THE
CO 1'PLETE
WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS.












.;dii                ii;'~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~li
~~\kL I A;                           "lii
~~~~~~~~~~~:,jr ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~il",.............
I  *:
i                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Ji




J. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~.
~.                                                              ~'.'L'....~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~1,1:':~-.,~...~.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~1 HIACi!"I 
C) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~      ~       ~      ~      C 
<
~~.T~,
C'4                                                                    lin 1
Negligible[  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~    ~.1~,. —7 —








THE
COMPLETE WORKS
OF
ROBERT BUSN:
CONTAINING HIS
POEMS, SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCEo
WITH
A NEW LIFE OF THE POET,
AND
NOTICES, CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL,
BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED,
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY.
NEW YORK: J. C. DERBY.
1855.








ARCHIBALD  HASTIE, ESQ.,
MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT FOR PAISLEY,
THIS
EDITION
E D I T I 0 NL'
OF
THE  WORKS  AND  MiEMIOIRS  OF  A  GREAT  P>OET,
IN WHOSE SEN.TI'IENTS OF FREEDOM HE SHARES'
AND WHOSE PICTURES OF SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE HIE LOVES'
IS RESPECTFULLY AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED
BY
ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM.








DEDICATION.
TO THE
NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN
OF THE
CALEDONIAN HUNT.
[On the title-page of the second or Edinburgh edition, were these words: " Poems, chiefly in
the Scottish Dialect, by Robert Burns, printed for the Author, and sold by William Creech, 1787."
The motto of the Kilmarnock edition was omitted; a very numerous list of subscribers followed:
the volume was printed by the celebrated Smellie.]
MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN:
A SCOTTISH Bard, proud ofthe name, and whose highest ambition is to sing m
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 approach you, my Lords and
Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for past favours: that path is
so hackneyed by prostituted learning that honest rusticity is ashamed of it.  Nor do I
present this address with the venal soul 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
(7)




viii                            DEDICATION.
spirit, she 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 yours
return! 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! 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.
EDINBURGII, April 4, 1787.




PREFACE.
I CANNOT give to my country this edition of one of its favourite poets, without
stating that I have deliberately omitted several pieces of verse ascribed to Burns
by other editors, who too hastily, and I think on insufficient testimony, admitted them
among his works.  If I am unable to share in the hesitation expressed by one of them
on the authorship of the stanzas on " Pastoral Poetry," I can as little share in the feelings with which they have intruded into the charmed circle of his poetry such compositions as " Lines on the Ruins of Lincluden College," "Verses on the Destruction of the
Woods of Drumlanrig,"   Verses written on a Marble Slab in the Woods of Aberfeldy,"
and those entitled " The Tree of Liberty."  These productions, with the exception of
the last, were never seen by any one even in the handwriting of Burns, and are one and
all wanting in that original vigour of language and manliness of sentiment which distinguish his poetry.  With respect to "The Tree of Liberty" in particular, a subject
dear to the heart of the Bard, can any one conversant with his genius imagine that he
welcomed its growth or celebrated its fruit with. such "capon craws" as these?
"Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit,
Its virtues a' can tell, man;
It raises man aboon the brute,
It mak's him ken htmsel', man.
Gif ance the peasant ttste a bit,
He's greater than a lord, man,
An' wi' a beggar shares a mite
0' a' he can afford, man.'
There are eleven stanzas, of which the best, compared with the "A man's a man for a'
that" of Burns, sounds like a cracked pipkin against the " heroic clang" of a Damascus
blade. That it is extant in the handwriting of the poet cannot be taken as a proof that
it is his own composition, against the internal testimony of utter want of all the marks
oy which we know him-the Burns-stamp, so to speak, which is visible on all that
ever came from his pen.  Misled by his handwriting, I inserted in my former edition
of his works an epitaph, beginning
"Here lies a rose, a budding rose,"
(9)




X                                    PREFACE.
the composition of Shenstone, and which is to be found in the churchyard of Halest
Owen: as it is not included in every edition of that poet's acknowledged works, Burns,
who was an admirer of his genius, had, it seems, copied it with his own hand, and hence
my error.  If I hesitated about the exclusion of "The Tree of Liberty," and its
three false brethren, I could have no scruples regarding the fine song of "Evan Banks,"
claimed and justly for Miss Williams by Sir Walter Scott, or the humorous song called
" Shelah O'Neal," composed by the late Sir Alexander Boswell.  When I have stated
that I have arranged the Poems, the Songs, and the Letters of Burns, as nearly as
possible in the order in which they were written; that I have omitted no piece of either
verse or prose which bore the impress of his hand, nor included any by which his high
reputation would likely be impaired, I have said all that seems necessary to be said, save
that the following letter came too late for insertion in its proper place: it is characteristic
and worth a place anywhere.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
TO  DR. ARCHIBALD  LAURIE.
Mossgiel, 13th Nov. 1786.
DEAR SIR,
I have along with this sent the two volumes of Ossia, with the remaining volume of the Songs.
Ossian I am not in such a hurry about; but I wish the Songs, with the volume of the Scotch Poets,
returned as soon as they can conveniently be dispatched. If they are left at Mr. Wilson, the
bookseller's shop, Kilmarnock, they will easily reach me.
My most respectful compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Laurie; and a Poet's warmest wishes for
their happiness to the young ladies; particularly the fair musician, whom I think much better
qualified than ever David was, or could be, to charm an evil spirit out of a Saul.
Indeed, it needs not the feelings of a poet to be interested in the welfare of one of the sweetest
scenes of domestic peace and kindred love that ever I saw; as I think the peaceful unity of St.
Margaret's Hill can only be excelled by the harmonious concord of the Apocalyptic Zion.
I am, dear Sir, yours sincerely,
ROBERT BURNS.




TABLE OF CONTENTS.
vAG3
THE LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.............                                           xxiii
Preface to the Kilmarnock Edition of 1786.....                                            lix
Dedication to the Edinburgh Edition of 1787.....
POEMS.
PAGE                                                PAGE
Winter. A Dirge.   61  To J. Lapraik.  Third Epistle..     100
The Death and dying Words of poor Mailie.   61  To William Simpson, Ochiltree... 101
Poor Mailie's Elegy...       62  Address to an illegitimate Child..     103
First Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet.. 63  Nature's Law.  A Poem humbly inscribed to
Second......64                                  G. H., Esq.                               103
Address to the Deil.....   65  To the Rev. John M'Math.... 104
The auld Farmer's New-year Morning Salutation      a To a Mouse..    105
to his auld Mare Maggie..  67  Scotch Drink.                           106
To a Haggis....68  The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch
A Prayer under the pressure of violent Anguish  69      Representatives of the House of Commons  107
A Prayer in the prospect of Death..     69  Address to the unco Guid, or the rigidly RightStanzas on the same occasion.. 69     eous... 110
A Winter Night..   70  Tam Samson's Elegy...    111
Remorse. A Fragment.. 71  Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate issue of
The Jolly Beggars. A Cantata...   71              a Friend's Amour.                   112
Death and Dr. Hornbook. A True Story. 76  Despondency. An Ode.         113
The Twa Herds; or, the Holy Tulzie             7.  8 -The Cotter's Saturday Night... 114
Holy W^'s Prayer..... 79  The first Psalm.. 117
EpitaphWHoly Willie.                  80  The first six Verses of the ninetieth Psalm.   118
The Inventory; in answer to a mandate by the        To a Mountain Daisy.                          11.
surveyor of taxes... 81  Epistle to a young Friend..  11
The Holy Fair..   82  To a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet
The Ordination......84                        at Church..   120
The Calf...86  Epistle to J. Rankine, enclosing some Poems   121
To James Smith...86  On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies                          122
The Vision...88  The Farewell.. 123
Halloween....92  Written on the blank leaf of my Poems, preMan was made to Mourn. A Dirge.. 95               sented to an old Sweetheart then married   123
To Ruin..                                    96  A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.. 123
To John Goudie of Kilmarnock, on the publica-      Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux. 125
tion of his Essays..            97  Letter to James Tennant of Glenconner. 125
To J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard.  First        On the Birth of a posthumous Child.    126
Epistle...97  To Miss Cruikshank... 126
To J. Lapraik. Second Epistle...  99  Willie Chalmers....   127
L                                           ___._._________                                    (H)




xii                                         CONTENTS.
PAGE                                                 PAGB
Verses left in the room where he slept.. 128   On seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which a
To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., recommending a boy 128           Fellow had just shot...         157
To Mr. M'Adam, of Craigen-gillan..    129  To Dr. Blacklock.  In answer to a Letter.    158
Answer to a Poetical Epistle sent to the Author       Delia. An Ode... 159
by a Tailor...129  To John M'Murdo, Esq.                                             159
To J. Rankine.  " I am a keeper of the law."  130  Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, 1st
Lines written on a Bank-note...    130         January, 1790...    159
A Dream.......130  Scots Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's BenefitA Bard's Epitaph....     32       night, Dumfries...    160
The Twa Dogs. A Tale...           132  Sketch. New-year's Day. To Mrs. Dunlop    160
Lines on meeting with Lord Daer,.    135   To a Gentleman who had sent him a Newspaper,
Address to Edinburgh...       136       and offered to continue it free of expense   161
Epistle to Major Logan....    137  The Kirk's Alarm. A Satire. First Version   162
The Brigs of Ayr        -...        138  The Kirk's Alarm. A Ballad. Second Version 163
On the Death of Robert Dundas, Esq., of Arnis-        Peg Nicholson..    165
ton, late Lord President of the Court of          On Captain Matthew Henderson, a gentleman
Session..    141                                 who held the patent for his honours immeOn reading in a Newspaper the Death of John               diately from Almighty God... 165
M'Leod, Esq......    141  The Five Carlins. A Scots Ballad..    167
To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems.. 142  The Laddies by the Banks o' Nith..168
The American War. A Fragment..    142  Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintray, on
The Dean of Faculty. A new Ballad.. 143            the close of the disputed Election between
To a Lady, with a Present of a Pair of Drinking-          Sir James Johnstone, and Captain Miller,
glasses....... 144         for the Dumfries district of Boroughs. 169
To Clarinda...    144  On Captain Grose's Peregrination through ScotVerses written under the Portrait of the Poet             land, collecting the Antiquities of that kingFergusson..    144                           dom...                             170
Prologue spoken by Mr. Woods, on his Benefit-         Written in a wrapper, enclosing a letter to Capnight, Monday, April 16, 1787..    145         tain Grose...                    171
Sketch. A Character.. 145  Tam O'Shanter.  A Tale...       171
To Mr. Scott, of Wauchope...    145  Address of Beelzebub to the President of the
Epistle to William Creech..   146       Highland Society.... 174
The humble Petition of Bruar-Water, to the            To John Taylor...    175
noble Duke of Athole....147  Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, on the approach
On scaring some Water-fowl in Loch Turit        148       of Spring...                   175
Written with a pencil, over the chimney-piece,        The Whistle... 176
in the parlour of the Inn at Kenmure, Tay-       Elegy on Miss Burnet of Monboddo..    178
mouth..149  Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn.. 178
Written with a pencil, standing by the Fall of        Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., of
Fyers, near Loch Ness....149          Whitefoord, with the foregoing Poem.    179
To Mr. William Tytler, with the present of the        Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crowning
Bard's picture... 150                       his Bust at Ednam with bays.            179
Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on the             To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintray.. 180
banks of Nith, June, 1780.  First Copy. 150   To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintray, on receiving
The same. December, 1788. Second Copy    151              a favour.... 181
To Captain Riddel, of Glenriddel.  Extempore          A Vision...    181
lines on returning a Newspaper..    152  To John Maxwell, of Terraughty, on his birthday 182
A Mother's Lament for the Death of her Son. 152  The Rights of Women, an occasional Address
First Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintray 152      spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her benefitOn the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair. 153        night, Nov. 26, 1792....    182
Epistle to Hugh Parker....    154  Monody on a Lady famed for her caprice. 183
Lines, intended to be written under a Noble           Epistle from Esopus to Maria...    184
Earl's Picture..    155  Poem on Pastoral Poetry..   185
Elegy on the year 1788. A Sketch..155  Sonnet, written on the 25th January, 1793, the
Address to the Toothache....    155         birthday of the Author, on hearing a thrush
Ode.  Sacred to the memory of Mrs. Oswald, of             sing in a morning walk...    185
Auchencruive..    156  Sonnet on the death of Robert Riddel, Esq., of
Fragment inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox 156        Glenriddel, April, 1794..    186




CONTENTS.                                               xiil
PAGE                                                PAGE
Impromptu on Mrs. Riddel's birthday.. 186  To Chloris....185
Liberty. A Fragment.    186  Poetical Inscription for an Altar to IndependVerses to a young Lady... 186        ence.. 189
The Vowels. A Tale...   187  The Heron Ballads. Ballad First... 190
Verses to John Rankine...         187  The Heron Ballads. Ballad Second.            190
On Sensibility.  To my dear and much-hon-           The Heron Ballads.  Ballad Third. 192
oured friend, Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop. 188  Poem  addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector of
Lines sent to a Gentleman whom he had of-               Excise, Dumfries, 1796.... 193
fended...188  To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Johnson's
Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her                Musical Museum.....193
Benefit-night....                     188  Poem on Life, addressed to Colonel de Peyster,
On seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favourite cha-           Dumfries, 1796...       193
racter.....        189
EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, FRAGMENTS, &c.
PAGE                                                PAGE
On the Author's Father...           194  Written on a pane of glass in the Inn at Moffat 199
On R. A., Esq...... 194  Spoken on being appointed to the Excise. 199
On a Friend...   194  Lines on Mrs. Kemble...          199
For Gavin Hamilton.....194 To Mr. Syme......200
On wee Johnny...   195  To Mr. Syme, with a present of a dozen of
On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline.. 195           porter.... 200
On a Wag in Mauchline.                     195  A Grace....... 200
On a celebrated ruling Elder..               195  Inscription on a goblet..              200
On a noisy Polemic...                  195  The Invitation..                   200
On Miss Jean Scott.... 195  The Creed of Poverty... 200
On a henpecked Country Squire... 195  Written in a Lady's pocket-book.. 200
On the same.                                  196  The Parson's Looks.... 200
On the same......   196  The Toad-eater.....   201
The Highland Welcome...                  196  On Robert Riddel..... 201
On William Smellie.....   196  The Toast....... 201
Written on a window of the Inn at Carron.196  On a Person nicknamed the Marquis..201
The Book-worms...   196  Lines written on a window... 201
Lines on Stirling...            197  Lines written on a window of the Globe Tavern,
The Reproof......   197                        Dumfries......   201
The Reply.......197  The Selkirk Grace..... 2
Lines written under the Picture of the celebrated   To Dr. Maxwell, on Jessie Staig's Recovery    207
Miss Burns....197  Epitaph.......202
Extempore in the Court of Session.. 197  Epitaph on William Nicol... 202
The henpecked Husband.              197  On the Death of a Lapdog, named Echo. 202
Written at Inverary....   198  On a noted Coxcomb.                           202
On Elphinston's Translation of Malitial'ts Epi-     On seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord Galloway  202
grams....   198  On the same...   203
Inscription on the Head-stone of Fegusson. 198  On the same... 203
On a Schoolmaster...   198  To the same, on the Author being threatened
A Grace before Dinner... 198                   with his resentment... 203
A Grace before Meat.                   198  On a Country Laird....   203
On Wat.......198  On John Bushby......203
On Captain Francis Grose...           199  The true loyal Natives...           203
Impromptu to Miss Ainslie... 199  On a Suicide... 203
The Kirk of Lamington...            199  Extempore, pinned on a Lady's coach. 203
The League and Covenant...          199  Lines to John Rankine...            204




xiv                                     CONTENTS.
PAGE                                              PAGE
Jessy Lewars..   204  To the same...   205
The Toast....204  "There's naethin' like the honest nappy".205
On Miss Jessy Lewars.                  204  On the blank leaf of a work by Hannah More,
On the recovery of Jessy Lewars...204      presented by Mrs. C..       206
Tam the Chapman...   204  To the Men and Brethren of the Masonic Lodge
s Here's a bottle and an honest friend".. 205    at Tarbolton... 206
"Tho' fickle fortune has deceived me".   205  Impromptu..   206
To John Kennedy... 205  Prayer for Adam Armour...                 206
SONGS AND BALLADS.
PAGE                                              PAGE
Handsome Nell... 207  Strathallan's Lament....   224
Luckless Fortune...   208  My Hoggie.... 224
"I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing" 208  Her Daddie forbad, her Minnie forbad. 224
Tibbie, I hae seen the day... 208  Up in the Morning early.              225
"My father was a farmer upon the Carrick          The young Highland Rover..            225
border"......   209  Hey the dusty Miller....          225
John Barleycorn. A Ballad..             210  Duncan Davison....   226
The Rigs o' Barley...,   210  Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary... 226
Montgomery's Peggy.... 211  The Banks of the Devon...                  226
The Mauchline Lady...          211  Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray...       227
The Highland Lassie... 211  The Ploughman...   227
Peggy...                          212 Landlady, count the Lawin..228
The rantin' Dog the Daddie o't... 213  "Raving winds around her blowing".. 228
"My heart was ance as blithe and free". 213  "How long and dreary is the night"..228
My Nannie 0... 213  Musing on the roaring Ocean... 229
A Fragment.  " One night as I did wander"   214  Blithe, blithe and merry was she... 229
Bonnie Peggy Alison... 214  The blude red rose at Yule may blaw..   229
Green grow the Rashes, 0..              214  O'er the Water to Charlie.              230
My Jean...                215  A Rosebud by my early walk... 230
Robin......                    215  Rattlin', roarin' Willie..... 230
"Her flowing locks, the raven's wing"..216  Where braving angry Winter's Storms. 231
"0 leave novels, ye Mauchline belles". 216  Tibbie Dunbar... 231
Young Peggy... 216  Bonnie Castle Gordon... 231
The Cure for all Care...,   217  My Harry was a gallant gay... 232
Eliza........217  The Tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a' 232
The Sons of Old Killie.                 217  Ay Waukin!......232
And maun I still on Menie doat. 218  Beware o' Bonnie Ann...          233
The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's       The Gardener wi' his paidle..              233
Lodge, Tarbolton.         218  Blooming Nelly....   233
On Cessnock Banks...           219  The day returns, my bosom burns..234
Mary... 220  My Love she's but a lassie yet... 234
The Lass of Ballochmyle...          220  Jamie, come try me... 234
"The gloomy night is gathering fast"..221  Go fetch to me a Pint o' Wine.         235
"0 whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock?" 221  The Lazy Mist... 235
The Joyful Widower.... 221  0 mount and go...235
" 0 Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad".   222  Of a' the airts the wind can blaw... 235
"I am my mammy's ae bairn"... 222  Whistle o'er the lave o't...             236
The Birks of Aberfeldy...         222  0 were I on Parnassus' Hill.. 236
Macpherson's Farewell.             223  "There's a youth in this city"...   237
Braw, braw Lads of Galla Water.. 223  My heart's in the Highlands.. 237
" Stay, my charmer, can you leave me?". 224  John Anderson, my Jo...          237




CONTENTS.                                               xv
PAGE                                               PAGE
Awa, Whigs, awa....        238  The Chevalier's Lament.              260
Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes... 238  Song of Death......   261
Merry hae I been teethin' a heckle..239 - Flow gently, sweet Afton.             261
The Braes of Ballochmyle..               239  Bonnie Bell......   262
To Mary in Heaven.....   239  Hey ca' thro', ca' thro'... 262
Eppie Adair...                            240  The Gallant weaver..                       262
The Battle of Sherriff-muir... 240  The deuks dang o'er my Daddie.. 262
Young Jockey was the blithest lad..241  She's fair and fause...   263
0 Willie brewed a peck o' maut.. 241  The Deil cam' fiddling thro' the town..263
The braes o' Killiecrankie, 0... 241  The lovely Lass of Inverness...   263
I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen... 242  0 my luve's like a red, red rose... 264
The Banks of Nith... 242  Louis, what reck I by thee...   264
Tam Glen.                                   242  Had I the wyte she bade me.                  264
Frae the friends and land I love..      243  Coming through the rye...   265
Craigie-burn Wood...   243  Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain   265
Cock up your Beaver... 244  Out over the Forth I look to the north. 265
O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty. 244  The Lass of Ecclefechan.             265
Gudewife, count the Lawin.                244  The Cooper o' Cuddie.                  266
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame  245  For the sake of somebody.             266
The bonnie lad that's far awa... 245  I coft a stane o' haslock woo...   266
I do confess thou art sae fair...   245  The lass that made the bed for me.. 267
Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide  246  Sae far awa...   267
It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face...   246  I'll ay ca' in by yon town.. 268
When I think on the happy days..        247  0 wat ye wha's in yon town...   268
Whan I sleep I dream...         247  0 May, thy morn... 269
"I murder hate by field or flood".. 247  Lovely Polly Stewart...        269
O gude ale comes and gude ale goes.. 247  Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie... 269
Robin shure in hairst.... 248  Anna, thy charms my bosom fire..   270
Bonnie Peg...   248  Cassilis' Banks...... 270
Gudeen to you, Kimmer.                248  To thee, lov'd Nith...           270
Ah, Chloris, since it may na be..   249  Bannocks o' Barley...         270
Eppie M'Nab..... 249  Hee Balou! my sweet wee Donald..   270
Wha is that at my bower-door... 249  Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e. 271
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man. 250  Here's his health in water...   271
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing.. 250  My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form.. 271.
The tither morn when I forlorn... 250  Gloomy December...   272
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever...   251  My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't.. 272
Lovely Davies.   ~..                251  Amang the trees, where humming bees.   272
The weary Pund o' Tow...           252  The gowden locks of Anna.. 273
Naebody.......252  My ain kind dearie, 0..         273
An 0 for ane and twenty, Tam..   252  Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary.. 273
O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie.   253  She is a winsome wee thing...   27
The Collier Laddie.....   253  Bonny Leslie...... 274
Nithsdale's Welcome fame...   254  Highland Mary.....   275
As I was a-wand'ring ae Midsummer e'enin. 254  Auld Rob Morris.                               275
Bessy and her Spinning-wheel... 254  Duncan Gray......   276
The Posie.......255  0 poortith cauld, and restless love.. 276
The Country Lass...   255  Galla Water......   277
Turn again, thou fair Eliza.              256  Lord Gregory...... 277
Ye Jacobites by name..   256  Mary Morison......   277
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon.,. 257  Wandering Willie. First Version.. 278
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon..    257  Wandering Willie. Last Version..   278
Willie Wastle.                          257  Oh, open the door to me, oh!...279
0 Lady Mary Ann...   258  Jessie.......   279
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation..258  The poor and honest sodger...   279
The Carle of Kellyburn braes...   259  Meg o' the Mill.....   280
Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss... 260  Blithe hae I been on yon hill... 281
Lady Onlie       260  Logan Water...                                                  281




xvi                                       CONTENTS.
PAGE                                                 PAGE
0 were my love yon lilac fair"... 281  Farewell, thou stream, that winding flows. 296
Bonnie Jean...282  0 Philly, happy be the day... 297
Phillis the fair... 283  Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair. 297
Had I a cave on some wild distant shore. 283  Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy.  298
By Allan stream..   283  My Nannie's awa... 298
0 Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 284  0 wha is she that lo'es me.                     299
Adown winding Nith I did wander.. 284  Caledonia.... 299
Come, let me take thee to my breast..285  0 lay thy loof in mine, lass...           300
Daintie Davie.....            285  The Fete Champetre... 300
Scots w ha hae wi' Wallace bled. First Version 285  Here's a health to them that's awa.   301
Scots wha hae wi' tallace bled. Second Version 286 yFor a' that, and a' that... 301
Behold the hour, the boat arrives..287  Craigieburn Wood...                           302
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie... 287  0 lassie, art thou sleeping yet...302
Auld lang syne.. 287  0 tell na me o' wind and rain...    303
"Where are the joys I have met in the morning" 288  The Dumfries Volunteers... 303
"Deluded swain, the pleasure"...288  Address to the Wood-lark.   304
Nancy...   288  On Chloris being ill... 304
Husband, husband, cease your strife. 289  Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands
Wilt thou be my dearie?..   289                      reckon.. 304
But lately seen in gladsome green...290'Twas na her bonnie blue een was my ruin       305
" Could aught of song declare my pains". 290  How cruel are the parents...    305
Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass..290  Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion.. 305
It was a' for our rightfu' king... 291  0 this is no my ain lassie... 306
0 steer her up and haud her gaun.       291  Now Spring has clad the grove in green.306
) ay my wife she dang me... 291  0 bonnie was yon rosy brier..               307
0 wert thou in the cauld blast... 292  Forlorn my love, no comfort near..307
The Banks of Cree...   292  Last May a braw wooer cam down Aue lang glen  307
On the seas and far away....292   Chloris....308
Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes...    293   The Highland Widow's Lament..   308
Sae flaxen were her ringlets.... 293   To General Dumourier.. 309
0 saw ye my dear, my Phely?...   294   Peg-a-Ramsey....    309
How lang and dreary is the night.. 294  There was a bonnie lass... 309
Let not woman e'er complain...   294  0 Mally's meek, Mally's sweet..    309
The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress. 295  Iey for a lass wi' a tocher... 310
My Chloris, mark how green the groves.   295  Jessy.  "Here's a health to ane I L9'e dear"    310
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe... 296  Fairest Maid on Devon banks... 311
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks...    296
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.
1781.                                                1784.
No. I. To William  Burness. His health a            IX. To Mr. James Burness. On the death of his
little better, but tired of life. The Revela-       father...... 322
tions..... 311  X. To Mr. James Burness. Account of the
Buchanites...... 322
1783.                          XI. To Miss   -.  With a book..323
II. To Mr. John Murdoch. His present studies
and temper of mind....312                           1786.
III. To Mr. James Burness.  IIis father's ill-      XII. Too Mr. John Richmond.  His progress
ness, and sad state of the country..313    in poeic composition.. 323
IV. To Miss E. Love..                    314  XIII. To Mr. John Kennedy.  The Cotter's
V. To Miss E. Love..... 314    Saturday Night... 324
VI. To Miss E. Love.....  315  XIV. To Mr. Robert Muir.  Enclosing  his
VII. To Miss E.  On her refusal of his hand   316    "Scotch Drink"...    324
VIII. To Robert Riddel, Esq.  Observations          XV. To Mr. Aiken. Enclosing a stanza on the
on poetry and hluman life....     316    blank leaf of a book by Hannah More            324




CONTENTS.                                              xvii
PAGE                                                PAGE
XVI. To Mr. M'Whinnie,  Subscriptions. 324  XLVI. To Dr. Moore. Miss Williams.   338
XVII. To Mr. John Kennedy. Enclosing "The           XLVII. To John Ballantyne, Esq. His portrait
Gowan"......                325    engraving...339
XVIII. To Mon. James Smith.  IIis voyage            -XLVIII. To the Earl of Glencairn. Enclosing
to the West Indies...325    "Lines intended to be written under a noble
XIX. To Mr. John Kennedy. His poems in                Earl's picture"..... 33$
the press. Subscriptions.... 325  XLIX. To the Earl of Buchan. In reply to a
XX. To Mr. David Brice.  Jean Armour's                letter of advice.. 339
return,-printing his poems..       326  L. To Mr. James Candlish.  Still "the old
XXI. To Mr. Robert Aikcn. Distress of mind  326    man with his deeds"... 3{0
XXII. To Mr. John Richmond. Jean Armour 327  LI. To -. On Fergussor s headstone. 341
X~III. To John Ballantyne, Esq. Aiken's cold-       LII. To Mrs. Dunlop. His prospects on leavness. His marriage-lines destroyed.. 328    ing Edinburgh...            341
XXIV. To Mr. David Brice. Jean Armour.              LIII. To Mrs. Dunlop. A letter of acknowWest Indies.. 328    ledgment for the payment of the subscription  342.XV. To Mr. John Ricimond.  West Indies             LIV. To Mr. Sibbald. Thanks for his notice
The Armours.. 328    in the magazine.. 343
XXVI. To Mr. Robert Muir. Enclosing "The            LV. To Dr. Moore. Acknowledging the present
Calf"....329    of his View of Society.... 343
XXVII. To Mrs. Dunlop. Thanks for her notice.       LVI. To Mr. Dunlop. Reply to criticisms. 343
Sir William Wallace... 329  LVII. To the Rev. Dr. Hugh Blair.  On leavXXVIII. To Mr. John Kennedy. Jamaica. 330    ing Edinburgh.  Thanks for his kindness. 344
XXIX. To Mr. James Burness. His departure           LVIII. To the Earl of Glencairn. On leaving
uncertain... 330    Edinburgh...... 344
XXX. To Miss Alexander. "The Lass of Bal-           LIX. To Mr. William Dunbar. Thanking him
lochmyle"....... 330    for the present of Spenser's poems. 344
XXXI. To Mrs. Stewart, of Stair and Afton.          LX. To Mr. James Johnson.  Sending a song
Enclosing some songs. Miss Alexander. 331    to the Scots Musical Museum... 345
XXXII. Proclamation in the name of the Muses 332  LXI. To Mr. William Creech. His tour on the
XXXIII. To Mr. Robert Muir. Enclosing " Tam           Border. Epistle in verse to Creech.. 345
Samson."  His Edinburgh expedition. 332  LXII. To Mr. Patison.  Business... 345
XXXIV. To Dr. Mackenzie.  Enclosing the             LXIII. To Mr. W. Nicol. A  ride described
verses on dining with Lord Daer.. 332    in broad Scotch... 346
XXXV. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Rising fame.          LXIV. To Mr. James Smith. Unsettled in life.
Patronage.... 333    Jamaica...346
XXXVI. To John Ballantyne, Esq. His patrons         LXV. To Mr. W. Nicol.  Mr. Miller, Mr.
and patronesses.  The Lounger.  333        Burnside.  Bought a pocket Milton. 347
XXXVII. To Mr. Robert Muir. A note of               LXVI. To Mr. James Candlish.  Seeking a
thanks. Talks of sketching the history of           copy of Lowe's poem of" Pompey's Ghost". 347
his life.......334  LXVII. To Robert Ainslie, Esq. Itis tour    348
XXXVIII. To Mr. William Chalmers. A  hu-            LXVIII. To Mr. W. Nicol. Auchtertyre. 348
morons sally..334  LXIX. To Mr. Wm. Cruikshank. Auchtertyre  348
LXX. To Mr. James Smith. An adventure. 349
1787.                          LXXT. To Mr. John Richmond. Iis rambles  350
XXXIX. To the Earl of Eglinton. Thanks for          LXXII. To Mr. Robert Ainslie.  Sets high
his patronage...                         335    value on his friendship... 350
XL. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Love. 335  LXXIII. To the same.  Nithsdale and EdinXLI. To John Ballantyne, Esq.  Mr. Miller's           burgh....350
offer of a farm...... 335  LXXIV. To Dr. Moore. Account of his own life 351
XLII. To John Ballantyne, Esq.  Enclosing           LXXV. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. A humorous
"The Banks o' Doon."  First Copy.  336    letter.....357
XLIII. To Mrs. Dunlop. Dr. Moore and Lord           LXXVI. To Mr. Robert Muir.  Stirling, BanEglinton. His situation in Edinburgh. 336    nockburn.                                   357
XLIV. To Dr. Moore. Acknowledgments for             LXXVII To Gavin Hamilton, Esq.  Of Mr.
his notice....337    Ilamilton's own family....  59
XLV. To the Rev. G. Lowrie. Reflections on his      LXXVIII. To Mr. Walker. Bruar Water. The
situation in life.  Dr. Blacklock, Mackenzie 338    Athole family.359
2




xviii                                     CONTENTS.
PAGE                                                  PlAG
LXXIX. To Mr. Gilbert Burns. Account of his           CVIII. To Miss Chalmers. Taken Ellisland.
Highland tour... 359      Miss Kennedy...            375
LXXX. To Miss Margaret Chalmers. Charlotte            CIX. To Mrs. Dunlop.  Coila's robe.  375
Hamilton.  Skinner. Nithsdale.. 360  CX. To Mr. Richard Brown. Apologies.  On
LXXXI. To the same. Charlotte Hamilton, and             his way to Dumfries from Glasgow.. 375
"The Banks of the Devon"..    360  CXI. To Mr. Robert Cleghorn. Poet and fame,
LXXXII. To James Hoy, Esq.  Mr. Nicol.                  The air of Captain O'Kean.... 376
Johnson's Musical Museum... 361  CXII. To Mr. William  Dunbar.  Foregoing
LXXXIII. To Rev. John Skinner. Thanking                 poetry and wit for farming and business. 376
hili for his poetic compliment..  361   CXIII. To Miss Chalmers.  Miss Kennedy.
LXXXIV. To James IIoy, Esq. Song by the                 Jean Armour...       377
Duke of Gordon..                             362  CXIV. To the same. Creech's rumoured bankLXXXV. To Mr. Robert Ainslie.  His friend-              ruptcy.                                       377
ship for him...                          363  CXV. To the same. His entering the Excise  377
LXXXVI. To the Earl of Glencairn. Requesting          CXVI. To Mrs. Dunlop. Farming and the Excise.
his aid in obtaining an excise appointment. 363      Thanks for the loan of Dryden and Tasso. 378
LXXXVII. To James Dalrymple, Esq. Rhyme.              CXVII. To Mr. James Smith. Jocularity. Jean
Lord Glencairn...    363      Armour....            37
LXXXVIII. To Charles Hay, Esq. Enclosing              CXVIII. To Professor Dugald Stewart. Enclohis poem on the death of the Lord President           sing some poetic trifles.... 379
Dundas....364  CXIX. To Mrs. Dunlop. Dryden's Virgil. His
LXXXIX. To Miss M-n. Compliments. 364               preference of Dryden to Pope....79
XC. To Miss Chalmers. Charlotte Hamilton. 365  CXX. To Mr. Robert Ainslie.  His marriage. 379
XCI. To the same.  His bruised limb. The              CXXI. To Mrs. Dunlop.  On the treatment of
Bible.  The Ochel Hills... 365      servants                                      310
XCII. To the same.  His motto-" I dare."              CXXII. To the same. The merits of Mrs. Burns 310
Iis own worst enemy.... 365   CXXIII. To Mr. Robert Ainslie.  The warfare
XCIII. To Sir John Whitefoord. Thanks for               of life.  Books.  Religion...       31
his friendship.  Of poets... 366   CXXIV. To the same.  Miers' profiles.. 3S2
XCIV. To Miss Williams.  Comments on her              CXXV. To the same.  Of the folly of talking
poem of the Slave Trade...  366      of one's private affairs...    e2
XCV. To Mr. Richard Brown.  Recollections             CXXVI. To Mr. George Lockhart.  The Miss
of early life. Clarinda... 368      Baillies. Bruar Water.... 383
XCVI. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq.  Prayer for             CXXVII. To Mr. Peter Hill. With the present
his health...369                       of a cheese....383
XCVII. To  Miss Chalmers.  Complimentary              CXXVIII. To Robert Graham Esq., of Fintray.
poems.  Creech...... 369      The Excise... 381
CXXIX. To Mr. William Cruikshank. Creech.
1788.                             Lines written in Friar's Carse Hermitage. 353
XCVIII. To Mrs. Dunlop.  Lowness of spirits.          CXXX. To Mrs. Dunlop. Lines written at Friar's
Leaving Edinburgh..... 370      Carse.  Graham of Fintray... 3S5
XCIX. To the same.  Religion..   370   CXXXSI. To the same. Mrs. Burns. Of accomC. To the Rev. John Skinner.  Tullochgorum.             plished young ladies....     3St
Skinner's Latin.... 370   CXXXII. To the same. Mrs. Miller, of DalsCI. To Mr. Richard Brown.  His arrival in               winton.  "The Life and Age of Man.". 387
Glasgow.......371   CXXXITI. To Mr. Beugo.  Ross and "The
CII. To Mrs. Rose, of Kilravock. Recollections          Fortunate Shepherdess."... 385
of Kilravock...             371   CXXXIV. To' Miss Chalmers. Recollections.
CIII. To Mr. Richard Brown. Friendship. The             Mrs. Burns. Poetry... 388
pleasures of the present.... 372   CXXXV. To Mr. Morison.  Urging expedition
CIV. To Mr. William  Cruikshank. Ellisland.             with his clock and other furniture for Ellisland 390
Plans in life..... 372   CXXXVI. To Mrs. Dunlop. Mr. Graham. Her
CV. To Mr. Robert Ainslie.  Ellisland.  Edin-           criticisms....                          390
burgh.  Clarinda...            373   CXXXVII. To Mr. Peter Hill. Criticism on an
CVI. To Mr. Richard Brown. Idleness. Farming 374         "Address to Loch Lomond."... 391
CVII. To Mr. Robert Muir.  His offer for Ellis-       CXXXVIII. To the Editor of the Star. Pleadland.  The close of life.... 374      ing for the line of the Stuarts... 392




CONTENTS.                                               xix
PAGE                                                PAGX
CXXXIX. To Mrs. Dunlop.  The present of a           CLXIX. To Miss Williams. Enclosing critiheifer from the Dunlops... 393    cisms on her poems... 409
CXL. To Mr. James Johnson. Scots Musical            CLXX. To Mr. John Logan. With "The Kirk's
Museum...393    Alarm"...410
CXLI. To Dr. Blacklock.  Poetical progress.         CLXXI. To Mrs. Dunlop. Religion. Dr. Moore's
His marriage.. 394    "Zeluco"... 410
CXLII. To Mrs. Dunlop.  Enclosing "Auld             CLXXII. To Captain Riddel. "The Whistle"  411
Lang Syne"..... 394  CLXXIII. To the same. With some of his MS.
CXLIII. To Miss Davies. Enclosing the song            poems..... 411
of " Charming, lovely Davies"... 395  CLXXIV. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. His Excise
CXLIV. To Mr. John Tennant. Praise of his             employment.. 412
whiskey...395  CLXXV. To Mr. Richard Brown. His Excise
duties......412
1789.                         CLXXVI. To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintray.
CXLV. To Mrs. Dunlop. Reflections suggested           The Excise.  Captain Grose. Dr. M'Gill. 413
by the day.....396  CLXXVII. To Mrs. Dunlop.  Reflections on
CXLVI. To Dr. Moore.  His situation and               immortality..                               414
prospects....396  CLXXVIII. To Lady M. W. Constable. JacoCXLVII. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. His favour-            bitism.....415
ite quotations.  Musical Museum... 398  CLXXIX. To Provost Maxwell. At a loss for
CXLVIII. To Professor Dugald Stewart. Enclo-          a subject....                415
sing some poems for his comments upon. 398
CXLIX. To Bishop Geddes. IIis situation and                              1790.
prospects... 399  CLXXX. To Sir John Sinclair. Account of a
CL. To Mr. James Burness. His wife and farm.          book-society in Nithsdale..      416
Profit from his poems. Fanny Burns.. 399  CLXXXI. To Charles Sharpe, Esq. A  letter
CLI. To Mrs. Dunlop. Reflections. His success         with a fictitious signature....416
in song encouraged a shoal of bardlings. 400  CLXXXII. To Mr. Gilbert Burns. His farm a
CLII. To the Rev. Peter Carfrae. Mr. Mylne's          ruinous affair. Players.... 417
poem......401  CLXXXIII. To Mr. Sutherland. Enclosing a
CLIII. To Dr. Moore. Introduction. His ode            Prologue.... 418
to Mrs. Oswald... 401  CLXXXIV. To Mr. William Dunbar. Excise.
CLIV. To Mr. William Burns. Remembrance  402          His children. Another world... 418
CLV. To Mr. Peter Hill. Economy and fru-            CLXXXV. To Mrs. Dunlop. Falconer the poet.
gality. Purchase of books.... 402         Old Scottish songs.. 419
CLVI. To Mrs. Dunlop.  Sketch inscribed to          CLXXXVI. To Mr. Peter Hill. Mademoiselle
the Right IIon. C. J. Fox.... 403    Burns. Hurdis. Smollett and Cowper. 420
CLVII. To Mr. William Burns. Asking him to          CLXXXVII. To Mr. W. Nicol. The death of
make his house his home....404    Nicol's mare Peg Nicholson... 420
CLVIII. To Mrs. M'Murdo. With the song of           CLXXXVIII. To Mr. W. Cunningham. What
"Bonnie Jean"... 404    strange beings we are... 421
CLIX. To Mr. Cunningham. With the poem              CLXXXIX. To Mr. Peter Hill.  Orders for
of "The Wounded Hare".... 404    books. Mankind.. 423
CLX. To Mr. Samuel Brown. His farm. Ailsa           CXC. To Mrs. Dunlop. Mackenzie and the
fowling...405    Mirror and Lounger.. 423
CLXI. To Mr. Richard Brown. Kind wishes  405  CXCI. To Collector Mitchell. A county meeting 424
CLXII. To Mr. James Hamilton.  Sympathy  406  CXCII. To Dr. Moore. "Zeluco." Charlotte Smith 425
CLXIII. To William Creech, Esq. Toothache.          CXCIII. To Mr. Murdoch. William Burns. 425
Good wishes...406  CXCIV. To Mr. M'Murdo. With the Elegy on
CLXIV. To Mr. M'Auley. His own welfare. 406    Matthew Henderson.. 426
CLXV. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Overwhelmed            CXCV. To Mrs. Dunlop. His pride wounded  426
with incessant toil... 407  CXCVI. To Mr. Cunningham. Independence 426
CLXVI. To Mr. M'Murdo. Enclosing his new-           CXCVII. To Dr. Anderson. " The Bee.". 427
est song....... 407  CXCVIII. To William Tytler, Esq. With some
CLXVII. To Mrs. Dunlop. Reflections on re-            West-country ballads.     427
ligion........408  CXCIX. To Crauford Tait, Esq. Introducing
CLXVIII. To Mr.. Fergusson the poet. 403    Mr. William Duncan..... 427




xx                                       CONTENTS.
PAGE                                                PAGB
CC. To Crauford Tait, Esq. "The Kirk's Alarm" 428  CCXXXI. To Mr. S. Clarke. Humorous inviCCI. To Mrs. Dunlop. On the birth of her              tation to teach music to the M'Murdo family 444
grandchild.  Tam O'Shanter.. 429  CCXXXII. To Mrs. Dunlop. Love and Lesley
Baillie....                         445
1791.                         CCXXXIII. ToMr. Cunningham. LesleyBaillie446
CCII. To Lady M. W. Constable. Thanks for           CCXXXIV. To Mr. Thomson. Promising his
the present of a gold snuff-box... 429    assistance to his collection of songs and airs 447
CCIII. To Mr. William Dunbar. Not gone to           CCXXXV. To Mrs. Dunlop. Situation of Mrs.
Elysium.  Sending a poem.... 429    Henri........ 448
CCIV. To Mr. Peter Iill. Apostrophe to Poverty 430  CCXXXVI. To the same. On the death of
CCV. To Mr. Cunningham.  Tam  O'Shanter.              Mrs. Henri..                               449
Elegy on Miss Burnet.                      430  CCXXXVII. To Mr. Thomson. Thomson's fasCCVI. To A. F. Tytler, Esq.  Tam O'Shanter  431    tidiousness.  "My Nannie 0," &c... 449
CCVII. To Mrs. Dunlop. Miss Burnet. Elegy           CCXXXVIII. To the same. With "My wife's
writing....431    a winsome wee thing," and "Lesley Baillie" 45C
CCVIII. To Rev. Arch. Alison. Thanking him          CCXXXIX. To the same. With lighland Mary.
for his "Essay on Taste"....432    The air of Katherine 0gie.. 450
CCIX. To Dr. Moore. Tam O'Shanter. Elegy            CCXL. To the same.  Thomson's alterations
on Henderson. Zeluco. Lord Glencairn. 432    and observations.... 451
CCX. To Mr. Cunningham. Songs.. 433  CCXLI. To the same. With "Auld Rob MorCCXI. To Mr. Alex. Dalzel. The death of the           ris," and "Duncan Gray".... 451
Earl of Glencairn... 434  CCXLII. To Mrs. Dunlop. Birthof adaughter.
CCXII. To Mrs. Graham, of Fintray. With               The poet Thomson's dramas... 451
"Queen Mary's Lament".... 434  CCXLIII. ToRobert Graham, Esq., of Fintray.
CCXIII. To the same. With his printed Poems 435    The Excise inquiry into his political conduct 452
CCXIV. To the Rev. G. Baird. Michael Bruce 435  CCXLIV. To Mrs. Dunlop. Hurry of business.
CCXV. To Mrs. Dunlop. Birth of a son. 435    Excise inquiry... 453
CCXVI. To the same. Apology for delay. 436
CCXVII. To the same.  Quaint invective on a                               1793.
pedantic critic.. 436  CCXLV. To Mr. Thomson. With "Poortith
CCXVIII. To Mr. Cunningham. The case of               cauld" and "Galla Water".... 453
Mr. Clarke of Moffat, Schoolmaster.. 437  CCXLVI. To the same. William Tytler, Peter
CCXIX. To the Earl of Buchan. With the                Pindar.                                     453
Address to the shade of Thomson.. 437  CCXLVII. To Mr. Cunningham. The poet's
CCXX. To Mr. Thomas Sloan. Apologies. His             seal. David Allan... 454
crop sold well.. 438  CCXLVIII. To Thomson. With "Mary MoCCXXI. To Lady E. Cunningham.  With the               rison"....... 455
Lament for the Earl of Glencairn.  438  CCXLIX. To the same.  With "Wandering
CCXXII. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. State of mind.         Willie"......455
His income... 439  CCL. To Miss Benson. Pleasure he had in
CCXXIII. ToCol.Fullarton. Withsome Poems.             meeting her.                                 455
His anxiety for Fullarton's friendship.. 439  CCLI. To Patrick Miller, Esq. With the preCCXXIV. To Miss Davis. Lethargy, Indolence,           sent of his printed poems...    456
and Remorse. Our wishes and our powers. 440  CCLII. To Mr. Thomson. Review of Scottish
CCXXV. To Mrs. Dunlop. Mrs. Henri. The                song. Crawfurd and Ramsay.. 456
Song of Death... 440  CCLIII. To the same. Criticism. Allan Ramsay....457
1792.                         CCLIV. To the same.  "The last time I came
CCXXVI. To Mrs. Dunlop. The animadver-                o'er the moor"....458
sions of the Board of Excise... 441  CCLV. To John Francis Erskine, Esq. SelfCCXXVII. To Mr. William Smellie. Introdu-             justification. The Excise inquiry.  459 
cing Mrs. Riddel...... 441  CCLVI. To Mr. Robert Ainslie.  Answering 
CCXXVIII. To Mr. W. Nicol. Ironical reply             letters. Scholar-craft.. 460
to a letter of counsel and reproof.. 442  CCLVII. To Miss Kennedy. A letter of comCCXXIX. To Francis Grose, Esq.  Dugald                pliment.......461
Stewart.......443  CCLVIII. To Mr. Thomson. Frazer. "Blithe
CCXXX. To the same. Witch stories.. 443    hae I been on yon hill".... 461




CONTENTS.                                               xxi
PAGE                                                FAGE
CCLIX. To Mr. Thomson. "Logan Water." "0            CCLXXXVIII. To Mrs. Riddel. Her caprice  476
gin my love were yon red rose".,. 462  CCLXXXIX. To the same. Her neglect and
CCLX. To the same. With the song of "Bon-             unkindness.... 476
nie Jean"....                          463  CCXC. To John Syme, Esq. Mrs. Oswald, and
CCLXI. To the same. Hurt at the idea of pecu-         "0 wat ye wha's in yon town"..  476
niary recompense. Remarks on song.. 463  CCXCI. To Miss. Obscure allusions to a
CCLXII. To the same. Note written in the              friend's death. His personal and poetic fame 47?
name of Stephen Clarke....464  CCXCII. To Mr. Cunningham. Hypochondria.
CCLXIII. To the same. With "Phillis the fair" 464    Requests consolation..... 477
CCLXIV. To the same. With "ltad I a cave            CCXCIII. To the Earl of Glencairn. With his
on some wild distant shore"..        464    printed poems... 478
CCLXV. To the same. With "Allan Water"  464  CCXCIV. To Mr. Thomson. David Allan. "The
CCLXVI. To the same. With "0 whistle, and             banks of Cree"..                        479
I'll come to you, my lad," &c.... 465  CCXCV. To David M'Culloch, Esq. ArrangeCCLXVII. To the same. With "Come, let me              ments for a trip in Galloway... 479
take thee to my breast".... 465  CCXCVI. To Mrs. Dunlop. Threatened with
CCLXVIII. To the same. With"Dainty Davie" 466   flying gout. Ode on Washington's birthday  479
CCLXIX. To Miss Craik.  Wretchedness of             CCXCVII. To Mr. James Johnson. Low spirits.
poets                                       466    The Museum. Balmerino's dirk.. 480
CCLXX. To Lady Glencairn. Gratitude. Ex-            CCXCVIII. To Mr. Thomson. Lines written
cise. Dramatic composition... 466    in "Thomson's Collection of songs".. 480
CCLXXI. To Mr. Thomson. With "Scots wha             CCXCIX. To the same. With "How can my
hae wi' Wallace bled"... 467    poor heart be glad"... 480
CCLXXII. To the same. With "Behold the              CCC. To the same. With "Ca'the yowes to the
hour, the boat arrive".. 468    knowes"... 481
CCLXXIII. To the same. Crawfurd and Scot-           CCCI. To the same. With "Sae flaxen were
tish song...                 468    her ringlets."  Epigram to Dr. Maxwell. 481
CCLXXIV. To the same. Alterations in "Scots         CCCII. To the same. The charms of Miss Lowha hae wi' Wallace bled".... 470    rimer. " 0 saw ye my dear, my Phely," &c. 482
CCLXXV. To the same.  Further suggested             CCCIII. To the same. Ritson's Scottish Songs.
alterations in " Scots wha hae" rejected. 470    Love and song...... 483
CCLXXVI. To the  same.  With "Deluded               CCCIV. To the same. English songs. The air
swain, the pleasure," and "Raving winds             of "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon". 484
around her blowing"... 471  CCCV. To the same. With "0 Philly, happy
CCLXXVII. To the same. Erskine and Gavin              be the day," and " Contented wi' little". 485
Turnbull....471  CCCVI. To the same. With "Canst thou leave
CCLXXVIII. To John M'Murdo, Esq. Pay-                 me thus, my Katy"...       486
ment of a debt.  " The Merry Muses". 472  CCCVII. To Peter Miller, jun., Esq. Excise.
CCLXXIX. To the same. With his printed                Perry's offer to write for the Morning  Chronicle 487
poems........473  CCCVIII. To Mr. Samuel Clarke, jun. A poliCCLXXX. To Captain-. Anxietyforhisac-                 tical and personal quarrel.  Regret.. 487
quaintance. "Scots whahae wi' Wallace bled" 473  CCCIX. To Mr. Thomson. With "Now in her
CCLXXXI. To Mrs. Riddel.  The Dumfries                green mantle blithe nature arrays".. 487
Theatre......                  474 
1795.
1794.                          CCCX. To Mr. Thomson. With "For a' that
CCLXXXII. To a Lady. In favour of a play-             and a' that"....488
er's benefit....                 474  CCCXI. To the same. Abuse of Ecclefechan  488
CCLXXXIII. To the Earl of Buchan.  With a           CCCXII. To the same. With "0 stay, sweet
copy of " Scots wha hae".... 474    warbling woodlark, stay," and "The groves of
CCLXXXIV. To Captain Miller. With a copy              sweet myrtle"....488
of "Scots wha hae"..                  475  CCCXIII. To the same. With "How cruel are
CCLXXXV. To Mrs. Riddel. Lobster-coated               the parents" and "Mark yonder pomp of costly
puppies                                     475    fashion"....           489
CCLXXXVI. To the same. The gin-horse class          CCCXIV. To the same. Praise of David Allan's
of the human genus.. 475    "Cotter's Saturday Night".... 489
CCLXXXVII. To the same. With "Werter."              CCCXV. To the same. With "This is no my ain
Her reception of him...          475     Lassie."  Mrs. Riddel...          489




xxii                                     CONTENTS.
PAGE                                                PAGR
CCCXVI. To Mr. Thomson. With "Forlorn,              CCCXXXII. To the same. "Here's a health
my love, no comfort near".... 490    to ane I loe dear"..                        498
CCCXVII. To the same. With "Last May a              CCCXXXIII. To the same. His anxiety to
braw wooer," and " Why tell thy lover". 490    review his songs, asking for copies..498
CCCXVIII. To Mrs. Riddel. A letter from the         CCCXXXIV. To Mrs. Riddel. His increasing
grave........490    ill-health.......498
CCCXIX. To the same. A letter of compliment.        CCCXXXV. To Mr. Clarke, acknowledging mo"Anacharsis' Travels"... 491    ney and requesting the loan of a further sum  499
CCCXX. To Miss Louisa Fontenelle. With a            CCCXXXVI. To Mr. James Johnson.  The
Prologue for her benefit-night... 491    Scots Musical Museum. Request for a copy
CCCXXI. To Mrs. Dunlop. His family. Miss              of the collection...... 499
Fontenelle.  Cowper's "Task".. 492  CCCXXXVII. To Mr. Cunningham.  Illness
CCCXXII. To Mr. Alexander Findlater. Ex-              and poverty, anticipation of death.. 499
cise schemes..492  CCCXXXVIII. To Mr. Gilbert Burns. His illCCCXXIII. To the Editor of the Morning Chro-, health and debts... 500
nicle. Written for a friend. A complaint. 493  CCCXXXIX. ToMr.JamesArmour. Entreating
CCCXXIV. To Mr. Heron, of Heron. With two             Mrs. Armour to come to her daughter's conpolitical ballads..                        493   finement... 500
CCCXXV. To Mrs. Dunlop.  Thomson's Collec-          CCCXL. To Mrs. Burns.  Sea-bathing affords
tion. Acting as Supervisor of Excise. 494    little relief..                           500
CCCXXVI. To the Right lIon. William  Pitt.          CCCXLI. To Mrs. Dunlop. Her friendship. A
Address of the Scottish Distillers.. 495    farewell...501
CCCXXVII. To the Provost, Bailies, and Town         CCCXLII. To Mr. Thomson.  Solicits the sum
Council of Dumfries.  Request to be made a          of five pounds.  "Fairest Maid on Devon
freeman of the town..... 496    Banks"....501
CCCXLIII. To Mr. James Burness. Soliciting
1796.                           the sum of ten pounds.... 501
CCCXXVIII. To Mrs. Riddel. "Anarcharsis'            CCCXLIV. To James Gracie, Esq. His rheuTravels."  The muses... 495    matism, &c. &c.-his loss of appetite..502
CCCXXIX. To Mrs. Dunlop. His ill-health. 496
CCCXXX. To Mr. Thomson. Acknowledging               Remarks on Scottish Songs and Ballads          502
his present to Mrs. Burns of a worsted            The Border Tour...522
shawl.... 497  The Highland Tour...       527
CCCXXXI. To the same.  Ill-health.  Mrs.            Burns's Assignment of his Works... 530
Hyslop. Allan's etchings. Cleghorn. 497  Glossay....531
Glossg~~~~bB. uu~~53




LIFE
OF
ROBERT BURNS.
ROBERT BURNS, the chief of the peasant poets of Scotland, was born in a little mud-walled
cottage on the banks of Doon, near "Alloway's auld haunted kirk," in the shire of Ayr, on the
25th day of January, 1759. As a natural mark of the event, a sudden storm at the same moment
swept the land: the gabel-wall of the frail dwelling gave way, and the babe-bard was hurried
through a tempest of wind and sleet to the shelter of a securer hovel,  lie was the eldest born
of three sons and three daughters; his father, William, who in his native Kincardineshire wrote
his name Burness, was bred a gardener, and sought for work in the West; but coming from the
lands of the noble family of the Keiths, a suspicion accompanied him that he had been out-as
rebellion was softly called-in the forty-five: a suspicion fatal to his hopes of rest and bread, in
so loyal a district; and it was only when the clergyman of his native parish certified his loyalty
that he was permitted to toil. This suspicion of Jacobitism, revived by Burns himself, when he
rose into fame, seems not to have influenced either the feelings, or the tastes of Agnes Brown, a
young woman on the Doon, whom he wooed and married in December, 1757, when he was thirtysix years old. To support her, he leased a small piece of ground, which he converted into a
nursery and garden, and to shelter her, he raised with his own hands that humble abode where
she gave birth to her eldest son.
The elder Burns was a well-informed, silent, austere man, who endured no idle gaiety, nor
indecorous language: while he relaxed somewhat the hard, stern creed of the Covenanting times,
he enforced all the work-day, as well as sabbath-day observances, which the Calvinistic kirk
requires, and scrupled at promiscuous dancing, as the staid of our own day scruple at the waltz.
His wife was of a milder mood: she was blest with a singular fortitude of temper; was as devout
of heart, as she was.calm of mind; and lo-ed, wlile busied in her household concerns, to sweeten
the bitterer moments of life, by chanting the songs and ballads of her country, of which her store
was great. The garden and.nursery prospered so much, that he was induced to widen his views,
and by the help of his kind landlord, the laird of Doonholm, and the more questionable aid of
borrowed money, he entered upon a neighbouring farm, named Mount Oliphant, extending to an
hundred acres. This was in 1765; but the land was hungry and sterile; the seasons proved rainy
and rough; the toil was certain, the reward unsure; when to his sorrow, the laird of Doonholma generous Ferguson,-died: the strict terms of the lease, as well as the rent, were exacted by
a harsh factor, and with his wife and children, he was obliged, after a losing struggle of six years,
to relinquish the farm, and seek shelter on the grounds of Lochlea, some ten miles off, in the
parish of Tarbolton.  When, in after-days, men's characters were in the hands of his eldest son,
the scoundrel factor sat for tha.t lasting portrait of insolence and wrong, in the " Twa Dogs."
In this new farm William Burns seemed to strike root, and thrive. He was strong of body and
ardent of mind: every day brought increase of vigour to his three sons, who, though very young,
23




xxiv                       LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
already put their hands to the plough, the reap-hook, and the flail.  But it seemed that nothing
vlhich he undertook was decreed in the end to prosper: after four seasons of prosperity a change
ensued: the farm was far from cheap; the gains under any lease were then so little, that the
loss of a few pounds was ruinous to a farmer: bad seed and wet seasons had their usual influence:
c The gloom of hermits and the moil of galley-slaves," as the poet, alluding to those days, said,
were endured to no purpose; when, to crown all, a difference arose between the landlord and the
tenant, as to the terms of the lease; and the early days of the poet, and the declining years of
his father, were harassed by disputes, in which sensitive minds are sure to suffer.
Amid these labours and disputes, the poet's father remembered the worth of religious and moral
instruction: he took part of this upon himself. A week-day in Lochlea wore the sober looks of
a Sunday: he read the Bible and explained, as intelligent peasants are accustomed to do, the
sense, when dark or difficult; he loved to discuss the spiritual meanings, and gaze on the mystical
splendours of the Revelations.  He was aided in these labours, first, by the school-master of
Alloway-mill, near the Doon; secondly, by John Murdoch, student of divinity, who undertook to
teach arithmetic, grammar, French, and Latin, to the boys of Lochlea, and the sons of five
neighbouring farmers.  Murdoch, who was an enthusiast in learning, much of a pedant, and such
a judge of genius that he thought wit should always be laughing, and poetry wear an eternal
smile, performed his task well: he found Robert to be quick in apprehension, and not afraid to
study when knowledge was the reward.  He taught him to turn verse into its natural prose order;
to supply all the ellipses, and not to desist till the sense was clear and plain: he also, in their
walks, told him the names of different objects both in Latin and French; and though his knowledge of these languages never amounted to much, he approached the grammar of the English
tongue, through the former, which was of material use to him, in his poetic compositions.  Burns
was, even in those early days, a sort of enthusiast in all that concerned the glory of Scotland;
he used to fancy himself a soldier of the days of the Wallace and the Bruce: loved to strut after
the bag-pipe and the drum, and read of the bloody struggles of his country for freedom  and
existence, till "a Scottish prejudice," he says, "was poured into my veins, which will boil there
till the flood-gates of life are shut in eternal rest."
In this mood of mind Burns was unconsciously approaching the land of poesie. In addition to
the histories of the Wallace and the Bruce, he found, on the shelves of his neighbours, not only
whole bodies of divinity, and sermons without limit, but the works of some of the best English,
as well as Scottish poets, together with songs and ballads innumerable.  On these he loved to
pore whenever a moment of leisure came; nor was verse his sole favourite; he desired to drink
knowledge at any fountain, and Guthrie's Grammar, Dickson on Agriculture, Addison's Spectator,
Locke on the Human Understanding, and Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin, were as
welcome to his heart as Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, Thomson, and Young.  There is a mystery in
the workings of genius: with these poets in his head and hand, we see not that he has advanced
one step in the way in which he was soon to walk, " Iighland Mary" and "Tam o' Shanter"
sprang from other inspirations.
Burns lifts up the veil himself, from  the studies which made him  a poet,.  "In my boyish
days," he says to Moore, "I owed much to an old woman (Jenny Wilson) who resided in the
family, remarkable for her credulity and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection
in the country of tales and songs, concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks,
spunkies, kelpies, elfcandles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted
towers, dragons, and other trumpery.  This cultivated the latent seeds of poesie; but had so
strong an effect upon my imagination that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes
keep a look-out on suspicious places."  Here we have the young poet taking lessons in the classic
lore of h!s native land: in the school of Janet Wilson he profited largely; her tales gave a hue,
all their own, to many noble effusions.  But her teaching was at the hearth-stone: when he was
in the fields, either driving a cart or walking to labour, he had ever in his hand a collection of 
songs, such as any stall in the land could supply him with; and over these he pored, ballad by
ballad, and verse by verse, noting the true, tender, and the natural sublime from affectation and
fastian. "To this," he said, "I am convinced that I owe much of my critic craft, such as it is."




LETTER TO HIS FATHER.                                          xxv
His mother, too, unconsciously led him in the ways of the muse: she loved to recite or sing to him
a strange, but clever ballad, called " the Life and Age of Man:" this strain of piety and imagination was in his mind when he wrote " Man was made to Mourn."
Hle found other teachers-of a tenderer nature and softer influence.  " You know," he says to
Moore, "I)ur country custom of coupling a man and woman together as partners in the labours
of harvest.  In my fifteenth autumn my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than
myself: she was in truth a bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass, and unwittingly to herself, initiated me in
that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm
philosophy, I hold to be the first of human joys.  How she caught the contagion I cannot tell; I
never expressly said I loved her: indeed I did not know myself why I liked so much to loiter
behind with her, when returning in the evenings from our labours; why the tones of her voice
made my heart strings thrill like an 2Eolian harp, and particularly why my pulse beat such a
furious ratan, when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the cruel nettle-stings
and thistles. Among other love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly, and it was her favourite
reel to which I attempted to give an embodied vehicle in rhyme; thus with me began love and
verse."  This intercourse with the fair part of the creation, was to his slumbering emotions, a
i voice from heaven to call them into life and poetry.
From the school of traditionary lore and love, Burns now went to a rougher academy. Lochlea,
though not producing fine crops of corn, was considered excellent for flax; and while the cultivation of this commodity was committed to his father and his brother Gilbert, he was sent to
Irvine at Midsummer, 1781, to learn the trade of a flax-dresser, under one Peacock, kinsman to
his mother.  Some time before, he had spent a portion of a summer at a school in Kirkoswald,
learning mensuration andl land-surveying, where he had mingled in scenes of sociality with
smuigglers, and enjoyed the pleasure of a silent walk, under the moon, with the young and the
beautiful.  At Irvine he laboured by day to acquire a knowledge of his business, and at ilight he
associated with the gay and the thoughtless, with whom he learnt to empty his glass, and indulge
in free discourse on topics forbidden at Lochlea.  He had one small room for a lodging, for which
he gave a shilling a week: meat he seldom tasted, and his food consisted chiefly of oatmeal and
potatoes sent from his father's house.  In a letter to his father, written with great purity and
simplicity of style, he thus gives a picture of himself, mental and bodily: " Honoured Sir, I have
purposely delayed writing, in the hope that I should have the pleasure of seeing you on new
years' day, but work comes so hard upon us that I do not choose to be absent on that account.
My health is nearly the same as when you were here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and on
the whole, I am rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very slow degrees: the weakness of my nerves had so debilitated my mind that I dare neither review past wants nor look forward into futurity, for the least anxiety or perturbation in my breast produces most unhappy
effects on my whole frame. Sometimes indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are a little
lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity; but my principal and indeed my only pleasurable
employment is looking backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way. I am quite transported at the thought that ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the
pains and uneasinesses, and disquietudes of this weary life. As for the world, I despair of ever
making a figure in it: I am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I
foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in some measure prepared and
daily preparing to meet them.  I have but just time and paper to return you my grateful thanks
for the lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, which were but too much neglected at the
time of giving them, but which, I hope, have been remembered ere it is yet too late."  This
remarkable letter was written in the twenty-second year of his age; it alludes to the illness
which seems to have been the companion of his youth, a nervous headache, brought on by coneta.nt toil and anxiety; and it speaks of the melancholy which is the common attendant of genius,
and its sensibilities, aggravated by despair of distinction.  The catastrophe which happened ere
this letter was well in his father's hand, accords ill with quotations from the Bible, and hopes
fixed in heaven: —" iAs we gave," he says, " a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took
fire, eand burnt t' ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, not worth a sixpence."




xxvi                      LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
This disaster was followed by one more grievous: his father was well in years when he was
married, and age and a constitution injured by toil and disappointment, began to press him
down, ere his sons had grown up to man's estate.  On all sides the clouds began to darken:
the farm was unprosperous: the speculations in flax failed; and the landlord of Lochlea, raisin"
a question upon the meaning of the lease, concerning rotation of crop, pushed the matter to a
lawsuit, alike ruinous to a poor man either in its success or its failure.  "After three years
tossing and whirling," says Burns, "in the vortex of litigation, my father was just saved from
the horrors of a jail by a consumption, which, after two years' promises, kindly stept in and
carried him away to where the'wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.' His all
went among the hell-hounds that prowl in the kennel of justice. The finishing evil which brought
up the rear of this infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy being increased to such a
degree, that for three months I was in a state of mind scarcely to be envied by the hopeless
wretches who have got their mittimus,' Depart from me, ye cursed.'"
Robert Burns was now the head of his father's house. He gathered together the little that
law and misfortune had spared, and took the farm of Mossgiel, near Mauchline, containing one
hundred and eighteen acres, at a rent of ninety pounds a year: his mother and sisters took the
domestic superintendence of home, barn, and byre; and he associated his brother Gilbert in the
labours of the land.  It was made a joint affair: the poet was young, willing, and vigorous, and
excelled in ploughing, sowing, reaping, mowing, and thrashing.  His wages were fixed at seven
pounds per annum, and such for a time was his care and frugality, that he never exceeded this
small allowance. He purchased books on farming, held conversations with the old and the knowing; and said unto himself, " I shall be prudent and wise, and my shadow shall increase in the
land."  But it was not decreed that these resolutions were to endure, and that he was to become
a mighty agriculturist in the west.  Farmer Attention, as the proverb says, is a good farmer, all
the world over, and Burns was such by fits and by starts. But he who writes an ode on the sheep
he is about to shear, a poem on the flower that he covers with the furrow, who sees visions on his
way to market, who makes rhymes on the horse he is about to yoke, and a song on the girl who
shows the whitest hands among his reapers, has small chance of leading a market, or of being
laird of the fields he rents. The dreams of Burns were of the muses, and not of rising markets,
of golden locks rather than of yellow corn: he had other faults.  It is not known that William
Burns was aware before his death that his eldest son had sinned in rhyme; but we have Gilbert's
assurance, that his father went to the grave in ignorance of his son's errors of a less venial kind 
-unwitting that he was soon to give a two-fold proof of both in " Rob the Rhymer's Address to
his Bastard Child"~-a poem less decorous than witty.
The dress and condition of Burns when he became a poet were not at all poetical, in the minstrel
meaning of the word.  His clothes, coarse and homely, were made from home-grown wool, shorn
off his own sheeps' backs, carded and spun at his own fireside, woven by the village weaver, and,
when not of natural hodden-gray, dyed a half-blue in the village vat. They were shaped ant(
sewed by the district tailor, who usually wrought at the rate of a groat a day and his food; and
as the wool was coarse, so also was the workmanship. The linen which he wore was home-growni,
home-hackled, home-spun, home-woven, and home-bleached, and, unless designed for Sunday 
use, was of coarse, strong harn, to suit the tear and wear of barn and field. His shoes came from 
rustic tanpits, for most farmers then prepared their own leather; were armed, sole and heel, willi
heavy, broad-headed nails, to endure the clod and the road: as hats were then little in use, save
among small lairds or country gentry, westland heads were commonly covered with a coarse,
broad, blue bonnet, with a stopple on its flat crown, made in thousands at Kilmarnock, nld knovw n
in all lands by the name of scone bonnets.  His plaid was a handsome red and white cheCk. —
for pride in poets, he sai:d, was no sin-prepared of fine wool with more than common care by
the hands of his mother and sisters, and woven with more skill than the village weaver waI
usually required to exert. IIis dwelling was in keeping with his dress, a low, thatched house,
with a kitchen, a bedroom and closet, with floors of kneaded clay, and ceilings of moorland turf:
A few books on a shelf, thumbed by many a thumb; a few hams drying above 1tead in the smoke,




HIS  EARLIEit VE ISES.                                      xxvii
which was in no haste to get out at the roof-a wooden settle, some oak chairs, chaff beds well
covered with blankets, with a fire of peat and wood burning at a distance from the gable wall, on
the middle of the floor. His food was as homely as his habitation, and consisted chiefly of oatmeal-porridge, barley-broth, and potatoes, and milk. How the muse happened to visit him in
this clay biggin, take a fancy to a clouterly peasant, and teach him strains of consummate beauty
and elegance, must ever be a matter of wonder to all those, and they are not few, who hold that
noble sentiments and heroic deeds are the exclusive portion of the gently nursed and the far
descended.
Of the earlier verses of Burns few are preserved: when composed, he put them on paper, but
he kept them to himself: though a poet at sixteen, he seems not to have made even his brother
his confidante till he became a man, and his judgment had ripened.  He, however, made a little
clasped paper book his treasurer, and under the head of "Observations, Hints, Songs, and
Scraps of Poetry," we find many a wayward and impassioned verse, songs rising little above the
humblest country strain, or bursting into an elegance and a beauty worthy of the highest of
minstrels. The first words noted down are the stanzas which he composed on his fair companion
of the harvest-field, out of whose hands he loved to remove the nettle-stings and the thistles: the
prettier song, beginning "Now westlin win's and slaughtering guns," written on the lass of
Kirkoswald, with whom, instead of learning mensuration, he chose to wander under the light of
the moon: a strain better still, inspired by the charms of a neighbouring maiden, of the name
of Annie Ronald; another, of equal merit, arising out of his nocturnal adventures among the
lasses of the west; and, finally, that crowning glory of all his lyric compositions, " Green grow
the rashes."  This little clasped book, however, seems not to have been made his confidante till
his twenty-third or twenty-fourth year: he probably admitted to its pages only the strains which
he loved most, or such as had taken a place in his memory: at whatever age it was commenced,
he had then begun to estimate his own character, and intimate his fortunes, for he calls himself
in its pages " a man who had little art in making money, and still less in keeping it."
We have not been told how welcome the incense of his songs rendered him to the rustic maidens
of Kyle: women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse; they have little sympathy with
dreamers on Parnassus, and allow themselves to be influenced by something more substantial than
the roses and lilies of the muse. Burns had other claims to their regard than those arising from poetic
skill: he was tall, young, good-looking, with dark, bright eyes, and words and wit at will: he had a
sarcastic sally for all lads who presumed to cross his path, and a soft, persuasive word for all lasses
on whom he fixed his fancy: nor was this all —he was adventurous and bold in love trystes and
love excursions: long, rough roads, stormy nights, flooded rivers, and lonesome places, were no
lefts to him; and when the dangers or labours of the way were braved, he was alike skilful in
eluding vigilant aunts, wakerife mothers, and envious or suspicious sisters: for rivals he had a
blow as ready as he had a word, and was familiar with snug stack-yards, broomy glens, and nooks
of hawthorn and honeysuckle, where maidens love to be wooed. This rendered him dearer to
woman's heart than all the lyric effusions of his fancy; and when we add to such allurements, a
warm, flowing, and persuasive eloquence, we need not wonder that woman listened and was won;
that one of the most charming damsels of the West said, an hour with him in the dark was worth
a lifetime of light with any other body; or that the accomplished and beautiful Duchess of
Gordon declared, in a latter day, that no man ever carried her so completely off her feet as
Robert Burns.
It is one of the delusions of the poet's critics and biographers, that the sources of his inspiration are to be found in the great classic poets of the land, with some of whom he had from his
youth been familiar: there is little or no trace of them  in any of his compositions.  He read
and wondered-he warmed his fancy at their flame, he corrected his own natural taste by theirs,
but he neither copied nor imitated, and there are but two or three allusions to Young and Shakspeare in all the range of his verse.  He could not but feel that he was the scholar of a different
school, and that his thirst was to be slaked at other fountains.  The language in which those
great bards embodied their thoughts was unapproachable to an Ayrshire peasant; it was to him
as an almost foreign tongue: he had to think and feel in the not ungraceful or inharmonious




xxviii                    LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
language of his own vale, and then, in a manner, translate it into that of Pope or of Thomson,
with the additional difficulty of finding English words to express the exact meaning of those of
Scotland, which had chiefly been retained because equivalents could not be found in the more
elegant and grammatical tongue.  Such strains as those of the polished Pope or the sublimer
Milton were beyond his power, less from  deficiency of genius than from  lack of language: he
could, indeed, write English with ease and fluency; but when he desired to be tender or impassioned, to persuade or subdue, he had recourse to the Scottish, and he found it sufficient.
The goddesses or the Dalilahs of the young poet's song were, like the language in which he
celebrated them, the produce of the district; not dames high and exalted, but lasses of the barn
and of the byre, who had never been in higher company than that of shepherds or ploughmen,
or danced in a politer assembly than that of their fellow-peasants, on a barn-floor, to the sound
of the district fiddle. Nor even of these did he choose the loveliest to lay out the wealth of his
verse upon: he has been accused, by his brother among others, of lavishing the colours of his
fancy on very ordinary faces.  " He had always," says Gilbert, "a jealousy of people who were
richer than himself; his love, therefore, seldom settled on persons of this description.  When he
selected any one, out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure, to whom he should pay his particular attention, she was instantly invested with a sufficient stock of charms out of the plentiful
stores of his own imagination: and there was often a great dissimilitude between his fair captivator, as she appeared to others and as she seemed when invested with the attributes he gave
her."  "My heart," he himself, speaking of those days, observes, "was completely tinder, and
was eternally lighted up by some goddess or other." Yet, it must be acknowledged that sufficient
room exists for believing that Burns and his brethren of the West had very different notions of
the captivating and the beautiful; while they were moved by rosy cheeks and looks of rustic
health, he was moved, like a sculptor, by beauty of form  or by harmony of motion, and by
expression, which lightened up ordinary features and rendered them captivating. Such, I have
been told, were several of the lasses of the West, to whom, if he did not surrender his heart, he
rendered homage; and both elegance of form and beauty of face were visible to all in those of
whom he afterwards sang-the Hamiltons and the Burnets of Edinburgh, and the Millers and
M'Murdos of the Nith.
The mind of Burns took now a wider range: he had sung of the maidens of Kyle in strains
not likely soon to die, and though not weary of the softnesses of love, he desired to try his genius
on matters of a sterner kind-what those subjects were he tells us; they were homely and at
hand, of a native nature and of Scottish growth: places celebrated in Roman story, vales made
famous in Grecian song-hills of vines and groves of myrtle had few charms for him.  "I am
hurt," thus he writes in August, 1785, " to see other towns, rivers, woods, and haughs of Scotland immortalized in song, while my dear native county, the ancient Baillieries of Carrick, Kyle,
and Cunningham, famous in both ancient and modern times for a gallant and warlike race of
inhabitants-a county where civil and religious liberty have ever found their first support and
their asylum-a county, the birth-place of many famous philosophers, soldiers, and statesmen,
and the scenJ of many great events recorded in history, particularly the actions of the glorious
Wallace-yet we have never had one Scotch poet of any eminence to make the fertile banks of
Irvine, the romantic woodlands and sequestered scenes of Ayr, and the mountainous source and
winding sweep of the Doon, emulate Tay, Forth, Ettrick, and Tweed. This is a complaint I would
gladly remedy, but, alas! I am far unequal to the task, both in genius and education."  To fill
up with glowing verse the outline which this sketch indicates, was to raise the long-laid spirit of
rational song-to waken a strain to which the whole land would yield response-a miracle unattempted-certainly unperformed-since the days of the Gentle Shepherd. It is true that the
tongue of the muse had at no time been wholly silent; that now and then a burst of sublime woe,
like the song of " Mary, weep no more for me," and of lasting merriment and humour, like that
of " Tibbie Fowler," proved that the fire of natural poesie smouldered, if it did not blaze; while
the social strains of the unfortunate Fergnsson revived in the city, if not in the field, the memory
of him who sang the "Monk and the Miller's wife."  But notwithstanding these and other productions of equal merit, Scottish poesie, it must be owned, had lost much of its original ecstasy




MOSSGIEL.                                        xxix
and fervour, and that the boldest efforts of the muse no more equalled the songs of Dunbar, of
Douglas, of Lyndsay, and of James the Fifth, than the sound of an artificial cascade resembles
the undying thunders of Corra.
To accomplish this required an acquaintance with man beyond what the forge, the change-house,
and the market-place of the village supplied; a look further than the barn-yard and the furrowed
field, and a livelier knowledge and deeper feeling of history than, probably, Burns ever possessed.
To all ready and accessible sources of knowledge he appears to have had recourse; he sought
matter for his muse in the meetings, religious as well as social, of the district-consorted with
staid matrons, grave plodding farmers-with those who preached as well as those who listenedwith sharp-tongued attorneys, who laid down the law over a Mauchline gill-with country squires,
whose wisdom was great in the game-laws, and in contested elections-and with roving smugglers, who at that time hung, as a cloud, on all the western coast of Scotland.  In the company
of farmers and fellow-peasants, he witnessed scenes which he loved to embody in verse, saw pictures of peace and joy, now woven into the web of his song, and had a poetic impulse given to
him both by cottage devotion and cottage merriment.  If he was familiar with love and all its
outgoings and incomings-had met his lass in the midnight shade, or walked with her under the
moon, or braved a stormy night and a haunted road for her sake —he was as well acquainted with
the joys which belong to social intercourse, when instruments of music speak to the feet, when
the reek of punchbowls gives a tongue to the staid and demure, and bridal festivity, and harvesthomes, bid a whole valley lift up its voice and be glad. It is more difficult to decide what poetic
use he could make of his intercourse with that loose and lawless class of men, who, from love of
gain, broke the laws and braved the police of their country: that he found among smugglers, as
he says, "men of noble virtues, magnanimity, generosity, disinterested friendship, and modesty,'
is easier to believe than that he escaped the contamination of their sensual manners and prodigality.  The people of Kyle regarded this conduct with suspicion: they were not to be expected
to know that when Burns ranted and boused with smugglers, conversed with tinkers huddled in a
kiln, or listened to the riotous mirth of a batch of "randie gangrel bodies" as they "toomed
their powks and pawned their duds," for liquor in Poosie Nansie's, he was taking sketches for the
future entertainment and instruction of the world; they could not foresee that from all this moral
strength and poetic beauty would arise.
While meditating something better than a ballad to his mistress's eyebrow, he did not neglect
to lay out the little skill he had in cultivating the grounds of Mossgiel. The prosperity in which
he found himself in the first and second seasons, induced him to hope that good fortune had not
yet forsaken him: a genial summer and a good market seldom come together to the farmer, but
at first they came to Burns; and to show that he was worthy of them, he bought books on agriculture, calculated rotation of crops, attended sales, held the plough with diligence, used the
scythe, the reap-hook, and the flail, with skill, and the malicious even began to say that there
was something more in him than wild sallies of wit and foolish rhymes. But the farm lay high,
the bottom was wet, and in a third season, indifferent seed and a wet harvest robbed him at once
of half his crop; he seems to have regarded this as an intimation from above, that nothing which
he undertook would prosper: and consoled himself with joyous friends and with the society of
the muse. The judgment cannot be praised which selected a farm with a wet cold bottom, and
sowed it with unsound seed; but that man who despairs because a wet season robs him of the
fruits of the field, is unfit for the warfare of life, where fortitude is as much required as by a
general on a field of battle, when the tide of success threatens to flow against him.  The poet
seems to have believed, very early in life, that he was none of the elect of MIammon; that he was too
much of a genius ever to acquire wealth by steady labour, or by, as he loved to call it, gin-horse
prudence, or grubbing industry.
And yet there were hours and days in which Burns, even when the rain fell on his unhoused
sheaves, did not wholly despair of himself: he laboured, nay sometimes he slaved on his farm;
and at intervals of toil, sought to embellish his mind with such knowledge as milght be useful,
should chanre, the goddess who ruled his lot, drop him upon some of the higher places of the
land. He hadl, while he lived at Tarbolton, united with some half-dozen young men, all sons of
L_     _____ ___________________~________




xxx                        LIFE OF IPOBERT BURNS.
farmers in that ncighbourhood, in forming a club, of which the object was to charm away a few
evening hours in the week with agreeable chit-chat, and the discussion of topics of economy or
love.  Of this little society the poet was president, and the first question they were called on to
settle was this, "Suppose a young man bred a farmer, but without any fortune, has it in his
power to marry either of two women; the one a girl of large fortune, but neither handsome in
person, nor agreeable in conversation, but who can manage the household affairs of a farm well
encugh; the other of them, a girl every way agreeable in person, conversation, and behaviour,
but without any fortune, which of them  shall he choose?"  This question was started by the
poet, and once every week the club were called to tlh  consideration of matters connected with
rural life and industry: their expenses were limited to threepence a week; and till the departure
of Burns to the distant Mossgiel, the club continued to live and thrive; on his removal it lost the
spirit which gave it birth, and was heard of no more; but its aims and its usefulness were revived
in Mauchline, where the poet was induced to establish a society which only differed from  the
other in spending the moderate fines arising from  non-attendance, on books, instead of liqucr.
IIere, too, Burns was the president, and the members were chiefly the sons of husbandmen, ilwhoi
lie found, he said, more natural in their manners, and more agreeable than the self-sufficient
rmechanics of villages and towns, who were ready to dispute on all topics, and inclined to be convinited on none.  This club had the pleasure of subscribing for the first edition of the works of
its great associate.  It has been questioned by his first biographer, whether the refinement of
mind, whclih follows the reading of books of eloquence and delicacy,-the mental improvement
resulting from such calm discussions as the Tarbolton and Mauchline clubs indulged in, was not.i.: ous to men engaged in the barn and at the plough.  A well-ordered mind will be strengtlhel'ed, is w ell as embellished, by elegant knowledge, while over those naturally barren and 1unge1nial
al  i that is refined or noble will pass as a sunny shower scuds over lumps of granite, bringing
neither w'armth nor life.
In the account which the poet gives to Moore of his early poems, he says little about his exquisite lyrics, and less about "The Death and dying Words of Poor MaIilie," or her "Elegy," the
fiist of' his poems where the inspiration of the muse is visible; but he speaks with exultation of
the fame which those indecorous sallies, "lIoly Willie's Prayer" and " The Holy Tulzie" brought
from some of the clergy, and the people of Ayrshire.  The west of Scotland is ever in the van,
when miatters either political or religious are agitated. Calvinism was shaken, at this time, with
a controversy among its professors, of which it is enough to say, that while one party rigidly
adhered to the word and letter of the Confession of Faith, and preached up the palmy and wholesole dl:ays of the Covenant, the other sought to soften the harsher rules and observances of the
kirk, a.nd to bring moderation and charity into its discipline as well as its councils. Both believed
themlselves right, both were loud and hot, and personal,-bitter with a bitterness only known in
religious controversy. The poet sided with the professors of the New Light, as the more tolerant
were called, and handled the professors of the Old Light, as the other party were named, with
the most unsparing severity.  For this he had sufficient cause:-hle had experienced the mercilessness of kirk-discipline, when his frailties caused him  to visit the stool of repentance; and
moreover his friend Gavin Hamilton, a writer in Mauchline, had been sharply censured by the
same authorities, for daring to gallop on Sundays.  Moodie, of Riccarton, and Russel, of Kilmarnock, were the first who tasted of the poet's wrath.  They, though professors of the Old Light,
had quarrelled, and, it is added, fought: "The Holy Tulzie," which recorded, gave at the same
tine wings to the scandal; while for "Holy Willie," an elder of Mauchline, and an austere and
hollow pretender to righteousness, he reserved the fiercest of all his lampoons.  In " Ioly Willie's
IPrayer," he lays a burning hand on the terrible doctrine of predestination: this is a satire, daring,
personal, and profane.  Willie claims praise in the singular, acknowledges folly in the plural,
and makes heaven accountable for his sins! In a similar strain of undevout satire, he congratulates Goudie, of Kilmarnock, on his Essays on Revealed Religion.  These poems, particularly the
two latter, are the sharpest lampoons in the language.
While drudging in the cause of the New Light controversialists, Burns was not unconsciously
strenlthllning his hands for worthier toils: the applause which selfish divines bestowed on his




THE HOLY FAIR —IALLOWEEN.                                           xxxi
witty, but- graceless effusions, could not be enough for one who knew how fleeting the fame was
which came from the heat of party disputes; nor was he insensible that songs of a beauty unknown
for a century to national poesy, had been unregarded in the hue and cry which arose on account
of "Iholy Wiliie's Prayer" and "The Holy Tulzie."  lie hesitated to drink longer out of the
agitated puddle of Calvinistic controversy, he resolved to slake his thirst at the pure well-springs
of patriot feeling and domestic love; and accordingly, in the last and best of his controversial
compositions, he rose out of the lower regions of lampoon into the upper air of true poetry.
"The Holy Fair," though stained in one or two verses with personalities, exhibits a scene glowing
with character and incident and life: the aim of the poem is not so much to satirize one or two
Old Light divines, as to expose and rebuke those almost indecent festivities, which in too many
of the western parishes accompanied the administration of the sacrament.  In the earlier days
of the church, when men were staid and sincere, it was, no doubt, an impressive sight to see rank
succeeding rank, of the old and the young, all calm and all devout, seated before the tent of the
preacher, in the sunny hours of June, listening to his eloquence, or partaking of the mystic bread
and wine; but in these our latter days, when discipline is relaxed, along with the sedate and the
pious come swarms of the idle and the profligate, whom no eloquence can edify and no solemn
rite affect. On these, and such as these, the poet has poured his satire; and since this desirable
reprehension the Holy Fairs, east as well as west, have become more decorous, if not more
devout.
His controversial sallies were accompanied, or followed, by a series of poems which showed
that national character and manners, as Lockhart has truly and happily said, were once more in
the hands of a national poet. These compositions are both numerous and various: they record
the poet's own experience and emotions; they exhibit the highest moral feeling, the purest patriotic sentiments, and a deep sympathy with the fortunes, both here and hereafter of his fellow-men;
they delineate domestic manners, man's stern as well as social hours, and mingle the serious with
the joyous, the sarcastic with the solemn, the mournful with the pathetic, the amiable with the
gay, and all with an ease and unaffected force and freedom known only to the genius of Shakspeare.  In " The Twa Dogs" he seeks to reconcile the labourer to his lot, and intimates, by
examples drawn from tl3 hall as well as the cottage, that happiness resides in the humblest abodes,
and is even partial to tTe clouted shoe.  In "Scotch Drink" he excites man to love his country,
by precepts both heroic and social; and proves that while wine and brandy are the tipple of
slaves, whiskey and ale are the drink of the free: sentiments of a similar kind distinguish his
"Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch Representatives in the I-ouse of Commons," each of whom
he exhorts by name to defend the remaining liberties and immunities of his country.  A higher
tone distinguishes the "Address to the Deil:" he records all the names, and some of them  are
strange ones; and all the acts, and some of them  are as whimsical as they are terrible, of this
far kenned and noted personage; to these he adds some of the fiend's doings as they stand in
Scripture, together with his own experiences; and concludes by a hope, as unexpected as merciful
and relenting, that Satan may not be exposed to an eternity of torments.  "The Dream" is a
humorous sally, and may be almost regarded as prophetic.  The poet feigns himself present, in
slumber, at the Royal birth-day; and supposes that he addresses his majesty, on his household
matters as well as the affairs of the nation.  Some of the princes, it has been satirically hinted,
behaved afterwards in such a way as if they wished that the scripture of the Burns should be
fulfilled: in this strain he has imitated the license and equalled the wit of some of the elder
Scottish Poets.
"'The Vision" is wholly serious; it exhibits the poet in one of those fits of despondency which
the dull, who have no misgivings, never know: he dwells with sarcastic bitterness on the opportunities which, for the sake of sonn, lie has neglected of becoming wealthy, and is drawing a sad
parallel between rags and riches, when the muse steps in and cheers his despondency, by assuring
him of undying fame.  " Ialloween" is a strain of a more homely kind, recording the superstitious beliefs, and no less superstitious doings of Old Scotland, on that night, when witches and
elves and evil spirits are let loose among the children of men: it reaches far back into manners
and customs, and is a picture, curious' and valuable.  The tastes and feelings of husbandmen




xxxii                      LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
inspired " The old Farmer's Address to his old mare Maggie," which exhibits some pleasing recollections of his days of courtship and hours of sociality.  The calm, tranquil picture of household
happiness and devotion in "the Cotter's Saturday Night," has induced Hogg, among others, to
believe that it has less than usual of the spirit of the poet, but it has all the spirit that was required;
the toil of the week has ceased, the labourer has returned to his well-ordered home-his " cozie
ingle and his clean hearth-stane,"-and with his wife and children beside him, turns his thoughts
to the praise of that God to whom he owes all: this he performs with a reverence and an awe,
at once natural, national, and poetic.  " The Mouse" is a brief and happy and very moving poem:
happy, for it delineates, with wonderful truth and life, the agitation of the mouse when the coulter
broke into its abode; and moving, for the poet takes the lesson of ruin to himself, and feels the
present and dreads the future.  " The Mountain Daisy," once, more properly, called by Burns
"The Gowan," resembles " The Mouse" in incident and in moral, and is equally happy, in language and conception.  "The Lament" is a dark, and all but tragic page, from the poet's own
life.  "Man was made to Mourn" takes the part of the humble and the homeless, against the
coldness and selfishness of the wealthy and the powerful, a favourite topic of meditation with
Burns.  He refrained, for awhile, fiom  making "Death and Doctor Hornbook" public; a poem
which deviates from the offensiveness of personal satire, into a strain of humour, at once airy
and original.
His epistles in verse may be reckoned amongst his happiest productions: they are written in
all moods of mind, and are, by turns, lively and sad; careless and serious; —now giving advice,
then taking it; laughing at learning, and lamenting its want; scoffing at propriety and wealth,
yet admitting, that without the one he cannot be wise, nor wanting the other, independent. The
Epistle to David Sillar is the first of these compositions: the poet has no news to tell, and no
serious question to ask: he has only to communicate his own emotions of joy, or of sorrow, and
these he relates and discusses with singular elegance as well as ease, twining, at the same time, into
the fabric of his composition, agreeable allusions to the taste and affections of his correspondent.
He seems to have rated the intellect of Sillar as the highest among his rustic friends: he pays him
more deference, and addresses him in a higher vein than he observes to others.  The Epistles to
Lapraik, to Smith, and to Rankine, are in a more familiar, or social mood, and lift the veil from
the darkness of the poet's condition, and exhibit a mind of first-rate pIwer, groping, and that
surely, its way to distinction, in spite of humility of birth, obscurity of condition, and the coldness of the wealthy or the titled. The epistles of other poets owe some of their fame to the rank
or the reputation of those to whom they are addressed; those of Burns are written, one and all,
to nameless and undistinguished men. Sillar was a country schoolmaster, Lapraik a moorland
laird, Smith a small shop-keeper, and Rankine a farmer, who loved a gill and a joke.  Yet
these men were the chief friends, the only literary associates of the poet, during those early
years, in which, with some exceptions, his finest works were written.
Burns, while he was writing the poems, the chief of which we have named, was a labouring
husbandman on the little farm of Mossgiel, a pursuit which affords but few leisure hours for either
reading or pondering; but to him the stubble-field was musing-ground, and the walk behind the
plough, a twilight saunter on Parnassus.  As, with a careful hand and a steady eye, he guided
his horses, and saw an evenly furrow turned up by the share, his thoughts were on other themes;
he was straying in haunted glens, when spirits have power-looking in fancy on the lasses
"skelping barefoot," in silks and in scarlets, to a field-preaching —walking in imagination with
the rosy widow, who on Ialloween ventured to dip her left sleeve in the burn, where three lairds'
lands met-making the "bottle clunk," with joyous smugglers, on a lucky run of gin or brlandyor if his thoughts at all approached his acts —he was moralizing on the daisy oppressed by the
furrow which his own ploughshare had turned.  That his thoughts were thus wandering we
have his own testimony, with that of his brother Gilbert; and were both wailting, the certainty
that he composed the greater part of his immortal poems in two years, from the suummer of 1784
to the summer of 1786, would be evidence sufficient.  The muse must have been stroing within
him, when, in spite of the rains and sleets of the "ever-dropping west"-when in defiance of the
hot and sweaty brows occasioned by reaping and thrashing —declining markets, and showery




MOSSGIEL-HIS FA RMING.                                           xxxiii
harvests-the clamour of his laird for his rent, and the tradesman for his account, he persevered
in song, and sought solace in verse, when all other solace was denied him.
The circumstances under which his principal poems were composed, have been related: the
"Lament of Mailie" found its origin in the catastrophe of a pet ewe; the'Epistle to Sillar"
was confided by the poet to his brother while they were engaged in weeding the kale-yard; the'Address to the Deil" was suggested by the many strange portraits which belief or fear had
drawn of Satan, and was repeated by the one brother to the other, on the way with their carts to
the kiln, for lime; the "Cotter's Saturday Night" originated in the reverence with which the
worship of God was conducted in the family of the poet's father, and in the sdlemn tone with
which he desired his children to compose themselves for praise and prayer; "the Mouse," and
its moral companion "the Daisy," were the offspring of the incidents which they relate; and
"Death and Doctor Hornbook" was conceived at a freemason-meeting, where the hero of the
piece had shown too much of the pedant, and composed on his way home, after midnight, by the
poet, while his head was somewhat dizzy with drink.  One of the most remarkable of his compositions, the "Jolly Beggars," a drama, to which nothing in the language of either the North or
South can be compared, and which was unknown till after the death of the author, was suugested
by a scene which he saw in a low ale-house, into which, on a Saturday night, most of the sturdy
beggars of the district had met to sell their meal, pledge their superfluous rags, and d(lilk their
gains.  It may be added, that he loved to walk in solitary spots; that his chief musingp-,round
was the banks of the Ayr; the season most congenial to his fancy that of winter, when the winds
were heard in the leafless woods, and the voice of the swollen streams came from vale anl hill;
and that he seldom composed a whole poem at once, but satisfied with a few fervent verses, laid
the subject aside, till the muse summoned him  to another exertion of fancy.  In a little back
closet, still existing in the farm-house of Mossgiel, he committed most of his poems to paper.
But while the poet rose, the farmer sank.  It was not the cold clayey bottom  of his riound,(
nor the purchase of unsound seed-corn, nor the fluctuation in the markets alone, which injured
him; neither was it the taste for freemason socialities, nor a desire to join the mirth of comrades,
either of the sea or the shore; neither could it be wholly imputed to his passionate follow-ing of the
softer sex-indulgence in the " illicit rove," or giving way to his eloquence at the feet of one whom
he loved and honoured; other farmers indulged in the one, or suffered from the ether, yet were
prosperous.  His want of success arose from other causes; his heart was not with hiis task, spave
by fits and starts: le felt he was designed for higher purposes than ploughing, andl hlarrc-gin,
and sowing, and reaping: when the sun called on him, after a shower, to come to the plough, or
Awhen the ripe corn invited the sickle, or the ready market called for the measured gr(iin, the
poet was under other spells, and was slow to avail himself of those  ol(len moments, wha-ich co!rme
but once in the season.  To this may be added, a too superficial knowledge of the art of fzrra'l:,,'
and a want of intimacy with the nature of the soil he was called to cultivate.  IPe couldl speakl
fluently of leas, and faughs, and fallows, of change of seed and rotation of crops, but practical
knowledge and application were required, and in these Burns was deficient.  The moderate gain
wh ich those dark days of agriculture brought to the economical farmer, was not obtained: the
close, the all but niggardly care by which he could win and keep his crovwn-pieces, —gold was
seldom in the'frmer's hand,-was either above or below the mind of the poet, and Mossgice
w hich, in the hands of an assiduous farmer, might have made a reasonable return for labour, was
unproductive, under one who had little skill, less economy, and no taste for the task.
Othler reasons for his failure have been assigned.  It is to the credit of the moral sentiments
of the husbandmen of Scotland, that when one of their class forgets what virtue requires, and
dishonours, without reiparation, even the humblest of the maidens, he is not allowed to go unpunished.  No proceedings take place, perhaps one hard word is not spoken; but he is regarded with
loathing by the old and the devout; lie is looked on by all with cold and reproachful eyes-sorrow
is foretold as his lot, sure disaster as his fortune; and if these chance to arrive, the only sympathy
expressed is, "What better could he expect?"  Something of this sort befel Burns: he had
already satisfied the kirk in the matter of " Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess," his daughter,
by one of his mother's maids; and now, to use his own words, he was brought within point-blank
uy      ^    IILe




I xxxiv                       LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
of the heaviest metal of the kirk by a similar folly.  The fair transgressor, both for her father'I
sake and her own youth, had a large share of public sympathy.  Jean Armour, for it is of her I
speak, was in her eighteenth year; with dark eyes, a handsome foot, and a melodious tongue, she
made her way to the poet's heart-and, as their stations in life were equal, it seemed that they
had only to be satisfied themselves to render their union easy.  But her father, in addition to
being a very devout man, was a zealot of the Old Light; and Jean, dreading his resentment,
was willing, while she loved its unforgiven satirist, to love him in secret, in the hope that the
time would come when she might safely avow it: she admitted the poet, therefore, to her company
in lonesome places, and walks beneath the moon, where they both forgot themselves, and were at
last obliged to own a private marriage as a protection from kirk censure.  The professors of the
Old Light rejoiced, since it brought a scoffing rhymer within reach of their hand; but her father
felt a twofold sorrow, because of the shame of a favourite daughter, and for having committed
the folly with one both loose in conduct and profane of speech.  He had cause to be angry, but
his anger, through his zeal, became tyrannous: in the exercise of what he called a father's power,
he compelled his child to renounce the poet as her husband and burn the marriage-lines; for he
regarded her marriage, without the kirk's permission, with a man so utterly cast away, as a worse
crime than her folly.  So blind is anger! She could renounce neither her husband nrar his offspring in a lawful way, and in spite of the destruction of the marriage lines, and renouncing' 
name of wife, she was as much Mrs. Burns as marriage could make her.  No one concerned seemed
to think so.  Burns, who loved her tenderly, went all but mad when she renounced him: he gave
up his share of Mossgiel to his brother, and roamed, moody and idle, about the land, with no
better aim in life than a situation in one of our western sugar-isles, and a vague hope of distinction
as a poet.
IIow the distinction which he desired as a poet was to be obtained, was, to a poor bard in a
provincial place, a sore puzzle: there were no enterprising booksellers in the western land, ands
it was not to be expected that the printers of either Kilmarnock or Paisley had money to expend
on a speculation in rhyme: it is much to the honour of his native county that the publication
which he wished for was at last made easy. The best of his poems, in his own handwriting, had
found their way into the hands of the Ballantynes, Hamiltons, Parkers, and 5Mackenzies, and were
much admired.  Mrs. Stewart, of Stair and Afton, a lady of distinction and taste, had made,
accidentally, the acquaintance both of Burns and some of his songs, and was ready to befriend
him; and so favourable was the impression on all hands, that a subscription, sufficient to defray
the outlay of paper and print, was soon filled up-one hundred copies being subscribed for by the
Parkers alone. He soon arranged materials for a volume, and put them into the hands of a printer
in Kilmarnock, the Wee Johnnie of one of his biting epigrams.  Johnnie was startled at the
unceremonious freedom of most of the pieces, and asked the poet to compose one of modest language and moral aim, to stand at the beginning, and excuse some of those free ones which followed:
Burns, whose " Twa Dogs" was then incomplete, finished the poem at a sitting, and put it in tihe
van, much to his printer's satisfaction.  If the "Jolly Beggars" was omitted for any other causll
than its freedom of sentiment and language, or "Death and Doctor Hornbook" from  any other
feeling than that of being too personal, the causes of their exclusion have remained a secret.  It
is less easy to account for the omission of many songs of high merit which he had among hi<
papers: perhaps he thought those which he selected were sufficient to test the taste of tl:
public.  Before he printed the whole, he, with the consent of his brother, altered his name frol]
Burness to Burns, a change which, I am told, he in after years regretted.
In the summer of the year 1786, the little volume, big with the hopes and fortunes of the bard,
made its appearance: it was entitled simply, " Poems, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect; by Robert
Burns;" and accompanied by a modest preface, saying, that he submitted his book to his country
with fear and with trembling, since it contained little of the art of poesie, and at the best was
but a voice given, rude, he feared, and uncouth, to the loves, the hopes, and the fears of his own
bosom.  Had a summer sun risen on a winter morning, it could not have surprised the Lowlands
of Scotland more than this Kilmarnock volume surprised and delighted the people, one and all.
The milkmaid sang his songs, the ploughman repeated his poems; the old quoted both, and evert




HIS FIRST VOLUME OF POEMS.                                      xxxv
the devout rejoiced that idle verse had at last mixed a tone of morality with its mirth. The
volume penetrated even into Nithsdale.  "Keep it out of the way of your children," said a
Cameronian divine, when he lent it to my father, " lest ye find them, as I found mine, reading it
on the Sabbath."  No wonder that such a volume made its way to the hearts of a peasantry
whose taste in poetry had been the marvel of many writers: the poems were mostly on topics
with which they were familiar: the language was that of the fireside, raised above the vulgarities
of common life, by a purifying spirit of expression and the exalting fervour of inspiration: and
there was such a brilliant and graceful mixture of the elegant and the homely, the lofty and the
low, the familiar and the elevated-such a rapid succession of scenes which moved to tenderness
or tears; or to subdued mirth or open laughter-unlooked for allusions to scripture, or touches
of sarcasm and scandal-of superstitions to scare, and of humour to deliit-while through the
whole was diffused, as the scent of flowers through summer air, a moral meaning-a sentimental
beauty, which sweetened and sanctified all. The poet's expectations from this little venture were
humble: he hoped as much money from it as would pay for his passage to the West Indies, where
Jae proposed to enter into the service of some of the Scottish settlers, and help to manage the
double mystery of sugar-making and slavery.
The hearty applause which I have recorded came chiefly from the husbandman, the shepherd,
and the mechanic: the approbation of the magnates of the west, though not less warm, was
longer in coming. Mrs. Stewart of Stair, indeed, commended the poems and cheered their
author: Dugald Stewart received his visits with pleasure, and wondered at his vigour of conversation as much as at his muse: the door of the house of Hamilton was open to him, where the
table was ever spread, and the hand ever ready to help: while the purses of the Ballantynes
and the Parkers were always as open to him as were the doors of their houses. Those personD,
must be regarded as the real patrons of the poet: the high names of the district are not to be
found among those who helped him with purse and patronage in 1786, that year of deep distress
and high distinction. The Montgomerys came with their praise when his fame was up; the
Kennedys and the Boswells were silent: and though the Cunninghams gave effectual aid, it was
when the muse was crying with a loud voice before him, " Come all and see the -man whom I
delight to honour."  It would be unjust as well as ungenerous not to mention the name of Mrs.
Dunlop among the poet's best and early patrons: the distance at which she lived from Mossgiel
had kept his name from her till his poems appeared: but his works induced her to desire his
acquaintance, and she became his warmest and surest friend.
To say the truth, Burns endeavoured in every honourable way to obtain the notice of those who
had influence in the land: he copied out the best of his unpublished poems in a fair hand, and
inserting them in his printed volume, presented it to those who seemed slow to buy: he rewarded
the notice of this one with a song-the attentions of that one with a sally of encomiastic verse:
he left psalms of his own composing in the manse when he feasted with a divine: he enclosed
" Holy Willie's Prayer," with an injunction to be grave, to one who loved mirth: he sent the
IHoly Fair" to one whom he invited to drink a gill out of a mutchkin stoup, at Mauchline
market; and on accidentally meeting with Lord Daer, he immediately commemorated the event
in a sally of verse, of a strain more free and yet as flattering as ever flowed from the lips of a
court bard. While musing over the names of those on whom fortune had smiled, yet who had
neglected to smile on him, he remembered that he had met Miss Alexander, a young beauty of
the west, in the walks of Ballochmyle; and he recorded the impression which this fair vision
made on him in a song of unequalled elegance and melody. He had met her in the woods in
July, on the 18th of November he sent her the song, and reminded her of the circumstance from
which it arose, in a letter which it is evident he had laboured to render polished and complimentary. The young lady took no notice of either the song or the poet, though willing, it is said, to
hear of both now:-this seems to have been the last attempt he made on the taste or the sympathies of the gentry of his native district: for on the very day following we find him busy in making arrangements for his departure to Jamaica.
For this step Burns had more than sufficient reasons: the profits of his volume amounted to
little more than enough to waft him across the Atlantic: Wee Johnnie, though the edition was
___________________.. __ _._,__..___,___~,~_______________________________.._______




xxxvi                     LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
all sold, refused to risk another on speculation: his friends, both Ballantynes and Parkers,
volunteered to relieve the printer's anxieties, but the poet declined their bounty, and gloomily
indented himself in a ship about to sail from Greenock, and called on his muse to take farewell
of Caledonia, in the last song he ever expected to measure in his native land.  That fine lyric,
beginning "The gloomy night is gathering fast," was the offspring of these moments of regret
and sorrow.  His feelings were not expressed in song alone: he remembered his mother and his
natural daughter, and made an assignment of all that pertained to him at Mossgiel-and that
was but little-and of all the advantage which a cruel, unjust, and insulting law allowed in the
proceeds of his poems, for their support and behoof. This document was publicly read in the
presence of the poet, at the marlet-cross of Ayr, by his friend William Chalmers, a notary public.
Even this step was to Burns one of danger: some ill-advised person had uncoupled the merciless
pack of the law at his heels, and he was obliged to shelter himself as he best could, in woods, it is
said, by day and in barns by night, till the final hour of his departure came.  That hour arrived,
and his chest was on the way to the ship, when a letter was put into his hand which seemed to
light him to brighter prospects.
Among the friends whom his merits had procured him was Dr. Laurie, a district clergyman,
who had taste enough to admire the deep sensibilities as well as the humour of the poet, and the
generosity to make known both his works and his worth to the warm-hearted and amiable Blacklock, who boldly proclaimed him a poet of the first rank, and lamented that he was not in Edinburghl
to publish another edition of his poems. Burns was ever a man of impulse: he recalled his chest
from Greenock; he relinquished the situation he had accepted on the estate of one Douglas; took
a secret leave of his mother, and, without an introduction to any one, and unknown personally to
all, save to Dugald Stewart, away he walked, through Glenap, to Edinburgh, full of new hope
and confiding in his genius.  When he arrived, he scarcely knew what to do: he hesitated to call
on the professor; he refrained from making himself known, as it has been supposed he did, to
the enthusiastic Blacklock; but, sitting down in an obscure lodging, lie sought out an obscure
printer, recommended by a humble comrade from Kyle, and began to negotiate for a new edition
of the Poems of the Ayrshire Ploughman.  This was not the way to go about it: his barge had
well nigh been shipwrecked in the launch; and he might have lived to regret the letter which
hindered his voyage to Jamaica, had he not met by chance in the street a gentleman of the west,
of the name of Dalzell, who introduced him to the Earl of Glencairn, a nobleman whose classic
education did not hurt his taste for Scottish poetry, and who was not too proud to lend his helping hand to a rustic stranger of such merit as Burns.  Cunningham carried him to Creech, then
the Murray of Edinburgh, a shrewd man of business, who opened the poet's eyes to his true
interests: the first proposals, then all but issued, were put in the fire, and new ones printed and
diffused over the island.  The subscription was headed by half the noblemen of the north: the
Caledonian Iunt, through the interest of Glencairn, took six hundred copies: duchesses and
countesses swelled the list, and such a crowding to write down names had not been witnessed
since the signing of the solemn league and covenant.
While the subscription-papers were filling and the new volume printing on a paper and in a
type worthy of such high patronage, Burns remained in Edinburgh, where, for the winter season,
he was a lion, and one of an unwonted kind.  Philosophers, historians, and scholars had shaken
the elegant coteries of the city with their wit, or enlightened them with their learning, but they
were all men who had been polished by polite letters or by intercourse with high life, and there
was a sameness in their very dress as well as address, of which peers and peeresses had becolme
weary.  They therefore welcomed this rustic candidate for the honour of giving wings to their
hours of lassitude and weariness, with a welcome more than common; and when his approach
was announced, the polished ircle looked for the advent of a lout from  the plough, in whose
uncouth manners and embarrassed address they might find matter both for mirtha and wonder.
But they met with a barbarian who was not at all barbarous: as the poet met in Lord Daer feelings and sentiments as natural as those of a ploughman, so they met in a ploughman manners
worthy of a lord: his air was easy and unperpiexed: his address was perfectly well-bred, and
elegant in its simplicity: lie felt neither eclipsed by the titled nor struck dumb before the




HIGHLAND MARY.                                         xxxvii
learned and the eloquent, but took his station with the ease and grace of one born to it.  In the
society of men alone he spoke out: he spared neither his wit, his humour, nor his sarcasm-he
seemed to say to all-" I am a man, and you are no more; and why should I not act and speak
like one?"-it was remarked, however, that he had not learnt, or did not desire, to conceal his
eniotions-that he commended with more rapture than was courteous, and contradicted with miore
bluntness than was accounted polite.  It was thus with him in the company of men: when woman
approached, his look altered, his eye beamed milder; all that was stern in his nature underwent
a change, and he received them with deference, but with a consciousness that he could win their
attention as he had won that of others, who differed, indeed, from them only in the texture of
their kirtles.  This natural power of rendering himself acceptable to women had been observed
and envied by Sillar, one of the dearest of his early comrades; and it stood him in good stead now,
when he was the object to whom the Duchess of Gordon, the loveliest as well as the wittiest of
women-directed her discourse.  Burns, she afterwards said, won the attention of the Edinburgh
ladies by a deferential way of address-by an ease and natural grace of manners, as new as it
was unexpected-that he told them the stories of some of his tenderest songs or liveliest poems
in a style quite magical-enriching his little narratives, which had one and all the merit of being
short, with personal incidents of humour or of pathos.
In a party, when Dr. Blair and Professor Walker were present, Burns related the circumstances
under which he had composed his melancholy song, " The gloomy night is gathering fast," in a
way even more touching than the verses: and in the company of the ruling beauties of the time,
he hesitated not to lift the veil from some of the tenderer parts of his own history, and give them
glimpses of the romance of rustic life.  A lady of birth-one of his most willing listeners-used,
I am told, to say, that she should never forget the tale which he related of his affection for Mary
Campbell, his Highland Mary, as he loved to call her.  She was fair, lie said, and affectionate,
and as guileless as she was beautiful; and beautiful he thought her in a very high degree.  The
first time he saw her was during one of his musing walks in the woods of Montgomery Castle; and
the first time he spoke to her was during the merriment of a harvest-kirn.  There were others
there who admired her, but he addressed her, and had the luck to win her regard from them all.
lie soon found that she was the lass whom he had long sought, but never before found-that her
good looks were surpassed by her good sense; and her good sense was equalled by her discretion
and modesty.  He met her frequently: she saw by his looks that he was sincere; she put full
trust in his love, and used to wander with him among the green knowes and streaml-banks till the
sun went down and the moon rose, talking, dreaming of love and the golden days which awaited
them. lie was poor, and she had only her half-year's fee, for she was in the condition of a servant; but thoughts of gear never darkened their dream: they resolved to wed, and exchanged
vows of constancy and love.  They plighted their vows on the Sabbath to render them  more
sacred-they made them by a burn, where they had courted, that open nature might be a witness
-they made themi over an open Bible, to show that they thought of God in this mutual act-and
when they had done they both took water in their hands, and scattered it in the air, to intimate
that as the stream was pure so were their intentions.  They parted when they did this, but they
parted never to meet more: she died in a burning fever, during a visit to her relations to prepare
for her marriage; and all that he had of her was a lock of her long bright hair, and her Bible,
which she exchanged for his.
Even with the tales which he related of rustic love and adventure his own story mingled; and
ladies of rank heard, for the first time, that in all that was romantic in the passion of love, and
in all that was chivalrous in sentiment, men of distinction, both by education and birth, were at
least equalled by the peasantry of the land.  They listened with interest, and inclined their
feathers beside the bard, to hear how love went on in the west, and in no case it ran quite smooth.
Sometimes young hearts were kept asunder by the sordid feelings of parents, who could not be
persuaded to bestow their daughter, perhaps an only one, on a wooer who could not count penny
for penny, and number cow for cow: sometimes a mother desired her daughter to look higher than
to one of her station; for her beauty and her education entitled her to match among the
lairds, Rather than the tenants; and sometimes, the devotional tastes of both father and mother,




xxxviii                   LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
approving of personal looks and connexions, were averse to see a daughter bestow her hand on
one, whose language in religion was indiscreet, and whose morals were suspected. Yet, neither
the vigilance of fathers, nor the suspicious care of aunts and mothers, could succeed in keeping
those asunder whose hearts were together; but in these meetings circumspection and invention
were necessary: all fears were to be lulled by the seeming carelessness of the lass,-all perils
were to be met and braved by the spirit of the lad.  His home, perhaps, was at a distance, and
lie had wild woods to come through, and deep streams to pass, before he could see the signal-light,
now shown and now withdrawn, at her window; he had to approach with a quick eye and a wary
foot, lest a father or a brother should see, and deter him: he had sometimes to wish for a cloud
upon the moon, whose light, welcome to him on his way in the distance, was likely to betray him
when near; and he not unfrequently reckoned a wild night of wind and rain as a blessing, since
it helped to conceal his coming, and proved to his mistress that he was ready to brave all for her
sake. Of rivals met and baffled; of half-willing and half-unconsenting maidens, persuaded and
won; of the light-hearted and the careless becoming affectionate and tender; and the coy, the
i roud, and the satiric being gained by "persuasive words, and more persuasive sighs," as dames
had been gained of old, he had tales enow. The ladies listened, and smiled at the tender narratives of the poet.
Of his appearance among the sons as well as the daughters of men, we have the account of
Dugald Stewart.  "Burns," says the philosopher, " came to Edinburgh early in the winter: the
attentions which he received fiom all ranks and descriptions of persons, were such as would have
turned any head but his own.  He retained the same simplicity of manners and appearance whlch 
had struck me so forcibly when I first saw him in the country: his dress was suited to his statikn;
plain and unpretending, with sufficient attention to neatness: he always wore boots, and, when on
more than usual ceremony, buckskin breeches. His manners were manly, simple, and independent;
strongly expressive of conscious genius and worth, but without any indication of forwardness,
arrogance, or vanity. Ile took his share in conversation, but not more than belonged to him,
and listened with apparent deference on subjects where his want of education deprived him of
the means of information.  If there had been a little more of gentleness and accommodation in
his temper, he would have been still more interesting; but he had been accustomed to give law
in the circle of his ordinary acquaintance, and his dread of anything approaching to meanness or
servility, rendered his manner somewhat decided and hard.  Nothing perhaps was more remarkable among his various attainments, than the fluency and precision and originality of language,
when he spoke in company; more particularly as he aimed at purity in his turn of expression,
and avoided more successfully than most Scotsmen, the peculiarities of Scottish phraseology.
From his conversation I should have pronounced him to have been fitted to excel in whatever
walk of ambition he had chosen to exert his abilities. He was passionately fond of the beauties
of nature, and I recollect he once told me, when I was admiring a distant prospect in one of our
morning walks, that the sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his mind, which
none could understand who had not witnessed, like himself, the happiness and worth which cottages contained."
Such was the impression which Burns made at first on the fair, the titled, and the learned of
Edinburgh; an impression which, though lessened by intimacy and closer examination on the
part of the men, remained unimpaired, on that of the softer sex, till his dying-day. His company, during the season of balls and festivities, continued to be courted by all who desired to be
reckoned gay or polite.  Cards of invitation fell thick on him; he was not more welcome to the
plumed and jewelled groups, whom her fascinating Grace of Gordon gathered about her, than he
was to the grave divines and polished scholars, who assembled in the rooms of Stewart, or Blair,
or Robertson. The classic socialities of Tytler, afterwards Lord Woodhouslee, or the elaborate
supper-tables of the whimsical Monboddo, whose guests imagined they were entertained in the
manner of Lucullus or of Cicero, were not complete without the presence of the ploughman of
Kyle; and the feelings of the rustic poet, facing such companies, though of surprise and delight
at first, gradually subsided, he said, as he discerned, that man differed from man only in the
polish, and not in the grain.  But Edinburgh offered tables and entertainers of a less orderly




SOCIETY OF EDINBURGHI.                                       xxxi
and staid character than those I have named-where the glass circulated with greater rapidity;
where the wit flowed more freely; and where there were neither highbred ladies to charm conversation within the bounds of modesty, nor serious philosophers, nor grave divines, to set a limit
to the license of speech, or the hours of enjoyment.  To these companions-and these were all
of the better classes, the levities of the rustic poet's wit and humour were as welcome as were
the tenderest of his narratives to the accomplished Duchess of Gordon and the beautiful Miss
Burnet of Monboddo; they raised a social roar not at all classic, and demanded and provoked
his sallies of wild humour, or indecorous mirth, with as much delight as he had witnessed among
the lads of Kyle, when, at mill or forge, his humorous sallies abounded as the ale flowed. In
these enjoyments the rough, but learned William Nicol, and the young and amiable Robert Ainslie shared: the name of the poet was coupled with those of profane wits, free livers, and that
class of half-idle gentlemen who hang about the courts of law, or for a season or two wear the
livery of Mars, and handle cold iron.
Edinburgh had still another class of genteel convivialists, to whom the poet was attracted by
principles as well as by pleasure; these were the relics of that once numerous body, the Jacobites,
who still loved to cherish the feelings of birth or education rather than of judgment, and toasted
the name of Stuart, when the last of the race had renounced his pretensions to a throne, for the
sake of peace and the cross. Young men then, and high names were among them, annually met
on the pretender's birth-day, and sang songs in which the white rose of Jacobitism flourished;
toasted toasts announcing adherence to the male line of the Bruce and the Stuart, and listened
to the strains of the laureate of the day, who prophesied, in drink, the dismissal of the intrusive
Hanoverian, by the right and might of the righteous and disinherited line.  Burns, who was
descended from a northern race, whose father was suspected of having drawn the claymore in
1745, and who loved the blood of the Keith-Marishalls, under whose banners his ancestors had
marched, readily united himself to a band in whose sentiments, political and social, he was a sharer.
lie was received with acclamation: the dignity of laureate was conferred upon him, aid his
inauguration ode, in which he recalled the names and the deeds of the Grahams, the Erskines,
the Boyds, and the Gordons, was applauded for its fire, as well as for its sentiments. Yet, though
he ate and drank and sang with Jacobites, he was only as far as sympathy and poesie went, of
their number: his reason renounced the principles and the religion of the Stuart line; and though
he shed a tear over their fallen fortunes-though he sympatlized with the brave and honourable
names that perished in their cause-though he cursed " the butcher, Cumberland," and the bloody
spirit which commanded the heads of the good and the heroic to be stuck where they would affright
the passer-by, and pollute the air-he had no desire to see the splendid fabric of constitutional
freedom, which the united genius of all parties had raised, thrown wantonly down. IIis Jacobitism
influenced, not his head, but his heart, and gave a mournful hue to many of his lyric compositions.
MIeanwhile his poems were passing through the press. Burns made a few emendations of those
published in the Kilmarnock edition, and he added others which, as he expressed it, he had
carded and spun, since he passed Glenbuck.  Some rather coarse lines were softened or omitted
in the "Twa Dogs;" others, from a change of his personal feelings, were made in the " Vision:"
"Death and Doctor Hornbook," excluded before, was admitted now: the "Dream" was retained,
in spite of the remonstrances of Mrs. Stewart, of Stair, and Mrs. Dunlop; and the " Brigs of
Ayr," in compliment to his patrons in his native district, and the "Address to Edinburgh," in
honour of his titled and distinguished friends in that metropolis, were printed for the first time.
lHe was unwilling to alter what he had once printed: his friends, classic, titled, and rustic, found
him stubborn and unpliable, in matters of criticism; yet he was generally of a complimental
mood: he loaded the robe of Coila in the " Vision," with more scenes than it could well contain,
that he might include in the landscape, all the country-seats of his friends, and he gave more
than their share of commendation to the Wallaces, out of respect to his friend Mrs. Dunlop.  Of
the critics of Edinburgh he said, they spun the thread of their criticisms so fine that it was unfit
for either warp or weft; and of its scholars, he said, they were never satisfied with any Scottish
poet, unless they could trace him in Horace.  One morning at Dr. Blair's breakfast-table, when
the "HIoly Fair" was the subject of conversation, the reverend critic said, " Why should




sx3                 LIFE OF   OBEiRT BURNS.
Moody speel the holy door
With tidings of salvation?:
if you had said, with tidings of damnation, the satire would have been the better and the bitterer."
"Excellent!" exclaimed the poet, " the alteration is capital, and I hope you will honour ime by
allowing me to say in a note at whose suggestion it was made."  Professor Walker, who tells the
anecdote, adds that Blair evaded, with equal good humour and decision, this not very polite
request; nor was this the only slip which the poet made on this occasion: some one asked him
in which of the churches of Edinburgh he had received the highest gratification: he named tLo
ligh-church, but gave the preference over all preachers to Robert Walker, the colleague and 
rival in eloquence of Dr. Blair himself, and that in a tone so pointed and decisive as to make all
at the table stare and look embarrassed.  The poet confessed afterwards that he never reflected
on his blunder without pain and mortification.  Blair probably had this in his mind, when, on
reading the poem  beginniiig " When Guildford good our pilot stood," he exclaimed, "Ah! the
politics of Burns always smell of the smithy," meaning, that they were vulgar and common.
In April, the second or Edinburgh, edition was published: it was widely purchased, and as
warmly commended.  The country had been prepared for it by the generous and discriniinating 
criticisms of Ienry Mackenzie, published in that popular periodical, " The Lounger," -where lhe
says, "Burns possesses the spirit as well as the fancy of a poet; that honest pride and independence of soul, which are sometimes the muse's only dower, break forth on every occasion, in his
works."  The praise of the author of the "Man of Feeling" was not more felt by Burns, than it
was by the whole island: the harp of the north had not been swept for centuries by a hand so
forcible, and at the same time so varied, that it awakened every tone, whether of joy or woe: the
language was that of rustic life; the scenes of the poems were the dusty barn, the clay-floored
reeky cottage, and the furrowed field; and the characters were cowherds, ploughmen, and
mechanics.  The volume was embellished by a head of the poet from the hand of the now venerable Alexander Nasmiith; and introduced by a dedication to the noblelmen and gentlemen of the
Caledonian IIunt, ill a style of vehement independence, unknown hitherto in the history of subscriptions.  The whole work, verse, prose, and portrait, won public attention, and kept it: and
though some critics signified their displeasure at expressions which bordered on profanity, and
at a license of language which they pronounced impure, by far the greater number united tleir
praise to the all but general voice; nay, some scrupled not to call him, from his perfect ease and
nature and variety, the Scottish Shakspeare.  No one rejoiced more in his success and his fame,
than the matron of Mossgiel.
Other matters than his poems and socialities claimed the attention of Burns in Edinburgh.  IIe
had a hearty relish for the joyous genius of Allan Ramsay; lie traced out his residences, and
rejoiced to think that while lie stood in the shop of his own bookseller, Creech, the salme  floor
had been trod by the feet of his great forerunner.  lie visited, too, the low\vly grave of tlhe nnfortunate Robert Fergusson; and it must be recorded to the shiame of the magistrates of Eldinburgh,,
that they allowed him to erect a headstone to his memory, and to the scandal of Scotland, that in
such a memorial he had not been anticipated.  IIe seems not to have regarded the graves of
scholars or philosophers; and he trod the pavements where the warlike princes and nobles had 
walked without any emotion.  He loved, however, to see places celebrated in Scottish songl  and
fields where battles for the independence of his country had been stricken; and, with ritioey in
his pocket which his poems had produced, and with a letter fiom  a witty but weak man, Lord 
Buchan, instructing him to pull birks on the Yarvow, broom on the Cowden-knowes, and not to
neglect to adlmire the ruins of Drybrugh Abbey, Burns set out on a border tour, accompnanied by
Robert Ainslie, of Berrywell.  As the poet had talked of returning to the plough, Dr. Blair
imagined that he was on his way back to the furrowed field, and wrote him a handsome farewell,
saying he was leaving Edinburgh with a character which hlad survived many temptations; with a
name which would be placed with the Ramsays and the Fergussons, and writh the hopes of all,
that, in a second volume, on which his fate as a poet woult very much depend, he might rise yet
higher in merit and in fame.  Burns, who received this communlliication when laying his leg over




BORDER TOUR.                                               xli
the saddle to be gone, is said to have muttered, "Ay, but a man's first book is sometimes like
his first babe, healthier and stronger than those -which follow."
On the Gth of May, 1787, Burns reached Berrywell: he recorded of the laird, that he was
clear-headed, and of Miss Ainslie, that she was amiable and handsome-of Dudgeon, the author
of " The Maid that tends the Goats," that he had penetration and modesty, and of the preacher,
Bowmaker, that he was a man of strong lungs and vigorous remark.  On crossing the Tweed at
Coldstream  lie took off his hat, and kneeling down, repeated aloud the two last verses of the
"Cotter's Saturday Night:" on returning, he drank tea with Brydone, the traveller, a man, ihe
said, kind and benevolent: he cursed one Cole as an English IIottentot, for having rooted out an
ancient garden belonging to a Romish ruin; and hle wrote of Macdowal, of Caverton-mill, that
by his skill in rearing sheep, he sold his flocks, ewe and lamb, for a couple of guineas each: tlat
he washed his sheep before shearing-and by his turnips improved sheep-husbandry; he added,
that lands were generally let at sixteen shillings the Scottish acre; the farmers rich, and, compared to Ayrshire, their houses magnificent.  On his way to Jedburgh he visited an old gentleman
in vwhose house was an arm-chair, once the property of the author of "The Seasons;" he
reverently examined the relic, and could scarcely be persuaded to sit in it: he was a warm
admirer of Thomson.
In Jedburgh, Burns found much to interest him: the ruins of a splendid cathedral, and of a
strong castle-and, what was still more attractive, an amiable young lady, very handsome, with
" beautiful hazel eyes, full of spirit, sparkling with delicious moisture," and looks which betokened
a higl order of female mind.  IIe gave her his portrait, and entered this remembrance of her
attractions among his memoranda:-" My heart is thawed into melting pleasure, after being so
long frozen up in the Greenland bay of indifference, amid the noise and nonsense of Edinburgh.
I am  afraid my bosom  has nearly as much tinder as ever.  Jed, pure be thy streams, and
hallowod thy sylvan banks: sweet Isabella Lindsay, may peace dwell in thy bosom uninterrupted,
except by the tumultuous tlrobbings of rapturous love!"  With the freedom of Jedburgh, handsomely bestowed by the magistrates, in his pocket, Burns made his way to Wauchope, the residence of Mrs. Scott, who had welcomed him into the world as a poct in verses lively and graceful:
he found her, he said, " a lady of sense and taste, and of a decision peculiar to female authors."
After dining with Sir Alexander Don, who, he said, was a clever man, but far fiom a match for
his divine lady, a sister of his patron Glencairn, he spent an hour among the beautiful ruins of
Drybsurgh Abbey; glanced on the splendid remains of Melrose; passed, unconscious of the future,
over that ground on which have arisen the romantic towers of Abbotsford; dined with certain of
the Souters of Selkirk; and visited the old keep of Thomas the Rhymer, and a dozen of the hills
and streams celebrated in song.  Nor did lie fail to pay his respects, after returning through
Dunse, to Sir James Iall, of Dunglass, and his lady, and was much pleased with the scenery of
their romantic place.  lie was now joined by a gentleman of the name of Kerr, and crossing the
Tweed a second tinme, penetrated into England, as far as the ancient town of Newcastle, where
he smiled at a facetious Northumbrian, who at dinner caused the beef to be eaten before the
broth was served, in obedience to an ancient injunction, lest the hungry Scotch should come
and snatch it.  On his way back he saw, what proved to be prophetic of his own fortune-the
roup of an unfortunate farmer's stock: he took out his journal, and wrote with a troubled brow,
"Rigid economy, and decent industry, do you preserve me from being the principal dramatis persoen2C, in such a scene of horror."  IIe extended his tour to Carlisle, and from thence to the banks
of the Nith, where lie looked at the farm of Ellisland, with the intention of trying once more his
fortune at the plough, should poetry and patronage fail him.
On his way through the West, Burns spent a few days with his mother at Mossgiel: he had
left her an unknovwn and an almost banished man: ihe returned in fame and in sunshine, admired
by all who aspired to be thought tasteful or refined.  lie felt offended alike with the patrician
stateliness of'Edinburgh and the plebeian servility of the hu:;bandnen of Ayrshire; and dreading
the influence of the unlucky star which had hitherto ruled his lot, he bought a pocket Milton, he
said, for the purpose of studying the intrepid independence and daring nmagnanimity, and noble
defiance of hardships, exhibited by Satan! In this mood he reached Edinburgh —-only to leave it




xlii                     LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
again on three hurried excursions into the Highlands.  The route which he took and the sentiments which the scenes awakened, are but faintly intimated in the memoranda which he made.
His first journey seems to have been performed in ill-humour; at Stirling, his Jacobitism, provoked
at seeing the ruined palace of the Stuarts, broke out in some unloyal lines which he had the
indiscretion to write with a diamond on the window of a public inn. At Carron, where he was
refused a sight of the magnificent foundry, he avenged himself in epigram.  At Inverary he
resented some real or imaginary neglect on the part of his Grace of Argyll, by a stinging lampoon;
nor can he be said to have fairly regained his serenity of temper, till he danced his wrath away
with some Iighland ladies at Dumbarton.
His second excursion was made in the company of Dr. Adair, of Harrowgate: the reluctant
doors of Carron foundry were opened to him, and he expressed his wonder at the blazing furnaces
and broiling labours of the place; he removed the disloyal lines from the window of the inn at
Stirling, and he paid a two days' visit to Ramsay of Ochtertyre, a distinguished scholar, and discussed with him future topics for the muse.  "I have been in the company of many men of
genius," said Ramsay afterwards to Currie, "some of them poets, but never witnessed such
flashes of intellectual brightness as from  him-the impulse of the moment, sparks of celestial
fire." From the Forth he went to the Devon, in the county of Clackmannan, where, for the first
time, he saw the beautiful Charlotte Hamilton, the sister of his friend Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline.  "She is not only beautiful," he thus writes to her brother, "but lovely: her form is
elegant, her features not regular, but they have the smile of sweetness, and the settled complacency of good nature in the highest degree. Her eyes are fascinating; at once expressive of good
sense, tenderness and a noble mind. After the exercise of our riding to the Falls, Charlotte was
exactly Dr. Donne's mistress:"Her pure and eloquent blood
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,
That one would almost say her body thought."
Accompanied by this charming dame, he visited an old lady, Mrs. Bruce, of Clackmannan, who,
in the belief that she had the blood of the royal Bruce in her veins, received the poet with something of princely state, and, half in jest, conferred the honour of knighthood upon him, with her
ancestor's sword, saying, in true Jacobitical mood, that she had a better right to do that than
some folk had! In the same pleasing company he visited the famous cataract on the Devon,
called the Cauldron Linn, and the Rumbling bridge, a single arch thrown, it is said by the devil,
over the Devon, at the height of a hundred feet in the air.  It was the complaint of his companions that Burns exhibited no raptures, and poured out no unpremeditated verses at such magnificent scenes. But he did not like to be tutored or prompted: "Look, look!" exclaimed some
one, as Carron foundry belched forth flames-" look, Burns, look! good heavens, what a grand
sight!-look!"  "I would not look-look, sir, at your bidding," said the bard, turning away,
"were it into the mouth of hell!" When he visited, at a future time, the romantic Linn of Creehope, in Nithsdale, he looked silently at its wonders, and showed none of the hoped-for rapture.
",You do not admire it, I fear," said a gentleman who accompanied him: "I could not admire it
more, sir," replied Burns, " if He who made it were to desire me to do it." There are other reasons
for the silence of Burns amid the scenes of the Devon: he was charmed into love by the sense
and the beauty of Charlotte Hamilton, and rendered her homage in that sweet song, " The Banks
of the Devon," and in a dozen letters written with more than his usual care, elegance, and
tenderness. But the lady was neither to be won by verse nor by prose: she afterwards gave
her hand to Adair, the poet's companion, and, what was less meritorious, threw his letters into
the fire.
The third and last tour into the North was in company of Nicol of the High-School of Edinburgh: on the fields of Bannockburn and Falkirk-places of triumph and of woe to Scotland, he
gave way to patriotic impulses, and in these words he recorded them:-" Stirling, August 26,
1,787: this morning I knelt at the tomb of Sir John the Graham, the gallant friend of the immortal
Wallace; and two hours ago I said a fervent prayer for old Caledonia, over the hole in a whin



HIGHLAND TOUR.                                         xliii
stone where Robert the Bruce fixed his royal standard on the banks of Bannockburn."  He then
proceeded northward by Ochtertyre, the water of Earn, the vale of Glen Almond, and the tradi
tionary grave of Ossian. He looked in at princely Taymouth; mused an hour or two among the
Birks of Aberfeldy; gazed from Birnam top; paused amid the wild grandeur of the pass of
Killiecrankie, at the stone which marks the spot where a second patriot Graham fell, and spent a
day at Blair, where he experienced the graceful kindness -.Ae Duke of Athol, and in a strain
truly elegant, petitioned him, in the name of Bruar Water, To hide the utter nakedness of its
otherwise picturesque banks, with plantations of birch and oak. Quitting Blair he followed the
course of the Spey, and passing, as he told his brother, through a wild country, among cliffs gray
with eternal snows, and glens gloomy and savage, reached Findhorn in mist and darkness; visited
Castle Cawdor, where Macbeth murdered Duncan; hastened through Inverness to Urquhart
Castle, and the Falls of Fyers, and turned southward to Kilravock, over the fatal moor of Culloden. He admired the ladies of that classic region for their snooded ringlets, simple elegance of
dress, and expressive eyes: in Mrs. Rose, of Kilravock Castle, he found that matronly grace and
dignity which he owned he loved; and in the Duke and Duchess of Gordon a renewal of that more
than kindness with which they had welcomed him in Edinburgh.  But while he admired the
palace of Fochabers, and was charmed by the condescensions of the noble proprietors, he forgot
that he had left a companion at the inn, too proud and captious to be pleased at favours showered
on others: he hastened back to the inn with an invitation and an apology: he found the fiery
pedant in a foaming rage, striding up and down the street, cursing in Scotch and Latin the loitering
postilions for not yoking the horses, and hurrying him  away. All apology and explanation was
in vain, and Burns, with a vexation which he sought not to conceal, took his seat silently beside
the irascible pedagogue, and returned to the South by Broughty Castle, the banks of Endermay
and Queensferry.  He parted with the Highlands in a kindly mood, and loved to recal the scenes
and the people, both in conversation and in song.
On his return to Edinburgh he had to bide the time of his bookseller and the public: the
impression of his poems, extending to two thousand eight hundred copies, was sold widely: much
of the money had to come from a distance, and Burns lingered about the northern metropolis,
expecting a settlement with Creech, and with the hope that those who dispensed his country's
patronage might remember one who then, as now, was reckoned an ornament to the land. But
Creech, a parsimonious man, was slow in his payments; the patronage of the country was swallowed up in the sink of politics, and though noblemen smiled, and ladies of rank nodded their
jewelled heads in approbation of every new song he sung and every witty sally he uttered, they
reckoned any further notice or care superfluous: the poet, an observant man, saw all this; but hope
was the cordial of his heart, he said, and he hoped and lingered on. Too active a genius to remain
idle, he addressed himself to the twofold business of love and verse. Repulsed by the stately
Beauty of the Devon, he sought consolation in the society of one, as fair, and infinitely more
witty; and as an accident had for a time deprived him of the use of one of his legs, he gave
wings to hours of pain, by writing a series of letters to this Edinburgh enchantress, in which he
signed himself Sylvander, and addressed her under the name of Clarinda.  In these compositions,
which no one can regard as serious, and which James Grahame the poet called " a romance of
real Platonic affection," amid much affectation both of language and sentiment, and a desire to say
fine and startling things, we can see the proud heart of the poet throbbing in the dread of being
neglected or forgotten by his country.  The love which he offers up at the altar of wit and beauty,
seems assumed and put on, for its rapture is artificial, and its brilliancy that of an icicle: no
woman was ever wooed and won in that Malvolio way; and there is no doubt that Mrs. M'Lehose
felt as much offence as pleasure at this boisterous display of regard. In aftertimes he loved to
remember her:-when wine circulated, Mrs. Mac was his favourite toast.
During this season he began his lyric contributions to the Musical Museum of Johnson, a work
which, amid many imperfections of taste and arrangement, contains more of the true old music
and genuine old songs of Scotland, than any other collection with which I am acquainted. Burns
gathered oral airs, and fitted them with words of mirth or of woe, of tenderness or of humour,
with unexampled readiness and felicity; he eked o't old fragments and sobered down licentious




xliv                       LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
strains so much in the olden spirit and feeling, that the new cannot be distinguished froi the
ancient; nay, he inserted lines and half lines, with such skill and nicety, that antiquarian, are
perplexed to settle which is genuine or which is simulated.  Yet with all this he abated noi  of
the natural mirth or the racy humour of the lyric muse of Scotland: he did not like her the ess
because she walked like some of the maidens of her strains, high-kilted at times, and spoke - ith
the freedom of innocence.  In these communications we observe how little his border-jaunt among
the fountains of ancient song contributed either of sentiment or allusion, to his lyrics; and how
deeply his strains, whether of pity or of merriment, were coloured by what he had seen, and
heard, and felt in the Highlands.  In truth, all that lay beyond the Forth was an undiscovered
land to him; while the lowland districts were not only familiar to his mind and eye, but all their
more romantic vales and hills and streams were already musical in songs of such excellence as
induced him to dread failure rather than hope triumph.  Moreover, the IHighlands teemed with
jacobitical feelings, and scenes hallowed by the blood or the sufferings of men heroic, and perhaps
misguided; and the poet, willingly yielding to an impulse which was truly romantic, and believed
by thousands to be loyal, penned his songs on Drumossie, and Killiecrankie, as the spirit of sorrow
or of bitterness prevailed.  Though accompanied, during his northern excursions, by friends
whose socialities and conversation forbade deep thought, or even serious remark, it will be seen
by those who read his lyrics with care, that his wreath is indebted for some of its fairest flowers
to the Iighlands.
The second winter of the poet's abode in Edinburgh had now arrived: it opened, as nmight have
been expected, with less rapturous welcomes and with more of frosty civility than the first.  It
must be confessed, that indulgence in prolonged socialities, and in company which, though clever,
could not be called select, contributed to this; nor must it be forgotten that his love for the
sweeter part of creation was now and then carried beyond the limits of poetic respect, and the
delicacies of courtesy; tending to esirange the austere and to lessen the admiration at first
commlon to all.  Other causes smay be assigned for this wane of popularity: he took no care to
conlceail his contempt for all who depended on mere scholarship for emiiinence, and he had a perilous
hkack in sketching with a sarcastic hand the characters of the learned and the grave.  Some
inldeed of the highL literati of the north-Home, the author of Douglas, was one of them —spoke
of the poet as a chance or an accident: and though they admitted that he was a poet, yet
he was not one of settled grandeur of soul, brightened by study.  Burns was probably aware
of this; lie takes occasion in some of his letters to suggest, that the hour may be at hand
when he shall be accounted by scholars as a meteor, rather than a fixed light, and to suspect
that the praise bestowed on his genius was partly owing to the humility of his condition.  From
his lingering so long about Edinburgh, the nobility began to dread a second volume by subscription, the learned to regard him  as a fierce Theban, who resolved to carry all the outworks to the temple of Fame without the labour of making regula:r approaches; while a third
party, and not the least numerous, looked on himi with distrust, as one who hovered between
Jacobite and Jacobin; who disliked the loyal-minded, and loved to lampoon the reigning family.
Besides, the marvel of' the inspired ploughmlan had begun to subside; tle bright gloss of
novelty was worn off, and his fault lay in his unwillingness to see that he had made all the
sport which the Philistines expected, and was required to make room  for some " salvage" of
the season, to paw, and roar, and shake the mane.  The doors of the titled, -which at first opened
spontaneous, like those in Milton's heaven, were now uncloseed for him with a tardy courtesy: hie
was rcceived with measured stateliness, and seldom  requested to repeat his visit.  Of this
changed aspect of things he complained to a friend: but his real sorrows were mixed with those
of the fancy:-he told Mrs. Dunlop with what pangs of heart he was compelled to take shelter in
a corner, lest the rattling equipage of some gaping blockhead should mangle iim  in the mire.
In this land of titles and weaTlth such querulous sensibilities must have been frequently offended.
Burns, who had talked lightly hitherto of resuming the ploughl, began now to think seriously
about it, for lie saw it must come to that at last.  Aliller, of DI)lswinton, a,gentlem: ans of scientific
acquirelments, and who has the merit of applying the impulse of steanm to naviSgation, had offered
he poet the choice of his farms, on a fair estate which he had purchased on the Nith: aided by




HIS MARRIAGE.                                            xiv
a westland farmer, he selected Ellisland, a beautiful spot, fit alike for the steps of ploughman or
poet. On intimating this to the magnates of Edinburgh, no one lamented that a genius so bright
and original should be driven to win his bread with the sweat of his brow: no one, with an
indignant eye, ventured to tell those to whom the patronage of this magnificent empire was confided, that they were misusing the sacred trust, and that posterity would curse them for their
coldness or neglect: neither did any of the rich nobles, whose tables he had adorned by his wit,
offer to enable him to toil free of rent, in a land of which he was to be a permanent ornament;all were silent-all were cold-the Earl of Glencairn alone, aided by Alexander Wood, a gentleman who merits praise oftener than he is named, did the little that was done or attempted to be
done for him: nor was that little done on the peer's part without solicitation:-" I wish to go
into the excise;" thus he wrote to Glencairn; " and I am told your lordship's interest will easily
procure me the grant from  the commissioners: and your lordship's patronage and goodness,
which have already rescued me from  obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, emboldens me to ask
that interest. You have likewise put it in my power to save the little tie of home that sheltered
an aged mother, two brothers, and three sisters from destruction.  I am ill qualified to dog the
heels of greatness with the impertinence of solicitation, and tremble nearly as much at the thought
of the cold promise as the cold denial."  The farm  and the excise exhibit the poet's humble
scheme of life: the money of the one, he thought, would support the toil of the other, and in the
fortunate management of both, he looked for the rough abundance, if not the elegancies suitable
to a poet's condition.
While Scotland was disgraced by sordidly allowing her brightest genius to descend to the
plough and the excise, the poet hastened his departure from a city which had witnessed both his
triumph and his shame: he bade farewell in a few well-chosen words to such of the classic literati
-the Blairs, the Stewarts, the Mackenzies, and the Tytlers-as had welcomed the rustic bard
and continued to countenance him; while in softer accents he bade adieu to the Clarindas and
Chlorises of whose charms he had sung, and, having wrung a settlement from Creech, he turned
his steps towards Mossgiel and Mauchline.  He had several reasons, and all serious ones, for
taking Ayrshire in his way to the Nith: he desired to see his mother, his brothers and sisters,
who had partaken of his success, and were now raised from pining penury to comparative affluence:
he desired to see those who had aided him in his early struggles into the upper air-perhaps
those, too, who had looked coldly on, and smiled at his outward aspirations after fame or distinction; but more than all, he desired to see one whom he once and still dearly loved, who had been
a sufferer for his sake, and whom he proposed to make mistress of his fireside and the sharer of
his fortunes.  Even while whispering of love to Charlotte Hamilton, on the banks of the Devon,
or sighing out the affected sentimentalities of platonic or pastoral love in the ear of Clarinda, his
thoughts wandered to her whom he had left bleaching her webs among the daisies on Mfauchline
braes-she had still his heart, and in spite of her own and her father's disclamation, she was his
wife. It was one of the delusions of this great poet, as well as of those good people, the Armours,
that the marriage had been dissolved by the destruction of the marriage-lines, and that Robert
Burns and Jean Armour were as single as though they had neither vowed nor written themselves
man and wife.  Be that as it may, the time was come when all scruples and obstacles were to be
removed which stood in the way of their union: their hands were united by Gavin Hamilton,
according to law, in April, 1788; and even the Reverend Mr. Auld, so mercilessly lampooned,
smiled forgivingly as the poet satisfied a church wisely scrupulous regarding the sacred ceremony
of marriage.
Though Jean Armour was but a country lass of humble degree, she had sense and intelligence,
and personal charms sufficient not only to win and fix the affections of the poet, but to sanction
the praise which he showered on her in song. In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, he thus describes her:
" The most placid good nature and sweetness of disposition, a warm heart, gratefully devoted
with all its powers to love me; vigorous health and sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the best
advantage by a more than commonly handsome figure: these I think in a woman may make a
good wife, though she should never have read a page but the Scriptures, nor have danced in a




xlvi                     LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
brighter assembly than a penny-pay wedding."  To the accomplished Margaret Chalmers, of.Edinburgh, he adds, to complete the picture, "I have got the handsomest figure, the sweetest
temper, the soundest constitution, and kindest heart in the country: a certain late publication
of Scots' poems she has perused very devoutly, and all the ballads in the land, as she has the
finest woodnote wild you ever heard." With his young wife, a punch bowl of Scottish marble, and
an eight-day clock, both presents from Mr. Armour, now reconciled to his eminent son-in-law,
with a new plough, and a beautiful heifer, given by Mrs. Dunlop, with about four hundred pounds
in his pocket, a resolution to toil, and a hope of success, Burns made his appearance on the banks
of the Nith, and set up his staff at Ellisland. This farm, now a classic spot, is about six miles
up the river from Dumfries; it extends to upwards of a hundred acres: the soil is kindly; the
holmland portion of it loamy and rich, and it has at command fine walks on the river side, and
views of the Friar's Carse, Cowehill, and Dalswinton. For a while the poet had to hide his head
in a smoky hovel; till a house to his fancy, and offices for his cattle and his crops were built, his
accommodation was sufficiently humble; and his mind taking its hue from his situation, infused
a bitterness into the letters in which he first made known to his western friends that he had fixed
his abode in Nithsdale.  " I am here," said he, " at the very elbow of existence: the only things
to be found in perfection in this country are stupidity and canting; prose they only know in graces
and prayers, and the value of these they estimate as they do their plaiden-webs, by the ell: as
for the muses, they have as much an idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet." " This is an undiscovered
clime," he at another period exclaims, "it is unknown to poetry, and prose never looked on it
save in drink. I sit by the fire, and listen to the hum of the spinning-wheel: I hear, but cannot
see it, for it is hidden in the smoke which eddies round and round me before it seeks to escape by
window and door. I have no converse but with the ignorance which encloses me: no kenned face
but that of my old mare, Jenny Geddes-my life is dwindled down to mere existence."
When the poet's new house was built and plenished, and the atmosphere of his mind began to
clear, he found the land to be fruitful, and its people intelligent and wise. In Riddel, of Friar's
Carse, he found a scholar and antiquarian; in Miller, of Dalswinton, a man conversant with
science as well as with the world; in M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig, a generous and accomplished
gentleman; and in John Syme, of Ryedale, a man much after his own heart, and a lover of the
wit and socialities of polished life. Of these gentlemen Riddel, who was his neighbour, was the
favourite: a door was made in the march-fence which separated Ellisland from  Friar's Carse,
that the poet might indulge in the retirement of the Carse hermitage, a little lodge in the wood,
as romantic as it was beautiful, while a pathway was cut through the dwarf oaks and birches
which fringed the river bank, to enable the poet to saunter and muse without let or interruption.
This attention was rewarded by an inscription for the hermitage, written with elegance as well as
feeling, and which was the first fruits of his fancy in this unpoetic land. In a happier strain he
remembered Matthew Henderson: this is one of the sweetest as well as happiest of his poetic
compositions.  He heard of his friend's death, and called on nature animate and inanimate,
to lament the loss of one who held the patent of his honours from God alone, and who loved all
that was pure and lovely and good.  " The Whistle" is another of his Ellisland compositions: the
contest which he has recorded with such spirit and humour took place almost at his door: the
heroes were Fergusson, of Craigdarroch, Sir Robert Laurie, of Maxwelltown, and Riddel, of
the Friar's Carse: the poet was present, and drank bottle and bottle about with the best, and
when all was done he seemed much disposed, as an old servant at Friar's Carse remembered, to
take up the victor.
Burns had become fully reconciled to Nithsdale, and was on the most intimate terms with the
muse when he produced Tam O'Shanter, the crowning glory of all his poems. For this marvellous
tale we are indebted to something like accident: Francis Grose, the antiquary, happened to visit
Friar's Carse, and as he loved wine and wit, the total want of imagination was no hinderance to
his friendly intercourse with the poet: " Alloway's auld haunted kirk" was mentioned, and Grose
said he would include it in his illustrations of the antiquities of Scotland, if the bard of the
Doon would write a poem to accompany it. Burns consented, and before he left the table, the
various traditions which belonged to the ruin were passing through his mind. One of these was




ELLISLAND- TAM O'SIIANTER.                                        xlvii
of a farmer, who, on a night wild with wind and rain, on passing the old kirk was startled ty a
light glimmering inside the walls: on drawing near he saw a caldron hung over a fire, in which
the heads and limbs of children were simmering: there was neither witch nor fiend to guard it,
so he unhooked the caldron, turned out the contents, and carried it home as a trophy. A second
tradition was of a man of Kyle, who, having been on a market night detained late in Ayr, on
crossing the old bridge of Doon, on his way home, saw a light streaming through the gothic window of Alloway kirk, and on riding near, beheld a batch of the district witches dancing merrily
round their master, the devil, who kept them "louping and flinging" to the sound of a bagpipe.
He knew several of the old crones, and smiled at their gambols, for they were dancing in their
smocks: but one of them, and she happened to be young and rosy, had on a smock shorter than
those of her companions by two spans at least, which so moved the farmer that he exclaimed,
" Weel luppan, Maggie wi' the short sark!"  Satan stopped his music, the light was extinguished,
and out rushed the hags after the farmer, who made at the gallop for the bridge of Doon, knowing
that they could not cross a stream: he escaped; but Maggie, who was foremost, seized his horse's
tail at the middle of the bridge, and pulled it off in her efforts to stay him.
This poem was the work of a single day: Burns walked out to his favourite musing path,
which runs towards the old tower of the Isle, along Nithside, and was observed to walk hastily
and mutter as he went. His wife knew by these signs that he was engaged in composition, and
watched him from the window; at last wearying, and moreover wondering at the unusual length
of his meditations, she took her children with her and went to meet him; but as he seemed not
to see her, she stept aside among the broom to allow him to pass, which he did with a flushed
brow and dropping eyes, reciting these lines aloud:"Now Tam! 0, Tam! had thae been queans,
A' plump and strapping in their teens,
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-wlite seventeen hunder linen!
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,
I wad lae gien them aff my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!"
He embellished this wild tradition from fact as well as from fancy: along the road which Tam
came on that eventful night his memory supplied circumstances which prepared him for the
strange sight at the kirk of Alloway. A poor chapman had perished, some winters before, in the
snow; a murdered child had been found by some early hunters; a tippling farmer had fallen
from his horse at the expense of his neck, beside a " meikle stane;" and a melancholy old woman
had hanged herself at the bush aboon the well, as the poem relates: all these matters the poet
pressed into the service of the muse, and used them with a skill which adorns rather than
oppresses the legend.  A pert lawyer from  Dumfries objected to the language as obscure:
"Obscure, sir!" said Burns; "you know not the language of that great master of your own art
-the devil.  If you had a witch for your client you would not be able to manage her defence!"
lie wrote few poems after his marriage, but he composed many songs: the sweet voice of Mrs.
Burns and the craving of Johnson's Museum will in some measure account for the number, but
not for their variety, which is truly wonderful.  In the history of that mournful strain, "Mary
in Heaven," we read the story of many of his lyrics, for they generally sprang from his personal
feelings: no poeit has put more of himself into his poetry than Burns.  " Robert, though ill of a
cold," said his wife, "had been busy all day-a day of September, 1789, with the shearers in
the field, and as he had got most of the corn into the stack-yard, was in good spirits; but when
twilight came he grew sad about something, and could not rest: he wandered first up the waterside, and then went into the stack-yard: I followed, and begged him to come into the house, as
he was ill, and the air was sharp and cold.  He said,'Ay, ay,' but did not come: he threw
himself down on some loose sheaves, and lay looking at the sky, and particularly at a large,
bright star, which shone like another moon.  At last, but that was long after I had left him, he
came home-the song was already composed."  To the memory of Mary Caxmpbell he dedicated




xlviii                     LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
that touching ode; and he thus intimates the continuance of his early affection for " The fairhaired lass of the west," in a letter of that time to Mrs. Dunlop.  "If there is another life, it
must be only for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the humane.  What a flattering idea,
then, is a world to come! There shall I, with speechless agony of rapture, again recognise my
lost, my ever dear Mary, whose bosom  was fraught with truth, honour, constancy, and love."
These melancholy words gave way in their turn to others of a nature lively and humorous: " Tam
Glen," in which the thoughts flow as freely as the waters of the Nith, on whose banks he wrote
it; " Findlay," with its quiet vein of sly simplicity; "Willie brewed a peck o' maut," the first
of social, and "' She's fair and fause," the first of sarcastic songs, with "The deil's awa wi' the
Exciseman," are all productions of this period-a period which had besides its own fears and its
own forebodings.
For a while Burns seemed to prosper in his farm: he held the plough with his own hand, he
guided the harrows, he distributed the seed-corn equally among the furrows, and he reaped the
crop in its season, and saw it safely covered in from the storms of winter with "thack and rape;"
his wife, too, superintended the dairy with a skill which she had brought from Kyle, and as the
harvest, for a season or two, was abundant, and the dairy yielded butter and cheese for the
market, it seemed that "the luckless star" which ruled his lot had relented, and now shone
unbohding and benignly.  But much more is required than toil of hand to make a successful
farmer, nor will the attention bestowed only by fits, and starts, compensate for carelessness or
oversight: frugality, not in one thing but in all, is demanded, in small matters as well as in great, 
while a careful mind and a vigilant eye must superintend the labours of servants, and the w-hole
system of in-door and out-door economy. Now, during the three years which Burns stayed in
Ellisland, he neither wrought with that constant diligence which farmling demands, nor did lhe
bestow upon it the unremitting attention of eye and mind which such a farm required: besides
his skill in husbandry was but moderate-the rent, though of his own fixing, was too high for
him and for the times; the ground, though good, was not so excellent as he might have had on
the same estate-he employed more servants than the number of acres demanded, and spread for
them a richer board than common: when we have said this we need not add the e.pensive tastes
induced by poetry, to keep readers from starting, when they are told that Burns, at the close of
the third.year of occupation, resigned his lease to the landlord, and bade farevell for ever to the
plough.  lie was not, however, quite desolate; he had for a year or more been appointed on the
excise, and had superintended a district extending to ten large parishes, with applause; indeed,
it has been assinced as the chief reason for failure in his farm, that when the plough or the sickle
summoned him to the field, he was to be found, either pursuing the defaulters of the revenue,
among the valleys of Dumfrieshire, or measuring out pastoral verse to the beauties of the land.
lie retired to a house in the Bank-vennel of Dumfries, and commenced a town-life: lie commenced
it with an empty pocket, for Ellisland had swallowed up all the profits of his poems: lie liad now
neither a barn to produce meal nor barley, a barn-yard to yield a fat lien, a field to which lie
nould go at Martinmas for a mart, nor a dairy to supply milk and cheese and butter to the table
-he hald, in snorT, all to buy and little to buy with.  lie regarded it as a compensation that lhe
had no fa1rm-rent to provide, no bankruptcies to dread, no horse to keep, for his excise duties were
now confined to Dumifries, and that the burthen of a barren farm was removed from his mind, and
his muse at liberty to renew her unsolicited strains.
But fromi the day of his departure from "the barren" Ellisland, the downward course of  nurns
may be dated.  The cold neglect of his country had driven him  back indignantly to the plough,
and he hoped to gain from the furrowed field that independence which it was the duty of Scotland
to have provi(ded: but he did not resume the plough with all the advantages he possessed  when
he first forsook it: he had revelled in the luxuries of polished life-his tastes had been rendered
expensive as well as pure: he had witnessed, and he hoped for the pleasures of literary retiiement, while the hands which had led jewelled dames over scented carpets to supper tables lcaded
with silver took hold of the hilts of the plough with more of reluctance than goodwill.  Edinburgh,
with its lords and its ladies, its delights and its hopes, spoiled him  for farming.  Nor were his
new labours more acceptable to his haughty spirit than those of the plough: the excise for a




HIIS DUTIESS AS EXtCISEMiAN.                                         xlix
century had been a word of opprobrium or of hatred in the north: the duties which it imposed
were regarded, not by peasants alone, as a serious encroachment upon the ancient rilghts of the
nation, and to mislead a gauger, or resist him, even to blood, was considered by few as a fault.
That the brightest genius of the nation-one whose tastes and sensibilities were so peculiarly its
own-should be, as a reward, set to look after run-run  and smuggled tobacco, and to gauge
ale-wife's barrels, was a regret and a marvel to many, and a source of bitter merriment to Burns
himself.
The duties of his situation were however performed punctually, if not with pleasure: he was a
vigilant officer; he was also a merciful and considerate one: though loving a joke, and not at all
averse to a dram, he walked among suspicious brewers, captious ale-wives, and frowning shopkeepers as uprightly as courteously: he smoothed the ruggedest natures into acquiescence by his
gayety and humour, and yet never gave cause for a malicious remark, by allowing his vigilance
to slumber.  He was brave, too, and in the capture of an armed smuggler, in which he led the
attack, showed that he neither feared water nor fire: he loved, also, to counsel the more forward
of the smugglers to abandon their dangerous calling; his sympathy for the helpless poor induced
him to give them now and then notice of his approach; he has been known to interpret the severe
laws of the excise into tenderness and mercy in behalf of the widow and the fatherless.  In all
this he did but his duty to his country and his kind: and his conduct was so regarded by a very
competent and candid judge. " Let me look at the books of Burns," said M axwell, of Terraughty,
at the meeting of the district magistrates, "for they show that an uprigh t officer may be a
merciful one." With a salary of some seventy pounds a year, the chance of a few guineas  -annually
from the future editions of his poems, and the hope of rising at some distant day to the more
lucrative situation of supervisor, Burns continued to live in Dumfries; first in the Ba.n'-ven-el,
and next in a small house in a humble street, since called by his name.
In his earlier years the poet seems to have scattered songs as thick as a summer eve scatters
its dews; nor did he scatter them less carelessly: he appears, indeed, to have thought nmuch less
of them than of his poems: the sweet song of Mary Morison, and others nct at all inferior, lay
unregarded among his papers till accident called them out to shine and be admired.  Many of
these brief but happy compositions, sometimes with his name, and oftener without, he throew in
dozens at a time into Johnson, where they were noticed only by the captious Ritson: but now a
work of higher pretence claimed a share in his skill: in September, 1712, he was requested by
George Thonson to render, for his national collection, the poetry worthy of the mnuses of the
north, and to take compassion on many choice airs, which had waited for a poet like the autlor of
the Cotter's Saturday Night, to wed them to immortal verse.  To engage in such an undertaking,
Burns required small persuasion, and while Thomson asked for strains delicate and polished, the
poet characteristically stipulated that his contributions were to be without r-emuneration, andt the
language seasoned with a sprinkling of the Scottish dialect.  As is h eart was much in the matter,
he began to pour out verse with a readiness and talent unknown in the history of song: his
engagement  with Thomson. and his esteem for Johnson, gave birth to a series of sonigs as brilliant
as varied, and as naturally easy as they were gracefully original.  In looking over those very
dissimilar collections it is not difficult to discover that the songs which he wrote for the more
stately -ork, while they are more polished and elegant than those which he contributed to the
less pretending one, are at the same time less happy in their humour and less simple in their
pathos.  "What pleases me as simple and naive," says Burns to Thomson, "disgusts you as
ludicrous and low.  For this reason'Fye, gie me my coggie, sirs,''Fye, let us a' to the bridal,'
with several others of that cast, are to me highly pleasing, while' Saw ye my Father' delights me
with its descriptive simple pathos:" we read in these words the reasons of the difference between
the lyrics of the two collections.
The land where the poet lived furnished ready materials for song: hills with fine woods, vales
with clear waters, and dames as lovely as any recorded in verse, were to be had in his walks
and his visits; while, for the purposes of mirth or of humour, characters, in whose faces originality
was legibly written, were as numerous in Nithsdale as he had found them in the west.  He had
been reproached, while in Kyle, with seeing charms in very ordinary looks, and hanging the
4




1                          LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
garlands of the niuse on unlovely altars; he was liable to no such censure in Nithsdale; he
poured out the incense of poetry only on the fair and captivating: his Jeans, his Lucys, his
Phillises, anl 11is Jessies were ladies of such mental or personal charis as the Reynolds's
and the Lawrences of the time would have rejoiced to lay out their choicest colours on.  But
he did not limit himself to the charms of those whom  he could step out to the walks and
admire: is lyrics give evidence of the wandering of his thoughts to the distant or the dead —he
loves to remember Clharlotte HaImilton and Mary Campbell, and think of the sighs and vows on
the I)e-on and tile Doon, while his larpstrings were still quivering to the names of the Millers and
the MI'Murdos-to the charms of tle lasses with golden or with flaxen locks, in the valley where
he dwelt.  Of Jean M'Murdo and her sister Phillis he loved to sing; and their beauty merited
his strains: to one who died in her bloom, Lucy Johnston, he addressed a song of greeat sweetness; to Jessie Lewars, two or three songs of gratitude and praise: nor did lie forget other
beauties, for the accomplished Mrs. Riddel is rememlbered, and the absence of fair Clarinda is
lamented in strains both impassioned and pathetic.
But the main inspirer of the latter songs of Burns was a young woman of humble birth: of a
form equal to the most exquisite proportions of sculpture, with bloom on her cheeks, and merriment in her large bright eyes, enough to drive an amatory poet crazy.  Her name was Jean
Lorimner; she was not more than seventeen when the poet made her acquaintance, and though
she had got a sort of brevet-right from an officer of the army, to use his southron name of Whelpdale, she loved best to be addressed by her maiden designation, while the poet chose to veil her
in the numerous lyrics, to which she gave life, under the names of " CChloris," "The lass of
Craigie-burnwood," and " The lassie vi' the lintwhite locks."  Though of a temper not much
inclined to conceal anything, Burns complied so tastefully with the growing demand of the age
for tile exterior decencies of life, that when the scrupling dames of Caledonia sung a new sonll
in her praise, they were as unconscious whence its beauties came, as is the lover of art, that the
shlape and the gracefulness of the marble nymph which he admnires,.are derived from a creature
who sells tile use of her charmis indifferently to sculpture or to love.  Fine poetry, like other arts
called fine, springs friomn "strange places," as the flower in the fable said, when it bloolmed on
the ('dlghill; nor is Burns more to be blanmed than was Raphael, who painteid Maldonnas, and
Maglalens with dishlevellel   hair and lifted eyes, from  a loose lady, lwhom the pope, " Holy at
Rome-here Antichrist," charitably prescribed to the artist, while he laboured in the cause of
the church.  Of the poetic use which he made of Jean Lorimer's charms, Burns gives this account
to Thomson.  " The lady on whom the song of Craigie-burnwood was made is one of the finest
women in Scotland, and in fact is to me in a manner what Sterne's Eliza was to him-a mistress,
or friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of platonic love.  I assure you that to my
lovely friend you are indebted for many of my best songs. Do you think that the sober gin-horse
routine of existence could inspire a man with life and love and j oy-could fiire him with enthusiasm,
or melt him with pathos, equal to the genius of your book? No! no! Whicnever I want to be
more than ordinary in song-to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs-do you ilmagine I
fast aend pray for the celestial emanation? Quite the contrary.  I have a glorious recipe; the
very one that for his own use was invented by the divinity of healing and poesy, when erst he
piped to the flocks of Admetus.  I put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in
pro: ortion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion are you delighted with my verses. 
The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile, the divinity
of tHelicon."
Mlost of the songs which he composed under the influences to which I have alluded are of the
first order: "Bonnie Lesley," "  -ighland Mary," "Auld Rob Morris," "IDuncan Gray,?" "Wandlering Willie," " Meg o' the Mill," "The poor and honest sodger," " Bonnie Jean," " Phillis the
fair," "John Anderson my Jo," " Had I a cave on some wild distant shore," "Whistle and I'll come 
to you, my lad," " Bruce's Address to his men at Bannockburn," " Auld Lang Syne," " Thuine am  I
I, my faithful fair," " Wilt thou be my dearie," " 0 Cllloris, mark how green the groves," " Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair," " Their groves of sweet myrtle," "Last tMay a bralw wrooer 
came down the lang glen," "O  MIally's meek, Mally's sweet," "1  ey for - lass wi' a toclier,"




THE HIERON BALLADS.                                               li
"Here's a health to ane I loe dear," and the "Fairest maid on Devon banks."  IMany of the
latter lyrics of Burns were more or less altered, to put them into better harmony with the airs,
and I am not the only one who has wondered that a bard so impetuous and intractable in most
matters, should have become so soft and pliable, as to make chalnges which too often sacrificed
the poetry for the sake of a fuller and more swelling sound.  It is true that the emphatic notes
of the music must find their echo in the emphatic words of the verse, and that words soft and
liquid are fitter for ladies' lips, than words hissing and rough; but it is also true that in changing
a harsher word for one more harmonious the sense often suffers, and that happiness of expression,
and that dance of words which lyric verse requires, lose much of their life and vigour.  The
poet's favourite walk in composing his songs was on a beautiful green sward on the northern side
of the Nith, opposite Lincluden; and his favourite posture for composition at home was balancing
himself on the hind legs of his arm-chair.
While indulging in these lyrical flights, politics penetrated into Nithsdale, and disturbed the
tranquillity of that secluded region.  First, there came a contest for the representation of the
Dumfries district of boroughs, between Patrick Miller, younger, of Dalswinton, and Sir James
Johnstone, of Westerhall, and some two years afterwards, a struggle for the representation of the
county of Kirkcudbright, between the interest of the Stewarts, of Galloway, and Patrick Heron,
of Kerroughtree.  In the first of these the poet mingled discretion with his mirth, and raised a
hearty laugh, in which both parties joined; for this sobriety of temper, good reasons may be
assigned: Miller, the elder, of Dalswinton, had desired to oblige him  in the affair of Ellisland,
and his firm  and considerate friend, AI'SMurdo, of Drumlanrig, was chamberlain to his Grace of
Queensbury, on whose interest Miller stood.  On the other hand, his old Jacobitical affections
made him the secret well-wisher to Westerhall, for up to this time, at least till acid disappointment and the democratic doctrine of the natural equality of man influenced him, Burns, or as a
western rhymer of his day and district worded the reproalch-Rob was a Tory.  Hiis situation, it
will therefore be observed, disposed him to moderation, and accounts for the milkiness of his
Epistle to Fintray, in which he marshals the chiefs of the contending factions, and foretells the
fierceness of the strife, without pretending to foresee the event.  Neither is he more explicit,
though infinitely more humorous, in his ballad of " The Five Carlins," in which he impersonates
the five boroughs-Dumfries, Kirkcudbright, Lochmaben, Sanquhar, and Annan, and draws
their characters as shrewd and calculating dames, met in much wrath and drink to choose a
representative.
But the two or three years which elapsed between the election for the boroughs, and that for
the county adjoining, wrought a serious change in the temper as well as the opinions of the poet.
His Jacobitism, as has been said, was of a poetic kind, and put on but in obedience to old feelings,
and made no part of the man: he was in his heart as democratic as the kirk of Scotland, which
educated him —he acknowledged no other superiority but the mental: "lie was disposed, too,"
said Professor Walker, "from  constitutional temper, from education and the accidents of life, to
a jealousy of power, and a keen hostility against every system which enabled birth and opulence
to anticipate those rewards which he conceived to belong to genius and virtue."  When we add
to this, a resentment of the injurious treatment of the dispensers of public patronage, who had
neglected his claims, and showered pensions and places on men unworthy of being named with
him, we have assigned causes for the change of side and the tone of asperity and bitterness
infused into " The Heron Ballads."  Formerly honey was mixed with his gall: a little praise
sweetened his censure: in these election lampoons he is fierce and even venomous:-no man has
a head but what is empty, nor a heart that is not black: men descended without reproach from
lines of heroes are stigmatized as cowards, and the honest and conscientious are reproached as
miserly, mean, and dishonourable.  Such is the spirit of party.  " I have privately," thus writes
the poet to Heron, " printed a good many copies of the ballads, and have sent them among friends
about the country.  You have already, as your auxiliary, the sober detestation of mankind on
the heads of your opponents; and I swear by the lyre of Thalia, to muster on your side all the
votaries of honest laughter and fair, candid ridi -lle."  The ridicule was uncandid, and the
laughter dishonest.  The poet was unfortunate in his political attachments: Miller gained the
--— ~ —-----— Unl.~.-~~DI-~.~-. —~.~II.UII —-— ~- i. _,J




lii                       LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
boroughs which Burns wished he might lose, and Heron lost the county which he foretold he would
gain.  It must also be recorded against the good taste of the poet, that he loved to recite " The
Heron Ballads," and reckon them among his happiest compositions.
From attacking others, the poet was-in the interval between penning these election lampoons
-called on to defend himself: for this he seems to have been quite unprepared, though in those
yeasty times he might have expected it.  "I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted,'
he thus writes to Graham, of Fintray, "by Mr. Mitchell, the collector, telling me that he has
received an order from your board to inquire into my political conduct, and blaming me as a person disaffected to government.  Sir, you are a husband and a father: you know what you would
feel, to see the much-loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless prattling little ones, turned
adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced, from a situation in which they had been respectable
and respected.  I would not tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if
worse can be than those I have mentioned, hung over my head, and I say that the allegation,
whatever villain has made it, is a lie! To the British constitution, on Revolution principles, next
after my God, I am devotedly attached.  To your patronage as a man of some genius, you have
allowed me a claim; and your esteem as an honest man I know is my due.  To these, sir, permit
me to appeal: by these I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to overwhelm
me, and which with my latest breath I will say I have not deserved." In this letter, another,
intended for the eye of the Commissioners of the Board of Excise, was enclosed, in which be disclaimed entertaining the idea of a British republic-a wild dream of the day-but stood by the
principles of the constitution of 1688, with the wish to see such corruptions as had crept in,
amended.  This last remark, it appears, by a letter from the poet to Captain Erskine, afterwards
Earl of Mar, gave great offence, for Corbet, one of the superiors, was desired to inform him, "that
his business was to act, and not to think; and that whatever miglht be men or measures, it was
his duty to be silent and obedient."  The intercession of Fintray, and the explanations of Burns, 
were so far effectual, that his political offence was forgiven, "only I understand," said lie, "'that
all hopes of my getting officially forward are blasted."  The records of the Excise Office exhibit I
no trace of this memorable matter, and two noblemen, who were then in the government, have 
assured me that this harsh proceeding received no countenance at head-quarters, and must have
originated with some ungenerous or malicious person, on whom the poet had spilt a little of the
nitric acid of his wrath. 
That Burns was numbered among the republicans of Dumfries I well remember: but then  i
those who held different sentiments from the men in power, were all, in that loyal town, stigmla- 
tized as democrats: that he either desired to see the constitution changed, or his country invaded 
by the liberal French, who proposed to set us free with the bayonet, and then admit us to the
"fraternal embrace," no one ever believed.  It is true that he sppoke of premuiers and peers with
contempt; that he hesitated to take off his hat in the theatre, to lthe air of "  od save the king;" 
that he refused to drink the health of Pitt, saying he preferred that of W ashington-a far greater 
man; that he wrote bitter words against that combination of princes, who desired to put down
freedom in France; that he said the titled spurred and the we'althy switched England and Scot- 
land like two hack-horses; and that all the high places of the land, instead of being filled by  I
genius and talent, were occupied, as were the high-places of Israel, with idols of wood or of 
stone.  But all this and more had been done and said before by thousands in this land, whose
love of their country was never questioned.  That it was bad taste to refuse to remove his hat
when other heads were bared, and little better to refuse to pledge in company the name of Pitt,
because he preferred Washington, cannot admit of a doubt; but that he deserved to be written 
down traitor, for mere matters of whim or caprice, or to be turned out of the unenvied situation
of "gauging auld wives' barrels," because he thought there were some stains on the white robe
of the constitution, seems a sort of tyranny new in the history of oppression.  His love of 
country is recorded in too many undying lines to admit of a doubt now: nor is it that chivalrous
love alone which men call romantic; it is a love which may be laid up in every man's heart and
practised in every man's life; the words are homely, but the words of Burns are always 
expressive:



HIS ILLNESS-LETTER TO CLARKE.                                               liii
"The kettle of the kirk and state
Perhaps a clout may fail in't,
But deil a foreign tinkler loon
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
Be Britons still to Britons true,
Amang ourselves united;
For never but by British hands
Shall British wrongs be righted."
But while verses, deserving as these do to become the national motto, and sentiments loyal and
generous, were overlooked and forgotten, all his rash words about freedom, and his sarcastic
sallies about thrones and kings, were treasured up to his injury, by the mean and the malicious.
His steps were watched and his words weighed; when he talked with a friend in the street, he
was supposed to utter sedition; and when ladies retired from  the table, and the wine circulated
with closed doors, he was suspected of treason rather than of toasting, which he often did with
much humour, the charms of woman; even when he gave as a sentiment, "May our success be
equal to the justice of our cause," he was liable to be challenged by some gunpowder captain,
who thought that we deserved success in war, whether right or wrong.  It is true that he hated
with a most cordial hatred all who presumed on their own consequence, whether arising from
wealth, titles, or coummissions in the army; officers he usually called "the epauletted puppies,"
and lords he gecnerally spoke of as "feather-headed fools," who could but strut and stare and be
insolent.  All this was not to be endured meekly: scorn was answered with scorn; and having
no answer in kind to retort his satiric flings, his unfriends reported that it was unsafe for young
men to associate with one whose principles were democratic, and scarcely either modest or safe
for young women to listen to a poet whose notions of female virtue were so loose and his songs
so free.  These sentiments prevailed so far that a gentleman on a visit from  London, told me he
was dissuaded from inviting Burns to a dinner, given by way of welcome back to his native place,
because he was the associate of democrats and loose people; and when a modest dame of Dumfries
expressed, through a friend, a wish to have but the honour of speaking to one of whose genius she
was an admirer, the poet declined the interview, with a half-serious smile, saying, " Alas! she
is handsome, and you know the character publicly assigned to me."  She escaped the danger of
being numbered, it is likely, with the Annas and the Chlorises of his freer strains.
The neglect of his country, the tyranny of the Excise, and the downfall of his hopes and fortunes, were now to bring forth their fruits-the poet's health began to decline.  His drooping
looks, his neglect of his person, his solitary saunterings, his escape from the stings of reflection
into socialities, and his distempered joy in the company of beauty, all spoke, as plainly as with a
tongue, of a sinking heart and a declining body.  Yet though he was sensible of sinking health,
hope did not at once desert him: he continued to pour out such tender strains, and to show such
flashes of wit and humour at the call of Thomson, as are recorded of no other lyrist: neither did
he, when in company after his own mind, hang the head, and speak mournfully, but talked and
smiled and still charmed all listeners by his witty vivacities.
On the 2Gth of June, 1795, he writes thus of his fortunes and condition to his friend Clarke,
" Still, still the victim of affliction; were you to see the emaciated figure who now holds the pen
to you, you would not know your old friend.  Whether I shall ever get about again is only known
to IMIs, the Great Unknown, whose creature I am.  Alas, Clarke, I begin to fear the worst! As
to my individual self I am tranquil, and would despise myself if I were not: but Burns's poor
widow and half-a-dozen of his dear little ones, helpless orphans! Iere I am as weak as a woman's
tear.  Enough of this!'tis half my disease.  I duly received your last, enclosing the note: it
came extremely in time, and I am much obliged to your punctuality.  Again I must request you
to do me the same kindness.  Be so very good as by return of post to enclose me another note: I
trust you can do so without inconvenience, and it will seriously oblige me.  If I must go, I leave
a few friends behind me, whom I shall regret while consciousness remains.  I know I shall live in
their remembrance.  0, dear, dear Clarke! that I shall ever see you again is I am afraid highly
mprobable."  This remarkable letter proves both the declining health, and the poverty of the
poet: his digestion was so bad that he could taste neither flesh nor fish: porridge and milk he




liv                        LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
could alone swallow, and that but in small quantities.  When it is recollected that he had no more
than thirty shillings a week to keep house, and live like a gentleman, no one need wonder that his
wife had to be obliged to a generous neighbour for some of the chief necessaries for her coming
confinement, and that the poet had to beg, in extreme need, two guinea notes from a distant friend.
His sinking state was not unobserved by his friends, and Syme and M'Murdo united with Dr.
Maxwell in persuading him, at the beginning of the summer, to seek health at the Brow-well, a
few miles east of Dumfries, where there were pleasant walks on the Solway-side, and salubrious
breezes from  the sea, which it was expected would bring the health to the poet they had
brought to many.  For a while, his looks brightened up, and health seemed inclined to return:
his friend, the witty and accomplished Mrs. Riddel, who was herself ailing, paid him  a visit.
"I was struck," she said, "with his appearance on entering the room: the stamp of death was
impressed on his features.  His first words were,' Well, Madam, have you any commands for the
other world?' I replied that it seemed a doubtful case which of us should be there soonest; he
looked in my face with an air of great kindness, and expressed his concern at seeing me so ill,
with his usual sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing: we had a long conversation about
his present state, and the approaching termination of all his earthly prospects.  He showed great
concern about his literary fame, and particularly the publication of his posthumous works; he
said he was well aware that his death would occasion some noise, and that every scrap of his writing
would be revived against him, to the injury of his future reputation; that letters and verses,
written with unguarded freedom, would be handed about by vanity or malevolence when no dread
of his resentment would restrain them, or prevent malice or envy from pouring forth their venom
on his name.  I had seldom seen his mind greater, or more collected.  There was fiequently a
considerable degree of vivacity in his sallies; but the concern and dejection I could not disguise,
damped the spirit of pleasantry he seemed willing to indulge."  This was on the evening of the
5th of July; another lady who called to see him, found him seated at a window, gazing on the
sun, then setting brightly on the summits of the green hills of Nithsdale.  "Look how lovely the
sun is." said the poet, "but he will soon have done with shining for me."
lie now longed for home: his wife, whom he ever tenderly loved, was about to be confined in
child-bed: his papers were in sad confusion, and required arrangement; and he felt that desire
to die, at least, among familiar things and friendly faces, so common to our nature.  Ile had not
long before, though much reduced in pocket, refused with scorn an offer of fifty pounds, which a
speculating bookseller made, for leave to publish his looser compositions; he had refused an
offer of the like sum yearly, from Perry of the Morning Cironicle, for poetic contributions to his
paper, lest it might embroil him with the ruling powers, and he had resented the remittance of
five pounds from Thomson, on account of his lyric contributions, and desired him to do so no
more, unless he wished to quarrel with him; but his necessities now, and they had at no time
been so great, induced him to solicit five pounds from Thomson, and ten pounds from his cousin,
James Burness, of Montrose, and to beg his friend Alexander Cunningham to intercede with the
Commissioners of Excise, to depart from their usual practice, and grant him his fill salary; "for
without that," he added, "if I die not of disease, I must perish with hunger."  Thomson sent the
five pounds, James Burness sent the ten, but the Commissioners of Excise refused to be either
merciful or generous.  Stobie, a young expectant in the customs, was both;-he performed the
duties of the dying poet, and refused to touch the salary. The mind of Burns was haunted with
the fears of want and the terrors of a jail; nor were those fears without foundation; one Williamson, to whom he was indebted for the cloth to make his volunteer regimentals, threatened the
one; and a feeling that he was without money for either his own illness or the confinement of his
wife, threatened the other.
Burns returned from the Brow-well, on the 18th of July: as he walked from the little carriage
which brought him up the Mill hole-brae to his own door, he trembled much, and stooped with
weakness and pain, and kept his feet with difficulty: his looks were woe-worn and ghastly, and
no one who saw him, and there were several, expected to see him again in life. It was soon circulated through Dumfries, that Burns had returned worse from  the Brow-well; that Maxwell
thought ill of him, and that, in truth, he was dying.  The anxiety of all classes was great; dif



HIS DEATH.                                            lv
ferences of opinion were forgotten, in sympathy for his early fate: wherever two or three were
met together their talk was of Burns, of his rare wit, matchless humour, the vivacity of his conversation, and the kindness of his heart,  To tie poet himself, death, which he now knew was at
hand, brought with it no fear; his good-hlumour, which small matters alone ruffled, did not
forsake him, and his wit was ever ready.  Ile was poor —he gave his pistols, which he had used
against the smugglers on the Solway, to his physician, adding with a smile, that he had tried
them and found them an honour to their maker, which was more than he could say of the bulk
of mankind! lie was proudl-he rememnbered the indifferent practice of the corps to which he
belonged, and turning to Gibson, one of his fellow-soldiers, who stood at his bedside with wet
eyes, "John," said he, and a gleam of humour passed over his face, " pray don't let the awkwardsquad fire over me." It was almost the last act of his life to copy into his Common-place Book, the
letters which contained the charge against him of the Commissioners of Excise, and his own eloquent
refutation, leaving judgment to be pronounced by the candour of posterity.
It has been injuriously said of Barns, by Coleridge, that the man sunk, but the poet was bright
to the last: he did not sink in the sense that these words imply: the man was manly to the latest
draught of breath. That he was a poet to the last, can be proved by facts, as well as by the word
of the author of Christabel.  As he lay silently growing weaker and weaker, he observed Jessie
Lewars, a modest and beautiful young creature, and sister to one of his brethren of the Excise,
watching over him with moist eyes, and tending him with the care of a daughter; he rewarded
her with one of those songs which are an insurance against forgetfulness. The lyrics of the north
have nothing finer than this exquisite stanza:" Altho thou maun never be mine,
Altho' even hope is denied,'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside."
IIis thoughts as he lay wandered to Charlotte IIamilton, and he dedicated some beautiful stanzas
to her beauty and her coldness, beginning, ".Fairest maid on Devon banks."
It was a sad sight to see the poet gradually sinking; his wife in hourly expectation of her sixth
confinement, and his four helpless children-a daughter, a sweet child, had died the year before
-with no one of their lineage to soothe them with kind words or minister to their wants. Jessie
Lewars, with equal prudence and attention, watched over them all: she could not help seeing
that the thoughts of the desolation which his death would bring, pressed sorely on him, for he
loved his children, and hoped much fiom his boys. Iie wrote to his father-in-law, James Armour,
at Maluchline, that he was dying, his wife nigh her confinement, and begged that his mother-inlaw would hasten to them and speak comfort.  He wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, saying, " I have written
to you so often without receiving any answer that I would not trouble you again, but for the circumstances in which I am. An illness which has long hung about me in all probability will speedily
send me beyond that bourne whence no traveller returns. Your friendship, with which for many
years you honoured me, was a friendship dearest to my soul: your conversation and your correspondence were at once highly entertaining and instructive-with what pleasure did I use to
break up the seal! The remembrance yet adds one pulse more to my poor palpitating heart.
Farewell!"  A tremor pervaded his frame; his tongue grew parched, and he was at times
delirious: on the fourth day after his return, when his attendant, James Maclure, held his medicine to his lips, he swallowed it eagerly, rose almost wholly up, spread out his hands, sprang
forward nigh the whole length of the bed, fell on his face. and expired.  HIe died on the 21st of
July, when nearly thirty-seven years and seven months old.
The burial of Burns, on the 25th of July, was an impressive and mournful scene: half the
people of Nithlsdalc and the ncighbouring parts of Galloway had crowded into Dumfries, to see
their poet "mingled with the earth," and not a few had been permitted to look at his body, laid
out for interment. It was a calm and beautiful day, and as the body was borne along the street
towards the old kirk-yard, by his brethren of the volunteers, not a sound was heard but the
measured step and the solemn music: there was no impatient crushing, no fierce elbowing-the




Ivi                        LIFE OF IROBERT IBURNS.
crowd which -filled the street seemed conscious what they were now losing for ever.  Even while
this pageant was passing, the widow of the poet was taken in labour; but the infant born in
that unhappy hour soon shared his father's grave.  On reaching the northern nook of the kirkyard, where the grave was made, the mourners halted; the coffin was divested of the mort-cloth,
and silently lowered to its resting-place, and as the first shovel-full of earth fell on the lid, the
volunteers, too agitated to be steady, justified the fears of the poet, by three ragged volleys.  He
who now writes this very brief and imperfect account, was present: he thought then, as he thinks
now, that all the military array of foot and horse did not harmonize with either the genius or the
fortunes of the poet, and that the tears which he saw on many cheeks around, as the earth was
replaced, were worth all the splendour of a show which mocked with unintended mockery the
burial of the poor and neglected Burns.  The body of the poet was, on the 5th of June, 1815,
removed to a more coinmlodious spot in the same burial-ground-his dark, waving locks locked
then fresh and glossy-to afford room for a marble monument, which embodies, with neither skill
nor grace, that well-known passage in the dedication to the gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt:
-" 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."  The dust of the bard was agailn disturalod,
when the body of MIrs. Burns was laid, in April, 1834, beside the remains of her husband: his
skull was dug, up by the district craniologists, to satisfy their minds by measurement that he was
equal to the composition of "Tam o' Shanter," or "Mary in Ieaven."  This done, they placed
the skull in a leaden box, "carefully lined with the softest materials," and returned it, we hcpe
for ever, to the hallowed ground.
Thus lived and died RPobert Burns, the chief of Scottish poets: in his person he was tall and
sinewy, and of such strength and activity, that Scott alone, of all the poets I have seen, seemed
his equal: his forhlitad was broad, his hair black, with an inclination to curl, his visage luncolmmonly swarthy, his eyes large, dark and lustrous, and his voice deep and manly. His sensibility
was strong, his passions fu'll to overflowing, and he loved, nay, adored, whatever was gentle and
beautiful.  IIe had, when a lad at the plough, an eloquent word and an inspired song for every
fair face that smiled on him, and a sharp sarcasm  or a fierce lampoon for every rustic wlho
thwarted or contradicted thin.  As his first inspiration came from love, he continued through life
to love on, and was as ready with the lasting incense of the muse for the ladies of Nithsdale as
for the lasses of Kyle: his earliest song was in praise of a young girl who reaped by his side,
when he was seventeen-his latest in honour of a lady by whose side he had wandered and
dreamed on the banks of the Devon.  He was of a nature proud and suspicious, and towards the
close of his life seemed disposed to regard all above him in rank as men who unworthily possessed
the patrimony of genius; he desired to see the order of nature restored, and worth and talent in
precedence of the base or the dull.  He had no medium in his hatred or his love; he never spared
the stupid, as if they were not to be endured because he was bright; and on the heads of the
innocent possessors of titles or wealth he was ever ready to shower his lampoons.  He loved to
start doubts in religion which he knew inspiration only could solve, and he spoke of Calvinism
with a latitude of language that grieved pious listeners.  IHe was warm-hearted and generous to
a degree, above all men, and scorned all that was selfish and mean with a scorn quite romantic.
lie was a steadfast friend and a good neighbour: while he lived at Ellisland few passed his door
without being entertained at his table; and even when in poverty, on the Millhole-brae, the poor
seldom left his door but with blessings on their lips.
Of his modes of study he has himself informed us, as well as of the seasons and places in
which he loved to omuse.  lie composed while he strolled along the secluded banks of thle ioon,
the Ayr, or the Nit:: as the images crowded on his fancy his pace became oqiclkenedl, andl in
his hiilhest moods lie was excited even to tears.  He loved the winter for its leafless trces, its
swelling floods, and its winds which swept along the gloomy sky, with frost and snow on t!beir
wings: but lie loved the autulmn miore —le has neglected to say why-the muse was th}en   oC,:d'e
libemrl  of her favours, andl lie fcmposed with a happy alacrity unfelt in nll other se:sons'.  JTe
filled his mind and hellrt with the mnaterialls of song —and retired fro!,ll?aia,  on woir.ani' i,^',,ll.




HIS GENIUS AND INSPIRATION.                                           lvii
and from the excitement of her charms, to record his impressions in verse, as a painter delineates
on his canvas the looks of those who sit to his pencil. His chief place of study at Ellisland is
still remembered: it extends along the river-bank towards the Isle: there the neighbouring gentry
love to walk and peasants to gather, and hold it sacred, as the place where he composed Tam
O'Shanter.  HiIs favourite place of study when residing in Dumfries, was the ruins of Lincluden
College, made classic by that sublime ode, " The Vision," and that level and clovery sward contiguous to the College, on the northern side of the Nith: the latter place was his favourite resort;
it is known now by the name of Burns's musing ground, and there he conceived many of his latter
lyrics. In case of interruption he completed the verses at the fireside, where he swung to and fro
in his arm-chair till the task was done: he then submitted the song to the ordeal of his wife's
voice, which was both sweet and clear, and while she sung he listened attentively, and altered or
amended till the whole was in harmony, music and words.
The genius of Burns is of a hbigh order: in brightness of expression and unsolicited ease and
natural vehemence of language, he stands in the first rank of poets: in choice of subjects, in
happiness of conception, and loftiness of imagination,he recedes into the second.  lie owes little
of his fame to his subjects, for, saving the beauty of a few ladies, they were all of an ordinary
kind: he sought neither in romance nor in history for themes to the muse; lie took up topics
from life around which were familiar to all, and endowed them with character, with passion, with
tenderness, with hunmour-elevating all that he touched into the regions of poetry and morals.
He went to no far lands for the purpose of surprising us with wonders, neither did he go to
crowns or coronets to attract the stare of the peasantry around him, by things which to them
were as a book shut and sealed: " The Daisy" grew on the lands which lie ploughed; "The
Mouse" built her frail nest on his own stubble-field; " The -Haggis" reeked on his own table;
The Scotch Drink" of which he sang was the produce of a neighlbouring still; " The Twa Dogs,"
which conversed so wisely and wittily, were, one of them at least, his own collies; "The Vision"
is but a picture, and a brilliant one, of his own hopes and fears; "Tam  Samson" was a friend
whom lheloved; "Doctor IIornbook" a neighbouring pedant; "Matthew Henderson" a social
captain on half-pay; " The Scotch Bard" who had gone to the West Indies was Burns himself;
the heroine of " The Lament" was Jean Armour; and "Talm O'Shanter" a facetious farmer of
Kyle, who rode late and loved pleasant company, nay, even " The Deil" himself, whom hle had
the hardihood to address, was a being whose eldrich croon had alarmed the devout matrons of
Kyle, and had wandered, not unseen by the bard himself, among the lonely glens of the Doon.
Burns was one of the first to teach the world that high moral poetry resided in the humblest
subjects: whatever he touched became elevated; his spirit possessed and inspired the commonest
topics, and endowed them with life and beauty.
HIis songs have all the beauties and but few of them the faults of his poems: they flow to the
music as readily as if both air and words came into the world together.  The sentiments are
from nature, they are rarely strained or forced, and the words dance in their places and echo the
music in its pastoral sweetness, social glee, or in the tender and the moving.  He seems always
to write with woman's eye upon him: he is gentle, persuasive and impassioned: he appears to
watch her looks, and pours out his praise or his complaint according to the changeful moods of
her mind.  He looks on her, too, with a sculptor's as well as a poet's eye: to him who works in
marlble, the diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and elaborate ornaments of gold, but load and injure
the harmony of proportion, the grace of form, and divinity of sentiment of his nymph or his
goddess-so with Burns the fashion of a lady's boddice, the lustre of her satins, or the sparkle
of her diamonds, or other finery with which wealth or taste has loaded her, are neglected as idle
fiippery; while her beauty, her form, or her mind, matters which are of nature and not of
fashion, are remembered and praised.  He is none of the millinery bards, whlo deal in scented
silks, spider-net laces, rare gems, set in rarer workmanship, and who shower diamonds and
pearls by the bushel on a lady's locks: he makes bright eyes, flushing cheeks, the magic of
the tongue, and the "pulses' maddening play" perform  all. His songs are, in general, pastoral pictures: he seldom finishes a portrait of female beauty without enclosing it in a natural
frame-work of waving woods, running streams, the melody of birds, and the lights of heaven.




iviii                     LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
Those who desire to feel Burns in all his force, must seek some summer glen, when a country girl
searches among his many songs for one which sympathizes with her own heart, and gives it full
utterance, till wood and vale is filled with the melody. It is remarkable that the most naturally
elegant and truly impassioned songs in our literature were written by a ploughman in honour of
the rustic lasses around him.
His poetry is all life and energy, and bears the impress of a warm heart and a clear understanding: it abounds with passions and opinions-vivid pictures of rural happiness and the raptures of successful love, all fresh from nature and observation, and not as they are seen through
the spectacles of books. The wit of the clouted shoe is there without its coarseness: there is a
prodigality of humour without licentiousness, a pathos ever natural and manly, a social joy akin
sometimes to sadness, a melancholy not unallied to mirth, and a sublime morality which seeks to
elevate and soothe. To a love of man he added an affection for the flowers of the valley, the
fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field: he perceived the tie of social sympathy which united
animated with unanimated nature, and in many of his finest poems most beautifully he has
enforced it. His thoughts are original and his style new and unborrowed: all that he has written
is distinguished by a happy carelessness, a bounding elasticity of spirit, and a singular felicity
of expression, simple yet inimitable; he is familiar yet dignified, careless, yet correct, and concise, yet clear and full.  All this and much more is embodied in the language of humble life-a
dialect reckoned barbarous by scholars, but which, coming from the lips of inspiration, becomes
classic and elevated.
The prose of this great poet has much of the original merit of his verse, but it is seldom so
natural and so sustained: it abounds with fine outflashings and with a genial warmth and vigour,
but it is defaced by false ornament and by a constant anxiety to say fine and forcible things.  He
seems not to know that simplicity was as rare and as needful a beauty in prose as in verse; he
covets the pauses of Sterne and the point and antithesis of Junius, like one who believes that to
write prose well he must be ever lively, ever pointed, and ever smart. Yet the account which he
wrote of himself to Dr. Moore is one of the most spirited and natural narratives in the languagne,
and composed in a style remote from the strained and groped-for witticisms and put-on sensibilities of many of his letters:-" Simple," as John Wilson says, "we may well call it; rich in
fancy, overflowing in feeling, and dashed off in every other paragraph with the easy boldness of
a great master."




PREFACE.
[The first edition, printed at Kilmarnock, July, 1786, by John Wilson, bore on the title-page
these simple words:-" Poems, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, by Robert Burns;" the following
motto, marked "Anonymous," but evidently the poet's own composition, was more ambitious:"The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art,
He pours the wild effusions of the heart:
And if inspired,'tis nature's pow'rs inspireHers all the melting thrill, and hers the kindling fire."]
THE following trifles are not the production of the Poet, who, with all the advantages
of learned art, and perhaps amid the elegancies and idlenesses of upper life, looks down
for a rural theme with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the author of this, these, and
other celebrated names their countrymen, are, at least in their original language,
a fountain shut ulp, and a book sealed.  Unacquainted with the necessary requisites for
commencing poet by rule, he sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him  in his and their native language.  Though a
rhymer from his earliest years, at least from the earliest impulse of the softer passions,
it was not till very lately that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of friendship
awakened his vanity so far as to make him think anything of his worth showing: and
none of the following works were composed with a view to the press.  To amuse himself
with the little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigue of a laborious life;
to transcribe the various feelings-the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears-in his own
breast; to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, always an alien
scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind-these were his motives for courting the
Muses, and in these he found poetry to be its own reward.
Now that he appears in the public character of an author, he does it with fear and
trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless
Bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as-an impertinent blockhead,
(59)




Ix               PIPREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
obtruding his nonsense on the world; and, because he can make a shift to jingle a few
doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon himself as a poet of no small consequence, forsooth!
It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shenstone, whose divine elegies do honour
to our language, our nation, and our species, that "Iumility has depressed many a
Gonius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame!"  If any critic catches at the word
ye'iius, the author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he has done
would be a manoeuvre below the worst character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will
ever give him.  But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the poor,
unfortunate Fergusson, he, with equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that even in hil
highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions.  These two justlyadmired Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in the following pieces, but rather with
a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile imitation.
To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most sincere thanks.  Not the mercenary
bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the Bard, conscious how much
he owes to benevolence and friendship for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that
dearest wish of every poetic bosom-to be distinguished.  He begs his readers, particularly the learned and the polite, who may honour him with a perusal, that they will mal;o
every allowance for education and circumstances of life; but if, after a fair, candid, a:lid
impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dulness and nonsense, let him  be do-c'
by as he would in that case do by others —let him  be condemned, without mercy, t'
contempt and oblivion.




THE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
ROBERT BURNS.
I.                                                 II.
WINTE   TIt
DEATH AND DYING WORDS
A DIRGE.
OF
T'his is one of the earliest of the poet's recorded com-       P       R  M AILI E
positions: it was written before the death of his father,
and is called by Gilbert Burns,'a juvenile production.'   THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE.
To w:lk by a river while flooded, or through a wood on           AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE.
a rough winter day, and hear the storm howling among
the tiess trees, ealted the poet's thoughts. " In such    [This tale is partly true; the poet's pet ewe got
entangled i her tether, and tumbled into a ditch the
a seuson,: he said, "just after a train of misfortunes    entangled n  er tether, and tumbled nto a ditch; the
composed Winter, a Dirg                           face of ludicrous and awkward sorrow with which this
was related by -ughoc, the herd-boy, amused Burns so
TIm  wintry west extends his blast,                much, who was on his way to the plough, that he immeAndi hail and rain does blaw;                   diately composed the poem, and repeated it to his brother.~ the st y north.ed  dGilbert when they met in the evening; the field where
Or the stormy north sends driving forth                                              I.
stormy sendsrivin  fot           the poet held the 1)lough, and the ditch into which poor
The blinding sleet and snaw;ilie fell, are still poted out.]
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,, -,  n,,,                As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,
And roars frale bank to brae;.And  ros frae beasin ct brae,           Were ae day nibbling on the tether,
And bird and beast in covert rest, 
An  pss the hearts  Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
And pass the heartless day.
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch:
"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"'              There, groaning, dying, she did lie,
The joyless winter day                            ^When Hughoc2 he cam doytin by.
Let others fear, to me more dear                      Wi' glowing e'en an' lifted lsan's,
Than all the pride of May:                         Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's;
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,               He saw her days were near-hand ended,
My griefs it seems to join;                        But, waes my heart! he could na mend it 
The leafless trees my fancy please,                   He gped wide but naething spakTheir fate resembles mine!                         At length poor Mailie silence brak.
" 0 thou, whose lamentable face
Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme                   eas to moun m   woeu 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case!
These woes of mine fulfil,Toeweofm uI, My dying words attentive hear,
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,
Here, fia, I rest, they must be best,            An' bear them to my master dear.
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want (0, do thou grant                       "Tell him, if e'er again he keep
This one request of mine!)                        As muckle gear as buy a sheep,
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,                        0 bid him never tie them mair
Assist me to resign!                               Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
1 Dr. Young.                                   2 A neibor herd-callan.
_  ___   _(61)____        (1




62                             THE POETICAL WORKS
lut ca' them out to park or hill,
An' let them wander at their will;                                          III.
So may his flock increase, and grow
To scores o'lambs, an' packs of woo'S 
[Burns, when he calls on the hards of Ayr and Doon
" Tell hinl he was a master kin'                  to join in tile lament for MaIilie, intimates that he regardtl
An' ay was gude to me an' mine; *himself as a poet. Hogg calls it a very elegant morsel:
An''r~~~~~~~~ now  ~< ~                 but says that it resembles too closely " The Ewie and the 
An' now my dying charge I gie him,
An' nv"  " my ~ dy ~n charg  I gle0    h,   Crooked Horn," to be admired as original: the shepherd
MIy helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him.            might have remembered that they both resemble Sempill's
"Life and death of the Piper of Kilbarchan."]
" 0, bid him save their harmless lives
-r~~~~~~, i  1^1,i'   ~           LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose,
Frae dogs, and tods, an' butchers' knives!                                          
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose;
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill,.. 
Our bardie's fate is at a close,
Till they be fit to fend themsel;                       r  are'
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn,                                           Past a' 
r',1,,~~~~,The last sad cape-stane of his woes;
Wi' teats o' hay, an' ripps o' corn.                                aesae o   is 
Poor Mailie's dead.
"An' may they never learn the gaets                It's no the loss o' warl's gear,
Of ithier vile, wanrestfu' pets!                    That could sae bitter draw the tear,
To sink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal             Or mak our barie, dowie, wear
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail.                                       The   our g wee
So may they, like their great forbears,              He's lost a fried  and neebor dear,
For monie a year come thro' the sheers;                                      In Mailie dead.
So wives will gie them bits o' bread,
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead.            ro'' the oun se trotted by him;
A lang half-mile she could descry him;
"My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir,
c0,Py pooi r toip-lre l, my son an' heir,         Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him,
O, bid him breed him up wi' care;e ran        speed:
She ran wi' speed:
An' if he live to be a beast,
An' if he live to be a be~ast,                       A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him,
To pit some havins in his breast!                                            Than Mailie  dead.
An' warn him what I winna name,
To stay content wi' yowes at hame                    I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots,                   An' could behave hersel wi' mense:
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes.              I'll say't, she never brak a fence,
Thro' thievish greed.
"An' niest my yowie, silly thing,                 Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence
Gude keep thee frae a tether string!                                         Sin' Mailie's dead.
0, may thou ne'er forgather up
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop,                      Or, if lie wonders up the howe,
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell                    Her living image in her yowe
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel!                     Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe,
For bits o' bread;
"And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath           An' down the briny pearls rowe
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith:                                            For Mailie dead.
An' when you think upo' your mither,
Mind to be kind to ane anither.
Wi' tawted ket, an hairy hips;
"Now, honest Huglhoc, dinna fail
To tell my master a' my tale;                                            1 VARIATION.
An' bid him burn this cursed tether,' She was nae get o' runted rams,
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blather."                  Vi' oo lile oats  1 legs like trams;
She was the flower o' Fairlie lambs,
A fi' nou s breed!
This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head,                     No  Robin, g i   s    tble ha
ANow Robi' hgreetin, chews the hams
And clos'd her een amang the dead.                     o,' Iailie dead.'
__    _.,_    __....,.,.....  A..._....... f v........................ J -.. s... _........'1 — ~   2-~3-1-~14~2




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               63
For her forbears were brought in ships               How best o' chiels are whiles in want,
Frae yont the Tweed:          While coofs on countless thousands rant,
Abonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips                And ken na how to wair't;
Than Mailie dead.             But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head,
Tho' we hae little gear,
Wae worth the man wha first did shape                  e're fit to  in our daily brea
That vile, wanchancie thing —a rape!                  As lang's we're hale and fier:
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape,"                              s     n           
"n  Mair spier ha, nor fear  ha,"'
Wi' chokin dread;                    Auld age ne'er mind a feg,
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape,The  last o't, the                           t  t,
For Mailie dead.
For Mailie, dead.                   Is only but to beg.
0, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon!
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune!
Come, join the melancholious croon                   To lie in kilns and barns at e'en
O' Robin's reed!              When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin,
His heart will never get aboon!                        Is, doubtless, great distress!
His Mailie's dead!            Yet then content could make us blest;
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste
O' truest happiness.
The honest heart that's free frae a'
Intended fraud or guile,
IV.                           However Fortune kick the ha',
Has ay some cause to smile:
FIRST EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE,                              And mind still, you'll find still,
A B3ROTHI-IER. POET.'A comfort this nae sma';
Nae mair then, we'll care then,
[In the summer of 1781, Burns, while at work in the         Nae farther we can fa'.
garden, repeated this Epistle to his brother Gilbert, who
Mwas mu1ch plensed with the performrnce, which he considered equal if not superior to some of Allan R.msay's
Epistles, and said if it were printedl he had no doubt that    What tho', like commoners of air,
it would be well received by people of taste.]       We wander out we know not where,
-  January, [1784.j          But either house or hall?
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods,
^~~~I.      ~         The sweeping vales, and foaming floods,
WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw,                Are free alike to all.
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw,               In days when daisies deck the ground,
And hing us owre the ingle,                        And blackbirds whistle clear,
I set me down to pass the time,                   With honest joy our hearts will bound
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme,                    To see the coming year:
In hamely westlin jingle.                            On braes when we please, then,
While frosty winds blaw in the drift,                    We'll sit and sowth a tune;
Ben to the chimla lug,                               Syne rhyme till't we'll time till't,
[ grudge a wee the great folks' gift,                    And sing't when we hae done.
That live sae bien an' snug:
I tent less and want less                                          v.
Their roomy fire-side;                     It's no in titles nor in rank;
But hanker and canker                         It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank,
To see their cursed pride.                    To purchase peace and rest;
It's no in makin muckle mair;
I I.                          It's no in books, it's no in lear,
It's hardly in a body's power                       To make us truly blest;
To keep, at times, frae being sour,
To see how things are shar'd;                                    i Ramsay.




64                            THE POETICAL WORKS
If happiness hae not her seat                          It warms me, it charms me,
And centre in the breast,                              To mention but her name:
We may be wise, or rich, or great,                     It heats me, it beets me,
But never can be blest:                                And sets me a' on flame!
Nae treasures, nor pleasures,
Could make us happy lang;                                      I x.
The heart ay's the part ay
O, all ye pow'rs who rule above!
That makes us right or wrang.
O, Thou, whose very self art love!
~~~~V I.                Thou know'st my words sincere!
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart,
Think ye, that sic as you and I,                  Or my more dear immortal part,
Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry,             Is not more fondly dear!
Wi' never-ceasing toil;                         When heart-corroding care and grief
Think ye, are we less blest than they,              Deprive my soul of rest,
Wha scarcely tent us in their way,                Her dear idea brings relief
As hardly worth their while?                      And solace to my breast.
Alas! how aft, in haughty mood                        Thou Being, All-seeing,
God's creatures they oppress!                         O hear my fervent pray'r!
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid,                    Still take her, and make her
They riot in excess!                                   Thy most peculiar care!
Baith careless and fearless
Of either heaven or hell!                                        x.
Esteeming and deeming
Esteemins  and deeming                      All hail, ye tender feelings dear!
It's a' an idle tale!                                                7
The smile of love, the friendly tear,
The sympathetic glow!
v I I.
~V I I.~~             ~Long since, this world's thorny ways
Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce;                   Had number'd out myle weary days,
Nor make oaur scanty pleasures less,                 Had it not been for you!
By pining at our state;                         Fate still has blest me with a friend,
And, even should misfortunes come,                   In every care and ill;
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some,                And oft a more endearing band,
An's thankfu' for them yet.                       A tie more tender still.
They gie the wit of age to youth;                      It lightens, it brightens
They let us ken oursel';                               The tenebrific scene,
They make us see the naked truth,                      To neet with, and greet with
The real guid and ill.                                 My Davie or my Jean!
Tho' losses, and crosses,
Be lessons right severe,                                       X I.
There's wit there, ye'll get there,e i                                 s my 
O, how that name inspires my style
Ye'll find nae other where.
The words come slkelpin, rank and file,
Amaist before I ken!
vII I.
IV  ~I I I.'The ready measure rins as fine,
But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts!                As Phoebus and the famous Nine
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,             Were glowrin owre my pen.
And flatt'ry I detest,)                         My spaviet Pegasus will limp,
This life has joys for you and I;'Till ance he's fairly het;
And joys that riches ne'er could buy:             And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp,
And joys the very best.                           An' rin an unco fit:
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart,                 But least then, the beast then
The lover an' the frien';                              Should rue this hasty ride,
Ye hae your Meg your dearest part,                     I'll light now, and dight now
And I my darling Jean!                                 His sweaty, wizen'd hide.








