s^ ^ mVEftsny OF CAIIFOWM mvERsm ty^- 771 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS. PIECES PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, :rt burns ST.- *■ Ji •t,_\/_.l,.~„ O TIjT-^J ,„o";j moerf,-, KILMARNOCK EDITION, IN TWO VOLUMES, REVISED AND EXTENDED. THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS, AEEANGED IN THE OEDER OF THEIE EAELIEST PUBLICATION. VOLUME FIRST, PIECES PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOB ; WITH NEW ANNOTATIONS, BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES, &C, EDITED BY WILLIAM SCOTT DOUGLAS. "0 DEEM not, mldet this worldly strife. An Idle art the poet brings: Let high philosophy control, And sages calm the stream of life : 'Tis HIS refines its fountain-springs — The nobler passions of the souV—CampheU. KILMARNOCK: M'KIE & DRENNAN. MDCCCLXXVI. V. \ THIS EDITION OF THE LIFE AND POETICAL WORKS THE NATIONAL BARD OF SCOTLAND ALTHOUGH exphessly designed foe popular cieculation, IS, NEVERTHELESS, BY SPECIAL AUTHOEITY OF ^^t ^'flbkmen nnb ^tnlkimn of I^je Caklfcroman fiunf, RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE PUBLISHEE TO THEM, AS WOUTIIY SUCCESSORS OF THE EARLY PATRONS OF BURNS ; IN IMPLICIT CONFIDENCE THAT THEY, LIKE THEIE PREDECESSORS OF 1787, ■'BEAR THE EOyOES, AND IXUERIT THE VIRTUES OF TUEIR AXCESTORS." P E E F A C E. " A ti'ue Poet— a man in whose heart resides some effluence of Wisdom, some tone of the ' Eternal Melodies,' is the most precious gift that can bo bestowed on a generation: his life is a rich lesson to us; and wo mourn his death as that of a benefactor who loved and taught us."— Carlyle- In these days when new editions of Burns are " as plentiful as blackberries in autumn," a few words by way of preface may naturally be expected here, to account for the appearance of these volumes. It is now more than twenty years since the present editor felt that he might opportunely say and do somethmg regarding Burns, whose biography and writings had long been the favourite recreation and study of his leisure hours. Contented as he was to read and admire, in common with the rest of the world, the memoirs of the Bard, with relative words of wisdom and enthusiasm from the pens of Currie, Walker, Lockhart, Carlyle, Cunningham, and Wilson, he neverthe- less, could not help being dissatisfied with the looseness, and abounding inaccuracies as to dates, facts, and details, uniformly exhibited by the Poet's editors, in treating of notable events in his brief career. The increasing interest everywhere felt concerning Burns, had created a strong /»ror for hunting up and recording petty anecdotes regarding him, ( vi ) • and accumulating his impromptu versicles and fragmentary effusions. A host of peripatetic annotators fed the press from time to time with their gatherings, but no one seemed to set himself earnestly to the task of investigating important facts in the Poet's history, hitherto misrep- resented or embellished with fiction, and of correcting palpable errors of date, as well in the details of his Life, as in the arrangement of his Correspondence. In the course of preparing — for his own use — a chrono- logical table of the principal events of the Poet's life and the productions of his Muse, it fell to the lot of the editor to make some remarkable discoveries in reference to what had hitherto been a very obscure and mysterious passage in the history of Burns — namely, that of his brief but tender intercourse with the " Highland Mary " of his most impassioned and affecting lyrics. These revelations were announced to the world through the medium (first) of Dr. Daniel Wilson, now of Toronto, and (secondly) of Dr. Robert Chambers, of Edinburgh. The result of his researches caused considerable commotion at the time in literary circles, and awakened the interest (among other magnates of the press) of Professor Wilson and J. G. Lockhart. Some lasting public benefit has accrued from the humble labours referred to ; inasmuch as the new discoveries formed the main inducement for Chambers to echt and pubhsh, in 1851-52, his admirable Chronological Edition of Burns, in four volumes. So very satisfactory, as a whole, is the edition by Chambers, just referred to, that the present writer would ( vii ) have