

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 anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,

I fain my griefs would cover ;
Tlie bursting sigh, th' 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 I

The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist whiTe it enslav'd ir.e ;

BUENS' POEMS. 331

I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
Till fears no more had sav'd rae ;

The unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheelmg torrent viewing j

'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In.overwhelming ruin.

JOHN ANDERSON.
Tune — " John Anderson nifj io/^

John Anderson my jo, John,

When we were first acquent ;
Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent ;
But now your brow is held, John,

Your locks are like the snaw :
But blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my io, John,

We clamb the hill thegither ;
And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither :
But we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go ;
And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson my jo.

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY VYALX.

Tune—" The Rose-bud."

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk.
Adown a com-inclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.

c3*2 burns' poems.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled.
In a' its crimson srlory 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 Jenny fair !
On tremblhig string'or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tents thy early morning,
So thou sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Suall beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watch'd the early morning.

THE JOYFUL WIDOWER.

Tuss—^' Maggy Lauder."

I MARRIED with a scolding wife

The fourteenth of November ;
She made me weary of my life,

By one unruly member.
Long did I bear the heavy yoke,

And many griefs attended ;
But, to my comfort be it spoke,

Xow, now her life is ended.

We liv'd full one-and-twenty years
A man and wife together ;

BUR>S' POEMS. 333

At length from me her course she steer'd,

And gone I know not whither :
Would I could guess, I do profess,

I speak, and do 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 deil 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.

FAIR ELIZA.
A Gaelic Air,

Turn again, thou fair Eliza ;

Ae kind blink before we part,
Rue on thy despairing lover !

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ;

If to love thy heart denies
For pity hide the cruel sentence

Under friendship's kind dispuiso 1

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ?

The offence is loving thee ,
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,

Wha for thine would gladly die f
While the life beats in my bosom.

Thou shalt mix in ilka thro<^ •
Turn again, thou lovely maiden.

Ae sweet smile on me be-^tow

334 burns' poems.

Not the bee upon the blossom,

In the pride o' sunny noon ;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon ;
Not the poet in the moment

Fancy licchtens on his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,

That thy presence gies to me.

THE PARTING KISS.

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss.
O'er the mountains he is gane ;

And with him is a' my bliss.

Naught but griefs with me remain.

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw,
Plashy sleets and beating rain !

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw,
Drifting o'er the frozen plain !

When the shades of evening creep
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e,

Sound and safely may he sleep,
Sweetly blithe his waukening be !

He will think on her he loves,
Fondly he'll repeat her name ;

For where'er he distant roves.
Jockey's heart is still at hame.

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.

Tune—" Bruimion dubh.**

Musing on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my love and me;

burns' poems. 333

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion,
For his weel where'er he be.

Hope and fears alternate billow

Yielding late to Nature's law ;
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow

Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded,

Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded.

Gaudy day to you is dear.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me,

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ;
Spirits kind, again attend me,

Talk of him that's far awa !

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 thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha'.

And a' for loving tliee ;
At least some pity on me shaw.

If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the groVe,

By bonnie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love

I lang, lang had denied ?

How aften didst thou pledge and vow,
Thou wad for aye be mine 1

330 burns' poems.

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 !

OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH !

WITH ALTERATIONS.

Oh, open the door, some pity to show.

Oh, 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 !
The frost that freezes the life at my heart.

Is nought to my pains frae thee,' Oh !

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave.

And time is setting with me, Oh !
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh !

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ;

She sees his pale corse on the plain. Oh!
My true love ! she cried, and sank down by his side,

Never to rise agrain. Oh !

Turns' poems. 337

CLARINDA.

Clarinda, mistress of my soul,

The measur'd time is run !
The wretch beneath the dreary pole.

So marks his latest sun.

To what dark cave of frozen night

Shall poor Sylvander hie ;
DeprivM 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 fflimmering planet fix
My worship to its ray ?

CRAIGIE-BURN.
Tune—" Craigie-hum-wood.**

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bum,
And blithe awakes the morrow ;

But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing ;

But what a weary wight can please.
And care hi'* bosom wringing 1
17 z

33>? BURXS* POEMS.

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,

Yet dare na for your anger ;
But secret love will break my heart,

If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,
"When yon green leaves fade frae the troo,

Around my grave tiiey'il wither.

ISABELLA.

Tune—" M'Gregor ofJRuara's Lament.

Raving winds around her blowinsr,
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
By a river hoarsely roaring,
Isabella stray 'd deploring —
" Farewell, hours that late did measure
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ;
Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow.

" O'er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering ;
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.
Life, thou soul of every blessing,
Ix)ad to misery most distressing,
O how gladly I'd resign thee.
And to dark oblivion join thse !"

burns' poems. 339

THE WHISTLE.

A BALLAD.

As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is curious, 1
shall here give it. — In the train of Anne of Denmark, whtn
ehe came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came
ever also a Danisli Gentleman of cigrantic stature, and ereat
prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a
little ehony Whistle, which, at the commencement of the
orgies, he laid on the table, and whoever was last able to
blow it, every body else being disabled by the potency of the
bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trojihy of victory.
The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a
single defeat, at the courts of Copenhasen, Stockholm, Mos-
cow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany ;
and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative Cif
trying his prowess or else of acknowledging their inferiority.

After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane
was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie, of Maxwelton, an-
cestor of the present baronet of that name; who, after three
days and three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinaviaj*
under the table.

And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill.

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, afterwards
lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel, of Glenriddel, who had
married a sister of Sir Walter's.— On Friday, the 16th ol
October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whistle was once more
contended for, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir
Robert Lawrie, of Maxwelton; Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glen-
riddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel,
who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued ;
and Alexander Ferguson, Esq. of Craigdarrock, likewise
descended of the great Sir Robert; which last gentleman
carried oflF the hard-won honours of the field.

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of wortlj,

[ sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North,

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish Kinc

And loni; with this Whistle all Scotland shall rina:.

340 burns' poems.

Old Loda* still ruemg the arm of Fingal,

The pod of the bottle sends down from his hall-

" This Whistle's your challenge to Scotland get oV r

And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more !'

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell,
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell;
The son of great Lnda was conqueror still.
And blew on the Whistle his 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 godship as deep as the sea,
1^0 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 Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ;
And gallant "Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil.
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ;
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan,
And once more, in claret, try which was the man.

♦' By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies,
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize,

• See Ossian's Caric-thura.

BURiNS' POEMS. 341

['11 conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,*
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er."

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe— or his friend,
Suid, " Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field,
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield."

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ;

But for wine and for welcome not more known to

fame,
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet, lovely

dame.

A Bard was selected to witness the fray
And tell 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 claret they ply,
And every new cork is a new spring of joy ;
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set,
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were
wet.

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er :
Bright Phoebus 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 Robert, to finish the fight,
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red,
And swore 'twas the wav that their ancestors did.

• Sop Johnson's Tour to the HebrMes-

3V2 HL'RAS' PoF'-MS

Then wortliy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare ungodly would wage !
A hi^h-ruUng Elder to wallow in wine !
He left the foul business to folks less divine.