.;=~'c~:v                                       A/Il//I  A /,I'i.
Uipl-           qy,.'   C.tti            Til.0. "" no.,  IL3L3?'Al
~~?l >!1-'                                T T ALOA'3.TLL vl.171'^l/T7
iU ^ L                                        __':_        _ _TS  _tl       _ _9_ 1100)_- 11_cl _@_T
C < 2Xg r l qg S i9) t \7  < S\!EC t)X 210Lg fi $  S ['US S t'' / (' \  tf  1;,7t-i.   O]   r;t Wt v|t




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 65
Leeze me on rhyme! it's aye a treasure,
V.                          My chief, amaist my only pleasure,
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure,
SECOND  EPISTLE  TO DAVIE,                                              T    M        p   
The Muse, poor hizzie \
A BROTHER POET.                     Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure,
She's seldom lazy.
[David Sillar, to whom these epistles are addressed,
was at that time master of a country school, and was  Haud to the Muse my dainty Davie:
welcome to Burns both as a scholar and awriter of verse. 
This epistle he prefixed to his poems printed at Kilmar-  The war  may play you monie a shavie;
nock in the year 1789: he loved to speak of his early  But for the Muse she'll never leave ye,
comrade, and supplied Walker with some very valuable                   Tho' e'er so puir,
anecdotes: he died one of the magistrates of Irvine, on  Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie
the 2d of May, 1830, at the age of seventy.]                           Frae door to door.
Frae door to door.
AULD NIBOR,
I'M three times doubly o'er your debtor,
For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter;
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter,
Ye speaksae fair.                  ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL
For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter
For my puirsilll,      o" 0 Prince! 0 Chief of many throned Pow'rs,
Some less maun sair.
Some less maun sair.              That led th' embattled Seraphim to war."
MILTON.
Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle;
Lang ma your heabtc iak an  dfiddle,           (r[The beautiful and relenting spirit in which this fine
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
Ton c r your    te weary   ddle     poem finishes moved the heart of one of the coldest of
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle                 our critics. " It was, I think," says Gilbert Burms, "in
0' war'ly cares,            the winter of 1784, as we were going with carts for coals
Till bairn's bairns kindly cuddle                  to the family fire, and I could yet point out the particular
Your auld, gray hairs.    spot, that Robert first repeated to me the' Address to
the Deil.' The idea of the address was suggested to
him by running over in his mind the many ludicrous
But DAVIE, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit;              accounts we have of that august personage."]
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit;
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket                    0 THOU! whatever title suit thee,
Until ye fyke;                 Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket,                 Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie,
Be hain't wha like.                               Closed under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
For me, I'm  on Parnassus' brink,                                        To scaud poor wretches!
Rivin' the words to gar them clink;
Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink,    Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
Wi' jads or masons;            An' let poor damned bodies be;
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think                 I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
Braw sober lessons.                              E'en to a deil,
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,
Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man,                                       An' hear us squeel!
Commen' me to the Bardie clan;
Except it be some idle plan                           Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame;
0' rhymin' clink,              Far kend an' noted is thy name;
The devil-haet, that I sud ban,                       An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame,
They ever think.                                 Thou travels far;
An', faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin',                            Nor blate nor scaui.
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin';
But just the pouchie put the nieve in,                Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion,
An' while ought's there,       For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin;
Then hiltie skiltie, we gae scrievin',                Whyles, on the strong-winged tempest flyin,
An' fash nae mair.                               Tirlin the kirks;
5




66                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Whiles, in the human bosom pryin,             Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
Unseen thou lurks.                            By your direction;
An' nighted trav'llers are allur'd
I've heard my reverend Graunie say,                            To their destruction.
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
In laney gs ye le to s;          An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Or where auld-ruin'd castles, gray,
Or where auld-rund cstles, gr,  Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is,
Nod to the moon,
e Nod to the moon,  The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way                           Delude his eyes
Wi' eldricht croon. 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
When twilight did my Graunie summon,                           Ne'er mair to rise.
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman!      When masons' mystic word an' grip
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin,     In storms an' tempests raise you up,
Wi' eerie drone;              Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, r       hr  he    rre                                      Or, stlin, thro' the to tell!
Wi' heavy groan.              The youngest brother ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell!
Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,       Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard,
Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright                When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd,
Ayont the lough;             An' all the soul of love they shar'd,
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight,                          The raptur'd hour,
Wi' waving sough.            Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry sward,
In shady bow'r:
The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake,        Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog!
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick-    Ye came to Paradise incog.
Amang the springs,            An' play'd on man a cursed brogue,
Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake,                               (Black be your fa'!)
On whistling wings.          An' gied the infant world a shog,'Maist ruin'd a'.
Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags,
Tell how wi' you, on rag weed nags,  
Tell how wi' you, on rag weed nags,            D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags,          W' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz,
Wi' wicked speed;            Ye did present your smoutie phiz
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues'Mang better folk,
Owre howkit dead.  An' sklented on the man of Uzz
Owre howkit dead.
Your spitefu' joke?
Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain,., ~".    An' how ye gat himn i' your thrall,
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain:                    him' ou 
Froh   e y       t                         An' brak him out o' house an' hall,
For, oh 2 the yellow treasure's taen
For, oW! the yellow tr s          hile scabs an' botches did him gall,
By witching skill;                                 ttr 
ZD.~~~~~ ".Wi' bitter claw,
An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen
An' dawtit, twa t h s      An' lows'd his ill tongu'd, wicked scawl,
As yell's the bill.                           W          
Was warst ava?
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse           But a' your doings to rehearse,
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse;     Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce,
When the best wark-lume i' the house,         Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
By cantrip wit,               pin t    d   My
By cantrip wit,                               Down to this time,
Is instant made no worth a louse,             Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse,
Just at the bit.                              In prose or rhyme.
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,         An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin,
An' float the jinglin icy-boord,              A certain Bardie's rantin, drink;n,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               67
Some luckless hour will send him linkin            He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,
To your black pit;                                 An' fifty mark;
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,            Tho' it was sma','twas weel-won gear,
An' cheat you yet.                                An' thou was stark.
But fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben!               When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
O wad ye tak a thought an' men'!                 Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie:
Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken-                      Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' funny,
Still hae a stake-                                Ye ne'er was donsie:
I'm wae to think upo' you den,                    But hamely, tawie, quiet an' cannie,
Ev'n for your sake!                               An' unco sonsie.
That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride:
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
VII.                                           Wi' maiden air!
THE AULD FARMER'S                     Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide,
For sic a pair.
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS
AULD  MARE MAGGIE,                        Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble,
ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO       n'  ite like a saumont-coble,
HANSEL IN TIE NEW YEAR.                That day, ye was a jinker noble,
For heels an' win'!
[" Whenever Burns has occasion," says Hogg, "to
address or mention any subordinate being, however  An' ran them till they a' did wauble,
mean, even a mouse or a flower, then there is a gentle               Far, far, behin'!
pathos in it that awakens the finest feelings of the heart."
The Auld Farmer of Kyle has the spirit of a knight-  When thou an' I were young an' skeigh,
errant, and loves his mare according to the rules of  An' stable-mels at fairs were dreigh,
chivalry; and well he might: she carried him safely      t     w   p                 a 
0, r,,-1           How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh,
home from markets, triumphantly from wedding-brooses;  
she ploughed the stiffest land; faced the steepest brae,             An' tak the road!
and, moreover, bore home his bonnie bride with a con-  Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh,
sciousness of the loveliness of the load.]                           An' ca't thee mad.
A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
A GUID NeTv-year I wish thee, MRaggie!           When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,
Hae, there's a Rip to thy auld baggie:We took the roa  ay le a swallow:
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie,        At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,
I've seen the day                                 For pith an' speed;
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie             But every tail thou pay't them hollow,
Out-owre the lay.                                 Where'er thou gaed.
Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy,          The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle,
An' thy auld hide as white's a daisy,             Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle;
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie,       But sx Scotch miles thou tryt their mettle
A bonny gray:                                     An' gar't them whaizle:
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,     ae whip nor spur, but just a whattle
Ance in a day.                                    O' saugh or hazle.
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,               Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
A filly, buirdly, steeve, an' swank,              As e'er in tug or tow was drawn:
An set weel down a shapely shank,                 Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,
As e'er tread yird;                               In guid March-weather,
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,             Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han'
Like ony bird.                                    For days thegither.
It's now some nine-an'-twenty year,               Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit,
Sin' thou was my guid-father's Meere;             But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,




68                           THE POETICAL WORKS
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,
Wi' pith an' pow'r,'Till spiritty knowes wad rair't and risket,                TO  A  H A G GI S.
An' slypet owre.
[The vehement nationality of this poem is but a small
When frosts lay lang, arn' snaws were deep,    part of its merit. The haggis of the north is the minced
heftl la     bac t  eep,  pie of the south; both are characteristic of the people:
An' threaten'd labour back to keep,            the ingredients which compose the former are all of
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap                 Scottish growth, including the bag which contains them:
Aboon the timmer;            the ingredients of the latter are gathered chiefly from
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep            the four quarters of the globe: the haggis is the triumph
For that, orm wd   simmer.  of poverty, the minced pie the triumph of wealth.]
For that, or simmer.
FAIR fa' your honest, sonsie face,
In cart or car thou never reestit;
In cart or car thou never reestit;  Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it;               n      the  a     tk yur pace
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit,Painch, t, or tha
Then^ stood~ to, blawPainch, tripe, or thairm:
Then stood to blaw;.Then stood to blaw;Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,                             As lans 
As lang's my arm.
Thou snoov't awa.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';r    i.
"i,      Your hurdles like a distant hill,
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;            Yr            
F y  s m, I'v sYour pin wad help to mend a mill
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa,In time o' need
In time o' need,
That thou hast nurst:.'.
Tht thu hast n:       While thro' your pores the dews distil
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,Like amber bead.
mihe vera warst. ~~Like amber bead.
The vera warst.
His knife see rustic-labour dight,
Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,,.,.,, the weay fouht!An' cut you up wi' ready slight,
An, wi' the weary warl' fought!
An, wi' the weary wani fought!   h               Trenching your gushing entrails bright
An' monie an anxious day, I thoughte one dtch
We wad be beat!e onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,                              W      -r n, rich 
Warm-reekin, rich!
Wi' something yet.
Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive,
And think na, my auld, trusty servan',  
Andthinkn, m d, t,         Dell tak the hindmost, on they drive,
That now perhaps thou's less deservin,
An   thsrvin,'Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
An' thy auld days may end in starvin,Are bent like drums
Are bent like drums;
For my last few,
For my last fowThen auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve aneBethan ait like 
Bethankit hums.
Laid by for you.
Is there that o'er his French ragout,
We've worn to crazy years thegither; 
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither;,,. a'.Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether,
Wi' perfect sconner,
To some hain'd rig,   
Whare ye may nobly rx your leather,  Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,                              On si a dinner 
Wi' sma' fatigue.
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,,~~~_____~~_________  ~His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
0 how unfit!
But mark the rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
I. ~ ~            ~            ~             ~ ~                       _




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 69
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,                                          X.
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,                           A  PRAYER
Like taps o' thrissle.                   IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.
Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,                [I have heard the third verse of this very moving
Prayer quoted by scrupulous men as a proof that the
And dish them out their bill o' fare,             poet imputed his errors to the Being who had endowed
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware             him with wild and unruly passions. The meaning is
That j aups in luggies;        very different: Burns felt the torrent-strength of passion
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r,              overpowering his resolution, and trusted that God would
i.ye her ga ray.      be merciful to the errors of one on whom he had bestowed
Gie her a Haggis!             such o'ermastering gifts.]
0 THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear?
In whose dread presence, ere an hour
Perhaps I must appear!
IX.                               If I have wander'd in those paths
A  PRAYER,                                 Of life I ought to shun;
As something, loudly, in my breast,
UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.                   Remonstrates I have done;
[" There was a certain period of my life," says Burns,
"that my spirit was broke by repeated losses and dis-    Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me,
asters, which threatened and indeed effected the ruin of   With passions wild and strong;
my fortune. My body, too, was attacked by the most       And list'ning to their witching voice
dreadful distemper, a hypochondria or confirmed melan-     Has often led me wrong.
choly. In this wretched state, the recollection of which
makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on the willow-  i-]-  i     JI.-IT          Where human weakness has come short,
trees, except in some lucid intervals, in one of which I  Where human weakness has come short,
composed the following."]                                  Or frailty stept aside,
Do Thou, All-Good! for such thou art,
0 THOU Great Being! what Thou art                     In shades of darkness hide.
Surpasses me to know:
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee                   Where with itention I have errd,
Are all Thy works below.                            No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Thy creature here before Thee stands,                  Delighteth to forgive.
All wretched and distrest;
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul
Obey Thy high behest.
Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act                                    XI.
From cruelty or wrath!                                        STANZAS
0, free my weary eyes from tears,
^. ^.i,     ON THE SAME OCCASION.
Or close them fast in death!
[These verses the poet, in his common-place book,
But if I must afflicted be,                    calls " Misgivings in the Hour of Despondency and ProTo suit some wise design;                    spect of Death." He elsewhere says they were composed when fainting-fits and other alarming symptoms
Then, man my soul with firm resolves           of a pleurisy, or some other dangerous disorder, first put
To bear and not repine!                     nature on the alarm.]
WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
Ha~  I so found it full of pleasing charms?
Some-&ops of joy with draughts of ill between:
Some  gleams of sunshine'mid  renewing
storms:




70                           THE POETICAL WORKS
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms?            Or through the mining outlet bocked,
-Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode?                            Down headlong hurl.
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms;
I tremble to approach an angry God,             Listening, the doors an' winnocks rattle,
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod.  I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence!"                         O' winter war,
Fain promise never more to disobey;             And through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle
But, should my Author health again dispense,                           Beneath a scar.
Again I might desert fair virtue's way:                                 
Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing,
Again in folly's path might go astray;                    i,     That, in the merry months o' spring,
Again exalt the brute and sink the man;
Z3,  i-r ^  i  i         Delighted me to hear thee sing,
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray,hat    e' thee
What  comes o' thee?
Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan?    Whr w    th             r thy cittrin   in
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing,
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation                         An' cloe ty 
An' close thy e'e?
ran?
Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd,
O Thou, great Governor of all below!                                              
*,  i^  ^ mi    ~    Lone from your savage homes exiled,
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
I m     d     a l   e   t T   The blood-stained roost, and sheep-cote spoiled
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,y heart forgets
My heart forgets,
Or still the tumult of the raging sea:          While pitiless the tempest wil
While pitiless the tempest wild
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me,   ^    ^..      ~                            Sore on you beats.
Those headlong furious passions to confine;
For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be,             Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign,
To rule their torrent in th' allowed line;      Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain;
0, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine!  Still crowding thougs, a pensive train,
Rose in my soul,
When on my car this plaintive strain
Slow, solemn, stole:~~XIT~I." Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost;
A  W INT E R  NIGHT.                      Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!: Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are          Not all your rage, as now united, shows
That bide the pelting of the pitiless storm!         More hard unkindness, unrelenting,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,      Vengeful malice unrepenting,
Your looped and widow'd raggedness defend you    Than heaven-illumined man on brother man
From seasons such as these?"
SHAKSPEARE.           bestows;
[" This poem," says my friend Thomas Carlyle, " is    See stern oppression's iron grip,
worth several homilies on mercy, for it is the voice of  Or mad ambition's gory hand,
Mercy herself. Burns, indeed, lives in sympathy: his  Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip,
soul rushes forth into all the realms of being: nothing  Woe wnt and murder'er a land!
that has existence can be indifferent to him."]            i t,
Even in the peaceful rural vale,
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure,               Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;         How pamper'd luxury, flattery by her side,
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r            The parasite empoisoning her ear,
Far south the lift,           With all the servile wretches in the rear,
Dim-darkening through the flaky show'r,         Looks o'er proud property, extended wide;
Or whirling drift:            And eyes the simple rustic hind,
Whose toil upholds the glittering show,
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,           A creature of another kind,
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked,            Some coarser substance, unrefin'd,
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked,    Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile,
Wild-eddying swirl,               below.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                    71
Where, where is love's fond, tender throe,          of which we ourselves have had no hand: but when our
With lordly honour's lofty brow,                   follies or crimes have made us wretched, to bear all
The powers you pro y own?            with manly firmness, and at the same time have a proper
The powers you prouy o?         penitential sense of our misconduct, is a glorious effort
Is there, beneath love's noble name,                of self-command."]
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim,
To bless himself alone!                         OF all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,
Mark maiden innocence a prey                       That press the soul, or wring the mind with
To love-pretending snares,                              anguish,
This boasted honour turns away,                    Beyond comparison the worst are those
Shunning soft pity's rising sway,                   That to our folly or our guilt we owe.
Shunning soft pity's rising sway,
Regardless of the tears and unavailing prayers!  In every other circumstance, the mind
Perhaps this hour, in misery's squa'id nest,   Has this to say,'It was no deed of mine;'
She strains your infant to her joyless breast,  But when to al the  evil of misfortune
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rock-  This sting is  dded' Blme thy foolish self!'
ing blast!                                     Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse;
Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down,                   The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt,Feel not a want but what yourselves create,           Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others;
iThink, for a moment, on his wretched fate,           The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!             Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin!
Ill satisfied keen nature's clamorous call,              burning hell! in all thy store of torments,
Stretched  on his straw  he lays himself to   There's not a keener lash!
sleep,                                         Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart
While through  the ragged  roof and chinky   Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,
wall,                                          Can reason down its agonizing throbs;
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!    And, after proper purpose of amendment,
Think on the dungeon's grim confine,             Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine!            0, happy! happy! enviable man!
Guilt, erring man, relenting view!               0 glorious magnanimity of soul!
But shall thy legal rage pursue
The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow?                                    XIV.
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress,                TH           LLY  B 
T H E JO 0 LLY B if I    G A I S.
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!"
A CANTATA.
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shookr of the  pouthefr  shnawleof [This inimitable poem, unknown to Currie and unheardShook off the pouthery snaw,. 
a of te      of while the poet lived, was first given to the world, with
And hailed the morning with a cheer-               other characteristic pieces, by Mr. Stewart of Glasgow,
A cottage-rousing craw!                         in the year 1801. Some have surmised that it is not the
work of Burns; but the parentage is certain: the original
But deep this truth impressed my mind-              manuscript at the time of its composition, in 1785, was
Through all his works abroad,                    put into the hands of Mr. Richmond of MIauchline, and
nThher bnvlt an k<iL ind                   afterwards given by Burns himself to Mr. Woodburn,
The heart benevolent and kind.
factor of the laird of Craigengillan; the song of " For a'
The most resembles GOD.                          that, and a' that" was inserted by the poet, with his
name, in the Musical Museum of February, 179f. Cromek admired, yet did not, from overruling advice, print
it in the Reliques, for which he was sharply censured by
Sir Walter Scott, in the Quarterly Review. The scene
XIII.                          of the poem is in Mauchline, where Poosie Nansie had
her change-house. Only one copy in the handwriting
R E M 0 R S E.                      of Burns is supposed to exist; and of it a very accurate
A FRAGMENT.                        fac-simile has been given.]
[t 1 entirely agree," says Burns, " with the author of                 RECITATIVO.
the Theory of Moral Sentiments, that Remorse is the        WHEN hart leaves bestrow the yird
most painful sentiment that can embitter the human..                      a
bosom; an ordinary pitch of fortitude may bear up admi-  wavering like the bauckie-bird,
rably well, under those calamities, in the procurement          Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;




72                         THE POETICAL WORKS
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte        Yet let my country need me,
And infant frosts begin to bite,              With Elliot to head me,
In hoary cranreuch drest;               I'd clatter on my stumps
Ae night at e'en a merry core                       At the sound of a drum.
0' randie, gangrel bodies,                              Lal de daudle, &c.
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies:              And now tho' I must beg,
Wi' quaffing and laughing,              With a wooden arm and leg,
They ranted an' they sang;           And many a tatter'd rag
Wi' jumping and thumping,                   Hanging over my bum,
The vera girdle rang.                 I'm as happy with my wallet,
My Lottle and my callet,
First, neist the fire, in auld red rags,      As when I used in scarlet
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,              To follow a drum.
And knapsack a' in order;                                Lal de daudle, &c.
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm-               What tho' with hoary locks
She blinket on her sodger:                I must stand the winter shocks,
An' ay he gies the tozie drab'                Beneath the woods and rocks
The tither skelpin' kiss,                     Oftentimes for a home,
While she held up her greedy gab              When the tother bag I sell,
Just like an aumous dish.                 And the tother bottle tell,
Ilk smack still, did crack still,       I could meet a troop of hell,
Just like a cadger's whip,                At the sound of a drum.
Then staggering and swaggering                         Lal de daudle, &c.
He roar'd this ditty upRECITATIVO.
~AIR.                  I ~l~He ended; and kebars sheuk,
Tune-" Soldiers' Joy."                   Aboon the chorus roar;
While frighted rattons backward leuk,
I AM a son of Mars,                             And seek the benmost bore;
Who have been in many wars,                   A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
And show my cuts and scars                      He skirl'd out-encore 
Wherever I come;                        But up arose the martial Chuck,
This here was for a wench,                      And laid the loud uproar.
And that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French
At the sound of the drum.                               AIR.
Lal de daudle, &c.                    Tune —" Soldier laddie."
My'prenticeship I past                   I ONCE was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
Where my leader breath'd his last,        And still my delight is in proper young men;
When the bloody die was cast              Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
On the heights of Abram;           No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.
I served out my trade                                          Sing, Lal de dal, &c.
When the gallant game was play'd,
And the Moro low was laid                 The first of my loves was a swaggering bliade,
At the sound of the drum.          To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
Lal de daudle, &c.         His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
I lastly was with Curtis,                                      Sing, Lal de dal, &c.
Among the floating batt'ries,
A-ad there I left for witness             But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
An arm and a limb;                 The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;




OF ROBERT BURNS. 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the body,       Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.       Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
Sing, Lal de dal, &c.         There's ev'n I'm tauld i' the court
A tumbler ca'd the premier.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad
The regiment at large for a husband I got;           M s   es o    e  e  ob
Maks faces to tickle the mob;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,  H  r     a                  
He rails at our mountebank squad,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de dal, &c.          Its rivalship just i' the job.
And now my conclusion I'll tell,
But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,       For faith I'm confoundedly dry;
Till I met my old boy in a Cunningham fair;        The chiel that's a fool fo himsel
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,         Gude L-d! he's far dafter than I.
My heart is rejoic'd at my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de dal, &c.                     RECITATIVO.
Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,
And now I have liv'd-I know not how long,        Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,, ^   ~'~Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
And still I can join in a cup or a song;         Wha  ent fu' we  to cleek the sterling,
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass    For monie a pursie she had hooked,
^~~~steady, ^And had in mony a well been ducked.
steady,
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.       Her dove had been a  ighland  ddie,
Sing Lal de dal &.  But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Sing, Lal de dal, &c.
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began
RECITATIVO.                     To wail her braw John Highlandman.
Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk,                                   AIR.
Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;                      0  n       r      
~,~ ~'Tune —" O an ye were dead, guidman."
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,
Between themselves they were sae busy:       A Highland lad my love was born,
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy         The Lalland laws he held in scorn;
He stoitered up an' made a face;             But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzie,      My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.
CHORUS.
AIR.                         Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman!
Tune-" Auld Sir Symon."                Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,           Was match for my John Highiandman.
Sir Knave is a fool in a session;
He's there but a'prentice I trow,           With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
But I am a fool by profession.             An' gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My grannie she bought me a beuk,             My gallant braw John Highlandman.
And I held awa to the school;                                 Sing, hey, &c.
I fear I my talent misteuk,' fea I  y tlet msteWe ranued a' from Tweed to Spey,
But what will ye hae of a fool?                  n
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay;
For drink I would venture my neck,           For a Lalland face he feared none,
A hizzie's the half o' my craft,           My gallant braw John Iighlandman.
But what could ye other expect,                                 Sing, hey, &c.
Of ane that's avowedly daft?
They banished him beyond the sea,
I ance was ty'd up like a stirk,            But ere the bud was on the tree,
For civilly swearing and quaffing;        Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
I ance was abused in the kirk,              Embracing my John IlighCll;ncdan.
Fer touzling a lass i' my daffin.                             Sing, hey, &c.




74                          THE POETICAL WORKS
But, och! they catch'cl him at the last,       Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;                   May whistle owre the lave o't.
My curse upon them every one,                                            I am, &c.
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.                              RECITATIVO.
And now a widow, I must mourn,                   Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,
The pleasures that will ne'er return:              As weel as poor gut-scraper;
No comfort but a hearty can,                     He taks the fiddler by the beard,
When I think on John Itighlandman.                 And draws a roosty rapierSing, hey, &c.              He swoor by a' was swearing worth,
To speet him like a pliver,
RECITATIVO.                      Unless he wad from that time forth
A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle,                   Relinquish her for ever.
Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle,
Her strappan limb and gausy middle,                Upon his hk ers be eee
He.each'd.a high,  Upon his hunkers bended,
He reached na higher,
Hh  e reach'd na higher,   And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,
An' blawn't on fire.        And sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve
Wi' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e,                When round the tinkler prest her,
Ile croon'd his gamut, one, two, three,         He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,
Then in an Arioso key,                             When thus the caird address'd her:
The wee Apollo
Set off wi' Allegretto glee                                        AIR.
His giga solo.                      Tune-" Clout the Caudron."
AIR.                          My bonny lass, I work in brass,
Tune-" Whistle o'er the lave o't."A tinkler is my station:
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
Let me ryke up to dight that tear,                 In this my occupation:
And go wi' me and be my dear,                    I've taen the gold, an' been enrolled
And then your every care and fear                  In many a noble squadron:
May whistle owre the lave o't.                But vain they search'd, when off I march'd
CHORUS.                           To go and clout the caudron.
I am a fiddler to my trade,                                         I've taen the gl, 
An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd,
A the  test sthlto wfe'or Ipayid,       Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
The sweetest still to wife or maid,
^r   -t' t   ~, ~~W1i' a' his noise and caprin,
Was whistle owre the lave o't.i a his noise and c
And tak a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron.
At kirns and weddings we'se be there,              T    budt and the apn
And 0! sae nicely's we will fare;                And by that stoup, my faith and houp,
And O! sae nicely's we will fare;...
An' by that dear Kilbaigie,'
We'll house about till Daddie Care                 A    y           
SingRs whisqtlpe owren the lave o't.          If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,
Sings whistle owre the lave o't..
i amn-                   l!I^ IV    May I ne'er weet my craigie.
An' by that stoup, &c.
Sae merrily the banes we'll byke,
And sun oursells about the dyke,                                RECITATIVO.
And at our leisure, when ye like,                The caird prevail'd-th' unblushing fair
We'll whistle owre the lave o't.In his embraces suk,
I am, &c.               Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,
An' partly she was drunk.
But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,
And while I kittle hair on thairms,                       i A peculiar sort of whiskey.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            75
Sir Violino, with an air                        Their tricks and craft have put me daft,
That show'd a man of spunk,                     They've ta'en me in, and a' that;
Wish'd unison between the pair,                But clear your decks, and here's the sex I
An' made the bottle clunk                       I like the jads for a' that.
To their health that night.
CHORUS.
But urchin Cupid shot a shaft,
That play'd a dame a shavie,   
That play'd a dame a shavie,  An' twice as muckle's a' tat;
A sailor rak'd her fore and aft,
B saehint the chicken cavie.ft,              My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
Behint the chicken cavie.           They're welcome till't for a' that.
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,
Tho' limping wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft,
And shor'd them Dainty Davie                 So sung the bard-and Nansie's wa's
O boot that night.          Shook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth:
He was a care-defying blade                     m      eh'                 muh
He was a  care-defying blade              They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their
As ever Bacchus listed,
duds,
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,                    duds,
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,
His heart she ever miss'd  it.
To quench their lowan drouth.
He had nae wish but-to be glad,                   T.  
He had nae wish but-to be glad,        Then owre again, the jovial thrang,
Nor want but-when he thirsted;e poet did request
The poet did request,
He hated nought but —to be sad,
He hated nought blut-to be sad,                To loose his pack an' wale a sang,
And thus the Muse suggested                       A ballad o' the best;
His sang that night.
His sang that night.           He rising, rejoicing,
AIR.                                 Between his twa Deborahs
Tune-" lFor a' that, an' a' that."              Looks round him, an' found them
I am a bard of no regard                            Impatient for the chorus.
I am a bard of no regard
Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that:
But Homer-like, the glowran byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.                   Tune-" Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses."
CHonus.                          SEE! the smoking bowl before us,
For a' that, an' a' that,                             Mark our jovial ragged ring!
An' twice as muckle's a' that;                    Round and round take up the chorus,
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',                   And in raptures let us sing.
I've wife eneugh for a' that.
CHORUS.
I never drank the Muses' stank,
Castalia's burn, an' a' that;                     A fig for those by law protected!
But there it streams, and richly reams,               Liberty's a glorious feast!
My Helicon I ca' that.                            Courts for cowards were erected,
For a' that, &c.                Churches built to please the priest.
Great love I bear to a' the fair,                   What is title? what is treasure?
Their humble slave, an' a' that;                    What is reputation's care?
But lordly will, I hold it still                    If we lead a life of pleasure,
A mortal sin to thraw that.'Tis no matter how or where!
For a' that, &c.                                A fig, &c.
In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,               With the ready trick and fable,
Wi' mutual love, an a' that:                        Round we wander all the day;
But for how lang the flie may stang,                And at night, in barn or stable,
Let inclination law that.                           Hug our doxies on the hay.
For a' that, &c.                               A fig, &c.




76                             THE POETICAL WORKS
Does the train-attended carriage                  The Clachan yill had made me canty,
Through the country lighter rove?              I was na fou, but just had plenty;
Does the sober bed of marriage                    I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
Witness brighter scenes of love?                                     To free the ditches;
A fig, &c.                 An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kenn'd ay
Frae ghaists an' witches.
Life is all a variorum,
We regard not how it goes;                     The rising moon began to glow'r
Let them cant about decorum                       The distant Cumnock hills out-owre:
Who have characters' to lose.                  To count her horns with a' my pow'r,
A fig, &c.                                       I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four,
Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets  I could na tell.
Iere's to all the wandering train!
Here's our ragged brats and callets          s           come round about the hill,
One and all cry out-Amen!                      And todlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff with a' my skill,
A fig for those by law protected!                                    To keep me sicker;
Liberty's a glorious feast!                  Tho' leeward whyles, against my will,
Courts for cowards were erected,                                    I took a bicker.
Churches built to please the priest.
I there wi' something did forgather,
That put me in an eerie swither;
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,
xV.                                                  Clear-dangling, hang;
A three-taed leister on the ither
DEATH  AND  DR. HORNBOOK.,                                                   large  n' lng.
Lay, large an' lang.
A TRUE STORY.
Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
[John Wilson, raised to the unwelcome elevation of   The queerest shape that e'er I saw,
hero to this poem, was, at the time of its composition,'.'~,,',.., -,            For fient a wame it had ava:
schoolmaster in Tarbolton: he was, it is said, a fair
scholar, and a very worthy man, but vain of his know-                       And then, its shanks,
ledge in medicine-so vain, that he advertised his merits,    They were as thin, as sharp an' sma'
and offered advice gratis.  It was his misfortune to                        As cheeks o' branks.
encounter Burns at a mason meeting, who, provoked by a
long and pedantic speech, from the Dominie, exclaimed,  " Guid-een," quo' I; "Friend, hae ye been
the future lampoon dawning upon him, " Sit down, Dr.
Hornbook." On his way home, the poet seated himself on 
the ledge of a bridge, composed the poem, and, overcome  When ither folk are busy sawin?"
with poesie and drink, fell asleep, and did not awaken  It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',
til the sun was shining over Galston Moors. Wilson                          But naething spak;
went afterwards to Glasgow, embarked in mercantile     At length, says I, "Friend, where ye gaun
and matrimonial speculations, and prospered, and is still                   W        y  g  b  
Drospering.]                                                                Will ye go back?"
SOIE books are lies frae end to end,                It spak right howe,-" MIy name is Death,
And some great lies were never penn'd:              But be na fley'd."-Quoth I, " Guid faith,
Ev'n ministers, they ha'e been kenn'd,              Ye're may be come to stap my breath;
In holy rapture,                                    But tent me, billie;
A rousing whid, at times, to vend,                  I red ye weel, take care o' skaith,
And nail't wi' Scripture.                           See, there's a gully!"
But this that I am gaun to tell,                    "Guidman," quo' he, "put up your whittle.
Which lately on a night befel,                      I'm no design'd to try its mettle;
Is just as true's the Deil's in h-ll                But if I did, I wad be kittle
Or Dublin-city;                                     To be mislear'd,
That e'er he nearer comes oursel                    I wad nae mind it, no that spittle'S a muckle pity.                                   Out-owre my beard."
__________   __ _ _ _____




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            77
"Weel, weel!" says I, "a bargain be't;          "Ev'n them he canna get attended,
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't;     Although their face he ne'er had kend it,
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat,           Just sh- in a kail-blade, and send it,
Come, gies your news!                            As soon's he smells't,
This while ye hae been mony a gate              Baith their disease, and what will mend it,
At mony a house.                                 At once he tells't.
"Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head,          "And then a' doctor's saws and whittles,
"It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed             Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles,
Sin' I began to nick the thread,                A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles,
An' choke the breath:                            He's sure to hae;
Folk maun do something for their bread,         Their Latin names as fast he rattles
An' sae maun Death.                              As A B C.
"Sax thousand years are near hand fled          "Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees;
Sin' I was to the butching bred,                True sal-marinum o' the seas;
An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid,          The farina of beans and pease,
To stap or scar me;                              He has't in plenty;
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade,         Aqua-fortis, what you please,
An' faith, he'll waur me.                        He can content ye.
"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,           "Forbye some new, uncommon weapons,
Deil mak his kings-hood in a spleuchan!        Urinus spiritus of capons;
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan'        Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,
An' ither chaps,                                 Distill'd per se;
The weans haud out their fingers laughin       Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings,
And pouk my hips.                                And mony mae."
"See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart,      "Waes me for Johnny Ged's-Hole2 now,"
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart;          Quo' I, " If that thae news be true!
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art                His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew,
And cursed skill,                                Sae white and bonie,
Has made them baith no worth a f-t,             Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew;.
Damn'd haet they'll kill.                        They'll ruin Johnie!"
"'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,         The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,
I threw a noble throw at ane;                   And says, " Ye need na yoke the pleugh,
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain;       Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh,
But-deil-ma-care,                                Tak ye nae fear;
It just play'd dirl on the bane,                They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh
But did nae mair.                               In twa-three year.
" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art,              "Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death,
And had sae fortified the part,                By loss o' blood or want of breath,
That when I looked to my dart,                 This night I'm free to tak my aith,
It was sae blunt,                                That Hornbook's skill
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart       Has clad a score i' their last claith,
Of a kail-runt.                                  By drap an' pill.
"I drew my scythe in sic a fury,               "An honest wabster to his trade,
I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry,                Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred,
But yet the bauld Apothecary,                  Gat tippence-worth to mend her head,
Withstood the shock;                             When it was sair;
I might as weel hae tried a quarry             The wife slade cannie to her bed,
O' hard whin rock.                              But ne'er spak mair
1 Buchan's Domestic Medicine.                       2 The grave-digger




78                           THE POETICAL WORKS
"A countra laird had ta'en the batts,               The twa best herds in a' the wast,
Or some curmurring in his guts,                     That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast,
Iis only son for Hornbook sets,                     These five and twenty simmers past,
An' pays him well.                              0! dool to tell,
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,                  Ha'e had a bitter black out-cast
Was laird himsel.                               Atween themsel.
4A bonnie lass, ye kend her name,                  0, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell,
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame;            How could you raise so vile a bustle,
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,               Ye'll see how New-Light herds will whistle
In Hornbook's care;                             And think it fine:
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,                 The Lord's cause ne'er got sic a twistle
To hide it there.                               Sin' I ha'e min'.
"That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way;                sirs whae'er  ad ha'e expeckit
Thus goes he on from day to day,                    Your duty ye  wad a'e negleckit,
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay,                 Ye wha were neer by lairds respeckit
An's weel paid for't;         Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit,
An's weel paid for't;To wear the plaid,
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey,                                     e  e   eselves eleckit
But by the brutes themselves eleckit,
Wi' his d-mn'd dirt:                            To be their guide.
To be their guide.
" But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot,
out, hark! I'll tell you of a plot,       What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank,
Though dinna ye be speaking o't;Sae hale and hearty every shank
I'll nail the self-conceited sot,                     ae       d                    s
As dead's a herrin':          Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank,
As dead's a herrin':
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat,                                   e let the  taste,
ie gets his fairin'!"        Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank,0 sic a feast!
But just as he began to tell,
The auld kirk-hammer strak' the bell                The thummart, wil'-cat, brock, and tod,
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,                 Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood,
Which rais'd us baith:        He smelt their ilka hole and road,
I took the way that pleas'd mysel',                                    Baith out and in,
And sae did Death.            And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid,
And sell their skin.
What herd like Russell tell'd his tale,
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale,
XVI.                           IIe kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,
O'er a' the height,
THE  TWA  HERDS:                       And saw gin they were sick or hale,
OR,                                              At the first sight.
TIE HOLY TULZIE.
He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,
[The actors in this indecent drama were Moodie,                  y  shp c d 
minister of Ricartoun, and Russell, helper to the minister    Or nobly fling the gospel club,
of Kilmarnock: though apostles of the " Old Light,"  And New-Light herds could nicely drub,
they forgot their brotherhood in the vehemence of con-                 Or pay their skin;
troversy, and went, it is said, to blows. " This poem,"  Could shake them o'er the burning dub
says Burns, " with a certain description of the clergy as
well as laity, met with a roar of applause."]                          Or heave them in.
O A' ye pious godly flocks,                       Sic twa-0! do I live to see't,
Weel fed on pastures orthodox,                    Sic famous twa should disagreet,
Wha now will keep you frae the fox,               An' names, like villain, hypocrite,
Or worrying tykes,                                Ilk ither gi'en,
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,            While New-Light herds, wi' laughin' spite,
About the dykes?                                  Say neither's liein'!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 79
An' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,                                      XVII.
There's Duncan, deep, and Peebles, shaul,
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,                        HOLY  WILLIE'S PRAYER.
We trust in thee,                       And send the godly in a pet to pray."
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld,                                                 POPE.
Till they agree.                 [Of this sarcastic and too daring poem many copies in
manuscript were circulated while the poet lived, but
Consider, Sirs, how we're beset;                 though not unknown or unfelt by Currie, it continued
There's scarce a new herd that we get             unpublished till printed by Stewart with the JolJy
But comes frae mang that cursed set               Beggars, in 1801. HIoly Willie was a small farmer
leading elder to Auld, a name well known to all lovers
I w a n;   of Burns; austere in speech, scrupulous In all outward
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet                observances, and, what is known by the name of a " proIn fiery flame.                fessing Christian." He experiencel, however, a " sore
fall " he permitted himself to be " filled fou," and in a
Dalrymple has been  ng our fmoment when " self got in" made free, it is said, with
airymp le has been lang our face,               the money of the poor of the parish. His name was
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae,                 William Fisher.]
And that curs'd rascal call'd M'Quhae,
And baith the Shaws,             0 THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell,
That aft ha'e made us black and blae,               Wha, as it pleases best thysel',
Wi' vengefu' paws.               Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell,
A' for thy glory,
Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mischief,              And no for ony gude or ill
We thought ay death wad bring relief,                                  They've done afore thee!
But he has gotten, to our grief,
Ane to succeed him,              I bless and praise thy matchless might,
A chield wha'll soundly buff our beef;              Whan thousands thou hast left in night,
I meikle dread him.              That I am here afore thy sight,
For gifts and grace,
And mony a ane that I could tell,                   A burnin' and a shinin' light
Wha fain would openly rebel,                                           To' ts place.
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel,
There's Smith for ane,          TWhat was I, or my generation,
I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill,                 That I should (et sic exaltation,
An' that ye'll fin'.             I  wha deserve sic just damnation,
For broken laws,! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills,                                     For broken laws,
By mosses, meadows, moor, and fellFive thousand years'fore my creation,
By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,   
Thro' Adam's   cause.
Come, join your counsel and your skills
To cow the lairds, 
When frae my mither's  womb I fell,
And get the brutes the powers themsels                h                                 l,
m iTo choose their herdsThou might hae plunged me in hell,
To choose their herds; 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wall,
Then Orthodoxy yet may prance,                                         In burnin' lake,
And Learning in a woody dance,                      Whar damned devils roar and yell,
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense,                                   Chamn'd to a stake.
That bites sae sair,
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France                  Yet I m here a chosen sample;
Let lhim bark there.             To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar in thy temple,
Then Shaw's and Dalrymple's eloquence,                                 Strong as a rock,
I'Gill's close nervous excellence,                  A guide, a buckler, an example,
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense,                                        To a' thy flock.
And guid M'Math,
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance,          But yet, 0 Lord! confess I must,
May a' pack aff.                 At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;




80                           THE POETICAL WO(KS
And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust,            To think how we stood groanin', shakin',
Vile self gets in;                                And swat wi' dread,
But thou remembers we are dust,                   While Auld wi' hingin lips gaed sneakin'
Defil'd in sin.                                   And hung his head.
O Lord! yestreen thou kens, wi' Meg-              Lord, in the day of vengeance try him,
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,                       Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
O! may't ne'er be a livin' plague                 And pass not in thy mercy by'em,
To my dishonour,                                  Nor hear their pray'r;
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg                 But for thy people's sake destroy'em,
Again upon her.                                   And dinna spare.
Besides, I farther maun allow,
^., T..~~,, ^.    -But, Lord, remember me an mine,
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow- -l ad 
-O.LT,~~ i  ^'    TWi' mercies temp'ral and divine,
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
But Lord, tt F y I ws,   That I for gear and grace may shine,
When I came near her,                                          
Excell'd by nane,
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true,  ^,,, ^,     ~And a' the glory shall be thine,
Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 
Amen, Amen!
Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn,
Beset thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre high and proud should turn,'Cause he's sae gifted;
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne                                 XVIII.
Until thou lift it.
EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.
I.ord, bless thy chosen in this place,           [We are informed by Richmond of Mauchline, that
For here thou hast a chosen race:               when hewas clerk in Gavin Hamilton's office, Burns came
But God confound their stubborn face,          in one morning and said, " I have just composed a poem,
And blast their name,         John, and if you will write it, I will repeat it." IIe
repeated Holy Willie's Prayer and Epitaph; Hamilton
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace    came in at the moment, and having read themwith delight,
And public shame.            ran laughing with them in his hand to Robert Aiken.
The end of Holy Willie was other than godly: in one
Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,             of his visits to Mauchline, he drank more than was need
He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts,    ful, fell into a ditch on his way home, and was found
dead in the morning.]
Yet has sae mony takin' arts,                   d   i    
Wi' grit and sma',                HERE Holy Willie's sair worn clay
Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts             Takes up its last abode;
Hie steals awa.
His saul has ta'en some other way,
An' whan we chasten'd him therefore,                   I fear the left-hnd road.
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,                 Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
As set the warld in a roar
O' laughlin' at us;-                Poor, silly body, see him;
Curse thou his basket and his store,                Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,
Curse thou his basket and his store,
Kail and potatoes.                  Observe wha's standing wi' him.
Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,               Your brunstane devilship I see,
Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr;                        Has got him there before ye;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare            But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
Upo' their heads,                   Till ance you've heard my story.
JIord weigh it down, and dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.               Your pity I will not implore,
For pity ye hae nane;
O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,             Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
My very heart and saul are quakin',                   And mercy's day is gaen.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               81
But hear me, sir, deil as ye are,               Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token,
Look something to your credit;                Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken;
A coof like him wad stain your name,            I made a poker o' the spin'le,
If it were kent ye did it.                    An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le.
For men I've three mischievous boys,
Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise;
XIX.                            A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other.
THE  INVENTORY; SIR O YWee Davock hauds the nowt in fother.
I rule them as I ought, discreetly,
TN ANSWE1R. TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR            An' aften labour them completely;
OF THE TAXES.                       An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly,
[We have heard of a poor play-actor who, by a humor-    I on the Questions targe them tightly;
ous inventory of his effects, so moved the commissioners    Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg,
of the income tax, that they remitted all claim on him  Tho' scarcely langer than your leg,
then and for ever; we know not that this very humorous    He'll creed you aff Effectual calling,
inventory of Burns had any such effect on Mr. Aiken, the
As fast as ony in the dwalling.
surveyor of the taxes. It is dated "Mossgiel, February         o   i       d llg.
2-d, 17S6," and is remarkable for wit and sprightliness,    I've nane in female servan' station,
and for the information which it gives us of the poet's    (Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation!)
habits, household, and agricultural implements.]    I ha'e nae wife-and that my bliss is,
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses;
SIR, as your mandate did request,   
St, as your mandate did request,                  An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me,
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
I ken the devils darena touch me.
0' gudes, an' gear, an' a' my graith,             I k                            
To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith.                   weans I'm mair than  e  contented,
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted.
Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,            My sonsie smirking dear-bought Bess,
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle,             She stares the daddy in her face,
As ever drew afore a pettle.                      Enough of ought ye like but grace;
My lan' afore's' a gude auld has been,            But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady,
An' wight, an' wilfu' a' his days been.           I've paid enough for her already,
Mly lan ahin's2 a weel gaun fillie,               An' gin ye tax her or her mither,
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,3          B' the L-d! ye'se get them a'thegither.
An' your auld burro' mony a time,
In days when riding was nae crime-                  And now, remember, Mr. Aiken,
But ance, whan in my wooing pride,                Nae kind of license out I'm takin';
I like a blockhead boost to ride,                 Frae this time forth, I do declare
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,                 I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair;
(L-d pardon a' my sins an' that too!)            Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,                  Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
She's a' bedevil'd with the spavie.               My travel a' on foot I'll shank it,
I My fur ahin's4 a wordy beast,                   I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit.
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd.                 The kirk and you may tak' you that,
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,            It puts but little in your pat;
A d —n'd red wud Kilburnie blastie!               Sae dinna put me in your buke,
Forbye a cowt o' cowt's the wale,                 Nor for my ten white shillings luke.
As ever ran afore a tail.
If he be spar'd to be a beast,                      This list wi' my ain hand I wrote it,
hIe'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.-            The day and date as under noted;
Wheel carriages I ha'e but few,                   Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new;              Subscripsi huic             ROBERT BURNS.
1 The fore-horse on the left-hand in the plough.  3 Kilmarnock.
2 The hindmost cn the left-hand in the plough.    4 The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough
6




82                             THE POETICAL WORKS
Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to ken me;
T H E  H    L Y  F A IR.                    I'm  sure I've seen that bonnie face,
But yet I canna name ye."
A robe of seeming truth and trust
IHid craft~y observation;                    Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak,
And secret hung, with poison'd crust,            An' taks me by the hands,
The dirk of Defamation:                       Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck,
A mask that like the gorget show'd,Of a' the ten commands
Dye-varying on the pigeon;                                                 
And for a mantle large and broad,                                   sreed some day.
He wrapt him in Religion.
HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE.        "My name is Fun-your cronie dear,
The nearest friend ye hae;
[The scene of this fine poem is the churchyard of.  
An' this is Superstition here,
Mauzhline, and the subject handled so cleverly and                  
sharply is the laxity of manners visible in matters so    An' that's Hypocrisy.
solemn and terrible as the administration of the sacrament.    I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair,
" This was indeed," says Lockhart, " an extraordinary     To spend an hour in daffin:
performance: no partisan of any sect could whisper that    Gi ye'll go there yon runl' pair,
malice had formed its principal inspiration, or that itsll g f 
chief attraction lay in the boldness with which indi-     We will get famous laughin'
viduals, entitled and accustomed to respect, were held                     At them this day."
up to ridicule: it was acknowledged, amidst the sternest
mutterings of wrath, that national manners were once      oth I "ith a' my heart I'  do't;
more in the hands of a national poet."  " It is no doubt,"
says Hogg, " a reckless piece of satire, but it is a clever  I'll get my Sunday's sark on,
one, and must have cut to the bone. But much as I       An' meet you on the holy spot;
admire the poem I must regret that it is partly borrowed  Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin' "
from Fergusson."]                                       Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time
UPON a simmer Sunday morn,                              An' soon I made me ready;
When Nature's face is fair,                        For roads were clad, frae side to side,
I walked forth to view the corn,                        Wi' monie a wearie body,
An' snuff the caller air.                                             In droves that day.
The rising sun owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was glintin'; *                 Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith
The hares were hirplin down the furs,                   Gaed hoddin by their cottars;
The lav'rocks they were chantin'                   There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith,
Fu' sweet that day.                 Are springin' o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,                        In silks an' scarlets glitter;
To see a scene sae gay,                            Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang,
Three hizzies, early at the road,                      An' farls bak'd wi' butter,
Cam skelpin up the way;                                               Fu' crump that day.
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,
But ane wi' lyart lining;                         When by the plate we set our nose,
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,                      Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
Was in the fashion shining                         A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
Fu' gay that day.                   An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,
The twa appear'd like sisters twin,                     On ev'ry side they're gath'rin',
In feature, form, an' claes;                       Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools,
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin,                 An' some are busy blethrin'
An' sour as ony slaes:                                                Right leud that day.
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,                            Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,                        An' screen our countra gentry,
As soon as e'er she saw me,                        There, racer Jess, and twa-three wh-res,
Fu' kind that day.                  Are blinkin' at the entry.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             83
Here sits a raw of titlin' jades,               What signifies his barren shine,
Wi' heaving breast and bare neck,                Of moral pow'rs and reason?
An' there a batch o' wabster lads,              His English style, an' gestures fine,
Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock                   Are a' clean out o' season.
For fun this day.              Like Socrates or Antonine,
Or some auld pagan heathen,
Here some are thinkin' on their sins,           The morl man he does define,
An' some upo' their clzaes;                     But ne'er a word o' faith in
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins,                             That's right that day.
Anither sighs an' prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,              In guid time comes an antidote
Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces;               Against sic poison'd nostrum;
On that a set o' chaps at watch,                For Peebles, frae the water-fit,
Thrang winkin' on the lasses                    Ascends the holy rostrum:
To chairs that day.            See, up he's got the word o' God,
An' meek an' mim has view'd it,
O happy is that man an' blest!                  While Common-Sense has ta'en the road,
Nae wonder that it pride him!                   An' aff, an' up he Cowgate,'
Wha's ain dear lass that he likes best,                           Fast, fast, that day.
Comes clinkin' down beside him;
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back,              Wee Miller, neist the guard relieves,
He sweetly does compose him;                    An' orthodoxy raibles,
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,        Tho' in his heart he weel believes,
An's loof upon her bosom,                       An' thinks it auld wives' fables:
Unkenn'd that day.             But faith! the birkie wants a manse,
So, cannily he hums them;
Now a' the congregation o'er                    Altho' his carnal wit an' sense
Is silent expectation:                          Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him
For Moodie speels the holy door,                                  At times that day.
Wi' tidings o' damnation.
Should Hornie, as in ancient days,              Now but an' ben, the Change-house fills,'Mang sons o' God present him,                  Wi' yill-caup commentators:
The vera sight o' Moodie's face,                Here's crying out for bakes and gills,
To's ain het hame had sent him                  An' there the pint-stowp clatters;
Wi' fright that day.           While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang,
Wi' logic, an' wi' scripture,
Hear how he clears the points o' faith          They raise a din, that, in the end,
Wi' ratlin' an' wi' thumpin'!                  Is like to breed a rupture
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,                               0' wrath that day.
He's stampin an' he's jumpin'!
Leeze mue on drink! it gies us mair
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout,
Hiseldritch squel and gestures,          Than either school or college:
His eldritch squeel and gestures,
It kindles wit, it waukens lair,
Oh, how they fire the heart devout,t 
Like. canthridn. plasters,              It pangs us fou' o' knowledge.
Like cantharidian plasters,
LkOecntar n sic a day.         Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep,
On sic a day.
Or ony stronger potion,
But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice:       It never fails, on drinking deep,
There's peace an' rest nae langer:              To kittle up our notion
For a' the real judges rise,                                      By night or day.
They canna sit for anger.                     The lads an' lasses, blythely bent
Smith opens out his cauld harangues,              To mind baith saul an' body,
On practice and on morals;                    Sit round the table, weel content,
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs,                An' steer about the toddy.
To gie the jars an' barrels
A lift that day.             I A street so called, vhich faces the tent in Mauchline.




84                             THE POETICAL WORKS
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk,           An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,
They're making observations;                        Let lasses be affronted
While some are cozie i' the neuk,                                      On sic a day!
An' formin' assignations
To meet some day.                Now Clinkumbell, wi' ratlin tow,
Begins to jow an' croon;
But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts,               Some swagger hame, the best they dow,
Till a' the hills are rairin',                      Some wait the afternoon.
An' echoes back return the shouts:                  At slaps the billies halt a blink,
Black Russell is na' sparin':                       Till lasses strip their shoon:
His piercing words, like Iighlan' swords,           Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink,
Divide the joints and marrow;                       They're a' in famous tune
His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell,                                  For crack that day.
Our vera sauls does harrow'
Wi' fright that day.             How monie hearts this day converts
O' sinners and o' lasses!
A vast, unbottom'd boundless pit,                   Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane,
Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane,                     As saft as ony flesh is.
Wha's ragin' flame, an' scorchin' heat,             There's some are fou o' love divine;
Wad melt the hardest whun-stane!                   There's some are fou o' brandy;
The half asleep start up wi' fear,                  An' monie jobs that day begin
An' think they hear it roarin',                     May end in houghmagandie
When presently it does appear,                                         Some ither day.'Twas but some neibor snorin'
Asleep that day.'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell
How monoie stories past,                                              XXI.
An' how they crowded to the yill,                             THE  ORDINATION.
VWhen they were a' dismist:
When they were a' dismis:' For sense they little owe to frugal heav'nIHow drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups,
how drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, **To please the mob they hide the little giv.n."
Amang the furms an' benches:
[This sarcastic sally was written on the admission of
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps,
An' cheee a' b,     Mr. Mackinlay, as one of the ministers to the Lai-gh, or
Was dealt about in lunches,                    parochial Kirk of Kilmarnock, on the 6th of April, 1786
An' dawds that day.            That reverend person was an Auld Light professor, and
his ordination incensed all the New Lights. hence the
bitter levity of the poem.  These dissensions have long
In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife,   
In c ts a, ghe gisince past away: Maclkinlay, a pious aud kind-hearted
An' sits down by the fire,                     sincere man, lived down all the person;lities of the satire,
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife;           and though unwelcome at first, lie soon learned to regard
Tie lasses they are shyer.                     them only as a proof of the powers of the poet.]
The auld guidmen, about the grace,                   ILARsOCK wabsters fidge an' claw,
Frae side to side they bother,                      An' pour your creeshie nations;
Till some ane by his bonnet lays,                  An' ye wha leather rx an' draw,
An' gi'es them't like a tether,                     Of a' denominations,
Fu' lang that dcay.              Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a',
An' there tak up your stations;
Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,                     a t       o Bege s in  a ra
Then aft to Begbie's in a raw,
Or lasses that hae naething;                        An' pour divine libations
Sma' need has he to say a grace,                                       For joy this day.
Or melvie his braw claithing!
U wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel                    Curst Common-Sense, that imp o' hell,
How bonnie lads ye wanted,                          Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder;2
1 Shakspeare's Hamlet.                            admission of the late reverend and worthy Mr. Lindsay 
Q Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the  to the Laigh Kirk.




OF ROBERT BURNS.
But Oliphant aft made her yell,                  Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheep,
An' Russell sair misca'd her;                    And o'er the thairms be tryin';
This day Mackinlay taks the flail,               Oh, rare! to see our elbucks wheep,
And he's the boy will blaud her!                 An' a' like lamb-tails flyin'
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,                                 Fu' fast this day!
An' set the bairns to daud her
Wi' dirt this day.             Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aim,
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin',
Mak haste an' turn king David owre,              As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,
An' lilt wi' holy clangor;                       Has proven to its ruin:
O' double verse come gie us four,                Our patron, honest man! Glencairn,
An' skirl up the Bangor:                         He saw mischief was brewin';
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,            And like a godly elect bairn
Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her,             He's wal'd us out a true ane,
For Heresy is in her pow'r,                                       And sound this day.
And gloriously she'll whang her
Wi' pith this day.             Now, Robinson, harangue nae mair,
But steek your gab for ever:
Come, let a proper text be read,                 Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
An' touch it aff wi' vigour,                     For there they'll think you clever;
How graceless Ham' leugh at his dad,            Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Which made Canaan a niger;                       Ye may commence a shaver;
Or Phineas2 drove the murdering blade,          Or to the Netherton repair,
Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour;                      And turn a carpet-weaver
Or Zipporah,3 the scauldin' jad,                                  Aff-hand this day.
Was like a bluidy tiger
WI th' inn that daty. iMutrie and you were just a match,
We never had sic twa drones:
There, try his mettle on the creed,              Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch,
And bind him down wi' caution,                   Just like a winkin' baudrons:
That stipend is a carnal weed                   And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch,
He taks but for the fashion;                     To fry them in his caudrons;
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed,            But now his honour maun detach,
And punish each transgression;                  Wi' a' his brimstane squadrons,
Especial, rams that cross the breed,                              Fast, fast this day.
Gie them sufiicient threshin',
Gie them sufficient threshinee, see auld Orthodoxy's faes
Spare them nae day.
Spare them nae day.              She's swingein' through the city;
Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail,rk, how the nine-tail  cat she plays!
And toss thy horns fu' canty;                      vow it's uno pretty:
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale,        There, Learning, with his Greekish face,
Because thy pasture's scanty;                    Grunts out some Latin ditty;
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail                And Common Sense is gaun, she says,
To mak to Jamie Beattie
Shall fill thy crib in plenty,                  T                 
An' runts o' grace the pick and wale,                             Her plait this day.
No gi'en by way o' dainty,                    But there's Morality himsel',
But ilka day.                    Embracing all opinions;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, 
To  thi u Zon  Between his twa; companions;
To think upon our Zion;
TAo hinkup our Zlsuton sle-n             See, how she peels the skin an' fell,
And hing our fiddles up to sleep,
Like 1aby- t 1   1 ri.,As ane were peelin' onions!
Like baby-clouts a-dryin':
Now there-they're packed aff to hell,
i Genesis, ix. 22.  2 Numbers, xxv. 8.          And banished our dominions,
3 Ex dus, iv. 25.                                   Henceforth this day.




86                               THE POETICAL WORKS
0, happy day! rejoice, rejoice!                        Tho', when some kind, connubial dear,
Come bouse about the porter!                           Your but-and-ben adorns,
Morality's demure decoys                               The like has been that you may wear
Shall here nae mair find quarter:                      A noble head of horns.
Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys,
That Heresy can torture:                             And in your lug, most reverend James,
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,To hear you roar and rowte,
And cowe her measure shorter                         Few men o' sense will doubt your claims
By th' head some day.                 To rank amang the nowte.
Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,                    And when ye're number'd wi' the dead,
And here's for a conclusion,                           Below a grassy hillock,
To every New Light' mother's son,                       Wi' justice they may mark your headFrom  this time forth Confusion:                        " Here lies a famous Bullock!"
If mair they deave us wi' their din,
Or Patronage intrusion,
We'll light a spunk, and ev'ry skin,
We'll rin them  aff in fusion                                            XXIII.
Like oil, some day.                          TO  JAMES  SM I TH.
" Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life and solder of society!
I owe thee much!-"
BLAIR.
[The James Smith, to whom this epistle is addressed,
was at that time a small shopkeeper in Mauchline, and
XXII.                           the comrade or rather follower of the poet in all his
merry expeditions withli  Yill-caup commentators." He
T H E  C A L F.                     was present in Posie Nansie's when the Jolly Beggars
first dawned on the fancy of Burns: the comrades of the
TO THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN,
poet's heart were not generally very successful in life:
On his text, MALACHI, iv. 2.-" And ye shall go forth,   Smith left Mauchline, and established a calico-printing
and grow up as CALVES of the stall."           manufactory at Avon near Linlithgow, where his friend
found him in all appearance prosperous in 17SS: but this
[The laugh which this little poem raised against
[Stevena laugh   one. t     slittle poem raised aga is   was not to last; he failed in his speculations and went
Steven was a loud one. Burns composed it during the
o  t. rto the West Indies, and died early. His wit was ready,
sermon to which it relates and repeated it to Gavin
and his manners lively and unaffected.]
Hamilton, with whom he happened on that day to dine.
The Calf-for the name it seems stuck-came -to Lon-  DEAR SMITH, the sleest, paukie thief
don, where the younger brother of Burns heard him                                         
0 ~ r,   <-r-^   ^u   i- -i~nn ^   That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
preach in Covent Garden Chapel, in 1790.]                                                  e
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef
RIGHT, Sir! your text I'll prove it true,                                    Owre human hearts;
Though Heretics may laugh;                        For ne'er a bosom yet was prief
For instance; there's yoursel' just now,                                      Against your arts.
God knows, an unco Calf!
For me, I swear by sun an' moon,
And should some patron be so kind,                   And ev'ry star that blinks aboon,
As bless you wi' a kirk,                          Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find,                                         Just gaun to see you;
Ye're still as great a Stirk.                    And ev'ry ither pair that's done,
Mair ta'en I'm wi' you.
But, if the lover's raptur'd hour
Shall ever be your lot,                           That auld capricious carlin, Nature,
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly power,                     To mak amends for scrimpit stature,
You e'er should be a stot!                        She's turn'd you aff, a human creature
On her first plan;
i" New Light" is a cant phrase in the West of Scot-                                 
land, for those religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of  And in her freks, on every feature
Norwich has defended.                                                           She's wrote, the Man.
L~l. —,-.,-~ —--- -----—,`` —------ ----—..   I —---— U. —-~- --— ". —-—.- ----- - I —-  --  ---— I-I-. —-—.~



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           87
Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme,           This life, sae far's I understand,
My barmie noddle's working prime,               Is a' enchanted fairy land,
My fancy yerkit it up sublime                   Where pleasure is the magic wand,
Wi' hasty summon:                               That, wielded right,
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time                  Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand,
To hear what's comin'?                         Dance by fu' light.
Some rhyme a neighbour's name to lash;          The magic wand then let us wield;
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash:   For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd,
Some rhyme to court the countra clash,          See crazy, weary, joyless eild,
An' raise a din;                                Wi' wrinkl'd face,
For me, an aim I never fash;                    Comes hostin', hirplin', owre the field,
I rhyme for fun.                                Wi' creepin' pace.
The star that rules my luckless lot,            When ance life's day draws near the gloamin',
Has fated me the russet coat,                   Then fareweel vacant careless roamin';
An' damn'd my fortune to the groat;             An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin',
But in requit,                                  An' social noise;
Has blest me with a random shot                 An' fareweel dear, deluding woman!
0' countra wit.                                 The joy of joys!
This while my notion's ta'en a sklent,          0 Life! how pleasant in thy morning,
To try my fate in guid black prent;             Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
But still the mair I'm that way bent,           Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
Something cries "Hoolie!                        We frisk away,
I red you, honest man, tak tent!                Like school-boys, at th' expected warning,
Ye'll shaw your folly.                          To joy and play.
"There's ither poets much your betters,        We wander there, we wander here,
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters,         We eye the rose upon the brier,
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors,     Unmindful that the thorn is near,
A' future ages:                                 Among the leaves;
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters,          And tho' the puny wound appear,
Their unknown pages."                           Short while it grieves.
Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs,           Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot,
To garland my poetic brows!                     For which they never toil'd nor swat;
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs        They drink the sweet and eat the fat,
Are whistling thrang,                           But care or pain;
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes         And, haply, eye the barren hut
My rustic sang.                                With high disdain.
I'll wander on, with tentless heed              With steady aim some Fortune chase;
How never-halting moments speed,                Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace;
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;        Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race,
Then, all unknown,                              And seize the prey;
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,           Then cannie, in some cozie place,
Forgot and gone!                                They close the day.
But why o' death begin a tale?                 And others, like your humble servan',
Just now we're living sound and hale,           Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin';
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,             To right or left, eternal swervin',
{tt| ~            Heave care o'er side!                           They zig-zag on;
And large, before enjoyment's gale,'Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin',
Let's tak the tide.                             They aften groan.




88                             THE POETICAL WORKS
Alas! what bitter toil an' straining-              Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise;
But truce with peevish, poor complaining!           Nae ferly tho' ye do despise
Is fortune's fickle Luna waning?                    The hairum-scarum, ram-stam boys,
E'en let her gang!                                  The rattling squad:
Beneath what light she has remaining,               I see you upward cast your eyesLet's sing our sang.                                Ye ken the roadMy pen I here fling to the door,                    Whilst I-but I shall baud me thereAnd kneel, "Ye Pow'rs," and warm implore,    Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where"Tho' I should wander terra e'er,                   Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,
In all her climes,                                  But quat my sang,
Grant me but this, I ask no more,                   Content wi' you to mak a pair,
Ay rowth o' rhymes.                                 Whare'er I gang.
"Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds,
Till icicles hing frae their beards;
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards,                                 XXIV.
And maids of honour!                       THE  VISION.
And yill an' whisky gie to cairds,
Until they sconner.DUAN FIRST.I
[The Vision and the Briggs of Ayr, are said by Jeffrey
"A title, Dempster merits it;                       to be; the only pieces by Burns which can be classed
A garter gie to Willie Pitt;                        under the head of pure fiction:" but Tam o' Shanter
Gie wealth to some be-leder'd cit,                 and twenty other of his compositions have an equa.
~In cenC.~^ pright to be classed with works of fiction. The edition
In cen. per cent.    of this poem published at Kilmarnock, differs in some
But give me real, sterling wit,                     particulars from the edition which followed in EdinAnd I'm content.            burgh. The maiden whose foot was so handsome as to
match that of Coila, was a Bess at first, but old affection
"While ye ae p d to kp me h,         triumphed, and Jean, for whom the honour was from
"While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale,                          Z       n             
the first designed, regained  her place. The robe of
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal,                  Coila, too, was expanded, so far indeed that she got
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,                   more cloth than she could well carry.]
Wi' cheerfu' face,
Wi' cheerfu' face,             THE sun had clos'd the winter day,
As lang's the muses dinna fail 
s l s te m s d   f     The curlers quat their roaring play,
To say the grace."
To say the grace."     An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way
An anxious e'e I never throws                                            To kail-yards green,
Behint my lug, or by my nose;                         While faithless snaws ilk step betray
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows                                           hare she has been.
As wee's I may;
As wee's I may;            The thresher's weary flingin'-tree
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose,
The lee-lang dclay had tired me;
I rhyme away.
And when the day had clos'd his e'e
0 ye douce folk, that live by rule,                                      Far i' the west,
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,               Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie,
Compar'd wi' you-O  fool! fool! fool!                                    I gaed to rest.
How much unlike!
How much ulik!         There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
Your hearts are just a standing pool,
Y   lives a kI sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
Your lives a dyke!
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,
Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces,                                    The   ld clay biin';
In your unletter'd nameless faces!                   An' heard the restless rattons squeak
In arioso trills and graces                                                 out the igin.
Ye never stray,               1 Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions
But gravissimo, solemn basses                       of a digressive poem. See his " Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of
Ye hum away.                Macpherson's translation.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 89
All in this mottle, misty clime,                    And such a leg! my bonnie Jean
I backward mused on wastet time,                                       Could only peer it;
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,                  Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,
An' done nae thing,                                 Nane else came near it.
But stringin' blethers up in rhyme,
For fools to sing.               Her mantle large, of greenish hue,
My gazing wonder chiefly drew;
Had I to guid advice but harkit,                    Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw
I might, by this hae led a market,                                     A lustre grand;
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit                   And seem'd to my astonisli'd view,
My cash-account:                                    A well-known land.
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,
Is a' th' amount.                Here, rivers in the sea were lost;
There, mountains to the skies were tost:
I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!              Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast,
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,                                     With surging foam;
To swear by a' yon starry roof,                     There, distant shone Art's lofty boast,
Or some rash aith,                                  The lordly dome.
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof
Till my last breath_-            Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods;
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds:
When, click! the string the snick did draw:         Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,
And, jee! the door gaed to the wa';                                    On to the shore;
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,                         And many a lesser torrent scuds,
Now bleezin' bright,                                With seeming roar.
A tight outlandish hizzie, braw
Come full in sight.              Low, in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient borough rear'd her head;
Ye need na doubt, I held my wisht;                  Still, as in Scottish story read,
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht;                              She boasts a race,
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht                 To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,
In some wild glen;                                  And polish'd grace.
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht,
And stepped ben.                 By stately tow'r, or palace fair,
Or ruins pendent in the air,
Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs              Bold stems of heroes, here and there,
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows,                               I could discern;
I took her for some Scottish Muse,                  Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,
By that same token;                                 With feature stern.
An' come to stop those reckless vows,
Wou'd soon be broken.            WMy heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a race' heroic wheel,
A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace"                 And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel
Was strongly marked in her face;                                       In sturdy blows;
A wildly-witty, rustic grace                        While back-recoiling seem'd to reel
Shone full upon her:                                Their southron foes.
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space,
Beam'd keen with honour.         His Country's Saviour,2 mark him well!
Bold Richardton's3 heroic swell;
Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen,               The chief on Sark4 who glorious fell,'Till half a leg was scrimply seen:                                    In high command;
1 The Wallaces.                                   mand under Douglas, Earl of Ornond, at the famous
2 Sir William Wallace.                            battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1418. Thac
3 Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immor-  glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious
tal preserver of Scottish independence.             conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant laird of Craigie,
4 Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in com-  who died of his wounds after the action




90                           THE POETICAL WORKS
And He whom ruthless fates expel                  Who, all beneath his high command,
His native land.                                  Harmoniously,
As arts or arms they understand,
There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade'                              Their labours ply.
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race portray'd                 " They Scotia's race among them share;
In colours strong;              Some fire the soldier on to dare;
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd                Some rouse the patriot up to bare
They strode along.                                Corruption's heart.
Some teach the bard, a darling care,
Thro' many a wild romantic grove,2The tuneful art.
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,)          "''ong swelling floods of reeking gore,
In musing mood,
In musing mood,               They, ardent, kindling spirits, pour;
An aged judge, I saw him rove,
An aged judge, I saw him rove,                   Or'mid the venal senate's roar,
Dispensing good.
Dispensing good.                                  They, sightless, stand,
With deep-struck, reverential awe,3               To mend the honest patriot-lore,
The learned sire and son I saw,                                     And grace the hand.
To Nature's God and Nature's law
They gave their lore,          4" And when the bard, or hoary sage,
This, all its source and end to draw;             Charm or instruct the future age,
That, to adore.                 They bind the wild, poetic rage
That, to adore.                                   In er    
In energy,
Brydone's brave ward4 I well could spy,           Or point the inconclusive page
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;                                   Full on the eye.
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by,
To hand him on,                 " Hence Fullarton, the brave and young;
Where many a Patriot-name on high                 Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue;
And hero shone.                 Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung
His' Minstrel' lays;
Or tore, with noble ardour stung,
The sceptic's bays.
DUAN SECOND.
WITH musing-deep, astonish'd stare,                To lower orders are assign
I view'd the heavenly-seeming fair;               The humbler ranks of human-kind,
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear               The rustic  ard, the labring hind,
Of kindred sweet,                                 The artisan;
When with an elder sister's air           
When with an elder sister's air               All choose, as various they're inclin'd
She did me greet.                                 The various man.
"All hail! My own inspired bard!                  "When yellow waves the heavy grain,
In me thy native Muse regard!                     The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rein;
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,                Some teach to meliorate the plain,
Thus poorly low!                                  With tillage-skill;
I come to give thee such reward                   And some instruct the shepherd-train,
As we bestow.                                     Blythe o'er the hill.
" Know, the great genius of this land,            " Some hint the lover's harmless wile;
Has many a light aerial band,                     Some grace the maiden's artless smile;
1 Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of  (Sir Thomas Miller of Glenlee, afterwards President of
Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition  the Court of Session.)
says, near the family seat of the Montgomeries of Coils-   3 Catrine, the seat of Professor Dugald Stewart.
field, where his burial-place is still shown.       4 Colonel Fullarton.
Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice-Clerk
the    Lord Justice-Clerk ~ ~ ~   ~       ~     ~,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          91
Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil,          " I saw thy pulse's maddening play,
For humble gains,             Wild send thee pleasure's devious way,
And make his cottage-scenes beguile            Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray,
His cares and pains.                           By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray
"Some, bounded to a district-space,                             Was light from Heaven.
Explore at large man's infant race,
To mark the embryotic trace                    "I taught thy manners-painting strains,
Of rustic bard:               The loves, the ways of simple swains,
And careful note each op'ning grace,           Till now, o'er all my wide domains
A guide and guard.                             Thy fame extends;
And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
"Of these am I-Coila my name;                                   Become thy friends.
And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,      "Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
Held ruling pow'r:            To paint with Thomson's landscape glow;
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame,             Or wake the bosom-melting throe,
Thy natal hour.                                With Shenstone's art;
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow,
"With future hope, I oft would gaze,                            Warm on the heart.
Fond, on thy little early ways,
Thy rudely carroll'd, chiming phrase,          "Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose,
In uncouth rhymes,            The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays              Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
Of other times.                                His army shade,
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,
"I saw thee seek the sounding shore,                            Adown the glade.
Delighted with the dashing roar;
Or when the north his fleecy store             "Then never murmur nor repine;
Drove through the sky,        Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar                And, trust me, not Potosi's mine,
Struck thy young eye.                          Nor king's regard,
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine,
"Or when the deep green-mantled earth                           A rustic bard.
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth                "To give my counsels all in one,
In ev'ry grove,               Thy tuneful flame still careful fan;
I saw thee eye the general mirth               Preserve the dignity of man,
With boundless love.                           With soul erect;
And trust, the universal plan
"When ripen'd fields, and azure skies,                          Will all protect.
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their evening joys,           "And wear thou this,"-she solemn said,
And lonely stalk,             And bound the holly round my head:
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise              The polish'd leaves and berries red
In pensive walk.                               Did rustling play;
And like a passing thought, she fled
"When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong,                     In light away.
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored Name
I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.




92                                THE POETICAL WORKS
XXV.                                The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,
Mair braw than when they're fine;
H A L L O W E E N.I               Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,
"Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,            Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin';
The simple pleasures of the lowly train;              The lads sae trig, wi' wooer bab,
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,,'  ~ i   /    r    ~  Weel knotted on their garten,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art." 
GOLDSMITH.           Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs,
[This Poem contains a lively and striking picture of         Gar lasses' hearts gang startin'
some of the superstitious observances of old Scotland:                              Whiles fast at night
on Halloween the desire to look into futurity was once
all but universal in the north; and the charms and spells   Then, first and foremost, thro the kl,
which Burns describes, form  but a portion of those            Their stocks5 maun a' be sought ance;
employed to enable the peasantry to have a peep up the      They steek their een, an' graip an' wale,
dark vista of the future. The scene is laid on the romantic    For mucle anes an' straught anes.
shores of Ayr, at a farmer's fireside, and the actors in the                  i       
rustic drama are the whole household, including supernumerary re-ipers and bandsmen about to be discharged          An' wander'd through the bow-kail,
from the englagements of harvest. "I never can help         An' pou't, for want o' better shift,
regarding this," says James IIogg, " as rather a trivial          runt was like a sow-tail,
poem!"]                                                                            Sac bow't that night.
UPos that night, when fairies light
UPON that night, when fairies light                    Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
On Cassilis Downans2 dance,
On Cassilis Downans  daThey roar an' cry a' throu'ther;
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
Or owrigthelay   inspendid,                 The vera wee-things, todlin', rin
On sprightly coursers prance;
Onsrgtl  cusr  prance;                           Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther;
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, 
-   1, -,  ~ An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour,
Beneath the moon's pale beams;                                                        
mT ^ ^,  ~  Wi' joctelegs they taste them;
There, up the Cove,3 to stray an' rove,   ^ ~~~~~,,           ~           Syne coziely, aboon the door,
Amang the rocks an' streams
o s t tt ng hr.            Wi' cannie care, they've placed them
To sport that night.                                      To lie tat nigt.
To lie that night.
Amang the bonnie winding banks                            The lasses staw frae mang them  a'
Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear,                        To pou their stalks o' corn;6
Where Bruce4 ance rul'd the martial ranks,               But Rab slips out, an' jinks about,
An' shook his Carrick spear,                             Behint the muckle thorn:
Some merry, friendly, countra folks,                     He grippet Nelly hard an' fast;
Together did convene,                                    Loud skirl'd a' the lasses;
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks,                But her tap-pickle maist was lost,
An' haud their Halloween                                 When kiuttlin' in the fause-house7
Fu' blythe that night.                                   Wi' him  that night.
I Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and   root, that is tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custoc,
other mischief-making beings are all abroad on their  that is, the heart of the stein, is indicative of the natural
baneful midnight errands: particularly those aerial people,  temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give
the Fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anni-  them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed
versary.                                                 somewhere above the head of the door; and the Christian
2 Certain little, romantic, rocky green hills, in the   names of the people whom chance brings into the house
neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.  are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the
3 A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove   names in question.
of Colean which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed     6 They go to the barn-yard, and pull each at three
in country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies.    several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wa-nts
4 The famous family of that name, the ancestors of  the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk,
Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls  the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anyof Carrick.                                              thing but a maid.
5 The first ceremony of Ialloween is, pulling each a    7 When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being toc
stock, or plant of kail. They must go out, hand-in-hand,  green or wet, the stack-builder, by mneans of old tlinber,
with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its  &c., makes a large apartment in his stack, with an openbeing big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of  ing in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this
the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells-   he calls a fause-house.
the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                     93
The auld guidwife's weel hoordet nits'                 An' darklins graipit for the bauks,
Are round an' round divided,                           And in the blue-clue2 throws then,
An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates                                            Right fear't that night.
Are there that night decided:
Some kindle, couthie, side by side,                    An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat,
An' burn thegither trimly;                             I wat she made nae jaukin';
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride,'Till something held within the pat,
And jump out-owre the chimlie                          Guid L-d! but she was quaukin' 
Fu' high that night.            But whether'twas the Deil himsel',
Or whether'twas a bauk-en',
Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e;                      Or whether it was Andrew Bell,
Wha'twas, she wadna tell;                             She did na wait on talkin'
But this is Jock, an' this is me,                                            To spier that night.
She says in to hersel':
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him,                 Wee Jenny to her graunie says,
As they wad never mair part;                           "I Will ye go wi' me, graunie!'Till, fuff! he started up the lum,                    I'll eat the apples at the glass,
An' Jean had e'en a sair heart                         I gat frae uncle Johnnie:"
To see't that night.            She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin',
Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,                    She notic't na, an aizle brunt
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie;                          Her braw new worset apron
An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt,                                        Out thro' that night.
To be compar'd to Willie;
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling,                 "Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
An' her ain fit it brunt it;                           I daur you try sic sportin',
While Willie lap, and swoor, by jing,                  As seek the foul Thief onie place,'Twas just the way he wanted                           For him to spae your fortune:
To be that night.               Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
Nell had the fause-house in her min',                  For monie a ane has gotten a fright,
She pits hersel an' Rob in;                            An' liv'd an' died deleeret
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,                                           On sic a night'Till white in ase they're sobbin';
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view,                  " Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,
She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't:                       I mind't as weel's yestreen,
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonie mou',                  I was a gilpey then, I'm  sure
Fu' cozie in the neuk for't,                           I was na past fifteen:
Unseen that night.              The simmer had been cauld an' wat,
An' stuff was unco green;
But Merran sat behint their backs,                     An' ay a rantin' kirn we gat,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;                           An' just on Halloween
She lea'es them  gashin' at their cracks,                                     It fell that night.
And slips out by hersel':
She through the yard the nearest taks,                 "Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,
An' to the kiln she goes then,                         A clever, sturdy fellow:
1 Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the  latter end, something will hold the thread; demand " wha
lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in  hauds?" i. e. who holds? an answer will be returned from
the fire, and according as they burn quietly together, or  the kiln-pot, naming the Christian and surname of your
start from beside one another, the course and issue of the  future spouse.
courtship will be.                                       3 Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat
2 Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must  an apple before it, and some traditions say, you should
strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to  comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjuga:
the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue  companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping
yarn; wind it in a clue off the old one; and towards the  over your shoulder.




94                               TIIE POETICAL WORKS
He's sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean,                        He swoor'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
That liv'd in Achmacalla:                               Or crouchie Merran Humphie,
He gat hemp-seed,' I mind it weel,'Till, stop! she trotted thro' them  a';
And he made unco light o't;                             An' wha was it but Grumphie
But monie a day was by himsel',                                                Asteer that night!
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night."                Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen,
To win three wechts o' naething;2
Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck,                       But for to meet the deil her lane,
An' he swoor by his conscience,                         She pat but little faith in:
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;                     She gies the herd a pickle nits,
For it was a' but nonsense;                             An' twa red cheekit apples,
The auld guidman raught down the pock,                  To watch, while for the barn she sets,
An' out a' handfu' gied him;                            In hopes to see Tam Kipples
Syne bad him  slip frae'mang the folk,                                        That vera night.
Sometime when nae ane see'd him,
An' try't that night.            She turns the key wi' cannie thraw,
An' owre the threshold ventures;
He marches thro' amang the stacks,                      But first on Sawnie gies a ca',
Tho' he was something sturtin;                          Syne bauldly in she enters:
The graip he for a harrow taks,                         A ratton rattled up the wa',
An' haurls at his curpin;                               An' she cried, L-d preserve her!
An' ev'ry now an' then he says,                         An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a,
" Hemp-seed, I saw thee,                                An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour,
An' her that is to be my lass,                                                 Fu' fast that night.
Come after me, an' draw thee
As fast that night."             They hoy't out Will, wi sair advice;
They hecht him  some fine braw ane;
He whistl'd up Lord Lennox' march,                      It chanc'd the stack he faddonm't thrice,3
To keep his courage cheery;                             Was timmer-propt for thrawin';
Altho' his hair began to arch,                          He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak,
He was sae fley'd an' eerie;                            For some black, grousome carlin;'Till presently he hears a squeak,                      An' loot a winze, an' drew  a stroke,
An' then a grane an' gruntle;'Till skin in blypes cam haurlin'
He by his shouther gae a keek,                                                 Aff's nieves that night.
An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle
Out-owre that night              A wanton widow Leezie was,
As canty as a kittlin;
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,                        But, och! that night, amang the shaws,
In dreadfu' desperation!                                She got a fearfu' settlin'!
An' young an' auld cam rinnin' out,                     She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,
An' hear the sad narration;                             An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,
I Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-  that the being about to appear may shut the doors and
seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently   do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used
draw after you. Repeat, now and then, " Hemp-seed, I  in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we
saw thee; hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that  call a wecht i and go through all the attitudes of letting
is to be my true love. come after me and pou thee."   down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and
Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appear-  the third time, an apparition will palss through tie
ance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling   barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having
hemp. Some traditions say, " Come after me, and shaw   both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue
thee," that is, show thyself; in which case it simply   marking the employment or station in life.
appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, "Come    3 T2.ke an opportunity of gring unnoticed, to a bean
after me, and harrow thee."                             stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathorm
2 This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived,  of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appear
and al:ne. You go to the barn, and open both doors,  ance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.
takilj them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                       95
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,                                     X
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,
Was bent that night.               MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.
Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,                                        A DIRGE.
As through the glen it wimpl't;                       [The origin of this fine poem is alluded to by Burns in
Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays,                 one of his letters to Mrs. Dunlop: "' I had an old grandWhyles in a wiel it dimpl't;                       uncle with whom my mother lived in her girlish years:
the good old man was long blind ere he died, dluring which
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,                 t
Wyles glit d to te n y rs,           time his highest enjoyment was to sit and cry, while my
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle;                     mother would sing the simple old song of  The Life and
Whyles cookit underneath the braes,                   Age of Man.' "  From that truly venerable woman, long
Below the spreading hazel,                        ^after the death of her distinguished son, Cromnek, in colthhUnseen thlecting the Reliques, obtained a copy by recitation of the
older strain. Though the tone and sentiment coincide
closely with " Man was made to Mourn," I agree with
Amang the brackens on the brae,                       Lockhart, that Burns wrote it in obedience to his own
Between her an' the moon,                          habitual feelings.]
The deil, or else an outler quey,
The deil, or else an outler quey                        WIIEN chill November's surly blast
Gat up an' gae a croon:
Made fields and forests bare,
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool!                       e 
Near. la.h sh             One ev'ning as I wandered forth
Near lav'rock-height she jumpit,
Along the hanks of Ayr,
But mist a fit, an' in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,                        I spy'd a man whose aged step
Wi' a plunge tat night.  Seem'd wealry, worn with care;
Wi' a plunge that night.   
His face was furrow'd o'er with years,
In order, on the clean hearth-stane,                       And hoary was his hair.
The luggies three2 are ranged,
"Young stranger, whitller wand'rest thou?"
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en,                        B
Began the rev'relnd sage;
To see them  duly changed:
Aul  ucle Joh,  edlock's joys  "Does thirst of wealth' thy step constrain,
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys                                       peu'               e
Sin IMar's-year did desire,                             Or youthful please's re 
Because he gat the  toom-dish thrice,                 Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice,                             s     t          bg
TT-,,1^-,   ^   ~>Too soon thou hast began
He heav'd them  on the fire 
i.     To wander forth, with me to mourn
In wrath that night.
The miseries of man.
Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks,
~~I wat they did na   erThe sun that overhangs yon moors,
I wat they did na weary;                                  u
Out-sprealding far and wide,
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,
An, no- ae, a'fnijoe, i                           Where hundreds labour to support
Their sports were cheap an' cheery;                   Wher
Till butter'd so'ns3 wi' fragrant lunt,                    A haughty   rding's pre:
Set a' their gabs a-steerin'I've seen yon weary winter-sun
Set a' their gabs a-steerin';
Twice forty times return
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,                                
vThey parted nf careerin'                             And ev'ry time has added proofs
They parted aff careerin'
That man was made to mourn.
Fu' blythe that night.
" 0 man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
I You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to  and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged;
a south running spring or rivulet, where " three lairds'  he (or she) dips the left lhand: if by chance in the clean
lands nmeet," and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed  water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar
in sight of a fire, and lang your wet sleeve before it to  of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a wido -w; if in tab
dry. Lie awake: and, some time near midnight, an   empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage
apparition halvng the exact figure of the grand object in  at all. It is repeasted three times, andt every time the
question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the  arrangement of the dishes is altered.
otler si-le of it.                                        3 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to theme is always
2 Ti:ke three dishes: put clean water in one, foul water  the Halloween supper.
in another, and leave the third empty; blindfold a person 
in~-~-~-                                                                                        __ another,______^ i




96                           THE POETICAL WORKS
Misspending all thy precious hours,               This partial view of human-kind
Thy glorious youthful prime!                     Is surely not the best!
Alternate follies take the sway;                  The poor, oppressed, honest man
Licentious passions burn;                         Had never, sure, been born,
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,           Had there not been some recompense
That man was made to mourn.                       To comfort those that mourn!
"Look not alone on youthful prime,                " 0 Death! the poor man's dearest friendOr manhood's active might;                        The kindest and the best!
Man then is useful to his kind,                   Welcome the hour, my aged limbs
Supported in his right:                           Are laid with thee at rest!
But see him on the edge of life,                  The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,
With cares and sorrows worn;                      From pomp and pleasure torn!
Then age and want-oh! ill-match'd pair!-         But, oh! a blest relief to those
Show man was made to mourn.                       That weary-laden mourn."
"A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure's lap carest:
Yet, think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest.
XXVII.
But, oh! what crowds in every land,
All wretched and forlorn!                                      T   O    U IN.
Thro' weary life this lesson learnThat man yas made this o mounlearn.            ["I have been," says Burns, in his common-plaeu
That man was made to mourn.  
book, "taking a peep through, as Young finely says,'The dark postern of time long elapsed.''Twas a
"Many and sharp the num'rous ills              rueful prospect  WA lhat a tissue of thoughtlessness,
Inwoven with our frame!                       weakness, and folly! my life reminded me of a ruined
More pointed still we make ourselves,                             0                                I
More pointed still we make ourselves,           temple. What strength, what proprtion in some patrts.
w hat unsightly gapis, what prostrate ruins in others!"
Regret, rem, and shame!                  The fragment, To Ruin, seems to have had its origin in
And man, whose heaven-erected face              moments such as these.]
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man
ALL hail! inexorable lord!
Makes countless thousands mourn!                   L h        i 
At whose destruction-breathing word,
"See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,               The mightiest empires fall!
So abject, mean, and vile,
So abject, mean, and vile,                    Thy c ruel, woe-delighted train,
Who begs a brother of the earth                                  of grief and pn,
hA sullen welcorme all!
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
And see his lordly fellow-worm                    With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,
The poor petition spurn,                          I       e          
Unmnindfull, though a weeping wife                For one has cut my dearest tie,
And helpless offspring mourn.                     And quivers in my heart.
Then low'ring and pouring,
" If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave-                  The storm no more I dread;
By Nature's law design'd~-                           Though thick'ning and black'ning,
Round my devoted head.
Why was an independent wishound my devoted head.
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to                                            I
His cruelty or scorn?                          And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd,
Or why has man the will and power                 While life a pleasure can afford,
To make his fellow mourn?                         Oh! hear a wretch's prayer!
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;
"Yet, let not this too much, my son,              I court, I beg thy friendly aid,
Disturb thy youthful breast;                      To close this scene of care!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 97
When shall my soul, in silent peace,                But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave,
Resign life's joyless day;                                           A toom tar-barrel,
My weary heart its throbbings cease,                An' twa red peats wad send relief,
Cold mould'ring in the clay?                                        An' end the quarrel
No fear more, no tear more,
To stain my lifeless face;
Enclasped, and grasped
Within thy cold embrace!
XXIX.
XXVIII.                                         J. LAPRAIK.
~~~~~TO                     AN OLD  SCOTTISH  BARD.
JOHN  GOUDIE  OF  KILMARNOCK.                                         April 1st, 1785.
ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS.                            (FIRST  EPISTLE.)
[" The epistle to John Lapraik," says G-ilbert Burns,
[This burning commentary, by Burns, on the Essays                        Lapraik  says Gilbert Burns,
" was produced exactly on the occasion described by the
of Goudie in the Macgill controversy, was first published
0'.... author. Rocking is a term derived from primitive times,
by Stewart. with the Jolly Beggars, in 1801; it is akin in.3 J  ~'~   T r.   when our country-women employed their spare hours in
life and spirit to Holy Willie's Prayer; and may be cited
spinning on the roke or distaff. This simple instrument
as a sample of the wit and the force which the poet
is a very portable one; and well fitted to the social inclibrought to the great, but now forgotten, controversy of
nation of meeting in a neighbour's house; hence the
the West.]
phrase of going a rocking, or with the roke. As the
0 GOUDIE! terror of the Whigs,                   connexion the phrase had with the implement was forDread of black coats and rev'rend wigs,            gotten when the roke gave place to the spinning-wheel,
the phrase came to be used by both sexes on social occa
Sour PBigotry, on her last legs,                 sions, and men talk of going with their rokes as well an
Girnin', looks back,           women."]
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues' te tn E n p s        WHILE briers an' woodbines budding green,
Wad seize you quick....
An' paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en,
Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition,               An' morning poussie whidden seen,
Waes me! she's in a sad condition:                                    Inspre my muse
Fie! bring Black Jock, her state physician,   This freedom in an unnown frien'
To see her water:                                   I pray excuse.
Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion               
On Fasten-een we had a rocking
She'll ne'er get better.
To ca' the crack and weave our stockin',
Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple,                  And there was muckle fun an' join
But now she's got an unco ripple;                                      Ye need na doubt;
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel,             At length we had a hearty yokin'
Nigh unto death;                                    At sang about.
See, how she fetches at the thrapple,
gssfrbet.  There was ae sang, amang the rest,
An' gasps for breath.
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best,
Enthusiasm's past redemption,                     That some kind husband had addrest
Gaen in a gallopin' consumption,                                            some sweet wife;
Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption,         It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast,
Will ever mend her.                                 A' to the life.
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption
e   stong wPr   Pn     I've scarce heard aught describ'd sae weel,
Death soon will end her.
What gen'rous manly bosoms feel,'ITis you and Taylor' are the chief,              Thought I, "Can this be Pope or Steele,
Wha are to blame for this mischief,                                    Or Beattie's wark?"
They told me'twas an odd kind chiel
1 Dr. Taylor, of Norwich.                                   About Muirkirk.
7




98                           THE POETICAL WORKS
It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't,                 Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire!
And sae about him there I spier't,               That's a' the learning I desire;
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd           Then though I drudge thro' dub an' mire
He had injine,                                   At pleugh or cart,
That, nane excell'd it, few cam near't,         My muse, though hamely in attire,
It was sae fine.                                May touch the heart.
That, set him to a pint of ale,                 O for a spunk o' Allan's glee,
An; either douce or merry tale,                  Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee,
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel',           Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be,
Or witty catches,                               If I can hit it!'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale,                 That would be lear eneugh for me,
He had few matches.                              If I could get it.
Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith,                Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow,
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith,         Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few,
Or die a cadger pownie's death                   Yet, if your catalogue be fou,
At some dyke-back,                               I'se no insist,
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith               But gif ye want ae friend that's trueTo hear your crack.                              I'm on your list.
But, first an' foremost, I should tell,          I winnaJiya about mysel;
Amaist as soon as I could spell,                As ill I like my fauts to tell;
I to the crambo-jingle fell,                     But friends an' folk that wish me well,
Tho' rude an' rough,                             They sometimes roose me;
Yet crooning to a body's sel',                   Tho' I maun own, as monie still
Does weel eneugh.                                As far abuse me.
I am nae poet in a sense,                        There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me,
But just a rhymer, like, by chance,              I like the lasses-Gude forgie me!
An' hae to learning nae pretence,                For monie a plack they wheedle frae me,
Yet what the matter?                            At dance or fair;
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance,              May be some ither thing they gie me
I jingle at her.                                They weel can spare.
Your critic-folk may cock their nose,           But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair;
And say, " How can you e'er propose,            I should be proud to meet you there!
You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose,           We'se gie ae night's discharge to care,
To mak a sang?"                                If we forgather,
But, by your leaves, my learned foes,           An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware
Ye're may-be wrang.                             Wi' ane anither.
What's a' your jargon o' your schools,          The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter,
Your Latin names for horns an' stools;          An' kirsen him wi' reekin' water;
If honest nature made you fools,                Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter,
What sairs your grammars?                        To cheer our heart;
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools,          An' faith, we'se be acquainted better,
Or knappin-hammers.                             Before we part.
A set o' dull, conceited hashes,                 Awa, ye selfish, warly race,
Confuse their brains in college classes  Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace,
They gang in stirks and come out asses,         Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place
Plain truth to speak;                           To catch-the-plack!
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus          I dinna like to see your face,
By dint o' Greek!                               Nor hear your crack.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 99
But ye whom social pleasure charms,                    Her dowff excuses pat me mad:
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms,               "Conscience," says I, "ye thowless jad 
Who hold your being on the terms,                      I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,
"Each aid the others,"                                 This vera night;
Come to my bowl, come to my arms,                      So dinna ye affront your trade,
My friends, my brothers!                              But rhyme it right.
But, to conclude my lang epistle,                      "Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts,
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle;                 Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes,
Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,                 Roose you sae weel for your deserts,
Who am, most fervent,                                 In terms sae friendly,
While I can either sing or whissle,                    Yet ye'll neglect to show your parts,
Your friend and servant.                              An' thank him kindly?"
Sae I gat paper in a blink
An' down gaed stumpie in the ink:
Quoth I, "Before I sleep a wink,
I vow I'll close it;
^^^~XXX.   ~An' if ye winna mak it clink,
TO                                                  By Jove I'll prose it!"
J. L A P RA I K.                       Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether
(SECOND  EPISTLE.)                       In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither,
rm1~~~~~~ T -. ~~    L,1,1     Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither,
[The John Lapraik to whom these epistles are addressedot              ot     tt   it    eit
lived at Dalfram in the neighbourhood of Muirkirk,                          Let time mak proof;
and was a rustic worshipper of the Muse: he unluckily,    But I shall scribble down some blether
however, involved himself in that Western bubble, the                       Just clean aff-loof.
Ayr Bank, and consoled himself by oomposing in his
distress that song  which moved the heart of Burns    My worthy friend,  ne'er grudge an' carp,
beginning
When I upon thy bosom lean."                 Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp;
" WVhen I upon thy bosom lean."
Come, kittle up your moorland-harp
He afterwards published a volume of verse, of a quality  ome  ile    
which proved that the inspiration in his song of domestic                       g some touch
sorrow was no settled power of sou..]                 Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp;
She's but a b-tch.
April 21st, 1785.
WIILE new-ca'd ky, rowte at the stake,              She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,                Sin' I could striddle owre a rig;
This hour on e'enin's edge I take                   But, by the L-d, tho' I should beg
To own I'm debtor,                                  Wi' lyart pow,
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,                    I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg,
For his kind letter.                                As lang's I dow 
Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs,                     Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer,
Rattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs,                I've seen the bud upo' the timmer,
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs                    Still persecuted by the limmer
Their ten hours' bite,                              Frae year to year;
My awkart muse sair pleads and begs,                But yet despite the kittle kimmer,
I would na write.                                   I, Rob, am here.
The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie,                    Do ye envy the city gent,
She's saft at best, and something lazy,             Behint a kist to lie and sklent,
Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae busy,             Or purse-proud, big wi' cent. per cent.
This month' an' mair,                               And muckle wame,
That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie,         In some bit brugh to represent
An' something sair."                                A bailie's name?.......




100                           THE POETICAL WORKS
Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane,                                  XXXI.
Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane,                                    To
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane,                        J  LAP RA IK.
But lordly stalks,
While caps and bonnets aff are taen,(THIRD  EPISTLE.)
As by he walks!              [I have heard one of our most distinguished English
poets recite with a sort of ecstasy some of the verses of
these epistles, and praise the ease of the language and
"0 Thou wha gies us each guid gift!!
the happiness of the thoughts. He averred, however,
Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift,                that the poet, when pinched for a word, hesitated not to
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift,           coin one, and instanced, " tapetless," " ramfeezled," and
Thro' Scotland wide;,          forjesket," as intrusions in our dialect. These words
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift,              seem indeed, to some Scotchmen, strange and uncouth,
but they are true words of the west.]
In a' their pride!"
Sept. 13th, 1785.
Were this the charter of our state,               GUID speed an' furder to you, Johnny,
"On pain' o' hell be rich an' great,"             Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonny;
Damnation then would be our fat*,                 Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny
Beyond remead;                                    The staff o' bread,
But, thanks to Heav'n, that's no the gate         May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y
We learn our creed.                               To clear your head.
May Boreas never thresh your rigs,
For thus the royal mandate ran,
WFortheis the hlmandracte bran,           Nor kick your rickles aff their legs,
When first the human race began,.hen si, frenn hes man,             Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs
"' The social, friendly, honest man,                                   Like drivin wrack
Like drivin' wrack;
Whate'er he be,'Tishefulf tWhate'er he be,   But may the tapmast grain that wags'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan,
An' none but heC!"                   Come to the sack.
An' none but he!"
I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it,
O mandate, glorious and divine!                   But bitter, daudin' showers hae wat it,
The followers o' the ragged Nine,                 Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it
Poor thoughtless devils! yet may shine                                 Wi' muckle wark,
In glorious light,           An' took my jocteleg an' whatt it,
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line                                     Like ony  ark.
Are dark as night.
It's now twa month that I'm your debtor
Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl,    For your braw, nameless, dateless letter,
Their worthless nievfa' of a soul                 Abusin' me for harsh ill nature
May in some future carcase howl                                       On holy men,
The forest's fright;         While deil a hair yoursel' ye're better,
Or in some day-detesting owl                                          But mair profane.
May shun the light.
But let the kirk-folk ring their bells,
Then may Lapraik and Burns arise,                 Let's sing about our noble sel's;
To reach their native kindred skies,              We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys,                            To help, or roose us,
In some mild sphere,         But browster wives an' whiskey stills,
Still closer knit in friendship's ties                                They are the muses.
Each passing year!
Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it
An' if ye mak' objections at it,
Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it,
An' witness take,
An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it
It winna break.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              101
But if the beast and branks be spar'd             Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield,
Till kye be gaun without the herd,                                     The braes o' fame;
An' a' the vittel in the yard,                    Or Fergusson, the writer chiel,
An' theekit right,                                A deathless name.
I mean your ingle-side to guard
Ae winter night.              (0 Fergusson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law's dry, musty arts!
Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae                    My curse upon your whunstane hearts,
Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty,                              Ye Enbrugh gentry I
Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty,              The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes
An' be as canty,                                  Wad stow'd his pantry!)
As ye were nine year less than thretty,
Sweet ane an' twenty!         Yet when a tale comes i' my head,
Or lasses gie my heart a screed,
But stooks are cowpet wi' the blast,              A       es theyre    e t  e    de
An', now the sinkekAs whiles they're like to be my dead
An' now the sin keeks in the west,                                         sad disease 
(0 sad disease!)
Then I maun rin amang the rest
Then I maun rin amang the rest               I kittle up my rustic reed,
An' quat my chanter;s,^ ^., ~~It gies me ease.
Sae I subscribe myself in haste,
Yours, Rab the Ranter.
Yours, Rab the Ranter.  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
XXXII.
Her weel-sung praise.
TO
WILLIAM  SIMPSON,                          Nae poet thought her worth his while,
To set her name in measur'd stile;
OCHILTREE.
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle
[The person to whom this epistle is addressed, was                     Beside New-Holland,
schoolmaster of Ochiltree, and afterwards of New La-    Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil
nark: he was a writer of verses too, like many more of                   Besoh 
Besouth Magellan.
the poet's comrades;-of verses which rose not above
the barren level of mediocrity: " one of his poems," says
Chambers, " was a laughable elegy on the death of the    Ramsay an' famous Fergusson
Emperor Paul." In his verses to Burns, under the name    Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon;
of a Tailor, there is nothing to laugh at, though they are
intended to be laughable as well as monitory.]      Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune,
Owre Scotland rings,
May, 1785.
IiMay, 1785.     While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon,
I GAT your letter, winsome Willie;                                     Nae body sings.
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie;
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly,                Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine,
An' unco vain,                Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line!
Should I believe, my coaxin' billie,                            s  y           
But, Willie, set your fit to mine,
Your flatterin' strain.                           An' cock your crest,
An' cock your crest,
But I'se believe ye kindly meant it,              We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine
I sud be laith to think ye hinted                                      Up wi' the best.
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented
On my poor Musie;             We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells,
Tho' in sic phraisin' terms ye've penn'd it,      Her moor's red-brown wi' heather bells,
I scarce excuse ye.           Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells,
Where glorious Wallace
My senses wad be in a creel,                      Aft bure the gree, as story tells,
Should I but dare a hope to speel,                                     Frae southron billies.




102                        THE POETICAL WORKS
At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood                        PO S T S C RI PT.
But boils up in a spring-tide flood!
Oft have our fearless fathers strode           My memory's no worth a preen:
By Wallace' side,           I had amaist forgotten clean,
By Wallace' side,
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,  Ye bade me write you what they mean,
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,
Or glorious dy'd.                              By this New Light,
Or glorious dy'd.'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been,
O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods,                             Maist like to fight.
When lintwhites chant amang the buds,          In days when mankind were but callans,
And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids            At grammar, logic, an' sic talents,
Their loves enjoy,         They took nae pains their speech to balance,
While thro' the braes the cushat croods                                      
Or rules to gie,
With wailfu' cry!           But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans,
Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me                                Like you or me.
When winds rave thro' the naked tree;          In thae auld times, they thought the moon,
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree                Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon,
Are hoary gray:             Wore by degrees,'till her last roon,
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,                             Gaed past their viewing,
Dark'ning the day.          An' shortly after she was done,
They gat a new one.
O Nature! a' thy shews an' forms
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms!         This past for certain-undisputed;
Whether the summer kindly warms,               It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it,
Wi' life an' light,'Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it,
Or winter howls, in gusty storms,                                 Au' ca'd it wrang;
The lang, dark night!      An' muckle din there was about it,
Baith loud an' lang.
The muse, nae Poet ever fand her,'Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander,         Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,
Adown some trotting burn's meander,            Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk;
An' no think lang;          For'twas the auld moon turned a neuk,
0 sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder                              An' out o' sight,
A heart-felt sang!          An' backlins-comin', to the leuk,
She grew mair bright.
The warly race may drudge an' drive,,,This was deny'd, it was affirm'd;
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive,.,~,.~ ~ ~           The herds an' hissels were alarm'd:
Let me fair Nature's face descrive,
t me fr N s fe d,  The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd and storm'd
And I, wi' pleasure,                           That beardless laddies
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive
l lt te b, g   h      Should think they better were inform'd
Bum owre their treasure.                       T     t     a  
Than their auld dcaddie<
Fareweel, my " rhyme-composing brither!"      Fre less to mair it gaed to sticks;
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither:        Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks,
Now let us lay our heads thegither,            An' monie a fallow gat his licks,
In love fraternal;                             Wi' hearty crunt;
May envy wallop in a tether,                   An' some, to learn them for their tricks,
Black fiend, infernal!                         Were hang'd an' brunt
While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes;        This game was play'd in mnonie lands,
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies;    An' Auld Light caddies bure sic hands,
While terra firma, on her axes                 That, faith, the youngsters took the sands
Diurnal turns,                                 Wi' nimble shanks,
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice,'Till lairds forbade, by strict commands,
In ROBERT BURNS.                               Sic bluidy pranks.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                103
But New Light herds gat sic a cowe,                    Shall ever daunton me, or awe me,
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe,                                   My sweet wee lady,
Till now amaist on every knowe,                        Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me
Ye'll find ane plac'd;                                 Tit-ta or daddy.
An' some their New Light fair avow,                                   
Wee image of my bonny Betty,
Just quite barefac'd.
Just quite baI, fatherly, will kiss and daut thee,
Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin';          As dear and near my heart I set thee
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin':                                 Wi' as gude will
Mysel', I've even seen them greetin'                  As a' the priests had seen me get thee
Wi' girnin' spite,                                    That's out o' hell.
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on                   What tho' they ca' me fornicator,
By word an' write.               An' tease my name in kintry clatter:
But shortly they will cowe the loons;                  The mair they talk I'm kent the better,
Some Auld Light herds in neibor towns                                       E'en let them clash;
Are mind't in things they ca' balloons,               An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter
To tak a flight,                                           gie ane fash.
An' stay ae month amang the moons                     Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint,
And see them right.              My funny toil is now a' tint,
Sin' thou came to the warl asklent,
Guid observation they will gie them:.                   
Which fools may scoff at;
An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them,
In my last plack thy part's be in't
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them,       In my last lack thy  art            t
Just i' their pouch,                             The better ha'f o't.
Just i' their pouch,
An' when the New Light billies see them,              An' if thou be what I wad hae thee,
I think they'll crouch!          An' tak the counsel I sail gie thee,
A lovin' father I'll be to thee,
Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter                                        If      be spar'd
Is naething but a "moonshine matter;"                                       I            sad
s   th  dull prose-folonaine satter;Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee,
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter                                     An' think't weel war'd.
An' think't weel war'd.
In logic tulzie,
I hope we bardies ken some better                     Gude grant that thou may ay inherit
Than mind sic brulzie.           Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit,
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit,
Without his failins;'Twill please me mair to hear an' see it
XXXIII.                                                 Than stocket mailene.
ADDRESS
TO AN
ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.                                              XXXIV.
[This hasty and not very decorous effusion, was origi-         NATURE'S  LAW.
nally entitled "The Poet's Welcome; or, Rab the          A POEM HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO G. H. ESQ.
Rhymer's Address to his Bastard Child." A copy, with    "Great nature spoke, observant man obey'd."
the more softened, but less expressive title, was                                              PoPE.
published by Stewart, in 1801, and is alluded to by
Burns himself, in his biographical letter to Moore.    This Poem was written by Burns at Mossgiel, and
"Bonnie Betty," the mother of the " sonsie-smirking,  "humblyinscribedto Gavfn Hamilton,Esq." Itissupdear-bought Bess," of the Inventory, lived in Largie-posed to allude to his intercourse with Jean Armour,
side: to support this daughter the poet made over the
side: to support this daughter the poet made over the  with the circumstances of which he seems to have made
copyright of his works when he proposed to go to the  many of his comrades acquainted. These verses were
West Indies. She lived to be a wvoman, and to marry  well known to many of the admirers of the poet, but they
one John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, where she died  remained in manuscript till given to the worjd by Sir
in 1817. It is said she resembled Burns quite as much as  Harris Nicolas, in Pickering's Aldine Edition of the
any of the rest of his children.]                   British Poets.]
THOU's welcome, wean, mischanter fa' me,            LET other heroes boast their scars,
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy,                    The marks of sturt and strife;




104                        THE POETICAL WORKS
And other poets sing of wars,                                    XXX
The plagues of human life;
Shame fa' the fun; wi' sword and gun             TO  THE  REV. JOHN  M'MATH.
To slap mankind like lumber!
To slap mankind like lumber!                [Poor M'Math was at the period of this epistle assistI sing his name, and nobler fame,            ant to Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton: he was a good
Wha multiplies our number.                 preacher, a moderate man in matters of discipline, and
an intimate of the Coilsfield Montgomerys. His depenGreat Nature spoke with air benign,           dent condition depressed his spirits: he grew dissipated;
"~Go on, ye human race!  ~     and finally, it is said, enlisted as a common soldier, and
" Go on, ye human race!                   died in a foreign land.]
This lower world I you resign;                                              pt. 17t
Be fruitful and increase.                                                    1     
The liquid fire of strong desire              WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r
I've pour'd it in each bosom;              To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r,
Here, in this hand, does mankind stand,       Or in gulravage rinnin' scow'r
And there, is beauty's blossom."                             To pass the time,
To you I dedicate the hour
The hero of these artless strains,                             In idle rhyme.
A lowly bard was he,
Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains         My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet
With meikle mirth an' glee;                On gown, an' ban', and douse black bonnet,
Kind Nature's care had given his share,       Is grown right eerie now she's done it,
Large, of the flaming current;                               Lest they should blame her,
And all devout, he never sought              An' rouse their holy thunder on it
To stem the sacred torrent.                                  And anathem her.
He felt the powerful, high behest,            I own'twas rash, an' rather hardy,
Thrill vital through and through;          That I, a simple countra bardie,
And sought a correspondent breast,            Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy,
To give obedience due:                                       Wha, if they ken me,
Propitious Powers screen'd the young flowers,  Can easy, wi' a single wordie,
From mildews of abortion;                                    Lowse hell upon me.
And lo! the bard, a great reward,
Has got a double portion!                  But I gae mad at their grimaces,
Their sighin' cantin' grace-proud faces,
Auld cantie Coil may count the day,          Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile graces,
As annual it returns,                                        Their raxin' conscience,
The third of Libra's equal sway,             Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces,
That gave another B[urns],                                   Waur nor their nonsense.
With future rhymes, an' other times,
To emulate his sire;                       There's Gaun,' miska't waur than a beast,
To sing auld Coil in nobler style,           Wha has mair honour in his breast
With more poetic fire.                     Than mony scores as guid's the priest
Wha sae abus't him.
Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song,       An' may a bard no crack his jest
Look down with gracious eyes;                               What way they've use't him
And bless auld Coila, large and long,
With multiplying joys:                     See him, the poor man's friend in need,
Lang may she stand to prop the land,         The gentleman in word an' deed,
The flow'r of ancient nations;             An' shall his fame an' honour bleed
And B[urns's] spring, her fame to sing,                        By worthless skellums,
Thro' endless generations!                 An' not a muse erect her head
To cowe the blellums?
1 Gavin Hamilton, Esq.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             105
0 Pope, had I thy satire's darts                  Sir, in that circle you are nam'd;
To gie the rascals their deserts,                 Sir, in that circle you are fam'd;
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,              An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd,
An' tell aloud                                  (Which gies you honour,)
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts                   Even Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd,
To cheat the crowd.                             An' winning manner.
God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be,          Pardon this freedom I have ta'en,
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be,               An' if impertinent I've been,
But twenty times, I rather wou'd be               Impute it not, good Sir, in ane
An atheist clean,                               Whase heart ne'erwrang'd ye,
Than under gospel colours hid be                  But to his utmost would befriend
Just for a screen.                              Ought that belang'd ye.
An honest man may like a glass,
An honest man may like a lass,
But mean revenge, an' malice fause
He'll still disdain,                             XXXVI.
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws,
Like some we ken.                           TO  A  MOUSE,
They take religion in their mouth;                ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH,
NOVEMBER, 1785.
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
For what?-to gie their malice skouth               [This beautiful poem was imagined while the poet was
On some puir wight,           holding the plough, on the farm of Mossgiel: the field is
A' hunt him down, o'er right, a' rh,    still pointed out: and a man called Blane is still living,
An' hunt him down, o'er right, an' ruth,
d o  ruigtrant    who says he was gaudsman to the bard at the time, an I
To ruin straight.             chased the mouse with the plough-pettle, for which he
was rebuked by his young master, who inquired what
All hail, Religion! maid divine!                  harm the poor mouse had done him. In the night that
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine,                   followed, Burns awoke his gaudsman, who was in the
Who in her rough imperfect line,                  same bed with him, recited the poem as it now stands,
and said, " What think you of our mouse now?"]
Thus daurs to name thee;
To stigmatize false friends of thine                WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
Can ne'er defame thee.          O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Tho' blotch'd an' foul wi' mony a stain,                                 Wi' bickering brattle!
An' far unworthy of thy train,                                           W    bickerin  brattle
An' far unworthy of thy train,                      I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
With trembling voice I tune my strain' murd'g pale
To join with those,
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain                  I'm truly sorry man's dominion
In spite o' foes:               Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs,                                    Which makes thee startle
In spite of undermining jobs,                       At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
In spite o' dark banditti stabs                                          An' fellow-mortal!
At worth an' merit,
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes,                 I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
But hellish spirit.             What then? poor beastie, thou maun 1;ve!
A daimen icker in a thrave
O Ayr! my dear, my native ground,'S a sma' request:
Within thy presbyterial bound                       I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
A candid lib'ral band is found                                           And never miss't!
Of public teachers,
As men, as Christians too, renown'd,                Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin;
4n' manly preachers.              Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!




106                          THE POETICAL WORKS
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,            An' crabbit names and stories wrack us,
0' foggage green!                               An' grate our lug,
An' bleak December's winds ensuin',             I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,
Baith snell and keen!                           In glass or jug.
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,        0, thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch drink;
An' weary winter comin' fast,                   Whether thro' wimplin' worms thou jink,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,              Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink,
Thou thought to dwell,                          In glorious faem,'Till, crash! the cruel coulter past            Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink,
Out thro' thy cell.                             To sing thy name!
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
c te aw y b   Let husky wheat the haughs adorn,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!                       v
An' aits set up their awnie horn,
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,      An' ease an' beans, at e'en or morn,
An' pease an' beans, at e'en or morn,
But house or hald,Perfume the plain
Perfume the plain,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,,       
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,
An' cranreuch cauld                             Thou king o' grain
Thou king o' grain!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,             On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,
In proving foresight may be vain:                            cotn        h s he  ood
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men,          In  ouple scnes, the wale o' food!
Gang aft a-gley,
Gang aft a-gley,           Or tumblin' in the boilin' flood
An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain,                             Wi kil  n' beef;
Wi' kail an' beef;
For promis'joy.             But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood,
There thou shines chief.
Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:                 Food fills the wame an' keeps us livin';
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e,               Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin'
On prospects drear!        When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin';
An' forward, tho' I canna see,                                       But, oil'd by thee,
I guess an' fear.          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,
XXXVII.
At's weary toil;
S C O T C H  DRIN K.                  Thou even brightens dark Despair
Wi' gloomy smile.
" Gie him strong drink, until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
An' liquor guld to fire his bluid,         Aft, clad in massy, siller weed,
That's prest wi' grief an' care;         Wi' gentles thou erects thy head;
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse,     Yet humbly kind in time o' need,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er,                                                      
Till he forgets his loves or debts,                             T   p     m     
An' minds his griefs no more."           His wee drap parritch, or his bread,
SOLOMON's PROVERB, xxi. 6, 7.                       Thou kitchens fine.
[" I here enclose you," said Burns, 20 March, 1786, to
his friend Kennedy, "my Scotch Drink; I hope some  Thou art the life o' public haunts;
time before we hear the gowk, to have the pleasure of  But thee, what were our fairs an' rants?
seeing you at Kilmarnock: when I intend we shall have  Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts,
a gill between us, in a mutchkin stoup."]By thee inspir'd,
LET other poets raise a fracas                    When gaping they besiege the tents,'Bout vines, an' wines, an' dru'ken Bacchus,                           Are doubly fir'd.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            107
That merry night we get the corn in,             May gravels round his blather wrench,
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in!           An' gouts torment him inch by inch,
Or reekin' on a new-year morning                 Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch
In cog or dicker,                                O' sour disdain,
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,           Out owre a glass o' whiskey punch
An' gusty sucker!                                Wi' honest men;
When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,              0 whiskey! soul o' plays an' pranks!
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,           Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks!
O rare! to see thee fizz an' freath              When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
I th' lugget caup!                               Are my poor verses!
Then Burnewin comes on like Death                 Thou comes    they rattle i' their ranks
At ev'ry chap.                                    At ither's a-s!
Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel;                Thee, Ferintosh! 0 sadly lost!
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel,            Scotland lament frae coast to coast!
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel,           Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast,
The strong forehammer,                            May kill us a';
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel              For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast,
Wi' dinsome clamour.                              Is ta'en awa
When skirlin' weanies see the light,             Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise,
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright,            Wha mak the whiskey stells their prize!
How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight;         Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!
Wae worth the name!                             There, seize the blinkers!
Nae howdie gets a social night,                  An' bake them up in brunstane pies
Or plack frae them.                              For poor d-n'd drinkers
When neibors anger at a plea,                    Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still
An' just as wud as wud can be,                   Hale breeks, a scone, an' whiskey gill,
How easy can the barley-bree                     An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,
Cement the quarrel!                              Tak' a' the rest,
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee,              An' deal't about as thy blind skill
To taste the barrel.                             Directs thee best.
Alake! that e'er my muse has reason
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason!
But monie daily weet their weason
Wi' liquors nice,                              XXXVIII.
An' hardly, in a winter's season,
E'er spier her price.                       THE AUTHOR'S
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash!                EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash!                               TO THE
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash,                   SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES
0' half his days;                                IN THE
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash                      HOUSE OF COMMONS.
To her warst faes.
Dearest of distillation! last and best!Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well,                -    How art thou lost!  "
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,                                            PARODY ON MILTON
Poor plackless devils like mysel',                 [" This Poem was written," says Burns, "before tTe
It sets you ill,             act anent the Scottish distilleries, of session 1786, for'i Xi  f o'  which Scotland and the author return their most grate.
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,ful thanks."  Before the passing of thlS lenient act, so
Or foreign gill.             sharp was the law in the North, that some distillers




108                          THE POETICAL WORKS
relinquished their trade; the price of barley was affected,  Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back,
and Scotland, already exasperated at the refusal of a                 An' hum an' haw;
militia, for which she was a petitioner, began to handle  re y  
her claymore, and was perhaps only hindered from draw-  Bt,' t  y  
ing it by the act mentioned by the poet. In an early                   Before them a'.
copy of the poem, he thus alludes to Colonel Hugh
Montgomery, afterwards Earl of Eglinton:-         Paint Scotland greetin' owre her thrizzle,
" Thee, sodger Hugh, my watchman stented,      Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle:
If bardies e'er are represented,             An' damn'd excisemen in a bussle,
I ken if that yere sword were wanted                              Seizin' a stell,
Ye'd lend yere hand;         Triumphant crushint like a mussel
But when there's aught to say anent it
Yere at a stand."                                 Or lampit shell.
The poet was not sure that Montgomery would think  Then on the tither hand present her,
the compliment to his ready hand an excuse in full for  A b      s         rig       i 
the allusion to his unready tongue, and omitted the     ckguard smuggler, right behint her,
stanza.]                                          An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner,
Colleaguing join,
YE Irish lords, ye knights an' squires,           Picking her pouch as bare as winter
Wha represent our brughs an' shires,                                   Of a' kind coin.
An' doucely manage our affairs
In Parliament,               Is there, that bears the name o' Scot,
To you a simple Bardie's prayers                  But feels his heart's bluid rising hot,
Are humbly sent.              To see his poor auld mither's pot
Thus dung in staves,
Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse!                  An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat
Your honours' hearts wi' grief'twad pierce,                           By gallows knaves?
To see her sittin' on her a-e
Low i' the dust,              Alas! I'm but a nameless wight,
An' scriechin' out prosaic verse,                 Trode i' the mire out o' sight!
An' like to brust!            But could I like Montgomeries fight,
Or gab like Boswell,
Tell them wha hae the chief direction,            There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight,
Scotland an' me's in great affliction,                                An' tie some hose well.
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction
On aquavitee;                God bless your honours, can ye see't,
An' rouse them up to strong conviction,           The kind, auld, canty carlin greet,
An' move their pity.         An' no get warmly on your feet,
An' gar them hear it!
Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth,          An' tell them with a patriot heat,
The honest, open, naked truth:                                        Ye winna bear it?
Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth,
His servants humble:         Some o' you nicely ken the laws,
The muckie devil blaw ye south,                   To round the period an' pause,
If ye dissemble!             An' wi' rhetorie clause on clause
To mak harangues:
Does ony great man glunch an' gloom?              Then echo.thro' Saint Stephen's wa's
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb!                                 Auld Scotland's wrangs.
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom
Wi' them wha grant'em:    Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran';
If honestly they canna come,                      Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;'
Far better want'em.         An' that glib-gabbet Highland baron,
The Laird o' Graham;2
In gath'rin votes you were na slack;              An' ane, a chap that's damn'd auldfarrren,
Now stand as tightly by your tack;                                     Dundas his name.
I Sir Adam Ferguson.                            2 The Duke of Montrose.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           109
Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie;              He need na fear their foul reproach
True Campbells, Frederick an' Ilay;                                 Nor erudition,
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie:          Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch,
An' monie ithers,                               The Coalition.
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully
Might own for brithers.      Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue;
She's just a devil wi' a rung;
Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle,             An' if she promise auld or young
To get auld Scotland back her kettle:                               To tak their part,
Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle,        Tho' by the neck she should be strung,
Ye'll see't or lang,                            She'll no desert.
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle,,           
An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty,
Anither sang.
Aither a     May still your mither's heart support ye,
Then, though a minister grow dorty,
This while she's been in crankous mood,,           
TT.~~ I ~  >1 1~1An' kick your place,
Her lost militia fir'd her bluid;                                             
(Del na they never mair do guid,  Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty,
(Deil na they never mair do guid, Bfrhifae
Play'd her that pliskie!)                        B       h 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud                God bless your honours a' your days,
About her whiskey.           Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise,
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes,
An' L-d, if ance they pit her till't,                               That haunt St. Jamle s i
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt,               Your humble Poet signs an' prays
An' durk an' pistol at her belt,                                    While Rab his name is.
She'll tak the streets,
An' rin her whittle to the hilt,
I' th' first she meets!                      POSTSCRIPT.
For God sake, sirs, then speak her fair,        LET half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair,             See future wines, rich clust'ring, rise;
An' to the muckle house repair,                 Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies,
Wi' instant speed,                               But blythe and frisky,
An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear,           She eyes her freeborn, martial boys,
To get remead.                                   Tak aff their whiskey.
il d tiner, Carlie F,           What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms,
Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox,
Y,ou.., ~While fragrance blooms and beauty charms!
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks;
But., bty aWhen wretches range, in famish'd swarms,
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! 
E'en cowe the cadie IThe scented groves,
An' send him to his dicing box,            Or hounded forth, dishonour arms
An' send him to his dicing box,
In hungry droves.
An' sportin' lady.                              In hungry droves.
Their gun's a burden on their shouther;
Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's          They downa bide the stink o' powther;
I'll be his debt twa mashlum  bonnocks,         Their bauldest thought's a' hank'ring swither
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's                        To tan' orin
Nine  times a-week,          Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a' throther
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks,                           To save their skin.
Wad kindly seek.
But bring a Scotsman frae his hill,
Could he some commutation broach,               Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch,       Say, such is royal George's will,
An' there's the foe,
I A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline,  H                 h     t il
where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of guid               t ow  o 
auld Scotch drink.                                                  Twa at a blow.. _. ___ ^_______________________________________________________________________________




110                           THE POETICAL WORKS
Nae cauld faint-hearted doubtings tease him;             Ye've nought to do but mark and tell
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him;                 Your neibor's fauts and folly!
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him;                      Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,
An' when he fa's,                     Supply'd wi' store o' water,
His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es him               The heaped happer's ebbing still,
In faint huzzas!                      And still the clap plays clatter.
Sages their solemn een may steek,                                             i.
An' raise a philosophic reek,                            Hear me, ye venerable core,
An' physically causes seek,                                As counsel for poor yortals,
In clime an' season;               That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door
But tell me whiskey's name in Greek,                       For glaikit Folly's portals;
I'll tell the reason.              I, Mor tleir thonghkless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,
Scotland, my auld, respected mither! 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather,
Their failings and mischanceS.
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather
Ye tine your dam;                                     III.
Freedom and whiskey gang thegither! —
Freedom and whiskey gang thegither!-                     Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,
Tak aff your dram! 
Tak aff your dram I                   And shudder at the niffer,
But cast a moment's fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in,
XXXIX.
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID,                               Yourbeer    idi.
OR THE                                                I.
RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.                          Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
"My son, these maxims make a rule,                    Gies now and then a wallop,
And lump them ay thegitler;                     What ragings must his veins convulse,
The Rigid Righteous is a fool,                      That still eternal gallop:
The Rigid Wise anither:
Thie Rigid  XVise anither:                      Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight                      
May he some pyles o' caff in;                        nRight on ye scud your sea-way;
May hae some pylcs o' caff          n, i
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight                But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
For random fits o' daffin."'                      It makes an unco lee-way.
SoLoMON.-Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16.
" Burns," says Hogg, in a note on this Poem, "has                         V.
written more from his own leart and his own feelings      ee social life and glee sit down,
than any other poet. Extenal nature had few charms 
All joyous and unthinking,
for him; the sublime shades and hues of heaven and             
earth never excited his enthusiasm: but with the secret'Tll, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown
fountains of passion in the human soul he was well         Debauchery and drinking;
acquainted."  Burns, indeed, was not what is called a    O would they stay to calculate
descriptive poet: yet with wvhat exquisite snatches of                  consequences 
ilescription are some of his poems adorned, and in what 
fragrant and romantic scenes he enshrines the heroes and  Or your more dreaded hell to state,
heroines of many of his finest songs! yWho the high,       D-mnation of expenses!
exalted, virtuous dames were, to whom the Poem refers,
we are not told. How much men stand indebted to want                       V I.
of opportunity to sin, and how much of their good name
they owe to the ignorance of the world, were inquiries   Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
in which the poet found pleasure.]                         Ty'd up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor frailty names,
I.                                 Suppose a change o' cases;
0 YE wha are sae guid yoursel',                     A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,
Sae pious and sae holy,                             A treacherous inclination



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                111
But, let me whisper, i' your lug,                 HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.                   Or great M'Kinlay2 thrawn his heel?
Or Robinson3 again grown weel,
VI I.                                                To preach an' read?
Then gently scan your brother man,                " Na, waur than a'!" cries ilka chiel,
Still gentler sister woman;                                          Tam Samson's dead!
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
To step aside is human:                        Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane,
One pomtt muss           retl  dark,              An' sigh, an' sob, an' greet her lane,
The moving why they do it:                     An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an wean,
And just as lamely can ye mark,                                        In mourning weed
How far perhaps they rue it.                   To death, she's dearly paid the kane,
Tam Samson's dead!
V I I I.
Who made the heart,'tis He alone                 The brethre  o' the mystic level
Decidedly can try us,                      May hing their head in woefu' bevel,
Decidedly can try us,
He knows each chord-its various tone,             While by their nose the tears will revel,
Like ony bead;
Each spring-its various bias:                                        Like ony bead;
Then at the balance let's be mute,                Death's gien the lodge an unco devel,.^~.T~'^'~ ~Tam Samson's dead!
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,                When Winter muffles up his cloak,
But know not what's resisted.
But know not what's resisted.                  And binds the mire like a rock;
When to the lochs the curlers flock,
Wi' gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the cock?
Tam Samson's dead!
XL.
He was the king o' a' the core,
TAM  SAMSON'S ELEGY.'              To guard or draw, or wick a bore,
"'An honest man's the noblest work of God."        Or up the rink like Jehu roar
POPE.                              In time o' need;
[Tam Samsonwas awest country seedsman and sports-    But now he lags on death's hog-score,
man, who loved a good song, a social glass, and relished                    Tam Samson's dead!
a shot so well that he expressed a wish to die and be
Duried in the moors. On this hint Burns wrote the Elegy:    NOW safe the stately sawmont sail,
when Tam heard o' this he waited on the poet, caused  And trouts be-dropp'dwi' crimson hail,
him to recite it, and expressed displeasure at being                                    
numbered with the dead: the author, whose wit was as
ready as his rhymes, added the Per Contra in a moment,                      And geds for greed,
much to the delight of his friend. At his death the four    Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail
lines of Epitaph were cut on his gravestone. " This poem                    Tam Samson dead.
has always," says Hogg, " been a great country favourIte: it abounds with happy expressions.               Rejoice, ye birring patricks a';'In vain the burns cam' down like waters,        Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw;
An acre braid.'          yYe maukins, cock your fud fu' braw,
What a picture of a flooded burn! any other poet would                    Withouten dread;
lave given us a long description: Burns dashes it down  Your mortal fae is now awa'
at once in a style so graphic no one can mistake it.                       Tam Samson's dead'Perhaps upon his mouldering breast
Some spitefu' moorfowl bigs her nest.'         That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd
Match that sentence who can."]                        Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd,
lIWhen this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-   3Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few,
fowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase,  who was at that time ailing. For him see also the Ordi" the last of his fields."                          nation, stanza IX.
2 A preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide
the Ordination, stanza II




112                           THE POETICAL WORKS
While pointers round impatient burn'd,                             E P I T A P H.
Frae couples freed;
Frae couples freed; iTAM SAMSON'S weel-worn clay here lies,
But, Och! he gaed and ne'er return'd!
Tam Samson's dead,              Ye canting zealots spare him!
If honest worth in heaven rise,
In vain auld age his body batters;                    Ye'll mend or ye win near him.
In vain the gout his ancles fetters;
In vain the burns cam' down like waters,
An acre braid!                             PER  CONTRA.
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin', clatters,            Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly
Tam Samson's dead!             Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,
Tell ev'ry social honest billie
Owre many a weary hag he limpit,To  cease his gr
To cease his grievin',
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit,                                                    i    g v
An' ay th  tath       eter s hot he thumpit,       For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie,
Till coward death behind him jumpit,Tam Samson's livin'.
Tam Samson's livin'.
Wi' deadly feide;
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet,
Tam Samson's dead!
When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reel'd his wonted bottle swagger,                                    XL.
But yet he drew the mortal trigger
Wi' weel-aim'd heed;                          L A M E N T,
" L-d, five!" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger;       OCCASIONED BY THE UTNFORTUNATE ISSUE
Tam Samson's dead!
OF A
Ik hoary hunter mourn'd a brither;                           FRIEND'S  A M OUR.
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father;
Ilksortsma  you 4ths, bmoan' ah fa'ther,        "Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself!
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather,            And sweet affection prove the spring of woe."
Marks out his head,                                                  HOME.
Whare Burns has wrote in rhyming blether
"Tam Samson's dead!   b eh[The hero and heroine of this little mournful poem,
Tam Samson's dead!          were Robert Burns and Jean Armour. "This was a
most melancholy affair," says the poet in his letter to
There low he lies, in lasting rest;               Moore, " which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast                very nearly given me one or two of the principal qualifiSome spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest,             cations for a place among those who have lost the chart
and mistaken the reckoning of rationality." Hogg and
To hatch an' breed;         Motherwell, with an ignorance which is easier to laugh
Alas! nae mair he'll them molest!              at than account for, say this Poem was " written on the
Tam Samson's dead!         occasion of Alexander Cunningham's darling sweetheart
slighting him and marrying another:-she acted a wise
When August winds the heather wave,               part." With what care they had read the great poet
whom they jointly edited in is needless to say: and how
And sportsmen wander by yon grave,               they could read the last two lines of the third verse and
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave               commend the lady's wisdom for slighting her lover,
0' pouther an' lead,        seems a problem which defies definition. This mistake'Till echo answer frae her cave                  was pointed out by a friend, and corrected in a second
issue of the volume.]
Tam Samson's dead!
Heav'n rest his soul, whare'er he be!                                  t     s    
0 THOU pale orb, that silent shines,
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me;
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
He had twa fauts, or may be three,
h   t   f,  Thou seest a wretch who inly pines,
Yet what remead?
And wanders here to wail and weep!
Ae social, honest man want we:
With woe I nightly vigils keep,
Tam Samson's dead!
Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam,
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                113
1 I.                          Full many a pang, and many a throe,
\ Joyless view thy rays adorn                         Keen recollection's direful train,
The raintly marked distant hill:                 Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low,
I joyless view thy trembling horn,                    Shall kiss the distant, western main.
Reflected in the gurgling rill:
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still:                                  vill.
Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease!             And when my nightly couch I try,
Ah! must the agonizing thrill                         Sore-harass'd out with care and grief,
For ever bar returning peace!                    My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,
Keep watchings with the nightly thief:
III.                           Or if I slumber, fancy, chief,
No idly-feign'd poetic pains,                         Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright:
My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim;              Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief,
No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains;                  From such a horror-breathing night.
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:
The plighted faith; the mutual flame;                                   IX.
The oft-attested Pow'rs above;                   O! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse
The promis'd father's tender name;                    Now highest reign'st, with boundless swayl
These were the pledges of my love!               Oft has thy silent-marking glance
Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray!
IV.                            The time, unheeded, sped away,
Encircled in her clasping arms,                       While love's luxurious pulse beat high,
How have the raptur'd moments flown!             Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,
How have I vwish'd for fortune's charms,              To mark the mutual kindling eye.
For her dear sake, and hers alone!
And must I think it!-is she gone,                                       x.
My secret heart's exulting boast?                Oh! scenes in strong remembrarce set!
And does she heedless hear my groan?                  Scenes never, never to return I
And is she ever, ever lost?                      Scenes, if in stupor I forget,
Again I feel, again I burn!
v.                            From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn,
Oh! can she bear so base a heart,                     Life's weary vale I'll wander thro';
So lost to honour, lost to truth,                And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn
As from the fondest lover part,                       A faithless woman's broken vow.
The plighted husband of her youth!
Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!
Her way may lie thro' rough distress!
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe,                             XLI1
Her sorrows share, and make them less?
DESPONDENCY.
VI.
AN ODE.
Ye winged hours that o'er us past,
Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd,               [" I think," said Burns,  it is one of the greatest pleaYour dear remembrance in my breast,              sures attending a poetic genius, that we can give our
w oes, cares, joys, and loves an embodied form in verse,
My fondly-treasur'd  thoughts employ'd,       which to me is ever immediate ease." He elsewhere
That breast, how dreary now, and void,           says, " My passions raged like so many devils till they
For her too scanty once of room!              got vent in rhyme."  That eminent painter, Fuseli, on
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd,                seeing his wife in a passion, said composedly, " Swear,
d nt a wh to g   t   g    my love, swear heartily: you know not how much it will
And not a wish to gild the gloom!
ease you!"  This poem was printed in the Kilmarnock
edition, and gives a true picture of those bitter moments
experienced by the bard, when love and fortune alike
The morn that warns th' approaching day,         deceived him. ]
Awakes me up to toil and woe:.
I see the hours in long array,                     OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care,
That I must suffer, lingering slow.              A burden more than I can bear,




114                            THE POETICAL WORKS
I set me down and sigh:                             The solitary can despise,
0 life! thou art a galling load,                         Can want, and yet be blest!
Along a rough, a weary road,                                He needs not, he heeds not,
To wretches such as I!                                      Or human love or hate,
Dim-backward as I cast my view,                             Whilst I here, must cry here
What sick'ning scenes appear!                               At perfidy ingrate!
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro'
Too justly I may fear!                                                     v.
Still caring, despairing,                        Oh  enviable, early days,
Must be my bitter doom;                        When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,
My woes here shall close ne'er                      To care, to guilt unknown!
But with the closing tomb!                     How ill exchang'd for riper times,
To feel the follies, or the crimes,
I.                                Of others, or my own!
Happy, ye sons of busy life,                           Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,                       Like linnets in the bush,
No other view regard!                               Ye little know the ills ye court,
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd,                       When manhood is your wish!
Yet while the busy means are ply'd,                         The losses, the crosses,
They bring their own reward:                                That active man engage!
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,                           The fears all, the tears all,
Unfitted with an aim,                                       Of dim declining age!
Meet ev'ry sad returning night
And joyless morn the same;
You, bustling, and justling,
Forget each grief and pain;                                        XLIII.
I, listless, yet restless,                                              THE
Find every prospect vain.                      COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.
III.                                    INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.
How blest the solitary's lot,                           "Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Who, all-forgetting, all forgot,                            Their homelNj.Qys, and destiny obscure:
Within his humble cell,                                Nor grandeur lear, with a disdainful smile,
The cavern wild with tangling roots,                 The short and simple annals of the poor."
The cavern wild with tangling roots,                                                           GRAY.
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits,
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruis         [The house of William Burns was the scene of this
Beside his crystal well!                         fine, devout, and tranquil drama, and William himself
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought,                  was the saint, the father, and the husband, who gives
By unfrequented stream,                           life and sentiment to the whole. " Robert had frequentThe ways of men are distant brought,                Iy remarked to me," says Gilbert Burns, "that he
thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the
A faint collected dream;                              0  
phrase,' Let us worship God!' used by a decent sober
While praising, and raising                    head of a family, introducing family worship." To this
His thoughts to heav'n on high,             sentiment of the author the world is indebted for the
As wand'ring, meand'ring,                        Cotter's Saturday Night." He owed some little, howHe views~the e   sk.    ever, of the inspiration to Fergusson's" Farmer's Irgle."
Hie views the solemn sky.
a poem of great merit. The calm tone and holy compo.
sure of the Cotter's Saturday Night have been mistaken
IV.                           by Hogg for want of nerve and life. " It is a dull, heavy,
Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd                     lifeless poem," he says, "and the only beauty it posWhere never human footstep trac'd,                sesses, in my estimation, is, that it is a sort of family
picture of the poet's family. The worst thing of all, it
Less fit to play the part;                       is not original, but is a decided imitation of'ergusson's
The lucky moment to improve,                        beautiful pastoral,' The Farmer's Ingle:' I have a perAnd just to stop, and just to move,                 feet contempt for all plagiarisms and imitations."
With self-respecting art:                        Motherwell tries to qualify the censure of his brother
editor, by quoting Lockhart's opinion-at once lofty
But, ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,                          n
But, ah I those pleasures, loves, and joys,        and just, of this fine picture of domestic happiness and
Which I too keenly taste,                        devotion.]








:a^'a.??r=~LO'TO[?n..'-  zi,  ao  zo cL'E s 5 -'
pT    no          3 LtOL \ u. Cs pi^ I    ZTIO ClT-Ln  sUT-LIs 11    S,   ~o -Lc[j'6.L~i       ~         T S —;   VL'S  I.T.U.Ii  TI^ ^ aJJ"5T.T iae1C..113    STT
~ 9p1.    prei SV.  LL   AG T j.-UOC_ SUTC[
TI ~~~~~~~~~7-7~~~~~~~~~~~~ iIS                                        T:i~~~~~~~~~~i
~r: y''                                                  1
L^.~..lL
~T'^^j                                                                 EVE




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           115
I.                                             V.
Mr lov'd, myhonour'd, muchrespected friend!    With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,
No mercenary bard his homage pays;             An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers:
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end:   The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd, fleet;
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and -  Each tells the unco's that he sees or hears;
praise:                                    The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,          Anticipation forward points the view.
The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene;    The Mother, wi' her needle an' her shears,
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;  Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the
What Aiken in a cottage would have been;         new;Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there,  The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due.
I ween!
VI.
Their master's an' their mistress's command,
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;         The younkers a' are warned to obey;
The short'ning winter-day is near a close    And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh:       An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play:
The black'ning trains o' craws to their re-    "And! be sure to fear the Lord alway!
pose:                                        And mind your duty, duly, morn and night 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,     Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
This night his weekly moil is at an end,       Implore His counsel and assisting might:
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,  They never sought in vain, that sought the
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,        Lord aright
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.
VII.
III.                         But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
A~...  ~ Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same
At length his lonely cot appears in view              y,                   i
Beneath the shelter of ian aged tree;         Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
x Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher      To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher
thro'                                      The wily Mother sees the conscious flame
J.~i.'- i~ -.ii.'~>.,       Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek,
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin' noise an''',,
glee.                                      With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his
His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily,                name,
His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie Wifie's    While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
smile,                                   Weel pleas'd the Mother hears it's nae wild,
worthless rake.
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,           worthless rake.
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile,
An' makes him quite forget his labour and his                       VIII.
toil.                                      Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben;
A strappan youth; he taks the Mother's
I V.                             eye;
Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,      Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en;
At service out amang the farmers roun':         The Father cracks of horses, pleughs, and
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some'tentie rin     kye.
A cannie errand to a neebor town:            The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,     But blate, an laithfu', scarce can weel beIn youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,     have;
Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new          The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy
gown,                                        What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae
Or deposite her sair won penny-fee,               grave;
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like
be.                                             the lave.




116                         THE POETICAL WORKS
IX.                                            XIII.
0 happy love! where love like this is found!   They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
0  heart-felt raptures!-bliss beyond corn-         They tune their hearts, by far the noblest
pare!                                          aim:
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,       Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling  measures
And sage experience bids me this declare-         rise,
"If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure         Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name;
spare,                                      Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,            The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays:'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,      Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame;
In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale,   The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the  Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.
ev'ning gale."
X IV.
X.                          The priest-like Father reads the sacred page,
Is there, in human form, that bears a heart-      How Abram was the friend of God on high;
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!    Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,       With Amalek's ungracious progeny;
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?    Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth!   Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire;
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd?  Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,              Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;
Points to the parents fondling o'er their  Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
child?
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distrac-                       Xv.
tion wild?                                 Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How  guiltless blood for guilty man was
xI.
X I.                             slied;
But now the supper crowns their simple board,    How  HE, who bore in Heaven the second
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's           name,
food:  Had not on earth whereon to lay his head:
The soupe their only hawkie does afford,        How His first followers and servants sped,
That'yont the hallan snugly chows her          The precepts sage they wrote to many a
cood:                                           land:
The dame brings forth in complimental mood,       ow he who lone in Patmos banished,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck,      Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand;
fell,                                    And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;        Heaven's command.
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,
Ilow'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the                      xvi.
bell.                                       Then kneeling down, to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL
KING,
XII.^~~                ~ The Saint, the Father, and the Husband
The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,             a
prays:
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide;    Hope'ringsexulting triumphantwing
Hope I springs exulting on triumphant wing,'l
The Sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace,      That thus they all shall meet in future days:
The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride;    There ever bask in unreated rays,     
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare;      Together hymning their Creator's praise,
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion         I s                        r     r
In such society, yet still more dear:
glide,                                   While circling Time moves round in an eternal
He wales a portion with judicious care;           shere.
And'Let us worship Goo!' he says, with so-  _
lemn air.                                                     i Pope.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           11
XVII.                                            XXI.
Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride,    O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide
In all the pomp of method and of art,           That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted
When men display to congregations wide,              heart:
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart!     Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert,     Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;     (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art,
But haply, in some cottage far apart,              His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the    0 never, never, Scotia's realm desert;
soul; *But still the patriot, and the patriot bard,
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol.In bright succession raise, her ornament and
guard!
XVIII.
Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest:
Their Parent-pair their secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,                      XLIV.
That HE, who stills the raven's clam'rous                      FR T          AL
THE FIRST PSALM.
nest,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,    [This version was first printed in the second edition of
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,  the poets wors. It c t    regarded as one of his
or tm ad for tir le os pro       happiest compositions: it is inferior, not indeed in ease,
For them and for their little ones provide; *..
but in simplicity and antique vigour of language, to the
But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine  common version used in the Kirk of Scotland. Burns
preside.                                 had admitted "Death and Dr. Hornbook" into Creech's
edition, and probably desired to balance it with someX I x.                      thing at which the devout could not cavil.]
From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur     THE man, in life wherever plac'd,
springs,                                        Hath happiness in store,
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd           Who walks not in the wicked's way,
abroad:                                         Nor learns their guilty lore!
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
"An honest man's the noblest work of            Nor from the seat of scornful pride
GOD;,'1                                        Casts forth his eyes abroad,
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road,       But with humility and awwe
The cottage leaves the palace far behind;         Still walks before his GOD.
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,        That man shall flourish like the trees
Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refin'd!        Which by the streamlets grow;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
xx.                              And firm the root below.
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!, Scotia. my dear,. nativsoilBut he whose blossom buds in guilt
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is 
sent!                                          Shall to the ground be cast,
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil                  l   t  r                 
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet        Before the sweeping blast.
content!                                      For why? that GOD the good adore
And,! may heaven their simple lives prevent        Hath giv'n them peace and rest
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!         But hath decreed that wicked men
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,          Shall ne'er be truly blest.
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their muchlov'd Isle.
1 Pope.




118                           TIE POETICAL WORKS
XLV.                                               XLVI.
THE FIRST SIX VERSES                                TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,
OF THE                        ON TURNING  ONE DOWN WITH  THE PLOUGH IN
NINETIETH PSALM.                                        APRIL, 1786.
[The ninetieth Psalm is said to have been a favourite    [This was not the original title of this sweet poem: I
in the household of William Burns: the version used by  have a copy in the handwriting of Burns entitled " The
the kirk, though unequal, contains beautiful verses, and  Gowan."  This more natural name he changed as he did
possesses the same strain of sentiment and moral reason-  his own, without reasonable cause; and he changed it
ing as the poem of " Mlin was made to Mourn."  These  about the same time, forhe ceased to call himself Burness
verses first appeared in the Edinburgh edition; and they  and his poem " The Gowan," in the first edition of his
might have been spared; for in the hands of a poet igno-  works. The field at Mossgiel where he turned down the
rant of the original language of the Psalmist, how could  Daisy is said to be the same field where some five months
they be so correct in sense and expression as in a sacred  before he turned up the Mouse; but this seems likely
strain is not only desirable but necessary?]       only to those who are little acquainted with tillage-who
think that in time and place reside the chief charms of
0 THOU, the first, the greatest friend            verse; and who feel not the beauty of " The Daisy," till
Of a~ll the human race!                       they seek and find the spot on which it grew. Sublime
Of all the human race!                                                           S
morality and the deepest emotions of the soul pass for
Whose strong right hand has ever been  little with those who remember only what genius loves
Their stay and dwelling place!                to forget.]
Before the mountains heav'd their heads             WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Beneath Thy forming hand,                         Thou's met me in an evil hour;
Before this ponderous globe itself                  For I maun crush amang the stoure
Arose at Thy command;                                                  Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds                                Thou bonnie gem.
This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning time                    Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
Was ever still the same.                          The bonnie lark, companion meet!
Bending thee'mang the dewy weet,
Those mighty periods of years                                            Wi' spreckl'd breast,
Which seem to us so vast,                        When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
Appear no more before Thy sight                                          The purpling east.
Than yesterday that's past.
Than yesterday thas             Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man,            Up, h                     
Is to existence brought;          Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Is to existence brought;                                                
Amid the storm,
Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!"                      Scarce rear'd above the parent earth
Return ye into nought,!",
Thy tender form.
Thou layest them, with all their cares,
Thou layest them, with all their cars,     The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
In everlasting sleep;
In everlasting sleep;                         High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off                B    t      b             r      
But thou, beneath the random bield
With overwhelming sweep.,
~  ""i~~~~~~ 0)~O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
They flourish like the morning flow'r,                                  
".,, ~ ~~~Unseen, alane.
In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ere night, cut down, it lies               There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
All wither'd and decay'd.                        Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               119
Such is the fate of artless maid,                     But how the subject-theme may gang,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!                     Let time and chance determine;
By love's simplicity betray'd,                        Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
And guileless trust,               Perhaps, turn out a sermon.'Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust. 
Ye'll try the world soon, my lad,
Such is the fate of simple bard,                        And, Andrew dear, believe me,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!               Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,
Unskilful he to note the card                           And muckle they may grieve ye:
Of prudent lore,                 For care and trouble set your thought,'Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,                Ev'n when your end's attain'd;
And whelm him o'er!              And a' your views may come to nought,
Where ev'ry nerve is strained.
Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,                                  I
By human pride or cunning driv'n                      I'll no say men are villains a';
To mis'ry's brink,                 The real, harden'd wicked,'Till wrenched of every stay but IIeav'n,             Wha hae nae check but human law,
He, ruin'd, sink!                  Are to a few restricked;
But, och! mankind are unco weak,
Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,                 An' little to be trusted;
That fate is thine-no distant date;                   If self the wavering balance shake,
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,                 It's rarely right adjusted!
Full on thy bloom,'Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,                              I V.
Shall be thy doom!              Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife,
Their fate we should na censure,
For still th' important end of life
They equally may answer;
A man may hae an honest heart,
Tho' poortith hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neebor's part,
EPISTLE  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND.                           Yet hae nae cash to spare him.
MAY, 1786.                                               v.
[Andrew Aikin, to whom this poem of good counsel is   Ay free, aff han' your story tell,
addressed, was one of the sons of Robert Aiken, writer in  When wi' a bosom crony;
Ayr, to whom the Cotter's Saturday Night is inscribed.  But still keep soething to yourse
He became a merchant in Liverpool, with what success
we are not informed, and died at St. Petersburgh. The          scarcely tell to ony.
poet has beea charged with a desire to teach hypocrisy  Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can
rather than truth to his "Andrew dear;" but surely to      Frae critical dissection;
conceal one's own thoughts and discover those of others,  But keek thro' ev'ry other man,
can scarcely be called hypocritical: it is, in fact, a ver-  Wi sharpend  sly inspection.
sion of the celebrated precept of prudence, A" Thoughts 
close and looks loose." Whether he profited by all the
counsel showered upon him by the muse we know not:                         VI.
he was much respected-his name embalmed, like that      The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,
of his father, in the poetry of his friend, is not likely soon  Luxuriantly indulge it;
to perish.]                                                                     illt 
But never tempt th' illicit rove,
^~I-.~~~          /         Tho' naething should divulge it:
I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,             I waive the quantum o' the sin,
A something to have sent you,                       The hazard of concealing;
Though it should serve nae ither end                But, och! it hardens a' within,
Than just a kind memento;                           And petrifies the feeling!




120                          THE POETICAL WORKS
VII.                                            XLVIII.
To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,                       TO A  LOUSE,
T 0 A L Uf SE,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile           ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT C1tURCl.
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justified by honour;                  [A Mauchline incident of a Mauchline lady is related
bNot for to hide it in a hedge,               in this poem, which to many of the softer fiiends of the
bard was anything but welcome: it appeared in the KilNor for a train-attendant;                 marnock copy of his Poems, and remonstrance and'perBut for the glorious privilege                suasion were alike tried in vain to keep it out of tihe
Of being independent.                      Edinburgh edition. Instead of regarding it as a seasonable rebuke to pride and vanity, some of lis learned
commentators called it coarse and vulgar-those classic
VIII.
persons might have remembered that Julian, no vulgar
The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip,         person, but an emperor and a scholar, wore a populous
To haud the wretch in order;               beard, and was proud of it.]
But where ye feel your honour grip,           HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Let that ay be your border:                Your impudence protects you sairly:
Its slighest touches, instant pause-          I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Debar a' side pretences;                                        Owre gauze and lace;
And resolutely keep its laws,                 Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely
Uncaring consequences.                                          On sic a place.
I X.                      Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
The great Creator to revere                  Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner,
Must sure become the creature;             How dare you set your fit upon her,
But still the preaching cant forbear,                             Sae fine a lady!
And ev'n the rigid feature:                Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,                             On some poor body.
Be complaisance extended;
An Atheist laugh's a poor exchage            Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;
An Atheist laugh's a poor exchange,  
For Deity offended!                        There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
Xorx~~~~~~.  ~In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
When ranting round in pleasure's ring,                                         
Your thick plantations.
Religion may be blinded;
Or if she gie a random sting,                Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,
It may be little minded;                   Below the fatt'rells, snug an' tight;
But when on life we're tempcst-driv'n,       Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
A conscience but a canker-'Till ye've got on it,
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n            The vera topmost, tow'ring height
Is sure a noble anchor!                                        O' Miss's bonnet.
x.                         My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
Adieu, dear, amiable youth!                  As plump an' gray as onie grozet;
Your heart can ne'er be wanting!           O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
May prudence, fortitude, and truth                                Or fell, red smeddum,
Erect your brow undaunting!                I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,
In ploughman phrase,' God send you speed,'                       Wad dross your droddum I
Still daily to grow wiser:
I wad na been surpris'd to spy
And may you better reck the rede
AnmaTha yun ever did th' adviser!          You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Than ever did th' adviser!
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie!
Iow daur ye do't?




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               121
0, Jenny, dinna toss your head,                     Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it,
An' set your beauties a' abread!                                         The lads in black!
Ye little ken what cursed speed                     But your curst wit, when it comes near it,
The blastie's makin'!                              Rives't aff their back.
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin'!            Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing,
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing
O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naething
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!                                         T  ken the,
Frae ony unregenerate heathen,
It wad frae monie a blunder free us                                      L     y      
Like you or I.
An' foolish notion;
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,           I've sent you here some rhyming ware,
And ev'n devotion!
And ev'n devotion!            A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair;
Sae, when you hae an hour to spare,
I will expect
Yon sang,2 ye'll sen't wi cannie care,
And no neglect.
XLIX.                            Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing!
EPISTLE  TO  J. RANKINE,                        My muse dow scarcely spread her wing!
I've play'd mysel' a bonnie spring,
ENCLOSING SOME POEMS.                                         An' danc'd my fill!
[The person to whom these verses are addressed lived    I'd better gaen an' sair't the king,
at Adamhill in Ayrshire, and merited the praise of rough                   At Bunker's Hill.
and ready-witted, which the poem bestows. The humorous dream alluded to, was related by way of rebuke'Twas ae night lately, in my fun,
to a west country earl, who was in the habit of calling  I gaed a roving wi' the gun,
all people of low degree' Brutes!-damned brutes."       brought a paitrick to the grun',
" I dreamed that I was dead," said the rustic satirist to
his superior, " and condemned for the company I kept.                      A bonnie hen,
When I came to hell-door, where mony of your lordship's    And, as the twilight was begun,
friends gang, I chappit, and' Wha are ye, and where                       Thought nane wad ken.
d'ye come frae?' Satan exclaimed. I just said, that my
name was Rankine, and I came frae yere lordship's land.    The poor wee thing was little hurt;'Awawi'you,' cried Satan;'ye canna come here: hell's    I straikit it a wee for sport'ou o' his lordship's damned brutes already.' "I
Ne'er thinkin' they wad fash me foi't;
O BouGir, rude, ready-witted Rankine,                                    But, deil-ma-care!
The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin'!            Somebody tells the poacher-court
There's monie godly folks are thinkin',                                  The hale affir.
Your dreams' an' tricks
Your dreams' an' tricks       Some auld us'd hands had taen a note,
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin'                That sic a hen had got a shot
Straught to auld Nick's.       I was suspected for the plot;
I scorn'd to lie;
Ye hae sac monie cracks an' cants,
Ye hae sae nmonie cracks an' cants,                So gat the whissle o' my groat,
And in your wicked, dru'ken rants,                                       An' pay't the fee.
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts,
An' fill them fou;             But, by my gun, o' guns the wale,
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants,          An' by my pouther an' my hail,
Are a' seen through.           An' by my hen, an' by her tail,
I vow an' swear!
Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it!                       The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale,
That holy robe, O dinna tear it!                                         For this niest year.
1 A certain humorous dream of his was then making a       2 A song he had promised the author.
noise in the country-side.




122                          THE POETICAL WORKS
As soon's the clockin-time is by,                 The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him,
An' the wee pouts begun to cry,                                       Wi' tearfu' e'e;
L-d, I'se hae sportin' by an' by,                 For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him
For my gowd guinea;                               That's owre the sea!
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye
For't, in Virginia.          O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!
Hadst thou taen' aff some drowsy bummle
Trowth, they had muckle for to blame!            Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble,'Twas neither broken wing nor limb,'Twad been nae plea,
But twa-three draps about the wame                But he was gleg as onie wumble,
Scarce thro' the feathers;                        That's owre the sea!
An' baith a yellow George to claim,
An' thole their blethers!    Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear;
It pits me ay as mad's a hare;'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;                                     In flinders flee;
But pennyworths again is fair,                    He was her laureate monie a year,
When time's expedient:                            That's owre the sea!
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir,
Your most obedient.          He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west
Lang mustering up a bitter blast;
A jillet brak his heart at last,
Ill may she be!
So, took a birth afore the mast,
An' owre the sea.
L.
ON  A  S COTCH  BARD,                      To tremble under fortune's cummock,
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
GONE TO THE WEST INDIES.
Wi' his proud, independent stomach,
[Burns in this Poem, as well as in others, speaks open-                Could ill agree;
ly of his tastes and assions: his own fortunes are dwelt   row't his hurdes in a hammock
on with painful minuteness, and his errors are recorded
with the accuracy, but not the seriousness of the con-                   An' owre the sea.
fessional. He seems to have been fond of taking himself
to task. It was written when  Hungry ruin had him.in    He ne'er was gien to gre  misguiding,
the wind," and emigration to the West Indies was the       i  i                      i
only refuge which he could think of, or his friends   e                                
suggest, from the persecutions of fortune.]         Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding:
He dealt it free;
A' YE& wha live by sowps o' drink,                                    H  da  i free;
A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink,                 The muse was a' that he took pride in,
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,                                       That's owre the sea.
A' ye wha live and never think,
Come, mourn wi' me!
Come, mourn wi' me!         Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
Our billie's gien us a' a jink,,,              ~, ~ An' hap him in a cozie biel;
An' owre the sea.
An' owre the sea.     Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel,
And fou o' glee;
Lament him a' ye rantin' core,                    He wad na wrang'd the vera deil,
Wha dearly like a random-splore,                                      That's owre the sea.
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar
In social key;               Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!
For now he's taen anither shore,                  Your native soil was right ill-willie;
An' owre the sea!            But may ye flourish like a lily,
Now bonnilie!
The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him,              I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,
And in their dear petitions place him;                                Tho' owre the sea!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 123
LI.                                                 LII.
THE FAREWELL.                                             WRITTEN
" The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?       ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF MY POEMS, PREOr what does he regard his single woes?             SENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED.
But when, alas! he multiplies himself,
To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair,         [This is another of the poet's lamentations, at the
To taose whose bliss,.whose eings hang upon him,   prospect of " torrid climes" and the roars of the Atlantic
To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,
To helpless children!  then O then!  he feels     To Burns, Scotland was the land of promise, the west of
Tohelpo    oiser fesn  i h   hea    s  Scotland his paradise; and the land of dread, Jamaica!
The point of misery festering in his heart,
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.
And weakly weeps hisey fortune ike as card.       I found these lines copied by the poet into a volume
Such, such am I! undone."          THOMON.    which he presented to Dr. Geddes: they were addressed,
it is thought, to the "Dear E." of his earliest corre[In these serious stanzas, where the comic, as in the  spondence.]
lines to the Scottish hard, are not permitted to mingle,
Burns bids farewell to all on whom his heart had any  ONCE fondly lov'd and still remember'd dear;
claim. He seems to have looked on the sea as only a    Sweet early object of my youthful vows!
place of peril, and on the West Indies as a charnel-house.]  Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,Friendship!'tis all cold duty now allows.
FAREWELL, old Scotia's bleak domains,             And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
Far dearer than the torrid plains                    One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more,Where rich ananas blow!                         Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes,
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!                  Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar.
A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!
My Jean's heart-rending throe!
Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft
Of my parental care,
A faithful brother I have left,                                          LIII.
My part in him thou'lt share!
Adieu too, to you too,                                      A  DEDICATION
My Smith, my bosom frien';                                         TO
When kindly you mind me,                             GAVIN HAMILTON  ESQ.
0 then befriend my Jean!
[The gentleman to whom these manly lines are addressed, was of good birth, and of an open and generous
nature: he was one of the first of the gentry of the west
What bursting anguish tears my heart!             to encourage the muse of Coila to stretch her wings at
From thee, my Jeany, must I part!                 full length. His free life, and free speech, exposed him
Thou weepin  answ'   ~No!"      to the censures of that stern divine, Daddie Auld, who
Thou weeping answ'rest"             charged him with the sin of absenting himself from
Alas! misfortune stares my face,                  church for three successive days; for having, without
And points to ruin and disgrace,                  the fear of God's servant before him, profanely said
I for thy sake must go!                         damn it, in his presence, and for having gallopped on
Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,                   Sunday. These charges were contemptuously dismissed
by the presbyterial court. Hamilton was the brother of
A grateful, warm adieu;                         the Charlotte to whose charms, on the banks of Devon,
I, with a much-indebted tear,                     Burns, it is said, paid the homage of a lover, as well as
Shall still remember you!                       of a poet. The poem had a place in the Kilmarnock ediAll-hail then, the gale then,                 tion, but not as an express dedication.]
Wafts me from thee, dear shore!               EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration,
It rustles, and whistles                        A fleechin', fleth'rin dedication,
I'll never see thee more!
I'll never see thee more!                    To roose you up, an' ca' you guid,
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid,
Because ye're surnam'd like his Grace;
Perhaps related to the race;
Then when I'm tir'd-and sae are ye,
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie,




124                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Set up a face, how I stop short,                Steal thro' a winnock frae a whore,
For fear your modesty be hurt.                 But point the rake that taks the door;
Be to the poor like onie whunstane,
This may do-maun do, Sir, wi' them wha         And haud their noses to the grunstane,
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou;      Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving;
For me! sae laigh I needna bow,               No matter-stick to sound believing.
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough;
And when I downa yoke a naig,                  Learn three-mile pray'rs an' half-mile graces,
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg;              Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry faces;
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin',    Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan,
It's just sic poet, an' sic patron.            And damn a' parties but your own;
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver,
The Poet, some guid angel help him,            A steady, sturdy, staunch believer.
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him,
TT  i    i ^? -L ~> 3  J.O ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin,
He may do weel for a' he's done yet,, -'For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin'!
But only-he's no just begun yet.                   s  
Ye sons of heresy and error,
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror!
The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me,
I winna lie, come what will o' me,)            When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath,
I winna lie, come what will o' me,)
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be,            And in the fire throws the sheath;
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be,
i   i  T  iJWhen Ruin, with his sweeping besom,
He's just-nae better than he should be.                             
Just frets'till Heav'n commission gies him:
While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans,
I readily and freely grant,
He downa see a por  an w;         And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones,
He downa see a poor man want;
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans 
What's no his ain, he winna tak it;
What ance he says, he winna break it;          Your pardon, Sir, for this digression
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't,            I maist forgat my dedication;'Till aft his guidness is abus'd;              But when divinity comes cross me
And rascals whyles that do him wrang,          B   we d            c      cross m
And rascals wvhyles that do him wrang,         My readers still are sure to lose me.
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang:
As master, landlord, husband, father,          So, Sir, ye see'twas nae daft vapour,
He does na fail his part in either.            But I maturely thought it proper,
When a' my works I did review,
But then, nae thanks to him for a' that;       To dedicate them, Sir, to you:
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that;             Because (ye need na tak it ill)
It's naething but a milder feature,            I thought them something like yoursel'.
Of our poor sinfu', corrupt nature:
Ye'll get the best o' moral works,             Then patronize them wi' your favour,'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks,           And your petitioner shall everOr hunters wild on Ponotaxi,                   I had amaist said, ever pray,
Wha never heard of orthodoxy.                  But that's a word I need na say:
For prayin' I hae little skill o't;
That he's the poor man's friend in need,       I'm baith dead sweer, an' wretched ill o't;
The gentleman in word and deed,                But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r,
It's no thro' terror of damnation;             That kens or hears about you, SirIt's just a carnal inclination.
" May ne'er. misfortune's gowling bark,
Morality, thou deadly bane,                    Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk!
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain!         May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart,
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is      For that same gen'rous spirit smart!
In moral mercy, truth and justice!            May Kennedy's far-honour'd name
Lang beet his hymeneal flame,
No-stretch a point to catch a plack;           Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen,
Abuse a brother to his back;                   Are frae their nuptial labours risen:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             125
Five bonnie lasses round their table,             To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him,
And seven braw fellows, stout an' able            Except the moment that they crush't him;
To serve their king and country weel,             For sune as chance or fate had hush't'em,
By word, or pen, or pointed steel!                                   Tho' e'er sae short,
May health and peace, with mutual rays,           Then wi' a rhyme or song he lash't'em,
Shine on the ev'ning o' his days;                                     And thought it sport.'Till his wee curlie John's-ier-oe,
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow,               ho' he was bred to kintra wark,
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow."            And counted was baith wight and stark.
Yet that was never Robin's mark
I will not wind a lang conclusion,                                    To mak a man;
With complimentary effusion:                      But tell him he was learned and clark,
But whilst your wishes and endeavours                                 Ye roos'd him than t
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours,
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant.
But if (which pow'rs above prevent)                                   LV.
That iron-hearted carl, Want,
Attended in his grim  advances                    LETTER  TO JAMES TS ENNANT,
By sad mistakes and black mischances,                         or GLENCONNE R.
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
[While hopes, and joys, ad p s fy h,  The west country farmer to whom this letter was
Make you as poor a dog as I am,                 sent, was a social man. The poet depended on his judgYour humble servant then no more;               ment in the choice of a farm, when he resolved to quit
For who would humbly serve the poor!           the harp for the plough: but as Ellisland was his choice,
-Tt L i; ^    ~ TT? i  his skill may be questioned.]
But by a poor man's hope in Heav'n              his skill may e questioned.
While recollection's pow'r is given,              AULD comrade dear, and brither sinner,
If, in the vale of humble life,                   How's a' the folk about Glenconner?
The victim sad of fortune's strife,               How do you this blae eastlin wind,
I, thro' the tender gushing tear,                 That's like to blaw a body blind?
Should recognise my Master dear,                  For me, my faculties are frozen,
If friendless, low, we meet together,             My dearest member nearly dozen'd.
Then Sir, your hand-my friend and brother.    I've sent you here, by Johnie Simson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,
An' Reid, to common sense appealing.
Philosophers have fought and wrangled,
LIV.                           An' meikle Greek and Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,
E L E G Y                        An' in the depth of science mir'd,
ON                            To common sense they now appeal,
What wives and wabsters see and feel.
THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX.
THE DEATH OF ROBERT R SEAUX.        But, hark ye, friend! I charge you strictly
[Cromek found these verses among the loose papers of    Peruse them, an' return them quickly,
Burns, and printed them in the Reliques. They contain    For now I'm grown sae cursed douce
a portion of the character of the poet, record his habitual    I pray and ponder butt the house,
carelessness in worldly affairs, and his desire to be dis-                         roastin',
My  shins, my lane, I there sit roastin',
tinguished.]
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston;
Now Robin lies in his last lair,                  Till by an' by, if I haud on,
He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nac mair,            I'll grunt a real gospel groan:
Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare,                  Already I begin to try it,
Nae mair shall fear him;    To cast my e'en up like a pyet,
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care,               When by the gun she tumbles o'er,
E'er mair come near him.    Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore:




126                           THE POETICAL WORKS
Sae shortly you shall see me bright,
A burning and a shining light.                                       LVI.
My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen,                               ON THE
The ace an' wale of honest men:                 BIRTH  OF  A  POSTHUMOUS  CHILD.
When bending down wi' auld gray hairs,
When bendig dn w' ad gy       [From letters addressed by Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, it
Beneath the load of years and cares,            wouldappearthat this " SweetFlow'ret, pledge o' meik e
May He who made him still support him,          love," was the only son of her daughter, Mrs. Henri, who
An' views beyond the grave comfort him,         had married a French gentleman. The mother soor foHis worthy fam'ly far and near,                lowed the father to the grave: she died in the south of
France, whither she had gone in search of health.]
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear! 
SWEET flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love,
My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie,                And ward o' mony a pray'r,
The manly tar, my mason Billie,                     What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy;                         Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!
If he's a parent, lass or boy,
May he be dad, and Meg the mither,                  November hirples o'er the lea,
Just five-and-forty years thegither!                   Chill on thy lovely form;
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie,                  And gane, alas! the shelt'ring tree,
I'm tauld he offers very fairly.                       Should shield thee frae the storm.
An' Lord, remember singing Sannock,
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock,           May He who gives the rain to pour,
An' next my auld acquaintance, Nancy,                  And wings the blast to blaw,
Since she is fitted to her fancy;                       t   thee frae the driving show'r,
An' her kind stars hae airted till her                 The bitter frost and snaw
A good chiel wi' a pickle siller.
A good chiel w' a p e.             May He, the friend of woe and want,
My kindest, best respects I sen' it,                   Wo h          l     v   
Who heals life's various stounds,
To cousin Kate, an' sister Janet;. cousi' Ke. aProtect and guard the mother-plant,
Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautious,            A    h.~                ~.>~~ ~And heal her cruel wounds!
For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashions;
To grant a heart is fairly civil,                   But late she flourish'd, rooted fast,
But to grant the maidenhead's the deviL                Fair on the summer-morn:
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel',                    Now feebly bends she in the blast,
May guardian angels tak a spell,                       Unshelter'd and forlorn.
An' steer you seven miles south o' hell:
But first, before you see heaven's glory,           Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
May ye get monie a merry story,                       Unscath'd by ruffian hand!
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink,                   And from thee many a parent stem
And aye eneugh, o' needfu' clink.                     Arise to deck our land!
Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you,
For my sake this I beg it o' you.
Assist poor Simson a' ye can,
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man;
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter,                                  VI
Your's, saint or sinner,                                O  MIS CRUI
ROB THE RANTER.
A VERY YOUNG LADY.
WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK, PRESENTED
TO HER BY THE AUTHOR.
[The beauteous rose-bud of this poem was one of the
daughters of Mr. Cruikshank, a master in the High School
of Edinburgh, at whose table Burns was a frequent
guest during the year of hope which he spent in the
northern metropolis.]




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             127
BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay,              Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet
Blooming in thy early May,                        His honest heart enamours,
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r,               And faith ye'll no be lost a whit,
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r!                   Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers.
Never Boreas' hoary path,
Never Eurus' poisonous breath,
Never baleful stellar lights,
Taint thee with untimely blights!               Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair,
Never, never reptile thief                        And Honour safely back her,
Riot on thy virgin leaf!                        And Modesty assume your air,
Nor even Sol too fiercely view                    And ne'er a ane mistak' her:
Thy bosom blushing still with dew!              And sic twa love-inspiring een
Might fire even holy Palmers;
May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem,            Nae wonder then they've fatal been
Richly deck thy native stem:                      To honest Willie Chalmers.'Till some evening, sober, calm,
Dropping dews and breathing balm,
While all around the woodland rings,
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings;               I doubt na fortune may you shore
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound,                    Some mim-mou'd pouthered priestie,
Shed thy dying honours round,                   Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore,
And resign to parent earth                        And band upon his breastie:
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.         But Oh! what signifies to you
His lexicons and grammars;
The feeling heart's the royal blue,
And that's wi' Willie Chalmers.
LVIII.
WI L LIE  CHALMER S.                       Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird,
[Lockhart first gave this poetic curiosity to the world:  ay warstle for your favour;
he copied it from a small manuscript volume of Poems    May claw his lug, and straik his beard,
given by Burns to Lady Harriet Don, with an explanation  And hoast up some palaver.
in these words: "W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire,    My bonnie maid, before ye wed
a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetic
epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her,  Si clumsy-witted hammers,
but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as fol-    Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp
lows." Chalmers was awriter inAyr. I have not heard    Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers.
that the lady was influenced by this volunteer effusion:
ladies are seldom rhymed into the matrimonial snare.].  I.
W1' braw new branks in mickle pride,              Forgive the Bard! my fond regard
And eke a braw new brechan,                       For ane that shares my bosom,
My Pegasus I'm got astride,                       Inspires my muse to gie'm his dues,
And up Parnassus pechin;                          For de'il a hair I roose him.
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush             May powers aboon unite you soon,
The doitie beastie stammers;                      And fructify your amours,Then up he gets and off he sets                   And every year come in mair dear
For sake o' Willie Chalmers.                      To you and Willie Chalmers.
Ii.
I doubt na, lass, that weel kenn'd name
May cost a pair o' blushes;
I am nae stranger to your fame,
Nor his warm urged wishes.




128                           THE POETICAL WORKS
LIX.                                                 LX.
LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT,          TO  GAVIN H AMILTON, ESQ.,
THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING
VERSES                                              MAUCIIINE.
IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.                            (RECOMMENDING A BOY.)
[Of the origin of these verses Gilbert Burns gives the    [Verse seems to have been the natural language of
following account. " The first time Robert heard the  Burns. The Master Tootie whose skill he records, lived
spinnet played was at the house of Dr. Lawrie, then  in Mauchline, and dealt in cows: he was an artful and
minister of Loudon, now in Glasgow. Dr. Lawrie has  contriving person, great in bargaining and intimate with
several daughters; one of them played; the father and  all the professional tricks by which old cows are made
the mother led down the dance; the rest of the sisters,  to look young, and six-pint hawkies pass for those of
the broteor, the poet and the other guests mixed in it.  twelve.]
It was a delightfal family scene for our poet, then lately                  Mossgiel, May 3, 1786.
introduced to the world: his mind was roused to a poetic                    I.
enthusiasm, and the stanzas were left in the room where    I  OLD it, Sir, my bounden duty,
he slept."]
^~~~he slept."] ^To warn you how that Master Tootie,
i.                               Alias, Laird M'Gaun,
O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above!             Was here to hire yon lad away
I know thou wilt me hear,'Bout whom ye spak the tither day,
When for this scene of peace and love                 An' wad ha'e done't aff han':
I make my prayer sincere.                        But lest he learn the callan tricks,
As, faith, I muckle doubt him,
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,
An' tellin' lies about them;
The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,                      A. i, 
As lieve then, I'd have then,
Long, long, be pleased to spare;                                         he         
~',~~~~,^    ^~~ Your clerkship he should sair,
To bless his filial little flock                                             
If sae be, ye may be
And show what good men are.                              N   fed    e       ee
Not fitted otherwhere.
III.                                                 II.
She who her lovely offspring eyes                   Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough,
With tender hopes and fears,                     An' bout a house that's rude an' rough
0, bless her with a mother's joys,                    The boy might learn to swear;
But spare a mother's tears!                      But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught,
An' get sic fair example straught,
IV.                              I havena ony fear.
Their hope-their stay-their darling youth,          Ye'll catechize him every quirk,
In manhood's dawning blush-                         An' shore him weel wi' Hell;
Bless him, thou GOD of love and truth,              An' gar him follow to the kirkUp to a parent's wish!                              -Ay when ye gang yoursel'.
If ye then, maun be then
v.                                   Frae hame this comin' Friday;
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,                      Then please Sir, to lea'e Sir,
W'ith earnest tears I pray,                            The orders wi' your lady.
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand —
Guide Thou their steps alway.                               f h     r 
My word of honour I hae glen,
In Paisley John's, that night at e'n,
To meet the Warld's worm;
When soon or late they reach that coast,            To try to get the twa to gree,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,                  An' name the airles1 an' the fee,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost,                   In legal mode an' form:
A family in Heaven!                              I ken he weel a snick can draw,
1 The airles-earnest money.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                L29
When simple bodies let him;
An' if a Devil be at a',
In faith he's sure to get him.                     ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE
To phrase you, an' praise you,
SENT TO THE AUTHOR BY A TAILOR.
Ye ken your Laureat scorns:
The pray'r still, you share still,             [The person who in the name of a Tailor took the
Of grateful MINSTREL BURNs.                liberty of admonishing Burns about his errors, is generally believed to have been William Simpson, the schoolmaster of Ochiltree: the verses seem about the measure
of his capacity, and were attributed at the time to his
hand. The natural poet took advantage of the mask in
which the made poet concealed himself, and rained
LXTI.                        such a merciless storm upon him, as would have extinguished half the Tailors in Ayrshire, and made the
TO  MIR. MI'ADAM,                      amazed dominie
OF CRAIGEN-GILLANc. "Strangely fidge and fyke."
It was first printed in 1801, by Stewart.]
[It seems that Burns, delighted with the praise which         
the Laird of Craigen-Gillan bestowed on his verses, —
prollbably tile Jolly Beg.gars, then in the hands of Wood-   aTls ye no, ye lousie b- h,
burn, his steward,-poured out this little unpremeditated  T  thresh my back at sic a pitch?
aatural acknowledgment.]                              Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch,
Your bodkin's bauld,
SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card,                                       Your bodki
I didna suffer ha'f sae much
I trow it made me proud;
See wha tak's notice o' the bard                                       Fra  Daddi Auld.
I lap and cry'd fu' loud.
What tho' at times when I grow crouse,
Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,                   I gie their wames a random pouse,
The senseless, gawky million:                    Is that enough for you to souse
I'll cock my nose aboon them a'-                                       Your servant sae?
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan!                     Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse,
An' jag-the-fiae.'Twas noble, Sir;'twas like yoursel',
To grant your high protection:                    King David o' poetic brief,
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well,               Wrought'mang the lasses sic mischief,
Is ay a blest infection.                          As fill'd his after life wi' grief,
An' bluidy rants,
Tho' by his' banes who in a tub                     An' yet he's rank'd amag the chief
Match'd Macedonian Sandy!                                            0' lang-syne saunts.
On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub,
I independent stand ay.-                          And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants,
My wicked rhymes, an' druken rants,
And when those legs to gude, warm kail,'
Wi' welcome canna bear me;                 I'll gie auld cloven Clootie's haunts
Wi' welcome canna bear me;
An unco' slip yet,
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail,
A lee dyk-sidasybow-tail,  111An' snugly sit among the saunts
And barley-scone shall cheer me.
At Davie's hip get.
Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath
0' many flow'ry simmers!                         But fegs, the Session says I maun
And bless your bonnie lasses baith,Gae fa' upo'  anither plan,
I'm tauld they're loosome kimmers!               Than garrin lasses cop  the cran
Clean heels owre body,
And GOD bless young Dunaskin's laird,               And sairly thole their mither's ban
The blossom of our gentry!                                          Afore the howdy.
And may he wear an auld man's beard,
A credit to his country.                                           I
A credit to his country.                          This leads me on, to tell for sport,
How I did wi' the Session sort,
I Diogenes.
9




130                            THE POETICAL WORKS
Aulc Clinkum at the inner port                        For lack o' thee I've lost my lass,
Cried three times-"iRobin!        For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass.
Come hither, lad, an' answer for't,                   I see the children of affliction
Ye're blamed for jobbin'."         Unaided, through thy cursed restriction
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile
Wi' pinch I pat a Sunday's face on,                   Amid his hapless victim's spoil:
An' snoov'd away before the Session;                  And for thy potence vainly wished,
i made an open fair confession-                       To crush the villain in the dust.
I scorn'd to lee;               For lack o' thee, I leave this much-lov'd shore,
An' syne Mess John, beyond expression,              Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.
Fell foul o' me.                                                           RB.
*    *    *    *    *   -
LXV.
A DREAM.
LXIII.
A  Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with
TO  J. RANKINE.                               rs
reason;
[With the Laird of Adamhill's personal character the    But surely dreams were neer indicted treason"
reader is already acquainted: the lady about whose    On reading, in the public papers, the "IL ureate'
frailties the rumour alluded to was about to rise, has not  Ode," with the other parade of June 4, 178, the author
been ntamed, and it would neither be delicate nor polite  was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himnself
to guess.]                                            transported to the birth-day levee; and in his dreaming
I AM a keeper of the law                           8fancy made the following " Address."
In some sma' points, altho' not a';                   [The prudent friendsof the poet remonstrated with him
Some people tell me ginl I faL'                     about this Poem, whlich they appeared to think Awould
Some people tell me gin I fa''
injure his fortunes and stopi the royal bounty to which he
Ae way or ither,              was thougllt entitled. Mrs. LDunlop. and Mrs. Stewart,
The breaking of ae point, though sma',              of Stair, solicited him in vtlin to omit it in tlie Edinburgh
Breaks a' thegither.          edition of his poems. I know of no poem for which a
clirnm of being prophetic would be so successfully set
I hae been in for't ance or twice,                 up: it is full of point as well as of the future. The allu~ -.,.sions require no comment.]
And winna say o'er far for thrice,
Yet never met with that surprise
GUID-MORNIN' to your Majesty!
That broke my rest,
Tab e yr,         IMay Heaven augment your blisses,
But now a rumour's like to rise,-dy ye see,
On cv'ry new birth-day ye see,
A whaup's i' the nest.            A humle poet wises
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 thae birth-day dresses
LXIV.                                                   Sae fine this day.
LINES
WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE.                     I see ye're complimented thrang,
By many a lord an' lady;
[Thle bank-note on which these characteristic lines      B  m        a l    n 
were endorsed, came into the hands of the late James     Go  sae the kng"'s a cuckoo sang
Gracie, banker in DaImfries: lie knew the handwriting      That's unco easy said ay;
of Burns, and kept it as a curiosity. The concluding    The poets, too, a venal gang,
lines point to the year 1786, as the date of the compo-    W' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready,
sition.]
~~~~si tion.l~] WWad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,
VWA  worth thy power, thou cursed letf,                 But ay unerring steady,
Fell source o' a' my woe an' grief;                                         On sic a day.




OF  iiOBEiIT  iL JUL.-.                                      131
For me, before a monarch's face,                  But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,
Ev'n there I winna flatter;                       In loyal, true affection,
For neither pension, post, nor place,             To pay your Queen, with due respect,
Am I your humble debtor:                          My fealty an' subjection
So, nae reflection on your grace,                                      This great birth-day
Your kingship to bespatter;
There's monie waur been o' the race,              Hail, Majesty Most Excellent!
And aiblins ane been better                       While nobles strive to please ye,
Than you this day.           Will ye accept a compliment
A simple poet gi'es ye?'Tis very true, my sov'reign king,                Thae bonnie bairntime, Heav'n has lent,
My skill may weel be doubted:                     Still higher may they heeze ye
But facts are chiels that winna ding,             In bliss, till fate some day is sent,
An' downa be disputed:                            For ever to release ye
Your royal nest beneath your wing,                                     Frae care that day.
Is e'en right reft an' clouted,
And now the third part of the string,             For you, young potentate o' Wales,
An' less, will gang about it                      I tell your Highness fairly,
Than did ae day.              Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails,
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;
Far be't frae me that I aspire                    But some day ye may gnaw your nails,
To blame your legislation,                        An' curse your folly sairly,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,                  That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,
To rule this mighty nation.                       Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie,
But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire,                                    By night or day.
Ye've trusted ministration
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,                 Yet ft a ragged cowte's been known
Wad better fill'd their station                    To mak a noble aiver;
Than courts yon day.          So, ye may doucely fill a throne,
For a' their clish-ma-claver:
And now ye've gien auld Britain peace,            There, him at Agincourt wha shone,
Her broken,hins to plaister;                     Few better were or braver;
Your sair taxation does her fleece,               And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,
Till she ha? scarce a tester;                     He was an unco shaver
For me, thanxk God, my life's a lease,                                 For monie a day.
Nae bargain wearing faster,
Or, faith! I fear, that, wi' the geese,          For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,
I shortly boost to pasture
I shortly boost to pasture                        Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,
I' the craft some day.
I' the craft some day.       Altho' a ribbon at your lug,
Wad been a dress completer:
I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,                   As ye disown yon paughty dog
When taxes he enlarg es,                          That bears the keys of Peter,
When taxes he enlarget,                                               a w f t  hug,
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,             Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug,
A name not envy spairges,)                        Or, trouth! ye'll stain the mitre
That he intends to pay your debt,                                     Some luckless day.
An' lessen a' your charges;
An' lessen a' your charges;              Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn,
But, G-d-sake! let nae saving-fit
B at, G-d-sake! let na  saving-fit               Ye've lately come athwart her;
Abridge your bonnie barges
An' boats this day.           A glorious galley,' stem an' stern,
An' boats this day.             ~          "                    *
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern
Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geck                 B    r  hn o   tl
Beneath your high protection;                     Your hmeneal charter,
An' may ye rax corruption's neck,                 I Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain roya
And gie her for dissection!                   sailor's amour
Is. _                                                       __..  _ _ _ __._ __I _   all _.._ _._ _ _ Af........._...........  _.....  a.. an   -c  ___




132                            THE POETICAL WORKS
Then heave aboard your grapple aim,                 That weekly this area throng,
An', large upon her quarter,                                      0, pass not by I
Come full that day.          But with a frater-feeling strong,
Here heave a sigh.
Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a',
Ye, lastly, bonnie  a,              Is there a man, whose judgment clear,
Ye royal lasses dainty,
Yea roal lasse  dainty  as, d a            Can others teach the course to steer,
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,
He.av' m   you  guds  aspweety   abrwYet runs, himself, life's mad career,
An' gie you lads a-plenty:
Wild as the wave;
But sneer na British Boys awa',
B rut. snee   aBrits  Boyscn awa,             Here pause-and, through the starting tear,
For kings are unco scant ay;
Survey this grave.
An' German gentles are but sma',
They're better just than want ay                 The poor inhabitant below
On onie day.                 Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,
God bless you a'! consider now,                                          And softer flame,
Ye're unco muckle dautet;                        But thoughtless follies laid him low,
But ere the course o' life be thro',                                      And stain'd his name!
It may be bitter sautet:
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,                    Reader, attend-whether thy soul
That yet hae tarrow't at it;                     Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
But or the day was done, I trow,                    Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
The laggen they hae clautet                                            In low pursuit;
Fu' clean that day.          Know, prudent, cautious self-control,
Is wisdom's root.
LXVI.
A BARD'S EPITAPH.THE TWA DOGS.
[This beautiful and affecting poem was printed in the                    A TALE.
Kilmarnock edition: Wordsworth writes with his usual
taste and feeling about it: " Whom did the poet intend  [Cromek, an anxious and curious inquirer, informed
should be thought of, as occupying that grave, over  me, that the Twa Dogs was in a half-finished state, when
which, after modestly setting forth the moral discernment  the poet consulted John Wilson, the printer, about the
and warm affections of the' poor inhabitant' it is supposed  Kilmarnock edition. On looking over the manuscripts,
to be inscribed that                                 the printer, with a sagacity common to his profession.
Thoughtless follies laid him low,         said, " The Address to the Deil" and " The Holy Fair"
And stained his name!'         were grand things, but it would be as well to have a
Who but himself-himself anticipating the but too pro-  calmer an  sedter strain, to put at the font of the...   0..  volume. Burns woas struck with the remark, and on his
hable termination of his own course? Here is a sincere  volume. Burns ws struc  with  e remark, and on his
and solemn avowal-a confession at once devout, poeti-  way home to  ossgiel, complete the Poem, and took it
cal, and human-a history in the shape of a prophecy   next day to Kilmarnock, much to the satisfction of
" Wee Johnnie."  On the 17th of February Burns says
What more was required of the biographer, than to have  "    J           n  the 17th of February Burns says
put his seal to the writing, testifying that the forebodingaucine, "I have completed
had been realized and that the record was authentic?"]  my Poem of te Ta Dogs, ut have not shown it to the
world."  It is difficult to fix the dates with anything like
Is there a whim-inspired fool,                     accuracy, to compositions which are not struck off at
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,  one heat of the fancy. "Luath was )ne of the poet's
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
dogs, which some person had wantonly killed," says
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,           Gilbert Burns; " but Ccesar was merely the creature of
Let him draw near;           the imagination."  The Ettrick Shepherd, a judge of
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,               collies, says that Luath is true to the life, and that many
And drap a tear.            a hundred times he has seen the dogs bark for very joy,
when the cottage children were merry.]
Is there a bard of rustic song,'TWAS in that place o' Scotland's isle
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,               That bears the name o' Auld King Coil,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           133
Upon a bonnie day in June,                      An' when the gentry's life I saw,
When wearing through the afternoon,             What way poor bodies liv'd ava.
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.                   Our laird gets in his racked rents,
The first I'll name, they ca'd him Csesar,      His coals, his kain, and a' his stents;
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure;            He rises when he likes himsel';
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,        His flunkies answer at the bell;
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;          He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse;
But whaipit some place far abroad,              He draws a bonnie silken purse
Where sailors gang to fish for cod.             As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeks,
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks.
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar         Frae morn to e'en its nought but toiling,
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar;           At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;
But though he was o' high degree,   
But though he was o' high degree,               An' though the gentry first are stechin,
The fient a pride-nae pride had he;
The fient a pride-nae pride had he;             Yet even the ha' folk fill their pechan
But wad hae spent an hour caressin',
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin'.            Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie,
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin'.
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,             That's little short o' downright wastrie.
rmrke, mill or         Our whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner,
Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan,'t, as glad to see him,         Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,                    t               m
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him.    B                       
His honour has in a' the lan';
The tither was a ploughman's collie,            An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in,
The tither was a ploughman's collie,
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,              I own it's past my comprehension
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,                             LUATH.
After some dog in Highland sang,1                Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't eneugh
Was made lang syne-Lord knows how lang.         A cotter howkin in a sheugh,
Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke,
He was a gash an' faithful tyke,                 Baring a quarry, and sic like;
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.                    Himself, a wife, he thus sustains,
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face,               A smytrie o' wee duddie weans,
Ay gat him friends in ilka place.                An' nought but his han' darg, to keep
His breast was white, his touzie back            Them right and tight in thack an' rape.
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;..s.aucie tail,.i' upward curl,  An' when they meet wi' sair disasters,
His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung   o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl.            Like loss o' health, or want o' masters,
Ye maist wad think a wee touch langer
Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger;
An' unco pack an' thick thegither;              But, how it comes, I never kenn'd yet,
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit,      They're maistly wonderfu' contented:
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit;         An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies,
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion,           Are bred in sic a way as this is.
An' worry'd ither in diversion;
Until wi' daffin weary grown,                                     CISAR.
Upon a knowe they sat them down,                But then to see how ye're negleckit,
And there began a lang digression                How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit l
About the lords o' the creation.                L-d, man, our gentry care as little
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle;
CESAR.                         They gang as saucy by poor folk,
I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath,              As I wad by a stinking brock.
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have;       I've notid, on our Laird's court-day,
1 Cuchullin's o                 in Ossian's Fingal.  An' mony a time my heart's been wcourt-day,
1 Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal.      An' mony a time my heart's been wae,




134                          THE POETICAL WORKS
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash,                Are riven out baitlh root and branch,
Iow they maun thole a factor's snash:             Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear,        Wha thinks to knit himsel' the faster
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear;           In favour wi' some gentle master,
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble,         Wha aiblins, thrang a parliamentin',
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble!            For Britain's guid his saul indentin'I see how folk live that hae riches;
But surely poor folk maun be wretches!                              CESAR.
Haith, lad, ye little ken about it!
LUATH.                          For Britain's guid! guid faith, I doubt it!
They're no sae wretched's ane wad think;          Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him,
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink:              An' saying, aye oi no's they bid him,
They're sae accustoni'd wi' the sight,            At operas an' plays parading,
The view o't gies them little fright.             Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading;
Then chance an' fortune are sae guided,           Or may be, in a frolic daft,
They're ay in less or mair provided;              To Hague or Calais takes a waft,
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment,           To mak a tour, an' tak' a whirl,
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.              To learn bon ton, an' see the worl',
The dearest comfort o' their lives,               There, at Vienna or Versailles,
Their grushie weans, an' faithfu' wives;          He rives his father's auld entails;
The prattling things are just their pride,        Or by Madrid lie takes the rout,
That sweetens a' tleir fire-side;                 To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt;
An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy              Or down Italian vista startles,
Can mak' the bodies unco happy;                   Wh-re-lhunting armalg groves o' myrtles
They lay aside their private cares,               Then houses drumly German water,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs:               To mak' himsel' look fair and fatter
They'll talk o' patronage and priests;            An' clear the consequential sorrows,
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts;               Love-gifts of carnival signoras.
Or tell what new taxation's comin',               For Britain's guid!-for her destruction
And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on.                 Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction.
As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns,                                  LUAT
They get the jovial, ranting kirns,
zD Tt-f,,   ^,.  Hech, man! dear sirs! is that the gate
When rural life, o' ev'ry station,                             
TT,-J-~~'   ^They vwaste sae mony a braw estate!
Unite in common recreation;'Te~ in  i rr eatio 1.;  Are we sae foughten an' harass'd
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
For gear to gang that gate at last!
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 
That merry day the year begins,                   0, would they stay aback frae courts,
They bar the door on frosty win's;                An' please themsels wi' countra sports,
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,                It wad for ev'ry ane be better,
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam;                The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter!
The luntin pipe, an sneeshin mill,                For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies,
Are handed round wi' right guid will;             Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse,            Except for breakin' o' their timnler,
The young anes rantin' thro' the house,-          Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer,
My heart has been sae fain to see them,           Or shootin' o' a hare or mnoor-cock,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.               The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk.
Still it's owre true that ye hae said,            But will ye tell me, Master Crsar,
Sic game is now owre aften play'd.                Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure?
There's monie a creditable sto.k                  Nae cauld or hunge'r'er can steer them,
0' decent, honest, fawsont folk,                  The vera thought o't need na fear them.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                   135
~~~~~~~~~Cm~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SAR.~
CASAR.                                                LXVIII.
L-d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am,
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy'em.                                      L  I N  E  S
ON
It's true, they needna starve or sweat,
MEETING WITIE LORD DAER.
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmner's heat;
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes,           [" The first time I saw Robert Burns," says Dugald
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes:             Stewart, "was on the 23d of October, 1786, when he
But human bodies  are sic fools,  -dined at my house in Ayrshire, together with our comBut humnan bodies are sic fools,
mon friend, John Mackenzie, surgeon in Mauchline, to
For a' their colleges and schools,                  whomn I am indebted for the pleasure of his acquaintThat when nae real ills perplex them,                ance. My excellent and much-lamented friend, the late
They mak enow themsels to vex them;                Basil, Lord Daer, happened to arrive at Catrine the same
sAn' ay the less they  ac to sturt themi,     day, and, by the kindness and frankness of his manners,
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them,.'
AI~n' ay thli"k~~~ e   less  thleft an impression on the mind of the poet which was
In like proportion, less will hurt them.             never effaced. The verses which the poet wrote on the
occasion are among the most imperfect of his pieces, but
A country fellow at the pleugh,                      a few stanzas may perhaps be a matter of curiosity, both
His acres till'd, lie's right eneugh;                on account of the character to which they relate and the
A country (girl at her wheel,                       light which they throw on the situation and the feelings
hTer dizzen's done, sh's unco weel:        of the writer before his name was known to the public."
HIer dizzen's dcone, she's unco weel:
Basil, Lord Daer, the uncle of the present Earl of Sel
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst,                    kirk, was born in the year 1769, at the family seat of St.
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst.                Mary's Isle: he distinguished himself early at school,
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy;              and t college excelled in literature and science; le had
Tho' deii hat ails themn, yet uneasy; La greater regrard for denmocracy than was then reckoned
consistent  ith is births alnd rank. He was, whl-en Burns
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless;            met him, in his twenty-third year; was very tall, someTheir nights unquiet, lang, an' restless;           thing careless in his dress, and had the taste and talent
An' even their sports, their balls an' races,    common to his distinguished family. He died in his
Their galloping thro' public places,                thirty-third year.]
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art,                          ye all whom it concerns,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.o,  as 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,
The men cast out in party matches,                                 Octoer twenty-tird,
Then sowther a' in deep debauches;                  A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day,
Ae night they're ma'd wi' drink and wh-ring,           e far I spracle  up the brae,
Niest day their life is past enduring.iner' wi' a Lord.
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,
As great and gracious a' as sisters;                I've been at druken writers' feasts,
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither,            Ny, been bitch-fou''mang godly priests,
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither.                           Wi rev'rence be it spoken:
Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup an' platie,            I've even join'd the honourd jorum,
They sip the scandal potion pretty;                 When mighty squireships of the quorum
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks                              Their           routh di  sloken.
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,             But wi' a Lord-stand out, my shin!
&n' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard.                Lord-a Peer-an Earl's son 
re's some exception, man an' woman;               Up higher yet, my bonnet!
Th-re's some exception, man an' woman;
And sic a Lord! —lan; Scotch ells twa,
But this is Gentry's life in common.-lg S                                           h es 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a',
By this, the sun was out o' sight,                                 As I look o'er my sonnet.
An' darker gloaming brought the night:
The bum-clock humnm'd wi' lazy drone;               But, oh! for Hogarth's magic pow'r 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan;                   To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r,
When up they gat, and shook their lugs,                            And how he star'd and stammer'd,
Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs;                When goavan, as if led wi' branks,
An' each took aff his several way,                  An' stumpan on his ploughmnan shanks,
Resolv'd to meet soime itler day.                                   IIe in the parlour h.ammer'd.




136                           THE POETICAL WORKS
I sidling shelter'd in a nook,                                             xI.
An' at his lordship steal't a look,                   Here wealth still swells the golden tide,
Like some portentous omen;                As busy Trade his labour plies;
Except good sense and social glee,                    There Architecture's noble pride
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty,                         Bids elegance and splendour rise;
I marked nought uncommon.               Here Justice, from her native skies,
High wields her balance and her rod;
I watch'd the symptoms o' the great,                   There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,                      Seeks Science in her coy abode.
The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,                                       III.
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see,               Thy sons, Edina! social, kind,
Mair than an honest ploughman.             With open arms the stranger hail;
Their views enlarg'd, their liberal mind,
Then from his lordship I shall learn,                    Above the narrow, rural vale;
Henceforth to meet with unconcern                      Attentive still to sorrow's wail,
One rank as weel's another;                Or modest merit's silent claim;
Nae honest worthy man need care                        And never may their sources fail!
To meet with noble youthful Daer,                        And never envy blot their name!
For he but meets a brother.
I V.
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!
LXIX.                            Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine;
ADDRESS  TO  EDINBURGH.                          I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own his work indeed divine!
[" I enclose you two poems," said Burns to his friend
Chalmers, " which I have carded and spun since I passed
Glenbuck. One blank in the Address to Edinburgh,                            V.'Fair B-,' is the heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to    There, watching high the least alarms,
Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honour      Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar
to be more than once. There has not been anything
nearly like her, in all the combinations of beauty, grace,    Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms,
and goodness the great Creator has formed, since Milton's  And mark'd with many a seamy scar:
Eve, on the first day of her existence." Lord Mon do   Te pond'rous wall and massy bar,
made himself ridiculous by his speculations on human     Grim-risi   o'er the rued rock
nature, and acceptable by his kindly manners and suppers in the manner of the ancients, where his viands were  Have oft withstood assailing war,
spread under ambrosial lights, and his Falernian was     And oft repell'd th' invader's shock.
wreathed with flowers. At these suppers Burns sometimes made his appearance. The "Address" was first
V I.
printed in the Edinburgh edition: the poet's hopes were
then high, and his compliments, both to town and people,    With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,
were elegant and happy.]                                 I view that noble, stately dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
vJ~.-                  l$     ~]am'd heroes! had their royal home:
EDINA! Scotia's darling seat!                      Alas, how chang'd the times to come!
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,                    Their royal name low in the dust!
Where once beneath a monarch's feet                 Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam,
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!                Tho' rigid law cries out,'twas just!
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,                                     VII.
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,             Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
I shelter in thy honour'd shade.                    Whose ancestors, in days of yore,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              137
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps               May still your life from day to day
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:                  Nae "lente largo" in the play,
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore,                   But " allegretto forte" gay
Haply, my sires have left their shed,                               Harmonious flow:
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar,             A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspeyBold-following where your fathers led!                              Encore! Bravo!
v  I.                          A blessing on the cheery gang
Edina! Scotia's darling seat!                    Wha dearly like a jig or sang,
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,                An' never think o' right an' wrang
Where once beneath a monarch's feet                                    By square an' rule,
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!             But as the clegs o' feeling stang
Frommarkingwildly-scatter'd flow'rs,                                   Are wise or fool.
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
As on the banks oAyrIMy hand-waled curse keep hard in chase
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,             y hand-waed cuse keep hard in chase
I shelter in thy honour'd shade.                The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race,
Wha count on poortith as disgraceTheir tuneless hearts!
May fireside discords jar a base
To a' their parts!
LXX.
EPISTLE  TO    AJOR  LOGAN.          But come, your hand, my careless brither,
I' th' ither warl', if there's anither,
[Major Logan, of Camlarg, lived, when this hasty    An' that there is I've little swither
Poem was written, with his mother and sister at Park-                    About the matter;
house, near Ayr. He was a good musician, a joyous 
companion, and something of a wit. The Epistle was       cheek for cho  shlljog thegither,
printed, for the first time, in my edition of Burns, in 1834,            I'se ne'er bid better.
und since then no other edition has wanted it.]
L.~.,   We've faults and failings-granted clearly,
HAIL, thairm-inspirin',  rattlin' Willie! 
HA, thairm-inspirin', ratt' Wlle!  We're frail backsliding mortals merely,
Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly.,
Thouge  foune,' ro g be r            Eve's bonny squad, priests wyte them sheerly
To every fiddling, rhyming billie,                                     ^       
",In~~~~~~~~~~ ~                        For our grand fa';
We never heed,
We never heed,        But still, but still, I like them dearlyBut tak' it like the unback'd filly,
God bless them a' I
Proud o' her speed.
When idly goavan whyles we saunter                Ochon  for poor Castaian drinkers,
Yirr, fancy b~arks, awa' we canter                When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers,
Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter              
Uphill, down brae, till some mishanter,           The   tcing curs'd delicious blinkers
Some black bog-hole,                              Hae put me  yte,
Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter            And grt me  eet my           ife winkers,
We're forced to thole.                            Wi' grnan spite.
Hale be your heart! Hale be your fiddle!          But by yon moon!-and that's high swearin'Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle,             An' every star within my hearin'!
To cheer you through the weary widdleAn' by her een wha was a dear ane 
O' this wild warl',I'll ne'er forget;
Until you on a crummock driddle                   I hope to gie the jads a clearin'
A gray-hair'd carl.                               In fair play yet.
Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon,         My loss I mourn, but not repent it,
Heaven send your heart-strings ay in tune,        I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it,
And screw your temper pins aboon                  Ance to the Indies I were wonted,
A fifth or mair,                                  Some cantraip hour,
The melancholious, lazy croon                     By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted,
0' cankrie care.                                  Then, vive l'amour!




138                          THE POETICAL WORKS
Faites mes baisemnains respectueuse,            No! though his artless strains he rudely sings,
To sentimental sister Susie,                    And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings,
An' honest Lucky; no to roose you,              He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,
Ye may be proud,           Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward!
That sic a couple fate allows ye                Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace,
To grace your blood.       Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace;
When Ballantyne befriends his humble name,
Nae mair at present can I measure,              And hands the rustic stranger up to fame,
An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure;   With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells,
But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure,      The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels.
Be't light, be't dark,
Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure
To call at Park.'Twas when the stacks get on their winter hap,
ROBERT BURNS.    And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap;
Mossgiel, 30th October, 1786.                   Potato-bings are snugged up frae skaith
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath;
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils,
_______________           Unnumber'd buds, an' flow'rs' delicious spoils,
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen
piles,
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak,
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek 
THE  BRIGS OF AYR,                       The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side,
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide;
A P O E M,                     The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie,
INSCRIBED TO J. BALLANTYNE, ESQ., AYR.       Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie:
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds,
[Burns took the hint of this Poem from the Planestanes  (What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds,
and Causeway of Fergusson, but all that lends it life and  And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!)
feeling belongs to his own heart and his native Ayr: he  Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs;
wrote it for the second edition of his Poems, and in com-  Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings,
pliinent to the patrons of his genius in the west. BallanV'.. ".,    Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee,
tyne, to whom the Poem is inscribed, was generous when
the distresses of his farming speculations pressed upon  Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree:
him: others of his friends figure in the scene: Mont-  The hoary morns precede the sunny days,
gomery's courage, the learning of Dugald Stewart, and  Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide
condescension and kindness of Mrs. General Stewart,      blaze
of Stair, are gratefully recorded.]
While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the
THE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,             rays.
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough;'Twas in that season, when a simple bard,
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,        Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward,
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn  Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr,
bush;                                      By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care,
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,  He left his bed, and took his wayward rout,
Or deep-ton'd plovers, gray, wild-whistling o'er  And down by Simpson's' wheel'd the left about:
the hill;                                  (Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate,
Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed,      To witness what I after shall narrate;
To hardy independence bravely bred,               Or whether, rapt in meditation high,
By early poverty to hardship steel'd,             He wander'd out he knew not where nor why)
And train'd to arms in stern misfortune's field-   The drowsy Dungeon-clock,2 had number'd two,
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,      And Wallace Tow'r2 had sworn the fact was true:
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes?          The tide-swol'n Firth, with sullen sounding roar,
Or labour hard the panegyric close,               Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose?            shore.
1 A noted tavern at the auld Brig end.                    2 The two steeples.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          139
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e:     Your ruin'd formless bulk o' stane an' lime,
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree:  Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time?
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,      There's men o' taste wou'd tak the DucatCrept,  gently-crusting,  o'er  the  glittering       stream,2
stream.-                                 Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim,
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the
When, lo! on either hand the list'ning Bard,          view
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard;  Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you.
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air,
Swift as the gos  drives on the wheeling hare;                   AULD BRIG.
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears,      Conceited  gowk!   puff'd  up  wi' windy
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers:             pr
pride!-_
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd                 p        -
Our wa k R r i y d d    This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide;
The Sprites that owre the brigs of Ayr preside.  And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn,
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,     I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn!
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk;        As yet ye little ken about the matter
As yet ye little ken about the matter,
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain  But twa-three winters will inform ye better.
But twa-three winters will inform ye better.
them,,.,,,When heavy, dark, continued a'-day rains,
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.)  Wi' deepening deluges o'erfow the plains;
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains;
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race,
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race,   When from the hills where springs the brawling
The very wrinkles gothic in his face:                 Coil
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang,     Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.     Or where the Greenock winds his moorland
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat,               course
course,
That he at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got;
That he at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got;     Or haunted Garpal3 draws his feeble source,
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead,   Arous'd by blustring winds an' spotting thowes,
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes,
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head.
Wi' virls and whirlygigus at the head.     In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes;
The Goth was stalking round with anxious
The  Goth was stalking round with a  While crashing ice born on the roaring speat,.search, tiewr flw'   e',  arh          Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate;
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch; —
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch;- - And from Glenbuck,4 down to the Ratton-key,5
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e,         f                        
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling seaAnd e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he!
e    a v     a   a       Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise!
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien,                          j      u  t t.... dn ea, h tAnd dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring
ite, down the water, gies him this guid-e'en: —
e, don the wa, gs hm ts          A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost,  [skies.
AULD BRIG.                    That Architecture's noble art is lost!
I doubt na', frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheepshank,                                                   NEW BRIG.
shank,
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank!    Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me,                   o't!
Tho' faith, that day I doubt ye'll never see;   The L-d be thankit that we've tint the gate
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle,    o't!
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle.        Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
Hanging with threat'ning jut like precipices;
NEW BRIG.                     O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,
Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense,   Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves;
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense;      Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest,
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street,  With order, symmetry, or taste unblest;
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they  Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream,
meet-                                    The craz'd creations of misguided whim;
1 The gos-hawk or falcon.                     ings, known by the name of Ghaists, still continue per.
2 A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig.    tinaciously to inhabit.
3 The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places   4 The source of the river Ayr.
in the WVest of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring be-   5 A small landing-place above the large key.,_:,.u.._... 




140                        THE POETICAL WORKS
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee,  But under favour o' your langer beard,
And still the second dread command be free,    Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd:
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or  To liken them to your auld-warld squad,
sea.                                    I must needs say, comparisons are odd.
Mansions that would disgrace the building  In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can have a handle
taste                                   To mouth' a citizen,' a term o' scandal;
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast;           Nae mair the Council waddles down the street,
Fit only for a doited monkish race,            In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace;     Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an'
Or cuifs of later times wha held the notion          raisins,
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion;   Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins,
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection!  If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
And soon may they expire, unblest with resur-  Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp,
rection!                                And would to Common-sense for once betray'd
them,
AULD BRIG.                   Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them
O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings,
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings!                                    What farther clishmaclaver might been said,
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie,         What bloody wars, if Spirites had blood to shed,
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay;   No man can tell; but all before their sight,
Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce Conveeners,   A fairy train appear'd in order bright:
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners:  Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly danc'd;
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town;     Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd:
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown,         They footed owre the wat'ry glass so neat,
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters     The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
And (what would now be strange) ye godly  While arts of minstrelsy among them rung,
writers;                                And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,       had M'auchlan, thairm-inspiring Sage,
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do!    Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
How would your spirits groan in deep vexa-When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with
tion,                                          highland rage;
To see each melancholy alteration;             Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs,
And, agonizing, curse the time and place       The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares;
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race!       How would his highland lug been nobler fir'd,
Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory,   nd ev'n his matchless hnd with finer touch
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid        inspir'd!
story!                                 No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
Nae langer thrifty citizens an' douce,         But all the soul of Music's self was heard,
Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house;     Harmonious concert rung in every part,
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,   While simple melody pour'd moving on the
The herryment and ruin of the country;               heart.
Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers,                                     The Genius of the stream in front appears,
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d-d new  A venerable Chief advanc'd in years;
Brigs and Harbours!                     His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd,
His manly leg with garter tangle bound.
NEW BRIG.                    Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Now hand you there! for faith ye've said
~L~enough,  ~Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy,
And muckle mr than ye can mk to through;  And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye:
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through;
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little,  A well known performer of Scottish music on the
Corbies and Clergy, are a shot right kittle:   violin..-__________________-______~




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                141
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,         Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan;
Led yellow  Autumn, wreath'd  with nodding   The hollow caves return a sullen moan.
corn;
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests and ye caves,
show,                                        Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves!
By Hospitality with cloudless brow.                 Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye,
Next follow'd Courage, with his martial stride,   Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly;
From where the Feal wild woody coverts hide;  Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,              Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore.
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair:,               i 
0 heavy loss, thy country ill could bear!
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode                          i                 
A loss these evil days can ne'er repair!
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode:        Justice the high vicegerent of her God
Justice, the high vicegerent of her God,
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel,
Her doubtful balance ey'd, and sway'd her rod;
wreath,.Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath
To rustic Agricu e dd b h              She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe.
The broken iron instruments of death;
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kind-  Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den,
ling wrath.                                  Now gay in hope explore the paths of men:
See from this cavern grim Oppression rise,
And throw on poverty his cruel eyes;
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly,
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry:
LXXII.                         Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with crimes,
ON                          Rousing elate in these degenerate times;
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey,
THE DEATH  OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ.,   As guileful Fraud points out the erring way:
OF ARNISTON,                      While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue
The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong:
LATE LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COURT OF SESSION.      Hark, injur'd Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale,
[At the request of Advocate Hay, Burns composed this  And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' unpitied
Poem, in the hope that it might interest the powerful      wail!
family of Dundas in his fortunes. I found it inserted in
the handwriting of the poet, in an interleaved copy of  Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains,
his Poems, which he presented to Dr. Geddes, accompa-           i   m    ri-i ir 
nied by the following surly note:-; The foregoing Poem                gref-nspired strains:
has some tolerable lines in it, but the incurable wound  Ye tempests, rage! ye turbid torrents, roll!
of my pride will not suffer me to correct, or even peruse  Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul.
it. I sent a copy of it with my best prose letter to the  Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign,
son of the great man, the theme of the piece, by the    n           i     n 
hands of one of the noblest men in God's world, Alexan-                      
der Wood, surgeon: when, behold! his solicitorship  To mourn the woes my country must endure,
took no more notice of my Poem, or of me, than I had  That wound degenerate ages cannot cure.
been a strolling fiddler who had made free with his lady's
name, for a silly new reel. Did the fellow imagine that
I looked'for any dirty gratuity?" This Robert Dundas
was the elder brother of that Lord Melville to whose
hands, soon after these lineswere written, all the governLXXIII.
ment patronage in Scotland was confided, and who, when
the name of Burns was mentioned, pushed the wine to
ON READINTGS IN A NEWSPAPER
Pitt, and said nothing. The poem was first printed by
me, in 1834.]                                       THE DEATH  OF JOHN  M'LEOD, ESQ.
LONE on the bleaky hills the straying flocks         BROTHER TO A YOUNG LAD, A PARTICULAR FRIEND
BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND
Shun the fierce storms among  the sheltering                         OF THE AUTHOR'S.
rocks;
Dwfrom  h iuese ihdsicks;n          an,    [John M'Leod was of the ancient family of Raza, and
Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains,  brother to that Isabella M'Leod, for whom Burns, in
The gathering floods burst o'er the distantplains;  his correspondence, expressed great regard. The little




142                            TIIE POETICAL WORKS
Poem, when first printed, consisted of six verses: I found  AGAIN the silent wheels of time
a seventh in the M'Murdo Manuscripts, the fifth in this     Their annual round have driv'n
edition, along with an intimation in prose, that the
M'Leod family had endured many unmerited misfortunes.    And you, th' scarce in maiden prime,
I observe that Sir Harris Nicolas has rejected this new    Are so much nearer Heav'n.
verse, because, he says, it repeats the same sentiment as
the one which precedes it. I think differently, and have           
retained it.] ^.~qNo gifts have I from Indian coasts
retained it.]
The infant year to hail:
SAD thy tale, thou idle page,                       I send you more than India boasts
And rueful thy alarms:                              In Edwin's simple tale.
Death tears the brother of her love
From Isabella's arms.
From Isabella's arms.                             Our sex with guile and faithless love
Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew                         Is charg'd, perhaps, too true;
The morning rose may blow;                        But may, dear maid, each lover prove
The morning rose may blow;,,
But cold successive noontide blasts                    An Edwin still to you!
May lay its beauties low.
Fair on Isabella's morn
The sun propitious smil'd;
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 
THE AMERICAN WAR.
Fate oft tears the bosom chords
That nature finest strung:                                      A FRAGMENT.
So Isabella's heart was form'd,                  [Dr. Blair said that the politics of Burns smelt of the
And so that heart was wrung.                 smithy, which, interpreted, means, that they were unstatesman-like, and worthy of a country ale-house, and
Were it in the poet's power,                   an audience of peasants. The Poem gives us a striking
Were    as he.shesthgre       picture of the humorous and familiar way in which the
Strong as he shares the grief                hindsand husbandmenof Scotland handle national topics:
That pierces Isabella's heart,                 the smithy is a favourite resort, during the winter evenTo give that heart relief!                   ings, of rustic politicians; and national affairs and parish
scandal are alike discussed. Burns was in those days,
Dread Omnipotence, alone,                      and some time after, a vehement Tory: his admiration
Can heal the wound lIe gave;                 of " Chatham's Boy," called down on him the dusty in
Can heal the wound IHe gave;.
dignation of the republican Ritson.]
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes
To scenes beyond the grave.                                          I.
Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,               WHEN Guildford good our pilot stood,
And fear no withering blast;                      And did our hellim thraw, man,
There Isabella's spotless worth                   Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Shall happy be at last.                           Within America, man:
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,
And in the sea did jaw, man;
An' did nae less in full Congress,
Than quite refuse our law, man.
LXXIV.
TO MISS LOGAN,
Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes,
WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS FOR A NEW YEAR'S GIFT.
I wat he was na slaw, man;
JAN. 1, 1787.                      Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn,
[Burns was fond of writing compliments in books, and   And Carleton did ca', man;
giving them in presents among his fair friends. Miss    But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec,
Logan, of Park house, was sister to Major Logan, of      Montgomery-like did fa', man
Camlarg, and the'' sentimental sister Susie," of the
Epistle to her brolther. Both these names were early  Wi' sword in hand. before his band,
dropped out of the poet's correspondence.]               Amang his en'mies a', man.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             143
III.                          While slee Dundas arous'd the class,
Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage,                     Be-north the Roman wa', man:
Was kept at Boston ha', man;                    An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith,
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe                (Inspired Bardies saw, man)
For Philadelphia, man;                          Wi' kindling eyes cry'd "Willie, rise!
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin                  Would I hae fear'd them a', man?'
Guid Christian blood to draw, man:
But at New York, wi' knife an' fork,                                  Ix.
Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.                   But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co.,
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,
Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise
Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip,               Behind him in a raw, man;
Till Fraser brave did fa', man,
Till Fraser brave did fa', man,                 An' Caledon threw by the drone,
Then lost his way, ae misty day,                    An' did her whittle draw, man;
In Saratoga shaw, man.                          An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,To make it guid in law, man.
An' did the buckskins claw, man;
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save,
He hung it to the wa', man.
v.
Then Montague, an' Guilford, too,                                  LXXVII.
Began to fear a fa', man;
And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure,             THE  DEAN  OF  FACULTY.
The German Chief to thraw, man;                               A NEW BALLAD.
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,
r P y B, l   o   T,  [The Hal and Bob of these satiric lines were Henry
Nae mercy had at a',man  Erskine, and Robert Dundas: and their contention was,
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box,               as the verses intimate, for the place of Dean of the FaAn' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.              culty of Advocates: Erskine was successful. It is supposed that in characterizing Dundas, the poet remembered "the incurable wound which his pride had got"
~~~v ~I~.  ~in the affair of the elegiac verses on the death of the elder
Then Rockingham took up the game,               Dundas. The poem first appeared in the Reliques of
Till death did on him ca', man;              Burns.]
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,
Conform to gospel law, man;
Confor  to gospel, m;.DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,              hat          t t t  d car
That Scot to Scot did carry;
They did his measures thraw, man,                          t 
And dire the discord Langside saw,
For North an' Fox united stocks,
An'boreim to t a, mFor beauteous, hapless Mary:
An' bore him to the wa', man,
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,
Or were more in fury seen, Sir,
n c     a  h   w     C   c   Than'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous jobThen clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 
Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.He swept the stakes awa', man,
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,
Led him a sair faux pas, man;                                       II.
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,                 This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
On Chatham's boy did ca', man;                    Among the first was number'd;
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew,             But pious Bob,'mid learning's store,
"Up, Willie, waur them a', man!"                  Commandment tenth remember'd. —
Yet simple Bob the victory got,
VIII.                            And won his heart's desire;
Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,          Which shows that heaven can boil the pot,
A secret word or twa, man;                        Though the devil p-s in the fire.



144                             THE POETICAL WORKS
III.
LXXVIII.
Squire Hal besides had in this case
Pretensions rather brassy,                                   TO  CL A RIND A.
For talents to deserve a place                     [This is the lady of the drinking-glasses; the Mrs. Mlac
Are qualifications saucy;                      of many a toast among the poet's acquaintances. She
So, their worships of the Faculty,               was, In those days, young and beautiful, and we fear a
little giddy, since she indulged in that sentimental and
Quite sick of merit's rudeness,                                                        m
Quite sick  of merit's rudeness,  s    platonic flirtation with the poet, contained in the wellChose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,        known letters to Clarinda. The letters, after the poet's
To their gratis grace and goodness.-           death, appeared in print without her permission: she obtained an injunction against the publication, which still
remains in force, but her anger seems to have been less
a matter of taste than of whim, for the injunction has
As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight           been allowed to slumber in the case of some editors;
Of a son of Circumcision,                      though it has been enforced against others.]
So may be, on this Pisgah height,                     CLARINDA, mistress of my soul,
Bob's purblind, mental vision:                        The measur'd time is run!
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet                  The wretch beneath the dreary pole
Till for eloquence you hail him,                       So marks his latest sun.
And swear he has the angel met
That met the Ass of Balaam.                         To what dark cave of frozen night
Shall poor Sylvander hie;
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light,
The sun of all his joy.
We part-but, by these precious drops
LXXVII.                                That fill thy lovely eyes!
LXXVII.
No other light shall guide my steps
TO  A  LAD Y,                              Till thy bright beams arise.
WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING-GLASSES.
She, the fair sun of all her sex,
[To Mrs. M'Lehose, of Edinburgh, the poet presented      Has blest my glorious day;
the drinking-glasses alluded to in the verses: they are,      shall a glimmering planet ix
it seems, still preserved, and the lady on occasions of high            t i  ra
festival, indulges, it is said, favourite visiters with a                      
draught from them of "The blood of Shiraz' scorched
vine."]
FAIR Empress of the Poet's soul,
And Queen of Poetesses;
Clarinda, take this little boon,                                    LXXIX.
This humble pair of glasses.                                   VE
VERSES
And fill them high with generous juice,        WRITTEN UNDER tr1'  PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, THa
As generous as your mind;                      POET, IN A COrY eF  THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY.
And pledge me in the generous toast"The whole of human kind!"                   [Who the young lady was to whom the poet presented
the portrait and Poems of the ill-fated Fergusson, we
have not been told. The verses are dated Edinburgh,
"To those who love us!"-second fill;          March 19th, 1787.]
But not to those whom we love;
Lest we love those who love not us!           CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd,
A third-" to thee and me, love!"            And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!
O thou my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the muses,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                145
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire:
May every son be worthy of his sire;
PROLOGUE                           Firm may she rise with generous disdain
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain;
SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT,. 
Still self-dependent in her native shore,
MONDAY, 16 April, 1787.               Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar,
[The Woods for whom this Prologue was written, was  Till Fate the curtain droponworlds to be no
in those days a popular actor in Edinburgh. He had         more.
other clahims on Burns: he had been the friend as well
as comrade of poor Fergusson, and possessed some
poetical talent. He died in Edinburgh, December 14th,
1802.]
LXXXI.
Wi-HEN by a generous Public's kind acclaim,
That dearest meed is granted-honest fame;                             S K E T C H.
When here your favour is the actor's lot,
When here your fa r is te a s,  [This Sketch is a portion of a long Poem which Burns
Nor even the man in private life forgot;            proposed to call " The Poet's Progress." He communiWhat breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow,  cated the little he had done, for he was a courter of
But heaves impassion'dl with the grateful throe?   opinions, to Dugald Stewart. " The Fragment forms,"
said he, " the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a
character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a
Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng,   variety of lights. This particular part I send you, merely
It needs no Siddons' powers in Southerne's song;  as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching."  It is proBut here an ancient nation fam'd afar,              bable that the professor's response was not favourable
for we hear no more of the Poem.]
For genius, learning high, as great in warHail, CALEDONIA, name for ever dear!                A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
Before whose sons I'm honoured to appear!           And still his precious self his dear delight;
Where every science-every nobler art-               Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart,   Better than e'er the fairest she he meets:
Is known; as grateful nations oft have found        A man of fashion, too, he made his tour,
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound.          Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive l'amour:
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream,                   So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve,
Here holds her search by heaven-taught Rea-  Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love.
son's beam;                                  Much specious lore, but little understood;
Here History paints, with elegance and force,    Veneering oft outshines the solid wood:
The tide of Empires' fluctuating course;            His solid sense-by inches you must tell,
Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan,  But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell;
And Harley' rouses all the god in man.              His meddling vanity, a busy fiend,
When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite,  Still making work his selfish craft must mend.
With manly lore, or female beauty bright,
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace,                            -       
Can only charm as in the second place,)
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear,                            LXXXII.
As on this night, I've met these judges here!
But still the hope Experience taught to live,                   T      MRS.  SCO T T,
Equal to judge-you're candid to forgive.                            OF WAU C  OPE.
Nor hundred-headed Riot here we meet,
Nor hundred-headed -Riot here we mfeet,              [The lady to whom this epistle is addressed was a
With decency and law beneath his feet:
Wh d y ad lw b h hs f:      painter and a poetess: her pencil sketches are said to
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name;          have been beautiful; and she had a ready skill in rhyme,
Like CALEDONIANS, yOU applaud or blame.             as the verses addressed to Burns fully testify. Taste and
poetry belonged to her family: she was the niece of Mrs.
Thou dread Power! whose Empre-ivin  hnd   Cockburn, authoress of a beautiful variation of The
0 Thou dread Power! whose Empire-giving hand
Flowers of the Forest.]
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd
land!                                            I MIND it weel in early date,
__ _ ___    When I was beardless, young and blate,
I The Man of Fee.ing. by Mackenzie.                An' first could thresh the barn;
10




146                          THE POETICAL WORKS
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh;                         Ye're wae men, ye're nae men
An' tho' forfoughten sair enough,                        That slight the lovely dears;
Yet unco proud to learn:                            To shame ye, disclaim ye,
When first amang the yellow corn                         Ilk honest birkie swears.
A man I reckon'd was,
An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn                   For you, no bred to barn and byre,
Could rank my rig and lass,                     Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre,
Still shearing, and clearing,                   Thanks to you for your line:
The tither stooked raw,                    The marled plaid ye kindly spare,
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,                   By me should gratefully be ware;
Wearing the day awa.'Twad please me to the nine.
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,
Douce hingin' owre my curple
E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r,              Than ony ermine ever lap,
A wish that to my latest hour                       Or proud imperial purple.
Shall strongly heave my breast,                     Fareweel then, lang heel then,
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake                     An' plenty be your fa';
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,                   May losses and crosses
Or sing a sang at least.                              Ne'er at your hallan ca'.
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear,
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside,
An' spar'd the symbol dear:
No nation, no station,
My envy e'er could raise,                                LXXXIII.
A Scot still, but blot still,            EPISTLE  TO  WILLIAM   CREECH.
I knew nae higher praise.
[A storm of rain detained Burns one day, during his
border tour, at Selkirk, and he employed his time in
But still the elements o' sang               writing this characteristic epistle to Creech, his bookIn formless jumble, right an' wrang,         seller. Creech was a person of education and taste: he
Wl ft  in my b.     was not only the most popular publisher in the north,
Wild floated in my brain;
but he was intimate with almost all the distinguished'Till on that har'st I said before,          men who, in those days, adorned Scottish literature.
My partner in the merry core,                But though a joyous man, a lover of sociality, and the
She rous'd the forming strain:             keeper of a good table, he was close and parsimonious,
and loved to hold money to the last moment that the law
I see her yet, the sonsie quean,allowed.]
allowed.]
That lighted up her jingle,
Her witching smile, her pauky eenelk, 13, 1787.
A'L.D chukie Reekie'st sair distrest,
That gart my heart-strings tingle:                 c        R             
I fired, inspired,                         Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest,
At every kindling keek,                  Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest
At every kindling keek,
But bashing and dashing                                      Can yield ava,
Her darling bird that she lu'es best,
I feared aye to speak.                                     W        aw!
Willie's awa!
Health to the sex, ilk guid chief says,        O Willie was a witty wight,
Wi' merry dance in winter days,                And had o' things an unco slight;
An' we to share in common:                   Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight,
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe,                                 An' trig an' braw:
The saul o' life, the heaven below,            But now they'll busk her like a fright,
Is rapture-giving woman.                                       Willie's awa!
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name,
The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd;
Be mindfu' o' your mither:
She, honest woman, may think shame              The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd;
That ye're connected with her.                                1Edinburgh.