felt it unecessary to come before the pu1)lic as an editor of Burns, had not the "chapter of accidents" dragged him forward, by making him acqi;aiuted with Mr. M'Kie, publisher of the finely executed facsimile of the Poet's rare Kilmarnock Edition, 178G, (here reproduced verbatim et literatim, although our facsimile extends only to the title-page.) It was the desire of Mr. M'Kie, that the present editor should assist him in bringing out, for popular circulation, a more complete and accurate Edition of the Poems and Songs of Burns than has hitherto been presented to the public. For the plan of these twin- volumes, — the one shewing, in successive groups, all the Poems and Songs which the Author lived to see in print ; and the other, containing his posthumous publications similarly arranged; thus telling of life in the one, death in the other, and immortality in both, — the editor is alone responsible. For the annotations throughout the work and the Chronological Memoii' prefixed to this volume, both together comprising more letterpress than is contained in the Author's text, the editor is also responsible. That refined portion of the Poet's admirers who can reUsh his inspiration only after it has been distilled and filtered into a " well undefiled," in the form of a " Family Edition," need not expect to find here much sympathy with their peculiar tastes ; for no castration, suppression, or vitiation of the Author's text has been resorted to, nor has a single known production of his Muse been excluded, that can really bear the light of print. ( viii ) The editor's grateful acknowledgments arc due to several warm appreciators of his efforts, who kindly aided bim with their contributions during the progress of the work; but to no source of assistance is he more indebted, than to the ample stores of Burns-literature which were readily supphed to him from the private library of the publisher. During the interval of four years since the date of our former edition, several original poems by Bmnis have been brought to light. The Ode to Washington^ hitherto known to the public only in the form of a " Fragment of Liberty," has made its appearance from America in a complete shape, and the " Glenriddel Manuscripts," which for seventy years had been hid from public inspection, were ushered into dayhght in 1874. It thus became necessary that our " Kilmarnock Edition " should be made complete by every new accession. This, together with the consideration that our publisher's shelves are entirely cleared of the former edition of 2,000 copies is the best apology for re-appearing thus early before the world of the Poet's admirers. Advantage of this oppor- tunity has been taken to overhaul and remedy errors in both volumes, and our friendly reviewers will perceive that faults formerly pointed out in course of criticism, have been candidly corrected. Edinburgh, Jhhp, 1S76. CONTENTS OF VOLUME FIRST. Pago Chronological Summary of the Life and Writings of Robert IJurns, ..... xvii Fac-simile Title-page of Original Kilmarnock Edition, xciii The Poet's First Preface (verbatim), . . xcv The Twa Dogs: a Tale, . . . . 1 Scotch Drink, ..... 8 The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer, . .12 Postscript to the above, . . . . 17 The Holy Fair, . . . . .19 Address to the Deil, . . . . 26 The death and dying words of poor Mailie, . . 30 Poor Mailie's Elegy, .... 32 Epistle to J. S****, . . . .34 A Dream : The Royal Birth-day Levee, . 40 The Vision (as oi'iginalli/ j)ublishedj, . . .44 Halloween, ..... 52 The farmer's salutation to his auld mare, Maggie, . Gl The Cotter's Saturday Night, . . . C5 To a Mouse, . . . . .71 Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet, . . 73 Lament on the unfortunate issue of a friend's amour, 78 Despondency : an Ode, . . . .81 -Man was made to mourn : a Dirge, . . 83 Winter : a Dirge, . . . . .86 A Prayer in the prospect of Death, . . 87 To a Mountain-Daisy, . . . .88 To Ruin, ..... 90 Page ' Epistle to a young Mend, . . . 91 On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies, . 95 A Dedication to G**** ip******, Esq., . 98 To a Louse, ..... 102 Epistle to J. L*****k, April 1st, 1785, . 104 To the same, April 21st, 1785, . . 109 To W. S*****n, Ochiltree, . . 