The gallant Sir Ro))ert fought hard to the end ;
Hut who can with fate and quart-bumpers contend?
Tho* fate said— a hero should perish in li^ht;
So up rose bright Phoebus, and down fell the knight.

Next up rose our Bard, like a prophet in drink : —
" Craigdarroch tboul't soar when creation shall sink ;
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme,
Coiue — one bottle more — and have at the sublime !

" Thy line that have struggled for freedom with Bruce,

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce :

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ;

The field tJiou hast won, by yon bright god of dp.y •"

GLOSSAEY.

The eft and ///t have always the guttural sound. The sound
of the English diphthon? oo is commonly spelt ou. The
French u, a sound wliich often occurs in the Scottish
language, is marked oo, or vi. Ihea in genuine Scottish
words, except when forming a diphthong, or followed by
an e mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like
the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong ae,
always, and ea, very often, sound like the French e mas-
culine. The Scottish diphthong ey sounds like the
Latiu ex.

A', all.

Aback, away, aloof

Abeigh, at a shy distance.
A boon, above, up.

A bread, abroad, in sight.
Abreed, in breadth.

Ae, one.

Atf, off; aff loof, unpre-
meditated.

Afore, before.

Aft, oft.

Aften, often.

Agley, off the right line,
wrong.

Ablins, perhaps.

Ain, own.

Air, early, soon ; the oak.

Airl-penny, earnest-mo-
ney.

Airn, iron.

Airt, quarter of the hea-
vens ; to direct.

Aith, an oath.

Aits, oats.

Aiver, an old horse,

Aizle, a hot cinder.

Alake, alas !

Alane, alone.

Akwart, awkward.

Amaist, almost.

An', and, if.

Ance, once.

Ane, one, an.

Anent, over against

Anither, another.

Ase, ashes,

Asteer, abroad, stirring.

Aught, possession ; as, in

a' iity aught, in all my

possession.
A uld t'arran, orauld farrant,

cunning, prudent.
Ava, at all.
Awa, awuy.

844

GLOSSARY.

Awfu', awful.

A.wn, the beard of barley,

oats, &c.
Awnie, bearded.
Ayont, beyond.

B.

Ben, in the parlour.

Bethankit, grace after
meat.

Beuk, a book.

Bicker, a kind of wooden
dish, a short race.

Biel, or bield, shelter.

Bien, wealthy, plentiful.

Bii,'-, to build.

liiiTGrin, building a house.

Biegit, built.

Bill, a bull.

Billie, a brother, a young
fellow.

Bin-j, aheapofgrain, pota-
toes, (fee.
of Birk, birch.

Birkie, a clever fellow

Birring, the noise of par-
tridges, &;c. when they
spring

Bit, crisis, nick of time.

Bizz, a bustle, to buzz.

Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf,
a term of contempt.

Blastit, blasted.

Blate, bashful, sheepish.

Blather, bladder.

Blaud, a flat piece of any

BA', ball.

Backets, ash- boards.

Backlins comiu', coming

back, returning.
Bad, did Idd.
Baide, endured, did stay.
Bag^gie, the belly.
Baine, large-boned
Bairn, a cliild.
Bairn-time, a family

children, a brood.
Baith, both,
Ban, to swear.
Bane, bone.

Bany:, to boat, to strive.
Bardie, diminutive of bard
Barefit, barefooted.
Barmie, of or like barm.
Batch, a crew, a gang,
Batts, boots.
Baudrons, a cat.
Bauld, bold.

Bawk, a ridge, a bank. I thing ; to slap.
Baws'nt, having a white! Blaw, to blaw, to boast.

stripe down the face. Bleerit, bleared, sore with
Be, to let be, to give over,! rheum.

to cease. Bleezing, blazing.

Be;ir, barley. IBlellum,idletalkinsrfellow.

liuastie, din'iin. of beast. 'Blether, to talk idly, non-
B;-et, to add fuel to lire. , sense.
Bely ve, by and by. IBleth'rin, talking idly

GLOSSARi .

y45

Blink, a little while; a
smiling look ; to look
kindly ; to 8hine by fits.

Blinker, a term of con-
tempt.

Blinkin, smirkln.

Blue-gown, an authorised
beggar.

Bluid, bbod.

Blype,a shred, alargepiece

Bock, to vomit, to gush
intermittently.

Bocked, guslied, vomited.

Bodle, a small copper coin.

Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins.

Bonnie, or bonny, hand-
some, beautiful.

Bonnock, a kind of thick
cake of bread.

Boord, a board.

Boortree, the shrub elder.

Boost,behoved, must needs

Bore, a hole in the wall.

Botch, an angry tumour.

Bousing, drinknig.

Bow-kail, cabbage.

Bowt, bended, crooked.

Brachens, fern.

Brae, a declivity, precipice

Braid, broad.

Braindg't, reeled forward.

Braik, a kind of harrow.

Braindge, to rush rashly.

Brak, broke, made insol-
vent.

Branks, a kind of wooden
curb for horses.

Brash, a sudden illness.

Brats, coarse clothes, rags,

children, &c.
Brattle, a short race,

hurry, fury.
Braw, fine, handsome.
Brawly, or brawlie, very

well, finely, heartily.
Braxie, a morbid sheep.
Breastie, dimin. of breast.
Breastit, did spring up or

forward.
Brechan, fern.
Breef, an irresistible spell.
Breeks, breeches.
Brent, smooth.
Brewin, brewing.
Brie, juice, liquid.
Brig, a bridge.
Brunstane, brimstone,
Brisket, the breast.
Brither, a brother.
Brock, a badger.
Brogue, a hum, a trick.
Broo, broth, liquid, water.
Broose, a race at country

weddings.
Brugh, a burgh.
Bruilzie, a broil.
Brunt, did burn, burnt.
Brust, to burst, burst.
Buchan-bullers, the boil-
ing of the sea on the

coast of Buchan.
Buckskin, a Virginian.
Bught, a pen.
Bughtin-time, the time of

collecting the sheep to

be milked

346

GLOSSAaY.

Buirdly, stout tnnde. [Cantrip, a charm, a spell,
Bum-clock, a humming Cap-stane, key-stone.

beetle. jCareerin, cheerfully.

Bummin', humming asiCarl, an old man.

bees. jCarlin, a stout old woman,

Bummle, to blunder. |Cartes, cards.

jCaudron, a cauldron.

i Caulk and keel, chalk and

Bummler, a blunderer.
Bunker, a w indow-seat.
Burdies, dimin. of birds.
Bure, did bear.
Burn, water, a rivulet.
Burnie, dimin. of burn.
Buskie, bu?hy.
Buskit, dressed.

red clay.
Cauld, cold.
Caup, a wooden drinking

vessel.
Clianter, a part of a bag-
1 pipe.
Busle, a bustle, to bustle. jChap, a person, a fellow,
But, without. I a blow.

But an' ben, kitchen and Chaup, a stroke, a blow.

parlour. jCheekit, cheeked.

By himself, lunatic, dis- Cheep, a chirp, to chirp.

tracted. jCiiiel or cheel, a young

Byke, a bee-hive. fellow.

Byre, a cow-stable. iChirala or chimlie, a fire-

grate, a fire-place.
C. |Chimla-lug, the fire-side.

CA', to call, to name, to'; Chittering, shivering,

drive. ; trembling.