OF ROBERT BUlRNS.                                              147
They durst nae mair than he allow'd,                  May I be slander's common speech;
That was a law;                    A text for infamy to preach;
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd,                  And lastly, streekit out to bleach
Willie's awa!                                        In winter snaw;
When I forget thee! Willie Creech,
Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools,                                  Th' fa  awa!
Frae colleges and boarding-schools,
May sprout like simmer puddock stools                 May never wicked fortune touzle him!
In glen or shaw;                   May never wicked man bamboozle him I
He wha could brush them down to mools,                Until a pow as auld's Methusalem
Willie's awa!                                         He canty claw!
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem,
The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumerl                                    Fleet wing awa!
May mourn their loss wi' doofu' clamour;
He was a dictionar and grammar
Amang them a';
I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer,
Willie's awa!
LXXXIV.
Nae mair we see his levee door
Philosophers and poets pour,2THE
And toothy critics by the score                      HUMBLE  PETITION  OF BRUAR  WATER
In bloody raw!                                        TO THE
The adjutant o' a' the core,                                  NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE.
Willie's awa!
[The Falls of Bruar in Athole are exceedingly beauNow worthy Gregory's Latin face,                    tiful and picturesque; and their effect, when Burns
and Greenfield's modest grace;      visited them, was much impaired by want of shrubs and
Tytler's and Greenfields mo rtrees. This was in 1787: the poet, accompanied by his
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace                     future biographer, Professor Walker, went, when close
As Rome n'er saw;                on twilight, to this romantic scene: " he threw himself,"
They a' maun meet some ither place,                 said the Professor, "on a heathy seat, and gave himself..Willie's awa           up to a tender, abstracted, and voluptuous enthusiasm
Willie'S. aof imagination. In a few days I received a letter from
Inverness, for the poet had gone on his way, with the
Poor Burns-e'en Scotch drink canna quicken,   Petition enclosed." His Grace of Athole obeyed the
He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken,             injunction: the picturesque points are now crowned
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin              with thriving woods, and the beauty of the Falls is much
By hoodie-craw;                  increased.]
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin', 
Willie's awa!
lWillie's awna!                    MY LORD, I know your noble ear,i  ~..,11~ ~         Woe ne'er assails in vain;
Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,                                         
Now^~ ev'ry,,1~~  ^   iEmbolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
And Calvin's fock are fit to fell him;                      mb      ole hs   be   ol 
~~~.,i~..      itYour humble slave complain,
And self-conceited critic skellum.His quill may dra;                How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams
His quill may draw;
In flaming summer-pride,
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum,In flaming summer-pride,
Willie's  wa!                     Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
And drink my crystal tide.
Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,                                            II
And Ettrick banks now roaring red,                    The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts,
While tempests blaw;                  That thro' my waters play,
But every joy and pleasure's fled,                    If, in their random, wanton spouts,
Willie's awa!                       They near the margin stray;
1 The Chamber of Commerce in Edinburgh, of which    2 Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet
Creech was Secretary.                               at Mr. Creech's house at breakfast.




148                          THE POETICAL WORKS
If, hapless chance! they linger lang,                             VIII.
I'm scorching up so shallow,                 And here, by sweet, endearing stealth,
They're left the whitening stanes amang,          Shall meet the loving pair,
In gasping death to wallow.                  Despising worlds with all their wealth
As empty idle care.
III.                         The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms
Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,               The hour of heav'n to grace,
As Poet Burns came by,                        And birks extend their fragrant arms
That to a bard I should be seen                   To screen the dear embrace.
Wi' half my channel dry:
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,                                        IX.
Even as I was he shor'd me;
Even as I was he shor'd me;                   Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
But had I in my glory been,.  
ut had I in my glory been,           Some musing bard may stray,
He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.                  And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,
And misty mountain gray;
iv.                          Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks,              Mild-chequering thro' the trees,
In twisting strength I rin;                   Rave to my darkly-dashing stream,
There, high my boiling torrent smokes,            Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.
Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
Enjoying large each spring and well,
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
As Nature gave them me,
As Nature gave them me,                        My lowly banks o'erspread,
I am, altho' I say't mysel',.   
I am, altho' I say't mysel',                 And view, deep-bending in the pool,
Worth gaun a mile to see.
Worth gan a me to s.           Their shadows' wat'ry bed!
V.                          Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest
My craggy cliffs adorn;
Would then my noble master please                 M  c         c  
To grant my highest wishes,                   And, for the little songster's nest,
To grant my highest wishes,'^
z't..    ~~~         The close enabow'ring thorn.
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,                          i     t
And bonnie spreading bushes.                                     x I.
Delighted doubly then, my Lord,                 So may old Scotia's darling hope,
You'll wander on my banks,                      Your little angel band,
And listen mony a grateful bird                 Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
Return you tuneful thanks.                      Their honour'd native land!
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken,
To social-flowing glasses,
The sober laverock, warbling wild,              Th grace be-"Athole's honest men,
Shall to the skies aspire;                      And Athole's bonnie lasses?"
The gowdspink, music's gayest child,
Shall sweetly join the choir:
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis mild and mellow;                                    LXXXV.
The robin pensive autumn cheer,N  SA                          G  S     E W        R-F
ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL
In all her locks of yellow.
IN LOCH-TURIT.
VII.
[When Burns wrote these touching lines, he was stayThis, too, a covert shall insure             ing with Sir William Murray, of Ochtertyre, during one
To shield them from the storm;             of his Highland tours. Loch-Turit is a wild lake among
And coward maukin sleep secure,              the recesses of the hills, and was welcome from its one
Low in her grassy form:  liness to the heart of the poet.]
Low in her grassy form:
Here shall the shepherd make his seat,            WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
To weave his crown of flow'rs;                  For me your wat'ry haunt forsake?
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat                 Tell me, fellow-creatures, why
From prone-descending show'rs.                  At my presence thus you fly?




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          149
Why disturb your social joys,               O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Parent, filial, kindred ties?-             Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
Common friend to you and me,                My savage journey, curious I pursue,
Nature's gifts to all are free:'Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view.Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,           The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
Busy feed, or wanton lave:                  The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample
Or, beneath the sheltering rock,                  sides;
Bide the surging billow's shock.            Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd'mong the
hills,
Conscious, blushing for our race,          The eye with wonder and amazement fills;
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace.         The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant pride,
Man, your proud usurping foe,               The palace, rising on its verdant side;
Would be lord of all below:                 The lawns, wood-fring'd in Nature's native
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride,                taste;
Tyrant stern to all beside.                 The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste;
The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream;
The eagle, from the cliffy brow,....
Teaglen, fro thes.. ify brow,           The village, glittering in the noontide beamMarking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,                     *       *       *       *      *
Strong necessity compels:                  Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
But man, to whom alone is giv'n             Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell:
A ray direct from pitying heav'n,           The sweeping theatre of hanging woods;
Glories in his heart humane-                Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floodsAnd creatures for his pleasure slain.
In these savage, liquid plains,            Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught
Only known to wand'ring swains,                  lyre,
Where the mossy riv'let strays,            And look through Nature with creative fire;
Far from human haunts and ways;            Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd,
All on Nature you depend,                  Misfortune's lighten'd  steps  might wander
And life's poor season peaceful spend.            wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Or, if man's superior might                Find balm  to  soothe her bitter- rankling
Dare invade your native right,                    wounds:
On the lofty ether borne,                  Here heart-struck  Grief might heav'nward
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn;                stretch her scan,
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,           And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man.
Other lakes and other springs;
And the fHe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his slave.
LXXXVII.
tXXXVI.
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL,
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL,
OMP    STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS,
OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE, IN THE PARLOUR OF THE  STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS,
INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH.                            NEAR LOCH-NESS
[The castle of Taymouth is the residence of the Earl   [This is one of the many fine scenes, in the Celtic
of Breadalbane: it is a magnificent structure, contains  Parnassus of Ossian: but when Burns saw it, the Highmany fine paintings: has some splendid old trees and  land passion of the stream was abated, for there had
romantic scenery.]                             been no rain for some time to swell and send it pouring
AMR     Nature in her wildt g,    down its precipices in a way worthy of the scene. The
AIRG  Nature in her wildest grce,  descent of the water is about two hundred feet. There
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;  is another fall further up the stream., very wild anil




150                           THE POETICAL WORKS
savage, on which the Fyers makes three prodigious leaps  Still in prayers for King George I most heartily
into a deep gulf where nothing can be seen for the whirl-  join
ing foam and agitated mist.]                             j o
lug foam and agitated mist.]                       The Queen and the rest of the gentry,
AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods           Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine;
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;            Their title's avow'd by my country.
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream re-  But why of that epocha make such a fuss,
sounds,                                       That gave us th' Electoral stem?
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,        If bringing them over was lucky for us,
As deep-recoiling surges foam below,                     sure'twas as lucky for them.
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet deBut loyalty truce! we're on dangerous ground,
scends,
S   ~~scends,~~ ^Who knows how the fashions may alter?
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends.
And  iewlss.Eho'sear, rns          The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
Dim  seen, through rising mists and ceaseless 
To-morrow may bring us a halter.
show'rs,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, low'rs.       I send you a trifle, the head of a  ard
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils,      A trifle scarce worthy your care;
And still below, the horrid cauldron boils-       But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
*     *       *       *       *             Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.
Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
Your course to the latest is bright.
LXXXVIII.
POETICAL ADDRESS
TO MR. W. TYTLER,
WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE.
[When these verses were written there was much                     LXXXIX.
stately Jacobitism about Edinburgh, and it is likely that
Tytler, who laboured to dispel the cloud of calumny
which hung over the memory of Queen Mary, had a      F  IAR S- C AR S E  HE RM I T A G E,
bearing that way. Taste and talent have now descended
in the Tytlers through three generations: an uncommon         ON THE BANKS OF   TH.
event in families. The present edition of the Poem has               JUNE, 1788.
been completed from the original in the poet's hand-               [FIRST COPY.]
writing.]
D d   o b   S   [The interleaved volume presented by Burns to Dr.
REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart,  Geddes, has enabled me to present the reader with the
Of Stuart, a name once respected,               rough draught of this truly beautiful Poem, the firstA name, which to love, was once mark of a true  fruits perhaps of his intercourse with the muses of Nith.
heart,                                     side.]
But now'tis despis'd and neglected.                THou whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Tho' something likemoisture conglobesinmyeye,          Be thou deck'd in silken stole,
Let no one misdeem me disloyal;                     Grave these maxims on thy soul.
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim  a           Life is but a day at most,
sigh,                                           Sprung from night, in darkness lost;
Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.            Day, how rapid in its flightDay, how few must see the night;
My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne,         Hope not sunshine every hour,
My fathers have fallen to right it;                 Fear not clouds will always lower.
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,        Happiness is but a name,
That name should he scoffingly slight it.           Make content and ease thy aim.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             151
Ambition is a meteor gleam;                       Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour,
Fame, a restless idle dream:                      Fear not clouds will always lour.
Pleasures, insects on the wing                    As Youth and Love with sprightly dance
Round Peace, the tenderest flower of Spring;      Beneath thy morning star advance,
Those that sip the dew alone,                     Pleasure with her siren air
Make the butterflies thy own;                     May delude the thoughtless pair:
Those that would the bloom devour,                Let Prudence bless enjoyment's cup,
Crush the locusts-save the flower.                Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up.
For the future be prepar'd,
For the future be prepar,  As thy day grows warm and high,
Guard wherever thou canst guard;                  Lifs m        n,ut, thyutmstdulLife's meridian flaming nigh,
But, thy utmost duly done,
But, thy utmost duly done,                        Dost thou spurn the humble vale?
Welcome what thou canst not shun.                   ost thou spurn the humble vale?
Life's proud summits would'st thou scale?
Follies past, give thou to air,
Follies past, give thou to air,                Check thy climbing step, elate,
Make their consequence thy care:                                 f     
Evils lurk in felon wait:
Keep the name of man in mind, 
Keep the name of man in mind,             Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold,
And dishonour not thy kind.
AReverence  with lowly heart                      Soar around each cliffy hold,
Reverence with lowly heart
While cheerful peace, with linnet song,
Him whose wondrous work thou art;                 Chants the lowly dells among.
Keep His goodness still in view,
Thy trust-and thy example, too.                   As the shades of ev'ning close,,         Beck'ning thee to long repose;
Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guideAs life itself becoes disease,
As life itself becomes disease,
Quod the Beadsman on Nithside.
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,
XC.                              Saws of experience, sage and sound.
Say, man's true genuine estimate,
WRITTEN IN                           The grand criterion of his fate,
FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,                            Is not-Art thou high or low?
ON NITFHISIDE.                         Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Wast thou cottager or king?
DECEMBER, 1788.
Peer or peasant?-no such thing!
[Of this Poem Burns thought so well that he gave     Did many talents gild thy span?
away many copies in his own handwriting: I have seen   Or frugal nature grudge thee one?
three. When corrected to his mind, and the manuscripts  Tell them  and press it on their mind
showed many changes and corrections, he published it                   s         o      in,
in the new edition of his Poems as it stands in this second    thou thyself must shortly find,
copy. The little Hermitage where these lines were      The smile or frown of awful Heav'n,
written, stood in a lonely plantation belonging to the  To virtue or to vice is giv'n.
estate of Friars-Carse, and close to the march-dyke of  Say to be just, and kind, and wise,
Ellisland; a small door in the fence, of which the poet 
had the key, admitted him at pleasure, and there he found          self-enoyent les
seclusion such as he liked, with flowers and shrubs all  That foolish, selfish, faithless ways
around him. The first twelve lines of the Poem were   Lead to the wretched, vile, and base.
engraved neatly on one of the window-panes, by the
diamond pencil of the bard. On Riddel's death, the     Thus, resign'd and quiet, creep
Hermitage was allowed to go quietly to decay: I remem-     the bed of lasting sleep
ber in 1803 turning two outlyer stots out of the interior.] 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
THOU whom chance may hither lead,                 Night, where dawn shall never break,
Be thou clad in russet weed,                      Till future life, future no more,
Be thou deck'd in silken stole,                   To light and joy the good restore,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.                 To light and joy unknown before.
Life is but a day at most,                        Stranger, go! Hea'vn be thy guide!
Sprung from night, in darkness lost;              Quod the beadsman of Nithside.




152                            THIE POETICAL WORKS
The mother-linnet in the brake
Bewails her ravish'd young;
TO  CAPTAIN  RI DDEL,                           So I, for my lost darling's sake,
Lament the live day long.
OF GLENRIDDEL.
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,
EXTAMIPORE LINES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER.
Now, fond I bare my breast,
[Captain Riddel, the Laird of Friars-Carse, was        0, do thou kindly lay me low
Burns's neighbour, at Ellisland: he was a kind, hospi-     With him I love at rest 
table man, and a good antiquary. The "News and
Review" which he sent to the poet contained, I have
heard, some sharp strictures on his works: Burns, with
his usual strong sense, set the proper value upon all
contemporary criticism; genius, he knew, had nothing
to fear from the folly or the malice of all such nameless
" chippers and hewers." He demanded trial by his peers,                   XCIII.
and where were such to be found?]
FIRST EPISTLE
Ellisland, Monday Evening.            TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM, ESQ.
YOUR news and review, Sir, I've read through                            OF FINTRAY.
and through, Sir,
ith little admiring or blaming;                    In his manuscript copy of this Epistle the poet says
Wth little  g or b;    accompanying a request."' What the request was the
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign,  letter which enclosed it relates. Graham was one of the
No murders or rapes worth the naming.            leading men of the Excise in Scotland, and had promised
Burns a situation as exciseinan: for this the poet had
Our friends, the reviewers, those chippers and  qualified himself; and as he began to dread that farming
hewers,                                      would be unprofitable, he wrote to remind his patron of
e j s of m r ad s e, S,     his promise, and requested to be appointed to a division
Are udges of mortar and stone,in his on neighourhood. IIe was appointed in due
But of meet or unmeet in a fabric complete,         time: his division was extensive, and included ten
I'll boldly pronounce they are none, Sir.         parishes.]
My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your good-  WHEN Nature her great mster-piece designed,
ness                                         And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind,
Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet;               Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun,  She form'd of various parts the various man.
And then all the world, Sir, should know it!
Adh aS, s l     Then first she calls the useful many forth;
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth:
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth,
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth:
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds,
XCII.                         And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds.
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet,
A MOTHER'S LAMENT 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net;
FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON.                The caput mortuum of gross desires
[" The Mother's Lament," says the poet, in a copy of  Makes a material for mere knights and squires;
the verses now before me, " was composed partly with  The martial phosphorus is taught to flow,
a view to Mrs. Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and partly to  She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough,
the worthy patroness of my early unknown muse, Mrs.
tewart, of Afton."]                                 Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs,
FATE gave the word, the arrow  sped,           Law, physic, politics, and deep divines:
And pierc'd my darling's heart;            d Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles,
And with him all the joys are fled             The flashing elements of female souls.
Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops,              The order'd system fair before her stood,
In dust dishonour'd laid:                    Nature, well pleas'd, pronounced it very good;
So fell the pride of all my hopes,             But ere she gave creating labour o'er,
My age's future shade.                       Half-jest, she tried one curious labour more.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          153
Some spumy, fiery, ignisfatuus matter,          Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid,
Such as the slightest breath of air might scat-  Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid?
ter;                                     I know my need, I know thy giving hand,
With arch alacrity and conscious glee           I crave thy friendship at thy kind command;
(Nature may have her whim as well as we,        But there are such who court the tuneful nineHer Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it)  Heavens! should the branded character be
She forms the thing, and christens it-a Poet.         mine!
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow,  Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow.            flows,
A being form'd t'amuse his graver friends,      Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.
Admir'd and prais'd-and there the homage  Mark, how their lofty independent spirit
ends:                                    Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit!
A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife,      Seek not the proofs in private life to find;
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life;      Pity the best of words should be but wind!
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give,       So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song asYet haply wanting wherewithal to live;                cends,
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan,   But grovelling on the earth the carol ends.
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own.           In all the clam'rous cry of starving want,
They dun benevolence with shameless front;
But honest Nature is not quite a Turk,          Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays,
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor   They persecute you all your future days!
work.                                    Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain,
Pitying the propless climber of mankind,        My horny fist assume the plough again;
She cast about a standard tree to find;         The pie-bald jacket let me patch once more;
And, to support his helpless woodbine state,    On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd before.
Attach'd him to the generous truly great,       Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last
A title, and the only one I claim,                     shift!
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham.  I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift:
That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height,
Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train,
k th d t f -,  mues h ess tr,    i I    Where, man and nature fairer in her sight,
Weak, timid lan dsmen on life's stormy main!,..Weak, timid ldsmen  on life's tormy main!    My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff,
That never gives-tho' humbly takes enough; 
The little fate allows, they share as soon,
Unlike sage proverb'd wisdom's hard-wrung
boon.
The world were blest did bliss on them depend,
Ah, that "the friendly e'er should want a
XGIV.
friend!"
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son                      ON THE DEATH OF
Who life and wisdom at one race begun,                               HU       R  B      R.
Who feel by reason and who give by rule,
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool!)      [I found these lines written with a pencil in one of
Who make poor will do wait upon I should-       Burns's memorandum-books: he said he had just comWe own th e pu, bt wo fs t     e  posed them, and pencilled them down lest they should
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're  escpe from his memory. They differed in nothing from
escape from his memory. They differed in nothing from
good?                                   the printed copy of the first Liverpool edition. That
Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye!    they are by Burns there cannot be a doubt, though they
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy!        were, I know not for what reason, excluded from several
editions of the Posthumous WTorks of the poet.]
But come ye who the godlike pleasure know,
Heaven's attribute distinguished-to bestow!    THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race:    Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave;
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace;  Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes!         air,
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times.        And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.




154                        THE POETICAL WORKS
Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,                          XCV.
Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train                       
EPISTLE  TO HUGHI PARKER.
Or mus'd where limpid streams once hallow'd
well,2                                     [This little lively, biting epistle was addressed to one
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane.3   of the poet's Kilmarnock companions. IIugh Parkev
was the brother of William Parker, one of the subTh' increasing blast roared round the beetling  scribers to the Edinburgh edition of Brns's Poems: ho
has been dead many years: the Epistle was recoveied,
rocks,                                   luckily, from his papers, and printed for the first time in
The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry  1834.]
~~~~sky,                             Is,~ IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
The groaning trees untimely shed their locks,,  A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye.    W                                  
Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles,
The paly moon rose in the livid east,             Nor limpet in poetic shackles:
And'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form,    A land that prose did never view it,
In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast,     Except when drunk he stacher't thro' it,
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm.    Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,
Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,          I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk,'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd:     I hear it-for in vain I leuk.Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe,         The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.       Enhusked by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,          I     sit and count my sins by chapters;
Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd,      life and spunk like ither Christians
That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar,         I'm dwindled down to mere existence,
And brav'd  the mighty monarchs of the    Wi' nae  converse but Gllowa' bodies,
~world.~~~- ^,Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes.4
"My patriot son fills an untimely grave!"        Jenny, my Pegasean pride!
With accents wild and lifted arms-she cried;    Dowie she saunters down Nithside,
"Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save,    And ay a westlin leuk she throws,
" Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest    While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose!
pride.                                     Was it for this, wi' canny care,
Thou bure the bard through many a shire?
" A weeping country joins a widow's tear,         At howes or hillocks never stumbled,
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry;    And late or early never grumbled?The drooping arts surround their patron's bier,    O had I power like inclination,
And grateful science heaves the heart-felt sigh!    I'd heeze thee up a constellation,
To canter with the Sagitarre,
" I saw my sons resume their ancient fire;                              
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar;
I saw fair freedom's blossoms richly blow: 
Or turn the pole like any arrow;
But ah! how hope is born but to expire!                  n 
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow,
Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.           e 
Down the zodiac urge the race,
"My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung,       And cast dirt on his godship's face;
While empty greatness saves a worthless name!    For I could lay my bread and kail
No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue,     He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail.And future ages hear his growing fame.          Wi' a' this care and a' this grief,
And sma,' sma' prospect of relief,
" And I will join a mother's tender cares,        And nought but peat reek i' my head,
Thro' future times to make his virtues last;    How can I write what ye can read?That distant years may boast of other Blairs!"-  Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June,
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast.    Ye'll find me in a better tune;
1 Tre King's Park, at Holyrood-house.                 3 St. Anthony's Chapel.
2 St. Anthony's Well.                                 4His mare.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                15)
But till we meet and weet our whistle,              But oh! prodigious to reflec'!
Tak this excuse for nae epistle.                    A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck!
ROBERT BURNS.           0 Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space
What dire events ha'e taken place!
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us!
In what a pickle thou hast left us!
XCVI.
LI  N E S                          The Spanish empire's tint a-head,
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead;
INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN UNDER                 The tulzie's sair'tween Pitt and Fox,
A NOBLE  EARL'S  PICTURE.                        And our guid wife's wee birdie cocks;
The tane is game, a bluidie devil,
[Burns placed the portraits of Dr. Blacklock and the                               
Earl of Glencairn, over his parlour chimney-piece at    But to the hen-birds unco civil:
Ellisland: beneath the head of the latter he wrote some    The tither's something dour o' treadin',
verses, which he sent to the Earl, and requested leave to    But better stuff ne'er claw'd a middenmake public. This seems to have been refused; and, as    Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit,
the verses were lost for years, it was believed they were   
destroyed: a rough copy, however, is preserved, and is    An' cry till ye be hearse an' roupet,
now in the safe keeping of the Earl's name-son, Major    For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel,
James Glencairn Burns. James Cunningham, Earl of    An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal;
Glencairn, died 20th January, 1791, aged 42 years: he was    E'en mony   plack, and mony a peck,
succeeded by his only and childless brother, with whom                              c
this ancient race was closed.]
this ancient race was closed.]                        Ye ken yoursels, for little feck!
WHOSE is that noble dauntless brow?                Ye bonnie lasses, dight your e'en,
And whose that eye of fire?                       For some o' you ha'e tint a frien';
And whose that generous princely mien,              In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en,
E'en rooted foes admire?                         What ye'll ne'er ha'e to gie again.
Stranger! to justly show that brow,
And mark that eye of fire,                  Observe the very nowt an' sheep,
And mark that eye of fire, 
Would take His hand, whose vernal tints             How dowf and dowie now they creep;
His other works inspire.                          Nay, even the yirth itsel' does cry,
His other works inspire.
For Embro' wells are grutten dry.
Bright as a cloudless summer sun,                   0 Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn,
With stately port he moves;                       An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn!
His guardian seraph eyes with awe                   Thou beardless boy, I pray tak' care,
The noble ward he loves-                          Thou now has got thy daddy's chair,
Among th' illustrious Scottish sons                 Nae hand-cuff'd, mizl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent,
That chief thou may'st discern;                   But, like himsel' a full free agent.
Mark Scotia's fond returning eye-                   Be sure ye follow out the plan
It dwells upon Glencairn.                         Nae waur than he did, honest man!
As muckle better as ye can.
_January 1, 1789.
XCVII.
XCVIII.
ELEGY
ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE.
ON THE YEAR 1788
A  SKETCH.                         ["c I had intended," says Burns to Creech, 30th May,
1789, "to have troubled you with a long letter, but at
rThis Poemwas first printed by Stewart, in 1801. The  present the delightful sensation of an omnipotent toothpoet loved to indulge in such sarcastic sallies: it is full  ache so engrosses all my inner man, as to put it out of my
of character, and reflects a distinct image of those yeasty  power even to write nonsense." The poetic Address to the
ames.]                                              Toothache seems to belong to this period.]
FoR Lords or Kings I dinna mourn,                   MY curse upon thy venom'd stang,
E'en let them die-for that they're born,            That shoots my tortur'd gums alang;




156                            THE POETICAL WORKS
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,              He was obliged to mount his horse and ride for quarters
W,  g                           to New Cumnock, where, over a good fire, he penned, in
gnawing vengeance;    his very ungallant indignation, the Ode to the lady's meTearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,                mory. He lived to think better of the name.]
Like racking engines!
DWELLER in yon dungeon dark,
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,                Hangman of creation, mark!
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes;              Who in widow-weeds appears,
Our neighbours' sympathy may ease us,             Laden with unhonoured years,
Wi' pitying moan;              Noosing with care a bursting purse,
But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases,                Baited with many a deadly curse?
Ay mocks our groan!
STROPHE.
Adown my beard the slavers trickle!               View the wither'd beldam's faceI kick the wee stools o'er the mickle,            Can thy keen inspection trace
As round the fire the giglets keckle,Aught of Humanity's sweet melting grace?
To see me loup;                Note that eye,'tis rheum o'erflows,
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle                Pity's flood there never rose.
Were in their doup.            See these hands, ne'er stretch'd to save,' a' the num' s h n d s,             Hands that took-but never gave.
O' a' the num'rous human dools,
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,
Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,                                
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools,          Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, 
Sad sight to see!              She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest!
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
ANTISTROPHE.
Thou bears't the gree.
Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes,
Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,          (Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends;)
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,               Seest thou whose step, unwilling hither bends?
And ranked plagues their numbers tell,            No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies;
In dreadfu' raw,'Tis thy trusty quondam mate,
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell          Doom'd to share thy fiery fate,
Amang them a'!                 She, tardy, hell-ward plies.
O thou grim mischief-making chiel,                                     EPODE.
That gars the notes of discord squeel,           And are they of no more avail,'Till daft mankind aft dance a reel               Ten thousand glittring pounds a-year?
In gore a shoe-thick!-        In other worlds can Mammon fail,
Gie' a' the faes o' Scotland's weal               Omnipotent as he is here?
A towmond's Toothache.         O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier,
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n!
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear,
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n.
XCIX.
ODE 
SACRED  TO THE  MEMIORY  OF
MRS. OSWALD,                                                  C.
OF AUCHENCRUIVE.                                 FRAGMENT INSCRIBED
[The origin of this harsh effusion shows under what   T O  T HE t  I G H T  I O N. C  J  F O 
feelings Burns sometimes wrote. He was, he says, on
his way to Ayrshire, one stormy day in January, and had    [It was late in life before Burns began to think very
made himself comfortable, in spite of the snow-drift, over  highly of Fox: he had hitherto spoken of him rather as
a smoking bowl, at an inn at the Sanquhar, when in  a rattler of dice, and a frequenter of soft company, than
wheeled the whole funeral pageantry of Mrs. Oswald.  as a statesman. As his hopes from the Taries vanished,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                157
he began to think of the Whigs: the first did nothing,  But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan,
and the latter held out hopes; and as hope, he said, was        the make of that wonderful creature, call'd
the cordial of the human heart, he continued to hope on.]  man.
lnan.
How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite;          No two virtues, whatever relation they claim,
How virtue and vice blend their black and their  Nor even two different shades of the same,
white;                                       Though like as was ever twin brother to brother,
How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction,      Possessing the one shall imply you've the other.
Confounds rule  and  law, reconciles  contradiction-                                     But truce with abstraction, and truce with a
I sing: if these mortals, the critics, should bustle,      muse,
I care not, not I-let the critics go whistle!      Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, Sir, ne'er deign
to peruse:
But now for a patron, whose name and whose  Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your
glory                                               quarrels,
At once may illustrate and honour my story.         Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels.
My much-honour'd Patron, believe your poor
Thou first of our orators, first of our wits;              poet,
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem  mere   Your courage much more than your prudence
lucky hits;                                         you show it;
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so  In vain with Squire Billy, forlaurelsyoustruggle,
strong,                                      He'll have them  by fair trade, if not, he will
No man with the half of'em e'er went far wrong;           smuggle;
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, Not cabinets even of kings  ould conceal'm,
No man with the half of'em  e'er went quite   He'd up the  ack-stairs, and by G- he would
right;-                                             steal'em.
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the muses,            Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can
For using thy name offers fifty excuses.                   achieve'em;
ood L-d  w   is m? for a   i         It is not, outdo him, the task is, out-thieve him.
Good L —d, what is man? for as simple he  
looks,
Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks;
With his depths and his shallows, his good and
his evil,                                                           CI.
All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil.
ON SEEING
On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely la-                 AWOUNDED  HARE
bours,
That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats                        LIP BY DE,
up its neighbours;                                    WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT.
Mankind are his show-box —a friend, would you
Mankin      [This Poem is founded on fact. A young man of the
know him?                                    nname of Thomson told me-quite unconscious of the
Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will  existence of the Poeml-that while Burns lived at Ellisshow him.                                    land-he shot at and hurt a hare, which in the twilight
ht pity in rearig so b  s m            was feeding on his father's wheat-bread. The poet on
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system,                  h                                "  
observing the hare come bleeding past him, " was in
One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd  great wrrth," said Thomson, " and cursed me, and said
him;                                         little hindered him from throwing me into the Nith; and
For spite of his fine theoretic positions,          he was able enough to do it, though I was both young
Mankin~d is a science defies ide-finitions.         and strong."  The boor of Nithside did not use the hars
Mankind is a science defies definitions.             
worse than the critical Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh, used
Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe,      the Poem: wen Burns read Is reiarks he said, "Cre
gory is a good man, but he crucifies me!1""
And think human nature they truly describe;
Have you found this, or t'other? there's more  INHUMAN manl! curse on thy barb'rous art,
in the wind,                                   And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye;
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll    May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,
find.                                        Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart.




158                        THE POETICAL WORKS
Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field!     But what dy'e think, my trusty fier,
The bitter little that of life remains:         I'm turn'd a gauger-Peace be here!
No more the thickening brakes and verdant    Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,
plains                                                       Ye'll now disdain me!
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.    And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.
Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted
rest,                                      Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies,
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!         Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies,
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,    Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.                        Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait'a  sons o' me
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn;
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,     I hae a wife and twa wee laddies,
And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hap-    They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;
less fate.                                 Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud isI need na vaunt,
But I'll sned besoms-thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.
CII.                         Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
I'm weary sick o't late and air!
T O  D R. B LACI K LOCK,                 Not but I hae a richer share
IN ANSWER TO A LETTER.                                 Than mony ithers;
[This blind scholar, though an indifferent Poet, was an    But why should ae man better fare,
excellent and generous m.an: he was foremost of the                And a' men brithers?
Edinburgh literati to admire the Poems of Burns, promote their fame, and advise that the author, instead of    Come firm Resolve, take thou the van,
shipping himself for Jamaica, should come to Edinburgh         
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man
and publish a new edition. The poet reverenced the namearl-emp in ma
of Thomas Blacklock to the last hour of his life.-Henry  And let us mind, faint-heart ne'er wan
Mackenzie, the Earl of Glencairn, and the Blind Bard,              A lady fair:
were his three favourites.]                      7Whia does the utmost that he can,
Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789.                     Will whyles do mair.
Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?         But to conclude my silly rhyme,
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie         (I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,)
Wad bring ye to:            To make a happy fire-side clime
Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye,                            To weans and wife,
And then ye'll do.          That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
The ill-thief blaw the heron south!
And never drink be near his drouth!             My compliments to sister Beckie;
He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth,              And eke the same to honest Lucky,
ITe'd tak my letter:        I wat she is a dainty chuckie,
I lippen'd to the chief in trouth,                               As e'er tread clay!
And bade nae better.        And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,
I'm yours for ay,
But aiblins honest Master Heron,                                 I    o     or Ray,
Had at the time some dainty fair one,
To ware his theologic care on,
And holy study;.
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on
E'en tried the body.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                159
But golden sands did never grace
The Heliconian stream;
D E L I A.                            Then take what gold could never buyAn honest Bard's esteem.
AN ODE.
[These verses were first printed in the Star newspaper, in May, 1789. It is said that one day a friend read
to the poet some verses from the Star, composed on the
pattern of Pope's Song, by a Person of Quality. " These
lines are beyond you," he added: "the muse of Kyle
cannot match the muse of London."  Burns mused a                           CV.
moment, and then recited "Delia, an Ode."]
PROLOGUE,
FAIR the face of orient day,
FAIR the ifac  of orient day,                        SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES,
Fair the tints of op'ning rose,
But fairer still my Delia dawns,                                   1 JAN. 1790.
More lovely far her beauty blows.                [This prologue was written in December, 1789, for
Mr. Sutherland, who recited it with applause in the
Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay,             little theatre of Dumfries, on new-year's night. Sir
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;               Harris Nicolas, however, has given to Ellisland the
But, Delia, more delightful still              benefit of a theatre! and to Burns the whole barony of
l^ ~~~~ I~~,~~~.Dalswinton for a farm!]
Steal thine accents on mine ear.
No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
The flow'r-enamoured busy bee                  That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the
The rosy banquet loves to sip;                        pity:
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse             Tho', by-the-by, abroad why will you roam?
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip; —               Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
But not for panegyric I appear,
But, Delia, on thy balmy lips  
But, Delia, on thy balmy lips          I come to wish you all a good new year!
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove!             Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
O, let me steal one liquid kiss!
0, let me steal one liquid kiss!               Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
For, oh! my soul is parch'd with love.
For, oh! my soul is parch'd wiThe sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me
say,
"You're one year older this important day."
If wiser too —he hinted some suggestion,
But'twould be rude, you know, to ask the quesCIV.                                 tion;
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
TO  JOHN  M'MURDO, ESQ.                       He bade me on you press this one word"think'!"
[John M'Murdo, Esq., one of the chamberlains of the 
Duke of Queensberry, lived at Drumlanrig: he was a
high-minded, warm-hearted man, and much the friend    Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope
of the poet. These lines accompanied a present of books:, 
others were added soon afterwards on a pane of glass in          
Drumlanrig castle.                                  Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,
"Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day!           To you the dotard has a deal to say,
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;    In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way;
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care,      He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair I
Nor ever sorrow add oe            That the first blow is ever half the battle:
O may no son the fatlier's honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain."      That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch
How fully the poet's wishes were fulfilled need not be     him,
told to any one acquainted with the family.]        Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
0, COULD I give thee India's wealth,           You may do miracles by p        vering.
You may do miracles by persevering.
As I this trifle send!
Because thy joy in both would be                  Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair,
To share them with a friend.                 Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care 




160                          THE POETICAL WORKS
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,  She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman,
And humbly begs you'll mind the important  To glut the vengeance of a rival woman;
Now!                                       A woman-tho' the phrase may seem uncivil —
To crown your happiness he asks your leave,    As able and as cruel as the Devil!
And offers bliss to give and to receive.          One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page,
But Douglases were heroes every age:
For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours,And th' your fathers, prodigal of life
With grateful pride we own your many favours,  A Douglas follow'd to the martial strife,
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it,      Perhaps if bowls row right, and right succeeds,
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.         Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads!
As ye hae generous done, if a' the land
Would take the muses' servants by the hand;
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them,
CVI.                         And where ye justly can commend, commend
SCOTS PROLOGUE,                                them;
And aiblins when they winna stand the test,
FOR DIR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT NIGHT,          Wink hard, and say the folks hae done their best!
DUMFRIES.                      Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution
Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation,
[Burns did not shine in prologues: he produced some   ill   n ae  o        e 
vigorous lines, but they did not come in harmony fromw ul hr t                         t 
nis tongue, like the songs in which he recorded the love-  And warsle time, an' lay him on his back!
liness of the dames of Caledonia. Sutherland was  For us and for our stage should ony spier,
manager of the theatre, and a writer of rhymes.-Burns  "Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle
said his players were a very decent set: lie had seen    here 
them an evening or two.]
them D an evening           My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow,
WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon'on,  We have the honour to belong to you!
How this new play an' that new sang is comin'?   re're your ai bairns, e'en guide us as ye like,
Why is outlancdish stuff sae meikle courted?      But like good mithers, shore before ye strike.Does nonsense mend like whiskey, when im-  And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us,
ported?                                    For a' the patronage and meikle kindness
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame,         We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks:
Will try to gie us songs and plays at hame?       God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get but
For comedy abroad he need nae toil,                      thanks.
A fool and knave are plants of every soil;
Nor need hethunt as far as Rome and Greece
To gather matter for a serious piece;
There's themes enough in Caledonian story,
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory.
CVII.
Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell?                       S K E T C H.
Where are the muses fled that could produce                   NEW  YEAR'S  DAY.
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce;
TO Mrss. DUNLOP.
How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the
sword,                                       [This is a picture of the Dunlop family: it was printed
fi.,)i'i a hasty sketch, vwhich the poet called exteinpore.'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord,        fi     hasty skech,  ic  te poet caled e     re
The imajor whom it mentions, was General Andrewv
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing,          Du1nlop, who died in 1804: Rachel Dunlop wxs afterWrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin?  wards married to Robert Glasgow, Esq. Another of the
O for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene,             Dunlops served with distinction in India, where he rose
^  t  to the rank of General. They were a gallant race, and
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen!
all distinguished.]
Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad  Rebellion's         THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain,
arms.                                         To run the twelvemonth's length again:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                161
I see the old, bald-pated fellow,                                      CVIII.
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair'd machine,                              TO  A  GENTLEMAN
To wheel the equal, dull routine.                 WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO
CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE.
The absent lover, minor heir,
The absent lover, minor heir,  [These sarcastic lines contain a too true picture of the
In vain assail him with their prayer;             times in which they were written. Though great changes
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,            have taken place in court and camp, yet Austria, Russia,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.               and Prussia keep the tack of Poland: nobody says a
Will you (the lMajor's with the hounds,           word of Denmark: emasculated Italy is still singing;
Will youpy (thenMajos  wtha   the hounds,    opera girls are still dancing; but Chatham Will, glaikit
The happy tenants share his rounds;               Charlie, Daddie Burke, Royal George, and Geordie
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day,                Wales, have all passed to their account.]
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)Sir, I've read your paper through,
KIND Sir, I've read your paper through,
From housewife cares a minute borrow-               And, faith, to me'twas really new
And, faith, to me'twas really new!
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow~ —
-That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow-      How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
And join with me a moralizing,
And join with me a moralizing,                   This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,
This day's propitious to be wise in.                To ken what French mischief was brewin
To ken what French mischief was brewin';
First, what did yesternight deliver?                Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin';
" Another year is gone for ever."                   That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
And what is this day's strong suggestion?           If Venus yet had got his nose off;
" The passing moment's all we rest on!"             Or how the collieshangie works
Rest on-for what? what do we here?                 Atween the Russians and the Turks;
Or why regard the passing year?                     Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Will time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,              Would play anither Charles the Twalt:
Add to our date one minute more?                    If Denmark, any body spak o't;
A few days may-a few years must-                    Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't;
Repose us in the silent dust.                       How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin';
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?                    ow  iet Italy was singin';
Yes-all such reasonings are ijmiss!                 If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss
The voice of nature loudly cries,                   Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss:
And many a message from the skies,                  Or how our merry lads at hame,
That something in us never dies:                    In Britain's court kept up the game:
That on this frail, uncertain state,                How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Hang matters of eternal weight:                     Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
That future life in worlds unknown                  If sleekit Chatham  Will was livin'
Must take its hue from this alone;                  Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;
Whether as heavenly glory bright,                   How daddie Burke the plea was cookin',
Or dark as misery's woeful night.-                  If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,
Since then, my honour'd, first of friends,          Or if bare a-s yet were tax'd;
On this poor being all depends,                     The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Let us th' important now employ,                    Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls;
And live as those who never die.-                   If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails;
Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd,            Or if he was grown ouhtlis douser,
Witness that filial circle round,                   And no a perfect kintra cooser.(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse,                A' this and mair I never heard of;
A sight, pale envy to convulse,)                    And but for you I might despair'd of.
Others now claim your chief regard;                 So, gratefu', back your news I send you,
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.              And pray, a' guid things may attend you!
Ellisland, Monday morning, 1790.
II




162                           THE POETICAL WORKS
Rumble John,6 Rumble John,
CIX                         i          Mount the steps wi' a groan,'I~TH~E  ~KIRK'S  ALARM;1                      Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd;
THE  KIR K'S  ALARM, -1;l
Then lug out your ladle,
A SATIRE.                                Deal brimstone like adle,
[FIRST VERSIoN.]                        And roar every note of the damn'd.
[The history of this Poem is curious. M'Gill, one of        Simper James,7 Simper James,
the ministers of Ayr, long suspected of entertaining
heterodox opinions concerning original sin and the Tri-       Leave the fair Kllie dames,
nity, published " A Practical Essay on the Death of    There's a holier chase in your view;
Jesus Christ," which, in the opinion of the more rigid       I'l lay on your head
portion of his brethren, inclined both to Arianism and        T,
Socinianism. This essay was denounced as heretical, by 
a minister of the name of Peebles, in a sermon preached  For puppies like you there's but few.
November 5th, 1788, and all the west country was in a
flame. The subject was brought before the Synod, and          Singet Sawney,5 Singet Sawney,
was warmly debated till M'Gill expressed his regret for       Are ye herding the penny,
the disquiet he had occasioned, explained away or apologized for the challenged passages in his Essay, and de-    Unconscious what evil await?
clared his adherence to the standard doctrines of his         Wi' a jump, yell, and howl,
mother church. Burns was prevailed upon to bring his          Alarm every soul
satire to the aid of M'Gill, but he appears to have done    For the foul thief is just at your gate.
so with reluctance.]
ORTHODOX, orthodox,                                 Daddy Auld,9 Daddy Auld,
Wha believe in John Knox,                           There's a tod in the fauld,
Let me sound an alarm  to your conscience:          A tod meikle waur than the clerk;
There's a heretic blast                             Though ye can do little skaith,
Has been blawn in the wast,                         Ye'll be in at the death,
That what is no sense must be nonsense.             And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark.
Dr. Mac,2 Dr. Mac,                                  Davie Bluster,'~ Davie Bluster,
You should stretch on a rack,                       If for a saint ye do muster,
To strike evil doers wi' terror;                    The corps is no nice of recruits;
To join faith and sense                             Yet to worth let's be just,
Upon ony pretence,                                  Royal blood ye might boast,
Is heretic, damnable error.                         If the ass was the king of the brutes.
Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,                           Jamy Goose," Jamy Goose,
It was mad, I declare,                              Ye ha'e made but toom roose,
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing;                   In hunting the wicked lieutenant;
Provost Johns is still deaf                         But the Doctor's your mark,
To the church's relief,                             For the L-d's haly ark;
And orator Bob 4 is its ruin.                       He has cooper'd and cawd a wrang pin in't.
D'rymple mild,5 D'rymple mild,                      Poet Willie,'2 Poet Willie,
Thro' your heart's like a child,                    Gie the Doctor a volley,
And your life like the new driven snaw,             Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit;
Yet that winna save ye,                             O'er Pegasus' side
Auld Satan must hav ye,                             Ye ne'er laid astride,
For preaching that three's ane an' twa.             Ye but smelt, man, the place where he 
I This Poem was written a short time after the pub-            8 Mr. Moody. of Riccarton.
]:cation of M'Gill's Essay.                                      9 Mr. Ault of f.loucliuie.
2 Dr. M'Gill.           3 John Ballantyne.                    10 Mr. Grnnt, of Oelciltree.
4 Robert Aiken.         5 Dr. Dalrymple.                       11 Mr. Young, of Cumnock.
6 Mr. Russell.          7 Mr. M'Kinlay.                       12 Mr. Peebles, Ayr.




OF 1ROBERT BURNS.                                               163
Andro Gouk,' Andro Gouk,                                          CX.
Ye may slander the book,
And the book not the waur, let me tell ye;                 THE  KIRK'S ALARM.
Ye are rich and look big,                                      A BALLAD.
But lay by hat and wig,                                 [SECOND VERSION.]
And ye'll ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value...
And ye'll ha'e a calf'sh           [This version is from the papers of Miss Logan, of
Afton. The origin of the Poem is thus related to Gra ]
Barr Steenie,2 2Barr Steenie,              ham of Fintry by the poet himself: " Though I dare say
Barr Steenie,2 Barr Steenie,
you have none of the solemn League and Covenant fire
What mean ye, what mean ye?               which shone so conspicuous in Lord George Gordon, and
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter,         the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think you must have
Ye may ha'e some pretence                  heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr, and
To havins and sense,                      his heretical book, God help him, poor man! Though
one of the worthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better.                 whole priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in every sense
of that ambiguous term, yet the poor doctor and his
numerous family are in imminent danger of being thrown
Irvine side,3 Irvine side,                out (9th December, 1790) to the mercy of the winter
Wi' your turkey-cock pride,               winds. The enclosed ballad on that business, is, I conOf manhood but sma' is your share,                fess, too local: but I laughed myself at some conceits in
Ye've the figue tis t,         it, though I am convinced in my conscience there are a
Ye've the figure'tis true,.
Even y     fie wl,   good many heavy stanzas in it too."  The Kirk's Alarm
Even your faes will allow,                 was first printed by Stewart, in 1801. Cromek calls it,
And your friends they dae grant you nae mair., A silly satire, on some worthy ministers of the gospel,
in Ayrshire."]
Muirland Jock,4 Muirland Jock,
~   ~,~~~,        ~       ORTHODOX, orthodox,
When the L-d makes a rock
Who believe in John Knox,
To crush Common sense for her sins,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscienceIf ill manners were wit,                            There's a heretic blast
There's a heretic blast,
There's no mortal so fit
Has been blawn i' the wast,
To confound the poor Doctor at ance.
That what is not sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox,
Holy Will,5 Holy Will,                       That what is not sense must be nonsense.
There was wit i' your skull,
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor;                                   I I.
The timmer is scant,                                Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac,
When ye're ta'en for a saunt,                       Ye should stretch on a rack,
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour.             And strike evil doers wi' terror;
To join faith and sense,
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,                       Upon any pretence,
Seize your spir'tual guns,                   Was heretic damnable error,
Ammunition you never can need;                                           Doctor Mac,
Your hearts are the stuff,                   Was heretic damnable error.
Will be powther enough,
And your skulls are storehouses o' lead.,          
Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was rash I declare,
Poet Burns, Poet Burns,                      To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing;
Wi' your priest-skelping turns,                     Provost John is still deaf,
Why desert ye your auld native shire?                     To the church's relief,
Your muse is a gipsie,                       And orator Bob is its ruin,
E'en tho' she were tipsie,                                        Town of Ayr,
She could ca' us nae waur than we are.              And orator Bob is its ruin.
I Dr. Andrew Mitchell, of Monkton.          4 Mr. John Shepherd, Muirkirk.
2 Mr. Stephen Young, of Barr.                5 Holy Willie, alias William Fisher, Elder in Mauoh3 Mr. George Smith, of Galston.            line.
LIIII_.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_~~~~~~- _l~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ —— YIII-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i  I~~~~~~~~~~~~-1~~~~~




164                        THE POETICAL WORKS
I v.                       And the book nought the waur-let me tellyou;
D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild,                Tho' ye're rich and look big,
Tho' your heart's like a child,              Yet lay by hat and wig,
And your life like the new-driven snaw,      And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value,
Yet that winna save ye,                                   Andrew Gowk,
Old Satan must have ye                 And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value.
For preaching that three's ane an' twa,
D'rymple mild,                                X.
For preaching that three's ane an' twa.            Poet Willie, Poet Willie,
Gie the doctor a volley,
v.                         Wi' your "liberty's chain" and your wit;
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,                O'er Pegasus' side,
Seize your spiritual guns,                   Ye ne'er laid a stride
Ammunition ye never can need;                Ye only stood by when he -,
Your hearts are the stuff,                                Poet Willie,
Will be powder enough,                 Ye only stood by when he.
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead,
Calvin's sons,                               XI
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead.          Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie,
What mean ye? what mean ye?
vI.                        If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter,
Rumble John, Rumble John,               Ye may hae some pretence, man,
Rumble John, Rumble              To havins and sense, man,
Mount the steps with a groan,                To havins and sense, man,
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd;   Wi' people that ken ye nae better,
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd;                            Barr Steenie
Then lug out your ladle,                                        Steenie,
Deal brimstone like aidle,             Wi' people that ken ye nae hetter.
Deal brimstone like aidle,
And roar every note o' the damn'd,
Rumble John,                                 XII.
And roar every note o' the damn'd.                  Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,
Ye hae made but toom roose,
VII.                        O' hunting the wicked lieutenant;
Simper James, Simper James,                  But the doctor's your mark,
Leave the fair Killie dames,                 For the L-d's holy ark,
There's a holier chase in your view;         He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't,
I'll lay on your head,                                    Jamie Goose,
That the pack ye'll soon lead,         He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't.
For puppies like you there's but few,
Simper James,                               XIII.
For puppies like you there's but few.               Davis Bluster, Davie Bluster,
For a saunt if ye muster,
VIII.                       It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits,
Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie,                Yet to worth let's be just,
Are ye herding the penny,                     Royal blood ye might boast,
Unconscious what danger awaits?             If the ass were the king o' the brutes,
With a jump, yell, and howl,                              Davie Bluster,
Alarm every soul,                      If the ass were the king o' the brutes.
For Hannibal's just at your gates,
Singet Sawnie,                              xIv.
For Hannibal's just at your gates.                 Muirland George, Muirland George,
Whom the Lord made a scourge,
IX.                        To claw common sense for her sins;
Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk,                    If ill manners were wit,
Ye may slander the book,                     There's no mortal so fit,




OF ROBERT BURNS,                                                165
To confound the poor doctor at ance,             poet, giving him an account of the unlooked-for death
Muirland George,            of his mare, Peg Nicholson, the successor of Jenny
Geddes. She had suffered both in the employ of the joy
To confound the poor doctor at ance.             ous priest and the thoughtless poet. She acquired her
name from that frantic virago who attempted to murder
XV.                          George the Third.]
Cessnockside, Cessnockside,                  PEG Nicholson was a good bay mare,
Wi' your turkey-cock pride,                    As ever trode on aim;
0' manhood but sma' is your share;                  But now she's floating down the Nith,
Ye've the figure, it's true,                   And past the mouth o' Cairn.
Even our faes maun allow,
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair,            Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
Cessnockside,                    And rode thro' thick an' thin;
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair.            But now she's foating down the Nith,
And wanting even the skin.
XVI.
Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,                    Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,
Tee  a   11 1 i theAnd ance she bore a priest;
There's a tod i' the fauld
A tod meikle waur than the cle 1           But now she's floating down the Nith,
A tod meikle waur than the clerk;*
Tho' ye downa do skaith,                For Solway fish a feast.
Tho' ye downa do skaith,
Ye'll be in at the death,                    Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
And if ye canna bite ye can bark,                     And the priest he rode her sair;
Daddie Auld,                   And much oppress'd and bruis'd she was;
And if ye canna bite ye can bark.                     As priest-rid cattle are, &c. &c.
XVII.
Poet Burns, Poet Burns,
Wi' your priest-skelping turns,                                  CXII.
Why desert ye your auld native shire?                                    ON
Tho' your Muse is a gipsy,
Yet were she even tipsy,
Yet were she even tipsy,                   CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON,
She could ca' us nae waur than we are,           A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HOPoet Burns,                       NOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD.
She could ca' us nae waur than we are.                      ", Should the poor be flattered?"
SHAKSPEARE.
But now his radiant course is run,
POS T S CR IPT.                                For Matthew's course was bright;
His soul was like the glorious sun,
Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird,                       A matchless heav'nly light 
When your pen can be spar'd,                 [Captain Matthew Henderson, a gentleman cf very
A copy o' this I bequeath,                       agreeable manners and great propriety of character,
usually lived in Edinburgh, dined constantly at Fortune's
On the same sicker score 
Tavern, and was a member of the Capillaire Club, which
I mention'd before,                       was composed of all who desired to be thought witty or
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith,            joyous: he died in 1789: Burns, in a note to the Poer,
Afton's Laird,              says, " I loved the man much, and have not flattered his
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith.           memory." Henderson seems indeed to have been uniTo that trusty auld worthy Clackleith.
versally liked. " In our travelling party," says Sir
James Campbell, of Ardkinglass,'was Matthew Henderson, then (1759) and afterwards well known and much
esteemed in the town of Edinburgh; at that time an ofCXI.                          ficer in the twenty-fifth regiment of foot, and like myself
on his way to join the army; and I may say with truth,
PE G  NICHO L S ON.                     that in the course of a long life I have never known a
more estimable character, than Matthew Henderson."
These hasty verses are to be found in a letter ad-  Memoirs of Campbell, of Ardkinglass, p. 17.]
dressed to Nicol, of the High School of Edinburgh, by the
____i_____avin___ " _,        0 DEATH! thou tyrant fell and blaoodi y
l Gavin Hamilton.                    The meikle devil wi' a woodie




166                        THE POETICAL WORKS
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,           Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o' day,
O'er hurcheon hides,'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay;
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie       And when ye wing your annual way
Wi' thy auld sides!                             Frae our cauld shore,
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay,
He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn,                           Wham we deplore.
The ae best fellow e'er was born!
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn        Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r,
By wood and wild,           In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn,             What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r,
Frae man exil'd!                                Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour
Ye hills! near neebors o' the starns,'Till waukrife morn!
That proudly cock your cresting cairns!
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,        O rivers, forests, hills, and plains!
Where echo slumbers!        Oft have ye heard my canty strains:
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,        But now, what else for me remains
My wailing numbers!                             But tales of woe?
And frae my een the drapping rains
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!                                 Maun ever flow.
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens!
Ye burihaz'lly shaws and briery dens!           Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year!
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens,,'
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens,  Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear:
Wi' toddlin' din,
Or foaming strang,   i' toddlin' din,  Thou, simmer, while each corny spear
Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens,Shoots up its head,
Fie  a to lin!       Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear
For him that's dead!
Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see;               Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie,                 In grief thy sallow mantle tear:
In scented bow'rs;          Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air
Ye roses on your thorny tree,                                      The roaring blast,
The first o' flow'rs.       Wide, o'er the naked world declare
The worth we've lost!
At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade
Droops with a diamond at its head,              Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light!
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed        Mourn, empress of the silent night!
I' th' rustling gale,       And you, ye twinkling starnies bright,
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade,                                My Matthew mourn!
Come join my wail.          For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight,
Ne'er to return.
Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood;           O0 Henderson! the man-the brother!
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud;
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud;            And art thou gone, and gone for ever?
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud;
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud;And hast thou crost that unknown river
Ye whistling plover;                            Life's dreary bound?
An' mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood!-        Like thee, where shall I find another
Like thee, where shall I find another,
He's gane for ever!                             The world around?
The world around?
Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals;         Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great,
Ye fisher herons, watching eels:                In a' the tinsel trash o' state!
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels              But by thy honest turf I'll wait,
Circling the lake;                              Thou man of worth!
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,           And weep the ae best fellow's fate
Rair for his sage.                             E'er lay in earth.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            167
THE  E P ITAPH.                     Solwayside, Annan; Whiskey Jean, Kirkcudbright; and
Black Joan, Sanquhar. On the part of Miller, all the
STOP, passenger — my story's brief,            Whig interest of the Duke of Queensberry was exerted,
And truth I shall relate, man;               and all the Tory interest on the side of the Johnstone:
I tell nae common tale o' grief-,              the poet's heart was with the latter. Annan and LochI tell nae common tale o' grief~
maben stood staunch by old names and old affections:
For Matthew was a great man,                 after a contest, bitterer than anything of the kind remern
bered, the Whig interest prevailed.]
If thou uncommon merit hast,
Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man,            THERE were five carlins in the south,
A look of pity hither cast-                        They fell upon a scheme,
For Matthew was a poor man.                    To send a lad to London town,
To bring them tidings hame.
If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by thlis grave, man,              Not only bring them tidings hame,
There moulders here a gallant heart-                But do their errands there;
For Matthew was a brave man.                   And aiblins gowd and honour baith
Might be that laddie's share.
If thou on men, their works and ways,
Canst throw uncommon light, man,               There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,
Here lies wha weel had won thy praise-              A dame wi' pride eneugh;
For Matthew was a bright man.                  An  Marjory o' the mony lochs,
A carlin auld and teugh.
If thou at friendship's sacred ca'
Wad life itself resign, man,                   And blinkin' Bess of Annandale,
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa'-                     That dwelt near Solway-side;
For Matthew was a kind man!                    And whiskey Jean, that took her gill
In Galloway sae wide.
If thou art staunch without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man,                 And black Joan, frae Crighton-peel,
This was a kinsman o' thy ain-                     O' gipsey kith an' kin;For Matthew was a true man.                    Five wighter carlins were na found
The south countrie within.
If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man,             To send a lad to London town,
This was thy billie, dam and sire-                 They met upon a day;
For Matthew was a queer man.                   And mony a knight, and mont a laird,
This errand fain wad gae.
If ony whiggish whingin sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man,               0 mony a knight, and mony a laird,
May dool and sorrow be his lot!                     This errand fain wad gae;
For Matthew was a rare man.                    But nae ane could their fancy please,
0 ne'er a ane but twae.
The first ane was a belted knight,
Bred of a border band;
And he wad gae to London town,
CX1II.                           Might nae man him withstand.
THE  FIVE  CARLINS.                       And he wad do their errands weel,
A SCOTS BALLAD.                         And meikle he wad say;
And ilka ane about the court
Wad bid to him gude-day.
[This is a local and political Poem composed on the
contest between Miller, the younger, of Dalswinton, and    The neist cam in a sodger youth,
Johnstone, of Westerhall, for the representation of the
I^ ^., ^..And spak wi' modest grace,
Dumfries and Galloway district of Boroughs. Each
town or borough speaks and acts in character: Maggy    And he wad gae to London town,
personates Dumfries; Marjory, Lochinaben; Bess of     If sae their pleasure was.




168                         THE POETICAL WORKS
He wad na hecht them courtly gifts,             " For fools will prate o' right and wrang,
Nor meikle speech pretend;                      While knaves laugh in their sleeve;
But he wad hecht an honest heart,               But wha blaws best the horn shall win,
Wad ne'er desert his friend.                    I'll spier nae courtier's leave."
Then wham to chuse, and wham refuse,            So how this mighty plea may end
At strife thir carlins fell;                    There's naebody can tell:
For some had gentlefolks to please,             God grant the king, and ilka man,
And some wad please themsel'.                   May look weel to himsel'!
Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith,
And she spak up wi' pride,
And she wad send the sodger youth,
Whatever might betide.
CXIV.
For the auld gudeman o' London court          THE LADDIES BY THE BANS' NITH.
She didna care a pin;
But she wad send the sodger youth              [This short Poem was first published by Robert ChamTo greet his eldest son.                   bers. It intimates pretty strongly, how much the poet
disapproved of the change which came over the Duke
of Queensberry's opinions, when he supported the right
Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs               p
Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs         of the Prince of Wales to assume the government, withAnd wrinkled was her brow;                 out consent of Parliament, during the king's alarming
Her ancient weed was russet gray,            illness, in 1788.]
Her auld Scotch heart was true.
Her auld Scotch heart was true.              THEE laddies by the banks o' Nith,
Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie,
"The London court set light by me-  
"Tt set light by m;          But he'll sair them, as he sair'd the King,
I set as light by them;
* i -'  - ~    iTurn tail and rin awa', Jamie.
And I will send the sodger lad
To shaw that court the same."
Up and waur them a', Jamie,
Up and waur them a';
Then up sprang Bess of Annandale,                  p ad w          t  
The Johnstones hae the guidin' o't,
And swore a deadly aith,Ye turncoat Whigs aw'.
Says, "I will send the border-knight
Spite o' you carlins baith.                  The day he stude his country's friend, 
Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie:
" For far-off fowls hae feathers fair,          O                a l' m
Or frae puir man a blessin' wan,
And fools o' change are fain;                        s 
And fools o' change are fain;                   That day the Duke ne'er saw, Jamie.
But I hae try'd this border-knight,
I'll try him yet again."
I'll try him yet again.''"                IBut wha is he, his country's boast?
Like him there is na twa, Jamie;
Then whiskey Jean spak o'er her drink,          Theren   ns the kye
There's no a callant tents the kye,
" Ye weel ken, kimmersa',
"Ye weelken, kimmersa','But kens o' Westerha', Jamie.
The auld gudeman o' London court,
His back's been at the wa'.
To end the wark here's Whistlebirk,l
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie;
"And mony a friend that kiss'd his caup,                m    h, 
Is now a fremit wigh;        And Maxwell true o' sterling blue:
Is now a fremit wight;
^.,,, i'  TAnd we'll be Johnstones a', Jamie.
But it's ne'er be sae wi' whiskey Jean,We'll send the border-knight."                 l'Birkwhistle: a Galloway laird, and elector.
Says black Joan o' Crighton-peel,
A carlin stoor and grim," The auld gudeman, or the young gudeman,
For me may sink or swim.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             169
CXV-.                        uM'Murdol and his lovely spouse,
(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!)
EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM, ESQ.                               Led on the loves and graces:
OF FINTRAY:                       She won each gaping burgess' heart,
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part
ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN                                   
SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR 
THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS.
Craigdarroch2 led a light-arm'd corps,
[" I am too little a man," said Burns, in the note to  Tropes, metaphors and figures pour
Fintray, which accompanied this poem, "to have any                Like Hecla streaming thunder:
political attachment: I am deeply indebted to, and have
the warmest veneration for individuals of both parties:  Glenriddel,3 skill'd in rusty coins,
but a man who has it in his power to be the father of a  Blew up each Tory's dark designs,
country, and who acts like his Grace of Queensberry, is           And bar'd the treason under.
a character that one cannot speak of with patience."
This Epistle was first printed in my edition of Burns in  In either wing two champions fought
1834: I had the use of the Macmurdo and the Afton ma-      ete   ig o      cam    ought
nuscripts for that purpose: to both families the poet was  Redoubted Staig4 who set at nought
much indebted for many acts of courtesy and kindness.]            The wildest savage Tory:
FINTRA,   y stay in wo y s,         And Welsh,5 who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
FINTRAY, my stay in worldly strife,igh-wav'd his  agnum-bonum round
High-wav'd his magnum-bonum round
Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life,                             Wih C oian ur
With Cyclopeian fury.
Are ye as idle's I am?
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,              Miller brought up th' artillery ranks,
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,                   The many-pounders of the Banks,
And ye shall see me try him.                      Resistless desolation!
While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears,              Wi,,
I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrg bears'Mid Lawson's6 port intrench'd his hold,
Who left the all-important cares                                  Andthreatendworsedamnation.
And threaten'd worse damnation.
Of princes and their darlings;
And, bent on winning borough towns,               To these what Tory hosts oppos'd,
Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns,             With these what Tory warriors clos'd.
And kissing barefit carlins.                      Surpasses my descriving:
Squadrons extended long and large,
Combustion thro' our boroughs rode,               With furious speed rush to the charge,
Whistling his roaring pack abroad                                 Like raging devils driving.
Of mad unmuzzled lions;
As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd,            What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd                  The butcher deeds of bloody fate
To every Whig defiance.                           Amid this mighty tulzie!
Grim Horror grinn'd-pale Terror roar'd,
But cautious Queensberry left the war,            As Murther at his thrapple shor'd,
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star;                          And hell mix'd in the brulzie.
Besides, he hated bleeding:
But left behind him heroes bright,                As highland craigs by thunder cleft,
Heroes in Caesarean fight,                        When lightnings fire the stormy lift,
Or Ciceronian pleading.                           Hurl down with crashing rattle:
As flames among a hundred woods;
0! for a throat like huge Mons-meg,               As headlon  foam  a hundred foods;
To muster o'er each ardent Whig                                   Suh  i the rage of    ale
Such is the rage of battle!
Beneath Drumlanrig's banner;
Heroes and heroines commix,                       The stubborn Tories dare to die;
All in the field of politics,                     As soon the rooted oaks would fly
To win immortal honour.                           Before the approaching fellers:
1 John M'Murdo, Esq., of Drumlanrig.                 4 Provost Staig of Dumfries.
2 Fergusson of Craigdarroch.                         5 Sheriff Welsh.
3 Riddel of Friars-Carse                             6 A wine-merchant in Dumfries.




170                          THE POETICAL WORKS
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,                                       I
When all his wintry billows pour
Against the Buchan Bullers.                              o N
Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night,                  CAPTAIN  GROSE'S
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,                     PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH  SCOTLAND,
And think on former daring:
COLLECTING THE
The muffled murthererl of Charles
The Magna Charter flag unfurls,                           ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.
All deadly gules it's bearing.      [This   fine, fat, fodgel wight" was a clever man, a
skilful antiquary, and fond of wit and wine. He was
Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame,                  well acquainted with heraldry, and was conversant with
Bold Scrimgeour2 follows gallant Graham,3         the weapons and the armour of his own and other counAuld Covenanters shiver,          tries. He found his way to Friars-Carse, in the Vale
of Nith, and there, at the social " board of Glenriddel,"
(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose!         for the first time saw Burns. The Englishman heard, it
Now death and hell engulph thy foes,              is said, with wonder, the sarcastic sallies and eloquent
Thou liv'st on high for ever!)    bursts of the inspired Scot, who, in his turn, surveyed
with wonder the remarkable corpulence, and listened
Still o'er the field the combat burns,            with pleasure to the independent sentiments and humourous turns of conversation in the joyous Englishman.
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;             This Poem was the fruit of the interview, and it is said
But fate the word has spoken:   that Grose regarded some passages as rather personal 1
For woman's wit and strength o' man,
For woman's wit and strength o' man,  HEAR, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots,
Alas! can do but what they can!
The Tory ranks ae b.      Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;
The Tory ranks are broken.
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
0 that my een were flowing burns,                                      I rede you tent it:
My voice a lioness that mourns                   A chiel's amang you taking notes,
My voice a lioness that mourns                                         A        ft  h' p        it!
Her darling cubs' undoing!               And, faith, he'll prent it!
Her darling cubs' undoing!
That I might greet, that I might cry,
While Tories fall, while TorieB fly,                If in your bounds ye chance to light
While Tories fall, while Torie? fly,                                 f       wgt
And furious Whigs pursuing!  Upon a fine, fat,:fodgel wight,
And furious Whigs pursuing!           g 
O' stature short, but genius bright,
What Whig but melts for good Sir James!                                That's he, mark weel —
Dear to his country by the names                    And wow! he has an unco slight
Friend, patron, benefactor!                            0' cauk and keel.
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save!
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave!             By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,
And Stewart,4 bold as Hector.        Or kirk deserted by its riggin,
It's ten to one ye'll find him snug in
Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow;                                  Some eldritch part,
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe;                   Wi' deils, they say, L-d save's! colleaguin'
And Melville melt in wailing!                         At some black art.
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice!
And Burke shall sing, 0 Prince, arise,              Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
Thy power is all prevailing!       Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamour,
And you deep read in hell's black grammar,
For your poor friend, the Bard, afar                                   Warlocks and witches;
He only hears and sees the war,                     Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,
A cool spectator purely;                               Ye midnight b-s!
So, when the storm the forests rends,
The robin in the hedge descends,                    It's tauld he was a sodger bred,
And sober chirps securely.          And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;
1 The executioner of Charles i. was masked.             3 Graham, M1arquis of Montrose.
2 Scrimgeour, Lora Dunuee.                              4 Stewart of Jlillside.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              171
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade,            of sending a rhyming inquiry after his fat friend, and
And dog-skin wallet,          Cardonnel spread the condoling inquiry over the NorthAnd ta'en the-Antiquarian trade,                       "s he slain y     a' bodies
I think they call it.             And eaten like a wether-haggis?"J
I think they call it.
KEN ye ought o' Captain Grose?
He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:                                   Igo and ago,
Rusty aim  caps and jinglin' jackets,               If he's amang his friends or foes?
Wad baud the Lothians three in tackets,                                Iram, coram, dago.
A towmont guid;
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,           Is he south or is he north 
Afore the flood.                                    Igo and ago,
Or drowned in the river Forth?
Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;                                   Iram, coram, dago.
Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender;            Is h  sin b    i            i
Is he slain by Highlan' bodies?
That which distinguished the gender                                   Igo and ago,
Igo and ago,
0' B3alaam's ass;
O' Balaam's ass;  And eaten like 9* wether-haggis?
A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor,                                   I       coram  dago
Weel shod wi' brass.
Is he to Abram's bosom gane?
Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,                                 Igo and ago,
The cut of Adam's philibeg:                         Or haudin' Sarah by the wame?
The knife that nicket Abel's craig                                     Iram, coram, dago.
He'll prove you fully,
It was a faulding jocteleg,                         Where'er he be, the L-d be near him!
Or lang-kail gully.-                                Igo and ago,
As for the deil, he daur na steer him!
But wad ye see him in his glee,                                        Iram, coram, dago.
For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three                 But please transmit the enclosed letter,
Guid fellows wi' him;                               Igo and ago,
And port, 0 port! shine thou a wee,                 Which will oblige your humble debtor,
And then ye'll see him!                              Iram, coram, dago.
So may he hae auld stanes in store,
Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, 0 Grose!-                                    Igo and ago,
Thuat ant,  GroThe very stanes that Adam bore,
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,                                      a A am b
They sair misca' thee;                               I             
I'd take the rascal by the nose,                    So may ye get in glad possession,
Wad say, Shame fa' thee!                            Igo and ago,
The coins o' Satan's coronation!
Iram, coram, dago.
CXVII.
CXVIII.
WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER,
ENCLOSIaNG                                  AO'tTAM O' SHANTER.
A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE.                                          A TALE
"Of brownys and of bogilis full is this buke."
[Burns wrote out some antiquarian and legendary
GAWIN DOUGLAS.
memoranda, respecting certain ruins in Kyle, and enclosed them in a sheet of a paper to Cardonnel, a north-    [This is a West-country legend, embellished by
ern antiquary. As his mind teemed with poetry he  genius. No other Poem in our lanlgualge displays such
could not, as he afterwards said, let the opportunity, pass  variety of power, in the same number of lines. It was




172                          THE POETICAL WORKS
written as an inducement to Grose to admit Alloway-    But to our tale:-Ae market night,
Kirk into his work on the Antiquities of Scotland; and  Tam had got planted unco right;
written with such ecstasy, that the poet shed tears iningle beezing finely
the moments of composition. -The walk in which it was,  
conceived, on the braes of Ellisland, is held in remem-    Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
brance in the vale, and pointed out to poetic inquirers:    And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
while the scene where the poem is laid-the crumbling  His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
ruins-the place-where the chapman perished in the snow  Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither
-the tree on which the poor mother of Mungo ended her
sorrows-the cairn where the murdered child was found  They had been fou' for weeks thegither!
by the hunters-and the old bridge over which Maggie  The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter;
bore her astonished master when all hell was in pursuit,    And ay the ale was growing better:
are first-rate objects of inspection and inquiry in the    The landlady and Tam grew gracious;
"Land of Burns."  "In the inimitable tale of Tam
o' Shanter," says Scott "Burns has left us sufficient' favours secret, sweet, and precious;
evidence of his ability to combine the ludicrous with the  The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
awful, and even the horrible. No poet, with the exception  The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:'
of Shakspeare, ever possessed the power of exciting the  The storm without might rair and rustlemost varied and discordant emotions with such rapid         i        i.^ ~~~~~~.^~,,-Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
transitions."]
WHEN chapman billies leave the street,             Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,                  E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy!
As market-days are Wearing late,                  As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
An' folk begin to tak' the gate;                   The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
While we sit bousing at the nappy,                Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
An' gettin' fou and unco happy,                    O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
e tk na on te lg S      But pleasures are like poppies spread,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
The m ewe    s   and    s e,  You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
That lie between us and our hame,. 
h     i    n,  Or like the snow falls in the river,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame,
Weestouslysl a,  A moment white —then melts for eves;
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,              i                   e      
Or like the borealis race,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
That flit ere you can point their place;
This truth fand honest Tam O'Shanter,              Or like the rainbow's lovely form
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,               Evanishing amid the storm.
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,           Nae man can tether time or tide;
For honest men and bonny lasses.)                 The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,             That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!              That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,           And sic a night he taks the road in
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;        As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
That frae November till October,
That fine November till October,                  The wind blew as'twad blawn its last;
Ae market-day thou wasna sober;
hAe market-day      i thou wasna sober,           The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thouat ilka melder, wi'as  thou had siller,       The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;              Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,               That night, a child might understand,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;                   il        u
The de'il had business on his hand.
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday.           Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,
She prophesy'd, that late or soon,                A better never lifted leg,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;         Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,              Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.                   Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet;
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,               Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advices,                          e   cketARIATION.
The cricket raised its cheering cry,
The husband frae the wife despises!                      The kittlen chas'd its tail in joy.
___________________________________________________I




'.~i ( i.L, i7.~~'. I~.:,:Zi('::.i ":i}!'i~titi:i;.i /~':,/:'i:~~!~i ":i  ~.  ~  ~.-  V
i-i m    il.   >!jj.t i.,.,.L-q,  I  ij:ii    1 >!  i:, ~.i j,, l:'~!':,'i T
MO;,:,:-:








OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         173
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,      A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Lest bogies catch him unawares;                Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,                 Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted;
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.-        Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
By this time he was cross the foord,           A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;         Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
And past the birks and meikle stane,           The gray hairs yet stack to the heft:
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;        Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,         Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,            As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.           The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
Before him Doon pours all his floods;          The piper loud and louder blew;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;      The dancers quick and quicker flew;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;        Theyreel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,
Near and more near the thunders roll;              ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,     And    t her d ie t the  ar
And linket at it in her sark!
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing;! hd t    b                              
mit ad.      Now Tam, 0 Tam! had thae been queans
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.,
A' plump and strapping, in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn!               Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen,
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!         Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;                That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil!             I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles,
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,       For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies!
Fair play, he car'd nae deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,        But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,'Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,        Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal,
She ventur'd forward on the light;             Lowping an' flinging on a cummock,
And wow! Tam saw an unco sight!               I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent new frae France,           But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,   There was a winsome wench and walie,
Put life and mettle in their heels:            That night enlisted in the core,
A yinnock-bunker in the east,                  (Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore;
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;        For mony a beast to dead she shot,
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,         And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,
To gie them music was his charge;              And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,      And kept the country-side in fear.)
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-            Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,
Coffins stood round, like open presses;        That, while a lassie, she had worn,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;    In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
And by some devilish cantrip slight            It was her best, and she was vauntieEach in its cauld hand held a lightBy which heroic Tam was able                   Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,
To note upon the haly table,                   That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims;             Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;       Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
I VARIATION.                        And priests' hearts rotten black as muck,
Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out,      Lay stinking vile, in every neuk.
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout;




174                          THE POETICAL WORKS
But here my muse her wing maun cour;                                 CXIX.
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;'    ^ I    aADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang,)TO THE
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,              PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY.
And thought his very een enrich'd;
And thought his very een enrich'd;([This Poem made its first appearance, as I was assured
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,        by my friend the late Thomas Pringle, in the Scots Ma.
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:    gazine, for February, 1818, and was printed from the'Till first ae caper, syne anither,             original in the handwriting of Burns. It was headed
thus, " To the Right Honourable the Earl of BreadalTam tint his reason a' thegither, 
m t   h  r   byne, President of the Right Honourable and HonourAnd roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark!"       able the Highland Society, which met on the 23d of May
And in an instant all was dark:                 last, at the Shakspeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,             and means to frustrate the designs of four hundred
When out tie hellish legion sallied.     Highlanders, who, as the Society were informed by Mr.
M.-, of A-s, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lairds and masters, whose property
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,                they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr. MacdoWhen plundering herds assail their byke; *      nald, of Glengarry, to the wilds of Canada, in search of
When plundering herds assail their byke;                   ga
that fantastic thing-LIBERTY." The Poem was comAs open pussie's mortal foes,                   municated by Burns to his friend Rankine of Adam Hill,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;       in Ayrshire.]
As eager runs the market-crowd,                 LONG life, my Lord, an' health be yours,
When " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;        Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors;
(So Maggie runs, the witches follow,             Lord grant nae duddie desperate beggar,
Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow.        Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger,
May twin auld Scotland o' a life
Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'!   She likes-as lambkins like a knife.
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!      Faith, you and A        s were right
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!            To keep the Highland hounds in sight;
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!               I doubt na! they wad bid nae better
Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg,                  Than let them ance out owre the water;
And win the key-stanel of the brig;             Then up amang the lakes and seas
There at them thou thy tail may toss,           They'll mak' what rules and laws they please;
A running stream they darena cross!             Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin';
But ere the key-stane she could make,           May set their Highland bluid a ranklin';
The fient a tail she had to shake!              Some Washington again may head them,
For Nannie, far before the rest,                Or some Montgomery fearless lead them,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,                   Till God knows what may be effected
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;              When by such heads and hearts directedBut little wist she Maggie's mettle-            Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire
Ae spring brought off her master hale,           May to Patrician rights aspire!
But left behind her ain gray tail:              Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville,
The carlin claught her by the rump,             To watch and premier o'er the pack vile,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.            An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons
To bring them to a right repentance,
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,         To cowe the rebel generation,
Ilk man and niother's son, take heed:           An' save the honour o' the nation?
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,             They an' be d     d! what right hae they
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,                To meat or sleep, or light o' day?
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear-           Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom,
Remember Tam O'Shanter's mare.                  But what your lordship likes to gie them?
l It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil  that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger there
spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any fur-  may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard
Sher than the middle of the next running stream. It may  in turning back.
be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                    175
But hear, my lord! Glengarry, hear!                        Through frosty hills'ee journey lay,
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear;                        On foot t]W   ay was plying,
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies,
I canna' say but they do gaylies;                           Por slip-shod giddy Pegasus
They lay aside a' tender mercies,                              Was but a sorry walker;
An' tirl the hallions to the birses;                        To Vulcan then Apollo goes,
Yet while they're only poind't and herriet,                    To get a frosty calker.
They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit;                Obligin  Vulcan fell to work
Obliging Vulcan fell to work,
But smash them! crash them  a' to spails!                                           
n,  ^ ^.,". ~..,.'            Threw by his coat and 1bonnet,
An' rot the dyvors i' the jails!                            A
And did Sol's business in a crack;
The young dogs, swinge them  to the labour;                              
T,~                       ~      ~,^~~~~~ i  ~Sol paid him with a sonnet.
Let wark an' hunger mak' them sober!
The hizzies, if theyre aughtlins fawsont,                   Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead,
Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd!                            Pity my sad disaster;
An' if the wives an' dirty brats                            My Pegasus is poorly shodE'en thigger at your doors an' yetts,I'll pay you like my master.
Flaffan wi' duds an' grey wi' beas',                                                    ROBERT BURNS.
Frightin' awa your deuks an' geese,                       Ramages, 3 o'clock, (no date.)
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler,
The langest thong, the fiercest growler,
An' gar the tattered gypsies pack
Wi' a' their bastards on their back!
CXXI.
Go on, my Lord! I lang to meet you,
An' in my house at hame to greet you;                                      LAME N T
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle,                                               OF
The benmost neuk beside the ingle,                                RY   Q EE          O     SCO
At my right han' assigned your seat:Tween Herod's hip an Polycrate,-                                ON T    APPROACH OF SPRING.
Or if you on your station tarrow,                        [The poet communicated this " Lament" to his friend,
Between Almagro and Pizarro,                           Dr. Moore, in February, 1791, but it was composed about
A seat I'm  sure ye   w    deseri't;  the close of the preceding year, at the request of Lady
A seat I'm sure ye're weel deservin't;                                         n P 
Winifred Maxwell Constable, of Terreagles, the last in
An' till ye come-Your humble rervant,                                                        n
An' till iye come —Your humble  rervant,               direct descent of the noble and ancient house of IMexBEEL7EBUB.        well, of Nithsdale. Burns expressed himself more than
June Ist, Anno JMundi 5790.                         commonly pleased with this composition; nor was he unrewarded, for Lady WVinifred g.ve him a valuable snuffbox, with the portrait of the unfortunate Mary on the lid.
The bed still keeps its place in Terreagles. on which the
queen slept as she was on her way to take refuge with
CXX.                            her cruel and treacherous cousin, Elizabeth; and a letter
from her no less unfortunate gra ndson, Charles the First,
TO                            calling the Maxwells to arm in his cause, is preserved in
the family archives.]
JOHN TAYLOR.
I.
[Burns, it appears, was, in one of his excursions in 
revenue matters, likely to be detained at Wanlockhead:   N                     hr m       e 
the roads were slippery with ice, his mare kept her feet    On every blooming tree,
with difficulty, and all the blacksmiths of the village   And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
were pre-engaged. To Mr. Taylor, a person of influence      Out o'er the grassy lea:
in the place, the poet, in despair, addressed this little  Now P     us cheers the crystal streams,
Poem, begging his interference: Taylor spoke to a smith;
the smi;th flew to his tools, sharpened or frosted the      And glads the azure skies;
shoes, and it is said lived for thirty years to boast that he  But nought can glad the weary wight
had " never been well paid but ance, and that was by a      That fast in durance lies.
poet, who paid him in money, paid him in drink, and
paii him in verse."]
WITH Pegasus upon a day,                            Now lav'rocks wale the merry morn,
Apollo weary flying,                                Aloft on dewy wing;




176                            THE POETICAL WORKS
The merle, in his noontide bow'r,                    And in the narrow house o' death
Makes woodland echoes ring;                          Let winter round me rave;
The mavis wild wi' mony a note,                      And the next flow'rs that deck the spring
Sings drowsy day to rest:                            Bloom on my peaceful grave!
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
III.
Now blooms the lily by the bank,                                        CXXII.
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae;                       [" As the authentic prose history," says Burns, "of
The meanest hind in fair Scotland                  the'Whistle' is curious, I shall here give it. In the
train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland
BMuay  rove their sweets amang;                 with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,                   gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a
Maun lie in prison strang!                     matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony
whistle, which at the commencement of the orgies, he
laid on the table, and whoever was the last able to blow
it, everybody else being disabled by the potency of the
I was the Queen o' bonnie France,                  bottle, was to carry off the whistle as a trophy of victory.
Where happy I hae been;                         The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without
a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm,
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,                        0                               ID
Pu' lightly rase I in the  morn,                  Moscow, WVarsaw, and several of the petty courts in
As blythe lay down at e'en:                     Germany; and challenged the Scotch Bacchanalians to
And I'm the sov'reign o' Scotland,                 the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowAnd mony a traitor there;                       ledging their inferiority. After many overthrows on the
Ye~ T..t... he I         part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir
Yet here I lie in foreign bands
Y  et here I  -ie n foreign bandsrRobert Lawrie, of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present
And never-ending care.                          worthy baronet of that name; who, after three days and
three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under
V.                           the table,,  And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill.'
But as for thee, thou false woman!
"Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned,
My sister and my fae,                           afterwards lost the whistle to Walter Riddel, of GlenGrim vengeance yet shall whet a sword             riddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's.-On
That thro' thy soul shall gae!                  Friday, the 16th of October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the
The weeping blood in woman's breast               whistle was once more contended for, as related in
s n r k n t t      the ballad, by the present Sir Robert of Maxwelton;
Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe          and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the whisFrae woman's pitying e'e.                       tie, and in whose family it had continued; and Alexander
Fergusson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, likewise descended
of the great Sir Robert; which last gentleman carried off
VI.                          the hard-won honours of the field."
My son! my son! may kinder stars                   The jovial contest took place in the dining-room of
Upo yfortune shine;         Friars-Carse, in the presence of the Bard, who drank
Upon thy    plaursgldtyreg,                     bottle and bottle about with them, and seemed quite disAnd may those pleasures gild thy reign,           posed to take up the conqueror when the day dawned.]
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,             I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth,
God keep thee frae thy mother's raes,
Or turn their herts to thee:I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North,
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend    Was brought to the court of our good Scottish
And where thou meet'st thy mother's frienad 
Remember him for me                                    king,
And long with this whistle all Scotland shall
ring.
V I I.
01 soon, to me, may summer suns                   Old Loda,i still rueing the arm of Fingal,
Nae mair light up the morn!                    The god of the bottle sends down from his hallNae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!                                  i See Ossian's Carie-thura.
_ —~                    _.~~~~~ —-.......   w s _ n.~ A_' U~- 1~~._ _ 




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         177
" This whistle's your challenge-to Scotland get  A bard was selected to witness the fray,
o'er,                                   And tell future ages the feats of the day;
And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er see me  A bard who detested all sadness and spleen,
more!"                                 And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been.
Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell,  The dinner being over, the claret they ply,
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell;  And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy;
The son of great Loda was conqueror still,     In the bands of old friendship and kindred so
And blew on his whistle his requiem shrill.          set,
Till Robert, the Lord of the Cairn and the Scaur,  And the bands grew the tighter the more they
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war,         were wet.
He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea,
XT i'3  f    )i        iGay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er;
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.asure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er;
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core,
Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd;  And vow'd that to leave them  he was quite
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd;        forlorn,
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood,  Till Cynthia hinted he'd find them next morn.
The jovial contest again have renew'd.
Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night,
Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of  When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight,
flaw;                                   Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red,
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and  And swore'twas the way that their ancestor
law;                                           did.
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins;
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.  Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage;
Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as  A high-ruling Elder to wallow in wine!
oil,                                    He left the foul business to folks less divine.
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil;
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan,   The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end;
And once more, in claret, try which was the  But who can with fate and quart-bumpers conman.                                           tend?
Though fate said-a hero shall perish in light;
By the gods of the ancients   Glenriddel re-So up rose bright Phoebus-and down fell the
plies,                                         knight.
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize,
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,1  Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink;And bumper his horn with him twenty times  ~"Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall
o'er. "                                        sink;
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme,
Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend,    
Come-one bottle more-and have at the subBut he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe-or his
lime!
friend,
Said, toss down the whistle, the prize of the
field,                                   "Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with
field,
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield.    Bru
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce:
To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,   So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay;
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care;      The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of
But for wine and for welcome not more known          day!"
to fame
Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely
dame.
I See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides
12




178                           TIIE POETICAL WORKS
CXXIII.                                             CXXIV.
ELEGY                                              LAMENT
ON                                                 FOR
MISS BURNET,                             JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.
OF MONBODDO.                        [Burns lamented the death of this kind and accomplished nobleman with melancholy sincerity: he more[This beautiful and accomplished lady, the heavenly
This  eutiful an  accomplished lady, the heavenly  over named one of his sons for him: he wvent into InournBurnet, as Burns loved to call her, was daughter to the  i   hen he heard of his deltll, and he sng f hniS merits
a'   Lord  ing when he heard of his death, and he sung of his merits
odd and the elegant, the clever and the whimsical Lord           destined soon to lose the
Monboddo. " In domestic circumstances,' says Robert  s   s     n                             t      t
Moneboddo. " In dowmestic circu lstancesr  says Robert  among verses which record the names of the noble and
Chambers, "Monboddo was particularly unfortunate the generous. He died January 30, 1791, in the forty.
the generous. He died January 30, 1791, in the fortyHis wife, a very beautiful woman, died in child-bed. His    Cunninam   as s
second year of his age. James Cunningham was sucson, a promising boy, in whose education he took great  ceeded n h  title b h  brother, and with hir expired,
delight, was likewise snatched from his affections by a  in 1796 the last of a race whose name is intimately
preimature death; and his second daughter, in personal  connected with the History of Scotland, from the days
loveliness one of the first women of the age, was cut off  of Malcol  Canmore.]
by consumption, when only twenty-five years old." Her
name was Elizabeth.]                                                        I.
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize                 THE wind blew hollow frae the hills,
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;                 By fits the sun's departing beam
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,             Look'd on the fading yellow woods
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low.          That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:
Beneath a craggy steep, a bard,
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?             Laden with years and meikle pain,
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!               In loud lament bewail'd his lord,
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,             Whom death had all untimely ta'en.
As by his noblest work, the Godhead best is
known.                                                               I.
He lean'd him to an ancient aik,       [years;
In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;          Whose trunk was mould'ring  down with
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,      His locks were bleached white with time,
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,            His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears;
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!                 And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens;               And as he tun'd his doleful sang,
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes,                                 ~stor'd;~~,To echo bore the notes alang.
stor'd;
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,                                Ir.
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord.               " Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their             The reliques of the vernal quire!
worth,                                        Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?             The honours of the aged year 
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,    A few short months, and glad and gay,
And not a muse in honest grief bew?                  Again ye'll charm  te ear and e'e;
But nocht in all revolving time
We saw thee shine in youth and beauty s pride,           Can gladness bring again to me.
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the
I V.
spheres;
spheres; ~,',1'.'3          "I am a bending aged tree,
But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide,                                     
That long has stood the wind and rain;
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.               
But now has come a cruel blast,
The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,           And my last hold of earth is gane:
That heart how  sunk, a prey to grief and           Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring,
care;                                            Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom;
So leck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree;           But I maun lie before the storm,
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.        And ithers plant them in my room.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             179
v.                            The mother may forget the child
I've seen sae mony changefu' years,                That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
On earth I am a stranger grown;                 But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
I wander in the ways of men,                        And a' that thou hast done for me 1"
Alike unknowing and unknown:
Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved,
I bear alane my lade o' care,
For silent, low, on beds of dust,
Lie a' that would my sorrows share.
CXXV.
VI.                                            L I N E S
"And last (the sum of a' my griefs!)
My noble master lies in clay;                                     SENT TO
The flow'r amang our barons bold,                SIR  JOHN  WHITEFOORD, BART.,
His country's pride! his country's stay —                   F WHITEFOO  D.
In weary being now I pine,                              WITHTHEFOREOINGPOEM.
For a' the life of life is dead,
And hope has left my aged ken,                    [Sir John Whitefoord, a name of old standing in
On forard wng for ever fled.      Ayrshire, inherited the love of his family for literature,
On forward wing for ever fed.     and interested himself early in the fame and fortunes of
Burns.]
VII.
"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp!             THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,
The voice of woe and wild despair;            Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly
Awake! resound thy latest lay-                         fear'st,
Then sleep in silence evermair! iTo thee this votive offering I impart,
Then sleep in silence evermair!!
The tearful tribute of a broken heart.
And thou, my last, best, only friend,
That finest an  untimely tomb,               The friend thou valuedst, I, the patron,!ov'd;
Accept this tribute from the bard  [gloom.    His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd,
Though brought from fortune's mirkest         We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,
And tread the dreary path to that dark world
viii.                               unknown.
"In poverty's low barren vale
Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round;
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye,
Nae ray of fame was to be found:
Thou found'st me, like the morning sun,
That melts the fogs in limpid air,
The friendless bard and rustic song                               ADDRESS
Became alike thy fostering care.
TO
IX.                              THE SHADE OF THOMSON,
" 0! why has worth so short a date?              ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM WITH BAYS.
While villains ripen gray with time;
[" Lord Buchan has the pleasure to invite Mr. Burns
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great,         to make one at the coronation of the bust of Thomson,
Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime!          on Ednam Hill, on the 22d of Septemter: for which day
Why did I live to see that day?                perhaps his muse may inspire an ode suited to the occaA day to me so full of woe  sion. Suppose Mr. Burns should, leaving the Nith, go
A day to me so full of woe!-   
across the country, and meet the Tweed at the nearest
had I met the mortal shaft         point from his farm, and, wandering along the pastoral
Which laid my benefactor low.                 banks of Thomson's pure parent stream, catch inspiration
in the devious walk, till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on
X.                         the ruins of Dryburgh. There the Commendator will
"The bridegroom may forget the bride            give him a hearty welcome, and try to light his lamp at
Was made his wedded wife yestreen  the pure flame of native genius, upon the altar of CaleWas made his wedded wife yestreen;               P
donian virtue." Such was the invitation of the Earl of
The monarch may forget the crobwn              sBuchlan to Burns. To request the poet to lay down his
That on his head an hour has been;           sickle when his harvest was half reaped, and traverse




180                          THE POETICAL WORKS
one of the wildest and most untrodden ways in Scotland,  This wish was expressed in prose, and was in due time
for the purpose of looking at the fantastic coronation of  attended to, for Fintray was a gentleman at once kind
the bad bust of an excellent poet, was worthy of Lord  and considerate.]
Buchan. The poor hard made answer, that a week's
absence in the middle of his harvest was a step he durst  LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg,
not venture upon-but he sent this Poem.           About to beg a pass for leave to beg:
The poet's manuscript affords the following interesting  Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest,
variations:-                                      (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;)
" While cold-eyed Spring, a virgin oy,       Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail?
Unfolds her verdant mantle sweet,
Or pranks the sod in frolic joy,             (It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,)
A carpet for her youthful feet:            And hear him curse the light he first survey'd,
Wlhile Summer, with a matron's grace,      And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade?
Walks stately in the cooling shade,
And oft delighted loves to trace             Thou, Nature, partial Nature! I arraign;
The progress of the spiky blade:           Of thy caprice maternal I complain:
i" While Autumn, benefactor kind,            The lion and the bull thy care have found,
With age's hoary honours clad,             One shakes the forests, and one spurns the
Surveys, with self-approving mind,                  ground:
Each creature on his bounty fed." 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell,
WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood,           Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell;
Unfolds her tender mantle green,             Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour,
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood,               In all th' omnipotence of rule and power;
Or tunes _Eolian strains between:             Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles insure;
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure;
WVhile Summer, with a matron grace,             Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug,
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade,         The priest and hedgehog in their robes are
Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace                     snug;
The progress of the spiky blade:             E'n silly woman has her warlike arts,
While Autumn, benefactor kind,                 Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and
While Autumn, benefactor kind,
darts; —
By Tweed erects his aged head,                             
By Twee, d erects his aged hea d,             But, oh! thou bitter stepmother and hard,
And sees, with self-approving mind,
Ean   see, wthr self-appovng mid:,          To thy poor fenceless, naked child-the Bard!
Each creature on his bounty fed:
A thing unteachable in world's skill,
While maniac Winter rages o'er                  And half an idiot too, more helpless still;
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,       No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun;
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,              No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun;
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows:         No horns, but those byluckless Hymen worn,
And those, alas! not Amalthea's horn:
So long, sweet Poet of the year!               No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur,
Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won;  Clad in rich dullness' comfortable fur;While Scotia, with exulting tear,               In naked feeling, and in aching pride,
Proclaims that Thomson was her son.           He bears the unbroken blast from every side.
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart,
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart.
Critics!-appall'd I venture on the name,
CXXVII.                        Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame.
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes!
TO                         He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose.
ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ.,
OF FF I N TRAY.                   His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung,
By blockheads' daring into madness stung;
By this Poem Burns prepared the way for his humble  His wellwon bays, than life itself more dear,
request to be removed to a district more moderate in its 
bounds than one which extended over ten country  By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must
parishes, and exposed him both to fatigue and expense.   wear:
1_________________________________________               ________________________.___ _.____.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                181
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in the unequal strife,                     CXXVIII.
The hapless poet flounders on through life;
Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd,                            T 
And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd,           ROBERT  GRAHAM, ESQ.,
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age,
OF FINTRAY.
Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page,
ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR.
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's               ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR.
rage!                                         [Graham of Fintray not only obtained for the poet the
appointment in the Excise, which, while he lived in
So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd,  Edinburgh, he desired, but he also removed him; as he
ForX, snarling  a.y feX  s:    wished, to a better district; and when imputations were
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast:    
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feas thrown out against his loyalty, he defended him with
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone,          obstinate and successful eloquence. Fintray did all that
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son.        was done to raise Burns out of the toiling humility of his
condition, and enable him to serve the muse without fear
O dullness! portion of the truly blest!           of want.]
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest!              I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains,
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes    A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns;
Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams.         Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns,
If mantling high she fills the golden cup,          And all the tribute of my heart returns,
With sober selfish ease they sip it up;            For boons accorded, goodness ever new,
Conscious the bounteous meed they well de-  The gift still dearer, as the giver, you.
serve,
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve.   Thou orb of day! thou other paler light!
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog,    And all ye many sparkling stars of night;
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog.         If aught that giver from my mind efface;
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope,    If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace;
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope,  Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres,
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear,           Only to number out a villain's years!
And just conclude that "fools are fortune's
care."
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks,
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox.
Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train,                                   CXXIX.
Not such the workings of their moon-struck                           A  VISION.
brain;
In equanimity they never dwell,                      [This Vision of Liberty descended on Burns among the
By turns in soaring heav'n or vaulted hell          magnificent ruins of the College of Lincluden, which
stand on the junction of the Cluden and the Nith, a short
I dread thee, fate, relentless and severe,          mile above Dumfries. He gave us the Vision; perhaps,
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear!        he dared not in those yeasty times venture on the song,
Already one strong hold of hope is lost,            which his secret visitant poured from her lips. The
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust;           scene is chiefly copied from nature: the swellings of the
Nith, the howlings of the fox on the hill, and the cry of
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears,  
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears,      the owl, unite at times with the natural beauty of the
And left us darkling in a world of tears:)          spot, and give it life and voice. These ruins were a! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r!-    favourite haunt of the poet.]
Fintray, my other stay, long bless and spare!         As I stood by you roofless tower,
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown;           Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air,
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down!        Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower
May bliss domestic smooth his private path;             And tells the midnight moon her care;
Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath,
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death!    The winds were laid, the air was still,.
The stars they shot along the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant echoing glens reply.




182                            THE POETICAL WORKS
The stream, adown its hazelly path,                piercing remarks in which he indulged. He was sevenWas rushing by the ruin'd wa's,                  ty-one years old when these verses were written, and
survived the poet twenty years.]
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,l
Whose distant roaring swells and fa's.             HEARTH to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief!
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief:
The cauld blue north was streaming forth              Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din;                                       This natal morn;
Athort the lift they start and shift,                 I see thy life is stuff o' prief,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.                                     Scarce quite half worn
By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
1   By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,            This day thou metes three score eleven,
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see                 And I can tell that bounteous  eaven
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,                    (The second sight, ye ken, is given
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.2To i  
To ilka Poet)
On thee a tack o' seven times seven
Had I a statue been o' stane,                                               Wl yt b           
His darin' look had daunted me;                                          W   
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain,
The sacrd p -          If envious buckles view wi' sorrow
The sacred posy-' Libertie!'
Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow,
And frae his harp sic strains did flow,               May desolation's lang teeth'd harrow,
Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear;                                Nine miles an hour,
But, oh! it was a tale of woe,                        Rake them like Sodom and Gomorrah,
As ever met a Briton's ear.                                              In brunstane stoureHe sang wi' joy the former day,                       But for thy friends, and they are mony,
He weeping wail'd his latter times;                Baith honest men and lasses bonnie,
But what he said it was nae play,-                    May couthie fortune, kind and cannie,
I winna ventur't in my rhymes.                                            In social glee,
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny
Bless them and thee!
Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye,
CrXXX.                            And then the Deil he daur na steer ye;
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye;
T o                                                   For me, shame fa' me,
JOHN  MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTY,                         If neist my heart I dinna wear ye
While BURNS they ca' me I
ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.
Dumfries, 18 Feb. 1792.
[John Maxwell of Terraughty and Munshes, to whom 
these verses are addressed, though descended from the
Earls of Nithsdale, cared little about lineage, and claimed merit only from a judgment sound and clear-a knowledge of business which penetrated into all the concerns
of life, and a skill in handling the most difficult subjects,
which was considered unrivalled.  Under an austere                         CXXXT.
manner, he hid much kindness of heart, and was in a
fair way of doing an act of gentleness when giving a re-    THE  RIGHTS  OF  WOMAN.
fusal. He loved to meet Burns: not that he either cared
for or comprehended poetry; but he was pleased with  AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE
his knowledge of human nature, and with the keen and                ON HER BENEFIT NIGIT,
_Nov. 26, 1792.
VARIATIONS.
I To join yon river on the Strath.              [Miss Fontenelle was one of the actresses whom Williamson, the manager, brought for several seasons to
2 Now looking over firth and fauld,           Dumfries: she was young and pretty, indulged in little
Her horn the pale-fac'd Cynthia rear'd;     levities of speech, and rumouradded, perhaps maliciously,
When, lo, in form of minstrel auld,           levities of action. The Righlts of Aln had been advoA stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd.       cated by Paine. the Rights of Womann by Mary Wol



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                183
stonecroft, and nought was talked of, but the moral and
political regeneration of the world. The line                           CXXXII.
" But truce with kings and truce with constitutions,                MO N O D Y
got an uncivil twist in recitation, from some of the audience. The wordswere eagerly caught up, and had some         ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE.
hisses bestowed on them.]                             [The heroine of this rough lampoon was Mrs. Riddel
of Woodleigh Park: a lady young and gay, much of a
WHILE Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,    wit, and something of a poetess, and till the hour of his
The fate of empires and the fall of kings;          death the friend of Burns himself. She pulled his disWhile quacks of state must each produce his  pleasure on her, it is said, by smiling more sweetly than
^~~~~~plan,  ~he liked on some "'epauletted coxcombs," for so he
plan, even chidrelspheigsometimes designated commissioned officers: the lady
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;           soon laughed him out of his mood. We owe to her pen
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,          an account of her last interview with the poet, written
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.           with great beauty and feeling.]
How cold is that bosom which folly once fired,
First on the sexes' intermix'd connexion,             How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately
One sacred Right of Woman is protection.                   glisten'd!
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate,       How  silent that tongue which the echoes oft
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate,             tired
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form,           How dull is that ear which to flattery so lis
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm.              ten'd i
Our second Right-but needless here is caution,  If sorrow and anguish their exit await,
To keep that right inviolate's the fashion,           From  friendship  and dearest affection reEach man of sense has it so full before him,               mov'd;
He'd die before he'd wrong it —'tis decorum.-    How doubly severer, Maria, thy fate,
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days,         Thou diest unwept as thou livedst unlov'd
A  time, when rough, rude man had naughty
ways;                                        Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you;
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot,    So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear:
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet.               But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true,
And flowers let us cull for Maria's cold bier.
Now, thank our stars! these Gothic times are fled;
Now, well-bred men-and you  are all well-  We'll search through the garden for each silly
bred-                                               flower,
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers)    We'll roam  through the forest for each idle
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners.             weed;
But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower,
For Right the third, our last, our best, our          For none e'er approach'd her but rued the
dearest,                                            rash deed.
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest,.^.^,~ We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostrationlay;
Most humbly own-'tis dear, dear admiration!           Here Vanity str s on her idiot lyre;
In that blest sphere alone we live and move;               keen indignation shall dart on her prey,
There taste that life of life-immortal love.-         Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs,    his ire.'Gainst such an host what flinty savage daresWhen awful Beauty joins with all her charms,
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms?                            THE  EPITAPH.
But truce with kings and truce with constitutions,  Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
With bloody armaments and revolutions,                What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam:
Let majesty your first attention summon,            Want only of wisdom denied her respect,
Ah! ga ira! THE MAJESTY OF WOMAN!                   Want only of goodness denied her esteem




184                          THE POETICAL WORKS
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred,
Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head;
EPISTLE                         Comes,'mid a string of coxcombs to display
That veni, vidi, vici, is his way;
FROM
The shrinking bard adown the alley skulks,
ESOPUS  TO  MARIA.                      And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich
[Williamson, the actor, Colonel Macdouall, Captain     hulks;
Gillespie, and Mrs. Riddel, are the characters which pass  Though there, his heresies in church and state
over the stage in this strange composition: it is printed  Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate:
from the Poet's own manuscript, and seems a sort of  Still she undaunted reels and rattles on
outpouring of wrath and contempt, on persons who, in his                                s
eyes, gave themselves airs beyond their condition, or                   like a noontide sun.
their merits. The verse of the lady is held up to con-  (What scandal call'd Maria's janty stagger
tempt and laughter: the satirist celebrates her   The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger,
" Motley foundling fancies, stolen or strayed;"  Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns' venom when
and has a passing hit at her                      He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen," Still matchless tongue that conquers all reply."]   And pours his vengeance in the burning line,
Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre divine;
FROM those drear solitudes and frowsy cells,        h.
The idiot strum of vanity bemused,
Where infamy with sad repentance dwells;
And even th' abuse of poesy abused!
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast,                    
And deal from iron has te s e r;     Who call'd her verse, a parish workhouse made
And deal from iron hands the spare repast;
Where truant'prentices, yet yon,     For motley foundling fancies, stolen or stray'd?)
Where truant'prentices, yet young in sin,
Blush at the curious stranger peeping in;         A workhouse! ah, that sound awakes my woes,
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar,    And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose!
Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore, no more;  In durance vile here must I wake and weep,
Where tiny thieves not destin'd yet to swing,     And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep;
Beat hemp for others, riper for the string:       That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore,
From these dire scenes my wretched lines I date,  And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore.
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate.
Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants
" Alas! I feel I am no actor here!"                    pour'Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear!            Must earth no rascal save thyself endure?
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale                 Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell,
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale;          And make a vast monopoly of hell?
Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy polled,  Thou know'st, the virtues cannot hate thee worse,
By barber woven, and by barber sold,              The vices also, must they club their curse?
Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care,  Or must no tiny sin to others fall,
Like hoary bristles to erect and stare.           Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all?
The hero of the mimic scene, no more
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar;               Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares;
Or haughty Chieftain,'mid the din of arms,       In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares.
In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms;          As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls,
While sans culottes stoop up the mountain high,  Who on my fair one satire's vengeance hurls?
And steal from me Maria's prying eye.             Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette,
Blest Highland bonnet!  Once my proudest  A wit in folly, and a fool in wit?
dress,                                     Who says, that fool alone is not thy due,
Now prouder still, Maria's temples press.         And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true?
I see her wave thy towering plumes afar,          Our force united on thy foes we'll turn,
And call each coxcomb to the wordy war.           And dare the war with all of woman born:
I see her face the first of Ireland's sons,l      For who can write and speak as thou and I?
And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze;          My periods that deciphering defy,
The crafty colonel2 leaves the tartan'd lines,    And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all
For other wars, where he a hero shines;                  reply.
I Captain Gillespie.                               2 Col. Macdouall.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                18,
CXXXIV.                           Thou paints auld nature to the nines,
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;
P O E M                           Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,
ON PASTORAL POETRY.                                                 Where Philomel,
While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
[Though Gilbert Burns says there is some doubt of                        Her  ie  will tell 
this Poem being by his brother, and though Robert Cham-                                 wi 
bers declares that he " has scarcely a doubt that it is not
bf the Ayrshire Bard," I must print it as his, for I have    In gowany glens thy burie strays,
no doubt on the subject. It was found among the papers    Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes;
of the poet, in his own handwriting: the second, the  Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,
fourth, and the concluding verses bear the Burns' stamp,                    Wi' hawthorns gray,
which no one has been successful in counterfeiting:                       
they resemble the verses of Beattie, to which Chambers  Where blackbirds jo  the shepherd's lays
has compared them, as little as the cry of the eagle re-                   At close o' day.
eembles the chirp of the wren.]
Thy rural loves are nature's sel';
HAIL Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd!
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell;
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd           Na      s      nap  onet  s bt tt s t ell
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd' witchin' love'Mang heaps o' clavers;'     That charm that can the strongest quell,
And och! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'dThe sternest move.
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;                            CXXXV.
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang
But wi' miscarriage?                           S ON NE T,
WRITTEN ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF JANUARY, 1793,
In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives;DAY OF THE AUTHOR  ON HEARING 
THE BIRTHDAY OF THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives;                     THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK.
Wee Pope, the knurlin,'till him rives
Wee Pope, tie knurlin,'till him rives     [Burns was fond of a saunter in a leafless wood, when
Horatian fame;              the winter storm howled among the branches. These
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives            characteristic lines were composed on the morning of his
Even Sappho's flame.        birthday, with the Nith at his feet, and the ruins of
Lincluden at his side: he is willing to accept the unBut thee, Theocritus, wha matches?      looked-for song of the thrush as a fortunate omen.]
But thee, Theocritus, wha matches??
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches;       SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches          Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain:
0' heathen tatters;           See, aged Winter,'mid his surly reign,
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches,            At thy blythe carol clears his furrow'd brow.
That ape their betters.
So, in lone Poverty's dominion drear,
In this braw age o' wit and lear,                   Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart,
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair               Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,
Blaw sweetly in its native air                   Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear.
And rural grace;
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share              I thank Thee, Author of this opening day!
A rival place?                Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient
skies!
Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan-              Riches denied, Thy boon was purer joys,
There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan!          What wealth could never give nor take away.
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan,
A chiel sae clever;         Yet come, thou child of poverty and care,
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan,            The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that mite with
But thou's for ever!               thee I'll share.




186                           THE POETICAL WORKS
CXXXVI.                           What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe?
S O N N E T,                        My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
ON THE                           Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow;
DEATH  OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ.    My dismal months no joys are crowning,
O F   L E NRIDDEL,                     But spleeny English, hanging, drowning.
APRIL, 1794.
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil,
[The' death of Glencairn, who was his patron, and the  To counterbalance all this evil 
death of Glenriddel, who was his friend, and had, while 
he lived at Ellis:and, been his neighbour, weighed hard  ve me, an  I've no more to say,
on the mind of Burns, who, about this time, began to  Give me Maria's natal day!
regard his own future fortune with more of dismay than  That brilliant gift shall so enrich me,
of hope. Riddel united antiquarian pursuitswith those of  Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me;
literature, and experienced all the vulgar prejudices en-.,.,  i. ii-'Tis done! says Jove; so ends my story,
tertained by the peasantry against those who indulge in           s     J                  
such researches. His collection of what the rustics of    And Winter once rejoic'd in glory.
the vale called "queer quairns and swine-troughs," is
now scattered or neglected: I have heard a competent
judge say, that they threw light on both the public and
domestic history of Scotland.]
No more, ye warblers of the wood-no more!
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul;                         CXXXVIII.
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant                         LI B E RT Y.
stole,
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest                       A FRAGMENT.
roar.                                          [Fragments of verse were numerous, Dr. Currie said,
among the loose papers of the poet. These lines formed
How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes?  the commencement of an ode commemorating the achieveYe blow upon the sod that wraps my friend:   ment of liberty for America, under the directing genius
of Washington and Franklin.]
How can I to the tuneful strain attend?            
That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where  THEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among,
Riddel lies.                                 Thee, fam'd for martial deed and sacred song,
To thee I turn with swimming eyes;
Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe!   Where is that soul of freedom fled?
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier:  Immingled with the mighty dead!
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer,    Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lles!
Is in his "narrow house" for ever darkly low.   Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death!
Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep;
Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet,                    e the h       sleep
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet.e the                                  e      e
Nor give the coward secret breath.
Is this the power in freedom's war,
That wont to bid the battle rage?
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate,
Crushing the despot's proudest bearing!
CXXXVII.
IMPROMPTU,
0N MRS. R'S BIRTHDAY.
[By compliments such as these lines contain, Burns                    CXXXIX.
soothed the smart which his verses " On a lady famed
for her caprice" inflicted on the accomplished Mrs.                     VERSES
Riddel.]                                                      TO  A  YOUNG  LADY.
OLD Winter, with his frosty beard,               [This young lady was the daughter of the poet a
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd,-   friend, Graham of Fintray; and the gift allu.ced to was a




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             187
copy of George Thomson's Select Scottish Songs: a  And next the title following close behind,
work which owes many attractions to the lyric genius of  He to t  nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd.
Burns.]
HERE, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,   The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded Y!
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd,  In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply:
Accept the gift; —tho' humble he who gives,       The pedant swung his felon cudgel round,
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.       And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground!
So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast,          In rueful apprehension enter'd 0,
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among;          The wailing minstrel of despairing woe;
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,         Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song.          Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art;
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U,
Or pity's notes in luxury of tears,               His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew!
As modest want the tale of woe reveals;
While conscious virtue all the strain endears,    As trembling U stood staring all aghast,
And heaven-born piety her sanction seals.       The pedant in his left hand clutched him fast,
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right,
Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight.
CXL.
THE VOWELS.
CXLI.
A TALE.
VERSES
[Burns admired genius adorned by learning; but mere
learning without genius he always regarded as pedantry.    T    JOHN     A N K I N E.
Those critics who scrupled too much about words he                   r                           
[With the "rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine," of
called eunuchs of literature, and to one, who taxed him   Adam-hill in Ayrshire Burns kept up a will  pi
with writing obscure language in questionable grammar  A                   Ayr e,   et      a  il  i
C~~~~~                    X2~~ ~sort of a correspondence in rhyme, till the day of his
he said, " Thou art but a Gretna-green match-maker be-  death: te,   hi  ths   on 
tween vowelsandconsonantsdeath: these communications, of which this is one, were
tween vowels and consonants!"]
sometimes graceless, but always witty. It is supposed'TWAS where the birch and sounding thong are  that these lines were suggested by Falstaff's account
ply'd,                                     of his ragged recruits:The  noisy domicile of pedant pride;       "I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's
The noisy domicile of pedant pride;               "'
Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws,
And cruelty directs the thickening blows;           AE day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Upon a time, Sir Abece the great,                   Was driving to the tither warl'
In all his pedagogic powers elate,                  A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
His awful chair of state resolves to mount,         And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
And call the trembling vowels to account.-          Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,
First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight,      From him that wears the star and garter,
But, ah! deform'd, dishonest to the sight!          To him that wintles in a halter:
His twisted head look'd backward on the way,        Asham'd himsel' to see the wretches,
And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, ai!       He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches,
"By G-d, I'll not be seen behint them,
Reluctant, E stalk'd in; with piteous race          Nor'mang the sp'ritual core present them,
The justling tears ran down his honest face!        Without, at least, ae honest man,
That name! that well-worn name, and all his    To grace this d-d infernal clan."
own,                                         By Adamhill a glance he threw,
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne!         "L-d G-d!" quoth he, "I have it now,
The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound             There's just the man I want, i' faith!"
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound;        And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath.




188                           THE POETICAL WORKS
CXLII.                           Mine was th' insensate frenzied part,
Ah, why should I such scenes outlive
ON  SENSIBILIT Y.                          Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!
TO'Tis thine to pity and forgive.
MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP,
OF DUNLOP.
[These verses were occasioned, it is said, by some
sentiments contained in a communication from Mrs. Dunlop. That excellent lady was sorely tried with domestic
afflictions for a time, and to these he appears to allude;
but he deadened the effect of his sympathy, when he
printed the stanzas in the Museum, changing the fourth                 D D R E S
line to,
"Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell!"         SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER B1NsiFIT
and so transferring the whole to another heroine.]                        NIGHT.
SENSIBILITY how charming,                        [This address was spoken by Miss Fontenelle, at the
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell:           Dumfries theatre, on the 4th of December, 1795.]
But distress with horrors arming,              STILL anxious to secure your partial favour,
Thou hast also known too well.               And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever,
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,
Fairest flower, behold the lily,
Fairest flower, behold the lily,'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better;
Blooming in the sunny ray:                   So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies,
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley,           Told him I came to feast my curious eyes;
See it prostrate on the clay.                Said nothing like his works was ever printed;
Hear the wood-lark charm the forest,           And last, my Prologue-business slyly hinted!
KTelling o'er his little joys:'l"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of
Telling o'er his little joys:
Hapless bird! a prey the surest,                      rh     s,
To each pirate of the skies  I know  your bent-these are no laughing
To each pirate of the skies.                         vms
times:
Dearly bought, the hidden treasure,            Can you-but, Miss, I own I have my fears,
Finer feeling can bestow;                    Dissolve in pause-and sentimental tears;
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,         With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence,
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.             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
CXLIII.                               land?"
L I N E S,                    I could no more-askance the creature eyeing,
SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM  HE HAD               D'ye think, said I, this face was made for cryOFFENDED.                              ing?
[The too hospitable board of Mrs. Riddel occasioned  I'll laugh, that's poz-nay more, the world shall
these repentant strains: they were accepted as they        know it;
were meant by the party. The poet had, it seems, not  And so your servant! gloomy Master Poet!
only spoke of mere titles and rank with disrespect, but  Firm  as my creed Sirs'tis my fix'd belief,
had allowed his tongue unbridled license of speech, on
the claim of political importance, and domestic equality,  That Misery's another word for Grief;
which Mary Wolstonecroft and her followers patron-  I also think-so may I be a bride!
ize'd, at which Mrs. Riddel affected to be grievously of-  That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd.
fended.]
THE friend whom wild from wisdom's way,          Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh,
The fumes of wine infuriate send;              Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye;
(Not moony madness more astray;)                 Doom'd to that sorest task of man aliveWho but deplores that hapless friend?         To make three guineas do the work of five:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             189
Laugh in Misfortune's face-the beldam witch!    Nor with unwilling ear attend
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich.          The moralizing muse.
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love,         Since thou in all thy youth and charms,
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove;       Must bid the world adieu,
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,           (A world'gainst peace in constant arms)
Measur'st in desperate thought-a rope-thy              To join the friendly few.
neckOr, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep,    Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Peerest to meditate the healing leap:                  Chill came the tempest's lower;
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf?     (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Laugh at their follies-laugh e'en at thyself:          Did nip a fairer flower.)
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific,
And love a kinder-that's your grand specific.       Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Still much is left behind;
To sum up all, be merry, I advise;                   Still nobler wealth hast thou in store
And as we're merry, may we still be wise.              The comforts of the mind!
Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part;
CXLV.                           And, dearest gift of heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.
ON
SEEING  MISS FONTENELLE                           The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove:
IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER.                   With every muse to rove:
And doubly were the poet blest,
[The good looks and the natural acting of Miss Fon-  These joys could he improve.
tenelle pleased others as well as Burns. I know not to
what character in the range of her personations he
alludes: she was a favourite on the Dumfries boards.]
SWEET naivet6 of feature,
Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to nature,                               CXLVII.
Thou art acting but thyself.
POETICAL INSCRIPTION
Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected,                  FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE.
Spurning nature, torturing art;
Loves and graces all rejected,                 [It was the fashion of the feverish times of the French
e.in     a  Revolution to plant trees of Liberty, and raise altars to
Then indeed thou'dst act a part.           Independence. Heron of Kerroughtree, a gentleman
R. B.        widely esteemed in Galloway, was about to engage in
an election contest, and these noble lines served the purpose of announcing the candidate's sentiments on free.
dom.]
CXLVI.                            THOU of an independent mind,
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
T O  C H L ORIS.                        Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
[Chloris was a Nithsdale beauty. Love and sorrow     Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;
were strongly mingled in her early history: that she did  Virtue alone who dost revere,
not look so lovely in other eyes as she did in those of  Thy own reproach alone dost fear,
Burns is well known: but he had much of the taste of   Approach this shrine, and worship here.
an artist, and admired the elegance of her form, and the
harmony of her motion, as much as he did her blooming
face and sweet voice.]'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,




190                             THE POETICAL WORKS
V.
CXLVIII.
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
T H E  HERON  BA L L A D S.                        Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that;
[BALLAD FIRST.]                          But we'll hae ane frae'mang oursels,
A man we ken, an' a' that.
[This is the first of several party ballads which Burns                           
wrote to serve Patrick Heron, of Kerroughtree, in two             F    a t             
elections for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, in which            Here's Heron yet for a' that!
he was opposed, first, by Gordon of Balmaghie, and                For we're not to be bought an' sold
secondly, by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart. There is a              Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that.
personal bitterness in these lampoons, which did not
mingle with the strains in which the poet recorded the.
contest between Miller and Johnstone. They are printed
here as matters of poetry, and I feel sure that none will    Then let us drink the Stewartry,
be displeased, and some will smile.]                       Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that.
WHOM will you send to London town,                                                a' th
"s~~~ ~For a' that, an' a' that,
To Parliament and a' that?, 
Here's IIeron yet for a' that.
Or wha in -a' the country round                                  H         o                
A House of Commons such as he,
The best deserves to fa' that?
They would be blest that saw that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Thro Galloway and a' that;
Where is the laird or belted knight
That best deserves to fa' that?
II.                                                CXLIX.
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
And wha is't never saw that?
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree meets                                   [BALLAD  SECOND.]
And has a doubt of a' that?
h    a d   o  a  [In this ballad the poet gathers together, after the
For a' that, and a' that,                 manner of " Fy! let us a' to the bridal," all the leading
Here's Heron yet for a' that,             electors of the Stewartry, who befriended' Heron, or
The independent patriot,                  opposed him; and draws their portraits in the colours of
The honest man, a' a' t.            light or darkness, according to the complexion of their
The honest man, an' a' that.                     D 
politics. He is too severe in most instances, and in some
he is venomous. On the Earl of Galloway's family, and
I I.                          on the Murrays of Broughton and Caillie, as well as on
Th' wit and worth in either sex,             Bushby of Tinwaldowns, he pours his hottest satire.
But words which are unjust, or undeserved, fall off their
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that;                   victims like rain-drops frorn a wild-duck's wing. The
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix,               Murrays of Broughton and Caillie have long bornie, from
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.                  the vulgar, the stigma of treachery to the cause of Prince
For a' that, and a' that,                 Charles Stewart: from such infamy the family is wholly
free: the traitor, Murray, was of a race now extinct;
Here's Heron yet for a' that!            yand while he was betraying the cause in which so much
The independent commoner                  noble and gallant blood was shed, Murray of Broughton
Shall be the man for a' that.             and Caillie was performing the duties of an honourable
and loyal man: he was, like his great-grandson now,
representing his native district in parliament.]
IV.
But why should we to nobles jouk,                                 THE  ELECTION.
And it's against the law that;                                            I
For why, a lord may be a gouk,                        FY let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
~i' ribbon, star, an' a' that.,For there will be bickerin' there;
For a' that, an' a' that,
For a' that, an' a' that,                For Murray's' light horse are to muster,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!  v
Here's H           ~.eron yet for a' that     And 0, how the heroes will swear!
A lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.                     1 Murray, of Broughton and Caillie.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              191
An' there will be Murray commander,               An' there will be Buittle's8 apostle,
And Gordon' the battle to win;                    Wha's more o' the black than the blue;
Like brothers they'll stand by each other,        An' there will be folk from St. Mary's,9
Sae knit in alliance an' kin.                     A house o' great merit and note,
The deil ane but honours them highly,II.                             The deil ane will gie them his vote!
An' there will be black-lippit Johnnie,2
The tongue o' the trump to them a';                                VII.
And he get na hell for his haddin'                An' there will be wealthy young Richard,]C
The deil gets na justice ava';                    Dame Fortune should hing by the neck;
And there will Kempleton's birkie,For prodigal, thriftless, estoing,
A boy no sae black at the bane,                   His merit had won hi  respect:
His merit had won him respect:
But, as for his fine nabob fortune,
But, as for his fine nabob fortune,              An' there will be rich brother nabobs,
We'll e'en let the subject alane.
We'll e'en let the subject alane.            Tho' nabobs, yet men of the first,
An' there will be Collieston's" whiskers,
An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff,             An     intin, o' lads not the worst.
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped,
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby,                                  VIII.
But, Lord, what's become o' the head?           An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie,12
An' there will be Cardoness,3 Esquire,              Tak' tent how ye purchase a dram;
Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes;                  An' there will be gay Cassencarrie,
A wight that will weather damnation,                An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam;
For the devil the prey will despise.            An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree,13
Whose honour was ever his law,
IV.                           If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel,
An' there will be Douglasses4 doughty,              His worth might be sample for a'.
New christ'ning towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,                                        Ix.
By kissing the -  o' a peer;                    An' can we forget the auld major,
An' there will be Kenmure5 sae gen'rous,Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys,
Whose honour is proof to the storm,             Our fiatt'ry we'll keep for some other,
To save them from stark reprobation,                Him only'tis justice to praise.
He lent them his name to the firm.              An' there will be maiden Kilkerran
And also Barskimming's gude knight,
But we winna mention Redcastle,              An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle,
But we winna mention Redcastle6,
The body, e'en let him escape!                    Wha luckily roars in the right.
The body, e'en let him escape!                               v
He'd venture the gallows for siller,
An''twere na the cost o' the rape.                                  x.
An' where is our king's lord lieutenant,          An' there, frae the Niddisdale borders,
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return?                Will mingle the Maxwells in droves;
The billie is gettin' his questions,              Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie,
To say in St. Stephen's the morn.                 That griens for the fishes an' loaves;
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall,'4
vI.                             Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there,
An' there will be lads o' the gospel,             An' also the wild Scot of Galloway,
Muirhead,7 wha's as gude as he's true;            Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair.
I Gordon of Balmaghie.                                  8 The Minister of Buittle.
2 Bushly, of Tinwald-downs.                             9 Earl of Selkirk's family.
3 Maxwell, of Cardoness.                               io Oswald, of Aiuhuneruive.
4 The Douglasses, of Orcllardtown and Castle-Douglas.  1I Copland, of Collieston 1and Blackwood.
5 Gordon, afterwards Viscount Kenmore.                 12 John Synle, of the Stamp-office.
6 Laurie, of Redcastle.                                 13 Heron, of Kerroughtree.
7 Morohead, Minister of Urr                            14 Colonel Mlacdouall, of Logan.




192                          THE POETICAL WORKS
xI.                               Here's an honest conscience
Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton,              Might a prince adorn;
An' hey for the blessings'twill bring?            Frae the downs o' Tinwald-3
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,                   So was never worn.
In Sodom'twould make him a king;                              Buy brw troggin, &c.
An' hey for the sanctified M    y,Here's its stuff and lining,
Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd;                  Cardoness' head;
He founder'd his horse among harlots,                 Fine for a sodger
But gied the auld naig to the Lord.                   A' the wale o' lead.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
Here's a little wadset
Buittle's5 scrap o' truth,
Pawn'd in a gin-shop
CL.                                  Quenching holy drouth.
Buy braw troggin, &c.
THE HERON BALLADS.
[BALLAD THIRD.]                           Here's armorial bearings
Frae the manse o' Urr;6
[This third and last ballad was written on the contest   e    stan  a         cr
Detween Heron and Stewart, which followed close on      The crest, an auld crab-apple
that with Gordon. Heron carried the election, but was     Rotten at the core.
unseated by the decision of a Committee of the House               Buy braw troggin, &c.
of Commons: a decision which it is said he took so much
to heart that it affected his health, and shortened his  Here is Satan's picture,
^ife.]                                                    Like a bizzard gled,
AN EXCELLENT NEW  SON G.                          Pouncing poor Redcastle,7
Sprawlin' as a taed.
Tune.-" Buy broom besoms."                                       
Buy braw troggin, &c.
WHA will buy my troggin,
Fine election ware;                              Here's the worth and wisdom
Broken trade o' Broughton,                            Colliestons can boast;
A' in high repair.                               By a thievish midge
Buy braw troggin,                         They had been nearly lost.
Frae the banks o' Dee;                           Buy braw troggin, &c.
Wha wants troggin
Let him come to me.                   Here is Murray's fragments
0' the ten commands;
Gifted by black Jock9
There's a noble Earl's'                               ted by black Jo
To get them aff his hands.
Fame and high renown
Forame and hisangh renBuy braw troggin, &c.
For an auld sangIt's thought the gudes were stown.Saw ye eer sic troggin?
Buy braw troggin, &c.                     If to buy ye're slack,
Hornie's turnin' chapman,
Here's the worth o' Broughton2                        He'll buy a' the pack.
In a needle's ee;                                           Buy braw troggin,
Here's a reputation                                              Frae the banks o' Dee;
Tint by Balmaghie.                                          Wha wants troggin
Buy braw troggin, &c.                                Let him come to me.
I The Earl of Galloway.                          6 Morehead, of Urr.
2 Murray, of Broughton and Caillie.              7 Laurie, of Redcastle.
3 Bushby, of Tinwald-downs.                      8 Copland, of Collieston and Blackwood.
4 Maxwell, of Cardoness.                         9 John Bushby: of Tinwald-downs.
The Minister of Buittle.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                193
CLI.                                                CLII.
POEM,                                                   TO
ADDRESSED TO                               MISS  JESSY  LEWARS,
MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF EXCISE.                                  D U MFRIE S.
WITH JOHNSON'S'MUSICAL MUBIEUM.'
DUMFRIES, 1796.
[Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the declining days
[The gentleman to whom this very modest, and, under  of the poet, with the affectionate reverence of a daughthe circumstances, most affecting application for his  ter: for this she has the silent gratitude of all who adsalary was made, filled the office of Collector of Excise mire the genius of Burns; she has received more, the
for the district, and was of a kind and generous nature:  thanks ot the poet himself, expressed in verses not des.
but few were aware that the poet was suffering both  tined soon to die.]
from ill-health and poverty.]
THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal,                   And with them take the Poet's prayer;
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;                 That fate  ay in her fairest page,
Alake, alake, the meikle deil                         With every kindliest, best presage
Wi' a' his witches               Of future bliss, enrol thy name:
Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel,                     With native worth and spotless fame,
In my poor pouches!              And wakeful caution still aware
Of ill-but chief, man's felon snare;
I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,
I modesty  fu' fin  wadint  it,          All blameless joys on earth we find,
That one pound one, I sairly want it,                 And all the treasures of the mind
And all the treasures of the mindif wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,              These be thy guardian and reward;
It would be kind;
A   Iwe a t would be kind; -loSo prays thy faithful friend, The Bard.
And while my heart wi' life-blood duntedune 26 1796.
June 26, 1796.
I'd bear't in mind.
So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,                                   CLIII.
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin
To thee and thine;                        POEM ON  LIFE,
Domestic peace and comforts crowning                                ADDRESSED TO
The hale design.                   COLONEL  DE  PEYSTER.
DUMIFRIES, 1796.
[This is supposed to be the last Poem written by the
hand, or conceived by the muse of Burns. The person
to whom it is addressed was Colonel of the gentlemen
P O S T S C RI P T.                  Volunteers of Dumfries, in whose ranks Burns was a
private: he was a Canadian by birth, and prided himYE'VE heard this while how I've been licket,   self on having defended Detroit, against the united efforts
And by fell death was nearly nicket;              of the French and Americans. He was rough and austere, and thought the science of war the noblest of all sciGrim loon! he got me by the fecket, 
rim loon!  he  got me by the fecket,  ences: he affected a taste for literature, and wrote verues.
And sair me sheuk;
And sareheMY honoured colonel, deep I feel
But by guid luck I lap a wicket,                        honoured colonel, deep I feel
And turn'd a neuk.             Your interest in the Poet's weal;
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel
But by that health, I've got a share o't,                                The steep Parnassus,
And by that life, I'm promised mair o't,            Surrounded thus by bolus, pill,
My hale and weel I'll tak a care o't,                                    And potion glasses.
A tentier way:
S  M    f  ~A tentier way:'    0O what a canty warld were it,
Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,re i
Would pain and care and sickness spare it;
For ance and aye!
And fortune favour worth and merit,
As they deserve!
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret;
Syne, wha wad starve?)
13




194                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,      Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes bye,
And in paste gems and frippery deck her;        And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker            Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,
I've found her still,                           And hellish pleasure;
Ay wavering like the willow-wicker,             Already in thy fancy's eye,'Tween good and ill.                            Thy sicker treasure t
Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,         Soon heels-o'er gowdie! in he gangs,
Watches, like baudrons by a rattan,             And like a sheep head on a tangs,
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on               Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs
Wi' felon ire;                                  And murd'ring wrestle,
Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on-  As, dangling in the wind, he hangs
He's aff like fire.                             A gibbet's tassel.
Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair,                But lest you think I am uncivil,
First shewing us the tempting ware,             To plague you with this draunting drivel,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,            Abjuring a' intentions evil,
To put us daft;                                 I quat my pen:
Syne, weave, unseen, thy spider snare           The Lord preserve us frae the devil,
O' hell's damn'd waft.                          Amen! amen!
EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, FRAGMENTS,
ETC., ETC.
I.                                              III.
ON THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.                                    ON A FRIEND.
[William Burness merited his son's eulogiums: he   [The name of this friend is neither mentioned nor
was an example of piety, patience, and fortitude.]  alluded to in any of the poet's productions.]
0 YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains,         AN honest man here lies at rest
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend!      As e'er God with his image blest!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,       The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The tender father and the gen'rous friend.      The friend of age, and guide of youth;
The pitying heart that felt for human woe;        Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
The dauntless heart that feared no human    Few heads with knowledge so inform'd:
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe; [pride;    If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
"For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."    If there is none, he made the best of this.
II.                                             IV.
ON  R. A., ESQ.                          FOR  GAVIN  HAMILTON.
[These lines allude to the persecution which Hamilton
[Robert Aiken, Esq., to whom "The Cotter's Saturday  endured for presuming to ride on Sunday, and say,
Night" is addressed: a kind and generous man.]   "damn it," in the presence of the minister of Aauchline.]
KNOW thou, 0 stranger to the fame               TUE poor man weeps-here Gavin sleeps,
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!           Whom canting wretches blam'd:
(For none that knew him need be told)           But with such as he, where'er he be,
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.              May I be sav'd or damn'd!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                190
V.                                                 VIII.
ON WE E JOHN NY.                           ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.
HI C JA C E T W  E E J O H N N Y.            [Souter Hood obtained the distinction of this Epigram
by his impertinent inquiries into what he called the
[Wee Johnny was John Wilson, printer of the Kilmar.  moral delinquencies of Burns.]
sock edition of Burns's Poems: he doubted the success of
the speculation, and the poet punished him in these lines,    HERE souter Hood in death does sleep;which he printed unaware of their meaning.J              To h-11, if he's gane thither,
WHOE'ER thou art, 0 reader, know,                 Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
That death has murder'd Johnny!                   He'll baud it weel thegither.
An' here his body lies fu' lowFor saul he ne'er had ony.
IX.
y~VI.      ~ON A NOISY POLEMIC.
O N  JO H N  DOVE,                       [This noisy polemic was a masonof the name of James
Humphrey: he astonished Cromek by an eloquent disI N N K E E P E R, M A U C H L I N E.       sertation on free grace, effectual-calling, and predestina[John Dove kept the Whitefoord Arms in Mauchline:  tion.]
his religion is made to consist of a comparative appre-  BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes:
cration of the liquors he kept.]                           O Death, it's my opinion,
HERE lies Johnny Pidgeon;                         Thou ne'er took such a blethrin' b-ch
What was his religion?                              Into thy dark dominion!
Wha e'er desires to ken,
To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,
For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!
Strong ale was ablution-                                            X.
Small beer, persecution,                               N  MIS J                      T.
A dram was memento morn;
But a full flowing bowl                        [The heroine of these complimentary lines lived in
Was the saving his soul,                     Ayr, and cheered the poet with her sweet voice, as well
as her sweet looks.]
And port was celestial glory.
OH! had each Scot of ancient times,
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward!
VII.
ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.
[This laborious and useful wag was the "Dear Smith,
thou sleest pawkie thief," of one of the poet's finest
epistles: he died in the West Indies.]                                     XI.
LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',                 ON A HENPECKED  COUNTRY SQUIRE.
He aften did assist ye;
For had ye staid whole weeks awa,                  [Though satisfied with the severe satire of these line,
For- had' y ^  i  ^ /i  ~   i ~the poet made a second attempt.]
Your wives they ne'er had missed ye.           the poet made a second attempt.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press                     As father Adam first was fool'd,
To school in bands thegither,                           A case that's still too common,
0 tread ye lightly on his grass,-                       Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
Perhaps he was your father.                             The devil rul'd the woman.




1196                          THE POETICAL WORKS
Xii.                                             Xv.
ON THE SAME.                               ON WILLIAM SMELLIE.
[The second attempt did not in Burns's fancy exhaust   [Smellie, author of the Philosophy of History; a sinthis fruitful subject: he tried his hand again.]  gular person, of ready wit, and negligent in nothing save
his dress.]
O DEATH, hadst thou but spared his life,. 
0 DT  hadst thou but sp d hs,  SHREWD Willie Smellie to Crochallan came,
Whom we this day lament,
Whom we this day lam t,  The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same;
We freely wad exchang'd the wife,..   
We freely wad exchangd the w,    His bristling beard just rising in its might,
And a' been weel content!'Twas four long nights and days to shaving
Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff,                    night:
The swap we yet will do't;
The swap we yet will do't;      His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd
Take thou the carlin's carcase aff,
Take thou the carlin's carcase aff  A head for thought profound and clear, unThou'se get the soul to boot.                       match'd:
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.
XIII.
ON THE SAME.
XVI.
[In these lines he bade farewell to this sordid dame,
who lived, it is said, in Netherplace, near Mauchline.]             V E R S E S
ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,          WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well,   [These lines were written on receiving what the poet
In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd  considered an uncivil refusal to look at the works of the
her,                                       celebrated Carron foundry.]
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the          WE came na here to view your warks
powder.                                          In hopes to be mair wise,
But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent com-            But only, lest we gang to hell,
plexion,                                         It may be nae surprise:
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction,
Would have eat her dear lord, on a slender pre-       For whan we tirl'd at your door,
tence,                                           Your porter dought na hear us;
Not to show  her respect, but to save the ex-         Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come
pense.                                           Your billy Satan sair us!
XIV.                                             XVII.
THE HIGHLAND WELCOME.                                   THE BOOK-WORMS.
[Bu:ts took farewell of the hospitalities of the Scot    [Burns wrote this reproof in a Shakspeare, which he
tish Highlands in these happy lines.]            found splendidly bound and gilt, but unread and wormeaten, in a noble person's library.]
WHEN Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come;                 THROUGH and through the inspir'd leaves,
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more                   Ye maggots, make your windings;
Than just a Highland welcome.                  But oh! respect his lordship's taste,
And spare his golden bindings.
I _______________________________________________i-. —~___




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                 197
XVIII.                         trates of Edinburgh a liberal interpretation of the laws of
social morality, in behalf of his fair namesake.]
LIN E S ON S TI R LI N G.                     CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railings,
[On visiting Stirling, Burns was stung at beholding    Lovely Burns has charms-confess:
nothing but desolation in the palaces of our princes and  True it is she had one failingour halls of legislation, and vented his indignation in 
0~~~~~~,                           ~Had a woman ever less?
these unloyal lines: some one has said that they were
written by his companion, Nicol, but this wants confirmation.]
HERE Stuarts once in glory reign'd,
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd;                                  XXII.
But now unroof'd their palace stands,
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands;            EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION.
The injured Stuart line is gone,                    [lhese portraits are strongly coloured with the parA race outlandish fills their throne;             tialilies of the poet: Dundas had offended his pride,
An idiot race, to honour lost;                    Erskine had pleased his vanity; and as he felt he spoke.]
Who know them best despise them most.                             LORD ADVOCATE.
HE clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,'Till in a declamation-mist
~~~XIX*~. ~His argument he tint it:
T H E RE P R O.                     He gaped for't, he grap'd for't,
He fand it was awa, man;
[The imprudence of making the lines written at Stir-     H  f                  
ling public was hinted to Burns by a friend; he said, " Oh,  But what his common sense came short
but I mean to reprove myself for it," which he did in      He eked out wi' law, man.
these words.]
RASH mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name                            MR. ERSKINE.
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame;           Collected Harry stood awee,
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes               Then open'd out his arm, man:
like the Bible,                                   His lordship sat wi' rueful e'e,
Says the more'tis a truth, Sir, the more'tis a           And ey'd the gathering storm, man;
libel?                                           Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,
Or torrents owre a linn, man;
The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.
XX.
THE REPLY.
[The minister of Gladsmuir wrote a censure on the
Stirling lines, intimating, as a priest, that Burns's race                XXIII.
was nigh run, and as a prophet, that oblivion awaited
his muse. The poet replied to the expostulation.]      T H E     N PE C K E D  H U S B A N D.
LIKE Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel           [A lady who expressed herself with incivility about
ll others' scorn-but damn that ass's h eel.   her husband's potations with Burns, was rewarded by
All others' scorn-but damn that ass's heel..                    X lns
these sharp lines.]
CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
2XE~XI.~              Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
LIN E S                         Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell 
WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED
MISS BURNS.                      Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart;
[The Mliss Burns of these lines was well known in
those days to the bucks of the Scottish metropolis: there  I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
is still a letter by the poet, claiming from the magis-  I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b-h




198                           THE POETICAL WORKS
XXIV.                                              XXVII.
WRITTEN AT INVERARY.                                  ON A SCHOOLMASTER.
[Neglected at the inn of Inverary, on account of the    [The Willie Michie of this epigram was, it is said,
presence of some northern chiefs, and overlooked by his  schoolmaster of the parish of Cleish, in Fifeshire: he
Grace of Argyll, the poet let loose his wrath and his  met Burns during his first visit to Edinburgh.]
rhyme: tradition speaks of a pursuit which took place            i   ii   ii'
on the part of the Campbell, when he was told of his
mistake, and of a resolution not to be soothed on the      0, Satan! when ye tak' him,
part of the bard.]                                       Gi' him the schoolin' o' your weans,
WHoER he be tt s s he,           For clever de'ils he'll mak' them.
WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he's come to wait upon
The Lord their God, his Grace.                                    XXVIII.
There's naething here but Highland pride            A  GRACE  BEFORE  DINNER.
And Highland cauld and hunger;                 [This was an extempore grace, pronounced by the
If Providence has sent me here,                poet at a dinner-table, in Dumfries: he was ever ready'Twas surely in his anger.                   to contribute the small change of rhyme, for either the
use or amusement of a company.]
0 THou, who kindly dost provide
XXV.                                  For every creature's want!
We bless thee, God of Nature wide,
ON ELPHINSTON'S TRANSLATIONS                           For all thy goodness lent:
o w                              And if it please thee, Heavenly Guide,
MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.                             May never worse be sent;
But, whether granted or denied,
[Burns thus relates the origin of this sally:- 
" Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edinburgh, a           Lord bess us with content!
friend of mine one day put Elphinston's Translation of                                  Amen.
Martial into my hand, and desired my opinion of it. I
asked permission to write my opinion on a blank leaf of
the book; which being granted, I wrote this epigram.]
XXIX.
0 THOU, whom poesy abhors,
Whom prose has turned out of doors,                       A  GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT.
Heard'st thou that groan? proceed no further;    [Pronounced, tradition says, at the table of Mrs. Rid.'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murther             del, of Woodleigh-Park.]
0 THOU in whom we live and move,
Who mad'st the sea and shore,
XXVI.                               Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore.
I  S C R I P T I,   And if it please thee, Power above,
ON THE HEADSTONE OF FERGUSSON.                       Still grant us with such store,
[Some social friends, whose good feelings were better  The friend we trust, the fair we love,
than their taste, have ornamented with supplemental        And we desire no more.
iron work the headstone which Burns erected, with this
inscription to the memory of his brother bard, Fergusson.]
Here lies
ROBERT FERGUSSON, Poet.                                      XX
Born, September 5, 1751;                                     N    AT.
Died, Oct. 15, 1774.
[The name of the object of this fierce epigram might
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,    be found, but in gratifying curiosity, some pain would be
"No storied urn nor animated bust;"              inflicted.]
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way              Sic a reptile was Wat,
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.                Sic a miscreant slave,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               199
That the very worms damn'd him                                     XXXIV.
When laid in his grave.
"In his flesh there's a famine,"                     THE LEAGUE AND COVENANT.
A starv'd reptile cries;                      [In answer to a gentleman, who called the solemn
" An' his heart is rank poison,"               League and Covenant ridiculous and fanatical.]
Another replies.                               THE solemn League and Covenant
Cost Scotland blood-cost Scotland tears;
But it sealed freedom's sacred causeIf thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers.
XXXI.
ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE.
[This was a festive sally: it is said that Grose, who                 XXXV.
was very fat, though he joined in the laugh, did not relis~hT it. ^~~~~'" "WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS,
lish it.]
IN TEE INN AT MOFFAT.
THE devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,                   I                
So whip! at the summons, old Satan  came    [A friend asked the poet why God made Miss Davies
flying*                                     80so little, and a lady who was with her, so large: before
fl ing;  1       1.       the ladies, who had just passed the window, were out
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay  of sight, the following answer was recorded on a pane
moaning,                                    of glass.]
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groan-                         
ASK why God made the gem so small,
ing,
*.L' i n.  ~   ii.    i-~g,         TAnd why so huge the granite?
Astonish'd! confounded! cry'd Satan, "By                                        
Because God meant mankind should set
_,                                                 The higher value on it.
I'll want him, ere I take such a damnable load!"
XXXVI.
XXXII.                                           SPOK E N,
IMPROMPTU,                                ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE.
T O  M I S S AIN S LI E.                  [Burns took no pleasure in the name of gauger: the
situation was unworthy of him, and he seldom hesitated
[These lines were occasioned by a sermon on sin, to  to say so]
which the poet and Miss Ainslie of Berrywell had
listened, during his visit to the border.]           SEARCHING auld wives' barrels,
Och —hon! the day!
FAIR maid, you need not take the hint,             Och-ho    the day!
That clarty harm should stain my laurels;
Nor idle texts pursue:-wht   ye sy
But-what'1I ye say!'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,                B                  sy'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,           These movin' things ca'd wives and weans
Not angels such as you!
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes!
XXXIII.                                            XXXVII.
THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON.                               LINES ON MRS. KEMBLE.
[One rough, cold day, Burns listened to a sermon, so    [The poet wrote these lines in Mrs. Riddel's box in the
lttle to his liking, in the kirk of Lamington, in Clydes-  Dumfries Theatre, in the winter of 1794: he was much
dale, that he left this protest on the seat where he sat.]   moved by Mrs. Kemble's noble and pathetic acting.]
As cauld a wind as ever blew,                      KEMIBLE, thou cur'st my unbelief
As caulder kirk, and in't but few;                   Of Moses and his rod;
As cauld a minister's e'er spak,                   At Yarico's sweet notes of grief
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back.                     The rock with tears had flow'd
1and.




200                            THE POETICAL WORKS
XXXVIII.                                               XLII.
TO MR. SYME.                                     THE INVITATION.
[John Syme, of Ryedale, a rhymer, a wit, and a gentle-    [Burns had a happy knack in acknowledging civiities
man of education and intelligence, was, while Burns  these lines were written with a pencil on the paper in
resided in Dumfries, his chief companion: he was bred  which Mrs. Hyslop, of Lochrutton, enclosed an invitation
to the law.                                          to dinner.]
No more of your guests, be they titled or not,             THE King's most humble servant I,
And cook'ry the first in the nation;                      Can scarcely spare a minute;
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,            But I am yours at dinner-time,
Is proof to all other temptation.                          Or else the devil's in it.
XXXIX.
XLIII.
TO MR. SYME.                                               XLIII.
THE CREED OF POVERTY.
WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER.
[The tavern where these lines were written was kept    [When the commissioners of Excise told Burns that
by a wandering mortal of the name of Smith; who,  he was to act, and not to think; he took out his pencil
having visited in some capacity or other the Holy Lad,  and wrote " The Creed of Poverty."]
put on his sign, " John Smith, from Jerusalem."  He          
In politics if thou would'st mix,
was commonly known by the name of Jerusalem John.]                     
And mean thy fortunes be;
0, HAD the malt thy strength of mind,               Bear this in mind-be deaf and blind;
Or hops the flavour of thy wit,                     Let great folks hear and see.'Twere drink for first of human kind,
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit.
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries.
XLIV.
XL.                            WRITTEN  IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK.
A  G R A C E.                         [That Burns loved liberty and sympathized with those
who were warring in its cause, these lines, and hundreds
[This Grace was spoken at the table of Ryedale, where  more, sufficiently testify.]
to the best cookery was added the richest wine, as well
as the rarest wit: Hyslop was a distiller.]         GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give,
LORD, we thank-and thee adore,                  Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
For temp'ral gifts we little merit;
For temp'ral gifts we little merit;          Till slave and despot be but things which were.
At present we will ask no more,
Let William Hyslop give the spirit.
XLI.                                                XLV.
INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET.                               THE PARSON'S LOOKS.
[Written on a dinner-goblet by the hand of Burns.    [Some sarcastic person said, in Burns's hearing, that
Syme, exasperated at having his set of crystal defaced,  there was falsehood in the Reverend Dr. Burnside's
threw the goblet under the grate: it was taken up by his  looks: the poet mused for a moment, and replied in lines
clerk, and it is still preserved as a curiosity.]   which have less of truth than point.]
THERE'S death in the cup-sae beware!                  THAT there is falsehood in his looks
Nay, more-there is danger in touching;                 I must and will deny;
But wha can avoid the fell snare?                     They say their master is a knaveThe man and his wine's sae bewitching!                 And sure they do not lie.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            201
XLVI.                                             XLIX.
THE  TOAD-EATER.                              ON A PERSON NICKNAMED
[This reproof was administered extempore to one of          T H E  M A RQ U I S.
the guests at the table of Maxwell, of Terraughty, whose
whole talk was of Dukes with whom he had dined. and           t        t          
earls with whom he had supped.)      this person, who kept a respectable public-house in Dumof earls with whom he had supped.]
fries, desired Burns to write his epitaph.]
WHAT of earls with whom you have supt,
WAT of earls with whom you have supt,  HERE lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen?            shamm'd
Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,               r           i w            
If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen.
XLVII.                                              L.
ON ROBERT RIDDEL.                                           LINES
[J copied these lines from a pane of glass in the Friars-  WRITTEN ON A WINDOW.
Carse Hermitage, on which they had been traced with   [Burns traced these words with a diamond, on the
the diamond of Burns.]                           window of the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, as a
To Riddel, much-lamented man,                reply, or reproof, to one who had been witty on exciseTo Riddel, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear;
Reader, dost value matchless worth?         YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneerThis ivied cot revere.                           ing'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hearing;
What are you, landlords' rent-rolls? teasing
ledgers:
What premiers-what? even monarchs' mighty
XLVIII.                              gaugers:
T HE  TOAST.                       Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise
men?
[Burns being called on for a song, by his brother volun- hat are they pray bt spiritual Exciseen
teers, on a festive occasion, gave the following Toast.]
INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toastHere's the memory of those on the twelfth that
we lost!That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that
we found;                                                        LI.
For their fame it shall last while the world goes                  L I N E 
round.
The next in succession, I'll give you-the King!    WRITTEN ON A  INDW     THE GLBE TVEN
I)UMFRIES.
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he
swing;                                      [The Globe Tavern was Burns's favourite " Howff,"
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitu-  as e called it. It had other attractions than good
^.^~ ~tion, v s~liquor; there lived "Anna, with the golden locks."]
tion,
As built on the base of the great Revolution;    THE graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his
And longer with politics not to be cramm'd,             treasures,
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd;           Give me with gay Folly to live;
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,   I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleaMay his son be a hangman, and he his first              sures,
trial.                                       But Folly has raptures to give.




202                             THE POETICAL WORKS
LII.                                                LVI.
THE SELKIRK GRACE.                                ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG,
[On a visit to St. Mary's Isle, Burns was requested by            N A M E D E C H O.
the noble owner to say grace to dinner; he obeyed in
these lines, now known in Galloway by the name of" The    [When visiting with Syme at Kenmore Castle, Burns
Selkirk Grace."]                                    wrote this Epitaph, rather reluctantly, it is said, at the
request of the lady of the house, in honour of her lap
SOME hae meat and canna eat,                   dog.]
And some wad eat that want it;
And some wad eat that want it;                   IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
But we hae meat and we can eat,                       Your heavy loss deplore;
And sae the Lord be thanket.
And sae the Lord be thanket.                      Now half extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.
Ye jarring, screeching things around,
LIII.                                Scream your discordant joys;
Now half your din of tuneless sound
TO DR. MAXWELL,                                 With Echo silent lies.
ON JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY.
[Maxwell was a skilful physician; and Jessie Staig, the
Provost's eldest daughter, was a young lady of great
beauty: she died early.]
MAXWELL, if merit here yor crave                                      LVII.
That merit I deny,
You save fair Jessie from the grave-                  ON  A  NOTED  COXCOMB.
An angel could not die.
An angel could not die.                       [NeitherAyr, Edinburgh, nor Dumfries have contested
the honour of producing the person on whom these lines
were written:-coxcombs are the growth of all districts.]
LIV.                               LIGHT lay the earth on Willy's breast,
His chicken-heart so tender;
EPITAP H.
E P I T A P H~.                But build a castle on his head,
[These lines were traced by the hand of Burns on a       His skull will prop it under.
goblet belonging to Gabriel Richardson, brewer, in
Dumfries: it is carefully preserved in the family.]
HERE brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct,
And empty all his barrels:
He's blest-if, as he brew'd, he drink-                               LVIII.
In upright virtuous morals.
ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF
LORD GALLOWAY.
[This, and the three succeeding Epigrams, are hasty
squibs thrown amid the tumult of a contested election,
LV.                          and must not be taken as the fixed and deliberate senti~E P~I~~ T A P -         ments of the poet, regarding an ancient and noble house.]
EPITAPH 
ON  WILLIAM  N I COL.                          WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair?
Flit, Galloway, and find
[Nicol was a scholar, of ready and rough wit, who      Soe naow           y,  dn n 
loved. a joke adaglSome narrow, dirty, dungeon cave,
loved a joke and a gill.]
The picture of thy mind!
YE maggots, feast on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts ye've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
For deil a bit o't's rotten.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             203
LIX.                        attorneys, loved to handle his character with unsparing
severity.]
ON THE SAME.
HERE lies John Bushby, honest man!
No Stewart art thou, Galloway,                 Cheat him, Devil, gin ye can.
The Stewarts all were brave;
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools,
Not one of them a knave.
LXIV.
LX.                            THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES.
ON  THE  SAME.                        [At a dinner-party, where politics ran high, lines
signed by men who called themselves the true loyal
BRIGHT ran thy line, 0 Galloway,             natives of Dumfries, were handed to Burns: he took a
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire!             pencil, and at once wrote this reply.]
So ran the far-fam'd Roman way,
So ran te f d R n wy,           YE true " Loyal Natives," attend to my song,
So ended in a mire.
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long;
From  envy or hatred your corps is exempt,
But where is your shield from the darts of conLXI.                              tempt?
LXI.
TO THE SAME,
ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS
RESENTMENT.
SPARE me thy vengeance, Galloway,                                 LXV.
In quiet let me live:
I ask no kindness at thy hand,                              N  AS U
For thou hast none to give.                 [Burns was observed by my friend, Dr. Copland Hutchison, to fix, one morning, a bit of paper on the grave
of a person who had committed suicide: on the paper
these lines were pencilled.]
AL~XIr~.                 EARTH'D up here lies an imp o' hell,
ON  A  COUNTRY  LAIRD.                           Planted by Satan's dibblePoor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel'
[Mr. Maxwell, of Cardoness, afterwards Sir David,,   s 
exposed himself to the rhyming wrath of Burns, by his   To save the Lord the trouble.
activity in the contested elections of Heron.]
BLESS Jesus Christ, 0 Cardoness,
With grateful lifted eyes,
Who said that not the soul alone
But body too, must rise:                                        LXVI.
For had he said, " the soul alone
From death I will deliver;"                              EXTEMPORE
Alas! alas! 0 Cardoness,                              PINNED ON A LADY'S COACH.
Then thou hadst slept for ever.
[" Printed," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "from a copy.
in Burns's handwriting," a slight alteration in the last
line is made from an oral version.]
LXIII.                       IF you rattle along like your mistress's tongue,
Your speed will outrival the dart:
ON  JOHN  BUS HBY.                     But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on
[Burns, in his harshest lampoons, always admitted the  the road
talents of Bushby: the peasantry, who hate all clever    If your stuff has the rot, like her heart.




204                             THE POETICAL WORKS
LXVII                          "give me that goblet, and I shall prepare you for the
worst." He traced these lines with his diamond, and
LIN ES                          said, " That will be a companion to' The Toast."'
T O  JOHN  R A N K IN E.                        SAY, sages, what's the charm on earth
(These lines were said to have been written by the        Can turn Death's dart aside?
poet to Rankine, of Adamhill, with orders to forward     It is not purity and worth,
them when he died.]                                         Else Jessy had not died.
I. B.
HE who of Rankine sang lies stiff and dead,
And a green grassy hillock hides his head;
Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed.
LXXI.
LXVIII.                                             ON THE
RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS.
JESSY LEWARS.
JE S SY  L ED W ARS.           ([A little repose brought health to the young lady.
[Written on the blank side of a list of wild beasts, exhi-" I knew you would not die," observed the poet, with a
biting in Dumfries. " Now," said the poet, who was  smile: "there is a poetic reason for your recovery:" he
then very ill, " it is fit to be presented to a lady."]  wrote, and with a feeble hand, the following lines.]
TALK not to me of savages                           BUT rarely seen since Nature's birth,
From Afric's burning sun,                           The natives of the sky;
No savage e'er could rend my heartet still one seraphs left on earth,
As, Jessy, thou hast done.                          For Jessy did not die.
But Jessy's lovely hand in mine,
A mutual faith to plight,
Not even to view the heavenly choir
Would be so blest a sight.
LXXII.
TAM, THE CHAPMAN.
~LXFIX.~                (     ~[Tam, the chapman, is said by the late William CobTHE  TOAST.                         bett, who knew him, to have been a Thomas Kennedy, a
native of Ayrshire, agent to a mercantile house in the
[One day, when Burns was ill and seemed in slumber,  west of Scotland. Sir Harris Nicolas confounds him
he observed Jessy Lewars moving about the house with  with the Kennedy to whom Burns addressed several leta light step lest she should disturb him. He took a  ters and verses, which I printed in my edition of the poet
crystal goblet containing wine-and-water for moistening  in 1834: it is perhaps enough to say that the name of the
his lips, wrote these words upon it with a diamond, and  one was Thomas and the name of the other John.]
presented it to her.
As Tam the Chapman on a day,
FILL me with the rosy wine,
DFILL me with the rosy wine,                      Wi' Death forgather'd by the way,
Call a toast —a toast divine;
Call a toast-a toast divine;                     Weel pleas'd he greets a wight so famous,
Give the Poet's darling flame,
Give the Poet's darling flame,              And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas,
Lovely Jessy be the name;
Lovely Jessy be the name;                         Wha cheerfully lays down the pack,
Then thou mayest freely boast,
Then thou mayest freely boast,                    And there blaws up a hearty crack;
Thou hast given a peerless toast.
Thou hast given a peerless toast.                 His social, friendly, honest heart,
Sae tickled Death they could na part:
Sae after viewing knives and garters,
LXX.                            Death takes him hame to gie him quarters.
ON MISS JESSY LEWARS.
[The constancy of her attendance on the poet's sickbed and anxiety of mind brought a slight illness upon
Jessy Lewars. "You must not die yet," said the poet:
__    I_




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            205
LXXIII.                         It's no I like to sit an' swallow,
Then like a swine to puke and wallow,
[These lines seem to owe their origin to the precept of    But gie me just a  true good fallow,
" The present moment is our ain,                            Wi' right ingine,
The next we never saw."]               And spunkie ance to make us mellow,
And then we'll shine.
HERE'S a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad you wish for mair, man?               Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk,
Wha kens before his life may end,                Wha rate the wearer by the cloak,
What his share may be o' care, man?            An' sklent on poverty their joke
Then catch the moments as they fly,                                Wi' bitter sneer,
And use them as ye ought, man!                 Wi' you nae friendship I will troke,
Believe me, happiness is shy,                                      Nor cheap nor dear.
And comes not ay when sought, man.
But if, as I'm informed weel,
Ye hate as ill's the very deil
The flinty heart that canna feelLXXIV.
~~~~~~LX2EXIV.  ~Come, Sir, here's tae you!
LThe sentiment which these lines express, was one    Hae, there's my haun, I wiss you weel,
familiar to Burns, in the early, as well as concluding                And gude be wi' you.
days of his life.]                                                           ROBERT BURNESS.
THOUGH fickle Fortune has deceived me,              Mossgiel, 3 lMarch, 1786.
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill;
Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me,
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able,                            LXXVI.
But if success I must never find,
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,                                 K N        Y.
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.         FAREWELL, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
And'mang her favourites admit you!
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him!
LXXV.                        And ony deil that thinks to get you,
TO JOHN  KENNEDY.                                           Good Lord deceive him I
R. B.
[The John Kennedy to whom these verses and the sue-    Kilmarnock, August, 1786
ceeding lines were addressed, lived, in 1796, at Dumfrieshouse, and his taste was so much esteemed by the poet,
that he submitted his " Cotter's Saturday Night" and the
"Mountain Daisy" to his judgment: he seems to have
been of a social disposition.]
Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse                                    LXXVII.
E'er bring you in by Mauchline Cross,
L-d,  man, there's lasses there wad force        [Cromek found these characteristic lines among the
poet's papers.]
A hermit's fancy,
And down the gate in faith they're worse         THERE'S naethin like the honest nappy!
And mair unchancy.              Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy,
Or women, sonsie, saft an' sappy,
But as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's,'Tween morn an' morn
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews,             As them wha like to taste the drappie
Till some bit callan bring me news                                    In glass or horn?
That ye are there,
And if we dinna hae a bouze                      I've seen me daezt upon a time;
I'se ne'er drink mair.         I scarce could wink or see a styme;
___ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ ___                                                                       - i,




206                             THE POETICAL WORKS
Just ae hauf muchkin does me prime,
Ought less is little,                              LXXX.
Then back I rattle on the rhyme,                                   IMPROMPTU.
As gleg's a whittle.
[The tumbler on which these verses are inscribed by
the diamond of Burns, found its way to the hands of Sir
Walter Scott, and is now among the treasures of Abbotsford.]
YOU'RE welcome, Willie Stewart,
LXXVIII.                            You're welcome, Willie Stewart;
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May,
ON THE BLANK LEAF                         That's half sae welcome's thou art.
OF A
WORIK BY HANNAH MORE.
WOR K:B Y  H ANNAH E  M O RE.                    Come bumpers high, express your joy,
PRESENTED BY MRS. C-.                          The bowl we maun renew it;
The tappit-hen, gae bring her ben,
THOU flattering work of friendship kind,                 To welcome Willie Stewart.
Still may thy pages call to mind
The dear, the beauteous donor;
Though sweetly female every part,                     My foes be strang, and friends be slack,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,                    Ilk action may he rue it,
Does both the sexes honour.                      May woman on him turn her back,
She showed her taste refined and just,                  That wrongs thee, Willie Stewart.
When she selected thee,
Yet deviating, own I must,
For so approving me!
But kind still, I'll mind still
The giver in the gift;
I'll bless her, and wiss her
A Friend above the Lift.                         PRAYER  FOR ADAM  ARMOUR.
Tiossgiel, April, 1786.                            [The origin of this prayer is curious. In 1785, the
maid-servant of an innkeeper at Mauchline, having been
caught in what old ballad-makers delicately call " the
deed of shame," Adam Armour, the brother of the poet's
bonnie Jean, with one or two more of his comrades, executed a rustic act of justice upon her, by parading her
perforce through the village, placed on a rough, unLXXIX.
LXX*~IX.  ~       pruned piece of wood: an unpleasant ceremony, vulgarly
called " Riding the Stang." This was resented by
TO THE MEN AND BRETHREN                     Geordie and Nanse, the girl's master and mistress:law
OF THE                          was resorted to, and as Adam had to hide till the matter
was settled, he durst not venture home till late on the
MASO N IC LO D GE AT TAR B O L T ON.   Saturday nights. In one of these home-comings he met
Burns, who laughed when he heard the story, and said,
WITHIN your dear mansion may wayward con-  " You have need of some one to pray for you."  " No
tention,                                       one can do that better than yourself," was the reply, and
Or withering envy ne'er enter:                     this humorous intercession was made on the instant, and,
I,,c5O~. ~as it is said, " clean off loof."  From Adam Armour I
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,              obtained the verses, and when he wrote them out, he
And brotherly love be the centre.                  told the story in which the prayer originated.]
Edinburgh, 23 August, 1787.                      LORD, pity me, for I am little,
An elf of mischief and of mettle,
That can like ony wabster's shuttle,
Jink there or here,
Though scarce as lang's a gude kale-whittle,
I'm unco queer.




OF ROBERT BURNS                                            207
Lord pity now our waefu' case,                   When Death comes in wi' glimmering blink,
For Geordie's Jurr we're in disgrace,            And tips auld drunken Nanse the wink'
Because we stang'd her through the place,        Gaur Satan gie her a-e a clink'Mang hundreds laughin',                         Behint his yett,
For which we daurna show our face               And fill her up wi' brimstone drink,
Within the clachan.                              Red reeking het!
And now we're dern'd in glens and hallows,       There's Jockie and the hav'rel Jenny,
And hunted as was William Wallace,              Some devil seize them in a hurry,
By constables, those blackguard fellows,        And waft them in th' infernal wherry,
And bailies baith,                              Straught through the lake,
0 Lord, preserve us frae the gallows!           And gie their hides a noble curry,
That cursed death.                              Wi' oil of aik.
Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel',       As for the lass, lascivious body,
O shake him ewre the mouth o' hell,              She's had mischief enough already,
And let him hing and roar and yell,              Weel stang'd by market, mill, and smiddie,
Wi' hideous din,                                She's suffer'd sair;
And if he offers to rebel                       But may she wintle in a widdie,
Just heave him in.                               If she wh-re mair.
SONGS AND BALLADS.
I.                          But without some better qualities
She's no a lass for me.
HANDSOME NELL.
Tune.-" I am a man unmarried."                                  I V.
But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet,
[" This composition," says Burns in his " Common-            
p.ace Book," " was the first of my performances, and  And what is best of a',
done at an early period in life. when my heart glowed    Her reputation is complete,
with honest, warm simplicity; unacquainted and uncor-  And fair without a flaw.
rupted with the ways of a wicked world. The subject
of it was a young girl who really deserved all the praises
I have bestowed on her."]
She dresses ay sae clean and neat,
I.                            Both decent and genteel:
0 ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass,                   And then there's something in her gait
Ay, and I love her still;                       Gars ony dress look weel.
And whilst that honour warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.                                       VI.
A gaudy dress and gentle air
I.                            May slightly touch the heart;
As bonnie lasses I hae seen,                    But it's innocence and modesty
And mony full as braw;                          That polishes the dart.
But for a modest gracefu' mien
The like I never saw.                                            VII.'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
III.'Tis this enchants my soul;
A bonnie lass, I will confess,                     For absolutely in my breast
Is pleasant to the e'e,                            She reigns without control




208                         THE POETICAL WORKS
II.                                             IV.
LUCKLESS FORTUNE.                         TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
[These lines, as Burns informs us, were written to a     Tune-"Invercald's Reel."
tune of his own composing, consisting of three parts,
and the words were the echo of the air]      [The Tibbie who cc spak na, but gaed by like stoure,"
and the words were the echo of the ar.]  was, it is said, the daughter of a man who was laird of
O RAGING fortune's withering blast          three acres of peatmoss. and thought it became her to
put on airs in consequence.]
Has laid my leaf full low, 0! 
O raging fortune's withering blast                             CH ORUS.
Has laid my leaf full low, 0!                   0 Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
My stem was fair, my bud was green,                  Ye wad na been sae shy;
My blossom sweet did blow, 0;                   For lack o' gear ye lightly me,
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,               But, trowth, I care na by.
And made my branches grow, 0.
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, 0;                   YESTREEN I met you on the moor,
But luckless fortune's northern storms           Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Laid a' my blossoms low, 0.                   Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.
But fient a hair care I.
II.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
~~III.~~               ~ That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
I DREAM'D I LAY.
III.
[These melancholy verses were written when the poet  B    s                       
was some seventeen years old: his early days were typi-  t soo  t   h           e   ean,
cal of his latter.]                                  Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,
That looks sae proud and high.
I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing
Gaily in the sunny beam;                                            IV.
List'ning to the wild birds singing,                 Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
By a falling crystal stream:                       YIf that he want the yellow dirt,
Straight the sky grew black and daring;              Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;                 And answer him fu' dry.
Trees with aged arms were warring,
O'er the swelling drumlie wave.
But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
I^'~~~.     ~          ~Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Such was my life's deceitful morning,                  Be better than the kye.
Such the pleasure I enjoy'd:
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,                             v I.
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.                     But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,                 Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;
She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;          The deil a ane wad spier your price,
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,                    Were ye as poor as I.
I bear a heart shall support me still. 
There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would nae gie her in her sark,
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;
Ye need na look sae high.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           209
To plough and sow, to reap and mow,
My father bred me early, 0;
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.                        For one, he said, to labour bred,
Tune-" The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0."              Was a match for fortune fairly, 0.
[" The following song," says the poet, "is a wild
rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification, but as the            V.
sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that
reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over."]  Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor,
Thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, 0,
Till down my weary bones I lay,
MY father was a farmer                             In everlasting slumber, 0.
Upon the Carrick border, 0,                   No view nor care, but shun whate'er
And carefully he bred me,                          Might breed me pain or sorrow, 0: 
In decency and order, 0;                      I live to-day as well's I may,
He bade me act a manly part,                       Regardless of to-morrow, 0.
Though I had ne'er a farthing, 0;
For without an honest manly heart,
No man was worth regarding, 0.                                  VI.
But cheerful still, I am as well,
I.                              As a monarch in a palace, 0,
Then out into the world                          Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me downt
My course I did determine, 0;                   With all her wonted malice, 0:
Tho' to be rich was not my wish,                 I make indeed my daily bread,
Yet to be great was charming, 0:                 But ne'er can make it farther, 0;
My talents they were not the worst,              But, as daily bread is all I need,
Nor yet my education, 0;                         I do not much regard her, 0.
Resolv'd was I, at least to try,
To mend my situation, 0. 
I II.                           When sometimes by my labour
In many a way, and vain essay,                     I earn a little money, 0,
I courted fortune's favour, 0;.Some unforeseen misfortune
Some cause unseen still stept between,             Comes gen'rally upon me, O:
To frustrate each endeavour, 0:               Mischance, mistake, or by neglect,
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd,               Or my goodnatur'd folly, 0;
Sometimes by friends forsaken, 0,             But come what will, I've sworn it still,
And when my hope was at the top,                   I'll ne'er be melancholy, 0.
I still was worst mistaken, 0.
Ix.
I V.
Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last,          A  you who follow wealth and power,
With fortune's vain delusion, 0,                With unremitting ardour, 0,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams,            The more in this you lookfor bliss,
And came to this conclusion, 0:  You leave your view the farther, O0
And came to this conclusion, O:
The past was bad, and the future hid;            Had  you the wealth Potosi boasts,
Its good or ill untried, 0;                     Or nations to adore you, 0,
Its good or ill untried, O;
Its goodorilluntried, 0OA cheerful honest-hearted clown
Bat the present hour, was in my pow'r           A cheerful honest-herted clown
And so I would enjoy it,.                      I will prefer before you, 
v.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I,
Nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat and broil,
And labour to sustain me, O:
14




210                         THE POETICAL WORKS
VI.                                            IX.
They filled up a darksome pit
JO H N  B.~ARLEYC ORN:           With water to the brim;
A BALLAD.                        They heaved in John Barleycorn,
[Composed on the plan of an old song, of which David  There let him sink or swim.
Laing has given an authentic version in his very curious
volume of Metrical Tales.]                                          X.
L                            They laid him out upon the floor,
THERE were three kings into the east,           To work him farther woe;
Three kings both great and high;            And still, as signs of life appear'd,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath                They toss'd him to and fro.
John Barleycorn should die.
xI.
II.                          They wasted o'er a scorching flame
They took a plough and plough'd him down,       The marrow of his bones;
Put clods upon his head;                    But a miller us'd him worst of allAnd they ha'e sworn a solemn oath               He crush'd him'tween two stones.
John Barleycorn was dead.
XII.
III.                          And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
But the cheerful spring came kindly on,                                 
And show'rs ben to f;            And still the more and more they drank,
And show'rs began to fall;
~,  ^~.'  ~     Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn got up again,                         
And sore surpris'd them all.                               XIIi.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
The sultry suns of summer came,                 O n          enterprise;
The sultry suns of summer cane,               For if you do but taste his blood,
And he grew thick and strong;'Twill make your courage rise.
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears
That no one should him wrong.                               xiv.'Twill make a man forget his woe;
v.'Twill heighten all his joy:
The sober autumn enter'd mild,'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
When he grew wan and pale;                    Tho' the tear were in her eye.
His beading joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.                                    xv.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
VI.                            Each man a glass in hand;
His colour sicken'd more and more,            And may his great posterity
He faded into age;                            Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
VII.
They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,                      V
And cut him by the knee;                       THE RIGS O' BARLEY.
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,                   Tune-   or  ig  re onie."
Like a rogue for forgerie.
[Two young women of the west, Anne Ronald and
vIII.                     Anne Blair, have each, by the district traditions, been
claimed as the heroine of this early song.]
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;                                 I.
They hung him up before the storm,            IT was upon a Lammas night,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.                 When corn rigs are bonnie,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            211
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,          eloquence of the poet, poured out in many an interview,
I held awa to Annie:                      and then quietly told him that she stood unalterably
engaged to another.]
The time flew by wi' tentless heed,'Till'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,                ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir,
To see me through the barley.                  Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,
II.                             Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;                                    I I
I set her down wi' right good will,            When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
Amang the rigs o' barley:                      And winter nights were dark and rainy;
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;               I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
I lov'd her most sincerely;                    I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy.
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.                                        III.
Were I a baron proud and high,
III.                            And horse and servants waiting ready,
I lock'd her in my fond embrace!               Then a''twad gie o' joy to me,
Her heart was beating rarely:                  The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy.
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly?
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
THE MAUCHLINE LADY.
I V.                          Tune-" I had a horse, I had nae mair."
I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin';                  [The Mauchline lady who won the poet's heart was
I, ben    Jean Armour: she loved to relate how the bard made her
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;            acquaintance: his dog ran across some linen webs which
I hae been happy thinkin':                she was bleaching among Mauchline gowans, and he
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,             apologized so handsomely that she took another look at
Tho' three times doubled fairly,          him. To this interview the world owes some of our
most impassioned strains.]
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.                    WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was nae steady;
C H O R U S.                     Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,                      A mistress still I had ay:
An' corn rigs are bonnie:                    But when I came roun' by Mauchline town,
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,              Not dreadin' any body,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.                    My heart was caught before I thought,
And by a Mauchline lady.
VIII.
MOTNTGOMERY'S PEGGY.                                              x.
Tune-" Galla- Water."                     THEHIGHLANDLASSIE.
[" My Montgomery's Peggy," says Burns, "was my     Tune —  The deuks dang o'er my daddy 1"
deity for six or eight months: she had been bred in a
style of life rather elegant: it cost me some heart-aches   [" The Highland Lassie" was Mary Campbell, whose
to get rid of the affair." The young lady listened to the  too early death the poet sung In strains that will endure




212                        THE POETICAL WORKS
while the language lasts. " She was," says Burns, " a               XI
warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed
a man with generous love."]                                     PEGGY.
I.                        [The heroine of this song is said to have been "Mont.
NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,      gomery's Peggy."]
Shall ever be my muse's care:                  Tune —" I had a horse, I had nae mair."
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland lassie, 0.
Within the glen sae bushy, O,            Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
Aboon the plains sae rushy, 0,             Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
I set me down wi' right good-will,       The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
To sing my Highland lassie, 0.             Amang the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at
Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,             night
Yon palace and yon gardens fine,               To muse upon my charmer.
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, 0.                                   II
The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
III.                           The plover loves the mountains;
But fickle fortune frowns on me,             The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
And I maun cross the raging sea;               The soaring hern the fountains;
But while my crimson currents flow,          Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves
I'll love my Highland lassie, 0.               The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
I v.                          The spreading thorn the linnet.
Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,                             I I.
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,      Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
My faithful Highland lassie, 0.                The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;
v.                            Some solitary wander:
For her I'll dare the billows' roar,         Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,            Tyrannic man's dominion;
That Indian wealth may lustre throw          The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
Around my Highland lassie, 0.                  The flutt'ring, gory pinion.
IV.
V I.
But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear,
She has my heart, she has my hand,  
She has my he, hasasmhn,                  Thick flies the skimming swallow;
By sacred truth and honours band!
m  herut   s h    my ha b   The sky is blue, the fields in view,'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,          
All fading-green and yellow:
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, 0.
saebushy, myHighld, 0!  Come, let-us stray our gladsome way,
Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
~ 11    ~.And view the charms of nature;
Farewell the plain sae rushy, 0!                
t,  The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
To other lands I now must go,,' T1 1'And every happy creature.
To sing my Highland lassie, 0.
v.
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:




......
l
i
i
~, Lll',l'i/;i,. i,'l,~!i
~I                                                  I                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             I
~
i,!'l",LL'll~                                                                                                                                                                                                               ~:~  ~' ".... ~,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                I
"J:~
tl,,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             I'~r~"~1',',1....'! t" ~                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            i'Il
i








OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            213
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,         But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
Not autumn to the farmer,                      Has gart me change my sang.
So dear can be as thou to me,                       To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
My fair, my lovely charmer!                        To the weavers gin ye go;
I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.
iI.
XII.                          My mither sent me to the town,
THE RANTIN' DOG, THE DADDIE O'T.                   To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin o't
Tune-" I East nook o' Fife."                Has gart me sigh and sab.
[The heroine of this humorous ditty was the mother
of" Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess," a person whom                 III.
the poet regarded, as he says, both for her form and her    A bonnie westlin weaver lad,
grace.]                                               Sat working at his loom;
I.                           He took my heart as wi' a net,
0 WHA my babie-clouts will buy?                  In every knot and thrum.
0 wha will tent me when I cry?
i v.
Wha will kiss me where I lie?I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
The rantin' dog, the daddie o'tAnd ay I ca'd it roun
And ay I ca'd it roun';
I I.                         But every shot and every knock,
0 wha will own he did the fau't?                 My heart it gae a stoun.
0 wha will buy the groanin' maut? 
0 wha will tell me how to ca't?
o wha will tell me how to ca't?               The moon was sinking in the west
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.             Wi' visage pale and  an,
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.
When I mount the creepie chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there?                                     v.
Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair,                But what was said, or what was done,
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't.             Shame fa' me gin I tell;
But, oh! I fear the kintra soon
~~~~IV~.  ~Will ken as weel's mysel.
Wha will crack to me my lane?                       To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
Wha will make me fidgin' fain                         To the weavers gin ye go;
Wha will kiss me o'er again?-                       I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't                      the weavers gi ye go.
XIV.
XIIN.                                         NANNIE.
MY  HEART  WAS ANCE.                                 Tune.-"My Nannie, 0."
Tune —" To the weavers gin ye go."
T  t  w   g  y      [Agnes Fleming, servant at Calcothill, inspired this
I" The chorus of this song," says Burns, in his note to  fine song: she died at an advanced age, and was more
the Museum, "is old, the rest is mine." The " bonnie,  remarkable for the beauty of her form than face. When
westlin weaver lad" is said to have been one of the  questioned about the love of Burns, she smiled and said,
rivals of the poet in the affections of a west landlady.]   "Aye, atweel he made a great wark about me."]
I.                                               I.
MY heart was ance as blythe and free             BEHIND yon hills, where Lugar flows,
As simmer days were lang,'Mang moors an' mosses many, 0,




214                          THE POETICAL WORKS
The wintry sun the day has closed,                      I sat me down to ponder,
And I'll awa to Nannie, O.                              Upon an auld tree root:
Auld Ayr ran by before me,
II.                                   And bicker'd to the seas;
The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill;                 A cushat crooded o'er me,
The night's baith mirk and rainy, 0;                    That echoed thro' the braes.
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hills to Nannie, O.
IlI.                                            XVI.
My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:                    BONNIE  PEGGY ALISON.
May ill befa' the flattering tongue                   Tune-" Braes o' Balquihidder."
That wad beguile my Nannie, O.
[On those whom Burns loved, he poured out songs
without limit. Peggy Alison is said, by a western tradition, to be Montgomery's Peggy, but this seems doubtHer face is fair, her heart is true,          ful.]
As spotless as she's bonnie, 0:
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie,.                         I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
An' I'll kiss thee o'er again;
v.                                  An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
A country lad is my degree,                               My bonnie Peggy Alison!
An' few there be that ken me, O;
But what care I how few they be? 
I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O.                     ILK care and fear, when thou art near,
I ever mair defy them, 0;
VI.                             Young kings upon their hansel throne
My riches a's my penny-fee,                          Are no sae blest as I am, 0!
An' I maun guide it cannie, 0;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,                                  II.
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.                 When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, 0,
IOur auld guidman VIgI.    tveI seek nae mair o' Heaven to share
Our auld guidman delights to view
Than sic a moment's pleasure, 0!
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, 0;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O.
An' has nae care but Naie,          And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
Viii.                              I swear, I'm thine for ever, 0!Come weel, come woe, I care na by,                 And on thy lips I seal my vow,
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O:                And break it shall I never, O!
Nae ither care in life have I,                              I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
But live, an' love my Nannie, O.                            An' I'll kiss thee o'er again;
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
My bonnie Peggy Alison!
XV.
A FRAGMENT.
XVII.
Tune-" John Anderson my jo."                                XVII
[This verse, written early, and probably intended for    T H E RE'S NO U G HT B U T C A RE.
the starting verse of a song, was found among the papers  Tune-" Green grow the rashes.
of the poet.]
["Man was made when nature was but an apprentice;
ONE night as I did wander,             but woman is the last and most perfedt work of naWhen corn begins to shoot,           ture," says an old writer, in a rare old book: a passage




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           215
which expresses the sentiment of Burns; yet it is all but    Her dear idea round my heart,
certain, that the Ploughman Bard was unacquainted with  Should tenderly entwine.
"Cupid's Whirlygig," where these words are to be
found.]                                            Though mountains rise, and deserts howl,
And oceans roar between;
CHORU S. HU5Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,
Green grow the rashes,!                      I still would love my Jean
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent amang the lasses, 0.
I.                                             XIX.
THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han',R O B I N.
In every hour that passes, 0:
What signifies the life o' man,                           Tune" Dantie Dav
An''twere na for the lasses, 0.              [Stothard painted a clever little picture from this
characteristic ditty: the cannie wife, it was evident,
II.                       saw in Robin's palm something which tickled her, and
The warly race may riches chase,              a curious intelligence sparkled in the eyes of her gossips.]
An' riches still may fly them, 0;                                  I.
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,             THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, 0.           But whatna day o' whatna style
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
^^'~I II.  ~To be sae nice wi' Robin.
But gie me a canny hour at e'en,                         Robin was a rovin' boy,
My arms about my dearie, 0;                              Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
An' warly cares, an' warly men,                          Robin was a rovin' boy,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, 0.                              Rantin' rovin' Robin!
IV.                                              II.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,               Our monarch's hindmost year bat an6
Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0:             Was five-and-twenty days begun,
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'
He dearly lov'd the lasses, 0.                    Blew hansel in on Robin.
V.                                              II.
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears                The gossip keekit in his loof,
Her noblest work she classes, 0:                 Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof,
Her'prentice han' she try'd on man,               This waly boy will be nae coof,
An' then she made the lasses, 0.                   I think we'll ca' him Robin
Green grow the rashes, 0!
Green grow the rashes, 0!
hesee   hou theate,   I  He'll hae misfortunes great and sma',
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
But ay a heart aboon them a';
Are spent amang the lasses, 0.            He'     a cret to         a'
He'll be a credit to us a',.____~___________               We'll a' be proud o' Robin.
v.
XVIII.                          gBut sure as three times three mak nine,
MY  JEAN!                            I see by ilka score and line,
Tune-" The Northern Lass."                  This chap will dearly like our kin',
So leeze me on thee, Robin.
[The lady on whom this passionate verse was written
was Jean Armour.
V I.
THOUGH cruel fate should bid us part,           Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt you gar,
L        Far as the pole and line,                      The bonnie lasses lie aspar,




216                         THE POETICAL WORKS
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,              That feeling heart but acts a partSo blessin's on thee, Robin!'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel.
Robin was a rovin' boy,
Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';                              V.
Robin was a rovin' boy,                    The frank address, the soft caress,
Robi was a royin' boy,!  
Rantin' rovin' Robin!                     Are worse than poison'd darts of steel;
The frank address and politesse
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel.
XX.
HER FLOWING LOCKS.
Tune-(unknown.)                                         XXII.
[One day-it is tradition that speaks-Burns had his          Y 0 U N G  P E G G Y.
foot in the stirrup to return from Ayr to Mauchline, when  Tune-" Last time I cam o'er the muir."
a young lady of great beauty rode up to the inn, and ordered refreshmenrts for her servants: he made these lines   [In these verses Burns, it is said, bade farewell to one
at the moment, to keep, he said, so much beauty in his  on whom he had, according to his own account, wasted
memory.]                                         eight months of courtship. We hear no more of Montgomery's Peggy.]
HER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;                                     I
How sweet unto that breast to cling,           YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
And round that neck entwine her!               Her blush is like the morning,
Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,                The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
0, what a feast her bonnie mou'                  With early gems adorning:
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,               Her eyes outshone the radiant beams
A crimson still diviner.                       That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.
XXI.                                               ii.
0  LEAVE NOVELS.                          Her lips, more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them;
Tune~" Mauchline belles."
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight,
[Who these Mauchline belles were the hard in other  And sweetly tempt to taste them:
verse informs us:-                                  Her smile is, as the evening mild,
" Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine,        When feather'd tribes are courting,
Miss Smith, she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw;,
There's beauty and fortune to get with Miss Morton,         lambkins wanton wild,
But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'."]        In playful bands disporting.
I.                                              III.
O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles,             Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel;              Such sweetness would relent her,
Such witching books are baited hooks             As blooming spring unbends the brow
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel.             Of surly, savage winter.
Detraction's eye no aim can gain,
~II~~. ~Her winning powers to lessen;
Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons,              And fretful envy grins in vain
They make your youthful fancies reel;            The poison'd toot] to fasten.
They heat your brains, and fire your veins,
And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel.                             Iv.
Ye powers of honour, love, and truth,
III.                            From every ill defend her;
Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung,            Inspire the highly-favour'd youth,
A heart that warmly seems to feel;               The destinies intend her:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            217
Still fan the sweet connubial flame         And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair;
Responsive in each bosom,                 For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care.
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.                                    v I I.
ADDED IN A MASON LODGE.
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow,
The honours masonic prepare fcr to throw;
May every true brother of the compass and
THE CURE FOR ALL CARE.                              square
Tune-" Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern  Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with
let's fly."                          care!
[Tarbolton Lodge, of which the poet was a member,
was noted for its socialities. Masonic lyrics are all of a
dark and mystic order; and those of Burns are scarcely
an exception.]
I.                                              XXIV.
No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
EITZ A.
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business, contriving to snare-                    Tune-" Gilderoy."
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care.    [My late excellent friend, John Gait, informed me that
the Eliza of this song was his relative, and that her name
II.                        was Elizabeth Barbour.]
The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low;                              I.
But a club of good fellows, like those that are       FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,
here,                                            And from my native shore;
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.        The cruel Fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar:
III.                            But boundless oceans roaring wide
Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse;        Between my love and me,
There centum  per centum, the cit with his            They never, never can divide
purse;                                            My heart and soul from thee!
But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air!
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.
iv.                             Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;                The maid that I adore!
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;            A boding voice is in mine ear,
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,                We part to meet no more!
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.      The latest throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by,
V.                             That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
I once was persuaded a venture to make;                 And thine that latest sigh!
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;But the pursy old landlord just waddled up
stairs,
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.
VI.                                             XXV.
"Life's cares they are comforts,"'-a maxim           THE  SONS  OF  OLD  KILLIE.
laid down
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the                Tune-" Shawnboy."
black gown;                                 [" This song, wrote by Mr. Burns, was sung by him
in the Kilnarnock-Kilwinning Lodge, in 1786, and given
l Young's Night Thoughts.            by him to Mr. Parker, who was Master of the Lodge.'




218                         THE POETICAL WORKS
These interesting words are on the original, in the poet's           I I I.
handwriting, in'the possession of Mr. Gabriel Neil, of
QGlasgow.]                                        The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
^~~~I.     ~         But life to me's a weary dream,
YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,         A dream of ane that never wauks.
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another                      I v.
To sit in that honoured station.                The wanton coot the water skims,'ve little to say, but only to pray,                Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
As praying's the ton of your fashion;           The stately swan majestic swims,
A prayer from the muse you well may excuse,         And every thing is blest but I.'Tis seldom her favourite passion.
V.
II.                         The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the         And owre the moorland whistles shrill;
tide,                                      Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
Who marked each element's border;                 I meet him on the dewy hill.
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order;
Whose sovereign statute is or;         And when the lark,'tween light and dark,
Within this dear mansion, may wayward con-          Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
"-  "                Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
tention
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
Or withered envy ne'er enter;
Or withered envy ne'er enter;                     A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
And brotherly love be the centre.                                  vII.
Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree:
Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul,
When nature all is sad like me!
And maun I still on Menie doat,
XXVI.                                And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?
M E N I E.                           For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
An' it winna let a body be.
Tune. —" Johnny's grey breeks."
[Of the lady who inspired this song no one has given
any account: It first appeared in the second edition of the
poet's works, and as the chorus was written by an Edinburgh gentleman, it has been surmised that the song was
a matter of friendship rather than of the heart.]                  XXVII.
I.                                   THE FAREWELL
AGAIN rejoicing nature sees                                       TO THE
Her robe assume its vernal hues,               BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE,
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,                            TARBOLTON.
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
And maun  I still on Menie doat,           Tune-" Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'."
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?   [Burns, it is said, sung this song in the St. James'a
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,  Lodge of Tarbolton, when his chest was on the way to
An' it winna let a body be.        Greenock: men are yet living who had the honour of
hearing him-the concluding verse affected the whole
lodge.]
II.                                             I.
In vain to me the cowslips blaw,                  ADIEU! a heart-warm, fond adieu!
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;                 Dear brothers of the mystic tie!
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,                   Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.                 Companions of my social joy!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           219
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,                                 II.
Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',             She's sweeter than the morning dawn
With melting heart, and brimful eye,             When rising Phoebus first is seen,
I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'.         And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een
II.
Oft have I met your social band,
And spent the cheerful, festive night;      She's stately like yon youthful ash,
Oft, honour'd with supreme command,              That grows the cowslip braes between,
Presided o'er the sons of light:            And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
And by that hieroglyphic bright,                 An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
Which none but craftsmen ever saw!
iv.
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write
Those happy scenes when far awa'            She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
When purest in the dewy morn;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
May freedom, harmony, and love
Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above,
Beneath th' Omnisciet Ee a e,       Her looks are like the vernal May,
The glorious Architect divine! 
The glorious Architect divine!                When evening Phoebus shines serene,
That you may keep th' unerring line,                 
While birds rejoice on every sprayStill rising by the plummet's law,
0s ~An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
Till order bright completely shine,
Shall be my pray'r when far awa'..
Her hair is like the curling mist
~~~IV~~. ~That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,
And you farewell! whose merits claim,         When flow'r-reviving rains are past;
Justly, that highest badge to wear!           An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,
To masonry and Scotia dear!                                   VII.
A last request permit me here,                Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When yearly ye assemble a',                   When gleaming sunbeams intervene,
One round-I ask it with a tear,-              And gild the distant mountain's brow;
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.             An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
VIII.
Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
The pride of all the flow'ry scene,
Just opening on its thorny stem;
XXVIII.                           An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
ON CESSNOCK BANKS.
IX.
Tune-" If he be a butcher neat and trim."      Her teeth are like the nightly snow
[There are many variations of this song, which was  When pale the morning rises keen,
first printed by Cromek from the oral communication of    While hid the murmuring streamlets flow;
a Glasgow lady, on whose charms the poet, in early life,  An' she has twa sparkling roguish een
composed it.]
I.                                               X.
ON Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;              Her lips are like yon cherries ripe,
Could I describe her shape and mien;            That sunny walls from Boreas screenOur lasses a' she far excels,                    They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.          An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.




220                          THE POETICAL WORKS
XI.
Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,               THE LASS OF B A LLOCHMYL E.
That slowly mount the rising steep;,,,.,.Tune-"'Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff."
An' she has twa glancin' roguish een
[Miss Alexander, of Ballochmyle, as the poet tells hei
XII.                        in a letter, dated November, 1786, inspired this popular
Her breath is like the fragrant breeze          song. He chanced to meet her in one of his favourite
Iter breath is like the fragrant breeze
walks on the banks of the Ayr, and the fine scene and
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean,        the lovely lady set the muse to work. Miss Alexander,
When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;             perhaps unaccustomed to this forward wooing of the
An' she has twa sparkling roguish eemn        muse, allowed the offering to remain unnoticed for a
time: it is now in a costly frame, and hung in her chamX I I I.                     ber-as it deserves to be.]
Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush                                   I.
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen,'TwAs even-the dewy fields were green,
While his mate sits nestling in the bush;           On every blade the pearls hang,
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.          The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,
But it's not her air, her form, her face,           All nature listening seemd the while,
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen,            Except where greenwood echoes rang'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,           Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle 
An' chiefly in her roguish een.
II.
-- ---- _- ~      With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,
XXIX.
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy;
M A R Y!                         Her look was like the morning's eye,
Tune-,"Blue Bonnets."                      Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd passing by,
[In the original manuscript Burns calls this song " A  Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!
Prayer for Mary;" his Highland Mary is supposed to be
the inspirer.]
III.
I.III
Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,
Pov;rs celestial! whose protection   
And sweet is night in autumn mild
Ever guards the virtuous fair,
When roving thro' the garden gay,
While in distant climes I wander,                            d
t  my Mar  be yourcarOr wand'ring in the lonely wild;
Let my Mary be your care: 
But woman, nature's darling child!
Let her form sae fair and faultless,                   e.,
-r~~,.,There all her charms she does conrip;
Fair and faultless as your own,
Fair  d f.aulles  youdredsirio,        Even there her other works are foil'd
Let my Mary's kindred spirit
Draw your choiestinfueBy the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
Draw your choicest influence down.
II.                                                IV.
Make the gales you waft around her                0, had she been a country maid,
Soft and peaceful as her breast;                  And I the happy country swain,
Breathing in the breeze that fans her,            Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
Soothe her bosom into rest:                       That ever rose on Scotland's plain,
Guardian angels!  0 protect her,                  Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
When in distant lands I roam;                     With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
To realms unknown while fate exiles me,           And nightly to my bosom strain
Make her bosom still my home.                     The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          221
v.                          The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Then pride might climb the slippery steep,     Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Where fame and honours lofty shine:          Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes!
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep        My peace with these, my love with those —
Or downward seek the Indian mine;            The bursting tears my heart declare;
Give me the cot below the pine,                Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr!
To tend the flocks, or till the soil,
And ev'ry day have joys divine
With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
XXXII.
0 WHAR DID YE GET
XXXI.                                 Tune-" Bonnie Dundee."
T H E  G L OOMY  N I G H T.              [This is one of the first songs which Burns commun:
cated to Johnson's Musical Museum: the starting verse
Tune~" Roslin Castle."
is partly old and partly new: the se- Dad is wholly by his
[" I had taken," says Burns, " the last farewell of my  hand.]
friends, my chest was on the road to Greenock, and I had
composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia-                                           0, WHAR did ye get that hauver meal bannock?'The gloomy night is gathering fast.' "]   0 silly blind body, O dinna ye see?
I.                       I gat it frae a young brisk sodger laddie,
Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee.
THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
oy  h  i  n   Onast  0 gin I saw the laddie that gae me't!
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
ours h iud.  inon   bth a,          Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
Yo murky cloud is foul wit rain,          May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie,
I see it driving o'er the plain;  
ee iut d s o'e the p,             And send him  safe hame to his babie and
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure;                  me!
While here I wander, prest with care,                             II.
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.               My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie,
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie!
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn,           Thou's ay the dearer and dearer to me!
By early Winter's ravage torn;               But I'll big a bower on you bonnie banks,
Across her placid, azure sky,                  Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear;
She sees the scowling tempest fly:          And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine,
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave-           And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.
I I I.                                      XXXIII.'Tis not the surging billow's roar,                THE  JOYFUL WIDOWER.'Tis not that fatal deadly shore;
^,, ~  ^.,Tune-" Maggy Lauder."
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear!            [Most of this song is by Burns: his fancy was fi.-eo
But round my heart the ties are bound,       with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity, and he had
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound;  them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first
printed in the Musical Museum.]
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 
I MARRIED with a scolding wife
I V.                            The fourteenth of November;
Farewell old Coila's hills and dales,            She made me weary of my life,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;                By one unruly member.




222                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Long did I bear the heavy yoke,                                  XXXV.
And many griefs attended;
But to my comfort be it spoke,                I AM  MY  MAMMY'S  AE  BAIRN.
Now, now her life is ended.                     Tune-" Pm o'er young to marry yet."
II.                         [The title, and part of the chorus only of this song, are
We liv'd full one-and-twenty years           old; the rest is by Burns, and was written for Johnson.]
A man and wife together;                                         I.
At length from me her course she steer'd,      I AM my mammy's ae bairn,
And gone I know not whither:i' unco folk I weary, Sir;
Would I could guess, I do profess,             And lying in a man's bed,
I speak, and do not flatter,                 A    lyn  i a mn  bed,
I speak, and do not {frlatter,                 I'm fley'd it make me eerie, Sir.
Of all the woman in the world,                        I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I never could come at her.                            I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I'm o'er young-'twad be a sin
Her body is bestowed well,                              To tak' me frae my mammy yet.
A handsome grave does hide her;
But sure her soul is not in hell,
The deil would ne'er abide her.               Hallowmas  come and gane,
I rather think she is aloft.                   The nights are lang in winter, Sir;
I rather think she is aloft.,                              a  I       
And imitating thunder;                      And you an' I in ae bed,
And imitating thunder;
And imitating thunder;  In trouth, I dare na venture, Sir.
For why,-methinks I hear her voice
Tearing the clouds asunder.
Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind,
Blaws through the leafless timmer, Sir;
But, if ye come this gate again,
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.
XXXIV.                                 I'm o'er young to marry yet;
COME DOWN THE BACK STAIRS.                              I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I'm o'er young,'twad be a sin
rune-" Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad."              To t  me fe m  mmm   e.
To tak me frae my mammy yet.
]The air of this song was composed by John Bruce, a
Dumfries fiddler. Burns gave another and happier version to the work of Tlomson: this was written for the
Museum of Johnson, where it was first published.]
CHORUS.                                           XXXVI.
0 whistle, and I'll come                  BONNIE LASSIE, WILL YE  GO.
To you, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come                        Tune-" The birks of Aberfeldy."
To you, my lad:                         [An old strain, called " The Birks of Abergeldie," was
Tho' father and mither                  the forerunner of this sweet song: it was written, the
Should baith gae mad,                 poet says, standing under the Falls of Aberfeldy, near
e,   a     e  Moness, in Perthshire, during one of the tours whinc he
O whistle, and I'll come                made to the north, in the year 1787.]
To you, my lad.
CHORUS.
CoME down the back stairs                      Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
When ye come to court me;                    Will ye go, will ye go;
Come down the back stairs                      Bonnie lassie, will ye go
When ye come to court me;                      To the birks of Aberfeldy?
Come down the back stairs,
And let naebody see,                                           I.
And come as ye were na                       Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
Coming to me.                             And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             223
Come let us spend the lightsome daysI 1.
In the birks of Aberfeldy.                 Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I.                        I've dar'd his face, and in this place
The little birdies blithely sing,               I scorn him yet again!
While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing                                      I I.
In the birks of Aberfeldy.                 Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
I II.                       And there's no a man in all Scotland,
The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,             But I'll brave him at a word.
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,                             IV.
The birks of Aberfeldy.                    I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie:
I v.                        It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avenged be.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,           not avenged be.
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
And rising, weets wi' misty showers      Now farewell light —thou sunshine bright,
The birks of Aberfeldy.                      And all beneath the sky
And all beneath the sky!
~v~~. ~May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,                 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,                 Sa  dauntingly gaed he;
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,                      a d     i         g     he;
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,                  He play'd a spring, and dane'd it round,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.                          Below the gallows-tree.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldy?                                     III.
BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER,
Tune-" Galla Water.
[Burns found this song in the collection of Herd;
XXXVII.                       added the first verse, made other but not material emendations, and published it in Johnson: in 1793 he wrote
MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.                        another version for Thomson.]
CHORUS.
Tune-" I'Pherson's Rant."
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;
[This vehement and daring song had its origin in an   O braw lads of Galla Water:
older and inferior strain, recording the feelings of a noted  I' kilt my cots aboon my knee,
freebooter when brought to "justify his deeds on the
gallows-tree" at Inverness.]                            And follow my love thro' the water.
I.                                               I.
FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,           SAE fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
The wretch's destinie!                          Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie;
Macpherson'~ time will not be long               Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',
On yonder gallows-tree.                          The mair I kiss she's ay my dearie.
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;  
Ie play'd a spring, and danc'd it round,  O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae,
Below the gallows-tree..O'er yon moss amang the heather;




224                         THE POETICAL WORKS
I'll kilt my coats aooon my knee,                                     II.
And follow my love thro' the water.               Crystal streamlets gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Western breezes softly blowing,
Down amang the broom, the broom,                       Suit not my distracted mind.
Down amang the broom, my dearie,
The lassie lost a silken snood,                                      III.
That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.            In the cause of Right engaged,
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;                 Wrongs injurious to redress,
0 braw lads of Galla-Water:                Honour's war we strongly waged,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,               But the heavens denied success.
And follow my love thro' the water.
I v.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend,
The wild world is all before usBut a world without a friend.
STAY, MY CHARMER.
Tune-" An Gille dubh ciar dhubh."
[The air of this song was picked up by the poet in one
of his northern tours: his Highland excursions coloured
many of his lyric compositions.]
I.                                     MY  HOGGIE.
STAY, my charmer, can you leave me?           Tune-" What will I do gin my Iloggie die.?"
Cruel, cruel, to deceive me!
C Xru 11el,1X1 I. creod[Burns was struck with the pastoral wildness of this
Well you know how much you grieve me;   Liddesdale air, and wrote these words to it for the Mu.
Cruel charmer, can you go?              seum: the first line only is old.]
Cruel charmer, can you go?
Cruel charmer, can you go?    WHAT will I do gin my Hoggie die?
ii.                            My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
My only beast, I had nae mae,
By my love so ill requited;
And vow but I was vogie!
By the faith you fondly plighted;
The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld,
By the pangs of lovers slighted;                Me and my faithfu doggie
Me and my faithfu' doggie;
Do not, do not leave me so!                                             i.
Do not, do not leave me so!               We heard nought but the roaring linn,
Do not, do not leave me so!
Amang the braes sae scroggie;
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa',
The blitter frae the boggie,
The tod reply'd upon the hill,
XL.                            I trembled for my Hoggie.
THICKEST  NIGHT, O'ERHANG MY                      When day did daw, and cocks did craw,
DWELLING.                            The morning it was foggie;
An' unco tyke lap o'er the dyke,
Tune-," Strathallan's Lament."
Tune-" Strathallan's Lament."           -And maist has kill'd my Hoggie.
[The Viscount Strathallan, whom this song commemorates, was William Drummond: he was slain at the
carnage of Culloden. It was long believed that he escaped to France and died in exile.]
XLII.
I.
HER DADDIE FORBAD.
THICKEST night, surround my dwelling!             HEE  FR                       D.
Howling tempests, o'er me rave!                    Tune-" Jumpin' John."
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,            [This is one of the old songs which Ritson accuses
Roaring by my lonely cave!               Burns of amending for the Museum: little of it, how-..~ —— r~ —- — I _.-_~,..~.~.~ ~_rc~~~..__^^..L____________




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              225
ever, is his, save a touch here and there-but they are
Burns's touches.]                                                      XLIV.
I.                                               THE
HER daddie forbad, her minnie forbad;                 YOU          HIGHLAND  ROVER.
Forbidden she wadna be:
She wadna trow't, the browst she brew'd                           Tune-" ilorag."
Wad taste sae bitterlie.                          [The Young Highland Rover of this strain is supposed
The lang lad they ca' jumpin' John         by some to be the Chevalier, and with more probability
Beguiled the bonnie lassie,              by others, to be a Gordon, as the song was composed in
consequence of the poet's visit to " bonnie Castle-GorThe lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John         don," in September, 1787.]
Beguiled the bonnie lassie.
I.
Il.                             LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,
A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf,                     The snaws the mountains cover;
And thretty gude shillin's and three;               Like winter on me seizes,
A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter,              Since my young Highland rover
The lass wi' the bonnie black e'e.                     Far wanders nations over.
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John              Where'er he go, where'er he stray,
Beguiled the bonnie lassie,                     May Heaven be his warden:
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John              Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
Beguiled the bonnie lassie.                     And bonnie Castle-Gordon!
I I.
XLIII                             The trees now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
UP 1N THE MORNING EARLY
The birdies dowie moaning,
Tune —" Cold blows the wind."                    Shall a' be blithely singing,
And every flower be springing.
[" The chorus of this song," says the poet, in his notes 
on the Scottish Lyrics, "is old, the two stanzas are                       lee-lng day,
mine." The air is ancient, and was a favourite  ~        When by his mighty Warden
Mary Stuart, the queen of William the Tb;d.]           My youth's returned to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon.
CHORUS.
Up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.                                  XLV.
CLLI. b                         HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER.
CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west,                 Tune-" The Dusty Miller."
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shill I hear the blast,           [The Dusty Miller is an old strain, modified for the
I'm se it's winr fair.          Museum by Burns: it is a happy specimen of his taste
I'm sure t's wineand skill in making the new look like the old.]
II.                                                I.
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,              HEY, the dusty miller,
A' day they fare but sparely;                       And his dusty coat;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn-             He will win a shilling,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.                        Or he spend a groat.
Up in the morning's no for me,                         Dusty was the coat,
Up in the morning early;                               Dusty was the colour,
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,               Dusty was the kiss
I'm sure it's winter fairly.                            That I got frae the miller.
__._,.______.__!W.                                                   __




226                         THE POETICAL WORKS
II.                                          XLVII.
Hey, the dusty miler,                       TTHENIEL MENZIES' BONNIE MARY.
And his dusty sack;
Leeze me on the calling                           Tune.-" The Rufian's Rant."
Fills the dusty peck.                   [Burns, it is believed, wrote this song during his first
Fills the dusty peck,              Highland tour, when he danced among the northern
Brings the dusty siller;        dames, to the tune of "Bab at the Bowster," till the
I wad gie my coatie               morning sun rose and reproved them from the top of Ben
I wa  gie my    "it     Lomond.]
For the dusty miller.
I.
IN coming by the brig o' Dye,
At Darlet we a blink did tarry;
As day was dawin in the sky,
XLVI.                           We drank a health to bonnie Mary.
Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary;
THERE WAS A  LASS.                                   Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary;
Tune-" Duncan Davison."                          Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary.
[There are several other versions of Duncan Davison,
which it is more delicate to allude to than to quote: this
one is in the Museum.]
Her een sae bright, her brow sae white,
Her haffet locks as brown's a berry;
THERE was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,            And ay, they dimpt wi a smile,
And she held o'er the moors to spin;            The rsy  hees o' bnie 
There was a lad that follow'd her,
They ca'd him Duncan Davison.                                    III.
The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh,          e lap and danced the lee lang day,
We lap and danced the lee lang day,
Her favour Duncan could na win;
er favour Duncan could na wn;       Till piper lads were wae and weary;
For wi' the roke she wad him knock,             But Chare gat the spring to pay,
But Chargle gat the spring to pay,
And ay she shook the temper-pin.                For kisbin' Theniel's bonnie Mary.
~I I~~~~.  ~Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary;
Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary;
As o'er the moor they lightly foor,                        Theniel Menzies' bonnie M
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,
A burn was clear, a glen was green,                               en              r
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary.
Upon the banks they eas'd-their shanks,
And ay she set the wheel between:
But Duncan swore a haly aith,
That Meg should be a bride the morn,
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,
And flang them a' out o'er the burn.                              VII.?XLVIII.
III.~                 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.
We'll big a house,-a wee, wee house,
And we will live like king and queen,            Tune.-" IBhannerach dhon na chr."
Sae blythe and merry we will be                [These verses were composed on a charming yourg
When ye set by the wheel at e'en.          lady, Charlotte Hamilton, sister to the poet's friend,
A man may drink and no be drunk;              Gavin Hamilton of Mauchline, residing, when the song
A man may fight and no be slain;           was written, at Harvieston, on the banks of the Devon,
A man may  i  a b e lain the county of Clackmannan.]
A man may kiss a bonnie lass,
And ay be welcome back again.                                      i.
How pleasant the banks of the clear winding
Devon,
With green spreading bushes, and flowe.rs
blooming fair!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                        227
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the                        III.
Devon                                     But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aithWas once a sweet bud on the braes of the        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
Ayr.                                      Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breathMild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,    Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the    Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
dew;                                      The beast again can bear us baith,
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,  And auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
That steals on the evening each leaf to re-     And clout the bad girdin o't.
new.
ii.
0 spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn;
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes                  L.
The verdure and pride of the garden and
lawn!                                             THE PLOUGHMAN.
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies,          Tune-" Up wi' the ploughman."
And England, triumphant, display her proud
E nt p i     hr    [The old words, of which these in the Museum are an
Rose:                                   altered and amended version, are in the collection of
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys,   Herd.]
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.
THE ploughman he's a bonnie lad,
His mind is ever true, jo,
His garters knit below his knee,
His bonnet it is blue, jo.
XLIX.                              Then up wi' him my ploughman lad,
And hey my merry ploughman!
WEARY  FA' YOU, DUNCAN  GRAY.                            And hey my merry ploughman!
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Tune-"Duncan Gray."                           Commend me to the ploughman.
[The original Duncan Gray, out of which the present 
strain was extracted for Johnson, had no right to be called
a lad of grace: another version, and in a happier mood,   My ploughman he comes hame at e'en,
was written for Thomson.]                         He's aften wat and weary;
~I~~~~. ~Cast off the wat, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my dearie!
WEARY fa' you, Duncan Gray- 
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!                                     III.
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray-                I will wash my ploughman's hose,
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!                    And I will dress his o'erlay;
When a' the lave gae to their play,         I will mak my ploughman's bed,
Then I maun sit the lee lang day,             And cheer him late and early.
And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
And a' for the girdin o't!                                   I v.
I hae been east, I hae been west,
I I.                         I hae been at Saint Johnston;
Bonnie was the Lammas moon-                 The bonniest sight that e'er I saw
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!                     Was the ploughman laddie dancin'.
Glowrin' a' the hills aboonHa, ha, the girdin o't!                                     V.
The girdin brak, the beast cam down,        Snaw-white stockins on his legs,
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon;          And siller buckles glancin';
Ah! Duncan, ye're an unco loon-            A gude blue bonnet on his headWae on the bad girdin o't!                  And 0, but he was handsome t




228                          THE POETICAL WORKS
VI.                        death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death
Commend me to the barn-yard,          of her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon, in 1796.''
Commend me to the barn-yard,
And the corn-mou, man;                                               I.
I never gat my coggie fou,                          RAVING winds around her blowing,
Till I met wi' the ploughman.                    Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
Up wi' him my ploughman lad,                 By a river hoarsely roaring,
And hey my merry ploughman!                Isabella stray'd deploringOf a' the trades that I do ken,              " Farewell hours that late did measure
Commend me to the ploughman.               Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow!
LI.                                               II.
LANDLADY, COUNT  THE  LAWIN.                         "O'er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering;
Tune-" Hey tutti, taiti."                  Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
[Of this song, the first and second verses are by Burns:  Fell despair my fancy seizes.
the closing verse belongs to a strain threatening Britain  Life, thou soul of every blessing,
with an invasion from the iron-handed Charles XII. of  Load to misery most distressing,
Sweden, to avenge his own wrongs and restore the line  Gladly how would I resign thee,
of the Stuarts.]
And to dark oblivion join thee!"
I.
LANDLADY, count the lawin,
The day is near the dawin;
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys,
And I'm but jolly fou,
Hey tutti, taiti,                                        LIII.
How tutti, taiti —
How  tutti, taiti-                  HOW  LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT.
Wha's fou now?
To a Gaelic air.
I I.
[Composed for the Museum: the air of this affecting
Cog an' ye were ay fou,                    strain is true Highland: Burns, though not a musician:
Cog an' ye were ay fou,                   had a fine natural taste in the matter of national melo
I wad sit and sing to you                 dies.]
If ye were ay fou.                                             I.
III.                            How long and dreary is the night
Weel may ye a' be!                           When I am frae my dearie!
Weel may yea' be!
Ill may we never see!                          I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,
Ill may we never see!
God bless the king, ^.Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.
God bless the king,
And the companie!.,I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,
And the companie!
Hey tutti, taiti,                          Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti-                                         II.
Wha's fou now?
When I think on the happy days
I spent wi' you, my dearie,
And now what lands between us lie,
How can I but be eerie!
LII.                            And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie!
RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.                        H  c        
Tune —" Macgregor of Rura's Lament."                               I I.
[" I composed these verses," says Burns, "on Miss   How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
Isabella M'Leod, of Raza, alluding to he  feelings on the  As ye were wae and weary!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            229
It was na sae ye glinted by,                                       I.
When I was wi' my dearie.                      BY Auchtertyre grows the aik,
It was na sae ye glinted by,                       On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
When I was wi' my dearie.                      But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes of Yarrow ever saw.
II.
LIV.
Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.                        Her smile was like a simmer morn;
Tune-" Druimion dubh."                    She tripped by the banks of Ern,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
[The air of this song is from the Highlands: the verses
were written in compliment to the feelings of Mrs.
M'Lauchlan, whose husband was an officer serving in
the East Indies.]                                    Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet,
MUsING on the roaring ocean,                  As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying heaven in warm devotion,                                 IV.
For his weal where'er he be.                   The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
II.
But Phemie was the blithest lass
Hope and fear's alternate billow                   That ever trod the dewy green.
Yielding late to nature's law,
WYielding late to nature's law,                      Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow                        Blithe was she but and ben:
Talk of him that's far awa.                          Blithe by the banks of E
~~~~~~~III.  ~And blithe in Glenturit glen.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,                                 LVI.
LVI.
Gaudy day to you is dear.
THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE
IV.                                       MAY BLAW.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me;                     Tune       o daunton me."
Tune~" To daunton me."
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,                [The Jacobite strain of " To daunton me," must have
Talk of him that's far awa!               been in the mind of the poet when he wrote this pithy
lyric for the Museum.]
I.
LV.                        THE blude red rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
B L I T H E  W     A 3S SHE.          The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
Tune-" Andro and his cutty gun."          But an auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, and me so young,
[The heroine of this song, Euphemia Murray, of Lin-,,
trose was justly called the " Flower of Strathmore:"  Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue.
she is now widow of Lord Methven, one of the Scottish  That is the thing you ne'er shall see;
judges, and mother of a fine family. The song was    For an auld man shall never daunton me.
Written at Ochtertyre, in June 1787.]
CHORUS.                                             II.
Blithe, blithe and merry was she,         For a' his meal and a' his maut,
Blithe was she but and ben:             For a' his fresh beef and his saut,
Blithe by the banks of Ern,               For a' his gold and white monie,
And blithe in Glenturit glen.           An auld man shall never daunton me.




230                           THE POETICAL WORKS
II I.                                            LVIII.
His gear may buy him kye and yowes,                  A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;Tune-" The Rose-bud."
But me he shall not buy nor fee,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.             [The " Rose-bud" of these sweet verses was Miss
Jean Cruikshank, afterwards ~Mrs. Henderson, daughter
of William Cruikshank, of St. James's Square, one of
the masters of the High School of Edinburgh: she is
He hirples twa fauld as he dow,                   also the subject of a poem equally sweet.]
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, 
And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd ee —         ROSE-BD by my early walk,
That auld man shall never daunton me.                  Adown a corn-enclose  bawk,
To daunton me, and me sae young,                  Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue,             All on a dewy morning.
That is the thing you ne'er shall see;            Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fed,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.           In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
II.
Within the bush, her covert nest
LVII.                             A little linnet fondly prest,
COME BOAT ME O'ER  TO CHARLIE.                         The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
Tune-" O'er the water to Charlie."
She soon shall see her tender brood,
[The second stanza of this song, and nearly all the  The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
third, are by Burns. Many songs, some of merit, on the  Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
same subject, and to the same air, were in other days       A                 
I current in Scotland.]                                     Awake the early morning.
current in Scotland.]
I.                                               III.
COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er,                   So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie;                        On trembling string or vocal air,
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,                     Shall sweetly pay the tender care
To boat me o'er to Charlie.                              That tends thy early morning.
We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,          So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;              Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,       And bless the parent's evening ray
And live or die wi' Charlie.                      That watch'd thy early morning.
II.
I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,                                          LIX.
Tho' some there be abhor him:
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,                   RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.
And Charlie's faes before him!                          Tune-" Rattlin', roarin' Willie."
I I IIl[" The hero of this chant," says Burns "was one of
the worthiest fellows in the world-William Dunbar,
I swear and vow by moon and stars,                Esq., Writer to the Signet, Edinburgh, and Colonel o.
And sun that shines so early,                   the Crochallan corps-a club of wits, who took that title
If I had twenty thousand lives,                   at the time of raising the fencible regiments."]
I'd die as aft for Charlie.                                            I.
We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,            0 RATTLIN', roarin' Willie,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;                  0, he held to the fair,
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,         An' for to sell his fiddle,
And live or die wi' Charlie!                      An' buy some other ware;




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           231
But parting wi' his fiddle,                                    LXI.
The saut tear blint his ee;
And rattlin', roarin' Willie,
Ye're welcome hame to me!                          Tune —" Johnny M' Gill."
[We owe the air of this song to one Johnny M'Gill, a
fiddler of Girvan, who bestowed his own name on it: and
0 Willie, come sell your fiddle,          the song itself partly to Burns and partly to some un
0 sell your fiddle sae fine;            known minstrel. They are both in the Museum.]
0 Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
And buy a pint o' wine!                          0, WILT thou go wi' me,
If I should sell my fiddle,                          Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
The warl' would think I was mad;                 O, wilt thou go wi' me,
For mony a rantin' day                               Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
My fiddle and I hae had.                         Wilt thou ride on a horse,
Or be drawn in a car,
II I.
As I cam by Crochallan,                            Or walk by my sie,
I cannilykeekit ben-                        0O, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
I cannily keekit ben —
Rattlin', roarin' Willie
Was sittin' at yon board en';care                         thydaddie
Sitting at yon board en',                            Hs lands and his money
His lands and his money,
And amang good companie;I care na thy kindred
Rattlin', roarin' Willie,                              e high and e lord
Sae high and sae lordly:
Ye're welcome hame to me!                             say h          e me
But say thou wilt hae me
For better for waurAnd come in thy coatie,
~~~~~LX.   ~Sweet Tibbie Dunbar!
LX.
BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.
Tune —" Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny."                      LXII.
[t This song," says the poet, " I composed on one of
the most accomplished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers  S T R E A M S TH A T  G L I DE  I N
that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes and Co.'s           O R I E N T PL A I N S.
bank, Edinburgh." She now lives at Pau, in the south
of France.]                                                     Tune-" Morag."
[We owe these verses tf the too brief visit which the
WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,       poet, in 1787, made to Gordon Castle: he was hurried
The lofty Ochels rise,                    away, much against his will, by his moody and obstinate
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms        friend William Nicol.]
First blest my wondering eyes;                                  I.
As one who by some savage stream,                STREAMS that glide in orient plains,
A lonely gem surveys,                         Never bound by winter's chains;
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam,                 Glowing here on golden sands,
With art's most polish'd blaze.               There commix'd with foulest stains
From tyranny's empurpled bands;
I I.                           These, their richly gleaming waves,
Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,           I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
And blest the day and hour,                   Give me the stream that sweetly laves
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,The banks by Castle-Gordon.
When first I felt their power!
The tyrant Death, with grim control,                              II.
May seize my fleeting breath;                 Spicy forests, ever gay,
But tearing Peggy from my soul                   Shading from the burning ray,
Must be a stronger death.                       Hapless wretches sold to toil,




232                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Or the ruthless native's way,                                  LXIV
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
Woods that ever verdant wave,                              THE  TAILOR.
I leave the tyrant and the slave,            Tune-" The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles
Give me the groves that lofty brave                             an' a'."
The storms by Castle-Gordon.
[The second and fourth verses are by Burns, the res'
is very old, the air is also very old, and is played at trade
festivals and processions by the Corporation of Tailors.]
Wildly here without control,
Nature reigns and rules the whole;
Nature reigns and rules the whole;  TE Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a',
In that sober pensive mood,
In that sober pensive mood,                The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a';
Dearest to the feeling soul,
She plants the forest, pours the  ood;     The blankets were thin, and the sheets they
She plants the forest, pours the flood;
Life's poor day I'll musing rave,                   were sma',
And find at night a sheltering cave,          The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'.
Where waters flow and wild woods wave,
By bonnie Castle-Gordon.                              i    i,                    i
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill,
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill;
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still,
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill.
LXIII.
MY HARRY WAS A  GALLANT GAY.  Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
Tne-Highlands L t."          Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
Tune —" ^Higlander'  s Lament."
The day it is short, and the night it is lang,
[" The chorus," says Burns, " I picked up from an old  The dearest siller that ever I wan!
woman in Dumblane: the rest of the song is mine." He
composed it for Johnson: the tone is Jacobitical.]                   I V.
I.                        There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
MY Harry was a gallant gay,
M   Harry was a  gallant gay,       There's some that are dowie, I trow would be
Fu' stately strode he on the plain:               fain
But now he's banish'd far away,
n    he' bi    a  aa.,  To see the bit tailor come skippin' again.
I'll never see him back again.
O for him back again!
O for him back again!
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land                            LXV.
For Highland Harry back again.         SIMMER'S A  PLEASANT  TIME.
II.                                  Tune-" Ay waukin o'."
When a' the lave gae to their bed,             [Tytler and Ritson unite in considering the air of these
I wander dowie up the glen;                words as one of our most ancient melodies. The first
I set me down and greet my fill,             verse of the song is from the hand of Burns; the rest had
the benefit of his emendations: it is to be found in the
And ay I wish him back again.Museum.]
Museum.]
III.                                             I.
O were some villains hangit high,                 SIMMER'S a pleasant time,
And ilka body had their ain!                      Flow'rs of ev'ry colour;
Then I might see the joyfu' sight,                The water rins o'er the heugh,
My Highland Harry back again.                     And I long for my true lover.
O for him back again!                             Ay waukin 0,
O for him back again!                             Waukin still and wearie:
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land                   Sleep I can get nane
For Highland Harry back again.                    For thinking on my dearie.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            233
II.                       the work of Burns. Every trade had, in other days, an
When I sleep I dream,                        air of its own, and songs to correspond; but toil and
sweat came in harder measure, and drove melodies out
When I wauk I'm eerie;                     of working-men's heads.]
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.                                       I.
WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading lowers,
Lanely night comes on,                         Then busy, busy are his hoursA' the lave are sleeping;                        The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
I think on my bonnie lad                       The crystal waters gently fa';
And I bleer my een with greetin'.            The merry birds are lovers a';
Ay waukin 0,                            The scented breezes round him blawWaukin still and wearie:                   The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.                                Ii.
When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
LXVI.                          Then thro' the dews he maun repairThe gard'ner wi' his paidle.
BEWARE  O' BONNIE  ANN.                       When day, expiring in the west,
Tune-" Ye gallants bright."               The curtain draws of nature's rest,
He flies to her arms he lo'es best[Burns wrote this song in honour of Ann Masterton,    The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
daughter of Allan Masterton, author of the air of Strathallan's Lament: she is now Mrs. Derbishire, and resides in London.]
I.
YE gallants bright, I red ye right,                             LXVIII.
Beware o' bonnie Ann;
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,                      BLOOMING  NELLY.
Your heart she will trepan.                       Tune-" On a bank of flowers."
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,  [One of the lyrics of Allan Ramsay's collection seems
Her skin is like the swan;
Her skin is like the swan;                to have been in the mind of Burns when he wrote this:
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist,           the words and air are in the Museum.]
That sweetly ye might span.
I I.                         ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
Youth, grace, and love attendant move,           For summer lightly drest,
And pleasure leads the van:                  The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
In a' their charms, and conquering arms,         With love and sleep opprest;
They wait on bonnie Ann.                     When Willie wand'ring thro' the wood,
The captive bands may chain the hands,           Who for her favour oft had sued,
But love enslaves the man;                   He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
Ye gallants braw, I red you a',                  And trembled where he stood.
Beware o' bonnie Ann!
II.
Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
LXVII.                          Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dy'd the rose.
w HEN R 0 S Y M A Y.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Tune-" The gardenler ~wi' his paidle."          Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;
[The air of this song is played annually at the proces-    He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'dsion of the Gardeners: the title only is old; the rest is  His bosom ill at rest.