113 Postscript to the foregoing, . . 117 Epistle to J. R******, enclosing some poems, . 120 Song — The Rigs o' Barley, . . . 123 Song composed in August, . . . 124 Song — From thee, Eliza, I must go, . . 126 The Farewell— To St. James's Lodge, Tarbolton, 127 —Epitaph on a henpecked country Squire, . .128 Epigram on said occasion, . . . 128 Another on the same, . . . .129 Epitaph on a celebrated ruling Elder, . . 129 on a noisy Polemic, . . .129 on Wee Johnie, . . . 130 for the Author's Father, . . .130 • for R. A., Esq., ... 131 for G. H., Esq., . . . .131 A Bard's Epitaph, .... 131 Note in reference to the Authors Glossary in First Edition, . . . . .132 Pieces added in the Acthok's new edition PUBLISHED AT EDINBURGH IN ApRIL, 1787. Dedication — to the Noblemen and Gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt, . . . .135 Death and Doctor Hornbook, . . . 137 The Brigs of Ayr, .... 143 The Ordiiuition, . . . . 151 The Calf, ...... 155 The \h\o\\ (ddditional published stanzas), . 157 Sup])ressed stanzas of " The Vision," . . 159 Address to the unco guid, or the rigidly righteous, 162 Tam Samson's Elegy, . . . .165 The Epitaj)!!, and ]'er Contra, . . 168 ( xi ) A Winter Night, .... Stanzas composed in the prospect of Death, Verses left at a reverend friend's house. The First Psalra paraphrased, . A Prayer, under tlie pressure of violent anguish, The first six verses of the Ninetieth Psalm, To Miss L , with Beattie's Poems, Address to a Haggis, .... Address to Edinburgh, Songs. John Barleycorn : a Ballad, When Guilford good : a Fragment, My Nanie, 0, . . . • Green grow the rashes. Again rejoicing Nature sees. Farewell to Ayr, .... The big-bellied Bottle, Concluding Note on Edinburgh Edition: — '■• Bui-ns first Winter in the Citij" . Page IGIJ 172 174 175 176 177 178 179 181 183 185 188 190 191 193 194 196 Songs Produced by Burns, in the first four YoLS. OF *' Johnson's Musical Museum." Introductory Note, . . . . .197 Songs from Johnson's First Vol., May 22, 1787. Young Peggy, . . . . .199 The joyful Widower, .... 201 Bonie Dundee, . . . . .202 Songs from Johnson's Second Vol., Feb. 14, 1788. To the Weaver's gin ye go, ... 203 Whistle, an' I'll come to you, my lad, . . 204 I'm o'er young to marry yet, . . . 205 The birks of Aberfeldy, ... 206 M'Pherson's Farewell, . . . .207 The Highland Lassie, 0, . . . 208 Tho' cruel Fate should bid us part, Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? Strathallan's Lament, What will I do gin my Hoggie die? Jumpin John, Up iu the morning early. The Young Highland Rover, The Dusty Miller, I dream'd I lay, &c., Duncan Davison, Theniel Meuzies' bonie Mary, A' the lads o' Thornie-bank, The l)anks of the Devon, . Duncan Gray (older set). The Ploughman, Landlady, count the lawin. Raving winds around her blowing. How long and dreary is the night (first Musing on the roaring ocean, Blythe was she. To daunton me. Talk not of Love, it gives me pain. O'er the water to Charlie, . A Rose-bud by my early walk, To a Blackbird, . Bonie Peggy i^lison, . Rattlin', roarin' Wilhe, Peggy's charms, Tibbie, I hae seen the day, Clarinda, mistress of my soul, . Songs from Johmotis Third Vol., Feb. set), Introductori) Note, . I love my Love in secret, Tibl)ic Duiil)ar, Higliland Harry back again. The Taylor fell thro' the bed, Ay waukin 0, . Beware o' bonie Ann, 2, 1790. Pago 210 210 211 212 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 230 237 237 238 238 239 240 240 ( xiii ) Laddie, lie near mo fold ivordsX The Gardener wi' his paidle, On a bank of flowers, . Tlie day returns, my bosom burns, My Love she's but a lassie yet, Jamie come try me, My bonie Mary, The lazy mist. The Captain's Lady, I love my Jean — " Of a' the airts," Carl, an the king come. Whistle o'er the lave o't, . 0, were I on Parnassus hill, The captive ribband, There's a youth in this city, My heart's in the Highlands, John Anderson my jo, Awa', Whigs, awa', Ca' the ewes to the knowes (first setj^ Merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, A mother's lament for the death of her The braes o' Ballochmyle, . The rantin dog, the daddie o't. My Mary, dear departed Shade, Eppie Adair, . The Battle of Sherra-Moor, Young Jockey was the blythest lad A waukrife Minnie, For a' that, an' a' that (first setj, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, Killicrankie, - The blue-eyed Lassie, The banks of Nith, Tarn Glen, Songs from Johnson's Fourth Vol Introductory Note, . Craigie-burn Wood, son Page 241 242 243 244 244 245 246 246 247 248 249 250 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 263 264 266 266 267 268 269 270 271 271 , Angiist 18, 1792. 