Ca't, or ca'd, called, dri-,Chokin', choking

ven, calved. {Chow, to chew ; cheek for

I choio^ side by side.
jChuffie, fat-faced.
ICiachan, a small village
I about a church.
jClais, or claes, clothes.
Claiih, clorh.

Cadcier, a carrier.
Caff; chaff.
Caird, a tinker.
Cairn, a heap of stones.
Callan, a boy.
(Waller, fresli, sound.

Canie, or cannie, gentle,!Ciaithing, clotliing.
Claivers, nonsense.

mild, dexterous.

IX

Cuniie, or caiity, cheerful,:'^lap, clapper of a mill.
mi-rry. IClarkit, woie.

GLOSSARY

17

Clash ,an idle tale, the story Coorser, a horse kept for

of the day.
Clatter, idle stories.
CJaught, snatched at.
Claut, to clean, to scrape.
Clauted, scraped.
CI avers, idle stories.
Claw, to scratch.
Claw'd scratched.
Cleed, to clothe.
Cleekit, having caught.
Clinkin*, jerking, clinking.
Clinkuinbell, who rings the

church bells.
Clips, sheeiii.
Clishmaclaver, idle talk.
Clock, to hatch, a beetle.
Cloakin*, hatching.
Cloot, hoof.
Clootie, the Devil.
Clour, a bump or swelling

after a blow.
Coble, a fishing boat.
Cockernony, a lock of hair

tied upon a girl's head ;

a cap.
Coft, bought.
Cog, a wooden dish.
Coggie, diuiin. of cog.
Coila, from A'?//e, a district'

of Ayrshire.
Collie,'a name for country

curs.
Collieshangie, quarrelling.
Comraaun, command.
Cood, the cud.
Coof, a blockhead.
Coost, did cast.

mares.

Coot, the ancle or foot.

Cootie, a wooden kitchen
dish ; fowls whose legs
are clad with feathers are
also said to be cootie.

Corbies, ravens.

Core, corps, party, clan.

Corn't, fed with oats.

Cotter, the inhabitants
a cottage.

Couthie, kmd, loving.

Cove, a cave.

Cowe, to terrify, to keep
under, to lop ; a fright ;
a branch of furze, broom,
&c.

Cowp, to barter, to tumble
over, a gang.

Cowpit, tumbled.

Cowring, cowering.

Cowte, a colt.

Cozie, snug.

Cozily, snugly

Crabbit, fretful.

Crack, conversation, to
converse.

Craft, or croft, a field.

\ :raiks, cries or calls in-
cessantly, a bird.

Crarabo-ciink, or crambo-
jingle, rhymes, doggerel
verses.

Crank, the noise of an un-
greased wheel.

Crankous,fretful,captious.

Cranreuch, hoar frost.

348

GLOSSARY.

Crap, a crop, to crop.
Craw, crow of a cock, a

rook.
Creel, a basket.
Creeshie, greasy.
Cfood, or croud, to coo as

a dove.
Croon, a continued moan.
Crooning, humming.
Crouchie, crook-backed.

Baffin, merriment, foolish-
ness.
Daezt, stupified, deprived
of vigour or sensibility.
Daft, merry jgiddy, foolish.
Dairaen, rare, now and
then ; daimen-icker, an
ear of corn now and then.
Dainty, pleasant, good-
humoured, agreeable.
Grouse, cheerful, courage- Dales, plains, valleys.

ous. Daud, to thrash, to abuse.

Crowdie, a composition of Daur, to dare,
oatmeal and boiled wa-Daurg, a day's labour,
ter, sometimes from theiD.ivoc, David,
broth of beef, mutton, 5:c.Dawd, a large piece.
Crowdie-time, l)reakfu5t- Dawtit, caressed.

time. iDearies, dimin. of dears.

Crowlin, crawling. Dearthfu', dear.

Deave, to deafen.
Deil-ma-care ! no matter!
Deleerit, delirious.
Descrive, to describe.
Dight, to wipe, to clean

corn from chaff.
Ding, to worst, to push.
Dinna, do not.
Dirl, a slight stroke or pain.
Dizzen, or diz'n, a dozen.
Doited, stupified.
Dolt, stupified, crazed ; a

stupid fellow.
Donsie, unlucky,
Dool, sorrow.
Doos, doves.
Dorty, saucy, nice.
Douce, or douse, sober,
wise, prudent.

Crummock, a cow with

crooked horns.
Cuif, a blockhead.
Cummock, a short staff.
Curchie, a curtsy.
Curler, a player at a game

on the ice.
Carlie, curled.
Curling, a well-known

game on the ice.
. Curmurring, murmuring, a

slight rumbling noise.
Curpin, the crupper.
Cushat, the stock-dove, or

wood-pigeon.
Cutty, short, a spoon.

DADDIE, a father.

GLOSSARY.

349

Eldritch, ghastly.
En', end.

Enbrugh, Edinburgli.
Ettle, to try, attempt.
Eydent, diligent.

F.
FA', fall, lot, to fall.
Fa's, does fall, waterfalls
Faddom't, fathomed.
Fae, a foe.

Bought, was or were able.

Doup, backside.

Doure, stout, durable, sul-
len, stubborn.

Dow, am or are able, can.

Dowff, wanting force.

Dowie, worn with grief,
fatigue, &c.

Doylt, stupid.

Drap, a drop, to drop.

Dreep, to ooze, to drop.

Dribble, drizzling, slaver.lFaem, foam.

Drift, a drove. Eaiket, unknown.

Droddum, the breech.

Drone, part of a bagpipe.

Droukit, wet.

Drounting, drawling.

Drouth, thirst, drought.

Drumly, muddy.

Drummock, meal and wa-
ter mixed raw.

Drunt, pet, sour humour.

Dub, a small pond.

Duds, rags, clothes.

Duddie, ragged.

Dung, worsted ; pushed.

Dunted, beaten, boxed.

Dush, to push as a ram,
&c.

E.
EE, the eye.

Een, the eyes.

E'enin', evening.

Eerie, frighted, dreading

spirits.
Eild, old age.
Elbuck, the elbow.

Fairin, a present.

Fallow, fellow.

Fand, did find.

Farl, a cake of bread.

Fash, trouble, care, to

trouble, care for.
Fasht, troubled.
Fastern-e'en,Fasten3-even
Fauld, a fold, to fold.
Faulding, folding.
Faut, fault.

Fawsont, decent, seemly.
Feal, a field, smooth.
Fearfu', frightfiil.
Fear't, frighted.
Feat, neat, spruce.
Fecht, to tight.
Fechtin, fighting.
Feck, many, plenty.
Fecket, waistcoat.
Feckfu', large, stout.
Feckless, puny, weak.
Fecklv, weakly.
Feg, fig.
Feid, feud, enmity.

350

GLOSSARY.

Fell, keen, bitipg ; the
flesh immediately under
the skm ; a fif]d pretty
level, on the side or top
Ota hill.

Fen, successful struggle,
fight.

Fend, to live comfortably.

Ferlie, or ferley, to won-
der ; a wonder ; a tei'vii
of contempt,

Fetch, to pull by fits.

Fetch't, pulled intermit-
tently.

Fidge, to fidget.