234                          THE POETICAL WORKS
I II.                        keep their place: the title is old. Both words and all
Her robes light waving in the breeze           are in the Musical Museum.
Her tender limbs embrace;                                           I.
Her lovely form, her native ease,                MY love she's but a lassie yet,
All harmony and grace:                           My love she's but a lassie yet,
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,                We'll let her stand a year or twa,
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;               She'll no be half so saucy yet.
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,      I rue the day I sought her, 
And sigh'd his very soul.                        I rue the day I sought her, 0;
IV.                           Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd,
As flies the partridge from the brake,              But he may say he's bought her,!
On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly, starting, half awake,
Away affrighted springs:
Away asfrighted springl s: aCome, draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
But Willie follow'd, as he should,                  Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
He overtook her in ae wood;                    Gae seek for pleasure where ye will,
He overtook her in a wood;
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid              But here I never mss'd it yet.
Forgiving all and good.                        We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife,
An' could na preach for thinkin' o't.
LXIX.
THE DAY RETURNS.
Tune —" Seventh of November."
[The seventh of November was the anniversary of the                 LXXT.
marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Riddel, of Friars-Carse, and
these verses were composed in compliment to the day.]   J A M I E, C O M E  T R Y  M E.
I.                                  Tune —" IJamy, come try me."
THE day returns, my bosom burns,
THE day returns, my bosom burns,               [Burns in these verses caught up the starting note of
The blissful day we twa did meet,            an old song, of which little more than the starting words
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,            deserve to be remembered: the words and air are in the
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet.         Musical Museum.]
-Than a' the pride that loads the tide,                            CHORUS.
And crosses o'er the sultry line;                       Jamie, come try me,
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,                Jamie, come try me;
Heaven gave me more-it made thee mine!                  If thou would win my love,
II.                                   Jamie, come try me.
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move,                        thou should ask my love,
For thee, and thee alone I live.                      Could I deny thee?
When that grim foe of life below,                     If thou would win my love,
Comes in between to make us part,                     Jamie, come try me.
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.
If thou should kiss me, love,
Wha could espy thee?
LXX.                               If thou wad be my love,
Jamie, come try me.
MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.                           Jamie, come try me,
Tune-" Lady Bandinscoth's Reel."                      Jamie, come try me;
[These verses had their origin in an olden strain,If thou would win my love,
equally lively and less delicate: some of the old lines      Jamie, come try me.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            235
II.
LXXII. 
How long have I liv'd, but how much liv'd in
MY BONNIE MARY.                               vain!
Tune-" Gofetch to me a pint o' wine."        How little of life's scanty span may remain!
What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has
[Concerning this fine song, Burns in his notes says,' This air is Oswald's: the first half-stanza of the song is  worn
old, the rest is mine." It is believed, however, that the  What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn!
whole of the song is from his hland: in Hogg and Mother-  HOW foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd!
well's edition of Burns, the starting lines are supplied  And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd,
from an olden strain: but some of the old strains in that  how pain'd!
work are to be regarded with suspicion.]
ork are e r d wh s ]      Life is not worth having with all it can giveI.                         For something beyond it poor man sure must
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,                        live.
An' fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink, before I go,
A service to my bonnie lassie;
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;                               LXXIV.
Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;             TE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY.
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.                       Tune-        mount nd go
[Part of this song belongs to an old maritime strain,
II.                        with the same title: it was communicated, along with
The trumpets sound, the banners fy,  many other songs, made or amended by Burns, to the
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,           M      Msy,
Musical Museum.]
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,                                 C HO RUS.
The battle closes thick and bloody;                   O mount and go,
It's not the roar o' sea or shore                          Mount and make you ready;
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;                     0 mount and go,
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar-                      And be the Captain's Lady.
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
I.
WHEN the drums do beat,
And the cannons rattle,
Thou shall sit in state,
LXXIII.                              And see thy love in battle.
THE  LAZY  MIST.                                              I.
Tune-" The lazy mist."                    When the vanquish'd foe
Sues for peace and quiet,
[All that Burns says about the authorship of The Lazy  To the shades we'll go
Mist, is," This song is mine." The air, which is by Os-        
wald, together with the words, is in the Musical Muse-  Ad    love enjoy t.
um.]                                                         0 mount and go,
Mount and make you ready;
0 mount and go,
THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,                 And b  te Ctn 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year.                           LXXV.
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,  OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown:
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,            Tune-" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey"
Tlow quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pur-   [Burns wrote this charming song in honour of Jean Arsues!                                    mour: he archly says in his notes, " P. S. it was during




236                         THE POETICAL WORKS
the honey-moon." Other versions are abroad; this one  olden strain, are wholly by Burns, and right bitter ones
is from the manuscripts of the poet.]           they are. The words and air are in the Museum.]
I.                                               I.
OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,FIST when Maggy was my care,
I dearly like the west,                        Heaven, I thought, was in her air;
For there the bonnie lassie lives,               Now we're married-spier nae mairThe lassie I lo'e best:                            Whistle o'er the lave o't.There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,           Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
And mony a hill between;                       Bonnie Meg was nature's child;
But day and night my fancy's flight              Wiser men than me's beguil'dIs ever wi' my Jean.                               Whistle o'er the lave o't.
II.                                              I I.
I see her in the dewy flowers,                   How we live, my Meg and me,
I see her sweet and fair:                     How we love, and how we'gree,
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,                 I care na by how few may see;
I hear her charm the air:                          Whistle o'er the lave o't.There's not a bonnie flower that springs         Wha I wish were maggot's meat,
By fountain, shaw, or green,                  Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,            I could write-but Meg maun see'tBut minds me o' my Jean                            Whistle o'er the lave o't.
I I.
0 blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saftXXVI
Amang the leafy trees,
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale          O  WERE  I ON  PARNASSUS HILL.
Bring hame the laden bees;                         Tune —"My love is lost to nze."
And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;              (The poet welcomed with this exquisite song his wife
to Nithsdale: the air is one of Oswald's.]
Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean..
0, WERE I on Parnassus' hill!
I v.                        Or had of Helicon my fill;
What sighs and vows amang the knowes          That I might catch poetic skill,
Hae passed atween us twa!                       To sing how dear I love thee.
How fond to meet, how wae to part,            But Nith maun be my Muse's well;
That night she gaed awa!                   My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel':
The powers aboon can only ken,                On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell,
To whom the heart is seen,                      And write how dear I love thee.
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!                                        I
Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay!
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day
I coudna sing, I coudna say,
How much, how dear, I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
FIRST WHEN  MAGGY  WAS  MY                       Thy tempting lips, thy roguish tenCARE.                               By heaven and earth I love thee!
Tune-" W7istle o'er the lave o't."                             II.
[The air of this song was composed by John Bruce, of    By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
Dumfries, rn isician: the words, though originating in an    The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;








, i' "Iion id.!l(/\ii  iix\  stil f jii~1II1!
-—! —---- --- -
I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~' 
_ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ K...  _..    _    K,.
Wn~~~~



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               ^
And aye I muse and sing thy name-                on that collection, " The first half-stanza of this song is
I only live to love thee.                    old; the rest mine." Of the old strain no one has recorded any remembrance.l
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,                                            I.
Till my last weary sand was run;                  MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not
Till then-and then I love thee.                       here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roeMy heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
LXXVIII.                        Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
THERE'S A YOUTH  IN  THIS  CITY.                 The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
To a Gaelic Air.
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
[" This air," says Burns, "is claimed by Neil Gew,
who calls it a Lament for his Brother. The first half-                      I I.
stanza of the song Is old: the rest is mine." They are
both in the.Museum.]                 Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with
both in the Museum.]
snow;
^~~~I.      ~        Farewell to the straths and green valleys below:
There's a youth in this city,                Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
It were a great pity                         Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
That he frae our lasses shou'd wander awa:          My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not
For he's bonnie an' braw,                           here,
Weel-favour'd an' a,,                 My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the
And his hair has a natural buckle an' a'.                  deer;
His coat is the hue                          Chasing the wild deer, and following the roeOf his bonnet sae blue;                      My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
His feck it is white as the new-driven snaw;
His hose they are blae,
And his shoon like the slae,
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'.                           LXXX.
II.                                      JOHN ANDERSON.
For beauty and fortune                               Tune-" John Anderson, my jo."
The laddie's been courtin';                    [Soon after the death of Burns, the very handsome
Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and  Miscellanies of Brash and Reid, of Glasgow, contained
braw;                                    what was called an improved John Anderson, from the
^B chiefly the se,  r       pen of the Ayrshire bard; but, save the second stanza,
But chiefly the sillernone of the new matter looked like his hand.
That gars him gang till her,                         " John Anderson, my jo, John,
The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'.                     When nature first began
There's Meg wi' the mailen                            To try her cannie hand, John,
That fain wad a haen him;                               Her master-piece was man;
And you amang them a', John,
And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha';                   Sae trig frae tap to toe,
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy                           She proved to be nae journeywork,
Maist fetters his fancy-                                John Anderson, my jo.]
But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'.
JOHN Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
LXXIX.                               Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
MY HEART'S IN  THE HIGHLANDS.                        But now your brow is beld, John,
Tune —"'Failte na Aliosy."                     Your locks are like the snaw;
[The words and the air are in the Museum, to which     But blessings on your frosty pow,
they were contributed by Burns. He says, in his notes      John Anderson, my jo.




i -
238                         THE POETICAL WORKS
I I.
LXXXII.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;                          CA' THE  EWES.
And mony a canty day, John,                       Tune-" Ca' the ewes to the knowes."
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,                [Most of this sweet pastoral is of other days: Burns
made several emendations, and added the concluding
But hand in hand we'll go;               verse. He afterwards, it will be observed, wrote for
And sleep thegither at the foot,            Thomson a second version of the subject and the air.]
John Anderson, my jo.
CHORUS.
Ca' the ewes to the knowes,
Ca' them whare the heather grows,
LXXXI.                             Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,
My bonnie dearie!
OUR  THRISSLES  FLOURISHEDbo e 
FRESH AND FAIR.                                             I.
Tune-" Awa Whiigs, awa."                   As I gaed'down the water-side,
[Burns trimmed up this old Jacobite ditty for the Mu-  There I met my shepherd lad,
seuin, and added some of the bitterest bits: the second  He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
and fourth verses are wholly his.]                    An' he ca'd me his dearie.
CHORUS.                                             II.
Awa Whigs, awa!                               Will ye gang down the water-side,
Awa Whigs, awa!                             And see the waves sae sweetly glide,
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,            Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
Ye'll do nae good at a'.                      The moon it shines fu' clearly.
I.                                             III.
OUR thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,          I was bred up at nae sic school,
And bonnie bloom'd our roses;                   My shepherd lad, to play the fool,
But Whigs came like a frost in June,              And a' the day to sit in dool,
And wither'd a' our posies.                       And naebody to see me.
II.                                             IV.
Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust-             Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't;             Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,
And write their names in his black beuk,          And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.                  And ye sall be my dearie.
III.                                            V.
Our sad decay in Church and State                 If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
Surpasses my descriving:                        I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad,
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse,               And ye may rowe me in your plaid,
And we hae done wi' thriving.                     And I shall be your dearie.
iv.                                             vi.
Grim vengeance lang ha's taen a nap,              While waters wimple to the sea;
But we may see him wauken;                      While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Gude help the day when royal heads'Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my e'e,
Are hunted like a maukin.                         Ye sall be my dearie.
Awa Whigs, awa!                                   Ca' the ewes to the knowes,
Awa Whigs, awa!                                 Ca' them whare the heather grows,
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,                Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,
Ye'll do nae gude at a'.                          My bonnie dearie.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                239
LXXXIII.                           But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.    Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr,
Tune-" Lord Breadalbone's March."                  Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle I
[Part of this song is old: Sir Harris Nicolas says it
does not appear to be in the Museum: let him look
again.]
I.                                              LXXXV.
O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle,O  M                                Y  IN  HN.
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;
O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle,                       Tune  " Death of Captain Cook."
And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.              [This sublime and affecting Ode was composed by
O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer,               Burns in one of his fits of melancholy, on the anniversary
An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing,           of Highland Mary's death. All the day he had been
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,               thoughtful, and at evening he went out, threw himself
down by the side of one of his corn-ricks, and with his
An' a' the lang night as happy's a king.          eyes fixed on " a bright, particular star," was found by
his wife, who with difficulty brought him in from the
II.                          chill midnight air. The song was already composed, and
Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins,                 he had only to commit it to paper. It first appeared in
the Museum.]
O' marrying Bess to gie her a slaxe:                 Museum.]
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens,                                  I.
And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave.  THou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie,                  That lov'st to greet the early morn,
An' come to my arms and kiss me again!            Again thou usherest in the day
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie!              My Mary from my soul was torn.
And blest be the day I did it again.              0 Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
___________        Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast t
LXXXIV.                                                 II.
THE  BRAES  O' BALLOCHMYLE.  That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,
Tune —" The Braes o' Ballochmyle".."  
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
[Mary Whitefoord, eldest daughter of Sir John White-    To live one day of parting love!
foord, was the heroine of this song: it waswritten when  Eternity cannot efface
that ancient family left their ancient inheritance. It is in  T                           
Those records dear of transports past;
the Museum, with an air by Allan Masterton.]                     
Thy image at our last embrace;
I.                            Ah! little thought we'twas our last!
THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,                                   II.
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,               Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
But nature sicken'd on the e'e.                   O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green;
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,                    The fragrant birch, and hawthorn, hoar,
Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while,              Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene;
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang,                 The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest,
Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle!                The birds sang love on every sprayTill too, too soon, the glowing west
^'~~II.      ~         Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;                                  IV.
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,             Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air.                  And fondly broods with miser care!




240                          THE POETICAL WORKS
Time but th' impression stronger makes,         I saw the battle, sair and tough,
As streams their channels deeper wear.        And reekin' red ran mony a sheugh,
My Mary, dear departed shade!                  My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
Where is thy place of blissful rest?          To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?               0' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?    Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
II.
The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,
LXXXVI.                         To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
E P P  I E  A. ) A.I R.
~EPPI E  A  ~DAIR.   R       And mony a bouk did fa', man:
Tune-"c My Eppie."                 The great Argyll led on his files,
[" This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "which has  I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles:
been ascribed to Burns by some of his editors, is in the  They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,
Musical Museum without any name." It is partly an  They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords
old strain,corrected by Burns: he communicated it to the
Museum.]                                               cl
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd, and smash'd,'Till fey men died awa, man.
AN' 0! my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie!                                        III.
Wha wadna be happy                   But had you seen the philibegs,
Wi' Eppie Adair?                     And skyrin tartan trews, man;
By love, and by beauty,              When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs
By law, and by duty,                   And covenant true blues, man;
I swear to be true to                In lines extended lang and large,
My Eppie Adair!                   When bayonets opposed the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
11~I I.            WWi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath,
An' 0! my Eppie,                    Drew blades o' death,'till, out o' breath,
My jewel, my Eppie!                     They fled like frighted doos, man.
Wha wadna be happy
Wi' Eppie Adair??V
Wi' Epplease Adaexie me,            "0 how deil, Tam, can that be true?
A' pleasiure exile me,                  The chase gaed frae the north, man;
Dishonour defile me,
If e'er I beguile thee,              I saw myself, they did pursue
My Eppie Adair!                      The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling winged their flight;
LXXXVII.                       But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat,
THE BATTLE  OF SHERIFF-MUIR.    Forfear amaist didswarf,man!"
Tune-" Cameronian Rant."
[One Barclay, a dissenting clergyman in Edinburgh, 
wrote a rhyming dialogue between two rustics, on the  My sister Kate cam up the gate
battle of Sheriff-muir: Burns was in nowise pleased with    Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
the way in which the reverend rhymer handled the  She swore she saw some rebels run
Highland clans, and wrote this modified and improved
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man:
Their left-hand general had nae skill,
^~~I.      ~       The Angus lads had nae good-will
"   CAM ye here the fight to shun,          That day their neebors' blood to spill;
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?            For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir,              Their cogs o' brose-they scar'd at blows.
And did the battle see, man?"              And so it goes, you see, man,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              241
vi.                         Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to celebrate the business." The Willie who made the browst
They've lost some gallant gentlemen,            was, therefore,William Nicol; the Allan who composed
Amang the Highland clans, man!              the air, Allan Masterton; and he who wrote this choicest
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,                of convivial songs, Robert Burns.]
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man:
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and som'e for right;            ILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan came to see:
And mony bade the world guid-night;
n   y   a  te,  Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
\ ^   -~,  ^,., ~Ye wad na find in Christendie.
By red claymores, and muskets' knell,
Wi~ dying, yell, the Tories ~ elln    We are na fou, we're no that fou,
Wi' dying yell, the Tories.fell, 
Wi'*dyingyell, the Tories fell, iBut just a drappie in our e'e;
And Whigs to hell did flee, man.
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.
LXXXVIII.                                              II.
Here are we met, three merry boys,
Y 0 U NNG JOCKE Y.
TYOUNeG JYOuCng KcEY.                  Three merry boys, I trow, are we;
Tune-" Young J~ockley."               And mony a night we've merry been,
[With the exception of three or four lines, this song,    And mony mae we hope to be!
though marked in the Museum as an old song with
additions, is the work of Burns. He often seems to have                 III.
sat down to amend or modify old verses, and found it It is the moon-I ken her horn,
easier to make verses wholly new.]                  That's blinkin in the lift sae hie;
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie;
I.                         She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
YOUNG Jockey was the blythest lad                 But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee!
In a' our town or here awa:
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud,                                    V.
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.            Wha first shall rise to gang awa',
He roosed my een, sae bonnie blue,                A cuckold, coward loon is he!
He roos'd my waist sae genty sma',           Wha last beside his chair shall fa',
And ay my heart came to my mou'                   He is the king amang us three!
When ne'er a body heard or saw.                     We are na fou, we're no that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
II.                               The cock may craw, the day may daw,
My Jockey toils upon the plain,                          And aye we'll taste the barley bree.
Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw;
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain,
When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.
An' ay the night comes round again,
When in his arms he takes me a',
An' ay he vows he'll be my ain,                        WHARE  HAE  YE  BEEN.
As lang's he has a breath to draw.                         Tune-Killiecrankie."
[" This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " is in the
Museum without Burns's name." It was composed by
Burns on the battle of Killiecrankie, and sent in his own
LXXXIX.                        handwriting to Johnson: he puts it into the mouth of a
0 WILLIE BREW'D.                            g]
Tune-" Willie brew'd a pcck o' maut."
WHARE hae ye been sae braw, lad?
[The scene of this song is Lnggan, in Nithsdale, a     Whare he ye been sae brankie 
small estate which Nicol bought by the advice of the
poet. It was composed in memory of the house-heating.  0, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad 
"We had such a joyous meeting," says Burns, " that       Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O?
16




242                         THE POETICAL WORKS
An' ye had been whare I hae been,             the Charteris's and the better portion to the Maxwells:
Ye wad na been so cantie, 0;               the Johnstones afterwards came in for a share, and now
the Scotts prevail.j
An' ye had seen what I hae seen,
On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O.                                  I.
THE Thames flows proudly to the sea,
I I.                            Where royal cities stately stand;
I fought at land, I fought at sea;              But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,
At hame I fought my auntie, 0;                  Where Comyns ance had high command:
But I met the Devil an' Dundee,                 When shall I see that honour'd land,
On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O.               That winding stream I love so dear!
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,                Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand
An' Clavers got a clankie, 0;                   For ever, ever keep me here?
Or I had fed on Athole gled,
On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom!
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,
XCI.                             Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom!
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,
I GAED A WAEFU' GATE YESTREEN.                      Far from thy bonnie banks and braes,
Air-" The blue-eyed lass."                May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days!
[This blue-eyed lass was Jean Jeffery, daughter to the
minister of Lochmaben: she was then a rosy girl of
seventeen, with winning manners and laughing blue eyes.
She is now Mrs. Renwick, and lives in New York.]
I.                                              XCIII.
I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen,                  MY HEART IS A-BREAKING, DEAR TITTIE.
A gate, I fear, I'll dearlie rue;                           Tune-" Tam Glen."
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een a o'' bonnie blue.              [Tam Glen is the title of an old Scottish song, and older
air: of the former all that remains is a portion of the'Twas not her golden ringlets bright;           chorus. Burns when hewrote it sent it to the Museum.]
Her lips, like roses, wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily-whiteIt was her een sae bonnie blue.                 MY heart is a-breaking, dear Tittle!
It was her een sae bonnie blue.
Some counsel unto me come len',
iI.,              To anger them a' is a pity,
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd;
She charm'd my soul-I wist na how:
And ay the stound, the deadly wound,              I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow,
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue.                 In poortith I might make a fen';
But spare to speak, and spare to speed;           What care I in riches to wallow,
She'll aiblins listen to my vow:                  If I maunna marry Tam Glen?
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.                                    iII.
There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,
"Gude day to you, brute!" he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
XCII.                            But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
THE  BANKS  OF  NITH.                                             Iv.
Tune —" Robie donna Gorach."                My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men;
[The command which the Comyns held on the Nith 
Was lost to the Douglasses: the Nithsdale power, on the    They flatter, she says, to deceive me,:owvnfall of that proud nlame, was divided; part went to  But wha can think so o' Tam Glen?




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               243
V.
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,                                  XCV.
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten:             SWEET  CLOSES  THE  EVENING.
But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
Tune-" Craigie-burn-wood."
0 wha will I get but Tam Glen?
(This is one of several fine songs in honour of Jean
V I.                         Lorimer, of Kemmis-hall, Kirkmahoe, who for some
Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,              time lived on the banks of Craigie-burn, near Moffat. It
was composed in aid of the eloquence of a Mr. Gi.iespie,
My heart to my mou' fgied a sten;              who was in love with her: but it did not prevail, for
For thrice I drew ane without failing,           she married an officer of the name of Whelpdale, lived
And thrice it was written-Tam Glen.            with him for a month or so: reasons arose on both sides
which rendered separation necessary; she then took up
ViI.                         her residence in Dumfries, where she had many oppor
The last Halloween I        waukin   tunities of seeing the poet. She lived till lately.]
The last Halloween I was waukin                                Z
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;                                 CHORUS.
His likeness cam up the house staukin,              Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!               And 0, to be lying beyond thee;
O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep
That's laid in the bed beyond thee!
Come counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry —
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry
Gif ye wil ais me t ma             SWEET closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood,
The lad that I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.                                      
And blithely awaukens the morrow;
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burnwood
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow.
XCIV.                                                II.
FRAE THE  FRIENDS AND  LAND I LOVE.  I see the spreading leaves and flowers,
Air-" Carron Side."                     I hear the wild birds singing;
But pleasure they hae nane for me,
[Burns says, " I added the four last lines, by way of  While care my heart is wringing.
Fiving a turn to the theme of the poem, such as it is."
The rest of the song is supposed to be from the same 
and: the lines are not to be found in earlier collections.]
I canna tell, I maunna tell,
I.                            I darena for your anger;
FaAE the friends and land I love,              But secret love will break my heart,
Driv'n by fortune's felly spite,               If I conceal it langer.
Frae my best belov'd I rove,
Never mair to taste delight;                                        Iv.
Never mair maun hope to find,                  I see thee gracefu', straight, and tall,
Ease frae toil, relief frae care:              I see thee sweet and bonnie;
When remembrance wracks the mind,              But oh! what will my torments be,
Pleasures but unveil despair.                  If thou refuse thy Johnnie!
Il.                                                  V.
Brightest climes shall mirk appear,            To see thee in anither's arms,
Desert ilka blooming shore,                    In love to lie and languish,
Till the Fates, nae mair severe,'Twad be my dead, that will be seen,
Friendship, love, and peace restore;           My heart wad burst wi' anguish.
Till Revenge, wi' laurell'd head,
Bring our banish'd hame again;                                     v I.
And ilka loyal bonnie lad                      But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine,
Cross the seas and win his ain.                Say, thou lo'es nane before me;




244                         THE POETICAL WORKS
And a' my days o' life to come                  It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree;
I'll gratefully adore thee.                     It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee;
Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,  My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller,
And 0, to be lying beyond thee;          He canna hae luve to spare for me.
0 sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep
That's laid in the bed beyond thee!                         I.
Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny,
My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin',
Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
COCK  UP YOUR  BEAVER.                     Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
Tune~-" C'ocrk up your beaver."           Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten tree,
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
[" Printed," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " in the Musical    And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me
Museum, but not with Burns's name." It is an old song,
eked out and amended by the poet: all the last verse,
save the last line, is his; several of the lines too of the
first verse, have felt his amending hand: he communicated it to the Museum.]
I.                                          XCVIII.
WHEN first my brave Johnnie lad                        E  IS TE  DAY.
Came to this town,
He had a blue bonnet                         Tune-" Gudewife count the lawin."
He had a blue bonnet
That wanted the crown;                [The air as well as words of this song were furnished
But now he has gotten                  to the Museum by Burns. " The chorus," he says, "is
A hat and a feather,-                part of an old song."]
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 
Cock up your beaver  GANE is the day, and mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light,
For ale and brandy's stars and moon,
Cock up your beaver,                     And blude-red wine's the rising sun.
And cock it fu' sprush,                    Then gudewife count the lawin,
We'll over the border                           The lawin, the lawin;
And gie them a brush;                      Then gudewife count the lawin,
There's somebody there                         And bring a coggie mair!
We'll teach better behaviourHey, brave Johnnie lad,                                     I I.
Cock up your beaver!                   There's wealth and ease for gentlemen,
And simple folk maun fight and fen;
But here we're a' in ae accord,
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.
XCVII.
III.
MEIKLE THINKS MY LUVE...
MIy coggie is a haly pool,
Tune-" IlMy tocher's the jewel."          That heals the wounds o' care and dool;
[These verses were written by Burns for the Museum,    And pleasure is a wanton trout,
to an air by Oswald: but he wished them to be sung to    An' ye drink but deep ye'll find him out.
a tune called "Lord Elcho's favourite," of which he   Then gudewife count the lawin;
was an admirer.]
v~w~~as an admirer.]  ~The lawin, the lawin,
I.                              Then gudewife count the lawin,
O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty,                   And bring a coggie mair!
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie
My tocher's the jewel has charms for him.
L~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I _,_,,,,~,                              ___._.__~,~




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             245
XCIX.                             But ay the tear comes in my e'e,
To think on him that's far awa.
THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE.
But ay the tear comes in my e'e,
Tune-" There are few gude fellows when Willie's          To think on him that's far awa.
awa."
[The bard was in one of his Jacobitical moods when                     III.
he wrote this song. The air is a well known one, called
" There's few gude fellows when Willie's awa." But     My father pat me frae his door,
of the old words none, it is supposed, are preserved.]   My friends they hae disown'd me a',
But I hae ane will tak' my part,
I.                                The bonnie lad that's far awa.
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,            But I hae ane will tak' my part,
I heard a man sing, though his head it was               The bonnie lad that's far awa.
gray;
And as he was singing the tears down came,                              IV.
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.         A pair o' gloves he gae to me,
The church is in ruins, the state is in jars;            And silken snoods he gae me twa;
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars;            And I will wear them for his sake,
We darena weel say't, though we ken wha's to             The bonnie lad that's far awa.
blame,                                          And I will wear them for his sake,
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!           The bonnie lad that's far awa.
II.                                               V.
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,               0 weary Winter soon will pass,
And now I greet round their green beds in the            And spring will deed the birken shaw;
yerd.                                           And my young babie will be born,
It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld              And he'll be hame that's far awa.
dame-                                           And my young babie will be born,
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.           And he'll be hame that's far awa.
Now life is a burthen that bows me down,
Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;
But till my last moments my words are the
same-                                                             CI.
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!
I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.
Tune-"I do confess thou art sae fair."
C.                           ["I do think," says Burns, in allusion to this song,
"that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments
HOW  CAN I BE BLYTHE AND GLAD?                  by giving them a Scottish dress." The original song is
of great elegance and beauty: it was written by Sir
Tune —"The bonnie lad that's far awa."       Robert Aytoun, secretary to Anne of Denmark, Queen
[This lamentation was written, it is said, in allusionof James.]
to the sufferings of Jean Armour, when her correspond-                   I.
ence with Burns was discovered by her family.]                 
I DO confess thou art sae fair,
I.                           I wad been o'er the lugs in love,
0 IIow can I be blythe and glad,              Had I na found the slightest prayer
Or how can I gang brisk and braw,             That lips could speak thy heart could muve.
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best         I do confess thee sweet, but find
Is o'er the hills and far awa?               Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best          Thy favours are the silly wind,
Is o'er the hills and far awa.               That kisses ilka thing it meets.
II.                                               I I.
It's no the frosty winter wind,              See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew,
It's nc the driving drift and snaw;          Amang its native briers sae coy;




246                          THE POETICAL WORKS
How sune it tines its scent and hue                                 Iv.
When pou'd and worn a common toy!          She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair;
Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide,' nice education but sma' is her share;
The' thou may gaily bloom awhile;          Her parentage humble as humble can be;
Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside          But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me.
Like ony common weed and vile.               Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es
me.
V.
CII.
To beauty what man but maun yield him  a
YON  WILD  MOSSY  MOUNTAINS.                            prize,
Tune-" Yon wild mossy mountains."           In her armour of glances, and blushes, and
[" This song alludes to a part of my private history,  sighs
which it is of no consequence to the world to know." And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her
These are the words of Burns: he sent the song to the    darts,
Musical Museum; the heroine is supposed to be the  They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts.
"~Nannie," who dwelt near the Lugar.]
"Nannie," who dwelt near the Lugar.]                 And when wit and refinement hae polish'd
I.                                  her darts,
YON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,         They dazzle our een, as they flee to our
That nurse in their bosom  the youth o' the                hearts.
Clyde,                                                           v 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the
hether to feed,                            But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkAnd the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on          lig e'e,
his reed.                                  Has lustre outshining the diamond to me:
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the  And the heart beating love as I'm  clasp'd in
heather to feed,                                her arms,
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes, these are my lassie's  ll-conering charms!
on his reed.                              And the heart beating love as I'm clasp'd in
on his reed.
her arms,
I.                           0, these  are  my  lassie's  all-conquering
Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny               charms!
shores,
To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy
moors;
For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
CIII.
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my
dream.                                        IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.
For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream,
Tune —" Thle Maid's Complaint."
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my
dream.                                     [Burns found this song in English attire, bestowed a
Scottish dress upon it, and published it in the Museum,
III.                       together with the air by Oswald, which is one of his
Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my  best.]
path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow            IT is na, Jean, thy bonnie face,
strath;                                             Nor shape that I admire,
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,           Altho' thy beauty and thy grace
While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o'             Might weel awake desire.
love.                                             Something in ilka part o' thee,
For there wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,            To praise, to love, I find;
While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o'         But dear as is thy form to me,
love.                                               Still dearer is thy mind.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             247
I I.                                              iiI.
Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae,                 Lanely nights come on,
Nor stronger in my breast,                      A' the house are sleeping,
Than, if I canna mak thee sae,                  I think on my bonnie lad,
At least to see thee blest.                     An' I blear my een wi' greetin' I
Content am I, if heaven shall give                  Ay waukin, &c.
But happiness to thee:
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live,
For thee I'd bear to die.
CVI.
I MURDER HATE.
CIV.                          [These verses are to be found in a volume which may
be alluded to without being named, in which many of
WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAYS.   Burns's strains, some looser than these, are to be found.]
[These verses were in latter years expanded by Burns                    I.
into a song, for the collection of Thornson: the song will  I MURDER hate by  eld or  ood
be found in its place: the variations are worthy of pre- Tho' glory's name may screen us:
servation.]
servation.j                                              The' glory's name may screen us:
In wars at hame I'll spend my blood,
Life-giving wars of Venus.
WHEN I think on the happy days
I spent wi' you, my dearie;                                      1.
And now what lands between us lie,              The deities that I adore
How can I be but eerie!                         Are social Peace and Plenty,
I'm better pleas'd to make one more,
IL.                               Than be the death of twenty.
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary!
It was na sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my dearie.
CVII.
0 GUDE ALE COMES.
cv.                          [These verses are in the Museum  the first two a
old, the concluding one is by Burns.]
WHAN I SLEEP I DREAM.
[This presents another version of song LXV. Varia                       a   g. ~',   ~  0 GUDE ale comes, and gude ale goes,
tions are to a poet what changes are in the thoughts of a
painter, and speak of fertility of sentiment in both.]  Gude ale grs me  ell my hose,
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon,
^~~~I.       ~         Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
WHAN I sleep I dream,
Whan I wauk I'm eerie,                                                 I.
Sleep I canna get,                                    I had sax owsen in a pleugh,
For thinkin' o' my dearie.                          They drew a' weel eneugh,
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane;
^~Il'~.       ~         Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
Lanely night comes on,
A' the house are sleeping,                                            JI.
I think on the bonnie lad                              Gude ale hauds me bare and busy,
That has my heart a keeping.                        Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie,
Ay waukin 0, waukin ay and wearie,                Stand i' the stool when I hae done,
Sleep I canna get, for thinkin' o' my           Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
dearie.                                         0 gude ale comes, &c.
~~~~,,,,,,.;,,~~~~~~~~~~,,,,~~~~~~~,.~~~~~~~,,,~~~




248                          THE POETICAL WORKS
CVIII.                                              III.
BROBI N  S H UR E  I N  H AIRS T.                 Wi' linked hands, we took the sands
ROBI N  SHURE  IN  HAIRS T.
A-down yon winding river;
[This is an old chaunt, out of which Burns brushed   And, oh! that hour and broomy bower,
some loose expressions, added the third and fourth       Can J forget it ever?
verses, and sent it to the Museum.]
I.
ROBIN shure in hairst,
I shure wi' him,
Fient a heuk had I,
Yet I stack by him.                                            CX.
II.                             GUDEEN TO YOU, KIMMER.
I gaed up to Dunse,                          [This song in other days was a controversial one, and
To warp a wab o' plaiden,                contained some sarcastic allusions to Mother Rome and
At his daddie's yett,                      her brood of seven sacraments, five of whom were illeWha met me but Robin.                    gitimate. Burns changed the meaning, and published his
altered version in the Museum.]
III.                                               I.
Was na Robin bauld,
Was na Robina,      GUDEEN to you, Kimmer,
Tho' I was a cotter,                            And how do ye do
And how do ye do?
Play'd me sic a trick,,,"~~~'             Hiccup, quo' Kimmer,
And me the eller's dochter?                    The better that I'm fou.
The better that I'm fou.
Robin shure in hairst, &c.
Robin shure in hairst, &c.        We're a' noddin, nid nid noddin,
I v.                                We're a' noddin, at our house at hame
Robin promis'd me
A' my winter vittle;.A' my winter vittle                          Kate sits i' the neuk,
Fient haet he had but three 
Suppin hen broo;
Goose feathers and a whittle.                 Deil          
Dell tak K- -   ate
Robin shure in hairst, &c.
An' she be na noddin too!
We're a' noddin, &c.
III.
How's a' wi' you, Kimmer,
And how do ye fare?
A pint o' the best o't,
BONNIE  PEG.                               And twa pints mair.
We're a' noddin, &c.
[A fourth verse makes the moon a witness to the endearments of these lovers; but that planet sees more indiscreet matters than it is right to describe.]
How's a' wi' you, Kimmer,
^'~~~I.       ~          And how do ye thrive;
As I came in by our gate end,                     How many bairns hae ye?
As day was waxin' weary,                          Quo' Kimmer, I hae five.
O wha came tripping down the street,                   We're a' noddin, &c.
But Bonnie Peg my dearie!
v.
I I.                           Are they a' Johnie's?
Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,              Eh! atweel no:
Wi' nae proportion wanting;                     Twa o' them were gotten
The Queen of Love did never move                    When Johnie was awa.
Wi' motion mair enchanting.                         We're a noddin, &c.. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  ~  ~   ~  ~  ~ ~ -...-...- _. _______   ____________ __^YIC    Ib~- -~ r




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            249
VI.                                              II.
Cats like milk,                       What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
And dogs like broo;                What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
Lads like lasses weel,               She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot,
And lasses lads too.               And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.
We're a' noddin, &c.             O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab!
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab!
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab.
CXI.
AH, CHLORIS, SINCE IT MAY NA BE.
Tune-" Major Graham."
[Sir Harris Nicolas found these lines on Chloris among
the papers of Burns, and printed them in his late edition           CXIII.
of the poet's works.]                              WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER-DOOR.
Tune-" Lass an I come near thee."
AH, Chloris, since it may na be,
That thou of love wilt hear;             [The " Auld man and the Widow," in Ramsay's collection is said, by Gilbert Burns, to have suggested this
If from the lover thou maun flee,         song to his brother: it first appeared in the Museum.]
Yet let the friend be dear.
I.
II.                            WHA is that at my bower-door?
Altho' I love my Chloris mair                   0, wha is it but Findlay?
Than ever tongue could tell;                Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!My passion I will ne'er declare,                Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay.
I'll say, I wish thee well.                 What mak ye sae like a thief?
0 come and see, quo' Findlay;
I   II^'~I.  ~         Before the morn ye'll work mischief;
Tho' a' my daily care thou art,                  Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
And a' my nightly dream,
I'll hide the struggle in my heart,  
And say it is esteem.                       Gif I rise and let you in?
Let me in, quo' Findlay;
x______________             Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
CXII.                           In my bower if you should stay?
Let me stay, quo' Findlay;
O SAW YE MY DEARIE.
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;
Tune-" Eppie Macnab."                       Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
[" Published in the Museum," says Sir Harris Nicolas,
" without any name." Burns corrected some lines in the                III.
oid song, which had more wit, he said, than decency,  ere this night if ye remain;
and added others, and sent his amended version to John-   r in''s~~ n ] ~~~~~I'll remain, quo' Findlay;
son.]
I dread ye'll learn the gate again;
^~~~~I.      ~          ~Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?                 What may pass within this bower,O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?                   Let it pass, quo' Finlay;
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird,     Ye maun conceal till your last hour;
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.               Indeed will I, quo' Findlay!
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab I
0 come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab!
Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon,
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.




250                           THE POETICAL WORKS
CXIV.                                              CXV.
WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE.                            THE BONNIE WEE THING.
Tune —" Bonnie wee thing."
Tune-" What can a young lassie do wi' an auld               Tune-" Bonnie wee thing
man."                          [" Composed," says the poet, "on my little idol, the
charming, lovely Davies."]
[In the old strain, which partly suggested this song, the
heroine threatens only to adorn her husband's brows:                     I.
Burns proposes a systemof domestic annoyance to break  BONNIE wee thing, cannie wee thing,
nis heart.]                                              Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I.                             I wad wear thee in my bosom,
WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young              Lest my jewel I should tine.
lassie,                                         Wishfully I look and languish
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld ma?             In that bonnie face o' thine;
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie          And my  eart it stounds  i' anguish,
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!            Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!
Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty
In ae constellation shine;
I I.
To adore thee is my duty,
He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',         Goddess o' this soul o'  ine
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;         Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,     Lovely wee thing, wrt thou mine
0, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!         I      wad wea thee in my bosom
He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,     Lest my jewel I should tine 
0, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!
III.
He hLms and he hankers, he frets and he
cankers,
I never can please him, do a' that I can;                            CXVI.
He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows:          THE  TIT IIER  M RN.
- 0, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man!
He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows:                To a iiga d  ir.
0, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man!         [" The tune of this song," says Burns, "is originally
from the Highlands. I have heard a Gaelic song to it,
Iv.                         which was not by any Lneas a  dys a ly's song." "It occurs," says Sir Harris Nicol:as, " in the Mllseum, without
My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,          the name of Burns." It wats sent. in the poet's own 1handI'll do my endeavour to follow her plan;        writing to Johnson, and is believed to be his composition.]
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-                            I
break him,,,break him.,                                         THE tither morn,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new
pan.     I                  When I forlorn,
Aneath an oak sat moaning,
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heartbrek hm,.                                        I did na trow
break him,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new                    I'd see m  Jo,
Beside me, gain the gloaming.
pan.
But he sae trig,
Lap o'er the rig,
And dawtingly did cheer me,
When I, what reck,
Did least expec',
To see my lad so near me.




OF ROBERLT BUJRNS.                                        251
Ii.                         Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
His bonnet he,                       Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
A thought ajee,                      Never met-or never parted,
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me;    We had ne'er been broken hearted.
And I, I wat,
Wi' fainness grat,III.
While in his grips he press'd me.          Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Deil tak' the war!                   Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
I late and air                       Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Hae wish'd since Jock departed;            Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
But now as glad                      Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
I'm wi' my lad,                     Ae farewell, alas! for ever!
As short syne broken-hearted.              Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge'thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage' thee!
II.
Fu' aft at e'en
Wi' dancing keen,
When a' were blythe and merry,                              CVIII.
I car'd na by,
Sae sad was I                                LOVELY  DAVIES.
In absence o' my dearie.
Tune~-" Miss Muir."
But praise be blest,
My mind's at rest,                  [Written for the Museum, in honour of the witty, the
I'm happy wi' my Johnny:                 handsome, the lovely, and unfortunate Miss Davies.]
At kirk and fair,                                       I.
r'se ay be there,
I'se ay be there,                    0 HOW shall I, unskilfu', try
And be as canty's ony.                                   
The poet's occupation,
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours,
That whispers inspiration?
Even they maun dare an effort mair,
CXVII.                           Than aught they ever gave us,
AE FOND KISS.                         Or they rehearse, in equal verse,
The charms o' lovely Davies.
Tune-" Rery Dall's Port."               Each eye it cheers, when she appears,
[Believed to relate to the poet's parting with Clarinda.  Like Phoebus in the morning,
" These exquisitely affecting stanzas," says Scott, "con-    When past the shower, and ev'ry flower
tain the essence of a thousand love-tales." They are in  The garden is adorning.
thle Museum.]
~~~~~the Museum.]   ~As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore,
T.I^'~~               ~When winter-bound the wave is;
AE fond kiss, and then we sever;                Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Ae fareweel, and then for ever!                   Frae charming lovely Davies.
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.                           I.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him         Her smile's a gift, frae'boon the lift,
While the star of hope she leaves him?          That maks us mair than princes;
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;            A scepter'd hand, a king's command,
Dark despair around benights me.                 Is in her darting glances:
The man in arms,'gainst female charms,
I I.                          Even he her willing slave is;
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,             He hugs his chain, and owns the reign
Naething could resist my Nancy;                  Of conquering, lovely Davies.
But to see her, was to love her;               My muse to dream of such a theme,
Love but her, and love for ever.-                Her feeble pow'rs surrender:




252                           THE POETICAL WORKS
The eagle's gaze alone surveys                                          CXX.
The sun's meridian splendour:
NAE B O D Y.
I wad in vain essay the strain,
The deed too daring brave is!                                 Tune-" Naebody."
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire                [Burns had built his house at Ellisland, sowed his first
The charms o' lovely Davies.                   crop, the woman he loved was at his side, and hope was
high; no wonder that he indulged in this independent
strain.]
I.
CXIX.                                 I HAE a wife o' my ainTHE  WEA R Y  PUND  O' TOW.                              I'll partake wi' naebody;
I'll tak cuckold frae nane,
Tune-" The weary Pund o' Tow."                         I'll gie cuckold to naebody.
["This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "is in the        I hae a penny to spend,
Musical Museum; but it is not attributed to Burns. Mr.        There-thanks to naebody;
Allan Cunningham does not state upon what authority he     I hae naething to lend,
has assigned it to Burns."  The critical knight might         I' borrow frae naebody
have, if he had pleased, stated similar objections to many
songs which he took without scruple from my edition,
where they were claimed for Burns, for the first time,                      I
and on good authority. I, however, as it happens, did      I am naebody's lordnot claim the song wholly for the poet: I said " the          I'll be slave to naebody;
idea of the song is old, and perhaps some of the words."      hae a guid braid sword
It was sent by Burns to the Museum, and in his own hand-                          
writing.]
writing.]                                                    I'll tak dunts frae naebody.
I'll be merry and free,
I'll be sad for naebody;
THE weary pund, the weary pund,                        Naebody cares for me,
The weary pund o' tow:                                I'll care for nabody.
I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.
I bought my wife a stane o' lint
As gude as e'er did grow;                                          CXXI.
And a' that she has made o' that, 
Is apoopundo' ow.O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM!
Is ae poor pund o' tow.
Tune-" The Moudiewort."
II.
There sat a bottle in a bole,                    [In his memoranda on this song in the Museum, Burns
says simply, "This song is mine."  The air for a century
Beyont the ingle low,                        before had to bear the burthen of very ordinary words.]
And ay she took the tither souk,
To drouk the stowrie tow.                                       C H ORS.
An 0, for ane-and-twenty, Tam,
~I ^I ~I.       ~          An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam,
Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame,                  I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!                           An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.
She took the rock, and wi' a knock
She brak it o'er my pow.                                             I.
THEY snool me sair, and haud me down,
IV.                            And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!
At last her feet-I sang to see't-              But three short years will soon wheel roun'Gaed foremost o'er the knowe;                  And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam.
And or I wad anither jad,
I'll wallop in a tow.                                               I I.
The weary pund, the weary pund,          A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
The weary pund o' tow!                   Was left me by my auntie, Tam,
I think my wife will end her life        At kith or kin I need na spier,
Before she spin her tow.                 An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         253
iii.
CXXIII.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam;                      MY COLLIER LADDIE.
But hear'st thou, laddie-there's my loof-               Tune-" The Collier Laddie."
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam.
AnO,i fort ane-and-twenty, Tam!           i[The Collier Laddie was communicated by Burns, and
in his handwriting, to the Museum: it is chiefly his owa
An hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam!     composition, though coloured by an older strain.]
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang,
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
WHERE live ye, my bonnie lass?.~____~_______._            An' tell me what they ca' ye;
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
CXXII.                          And I follow the Collier Laddie.
O KENMU RE'S ON AND AWA.                      My name she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier Laddie.
Tune-" 0 Kenmure's on and awa, Willie."
[The second and third, and concluding verses of this              II.
Jacobite strain, were written by Burns: the whole was    See you not yon hills and dales,
sent in his own handwriting to the Museum.]        The sun shines on sae brawlie!
I.                         They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
O EKENMIJRE'S on and awa, ~W~C'illie!              Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
0 KENMURE'S on and awa, Willie!
O IKenmure's on and awa!                       They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
O Kenmure's on and awa!'
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord,             Gin ye'll leave your Collir Laddie.
That ever Galloway saw.                                          III.
~I 1~~I..            Ye shall gang in gay attire,
Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!                 Weel buskit up sac gaudy;
And ane to wait on every hand,
Success to Kenmure's band;
Success to Kenmure's band;                       Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
There's no a heart that fears a Whig,                  
mi,'     And ane to wait on every hand,
That rides by Kenmure's hand.
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
III.
IV.
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!         Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on,
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;                 And the earth conceals sac lowly;
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,     I wad turn my back on you and it a',
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.                        And embrace my Collier Laddie.
I wad turn my back on you and it a',
And embrace my Collier Laddie.
0 Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!
0 Kenmure's lads are men;                                         v.
Their hearts and swords are metal true-          I can win my five pennies a day,
And that their faes shall ken.                   And spen't at night fu' brawlie;
And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
~v~~~~. ~And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.
They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie!            And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
They'll live or die wi' fame;                   And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.
But soon wi' sounding victorie,
May Kenmure's lord come hame.                                    vI.
Luve for luve is the bargain for me,
VI.                           Tho' the wee cot-house should baud me;
Here's him that's far awa, Willie,               And the world before me to win my bread,
Here's him that's far awa;                       And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.
And here's the flower that I love best-          And the world before me to win my bread,
The rose that's like the snaw!                   And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.... __.  _________ __,~. _ _  ___________________________________________________          ____




i 254                          THE POETICAL WORKS
CxxiV.                                             III.
N ITII S DAL E'S WELCOME  HAME.  Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
[These verses were written by Burns for the Museum:  I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
lhe Maxwells of Terreagles are the lineal descendants
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.
of the Earls of Nithsdale.]
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae
I.                               wi' him,
THE noble Maxwells and their powers           I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;
Are coming o'er the border,               I flatter my fancy I may get anither,
And they'll gae bigg Terreagle's towers,      My heart it shall never be broken for ane.
An' set them a' in order.
And they declare Terreagles fair,
For their abode they chuse it;
There's no a heart in a' the land, 
But's lighter at the news o't.
BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL.
|  "'~~II.  ~Tune-" The sweet lass that lo'es me."
The' stars in skies may disappear,
stars in ses may  sappear       [There are several variations of this song, but they
And angry tempests gather;                neither affect the sentiment, nor afford matter for quotaThe happy hour may soon be near             tion.]
That brings us pleasant weather:
The weary night o' care and grief
May hae a joyful morrow;
So dawning day has brought relief-                leeze me on the rock and reel;
Farween our nht  o         rrowf                Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,
Fareweel our night o' sorrow!
Fa~Ir~  our nght   sorow!And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
_____________                        I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
CXXV.                            Blest wi' content, and milk and mealO leeze me on my spinning-wheel!
AS I WAS A-WAND'RING.
Tune-" Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh."                               II
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
[The original song in the Gaelic language was trans-  n          the      e
hted for Burns by an Inverness-shire lady; he turned it 
into verse, and sent it to the Museum.]              The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin',           And little fishes' caller rest:
The pipers and youngsters were making their        The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
game;                                         Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel.
Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover,
Which bled a' the wound o' my dolour again.                        II I.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi'     On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
him;                                          And Echo cons the doolfu' tale;
I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;        The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,                Delighted, rival ither's lays:
My heart it shall never be broken for ane.        The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
sle II.                        The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
I could na get sleeping till dawin for greetin',     Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.
The tears trickled down like the hail and the
rain:                                                           IV.
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken,        Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
For, oh! luve forsaken's a tormenting pain.       Aboon distress, below envy,
I., __`  -~ —-~~- 1                         ________       _________________________"




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          255
O wha wad leave this humble state,                              v.
For a' the pride of a' the great?               The hawthorn I will pu'
Amid their flaring, idle toys,                     Wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,               Where, like an aged man,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel               It stands at break of day.
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?                 But the songster's nest within the bush
I winna tak awayAnd a' to be a posie
To my ain dear May.
CXXVII.
0 LUVE WILL VENTURE  IN.                                          I.
The woodbine I will pu'
Tune  " The Posie."
When the e'ening star is near,'[" The Posie is my composition," says Burns, in a let-  And the diamond drops o' dew
ter to Thomson. "The air was taken down from Mrs.                     n 
Burns's voice." It was first printed in the Museum.] 
The violet's for modesty,
I.                               Which weel she fa's to wear,
O LUVE will venture in                         And a' to be a posie
Where it daurna weel be seen;                  To my ain dear May.
O luve will venture in
Where wisdom ance has been.                                VII.
But I will down yon river rove,                I'll tie the posie round,
Among the wood sae green-                      Wi' the silken band o' luve,
And a' to pu' a posie                          And I'll place it in her breast,
To my ain dear May.                            And I'll swear by a' above,
That to my latest draught of life
I I.                              The band shall ne'er remove,
The primrose I will pu',                       And this will be a posie
The firstling o' the year,                     To my ain dear May.
And I will pu' the pink,
The emblem o' my dear,
For she's the pink o' womankind,
And blooms without a peer                               CXXVIII.
And a' to be a posie
To my ain dear May.                             COUNTRY LASSIE.
II I.                              Tune-" The Country Lass."
I'll pu' the budding rose,                [A manuscript copy before me, in the poet's handwriWhen Phoebus peeps in view,           ting, presents two or three immaterial variations o.tthis
For it's like a baumy kiss              dramatic son
0' her sweet bonnie mou';                                   I
The hyacinth's for constancy,             IN simmer, when the hay was mawn,
Wi' its unchanging blue-                  And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
And a' to be a posie                      While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
To my ain dear May.                       And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
IV.                           Says-I'll be wed, come o't what will;
The lily it is pure,                      Out spak a dame in wrinkled eildAnd the lily it is fair,                  0' guid advisement comes nae ill.
And in her lovely bosom
I'll place the lily there;                                 II.
The daisy's for simplicity,                 It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
And unaffected air-                         And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
And a' to be a posie                         Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
To my ain dear May.                         A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
L  _    __ _.__.. -.  _                  __




256                           THE POETICAL WORKS
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,                                  I I.
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;               Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,                    The offence is loving thee:
It's plenty beets the luver's fire.             Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
Wha for time wad gladly die?
III.
While the life beats in my bosom,
For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,                      Thou shalt mix in ilka thro
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe;
I dinna care a single rie; 
I dinna care a single flue;    Turn again, thou lovely maiden.
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,                                    
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e,                             II.
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:                     t                
Not the bee upon the blossom,
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gieIn the pride o' sunny noon
For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.               Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet, in the moment
O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;,        
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;Fancy lightens in his e'e,
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best,  Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 
h   c   a  u     That thy presence gies to me.
An hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
YE JACOBITES BY NAME.
V,
^..n.' ^i/i                        Tune~" Ye Jacobites by name."
0, gear will buy me rigs o' land,                     Tune-   Ye acobites by name."
And gear will buy me sheep and kye;          [" Ye Jacobites by name," appeared for the first time
But the tender heart o' leesome luve,        in the Museum: it was sent in the handwriting of Burns.]
The gowd and siller canna buy;
We may be poor-Robie and I, 
Light is the burden luve lays on;          YE Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear;
Content and luve brings peace and joy-          Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear;
What mair hae queens upon a throne?             Ye Jacobites by name,
Your fautes I will proclaim,
Your doctrines I maun blameYou shall hear.
CXXIX.
II.
FAIR  ELIZA.
What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by
A Gaelic Air.                           the law?
[The name of the heroine of this song was at first Ra-    What is right and what is wrang, by the law?
bina: but Johnson, the publisher, alarmed at admitting  What is right and what is wrang?
something new into verse, caused Eliza to be substituted;   short sword, and a lang,
which was a positive fraud; for Rabina was a real lady,,
and a lovely one, and Eliza one of air.]                   A wk a, a  
For to draw.
I.
TURN again, thou fair Eliza,                                        II'
Ae kind blink before we part,               What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd
Rue on thy despairing lover!                       afar?
Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?         What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza;                      What makes heroic strife?
If to love thy heart denies,                      To whet th' assassin's knife,
For pity hide the cruel sentence                       Or hunt a pareiit's life
Under friendship's kind disguise!                      Wi' bluidie war.
o.l~~-~-~-C~1~~I~ ~                                         -                   -




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             257
I V.                                           CXXXII.
Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in             THE  BAN S O' DOON.
the state;
the state;                                    [SECOND VERSION.]
Then let your schemes alone in the state;                   [SECOND VERSION.]
Then let your schemes alone,                        Tune-"Caledonian Hunt's Delight.
Adore the rising sun,                        [Burns injured somewhat the simplicity of the song by
And leave a man undone              adapting it to a new air, accidentally composed by an
amateur who was directed, if he desired to create a ScotTo his fate.                          tish air, to keep his fingers to the black keys of the harpsichord and preserve rhythm.]
I.
YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
CXXXr.                          How can ye chant, ye little birds,
THE  BANKS O3F DOON.                         And I sae weary, fu' o' care!
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
[FI R ST VER SION.]                      That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
[An Ayrshire legend says the heroine of this affecting    Thou minds me o' departed joys,
song was Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, a young crea-   Departed-never to return!
ture, beautiful and accomplished, who fell a victim to
ner love for her kinsman, McDoual, of Logan.]                           II.
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,                  And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
How can ye bloom sae fair;                        And fondly sae did I o' mine.
How can ye chant, ye little birds,                Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
And I sae fu' o' care!                           Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
I I"~1~.     ~          But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause love was true.
I II.                                          CXXXII.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,                  WILLIE  WASTLE.
That sings beside thy mate;                          Tune-"he eght men of Moidat.
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And swst na o' my fate,                        [The person who is raised to the disagreeable elevation
of heroine of this song, was, it is said, a farmer's wife of
the old school of domestic care and uncleanness, who
lived nigh the poet, at Ellisland.]
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine, 
WILLIE  Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
And inka bird sang o' its love;                   W                         T
And isae did Is o' mine. l;                      The spot they call'dit Linkum-doddie,
And sac did I o' mine.
Willie was a wabster guid,
v.                              Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie;
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,                He had a wife was dour and din,
Frae aff its thorny tree;                         0 Tinkler Madgie was her mither;
And my fause luver staw the rose,                 Sic awife as Willie had,
But left the thorn wi' me.                        I wad nae gie a button for her.
But left the thorn wi' me.
II.
She has an e'e-she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
17 




258                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,                   We'll sew a green ribbon
A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller:                Round about his hat,
A whiskin' beard about her mou',                    And that will let them ken
Her nose and chin they threaten ither-              He's to marry yet.
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad nae gie a button for her. 
Lady Mary Ann
III.                                Was a flower i' the dew,
She's bow hough'd, she's hem shinn'd,               Sweet was its smell,
A limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter;                And bonnie was its hue;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,            And the langer it blossom'd
To balance fair in ilka quarter:                    The sweeter it grew;
She has a hump upon her breast,                     For the lily in the bud
The twin o' that upon her shouther-                 Will be bonnier yet.
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad nae gie a button for her.                                 IV.
Young Charlie Cochran
I v.                               Was the sprout of an aik;
Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,                    Bonnie and hloomin'
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin';                And straught was its make:
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,                  The sun took delight
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion.               To shine for its sake,
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,                And it will be the brag
Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water-                  O' the forest yet.
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad nae gie a button for her.                                  v.
The simmer is gane,
When the leaves they were green,
And the days are awa,
That we hae seen;
CXXXIV.                             But far better days
I trust will come again,
LADY  MARY  ANN.                            For my bonnie laddie's young,
Tune-" Craigtown's growing."                    But he's growin' yet.
[The poet sent this ssong to the Museum, in his own
handwriting: yet part of it is believed to be old; how
much cannot be well known, with such skill has he made
his interpolations and changes.]
I.                                           CXXXV.
0, LADY Mary Ann                         SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION.
Looks o'er the castle wa',
She saw three bonnie boys                    Tune.-"A parcel of rogues in a nation."
Playing at the ba';                     [This song was written by Burns in a moment of
The youngest he was                      honest indignation at the northern scoundrels who sold to
The flower amang them a'-              those of the south the independence of Scotland, at the
time of the Union.]
My bonnie laddie's young,
But he's growin' yet.                                       I.
FAREWEEL to a' our Scottish fame,
1I.                              Fareweel our ancient glory,
O father! O father!                         Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
An' ye think it fit,                          Sae fam'd in martial story.
We'll send him a year                        Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
To the college yet:                           And Tweed rins to the ocean,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                        259
To mark where England's province stands-                         I v.
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.      "It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall
crave,
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
What force or guile could not subdue,       But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have,
Thro' many warlike ages,                    And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
Is wrought now by a coward few                    prime."
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain;                              v.
Secure in valour's station;               "0 welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle
But English gold has been our bane-               said,
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.        (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
"But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're
I II.                           ca'd,
0 would, or I had seen the day                And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
That treason thus could sell us,                prime."
My auld gray head had lien in clay,                              vI.
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
Wi' Bruce and loyl W!         The devil has got the auld wife on his back;
But pith and power, till my last hour,
But pith and power, till my last hour,       (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
I'll mak' this declaration;
I'll mak' this declaration;  And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack;
We're bought and sold for English gold — 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.            prime.
prime.
vI I.
He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door;
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme).,
Syne bade her gae in, for a b-h and a w-e,
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES.                     prime.
Tune —" Kellyburn Braes."                               v II.
[Of this song Mrs. Burns snid to Cromek, when running  Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his.er finger over the long list of lyrics which her husband  band,
bad written or amended for the Museum, "Robert gae (Hey and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
this one a terrible brushing." A considerable portion of
the old still remains.]
the old still remains.]                       Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand;
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
prime.
THERE lived a carle on Kellybirn braes,
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
And he had a wife was the plague o' his days;  The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear,
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in    (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
prime.                                  Whate'er she gat hands on cam near her nae
prime.
mair;
Ae day as'hecar duptheaIIgen              And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen,
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
He met wi' the devil; says, " How do yow fen?"                    X.
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in A reekit wee devil looks over the wa';
prime.                                    (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
~~~III.'~"0, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a',
"I've got abad wife, sir; that's a' my complaint;    And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),        prime.
For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint;                  xI.
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife,
prime."                                   (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),




260                           THE POETICAL WORKS
He pitied the man that was tied to a wife;                         CXXXVIII.
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
pLADY ONLIE.
prime.
Tune-" The Ruffan's Rant."
xI I.
[Communicated to the Museum in the handwriting oi
The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell,     Burns: part, but not much, is believed to be old.]
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),
He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell;    A' TE lads o Thornie-bank
A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank,
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in         When they gae to the shore o' Bucky,
~ When they gae to the shore o' Bucky,
prime.                                     They'll step in an' tak' a pint
xI I.                            Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
Then Satan has travelled again wi' his pack;            Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),              Brews good ale at shore o' Bucky;
And to her auld husband he's carried her back:          I wish her sale for her gude ale,
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in             The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.
prime..
Her house sac bien, her curch sae clean,
TI T-  I V. i  ^  i'I wat she is a dainty chucky;
"I hae been a devil the feck o' my life;                 w    s             
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme),            Ld   lie       hnest    k
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife; 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky,
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in
Brews good ale at shore o' Bucky 
prime."
I wish her sale for her gude ale,
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.
CXXXVII.
JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS.                                  CXXXIX.
Tune-" Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss."        THE  CH E VALIER'S LAME N T.
[Burns, when he sent this song to the Museum, said        Tune-" Captain O'Kean."
nothing of its origin: and he is silent about it in his   Composed," says Burns to MMurdo, at the desire
memoranda.] I" Composed," says Burns to M'Murdo, " at the desire
~~~~mel~mnoranda.]  ~of a friend who had an equal enthusiasm for the air and
I.                        the subject." The friend alluded to is supposed to be
JoCKEY's ta'en the parting kiss,             Robert Cleghorn: he loved the air much, and he was
pte, onarin g h..much of a Jacobite.]
O'er the mountains he is gane;
And with him is a' my bliss,                                       I.
Nought but griefs with me remain.         THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves reSpare my luve, ye winds that blaw,                 turning,
Plashy sleets and beating rain!              The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro'
Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw,                 the vale;
Drifting o'er the frozen plain.           The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the
morning,
II.                          And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green
When the shades of evening creep                   dale:
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e,        But what can give pleasure, or what can seem
Sound and safely may he sleep,                     fair,
Sweetly blithe his waukening be!            While the lingering moments are number'd
He will think on her he loves,                     by care?
Fondly he'll repeat her name;             No flow'rs gaily springing, nor birds sweetly
For where'er he distant roves,                     singing,
Jockey's heart is still at hame.             Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           261
I I.                                           CXLI.
The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice,
A king and a father to place on his throne?    FLOW  GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.
His right are these hills, and his right are these          Tune-" Afton Water."
valleys,                                   [The scenes on Afton Water are beautiful, and the
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can  poet felt them, as well as the generous kindness of his
find none;                                earliest patroness, Mrs. General Stewart, of Afton-lodge,
But'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, for-  when he wrote this sweet pastoral.]
lorn;                                                           I.
My brave gallant friends!'tis your ruin I  FLOW gently, sweet Afton! among thy green
mourn;                                           braes,
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot-bloody trial-  Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
Alas! I can make you no sweeter return!       My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring streamFlow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
II.
CXL.                        Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the
SONG OF DEATH.                              glen;
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den;
Air-" Oran an Aoig."                Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming for[" I have just finished the following song," says Burns  bearto Mrs. Dunlop, "which to a lady, the descendant of I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
Wallace, and herself the mother of several soldiers,
needs neither preface nor apology."]
Scene-A field of battle. Time of the day, evening. The  How lofty, sweet Afton! thy neighbouring hills,
wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed                                 
to join in the following song:                 Far markd with the courses of clear, wnding
rills;
^'~~I.     ~       There daily I wander as noon rises high,
FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and  My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
ye skies,
Now gay with the bright setting sun;                                I v.
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender  How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
ties-                                     Where wild in the woodlands the primroses
Our race of existence is run!                       blow!
There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
II.                        The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy
foe!                                                            v.
Go frighten the coward and slave;             Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,  And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
No terrors hast thou to the brave!            How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear
^~~~III.  ~wave.
Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the
VI.
dark,,,Flow  gently, sweet Afton! among thy green
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;                  br
Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark!  Flow    e
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring streamI V.                       Flow  gently, sweet Afton! disturb  not her
In the field of proud honour-our swords in our         dream.
hands,
Our king and our country to save- 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
Oh! who would not die with the brave!




262                         THE POETICAL WORKS
CXLII.                                           I I.
We'll live a' our days,
THE SMILING SPRING.                            Welive ourdays,
And them that come behin',
Tune-" The Bonnie Bell."                    Let them do the like,
[" Bonnie Bell," was first printed in the Museum: who  And spend the gear they win.
the heroinewas the poet has neglected to tell us, and it     Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',
is a pity.]                                                    For we hae mickle ado,
I.                                     Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',
For we hae mickle ado.
THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,                                            
And surly Winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies;                            CXLIV.
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the
morning,                                       THE GALLANT WEAVER.
The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell;                  Tune-The Weavers' March."
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.               [Sent by the poet to the Museum. Neither tradition
nor criticism has noticed it, but the song is popular
among the looms, in the west of Scotland.]
The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 
And yellow Autumn presses near,                 WHERE Cart rins rowin to the sea,
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,             By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
Till smiling Spring again appear.               There lives a lad, the lad for me,
Thus Seasons dancing, life advancing,                 He is a gallant weaver.
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,         Oh, I had wooers aught or nine,
But never ranging, still unchanging,              They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
I adore my bonnie Bell.                         And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.
II.
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
CXLIII.                       To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
TH E CA ~RLES O F DYSART.            And gie it to the weaver.
Tune-" Hey ca' thro'."                While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
[Communicated to the Museum by Burns in his own    While bees delight in opning flowers;
handwriting: part of it is his composition, and some be-    While corn grows green in simmer showers,
lieve the whole.]                                     I'll love my gallant weaver.
I.
UP wi' the carles o' Dysart,
And the lads o' Buckhaven,
And the kimmers o' Largo,
And the lasses o' Leven.                                   CXLV.
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',                THE  BAIRNS GAT  OUT.
For we hae mickle ado;
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',            Tune-" The deuks dang o'er my daddie."
For we hae mickle ado.            [Burns found some of the sentiments and a few of the
words of this song in a strain, rather rough and homespun,
I I.                      of Scotland's elder day. He communicated it to the MuWe hae tales to tell,                    seum.]
And we hae sangs to sing;                                    I.
We hae pennies to spend,                       THE bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
And we hae pints to bring.                 The deuks dang o'er my daddie, 0!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          263
The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife,
CX.LVII.
He was but a paidlin body, 0!
He paidles out, an' he paidles in,                        THE  EXCISEMAN.
An' he paidles late an' early, 0!            TmTune —The Deil cam' fiddling through the town."
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, 0!  Composed and sung by the poet at a festive meeting of
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O!t
the excisemen of the Dumfries district.]
II.                                             I
0, haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,     THE deil cam' fiddling through the town,
0, hand your tongue, now Nansie, O!            And danced awa wi' the Exciseman,
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,             And ilka wife cries —" Auld Mahoun,
Ye wadna been sae donsie, O!                   I wish you luck o' the prize, man!"
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,The deil's awa, the del's awa,
And cuddled me late and early, 0!                  The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman;
But downa do's come o'er me now,                    He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa,
And, oh! I feel it sairly, O!                      He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman!
II.
We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our drink,
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man;
And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil
CXLVI.                          That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman.
SHE'S FAIR  AND  FAUSE.                                        II.
Tune-"' She's fair and fause."         There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
[One of the happiest as well as the most sarcastic of But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land
the songs of the North: the air is almost as happy as the    Wasthe deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.
words.]
~~~~~~~~~words.]  ~The deil's awa, the deil's awa,
^~~I.'I ~~    The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman:
SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart,          He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa,
I lo'ed her meikle and lang;                        He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman.
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.
A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.                                   CXLVIII.
THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS.
I I.
Tune-," Lass of Inverness."
Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,                        [As Burns passed slowly over the moor of Culloden,
Nae ferlie'tis tho' fickle she prove,         in one of his Highland tours, the lament of the Lass of In.
A woman has't by kind~,.          verness, it is said, rose on his fancy: the first four lines
A woman has't by kind.                       are partly old.]
O woman, lovely woman fair!
An angel form's fa'n to thy share,                                   I.'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair-        T       ey lass o nerness,
I mean an angel mind.                           ^Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn, she cries, alas!
And ay the saut tear blin's her e'e:
Drumossie moor-Drumossie dayA waefu' day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear, and brethren three.




264                         THE POETICAL WORKS
1.                               Dyvor, beggar loons to meTheir winding sheet the bluidy clay,                   I reign in Jeannie's bosom.
Their graves are growing green to see:
And by them lies the dearest lad                                    I.
That ever blest a woman's e'e!                     Let her crown my love her law,
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,                      And in her breast enthrone me,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;                       Kings and nations-swith, awa!
For mony a heart thou hast made sair,                  Reif randies, I disown ye!
That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.
CLI.
CXLIX.
A RED, RED ROSE.                                HAD I THEWYTE.
Tune-Graham's Strathspey."                  Tune-" Had I the wyte she bade me."
[Some editors have pleased themselves with tracing    [Burns in evoking this song out of the old verses did
the sentiments of this song in certain street ballads: it not cast wholly out the spirit of ancient license in which
resembles them as much as a sour sloe resembles a drop-  our minstrels indulged. He sent it to the Museum.]
ripe damson.]
I.                                               I.
0, MY luve's like a red, red rose,               HAD I the wyte, had I the wyte,
That's newly sprung in June:                     Had I the wyte she bade me;
0, my luve's like the melodie,                  She watbh'd me by the hie-gate side,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.                  And up the loan she shaw'd me;
And when I wadna venture in,
~II.-~~ ~A coward loon she ca'd me;
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,                Had kirk and state been in the gate,
So deep in lure am I:                            I lighted when she bade me.
And I will lure thee still, my dear,'Till a' the seas gang dry;                                     11.
Sae craftilie she took me ben,
II I.
And bade me make nae clatter;'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,                       r                  
n  ~h jk,   "   For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman
And the rocks melt wi' the subS: 
v                             Is out and owre the water:"
I will luve thee still, my dear,,               Whae'er shall say I wanted grace
While the sands o' life shall run.
M"~ ~         When I did kiss and dawte her,
Iv.                            Let him be planted in my place,
And fare thee weel, my only luve!                  Syne say I was the fautor.
And fare thee weel a-while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.               Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refused her?
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her?
CL.                            He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame,
LOUIS, WHAT RECK  I BY  THEE.                         And blue and bluidy bruised her;
n, I Loui,        When sic a husband was frae hame,
Tune —" Louis, what reck I by thee."
What wife but had excused her?
[The Jeannie of this very short, but very clever song,
is Mrs. Burns. Her name has no chance of passing from                 IV.
the earth if impassioned verse can preserve it.]        i                 
I dighted ay her een sae blue,
I.                              And bann'd the cruel randy;
Louis, what reck I by thee,                   And weel I wat her willing mou',
Or Geordie on his ocean?                     Was e'en like sugar-candy.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            265
A gloamin-shot it was I wot,                     But now wi' sighs and starting tears,
I lighted on the Monday;                       He strays amang the woods and briers;
But I cam through the Tysday's dew,              Or in the glens and rocky caves
To wanton Willie's brandy.                     His sad complaining dowie raves.
I I.
I wha sae late did range and r6ioe
~~~CLII.  ~And chang'd with every moon my love,
COMING  THROUGH  THE  RYE.                         I little thought the time was near,
Tune-" Coming through the ryRepentance I should buy sae dear:
Tune-" Coming through the rye."
The slighted maids my torment see,
[The poet in this song removed some of the coarse   And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;
chaff, from the old chant, and fitted it for the Museum,    she my cruel scornfu' fair
where it was first printed.]                        While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair,
where it was first printed.]'' 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair!
i.
COMING through the rye, poor body,
Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,                                 CLIV.
Coming through the rye.
Jenny's a' wat, poor body,                         OUT OVER  THE  FORTH.
Jenny's seldom dry;                           Tune-" Charlie Gordon's welcome hame."
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,   [In one of his letters to Cunningham, dated 11th March
Coming through the rye.                   1791, Burns quoted the four last lines of this tender and
gentle lyric, and inquires how he likes them.]
II.
Gin a body meet a bodyComing through the rye,                   OUT over the Forth I look to the north,
Gin a body kiss a body                         But what is the north and its Highlands to me?
Need a body cry?The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea.
III.
I I.
Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,                   But I look to the west, when I gae to rest,
Gin a body kiss a body —                       That happy my dreams and my slumbers may
Need the world ken?                             be;
Jenny's a' wat, poor body;                   For far in the west lives he I Io'e best,
Jenny's seldom dry;                          The lad that is dear to my babie and me.
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.
CLV.
THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN.
CLIII.
Tune-"Jacky Latin."
YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN.
YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE   F    [Burns in one of his professional visits to Ecclefechan
Tune-" The carlin o' the glen."          was amused with a rough old district song, which some
one sung: he rendered, at a leisure moment, the language
[Sent to the Museum by Burns in his own handwriting: more delicate and the sentiments less warm, and selt it
Dart only is thought to be his.]                 to the Museum.]
YOUNG  Jamie, pride of a' the plain,         GAT ye me, 0 gat ye me
YOUNG Jamie, pride of a' the plain,              GAT ye me, O gat ye me,
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain;                   0 gat ye me wi' naething?
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove,                 Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel,
And reign'd resistless king of love:               A mickle quarter basin. 




266                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Bye attour, my gutcher has                                     CLVII.
A hich house and a laigh ane,                                   BDY.
A' for bye, my bonnie sel',
The toss of Ecclefechan.                       Tune-"For the sake of somebody."
[Burns seems to have borrowed two or three lines ot
^~I' ~I.    ~this lyric from Ramsay: he sent it to the Museum.]
O hand your tongue now, Luckie Laing,
0 haud your tongue and jauner;
MVIY heart is sair-I dare na tellI held the gate till you I met,
Syn  I  ~egan to wander  My heart is sair for somebody;
Syne I began to wander:  
I could wake a winter night
I tint my whistle and my sang,., ^,~ For the sake o' somebody.
I tint my peace and pleasure:                                  someb
Oh-hon! for somebody!
But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing,            Oh-h! for somebody
Oh-hey! for somebody!
Wad airt me to my treasure.
I could range the world around,
For the sake o' somebody!
I I.
Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,
CLVI.                              0, sweetly smile on somebody!
Frae ilka danger keep him free,
T H E  COOPER  O' C U D DIE.                    And send me safe my somebody.
Tune-" -Bab at the bowster."                   Oh-hon! for somebody!
[The wit of this song is better than its delicacy: it is  Oh-hey! for somebody!
printed in the Museum, with the name of Burns attached.]  I wad do-what wad I not?
For the sake o' somebody!
I.
The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa,
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a'And our gude-wife has gotten a ca'                              ctvIII.
That anger'd the silly gude-man, 0.                  THE CARDIN' O'T.
We'll hide the cooper behind the door;,^~.~T 3Tune —" Saclt-fish and dumplings."
Behind the door, behind the door;
We'll hide the cooper behind the door,         [" This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " is in the Mu.
And cover him under a mawn, 0.             sical Museum, but not with Burns's name to it." It was
given by Burns to Johnson in his own handwriting.]
II.                                             I.
He sought them out, he sought them in,         I coFT a stane o' haslock woo',
Wi', deil hae her! and, deil hae him!             To make a wat to Johnny o't;
But the body was sae doited and blin',          For Johnny is my only jo,
He wist na where he was gaun, O.               I lo'e him best of ony yet.
The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't,
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't;
They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morn,         When ilka el cost me a groat,'Till our gude-man has gotten the scorn;                The tailor staw the lynin o't.
On ilka brow she's planted a horn,
And swears that they shall stan', 0.                             II.
We'll hide the cooper behind the door,          For though his locks be lyart gray,
Behind the door, behind the door;                 And tho' his brow be beld aboon;
We'll hide the cooper behind the door,          Yet I hae seen him on a day,
And cover him under a mawn, 0.                  The pride of a' the parishen.
The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't,
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't;
When ilka ell cost me a groat,
The tailor staw the lynin o't.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          267
VIII.
CLIX.                         Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
WHE N JA NUA ~R' W IND.          Her teeth were like the ivorie;
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
Tune —" The lass that made the bed for me."      The lass that made the bed to me.
[Burns found an old, clever, but not very decorous
strain, recording an adventure which Charles the Second,
while under Presbyterian rule in Scotand, had with a    Her bosom was the driven snaw,
young lady of the house of Port Letham, and exercising  Twa drifted heaps sac fair to see;
his taste and skill upon it, produced the present-still too    Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
free song, for the Museum.]                         The lass that made the bed to me.
I.[.                                           X.
WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld,            I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
As to the north I took my way,                 And ay she wist na what to say;
The mirksome night did me enfauld,             I laid her between me and the wa'I knew na where to lodge till day.             The lassie thought na lang till day.
II.                                            XI.
Byygood luck a maid I met,           Upon the morrow when we rose,
By my good luck a maid I met,
Byst my    temidle m  care;~,I thank'd her for her courtesie;
Just in the middle o' my care;
Jut kindy he mdidde o' my cte         But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd,
And kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.                   And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me."
To walk into a chamber fair.
XII.
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,                  While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e;
And thank'd her for her courtesie;           I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,                   For ye ay shall mak the bed to me."
And bade her mak a bed to me.
XIII.
IV.                          She took her mither's Holland sheets,
She made the bed baith large and wide,           And made them a' in sarks to me:
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;      Blythe and merry may she be,
She put the cup to her rosy lips,                 The lass that made the bed to me.
And drank, "Young man, now sleep ye
soun'."                                                    XIV.
The bonnie lass made the bed to me,
v.                            The braw lass made the bed to me:
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,           I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;            The lass that made the bed to me!
But I call'd her quickly back again
To lay some mair below my head.
VI.                                            CLX.
A cod she laid below my head,                            SAE  FAR  AWA.
Aud served me wi' due respect;
A r e d spe, X       Tune-" Dalkeith Maiden Bridge."
And to salute her wi' a kiss,
I put my arms about her neck.                [This song was sent to the Museum by Burns, in his
own handwriting.]
VII..
"Haud aff your hands, young man," she says,      0, SAD and heavy should I part,
" And dinna sae uncivil be:                      But for her sake sae far awa;
If ye hae onie love for me,                      Unknowing what my way may thwart,
0 wrang na my virginitie!"                      My native land sae far awa.




268                        THE POETICAL WORKS
Thou that of a' things Maker art,          letter to Syme, c with my performance, I, in my first fer,
That form'd this fair sae far awa,       vour, thought of sending it to Mrs. Oswald." He sent
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start   it to the Museum, perhaps also to the lady.]
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start
At this my way sae far awa.                                  H ORU S.
O, WAT ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin sun upon?
How true is love to pure desert,                  The fairest dame's in yon town,
The fairest dame's in yon town,
So love to her, sae far awa:
So love to her, sae far awa:                  That e'enin sun is shining on.
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart,
While, oh! she is sae far awa.I.
Nane other love, nane other dart,            Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
I feel but hers, sae far awa;                 She wanders'y yon spreading tree;
But fairer never touch'd a heart
But fairer neaver touch'd a heart            How blest ye flcw'rs that round her blaw,
Than hers, the fair sae far awa.             Ye catch the glances o' her e'e!
II.
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
CLXI.                           And welcome in the blooming year!
I'LL AY  CA' IN  BY YON  TOWN.                  And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.
Tune-" I'll gae nae mair to yon town."
[Jean Armour inspired this very sweet song. Sir                    II I.
Harris Nicolas says it is printed in Cromek's Reliques:    The sun blinks blithe on yon town,
it was first printed in the Museum.]                And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr;
I.                          But my delight in yon town,
I'LL ay ca' in by yon town,                       And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.
And by yon garden green, again;
I'll ay ca' in by yon town,                                        I v.
And see my bonnie Jean again.                 Without my love, not a' the charms
There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess,   0' Paradise could yield me joy;
What brings me back the gate again;           But gie me Lucy in my arms,
But she my fairest faithfu' lass,                 And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!
And stownlins we sall meet again.
v.
II.                         My cave wad be a lover's bower,
She'll wander by the aiken tree,                  Tho' raging winter rent the air;
When trystin-time draws near again;          And she a lovely little flower,
And when her lovely form I see,                   That I wad tent and shelter there.
0 haith, she's doubly dear again!
I'll ay ca' in by yon town,
And by yon garden green, again;               0 sweet is she in yon town,
I'll ay ca' in by yon town,                       Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon;
And see my bonnie Jean again.                 A fairer than's in you town
His setting beam ne'er shone upon.
VII.
If angry fate is sworn my foe,
And suffering I am doom'd to bear;
0, WAT YE WHA'S IN  YON  TOWN.                  I careless quit aught else below,
Tune-" I'll ay ca' in by yon town."           But spare me-spare me, Lucy dear!
[The beautiful Lucy Johnstone, married to Oswald,                 VIII.
of Auchencruive, was the heroine of this song: it was
not, however, composed expressly in honour of her    For while life's dearest blood is warm,
charms. " As I was a good deal pleased," he says in a  Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          269
And she-as fairest is her form!                                   II.
She has the truest, kindest heart!           May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms
0, wat ye wha's in yon town,               Possess a leal and true heart;
Ye see the e'enin sun upon?            To him be given to ken the heaven
The fairest dame's in yon town             He grasps in Polly Stewart.
That e'enin sun is shining on.         O lovely Polly Stewart!
0 charming Polly Stewart!
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May
That's half so sweet as thou art.
CLXIII.
0 MAY, THY MORN. 
Tune-" May, thy morn."
[Our lyrical legends assign the inspiration of this strain
to the accomplished Clarinda. It has been omitted by                 LXV
Chambers in his "People's Edition" of Burns.]       TH     HIGHLAND  LADDIE.
I.                             Tune —" If thou'lt play me fair play."
0 MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet
[A long and wearisome ditty, called " The Highland
As the mirk night o December;         Lad and Lowland Lassie," which Burns compressed into
For sparkling was the rosy wine,           these stanzas, for Johnson's Museum.l
And private was the chamber:
And dear was she I dare na name,
And dr,    THE bonniest lad that e'er I saw,
But I will ay remember.
But I will ay r.         Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
And dear was she I dare na name,
And dear willasy sedrem b,           Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw,
But I will ay remember.
Bonnie Highland laddie.
II.                           On his head a bonnet blue,
And here's to them, that, like oursel,            Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie;
Can push about the jorum;                    His royal heart was firm and true,
And here's to them that wish us weel,             Bonnie Highland laddie.
May a' that's guid watch o'er them,
And here's to them we dare na tell,
Th deas, te  Trumpets sound, and cannons roar,
The dearest o' the quorum... 
Bonnie lassie; Lowland lassie;
And here's to them we dare na tell, 
Th de s, te q!  And a' the hills wi' echoes roar,
The dearest o' the quorum I
Bonnie Lowland lassie.
Glory, honour, now invite,
Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie,
CLXIV.                           For freedom and my king to fight,
LOVELY  POLLY  STEWART.                           Bonnie Lowland lassie.
Tune-" Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart."                         II.
[The poet's eye was on Polly Stewart, but his mind  The sun a backward course shall take,
seems to have been with Charlie Stewart, and the Jacob-  Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
ite ballads, when he penned these words;-they are in  Ere aught thy manly courage shake,
the Museum.]
~~~t~~~he Museum.]  ~Bonnie Highland laddie.
Go, for yourself procure renown,
0 LOVELY Polly Stewart!, 
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie;
0 charming Polly Stewart!. 
And for your lawful king, his crown,
There's not a flower that blooms in May           Bonnie Highland laddie.
That's half so fair as thou art.
The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's,
And art can ne'er renew it;
But worth and truth eternal youth
Will give to Polly Stewart.




270                            THE POETICAL WORKS
CLXVI.                        the Nith to the Dee: but to the Dee, if the poet spoks in
his own person, no such influences could belong.]
ANNA, THY CHARMS.
Tune-," Bonnie Mary."                   To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,
[The heroine of this short, sweet song is unknown: it  Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,
was inserted in the third edition of his Poems.]    Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe,
ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,                 To thee I bring a heart unchang'd.
And waste my soul with care;
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!                    I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,
Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,               Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear;
To hope may be forgiv'n;                   For there he rov'd that brake my heart,
For sure'twere impious to despair,             Yet to that heart, ah! still how dear!
So much in sight of Heav'n.
CLXIX.
CLXVII.                               BANNOCKS 0' BARLEY.
CASSILLIS' BANKS.                                     Tune-" The Killogie."
Tune-[unknown.]                      [" This song is in the Museum," says Sir Harris Nicolas,
[it is supposed that  Highland Ma      but without Burns's name." Burns took up an old song,
t is supposed that "Hi  Mary  who live and letting some of the old words stand, infused a Jacobite.ometime on Cassillis's banks, is the heroine of these 
spirit into it, wrote it out, and sent it to the Museum.]
verses.]
I.                                                 I.
Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green,                 BANNOcKS o' bear meal,
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring;                   Bannocks o' barley;
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream,                        Here's to the Highlandman's
The birdies flit on wanton wing.                         Bannocks o' barley.
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's,                   Wha in a brulzie
There wi' my Mary let me fee,                            Will first cry a parley?
There catch her ilka glance of love,                     Never the lads wi'
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e!                          The bannocks o' barley.
IL.
Ii. 
The chield wha boasts o' warld's walth                   Bannocks o' bear meal,
Is aften laird o' meikle care;                           Bannocks o' barley;
But Mary she is a' my ain-                               Here's to the lads wi'
Ah! fortune canna gie me mair.                          The bannocks o' barley.
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks,                   Wha in his wae-days
Wi' her, the lassie dear to me,                          Were loyal to Charlie?
And catch her ilka glance o' love,                       Wha but the lads wi'
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e!                          The bannocks o' barley?
CLXVIII.                                            CLXX.
TO THEE, LOVED NITH.                                       HEE BALOU.
Tune-[unknown.]                             Tune-" The IHighland Balou."
[There are several variations extant of these verses,   ["Published in the Musical Museum," says Sir Harris
and among others one which transfers the praise from   Nicolas, " but without the name of the author." It is an




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               271
old strain, eked out and amended by Burns, and sent to                  CLXXII.
the Museum in his own handwriting.]
HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER.
I.
HEE balou I my sweet wee Donald,                       Tune-" The job ofjourney-work."
Picture o' the great Clanronald;                 [Burns took the hint of this song from an older and less
Brawlie kens our wanton chief                  decorous strain, and wrote these words, it has been said
in humorous allusion to the condition in which Jear Ar
Wha got my young Highland thief.
mour found herself before marriage; as if Burns could
be capable of anything so insulting. The words are in
II.                         the Museum.]
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie,                       ALTHO' my back be at the wa',
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie:                   An' tho' he be the fautor;
Travel the country thro' and thro',                     ltho' my back be at the wa',
And bring hame a Carlisle cow.                           Yet here's his health in water!
0! wae gae by his wanton sides,
Sae brawlie he could flatter;
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border,                  Till for his sake I'm  slighted sair
Weel, my babie, may thou furder:And dree the kintra clatter.
Herry the louns o' the laigh countree,                But tho' my  ack be at the wa'
Syne to the Highlands hame to me.                       And tho' e be te fautor;
But tho' my back be at the wa',
Yet here's his health in water!
CLXXI.
WAE IS MY HEART.                                              CLXXIII.
Tune-" Waeis my heart."                             MY  PEGGY'S  FACE.
[Composed, it is said, at the request of Clarke, the                   My Peggy's Face."
musician, who felt, or imagined he felt, some pangs of
heart for one of the loveliest young ladies in Nithsdale,   [Composed in honour of Miss Margaret Chalmers, afterPhillis M'Murdo.]                                   wards Mrs. Lewis Hay, one of the wisest, and, it is said,
the wittiest of all the poet's lady correspondents. Burns,
in the note in which he conmnunicated it to Johnson, said
WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e;          he had a strong private reason for wishing it to appear
Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger t m               in the second volume of the Museum.]
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear,                                  I
And the sweet voice of pity ne'er sounds in my           M   Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
ear.
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Love, thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I loved;         Might charm the first of human kind.
Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I proved;         I love my Peggy's angel air,
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my             Her face so truly, heav'nly fair,
breast,                                           Her native grace so void of art,
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest.      But I adore my Peggy's heart
I I I.                                              I I.
0, if I were happy, where happy I hae been,             The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
Down by yon stream, and yon bonnie  castle               The kindling lustre of an eye;
green;                                           Who but owns their magic sway?
For there he is wand'ring, and musing on me,             Who but knows they all decay!
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e.       The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look, that rage disarmsThese are all immortal charms.




272                          THE POETICAL WORKS
CLXXIV.                            But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.
GLOOMY DECEMBER.
Tune-" Wandering Willie." 
Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss,
[These verses were, it is said, inspired by Clarinda,  Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass,
and must be taken as a record of his feelings at partinge  o                       
with one dear to him to the latest moments of existence
-the Mrs. Mac of many a toast, both in serious and fes-  A lily in a wilderness.
tive hours.]
I V.
I^'r~~.      ~         Sae sweetly move her genty limbs,
ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!          Like music notes o' lovers' hymns:
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care:         The diamond dew is her een sae blue,
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember,          Where laughing love sae wanton swims.
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair.
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure,                        V.
Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour;        My lady's dink, my lady's drest,
But the dire feeling, 0 farewell for ever!            The flower and fancy o' the west;
Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure.              But the lassie that a man lo'es best,
Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure..
O that's the lass to make him blest.
II.                   yMy lady's gown, there's gairs upon't,
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't;
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,             nd  g   en f es sa rare un't'Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown,        My lod tins jmps ad  ir upon't
My lord thinks meikle mair upon't.
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone!__
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;                      CLXXVI.
For sad was the parting thou makes me remem-              AMANG  THE  T R ES.
ber,
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair.       Tune-" The King of France, he rade a race."
[Burns wrote these verses in scorn of those, and they
are many, who prefer
" The capon craws and queer ha ha's!"
CLXXV.                       of emasculated Italy to the original and delicious airs,
Highland and Lowland, of old Caledonia: the song is a
MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S GAIRS  fragment-the more's the pity.]
UPON'T.
I.
Tune-" Gregg'8 Pipes."                 AMANG the trees, where humming bees
[Most of this song is from the pen of Burns: he cor-  At buds and flowers were hinging, 0,
rected the improprieties, and infused some of his own    Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
lyric genius into the old strain, and printed the result in
the Muse]And to her pipe was singing, 0;
the M{useum.]'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels,
^~~~~I.~               She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, 0,
MY lady's gown, there's gairs upon't,          When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't;              That dang her tapsalteerie, 0.
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet,
My lord thinks meikle mair upon't.                                 II.
My lord a-hunting he is gane,                  Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane;            They made our lugs grow eerie, 0;
By Colin's cottage lies his game,              The hungry bike did scrape and pike,
If Colin's Jenny be at hame.'Till we were wae and weary, 0;
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd
II.                            A prisoner aughteen year awa,
My lady's white, my lady's red,                He fir'd a fiddler in the north
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude;            That dang them tapsalteerie, 0.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                275
CLXXVII.                                           CLXXVIII.
THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA.                               MY AIN KIND DEARIE O.
Tune-" Banks of Banna."                    [This is the first song composed by Burns for the
Anne with the golden lkt  national collection of Thomson: it was written in Octo[" Anne with the golden locks," one of the attendant
~J..~,..Tber 1792  "On reading over the Lea-rig,"he says "I
maidens in Burns's howff, in Dnmfries, was very fair andOn reading over te Learig,  he says, 
v   t   a b ~ s is r   t  immediately set about trying my hand on it, and, after
very tractable, and, as may be surmised from the song,
very tractable, and, asi ma besurmisedfromthe all, I could make nothing more of it than the following."
had other pretty ways to render herself agreeable to the  a                m
custo s tn te sr. B s r    d  The first and second verses were only sent: Burns added
customers than the serving of wine. Burns recommended
c.,.  _,.   ^,.   the third and last verse in December.]
this song to Thomson; and one of his editors makes him
say, " I think this is one of the best love-songs I ever
composed," but these are not the words of Burns; this
contradiction is made openly, lest it should be thought    WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star
that the bard had the bad taste to prefer this strain to  Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
dozens of others more simple, more impassioned, and    And owsen frae the furrw'd field
more natural.]
Return sae dowf and weary, 0!
I.                            Down by the burn, where scented birks'
YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,                      Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo;
A place where body saw na';                    I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine                 My ain kind dearie 0!
The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness                                           I.
Rejoicing o'er his manna,                      In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
Was naething to my hinny bliss                      I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, 0;
Upon the lips of Anna.                         If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie O!
11'~~~.      ~         Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
Ye monarchs tak the east and west,                  And I were ne'er sae wearie, 0,
Frae Indus to Savannah                         I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
Gie me within my straining grasp                    My ain kind dearie!
The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,                                   III.
An empress or sultana,                         The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
While dying raptures in her arms                    To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
I give and take with Anna!                     At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Alang the burn to steer, my jo;
II I.                          Gie me the hour o' gloamin gray,
Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!                     It maks my heart sae cheery, 0,
Awa, thou pale Diana  To meet thee on the lea-ring,
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray,                My ain kind dearie 0!
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night!
Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';
And bring an angel pen to write
My transports wi' my Anna! 
CLXXIX.
IV.                                   TO MARY CAMPBELL.
The kirk an' state may join and tellTo do sic things I ma jiunnan:  tI" In my very early years," says Burns to Thomson,
To do sc things I maunn"when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I
The kirk and state may gang to hell,           took the following farewell of a dear girl. You must
And I'll gae to my Anna.                     know that all my earlier love-songs were the breathinga
She is the sunshine of my e'e,                 of ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in
To live but her I canna:                     after times to have given them a polish, yet that polish,
to me, would have defaced the legend of my heart, so
H: d I on earth but wishes three, 
The first should be my Anna.                 1 For " scented birks," in some copies, " blrken buds."
18____________




274                          THE POETICAL WORKS
faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity                   III.
was, as they say of wines, their race." The heroine of    She is a winsome wee thing
this early composition was Highland Mary.]                                        
She is a handsome wee thing,
I.                                She is a bonnie wee thing,
WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary,                       This sweet wee wife o' mine.
And leave old Scotia's shore?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,                                     I.
Across th' Atlantic's roar?                    The warld's wrack we share o't,
Across th' Atlantic's roar?
The warstle and the care o't;
1 1.                               Wi' her I'll blythely bear it,
0 sweet grows the lime and the orange,                   And think my lot divine.
And the apple on the pine;
But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.
II I.                                           CLXXXI.
I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,                     BONNIE  LESLEY.
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
And sae may the Heavens forget me                 ["I have just," says Burns to Thomson, "been lookWThen I forget my vow!                        ing over the' Collier's bonnie Daughter,' and if the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day, on a
I;*~~~ V. ~charming Ayrshire girl, Miss Leslie Baillie, as she passed
~I V.*^'~   ~through this place to England, will suit your taste better
O plight me your faith, my Mary,                than the Collier Lassie, fall on and welcome." This
And plight me your lily white hand;           lady was soon afterwards married to Mr. Cuming, of
O plight me your faith, my Mary,
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 
0 SAW ye bonnie Lesley
V.                                As she ga'ed o'er the border?
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,                  She's gane, like Alexander,
In mutual affection to join;                         To spread her conquests farther.
And curst be the cause that shall part us!
The hour and the moment o' time! 
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
CLXXX.                               And never made anither!
THE WINSOME WEE THING.                                               III.
[These words were written for Thomson: or rather     Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
made extempore. " I might give you something more        Thy subjects we, before thee:
profound," says the poet, "yet it might not suit the   Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
light-horse gallop of the air, so well as this random    The hearts o' men adore thee.
clink."]
I.                                               I V.
SHE is a winsome wee thing,                     The deil he could na scaith thee,
She is ahhandsome wee thing,                      Or aught that wad belang thee;
She is a bonnie wee thing,                      He'd look into thy bonnie face,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.                    And say, "I canna wrang thee."
II.                                               V.
I never saw a fairer,                           The powers aboon will tent thee;
I never lo'ed a dearer;                           Misfortune sha' na steer thee:
And niest my heart I'll wear her,               Thou'rt like themselves so lovely,
For fear my jewel tine.                         That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                275
VI.                                                 III.
Return again, fair Lesley,                     Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Return to Caledonie;                           Our parting was fu' tender;
That we may brag, we hae a lass                And, pledging aft to meet again,
There's nane again sae bonnie.                 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!
CLXXXII.
Iv.
H IGHLAND MAR Y.
~HIGHLAN D  M   ~AR ~Y.    ~     0 pale, pale now, those rosy lips
Tune-" Katherine Ogie."                      I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
[Mary Campbell, of whose worth and beauty Burns    And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance
nas sung with such deep feeling, was the daughter of a   That dwelt on me sae kindly!
mariner, who lived in Greenock. She became acquainted  And mouldering now in silent dust,
with the poet while on service at the castle of Mont-    That heart that lo'ed me dearlygomery, and their strolls in the woods and their roaming  But still within my bosom's core
trystes only served to deepen and settle their affections.
Their love had much of the solemn as well as of the ro-  Shall live my Highland Mary!
mantic: on the day of their separation they plighted their
mutual faith by the exchange of Bibles: they stood with
a running-stream between them, and lifting up water in
their hands vowed love while woods grew and waters ran.
The Bible which the poet gave was elegantly bound:'Ye shall not swear by my name falsely,' was written
in the bold Mauchline hand of Burns, and underneath                    CLXXXIII.
was his name, and his mark as a freemason. They parted
to meet no more: Mary Campbell was carried off sud-           A     D       B  M        IS.
denly by a burning fever, and the first intimation which
denly by a burning fever, and the first intimation which    [The starting lines of this song are from one of no little
the poet had of her fate, was when, it is said, he visited
the poet had of her fate, was when, it is said, he visited  merit in Ramsay's collection: the old strain is sarcastic;
her friends to meet her on her return from Cowal, whi-  the new strain is tender: it was written for Thomson.
ther she had gone to make arrangements for her marriage. The Bible is in the keeping of her relations: we
have seen a lock of her hair; it was very long and very
bright, and of a hue deeper than the flaxen. The song  THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wens in yon
was written for Thomson's work.]                           glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld
^'~~I.    ~men;
Y-E banks, and braes, and streams around          He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and
The castle o' Montgomery,                             kine,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,   And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.
Your waters never drumlie!
There Simmer first unfauld her robes, 
And there the langest tarry;
AnFor  there I took the langest arry;ewell     She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
For there I took the last farewell          
FO' my  sweet Highe latnd farely.              She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
1.                          And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,                                      II.
As underneath their fragrant shade               But oh! she's an heiress,-auld Robin's a laird,
I clasp'd her to my bosom!                     And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and
The golden hours, on angel wings,                       yard;
Flew o'er me and my dearie;                    A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed;
For dear to me, as light and life,               The wounds I must hide that will sooqa.   my
Was my sweet Highland Mary!                           dead.




276                          THIE POETICAL WORKS
I.                                             IV.
The day comes to me, but delight brings _me          How it comes let doctors tell,
nane;                                              Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:       Meg grew sick-as he grew heal,
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,           Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my            Something in her bosom wrings,
breast.                                       For relief a sigh she brings:
And 0, her een, they spak sic things!
V.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
O had she but been of a lower degree,, 
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon.
me!
me!                                          Duncan was a lad o' grace.
0, how past descriving had then been my bliss,           Ha, ha, the wooing 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
As now my distraction no words can express!          Maggie's was a piteous case,
Maggie's was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
CLXXXIV.                           Now they're crouse and canty baith,
DUNCAN  GRAY.                                Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
[This Duncan Gray of Burns, has nothing in common
with the wild old song of that name. save the first line, and
a part of the third, neither has it any share in the sentiments of an earlier strain, with the same title, by the
same hand. It was written for the work of Thomson.]               CLXXXV.
I.                                O  POORTITH  CAULD.
DUNCAN Gray cam here to woo,                            Tune-" I had a horse.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.                  [Jean Lorimer, the Chloris and the " Lassie with the
On blythe yule night when we were fou,,  t  C        a
On blythe yule night when we were fou,    lint-white locks" of Burns, was the heroine of this exHa, ha, the wooing o't.                quisite lyric: she was at that time very young; her
Maggie coost her head fu' high,             shape was fine, and her " dimpled cheek and cherry
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,             mou" will be long remembered in Nithsdale.]
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.                   0 POORTITH cauld, and restless love,
~II.            I~~    Ye wreck my peace between ye;
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd,           Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;                       An' twere na' for my Jeanie.
Ha, ha, the wooing o' t;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,                         0 why should fate sic pleasure have,
Hat, ha, the wooing o't.                          Life's dearest bands untwining?
Ha, ha, the woolng o't.
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,                      Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',                  Depend on fortune's shining?
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
This warld's wealth when I think on,
III.                              It's pride, and a' the lave o'tTime and chance are but a tide,                 Fie, fie on silly coward man,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;                       That he should be the slave o't!
Slighted love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.                                     I I.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,                 Her een sae bonnie blue betray
For a haughty hizzie die?                         How she repays my passion;
She may gae to-France for me!                   But prudence is her o'erword ay,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.                       She talks of rank and fashion.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                277
I V.                                            CLXXXVII.
0 wha can prudence think upon,                                LORD GREGORY.
And sic a lassie by him?
O wha can prudence think upon,  LDr. Wolcot wrote a Lord Gregory for Thomson's
0 wha can prudence think upon, 
collection, in imitation of which Burns wrote his, and
And sae in love as  am?             the Englishman complained, with an oath, that the
Scotchman sought to rob him of the merit of his compov.                           sition. Wolcot's song was, indeed, written first, but
they are both but imitations of that most exquisite old balHow blest the humble cotter's fate!1            lad, 4 Fair Annie of Lochryan," which neither Wolcot
He wooes his simple dearie;                    nor Burns valued as it deserved: it far surpasses both
The silly bogles, wealth and state,              their songs.]
Can never make them eerie.                                              I.
O why should Fate sic pleasure have,           0 MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
Life's dearest bands untwining?               And loud the tempest's roar;
Or why sae sweet a flower as love              A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Depend on Fortune's shining?                   Lord Gregory, ope thy door!
II.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
CLXXXVI.                              If love it may na be.
GALLA WATER.                                                 II.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
[" Galla Water" is an improved version of an earlier                                    the grove
song by Burns: but both songs owe some of their attrac-  By bonnie Irwin-side,
tions to an older strain, which the exquisite air has made  Where first I own'd that virgin-love
popular over the world. It was written for Thomson.]     I lang, lang had denied?
I.                                                IV.
THERE'S braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,            How often didst thou pledge and vow
That wander thro' the blooming heather;             Thou wad for ay be mine;
But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws                  And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
Can match the lads o' Galla Water.                  It ne'er mistrust d thine.
ii..v.
II.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
Bat there is ane, a secret ane,
And flinty is thy breastAboon them a' I lo'e him better;
A.bo e hi m bete, *Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
O wilt thou give me rest!
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.
VI.
I[II.                           Ye mustering thunders from above,
_ltho' his daddie was nae laird,                      Your willihg victim see!
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher;                 But spare and pardon my fause love,
fet rich in kindest, truest love,                     His wrangs to heaven and me!
We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.
IV.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,                           CLXXXVIII.
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;                  M ARY  MORISON.
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,.,,~.^   i,    Tune-" Bide ye yet."
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!
["The song prefixed," observes Burns to Thomson,
1' The wild-wood Indian's Fate," in the original MS.  c is one of my jwenile works. I leave it in your hands




278                           fHE POETICAL WORKS
I do not think it very remarkable either for its merits or  Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
its demerits."  " Of all the productions of Burns," says    And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the
Hlazlitt, " the pathetic and serious love-songs which he      same
has left behind him, in the manner of the old ballads, are,
perhaps, those which take the deepest and most lasting
hold of the mind. Such are the lines to MaryMorison."
The song is supposed to have been written on one of a  Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our partfamily of Morisons at lauchline.]                          ing;
It was na the blast brought the tear in my
e'e;
O MARY, at thy window be,                         Now  welcome the simmer, and welcome my
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!                    Willie
Those smiles and glances let my see                 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.
That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun;
A weary slave ftae sun to sun;         Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers 
Could I the rich reward secure,  
Could I the rich reward s r,        0 how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
The lovely Mary Morison!
The lovely Mary Mori!             Awaken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
I.                             And.waft my dear laddie ance mair to my
Yestreen, when to the trembling string                   arm
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
To thee my fancy took its wing,                  But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie,
I sat, but neither heard or saw:                  0 still flow  between us, thou wide roaring
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,main
And yon the toast of a' the town,              May I never see it, may I never trow it,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',!    I sigh'd, and said amang them a',              But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.
" Ye are na Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
OrAnst thohrbreak that heart of his,                                   CXC.
Whase. only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,                        WANDERI NG  WILLI E.
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna beL                                            VER       N.
The thought o' Mary Morison.                     [This is the  "Wandering XVillie" as altered by Erskine and Thomson, and approved by Burns, after rejecting several of their emendations. The changes were
made chiefly with the view of harmonizing the words
with the music-an Italian mode of mending the harmony
CLIXXXIX.                        of the human voice.]
WANDERING WILLIE. 
HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
[FIRST VERSION.]
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
[The idea of this song is taken from verses of the same  Come to my  bosom, my a   only deare,
name published by Herd: the heroine is supposed to  Coe  me   boso m, my ain ony  rilie.
have been the accomplished Mrs. Riddel. Erskine and              o    i              
Thomson sat in judgment upon it, and, like true critics,
squeezed much of the natural and original spirit out of                     I I.
it. Burns approved of their alterations; but he approved,
no doubt, in bitteress of s                         Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our part.
no doubt, in bitterness of spirit.]
ing,
I.'.                       Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e;
HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,              Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;            The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.




OF ROBERT BURNS.,9
CXCII.
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slum-                     J E S S I E.
bers,
How your dread howling a lover alarms!                     Tune-'Bonnie Dundee"
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,         [Jessie Staig, the eldest daughter of the provost or
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my  Dumfries, was the heroine of this song. She became a
~~~~~~arn~msg.                 ^wife and a mother, but died early in life: she is still affectionately remembered in her native place.]
IV.
But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his  TRE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the
Nannie,Yarrow
Yarrow,
Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main;    Andfair       the maids on the banks o' the
May I never see it, may I never trow it,                 Ay
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain;
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,
CXCI.                          And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.
OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH!                                               Ii.
[Written for Thomson's collection: the first version  0, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
which he wrote was not happy in its harmony: Burns    And sweet is the lily at evening close;
altered and corrected it as it now stands, and then said,  But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie
" I do not know if this song be really mended."]    Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law:
OH, open the door, some pity to show,             And still to her charms she alone is a stranger —
Oh, open the door to me, Oh!'                    Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'!
Tho' thou has been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, Oh!
I I.                                            CXCIII.
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,                E  PO R  AND H N              T SO        R.
But caulder thy love for me, Oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,                 Air-" The  ill, Mill,."
Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh!             [Burns, it is said, composed this song, once very popular, on hearing a maimed soldier relate his adventures,
at Brownhill, in Nithsdale: it was published by Thom^~~~III. ^son, after suggesting some alterations, which were pro.
The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,  perly rejected.]
And time is setting with me, Oh! 
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair          WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh!                 And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
Iv.                               And mony a widow mourning;
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide;       I left the lines and tented field,
She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh!              Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My true love! she cried, and sank down by his          My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
side,                                             A poor and honest sodger.
Never to rise again, Oh!
1 This second line was originally-" If love it may na  A leal, light heart was in my breast,
be, Oh!"                                                My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;




280                         THE POETICAL WORKS
And for fair Scotia, hame again,                Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
I cheery on did wander.                         A mailen plenish'd fairly;
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,               And come, my faithful sodger lad,
I thought upon my Nancy,                        Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.                               VIII.
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
III.                             The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
Where earl lifI   The sodger's wealth is honour;
Where early life I sported;
T,~~,1~i iThe brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn,           h   ra    oor s    r   er
Nor count him as a stranger;
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Where Nancy aft I cou:           Remember h he's his country's stay,
Wha sifted I but my ain dear maid,'^~    i iIn day and hour of danger.
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
I V.                                          CXCIV.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,              MEG       THE  MILL.
M EG  O' T H E i    I L L.
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,! happy, happy, may he be                 Air-"Hey! bonnie lass, willyou lie in a barrack?"
That's dearest to thy bosom!              [I"Do you know a fine air," Burns asks Thomson,
My purse is light, I've far to gang,       April, 1793, "called' Jackie Hume's Lament?' I have
And fain wad be thy lodger;              a song of considerable merit to that air: I'll enclose you
AnI've serv'd my king and country;   both song and tune, as I have them ready to send to the
I've serv' my king and country lang Museum." It is probable that Thomson liked these
Take pity on a sodger.                   verses too well to let them go willingly from his hands:
Barns touched up the old song with the same starling
V.                        line, but a less delicate conclusion, and published it in
the Museum.]
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And lovelier was then ever;
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'd,            O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
Forget him shall I never:                An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,           She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller,
Ye freely shall partake it,              And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.
That gallant badge-the dear cockadeYe're welcome for the sake o't.
The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
V~I.                      A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady:
The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
She gaz'd —she redden'd like a rose   --
She gale  rede  lie a r        She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.
Syne pale like onie lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,                             III.
Art thou my ain dear Willie?
Art thou my ain dear Willie?            The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
By him who made you sun and sky-           The Laird did address her wi' matter mair
By whom true love's regarded,                   moving,
I am the man; and thus may still
I am the man; and thus may still           A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
True lovers be rewarded! 
True lovers be rewarded!       A whip by her side and a bonnie side-saddle.
VII.                                            IV.
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,      0 wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing;
And find thee still true-hearted;        And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,     A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,
And muir we'se ne'er be parted.          But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl I




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                  281
CXCV.                                                    I.
Again the merry month o' May
BLYTHE HAE I BEEN.
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
Tune-" Liggeram  Cosh."                        The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
[Burns,who seldom praised his own compositions, told     The bees hum round the breathing flowers;
Thomson, for whose work he wrote it, that " Blythe hae     Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye,
I been on yon hill," was one of the finest songs he had    And Evening's tears are teais of joy:
ever made in his life, and composed on one of the most     My soul, deligtless, asurveys,
lovely women in the world. The heroine was Miss Les-.ey Baillie.]                                              While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
I.
BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill
As the lambs before me;              Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free  Amang her nestlings sits the thrush;
Careless ilka thought and free
As the breeze flew o'er me.
As the breeze flew o'er me.                      Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Now nae langer sport and play,                     Or wi' his song her cares beguile:
Now nae langer sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me;                     But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Lesley is sae fair and coy,                        Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Lesley is sae fair and coy,, "
Care and anguish seize me.                       Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
II.
Heavy, heavy is the task,                                              IV.
Hopeless love declaring:              v,     
Hopeless love declaring:                         0 wae upon you, men o' state,
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r,                 That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
Sighing, dumb, despairing!          
Sighing, dumb, despairing                      As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
If she winna  ease the thraws                    Sae may it on your heads return!
If she winna ease the thraws 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
In my bosom swelling,
Underneath  the grass-green sod                  The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?'
Underneath the grass-green sod 
Soon maun be my dwelling.                        But soon may peace bring happy days
And Willie hame to Logan braes!
CXCVI.
LOGAN WATER.                                                 CVII.
["Have you ever, my dear sir," says Burns to Thomson, 25th June, 1793, "felt your bosom ready to burst          T H E  R E D, R E D  R   S E.
with indignation on reading of those mighty villains who          Air-" Hughie Graham."
divide kingdom against kingdom, desolate provinces, and
lay nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, or    [There are snatches of old song so exquisitely fine
often from still more ignoble passions? In a mood of  that, like fractured crystal, they cannot be mended or
this kind to-day I recollected the air of Logan Water.  eked out, without showing where the hand of the reIf I have done anything at all like justice to my feelings,  storer has been. This seems the case with the first verse
the following song, composed in three-quarters of an  of this song, which the poet found in Witherspoon, and
hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought to have some  completed by the addition of the second verse, which he
merit."  The poet had in mind, too, during this poetio  felt to be inferior, by desiring Thomson to make his own
fit, the beautiful song of Logan-braes, by my friend John  the first verse, and let the other follow, which would
Mayne, a Nithsdale poet.]                             conclude the strain with a thought as beautiful as it was
original.]
0 LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide,                                        I.
That day I was my Willie's bride!                    0 WERE my love yon lilac fair,
And years synsyne hae o'er us run,                      Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;
Like Logan to the simmer sun.                         And I, a bird to shelter there,
But now thy flow'ry banks appear                        When weald    on my little wing!
Like drumlie winter, dark and frear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,                              namid your cruel joys,
Far, fir frsa~e me and Logan braes!' The mind natears, the orphan's crieoys,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes!                        The widow's tears, the orphan's cries."




)82                          THE POETICAL WORKS
How I wad mourn, when it was torn                                   v.
By autumn wild, and winter rude!              He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
But I wad sing on wanton wing,                    He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;
When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.          And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown,
II.
0 gin my love were yon red rose,                                   vI.
That grows upon the castle wa';                                     
~, r   "   As in the bosom o' the stream,
And I mysel' a drap o' dew,
Ando me   ai dreap to'dew,.The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en;
Into her bonnie breast to fat'! 
her boneSo trembling, pure, was tender love
Oh, there beyond expression blest,                Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.
",~                ~,^~~~ *Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light.
And now she works her mammie's wark,
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
CXCVIII.                                           I I I.
But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
~BONNI ~E J  ~EA N.  ~       And did na joy blink in her e'e,
[Jean M'Murdo, the heroine of this song, the eldest    As Robie tauld a tale of love,
daughter of John M'Murdo of Drumlan ig, was, both in  Ae e'enin' on the lily lea?
merit and look, very worthy of so sweet a strain, and
justified the poet from the charge made against him in
the West, that his beauties were not other men's beau-               I.
ties. In the M'IAurdo manuscript, in Burns's handwrit-    The sun was sinking in the west,
ing, there is a well-merited compliment which has slipt The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
out of the printed copy in Thomson:-                  c       t h,
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,
" Thy handsome foot thou shalt na set
In barn or byre to trouble thee."]          And whsper'd thus his tale o' love:
I.                                             X.
THERE was a lass, and she was fair,             O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;
At kirk and market to be seen,                  O canst thou think to fancy me 
When a' the fairest maids were met,             Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.              And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
I I.
XI.
And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she wrought her mammi's wark,  At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
And ay she sang so merrilie:
And ay she sang so merrilie:                    Or naething else to trouble thee;
The blithest bird upon the bush                                      heather-bells,
But stray amang the heather-bells,
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.              n   n           i
And tent the waving corn wi' me.
III.
But hawks will rob the tender joys                                  I
Now what could artless Jeanie do?
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;             w     c      a          
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,        She had nae will to say him na:
And love will break the soundest rest.       At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay between them twa.
I V.
Young Robie was the brllst lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              283
words were written: the hero of the lay has been long
CXCIX.                       dead; the heroine resides, a widow, in Edinburgh.]
PHILLIS  THE  FAIR.                                            I.
Tune-" Robin Adair."                 HAD I a cave on some wild, distant shore,
[The ladies of the M'Murdo family were graceful and    Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing
beautiful, and lucky in finding a poet capable of record-  roar;
ing their charms in lasting strains. The heroine of this  There would I weep my woes,
song was Phillis M'Murdo; a favourite of the poet. The                   
Z5~ ~~~~'                                 ~~~~~There seek my lost repose,
verses were composed at the request of Clarke, the mu- 
sician, who believed himself in love with his " charming   Till grief my eyes should close,
pupil." She laughed at the presumptuous fiddler.]             Ne'er to wake more.
I.
II.
WHILE larks with little wing
WHILE las wh le wg           Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare,
Fann'd the pure air,                     All thy fond plighted vows-fleeting as air!
Tasting the breathing spring,                 To thy new lover hie
Forth I did fare: 
Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Gay the sun's golden eye                           Then in thy bosom try
Peep'd o'er the mountains high;                                     
Such thy morn! did I cry,
Phillis the fair.
I I.
In each bird's careless song,
Glad I did share;
While yon wild flowers among,                                  CCI.
Chance led me there:                            B    ALLAN  STREAM.
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;              [" Bravo! say I," exclaimed Burns, when he wrote
these verses for Thomson. " It is a good song. Should
Such thy bloom! did I say, 
you think so too, not else, you can set the music to it,
Phillis the fair.                      and let the other follow as English verses. Autumn is
my propitious season; I make more verses in it than all
I I I.                      the year else." The old song of "   my love Annie's
Down i,n a shady walk         very bonnie," helped the muse of Burns with this lyric.]
Down in a shady walk
Doves cooing were,                                            I.
I mark'd the cruel hawk,                 BY Allan stream I chanced to rove
Caught in a snare:
Caught in a snare: b                     While Pheebus sank beyond Benledi;
So kind may fortune be,                  The winds were whispering through the grove,
Such  make his destinyj!                   The yellow corn was waving ready;
He who would injure thee,
He who would injure thee,              I listened to a lover's sang,
Phillis the fair.
And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony:
And aye the wild wood echoes rangO dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie!
II.
CC.                         0 happy be the woodbine bower,
HAD  I A  CAVE.                        Nae nightly bogle make it eerie;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
Tune-" Robin Adair."                    The place and time I met my dearie!
[Alexander Cunningham, on whose unfortunate love-  Her head upon 4  throbbing breast,
adventure Burns composed this song for Thomson, was    She, sinking said, "I'm thine for ever?"
a jeweller in Edinburgh, well connected, and of agreea-          k   t   s 
ble and polished manners. The story of his faithless                           
mistress was the talk of Edinburgh, in 1793, when these    The sacred vow,-we ne'er should sever.




f84                            THE POETICAL WORKS
III.                         0 whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,
The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae,             whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
The Simmer joys the flocks to follow;           The' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
HIIo  cheery, thro' her shortening day,           O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
Is Autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,                                   CCIII.
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?               ADOWN  WINDING  NITH.
[" Mr. Clarke," says Burns to Thomson, " begs you to
give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a par.
ticular flame of his. She is a Miss Phillis IM'Murdo,
sister to'Bonnie Jean;' they are both pupils of his."
CCII.                         This lady afterwards became Mrs. Norman Lockhart, of
Carnwath.]
0 WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU.
[In one of the variations of this song the name of the OWN winding Nith I did wander
ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
heroine is Jeanie: the song itself owes some of the sentiments as well as words to an old favourite Nithsdale     To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
chant of the same name. " Is Whistle, and I'll come    Adown winding Nith I did wander,
to you, my lad," Burns inquires of Thomson, "one of      Of Phillis to muse and to sing.
your airs? I admire it much, and yesterday I set the                          n,,,,., rn  -      Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,
following verses to it." The poet, two years afterwards,
altered the fourth line thus: —                          They never wi' her can compare:
" Thy Jeany will venture wi' ye, my lad,"        Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
and assigned this reason: " In fact, a fair dame at whose  Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
shrine I, the priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of
Parnassus; a dame whom the Graces ha e attired in                          II.
witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed with light-       daisy amus'd my fond fancy
ning; a fair one, herself the heroine of the song, insists
on the amendment, and dispute her commands if you           a, s s        s 
dare."]                                                Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
For she is simplicity's child.
0 WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,'                                 II.
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:               The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,            Her sweet balmy lip when'tis prest:
0 whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.               How fair and how pure is the lily,
But warily tent, when you come to court me,              But fairer and purer her breast.
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile and let naebody see,                                IV.
And come as ye were na comin' to me.                  Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.                     They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
I.                              Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye.
At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie;                                 V.
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,        Her voice is the song of the morning,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.                    That wakes thro' the'green-spreading grove,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.                 When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
On music, and pleasure, and love.
III.
Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,                                  VI.
And whiles ye may lightly nw  beauty a wee;           But beauty how frail and how fleeting,
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be,                 The bloom of a fine summer's day!
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.            While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.               Will flourish without a decay.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                285
Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,         hiding from the dragoons produced. When Charles the
They never wi' her can compare:             Second was told of the adventure and its upshot, he is
They never  her cancomsaid to have exclaimed, " God's fish! that beats me and
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis                 the oak: the man ought to be made a bishop."]
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
I.
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.'CCIV.                                  Meet me on the warlock knowe,
COME, LET  ME  TAKE  THEE.                                  Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
Air-" Cauld Kail.".. 
My ain dear dainty Davie.
[Burns composed this lyric in August, 1793, and tradition says it was produced by the charms of Jean Lorimer.                   I 
"' That tune, Cauld Kail," he says to Thomson, " is such
a favourite of yours, that I once more roved out yester-  The crystal waters round us fa',
day for a gloamin-shot at the Muses; when the Muse       The merry birds are lovers a',
that presides over the shores of Nith, or rather my old  The scented breezes round us blaw,
inspiring, dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the fol-                   
lowingZ3~~~~~'v'A wandering wi' my Davie.
lowing."]
I.                                                 III.
COME, let me take thee to my breast,                When purple morning starts the hare,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;                 To steal upon her early fare,
And I shall spurn as vilest dust                    Then thro' the dews I will repair,
The warld's wealth and grandeur:                    To meet my faithfu' Davie
And do I hear my Jeanie own
That equal transports move her?                                     Iv.
I ask for dearest life alone,                       When day, expiring in the west,
That I may live to love her.                      The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,
^~~~I I.  ~And that's my ain dear Davie.
Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,                      Meet me on the warlock knowe,
I clasp my countless treasure;                           Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie,
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,                   There I'll spend the day wi' you,
Than sic a moment's pleasure:                            My ain dear dainty Davie.
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never.
CCVI.
BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN.
[FIRST VERSION.]
CCV.                                     Tune-" Hey, tuttie taitie."
DAINTY  DAVIE.                           [Syme of Ryedale states that this fine ode was composed during a storm of rain and fire, among the wilds of
[From the old song of "Daintie Davie" Burns has  Glenken in Galloway: the poet himself gives an account
borrowed only the title and the measure. The ancient  much less romantic. In speaking of the air to Thomson,
strain records how the Rev. David Williamson, to escape  he says, " There is a tradition which I have met with in
the pursuit of the dragoons, in the time of the persecu-  many places in Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's
tion, was hid, by the devout Lady of Cherrytrees, in the  march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in
same bed with her ailing daughter. The divine lived to  my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthuhave six wives beside the daughter of the Lady of Cher-  siasm on the theme of liberty and independence, which I
rytrees, and other children besides the one which his  threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that




286                           THE POETICAL WORKS
one might suppose to be the royal Scot's address to his  resistance; but when Thomson, having succeeded in
heroic followers on that eventful morning." It was  this, proposed a change in the expression, no warrior of
written in September, 1793.]                        Bruce's day ever resisted more sternly the march of a
Southron over the border. " The only line," savs the muI.                          sician, "which I dislike in the whole song is,
ScoTs, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,'Welcome to your gory bed:
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;               gory presents a disagreeable image to the mind, and a
VWCelcome to your gory bed,                     prudent general would avoid saying anything to his solWelcome to your gory bed,                                                               t
diers which might tend to make death more frightful than
Or to victorie!                            it is." "My ode," replied Burns, "pleases me so much
that I cannot alter it: your proposed alterations would,
II.                         in my opinion, make it tame." Thomson cries out, like
Now's the day, and now's the hour;             the timid wife of Coriolanus, "Oh, God, no blood!"
See the front o' battle lour:              while Burns exclaims, like that Roman's heroic mother,
See the front o' battle lour:Yes, blood! it becomes a soldier more than gilt his
See approach proud Edward's pow'r-             trophy."  The ode as originally written was restored
Chains and slaverie!                      afterwards in Thomson's collection.]
III. 
Wha will be a traitor-knave                         Sos, wh  hae wi' Walace bled,
Wha can fill a coward's grave?                     Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Wha sae base as be a slave?                         Welcome to your gory bed,
Let him turn and flee!                            Or to glorious victorie!
~~~~~~~~IV.i
iv.
Now's the day, and now's the hourWha for Scotland's king and law 
See the front o' battle lour;
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,                 See       ro  
Freeman st, or fe   fa,               See approach proud Edward's powerFreeman stand, or freeman fa',
Let him follow   e 11Edward! chains and slaverie!
Let him follow me!
III.
V.
Wha will be a traitor-knave?
By oppression's woes and pains!                                l     
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
By our sons in servile chains! 
Wha sae base as be a slave?
We will drain our dearest veins,! c                   
Traitor! coward! turn and flee!
But they shall be free!
Iv.
VI.                              Wha for Scotland's king and law
Lay the proud usurpers low!                         Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Tyrants fall in every foe!                          Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Liberty's in every blow!-                             Caledonian! on wi' me!
Let us do or die!
v.
By oppression's woes and pains!
By our sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
CCVII.                                But they shall be-shall be free!
BANNOCKBURN.
V L.
ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.                    Lay the proud usurpers low
Lay the proud usurpers low!
[SECO N D VERS I ON.]                       Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
[Thomson acknowledged the charm which this martial     Liberty's in every blow
and national ode had for him, but he disliked the air, and  Forward! let us do, or die!
proposed to substitute that of Lewis Gordon in its place.
But Lewis Gordon required a couple of syllables more
in every fourth line, which loaded the verse with expletrves, and weakened the simple energy of the original:
Burns consented to the proper alterations, after a slight




'1111T1 01 3,- 1  B9 1-T-1 l  LL019  -      i. ~. a92-Ln1   9  O p oUo. 1      sa01. 0 004'S.lay  -s'-n.'-l.AUa.:'pt Glle'  s?.1 o^   p'lctV
~c^'^o-o______________________________________ _____________________________ —_ —--                 ------ — 9 ---              j.
_1;] {I    
~~~~~~~s — ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~1








OF ROBERT BURNS.                                                287
CCVIII.                                               I I.
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie!
B E H 0 L D T H E HO  U I.
Thou hast me forsaken;
Tune-" Oran-gaoil."                           Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie!
Thou hast me forsaken.
[" The following song I have composed for the Highland
air that you tell me in your last you have resolved to     Thou canst love anither jo,
give a place to in your book. I have this moment finished    While my heart is breaking:
the song, so you have it glowing from the mint."  These    Soon my weary een I'll close,
are the words of Burns to Thomson: he might have             Never mair to waken Jamie
added that the song was written on the meditated voyage                        
of Clarinda to the West Indies, to join her husband.]
I.
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest, thou darling of my heart!
Sever'd from thee can I survive?                            AULD  LANG  SYNE.
But fate has will'd, and we must part.           [ Is not the Scotch phrase," Burns writes to Mrs.
I'll often greet this surging swell,              Dunlop, "Auld lang syne, exceedir:gly expressive?
Yon distant isle will often hail:              There is an old song and tune which has often thrilled
through my soul: I shall give you the verses on the other
"Een here I took the last farewell;     sheet. Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inThere, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."       spired poet who composed this glorious fraglnent."
" The following song," says the poet, when he commuI I.                        nicated it to George Thomson, " an old song of the olden
Along the solitary shore                          times, and which has never been in print, nor even in
While flittig s l r d me c,        manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singWhile  itting se-fol round me,  ing, is enough to recommend any air." These are strong
Across the rolling, dashing roar,                words, but there can be no doubt that, save for a line or
I'll westward turn my wistful eye:             two, we owe the song to no other minstrel than " min.
Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say,               str  Burns."]
Where now my Nancy's path may be!                                       L
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,          SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
0 tell me, does she muse on me?                    And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
CCIX.                                   For auld lang syne,
J HOU  HAST  LEFT  M E  EVER.                           We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
Tune-" Fee him, father."
II.:' I do not give these verses," says Burns to Thomson, " for any merit they have. I composed them at the  We twa hae run about the braes,
time in which'Patie Allan's mither died, about the      And pu't the gowans fine;
back o' midnight,' and by the lee side of a bowl of punch,    But we've wander'd mony a weary foot,
6'      ~,      -But we've wander'd mony a weary foot,
which had overset every mortal in company, except the
aautbois and the muse." To the poet's intercourse with  Sin' auld lang syne.
Musicians we owe some fine songs.]
III.
I.                            We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
THOU hast left me ever, Jamie!                  Frae mornin' sun till dine:
Thou hast left me ever;                      But seas between us braid hae roar'd,
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie!                   Sin' auld lang syne.
Thou hast left me ever.
Aften hast thou vow'd that death                                    I V.
Only should us sever;                        And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
Now thou's left thy lass for ay-                 And gie's a hand o' thine;
I maun see thee never, Jamie,                And we'll take a right guid willie-waught,
I'll see thee never!                         For auld lang syne.




288                          THE POETICAL WORKS
v.                                            CCXII.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,         DELUD          SWAIN  THE  PLEASURE.
DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE.
And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,          [To the air of the " Collier's dochter," Burns bids
Thomson add the following old Bacchanal: it is slightly
For auld lang syne.                       altered from a rather stiff original.]
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,                                          I.
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,               DELUDED swain, the pleasure
For auld lang syne!                            The fickle fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasureThy hopes will soon deceive thee.
I I.
The billows on the ocean,
CCXI.                -                The breezes idly roaming,
The clouds uncertain motionFAIR  JEANY.                                They are but types of woman.
Tune —" Saw ye my father?" 
[In September, 1793, this song, as well as several    0! art thou not ashamed
others, was communicated to Thomson by Burns. " Of        To doat upon a feature
To doat upon a feature?
the poetry," he says, " I speak with confidence: but the
music is a business where I hint my ideas with the ut-  If man thou wouldst be named,
most diffidence."]                                        Despise the silly creature.
I.
I V.
WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,           Go find an honest fellow;
That danc'd to the lark's early song?                   Good claret set before thee:
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring,           Hold on till thou art mellow
At evening the wild woods among?                        And then to bed in glory.
II.
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.                                  N A N C Y.
[This song was inspired by the charms of Clarinaa.
I I I.                      In one of the poet's manuscripts the song commences
Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys,        thus:
And grim, surly winter is near?                          Thie am   my lovely 
W "Vell thou mayest discover
No, no, the bees' humming round the gay roses,              Every pulse along my veins
Proclaim it the pride of the year.                         Tell the ardent lover.
This change was tried out of compliment, it is believed,
I V.                        to Mrs. Thomson; but Nancy ran more smoothly on the
even road of lyrical verse than Kate.]
Fain would I hide, what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long too well have I known,                                I.
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,             THINE am I, my faithful fair,
Is Jeany, fair Jeany alone.                             Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
V.                                  Ev'ry roving fancy.
Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow:                                      I I
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,            To thy bosom lay my heart,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.                          There to throb and languish:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            289
Tho' despair had wrung its core,               "I will hope and trust in heaven,
That would heal its anguish.                   Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
I II.                             My spouse, Nancy."
Take away those rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure:                                     I v.
Turn away thine eyes of love,                  Well, sir, from the silent dead,
Lest I die with pleasure.                      Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.
What is life when wanting love?                "I'll wed another, like my dear
Night without a morning:                       Nancy, Nancy;
Love's the cloudless summer sun,                 N c  Nancy;
Love's the cloudless summer sun,               Then all hell will fly for fear,
Nature gay adorning.                           My spouse, Nancy."
CCXIV.
CCXV.
HUSBAND, HUSBAND.
HUSBANDHU.              WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE.
Tune-" Jo Janet."
Air-" The Sutor's Dochter."
[" My Jo Janet," in the collection of Allan Ramsay,
was in the poet's eye when he composed this song, as   [Composed, it is said, in honour of Janet Miller, of
surely as the matrimonial bickerings recorded byythe old  Dalswinton, mother to the present Earl of Marr, and
minstrels were in hismind. He desires Thomson briefly  then, and long after, one of the loveliest women in the
to tell him how he likes these verses: the response of  south of Scotland.]
the musician was, " Inimitable."]
I.
I.                               WILT thou be my dearie?
HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife,               When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Nor longer idly rave, sir;                       Wilt thou let me cheer thee?
Tho' I am your wedded wife,                        By the treasure of my soul,
Yet I am not your slave, sir.                    That's the love I bear thee!
"One of two must still obey,                       I swear and vow that only thou
Nancy, Nancy;                                    Shall ever be my dearie.
Is it man or woman, say,                           Only thou, I swear and vow,
My spouse, Nancy?"                              Shall ever be my dearie.
II.                                              II.
If'tis still the lordly word,                     Lassie, say thou lo'es me;
Service and obedience;                           Or if thou wilt no be my ain,
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,                     Say na thou'lt refuse me:
And so, good bye, allegiance!                    If it winna, canna be,' Sad will I be, so bereft,                        Thou, for thine may choose me,
Nancy, Nancy;                                    Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Yet I'll try to make a 5hift,                      Trusting that thou lo'es me.
My spouse, Nancy."                               Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.
IIll.
My poor heart then break It mw,
My last hour I'm near it:
When you lay me in the dust,
Think, think, how you will beer it.
19




290                          THE POETICAL WORKS
I I.
CCXVI.
Then let the sudden bursting sigh
BUT LATELY  SEEN.                             The heart-felt pang discover;
Tune-" The winter of life."                 And in the keen, yet tender eye,
0 read th' imploring lover.
[This song was written for Johnson's Museum, in        r             thy gentle mind
1794: the air is East Indian: it was brought from Hindostan by a particular friend of the poet. Thomson set the  Disdains art's gay disguising;
words to the air of Gil Morrice: they are elsewhere set  Beyond what Fancy e'er refin'd,
to the tune of the Death of the Linnet.]                 The voice of nature prizing.
I.
BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day;                                      CCXVIII.
Thro' gentle showers and laughing flowers,       HERE'S  TO  THY  HEALTH   MY
In double pride were gay:                                  BONNIE  LASS.
But now our joys are fled
On winter blasts awa!                                    Tune-" Laggan Burn.
Yet maiden May, in rich array,                   [" This song is in the Musical Museum, with Burns's
Again shall bring them a'.                   name to it," says Sir Harris Nicolas. It is a song of the
poet's early days, which he trimmed up, and sent to
I I.                        Johnson.]
But my white pow, nae kindly thoweI.
Shall melt the snaws of age;                      HERE'S to thy health, my bonnie lass,
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,Gude night, and joy be wi' thee;
Sinks in Time's wintry rage.                      I'll come na mair to thy bower-door,
Oh! age has weary days,                                To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
And nights o' sleepless pain!                     O dina think, my pretty pink,
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,                   But I can live without thee:
Why comes thou not again?                        I vow and swear I dinna care
How lang ye look about ye.
II.
Thou'rt ay sae free informing me
CCXVII.                               Thou hast na mind to marry;
TO  MARY.                            I'll be as free informing thee
Nae time hae I to tarry.
Tune-" Could aught of song."           j    I ken thy friends try ilka means,
[These verses, inspired partly by Hamilton's very ten-   Fre wedlock to delay thee;
der and elegant song,                                 Depending on some higher chance" Ah! the poor shepherd's mournful fate,"         But fortune may betray thee.
and some unrecorded " Mary" of the poet's heart, is in
the latter volumes of Johnson. " It is inserted in John-  I II.
son's Museum," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "with the     I ken they scorn my low estate
name of Burns attached." He might have added that it
was sent by Burns, written with his own hand.]           B    t    d     n     g     
But I'm as free as any he,
^I-'.!i~  ~Sma' siller will relieve me.
COULD aught of song declare my pains,  I count my health my greatest wealth,
Could artful numbers. move thee,                    Sae long as I'll enjoy it:
The muse should tell, in labour'd strains,  I'll fear na scant, I'll bode nae want,
O Mary, how I love thee!                           As lang's I get employment.
They who but feign a wounded heart
May teach the lyre to languish;                                    IV.
But what avails the pride of art,                   But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
When wastes the soul with anguish?                 And ay until ye try them:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             291
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,                               v.
They may prove waur than I am. [bright,           When day is gane, and night is come,
But at twal at night, when the moon shines            And a' folk bound to sleep;
My dear, I'll come and see thee;                  I think on him that's far awa',
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel,             The lee-lang night, and weep,
Nae travel makes him weary.                             I             My dear;
The lee-lang night, and weep.
CCXIX.                                            CCXX.
THE FAREWELL.                                    0 STEER HER UP.
Tune-" It was a' for our rightfu' king."        Tune-" 0 steer her up, and haud her gaun."
[" It seems very doubtful," says Sir Harris Nicolas,   [Burns, in composing these verses, took the introduc
"how much, even if any part of this song was written by  tory lines of an older lyric, eked them out in his own
Burns: it occurs in the Musical Museum, but not with  way, and sent them to the Museum.]
his name." Burns, it is believed, rather pruned and
beautified an old Scottish lyric, than composed this strain
entirely. Johnson received it from him in his own hand-  0 STEER her up and haud her gaunwriting.]                                               Her mother's at the mill, jo;
I.                             And gin she winna take a man,
IT was a' for our rightfu' king,                    E'en let her take her will, jo:
We left fair Scotland's strand;                First shore her wi' a kindly kiss,
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king                     And  a' another gill, jo,
We e'er saw Irish land,                        And gin she take the thing amiss,
My dear;                        E'en let her flyte her file, jo.
We e'er saw Irish land.
I I.
~I I ~.  ~O~ steer her up, and be na blate,
An' gin she take it ill, jo,
Now a' is done that men can do,                     An' gin she take it ill, jo,
And a' is done in vain;                      Then lea'e the lassie till her fate,
And a' is done in vain;. i' i  i ^  11   ~ ~ And time nae longer spill, jo:
My love and native land farewell,                                  
For I mann cross the main,               Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,
For I maun cross the main, 
But think upon it still, jo,
FrImncrsMy dear;.*That gin the lassie winna do't,
For I maun cross the main.
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.
III.
He turn'd him right, and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,                                       CCXXI.
My dear;                   0 AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.
With adieu for evermore.
Tune-" My wife she dang me."
IV.                           [Other verses to the same air, belonging to the olden
times, are still remembered in Scotland: but they are
The sodger from  the wars returns, 
only sung when the wine is in, and the sense of delicacy
The sailor frae the main;                  out. This song is in the Museum.]
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,                                              I.
My dear;                     0 AY my wife she dang me,
Never to meet again                              And aft my wife did bang me,




1292                           THE POETICAL WORKS
If ye gie a woman a' her will,                                           III
CCXXIII.
Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye.
On peace and rest my mind was bent,                     HERE  IS  THE  GLEN.
And fool I was I married;
Tune —" Banks of Cree."
But never honest man's intent,
As cursedly miscarried.                       [of the origin of this song the poet gives the following
account. " I got an air, pretty enough, composed by
II.                         Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she calls' The
Banks of Cree.' Cree is a beautiful romantic stream:
Some sairie comfort still at last,             and as her ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have
When a' their days are done, man;           written the following song to it."]
My pains o' hell on earth are past,
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man.
O ay my wife she dang me,                           HFRE is the glen, and here the bower,
And aft my wife did bang me,                       All underneath the birchen shade;
If ye gie a woman a' her will,                      The village-bell has told the hourGude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye.              0 what can stay my lovely maid?
I I.'Tis not Maria's whispering call;'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mix'd with some warbler's dying fall,
CCXXII.                                The dewy star of eve to hail.
OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD                                                 II.
B L AS T.                            It is Maria's voice I hear!
Tune-" Lass o' Livistone."                      So calls the woodlark in the grove,
His little, faithful mate to cheer,
[Tradition says this song was composed in honour of                t                   e
At once'tis music-and'tis love.
Jessie Lewars, the Jessie of the poet's death-bed strains.
It is inserted in Thomson's collection: variations occur
in several manuscripts, but they are neither important                     I V.
nor curious.]                                           And art thou come? and art thou true?
I.                                0 welcome, dear to love and me!
OH, wert thou in the cauld blast,                     And let us all our vows renew
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,                         Along the flow'ry banks of Cree.
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee:
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,                                        CCXXIV.
To share it a', to share it a'.
ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.
Tune-" O'er the hills," Jc.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Or were I in the wildestJas  [," The last evening," 29th of August, 1794, "as I was
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,        straying out," says Burns, and thinking of  O'er the
The desert were a paradise,                      hills and far away,' I spun the following stanzas for it.
If thou wert there, if thou wert there:        I was pleased with several lines at first, but I own now
Or were I monarch o' the globe,                  that it appears rather a flimsy business. I give you leave
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,          to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit of Christian
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,                                  "
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.                                     1
How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad?
How can I the thought forego,
He's on the seas to meet the foe?
I..




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           293
Let me wander, let me rove,                     Ca' them whare the burnie rowesStill my heart is with my love:                    My bonnie dearie!
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,            Hark the mavis' evening sang
Are with him that's far away.                   Sounding Cluden's woods amang!
On the seas and far away,                   Then a faulding let us gang,
On stormy seas and far away;                  My bonnie dearie.
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Are ay with him that's far away.                             I.
We'll gae down by Cluden side,
I I.                           Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
When in summer's noon I faint,                  O'er the waves that sweetly glide
As weary flocks around me pant,                    To the moon sae clearly.
Haply in this scorching sun
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun:                               I
Bullets, spare my only joy!                     Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
Bullets, spare my darling boy!                  Where at moonshine midnight hours,
Fate, do with me what you may-                  O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Spare but him that's far away!                    Fairies dance so cheery.
III.                                             IV.
At the starless midnight hour,                  Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
When winter rules with boundless power:         Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
As the storms the forest tear,                  Nocht of ill may come thee near,
And thunders rend the howling air,                 My bonnie dearie.
Listening to the doubling roar,
Surging on the rocky shore,
In  n    e    r,  Fair and lovely as thou art,
All I can-I weep and pray,
l hisa  weep thans paraway,,Thou hast stown my very heart;
For his weal that's far away.
I can die-but canna parti V.                             My bonnie dearie!
Peace, thy olive wand extend,                     a' the yowes to the knowes,
And bid wild war his ravage end,                Ca' them whare the heather growes;
Man with brother man to meet,                   Ca' them where the burnie rowesAnd as a brother kindly greet:                     My bonnie dearie!
Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales,
Fill my sailor's welcome sails,
To my arms their charge convey —                               CXXVI
My dear lad that's far away.
On the seas and far away                 SHE SAYS SHE LOVES ME BEST OF A'.
On stormy seas and far away;                     Tune-" Onagh's Waterfall."
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,    [The lady of the flaxen ringlets has already been noAre ay with him that's far away.        ticed: she is described in this song with the accuracy of
a painter, and more than the usual elegance of one: it is
needless to add her name, or to say how fine her form
and how resistless her smiles.]
CCXXV.
I.
C A' THE YOWES.                          SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
LBurns formed this song upon an old lyric, an amended  Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
version of which he had previously communicated to the  Bewitchingly o'er-arching
Museum: he was fond of musing in the shadow of Lin-    Twa laughin' een o' bonnie blue.
cluden towers, and on the banks of Cluden Water.]    Her smiling sae wyling,
Her smiling sae wyling,
I.                               Wad make a wretch forget his woe;
CA' the yowes to the knowes,                    What pleasure, what treasure,
Ca' them whare the heather growes,               A Unto these rosy lips to grow:




294                         THE POETICAL WORKS
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,                                 III.
When first her bonnie face I saw;           0 had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm,              0 had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
She says she lo'es me best of a'.           As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy.
II.
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ankle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,
Wad mak a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her faultless form and gracefu' air;       HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT.
lk feature-auld Nature                              Tune-" Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."
Declar'd that she could do nae mair:
Hers are the willing chains o' love,          [On comparing this lyric, corrected for Thomson, with
Hers are the willing chains o' love,
that in the Museum, it will be seen that the former has
By conquering beauty's sovereign law;    more of elegance and order: the latter quite as much
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm,            nature and truth: but there is less of the new than of the
She says she lo'es me best of a'.         old in both.].I.
How lang and dreary is the night,
Let others love the city,
Let others love the cy,    When I am frae my dearie;
And gaudy show at sunny noon;
And gaudy show at sunny noon;       I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
Gie me the lonely valley,
Gie me the lonely valley,      Though I were ne'er sae weary.
The dewy eve, and rising moon;
The dcwy eve, and rising moon;         For oh! her lanely nights are lang;
Fair beaming, and streaming,
Fair beaming, and streaming,             And oh! her dreams are eerie;
Her silver light the boughs amang;, falling re g  And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
While falling, recalling,                            That's absent frae her dearie.
The amorous thrush concludes his sang;
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove                              i.
By wimpling burn and leafy shaw,             When I think on the lightsome days
And hear my vows o' truth and love,              I spent wi' thee my dearie;
And say thou lo'es me best of a'?            And now what seas between us roarHow can I be but eerie?
CCXXVII.                                              I.
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
SAW  YE  MY  PHELY.                         The joyless day how dreary!
[QUASI DICAT PHILLIS.]                 It was na sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my dearie.
Tune-" When she came ben she bobbit."When I was wi' my deae.
For oh! her lanely nights are lanb;
[The despairing swain in this song was Stephen          A   oh her dreams are eerie;
Clarke, musician, and the young lady whom he per-               
suaded Burns to accuse of inconstancy and coldness was  And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
Phillis M'Murdo.]                                         That's absent frae her dearie.. ye my dear, my Phely
0 saw ye my dear, my Phely?
0 saw ye my dear, my Phely?
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love!
She winna come hame to her Willy.
LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.
I I.
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?                     Tune-" Duncan Gray."
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?   [" These English songs," thus complains the poet, in
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot,   the letter which conveyed this lyric to Thomson, " gra.
And for ever disowns thee, her Willy.       vel me to death: I have not that command of the lan




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             295
guage that I have of my native tongue. I have been at  When absent frae my fair,'Duncan Gray,' to dress it in English, but all I can do is  The murky  hades' care
deplorably stupid. For instance:"]                With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky;
I.                             But when, in beauty's light,
She meets my ravish'd sight,
LET not woman e'er complain
When thro' my very heart
Of inconstancy in love;
Her beaming glories dartLet not woman e'er complain
Letcknot woman ep to'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.
Fickle man is apt to rove:
Look abroad through nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,
Man should then a monster prove?
CCXXXI.
I I.
Mark the winds, and mark the skies;                           C HL 0 RI S.
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Ocean b, ad o s f:       Air-" My lodging is on the cold ground."
Sun and moon but set to rise,
Round and round the seasons go:              [The origin of this song is thus told by Burns to Thon
Why then ask of silly man                    son. " On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris,
that is the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspi
To oppose great nature's plan?    ation, she suggested an idea which I, on my return from
We'll be constant while we can-              the visit, wrought into the following song." The poetic
You can be no more, you know.              elevation of Chloris is great: she lived, when her charms
faded, in want, and died all but destitute."]
I.
CCXXX.                             MY Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair:
THE  LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE                           The balmy gales awake the flowers,
TO  HIS MISTRESS.                             And wave thy flaxen hair.
Tune-" Deil tak the Wars."
II.
[Burns has, in one of his letters, partly intimated that
this morning salutation to Chloris was occasioned by                shuns the palace gay,
sitting till the dawn at the punch-bowl, and walking    And o'er the cottage sings;
past her window on his way home.]                     For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings
I.
SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature?                      ii.
Rosy Morn now lifts his eye,                      Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
Numbering ilka bud which nature                         In lordly lighted ha':
Waters wi' the tears o' joy:                      The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Now through the leafy woods,                        Blythe in the birken shaw.
And by the reeking floods,
Wild nature's tenants freely, gladly stray;
The lintwhite in his bower
Chants o'er the breathing flower;                 The princely revel may survey
The lav'rock to the sky                             Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,                        But are their hearts as light as ours,
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.           Beneath the milk-white thorn?
II.                                               V.
Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning,                  The shepherd, in the flow'ry glen,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,                        In shepherd's phrase will woo:
Nature gladdening and adorning;                       The courtier tells a finer taleSuch to me my lovely maid.                          But is his heart as true?




296                           THE POETICAL WORKS
V I.                        not make such a figure in poesie as that other species of
e wild-wd   ws   I'e pd, to d     the passion, where love is liberty and nature law. MuThese wld-wood  owers  ve pd, to deck   sically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the
That spotless breast o' thine:             gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly
The courtier's gems may witness love-        sweet, while the last has powers equal to all the intel.
But'tis na love like mine.                lectual modulations of the human soul." It must be
owned that the bard could render very pretty reasons foi
his rapture about Jean Lorimer.]
I.
CCXXXII.                              LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Air-" Daintie Davie."                         Wilt thou be my dearie, 0?
Now nature deeds the flowery lea,
[Burns, despairing to fit some of the airs with such  n  a  o    a   thee;
verses of original manufacture as Thomson required, for
the English part of his collection, took the liberty of be-  0 wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
stowing a Southron dress on some genuine Caledonian      And say thoul't be my dearie, 0?
lyrics. The origin of this song may be found in Ramsay's miscellany: the bombast is abated, and the whole                  I I.
much improved.]                                       And when the welcome simmer shower
I.                             Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
IT was the charming month of May,                 We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay,            At sultry noon, my dearie, 0.
One morning, by the break of day,
The youthful charming Chloe                                     I
From peaceful slumber she arose,                  When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,                  The weary shearer's hameward way;
And o'er the flowery mead she goes,               Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
The youthful charming Chloe.                      And talk o' love, my dearie, 0.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,              And when the howling wintry blast
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The you  thfl charming Chlo.               Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;
The youthful charming Chloe.
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
II.                               I'll comfort thee, my dearie, 0.
The feather'd people you might see,                   Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Perch'd all around, on every tree,                       Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
In notes of sweetest melody                           Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
They hail the charming Chloe;                         Wilt thou be my dearie, 0?
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 by the dawn,                                CCXXXIV.
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,          FA                  T      U  SR        M.
FAREWELL, THOU STREAM.
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.              Air —" Nancy's to the greenwood gane."
[This song was written in November, 1794: Thomson
pronounced it excellent.]
CCXXXIII.
LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.                  FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows
Tune-" Rothemurche's Rant."                  Around Eliza's dwelling!
O mem'ry! spare the cruel throes
[" Conjugal love," sayrs the poet, " is a passion which   mm  spare the cel t
I deeply feel and highly venerate: but somehow it does  Within my bosom swelling:




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           297
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,                                SHE.
And yet in secret languish,                   As on the brier the budding rose
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,                   Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.                 So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.
II.
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,                            HE.
I fain my griefs would cover;                 The milder sun and bluer sky
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,         That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Betray the hapless lover.                     Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye
I know thou doom'st me to despair,                As is a sight o' Philly.
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer-                                    SHE.
For pity's sake forgive me!                   The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring,
III.                         Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring,
The music of thy voice I heard,                   As meeting o' my Willy.
Nor wist while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,                               HE.'Till fears no more had sav'd me:             The bee that thro' the sunny hour
The unwary sailor thus aghast,                  Sips nectar in the opening flower,
The wheeling torrent viewing;                 Compar'd wi' my delight is poor,'Mid circling horrors sinks at last               Upon the lips o' Philly.
In overwhelming ruin.
SHE.
The woodbine in the dewy weet
When evening shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
CCXXXV.                           As is a kiss o' Willy.
0 PHILLY, HAPPY  BE  THAT  DAY.                                       HE.
Tune-" The Sow's Tail."                 Let Fortune's wheel at random rin,
[" This morning" (19th November, 1794), "though a    And fools may tyne, and knaves may win 
keen blowing frost," Burns writes to Thomson, " in my    My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
walk before breakfast I finished my duet: whether I  And that's my ain dear Philly.
have uniformly succeeded, I will not say: but here it is
for you, though it is not an hour old."]                             SHE.
HE.                          What's a' joys that gowd can gie?
0 PHILLY, happy be that day,                    I care nae wealth a single flie;
When roving through the gather'd hay,           The lad I love's the lad for me,
My youthfu' heart was stown away,                 And that's my ain dear Willy.
And by thy charms, my Philly.
SHE.
O Willy, ay I bless the grove
Where first I own'd my maiden love,
Whilst thou didst pledge the powers above,                      CCXXXVI.
To be my ain dear Willy.
CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.
HE.
HE.~~~~~, ^Tune-" Lumps o' Pudding."
As songsters of the early year
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,               [Burns was an admirer of many songs which the more
So ilk y to me mr  critical and fastidious regarded as rude and homely
So ilka day to me mair dear
And charmig d i my de. Ir Todlin Hame" he called an unequalled composition for
And charming is my Philly.                  wit and humour, and "Andro wi' his cutty Gun." the




298                           THE POETICAL WORKS
work of a master. In the same letter, where he records                   I I.
these sentiments, he writes his own inimitable song,    Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
" Contented wi' Little."]
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy!
I.                           Thou may'st find those will love thee dearCONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,             But not a love like mine, my Katy!
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,                Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang,            Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish            Well thou know'st my aching heartsang.                                             And canst thou leave me thus for pity?
II.
I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught:
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch,
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch
dare touch.                                                 CCXXXVIII.
MY NANNIE'S AWA.
A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',              Tune-" There'll never bepeace."
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a':
[ night o' guid f hip s s it a:         Clarinda, tradition avers, was the inspirer of this
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last,   song, which the poet composed in December, 1794, for
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?  the work of Thomson. His thoughts were often in Edinburgh: on festive occasions, when, as Campbell beautiIV.                         fully says, " The wine-cup shines in light," he seldom
forgot to toast Mrs. Mac.]
Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her  forgot to toast Mrs. Mac.
way;                                                               I.
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:  Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,
Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure or  And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the
pain;                                             braes,
My warst word is-" Welcome, and welcome  While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;
again!"                                   But to me it's delightless-my Nannie's awa!
II.
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands
CCXXXVII.                              adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn;
CANST  THOU  LEAVE  ME  THUS.   They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
Tune-" Roy's Wife."                  They mind me o' Nannie- and Nanny's awa!
[When Burns transcribed the following song for Thom-                  I  I.
son, on the 20th of November, 1794, he added, "  ell! I  Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the
think this, to be done in tWo or three turns across my
room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard,  lawn,
is not so far amiss. You see I am resolved to have my  The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn,
quantum of applause from somebody." The poet in this  And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa',
song complains of the coldness of Mrs. Riddel: the lady  Give over for pity-my Nannie's awa!
replied in a strain equally tender and forgiving.]
I.                                               IV.
CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy?         Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray,
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?         And soothe me with tidings o' nature's decay:
Well thou know'st my aching heart-         The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw,
And canst thou leave me thus for pity?    Alane can delight me-now Nannie's awa!
In this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy? 
Is this thy faithful swain's rewardAn aching, broken heart, my Katy!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               299
CCXXXIX.                                             CCXL.
0 WHA IS SHE THAT LOVES ME.                                       CALEDONIA.
Tune —" Morag."                           Tune-" Caledonian Hunt's Delight."
[" This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " is said, in    [There is both knowledge of history and elegance of
Thomson's collection, to have been written for that work  allegory in this singular lyric: it was first printed by
by Burns: but it is not included in Mr. Cunningham's  Currie.]
edition." If sir Harris would be so good as to look at
page 245, vol. V., of Cunningham's edition of Burns, he
will find the song: and if he will look at page 28, and  THERE was once a day-but old Time then was
page 193 of vol. III. of his own edition, he will find that  younghe has not committed the error of which he accuses his    That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
fellow-editor, for he has inserted the same song twice. 
The same may be said of the song to Chloris, which Sir  From some of your northern deities sprung,
Harris has printed at page 312, vol. II., and at page 189,    (Who  knows not  that brave  Caledonia's
vol. III., and of " Ae day a braw wooer came down the      divine?)
lang glen," which appears both at page 224 of vol. II.,  From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,
and at page 183 of vol. III.]
and at page 183 of vol. III.]                         To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she
I.                                 would:
Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign,
O WHA is she that lo'es me,
And has my heart a-keeping?              And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it
And has my heart a-keeping?                          o
O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews of simmer weeping,                                          I.
In tears the rose-buds steeping!             A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,
O that's the lassie of my heart,          The pride of her kindred the heroine grew;
My lassie ever dearer;                Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore
O that's the queen of womankind,          "Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter
And ne'er a ane to peer her.                 shall rue!"
With tillage or pasture at times she would
I I.                                sport,
If thou shalt meet a lassie                      To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling
If thou shalt meet a lassie
In grace and beauty charming,                       corn;
That e'en thy chosen lassie,                   But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort,
That e'en thy chosen lassie,
Erewhile thy breast sae warming                Her darling amusement, the hounds and the
Had ne'er sic powers alarming.                      horn.
III.
I II.                       Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers
If thou hadst heard her talking,                 A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand:
And thy attentions plighted,                 Repeated, successive, for many long years,
That ilka body talking,                          They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the
But her by thee is slighted,                        land:
And thou art all delighted.                  Their pounces were murder, and terror their
cry,
I v.                           They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside;
If thou hast met this fair one;                She took to her hills, and her arrows let flyWhen frae her thou hast parted,                The daring invaders they fled or they died.
If every other fair one,
But her, thou hast deserted,                                        I V.
And thou art broken-hearted;                The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north,
O that's the lassie o' my heart,          The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the
My lassie ever dearer;                      shore;
O that's the queen o' womankind,    The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth
And ne'er a ane to peer her.            To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore;




300                          THE POETICAL WORKS
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd,        0 lay thy loof in mine, lass,
No arts could appease them, no arms could              In mine, lass, in mine, lass;
repel;                                            And swear on thy white hand, lass,
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd,                  That thou wilt be my ain.
As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.
v.
The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose,
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;                       CCXLII.
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose,
And robb'd him at once of his hope and his
life:                                                  Tune —" Killiecrankie."
The Anglian lion, the terror of France,             [Written to introduce the name of Cunninghame, of
Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver  Enterkin, to the public. Tents were erected on the
flood:                                     banks of Ayr, decorated with shrubs, and strewn with
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance,       flowers, most of the names of note in the district were
He. learnd t i.,  invited, and a splendid entertainment took place; but no
He learned to fear in his own native wood.    dissolution of parliament followed as was expected, and
the Lord of Enterkin, who was desirous of a seat among
V I.                        the " Commons," poured out his wine in vain.]
Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run:.
O WHA Will to Saint Stephen's house,
For brave Caledonia immortal must be;                                      St     s house,
I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun:      To do our errands there,  an
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house,
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose,                             S's hous
The upright is Chance, and old Time is the' th' merry lads of Ayr, man
base;                                         Or will we send a man-o'-law?
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse;                 Or will we send a sodger?
Then ergo, she'll match them, and match           Or him wha led o'er Scotland a'
them always.                                      The meikle Ursa-Major?
II.
Come, will ye court a noble lord,
Or buy a score o' lairds, man?
For worth and honour pawn their word,
0  LAY  THY LOOF IN  MINE, LASS.                       Their voteshallbeGlencaird's, man?
Tune-." Cordwainer's March."              Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine,
Tune-" Cordwainer's March.",
Anither gies them clatter;
[The air to which these verses were written, is com-    Anbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste,
monly played at the Saturnalia of the shoemakers on    He gies a   te Champtre.
King Crispin's day. Burns sent it to the Museum.]
I.                                               III.
O LAY thy loof in mine, lass,                   When Love and Beauty heard the news,
In mine, lass, in mine, lass;                     The gay green-woods amang, man;
And swear on thy white hand, lass,              Where gathering flowers and busking bowers,
That thou wilt be my ain.                       They heard the blackbird's sang, man;
A slave to love's unbounded sway,               A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss,
He aft has wrought me meikle wae;                 Sir Politicks to fetter,
But now he is my deadly fae,                    As theirs alone, the patent-bliss
Unless thou be my ain.                          To hold a Fete Champetre.
ii.                                               IV.
There's monie a lass has broke my rest,         Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing,
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best;                O'er hill and dale she flew, man;
But thou art queen within my breast,            Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring,
For ever to remain.                             Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man:
U_ - -                                                  -                        - i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_____________________________________ 




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             301
She summon'd every social sprite               It's guid to be merry and wise,
That sports by wood or water,                It's guid to be honest and true,
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet,             It's guid to support Caledonia's cause,
And keep this Fete Champetre.                And bide by the buff and the blue.
V.                                               II.
Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew,          Here's a health to them that's awa,
Were bound to stakes like kye, man;          Here's a health to them that's awa,
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu',              Here's a health to Charlie the chief of the clan,
Clamb up the starry sky, man:                Altho' that his band be sla'.
Reflected beams dwell in the streams,          May liberty meet wi' success!
Or down the current shatter;' -            May prudence protect her frae evil!
The western breeze steals thro' the trees,     May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,
To view this Fete Ghampetre.                 And wander their way to the devil!
VI.                                              III.
How many a robe sae gaily floats!              Here's a health to them that's awa,
What sparkling jewels glance, man!           Here's a health to them that's awa;
To Harmony's enchanting notes,                 Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie,
As moves the mazy dance, man.                That lives at the lug o' the law!
The echoing wood, the winding flood,           Here's freedom to him that wad read,
Like Paradise did glitter,                   Here's freedom to him that wad write!
When angels met, at Adam's yett,               There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should
To hold their Fete Champetre.                       be heard,
But they wham the truth wad indite.
VII.
When Politics came there, to mix                                       V.
And make his ether-stane, man!               Here's a health to them that's awa,
He circled round the magic ground,             Here's a health to them that's awa,
But entrance found he nane, man:             Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth
He blush'd for shame, he quat his name,               gowd,
Forswore it, every letter,                   Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw!
Wi' humble prayer to join and share            Here's a health to them that's awa,
This festive Fete Champetre.                 Here's a health to them that's awa;
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
May never guid luck be their fa'!
CCXLIII.
CCXLIV.
HERE'S A HEALTH.
Tune-"Here's a health to them that's awa."       I   THERE, FOR  HONEST  P
VERTY.
[The Charlie of this song was Charles Fox; Tammie
was Lord Erskine; and M'Leod, the maiden name of the     Tune-"For a' that, and d' that."
Countess of Loudon, was then, as now, a name of influs of L, w,  a, a' n   [In this noble lyric Burns has vindicated the natural
ence both in the Highlands and Lowlands. The buff and.ehohith Hihlnd and Loright of his species. He modestly says to Thomson, "I
blue of the Whigs had triumphed over the white rose of 
do not give you this song for your book, but merely by
Jacobitism in the heart of Burns, when he wrote these
verses.             way of vive la bagatelle; for the piece is really not
poetry, but will be allowed to be two or three pretty
I.                         good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme." Thomson
took the song, but hazarded no praise.]
HERE'S a health to them that's awa,
Here's a health to them that's awa;I.
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,          Is there, for honest poverty,
May never guid luck be their fa'!                     That hangs his head, and a' that?._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - _ _ _ _ _ __..-.1




302                          THE POETICAL WORKS
The coward-slave, we pass him by,               looks and elegant forms of very indifferent characters
We dare be poor for a' that!.               lend a lasting lustre to painting and poetry.]
We dare be poor for a' that!f
For a' that, and a' that,                                              I.
Our toils obscure, and a' that;
Our toils obscure, and a-' that;                  SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,                   And blithe awakes the morrow;
The man's the gowd for a' that!                   But a' the pride o' spring's return
11~~II~.  ~Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
What tho' on hamely fare we dine,                                     1
Wear hoddin gray, and a' that;
Wear h  gray, and a' ta..I see the flowers and spreading trees
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,       I     he f e    d spreing 
I hear the wild birds singing;
A man's a man, for a' that!  
o  an' that, an,  a' that!,                    But what a weary wight can please,
For a' that, and a' that,
For a' tilhat,  and  a' that,                     And care his bosom wringing?
Their tinsel show, and a' that;
>The honest man, though e'er sae poor,                                III.
Is king o' men for a' that!
Is king o' men for a' that!                     Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd-a lord,                       If I conceal it  nger
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,                                  I.
He's but a coof for a' that:                      If thou refuse to pit me,
If thou refuse to pity me,
For a' that, and a' that,
His riandh,  saand a' that,                      If thou shalt love anither,
His riband, star, and a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that,                    When yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
The man of independent mind,
The man of independet m,              Around my grave they'll wither.
He looks and laughs at a' that.
IV.
A king can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that,
But an honest man's aboon his might,                               CCXLVI.
Guid faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,                        O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET.
Their dignities, and a' that,                        Tune — Let me in this ae night."
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.                 [The thoughts of Burns, it is said, wandered to the fair
Mrs. Riddel, of Woodleigh Park, while he composed this
song for Thomson. The idea is taken from an old'yric,
of more spirit than decorum.]
Then let us pray that come it mayAs come it will for a' that-                                        I.
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,            O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet,
May bear the gree, and a' that;                   Or art thou waking, I would wit?
NFor a' that, and a' that,                           For love has bound me hand and foot,
It's comin' yet for a' that,                        And I would fain be in, jo.
That man to man, the warld o'er,                        O let me in this ae night,
Shall brothers be for a' that!                          This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake this ae night,
O rise and let me in, jo!
II.
CCXLV.
Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet!
CRAIGI E-B URN  WOOD.                         Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet:
[Craigie-burn Wood was written for George Thomson:  Tak pity on my weary feet,
the heroine was Jean Lorimer. How often the blooming    And shield me frae the rain, jo.
L~~ " -------




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               303
I I I.
CCXLVIII.
The bitter blast that round me blaws,
THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause                 Tune-" Push about the jorum."
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.                  [This national song was composed in April, 1795. The
0 let me in this ae night,                poet had been at a public meeting, where he was less
This ae, ae, ae night;                  joyous than usual: as something had been expected from
For pity's sake this ae night             him, he made these verses, when he went home, and sent
them, with his compliments, to Mr. Jackson, editor ot
0 rise and let me in, jo!              the Dumfries Journal. The original, through the kindness of my friend, James Milligan, Esq., is now before
me.]
I.
DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat,
Then let the loons beware, Sir,
CCXLVII.                          There's wooden walls upon our seas,
0 TELL NA ME O' WIND AND RAIN.                       And volunteers on shore, Sir.
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
[The poet's thoughts, as rendered in the lady's answer,  And Criffel sink in Solway,
are, at all events, not borrowed from the sentiments expressed by Mrs. Riddel, alluded to in song CCXXXVII.;     
there she is tender and forgiving: here she is stern and  On British ground to rally!
cold.]
II.
0 let us not, like snarling tykes,
O TELL na me o' wind and rain,                        In wrangling be divided;
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain!                   Till slap come in an unco loon
Gae back the gate ye cam again,                      And wi' a rung decide it.
I winna let you in, jo.                          Be Britain still to Britain true,
I tell you now this ae night,                    Amang oursels united;
This ae, ae, ae night,                      For never but by British hands
And ance for a' this ae night,                   Maun British wrangs be righted!
I winna let you in, jo!
III.
I' ^~~I. ^The kettle o' the kirk and state,
The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,                 Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
That round the pathless wand'rer pours,            But deil a foreign tinkler loon
Is nocht to what poor she endures,                    Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
That's trusted faithless man, jo.                Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it;
Ill.
By heaven! the sacrilegious dog
The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,             Shall fuel be to boil it.
Now trodden like the vilest weed:
Let simple maid the lesson read,                                        Iv.
The weird may be her ain, jo.                    The wretch that wad a tyrant own,
And the wretch his true-born brother,
IV.
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,
The bird that charm'd his summer-day,                 May they be damned together!
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;                    Who will not sing, "God save the King,"
Let witless, trusting woman say                      Shall hang as high's the steeple;
How aft her fate's the same, jo.                 But while we sing, " God save the King,"
I tell you now this ae night,                    We'll ne'er forget the people.
This ae, ae, ae night;
And ance for a' this ae night,
I winna let you in jo!




304                            THE POETICAL WORKS
Can I cease to care?
COXLIX.                                Can I cease to languish?
ADDRESS TO  THE  WOOD-L A'RK.                           While my darling fair
Is on the couch of anguish?
Tune-" Where'll bonnie Ann lie."
[The old song to the same air is yet remembered: but                  I I.
Jhe humour is richer than the delicacy; the same maybe   Every hope is fled,
said of many of the fine hearty lyrics of the elder days   Every fear is terror
of Caledonia. These verses were composed in May,                         
1795, for Thomson.]
1.795, for Thomson.]                                     Slumber even I dread,
Every dream is horror.
I.
O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay!                            I II.
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;                Hear me, Pow'rs divine!
A hapless lover courts thy lay,                       Oh, in pity hear me!
Thy soothing fond complaining.                    Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!
I.                                    Long, long the night,
Again, again that tender part,                             Heavy comes the morrow,
That I may catch thy melting art;                     While my soul's delight
For surely that would touch her heart,                     Is on her bed of sorrow.
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
III.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,                       CAL E D ON I A.
Sic notes o' woe could wauken.Tune-" Humours of Glen"
I V.                          [Love of country often mingles in the lyric strains of
Thou tells' never-ending care;   Burns with his personal attachments, and in few more
beautifully than in the following, written for Thomson
O' speechless grief and dark despair:         the heroine wasMrs. Burns.]
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!                                      i.
THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands
reckon,
Where bright-beaming  summers exalt the
perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green brockan,
CCL.                          Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow
ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.                 broom:
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Tune-" Ay wakin', 0."                   Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly
[An old and once popular lyric suggested this brief and  unseen;
nappy song for Thomson: some of the verses deserve to  For there, lightly tripping  amang the wild
be hel  in remembrance.                                 flowers,
Ay waking, oh,                          A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.
Waking ay and weary;
Sleep I canna get
For thinking o' my dearie.]
Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
I.                           And cauld CALEDONIA'S blast on the wave;
LONG, long the night,                      Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the
Heavy comes the morrow,                        proud palace,
While my soul's delight                      What are they?-The haunt of the tyrant
Is on her bed of sorrow.                        and slave!




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                               305
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling               And, to the wealthy booby,
fountains,                                            Poor woman sacrifice!
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain;                  Meanwhile the hapless daughter
He wanders as free as the winds of his moun-                 Has but a choice of strife;
tains,                                              To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his             Become a wretched wife.
Jean.
II.
The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
CCLII.                                To shun impelling ruin
Awhile her pinions tries:'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EEN.                           Till of escape despairing,
Tune —" Laddie, lie near me."                      No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,
[Though the lady who inspired these verses is called
Mary by the poet, such, says tradition, was not her          And drops beneath his feet!
name: yet tradition, even in this, wavers, when it avers
one while that Mrs. Riddel, and at another time that
Jean Lorimer was the heroine.]
I.'TWAS na her bonnie blue een was my ruin;                                CCLIV.
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing:'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,              M A R K  Y ONDE R  PO M P.'Twas the bewitching, sweet stown glance o'Tune" Deil tak the wars.
kindness.
[Burns tells Thomson, in the letter enclosing this song,
II.                         that he is in a high fit of poetizing, provided he is not
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,           cured by the strait-waistcoat of criticism. " You see,"
said he, L" how I answer your orders; your. tailor could
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me                                 This strain in oou     lo
not be more punctual." This strain in honourof Chloris
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,     is original in conception, but wants the fine lyrical flow
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.            of some of his other compositions.]
III.                                                 I.
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,              MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!           Round the wealthy, titled bride:
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter-           But when compar'd with real passion,
Sooner the sun in.his motion would falter.              Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the showy treasures?
What are the noisy pleasures?
The gay'gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewel's blaze
CCLIII.                               May draw the wond'ring gaze,
HOW  CRUEL  ARE  THE  PARENTS.                           Andcourtlygrandeurbright
The fancy may delight,
Tune-," John Anderson, my jh.
Tune —" Johns Anderson, my a."                But never, never can come near the heart.
["I am at this moment," says Burns to Thomson,
when he sent him this song, " holding high converse with.
the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on a pro-,
saic dog, such as you are." Yet there is leSs than the  But, did you see my dearest Chloris
poet's usual inspiration in this lyric, for it is alteredfrom  In simplicity's array;
an English one.]                                      Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
I.                              Shrinking from the gaze of day;
How cruel are the parents                           0 then the heart alarming,
Who riches only prize,                           And all resistless charming,
___O  ________                  ______.__~______-____ _ _________.__         _____9____




306                            THE POETICAL WORKS
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the wil-                        CCLVI.
ling soul!
Ambition would disown                            NOW  SPRING   HAS  CLAD  THE
Ambition would disown
The world's imperial crown,                               GROVE  IN  GREEN.
Even Avarice would deny                                      TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
His worship'd deity,                            [Compoced in reference to a love disappointment of the
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll.   poet's friend, Alexander Cunningham, which also occa
sioned the song beginning,
"Had I a cave on some wild distant shore."]
I.
Now spring has clad the grove in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers:
THIS IS NO  MY  AIN  LASSIE.                      The furrow'd waving corn is seen
Tune-" This is no my ain house."                 Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join
[Though composed to the order of Thomson, and there-  Their sorrows to forego
fore less likely to be the offspring of unsolicited inspiration, this is one of the happiest of modern songs. When  O why thus all alone are mine
the poet wrote it, he seems to have been beside the " fair  The weary steps of woe?
dame at whose shrine," he said, "I, the priest of the
Nine, offer up the incense of Parnassus."]                                 I I.
I.                            The trout within yon wimpling burn
0 THIS is no my ain lassie,               
O THIS is no my ain lassie,                    Glides swift, a silver dart,
Fair tho' the lassie be;                  And safe beneath the shady thorn
O weel ken I my ain lassie,                    Defies the angler's art:
Kind love is in her e'e.                  My life was ance that careless stream,
I see a form, I see a face,                         That wanton trout was I;
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:               But love, wi' unrelenting beam,
It wants, to me, the witching grace,                Has scorch'd my fountains dry.
The kind love that's in her e'e.
III.
~iJ~I.~~ ~             The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,         I  y    er cliff tht g   s,
Anlnghsam   hr      Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
Nae ruder visit knows,
And ay it charms my very saul,
And  y  it harm s my very saul,                Was mine; till love has o'er me past,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
And blighted a' my bloom,
~III.'1~ ~ And now beneath the with'ring blast
A thief sae pawkie is my Jen,                       My youth and joy consume.
To steal a blink, by a' unseen; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een,
But gleg as light are lovers' een,               The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs
When kind love is in the e'e.And climbs the early sky,
And climbs the early sky,
I.                            Winnowing blythe her dewy wings
It may escape the courtly sparks,                   In morning's roy eye;
It may escape the learned clerks-                As little reckt I sorrow's power,
It may escape the learned clerks;
But weel the watching lover marks                   Until the flowry snare
The kind love that's in her e'e.               O' witching love, in luckless hour,
The kind love that's in her e'e.       
Made me the thrall o' care.
O this is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho' the lassie be;
0 weel ken I my ain lassie,                  h   m  f                      
Knloeiinhre         0 had my fate been Greenland snows,
Kind love is in her e'e.
Or Afric's burning zone,
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known!




OF R)OBEsET BURNS.                                          380
The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair."              0 wert thou, love, but near me;
What tongue his woes can tell!                       But near, near, near me;
Within whase bosom, save despair,                        How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.                                And mingle sighs with mine, love
I.
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
CCLVII.                            That blasts each bud of hope and joy;
0 BONNIE  WAS YON  ROSY  BRIER.                       And shelter, shade, nor home have I,
Save in those arms of thine, love.
[To Jean Lorimer, the heroine of this song, Burns presented a copy of the last edition of his poems, that of 
i793, with a dedicatory inscription, in which he moralizes upon her youth, her beauty, and steadfast friedship,  Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part,
and signs himself Coila.]                             To poison Fortune's ruthless dart,
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, love.
0 BONNIE was yon rosy brier,
That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man,                              Iv.
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear!                   But dreary tho' the moments feet,
It shaded frae the e'enin sun.                    O let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet
Can on thy Chloris shine, love.
Yon rosebuds in the morning dew                             wert thou, love, but near me;
How pure, amang the leaves sae green:                 But near, near, near me;
But purer was the lover's vow                            How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
They witness'd in their shade yestreen.                  And mingle sighs with mine, love
III.
All in its rude and prickly bower,
That crimson rose, how sweet and fair!                           CCLIX.
But love is far a sweeter flower
LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.
Amidlife's thorny path o' care.T  MAY  A  BRAW  WOOER.
Tune-" The Lothian Lassie."
IV.
I" Gateslack," says Burns to Thomson, " is the name
The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,           ofc Gateslack,                      I
The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, of a particular place, a kind of passage among the LowWi' Chloris in my arms, be mine;             ther Hills, on the confines ofDumfrieshire: Dalgarnock,
And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn,           is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where
Its joys and griefs alike resign.            are still a ruined church and burial-ground." To this, it
may be added that Dalgarnock kirk-yard is the scene
where the author of Waverley finds Old Mcrtality repair.
ing the Cameronian grave-stones.]
CCLVIII.                                              I.
LAST May a braw  wooer cam  down the rang
FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COM-                              glen
FORT NEAR.                                  e,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
Tune-" Let me in this n e night."          I said there was naething I hated like men,
[' How do you like the foregoing?" Burns asks    The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, believe me,
Thomson, after having copied this song for his collection.    The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me!
" I have written it within this hour: so much for the
speed of my Pegasus: but what say you to his bottom?"] 
I.                         He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
FORLORN, my love, no comfort near,             And vow'd for my love he was dying;
Far, far from thee, I wander here;           I said he might die when he liked for Jean,
Far, far from thee, the fate severe             The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
At which I most repine, love.                The Lord forgie me for lying!




308                          THE POETICAL WORKS
III.                       charming sensations of the toothache, so have not aword
A weel-stocked mailen-himsel' for the laird-   to spare-such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air,
And marriage aff-, we his pr:    that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it."
And marriage a, we hs     This is the last of his strains in honour of Chloris.
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,
But thought I may hae waur offers, waur.
offers,                                         WHY, why tell thy lover,
But thought I might hae waur offers.                  Bliss he never must enjoy:
Why, why undeceive him,
IV.                               And give all his hopes the lie?
But what wad ye think?  In a fortnight or
less                                                              I I.
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!             0 why, while fancy raptured, slumbers,
He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess,             Chloris, Chloris all the theme,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her,            Why, why wouldst thou, cruel,
could bear her,                                   Wake thy lover from his dream?
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.
iV.
CCLXI.
But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,                          CCLXI.
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,                THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there!
b     i         [This song is said to be Burns's version of a Gaelic
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,   laent for the ruin which followed the rebellior of the
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.               year 1745: he sent it to the Museum.]
II.                                               I.
But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,          OH! I am come to the low countrie,
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;                   Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,            Without a penny in my purse,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,         To buy a meal to me.
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
II.
VII.                             It was na sae in the Highland hills,
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,            Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Gin she had recovered her hearin',                  Nae woman in the country wide
And how my auld shoon suited her shauchled               Sae happy was as me.
feet,
But, heavens! how  he fell a swearin' a                              II.
swearin',                                      For then I had a score o' kye,
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'.                 Och-on, och-on, och-rie
Feeding on yon hills so high,
vIII.                               And giving milk to me.
He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow;                                    IV.
And there I had three score o' yowes,
So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life,             n         here  h    hree core o 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morr^^T~~~~ow,         ~Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
I think I maun wed him to mrrow.                     And casting woo' to me.
V.
I was the happiest of a' the clan,
Sair, sair, may I repine;
For Donald was the brawest lad,
C H L O R I S.                          And Donald he was mine.
Tune-" Caledonian Hunt's Delight."                                vI.
[" I am at present," says Burns to Thomson, when he  Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last,
communicated these verses, "quite occupied with the      Sae far to set us free;
-




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            309
My Donald's arm was wanted then,                   And dawin' it is dreary
For Scotland and for me.                           When birks are bare at Yule.
VII..                                             II.
Their waefu' fate what need I tell,                O hitter blaws the e'enin' blast
Right to the wrang did yield:                      When bitter bites the frost,
My Donald and his country fell                     And in the mirk and dreary drift
Upon Culloden's field.                             The hills and glens are lost
VIII.
Oh! I am come to the low countrie,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!                         Ne'er se murky blew the night
Nae woman in the world wide                           That drifted o'er the hill,
Sae wretched now as me.                          But a bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey
Gat grist to her mill.
CCLXII.
TO GENERAL DUMOURIER.                                           CCLXIV.
PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR.                   THERE  WAS A  BONNIE  LASS.
[Burns wrote this " Welcome" on the unexpected de-   [A snatch of an old strain, trimmed up a little for the
fection of General Dumourier.]                   Museum.]
I..
YOU'RE welcome to despots, Dumourier;                   T       ws a b       
-^,~.                 ~~THERE was a bonnie lass,
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier;.,~~~ ^ o            And a bonnie, bonnie lass,
How does Dampiere do?
Ay, adoe B nile tdo?         And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear;
Aye, and Bournonville, too? 
Till war's loud alarms
Why did they not come along with you, DuTore her laddie frae her arms,
mourier..
II.mourier?            Wi' mony a sigh and tear.
II.
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;                               II.
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;
Over sea, over shore,
I will fight France with you,
Where the cannons loudly roar,
I will take my chance with you;                                                a
He still was a stranger to fear;
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumou-,rir.  ~And nocht could him quell,
rier.
Or his bosom assail,
III.
let us ft auT,         But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear.
Thon let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,
Till freedom's spark is out,
Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier.                           CCLXV.
0 MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWET1'
[Burns, it is said, composed these verses, on meeting
CCLXIII.                      a country girl, with her shoes and stockings in her lap,
walking homewards from a Dumfries fair. He was
P E G-A-R A M S E Y.
struck with her beauty, and as beautifully has he recorded
Tune-" Cauld is the e'enin blast."       it. This was his last communication to the Museum.]
[Most of this song is old: Burns gave it a brushing for               I.
the MRuseum.]                                           0 MALLY'S meek, Mally's sweet,
I.                                 Mally's modest and discreet,
CAULD is the e'enin' blast                     Mally's rare, Mally's fair,
O' Boreas o'er the pool,                       Mally's every way complete.




310                          THE POETICAL WORKS
As I was walking up the street,                   But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imA barefit maid I chanc'd to meet;                     prest,
But 0 the road was very hard                      The langer ye hae them —the mair they're
For that fair maiden's tender feet.                   carest.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,
II.                           Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher;
It were mair meet that those fine feet              Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,
Were weel lac'd up in silken shoon,                 The nice yellow guineas for me.
And'twere more fit that she should sit,
Within yon chariot gilt aboon.
III.
Her yellow hair, beyond conpare,
Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck; 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies,                              J E  S Y.
Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck.             Tune-" lire's a   I  t te   tat's aw7."
Tune-" Here's a health to them that's awa."
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,
M~lally's modest and discreet,           [Written in honour of Mliss Jessie Lewars, now Mrs
Mally's modest and discreet,
Mally's  ~Thomson. Her tender and daughter-like attentions
Mally' s rare, Mally's fair,                      soothed the last hours of the dying poet, and if immortality
Mally's every way complete.                     can be considered a recompense, she has been rewarded.]
l.
HERE'S a. health to ane I lo'e dear;
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;'~CCLXVI.  ~           Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers
CCLXVI.
meet,
HEY  FOR  A  LASS  WI' A  TOCHER.                  And soft as their parting tear-Jessy!
Tune-" Balinamona Ora.".
[Communicated to Thomson, 17th of February, 1796, to  Altho' thou maun never be mine,
oe printed as part of the poet's contribution to the Irish  A   e     h    
Altho' even hope is denied;
nelodies: he calls it " a kind of rhapsody."]''Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
I.                            Then aught in the world beside-Jessy!
AWA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms:III.
0, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,      I mourn through the gay, gaudy day,
0, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.      As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms:
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,              But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher;                 For then I am lockt in thy arms-Jessy!
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,
I v.
The nice yellow guineas for me.
I guess by the dear angel smile,
II.                           I guess by the love rolling e'e;
Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that  But why urge the tender confession
blows,'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree?-Jessy!
And withers the faster, the faster it grows       Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;
But the rapturous charm  o' the bonnie green        Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;
knowes,                                    Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white           meet,
yowes.                                       And soft as their parting tear-Jessy!
III.
And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest,
The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possest;




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             311
Full well thou know'st I love thee, dear t
Could'st thou to malice lend an ear!
FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS.                    01 did not love exclaim "Forbear,
Nor use a faithful lover so."
Tune-" Rothemurche."
[On the 12th of July, 1796, as Burira lay dying at Brow,              I I.
on the Solway, his thoughts wandered to early days, and    Then come thou fairest of the fair,
this song, the last he was to measure in this world, was
dedicated to Charlotte Hamilton, the maid of the Devon.]    Those wonted smiles, O let me share;
And by thy beauteous self I swear,
I.                             No love but thine my heart shall know.
FAIREST maid on Devon banks,                        Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,                       Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside,                     Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou were wont to do?                 And smile as thou were wont to do?
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.
ITJ~.  ~ported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps
very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the
TO WI LL IA M  B U RN E S S.               pains, and uneasiness, and disquietudes of this
weary life: for I assure you I am heartily tired
[This was written by Burns in his twenty-third year,  weary life: for I assure you I am heartily tired
when learning flax-dressing in Irvine, and is the earliest  of it; and if I do not very much deceive myof his letters which has reached us. It has much of the  self, I could contentedly and gladly resign it.
scriptural deference to paternal authority, and more of  The soul, uneasy, and confined at home
the Complete Letter Writer than we look for in an origi- Rests and expatiates in a life to come."
nal mind.]
It is for this reason I am more pleased with the
Irvine, ADec. 27, 1781.    15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chapter
HONOURED SIR,                                of Revelations, than with any ten  times as
I HAVE purposely delayed writing in the hope  many verses in the whole Bible, and would not
that I should have the pleasure of seeing you  exchange the noble  nthusiasm with which they
exchange the noble enthusiasm with which they
inspire me for all that this world has to offer.
upon us, that I do not choose to be absent on  As for this world,   despair of ever making a
As for this world, I despair of ever making a
that account, as well as for some other little  figure in it.  I am not formed for the bustle of
figure in it.  I am not formed for the bustle of
reasons which I shall tell you at meeting. My  the busy, nor the futter of the gay.  I shall
health is nearly the same as when you were  never again be capable of entering into such
never again be capable of entering into such
here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and on  scenes.  Indeed I a   altogether unconcerned
the whole I am  rather better than otherwise,  at the thoughts of this life.  I foresee that poat the thoughts of this life. I foresee that pothough I mend by very slow  degrees.  The  verty and obscurity probably await me, and I
weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my  am in some measure prepared, and daily premind, that I dare neither review past wants, nor  paring to meet them. I have but just time and
look forward into futurity; for the least anxiety  paper to return you my grateful thanks for the
or perturbation in my breast produces most un-lessons of virtue and piety you have given me,
lessons of virtue and piety you have given me,
happy effects on my whole frame.  Sometimes,  which were too much neglected at the time of
indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are  giving them, but which I hope have been re
giving them, but which I hope have been realightened, I glimmer a little into futurity; but membered ere it is yet too late. Present ny
membered ere it is yet too late. Present my
my principal, and indeed my only pleasurable  dutiful respects to my mother, and my compliemployment is looking backwards and forwards                                                    _ _
in a moral and religious way; I am quite trans-                 i Pope. Essay on Man




312                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ments to Mr. and Mrs. Muir; and with wishing  bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have
you a merry New-Year's day, I shall conclude.  to answer for the present hour, I am very easy
I am, honoured sir, your dutiful son,           with regard to anything further.  Even the
ROBERT BURNESS.   last, worst shift of the unfortunate and the
P. S. My meal is nearly out, but I am going  wretched, does not much terrify me: I know
to borrow till I get more.                      that even then, my talent for what country folks
call "a sensible crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, would procure me so
much esteem, that even then-I would learn to
be happy.  However, I am  under no apprehensions about that; for though indolent, yet so
TO  MR. JO HN  MURDO CH,                  far as an extremely delicate constitution perSCHOOLMASTER,                    mits, I am not lazy; and in many things, expeSTABLES-INN BUILDINGS, LONDON.             cially in tavern matters, I am  a strict economist; not, indeed, for the sake of the money;
[John Murdoch, one of the poet's early teachers, re- 
moved from the west of Scotland to London, where he  but one of the principal parts in my composition
lived to a good old age, and loved to talk of the pious  is a kind of pride of stomach; and I scorn to
William Burness and his eminent son.]           fear the face of any man living: above everything, I abhor as hell, the idea of sneaking in a
Lochlea, 15th January, 1783.
DEAR SIR,          corner to avoid a dun-possibly some pitiful,
DEAR SIR, a    potntofsdig               sordid wretch, who in my heart I despise and
As I have an opportunity of sending you a.'.
As I have an opportunity of sending you  detest.'Tis this, and this alone, that endears
letter without putting  you to that expense  e                                              
economy to me. In the matter of books, inwhich any production of mine would but ill                    r   r. 
deed, I am very profuse. My favourite authors
repay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you  
repay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you  are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone,
that I have not forgotten, nor ever will forget,
manogtion Ileudrtyorkn, particularly his "Elegies;" Thomson; "Man
the many obligations I lie under to your kind-..the many obligatin           of Feeling"-a book I prize next to the Bible;
ness and friendship.                             "Man of the World;" Sterne, especially his
I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know   " ti      l J        " Mc           s    -',~,'      ".~"Sentimental Journey;" Macpherson's "Oswhat has been the result of all the pains of an
the   alsian," &c.; these are the glorious models after
indulgent father, and a masterly teacher; and
which I endeavour to form my conduct, and'tis
I wish I could gratify your curiosity with such               
incongruous,'tis absurd to suppose that the man
a recital as you would be pleased with; but                I
whose mind glows with sentiments lighted up
that is what I am  afraid will not be the case.
at their sacred flame-the man whose heart disI have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious
I'aeneefvicious...'.     tends with benevolence to all the human racehabits; and, in this respect, I hope, my conduct
re.spec,,.,..-^he "who can soar above this little scene of
will not disgrace the education I have gotten;  t
things" —can he descend to mind the paltry conbut, as a man of the world, I am most miserably
deficien.   Onofte would, iave tougt theatbre   cerns about which the terrsefilial race fret, and
deficient.  One would have thought that, bred
fume, and vex themselves! 0 how the glorious
as I have been, under a father, who has figured.'.it~.7~~ 7  ~triumph swells my heart! I forget that I am a
pretty well as un homme des affaires, I might have'.3.    poor, insignificant devil, unnoticed and  unbeen, what the world calls, a pushing, active 
4.11 T'  J.1'.  known, stalking up and down fairs and marfellow; but to tell you the truth, Sir, there is
hardly anything more my reverse. i seem to  kets, when I happen to be in them, reading a
hardly anything more my reverse. I seem to' 
page or two of mankind, and " catching the
be one sent into the world to see and observe;, 
manners living as they rise," whilst the men of
and I very easily compound with the knave whos they rise," whilst the men of
business jostle me on every side, as an idle entricks me of my money, if there be anything
tricksmeofymone, iftheebcumbrance in their way.-But I dare say I have
original about him, which shows me human na-          tut Idare s  I have
ture in a different light from  anything I have  by this time tired your patience; so I shall
seen before. In short, the joy of my heart is conclude with begging you to give Mrs. Murseen before. In short, the joy of my heart is
to " study men, their manners, and their ways;   doch-not my compliments, for that is a mere
and for this darling subject, I cheerfully sacri-  common-place story; but my warmest, kindest
file every other consideration.  I am quite in-    I The last shift alluded to here must be the condition
dolent about those great concerns that set the  of an itinerant beggar. —CcRRIE.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             313
wishes for her welfare; and accept of the same  very low  ebb with us.  Our lands, generally
for yourself, from,                               speaking, are mountainous and barren; and
Dear Sir, yours.-R. B.    our landholders, full of ideas of farming gathered
from the English and the Lothians, and other
rich soils in Scotland, make no allowance for
the odds of the quality of land, and consequently stretch us much beyond what in the
TO  MR. JAMES  BURNESS,                     event we will be found able to pay.  We are
also much at a loss for want of proper methods
WRITER, MONTROSE. 1
in our improvements of farming.  Necessity
[James Burness, son of the poet's uncle, lives at Mont-  compels us to leave our old schemes, and few
rose, and, as may be surmised, is now very old: fame has  of us have opportunities of being well informed
come to his house through his eminent cousin Robert, and 
dearer still through his own grandson, Sir Alexander  in new ones.  In short, my dear Sir, since the
Burnes, with whose talents and intrepidity the world is  unfortunate beginning of this American war,
well acquainted.]                                 and its as unfortunate conclusion, this country
Lochlea, 21st JuTne, 1783.   has been, and still is, decaying very fast. Even
DEAR SIR,                                    in higher life, a couple of our Ayrshire nobleMy father received your favour of the 10th  men, and the major part of our knights and
current, and as he has been for some months  squires, are all insolvent. A miserable job of a
very poorly in health, and is in his own opinion  Douglas, Heron, and Co.'s bank, which  no
(and indeed, in almost everybody's else) in a  doubt you heard of, has undone numbers of
dying condition, he has only, with great diffi-  them; and imitating English and French, and
culty, written a few farewell lines to each of  other foreign luxuries and fopperies, has ruined
his brothers-in-law.  For this melancholy rea-  as many more. There is a great trade of smugson, I now hold the pen for him  to thank you  gling carried on along our coasts, which, howfor your kind letter, and to assure you, Sir, that  ever destructive to the interests of the kingdom
it shall not be my fault if my father's correspon-  at large, certainly enriches this corner of it,
dence in the north die With him.  My brother  but too often at the expense of our morals.
writes to John Caird, and to him  I must refer  However, it enables individuals to make, at least
you for the news of our family.                   for a time, a splendid appearance; but Fortune,
I shall only trouble you with a few particu-  as is usual with her when she is uncommonly
lars relative to the wretched state  of this  lavish of her favours, is generally even with them
country.  Our markets are exceedingly high;  at the last; and happy were it for numbers of
oatmeal 17d. and 18d. per peck, and not to be  them  if she would leave them  no worse than
gotten even at that price. We have indeed been  when she found them.
pretty well supplied with quantities of white       My mother sends you a small present of a
peas from  England and elsewhere, but that re-  cheese,'tis but a very little one, as our last year's
source is likely to fail us, and what will become  stock is sold off; but if you could fix on any corof us then, particularly the very poorest sort,  respondent in Edinburgh or Glasgow, we would
Heaven only knows.  This country, till of late,  send you a proper one in the season. Mrs. Black
was flourishing incredibly in the manufacture  promises to take the cheese under her care so
of silk, lawn, and carpet-weaving; and we are  far, and then to send it to you by the Stirling
still carrying on a good deal in that way, but  carrier.
much reduced from what it was.  We had also         I shall conclude this long letter with assuring
a fine trade in the shoe way, but now entirely  you that I shall be very happy to hear from you,
ruined, and hundreds driven to a starving con-  or any of our friends in your country, when opdition on account of it.  Farming is also at a  portunity serves.
I This gentleman (the son of an elder brother of my  afterwards kept up by my brother. Extracts from some
father's), when he was very young, lost his father, and  of my brother's letters to his cousin are introduced, for
having discovered in his father's repositories some of my  the purpose of exhibiting the poet before he had attracted
father's letters, he requested that the correspondence  the notice of the public, and in his domestic family remight be renewed. My father continued till the last year  lations afterwards.-GILBERT BURNS.
of his life to correspond with his nephew, and it was




314                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
My father sends you, probably for the last  per, and bettering the unkindly circumstances
time in this world, his warmest wishes for your  of my fortune.  This, my dear, is a passion, at
welfare and happiness; and my mother and the  least in my view, worthy of a man, and I will
rest of the family desire to enclose their kind  add worthy of a Christian.  The sordid earthcompliments to you, Mrs. Burness, and the rest  worm may profess love to a woman's person,
of your family, along with those of,            whilst in reality his affection is centred in her
Dear Sir,                 pocket; and the slavish drudge may go a-wooing
Your affectionate Cousin,     as he goes to the horse-market to choose one
R. B.    who is stout and firm, and as we may say of an
old horse, one who will be a good drudge and
draw kindly. I disdain their dirty, puny ideas.
I would be heartily out of humour with myself
if I thought I were capable of having so poor a
TO  MISS E.                     notion of the sex, which were designed to crown
the pleasures of society.  Poor devils! I don't
[The name of the lady to whom this and the three suc-  envy them  their happiness who  have  such
ceeding letters were addressed, seems to have been
known to Dr. Currie, who introduced them in his first notions. For my part, I propose quite other
edition, but excluded them from his second. They were  pleasures with my dear partner.
restored by Gilbert Burns, without naming the lady.]                                  R. B.
Lochlea, 1783.
I VERILY believe, my dear E., that the pure,
genuine feelings of love are as rare in the world                    V.
as the pure genuine principles of virtue and
TO  MISS E.
piety. This I hope will account for the uncommon style of all my letters to you. By uncom-                                 Lochlea, 1783.
mon, I mean their being written in such a serious   MY DEAR E.:
manner, which, to tell you the truth, has made    I DO not remember, in the course of your acme often afraid lest you should take me for  quaintance and mine, ever to have heard your
some zealous bigot, who conversed with his  opinion on the ordinary way of falling in love,
mistress as he would converse with his minister.  amongst people of our station of life: I do not
I don't know how it is, my dear, for though,  mean the persons who proceed in the way of
except your company, there is nothing on earth  bargain, but those whose affection is really
gives me so much pleasure as writing to you,  placed on the person.
yet it never gives me those giddy raptures so    Though I be, as you know very well, but a
much talked of among lovers.  I have often  very awkward lover myself, yet as I have some
thought that if a well-grounded affection be not  opportunities of observing the conduct of others
really a part of virtue,'tis something extremely  who are much better skilled in the affair of
akin to it.  Whenever the thought of my E.  courtship than I am, I often think it is owing to
warms my heart, every feeling of humanity,  lucky chance more than to good management,
every principle of generosity kindles in my  that there are not more unhappy marriages than
breast.  It extinguishes every dirty spark of usually are.
malice and envy which are but too apt to infest    It is natural for a young fellow to like the ac
me.  I grasp every creature in the arms of  quaintance of the females, and customary for
universal benevolence, and equally participate  him  to  keep them  company when  occasion
in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathize  serves: some one of them is more agreeable to
with the miseries of the unfortunate.  I assure  him than the rest; there is something, he knows
you, my dear, I often look up to the Divine Dis-  not what, pleases him, he knows not how, in
poser of events with an eye of gratitude for the  her company.  This I take to be what is called
blessing which I hope he intends to bestow on  love with the greater part of us; and I must
me in bestowing you. I sincerely wish that he  own, dear E., it is a hard game, such a one as
may bless my endeavours to make your life as  you have to play when you meet with such a
comfortable and happy as possible, -both in  lover. Ve-eannotref-4s~       t he is sincere, and
sweetening the rougher parts of my natural tem-  yet though you use him ever so favourably, per



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          315
haps in a few months, or at farthest in a year
or two, the same unaccountable fancy may make 
him as distractedly fond of another, whA4st you               TO  MISS E.
are quite forgote I am aware that perhaps the
next time I have the pleasure of seeing you,                               Lochlea, 1783.
you may bid me take my own lesson home, and    I HAVE often thought it a peculiarly unlucky
tell me that the passion I have professed for  circumstance in love, that though in every other
you is perhaps one of those transient flashes I  situation in life, telling the truth is not only the
have been describing; but I hope, my dear E.,  safest, but actually by far the easiest way of
you will do me the justice to believe me, when  proceeding, a lover is never under greater diffiI assure you that the love I have for you is  culty in acting, or more puzzled for expression,
founded on the sacred principles of virtue and  than when his passion  is sincere, and his intenhonour, and by consequence so long as you con-  ts are honourable.   I do not think that it is
tinue possessed of those amiable qualities which  very difficult for a person of ordinary capacity
first inspired my passion for you, so long must      talk of love and fondness, which are not felt,
I continue to love you. Believe me, my dear,  and to make vows of constancyand fidelity, which
it is love like this alone which can render the re never intended to be performed, if he be vilmarriage state happy.  People may talk of  lain enough to practise such detestable conduct:
flames and raptures as long as they please, and  but to a man whose heart glows with the princia warm fancy, with a flow of youthful spirits,  ples of integrity and truth, and who sincerely
may make them feel something like what they  loves a woman of amiable person, uncommon efinement of sentiment and purity of mannersdescribe; but sure(i am the nobler faculties of  fin     o      sentiment and purity of mannersthe mind, with kindred feelings of the hear   to such a  one, in such circumstances, I can ascan only be the foundation  of friendship, and it  sure you, my dear, from my own feelings at this
can only.be the foundation of friendship, and it
present moment, courtship is a task indeed.
has always been my opinion that the married, ^         i    
s a s bn m  oinio  t     t   m ie   There is such a number of foreboding fears and
life was only friendship in a more exalted degree.         
distrustful anxieties crowd into my mind when
If you will be so good as to grant my wishes,
If yu wl be so gd as to g   m,  I am in your company, or when I sit down to
and it should please Providence to spare us to                
write to you, that what to speak, or what to
the latest periods of life, I can look forward and,,^~~~ i    ^1 1 ^1write, I am altogether at a loss.
see that even then, though bent down with
see, t h bn  d   wh    There is one rule which I have hitherto pracwrinkled age; even then, when all other worldly       
~11'ae.li.'~P  i..  ^  T.it Itised, and which I shall invariably keep with you
circumstances will be indifferent to me, I will 
cir ne.wl be in t, I w    and that is honestly to tell you the plain truth.
regard my_ iE. with the tenderest affepti.n, and,  m.  t,,  There is something so mean and unmanly in the
for this plain reason, because she is still posfor this plain reason, ecause she is still.   arts of dissimulation and falsehood, that I am
sessed of those noble qualities, improved to a'h ^.  i  vi...e  surprised they can be acted by any one in so
much higher degree, which first inspired my
h h r d, w h ft i  d m    noble, so generous a passion, as virtuous love.
affection for her.  
No, my dear E., I shall never endeavour to gain
" O! happy state when souls each other draw,..
-   When love is liberty an nature law."'  your favour by such detestable practices.  If
you will be so good and so generous as to admit
I know were I to speak in such a style to many     will be so good and so generous as to admit
a girl, who thinks herself possessed of no small  me for your partner your companion, your bosom friend through life, there is nothing on this
share of sense, she would think it ridiculous;
share of sense, she would think it ridiculous   side of eternity shall give me greater transport;
but the language of the heart is, my dear EB,
t te lu   th" "",  but I shall never think of purchasing your hand
the only courtship I shall ever use to you.
thenl   io   hat I ver    w.    by any arts unworthy of a man, and I will add
When I look over what I have written, I am..1..~  ^   i. if  1'      of a Christian. There is one thing, my dear
sensible it is vastly different from the ordinary.
e of c hip, bt I sl m e no a   y  which I earnestly request of you, and it is this;
style of courtship, but I shall make no apology 
TTI  ri~ vJ.~'that you would soon either put an end to my
-I know your good nature will excuse what your        y 
hopes by a peremptory refusal, or cure me of my
good sense may see amiss.
R. B.    fears by a generous consent.
_______________________It would oblige me much if you would send
1 Pope. Eloisa to Abelard.        me a line or two when convenient. I shall only
add further that, if a behaviour regulated
(though perhaps but very imperfectly) by the




316                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
rules of honour and virtue, if a heart devoted to  remove in a few days a little further off, and
love and esteem you, and an earnest endeavour  you, I suppose, will perhaps soon leave this
to promote your happiness; if these are quali-  place, I wish to see or hear from you soon; and
ties you would wish in a friend, in a husband, I  if an expression should perhaps escape me,
hope you shall ever find them in your real friend,  rather too warm for friendship, I hope you will
and sincere lover.                             pardon it in, my dear Miss-(pardon me the
R. B.    dear expression for once) * * * *
R. B.
VII.                                           VIII.
TO  MISS  E.                         TO  ROBERT  RIDDEL, ESQ.
Lochlea, 1783.                   OF GLENRIDDEL.
I OUGHT, in good manners, to have acknowI OUGHT, in good manners       [These memoranda throw much light on the early days
ledged the receipt of your letter before this  of Burns, and on the history of his mind and compositime, but my heart was so shocked, with the  tions. Robert Riddel, of the Friars-Carse, to whom
contents of it, that I can scarcely yet collect my  these fragments were sent, was a good man as well as a
thoughts so as to write you on the subject.  I  distinguished antiquary.]
will not attempt to describe what I felt on re-     M   DEAR SIR,
ceivingyour letter. I read it over and over, again    ON rummaging over some old papers I lighted
and again, and though it was in the politest lan-on a MS. of my early years, in which I had deguage of refusal, still it was peremptory; "you  termined to write myself out; as I was placed
were sorry you could not make me a return, but  by fortune among a class of men to whom my
you wish me," what without you I never can  ideas would have been nonsense.  I had meant
obtain, "you wish me all kind of happiness."  that the book should have lain by me, in the
It would be weak and unmanly to say that, with-  fond hope that some time or other, even after I
out you I never can be happy; but sure I am,  was no more, my thoughts would fall into the
that sharing life with you would have given it  hands of somebody capable of appreciating their
a relish, that, wanting you, I can never taste.   value. It sets off thus:Your uncommon personal advantages, and          "OBSERVATIONS, HINTS, SONGS, SCRAPS OF
your superior good sense, do not so much strike  POETRY, &C., by ROBERT BURNESS: a  an who
me; these, possibly, in a few instances may be  had little art in making money, and still less in
met with in others; but that amiable goodness,  keeping it; but was, however, a man of some
that tender feminine softness, that endearing  sense, a great deal of honesty, and unbounded
sweetness of disposition, with all the charming  good-ill to every creature, rational and irraoffspring of a warm feeling heart-these I never  tional.-As he was but little indebted to schoagain expect to meet with, in such a degree, in  l                              p      i 
lastic education, and bred at a plough-tail, his
this world. All these charming qualities, height-.  
performances must be strongly tinctured with
ened by an education much beyond anything I
venedi    y am I bey   ad a t  his unpolished, rustic way of life; but as I behave ever met in any woman I ever dared to
a   e      an   m n    r lieve they are really his own, it may be some
approach, have made an impression on my heart entertainment to a curious observer of human
""'.      - ^             ^        entertainment to a curious observer of human
that I do not think the world can ever efface.                    a   ou, 
nature to see how a ploughman thinks, and
My imagination had fondly flattered myself
iaginI   had fo y  f a   red e    feels, under the pressure of love, ambition, anxwith a wish, I dare not say it ever reached a...  
hope, that possibly I might one day call you  iety, grief, with the like cares and passions,
hope, that possibly I might one day call you
hope,  that  possibl    Ih  migt   oel    day cf l  ye  which,  however  diversified   by  the  modes  and
mine. I had formed the most delightful images,
n     a   fo,  manners of life, operate pretty much alike, I
and my fancy fondly brooded over them; but
believe, on all the species."
now I am wretched for the loss of what I really
had no right to expect. I must now think no    " There are numbers in the world who do not want
more of you as a mistress; still I presume to  sese to make a figure, so much as an opinion of their
own abilities to put them upon recording their observaask to be admitted as a friend. As such I wish 
tions, and allowing them the same importance which
to be allowed to wait on you, and as I expect to  they do to those which appear in print."-SHENSTONE.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           317
" Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace  distich is too much in the other extreme.  The
The forms our pencil, or our pen designed!  expression is a little awkward  and the sentiSuch was our youthful air, and shape, and face, 
ment too serious.  Stanza the second I am well
Such the soft image of our youthful mind."-lbid.
pleased with; and I think it conveys a fine idea
of that amiable part of the sex-the agreeables;
April, 1783.    or what in our Scotch dialect we call a sweet
Notwithstanding all that has been said against  sonsie lass. The third stanza has a little of the
love, respecting the folly and weakness it leads  flimsy turn in it; and the third line has rather
a young inexperienced mind into; still I think  too serious a cast.  The fourth stanza is a very
it in a great measure deserves the highest en-  indifferent one; the first line, is, indeed, all in
comiums that have been passed upon it. If any-  the strain of the second stanza, but the rest is
thing on earth deserves the name of rapture or  most expletive. The thoughts in the fifth stanza
transport, it is the feelings of green eighteen in  come finely up to my favourite idea-a sweet
the company of the mistress of his heart, when  sonsie lass: the last line, however, halts a
she repays him with an equal return of affection.  little.  The same sentiments are kept up with,___b~    ~          ~equal spirit and tenderness in the sixth stanza,
August.    but the second and fourth lines ending with
There is certainly some connexion between  short syllables hurt the whole.  The seventh
love and music, and poetry; and therefore, I  stanza has several minute faults; but I rehave always thought it a fine touch of nature,  member I composed it in a wild enthusiasm  of
that passage in a modern love-composition:      passion, and to this hour I never recollect it but
my heart melts, my blood sallies, at the remem"' As towards her cot she jogged along,                   X "
Her name was frequent in his song."     brance.
For my own part I never had the least thought
or inclination of turning poet till I got once
heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were                                     September.
in a manner the spontaneous language of my    I entirely agree with that judicious philosoheart.  The following composition was the first  pher, Mr. Smith, in his excellent Theory of
of my performances, and done at an early period  Moral Sentiments, that remorse is the most
of life, when my heart glowed with honest warm   painful sentiment that can embitter the human
simplicity; unacquainted and uncorrupted with  bosom.  Any ordinary pitch of fortitude may
the ways of a wicked world. The performance  bear up tolerably well under those calamities,
is indeed, very puerile and silly; but I am al-  in the procurement of which we ourselves have
ways pleased with it, as it recalls to my mind  had no hand; but when our own follies, or
those happy days when my heart was yet honest,  crimes, have made us miserable and wretched,
and my tongue was sincere.  The subject of it  to bear up with manly firmness, and at the same
was a young girl who really deserved all the  time have a proper penitent sense of our mispraises I have bestowed on her. I not only had  conduct, is a glorious effort of self-command.
this opinion of her then-but I actually think
so still, now that the spell is long since broken,  Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,
and the enchantment at an end.                  That press the soul, or wring the mind with
O once I lov'd a bonnie lass.lnd coishh
Beyond comparison the worst are those
Lest my works should be thought below cri-  That to our folly or our guilt we owe.
ticism: or meet with a critic, who, perhaps, will  In every other circumstance, the mind
not look on them with so candid and favour-  Has this to say,' It was no deed of mine;'
able an eye, I am determined to criticise them   But when to all the evil of misfortune
myself.                                         This sting is added-' Blame thy foolish self!'
The first distich of the first stanza is quite too  Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse;
much in the flimsy strain of our ordinary street  The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt —
ballads: and, on the other hand, the second  Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others;
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us,
* See Songs and Ballads, No 1         Nay, more, that every love their cause of ruin'




318                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
0 burning hell; in all thy store of torments,   myself, or some here and there such other outThere's not a keener lash!                     of-the-way person.  Such is the peculiar pleaLives there a man so firm, who, while his heart  sure I take in the season of winter, more than
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,      the rest of the year. This, I believe, may be
Can reason down its agonizing throbs;           partly owing to my misfortunes giving my mind
And, after proper purpose of amendment,         a melancholy cast: but there is something even
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?  in the0, happy! happy! enviable man!                " Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste
0 glorious magnanimity of soul!                  Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth,"which raises the mind to a serious sublimity,
favourable to everything great and noble. There
March, 1784.    is scarcely any earthly object gives me moreI have often observed, in the course of my  I do not know if I should call it pleasure-but
experience of human life, that every man, even  something which exalts me, something which
the worst, has something good about him;  enraptures me-than to walk in the sheltered
though very often nothing else than a happy   side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy
temperament of constitution inclining him to  winter-day, and hear the stormy wind howling
this or that virtue.  For this reason no man  among the trees, and raving over the plain. It
can say in what degree any other person, be-  is my best season for devotion: my mind is
sides himself, can be, with strict justice, called  wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who,
wicked,  Let any, of the strictest character for  in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard,
regularity of conduct among us, examine im- r   walks on the wings of the wind."  In one of
partially how many vices he has never been  these seasons, just after a train of misfortunes,
guilty of, not from  any care or vigilance, but  I composed the following:for want of opportunity, or some accidental circumstance intervening; how many of the weak-        The wintry west extends his blast.l
nesses of mankind he has escaped, because he
was. out ofthe' line ofsctmtton n, Shenstone finely observes, that love-verses,
was out of the line of such temptation; and,,                                        
what often, if not always, weighs more than all  writ without any real passion, are the most
the rest, how much he is indebted to the world's  nauseous of all conceits; and I have often
good opinion, because the world does not know  thought  that no man can be a  proper critic of
all: I say, any man who can thus think, will  love-composition, except he himself, in one or
all: I say, any man who can thus think, will
scan the failings, nay, the faults and crimes, of  more instances, have been a warm votary of this
mankind around him, with a brother's eye.       passion.  As I have been all along a miserable
I have often courted the acquaintance of that  dupe to love, and have been led into a thousand
part of mankind, commonly known by the or-  weaknesses and follies by it, for that reason I put
dinary phrase of blackguards, sometimes far-  the more confidence in my critical skill, in disther than was consistent with the safety of my  tinguishing foppery and conceit from real passion and nature. Whether the following song
character; those who by thoughtless piodiga- i   and ature    Whether the following song
lity or headstrong passions, have been driven will stand the test, I will not pretend to say,
to ruin.  Though disgraced  by follies, nay  because it is my own; only I can say it was, at
sometimes, stained with guilt, I have yet found  the time, genuine from the heart
among them, in not a few instances, some of the     Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows.2
noblest virtues, magnanimity, generosity, disinterested friendship, and even modesty.,'"                                        March, 1784.
____.~   ~          ~There was a certain period of my life that my
April.   spirit was broke by repeated losses and disasters
As I am what the men of the world, if they  which threatened, and indeed effected, the utter
knew such a man, would call a whimsical mor-  ruin of my fortune. My body, too, was attacked
tal, I have various sources of pleasure and en-  by that most dreadful distemper, a hypochonjoyment, which are, in a manner, peculiar to  dria, or confirmed melancholy. In this wretched
1 See Winter. A Dirge. Poem I.                          2 Song XIV.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          319
state, the recollection of which makes me shud- language of my heart, will enable anybody to
der, I hung my harp on the willow trees, ex- determine which of the classes I belong to:
cept in some lucid intervals, in one of which I
composed the following:  There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
composed the following:In ev'ry hour that passes, 0.3
0 thou Great Being! what Thou art.'
As the grand end of human life is to cultivate
an intercourse with that BEING to whom we
April.    owe life, with every enjoyment that renders
The following song is a wild rhapsody, misera-  life delightful; and to maintain an integritive
bly deficient in versification; but as the senti-  conduct towards our fellow-creatures; that so,
ments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for  by forming piety and virtue into habit, we may
that reason I have a particular pleasure in con-  be fit members for that society of the pious and
ning it over.                                   the good, which reason and revelation teach us to
My father was a f r          expect beyond the grave, I do not see that the
My father was a farmer 
turn of mind, and pursuits of such a one as the
Upon the Carrick border, 0."
above verses describe-one who spends the
hours and thoughts which the vocations of the
April.    day can spare with Ossian, Shakspeare, ThomI think the whole species of young men may  son, Shenstone, Sterne, &c.; or, as the maggot
be naturally enough divided into two grand  takes him, a gun, a fiddle, or a song to make or
classes, which I shall call the grave and the  mend; and at all times some heart's-dear bonnerry; though, by the by, these terms do not  nie lass in view-I say I do not see that the
with propriety enough express my ideas. The  turn of mind and pursuits of such an one are
grave I shall cast into the usual division of those  in the least more inimical to the sacred interests
who are goaded on by the love of money, and  of piety and virtue, than the even lawful, busthose whose darling wish is to make a figure  tling and straining after the world's riches and
in the world.  The merry are the men of plea-  honours: and I do not see but he may gain
sure of all denominations; the jovial lads, who  heaven as well-which, by the by, is no mean
have too much fire and spirit to have any settled  consideration-who steals through the vale of
rule of action; but, without much deliberation,  life, amusing himself with every little flower
follow  the strong  impulses of nature:  the  that fortune throws in his way, ashe, who strainthoughtless, the careless, the indolent-in par-  ing straight forward, and perhaps spattering
ticular he who, with a happy sweetness of natu-  all about him, gains some of life's little eminenral temper, and a cheerful vacancy of thought,  cies, where, after all, he can only see and be
steals through life-generally, indeed, in poverty  seen a little more conspicuously than what, in
and obscurity; but poverty and obscurity are  the pride of his heart, he is apt to term the
only evils to him who can sit gravely down and  poor, indolent devil he has left behind him.
make a repining comparison between his own
situation and that of others; and lastly, to grace                                  August.
the quorum, such are, generally, those whose    A Prayer, when fainting fits, and other alarmheads are capable of all the towerings of genius,  ing symptoms of a pleurisy or some other dan
and whose hearts are warmed with all the de-  gerous disorder, which indeed still threatens
ilcacy of feeling,                             me, first put nature on the alarm:August.           0 thou unknown, Almighty Cause
The foregoing was to have been an elaborate           Of all my hope and fear!
dissertation on the various species of men; but
as I cannot please myself in the arrangement                                       August
of my ideas, I must wait till farther experience Misgivings in the hour of desondency and
and nicer observation throw more light on the  prospect of death:
subject.-In the mean time I shall set down the
following fragment, which, as it is the genuine    Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene.5
I Poem IX.          2 Song V.              3 Song XVII.    4 Poem X.    5 Poem XI.