273 274 ( xiv ) Frao tlie friends and land I love, John, come kiss rae now, Cock up your beaver, My tocher's the jewel, . Then Gudewife, count the lawin. Prose History of tlie Whistle, . The Whistle : a Ballad, There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? The bonie lad that's far awa', . I do confess thou art sae fair, Sensibility, how charming. Yon wild mossy mountains. It is na, Jean, thy bonie face, . Eppie, M'Nab, .... Wha is that at my bower door? The tears I shed (verse added by BurnsX The bonie wee thing, . The tither morn, .... Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, As I was a wand'ring, I'll never lay a' my love, upon ane (old Song), Lovely Davies, .... The weary pund o' tow, I hae a wife o' my ain. When she cam ben she bobbed, O for ane-aud-twcnty, Tam, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie, Bess and her spinning-wheel, My Collier Laddie, Nithsdale's welcome hame, . Johnny o' the Buskie-glen, Fair Eliza, .... Ye Jacobites by name, The Posie, .... There was a pretty May (old Ballad), . The banks o' Doon (first version), . Ye Ijanks and l)raes o' bonie Doon, Sic a wife as Willie had, Lady Mary Ann, ( XV ) Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. . 314 Kellyburn IJraes, . 315 Jockey fou (verse added h Burns), . 317 The Slave's lament, 317 The Song of Death, • • . . 318 Afton Water, . , , 319 Bonie Bell, • . • . 321 The gallant "Weaver, . , , 322 The Carls o' Dysart, • . • . 323 can ye labour lea, young man? 324 The deuks dang o'er my daddie. . 325 She's fair and fause, . . 326 The deil's awa' wi' th' Exciseman, . . 327 Additional Poems, first included in the Author's Edition, April, 1793. Introductory Note, . . . . .329 Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on Nithside, 331 Ode, sacred to the memory of Mrs. of , . 333 Elegy on Capt. M H , , . 335 The Epitaph on the same, - . . . 338 Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, . . 340 To R***** G***** of F*****, Esq. ffourth Epistle), 342 Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn, . , 345 Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, . . 348 Tam o' Shanter : a Tale, .... 349 The vrounded Hare, . . . . 357 Address to the Shade of Thomson, . . 358 On the late Captain Grose's peregrinations, . 360 To Miss C*»*******^ a very young lady, . . 363 Song — Anna, thy charms ray bosom fire, . 364 Verses on the death of John M'Leod, Esq., . 365 The humble petition of Bruar Water, . 367 On scaring some water-fowl in Loch-Turit, . 370 Written in the parlour of Kenmore Inn, . 371 Written while standing by the Fall of Fyers, . 373 On the birth of a posthumous child, . . 374 b ( xvi ) Songs, from Thomson, which were Pcblisded DURING THE AuTHOR's LU'^ETIME. (First Half-volume, ITQS.J Page Introductory Note, . . . . .375 Wandering Willie, .... 377 Galla Water, . . . . .379 Auld Rob Morris, .... 381 Open the door to me, oh! . . . . 382 The Soldier's Return, .... 383 The Poet's Valedictonj Address, . . . 387 The Author's Kilmarnock and Edinburgh Glossaries combined, ..... 391 Addenda to foregoing, from Currie's Edition, 1800, 405 CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ROBERT BURNS. " Far more interesting than any of the written works of Burns, as it appears to us, are his acted ones — the life he willed, and was fated to lead among his fellow-men. These Poems are but little rhymed fragments scattered here and there in the grand un-rhymed Romance of his earthly existence ; and it is only when intercalated in this, at their proper places, that they attain their full measure of siguiflcauce." — Carlyle. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. While Dr. Currie, under the sanction, and with the assistance of the Poet's literary executors, was preparing his noble biography and edition of Burns, Robert Heron anticipated him by producing, in 1797, not only a " respectable," but a very admirable little memoir of the Bard, concise certainly, but remark- ably accurate in its details, considering the scarcity of the materials placed in his hands. In his estimate of the Poet's genius, he falls little short of the highest praise and veneration that the greatest eulogists of Burns have, since then, vied with each other in giving utterance to; and in his delineation of the Bard's character, the main features are excellently drawn, although unfortunately, a little biased by the credence given to uninvestigated rumours which then floated about to the Poet's prejudice, concerning his convivial excesses and errors of moral conduct. Dr. Currie, in his observations on the Bard's failings, said much to confirm, and little to remove, the impressions which Heron has been unjustly blamed for originating. The Scots Magazine, for January, 1797, has an " Account of the Life and 'Writings of Robert Bums," which adopts much the same view as Heron has done of the Poet's infirmities OrOmek, iu 1808 and 1810, although overflowing with veneration for the genius of Burns, touches very slightly on his character ; and what little he has been induced to say on the subject of the poet's "blasphemy and ribaldry," our readers will find recorded at page 292, Vol. IL, of the present Work. Oromek's Reliques of Bwns, however, gave rise to undying articles from the pane of Jeffrey and Sir Walter Scott. ( xviii ) In 1811, Dr. Peebles— the "Peebles fi-ao tho Water-flt" of the Ilohj Fair " meek and mimly " published what he called, " Burnomania : " a discourse on " the Celebrity of Robert Burns, addressed to all real Christians," which a brother of the same cloth (now living) has characterised as "curious for its illiberality and misjudgment" In the same year Josi AH "Walker, a University Professor, who had been personally acquainted with the Poet, published an " Account of the Life and Character of Robert Burns," containing many judicious and valuable remarks on his writings ; but recording, at same time observations aud statements more damaging to the Poet's character — flowing as they seemed to do through so much apparent candour and pharisaical sj-mpathy — than the foulest aspersions that hitherto had assailed it. Another University Professor, some thirty years thereafter, by name Joun Wilson, threw dirt in Josiah Walker's face for all this. After this period (1811), by apparent universal consent, a demand for Justice TO Burns seemed to set in like a return tide, with reaction slow but sura Alexander Peterkin, in 1814, published a " Review of the Life and Writings of Robert Burns, and of various Criticisms on his Character and Writings," in which the current mis-statements and slanders against the Poet were generously repelled. In 1816, William Wordsworth, in a letter to James Gray, the early preceptor of the Poet's children, kindly took up the theme; aud in 1819, the Rev. Hamilton Paul, in a Life of Burns, prefixed to an edition of his poetical works, threw down the gauntlet to all the Poet's detractors, ecclesiastical and laic, and vigorously vindicated his character. In 1820, appeared what ia termed " Gilbert Burns' Edition of Dr. Currie's Life and Works of Burns," con- taining eloquent letters from Jambs Gray, and from Alexander Findlater (the Poet's immediate superior officer in the Excise), defending the bard from the effect of Currie's exaggerations and mis-statements ; and also containing retractions and apologies by Gilbert, in respect of his own share in misleading Dr. Currie. Hew Ainslie, a true poet himself, (and still alive in 1871, pro- ducing poetry in America!) published his Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns, which shall not soon be forgotten by tho Poet's countrymen here. In 1828, was published — a gem in Biography — " The Life of Robert Burns," by J. G. LOCKHArt, LL.B., tho son-iu-law, and future Biographer of Sir Walter Scott; and this brought forth tho noblest tribute to Burns that ever was penned — namely, a " Critique on Lockhart's Life of Burns," in the Edinburgh Revieiv, December, 1828, by Thomas Carlylb. In 1830, Sir Harris Nicolas, a blunt and straight-forward Englishman produced a " Memoir of Burns " — a reactionary performance, intended to throw cold