Fiel, soft, smooth.

Fient, fiend, a petty oath.

Fier, sound, healthy ; a
brother, a friend.

Fisle, to make a rustling
noise, to fidget, a bustle.j

Fit, a foot. I

Fittie-Ian, the nearer horse
of the hindmost pair in
the plough.

Fizz, to make a hissing
noise.

Flainen, Flannel.

Fleech, to supplicate in a
flattering manner.

Fleechd, supplicated.

Fleechin, supplicating.

Fleesh, a fleece.

Fleg, a random blow.

Flether, to decoy by fair
words.

Fletherin, flattering.

Fiewit, a smart blow.

jFley, to scare, to frighten.

Flitcher, to flutter us
young nestlings, when
their dam approaches.

Flickering, to meet, to en-
counter with.

Flinders, shreds, broken
pieces.

Flmgin-tree, a piece of
timber hung by way of
partition between two
horses in a stable ; a flaiJ.

Flisk, to fret at the yoke.

Fliskit, fretted.

Flitter, to vibrate like the
wings of small birds.

Flittering, flattering.

Flunky, a servant in livery.

Foord, a ford.

Forbears, forefathers.

Forbye, besides.

Forfairn, worn out, jaded

Forfoughten, fatigued.

Forgather, to meet with.

Forgie, to forgive.

Forjasket, fatigued.

Pother, fodder.

Fou', full, drunk.

Foughten, troubled, haras-
sed.

Fouth, plenty, enough, or
more than enough.

Fow, a bushel, &c. j also a
pitch-fork.

Frae, from.

Fraeth, froth.

Frien', friend.

Fu', full.

GLOSSARY.

351

Fud, the scut of the hare,

&c.
Fuff,to blow intermittently
Fuff't, did blow.
Funnie, full of merriment,

mirthful.
Fur, a furrow.
Furm, a form, bench.
Fyke, trifling cares; to

piddle, to be in a fuss

about trifles.
Fyle, to soil, to dirty.
Fy'lt, soiled, dirtied.

GAB, the mouth ; to speak
boldly or pertly.

Gaber-launzie, an old man .

Gadsman, ploughboy, the
boy that drives the hor-
ses in the plough.

Gae, to go; gaed, went;
gaen, gone ; gaun, going.

Gaet, or gate, way, man-
ner, road.

Gang, to go, to walk.

Gar, to make, to force to.

Gar't, forced to.

Garten, a garter.

Gash, wise, sagacious,
talkative, to converse.

Gashin', conversing.

Gaucy, jolly, large.

Gawky, half-witted, fool-
ish, romping.

Gear, riches of any kind.

Geek, to toss the head in
wantonness or scorn.

IGed, a pike.

Gentles, great folks.

Geordie, a guinea.

Get, a child, a young one.

jGltaist, a ghost.

Gie, to give ; gied, gave ;
gien, given.

Giftie, diniin. of gift.

Giglets, playful girls.

Gillie, dimin. of gill.

Gilpey, a half-grown, half-
informed boy or girl, a
romping lad, a hoiden.

Gimraer, an ewe froia one
to two years old.

Gin, if, against.

Gipsy, a young girl.

Girning, grinning.

Gizz, a periwig.

Glaikit, inattentive, fool-
ish, romping.

Glaive, a sword.

Glaizie, glittering, smooth
like a glass.

Glaum'd, aimed, snatched.

Gleg, sharp, ready.

Gleib, glebe.

Glen, dale, deep valley.

Gley, a squint ; to squint ;
a-gley, off at a side,
wrong.

Glib-gabbet, that speaks
smoothly and readily.

jGlint, to peep.

iGlinted, peeped.

Glintin', peeping.

IGloamin', the twilight.

Glowr, to stare, to look.

352

GLOSSARY.

Glowred, looked, stared. |Grousonie,loathsome,grim
Gowan, the flower of the Grozet, a gooseberry,
daisy, dandelion, hawk-{Grumph,agrunt,togruut.

•weed, &c
Gowany, gowany glens,

daisied dales.
Gowd, gold.
Gowff, tlie game of golf;

to strike as the bat does

the ball at golf.
Gowff'd, struck.
Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of

couterapt.
Gowl, to howl.
Grane, or grain, a groan

to groan.
Grain'd and

Grumphie, a sow.

Grun', ground.

Grunstane, a grindstone.

Gruntle, the phiz, agrunt-
ino: noise.

Grunzie, mouth.

Grushie, thick, of thriving
growth.

Gude, the Supreme Being ;
good.

Guid, good.

Guid-morning, good mor-
row.

Guid-e'en, good evening.

Guidman and Guidwife,
the master and mistress
of the house ; young
guidman, a man newly
married.

Gully, or gullie, a large
knife.

Guidfather, guidmother,
father-in-law, and mo-
ther-in-law.

gaunted,
groaned and grunted.

Graining, groaning.

Graip, a pronged instru-
ment for cleaning stables

Graith, accoutrements,
furniture, dress, gear.

Grannie, grandmother.

Grape, to grope.

Grapit, groped.

Grat, wept, shed tears.

Great, intimate, familiar. JGuralie, muddy.

Gree, to agree ; to bear the; Gusty, tasteful,
gree, to be decidedly H.

victor. ' I HA', hall.

Gree't, agreed. 'Ha'- bible, the great bible

Greet, to shed tears. I that lies in the hall.

Greetin', crying, -weeping. Hae, to have.

Grippet, catched, seized. jHaen, had, the participle.

Groat, to get the whistle Haet, fient haet, a petty
of one's groat, to play a oath of negation ; no-
losing game. * thing.

GLOSSARY.

353

tLafFet, the temple, the
side of the head.

Hafflins, nearly half, partly

Hag, a scar, or gulf in
mosses and moors.

Haggis, a kind of pudding
boiled in the stomach of
a cow or sheep.

Hain, to spare, to save.

Hain'd, spared.

Hairst, harvest.

Haith, a petty oath.

Haivers, nonsense, speak-
ing without thouglit.

Hal', or hald, an ahidinjr
place.

Hale,whole, tight,healthy.

Haly, holy.

Hallan, a particular parti-
tion-wall in a cottage, or
more properly a seat of
turf at the outt^ide.

Hallowmas, Hallow-eve,
the 31st of October.

Hame, home.

Hamely, homely, affable.

Hameward, homeward.

Han', or haun', hand.

Hap, an outer garment
mantle, plaid, &c. to
wrap, to cover, to hap.

Happer, a hopper.

Happing, hopping.

Hap, step, an' loup, hop
skip and leap.

Harkit, hearkened.

Ham, very coarse linen.

flastit, hastened.
17 2 a

Hash, a fellow that neither
knows how to dress nor
act with propriety.

Hand, to hold.

Haughs, low-lying rich
lands ; valleys.

Haurl, to drag, to peel.

Haurlin', peeling.

Haverel, a half-witted per-
son ; half-witted.

Havins, good manners,
decorum, good sense.

Hawkie, a cow, properly
one with a white face.

Heapit, heaped,

Healsome, healthful.

Hearse, hoarse.

Hear't, hear it.

Heather, heath.

Hech ! oil ! strange !