320                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
EGOTISMS FROM MY OWN SENSATIONS.                                            September.
Ia y.      There is a great irregularity in the old Scotch
I don't well know what is the reason of it,  songs, a redundancy of syllables with respect
but somehow or other, though I am when I have  to that exactness of accent and measure that
a mind pretty generally beloved, yet I never  the English poetry requires, but which glides
could get the art of commanding respect. -   in, most melodiously, with the respective tunes
I imagine it is owing to my being deficient in  to which they are set.  For instance, the fine
what Sterne calls "that understrapping virtue  old song of "The Mill, Mill, 0,"' to give it a
of discretion."-I am so apt to a lapsus linguce,  plain prosaic reading, it halts prodigiously out
that I sometimes think the character of a cer-  of measure; on the other hand, the song set
tain great man I have read of somewhere is very  to the same tune in Bremner's collection of
much apropos to myself-that he was a com-  Scotch songs, which begins "To Fanny fair
pound of great talents and great folly.-N. B.  could I impart," &c., it is most exact measure,
To try if I can discover the causes of this  and yet, let them both be sung before a real
wretched infirmity, and, if possible, to mend it.  critic, one above the biases of prejudice, but a;
thorough judge of nature,-how fiat and spirit
less will the last appear, how trite, and lamely
August.    methodical, compared with the wild warbling
However I am pleased with the works of our  cadence, the heart-moving melody of the first!
Scotch poets, particularly the excellent Ramsay, This is particularly the case with all those
and the still more excellent Fergusson, yet I am airs which end with a hypermetrical syllble.
hurt to see other places of Scotland, their towns,  There is a degree of wild irregularity in many
rivers, woods, haughs, &c., immortalized in suchof the compositions and fragments which are
celebrated performances, while my dear native  daily sung to them by my compeers, the comcountry, the ancient bailieries of Carrick, Kyle,  mon people-a certain happy arrangement of
and Cunningham, famous both in ancient and  old Scotch syllables, and yet, very frequently,
modern times for a gallant and warlike race of  nothing, not even like rhyme or sameness of
inhabitants; a country where civil, and parti-           at the ends of the lines. This has made
cularly religious liberty have ever found their  me sometimes imagine that perhaps it might be
first support, and their last asylum; a country,  possible for a Scotch poet, with a nice judicious
the birth-place of many famous philosophers,  ear, to set compositions to many of our most
soldiers, statesman, and the scene of many im-  favourite airs, particularly that class of them
portant events recorded in Scottish history, par-  mentioned above, independent of rhyme altoticularly a great many of the actions of the  gether.
glorious WALLACE, the SAVIOUR of his country;
yet, we have never had one Scotch poet of any
eminence, to make the fertile banks of Irvine,    There is a noble sublimity, a heart-melting
the romantic woodlands and sequestered scenes  tenderness, in some of our ancient ballads,
on Ayr, and the heathy mountainous source  which show them to be the work of a masterly
and winding sweep of DOON, emulate Tay, Forth,  hand: and it has often given me many a heartEttrick, Tweed, &c. This is a complaint I  ache to reflect that such glorious old bardswould gladly remedy, but, alas! I am far un-  bards who very probably owed all their talents
equal to the task, both in native genius and  to native genius, yet have described the exploits
education.  Obscure I am, and obscure I must  of heroes, the pangs of disappointment, and the
be, though no young poet, nor young soldier's  meltings of love, with such fine strokes of
heart, ever beat more fondly for fame than  nature-that their very names (0 how mortifymine-                                          ing to a bard's vanity!) are now " buried among
the wreck of things which were."' And if there is no other scene of being       0 ye illustrious names unknown! who could 
Where my insatiate wish may have its fill, —
feel so strongly and describe so well: the last,
This something at my heart that heaves for room,  strongly and describe so well: the last,
My best, my dearest part, was made in vain."  the meanest of the muses' train-one who,
though far inferior to your flights, yet eyes
1 " The Mill, Mill, 0," is by Allan Ramsay.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            321
your path, and with trembling wing would                                           September.
sometimes soar after you-a poor rustic bard    There is another fragment in imitation of an
unknown, pays this sympathetic pang to your  old Scotch song, well known among the country
memory! Some of you tell us, with all the  ingle-sides.-I cannot tell the name, neither of
charms of verse, that you have been unfortunate  the song nor the tune, but they are in fine unison
in the world-unfortunate in love: he, too, has  with one another.-By the way, these old Scotfelt the loss of his little fortune, the loss of  tish airs are so nobly sentimental, that when one
friends, and, worse than all, the loss of the  would compose to them, to "south the tune," as
woman he adored. Like you, all his consola-  our Scotch phrase is, over and over, is the readition was his muse: she taught him in rustic  est way to catch the inspiration, and raise the
measures to complain.  Happy could he have  bard into that glorious enthusiasm  so strongly
done it with your strength of imagination and  characteristic of our old Scotch poetry. I shall
flow of verse! May the turf lie lightly on your  here set down one verse of the piece mentioned
bones! and may you now enjoy that solace and  above, both to mark the song and tune I mean,
rest which this world rarely gives to the heart  and likewise as a debt I owe to the author, as
tuned to all the feelings of poesy and love!   the repeating of that verse has lighted up my
flame a thousand times:September.    When clouds in skies do come together
The following fragment is done something in    To hide the brightness of the sun,
imitation of the manner of a noble old Scottish  There will surely be some pleasant weather
piece, called M'Millan's Peggy, and sings to the    When a' their storms are past and gone.2
tune of Galla Water.-My Montgomery's Peggy
was my deity for six or eight months. She had  Though fickle fortune has deceived me,
been bred (though, as the world says, without    She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill;
any just pretence for it) in a style of life rather  Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me,
elegant; but, as Vanbrugh says in one of his    Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.
comedies, my "d-d star found me out" there                   p    nce as far as I'm able,
too: for though I began the affair merely in a    But if success I must never find
gaietie de cxur, or, to tell the truth, which will  Te  ce  isftue, I bid hee welcome,
scarcel bebelieved,  a -vanityofshoThen come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,
scarcely be believed, a vanity of showing my       I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.
parts in courtship, particularly my abilities at a
billet-doux, which I always piqued myself upon,    The above was an extempore, under the presmade me lay siege to her; and when, as I always  sure of a heavy train of misfortunes, which, indo in my foolish gallantries, I had fettered my-  deed, threatened to undo me altogether. It was
self into a very warm affection for her, she told  just at the close of that dreadful period menme one day, in a flag of truce, that her fortress  tioned already, and though the weather has
had been for some time before the rightful pro-  brightened up a little with me, yet there has
perty of another; but, with the greatest friend-  always been since a tempest brewing round me
ship and politeness, she offered me every alliance  in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty plainly
except actual possession.  I found out after-  see will some time or other, perhaps ere long,
wards that what she told me of a pre-engage-  overwhelm me, and drive me into some doleful
ment was really true; but it cost me some  dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretchedness.heartaches to get rid of the affair.            However, as I hope my poor country muse, who,
I have even tried to imitate in this extempore  all rustic, awkward, and unpolished as she is,
thing that irregularity in the rhymes, which,  has more charms for me than any other of the
when judiciously done, has such a fine effect on  pleasures of life beside-as I hope she will not
the ear.                                         then desert me, I may even then learn to be, if
not happy, at least easy, and south a sang to
"Altho' my bed were in yon muir."'         soothe my misery.'Twas at the same time I set about composing
an air in the old Scotch style.-I am not musii Song VIII.                    2 Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments be
fore this verse. (This is the author's note.)




322                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
cal scholar en')i;gh to prick down my tune pro-  the best of friends and ablest of instructors,
perly, so it can never see the light, and perhaps  without feeling what perhaps the calmer dictates'tis no great matter; but the following were the  of reason would partJy condemn.
verses I composed to suit it: —                     I hope my father's friends in your country
will not let their connexion in this place die
0 raging fortune's withering blast
O raging fortune's withering blast           with him.  For my part I shall ever with pleaHIas laid my leaf full low, O! 1           sure-with  pride, acknowledge my connexion
The tune consisted of three parts, so that the  with those who were allied by the ties of blood
above verses just went through the whole air.   and friendship to a man whose memory I shall
ever honour and revere.
I expect, therefore, my dear Sir, you will not
October, 1785.    neglect any opportunity of letting me hear from
If ever any young man, in the vestibule of the  you, which will very much oblige,
world, chance to throw his eye over these pages,            My  dear Cousin, yours sincerely,
let him pay a warm  attention to the following                                            1. B.
observations, as I assure him they are the fruit
of a poor devil's dear-bought experience.-I
have literally, like that great poet and great
gallant, and by consequence, that great fool,
Solomon, "turned my eyes to behold madness                 TO  JAMES BURNESS,
and folly."  Nay, I have, with all the ardour                        ONTROSE.
of a lively, fanciful, and whimsical imagination,
acm  feein, pi hrt      [Mrs. Buchan, the forerunner in extravagance and abaccompanied with a warm, feeling, poetic heart,. 
surdity of Joanna Southcote, after attempting to fix her
shaken hands with their intoxicating friendship.  tent among the hills of the west and the vales of the
In the first place, let my pupil, as he tenders  Nith, finally set up her staff at Auchengibbert-Hill, in
his own peace, keep up a regular, warm inter-  Galloway, where she lectured her followers, and held'course with the Deity. * *c 5"    out hopes of their reaching the stars, even in this life.
course with the Deity. * X * *                                          0
She died early: one or two of her people, as she called
This is all worth quoting in my MSS., and  them, survived till within these h::lf-dozen years.]
more than all.                          R. B.
Mossgiel, August, 1784.
~____._________             WE have been surprised with one of the most
extraordinary phenomena in the moral world
IX.                         which, I dare say, has happened in the course of
this half century. We have had a party of PresTO  M R. JAM E S B URN ES S,                bytery relief, as they call themselves, for some
1 o N T R O S E.                time in this country.  A pretty thriving society
of them  has been in the burgh of Irvine for
[The elder Burns, whose death this letter intimates, I
lies buried in the kirkyard of Alloway, with a tombstone  some years past, till about two years ago, a
recording his worth.]                             Mrs. Buchan from Glasgow came among them,
Lochla  7th Feb. 1784.    and began to spread some fanatical notions of
Lochlea, 17th _Feb. 1784.
DEAVt COUSIN,                                religion  among them, and, in a short time,
I WOULD have returned you my thanks for  made many converts; and, among others, their
your kind favour of the 13th of DeceImber  preacher, Mr. Whyte, who, upon that account,
sooner, had it not been that I waited to give  has been suspended and formally deposed by his
you an account of that melancholy event, which, brethren. He continued, however, to preach in
for some time past, we have from  day to day  private to his party, and was supported, both
expected.                                         he and their spiritual mother, as they affect to
On the 13th current I lost the best of fathers.  call ol  Buchn, by the contributions of the
Though, to be sure, we hv  h              rnin   reha   sever had long  warnin       good circumof the imendin  e  sl te f     s of   stances; till, in spring last, the populace rose and
of the impending stroke; still the feelings of
Z5'n                     I  mobbed Mrs. Buchan, and pilt her out of the
nature claim their part, and I cannot recollect I 
i town; on which all her followers voluntarily
the tender endearments and parental lessons of                       a                  voluntarily
quitted the place likewise, and with such preci1 Song II.                    pitation, that many of them  never shut their




OF ROBEItT BUR1NS.                                           323
doors behind them; one left a washing on the  the deuce somehow about my heart. My breast
greenl, another a cow bellowing at the crib with-  has been widowed these many months, and I
out food, or anybody to mind her, and after  thought myself proof against the fascinating
several stages, they are fixed at present in the  witchcraft; but I am afraid you will "feelingly
neighbourhood of Dumfries.  Their tenets are  convince me what I am."  I say, I am afraid,
a strange jumble of enthusiastic jargon; among  because I am not sure what is the matter with
others, she pretends to give them the Holy Ghost  me. I have one miserable bad symptom; when
by breathing on them, which she does with pos-  you whisper, or look kindly to another, it gives
tures and practices that are scandalously inde-  me a draught of damnation.  I have a kind of
cent; they have likewise disposed of all their  wayward wish to be with you ten minutes by
effects, and hold a community of goods, and  yourself, though what I would say, Heaven
live nearly an idle life, carrying on a great  above knows, for I am sure I know not. I have
farce of pretended devotion in barns and woods,  no formed design in all this; but just, in the
where they lodge and lie all together, and hold  nakedness of my heart, write you down a mere
likewise a community of women, as itis another  matter-of-fact story.  You may perhaps give
of their tenets that they can commit no moral  yourself airs of distance on this, and that will
sin.  I am personally acquainted with most of  completely cure me; but I wish you would not:
them, and I can assure you the above mentioned   just let us meet, if you please, in the old beaten
are facts.                                        way of friendship.
This, my dear Sir, is one of the many in-    I will not subscribe myself your humble serstances of the folly of leaving the guidance of  vant, for that is a phrase, I think at least fifty
sound reason and common sense in matters of  miles off from  the heart; but I will conclude
religion.                                         with sincerely wishing that the Great Protector
Whenever we neglect or despise these sacred   of innocence may shield you from  the barbed
monitors, the whimsical notions of a perturbated  dart of calumny, and hand you by the covert
brain are taken for the immediate influences  snare of deceit.                            R. B.
of the Deity, and the wildest fanaticism, and
the most inconstant absurdities, will meet with
abettors and converts. Nay,I have often thought,
that the more out-of-the-way and ridiculous the                          XII.
fancies are, if once they are sanctified under the     TO  M. JOHN  RICHMOND
sacred name of religion, the unhappy mistaken
4.,~~~ ~.   fi^i^4OF EDINBURGH.
votaries are the more firmly glued to them.
R. B.       [John Richmond, writer, one of the poet's Mauchline
friends, to whom we are indebted for much valuable information concerning Burns and his productions-Connel
XI.                         was the Mauchline carrier.]
TO  MISS.                   Slossgiel, Feb. 17, 1786.
MY DEAR SIR,
[This has generally been printed among the early letters
I have not time at present to upbraid you
of Burns. Croinek tlhinks that the person addressed wasp                                    d 
the " Peggy" of the Common-place Book. This is ques-  for your silence and neglect; I shall only say I
tioned by Robert Chambers, who, however, leaves both  received yours with great pleasure.  I have
name and date unsettled.]    ~                    enclosed you a piece of rhyming ware for your
MY DEAR COUNTRYWOMAN,                        perusal. I have been very busy with the muses
I AM SO impatient to show you that I am once  since I saw you, and have composed, among
more at peace with you, that I send you the book  several others, "The Ordination," a poem  on
I mentioned directly, rather than wait the un-  Mr. M'Kinlay's being called to Kilmarnock;
certain time of my seeing you.  I am  afraid I  "Scotch Drink," a poem; " The Cotter's Saturhave mislaid or lost Collins' Poems, which I  day Night;" "An Address to the Devil," &c. I
promised to Miss Irvin.  If I can find them, I  have  likewise completed  my poem  on  the
will forward them by you; if not, you must  "Dogs," but have not shown it to the world,
apologize for me.                                 My chief patron now is Mr. Aiken, in Ayr, who
I know you will laugh at it when I tell you  is pleased to express great approbation of my
that your piano and you together have played  works. Be so good as send me Fergusson, by




324                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
Connel, and I will remit you the money. I have  seeing you as you returned through Mauchline;
no news to acquaint you with about Mauchline,  but as I was engaged, I could not be in town
they are just going on in the old way.  I have  before the evening.
some very important news with respect to my-    I here enclose you my " Scotch Drink," and
self, not the most agreeable-news that I am   "may the-  follow with a blessing for your
sure you cannot guess, but I shall give you the  edification."  I hope, some time before we hear
particulars another time.  I am  extremely  the gowk, to have the pleasure of seeing you at
happy with Smith; he is the only friend I  Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a gill
have now in Mauchline. I can scarcely forgive  between us, in a mutchkin-stoup; which will be
your long neglect of me, and I beg you will let  a great comfort and consolation to,
me hear from  you regularly by Connel.  If                          Dear Sir,
you would act your part as a friend, I am sure                        Your humble servant,
neither good nor bad fortune should strange or                                 ROBT. BURNESS.
alter me. Excuse haste, as I got yours but
yesterday.
I am, my dear Sir,
Yours,                                    XV.
R. B.                  TO  MR. AIKEN.
[Robert Aiken, the gentleman to whom the " Cotter's
Saturday Night" is inscribed, is also introduced in the
XIII.
^^'~XIII.            " Brigs of Ayr." This is the last letter to which Burns
TO  M R. JTOHN'K ENNEDY,                 seems to have subscribed his name in the spelling of his
ancestors.]
DUMFRIES HOUSE.
Mossgiel, 3d April, 1786.
[Who the John Kennedy was to whom Burns addessed     DEAR SIR,
this note, enclosing " The Cotter's Saturday night," it is    I RECEIVED your kind letter with double pleanow, perhaps, vain to inquire: the Kennedy to whom          account of the second flattering inMr. Cobbett introduces us was a Thomas-perhaps a relation.]                                          stance of Mrs. C.'s notice and approbation, I
assure you I
Mossgiel, 3d March, 1786. 
SIR,                                                " Turn out the burnt side o' my shin,"
I HAVE done myself the pleasure of comply-  as the famous Ramsay, of jingling memory,
ing with your request in sending you my Cot-  says, at such a patroness.  Present her my
tager.-If you have a leisure minute, I should  most grateful acknowledgment in  your very
be glad you would copy it, and return me either best manner of telling truth. I have inscribed
the original or the transcript, as I have not a  the following stanza on the blank leaf of  iss
copy of it by me, and I have a friend who wishes  More's Work   2
to see it.                                          My proposals for publishing I am just going
" Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse."           to send to press. I expect to hear from you by
ROBT. BuRNESs.
R. BURNESS.    the first opportunity.
I am ever, dear Sir,
Yours,
XIV.                                                       ROBT. BURNESS.
TO  MR. ROBERT  MUIR,
KILMARNOCK.
[The Muirs-there were two brothers-were kind and                      XVI.
generous patrons of the poet. They subscribed for half-ahundred copies of the Kilmarnock edition of his works,      TO  MR. M' W H I N N I E,
and befriended him when friends were few.]
WRITER, AYR.
Mossgiel, 20th March, 1786.      [Mr. M'Whinnie obtained for Burns several subscrip- 
DEAR SIR,                                    tions for the first edition of his Poems, of which this note
I AM heartily sorry I had not the pleasure of  enclosed the proposals.]
1 Poem LXXV.                                  2 See Poem LXXVIII.
1.~~, ___________......... _ _ _.,N.A _.__..




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             325
Jfossgiel, 17th April, 1786.                       XVIII.
IT is injuring some hearts, those hearts that         TO  MON. JAM ES SMITH,
elegantly bear the impression of the good Cre~~.,.^.^ ~           MAUCHLINE.
ator, to say to them you give them the trouble
of obliging a friend; for this reason, I only tell   [James Smith, of whom Burns said he was small of
yo r. u.'      J.    stature, but large of soul, kept at that time a draper's
you that I gratify my own feelings in requestingine, and was comrade to the poet in 
shop in Mauchline, and was comrade to the poet in 
your friendly offices with respect to the en-  many a wild adventure.]
closed, because I know it will gratify yours to                        Mrn         oie,'~~ ^    " "                              S~~~~~2Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786.
assist me in it to the utmost of your power.
MY DEAR SIR,
I have sent you four copies, as I have no 
I hve sent you four co s, as I he no    I WENT to Dr. Douglas yesterday, fully reless than eight dozen, which is a great deal more     ed      e the opportunity of Captain Smith:
C,,solved to take the opportunity of Captain Smith:
than I shall ever need.
but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and Mrs.
e sure to remember a poor poet militant in  White, both Jamaicans, and they have deranged
your prayers.  He looks forward with fear and
yourprayers.  Heloksfmy plans altogether.  They assure him that to
trembling to that, to him, important moment  send me from Savannah la Mar to Port Antonio
which stamps the die with-with-with, perwhich stamps the die with —with —with, per-  will cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards
haps, the eternal disgrace of,
haps, the eternal disgrace of,                    o  fifty pounds; besides running the risk of
My dear Sir,                        throwing myself into a pleuritic fever, in conseYour humble,                   quence of hard travelling in the sun. On these
afflicted, tormented,
afflicte,  toen,    accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith,
ROBERT BURNS.
but a vessel sails from Greenock the first of September, right for the place of my destination.
The Captain of her is an intimate friend of Mr.
Gavin Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as heart
XviI.                        could wish: with him  I am  destined to go.
Where I shall shelter, I know not, but I hope to
TO  MR. JOHN K E N NE DY.                  weather the storm. Perish the drop of blood of.,~,,.   ^~.   ~mine that fears them! I know their worst, and
[" The small piece," the very last of his productions,                                      a
which the poet enclosed in this letter, was " The Moun-  am prepared to meet it;tain Daisy," called in the manuscript more properly       "I'lllaugh an' sing, an' shake my leg,
" The Gowan."]                                                             As lang's I dow."
|lossgiel, 20th April, 1786.     On Thursday morning, if you can muster as
I  ^~~~~~SIR,     ~much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven
IBy some neglect in Mr. Hamilton, I did not  o'clock, I shall see you, as I ride through to Cum -
hear of your kind request for a subscription  nock.  After all, Heven bless the sex! I feel
paper'till this day.  I will not attempt any acknowledgment for this, nor the manner in which.r' TIT  T ",..   " O woman, lovely woman! Heaven design'd you
I see your name in Mr. Hamilton's subscription  "0 woman, lovely woman! Heaven design'd you
~~I se yu nmei M.  ailonssuscTo temper man!-we had been brutes without you."l
list. Allow me only to say, Sir, I feel the weight                                        R. B.
of the debt. 
I have here like wise enclosed a small piece,
the very latest of my productions. I am a good                         XIX.
deal pleased with some sentiments myself, as
TO  MR. JOHN  KENNEDY.
they are just the native querulous feelings of
a heart, which, as the elegantly melting Gray    [Burns was busy in a two-fold sense at present: he
says, " melancholy has marked for her own."                  P
|says, " melancholy has marked for her own.''  wvas seeking patrons in every quarter for his contemOur race comes on a-pace; that much-ex-  plated volume, and he was composing for it some of his
Our race comes on a-pace; that much-ex-. ~.' -
1,'                most exquisite poetry.]
pected scene of revelry and mirth; but to me it
Mossgiel, 16 May, 1796.
brings no joy equal to that meeting with which                          Mossgiel, 16 May, 1796.
your last flattered the expectation of, 
your last fattered the expectation of,              I HAVE sent you the above hasty copy as I
Y Sou r, idbehmlsratpromised.  In about three or four weeks I shall
Your indebted humble servant,
R. B.               i Otway. Venice Preserved.




326                      GENERIAL CO  IRESPONDENCE
probably  set the press a-going.  I am  much   and farewell dear ungrateful Jean! for never
hurried at present, otherwise your diligence, so  never will I see you more.
very friendly in my subscription, should have a       You will have heard that I am going to commore lengthened acknowledgment from,                mence poet in print; and to morrow my works
Dear Sir,                 go to the press.  I expect it will be a volume of
Your obliged servant,            about two hundred pages-it is just the last
R. B.    foolish action I intend to do; and then turn a
wise man as fast as possible.
Believe me to be, dear Brice,
XX.                                        Your friend and well-wisher,
TO MR. DAVID BRICE.R. B.
[David Brice was a shoemaker, and shared with Smith
the confidence of the poet in his love affairs. He wasXXI
working in Glasgow when this letter was written.]
TO MR. ROBERT AIKEN.
Mossgiel, June 1i2, 176.
DEAR BRICE,                                      [This letter was written under great distress of mind.
I RECEIVED your message by G. Patterson, and   That separation which Burns records in " The Lamlentt,"
as I am not very throng at present, I just write  had, unhappily, taken place between him and Jean Arto let you know that there is such a Tvorthless,  mour, and it would appear, that for a time at least a
coldness ensued between the poet and the patron, occarhyming reprobate, as your humble servant,  sioned, it is conjectured, by that fruitful subject of sorstill in the land of the living, though I can  row and disquiet. The letter, I regret to say, is not
scarcely say, in the place of hope.  I have no  wholly here.]
news to tell you that will give me any pleasure                                  [.Ayrslire, 1786.]
to mention, or you to hear.                              SIR,
Poor ill-advised  ungrateful Armour came            I wYas with Wilsosn, my printer, t'other day,
home on Friday last.  You have heard all the  and settled all our by-gone matters between us.
particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is.  After I had paid lhim all demands, I made him
What she thinks of her conduct now, I don't  the offer of the second edition, on the hazard of
know; one thing I do know-she has made me  being paid out of the first and readiest, which
completely miserable.   Never man loved, or  he declines.  By his account, the paper of a
rather adored a woman more than I did her;  thousand copies would cost about twenty-seven
and, to confess a truth between you and me, I  pounds, and the printing about fifteen or sixdo still love her to distraction after all, though   teen: he offers to agree to this for the printing,
I won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I  if I will advance for the paper, but this, you
don't want to do.  My poor dear unfortunate  know, is out of my power; so farewell hopes of
Jean! how happy have I been in thy arms! It  a second edition till I grow  richer! an epoclha
is not the losing her that makes me so unhappy,  which I think will arrive at the payment of the
but for her sake I feel most severely: I fore-  British national debt.
see she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal    There is scarcely anything hurts me so much
ruin. *  * *  in being disappointed Of my second edition, as
May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude  not having it in my power to show my gratitude
and perjury to me, as I from my very soul for-  to Mr. Ballantyne, by publishing my poem  of
give her: and may his grace be with her and   " The Brigs of Ayr."  I would detest myself as
bless her in all her future life!  I can have no   a wretch, if I thought I were capable in a very
nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment  long life of forgetting the honest, warm, and
than what I have felt in my own breast on her  tender delicacy with which he enters into my
account.  I have tried often to forget her; I  interests.  I am sometimes pleased with myself
have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots,  in my greateful sensations; but I believe, on the
mason-meetings, drinking matches, and other  whole, I have very little merit in it, as miy gramischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in  titude is not a virtue, the consequcince of reflecvain.  And now for a grand cure; the ship is  tion; but sheerly the instinctive emotion of my
on her way home that is to take me out to  heart, too inattentive to allow worldly maxims
Jamaica; and then, farewell dear old Scotland!  and views to settle into selfish hab)its.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             327
I have been feeling all the various rotations  to me fully up to my deserts.  I was, for some
and movements within, respecting the excise.  time past, fast getting into the pining, distrust-'i here are many things plead strongly against  ful snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone,
it; the uncertainty of getting soon into business;  unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking at every
the consequences of my follies, which may per-  rising cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere
haps make it impracticable for me to stay at  of fortune, while all defenceless I looked about
home; and besides I have for some time been  in vain for a cover.  It never occurred to me,
pining under secret wretchedness, from  causes  at least never with the force it deserved, that
which you pretty well know-the pang of dis-  this world is a busy scene, and man, a creature
appointment, the sting of pride, with some wan-  destined for a progressive struggle; and that,
dering stabs of remorse, which never fail to set-  however I might possess a warm  heart and
tie on my vitals like vultures, when attention is  inoffensive manners (which last, by the by, was
not called-away by the calls of society, or the  rather more than I could well boast); still,
vagaries of the muse.  Even in the hour of so-  more than these passive qualities, there was
cial mirth, my gayety is the madness of an in-  something to be done.  When all my schooltoxicated criminal under the hands of the exe-  fellows and youthful compeers (those misguided
cutioner.  All these reasons urge me to go  few  excepted who joined, to use a Gentoo
abroad, and to all these reasons I have only  phrase, the "hallachores" of the human race)
one answer-the feelings of a father.  This, in  were striking off with eager hope and earnest
the present mood I am in, overbalances every-  intent, in some one or other of the many paths
thing that can be laid in the scale against it. * *  of busy life, I was "standing idle in the marketYou may perhaps think it an extravagant  place," or only left the chase of the butterfly
fancy, but it is a sentiment which strikes home  from flower to flower, to hunt fancy from whim
to my very soul: though sceptical in some  to whim. * * * *
points of our current belief, yet, I think, I have    You see, Sir, that if to know one's errors were
every evidence for the reality of a life beyond the  a probability of mending them, I stand a fair
stinted bourne of our present existence; if so,  chance: but according to the reverend Westthen, how should I, in the presence of that tre-  minster divines, though conviction must precede
mendous Being, the Author of existence, how   conversion, it is very far from  always implying
should I meet the reproaches of those who stand  it. * * * *                              R. B.
to me in the dear relation of children, whom I
deserted in the smiling innocency of helpless
infancy?  0, thou great unknown Power?-                              XXII.
thou almighty God! who has lighted up reason             TO  JOHN  RICHMOND,
in my breast, and blessed me with immortality!                     EDINB UIGH.
— I have frequently wandered from  that order
I have frequently wandered from  that order    [The minister who took upon him to pronounce Burns
and regularity necessary for the perfection of  a single man, as he intimates in this letter, was the Rev.
thy works, yet thou hast never left me nor for-  Mr. Auld, of Mauchline: that the law of the land and
saken me! * * * *                                the law of the church were at variance on the subject no
Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen  one can deny.]
something of the storm of mischief thickening                           llossyiel, 9th July, 1786.
over my folly-devoted head.  Should you, my           MY DEAR FRIEND,
friends, my benefactors, be successful in your    WITH the sincerest grief I read your letter.
applications for me, perhaps it may not be in  You are truly a son of misfortune.  I shall be
my power, in that way, to reap the fruit of your  extremely anxious to hear from you how your
frien Ily efforts. What I have written in the pre-  health goes on; if it is in any way re-estabceding pages, is the settled tenor of my present  lishing, or if Leith promises well; in short, how
resolution; but should inimical circumstances  you feel in the inner man.
forbid me closing with your kind offer, or enjoy-    No news worth anything: only godly Bryan
ing it only threaten to entail farther misery-    was in the inquisition yesterday, and half the
* * **                                              country-side as witnesses against him. He still
To tell the truth, I have little reason for com-  stands out steady and denying: but proof was
plaint; as the world, in general, has been kind  led yesternight of circumstances Lighly suspiL _   _____________                                       _________________________ ____~_ 




328                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
cious: almost de facto, one of the servant girls                  XXIV.
made faith that she upon a time rashly entered
the house-to speak in your cant, " in the hour         TO  MR. DAVID BRICE.
of cause."                                                 SHOEMAKER, GLASGOW.
I have waited on Armour since her return
home; not from any the least view of reconcili-   [The letters of Burns at this sad period of his life are
full of his private sorrows. Had Jean Armour been left
ation, but merely to ask for her health and-to  to the guidance of her own heart, the story of her early
you I will confess it-from a foolish hankering  years would have been brighter.]
fondness-very ill placed indeed.  The mother                                    
forbade me the house, nor did Jean show the,  t    y Pes
I HAVE been so throng printing my Poems~
penitence that might have been expected. Howthat I could scarcely find as much time as to
ever, the priest, I am informed, will give me as.''~~..'.      write to you. Poor Armour is come back again
certificate as a single man, if I comply with the.                   c,  a
to Mauchline, and I went to call for her, and
rules of the church, which for that very reason,         for 
I itntod.her mother forbade me the house, nor did she
I intend to do.,
herself express much sorrow for what she has
I am going to put on sack-cloth and ashes
done.  I have already appeared publicly in
this day. I am indulged so far as to appear in
church, and was indulged in the liberty of standmy own seat. Peccavi, pater, miserere met.  My
ing in my own seat. I do this to get a certibook will be ready in a fortnight.  If you have    e  s        elo   hich  r    ld has r
ficate as a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has proany subscribers, return them by Connel.  The 
mised me. I am now fixed to go for the West
Lord stand with the righteous: amen, amen..   Indies in October. Jean and her friends insisted
much that she should stand along with me in the
kirk, but the minister would not allow it, which
bred a great trouble I assure you, and I am
XXIII.                       blamed as the cause of it, though I am sure I
TO  JOHN  BALLANTYNE,                     am  innocent; but I am very much pleased, for
all that, not to have had her company. I have
OF AYR.                      no news to tell you that I remember.  I am
[There is a plain account in this letter of the destruction  really happy to hear of your welfare, and that
of the lines of marriage which united, as far as a civil  you are so well in Glasgow. I must certainly
contract in a manner civil can, the poet and Jean Ar-  see you before I leave the country. I shall exmour. Aiken was consulted, and in consequence of his  pect to hear from you soon and am
advice, the certificate of marriage was destroyed.]                            
Dear Brice,
HONOURED SIR,                                                            Yours,-R. B.
MY proposals came to hand last night, and
knowing that you would wish to have it in your
power to do me a service as early as anybody,
I enclose you half a sheet of them. I must                         XXV.
consult you, first opportunity, on the propriety
of sending my quondam  friend, Mr. Aiken, a          TO  M. JOHN  RIC MOND.
copy. If he is now reconciled to my character   [When this letter was written the poet was skuking
as an honest man, I would do it with all my  from place to place: the merciless pack of the law had
been uncoupled at his heels. Mr. Armour did not wish to
soul; but I would not be beholden to the noblest  beenuncoupledathisheels.  r.Armourdidnotish
imprison, but to drive him from the country.]
being ever God created, if he imagined me to be
a rascal.  Apropos, old Mr. Armour prevailed               Old Rome Forest, 30th July, 1786.
with him to mutilate that unlucky paper yester-     MY DEAR RICHMOND,
day.  Would you believe it? though I had not    MY hour is now come-you and I will never
a hope, nor even a wish, to make her mine after  meet in Britain more.  I have orders within
her conduct; yet, when he told me the names  three weeks at farthest, to repair aboard the
were all out of the paper, my heart died within  Nancy, Captain Smith, from Clyde to Jamaica,
me, and he cut my veins with the news. Per-  and call at Antigua. This, except to our friend
dition seize her falsehood!                     Smith, whom God long preserve, is a secret
R. B.    about Mauchline. Would you believe it? Ar




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            -329
mour has got a warrant to throw me in jail till  part of next week, you shall be troubled with a
I find security for an enormous sum. This they  visit from,
keep an entire secret, but I got it by a channel                  My dear Sir,
they little dream of; and I am wandering from                          Your most devoted,
one friend's house to another, and, like a true                                           R. B.
son of the gospel, "have nowhere to lay my
head."  I know you will pour an execration on
her head, but spare the poor, ill-advised girl,                       XXVII.
for my sake; though may all the furies that
rend the injured, enraged lover's bosom, await               TO  MRS. DUNLOP,
her mother until her latest hour! I write in a                     OF DUNLOP.
moment of rage, reflecting on my miserable
moment of rage, reflecting on my miserae    [Mrs. Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the
situation-exiled, abandoned, forlorn.  I can  Wallaces in her veins: though she disliked the irreguwrite no more-let me hear from you by the  larities of the poet, she scorned to get into a fine moral
return of coach.. I will write you ere I go.      passion about follies which could not be helped, and con
I am dear Sir,                        tinued her friendship to the last of his life.]
Yours, here and hereafter,                                      Ayrshire, 1786.
R. B.          MADAM,
I AM truly sorry I was not at home yesterday,
when I was so much honoured with your order
for my copies, and incomparably more by the
XXVI.                         handsome compliments you are pleased to pay
TO  MR. ROBERT  M UIR,                     my poetic abilities.  I am fully persuaded that
there is not any class of mankind so feelingly
KILMARNOCK.                       alive to the titillations of applause as the sons
of Parnassus:  nor is it easy to conceive how
[Burns never tried to conceal either his joys or his sorrows: he sent copies of his favourite pieces, and intima-  the heart of the poor bard dances with rapture,
tions of much that befel him to his chief friends and corn-  when those, whose character in life gives them
rades-this brief note was made to carry double.]  a right to be polite judges, honour him with
ossi, P y      their approbation.  Had you been thoroughly
Mossgiel, Friday noon.
acquainted with me, Madam, you could not
MY FRIEND, MY BROTHER, 
Mv FRIEND, MY BROTHER,           have touched my darling heart-chord  more
WARM recollection of an absent friend presses      e tl.ig                 
so h p h t ssweetly than by noticing my attempts to celeso hard upon my heart, that I send him  the
soerd u l m heCar), th at sed    the'brate your illustrious ancestor, the Saviour of
prefixed bagatelle (the Calf), pleased with the  his Country.
thought that it will greet the man of my bosom,
C~ Great patriot hero! ill-requited chief!"'
and be a kind of distant language of friend-             Great patriot hero ill-requited chief
ship.                                               The first book I met with in my early years,
You will have heard that poor Armour has  which I perused with pleasure, was, "The Life
repaid me double.  A very fine boy and a girl  of Hannibal;" the next was, "The History of
have awakened a thought and feelings that thrill,  Sir William Wallace:" for several of my earlier
some with tender pressure and some with fore-  years I had few other authors;. and many a
boding anguish, through my soul.                  solitary hour have I stole out, after the laboriThe poem was nearly an extemporaneous pro-  ous vocations of the day, to shed a tear over
duction, on a wager with Mr. Hamilton, that I  their glorious, but unfortunate stories. In those
would not produce a poem on the subject in a  boyish days I remember, in particular, being
given time.                                       struck with that part of Wallace's story where
If you think it worth while, read it to Charles  these lines occurand Mr. W. Parker, and if they choose a copy," Syne to the Leglen wood. when it was late,
of it, it is at their service, as they are men         To make a silent and a safe retreat."
whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, both
in this world and that which is to come.            I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day
in this world and that which is to come. 
Til i~.'l.    my line of life allowed, and walked half a dozen
I believe all hopes of staying at home will be 
abortive. but more of this when, in the latter                       I Thomson.




330                      GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen wood,  Burness, when the bard modified it into Burns: the name,
with as much devout enthusiasm  as ever pil-now a rising  one in India, is spelt Burnes.]
grim did to Loretto; and, as I explored every              llossgiel, Tuesday noon, Sept. 26, 1786.
den and dell where I could suppose my heroic              JY DEAR SIR
countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even      I TIIS moment receive yours-receive it with
then I was a rhymer) that my heart glowed  the honest hospitable warmth  of a friend's
with a wish to be able to make a song on him   welcome. Whatever comes from you wakens lin some measure equal to his merits.                ways up the better blood about my heart, which
R. B.    your kind little recollections of my parental
friends carries as far as it will go.'Tis there
that man is blest!'Tis there, my friend, man
XXVIII.                         feels a consciousness of something within him
above the trodden clod!  The grateful reveTO  MR. JO HN  K E N NEDY.                   rence to the hoary (earthly) author of his being
[It is a curious chapter in the life of Burns to count    the burning glow when he clasps the woman
the number of letters which le wrote, the number of fine  of his soul to his bosom-the tender yearnings
poems he composed, and the number of places which he  of heart for the little angels to whom  he has
visited in the unhappy summer and autumn of 1756.]  given existence-these nature has poured in
Kilmarnock, August, 1786.    milky streams about the human heart; and the
MY DEAR SIR,                                   man who never rouses them to action, by the
YOUR truly facetious epistle of the 3d inst.  inspiring influences of their proper objects,
gave me much entertainment.  I was sorry I  loses by far the most pleasurable part of his
had not the pleasure of seeing you as I passed   existence.
your way, but we shall bring up all our lee way       My departure is uncertain, but I do not think
otn Wednesday, the 16th current, when I hope  it will be till after harvest.  I will be on very
to have it in my power to call on you and take   short allowance of time indeed, if I do not corna kind, very probably a lst adieu, before I go  ply with your friendly invitation. When it will
for Jamaica; and I expect orders to repair to  be I don't know, but if I can make my wiilt
Greenock every day-I have at last made my  good, I will endeavour to drop you a line some
public appearance, and am  solemnly inaugu-                                    compliments to   rs.
rated into the numerous class.-Could I have                I should [be] equally mortified should I
got a carrier, you should have had a score of  drop in when she is abroad, but of that I supvouchers for my authorship; but now you have  pose  there is little chance.
them, let them speak for themselves.-~
them, let them speak for themselves.-                 What I have wrote heaven knows; I have not
time to review it; so accept of it in the beaten
Farewell, my dear friend! may guid luck hit  way of friendship.  With the ordinary phrase
you,                                         -perhaps rather more than the ordinary sinAnd'mang her favourites admit you!                 cerity,
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,                                  I am, dear Sir,
May nane believe him!'            Ever yours,
And ony de'il that thinks to get you,                                                         R. B.
Good Lord deceive him.
R. B.
XXX.
XXIX.
XXIX.                                 TO  MISS ALEXANDER.
[This letter, Robert Chambers says, concluded with
TO  MBR. JAMES BURNESS,                       requesting Miss Alexander to allow the poet to print the
M O N T RO SE.                   song which it enclosed, in a second edition of his Poems.
Her neglect in not replying to this request is a very good
[The good and generous James Burness, of Montrose,  poetic reason for his wrath. Many of Burns's letters
was ever ready to rejoice with his cousin's success or  have been printed, it is right to say, from the rough 
sympathize with his sorrows, but he did not like the  drafts found among the poet's papers at his death. Tiis
change which came over the old northern surname of   is one.] 




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            331
Mossgiel, 18th Nov. 1786.      The enclosed song was the work of my return
MADAM,                                      home: and perhaps it but poorly answers what
POETS are such outr6 beings, so much the  might have been expected from such a scene.
children of wayward fancy and capricious whim,           I have the honour to be,
that I believe the world generally allows them a                  Madam,
larger latitude in the laws of propriety, than the           Your most obedient and very
sober sons of judgment and prudence.  I men-                          humble Servant,
tion this as an apology for the liberties that a                                      R. B
nameless stranger has taken with you in the enclosed poem, which he begs leave to present you
with.  Whether it has poetical merit any way
worthy of the theme, I am not the proper judge;                     XXXI
but it is the best my abilities can produce; and          TO  MRS. STEWART,
what to a good heart will, perhaps, be a superior
grace, it is equally sincere as fervent.                     OF STAIR AND AFTN.
The scenery was nearly taken from real life,   [Mrs. Stewart. of Stair and Afton, was the first person
though I dare say, Madam, you do not recollect  of note in the West who had the taste to see and feel the
it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the poetic  genius of Burns. He used to relate how his heart fluti lls he wandered byyou.tered when he first walked into the parlour of the towers
reveur as he wandered by you. I had roved out
r as he w r.     hd  of Stair, to hear that lady's opinion of some of his songs.]
as chance directed, in the favourite haunts of
my muse on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature                                      [1786.]
in all the gayety of the vernal year. The even-      MADAM,
ing sun was flaming over the distant western    T                            ats for   in
hills; not a breath stirred the crimson opening  abroad  as hindered me from perforing my
blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It ws promise so soon as I intended. I have here sent
blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It was
a golden moment for a poetic heart.  I listened, &., w h n r 
to the feathered warblers, pouring their har-  their appearace, except to a friend or to at
mony on every hand, with a congenial kindred             Peaps some of them may be no great
regard, and frequently turned out of my path,  entertainment to you, but of that I am far from
being an adenquate  judge. The song to the tune
lest I should disturb  their little  songs, or                     j. Te sg t t 
frighten them to another station.  Surely, said  of "Ettrick Banl:s  [The bonnie lass of Ballochmyle] you will easily see the impropriety
I to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who,  lomyle  you will easily see the impropriety
regardless of your harmonious endeavr      of exposing much, even in manuscript. I think,
regardless of your harmonious endeavour to. 
nl!              elusPive flig.hts  to dis-.a.,.   myself, it has some merit: both as a tolerable
please him, can eye your elusive flights to displease himursecr c   reyesyou  n  tdescription of one of nature's sweetest scenes,
cover your secret recesses, and to rob you of
a July evening, and one of the finest pieces of
all the property nature gives you-your dearest  al          i            
~.., T.T~~~~~ -vi   ^1 nature's workmanship, the finest indeed we
comforts, your helpless nestlings.  Even the                             
hoar n tg tt st a s te w,  know anything of, an amiable, beautiful young
hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, 
woman I but I have no common friend to prowhat heart at such a time but must have been        man
interested in its welfare, and wished it preserved cure me that permission, without which I would
not dare to spread the copy.
from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the wither-                re 
ing eastern blast?  Such was the scene,-an  I am quite aware, Madam, what task the world
ingr eastern blast?  Such was the scene,-and   
ZD,       would assign me in this letter.  The obscure
such the hour, when, in a corner of my prospect,    o       n me    ths letter.  Te oscure
I spied one of the fairest pieces of nture's bard, when any of the great condescend to tlake
I spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's 
workmanship that ever crowned a poetic land-                                              t  i
i workmanship that ever crowned at poetic land-  notice of him, should heap the altar with the inscape or met a poet's eye, those visionary bards   ene of   ttery.  Their high ancestry, their
excepted, who hold commerce with aerial beings!  own great and god-like qualities and actions,
Had Calumny and Villany taken my walk, they   hould be recounted with the most exageated
had at that moment sworn eternal peace with  description.  This, Madam, is a task for which
~such ia~~n ~object.                I am altogether unfit. Besides a certain disqualiconnexions in lifeart, and have no access to where
What an hour of inspiration for a poet! It  fn  Pride of heart, I know nothing of your
would have raised plain dull historic prose into  connexios in lie, and hve no   cess to  here
metaphor measure.                                               1 Miss Alexander




332                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
your real character is to be found-the company  after having caused him to kindle a fire at the
of your compeers: and more, I am afraid that  Cross of Ayr, ye shall, at noontide of the day,
even the most refined adulation is by no means  put into the said wretch's merciless hands the
the road to your good opinion.                    said copy of the said nefarious and wicked
One feature of your character I shall ever with  song, to be consumed by fire in the presence of
grateful pleasure remember;-the reception I  all beholders, in abhorrence of, and terrorem
got when I had the honour of waiting on you at  to, all such compositions and composers.  And
Stair.  I am little acquainted with politeness,  this in nowise leave ye undone, but have it exebut I know a good deal of benevolence of tem-  cuted in every point as this our mandate bears,
fer and goodness of heart.  Surely did those in  before the twenty-fourth current, when in perexalted stations know  how  happy they could  son We hope to applaud your faithfulness and
make some classes of their inferiors by conde-  zeal.
scension and affability, they would never stand      Given at Mauchline this twentieth day of Noso high, measuring out with every look the height  vember, Anno Domini one thousand seven hunof their elevation, but condescend as sweetly as  dred and eighty-six.
did Mrs. Stewart of Stair.                           God save the Bard!
R. B.
XXXII.                                             XXXIII.
IN THE NAME OF THE NINE. AMEN.                         TO MR. ROBERT MUIR.
[The song or ballad which one of the "Deil'syeld   [The expedition to Edinburgh, to which this short
Nowte" was commanded to burn, was " Holy Willie's  letter alludes, was undertaken, it is needless to say, in
Prayer," it is believed. Currie interprets the'Deil's yeld  consequence of a warm and generous commendation of
Nowte," to mean old bachelors, which, if right, points  the genius of Burns written by Dr. Blacklock, to the
to some other of his compositions, for purgation by fire.  Rev. Mr. Lawrie, and communicated by Gavin Hamilton
Gilbert Burns says it is a scoffing appellation sometimes  to the poet, when he was on the wing for the WVest
given to sheriffs' officers and other executors of the law.]  Indies.]
WE, Robert Burns, by virtue of a warrant from                       Mossgiel, 18th Nov., 1786.
MY DEAR Sin,
Nature, bearing date the twenty-fifth day of                                 m                   -,   ~ ~ ~~..  "ENCLOSED you have " Tam Samson," as I inJanuary, Anno  Domini one thousand  seven,
January,.Anno  Domini  one  thousand seven tend   to   print  him.  I   am    thinking   for  my   Edinhundred and fifty-nine,  Poet Laureat, and Bard                   i.    o  a                 c.    ~.  ~.  ^ A'.'.  3'.      burgh expedition on Monday or Tuesday, come
in Chief, in and over the districts and countries      g,           
of Kyle, Cunningham an  Carrick, of olext se'ennight, for pos.  I will see you on Tuesday
of Kyle, Cunningham, and Carrick, of old extent, first.
To our trusty and well-beloved William  Chal-                   am ever
mers and John M'Adam, students and practi-                          Your much indebted
tioners in the ancient and mysterious science of                                           R. B..confounding right and wrong.
RIGHT TRUSTY:
Be it known unto you that whereas in the                            XXXIV.
course of our care and watchings over the order
and police of all and sundry the manufacturers,             TO D R. MA C K E N ZIE,
retainers, and venders of poesy; bards, poets,                     MAUCHLINE;
poetasters, rhymers, jinglers, songsters, ballad-   ENCLOSING THE VERSES ON DINING WITH LORD DAER.
singers, &c. &c. &c. &c., male and female -         [To the kind and venerable Dr. Mackenzie, the poet
We have discovered a certain nefarious, abo-  was indebted for some valuable friendships, and his hiominable, and wicked song or ballad, a copy  graphers for some valuable information respecting the
early days of Burns.]
whereof We have  here enclosed; Our Will 
therefore is, that Ye pitch upon and appoint                                 Wednesday Morning.
the most execrable individual of that most exe-        DEAR SIR,
crable species, known by the appellation, phrase,    I NEVER spent an afternoon among great folks
and nick-name of The Deil's Yeld Nowte: and  with half that pleasure as   hen, in company
with you, I had the honour of paying my dei His birth-day.                 voirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, the




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         333
professor. [Dugald Stewart.]  I would be de-  one and all, subscribe for the second edition.- 
lighted to see him perform acts of kindness and  My subscription bills come out to-morrow, and
friendship, though I were not the object; he  you shall have some of them next post.-I have
does it with such a grace. I think his charac-  met, in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, what
ter, divided into ten parts, stands thus-four  Solomon emphatically calls "a friend that stickparts Socrates-four parts Nathaniel-and two  eth closer than a brother."-The warmth with
parts Shakspeare's Brutus.                     which he interests himself in my affairs is of
The foregoing verses were really extempore,  the same enthusiastic kind which you, Mr Aiken,
but a little corrected since.  They may enter-  and the few patrons that took notice of my
tain you a little with the help of that partiality  earlier poetic days, showed for the poor unlucky
with which you are so good as to favour the  devil of a poet.
performances of,                                 I always remember Mrs. Hamilton and Miss
Dear Sir,                     Kennedy in my poetic prayers, but you both in
/     Your very humble servant,        prose and verse.
R. B.
May cauld ne'er catch you but a hap,
Nor hunger but in plenty's lap!
XXXV.                                          Amen 
R. B.
TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON, ESQ.,
MAUC HL INE.
XXXVI.
[From Gavin Hamilton Burns and his brother took the
farm of Mossgiel: the landlord was not slow in perceiv-    TO  JOHN  EALLANTYNE, ESQ.,
ing the genius of Robert: he had him frequently at his
table, and the poet repaid this notice by verse not likely    BANKER, AYR.
soon to die.]                                    [This is the second letter which Burns wrote, after his
Edlinburgh, De>.,il, 1786.    arrival in Edinburgh, and it is remarkable because it disH ON OURED. Stinctly imputes his introduction to the Earl of Glencairn,
HONOURED SIR,                             to Dalrymple, of Orangefield: though he elsewhere says
I HAVE paid every attention to your corm-  this was done by Mr. Dalzell;-perhaps both those genmands, but can only say what perhaps you will  tlemen had a hand in this good deed.]
have heard before this reach you, that Muir-                     Edinburgh 13th Dec. 1786.
kirklands were bought by a John Gordon, W.         Mv HONOURED FRIEND,
S., but for whom I know  not; Mauchlands,    I WOULD not write you till I could have it in my
I Haugh, Miln, &c., by a Frederick Fothering-  power to give you some account of myself and my
ham, supposed to be for Ballochmyle Laird, and  matters, which, by the by, is often no easy task.
Adamhill and Shawood were bought for Oswald's       arrived here on Tuesday was se'ennight, and
folks.-This is so imperfect an account, and  have suffered ever since I came to town with a
will be so late ere it reach you, that were it not miserable headache and  stomach complaint, 
to discharge my conscience I would not trouble  but am now a good deal better-I have found a
you with it; but after all my diligence I could  worthywarm friend in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orange
make it no sooner nor better.                  field, who introduced me to Lord Glencairn,
For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of be-  a man whose worth and brotherly kindness to
coming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John  me, I shall remember when time shall be no
Bunyan; and you may expect henceforth to see  more.-By his interest it is passed in the " Calemy birth-day inserted among the wonderful  donian Hunt," and entered in their books, that
events, in the Poor Robin's and Aberdeen Alma-  they are to take each a copy of the second edinacks, along with the Black Monday, and the  tion, for which they are to pay one guinea
battle of Bothwell bridge.-My Lord Glencairn  I have been introduced to a good many of the
and the Dean of Faculty, Mr. H. Erskine, have  noblesse, but my avowed patrons and patronesses
taken me under their wing; and by all proba- e the Duchess of Gordonthe Countess of
bility I shall soon be the tenth worthy, and   lencairn, with my Lord, and Lady Betty- 
the eighth wise manin the world. Through my         ean of Faculty-Sir John Thitefoordlord's influence it is inserted in the records
of the Caledonian Hunt, that they universally,            i Lady Betty Cunningham.




334                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
have likewise warm friends among the literati;  na ken wha was the father exactly, but she
Professors Stewart, Blair, and Mr. Mackenzie-   suspected it was some o' the bonny blackguard
the Man of Feeling.-An unknown hand left ten  smugglers, for it was like them."  So I only
guineas for the Ayrshire bard with Mr. Sibbald,  say your obliging epistle was like you.  I enwhich I got.-I since have discovered my gene-  close you a parcel of subscription bills.  Your
rous unknown friend to be Patrick Miller, Esq.,  affair of sixty copies is also like you; but it
brother to the Justice Clerk; and drank a glass  would not be like me to comply.
of claret with him, by invitation, at his own        Your friend's notion of my life has put a
house, yesternight.  I am nearly agreed' with  crotchet in my head of sketching it in some
Creech to print my book, and I suppose I will  future  epistle to  you.  My compliments to
begin on Monday.  I will send a subscription  Charles and Mr. Parker.                      R. B.
bill or two, nest post; when I intend writing
my first kind patron, Mr. Aiken.  I saw his son                  _
to-day, and he is very well.
Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned
friends, put me in the periodical paper, called                      XXXVIII.
The Lounger,' a copy of which I here enclose         TO    R. WILLIAM   CHALMERS
you.-I was, Sir, when I was first honoured
with your notice, too obscure; now I tremble                       WRITER, AYR.
lest I should be ruined by being dragged too         William  Chalmers drew out the assignment of the
suddenly into the glare of polite and learned   copyright of Burns's Poems, in favour of his brother
observation.                                      Gilbert, and for the maintenance of his natural child,
I shall certainly, my ever honoured patron,  when engaged to go to the West Indies, in the autumn
write you an account of my every step; and  of 186.]
better health and more spirits may enable me                          Edinburgh, Dec. 27, 1786.
to make it something better than this stupid           MY DEAR FRIEND,
matter-of-fact epistle.                             I CONFESS I have sinned the sin for which
I have the honour to be,                      there is hardly any forgiveness-ingratitude to
Good Sir,                  friendship-in not writing you sooner; but of
Your ever grateful humble servant,          all men living, I had intended to have sent you
R. B.    an entertaining letter; and by all the plodding,
stupid powers, that in nodding, conceited maIf any of my friends write me, my direction..'
If any of my fries w e me, my       jesty, preside over the dull routine of business
is, care of Mr. Creech, bookseller.
is, careofMr.Crc, bo.              -a heavily solemn oath this!-I am, and have
been, ever since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit
to write a letter of humour, as to write a commentary on the Revelation of St. John the DiXXXVII.                        vine, who was banished to the Isle of Patmos,
by the cruel and bloody Domitian, son to VesTO MR. ROBERT M IUUIR.
TO  MR. ROBERT MUIR.              pasian and brother to Titus, both emperors of
[":Muir, thy weaknesses," says Burns, writing of this  Rome, and who was himself an emperor, and
gentleman to Mrs. Dunlop, "thy weaknesses were the  raised the second or third persecution, I forget
aberrations of hunan nature; but thy heart glowed with  which against the Christians, and after throweverything generous, manly, and noble: and if ever 
snaon  from the All-good Being animated a human   ing the said Apostle John, brother to the Apostle
smna"';ion from the All-good Being animated a human
forn-';was thine.                                James, commonly called James the Greater, to
Edinburgh, Dec. 20th, 1786.    distinguish him from  another James, who was,
Edinburgh, Dec. 20th, 1786.
M  DEA  FR,     on some account or other, known by the name
MY DEAR FRIEND,
MY HAVD.E  FRID te fr             of James the Less-after throwing him into a
I HAVE just time for the carrier, to tell you
IAi, to tl yo   cauldron of boiling oil, from which he was mithat I received your letter; of which I shallhe p     mo,,,    ^    ~  raculously preserved, he banished the poor.on
may no more but what a lass of my acquaintance.say o mor buta what a lsso myaaintance di   of Zebedee to a desert island in the Archipelago,
said of her bastard wean; she said she " did 
said of___        where he was gifted with the second sight, and
I Thb  paper here alluded to, was written by Mr. Mac-  saw as many wild beasts as I have seen since I
kenzie, the celebrated author of " The Man of Feeling."  came to Edinburgh; which, a circumstance not... —1.. — ~ —- ------  - -----------                                                 --- ~ — ~ — ~




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              335
very uncommon in story-telling, brings me back  From  the emotions of my inmost soul I do it.
to where I set out.                               Selfish ingratitude I hope I am  incapable of;
To make you some amends for what, before  and mercenary servility, I trust, I shall ever
you reach this paragraph, you will have suffered,  have so much honest pride as to detest.
I enclose you two poems I have carded and spun                                            R. B.
since I past Glenbuck.
One blank in the address to Edinburgh" Fair B-," is heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have                              XL.
had the honour to be more than once. There             TO  MR. GAVIN  HAMILTON.
has not been anything nearly like her in all the
os.hnatbn   y beau y g e n a g e    [This letter was first published by Robert Chambers,
combinations  of beauty, grace, and goodness
cs of b, g, ad    who considered it as closing the inquiry, "was Burns
the great Creator has formed since Milton's Eve  a married man?" No doubt Burns thought himself unon the first day of her existence.                married, and the Rev. Mr. Auld was of the same opinion,
MIy direction is-care of Andrew Bruce, mer-  since he offered him a certificate that he was single: but
no opinion of priest or lawyer, including the disclamachant, Bridge-street.                   R. B~
chant, Bridge-street.      I. B.    tion of Jean Armour, and the belief of Burns. could have,
in my opinion, barred the claim of the children to full
legitimacy, according to the law of Scotland.]
Edinburgh, Jan. 7, 1787.
To tell the truth among friends, I feel a miXXXIX.                        serable blank in my heart, with the want of her,
TO  THE  EARL  OF EGLINTOUN.   and I don't think I shall ever meet with so delicious an armful again.  She has her faults;
[Archibald Montgomery, eleventh Earl of Eglinton,  and so have you and I  and so has everybody:
a.nd Colonel Hugh Montgomery, of Coilsfield, who sueceed his brother in his titles and estates, were patrons,    Their tricks and craft hae put me daft;
and kind ones, of Burns.]
and ind one, of urn]            They've ta'en me in and a' that;
Edinburgh, January 1787.        But clear your decks, and here's the sex,
MIY LORD,                                         I like the jads for a' that.
As I have but slender pretensions to philoso,-         For a' that and a' that
phy, I cannot rise to the exalted ideas of a citi-       And twice as muckle's a' that.
zen of the world, but have all those national
prejudices, which I believe glow peculiarly
stvrong in the breast of a Scotchman.  There is    I have met with a very pretty girl, a Lothian
scarcely anything to which I am  so feelingly  farmer's daughter, whom  I have almost peralive as the honour and welfare of my country:  suaded to accompany me to the west country,
and, as a poet, I have no higher enjoyment than  should I ever return to settle there.  By the
singing her sons and daughters. Fate had cast  bye, a Lothian farmer is about an Ayrshire
my station in the veriest shades of life; but  squire of the lower kind; and I had a most denever did a heart pant more ardently than  licious ride from Leith to her house yesternight,
mine to be distinguished; though, till very  in a hackney-coach with her brother and two
lately, I looked in vain on every side for a ray  sisters, and brother's wife.  We had dined altoof light.  It is easy then to guess how much I  gether at a common friend's house in Leith, and
was gratified with the countenance and appro-  danced, drank, and sang till late enough.  The
bation of one of my country's most illustrious  night was dark, the claret had been good, and
sons, when Mr. Wauchope called on me yester-  I thirsty. * * * * *                        R. B.
day on the part of your lordship. Your munificence, my lord, certainly deserves my very
grateful acknowledgments;  but your patronage is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feel-                          XLI.
ings. I am not master enough of the etiquette
of life to know, whether there be not some im-       TO JOHN  BALLANTYNE, ESQ.
propriety in troubling your lordship with my    [This letter contains the first intimation that the poet
thanks, lot nmy heart whispered me to do it.  desired to resume the labours of the farmer. The old




[ 36Q                  GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
saw of "Willie Gaw's Skate," he picked up from his                  XLII.
mother, who had a vast collection of such sayings.]
TO JOHN BALLANTYNE.
Edinburgh, Jan. 14, 1787.
MY HONOURED FRIEND,                          [I have not hesitated to insert all letters which show
what Burns was musing on as a poet, or planning as a
IT gives me a secret comfort to observe in  m
man.]
myself that I am not yet so far gone as Willie
Gaw's Skate, "past redemption;" for I have                                January-, 1787.
still this favourable symptom  of grace, that    WHILE here I sit, sad and solitary by the side
when my conscience, as in the case of this  of a fire in a little country inn, and drying my
letter, tells me I am leaving something undone  wet clothes, in pops a poor fellow of sodger, and
that I ought to do, it teases me eternally till I  tells me he is going to Ayr. By heavens! say I
do it.                                         to myself, with a tide of good spirits which the
I am still " dark as was Chaos"' in respect to  magic of that sound, Auld Toon o' Ayr, conjured
futurity.  My generous friend, Mr. Patrick  up, I will sent my last song to Mr. Ballantyne.
Miller, has been talking with me about a lease  Here it isof some farm or other in an estate called Dal-        Y  f r                     
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
swinton, which he has lately bought, near Dum-,'~~                                ~,"~~~~~ ~How can ye blume sae fair;
fries.  Some life-rented embittering recollec-,,
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
tions whisper me that I will be happier anywhere        And I sae fu' o' care
And I sae fu' o' care!2
than in my old neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller
is no judge of land; and though I dare say he
means to favour me, yet he may give me, in his
opinion, an advantageous bargain that may ruin
me.  I am  to take a tour by Dumfries as I                         XLIII.
return, and have promised to meet Mr. Miller              TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
on his lands some time in May.
I went to a mason-lodge yesternight, where   [The friendship of Mrs. Dunlop purified, while it
the most Worshipful Grand Master Chrters,  strengthened the national prejudices of Burns.]
the most Worshipful Grand Master Charters,
and all the Grand Lodge of Scotland visited.                 Edinburgh, 15th January, 1787.
The meeting was numerous and elegant; all the       MADAM,
different lodges about town were present, in all    YouRS of the 9th current, which I am this
their pomp.  The Grand Master, who presided  moment honoured with, is a deep reproach to
with great solemnity and honour to himself as  me for ungrateful neglect.  I will tell you the
a gentleman and mason, among other general  real truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib
toasts, gave " Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard,  -I wished to have written to Dr. Moore before
Brother Burns," which rung through th whwhole  I wrote to you; but though every day since I
assembly with multiplied honours and repeated  received yours of December 30th, the idea, the
acclamations. As I had no idea such a thing  wish to write to him has constantly pressed on
would happen, I was downright thunderstruck,  my thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set
and, trembling in every nerve, made the best  about it.  I know his fame and character, and
return in my power.  Just as I had finished,  I am one of "the sons of little men."  To write
some of the grand officers said, so loud that I  him  a mere matter-of-fact affair, like a mercould hear, with a most comforting accent,  chant's order, would be disgracing the little
"Very well indeed!" which set me something  character I have; and to write the author of
to rights again.                                "The View of Society and Manners" a letter
I have to-day corrected my 152d page.  My  of sentiment-I declare every artery runs cold
best good wishes to Mr. Aiken.                  at the thought. I shall try, however, to write
I am ever,                   to him to-morrow or next day.  His kind interDear Sir,                 position in my behalf I have already experienced,
Your much indebted humble servant,         as a gentleman waited on me the other day, on
R. B.    the part of Lord Eglintoun, with ten guineas, by
1 See Blair's Grave. This was a favourite quotation           2 Song CXXXI.
with Burns. 




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           337
way of subscription for two copies of my next  all the tenaciousness of property.  I mention
edition.                                        this to you once for all to disburthen my mind,
The word you object to in the mention I have  and I do not wish to hear or say more about
made of my glorious countryman and your im-  it. —But,
mortal ancestor, is indeed borrowed from Thom-       " when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,"
son; but it does not strike me as an improper  you  ill bear  e witess, that when my bubble
epithet. I distrusted my own judgment onyour  of fame was at the highest, I stood unintoxi- 
finding fault with it, and applied for the opinion  cte  wit  the inebiating cup in my hand,
of some of the literati here, who honour me  looking forward with rueful resolve  to the
with their critical strictures, and they all allow   hastening time, when the blow  of Calumny
it to be proper.  The song you ask I cannot rc-  should dash it to the ground with all the eagercollect, and I have not a copy of it. I have not  ness of vengeful triumpl.
composed anything on the great Wallace, except    Your patronizing me and interesting yourself
what you have seen in print; and the enclosed,  in my fame and character as a poet, I rejoice
which I will print in this edition.  You will see  in; it exalts me in my own idea; and whether
I have mentioned some others of the name.                                                  hth
I have mentioned some others of the name.  you can or cannot aid me in my subscription is
When I composed my "Vision" long ago, I had  a trie.  Hs a paltry subscription-ill any
attempted a description of Koyle, of which the  charms to the heart of a bard, compared with
additional stanzas are a part, as it originally  the patronage of the descendant of the immortal
stood.  My heart glows with a wish to be able  Wallace?                                 I. B.
to do justice to the merits of the "Saviour of
his Country," which sooner or later I shall at
least attempt.
You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with
my prosperity as a poet; alas! Madam, I know                 TO DR. MOORE.
myself and the world too well. I do not mean
s of afectd  oe     I a  w        [Dr. Moore, the accomplished author of Zeluco and
any airs of affected modesty; I am willing to  father of Sir John Moore, interested himself in the fame
believe that my abilities deserve some notice;  and fortune of Burns, as soon as the pulblication of his
but in a most enlightened, informed age and  Poems made his name known to the world.]
nation, when poetry is and has been the study                          Edinburgh, Jan. 1787.
of men of the first natural genius, aided with all   SIn,
the powers of polite learning, polite books, and   Mlrs. DUNLOP has been so kind as to send me
polite company-to be dragged forth to the full  extracts of letters she has had from you, where
glare of learned and polite observation, with all  you do the rustic bard the honour of noticing
my imperfections of awkward rusticity and  him  and his works.  Those who have felt the
crude unpolished ideas on my head-I assure  anxieties and solicitudes of authorship, can only
you, Madam, I do not dissemble when I tell  know what pleasure it gives to be noticed in
you I tremble for the  consequences.  The  such a manner, by judges of the first character.
novelty of a poet in my obscure situation, with-  Your criticisms, Sir, I receive with reverence:
out any of those advantages which are reckoned  only I am sorry they mostly came too late: a
necessary for that character, at least at this  peccant passage or two that I would certainly
time of day, has raised a partial tide of public  have altered, were gone to the press.
notice which has borne me to a height, where I    The hope to be admired for ages, is, in by far
am  absolutely, feelingly certain, my abilities  the greater part of those even who are authors
are inadequate to support me; and too surely  of repute, an unsubstantial dream.  For my
do I see that time when the same tide will  part, my first ambition was, and still my strongleave me, and recede, perhaps, as far below the  est wish is, to please my compeers, the iustic
mark of truth. I do not say this in the ridi-  inmates of the hamlet, while ever-changing lanculous affectation of self-abasement and mo-  guage and manners shall allow me to be relished
desty.  I have studied myself, and know what  and understood.  I am very willing to admit
ground I occupy; and, however a friend or the  that I have some poetical abilities; and as few,
world may differ from me in that particular, I  if any, writers, either moral or poetical, are instand for my own opinion, in silent resolve, with  timately acquainted with the classes of mankind
22




338                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
among whom I have chiefly mingled, I may have  of pains to form a just, impartial estimate of
seen men and manners in a different phasis from   my intellectual powers before I came here; I
what is common, which may assist originality  have not added, since I came to Edinburgh,
of thought.  Still I know very well the novelty  anything to the account; and I trust I shall
of my character has by far the greatest share  take every atom of it back to my shades, the
in the learned and polite notice I have lately  coverts of my unnoticed, early years.
had; and in a  language where Pope  and    In Dr. Blacklock, whom I see very often, I
Churchill have raised the laugh, and Shenstone  have found what I would have expected in our
and Gray drawn the tear; where Thomson and  friend, a clear head and an excellent heart.
Beattie have painted the landscape, and Lyttel-    By far the most agreeable hours I spend in
ton and Collins described the heart, I am not  Edinburgh must be placed to the account of
vain enough to hope for distinguished poetic  Miss Laurie and her piano-forte. I cannot help
fame.                                 R. B.    repeating to you and Mrs. Laurie a compliment
that Mr. Mackenzie, the celebrated " Man of
Feeling," paid to Miss Laurie, the other night,
at the concert. I had come in at the interlude,
XLV.                       and sat down by him till I saw Miss Laurie in
a seat not very distant, and went up to pay my
TO THE REV. G. LAURIE,,   respects to her.  On my return to Mr. MackenNEWMILLS, NEAR KILMARNOCK.              zie he asked me who she was; I told him'twas
the daughter of a reverend friend of mine in the
[It has been said in the Life of Burns, that for some time 
after he went to Edinburgh, he did not visit Dr. Black-  west country. He returned, there was some-.ock, whose high opinion of his genius induced him to  thing very striking, to his idea, in her appeartry his fortune in that city: it will be seen by this letter  ance.  On my desiring to know what it was, he
that he had neglected also, for a time, at least, to write             h  a   at  a          he
Z5,,,         was pleased to say, " She has a great deal of the
to Dr. Laurie, who introduced him to the Doctor.]  l 
elegance of a well-bred lady about her, with all
Edinburgh, Feb. 5th, 1787.    the sweet simplicity of a country girl."
REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,                        My compliments to all the happy inmates of
WHEN I look at the date of your kind letter,  St. Margaret's.                       R. B.
my heart reproaches me severely with ingratitude in neglecting so long to answer it.  I will
not trouble you with any account, by way of
apology, of my hurried life and distracted at-                      XLVI
tention: do me the justice to believe that my
delay by no means proceeded from  want of re-               T 0  DR. MOORE.
spect. I feel, and ever shall feel for you the                                                 l
spect.  I feel, and ever shall feel for you the    [TIn the answer to this letter, Dr. Moore says that the
mingled sentiments of esteem for a friend and  poet was a great favourite in his family, and that his
reverence for a father.                         youngest son, at Winchester school, had translated part
I thank you, Sir, with all my soul for your  of " Halloween" into Latin verse, for the benefit of
friendly hints, though I do not need them so  his comrades.]
much as my friends are apt to imagine. You                   Edinburgh, 15th February, 1787.
are dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant     SiR,
reports; but, in reality, I have no great tempta-    PARDON my seeming neglect in delaying so
tion to be intoxicated with the cup of prosperity.  long to acknowledge the honour you have done
Novelty may attract the attention of mankind  me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d.
awhile; to it I owe my present eclat; but I see  Not many months ago I knew no other employthe time not far distant when the popular tide  ment than following the plough, nor could boast
which has borne me to a height of which I am,  anything higher than a distant acquaintance
perhaps, unworthy, shall recede with silent ce-  with  a country clergyman. Mere greatness
lerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, to  never embarrasses me; I have nothing to ask
descend at my leisure to my former station.  I  from the great, and I do not fear their judgdo not say this in the affectation of modesty;  ment: but genius, polished by learning, and at
I see the consequence is unavoidable, and am  its proper point of elevation in the eye of the
prepared for it. I had been at a good deal  world, this of late I frequently meet with, and(




OF IOBEi01T BURNS.                                         339
tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation  long lost, were at last found, and are now, through the
of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That  kindness of my friend, Major James Glencairn Burns,
printed with the rest of his eminent father's works.]
I have some merit I do not deny; but I see
with frequent wringings of heart, that the no-                              Edinburgh, 1787
velty of my character, and the honest national      MY LORD,
prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to      I WANTED to purchase a profile of your lorda height altogether untenable to my abilities.    ship, which I was told was to be got in town;
For the honour Miss Williams has done me,  but I am truly sorry to see that a blundering
please, Sir, return her in my name my most  painter has spoiled a "human face divine."
grateful thanks. I have more than once thought  The enclosed stanzas I intended to have written
of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted  below  a picture or profile of your lordship,
the idea in hopeless despondency.  I had never  could I have been so happy as to procure one
before heard of her; but the other day I got  with anything of a likeness.
her poems, which for several reasons, some be-    As I will soon return to my shades, I wanted
longing to the head, and others the offspring of  to have something like a material object for my
the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I  gratitude; I wanted to have it in my power to
have little pretensions to critic lore; there are,  say to a friend, there is my noble patron, my
I think, two characteristic features in her poetry  generous benefactor.  Allow me, my lord, to
-the unfettered wild flight of native genius,  publish these verses.  I conjure your lordship,
and the querulous sombre tenderness of " time-  by the honest throe of gratitude, by the genesettled sorrow."                               rous wish of benevolence, by all the powers and
I only know what pleases me, often without  feelings which compose the magnanimous mind,
being able to tell why.               R. B.    do not deny me this petition.  I owe much to
your lordship: and, what has not in some other
instances always been the case with me, the
weight of the obligation is a pleasing load. I
XLVII.                       trust I have a heart as independent as your
lordship's, than which I can say nothing more;
TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ.
TA,      and I would not be beholden to favours that
[The picture from which Beugo engraved the portrait  would crucify my feelings. Your dignified chaalluded to in this letter, was painted by the now vene-  racter in life, and manner of supporting that
rable Alexander Nasmyth-the eldest of living British  character, are flattering to my pride; and I
artists:-it is, with the exception of a profile by Miers,
the only portrait for which we are quite sure that the  would be jealous of the purity of my grateful
poet sat.]                                      attachment, where I was under the patronage
Edinburgh, Feb. 24th, 1787.    of one of the much favoured sons of fortune.
Edinburgh, Feb. 24th, 1787.
M  HONOURED FRIEND,                     Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons,
MY HONOURED FRIEND,
I WILL soon be with you now, in guid black  particularly when they were names dear to fame,
prent;-in a week or ten days at farthest. I  and illustrious in their country; allow me, then,
am obliged, against my own wish, to print sub-  my lord, if you think the verses have intrinsic
merit, to tell the world how much I have the
scribers' names; so if any of my Ayr friends  m                                            
have subscription bills, they must be sent in to  honour to be,
Creech directly. I am getting my phiz done by         Your lordship's highly indebted,
an eminent engraver, and if it can be ready in            And ever grateful humble servant,
R. B.
time, I will appear in my book, looking like all                                          
otherfools to my title-page.          R. B.
XLIX.
XLVIII.                         TO THE  EARL OF BUCHAN.
TO  THE EARL OF GL ENCAIRN.                     [The Earl of Buchan, a man of talent, but more than
tolerably vain, advised Burns to visit the battle-fields
[The Earl of Glencairn seems to have refused, from  and scenes celebrated in song on the Scottish border,
motives of delicacy, the request of the poet: the verses,  with the hope, perhaps, that he would drop a few of hiv




340                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
happy verses in Dryburgh Abbey, the residence of his  dependence, and character, on the one hand; I
lordship.]                                        tender you civility, deipendence, and wretchedMY LORD,                                      ness, on the other.  I vill not insult your unTHE honour your lordship has done me, by  derstanding by bidding you miake a choice."
your notice and advice in yours of the 1st in-    This, miy lord, is unanswcerable.  I must restant, I shall ever gratefully remember:-         turn to my humble station, and woo my rustic
" Praise from thy lips,'tis mine with joy to boast,  muse in my wonted wiay at the plough-tail.
They best can give it who deserve it most."l   Still, my lord, while the drops of life warm my
Your lordship touches the darling chord of my  heart, gratitude to that dear-loved country in
heart when you advise me to fire my muse at  which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those
Scottish story and Scotch scenes.  I wish for  her distinguished sons who have honoured me
nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrim-  so much with their patronage and approbation,
age through my native country; to sit and muse  shall, while stealing through my huumble shades;
on those once hard-contended fields, where Cale-  ever distend my bosom, and at times, as now,
donia, rejoicing, saw  her bloody lion borne  draw forth the swelling tear.               R. B.
through broken ranks to victory and fame; and,
catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless
names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of
these enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry,                       L.
moral-looking  phantom   strides  across  my.    TO MIR. JAMES CANDLISH.
imagination, and pronounces these emphatic
words:-                                             [James Candlish, a student of medicine. was well ac
"I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence.  Friend,  quainted with the poetry of Lowe, author of that sublime
lyric, "Mary's Dream," and at the request of Burns sen
I do not come to open the ill-closed wounds of,   i                         s
Lowe's classic song of " Pompey's Ghost," to the Muyour follies and misfortunes, merely to give you  sical Museum.]
pain: I wish through these wounds to imprint a.-cEinburgh,  March 21, 1787.
lasting lesson on your heart. I will not mention
MIY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE,
how many of my salutary advices you have desI was equally surprised and pleased at your
pised: I have given you line upon line and pre-    I        e lly surprised  nd  pleasd at y
cept upon precept; and while I was chalking  deletter, though  I         dare  say you will think by my
cept upon precept; and while I was chalking
delaying so long to write to you that I am so
out to you the straight way to wealth and cha-  degto   rite to  ou t
drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as
racter, with audacious effrontery you have zig-   o       in                    o              a
to be indifferent to old, and once dear conzagged across the path, contemning me to nay                    ent to old, and once 
nexions.  The truth is, I was determined to
face: you know  the consequences.  It is not
yet three months since home was so hot for you  write a good letter, fll of           e,   plification erudition  and, as Bayes says all that.
that you were on the wing for the western shore       on, erudition, and, as Bayes says,      tat.
I thought of it and thought of it and, by my
of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, but to,   d t                         t o  i    d,'hide your niisfortune             soul, I could not; and, lest you should mistake
hide your misfortune.   
-Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in  the cause of my silence, I just sit do   to tell
you so. Don't give yourself credit, though, that
your power to return to the situation of yourself credit, though, that
the strength of your logic scares me: the truth
forefathers, will you follow these will-o'-wisp          ^
forefathers  will yo  fow te  Pis I never mean to meet you on that ground at
meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring  you              m        to    t        tt            t
once more to the brink of ruin?  I grant that  all  You hve shown me one thing  hich w
the utmost ground you can occupy is but hlf n    to bedemonstrnted: that strong pride of rea
soning, with a little affectation of singularity,
step from the veriest poverty; but still itis half,               affectation of in
a step from it. If allthat I canurgebeineffec-  may   islead the best of hearts.  I likewise,
tual, let her who seldom  calls to you in vain,  
tual, let her who sel~dom  calls to you in wnm,  since you and I were first acquainted,   in the
pride of despising old woman's vtyrios ventured
let the call of pride prevail with you. You know   pride of despising old womas   ris, ventured
how you feel at the iron gripe of ruthless op-  in  the dring path Spinosa  o;  b   expeience ofthe weakness, not the strength ofhuman
pression: you know how you bear the galling                   w, ot the st        of hma
sneer of contumelious greatness.  I hold you  powers, mae me glad to graop at revealed
out the conveniences, the comforts of life, in-  religion.
I am  still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase,
I Imitated from Pope's Eloisa to Abelard.  i "The old man with his deeds," as when we
~~~_lli~~~~~~~~                           Th   l  mnwt his- d eeds,"        as  when weCU~ —~ —-_



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             341
were sporting about the " Lady Thorn." I shall    " By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns,
be four weeks here yet at least; and so I shall  who erected this stone, this burial place is to remain for
be four weeks here yet at least; and so I shallP
expect to  ear from you; we e s e,  ever sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson."
expect to hear from you; welcome sense, welcome nonsense.
I am, with the warmest sincerity,
R. B.    Session-house, within the Kirk of Canongate, the
twcenty-second day of February, one thousand
seven hundred eighty-seven years.
Sederunt of the Managers of the Kirk and KirkLI.
Yard funds of Canongate.
T 0.
~~~~~T 0  ~Which day, the treasurer to the said funds
[The name of the friend to whom this letter was ad-  produced a letter from  Mr. Robert Burns, of
ressed is still unknown, though known to Dr. Currie.  date the 6th current, which was read and apThe Esculapian Club of Edinburgh have, since the  pointed to be engrossed in their sederunt book,, ^^, JJi ~    ~ ~ pointed to be engrossed in their sederunt book,
death of Burns, added some iron-work, with an inscription in honour of the Ayrshire poet, to the original head-ch letter the tenor follows
stone. The cost to the poet was ~5 10s.]             "To the honourable baillies of Canongate,
Edinburgh.-Gentlemen, I am  sorry to be told
Edinburgh, March,  1787.
Edinr,,     that the remains of Robert Fergusson, the so
MY DEAR SIR,
MY DEAR SIn,                    justly celebrated poet, a man whose talents for
You may think, and too justly, that I am  a
You may think, and too justly, that I am  a   ages to come will do honour to our Caledonian
selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so  name, lie in your church-yard among the ignoble
name, lie in your church-yard among the ignoble
many repeated instances of kindness from you,  de, u
dead, unnoticed and unknown.
and yet never putting pen to paper to say thank      "        m                                 
"Some memorial to direct the steps of the
you; but if you knew what a devil of a life my  l                                             
lovers of Scottish song, when they wish to shed
conscience has led me on that account, your
conscience has led me on that account, your  a tear over the'narrow house' of the bard who
good heart would  think yourself too much  i                                               
is no more, is surely a tribute due to Fergusavenged.  By the bye, there is nothing in the'                        I 
"",~~ "  "   "      son's memory: a tribute I wish to have the
whole frame of man which seems to be so unac-              
honour of paying.
countable as that thing called conscience. Had                              gentlemen, to permit
" I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit
the troublesome yelping cur powers efficient to  me to lay   simple stone over his reve
prevent a mischief, he might be of use; but at  to remain an unalienable property to his death
the beginning of the business, his feeble efforts  less fame.  I have the honour to be, gentlemen,
are to the workings of passion as the infant                         s          (ic s  ii
your very humble servant (sic subscribitur),
frosts of an autumnal morning to the unclouded                                 ROBERT BURNS."
fervour of the rising sun: and no sooner are
the tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over,    Thereafter the said managers, in considerathan, amidst the bitter native consequences of  tion of the laudable and disinterested motion
folly, in the very vortex of our horrors, up  of Mr. Burns, and the propriety of his request,
starts conscience, and harrows us with the feel-  did, and hereby do, unanimously, grant power
ings of the lamned.                               and liberty to the said Robert Burns to erect a
I have enclosed you, by way of expiation,  headstone at the grave of the said Robert Fersome verse and prose, that, if they merit a place  gusson, and to keep up and preserve the same
in your truly entertaining miscellany, you are  to his memory in all time coming.  Extracted
welcome to.  The prose extract is literally as  forth of the records of the managers, by
Mr. Sprott sent it me.                                                 WILLIAM SPROTT, Clerk.
The inscription on the stone is as follows:"HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET.
Born, September 5th, 1751-Died, 16th October, 1774.
" No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay,                        LII.' No storied urn or animated bust;'
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way             TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust."
[The poet alludes in this letter to tne profits of the
On the other side of the stone is as follows:   I dinburgh edition of his Poems: the exact sum is no!c —--------  -------------------— ~        ---            --




342                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
where stated, but it could not have been less than seven  reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse
nL ndred pounds.]                                 to exertion.
Edinburgh, March 22d, 1787.        I guess that I shall clear between two and
MADAM,                                        three hundred pounds by my authorship; with
I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little,  that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to
-ry little while ago, I had scarce a friend but  have any intention, to return to my old acthe stubborn pride of my own bosom: now I  quaintance, the plough, and, if I can meet with;: m distinguished, patronized, befriended by you.  a lease by which I can live, to commence farmer..'our friendly advices, I will not give them the  I do not intend to give up poetry; being bred
cold name of criticisms, I receive with reve-  to labour, secures me independence, and the'ence.  I have made some small alterations in  muses are my chief, sometimes have been my
what I before had printed.  I have the advice  only enjoyment.  If my practice second my
of some very judicious friends among the literati  resolution, I shall have principally at heart the
here, but with them I sometimes find it neces-  serious business of life; but while following my
sary to claim the privilege of thinking for my-  plough, or building up my shocks, I shall cast a
self.  The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I  leisure glance to that dear, that only feature of
owe more than to any man, does me the honour  my character, which gave me the notice of my
of giving me his strictures: his hints, with re-  country, and the patronage of a Wallace.
spect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow im-    Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you the
plicitly.                                         bard, his situation, and his views, native as
You kindly interest yourself in my future  they are in his own bosom.                    R. B.
views and prospects; there I can give you no
light.  It is all' Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun
Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams                        LIII.
Athwart the gloom profound."'
The appellation of a Scottish bard, is by far              TO     R S.    UN LOP.
my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is   [This seems to be a letter acknowledging the payment
my most exalted ambition.  Scottish  scenes  of Mrs. Dunlop's subscription for his poems.]
and Scottish story are the themes I could wish                      Edinburgh, 15th April, 1787.
to sing.  I have no dearer aim than to have it         MADAM,
in my power, unplagued with the routine of    THERE is an affectation of gratitude which I
business, for which heaven knows I am  unfit  dislike.  The periods of Johnson and the pause
enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through   of Sterne, may hide a selfish heart.  For my
Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles;  part, Madam, I trust I have too much pride for
to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers;  servility, and too little prudence for selfishness.
and to muse by the stately towers or vene-  I have this moment broken open your letter,
rable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her  but
heroes.                                                       "Rude am I in speech,
But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have            And therefore little can I grace my cause
But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have
In speaking for myself —" 2
dallied long enough with life;'tis time to be in
earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care  so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches
for: and some other bosom ties perhaps equally  and hunted figures.  I shall just lay my hand
tender.  Where the individual only suffers by  on my heart and say, I hope I shall ever have
the consequences of his own thoughtlessness,  the truest, the warmest sense of your goodness.
indolence, or folly, he may be excusable; nay,    I come abroad in print, for certain on Wedshining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues,  nesday.  Your orders I shall punctually attend
may half sanctify a heedless character; but  to; only, by the way, I must tell you that I
where God and nature have intrusted the wel-  was paid before for Dr. Moore's and Miss Wilfare of others to his care; where the trust is  liams's copies, through the medium of Commissacred, and the ties are dear, that man must  sioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can
be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to  settle when I have the honour of waiting on you.
1 Blair's Grave.                                  2 From Othello.




OF ROBElRT BURNS                                           843
Dr. Smith  was just gone to London the mor-  den Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, &c.,
ning before I received your letter to him.      I shall return to my rural shades, in all likeliR. B.    hood never more to quit them. I have formed
many intimacies and friendships here, but I am
afraid they are all of too tender a construction
to bear carriage a hundred and fifty miles.  To
LIV.
the rich, the great, the fashionable, the polite, I
TO MR. SIBBALD,                      have no equivalent to offer; and I am afraid my
BOOKSELLER IN EDINBURGH.                 meteor appearance will by no means entitle me
to a settled correspondence with any of you, who
[This letter first appeared in that very valuable work,
Nicholl's Illustrations of Literature.]         are the permanent lights of genius and literature.
My most respectful compliments to Miss
Lawn Market.    Williams.  If once this tangent flight of mine
SIR,
SIR,.~~~~                    were over, and I were returned to my wonted
So little am I acquainted with the words and,                         
leisurely motion in my old circle, I may promanners of the more public and polished walks    i          i   i       
bably endeavour to return her poetic compliof life, that I often feel myself much embar-  met in kind.                           R. B.
rassed how to express the feelings of my heart,
particularly gratitude:" Rude am I in my speech,
And little therefore shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself-"
The warmth with which you have befriendedVI.
an obscure man and a young author in the last             TO MRS. DUN L  P.
three magazines-I can only say, Sir, I feel the
weight of the obligation, I wish I could express   [This letter was in answer to one of criticism and renmonstrance, from Mrs.Dunlop, respecting" The Dream,"
my sense of it.  In the mean time accept of the  which she had begged the poet to omit, lest it should
conscious acknowledgment from,                  harm his fortunes with the world.]
Sir,
Your obliged servant,                            Edinburgh, 30th April, 1787.
R. B.               YOUR criticisms, Madam, I understand very well, and could have wished to have
pleased you better.  You are right in your
LV.                        guess that I am not very amenable to counsel.
Poets, much my superiors, have so flattered
TO  DR. MOORE.                     those who possessed the adventitious qualities
[The book to which the poet alludes, was the well-  of wealth and power, that I am determined to
known View of Society by Dr. Moore, a work of spirit flatter no created being, either in prose or
and observation.]                               verse.
Edinburgh, 23d April, 1787.      I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics,
I RECEIVED the books, and sent the one you  &c., as all these respective gentry do by my bardmentioned to Mrs. Dunlop.  I am ill skilled in  ship.  I know what I may expect from  the
beating the coverts of imagination for metaphors  world, by and by-illiberal abuse, and perhaps
of gratitude.  I thank you, Sir, for the honour  contemptuous neglect.
you have done me; and to my latest hour will    I am happy, Madam, that some of my own
warmly remember it. To be highly pleased with  favourite pieces are distinguished by your paryour book is what I have in common with the  ticular approbation.  For my "Dream," which
world; but to regard these volumes as a mark  has unfortunately incurred your loyal displeaof the author's friendly esteem, is a still more  sure, I hope in four weeks, or less, to have the
supreme gratification.                         honour of appearing, at Dunlop, in its defence
I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days  in person.                            B  B.
or a fortnight, and after a few pilgrimages over
some of the classic ground of Caledonia, CowL  Adam Smith.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________~_.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




144                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
LVII.                       that benevolence and that friendship with which
you have honoured me.  With brimful eyes, I
[  TO THE REV. DR. HUGH BLAIR.
pray that you may find in that great Being,
[The answer of Dr. Blair to this letter contains the  whose image you so nobly bear, that friend
following passage: "' Your situation, as you say, was  which I have found in you. My gratitude is not
indeed very singular: and in being brought out all at h designthat I disdainit is not    ging
once from the shades of deepest privacy to so great at is n  oi
share of public notice and observation, you had to stand    t                         
a severe trial. I am happy you have stood it so well,  you disdain.  It is a feeling of the same kind
and, as far as I have known, or heard, though in the  with my devotion.                  R. B.
midst of many temptations, without reproach to your
character or behaviour."]
Lawn-market, Edinburgh, 3d May, 1787.
REVEREND AND MUCH-RESPECTED SIR,                                  LIX.
I LEAVE Edinburgh to-morrow morning, but
could not go without troubling you with half a        TO  MR. WILLIAM  DUNBAR.
line, sincerely to thank you for the kindness,
line sincerely to thank you for the kindness [William Dunbar, Colonel of the Crochallan Fencibles.
patronage, and friendship you have shown me.
patronage, and friendship you have shown me.  The name has a martial sound, but the corps which he
I often felt the embarrassment of my singular  commanded was a club of wits, whose courage was exersituation; drawn forth from the veriest shades  cised on "paitricks, teals, moorpowts, and plovers."]
of life to the glare of remark; and honoured by,. ^i.-i-,^.   ^        Lawn-market, Monday morning.
the notice of those illustrious names of my country whose works, while they are applauded to          DR SI,.- ~'- ~. ~~~ J.   JIN justice to Spenser, I must acknowledge
the end of time, will ever instruct and mend thee,      t,,heart.  Ho.wee  1t e   e         that there is scarcely a poet in the language
heart.  However the meteor-like novelty of my 
heart.. the meteor-e n y of my  could have been a more agreeable present to
appearance in the world might attract notice,                               a       e    
and honour me with the acquaintance of the per-  me; and in justice to you, allow me to say, Sir,
and honour me with the acquaintance of the per-                            
that I have not met with a man in Edinburgh to
manent lights of genius and literature, those            I            wi                   i
whom I would so willingly have been indebted
who are truly benefactors of the immortal na-    o                                        iet
for the gift.  The tattered rhymes I herewith
ture of man, I knew very well that my utmost    r te   t              ttered rhmes i here
present you, and the handsome volumes of
merit was far unequal to the task of preserving   p ese,      h
that character when once the novelty was over;  Spenser for which I am  so much indebted to
I have made up my mind that abuse, or almost  your goodness, may perhaps be not i proportion
even neglect, will not surprise me in my quar-  to one another; but be that as it may, my gift,
ters.                                            though far less valuable, is as sincere a mark
I have sent you a proof impression of Beugo's  of esteem as yours.
work' for me, done on Indian paper, as a tri-    The time is approaching when I shall return
fling but sincere testimony with what heartwarm   to my shades;   d I am  afraid my numerous
gratitude I am, &c.                    R. B.    Edinburgh friendships are of so tender a construction, that they will not bear carriage with
________      me. Yours is one of the few that I could wish
of a more robust constitution.  It is indeed
LVIII.                       very probable that when I leave this city, we
part never more to meet in this sublunary
TO  THE EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN.   sphere; but I have a strong fancy that in some
future eccentric planet, the comet of happier
[The poet addressed the following letter to the Earl,            
of Glencairn, when he commenced his journey to the  systems than any with which astronomy is yet
Border. It was first printed in the third edition of Lock-  acquainted, you and I, among the harum scarum
hart's Life of Burns; an eloquent and manly work.]  sons of imagination and whim, with a hearty
MY LORD,                                     shake of a hand, a metaphor and a laugh, shall
I GO away to-morrow morning early, and al-  recognise old acquaintance:
low me to vent the fulness of my heart, in              "Where wit may sparkle all its ra s,
thanking your lordship for all that patronage,             Uncurs'd with caution's fears;
~~._~~~  -._~.~-~..~_-~~ That pleasure, basking in the blaze,
The noi-t!n il: of the poet after Nasmyth.          Reioice for endless years.'




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             -5
I have the honour to be, with the warmest  Selkirk-shires; and next week I begin a tour
sincerity, dear Sir, &c.                R. B.    through the north of England.  Yesterday I
dined with Lady Harriet, sister to my noble
patron,' Quem Deus conservet! I would write till
I would tire you as much with dull prose, as I
LX.                         dare say by this time you are with wretched
TO  JAMES JOHNSON.                        verse, but I am  jaded to death; so, with a
grateful farewell,
[James Johnson was an engraver in Edinburgh, and            I have the honour to be,
proprietor of the Musical Museum; a truly national                 Good Sir, yours sincerely
work, for which Burns wrote or amended many songs.]                                        R 
R. B.
Lawn-market, Friday noon, 3 May, 1787.                       R          s  
Auld chuckle Reekie's sair distrest,
DEAR SIR,
*           ~,           ~~~~~~Down drops her ante weel burnish'd crest,
I HAVE sent you a song never before known,                               
Nae joy her bonnie  buskit nest
for your collection; the air by M'Gibbon, but    Nae oy her bonnie buskit nest
I know not the author of the words, as I got it                          Can yield ava;
Her darling bird that she loves best,
from Dr. Blacklock.
Willie's awa. 2
Farewell, my dear Sir! I wished to have seen
you, but I have been dreadfully throng, as I
march to-morrow.  Had my acquaintance with
you been a little older, I would have asked the
favour of your correspondence, as I have met
with few people whose company and conversa-                   TO    R. PATISON,
tion gives me so much pleasure, because I have
^.          B O.  S E L L EL  R, P A I S LE Y.     I
met with few whose sentiments are so congenial 
to my own.                                          [This letter has a business air about it: the name of
When Dunbar and you meet, tell him that I  Patison is nowhere else to be found in the poet's corresleft Edinburgh with the idea of him  hanging  pondence.]
somewhere about my heart.                                Berry-well, near Dunse, May 17th, 1787.
Keep the original of the song till we meet           DEAR SIR,
again, whenever that may be.            R. B.        I AR sorry I was out of Edinburgh, making a
slight pilgrimage to the classic scenes of this
country, when I was favoured with yours of the
11th instant, enclosing an order of the Paisley
TXI.                         banking company on the royal bank, for twentytwo pounds seven shillings sterling, payment in
TO  WILLIA M   (CRE E C H, ES Q.                    ^          ^full, after carriage deducted, for ninety copies
EDINBURGH.                       of my book I sent you.  According to your
[This characteristic letter was written during the  motions, I see you will have left Scotland
poet's border tour: he narrowly escaped a soaking with  before this reaches you, otherwise I would send
whiskey, as well as with water; for, according to the  you "Holy Willie" with all my heart.  I was
Ettrick Shepherd, " a couple of Yarrow lads, lovers of  so hurried that I absolutely forgot several things
poesy and punch, awaited his coming to Selkirk, but
would not believe that the parson-looking, black-avised  I ought to have minded, among the rest sending
man, who rode up to the inn, more like a drouket craw   books to Mr. Cowan; but any order of yours
than a poet, could be Burns, and so went disappointed  will be answered at Creech's shop.  You will
away."]                                           please remember that non-subscribers pay six
Selkirk, 13th May, 1787.    shillings, this is Creech's profit; but those who
MY HONOURED FRIEND,                           have subscribed, though their names have been
THE enclosed I have just wrote, nearly ex-  neglected in the printed list, which is very intempore, in a solitary inn in Selkirk, after a  correct, are supplied at subscription price.  I
miserable wet day's riding.  I have been over  was not at Glasgow, nor do I intend for Lonmost of East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, and  don; and I think Mrs. Fame is very idle to tell
1 James, Earl of Glencairn.                         2 See Poem LXXXIII.




346                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
so many lies on a poor poet.  When you or Mr.  bonnie; the tither was a clean-shankit, straught,
Cowan write for copies, if you should want any  tight, weelfar'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a
direct to Mr. Hill, at Mr. Creech's shop, and I  flowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a newwrite to Mr. Hill by this post, to answer either  blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They were
of your orders. Hill is Mr. Creech's first clerk,  baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and onie ane
and Creech himself is presently in London. I  o' them had as muckle smeddum and rumblegumsuppose I shall have the pleasure, against your  tion as the half o' some presbytries that you and
return to Paisley, of assuring you how much I  I baith ken.  They play'd me sik a deevil o' a
am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant,      shavie that I daur say if myharigals were turn'd
R. B.    out, ye wad see twa nicks i' the heart o' me like
the mark o' a kail-whittle in a castock.
I was gaun to write you a lang pystle, but,
LXIII.                       Gude forgie me, I gat mysel sae noutouriously
bitchify'd the day after kail-time, that I can
TO W. NICOL, ESQ.,                    hardly stoiter but and ben.
MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH.            My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our
common friens, especiall Mr. and Mrs. Cruik[Jenny Geddes was a zealous old woman, who threw 
the stool on which she sat, at the Dean of Edinburgh's  shank, and the honest guidman o Jocks Lodge.
head, when, in 1637, he attempted to introduce a Scottish    I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be
Liturgy, and cried as she threw, " Villain, wilt thou say  to the fore, and the branks bide hale.
the mass at my lug!" The poet named his mare after    Gde be wi' you, Willie  Amen!
this virago.]. B.
Carlisle, June 1., 1787.
KIND, HONEST-HEARTED WILLIE,
I'M  sitten down here after seven and forty
miles ridin', e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd as                     LXIV.
a forfoughten cock, to gie you some notion o'           TO MR. JAMES SMITH,
my land lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowAT MILLER AND SMITH'S OFFICE, LINLITHGOW.
fu' hour that I sheuk hands and parted wi' auld
Reekie.                                           [Burns, it seems by this letter, had still a belief that
My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huch-  he would be obliged to try his fortune in the West Indies:
lid u 1 hl ad d, i Sche soon saw how hollow all the hopes were, which had
yall'd up hill and down brae, in Scotland and
England, as teugh and  bir   as a.' r devi w been formed by his friends of "pension, post or place,"
England, as teugh and birnie as a vera devil w' in his native land.]
me. It's true, she's aspoor's a sang-maker and as                   a               n  1.
Mauchline, 1lth June, 1787.
hard's a kirk, and tipper-taipers when she taks      MY EVER DE
MY EVER DEAR SIR,
the gate, first like a lady's gentlewoman in a    I DATE this from Mauchline, where I arrived
minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle; but she's a. I s                             a J     D   
on Friday evenlast. I slept at John Dow's, and
yauld, poutherie Girran for a' that, and has a                  daughter.  Mr. Hamilton and
called for my daughter.  Mr. Hami lton and
stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that wad              y                                 
family; your mother, sister, and brother; my
hae disgeested tumbler-wheels, for she'll whip  q          E.~'.   ^      ~quondam Eliza, &c., all well. If anything had
me aff her five stimparts o' the best aits at a
been wanting to disgust me completely at Ardown-sittin and ne'er fash her thumb. When
mour's family, their mean, servile compliance
ance her ringbanes and spavies, her crucks and,ou
would have done it.
cramps, are fairly soupl'd, she beets to, beets
to, and ay the hindmost hour the tightest. I    Give me a spirit like my favourite hero, Milto, and ay the hindmost hour the tightest.  I
ton's Satan:
could wager her price to a thretty pennies, that                 Hail, horrors! hait
for twa or three wooks ridin at fifty miles a day,    Infernal world! and thou profoundest hell,
the deil-stricket a five gallopers acqueesh Clyde     Receive thy new possessor! he who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time 
and Whithorn could cast saut on her tail.
I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dum-    I cannot settle to my mind.-Farming, the
bar to Selcraig, and hae forgather'd wi' monie  only thing of which 1 know  anything, and
a guid fallow, and monie a weelfar'd huzzie. I  heaven above knows but little do I understand
met wi' twa dink quines in particular, ane o'  of that, I cannot, dare not risk on farms as
them a sonsie, fine, fodgel lass, baith braw and  they are.  If I do not fix I will go for Jamaica.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          347
Should I stay in an unsettled state at home, I  have nearly put me out of conceit altogether
would only dissipate my little fortune, and  with my species.  I have bought a pocket Milruin what I intend shall compensate my little  ton, which I carry perpetually about with me,
ones, for the stigma I have brought on their  in order to study the sentiments-the dauntless
names.                                         magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding indeI shall write you more at large soon; as this  pendence, the desperate daring, and noble deletter costs you no postage, if it be worth read-  fiance of hardship, in that great personage, SAing you cannot complain of your penny-worth.   TAN.'Tis true, I have just now a little cash;
I am ever, my dear Sir,          but I am afraid the star that hitherto has shed
Yours,                  its malignant, purpose-blasting rays full in my
R. B.    zenith; that noxious planet so baneful in its
P.S.  The cloot has unfortunately broke, but  influences to the rhyming tribe, I much dread
I have provided a fine buffalo-horn, on which I  it is not yet beneath my horizon.-Misfortune
am going to affix the same cipher which you  dodges the path of human life; the poetic mind
will remember was on the lid of the cloot.     finds itself miserably deranged in, and unfit for
the walks of business; add to all, that thoughtless follies and hare-brained whims, like so many
ignes fatui, eternally diverging from the right
LXV.                        line of sober discretion, sparkle with step-beTO WILLIAM  NIC OL, ES Q.                 witching blaze in the idly-gazing eyes of the
poor heedless bard, till, pop, " he falls like Lu[The charm which Dumfries threw over the poet,  cifer, never to hope again."  God grant this
seems to have dissolved like a spell, when he sat down  may be an unreal picture with respect to me
in Ellisland: he spoke, for a time, with little respect of             e      it
either place or people.]                        but should it not, I have very little dependence
on mankind.  I will close my letter with this
Mauchline, June 18, 1787.
aucline, June 18, 1787.    tribute my heart bids me pay you-the many
MY DEAR FRIEND,
MY DEAR FRIEND,                        ties of acquaintance and friendship which I
I AM now arrived safe in my native country,
I AM now arrived safe in my native country,  have, or think I have in life, I have felt along
after a very agreeable jaunt, and have the plea-  the lines and damn them  they are almost all
sure to find all my friends well.  I breakfasted  ofem of such frail contexture, that I am sure
of them of such frail contexture, that I am sure
with your gray-headed, reverend friend, Mr. 
Smith;' and,      they would not stand the breath of the least adSmith; and was hig~hly pleased both with the  verse breeze of fortune; but from you, my ever
cordial welcome he gave me, and his most ex-.. X,
cordial welcome he gave me, and his most ex-  dear Sir, I look with confidence for the apostocellent appearance and sterling good sense.    lic love that shall wait on me "through good
I have been with Mr. Miller at Dalswinton,                     report the love which Soloand am to meet him again in August. From              ephaticall  a    -i  tn  a 
mon emphatically says "is strong as death."
my view of the lands, and his reception of my  My compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and all the circle
bardship, my hopes in that business are rather  of our common fiends.
mended; but still they are but slender.          P. S. I shall be in Edinburgh about the latI am quite charmed with Dumfries folks- ter end of July.                            R. B.
Mr. Burnside, the.clergyman, in particular, is
a man whom I shall ever gratefully remember;
and his wife, Gude forgie me! I had almost
broke the tenth commandment on her account.XI.
LXVI.
Simplicity, elegance, good sense, sweetnm ss of
disposition, good humour, kind hospitality, are     T O MR. JAMES CANDL I S H.
the constituents of her manner and heart: in
the constituents of her manner and heart: in  Candlish was a classic scholar, but had a love for the
short-but if I say one word more about her, I  songs of Scotland, as well as for the poetry of Greece
shall be directly in love with her.            and Rome.]
I never, my friend, thought mankind very ca-                            Edinburgh, 1787.
pable of anything generous; but the stateliness     MY DEAR FRIEND,
of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the servility    IF once I were gone from this scene of hurry
of my plebeian brethren (who perhaps formerly  and dissipation, I promise myself the pleasure
eyed me  askance) since I returned  home,  of that correspondence being renewed which




348                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
has been so long broken.  At present I have  lady who inspired it was at his side, when he wrote this
time for nothing.  Dissipation and business en-  letter.]
gross every moment.  I am  engaged in assist-               Auchtertyre, Monday, June, 1787.
ing an honest Scotch enthusiast,' a friend of       MY DEAR SIR,
mine, who is an engraver, and has taken it into    I FIND myself very comfortable here, neither
his head to publish a collection of all our songs  oppressed by ceremony nor mortified by negset to music, of which the words and music are  lect. Lady Augusta is a most engaging woman,
done by Scotsmen. This, you will easily guess,  and very happy in her family, which makes
is an undertaking exactly to my taste.  I have  one's outgoings and incomings very agreeable.
collected, begged, borrowed, and stolen, all the  I called at Mr. Ramsay's of Auchtertyre as I
songs I could meet with. Pompey's Ghost, words  came up the country, and am so delighted with
and music, I beg from you immediately, to go  him that I shall certainly accept of his invitainto his second number: the first is already  tion to spend a day or two with him as I return.
published.  I shall show you the first number  I leave this place on Wednesday or Thursday.
when I see you in Glasgow, which will be in a    Make my kind compliments to Mr. and Mrs.
fortnight or less.  Do be so kind as to send me  Cruikshank and Mrs. Nicol, if she is returned.
the song in a day or two; you cannot imagine                 I am ever, dear Sir,
how much it will oblige me.                                      Your deeply indebted,
Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruikshank's, St.                                            R. B.
James's Square, New Town, Edinburgh.
R. B.
LXIX.
LXVII.                           TO WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK, ESQ.
TO ROBERT  AINSLIE, ESQ.                           ST. JAMES'S SQUARE, EDINBURGH.
[" Burns had a memory stored with the finest poetical   [At the hose of  iliam Cruikshank, one   ire mas
passages, which he was in the habit of quoting most  ters of the High School, inEdinburgh, Burns passed
aptly in his correspondence with his friends: and he delighted also in repeating them in the company of those
friends who enjoyed them." These are the words of              Auchtertyre, Monday morning.
Ainslie, of Berrywell, to whom this letter is addressed.]    I AVE nothing, my dear Sir, to write to you
I HAVE nothing, my dear Sir, to write to you
Arracher, 28th June, 1787.    but that I feel myself exceedingly confortably
MY DEAR SIR,                               situated in this good family: just notice enough
I WRITE on my tour through a country where  to make me easy but not to embarrass me. I was
savage streams tumble over savage mountains,  storm-staid two days at the foot of the Ochillthinly overspread with savage flocks, which  hills, with Mr. Trait of Herveyston and Mr.
sparingly support as savage inhabitants.  My  Johnston of Alva, but was so well pleased that
last stage was Inverary-to-morrow  night's  I shall certainly spend a day on the banks of
stage Dumbarton.  I ought sooner to have an-  the Devon as I return.  I leave this place I
swered your kind letter, but you know I am a  suppose on Wednesday, and shall devote a day
man of many sins.                     R. B.    to Mr. Ramsay at Auchtertyre, near Stirling:
a man to whose worth I cannot do justice. My
respectful kind compliments to Mrs. Cruikshank, and my dear little Jeanie, and if you
see Mr. Masterton, please remember me to him.
LXVIII.                                       I am ever,
My dear Sir, &c.
TO  WILLIAM   NICOL, ESQ.                                                       R. B.
[This visit to Auchtertyre produced that sweet lyric,
oeginning " Blythe, blythe and merry was she;" and the
I Johnson, the publisher and proprietor of the Musical
Museum.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           349
LXX.                        well have been expected; so I came off with a
few cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolution
TO MR. JAMES SMITH,,    to be a pattern of sobriety for the future.
LINLITHGOOW.                      I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to
[The young lady to whom the poet alludes in this let-  the serious business of life. I am, just as usual,
ter, was very beautiful, and very proud: it is said she a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless, idle
gave him a specimen of both her temper and her pride,  fell   However, I shall somewhere hve
when he touched on the subject of love.]
farm soon. I was going to say, a wife too; but
June 30, 1787.    that must never be my blessed lot.  I am but a
MY DEAR FRIEND,                             younger son of the house of Parnassus, and
ON our return, at a Highland gentleman's  like other younger sons of great families, I may
hospitable mansion, we fell in with a merry  intrigue, if I choose to run all risks, but must
party, and danced till the ladies left us, at three  not marry.
in the morning.  Our dancing was none of the    I am afraid I have almost ruined one source
French or English insipid formal movements;  the principal one, indeed, of my former happithe ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at  nes  that eternal propensity I always had to
intervals; then we flew at Bab at the Bowster,  fall in love.  My heart no more glows with feTullochgorum, Loch  Erroch  Side, &c., like  verish rapture. I have no paradisaical evening
midges sporting in the mottie sun, or craws  interviews, stolen from the restless cares and
prognosticating a storm in a hairst day.-When  prying inhabitants of this weary world. I have
the dear lasses left us, we ranged round the  onl            This last is one of your distant
bowl till the good-fellow hour of six; except a  acquaintances, has a fine figure, and elegant
few minutes that we went out to pay our devo-  manners  and in the train of some  great folks
tions to the glorious lamp of day peering over  whom you know, has seen the politest quarters
the towering top of Benlomond. We all kneeled;  in Europe. I do like her a good deal; but what
our worthy landlord's son held the bowl; each  piques me is her conduct at the commencement
man a full glass in his hand; and I, as priest,  of our  cquaintnce.  I frequently visited her
repeated some rhyming nonsense, like Thomas-  w     I w   i                      pssg re
a-Rhymer's prophecies I suppose.-After a small   rly the intermedite degrees between the disrefreshment of the gifts of Somnus, we pro-  tat formal bow and the familiar grasp round
ceeded to spend the day on Lochlomond, and the waist I ventured, in my careless way, to
reach Dumbarton in the evening.  We dined at  talk of friendship in rather ambiguous terms
another good fellow's house, and consequently,       a     h   r      t                   
and after her return to, I wrote to her
pushed the bottle; when we went out to mount         the same style.  Miss, constring my wrs
our horses, we found ourselves "No vera fou                                  intended,        of
farther I suppose than even I intended, flew off
but gaylie yet."  My two friends and I rode                 of female dignity ad reserve li
in a tangent of female dignity and reserve, like
soberly down the Loch side, till by came a
soberly down the Loch side, till by came a  a mounting lark in an April morning; and wrote
Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerbly  me an answer which measured me out very comgood horse, but which had never known the
good horse, but which had never known the  pletely what an immense- way I had to travel
ornaments of iron or leather. We scorned to be
before I could reach the climate of her favour.
out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we
out-gallopd by a Hn, so of          But I am an old hawk at the sport, and wrote
started, whip and spur. My companions, though
her such a cool, deliberate, prudent reply, as
seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly astern; but
brought my bird from her aerial towerings, pop,
my old mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante       t my,           l T i.-~'.- ~'..  ~down at my foot, like Corporal Trim's hat.
family, she strained past the Highlandman in
As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, andI
spite of all his efforts with the hair halter; just
all my wise sayings, and why my mare was
as I was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse,, 
called Jenny Geddes, they shall be recorded in
as if to cross before me to mar my progress,,  a few weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the chrowhen down came his horse, and threw his rider's,                                  n,.   1.11' ~,       mnicles of your memory, by            R.B.
breekless a-e in a clipt hedge; and down came 
Jenny Geddes over all, and my bardship between her and the Highlandman'S horse. Jenny
Geddes trode over me with such cautious reverence, that matters were not so bad as might




350                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
LXXI.                                           LXXII.
TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND.                          TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[Mr. John Richmond, writer, was one of the poet's   [This letter, were proof wanting, shows the friendly
earliest and firmest friends; he shared his room with him  and familiar footing on which Burns stood with the
when they met in Edinburgh, and did him many little  Ainslies, and more particularly with the author of that
offices of kindness and regard.]                popular work, the " Reasons for the Hope that is in us."]
Mossgiel, 7th July, 1787.                    Mauchline, 23d July, 1787.
MY DARB RICHMOND,                               MY DEAR AINSLIE,
I AM all impatience to hear of your fate since    TH      is one thing for which I set great store
the old confounder of right and wrong has  by you as a friend, and it is this, that I have not
turned you out of place, by his journey to an-  a friend upon earth, besides yourelf, to whom
swer his indictment at the bar of the other  I can talk nonsense without forfeiting some deworld. He will find the practice of the court so  gree of his esteem.  Now, to one like me, who
different from the practice in which he has for  never cares for speaking anything else but nonso many years been thoroughly hackneyed, that  sense, such a friend as you is an invaluable
his friends, if he had any connexions truly of  treasure.  I was never a rogue, but have been
that kind, which I rather doubt, may well  a  fool a  m  le; an, in st o all    endentremble for his sake.  His chicane, his left-  yours, I see now plainly that I shall never be
handed wisdom, which stood so firmly by him,  wise.  Now it rejoices my heart to have met
to such good purpose, here, like other accom- ith such a fellow as you, who, though you are
plices in robbery and plunder, will'now the  not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust
you will never listen so much to the temptations
piratical business is blown, in all probability      will never listen so much to the temptations
turn the king's evidences, and then the devil's of the devil as to grow so very wse that you
bagpiper will touch him off "Bundle and go" d   will in the least disrespect an honest follow bebagpiper will touch him off " Bundle and go!"
If he has left you any legacy, I beg your par-  cause he is a fool. In short, I have set you down
If he has left you any legacy, I beg your par-   
don for all this; if not, I know you will swear  as the staff of my old age, when the whole list
to every word I said about him.                 of my friends will, after a decent share of pity,
I have lately been rambling over by Dumbar-  have forgot me.
ton and Inverary, and running a drunken race    Though in the morn comes sturt and strife,
on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild High-        Yet joy may come at noon;
landman; his horse, which had never known    And I hope to live a merry, merry life
the ornaments of iron or leather, zigzagged         When a' thir days are done.
across before my old spavin'd hunter, whose    Write me soon, were it but a few lines just to
name is Jenny Geddes, and down came the                                                  
-a.,~             tell me how that good sagacious man your
Highlandman, horse and all, and down camefather is-that kind dainty body your motherJenny and my bardship; so I have got such a that strapping chiel your brother Douglas-and
skinful of bruises and wounds, that I shall be  my friend Rachel, who is as far before Rachel
at least four weeks before I dare venture on my   of old, as she was before  her blear-eyed sister
j  of old, as she was before her blear-eyed sister
journey to Edinburgh.                          Leah.                                 R. B
Not one new thing under the sun has hap-                     ___
pened in Mauchline since you left it. I hope
this will find you as comfortably situated as                     LXXIII.
formerly, or, if heaven pleases, more so; but,      TO RO         T AI             E
at all events, I trust you will let me know of,
course how matters stand with you, well or ill.    The " savage hospitality,"of which Burns complains'Tis but poor consolation to tell the world when  in this letter, was at that time an evil fashion in Scotland:
but poorconsoltionto e wod we   the bottle was made to circulate rapidly, and aevery glass
matters go wrong; but you know very well your  was drunk " clean caup out."]
connexion  and mine stands on a different
footing.                                                             IiMauchline, July, 1787.
footing.                                            Mv DEAR Si,
I am ever, my dear friend, yours,              DEAR S 
Ra, you     My life, since I saw you last, has been one
R. B continued hurry; that savage hospitality which




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              351
knocks a man down with strong liquors, is the  I have, like Solomon, whose character, exceptdevil. I have a sore warfare in this world; the  ing in the trifling affair of wisdom, I sometimes
devil, the world, and the flesh are three formi-  think I resemble,-I have, I say, like him turned
dable foes. The first I generally try to fly from;  my eyes to behold madness and folly, and
the second, alas! generally flies from  me; but  like him, too, frequently shaken hands with their
the third is my plague, worse than the ten  intoxicating  friendship.-After you have pe.
plagues of Egypt.                                 rused these pages, should you think them trifling
I have been looking over several farms in this  and impertinent, I only beg leave to tell you,
country; one in particular, in Nithsdale, pleased  that the poor author wrote them  under some
me so well, that if my offer to the proprietor is  twitching qualms of conscience, arising from a
accepted, I shall commence farmer at Whit-  suspicion that he was doing what he ought not
Sunday.  If farming do not appear eligible, I  to do; a predicament he has more than once
shall have recourse to my other shift: but this  been in before.
to a friend.                                        I have not the most distant pretensions to asI set out for Edinburgh on Monday morning;  sume that character which the pye-coated guarhow long I stay there is uncertain, but you will  dians of escutcheons call a gentleman.  When
know so soon as I can inform you myself. How-  at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in
ever I determine, poesy must be laid aside for  the herald's office; and, looking through that
some time; my mind has been vitiated with  granary of honours, I there found almost every
idleness, and it will take a good deal of effort  name in the kingdom; but for me,
to habituate it to the routine of business.                  "My ancient but ignoble blood
I am, my dear Sir,                Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood."
Yours sincerely,                                                 POPE.
R. B.    Gules, purpure, argent, &c., quite disowned me.
My father was of the north of Scotland, the
son of a farmer, and was thrown by early misL,~XXIV.   ~fortunes on the world at large; where, after
many years' wanderings and sojournings, he
TO  DR. MOORE.                       picked up a pretty large quantity of observation and experience, to which I am indebted for
[Dr. Moore was one of the first to point out thebeauty of
the lyric compositions of Burns. "'Green grow the  most of my little pretensions to wisdom-I have
Rashes,' and of the two songs," says he, "which follow,  met with few who understood men, their manbeginning'Again rejoicing nature sees,' and'The            their ways ual to him   but stubgloomy night is gathering fast;' the latter is exquisite.  bn  u ai    ingrity  a   headlong  unoBy the way, I imagine you have a peculiar talent for such                        
compositions which you ought to indulge: no kind of  vernable irascibility, are disqualifying circumpoetry demands more delicacy or higher polishing." On  stances; consequently, I was born a very poor
this letter to Moore all the biographies of Barns are  man's son.  For the first six or seven years of
founded.]                                         my life, my father was gardener to a worthy
Mauchline, 2d August, 1787.    gentleman of small estate in the neighbourhood
SIR,                                         of Ayr.  Had he continued in that station I
FOR some months past I have  been rambling  must have marched off to be one of the little
over the country, but I am now confined with  underlings about a farm-house; but it was his
some lingering complaints, originating, as I take  dearest wish and prayer to have it in his power
it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a littleder his own eye, till they
to keep his children under his own eye, till they
in this miserable fog of ennui, I have taken a  
in this miserable fog of ennui, I have taken a  could discern between good and evil; so, with
whim to give          istory                      the assistance you a  history ofu master, my father
has made  some little noise in this country; youventured on a small farm  on his estate. At
have done me the honour to interest yourself  those years, I was by no means a favourite
very warmly in my behalf; and I think a faith-  wth  nyby   I was    good deal noted for a
l acon   fwa  rcefamnIawith anybody.  I was a good deal noted for a
ful account of wc hat character of a man I am,  retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy something
and how I came by that character, may perhaps         my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot'
amuse you in an idle moment.  I will give you   piey.  I sy idiot p, bcaus  1  as t
an honest narrative, though I know it will be _____________________
often at my own expense; for I assure you, Sir,                  i Idiot for idiotic.




352                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
but a child.  Though it cost the schoolmaster  bounds or limits.  I formed several connexions
some thrashings, I made an excellent English  with other younkers, who possessed superior adscholar; and by the time I was ten or eleven years  vantages; the youngling actors who were busy
of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and  in the rehearsal of parts, in which they were
particles.  In my infant and boyish days, too,  shortly to appear on the stage of life, where,
I owed much to an old woman who resided in  alas! I was destined to drudge behind the
the family, remarkable for her ignorance, cre-  scenes. It is not commonly at this green age,
dulity, and superstition.  She had, I suppose,  that our young gentry have a just sense of the
the largest collection in the country of tales and  immense distance between them and their ragged
songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brow-  playfellows.  It takes a few  dashes into the
nies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, Jcelpies, elf-  world, to give the young great man that proper,
candles, deadlights, wraiths, apparitions, can-  decent, unnoticing disregard for the poor, insigtraips, giants, enchanted towers, dregons, and  nificant stupid devils, the mechanics and peaother trumpery.  This cultivated' the latent  santry around him, who were, perhaps, born in
seeds of poetry; but had so strong an effect on  the same village.  My young superiors never
my imagination, that to this hour, in my noc-  insulted the clouterly appearance of my ploughturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look  boy carcase, the two extremes of which were
out in suspicious places; and though nobody  often exposed to all the inclemencies of all the
can be more sceptical than I am in such mat-  seasons. They would give me stray volumes of
ters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy  books; among them, even then, I could pick up
to shake off these idle terrors.  The earliest  some observations, and one, whose heart, I am
composition that I recollect taking pleasure in,  sure, not even the " Munny Begum" scenes have
was The Vision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addi-  tainted, helped me to a little French.  Parting
son's beginning, " How are thy servants blest,  with these my young friends and benefactors, as
O Lord!"  I particularly remember one half-  they occasionally went off for the East or West
stanza which was music to my boyish ear-         Indies, was often to me a sore affliction; but 1
i   For thoulh in dreadful whirls we hung  was soon called to more serious evils.  My
High on the broken wave-"              father's generous master died! the farm proved
I met with these pieces in Mason's English Col-  a ruinous bargain; and to clench the misfortune,
lection, one of my school-books.  The first two  we fell into the hands of a factor, who sat for
books I ever read in private, and which gave me  the picture I have drawn of one in my tale of
more pleasure than any two books I ever read  " The Twa Dogs."  My father was advanced in
since, were The Life of Hannibal, and The Histo-  life when he married; I was the eldest of seven
ry of Sir William Wallace.  Hannibal gave my  children, and he, worn out by early hardships,
young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in  was unfit for labour.  My father's spirit was
raptures up and down after the recruiting drum   soon irritated, but not easily broken.  There
and bag-pipe, and wish myself tall enough to  was a freedom  in his lease in two years more,
be a soldier; while the story of Wallace poured  and to weather these two years, we retrenched
a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will  our expenses.  We lived very poorly: I was a
boil along there till the floodgates of life shut  dexterous ploughman for my age; and the next
in eternal rest.                                 eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert), who could
Polemical divinity about this time was putting  drive the plough very well, and help me to
the country half mad, and I, ambitious of shin-  thrash the corn. A novel-writer might, perhaps,
ing in conversation parties on Sundays, between  have viewed these scenes with some satisfacsermons, at funerals, &c., used a few years after-  tion, but so did not I; my indignation yet boils
wards to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat  at the recollection of the scoundrel factor's inand indiscretion, that I raised a hue and cry of  solent threatening letters, which used to set us
hereby against me, which has not ceased to this  all in tears.
hour.                                              This kind of life-the cheerless gloom  of a
My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to  hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galleyme.  My social disposition, when not checked  slave, brought me to my sixteenth year; a little
by some modifications of spirited pride, was like  before which period I first committed the sin of
our catechism  definition of infinitude, without  rhyme.  You know our country custom of cou



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          353
pling a man and woman together as partners in  kindly stepped in, and carried him away, to
the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn,  where the wicked cease from  troubling, and
my partner was a bewitching creature, a year  where the weary are at rest!
younger than myself.  My scarcity of English    It is during the time that we lived on this farm
denies me the power of doing her justice in that  that my little story is most eventful.  I was, at
language, but you know the Scottish idiom: she  the beginning of this period, perhaps, the most
was a "bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass."  In short,  ungainly awkward boy in the parish-no solitaire
she, altogether unwittingly to herself, initiated  was less acquainted with the ways of the world.
me in that delicious passion, which, in spite of  What I knew  of ancient story was gathered
acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, and  from  Salmon's  and  Guthrie's  Geographical
bookworm philosophy, I hold to be the first of  Grammars; and the ideas I had formed of mohuman joys, our dearest blessing here below!  dern manrers, of literature, and criticism, I got
How she caught the contagion I cannot tell;  from the Spectator. These, with Pope's Works,
you medical people talk much of infection from   some Plays of Shakspeare, Tull and Dickson on
breathing the same air, the touch, &c.; but I  Agriculture, the Pantheon, Locke's Essay on
never expressly said I loved her.-Indeed, I did  the Human Understanding, Stackhouse's Hisnot know myself why I liked so much to loiter  tory of the Bible, Justice's British Gardener's
behind with her, when returning in the evening  Directory, Boyle's Lectures, Allan Ramsay's
from our labours; why the tones of her voice  Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Original
made my heart-strings thrill like an JEolian  Sin, A Select Collection of English Songs, and
harp; and particularly why my pulse beat such  Hervey's Meditations, had formed the whole of
a furious ratan, when I looked and fingered over  my reading.  The collection of Songs was my
her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings  vade mecum.  I pored over them, driving my
and thistles. Among her other love-inspiring  cart, or walking to labour, song by song, verse
qualities, she sung sweetly; and it was her fa-  by verse; carefully noting the true tender, or
vourite reel to which I attempted giving an em-  sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am conbodied vehicle in ryhme. I was not so presump-  vinced I owe to this practice much of my critic
tuous as to imagine that I could make verses  craft, such as it is.
like printed ones, composed by men who had    In my seventeenth year, to give my manners
Greek and Latin; but my girl sung a song  a brush, I went to a country dancing-school.
which was said to be composed bya smallcoun-  My father had an unaccountable  antipathy
try laird's son, on one of his father's maids,  against these meetings, and my going was, what
with whom he was in love; and I saw no rea-  to this moment I repent, in opposition to his
son why I might not rhyme as well as he; for  wishes.  My father, as I said before, was subexcepting that he could smear sheep, and cast  ject to strong passions; from that instance of
peats, his father living in the moorlands, he had   disobedience in me, he took a sort of dislike to
no more scholar-craft than myself.              me, which, I believe, was one cause of the dissiThus with me began love and poetry; which  pation which marked my succeeding years.  I
at times have been my only, and till within the  say dissipation, comparatively with the strictlast twelve months, have been my highest en-  ness, and sobriety, and regularity of Presbyjoyment. My father struggled on till he reached  terian country life; for though the will-o'-wisp
the freedom in his lease, when he entered on a  meteors of thoughtless whim were almost the sole
larger farm, about ten miles farther in the coun-  lights of my path, yet early ingrained piety and
try.  The nature of the bargain he made was  virtue kept me for several years afterwards
such as to throw a little ready money into his  within the line of innocence.  The great mishands at the commencement of his lease, other-  fortune of my life was to want an aim. I had
wise the affair would have been impracticable.  felt early some stirrings of ambition, but they
For four years we lived comfortably here, but a  were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops
difference commencing between him  and his  round the walls of his cave. I saw my father's
landlord as to terms, after three years tossing  situation entailed on me perpetual labour.
and whirling in the vortex of litigation, my father  The only two openings by which I could enter
was just saved from the horrors of a jail, by a  the temple of fortune were the gate of nigconsumption, which, after two years' promises,  gardly economy, or the path of little chican23




854                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ing bargain-making. The first is so contracted  that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smugan aperture I never could squeeze myself into  gling coast, a good distance from home, at a
it-the last I always hated-there was con-  noted school to learn mensuration, surveying,
tamination in the very entrance!  Thus aban-  dialling, &c., in which I made a pretty good
doned of aim  or view in life, with a strong  progress.  But I made a greater progress in
appetite for sociability, as well from  native  the knowledge of mankind.  The contraband
hilarity as from a pride of observation and re-  trade was at that time very successful, and it
mark; a constitutional melancholy or hypochon-  sometimes happened to me to fall in with those
driasm that made me fly solitude; add to these  who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot
incentives to social life, my reputation for book-  and roaring dissipation were, till this time, new
ish knowledge, a certain wild logical talent,  to me; but I was no enemy to social life. Here,
and a strength of thought, something like the  though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix
rudiments of good sense; and it will not seem   without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went
surprising that I was generally a welcome guest  on with a high hand with my geometry, till the
where I visited, or any great wonder that  sun entered Virgo, a month which is always a
always, where two or three met together, there  carnival in my bosom, when a charming fillette,
was I among them. But far beyond all other  who lived next door to the school, overset my
impulses of my heart, was un penchant A I'adora-  trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent from
lie moitie du genre humain. My heart was com-  the spheres of my studies. I, however, struggled
pletely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by  on with my sines and co-sines for a few days
some goddess or other; and, as in every other  more; but stepping into the garden one charmwarfare in this world, my fortune was various;  ing noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met
sometimes I was received with favour, and some-  my angel,
times I was mortified with a repulse.  At the          ", Like Proserpine gathering flowers,
plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no corn-     Herself a fairer flower —"
petitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance;    It was invain to think of doing any more
and as I never cared farther for my laboursgood at school. The remaining week I stayed I
than while I was in actual exercise, I spent the  did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul
evenings in the way after my own heart. A
evenings in the way after my own heart.  A   about her, or steal out to meet her; and the
country lad seldom carries on a love adventure  two last nights of my stay in the country, had
without an assisting confidant. I possessed a  sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this modest
curiosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity that re-  and innocent girl had kept me guiltless.
commended me as a proper second on these    I returned home very considerably improved.
occasions; and I dare say, I felt as much plea-  My reading was enlarged with the very importsure in being in the secret of half the loves of  ant addition of Thomson's and Shenstone's
the parish of Tarbolton, as ever did statesman  works; I had seen human nature in a new
in knowing the intrigues of half the courts of  phasis; and I engaged several of my schoolfelEurope.  The very goose-feather in my hand  lows to keep up a literary correspondence with
seems to know instinctively the well-worn path of  me. This improved me in composition.  I ha
my imagination, the favourite theme of my song; me    h    collection of letters by the wits of
and is with difficulty restrained from giving you ee     e          and I  ore  oer them 
Queen Anne's reign, and I pored over them
a couple of paragraphs on the love-adventures most devoutly. I kept copies of any of my own
of my compeers, the humble inmates of the  letters that pleased me, and a comparison befarm-house and cottage; but the grave sons of  tween them and the composition of most of my
science, ambition, or avarice baptize these  correspondents  attered my vanity. I carried
things by the name of follies.  To the sons and              f            va           cre
this whim so far, that though I had not threedaughters of labour and poverty they are mat-  farthings' worth of business in the world yet
ters of the most'serious nature: to them  the 
almost every post brought me as many letters
ardent hope, the stolen interview, the tender  as i I h   b        broad plodding son of the
as if I had been a broad plodding son of the
farewell, are the greatest and most delicious  day-book and ledger.
parts of their enjoyments.                                       o  m      i t         
Another circumstance in my life which made
some alteration in my mind and manners, was,                i Paradise Lost, b. iv




OF ROBEIRT BURltNS.                                       355
till my twenty-third year.  Vive l'amour, et vive  gave him a genteel education, with a view of
la bagatelle, were my sole principles of action.  bettering his situation in life.  The patron
The addition of two more authors to my library  dying just as he was ready to launch out into
gave me great pleasure; Sterne and Mackenzie  the world, the poor fellow in despair went to
-Tristram Shandy and the Man of Feeling were  sea; where, after a variety of good and ill-formy bosom favourites.  Poesy was still a darling  tune, a little before I was acquainted with him
walk for my mind, but it was only indulged in  he had been set on shore by an American priaccording to the humour of the hour.  I had  vateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, stripusually half a dozen or more pieces on hand; I  ped of everything.  I cannot quit this poor feltook up one or other, as it suited the momentary  low's story without adding, that he is at this
tone of the mind, and dismissed the work as it  time master of a large West-Indiaman belonging
bordered on fatigue.  My passions, when once  to the Thames.
lighted up, raged like so many devils, till they    His mind was fraught with independence,
got vent in rhyme; and then the conning over  magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I loved
my verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet! and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and
None of the rhymes of those days are in print,  of course strove to imitate him. In some meaexcept "Winter, a dirge," the eldest of my  sure I succeeded; I had pride before, but he
printed pieces; " The Death of poor Maillie,"  taught it to flow in proper channels. His know" John Barleycorn," and songs first, second, and  ledge of the world was vastly superior to mine,
third.  Song second was the ebullition of that  and I was all attention to learn.  He was the
passion which ended the forementioned school-  only man I ever saw who was a greater fool than
business,                                      myself where woman was the presiding star;
My twenty-third year was to me an import-  but he spoke of illicit love with the levity of a
ant tera. Partly through whim, and partly  sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with horthat I wished to set about doing something in  ror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, and
life, I joined a flax-dresser in a neighbouring  the consequence was, that soon after I resumed
town (Irvine) to learn his trade.  This was an  the plough, I wrote the "Poet's Welcome." 
unlucky affair.  My * * * and to finish the  My reading only increased while in this town
whole, as we were giving a welcome carousal to  by two stray volumes of Pamela, and one of
the new year, the shop took fire and burnt to  Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave me some
ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, not worth  idea of novels.  Rhyme, except some religious
a sixpence.                                    pieces that are in print, I had given up; but
I was obliged to give up this scheme; the  meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I
clouds of misfortune were gathering thick round  strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emumy father's head; and, what was worst of all,  lating vigour.  When my father died, his all
he was visibly far gone in a consumption; and  went among the hell-hounds that growl in the
to crown my distresses, a belle fille, whom I  kennel of justice; but we made a shift to coladored, and who had pledged her soul to meet  lect a little money in the family amongst us,
me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with  with which, to keep us together, my brother and
peculiar circumstances of mortification.  The  I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wantfinishing evil that brought up the rear of this  ed my hair-brained imagination, as well as my
infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy  social and amorous madness; but in good sense,
being increased to such a degree, that for three  and every sober qualification, he was far my sumonths I was in a state of mind scarcely to be  perior.
envied by the hopeless wretches who have got    I entered on this farm with a full resolution,
their mittimus-depart from me, ye cursed!      "come, go to, I will be wise!"  I read farming
From this adventure I learned something of a  books, I calculated crops; I attended markets;
town life; but the principal thing which gave  and in short, in spite of the devil, and the world,
my mind a turn, was a friendship I formed with  and the flesh, I believe I should have been a
a young fellow, a very noble character, but a  wise man; but the first year, from unfortunately
hapless son of misfortune.  He was the son of  buying bad seed, the second from a late hara simple mechanic; but a great man in the 
a simple mechanic; but a ge1 in       Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Child."
neighbourhood taking him under his patronage,  -See Poem XXXIII.




356                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
vest, we lost half our crops. This overset all  means of information, to see how much ground
my wisdom, and I returned, "like the dog to  I occupied as a man and as a poet; I studied
his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her  assiduously Nature's design in my formationwallowing in the mire."                         where the lights and shades in my character
I now began to be known in the neighbourhood  were intended. I was pretty confident my poems
as a maker of rhymes.  The first of my poetic  would meet with some applause; but, at the
offspring that saw the light, was a burlesque la-  worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen
mentation on a quarrel between two reverend  the voice of censure, and the novelty of West
Calvinists, both of them  dramatis personce in  Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw
"Holy Fair."  I had a notion myself that  off six hundred copies, of which I had got subthe piece had some merit; but, to prevent  scriptions for about three hundred and fifty.the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend,  My vanity was highly gratified by the reception
who was very fond of such things, and told him   I met with from  the public; and besides I
that I could not guess who was the author of it,  pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty
but that I thought it pretty clever. With a cer-  pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I
tain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it was thinking of indenting myself, for want of
met with a roar of applause.  " Holy Willie's  money to procure my passage. As soon as I
Prayer" next made its appearance, and alarmed  was master of nine guineas, the price of waftthe kirk-session so much, that they held several  ing me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage pasmeetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if  sage in the first ship that was to sail from the
haply any of it might be pointed against pro-  Clyde, for
fane rhymers.  Unluckily for me, my wander-             "Hungry ruin had me in the wind."
ings led me on another side, within point-blank    I had been for some days skulking from
shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfor-  covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail;
tunate story that gave rise to my printed poem,  as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the
"The Lament."  This was a most melancholy  merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had
affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and  taken the last farewell of my few friends; my
had very nearly given me one or two of the  chest was on the road to Greenock; I had comprincipal qualifications for a place among those  posed the last song I should ever measure in
who have lost the chart, and mistaken the reck-  Caledonia- "The gloomy night is gathering
oning of rationality.  I gave up my part of  fast," when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a
the farm to my brother; in truth it was only  friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by
nominally mine; and made what little prepara-  opening new prospects to my poetic ambition.
tion was in my power for Jamaica. But, before  The doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose
leaving my native country for ever, I resolved  applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion,
to publish my poems. I weighed my produc-  that I would meet with  encouragement in
tions as impartially as was in my power; I  Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so
thought they had merit; and it was a deli-  much, that away I posted for that city, without
cious idea that I should be called a clever fellow,  a single acquaintance, or a single letter of ineven though it should never reach my ears-a  troduction. The baneful star that had so long
poor negro-driver-or perhaps a victim to that  shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once
inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of  made a revolution to the nadir; and a kind
spirits! I can truly say, that pauvre inconluw as  Providence placed me under the patronage
I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea  of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glenof myself and of my works as I have at this  cairn.  Oublie-moi, grand Dieu, si jamais ye
moment, when the public has decided in their  l'oublie!
favour. It ever was my opinion that the mis-    I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I
takes and blunders, both in a rational and reli-  was in a new world; I mingled among many
gious point of view, of which we see thousands  classes of men, but all of them new to me, and
daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of  I was all attention to "catch" the characters  ~
themselves.-To know myself had been all along  and "the manners living as they rise."  Whe.
my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I  ther I have profited, time will show.
balanced myself with others; I watched every          *         *                   *




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              357
My most respectful compliments to Miss Wil-    If this does not please you, let me hear from
liams.  Her very elegant and friendly letter I  you; if you write any time before the 1st of
cannot answer at present, as my presence is re-  September, direct to Inverness, to be left at the
quisite in Edinburgh, and I set out to-morrow.  post-office till called for; the next week at
R. B.    Aberdeen, the next at Edinburgh.
The sheet is done, and I shall just conclude
with assuring you that
I am, and ever with pride shall be,
LXXV.                                                 My dear Sir, &c.
R. B.
TO  ROBERT AINSLIE,  ESQ.,                                                            R. B.
Call your boy what you think proper) only
BERRYWELL DUN SE.                     interject Burns.  What do you say to a Scrip[This characteristic letter was first published by Sir  ture name? Zimri Burns Ainslie, or ArchitoHarris Nicolas; others, still more characteristic, ad-  phel, &c., look your Bible for these two heroes,
dressed to the same gentleman, are abroad: how they  if you do this, I will repay the compliment.
escaped from private keeping is a sort of a riddle.]
Edinburgh, 23d August, 1787.
"As I gaed up to Dunse
To warp a pickle yarn,                                 LXXVI.
Robin, silly body,
He gat me wi' bairn."                      TO MR. ROBERT  MUIR.
FROM henceforth, my dear Sir, I am  deter-    [No Scotsman will ever read, without emotion, the
mined to set off with my letters like the period-  poet's words in this letter, and in " Scots wha hae wi
ical writers, viz. prefix a kind of text, quoted  Wallace bled,' about Bannockburn and its glories.]
from some classic of undoubted authority, such                       Stirling, 26th August, 1787.
as the author of the immortal piece, of which          MY DEAR SIR,
my text is a part.  What I have to say on my         I INTENDED to have written you from  Edintext is exhausted in a letter which I wrote you  burgh, and now write you from Stirling to make
the other day, before I had the pleasure of re-  an excuse.  Here am I, on my way to Inverceiving yours from  Inverkeithing; and sure  ness, with a truly original, but very worthy
never was anything more lucky, as I have but  man, a Mr. Nicol, one of the masters of the
the time to write this, that Mr. Nicol, on the  High-school, in Edinburgh.  I left Auld Reekie
opposite side of the table, takes to correct a  yesterday morning, and have passed, besides
proof-sheet of a thesis.  They are gabbling  by-excursions, Linlithgow, Borrowstouness, FalLatin so loud that I cannot hear what my own  kirk, and here am I undoubtedly.  This mornsoul is saying in my own skull, so I must just  ing I knelt at the tomb of Sir John the Graham,
give you a matter-of-fact sentence or two, and  the gallant friend of the immortal Wallace;
end, if time permit, with a verse de rei genera-  and two hours ago I said a fervent prayer,
tione.  To-morrow  I leave  iEdinburgh in a  for Old Caledonia, over the hole in a blue whinchaise; Nicol thinks it more comfortable than  stone, where Robert de Bruce fixed his royal
horseback, to which I say, Amen; so Jenny   standard on the banks of Bannockburn; and just
Geddes goes home to Ayrshire, to use a phrase  now, from  Stirling Castle, I have seen by the
of my mother's, wi' her finger in her mouth.      setting sun the glorious prospect of the windings
Now for a modest verse of classical authority:  of Forth through the rich carse of Stirling, and
The cats like kitchen;                   skirting the equally rich carse of Falkirk. The
The dogs like broo;                    crops are very strong, but so very late, that
The lasses like the lads wee,            there is no harvest, except a ridge or two perAnd th' auld wives too.                haps in ten miles, all the way I have travelled
from Edinburgh.
CHORUS.                          I left Andrew Bruce and family all well.  I
And we're a' noddin,                     will be at least three weeks in making my tour,
Nid, nid, noddin,                      as I shall return by the coast, and have many
We're a' noddin fou at e'en.             people to call for.




358                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
My best compliments to Charles, our dear  man owes to man, and has a right in his turn
kinsman and fellow-saint; and Messrs. W. and  to exact, are striking features in his characH. Parkers.  I hope Hughoc is going on and  ter; and, what with me is the Alpha and the
prospering with God and Miss M'Causlin.         Omega, he has a heart that might adorn the
If I could think on anything sprightly, I should  breast of a poet! Grace has a good figure, and
i:t you hear every other post; but a dull, mat-  the look of health and cheerfulness, but notcr-of-fact business, like this scrawl, the less  thing else remarkable in her person. I scarcely
aind seldomer one writes, the better.           ever saw so striking a likeness as is between
Among other matters-of-fact I shall add this,  her and your little Beenie; the mouth and chin
hiat I am and ever shall be,                   particularly.  She is reserved at first; but as
My dear Sir,                    we grew better acquainted, I was delighted with
Your obliged,         the native frankness of her manner, and the
R. B.    sterling sense of her observation.  Of Charlotte
I cannot speak in common terms of admiration:
she is not only beautiful but lovely. Her form
I XXVII.                      is elegant; her features not regular, but they
have the smile of sweetness and the settled
TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON, ESQ.                  complacency of good nature in the highest
degree; and her complexion, now that she has
[It is supposed that the warmth of the lover came in  degree; and her complexion, now that she has
this letter to the aid of the imagination of the poet, in his  happily recovered her wonted health, is equal
account of Charlotte Hamilton.]                 to Miss Burnet's.  After the exercise of our
riding to the Falls, Charlotte was exactly Dr.
Stirling, 28th August, 1787.   onne's mistress:
Donne's mistress:MY DEAR SIR,
MvI DEAR Si-, ___                                   _" Her pure and eloquent blood
HERE am I on my way to Inverness.  I have        Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,
rambled over the rich, fertile carses of Falkirk   That one would almost say her body thought."
and Sterling, and am delighted with their ap-  Her eyes are fascinating; at once expressive
pearance: richly waving crops of wheat, barley,  of good sense, tenderness, and a noble mind.
&c., but no harvest at all yet, except, in one or    I do not give you all this account, my good
two places, an old wife's ridge.  Yesterday  Sir, to flatter you. I mean it to reproach you.
morning I rode from this town up the meander-  Such relations the first peer in the realm might
ing Devon's banks, to pay my respects to some  own with pride; then why do you not keep up
Ayrshire folks at Harvieston. After breakfast,  more correspondence with these so amiable
we made a party to go and see the famous Cau-  young folks? I had a thousand questions to
dron-linn, a remarkable cascade in the Devon,  answer about you.  I had to describe the little
about five miles above Harvieston; and after  ones with the minuteness of anatomy.  They
spending one of the most pleasant days I ever  were highly delighted when I told them  tllat
had in my life, I returned to Stirling in the  John was so good a boy, and so fine a scholar,
evening.  They are a family, Sir, though I had  and that Willie was going on still very pretty;
not had any prior tie; though they had not  but I have it in commission to tell her from
been the brother and sisters of a certain gene-  them that beauty is a poor silly bauble without
rous friend of mine, I would never forget them.  she be good.  Miss Chalmers I had left in
I am told you have not seen them these several  Edinburgh, but I had the pleasure of meeting
years, so you can have very little idea of what  Mrs. Chalmers, only Lady Mackenzie being
these young folks are now.  Your brother is as  rather a little alarmingly ill of a sore throat
tall as you are, but slender rather than other- somewhat marred our enjoyment.
wise; and I have the satisfaction to inform you    I shall not be in Ayrshire for four weeks.
that he is getting the better of those consump-  My most respectful compliments to Mrs. Hamtive symptoms which I suppose you know were  ilton, Miss Kennedy, and Doctor Mackenzie.
threatening him.  His make, and particularly  I shall probably write him from some stage ot
his manner, resemble you, but he will still have  other.
a finer face.  (I put in the word still to please          I am ever, Sir,
Mrs. Hamilton.)  Good sense, modesty, and at                   Yours most gratefully,
the same time a just idea of that respect tnht                                        R. B




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           359
LXXVIII.                                   Edinburgh, 17th September, 1787.
MY DEAR BROTHER,
TO   MR. W A LKER,                     I ARRIVED here safe yesterday evening, after
BLAIR OF ATHOLE.                  a tour of twenty-two days, and travelling near
[Professor Walker was a native of Ayrshire, and an  Si  hundred miles, windings included.   My
accomplished scholar; he saw Burns often in Edinburgh;  farthest stretch was about ten miles beyond
he saw him at the Earl of Athol's on the Bruar; he visited  Inverness. I went through the heart of the
him too at Dumfries; and after the copyright of Currie's  Highlands by Crieff, Taymouth the famous seat
edition of the poet's works expired, he wrote, with much   
taste and feeling, his life anew, and edited his works-  of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among
what passed under his own observation he related with  cascades and druidical circles of stones, to
truth and ease.]                                 Dunkeld, a seat of the Duke of Athol; thence
Inverness, 5th September, 1787.    across the Tay, and up one of his tributary
MY DEAR SIR,                                streams to Blair of Athole, another of the
I HAVE just time to write the foregoing,' and  duke's seats, where I had the honour of spendto tell you that it was (at least most part of it)  ing nearly two days with his grace and family;
thence many miles through a wild country,
the effusion of an half-hour I spent at Bruar.          many miles through a  ild country,
I do not mean it was extempore, for I have  among cliffs gray with eternal snows and gloomy
endeavoured to brush it up as well as Mr.  savage glens, till I crossed Spey and went down
Nicol's chat and the jogging of the chaise would  the stream  through Strathspey, so famous in
allow.  It eases my heart a good deal, as  Scottish music; Badenoch, &c., till I reached
rhyme is the coin with which a poet pays his  Grant Castle, where I spent half a day with
debts of honour or gratitude.  What I owe to  Sir James Grant and family; and then crossed
the noble family of Athol, of the fir~t kind,  the country for Fort George, but called by the
I shall ever proudly boast; what I owe of the  way at Cawdor, the  ancient seat of Macbeth;
last, so help me God in my hour of need! I there I saw the identical bed, in which tradition
shall never forget.                              says king Duncan was murdered: lastly, from
The "little angel-band!" I declare I prayed Fort George to Inverness.
for them very sincerely to-day at the Fall of    I returned by thecoast, through Nairn,Forres,
Fyers.  I shall never forget the fine family-  and so on, to Aberdeen, thence to Stonehive,
piece I saw at Blair; the amiable, the truly  where James Burness, from Montrose, met me
noble duchess, with her smiling little seraph in  by appointment.  I spent two days among our
her lap, at the head of the table; the lovely  relations, and found our aunts, Jean and Isabel,
"olive plants," as the Hebrew bardfinely says,  still alive, and hale old women.  John Cairn,
round the happy mother: the beautiful Mrs.  though born the same year with our father,
G-; the lovely sweet Miss C., &c. I wish I  walks as vigorously as I can: they have had
had the powers of Guido to do them  justice!  several letters from his son in New York.  WilMy Lord Duke's kind hospitality-markedly  liam  Brand is likewise a stout old fellow; but
kind indeed.  Mr. Graham of Fintray's charms  further particulars I delay till I see you, which
of conversation-Sir W. Murray's friendship.  will be in two or three weeks.  The rest of my
In' short, the recollection of all that polite,  stages are not worth rehearsing   warm  as I
agreeable company raises an honest glow in my  was from Ossian's country, where I had seen
bosom.                                           his very grave, what cared I for fishing-towns
or fertile carses? I slept at the famous Brodie
of Brodie's one night, and dined at Gordon Castie next day, with the duke, duchess and family. I am thinking to cause my old mare to meet
LXXIX.                       me, by means of John Ronald, at Glasgow; but
TO  MR. GILBERT BURNS.                     you shall hear farther from me before I leave
Edinburgh.  My duty and many compliments
[The letters of Robert to Gilbert are neither many nor  from the north to my mother; and my brotherly
important: the latter was a calm, considerate, sensible 
man, with nothing poetic in his composition: he died  compliments to the rest. I have been trying for
lately, much and widely respected.]              a berth for William, but am not likely to he suce
cessful. Farewell.                     R. B.
I The Humble Petition of Bruar-water
I.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




360                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
hand, and heart-melting modulation of periods
LXXX.                       in my power, to urge her out to Harvieston, but
TO MISS MARGARET  CHALMERS.  all invain. My rhetoric seems quite to have lost
its effect on the lovely half of mankind. I have
(N OW M RaS. HaY.)
seen the day-butthat is a "tale of other years."
[To Margaret Chalmers, the youngest daughter of In my conscience I believe that my heart has
James Chalmers, Esq., of Fingland, it is said that Burns
confided his affection to Charlotte Hamilton: his letters  been so oft on fire that it   absolutely vitrified.
to Miss Chalmers, like those to Mrs. Dunlop, are dis-  I look on the sex with something like the admitinguished for their good sense and delicacy as well as  ration with which I regard the starry sky in a
freedom.]                                      frosty December night.  I admire the beauty
Sept. 26, 1787.    of the Creator's workmanship; I am charmed
I SEND Charlotte the first number of the  with the wild but graceful eccentricity of their
songs; I would not wait for the second number;  motions, and-wish them  good night. I mean
I hate delays in little marks of friendship, as I  this with respect to a certain passion dont j'ai
hate dissimulation in the language of the heart.  eu I'honneur d'etre un miserable esclave: as for
I am determined to pay Charlotte a poetic cor-  friendship, you and Charlotte have given me
pliment, if I could hit on some glorious old  pleasure, permanent pleasnre, "which the world
Scotch air, in number second.'  You will see a  cannot give, nor take away," I hope; and which
small attempt on a shred of paper in the book:  will outlast the heavens and the earth.
but though Dr. Blacklock commended it very                                            R. B.
highly, I am not just satisfied with it myself. I
intend to make it a description of some kind:
the whining cant of love, except in real pas-                     LXXXI.
sion, and by a masterly hand, is to me as insuf-   TO  MISS  MARGARET CHALMERS.
ferable as the preaching cant of old Father
Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs. Darts,   [That fine song, "The Banks of the Devon," dedicated
flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that far-  to the charms of Charlotte Hamilton, was enclosed in the
flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that farfollowing letter.]
rago, are just a Mauchline * *  * a senseless
rabble.                                                                        Without date.
I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight    I HAVE been at Dumfries, and at one visit more
from the old, venerable author of "Tullochgo-  shall be decided about a farm in that country.
rum," " John of Badenyon," &c. I suppose you  I am rather hopeless in it; but as my brother
know he is a clergyman.  It is by far the finest  is an excellent farmer, and is, besides, an expoetic compliment I ever got.  I will send you  ceedingly prudent, sober man (qualities which
a copy of it.                                   are only a younger brother's fortune in our
I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to  family), I am determined, if my Dumfries business fail me, to return into partnership with
wait on Mr. Miller about his farms.-Do tell    es fail me, to return into partnership with
that to Lady Mackenzie, that she may give me  him, and at our leisure take another farm in the
credit for a little wisdom.  "I Wisdom dwell  neighbourhood.
with Prudence."   What a blessed fire-side!    I assure you I look for high compliments from
Htow happy should I be to pass a winter evening  you and Charlotte on this very sage instance of
under their venerable roof! and smoke a pipe  my unfathomble, incomprehensible wisdom,
of tobacco, or drink water-gruel with them!  Talking of Charlotte, I must tell her that I have,
oWhat solemn, lengthened, laughter-quashing  to the best of my power, paid her a poetic comgravity of phiz! What sage remarks on the  pliment, now  completed. The air is admirable:
good-for-nothing sons and daughters of indis-true old  ighland. It was the tune of a Gelic
cretion and folly! And what frugal lessons, as  song, which an Inverness lady  sung me when I
we straitened the fire-side circle, on the uses of  ws there; and I was so charmed with it that I
the poker and tongs!                           begged her to write me a set of it from her singMiss N. is very well, and begs to be remem-  ing; for it had never been set before.  I am
Lered in the old way to you. I used all my elo-  fixed that it shall go in Johnson's next number;
quence, all the persuasive flourishes of the  so Charlotte and  you need not spend your pre________________________cious time in contradicting me. I won't say the
I Of the Scots Musical Museum         poetry is first-rate; though I am convinced it is




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           361
very well; and, what is not always the case with  I do not well know where to write to you-I
compliments to ladies, it is not only sincere,  rather write at you; but if you will be so obligbut just.                             R. B.    ing, immediately on receipt of this, as to write
me a few lines, I shall perhaps pay you in kind,
though not in quality. Johnson's terms are:LXXXII.                      each number a handsome pocket volume, to consist at least of a hundred Scotch songs, with
basses for the harpsichord, &c.  The price to
GORDON CASTLE.                    subscribers 5s.; to non-subscribers 6s. He will
[James Hoy, librarian of Gordon Castle, was, it is  have three numbers I conjecture.
said, the gentleman whom his Brace of Gordon sent with    My direction for two or three weeks will be at: mnessage inviting in vain that " obstinate son of Latin  Mr. William Cruikshank's, St. James's-square,
prose," Nicol, to stop and enjoy himself.]      New-town, Edinburgh.
Edinburgh, 20th October, 1787.                          I am,
SIR,                                                                    Sir,
I WILL defend my conduct in giving you this                    Your's to command,
trouble, on the best of Christian principles-                                         R. B.
" Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto
you, do ye even so unto them."-I shall certainly, among my legacies, leave my latest curse                  LXX
to that unlucky predicament which hurried-            TO  REV. JOHN  SKINNER.
tore me away from Castle Gordon.  May that
[The songs of" Tullochgorum," and " John of Badenobstinate son of Latin prose [Nicol] be curst to  yon," have made the name of Skinner dear to all lovers
Scotch mile periods, and damned to seven league  of Scottish verse: he was a man cheerful and pious, nor
paragraphs; while Declension and Conjugation,  did the family talent expire with him: his son became
Gender, Number, and Time, under the ragged  Bishop of berdeen.]
banners of Dissonance and Disarrangement, eter-                 Edinburgh, October 25, 1787.
nally rank against him in hostile array.            REVEREND AND VENERABLE SIR,
Allow me, Sir, to strengthen the small claim I    ACCEPT, in plain dull prose, my most sincere
have to your acquaintance, by the following re-  thanks for the best poetical compliment I ever
quest. An engraver, James Johnson, in Edin-  received.  I assure you, Sir, as a poet, you
burgh, has, not from mercenary views, but from   have conjured up an airy demon of vanity in
an honest, Scotch enthusiasm, set about collect-  my fancy, which the best abilities in your other
ing all our native songs and setting them  to  capacity would be ill able to lay. I regret, and
music; particularly those that have never been  while I live I shall regret, that when I was in
set before. Clarke, the well known musician,  the north, I had not the pleasure of paying a
presides over the musical arrangement, and Drs.  younger brother's dutiful respect to the author
Beattie and Blacklock, Mr. Tytler, of Wood-  of the best Scotch song ever Scotland sawhouselee, and your humble servant to the utmost  " Tullochgorum's my delight!" The world may
of his small power, assist in collecting the old  think slightingly of the craft of song-making,
poetry, or sometimes for a fine air make a stanza,  if they please, but, as Job says-"Oh! that
when it has no words. The brats, too tedious  mine adversary had written a book!"-let them
to mention, claim a parental pang from my bard-  try.  There is a certain something in the old
ship.  I suppose it will appear in Johnson's se-  Scotch songs, a wild happiness of thought and excond number-the first was published before my  pression, which peculiarly marks them, not only
acquaintancewithhim. Myrequestis —"Cauld  from  English songs, but also from the modern
Kail in Aberdeen," is one intended for this  efforts of song-wrights in our native manner and
number, and I beg a copy of his Grace of Gor-  language. The only remains of this enchantment,
don's words to it, which you were so kind as to  these spells of the imagination, rests with you.
repeat to me. You may be sure we won't pre-  Our true brother, Ross of Lochlee, was likefix the author's name, except you like, though I  wise  "owre cannie" —a "wild warlock"look on it as no small merit to this work that the  but now he sings among the " sons of the mornnames of many of the authors of our old Scotch  ing."
songs, names almost forgotten, will be inserted.    I have often wished, and will certainly endea



362                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
vour to form  a kind of common acquaintance                  Edinburgh, 6th November, 1787.
among all the genuine sons of Caledonian song.     DEAR SIR,
The world, busy in low prosaic pursuits, may    I WOULD have wrote you immediately on re.
overlook most of us; but "reverence thyself."  ceipt of your kind letter, but a mixed impulse
The world is not our peers, so we challenge the  of gratitude and esteem whispered me that I
jury.  We can lash that world, and find our-  ought to send you something by way of return.
selves a very great source of amusement and  When a poet owes anything, particularly when
happiness independent of that world.           he is indebted for good offices, the payment that
There is a work going on in Edinburgh, just  usually recurs to him-the only coin indeed ill
now, which claims your best assistance.  An  which he probably is conversant-is rhyme.
engraver in this town has set about collecting  Johnson sends the books by the fly, as directed,
and publishing all the Scotch songs, with the  and begs me to enclose his most grateful thanks:
music, that can be found. Songs in the English  my return I intended should have been one or
language, if by Scotchmen, are admitted, but  two poetic bagatelles which the world have not
the music must all be Scotch. Drs. Beattie and  seen, or, perhaps, for obvious reasons, cannot
Blacklock are lending a hand, and the first mu-  see.  These I shall send you before I leave
sician in town presides over that department.  Edinburgh. They may make you laugh a little,
I have been absolutely crazed about it, collect-  which, on the whole, is no bad way of spending
ing old stanzas, and every information respect-  one's precious hours and still more precious
ing their origin, authors, &c. &c. This last is  breath: at any rate, they will be, though a
but a very fragment business;'but at the end of  small, yet a very sincere mark of my respectful
his second number-thefirst is already published  esteem for a gentleman whose further acquaint-a small account will be given of the authors,  ance I should look upon as a peculiar obligaparticularly to preserve those of latter times.  tion.
Your three songs, "Tullochgorum," "John of    The duke's song, independent totally of his
Badenyon," and "Ewie wi' the crookit horn,"  dukeship, charms me.  There is I know not
go in this second number. I was determined,  what of wild happiness of thought and expresbefore I got your letter, to write you, begging  sion peculiarly beautiful in the old Scottish song
that you would let me know where the editions  style, of which his Grace, old venerable Skinner,
of these pieces may be found, as you would wish  the author of " Tullochgorum," &c., and the late
them to continue in future times: and if you  Ross, at Lochlee, of true Scottish poetic memory,
would be so kind to this undertaking as send  are the only modern instances that I recollect,
any songs, of your own or others, that you would  since Ramsay with his contemporaries, and poor
think proper to publish, your name will be in-  Bob Fergusson, went to the world of deathless
serted among the other authors,-"Nill ye, will  existence and truly immortal song.  The mob
ye."  One half of Scotland already give your  of mankind, that many-headed beast, would
songs to other authors.  Paper is done. I beg  laugh at so serious a speech about an old song;
to hear from you; the sooner the better, as I  but as Job says, "0 that mine adversary had
leave Edinburgh in a fortnight or three weeks.-  written a book!"  Those who think that comI am,                                          posing a Scotch song is a trifling business-let
With the warmest sincerity, Sir,           them try.
Your obliged humble servant,-R. B.        I wish my Lord Duke would pay a proper attention to the Christian admonition-" Hide not
your candle under a bushel," but "let your
light shine before men."  I could name half a
dozen dukes that I guess are a devilish deal
LXXXIV.                      worse employed: nay, I question if there are
half a dozen better: perhaps there are not half
TO JAM E S HOY, ESQ.                   that scanty number whom Heaven has favoured
AT GORDON CASTLE, FOCHABERS.               with the tuneful, happy, and, I will say, glorious
gift.
[In singleness of heart and simplicityof manners James  gift. 
Hoy is said, by one who knew him well, to have rivalled                  S r
Dominie Sampson: his love of learning and his scorn of    Your obliged humble servant,
wea.th are still remembered to his honour.]                                          R. B.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          333
LXXXV.                       sisters from destruction.  There, my lord, you
have bound me over to the highest gratitude.
T O MR. ROBERT AINSLIE,
My brother's farm is but a wretched lease,
EDINBURG H.                    but I think he will probably weather out the re[" I set you down," says Burns, elsewhere, to Ainslie, maining seven years of it; and after the assist" as the staff of my old age, when all my other friends, ance which I have given and will give him, to
after a decent show of pity, will have forgot me.']  keep the family together, I think, by my guess,
Edinburgh, Sunday Morning,    I shall have rather better than two hundred
Nov. 23, 1787.          pounds, and instead of seeking, what is almost
I BEG, my dear Sir, you would not make any  impossible at present to find, a farm that I can
appointment to take us to Mr. Ainslie's to-night.  certainly live by, with so small a stock, I shall
On looking over my engagements, constitution,  lodge this sum in a banking-house, a sacred depresent state of my health, some little vexatious  posit, expecting only the calls of uncommon
soul concerns, &c., I find I can't sup abroad to-  distress or necessitous old age.
night. I shall be in to-day till one o'clock if    These, my lord, are my views: I have resolved
you have a leisure hour.                       from the maturest deliberation; and now I am
You will think it romantic when I tell you,  fixed, I shall leave no stone unturned to carry
that I find the idea of your friendship almost  myresolve into execution. Yourlordship's panecessary to my existence.-You assume apro-  tronage is the strength of my hopes; nor have
per length of face in my bitter hours of blue-  I yet applied to anybody else. Indeed my
devilism, and you laugh fully up to my highest  heart sinks within me at the idea of applying
wishes at my good things.-I don't know upon  to any other of the  great who  have honoured
the whole, if you are one of the first fellows in  m  wth the  countenance.  I am ill qualified
God's world, but you are so to me. I tell you  to dog the heels of greatness with the impertithis just now in the conviction that some in-  nene of solicitation, and tremble  nearly as
equalities in my temper and manner may per-  much at the thought of the cold promise as
haps sometimes make you suspect that I am not  the cold denial; but to your lordship I have
so warmly as I ought to be your friend.        not only the honour, the comfort, but the pleaR. B.    sure of being
Your lordship's much obliged
And deeply indebted humble servant,
R. B.
LXXXVI.
TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.
LXXXVII.
[The views of Burns were always humble: he regardedXXXV
a place in the excise as a thing worthy of paying court    TO JAMES DALRYMPLE, ESQ.
for, both in verse and prose.]
Edinburgh, 1787.                   ORANGEFIELD.
MY LORD,                                    [James Dalrymple, Esq., of Orangefield, was a gentleI KNOW your lordship will disapprove of my  man of birth and poetic tastes-he interested himself in
ideas in a request I am going to make to you;  the fortunes of Burns.]
but I have weighed, long and seriously weighed,                           Edinburgh, 1787.
my situation, my hopes and turn of mind, and       DEAR SIR,
am fully fixed to my scheme if I can possibly    I SUPPOSE the devil is so elated with his suceffectuate it. I wish to get into the Excise; I  cess with you that he is determined by a coup
am told that your lordship's interest will easily  de main to complete his purposes on you all at
procure me the grant from the commissioners;  once, in making you a poet.  I broke open the
and your lordship's patronage and goodness,  letter you sent me; hummed over the rhymes;
which have already rescued me from obscurity,  and, as I saw they were extempore, said to mywretchedness, and exile, embolden me to ask  self, they were very well; but when I saw at
that interest. You have likewise put it in my  the bottom a name that I shall ever value with
power to save the little tie of home that shel-  grateful respect, "I gapit wide, but naething
tered an aged mother, two brothers, and three  spak."  I was nearly as much struck as the




364                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
friends of Job, of affliction-bearing memory, the wailings of the rhyming tribe over the ashes
when they sat down with him  seven days and  of the great are cursedly suspicious, and out of
seven nights, and spake not a word.             all character for sincerity. These ideas damped
I am naturally of a superstitious cast, and  my muse's fire; however, I have done the best
as soon as my wonder-scared imagination re-  I could, and, at all events, it gives me an opporgained its consciousness, and resumed its func-  tunity of declaring that I have the honour to
tions, I cast about what this mania of yours  be, Sir, your obliged humble servant,
might portend.  My foreboding ideas had the                                           R. B.
wide stretch of possibility; and several events,
great in their magnitude, and important in their
consequences, occurred  to my fancy.  The                         LXXXIX.
downfall of the conclave, or the crushing of the           TO MISS M-N.
Cork rumps; a ducal coronet to Lord George
Gordon and the Protestant interest; or St.   [This letter appeared for the first time in the" Letters
Peter's keys to * * * * * *                     to Clarinda," a little work which was speedily suppressed-it is, on the whole, a sort of Corydon and PhilYou want to know how I come on. I am just  lis affair, with here and there expressions too graphic, and
in statu quo, or, not to insult a gentleman with my  passages over-warm. Who the lady was is not knownLatin, in "auld use and wont."  The noble  or known only to one.]
Earl of Glencairn took me by the hand to-day,         Saturday Noon, No. 2, St. James's Square,
and interested himself in my concerns, with a                  New Town, Edinburgh.
goodness like that benevolent Being, whose    HERE have I sat, my dear Madam, in the
image he so richly bears.  He is a stronger  stony altitude of perplexed study for fifteen vexproof of the immortality of the soul, than any  atious minutes, my head askew, bending over
that philosophy ever produced.  A mind like  the intended card; my fixed eye insensible to
his can never die.  Let the worshipful squire  the very light of day poured around; my penduH. L., or the reverend Mass J. M. go into their  lous goose-feather, loaded with ink, hanging
primitive nothing.  At best, they are but ill-  over the future letter, all for the important purdigested lumps of chaos, only one of them   pose of writing a complimentary card to accomstrongly tinged with bituminous particles and  pany your trinket.
sulphureous effluvia.  But my noble patron,    Compliment is such a miserable Greenland exeternal as the heroic swell of magnanimity, and  pression, lies at such a chilly polar distance
the generous throb of benevolence, shall look  from the torrid zone of my constitution, that I
on with princely eye at "the war of elements,  cannot, for the very soul of me, use it to any
the wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds."  person for whom I have the twentieth part of
R. B.    the esteem  every one must have for you who
knows you.
As I leave town in three or four days, I can
~~LXXXVIII.  ~         give myself the pleasure of calling on you only
for a minute.  Tuesday evening, some time
TO  CHARLES  HAY, ESQ.,                  about seven or after, I shall wait on you for
ADVOCATE.                      your farewell commands.
The hinge of your box I put into the hands
[The verses enclosed were written on the death of the  of the proper connoisseur.  The broken glass,
Lord President Dundas, at the suggestion of Charles Hay, likewise went under review; but deliberative
Esq., advocate, afterwards a judge, under the title of                   
Lord Newton.]                                   wisdom thought it would too much endanger the
whole fabric.
S1P-                                              I am, dear Madam,
THE enclosed poem was written in consequence                  a     er       enthusiasm,
With all sincerity of enthusiasm,
of your suggestion, last time I had the pleasure               Your very obedient servant,
of seeing you. It cost me an hour or two of. B.
next morning's sleep, but did not please me; so
it lay by, an ill-digested effort, till the other              _
day that I gave it a critic brush. These kind
of subjects are much hackneyed; and, besides,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              365
XC.                                "Where braving angry winter's storms
The lofty Ochels rise,"'
T O  M I S S CH A L M E R S.             written in honour of Margaret Chalmers, and published
along with the " Banks of the Devon," in Johnson's Mu
[Some dozen or so, it is said, of the most beautiful  sical Museum.
letters that Burns ever wrote, and dedicated to the beauty
of Charlotte Hamilton, were destroyed by that lady, in a              Edinburgh, Dec. 12, 1787.
moment when anger was too strong for reflection.]    I AM here under the care of a surgeon, with
Edinburgh, Nov. 21, 1787.    a bruised limb extended on a cushion; and the
I HAVE one vexatious fault to the kindly-wel-  tints of my mind vying with the livid horror
come, well-filled sheet which I owe to your and  preceding a midnight thunder-storm. A drunkCharlotte's  goodness,-it contains too  much  en  coachman was the cause of the first, and
sense, sentiment, and good-spelling.  It is im-  incomparably the lightest evil; misfortune, bopossible that even you two, whom I declare to  dily constitution, hell, and myself have formed
my God I will give credit for any degree of ex-  a " quadruple alliance" to guaranty the other.
cellence the sex are capable of attaining, it is  I got my fall on Saturday, and am  getting
impossible you can go on to correspond at that  slowly better.
rate; so like those who, Shenstone says, retire      I have taken tooth and nail to the Bible, and
because they make a good speech, I shall, after  am got through the five books of Moses, and
a few letters, hear no more of you.  I insist  half way in Joshua.  It is really a glorious
that you shall write whatever comes first: what  book.  I sent for my bookbinder to-day, and
you see, what you read, what you hear, what  ordered him to get me an octavo Bible in sheets,
you admire, what you dislike, trifles, bagatelles,  the best paper and print in town; and bind it
nonsense; or to fill up a corner, e'en put down  with all the elegance of his craft.
a laugh at full length. Now none of your polite     I would give my best song to my worst enemy,
hints about flattery; I leave that to your lovers,  I mean the merit of making it, to have you and
if you have or shall have any; though, thank  Charlotte by me.  You are angelic creatures,
heaven, I have found at last two girls who can  andwould pour oil and wine into my wounded
be luxuriantly happy in their own minds and  spirit.
with one another, without that commonly neces-    I enclose you a proof copy of the   Banks of
sary appendage to female bliss-A LOVER.           the Devon," which present with my best wishes
Charlotte and you are just two favourite rest-  to Charlotte. The   Ochel-hills" you shall proing-places for my soul in her wanderings through  bably have next week for yourself.  None of
the weary, thorny wilderness of this world.  your fine speeches!                           R. B.
God knows I am  ill-fitted for the struggle: I
glory in being a Poet, and I want to be thought
a wise man-I would fondly be generous, and
I wish to be rich.  After all, I am  afraid I am                       XCII.
a lost subject.  "Some folk hae a hantle o'
fauts, an' I'm but a ne'er-do-weel."                       TO  MISS C HALMER S.
Afternoon —To  close the melancholy reflec-    [The eloquent hypocliondriasm of the concluding parations at the end of last sheet, I shall just add  graph of this letter, called forth the commendation of
a piece of devotion commonly known in Carrick  Lord Jeffrey, when he criticised Cromek's Reliques of
by the title of the "Wabster's grace:"-          Brns, in the Edinburgh Review.]
"Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we,                     Edinburgh, Dec. 19, 1787.
Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we!          I BEGIN this letter in answer to yours of the
Gude forgie us, and I hope sae will he!      17th current, which is not yet cold since I read
Up and to your looms, lads.    R. B.    it.  The atmosphere of my soul is vastly clearer
than when I wrote you last. For the first time,
yesterday I crossed the room on crutches. It
XCI.                         would do your heart good to see my bardship,
not on my poetic, but on my oaken stilts;
TO  MISS CHALMERS.                       throwing my best leg with an air! and with as
[The " Ochel-Hills," which the poet promises in this  much hilarity in my gait and countenance, as a,~tter, is a song, beginning,                     May frog leaping across the newly harrowed
______________________________________________________~_______________... ~




366                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ridge, enjoying the fragrance of the refreshed  those in upper life, who honour him with a
earth, after the long-expected shower!        little notice of him or his works. Indeed, the
I can't say I am altogether at my ease when  situation of poets is generally such, to a proI see anywhere in my path that meagre, squalid,  verb, as may, in some measure, palliate that
famine-faced spectre, Poverty; attended as he  prostitution of heart and talents, they have at
always is, by iron-fisted oppression, and leering  times been guilty of. I do not think prodigality
contempt; but I have sturdily withstood his  is, by any means, a necessary concomitant of
buffetings many a hard-laboured day already,  a poetic turn, but I believe a careless indolent
and still my motto is-I DARE! My worst enemy  attention to economy, is almost inseparable
is moi-meme. I lie so miserably open to the in-  from  it; then there must be in the heart of
roads and incursions of a mischievous, light-  every bard of Nature's making, a certain moarmed, well-mounted banditti, under the ban-  dest sensibility, mixed with a kind of pride,
ners of imagination, whim, caprice, and passion:  that will ever keep him out of the way of those
and the heavy-armed veteran regulars of wis-  windfalls of fortune which frequently light on
dom, prudence, and forethought move so very,  hardy impudence and foot-licking servility. It
very slow, that I am almost in a state of per-  is not easy to imagine a more helpless state than
petual warfare, and, alas! frequent defeat.  his whose poetic fancy unfits him for the world,
There are just two creatures I would envy, a  and whose character as a scholar gives him some
horse in his wild state traversing the forests of  pretensions to the politesse of life-yet is as poor
Asia, or an oyster on some of the desert shores  as I am.
of Europe.  The one has not a wish without en-    For my part, I thank Heaven my star has
joyment, the other has neither wish nor fear.    been kinder; learning never elevated my ideas
R. B.    above the peasant's shed, and I have an independent fortune at the plough-tail.
I was surprised to hear that any one who preXCIII.                     tended in the least to the manners of the gentleman, should be so foolish, or worse, as to stoop
TO  SIR  JOHN  WHITEFOORD.                 to traduce the morals of such a one as I am,
[The Whitefoords of Whitefoord, interested them-  and so inhumanly cruel, too, as to meddle with
selves in all matters connected with literature: the power  that late most unfortunate, unhappy part of my
of the family, unluckily for Burns, was not equal to their  story. With a tear of gratitude, I thank you,
taste.]                                        Sir, for the warmth with which you interposed
Edinburgh, December, 1787.    in behalf of my conduct. I am, I acknowledge,
SIR,                                      too frequently the sport of whim, caprice, and
MR. MACKENZIE, in Mauchline, my very warm   passion, but reverence to God, and integrity to
and worthy friend, has informed me how much  my fellow-creatures, I hope I shall ever preyou are pleased to interest yourself in my fate  serve. I have no return, Sir, to make you for
as a man, and (what to me is incomparably  your goodness but one-a return which, I am
dearer) my fame as a poet. I have, Sir, in one  persuaded, will not be unacceptable-the honest,
or two instances, been patronized by those of  warm wishes of a grateful heart for your hapyour character in life, when I was introduced to  piness, and every one of that lovely fock who
their notice by ***** friends to them, and ho-  stand to you in a filial relation. If ever canoured acquaintances to me! but you are the  lumny aim  the poisoned shaft at them, may
first gentleman in the country whose benevo-  friendship be by to ward the blow!
lence and goodness of heart has interested him-                                     R. B.
self for me, unsolicited and unknown. I am___
not master enough of the etiquette of these matters to know, nor did I stay to inquire, whe-                     XCIV.
ther formal duty bade, or cold propriety disalTO MISS WILLIAMS,
lowed, my thanking you in this manner, as I 
am  convinced, from  the light in which you   ON READING HER POEM OF THE SLAVE-TRADE.
kindly view me, that you will do me the jusy vw m, tt yu wl d  m  t         [The name and merits of Miss Williams are widely
tice to believe this letter is not the manceuvre  known; nor is it a small honour to her muse that hex
of the needy, sharping author, fastening on  tender song of " Evan Banks" was imputed to Burns by




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             367
Cromek: other editors since have continued to include  I hope, as just as it is certainly elegant.  The
it in his works, though Sir Walter Scott named the true  thought,
author.]
Virtue 
Edinburgh, Dec. 1787... 
I KNOW very little of scientific criticism, so         Sends from her unsullied source,
The gems of thought their purest force,"
all I can pretend to in that intricate art is
merely to note, as I read along, what passages  is exceeding beautiful.  The idea, from  verse
strike me as being uncommonly beautiful, and  81st to the 85th, that the " blest decree" is like
where the expression seems to be perplexed or  the beams of morning ushering in the glorious
faulty.                                           day of liberty, ought not to pass unnoticed or
The poem  opens finely.  There are none of  unapplauded.  From verse 85th to verse 108th,
these idle prefatory lines which one may skip  is an animated contrast between the unfeeling
over before one comes to the subject.  Verses  selfishness of the oppressor on the one hand,
9th and 10th in particular,                       and the misery of the captive on the other.
here oceans uneen ound      Verse 88th might perhaps be amended thus:
" WThere ocean's unseen bound
Leaves a drear world of waters round,"     " Nor ever quit her narrow maze." We are said
are truly beautiful.  The simile of the hurri-  to pas a bound, but we quit a maze. Verse 100th
cane is likewise fine; and, indeed, beautiful as  is exquisitely beautiful:
the poem is, almost all the similes rise decidedly        " They, whom wasted blessings tire."
above it.  From verse 31st to verse 50th is a  Verse 110th is I doubt a clashing of metaphors;
pretty eulogy on Britain.  Verse 36th, "That  "to load a span" is, I am afraid, an unwarrantfoul drama deep with wrong," is nobly expres-  able expression.  In verse 114th, "Cast the
sive. Verse 46th, I am  afraid, is rather un-  universe in shade," is a fine idea.  From the
worthy of the rest; " to dare to feel" is an idea  11th verse to the 142  is a striking description
that I do not altogether like.  The contrast of  of the wrongs of the poor African.  Verse
valour and mercy, from the 36th verse to the  120th, "The load of unremitted pain," is a re50th, is admirable.                               markable, strong expression. The address to the
Either my apprehension is dull, or there is  advocates for abolishing the slave-trade, from
something a little confused in the apostrophe to  verse 143d to verse 208th, is animated with
Mr. Pitt. Verse 55th is the antecedent to verses  the true life of genius.  The picture of oppres57th and 58th, but in verse 58th the connexion  sion,
seems ungrammatical:-                                    " While she links her impious chain,
Powers                                               And calculates the price of pain;
Weighs agony in sordid scales,
With no gradations mark'd their flight,             And marks if death or life prevails,"But rose at once to glory's height."is nobly executed.
Ris'n should be the word instead of rose.  Try      What a tender idea is in verse 108th  Init in prose.  Powers,-their flight marked by  deed, that whole description of home may vie
no gradations, but [the same powers] risen at  with Thomson's description of home, someonce to the height of glory.  Likewise, verse  where in the beginning of his Autumn.   do
53d1, "For this," is evidently meant to lead on  nt remember to have seen a stronger expresthe sense of the verses 59th, 60th, 61st, and  sion of misery than  is  contained  in  these
62d: but let us try how the thread of connex-  verses
ion runs,-                                                " Condemned, severe extreme, to live
For this..                             When all is fled that life can give".                 Fo                 r thThe comparison of our distant joys to distant
The deeds of mercy, that embrace
A distant sphere, an alien race,           objects is equally original and striking.
Shall virtue's lips record and claim          The character and manners of the dealer in
The fairest honours of thy name."          the infernal traffic is a well done though a horI beg pardon if I misapprehended the matter,  rid picture.  I am not sure how far introducbut this appears to me the only imperfect pas-  ing the sailor was right; for though the sailor's
sage in the poem.  The comparison of the sun-  common characteristic is generosity, yet, in
beam is fine.                                     this case, he is certainly not only an unconThe compliment to the Duke of Richmond is,  cerned witness, but, in some degree, an efficient




368                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
agent in the business. Verse 224th is a ner-  Moore: by fortitude and prudence he retrieved his for
vous.... expressive-" The heart convulsive  tunes, and lived much respected in Greenock, to a good
old age. He said Burns had little to learn in matters of
anguish breaks."  The description of the cap-  levity, whenhe became acquainted with him.]
tive wretch when he arrives in the West Indies,
is carried on with equal spirit.  The thought                     Edinburgh, 30th Dec. 1787.
that the oppressor's sorrow on seeing the slave     M  DEAR SIR,
pine, is like the butcher's regret when his    I hAVE met with few things in life which'destined lamb dies a natural death, is exceed-  have given me more pleasure than Fortune's
n     finekindness to you since those days in which we
ingly fine.
met in the vale of misery; as I can honestly
I am got so much into the cant of criticism,         t       
say, that I never knew a man who more truly
that I begin to be afraid lest I have nothing ex-           
deserved it, or to whom my heart more truly
cept the cant of it; and instead of elucidating. I         b           i        i
my author, am nlbn     n.          F    wished it.  I have been much indebted since
my author, am  only benighting myself. For
that time to your story and sentiments for steelthis reason, I will not pretend to go through the
whole poem.  Some few rem g     ing my mind against evils, of which I have had
whole poem.  Some few remaining beautiful
a pretty decent share. My will-o'wisp fate
lines, however, I cannot pass over. Verse 280th
lines,. I cannot pass oveyou know: do you recollect a Sunday we spent
is the strongest description of selfishness I ever              o              u       e   n
together in Eglinton woods! You told me, on
saw,  The comparison of verses 285th and
my repeating some verses to you, that you won286th is new  and fine; and the line, "Your  
286' i d, "'       dered I could resist the temptation of sending
arms to penury you lend," is excellent.  In
s    - " s   c   verses of such merit to a magazine.  It was
verse 317th, "like" should certainly be "as"
vr   3t, f"r instane      e                  from this remark I derived that idea of my own
or "so;" for instance~pieces, which encouraged me to endeavour at
" His sway the hardened bosom leads         the character of a poet.  I am happy to hear
To cruelty' remorseless deeds:
To cruelty r s d:        that you will be two or three months at home.
As (or, so) the blue lightning when it springs
With fury on its livid wings,              As soon as a bruised limb will permit me, I
Darts on the goal with rapid force,        shall return to Ayrshire, and we shall meet;
Nor heeds that ruin marks its course."     "and faith, I hope we'll not sit dumb, nor yet
If you insert the word " like " where I have  cast out!"
placed "as," you must alter "darts" to "dart-    I have much to tell you "of men, their maning," and "heeds" to "heeding" in order to  ners, and their ways," perhaps a little of the
make it grammar. A tempest is a favourite  other sex.  Apropos, I beg to be remembered
subject with the poets, but I do not remember  to Mrs. Brown.  There I doubt not, my dear
anything even in Thomson's Winter superior to  friend, but you have found substantial happiness. 
your verses from the 347th to the 351st.  In-  I expect to find you something of an altered but
deed, the last simile, beginning with "Fancy  not a different man; the wild, bold, generous
may dress," &c., and ending with the 350th  young fellow composed into the steady affectionverse, is, in my opinion, the most beautiful pas-  ate husband, and the fond careful parent. For
sage in the poem; it would do honour to the  me, I am just the same will-o'-wisp being I usea
greatest names that ever graced our profession.  to be. About the first and fourth quarters of the 
I will not beg your pardon, Madam, for these  moon, I generally set in for the trade wind of 
strictures, as my conscience tells me, that for  wisdom; but about the full and change, I am 
once in my life I have acted up to the duties of  the luckless victim  of mad tornadoes, which
a Christian, in doing as I would be done by.    blow me into chaos. Almighty love still reigns
IR. B.    and revels in my bosom; and I am at this moment ready to hang myself for a young Edinburgh widow, who has wit and wisdom  more
murderously fatal than the assassinating stiletto
XCV.                       of the Sicilian banditti, or the poisoned arrow of
the savage African. My highland dirk, that used,   to hang beside my crutches, I have gravely reIRVINE.                      moved into a neighbouring closet, the key of
[Richard Brown was the" hapless son of misfortune,"  which I cannot command in case of springalluded to by Burns in his biographical letter to Dr.  tide paroxysms. You may guess of her wit by




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             869
the following verses, which she sent me the  that you may see the vanity of vanities in trustother day:-                                       ing to, or even practising the casual moral 
Talk not of love, it gives me pain,          works of charity, humanity, generosity, and
For love has been my foe;                  forgiveness of things, which you practised so
He bound me with an iron chain,              flagrantly that it was evident you delighted in
And plunged me deep in woe!
And plunged me deep in woe              ethem, neglecting, or perhaps profanely despisBut friendship's pure and lasting joys,      ing, the wholesome doctrine of faith without
My heart was formed to prove, —  
My heart was formed to pr -          works, the only anchor of salvation.   A hymn
There, welcome, win, and wear the prize,
But never talhk of love                    of thanksgiving would, in my opinion, be highly
becoming from you at present, and in my zeal for
Your friendship much can make me blest —
0 why that bliss destroy?                 your well-being, I earnestly press on you to be
Why urge the odious one request,             diligent in chanting over the two enclosed pieces
You know I must deny?"'                    of sacred poesy.  My best compliments to Mrs.
My best compliments to our friend Allan.  Hamilton and Miss Kennedy.
Adieu!                                  R. B.                   Yours in the L-d,
R.B.
XCVI.
TO GAVIN HAMILTON.                                             XCVII.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[The Hamiltons of the West continue to love the
memory of Burns: the old arm-chair in which the bard   [The blank which takes the place of the name of the
sat, when he visited Nanse Tinnocks, was lately pre-  "Gentleman in mind and manners," of this letter, cansented to the mason lodge of Mauchline, by Dr. Hamil-  not now be filled up, nor is it much matter: the acquaintton, the " wee curly Johnnie" of the Dedication.]  ance of such a man as the poet describes few or none
would desire.]
[Edinburgh, Dec. 1787.]
MY DEAR SIR,                                                         Edinburgh, Dec. 1787.
IT is indeed with the highest pleasure that          MY DEAR MADAM,
I congratulate you on the return of days of ease     I JUST now have read yours.  The poetic
and nights of pleasure, after the horrid hours  compliments I pay cannot be misunderstood.
of misery in which I saw you suffering existence  They are neither of them  so particular as to
when last in Ayrshire; I seldom  pray for any  point you out to the world at large; and the
body, "I'm  baith dead-sweer and wretched ill  circle of your acquaintances will allow all I have
o't;" but most fervently do I beseech the Power  said. Besides, I have complimented you chiefly,
that directs the world, that you may live long  almost solely, on your mental charms.  Shall I
and be happy, but live no longer than you are  be plain with you? I will; so look to it.  Perhappy.  It is needless for me to advise you to  sonal attractions, Madam, you have much above 
have a reverend care of your health.  I know   par; wit, understanding, and worth, you posyou will make it a point never at one time to  sess in the first class. This is a cursed flat way
drink more than a pint of wine (I mean an  of telling you these truths, but let me hear no
English pint), and that you will never be wit-  more of your sheepish timidity.  I know  the
ness to more than one bowl of punch at a time,  world a little.  I know what they will say of
and that cold drams you will never more taste;  my poems; by second sight I suppose; for I
and, above all things, I am convinced, that after  am seldom out in my conjectures; and you may
drinking perhaps boiling punch, you will never  believe me, my dear Madam, I would not run
mount your horse and gallop home in a chill  any risk of hurting you by any ill-judged comlate hour.  Above all things, as I understand  pliment.  I wish to show to the world, the odds
you are in habits of intimacy with that Boaner-  between a poet's friends and those of simple
ges of gospel powers, Father Auld, be earnest  prosemen. More for your information, both the
with him that he will wrestle in prayer for you,  pieces go in.  One of them, "Where braving
i See song 186, in Johnson's Musical Museum. Burns   Your thought if love must harbour there,
altered the two last lines, and added a stanza:          Conceal it in that thought;
WVhy urge the only one request               Nor cause me from my bosom tear
You know I will deny!                        The very friend I sought.
AS4




370                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
angry winter's storms," is already set-the tune                   XCVIII.
is Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercarny; the,y            TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
other is to be set to an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's collection of ancient Scots music;    [The poet alludes in this letter, as in some before, to a
the name is " Ha a Chaillich air mo Dheith.)" My  ^      hurt which he got in one of his excursions in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh.]
treacherous memory has forgot every circumstance about Les Incas, only I think you men-                  Edinburgh, January 21, 1788.
tioned them as being in Creech's possession.  I    AFTER six weeks' confinement, I am beginning
shall ask him  about it.  I am afraid the song  to walk across the room.  They have been six
of "Somebody" will come too late-as I shall,  horrible weeks; anguish and low spirits made
for certain, leave town in a week for Ayrshire,  me unfit to read, write, or think.
and from that to Dumfries, but there my hopes    I have a hundred times wished that one could
are slender.  I leave my direction in town, so  resign life as an officer resigns a commission:
anything, wherever I am, will reach me.        forI would not take in any poor, ignorant wretch,
1 saw yours to -; it is not too severe, nor  by selling out. Lately I was a sixpenny private;
did he take it amiss.  On the contrary, like a  and, God knows, a miserable soldier enough;
whipt spaniel, he talks of being with you in the  now I march to the campaign, a starving cadet:
Christmas days.  Mr.  ~ has given him  the  a little more conspicuously wretched.
invitation, and he is determined to accept of it.    I am ashamed of all this; for though I do
O selfishness! he owns, in his sober moments,  want bravery for the warfare of life, I could
that from  his own volatility of inclination, the  wish, like some other soldiers, to have as much
circumstances in which he is situated, and his  fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or conceal
knowledge of his father's disposition;-the  my cowardice.
whole affair is chimerical-yet he will gratify    As soon as I can bear the journey, which will
an idle penchant at the enormous, cruel expense,  be, I suppose, about the middle of next week, I
of perhaps ruining the peace of the very woman  leave Edinburgh: and soon after I shall pay
for whom he professes the generous passion of  my grateful duty at Dunlop-House.
love! He is a gentleman in his mind and man-                                         R. B.
ners-tant pis! He is a volatile school-boy —
the heir of a man's fortune who well knows the
value of two times two!                                           XCIX.
Perdition seize them  and their fortunes, be-           TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
fore they should make the amiable, the lovely
-, the derided object of their purse-proud    [The levity with which Burns sometimes spoke of
things sacred, had been obliquely touched upon by his
contempt!'
good and anxious friend Mrs. Dunilop: he pleads guilty
I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. -'s reco-  of folly, but not of irreligion.]
very, because I really thought all was over with
Tr                   fi~                                      Edinburgh, February 12,1788.
her. There are days of pleasure yet awaiting                                         
her *                                             SOME things in your late letters hurt me: not
that you say them, but that you mistake me. Re" As I came in by Glenap,
As I came in by Glenap,                 ligion, my honoured Madam, has not only been
I mat with an aged woman:
She bad me cheer up my heart,           all my life my chief dependence, but my dearest
For the best o' my days was comin'."  enjoyment.  I have, indeed, been the luckless
This day will decide my affairs with Creech.   ictim  of wayward follies; but, alas! I have
Things are, like myself, not what they ought to  ever been  more fool than knave."  A mathebe; yet better than what they appear to be.    matician without religion is a probable charac" Heaven's sovereign saves all beings but himself-                                  R   m
That hideous sight-a naked human heart."
Farewell! remember me to Charlotte.
R. B.                          C.
TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER.
[When Burns undertook to supply Johnson with songs
for the Musical Museum, he laid all the bards of Scotland




OF ROBEiRT BU1INS.                                        371
ander contribution, and Skinner among the number, of
whose talents, as well as those of Ross, author of Helenore, he was a great admirer.]                          TO  RICHARD BROWN.
Edinburgh, 14th February,  1788.
Edinburgh, 14th February, 1788.     [The letters of Burns to Brown, and Smith, and RichREVEREND AND DEAR SIR,                     mond, and others of his west-country friends, written
I HAVE been a cripple now near three months,  when he was in the first flush of fame, show that he did
though I am  getting vastly better, and have  not forget humble men, who anticipated the public in.,.ii-i         T    13. perceiving his merit.]
been very much hurried beside, or else I would  perceiving his merit.
have wrote you sooner.  I must beg your par-                Edinburgh, February 15th, 1788.
don for the epistle you sent me appearing in the    MY DEAR FRIEND,
Magazine.  I had given a copy or two to some    I RECEIVED yours with the greatest pleasure.
of my intimate friends, but did not know of the  I shall arrive at Glasgow on Monday evening;
printing of it till the publication of the Maga-  and beg, if possible, you will meet me on Tueszine.  However, as it does great honour to us  day. I shall wait you Tuesday all day. I shall
both, you will forgive it.                     be found at Davies', Black Bull inn. I am hurThe second volume of the songs I mentioned  ried, as if hunted by fifty devils, else I should
to you in my last is published to-day.  I send  go to Greenock; but if you cannot possibly come,
you a copy which I beg you will accept as a  write me, if possible, to Glasgow, on Monday;
mark of the veneration I have long had, and  or direct to me at Mossgiel by Mauchline; and
shall ever have, for your character, and of the  name a day and place in Ayrshire, within a fortclaim I make to your continued acquaintance.  night from this date, where I may meet you. I
Your songs appear in the third volume, with  only stay a fortnight in Ayrshire, and return
your name in the index; as, I assure you, Sir,  to Edinburgh.  I am ever, my dearest friend,
I have heard your "Tullochgorum," particu-  yours,
larly among our west-country folks, given to                                          R. B.
many different names, and most commonly to
the immortal author of " The Minstrel," who,
indeed, never wrote anything superior to "Gie's
a sang, Montgomery cried."  Your brother has                        CI
promised me your verses to the Marquis of
Huntley's reel, which certainly deserve a place   TO MRS. ROSE, OF KILRAVOC K.
in the collection.  My kind host, Mr. Cruik-   [Mrs. Rose of Kilravock, a lady distinguished by the
shank, of the High-school here, and said to be  elegance of her manners, as well as by her talents, was
one of the best Latins in this age, begs me to  long remembered by Burns: she procured for him snatches
make you his grateful acknowledgments for the  of old songs, and copies of northern melodies; to her we
owe the preservation of some fine airs as well as the inentertainment he has got in a Latin publica-  spiration of some fine lyrics.]
tion of yours, that I borrowed for him from
your acquaintance and much respected friend                 Edinburgh, February 17th, 1788.
in this place, the Reverend Dr. Webster.  Mr.       MADAM,
Cruikshank maintains that you write the best    You are much indebted to some indispensable
Latin since Buchanan.  I leave Edinburgh to-  business I have had on my hands, otherwise my
morrow, but shall return in three weeks. Your  gratitude threatened such a return for your
song you mentioned in your last, to the tune of  obliging favour as would have tired your pati" Dumbarton Drums," and the other, which you  ence. It but poorly expresses my feelings to say,
say was done by a brother by trade of mine, a  that I am sensible of your kindness: it may be
ploughman, I shall thank you much for a copy  said of hearts such as yours is, and such, I hope,
of each. I am ever, Reverend Sir, with the  mine is, much more justly thanAddison applies
most respectful esteem and sincere veneration,  it,yours,                               R. B.          " Some souls by instinct to each other turn."
There was something in my reception at Kilravock so different from the cold, obsequious,
dancing-school bow of politeness, that it almost
got into my head that friendship had occupied




372                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
her ground without the intermediate march of                        CIII.
acquaintance.  I wish I could transcribe, or            TORICHARD            R  W N.
rather transfuse into language, the glow of my
heart when I read your letter. My ready fancy,   [While Burns was confined to his lodgings by hi{
maimed limb, he beguiled the time and eased the pain b)
with colours more mellow than life itself, painted      l   h b                             
composing the Clarinda epistles, writing songs for Johnthe beautifully wild scenery of Kilravock-the   oand letters to his companions.]
venerable grandeur of the castle-the spreading
woods-the winding river, glady leaving his                    Mossgiel, 24th February, 178.
unsightly, heathy source, and lingering with ap-    MY DEAR SIR,
parent delight as he passes the fairy walk at the    I CANNOT get the proper direction for my
bottom  of the garden;-your late distressful  friend in Jamaica, but the following will do:anxieties-your present enjoyments-your dear  To Mr. Jo. Hutchinson, at Jo. Brownrigg's,
little angel, the pride of your hopes;-my aged  Es., care of Mr. Benjamin Henriquez, merfriend, venerable in worth and years, whose  chant, Orange-street, Kingston. I arrived here,
loyalty and other virtues will strongly entitle  at my brother's, only yesterday, after fighting my
her to the support of the Almighty Spirit here,  way through Paisley and Kilmarnock, against
and his peculiar favour in a happier state of ex-  those old powerful foes of mine, the devil, the
istence.  You cannot imagine, Madam, how   world, and the flesh-so terrible in the fields of
much such feelings delight me; they are my  dissipation.  I have met with few incidents in
dearest proofs of my own immortality. Should  my life which gave me so much pleasure as
I never revisit the north, as probably I never  meeting you in Glasgow.  There is a time of
will, nor again see your hospitable mansion,  life beyond which we cannot form a tie worth
were I, some twenty years hence, to see your  the name of friendship. "   youth! enchanting
little fellow's name making a proper figure in a  stage, profusely blest."  Life is a fairy scene:
newspaper paragraph, my heart would bound  almost all that deserves the name of enjoyment
with pleasure.                                  or pleasure is only a charming delusion; and in
I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scot-  comes repining age in all the gravity of hoary
tish songs, set to their proper tunes; every air  wisdom, and wretchedly chases away the beworth preserving is to be included: among others  witching phantom.  When I think of life, I reI have given " Morag," and some few Highland  solve to keep a strict look-out in the course of
airs which pleased me most, a dress which will  economy, for the sake of worldly convenience
be more generally known, though far, far infe-  and independence of mind; to cultivate intinacy
rior in real merit.  As a small mark of my  with a few of the companions of youth, that
grateful esteem, I beg leave to present you with; never to rea copy of the work, as far as it is printed; the  fuse my  iquorish humour a handful of the
Man of Feeling, that first of men, has promised  sweetmeats of life, when the coe not too dear;
to transmit it by the first opportunity.       and, for futurity,I beg to be remembered most respectfully to             The present moment is our ain,
my venerable friend, and to your little Highland          The neist we never saw!"
chieftain.  When you see the "two fair spirits    How like you my philosophy? Give my best
of the hill," at Kildrummiel tell them that I  compliments to Mrs. B., and believe me to be,
have done myself the honour of setting myself                  My dear Sir,
down as one of their admirers for at least twenty                      Yours most truly,
years to come, consequently they must look                                            R. B.
upon me as an acquaintance for the same period;
but, as the apostle Paul says, "this I ask of
grace, not of debt." 
I have the honour to be, Madam, &c.,
R. B.          TO MR. WILLIAM  CRUIKSHIANK.
[The excise and farming alternately occupied the poet's
thoughts in Edinburgh: he studied books of husbandry
I Miss Sophia Brodie, of L-, and Miss Rose of                     2 Mickle.
Ailravock.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          373
and took lessons in gauging, and in the latter he became  Mr. Wood; I hope he is in better health and
expert.]                                       spirits than when I saw him last.
Mauchline, March 3d, 1788.                   I am ever,
MY DEAR SIR,                                                   My dearest friend,
APOLOGIES for not writing are frequently                Your obliged, humble servant,
like apologies for not singing-the apology                                            R. B.
better than the song. I have fought my way
severely through the savage hospitality of this
country, to send every guest drunk to bed if
they can.
CV.
I executed your commission in Glasgow, and
I hope the cocoa came safe.'Twas the same          TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
price and the very same kind as your former
[The sensible and intelligent farmer on whose judg.
parcel, for the gentleman recollected your buyparcel, for the gentleman recollected your buy-  ment Burns depended in the choice of his farm, was Mr
ing there perfectly well.                      Tait, of Glenconner.]
I should return my thanks for your     hos-M, 3d, 1
Mauchline, 3d March, 1788.
pitality (I leave a blank for the epithet, as I         DEA  FRIEND
MY lEAR FRIEND,
know none can do it justice) to a poor, wayfar-..
/   -     I AM just returned from  Mr. Miller's farm.
ing bard, who was spent and almost overpowered
figi..n..prosaic wickednesses in  high  My old friend whom I took with me was highly
fighting with prosaic wickednesses in  high. 
pleased with the bargain, and advised me to acplaces; but I am afraid lest you should burn 
places; but I am afraid lest you should burn  cept of it.  He is the most intelligent sensible
the letter whenever you come to the passage,
the letter wh r yu ce to te p,  farmer in the county, and his advice has stagso I pass over it in silence.  I am just re-                              
gered me a good deal.  I have the two plans
turned from visiting Mr. Miller's farm. The                        
before me: I shall endeavour to balance them
friend whom I told you I would take with me.   to the best of my judgement, and fix on the
was highly pleased with the farm; and as he is,.                 i   in   r,," "..most eligible.  On the whole, if I find Mr. Milwithout exception, the most intelligent farmer      i t   s     f         d              
-,~~~ ~~ler in the same favourable disposition as when
in the country, he has staggered me a good
in the country, he has staggered mI saw him last, I shall in all probability turn
deal.  I have the two plans of life before me;  far
7 farmer.
I shall balance them to the best of my judgment,                                          
I have been through sore tribulation and
and fix on the most eligible. I have written  u        m      b        o t               
under much buffeting of the wicked one since
Mr. Miller, and shall wait on him when I come
Mr. Miller, and shaI came to this country. Jean I found banished,
to town, which shall be the beginning or middleendless: I have reconforlorn, destitute and friendless: I have reconof next week; I would be in sooner, but my unf next week; I would be in sooner, but my un-  ciled her to her fate, and I have reconciled her
lucky knee is rather worse, and I fear for some,'                   to her mother.
time will scarcely stand the fatigue of my Ex-                                 e    e    ee
I shall be in Edinburgh middle of next week.
cise instructions. I only mention these ideas to
you; and, indeed, except Mr. Ainsli, whom    My farming ideas I shall keep private till I see.
you; and, indeed, except Mr. Ainslie, whom 1I
intend writing to to-morrow, I will not wre at  I got a letter from Clarinda yesterday, and she
intend writing to to-morrow, I will not write at
all tEiI.  I    tells me she has got no letter of mine but one.
all to Edinburgh till I return to it. I would
Tell her that I wrote to her from Glasgow, from
send my compliments to Mr. Nicol, but he would   ilmaock, from    auchline, and yesterday
be hurt if he knew I wrote to anybody and not  f     Cumnock as I returned  from  Dumfries.
to him: so I shall only beg my best, kindest,  Indeed se is te on   erson in  d         r 
kindest compliments to my worthy hostess and  he  w             tilthis day. How ar your 
have written to till this day. How are your soul
the sweet little rose-bud.
and body putting up?-a little like man and
So soon as I am settled in the routine of life,      v.        
wife, I suppose.                      RK. B.
either as an Excise-officer, or as a farmer, I propose myself great pleasure from a regular correspondence with the only man almost I ever
saw who joined the most attentive prudence with
the warmest generosity.
I am much interested for that best of men,