water on the "hero-worship " which was now surrounding the Poet on every side, and consequently somewhat depreciatory in tone. It abounds ( -^ix ) in errors of fact, and therefore, fallacies in argument; but, notwithstanding these defects, we respect the honesty and manliness of the writer. "We do not approve of any " labouring to exalt our National Poet — of extenuating his faults, and denying his vices," and feel bound to agree with him in saying that " the merits of even the most valuable Lives of Burns are lessened by the paneg3Tical tone that is everywhere conspicuous." After naming these we can afford to be very brief. In 1834 and 183.5, Biographies by Allan Cunningham and by James Hogq were produced — the former especially warm and poetical in character, but very deficient in grip — the latter, a motley performance, and literally worthless, excepting where inverted commas mark the paragraphs. Need we, after this, refer to PaOFESSOa Wilson's Exsay on Burns, 1840 ?— to the Eev. p. HatelyWaddell's " Eulogy on the Genius and Morality of Eobert Burns," 1859?— or to his "Life of Burns: a Spiritual Biography," 18G7? Such seem, to common admirers of Bums like ourselves, unreliable flights of enthusiasm on the one hand, and mystical raptures of over-fed rhetoric on the other. The even-minded Kobert Chambees, in 1851-52, winds up his sensible memoirs of the Poet, with the following apt motto, taken from Hare's Life of Sterling, with which also we bring this note to a close: — " A bent tree Is not to be drawn as a straight one ; or the truth of history vanishes, and likewise its use as a discipline of knowledge and of wisdom — hence the representation of my friend's life is imsatisfactory. By the omission of certain portions, it might easily have been made to appear more satisfactory ; but then, it would have been a lie : and every lie — that people would believe it! — is at best but a whited sepulchre! " CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF BURNS, " The following Memoir of the Life of one who was a GREAT MAN, solely of GOD ALMIG IITY'S making such, has been composed on the principle that it is the proper business of the biographer to trace the gradual developement of the character and talents op his hero, with all the changes which these undergo from the influence of external circumstances, between the cradle and the grave; and at same tiiie, to record all the eminent effects which the display of that character and the exercise of those talents have produced on Human Society, in the sphere within which they were exhibited AND EMPLOYED."— iJo&ert Heron, 1797. PATEENAL ANCESTRY OF BURNS. Ev'n I rcho sing in rustic lore, Haply my Sires have left their shed, Andfac'd grim Danger's loudest roar. Bold-following where your Fathers led! — (P. 182, Vol. I.) " My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer [who, hke his ancestors, had rented Lands of the noble Keiths of Marisehal, and had the honor of sharing their fate. I do not use the word /lonor with any reference to pohtical principles : loyal and dishi/al I take to be merely relative terms in that ancient and formidaljle court, known in this country by the name of Club-law, where right is always with the strongest. 15ut those who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands with iufamy, for what they sincerely believe to be the cause of God, or their King, are — as Mark Anthony says of IJrutus and Cassius — ' honorable men.' I mention this circumstance, because it threw my father on the world at large], where, after many ( xxi ) years' wauderiuj?s and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of observation and experience, to wbicli I am indebted for most of my little pretensions to wisdom." — A utobiographij. [That part of the foregoing passaRe which we have placed within brackets, was omitted by Dr. Currie at the request of Gilbert Burns, who had the timidity to deny that his ancestors liad been Jacobites; and with a view to disprove that fact, referred to the terms of a parish certificate found among his fallicr s papers, testifving that " the bearer had no concern in the hile tcicked i-cbellion. Of course, William Burness had not, for he was not alive in 1715, and although twenty-four years old, and