Hecht, promised to fore-
tell something that is to
be got or given ; fore-
told ; the thing foretold ;
offered.

Heckle, a board in which
are fixed a number of
sharp pins, used in dres-
sing hemp, iiax, &c.

Heeze, to elevate.

Helm, the rudder or helm.

Herd, to tend flocks, one
who tends flocks.

Herry, to plunder; most
properly to plunder
birds' nests.

Herryment, plundering;
devastation.

8J4

GLOSSARY

Hersel,herself ; also a herd Housie, diruin. of Louse,
of cattle of any sort. j Hove, to heave, to swell.
Ilet, hot. Howdie, a midwife,

Heugh,acrag, or coal-pit. Howe, hollow, a hollow.
Hilch, a hobble, to halt. iHowebackit, sunk in the
Hiltie-skiltie, iu

succession.
Hirasel', himself.
Hinney, honey.
Hing, to hanor.

rapid' back.

JHowff, a house of resort.

Howk, to dig.
Hoy, to urge.
Hoyse, a pull upwards.
Hirple, to walk crazily,' Hoy te, to amble crazily.
to creep. jHughoc, dimiii. of Hugh.

Hirsel, so many cattle as Hunkers, the ham,the hin-

one person can attend. I der part of the thigh.
Histie, dry, chapt, barren.' Hurcheon, a hedgehog.

Hitcht, a loop, a knot.
Hizzie,hussy, a young girl.
Hiddin, humble.
Hog-score, a distance line,

in curling, drawn across

the rinh.
Hog-shouther, justling

with the shoulder; to

justle.
Hool, outer skin or case.
Hoolie, slowly, leisurely.
Hoolie! take leisure.

Hurdies, the loins, tliG

crupper.
Hushion, a cushion.

I.
r, In.

Icker, an ear of corn,
ler-oe, a great grandchild
Ilk, or ilka, each, every.
Hl-willie, ill-natured, ma-
licious, niggardly.
Ingine, genius, ingenuity.

Hoord, a hoard ; to hoard.l Ingle, fire, fire-place.
Hoordit, hoarded. U'^e, I shall or will.

Horn,a spoon made of tiorn.jlther, other, one an(
Hornie, the devil.

another.

Host, or hoast, to cough,

Hotch'd, turned topsy-
turvy, mixed.

Houghmagandie, fornica-
tion.

Houp, hope.

Houlet, an owl.

J.

JAD, jade ; also a familiar
term for a giddy young
girl.
J auk, to dally, to trifle
Jaw, course raillery, to
pour out as water.

GLOSSARY.

355

Jaup, a jerk of water.
Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl.
Jimp, to jump, slender,

handsome.
Jink, to dodge, to turn a

comer, a sudden turning,
Jinker, that turns quickly,

a sprightly girl, a wag.
Jirk, a jerk.

Jocteleg, a kind of knife.
Jouk, to stoop, to bow the

head.
Jow, to jow, the swinging

motion and pealing

sound of a large bell.
Jundie, tojustle.

K.

KAE, a daw.

Kail, colewort, a kind oflKnappin-hammer, a ham

broth. 1 mer for breaking stones.

Kail-runt, the stem ofiKnowe, a round hillock.

colewort. Knurl, a dwarf.

Kain, fowls, &c. paid aslKye, cows.

rent by a farmer. JKyle, a districtin Ayrshire,

Kebbuck, a cheese, iKyte, the belly.

Keek, a peep, to peep. JKy the, to discover, to shew
Kelpies, mischievous spi-j one's self.

rits, said to haunt fords'

Kin, kindred ; Kin', kind.
King's-hood, a certain part

of the entrails of an ox,

&c.
Kintra, country.
Kintra-cooser, a country

stallion.
Kim, the harvest supper,

a churn.
Kirsen, to baptize.
Kist, a chest.
Kitchen, any thing that

eats with bread, to serve

for soup, gravy, &c.
Kith, kindred.
Kittle, to tickle, ticklish,

lively.
Kittlin, a young cat.
Kuittle, to cuddle.

and ferries at night.
Ken, to know.
Kennin, a small matter.
Kenspeckle, well known.
Ket, matted, hairy.
Kiaugh, carking anxiety.
Kilt, to truss up the clothes
Kiramer, a young girl, a Laith, loath.

gossip. iLaithfu', bashful,

LAGGEN, the angle be-
tween the side and bot-
tom of a wooden dish.

Laigh, low.

Lairing, sinking in snow,
mud, &c.

356

GLOSSARY.

Lallans, Scottish dialect.

Larabie, dimin. of lamb.

Lampit,akind of shellfish.

Lan', land, estate.

Lane, lone ; my lane, thy
lane, &c. myself alone.

Lanely, lonely.

Lang, lon^r, to weary.

Lap, did leap.

Lave, tlie rest, the remain-
der.

Laverock, the lark.

Lawin, reckoning.

Lawlan', lowland.

Lea, pasture ground, un-
ploughed.

Lea'e, to leave.

Leal, loyal, true.

Lea-ri^, grassy ridge.

Lear, learning.

Lee-lang, live-long.

Leesome, pleasant.

Leeze-me, a phrase of en-
dearment, I am happy or
proud of thee.

Leister, a three-pronged
tisii-dart.

Leugh, did laugh.

Leuk, a look, to look.

Libbet, gelded.

Lift, sky.

Lightly, sneeringly.

Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to
sing.

Limmer, a kept mistress.
a strumpet.

Limp't, limped, hobbled.

Lmk, to trip along.

Linn, a v/aterfall, a pre-
cipice.

Lint, llax ; lint i' the bell,
flax in flower.

Lintwhite, a linnet.

Loan, or loanhig, the place
of milking.

Loof, the palm of the hand.

Loot, did let.

Looves, plural for loof.

Loun, a fellow, a raga-
muffin, a woman of easy
virtue.

Loup, jump, leap.

Lowe, a flame.

Lowrie, Lawrence.

Lowse, to loose.

Lug, the ear, a handle.

Lugget, having a handle.

Luggie, a small wooden
dish with a handle.

Lura, the chimney.

Lunch, a large piece of
cheese, flesh, &c.

Lunt, a column of smoke j
to smoke.

Lyart, grey.

M.

MAE, more.

Mair, more.

Maist, most, almost.

ilaistly, mostly.

-Mak, to make.

Mailen, farm.

MaUie, Molly.

Mang, among

Manse.the minister's hou^e

GLOSSARY.

35'

Manteele, a mantle.

Mark, marks, (This and se-
veral other nouns which
in English require an s,
to form the plural, are
in Scotch, like the words
sheep, deer, the same in
both numbers.)

Mar's year, the year 1715.

Mashlum, Meslin, mixed
corn.

Mask, to mash.

Maskin'-pat, a tea-pot.

Muukin, a hare.

Maun, must.

Mavis, the thrash.

Maw, to mow.

Meere, a mare.

Meickle, or Meikle, much.

Melancholius, mournful.

Melder, corn, or grain,
sent to be ground.

Mcll, to mingle, a mallet

Mel vie, to soil with meal

Men', to mend.

Mense, good manners,

Menseless, ill-bred, rude.

Messin, a small dog.

Midden, a dunghill.

Midden-creels, baskets for
holding dung.