374                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CVI.                       Edinburgh above a week. I set out on Monday,
and would have come by Kilmarnock, but there
TO RICHARD BRO0WN.
are several small sums owing me for my first
[Richard Brown, it is said, fell off in his liking for  edition about Galston and Newmills, and I shall
aurns when he found that he had made free with his  set off so early as to dispatch my business, and
o time in his epistle to Moore.]               reach Glasgow  by night.  When I return, I
Mauchline, 7th March, 1788.    shall devote a forenoon or two to make some
I HAVE been out of the country, my dear friend,  kind of acknowledgment for all the kindness I
ad have not had an opportunity of writing till  owe your friendship. Now that I hope to settle
low, when I am afraid you will be gone out of  with some credit and comfort at home, there
the country too. I have been looking at farms,  was not any friendship or friendly corresponand, after all, perhaps I may settle in the cha-  dence that promised me more pleasure than
racter of a farmer. I have got so vicious a bent  yours; I hope I will not be disappointed.  I
to idleness, and have ever been so little a man  trust the spring will renew your shattered frame,
of business, that it will take no ordinary effort  and make your friends happy. You and I have
to bring my mind properly into the routine: but  often agreed that life is no great blessing on the
you will say a "great effort is worthy of you."  whole.  The close of life, indeed, to a reasoning
I say so myself; and butter up my vanity with  eye, is,
all the stimulating compliments I can think of.     Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun
Men of grave, geometrical minds, the sons of        Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams
"which was to be demonstrated," may cry up          Athwart the gloom profound."l
reason as much as they please; but I have al-    But an honest man has nothing to fear.  If
ways found an honest passion, or native instinct,  we lie down in the grave, the whole man a piece
the truest auxiliary in. the warfare of this  of broken machinery, to moulder with the clods
world. Reason almost always comes to me like  of the valley, be it so; at least there is an end
an unlucky wife to a poor devil of a husband,  of pain, care, woes, and wants: if that part of us
just in sufficient time to add her reproaches to  called mind does survive the apparent destruchis other grievances.                           tion of the man-away with old-wife prejudices
I am gratified with your kind inquiries after  and tales! Every age and every nation has had
Jean; as, after all, I may say with Othello:-    a different set of stories; and as the many are
~- ~' —       "Excellent wretch!      always weak, of consequence, they have often,
Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee!"  perhaps always, been deceived; a man conscious
I go for Edinburgh on Monday.                of having acted an honest part among his fellowYours,-R. B.    creatures-even granting that he may have
been the sport at times of passions and instincts
-he goes to a great unknown Being, who could
have no other end in giving him existence but
to make him happy, who gave him those pas~~~CVII.  ~sions and instincts, and well knows their force.
TO MR. M U I R.                      These, my worthy friend, are my ideas; and
I know they are not far different from yours.
rThe change which Burns says in this letter took place  I  a                    f  h s
in his ideas, refers, it is said, to his West India voyage,                           
on which, it appears by one of his letters to Smith, he  particularly in a case where all men are equally
meditated for some time after his debut in Edinburgh.]   interested, and where, indeed, all men are equally
in the dark.
Mossgiel, 7th March, 1788.
DEAR SIR,                                    Adieu, my dear Sir; God send us a cheerful
I HAVE partly changed my ideas, my dear  meeting!                                   R. B.
friend, since I saw you. I took old Glenconner                   B s 
with me to Mr. Miller's farm, and he was so
pleased with it, that I have wrote an offer to
Mr. Miller, which, if he accepts, I shall sit down
a plain farmer, the happiest of lives when a man
can live by it. In this case I shall not stay in




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           375
CVIII.                       completed a bargain with Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, for the farm of Ellisland, on the banks
TO  MRS. DUNLOP.                      of the Nith, between five and six miles above
[One of the daughters of Mrs. Dunlop painted a sketch  Dumfries. I begin at Whit-Sunday to build a
of CAila from Burns's poem of the Vision: it is still in  house, drive lime, &c.; and heaven be my help!
existence, and is said to have merit.]          for it will take a strong effort to bring my mind
Mossgiel 17th Mrch, 178 into the routine of business.  I have discharged
MADAM,                                      all the army of my former pursuits, fancies, and
THE last paragraph in yours of the 30th Fe-  pleasures; a motley host! and have literally
bruary affected me most, so I shall begin my  and strictly retained only the ideas of a few
answer where you ended your letter.  That I  friends, which I have incorporated into a lifeam often a sinner with any little wit I have, I  guard.  I trust in Dr. Johnson's observation,
do confess: but I have taxed my recollection to  "Where much is attempted, something is done."
no purpose, to find out when it was employed  Firmness, both in sufferance and exertion, is a
against you.  I hate an ungenerous sarcasm  a  character I would wish to be thought to posgreat deal worse than I do the devil; at least  sess: and have always despised the whining
as Milton describes him; and though I may be  yelp of complaint, and the cowardly, feeble rerascally enough to be sometimes guilty of it my-  solve.
self, I cannot endure it in others.  You, my    Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this
honoured friend, who cannot appear in any light  winter, and begged me to remember her to you
but you are sure of being respectable-you can  the first time I wrote to you.  Surely woman,
afford to pass by an occasion to display your  amiable woman, is often made in vain.  Too
wit, because you may depend for fame on your  delicately formed for the rougher pursuits of
sense; or, if you choose to be silent, you know   ambition; too noble for the dirt of avarice,
you can rely on the gratitude of many, and the  and even too gentle for the rage of pleasure;
esteem of all; but, God help us, who are wits  formed indeed for, and highly susceptible of enor witlings by profession, if we stand not for  joyment and rapture; but that enjoyment,
fame there, we sink unsupported!                 alas! almost wholly at the mercy of the caprice,
I am highly flattered by the news you tell me  malevolence, stupidity, or wickedness of an
of Coila.  I may say to the fair painter who  animal at all times comparatively unfeeling, and
does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie says to  often brutal.                          R. B.
Ross the poet of his muse Scota, from which,
by the bye, I took the idea of Coila ('tis a poem
of Beattie's in the Scottish dialect, which perhaps you have never seen:)-                                           CX.
"Ye shak your heads, but o' my fegs,              TO  RICHARD  BROWN.
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs:
Lang had she lien wi' beffs and flegs,   [The excitement referred to in this letter arose from
Bumbaz'd and dizzie,       the dilatory and reluctant movements of Creech, who
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs.     was so slow in settling his accounts that the poet susWae's me, poor hizzie."    pected his solvency.]
R. B.
__R____. B.                Glasgow, 26th March, 1788.
I AM monstrously to blame, my dear Sir, in
not writing to you, and sending you the DirecCIX.                        tory.  I have been getting my tack extended,
TO  MISS CHALMERS.                      as I have taken a farm; and I have been racking shop accounts with Mr. Creech, both of
[The uncouth cares of which the poet complains in  which, together with watching, fatigue, and a
this letter were the construction of a common farm-    f        i              fm               s
~house, with barn, byre, and stable to sait.load of care almost too heavy for my shoulders,
house, with barn, byre, and stable to suit.]    h               d      a        f        m 
have in some degree actually fevered me. I
Edinburgh, March 14, 1788.    really forgot the Directory yesterday, which
I KNOW, my ever dear friend, that you will be  vexed me; but I was convulsed with rage a great
pleased with the news when I tell you, I have  part of the day.  I have to thank you for the
at last taken a lease of a farm.  Yesternight I  ingenious, friendly, and elegant epistle from
_ _ 1  eiridle   From   i




370                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
your friend Mr. Crawford.  I shall certainly                        CXII.
write to him, but not now. This is merely a
card to you, as I am posting to Dumfries-shire,     TO  MR. WILLIAM  DUNBAR,
where many perplexing arrangements await                        EDINBURGH.
me.  I am vexed about the Directory; but, my
ea SI  ve   m     the  e   t   [This letter was printed for the first time by Robert
dear Sir, forgive me: these eight days I have  Chambers in his " People's Edition" of Burns.]
been positively crazed.  My compliments to
Mrs. B. I shall write to you at Grenada.-                        Mauchline, 7th April, 1788.
I am ever, my dearest friend,                     I HAVE not delayed so long to write you, my
Yours,-R. B.    much respected friend, because I thought no
farther of my promise.  I have long since
give up that kind of formal correspondence,
where one sits down irksomely to write a letter, because we think we are in duty bound so
to do.
(OXI.I have been roving over the country, as the
TO MR. ROBERT C LE G HORN.                  farm I have taken is forty miles from this place,
hiring servants and preparing matters; but
[Cleghorn was a farmer, a social man, and much of a  most of all I am earnestly busy to bring about
musician. The poet wrote the Chevalier's Lament to
please the jacobitical taste of his friend; and the musi-  a revolution in my own mind. As, till within
cian gave him advice in farming which he neglected to  these eighteen months, I never was the wealthy
follow:-" FarmerAttention," saysCleghorn, "is agood  master of ten guineas, my knowledge of busifarmer everywhere."]                           ness is to learn; add to this my late scenes of
Mauchline, 31st March, 1788.    idleness and dissipation have enervated my
YESTERDAY, my dear Sir, as I was riding  mind to an alarming degree. Skill in the sober
through a track of melancholy, joyless muirs,  science of life is my most serious and hourly
between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being Sun-  study.  I have dropt all conversation and all
day, I turned my thoughts to psalms, and  reading (prose reading) but what tends in some
hymns, and spiritual songs; and your favour-  way or other to my serious aim. Except one
ite air, "Captain O'Kean," coming at length  worthy young fellow, I have not one single
into my head, I tried these words to it. You  correspondent in Edinburgh. You have indeed
will see that the first part of the tune must be  kindly made me an offer of that kind.  The
repeated.                                       world of wits, and gens comme il faut which I
I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but  lately left, and with whom  I never again will
as I have only a sketch of the tune, I leave it  intimately mix-from  that port, Sir, I expect
with you to try if they suit the measure of the  your Gazette: what les beaux esprits are saying,
music.                                         what they are doing, and what they are singI am so harassed with care and anxiety, about  ing. Any sober intelligence from my sequesthis farming project of mine, that my muse has  tered walks of life; any droll original; any
degenerated into the veriest prose-wench that  passing reward, important forsooth, because it
ever picked cinders, or followed a tinker. When  is mine; any little poetic effort, however emI am fairly got into the routine of business, I  bryoth; these, my dear Sir, are all you have
shall trouble you with a longer epistle; perhaps  to expect from  me. When I talk of poetic
with some queries respecting farming; at pre-  efforts, I must have it always understood, that
sent, the world sits such a load on my mind,  I appeal from your wit and taste to your friendthat it has effaced almost every trace of the  ship and good nature.  The first would be my
poet in me.                                    favourite tribunal, where I defied censure; but
My very best compliments and good wishes  the last, where I declined justice.
to Mrs. Cleghorn.                                 I have scarcely made a single distich since
R. B.    I saw you. When I meet with an old Scots air
that has any facetious idea in its name, I have
a peculiar pleasure in following out that idea for
a verse or two.
I trust that this will find you in better health




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          377
than I did last time I called for you. A few   unfortunate fool!  The sport, the miserable
lines from you, directed to me at Mauchline,  victim of rebellious pride, hypochondriac imawere it but to let me know how you are, will  gination, agonizing sensibility, and bedlam passet my mind a good deal [at rest.] Now, never  sions?
shun the idea of writing me because perhaps    " I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to
you may be out of kamour or spirits.  I could  die!" I had lately " a hairbreadth'scape in th'
give you a hundred good consequences attend-  imminent deadly breach" of love too. Thank
ing a dull letter; one, for example, and the re-  my stars, I got off heart-whole, "waur feyd than
maining ninety-nine some other time-it will  hurt."-Interruption.
always serve to keep in countenance, my much    I have this moment got a hint: I fear I am
respected Sir, your obliged friend and humble  something like-undone-but I hope for the
servant,                              R. B.    best.  Come, stubborn pride and unshrinking
resolution; accompany me through this, to me,
miserable world! You must not desert me!
CXIII.                      Your friendship I think I can count on, though I
should date my letters from a marching regiment.
TO  M ISS  CHALMER S.
Early in life, and all my life I reckoned on a
[The sacrifice referred to by the poet, was his resolu- recruiting drum as my forlorn hope. Seriously
tion to unite his fortune with Jean Armour.]   though, life at present presents me with but a
Mauchline, 7th April, 1788.    melancholy path: but —my limb will soon be
r.~~.  TT Tsound, and I shall struggle on.
I AM indebted to you and Miss Nimmo for                                  
letting me know Miss Kennedy. Strange! how
apt we are to indulge prejudices in our judgments of one another! Even I, who pique myself on my skill in marking characters-because
I am too proud of my character as a man, to be          TO MISS CHALMERS.
dazzled in my judgment for glaring wealth;    [Although Burns gladly grasped at a situation in the
and too proud of my situation as a poor man  Excise. he wrote many apologies to his friends, for the
to be biassed against squalid poverty-I was  acceptance of a place, which, though humble enough,
unacquainted with Miss K.'s very uncommon  was the only one that offered.]
worth.                                                                   Edinburgh, Sunday.
I am going on a good deal progressive in mon    TO-MORROW, my dear madam, I leave Edingrand but, the sober science of life. I have  burgh.  I have altered all my plans of future
lately made some sacrifices, for which, were I  life. A farm that I could live in, I could not
viva voce with you to paint the situation and re-  find; and, indeed, after the necessary support
count the circumstances, you should applaud  my brother and the rest of the family required,
me.                                   R. B.    I could not venture on farming in that style
suitable to my feelings. You will condemn me
for the next step I have taken. I have entered
CXIV.                       into the Excise. I stay in the west about three
TO  MISS CHALMERS.                     weeks, and then return to Edinburgh, for six
weeks' instructions: afterwards, for I get em[The hint alluded to, was a whisper of the insolvency  ploy instantly, I go ok ii plait A Dieu,-et mon
of Creech; but the bailie was firm as the Bass.]                                 
Rot. I have chosen this, my dear friend, after
No date.    mature deliberation. The question is not at
Now for that wayward, unfortunate thing, my-  what door of fortune's palace shall we enter
self. I have broke measures with Creech, and  in; but what doors does she open to us? I was
last week I wrote him a frosty, keen letter. He  not likely to get anything to do. I wanted un
replied in terms of chastisement, and promised  btt, which is a dangerous, an unhappy situame upon his honour that I should have the ac-  tion. I got this without any hanging on, or
count on Monday; but this is Tuesday, and yet  mortifying solicitation; it is immediate bread,
I have not heard a word from him. God have  and though poor in comparison of the last eighmercy on me! a poor d —mned, incautious, duped,  teen months of my existence,'tis luxury in com




378                    G ENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
parison of all my preceding life: besides, the    Your books have delighted me: Virgil, Drycommissioners are some of them my acquaint- den, and Tasso were all equally strangers to me;
ances, and all of them my firm friends.         but of this more at large in my next.
R. B.                                           R.B.
CXVII.
CXVI.                              TO MR. JAMES SMIrTH,
TO M RS. DUNLOP.                             AVON PRINTFIELD, LINLITHGOW.
[James Smith, as this letter intimates, had moved from
[The Tasso, with the perusal of which Mrs. Dunlop
i[The Tasso, with the perusal of which Mrs. Dunlop  Mauchline to try to mend his fortunes at Avon Printfield,
indulged the poet, was not the fine version of Fairfax,   iithgow.]
but the translation of Hoole-a far inferior performance.]
Iauchline, April 28, 1788.
Mauchllne, 28th April, 1788.     BEWARE of your Strasburgh, my good Sir!
MADAM,                                     Look on this as the opening of a corresponYOUR powers of reprehension must be great  dence, like the opening of a twenty-four gun
indeed, as I assure you they made my heart  battery!
ache with penitential pangs, even though I was There is no understanding a man properly,
really not guilty.  As I commence farmer at  wtht  nowng something of his previous
Whit-Sunday, you will easily guess I must be  wh            k       s        o  h    previous
pWhit-Sunday, you will easily guess I must be  ideas (that is to say, if the man has any ideas;
pretty busy; but that is not all. As I got the for I know many who, in the animal-muster,
offer of the Excise business without solicitation,                       the   anmas
and as it costs me only six months' attendance    only one idea on  any  gve sj ect, and by far
only one idea on any given subject, and by far
for instructions, to entitle me to a commission                                       and
-which comisio   lesbyme ad  t  nythe greatest part of your acquaintances and
— which commission lies by me, and at any. 
-wihcmisim, ad  mine can barely boast of ideas, 1.25 —1.5-1.75
future period, on my simple petition, can be re-, tho      pounds a-y     or some such fractional matter;) so to let you
sumed —I thought five-and-thirty pounds a-year
a little into the secrets of my pericranium, there
was no bad dernier ressort for a poor poet, if for-  i,         i....'    is, you must know, a certain clean-limbed,
tune in her jade tricks should kick him down,    ii                    
v.~~~~ ".              handsome, bewitching young hussy of your acfrom the little eminence to which she has lately   i         t  w                          riquaintance, to whom  I have lately and prihelped him up.
vately given a matrimonial title to my corpus.
For this reason, I am at'present attending
these instructions, to have them completed be-             " Bode a robe and wear it,
Bode a pock and bear it,"
fore Whit-sunday. Still, Madam, I prepared                   Bodepockandearit,"
with the sincerest pleasure to meet you at the  says the wise old Scots adage! I hate to preMount, and came to my brother's on Saturday  sage ill-luck; and as my girl has been doubly
night, to set out on Sunday; but for some nights  kinder to me than even the best of women
preceding I had slept in an apartment, where  usually are to their partners of our sex, in
the force of the winds and rains was only miti-  similar circumstances, I reckon on twelve times
gated by being sifted through numberless aper-  a brace of children against I celebrate my
tures in the windows, walls, &c. In consequence  twelfth wedding-day: these twenty-four will
I was on Sunday, Monday, and part of Tuesday,  give me twenty-four gossipings, twenty-four
unable to stir out of bed, with all the miserable  christenings (I mean one equal to two), and I
effects of a violent cold.                     hope, by the blessing of the God of my fathers,
You see, Madam, the truth of the French  to make them twenty-four dutiful children to
maxim, le vrai n'estpas toujours le vraisemblable;  their parents, twenty-four useful members of
your last was so full of expostulation, and was  society, and twenty-four approved servants of
something so like the language of an offended  their God! * * *
friend, that I began to tremble for a correspon-    "Light's heartsome," quo' the wife when she
dence, which I had with grateful pleasure set  was stealing sheep. You see what a lamp I
down as one of the greatest enjoyments of my  have hung up to lighten your paths, when you
future life.                                    are idle enough to explore the combinations and




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            379
relations of my ideas.'Tis now as plain as a  been more friendly he might have, in due time, produced
pike-staff, why a twenty-four gun battery was  it
a metaphor I could readily employ.                                   Mauchline, 4th May, 1788.
Now for business.-I intend to present Mrs.          MADAM,
Burns with a printed shawl, an article of which     DRYDEN's Virgil has delighted me. I do not
I dare say you have variety:'tis my first pre-  know whether the critics will agree with me,
sent to her since I have irrevocably called her  but the Georgics are to me by far the best of
mine, and I have a kind of whimsical wish to  Virgil. It is indeed a species of writing enget her the first said present from an old and  tirely new to me; and has filled my head with
much-valued friend of hers and mine, a trusty   a thousand fancies of emulation: but, alas!
Trojan, on whose friendship I count myself pos-  when I read the Georgics, and then survey my
sessed of as a life-rent lease.                  own powers,'tis like the idea of a Shetland
Look on this letter as a "beginning of sor-  pony, drawn up by the side of a thorough-bred
rows;" I will write you till your eyes ache read-  hunter to start for the plate.  I own I am dising nonsense.                                    appointed in the ZEneid.  Faultless correctness
Mrs. Burns ('tis only her private designation)  may please, and does highly please, the lettered
begs her best compliments to you.                critic: but to that awful character I have not
R. B.    the most distant pretensions.  I do not know
whether I do not hazard my pretensions to be
a critic of any kind, when I say that I think
Virgil, in many instances, a servile copier of
CXVIII.                       Homer.  If I had the Odyssey by me, I could
TO  PROFESSOR  DUGALD  STEWART.  parallel many passages where Virgil has evidently copied, but by no means improved, Ho[Dugald Stewart loved the poet, admired his works,  mer.  Nor can I think there is anything of this
and enriched the biography of Currie with some genuine  owing to the translators; for, from everything
reminiscences of his earlier days.], 
I have seen of Dryden, I think him  in genius
Mauchline, 3d May, 1788.    and fluency of language, Pope's master. I have
SIR,                                         not perused Tasso enough to form  an Opinion:
I ENCLOSE you one or two more of my baga-  in some future letter, you shall have my ideas
telles.  If the fervent wishes of honest grati-  of him; though I am  conscious my criticisms
tude have any influence with that great unknown  must be very inaccurate and imperfect, as there
beingwho frames the chain of causes and events,  I have ever felt and lamented my want of learnprosperity and happiness will attend your visits  ing most.                              R. B.
to the continent, and return you safe to your
native shore.
Wherever I am, allow me, Sir, to claim it as
my privilege to acquaint you with my progress
in my trade of rhymes; as I am  sure I could                          CXX.
say it with truth, that next to my little fame,         O MR. R             T AE.
and the having it in my power to make life more
comfortable to those whom  nature has made    [I have heard the gentleman say, to whom this brief
dear to me, I shall ever regard your counte-  letter is addressed, how much he was pleased with the
nance, your patronage, your friendly good  intimation, that the poet had reunited himself with Jean
J^~~~~ o^^J~~~~.               Armour, for he knew his heart was with her.]
offices, as the most valued consequence of my
late success in life.                  R. B.                         Mauchline, May 26, 1788.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I AM two kind letters in your debt, but I have
been from home, and horribly busy, buying and
CXIX.                        preparing for my farming business, over and
above the plague of my Excise instructions,
TO MRS. DU N L OP.                    which this week will finish.
rA poem, something after the fashion of the Georgics,    As I flatter my wishes that I foresee many
was long present to the mind of Burns: had fortune  future years' correspondence between us,'tie




380                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
foolish to talk of excusing dull epistles; a dull  who though in appearance partakers, and equally
letter may be a very kind one.  I have the  noble partakers, of the same nature with Mapleasure to tell you that I have been extremely  dame, are from  time to time-their nerves,
fortunate in all my buyings, and bargainings  their sinews, their health, strength, wisdom,
hitherto; Mrs. Burns not excepted; which title  experience, genius, time, nay a good part of
I now avow to the world.  I am  truly pleased  their very thoughts-sold for months and years,
with this last affair: it has indeed added to my  not only to the necessities, the conveniencies,
anxieties for futurity, but it has given a stabi-  but, the caprices of the important few.  We
lity to my mind, and resolutions unknown be-  talked of the insignificant creatures; nay, notfore; and the poor girl has the most sacred  withstanding their general stupidity and rasenthusiasm of attachment to me, and has not a  cality, did some of the poor devils the honour to
wish but to gratify my every idea of her deport-  commend them.  But light be the turf upon his
ment.  I am interrupted.-Farewell! my dear  breast who taught "Reverence thyself!"  We
Sir.                                    R. B.    looked down on the unpolished wretches, their
impertinent wives and clouterly brats, as the
lordly bull does on the little dirty ant-hill, whose
puny inhabitants he crushes in the carelessness
of his ramble, or tosses in the air in the wantonness of his pride.                      R. B.
CXXI.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[This letter, on the hiring season, is well worth the                CXXII.
consideration of all masters, and all servants. In England, servants are engaged by the month; in Scotland by       T O  MR S. D U N L O P,
the half-year, and therefore less at the mercy of the
changeable and capricious.]                             AT MR. DUNLOP'S, HADDINGTON.
27th May, 1788.       [In this, the poet's first letter from Ellisland, he lays
M~^~ADAn~M,~                         down his whole system of in-door and out-door economy:
while his wife took care of the household, he was to
I HAVE been torturing my philosophy to no  manage the farm, and " pen a stanza" during his hours
purpose, to account for that kind partiality of  of leisure.]
yours, which has followed me, in my return to                         Ellisland, 13th June, 1788.
the shade of life, with assiduous benevolence.
"Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,
Often did I regret, in the fleeting hours of my       My heart, untravelld, fondly turns to thee
late will-o'-wisp appearance, that " here I had       Still to myfriend it turns with ceaseless pain,
no continuing city;" and but for the consolation      And drags at each remove a lengthening chain."
of a few solid guineas, could almost lament the                                       GOLDSMITH.
time that a momentary acquaintance with wealth       THIS is the second day, my honoured friend,
and splendour put me so much out of conceit  that I have been on my farm.  A solitary inwith the sworn companions of my road through  mate of an old smoky spense; far from  every
life-insignificance and poverty,                  object I love, or by whom  I am beloved; nor
There are few circumstances relating to the  any acquaintance older than yesterday, except
unequal distribution of the good things of this  Jenny Geddes, the old mare I ride on; while
life that give me more vexation (I mean in what  uncouth cares and novel plans hourly insult my
I see around me) than the importance the  awkward ignorance and bashful inexperience.
opulent bestow on their trifling family affairs,  There is a foggy atmosphere native to my soul
compared with the very same things on the con-  in the hour of care; consequently the dreary
tracted scale of a cottage. Last afternoon I had  objects seem  larger than the life.  Extreme
the honour to spend an hour or two at a good  sensibility, irritated  and prejudiced  on the
woman's fireside, where the planks that com-  gloomy side by a series of misfortunes and disposed the floor were decorated with a splendid  appointments, at that period of my existence
carpet, and the gay table sparkled with silver  when the soul is laying in her cargo of ideas for
and china.'Tis now about term-day, and there  the voyage of life, is, I believe, the principal
has been a revolution among those creatures,  cause of this unhappy frame of mind.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         381
" The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?
Or what need he regard his single woes?" &c.                  Ellisland, June 14th, 1788.
THIS is now the third day, my dearest Sir,
Your surmise, Mdalm, is just; I am indeed..  
Yoursurmis, M, i js; athat I have sojourned in these regions; and
a husband.
X   *hus *ba *n.             during these three days you have occupied more
To jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stran-  of my thoughts than in three weeks preceding:
ger. My preservative from the first is the most  in Ayrshire I have several variations of friendthorough consciousness of her sentiments of  ship's compass, here it points invariably to the
honour, and her attachment to me: my antidote  pole.  My farm gives me a good many uncouth
against the last is my long and deep-rooted affec-  cares and anxieties, but I hate the language of
tion for her.                                  complaint.  Job, or some one of his friends,
In housewife matters, of aptness to learn and  says well-" why should a living man comactivity to execute, she is eminently mistress;  plain?"
and during my absence in Nithsdale, she is re-    I have lately been much mortified with congularly and constantly apprentice to my mo-  templating an unlucky imperfection in the very
ther and sisters in their dairy and other rural  framing and construction of my soul; namely,
business.                                      a blundering inaccuracy of her olfactory organs
The muses must not be offended when I tell  in hitting the scent of craft or design in my felthem, the concerns of my wife and family will,  low-creatures.  I do not mean any compliment
in my mind, always take the pas; but I assure  to my ingenuousness, or to hint that the defect
them  their ladyships will ever come next in  is in consequence of the unsuspicious simplicity
place,                                         of conscious truth and honour: I take it to be,
You are right that a bachelor state would have  in some way or other, an imperfection in the
insured me more friends; but, from a cause you  mental sight; or, metaphor apart, some modiwill easily guess, conscious peace in the enjoy-  fication of dulness. In two or three small inment of my own mind, and unmistrusting con-  stances lately, I have been most shamefully
fidence in approaching my God, would seldom   out.
have been of the number.                         I have all along hitherto, in the warfare of
I found a once much-loved and still much-  life, been bred to arms among the light-horseloved female, literally and truly cast out to the  the piquet-guards of fancy; a kind of hussars
mercy of the naked elements; but I enabled  and Highlanders of the brain; but I am firmly
her topurchase a shelter;-there is no sporting  resolved to sell out of these giddy battalions,
with a fellow-creature's happiness or misery.  who have no ideas of a battle but fighting the
The most placid good-nature and sweetness  foe, or of a siege but storming the town. Cost
of disposition; a warm heart, gratefully de-  what it will, I am determined to buy in among
voted with all its powers to love me; vigorous  the grave squadrons of heavy-armed thought, or
health and sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the  the artillery corps of plodding contrivance.
best advantage by a more than commonly hand-    What books are you reading, or what is the
some figure; these, I think, in a woman, may  subject of your thoughts, besides the great stumake a good wife, though she should never  dies of your profession?  You said something
have read a page but the Scriptures of the Old  about religion in your last. I don't exactly reand New  Testament, nor have danced in a  member what it was, as the letter is in Ayrbrighter assembly than a penny pay-wedding.   shire; but I thought it not only prettily said,
R. B.    but nobly thought. You will make a noble fellow if once you were married. I make no reservation of your being well-married: you have so
much sense, and knowledge of human nature,
that though you may not realize perhaps the
CXXIII.                     ideas of romance, yet you will never be ill-marTO  ROBERT  AINSLIE, ESQ.                 ried.
Were it not for the terrors of my ticklish situ[Had Burns written his fine song, beginning "ConHad Burns written his fine on   beginnin "Con tion respecting provision for a family of chiltented wi' little and cantie wi' mair," when he penned
this letter, the prose might have followed as a note to  decidedly of opinion that the step 
the verse: he calls the Excise a luxury.]      have taken is vastly for my happiness. As it i9.~,,._._._J




382                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
I look to the Excise scheme as a certainty of  am  concerned for the old fellow's exit, only as
maintenance!-luxury to what either Mrs. Burns  I fear it may be to your disadvantage in any
ur I were born to.                                respect-for an old man's dying, except he has
Adieu.         been a very benevolent character, or in some
R. B.    particular situation of life that the welfare
of the poor or the helpless depended on him,
I think it an event of the most trifling moment
in the world. Man is naturally a kind, benevoCXXIV.                        lent animal, but he is dropped into such a needy
situation here in this vexatious world, and has
TO ROB ERT AI N S LIE, ESQ.                 such a whoreson hungry, growling, multiplying
[The kindness of Field, the profilist, has not only in-  pack of necessities, appetites, passions, and
dulged me with a look at the original, from which the  desires about him, ready to devour him  for
profile alluded to in the letter was taken, but has put me  want of other food; that in fact he must lay
in possession of a capital copy.]                 aside his cares for others that he may look proMauchline, 23d June, 1788.    perly to himself.  You have been imposed upon
THIS letter, my dear Sir, is only a business  in paying Mr. Miers for the profile of a Mr. H.
scrap.  Mr. Miers, profile painter in your town,  I did not mention it in my letter to you, nor
has executed a profile of Dr. Blacklock for me:  did I ever give Mr. Miers any such order.  I
do me the favour to call for it, and sit to him   have no objection to lose the money, but I will
yourself for me, which put in the same size as  not have any such profile in my possession.
the doctor's.  The account of both profiles will    I desired the carrier to pay you, but as I menbe fifteen shillings, which I have given to James  tioned only fifteen shillings to him, I would raConnell, our Mauchline carrier, to pay you when  ther enclose you a guinea note.  I have it not,
you give him  the parcel.  You must not, my  indeed, to spare here, as I am only a sojourner
friend, refuse to sit.  The time is short: when I  in a strange land in this place; but in a day or
sat to Mr. Miers, I am  sure he did not exceed  two I return to Mauchline, and there I have
two minutes. I propose hanging Lord Glencairn,  the bank-notes through the house like salt perthe Doctor, and you in trio over my new chim-  mits.
ney-piece that is to be.                            There is a great degree of folly in talking unAdieu.         necessarily of one's private affairs.  I have just
R. B.    now been interrupted by one of my new neighbours, who has made himself absolutely contemptible in my eyes, by his silly garrulous pruriency. I know it has been a fault of my own,
too; but from  this moment I abjure it, as I
would the service of hell! Your poets, spendTO  ROBERT AI N S LIE, ESQ.                  thrifts, and other fools of that kidney, pretend
forsooth to crack their jokes on prudence; but
[" There is a degree of folly," says Burns in this let-  orsoot to  ra   tir os on  rudence; but
ter, "in talking unnecessarily of one's private affairs."'tis a squalid vagabond glorying in his rags.
The folly is scarcely less to write about them, and much  Still, imprudence respecting money matters is
did the poet and his friend write about their own private  much more pardonable than imprudence respectaffairs as well as those of others. ]
aairs as well as thoseofothers.]           ing character.  I have no objection to prefer
Ellisland, June 30th, 1788.    prodigality to avarice, in some few instances;
MY DEAR SIR,                                 but I appeal to your observation, if you have
I JUST now received your brief epistle; and,  not met, and often met, with the same disingenuto take vengeance on your laziness, I have, you  ousness, the same hollow-hearted insincerity,
see, taken a long sheet of writing-paper, and  and disintegritive depravity of principle, in the
have begun at the top of the page, intending to  hackneyed victims of profusion, as in the unscribble on to the very last corner.              feeling children of parsimony.  I have every
I am vexed at that affair of the * * *, but  possible reverence for the much-talked-of world
dare not enlarge on the subject until you send  beyond the grave, and I wish that which piety
me your direction, as I suppose that will be al-  believes, and virtue deserves, may be all matter
tered on your late master and friend's death.  I  of fact.  But in things belonging to, and ter



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           383
minating in this present scene of existence, man  was in the Highlands. When you return to
has serious and interesting business on hand.  Scotland, let me know, and I will send such of
Whether a man shall shake hands with welcome  my pieces as please myself best. I return to
in the distinguished elevation of respect, or  Mauchline in about ten days.
shrink from contempt in the abject corner of in-    My compliments to Mr. Purdon.  I am in
significance; whether he shall wanton under the  truth, but at present in haste,
tropic of plenty, at least enjoy himself in the                               Yours,-R. B.
comfortable latitudes of easy convenience, or
starve in the arctic circle of dreary poverty;
whether he shall rise in the manly consciousness
of a self-approving mind, or sink beneath a gall-                  CXXVII.
ing load of regret and remorse-these are alternatives ofthelastmoment.                                 TO  MR. PETER  HILL.
You see how I preach. You used occasion-   [PeterHill was abookseller in Edinburgh: DavidRam
ally to sermonize too; I wish you would, in  say, printer of the Evening Courant: William Dunbar,
charity, favour me with a sheet full in your  an advocate, and president of a club of Edinburgh wits;
charity,   I amr  th  cand Alexander Cunningham, a jeweller, who loved mirth
own way.  I admire the close of a letter Lord   nd vine. 
Bolingbroke writes to Dean Swift:-" Adieu
Mv DEAR HILL,
dear Swift! with all thy faults I love thee en-          
tirely: make an effort to lose me with all    I SHALL say nothing to your mad presentyou have so long and often been of important
mine!" Humble servant, and all that trumpery,  you have so long and often been of important
mine!" Humble servant, and all that trumpery,  service to me, and I suppose you mean to go on
is now such a prostituted busiress, that honest
is now such a prostitute u, tt h   t  conferring obligations until I shall not be able
friendship, in her sincere way, must have re-     
^         ~~,..^.~~.to lift up my face before you.  In the mean
course to her primitive, simple,~farewell!
e to h  p, s,!  time, as Sir Roger de Coverley, because it hap-.    ened to be a cold day in which he made his
will, ordered his servants great coats for mourning, so, because I have been this week plagued
with an indigestion, I have sent you by the
CXXVI.                       carrier a fine old ewe-milk cheese.
TO  MR. GEORGE  LOCKHART,                      Indigestion is the devil: nay,'tis the devil
and all. It besets a man in every one of his
MERCHANT, GLAS(GOW.                  senses.  I lose my appetite at the sight of suc[Burns, more than any poet of the age, loved to  cessful knavery, and sicken to loathing at the
write out copies of his favourite poems, and present them   noise  and nonsense of self-important folly.
to his friends: he sent "The Falls of Bruar" to Mr.  When the hollow-hearted wretch takes me by
Lockhart..'                           ~     ~Lockhart.]the hand, the feeling spoils my dinner: the
Mauchline, 18th July, 1788.    proud man's wine so offends my palate that it
MY DEAR SIR,                               chokes me in the gullet; and the pulvilised,
I AM just going for Nithsdale, else I would  feathered, pert coxcomb is so disgustful in my
certainly have transcribed some of my rhyming  nostril that my stomach turns.
things for you.  The Miss Baillies I have seen    If ever you have any of these disagreeable
in Edinburgh.  "Fair and lovely are thy works,  sensations, let me prescribe for you patience
Lord God Almighty! Who would not praise  and a bit of my cheese. I know that you are
thee for these thy gifts in thy goodness to the  no niggard of your good things among your
sons of men!" It needed not your fine taste to  friends, and some of them are in much need of
admire them. I declare, one day I had the  a slice.  There, in my eye is our friend Smelhonour of dining at Mr. Baillie's, I was almost  lie; a man positively of the first abilities and
in the predicament of the children of Israel,  greatest strength of mind, as well as one of
when they could not look on Moses' face for the  the best hearts and keenest wits that I have
glory that shone in it when he descended from   ever met with; when you see him, as, alas! he
Mount Sinai.                                   too is smarting at the pinch of distressful cirI did once write a poetic address from the  cumstances, aggravated by the sneer of contuFalls of Bruar to his Grace of Athole, when I  melious greatness-a bit of my cheese alone will




384                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
not cure him, but if you add a tankard of brown    I was going to mention a man of worth whom
stout, and superadd a magnum of right Oporto,  I have the honour to call friend, the Laird of
you will see his sorrows vanish like the morning  Craigdarroch; but I have spoken to the landlord
mist before the summer sun.                     of the King's-Arms inn here, to have at the next
Candlish, the earliest friend, except my only  county meeting a large ewe-milk cheese on the
brother, that I have on earth, and one of the  table, for the benefit of the Dumfries-shire Whigs,
worthiest fellows that ever any man called by  to enable them to digest the Duke of Queensthe name of friend, if a luncheon of my cheese  berry's late political conduct.
would help to rid him of some of his super-    I have just this moment an opportunity of.
abundant modesty, you would do well to give it  private hand to Edinburgh, as perhaps you would
him.                                           not digest double postage.           R. B.
David,' with his Courant, comes, too, across
my recollection, and I beg you will help him
largely from the said ewe-milk cheese, to enable
him to digest those bedaubing paragraphs with
which he is eternally larding the lean characters                CXXVIII.
of certain great men in a certain great town. I
grant you the periods are very well turned; so,     TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ.,
a fresh egg is a very good thing, but when thrown                F FINTRAY.
at a man in a pillory, it does not at all improve
his figure, not to mention the irreparable loss   [The filial and fraternal claims alluded to in this letter
of the egg.                                    were satisfied with about three hundred pounds, two hundred of which went to his brother Gilbert-a sum which
My facetious friend Dunbar I would wish also  made a sad inroad on the money arising from the second
to be a partaker: not to digest his spleen, for  edition of his Poems.]
that he laughs off, but to digest his last night's
wine at the last field-day of the Crochallan        SI,
corps.2                                     WHEN I had the honour of being introduced
Among our common friends I must not forget  to you at Athole-house, I did not think so soon
one of the dearest of them-Cunningham.  The  of asking a  favour of you. When Lear, in
brutality, insolence, and selfishness of a world  Shakspeare, asked Old Kent why he wished to
unworthy of having such a fellow as he is in it,  be in his service, he answers,  Because you
I khow sticks in his stomach, and if you can help  have that in your face which I would fin call
master."  For some such reason, Sir,. do I now
him to anything that will make him a little easier        For some such reason, Sir do I now
on that score, it will be very obliging.        solicit your patronage.  You know, I dare say,
As to honest J _   S   _e, he is such a  of an application I lately made to your Board to
be admitted an officer of Excise. I have, accontented, happy man, that I know not what  be admitted an officer of Eise. I have, accan annoy him, except, perhaps, he may not  cording to form, been examined by a supervisor,
can annoy him, except, perhaps, he may notwith a rehave got the better of a parcel of modest anec- and to-day I gave in his certificate, with a redotes which a certain poet gave-him one night at  quest for an order for instructions.  In this
supper, the last time the said poet was in town.  affair, if I succeed,  am afraid I shall but too
Though I have mentioned so many men of law,  much need a patronizing friend.  Propriety of
Though I have mentioned so many men of law,
I shall have nothing to do with them professedly  conduct as a man, and fidelity and attention as
-the faculty are beyond my prescription.  As  an officer, I dare engage for; butwith anything
to their clients, that is another thing; God knows  like business, except manual labour, I am tothey have much to digest!                       tally unacquainted.
The clergy I pass by; their profundity of    I had intended to have closed my late appearerudition, and their liberality of sentiment;  ance on the stage of life, in the character of a
their total want of pride, and their detestation  country farmer; but after discharging some
of hypocrisy, are so proverbially notorious as  filil and fraternal claims, I find I could only
to place them far, far above either my praise or  fight for existence in that miserable manner,
~~~~~censure.  ~which I have lived to see throw a venerable
parent into the jaws of a jail; whence death,
i Printer of the Edinburgh Evening Courant.  the poor man's last and often best friend, rescued
2 A club of choice spirits.                him.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          385
I know, Sir, that to need your goodness, is to                  CXXX.
have a claim on it; may I, therefore, beg your
patronage to forward me in this affair, till I be         TO  MRS. D UN L  P.
appointed to a division; where, by the help of
appointed to a division; where, by the help of    [The lines on the Hermitage were presented by the
rigid economy, I will try to support that inde-  poet to several of his friends, and Mrs. Dunlop was
pendence so dear to my soul, but which has been  among the number.]
too often so distant from my situation.                                     A         1788
R." ~   B.          N~Mauchline, August 2, 1788.
R. B.
HONOURED MADAM,
YOUR kind letter welcomed me, yesternight,
to Ayrshire.  I am, indeed, seriously angry
with you at the quantum of your luckpenny;
CXXIX.                      but, vexed and hurt as I was, I could not help
laughing very heartily at the noble lord's apoTO WILLIAM CRUI KS HANK.
logy for the missed napkin.
[The verses which this letter conveyed to Cruikshank    I would write you from Nithsdale, and give
were the lineswritten in Friars-Carse Hermitage: "the  you my direction there, but I have scarce an
first-fruits," says the poet, elsewhere, "of my intercourse with the Nithsdale muse."]              opportunity of calling at a post-office once in a
fortnight.  I am six miles from Dumfries, am
Ellisland, August, 1788.
E n, A t   scarcely ever in it myself, and, as yet, have
I HAVE not room, my dear friend, to answer  little acquaintance in the neighbourhood.  Beall the particulars of your last kind letter.  I  sides I am now very busy on my farm, building
shall be in Edinburgh on some business very  a dwelling-house; as at present I am almost an
soon; and as I shall be two days, or perhaps
evangelical man in Nithsdale, for I have scarce
three, in town, we shall discuss matters viva  "where to lay my head."
voce. My knee, I believe, will never be entirely    There are some passages in your last that
well; and an unlucky fall this winter has made  brought tears in my eyes.  The heart knoweth
it still worse. I well remember the circum-                                    intermeddleth
its own sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth
stance you allude to,respecting Creech's opinion  not therewith."  The repository of these "sorof Mr. Nicol; but, as the first gentleman owes  rows of the heart" is a kind of sanctum sanctome still about fifty pounds, I dare not meddle  rum: and'tis only a chosen friend, and that,
in the affair.                                 too, at particular sacred times, who dares enter
It gave me a very heavy heart to read such  into them
accounts of the consequence of your quarrel
with that puritanic, rotten-hearted, hell-com-      "Heaven oft tears the bosom-chords
missioned scoundrel A.  If, notwith-         That nature finest strung."
standing your unprecedented industry in public,
You will excuse this quotation for the sake
and your irreproachable conduct in private
of the author.  Instead of entering on this sublife, he still has you so much in his power, what
ject farther I shall transcribe you a few lines
ruin may he not bring on some others I could                       transcribe you a few lines
name?                                          I wrote in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleMany and happy returns of seasons to you,  man in my Nithsdale neighbourhood.  They
with your dearest and worthiest friend, and the  are almost the only favours the muses have conferred on me in that country:lovely little pledge of your happy union.  May    red on me in that country
the great Author of life, and of every enjoyment    Thou whom chance may hither lead.'
that can render life delightful, make her that
comfortable blessing to you both, which you so    Since I am  in the way of transcribing, the
ardently wish for, and which, allow me to say,  following were the production of yesterday as
you so well deserve! Glance over the foregoing  Ijogged through the wild hills of New Cumverses, and let me have your blots.            nock. I intend inserting them, or something
Adieu.         like them, in an epistle I am going to write to
R. B.    the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise
hopes depend, Mr. Graham, of Fintray, one of
I See Poems LXXXIX and XC




386                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
the worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen press myself in the fulness of my heart, and
not only of this country, but, I will dare to say  may, perhaps, be guilty of neglecting some of
it, of this age.  The following are just the first  your kind inquiries; but not from  your very
crude thoughts "unhousel'd, unanointed, unan-  old reason, that I do not read your letters. All
neal'd:"-                                     your epistles for several months have cost me.~*  *  *  *   *    ~ nothing, except a swelling throb of gratitude,
or a deep-felt sentiment of veneration.
Pity the tuneful muses' helpless train;          When Mrs. Burns,  adam, first foud herWeak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main:    self "as women wish to be who love their
The world were blest, did bliss on them depend;,T hat t~heworl lestdidblissothemdeend;  lords," as I loved her nearly to distraction, we
Ah,  that  the friendly e'er should want a  took steps for a private marriage. Her parents
friend. f    b   t    s     a s   got the hint; and not only forbade me her comThe little fate bestows they share as soon;    pany and their house, but, on my rumoured
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-wrung.        v    t                   o   
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-wrung  West Indian voyage, got a warrant to put me
boon.                                   in jail, till I should find security in my aboutLet Prudence number o'er each sturdy son,                              You know my lucky
to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky
Who life and wisdom at one race begun;
Who fe  a e b;  reverse of fortune.  On my 9clatant return to
Who feel by reason and who  give by rule;      Mauchline, I was made very welcome to visit
Instinct's a brute and sentiment a fool!
Who make poor will do wait upon   should;  my girl. The usual consequences began to beWho make poor will do wait upon I should;'e    pwhotray her; and, as I was at that time laid up a
We  own they're prudent, but who owns they're  cripple in Edinburgh, she was turned, literally
good?                                  turned out of doors, and I wrote to a friend to
Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye;    shelter her till my return, when our marriage
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy!       was declared.  Her happiness or misery were
But come    *    *    *    *            *      in my hands, and who could trifle with such a
deposit?
Here the muse left me. I am astonished at    I can easily fancy a more agreeable compawhat you tell me of Anthony's writing me. I  nion for my journey of life; but, upon my
never received it. Poor fellow! you vex me  honour, I have never seen the individual inmuch by telling me that he is unfortunate. I  stance.
shall be in Ayrshire ten days from this date. I    Circumstanced as I am, I could never have
have just room for an old Roman farewell.      got a female partner for life, who could have
R. B.    entered into my favourite studies, relished my
favourite authors, &c., without probably entailing on me at the same time expensive living,
fantastic caprice, perhaps apish affectation, with
all the other blessed boarding-school acquireCXXXI.                      ments, which (pardonnez moi, Ma'dame,) are
TO MRS.  DUNLOP.                      sometimes to be found among females of the
upper ranks, but almost universally pervade the
[This letter has been often cited, and very properly, as  misses of the would-be gentry.
a proof of the strong attachment of Burns to one who    I like your way in your church-yard lucubrawas, in many respects, worthy.]               tions. Thoughts that are the spontaneous result
Mauchline, August 10, 1788.    of accidental situations, either respecting health,
MY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,                  place, or company, have often a strength, and
YouRs of the 24th June is before me. I found  always an originality, that would in vain be
it, as well as another valued friend-my wife,  looked for in fancied circumstances and studied
waiting to welcome me to Ayrshire: I met both  paragraphs.  For me, I have often thought of
with the sincerest pleasure.                   keeping a letter, in progression by me, to send
When I write you, Madam, I do not sit down  you when the sheet was written out. Now I
to answer every paragraph of yours, by echoing  talk of sheets, I must tell you, my reason for
every sentiment, like the faithful Commons of  writing to you on paper of this kind is my pruGreat Britain in Parliament assembled, an-  riency of writing to you at large. A page of
swering a speech from the best of kings! I ex-  post is on such a dissocial, narrow-minded scale,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          387
that I cannot abide it; and double letters, at better than ither folks' corn." I was going to
ieast in my miscellaneous revery manner, are a  make a New Testament quotation about " castmonstrous tax in a close correspondence.       ing pearls" but that would be too virulent, for
R. B.    the lady is actually a woman of sense and
taste.
After all that has been said on the other side
of the question, man is by no means a happy
creature.  I do not speak of the selected few,
CXXXII.                      favoured by partial heaven, whose souls are
TO MRS. DUNLOP.                      tuned to gladness amid riches and honours, and
prudence and wisdom. I speak of the neglected
[Mrs. Miller, of Dalswinton, was a lady of beauty and          es  hose ses  hose 
talent: she wrote verses with skill and taste. Her maiden     
name was Jean Lindsay.]                        are sold to the minions of fortune.
If I thought you had never seen it, I would
ELlisland, 16th August, 1788.    transcribe for you a stanza of an old Scottish
I AM in a fine disposition, my honouredfriend,  ballad, called, "The Life and Age of Man "
to send you an elegiac epistle; and want only beginning thus:
genius to make it quite Shenstonian:- -in ths
"'Twas in the sixteenth hunder year
" Why droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn?    Of God and fifty-three,
Why sinks my soul, beneath each wintry sky?"    Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear,
My increasing cares in this, as yet strange         As writings testifie."
country-gloomy conjectures in the dark vista    I had an old grand-uncle, with whom my moof futurity-consciousness of my own inability  ther lived awhile in her girlish years; the good
for the struggle of the world-my broadened  old man, for such he was, was long blind ere he
mark to misfortune in a wife and children;-I  died, during which time his highest enjoyment
could indulge these reflections till my humour  was to sit down and cry, while my mother would
should ferment into the most acid chagrin, that  sine the simple old song of " the Life and Age
would corrode the very thread of life.         of Man."
To counterwork these baneful feelings, I have    It is this way of thinking; it is these melansat down to write to you; as I declare upon  choly truths, that make religion so precious to
my soul I always find that the most sovereign  the poor, miserable children of men.-If it is a
balm for my wounded spirit.                    mere phantom, existing only in the heated imaI was yesterday at Mr. Miller's to dinner for  gination of enthusiasm,
the first time. My reception was quite to my        " What truth on earth so precious as a lie."
mind: from the lady of the house quite flatter-    My idle reasonings sometimes make me a
ing.  She sometimes hits on a couplet or two,  little sceptical, but the necessities of my heart
impromptu.  She repeated one or two to the ad-  always give the cold philosophisings the lie.
miration of all present.  My suffrage as a pro-  Who looks for the heart weaned from  earth;
fessional man, was expected: I for once went  the soul affianced to her God; the correspondagonizing over the belly of my conscience. P.r-  ence fixed with heaven; the pious supplication
don me, ye my adored household gods, inde-  and devout thanksgiving, constant as the vicispendence of spirit, and integrity of soul! In the  situdes of even and morn; who thinks to meet
course of conversation, "Johnson's Musical  with these in the court, the palace, in the glare
Museum," a collection of Scottish songs with  of public life? No: to find them in their prethe music, was talked of. We got a song on  cious importance and divine efficacy, we must
the harpsichord, beginning,                    search among the obscure recesses of disappoint" Raving winds around her blowing." I   ment, affliction, poverty, and distress.
The air was much admired: the lady of the    I am sure, dear Madam, you are now more
house asked me whose were the words. " Mine,  than pleased with the length of my letters.  I
Madam-they are indeed my very best verses;"  return to Ayrshire middle of next week: and it
she took not the smallest notice of them! The  quickens my pace to think that there will
old Scottish proverb says well, "king's caff is  be a letter from  you waiting me there. 
________ must be here again very soon for my harvest.
See S)ng LII.                                                      R. B.




388                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CXXXIII.                        I am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in
making the author you mention place a map of
T O MR. BE U G,                  Iceland instead of his portrait before his works:
ENGRAVERR  E DINBURG H.'twas a glorious idea.
ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH.
Could you conveniently do me one thing?[Mr. Beugo was a well-known engraver in Edinburgh:  whenever you finish any head I should like to
he engraved Nasmyth's portrait of Burns, for Creech's  have a proof copy of it.  I might tell you a
first edition of his Poems; and as he could draw a little,
he improved, as he called it, the engraving from sittings  long story about your fine genius; but as what
of the poet, and made it a little more like, and a little  everybody knows cannot have escaped you, I
less poetic.]                                   shall not say one syllable about it.
Ellisland, 9th Sept. 1788.                                         R. B.
MY DEAR SIR,
THERE is not in Edinburgh above the number
of the graces whose letters would have given me
so much pleasure as yours of the 3d instant,                       CXXXIV.
which only reached me yesternight.                       TO  MISS CHALMERS,
I am here on the farm, busy with my harvest;
but for all that most pleasurable part of life
called SOCIAL COMMUNICATION, I am here at the    [To this fine letter all the biographers of Burns are
very elbow of existence.  The only things that  largely indebted.]
are to be found in this country, in any degree
"~~'."         Ellisland, near Dumfries, Sept. 16th, 1788.
of perfection, are stupidity and canting. Prose       EE ae      ou   ad  ho  ae  ou  ad i
WHERE are you? and how are you? and is
they only know in graces, prayers, &c., and the
c,,, a    t    Lady Mackenzie recovering her health? for I
value of these they estimate as they do their                                                 I
~~~~~..             "            n~~have had but one solitary letter from  you. I
plaiding webs —by the ell! As for the muses,
plaiding webs-by the  l! As fort,  will not think you have forgot me, Madam; and
they have as much an idea of a rhinoceros as        
for my part —
of a poet.  For my old capricious but goodnatured huzzy of a muse-,                                " When thee, Jerusalem. I forget,
Skill part from my right hand!"
" By banks of Nith I sat and wept
When Coila I thought on,               "My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul
In midst thereof I hung my harp       careless as that sea."  I do not make my proThe willow-trees upon."             gress among mankind as a bowl does among its
I am generally about half my time in Ayrshire  fellows-rolling through the crowd without bearwith my "darling Jean," and then I, at lucid  ing away any mark of impression, except where
intervals, throw my horny fist across my becob-  they hit in hostile collision.
webbed lyre, much in the same manner as an    I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks
old wife throws her hand across the spokes of  by bad weather; and as you and your sister
her spinning-wheel.                             once did me the honour of interesting yourI will send you the " Fortunate Shepherdess"  selves much' l'egard de moi, I sit down to beg
as soon as I return to Ayrshire, for there I keep  the continuation of your goodness. I can truly 
it with other precious treasure.  I shall send  say that, all the exterior of life apart, I never
it by a careful hand, as I would not for any-  saw two, whose esteem flattered the nobler feel- 
thing it should be mislaid or lost. I do not  ings of my soul-I will not say more, but so
wish to serve you from  any benevolence, or  much as Lady Mackenzie and Miss Chalmers. 
other grave Christian virtue;'tis purely a sel-  When I think of you-hearts the best, minds
fish gratification of my own feelings whenever I  the noblest of human kind-unfortunate even
think of you.                                   in the shades of life-when I think I have met 
If your better functions would give you lei-  with you, and have lived more of real life with
sure to write me, I should be extremely happy;  you in eight days than I can do with almost any
that is to say, if you neither keep nor look for  body I meet with in eight years-when I think
a regular correspondence. I hate the idea of  on the improbability of meeting you in this
being obliged to write a letter.  I sometimes  world again-I could sit down and cry like a
write a friend twice a week, at other times once  child! If ever you honoured me with a place
a quarter.                                     in your esteem, I trust I can now plead more
f,                                                            __~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             889
desert.  I am secure against that crushing grip  this business, I know you would approve of my
of iron poverty, which, alas! is less or more  idea.
fatal to the native worth and purity of, I fear,    I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this
the noblest souls; and a late important step in  egotistic detail; I know  you and your sister
my life has kindly taken me out of the way of  will be interested in every circumstance of it.
those ungrateful iniquities, which, however over-  What signify the silly, idle gewgaws of wealth,
looked in fashionable license, or varnished in  or the ideal trumpery of greatness! When felfashionable phrase, are indeed but lighter and  low-partakers of the same nature fear the same
deeper shades of VILLANY.                         God, have the same benevolence of heart, the
Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I  same nobleness of soul, the same detestation at
married "my Jean."  This was not in conse-  everything dishonest, and the same scorn at
quence of the attachment of romance, perhaps;  everything unworthy-if they are not in the
but I had a long and much-loved fellow-crea-  dependence of absolute beggary, in the name
ture's happiness or misery in my determina-  of common sense are they not EQUALS? And if
tion, and I durst not trifle with so important a  the bias, the instinctive bias, of their souls run
deposit. Nor have I any cause to repent it. If  the same way, why may they not be FRIENDS?
I have not got polite tattle, modish manners,    When I may have an opportunity of sending
and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and  you this, Heaven only knows.  Shenstone says,
disgusted with the multiform  curse of board-  " When one is confined idle within doors by bad
ing-school affectation: and I have got the hand-  weather, the best antidote against ennui is to
somest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest  read the letters of or write to, one's friends;" in
constitution, and the kindest heart in the county.  that case then, if the weather continues thus,
Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her creed, that  I may scrawl you half a quire.
I am le plus bel esprit, et le plus honnite homme in  I very lately-to wit, since harvest beganthe universe; although she scarcely ever in her  wrote a poem, not in imitation, but in the manlife, except the Scriptures of the Old and New   ner, of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only a short
Testament, and the Psalms of David in metre,  essay, just to try the strength of my muse's
spent five minutes together either on prose or  pinion in that way.  I will send you a copy of
verse.  I must except also from this last a cer-  it, when once I have heard from you.  I have
tain late publication of Scots poems, which she  likewise been laying the foundation of some
has perused very devoutly; and all the ballads  pretty large poetic works: how the superstrucin the country, as she has (0 the partial lover!  ture will come on, I leave to that great maker
you will cry) the finest "wood-note wild" I  and marrer of projects-TIME. Johnson's colever heard.  I am the more particular in this  lection of Scots songs is going on in the third
lady's character, as I know she will henceforth  volume; and, of consequence, finds me a conhave the honour of a share in your best wishes.  sumpt for a great deal of idle metre.  One of
She is still at Mauchline, as I am building my  the most tolerable things I have done m  that
house; for this hovel that I shelter in, while  way is two stanzas I made to an air, a musical
occasionally here, is pervious to every blast that  gentleman of my acquaintance composed for
blows, and every shower that falls; and I am   the anniversary of his wedding-day, which haponly preserved from  being chilled to death by  pens on the seventh of November.  Take it as
being suffocated with smoke.  I do not find my  follows:farm  that pennyworth I was taught to expect,
but I believe, in time, it may be a saving bar-    "The day returns-my bosom burns,
gain. You will be pleased to hear that I have         The blissful day we twa did meet," &c.
laid aside idle eclat, and bind every day after    I shall give over this letter for shame.  If I
my reapers.                                       should be seized with a scribbling fit, before
To save me from that horrid situation of at  this goes away, I shall make it another letter;
any time going down in a losing bargain of a  and then you may allow your patience a week's
farm, to misery, I have taken my Excise in-  respite between the two.  I have not room for
structions, and have my commission in my  more than the old, kind, hearty farewell.
pocket for any emergency of fortune.  If I
could set all before your view, whatever disrespect you, in common with the world, have for                       i Song LXIX.




390                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
To make some amends, mes chores IMsdames,                      CXXXVI.
for dragging you on to this second sheet, and
TO  MRS. DUNLOP,
to relieve a little the tiresomeness of my unstu-           O.    
died and uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe                OF DUNLOP.;0U some of my late poetic bagatelles; though    [Burns had no great respect for critics who found bleI have, these eight or ten months, done very  mishes without perceiving beauties: he expresses his
little that way.  One day in a hermitage on  contempt for such in this letter.]
the banks of Nith, belonging to a gentleman in                   Mauchline, 27th Sept. 1788.
may neighbourhood, who is so good as give me a    I HAVE received twins, dear Madam, more
key at pleasure, I wrote as follows; supposing  than once; but scarcely ever with more pleasure
myself the sequestered, venerable inhabitant of  than when I received yours of the 12th instant.
the lonely mansion.                            To make myself understood; I had wrote to Mr.
LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE              Graham, enclosing my poem addressed to him,
HERMITAGaE.                    and the same post which favoured me with
Thou whm c e my h r,        yours brought me an answer from him. It was
"Thou whom chance may hither lead,
dated the very day he had received mine; and I
Be thou clad in russet weed."'
R. B.       am quite at a loss to say whether it was most
polite or kind.
Your criticisms, my honoured benefactress,
are truly the work of a friend. They are not
the blasting depredations of a canker-toothed,
CXXXV.                       caterpillar critic; nor are they the fair statement of cold impartiality, balancing with unTO  MR. M OR IS O N,       feeling exactitude the pro and con of an author's
MAUCHLINE.                     merits; they are the judicious observations of
animated friendship, selecting the beauties of
[Morison, of Mauchline, made most of the poet's furniture, for Ellisland: from Mauchline, too, came that  the piece.  I have just arrived from Nithsdale,
eight-day clock, which was sold, at the death of the  and will be here a fortnight.  I was on horsepoet's widow, for thirty-eight pounds, to one who would  back this morning by three o'clock; for between
have paid one hundred, sooner than wanted it.]  my wife and my farm  is just forty-six miles.
Ellisland, Sepitember 22, 1788.    As I jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a
MY DEAR SIR,                               poetic fit as follows:
NECESSITY obliges me to go into my new hose      Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch's lamentaeven before it be plastered.  I will inhabit the ion for the death of her son; an uncommonly
one end until the other is finished. About three  promising youth of eighteen or nineteen years
of age."
weeks more, I think, will at farthest be my time,    a
beyond which I cannot stay in this presenthouse.   "Fate gave the word-the arrow sped,
If ever you wished to deserve the blessing of him    And pierced my darling's heart."2
that was ready to perish; if ever you were in.,,..,~,  ~      ~~~You will not send me your poetic rambles, buts
a situation that a little kindness would have resyou see I am no niggard of mine.  I am sure
cued you from many evils; if ever you hope to
your impromptus give me double pleasure; what
find rest in future states of untried being-get        ro           y           
falls from your pen can neither be unentertainthese matters of mine ready.  My servant will                  n  
ing in itself, nor indifferent to me.
be out in the beginning of next week for the 
clock. My compliments to Mrs. Morison.            The one fault you found, is just; but I cannot
clock. My compliments to Mrs. Morison.
i ^~~~~am,  ~please myself in an emendation.
After all my tribulation,           What a life of solicitude is the life of a parent!
After all my tribulation,
Dear Sir, yours,      You interested me much in your young couple.
R. B.      I would not take my folio paper for this epistle, and now I repent it. I am so jaded with
my dirty long journey that I was afraid to
drawl into the essence of dulness with anyl Poems LXXXIX. and XC.                              2 Poem XCII.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          391
thing larger than a quarto, and so I must leave  be but a prose criticism.  Is not the phrase, in
out another rhyme of this morning's manufac-  line 7, page 6, "Great lake," too much vulgarture.                                          ized by every-day language for so sublime a
I will pay the sapientipotent George, most poem?
cheerfully, to hear from  you ere I leave Ayr-     " Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song,"
shire.                                R. B.    is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration
of a comparison with other lakes is at once harmonious and poetic. Every reader's ideas must
CXXXVII.                      sweep the
TO MR. PETER  H I L L.                       " Winding margin of an hundred miles."
The perspective that follows mountains blue
[" The' Address to Lochlomond,' which this letter
criticises," says Currie inl800, "was written by a gentle- -the imprisoned billows beating in vain-the
man, now one of the masters of the High-school of Edin-  wooded isles-the digression on the yew-treeourgh, and the same who translated the beautiful story  " Ben-lomond's lofty, cloud-envelop'd head," &c.
of' The Paria,' published in the Bee of Dr. Anderson."]  are beautiful.  A thunder-storm  is a subject
lMauchline, 1st October, 1788.    which has been often tried, yet our poet in his
I HAVE been here in this country about three  grand picture has interjected a circumstance,
days, and all that time my chief reading has  so far as I know, entirely original:been the "Address to Lochlomond" you were                                 "the gloom
so obliging as to send to me. Were I impan- Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire."
nelled one of the author's jury, to determine    In his preface to the Storm, "the glens how
his criminality respecting the sin of poesy, my  dark between," is noble highland landscape!
verdict should be " guilty! a poet of nature's  The "rain ploughing the red mould," too, is
making!"  It is an excellent method for im-  beautifully fancied. "Ben-lomond's lofty, pathprovement, and what I believe every poet does,  less top," is a good expression; and the sur*to place some favourite classic author in his own  rounding view from it is truly great: the
walks of study and composition, before him as                -          ~ " silver mist,
a model. Though your author had not men-                 Beneath the beaming sun,"
tioned the name, I could have, at half a glance,  is well described; and here he has contrived to
guessed his model to be Thomson. Will my  enliven his poem with a little of that passion
brother-poet forgive me, if I venture to hint  which bids fair, I think, to usurp the modern
that his imitation of that immortal bard is in  muses altogether.  I know not how far this
two or three places rather more servile than  episode is a beauty upon the whole, but the
such a genius as his required:-e. g.           swain's wish to carry "some faint idea of the
" To soothe the maddening passions all to peace."  vision bright," to entertain her "partil lisADDREss.   tening ear," is a pretty thought.  But in my
cc To soothe the throbbing passions into peace."  opinion the most beautiful passages in the whole
THOMSON.   poem are the fowls crowding, in wintry frosts,
I think the "Address" is in simplicity, har-  to Lochlomond's  "hospitable flood;"  their
mony, and elegance of versification, fully equal  wheeling round, their lighting, mixing, diving,
to the " Seasons."  Like Thomson, too, he has  &c.; and the glorious description of the sportslooked into nature for himself: you meet with  man. This last is equal to anything in the
no copied description. One particular criticism   "Seasons."  The idea of "the floating tribe
I made at first reading; in no one instance has  distant seen, far glistering to the moon," prohe said too much. He never flags in his pro-  voking his eye as he is obliged to leave them,
gress, but, like a true poet of nature's making  is a noble ray of poetic genius. " The howling
kindles in his course. His beginning is simple  winds," the "hideous roar" of the white casand modest, as if distrustful of the strength of  cades," are all in the same style.
his pinion; only, I do not altogether like-       I forget that while I am thus holding forth
-"~____~___      I"Truth,   with the heedless warmth of an enthusiast, I
The soul of every song that's nobly great."  am perhaps tiring you with nonsense.  I must,
Fiction is the soul of many a song that is  however, mention that the last verse of the sixnobly great.  Perhaps I am wrong: this may  teenth page is one of the most elegant compli




392                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ments I have ever seen. I must likewise notice  the principles of reason and common sense, it
that beautiful paragraph  beginning, "The  could not be any silly political prejudice which
gleaming lake," &c. I dare not go into the  made my heart revolt at the harsh abusivemanparticular beauties of the last two paragraphs,  ner in which the reverend gentleman mentioned
but they are admirably fine, and truly Ossianic.  the House of Stewart, and which, I am afraid,
I must beg your pardon for this lengthened  was too much the language of the day. We
scrawl. I had no idea of it when I began-I  may rejoice sufficiently in our deliverance from
should like to know who the author is; but,  past evils, without cruelly raking up the ashes
whoever he be, please present him  with my  of those whose misfortune it was, perhaps as
grateful thanks for the entertainment he has  much as their crime, to be the authors of those
afforded me.                                   evils; and we may bless GOD for all his goodA friend of mine desired me to commission for  ness to us as a nation, without at the same time
him two books, "Letters on the Religion essen-  cursing a few ruined, powerless exiles, who
tial to Man," a book you sent me before; and  only harboured ideas, and made attempts, that
" The World unmasked, or the Philosopher the  most of us would have done, had we been in
greatest Cheat."  Send me them by the first  their situation.
opportunity.  The Bible you sent me is truly     "The bloody and tyrannical House of Stewelegant; I only wish it had been in two volumes,  art" may be said with propriety and justice,
R. B.    when compared with the present royal family,
and the sentiments of our days; but is there
no allowance to be made for the manners of
the times? Were the royal contemporaries of
TO  THE EDITOR  OF "THE  STAR."   the Stewarts more attentive to their subjects'
[The clergyman who preached the sermon which this rights? Might not the epithets of "bloody and
letter condemns, was a man equally worthy and stern-a  tyrannical" be, with at least equal justice,
|divine of Scotland's elder day: he received "a harmoni-  applied to the House of Tudor, of York, or any
ous call" to a smaller stipend than that of Dunscore-  r o t  
and accepted it.]
and accepted it.]                              other of their predecessors?
November 8th 1788.       The simple state of the case, Sir, seems to be
SIR,                                      this:-At that period, the science of governNOTWITHSTANDING the opprobrious epithets  ment, the knowledge of the true relation bewith which some of our philosophers and gloomy  tween king and subject, was, like other sciences
sectarians have branded our nature-the prin-  and other knowledge, just in its infancy,
ciple of universal selfishness, the proneness to  emerging from dark ages of ignorance and barall evil, they have given us; still the detestation  barity.
in which inhumanity to the distressed, or inso-    The Stewarts only contended for prerogatives
lence to the fallen, are held by all mankind,  which they knew their predecessors enjoyed,
shows that they are not natives of the human  and which they saw their contemporaries enjoyheart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind,  ing; but these prerogatives were inimical to
who is undone, the bitter consequence of his  the happiness of a nation and the rights of subfollies or his crimes, who but sympathizes with  jects.
the miseries of this ruined profligate brother?    In this contest between prince and people,
We forget the injuries and feel for the man.   the consequence of that light of science which
I went, last Wednesday, to my parish church,  had lately dawned over Europe, the monarch of
most cordially to join in grateful acknowledg-  France, for example, was victorious over the
ment to the AUTHOR OF ALL GOOD, for the con-  struggling liberties of his people: with us,
sequent blessings of the glorious revolution. To  luckily the monarch failed, and his unwarrantthat auspicious event we owe no less than our  able pretensions fell a sacrifice to our rights
liberties, civil and religious; to it we are like-  and happiness. Whether it was owing to the
wise indebted for the present Royal Family, the  wisdom of leading individuals, or to the justruling features of whose administration have  ling of parties, I cannot pretend to determine;
ever been mildness to the subject, and tender-  but likewise happily for us, the kingly power
iess of his rights.                           was shifted into another branch of the family,
Bred and educated in revolution principles,  who, as they owed the throne solely to the call




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          393
of a free people, could claim  nothing incon-               Mauchline, 13th November, 1788.
sistent with the convenanted terms which placed     MADAM,
them there.                                       I HAD the very great pleasure of dining at
The  Stewarts  have been condemned and  Dunlop yesterday.  Men are said to flatter wolaughed at for the folly and impracticability  men because they are weak; if it is so, poets
of their attempts in 1715 and 1745. That they  must be weaker still; for Misses R. and K. and
failed, I bless GOD; but cannot join in the  Miss G. M'K., with their flattering attentions,
ridicule against them. Who does not know that  and artful compliments, absolutely turned my
the abilities or defects of leaders and corn-  head.  I own they did not lard me over as
manders are often hidden until put to the  many a poet does his patron, buttheyso intoxitouchstone of exigency; and that there is a  cated me with their sly insinuations and delicaprice of fortune, an omnipotence in particular  cate inuendos of compliment, that if it had not
accidents and conjunctures of circumstances,  been for a lucky recollection, how much addiwhich exalt us as heroes, or brand us as mad-  tional weight and lustre your good opinion and
men, just as they are for or against us?       friendship must give me in that circle, I had
Man, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, in-  certainly looked upon myself as a person of no
consistent being; who would believe, Sir, that  small consequence.  I dare not say one word
in this our Augustan age of liberality and re-  how much I was charmed with the Major's
finement, while we seem so justly sensible and  friendly welcome, elegant manner, and acute rejealous of our rights and liberties, and animated  mark, lest I should be thought to overbalance
with such indignation against the very memory  my orientalisms of applause over-against the
of those who would have subverted them-that  finest quey' in Ayrshire, which he made me a
a certain people under our national protection  present of to help and adorn my farm-stock.
should complain, not against our monarch and  As it was on hallow-day, I am determined ana few favourite advisers, but against our WHOLE  nually, as that day returns, to decorate her horns
LEGISLATIVE BODY, for similar oppression, and  with an ode of gratitude to the family of Dunlop.
almost in the very same terms, as our forefa-    So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop,
thers did of the house of Stewart! I will not,  I will take the first conveniency to dedicate a
I cannot enter into the merits of the cause; but  day, or perhaps two, to you and friendship,
I dare say the American Congress, in 1776, will  under the guarantee of the Major's hospitality.
be allowed to be as able and as enlightened as  There will soon be threescore and ten miles of
the English Convention was in 1688; and that  permanent distance between us; and now that
their posterity will celebrate the centenary of  your friendship and friendly correspondence is
their deliverance from us, as duly and sincerely  entwisted with the heart-strings of my enjoyas we do ours from the oppressive measures of  ment of life, I must indulge myself in a happy
the wrong-headed House of Stewart.              day of "The feast of reason and the flow of
To conclude, Sir; let every man who has a  soul."                                   R. B.
tear for the many miseries incident to humanity
feel for a family illustrious as any in Europe,
and unfortunate beyond historic precedent; and                      CXL.
let every Briton (and particularly every ScotsTO M R. JAMES JOHNSON,
man) who ever looked with reverential pity on
the dotage of a parent, cast a veil over the fatal              ENGRAVER.
mistakes of the kings of his forefathers.
James Johnson, though not an ungenerous man,
R. B.    meanly refused to give a copy of the Musical Museum to
Burns, who desired to bestow it on one to whom his
OC~XXXIX.~ ~          family was deeply indebted. This was in the last year
of the poet's life, and after the Museum had been brightTO  MRS. DUNLOP,                     ened by so much of his lyric verse.]
AT MOREHAM MAINS.                              Mauchline, November 15th, 1788.
[The heifer presented to the poet by the Dunlops was        S
bought, at the sale of Ellisland stock, by Miller of Dal-    I HAVE sent you two more songs. If you have
swinton, and long grazed th( pastures in his " policies"
by the name of "Burns."]                                           I Heifer.




394                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
got any tunes, or anything to correct, please  Nithsdale; till then, my direction is at this
send them by return of the carrier.           place; after that period, it will be at Ellisland,
I can easily see, my dear friend, that you  near Dumfries. It would extremely oblige me,
will very probably have four volumes. Perhaps  were it but half a line, to let me know how you
you may not find your account lucratively in  are, and where you are. Can I be indifferent
this business; but you are a patriot for the  to the fate of a man to whom I owe so much?
music of your country; and I am  certain  A man whom I not only esteem, but venerate.
posterity will look on themselves as highly in-    My warmest good wishes and most respectful
debted to your public spirit. Be not in a hurry;  compliments to Mrs. Blacklock, and Miss Johnlet us go on correctly, and your name shall be  ston, if she is with you.
immortal.                                        I cannot conclude without telling you that I
I am  preparing a flaming preface for your  am more and more pleased with the step I
third volume. I see every day new musical  took respecting "my Jean."  Two things, from
publications advertised; but what are they?  my happy experience, I set down as apothegms
Gaudy, hunted butterflies of a day, and then  in life. A  wife's head is immaterial, comvanish for ever: but your work will outlive the  pared with her heart; and —" Virtue's (for wismomentary neglects of idle fashion, and defy  dom what poet pretends to it?) ways are ways
the teeth of time.                             of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."
Have you never a fair goddess that leads you  Adieu!                             R. B.
a wild-goose chase of amorous devotion? Let
a wild- e c e of a s d? Lt   [Here follow " The Mother's Lament for the Loss of
me know a few of her qualities, such as whether  her Son," and the song beginning " The lazy mist hangs
she be rather black, or fair; plump, or thin;  from the brow of the hill."]
short, or tall, &c.; and choose your air, and I
shall task my muse to celebrate her.
R. B.
CXLII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
CXLI.
[The "Auld lang syne," which Burns here introduces
T O D R. B L A C K LO C K.            to Mrs. Dunlop as a strain of the olden time, is as surely
his own as Tam-o-Shanter.]
[Blacklock, though blind, was a cheerful and good
man. "There was, perhaps, never one among all man-           Ellisland, 17th December, 1788.
kind," says Heron, " whom you might more truly have  MY DEAR HONOURED FRIEND,
called an angel upon earth."}                    YOURS, dated Edinburgh, which I have just
Mauchline, November 15th, 1788.    read, makes me very unhappy. "Almost blind
REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,                    and wholly deaf," are melancholy news of
As I hear nothing of your motions, but that  human nature; but w'uen told of a much-loved
you are, or were, out of town, I do not know  and honoured friend, they carry misery in the
where this may find you, or whether it will find  sound. Goodness on your part, and gratitude
you at all.  I wrote you a long letter, dated  on mine, began a tie which has gradually enfrom the land of matrimony, in June; but either  twisted itself among the dearest chords of my
it had not found you, or, what I dread more, it  bosom, and I tremble at the omens of your late
found you or Mrs. Blacklock in too precarious  and present ailirg habit and shattered health.
a state of health and spirits to take notice of  You miscalcula'te matters widely, when you foran idle packet.                               bid my waiting on you, lest it should hurt my
I have done many little things for Johnson,  worldly coucerIa.  My small scale of farming
since I had the pleasure of seeing you; and I  is exceedingly more simple and easy than what
have finished one piece, in the way of Pope's  you have latly seen at Moreham Mains. But,
" Moral Epistles;" but, from your silence, I  be that as it may, the heart of the man and the
have everything to fear, so I have only sent you  fancy of the poet are the two grand consideratwo melancholy things, which I tremble lest tions for which I live: if miry ridges and dirty
they should too well suit the tone of your pre-  dunghills are to engross the best part of the
sent feelings,                                functions of my soul immortal, I had better been
In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to  a rook or a magpie at once, and then I should




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         395
not have been plagued with any ideas superior  meekness, could have resisted the curiosity to
to breaking of clods and picking up grubs; not  know what that ballad was: so my worthy
to mention barn-door cocks or mallards, crea-  friend has done me a mischief, which I dare say
tures with which I could almost exchange lives  he never intended; and reduced me to the un
at any time. If you continue so deaf, I am  fortunate alternative of leaving your curiosity
afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to either  ungratified, or else disgusting you with foolish
of us; but if I hear you are got so well again  verses, the unfinished production of a random
as to be able to relish conversation, look you  moment, and never meant to have met your
to it, Madam, for I will make my threaten-  ear. I have heard or read somewhere of a
ings good. I am to be at the New-year-day  gentleman who had some genius, much eccenfair of Ayr; and, by all that is sacred in the  tricity, and very considerable dexterity with his
world, friend, I will come and see you.        pencil.  In the accidental group of life into
Your meeting, which you so well describe,  which one is thrown, wherever this gentleman
with your old schoolfellow  and friend, was  met with a character in a more than ordinary
truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the  degree congenial to his heart, he used to steal
world! —They spoil "these social offsprings of  a sketch of the face, merely, he said, as a nota
the heart." Two veterans of the "men of the  bene, to point out the agreeable recollection to
world" would have met with little more heart-  his memory. What this gentleman's pencil was
workings than two old hacks worn out on the  to him, my muse is to me; and the verses I do
road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, "Auld  myself the honour to send you are a memento
lang syne," exceedingly expressive? There is  exactly of the same kind that he indulged in.
an old song and tune which has often thrilled    It may be more owing to the fastidiousness
through my soul. You know I am an enthusiast  of my caprice than the delicacy of my taste;
in old Scotch songs. I shall give you the verses  but I am so often tired, disgusted and hurt with
on the other sheet, as I suppose Mr. Ker will  insipidity, affectation, and pride of mankind,
save you the postage.                          that when I meet with a person "after my own
" Should auld acquaintance be forgot!"1  heart," I positively feel what an orthodox ProLight be the turf on the breast of the heaven-  testant would call a species of idolatry, which
inspired poet who composed this glorious frag-  acts on my fancy like inspiration; and I can
ment. There is more of the fire of native genius  no more desist rhyming on the impulse, than
in it than in half-a-dozen of modern English  an  Eolian harp can refuse its tones to the
Bacchanalians! Now I am on my hobby-horse,  streaming air. A distich or two would be the
I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas,  consequence, though the object which hit my
which please me mightily:-                     fancy were gray-bearded-age; but where my
" Go fetch to me a pint of wine."2   theme is youth and beauty, a young lady whose
R. B.    personal charms, wit, and sentiment are equally
striking and unaffected-by heavens! though
I had lived three score years a married man,
CXLIII.
and three score years before I was a marTO MISS DA VIES.                    ried man, my imagination would hallow the
very idea: and I am truly sorry that the in[The aird of Glenriddel informed " the charming   closed stanzas have done such poor justice to
lovely Davies" that Burns was composing a song in her 
praise. The poet acted on this, and sent the song, en-  such a subject.             R. B.
closed in this characteristic letter.]
December, 1788.
MADAM,                                                       CXLIV.
I UNDERSTAND my very worthy neighbour,            TO  MR. JOHN  TENNANT.
Mr. Riddel, has informed you that I have made
you the subj ect of some verses. There is some-   [The mill of John Currie stood on a small stream which
fed the loch of Friar's Carse-near the house of the dame
thing so provoking in the idea of being the bur-     whom he sang, " Sic a wife as Willie had."
then of a ballad, that I do not think Job or
Moses, though such patterns of patience and                             December, 1788.
________________________________ I YESTERDAY tried my cask of whiskey for the
] See Song CCX.         2 See Song LXXII.   first time, and I assure you it does you great




396                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
credit. It will bear five waters strong; or six  for breaking in on that habitual routine of life
ordinary toddy.  The whiskey of this country  and thought, which is so apt to reduce our existis a most rascally liquor; and, by consequence,  ence to a kind of instinct, or even sometimes,
only drank by the most rascally part of the in-  and with some minds, to a state very little suhabitants.  I am persuaded, if you once get a  perior to mere machinery.
footing here, you might do a great deal of busi-    This day, the first Sunday of May, a breezy,
ness, in the way of consumpt; and should you  blue-skyed noon some time about the beginning,
commence distiller again, this is the native  and a hoary morning and calm sunny day about
barley country. I am ignorant if, in your pre-  the end, of autumn; these, time out of mind,
sent way of dealing, you would think it worth  have been with me a kind of holiday.
your while to extend your business so far as    I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in
this country side. I write you this on the  the Spectator, "The Vision of Mirza," a piece
account of an accident, which I must take the  that struck my young fancy before I was capamerit of having partly designed to. A neigh-  ble of fixing an idea to a word of three syllables:
bour of mine, a John Currie, miller in Carse-  "On the 6th day of the moon, which, according
mill-a man who is, in a word, a "very" good  to the custom of my forefathers, I always keep
man, even for a ~500 bargain-he and his wife  holy, after having washed myself, and offered up
were in my house the time I broke open the  my morning devotions, I ascended the high hill
cask.  They keep a country public-house and  of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day
sell a great deal of foreign spirits, but all along  in meditation and prayer."
thought that whiskey would have degraded this    We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the
house.  They were perfectly astonished at my  substance or structure of our souls, so cannot
whiskey, both for its taste and strength; and,  account for those seeming caprices in them,
by their desire, I write you to know if you could  that one should be particularly pleased with this
supply them with liquor of an equal quality,  thing, or struck with that, which, on minds of a
and what price.  Please write me by first post,  different cast, makes no extraordinary impresand direct to me at Ellisland, near Dumfries.  sion.  I have some favourite flowers in spring,
If you could take a jaunt this way yourself, I  among which are the mountain-daisy, the harehave a spare spoon, knife and fork very much at  bell, the fox-glove, the wild brier-rose, the budyour service.  My compliments to Mrs. Ten-  ding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view
nant, and all the good folks in Glenconnel and  and hang over with particular delight. I never
Barquharrie.                          R. B.    hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in
a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of
a troop of grey plovers, in an autumnal mornCXLV.                       ing, without feeling an elevation of soul like
TO MRS. DUNLOP.                      the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry.  Tell me,
my dear friend, to what can this be owing? Are
[The feeling mood of moral reflection exhibited in the  we a piece of machinery, which, like the ZEolian
following letter, was common to the house of William
^.^  ^^    ^. ~harp, passive, takes the impression of the passBurns: in a letter addressed by Gilbert to Robert of this
date, the poet is reminded of the early vicissitudes of ing accident?  Or do these workings argue
their name, and desired to look up, and be thankful.]  something within us above the trodden clod? I
own myself partial to such proofs of those awElisland, New-year-day Morning, 1789.
M, is a m in  o wis,  ful and important realities-a God that made all
THIS, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes,
things-man's immaterial and immortal nature
and would to God that I came under the apostle
- and a world of weal or woe beyond death and
James's description!-the prayer of a righteous  the grave.                           R. B.
the grave.                            R. B.
man availeth much. In that case, Madam, you
should welcome in a year full of blessings:
everything that obstructs or disturbs tranquillity and self-enjoyment, should be removed,                        CXLVI.
and every pleasure that frail humanity can
taste, should be yours. I own myself so little              TO  DR. MOORE.
a Presbyterian, that I approve of set times and    [The poet seems, in this letter, to perceive that Ellisseasons of more than ordinary acts of devotion,  land was not the bargain he had reckoned it: he intimated,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          397
as the reader will remember, something of the same kind the epistle addressed to R. G. Esq. or Robert
to Margaret Chalmers.]                         Graham of Fintray, Esq., a gentleman of uncomEllisland, 4th Jan. 1789.    mon worth, to whom I lie under very great obSIR,                                       ligations.  The story of the poem, like most of
As often as I think of writing to you, which  my poems, is connected with my own story, and
has been three or four times every week these  to give you the one, I must give you something
six months, it gives me something so like the  of the other. I cannot boast of Mr. Creech's
idea of an ordinary-sized statue offering at a  ingenuous fair dealing to me. He kept me
conversation with the Rhodian colossus, that my  hanging about Edinburgh from the 7th August,
mind misgives me, and the affair always mis-  1787, until the 13th April, 1788, before he
carries somewhere between purpose and resolve.  would condescend to give me a statement of
I have at last got some business with you, and  affairs; nor had I got it even then, but for an
business letters are written by the stylebook. I  angry letter I wrote him, which irritated his
say my business is with you, Sir, for you never  pride.  " I could" not a "tale" but a detail
had any with me, except the business that be-  "unfold," but what am I that should speak
nevolence has in the mansion of poverty,        against the Lord's anointed Bailie of EdinThe character and employment of a poet were  burgh?
formerly my pleasure, but are now my pride. I    I believe I shall in the whole, 1001. copy-right
know that a very great deal of my late eclat  included, clear about 4001. some little odds; and
was owing to the singularity of my situation, and  even part of this depends upon what the gentlethe honest prejudice of Scotsmen; but still, as  man has yet to settle with me. I give you this
I said in the preface to my first edition, I do  information, because you did me the honour to
look upon myself as having some pretensions  interest yourself much in my welfare.  I give
from Nature to the poetic character. Ihave not  you this information, but I give it to yourself
a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to learn  only, for I am  still much in the gentleman's
the muses' trade, is a gift bestowed by him   mercy. Perhaps I injure the man in the idea
" who forms the secret bias of the soul;"-but  I am sometimes tempted to have of him-God
I as firmly believe, that excellence in the profes-  forbid I should! A little time will try, for in a
sion is the fruit of industry, labour, attention,  month I shall go to town to wind up the busiand pains. At least I am resolved to try my  ness if possible.
doctrine by the test of experience.  Another    To give the rest of my story in brief, I have
appearance from the press I put off to a very  married "my Jean," and taken a farm: with
distant day, a day that may never arrive-but  the first step I have  every day more and
poesy I am determined to prosecute with all my  more reason to be satisfied: with the last, it is
vigour. Nature has given very few, if any, of  rather the reverse.  I have a younger brother,
the profession, the talents of shining in every  who supports my aged mother; another still
species of composition.  I shall try (for until  younger brother, and three sisters, in a farm.
trial it is impossible to know) whether she has  On my last return from Edinburgh, it cost me
qualified me to shine in any one. The worst of  about 1801. to save them from ruin.  Not that
it is, by the time one has finished a piece, it  I have lost so much.-I only interposed between
has been so often viewed and reviewed before  my brother and his impending fate by the loan
the mental eye, that one loses, in a good mea-  of so much.  I give myself no airs on this, for
sure, the powers of critical discrimination,  it was mere selfishness on my part: I was conHere the best criterion I know is a friend-not  scious that the wrong scale of the balance was
only of abilities to judge, but with good-nature  pretty heavily charged, and I thought that
enough, like a prudent teacher with a young  throwing a little filial piety and fraternal affeclearner, to praise perhaps a little more than is  tion into the scale in my favour, might help to
exactly just, lest the thin-skinned animal fall  smooth matters at the grand reckoning. There
into that most deplorable of all poetic diseases  is still one thing would make my circumstances
-heart-breaking despondency of himself. Dare  quite easy: I have an excise officer's commisI, Sir, already immensely indebted to your good-  sion, and I live in the midst of a country diviness, ask the additional obligation of your being  sion. My request to Mr. Graham, who is one
that friend to me? I enclose you an essay of mine  of the commissioners of excise, was, if in his
in a walk of poesy to me entirely new; I mean  power, to procure me that division.  If I welre




398                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
very sanguine, I might hope that some of my                      CXLVIII.
great patrons might procure me a Treasury
TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.
warrant for supervisor, surveyor-general, &c.
Thus, secure of a livelihood, " to thee, sweet   [The iron justice to which the poet alludes, in this letpoetry, delightful maid," I would consecrate  ter, was exercised by Dr. Gregory, on the poem of the
my future days.                       R. B.     Wounded Hare."]
Ellisland, 20th Jan, 1789.
_____________.         "We_ SIR,
THE enclosed sealed packet I sent to EdinCXLVII.                      burgh, a few days after I had the happiness of
meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone for
TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.
the Continent. I have now added a few more of
[The song which the poet says he brushed up a little  my productions, those for which I am indebted
is nowhere mentioned: he wrote one hundred, and  to the Nithsdale muses. The piece inscribed to
brushed up more, for the Museum of Johnson.]   R. G. Esq., is a copy of verses I sent Mr. GraEllisland, Jan. 6, 1789.    ham, of Fintray, accompanying a request for his
MANY happy returns of the season to you,  assistance in a matter to me of very great momy dear Sir! May you be comparatively happy  ment.  To that gentleman I am already doubly
up to your comparative worth among the sons  indebted, for deeds of kindness of serious imof men; which wish would, I am sure, make  port to my dearest interests, done in a manner
you one of the most blest of the human race.    grateful to the delicate feelings of sensibility.
I do not know if passing a "Writer to the  This poem is a species of composition new to
signet," be a trial of scientific merit, or a mere  me, but I do not intend it shall be my last essa 
business of friends and interest. However it  of the kind, as you will see by the " Poet's Probe, let me quote you my two favourite passages,  gress."  These fragments, if my design succeed,
which, though I have repeated them ten thou-  are but a small part of the intended whole.  I
sand times, still they rouse my manhood and  propose it shall be the work of my utmost exsteel my resolution like inspiration.          ertions, ripened by years; of course I do not
On reason build resolve,  wish it much known.  The fragment beginning
That column of true majesty in man."       " A little, upright, pert, tart, &c.," I have not
YOUNG. NJGHT THOUGHTS.   shown to man living, till I now send it you.  It
" Hear, Alfred, hero of the state,        forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition
Thy genius heaven's high will declare;   of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall
The triumph of the truly great,
The triumph of the truly great,          be placed in a variety of lights.  This particuIs never, never to despair!
Is never to despair!"                   lar part I send you merely as a sample of my
THOMSON. MASQUE OF ALFRED. hand at portrait-sketching, but, lest idle conI grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle  jecture should pretend to point out the origifor bread, business, notice, and distinction, in  nal, please to let it be for your single, sole incommon with hundreds.-But who are they?  spection.
Men, like yourself, and of that aggregate body    Need I make any apology for this trouble, to
your compeers, seven-tenths of them come short  a gentleman who has treated me with such
of your advantages natural and accidental;  marked benevolence and peculiar kindnesswhile two of those that remain, either neglect  who has entered into my interests with so much
their parts, as flowers blooming in a desert, or  zeal, and on whose critical decisions I can so
mis-spend their strength, like a bull goring a  fully depend? A poet as I am by trade, these
bramble-bush.                                  decisions are to me of the last consequence.
But to change the theme: I am still catering  My late transient acquaintance among some of
for Johnson's publication; and among others,  the mere rank and file of greatness, I resign
I have brushed up the following old favourite  with ease; but to the distinguished champions
song a little, with a view to your worship.  I  of genius and learning, I shall be ever ambihave only altered a word here and there; but if  tious of being known.  The native genius and
you like the humour of it, we shall think of a  accurate discernment in Mr. Stewart's critical
stanza or two to add to it.                    strictures; the justness (iron justice, for he has
R. B.    no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sin



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          399
ner) of Dr. Gregory's remarks, and the delicacy  officer, but I do not pretend to borrow honour
of Professor Dalzel's taste, I shall ever revere.   from my profession; and though the salary be
I shall be in Edinburgh some time next  comparatively small, it is luxury to anything
month.                                         that the first twenty-five years of my life taught
I have the honour to be, Sir,                me to expect.
Your highly obliged, and very              Thus, with a rational aim and method in life,
Humble servant,       you may easily guess, my reverend and muchR. B.    honoured friend, that my characteristical trade
is not forgotten.  I am, if possible, more than
over an enthusiast to the muses. I am deterCXLIX.                      mined to study man and nature, and in that
view incessantly; and to try if the ripening and
TO  B IS HO FP  GE DDE S.              corrections of years can enable me to produce
[Alexander Geddes was a controversialist and poet, something worth preserving.
~nd a bishop of the broken remnant of the Catholic    You will see in your book, which I beg your
Church of Scotland: he is known as the author of a  pardon for detaining so long, that I have been
very humorous ballad ca'ed " The Wee bit Wifickie,"  tuning my lyre on the banks of Nith. Some
and as the translator of one of the books of the Iliad, In.pposition to,owpel 7                    large poetic plans that are foating in my imaopposition to Cowpei                                 Pa
gination, or partly put in execution, I shall imEllisland, 3d Feb. 1789.    part to you when I have the pleasure of meetVENERABLE FATHER,                          ing with you; which, if you are then in EdinAs I am conscious that wherever I am, you do  burgh, I shall have about the beginning of March.
me the honour to interest yourself in my wel-    That acquaintance, worthy Sir, with which
fare, it gives me pleasure to inform you that I  you were pleased to honour me, you must still
am here at last, stationary in the serious busi-  allow me to challenge; for with whatever unness of life, and have now not only the retired  coscern I give up my transient connexion with
leisure, but the hearty inclination, to attend to  the merely great, those self-important beings
those great and important questions-what  whose intrinsic * *   * [con]cealed under the
I am? where I am? and for what I am des-  accidental advantages of their * * * * I cannot
tined?                                         lose the patronizing notice of the learned and
In.that first concern, the conduct of the man,  good, without the bitterest regret.
there was ever but one side on which I was ha-                                       R. B.
bitually blameable, and there I have secured
myself in the way pointed out by Nature and
Nature's GoD. I was sensible that to so help-                       CL.
less a creature as a poor poet, a wife and
TO MR. JAMES BURNESS.
family were encumbrances, which a species of
prudence would bid him shun; but when the    [Fanny Burns married Adam Armour, brother to bonalternative was, being at eternal warfare with  nie Jean, went with him to Mauchline, and bore him
myself, on account of habitual follies, to give  s  and daughters.]
them no worse name, which no general example,                       Ellisland, 9th Feb. 1789.
no licentious wit, no sophistical infidelity, would,  MY DEAR SIR,
to me, ever justify, I must have been a fool to    WHY I did not write to you long ago, is what,
have hesitated, and a madman to have made  even on the rack, I could not answer.  If you
another choice. Besides, I had in "my Jean"  can in your mind form an idea of indolence, disa long and much-loved fellow-creature's happi-  sipation, hurry, cares, change of country, enterness or misery among my hands, and who could  ing on untried scenes of life, all combined, you
trifle with such a deposit?                    will save me the trouble of a blushing apology.
In the affair of a livelihood, I think myself  It could not be want of regard for a man for
tolerably secure: I have good hopes of my  whom I had a high esteem before I knew himfarm, but should they fail, I have an excise com-  an esteem which has much increased since I did
mission, which on my simple petition, will, at  know him; and this caveat entered, I shall
any time, procure me bread. There is a certain  plead guilty to any other indictment with which
stigma affixed to the character of an Excise  you shall please to charge me.




400                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
After I had parted from you for many months  well. Remember me to all friends in the north.
my life was one continued scene of dissipation. My wife joins me in compliments to Mrs. B. and
Here at last I am become stationary, and have  family.
taken a farm and-a wife.                                   I am ever, my dear Cousin,
The farm is beautifully situated on the Nith,                        Yours, sincerely,
a large river that runs by Dumfries, and falls                                      R. B.
into the Solway frith.  I have gotten a lease of
my farm as long as I pleased: but how it may
turn out is just a guess, it is yet to improve                     CLI.
and enclose, &c.; however, I have good hopes             TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
of my bargain on the whole.
My wife is my Jean, with whose story you are   [The beautiful lines with which this letter concludes,
partly acquainted. I found I had a much-loved  I have reason to believe were the production of the lady
to whom the epistle is addressed.]
fellow creature's happiness or misery among my
hands, and I durst not trifle with so sacred a                  Ellisland, 4th March, 1789.
deposit. Indeed I have not any reason to re-    HERE am I, my honoured friend, returned
pent the step I have taken, as I have attached  safe from the capital. To a man, who has a
myself to a very good wife, and have shaken  home, however humble or remote-if that home
myself loose of every bad failing.            is like mine, the scene of domestic comfort-the
I have found my book a very profitable busi-  bustle of Edinburgh will soon be a business of
ness, and with the profits of it I have begun  sickening disgust.
life pretty decently. Should fortune not favour'Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you!"
me in farming, as I have no great faith in her    When I must skulk into a corner, lest the ratfickle ladyship, I have provided myself in an-  tling equipage of some gaping blockhead should
other resource, which however some folks may  mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim
affect to despise it, is still a comfortable shift  -"What merits has he had, or what demerit
in the day of misfortune.  In the heyday of my  have I had, in some state of pre-existence, that
fame, a gentleman whose name at least I dare  he is ushered into this state of being with the
say you know, as his estate lies somewhere near  sceptre of rule, and the key of riches in his puny
Dundee, Mr. Graham, of Fintray, one of the  fist, and I am kicked into the world, the sport
commissioners of Excise, offered me the commis-  of folly, or the victim of pride?"  I have read
sion of an Excise officer. I thought it prudent  somewhere of a monarch (in Spain I think it
to accept the offer; and accordingly I took my  was), who was so out of humour with the Ptoleinstructions, and have my commission by me.  mean system of astronomy, that he said had
Whether I may ever do duty, or be a penny the  he been of the CREATOR'S council, he could
better for it, is what I do not know; but I have  have saved him a great deal of labour and abthe comfortable assurance, that come whatever  surdity.  I will not defend this blasphemous
ill fate will, I can, on my simple petition to the  speech; but often, as I have glided with humble
Excise-board, get into employ.                stealth through the pomp of Princes' street, it
We have lost poor uncle Robert this winter,  has suggested itself to me, as an improvement
He has long been very weak, and with very lit-  on the present human figure, that a man in protie alteration on him, he expired 3d Jan.     portion to his own conceit of his consequence in
His son William has been with me this winter,  the world, could have pushed out the longitude
and goes in May to be an apprentice to a mason.  of his common size, as a snail pushes out his
His other son, the eldest, John, comes to me I  horns, or, as we draw out a perspective.  This
expect in summer. They are both remarkably  trifling alteration, not to mentiontheprodigious
stout young fellows, and promise to do well.  saving it would be in the tear and wear of the
His only daughter, Fanny, has been with me  neck and limb-sinews of many of his majesty's
ever since her father's death, and I purpose  liege subjects, in the way of tossing the head
keeping her in my family till she be quite woman  and tiptoe strutting, would evidently turn out a
grown, and fit for service. She is one of the  vast advantage, in enabling us at once to adjust
cleverest girls, and has one of the most amiable  the ceremonials in making a bow, or making
dispositions I have ever seen.                way to a great man, and that too within a second
All friends in this country and Ayrshire are  of the precise spherical angle of reverence, or




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              401
an inch of the particular point of respectful dis- has done me, greatly enhanced in its value by
tance, which the important creature itself re-  the endearing, though melancholy circumstance,
quires; as a measuring-glance at its tower-  of its being the last production of his muse, de
ing altitude, would determine the affair like  served a better return.
instinct.                                           I have, as you hint, thought of sending a
You are right, Madam, in your idea of poor  copy of the poem  to some periodical publica
Mylne's poem, which he has addressed to me.  tion; but, on second thoughts, I am afraid, that
The piece has a good deal of merit, but it has  in the present case, it would be an improjpe
one great fault-it is, by far, too long. Besides,  step.  My success, perhaps as much accidental
my success has encouraged such a shoal of ill-  as merited, has brought an inundation of nonspawned monsters to crawl into public notice,  sense under the name of Scottish poetry. Subunder the title of Scottish Poets, that the very  scription-bills for Scottish poems have so dunterm Scottish Poetry borders on the burlesque.  ned, and daily do dun the public, that the very
When I write to Mr. Carfrae, I shall advise him   name is in danger of contempt.  For these rea
rather to try one of his deceased friend's English  sons, if publishing any of Mr. Mylne's poems in
pieces. I am prodigiously hurried with my own  a magazine, &c., be at all prudent, in my
matters, else I would have requested a perusal  opinion it certainly should not be a Scottish
of all Mylne's poetic performances; and would  poem.  The profits of the labours of a man of
have offered his friends my assistance in either  genius are, I hope, as honourable as any profits
selecting or correcting what would be proper  whatever; and Mr. Mylne's relations are most
for the press.  What it is that occupies me so  justly entitled to that honest harvest, which
much, and perhaps a little oppresses my pre-  fate has denied himself to reap.  But let the
sent spirits, shall fill up a paragraph in some  friends of Mr. Mylne's fame (among whom I
future letter.  In the mean time, allow me to  crave the honour of ranking myself) always
close this epistle with a few lines done by a  keep in eye his respectability as a man and as
friend of mine ** * *.  I give you them, that  a poet, and take no measure that, before the
as you have seen the original, you may guess  world knows anything about him, would risk
whether one or two alterations I have ventured  his name and character being classed with the
to make in them, be any real improvement.         fools of the times.: Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws,  I have, Sir, some experience of publishing;
Shrink, mildly fearful, even from applause,    and the way in which I would proceed with Mr.
Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream,      Mylne's poem is this:-I would publish, in two or
And all you are, my charming...., seem.
And all you are, my charming.... -, seem.    three English and Scottish public papers, any
Straight as the fox-glove, ere her bells disclose,
Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn blows,    one of his English poems which should, by priFair as the fairest of each lovely kind,       vate judges, be thought the most excellent, and
Your form shall be the imae of your mind;      mention it, at the same time, as one of the proYour manners shall so true your soul express,  ductions of a Lothian farmer, of respectable
That all shall long to know the worth they guess:
Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love,  character, lately deceased, whose poems his
And even sick'ning envy must approve."         friends had it in idea to publish, soon, by subR. B.    scription, for the sake of his numerous family:
-not in pity to that family, but in justice to
~C II.T                      what his friends think the poetic merits of the
deceased; and to secure, in the most effectual
TO  THE  REV. PETER  CARFRAE.    manner, to those tender connexions, whose right
it is, the pecuniary reward of those merits.
[Mylne was a worthy and a modest man: he died of                            
an inflammatory fever in the prime of life.]                                              R. B.
1789.
REV. SIR,
I DO not recollect that I have ever felt a se-                      CL
verer pang of shame, than on looking at the
date of your obliging letter which accompanied                 TO  DR. MOORE.
Mr. Mylne's poem.                                   [Edward Nielson, whom Burns here introduces to Dr.
I am much to blame: the honour Mr. Mylne  Moore, was minister of Kirkbean, on the Solwav-side.
26




102                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
he was a jovial man, and loved good cheer, and merry    I was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally
company.]                                       with Mr. Creech; and I must own, that, at last,
Ellisland, 23d March, 1789.    he has been amicable and fair with me.
SIR,:E.:E.
y                                                                             R.B.
THE gentleman who will deliver you this is a
Mr. Nielson, a worthy clergyman in my neighbourhood, and a very particular acquaintance                        CLIV.
of mine.  As I have troubled him with this                  R. W         A     RN
TO  MR. W ILLIA    M  BURN S,
packet, I must turn him over to your goodness,
to recompense him for it in a way in which he    [William Burns was the youngest brother of the poet:
he was bred a sadler; went to Longtown, and finally to
much needs your assistance, and where you can          
London, where he died early.]
effectually serve him:-Mr. Nielson is on his
way for France, to wait on his Grace of Queens-                        le,  arch 25h,  89.
berry, on some little business of a good deal of    I HAE stolen from my corn-sowing this minute
importance to him, and he wishes for your in-  to write a line to accompany your shirt and hat,
structions respecting the most eligible mode of  for I can no more. Your sister Maria arrived
travelling, &c., for him, when he has crossed  yesternight, and begs to be remembered to you.
the channel.  I should not have dared to take  Write me every opportunity, never mind postthis liberty with you, but that I am told, by  age.  My head, too, is as addle as an egg, this
those who have the honour of your personal  morning, with dining abroad yesterday.  I reacquaintance, that to be a poor honest Scotch-  ceived yours by the mason.  Forgive me this
man is a letter of recommendation to you, and  foolish-looking scrawl of an epistle.
that to have it in your power to serve such a             I am ever,
character, gives you much pleasure.                            My dear Willim,
The enclosed ode is a compliment to the me-                               Yours,
mory of the late Mrs. Oswald, of Auchencruive.                                        R. B.
You, probably, knew her personally, an honour    P. S. If you are not then gone from Longtown,
of which I cannot boast; but I spent my early  I'll write you a long letter, by this day se'enyears in her neighbourhood, and among her  night. If you should not succeed in your tramps,
servants and tenants.  I know that she was de-  don't be dejected, or take any rash step-retested with the most heart-felt cordiality. How-  turn to us in that case, and we will court forever, in the particular part of her conduct which  tune's better humour. Remember this, I charge
roused my poetic wrath, she was much less  you.                                        R. B.
blameable.  In January last, on my road to
Ayrshire, I had put up at Bailie Wigham's in
CLV.
Sanquhar, the only tolerable inn in the place. 
The frost was keen, and the grim evening and                 TO MR. HILL.
howling wind were ushering in a night of snow
holn  wind  na[The Monkland Book Club existed only while Robert
and drift. RMy horse and I were both much fa-  Riddel, of the Friars-Calse, lived, or Burns had ieisure
tigued with the labours of the day, and just as  to attend: such institutions, when well conducted, are
my friend the Bailie and I were bidding defiance  very beneficial, whennotoppressed by divinity and verse,
to the storm, over a smoking bowl, in wheels  as they sometimes are.]
the funeral pageantry of the late great Mrs.                       Ellisland, 2d April, 1789.
Oswald, and poor I am forced to brave all the    I WILL make no excuse, my dear Bibliopolus
horrors of the tempestuous night, and jade my  (GoD forgive me for murdering language!) that
horse, my young favourite horse, whom I had  I have sat down to write you on this vile paper.
just christened Pegasus, twelve miles farther    It is economy, Sir; it is that cardinal virtue,
on, through the wildest moors and hills of Ayr-  prudence: so I beg you will sit down, and either
shire, to New Cumnock, the next inn.  The  compose or borrow  a panegyric.  If you are
powers of poesy and prose sink under me, when  going to borrow, apply to * * * * to compose, or
I would describe what I felt.  Suffice it to say,  rather to compound, something very clever on
that when a good fire at New Cumnock had so  my remarkable frugality; that I write to one of
far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and  my most esteemed friends on this wretched
wrote the enclosed ode.                        paper, which was originally intended for the




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           403
venal fist of some drunken exciseman, to take  greater scale than ours.  Capt. Riddel gave his
dirty notes in a miserable vault of an ale-cel-  infant society a great many of his old books,
lar.                                            else I had written you on that subject; but
0 Frugality! thou mother of ten thousand  one of these days, I shall trouble you with a
blessings-thou cook of fat beef and dainty  commission for "The Monkland Friendly Sociegreens!-thou manufacturer of warm Shetland  ty"-a  copy of The Spectator, Mirror, and
hose, and comfortable surtouts!-thou oldhouse-  Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World,
wife, darning thy decayed stockings with thy  Guthrie's Geographical Grammar, with some reancient spectacles on thy aged nose!-lead me,  ligious pieces, will likely be our first order.
hand me in thy clutching palsied fist, up those    When I grow richer, I will write to you on
heights, and through those thickets, hitherto in-  gilt post, to make amends for this sheet.  At
accessible, and impervious to my anxious, weary  present, every guinea has a five guinea errand
feet:-not those Parnassian crags, bleak and  with,                 My dear Sir,
barren, where the hungry worshippers of fame         Your faithful, poor, but honest, friend,
are breathless, clambering, hanging between                                            R. B.
heaven and hell; but those glittering cliffs of
Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all powerful
deity, Wealth, holds his immediate court of joys
and pleasures; where the sunny exposure of                           CLVI.
plenty, and the hot walls of profusion, produce            TO  MRS. DUN L OP.
those blissful fruits of luxury, exotics in this
world, and natives of paradise i-Thou withered    [Some lines which extend, but fail to finish the sketch
world,. nteopau i   contained in this letter, will be found elsewhere in this
sibyl, my sage conductress, usher me into thy  pulication.
refulgent, adored presence!-The power, splendid and potent as he now is, was once the puling                    Ellisland, 4th April, 1789.
nursling of thy faithful care, and tender arms!    I NO sooner hit on any poetic plan or fancy,
Call me thy son, thy cousin, thy kinsman, or  but I wish to send it to you: and if knowing
favourite, and adjure the god by the scenes of  and reading these give half the pleasure to you,
his infant years, no longer to repulse me as a  that communicating them to you gives to me, I
stranger, or an alien, but to favour me with his  am satisfied.
peculiar countenance and protection?-IHe daily    I have a poetic whim in my head, which I at
bestows his greatest kindness on the undeserv-  present dedicate, or rather inscribe to tLe Right
ing and the worthless-assure him, that I bring  lion. Charles James Fox; but how long that
ample documents of meritorious  demerits!  fancy may hold, I cannot say. A few of the
Pledge yourself for me, that, for the glorious  first lines, I have just rough-sketched as folcause of LUCRE, I will do anything, be anything  lows:
-but the horse-leech of private oppression, or                     SKETCH.
the vulture of public robbery!                  How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite;
But to descend from heroics.                  How virtue and vice blend their black and their
I want a Shakspeare; I want likewise an              white;
English dictionary-Johnson's, I suppose, is  How genius, the illustrious father of fiction,
best. Inthese and allmyprose commissions, the  Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradic
cheapest is always the best for me.  There is a        tionsmall debt of honour that I owe Mr. Robert  I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should busCleghorn, in Saughton Mills, my worthy friend,         tle,
and your well-wisher.  Please give him, and  I care not, not I, let the critics go whistle.
urge him to take it, the first time you see him,
ten shillings worth of anything you have to sell,    But now for a patron, whose name and whose
and place it to my account.                            glory,
The library scheme that I mentioned to you,  At once may illustrate and honour my story.
is already begun, under the direction of Captain
Riddel.  There is another in emulation of it    Thou first of our orators, first of our wits;
going on at Closeburn, under the auspices of MIr.  Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere
Monteith, of Closeburn, which will be on a             lucky  its;
".  —,-_-.I — U~ —   I — ~~.- I~ — luc ky h —.its; —. — --— ~~- ----— 5 -~ —  - - - -- - ~ — - - -   -




404                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so  notes on the songs: the poem alluded to was the song of
strong,                                   " Bonnie Jean."]
No man with the half of'em  e'er went far                           Ellisland, 2d May, 1789.
wrong;                                        MADAM,
With passion so potent, and fancies so bright,     I HAVE finished the piece which had the happy
No man with the half of'em  ere went quite  fortune to be honoured with your approbation;
right;                                    and never did little miss with more sparkling
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the muses,        pleasure show her applauded sampler to partial
For using thy name offers fifty excuses.        mamma, than I now send my poem to you and
Mr. M'Murdo if he is returned to Drumlanrig.
On the 20th current I hope to have the ho-  You cannot easily imagine what thin-skinned
nour of assuring you in person, how sincerely I  animals-what sensitive plants poor poets are.
am-                                   R. B.    How do we shrink into the embittered corner of
self-abasement, when neglected or condemned
by those to whom we look up! and how do we,
CLVII.                      in erect importance, add another cubit to our
stature on being noticed and applauded by those
TO MR. WILLIAM  BURNS,                     whom we honour and respect! My late visit to
SADLER                         Drumlanrig has, I can tell you, Madam, given
me a balloon waft up Parnassus, where on my
CARE OF MR. WRIGHT, CARRIER, LONGTOWN.
fancied elevation I regard my poetic self with no
[" Never to despair" was a favourite saying with  small degree of complacency.  Surely with all
Burns: and " firm resolve," he held, with Young, to be  their sin  the rhyming tribe are not ungrateful
"the column of true majesty in man."]                                         
creatures. —I recollect your goodness to your
Isle, 15th April, 1789.    humble guest-I see Mr. M'Murdo adding to the
MY DEAR WILLIAM,                            politeness of the gentleman, the kindness of a
I AM extremely sorry at the misfortune of your  friend, and my heart swells as it would burst,
legs; I beg you will never let any worldly con-  with warm emotions and ardent wishes! It may
cern interfere with the more serious matter,  be it is not gratitude-it may be a mixed senthe safety of your life and limbs.  I have not  sation.  That strange, shifting, doubling anitime in these hurried days to write you any-  mal MAN is so generally, at best, but a negative,
thing other than a mere how d'ye letter. I will  often a worthless creature, that we cannot see
only repeat my favourite quotation:-            real goodness and native worth without feeling
"What proves the hero truly great       the bosom glow with sympathetic approbation.
Is never, never to despair."              With every sentiment of grateful respect,
My house shall be your welcome home; and as                 I have the honour to be,
I know your prudence (would to God you had                                Madam,
resolution equal to your prudence!) if anywhere    Your obliged and grateful humble servant,
at a distance from friends, you should need                                              R. B.
money, you know my direction by post.
The enclosed is from Gilbert, brought by your
sister Nanny.  It was unluckily forgot.  Yours                      CLIX.
to Gilbert goes by post.-I heard from  them
yesterday, they are all well.                            TO  MR. CUNNINGHAM.
Adieu.             [Honest Jamie Thomson, who shot the hare because
R. B.    she browsed with her companions on his father's
"wheat-braird," had no idea he was pulling down such
a burst of indignation on his head as this letter with the
poem which it enclosed expresses.]
CLVIII.
Ellisland, 4th May, 1789.
TO  MRS. M'MURDO,
MY DEAR SIR,
DRUMLANRIG.                        YOUR duty-free favour of the 26th April I re[Of this accomplished lady, Mrs. M'Murdo, of Drum-  ceived two days ago; I will not say I perused it
anrig, and her daughters, something has been said in the  with pleasure; that is the cold compliment of
L                                                  




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         405
ceremony; I perused it, Sir, with delicious sa-  tient to know if the Ailsa fowling be commenced
tisfaction;-in short, it is such a letter, that not  for this season yet, as I want three or four
you, nor your friend, but the legislature, by ex-  stones of feathers, and I hope you will bespeak
press proviso in their postage laws, should frank.  them for me. It would be a vain attempt for
A letter informed with the soul of friendship  me to enumerate the various transactions I
is such an honour to human nature, that they  have been engaged in since I saw you last, but
should order it free ingress and egress to and  this knew,-I am engaged in a smuggling trade,
from their bags and mails, as an encourage-  and God knows if ever any poor man expement and mark of distinction to supereminent  rienced better returns, two for one, but as freight
virtue.                                        and delivery have turned out so dear, I am
I have just put the last hand to a little poem  thinking of taking out a license and beginning
which I think will be something to your taste.  in fair trade.  I have taken a farm on the borOne morning lately, as I was out pretty early  ders of the Nith, and in imitation of the old
in the fields, sowing some grass seeds, I heard  Patriarchs, get men-servants and maid-serthe burst of a shot from a neighbouring planta-  vants, and flocks and herds, and beget sons and
tion, and presently a poor little wounded hare  daughters.
came crippling by me. You will guess my in-                   Your obedient nephew,
dignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot
a hare at this season, when all of them have
young ones. Indeed there is something in that
business of destroying for our sport individuals
in the animal creation that do not injure us ma-                   CLXI.
terially, which I could never reconcile to my          TO  RICHARD  BROWN.
ideas of virtue.
[Burns was much attached to Brown; and one regrets
Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art,   that an inconsiderate word should have estranged the
haughty sailor.]
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye!    haughty sailor.
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,                     Mauchline, 21st May, 1789.
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!          MY DEAR FRIEND,
&c.    &c.                            I WAS in the country by accident, and hearing
of your safe arrival, I could not resist the tempLet me know how you like my poem. I am
tation of wishing you joy on your return, wishdoubtful whether it would not be an improve-  ing you  ould write to me before you sail again,
ment to keep out the last stanza but one alto-  wishing you would always set me down as your
gether.                                        bosom friend, wishing you long life and prosCruikshank is a glorious production of the  perity, and that every good thing may attend
author of man. You, he, and the noble Colonel  you, wising Mrs. Brown and your little ones
of the Crochallan Fencibles are to me
as free of the evils of this world, as is consistent
" Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart"  ith humanity, wishing you and she were to
I have a good mind to make verses on you  make two at the ensuing lying-in, with which
all, to the tune of "Three guidfellows ayont the  Mrs. B. threatens very soon to favour me, wishglen."                               R. B.    ing I had longer time to write to you at present; and, finally, wishing that if there is to be
another state of existence, Mr. B., Mrs. B., our
CLX.                      little ones, and both families, and you and I,
in some snug retreat, may make a jovial party
TO MR. SAMUEL BROWN.  
to all eternity!
[Samuel Brown was brother to the poet's mother: he    My direction is at Ellisland, near Dumfries
seems to have been a joyous sort of person, who loved a                   Yours,
joke, and understood double meanings.]                                              R. B.
Mossgiel, 4th May, 1789.
DEAR UNCLE,
THIS, I hope, will find you and your conjugal
yoke-fellow in your good old way; I am impa



106                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CLXII.                      spirits are driving post from  ear to ear along
my jaw-bones; and secondly, they are so short,
TO  MR. JAMES  HAM ILTON.                   ^        nthat you cannot leave off in the middle, and so
[James Hamilton, grocer, in Glasgow, interested him-  hurt my pride in the idea that you found any
cslf early in the fortunes of the poet.]        work of mine too heavy to get through.
I have a request to beg of you, and I not only
Ellisland, 2Gth Mlay, 1789.
DEAR SIR,    Elilad 2t   ay 179            beg of you, but conjure you, by all your wishes
I SEND YOU by John Glover, carrier, the ac-  and by all your hopes, that the muse will spare
<ount for Mr. Turnbull, as I suppose you know  the satiric wink in the moment of your foibles;
1his address.                                 that she will warble the song of rapture round
I would fain offer, my dear Sir, a word of  your hymeneal couch; and that she will shed
sympathy with your misfortunes; but it is a  on your turf the honest tear of elegiac gratitender string, and I know not how to touch it.  tude   Grant my request as speedily as possible
It is easy to flourish a set of high-flown senti-  -send me by the very first fy or coach for this
ments on the subjects that would give great  place three copies of the last edition of my
satisfaction to-a breast quite at ease; but as  poeins, which place to my account.
ONE observes, who was very seldom mistaken in    Now may the good things of prose, and the
the theory of life, " The heart knoweth its own  good things of verse, come among thy hands,
sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth not there-  until they be filled with the good things of this
with."                                         life, prayeth                          R. B.
Among some distressful emergencies that I
have experienced in life, I ever laid this down
CLXIV.
as my foundation of comfort-That he who has                             V.
lived the life of an honest man, has by no means          TO MR. M'A U L E Y.
lived in vain!
[The poet made the acquaintance of Mr. M'Aiiley, of
With every wish for your welfare ad future  Dumnbarton, in one of his northern tours,-he was intro.
success,                                        duced by his friend Kennedy.]
I am, my dear Sir,
Sincerely yours,                              Ellisland, 4th June, 1789.
R. B.         DEAR SIR,
THOUGH I am  not without my fears respecting my fate, at that grand, universal inquest of
CLXIII.                     right and wrong, commonly called The Last Day,
yet I trust there is one sin, which that archTO WILLIAM  C REECH, ESQ.
TOW L,    vagabond, Satan, who I understand is to be
[The poetic address to the "venomed stang' of the  king's evidence, cannot throw in my teeth, I
toothache seems to have come into existence about this  mean ingratitude.  There is a certain pretty
tlme.]                                         large quantum of kindness for which I remain,
Ellisland, 30th May, 1789.    and from inability, I fear, must still remain,
SIR,                                       your debtor; but though unable to repay the
I HAD intended to have troubled you with a  debt, I assure you, Sir, I shall ever warmly
long letter, but at present the delightful sensa-  remember the obligation. It gives me the sintions of an omnipotent toothache so engross all  cerest pleasure to hear by my old acquaintance,
my inner man, as to put it out of my power  Mr. Kennedy, that you are, in immortal Allan's
even to write nonsense.  However, as in duty  language, "Hale, and weel, and living;" and
bound, I approach my bookseller with an offer-  that your charming family are well, and proing in my hand-a few poetic clinches, and a  mising to be an amiable and respectable addisong:-To expect any other kind of offering  tion to the company of performers, whom the
from the Rhyming Tribe would be to know them   Great Manager of the Drama of Man is bringmuch less than you do. I do not pretend that  ing into action for the succeeding age.
there is much merit in these morceaux, but I    With respect to my welfare, a subject in which
have two reasons for sending them; primo, they  you once warmly and effectively interested yourare mostly ill-natured, so are in unison with my  self, I am  here in my old way, holding my
present feelings, while fifty troops of infernal  plough, marking the growth of my corn, or the




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           407
health of my dairy; and at times sauntering by  are-this, to a generous mind, is another sort
the delightful windings of the Nith, on the mar-  of more important object of care than any congin of which I have built my humble domicile,  cerns whatever which centre merely in the indipra: ing for seasonable weather, or holding an  vidual.  On the other hand, let no young, unintrigue with the muses; the only gipsies with  married, rakehelly dog among you, make a
|whom I have now any intercourse. As I am   song of his pretended liberty and freedom from
entered into the holy state of matrimony, I trust  care.  If the relations we stand in to king,
my face is turned completely Zion-ward; and  country, kindred, and friends, be anything but
as it is a rule with all honest fellows to repeat no  the visionary fancies of dreaming metaphysigrievances, I hope that the little poetic licenses  cians; if religion, virtue, magnanimity, geneof former days will of course fall under the  rosity, humanity and justice, be aught but empty
oblivious influence of some good-natured statute  sounds; then the man who may be said to live
of celestial prescription. In my family devo-  only for others, for the beloved, honourable
tion, which, like a good Presbyterian, I occa-  female, whose tender faithful embrace endears
sionally give to my household folks, I am ex-  life, and for the helpless little innocents who are
tremely fond of that psalm, " Let not the errors  to be the men and women, the worshippers of
of my youth," &c., and that other, "Lo, children  his God, the subjects of his king, and the supare God's heritage," &c., in which last Mrs.  port, nay the very vital existence of his COUNTRY
Burns, who by the bye has a glorious "wood-  in the ensuing age;-compare such a man with
note wild" at either old song or psalmody, joins  any fellow whatever, who, whether he bustle and
me with the pathos of Handel's Messiah.         push in business among labourers, clerks, statesR. B.    men; or whether he roar and rant, and drink and
sing in taverns-a fellow over whose grave no
CLXV.                        one will breathe a single heigh-ho, except from
the cobweb-tie of what is called good-fellowTO  MRI. ROBERT  AINSLIE.                 ship-who has no view nor aim  but what ter[The following high-minded letter may be regarded as  minates in himself-if there be any grovelling
a sermon on domestic morality preached by one of the  earthborn wretch of our species, a renegado to
experienced.]                                    common sense, who would fain believe that the
Ellisland, Sth June, 1789.    noble creature man, is no better than a sort of
MY DEAR FRIEND,
MY DEAR FRIEND,                         fungus, generated out of nothing, nobody knows
I AM perfectly ashamed of myself when I look                    i         in n, 
how, and soon dissipated in nothing, nobody
at the date of your last. It is not that I forget, such a c
knows where; such a stupid beast, such a crawlthe friend of my heart and the companion of my  i       i,  i                        i
ing reptile, might balance the foregoing unexperegrinations; but I have been condemned to  
aggerated comparison, but no one else would
drudgery beyond sufferance, though not, thank  hae te patience.
God, beyond redemption.  I have had a collec-e                              fo    i
",~~ -                          Jj ~~~~Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long silence.
tion of poems by a lady, put into my hands to          m             r  r         i 
To make you amends, I shall send you soon, and
prepare them for the press; which horrid task,      e encouraging still, without any postage,
more encouraging still, without any postage,
with sowing corn with my own hand, a parcel
with sowing corn with my own hand, a parcel  one or two rhymes of my later manufacture.
of masons, wrights, plasterers, &c., to attend to,                                     R. B.
roaming on business through Ayrshire —all this
was against me, and the very first dreadful article was of itself too much for me.                                CLXVI.
13th. I have not had a moment to spare from
incessant toil since the 8th. Life, my dear Sir,
is a serious matter.  You know by experience    [John M'Murdo has been already mentioned as one of
that a man's individual self is a good deal, but  Burns's firmest friends: his table at Drumnlanrig wax
believe me, a wife and family of  *..children,   always spread at the poet's coming: nor was it uncheered
believe me, a wife and family of children, when-    " 
by the presence of the lady of the house and her daughever you have the honour to be a husband and  ters.]
a father, will show you that your present and                      Ellisland, 19th June, 1789.
most anxious hours of solitude are spent on          SIR,
trifles.  The welfare of those who are very dear    A POET and a beggar are, in so many points
to us, whose only support, hope, and stay we  of view, alike, that one might take them for the




408                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
same individual character under different de-  their bitter spring?  I know not of any partidignations; were it not that though, with a  cular cause for this worst of all my foes besettrifling poetic license, most poets may be styled  ting me; but for some time my soul has been
beggars, yet the converse of the proposition  beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of evil
does not hold, that every beggar is a poet.  In  imaginations and gloomy presages.
one particular, however, they remarkably agree;                            Monday Evening.
if you help either the one or the other to a mug    I have just heard Mr. Kirkpatrick preach a
of ale, or the picking of a bone, they will very  sermon. He is a man famous for his benevowillingly repay you with a song.  This occurs  lence, and I revere him; but from such ideas
to me at present, as I have just despatched a  of my Creator, good Lord deliver me! Religion,
well-lined rib of John Kirkpatrick's Highlander;  my honoured friend, is surely a simple business,
a bargain for which I am indebted to you, in  as it equally concerns the ignorant and the
the style of our ballad printers, "Five excel-  learned, the poor and the rich.  That there is
lent new songs."  The enclosed is nearly my  an incomprehensible Great Being, to whcm  I
newest song, and one that has cost me some  owe my existence, and that he must be intipains, though that is but an equivocal mark of  mately acquainted with the operations and proits excellence.  Two or three others, which I  gress of the internal machinery, and consequent
have by me, shall do themselves the honour to outward deportment of this creature which he
wait on your after leisure: petitioners for ad-  has made; these are, I think, self-evident promittance into favour must not harass the con-  positions.  That there is a real and eternal disdescension of their benefactor.                tinction between virtue and vice, and conseYou see, Sir, what it is to patronize a poet.  quently, that I am  an accountable creature;'Tis like being a magistrate in a petty borough;  that from  the seeming nature of the human
you do them the favour to preside in their coun-mind, as well as from the evident imperfection,
cil for one year, and your name bears the pre-  nay, positive injustice, in the administration of
fatory stigma of Bailie for life.               affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds,
With, not the compliments, but the best  there must be a retributive scene of existence
wishes, the sincerest prayers of the season for  beyond the grave; must, I think, be allowed
you, that you may see many and happy years  by every one who will give himself a moment's
with Mrs. M'Murdo, and your family; two  reflection. I will go farther, and affirm that
blessings by the bye, to which your rank does  from the sublimity, excellence, and purity of his
not, by any means, entitle you; a loving wife  doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all the
and fine family being almost the only good  aggregated wisdom and learning of many prethings of this life to which the farm-house and  ceding ages, though, to apperan, he himself
cottage have an exclusive right,                was the obscurest and most illiterate of our
I have the honour to be,             species; therefore Jesus Christ was from  God.
Sir,                      Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases
Your much indebted and very humble servant,  the happiness of others, this is my criterion of
__R. B.    goodness; and whatever injures society at large,
or any individual in it, this is my measure of
CLXVII.                      iniquity.
What think you, madam, of my creed?  I
TO  MRS. DUNLOP.                     trust that I have said nothing that will lessen
[The devil, the pope, and the Pretender darkened the  me in the eye of one, whose good opinion I value
sermons, for more than a century, of many sound divines  almost next to the approbation of my own mind.
in the north. As a Jacobite, Burns disliked to hear                                   R. B.
Prince Charles called the Pretender, and as a man of a
tolerant nature, he disliked to hear the Pope treated unlike a gentleman: his notions regarding Satan are re-               XVIII
corded in his inimitable address.]
Ellisland, 21st June, 1789.                T 0 MR. 
DEAR MADAM,
WILR you tkt.heefuinsAhemM,           i  [The name of the person to whom the following letter
WILL you take the effusions, the miserable   saddressed is unknown: he seems, from his letter to
effusions of low spirits, just as they flow from   Burns to have been intimate with the unfortunate poet,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         409
Robert Fergusson, who, in richness of conversation and           C
plenitude of fancy, reminded him, he said, of Robert
Burns.]                                                TO  MISS WILLIAMS.
1789.
M1 789.Q    [Helen Maria Williams acknowledged this letter, with
MY DEAR SIR,                 the critical pencilling, on her poem on the Slave Trade,
THE hurry of a farmer in this particular sea-  which it enclosed: she agreed, she said, with all his
son, and the indolence of a poet at all times and  objections, save one,but considered his praise too high.]
seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for ne-                             Ellisland, 1789.
glecting so long to answer your obliging letter    MADAM,
of the 5th of August.                            OF the many problems in the nature of that
That you have done well in quitting your la-  wonderful creature, man, this is one of the most
borious concern in * * * *, I do not doubt; the  extraordinary, that he shall go on from day to
weighty reasons you mention, were, I hope, very,  day, from week to week, from month to month,
and deservedly indeed, weighty ones, and your  or perhaps from year to year, suffering a hunhealth is a matter of the last importance; but  dred times more in an hour from the impotent
whether the remaining proprietors of the paper  consciousness of neglecting what he ought to do,
have also done well, is what I much doubt.  than the very doing of it would cost him. I am
The * * * *, so far as I was a reader, exhibited  deeply indebted to you, first for a most elegant
such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of  poetic compliment; then for a polite, obliging
paragraph, and such a variety of intelligence,  letter; and, lastly, for your excellent poem on
that I can hardly conceive it possible to con-  the Slave Trade; and yet, wretch that I am!
tinue a daily paper in the same degree of excel-  though the debts were debts of honour, and the
lence: but if there was a man who had abilities  creditor a lady, I have put off and put off even
equal to the task, that man's assistance the  the very acknowledgment of the obligation, unproprietors have lost.                        til you must indeed be the very angel I take you
When I received your letter I was transcrib-  for, if you can forgive me..ng for * * * *, my letter to the magistrates of    Your poem I have read with the highest pleathe Canongate, Edinburgh, begging their per-  sure. I have a way whenever I read a book, I
mission to place a tombstone over poor Fergus-  mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a poetic
son, and their edict in consequence of my peti-  one, and when it is my own property, that I take
tion, but now I shall send them to *    * * * * *.  a pencil and mark at the ends of verses, or note
Poor Fergusson! If there be a life beyond the  on margins and odd paper, little criticisms of
grave, which I trust there is; and if there be a  approbation or disapprobation as I peruse along.
good God presiding over all nature, which I am   I will make no apology for presenting you with
sure there is; thou art now enjoying existence  a few unconnected thoughts that occurred to me
in a glorious world, where worth of the heart  in my repeated perusals of your poem. I want
alone is distinction in the man; where riches,  to show you that I have honesty enough to tell
deprived of all their pleasure-purchasing powers,  you what I take to be truths, even when they
return to their native sordid matter; where  are not quite on the side of approbation; and
titles and honours are the disregarded reveries of  I do it in the firm faith that you have equal
an idle dream; and where that heavy virtue,  greatness of mind to hear them with pleasure.
which is the negative consequence of steady    I had lately the honour of a letter from Dr.
dulness, and those thoughtless, though often  Moore, where he tells me that he has sent me
destructive follies which are the unavoidable  some books: they are not yet come to hand, but
aberrations of frail human nature, will be  I hear they are on the way.
thrown into equal oblivion as if they had never    Wishing you all success in your progress in
been!                                         the path of fame; and that you may equally
Adieu, my dear Sir! So soon as your present  escape the danger of stumbling through incauviews and schemes are concentered in an aim,  tious speed, or losing ground through loitering
I shall be glad to hear from you; as your wel-  neglect.                            R. B.
fare and happiness is by no means a subject indifferent to
Yours,
R. B.
[ 




410                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CLXX.                        the honourable name of Wallace, as he has a
TO  MR. JOHN  LOGAN.         efine manly countenance, and a figure that might
do credit to a little fellow two months older;
[The Kirk's Alarm, to which this letter alludes, has  and likewise an excellent good temper, though
little of the spirit of malice and drollery, so rife in his  when he pleases he has a pipe, only not quite
earlier controversial compositions.]            so loud as the horn that his immortal namesake
Ellisland, near Dumfries, 7th Aug. 1789.    blew as a signal to take out the pin of Stirling
DEAR SIR,                                   bridge.
I INTENDED to have written you long ere now,    I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic,
and as I told you, I had gotten three stanzas and  and part prosaic, from your poetess, Mrs. J.
a half on my way in a poetic epistle to you; but  Little, a very ingenious, but modest composition.
that old enemy of allgood works, the devil, threw   I should have written her as she requested, but
me into a prosaic mire, and for the soul of me I  for the hurry of this new business. I have heard
cannot get out of it.  I dare not write you a  of her and her compositions in this country;
long letter, as I am  going to intrude on your  and I am happy to add, always to the honour of
time with a long ballad.  I have, as you will  her character. The fact is, I know not well how
shortly see, finished " The Kirk's Alarm;" but  to write to her: I should sit down to a sheet of
now that it is done, and that I have laughed  paper that I knew not how to stain.  I am no
once or twice at the conceits in some of the  dab at fine-drawn letter-writing; and, except
stanzas, I am determined not to let it get into  when prompted by friendship or gratitude, or,
the public; so I send you this copy, the first  which happens extremely rarely, inspired by the
that I have sent to Ayrshire, except some few  muse (I know not her name) that presides over
of the stanzas, which I wrote off in embryo for  epistolary writing, I sit down, when necessitated
Gavin Hamilton, under the express provision  to write, as I would sit down, to beat hemp.
and request that you will only read it to a few    Some parts of your letter of the 20th August,
of us, and do not on any account give, or permit  struck me with the most melancholy concern
to be taken, any copy of the ballad.  If I could  for the state of your mind at present.
be of any service to Dr. M'Gill, I would do it,    Would I could write you a letter of comfort,
though it should be at a much greater expense  I would sit down to it with as much pleasure,
than irritating a few bigoted priests, but I am   as I would to write an epic poem of my own
afraid serving him in his present embarras is a  composition that should equal the Iliad.  Relitask too hard for me. I have enemies enow,  gion, my dear friend, is the true comfort! A
God knows, though I do not wantonly add to the  strong persuasion in a future state of existence;
number.  Still as I think there is some merit in  a proposition so obviously probable, that, settwo or three of the thoughts, I send it to you as  ting revelation aside, every nation and people,
a small, but sincere testimony how much, and  so far as investigation has reached, for at least
with what respectful esteem,                    near four thousand years, have, in some mode
I am, dear Sir,             or other, firmly believed it.  In vain would we
Your obliged humble servant,       reason and pretend to doubt.  I have myself
R. B.    done so to a very daring pitch; but, when I reflected, that I was opposing the most ardent
CLXXI.                      wishes, and the most darling hopes of good men,
and flying in the face of all human belief, in
all ages, I was shocked at my own conhtact.
[The poetic epistle of worthy Janet Little was of small    I know not whether I have ever sent you the
account: nor was the advice of Dr. Moore, to abandon  following lines, or if you have ever seen them;
the Scottish stanza and dialect, and adopt the measure
and language of modern English poetry, better inspired   one of my favoure  uotations, which
than the strains of the milkmaid, for such was Jenny  I keep constantly by me in my progress through
Little.]                                        life, in the language of the book of Job,
~DEAR  AD,Ellisland, 6th Sept., 1789.        " Against the day of battle and of war"DEAR MADAM,
I HAVE mentioned in my last my appointment  spoken of religion:
to the Excise, and the birth of little Frank;,  Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright,
w'ho, by the bye, I trust will be no discredit to'Tis this, that gilds the horror of our night.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                            411
When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few,   Wha last beside his chair shall fa',
When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue;       He is the king amang us three.
Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,
Disarms affliction, or repels his dart;           To leave the heights of Parnassus and come to
Within the breast bids purest raptures rise,
Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies."   the humble vale of prose     have some misgivI  have been busy with Zeluco.  TheDoctoris  ings that I take too much upon me, when I reI have been busy with Zeluco. The Doctor is,
quest you to get your guest, Sir Robert Lowrie,
so obliging as to request my opinion of it; and                o        o, 
~....~  to frank the two enclosed covers for me, the
I have been revolving in my mind some kind of   o                o   cos      o           me,.  1..   1  one of them  to Sir William  Cunningham, of
criticisms on novel-writing, but it is a depth be-                                            
yond my research.  I shall however digest my                 Bart. at Kilmarnock-the other to
Mr. Allan Masterton, Writing-Master, Edlnthoughts on the subject as well as I can. Zeluco             Masterton, Writing-Master, Edinis a most ste g p e.           burgh.  The first has a kindred claim  on Sir
is a most sterling performance.
1,,Farewell!  A Dieu, le bon Dieu,.  os cam-  Robert, as being a brother Baronet, and likewise
Farewell! A Dieu, le bon Dieu, ye vobs commende.                         R. B.    a keen Foxite; the other is one of the worthiest
mende.                                 R. B.
men in the world, and a man of real genius; so,
allow me to say, he has a fraternal claim on you.
I want them franked for to-morrow, as I cannot
CLXXII.                       get them  to the post to-night.-I shall send a
TO  CAPTAIN  RIDDEL,                     servant again for them in the evening. Wishing
that your head may be crowned with laurels tonight, and free from aches to-morrow,
[The Whistle alluded to in this letter was contended for  I have the honour to be, Sir,
on the 16th of October, 1790-the successful competitor,  Your deeply indebted humble Servant,
Fergusson, of Craigdarroch, was killed by a fall from his. B
horse, some time after the " jovial contest."]
Ellisland, 16th Oct., 1789.
SIR,
BIG with the idea of this important day at                       CLXXIII.
Friars-Carse, I have watched the elements and             TO  CAPTAIN  RIDDEL.
skies in the full persuasion that they would announce it to the astonished  world by some phe-    [Robert Riddel kept one of those present pests of
nounce it to the astonished world by some phesociety-an album-into which Burns copied the Lines
nomena of terrific portent.-Yesternight until a  on the Hermitage, and the Wounded Hare.]
very late hour did I wait with anxious horror,
for the appearance of some comet firing half the      SIRland, 1789.
sky; or aerial armies of sanguinary Scandina-           H from  my inmost soul it were in my
vians, darting athwart the startled heavens,
vians, darting athwt,  power to give you a more substantial gratificarapid as the ragged lightning, and horrid as  tion and return for all the goodness to the poet,
those convulsions of nature that bury nations.  than transcribing a few of his idle rhymes.The elements, however, seem to take the mat-  However,  an old song," though to a proverb
ter very quietly: they did not even usher in this                insignificance, is generally the
morning with triple suns and a shower of blood,  ony   in a poet has to  a   i
symbolical of the three potent heroes, and the    If my poems which I have transcribed, and
mighty  claret-shed of  the  day-.For me, as  mean still to transcribe into your book, were
Thomson in his Winter says of the storm —I  
equal to the grateful respect and high esteem I
shall "Hear astonished, and astonished sing"    ^ 
bear for the gentleman to whom I present them,
The whistle and the man; I sing             they would be the finest poems in the language.
The man that won the whistle, &c.         -As they are, they will at least be a testimony
with what sincerity I have the honour to be,
Here are we met, three merry boys,                                  Sir,
Three merry boys I trow are we;                      Your devoted humble Servant,
And mony a night we've merry been,                                                    R. B.
And mony mae we hope to be.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold coward loun is he:




112                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CLXXIV.                      and daily does ruin many a fine fellow, as well
as many a blockhead, and is almost, without
T   MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.         exception, a constant source of disappointment
[The ignominy of a poet becoming a gauger seems ever  and misery.
to have been present to the mind of Burns-but those    I long to hear from you how you go on-not
moving things ca'd wives and weans have a strong in-  so much in business as in life. Are you pretty
fluence on the actions of man.  ]
e o t a   o m    well satisfied with your own exertions, and toEllisland, 1st Nov. 1789.    lerably at ease in your internal reflections?
MY DEAR FRIEND,'Tis much to be a great character as a lawyer,
I HAD written you long ere now, could I have  but beyond comparison more to be a great
guessed where to find you, for I am sure you  character as a man.  That you may be both the
have more good sense than to waste the precious  one and the other is the earnest wish, and that
days of vacation time in the dirt of business  you will be both is the firm persuasion of
and Edinburgh.-Wherever you are, God bless                           M  d    Sir, &c.
you, and lead you not into temptation, but de-                                      R B.
liver you from evil!
I do not know if I have informed you that I
am now appointed to an excise division, in the
CLXXV.
middle of which my house and farm lie. In
this I was extremely lucky. Without ever hav-       TO  MR. RI CHARD  BROWN.
ing been an expectant, as they call their journeymen excisemen, I was directly planted down    With this letter closes the corresponde   of Robert
Burns and Richard Brown.]
to all intents and purposes an officer of excise;
there to flourish and bring forth fruits-worthy              Ellisland, 4th November, 1789.
of repentance.                                   I HAVE been so hurried, my ever dear friend.
I know not how the word exciseman, or still  that though I got both your letters, I have not
more opprobrious, gauger, will sound in your  been able to command an hour to answer them
ears. I too have seen the day when my auditory  as I wished; and even now, you are to look on
nerves would have felt very delicately on this  this as merely confessing debt, and craving days.
subject; but a wife and children are things  Few things could have given me so much pleawhich have a wonderful power in blunting these  sure as the news that you were once more safe
kind of sensations.  Fifty pounds a year for  and sound on terra firma, and happy in that
life, and a provision for widows and orphans,  place where happiness is alone to be found, in
you will allow is no bad settlement for a poet.  the fireside circle.  May the benevolent DirecFor the ignominy of the profession, I have the  tor of all things peculiarly bless you in all those
encouragement which I once heard a recruiting  endearing connexions consequent on the tender
sergeant give to a numerous, if not a respect-  and venerable names of husband and father! I
able audience, in the streets of Kilmarnock.-  have indeed been extremely lucky in getting an
"Gentlemen, for your further and better en-  additional income of ~50 a year, while, at the
couragement, I can assure you that our regi-  same time, the appointment will not cost me
ment is the most blackguard corps under the  above ~10 or ~12 per annum of expenses more
crown, and consequently with us an honest fel-  than I must have inevitably incurred.  The
low has the surest chance for preferment."     worst circumstance is, that the excise division
You need not doubt that I find several very  which I have got is so extensive, no less than
unpleasant and disagreeable circumstances in  ten parishes to ride over; and it abounds bemy business; but I am tired with and disgusted  sides with so much business, that I can scarcely
at the language of complaint against the evils  steal a spare moment. However, labour endears
of life. Human existence in the most favourable  rest, and both together are absolutely necessituations does not abound with pleasures, and  sary for the proper enjoyment of human exishas its inconveniences and ills; capricious fool-  tence. I cannot meet you anywhere. No less
ish man mistakes these inconveniences and  than an order from  the Board of Excise, at
ills as if they were the peculiar property of his  Edinburgh, is necessary before I can have so
particular situation; and hence that eternal  much time as to meet you in Ayrshire. But do
fickleness, that love of change, which has ruined,  you come, and see me. We must have a social
L~.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         413
day, and perhaps lengthen it out with half the  a good deal to the generous friendship of Mr
night, before you go again to sea. You are the  Mitchel, my collector, and the kind assistance
earliest friend I now have on earth, my brothers  of Mr. Findlater, my supervisor.  I dare to be
excepted; and is not that an endearing circum-  honest, and I fear no labour. Nor do I find my
stance? When you and I first met, we were at  hurried life greatly inimical to my corresponthe greenperiod of human life. The twigwould  dence with the muses.  Their visits to me,
easily take a bent, but would as easily return  indeed, and I believe to most of their acquainto its former state. You and I not only took a  tance, like the visits of good angels, are short
mutual bent, but by the melancholy, though  and far between: but I meet them  now and
strong influence of being both of the family of  then as I jog through the hills of Nithsdale,
the unfortunate, we were entwined with one  just as I used to do on the banks of Ayr. I
another in our growth towards advanced age;  take the liberty to enclose you a few bagatelles,
and blasted be the sacrilegious hand that shall  all of them  the productions of my leisure
attempt to undo the union! You and I must  thoughts in my excise rides.
have one bumper to my favourite toast, " May    If you know or have ever seen Captain Grose,
the companions of our youth be the friends of  the antiquarian, you will enter into any humour
our old age!" Come and see me one year; I  that is in the verses on him. Perhaps you
shall see you at Port Glasgow the next, and if  have seen them before, as I sent them to a Lonwe can contrive to have a gossiping between  don newspaper.  Though I dare say you have
our two bed-fellows, it will be so much addi-  none of the solemn-league-and-covenant fire,
tional pleasure.  Mrs. Burns joins me in kind  which shone so conspicuous in Lord George
compliments to you and Mrs. Brown. Adieu!   Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I
I am ever, my dear Sir, yours,       think you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one
R. B.    of the clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical
book. God help him, poor man! Though he
is one of the worthiest, as well as one of the
ablest of the whole priesthood of the Kirk of
CLXXVI.
Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous
TO  R. GRAHAM, ESQ.                   term, yet the poor Doctor and his numerous
family are in imminent danger of being thrown
[The poet enclosed in this letter to his patron in the                        
Excise the clever verses on Captain Grose, the Kirk's  out to the mercy of the winter-winds.  The enAlarm, and the first ballad on Captain Miller's electlon.] closed ballad on that business is, I confess, too
local, but I laughed myself at some conceits
9th December, 1789.
SR,                                        in it, though I am convinced in my conscience
that there are a good many heavy stanzas in it
I HAVE a good while had a wish to trouble
you with a letter, and had certainly done it long too.
ere now-but for a humiliating something that    The election ballad, as you will see, alludes
ere now-but for a humiliating something that,  
throws cold water on the resolution, as if one to the present canvass inour string of boroughs.
should say, "You have found Mr. Graham  a  I do not believe there will be such a hard-ru"
~~~~matcshould say, "You havole gefound Mr. Graham a          election.
very powerful and kind friend indeed, and that  match in the whole general election.
interest he is so kindly taking in your concerns, I am too little a man to have any political at
yououghtbyeverythinginyourpowertokeep  tachments; I am deeply indebted to, and have the
you ought by everything in your power to keep
alive and cherish." Now though since God has  warmest veneration for, individuals of both parthought proper to make one powerful and an-  ties; but a man who has it in his power to be
the father of his country, and who * * * * *,
other helpless, the connexion of obliger and  the father of his countr, and wo          
obliged is all fair; and though my being under  is a character that one cannot speak of with
your patronage is to me highly honourable, yet,  patience.
Sir, allow me to flatter myself, that, as a poet    Sir J. J. does  what man can do," but yet I
and an honest man you first interested yourself  doubt his fate.
in my welfare, and principally as such, still you
permit me to approach you.
I have found the excise business go on a great
deal smoother with me than I expected; owing




414                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CLXXVII.                      to God I as firmly believed it, as I ardently wish
it! There I should meet an aged parent, now
TO  MRS. DUNLOP.            at rest from  the many buffetings of an evil
[Burns was often a prey to lowness of spirits: at this  world, against which he so long and so bravely
some dull men have marvelled; but the dull have no  struggled. There should I meet the friend, th
misgivings: they go blindly and stupidly on, like a horse
in a mill, and have none of the sorrows or joys which  disinterested friend of my early life; the man
genius is heir to.]                              who rejoiced to see me, because he loved me:Ellisland, 13th December, 1789.    and could serve me.-Muir, thy weaknesses were
MANY thanks, dear Madam, for your sheet-  the aberrations of human nature, but thy heart
MANY thanks, dear Madam, for your sheetfull of rhymes.  Though at present I am below   glowed with everything generous, manly and
full of rhymes. Though at present I am below
the veriest prose, yet from  you everything  noble; and if ever emanation from the All-good
pleases.  I am groaning under the miseries of  Being animated a human form, it was thine
a diseased nervous system; a system, the state  There should I, with speechless agony of rapof which is most conducive to our happiness-or  ture, again recognise my lost, my ever dear
the most productive of our misery. For now Mary! whose bosom was fraught with truth,
the most productive of our misery. For now
near three weeks I have been so ill with a nerv- onour, constancy, and love.
ous head-ache, that I have been obliged for a  "My Mary, dear departed shade!
time to give up my excise-books, being scarce    Where is thy place of heavenly rest 
able to lift my head, much less to ride once a  Seest thou thy lover lowly laid 
week over ten muir parishes.  What is man?-    Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?"
To-day in the luxuriance of health, exulting in    Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters! I
the enjoyment of existence; in a few days, per-  trust thou art no impostor, and that thy revehaps in a few hours, loadedwith conscious pain-  lation of blissful scenes of existence beyond
ful being, counting the tardy pace of the linger-  death and the grave, is not one of the many
ing moments by the repercussions of anguish,  impositions which time after time have been
and refusing or denied a comforter. Day fol-  palmed on credulous mankind. I trust that in
lows night, and night comes after day, only to  thee "shall all the families of the earth be
curse him  with life which gives him  no plea-  blessed," by being yet connected together in a
sure; and yet the awful, dark termination of   better world, where every tie that bound heart
that life is something at which he recoils.      to heart, in this state of existence, shall be, far
" Tell us, ye dead; will none of you in pity   beyond our present conceptions, more endearing.
Disclose the secret                            I am a good deal inclined to think with those
What'tis you are, and we must shortly be?  who maintain, that what are called nervous af-'tis no matter:
A little time will make us   n  asyou are." fections are in fact diseases of the mind. I cannot reason, I cannot think; and but to you I
Can it be possible, that when I resign this,  
would not venture to write anything above an
frail, feverish being, I shall still find myself in    
c   e c  Wn th  lt   order to a cobbler.  You have felt too much of
conscious existence?  When the last gasp of
y hs a d tt I a  n m     t t   the ills of life not to sympathise with a diseased
agony has announced that I am no more to those
that knew me, and the few who loved me; when  wretch, who has impaired more than half of any
that knew me, and the few who loved me; when
faculties he possessed.  Your goodness will
the cold, stiffened, unconscious, ghastly corse is. i   e erth t b  t    p    excuse this distracted scrawl, which the writer
resigned into the earth, to be the prey of un-.I.,... J.dare scarcely read, and which he would throw
sightly reptiles, and to become in time a trodden     e   r 
into the fire, were he able to write anything
clod, shall I be yet warm in life, seeing and seen,
enjoying and enjoyed? Ye venerable sages and  better, or indeed anything at all.
Rumour told me something of a son of yours,
holy flamens, is there probability in your conjec-      mour told me somthing of a   son of yours,
who was returned from the East or West Indies.
tures, truth in your stories, of another world
If you have gotten news from James or Anbeyond death; or are they all alike, baseless      y
thony, it was cruel in you not to let me know;
visions, and fabricated fables?  If there is an-,   w   c     i  y                 
other life, it must be only for the just, the bene-  as I promise you on the sincerity of a man, who
volent, the amiable, and the humane; what a  is weary of one world, an  anxious about anflattering idea, then, is a world to come! Would  other, that scarce anything could give me so
______________________________ much pleasure as to hear of any good thing be1 Blair's Grave.                falling my honoured friend.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          415
If you have a minute's leisure, take up your                    CLXXIX.
pen in pity to le pauvre miserable.
R. B.          TO PROVOST MAXWELL,
OF LOCHMABEN.
CLXXVIII.                       [Of Lochmaben, the " Marjory of the mony Lochs" of
the election ballads, Maxwell was at this time provost,
TO LADY  W[INIFRED] M[AXWELL]  apostmoreof honour than of labour.]
CONSTABLE.
Ellisland, 20th December, 1789.
LThe Lady Winifred Maxwell, the last of the old line                                 
of Nithsdale, was granddaughter of that Earl who, in  DEAR PROVOST,
1715, made an almost miraculous escape from death,   As my friend Mr. Graham goes for your good
through the spirit and fortitude of his countess, a lady of  town to-morrow, I cannot resist the temptation
the noble family of Powis.]                    to send you a few lines, and as I have nothing
Ellisland, 16th December, 1789.    to say I have chosen this sheet of foolscap, and
MY LADY,                                   begun as you see at the top of the first page,
IN vain have I from day to day expected to  because I have ever observed, that when once
hear from Mrs. Young, as she promised me at people have fairly set out they know not where
Dalswinton that she would do me the honour to  to stop. Now that my first sentence is concludintroduce me at Tinwald; and it was impossible,  ed, I have nothing to do but to pray heaven to
not from your ladyship's accessibility, but from  help me on to another.  Shall I write you on
my own feelings, that I could go alone. Lately  Politics or Religion, two master subjects for
indeed, Mr. Maxwell of Carruchen, in his usual your sayers of nothing. -Of the first I dare.say
goodness, offered to accompany me, when an  by this time you are nearly surfeited: and for
unlucky indisposition on my part hindered my  the last, whatever they may talk of it, who
embracing the opportunity. To court the notice  make it a kind of company concern, I never
or the tables of the great, except where I some-  could endure it beyond a soliloquy.  I might
times have had a little matter to ask of them, write you on farming, on building, or marketor more often the pleasanter task of witnessing  ing, but my poor distracted mind is so torn, so
my gratitude to them, is what I never have  jaded, so racked and bediveled with the task of
done, and I trust never shall do. But with your  the superlative damned to make one guinea do
ladyship I have the honour to be connected by  the business of three, that I detest, abhor, and
one of the strongest and most endearing ties in  swoon at the very word business, though no less
the whole moral world.  Common sufferers, in  than four letters of my very short sirname are
a cause where even to be unfortunate is glorious,  in it.
the cause of heroic loyalty! Though my fathers    Well, to make the matter short, I shall behad not illustrious honours and vast properties  take myself to a subject ever fruitful of themes;
to hazard in the contest, though they left their  a subject the turtle-feast of the sons of Satan,
humble cottages only to add so many units  and the delicious secret sugar-plum of the babes
more to the unnoted crowd that followed their  of grace-a subject sparkling with all the jewels
leaders, yet what they could they did, and what  that wit can find in the mines of genius: and
they had they lost; with unshaken firmness and  pregnant with all the stores of learning from
unconcealed political attachments, they shook  Moses and Confucius to Franklin and Priestley
hands with ruin for what they esteemed the cause  -in short, may it please your Lordship, I intend
of their king and their country.  The language  to write * * *
and the enclosed verses are for your ladyship's
[Here the Poet inserted a song which can only be
eye alone. Poets are not very famous for their
sung at times when the punch-bowl has done its duty
prudence; but as I can do nothing for a cause..,'                    ^.       and wild wit is set free.]
which is now nearly no more, I do not wish to 
hurt myself.                                      If at any time you expect a field-day in your
I have the honour to be,                 town, a day when Dukes, Earls, and Knights
My lady,                pay their court to weavers, tailors, and cobblers,
Your ladyship's obliged and obedient          I should like to know of it two or three days beHumble servant,      forehand. It is not that I care three skips of a
R. B.    cur dog for the politics, but I should like to see




f16                      GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
such an exhibition of human nature.  If you  books at the commencement.  What authors
meet with that worthy old veteran in religion  they were to purchase, was always decided by
and good-fellowship, Mr. Jeffrey, or any of his  the majority. At every meeting, all the books,
amiable family, I beg you will give them my best  under certain fines and forfeitures, by way of
compliments.                            R. B.    penalty, were to be produced; and the members had their choice of the volumes in rotation.
He whose name stood for that night first on
CLXXX.                        the list, had his choice of what volume he
pleased in the whole collection; the second had
TO  SIR  JOHN  SINCLAIR.                    his choice after the first; the third after the
[Of the Monkland Book-Club alluded to in this letter,  second, and so on to the last. At next meeting
the clergyman had omitted all mention in his account of  he who had been first on the list at the precedthe Parish of Dunscore, published in Sir John Sinclair's  ing meeting, was last at this; he who had been
work: some of the books which the poet introduced were                    
stigmatized as vain.n fiousecond was first; and so on through the whole
stigmatized as vain and frivolous.]
three years.  At the expiration of the engage1790.
SIR                                1          ment the books were sold by auction, but only
THE following circumstance has, I believe,  among the members themselves; each man  ad
been committed in the statistical account, trans-  his share of the common stock, in money or in
mitted to you of the parish of Dunscore, in  books, as he chose to be a purchaser or not.
Nithsdale. I beg leave to send it to you because    At the breaking up of this little society, which
it is new, and may be useful.  How far it is de-  was formed under Mr. Riddels patronage, wlat
serving of a place in your patriotic publication,  with benefactions of books from him, and what
you are the best judge.                       with their own purchases, they had collected toTo store the minds of the lower classes with  gether upwards of one hundred and fifty volumes.
To store theminsfteoweclss It will easily be guessed, that a good deal of trash
useful knowledge, is certainly of very great im-    wll e      be gue d, tht a good deal of trsh
portance, both to them  as individuals and to  would be bought.  Among the books, however,
society at lrge.   Giving them a turn for re nd-   of this little library, were, Blair's Sermons, Rosociety at large. Giving them a turn for read-, H          H        f
ing and reflection, is giving them a source of in-                 of Scolan,  ume's Histor
Zn.      the Stewarts, The Spectator, Idler, Adventurer,
nocent and laudable amusement; and besides,  the Sarts, The Spectator, Idler, Adenturer,.ocent and Iauihable amusement; and besides,  Mirror, Lounger, Observer, Man of Feeling, Ian
raises them  to a more dignified degree in the  M o    o e, Observer, Man of Feeling, Mlan
scale of rationality.  Impressed with this idea,   f te Wrd, CrsaDon Quixote, Joseph Ana gentleman in this parish, Robert Riddel, Esq.,   dres,  c  A  easant   o can read, and enjoy
of Glenriddel, set on foot a species of circulat-       books,    certainly a much superior being
to his neighbour, who perhaps stalks beside his
ing library, on a plan so simple as to be practi-  to his nei or,   o perhaps stalks beside his
cable in any corner of the country: and sotle removed, except in shape, from
the brutes he drives.
useful, as to deserve the notice of every country                  ri
gentleman, who thinks the improvement of that Wishingyour patriotic exertions their so much,^  f ^.~ ~..,           rmerited success,
part of his own species, whom  chance has
I am, Sir,
thrown into the humble walks of the peasant                        Yor h       e 
and the artisan, a matter worthy of his atten-                                          P    N
tion.                                                                               A PEASANT.
tion.
Mr. Riddel got a number of his own tenants,
and farming neighbours, to form themselves into
a society for the purpose of having a library
among themselves.  They entered into a legal
engagement to abide by it for three years; with
a saving clause or two in case of a removal to a       TO  CHARLES SHARPE, ESQ.,
distance, or death. Each member, at his entry,
OF HODDAM.
paid five shillings; and at each of their meetings,
which were held every fourth Saturday, six-    [The family of Hoddam is of old standing in Nithsdale.
pence more.  With their entry-money, and the  it has mingled blood with some of the noblest Scottish
credit which they took on the faith  of their  names; nor is it unknown either in history or literature
credit which they took on the faith  of their  -the fierce knight of Closeburn, who in the scuffle befuture funds, they laid in a tolerable stock of  tween Bruce and Comyne drew his sword and made




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                        417
I sicker," and my friend Charles KirkpatrickSharpe, are  more: I shall not speak evil of the dead. It
not the least distinguished of its members.]  would be equally unhandsome and ungrateful
[1790.]   to find fault with my old surtout, which so
IT is true, Sir, you are a gentleman of rank  kindly supplies and  conceals the want of that
and fortune, and  I        am  a  poor devil: you are acoat.   y hat indeed is a great favourite; and
feather in the cap of society, and I am a very  though I got it literally for an old song, Iwould
hobnail in his shoes; yet I have the honour to  not exchange it for the best beaver in Britain.
belong to the same family with you, and on that  I was, during several years,  kind of fac-totum
score I now address you. You will perhaps  servant to a country clergyan,  here I pickt
suspect that I am going to claim affinity with  up a good many scraps of learning, particularly
the ancient and honourable house of Kirkpa-  in some branches of the mathematics. Whentrick. No, no, Sir: I cannot indeed be properly  ever I feel inclined to rest myself on my way,
said to belong to any house, or even any province  I take my seat under a hedge, laying my poetic
or kingdom; as my mother, who, for many years                                  fiddle-case on
was spouse to a marching regiment, gave me into      t                  a 
the other, and placing my hat between my legs 
this bad world, aboard the packet-boat, some-   
this bad world, aboard the  a, s -  I can, by means of its brim, or rather brims,
where between Donaghadee and Portpatrick.                                            
go through the whole doctrine of the conic
By our common family, I mean, Sir, the family 
of the muses. I am a fiddler and a poet; and              
However, Sir, don't let me mislead you, as
you, I am told, play an exquisite violin, and have  
yo, I amld, play an exuisite violin, ad have  if I would interest your pity. Fortune has so
a standard taste in the Belles Lettres. The  much forsaken me, that she has taught me to
much forsaken me, that she has taught me to
other day, a brother catgut gave me a charming                                         
live without her; and amid all my rags and
Scots air of your composition. If I was pleased
poverty, I am as independent, and much more
with the tune, I was in raptures with the title,,^~ ~                     ~..^ T. -IThappy, than a monarch of the world. Accordyou have given it; and taking up the idea I           t
ing to the hackneyed metaphor, I value the
have spun it into the three stanzas enclosed.
su   iow  tei th preet   e, a   several actors in the great drama of life, simply
Will you allow me, Sir, to present you them, as,~..,,^~...as they act their parts. I can look on a worththe dearest offering that a misbegotten son of. 
less fellow of a duke with unqualified contempt,
poverty and rhyme has to give? I have a longand can regard an honest scavenger with sining to take you by the hand and unburthen my
cere respect. As you, Sir, go through your
heart by saying, "Sir, I honour you as a man     e                                      m
role with such distinguished merit, permit me
who supports the dignity of human nature, amid
to make one in the chorus of universal applause,
an age when frivolity and avarice have, between                                   
and assure you that with the highest respect,
them, debased us below the brutes that perish "  " 
^                                       ~~~~~~~~~, ^..,,I have the honour to be, &c.,
But, alas, Sir! to me you are unapproachable.                               
JOHNNY FAA.
It is true, the muses baptized me in Castalian
streams, but the thoughtless gipsies forgot to
give me a name. As the sex have served
many a good fellow, the Nine have given me a
great deal of pleasure, but, bewitching jades!                 CLXXXIT
they have beggared me. Would they but spare
me a little of their cast-linen! Were it only in   TO MR. GILBERT BURNS.
my power to say that I have a shirt on my
back! but the idle wenches, like Solomon's   [In the few fierce words of this letter the poet bids
adieu to all hopes of wealth from Ellisland.]
lilies, " they toil not, neither do they spin;" so                       Eisland.
I must e'en continue to tie my remnant of a                 Ellisland, 11th January, 1790.
cravat, like the hangman's rope, round my         DEAR BROTHTR,
naked throat, and coax my galligaskins to keep    I MEAN to take advantage of the frank, though
together their many-coloured fragments. As  I have not, in my present frame of mind, much
to the affair of shoes, I have given that up.  appetite for exertion in writing. My nerves are
My pilgrimages in my ballad-trade, from town  in a cursed state. I feel that horrid hypochonto town, and on your stony-hearted turnpikes  dria pervading every atom of both body and
too, are what not even the hide of Job's Behe-  soul. This farm has undone my enjoyment of
moth could bear. The coat on my back is no  myself. It is a ruinous affair on all hands
27




U18                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
But let it go to hell! I'll fight it out and be off  life." We may look round us and inquire which Jine of
with it.                                       life the poet could possibly mean.]
We have gotten a set of very decent players                 Ellisland, 14th Januury, 1790.
here just now. I have seen them an evening or    SINCE we are here creatures of a day, since
two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by  "a few summer days, and a few winter nights,
the manager of the company, a Mr. Sutherland,  and the life of man is at an end," why, my dear
who is a man of apparent worth.  On New-  much-esteemed Sir, should you and I let negliyear-day evening I gave him the following pro-  gent indolence, for I know it is nothing worse,
logue, which he spouted to his audience with  step in between us and bar the enjoyment of a
applause.                                      mutual correspondence? We are not shapen
out of the common, heavy, methodical clod, the
No song nor dance I bring from you great city,  elemental stuff of the plodding selfish race, the
That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the  sons of Arithmetic and Prudence; our feelings
pity:                                    and hearts are not benumbed and poisoned by
Tho', by the bye, abroad why will you roam?    the cursed influence of riches, which, whatever
Good sense and taste are natives here at home.  bessing they may be in other respects, are no
I can no more.-If once I was clear of this  friends to the nobler qualities of the heart: in
cursed farm, I should respire more at ease.    the name of random sensibility, then, let never
R. B.    the moon change on our silence any more.  I
have had a tract of bad health most part of this
winter, else you had heard from me long ere
now. Thank Heaven, I am now got so much
~~CLXXXIII.  ~         better as to be able to partake a little in the enTO  MR. SUTHERLAND,                     joyments of life.
PLAYER.                        Our friend Cunningham  will, perhaps, have
ENCLOSING A PROLOGUE.              told you of my going into the Excise. The truth
is, I found it a very convenient business to have
[When the farm failed, the poet sought pleasure in the  ~50 per annum, nor have I yet felt any of those
playhouse: he tried to retire from his own harassing re-  ii   i         i i 
tions, into a world created by other minds.  mortifying circumstances in it that I was led to
flections, into a world created by other minds.]
fear.
Monday Morning.                                          Feb. 2.
I WAS much disappointed, my dear Sir, in    I have not, for sheer hurry of business, been
wanting your most agreeable company yester-  able to spare five minutes to finish my letter.
day. However, I heartily pray for good wea-  Besides my farm business, I ride on my Excise
ther next Sunday; and whatever airial Being  matters at least two hundred miles every week.
has the guidance of the elements, may take any  I have not by any means given up the muses.
other half-dozen of Sundays he pleases, and  You will see in the 3d vol. of Johnson's Scots
clothe them with                               songs that I have contributed my mite there.
"Vapours and clouds, and storms,           But, my dear Sir, little ones that look up to
Until he terrify himself               you for paternal protection are an important
At combustion of his own raising."     charge. I have already two fine, healthy, stout
I shall see you on Wednesday forenoon. In  little fellows, and I wish to throw some light
the greatest hurry,                   R. B.    upon them.  I have a thousand reveries and
schemes about them, and their future destiny.
___ — _- - ~Not that I am a Utopian projector in these
things. I am resolved never to breed up a son
CLXXXIV.                      of mine to any of the learned professions.  I
know the value of independence; and since I
TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W. S.  
T WIB, Wcannot give my sons an independent fortune, I
[This letter was first published by the Ettrick Shep-  shall give them an independent line of life.
herd, in his edition of Burns: it is remarkable for this  What a chaos of hurry, chance, and changes is
sentence, " I am resolved never to breed up a son of  this world, when one sits soberly down to reflect
mine to any of the learned professions: I know the value
of independence, and since I cannot give my sons an inde-on it!  To a father, who himself knos the
nendent fortune, I shall give them an independent line of  world, the thought that he shall have sons to




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             419
usher into it must fill him with dread; but if he  only your anxiety about his fate, but my own
have daughters, the prospect in a thoughtful  esteem for such a noble, warm-hearted, manly
moment is apt to shock him.                       young fellow, in the little I had of his acI hope Mrs. Fordyce and the two young ladies  quaintance, has interested me deeply in his
are well.  Do let me forget that they are nieces  fortunes.
of yours, and let me say that I never saw a more    Falconer, the unfortunate author of the "Shipinteresting, sweeter pair of sisters in my life.  wreck," which you so much admire, is no more.
I am the fool of my feelings and attachments.  After witnessing the dreadful catastrophe he so
I often take up a volume of my Spenser to realize  feelingly describes in his poem, and after weayou to my imagination, and think over the so-  thering many hard gales of fortune, he went to
cial scenes we have had together.  God grant  the bottom with the Aurora frigate!
that there may be another world more congenial    I forget what part of Scotland had the honour
to honest fellows beyond this. A world where  of giving him birth; but he was the son of obthese rubs and plagues of absence, distance, mis-  scurity and misfortune.  He was one of those
fortunes, ill-health, &c., shall no more damp  daring adventurous spirits, which Scotland, behilarity and divide friendship.  This I know is  yond any other country, is remarkable for proyour throng season, but half a page will much  ducing.  Little does the fond mother think, as
oblige,                                           she hangs delighted over the sweet little leech
My dear Sir,                    at her bosom, where the poor fellow may hereYours sincerely,           after wander, and what may be his fate.  I reR. B.    member a stanza in an old Scottish ballad,
which, notwithstanding  its  rude simplicity,
speaks feelingly to the heart:
CLXXXV.                                     Little did my mother think,
TO  MRS. DUNLOP.                                   That day she cradled me,
What land I was to travel in,
[Falconer, the poet, whom Burns mentions here, per-         Or what death I should die!"i
ished in the Aurora, in which he acted as purser: he was    Old Scottish song are, you know, a favourite
a satirist of no mean power, and wrote that useful work,
the Marine Dictionary: but his fame depends upon "The  study and pursuit of mine, and now I am  on
Shipwreck," one of the most original and mournful  that subject, allow me to give you two stanzas
poems in the language.]                           of another old simple ballad, which I am sure
Ellisland, 25th January, 1790.    will please you.  The catastrophe of the piece
IT has been owing to unremitting hurry of  is a poor ruined female, lamenting her fate.
business that I have not written to you, Madam,  She concludes with this pathetic wish:long ere now.  My health is greatly better,            "0 O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd;
and I now begin once more to share in satis-              that my mother had ne'er to me sung 
O that my cradle had never been rock'd;
faction and enjoyment with the rest of my fellow-           that I had ied wen I ws yn
But that I had died when I was young!
creatures.
O that the grave it were my bed;
Many thanks, my much-esteemed friend, for             My blankets were my winding sheet;
your kind letters; but why will you make me            The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a';
run the risk of being contemptible and merce-            And O sae sound as I should sleep!"
nary in my own eyes? When I pique myself on        I do not remember in all my reading, to have
my independent spirit, I hope it is neither poetic  met with anything more truly the language of
license, nor poetic rant; and I am so flattered  misery, than the exclamation in the last line.
with the honour you have done me, in making  Misery is like love; to speak its language truly,
me your compeer in friendship and friendly cor-  the author must have felt it.
respondence, that I cannot without pain, and a    I am every day expecting the doctor to give
degree of mortification, be reminded of the real  your little godson2 the small-pox.  They are
inequality between our situations.                rife in the country, and I tremble for his fate.
Most sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear  By the way, I cannot help congratulating you
Madam, in the good news of Anthony.  Not  on his looks and spirit. Every person who sees
I The ballad is in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,   2 The bard's second son, Francis.
ad. 1833, vol. iii. p. 304.
-_.- ~~~~.~~~<"-~~"~"""~ —




420                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
him, acknowledges him to be the finest, hand-    I saw lately in a Review, some extracts from
somest child he has ever seen. I am myself de-  a new poem, called the Village Curate; send it
lighted with the manly swell of his little chest,  me. I want likewise a cheap copy of The
and a certain miniature dignity in the carriage  World. Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who
of his head, and the glance of his fine black eye,  does me the honour to mention me so kindly in
which promise the undaunted gallantry of an  his works, please give him my best thanks for the
independent mind.                              copy of his book-I shall write him, my first
I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but  leisure hour.  I like his poetry much, but I
time forbids.  I promise you poetry until you  think his style in prose quite astonishing.
are tired of it, next time I have the honour of    Your book came safe, and I am  going to
assuring you how truly I am, &c.               trouble you with further commissions. I call it
R. B.    troubling you,-because I want only, BOOKS;
the cheapest way, the best; so you may have
to hunt for them  in the evening auctions. I
want Smollette's works, for the sake of his incomparable humour. I have already Roderick
CLXXXVI.
Random, and Humphrey Clinker.-Peregrine
TO  MR. PETER  HILL,                   Pickle, Launcelot  Greaves, and Ferdinand
BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.              Count Fathom, I still want; but as I said, the
veriest ordinary copies will serve me. I am
[The Mademoiselle Burns whom the poet inquires 
about, was one of the " ladies of the Canongate," who ce only n the appearance of my poets.
desired to introduce free trade in her profession into a  forget the price of Cowper's Poems, but, I beclose borough: this was refused by the magistrates of  lieve, I must have them. I saw the other day,
Edinburgh, though advocated with much eloquence and  proposals for a publication entitled "Banks's
humour in a letter by her namesake-it is coloured too        pl       t
strongly with her calling to be published.]         and complete Christians Family Bible,"
printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster-row, London.
Ellisland, 2d Feb., 1790.   — He promises at least, to give in the work, I
No     I will not say one word about apologies  think it is three hundred and odd engravings, to
or excuses for not writing.-I am a poor, ras-               put the names of the first artists
cally gauger, condemned to gallop at least 200  in London.-You will know the character of the
miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and  performance, as some numbers of it are pubyeasty barrels, and where can I find time to  lished  and if it is really what it pretends to
write to, or importance to interest anybody? be, set me down as a subscriber, and send me
the upbraidings of my conscience, nay the up-  the published numbers.
braidings of my wife, have persecuted me on    Let me hear from  you  your first leisure
your account these two or three months past.-.                  f     y     y     f  
your account these two or three monthts past.-  minute, and trust me you shall in future have no
I wish to God I was a great man, that my cor-  reason to complain of my silence.  The dazzling
Despondence might throw light upon you, to let  perplexity of novelty will dissipate and leave
perplexity of novelty will dissipate and leave
the world see what you really are: and then I  me to pursue my course in the quiet path of
would make your fortune without putting my  methodical routine.                     R. B
hand in my pocket for you, which, like all other
great men, I suppose I would avoid as much as
possible. What are you doing, and how are
you doing? Have you lately seen any of my few
friends? What is become of the BOROUGH RE-,
FORM, or how is the fate of my poor namesake,                  CLXXXVI1.
Mademoiselle Burns, decided? 0 man! but for
thee and thy selfish appetites, and dishonest            T                NI
artifices, that beauteous form, and that once   [The poet has recorded this unlooked-for death of the
innocent and still ingenuous mind, might have  Dominie's mare in some hasty verses, which are not
shone conspicuous and lovely in the faithful  much superior to the subject.]
wife, and the affectionate mother; and shall                      Ellisland, Feb. 9th, 1790.
the unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures have    MY DEAR SIR,
no claim on thy humanity!                        THAT d-mned mare of yours is dead. I would




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         421
freely have given her price to have saved her;  then; but they have got up a farce of their own.
she has vexed me beyond description. Indebted  You must have heard how the Rev. Mr. Lawson
as I was to your goodness beyond what I can  of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Rev. Mr. Kirkever repay, I eagerly grasped at your offer to  patrick of Dunscore, and the rest of that fachave the mare with me. That I might at least  tion, have accused in formal process, the unshow my readiness in wishing to be grateful, I  fortunate and Rev. Mr. Heron, of Kirkgunzeon,
took every care of her in my power.  She was  that in ordaining Mr. Nielson to the cure of
never crossed for riding above half a score of  souls in Kirkbean, he, the said Heron, feloni.
times by me or in my keeping. I drew her in  ously and treasonably bound the said Nielson to
the plough, one of three, for one poor week. I  the confession of faith, so far as it was agreeable
refused fifty-five shillings for her, which was  to reason and the word of God!
the highest bode I could squeeze for her. I fed    Mrs. B. begs to be remembered most grateher up and had her in fine order for Dumfries  fully to you. Little Bobby and Frank are
fair; when four or five days before the fair,  charmingly well and healthy. I am jaded to
she was seized with an unaccountable disorder  death with fatigue. For these two or three
in the sinews, or somewhere in the bones of the  months, on an average, I have not ridden less
neck; with a weakness or total want of power  than two hundred miles per week. I have done
in her fillets, and in short the whole vertebrae  little in the poetic way. I have given Mr.
of her spine seemed to be diseased and un-  Sutherland two Prologues; one of which was
hinged, and in eight-and-forty hours, in spite  delivered last week.  I have likewise strung
of the two best farriers in the country, she died  four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune of
and be d-mned to her! The farriers said that  Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor unshe had been quite strained in the fillets be-  fortunate mare, beginning (the name she got
yond cure before you had bought her; and that  here was Peg Nicholson)
the poor devil, though she might keep a little    "Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
flesh, had been jaded and quite worn out with        As ever trod on aim;
fatigue and oppression. While she was with me,     But now she's floating down the Nith,
she was under my own eye, and I assure you,          And past the mouth o' Cairn."
my much valued friend, everything was done    My best compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and little
for her that could be done; and the accident      v
for her that could be done; and the accident  Neddy, and all the family; I hope Ned is a good
has vexed me to the heart. In fact I could not  s                                       
scholar, and will come out to gather nuts and
pluck up spirits to write to you, on account of  apples with me next harvest.       R.B.
the unfortunate business.
There is little new in this country. Our theatrical company, of which you must have heard,
leave us this week.-Their merit and character
are indeed very great, both on the stage and in                CLXXXVIII.
private life; not a worthless creature among
them; and their encouragement has been ac-              TO  MR. CUNNINGHAM.
cordingly.  Their usual run is from eighteen to   [Burns looks back with something of regret to the days
twenty-five pounds a night: seldom less than  of rich dinners and flowing wine-cups which he experithe one, and the house will hold no more than  enced in Edinburgh. Alexander Cunningham and his
the other. There have been repeated instances  unhappy loves are recorded in that fine song, " Had I a
the other. There have been repeated instances
cave on some wild distant shore."]
of sending away six, and eight, and ten pounds
a night for want of room. A new theatre is to               Ellisland, 13th February, 1790.
be built by subscription; the first stone is to be    I BEG your pardon, my dear and much valued
laid on Friday first to come. Three hundred  friend, for writing to you on this very unfashionguineas have been raised by thirty subscribers,  able, unsightly sheetand thirty more might have been got if wanted.      " My poverty but not my will consents."
The manager, Mr. Sutherland, was introduced    But to make amends, since of modish post I
to me by a friend from Ayr; and a worthier or  have none, except one poor widowed half-sheet
cleverer fellow I have rarely met with.  Some  of gilt, which lies in my drawer among my pleof our clergy have slipt in by stealth now and  beian fool's-cap pages, like the widow of a man




422                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE,,f fashion, whom that anpolite scoundrel, Ne-  curiosity of viewing an extended landscape,
cessity, has driven from  Burgundy and Pine-  but rather for the dishonest pride of lookapple, to a dish of Bohea, with the scandal-  ing down on others of our fellow-creatures,
bearing help-mate of a village-priest; or a glass  seemingly diminutive in humbler stations, &c
of whisky-toddy, with a ruby-nosed yoke-fellow   &c.
of a foot-padding exciseman-I make a vow to                    Sunday, 14th February, 1790.
enclose this sheet-full of epistolary fragments    GOD help me! I am now obliged to
in that my only scrap of gilt paper.               " Join night to day, and Sunday to the week." 
I am indeed your unworthy debtor for three  If there be any truth in the orthodox faith of
friendly letters.  I ought to have written to  these churches, I am d-mned past redemption,
you long ere now, but it is a literal fact, I have  and what is worse, d-mned to all eternity.  I
scarcely a spare moment.  It is not that I will  am  deeply read in Boston's Four-fold State,
not write to you; Miss Burnet is not more dear  Marshal on Sanctification, Guthrie's Trial of a
to her guardian angel, nor his grace the Duke  Saving Interest, &c.; but "there is no balm in
of Queensbury to the powers of darkness, than  Gilead, there is no physician there," for me; so
my friend Cunningham to me.  It is not that I  I shall e'en turn Arminian, and trust to "sincannot write to you; should you doubt it, take  cere though imperfect obedience."
the following fragment, which was intended for                               Tuesday, 16th.
you some time ago, and be convinced that I    Luckily for me, I was prevented from the discan antithesize sentiment, and circumvolute pe-  cussion of the knotty point at which I had just
riods, as well as any coiner of phrase in the  made a full stop. All my fears and care are
regions of philology,                          of this world: if there is another, an honest
December, 1789.    man has nothing to fear from it. I hate a man
MY DEAR:CUNNINGHAIM,                      that wishes to be a Deist: but I fear, evmery fair,
MY DEAR CUNNINGHAM,
WHERE are you? And what are you doing?  unprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be
Can you be that son of levity, who takes up a, a sceptic. Itis not that there are any very stagCan you be that son of levity, who takes up a  g        aun   a             t   im^ortal ty o
friendship as he takes up a fashion; or are you,  gering arguments ainst the immortality of
like some other of the worthiest fellows in the  man; but like electricity, phlogiston, &c., the
world, the victim of indolence, laden with fet-subject is so involved in darkness, that we want
ters of ever-increasing weight?               data to go upon. One thing frightens me much:
What strange beings we are! Since we have  that we are to live for ever, seems too good news
a portion of conscious existence, equally capable  to be true. That we are to enter into a new
of enjoying pleasure, happiness, and rapture,  scene of existence, where, exempt from want
or of suffering pain, wretchedness, and misery,  and pain, we shall enjoy ourselves and our
it is surely worthy of an inquiry, whether there  friends without satiety or separation-how much
be not such a thing as a science of life; whether  should I be indebted to any one who could fully
method, economy, and fertility of expedients be  assure me that this was certain!
not applicable to enjoyment, and whether there    My time is once more expired.  I will write
be not a want of dexterity in pleasure, which  to Mr. Cleghorn soon. God bless him and all
renders our little scantling of happiness still  his concerns! And may all the powers that
less; and a profuseness, an intoxication in bliss,  preside over conviviality and friendship, be prewhich leads to satiety, disgust, and self-abhor-  sent with all their kindest influence, when the
rence. There is not a doubt but that health,  bearer of this, Mr. Syme, and you meet! I wish
talents, character, decent competency, respec-    could also make one.
table friends, are real substantial blessings;    Finally, brethren, farewell!  Whatsoever
and yet do we not daily see those who enjoy  things are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle,
many or all of these good things contrive not-  whatsoever things are charitable, whatsoever
withstanding to be as unhappy as others to  things are  ind, think on these things, and
whose lot few of them have fallen? I believe  think on                               R. B.
one great source of this mistake or misconduct               I Young. Satire on Women.
is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called
ambition, which goads us up the hill of life, not
us we ascend other eminences, for the laudable




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          423
CLXXXIX.                      charming "wood-note wild;" now  could we
four
TO M R. PETER HILL.
T OM MR. P ETERHIL L.          I am out of all patience with this vile world,
[That Burns turned at this time his thoughts on the  for one thing.  Mankind are by nature benevodrama, this order to his bookseller for dramatic works, lent creatures, except in a few scoundrelly inas well as his attendance at the Dumfries theatre, afford  s   I d                       
stances.  I do not think that avarice of the good
proof.]
things we chance to have, is born with us; but
Ellisland, 2d March, 1790. 
1790.    we are placed here amid so much nakedness, and
AT a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly
AT a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly  hunger, and poverty, and want, that we are under
Society, it was resolved to augment their library   a cursed necessity of studyin  selfishness, in
by the following books, which you are to send   rder        e y EXI!  Still the, in
us as  oo   apssbl:-heMiroheorder that we may EXIST! Still there are, in
us  as  soon  as possiblee:-The Mirror, The  every age, a few souls, that all the wants and
Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the  orld,   woes of life cannot debase to selfishness, or even
(these, for my own sake, I wish to have by the to the necessary alloy of caution and prudence.
first carrier), Knox's History of the Reforma-  If ever I am in danger of vanity, it is when I
tion; Rae's History of the Rebellion in 1715;  contemplate myself on this side of my disposition
any good history of the rebellion in 1745; A   and character.  God knows I am  no saint; I
Display of the Secession Act and Testimony, by  have a whole host of follies and sin, to answer
Mr. Gibb; Hervey's Meditations; Beveridge's  for; but if I could, and I believe I do it as far
Thoughts; and another copy of Watson's Body  as I can, I would wipe away all tears from all
of Divinity.                                   eyes.
I wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four                              Adieu!
months ago, to pay some money he owed me into                                         R. B
your hands, and lately I-wrote to you to the same
purpose, but I have heard from neither one or
other of you.
In addition to the books I commissioned in                        CC.
my last, I want very much An Index to the Excise Laws, or an Abridgment of all the Statutes           TO MRS. DU N L OP.
now in force relative to the Excise, by Jellinger
w in fe r e to te E, b    [It is not a little singular that Burns says, in this letter,
Symons; I want three copies of this book: if it  he had just met with the Mirror and Lounger for the first
is now to be had, cheap or dear, get it for me.  time: it will be remembered that a few years before a
An honest country neighbour of mine wants too  generous article was dedicated by Mackenzie, the editor,
a Family Bible, the larger  thme better; but ito the Poems of Burns, and to this the poet often alludes
a Family Bible, the larger the better; but
in his correspondence.l
second-handed, for he does not choose to give
above ten shillings for the book. I want like-                   Ellisland, 10th April, 1790.
wise for myself, as you can pick them up, second-    I HAVE just now, my ever honoured friend,
handed or cheap, copies of Otway's Dramatic  enjoyed a very high luxury, in reading a paper
Works, Ben  Jonson's, Dryden's, Congreve's,  of the Lounger. You know my national prejuWycherley's, Vanbrugh's, Cibber's, or any dra-  dices. I had often read and admired the Specmatic works of the more modern, Macklin, Gar-  tator, Adventurer, Rambler, and World; but
rick, Foote, Colman, or Sheridan.  A good copy  still with a certain regret, that they were sc
too of Moliere, in French, I much want.  Any  thoroughly and entirely English.  Alas! have I
other good dramatic authors in that language I  often said to myself, what are all the boasted
want also; but comic authors, chiefly, though I  advantages which my country reaps from the
should wish to have Racine, Corneille, and Vol-  union, that can counterbalance the annihilation
taire too. I am in no hurry for all, or any of  of her independence, and even her very name!
these, but if you accidentally meet with them   I often repeat that couplet of my favourite poet,
very cheap, get them for me.                    GoldsmithAnd now to quit the dry walk of business, how     "     IStates of native liberty possest,
do you do, my dear friend? and how is Mrs.  Tho'verypoor,may yetbevery blst."
Hill? I trust, if now and then not so elegantly 1  Nothing can reconcile me to the common
handsome, at least as amiable, and sings as  terms, "English ambassador, English court,"
divinely as ever. My good wife too has a  &c. And I am out of all patience to see that




424                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
equivocal character, Hastings, impeached by  The one I have just read, Lounger, No. 61, has
"the Commons of England."  Tell me, my  cost me more honest tears than anything I have
friend, is this weak prejudice?  I believe in my  read of a long time. Mackenzie has been called
conscience such ideas as "my country; her in-  the Addison of the Scots, and in my opinion,
dependence; her honour; the illustrious names  Addison would not be hurt at the comparison.
that mark the history of my native land;" &c.  If he has not Addison's exquisite humour, he as
-I believe these, among your men of the world,  certainly outdoes him in the tender and the pamen who in fact guide for the most part and  thetic.  His Man of Feeling (but I am not
govern our world, are looked on as so many mo-  counsel learned in the laws of criticism) I estidifications of wrongheadedness.  They know   mate as the first performance in its kind I ever
the use of bawling out such terms, to rouse or  saw. From  what book, moral or even pious,
lead THE RABBLE; but for their own private use,  will the susceptible young mind receive impreswith almost all the able statesmen that ever  sions more congenial to humanity and kindness,
existed, or now exist, when they talk of right  generosity and benevolence; in short, more of
and wrong, they only mean proper and im-  all that ennobles the soul to herself, or endears
proper; and their measure of conduct is, not  her to others-than from the simple affecting
what they OUGHT, but what they DARE. For  tale of poor Harley?
the truth of this I shall not ransack the history  Still, with all my admiration of Mackenzie's
of nations, but appeal to one of the ablest  writings, I do not know if they are the fittest
judges of men that ever lived-the celebrated  reading for a young man who is about to set
Earl of Chesterfield. In fact, a man who could  out, as the phrase is, to make his way into life.
thoroughly control his vices whenever they in-  Do not you think, Madam, that among the few
terfered with his interests, and who could com-  favoured of heaven in the structure of their
pletely put on the appearance of every virtue  minds (for such there certainly are) there may
as often as it suited his purposes, is, on the  be a purity, a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance
Stanhopean plan, the perfect man; a man to  of soul, which are of no use, nay, in some degree,
lead nations. But are great abilities, complete  absolutely disqualifying for the truly important
without a flaw, and polished without a blemish,  business of making a man's way into life? If I
the standard of human excellence?  This is  am not much mistaken, my gallant young friend,
certainly the staunch opinion of men of the world;  A * * * * * *, is very much under these disbut I call on honour, virtue, and worth, to give  qualifications; and for the young females of a
the stygian doctrine a loud negative! How-  family I could mention, well may they excite
ever, this must be allowed, that, if you abstract  parental solicitude, for I, a common acquaintfrom man the idea of an existence beyond the  ance, or as my vanity will have it, an humble
grave, then the true measure of human conduct  friend, have often trembled for a turn of mind
is, proper and improper: virtue and vice, as dis-  which may render them eminently happy-or
positions of the heart, are, in that case, of scarce-  peculiarly miserable!
ly the same import and value to the world at    I have been manufacturing some verses latelarge, as' harmony and discord in the modifica-  ly; but when I have got the most hurried seations of sound; and a delicate sense of honour,  son of excise business over, I hope to have more
like a nice ear for music, though it may some-  leisure to transcribe anything that may show
times give the possessor an ecstasy unknown to  how much I have the honour to be, Madam,
the coarser organs of the herd, yet, considering                 Yours, &c.
the harsh gratings, and inharmonic jars, in this                                     R. B.
ill-tuned state of being, it is odds but the individual would be as happy, and certainly would                      CXCI.
be as much respected by the true judges of         TO COLLECTOR  MITCHELL.
society as it would then stand, without either a
society as t   [Collector Mitchell was a kind and considerate gentle
good ear or a good heart.                      man: to his grandson, Mr. John Campbell, surgeon, in
You must know I have just met with the  Aberdeen, I owe this characteristic letter.]
Mirror and Lounger for the first time, and I am                             Ellisland 1790.
quite in raptures with them; I should be glad      SIR,
to have your opinion of some of the pasers.    I SHALL not fail to wait on Captain Riddel




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         425
to-night-I wish and pray that the goddess of    I am sadly ungrateful in not returning you
justice herself would appear to-morrow among  my thanks for your most valuable present, Zeour hon. gentlemen, merely to give them a word  luco. In fact, you are in some degree blameable
in their ear that mercy to the thief is injustice  for my neglect. You were pleased to express a
to the honest man. For my part I have gal-  wish for my opinion of the work, which so flatloped over my ten parishes these four days,  tered me, that nothing less would serve my
until this moment that I am just alighted, or  overweening fancy, than a formal criticism  on
rather, that my poor jackass-skeleton of a  the book. In fact, I have gravely planned a
horse has let me down; for the miserable devil comparative view of you, Fielding, Richardson,
has been on his knees half a score of times  and Smollett, in your different qualities and
within the last twenty miles, telling me in his  merits as novel-writers.  This, I own, betrays
own way,'Behold, am not I thy faithful jade  my ridiculous vanity, and I may probably never
of a horse, on which thou hast ridden these  bring the business to bear; and I am fond of
many years!'                                   the spirit young Elihu shows in the book of
In short, Sir, I have broke my horse's wind, Job-"And I said, I will also declare my opiand almost broke my own neck, besides some  nion," I have quite disfigured my copy of the
injuries in a part that shall be nameless, owing  book with my annotations. I never take it up
to a hard-hearted stone for a saddle. I find  without at the same time taking my pencil, and
that every offender has so many great men to  marking with asterisms, parentheses, &c., wherespouse his cause, that I shall not be surprised  ever I meet with an original thought, a nervous
if I am  committed to the strong hold of the  remark on life and manners, a remarkable welllaw to-morrow for insolence to the dear friends  turned period, or a character sketched with unof the gentlemen of the country.               common precision.
I have the honour to be, Sir,             Though I should hardly think of fairly wriYour obliged and obedient humble  ting out my "Comparative View," I shall cerR. B.    tainly trouble you with my remarks, such as
they are.
CXCII.                       I have just received from my gentleman that
horrid summons in the book of RevelationsTO  DR. MOORE.                     "That time shall be no more!"
The little collection of sonnets have some
[The sonnets alluded to by Burns were those of Char-      
lotte Smith: the poet's copy is now before me, with a  charming poetry in them.  If indeed I am infew marks of his pen on the margins.]          debted to the fair author for the book, and not,
as I rather suspect, to a celebrated author of
Dumfries, Excise-Office, 14th July, 1790. 
DumfX E O, 1 y, 10.   the other sex, I should certainly have written to'        ~SIR,.9~.the lady, with my grateful acknowledgments,
COMING into town this morning, to attend my
CINGt, to a d my  and my own ideas of the comparative excellence
duty in this office, it being collection-day, I met                                     
of her pieces.  I would do this last, not from
with a gentleman who tells me he is on his way  a   v                                  
any vanity of thinking that my remarks could
to London; so I take the opportunity of writing                       e to Mrs. Smith, but
9  be of much consequence to Mrs. Smith, but
to you, as franking is at present under a ternto you, as franking is at present under a tem-  merely from my own feelings as an author, doing
porary death. I shall have some snatches of  as I would be done by.                 R. B.
leisure through the day, amid our horrid business and bustle, and I shall improve them  as
well as I can; but let my letter be as stupid as
* *  * *  * * * * -, as miscellaneous as a news-               CXCIII.
paper, as short as a hungry grace-before-meat,           TO MR. MU R DOC
or as long as a law-paper in the Douglas cause;
asill-spelt as countryJohn's billet-doux, or asun-  TEACHER OF FRENCH, IONDON.
sightly a scrawl as Betty Byre-Mucker's answer   [The account of himself, promised to Murdoch by
to it; I hope, considering circumstances, you  Burns, was never written.]
will forgive it; and as it will put you to no                     Ellisland, July 16, 1790.
expense of postage, I shall have the less reflec-  M  DEAR SIR,
tion about it.                                   I RECEIVED a letter from you a long time ago,




426                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
but unfortunately, as it was in the time of my    You knew Henderson-I have not flattered
peregrinations and journeyings through Scot-  his memory.
land, I mislaid or lost it, and by consequence        I have the honour to be, Sir,
your direction along with it.  Luckily my good              Your obliged humble servant,
star brought me acquainted with Mr. Kennedy,                                         R. B.
who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours:
and by his means and mediation I hope to replace that link which my unfortunate negligence
had so unluckily broke in the chain of our cor-CXnV.
respondence. I was the more vexed at the vile
accident, as my brother William, a journeyman             TO MRS. DUNLOP.
saddler, has been for some time in London; and., hs bn fr se te in L; a      [Inquiries have been made in vain after the name of
wished above all things for your direction, that  Burns's ci-devant friend, who had so deeply wounded hli
he might have paid his respects to his father's  feelings.]
friend.                                                                   8th August, 1790.
His last address he sent me was, " Wm. Burns,     DEAR MADAM,
at Mr. Barber's, saddler, No. 181, Strand."      AFTER a long day's toil, plague, and care, I
writ him by Mr. Kennedy, but neglected to ask  sit down to write to you. Ask me not why I
him for your address; so, if you find a spare  have delayed itso long   It was owing to hurry,
half-minute, please let my brother know by a  indolence, and fifty other things; in short to anycard where and when he will find you, and the  thing-but forgetfulness of la plus a ble de son
poor fellow will joyfully wait on you, as one of                           indebted your best
sexe. By the bye, you are indebted your best
the few surviving friends of the man whose  courtesytome for this last compliment; as I
name, and Christian name too, he has the honourpay it from my sincere conviction of its truthto bear.
a  quality rather rare in compliments of these
The next letter I write you shall be a long  grinning, bowing, scraping times.
one. I have much to tell you of "hair-breadth  g                            tms
s       cap es in th' imminent deadly breach," wiof  hair-breth    Well, I hope writing to you will ease a little'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach," with my troubled soul. Sorely has it been bruised
all the eventful history of a life, the early years  to-da    A ci-devant  friend of mine, and an
of which owed so much to your kind tutorage;  intimate acquaintance  of yours, has  given my
but this at an hour of leisure. My kindest cor-  feelings a wound that I perceive will gangrene
pliments to Mrs. Murdoch and family.            dangerously ere it cure. He has wounded my
I am ever, my dear Sir,               pride                                     B.
Your obliged friend,
R. B.
CXCVI.
CXCIV.
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
TO  MR. M'MURDO.
[" The strain of invective," says the judicious Currie,
[This hastynote was accompaniedby the splendid elegy  of this letter, " goes on some time longer in the style in
on Matthew Henderson, and no one could better feel than  which our bard was too apt to indulge, and of which the
M'Murdo, to whom it is addressed, the difference between  reader has already seen so much."]
the music of verse and the clangour of politics.]                Elisland, 8th August, 1790.
Ellisland, 2d August, 1790.     FORGIVE me, my once dear, and ever dear
SIR,                                       friend, my seeming negligence. You cannot sit
Now that you are over with the sirens of Flat-  down and fancy the busy life I lead.
tery, the harpies of Corruption, and the furies    I laid -down my goose-feather to beat my
zf Ambition, these infernal deities, that on all  brains for an apt simile, and had some thoughts
sides, and in all parties, preside over the villa-  of a country grannum at a family christening'
nous business of politics, permit a rustic muse of  a bride on the market-day before her marriage;
your acquaintance to do her best to soothe you  or a tavern-keeper at an election-dinner; but
with a song.-                                  the resemblance that hits my fancy best is, that




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          427
blackguard miscreant, Satan, who roams about                     CXCVIII.
like a roaring lion, seeking, searching whom he
may devour. However, tossed about as I am, if       TO WILLIAM  TYTLER, ESQ.,
I choose (and who would not choose) to bind                OF WOODHOUSELEE.
down with the crampets of attention the brazen
foundation of integrity, I may rear up the super-   [William Tytler was the "revered defender of the
structure of Independence, and from its daring  beauteous Stuart"-a man of genius and a gentleman.]
structure of Independence, and Irom its daring
turrets bid defiance to the storms of fate. And                 Lawn Market, August, 1790.
is not this a "consummation devoutly to be          SIR,
wished?"                                         ENCLOSED I have sent you a sample of the old
" Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;  pieces that are still to be found among our peaLord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye!   santry in the west. I had once a great many of
Thy steps I followwith my bosom bare,     these fragments, and some of these here, entire;
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky!"
but as I had no idea then that anybody cared
Are not these noble verses?  They are the
for them, I have forgotten them. I invariably
introduction of Smollett's Ode to Independence:       i    i                     f     
hold it sacrilege to add anything of my own to
if you have not seen the poem, I will send it to  h     o   w                           
",~ *    *help out with the shattered wrecks of these
you.-~How wretched is the man that hangs on.
u.- w w d is te mn tt h         o   venerable old compositions; but they have many
by the favours of the great!  To shrink from       i       i. 
"1.   ~various readings. If you have not seen these
every dignity of man, at the approach of a lordly                         a."~"'  ".,. ~ before, I know they will flatter your true oldpiece of self-consequence, who, amid all his
tinseleglitter,-ands e, wyhoa,   is       ai  style Caledonian feelings; at any rate I am truly
tinsel glitter, and stately hauteur, is but a.
tinsel~glitter, andstatelyhau r, ihappy to have an opportunity of assuring you
creature formed as thou art-and perhaps not  h                  a 
how sincerely I am, revered Sir,
so well formed as thou art-came into the world                           ed r         
Your gratefully indebted humble servant,
a puling infant as thou didst, and must go out                                       R. B.
of it, as all men must, a naked corse.
R. B.
CXCIX.
CXCVII.
TO CRAUFORD TAIT, ESQ.,
TO  DR. ANDERSON.                                    EDINBURGH.
[The gentleman to whom this imperfect note is ad-   [Margaret Chalmers had now, it appears by this:etter,
dressed was Dr. James Anderson, a well-known agri-  become Mrs. Lewis Hay: her friend, Charlotte Hamilton,
cultural and miscellaneous writer, and the editor of a  had been for some time Mrs. Adair, of Scarborough:
weekly miscellany called the Bee.]             Miss Nimmo was the lady who introduced Burns to the
SIR,                                       far-famed Clarinda.]
I AM much indebted to my worthy friend, Dr.                  Ellisland, 15th October, 1790.
Blacklock, for introducing me to a gentleman of     DEAR SIR,
Dr. Anderson's celebrity; but when you do me    ALLOW me to introduce to your acquaintance
the honour to ask my assistance in your proposed  the bearer, Mr. Wm. Duncan, a friend of mine,
publication, alas, Sir! you might as well think  whom I have long known and long loved. His
to cheapen a little honesty at the sign of an  father, whose only son he is, has a decent little
advocate's wig, or humility under the Geneva  property in Ayrshire, and has bred the young
band. I am a miserable hurried devil, worn to  man to the law, in which department he comes
the marrow in the friction of holding the noses  up an adventurer to your good town. I shall
of the poor publicans to the grindstone of the  give you my friend's character in two words:
excise! and, like Milton's Satan, for private  as to his head, he has talents enough, and more
reasons, am forced                             than enough for common life; as to his heart,
" To do what yet though damn'd I would abhor."  when nature had kneaded the kindly clay that
-and, except a couplet or two of honest exe-  composes it, she said, " I can no more."
cration       *       *      *       *           You, my good Sir, were born under kindet
R. B.    stars; but your fraternal sympathy, I well know




128                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
can enter into the feelings of the young man,    As to myself, a being to whose interest I bewho goes into life with the laudable ambition to  lieve you are still a well-wisher; I am here,
do something, and to be something among his  breathing at all times, thinking sometimes, and
fellow-creatures; but whom the consciousness  rhyming now and then.  Every situation has
of friendless obscurity presses to the earth, and  its share of the cares and pains of life, and my
wounds to the soul!                            situation I am persuaded has a full ordinary
Even the fairest of his virtues are against  allowance of its pleasures and enjoyments.
him. That independent spirit, and that ingenu-    My best compliments to your father and Miss
ous modesty, qualities inseparable from anoble  Tait. If you have an opportunity, please remind, are, with the million, circumstances not  member me in the solemn league and covenant
a little disqualifying.  What pleasure is in the  of friendship to Mrs. Lewis Hay. I am a wretch
power of the fortunate and the happy, by their  for not writing her; but I am so hackneyed
notice and patronage, to brighten the counte-  with self-accusation in that way, that my connance and glad the heart of such depressed  science lies in my bosom with scarce the senyouth! I am  not so angry with mankind for  sibility of an oyster in its shell. Where is Lady
their deaf economy of the purse:-the goods of  M'Kenzie? wherever she is, God bless her! I
this world cannot be divided without being les-  likewise beg leave to trouble you with comsened-but why be a niggard of that which  pliments to Mr. Wm. Hamilton; Mrs. Hamilton
bestows bliss on a fellow-creature, yet takes no-  and family; and Mrs. Chalmers, when you are
thing from our own means of enjoyment? We  in that country.  Should you meet with Miss
wrap ourselves up in the cloak of our own  Nimmo, please remember me kindly to her.
better fortune, and turn away our eyes, lest the                                      R. B.
wants and woes of our brother-mortals should
disturb the selfish apathy of our souls!
I am the worst hand in the world at asking a
favour.  That indirect address, that insinuating                     cc.
implication, which, without any positive request,                  
plainly expresses your wish, is a talent not to
be acquired at a plough-tail.  Tell me then, for   [This letter contained the Kirk's Alarm, a satire written
you can, in what periphrasis of language, in  to help the cause of Dr. M'Gill, who recanted his heresy
rather than be removed from his kirk.]
what circumvolution of phrase, I shall envelope,
yet not conceal this plain story. —" My dear                                Ellisland, 1790.
Mr. Tait, my friend Mr. Duncan, whom I have         DEAR SIR,
the pleasure of introducing to you, is a young    WHETHER in the way of my trade I can be
lad of your own profession, and a gentleman of  of any service to the Rev. Doctor, is I fear very
much modesty, and great worth.  Perhaps it  doubtful.  Ajax's shield consisted, I think, of
may be in your power to assist him in the, to  seven bull-hides and a plate of brass, which
him, important consideration of getting a place;  altogether set Hector's utmost force at defiance.
but at all events, your notice and acquaintance  Alas! I am not a Hector, and the worthy Doewill be a very great acquisition to him; and I  tor's foes are as securely armed as Ajax was.
dare pledge myself that he will never disgrace  Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, mayour favour."                                  levolence, self-conceit, envy-all strongly bound
You may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a  in a massy frame of brazen impudence.  Good
letter from me;'tis, I own, in the usual way of  God, Sir! to such a shield, humour is the peck
calculating these matters, more than our ac-  of a sparrow, and satire the pop-gun of a schoolquaintance entitles me to; but my answer is  boy. Creation-disgracing scelerats such as they,
short:-Of all the men at your time of life,  God only can mend, and the devil only can
whom I knew in Edinburgh, you are the most  punish. In the comprehending way of Caligula,
accessible on the side on which I have assailed  I wish they all had but one neck. I feel impoyou. You are very much altered indeed from   tent as a child to the ardour of my wishes! 0
what you were when I knew you, if generosity  for a withering curse to blast the germins of
point the path you will not tread, or humanity  their wicked machinations! 0 for a poisonous
call to you in vain.                           tornado, winged from the torrid zone of Tar-~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          429
tarus, to sweep the spreading crop of their  to printing of poetry, when you prepare it for
villanous contrivances to the lowest hell!     the press, you have only to spell it right, and
R. B.    place the capital letters properly: as to the
punctuation, the printers do that themselves.
I have a copy of Tam o' Shanter ready to send
you by the first opportunity: it is too heavy to
send by post.
I heard of Mr. Corbet lately.  He, in conseTO M RS. D U N LO P.                 quence of your recommendation, is most zealous
to serve me. Please favour me soon with an
[The poet wrote out several copies of Tam o' Shanter
and sent them to his friends, requesting their criticisms:  account of your good folks; if Mrs. H. is rehe wrote few poems so universally applauded.   covering, and the young gentleman doing well.
Ellisland, November, 1790.. B.
"As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good
news from a far country."
Fate has long owed me a letter of good news
from you, in return for the many tidings of sor-                     CII.
row which I have received.  In this instance I      TO LADY W. M  CONSTABLE.
most cordially obey the apostle-" Rejoice with
them that do rejoice"-for me, to sing for joy, is   [The present alluded to was a gold snuff-box, with a
no new thing; but to preach for joy, as I have  portrait of Queen Mary on the lid.]
done in the commencement of this epistle, is a                Ellisland, 11th January, 1791.
pitch of extravagant rapture to which I never       MY LADY,
rose before.                                      NOTHING less than the unlucky accident of
I read your letter-I literally jumped for joy  having lately broken my right arm, could have
-How could such a mercurial creature as a  prevented me, the moment I received your ladypoet lumpishly keep his seat on the receipt of  ship's elegant present by Mrs. Miller, from rethf best news from his best friend.  I seized  turning you my warmest and most grateful
my gilt-headed Wangee rod, an instrument in-  acknowledgments. I assure your ladyship, I
dispensably necessary in my left hand, in the  shall set it apart-the symbols of religion shall
moment of inspiration and rapture; and stride,  only be more sacred.  In the moment of poetic
stride-quick and quicker-out skipt I among  composition, the box shall be my inspiring
the broomy banks of Nith to muse over my joy  genius. When I would breathe the compreby retail.  To keep within the bounds of prose  hensive wish of benevolence for the happiness
was impossible. Mrs. Little's is a more elegant,  of others, I shall recollect your ladyship; when
but not a more sincere compliment to the sweet  I would interest my fancy in the distresses inlittle fellow, than I, extempore almost, poured  cident to humanity, I shall remember the unforout to him in the following verses:-           tunate Mary.                          R. B.
Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love 
And ward o' mony a prayer,
What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, sweet, an' fair.                               CCIII.
November hirples o'er the lea
TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W. S.
Chill on thy lovely form;
But gane, alas! the shelt'ring tree         [This letter was in answer to one from Dunbar, in
Should shield thee frae the storm.      which the witty colonel of the Crochallan Fencibles
supposed the poet had been translated to Elysium to sing
I am much flattered by your approbation of  to the immortals, as his voice had not been heard of late
my Tam o' Shanter, which you express in your  on earth.
former letter; though, by the bye, you load me                Ellisland, 17th January, 1791.
in that said letter with accusations heavy and    I AM not gone to Elysium, most noble colonel,
many; to all which I plead, not guilty! Your  but am still here in this sublunary world, servbook is, I hear, on the road to reach me. As  ing my God, by propagating his image, and




430                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
honouring my king by begetting him loyal sub-  bility, inly pines under the neglect, or writhes
jects.                                         in bitterness of soul, under the contumely of
Many happy returns of the season await my  arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by thee,
friend.  May the thorns of care never beset his  the son of genius, whose ill-starred ambition
path! May peace be an inmate of his bosom,  plants him at the tables of the fashionable and
and rapture a frequent visitor of his soul! May  polite, must see in suffering silence, his remark
the blood-hounds of misfortune never track his  neglected, and his person despised, while shalsteps, nor the screech-owl of sorrow alarm  his  low greatness in his idiot attempts at wit, shall
dwelling! May enjoyment tell thy hours, and  meet with countenance and applause. Nor is it
pleasure number thy days, thou friend of the  only the family of worth that have reason to
bard! "Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and  complain of thee: the children of folly and vice,
cursed be he that curseth thee!! "           though in common with thee the offspring of
As a further proof that I am still in the land  evil, smart equally under thy rod. Owing to
of existence, I send you a poem, the latest I  thee, the man of unfortunate disposition and
have composed.  I have a particular reason for  neglected education, is condemned as a fool for
wishing you only to show it to select friends,  his dissipation, despised and shunned as a
should you think it worthy a friend's persual;  needy wretch, when his follies as usual bring
but if, at your first leisure hour, you will favour  him to want; and when his unprincipled neme with your opinion of, and strictures on the  cessities drive him to dishonest practices, he is
performance, it will be an additional obligation  abhorred as a miscreant, and perishes by the
on, dear Sir, your deeply indebted humble ser-  justice of his country.  But far otherwise is
vant,                                 R. B.    the lot of the man of family and fortune. His
early follies and extravagance, are spirit and
fire; his consequent wants are the embarrassments of an honest fellow; and when, to remedy
CCIV.                       the matter, he has gained a legal commission to
TO MR. PE T ER  H I LL.                plunder distant provinces, or massacre peaceful
nations, he returns, perhaps, laden with the
[The poet's eloquent apostrophe to poverty has no little  spoils of rapine and murder; lives wicked and
feeling in it: he beheld the money which his poems  respected and dies a scoundrel and a lord.brought melt silently away, and he looked to the future
with more fear than hope.]                     Nay, worst of all, alas for helpless woman! the
needy prostitute, who has shivered at the corEllisland, 17th January, 1791.   
ner of the street, waiting to earn the wages of
TAKE these two guineas, and place them over                             neglected and incasual prostitution, is left neglected and inagainst that d-mned account of yours! which  suted, ridden down by the chariot wheels of
has gagged my mouth these five or six months!neted, hurrying on to the guilty,                         the coroneted RIP, hurrying on to the guilty
I can as little write good things as apologies to;       who without the same necesassignation; she who without the same necesthe man I owe money to. 0 the supreme curse  sities to plead, riots nightly in the same guilty
of making three guineas do the business of five! t
Not all the labours of Hercules; not all the  ta
Well! divines may say of it what they please;
Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian bondage,  but execration is to the mind what phlebotomy
were such an insuperable business, such an  i t                                           
is to the body: the vital sluices of both are
infernal task!! Poverty! thou half-sister of
infernal task!! Poverty! thou half-sister of  wonderfully relieved by their respective evacuadeath, thou cousin-german of hell: where shall  tions.                              R..
I find force of execration equal to the amplitude
of thy demerits? Oppressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the practice of 
every virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, implores a little-little aid to support his      TO  MR. CUNNINOHAM.
existence, from a stony-hearted son of Mammon,   [To Alexander Cunningham the poetgenerally comma
nicated his favourite compositions.]
whose sun of prosperity never knew a cloud;  nicted his faourite compositions.]
and is by him denied and insulted.  Oppressed                  Ellisland, 23d January, 1791.
by thee, the m:n of sentiment, whose heart    MANY happy returns of the season to you,
glows with independence, and melts with sensi- my dear friend! As many of the good things




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          431
of this life, as is consistent with the usual mix-  came down with me and broke my right arm.
ture of good and evil in the cup of being!      As this is the first service my arm has done me
I have just finished a poem (Tam o' Shanter)  since its disaster, I find myself unable to do
which you will receive enclosed. It is my first  more than just in general terms thank you for
essay in the way of tales.                     this additional instance of your patronage and
I have these several months been hammering  friendship. As to the faults you detected in the
at an elegy on the amiable and accomplished  piece, they are truly there: one of them, the
Miss Burnet. I have got, and can get, no far-  hit at the lawyer and priest, I shall cut out; as
ther than the following fragment, on which  to the falling off in the catastrophe, for the reaplease give me your strictures. In all kinds of  son you justly adduce, it cannot easily be remepoetic composition, I set great store by your  died.  Your approbation, Sir, has given me
opinion; but in sentimental verses, in the poetry  such additional spirits to persevere in this
of the heart, no Roman Catholic ever set more  species of poetic composition, that I am already
value on the infallibility of the Holy Father  revolving two or three stories in my fancy. If
than I do on yours.                            I can bring these floating ideas to bear any
I mean the introductory couplets as text  kind of embodied form, it will give me addiverses.                                        tional opportunity of assuring you how much I
E L E G Y                    have the honour to be, &c.            R. B.
ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO.
Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
As Burnet lovely from her native skies;
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,
CCVII.
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low.
^    ~A.~ ~       TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
Let me hear from you soon. Adieu!
R. B.      [The elegy on the beautiful Miss Burnet, of Monboddo,
was laboured zealously by Burns, but it never reached
the excellence of some of his other compositions.]
Ellisland, 7th Feb. 1791.
CCVI.                         WHEN I tell you, Madam, that by a fall, not
from my horse, but with my horse, I have been
TO  A. F. TYTLER, ESQ.                 a cripple some time, and that this is the first
["I have seldom in my life," says Lord Woodhouselee,  day my arm and hand have been able to serve
tasted a higher enjoyment from any work of genius  me in writing; you will allow that it is too good
than I received from Tam o' Shanter."]          an apology for my seemingly ungrateful silence.
Ellisland, February, 1791.    I am now getting better, and am able to rhyme
SIR,                                       a little, which implies some tolerable ease; as
NOTHING less than the unfortunate accident  I cannot think that the most poetic genius is
I have met with, could have prevented my  able to compose on the rack.
grateful acknowledgments for your letter. His    I do not remember if ever I mentioned to you
own favourite poem, and that an essay in the  my having an idea of composing an elegy on the
walk of the muses entirely new to him, where  late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo.  I had the
consequently his hopes and fears were on the  honour of being pretty well acquainted with
most anxious alarm  for his success in the  her, and have seldom felt so much at the loss
attempt; to have that poem so much applauded  of an acquaintance, as when I heard that so
by one of the first judges, was the most delicious  amiable and accomplished a piece of God's work
vibration that ever thrilled along the heart-  was no more.  I have, as yet, gone no farther
strings of a poor poet.  However, Providence,  than the following fragment, of which please
to keep up the proper proportion of evil with  let me have your opinion. You know that elegy
the good, which it seems is necessary in this  is a subject so much exhausted, that any new
sublunary state, thought proper to check my  idea on the business is not to be expected:'tis
exultation by a very serious misfortune. A day  well if we can place an old idea in a new light.
or two after I received your letter, my horse  How far I have succeeded as to this last, you




432                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
will judge from what follows. I have proceeded  flower is heavy with the tears of the dawn, was
no further.                                    infinitely more beautiful and elegant than the
Your kind letter, with your kind remembrance  upright stub of a burdock; and that from someef your godson, came safe.  This last, Madam,  thing innate and independent of all associations
is scarcely what my pride can bear. As to  of ideas;-these I had set down as irrefragable,
the little fellow, he is, partiality apart, the  orthodox truths, until perusing your book shook
finest boy I have for a long time seen. He is  my faith.-In short, Sir, except Euclid's Elenow seventeen months old, has the small-pox  ments of Geometry, which I made a shift to unand measles over, has cut several teeth, and  ravel by my father's fire-side, in the winter
never had a grain of doctor's drugs in his  evening of the first season I held the plough, I
bowels.                                        never read a book which gave me such a quanI am truly happy to hear that the "little  tum of information, and added so much to my
floweret" is blooming so fresh and fair, and  stock of ideas, as your "Essays on the Printhat the "mother plant" is rather recovering  ciples of Taste."  One thing, Sir, you must forher drooping head.  Soon and well may her  give my mentioning as an uncommon merit in
"cruel wounds" be healed.  I have written thus  the work, I mean the language.  To clothe abfar with a good deal of difficulty.  When I get  stract philosophy in elegance of style, sounds
a little abler you shall hear farther from,    something like a contradiction in terms; but
Madam, yours,          you have convinced me that they are quite comR. B.    patible.
I enclose you some poetic bagatelles of my
late composition. The one in print I is my first
essay in the way of telling a tale.
CCVIII.                                               I am, Sir, &c.
TO THE REV. ARCH. ALISON.R. B.
[Alison wasmuch gratified, it is said, with this recognition of the principles laid down in his ingenious and popular work.]
Ellisland, near Dumfries, 14th Feb. 1791.                     CCIX.
~SIR,                                                  TO  DR. MOORE.
You must by this time have set me down as
one of the most ungrateful of men. You did   [Moore admired but moderately the beautiful ballad on
me the honour to present me with a book,  Queen Mary, and the Elegy on Captain Matthew Henwhich does honour to science and the intel-  derson: Tam o' Shanter he thought full of poetical beauwhich does honour to science and the intel-          r
ties.-He again regrets that he writes in the language of
lectual powers of man, and I have not even so  Scotland.]
much as acknowledged the receipt of it.  The 
Enlisland, 20th February, 1791.
fact is, you yourself are to blame for it.  Flat-,  th                               a,,              ~~. ~ I DO not know, Sir, whether you are a subtered as I was by your telling me that you, Sr                      
tered as  I was by your teling me that yu  scriber to Grose'sAntiquities of Scotland.  If you
wished to have my opinion of the work, the. 
d   ta    my o nin   wok,  are, the enclosed poem will not be altogether
old spiritual enemy of mankind, who knows, w     k   new to you.  Captain Grose did me the favour
well that vanity is one of the sins that most  to send me a dozen copies of the proof sheet
easily beset me, put it into my head to ponder  of which this is one. Should you have read
over the performance with the look-out of a 
over fthe performance with the look-out of a  the piece before, still this will answer the princritic, and to draw up forsooth a deep learned   pal end I have in viewit will give me another
digest of strictures on a composition, of which,.,  opportunity of thanking you for all your goodin fact, until I read the book, I did not even
ness to the rustic bard; and also of showing
know the first principles.  I own, Sir, that at               
you, that the abilities you have been pleased to
first glance, several of your propositions star-... 
first glace, sevral of your propotions sta-  commend and patronize are still employed in the
tled me as paradoxical.  That the martial clanway you wish.
gour of a trumpet had something in it vastlyn                           r i 
The -Elegy on Captain Henderson, is a tribute
more grand, heroic, and sublime, than the twin-             o C                    i   r
to the memory of a man I loved much. Poets
gle twangle of a jew's-harp: that the delicate
flexure of a rose-twig, when the half-blown                    i Tam o' Shanter.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          433
have in this the same advantage as Roman Ca-  fall into the file of supervisorship by seniority.
tholics; they can be of service to their friends  I have had an immense loss in the death of the
after they have passed that bourne where all  Earl of Glencairn; the patron from whom all
other kindness ceases to be of avail.  Whether,  my fame and fortune took its rise. Independent
after all, either the one or the other be of any  of my grateful attachment to him, which was
real service to the dead, is, I fear, very proble-  indeed so strong that it pervaded my very soul,
matical; but I am sure they are highly grati-  and was entwined with the thread of my existfying to the living: and as a very orthodox  ence: so soon as the prince's friends had got in
text, I forget where in scripture, says, " what-  (and every dog you know has his day), my getsoever is not of faith is sin;" so say I, what-  ting forward in the excise would have been anl
soever is not detrimental to society, and is of  easier business than  otherwise it will be.
positive enjoyment, is of God, the giver of all  Though this was a consummation devoutly to
good things, and ought to be received and en-  be wished, yet, thank Heaven, I can live and
joyed by his creatures with thankful delight.  rhyme as I am; and as to my boys, poor little
As almost all my religious tenets originate from   fellows! if I cannot place them on as high an
my heart, I am wonderfully pleased with the  elevation in life, as I could wish, I shall, if I am
idea, that I can still keep up a tender intercourse  favoured so much of the Disposer of events as to
with the dearly beloved friend, or still more  see that period, fix them on as broad and indedearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the world  pendent a basis as possible.  Among the many
of spirits.                                    wise adages which have been treasured up by
The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I  our Scottish ancestors, this is one of the best,
was busy with Percy's Reliques of English Poetry.  Better be the head o' the commonalty, than the tail
By the way, how much is every honest heart,  o' the gentry.
which has a tincture of Caledonian prejudice,    But I am got on a subject, which however inobliged to you for your glorious story of Bu-  teresting to me, is of no manner of consequence
chanan and Targe!'Twas an unequivocal proof  to you; so I shall give you a short poem on the
of your loyal gallantry of soul, giving Targe the  other page, and close this with assuring you
victory.  I should have been mortified to the  how sincerely I have the honour to be,
ground if you had not.                                                      Yours, &c.
I have just read over, once more of many                                            R. B.
times, your Zeluco. 1 marked with my pencil,
times, your Zeluco.  1 marked with my pencil,    Written on the blank leaf of a book, which I
as I went along, every passage that pleased me                 ver young lady, whom  I had
particularly above the rest; and one or two, I   r      charterd unde t  domia
which whuformerly characterized under the denomination
think, which with humble deference, I am dis-  o The Rose Bud. *  
posed to think unequal to the merits of the book.
I have sometimes thought to transcribe these 
marked passages, or at least so much of them
as to point where they are, and send them to                        CCX.
you. Original strokes that strongly depict the
human heart, is your and Fielding's province
beyond any other novelist I have ever perused.   [Cunningham could tell a merry story, and si:g a huRichardson indeed might perhaps be excepted;  morous song; nor was he without a feeling for the deep
but unhappily, dramatis personce are beings of  sensibilities of his friend's verse.]
another world; and however they may captivate                   Ellisland, 12th March, 1791.
the unexperienced, romantic fancy of a boy or    IF the foregoing piece be worth your strica girl, they will ever, in proportion as we have  tures, let me have them.  For my own part, a
made human nature our study, dissatisfy our  thing that I have just composed always appears
riper years.                                   through a double portion of that partial medium
As to my private concerns, I am going on, a  in which an author will ever view his own works.
mighty tax-gatherer before the Lord, and have  I believe in general, novelty has something in it
lately had the interest to get myself ranked  that inebriates the fancy, and not unfrequently
on the list of excise as a supervisor. I am not  dissipates and fumes away like other intoxicayet employed as such, but in a few years I shall  tion, and leaves the poor patient, as usual, wi th
w~ ~ ~ ~~~ —-                                                 _____________ _  _________. —— a~"




i31                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
an aching heart.  A striking instance of this  and begged that the poet would let him know what his
might be adduced, in the revolution of many a  views in the world were, that he might further them.]
hymeneal honeymoon.  But lest I sink into                        Ellisland, 19th March, 1791.
stupid prose, and so sacrilegiously intrude on      MY DEAR SIn,
the office of my parish-priest, I shall fill up the    I HAVE taken the liberty to frank this letter
page in my own way, and give you another song  to you, as it encloses an idle poem  of mine,
of my late composition, which will appear per-  which I send you; and God knows you may
haps in Johnson's work, as well as the former.   perhaps pay dear enough for it if you read it
You must know  a beautiful Jacobite air,  through. Not that this is my own opinion; but
There'll never be peace'till Jamie comes hame.  the author, by the time he has composed and
When political combustion ceases to be the ob-  corrected his work, has quite pored away all
ject of princes and patriots, it then you know   his powers of critical discrimination.
becomes the lawful prey of historians and poets.    I can easily guess from my own heart, what
you have felt on a late most melancholy event.
By yon castle wa' at the close of the day,      God knows what I have suffered, at the loss of
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey;  my best friend, my first and dearest patron and
And as he was singing, the tears fast down  benefactor; the man to whom I owe all that I
came-                                    am and have! I am gone into mourning for
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.  him, and with more sincerity of grief than I
fear some will, who by nature's ties ought to
If you like the air, and if the stanzas hit your  fe  on the occasion
fancy, you cannot imagine, my dear friend, how        l e   ceing  obi    o  o 
much you would oblige me, if by the charms ofe,,
".~~ &'     to let me know the news of the noble family,
your delightful voice, you would give my honest                            the           
effsio to   the memory ofjoyhow the poor mother and the two sisters supeffusion to "the memory of joys that are past,"  p the          I had a packet of poetic bagaport their loss. I had a packet of poetic bagato the few friends whom you indulge in that  ^
telles ready to send to Lady Betty, when I saw
pleasure. But I have scribbled on'till I hear
pleas. Bu itihavdte scrbbldpor'illI harthe fatal tidings in the newspaper. I see by the
the clock has intimated the near approach of
same channel that the honoured REMAINS of my
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane.    noble patron, are designed to be brought to the
family burial-place.  Dare I trouble you to let
So good night to you! Sound be your sleep, and  me know privately before the day of interment,
delectable your dreams! Apropos, how do you  that I may cross the country, and steal among
like this thought in a ballad, I have just now  the crowd, to pay a tear to the last sight of my
on the tapis?                                 ever revered benefactor? It will oblige me
beyond expression.                    R. B.
I look to the west when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may
be;
Far, far in the west is he I lo'e best,                            CCXII.
The lad that is dear to my babie and me!                TO MRS. GRAHAM,
Good night, once more, and God bless you!                       OF FINTRAY.
R. B.
[Mrs. Graham, of Fintray, felt both as a lady and a
Scottish one, the tender Lament of the fair and unfortunate princess, which this letter contained.]
Ellisland, 1791.
CCXI.                           MADAM,
WHETHER it is that the story of our Mary
TO  MR. ALEXANDER  DALZEL,    Queen of Scots has a peculiar effect on the
FACTOR, FINDLAYSTON.                 feelings of a poet, or whether I have, in the enclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic
[Cromek says that Alexander Dalzel introduced the
poetryofBurnstothenoticeoftheEarlofGlencairn, who  success, I know not; but it has pleased me be-"-ried the Kilmarnock edition with him to Edinburgh,  yond any effort of my muse for a good while




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          43 
past; on that account I enclose it particularly  to his mother, a woman eighty years old, and poor and
to you.  It is true, the purity of my motives  helpless, and Burns was asked for a poem to give a new,2~~.                 ~~~~impulse to the publication.l
may be suspected.  I am  already deeply indebted to Mr. Graham's goodness; and what, in                               Ellisland, 1791,
REVEREND SIR,
the usual ways of men, is of infinitely greater im- RE       D SR,
portance, Mr. G. can do me service of the ut-    WH  did  you, my dear Sir, write to me in
most importance in time to come. I was born a  suh  hesitating style on the business of poor
poor dog; and however I may occasionally pick  Bruce? Don't I know, and have I not felt, the
a better bone than I used to do, I know I must  many ills, the peculiar ills that poetic flesh is
live and die poor: but I will indulge the flatter-  heir to? You shall have your choice of all the
ing faith that my poetry will considerably out-  unpublished poems I have; and had your letter
live my poverty; and without any fustian affec-had my direction, so as to have reached me
tation of spirit, I can promise and affirm, that it  sooner (it only came to my hand this moment),
must be no ordinary craving of the latter shall  I should have directly put you out of suspense
ever make me do anything injurious to the honest  on the subject. I only ask, that some prefatory
fame of the former.  Whatever may be my  advertisement in the book, as well as the subfailings, for failings are a part of human nature,  scription bills, may bear, that the publication
may they ever be those of a generous heart, and  iolely for the benefit of Bruce's mother.  I
an independent mind! It is no fault of mine  would not put it in the power of ignorance to
that I was born to dependence; nor is it Mr.  surmise, or malice to insinuate, that I clubbed
Graham's chiefest praise that he can command  a share in the work from mercenary motives.
influence; but it is his merit to bestow, not only  Nor need you give me credit for any remarkwith the kindness of a brother, but with the  able generosity in my part of the business. I
politeness of a gentleman; and I trust it shall  have such a host ofpeccadilloes, failings, follies,
be mine, to receive with thankfulness, and re-  and backslidings (anybody but myself might
member with undiminished gratitude.            perhaps give some of them a worse appellation),
R. B.    that by way of some balance, however trifling,
in the account, I am fain to do any good that
occurs in my very limited power to a fellowCCXIII.                      creature, just for the selfish purpose of clearing
a little the vista of retrospection.
TO MRS. GRAHAM,                                                            R. B.
OF FINTRAY.
[The following letter was written on the blank leaf of            C
a new edition of his poems, presented by the poet, to one
whom he regarded, and justly, as a patroness.]             TO MRS. D U N L  P.
IT is probable, Madam, that this page may    [Francis Wallace Burns, the godson of Mrs. Dunlop,
be read, when the hand that now writes it shall to whom this letter refers, died at the age of fourteenbe mouldering in the dust: may it then bear  he was a fine and a promising youth.]
witness, that I present you these volumes as                     Ellisland, 11th April, 1791.
a tribute of gratitude, on my part ardent and    I AM once more able, my honoured friend, to
sincere, as your and Mr. Graham's goodness  return you, with my own hand, thanks for the
to me has been generous and noble! May every  many instances of your friendship, and particuchild of yours, in the hour of need, find such a  larly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster,
friend as I shall teach every child of mine, that  that my evil genius had in store for me. Howtheir father found in you.                     ever, life is chequered-joy and sorrow-for on
R. B.    Saturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made me a
present of a fine boy; rather stouter, but not
CCXIV.                      so handsome as your godson was at his time of
life. Indeed I look on your little namesake to
TO THE  REV. G. BAIRD.                  be my chef d'cuvre in that species of manufac[It was proposed to publish a new edition of the poems  ture, as I look on Tam  o' Shanter to be mj
of Michael Bruce, by subscription, and give the profits  standard performance in the poetical line.'Tis




136                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
true, both the one and the other discover a spice  of his favourite pieces freely to his friends, as soon as
of roguish waggery, that might perhaps be as  they were written: who, in their turn, spread their fame
among their acquaintances.]
well spared; but then they also show, in my
opinion, a force of genius and a finishing polish                           Ellisland, 1791.
that I despair of ever excelling. Mrs. Burns is     DEAR SIR,
getting stout again, and laid as lustily about her    I AM exceedingly to blame in not writing you
to-day at breakfast, as a reaper from the corn-, long ago; but the truth is, that I am the most
ridge. That is the peculiar privilege and bless-  indolent of all human beings; and when I maing of our hale, sprightly damsels, that are bred  triculate in the herald's office, I intend that
among the hay and heather. We cannot hope for  my supporters shall be two sloths, my crest a
that highly polished mind, that charming deli-  slow-worm, and the motto, " Deil tak the forecacy of soul, which is found among the female  most."  So much by way of apology for not
world in the more elevated stations of life, and  thanking you sooner for your kind execution of
which is certainly by far the most bewitching  my commission.
charm in the famous cestus of Venus. It is in-    I would have sent you the poem; but somedeed such an inestimable treasure, that where  how or other it found its way into the public
it can be had in its native heavenly purity, un-  papers, where you must have seen it.
stained by some one or other of the many shades            I am ever, dear Sir,
of affectation, and unalloyed by some one or                       Yours sincerely,
other of the many species of caprice, I declare                                       R. B.
to Heaven, I should think it cheaply purchased
at the expense of every other earthly good!
But as this angelic creature is, I am afraid,                     CCXVII.
extremely rare in any station and rank of life,                T 
and totally denied to such a humble one as mine,
we meaner mortals must put up with the next   [This singular letter was sent by Burns, it is believed,
rank of female excellence-as fine a figure and  to a critic, who had taken him to task about obscure language, and imperfect grammar.]
face we can produce as any rank of life what- 
ever; rustic, native grace; unaffected modesty,                             Ellisland, 1791.
and unsullied purity; nature's mother-wit, and    THOU eunuch of language: thou Englishman,
the rudiments of taste; a simplicity of soul, un-who never was south the Tweed: thou servile
suspicious of, because unacquainted with, the  echo of fashionable barbarisms: thou quack,
crooked ways of a selfish, interested, disingenu-  vending the nostrums of empirical elocution:
ous world; and the dearest charm of all the rest,  thou marriage-maker between vowels and cona yielding sweetness of disposition, and a gener-  sonants, on the Gretna-green of caprice: thou
ous warmth of heart, grateful for love on our  cobler, botching the flimsy socks of bombast
part, and ardently glowing with a more than  oratory: thou blacksmith,hammeringtherivets
equal return; these, with a healthy frame, a  of absurdity: thou butcher, imbruing thy hands
sound, vigorous constitution, which your higher        the bowels of orthography: thou  archranks can scarcely ever hope to enjoy, are the  heretic in pronunciation: thou pitch-pipe of
charms of lovely woman in my humble walk of  affected emphasis: thou carpenter, mortising the
life.                                           awkward joints of jarring sentences: thou
This is the greatest effort my broken arm has  squeaking dissonance of cadence: thou pimp of
yet made. Do let me hear, by first post, how   gender: thou Lion Herald to silly etymology:
cherpetit Monsieur comes on with his small-pox.  thou antipode of grammar: thou executioner of
May almighty goodness preserve and restore  construction: thou brood of the speech-distracthim!                                 R. B.    ing builders of the Tower of Babel; thou lingual
confusion worse confounded: thou scape-gallows
from the land of syntax: thou scavenger of
CCXVI.                      mood and tense: thou murderous accoucheur
of infant learning; thou ignisfatuus, misleading
^TO -^  ~'~           ~the steps of benighted ignorance: thou pickle[That his works found their way to the newspapers,  herring in the puppet-show of nonsense: thou
need have occasioned no surprise: the poet gave copies  faithful recorder of barbarous idiom: thou
j  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_______________________________




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           437
persecutor of syllabication: thou baleful meteor,  friends with disrespect and reproach, under the
foretelling and facilitating the rapid approach  thin disguise of cold civility and humiliating
of Nox and Erebus.                    R. B.    advice.  0! to be a sturdy savage, stalking in
the pride of his independence, amid the solitary
wilds of his deserts; rather than in civilized
life, helplessly to tremble for a subsistence,
CCXVIII.                     precarious as the caprice of a fellow-creature!
TO  MR. CUNNINGHAM.                    Every man has his virtues, and no man is without his failings; and curse -n that privileged
[To Clarke, the Schoolmaster, Burns, it is said, ad- plain-dealing of friendship, which, in the hour
dressed several letters, which on his death were put into of my calamity, cannot reach forth the helping..'     l..                of my calamity, cannot reach forth the helping
the fire by his widow, because of their license of language.]                                         hand without at the same time pointing out
those failings, and  apportioning  them their
11th June, 1791...
11th Ju, 1 share in procuring my present distress.  My
LET me interest you, my dear Cunningham,
LET me interest you, my dear Cunningham, friends, for such the world calls ye, and such ye
in behalf of the gentleman who waits on you  think yourselves to be, pass by my virtues if
with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of Moffat, prinwith this.  He is a Mr. Clarke, of Moffat, prin-  you please, but do, also, spare my follies: the
cipal schoolmaster there, and is at present suf-      w    wn     n                
-.,~.            nfirst will witness in my breast for themselves,
fering severely under the persecution of one or               i   i    i                  in
~   ",~..  ^~. ~     and the last will give pain enough to the ingetwo powerful individuals of his employers. He
nuous mind without you.  And since deviating
is accused of harshness to boys that were
p     more or less from  the paths of propriety and
placed under his care.  God help the teacher,.
rectitude, must be incident to human nature, do
if a man of sensibility and genius, and such is
my friend Cl,  thou, Fortune, put it in my power, always from
my friend Clarke, when a booby father presents
",~~~~ "     ^         myself, and of myself, to bear the consequence
him with his booby son, and insists on lighting  o    se            do no   an  to be indeof those errors! I do not want to be indeup the rays of science, in a fellow's head whose  pendent that I may sin but I want to be indeskull is impervious and inaccessible by any  pendent in my sinning.
other way than a positive fracture with a cud-    To return in this rambling letter to the subgel: a fellow whom in fact it savours of impiety ect I set out with, let me recommend my friend,
to attempt making a scholar of, as he has been  Mr. Clarke, to your acquaintance and good ofmarked a blockhead in the book of fate, at the  fices; his worth entitles him to the one, and his
almighty fiat of his Creator.                   gratitude will merit the other. I long much to
The patrons of Moffat-school are, the minis-  hear from you.
ters, magistrates, and town-council of Edin-                         Adieu!
burgh, and as the business comes now before                                           R. B.
them, let me beg my dearest friend to do everything in his power to serve the interests of a
man of genius and worth, and a man whom I
particularly respect and esteem. You know                           CCXIX.
some good fellows among the magistracy and
council, iLt particularly you have much to say     TO  THE EARL OF BUCHA N.
with a reverend gentleman to whom you have the    [Lord Buchan printed this letter in his Essay on the
honour of being very nearly related, and whom   Life of Thomson, in 1792. His lordship invited Burns to
this country and age have had the honour to pro-  leave his corn unreaped,walk from Ellisland to Dryburgh,
duce. I need not name the historian of Charles  and help him to crown Thomson's bust with bays, on Edduce. I need not name the historian of Charles
nam Hill, on the 22d of September.]
V.  I tell him  through the medium  of his
nephew's influence, that Mr. Clarke is a gentle-                Ellisland, August 29th, 1791.
man who will not disgrace even his patronage.       MY LORD,
I know the merits of the cause thoroughly, and    LANGUAGE sinks under the ardour of my feelsay it, that my friend is falling a sacrifice to  ings when I would thank your lordship for the
prejudiced ignorance.                           honour you have done me in inviting me to make
God help the children of dependence! Hated  one at the coronation of the bust of Thomson.
and persecuted by their enemies, and too often,  In my first enthusiasm in reading the card you
alas! almost unexceptionably, received by their  did me the honour to write me, I overlooked




41.38                  GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
every obstacle, and determined to go; but I fear  and that other favourite one from  Thomson's
it will not be in my power. A week or two's  Alfredabsence, in the very middle of my harvest, is         " What proves the hero truly GREAT,
what I much doubt I dare not venture on. I              Is never, never to despair."
once already made a pilgrimage up the whole    Or shall I quote you an author of your accourse of the Tweed, and fondly would I take  quaintance?
the same delightful journey down the windings    v-Whether DOING, SUFFERING, C! FORBEARING,
of that delightful stream.                         You may do miracles by-PERSEVERING."
Your lordship hints at an ode for the occasion:    I have nothing new to tell you.  The few
but who would write after Collins? I read  friends we have are going on in the old way.
over his verses to the memory of Thomson, and  I sold my crop on this day se'ennight, and sold
despaired.-I got indeed to the length of three  it very well.  A guinea an acre, on an average,
or four stanzas, in the way of address to the  above value.  But such a scene of drunkenness
shade of the bard, on crowning his bust.  I  was hardly ever seen in this country.  After
shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined  the roup was over, about thirty people engaged
copy of them, which, I am afraid, will be but too  in a battle, every man for his own hand, and
convincing a proof how unequal I am to the  fought it out for three hours.  Nor was the
task.  However, it affords me an opportunity  scene much better in the house.  No fighting,
of approaching your lordship, and declaring how  indeed, but folks lying drunk on the floor, and
sincerely and gratefully I have the honour to  decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by
be, &c.,                              R. B.    attending them, that they could not stand. You
will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene; as I
was no farther over than you used to see me.
Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire
CCXX.                       these many weeks.
TO MR. THOMAS SLOAN.            Farewell; and God bless you, my dear friend!
TO MR. THOMAS SLOA0AN.
R. B.
[Thomas Sloan was a west of Scotland man, and seems,
though not much in correspondence, to have been on intimate terms with Burns.]
Ellisland, Sept. 1, 1791.                     CC
MY DEAR SLOAN,
SUSPENSE is worse than disappointment, for         TO  LADY  E. CUNNINGHAM.
that reason I hurry to tell you that I just now
learn that Mr. Ballantyne does not choose to   [The poem enclosed was the Lament for James, Earl
of Glencairn: it is probable that the Earl's sister liked
interfere more in the business.  I am  truly  the verses, for.hey were printed soon afterwards.]
sorry for it, but cannot help it.
You blame me for not writing you sooner,            MY LADY,
but you will please to recollect that you omitted  I WOULD, as usual, have availed myself of the
one little necessary piece of information;-your  privilege your goodness has allowed me, of sendaddress.                                       ing you anything I compose in my poeical way;
However, you know equally well, my hurried  but as I had resolved, so soon as the shock of
life, indolent temper, and strength of attach-  my irreparable loss would allow me, to pay a
ment.  It must be a longer period than the  tribute to my late benefactor, I determined to
longest life " in the world's hale and undegene-  make that the first piece I should do myself the
rate days," that will make me forget so dear a  honour of sending you.  Had the wing of my
friend as Mr. Sloan. I am prodigal enough at  fancy been equal to the ardour f -my heart, the
times, but I will not part with such a treasure  enclosed had been much more worthy your peruas that.                                        sal: as it is, I beg leave to lay it at your ladyI can easily enter into the embarras of your  ship's feet. As all the world knows my obligapresent situation.  You know my favourite quo-  tions to the late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish
tation from Young-                              to show as openly that my heart glows, and will
_-" On reason build RESOLVE!   ever glow, with the most grateful sense and reTha column of true majesty in man;"     membrance of his lordship's goodness.  The




OF ROBERT BURtNS.                                        439
sables I did myself the honour to wear to his  honour I cannot pretend to-I am  on the list,
lordship's memory, were not the "mockery of  as we call it, for a supervisor, and will be called
woe."  Nor shall my gratitude perish with me! out by and bye to act as one; but at pre-if among my children I shall have a son that  sent, I am a simple gauger, tho' t'other lay I
has a heart, he shall hand it down to his child  got an appointment to an excise division of 25L
as a family honour, and a family debt, that per annum  better than the rest. My present
my dearest existence I owe to the noble house  income, down money, is 701. per annum.
of Glencairn!                                   I have one or two good fellows here whom
I was about to say, my lady, that if you think  you would be glad to know.
the poem may venture to see the light, I would,                                    R. B.
in some way or other, give it to the world.
R. B.
CCXXIII.
TO  COL. FULLARTON.
CCXXII.
OF FULLARTON.
T O MR. A I N S L IE.                [This letter was first published in the Edinburgh
[It has been said that the poet loved to aggravate his fol-.]
lies to his friends: but that this tone of aggravation was                Ellisland, 1791.
often ironical, this letter, as well as others, might be  SIR,
cited.]                                         I HAVE just this minute got the frank, and
Ellislana, 1791.    next minute must send it to post, else I purposed
MY DEAR AINSLIE,                         to have sent you two or three other bagatelles,
CAN you minister to a mind diseased? can  that might have amused a vacant hour about
you, amid the horrors of penitence, remorse,  as well as " Six excellent new songs," or, the
head-ache, nausea, and all the rest of the d    d  Aberdeen' Prognosticationfor the year to come.'
hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch, who  I shall probably trouble you soon with another
has been guilty of the sin of drunkenness-can  packet. About the gloomy month of November,
you speak peace to a troubled soul?          when' the people of England hang and drown
Miserable perdu that I am, I have tried every-  themselves,' anything generally is better than
thing that used to amuse me, but in vain: here  one's own thought.
must I sit, a monument of the vengeance laid    Fond as I may be of my own productions, it
up in store for the wicked, slowly counting every  is not for their sake that I am so anxious to
chick of the clock as it slowly, slowly, numbers  send you them.  I am ambitious, covetously
over these lazy scoundrels of hours, who, d-n  ambitious of being known to a gentleman whom
them, are ranked up before me, every one at  I am proud to call my countryman; a gentlehis neighbour's backside, and every one with a  man who was a foreign ambassador as soon as
burthen of anguish on his back, to pour on my  he was a man, and a leader of armies as soon
devoted head-and there is none to pity me.  as he was a soldier, and that with an eclat unMy wife scolds me! my business torments me,  known to the usual minions of a court, men
and my sins come staring me in the face, every  who, with all the adventitious advantages of
one tell]g a,more bitter tale than his fellow.-  princely connexions and princely fortune, must
When I'tell you even * * * has lost its power  yet, like the caterpillar, labour a whole lifetime
to please, you will guess something of my hell  before they reach the wished height, there to
withiii, and all around me-I begun Elibanks  roost a stupid chrysalis, and doze out the reand Elibraes, but the stanzas fell unenjoyed, and  maning glimmering existence of old age.
unfinished from  my listless tongue: at last I    If the gentleman who accompanied you when
luckily thought of reading over an old letter of  you did me the honour of calling on me, is with
yours, that lay by me in my book-case, and I  you, I beg to be respectfully remembered to
felt something for the first time since I opened  him.
my eyes, of pleasurable existence.   Well-    I have the honour to be,
I begin to breathe a little, since I began to write                   Sir,
to you. How aie you, and what are you doing?       Your highly obliged, and most devoted
How goes Law? Apropos, for connexion's sake,                  Humble servant,
do not address to me supervisor, for that is an                                    R. B
L _____,   J_____________________________________ ~                                  ___.




440                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ing one comfort to the friend I love!-Out upon
the world, say I, that its affairs are adminis-'TO MISS DAVIES.                    tered so ill! They talk of reform;-good Heaven! what a reform would I make among the
[This accomplished lady was the youngest daughter  sons and even the daughters of men!-Down,
of Dr. Davies, of Tenby, in Pembrokeshire: she was re- immediately, should go fools from the high
lated to the Riddels of Friar's Carse, and one of her sisters married Captain Adam Gordon, of the noble family  places, where misbegotten chance has perked
of Kenmure. She had both taste and skill in verse.] them up, and through life should they skulk,
ever haunted by their native insignificance, as
IT is impossible, Madam, that the generous  the body marches accompanied by its shadow.
warmth and angelic purity of your youthful    As for a much more  formidable class, the
mind, can have any idea of that moral disease  knaves, I am at a loss what to do with them:
under which I unhappily must rank as the chief had I a world, there should not be a knave
of sinners; I mean a torpitude of the moral  in it
powers, that may be called, a lethargy of con-    But the hand that could give, I would libescience. In vain Remorse rears her horrentrally:  and I would pour delight on the
crest, and rouses all her snakes; beneath the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously
deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence,  love.
their wildest ire is charmed into the torpor of    Still the inequalities of life are, among men,
the bat, slumbering out the rigours of winter,  comparatively tolerable-but there is a delicacy,
in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing less,  a tenderness, accompanying every view in which
Madam, could have made me so long neglect
Madam, could have made me so long neglect we can place lovely Woman, that are grated
your obliging commands.  Indeed I had one                                  capricious disti
and shocked at the rude, capricious distincapology-the bagatelle was not worth present-  tions offortune.    oman is the blood-royal of
ing.  Besides, so strongly am I interested in  ife   et tere  e sit degrees  of precedency
life: let there be slight degrees of precedency
Miss Davies's fate and welfare in the serious           thembut let them be AL sacred.
among them-but let them be ALL sacred.business of life, amid its chances and changes,  Whether this last sentiment be right or wrong,
that to make her the subject of a silly ballad  I am not accountable; it is an original compois downright mockery of these ardent feel-  nent feature of my mind.                  R. B.
ings;'tis like an impertinent jest to a dying
friend.
Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between
our wishes and our powers? Why is the most
generous wish to make others blest, impotent                      CCXXV.
and ineffectual-as the idle breeze that crosses
the pathless desert!  In my walks of life I               TO  MRS. DUNLOP.
have met with a few people to whom how gladly   [Burns, says Cromek, acknowledged that a refined and
would I have said —"Go, be happy! I know   accomplished woman was a being all but new to him
that your hearts have been wounded by the  till he went to Edinburgh, and received lettersfromMrs.
scorn of the proud, whom accident has placed  Dunlop.]
above you-or worse still, in whose hands are,                Ellisland, 17th December, 1791.
perhaps, placed many of the comforts of your    MANY thanks to you, Madam, for your good
life. But there! ascend that rock, Indepen-  news respecting the little floweret and the modence, and look justly down on their little-  ther-plant.  I hope my poetic prayers have
ness of soul.  Make the worthless tremble  been heard, and will be answered up to the
under your indignation, and the foolish sink  warmest sincerity of their fullest extent; and
before your contempt; and largely impart that  then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the
happiness to others, which, I am certain, will  representative of his late parent, in everything
give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow."    but his abridged existence.
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this    I have just finished the following song, which
delightful revery, and find it all a dream?  to a lady the descendant of Wallace-and many
Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I  heroes of his true illustrious line-and herself
find myself poor and powerless, incapable of  the mother of several soldiers, needs neither
wiping one tear from the eye of pity, or of add-  preface nor apology.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          441. Scene —a field of battle-time of the day, evening;  is in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, gethe wounded and dying of the victorious army are  nerosity, kindness,-in all the charities and
supposed to join in the following            all the virtues, between one class of human
SONG OF DEATH.                  beings and another! For instance, the amiable
circle I so lately mixed with in the hospitable
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and
ye skies                                 hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts-their
Now gay with the bright setting sun;         uncontaminated dignified minds-their informed
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender  and polished understandings-what a contrast,
ties-                                    when compared-if such comparing were not
Our race of existence is run!                downright sacrilege-with the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the destruction
The circumstance that gave rise to the fore-  of an honest man that never offended him, and
going verses was, looking over with a musical  with a grin of satisfaction see the unfortunate
friend M'Donald's collection of Highland airs,  being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents,
I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune,  turned over to beggary and ruin!
entitled "Oran and Aoig, or, The Song of    Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe.  I
Death," to the measure of which I have adapted  had two worthy fellows dining with me the
my stanzas. I have of late composed two or  other day, when I, with great formality, prothree other little pieces, which, ere yon full-  duced my whigmeeleerie cup, and told them
orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now  that it had been a family-piece among the destares at old mother earth all night, shall have  scendants of William  Wallace.  This roused
shrunk into a modest crescent, just peeping  such an enthusiasm, that they insisted on bumforth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to tran-  pering the punch round in it; and by and by,
scribe for you. A Dieuje vous commende.        never did your great ancestor lay a Suthron
R. B.    more completely to rest, than for a time did
your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the
season of wishing. My God bless you, my dear
friend, and bless me, the humblest and sincerest
of your friends, by granting you yet many returns of the season! May all good things atTO M RS. D U N L  P.                 tend you and yours wherever they are scattered
over the earth!
[That the poet spoke mildly concerning the rebuke  over the earth
R. B.
which he received from the Excise, on what he calls his
political delinquencies, his letter to Erskine of Mar sufficiently proves.]
5th January, 1792.
You see my hurried life, Madam: I can only                      CCXXVII.
command starts of time; however, I am glad of        O MR
one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the
political blast that threatened my welfare is                    PRINTER.
overblown. I have corresponded with Commis[When Burns sends his warmest wishes to Smellie, anc.
sioner Graham, for the board had made me the  prays that fortune may never place his subsistence at the
subject of their animadversions; and now I  mercy of a knave, or set his character on the judgment
have the pleasure of informing you, that all is  of a fool, he had his political enemies probably in his
set to rights in that quarter.  Now as to these   ind.]
informers, may the devil be let loose to                       Dumfries, 22d January, 1792.
but, hold! I was praying most fervently in my    I SIT down, my dear Sir, to introduce a young
last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a swear-  lady to you, and a lady in the first ranks of
ing in this.                                   fashion too. What a task! to you-who care no
Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly of-  more for the herd of animals called young laficious think what mischief they do by their ma-  dies, than you do for the herd of animals called
licious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or  young gentlemen.  To you-who despise and
thoughtless blabbings. What a difference there  detest the groupings and combinations of fashion,




442                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
as an idiot painter that seems industrious to  of prudence, full-moon of discretion, and chief
place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in  of many counsellors! How infinitely is thy
the foreground of his picture, while men of  puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed,
sense and honesty are too often thrown in the  round-headed slave indebted to thy super-emidimmest shades.  Mrs. Riddel, who will take  nent goodness, that from the luminous path of
this letter to town with her, and send it to you,  thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest beis a character that, even in your own way, as  nignly down on an erring wretch, of whom the
a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an  zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of calacquisition to your acquaintance.  The lady,  culation, from  the simple copulation of units,
too, is a votary to the muses; and as I think  up to the hidden mysteries of fluxions! May
myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade,  one feeble ray of that light of wisdom which
I assure you that her verses, always correct,  darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow
and often elegant, are much beyond the corn-  of heaven, and bright as the meteor of inspiramon run of the lady-poetesses of the day.  She  tion, may it be my portion, so that I may be
is a great admirer of your book; and, hearing  less unworthy of the face and favour of that
me say that I was acquainted with you, she  father of proverbs and master of maxims, that
begged to be known to you, as she is just going  antipode of folly, and magnet among the sages,
to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital.  the wise and witty Willie Nicol! Amen! Amen!
I told her that her best way was, to desire her  Yea, so be it!
near relation, and your intimate friend, Craig-    For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know
darroch, to have you at his house while she  nothing! From the cave of my ignorance, amid
was there; and lest you might think of a lively  the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes
West Indian girl, of eighteen, as girls of eigh-  of my political heresies, I look up to thee, as
teen too often deserve to be thought of, I should  doth a toad through the iron-barred lucerne of
take care to remove that prejudice.  To be im-  a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory of
partial, however, in appreciating the lady's  a summer sun! Sorely sighing in bitterness of
merits, she has one unlucky failing: a failing  soul, I say, when shall my name be the quotawhich you will easily discover, as she seems  tion of the wise, and my countenance be the
rather pleased with indulging in it; and a fail-  delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of
ing that you will easily pardon, as it is a sin  Laggan's many hills? As for him, his works
which very much besets yourself;-where she  are perfect: never did the pen of calumny blur
dislikes, or despises, she is apt to make no more  the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of
a secret of it, than where she esteems and  hatred fly at his dwelling.
respects.                                         Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine
I will not present you with the unmeaning  lamp of my glimmerous understanding, purged
compliments of the season, but I will send you my  from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine
warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that  like the constellation of thy intellectual powers!
FORTUNE may never throw your SUBSISTENCE to  -As for thee, thy thoughts are pure, and thy
the mercy of a KNAVE) or set your CHARACTER  lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed breath
on the judgment of a FOOL; but that, upright  of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of
and erect, you may walk to an honest grave,  darkness, pollute the sacred flame of thy skywhere men of letters shall say, here lies a man  descended and heaven-bound desires: never did
who did honour to science, and men of worth  the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded
shall say, here lies a man who did honour to  serene of thy cerulean imagination. 0 that like
human nature.                         R. B.    thine were the tenor of my life, like thine the
tenor of my conversation! then should no friend
fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my
CCXXVIII.                     weakness! Then should I lie down and rise up,
TO  MR. W. NICO.            and none to make me afraid.-May thy pity
and thy prayer.be exercised for, O thou lamp
[This ironical letter was in answer to one from Nicol,  o wdm and mrrr o    raty    thy devote
*..im   consl ad rprof.,of wisdom and mirror of morality! thy devoted.intaining counsel and reproof.]
slave.                                R. B.
20th February, 1792.
0 THOU, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         -443
CCXXIX.                                                   Dumfries, 1792.
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ., F.S.A.                AMONG the many witch stories I have heard,
relating to Alloway kirk, I distinctly remember
rCaptain Grose was introduced to Burns, by h:s brother  only two or three.
antiquary, of Friar's Carse: he was collecting materials    Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls
or his work on the Antiquities of Scotland.]
of wind, and bitter blasts of hail; in short, on
S  Dumfries, 1792.    such a night as the devil would choose to take
I, BEIV  amn      ou         Litet         the air in; a farmer or farmer's servant was plodI BELIEVE among all our Scots Literati you
all      Scots  yo ding and plashing homeward with his ploughhave not met with Professor Dugald Stewart,, irons on his shoulder, having been getting some
who fills the moral philosophy chair in the Uni- 
repairs on them at a neighbouring smithy. His
versity of Edinburgh.  To say that he is a man  ra           the  a       a  neigboring
of the first parts, and what is more, a man of,
fthe first w art, t d gntlmaof, yu gne r   ther on the anxious look-out in approaching a
the first worth, to a gentleman of your general
place so well known to be a favourite haunt of
acquaintance, and who so much enjoys the
luxy on uancenc   f    and ui    the devil and the devil's friends and emissaries,
luxury of unencumbered freedom  and undishe was struck aghast by discovering through
turbed privacy, is not perhaps recommendation                           
enough:, +- but whenIinformyoutat the horrors of the storm  and stormy night, a
enough: — but when I inform  you that Mr.. 
enou..gh:.-.. when IinfrmyuthaMr light, which on his nearer approach plainly
Stewart's principal characteristic is your fa-                
showed itself to  proceed from  the haunted
vourite feature; that sterling independence of..' ^. -_ ^. ^edifice.  Whether he had been fortified from
mind, which, though every man's right, so few.   above, on his devout supplication, as is customen have the courage to claim, and fewer still,
h  m m     t r: e  I  ite  mary with people when they suspect the immethe magnanimity to support: —when I tell you
the magn mity to  3  e I tl         diate presence of Satan; or whether, according
that, unseduced by splendour, and undisgusted   date  res e o  an  or  h,,^~.L i i'. J.T.to another custom, he had got courageously
by wretchedness, he appreciates the merits of
th  variouactes   the  greatte d s of l drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to deterthe various actors in the great drama of life, 
merely as they perform their parts-in short,  mine; but so it was that he ventured to go up,  to, nay into, the very kirk. As luck would have
he is a man after your own heart, and I comply,,,                              
with his earnest request in letting you know  it, his temerity came off unpunished.
The members of the infernal junto were all
that he wishes above all things to meet with      T    m         o                         
out on some midnight business or other, and he
you.  His house, Catrine, is within less than a  out on some midnight business or other, and he
mile of Sorn Castle, which you proposed visitmile of Sorn Castle, which you proposed visit-  saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, deing; or if you could transmit him the enclosed,  pending from the roof, over the fre, simmering
he would with the greatest pleasure meet you  some heads of unchristened children, limbs of
anywhere in the neighbourhood.  I write to  executed malefactors, &c., for the business of
Ayrshire to inform  Mr. Stewart that I have  the night-It was in for a penny in for a pound,
acquitted myself of my promise.  Should your  with the honest ploughman: so without ceretime and spirits permit your meeting with Mr.  mony he unhooked the caldron from off the fire,
Stewart,'tis well; if not, I hope you will for-  and pouring out the damnable ingredients, ingive this liberty, and I have at least an oppor-  verted it on his head, and carried it fairly home,
give this liberty, and I have at least an opportunity of assuring you with what truth and  where it remained long in the family, a living
respect,                                      evidence of the truth of the story.
I am, Sir,                                 Another story, which I can prove to be equally
Your great admirer,                  authentic, was as follows:
And very humble servant,           On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer
R. B.    from Carrick, and consequently whose way lay
by the very gate of Alloway kirk-yard, in order
to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, which
CCXXX.                       is about two or three hundred yards farther on
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ., F.S.A.             than the said gate, had been detained by his
business, till by the time he reached Alloway it
[This letter, interesting to all who desire to see howa  was the wizard hour, between night and mornpoet works beauty and regularity out of a vulgar tradiing.
tion, was first printed by Sir Egerton Brydges, in the 
"Censura Literaria."]                             Though he was terrified with a blaze stream



444'                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ing from the kirk, yet it is a well-known fact  and women, who were busy pulling stems of the
that to turn back on these occasions is run-  plant Ragwort.  He observed that as each perning by far the greatest risk of mischief, he  son pulled a Ragwort, he or she got astride of it,
prudently advanced on his road.  When he had  and called out, " Up horsie!" on which the Ragreached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was sur-  wort flew off, like Pegasus, through the air with
prised and entertained, through the ribs and  its rider.  The foolish boy likewise pulled his
arches of an old gothic window, which still  Ragwort, and cried with the rest, "Up horsie!"
faces the highway, to see a dance of witches  and, strange to tell, away he flew with the commerrily footing it round their old sooty black-  pany.  The first stage at which the cavalcade
guard master, who was keeping them all alive  stopt, was a merchant's wine-cellar in Bordeaux,
with the power of his bag-pipe.  The farmer  where, without saying by your leave, they
stopping his horse to observe them a little, could  quaffed away at the best the cellar could afford,
plainly descry the faces of many old women of  until the morning, foe to the imps and works of
his acquaintance and neighbourhood.  How the  darkness, threatened to throw light on the matgentleman was dressed tradition does not say;  ter, and frightened them from their carousals.
but that the ladies were all in their smocks:    The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranand one of them happening unluckily to have a  ger to the scene and the liquor, heedlessly got
smock which was considerably too short to an-  himself drunk; and when the rest took horse,
swer all the purpose of that piece of dress, our  he fell asleep, and was found so next day by
farmer was so tickled, that he involuntarily burst  some of the people belonging to the merchant.
out, with a loud laugh, " Weel luppen, Maggy  Somebody that understood Scotch, asking him
wi' the short sark!" and recollecting himself,  what he was, he said such-a-one's herd in Alinstantly spurred his horse to the top of his  loway, and by some means or other getting home
speed.  I need not mention the universally  again, he lived long to tell the world the wonknown fact, that no diabolical power can pur-  drous tale.
sue you beyond the middle of a running stream.                           I am, &c.,
Lucky it was for the poor farmer that the river
Doon was so near, for notwithstanding the speed
of his horse, which was a good one, against he
reached the middle of the arch of the bridge,                     CCXXXI.
and consequently the middle of the stream, the
pursuing, vengeful hags, were so close at his
heels, that one of them actually sprung to seize                EDINBURGH.
him; but it was too late, nothing was on her
him; but it was too lae, n g ws on      [This introduction of Clarke, the musician, to the
side of the stream, but the horse's tail, which  M'Murdo's of Drumlanrig, brought to two of the ladies
immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as  the choicest honours of the muse.]
if blasted by a stroke of lightning; but the far-                             July 1, 1792.
mer was beyond her reach.  However, the un-    MR. BURNS begs leave to present his most
sightly, tailless condition of the vigorous steed  respectful compliments to Mr. Clarke-Mr. B.
was, to the last hour of the noble creature's life,  some time ago did himself the honour of writing
an awful warning to the Carrick farmers, not to to Mr. C. respecting coming out to the counstay too late ins A~yr markets.                try, to give a little musical instruction in a
The last relation I shall give, though equally  highly respectable family, where Mr. C. may
true, is not so well identified as the two former,  have his own terms, and may be as happy as
with regard to the scene; but as the best au-  indolence, the devil, and the gout will permit
thorities give it for Alloway, I shall relate it.   him.  Mr. B. knows well how Mr. C. is enOn a summer's evening, about the time that  gaged with another family; but cannot Mr. C.
nature puts on her sables to mourn the expiry  find two or three weeks to spare to each of them?
of the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, belonging  Mr. B. is deeply impressed with, and awfully
to a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of  conscious of, the high importance of Mr. C.'s
Alloway kirk, had just folded his charge, and  time, whether in the winged moments of symwas returning home. As he passed the kirk, in  phonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony,
the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of men  while listening seraphs cease their own less de



OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         445
lightful strains; or in the drowsy arms of slum-  their imaginations soar in transport-such, so
b'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved  delighting and so pure, were the emotions of
elbowchair, where the frowsy, but potent power  my soul on meeting the other day with Miss
of indolence, circumfuses her vapours round,  Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M-. Mr.
and sheds her dews on the head of her darling  B. with his two daughters, accompanied by Mr.
son.  But half a line conveying half a meaning  H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few days
from Mr. C. would make Mr. B. the happiest of  ago, on their way to England, did me the honour
mortals.                                       of calling on me; on which I took my horse
___________.(though God knows I could ill spare the time),
and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles,
and dined and spent the day with them.'Twas
CCXXXII.                     about nine, I think, when I left them, and
TO  MRS. DUNLOPP.        eriding home, I composed the following ballad,
of which you will probably think you have a
[To enthusiastic fits of admiration for the young and  dear bargain, as it will cost you another groat
the beautiful, such as Burns has expressed in this letter, of postage. You must know that there is an
he loved to give way:-we owe some of his best songs  o  b   biig   i
to these sallies.]                             old ballad beginning withto these sallies.]
" My bonnie Lizzie Baillie
Annan Water Foot, 22d August, 1792.            I' rowe thee in my plaiie, &c."
Do not blame me for it, Madam;-my own
conscience, hack neye. an   ete-etna  tSo I parodied it as follows, which is literally
conscience, hackneyed and weather-beaten as it. ~~..,    ~..   ^     the first copy, "unanointed, unanneal'd;" as
is in watching and reproving my vagaries, follies, indolence, &c., has continued to punish me        says
sufficiently.                                        0 saw ye bonny Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border?
Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured      She's gane like Alexander,
friend, that I could be so lost to gratitude for              e          n      r
To spread her conquests farther.
many favours; to esteem for much worth, and
to the honest, kind, pleasurable tie of, now old    So much for ballads. I regret that you are
acquaintance, and I hope and am sure of pro-  gone to the east country, as I am to be in Ayrgressive, increasing friendship-as for a single  shire in about a fortnight.  This world of ours,
day, not to think of you-to ask the Fates what  notwithstanding it has many good things in it,
they are doing and about to do with my much-  yet it has ever had this curse, that two or three
loved friend and her wide-scattered connexions,  people, who would be the happier the oftener
and to beg of them to be as kind to you and  they met together, are, almost without exception,
yours as they possibly can?                   always so placed as never to meet but once or
Apropos! (though how it is apropos, I have  twice a-year, which, considering the few years
not leisure to explain,) do you not know that I  of a man's life, is a very great " evil under the
am  almost in love with an acquaintance of  sun," which I do not recollect that Solomon has
yours?-Almost! said I-I am in love, souse! mentioned in his catalogue of the miseries of
over head and ears, deep as the most unfathom-  man. I hope and believe that there is a state
able abyss of the boundless ocean; but the word  of existence beyond the grave, where the worthy
Love, owing to the intermingledoms of the good  of this life will renew their former intimacies,
and the bad, the pure and the impure, in this  with this endearing addition, that, " we meet
world, being rather an equivocal term for ex-  to part no more!"
pressing one's sentiments and sensations, I must                    els, ye dead
do justice to the sacred purity of my attachment.  Will none of you in pity disclose the secret.
Know, then, that the heart-struck awe; the        What'tis you are, and we must shortly be?"'
distant humble approach; the delight we should                                      BLAIR
have in gazing upon and listening to a messenger  A thousand times have I made this apostrophe
of heaven, appearing in all the unspotted purity  to the departed sons of men, but not one of'
of his celestial home, among the coarse, pol-  them has ever thought fit to answer the questions.
luted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver to them   "0 that some courteous ghost would blab it
tidings that make their hearts swim in joy, and  out!" but it cannot be; you and I, my fricn:.




446                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
must make the experiment by ourselves and for  the blazing ingle, or in the solitary barn, where
ourselves.  However, I am so convinced that  the repercussions of thy iron flail half affright
an unshaken faith in the doctrines of religion  thyself as thou performest the work of twenty
is not only necessary, by making us better men,  of the sons of men, ere the cock-crowing sumbut also by making us happier men, that I should  mon thee to thy ample cog of substantial brosetake every care that your little godson, and  Be thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or ferry,
every little creature that shall call me father,  in the starless night, mixing thy laughing yell
shall be taught them.                           with the howling of the storm and the roaring
So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at  of the flood, as thou viewest the perils and misethis wild place of the world, in the intervals of  ries of man on the foundering horse, or in the
my labour of discharging a vessel of rum from   tumbling boat!-or, lastly, be thou a ghost,
Antigua.                              R. B.    paying thy nocturnal visits to the hoary ruins of
decayed grandeur; or performing thy mystic
rites in the shadow of the time-worn church,
while the moon looks, without a cloud, on the
silent ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee!
CCXXXIIT.
or taking thy stand by the bedside of the villain,
TO MR. C UN N IN GH A M.                or the murderer, pourtraying on his dreaming
fancy, pictures, dreadful as the horrors of un[There is both bitterness and humour in this letter: the   eied  e, and    as the wrath of icensed
poet discourses on many matters, and woman is among
them-but he places the bottle at his elbow as an antidote  Deity!-Come, thou spirit, but not in these
against the discourtesy of scandal.]            horrid forms; come with the milder, gentle, easy
fr    1th Ste   17  inspirations, which thou breathest round the
Dumfries, o10th September, 1792.
No! I will not attemt an a y.-Amid al  wig of a prating advocate, or the tete of a teaNo! I will not attempt an apology. —Amid all
sipping gossip, while their tongues run at the
my hurry of business, grinding the faces of the                                            
licn ad te sin    o t  m il   w   light-horse gallop of clish-maclaver for ever and
publican and the sinner on the merciless wheels
of the Excise; making ballads, and then drink-  ever-come and assist a poor devil who is quite
inug, and singing them! and, over and above all,  jaded in the attempt to share half an idea among
ing, and singing them! and, over and above all,
half a hundred words; to fill up four quarto
the correcting the press-work of two different   a        hnded  wors; to fill up fo       t
publications; still, still I might have stolen five pages, while he has not got one single sentence
minutes to dedicate to one of the first of my of recollection, information, or remark worth
friends and fellow-creatures. I might have done putting pen to paper for.
as I do at present, snatched an hour near "witch-    I feel, I feel the presence of supernatural asing time of night," and scrawled a page or two.  sistance! circled in the embrace of my elbowI might have congratulated my friend on his  chair, my breast labours, like the bloated Sybil
marriage; or I might have thanked the Cale-  on her three-footed stool, and like her, too, ladonian archers for the honour they have done  bours with Nonsense. -Nonsense, suspicious
me (though, to do myself justice, I intended to  name! Tutor, friend, and finger-post in the
have done both in rhyme, else I had done both  mystic mazes of law; the cadaverous paths of
long ere now).  Well, then, here's to your good  physic; and particularly in the sightless soar 
health! for you must know, I have set a nip-  ings of SCHOOL DIVINITY, who, leaving Common
perkin of toddy by me, just by way of spell, to  Sense confounded at his strength of pinion,
keep away the meikle horned deil, or any of his  Reason, delirious with eyeing his giddy flight;
subaltern imps who may be on their nightly  and Truth creeping back into the bottom of her
rounds.                                         well, cursing the hour that ever she offered
But what shall I write to you?-" The voice  her scorned alliance to the wizard power of
said cry," and I said, "what shall I cry?"-O,  Theologic Vision-raves abroad on all the winds.
thou spirit! whatever thou art, or wherever  ""On earth Discord! a gloomy Heaven above,
thou makest thyself visible! be thou a bogle by  opening her jealous gates to the nineteenth
the eerie side of an auld thorn, in the dreary  thousandth part of the tithe of mankind; and
glen through which the herd-callan maun bicker  below, an inescapable and inexorable hell, exin his gloamin route frae the faulde!-Be thou  panding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue
a brownie, set, at dead of night, to thy task by  of mortals!!!"-O  doctrine! comfortable and




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           447
healing to the weary, wounded soul of man!  blood, &c., divide the two remaining degrees
Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye pauvres  among them  as you please; only, remember
mniserables, to whom  day brings no pleasure,  that all these minor properties must be exand night yields no rest, be comforted! "'Tis  pressed by fractions, for there is not any one
but one to nineteen hundred thousand that your  of them, in the aforesaid scale, entitled to the
situation will mend in this world;" so, alas,  dignity of an integer.
the experience of the poor and the needy too    As for the rest of my fancies and reveriesoften affirms; and'tis nineteen hundred thou-  how I lately met with Miss Lesley Baillie, the
sand to one, by the dogmas of ** * *  * * * *  most beautiful, elegant woman in the worldthat you will be damned eternally in the world  how I accompanied her and her father's family
to come!                                       fifteen miles on their journey, out of pure devoBut of all nonsense, religious nonsense is the  tion, to admire the loveliness of the works of
most nonsensical; so enough, and more than  God, in such an unequalled display of themenough of it.  Only, by the by, will you or can  how, in galloping home at night, I made a
you tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a sec-  ballad on her, of which these two stanzas make
tarian turn of mind has always a tendency to  a partnarrow  and illiberalize the heart?  They are        T       b                    
Thou, bonny Lesley, art a queen,
orderly; they may be just; nay, I have known           Thy subjects we before thee
them merciful: but still your children of sane-              b     L       a 
Thou, bonny Lesley, art divine,
tity move among their fellow-creatures with a          The hearts o' men adore thee.
nostril-snuffing putrescence, and a foot-spurning filth, in short, with a conceited dignity that   The very deil he could na scathe
your titled * * * * * * * * or any other of            Whatever wad belang thee!
your Scottish lordlings of seven centuries stand-    He'd look into thy bonnie face
ing, display when they accidentally mix among          And say, "I canna wrang thee."
the many-aproned sons of mechanical life.  I                         
— behold all these things are written in the
remember, in my plough-boy days, I could not
re.memr., p o  d, I     chronicles of my imaginations, and shall be read
conceive it possible that a noble lord could be a
by thee, my dear friend, and by thy beloved
fool, or a godly man could be a knave. —How
spouse, my other dear friend, at a more conignorant are plough-boys!-Nay, I have since enient season
venient season.
discovered that a godly woman may be a ****!
t    a g     w          Now, to thee, and to thy before-designed
— But hold —Here's t'ye again-this rum  is
But hs te a     s rm  is  bosom-companion, be given the precious things
generous Antigua, so a very unfit menstruum   b            f               s                  s
brought forth by the sun, and the precious
for scandal.
~~~for scandal.  ~things brought forth by the moon, and the
Apropos, how do you like, I mean really like,  benignest influences of the stars, and the living
the married life? Ah, my friend! matrimony  streams which  ow from  the fountains of life,
is quite a different thing from what your love-                                           
and by the tree of life, for ever and ever!
sick youths and sighing girls take it to be! But  Amen 
marriage, we are told, is appointed by God,
and I shall never quarrel with any of his institutions. I am a husband of older standing than
you, and shall give you my ideas of the conjugal
state, (en passant; you know I am no Latinist,                    CCXXXIV.
is not conjugal derived from jugum, a yoke?)               TO  MR. THOMSON.
Well, then, the scale of good wifeship I divide
into ten parts:-good-nature, four; good sense,   [George Thomson, of Edinburgh, principal clerk to the
o    p     trusteesfortheencouragingthemanufacturesofScotland,
two; wit, one; personal charms, viz. a sweet                         ZD
two  wit one;personalchr, v,     projected a work, entitled, " A select Collection of Origiface, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, graceful car-  nal Scottish Airs, for the Voice, to which are added introriage (I would add a fine waist too, but that is  ductory and concluding Symphonies and Accompaniments
so soon spoilt you know), all these, one; as for  for the Pianoforte and Violin, by Pleyel and Kozeluch,
the other qualities belonging to, or attending  with select and characteristic Verses, by the most admired Scottish Poets." To Burns he applied for help in
on, a wife, such as fortune, connexions, educa-  the verse: he could not find a truer poet, nor one to whom
tion (I men education extraordinary) family,  such a work was more congenial.]