capable of bearing arms in 1745, it is linowu that when only nineteen years of ago, he left his native district, and worlied as a gardener, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. In language very similar to that quoted in the text, the poet thus wrote to Lady W. M. Constable, in 1789 :— " Though my fathers had not illustrious honors and vast properties to hazard in that contest tf/iere even to be wtfovttinate teas ;;/o;'iOM,«,— though they left their humble cottages only to add so many units more to the unnoted crowd that followed their leaders,— yet what they could they did, and what they had they lost : with unshal^en firmness, and unconcealed political attachments, they shook hands with ruin, for what they esteemed the cause of their king and country." " My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; My fathers have fallen to right it ; Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, That name should he scoffingly slight it."— (P. 138, Vol. II.) See also, Stralhallan's Lament, page 211, Vol. L] THE POET'S PEDiaBEE. " I HAVE not the most distant pretensions to assume that character which the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a gentleman. When at Edinburgh, last winter, I got acquainted in the Herald's Office, and looking through that granary of honors, I there found almost every name in the kingdom ; but as for me — My ancient, but ignoble blood Has crept through scoundrels ever since the nooi."—Autob. [In 18.37, however, a search made in the same quarter by Dr. James Burness of Montrose, a grandson of the poet's cousin and correspondent, was more successful. Tradition had assigned as the root of the Burness famiJy-tree planted in Kincardineshire, a certain Walter Campbell, from Argyleshire, who had, in the early part of the seventeenth century, for political or prudential reasons, abandoned his native district, dropping his proper surname, and assuming that of liurnhousc or Burness, and settled in the parish of Gleubervic, in the Mearns. The public registers consulted by Dr. Burness, shewed that this Walter of Buei^house had desceudents, as follow:— (1.)_Walter Burness, who possessed the farm of Bogjoran, in the same parish : he had four sons, one of whom we shall follow. (2.)— James Burness, born in 1656, became tenant of the farm of Brawlinmuir, in Glenborvie. He died in 174-3, aged eighty-seven. Of several sons or his, we need follow only one, who ranks as number three. ( xxii ) (3.)— Egbert Burness (grandfather of the popt,) who routed the farm of Cloekenhill, on the lands of Dunuotar, the estate of the Earl Marischal — attainted in 1710, for his concern in the reliellion. IJuhert liccaino .5ymf/K»u> involved in the ruin which overtook the Keiths: he had three sonw and four daughters. The eldest Ron, ,7amks, horn in 1717, afterwards settled in Montrose, and attained a position of Influence there: ho became the head of that branch of the ISurness family which produced the late Sir Alex. Burnos, the Eastern traveller, who, along with his brother Charles, was killed at Cabool in November, 1841; and also Dr. James Burnes, physician-general of the Bombay army — likewise distinguished as a diplomatist in connection with the Government in India. The third son of Kobert Burness was named Robert: family misfortunes at ClockenhlU compelled him, while a mere lad, to leave home along with the poet's father, and seek labouring work in the south country. Poor " Uncle Eobert" died in the poet's house at EUisland, in 1789. (4.) — William Burness, second son of Eobert Burness, was bom in 1721, left the Mearns about the year 1740, and finally settled in Ayrshire, where, on 25th January, 1769, he became the father of (5.)