Midden-hole, a gutter at
a dunghill.

Mho,prim,affectedly meek

Min', mind, remembrance,

Mind't, mind it, resolved,
intending.

Miiaiie, mother dam

Mirk, (lark.

Misca', to ab\i8e, to call
names.

Misleard, mischievous,
unmannerly.

Misteuk, mistook.

Mither, a mother.

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly
mixed.

Moil, labour.

Moistify, to moisten.

Mony, or Monie, many.

Moop, to nibble as a sheep.

Moorlan', of or belonging
to moors.

Morn, to morrow.

Mou, the mouth.

Moudiwort, a mole.

Mousie, dimin. of mouse.

Muckle, or Mickle, great,
big, much.

Musie, dimin. of muse.

Muslin-kail, broth, com-
posed simply of water,
siielled barley & greens.

Mutchkin, an English pint.

Mysel, myself.

N.
NA, no, not, nor.
Nae, no, not any.
Naig, a horse.
Nappy, ale.
Negleckit, neglected.
Neuk, nook.
Niest, next.
Nieve, the fist.
Niffer, an exchange.

3.->S

GLOSSARY.

Nine-tail'd-cat, a hang-
man's whip.
Nit, a nut.
Norland, north land.
Nowte, black cattle.

O.
O', of.

Ochpls,name of mountains

Oliaith! O faith! aiioaih

Oiiy, or Onie, any.

Or, is often used for ere.

Ora, or Orra, superfluous,
unwanted.

O't, of it.

Oughtlins, in the least de-
gree.

Curie, shivering, drooping.

Our3el,oroursels,ourselves

Cutlers, cattle not housed,

Cvver, over, too.

Owre-hip, a way of fetch-
ing a blow with the
hammer over the arm.

PACK, intimate, familiar;
twelve stone of wood.

Paiccli, paunch.

Paitrick, a partridge.

Pang, to cram.

Parle, speech.

Parritch, oatmeal pud-
ding.

Pat, did put, a pot.

Pattle. or pettle, a plough-
staff.

Paughty, proud, hauglity.

Pauky, or Pawkie, cun-
ning, sly.

Pay't, paid, beat.

Pech, to fetch the breath
short, as in an astiima.

Pechan, the stomach.

Pet, a domesticated sheep,
Sec.

Pettle, to cherish.

Phillibegs, short petti-
coats worn by the High-
landmen.

Phraise, fair speeches,
flattery, to flatter.

Phraisiii, flattery.

Pibroch, a Highland war-
song adapted to the
bagpipe.

Pickle, a small quantity.

Pine, pain, uneasiness.

Pit, to put.

Placad, a public procla-
mation.

Plack, an old Scottish coin,
the third part of a Scotrli
penny, twelve of whicu
make an English pemiy.

Plackless, pennyless.

Plaid, an outer loose gar-
ment.

Platie, dimin. of plate.

Plew, or Pleugh, a plough.

Pliskie, a trick.

Pock, a bag, a small sack.

Poind, to seize on cattle.

Poortith, poverty.

Pou, to pull.

GLOSSARY,

359

Pouk, to pluck. iRam-stara, thoughtless,

Pouse, to push, to pene-| forward

Raploch, properly a coarse
cloth, but used as an
ad noun for coarse.
Rarely, excellently.
Rash,"arush ; rash-buss, a

bush of rushes.
Ration, a rat.
Raucle, stout, fearless.
Raught, reached.
Raw, a row.
Rax to stretch.
Ream, cream ; to cream.
Reamin, brimful, frothmg.
Reave, rove.
Reck, to heed.
Rede, counsel, to counsel.
Red-wat-shod, walking i'a
blood over the shoe-tops.
Rtd-wud, stark mad.
Ree, half- drunk, fuddled.
Reek, smoke.
Remead, remedy.
Rest, to stand restive.
Restit, stood restive,stunt-

ed, withered.
Rew, repent.
Rief, reef, plenty.
Rief randies, sturdy beg-
gars.
Rig, a ridge.
Raible, to rattle nonsense.jRin, to run, to melt,
iliiir, to roar. Rink, the course of tli9

Raize, to madden, to in-l stones in curling on ice.
flame. iRip, a handful of un-

Rani-feezl'd. fatigued,! threshed corn,
overspread. iRisVit, made a noise.

trate.

Poussie, a hare, a cat.

Pout, a poult, a chick.

Pou't, did pull.

Pouthery, like powder.

Pow, the head, the skull.

Pownie, a little horse.

Powther, powder. *

Preen, a pin.

Prent, Printing.

Prie, to taste.

Prie'd, tasted.

Prief, proof.

Prig,to cheapen,to dispute.

Primsie, demure, precise.

Propone, to lay down, to
propose.

Provoses, provosts.

Pyle, a pyle o' caff, a sin-
gle gram of chaff.

Q.

QTJAK, to quake.
Quat, to quit.
Qney, a cow from one to
two years old.

R.
RAGWEED,
wort.

herb rag-

«G0

GXOSSARY,

iiockin', spinning
rock, or distaff.
Roon, a shred.
Roose, to praise,
lioopet, hoarse.
Kouthie, plentiful.
Row, to roll, to wrap.
Rowte, to low, to bellov
Jiowth, or routh, pleut}
Rozet, rosin.
Rung-, a cudgel.
Rankled, wrinkled.

a loathing, to

fbe Sconner,
I loathe.

IScraich, to scream as a
I hen, partridge, &c.
iScreed, to tear, a rent.
iScrieve, to glide swiftly
I along.

^Scrimp, to scant.
[See'd, did see.
jSel, self; a body's sel,

one's self alone.
Sell't, did sell.

Jlunt, the stem of colewort Sen', to send.

or cabbage
Ruth, sorrow

SAE, Po.
Saft, soft.

Sair, to serve, a sore.
Sairly, or sairlie, sorely.
Sair't served.
Sark, a shirt.
Saugh, the willow.
Saul, soul.
Saumont, salmon.
Saunt, a saint.
Saut, salt.
Saw, to sow.
Sax, six.

Scairh, or skaitli, to da- Shiel, a shed.

Settlin', settling ; to get a
j settlin', to be frighted

into quietness.
IShaird, a shred, a shaird.
Shangan, a stick cleft at
j one end for putting the
] tail of a dog, &c. into.
Shaver, a humerous wag,

a barber.
jShaw, to shew, a small
wood in a hollow place.
Sheen, bright, shhimg.
Sheep-shank, to think
one's self nae sheep-
shank, to be conceited.
Sheugh, a ditch, a trench,
a sluice.

mage, to injure.
Scar, to scare, a scar.
Scaud, to scald.
Scauld, to scold.
Scaur, apt to be scared.
Scawl, a scold.
Scone, a kind of bread.

Shill, shrill.
Shog, a shock, a push off
I at one side.
■Shool, a shovel.
iShoon, shoes.
Shore, to offer, to threaten.
Shouther, the shoulder.

GLOSSARY.

a(5i

Sic, such.

Sicker, sure, steady

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting

Siller, silver, money.

Simmer, summer.

Sin, a son.

Sin', since.

I Smoother, to smoother,

Smoor'd, smothered.

Sraoutie, obscene.