448                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
Dumfries, 16th Sept. 1792.    pose or amend, I shall receive as a favour.  In
SIR,                                       the rustic phrase of the season, " Gude speed
I HAVE just this moment got your letter. As  the wark!"
the request you make to me will positively add                    I am, Sir,
to my enjoyments in complying with it, I shall               Your very humble servant,
enter into your undertaking with all the small                                        R. B.
portion of abilities I have, strained to their utmost exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm.
Only, don't hurry me-" Deil tak the hindmost"
is by no means the cri de guerre of my muse.                      CCXXXV.
Will you, as I am inferior to none of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry and music             TO MRS. DUNLOP.
of old Caledonia, and, since you request it, have    [One of the daughters of Mrs. Dunlop was married to
cheerfully promised my mite of assistance-will  M. Henri, a French gentleman, who died in 1790, at Louyou let me have a list of your airs with the first  don Castle, in Ayrshire. The widow went with her
orphan son to France, and lived for awhile amid the
line of the printed verses you intend for them,    ans,                   e f    he a    the
dangers of the revolution.]
that I may have an opportunity of suggesting
any alteration that may occur to me? You                     Dumfries, 24th September, 1792.
know'tis in the way of my trade; still leaving   I HAVE this moment, my dear Madam, yours
you, gentlemen, the undoubted right of pub-  of the twenty-third.  All your other kind relishers to approve or reject, at your pleasure,  proaches, your news, &c., are out of my head
when I read and think on Mlrs. H's situfor your own publication.  Apropos, if you are  wh   I red and tk on  rs.'s sufor English verses, there is, on my part, an end  ation   Good God! a heart-ounded helpless
of the matter. Whether in the simplicity of the  young woman-in a strange, foreign land, and
ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only  that land convulsed with every horror that can
hope to please myself in being allowed at least  harrow the human feelings-sick-looking, longa sprinkling of our native tongue. English   ng for a comforter, but finding none-a moverses, particularly the works of Scotsmen,  ther's feelings, too:-but it is too much: he
that have merit, are certainly very eligible.  who wounded (he only can) may He heal!
"Tweedside!" "Ah! the poor shepherd's mourn-                                    
I wish the farmer great joy of his new acful fate!" "Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit,".I.      h  fam                 i  n
quisition to his family. * * * X * I cannot say
&c., you cannot mend;' but such insipid stuff
&c., youcannott sh i    d sf  that I give him joy of his life as a farmer.'Tis,
as "To Fanny fair could I impart," &c., usually       farmerpayingdearunconscionablerent,
as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent,
set to "The Mill, Mill, 0!" is a disgrace to
a cursed life! As to a laird farming his own 
the collections in which it has already appeared,
property; sowing his own corn in hope; and
and would doubly disgrace a collection that                                
reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in gladwill have the very superior merit of yours. But                                         
ness; knowing that none can say unto him,
more of this in the further prosecution of the.. o     t'  what dost thou?'-fattening his herds; shearbusiness, if I am  called on for my strictures
ing his flocks; rejoicing at Christmas; and be- i
and amendments-I say amendments, for I will,       a 
getting sons and daughters, until he be the
not alter except where I myself, at least, think
ns,, tk  venerated, gray-haired leader of a little tribethat I amend.'tis a heavenly life! but devil take the life of 
As to any remuneration, you may think my
reaping the fruits that another must eat.       i
songs either above or below price; for they.   I  Well, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to 
should absolutely be the one or the other. In
seeing me when I make my Ayrshire visit.  I
the honest enthusiasm with which I embark in       n          n 
cannot leave Mrs. B, until her nine months'
your undertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee,
race is run, which may perhaps be in three or
hire, &c., would be downright prostitution of  f                                           
d.,,  ^^n~ 1^1-                 four   weeks. She, too, seems determined to
soul! a proof of each of the songs that I commake me the patriarchal leader of a band.
However, if Heaven will be so obliging as to!," Tweedside" is by Crawfurd; "Ah, the poor shep- 
herd&c.,byHailton, of Bangour; "Ah! Chleorisp,"  let me have them in the proportion of three boys
herd." &c., by Hamilton, of Bangour; "9 Ah! Chloris,"
&c., by Sir Charles Sedley-Burns has attributed it to  t one girl, I shall be so much the more pleased. 
Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran.                 I hope, if I am  spared with them, to show a




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              449
set of boys that will do honour to my cares and                     CCXXXVII.
name; but I am not equal to the task of rearing
TO MR. THOMSON.
girls.  Besides, I am  too poor; a girl should
always have a fortune.  Apropos, your little    [Thomson had delivered judgment on some old Scottisl
godson is thriving charmingly, but is a very  songs, but the poet murmured against George's decree.]
devil.  He, though two years younger, has com-         MY DEAR SIR,
pletely mastered his brother. Robert is indeed      LET me tell you, that you are too fastidious in
the mildest, gentlest creature I ever saw.  He  your ideas of songs and ballads.  I own that
has a most surprising memory, and is quite the  your criticisms are just; the songs you specify
pride of his schoolmaster.                        in your list have, all but one, the faults you reYou know how readily we get into prattle  mark in them; but who shall mend the matter?
upon a subject dear to our heart: you can ex-  Who shall rise up and say, "Go to! I will make
cuse it.  God bless you and yours!                a better?" For instance, on reading over "The
R. B.    Lea-rig," I immediately set about trying my
hand on it, and, after all, I could make nothing
more of it than the following, which, Heaven
knows, is poor enough.
When o'er the hill the eastern star, &c.'
CCXXXVI.
Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr.
T O  M R S. D U N L OP.                Percy's ballad to the air, "Nannie, 0!" is just.
It is, besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad
[This letter has no date: it is supposed to have been  in the English language. But let me remark to
written on the death of her daughter, Mrs. Henri, whose
orphan son, deprived of the protection of all his relations,  you, that in the sentiment and style of our Scotwas preserved by the affectionate kindness of Mademoi-  tish airs, there is a pastoral simplicity, a someselle Susette, one of the family domestics, and after the  thing that one may call the Doric style and diaRevolution obtained the estate of his blood and name.]  lect of vocal music, to which a dash of our native
H     b     f,      i    t  i    tongue and manners is particularly, nay pecuI HAD been from home, and did not receive.,.i^~r. ~liarly, apposite. For this reason, and upon my
your letter until my return the other day. What,,n~~~ ~ T   ^^   -honour, for this reason alone, I am  of opinion
shall I say to comfort you, my much-valued,,          
much-afflicted friend! I can but grieve with  (but, as I told you before, my opinion is yours,
freely yours, to approve or reject, as you please)
you; consolation I have none to offer, except  freely yours, to approve or reject, as you please),.i,.    ill   ^    i   1.11    _that my ballad of "Nannie, O!" might perhaps
that which religion holds out to the children of,
do for one set of verses to the tune. Now don't
affliction-children of affliction!-how  just the
let it enter into your head, that you are under
expression! and like every other family they                  
any necessity of taking my verses.   I have
have matters among them which they hear, see,                     
long ago made up my mind as to my own repuand feel in a serious, all-important manner, of 
tation in the business of authorship, and have
which the world has not, nor cares to have, any
idea.  The world looks in y o, m   s  nothing to be pleased or offended at, in your
idea.  The world looks indifferently on, makes
adoption or rejection of my verses.  Though
the passing remark, and proceeds to the next. 
you should reject one half of what I give you,
novel occurrence.
A, M! wo w d wish for m y  I shall be pleased with your adopting the other
Alas, Madam! who would wish for many
half and shall continue to serve you with the
years?  What is it but to drag existence until  half, and shall continue to sere you with the
our joys gradually expire, and leave us in a night  same assiduity.
In the printed copy of my "Nannie, O!" the
of misery: like the gloom which blots out the       I                                      0   the
stars one by one, from  the face of night, and  name of the river is horribly prosaic.2   I will
stars one by one, from  the face of night, and  a           i
leaves us, without a ray of comfort, in the howling waste!                                             Behind yon hills where Lugar flows.
I am interrupted, and must leave off.  You        Girvan is the name of the river that suits the
shall soon hear from me again.                    idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most
R. B.    agreeable modulation of syllables.
1 Song CLXXVII                                  "Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows."-Poems, p
2 It is something worse in the Edinburgh edition-   322.
29




450                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
I will soon give you a great many more re-  in the undertaking than you are aware of.
marks on this business; but I have just now an  There is a peculiar rhythmus in many of our
opportunity of conveying you this scrawl, free  airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables to the
of postage, an expense that it is ill able to pay:  emphasis, or what I would call the feature-notes
so, with my best compliments to honest Allan,  of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him
Gude be wi' ye, &c.                             under almost insuperable difficulties.  For inFriday Night.                                 stance, in the air, " My wife's a wanton wee
Saturday MIorning.    thing," if a few lines smooth and pretty can be
As I find I have still an hour to  spare this  adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The folmorning before my conveyance goes away, I will lowing were made extempore to it; and though
give you "Nannie, O!" at length.               on further study I might give you something
Your remarks on "Ewe-bughts, Marion," are  more profound, yet it might not suit the lightjust; still it has obtained a place among our  horse gallop of the air so well as this random
more classical Scottish songs; and what with  clink:many beauties in its composition, and more pre-'...'   ~3My wife's a winsome wee thing, &c.2
judices in its favour, you will not find it easy 
to supplant it.                                    I have just been looking over the "Collier's
In my very early years, when I was thinking  bonny dochter;" and if the following rhapsody,
of going to the West Indies, I took the follow-  which I composed the other day, on a charming
ing farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling,  Ayrshire girl, Miss Lesley Baillie, as she passed
and has nothing of the merits of "Ewe-bughts;"  through this place to England, will suit your
but it will fill up this page.  You must know   taste better than the "Collier Lassie," fall on
that all my earlier love-songs were the breath-  and welcome:ings of ardent passion, and though it might              0, saw ye bonny Lesley? &c.3
have been easy in after-times to have given them
I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more
a polish, yet that polish, to me, whose they were,
pathetic airs, until more leisure, as they will
and who perhaps alone cared for them, would,    take, and deserve, a greater effort.  However,
have defaced the legend of my heart, which was,,
so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth  they are all put into your hands, as clay into.,...! ^      ~..~.   ~the hands of the potter, to make one vessel to
simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race.                 
honour, and another to dishonour. Farewell, &c.
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary? &c.1                                              R. B.
"Gala Water" and "Auld Rob Morris" I
think, will most probably be the next subject
of my musings.  However, even on my verses,
CCXXXIX.
speak out your criticisms with equal frankness.
My wish is not to stand aloof, the uncomplying             TO  MR. THOMS ON.
bigot of opiniitrete, but cordially to join issue
bwith you in the  furtherance  of the work.inis  [The story of Mary Campbell's love is related in the
notes on the songs which the poet wrote in her honour.
R. B.    Thomson says, in his answer, " I have heard the sad
story of your Mary; you always seem inspired when you
write of her."]
CCXXXVIII.
14th November, 1792.
TO MR. THOMSON.                            MY DEAR SIR,
I AGREE with you that the song, " Katherine
[The poet loved to describe the influence which the 
charms of Miss Lesley Baillie exercised over his imagi-  Ogie," is very poor stuff, and unworthy, altonation.,                                        gether unworthy of so beautiful an air.  I tried
November 8th, 1792.    to mend it; but the awkward sound, Ogie, reIF you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs  curring so often in the rhyme, spoils every atin your collection shall be poetry of the first  tempt at introducing sentiment into the piece.
merit, I am afraid you will find more difficulty  The foregoing song4 pleases myself; I think it
I Song CLXXIX.           2 Song CLXXX,             4 Ye banks and braes and streams around
3 Song CLXXXI.                           The castle o' Montgomery.
Song CLXXXII




OF ROBEIET BURINS.                                        451
is in my happiest manner: you will see at first                    CCXLI.
glance that it suits the air. The subject of the
TO M"R. THOMSON.
song is one of the most interesting passages of                 M. TN.
my youthful days, and I own that I should be    [Duncan Gray, which this letter contained, became a
much flattered to see the verses set to an air  favourite as soon as it was published, and the same may
which would ensure celebrity.  Perhaps, after  be saidof Auld Rob Morris.]
all,'tis the still glowing prejudice of my heart                       4th December, 1792.
that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits    THE foregoing ["Auld Rob Morris," and
of the composition.                             "Duncan Gray,"'] I submit, my dear Sir, to
I have partly taken your idea of "Auld Rob  your better judgment.  Acquit them  or conMorris."  I have adopted the two first verses,  demn them, as seemeth good in your sight.
and am going on with the song on a new plan,  "Duncan Gray" is that kind of light-horse galwhich promises pretty well.  I take up one or  lop of an air, which precludes sentiment.  The
another, just as the bee of the moment buzzes  ludicrous is its ruling feature.
in my bonnet-lug; and do you, sans ceremonie,R. B.
make what use you choose of the productions.
Adieu, &c.
R. B.
CCXLII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
CCXL.
[Burns often discourses with Mrs. Dunlop on poetry
T O M R. T H O M S ON.               and poets: the dramas of Thomson, to which he alludes,
are stiff, cold compositions.]
[The poet approved of several emendations proposed
by Thomson, whose wish was to make the words flow              Dumfries, 6th December, 1792.
more readily with the music: he refused, however, to    I SHALL be in AyrShire, I think, next week;
adopt others, where he thought too much of the sense wasand  if at all possible, I shall certainly, my
sacrificed.]   
much-esteemed friend, have the pleasure of
Dumfrzes, 1st December, 1792.    visiting at Dunlop-house.
YoUR alterations of my "Nannie, O!" are    Alas, Madam! how seldom do we meet in this
perfectly right.  So are those of " My wife's a  world, that we have reason to congratulate ourwinsome wee thing."  Your alteration of the  selves on accessions of happiness! I have not
second stanza is a positive improvement. Now,  passed half the ordinary term of an old man's
my dear Sir, with the freedom which character-  life, and yet I scarcely look over the obituary
izes our correspondence, I must not, cannot alter  of a newspaper, that I do not see some names
"Bonnie Lesley."  You are right; the word  that I have known, and which I, and other
"Alexander" makes the line a little uncouth,  acquaintances, little thought to meet with there
but I think the thought is pretty. Of Alexan-so soon. Every other instance of the mortality
der, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in  of our kind, makes us cast an anxious look into
the sublime language of Scripture, that "he  the dreadful abyss of uncertainty, and shudder
went forth conquering and to conquer."         with apprehension for our own fate. But of
For nature made her what she is,               how different an importance are the lives of
And never made anither.   (Such a person as  different individuals? Nay, of what importance
she is.)                                is one period of the same life, more than another? A few years ago, I could have laid down
This is, in my opinion, more poetical than  in the dust, "careless of the voice of the morn"Ne'er made sic anither."  However, it is im-  ing;" and now not a few, and these most helpmaterial: make it either way.  "Caledonie,"  less individuals, would, on losing me and my
I agree with you, is not so good a word as could  exertions, lose both their "staff and shield." By
be wished, though it is sanctioned in three or  the way, these helpless ones have lately got
four instances by Allan Ramsay; but I cannot  an addition; Mrs. B           having given me a
help it.  In short, that species of stanza is the  fine girl since I wrote you.  There is a charmmost difficult that I have ever tried.
R. B.            I Songs CLXXXIII. and CLXXXIV.




452                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
ing passage in Thomson's " Edward and Eleo-  I shall have the honour of receiving your criti
nora:"                                         cisms in person at Dunlop.              R. B.
" The valiant in himself, what can he suffer?
Or what need he regard his single woes?" &c.
As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall
give you another from  the same piece, pecu-                        CCXLIII.
liarly, alas! too peculiarly apposite, my dear           T. GRAHAM   ES
Madam, to your present frame of mind: 
" Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him                       FIN TA Y.
With his fair-weather virtue, that exults
Glad o'er the summer main! the tempest come[s,  [Graham stood by the bard in the hour of peril recorded
Glad. o'er   summer main! the tempestcomes, 7 in this letter: and the Board of Excise had the generosity
The rough winds rage aloud; when from the helm,
This virtue shrinks  alnd in a corner lies   to permit him to eat its " bitter bread' for the rerna'uder
This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies
Lamenting —Ieavens! if privileged from trial,  of his life.]
How cheap a thing were virtue?"                                          December, 1792.
I do not remember to have heard you men-           SIR,
tion Thomson's dramas. I pick up favourite    I HAVE been surprised, confounded, and disquotations, and store them in my mind as ready  tracted by Mr. Mitchell, the collector, telling
armour, offensive or defensive, amid the struggle  me that he has received an order from your
of this turbulent existence.  Of these is one, a  Brd to inquire into my political conduct, and
very favourite one, from his "Alfred:"           blaming me as a person disaffected to govern"Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds  ment.
And offices of life; to life itself,        Sir, you are a husband-and a father.-You
With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose."   know what you would feel, to see the muchProbably I have quoted some of these to you  loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless,
formerly, as indeed when I write from the heart,  prattling little ones, turned adrift into the world,
I am apt to be guilty of such repetitions. The  degraded and disgracedfrom a situation in which
compass of the heart, in the musical style of  they had been respectable and respected, and
expression, is much more bounded than that of  left almost without the necessary support of a
the imagination; so the notes of the former are  miserable existence. Alas, Sir! must I think
extremely apt to run into one another; but in  that such, soon, will be my lot! and from the
return for the paucity of its compass, its few   d-mned, dark insinuations of hellish, groundnotes are much more sweet. I must still give  less envy too! I believe, Sir, I may aver it, and
you another quotation, which I am  almost sure  in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not
I have given you before, but I cannot resist the  tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even
temptation.  The subject is religion-speaking  worse horrors, if worse can be, than those I
of its importance to mankind, the author says,  have mentioned, hung over my head; and I say,
"'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright."  that the allegation, whatever villain has made
I see you are in for double postage, so I shall  it, is a lie  To the Brish constitution on Revo
e'en scribble out t'other sheet.  We, in this  lution principles, next after my God, I am most
devoutly attached; you, Sir, have been much
country here, have many alarms of the reform-            attached; you, Sir, have been much
and generously my friend.-Heaven knows how
ing, or rather the republican spirit, of yourend eaven knows how
part of the kingdom.  Indeed we are a good  warmly I have felt the obligation, and how
deal in commotion ourselves. For me, I am a  gratefully I have thanked you Fortune, Sir,
placeman, you know; a very humble one in-  has made you powerful, and me impotent; has
given you patronage, and me dependence. —1
deed, Heaven knows, but still so much as to gag                                    dependence
me. What my private sentiments are, you will  would not for my single self, call on your humame.  What my private sentiments are, you will
find out without an interpreter.                nity; were such my insular, unconnected situ*    *    *    *    *    *              ation, I would despise the tear that now swells
I have taken up the subject, and the other  in my eye-I could brave misfortune, I could
day, for a pretty actress's benefit night, I wrote ce ruin; for at the worst, "Death's thousand
an address, which I will give on the other page,  d     stand open" but, good God  the tender
called " The rights of woman:",concerns that I have mentioned, the claims and
ties that I see at this moment, and feel around
" While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things."  me, how they unnerve courage, and wither reso
I __.__________. _._.__                          _. __




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          453
lution! To your patronage, a a a man of some  I might indeed get a job of officiating, where a
genius, you have allowed me a claim; and your  settled supervisor was ill, or aged; but that
esteem, as an honest man, I know is my due:  hauls me from my family, as I could not remove
to these, Sir, permit me to appeal; by these  them on such an uncertainty.  Besides, some
may I adjure you to save me from that misery  envious, malicious devil, has raised a little demur
which threatens to overwhelm  me, and which,  on my political principles, and I wish to let that
with my latest breath I will say it, I have not  matter settle before I offer myself too much in
deserved.                             R. B.    the eye of my supervisors.  I have set, henceforth, a seal on my lips, as to these unlucky politics; but to you I must breathe my sentiments. In
this, as in everything else, I shall show the unCCXLIV.
disguised emotions of my soul. War I depreTO MRS. D U N L OP.                  cate: misery and ruin to thousands are in the
blast that announces the destructive demon.
[Burns was ordered, he says, to mind his duties in the                               
Excise, and to hold his tongue about politics-the latter
part of the injunction was hard to obey, for at that time
politics were in every mouth.]
CXLV.
Dumfries, 31st December, 1792.
DEAR MADAM,                                           TO MR. THOMSON.
A HURRY of business, thrown in heaps by my
Y of b, t n in h s by my    [The songs to which the poet alludes were' Poortith
absence, has until now prevented my returning  Cauld," and " Galla Water."]
my grateful acknowledgments to the good family
of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that                                       J'
of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that    MANY returns of the season to you, my dear
hospitable kindness which rendered the four  S.  H              s on your publication?-wi
Sir. How comes on your publication? —will
days I spent under that genial roof, four of the  te  to  f            [         C        
these  two  foregoing  [Songs  CLXXXV.  and
pleasantest I ever enjoyed.-Alas, my dearest                  o              o 
^.1,  ^CLXXXVI.] be of any service to you?  I should
friend! how few and fleeting are those things                            u                u
like to know what songs you print to each tune,
we call pleasures! on my road so Ayrshire, I
e cl p! on my rd so,   besides the verses to which it is set. In short, I
spent a night with a friend whom  I much
t a n t wh a f d wm  I m          would wish to give you my opinion on all the
valued; a man whose days promised to be.'~t..- i i. —.    ~poetry you publish.  You know it is my trade,
many; and on Saturday last we laid him in the
dust!                                          and a man in the way of his trade may suggest
Jan. 2, 1793.    useful hints that escape men of much superior
I HAVE just received yours of the 30th, and  parts and endowments in other things.
If you meet with my dear and much-valued
feel much for your situation. However, I heartily                             my    much-value
rejoice in your prospect of recovery from thatm, greet him, in my name, with the
compliments of the season.
vile jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though                   season.
not quite free of my complaint.-You must not                           Yours, &c.,
R. B.
think, as you seem  to insinuate, that in my
way of life I want exercise. Of that I have
enough; but occasional hard drinking is the
devil to me. Against this I have again and
again bent my resolution, and have greatly suc-           TO MR. THOMSON.
ceeded.  Taverns I have totally abandoned: it
ceeded.  Tave[Thomson explained more fully than at first the plan of
is the private parties in the family way, among  his publication, and stated that Dr. Beattie had promised
the hard-drinking gentlemen of this country,  an essay on Scottish music, by way of an introduction to
that do me the mischief-but even this I have  the work.]
more than half given over.                                              26th January, 1793.
Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at    I APPROVE greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans.
present; at least I should be shy of applying.  Dr. Beattie's essay will, of itself, be a treasure.
I cannot possibly be settled as a supervisor, for  On my part I mean to draw up an appendix to
several years.  I must wait the rotation of the  the Doctor's essay, containing my stock of aneclist, an   there are twenty names before mine.  dotes, &c., of our Scots songs. All the late Mr




454                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
Tytler's anecdotes I have by me, taken down in  I say that I had not time, that as usual means,
the course of my acquaintance with him, from   that the three demons, indolence, business, and
his own mouth.  I am such an enthusiast, that  ennui, have so completely shared my hours
in the course of my several peregrinations  among them, as not to leave me a five minutes'
through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the  fragment to take up a pen in.
Individual spot from which every song took its    Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upri.se, "Lochaber" and the "Braes of Ballenden"   wards with the renovating year.  Now I shall
excepted.  So far as the locality, either from   in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I
the title of the air, or the tenor of the song,  dare say he thinks I have used him unkindly,
could be ascertained, I have paid my devotions  and I must own with too much appearance of
at the particular shrine of every Scots muse.    truth. Apropos, do you know the much admired
I do not doubt but you might make a very  old Highland air called "The Sutor's Dochter?"
valuable c llection of jacobite songs; but would  It is a first-rate favourite of mine, and I have
it give no offence? In the meantime, do not  written what I reckon one of my best songs to
you think that some of them, particularly "The  it.  I will send it to you as it was sung with
sow's tail to Geordie," as an air, with other  great applause in some fashionable circles by
words, might be well worth a place in your col-  Major Roberston, of Lude, who was here with
lection of lively songs?                      his corps.
If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it     *    *    *    *    *    *
would be proper to have one set of Scots words    There is one commission that I must trouble
to every air, and that the set of words to which  you with.  I lately lost a valuable seal, a prethe notes ought to be set.  There is a naviete,  sent from  a departed friend which vexes me
a pastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture  much.
of Scots words and phraseology, which is more    I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles,
in unison (at least to my taste, and, I will add,  which I fancy would make a very decent one;
to every genuine Caledonian taste) with the  and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it;
simple pathos, or rustic sprightliness of our  will you be so obliging as inquire what will be
native music, than any English verses what-  the expense of such a business? I do not know
ever.                                          that my name is matriculated, as the heralds
The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisi-  call it, at all; but I have invented arms for mytion to your work. His " Gregory" is beautiful.  self, so you know I shall be chief of the name;
I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots,  and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be
on the same subject, which are at your service,  entitled to supporters.  These, however, I do
Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter  not intend having on my seal.  I am a bit of a
-that would be presumption indeed. My song,  herald, and shall give you, secundum artem, my
though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I  arms.  On a field, azure, a holly-bush, seeded,
think, more of the ballad simplicity in it.    proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe and crook,
follows Lord Gregory.  Song CLXXXVI]   saltier-wise, also proper in chief. On a wreath
[Here follows " Lord Gregory." Song CLXXXVII.]
D(Here      of the colours, a wood-lark perching on a sprig of
My most respectful compliments to the ho- 
y mt r ful c      s to te h-  bay-tree, proper, for crest. Two mottos; round
nourable gentleman who favoured me with a
no e g n wo f d me wh a  the top of the crest, Wood-notes wild: at the botpostscript in your last.  He shall hear from me
t in yr lt.  He sl h     f    m    tom of the shield, in the usual place, Better a
and receive his MSS. soon.
adee iYourss       wee bush than nae bield. By the shepherd's pipe
Yours,
R. B.    and crook I do not mean the nonsense of paint~ ~-~~~~~ ~ers of Arcadia, but a stock and horn, and a club,
such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay,
CCXLVII.                     in Allan's quarto edition of the Gentle Shepherd.
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.                      By the bye, do you know Allan? He must be a
man of very great genius-Why is he not more
[The seal, with the coat-of-arms which the poet in-  known?-Has he no patrons? or do "Poverty's
vented, is still in the family, and regarded as a relique.]
cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and
3d March, 1793.    heavy" on him?  I once, and but once, got a
SINCE I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet,  glance of that noble edition of the noblest pasT have not had time to write you further. When  toral in the world; and dear as it was, I mean




OF ROBER T BURNS.                                         455
dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it;  Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our partbut I was told that it was printed and engraved       ing;
for subscribers only. He is the only artist who    It was na the blast brought the tear in my
has hit genuine pastoral costume.  What, my           e'e;
dear Cunningham, is there in riches, that they  Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my
narrow and harden the heart so? I think, that        Willie,
were I as rich as the sun, I should be as gene-    The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.
rous as the day; but as I have no reason to
imagine my soul a nobler one than any other  Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers I
man's, I must conclude that wealth imparts a    Oh how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
bird-lime quality to the possessor, at which the  Awaken, ye breezes! blow gently, ye billows!
man, in his native poverty, would have revolted.    And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my
What has led me to this, is the idea of such          arms.
merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such riches  B   i h's             i   i             i,^~~'        But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie,
as a nabob or government contractor possesses,        i             n            i
O still flow between us, thou wide, roaring
and why they do not form  a mutual league.            main;
Let wealth shelter and cherish unprotected  May I never see t, may I never trow 
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
merit, and the gratitude and celebrity of that    B     d      b      t     m  W          
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!
merit will richly repay it.?. B.
R. B.  I leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine
whether the above, or the old "Thro' the lang
CCXLVIII.                     muir I have followed my Willie," be the best.
R. B.
TO MR. THOMSON. 
[Burns in these careless words makes us acquainted
with one of his sweetest songs.]
CCL.
20th March, 1793.
MY DEAR SIR,                                           TO  MISS BENSON.
THE song prefixed ["Mary Morison"'l is one
of..my n ju enie works. r. I Meaeiton"your hnds    [Miss Benson. when this letter was written, was on a
of my juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. visit to Arbigland, the beautiful seat of Captain Craik;
I do not think it very remarkable, either for its  she is now Mrs. Basil Montagu.]
merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least I
feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always       M AM        D f
original, entertaining, and witty.,
original, en n, a ty.                AMONG many things for which I envy those
What is become of the list, &c., of your 
What  f, &., of yr  hale, long-lived old fellows before the flood, is
songs? I shall be out of all temper with you,
songs? I shall be out of all tm,  this in particular, that when they met with anyby and bye. I have always looked on myself as
y ad   e. I h     a   l   o m   a   body after their own heart, they had a charmthe prince of indolent correspondents, and valued,. ^'       ~ing long prospect of many, many happy meetmyself accordingly; and I will not, cannot,
ings with them in after-life.
bear rivalship from you, nor anybody else.
bear rivalship from y, nor an e.   Now in this short, stormy, winter day of our
_R. B.    fleeting existence, when you now and then, in
the Chapter of Accidents, meet an individual
CCXLIX.
whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, there
T 0 M R. THOMS ON.                   are all the probabilities against you, that you
[For the "Wandering Willie" of this communicationetwith that  alued character
Thomson offered several corrections.]           more.  On the other hand, brief as this miserch, 179.    able being is, it is none of the least of the miseMarch, 1793.
E. a.,  e     ries belonging to it, that if there is any misHERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired with wandering, ha,d aw  hme   creant whom you hate, or creature whom you
Now tired with wandering, baud awa hame; 
Come to my bosom, my ae only dedespise, the ill-run of the chances shall be so
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, [same. 
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the  against you, that in the overtakings, turnings,
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the
and jostlings of life, pop, at some unlucky cor1 Song CLXXXVIII.                ner, eternally comes the wretch upon you, and




456                      GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
will not allow your indignation or contempt a                       CCLII.
moment's repose.  As I am a sturdy believer in
the powers of darkness, I take these to be theO MR. T                      M     N.
doings of that old author of mischief, the devil.   [This review of our Scottish lyrics is well worth the
It is well-known that he has some kind of short-  attention of all who write songs, read songs, or sing
hand way of taking down our thoughts, and I  songs.]
make no doubt he is perfectly acquainted with                               7th April, 1793.
my sentiments respecting Miss Benson: how         THANK yOU, my dear Sir, for your packet.
much I admired her abilities and valued her  You cannot imagine how much this business of
worth, and how very fortunate I thought myself  composing for your publication has added to
in her acquaintance.  For this last reason, my  my enjoyments.  What with my early attachdear Madam, I must entertain no hopes of the  ment to ballads, your book, &c., ballad-making
very great pleasure of meeting with you again.  is now as completely my hobby-horse as ever
Miss Hamilton tells me that she is sending a  fortification was Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en canter
packet to you, and I beg leave to send you the  it away till I come to the limit of my race-God
enclosed sonnet, though, to tell you the real  grant that I may take the right side of the wintruth, the sonnet is a mere pretence, that I may  ning post!-and then cheerfully looking back
have the opportunity of declaring with how   on the honest folks with whom I have been
much respectful esteem I have the honour to  happy, I shall say or sing, "Sae merry as we
be, &c.                               R. B.    a' hae been!" and, raising my last looks to the
whole human race, the last words of the voice
of "Coila"' shall be, "Good night, and joy be
wi' you a'!" So much for my last words: now
CCLI.                      for a few present remarks, as they have occurred
at random, on looking over your list.
TO  PATRICK  MILLER  ESQ., 
R,  SQ.,,gThe first lines of "The last time I came
OF DAL:SWINTON.                  o'er the moor," and several other lines in it,
[The time to which Burns alludes was the period of  are beautiful; but, in my opinion-pardon me,
his occupation of Ellisland.]                  revered shade of Ramsay!-the song is unDumfries, April, 1793.    worthy of the divine air. I shall try to make
SIR,                                       or mend.
MY poems having just come out in another    "For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove,"2 is a
edition, will you do me the honour to accept of  charming song; but "Logan burn and Logan
a copy? A mark of my gratitude to you, as a  braes" is sweetly susceptible of rural imagery;
gentleman to whose goodness I have been much  I'll try that likewise, and, if I succeed, the
indebted; of my respect for you, as a patriot  other song may class among the English ones.
who, in a venal, sliding age, stands forth the  I remember the two last lines of a verse in
champion of the liberties of my country; and  some of the old songs of "Logan Water" (for I
of my veneration for you, as a man, whose be-  know a good many different ones) which I think
nevolence of heart does honour to human na-  pretty:ture.                      ~                           " Now my dear lad maun face his faes,
There was a time, Sir, when I was your de-            Far, far frae me and Logan braes."3
pendent: this language then would have been       "My Patie is a lover gay," is unequal. "His
like the vile incense of flattery-I could not have  mind is never muddy," is a muddy expression
used it.  Now that connexion is at an end, do  indeed.
me the honour to accept of this honest tribute of     "Then I' resign and mrry ate,
And syne my cockernony —"
respect from, Sir,
Your much indebted humble servant,         This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay or your
Your much indebted humble servant,
R. B.    book.  My song, "Rigs of barley," to the same
tune, does not altogether please me; but if I
can mend it, and thrash a few loose sentiments
I Burns here calls himself the "Voice of Coila," in    2 By Thomson, not the musician, but the poet.
Imitation of Ossian, who denominates himself the " Voice   3 This song is not old; its author, the late John Mayne,
of Cona."-Cr RIE.                              long outlived Burns.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           457
out of it, I will submit it to your consideration,  avow, that I think it a superior song.4  "John
"The lass o' Patie's mill" is one of Ramsay's  Anderson, my jo"-the song to this tune in
best songs; but there is one loose sentiment in  Johnson's Museum, is my composition, and I
it, which my much-valued friend Mr. Erskine  think it not my worst:5 if it suit you, take it,
will take into his critical consideration.  In Sir  and welcome. Your collection of sentimental
John Sinclair's statistical volumes, are two  and pathetic songs, is, in my opinion, very comclaims-one, I think from Aberdeenshire, and  plete; but not so your comic ones.  Where are
the other from Ayrshire-for the honour of this  "Tullochgorum," "Lumps o' puddin," " Tibbie
song.  The following anecdote, which I had  Fowler," and several others, which, in my humfrom  the present Sir William  Cunningham  of  ble judgment, are well worthy of preservation?
Robertland, who had it of the late John, Earl  There is also one sentimental song of mine in
of Loudon, I can, on such authorities, believe:  the Museum, which never was known out of
Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon-castle  the immediate neighbourhood, until I got it
with the then Earl, father to Earl John; and  taken down from  a country girl's singing.  It
one forenoon, riding or walking, out together,  is called  "Craigieburn wood,"  and, in the
his lordship and Allan passed a sweet romantic  opinion of Mr. Clarke, is one of the sweetest
spot on Irvine water, still called " Patie's mill,"  Scottish songs. He is quite an enthusiast about
where a bonnie lass was " tedding hay, bare-  it; and I would take his taste in Scottish music
headed on the green."  My lord observed to  against the taste of most connoisseurs.
Allan, that it would be a fine theme for a song.    You are quite right in inserting the last five
Ramsay took the hint, and, lingering behind,  in your list, though they are certainly Irish.
he composed the first sketch of it, which he pro-  " Shepherds, I have lost my love!" is to me a
duced at dinner.                                heavenly air-what would you think of a set of
" One day I heard Mary say,"' is a fine song;  Scottish verses to it? I have made one to it a
but, for consistency's sake, alter the name  good while ago, which I think * * *, but in its
"Adonis."  Were there ever such banns pub-  original state it is not quite a lady's song.  I
lished, as a purpose of marriage between Adonis  enclose an altered, not amended copy for you,6
and Mary! I agree with you that my song,  if you choose to set the tune to it, and let the
"There's nought but care on every hand," is  Irish verses follow.
much superior to "Poortith cauld." The ori-    Mr. Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his
ginal song, "The mill, mill,!"2 though ex-  "Lone vale" 7is divine.
cellent, is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible;                Yours, &c.
still I like the title, and think a Scottish song                                      R. B.
would suit the notes best; and let your chosen    Let me know just how you like these random
song, which is very pretty, follow as an English  hints.
set.  " The Banks of the Dee" is, you know,
literally "Langolee," to slow time.  The song
is well enough, but has some false imagery in                        CCLIII.
it: for instance,                                          TO MR. THOMSON.
" And sweetly the nightingale sang from the tree."
d s y te nh   sag fm te t   [The letter to which this is in part an answer, Currie
In the first place, the nightingale sings in a  says, contains many observations on Scottish songs, and
low bush, but never from  a tree at and in the  on themannerofadapting the words to the music, which
at Mr. Thomson's desire are suppressed.]
second place, there never was a nightingale  at Mr.Thomson's desire are suppressed.
seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on                                     April, 1793.
the banks of any other river in Scotland. Exotic    I HAVE yours, my dear Sir, this moment. I
rural imagery is always comparatively flat.3 If  shall answer it and your former letter, in my
I could hit on another stanza, equal to " The  desultory way of saying whatever comes upper,
small birds rejoice," &c., I do myself honestly  most.
1 By Crawfurd.          2 By Ramsay.           4 Song CXXXIX. 5 Song LXXX. 6 Song CLXXVII.
3 The author, John Tait, a writer to the Signet and
3 The author, John Tait, a writer to the Signet and    " How sweet this lone vale, and how soothing to feeling,
some time Judge of the police-court in Edinburgh,   Yon nightingale's notes which in melody meet."
assented to this, and altered the line to,
"And sweetly the wood-pigeon cooed from the tree."    The song has found  to several collections
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Tesn a on tslII-II I    wa int se e r a coletin




458                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
The business of many of our tunes wanting,  will never suit.  That song is current in Scot
at the beginning, what fiddlers call a starting-  land under the old title, and to the merry old
note, is often a rub to us poor rhymers.       tune of that name, which, of course, would mar
the progress of your song to celebrity. Your
" There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
"Thene' b, bra     bla omnY   bate,   book will be the standard of Scots songs for the
That wander through the blooming heather,"
future: let this idea ever keep your judgment
you may alter to                               on the alarm.
I send a song on a celebrated toast in this
" Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,           country, to suit "Bonnie Dundee."  I send you
Ye wander," &c.                            also a ballad to the "Mill, mill, 0!"'
My song, "Here awa, there awa," as amended     "The last time I came o'er the moor," I
by Mr. Erskine, I entirely approve of, and re-would fain attempt to make a Scots song for,
turn you.                                      and let Ramsay's be the English set. You shall
Give me leave to criticise your taste in the  hear from me soon. When you go to London
only thing in which it is, in my opinion, repre-  on this business, can you come by Dumfries? I
hensible. You know I ought to know something  have still several MS. Scots airs by me, which
of my own trade.  Of pathos, sentiment, and  I have picked up, mostly from  the singing of
point, you are a complete judge; but there is  country lasses.  They please me vastly; but
a quality more necessary than either in a song,  your learned lug would perhaps be displeased
and which is the very essence of a ballad-I  with the very feature for which I like them.  I
mean simplicity: now, if I mistake not, this last  call them simple; you would pronounce them
feature you are a little apt to sacrifice to the  s.  D      yu   n   a  ne air called "Jackie
foregoing.                                     Hume's Lament?"  I have a song of considerRamsay, as every other poet, has not been  able merit to that air. I'll enclose you both
always equally happy in his pieces; still I can-  the song and tue, as I had them ready to send
not approve of taking such liberties with an  to Johnson's Museum.  I send you likewise, to
author as Mr. Walker proposes doing with "The  me, a beautiful little air, which I had taken
last time I came o'er the moor."  Let a poet,  down from viva voce.3
if he choose, take up the idea of another, and                           Adieu.
work it into a piece of his own; but to mangle                                       R. B.
the works of the poor bard, whose tuneful
tongue is now mute for ever, in the dark and narrow house-by Heaven,'twould be sacrilege! I                     CCLIV.
grant that Mr. W.'s version is an improvement;
but I know Mr. W. well, and esteem him much;             TO MR. THOMS ON.
let him mend the song, as the Highlander mend-   [Thomson, it would appear by his answer to this letter,
ed his gun-he gave it a new stock, a new lock,  was at issue with Burns on the subject-matter of simpliand a new barrel.                              city: the former seems to have desired a sort of diploI do not, by this, object to leaving out impro-  matic and varnished style: the latter felt that elegance
I do not,. J             ^. by   and simplicity were " sisters twin."]
per stanzas, where that can be done without
spoiling the whole. One stanza in " The lass                                  April, 1793.
o' Patie's mill" must be left out: the song will   MY DEAR SIR,
be nothing worse for it. I am not sure if we    I HAD scarcely put my last letter into the I ostcan take the same liberty with " Corn rigs are  office, when I took up the subject of " The last
bonnie." Perhapsitmight wantthelaststanza,  time I came o'er the moor," and ere I slept
and be the better for it.  " Cauld kail in Aber-  drew the outlines of the foregoing.4 How I have
deen," you must leave with me yet awhile.  I  succeeded, I leave on this, as on every other ochave vowed to have a song to that air, on the lady  casion, to you to decide.  I own my vanity is
whom I attempted to celebrate in the verses,  flattered, when you give my songs a place in
"Poortith cauld and restless love." At any  your elegant and superb work; but to be of
rate, my other song, " Green grow the rashes,"  service to the work is my first wish. As I have
I Songs CXCII. and CXCIII                2 Song CXCIV.         3 Song CXCVIII.
4 Song CCXXXIV.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           459
often told you, I do not in a single instance wish  intimation, been turned adrift, with my helpless
you, out of compliment to me, to insert any-  family, to all the horrors of want.  Had I had
thing of mine.  One hint let me give you-   any other resource, probably I might have saved
whatever Mr. Pleyel does, let him not alter one  them the trouble of a dismission; but the little
iota of the original Scottish airs, I mean in the  money I gained by my publication, is almost
song department, but let our national musiq  every guinea embarked, to save from ruin an
preserve its native features.  They are, I own,  only brother, who, though one of the worthiest,
frequently wild and irreducible to the more  is by no means one of the most fortunate of
modern rules; but on that very eccentricity,  men.
perhaps, depends a great part of their effect.    In my defence to their accusations, I said, that
R. B.    whatever might be my sentiments of republics,
ancient or modern, as to Britain, I abjured the
idea!-That a CONSTITUTION, which, in its oriCCLV.                       ginal principles, experience had proved to be
TO JOHN FRANCIS ERSK    E  ESQ.every way fitted for our happiness in society, it
would be insanity to sacrifice to an untriedviOF M AR.                      sionary theory:-that, in consideration of my
being situated in a department, however humble,
[This remarkable letter has been of late the subject of    i  situatedin adepartment, howeverhumble,
some controversy: Mr. Findlater, who happened then to  immediately in the hands of people in power,
be in the Excise, is vehement indefence of the "honoura-  I had forborne taking any active part, either
ble board," and is certain that Burns has misrepresented  personally, or as an author, in the present busithe conduct of his very generous masters. In answer to  R                          I must dehess of IEFORP. But, that, where I must dethis it has been urged that the word of the poet has in no
other thing been questioned: that in the last moments of    re my sentiments, I would say there existed
his life, he solemnly wrote this letter into his memoran-  a system  of corruption between the executive
dum-book, and that the reproof of Mr. Corbet, is given by  power and the representative part of the legishim either as a quotation from a paper or an exact recol-lature which boded no good to our glorious coNlection of the words used: the expressions, "not to 
think" and be " silent and obedient" are underlined.]    STITUTION; and which every patriotic Briton
must wish to see amended.-Some such sentiDumfries, 13th April, 1793.
SIRD                                       ments as these, I stated in a letter to my geneDEGENERATE as human nature is said to be,  rous patron, Mr. Graham, which he laid before
DEGENERATE as human nature is said to be,, 
the Board at large; where, it seems, my last
and in many instances, worthless and unprinci-  t   B       a l,,    
pled it is, still there are bright examples to the  remark gave great offence; and one of our
contrary; examples that even in the eyes of su-  suervisors-general, a Mr. Corbet, was instructed to inquire on the spot, and to docuperior beings, must shed a lustre on the name     t         t                s     d   t o
of man.                                         ment me-" that my business was to act, not to
Such an example have I now before me, when  think; and that whatever might be men or meayou, Sir, came forward to patronize and befriend  sures, it was for me to be silent and obedient."
a distant, obscure stranger, merely because po-    Mr. Corbet was likewise my steady friend;
verty had made him helpless, and his British  so between Mr. Graham  and him, I have been
hardihood of mind had provoked the arbitrary  partly forgiven; only I understand that all
wantonness of power.  My  much  esteemed  hopes of my getting officially forward, are
friend, Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, has just read  blasted.
me a paragraph of a letter he had from you.    Now, Sir, to the business in which I would
Accept, Sir, of the silent throb of gratitude;  more immediately interest you. The partiality
for words would but mock the emotions of my  of my COUNTRYMEN has brought me forward as
soul.                                           a man of genius, and has given me a character
You have been misinformed as to my final  to support.  In the POET I have avowed manly
dismission from  the Excise; I am  still in the  and independent sentiments, which I trust will
service.-Indeed, but for the exertions of a gen-  be found in the MAN. Reasons of no less weight
tieman who must be known to you, Mr. Graham   than the support of a wife and family, have
of Fintray, a gentleman who has ever been my  pointed out as the eligible, and, situated as I
warm  and generous friend, I had, without so  was, the only eligible line of life for me, my
much as a hearing, or the slightest previous  present occupation. Still my honest fame is mj




460                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
dearest concern; and a thousand times have I  commit it to the flames.  BURNS, in whose betrembled at the idea of those degrading epithets  half you have so generously interested yourself,
that malice or misrepresentation may affix to my  I have here in his native colours drawn as he is,
name.  I have often, in blasting anticipation,  but should any of the people in whose hands is
listened to some future hackney scribbler, with  the very bread he eats, get the least knowledge
the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exulting  of the picture, it would ruin the poor BARD for
in his hireling paragraphs —  Burns, notwith-  ever!
standing the fanfaronade of independence to be    My poems having just come out in another
found in his works, and after having been held  edition, I beg leave to present you with a copy,
forth to public view and to public estimation as  as a small mark of that high esteem and ardent
a man of some genius, yet quite desitute of re-  gratitude, with which I have the honour to be,
sources within himself to support his borrowed                         Sir,
dignity, he dwindled into a paltry exciseman,          Your deeply indebted,
and slunk out the rest of his insignificant ex-            And ever devoted humble servant,
istence in the meanest of pursuits, and among                                          R. B.
the vilest of mankind."
In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to
lodge my disavowal ond defiance of these slan-                      CCLVI.
derous falsehoods. BURNS was a poor man from               R    ERT AI               E
birth, and an exciseman by necessity: but I
will say it! the sterling of his honest worth, no    [" Up tails a', by the light o' the moon," was the name
poverty could  debase, and his independent  of a Scottish air, to which the devil danced with the..British mind, oppression might be, but could  witches of Fife, on Magus Moor, as reported by a warlock, in that credible work, " Satan's Invisible World
not subdue. Have not I, to me, a more precious  discovered."]
stake in my country's welfare than the richest                                Aprl 26 193.
dukedom in it?-I have a large family of chil-        A  d-mnably out of humour, my dear Ai
I AM d-mnably out of humour, my dear Ainsdren, and the prospect of many more.  I have
anh ropcr. I he  lie, and that is the reason, why I take up the
three sons, who, I see already, have brought
three son, who, I seealreadyhavebrouh   pen to you:'tis the nearest way (probatum est)
into the world souls ill qualified to inhabit the,   v      
to recover my spirits again.
bodies of SLAVES. —Can I look tamely on, and
bodi s, ad    I received your last, and was much entersee any machination to wrest from  them  the
tained with it; but I will not at this time, nor at
birthright of my boys,-the little independent  any other time, answer it.-Answer a letter? I
BRITONS, in whose veins runs my own blood?- 
BRITONS, in whose veins runs my own blood?-   never could answer a letter in my life!-I have
No! I will not! should my heart's blood stream                                                
written many a letter in return for letters I
around my attempt to defend it!
a d my a t to d d i!         have received; but then-they were original
Does any man tell me, that my full efforts  matter-spurt-away! zig here, zag there; as
can be of no service; and that it does not be-  if the devil that, my Grannie (an old woman inlong to my humble station to meddle with the  deed) often told me, rode on will-o'-wisp, or, in
concern of a nation?                            her more classic phrase, SPUNKIE, were looking
I can tell him, that it is on such individuals  over my elbow.-Happy thought that idea has
as I, that a nation has to rest, both for the  engendered in my head! SPUNKIE-thou shalt
hand of support, and the eye of intelligence.  henceforth be my symbol signature, and tutelary
The uninformed MOB may swell a nation'r bulk;  genius! Like thee, hap-step-and-lowp, hereand the titled, tinsel, courtly throng, may be its  awa-there-awa,  higglety-pigglety,  pell-mell,
feathered ornament; but the number of those  hither-and-yon, ram-stam, happy-go-lucky, upwho are elevated enough in life to reason and to  tails-a'-by-the-light-o'-the-moon,-has been, is,
reflect; yet low enough to keep clear of the  and shall be, my progress through the mosses
venal contagion of a court!-these are a nation's  and moors of this vile, bleak, barren wilderness
strength.                                       of a life of ours.
I know not how to apologize for the imperti-    Come then, my guardian spirit, like thee may
nent length of this epistle; but one small re-  I skip away, amusing myself by and at my own
quest I must ask of you further-when you have  light: and if any opaque-souled lubber of manhonoured this letter with a perusal, please to  kind complain that my elfine, lambent, glim
_________________________________________________________________________________________




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          461
merous wanderings have misled his stupid steps  portrait in the unembellished simple manner of
over precipices, or into bogs, let the thickheaded  descriptive TRUTH.-Flattery, I leave to your
blunderbuss recollect, that he is not SPUNKIE:  LOVERS, whose exaggerating fancies may make
-that                                           them imagine you still nearer perfectiou than
" SPUNKIE'S wanderings could not copied be:  you really are.
Amid these perils none durst walk but he."-  Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most for*    *    *    *    *                cibly the powers of BEAUTY; as, if they are
1 have no doubt but scholarcraft may be  really POETS of nature's making, their feelings
caught, as a Scotchman catches the itch,-by  must be finer, and their taste more delicate than
frictin.  How else can you account for it, that  most of the world. In the cheerful bloom of
born blockheads, by mere dint of handling books,  SPRING, or the pensive mildness of AUTUMN; the
grow so wise that even they themselves are  grandeur of SUMMER, or the hoary majesty of
equally convinced of and surprised at their own  WINTER, the poet feels a charm unknown to the
parts?  I once carried this philosophy to that  rest of his species. Even the sight of a fine
degree that in a knot of country folks who had  flower, or the company of a fine woman (by far
a library amongst them, and who, to the honourthe finest part of God's works below), have senof their good sense, made me factotum in the  sations for the poetic heart that the HERD of
business; one of our members, a little, wise-  man are strangers to.-On this last account,
looking, squat, upright, jabbering body of a  Madam, I am, as in many other things, indebttailor, I advised him, instead of turning over  ed to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in introducing
the leaves, to bind the book on his back.-Jonnnie  me to you.  Your lovers may view you with a
took the hint; and as our meetings were every  wish, I look on you with pleasure; their hearts,
fourth Saturday, and Pricklouse having a good  in your presence, may glow with desire, mine
Scots mile to walk in coming, and, of course,  rises with admiration.
another in returning, Bodkin was sure to lay    That the arrows of misfortune, however they
his hand on some heavy quarto, or ponderous should, as incident to humanity, glance a slight
folio, with, and under which, wrapt up in his wound, may never reach your heart-that the
gray plaid, he grew wise, as he grew weary, all  snares of villany may never beset you in the
the way home. He carried this so far, that an  road of lifethat INNOCENCE may hand you by
old musty Hebrew concordance, which we had
old musty Hebrew concordance, which we had  the path of HONOUR to the dwelling of PEACE, is
in a present from a neighbouring priest, by mere  the sincere wish of him who has the honour to
dint of applying it, as doctors do a blistering  be &c.                               R. B.
plaster, between his shoulders, Stitch, in a dozen
pilgrimages, acquired as much rational theology
as the said priest had done by forty years perusal of the pages.
Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think of
this theory.                                                      CCVII
Yours,                            TO  MR. THOMSON.
SPUNKIE.
[The name of the friend who fell a sacrifice to those
changeable times, has not been mentioned: it is believed
he was of the west country.]
CCLVII.                                                      June, 1793.
TO MISS KENNEDY.                        WHEN I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend
of mine in whom I am much interested, has fall[Miss Kennedy was one of that numerous band of ladies  en a sacrifice to these accursed times, you will
who patronized the poet in Edinburgh; she was related  i            i  i    i            
to theHamiltonsof Mossgiel.             easily allow that it might unhinge me for doing
to the Hamiltons of Mossgiel.]
any good among ballads.  My own loss as to
MADAM,                                     pecuniary matters is trifling; but the total ruin
PERMIT me to present you with the enclosed  of a much-loved friend is a loss indeed.  Parsong as a small though grateful tribute for the  don my seeming inattention to your last comhonour of your acquaintance. I have, in these  mands.
verses, attempted some faint sketches of your    I cannot alter the disputed lines in the c"illI
-  -  — ____________      ~__________________________________ _ ~                     _______..... 




162                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
Mill, 0!"I  What you think a defect, I esteem   anything at all like justice to my feelings, the
as a positive beauty; so you see how doctors  following song, composed in three-quarters of
differ.  I shall now, with as much alacrity as I  an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought
can muster, go on with your commands.           to have some merit:
You know  Frazer, the hautboy-player in
Edinburgh-he is here, instructing a band of             Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
music for a fencible corps quartered in this    Do you know the following beautiful little
county.  Among many of his airs that please  fragment, in Wotherspoon's collection of Scots
me, there is one, well known as a reel, by the  songs?4
name of "The Quaker's Wife;" and which, I
remember, a grand-aunt of mine used to sing,               Air-" Hughie Graham."
by the name of "Liggeram  Cosh, my bonnie          "Oh gin my love were yon red rose,
wee lass."  Mr. Frazer plays it slow, and with         That grows upon the castle wa';
an expression that quite charms me.  I became        And I mysel' a drap o' dew,
such an enthusiast about it, that I made a song        Into her bonnie breast to fa'!
for it, which I here subjoin, and enclose Frazer's set of the tune.  If they hit your fancy,    "Oh there, beyond expression blest,
they are at your service; if not, return me the        I'd feast on beauty a' the night,
tune, and I will put it in Johnson's Museum. I       Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
think the song is not in my worst manner.              Till fiey'd awa by Phoebus light!"
Blythe hae I been on yon hill.2             This thought is inexpressibly beautiful; and
I s d wh to hr hw t   p     y.   quite, so far as I know, original.  It is too short
I should wish to hear how this pleases you.  
R. B.    for a song, else I would forswear you altogether
unless you gave it a place.  I have often tried
to eke a stanza to it, but in vain. After baCCLIX.                      lancing myself for a musing five minutes, on the
hind legs of my elbow-chair, I produced the folTO  MR. THOMSON.                      lowing.
The verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I
[Against the mighty oppressors of the earth the poet                                         
was ever ready to set the sharpest shafts of his wrath:  fankly confess: but if worthy of insertion at
the times in which he wrote were sadly out of sorts.]    all, they might be first in place; as every poet
Je 25th 1.    who knows anything of his trade, will husband
H EJue 2h,f   17. b his best thoughts for a concluding stroke.
HAVE you ever, my dear Sir, felt your bosom
ready to burst with indignation, on reading of       Oh were my love yon lilac fair,
those mighty villains who divide kingdoms, de-         Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;
solate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of      And I a bird to shelter there,
the wantonness of ambition, or often from still        When wearied on my little wing!
more ignoble passions? In a mood of this kind         ow I wad mourn, when it was torn
to-day I recollected the air of "Logan Water,"              au   n wd       winter rude!
and it occurred to me that its querulous melody       B autu wd       and   wintr re 
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
probably had its origin from the plaintive indig-..  When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.5
nation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired                                   m r      d.
at the tyrannic strides of some public destroyer,
and overwhelmed with private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have done
I " The lines were the third and fourth:'And eyes again with pleasure beam'd
That had been blear'd with mourning.''Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
Though better suited to the music, these lines are inferiol
And mony a widow mourning.'
to the original." —CURRIE.
As our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first    2 Song CXV.  3 Song CXCVI.
number of Mr. Thomson's musical work was in the press,   4 Better known as Herd's. Wotherspoon was one o
this gentleman ventured, by Mr. Erskine's advice, to sub-  the publishers.
stitute for them, in that publication.            6 See Song CXCVII.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              463
CCLX.                        deuce of mind, will, I trust, long outlive any
T O  M R. THOMSON.           of his wants which the cold unfeeling ore can
supply; at least, I will take care that such a
[Thomson, in his reply to the preceding letter, laments  character he shall deserve.
that anything should untune the feelings of the poet, and    Thank you for my copy of your publication.
begs his acceptance of five pounds, as a small mark of.is.ratitude,or his beautiful songs~l          Never did my eyes behold in any musical work
Dis gratitude for his beautiful songs.]
such elegance and correctness.  Your preface,
MY DEAR SIR,,.    too, is admirably written, only your partiality
MY DEAR SIR,
I HAE just finished the following ballad and to me has made you say too much: however, it
I HAVE just finished the following ballad, and,
just finished the following balladad,  will bind me down to double every effort in the
as I do think it in my best style, I send it you.  w    b       m   d                           
Mr. Clarke, who wrote down the air from Mrs.  future progress of the work.  The following
Burns's wood-note wild, is very fond of it, and  are a few  remarks on the songs in the list you
has given it a celebrity by teaching it to some  sent me.  I never copy what I write to you, so
young ladies of the first fashion here.  If you  I may be often tautological, or perhaps contrado not like the air enough to give it a place in  dictory.
your collection, please return it. The song you      "The Flowers o' the Forest," is charming as
may keep, as I remember it.                       a poem, and should be, and must be, set to the
notes; but, though out of your rule, the three
There was a lass, and she was fair.           stanzas beginning,
I h   sf i n  i.   "I've seen the smiling of, fortune beguiling,"
I have some thoughts of inserting in your
are worthy of a place, were it but to immortalindex, or in my notes, the names of the fair ones,  are worthy of a place, were it but to immortalthe themes of my songs.  I do not mean the  ize the author of them, who is an old lady of
name at full; but dashes or asterisms, so as  my acquaintance, and at this moment living in
ingenuity may find them out.                      Edinburgh.  She is a Mrs. Cockburn, I forget
The heroine of the foregoing is Miss M'Murdo,  of what place, but from Roxburghshire.2  What
daughter to Mr. M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig, one  a charming apostrophe is
of your subscribers.  I have not painted her in          0 fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting,
the rank which she holds in life, but in the dress      Why thus perplex us, poor sons of a day?
and character of a cottager.            R. B.       The old ballad, "I wish I were where Helen
lies," is silly to contemptibility.  My alteration
of it, in Johnson's, is not much better.  Mr.
Pinkerton, in his, what he calls, ancient ballads
CCLXI.                        (many of them  notorious, though  beautiful
TO  MR. THOMSON.                       enough, forgeries), has the best set.  It is full
of his own interpolations-but no matter.
[Burns in this letter speaks of the pecuniary present    In my next I will suggest to your considerawhich Thomson sent him, in a lofty and angry mood: he
n. tJ'      tion a few songs which may have escaped your
who published poems by subscription might surely have 
accepted, without any impropriety, payment for his  hurried notice.  In the meantime allow me to
songs.]                                           congratulate you now, as a brother of the quill.
July, 1793.    You have committed your character and fame,
I ASSURE yOU, my dear Sir, that you truly  which will now be tried, for ages to come, by
hurt me with your pecuniary parcel.  It de-  the illustrious jury of the SONS AND DAUGHgrades me in my own eyes. However, to return  TERS or TASTE-all whom  poesy can please or
it would savour of affectation; but, as to any  music charm.
more traffic of that debtor and creditor kind, I    Being a bard of nature, I have some pretenswear by that HONOUR which crowns the up-  sions to second sight; and I am  warranted by
right statue of ROBERT BURNS'S INTEGRITY-  the spirit to foretell and affirm, that your greaton the least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn  grand-child will hold up your volumes, and say,
the bypast transaction, and from  that moment  with honest pride, " This so much admired secommence entire stranger to you! BuRNs's cha-  lection was the work of my ancestor!"
racter for generosity of sentiment and indepen-                                           R. B.
I Song CXCVII1.                                 riage Mrs. Patrick Cockburn, of Ormiston. She died in
t  Miss Rutherford, of Fernilee in Selkirkshire, by mar-  1794, at an advanced age.




464                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CCLXII.                                           CCLXIV.
TO MR. THOMSON.                                   TO MR. THOMSON.
[Stephen Clarke, whose name is at this strange note,   [The infusion of Highland airs and north country subwas a musician and composer; he was a clever man, and  Jects into the music and songs of Scotland, has invigorahad a high opinion of his own powers.]            ted both: Burns, who had a fine ear as well as a fine
taste, was familiar with all, either Highland or LowAugust, 1793.    land.]
MY DEAR THOMSON,                                                             August, 1793.
I HOLD the pen for our friend Clarke, who at    THAT crinkum-crankum tune, " Robin Adair,
present is studying the music of the spheres at  has run so in my head, and I succeeded so ill in
my elbow.  The Georgium  Sidus he thinks is  my last attempt, that I have ventured, in this
rather out of tune; so, until he rectify that  morning's walk, one essay more.  You, my dear
matter, he cannot stoop to terrestrial affairs.    Sir, will remember an unfortunate part of our
He sends you six of the rondeau subjects, and  worthy friend Cunningham's story, which hap
if more are wanted, he says you shall have  pened about three years ago.  That struck my
them.                                             fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea justice
as follows:
Confound your long stairs!                          follows:
S. CLARKE.        Had I a cave on some wild distant shore.2
By the way, I have met with a musical Highlander in Breadalbane's Fencibles, which are
CCLXIII.                       quartered here, who assures me that he well
TO  MR. THOMSON.                       remembers his mother singing Gaelic songs to
both  "Robin Adair," and "Grammachree."
[" Phillis the Fair" endured much at the hands of both  They certainly have more of the Scotch than
Burns and Clarke. The young lady had reason to com-      taste in them.
plain, when the poet volunteered to sing the imaginary
love of that fntastic fiddler.]             This man comes from the vicinity of Inverlove of that fantastic fiddler.]
ness: so it could not be any intercourse with
August, 1 93.    Ireland that could bring them; except, what I
YOUR objection, my dear Sir, to the passages  shrewdly suspect to be the case, the wandering
in my song of "Logan Water," is right in one  minstrels, harpers, and pipers, used to go freinstance; but it is difficult to mend it: if I can,  quently errant through the wilds both of ScotI will.  The other passage you object to does  land and Ireland, and so some favourite airs
not appear in the same light to me.               might be common to both.  A case in pointI have tried my hand on " Robin Adair," and,  they have lately, in Ireland, published an Irish
you will probably think, with little success; but  air, as they say, called " Caun du delish." The
it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way mea-  fact is, in a publication of Cor's, a great while
sure, that I despair of doing anything better to  ago, you will find the same air, called a HighWhlak'ihltit.                wn.land one, with a Gaelic song set to it.  Its
While larks with little wing.'           name there, I think, is "Oran Gaoil," and a
So much for namby-pamby.  I may, after all,  fine air it is.  Do ask honest Allan or the Rev.
try my hand on it in Scots verse.  There I  Gaelic parson, about these matters.
always find myself most at home.                                                          R. B.
I have just put the last hand to the song I
meant for " Cauld kail in Aberdeen." If it suits
you to insert it, I shall be pleased, as the heroine is a favourite of mine; if not, I shall also
be pleased; because I wish, and will be glad,                 TO MR. THOMSON.
to see you act decidedly on the business.'Tis
[While Burns composed songs, Thomson got some of
a tribute as a man of taste, and as an editor,  the happiest embodied by David Allan, the painter, whose
which you owe yourself.                           illustrations of the Gentle Shepherd had been favourably
R. B.    received. But save when an old man was admitted tc
1Song CXCIX.                                        2 Song CC.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                              465.ne scene, his designs may be regarded as failures: his  possibly send it him.  The set of the air which
maidens were coarse and his old wives rigwiddie  I had in my eye, is in Johnson's Museum.
carlins.]
August, 1793.        0 whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.2
MY DEAR SIR,
~MY DEAR SIPR~, Another favourite  air of mine  is, "The
"LET me in this ae night" I will reconsider.  m           o G          b       W           
muckin' o' Geordie's byre." When sung slow,
I am  glad that you are pleased with my song,,  with expression, I have wished that it had had
"Had I a cave," &c., as I liked it myself. 
better poetry; that Ihave endeavoured to supply
I walked out yesterday evening with a volume  as follows
of the Museum in my hand, when turning up
"Allan Water," " What numbers shall the muse            Adown winding Nith I did wander.3
repeat," &c., as the words appeared to me rather
~~~~~,   ~S~ n.  ^.Mr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a
unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that                 b       
it isonyris, I st an  r d  corner in your book, as she is a particular flame
it is on your list, I sat and raved under the
of his, and out of compliment to him  I have
shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit                                             
made the song. She is a Miss Phillis M'Murdo,
the measure.  I may be wrong; but I think it                  o i.  T          
sister to "' Bonnie Jean."  They are both pupils
not in my worst style.  You must know, that in
msy's    stle.  Y    m     ko, tt in  of his.  You shall hear from me, the very first
Ramsay's Tea-table, where the modern song.~ F~~~grist I get from my rhyming-mill.
first appeared, the ancient name of the tune,                  o. B.
Allan says, is "Allan Water," or "My love
Annie's very bonnie." This last has certainly
been a line of the original song; so I took up
the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced
the line in its place, which I presume it formerly           TO  MR. THO M S ON.
occupied; though I likewise give you a choosing
[Burns was fond of expressive words: " Gloaming, the
line, if it should not hit the cut of your fancy:   twilight," says Currie, " is a beautiful poetic  orl,
which ought to be adopted in England." Burns and
By Allan stream I chanced to rove.'                                                             I
Scott have made the Scottish language popular over the
Bravo! say I; it is a good song. Should you  world.]
think so too (not else) you can set the music to                                  Augzust, 1793.
it, and let the other follow as English verses.     THAT tune, " Cauld kail," is such a favourite
Autumn is my propitious season.  I make  of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday
more verses in it than all the year else.  God  for a gloamin-shot at the muses; when the muse
bless you!                              R. B.    that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather
my old inspiring dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I have two reasons for
CCLXVI.                       thinking that it was my early, sweet simple inspirer that was by my elbow, " smooth gliding
TO  MR. THOMSON.                       without step," and pouring the song on my
glowing fancy.  In the first place, since I left
[Phillis, or Philadelphia M'Murdo, in whose honour 
Burns composed the song beginning "Adown winding  Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet
Nith I did wander," and several others, died September  has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by
5th, 1825.]                                       catching inspiration from  her, so I more than
August, 1793.    suspect that she has followed me hither, or, at
Is " Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,"  least, makes me occasional visits; secondly, the
one of your airs? I admire it much; and yes-  last stanza of this song I send you, is the very
terday I set the following verses to it. Urbani,  words that Coila taught me many years ago, and
whom I have met with here, begged them  of  which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's
me, as he admires the air much; but as I under-  Museum.
stand that he looks with rather an evil eye on                
Come, let me take thee to my breast.4
your work, I did not choose to comply. However, if the song does not suit your taste I may    If you think the above will suit your idea of
I Song CCI            2 Song CCII.                3 Song CCIII.         4 Song CCIV.
30




1 166                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased.  of illustrious descent is, I believe, equally true' The last time I came o'er the moor" I cannot  of a talent for poetry, none ever despised it who
meddle with, as to mending it; and the musical  had pretensions to it. The fates and characters
world have been so long accustomed to Ramsay's  of the rhyming tribe often employ my thoughts
words, that a different song, though positively  when I am  disposed to be melancholy.  There
superior, would not be so well received.  I am   is not, among all the martyrologies that ever
not fond of choruses to songs, so I have not  were penned, so rueful a narrative as the lives
made one for the foregoing.                       of the poets.-In the  comparative view  of
R. B.    wretches, the criterion is not what they are
doomed to suffer, but how they are formed to
bear.  Take a being of our kind, give him  a
CCLXVIII.                      stronger imagination and a more delicate sensiTO  MR. THOMSON.                       bility, which between them will ever engender
a more ungovernable set of passions than are
[" Cauld kail in Aberdeen, and castocks in Strabogie," the usual lot of man; implant in him an irreare words which have no connexion with the sentiment  sistible inipulse to some idle vagary, such as
of the song which Burns wrote for the air.]
arranging wild flowers in fantastical nosegays,
August, 1793.    tracing the grasshopper to his haunt by his
S O N.                       chirping song, watching the frisks of the little
Nw..ry My       minnows in the sunny pool, or hunting after the
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers.l.
intrigues of butterflies —in  short, send him
So much for Davie.  The chorus, you know,  adrift after some pursuit which shall eternally
is to the low part of the tune. See Clarke's set  mislead him  from the paths of lucre, and yet
of it in the Museum.                              curse him with a keener relish than any man
N. B. In the Museum  they have drawled out  living for the pleasures that lucre can purchase;
the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is -    lastly, fill up the measure of his woes by benonsense.  Four lines of song, and four of  stowing  on him  a spurning sense of his own
chorus, is the way.2                              dignity, and you have created a wight nearly as
miserable as a poet.  To you, Madam, I need
not recount the fairy pleasures the muse bestows
to counterbalance this catalogue of evils.  BeCCLXIX.                       witching poetry is like bewitching woman; she
has in all ages been accused of misleading manT O  M I S S CR AI K.                 kind from the councils of wisdom and the paths
[Miss Helen Craik, of Arbigland, had merit both as a  of prudence, involving  them  in  difficulties,
poetess and novelist: her ballads may he compared with  baiting them with poverty, branding them with
those of Hector M'Neil: her novels had a seasoning of  infamy, and plunging them in the whirling vorsatire in them.]
satire in them.]                                 i tex of ruin; yet, where is the man but must
Dumfries, August, 1793.    own that all our happiness on earth is not worthy
MADAM,                                        the name-that even the holy hermit's solitary
SOnME rather unlooked-for accidents have pre-  prospect of paradisiacal bliss is but the glitter
vented my doing myself the honour of a second  of a northern sun rising over a frozen region,
visit to Arbigland, as I was so hospitably in-  compared with the many pleasures, the namevited, and so positively meant to have done.-   less raptures that we owe to the lovely queen
However, I still hope to have that pleasure be-  of the heart of man!                     R. B.
fore the busy months of harvest begin.
I enclose you two of my late pieces, as some 
kind of return for the pleasure I have received
in perusing a certain MS. volume of poems in                          CCLXX.
the possession of Captain Riddel. To repay one             TO  LADY  GLENCAIRN.
with an old song, is a proverb, whose force, you,
Madam, I know, will not allow.  What is said    [Burns, as the concluding paragraph of this letter
proves, continued to the last years of his life to think of' I Song CCVM       2 See Song LXVI1.       the composition of a Scottish drama, which Sir Walter'I   _. _




OF ROBERT BUiiNS.                                          467
Scott laments he did not write, instead of pouring out  fession.  Another advantage I have in this
multitudes of lyrics for Johnson and Thomson.]  business, is the knowledge it gives me of the
MY LADY,                                    various shades of human character, consequently
THE honour you have done your poor poet, in  assisting me vastly in my poetic pursuits.  I
writing him so very obliging a letter, and the  had the most ardent enthusiasm  for the muses
pleasure the enclosed beautiful verses have  when nobody knew  me, but myself, and that
given him, came very seasonably to his aid,  ardour is by no means cooled now that my lord
amid the cheerless gloom and sinking despond-  Glencairn's goodness has introduced me to all
ency of diseased nerves and December weather.  the world. Not that I am in haste for the press.
As to forgetting the family of Glencairn, Heaven  I have no idea of publishing, else I certainly
is my witness with what sincerity I could use  had consulted my noble generous patron; but
those old verses which please me more in their  after acting the part of an honest man, and
rude simplicity than the most elegant lines I  supporting my family, my whole wishes and
ever saw.                                       views are directed to poetic pursuits.  I am
" If thee, Jerusalem, I forget,            aware that though I were to give performances
Skill part from my right hand.          to the world superior to my former works, still
My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave,  if they were of the same kind with those, the
If I do thee forget,                    comparative reception they would meet with
Jerusalem, and thee above                 would mortify me.  I have turned my thoughts
My chief joy do not set."-              on the drama. I do not mean the stately buskin
When I am tempted to do anything improper,  of the tragic muse.
I dare not, because I look on myself as account-           *       *       *       *
able to your ladyship and family.  Now and    Does not your ladyship think that an Edinthen, when I have the honour to be called to  burgh theatre would be more amused with affecthe tables of the great, if I happen to meet with  tation, folly, and whim of true Scottish growth,
any mortification from the stately stupidity of  than manners which by far the greatest part
self-sufficient squires, or the luxurious insolence  of the  audience can only know  at second
of upstart nabobs, I get above the creatures by  hand?
calling to remembrance that I am patronized          I have the honour to be,
by the noble house of Glencairn; and at gala-              Your ladyship's ever devoted
times, such as new-year's day, a christening, or              And grateful humble servant,
the kirn-night, when my punch-bowl is brought                                          R. B
from its dusty corner and filled up in honour of
the occasion, I begin with,-The Countess of
Glencairn! My good woman with the enthusiasm                      CCLXXI.
of a grateful heart, next cries, My Lord! and              TO MR. THOMSON.
so the toast goes on until I end with Lady Harriet's little angel! whose epithalamium  I have    [Peter Pindar, the name under which it was the pleapledged myself to write.                        sure of that bitter but vulgar satirist, Dr. Wolcot, to
When I received your ladyship's letter, i was  write, was a man of little lyrical talent. He purchased
When I received your ladyships letter, I  as  a good annuity for the remainder of his life, by the copyjust in the act of transcribing foryou some verses  right of his works, and survived his popularity many
I have lately composed; and meant to have sent  years.]
them my first leisure hour, and acquainted you                                    Sept. 1793.
with my late change of life. I mentioned to    You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any
my lord my fears concerning my farm.  Those  exertion in my power is heartily at your service.
fears were indeed too true; it is a bargain  But one thing I must hint to you; the very
would have ruined me, but for the lucky circum-  name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your
stance of my having an excise commission.       publication, so get a verse from  him now and
People may talk as they please, of the igno-  then; though I have no objection, as well as I
miny of the excise; 501. a year will support my  can, to bear the burden of the business.
wife and children, and keep me independent of    You know that my pretensions to musical
the world; and I would much rather have it  taste are merely a few of nature's instincts,
said that my profession borrowed credit from   untaught and untutored by art.  For this reame, than that I borrowed credit from my pro-  son, many musical compositions, particularly
i,...,_.._-,,.... —._____    ~~,_,~  __ __~~ _.~  __.._~~..~._,, _~, __.... _._  ~   -  — J




468                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
where much of the merit lies in counterpoint, has fairly made off with a hapless wight, it gets
however they may transport and ravish the ears  so enamoured with the tinkle-gingle, tinkleof your connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no   gingle of its own bells, that it is sure to run
otherwise than merely as melodious din.  On  poor pilgarlick, the bedlam  jockey, quite bethe other hand, by way of amends, I am  de-  yond any useful point or post in the common
lighted with many little melodies, which the  race of men.
learned musician despises as silly and insipid.    The following song I have composed  for
I do not know whether the old air " Hey tuttie     Oran-gaoil," the Highland air that, you tell
taitie," may rank among this number; but well  me in your last, you have resolved to give a
I know that, with Frazer's haut-boy, it has  place to in your book.  I have this moment
often filled my eyes with tears.  There is a  finished the song, so you have it glowing from
tradition, which I have met with in many places  the mint.  If it suit you, well!-If not,'tis also
in Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march  well!
at the battle of Bannockburn.  this thought,          Behold the hour, the boat arrive!
in yesternight's evening walk, warmed me to a                                          R. B.
pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and
independence, which I threw into a kind of
Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might
suppose to be the gallant Royal Scot's address                    CCLXXIII.
to his heroic followers on the eventful morning.          TO  MR. THO    S ON.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled.1           [This is another of the sagacious letters on Scottish
song, which poets and musicians would do well to read
So may God ever defend the cause of truth  and consider.]
and liberty, as he did that day! Amen.                                            Sept. 1793.
P.S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was    I HAVE received your list, my dear Sir, and
highly pleased with it, and begged me to make  here go my observations on it.3
soft verses for it; but I had no idea of giving    "Down the burn, Davie."  I have this momyself any trouble on the subject, till the acci-ment tried an alteration, leaving out the last
dental recollection of that glorious struggle for  half of the third stanza, and the first half of the
freedom, associated with the glowing ideas of  last stanza thus:
some other struggles of the same nature, not
quite so ancient, roused my rhyming mania.           As down the burn they took their way,
Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you will      And thro' the flowery dale;
find in the Museum, though I am  afraid that         His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
the air is not what will entitle it to a place in      And love was aye the tale.
your elegant selection.               R. B.          With "Mary, when shall we return,
Sic pleasure to renew?"
Quoth Mary, "Love, I like the burn,
And aye shall follow you." 
CCLXXII.
"Thro' the wood, laddie"-I am decidedly of
TO MR. THOMSON.
opinion that both in this, and " There'll never
[This letter contains further proof of the love of Burns  be peace till Jamie comes hame," the second or
for the airs of the Highlands.]                 high part of the tune being a repetition of the
Sept. 1793.    first part an octave higher, is only for instruI DARE say, my dear Sir, that you will begin  mental music, and would be much better omitto think my correspondence is persecution. No  ted in singing.
matter, I can't help it; a ballad is my hobby-    "Cowden-knowes." Remember in your inde 
horse, which, though otherwise a simple sort  that the song in pure English to this tune, beof harmless idiotical beast enough, has yet this  ginning,
blessed headstrong property, that when once it      " When summer comes, the swains on Tweed,"
I Song CCVII.      2 Song CCVIII.           3 Mr. Thomson's list of songs for his publication.
4 This is an alteration of one of Crawfurd's songs
___________________________________________ _____ __ _____,  ____________ __ ______ ___ ____. _____. ____ _ ____ ~ ___.___l~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         469
Is the production of Crawfurd. Robert was his    "Auld Sir Simon" I must beg you to leave
Christian name.'                              out, and put in its place " The Quaker's wife."
" Laddie, lie near me," must lie by me for    "Blythe hae I been on yon hill,"2 is one of
some time. I do not know the air; and until I  the finest songs ever I made in my life, and, beam complete master of a tune, in my own singing  sides, is composed on a young lady, positively
(such as it is), I can never compose for it. My  the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world
way is: I consider the poetic sentiment corre-  As I purpose giving you the names and desigspondent to my idea of the musical expression;  nations of all my heroines, to appear in some
then choose my theme; begin one stanza: when  future edition of your work, perhaps half a
that is composed, which is generally the most  century hence, you must certainly include "The
difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit  bonniest lass in a' the warld," in your coldown now and then, look out for objects of na-  lection.
ture around me that are in unison and harmony    "Dainty Davie" I have heard sung nineteen
with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings  thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine times,
of my bosom; humming every now and then the  and always with the chorus to the low part of
air withthe verses I have framed. When Ifeelmy  the tune; and nothing has surprised me so
muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary  much as your opinion on this subject. If it will
fire-side of my study, and there commit my effu-  not suit as I proposed, we will lay two of the
sions to paper; swinging at intervals on the  stanzas together, and then make the chorus folhind-legs of my elbow-chair, by way of calling  low, exactly as Lucky Nancy in the Museum.
forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes    " Fee him, father:" I enclose you Frazer's
on. Seriously, this, at home, is almost invari-  set of this tune when he plays it slow: in fact
ably my way.                                  he makes it the language of despair. I shall
What cursed egotism!                       here give you two stanzas, in that style, merely
"Gil Morice" I am for leaving out. It is a  to try if it will be any improvement. Were it
plgguy length; the air itself is never sung; and  possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos
its place can well be supplied by one or two  which Frazer gives it in playing, it would make
songs for fine airs that are not in your list-for  an admirably pathetic song. I do not give
instance" Craigieburn-wood" and" Roy's wife."  these verses for any merit they have. I comThe first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty,  posed them at the time in which " Patie Allan's
and the last has high merit as well as great  mither died-that was about the back o' midcelebrity. I have the original words of a song  night;" and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch,
for the last air, in the handwriting of the lady  which had overset every mortal in company exwho composed it; and they are superior to any  cept the hautbois and the muse.
edition of the song which the public has yet          Thou hast left me ever, Jamie
seen.," Highland laddie."  The old set will please    "Jockie and Jenny" I would discard, and in
a mere Scotch ear best; and the new an Italian-  its place would put " There's nae luck about
ised one. There is a third, and what Oswald  the house,"" which has a very pleasant air, and
calls the old " Highland laddie," which pleases  which is positively the finest love-ballad in that
me more than either of them. It is sometimes  style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any other
called " Ginglin Johnnie;" it being the air of an  language.  "When she came ben she bobbit,"
old humorous tawdry song of that name. You  as an air is more beautiful than either, and in
will find it in the Museum, "I hae been at  the andante way would unite with a charming
Crookieden," &c. I would advise you, in the  sentimental ballad.
musical quandary, to offer up your prayers to    " Saw ye my father?" is one of my greatest
the muses for inspiring direction; and in the  favourites. The evening beforelast, I wandered
meantime, waiting for this direction, bestow a  out, and began a tender song, in what I think
libation to Bacchus; and there is not a doubt  is its native style. I must premise that the old
but you will hit on a judicious choice. Proba-  way, and the way to give most effect, is to have
tumn est.                                     no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to
1 His Christian name was William.              3 Song CCIX.
2 Song CXCV.                                   4 By William Julius Mickle.




470                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
burst at once into the pathos.  Every country  jured by the alteration: it is now sung as originally
girl sings " Saw ye my father?" &c.            written, by all singers of taste.]
September, 1793.
My song is but just begun; and I should like,                             September, 1793.
I AM happy, my dear Sir that my ode pleases
before I proceed, to know your opinion of it.  I                       
you so much.  Your idea, "honour's bed," is,
[ have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect,                                             
though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea; so, if
but it may be easily turned into correct Eng-             beautiful, a hackneyed idea; so, if
lish.i  y         y                            you please, we will let the line stand as it is.
"Todlin hame."  Urbani mentioned an idea  I he altered the song as follows:
of his, which has long been mine, that this air    N. B. I have boowed the last stanza from
is highly susceptible of pathos: accordingly,  the common stall edition of Wallaceyou will soon hear him  at your concert try it        "A false usurper sinks in every foe,
to a song of mine in the Museum, " Ye banks             And liberty returns with every blow.
and braes o' bonnie Doon."  One song more and    A couplet worthy of Homer.  Yesterday you
I have done; "Auld lang syne."  The air is  hd enough of my correspondence.  The post
but mediocre; but the following song, the old  goes, and my head aches miserably.  One comsong of the olden times, and which has never  fort  I suffer so much, just now, in this world
been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I  for last night's joviality, that I shall escape
took it down from  an old man's singing, is  scot-free for it in the world to come. Amen.
enough to recommend any air.2                                                         R. B.
Now, I suppose, I have tried your patience
fairly.  You must, after all is over, have a                      CLXXV.
number of ballads, properly so called.  "Gil
Morice," "Tranent Muir," " Macpherson's fare-             TO  IMR. THO M S ON.
well," "Battle of Sherriff-muir," or, "We ran,
*''well,"  Btte  f    o  "Wera  [The poet's good sejnse rose at last in arms against the
and they ran," (I know the author of this charm-  criticisms of the musician, and he refused to lessen the
ing ballad, and his history,) "Hardiknute,"  dignity of his war-ode by any more alterations.]
"Barbara Allan" (I can furnish a finer set of                               Septe
September, 1793.
this tune than any that has yet appeared;) and. 
"  Who shall decide when doctors disagree?"
besides do you know that I really have the old
besides do you knwd  My ode pleases me so much that I cannot alter
tune to which " The cherry and the slae" was! *                                    1
tune to which  The cherry and the slae  w  it.  Your proposed alterations would, in my
sung, and which is mentioned as a well-known                               exceedingly obliged
opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly obliged
air in "Scotland's Complaint," a book published
3air in "ctad  Cto you for putting me on reconsidering it, as I
before poor Mary's days?3 It was then called                                       Instead of
think I have much improved it. Instead of
"The banks of Helicon;" an old poem which   sodger  hero!" I will have it "Caledonian,
Pinkerton has brought to light.  You will see  on wi me
all this in Tytler's history of Scottish music.    I have scrutinized it over and over; and to
The tune, to a learned ear, may have no great  the world, some way or other, it hall go as it
merit; but it is a great curiosity.  I have a                                            
is. At the same time it will not in the least
good many original things of this kind.         hurt me, should you leaveit out altogether, and
adhere to your first intention of adopting Logan's
~______________  ~verses.
I have finished my song to " Saw ye my father?" and in English, as you will see. That
CCLXXIV.                      there is a syllable too much for the expression
TO  MR. THOMSON.                     of the air, is true; but, allow me to say, that
the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet into a
[Burns listened too readily to the suggestion of Thom^,D ^~,~,  i- T3    i crotchet and a quaver, is not a great matter:
son, to alter " Bruce's Address to his troops at Bannockburn:" whatever may be the merits of the air of " Louis  however, in that I have no pretensions to cope
Gordon," the sublime simplicity of the words was in-  in judgment with you.  Of the poetry I speak
1 The song here alluded to is one which the poet after-   3 A curious and rare book, which Leyden afterwards
wards sent in an entire form: —                 edited.
"Where are the joys I hae met in the morning."  4 Song CCVII.
2 Song CCX.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             471
with confidence; but the music is a business  twenty-five of them  in an additional number?
where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffi-  We could easily find this quantity of charming
dence.                                            airs; I will take care that you shall not want
The old verses have merit, though unequal,  songs; and I assure you that you would find it
and are popular: my advice is to set the air to  the most saleable of the whole.  If you do not
the old words, and let mine follow as English   approve of " Roy's wife," for the music's sake,
verses.  Here they are:-                          we shall not insert it.  " Deil tak the wars" is
a charming song; so is, "Saw ye my Peggy?"
Where are the joys I have met in the morn-              charming song; so is,  Saw ye my Peggy?"
ing?'                                      "There's nae luck about the house" well deing?'
serves a place. I cannot say that " O'er the
Adieu, my dear Sir! the post goes, so I shall  hills and far awa" strikes me as equal to your
defer some other remarks until more leisure,    selection. "This is no my ain house," is a great
R. B.    favourite air of mine; and if you will send me
your set of it, I will task my muse to her highest
effort.  What is your opinion of "I hae laid a
CCLXXVI.                       herrin' in saut?"  I like it much.  Your jacoTO  MR. THOMSON.                       bite airs are pretty, and there are many others
of the same kind pretty; but you have not room
[For "Fy! let us a' to the bridal," and "Fy! gie me  for them.  You cannot, I think, insert "Fy!
my coggie, Sirs," and " There's nae luck about the  let's a' to the bridal," to any other words than
house," Burns puts in a word of praise, from a feeling
that Thomson's taste would induce him to exclude the  its own.
first-one of our most original songs-from his collec-    What pleases me, as simple and naive, distion.]                       September793.    gusts you as ludicrous and low.  For this reaSeptember, 1793.
son, "Fy! gie me my coggie, Sirs," " Fy! let's
I HAVE been turning over some volumes of,,,
IAEbe unn   oe  smva' to the bridal," with several others of that
songs, to find verses whose measures would suit,~.~,.,,  ~,       ~ ^  cast, are to me highly pleasing; while, "Saw
the airs for which you have allotted me to find
ye my father, or saw ye my mother?" delights
For  Muirland Willie," you have, in Ram-s  me with its descriptive simple pathos.  Thus
For " Muirland Willie," you have, in Rammy song, "Ken ye what Meg o' the mill has
say's Tea-Table, an excellent song beginning, 
say's y te be, tearin elletsog be, 0gotten?" pleases myself so much, that I cannot
" Ah, why those tears in Nelly's eyes?" As for
try my hand at another song to the air, so I
"The Collier's Dochter," take the following old, o 
shall not attempt it.  I know you will laugh at
bacchanal:
all this; but " ilka man wears his belt his ain
"Deluded swain, the pleasure, &c."2          gait."                                   R. B.
The faulty line  in Logan-Water, I mend
thus:
How can your flinty hearts enjoy                             CCLXXVII.
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?                  TO  MR. THOMSON.
The song otherwise will pass. As to "M'Gre-    [of the Hon. Andrew Erskine an account was commugoira Rua-Ruth," you will see a song of mine  nicated in a letter to Burns by Thomson, which the writo it, with a set of the air superior to yours, inter has withheld. He was a gentleman of talent, and
the Museum, vol. ii. p. 181.  The song begins,  joint projector of Thomson's now celebrated work.]
October, 1793.
Raving winds around her blowing.3, 
YouR last letter, my dear Thomson, was
Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are rank  indeed laden with heavy news.  Alas, poor
Irish.  If they were like the " Banks of Ban-  Erskine!4  The recollection that he was a cona," for instance, though really Irish, yet in the  adjutator in your publication, has till now scared
Scottish taste, you might adopt them. Since  me from writing to you, or turning my thoughts
you are so fond of Irish music, what say you to  on composing for you.
Song CCXI.                 2 Song CCXII.       4 " The honourable AndrewErskine, whose melancholy
3 Song LII.                      death Mr. Thomson had communicated in an excellent
letter, which he has suppressed."-CURRIE.




172                      GENEgiAL CORRESPONDENCE
I am pleased that you are reconciled to the                Awake thy tender tale of love,
air of the " Quaker's wife;" though, by the bye,              And soothe a poor forsaken swain.
an old Highland gentleman, and a deep anti-                  For though the muses deign to aid
quarian, tells me it is a Gaelic air, and known                And teach him smoothly to complain,
by the name of "Leiger m' choss."  The follow-               Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid,
Is deaf to her forsaken swain.
ing verses, I hope, will please you, as an English                d    t             
song to the air.                                             All day, with fashion's gaudy sons,
Thine am  I, my faithful fair:'                        In sport she wanders o'er the plain:
Their tales approves, and still she shuns
Your objection to the English song I pro-                   The notes of her forsaken swain.
posed for "John Anderson my jo," is certainly...  ^ v7 ^ ^  When evening shades obscure the sky,
just.  The following is by an old acquaintance                 And bring the solemn hours again,
of mine, and I think has merit.  The song was                Begin, sweet bird, thy melody,
never in print, which I think is so much in your               And soothe a poor forsaken swain.
favour.  The more original good poetry your             I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's,
collection contains, it certainly has so much the   which would go charmingly to "Lewie Gordon."
more merit.
LAURA.
SONG.-BY GAVIN TURNBULL.3                                          LAURA.
Oh, condescend, dear charming maid,                       Let me wander where I will,
By shady wood, or winding rill;
My wretched state to view; * 
Where the sweetest May-born flowers
A tender swain, to love betray'd,                         Where the sweetest May-orn flowers
Atnde sad despainr, by you.                             Paint the meadows, deck the bowers;
Where the linnet's early song
While here, all melancholy,                               Echoes sweet the woods among:
My passion I deplore,                                   Let me wander where I will,
Yet, urg'd by stern, resistless fate,                     Laura haunts my fancy still.
I love thee more and more.
If at rosy dawn I choose
I heard of love, and with disdain                         To indulge the smiling muse;
The urchin's power denied.                              If I court some cool retreat,
I laugh'd at every lover's pain,                          To avoid the noontide heat;
And mock'd them when they sigh'd.                       If beneath the moon's pale ray,
Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray;
But how my state is alter'd!Let me wander where I will
Let me wander where I will,
Those happy days are o'er;
Those happy days are o'er;                              Laura haunts my fancy still.
For all thy unrelenting hate,
I love thee more and more.                              When at night the drowsy god
Waves his sleep-compelling rod,
Oh, yield, illustrious beauty, yield                      Was     slee         ellg 
No longer let me mourn;                                 And to fancy's wakeful eyes
No longer let me mourn;.. 
Bids celestial visions rise,
And though victorious in the field,                             c              
While with boundless joy I rove
Thy captive do not scorn.
Thro' the fairy land of love;
Let generous pity warm thee,                              Let me wander where I will,
My wonted peace restore;                                Laura haunts my fancy still.
And grateful I shall bless thee still,
And love thee more and more.                   The rest of your letter I shall answer at some
other opportunity.                         R. B.
The following address of Turnbull's to  the
Nightingale will suit as an English song to the
air "There was a lass, and she was fair."  By
the bye, Turnbull has a great many songs in
MS., which I can command, if you like  his
manner.  Possibly, as he is an old friend of                                LXX
mine, I may be prejudiced in his favour; but I              TO  JOHN  M'MURD, ESQ.,
like some of his pieces very much.
WITH A PARCEL.
THE NIGHTINGALE.
Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove,            [The collection of songs alluded to in this letter, are
That ever tried the plaintive strain,        only known to the curious in loose lore: they were
I Song CCXIII.                                      volume, published at Glasgow, in 1788, under the title of
2 Gavin Turnbull was the author of a now forgotten  " Poetical Essays."




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         473
printed by an obscure bookseller, but not before death had  I shall ever claim as mine:-to no man, whatsecured him from the indignation of Burns.]
ever his station in life, or his power to serve
Dumfries, [December, 1793.]    me, have I ever paid a compliment at the
SIR,                                       expense of TRUTH.'Tis said that we take the greatest liberties                             THE AUTHOR.
with our greatest friends, and I pay myself a
very high compliment in the manner in which I
am going to apply the remark.  I have owed
you money longer than ever I owed it to any                     CCLXXX.
man.  Here is Kerr's account, and here are the
six guineas; and now I don't owe a shilling to
man-or woman either.  But for these d-d    [This excellent letter, obtained from Stewart of Daldirty, dog's-ear'd little pages,' I had done my-  guise, is copied from my kind friend Chambers's collecself the honour to have waited on you long ago.  tion of Scottish songs.]
Independent of the obligations your hospitality               Dumfries, 5th December, 1793.
has laid me under, the consciousness of your       SIR,
superiority in the rank of man and gentleman,    HEATED as I was with wine yesternight, I
of itself was fully as much as I could ever make  was perhaps rather seemingly impertinent in
head against; but to owe you money too, was  my anxious wish to be honoured with your acmore than I could face.                        quaintance.  You will forgive it:  it was the
I think I once mentioned something to you  impulse of heart-felt respect.  "He is the faof a collection of Scots songs I have for some  ther of the Scottish county reform, and is a
years been making: I send you a perusal of  man who does honour to the business, at the
what I have got together.  I could not conve-  same time that the business does honour to him,"
niently spare them above five or six days, and  said my worthy friend Glenriddel to somebody
five or six glances of them will probably more  by me who was talking of your coming to this
than suffice you. When you are tired of them,  county with your corps.  "Then," I said, "I
please leave them with Mr. Clint, of the King's  have a woman's longing to take him by the hand,
Arms. There is not another copy of the col-  and say to him,'Sir, I honour you as a man
lection in the world; and I should be sorry that  to whom the interests of humanity are dear, and
any unfortunate negligence should deprive me  as a patriot to whom the rights of your country
of what has cost me a good deal of pains.      are sacred.'"
I have the honour to be, &c.       In times like these, Sir, when our commoners
R. B.    are barely able by the glimmer of their own
twilight understandings to scrawl a frank, and
when lords are what gentlemen would be
CCLXXIX.                     ashamed to be, to whom shall a sinking country call for help? To the independent country
TO JOHN  M'MURDO, ESQ.,                   gentleman.  To him who has too deep a stake
DRUMLANRIG.                     in his country not to be in earnest for her welfare; and who in the honest pride of man can
[These words, thrown into the form of a note, are  view with equal contempt the insolence of office
copied from a blank leaf of the poet's works, published in   
two volumes, small octavo, in 1793.]           and the allurements of corruption.
I mentioned to you a Scots ode or song I had
Dumfries, 1793.   lately composed, and which I think has some
WILL Mr. M'Murdo do me the favour to accept  merit. Allow me to enclose it. When I fall
of these volumes; a trifling but sincere mark  in with you at the theatre, I shall be glad to
of the very high respect I bear for his worth as  have your opinion of it. Accept of it, Sir, as
a man, his manners as a gentleman, and his  a very humble but most sincere tribute of rekindness as a friend. However inferior now, or  spect from a man, who, dear as he prizes poetic
afterwards, I may rank as a poet; one honest  fame, yet holds dearer an independent mind.
virtue to which few poets can pretend, I trust           I have the honour to be,
_ I Scottish Bank notea.R. B.
I Scottish Bank notea.




474             -         ENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CCLXXXI.                      the righful due of retiring, humble want!  Of
all the qualities we assign to the author and
TO  MtR S. RI I  D EL,                director of nature, by far the most enviable isWho was about to bespeak a Play one evening at  to be able "to wipe away all tears from all eyes."
the Dumfries Theatre.              0 what insignificant, sordid wretches are they,
[This clever lady, to whom Burns so happily applies  however chance may have loaded them  with
the words of Thomson, died in the year 1820, at Hampton  wealth, who go to their graves, to their magnifiCourt.]                                         cent mausoleums, with hardly the consciousness
I AM thinking to send my " Address" to some  of having made one poor honest heart happy i
periodical publication, but it has not yet got    But I crave your pardon, Madam; I came to
your sanction, so pray look over it.            beg, not to preach.                    R. B.
As to the Tuesday's play, let me beg of you,
my dear madam, to give us, " The Wonder, a
Woman keeps a Secret!" to which please add,
"The Spoilt Child "-you will highly oblige me
by so doing.                                                     CCLXXXIII.
Ah, what an enviable creature you are!
There now, this cursed, gloomy, blue-devil day,,
you are going to a party of choice spirits-      Wth a Copy of Bruce's Address to his Troops at
" To play the shapes                            Bannockburn.
Of frolic fancy, and incessant form
Of frolic fancy, and incessant form  [This fantastic Earl of Buchan died a few years ago:
Those rapid pictures, assembled train
Those rapid pictures, assembled train  when he was put into the family burial-ground, at DryOf fleet ideas, never joined before, 
Of fleet ideas, never join'd before i e    burgh, his head was laid the wrong way, which Sir
Where lively wit excites to gay surprise;
OWhere lively w-aint excites to gray sise;  Walter Scott said was little matter, as it had never been.Or folly-painting humour, grave himself,   quite right in his lifetime.]
quite right in his lifetime.]
Calls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve."
THOMSON.                   Dumfries, 12th January, 1794.
But as you rejoice with them that do rejoice,      MY LORD,
do also remember to weep with them that weep,    WILL your lordship allow me to present you
and pity your melancholy friend.                with the enclosed little composition of mine, as
R. B.    a small tribute of gratitude for the acquaintance
with which you have been pleased to honour me?
Independent of my enthusiasm as a Scotsman,
CCLXXXII.                      I have rarely met with anything in history
which interests my feelings as a man, equal with
TO A  LADY.                      the story of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a
IN FAVOUR OF A PLAYER'S BENEFIT.    cruel, but able usurper, leading on the finest
army in Europe to extinguish the last spark of
[The name of the lady to whom this letter is addressed,   
has not transpired.]                            freedom among a greatly-daring and greatly-inDumfries, 1794.    jured people; on the other hand, the despeMADAM,                                      rate relics of a gallant nation, devoting themYou were so very good as to promise me to  selves to rescue their bleeding country, or perish
honour my friend with your presence on his  with her.
benefit night.  That night is fixed for Friday    Liberty! thou art a prize truly and indeed
first: the play a most interesting one! " The  invaluable! for never canst thou be too dearly
Way to Keep Him."  I have the pleasure to  bought!
know Mr. G. well.  His merit as an actor is    If my little ode has the honour of your lordgenerally acknowledged.  He has genius and  ship's approbation, it will gratify my highest amworth which would do honour to patronage: he  bition.
is a poor and modest man; claims which from              I have the honour to be, &c.
their very silence have the more forcible power                                        R. B.
on the generous heart.  Alas, for pity! that
from the indolence of those who have the good
things of this life in their gift, too often does
brazen-fronted importunity snatch that boon,




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          475
CCLXXXIV.                                       CCLXXXVI.
TO CAPTAIN MILLER,                                  TO MRS. RIDDEL.
DALSWINTON.                       [The patient sons of order and prudence seem often
to have stirred the poet to such invectives as this letter
[Captain Miller, of Dalswinton, sat in the House of          invectives as this lette
Commons for the Dumfries district of boroughs. Dal-  ex
swinton has passed from the family to my friend James    I WILL wait on you, my ever-valued friend,
M'Alpine Leny, Esq.]
MAlpine Leny, Es          but whether in the morning I am not sure,
DEAR SIR,                                  Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue buTHE following ode is on a subject which I  siness, and may probably keep me employed
know you by no means regard with indifference.  with my pen until noon. Fine employment for
Oh, Liberty,                                    a poet's pen! There is a species of the human
" Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay,  genus that I call the gin-horse class: what enGiv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day."   viable dogs they are! Round, and round, and
ADDISON.   round they go,-Mundell's ox that drives his
It does me so much good to meet with a man  cotton-mill is their exact prototype-without
whose honest bosom glows with the generous  an idea or wish beyond their circle; fat, sleek,
enthusiasm, the heroic daring of liberty, that I  stupid, patient, quiet, and contented; while
could not forbear sending you a composition of  here I sit, altogether Novemberish, a d-mn'd
my own on the subject, which I really think is  melange of fretfulness and melancholy; not
in my best manner.                              enough of the one to rouse me to passion, nor
I have the honour to be,             of the other to repose me in torpor, my soul
Dear Sir, &c.        flouncing and fluttering round her tenement, like
R. B.       a wild finch, caught amid the horrors of winter,
and newly thrust into a cage. Well, I am persuaded that it was of me the Hebrew  sage
~CCLXXXV.   ~         prophesied, when he foretold-"And behold,
on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it
TO M R S. RIDDE L.                   shall not prosper!" If my resentment is awaked,
it is sure to be where it dare not squeak: and
[The dragon guarding the Hesperian fruit, was simply  i i                            k 
a military officer, who, with the courtesy of those whose
trade is arms, paid attention to the lady.]       Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent
visiters of                           R. B.
DEAR MADAM,
I MEANT to have called on you yesternight,
lut as I edged up to your box-door, the first
object which greeted my view, was one of those                  CCLXXXVII.
lobster-coated puppies, sitting like another dragon, guarding the Hesperian fruit. On the con-             TO  MRS. RI DDEL.
ditions and capitulations you so obligingly offer,
ditions and capitulatios    [The bard often offended and often appeased this whim.
I shall certainly make my weather-beaten rustic  sical but very clever lady.]
phiz a part of your box-furniture on Tuesday;.  I HAVE this moment got the song from Syme,
when we may arrange the business of the visit.      
and I am sorry to see that he has spoilt it a
Among the profusion of idle compliments,
which..the.     ~.'   good deal.  It shall be a lesson to me how I
which insidious craft, or unmeaning folly, inlend him anything again.
cessantly offer at your shrine-a shrine, how far      h'     I have sent you "Werter," truly happy to
exalted above such adoration-permit me, were.... em, we  have any the smallest opportunity of obliging
it but for rarity's sake, to pay you the honest  h
tribute of a warm heart and an independent  you.!'Tis true, Madam, I saw you once since I was
mind; and to assure you, that I am, thou most
at Woodlea; and that once froze the very lifeamiable and most accomplished of thy sex, with 
blood of my heart. Your reception of me was
the most respectful esteem, and fervent regard,                                    of m 
thine,  &e.~                         R. B      such, that a wretch meeting the eye of his judge,
thine, &c.                            R. B.                                 
about to pronounce sentence vf death on him




176                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
could only have envied my feelings and situa- of his soul, is at least an opiate to blunt their
tion. But I hate the theme, and never more  poignancy.
shall write or speak on it.                      With the profoundest respect for your abiliOne thing I shall proudly say, that I can pay  ties; the most sincere esteem and ardent regard
Mrs. R. a higher tribute of esteem, and appre-  for your gentle heart and amiable manners;
ciate her amiable worth more truly, than any  and the most fervent wish and prayer for your
man whom I have seen approach her.             welfare, peace, and bliss, I have the honour
R. B.    to be,
Madam,
Your most devoted humble servant,
CCLXXXVIII.                                                         R. B.
TO  MRS. RIDDEL.
[Burns often complained in company, and sometimes                CCXC.
In his letters, of the caprice of Mrs. Riddel.]
TO JOHN SYME, ESQ.
I HAVE often told you, my dear friend, that
you had a spice of caprice in your composition,   [John Syme, of the stamp-office, was the companion as
and you have as often disavowed it; even per-  well as comrade in arms, of Burns: he was a well-inIl        formed gentleman, loved witty company, and sinned in
haps while your opinions were, at the moment,  rhyme now and then: his epigrams were often happy.]
irrefragablyproving it. Could anything estrange
me from a friend such as you?-No! To-morrow      You  know that among  other high dignities,
I shall have the honour of waiting on you.     you have the honour to be my supreme court
Farewell, thou first of friends, and  most  of critical judicature, from which there is no
accomplished of women; even with all thy little appeal. I enclose you a song which I composed
caprices!                            R. B.    since I saw you, and I am going to give you
the history of it. Do you know that among
much that I admire in the characters and manCCLXXXIX   ners of those great folks whom I have now the
honour to call my acquaintances, the Oswald
TO  MR S. RI D D EL.                family, there is nothing charms me more than
Mr. Oswald's unconcealable attachment to that
[The offended lady was soothed by this submissive letter, and the bard was re-established in her good graces.] incomparable woman. Did you ever, my dear
Syme, meet with a man who owed more to the
IETRyorcmopaebo.v,  eDivine Giver of all good things than Mr. O.?
I RETURN your common-place book. I have
A fine fortune; a pleasing exterior; self-evident
perused it with much pleasure, and would have  amiable dispositions, and an ingenuous upright
continued my criticisms, but as it seems the
continued my crisms, bt as it seems the  mind, and that informed, too, much beyond the
critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures      r                        
".... ~ usual run of young fellows of his rank and formust lose their value.
tune: and to all this, such a woman! —but of
If it is true that "offences come only froml                                            
her I shall say nothing at all, in despair of
the heart," before you I am guiltless.  To ad-.h   I   h.   a.           r 
saying anything adequate: in my song I have
mire, esteem, and prize you as the most accom-saing anting adeuate: n                   I   e
endeavoured to do justice to what would be
plished of women, and the first of friends-if
his feelings, on seeing, in the scene I have
these are crimes, I am the most offending thing  his feel, on     n, n  h  sc          I ha
alive,                                        drawn, the habitation of his Lucy. As I am a
alive.
In a face where I used to meet the kind  good deal pleased with my performance, I, in
complacency of friendly confidence, now to find  my first fervour, thought of sending it to  rs.
cold neglect, and contemptuous scorn-is a  Oswald, but on second thoughts, perhaps what
wrench that my heart can ill bear. It is, how- I offer as the honest incense of genuine respect,
ever, some kind of miserable good luck, and  might, from the well-known character of poverty
while de haut-en-bas rigour may depress an  and poetry, be construed into some modification
or other of that servility which my soul abhors.
unoffending wretch to the ground, it has a ten-                                       
dency to rouse a stubborn something in his
bosom, which, though it cannot heal the wounds




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           477
they no longer possess; and I hope that Mrs.
CCXCI.
-'s goodness, which I well know, and ever
TO  MISS.               will revere, will not refuse this favour to a
man whom  she once held in some degree of
[Burns, on other occasions than this, recalled both hisma o   o
letters and verses: it is to be regretted that he did not  estmaton.
recall more of both.]                               With the sincerest esteem,
Dumfries, 1794.               I have the honour to be,
MADAM,                                                                   Madam, &c.
NOTHING short of a kind of absolute necessity                                       R. B
could have made me trouble you with this letter.  Except my ardent and just esteem  for
your sense, taste, and worth, every sentiment                      CCXCII.
arising in my breast, as I put pen to paper to
you, is painful.  The scenes I have passed with         TO  MR. CUNNINGHAM.
the friend of my soul and his amiable con-   [The religious feeling of Burns was sometimes blunted,
nexions! the wrench at my heart to think that  but at times it burst out, as in this letter, with eloquence
he is gone, for ever gone from me, never more  and fervour, mingled with fear.]
to meet in the wanderings of a weary world!                             25th February, 1794.
and the cutting reflection of all, that I had     CANST thou minister to a mind diseased?
most unfortunately, though most undeservedly,  Canst thou speak peace and rest to a soul tost
lost the confidence of that soul of worth, ere it  on a sea of troubles, without one friendly star
took its flight!                               to guide her course, and dreading that the next
These, Madam, are sensations of no ordinary  surge may overwhelm her? Canst thou give to
anguish.-However, you also may be offended  a frame tremblingly alive as the tortures of
with some imputed improprieties of mine; sen-  suspense, the stability and hardihood of the
sibility you know I possess, and sincerity none  rock that braves the blast?  If thou canst
will deny me.                                   not do the least of these, why wouldst thou
To oppose those prejudices which have been  disturb me in my miseries, with thy inquiries
raised against me, is not the business of this  after me?
letter. Indeed it is a warfare I know not how           *    *    *    *    *    *
to wage.  The powers of positive vice I can    For these two months I have not been able
in some degree calculate, and against direct  to lift a pen. My constitution and frame were,
malevolence I can be on my guard; but who  ab origine, blasted with a deep incurable taint
can estimate the fatuity of giddy caprice, or  of hypochondria, which poisons my existence.
ward off the unthinking mischief of precipitate  Of late a number of domestic vexations, and
folly?                                         some pecuniary share in the ruin of these cursed
I have a favour to request of you, Madam,  times; losses which, though trifling, were yet
and of your sister Mrs., through your  what I could ill bear, have so irritated me, that
means.  You know that, at the wish of my late  my feelings at times could only be envied by a
friend, I made a collection of all my trifles in  reprobate spirit listening to the sentence that
verse which I had ever written. They are many  dooms it to perdition.
of them local, some of them puerile and silly,    Are you deep in the language of consolation?
and all of them unfit for the public eye. As I  I have exhausted in reflection every topic of
have some little fame at stake, a fame that I  comfort.  A  heart at ease would have been
trust may live when the hate of those who  charmed with my sentiments and reasonings;
"watch for my halting," and the contumelious  but as to myself I was like Judas Iscariot
sneer of those whom accident has made my su-  preaching the gospel; he might melt and mould
periors, will, with themselves, be gone to the  the hearts of those around him, but his own
regions of oblivion; I am uneasy now for the  kept its native incorrigibility.
fate of those manuscripts-Will Mrs. -   have    Still there are two great pillars that bear us
the goodness to destroy them, or return them   up, amid the wreck of misfortune and misery.
to me? As a pledge of friendship they were be-  The ONE is composed of the different modificastowed; and that circumstance indeed was all  tions of a certain noble stubborn something in
their merit. Most unhappily for me, that merit  man, known by the names of courage, fortitu-, 




478                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
magnanimity.  The OTHER is made up of those  not to say equal to them? And they have this
feelings and sentiments, which, however the  precious, vast addition, that conscious virtue
sceptic may deny them, or the enthusiast disfi-  stamps them for her own; and lays hold on
gure them, are yet, I am convinced, original  them  to bring herself into the presence of a
and component parts of the human soul; those  witnessing, judging, and approving God.
senses of the mind, if I may be allowed the ex-                                    R. B
pression, which connect us with, and link us to,
those awful, obscure realities-an all-powerful,
and equally beneficent God; and a world to                     CCXCIII.
come, beyond death and the grave. The first.,~                     ~.^  ^     TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.
gives the nerve of combat, while a ray of hope
beams on the field: the last pours the balm of   [The original letter is in the possession of the Hon
comfort into the wounds which time can never  Mrs. Halland, of Poynings: it is undated, but from a
memorandum on the back it appears to have been written
cure.
in May, 1794.]
I do not remember, my dear Cunningham,                                      Ma  1794.
that you and I ever talked on the subject of re-  MY LORD,
ligion at all. I know some who laugh at it, as    WHEN you cast your eye on the name at the
the trick of the crafty FEW, to lead the undis-  bottom of this letter, and on the title-page of
cerning MANY; or at most as an uncertain ob-  the book I do myself the honour to send your
scurity, which mankind can never know any-  lordship, a more pleasurable feeling than my
thing of, and with which they are fools if they  vanity tells me that it must be a name not engive themselves much to do. Nor would I  tirely unknown to you. The generous patronage
quarrel with a man for his irreligion, any more  of your late illustrious brother found me in the
than I would for his want of a musical ear.  I  lowest obscurity: he introduced my rustic muse
would regret that he was shut out from what,  to the partiality of my country; and to him I
to me and to others, were such superlative  owe all. My sense of his goodness, and the
sources of enjoyment.  It is in this point of  anguish of my soul at losing my truly noble
view, and for this reason, that I will deeply  protector and friend, I have endeavoured to
imbue the mind of every child of mine with re-  express in a poem to his memory, which I have
ligion. If my son should happen to be a man  now published.  This edition is just from the
of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I shall thus  press; and in my gratitude to the dead, and
add largely to his enjoyments. Let me flatter  my respect for the living (fame belies you, my
myself that this sweet little fellow, who is just  lcrd, if you possess not the same dignity of man,
now running about my desk, will be a man of  which was your noble brother's characteristic
a melting, ardent, glowing heart; and an ima-  feature), I had destined a copy for the Earl of
gination, delighted with the painter, and rapt  Glencairn. I learnt just now that you are in
with the poet. Let me figure him wandering  town: —allow me to present it you.
out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy     I know, my lord, such is the vile, venal contagales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of  gion which pervades the world of letters, that
spring; himself the while in the blooming youth  professions of respect from an author, particuof life.  He looks abroad on all nature, and  larly from a poet, to a lord, are more than susthrough nature up to nature's God. His soul,  picious. I claim my by-past conduct, and my
by swift delighting degrees, is rapt above this  feelings at this moment, as exceptions to the
sublunary sphere, until he can be silent no'too just conclusion. Exalted as are the honours
longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthusi-  of your lordship's name, and unnoted as is the
asm of Thomson,                               obscurity of mine; with the uprightness of an
" These, as they change, Almighty Father, these    honest man, I come before your lordship with
Are but the varied God.-The rolling year  an offering, however humble,'tis all I have to
Is full of thee."                        give, of my grateful respect; and to beg of
And so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that  you, my lord,-'tis all I have to ask of you,charming hymn.  These are no ideal pleasures,  that you will do me the honour to accept of it
they are real delights; and I ask what of the         I have the honour to be,
delights among the sons of men are superior,                                       R. B.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             479
CCXCIV.                       three o'clock, I shall be happy to take a draught
of M'Kune's best with you.  Collector Syme
TO  MR. T HO1 M S ON.                   will be at Glens about that time, and will meet
[The correspondence between the poet and the musi-  us about dish-of-tea hour.  Syme goes also to
cian was interrupted in spring, but in summer and au-  Kerroughtree, and let me remind you of your
tumn the song-strains were renewed.]              kind promise to accompany me there;  I will
May, 1794.    need all the friends I can muster, for I am inMY DEAR SIR,                                 deed ill at ease whenever I approach your hoI return you the plates, with which I am   nourables and right honourables.
highly pleased; I would humbly propose, in-                            Yours sincerely,
stead of the younker knitting stockings, to put                                           R 
a stock and horn into his hands.  A friend of
mine, who is positively the ablest judge on the
subject I have ever met with, and, though an
unknown, is yet a superior artist with the burin,            TO  MRS. D U N L  P.
is quite charmed with Allan's manner.  I got
him.  a ep of te " l S d " ad h3       [Castle Douglas is a thriving Galloway village: it was
him a peep of the " Gentle Shepherd;" and he           r days called " The Calinwarkbut accepted its
in other days called " The Carlinwark," but accepted its
pronounces Allan a most original artist of great  present proud name from an opulent family of mercantile
excellence.                                       Douglasses, well known in Scotland, England, and
For my part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing  America.]
my favourite poem for his subject, to be one of                 Castle Douglas, 25th June, 1794.
the highest compliments I have ever received.       HERE, in a solitary inn, in a solitary village,
I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up  am I set by myself, to amuse my brooding fancy
in France, as it will put an entire stop to our  as I may.-Solitary confinement, you know, is
work.  Now, and for six or seven months, I  Howard's favourite idea of reclaiming sinners;
shall be quite in song, as you shall see by and  so let me consider by what fatality it happens
bye. I got an air, pretty enough, composed by  that I have so long been so exceeding sinful as to
Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she  neglect the correspondence of the most valued
calls "The Banks of Cree."  Cree is a beauti-  friend I have on earth. To tell you that I have
ful romantic stream; and, as her ladyship is a  been in poor health will not be excuse enough,
particular friend of mine, I have written the  though it is true.  I am afraid that I am about
following song to it.                             to suffer for the follies of my youth.  My medical friends threaten me with a flying gout; but
Here is the glen and here the bower.'         I trust they are mistaken.
B. B.       I am just going to trouble your critical patience with the first sketch of a stanza I have
been framing as I passed along the road. The
CCXCV.                        subject is Liberty: you know, my honoured
friend, how dear the theme is to me.  I design
TO  DAVID  M'ULLOCH,  ES.          it as an irregular ode for General Washington's
[The endorsement on the back of the original letter  birth-day.  After having mentioned the degeshows in what far lands it has travelled:-"' Given by Da-  neracy of other kingdoms, I come to Scotland
vid M'Culloch, Penang, 1810. A. Fraser."  " Received,  thus
15th December, 1823, in Calcutta, from Captain Frazer's
widow, by me, Thomas Rankine."  " Transmitted to  Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among,
Archibald Hastie, Esq., London, March 27th, 1824, from   Thee, famed for martial deed, and sacred song,
Bombay."']
DBmfrbey.  21st"June,]179 To thee I turn with swimming eyes;
Dumfries, 21st June, 1794.                                    Z
MY DEAR SIR,                                 Where is that soul of freedom fled?
MY DEAR SIR,
MY long-projected journey  through  your  Immingled  with the mighty dead!
country is at last fixed: and on Wednesday next,    B         t                           
lies!
if you have nothing of more importance to do,            l
take a saunter down to Gatehouse about two or  Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death 
Song.. CCXXII..          Ye babbling winds in silence sweep,
I Song CCXXIII.                  Disturb not ye the hero's sleep."




4180                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
with additions of                              know I am no connoisseur: but that I am an
amateur —will be allowed me.
That arm which nerved with thundering fate,    a                          
R. B.
Braved usurpation's boldest daring!
One quenched in darkness like the sinking star,
And one the palsied arm of tottering, power-                  CCXCVIII.
less age.
Yuless age.                                      TO  MR. THOMSON.
You will probably have another scrawl from
will probablyhave another scrawlfrom [The blank in this letter could be filled up without
me in a stage or two.                R. B.    writing treason: but nothing has been omitted of an
original nature.]
July, 1794.
Is there no news yet of Pleyel? Or is your
CCXCVII.                     work to be at a dead stop, until the allies set
T O M R. JAMES  J.OHNSO N.                our modern Orpheus at liberty from the savage
thraldom of democrat discords? Alas the day!
[The anxiety of Burns about the accuracy of his poetry,  And woe is me! That auspicious period, pregwhile in the press, was great: he found full employment  nant with the happiness of millions. *  *       *
for months in correcting a new edition of his poems.]
I have presented a copy of your songs to the
Dumfries, 1794.    daughter of a much-valued and much-honoured
MY DEAR FRIEND,                           friend of mine, Mr. Graham  of Fintray.  I
You should have heard from me long ago;
You should have heard from me long ago;  wrote on the blank side of the title-page the
but over and above some vexatious share in the  following address to the young lady:
pecuniary losses of these accursed times, I have
all this winter been plagued with low spirits and  Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,
blue devils, so that I have almost hung my harp      &c.l
on the willow-trees.                                                                R. B.
I am just now busy correcting a new edition
of my poems, and this, with my ordinary busi-                    CCXCIX.
ness, finds me in full employment.
I send you by my friend Mr. Wallace forty-             TO  MR. THOMSON.
one songs for your fifth volume; if we cannot   [Thomson says to Burns, "You have anticipated my
finish it in any other way, what would you think  opinion of' O'er the seas and far away.' " Yet some of
of Scots words to some beautiful Irish airs?  the verses are original and touching.]
In the mean time, at your leisure, give a copy                          30th August, 1794.
of the Museum to my worthy friend, Mr. Peter    THE last evening, as I was straying out, and
Hill, bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with  thinking of "O'er the hills and far away," I
blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of  spun the following stanza for it; but whether
Glenriddel's, that I may insert every anecdote  my spinning will deserve to be laid up in store,
I can learn, together with my own criticisms  like the precious thread of the silk-worm, or
and remarks on the songs. A copy of this kind  brushed to the devil, like the vile manufacture
I shall leave with you, the editor, to publish at  of the spider, I leave, my dear Sir, to your
some after period, by way of making the Mu-  usual candid criticism.  I was pleased with
seum a book famous to the end of time, and  several lines in it at first, but I own that now it
you renowned for ever.                         appears rather a flimsy business.
I have got an Highland dirk, for which I    This is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether
have great veneration; as it once was the dirk  it be worth a critique. We have many sailor
of Lord Balmerino. It fell into bad hands, who  songs, but as far as I at present recollect, they
stripped it of the silver mounting, as well as  are mostly the effusions of the jovial sailor, not
the knife and fork. I have some thoughts of  the wailings of his love-lorn mistress.  I must
sending it to your care, to get it mounted anew.  here make one sweet exception-" Sweet Annie
Thank you for the copies of my Volunteer  frae the sea-beach came." Now for the song:Ballad.-Our friend Clarke has done indeed well!      How can my poor heart be glad.2
How can my poor heart be glad.2'tis chaste and beautiful. I have not met with                __    ___
anything that has pleased me so much. You         1 Poem CCXXIX.          2 Song CCXXIV.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             481
I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it  and narrowly escaped the guillotine, like many otheT
in the spirit of Christian meekness.              true friends of liberty.]
R. B.                                        Sept. 1794.
Do you know a blackguard Irish song called
"Onagh's Waterfall?"  The air is charming,
and I have often regretted the want of decent
verses to it.  It is too much, at least for my
T O M R. T H O MS O N.                  humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort
of hers shall have merit; still I think that it is
[The stream on the banks of which this song is sup-                  ire  erses to  a        t
posed to be sung, is known by three names, Cairn, Dal-       
gonar, and Cluden. It rises under the name of Cairn,  air, than none at all.  On this principle I have
runs through a wild country, under the name of Dalgo-  all along proceeded in the Scots Musical Mlunar, affording fine trout-fishing as well as fine scenes,  seum; and as that publication is at its last
and under that of Cluden it all but washes the walls of                 following song, to the air
volume, I intend the following song, to the air
Lincluden College, and then unites with the Nith.], 
above mentioned, for that work.
Sept. 1794.       If it does not suit you as an editor, you may
I SHALL withdraw my " On the seas and far  be pleased to have verses to it that you can sing
away" altogether: it is unequal, and unworthy  in the company of ladies.
the work.  Making a poem is like begetting a
son: you cannot know whether you have a wise              Sae flaxen were her ringlets.
man or a fool, until you produce him  to the        Not to compare small things with great, my
world to try him.                                 taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of
For that reason I send you the offspring of  Prussia's taste in painting: we are told that he
my brain, abortions and all; and, as such, pray  frequently admired what the connoisseurs delook over them, and forgive them, and burn  cried, and always without any hypocrisy conthem.  I am flattered at your adopting "Ca'  fessed his admiration.  I am  sensible that my
the yowes to the knowes," as it was owing to taste in music must be inelegant and vulgr,
me that ever it saw the light.  About seven  because people of undisputed  and cultivated
years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy  taste can  nd no merit in my favourite tunes.
little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who  Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that any
sang it charmingly; and, at my request, Mr. reason why I should deny myself that pleasure?
Clarke took it down from his singing.  When I  Many of our strathspeys, ancient and modern,
gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the  give me most exuisite enjoyment, where you
song, and mended others, but still it will not do  and other judges would probably be showing
for you. In a solitary stroll which I took to-  disgust.  For instance, I am just now making
day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines,  verses for " Rothemurche's rant," an air which
following up the idea of the chorus, which I  puts me in raptures; and, in fact, unless I be
would preserve.  Here it is, with all its crudi-  pleased with the tune, I never can make verses
ties and imperfections on its head.               to it.  Here I have Clarke on my side, who is a
Ca' the yowes to the knowes, &c.'          judge that I willpit against any of you. "Rothemurche," he says, "is an air both original and
I shall give you my opinion of your other  beautiful;" and, on his recommendation, I have
newly adopted songs my first scribbling fit.      taken the first part of the tune for a chorus,
R. B.    and the fourth or last part for the song.  I am
but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly
you may think, and justly, that the poetry is as
CCCI.                        little worth your attention as the music.
[Here follow two stanzas of the song, beginning " LasT O  M R. T HO MS ON.                  sie wi' the lint-white locks." Song CCXXXII.]
[Dr. Maxwell, whose skill called forth the praises of    I have begun anew, "Let me in this ae night."
the poet, had the honour of being named by Burke in the          
House of Commons: lie shared in the French revolution,
_   chorus?  I think we must retain both the old
I Song CCXXV.         eS ong CCXXVI.        chorus and the first stanza of the old song.  I
h31                    __ t___________




1,~ow2                  GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
do not altogether like the third line of the first  women in Scotland; and in fact (entre nous) is
stanza, but cannot alter it to please myself.  I  in a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to
am just three stanzas deep in it. Would you  him-a mistress, or friend, or what you will, in
have the denouement to be successful or other-  the guileless simplicity of Platonic love.  (Now,
wise?-should she "let him in" or not?          don't put any of your squinting constructions
Did you not once propose " The sow's tail to  on this, or have any clishmaclaver about it
Geordie" as an air for your work? I am quite  among our acquaintances.)  I assure you that
delighted with it; but I acknowledge that is no  to my lovely friend you are indebted for many
mark of its real excellence.  I once set about  of your best songs of mine.  Do you think that
verses for it, which I meant to be in the alter-  the sober, gin-horse routine of existence could
nate way of a lover and his mistress chanting  inspire a man with life, and love, and joytogether. I have not the pleasure of knowing  could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him
Mrs. Thomson's Christian name, and yours, I  with pathos, equal to the genius of your book?
am afraid, is rather burlesque for sentiment,  No! no! Whenever I want to be more than
else I had meant to have made you the hero  ordinary in song-to be in some degree equal to
and heroine of the little piece.               your diviner airs-do you imagine I fast and
How do you like the following epigram which  pray for the celestial emanation?  Tout au conI wrote the other day on a lovely young girl's  traire! I have a glorious recipe; the very one
recovery from  a fever? Doctor Maxwell was  that for his own use was invented by the divithe physician who seemingly saved her from   nity of healing and poetry, when erst he piped
the grave; and to him I address the following:  to the flocks of Admetus.  I put myself in a
regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proT O  DR. MAX WE LL,                  portion to the adorability of her charms, in proON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY.            portion you are delighted with my verses. The
lightning of her eye is the godhead of ParnasMaxwell, if merit here you crave,
MThatxw, merit hI deny:  csus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity
That merit I deny:                       of Helicon
of Helicon!
You save fair Jessy from the grave?u se fr J     f     t  To descend to business: if you like my idea
An angel could not die I
An angel could not die!                 of " When she cam ben she bobbit," the followGod grant you patience with this stupid  ing stanzas of mine, altered a little from what
epistle!                              R. B.    they were formerly, when set to another air,
may perhaps do instead of worse stanzas:0 saw ye my dear, my Phely.'
CCCII.
Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. " The
TO M R. T HO M S O N.               Posie" (in the Museum) is my composition; the
[The poet relates the history of several of his best  air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice. It
songs in this letter: the true old strain of' Andro and  is well known in the west country, but the old
nis cutty gun" is the first of its klind.]      words are trash.  By the bye, take a look at
19th October, 1794.    the tune again, and tell me if you do not think
MY DEAR FRIEND,                            it is the original from which " Roslin Castle"
BY this morning's post I have your list, and,  is composed.  The second part in particular,
in general, I highly approve of it.  I shall, at  for the first two or three bars, is exactly the
more leisure, give you a critique on the whole.  old air.  " Strathallan's Lament" is mine; the
Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and I  music is by our right trusty and deservedly
wish you would call on him and take his opinion  well-beloved Allan Masterton. " Donocht-Head"
in general: you know his taste is a standard.  is not mine; I would give ten pounds it were.
He will return here again in a week or two, so  It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald, and
please do not miss asking for him. One thing I  came to the editor of that paper with the Newhope he will do-persuade you to adopt my fa-  castle post-mark on it.  " Whistle o'er the lave
vourite "Craigieburn-wood,"in your selection:  o't" is mine: the music said to be by a John
it is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The
lady on whom it was made is one of the finest                  1 Song CCXXVII




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         483
Bruce, a celebrated violin-player in Dumfries,  one. I know the authenticity of it, as the genabout the beginning of this century. This I  tleman who brought it over is a particular acknow, Bruce, who was an honest man, though a  quaintance of mine. Do preserve me the copy
red-wud Highlandman, constantly claimed it;  I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke
and by all the old musical people here is be-  has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into
lieved to be the author of it.                 the Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I
"Andrew and his cutty gun."  The song to  intend for it.
which this is set in the Museum is mine, and                          i              
But lately seen in gladsome green, &c.5
was composed on Miss Euphemia Murray, of
Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called the    I would be obliged to you if you would proFlower of Strathmore.                          cure me a sight of Ritson's collection of English
" How long and dreary is the night!" I met  songs, which you mention in your letter. I will
with some such words in a collection of songs  thank you for another information, and that as
somewhere, which I altered and enlarged; and  speedily as you please: whether this miserable
to please you, and to suit your favourite air, I  drawling hotchpotch epistle has not completely
have taken a stride or two across my room, and  tired you of my correspondence?
have arranged it anew, as you will find on the                 VARIATION
other page.
Now to the streaming fountain,
How long and dreary is the night, &c.Or up the heathy mountain,
Tell me how you like this. I differ from your  The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton
idea of the expression of the tune.  There is,         stray;
to me, a great deal of tenderness in it.  You      In twining hazel bowers,
cannot, in my opinion, dispense with a bass to     His lay the linnet pours;
your addenda airs. A lady of my acquaintance,      The lav'rock to the sky
a noted performer, plays and sings at the same     Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,
time so charmingly, that I shall never bear to  While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
see any of her songs sent into the world, as.  When frae my Chloris parted,
naked as Mr. What-d'ye-call-um has done in his,               i   art
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,
London collection.2
The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'erThese English songs gravel me to death.  I           t      my s
cast my sky.
have not that command of the language that I          t         s    ms my s
But when she charms my sight,
have of my native tongue.  I have been at
In pride of beauty's light;
" Duncan Gray," to dress it in English, but all     n    e  of eauty   ght
"'~                 ~.~~~ ~When through my very heart
I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance:-                g           ar
Her beaming glories dart;
Let not woman e'er complain, &c.3'Tis then,'tis then I wake to life and joy!
TR. B.
Since the above, I have been out in the coun-                                        B
try, taking a dinner with a friend, where I met
with a lady whom I mentioned in the second                        CCCIII.
page in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As
usual, I got into song; and returning home I             TO MR. THOMSON.
composed the following:                         [The presents made to the poet were far from mimerSleep'st thou or wak'st thou fairest creature  os: the book for which he expresses his thanks, was
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature   ^ work of the waspish Ritson]
&0.4    g ~~~~the work of the waspish Ritson.]
~~&^~~C~~~~~.4        I                               ~~~November, 1794.
If you honour my verses by setting the air to    MANY thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your
them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it  present; it is a book of the utmost importance
English enough to be understood.               to me. I have yesterday begun my anecdotes,
I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East In-  &c., for your work. I intend drawing them up
dian air, which you would swear was a Scottish  in the form of a letter to you, which will save
1 Song CCXXVIII.                              3 Song CCXXIX.             4 Song CCXXX.
2 Mr. Ritson, whose collection of Scottish songs was          5 Song CCXVI.
published this year.




484                   GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
me from the tedious dull business of systematic  have cut down for an English dress to your
arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say con-  "Dainty Davie," as follows:sists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps     I                             
It was the charming month of May.2
of old songs, &c., it would be impossible to give
the work a beginning, a middle, and an end,  You may think meanly of this, but take a look
which the critics insist to be absolutely necessary  at the bombast original, and you will be surin a work. In my last, I told you my objections  prised that I have made so much of it. I have
to the song you had selected for "My lodging  finished my song to " Rothemurche's rant," and
is on the cold ground."  On my visit the other  you have Clarke to consult as to the set of the
day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic name  air for singing.
of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she         Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.3
suggested an idea, which I, on my return from     T                                          
This piece has at least the merit of being a
the visit, wrought into the following song.            p           t  v      m         
regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer
My Chloris, mark how green the groves.'    noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter
night, are regularly rounded. If you like it,
How do you like the simplicity and tenderness  well; if not, I will insert it in the Museum.
of this pastoral? I think it pretty well.                                             R. B.
I like you for entering so candidly and so
kindly into the story of " ma chere amie." I assure you I was never more in earnest in my life,                   CCCIV.
than in the account of that affair which I sent           TO MR. THOMSON.
you in my last.  Conjugal love is a passion
which I deeply feel, and highly venerate; but,   [Sir Walter Scott remarked, on the lyrics of Burns,
somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy  "that at last the writing a series of songs for large muas that other Sp s of te     sical collections degenerated into a slavish labour which
as that other species of the passion,
no talents could support."]
" Where love is liberty, and nature law."
"Where.love is liberty and nature law.~)    I AM out of temper that you should set so
Musically speaking, the first is an instrument          otf temper that you shod set 
of which the gamut is scanty and confined, but  sweet, so tender an air, as "Deil tak the wars,"
of which the gamut is scanty and confined, but
to the foolish old verses. You talk of the sillithe tones inexpressibly sweet, while the last has  to         old verses. Youtalk thesillipowers equal to all the intellectual modulations  ness of "Saw  ye my father?"-By heavens!
pow thersuma.   the odds is gold to brass!  Besides, the old
of the human soul. Still, I am a very poet in
song, though now pretty well modernized into
my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare and  so            now pretty well modernized into
happiness of the beloved object is the first and  the Scottish language, i originally, and in the
early editions, a bungling low imitation of the
inviolate sentiment that pervades my soul; and                            low imitation of the
Scottish manner, by that genius Tom D'Urfey,
whatever pleasures I mightwish for, or whatever, y tt g                       s T 
so has no pretensions to be a Scottish produc-  |
might be the raptures they would give me, yet,                         to e a Scottish production.  There is a pretty English song by Sheri-  I
if they interfere with that first principle, it is 
having these pleasures at a dishonest price; and  dan, in the  Duenn," to this air, which is out
justice forbids and generosity disdains the pur-  of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins,
chase.                                           "When sable night each drooping plant restoring."
Despairing of my own powers to give you  The air, if I understand the expression of it
variety enough in English songs, I have been  properly, is the very native language of simpliturning over old collections, to pick out songs, of  city, tenderness, and love. I have again gone
which the measure is something similar to what  gone over my song to the tune.
I want; and, with a little alteration, so as to    Now for my English song to " Nancy's to the
suit ths rhythm of the air exactly, to give you  greenwood," &c.
them for your work. Where the songs have
m fr yr w. W e te s   h      Farewell thou stream that winding flows.4
hitherto been but little noticed, nor have ever
been set to music, I think the shift a fair one.    There is an air, " The Caledonian Hunt's DeA song, which, under the same first verse, you  light," to which I wrote a song that you will find
will find in Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, I  in Johnson, " Ye banks and braes o' bonnie
I Song CCXXXI.         2 Song CCXXXII.         3 Song CCXXXIII.        4 Song CCXXXIV.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          485
Doon:" this air I think might find a place    The lady is not a little proud that she is to
among your hundred, as Lear says of his knights.  make so distinguished a figure in your collecDo you know the history of the air? It is cu-  tion, and I am not a little proud that I have it
rious enough.  A good many years ago, Mr.  in my power to please her so much. Lucky it
James Miller, writer in your good town, a gentle-  is for your patience that my paper is done, for
man whom possibly you know, was in company  when I am in a scribbling humour, I know not
with our friend Clarke; and talking of Scottish  when to give over.                  R. B.
music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to
be able to compose a Scots air.  Mr. Clarke,
partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the
black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve
some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly                       CCCV.
compose a Scots air.  Certain it is that, in a           TO MR. THOM S ON.
few days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments
of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches   [Willy and Phely, in one of the lyrics which this letand corrections, fashioned into the tune in que-  ter contained, carry on the pleasant bandying of praise
and corrections, fashioned into the tune in ques-    compliments grow scarce, and the lovers are reduced
till compliments grow scarce, and the lovers are reduoed
tion.  Ritson, you know, has the same story  to silence.]
of the black keys; but this account which I have                      19th November, 1794.
just given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of    You see, my dear Sir, what a punctual corseveral years ago. Now, to show you how diffi-  respondent I am; though, indeed, you may thank
cult it is to trace the origin of our airs, I have  yourself for the tedium of my letters, as you
heard it repeatedly asserted that this was an  have so flattered me on my horsemanship with
Irish air; nay, I met with an Irish gentleman  my favourite hobby, and have praised the
who affirmed he had heard it in Ireland among  grace of his ambling so much, that I am scarcely
the old women; while, on the other hand, a  ever off his back.  For instance, this morning,
countess informed me, that the first person who  though a keen blowing frost, in my walk before
introduced the air into this country, was a  breakfast, I finished my duet, which you were
baronet's lady of her acquaintance, who took  pleased to praise so much. Whether I have
down the notes from an itinerant piper in the  uniformly succeeded, I will not say; but here
Isle of Man. How difficult, then, to ascertain  it is for you, though it is not an hour old.
the truth respecting our poesy and music! I,              Philly, happy be the day.
myself, have lately seen a couple of ballads sung
through the streets of Dumfries, with my name  Tell me honestly how you like it, and point out
at the head of them  as the author, though it  whatever you think faulty.
was the first time I had ever seen them.         I am much pleased with your idea of singing
I thank you for admitting   "Craigieburn-  our songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that
wood;". and I shall take care to furnish you  you did not hint it to me sooner. In those that
wood;" and I shall take care to furnish you
with a new chorus. In fact, the chorus was   emin, I shall have it in my eye. I emember
not my work, but a part of some old verses to  your objections to the name Philly, but it is the
the air.  If I can catch myself in a more than  common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally, the only
ordinarily propitious moment, I shall write a  other name that suits, has to my ear a vulnew "Craigieburn-wood" altogether. My heart  garity about it, which unfits it for anything
is much in the theme,                          except burlesque.  The legion of Scottish poetasters of the day, whom your brother editor,
I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the       r                        r
Mr. Ritson, ranks with me as my coevals, have
request;'tis dunning your generosity; but in,a moment when I had forgotten wh r I ws  always mistaken vulgarity for simplicity; wherea moment when I had forgotten whether I was....T ~  ~.-, J~. ~        as, simplicity is as much elotgnee from vulgarity
rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of your,            i                     
on the one hand, as from  affected point and
songs. It wrings my honest pride to write you          
puerile conceit on the other.
this; but an ungracious request is doubly so. r  t 
I agree with you as to the air, " Craigieburnby a tedious apology.  To make you some
wood," that a chorus would, in some degree,
amends, as soon as I have extracted the neces-         t        a             i 
spoil the effect, and shall certainly have none
sary information out of them, I will return you
Ritson's volumes.                                             I Song CCXXXV.




486                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
in my projected song to it.  It is not, however,  sounds as the whistles which school-hoysmake in spring
a case in point with "iRothemurche;"X there,  from the smaller boughs of the plane-tree.]
as in "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," a chorus    SINCE yesterday's penmanship, I have framed
goes, to my taste, well enough.  As to the  a couple of English stanzas, by way of an Engchorus going first, that is the case with " Roy's  lish song to " Roy's Wife."  You will allow me,
Wife," as well as "Rothemurche."  In fact, in  that in this instance my English corresponds in
the first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so  sentiment with the Scottish.
peculiar and irregular, and on that irregularity
depends so much of their beauty, that we must        Cast thou leave me thus, my  aty 
e'en take them  with all their wildness, and o    Well! I think this, to be done in two or three
humour the verse accordingly.  Leaving outy room, and with two or three
the starting note in both tunes, has, I think, an  pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far amiss.
effect that no regularity could counterbalance  You see I am determined to have my quantum
the want of.                                    of applause from somebody.
Try,      Oh Roy's wife of Aldivalloch.       Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we
0 lassie wi' the lint-white locks,  only want the trifling circumstance of being
and
it   Roy's wife of Aldivalloch.       known to one another, to be the best friends on
compae       Lassie wi' the lint-white locks.  earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates,
mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I
Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable  have, at last, gotten one, but it is a very rude
strike you? In the last case, with the true furor  instrument.  It is composed of three parts; the
of genius, you strike at once into the wild ori-  stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep,
ginality of the air; whereas, in the first insipid  such as you see in a mutton ham; the horn,
method, it is like the grating screw of the pins  which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut
before the fiddle is brought into tune.  This is  off at the smaller end, until the aperture be
my taste; if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the  large enough to admit the stock to be pushed
cognoscenti.                                    up through the horn until it be held by the
" The Caledonian Hunt" is so charming, that  thicker end of the thigh-bone; and lastly, an
it would make any subject in a song go down;  oaten reed exactly cut and notched like that
but pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scot-  which you see every shepherd boy have, when
tish bacchanalians we certainly want, though  the corn-stems are green and full grown.  The
the few we have are excellent.  For instance,  reed is not made fast in the bone, but is held by
"Todlin hame," is, for wit and humntr, an  the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of
unparalleled composition; and ":n:"and  the stock; while the stock, with the horn hanghis cutty gun" is the work of a master. By the  ing on its larger end, is held by the hands in
way, are you not quite vexed to think that  playing.  The stock has six or seven ventages
those men of genius, for such they certainly  on the upper side, and one back-ventage, like
were, who composed our fine Scottish lyrics,  the common flute.  This of mine was made by
should be unknown? It has given me many a  a man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly
heart-ache. Apropos to bacchanalian songs in  what the shepherds wont to use in that country.
Scottish, I composed one yesterday, for an air    However, either it is not quite properly bored
I like inuch —" Lumps o' pudding."              in the holes, or else we have not the art of blowContented wi' little and cantie wi' mair.'    ing it rightly; for we can make little of it. If
If you do not relish this air, I will send it to  Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him  a sight of
Johnson.                              R. B.    mine, as I look on myself to be a kind of brotherbrush with him.  " Pride in poets is nae sin;"
and I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and
CCCVI.                       Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real
painters of Scottish costume in the world.
TO MR. THOMSON.                                                              R. B.
R. B.
(The instrument which the poet got from the braes of
Athol, seems of an order as rude and incapable of fine
I Song CCXXXVI.                                 2 Song CCXXXVII.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          487
CCCVII.                                        CCCVIII.
TO PETER MILLER, JUN., ESQ.,  TO MR. SAMUEL CLARKE, JUN.,
OF DALSWINTON.                                     DUMFRIES.
[In a conversation with James Perry, editor of the   [Political animosities troubled society during the days
Morning Chronicle, Mr. Miller, who was then member  of Burns, as much at least as they disturb it now-this
for the Dumfries boroughs, kindly represented the po-  letter is an instance of it.]
verty of the poet and the increasing number of his family:                  Sunday Morning.
Perry at once offered fifty pounds a year for any contri-  DEAR SIR,
butions he might choose to make to his newspaper: the    I was I know  drunk last night, but I am
reasons for his refusal are stated in this letter.]        
sober this morning.  From  the  expressions
Dumfries, Nov. 1794.    Capt.   ~    made use of to me, had I had noDEAR SIR,
DEAR SoIR, iiddryersa mtbody's welfare to care for but my own, we should
YOUR offer is indeed truly generous, and most  certainly have come, according to the manners
sincerely do I thank you for it; but in my pre-of the world, to the necessity of murdering one
sent situation, I find that I dare not accept it.  another about the business.  The words were
You  well know my political sentiments; and  such as, generally, I believe, end in a brace of
were I an insular individual, unconnected with
were I an insular individual, unconnected with  pistols; but I am still pleased to think that I
a wife and a family of children, with the most  did not ruin the peace and welfare of a wife and
fervid enthusiasm I would have volunteered mya family of children in a drunken squabble.
services: I then could and would have despised  Farther, you know that the report of certain poall consequences that might have ensued.       litical opinions being mine, has already once
My prospect in the Excise is something; at   
My prospect in the Excise is something; at  before brought me to the brink of destruction.
least it is, encumbered as I am with the welfare,     dread lest last nights business may be misreI dread lest last night's business may be taisrethe very existence, of near half-a-score of help-, w
presented in the same way. —You, I beg, will
less individuals, what I dare not sport with.   take care to prevent it.  I tax your wish for
take care to prevent it. I tax your wish for
In the mean time, they are most welcome to
In the mean time, they are most welcome to  Mr. Burns's welfare with the task of waiting as
my Ode; only, let them insert it as a thing they  soon as possible, on every gentleman who was
soon as possible, on every gentleman who was
have met with by accident and unknown to me.  present, and state this to him, and, as you please,
-Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, after your
- Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, after your  show him this letter.  What, after all, was the
character of him, I cannot doubt; if he will                            ou s        in    
give* me aadesnobnoxious toast? " May our success in the pregive me an address and channel by which any-  sent war be equal to the justice of our cause."
thing will come safe from those spies with which   -A   toast that the  most outrageous frenzy of
he may be certain that his correspondence is            cannot object to. I request and beg
beset, I will now and then send him any bagatelle  that this morning you will wait on the parties
that I may write.  In the present hurry of  present at the foolish dispute. I shall only add,
Europe, nothing but news and politics will be 
regarded; bugistedyfthat I am truly sorry that a man who stood so
regarded; but against the days of peace, which  high in my estimation as Mr., should use
Heaven send soon, my little assistance may per-  me in the manner in which  I conceive he has
me in the manner in which I conceive he has
haps fill up an idle column of a newspaper.  I  done.                                 R. B.
have long had it in my head to try my hand in
the way of little prose essays, which I propose
sending into the world though the medium of
some newspaper; and should these be worth                          CCCIX.
his while, to these Mr. Perry shall be welcome;
and all my reward shall be, his treating me               TO  MR. THOMSON.
with his paper, which, by the bye, to anybody
ewh,, lesheish for withe  is a hight  ta  [Burns allowed for the songs which Wolcot wrote for
who has the least relish for wit,   a high treat  Thomson a degree of lyric merit which the world has
indeed.                                         refused to sanction.]
With the most grateful esteem I am ever,                                December, 1794. 
Dear Sir,             IT is, I assure you, the pride of my heart to
R. B.    do anything to forward or add to the value of
your book; and as I agree with you that the
jacobite song in the Museum to " There'll never




488                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
be peace till Jamie comes hame," would not so
well consort with Peter Pindar's excellent love-                   CXI.
song to that air, I have just framed for you the          TO  MR. THOMS ON.
following:[Of this letter Dr. Currie writes, " the poet must have
Now in her green mantle, &c.'           been tipsy indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this
rate;" it is one of the prettiest of our Annandale vi.
How does this please you? As to the point of  lages, and the birth-place of that distinguished biogra
time for the expression, in your proposed print  pher.]
from my " Sodger's Return," it must certainly                Ecclefechan, 7th February, 1795.
be at-" She gaz'd."  The interesting dubiety        MY DEAR THOMSON,
and suspense taking possession of her counte-    You cannot have any idea of the predicament
nance, and the gushing fondness, with a mix-  in which I write to you. In the course of my
ture of roguish playfulness, in his, strike me as  duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have
things of which a master will make a great deal.  acted of late), I came yesternight to this unforIn great haste, but in great truth, yours.     tunate, wicked little village.  I have gone forR. B.    ward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded
my progress: I have tried to "gae back the
gate I cam again," but the same obstacle has
shut me up within insuperable bars.  To add
to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has
been torturing catgut, in sounds that would
Ca~CCX'.  ~          have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under
TO MR. T HO MSON.                    the hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on
that very account, exceeding good company.
[In this brief and off-hand way Burns bestows on  I fact I have been in a dilemma, either to get
Thomson one of the finest songs ever dedicated to the   
drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang
cause of human freedom.] 
J ary, 1.    myself, to get rid of them: like a prudent man
January, 1795.
I FEAR for my so; h  er, a fw may  (a character congenial to my every thought,
I FEAR for my songs; however, a few may,,  y  t i a c     word, and deed), I of two evils have chosen the
please, yet originality is a coy feature in corn-,
~..'~........ ^., least, and am very drunk, at your service!
position, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the,.  
samestyle,  disappears altogether.  Fr te    I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had
same style, disappears altogether. For these
same style, disappears. For these  not time then to tell you all I wanted to say;
three thousand years, we poetic folks have been 
and, Heaven knows, at present I have not cadescribing the spring, for instance; and as the
pacify.
spring continues the same, there must soon be   p.
Do you know an air-I am  sure you must
a sameness in the imagery, &c., of these said                     n  n       i  o o 
~ "', *        know it —"We'll gang nae mair to yon town?"
rhyming folks.                                 I think, in slowish time, it would make an exA great critic (Aikin) on songs, says that love  c                    i     i        i  i.,~ ^' ~cellent song.  I am highly delighted with it;
and wine are the exclusive themes for song-.   
ad we ae te e e t   s fr s -  and if you should think it worthy of your attenwriting.  The following is on neither subject, 
writin.  The following is on  e,  tion, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I
and consequently is no song; but will be alwould consecrate it.
lowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good
thoughts. into rhyme.             As I am just going to bed, I wish you a gool
prose thoughts inverted into rhyme.            night.                                 R. B.
night.                               RK. B.
Is there for honest poverty.2
I do not give you the foregoing song for your
book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle;
for the piece is not really poetry.  How will                     CCCXII.
the following do for " Craigieburn-wood?"TO MR. THOMSON.
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn.3
[The song of Caledonia, in honour of Mrs. Burns, was
Farewell! God bless you!            R. B.    accompanied by two others in honour of the poet's mis.
I Song CCXXXVIII.      2 Song CCLXIV.                       3 Song CCXLV.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                          489
tress: the muse was high in song, and used few words  being bestowed on a man who has not, by any
in the letter which enclosed them.]            means, merited such an instance of kindness.
May, 1795.    I have shown it to two or three judges of the
0 STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay'      first abilities here, and they all agree with me
in classing it as a first-rate production.  My
Let me know, your very first leisure, how   phiz is sae kenspeckle, that the very joiner's
you like this song.                             apprentice, whom Mrs. Burns employed to break
Long, long the night.2              up the parcel (I was out of town that day) knew
How do you like the foregoing? The Irish  it at once. My most grateful compliments to
air, "Humours of Glen," is a great favouriteAllan, who has honoured my rustic music so
of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the  much with his masterly pencil.  One strange
"Poor Soldier," there are not any decent verses  coincidence is, that the little one who is making
for it, I have written for it as follows:-     the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the
most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, d-n'd,
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands  wee, rumblegairie urchin of mine, whom from
reckon.3                                 that propensity to witty wickedness, and manLet me hear from you.              R. B.    fu' mischief, which, even at twa days auld, I
foresaw would form the striking features of his
disposition, I named Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the masters
CCCXIII.                      of a grammar-school in a city which shall be
nameless.
TO  MR. THOMSON.                       Give the enclosed epigram to my much-valued friend Cunningham, and tell him, that on
[The poet calls for praise in this letter, a species of, a                         
coin which is always ready.]                    Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to
whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me
How cruel are the parents.4
in a manner introduced me-I mean a wellMark yonder pomp of costly fashion.5       known military and literary character, Colonel
Well, this is not amiss. You see how I an-  Dirom.
swer your orders-your tailor could not be more    You do not tell me how you liked my two last
punctual.  I am just now in a high fit for poet-  songs. Are they condemned?
izing, provided that the strait-jacket of criti-. B.
cism don't cure me. If you can, in a post or
two, administer a little of the intoxicating po-                   CCCXV.
tion of your applause, it will raise your humble
servant's phrensy to any height you want. I                    MR. THO         ON.
am  at this moment " holding high converse"    [In.allusion to the preceding letter, Thomson says to
with the muses, and have not a word to throw   Burns, " You really make me blush when you tell me
scars  you are.     you have not merited the drawing from me." The "For
away on such a prosaic dog as you are.                                    C)
away on such a prosaic dog as you are.         a' that and a' that," which went with this letter, was, it
R. B.    is believed, the composition of Mrs. Riddel.]
IN "' Whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad,"
the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear.
CCCXIV.                     Here goes what I think is an improvement:TO MR. THOMSON.                      Oh whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
[Thomson at this time sent the drawing to Burns in  Oh whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
which'David Allan sought to embody the " Cotter's  Tho' father and mother and a' should gae mad,
Saturday Night:" it displays at once the talent and want  Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad.
of taste of the ingenious artist.]
MIay, 1795.      In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the
TEN thousand thanks for your elegant pre-  priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of Parsent-though I am ashamed of the value of it,  nassus-a dame whom the Graces have attired
I Song CCXLIX.   2 Song CCL.   3 Song CCLI.        4 Song CCLIII.         5 Song CCLIV




490                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed                      CCCXVII.
with lightning-a fair one, herself the heroine
of the song, insists on the amendment, and dis-                MR. THOMSON.
pute her commands if you dare?                   [The unexampled brevity of Burns's letters, and the
extraordinary flow and grace of his songs, towards the
This is no my ain lassie,l &c.         close of his life, have not now for the first time been
remarked.]
Do you know that you have roused the torpidity of Clarke at last? He has requested me to            LAST May a brw wooer.
write three or four songs for him, which he is            Why, why tell thy lover.5
to set to music himself.  The enclosed sheet    Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this
contains two songs for him, which please to pre-  air, that I find it impossible to make another
sent to my valued friend Cunningham.            stanza to suit it.
I enclose the sheet open, both for your inspec-  am at present quite occupied with the charmtion, and that you may copy the song " Oh bon-  ing sensations of the toothache, so have not a
nie was yon rosy brier."  I do not know whether  word to spare.                       R. B.
I am right, but that song pleases me; and as it
is extremely probable  that Clarke's newlyroused celestial spark will be soon smothered in
the fogs of indolence, if you like the song, it                  CCCXVIII.
may go as Scottish verses to the air of "I wish            TO  MRS. RIDDE L.
my love was in a mire;" and poor Erskine's
English lines may follow.                       Supposes himself to be writing from the dead to the
I enclose you a "For a' that and a' that,"                       living.
which was never in print: it is a much superior   [Ill health, poverty, a sense of dependence, with the
song to mine.  I have been told that it was  much he had deserved of his country, and the little he
composed by a lady, and some lines written on  had obtained, were all at this time pressing on the mind
the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of  of Burns, and inducing him to forget what was due te
himself as well as to the courtesies of life.]
my poems, presented to the lady whom, in so
many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the   MADAM,
most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I    I DARE say that this is the first epistle you
have so often sung under the name of Chloris:-   ever received from this nether world. I write
To Chls2.you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors
of the damned.  The time and the manner of
Une bagatelle de l'amitie.      COILA.         my leaving your earth I do not exactly know, as
R. B.    I took my departure in the heat of a fever of
intoxication contracted at your too hospitable
mansion; but, on my arrival here, I was fairly
tried, and sentenced to endure the purgatorial
TO MR. THOMSON.                     tortures of this infernal confine for the space of
ninety-nine years, eleven months, and twenty[In the double service of poesy and music the poet had e d, a   a         
to sing of pangs which he never endured, from beauties           on a      t of te 
to whom he had never spoken.]                   of my conduct yesternight under your roof.
Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with
FORLORN my love, no comfort near, &c.3.. 
FORORN v, n, &       my aching head reclined on a pillow of everHow do you like the foregoing? I have writ-  piercing thorn, while an infernal tormentor,
ten it within this hour: so much for the speed  wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his name I think
of my Pegasus; but what say you to his bottom?  is Recollection, with a whip of scorpions, forbids
R. B.    peace or rest to approach me, and keeps anguish
eternally awake.  Still, Madam, if I could in
any measure be reinstated in the good opinion
of the fair circle whom my conduct last night
I Song CCLV.        2 Poems, No. CXLVI.          4 Song CCLIX.          5 Song CCLX.
3 Song CCLVIII.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                         491
so much injured, I think it would be an allevia-  Nith"-which it so well deserves. When "Anation to my torments. For this reason I trouble  charsis' Travels" come to hand, which Mrs.
you with this letter. To the men of the company  Riddel mentioned as her gift to the public liI will make no apology.-Your husband, who  brary, Mr. B. will thank her for a reading of it
insisted on my drinking more than I chose, has  previous to her sending it to the library, as it is
no right to blame me; and the other gentlemen  a book Mr. B. has never seen: he wishes to have
were partakers of my guilt. But to you, Madam,  a longer perusal of them than the regulations
I have much to apologize. Your good opinion I  of the library allow.
valued as one of the greatest acquisitions I had                               Friday Eve.
made on earth, and I was truly a beast to forfeit    P. S. Mr. Burns will be much obliged to
it.  There was a Miss I, too, a woman of  Mrs. Riddel if she will favour him with a perufine sense, gentle and unassuming manners-do  sal of any of her poetical pieces which he may
make on my part, a miserable d-mned wretch's  not have seen.                        R. B
best apology to her. A Mrs. G-, a charming
woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced in
my favour; this makes me hope that I have not
outraged her beyond all forgiveness.-To all the
other ladies please present my humblest contri-                  CCCXX.
tion for my conduct, and my petition for their
gracious pardon.  O all ye powers of decency   TO MISS LOUISA  FONTENELLE.
and decorum! whisper to them that my errors,   [That Miss Fontenelle, as an actress, did not deserve
though great, were involuntary-that an intoxi-  the high praise which Burns bestows may be guessed:
cated man is the vilest of beasts-that it was  the lines to which he alludes were recited by the lady on
not in my nature to be brutal to any one-that  her benefit-night, and are printed among his Poems.]
to be rude to a woman, when in my senses, was                    Dumfries, December, 1795.
impossible with me-but-                            MADAM,
*    *    *    *    *    *               IN such a bad world as ours, those who add
Regret! Remorse! Shame! ye three hell-  to the scanty sum of our pleasures, are posihounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my  tively our benefactors.  To you, Madam, on
heels, spare me! spare me  our humble Dumfries boards, I have been more
Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition  indebted for entertainment than ever I was in
of, Madam, your humble slave.                  prouder theatres.  Your charms as a woman
R. B.    would insure applause to the most indifferent
actress, and your theatrical talents would insure admiration to the plainest figure. This,
Madam, is not the unmeaning or insidious comCCCXIX.                     pliment of the frivolous or interested; I pay it
TO MRS. RIDDEL.                     from the same honest impulse that the sublime
of nature excites my admiration, or her beauties
[Mrs. Riddel, it is said, possessed many more of the  give me delight.
poet's letters than are printed-she sometimes read them  i        rin 
to friends who could feel their wit, and, like herself,
make allowance for their freedom.]             you in your approaching benefit-night? If they
will I shall be prouder of my muse than ever.
Dumfries, 1795.
Mr B S, 1 75'They are nearly extempore: I know they have
MR. BURNS'S compliments to Mrs. Riddel —
no great merit; but though they should add but
is much obliged to her for her polite attention   ite  to te e  ain    t   the evening they
in & sending hi bo M      little to the entertainment of the evening, they
in sending him the book. Owing to Mr. B.'-s  give me the happiness of an opportunity to debeing at present acting as supervisor of excise, are how much I have the honour to be, &c.
a department that occupies his every hour of                                        R. B.
the day, he has not that time to spare which is
necessary for any belle-lettre pursuit; but, as
he will, in a week or two, again return to his
wonted leisure, he will then pay that attention
to Mrs. R.'s beautiful song, "To thee, loved




492                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
CCCXXI.                                      ADDRESS,
T O M R S..      1DUNLO-P.          SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT,
TO  M   S. D UNL  P.    DEC. 4, 1795, AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES.
[Of the sweet girl to whom Burns alludes in this letter  Still anxious to secure your partial favour &c.
he was deprived during this year: her death pressed 
sorely on him.]                                                    25th, Christmas-Morning.
MN 15th Deceber, 1795.    This, my much-loved friend, is a morning of
MYv DEAR FRIEND,                       wishes-accept mine-so heaven hear me as
As I am in a complete Decemberish humour,
As   am in a complete Decemberish humour,  they are sincere! that blessings may attend your
gloomy, sullen, stupid as even the Deity of Dul-  steps and affliction know  you not! In the
steps, and affliction  know you not!  In the
ness herself could wish, I shall not drawl out a,...^,.   ~ charming words of my favourite author, "' The
heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies  an of Feeling,"  May the Great Spirit bear
Man of Feeling," " May the Great Spirit bear
for my late silence. Only one I shall mention,  up the weight of thy gray hairs, and blunt the
up the weight of thy gray hairs, and blunt the
because I know you will sympathize in it: these  a      t               
arrow that brings them rest!"
four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest    Now that I talk of authors, how do you like
child, has been so ill, that every day, a week or  Cowper?  Is not the  Task" a glorious poem?
less, threatened  to terminate her existence.
less, threatened to terminate her existence The religion of the " Task," bating a few scraps
There had much need be many pleasures an-  of Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God
nexed to the states of husband and father, for,  and nature  the religion that exalts, that enand nature; the religion that exalts, that enGod knows, they have many peculiar cares. I  nobles man. Were not you to send me your
cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless  "Zeluco," in return for mine?  Tell me how
hours these ties frequently give me. I see a  you like my marks and notes through the book.
train of helpless little folks; me and my exer-  I would not give a farthing for a book, unless I
tions all their stay: and on what a brittle
tions all their stay: and on what a brittle  were at liberty to blot it with my criticisms.
thread does the life of man hang! If I am nipt    I have lately collected, for a friend's perusal
offatthe command of fate! even in all thevigour  all my letters; I mean those which I first
of manhood as I am-such things happen every  sketched, in a rough draught, and afterwards
day-gracious God! what would become of my  wrote out fair. On looking over some old musty
little flock!'Tis here that I envy your people  papers, which, from  time to time, I had parof fortune.-A father on his death-bed, taking  celled by, as trash that were scarce worth prean everlasting leave of his children, has indeed  serving, and which yet at the same time I did
woe enough; but the man of competent fortune
woe enough; but the man of competent fortune  not care to destroy; I discovered many of these
leaves his sons and daughters independency and  rude sketches, and have written, and am writfriends; while I-but I shall run distracted if  ing them  out, in a bound MS. for my friend's
I think any longer on the subject!             library.  As I wrote always to you the rhapTo leave talking of the matter so gravely, I  sody of the moment, I cannot find a single scroll
shall sing with the old Scots ballad-          to you, except one about the commencement of
"0 that I had ne'er been married,        our acquaintance.  If there were any possible
I would never had nae care;           conveyance, I would send you a perusal of my
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,       book.                                 R. B.
They cry crowdie! evermair.
Crowdie! ance; crowdie! twice;
Crowdie! three times in a day;                         CCCXXII.
An ye crowdie! ony mair,
Ye'll crowdie! a' my meal away."-     TO MR. ALEXANDER  FINDLATER,
*    *    *    *    *    *  SUPERVISOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES..December 24th.
Decemer 24th.  [The person to whom this letter is addressed, is the
We have had a brilliant theatre here this sea-  sae who lately denied that Burns was harshly used by
son; only, as all other business does, it experi-  the Board of Excise: but those, and they are many, who
ences a stagnation of trade from the epidemical  believe what the poet wrote to Erskine, of Mar, cannot
complaint of the country, want of cash. I men-  agree with Mr. Findlater.
tioned our theatre merely to lug in an occasional   SIR,
Address which I wrote for the benefit-night of    ENCLOSED are the two schemes.  I would not
one of the actresses, and which is as follows:-   have troubled you with the collector's one, but




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                           493
for suspicion lest it be not right.  Mr. Erskine  distant, obscure country town: but that humble
promised me to make it right, if you will have  domicile in which I shelter my wife and children
the goodness to show him how. As I have no  is the CASTELLUM of a BRITON; and that scanty,
copy of the scheme for myself, and the altera-  hard-earned income which supports them is as
tions being very considerable from what it was  truly my property, as the most magnificent
formerly, I hope that I shall have access to this  fortune, of the most PUISSANT MEMBER of your
scheme I send you, when I come to face up my  HOUSE of NOBLES.
new books. So much for schemes.-And that no        These, Sir, are my sentiments; and to them
scheme to betray a FRIEND, or mislead a STRAN-  I subscribe my name: and were I a man of
GER; to seduce a YOUNG GIRL, or rob a HEN-  ability and consequence enough to address the
ROOST; to subvert LIBERTY, or bribe an EXCISE-  PUBLIC, with that name should they appear.
MAN; to disturb the GENERAL ASSEMBLY, or                                            I am, &c.
annoy a GOSSIPPING; to overthrow  the credit
of ORTHODOXY, or the authority of OLD SONGS;
to oppose your wishes, or frustrate my hopes —MAY
PROSPER-is the sincere wish and prayer of
R. B.                 To MR. HERON,
OF HERON.
CCCXXIII.                       [Of Patrick Heron, of Kerroughtree, something has
been said in the notes on the Ballads which bear his
TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORN- name.]
ING  CHRONICLE.                                           Dumfries, 1794, or 1795.
SIR,
[Cromek says, when a neighbour complained that his    ENCLOSE you some copies of a couple of pocopy of the Morning Chronicle was not regularly delivered to him from the post-office, the poet wrote the  litial ballds; one of which, I believe, you
following indignant letter to Perry ona leaf of his excise-  have never seen.  Would to Heaven I could
book, but before it went to the post he reflected and  make you master of as many votes in the Stewrecalled it.]                                    artry-butDumfries, 1795.,        " Who does the utmost that he can,
SIR,                                             Does well, acts nobly, angels could no more."
You will see by your subscribers' list, that I    In order to bring my humble efforts to bear
have been about nine months of that number.   with more effect on the foe, I have privately
I am sorry to inform you, that in that time,  printed a good many copies of both ballads, and
seven or eight of your papers either have never  have sent them  among friends all about the
been sent me, or else have never reached me.  country.
To be deprived of any one number of the first    To pillory on Parnassus the rank reprobation
newspaper in Great Britain  for information,  of character, the utter dereliction of all prinability, and independence, is what I can ill  ciple, in a profligate junto which has not only
brook and bear; but to be deprived of that most  outraged virtue, but violated common decency;
admirable oration of the Marquis of Lansdowne,  which, spurning even hypocrisy as paltry iniwhen he made the great though ineffectual at-  quity below their daring; -to unmask their
tempt (in the language of the poet, I fear too  flagitiousness to the broadest day-to deliver
true), "to save a SINKING STATE"-this was a  such over to their merited fate, is surely not
loss that I neither can nor will forgive you.-   merely innocent, but laudable; is not only proThat paper, Sir, never reached me; but I de-  priety, but virtue.  You have already, as your
mand it of you.  I am a BRITON; and must be  auxiliary, the sober detestation of mankind on
interested in the cause of LIBERTY: —I am  a  the heads of your opponents; and I swear by
MAN; and the RIGHTS of HUMAN NATURE cannot  the lyre of Thalia to muster on your side all
be indifferent to me. However, do not let me  the votaries of honest laughter, and fair, candid
mislead you: I am not a man in that situation  ridicule!
of life, which, as your subscriber, can be of    I am extremely obliged to you for your kind
any consequence to you, in the eyes of those to  mention of my interests in a letter which Mr.
whom SITUATION OF LIFE ALONE is the criterion  Syme showed me. At present my situation in
of MAN.-I am  but a plain tradesman, in this  life must be in a great measure stationary,,f




494                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
least for two or three years.  The statement is  whether this may reach you at all. God grant
this-I am on the supervisors' list, and as we  that it may find you and yours in prospering
come on there by precedency, in two or three  health and good spirits! Do let me hear from
years I shall be at the head of that list, and be  you the soonest possible.
appointed of course.  Then, a FRIEND might be    As I hope to get a frank from my friend Capof service to me in getting me into a place of  tain Miller, I shall every leisure hour, take up
the kingdom which I would like. A supervisor's  the pen, and gossip away whatever comes first,
income varies from about a hundred and twenty  prose or poetry, sermon or song.  In this last
to two hundred a year; but the business is an  article I have abounded of late.  I have often
incessant drudgery, and would be nearly a  mentioned to you a superb publication of Scotcomplete bar to every species of literary pur-  tish songs which is making its appearance in
suit.  The moment I am appointed supervisor,  your great metropolis, and where I have the
in the common routine, I may be nominated on  honour to preside over the Scottish verse, as no
the collector's list; and this is always a busi-  less a personage than Peter Pindar does over
ness purely of political patronage. A collector-  the English.
ship varies much, from better than two hundred                               December 29th.
a year to near a thousand.  They also come    Since I began this letter, I have been apforward by precedency on the list; and have,  pointed to act in the capacity of supervisor
besides a handsome income, a life of complete  here, and I assure you, what with the load of
leisure.  A life of literary leisure with a decent  business, and what with that business being
competency, is the summit of my wishes.t  new to me, I could scarcely have commanded
would be the prudish affectation of silly pride  ten minutes to have spoken to you, had you
in me to say that I do not need, or would not  been in town, much less to have written you
be indebted to a political friend; at the same  an epistle. This appointment is only temporary,
time, Sir, I by no means lay my affairs before  and during the illness of the present incumbent;
you thus, to hook my dependent situation on  but I look forward to an early period when I
your benevolence.  If, in my progress of life,  shall be appointed in full form: a consummaan opening should occur where the good offices  tion devoutly to be wished! My political sins
of a gentleman of your public character and  seem to be forgiven me.
political consequence might bring me forward,    This is the season (New-year's-day is now my
I shall petition your goodness with the same  date) of wishing; and mine are most fervently
frankness as I now do myself the honour to sub-  offered up for you! May life to you be a posiscribe myself                         R. B.    tive blessing while it lasts, for your own sake;
and that it may yet be greatly prolonged, is my
wish for my own sake, and for the sake of the
rest of your friends! What a transient business
is life! Very lately I was a boy; but t'other
CCCXXV.                      day I was a young man; and I already begin
TO MRS. DUNLOP,                      to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of
old age coming fast o'er my frame.  With all
IN LONDON.                    my follies of youth, and I fear, a few vices of
[In the correspondence of the poet with Mrs. Dunlop  manhood, still I congratulate myself on having
he rarely mentions Thomson's Collection of Songs, had in early days religion strongly impressed
though his heart was set much upon it: in the Dunlop  on my mind. I have nothing to say to any one
library there are many letters from the poet, it is said,          i 
which have not been published.]as to which sect he belongs to, or what creed he
which have not been published.]
believes: but I look on the man, who is firmly
Dumfries, 20th December, 1795.    persuaded of infinite wisdom and goodness, suI HAVE been prodigiously disappointed in this  perintending and directing every circumstance
London journey of yours.  In the first place,  that can happen in his lot-I felicitate such a
when your last to me reached Dumfries, I was  man as having a solid foundation for his mental
in,he country, and did not return until too  enjoyment; a firm prop and sure stay, in the
late to answer your letter; in the next place, I  hour of difficulty, trouble, and distress; and a
thought you would certainly take this route;  never-failing anchor of hope, when he looks beand now I know not what is become of you, or  yond the grave.




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                        495
January 12th.    have their price.  With that sullen disdain
You will have seen our worthy and ingenious  which you can so well assume, rise, illustrious
friend, the Doctor, long ere this.  I hope he is  Sir, and spurn these hireling efforts of venal
well, and beg to be remembered to him. I have  stupidity. At best they are the compliments of
just been reading over again, I dare say for the  a man's friends on the morning of his execution:
hundred and fiftieth time, his View of Society and  they take a decent farewell, resign you to your
Manners; and still I read it with delight.  His  fate, and hurry away from  your approaching
humour is perfectly original-it is neither the  hour.
humour of Addison, nor Swift, nor Sterne, nor    If fame say true, and omens be not very much
of anybody but Dr. Moore.  By the bye, you  mistaken, you are about to make your exit from
have deprived me of Zeluco, remember that,  that world where the sun of gladness gilds the
when you are disposed to rake up the sins of  paths of prosperous man: permit us, great Sir,
nay neglect from among the ashes of my laziness.  with the sympathy of fellow-feeling to hail your
He has paid me a pretty compliment, by quot- passage to the realms of ruin.
ing me in his last publication.'
ing me in his lat p n.'                Whether the sentiment proceed from  the
R. B.    selfishness or cowardice of mankind is immaterial; but to point out to a child of misfortune
those who are still more unhappy, is to give him
CCCXXVI.                     some degree of positive enjoyment.  In this
light, Sir, our downfall may be again useful to
ADDRESS OF THE SCOTCH DISTILLERS,                          ~
you:-though not exactly in the same way, it
TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM  PITT.  is not perhaps the first time it has gratified
[This ironical letter to the prime minister was found  your feelings. It is true, the triumph of your
among the papers of Burns.]                   evil star is exceedingly despiteful.-At an age
Q                             ~~~SIR,1~ ~when others are the votaries of pleasure, or unSIR,
WHIE p y b s c d yr ge, s     -  derlings in business, you had attained the highWHILE pursy burgesses crowd your gate, sweat-.. 
est wish of a British statesman; and with the
ing under the weight of heavy addresses, per^...^.  ^  ~.  f~ ^ordinary date of human life, what a prospect
mit us, the quondam distillers in that part of   r r.^ ~ -T,.~~~.   -n  Mwas before you! Deeply rooted in Roy/alfavour,
Great Britain called Scotland, to approach you,.,,,.,., ^ ^, you overshadowed the land.  The birds of pasnot with venal approbation, but with fraternal  you overshadowed the land.  The birds of pascondolen; nt as wt yu ae jt n, or  sage, which follow ministerial sunshine through
condolence; not as what you are just now, or..
- J_.   i    -.          i J.    i J. *,i every clime of political faith and manners,
for some time have been; but as what, in all  every clime of political faith and manners,
probability, you will shortly be-We shall have  flocked to your branches; and the beasts of the
probability, you will shortly be.~We shall have         I'
e mrit of nt d ting        fr s  in te  field (the lordly possessors of hills and valleys)
the merit of not deserting our friends in the      \  i.  crowded under your shade.  "But behold a
day of their calamity, and you will have the  cr    d    er your shade   " t behod a
satisfaction of perusing at least one honest ad-, a,    e d     f     h,..,.    and cried aloud, and said thus: Hew down the
dress. You are well acquainted with the dis-'
section of human nature; nor do you need the tree, and cut off his branches; shake off his.ssistnc   of ha f ellow-cretre's bosom to i-  leaves, and scatter his fruit; let the beasts get
assistance of a fellow-creature's bosom to in-,                          
away from under it, and the fowls from his
form you, that man is always a selfish, often a     
branches!" Ablow from an unthought-of quarperfidious being.-This assertion, however the    nches!" A blow from an unthought-of quar-,..fc-i'-  J.'~ ~ter, one of those terrible accidents which pecuhasty conclusions of superficial observation may   o                                  
liarly mark the hand of Omnipotence, overset
doubt of it, or the raw inexperience of youth                                        overset
may deny it, those who make the fatal eperi- your career, and laid all your fancied honours in
may deny it, those who make the fatal experi- 
maydenyit, thsh akhthe dust. But turn your eyes, Sir, to the tragic
ment we have done, will feel.-You are a states-         B         our ey, i, t th t
man,. a c qscenes of our fate:-an ancient nation, that for
man, and consequently are not ignorant of the  
traffic of these corporation compliments-The  many ages had gallantly maintained the unequal
traffic of these corporation compliments —The,.,.,.,.,.   -.i~ ~     i struggle for independence with her much more
little great man who drives the borough to
e   great man who   bu   t   powerful neighbour, at last agrees to a union
market, and the very great man who buys the
^  ^.                1. ^ ^ ^   ^   Jwhich should ever after make them one people.
borough in that market, they two  do the whole       
boog. in that mar.. tIn consideration of certain circumstances, it
business; and you well know they, likewise,.____________________  was covenanted that the former should enjoy a
1 Edward.                   stipulated alleviation in her share of the public




496                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
burdens, particularly in that branch of the re-                   CCCXXVII.
venue called the Excise. This just privilege has
of late given great umbrage to some interested,   TO THE   HON.  PROVOST, BAILIES, AND
powerful individuals of the more potent part of       TOWN COUNCIL OF DUMFRIES.
the empire, and they have spared no wicked    [The Provost and Bailies complied at once with the
pains, under insidious pretexts, to subvert what  modest request of the poet: both Jackson and Staig, who
they dared not openly to attack, from the dread  were heads of the town by turns, were men of taste and
which they yet entertained of the spirit of their  feeling.]
ancient enemies.                                     GENTLEMEN,
In this conspiracy we fell; nor did we alone    THE literary taste and liberal spirit of your
suffer, our country was deeply wounded.  A   good town has so ably filled the various departnumber of (we will say) respectable individuals,  ments of your schools, as to make it a very
largely engaged in trade, where we were not  great object for a parent to have his children
only useful, but absolutely necessary to our  educated in them.  Still, to me, a stranger,
country in her dearest interests; we, with all  with my large family, and very stinted income,
that was near and dear to us, were sacrificed  to give my young ones that education I wish,
without remorse, to the infernal deity of politi-  at the high school fees which a stranger pays,
cal expediency! We fell to gratify the wishes  will bear hard upon me.
of dark envy, and the views of unprincipled am-    Some years ago your good town did me the
bition! Your foes, Sir, were avowed; were too  honour of making me an honorary burgess.brave to take an ungenerous advantage; you  Will you allow me to request that this mark of
fell in the face of day.-On the contrary, our  distinction may extend so far, as to put me on
enemies, to complete our overthrow, contrived  a footing of a real freeman of the town, in the
to make their guilt appear the villany of a  schools?
nation. —Your downfall only drags with you    If you are so very kind as to grant my reyour private friends and partisans: in our mi-  quest, it will certainly be a constant incentive
sery are more or less involved the most nume-  to me to strain every nerve where I can officially
rous and most valuable part of the community  serve you; and will, if possible, increase that
-all those who immediately depend on the cul-  grateful respect with which I have the honour
tivation of the soil, from the landlord of a pro-  to be,
vince, down to his lowest hind.                                   Gentlemen,, ^.~     ~ ^,~..i     ~   ~      Your devoted humble servant,
Allow us, Sir, yet further, just to hint at 
another rich vein of comfort in the dreary                                             R. B.
regions of adversity;-the gratulations of an
approving conscience. In a certain great assembly, of which you are a distinguished member,                    CCCXXVIII.
panegyrics on your private virtues have so often           TO MRS. RI DDEL.
wounded your delicacy, that we shall not distress you with anything on the subject.  There   [Mrs. Riddel was, like Burns, a well-wisher to the
is, however, one part of your public conduct  great cause of human liberty, and lamented with him the
excesses of the French Revolution.]
which our feelings will not permit us to pass in
silence: our gratitude must trespass on your                   Dumfries, 20th January, 1796.
modesty; we mean, worthy Sir, your whole be-    I CANNOT express my gratitude to you, for
haviour to the Scots Distillers.-In evil hours,  allowing me a longer perusal of "Anacharsis."
when obtrusive recollection presses bitterly on  In fact, I never met with a book that bewitched
the sense, let that, Sir, come like an healing  me so much; and I, as a member of the library,
angel, and speak the peace to your soul which  must warmly feel the obligation you have laid
the world can neither give nor take away.       us under.  Indeed to me the obligation  is
We have the honour to be,                   stronger than to any other individual of our
Sir,                        society; as "Anacharsis" is an indispensable
Your sympathizing fellow-sufferers,      desideratum to a son of the muses.
And grateful humble servants,         The health you wished me in your morning's
JOHN BARLEYCORN-Praeses.  card, is, I think, flown from me for ever. I




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             497
have not been able to leave my bed to-day till  my remaining volume of P. Pindar.  Peter is a
about an hour ago.  These wickedly unlucky  delightful fellow, and a first favourite of mine.
advertisements I lent (I did wrong) to a friend,  I am much pleased with your idea of publishing
and I am ill able to go in quest of him.          a collection of our songs in octavo, with etchings.
The muses have not quite forsaken me.  The  I am extremely willing to lena every assistance
following detached stanza I intend to interweave  in my power.  The Irish airs I shall cheerfully
in some disastrous tale of a shepherd.            undertake the task of finding verses for.
R. B.       I have already, you know, equipt three with
_~~- ~ ~  ~~words, and the other day I strung up a kind of
rhapsody to another Hibernian melody, which
CCCXXIX.                       I admire much.
TO  M R S. DUNLOP.                      Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms.'
[It seems that Mrs. Dunlop regarded the conduct of    If this will do, you have now four of my Irish
Burns, for some months, with displeasure, and withheld,.   X^~.  ~engagement.  In my by-past songs I dislike
or delayed her usual kind and charming communica-              
tions.]                                           one thing, the name Chloris-I meant it as the
Dumfries, 31st January, 1796.    fictitious name of a certain lady: but, on second
THESE many months you have been two  thoughts, it is a high incongruity to have a
packets in my debt-what sin of ignorance I  Greek appellation to a Scottish pastoral ballad.
have committed against so highly-valued a friend  Of this, and some things else, in my next:  I
I am utterly at a loss to guess. Alas! Madam,  have more amendments to propose.  What you
ill can I afford, at this time, to be deprived of  once mentioned of " flaxen locks" is just: they
any of the small remnant of my pleasures.  I  cannot enter into an elegant description of
have lately drunk deep in the cup of affliction.  beauty.  Of this also again-God bless you!2
The autumn robbed me of my only daughter                                                  R. B.
and darling child, and that at a distance too,
and so rapidly, as to put it out of my power to
pay the last duties to her.  I had scarcely be-                      CCCXXXI.
gun to recover from that shock, when I became                TO MR. THOMSON.
myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic
fever, and long the die spun doubtful; until,   [It is seldom that painting speaks in the spirit of poetry
after many weeks of a sick bed, it seems to  Burns perceived some of the blemishes of Allan's illustrations: but at that time little nature and less elegance
have turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl  entered into the embellishments of books.]
across my room, and once indeed have been before my own door in the street.                                                    April, 1796.
ALAS! my dear Thomson, I fear it will be
"When pleasure fascinates the mental sight,     ALAS! my dear Thomson, I fear it will be
Affliction purifies the visual ray,        some time ere I tune my lyre again!  "By
Religion hails the drear, the untried night,  Babel streams I have sat and wept" almost ever
And shuts, for ever shuts! life's doubtful day."  since I wrote you last; I have only known exR. B.    istence by the pressure of the heavy hand of
sickness, and have counted time by the repercussions of pain! Rheumatism, cold, and fever
CCCXXX.                       have formed to me a terrible combination.  I
TOM MR. T HOMSON.            close my eyes in misery, and open them without
hope.  I look on the vernal day, and say with
[Cromek informed me, on the authority of Mrs. Burns,  poor Fergusson,
that the " handsome, elegant present" mentioned in this Say, wherefore has an all-indulgent heaven
letter, was a common worsted shawl.]
letter, was a c n w d shawl.]        Light to the comfortless and wretched given?"
February, 1796.       This will be delivered to you by Mrs. Hyslop,
MANY thanks, my dear Sir, for your hand-  landlady of the Globe Tavern here, which for
some, elegant present to Mrs. Burns, and for  these many years has been my howff, and where
i Song CCLXVI.                     2 Our poet never explained what name he would have
substituted for Chloris.-MR. THOMSON..?2




498                     GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
our friend Clarke and I have had many a merry have a spare half-hour to spend with him, I
squeeze.  I am  highly delighted with  Mr.  shall place your kindness to my acmount.  I
Allan's etchings.  "Woo'd an' married an' a',"  have no copies of the songs I have sent you,
is admirable!  The grouping is beyond all  and I have taken a fancy to review them  all,
praise. The expression of the figures, conform-  and possibly may mend some of them; so when
able to the story in the ballad, is absolutely  you have complete leisure, I will thank you for
faultless perfection.  I next admire " Turnim-  either the originals or copies.2 I had rather be
spike."  What I like least is "Jenny said to  the author of five well-written songs than of ten
Jockey."  Besides the female being in her ap-  otherwise. I have great hopes that the genial
pearance *     * * *, if you take her stooping into  influence of the approaching summer will set
the account, she is at least two inches taller  me to rights, but as yet I cannot boast of rethan her lover.  Poor Cleghorn! I sincerely  turning health.  I have now reason to believe
sympathize with him.  Happy I am to think  that my complaint is a flying gout-a sad busithat he yet has a well-grounded hope of health  ness!
and enjoyment in this world. As for me-but    Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and rememthat is a sad subject.               R. B.    ber me to him.
This should have been delivered to you a
month ago. I am still very poorly, but should
like much to hear from you.
CCCXXXII.                                                           R. B.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The genius of the poet triumphed over pain and want,
-his last songs are as tender and as true as any of his
early compositions.]                                            CCCXXXIV.
Mv DEAR SIr,
IMY DEAR SIR,                                        TO MRS. RIDDEL,
I ONCE mentioned to you an air which I have
long admired-" Here's a health to them that's  Who had desired him to go to the Birth-Day Asawa, hiney," but I forget if you took any notice    sembly on that day to show his loyalty.
of it.  I have just been trying to suit it with
f it. I h     j    b     t   o s   i w  [This is the last letter which the poet wrote to this
verses, and I beg leave to recommend the air to  accomplished lady.]
your attention once more.  I have only begunumfries, 4th une, 1796.
aDumfries, 4th June, 1796.
I AM in such miserable health as to be utterly
[Here follow the first three stanzas of the song, be-.             y 
ginning                                        incapable of showing my loyalty in any way.
Here's a health to ane I loe dear l      Rackt as I am with rheumatisms, I meet every
Here's a health to ane I  e dearface with a greeting like that of Balak to Bathe fourth was found among the poet's MSS. after his
death.]                                        laam-" Come, curse me Jacob; and come, defy
R. B.    me Israel!"  So say I-Come, curse me that
east wind; and come, defy me the north! Would
you have me in such circumstances copy you
CCCXXXIII.                    out a love-song?
TO MR. THOMSON.             ~I may perhaps see you on Saturday, but I
will not be at the ball.-Why should I? "man
[John Lewars, whom the poet introduces to Thomson,  delights not me, nor woman either!"  Can you'Was a brother gauger, and a kind, warm-hearted gentle-  supply me with the song, " Let us all be unman; Jossie Lewars was his sister, and at this time but  happy together?"-do if you can, and oblige,
happy together?"-do if you can, and oblige,
le pauvre miserable                  R. B.
THIs will be delivered by Mr. Lewars, a
young fellow of uncommon merit.  As he will
be a day or two in town, you will have leisure,
if you choose, to write me by him: and if you
I Song CCLXVII.                   2 c" It is needless to say that this revisal Burns did not
live to perform."-CURRIE.




OF   t1OlBEli IT   BURNS..499
CCCXXXV.                      sorrow, and care, has these many months lain
heavy on me! Personal and domestic affliction
TO  MR. C LAREKE,         have almost entirely banished that alacrity and
SCHOOLMASTER, FORFAR.                 life with which I used to woo the rural muse of
[Who will say, after reading the following distressing  Scotia. In the meantime let    finish what 
letter, lately come to light, that Burns did not die in  have so well begun.
great poverty.]                                           *       *              *
Dumfries, 26th June, 1796.      You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and
MY DEAR CLARKE,                            have a good right to live in this world-because
STILL, still the victim of affliction! Were you  you deserve it.  Many a merry meeting this
to see the emaciated figure who now holds the  publication has given us, and possibly it may
pen to you, you would not know your old friend.  give us more, though, alas! I fear it. This proWhether I shall ever get about again, is only  tracting, slow, consuming illness which hangs
known to Him, the Great Unknown, whose crea-  over me, will, I doubt much, my ever dear
ture I am. Alas, Clarke! I begin to fear the  friend, arrest my sun before he has well reached
worst.                                         his middle career, and will turn over the poet
As to my individual self, I am tranquil, and  to other and far more important concerns than
would despise myself, if I were not; but Burns's  studying the brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of
poor widow, and half-a-dozen of his dear little  sentiment! However, hope is the cordial of the
ones-helpless orphans!-there I am weak as a  human heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as
woman's tear. Enough of this!'Tis half of my  well as I can.
disease.                                         Let me hear from you as soon as convenient.
I duly received your last, enclosing the note.  -Your work is a great one; and now that it is
It came extremely in time, and I am much  finished, I see, if we were to begin again, two
obliged by your punctuality.  Again I must  or three things that might be mended; yet I
request you to do me the same kindness. Be  will venture to prophesy, that to future ages
so very good, as, by return of post, to enclose  your publication will be the text-book  and
me another note.  I trust you can do it without  standard of Scottish song and music.
inconvenience, and it will seriously oblige me.    I am ashamed to ask another favour of you,
If I must go, I shall leave a few friends behind  because you have been so very good already;
me, whom I shall regret while consciousness  but my wife has a very particular friend of hers,
remains. I know I shall live in their remem-  a young lady who sings well, to whom  she
brance. Adieu, dear Clarke. That I shall ever  wishes to present the " Scots Musical Museum."
see you again, is, I am afraid, highly improba-  If you have a spare copy, will you be so obligble.                                  R. B.    ing as to send it by the very first fly, as I am
anxious to have it soon.
The gentleman, Mr. Lewars, a particular
CCCXXXVI.                      friend of mine, will bring out any proofs (if
TO MR. JAMES JOHNSON,                     they are ready) or any message you may have.
I am extremely anxious for your work, as inEDINBURG H.                    deed I am for everything concerning you, and
[" In this humble and delicate manner did poor Burns  your welfare.
ask for a copy of a work of which he was principally the     Farewell,             R. B.
founder, and to which he had contributed gratuitously
not less than one hundred and eighty-four original,    P. S. You should have had this when Mr.
altered, and collected songs! The editor has seen one  Lewars called on you, but his saddle-bags mishundred and eighty transcribed by his own hand, for the  carried'Museum.' "-CROMEK. Will it be believed that this
"humble request" of Burns was not complied with!
The work was intended as a present to Jessie Lewars.]
aCCXXXVII.
Dumfries, 4th July, 1796.
How are you, my dear friend, and how comes            TO  MR. CUNNINGHAM.
on your fifth volume? You may probably think
on your fh v? Yu my pro y tk    [Few of the last requests of the poet were effectual:
that for some time past I have neglected you  Clarke, it is believed, did not send the second note he
and your work; but, alas! the hand of pain, and  wrote for: Johnson did not send the copy of the Museum




b00                    GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE
which he requested, and the Commissioners of Excise                         1oth July, 1796.
refused the continuance of his full salary.]        DEAR BROTHER,
Brow, Sea-bathing quarters, 7th July, 1796.    IT will be no very pleasing news to you to be
told that I am dangerously ill, and not likely to
MY DEAR CUNNINGHAM, 
y   h     t    m   a   a    get better.  An inveterate rheumatism has reI RECEIVED yours here this moment, and am
duced me to such a state of debility, and my
indeed highly flattered with the approbation of            
the lit y c e yu m; a l     y  appetite is so totally gone, that I can scarcely
the literary circle you mention; a literary.,1     stand on my legs.  I have been a week at seacircle inferior to none in the two kingdoms.              
bathing, and I will continue there, or in a
Alas! my friend, I fear the voice of the bard                                                
will soon be heard among you no more!  For  friend's house in the country, all the summer.
will soon be heard among you no more! For
God keep my wife and children: if I am taken
these eight or ten months I have been ailing,   od keep my wife and children: if I am taken
from  their head, they will be poor indeed.  I
sometimes bedfast and sometimes not; but these                                               
t te m s I he bn t d wh a   have contracted one or two serious debts, partly
last three months I have been tortured with an 
g r, w   h   r   from my illness these many months, partly from
excruciating rheumatism, which has reduced
too much thoughtlessness as to expense, when
me to nearly the last stage. You actually would           
no kno  m  if y   s   m-P   e ia   I came to town, that will cut in too much on the
not know me if you saw me —Pale, emaciated,
little I leave them in your hands. Remember
and so feeble, as occasionally to need help from   little I leave them in your hands. Remember
me to my mother.
my chair-my spirits fled! fled! but I can no  me           
more on the subject-only the medical folks tell                       Yours,           R. B.
me that my last only chance is bathing and
country-quarters, and riding.-The deuce of the
matter is this; when an exciseman is off duty,
his salary is reduced to 351. instead of 501.-                   CCCXXXIX.
What way, in the name of thrift, shall I main-        TO  MR. JAMES ARMOUR,
tain myself, and keep a horse in country quarMASON, MAUTCHLINE.
ters-with a wife and five children at home, on
351.? I mention this, because I had intended to   [The original letter is now in a safe sanctuary, the
beg your utmost interest, and that of all the  hands of the poet's son, Major James Glencairn Burns.]
friends you can muster, to move our commis-                                July 10th [1796.
sioners of excise to grant me the full salary; I    FOR Heaven's sake, and as you value the
dare say you know them all personally. If they  welfare of your daughter and my wife, do,
do not grant it me, I must lay my account with  my dearest Sir, write to Fife, to Mrs. Armour
an exit truly en poite-if I die not of disease,  to come if possible.  My wife thinks she can
I must perish with hunger.                      yet reckon upon a fortnight. The medical people
I have sent you one of the songs; the other  order me, as Ivalue my existence, to fly to seamy memory does not serve me with, and I have  bathing and country-quarters, so it is ten thouno copy here; but I shall be at home soon, when  sand chances to one that I shall not be within
I will send it you.-Apropos to being at home,  a dozen miles of her when her hour comes.
Mrs. Burns threatens, in a week or two, to add  What a situation for her, poor girl, without a
one more to my paternal charge, which, if of  single friend by her on such a serious moment.
the right gender, I intend shall be introduced    I have now been a week at salt-water, and
to the world by the respectable designation of  though I think I have got some good by it, yet
Alexander Cunningham  Burns.  My last was  I have some secret fears that this business will
James Glencairn, so you can have no objection  be dangerous if not fatal.
to the company of nobility.  Farewell.                         Your most affectionate son,
R. B.                                           R. B.
CCCXXXVIII.
CCCXL.
TO MR. GILBERT BURNS.
TO MRS. BURNS.
[This letter contained heavy news for Gilbert Burns:
the loss of a brother whom he dearly loved and admired,   [Sea-bathing, I have heard skilful men say, was injuwas not all, though the worst.]                 dicious: but it was felt that Burns was on his way to the




OF ROBERT BURNS.                                             501
grave, and as he desired to try the influence of sea-water,  late widow and children, when death had released him
as well as sea-air, his wishes were not opposed.]  from all dread of the poet's indignation.]
Brow, Thursday.         Brow, on the Solway-firth, 12th July, 1796.
MY DEAREST LOVE,                                AFTER all my boasted independence, curst
I DELAYED writing until I could tell you what  necessity compels me to implore you for five
effect sea-bathing was likely to produce.  It  pounds.  A cruel wretch of a haberdasher, to
would be injustice to deny that it has eased my  whom I owe an account, taking it into his head
pains, and I think has strengthened me; but  that I am  dying, has commenced a process,
my appetite is still extremely bad.  No flesh   and will infallibly put me into jail.  Do, for
nor fish can I swallow: porridge and milk are  God's sake, send me that sum, and that by rethe only things I can taste.  I am very happy  turn of post.  Forgive me this earnestness, but
to hear, by Miss Jess Lewars, that you are all  the horrors of a jail have made me half diswell.  My very best and kindest compliments  tracted.  I do not ask all this gratuitously;
to her, and to all the children.  I will see you  for, upon returning health, I hereby promise
on Sunday.                                        and engage to furnish you with five pounds'
Your affectionate husband,          worth of the neatest song-genius you have seen.
R. B.    I tried my hand on " Rothemurche" this morning.  The measure is so difficult that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines;
~CCaC~XLI.            they are on the other side.  Forgive, forgive
CCCXLI.
me 
T O  MRS. D U N L OP.                         Fairest maid on Devon's banks. 
R. B.
[" The poet had the pleasure of receiving a satisfactory explanation of this lady's silence," says Currie,
" and an assurance of the continuance of her friendship
to his widow and children."]                                        CCCXLIII.
Brow, Saturday, 12th July, 1796.            TO  MR. JAMES  BURNESS,
MADAM,
WRITER, MONTROSE.
I HAVE written you so often, without receiving any answer, that I would not trouble you    [The good, the warm-hearted James Burness sent his
again, but for the circumstances in which I am.  cousin tenpoundson the 29th of July-he sent five pounds
An illness which has long hung about me, in all  afterwards to the family, and offered to take one of the
An illness which has long hung about me, in all
boys, and educate him in his own profession of a writer.
probability will speedily send me beyond that  All this was unknown to the world till lately.]
bourn whence no traveller returns. Your friendship, with which for many years you honouredBrow, 12th  uly.
me, was a friendship, dearest to my soul.  Your               DEAR COUSIN,
conversation.  and esp.ecially yourcorrp   WHEN you offered me money assistance, little
conversation, and especially your correspondence, were at once highly entertaining and in-  did I think I should want it so soon.  A rascal
structive.  With what pleasure did I use to  of a haberdasher, to whom I owe a considerable
structive.  With what pleasure did I use to
k up te s!  T   rmemb   y  a     bill, taking it into his head that I am dying, has
break up the seal! The remembrance yet adds  
p     m           commenced process against me, and will infallione pulse more to my poor palpitating heart.
Farewell!!                bly put my emaciated body into jail.  Will you
R. B.    be so good as to accommodate me, and that by
return of post, with ten pounds? 0 James! did
you know the pride of my heart, you would feel
doubly for me! Alas! I am  not used to beg!
CCCXLII.                       The worst of it is, my health was coming about
TO  MR. THO M SON.                     finely; you know, and my physician assured me,
that melancholy and low spirits are half my dis[Thomson instantly complied with the dying poet's
request, and transmitted the exact sum which he re-  eas; g s tn my h        s se       b uiness
quested, viz. five pounds, by return of post: he was  began.  If I had it settled, I would be, I think,
afraid of offending the pride of Burns, otherwise he  quite well in a manner.  How shall I use the
would, he says, have sent a larger sum. He has not,
however, told us l(ow much he sent to the all but deso-          I Song CCLXVIII.




502                  REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
language to you, O do not disappoint me! but                       CCCXLIV.
strong necessity's curst command.
TO JAMES GRACIE, ESQ.
I have been thinking over and over my brother's affairs, and I fear I must cut him up; but   [James Gracie was, for some time, a banker in Dum
on this I will correspond at another time, par-  fries: his eldest son, a fine, high-spirited youth, fell by
ticularly as I shall [require] your advice.     a rifle-ball in America, when leading the troops to the
attack on Washington.]
Forgive me for once more mentioning by
return of post;-save me from the horrors of a      Brow, Wednesday Morning, 16th July, 1796.
jail!                                               MY DEAR SIR,
My compliments to my friend James, and to    IT would [be] doing high injustice to this
all the rest.  I do not know what I have writ-  place not to acknowledge that my rheumatisms
ten.  The subject is so horrible I dare not look  have derived great benefits from it already;
it over again.                                  but alas! my loss of appetite still continues.  I
Farewell,                     shall not need your kind offer this week, and I
R. B.    return to town the beginning of next week, it
not being a tide-week.  I am detaining a man
in a burning hurry.
So God bless you.        R. B.
REMARKS
ON
SCOTTISH SONGS AND BALLADS.
[THE following Strictures on Scottish Song exist in the handwriting of Burns, in the interleaved copy of Johnson's
Musical Museum, which the poet presented to Captain Riddel, of Friar's Carse; on the death of Mrs. Riddel, these
precious volumes passed into the hands of her niece, Eliza Bayley, of Manchester, who kindly permitted Mr. Cromek
to transcribe and publish them in the Reliques.]
THE HIGHLAND QUEEN.             *        OH, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY.
THIS Highland Queen, music and poetry, was    IT is somewhat singular, that in Lanark, Rencomposed by Mr. M'Vicar, purser of the Sole-  frew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dumbay man-of-war.-This I had from Dr. Black-  fries-shires, there is scarcely an old song or
lock.                                           tune which, from the title, &c., can be guessed
to belong to, or be the production of these
countries.  This, I conjecture, is one of these
BESS THE GAWKsIE.                  very few; as the ballad, which is a long one,
THIS song shows that the Scottish muses did is called, both by tradition and in printed colnot all leave us when we lost Ramsay and Os- lections, "The Lass of Lochroyan," which I
wald, as I have good reason to believe that the  take to be  Lochroyan in Galloway.
verses and music are both posterior to the days
of these two gentlemen.  It is a beautiful song,
and in the genuine Scots taste.  We have few
^.^~.  ^     i^           ~ THE BANKS OF THE TWEED.
pastoral compositions, I mean the pastoral of
nature, that are equal to this.                   THIS song is one of the many attempts that
English composers have made to imitate the
Scottish manner, and which I shall, in these
strictures, beg leave to distinguish by the ap.




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                         503
pellation of Anglo-Scottish productions. The              SAW YE MY PEGGY.
music is pretty good, but the verses are just    THIS charming song is much older, and inabove contempt.                               deed superior to Ramsay's verses, " The Toast,"
as he calls them. There is another set of the
words, much older still, and which I take to be
THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES.  
the original one, but though it has a very great
THIS song, as far as I know, for the first time  deal of merit, it is not quite ladies' reading.
appears here in print.-When I was a boy, it    The original words, for they can scarcely be
was a very popular song in Ayrshire. I rewas a very popular song in Ayrshire. I re-  called verses, seem to be as follows; a song famember to have heard those fanatics, the Bu-  miliar from the cradle to every Scottish ear.
chanites, sing some of their nonsensical rhymes,        "Saw ye my Maggie,
which they dignify with the name of hymns, to             Saw ye my Maggie,
this air.                                                 Saw ye my Maggie
Linkin o'er the lea?
High kilted was she,
ROSLIN CASTLE.                              High kilted was she,
THESE beautiful verses were the production              High kilted was she,
of a Richard Hewit, a young man that Dr.                     Her coat aboon her knee.
Blacklock, to whom I am indebted for the anec-            What mark has your Maggie,
dote, kept for some years as an amanuensis. I             What mark has your Maggie,
do not know who is the author of the second               What mark has your Maggie,
song to the tune. Tytler, in his amusing his-                   That ane may  n her e 
tory of Scots music, gives the air to Oswald;    Though it by no means follows that the silliest
but in Oswald's own collection of Scots tunes,  verses to an air must, for that reason, be the
where he affixes an asterisk to those he himself  original song; yet I take this ballad, of which
composed, he does not make the least claim to  I have quoted part, to be old verses. The two
the tune.                                      songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own,
are never to be met with in the fire-side circle
of our peasantry; while that which I take to
SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN? QUO' SHE.    be the old song, is in every shepherd's mouth.
THIS song, for genuine humour in the verses, Ramsay, I suppose, had thought the old verses
and lively originality in the air, is unparalleled.  unworthy of a place in his collection.
I take it to be very old.
THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH.
CLOUT THE CALDRON.                    THIS song is one of the many effusions of
A TRADITION is mentioned in the "Bee," that  Scots Jacobitism.-The title " Flowers of Edinthe second Bishop Chisholm, of Dunblane, used  burgh," has no manner of connexion with the
to say, that if he were going to be hanged,  present verses, so I suspect there has been an
nothing would soothe his mind so much by the  older set of words, of which the title is all that
way as to hear " Clout the Caldron" played.    remains.
I have met with another tradition, that the    By the bye, it is singular enough that the
old song to this tune,                        Scottish muses were all Jacobites.-I have paid
"cHae ye onie pots or pins,        more attention to every description of Scots
Or onie broken chanlers,"         songs than perhaps anybody living has done,
was composed on one of the Kenmure family, in  and I do not recollect one single stanza, or even
the cavalier times; and alluded to an amour he  the title of the most trifling Scots air, which has
had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an  the least panegyrical reference to the families
itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the  of Nassau or Brunswick; while there are hunname of                                        dreds satirizing them.-This may be thought no
" The blacksmith and his apron,"      panegyric on the Scots Poets, but I mean it as
which from the rhythm, seems to have been a  such. For myself, I would always take it as a
line of some old song to the tune.            compliment to have it said, that my heart ran
before my head,-and surely the gallant though




504                  REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
unfortunate house of Stewart, the kings of our  air, and then composed the rest of the verses to
fathers for so many heroic ages, is a theme   *  suit that line.  This has always a finer effect
*      *       *       *      *                than composing English words, or words with an
idea foreign to the spirit of the old title. Where
old titles of songs convey any idea at all, it will
JAMIE GAY.                     generally be found to be quite in the spirit of
JAMIE GAY is another and a tolerable Anglo-  the air.
Scottish piece.
JOCKIE'S GRAY BREEKS.
MY DEAR JOCKIE.                      THOUGH this has certainly every evidence of
ANOTHER Anglo-Scottish production.           being a Scottish air, yet there is a well-known
tune and song in the north of Ireland, called
" The Weaver and his Shuttle 0," which, though
FYE, GAE RUB HER O'ER WI' STRAE.           sung much quicker, is every note the very tune.
IT is self-evident that the first four lines of
this song are part of a song more ancient than
Ramsay's beautiful verses which are annexed               THE HAPPY MARRIAGE.
to them. As music is the language of nature;    ANOTHER, but very  pretty Anglo-Scottish
and poetry, particularly songs, are always less  piece.
or more localized (if I may be allowed the verb)
by some of the modifications of time and place,
THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL.
this is the reason why so many of our Scots
airs have outed their orinal and perhaps    IN Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland,
airs have outlived their original, and perhaps
arhaeulvdti n, athis song is localized (a verb I must use for
many subsequent sets of verses; except a single                          (                  r
want of another to express my idea) somewhere
name or phrase, or sometimes one or two lines,
sp  to d s  th  ts b.   in the north of Scotland, and likewise is claimed
simply to distinguish the tunes by.
my ts da ngi  peo   w       i     by Ayrshire. -The following anecdote I had
To this day among people who know nothing  
a t, dy a g p e wh k       n     from the present Sir William Cunningham, of
of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song,
an Ramsallsthers, the floingheard: n,  Robertland, who had it from the last John, Earl
and all the song that ever I heard:
of Loudon. The then Earl of Loudon, and father
" Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie,
Gie her a kissand lether       to Earl John before mentioned, had Ramsay at
Gie her a kiss and let her gae; 
But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie,       Loudon, and one day walking together by the
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae.    banks of Irvine water, near New-Mills, at a
Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her,   place called Patie's Mill, they were struck with
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae:    the appearance of a beautiful country girl. His
An' gin ye meet a dirty hizzie,      lordship observed that she would be a fine theme
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae."
for a song.-Allan lagged behind in returning
to Loudon Castle, and at dinner produced this
identical song.
THE LASS O' LIVISTON.
THE old song, in three eight-line stanzas, is
well known, and has merit as to wit and                     THE TURNIMSPIKE.
humour; but it is rather unfit for insertion.-    THERE is a stanza of this excellent song for
It begins,                                     local humour, omitted in this set. —Where I
"The Bonnie lass o' Liviston,            have placed the asterisms.
Her name ye ken, her name ye ken,           " They tak the horse then by te head,
And she has written in her contract              And tere tey mak her stan', man;
To lie her lane, to lie her lane."            Me tell tem, me hae seen te day,
&c. &c.                               Tey no had sic comman', man."
THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR.                       HIGHLAND LADDIE.
RAMSAY found the first line of this song, which    As this was a favourite theme with our later
hid been preserved as the title of the charming  Scottish muses, there are several airs and songs




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                                 505
of that name. That which I take to be the oldFAIREST OF THE FAIR.
est, is to be found in the "Musical Museum,"                   FAIREST OF THE FAIR.
beginning, " I hae been at Crookie-den."  One         IT is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charmreason for my thinking so is, that Oswald has ing song, and by means of transposing a fe
it in his collection, by the name of "1 The Auld   English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for
it in his collection, by the name of " The Auld                                           P
Highland Laddie."  It is also known by the  a Scots song-I was not acquainted with the
name of "Jinglan Johnie," which is a well,  editor until the first volume was nearly finished,
known song of four or five stanzas, and seems  else, had I known in time, I would have preto be an earlier song than Jacobite times.  As  vented such an impudent absurdity.
a proof of this, it is little known to the peasantry by the name of "Highland  Laddie;"
while everybody knows "Jinglan Johnie." The                     THE BLAITHRIE  O'T.
song begins                                           THE following is a set of this song, which was
"Jinglan John, the meickle man,               the earliest song I remember to have got by
He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonie."   heart.  When a child, an old woman sung it to
Another "Highland Laddie" is also in the  me, and I picked it up, every word, at first
"Museum," vol. v., which I take to be Ram-  hearing.
say's original, as he has borrowed the chorus —   "   Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand
"4O0  my bo~nie Highland lad," &c.  It consists    To sing you a song which you did me command;
But my memory's so bad I had almost forgot
of three stanzas, besides the chorus; and has            
of     e    itas  st-    is an    That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o't.humour in its composition-it is an excellent,
but somewhat licentious song.-It begins              I'll not sing about confusion, delusion or pride,
I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;
" As I cam o'er Cairney mount,                  For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot,
And down among the blooming heather."         And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.This air, and the common " Highland Laddie,"    Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on,
seem only to be different sets.                      We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne;
Another " Highland  Laddie,"  also in the    I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her smock,, vol. v., is te te of sv l J -    Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't." Museum," vol. v., is the tune of several Jacobite fragments.  One of these old songs to it,    Tho' we hae nae horses or menzies at command,
only exists, as far as I kno    in t e fr    We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand;
only exists, as far  o,        And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in
lines-                                                     any spot,
" Where hae ye been a' day,                   And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.Bonie laddie, Highland laddie?
Bonite addie, Highland laddie              If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent;
Down the back o' Bell's brae,
Courtin Maggie, courtin Maggie "           Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content;
For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins bu
Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful               groat,
air, called the new " Highland Laddie."              Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't.1'11 not meddle wi' th' affairs of the kirk or the queen;
They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them
swim;
THE GENTLE SWAIN.                        On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it stil
To sing such a beautiful air to such exe-               remote,
Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't."
erable verses, is downright prostitution of common sense! The Scots verses indeed are tolerable.
MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN.
" KATE of Aberdeen" is, I believe, the work
HE STOLE MY TENDER HEART AWAY.                  of poor Cunningham  the player; of whom  the
THIS is an Anglo-Scottish production, but by  following anecdote, though told before, deserves
no means a bad one.                                 a recital.  A fat dignitary of the church coming past Cunningham one Sunday, as the poor
poet was busy plying a fishing-rod in some
stream near Durham, his native country, his
reverence reprimanded Cunningham very se




506                   REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
verely for such an occupation on such a day.  took down the notes from  a country girl's
The poor poet, with that inoffensive gentleness  voice, had no great merit.-The following is f
of manners which was his peculiar characteristic,  specimen:
replied, that he hoped God and his reverence," There was a pretty May, and a milkin she went;
would forgive his seeming profanity of that         Wi' her red rosy cheeks, and her coal black hair;
sacred day, " as he had no dinner to eat, but what   And he has met a youn  man a comin o'er the bent,
Xi~     ~~~~, J,,   TIT 117-  With a double and adieu to thee, fair May.
lay at the bottom of that pool!" This, Mr. Woods, 
the player, who knew  Cunningham  well, and    o where are ye goin, my ain pretty May, 
esteemed him much, assured me was true.             Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal black hair T
esteemed him much, assured me was true.,     S..
Unto the yowes a milkin, kind sir, she says,
With a double and adieu to thee, fair May.
What if I gang alang with thee, my ain pretty May,
TWEED SIDE.                         Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal-black hair;
IN Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, he tells us    Wad I be aught the warse o' that, kind sir, she says,
that about thirty of the songs in that publica-     With  double and adieu to thee, fair May.
tion were the works of some young gentlemen
of his acquaintance; which songs are marked
with the letters D. C. &c. -Old Mr. Tytler of                   MARY'S DREAM.
Woodhouselee, the worthy and able defender of    THE Mary here alluded to is generally supthe beauteous Queen of Scots, told me that the  posed to be Miss Mary Macghie, daughter to
songs marked C, in the Tea-table, were the com-  the Laird of Airds, in Galloway. The poetwas
position of a Mr. Crawfurd, of the house of  a Mr. John Lowe, who likewise wrote another
Achnames, who was afterwards unfortunately  beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost.-I have
drowned coming from  France.-As Tytler was  seen a poetic epistle from him in North America,
most intimately acquainted with Allan Ramsay,  where he now is, or lately was, to a lady in
I think the anecdote may be depended on.  Of  Scotland.-By the strain of the verses, it apconsequence, the beautiful song of Tweed Side  peared that they allude to some love affair.
is Mr. Crawfurd's, and indeed does great honour
to his poetical talents. He was a Robert Crawfurd; the Mary he celebrates was a Mary              THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS.
Stewart, of the Castle-Milk family, afterwards                   BY MR. DUDGEON.
married to a Mr. John Ritchie.                     THIs Dudgeon is a respectable farmer's son
I have seen a song, calling itself the original in Berwickshire.
Tweed Side, and said to have been composed by
a Lord Yester. It consisted of two stanzas, of
which I still recollect the first-                   I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A MIRE.
", When Maggy and I was acquaint,           I NEVER heard more of the words of this old
" When Maggy and I was acquaint,
I carried my noddle fu' hie;           song than the title.
Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain,
Nor gowdspink sae happy as me:
But I saw her sae fair and I lo'ed:                     ALLAN WATER.
I woo'd, but I came nae great speed;     THIS Allan Water, which the composer of the
So now I maun wander abroad, 
And lay my banes far frae the Tweed."-    music has honoured with the name of the air, I
have been told is Allan Water, in Strathallan.
THE POSY.
IT appears evident to me that Oswald com-    THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.
posed his Roslin Castle on the modulation of this    THIS is one of the most beautiful songs in the
air.-In the second part of Oswald's, in the  Scots, or any other language.-The two lines,
three first bars, he has either hit on a wonder-           " And will I see his face again!
ful similarity to, or else he has entirely borrowed            And will I hear him speak!"
the three first bars of the old air; and the  as well as the two preceding ones, are unequalled
close of both tunes is almost exactly the same.  almost by anything I ever heard or read: and
The old verses to which it was sung, when I  the lines,




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                              507
" The present moment is our ain,
The preset moment is our aw-            MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF YARROW.
The neist we never saw,"- 
MR. Robertson, in his statistical account of
are worthy of the first poet. It is long posterior         r    o           s                c
the parish of Selkirk, says, that Mary Scott,
\o Ramsay's days. About the year 1771, or 72,
1, o  2,  the Flower of Yarrow, was descended from the
it came first on the streets as a ballad; and I              
^   ~..,~~,Dryhope, and married into the Harden family.
suppose the composition of the song was not    r                              o 
Her daughter was married to a predecessor of
much anterior to that period.
the present Sir Francis Elliot, of Stobbs, and
of the late Lord Heathfield.
There is a circumstance in their contract of
TARRY WOO.                       marriage that merits attention, and it strongly
THIS is a very pretty song; but I fancy that  marks the predatory spirit of the times.  The
the first half stanza, as well as the tune itself,  father-in-law  agrees to keep his daughter for
are much older than the rest of the words.        some time after the marriage; for which the
son-in-law binds himself to give him the profits
of the first Michaelmas moon!
GRAMACHREE.
THE song of Gramachree was composed by a
Mr. Poe, a counsellor at law in Dublin.  This               DOWN THE BURN  DAVIE.
anecdote I had from a gentleman who knew the 
I HAVE  been informed, that the tune of
lady, the " Molly," who is the subject of theformed, that the tune of
lady, adt ol, whomM P  se the s et o   "Down the burn, Davie," was the composition
song, and to whom Mr. Poe sent the first manu-.,~~~~~~ ^  ^^.        ^  ~       of David Maigh, keeper of the blood slough
script of his most beautiful verses.  I do not   o         b n.  
hounds, belonging to the Laird of Riddel, in
remember any single line that has more true   Teedde
Tweeddale.
pathos than
" How can she break that honest heart that wears her in
its core!"                                    BLINK O'ER THE BURN, SWEET BETTIE.
But as the song is Irish, it had nothing to do    THE old words, all that I remember, are, —
in this collection.
in this collection.                                      ", Blink over the burn, sweet Betty,
It is a cauld winter night:
It rains, it hails, it thunders,
THE COLLIER'S BONNIE LASSIE.                           The moon she gies nae light:
THE first half stanza is much older than the            It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty,
That ever I tint my way;
days of Ramsay.-The old words began thus:                  Sweet, let me  lie beyond thee
" The collier has a dochter, and, 0, she's wonder bonnie!   Until it be break o' day.A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in lands    O, Betty will bake my bread,
and money.                                          And Betty will brew my ale,
She wad na hae a laird, nor wad she be a lady,           And Betty will be my love,
But she wad hae a collier, the colour o' her daddie."    When I come over the dale:
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty,
Blink over the burn to me,
And while I hae life, dear lassie,
MY AIN KIND DEARIE-O.                              My ain sweet Betty thou's be."
THE old words of this song are omitted here,
though much more beautiful than these inserted; which were mostly composed by poor
THE BLITHSOME BRIDAL.
Fergusson, in one of his merry humours.  The                T                 
old words began thus:                              I FIND the "Blithsome Bridal" in James
old words began thus:
Watson's collection of Scots poems, printed at
" I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig,       Edinburgh, in 1706.  This collection, the pubMy'ain kind dearie, 0,
My ain kind dearie, t                 been publll isher says, is the  rst of its nature Scots dialect
My ain kind dearie, O.                been published in our own native Scots dialect
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat,    -it is now extremely scarce.
And I were ne'er sae weary, 0;
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, 0."



508                  REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE.                           CROMLET'S LILT.
JOHN HAY'S "Bonnie Lassie" was daughter    THE following interesting account of this
of Johm Hay, Earl or Marquis of Tweeddale,  plaintive dirge was communicated to Mr. Ridand late Countess Dowager of Roxburgh.-She  del by Alexander Fraser Tytler, Esq., of Wooddied at Broomlands, near Kelso, some time be-  houselee.
twecn the years 1720 and 1740.                   " In the latter end of the sixteenth century,
the Chisolms were proprietors of the estate of
Cromlecks (now possessed by the Drummonds).
THE BONIE BRUCKET LASSIE.              The eldest son of that family was very much
THE two first lines of this song are all of it  attached to a daughter of Sterling of Ardoch,
that is old. The rest of the song, as well as  commonly known by the name of Fair Helen of
those songs in the Museum marked T., are the  Ardoch.
works of an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary    "At  that time   e opportunities of meeting
body of the name of Tytler, commonly known  betwixt the sexes were more rare, consequently
by the name of Balloon Tytler, from his having  more sought after than now; and the Scottish
projected a balloon; a mortal, who, though he ladies, far from priding themselves on extensive
drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer,  literature, were thought sufficiently book-learned
with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee-  if they could make out the Scriptures in their
buckles as unlike as George-by-the-grace-of-  mother-tongue. Writing was entirely out of
God, and Solomon-the-son-of-David; yet that  the line of female education. At that period
same unknown drunken mortal is author and  the most of our young men of family sought a
compiler of three-fourths of Elliot's pompous  fortune, or found a grave, in France. Cromlus,
Encyclopedia Britannica, which he composed  when he went abroad to the war, was obliged
at half a guinea a week!                      to leave the management of his correspondence
with his mistress to a lay-brother of the monastery of Dumblain, in the immediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch.  This
SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN.
man, unfortunately, was deeply sensible of
THIS song is beautiful.-The chorus in parti-  Helen's charms. He artfully prepossessed her
cular is truly pathetic. I never could learnadvantage of Cromus;
with stories to the disadvantage of Cromlus;
anything of its author.
anything of its author.           and, by misinterpreting or keeping up the letters
CHORUS.                    and messages intrusted to his care, he entirely
" Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,         irritated both. All connexion was broken off
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been;
Se merry as we twa hae been;,betwixt them; Helen was inconsolable, and
My heart is like for to break,
When I think on the days we ha'e seen."  Cromlus has left behind him, in the ballad
called'Cromlet's Lilt,' a proof of the elegance
of his genius, as well as the steadiness of his
THE BANKS OF FORTH.                 love.
THIS air is Oswald's.                         "When the artful monk thought time had
sufficiently softened Helen's sorrow, he proposed himself as a lover: Helen was obdurate:
but at last, overcome by the persuasions of her
THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.               brother, with whom she lived, and who, having
THIS is another beautiful song of Mr. Craw-  a family of thirty-one children, was probably
furd's composition. In the neighbourhood of very well pleased to get her off his hands-she
Traquair, tradition still shows the old "Bush;"  submitted, rather than consented to the cerewhich, when I saw it, in the year 1787, was  mony; but there her compliance ended; and,
composed of eight or nine ragged birches. The  when forcibly put into bed, she started quite
Earl of Traquair has planted a clump of trees  frantic from it, screaming out, that after three
near by, which he calls " The New Bush."      gentle taps on the wainscot, at the bed-head,
she heard  Cromlus's voice, crying,'Helen,
Helen, mind me!' Cromlus soon after coming
home, the treachery of the confidant was dis



REMARKS JN SCOTTISH SONG.                                            509
covered,-her marriage disannulled,-and Helen                   O HONE A RIE.
became Lady Cromlecks."                           DR. BLACKLOCK informed me that this song was
N. B. Marg. Murray, mother to these thirty-  composed on the infamous massacre of Glencoe.
one children, was daughter to Murray of Strewn,
one of the seventeen sons of Tullybardine, and
whose youngest son, commonly called the Tutor             I'LL NEVER LEAVE THEE.
of Ardoch, died in the year 1715, aged 111    THIS is another of Crawfurd's songs, but I
years.                                           do not think in his happiest manner.-What an
absurdity, to join such names as Adonis and
MY DEARIE, IF THOU DIE.                Mary together!
ANOTHER beautiful song of Crawfurd's.
CORN RIGS ARE BONIE.
ALL the old words that ever I could meet to
SHE ROSE AND LOOT ME IN.                this air were the following, which seem to have
THE old set of this song, which is still to be  been an old chorus:
found in printed collections, is much prettier               corn rigs and rye rigs,
than this; but somebody, I believe it was Ram-              o corn rigs are bonie;
say, took it into his head to clear it of some            And where'er you meet a bonie lass,
seeming indelicacies, and made it at once more              Preen up her cockernony."
chaste and more dull.
THE MUCKING OF GEORDIE'S BYRE.
GO TO THE EWE-BUGHTS, MARION.                 THE chorus of this song is old; the rest is
I AM not sure if this old and charming air be  the work of Balloon Tytler.
of the South, as is commonly said, or of the
North of Scotland. There is a song, apparently
as ancient as "Ewe-bughts, Marion," which                       BIDE YE YET.
sings to the same tune, and is evidently of the    THERE is a beautiful song to this tune, beginNorth.-It begins thus:                          ning,
" The Lord o' Gordon had three dochters,            " Alas, my son, you little know,"
Mary, Marget, and Jean,                 which is the composition of Miss Jenny Graham,
They wad na stay at bonie Castle Gordon,  of D      s.
But awa to Aberdeen."
WAUKIN O' THE FAULD.
LEWIS GORDON.                       THERE are two stanzas still sung to this tune,
THIS air is a proof how one of our Scots tunes which I take to be the original song whence
comes to be composed out of another.  I have  Ramsay composed his beautiful song of that
one of the earliest copies of the song, and it  name in the Gentle Shepherd.-It begins
has prefixed,," o will ye speak at our town,
" Tune of Tarry Woo."-                          As ye come frae the fauld."
Of which tune a different set has insensibly      I regret that, as in many of our old songs,
varied into a different air.-To a Scots critic,  the delicacy of this old fragment is not equal
the pathos of the line,                         to its wit and humour.' Tho' his back be at the wa',"
-must be very striking.  It needs not a Jacobite prejudice to be affected with this song.               TRANENT-MUIR.
The supposed author of "Lewis Gordon"           "TRANENT-MuIR," was composed by a Mr.
was a Mr. Geddes, priest, at Shenval, in the  Skirving, a very worthy respectable farmer near
Ainzie.                                         Haddington.  I have heard the anecdote often,
that Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in the
ninth stanza, came to Haddington after th e
-- ~  ~       _________________________                            _ ________-...-.-..I




510                 REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
publication of the song, and sent a challenge to       M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL.
Skirving to meet him at Haddington, and an-    M'PHERSON, a daring robber, in the beginswer for the unworthy manner in which he had  ning of this century, was condemned to be
noticed him in his song.  " Gang away back,"  hanged at the assizes of Inverness. He is said,
said the honest farmer, "and tell Mr. Smith  when under sentence of death, to have composed
that I hae nae leisure to come to Haddington;  this tune, which he called his own lament or
but tell him to come here, and I'll tak a look o' farewell.
him, and if I think I'm  fit to fecht him, I'll    Gow has published a variation of this fine
fecht him; and if no, I'll do as he did-I'll rin  tune as his own composition, which he calls
awa." —                                       "The Princess Augusta."
TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO.
THE chorus of this song is old, the rest of it            MY JO, JANET.
is mine. Here, once for all, let me apologize    JOHNSON, the publisher, with a foolish delifor many silly compositions of mine in this  cacy, refused to insert the last stanza of this
work. Many beautiful airs wanted words; in  humorous ballad.
the hurry of other avocations, if I could string    *       *      *       *      *
a parcel of rhymes together anything near tolerable, I was fain to let them pass. He must be
an excellent poet indeed whose every perform-       THE SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT.
ance is excellent.                              THE words by a Mr. R. Scott, from the town
ance is excellent.
or neighbourhood of Biggar.
POLWARTH ON THE GREEN.
THE author of " Polwarth on the Green" is           THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.
Capt. John Drummond M'Gregor, of the family    I COMPOSED these stanzas standing under the
of Bochaldie.        _falls of Aberfeldy, at or near Moness.
STREPHON AND LYDIA.
THE following account of this song I had             THE HIGHLAND LASSIE O.
from Dr. Blacklock.                             THIS was a composition of mine in very early
The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the  life, before I was known at all in the world. My
song were perhaps the loveliest couple of their  Highland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming 
time. The gentleman was commonly known by  young creature as ever blessed a man with
the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the  generous love. After a prettylong tract of the
" Gentle Jean," celebrated somewhere in Ha-  most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by
milton of Bangour's poems.-Having frequently  appointment on the second Sunday of May, in
met at public places, they had formed a recipro-  a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, where
cal attachment, which their friends thought we spent the day in taking a farewell before she
dangerous, as their resources were by no means  should embark for the West Highlands, to aradequate to their tastes and habits of life. To  range matters among her friends for our proelude the bad consequences of such a connexion, jected change of life. At the close of autumn
Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, following she crossed the sea to meet me at
and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to  Greenock, where she had scarce landed when
Carthagena.                                   she was seized with a malignant fever, which
The author of this song was William Wallace, hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days,
Esq. of Cairnhill, in Ayrshire.               before I could even hear of her last illness.
I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET.                FIFE, AND A' THE LANDS ABOUT IT.
THE chorus of this song is old. The rest of    THIs song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well as
it, such as it is, is mine                    I, often gave Johnson verses, trifling enough




FI-REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                                        511
perhaps, but they served as a vehicle to the  and it was called "What will I do gin my Hogmusic.                                         gie die?" No person, except a few females at
Moss Platt, knew this fine old tune, which in all
probability would have been lost had not one
WERE NA MY HEART LIGHT I WAD DIE.   of the gentlemen, who happened to have a flute
LORD HAILES, in the notes to his collection of  with him, taken it down.
ancient Scots poems, says that this song was
the composition of a  Lady Grissel Baillie,
daughter of the first Earl of Marchmont, and                  LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE
I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE
wife of George Baillie, of Jerviswood.                          SPRINGING.
THESE two stanzas I composed when I was
seventeen, and are among the oldest of my
THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM.                printed pieces.
THIS song is the composition of Balloon Tytler.
AH! THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL
FATE.
STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.                                       Gall    s.
Tune —" Gallashiels."
THIS air is the composition of one of theSour Pls o' Glla l
THE old title, " Sour Plums o' Gallashiels,"'
worthiest and best-hearted men living —Allan
worthiest and best-hearted men living-Allan  probably was the beginning of a song to this
Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he                     l.
and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism we agreed                  allashiels was co   d a
The tune of Gallashiels was composed about
to dedicate the words and air to that cause.                                          
the beginning of the present century by the
To tell the matter-of-fact, except when my      i,,,  ~    ~Laird of Gallashiel's piper.
passions were heated by some accidental cause,
my Jacobitism  was merely by way of vive la 
bagatelle.
THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.
UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.                  THESE verses were composed on a charming.THE chorus o. t is o    t      sgirl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now
THE chorus of this is old; the two stanzas  
married to James M'Kitrick Adair, Esq., phyare mine.
are___min_.          sician.  She is sister to my worthy friend Gavin
Hamilton, of Mauchline, and was born on the
THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.                 banks of the Ayr, but was, at the time I wrote
DR. BLACKLOCK told me that Smollet, who was  these lines, residing at Herveyston, in Clackat the bottom a great Jacobite, composed these  mannanshire, on the romantic banks of the little
beautiful and pathetic verses on the infamous  river Devon. I first heard the air from a lady
depredations of the Duke of Cumberland after  in Inverness, and got the notes taken down for
the battle of Culloden.                        this work.
MILL, MILL 0.
WHAT WILL I DO GIN MY HOGGIE DIE.              THE original, or at least a song evidently
)R. WALKER, who was minister at Moffat in  prior to Ramsay's is still extant.-It runs thus,
1772, and is now (1791) Professor of Natural                       CHORUS.
History in the University of Edinburgh, told       i" The mill, mill 0, and the kill, kill 0,
the following anecdote concerning this air.-           And the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, 0,
He said, that some gentlemen, riding a few            The sack and the sieve, and a' she did leave,
And danc'd the miller's reel O.years ago through Liddesdale, stopped at a
hamlet consisting of a few houses, called Moss        As I came down yon waterside,
Platt, when they were struck with this tune            And by yon shellin-hill 0,
I..,, *   There I spied a bonie bonie lass,
which an old woman, spinning on a rock at her          And a  lass that I ovd riht well O. 
door, was singing.  All she could tell concern-             *     *      *     *
ing it was, that she was taught it when a child,




512                  REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG-.
WE RAN AND THEY RAN.                                FOR LAKE OF GOLD.
THE author of " We ran and they ran"-was    The country girls in Ayrshire, instead of the
a Rev. Mr. Murdoch M'Lennan, minister at  lineCrathie, Dee-side.                                     "She me forsook for a great duke,"
~  ______   ~    say,
" For Athole's duke she me forsook;"
WALY, WALY.                      which I take to be the original reading.
IN the west country I have heard a different    These were composed by the late Dr. Austin,
edition of the second stanza. Instead of the  physican at Edinburgh.-He had courted a lady,
four lines, beginning with, "When cockle-shells,  to whom he was shortly to have been married;
&c.," the other way ran thus:-                  but the Duke of Athole having seen her, became
so much in love with her, that he made pro-,' O wheljfore need I busk my head, 
Or wherefore need I kame my hair,       posals of marriage, which were accepted of, and
Sin my fause luve has me forsook,         she jilted the doctor.
And says, he'll never luve me mair."
HERE'S A HEALTH TO MY TRUE LOVE, &c.
DUNCAN GRAY.                        THIS song is Dr. Blacklock's. He told me that
DR. BLACKIOCK informed me that he had often  tradition gives the air to our James IV. of Scotheard the tradition, that this air was composed land.
by a carman in Glasgow.
HEY TUTTI TAITI.
I HAVE met the tradition universally over
DUMBARTON DRUMS.                    Scotland, and particularly about Stirling, in the
THIS is the last of the West-Highland airs;  neighbourhood of the scene, that this air was
and from it over the whole tract of country to  Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockthe confines of Tweed-side, there is hardly a  burn.
tune or song that one can say has taken its
origin from any place or transaction in that part
of Scotland.-The oldest Ayrshire reel, is Stew-    RAVING  WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.
arton Lasses, which was made by the father of    I COMPOSED these verses on Miss Isabella
the present Sir Walter Montgomery Cunning-  M'Leod, of Raza, alluding to her feelings on
ham, alias Lord Lysle; since which period there  the death of her sister, and the still more mehas indeed been local music in that country in  lancholy death of her sister's husband, the late
great plent~y.-Johnie Faa is the only old song  Earl of Loudon; who shot himself out of sheer
great plenty.~Johnie Faa is the only old song  h      -        a  sm'c              h  suffered,
which I could ever trace as belonging to the ex-  heart-break at some mortifications he suffered,
tensive county of Ayr.                          owing to the deranged state of his finances.
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.                     TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.
THIS song is by the Duke of Gordon.-The    A PART of this old song, according to the
old verses are,                                 English set of it, is quoted in Shakspeare.
" There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Strathbogie;
When ilka lad maun hae his lass,           YE GODS, WAS STREPHON S PICTURE
Then fye, gie me my coggie.                               BLEST?
CHORUS.                              Tune-" Fourteenth of October."
My  coggie, Sirs, my coggie, Sirs,        THE title of this air shows that it alludes to
I cannot want my coggie;
I wana ge  my  treegd c           the famous king Crispian, the patron of the hoI wadna gie my three-girr'd cap
For e'er a quene on Bogie.-           nourable corporation of shoemakers.-St. Crispian's day falls on the fourteenth of October
There's Johnie Smith has got a wife,
That scrimps him o' his coggie,       old style, as the old proverb tells:
That scrimps him o' his coggie,'
If she were mine, upon my life                    "On the fourteenth of October
I wad douk her in P bogie."                       Was ne'er a sator sober."




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                            513
SINCE ROBB'D OF ALL THAT CHARM'D MY               He is asked to drink, and by and bye to
VIEWS.                       dance, which after some uncouth excuses he is
THE old name of this air is, "the Blossom o' prevailed on to do, the fiddler playing the tune,
the Raspberry."  The song is Dr. Blacklock's. i which here is commonly called "Auld Glenae;"
in short he is all the time so plied with liquor
that he is understood to get intoxicated, and
with all the ridiculous gesticulations of an
YOUNG DAMON.                      old drunken beggar, he dances and staggers
THIS air is by Oswald.                        until he falls on the floor; yet still in all his
riot, nay, in his rolling and tumbling on the
floor, with some or other drunken motion of his
body, he beats time to the music, till at last
TAINKIRK WAD LET ME BE. o S      n   he is supposed to be carried out dead drunk.
TRADITION in the western parts of Scotland
tells that this old song, of which there are still
three stanzas extant, once saved a covenanting..,.  MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.
clergyman out of a scrape.  It was a little prior
to the revolution, a period when being a Scots    I CM         hse   eses o  of c
a   MPSE  t hese M erses M'   of   cen
covenanter was being a felon, that one of theirLachlan, whose husband is an officer
clergy, whb was at that very time hunted by  in t  E  
the merciless soldiery, fell in, by accident, with
a party of the military.  The soldiers were not              BLYTHE WAS SHE.
exactly acquainted with the person of the reve-      COMPOSED these verses while I stayed at
rend gentleman of whom they were in search;  Ochtertyre with Sir William Murray.-The lady,
but from suspicious circumstances, they fancied                   Ochtertyre at the same time,
who was also at Ochtertyre at the same time,
that they had got one of that cloth and oppro-known toast, Miss Euphemia Murwas the well-known toast, Miss Euphemia Murbrious persuasion among them in the person of
rios ersasion amon  them  ray, of Lentrose; she was called, and very justly,
this stranger.   " Mass John" to extricate him-   er of Strathmore."
~~~~Ithis stranger. "aJ"The Flower of Strathmore."
self, assumed a freedom of manners, very unlike
the gloomy strictness of his sect; and among
other convivial exhibitions, sung (and some tra-   JOHNNIE FAA, OR THE GYPSIE LADDIE.
ditions say, composed on the spur of the occa-    THE people in Ayrshire begin this songsion) "Kirk wad let me be," with such effect,                                   Cassis' yett."that the "v worehe wa a    honst,,     The gypsies cam to my Lord Cassilis' yett."that the scldiers swore he was a d   d honest
They have a great many more stanzas in this
fellow, snd tbat it was impossible he could be-  
song than I ever yet saw in any printed copy. —
long to those hellish conventicles; and so gave  s     ta   er et sa  in any printed copy.bid~~~m his liberty.                    The castle is still remaining at Maybole, where
Dim his liberty.                                his lordship shut up his wayward spouse, and
The first stanza of this song, a little altered,    o       h        h        r          
is a favourite kind of dramatic interlude acted  k           
at country weddings, in the south-west parts
of the kingdom. A young fellow is dressed up                  TO DAUNTON ME.
like an old beggar; a peruke, commonly made    THE two following old stanzas to this tune
of carded tow, represents hoary locks; an old  have some merit:
bonnet; a ragged plaid, or surtout, bound with   To daunton me, to daunton me,
a straw rope for a girdle; a pair of old shoes,      0 ken ye what it is that'll daunton me?There's eighty-eight and eighty-nine,
with straw ropes twisted round his ankles, as is     The's eht ht and eihynne,
And a' that I hae borne sinsyne,
done by shepherds in snowy weather: his face i       There's cess and press and Presbytrle,
they disguise as like wretched old age as they       I think it will do meikle for to daunton me.
can: in this plight he is brought into the wed-      But to wanton me, to wanton me
ding-house, frequently to the astonishment of        o ken ye what it is that wad wanton mestrangers, who are not in the secret, and begins     To see gude corn upon the rigs,
~~to ~~s~~ing~~- ~And banishment amang the Whigs,
And right restor'd where right sud be,
"0, I am a silly auld man,                     I think it would do meikle for to wanton me
My name it is auld Glenae," &c
33