Smytrie, a numerous col-
lection of small indivi-
duals.

Snapper, stumble.

Skeilum,a worthless fellow|Snash, abuse, Billinssgate
Skelp, to strike, to walkiSnav*^, snow, to snow,
with a smart tripping|Snaw-broo, melted snow.

step, a smart stroke.
Skelpi-limmer, a technical

terra in female scolding.
Skelpin,stepping,walking.

Sneck, latch af a door.
Sued, to lop, to cut off.
Sneeshin, snuff.
Sneeshin-raill, a snuff-box

Skiegh, or Skeigh, proud, Snell, bitter, bitin<

nice, high-mettled
Skinklin, a small portion.
Jkirl, to shriek, to cry

shrilly.
Skirl't, shrieked.
Sklent, slant, to run aslant,

to deviate from truth.
Skreigh, a scream, to

scream.
Slae, sloe.
Slade, did slide

Snick-drawing, trick-con-
triving.

Snick, the latchet of a door

Snool, one whose spirit is
broken with oppressive
slavery ; to submit
tamely, to sneak.

Snoo ve, to go smoothlyand
constantly, to sneak.

Snowk, to scent or snuff
as a dog.

Slap, a gate, a breach in aiSonsie, having sweet en-

fence.
Slaw, slow.

Slee, sly ; Sleest, slyest.
Sleekit, sleek, sly.
Sliddery, slippery.
Slype, to fall over.
Slypet, fell.
Sma', small.
Smeddum, dust, powder

mettle, sense.
$middy a smithy.

gagmglooksjlucky, jolly
Soom, to swim.
Sooth, truth, a petty oatli
Sough, or sugh, a sigh, a

sound dyine on the ear.
Souple, flexible, swift.
Souter, a shoemaker.
Sowens, a dish made of the

seeds of oatmeal soured

and boiled uj> to make

a pudding

3(52 GLOSSARY.

Sowp, a spoonful, a sraall Squatter, to flutter as a

quantity of any thingi wild-duck. Sec.

liquid. 'Squattle, to sprawl.

Sowth, to try over a tune Squeel,ascreani, a screech,

with a low whistle. j to scream.
Sowther, solder, to solder, Stacker, to stagccer.

to cement. iStack, a rickof corn, hay,

Spae, to prophesy jtodivine I Sec.
Spaul, the lohi boue. iStaggie, dirain. of stag.

Spairge, to dash, to spoil. ;Stalwart, strong, stout.
Spaviet, having the spavinjStan, to stand ;~staa't, did
Sneat, or spate, a sweep- stand.

ing torrent, after rain or Stane, a stone.

thaw. jStank, did stink ; a pool

Speel, to clim'b. | of standing water.

Spence, the parlour. Stap, stop.

Spier, to ask, to inquire. Stark, stout.

Startle, to run as cattle
stung by the gadfly.

Staurarel, a blockhead,
half-wilted.

Staw, did steal, to surfeiu

Spier't, inquired
Splatter, a splutter, to

splutter.
Spleughan, a tobacco

pouch.

Splore, a frolic, a noise. {Stech, to cram the belly.
Sprattle, to scramble. Steek, to shut, a stitch.
Spreckled, spotted, speck-Steer, to molest, to stir.

led. iSteeve, firm, compact.

Spring, a quick air in mu-'Stell, a still.

sic, a Scottish reel. jSten, to roar as a horse.
Sprit, a plant, somethingjStents, tribute, dues of

like rushes. any kind.

Spunk, fire, mettle, wit. iStey, steep.
Spunkie,mettle5onie,fiery;'Stibble, stubble ; stibble-

uill-o'-wisp, or ignisj rig, the reaper who

fatuus. I takes the lead.

Spurtle, a stick used iniStick an' stow, totally, al-

making pudding or por-j together.

ridge. IStllt. a crutch ; to halt, tc

Squad, a crew, a party. iimp.

GLOSSARY.

363

Stimpart, the eighth of a]
Winchester bushel.

Stirk, a cow or bullock a
year old.

Stock, a plant or root of
colewort, cabbage, &c.

Stockin*, stocking; throw-
ing the stockin', when
the brideand bridegroom
are put into bed, and thel
candle out, the former
tlirows astocking at ran -
dom among the corapa-l
ny, and the personwhom!
it strikes is the next that
will be married.

Stooked,made up in shocks
as com.

Stoor, sounding hollow,
strong and hoarse.

Stot, an ox.

Stoup, or Stowp, a kind of
jug with a handle.

Stoure, dust.

Stowlins, by steaJth.

Stowen, stolen.

Stoyte, stumble.

Strack, did strike. !

Strae, straw; to die a fair
strae death, to die in bed

Straik, did strike.

Straikit, stroked.

Strappan, tall and hand-
some.

Straught, straight.

Streek, stretched, to
stretch.

Stroaa, to spout, to piss.

Studdie, ar. anvil.
Stumpie, dimin. of stump.
Strunt, spirituous liquor

of any kind ; to walk

sturdily.
Sturtin, frighted.
Sucker, sugar.
Sud, should.
Suthron, southern, an old

name for the English

nation.
Swaird, sward.
Swall'd, swelled.
Swank, stately, jolly.
Swankie, or swanker, a

tight strapping young

fellow or girl.
Swap, an exchange, to

barter.
Swarf, swoon 1
Swat, did sweat.
Swatch, a sample.
Swats, drink, good ale.
Sweatin', sweating.
Sweer, lazy, averse ; dead-

sweer, extremely averse
Swoor, swore, did swear.
Swinge, to beat, to whip.
Swiri, a curve, an eddying

blast, or pool, a knot in

wood.
Swirlie, knaggy, full of

knots.
Swith, get away.
Swither, to hesitate in

choice, an irresolute wa-
vering in choice.
Syne, since, ago, then.

GLOSSARY.

TACKETS, akiiid ofnails
for driving into the heeb
of shoes.

Tcie, a toe ; three-tae'd,
having three prongs.

T lirge, target.

T ik, to take ; takin^taking

Tangle, a sea-weed.

Tap, the top.

Tapetless, heedless, fool-
ish.

Tarrow, to murmur at one's
allowance.

Tarrow't, murmured.

Tarrv-breeks, a sailor.

Tauld, or tald, told.

Taupie, a foolish thought-
less young person.

Tauted, or tautie, matted
together; spoken of hair
or wool.

Tawie, that allows itself
peaceably to be han-

Thack, thatch ; thack an'

rape, clothing.
Thae, these.

Thairms, small-guts, fid-
dle strings.
Thankit, thanked.
Theekit, thatched.
Thegither, together.
Themsels, themselves.
Thick, intimate, familiar.
Thieveless, cold, dry, spit-
ed ; spoken of a person's
demeanour.
Thir, these.
Thirl, to thrill.
Thirled, thrilled, vibrated.
Thole, to sutft-r, to endure.
Thowe, a thaw, to tliaw.
Thowless, slack, lazy.
Thrang, throng, a crowd.
Thrapple, throat,windpipe
Thraw, to sprain, to twist,

to contradict.
Thrawin', twisting, &c.
died ; spoken of a horse,lThrawn, sprained, twisted,
cow, &c. I contradicted, contradic-

Teat, a small quantity. | tion.
Tedding, spreading afterThreap, to maintain by

the mower. I dint of assertion.