1 514                  REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
THE BONNIE LASS MADE THE BED TO ME.  merchant, and now schoolmaster in Irvine. He
"THE Bonnie Lass made the Bed to me,"  is t the Davie to whom I address my printed poetwas composed on an amour of Charles II. when ical epistle in the measure of the Cherry and
skulking in the North, about Aberdeen, in the  the Slae.
time of the usurpation. He formed une petite
affaire with a daughter of the house of PortleAULD ROB MORRIS.
tham, who was the "lass that made the bed to
IT is rermark-worthy that the song of " Holy
him:"-two verses of it are,
and Fairly," in all the old editions of it, is
" 1 kiss'd her lips sae rosy red,         called "The Drunken Wife o' Galloway," which
While the tear stood blinkin in her e'e;          
I said, My lassie, dinna cry,           localizes it to that country.
I said, My lassie, dinna cry,
For ye ay shall make the bed to me.
She took her mither's holland sheets,
And made them a' in sarks to me;               RATTLIN, ROARIN WILLIE.
Blytlie and merry may she be,             THE last stanza of this song is mine; it was
The lass that made the bed to me." 
The lass tht me te           composed out of compliment to one of the worthiest fellows in the world, William  Dunbar,
Esq., writer to the signet, Edinburgh, and CoABSENCE.                      lonel of the Crochallan Corps, a club of wits
A SONG in the manner of Shenstone.            who took that title at the time of raising the
This song and air are both by Dr. Blacklock.  fencible regiments.
I HAD A HORSE AND I HAD NAE MAIR.             WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER STORMS.
THIS story is founded on fact.  A John Hun-    THIs song I composed on one of the most acter, ancestor to a very respectable farming fa-  complished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers,
mily, who live in a place in the parish, I think,  that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes and
of Galston, called Bar-mill, was the luckless  Co.'s bank, Edinburgh.
hero that "had a horse and had nae mair."For some little youthful follies he found it necessary to make a retreat to the West-High-            TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
lands, where " he feed himself to a Ilighland    THIS song I composed about the age of seven
Laird," for that is the expression of all the oral teen.
editions of the song I ever heard.-The present
Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, is the
great-grandchild of our hero.                                 NANCY'S GHOST.
THIS song is by Dr. Blacklock.
UP AND WARN A' WILLIE.
THIS edition of the song I got from Tom Niel,          TUNE YOUR FIDDLES, ETC.
of facetious fame, in Edinburgh.  The expres-    THS song was composed by the Rev. John
sion " Up and warn a' Willie," alludes to the  Skinner, nonjuror clergyman at Linshart, near
Crantara, or warning of a Highland clan to  Peterhead. He is likewise author of " Tullocharms. Not understanding this, the Lowlanders  gorum," "Ewie wi' the crooked Horn," "John
in the west and south say, "Up and waur them   o' Badenyond," &c., and what is of still more
a',"  &.                                        consequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind. He is the author of an ecclesiastical history of Scotland.  The air is by Mr. Marshall,
A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.                butler to the Duke of Gordon; the first comTHIS song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruik-  poser of strathspeys of the age.  I have been
shank, only child of my worthy friend Mr. Wil-  told by somebody, who had it of Marshall him
liam  Cruikshank, of the High-School, Edin-  self, that he took the idea of his three most
burgh.  This air is by a David Sillar, quondam   celebrated pieces, " The Marquis of Huntley's




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                            515
Reel," his " Farewell," and "Miss Admiral Gor-  has often told me that he composed this song
don's Reel," from the old air, "The German  one day when his wife had been fretting o'er
Lairdie."                                       their misfortunes.
GILL MORICE.                          MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY.
THIS plaintive ballad ought to have been                Tune-" Highlander's Lament."
called Child Maurice, and not Gil Maurice.  In     THE oldest title I ever heard to this air, was,
its present dress, it has gained immortal honour  "The Highland Watch's Farewell to Ireland."
from Mr. Home's taking from  it the ground-  The chorus I picked up from  an old woman in
work of his fine tragedy of Douglas.  But I am   Dumblane; the rest of the song is mine.
of opinion that the present ballad is a modern
composition; perhaps not much above the age
of the middle of the last century; at least I
should be glad to see or hear of a copy of the          THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER.
present words prior to 1650. That it was taken     THIS tune was the composition of Gen. Reid,
from  an old ballad, called "Child Maurice,"  and called by him  "The Highland, or 42d
now lost, I am inclined to believe; but the pre-  Regiment's March."  The words are by Sir
sent one may be classed with "Hardyknute,"  Harry Erskine.
"Kenneth,"  "Duncan, the Laird of Woodhouselie," "Lord Livingston," "Binnorie,"
LEADER-HAUGHS AND YARROW.
" The Death of Monteith," and many other moD h M e a m oTHERE is in several collections, the old song
dern productions, which have been swallowed by     THEE is in se         collections, the old song
of "Leader-Haughs and Yarrow."  It seems to
many readers as ancient fragments of old poems..   have been the work of one of our itinerant minThis beautiful plaintive tune was composed by
strels, as he calls himself, at the conclusion of
Mr. M'Gibbon, the selector of a collection of    
~Scots tunes.             R. B.   hhis song, "Minstrel Burn."
Scots tunes.                          R. B.
In addition to the observations on Gil Morice,
I add, that of the songs which Captain Riddel        THE TAILOR FELL THRO' THE BED
mentions, "Kenneth" and "Duncan" are juve-THIMBLE AN' A'
nile compositions of Mr. M'Kenzie, "The Man of
THIS air is the march of the corporation of
Feeling."-M'Kenzie's father showed them  intailors   The second and fourth stanzas are
tailors.  The second and fourth stanzas are
MS. to Dr. Blacklock, as the productions of his
mine.
son, from which the Doctor rightly prognosti-    n
cated that the young poet would make, in his
more advanced years, a respectable figure in              BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.
the world of letters.                              I COMPOSED this song out of compliment to
This I had from Blacklock.                    Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend
Allan Masterton, the author of the air of Strathallan's Lament, and two or three others in this
TIBBIE DUNBAR.                    work.
THIS tune is said to be the composition of
John M'Gill, fiddler, in Girvan.  He called it
THIS IS NO MINE AIN HOUSE.
after his own name.
THE first half stanza is old, the rest is Ram
say's. The old words areWHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.                       " This is no mine ain house,
THIS song was the work of a very worthy                 My ain house, my ain house;
This is no mine ain house,
facetious old fellow, John Lapraik, late of Dal-         This is no mine in house,
I ken by the biggin o't.
fram, near Muirkirk; which little property he
was obliged to sell in consequence of some con-          Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks,
was.on as oblig.edc~to  fse osn eMy door-cheeks, my door-cheeks;
nexion as security for some persons concerned            Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks,
in that vill.nous bubble THE AYR BANK. He                And pancakes the riggin o't.
i....                 ________________________  _    ____ _ ~  -— ~




516                   REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
This is no my ain wean;                         And ride not on an ETas iant,
My ain wean, my ain wean;                        For gawing o' your gear."
This is no my ain wean,
I ken by the greetie o't.
I'll tak the curchie aff my head,                    MY BONNIE MARY.
Aff my head, aff my head;
I'll tak the curchie aff my head,         THIS air is Oswald's; the first half stanza of
And row't about the feetie o't."      the song is old, the rest mine.
The tune is an old  Highland air, called
"Shuan truish willighan."
THE BLACK EAGLE.
THIS song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose merits as
LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME.                  a prose writer are well known.
THIS song is by Blacklock.
JAMIE, COME TRY ME.
THE GARDENER AND HIS PAIDLE.                  THIS air is Oswald's; the song mine.
THIS air is the "Gardener's March." The
title of the song only is old; the rest is mine.
THE LAZY MIST.
THIS song is mine.
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
Tune. —" Seventh of November."
I COMPOSED this song out of compliment to                     JOHNIE COPE.
one of the happiest and worthiest married cou-    THIS satirical song was composed to commeples in the world, Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glen- morate General Cope's defeat at Preston Pans,
riddel, and his lady.  At their fire-side I have  in 1745, when he marched against the Clans.
enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the    The air was the tune of an old song, of which
houses of fashionable people in this country put  I have heard some verses, but now only rememtogether; and to their kindness and hospitality  ber the title, which was,
I am indebted for many of the happiest hoursWill ye go the coals in the morning."
" Will ye go the coals in the morning."
of my life.
THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.                                I LOVE MY JEAN.
THE " Gaberlunzie Man" is supposed to com-    THIS air is by Marshall; the song I composed
memorate an intrigue of James the Fifth. Mr.  out of compliment to Mrs. Burns.
Callander, of Craigforth, published some years
N.B. It was during the honeymoon.
ago an edition of " Christ's Kirk on the Green,"
and the " Gaberlunzie Man," with notes critical
and historical.  James the Fifth is said to have
been fond of Gosford, in Aberlady parish, and       CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, TO
that it was suspected by his contemporaries, that                 EXPLORE.
in his frequent excursions to that part of the    THE song is by Dr. Blacklock; I believe, but
country, he had other purposes in view besides  am not quite certain, that the air is his too.
golfing and archery.  Three favourite ladies,
Sandilands, Weir, and Oliphant (one of them
resided at Gosford, and the others in the neigh-             AULD ROBIN GRAY.
bourhood), were occasionally visited by their    THIS air was formerly called, "The brideroyal and gallant admirer, which gave rise to  groom greets when the sun gangs down."  The
the following advice to his majesty, from Sir  words are by Lady Ann Lindsay,  of the Ba 
David Lindsay, of the Mount, Lord Lyon.          arras family.
carras family.' Sow not your seed on Sandylands,
nend not your strength in Weir,




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                                 517
DONALD AND FLORA.                             For bridal days are merry times,
And young folks like the coming o't,
THIS is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, pre-             And scribblers they bang up their rhymes,
served from time immemorial in the Hebrides;                 And pipers they the bumming o't.
they seem  to be the ground-work of many of                The lasses like a bridal o't
our finest Scots pastoral tunes.  The words of               The lasses like a bridal o't,
this song were written to commemorate the un-              Their braws maun be in rank and file,
fortunate expedition of General Burgoyne in                  Altho' that they should guide ill ot:
The boddom o' the kist is then
America, in 17/7.
* ~ ~ ~~America, in 1777.  ~Turn'd up into the inmost o't,
The end that held the kecks sae clean,
Is now become the teemest o't.
O WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.
THIS air is Oswald's; the song I made out of             The bangster at the threshing o't,
co~ to Ms. Brns.The bangster at the threshing o't,
compliment to Mrs. Burns.                                  Afore it comes is fidgin-fain,
And ilka day's a clashing o't:
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat,
His linder for anither o't,
THE CAPTIVE ROBIN.                             And e'er he want to clear his shot,
THIS air is called " Robie donna Gorach."                  His sark'll pay the tither o't
The pipers and the fiddlers o't,
The pipers and the fiddlers o't,
Can smell a bridal unco' far,
THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.                          And like to be the middlers o't;
THIS air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it            Fan  thick and threefold they convene,
his lament for his brother. The first half-stanza            Ilk ane envies the tither o't,
And wishes nane but him alane
of the song is old; the rest mine.                           May ever see anither o't.
Fan they hae done wi' eating o't,
Fan they hae done wi' eating o't,
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.                          For dancing they gae to the green,
The first half-stanza of this song is old; the             And aiblins to the beating o't:
He dances best that dances fast,
rest is mine.                                                And loups at ilka reesing o't,
And claps his hands frae hough to hough,
And furls about the feezings o't."
CA' THE EWES AND THE KNOWES.
THIS beautiful song is in true old Scotch
taste, yet I do not know that either air or words                   TODLEN HAME.
were in print before.                                 THIS is perhaps the first bottle song that ever
was composed.
THE BRIDAL O'T.
THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.
THIS song is the work of a Mr. Alexander
THIS air is the composition  of my friend
Ross, late schoolmaster at Lochlee; and author
of, at l sot    cle          or    Allan Masterton, in Edinburgh. I composed the
of a beautiful Scots poem, called " The Fortu-              
verses on the amiable and excellent family of
nate Shepherdess."                                  Whitefoords  leaving  Ballochmyle, when  Sir
"They say that Jockey'11 speed weel o't,     John's misfortunes had obliged him to sell the
They say that Jockey'11 speed weel o't,   estate.
For he grows brawer ilka day,
I hope we'll hae a bridal o't:
For yesternight nae farder gane,                 THE RANTIN' DOG  THE DADDIE O'T.
The backhouse at the side wa' o't,
He there wi' Meg was mirden seen,              I COMPOSED this song pretty early in life, and
I hope we'll hae a bridal o't.             sent it to a young girl, a very particular acAn' we had but a bridal o't,                 quaintance of mine, who was at that time under
An' we had but a bridal o't,               a cloud.
We'd leave the rest unto gude luck,
Altho' there should betide ill o't:                 I Fan, when-the dialect of Angus.




518                     REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE.                            And now, whatever might betide,
THIS song is Dr. Blacklock's.-I don't know                 In any  ai n          w ho
In any strait I knew to whom
how it came by the name, but the oldest appel-                 I freely might apply;
lation of the air was, "Whistle and I'll come to              A strait soon came: my friend I try'd;
you, my lad."                                                  He heard, and spurn'd my moan;
-ra~,.,.,    n,.   t,_~~~I hy'd me home, and tun'd my pipe
It has little affinity to the tune commonly                       Joh   n o'  Bdenyon   p
To John o' Badenyon.
known by that name.
Methought I should be wiser next,
And would a patriot turn,
Began to doat on Johnny Wilks,
THE BONIE BANKS OF AYR.                               And cry up Parson Home.
ICOMPOSED this songas I c dmy cTheir manly spirit I admir'd,
I COMPOSED this song as I conveyed my chest  And prais'd their noble zeal,
so far (.L'Lh  road to Greenock, where I was to              Who had with flaming tongue and pen
embark in a few days for Jamaica.                              Maintain'd the public weal;
I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native               But eer a month or two had past,
land.                                                      I found myself betray'd,
Twas self and party after all,
For a' the stir they made;
At last I saw the factious knaves
JOHN O' BADENYON.                                 Insult the very throne,
THIS excellent song is the composition of my               I curs'd them a', and tun'd my pipe
worthy friend, old Skinner, at Linshart.                        To John o' Badenyon."
"When first I cam to be a man
Of twenty years or so,
I thought myself a handsome youth,                        A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.
And fain the world would know;                 I PICKED up this old song and tune from  a
In best attire I stept abroad,
With spirits brisk and gay,
With spirits brisk and gay,                 country girl in Nithsdale. —I never met with it
And here and there and everywhere,             elsewhere in Scotland.
Was like a morn in May;                             "Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass,
No care had I nor fear of want,                           Whare are you gaun, my hinnie,
But rambled up and down,                              She answer'd me right saucilie,
And for a beau I might have pass'd                        An errand for my minnie.
In country or in town;
I still was pleas'd where'er I went,                    O whare live ye, my bonie lass,
And when I was alone,                                   0 whare live ye, my hinnie,
I tun'd my pipe and pleas'd myself                      By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken,
Wi' John o' Badenyon.                                   In a wee house wi' my minnie.
Now in the days of youthful prime                       But I foor up the glen at e'en,
A mistress I must find,                                 To see my bonie lassie;
For love, I heard, gave one an air                      And lang before the gray morn cam,
And ev'n improved the mind:                             She was na hauf sa sacie.
On Phillis fair above the rest                                                   
O weary fa' the waukrife cock,
Kind fortune fixt my eyes,
Kind fortune fixt my eyes,                        And the foumart lay his crawin!
Her piercing beauty struck my heart,
Her piercing beauty struck my heart,        He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep,
And she became my choice;                                      
A wee blink or the dawin.
To Cupid now with hearty prayer
I offer'd many a vow;                                 An angry wife I wat she raise,
And danc'd, and sung, and sigh'd, and swore,              And o'er the bed she brought her;
As other lovers do;                                   And wi' a mickle hazle rung
But, when at last I breath'd my flame,                    She made her a weel pay'd dochter.
I found her cold as stone;
I left the jilt, and tun'd my pipe                      0 fare thee weel, my bonie lass!
To John o' Badenyon.                                    O fare thee weel, my hinnie!
Thou art a gay and a bonie lass,
When Love had thus my heart beguil'dBut thou hast a waukrife minnie."
With foolish hopes and vain,
Tofriendship's port I steer'd my course,
And laugh'd at lover's pain
A friend I got by lucky chance                                TULLOCHGORUM.'Twas something like divine,
An honest friend's a precious gift,
And such a gift was mine:                    old friend Skinner.  He was passing the day,




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                              519
at the town of Cullen, I think it was, in a  our Lowland music (so far as from  the title,
friend's house whose name was Montgomery.  words, &c., we can localize it) has been comMrs. Montgomery observing, en passant, that the  posed.  From  Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until
beautiful reel of Tullochgorum wanted words,  one  reaches  the West Highlands, we have
she begged them of Mr. Skinne"r who gratified  scarcely one slow air of any antiquity.
her wishes, and the wishes of every Scottish         The song was composed on a passion which
song, in this most excellent ballad.              a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had
These particulars I had from  the author's  for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpson, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen.                 dale. This young lady was born at Craigie-burn
Wood.-The chorus is part of an old foolish
ballad.
FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.
THIS song is mine, all except the chorus.         FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE.
I ADDED the four last lines, by way of giving
a turn to the theme of the poem, such as it is.
AULD LANG SYNE.
RAMSAY here, as usual with him, has taken
the idea of the song, and the first line, from
HUGHIE GRAHAM.
the old fragment which may be seen in the
"Museum," v   v.              THERE are several editions of this ballad."Museum," vol. v.
This, here inserted, is from  oral tradition in
Ayrshire, where, when I was a boy, it was a
WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT.                popular song.-It originally had a simple old
THIS air is Masterton's; the song mine.-  tune, which I have forgotten.
The occasion of it was this:-Mr. W. Nicol, of            Our lords are to the mountains gane,
the High-School, Edinburgh, during the autumn              A hunting o' the fallow deer,
vacation being at Moffat, honest Allan, who was          And they have gripet Hughie Graham,
at that time on a visit to Dalswinton, and I,              For stealing o' the bishop's mare.
went to pay Nicol a visit.-We had such a                 And they have tied him hand and foot,
joyous meeting that Mr. Masterton and I agreed,                  led him up, thro' Stirlin town;
The lads and lasses met him there,
each in our own way, that we should celebrate            The ls ad les met hi th art a 
Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun.
the business.
busines. _______          0O lowse my right hand free, he says,
And put my braid sword in the same;
KILLIECRANKIE  He's no in Stirling town this day,
KILLIECRANKIE.
Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham.
THE battle of Killiecrankie was the last stand
made by the clans for James, after his abdica-           Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,
tion.  Here the gallant Lord Dundee fell in the    As he sat by the bishop's knee,
tion.  Here the gallant Lord Dundee fell in the          Five hundred white stots I'll gie you,
moment of victory, and with him fell the hopes             If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free.
of the party.  General Mackay, when he found             O haud your tongue, the bishop says,
the Highlanders did not pursue his flying army,            And wi' your pleading let me be;
said, "Dundee must be killed, or he never                For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
would  have overlooked this advantage."  A                 Hughie Graham this day shall die.
great stone marks the spot where Dundee fell.            Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord,
As she sat by the bishop's knee;
Five hundred white pence I'll gie you,
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me,
THE EWIE WI' THE CROOKED HORN.                         haud your tongue now, lady fair,
ANOTHER excellent song of old Skinner's.                And wi' your pleading let it be;
Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
It's for my honour he maun die.
They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe,
CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.' 
He looked to the gallows tree,
IT is remarkable of this air that it is the con-       Yet never colour left his cheek,
fine of that country where the greatest tart of  Nor ever did he blink his e'e
Nor~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_______________ e edid h b i n h s e'




520                   REEMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.
At length he looked around about,                I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.
To see whatever he could spy:                THIs song is altered from  a poem  by Sir
And there he saw his auld father,
And he was weeping bitterly.              Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and
Ann, Queens of Scotland.-The poem is to be
0 haud your tongue, my father dear,         found in James Watson's Collection of Scots
And wi' your weeping let it be;
Thy weeping's sairer on my heart,           Poems, the earliest collection printed in ScotThan a' that they can do to me.           land.  I think that I have improved the simpliAnd ye may gie my brother John              city of the sentiments, by giving them  a Scots
My sword that's bent in the middle clear;  dress.
And let him come at twelve o'clock,
And see me pay the bishop's mare.
And ye may gie my brother James                         THE SODGER  ADDIE.
My sword that's bent in the middle brown;    THE first verse of this is old; the rest is by
And bid him come at four o'clock,           Ramsay.  The tune seems to be the same with
And see his brother Hugh cut down.         a slow air, called " Jackey Hume's Lament"Remember me to Maggy my wife,               or, " The Hollin Buss"-or " Ken ye what Meg
The neist time ye gang o'er the moor,     o' the Mill has gotten?"
Tell her she staw the bishop's mare,
Tell her she was the bishop's whore.
And ye may tell my kith and kin,
I never did disgrace their blood;
And when they meet the bishop's cloak,         THE old name of this tune is,To mak it shorter by the hood."                       " Whare'll our gudeman lie."
A silly old stanza of it runs thus" O whare'll our gudeman lie,
A SOUTHLAND JENNY.                                Gudeman lie, gudeman lie,
THIS is a popular Ayrshire song, though the               O whare'll our gudeman lie,
Till he shute o'er the simmer?
notes were never taken down before.  It, as
well as many of the ballad tunes in this collec-            Up amang the hen-bawks,.^ ~~~                            ~'.^~ ~~~~.^ -~ ~'The hen-bawks, the hen-bawks,
tion, was written from Mrs. Burns's voice.                    The hen-b, the he
Up amang the hen-bawks,
Amang the rotten timmer."
MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL.
THIS tune is claimed by Nathaniel Gow.-It                      GALLOWAY TAM.
is notoriously taken from  " The muckin o' Gor-    I HAVE seen an interlude (acted at a wedding)
die's byre."-It is also to be found long prior  to this tune, called "The Wooing of the Maiden."
to Nathaniel Gow's era, in Aird's Selection of  These entertainments are now much worn out
Airs and Marches, the first edition under the  in this part of Scotland.  Two are still retained
name of "The Highway to Edinburgh."                in Nithsdale, viz. "Silly Pure Auld Glenae,"
and this one, "The Wooing of the Maiden."
THEN, GUID WIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN'.
THE chorus of this is part of an old song, no      AS I CAM DOWN BY YON CASTLE WA.
stanza of which I recollect.                         THIS is a very popular Ayrshire song.
THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE                           LORD RONALD MY SON.
COMES HAME.                          THIS air, a very favourite one in Ayrshire, is
THIS tune is sometimes called "There's few   evidently the original of Lochaber.  In this
gude fellows when Willie's awa."-But I never  manner most of our finest more modern airs
have been able to meet with anything else of  have had their origin.  Some early minstrel, or
I the song than the title.                         musical shepherd, composed the simple, artless
|~i~~                i:original air; which being picked up by the




REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.                                         521
more learned musician, took the improved form    " No cold approach, no alter'd mien,
it bears.                                           Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,
He made me blest-and broke my heart!"
O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.
THIS song is the composition of a Jean Glover,
a girl who was not only a whore, but also a             THE BONIE WEE THING.
thief; and in one or other character has visited    COMPOSED on my little idol "the charming,
most of the Correction Houses in the West. lovely Davies."
She was born I believe in Kilmarnock,-I took
the song down from her singing, as she was
strolling through the country, with a sleight-of-          TH  TITHER MORN.
hand blackguard.                                THIS tune is originally from the Highlands.
handba u ______     I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which I was
told was very clever, but not by any means a
TO THE ROSE-BUD.                  lady's song.
THIS song is the composition of a -    Johnson, a joiner in the neighbourhood of Belfast.
A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF
The tune is by Oswald, altered, evidently, from                  E      R    E  E      
" Jockie's Gray Breeks."
THIS most beautiful tune is, I think, the happiest composition of that bard-born  genius,
John Riddel, of the family of Glencarnock, at
YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.               Ayr.  The words were composed to commemoTHIS tune is by Oswald. The song alludes to rate the much-lamented and premature death
a part of my private history, which it is of no of James Ferguson, Esq., jun. of Craigdarroch.
consequence to the world to know.
DAINTIE DAVIE.
IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.. 
IT IS NA, JEA,  THIS song, tradition says, and the composition
THESE were originally English verses:-I                                      on the Rev.
itself confirms it, was composed on the Rev.
gave them the Scots dress.   
David Williamson's begetting the daughter of
Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a party of
dragoons were searching her house to appreEPPIE M'NAB.                   hend him for being an adherent to the solemn
THE old song with this title has more wit than league and covenant. The pious woman had
decency.                                      put a lady's night-cap on him, and had laid him
a-bed with her own daughter, and passed him
to the soldiery as a lady, her daughter's bedWHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR. 
fellow. A mutilated stanza or two are to be
THIS tune is also known by the name of " Lass
THan I come near thee."  bThe nrsame of s.  found in Herd's collection, but the original song
an I come near thee."  The words are mine.
consists of five or six stanzas, and were their
delicacy equal to their wit and humour, they
would merit a place in any collection. The
THOU ART GANE AWA.                  first stanza is
THIS tune is the same with "Haud awa fraeBein pursued by the dragoons," Being pursued by the dragoons,
me, Donald."                                          Within my bed he was laid down 
And weel I wat he was worth his room,
For he was my Daintie Davie."
THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL.             Ramsay's song, "Luckie Nansy," though he
THIS song of genius was composed by a 1M1iss  calls it an old song with additions, seems to be
Cranston. It wanted four lines, to make all the  all his own except the chorus:
stanzas suit the music, which I added, and are                      
the four irst of te laststnza.Luck "I was a telling you,
the four first of the last stanza.           i
Luckie Nansy, Luckie Nansy




522                              THE BORDER TOUR.
Auld springs wad ding the new,             Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the wood,
But ye wad never trow me."                 Twa gaed to the wood-three came hame;
An' it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit
Which I should conjecture to be part of a song         An' it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again."
prior to the affair of Williamson.
I insert this song to introduce the following
anecdote, which I have heard well authenticated. In the evening of the day of the battle
BOB O' DUMBLANE.                     of Dumblane,- (Sheriff Muir,) when the action
was over, a Scots officer in Argyll's army,
RAMBAY, as usual, has modernized this song.  observed to His Grace that he was afraid the
The original, which I learned on the spot, fromhe w.d                                           th e
rebels would give out to the world that they
my old hostess in the principal inn there, is-    hd go    the                  el, weel," returned
had gotten the victory.-"Weel, weel," returned
" Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle,        his Grace, alluding to the foregoing ballad, "if
And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame;         they think it be nae weel bobbit, we'll bob it
My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten,
And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane.     again.
THE BORDER TOUR.
LEFT Edinburgh (May 6, 1787)-Lammer-  pagnon de voyage, very charming; particularly
muir-hills miserably dreary, but at times very  the sister.  The whole family remarkably atpicturesque.  Lanton-edge, a glorious view of  tached to their menials —Mrs. A. full of stories
the Merse-Reach Berrywell-old Mr. Ainslie  of the sagacity and sense of the little girl in the
an uncommon character;-his hobbies, agricul-  kitchen.-Mr. A. high in the praises of an Afriture, natural philsopohy, and politics.-In the  can, his house-servant-all his people old in his
first he is unexceptionably the clearest-headed,  service-Douglas's old nurse came to Berrywell
best-informed man I ever met with; in the  yesterday to remind them of its being his birthother two, very intelligent:-As a man of busi-  day.
ness he has uncommon merit, and by fairly de-    A Mr. Dudgeon, a poet at times,' a worthy
serving it has made a very decent independence.  remarkable character-natural penetration, a
Mrs. Ainslie, an excellent, sensible, cheerful,  great deal of information, some genius, and examiable old woman.-Miss Ainslie-her person  treme modesty.
a little embonpoint, but handsome; her face, par-    Sunday-Went to church at Dunse2-Dr.
ticularly her eyes, full of sweetness and good  Howmaker a man of strong lungs and pretty
humour-she unites three qualities rarely to be   
found together; keen, solid penetration; sly,  judicious remark; but ill skilled in propriety,
found together; keen, solid penetration; sly,  and altogether unconscious of his want of it.
witty observation and remark; and the gentlest,
most unaffected female modesty-Douglas, a           Monday.-Coldstream-went over to England
clever, fine, promising  young  fellow.-The  -Cornhill-glorious river Tweed-clear and
family-meeting with their brother; my corn-  majestic-fine bridge. Dine at Coldstream with
I The author of that fine song, " The Maid that tends  ness, in search of the text. He took out a slip of paper,
the Goats."                                       and with a pencil wrote the following lines on it, which
2 " During the discourse Burns produced a neat im-  he immediately presented to her.
promptu, conveying an elegant compliment to Miss Ains-' Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
lie. Dr. B. had selected a text of Scripture that contained  Nor Idle texts pursue:a heavy denunciation against obstinate sinners. In the'Twas guilty sinners that he rreant,course of the sermon Burns observed the young lady         Not angels such as you."
turning over the leaves of her Bible, with much earnest-                                 CRcuEK.




THE BORDER TOUR.                                         523
Mr. Ainslie and Mr. Foreman-beat Mr. F-   houses-fine old ruins-a once magnificent cain a dispute about Voltaire.  Tea at Lenel  thedral, and strong castle. All the towns here
House with Mr. Brydone-Mr. Brydone a most have the appearance of old, rude grandeur, but
excellent heart, kind, joyous, and benevolent;  the people extremely idle-Jed a fine romantic
but a good deal of the French indiscriminate  little river.
complaisance-from his situation past and pre-    Dine with Capt. Rutherford-the Captain a
sent, an admirer of everything that bears a  polite fellow, fond of money in his farming
splendid title, or that possesses a large estate-   way; showed a particular respect to my bardMrs. Brydone a most elegant woman in her per-  ship-his lady exactly a proper matrimonial
son and manners; the tones of her voice re-  second part for him. Miss Rutherford a beaumarkably sweet-my reception extremely flat-  tiful girl, but too far gone woman to expose so
tering-sleep at Coldstream.                   much of a fine swelling bosom-her face very
fine.
Tuesday.-Breakfast at Kelso-charming situ-              Jealk up Jed with some
Return to Jedburgh —walk up Jed with some
ation of Kelso-fine bridge over the Tweed-                                  and Blackburn,
ladies to be shown Love-lane and Blackburn,
enchanting views and prospects on both sides  two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr. Potts,
of the river, particularly the Scotch side; inwriter, a very clever fellow; and Mr. Somertroduced to Mr. Scott of the Royal Bank —an
so atn    t    ville, the clergyman of the place, a man and a
excellent, modest fellow-fine situation of it-,
excellent, modest fellow-fine situatgentleman, but sadly addicted to punning.ruins of Roxburgh Castle-a holly-bush, grow-    e                        e        
The walking party of ladies, Mrs.       and
ing where James II. of Scotland was acciden-   iss        her sister, before mentioned.-N.B.
Miss      her sister, before mentioned.-N.B.
tally killed by the bursting of a cannon. A   T       t                                
These two appear still more comfortably ugly
small old religious ruin, and a fine old garden                                        
and stupid, and bore me most shockingly. Two
planted by the religious, rooted out and destroyed  Miss, tolerably agreeable.  Miss Hope, a
by an English hottentot, a maitre d'hotel of the  
by an English hottent, a maite d'hotel of.the rtolerably pretty girl, fond of laughing and fun.
duke's, a Mr. Cole-climate and soil of Berwick-  Miss Lindsay, a good-humoured, amiable girl;
ulil^,.^~              ~. ~Miss Lindsay, a good-humoured, amiable girl;
shire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to
shire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to  rather short et embonpoint, but handsome, and
Ayrshire-bad roads. Turnip and sheep hus-ful-beautifulhazeleyes,full
extremely graceful —beautiful hazel eyes, full
bandry, their great improvements- Mr. M'bandry, their great improvements-       of spirit, and sparkling with delicious moisture
Dowal, at Caverton Mill, a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, with whom IMined, ta    solend  hfM.is e    -an engaging face-un tout ensemble that speaks
lie's, with whom I dined to-day, sold his sheep,          first order of female minds-her
her of the first order of female minds-her
ewe and lamb together, at two guineas a piece  s      a                               
sister, a bonnie, strappan, rosy, sonsie lass.
-wash their sheep before shearing-seven or  Shake myself loose, after several unsuccessful
eight pounds of washen wool in a fleece-low   e        o M            a    M          
efforts, of Mrs. -     and Miss, and somemarkets, consequently low rents-fine lands   
markets, consequently low rents-fine lands  how or other, get hold of Miss Lindsay's arm.
not above sixteen shillings a Scotch acre-magMy heart is thawed into melting pleasure after
nificence of farmers and farm-houses-come up
being so long frozen up in the Greenland bay
Teviot and up Jed to Jedburgh to lie, and so  b     s l                   f
Teviot and up Jed toe,     of indifference, amid the noise and nonsense of
wish myself a good night.                     Edinburgh. Miss seems very well pleased with
Wednesday.-Breakfast with Mr. — in Jed-  my bardship's distinguishing her, and after
burgh-a squabble between Mrs. —, a crazed,  some slight qualms, which I could easily mark,
talkative slattern, and a sister of hers, an old  she sets the titter round at defiance, and kindly
maid, respecting a relief minister-Miss gives  allows me to keep my hold; and when parted
Madam the lie; and Madam, by way of revenge,  by the ceremony of my introduction to Mr.
upbraids her that she laid snares to entangle  Somerville, she met me half, to resume my situthe said minister, then a widower, in the net  ation.-Nota Bene-The poet within a point
of matrimony-go about two miles out of Jed-  and a half of being d-mnably in love-I am
burgh to a roup of parks-meet a polite, sol-  afraid my bosom is still nearly as much tinder
dier-like gentleman, a Captain Rutherford, who  as ever.
had been many years through the wilds of    The old cross-grained, whiggish, ugly, slanAmerica, a prisoner among the Indians-charm-  derous Miss -, with all the poisonous spleen
ing, romantic situation of Jedburgh, with gar-  of a disappointed, ancient maid, stops me very
dens, orchards, &c., intermingled among the  unseasonably to ease her bursting breast, by




524                            THE BORDER TOUR
falling abusively foul on the Miss Lindsays, par-  flattered that I send for her, and that she sees
ticularly on my Dulcinea; —I hardly refrain  a poet who has put out a book, as she says.from cursing her to her face for daring to mouth  She is, among other things, a great florist-and
her calumnious slander on one of the finest  is rather past the meridian of once celebrated
pieces of the workmanship of Almighty Excel-  beauty.
lence! Sup at Mr.'s; vexed that the    I walk in Esther's garden with Miss Lindsay,
Miss Lindsays are not of the supper-party, as  and after some little chit-chat of the tender
they only are wanting.  Mrs. -     and Miss  kind, I presented her with a proof print of my
- still improve infernally on my hands.         Nob, which she accepted with something more
Set out next morning for Wauchope, the seat  tender than gratitude. She told me many little
of my correspondent, Mrs. Scott-breakfast by  stories which Miss  ~ had retailed concerning
the way with Dr. Elliot, an agreeable, good-  her and me, with prolonging pleasure-God
hearted, climate-beaten  old veteran, in the  bless her! Was waited on by the magistrates,
medical line; now retired to a romantic, but  and presented with the freedom of the burgh.
rather moorish place, on the banks of the Roole    Took farewell of Jedburgh, with some melan-he accompanies us almost to Wauchope-we  choly, disagreeable sensations. -Jed, pure be
traverse the country to the top of Bochester,  thy crystal streams, and hallowed thy sylvan
the scene of an old encampment, and Woolee  banks! Sweet Isabella Lindsay, may peace
Hill.                                           dwell in thy bosom, uninterrupted, except by
Wauchope-Mr. Scott exactly the figure and  the tumultuous throbbings of rapturous love!
face commonly given to Sancho Panca-very  That love-kindling eye must beam on another,
shrewd in his farming matters, and not unfre-  not on me; that graceful form must bless anquently stumbles on what may be called a  other's arms; not mine!
strong thing rather than a good thing.  Mrs.      Kelso.  Dine with the farmers' club-all
Scott all the sense, taste, intrepidity of face,  gentlemen, talking of high matters-each of
and bold, critical decision, which usually dis-  them keeps a hunter from thirty to fifty pounds
tinguish female authors.-Sup with Mr. Potts  value, and attends the fox-huntings in the coun-agreeable party.-Breakfast next morning  try-go out with Mr. Ker, one of the club, and
with Mr. Somerville-the bruit of Miss Lindsay  a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, to lie-Mr. Ker a most
and my bardship, by means of the invention  gentlemanly, clever, handsome fellow, a widower
and malice of Miss. Mr. Somerville sends  with some fine children-his mind and manner
to Dr. Lindsay, begging him  and family to  astonishingly like my dear old friend Robert
breakfast if convenient, but at all events to  Muir, in Kilmarnock-everything in Mr. Ker's
send Miss Lindsay; accordingly Miss Lindsay  most elegant-he offers to accompany me in my
only comes.-I find Miss Lindsay would soon  English tour. Dine with Sir Alexander Donplay the devil with me-I met with some little  a pretty clever fellow, but far from  being a
flattering attentions from her. Mrs. Somerville  match for his divine lady.-A very wet day
an excellent, motherly, agreeable woman, and a  * * *-Sleep at Stodrig again; and set out for
fine family.-Mr. Ainslie, and Mrs. S-, junrs.,  Melrose-visit Dryburgh, a fine old ruined abwith Mr. -_, Miss Lindsay, and myself, go to  bey-still bad weather-cross Leader, and come
see Esther, a very remarkable woman for recit-  up Tweed to Melrose-dine there, and visit that
ing poetry of all kinds, and sometimes making  far-famed, glorious ruin-come to Selkirk, up
Scotch doggerel herself-she can repeat by  Ettrick; the whole country hereabout, both on
heart almost everything she has ever read,  Tweed and Ettrick, remarkably stony.
particularly Pope's Homer from end to endhas studied Euclid by herself, and in short, is    Monday.-Come to Inverleithing, a famous
a woman of very extraordinary abilities.-On  shaw, and in the vicinity of the palace of Traconversing with her I find her fully equal to  quair, where having dined, and drank some
the character given of her.'-She is very much  Galloway-whey, I here remain till to-morrow1: This extraordinary woman then moved in a very  to a little day-school, which not being sufficient for he?
humble walk of life:-the wife of a common working  subsistence, she is obliged to solicit the charity of hei
gardener. She is still living, and, if I am rightly in-  benevolent neighbours.' Ah, who would love the
formed, her time is principally occupied in he attentions  lyre' " —CROMEK.




THE BORDER TOUR.                                             525
saw Elibanks and Elibraes, on the other side of dinner. Fishing of all kinds pays tithes at
the Tweed.                                       Eyemouth.
Tuesday.-Drank tea yesternight at Pirn, with     Sunday.-A Mr. Robinson, brewer at Ednam,
Mr. Horseburgh.-Breakfasted to-day with Mr.  sets out with us to Dunbar.
Ballantyne of Hollowlee-Proposal for a four-    The Miss Grieves very good girls.-My bardhorse team to consist of Mr. Scott of Wauchope,  ship's heart got a brush from Miss Betsey.
Fittieland: Logan of Logan, Fittiefurr: Ballan-    Mr. William  Grieve's attachment to the fatyne of Hollowlee, Forewynd: Horsburgh of  mily-circle, so fond, that when he is out, which
Horsburgh.-Dine at a country inn, kept by a  by the bye is often the case, he cannot go to
miller, in Earlston, the birth-place and residence  bed till he see if all his sisters are sleeping
of the celebrated Thomas a Rhymer-saw the  well -     Pass the famous Abbey of Coldingruins of his castle-come to Berrywell.            ham, and Pease-bridge.-Call at Mr. Sheriff's
where Mr. A. and I dine.-Mr. S. talkative and
Wednesday.-Dine at Dunse with the farmers'  conceited.  I talk of love to Nancy the whole
club-company-impossible to do them justice-   evening, while her brother escorts home some
Rev. Mr. Smith a famous punster, and Mr.  companions like himself-Sir James Hall of
Meikle a celebrated mechanic, and inventor of  Dunglass, having hearl of my being in the
the  threshing-mills.- Thursday, breakfast at  neighbourhood, comes to Mr. Sheriff's to breakBerrywell, and walk into Dunse to see a famous  fast-takes me to see his fine scenery on the
knife made by a cutler there, and to be pre-  stream of Dunglass-Dunglass the most romansented to an Italian prince.-A pleasant ride  tic, sweet place I ever saw-Sir James and his
with my friend Mr. Robert Ainslie, and his  lady a pleasant happy couple.-He points out
sister, to Mr. Thomson's, a man who has newly  a walk for which he has an uncommon respect,
commenced farmer, and has married a Miss  as it was made by an aunt of his, to whom he
Patty Grieve, formerly a flame of Mr. Robert  owes much.
Ainslie's.-Company-Miss Jacky Grieve, an           Miss       will accompany me to Dunbar, by
amiable sister of Mrs. Thomson's, and Mr. Hood,  way of making a parade of me as a sweetheart
an honest, worthy, facetious farmer, in the  of hers, among her relations.  She mounts an
neighbourhood.                                   old cart-horse, as huge and as lean as a house;
Friday.-Ride  to Berwick-An  idle town,  a rusty old side-saddle without girth, or stirFriday. —Ride  to Berwick —An  idle town,
rudely picturesque.-Meet Lord Errol in walk-  rup, but fastened on with an old pillion-girthrudely picturesque. —Meet Lord Errol in walkfla g  herself as fine as hands could make her, in
ing round the walls. —His lordship's flattering 
oi ro   the. e.-His. l ip         cream-coloured riding clothes, hat and feather,
notice of me. —Dine with Mr. Clunzie, mer&c.-I, ashamed of my situation, ride like the
chant-nothing particular in company or con-                                         
devil, and almost shake her to pieces on old
versation-Come up a bold shore, and over a  devil, and almost shake her to pieces on old
wild co y to Ep ad sp at  Jolly-get rid of her by refusing to call at her
wild country to Eyemouth-sup and sleep at  
Mr~..,~Grieve's,~                 uncle's with her.
Mr. Grieve's.
Past through the most glorious corn-country
Saturday.-Spend the day at Mr. Grieve's-   I ever saw, till I reach Dunbar, a neat little
made a royal arch mason of St. Abb's Lodge.i  town.-Dine with Provost Fall, an  eminent
-Mr. William  Grieve, the oldest brother, a  merchant, and most respectable character, but
joyous, warm-hearted, jolly, clever fellow-   undescribable, as he exhibits no marked traits.
takes a hearty glass, and sings a good song.-.  Mrs. Fall, a genius in painting; fully more
Mr. Robert, his brother, and partner in trade,  clever in the fine arts and sciences than my 
a good fellow, but says little. Take a sail after  friend Lady Wauchope, without her consummate
1 The entry made on this occasion in the Lodge-books  Edinburgh, by James Carmichael, Wm. Grieve, Daniel
of St. Abb's is honourable to                    Dow, John Clay, Robert Grieve, &c. &c. Robert Ainslie
The brethren of the mystic level.paid one guinea admission dues; but on account of R'" The brethren of the mystic level."
Burns's remarkable poetical genius, the encampment
" Eyemouth, 19th May, 1787.   unanimously agreed to admit him gratis, and considered
"  AT a general encampment held this day, the follow-  themselves honoured by having a man of such shining
ing brethren were made royal arch masons, viz. Robert  abilities for one of their companions."
Burns, from the Lodge of St. James's, Tarbolton, Ayr-    Extracted from the Minute Book of the Lodge by
shire, and Robert Ainslie, from the Lodge of St. Luke's,                       TiTOMAS Bowa rtB




520                           THE BORDER TOUR.
assurance of her own abilities.-Call with Mr.  wrung by the evils of this life of sorrows, or by
lRobinson (who, by the bye, I find to be a  the villany of this world's sons!
worthy, much respected man, very modest;
worthy, muchesp a, vy           Thursday. —Mr. Ker and I set out to dine at
warm, social heart, which with less good sense    Tursda           r a       t ot
than his would be perhaps with the children of  M      H   n our way to England.
I am taken extremely ill with strong feverish
prim precision and pride, rather inimical to that    
symptoms, and take a servant of Mr. Hood's to
respect which is man's due from man) with him                 take a servant of Mr. Hoods to
I call on Miss Clarke, a maiden in the Scotch    atch me all night-embittering remorse scares
phrase,  Guid enough, but no brent new:" a clever  my fancy at the gloomy forebodings of death.woman, with tolerable pretensions to remark      am determined to live for the future in such a
woman, with tolerable pretensions to remark
manner as not to be scared at the approach of
and wit; while time had blown the blushing             a        e      d   t           
death —I am sure I could meet him with indifbud of bashful modesty into the flower of easy
ference, but for " The something beyond the
confidence. She wanted to see what sort of  feree, b   or "he something beyond th
raree show an author was; and to let him know,  gave."-Mr. Hood agrees to accompany us to
that though Dunbar was but a little town, yet  E                          
it was not destitute of people of parts.         Friday.-I go with Mr. Hood to see a roup of
Breakfast next morning at Skateraw, at Mr.  an unfortunate farmer's stock-rigid economy,
Lee's, a farmer of great note.-Mr. Lee, an ex-  and decent industry, do you preserve me from
cellent, hospitable, social fellow, rather oldish;  being the principal dramatis persona in such a
warm-hearted and chatty-a most judicious,  scene of horror.
sensible farmer. Mr. Lee detains me till next    Meet my good old friend Mr. Ainslie, who
morning.-Company at dinner.-My Rev. ac-  calls on Mr. Hood in the evening to take farequaintance Dr. Bowmaker, a reverend, rattling  well of my bardship.  This day I feel myself
old fellow.-Two sea lieutenants; a cousin of  warm with sentiments of gratitude to the Great
the landlord's, a fellow whose looks are of that  Preserver of men, who has kindly restored me
kind which deceived me in a gentleman at  to health and strength once more.
Kelso, and has often deceived me: a goodly    A pleasant walk with my young friend Douhandsome figure and face, which incline one to  glas Ainslie, a sweet, modest, clever young
give them credit for parts which they have not.  fellow.
Mr. Clarke, a much cleverer fellow, but whoseay                            T      an   a'^ ^   ^.,~~, ^  ^.      Sunday, 27thiIay. —Cross Tweed, and traverse
looks a little cloudy, and his appearance rather' ~t' ^   ^  ~the moors through a wild country till I reach
ungainly, with an every-day observer may pre-  AlnwickAlnick Castle a seat of the Duke of.,.  ^    ~   ^                     Alnwick-Alnwick Castle a seat of the Duke of
judice the opinion against him. —Dr. Brown, a
judice the opinion  n, a  Northumberland, furnished in a most princely
medical young gentleman from Dunbar, a fellow   m          M, 
manner.-A Mr. Wilkin, agent of His Grace's,
whose face and manners are open and engaging... 
shows us the house and policies.  Mr. Wilkin,
— Leave Skateraw for Dunse next day, along        i          i  
a discreet, sensible, ingenious man.
with collector -, a lad of slender abilities
and bashfully diffident to an extreme.           Monday.-Come, still through by-ways, to
Found Miss Ainslie, the amiable, the sen- Warkworth, where we dine.-Hermitage and
sible, the good-humoured, the sweet Miss Ains-  old castle.  Warkworth situated very pictulie, all alone at Berrywell.-Heavenly powers,  resque, with Coquet Island, a small rocky spot,
who know the weakness of human hearts, sup-  the seat of an old monastery, facing it a little
port mine! What happiness must I see only to  in the sea; and the small but romantic river
remind me that I cannot enjoy it!             Coquet, running through it.-Sleep at Morpeth,
Lammer-muir Hills, from  East Lothian to  a pleasant enough little town, and on next day
Dunse, very wild.Dine with the farmer's club  to Newcastle.-Meet with a very agreeable, senat Kelso. Sir John Hume and Mr. Lumsden  sible fellow, a Mr. Chatt, who shows us a
there, but nothing worth remembrance when  great many civilities, and who dines and sups
the following  circumstance is considered-I  wh 
walk into Dunse before dinner, and out to        Wednesday.-Left Newcastle early in the mornBerrywell in the evening with Miss Ainslie-  ing, and rode over a fine country to Hexham to
how well-bred, how frank, how good she is!  breakfast-from Hexham to Wardrue, the celeCharming Rachael! may thy bosom  never be  brated Spa, where we slept.-Thursday-reach




THE HIGHLAND TOUR.                                         527
Longtown to dine, and tart there with my good  in town and give her a brush of caressing, and
friends Messrs. Hood and Ker-A hiring day in  a bottle of cider; but finding herself un peu
Longtown-I am uncommonly happy to see so  trompe in her man she sheers off.) Next day I
many young folks enjoying life. —I come to  meet my good friend, Mr. Mitchell, and walk
Carlisle.-(Meet a strange enough romantic ad-  with him round the town and its environs, and
venture by the way, in falling in with a girl and  through his printing-works, &c.-four or five
her married sister-the girl, after some over-  hundred people employed, many of them women
tures of gallantry on my side, sees me a little  and children.-Dine with Mr. Mitchell, and
cut with the bottle, and offers to take me in for  leave Carlisle.-Come by the coast to Annan.
a Gretna-Green affair. —I, not being such a gull, -Overtaken on the way by a curious old fish
as she imagines, make an appointment with  of a shoemaker, and miner, from Cumberland
her, by way of vive la bagatelle, to hold a con-  mines.
ference on it when we reach town.-I meet her     [Here the manuscript abruptly terminates.]
THE HIGHLAND TOUR.
25th August, 1787.    of repentance standing, in the old Romish way,
I LEAVE Edinburgh for a northern tour, in  on a lofty situation.
company with my good friend Mr. Nicol, whose    What a poor pimping business is a Presbyteoriginality of humour pro1,ises me much enter-  rian place of worship; dirty, narrow, and
tainment. - Linlithgow - a  fertile improved  squalid; stuck in a corner of old popish gran-.
country-West Lothian.  The more elegance  deur such as Linlithgow, and much more, Meland luxury among the farmers, I always observe  rose! Ceremony and show, if judiciously thrown
in equal proportion, the rudeness and stupidity  in, absolutely necessary for the bulk of manof the peasantry.  This remark I have made all kind, both in religious and civil matters.-Dine,
over the Lothians, Merse, Roxburgh, &c. For  -Go to my friend Smith's at Avon printfieldthis, among other reasons, I think that a man  find nobody but Mrs. Miller, an agreeable, senof romantic taste, a " Man of Feeling," will be  sible, modest, good body; as useful, but not so
better pleased with the poverty, but intelligent  ornamental as Fielding's Miss Western-not
minds of the peasantry in Ayrshire (peasantry  rigidly polite d la Frangais,but easy, hospitable,
they are all below the justice of peace) than  and housewifely.
the opulence of a club of Merse farmers, when    An old lady from  Paisley, a Mrs. Lawson,
at the same time, he considers the vandalism   whom I promised to call for in Paisley-like old
of their plough-folks, &c. I carry this idea so  lady W, and still more like Mrs. C-,
far, that an unenclosed, half improven country  her conversation is pregnant with strong sense
is to me actually more agreeable, and gives me  and just remark, but like them, a certain air of
more pleasure as a prospect, than a country  self-importance and a duresse in the eye, seem
cultivated like a garden.-Soil about Linlith-  to indicate, as the Ayrshire wife observed of her
gow light and thin.-The town carries the ap-  cow, that "she had a mind o' her ain."
pearance of rude, decayed grandeur-charming-    Pleasant view of Dunfermline and the rest of
ly rural, retired situation. The old royal palace  the fertile coast of Fife, as we go down to that
a tolerably fine, but melancholy ruin-sweetly  dirty, ugly place, Borrowstones-see a horsesituated on a small elevation, by the brink of a  race and call on a friend of Mr. Nicol's, a Bailie
loch. Shown the room where the beautiful,  Cowan, of whom I know too little to attempt
injured Mary Queen of Scots was born-a pretty  his portrait-Come through the rich carse of
good old Gothic church. The infamous stool  Falkirk to pass the night. Falkirk nothing




528                          THE HIGHLAND TOUR.
remarkable except the tomb of Sir John the  and Tieth-Allan River-Strathallan, a finc:
Graham, over which, in the succession of time,  country, but little improved-Cross Earn to
four stones have been placed.-Camelon, the  Crieff-Dine and go to Arbruchil-cold reception
ancient metropolis of the Picts, now a small vil-  at Arbruchil-a most romantically pleasant ride
lage in the neighbourhood of Falkirk.-Cross the  up Earn, by Auchtertyre and Comrie to Arbrugrand canal to Carron.-Come past Larbert and  chil-Sup at Crieff.
admire a fine monument of cast-iron erected by      Wednesday  Morning.    Leave  Crieff  Glen
Mr. Bruce, the African traveller, to his wife.    Amond-Amond  river-Ossian's  grave-Loch
Pass Dunipace, a place laid out with fine  Fruoch-Glenquaich-Landlord  and landlady
taste-a charming amphitheatre bounded by  remarkable characters-Taymouth described in
Denny village, and pleasant seats down the way  rhyme-Meet the Hon. Charles Townshend.
to Dunnipace.-The Carron running down the
Thursday.-Come down Tay to Dunkeldbosom of the whole makes it one of the most    T           y-Come on Tay to Dun
Glenlyon House-Lyon River-Druid's Temple
charming little prospects I have seen.
— three circles of stones-the outer-most sunk
Dine at Auchinbowie-Mr. Monro an excellent, worthy old man-Miss Monro an amiable,  -the second has thirteen stones remainingsensible, sweet young woman, much resembling  the innermost has eight-two large detached
Mrs. Grierson.  Come to Bannlockburn- Sh own  ones like a gate, to the south-east-Say prayers
the old house where James III. finished so tra-in it-Pass Taybridge-Aberfeldy-described
gically his unfortunate life.  The field of Ban-  in rhyme-Castle Menzies-Inver-Dr. Stewart
nockburn-the hole where glorious Bruce set  -sup.
his standard.  Here no Scot can pass unin-    Friday-Walk with Mrs. Stewart and Beard
terested.-I fancy to myself that I see my  to Birnam  top-fine  prospect down Taygallant, heroic countrymen coming o'er the hill  Craigieburn hills-Hermitage on the Branwater,
and down upon the plunderers of their coun-  with a picture of Ossian-Breakfast with Dr.
try, the murderers of their.fathers; noble re-  Stewart-Neil Gowl plays-a short, stout-built,
venge, and just hate, glowing in every vein,  honest Highland figure, with his grayish hair
striding more and more eagerly as they approach  shed on his honest social brow-an interesting
the oppressive, insulting, blood-thirsty foe! I  face, marking strong sense, kind openheartedsee them meet in gloriously triumphant congra-ness, mixed with unmistrusting simplicity-visit
tulation on the victorious field, exulting in their  his house-Marget Gow.
heroic royal leader, and rescued liberty and in-    Ride up Tummel River to Blair-Fascally a
dependence! Come to Stirling.-Monday go to  beautiful romantic nest-wild grandeur of the
Harvieston.  Go to see Caudron  linn, and  pass of Gilliecrankie-visit the gallant Lord
Rumbling brig, and Diel's mill.  Return in the  Dundee's stone.
evening.  Supper —Messrs. Doig, the school-    Blair-Sup with the Duchess-easy and happy
master; Bell; and Captain Forrester of the  from  the manners of the family-confirmed in
castle-Doig a queerish figure, and something  my good opinion of my friend Walker.
of a pedant-Bell a joyous fellow, who sings a    Saturday.-Visit the scenes round Blairgood song.-Forrester a merry, swearing kind  fine, but spoiled with bad taste-Tilt and Gairie
of man, with a dash of the sodger.               rivers-Falls on the Tilt-Heather seat-Ride
Tuesday Morning. -Breakfast with Captain  in company with Sir William  Murray and Mr.
Forrester-Ochel Hills-Devon River-Forth  Walker, to Loch Tummel-meanderings of the
1 Another northern bard has sketched this eminent   Mellifluous, strong, exuberantly rich 
musician-                                          No more, amid the pauses of the dance.
"The blythe Strathspey springs up, reminding some  Shall he repeat those measures, that in days
Of nights when Gow's old arm, (nor old the tale,)  Of other years, could soothe a falling prince,
Unceasing, save when reeking cans went round,    And light his visage with a transient smile
Made heart and heel leap light as bounding roe.  Of melancholy joy,-like autumn sun
Alas! no more shall we behold that look         Gilding a sear tree with a passing beam 
So venerable, yet so blent with mirth,           Or play to sportive children on the green
And festive joy sedate; that ancient garb        Dancing at gloamin hour; or willing cheer
Unvaried,-tartan hose, and bonnet blue!         With strains unbought, the shepherd's bridal day."
No more shall Beauty's partial eye draw forth                            British Georgics, p. 81
The full intoxi.e:liin of his strain.




THE HIGHLAND TOUR.                                         529
Rannach, which runs through quondam Struan    Friday.-Forres-famous stone at ForresRobertson's estate from Loch Rannach to Loch  Mr. Brodie tells me that the muir where ShakTummel-Dine at Blair-Company-General  speare lays Macbeth's witch-meeting is still
Murray-Captain Murray, an honest tar-   haunted-that the country folks won't pass it by
Sir William Murray, an honest, worthy man,  night.
but tormented with the hypochondria-Mrs.                               
Graham, belle et aimable-Miss Catchcart-        Venerable ruins of Elgin Abbey-A grander
Mrs. Murray, a painter-Mrs. King-Duchess  effect at first glance than Melrose, but not near
and fine family, the Marquis, Lords James, Ed-  so beautiful-Cross Spey to Fochabers-fine
ward, and Robert-Ladies Charlotte, Emilia, and  palace, worthy of the generous proprietor-Dine
children dance-Sup-Mr. Graham of Fintray.  -company, Duke and Duchess, Ladies CharCome up the Garrie-Falls of Bruar-Dalde-  lotte and Magdeline, Col. Abercrombie, and
cairoch-Dalwhinnie  Dine-Snow on the hills  Lady, Mr. Gordon and Mr., a clergyman,
17 feet deep-No corn from Loch-Gairie to Dal-  a venerable, aged figure-the Duke makes me
whinnie-Cross the Spey, and come down the  happier than  ever great man did-noble,
stream to Pitnin-Straths rich-les environs pic-  princely; yet mild, condescending, and affable;
turesque-Craigow hill-Ruthven of Badenoch  gay and kind-the Duchess witty and sensible
-Barracks-wild  and magnificent —Rothe-  -God bless them!
murche on the other side, and Glenmore-    Come to Cullen to lie-hitherto the country
Grant of Rothemurche's poetry-told me by  is sadly poor and unimproven.
the Duke of Gordon-Strathspey, rich and ro-    Come to Aberdeen-meet with Mr. Chalmers,
mantic-Breakfast at Aviemore, a wild spot-  printer, a facetious fellow-Mr. Ross a fine
dine at Sir James Grant's-Lady Grant, a sweet, fllow, like Professor Tytler,-Mr. Marshal
pleasant body-come through mist and dark-  one of the poete minores-Mr. Sheriffs, author
ness to Dulsie, to lie.                       of "Jamie and Bess," a little decrepid body
s.   river-rocy  b k    with some abilities-Bishop Skinner, a nonjuror,
Tuesday. —Findhorn river —rocky banks —
son of the author of " Tullochgorum," a man
come on to Castle Cawdor, where Macbeth                           
e. Kg  t     din wIc,  whose mild, venerable manner is the most
murdered King Duncan-saw the bed in which..    Tr.i   marked of any in so young a man —Professor
King Duncan was stabbed-dine at Kilravock
Kingrs. Dunanwa sta.bb-i,.ea    if k  Gordon, a good-natured, jolly-looking professor
-Mrs. Rose, sen., a true chieftain's wife-Fort
— Aberdeen, a lazy town-near Stonhive, the
George —Inverness.
George-Invers.       coast a good deal romantic-meet my relations
Wednesday.-Loch Ness-Braes of Ness-Ge-  -Robert Burns, writer, in Stonhive, one of
neral's hut-Falls of Fyers-Urquhart Castle  those who love fun, a gill, and a punning joke,
and Strath.                                   and have not a bad heart-his wife a sweet
Thursday.-Come over Culloden Muir-reflec-  hospitable body, without any affectation of what
tions on the field of battle-breakfast at Kilra-  is called town-breeding.
vock-old Mrs. Rose, sterling sense, warm        Tuesday.-Breakfast with Mr. Burns-lie at
heart, strong passions, and honest pride, all in  Lawrence Kirk-Album library-Mrs. --  a
an uncommon degree-Mrs. Rose, jun., a little  jolly, frank, sensible, love-inspiring widowmilder than the mother-this perhaps owing to  Howe of the Mearns, a rich, cultivated, but still
her being younger-Mr. Grant, minister at  unenclosed country.
Calder, resembles Mr. Scott at Inverleithing-   Wednesday. — Cross North Esk river and a
Mrs. Rose and Mrs. Grant accompany us to  rich country to Craigow.
Kildrummie-two young  ladies-Miss Rose,              *        *         *        *
who sung two Gaelic songs, beautiful and lovely    Go to Montrose, that finely-situated handsome
-Miss Sophia Brodie, most agreeable and ami-  town-breakfast at Muthie, and sail along that
able-both of them gentle, mild; the sweetest  wild rocky coast, and see the famous caverns,
creatures on earth, and happiness be with them! particularly the Gariepot-land and dine at
-Dine at Nairn-fall in with a pleasant enough  Arbroath-stately ruins of Arbroath Abbey —
gentleman, Dr. Stewart, who had been long  come to Dundee through a fertile countryabroad with his father in the forty-five; and  Dundee a low-lying, but pleasant town-old
Mr. Falconer, a spare, irascible, warm-hearted  Steeple-Tayfrith-Broughty Castle, a finely
Norland, and a nonjuror-Brodie-house to lie.  situated ruin, jutting into the Tay.
31




530                      THE POET'S ASSIGNMENT.
Friday.- — Breakfast with the MissScotts-Miss  vated Strath-the scene of "Bessy Bell, and
Bess Scott like Mrs. Greenfield-my bardship  Mary Gray," near Perth-fine scenery on the
almost in love with her-come through the rich  banks of the May-Mrs. Belcher, gawcie,
harvests and fine hedge-rows of the Carse of  frank, affable, fond of rural sports, hunting,
Gowrie, along the romantic margin of the  &c.-Lie at Kinross-reflections in a fit of the
Grampian hills, to Perth-fine, fruitful, hilly,  colic.
woody country round Perth.                       Sunday.-Pass through a cold, barren country
Saturday Morning.-Leave Perth-come up  to Queensferry-dine-cross the ferry and on to
Strathearn to Endermay-fine, fruitful, culti-  Edinburgh.
THE POET'S ASSIGNMENT OF HIS WORKS.
KENOw all men by these presents that I Robert  in the premises that I could have done myself
Burns of Mossgiel: whereas I intend to leave  before granting hereof, but always with and
Scotland and go abroad, and having acknow-  under the conditions before expressed. And I
ledged myself the father of a child named Eli-  oblige myself to warrant this disposition and
zabeth, begot upon Elizabeth Paton in Largie-  assignation from my own proper fact and deed
side: and whereas Gilbert Burns in Mossgiel,  allenarly. Consenting to the registration hereof
my brother, has become bound, and hereby  in the books of Council and Session, or any
binds and obliges himself to aliment, clothe, and  other Judges books competent, therein to remain
educate my said natural child in a suitable  for preservation and constitute.
manner as if she was his own, in case her    Proculars, &c. In witness whereof I have
mother chuse to part with her, and that until  wrote and signed these presents, consisting of
she arrive at the age of fifteen years. There-  this and the preceding page, on stamped paper,
fore, and to enable the said Gilbert Burns to  with my own hand, at the Mossgiel, the twentymake good his said engagement, wit ye me to  second day of July, one thousand seven hundred
have assigned, disponed, conveyed and made  and eighty-six years.
over to, and in favours of, the said Gilbert    (Signed)                ROBERT BURNS.
Burns, his heirs, executors, and assignees, who
are always to be bound in like manner, with    Upon the twenty-fourth day of July, one thouhimself, all and sundry goods, gear, corns,  sand seven hundred and eighty-six years, I,
cattle, horses, nolt, sheep, household furniture,  William  Chalmer, Notary Publick, past to the
and all other moveable effects of whatever kind  Mercat Cross of Ayr head Burgh of the Sheriffthat I shall leave behind me on my departure  dome thereof, and thereat I made due and lawfrom this Kingdom, after allowing for my part  ful intimation of the foregoing disposition and
of the conjunct debts due by the said Gilbert  assignation to his Majesties lieges, that they
Burns and me as joint tacksmen of the farm of  might not pretend ignorance thereof by reading
Mossgiel. And particularly without prejudice  the same over in presence of a number of people
of the foresaid generality, the profits that may  assembled. Whereupon William Crooks, writer,
arise from the publication of my poems pre-  in Ayr, as attorney for the before designed
sently in the press. And also, I hereby dispone  Gilbert Burns, protested that the same was lawand convey'to him in trust for behoof of my said  fully intimated, and asked and took instruments
natural daughter, the copyright of said poems  in my hands. These things were done betwixt
in so far as I can dispose of the same by law,  the hours of ten and eleven forenoon, before
after she arrives at the above age of fifteen  and in presence of William M'Cubbin, and Wilyears complete. Surrogating and substituting  liam Eaton, apprentices to the Sheriff Clerk
the said Gilbert Burns my brother and his fore-  of Ayr, witnesses to the premises.
saids in my full right, title, room and place of               (Signed)
the whole premises, with power to him  to                         WILLIAM CHALMER, N. P.
intromit with, and dispose upon the same at    WILLIAM M'CUBBIN, Witness.
pleasure, and in general to do every other thing    WILLIAM EATON, Witness.




GLOSSARY.
THE ci and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound of the English diphthong oo is commonly
spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo or ui. The a,
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 masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei."
A.                  Aqueesh, between.                  Bauld, bold.
A', all.                           Aught, possession, as "in a' my  Baws'nt, having a white stripe
Aback, away, aloof, backwards.         aught," in all my possession.       down the face.
A beigh, at a shy distance.        Auld, old.                         Be, to let be, to give over, to cease.
Aboon, above, up.                  Auld-farran', auld farrant, saga-  Beets, boots.
Abread, abroad, in sight, to publish.  cious, prudent, cunning.       Bear, barley.
Abreed, in breadth.                Ava, at all.                        Bearded-bear, barley  with  its
Ae, one.                           Awa, away, begone.                      bristly head.
Aff, off.                          Awfu', awful.                      Beastie, diminutive of beast.
Af-loof,  off-hand,  extempore,  Auld-shoon, old shoes literally, a  Beet, beek, to add fuel to a fire, to
without premeditation.             discarded lover metaphori-          bask.
Afore, before.                         cally.                         Beld, bald.
Aft, oft.                          Aumos, gift to a beggar.           Belyve, by  and  by, presently,
Aften, often.                      Aumos-dish, a beggar's dish in          quickly.
Agley, off the right line, wrong,      which the aumos is received.  Ben, into the spence or parlour.
awry.                         Awn, the beard of barley, oats, &c.  Benmost-bore, the remotest hole,
Aiblins, perhaps.                  Awnie, bearded.                         the innermost recess.
Ain, own.                          Ayont, beyond.                     Bethankit, grace after meat.
Airm, iron, a tool of that metal, a                                   Beuk, a book.
mason's chisel.                               B.                  Bicker, a kind of wooden dish, a
Airles, earnest money.             Ba', ball.                              short rapid race.
Airl-penny, a silver penny given  Babie-clouts, child's first clothes.   Bickering,  careering,  hurrying
as erles or hiring money.     Backets, ash-boards, as pieces of       with quarrelsome intent.
Airt, quarter of the heaven, point     backet for removing ashes.    Birnie, birnie ground is where
of the compass.               Backlins, comin', coming  back,         thick heath has been burnt,
Agee, on one side.                     returning.                          leaving the birns, or unconAttour, moreover, beyond, besides.  Back-yett, private gate.               sumed  stalks, standing  up
Aith, an oath.                     Baide, endured, did stay.               sharp and stubley.
Aits, oats.                        Baggie, the belly.                 Bie, or bield, shelter, a sheltered
Aiver, an old horse.               Bairn, a child,                         place, the sunny nook of a
Aizle, a hot cinder, an ember of  Bairn-time, a family of children,        wood.
wood.                              a brood.                       Bien, wealthy, plentiful.
Alake, alas.                       Baith, both.                       Big, to build.
Alane, alone.                      Ballets, ballants, ballads.        Biggin, building, a house.
Akwart, awkward, athwart.          Ban, to swear.                     Biggit, built.
Antaist, almost.                   Bane, bone.                        Bill, a bull.
Amang, among.                     Bang, to beat, to strive, to excel.   Billie, a brother, a young fellow,
An', and, if.                     Bannock, flat, round, soft cake.        a companion.
Ance, once.                        Bardie, diminutive of bard.        Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes,
Ane, one.                         Barefit, barefooted.                    &c.
Anent, overagainst, concerning,  Barley-bree, barley-broo, blood of  Birdie-cocks, young cocks, still beabout.                             barley, malt liquor.               longing to the brood.
Anither, another.                  Barmie, of, or like barm, yeasty.   Birk, birch.
Ase, ashes of wood, remains of a  Batch, a crew, a gang.              Birkie, a clever, a forward conhearth fire.                  Batts, botts.                           ceited fellow.
Asteer, abroad, stirring in a lively  Bauckie-bird, the bat.          Birring, the noise of partridges
manner.                       Baudrons, a cat.                        when they rise.
(531)




532                                       GLOSSARY.
Birses, bristles.                  Braik, an instrument for rough-  Burniewin', burn the wind, the
Bit, crisis, nick of time, place.      dressing flax.                      blacksmith.
Bizz, a bustle, to buzz.           Brainge, to run rashly forward, to  Burr-thistle, the thistle of ScotBlack's the grun', as black as the     churn violently.                    land.
ground.                       Braing't, "the  horse braing't,"  Buskit, dressed.
Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf, a term    plunged and fretted in the  Buskit-nest, an ornamented resiof contempt, full of mis-          harness.                            dence.
chief.                         Brak, broke, became insolvent.    Busle, a bustle.
Blastit, blasted.                  Branks, a kind of wooden curb for  But, bot, without.
Blate, bashful, sheepish.              horses.                         But and ben, the country kitchen
Blather, bladder.                  Brankie, gaudy.                         and parlour.
Bland, a flat piece of anything, to  Brash, a sudden illness.          By himself, lunatic, distracted, beslap.                          Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c.        side himself.
Blaudin-shower, a heavy driving   Brattle, a short race, hurry, fury.  Byke, a bee-hive, a wild bee-nest.
rain; a blauding signifies a  Braw, fine, handsome.               Byre, a cow-house, a sheep-pen.
beating..                    Brawlys, or brawlie, very well,
Blaw, to blow, to boast; "blaw i'      finely, heartily, bravely.                     C.
my lug," to flatter.           Braxies, diseased sheep.           Ca', to call, to name, to drive.
Bleerit, bedimmed, eyes hurt with  Breastie, diminutive of breast.     Ca't, called, driven, calved.
weeping.                      Breastit, did spring up or forward;  Cadger, a carrier.
Bleer my een, dim my eyes.             the act of mounting a horse.   Cadie, or caddie, a person, a young
Bleezing, bleeze, blazing, flame.  Brechame, a horse-collar.               fellow, a public messenger.
Blellum, idle talking fellow.      Breckens, fern.                     Caff, chaff.
Blether, to talk idly.             Breef, an invulnerable or irresisti-  Caird, a tinker, a maker of horn
Bleth'rin, talking idly.               ble spell.                          spoons and teller of fortunes.
Blink, a little while, a smiling  Breeks, breeches.                    Cairn, a loose heap of stones, a
look, to look kindly, to shine  Brent, bright, clear; "a brent         rustic monument.
by fits.                           brow," a  brow  high  and   Calf-ward, a small enclosure for
Blinker, a term  of contempt: it       smooth.                             calves.
means, too, a lively engaging  Brewin', brewing, gathering.       Calimanco, a certain kind of cotton
girl.                         Bree, juice, liquid.                     cloth worn by ladies.
Blinkin', smirking, smiling with   Brig, a bridge.                     Callan, a boy.
the eyes, looking lovingly.    Brunstane, brimstone.              Caller, fresh.
Blirtand blearie, out-burstof grief,  Brisket, the breast, the bosom.  Callet, a loose woman, a follower
with wet eyes.                 Brither, a brother.                     of a camp.
Blue-gown, one of those beggars  Brock, a badger.                      Cannie, gentle, mild, dexterous.
who get annually, on  the  Brogue, a hum, a trick.                Cannilie, dexterously, gently.
king's birth-day, a blue cloak  Broo, broth, liquid, water.       Cantie, or canty, cheerful, merry.
or gown with a badge.          Broose, broth, a race at country   Cantraip, a charm, a spell.
Bluid, blood,                          weddings; he who firstreaches   Cap-stane,  cape-stone,  topmost
Blype, a shred, a large piece.         the bridegroom's house on re-       stone of the building.
Bobbit, the obeisance made by a        turning from church wins the   Car, a rustic cart with or without
lady.                              broose.                             wheels.
Bock, to vomit, to gush intermit-  Browst, ale, as much malt liquor  Careerin', moving cheerfully.
tently.                            as is brewed at a time.        Castock, the stalk of a cabbage.
Bocked, gushed, vomited.           Brugh, a burgh.                     Carl, an old man.
Bodle, a copper coin of the value  Bruilsie, a broil, combustion.      Carl-hemp, the male stalk of hemp,
of two pennies Scots.         Brunt, did burn, burnt.                  easily known by its superior
Bogie, a small morass.             Brust, to burst, burst.                 strength  and  stature, and
Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, beau-  Buchan-bullers, the boiling of the      being without seed.
tiful.                             sea among the rocks on the   Carlin, a stout old woman.
Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of       coast of Buchan.                Cartes, cards.
bread, a small jannock or loaf  Buckskin, an inhabitant of Vir-  Caudron, a cauldron.
made of oatmeal. See Ban-          ginia.                         Cauk and keel, chalk and red clay.
nock..    Buff our beef, thrash us soundly,  Cauld, cold.
Boord, a board.                        give us a beating behind and   Caup, a wooden drinking vessel, a
Bore, a hole in a wall, a cranny.      before.                             cup.
Boartree, the shrub elder, plaed  Buff and blue, the colours of the  Cavie, a hen-coop.
much of old in hedges of batn-     Whigs.                         Chanter, drone of a bagpipe.
yards and gardens.             Buirdly, stout made, broad built.   Chap, a person, a fellow.
Bocst, behoved, must needs, wil-  Bum-clock, the humming beetle  Chaup, a stroke, a blow.
fulness.                           that flies in the summer even-  Cheek for chow, close and united,
Botch, blotch, an angry tumour.        ings.                               brotherly, side by side.
Bowing, drinking, making merry  Bummin, humming as bees, buz-  Cheekit, cheeked.
with liquor.                       zing.                          Cheep, a chirp, to chirp.
Bowk, body.                        Bummle, to blunder, a drone, an   Chiel, or cheal, a young fellow.
Bow-kail, cabbage.                     idle fellow.                    Chimla, or chinlie, a fire-grate,
Bow-hought, out-kneed, crooked at  Bummler, a blunderer, one whose        fire-place.
the knee joint.                    noise is greater than his work.  Chimla-lug, the fire-side.
Bowt, bowlt, bended, crooked.      Bunker, a window-seat.              Chirps, cries of a young bird.
Brackens, fern.                    Bure, did bear.                     Chittering, shivering, trembling.
Brae, a declivity, a precipice, the  Burn, burnie, water, a rivulet, a   Chockin, choking.
slope of a hill.                   small stream which is heard   Chow, to chew; a quid of tobacco
Braid, broad,                          as it runs.                    Chuckie, a brood-hen.
I ________________________________________ _____. 




GLOSSARY.                                                  533
Chffie, fat-faced.                  Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot-         ice, practised  in  Scotland,
Clachan, a small village about a         house, or cottage.                   called curling.
church, a hamlet.               Couthie, kind, loving.               Curlie, curled, whose hair falls
Claise, or claes, clothes.           Cove, a cave.                            naturally in ringlets.
Claith, cloth.                       Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, to   Curling, a well-known game on
Claithing, clothing.                     lop.                                 the ice.
Clavers and havers, agreeable non-  Cowp, to barter, to tumble over.    Curmurring, murmuring, a slight
sense, to talk foolishly.       Cowp the cran, to tumble a full          rumbling noise.
Clapper-claps, the clapper of a          bucket or basket.               Curpin, the crupper, the rump.
mill; it is now silenced.       Cowpit, tumbled.                     Curple, the rear.
Clap-clack, clapper of a mill.      Cowrin, cowering.                    Cushat, the dove, or wood-pigeon.
Clartie, dirty, filthy.              Cowte, a colt.                      Cutty, short, a spoon broken in the
Clarkit, wrote.                      Cosie, snug.                             middle.
Clash, an idle tale.                 Crabbit, crabbed, fretful.          Cutty Stool, or, Creepie Chair, the
Clatter, to tell little idle stories,  Creuks, a disease of horses.           seat of shame, stool of rean idle story.                  Crack, conversation, to converse,        pentance.
Claught, snatched at, laid hold of.     to boast.
Clalt, to clean, to scrape.          Crackin', cracked,  conversing,                     D.
Clanted, scraped.                        conversed.                      Daddie, a father.
Claw, to scratch.                    Craft, or croft, a field near a house,  Daffin, merriment, foolishness.
Cleed, to clothe.                        in old husbandry.               Daft, merry, giddy, foolish; DaftCleek, hook, snatch.                Craig, craigie, neck.                     buckie, mad fish.
Cleekin, a brood of chickens, or   Craiks, cries or calls incessantly, a  Daimen, rare, now and then; Dai.
ducks.                              bird, the corn-rail.                 men icker, an ear of corn ocClegs, the gad flies.               Crambo-clink, or  crambo-jingle,          casionally.
Clinkin, "clinking down," sitting        rhymes, doggrel verses.         Dainty, pleasant, good-humoured,
down hastily.                   Crank, the noise of an ungreased         agreeable, rare.
Clink7cu-bell, the church bell; he       wheel-metaphoricallyinhar-  Dandered, wandered.
who rings it; a sort of beadle.     monious verse.                   Darklins, darkling, without light.
Clips, wool-shears.                 Crankolus, fretful, captious.        Daud, to thrash, to abuse; DaudinClishmaclaver, idle conversation.    Cranreuch, the hoar-frost, called in     shower8s, rain urged by wind.
Clock, to hatch, a beetle.               Nithsdale "frost-rhyme."        Daur, to dare; Daurt, dared.
Clockin, hatching.            ]     Crap, a crop, to crop.               Daurg, or Daurk, a day's labour.
Cloot, the hoof of a cow, sheep,  Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook.        Daur, daurna, dare, dare not.
&c.                             Creef, a basket, to have one's wits  Davoc, diminutive of Davie, as
Clootie, a familiar name for the         in a creel, to be crazed, to be      Davie is of David.
devil,                              fascinated.                      Dawd, a large piece.
Clour, a bump, or swelling, after   Creshie, greasy.                     Dawoin, dawning of the day.
a blow.                         Crood, or Croud, to coo as a dove.  Dawtit, dawtet, fondled, caressed.
Cloutin, repairing with cloth.      Croon, a hollow  and continued   Dearies,  diminutive  of  dears,
Cluds, clouds.                           moan; to make a noise like           sweethearts.
Clunk, the sound in setting down         the low roar of a bull; to   Dearthfu', dear, expensive.
an empty bottle.                    hum a tune.                      Deave, to deafen.
Coaxin, wheedling.                  Crooning, humming.                   Deil-ma-care, no matter for all
Coble, a fishing-boat.              Crouchie, crook-backed.                   that.
God, a pillow.                      Crouse, cheerful, courageous.        Deleerit, delirious.
Coft, bought.                       Crously, cheerfully, courageously.  Descrive, to describe, to perceive.
Cog, and coggie, a wooden dish.    Crowdie, a composition of oatmeal,  Deuks, ducks.
Coila, from  Kyle, a district in         boiled  water  and  butter;  Dight, to wipe, to clean corn from
Ayrshire, so called, saith tra-     sometimes made from  the             chaff.
dition, from Coil, or Coilus, a     broth of beef, mutton, &c. &c.  Ding, to worst, to push, to surpass,
Pictish monarch.                Crowdie time, breakfast time.            to excel.
Collie, a general, and sometimes a   Crowlin, crawling, a  deformed  Dink, neat, lady-like.
particular name for country         creeping thing.                  Dinna, do not.
curs.                           Crummie's nicks, marks on the  Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or
O.llie-shangie, a quarrel among         horns of a cow.                      pain, a tremulous motion.
dogs, an Irish row.             Crummock, Crmnzmnet, a cow  with   Distain, stain.
Commaun, command.                        crooked horns.                  Dizzen, a dozen.
Convoyed, accompanied lovingly.   Crummock driddle, walk slowly,  Dochter, daughter.
Cool'd in her linens, cool'd in her     leaning  on  a  staff with a  Doited, stupified, silly from age.
death-shift.                        crooked head.                   Dolt, stupified, crazed; also a fool.
Cood, the cud.                      Crump-crumpin, hard and brittle,  Donsie, unlucky, affectedly neat
Coof, a blockhead, a ninny.             spoken of bread; frozen snow         and trim, pettish.
Cookit, appeared and disappeared        yielding to the foot.            Doodle, to dandle.
by fits.                        Crunt, a blow on the head with a  Dool, sorrow, to lament, to mourn.
Cooser, a stallion.                      cudgel.                         Doos, doves, pigeons.
Coost, did cast.                    Cuddle, to clasp and caress.         Dorty, saucy, nice.
Coot, the ankle, a species of water-  Cummock, a short staff, with a  Douse, or douce, sober, wise, pru.
fowl.                               crooked head.                        dent.
Corbies, blood crows.               Curch, a covering for the head, a  Doucely, soberly, prudently.
Cootie, a  wooden  dish, rdugh-         kerchief.                        Dought, was or were able.
legged.                         Curchie, a curtesy, female obei-  Doup, backside.
Core, corps, party, clan.                sauce.                          Doup-skelper, one that strikes the
Corn't, fed with oats.              Curler, a player at a game on the        tail.




534                                        GLOSSARY.
T)our and din, sullen and sallow.   Faddorn't,  fathomed,  measured   Fleech, to supplicate in a flattering
Douser, more prudent.                    with the extended arms.              manner.
Dow, am or are able, can.           Faes, foes.                          Fleechin, supplicating.
Dowff, pithless, wanting force.     Faem, foam of the sea.               Fleesh, a fleece.
Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue,  Faiket, forgiven or excused, aba-  Fleg, a kick, a random  blow, a
&c., half asleep.                   ted, a demand.                       fight.
Downa, am  or are not able, can-  FaiEnness, gladness, overcome with   Flether, to decoy by fair words.
not.                                joy.                            Flethrin,  flethers,  flattering —
Doylt, wearied, exhausted.          Fairin', fairing, a present brought       smooth wheedling words.
Dozen, stupified, the effects of age,    from a fair.                    Fley, to scare, to frighten.
to dozen, to benumb.            Fallow, fellow.                      Flichter, flichtering, to flutter as
Drab, a young female beggar; to  Fand, did find.                              young nestlings do when their
spot, to stain.                 Farl, a cake of bread; third part        dam approaches.
Drap, a drop, to drop.                   of a cake.                      Flinders, shreds, broken pieces.
Drapping, dropping.                 Fash, trouble, care, to trouble, to  Flingin-tree, a  piece of timber
Draunting,  drawling,  speaking          care for.                            hung by way of partition bewith a sectarian tone.          Fasheous, troublesome.                   tween two horses in a stable;
Dreep, to ooze, to drop.            Fasht, troubled.                          a flail.
Dreigh, tedious, long about it, lin-  Fasten e'en, Fasten's even.        Flisk, flisky, to fret at the yoke.
gering.                         Faught, fight.                      Flisket, fretted.
Dribble, drizzling, trickling.      Faugh, a single furrow, out of lea,  Flitter, to vibrate like the wings
Driddle, the motion of one who           fallow.                              of small birds.
tries to dance but moves the  Fauld, and Fald, a fold for sheep,  Flittering, fluttering, vibrating,
middle only.                        to fold.                             moving  tremulously  from
Drift, a drove, a flight of fowls,  Faut, fault.                              place to place.
snow moved by the wind.         Fawsont, decent, seemly.            Flunkie, a servant in livery.
Droddum, the breech.                Feal, loyal, steadfast.              Flyte,  flytiug,  scold;  flyting,
Drone, part of a  bagpipe, the  Fearfu', fearful, frightful.                  scolding.
chanter.                        Fear't, affrighted.                 Foor, hastened.
Droop rumpl't, that droops at the  Feat, neat, spruce, clever.           Foord, a ford..crupper.                       Fecht, to fight.                     Forbears, forefathers.
Droukit, wet.                       Fechtin', fighting.                  Fbrbyc, besides.
Drouth, thirst, drought.            Feck andfec, number, quantity.    Fowfcirn, distressed, worn  out,
Drucken, drunken.                   Fecket, an under-waistcoat.              jaded, forlorn, destitute.
Drumly, muddy.                      Feckfu', large, brawny, stout.       Forgather, to meet, to encounter
Drummock, or Dramnmock, meal  Feckless, puny, weak, silly.                    with.
and water mixed, raw.           Feckly, mostly.                      Forgie, to forgive.
Drunt, pet, sour humour.            Feg, a fig.                          Forinawed, worn out.
Dub, a small pond, a hollow filled   Fegs, faith, an exclamation.        Forjesket, jaded with fatigue.
with rain water.                Feide, feud, enmity.                 Fou', full, drunk.
Duds, rags, clothes.                Fell, keen, biting; the flesh im-  Foughten, fofoutghten, troubled,
Duddie, ragged.                          mediately under the  skin;           fatigued.
Dung-dang,  worsted,   pushed,           level moor.                     Foul-thief, the devil, the archstricken.                       Felly, relentless.                      fiend.
Dunted, throbbed, beaten.           Fend, Fen, to make a shift, con-  Fouth, plenty, enough, or more
Dush-dunsh, to push, or butt as a        trive to live.                      than enough.
ram.                            Ferlie orferley, to wonder, a won-  Fovw, a measure, a bushel: also
Dusht, overcome with superstitious       der, a term of contempt.             a pitchfork.
fear, to drop down suddenly.   Fetch, to pull by fits.              Frae, from.
Dyvor, bankrupt, or about to be-  Fetch't, pull'd intermittently.        Freath, froth, the frothing of ale
come one.                       Fey, strange; one marked  for            in the tankard.
death, predestined.             Frien', friend.
E.                  Fidge, to fidget, fidgeting.         Frosty-ealker, the heels and front
E'e, the eye.                       Fidgin-fain, tickled with pleasure.       of a horse-shoe, turned sharpEen, the eyes, the evening.         Fient, fiend, a petty oath.               ly up for riding on an icy
Eebree, the eyebrow.                Fien  ma  care, the  devil may            road.
Eenin', the evening.                     care.                           Fu', full.
Eerie, frighted, haunted, dreading   Fier, sound, healthy; a brother, a  Fud, the scut or tail of the hare,
spirits,                            friend.                              coney, &c.
Eild, old age.                      Fierrie, bustle, activity.           Fuff, to blow intermittently.
Elbuck, the elbow.                  Fissle, to make a rustling noise, to  FFu-hant, full-handed; said of one
Eldritch, ghastly, frightful, elvish.   fidget, bustle, fuss.                 well to live in the world.
En', end.                           Fit, foot.                           Funnie, full of merriment.
Enbrugh, Edinburgh.                 Fittie-lan, the  nearer horse of  Fur-ahin, the hindmost horse on
Eneugh, and aneuch, enough.             the  hindmost pair in  the            the right hand when ploughEspecial, especially.                    plough.                             ing.
Ether-stone, stone formed by ad-  Fizz, to make a hissing noise, fuss,  Furder, further, succeed.
ders, an adder bead.                disturbance.                    Furm, a form, a bench.
Ettle, to try, attempt, aim.       IFlcffen, the motion of rags in the   Fusionless, spiritless, without sap
Eydent, diligent.                        wind; of wings.                      or soul.
i Flainen, flannel.                   Fyke, trifling cares, to be in a fuss
F.                  Flandrlekins, foreign generals, sol-      about trifles.
Fa', fall, lot, to fall, fate.           diers of Flanders.              Fyte, to soil, to dirty.
Fa' that, to enjoy, to try, to inherit.  Flang, threw with violence.     Fylt, soiled, dirtied.




GLOSSARY.                                                  535
G.                   Glieb o' lan', a portion of ground.  Guidman and guidwife, the master
The ground belonging to a           and mistress of the house;
Gab, the mouth, to speak boldly or       manse is called "the glieb,"         young guidman, a man newly
pertly.                              or portion.                         married.
Gaberlnlzie, wallet-man, or tinker.  Glint, glintin', to peep.           Gully or Gullie, a large knife.
Gae, to go; gaed, went; gane or  Glinted by, went brightly past.         Gulravage, joyous mischief.
gaen, gone; gaun, going.        Gloamin, the twilight.               Gumlie, muddy.
Gaet or gate, way, manner, road.   Gloamin-shot, twilight-musing; a   Gumption,  discernment,  knowGairs, parts of a lady's gown.           shot in the twilight.               ledge, talent.
Gang, to go, to walk.                Glowr, to stare, to look; a stare,  Gusty, gustfu', tasteful.
Gangrel, a wandering person.             a look.                         Gut-scraper, a fiddler.
Gar, to make, to force to; gar't,  Glocran, amazed, looking suspi-  Gutcher, grandsire.
forced to.                           ciously, gazing.
Garten, a garter.                   Glum, displeased.                                    H.
Gash, wise, sagacious, talkative,  Gor-cocks, the red-game, red-cock,  Ha', hall.
to converse.                         or moor-cock.                   Ha' Bible, the great Bible that lies
Gatty, failing in body.              Gowzan, the flower of the daisy,         in the hall.
Gaucy, jolly, large, plump.              dandelion, hawkweed, &c.        Haddin', house, home, dwellingGaud and gad, a rod or goad.        Gowany, covered with daisies.             place, a possession.
Gaudsmanl, one who drives the   Goavan, walking as if blind, or  Hae, to have, to accept.
horses at the plough.                without an aim.                 Haen, had (the participle of hae);
Gaun, going.                         Gowd, gold.                              haven.
Gaulted, yawned, longed.             Gowl, to howl.                      Haet, fient haet, a petty oath of
Gavckie, a thoughtless person, and   Gowlff a fool; the game of golf,         negation; nothing.
something weak.                     to strike, as the bat does the  Haffet, the temple, the side of the
Gaylies, gylie, pretty well.             ball at golf.                        head.
Gear, riches, goods of any kind.    Gowk, term   of  contempt, the   Hafflins, nearly half, partly, not
Geck, to toss the head in wanton-        cuckoo.                              fully grown.
ness or scorn.                  Grane or grain, a groan, to groan;  Hag, a gulf in mosses and moors,
Ged, a pike.                             graining, groaning.                  moss-ground.
Gentles, great folks.                Graip, a pronged instrument for  Haggis, a kind of pudding, boiled
Genty, elegant.                          cleaning cowhouses.                 in the stomach of a cow, or
Geordie, George, a guinea, called   Graith, accoutrements, furniture,         sheep.
Geordie from  the head  of          dress.                           Hain, to spare, to save, to lay out
King George.                    Grannie, grandmother.                    at interest.
Get and geat, a child, a young   Grape, to grope; gracpet, groped.   Hain'd,  spared;  hain'd  gear,
one.                            Great, grit, intimate, familiar.         hoarded money.
Ghaist, ghaistis, a ghost.          Gree, to agree; to bear the gree, to  Hairst, harvest.
Gie, to give; gied, gave; gien,          be decidedly victor; gree't,  Haith, a petty oath.
given.                              agreed.                          Haivers, nonsense, speaking withGiftie, diminutive of gift.         Green-graff, green grave.                 out thought.
Giglets, laughing maidens.          Grutesome, loathsomely, grim.        Hal', or hald, an abiding place.
Gillie, gillocl, diminutive of gill.    Greet, to shed  tears, to  weep;  Hale, or haill, whole, tight, healGilpey, a half-grown, half-inform-       greetin', weeping.                   thy.
ed boy or girl, a romping lad,  Grey-neckc-quill, a quill unfit for a  Hallan, a particular partition-wall
a hoyden.                           pen.                                 in a cottage, or more proGinzmer, an ewe two years old, a   Griens, longs, desires.                    perly  a seat of turf at the
contemptuous term for a wo-  Grieves, stewards.                          outside.
man.                            Grippit, seized.                     Hallowmass, Hallow-eve, 31st OcGin, if, against.                   Groanin-Ma-at, drink for the cum-         tober.
Gipsey, a young girl.                    mers at a lying-in.             Italy, holy; "haly-pool," holy
Girdle, a round  iron  plate  on   Groat, to get the whistle of one's         well with healing qualities.
which oat-cake is fired.            groat; to play a losing game,  Halae, home.
Girn, to grin, to twist the features     to feel the consequences of  Hanamnered, the noise of feet like
in rage, agony, &c.; grin-          one's folly.                         the din of hammers.
ning.                           Groset, a gooseberry.                Han's breed, hand's breadth.
Gizz, a periwig, the face.          Grsnsph, a grunt, to grunt.          Hanks, thread as it comes from
Glaikit, inattentive, foolish.      Grsumphie, Groumphin, a sow; the          the measuring reel, quantiGlaive, a sword.                         snorting of an angry pig.            ties, &c.
Glaizie, glittering, smooth, like   Grun', ground.                       Hansel-throne, throne when first
glass.                          Grunstone, a grindstone.                 occupied by a king.
Glaumed, grasped, snatched  at  Gruntle, the phiz, the snout, a   Hap, an outer garment, mantle,
eagerly.                            grunting noise.                      plaid, &c.; to wrap, to cover,
Girran, a poutherie girran, a little   Grltnzie, a mouth which  pokes        to hap.
vigorous  animal; a  horse          out like that of a pig.         Harigals, heart, liver, and lights
rather old, but yet active   Grfshie, thick, of thriving growth.         of an animal.
when heated.                    Gude, guid, guids, the Supreme  Iap-shackled, when a fore and
Glel, a hawk.                            Being, good, goods.                 hind foot of a ram are fastened
Gleg, sharp, ready.                 Gude auld-has-been, was once ex-         together to prevent leaping
Gley, a squint, to squint; a-gle,        cellent.                            he is said to be hap-shackled. 
off at a side, wrong.           Guid-mzornin', good-morrow.              A wife is called "the kirk's 
Gleyde, an old horse.               Guid-e'en, good evening.                 hap-shackle." 
Glib-gabbit, that speaks smoothly   Guidfather and guidcmother, father-  Happier, a hopper, the hopper of
and readily.                        in-law, and mother-in-law,           a mill.




536                                       GLOSSARY.
Rapping, hopping.                      ing drawn across the rink.  Jaup, a jerk of water; to jerk, as
flap-step-an'-loup, hop, step, and     When a stone fails to cross it,     agitated water.
leap.                              a cry is raised of "A hog, a  Jaw, coarse raillery, to pour out,
Harkit, hearkened.                     hog!" and it is removed,           to shut, to jerk as water.
Harn, a very coarse linen.         Rog-shouther, a kind of horse-play  Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl.
Hash, a fellow who knows not how       by justling with the shoulder;  Jimp, to jump, slender in  the
to act with propriety.             to justle.                         waist, handsome.
Hastit, hastened.                  Hoodie-craw, a blood crow, corbie.  Jink, to dodge, to turn a corner;
Haud, to hold.                     Hool, outer skin or case, a nutshell,   a sudden turning, a corner.
Haughs, low-lying, rich  land,         a pea-husk.                     Jink an' diddle, moving to music,
valleys.                       Hoolie, slowly, leisurely.             motion of a fiddler's elbow.
Haurl, to drag, to pull violently.   Hoord, a hoard, to hoard.             Starting here and there with
Haurlin,  tearing   off,  pulling  Hoordit, hoarded.                       a tremulous movement.
roughly.                      Horn, a spoon made of horn.         Jinker, that turns quickly, a gay
aaver-meal, oatmeal.               Hornie, one of the many names           sprightly girl.
Haveril, a half-witted person, half-   of the devil.                   Jinkin', dodging, the quick motion
witted, one who habitually  Host, or hoast, to cough.                  of the bow on the fiddle.
talks in a foolish or incohe-  Hostin, coughing.                  Jirt, a jerk, the emission of water,
rent manner.                  Hotch'd,  turned   topsy-turvy,          to squirt.
Havins, good manners, decorum,         blended, ruined, moved.         Jocteleg, a kind of knife.
good sense.                   Houghmagandie, loose behaviour.   Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head, to
Hawkie, a cow, properly one with   Howlet, an owl.                         conceal.
a white face.                 Housie, diminutive of house.        Jow, to jow, a verb, which inHeapit, heaped.                    Hove, hoved, to heave, to swell.        eludes both the swinging moHealsome, healthful, wholesome.    Howdie, a midwife.                      tion and pealing sound of a
Hearse, hoarse.                    Howe, hollow, a hollow or dell.         large bell; also the undulaHeather, heath.                    Howebackit, sunk in  the back,          tion of water.
Hech, oh strange! an exclamation       spoken of a horse.              Jundie, to justle, a push with the
during heavy work.            Howff, a house of resort.                elbow.
Hecht, promised, to foretell some-  Howk, to dig.
thing that is to be got or  Howkit, digged.                                       K.
given, foretold, the thing fore-  Howkin', digging deep.          Kae, a daw.
told, offered.                 Hoy, hoy't, to urge, urged.        Kail, colewort, a kind of broth.
Heckle, a board in which are fixed  Hoyse, a pull upwards. "Hoyse a  Kailrunt, the stem of colewort.
a  number of sharp  steel          creel," to raise a basket; hence  Kain, fowls, &c., paid as rent by a
prongs upright for dressing        "hoisting creels."                 farmer.
hemp, flax, &c.                Hoyte, to amble crazily.           Kebars, rafters.
Hee balou, words used to soothe a  Hughoc, diminutive of Hughie, as  Kebbuck, a cheese.
child.                             Hughie is of Hugh.             Keckle, joyous cry; to cackle as a
Heels-owre-gowdie,  topsy-turvy,  Hums and hankers, mumbles and            hen.
turned the bottom upwards.         seeks to do what he cannot  Keek, a keek, to peep.
Heeze, to elevate, to rise, to lift.   perform.                       Kelpies, a sort of mischievous
Hellim, the rudder or helm.        Hunkers, kneeling and falling back      water-spirit, said  to  haunt
Herd, to tend flocks, one who          on the hams.                        fords and ferries at night, estends flocks.                  Hurcheon, a hedgehog.                  pecially in storms.
Berrin', a herring.                Hurdies, the loins, the crupper.    Ken, to know; ken'd or ken't,
Herry, to plunder; most properly  Hushion, a cushion, also a stock-        knew.
to plunder birds' nests,           ing wanting the foot.          Kennin, a small matter.
Herryment, plundering, devasta-  Huchyalled, to move with a hilch.  Ket-Ketty, matted, a fleece  of
tion.                                                                 wool.
Hersel-hirsel, a flock of sheep,                   I.                 Kiazght, carking, anxiety, to be
also a herd of cattle of any  Ike  an ear of cornin a flutter.
sort.                          leroe a great grandchild.          Kilt, to truss up the clothes.
Het, hot, heated.                  I, or ila, each, evey.            Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip.
Heigh, a crag, a ravine; coal-  Il-deedie, mischievrous.             Kin', kindred.
heugh, a coal-pit; lowi hegh   ll-deedie, mischievous.            Kin', ind.
abl azcoingal-pit.     oi huh   ll1-willie, ill-natured, malicious,  Kin', kind.
~ a blazing pit.                                                  King's-hood, a certain part of the
Hilch, hilchin', to halt, inggenius, ingenuity.                            entrails of an ox.
Jiney, honey.                      Ingie, fire, fireplace.            Kintra, kintrie, country.
iing, to walk crazily, to wal   Ingle-low, light from the fire, flame  Kirn, the harvest supper, a churn.
^Hi):le, to walk crazily, towalk       from the hearth.               Kirsen, to christen, to baptize.
lamely, to creep.              I rede ye, I advise ye, I warn ye.   Kitchest, a shop-counter.
Histie, dry, chapt, barren.        redeye, I advise ye, I warn ye.
Hiitcht, a loop, made a knoe.      J'se, I shall or will.             Kitchen, anything that eats with
fitchzi, ahuy, a young gl.         Ither, other, one another.              bread, to  serve  for soup,
Hizzie, huzzy, a young girl.   I    ther,  other, one another.             gravy.
Hoddin, the motion of a husband-                  J                   Kittle, to tickle, ticklish.
man riding on a cart-horse,                                       Kittling, a young cat. The ace
humble.                        Jad, jade; also a familiar term         of diamonds is called among
Hoddin-gray, woollen cloth of a        among country folks for a           rustics the kittlin's e'e.
coarse quality, made by min-       giddy young girl.              Knaggie, like knags, or points of
gling one black fleece with a  Jauk, to dally, to trifle.'  rocks.
dozen white ones.             Jaukin', trifling, dallying.        Knappin-hammer, a hammer for
Hoggie, a two-year-old sheep.      Jauner, talking, and not always         breaking  stones; knap, tc
Hog-score, a distance line in curl-    to the purpose.                     strike or break.




GLOSSARY.                                               537
Knurlin,  crooked  but strong,  Lint-white, a linnet, flaxen.        Mawin, mowing; maun, mowed;
knotty.                       Loan, the place of milking.            maw'd, mowed.
Knowe, a small, round hillock, a  Loaning, lane.                     Mawn, a small basket, without a
knoll.                        Loof, the palm of the hand.            handle.
Kuittle, to cuddle; kuitlin, cud-  Loot, did let.                    Meere, a mare.
dling, fondling.              Looves, the plural of loof.        Melancholious, mournful.
Kye, cows.                        Losh man! rustic  exclamation  Melder, a load of corn, &c., sent to
Kyle, a district in Ayrshire.          modified from Lord man.            the mill to be ground.
Kyte, the belly.                  Loun, a fellow, a ragamuffin, a  Mell, to be intimate, to meddle,
Kythe, to discover, to show one's      woman of easy virtue.              also a mallet for pounding
self.                         Loup, leap, startled with pain.        barley in a stone trough.
Louper-like, lan-louper, a stranger  Melvie, to soil with meal.
^    ~~L.  ~      of a suspected character.     Men', to mend.
Lowe, a flame.                     Mense, good manners, decorum.
Labour, thrash.                   Lowin', flaming;  lobin-drouth,  Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impudent.
Laddie, diminutive of lad.             burning desire for drink.     Merle, the blackbird.
Laggen, the angle between the  Lowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence.  Messin, a small dog.
side and the bottom  of a  Loose, to loose.                      Middin, a dunghill.
wooden dish.                  Lowsed, unbound, loosed.           Middin-creels, dung-baskets, panLaigh, low.                       Lug, the ear.                           niers in which horses carry
Lairing, lairie, wading, and sink-  Lug of the law, at the judgment-      manure.
ing in snow, mud, &c., miry.       seat.                         Middin-hole, a gutter at the botLaith, loath, impure.             Lugget, having a handle.                tom of a dunghill.
Laithfu', bashful, sheepish, ab-  Luggie, a small wooden dish, with  Milkin'-shiel, a place where cows
stemious.                         a handle.                           or ewes are brought to be
Lallans, Scottish  dialect, Low-  Lum, the  chimney; lum-head,            milked.
lands.                             chimney-top.                  Mim, prim, affectedly meek.
Lambie, diminutive of lamb.       Lunch, a large piece of cheese,  Mim-mou'd, gentle-mouthed.
Lammas moon, harvest-moon.            flesh, &c.                     Min', to remember.
Lampit, a kind of shell-fish, a   Lunt, a column of smoke, to smoke,  Minawae, minuet.
limpet.                           to walk quickly.               Mind't, mind it, resolved, intendLan', land, estate.               Lyart, of a mixed colour, gray.         ing, remembered.
Lan'-afore, foremost horse in the                                    Minnie, mother, dam.
plough.                                      M.                  Mirk, dark.
Lan'-ahin, hindmost horse in the                                     Misca', to abuse, to call names;
plough.                        Mae, and mair, more.                   misca'd, abused.
Lane, lone; my lane, thy lane, &c.,  Maggot's-meat, food for the worms.  Mischanter, accident.
myself alone.                 Mahoun, Satan.                     Misleard, mischievous, unmanLanely, lonely.                   Mailen, a farm.                         nerly.
Lang, long; to think lang, to long,  Maist, most, almost.            Misteuk, mistook.
to weary.                     Maistly, mostly, for the greater  Mither, mother.
Lap, did leap.                         part.                         Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed,
Late and air, late and early.     Mak', to make; makin', making.          mish-mash.
Lave, the rest, the remainder, the  Mally, Molly, Mary.              Moistify, moistified, to moisten, to
others.                       Mang, among.                            soak; moistened, soaked.
Laverock, the lark.               Manse, the house of the parish  Mons-meg, a large piece of ordLawlan', lowland,                     minister  is  called  " the         nance, to be seen at the Castle
Lay my dead, attribute my death.       Manse."                            of Edinburgh, composed of
Leal, loyal, true, faithful..    Janteele, a mantle.                    iron bars welded together and
Lear, learning, lore.             Mark, marks. This and several           then hooped.
Lee-lang, live-long.                   other nouns which in Eng-  Mools, earth.
Leesome luve, happy, gladsome          lish require an s to form the  Mony, or monie, many.
love.                             plural, are in Scotch, like the.Moop, to nibble as a sheep.
Leeze me, a phrase of congratula-      words sheep, deer, the same  Moorlan, of or belonging to moors.
tory endearment; I am happy       in both numbers.               Morn, the next day, to-morrow.
in thee or proud of thee.     Mark, merk, a Scottish coin, value  Mou, the mouth.
Leister, a three-pronged and barb-     thirteen shillings and four-  Moudiwort, a mole.
ed dart for striking fish.        pence.                         Mousie, diminutive of mouse.
Leugh, did laugh.                 Marled, party-coloured.            Muckle, or mickle, great, big,
Leak, a look, to look.            Mar's year, the year 1715. Called      much.
Libbet, castrated.                     Mar's year from  the rebel-  Muses-stank, muses-rill, a stank,
Lick, licket, beat, thrashen.         lion  of Erskine, Earl of           slow-flowing water.
Lift, sky, firmament.                  Mar.                          Musie, diminutive of muse.
Lightly, sneeringly, to sneer at, to  Martial chuck, the soldier's camp-  Muslin-kail, broth, composed simundervalue.                       comrade, female companion.         ply of water, shelled barLilt, a ballad, a tune, to sing.  Mashlun, mixed corn.                   ley, and greens; thin poor
Limmer, a kept mistress, a strum-  Mask, to mash, as malt, &c., to in-   broth.
pet.                              fuse..Mutchkin, an English pint.
Limp't, limped, hobbled.          Maskin-pat, teapot.                Mysel, myself.
Link, to trip along; linkin, trip-  Maukin, a hare.
ping along.                   Maun, mauna, must, must not.                      N.
Linn, a waterfall, a cascade.     Jiaut, malt.
Lint, flax; lint i' the bell, flax in  Mavis, the thrush.            Na', no, not, nor.
flower.                       Maw, to mow.                       Nae, or na, no, not any.




538                                        GLOSSARY.
Naething, or naithlig, nothing.     Phraisin, flattering.                Ramstam, thoughtless, forwaru.
Naig, a horse, a nag.                Pibroch, a martial air.             Randie, a scolding sturdy beggar,
Nane, none.                          Pickle, a small quantity, one grain      a shrew.
Nappy, ale, to be tipsy.                 of corn.                        Rantin', joyous.
Negleckit, neglected.               Pigmy-scra per, little  fiddler; a  Raploch, properly a coarse cloth,
Neebor, a neighbour.                     term  of contempt for a bad          but used for coarse.
Neuk, nook.                              player.                         Rarely, excellently, very well.
Neist, next.                        Pint-stoup, a two-quart measure.   Rash, a rush; rash-buss, a bush of
Nieve, nief, the fist.              Pine, pain, uneasiness.                   rushes.
Nievefia', handful.                 Pingle, a small pan for warming   Ratton, a rat.
Niffer, an exchange, to barter.          children's sops.                Raucle, rash, stout, fearless, reckNiger, a negro.                     Plack, an old Scotch coin, the            less.
Ntne-tailed cat, a hangman's whip.       third  part of an  English   Raught, reached.
Nit, a nut.                              penny.                          Raw, a row.
Norland, of or belonging to the  Plackless, pennyless, without mo-  Rax, to stretch.
north.                              ney.                             Ream, cream, to cream.
Notic't, noticed.                   Plaidie, diminutive of plaid.        Reamin', brimful, frothing.
Nowte, black cattle.                Platie, diminutive of plate.         Reave, take by force.
Plew, or pleugh, a plough.          Rebute, to repulse, rebuke.
O.                  Pliskie, a trick.                    Reck, to heed.
O', of.                             Plumrose, primrose.                  Rede, counsel, to counsel, to disO'ergang, overbearingness, to treat  Pock, a meal-bag.                        course.
with  indignity, literally  to   Poind, to seize on cattle, or take  Red-peats, burning turfs.
tread.                              the goods as the laws of Scot-  Red-wat-shod, walking in blood
O'erlay, an upper cravat.                land allow, for rent, &c.            over the shoe-tops.
Ony, or onie, any.                  Poorteth, poverty.                   Red-wud, stark mad.
Or, is often used for ere, before.    Posie, a nosegay, a garland.       Bee, half drunk, fuddled; a see
Orra-duddies, superfluous  rags,  Pou, pou'd, to pull, pulled.               yaud, a wild horse.
old clothes.                    Pouk, to pluck.                      Reek, smoke.
O't, of it.                         Poussie, a hare or cat.              Reekin', smoking.
Ourie, drooping, shivering.         Pouse, to pluck with the hand.       Reekit, smoked, smoky.
Oursel, oursels, ourselves.         Pout, a polt, a chick.               Reestit, stood  restive; stunted,
Outlers, outliers; cattle unhoused.  Pou't, did pull.                         withered.
Ower, owre, over.                   Poutherey, fiery, active.            Remead, remedy.
Owre-hip, striking with a fore-  Pomthery, like powder.                  Requite, requited.
hammer by bringing it with   Pow, the head, the skull.               Restricked, restricted.
a swing over the hip.           Pownie, a little horse, a pony.      Rew, to smile, look affectionately,
Owsen, oxen.                        Powther, orpouther, gunpowder.            tenderly.
Oxtered, carried or supported un-  Preclair, supereminent.               Rickles, shocks of corn, stooks.
der the arm.                    Preen, a pin.                        Riddle, instrument for purifying
Prent, printing, print,                  corn.
P.                  Prie, to taste; prie'd, tasted.      Rief-randies, men who take the
Prief, proof.                            property  of others, accomPack, intimate, familiar: twelve  Prig, to cheapen, to dispute; prig-         panied by violence and rude
stone of wool.                      gin, cheapening.                     words.
Paidle, paidlen, to walk with diffi-  Primsie, demure, precise.          Rig, a ridge.
culty, as if in water.          Propone, to lay down, to propose.  Bin, to run, to melt; rinnin', runPainch, paunch.                     Pund, pund o' tow, pound, pound           ning.
Paitrick, a partridge.                   weight of the refuse of flax.   Rink, the course of the stones, a
Pang, to cram.                      Pyet, a magpie.                           term in curling on ice.
Parle, courtship.                   Pyle, a pyle, o' caff, a single grain   Rip, a handful of unthreshed corn.
Parishen, parish.                        of chaff.                       Ripples, pains in the back and
Parritch,  oatmeal pudding,  a  Pystle, epistle.                              loins, sounds which usher in
well-known Scotch drink.                                                 death.
Pat, did put, a pot.                                                     B Ripplin-kame,  instrument  for
Pattle, or pettle, a small spade to.                       dressing flax.
clean the plough.               Quat, quit.                          Riskit, a noise like the tearing of
Paughty, proud, haughty.             Quak, the cry of a duck.                 roots.
Pauky, cunning, sly.                 Quech, a drinking-cup made of  Rockin', a denomination  for a
Pay't, paid, beat.                       wood with two handles.               friendly  visit.  In  former
Peat-reek, the smoke of burning   Quey, a cow from one to two years           times young women met with
turf,  a  bitter  exhalation,       old, a heifer,                       their distaffs during the winwhisky.                         Quines, queans.                          ter evenings, to sing, and spin,
Pech, to fetch the breath shortly,  Quakin, quaking.                          and be merry; these were
as in an asthma.                                                          called "rockings."
Pechan, the crop, the stomach.                                           Roke, distaff.
Pechin, respiring with difficulty.                                       Rood, stands likewise for the pluPennie, riches.                     Ragweed, herb-ragwort.                    ral, roods.
Pet, a domesticated sheep, &c., a  Raible, to rattle, nonsense.          Boon, a shred, the selvage of wool.
favourite.                      Rair, to roar.                           len cloth.
Pettle, to cherish.                 Raize, to madden, to inflame.        Roose, to praise, to commend.
Philabeg, the kilt.                 Ramfeezled, fatigued, overpower-   Roun', round, in  the circle of
Phraise, fair speeches, flattery, to     ed.                                  neighbourhood.
flatter.                        Rampin', raging.                     Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold.




GLOSSARY.                                                     539
Row, to roll, to rap, to roll as   Shaver, a humorous wag, a barber.  Sna', small.
water.                           Shavie, to do an ill turn.             Smeddum, dust, powder, mettle,
Row't, rolled, wrapped.               Shaw, to show; a small wood in a           sense, sagacity.
Rowte, to low, to bellow.                  hollow place.                    Smiddy, smithy.
kowth, plenty.                        Sheep-shank, to think one's self nae  Smirking, good-natured, winking.
Rowtin', lowing.                           sheep-shank, to be conceited.   Smoor, smoored, to smother, smoRozet, rosin.                         Sherra-muir, Sheriff-Muir, the fa-         thered.
Runmble-gumption, rough common-            mous battle of, 1715.            Smoutie, smutty, obscene; smoutiet
sense.                           Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a sluice.       phiz, sooty aspect.
Run-deils, downright devils.          Shiel, shealing, a shepherd's cot-  Smytrie, a numerous collection of
Rung, a cudgel.                            tage.                                 small individuals.
Runt, the stem of colewort or cab-  Shill, shrill.                          Snapper, mistake.
bage.                            Shog, a shock, a push off at one   Snash, abuse, Billingsgate, imperRunkled, wrinkled.                         side.                                 tinence.
Ruth, a woman's name, the book   Shoo, ill to please, ill to fit.           Snaw, snow, to snow.
so called, sorrow.               Shool, a shovel.                       Snaw-broo, melted snow.
Ryke, reach.                          Shoon, shoes.                         Snawie, snowy.
Shore, to offer, to threaten.         Snap, to lop, to cut off.
S.                   Shor'd, half offered and threat-  Sned-besonis, to cut brooms.
Sae, so.                                   ened.                            Sneeshin, snuff.
Saft, soft.                           Shouther, the shoulder.               Sneeshin-nmill, a snuff-box.
Sair, to serve, a sore; sairie, sor-  Shot, one traverse of the shuttle   Snell and snelly, bitter, biting;
rowful.                               from side to side of the web.          snellest, bitterest.
Sairly, sorely.                       Sic, such.                            Snick-drawing, trick, contriving.
Sair't, served.                       Sicker, sure, steady.                 Snick, the latchet of a door.
Sark, a shirt.                        Sidelins, sideling, slanting.         Snirt, snirtle, concealed laughter,
Sarkit, provided in shirts.           Silken-snood, a fillet of silk, a          to breathe the nostrils in a
Saugh, willow.                             token of virginity.                   displeased manner.
Sangh-woodies, withies, made of   Siller, silver, money, white.             Snool, one whose spirit is broken
willows, now  supplanted by   Simmer, summer.                               with oppressive slavery; to
ropes and chains.                Sin, a son.                                submit tamely, to sneak.
Saul, soul.                           Sinsyne, since then.                  Snoove, to go smoothly and conSaumont, salmon.                      Skaith, to damage, to injure, in-          stantly, to sneak.
Saunt, sauntet, saint; to varnish,        jury.                             Snowk, snowkit, to scent or snuff
Saut, salt.                           Skeigh, proud, nice, saucy, met-           as a dog, scented, snuffed.
Saw, to sow.                               tied.                            Sodger, a soldier.
SaCwin', sowing.                      Skeigh, shy, maiden coyness.          Sonsie, having  sweet engaging
Sax, six.                             Skellum, a noisy reckless fellow.          looks, lucky, jolly.
Scaud, to scald.                      Skelp, to strike, to slap; to walk   Soom, to swim.
Scauld, to scold.                          with a smart tripping step, a   Souk, to suck, to drink long and
Scaur, apt to be scared; a preci-         smart stroke.                          enduringly.
pitous bank of earth which   Skelpi-limmer, a technical term in   Souple, flexible, swift.
the stream has washed red.            female scolding.                  Soupled, suppled.
Scawl, a scold.                       Skelpin, skelpit, striking, walking   Souther, to solder.
Scone, a kind of bread.                   rapidly, literally striking the   Souter, a shoemaker.
Sconner, a loathing, to loath.             ground.                          Sowens, the fine flour remaining
Scraich and Scriegh, to scream, as   Skinklin, thin, gauzy, scaltery.            among the seeds of oatmeal
a hen or partridge.              Skirling, shrieking, crying.               made into an agreeable pudScreed, to tear, a rent; screeding,  Skirl, to cry, to shriek shrilly.           ding.
tearing.                         Skirl't, shrieked.                     Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity
Scrieve, scrieven, to glide softly,  Sklent, slant, to run aslant, to de-        of anything liquid.
gleesomely along.                     viate from truth.                 Sowth, to try over a tune with a
Scrimp, to scant.                     Sklented, ran, or hit, in an oblique       low whistle.
Scrinpet, scant, scanty.                   direction.                       Spae, to prophesy, to divine.
Scroggie, covered with underwood,  Skouth, vent, free action.               Spails, chips, splinters.
bushy.                           Skreigh, a scream, to scream, the   Spaul, a limb.
Sculdudrey, fornication.                  first cry uttered by a child.     Spairge, to clash, to soil, as with
Seizin', seizing.                     Skyte, a worthless fellow, to slide        mire.
Sel', self; a body's sel', one's self     rapidly off.                      Spates, sudden floods.
alone.                           Skyrin,party-coloured, the checks   Spaviet, having the spavin.
Sell't, did sell.                         of the tartan.                    Speat, a sweeping torrent aftei
Sea', to send.                        Slae, sloe.                                rain or thaw.
Servan', servant.                     Slade, did slide.                     Speel, to climb.
Settlin', settling; to get a settlin',  Slap, a gate, a breach in a fence.  Spence, the parlour of a farmhouse
to be frighted into quietness.  Slaw, slow.                                 or cottage.
Sets, sets off, goes away.            Slee, sleest, sly, slyest.            Spier, to ask, to inquire; spiert,
Shachlet-feet, ill-shaped.            Sleekit, sleek, sly.                       inquired.
Shair'd, a shred, a shard.            Sliddery, slippery.                   Spinnin-graith, wheel and  roke
Shangan, a stick cleft at one end   Slip-shod, smooth shod.                      and lint.
for pulling the tail of a dog,  Sloken, quench, slake.                 Splatter, to splutter, a splutter.
&c., by way of mischief, or to   Slype, to fall over, as a wet furrow   Spleughan, a tobacco-pouch.
frighten him away.                    from the plough.                 Splore, a frolic, noise, riot.
Shank-it, walk it; shanks, legs.     Slypet-o'er, fell over with a slow   Sprachled, scrambled.
Shaul, shallow.                           reluctant motion.  Sprattle, to scramble.




540                                       GLOSSARY.
Spreckled, spotted, speckled.      Stook, stooked, a shock of corn,  Tangle, a sea-weed used as salad.
Spring, a quick air in music, a        made into shocks.               Tap, the top.
Scottish reel.                 Stot, a young bull or ox.          Tapetless, heedless, foolish.
Sprit, spret, a tough-rooted plant  Stound, sudden pang of the heart.  Targe, targe them  tightly, crosssomething like rushes, joint-  Stoup, or stowp, a kind of high         question them severely.
ed-leaved rush.                    narrow jug or dish with a   Tarrow, to murmur at one's allowSprittie, full of spirits.             handle for holding liquids.         ance.
Spunk, fire, mettle, wit, spark.   Stowre, dust, more particularly   Tarry-breeks, a sailor.
Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery; will       dust in motion; stowrie, dusty.  Tassie, a small measure for liquor.
o' the wisp, or ignis fatuus;  Stownlins, by stealth.              Tauld, or tald, told.
the devil.                     Stown, stolen.                     Taupie, a  foolish, thoughtless
Spurtle, a stick used in making  Stoyte, the walking of a r.J.en          young person.
oatmeal pudding or porridge,       man.                            Tauted, or tautie, matted together
a notable Scottish dish.       Straek, did strike.                     (spoken of hair and wool).
Squad, a crew or party, a squad-  Strae, straw; to die a fair strae  Tawie, that allows itself peaceably
ron.                               death, to die in bed.               to be handled (spoken of a
Squatter, to flutter in water, as  Straik, to stroke; straiket, stroked.   cow, horse, &c.)
a wild-duck, &c.               Strappen, tall, handsome, vigorous.  Teat, a small quantity.
Squattle, to sprawl in the act of  Strath, low alluvial land, a holm.   Teethless bawtie, toothless cur.
hiding.                        Straught, straight.                 Teethless gab, a mouth wanting
Squeel, a scream, a screech, to  Streek, stretched, to stretch.            the teeth, an expression of
scream.                        Striddle, to straddle.                  scorn.
Stacher, to stagger.               Stroan, to spout, to piss.          Ten-hours-bite, a slight feed to
Stack, a rick of corn, hay, peats.   Stroup, the spout.                    the horse while in the yoke in
Staggie, a stag.                   Studdie, the anvil.                     the forenoon.
Staig, a two year-old horse.       Stumpie, diminutive of stump; a   Tent, a field pulpit, heed, caution;
Stalwart, stately, strong.             grub pen.                           to take heed.
Stang, sting, stung.               Strunt, spirituous liquor of any   Tentie, heedful, cautious.
Stan't, to stand; stan't, did stand.   kind; to walk sturdily, to be   Tentless, heedless, careless.
Stane, stone.                          affronted.                      Teugh, tough.
Stank, did stink, a pool of stand-  Stuff, corn or pulse of any kind.    Thack, thatch; thack an' rape,
ing water, slow-moving water.  Sturt, trouble; to molest.              clothing and necessaries.
Stap, stop, stave.                 Startin, frighted.                  Thae, these.
Stark, stout, potent.              Styme, a glimmer.                   Thairms, small guts, fiddle-strings.
Startle, to run as cattle stung by  Sucker, sugar.                     Thankit, thanked.
the gadfly.                    Sud, should.                        Theekit, thatched.
Staukin, stalking, walking  dis-  Sugh, the continued rushing noise   Thegither, together.
dainfully, walking without an      of wind or water.              Themsel', themselves.
aim.                           Sumph, a pluckless fellow, with   Thick, intimate, familiar.
Staumrel, a blockhead, half-witted.    little heart or soul.           Thigger, crowding, make a noise;
Staw, did steal, to surfeit.       Suthron, Southern, an old name          a seeker of alms.
Stech, to cram the belly.               of the English.                Thir, these.
Stechin, cramming.                 Swaird, sword.                      Thirl, to thrill.
Steek, to shut, a stitch.          Swall'd, swelled.                   Thirled, thrilled, vibrated.
Steer, to molest, to stir.         Swank, stately, jolly.              Thole, to suffer, to endure.
Steeve, firm, compacted.           Swankie, or swanker, a tight strap-  Thowe, a thaw, to thaw.
Stell, a still.                        ping young fellow or girl.      Thowless, slack, lazy.
Sten, to rear as a horse, to leap  Swap, an exchange, to barter.       Thrang, throng, busy, a crowd.
suddenly.                      Swarfed, swooned.                  Thrapple, throat, windpipe.
Stravagin, wandering without an  Swat, did sweat.                      Thraw, to sprain, to twist, to conaim.                           Swatch, a sample.                       tradict.
Stents, tribute, dues of any kind.   Swats, drink, good ale, new ale or  Thrawin', twisting, &c.
Stey, steep; styest, steepest.          wort.                          Thrawn, sprained, twisted, conStibble, stubble; stubble-rig, the  Sweer, lazy, averse; dead-sweer,       tradicted, contradiction.
reaper in harvest who takes        extremely averse.               Threap, to maintain by dint of asthe lead.                      Swoor, swore, did swear.                sertion.
Stick-an'-stow, totally, altogether.  Swinge, to beat, to whip.        Threshin', threshing; threshin'Stilt-stilts, a crutch; to limp, to  Swinke, to labour hard.               tree, a flail.
halt; poles for crossing  a  Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots.       Threteen, thirteen.
river.                         Swvirl, a curve, an eddying blast  Thristle, thistle.
Stimpart, the eighth part of a          or pool, a knot in the wood.    Through, to go on with, to make
Winchester bushel.             Swith, get away.                        out.
Stirk, a cow or bullock a year  Swither, to hesitate in choice, an   Throuther, pell-mell, confusedly
old.                               irresolute wavering in choice.      (through-ither).
Stock, a plant of colewort, cab-  Syebow, a thick-necked onion.        Thrum, sound of a spinning-wheel
bages.                         Syne, since, ago, then.                 in motion, the thread remainStockin', stocking; throwing the                                           ing at the end of a web.
stockin', when the bride and                  T.                   Thud, to make a loud intermittent
bridegroom are put into bed,                                           noise.
the former throws a stocking   Tackets, broad-headed nails for  Thummart, foumart, polecat.
at random among the com-           the heels of shoes.            Thumpit, thumped.
pany, and the person whom   Tae, a toe; three-taed, having three   Thysel', thyself.
it falls on is the next that       prongs.                         Till't, to it.
will be married.               Tak, to take; takin, taking.        Timmer, timber.. I




GLOSSARY.                                                541
Tine, to lose; tint, lost.         Twafaul, twofold.                   Wat, a man's upper dress; a sort
Tinkler, a tinker.                 Twin, to part.                          of mantle.
Tip, a ram.                        Twistle, twisting, the art of making   Water-brose, brose made of meal
Tippence, twopence, money.             a rope.                             and water simply, without the
Tirl, to make a slight noise, to   Tyke, a dog.                            addition of milk, butter, &c.
uncover.                       Tysday, Tuesday.                    Wattle, a twig, a wand.
Tirlin', tirlet, uncovering.                                           Wauble, to swing, to reel.
Tither, the other.                                U.                   Waukin, waking, watching.
Tittle, to whisper, to prate idly.                                    Wmaukit, thickened as fullers do
Tittlin, whispering.               Unback'd filly, a young  mare           cloth.
Tocher, marriage portion; tocher       hitherto unsaddled.             Waukrife, not apt to sleep.
bands, marriage bonds.         Unco, strange, uncouth, very, very   Waur, worse, to worst.
Tod, a fox. "Tod i' the fauld,"        great, prodigious.              Waur't, worsted.
fox in the fold.               Uncos, news.                        Wean, a child.
Toddle, to totter, like the walk of  Unfauld, unfold.                  Weary-widdle, toilsome contest of
a child; todlen-dow, toddling   Unkenn'd, unknown.                    life.
dove.                          Unsicker, uncertain, wavering, in-  Weason, weasand, windpipe.
Too-fa', "Too fa' o' the nicht,"       secure.                         Weaven' the  stocking, to knit
when twilight darkens into   Unskaithed, undamaged, unhurt.            stockings.
night; a building added, a   Upo', upon.                           Weeder-clips, instrument for relean-to.                                                              moving weeds.
Toom, empty.                                      V.                   Wee, little; wee things, little ones,
Toomed, emptied.                                                           wee bits, a small matter.
Toop, a ram.                       Vap'rin, vapouring.                 Weel, well; weelfare, welfare.
Toss, a toast.                     Vauntie, joyous, delight which   Weet, rain, wetness; to wet.
Tosie, warm  and  ruddy  with          cannot contain itself.          We'se, we shall.
warmth, good-looking, in-  Vera, very.                            Wha, who.
toxicating.                    Virl, a ring round a column, &c.   Whaizle, to wheeze.
Toun, a hamlet, a farmhouse.       Vogie, vain.                        Whalpit, whelped.
Tout, the blast of a horn or trum-                                     Whang, a leathorn thong, a piece
pet, to blow a horn or trumpet.              W.                        of cheese, bread, &c.
Touzles, touzling, romping, ruffling                                   Whare, where; whare'er, wherthe clothes.                   Wa', wall; wa's, walls.                ever.
Tow, a rope.                       Wabster, a weaver.                  Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk,
Touwmnond, a twelvemonth.          Wad, would, to bet, a bet, a           penny-wheep, small-beer.
Towzie, rough, shaggy.                 pledge.                        Whase, wha's, whose-who is.
Toy, a very old fashion of female   Wadna, would not.                 What reck, nevertheless.
head-dress.                    Wadset, land on which money is   Whid, the motion of a hare runToyte, to totter like old age.         lent, a mortgage.                  ning, but not frighted-a lie.
Trams, barrow-trams, the handles   Wae, woe; waefu',  sorrowful;  Whidden, running as a hare or
of a barrow.                       wailing.                           coney.
Transmugrified,   transmigrated,  Waefu'-woodie, hangman's rope.    Whigmeleeries, whims,  fancies,
metamorphosed.                 Waesucks! Wae's me!  Alas! 0           crotchets.
Trashtrie, trash, rubbish.             the pity!                      Whilk, which.
Trickie, full of tricks.           Wa' flower, wall-flower.           Whingin', crying, complaining,
Trig, spruce, neat.                Waft, woof; the cross thread that      fretting.
Trimly, cleverly, excellently, in a    goes from the shuttle through   Whirligigums, useless ornaments,
seemly manner.                     the web.                           trifling appendages.
Trinle, trintle, the wheel of a bar-  Waifs an' crocks, stray sheep and   Whissle, a whistle, to whistle.
row, to roll.                      old ewes past breeding.        Whisht, silence; to hold one's
Trinklin, trickling.               Wair, to lay out, to expend.           whist, to be silent.
Troggers, troggin', wandering mer-   Wale, choice, to choose.         Whisk, whisket, to sweep, to lash.
chants, goods to truck or dis-  Wal'd, chose, chosen.             Whiskin' beard, a beard like the
pose of.                       Walie, ample, large, jolly, also an    whiskers of a cat.
Trow, to believe, to trust to.         exclamation of distress.       Whiskit, lashed, the motion of a
Trowth, truth, a petty oath.       Wame, the belly.                       horse's tail removing flies.
Trysts, appointments, love meet-  Wamefu', a bellyful.                Whitter, ahearty draught of liquor.
ings, cattle shows.            Wanchansie, unlucky.               Whittle, a knife.
Tumbler-wheels, the wheels of a   Wanrest, wanrestfu', restless, un-  Whunstane, a whinstone.
kind of low cart.                  restful.                       Wi', with.
Tug, raw hide, of which in old   Wark, work.                          Wick, to strike a stone in an obtime plough-traces were fre-  Wark-lume, a tool to work with.         lique direction, a term  in
quently made.                  Warld's-worm, a miser.                 curling.
Tug or tow, either in leather or  Warle, or warld, world.             Widdifu, twisted like a withy, c-e
rope.                          Warlock, awizard; warlock-knowe,       who merits hanging.
Tulzie, a quarrel, to quarrel, to      a knoll where warlocks once   Wiel, a small whirlpool.
fight.                             held tryste.                   Wifie-wifikie, a diminutive oi enTwa, two; twa-fald, twofold.       Warly, worldly, eager in amassing      dearing name for wife.
Twa-three, a few.                      wealth.                        Wight, stout, enduring.
Twad, it would.                   Warran', a warrant, to warrant.    Willyart-glower, a bewildered disTwal, twelve; twalpennie worth,  Warsle, wrestle.                         mayed stare.
a small quantity, a penny-  Warsl'd, or warst'led, wrestled.      Wimple-womplet, to meander, meworth.-N. B. One  penny   Wastrie, prodigality.                       andered, to enfold.
English is 12d. Scotch.        Wat, wet; I wat-I wot-I know.  Wimplin, waving, meandering.
-                              -------            ~ —-----—' —---  -  -e~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...... 




542                                      GLOSSARY.
Win', to wind, to winnow.         Woer-bobs,the garterknittedbelow    Yearns, longs much.
Winnin'-thread, putting  thread       the knee with a couple of loops.   Yealings, born in the same year,
into hanks.                   Wordy, worthy.                         coevals.
Win't, winded as a bottom of yarn.  Worset, worsted.                 Year, is used both for singular
Win', wind.                       Wrack, to tease, to vex.               and plural, years.
Win, live.                        Wud, wild, mad; wud-mad, dis-   Yell, barren, that gives no milk.
Winna, will not.                      tracted.                       Yerk, to lash, to jerk.
Winnock, a window.                Wumble, a wimble.                  Yerket, jerked, lashed.
Winsome, hearty, vaunted, gay.    Wraith, a spirit, a ghost, an ap-   Yestreen, yesternight.
Wintle, a staggering motion, to       parition exactly like a living   Yett, a gate.
stagger, to reel.                 person, whose appearance is   Yeuk's, itches.
Wiss, to wish.                        said to forbode the person's   Yill, ale.
Withouten, without.                   approaching   death;  also   Yird, yirded, earth, earthed, buWizened,   hide-bound,   dried,       wrath.                             ried.
shrunk.                       Wrang, wrong, to wrong.             Yokin', yoking.
Winze, a curse or imprecation.    Wreeth, a drifted heap of snow.    Yont, ayont, beyond.
Wonner, a wonder, a contemptuous  Wyliecoat, a flannel vest.         Yirr, lively.
appellation.                  Wyte, blame, to blame.              Yowe, an ewe.
Woo', wool.                                                          Yowie, diminutive of yowe.
Woo, to court, to make love to.                  Y.                  Yule, Christmas.
Widdie, a rope, more properly   Ye, this pronoun is frequently
one of withs or willows.          used for thou.
THE END.