Ttm-hours-bite, a slight jThreshin', thrashing.
feed to the horses while, Threteen, thirteen,
in the yoke, in the fore- Thristle, thistle,
noon. Through, to go on with,

Te:it, a field pulpit, heed, to make out.

caution, take heed. Tiirouther, pell-mell, con*

Tentie, heedful, cautious. fusedly.
Tentless, heedless. Thumpit, thumped.

Teugh, tough. Thysei', thyself.

GLOSSARY.

365

Thud, to make a loud in-
termittent noise ; a blow
producing a dull heavy
sound.

Till't, to it.

Tlmmer, timber.

Timmer-propt, propped
with timber.

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost.

Tinkler, a tinker.

Tint the gate, lost the way.

Tip, a ram.

Tippence, two-pence.

Tirl, to make a slight
noise, to uncover.

Tirlin', uncovering.

Tither, the other.

Tittle, to whisper.

Tittlin, whispering.

Tocher, marriage portion.

Tod, a fox.

Toddle, to totter like the
walk of a child.

foddlin', tottering.

Toom, empty.

Toop, a ram.

Toun, a hamlet, a farm-
house.

Tout, the blast of a horn
or trumpet, to blow a
horn, &c.

Tow, a rope.

Towmond, a twelvemonth.

Transmojrrify'd, transmi-
grated, metamorphosed.

Trashtrie, trash.

Trews, trousers.

Trickle, full of tricks.

Trig, spruce, neat.

Trimly, excellently.

Trow, to believe.

Trowth, truth, a petty oath

Try s ted, appointed ; to
tryste, to make au ap-
pointment.

Try't, tried.

Tug, raw hide, of which,
in old times, plougli-
traces were frequently
made.

Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quar-
rel, to hght.

Twa, two.

Twa-three, a few.

'Twad, it would.

Twa, twelve ; twal-pennie
worth, a small quantity,
one English pennyworth

Twin, to part.

Tyke, a dog.

U.

UNCO, strange, uncouth,
■very, very great, prodi-
gious.

Uncos, news.

Unfauld, unfold.

Towzie, rough, shaggy.

Toy, a very old fashion of Unkenn'd, unknown,

female head-dress. jUnsicker, unsure.

Toyte, to totter like old'Unskaith'd, undamaged.

age. Unweeting, unknowingly

3r)0

GLOSSARY.

Upo', Upon.
Urchin, a hedgehog.

V.

VAP'RIXG, vapouring
bullying, bragging.

Vauntie, vain, proud.

Vera, very.

Virl, a ring round a co-
lumn, &c.

W.
WA', wall.
Wa's, walls.
Wabster, a weaver.

Wark-lume, a tool to work

with.
Warlock, a wizard.
Warly, worldly, eager on

amassing wealth.
Warran', a warrant, to

warrant.
Warst, worst.
Warstl'd, or warsl'd.

wrestled.
Wastrie, prodigality.
Wat, wet ; I wat, I wot,

I know.
Water-brose, brose made

of oatmeal and water.

Wad, would, to bet, a bet, Wattle, a twig, a wand.

to pledge.
Wadna, would not.
Wae, woe, sorrowful.
Waesucks! or waes

alas ! O the pity.

Wauble, to swing, to reel.
Waught, draught.
Waukit, thickened as ful-
lers do cloth.
Waukrife, not apt to sleep.

Waft, the cross thread that I Waur, worse, to worst,
goes from the shuttleiWaur't, worsted,
through the web ; woof. Wean, or weanie, a child.

Waifu,' wuiling.
Wair, to lay out, to ex-
pend.
Wale, choice, to choose.
Wal'd, chose, chosen.
Walie, ample, large, jolly

Wearie, or weary ; monie
a wearie body, many a
different person.

Weason, weasand.

IWeaving the stocking.
See throwing the stock-

also an interjection of ing, page 363.

distress.
Wame, the belly.
Wamefii', a belly full.
Wanchansie, unlucky.
Waurestfu', restless.
Wark, work.
Warle, or warld, world

Wee, little ; wee things,
little ones ; wee bit, a
small matter.

Weel, well.

Weelfare, welfare.

Weet, rain, wet.ies3.

Weird, fate.

GLUSSAliY.

m

We'se, we shall.

Wha, who.

Whaizle, to wheeze.

Whalpit, whelped.

\Vhanj2^, a leathern string,
a piece of cheese, bread,
&c. ; to give the strap-
pado.

Wliare, where ; whare'er,
wherever.

Whase, whose.

Whatreck, nevertheless.

Whaup, the curlew 3 a kind
of water- fowl.

Wheep, to fly nimbly, to
jerk ; penuy-wheep,
small-beer.

Whid, the motion of a
hare, running but not
frighted, a lie.

Whiddin', running as a
hare or coney.

Whigraeleeries, whims
fancies, crotchets.

Whingin', crying, com-
plaining, fretting.

Whirligigums, useless or-
naments.

Whirrin', whirring ; the
sound made by the flight
of the partridge, &c.

Whisht, silence.

AVbisk, to sweep, to lash.

Wbiskit, lashed.

Whissle, a whistle ; to
whistle.

Whitter, a hearty draughtj
of liquor.

Whunstane, a whinstone.

Whyles, sometimes.

AVi'Svith.

Wick, to strike a stone in
an oblique direction ; a
term in curling.

Wicker, willow, (the
smaller sort).

Widdieful,wrathFul,angry,
raging ; one deserving
the gallows.

Wiel, a small whirlpool.

Wifie, a dimin. or endear-
ing term for wife.

Willyart, bashful,reserved,
timid.

Wimple, to meander.

Win', to wind, to winnow.

Win't, winded, as a bobbin
of yarn.

Win' wind ; win's, winds.

Winna, will not.

Winnock, a window.

Winsome, hearty, vaunted,
gay.

Wintle, a staggering mo-
tion ; to stagger, to reel.

Winze, an oath.

Wiss, to wish ; to have a
strong desire.

Withoutten, without.

Witless, simple, easily
imposed on.

Wizen'd, dried, shrunk.

Wonner, a wonder, a con-
temptuous appellation.

,Wons, dwells.

I Woo', wool.

808 GLOSSARY.

Wyte, blame, to blame.

"Woo, to court, to make
love to.

Woodie, a rope, more pro-
perly one made of witlis
or willows.

Y.

YE; this pronoun is fre-
quently used for thou.

Wooer-bab, the garter Year, is used both for sin-
knotted below the kneei gular and plural, years,
with a couple of loops. Yearlings, born in the same

Wordy, worthy. j year, coevals.

Worset, worsted. jYearns, longs much.

Wew, an exclamation of Yell, barren, that gives no

pleasure or wonder
Wrack, to teaze, to vex.
Wraith, a spirit, a ghost ;

milk.

Yerk, to lash, to jerk.
Yerkit, jerked, lashed.

an apparition exactly Yestreen, yesternight, the
like a living person,j night before,
whose appearance isJYett, a gate, such as is
said to forbode the per- usually at the entrance
son's approaching death. I into a farm-yard or field.

Wrang, wrong, to wrong. JYill, ale.

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