— KOBEET BUENS, the Poet of Scotland.] THE PAEENTS OF BUENS: THEIE OHAEACTEE AND PHYSICAL CONTOUE. [A.D. 1757.] William Burness, born at Clockenhill, iu The Mearns^ 11th November, 1721, and Agnes Brown, born in the Carrick district of Ayrshire, 17th March, 1732, were — according to the record in their Family Bible, now in possession of Gilbert Burns, nephew of the poet, presently resident in DubUn — "married together, 15tII DECEMBER, 1757." " I have met with few who understood ' men, their manners, and their ways,' equal to liim ; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovernal)le irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances ; consequently, I was born a very poor man's son." — Autohiofjrajiliij. " This worthy woman, Agnes Brown, had the most thorough esteem for her husband of any woman I over know. At all times, and in all companies, she listened to him with a more marked attention than to any body else, and I can by no means wonder that she highly esteemed him; for I myself have always considered William Burness as by far tho best of the human race that over I had the pleasure of being acquainted with — and many a worthy character I have known. I can cheerfully join with Robert in the last line of his epitaph — borrowed from Goldsmith— ilnd even his failings leaned to Virtue's side." — John Murdoch's Narrative. ( xxiii ) "According to Mrs. Begg, her mother was about the ordinary height;— a well- made, sonsy figure, with a beautiful red and white complexion— a skin the most transparent Mrs. Begg ever saw — rod hair, dark eyes and eyebrows, with a fine square forehead. With all hor good qualities— and they were many— her temper, at times, was irascible. William Burness, the father of the poet, was a thin, sinewy figure, about five feet eight or nine inches in height, somewhat bent with toil; his haffet-locks thin and bare, with a dark, swarthy complexion. From this it will bo seen that Burns inherited his swarthy complexion from his father— not from his mother, as stated by Cunningham: men who rise to celebrity in the world, are generally supposed to inherit their genius from the maternal side. If it shall be said that Burns inherited his love of ballad-lore from his mother, we may presume that he derived his strong manly sense from his father: — as to his genius — ' the light that led astray was light from heaven.' It may be traced in most of his poems, and flashes out in his lyrics, like sheet- lightning in a summer's eve, when sung to the simple and pathetic melodies of his native Und."— Captain Chas. Gray, in Wood's SONGS OF SCOTLAND, 1848. THE CLAY BIGGIN. With secret throes I marked that earth. That COTTASB witness of my birth. — (P. 159, Vol I.) " William Burness had been settled in Ayrshire ten or twelve years before 1 knew him In 17G5, and had been in the service of Mr. Crawford of Doonside. He was afterwards employed, as a gardener and overseer, by Provost Ferguson of Doonholm, in the parish of Alloway, which is now united with that of Ayr. In this parish, on the road-side, a Scots mile and a half from the town of Ayr, and half a mile from the (old) bridge of Doon, William Burness took a piece of land, consisting of about seven acres, part of which he laid out in garden ground, and part of which he kept to graze a cow, &c., still continuing in the employment of Provost Ferguson. Upon this little farm was erected a humble dwelling, of which William Burness was the architect. It was, with the exception of a little straw, literally a tabernacle of clay. In this mean cottage, of which I myself was at times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt a larger portion of content than in any palace in Europe. The Cotter's Saturday Night will give some idea of the temper and manners that prevailed there." — John Murdoch's Narrative. THE POET'S BIBTH. [1759.] That night, a child might understand The Deil had business on his hand. — (P. 352, Vol. I.) " Robert Burns, lawful son of William Burns, in Alloway, and Agnes Brown, his spouse, was born January 25, 1759: ( xxiv ) baptised by Mr. William Dalrymple. Witnesses — John Tennant and James Young." — Extract from the Session- Books of Ayr Parish. " One very stormy morning, when my brother was nine or ten days old, a little before daylight, a part of the gable of the cottage fell out, and the rest appeared so shattered, that my mother, with the young poet, had to be carried through the storm to a neighbour's house, where they remained a week, till their own dwelling was adjusted." — Gilbert Burns' Narrative. [See Song, There was a lad teas horn in Kyle, page 2G0, Vol. II. See Sonnet composed on the Author's Birthday, page 157, Vol. II. See also, The Vision, where Coila says to the bard, " I mark'd thy embryo- tuneful flame — thy natal hour."-'I'figo 49, Vol. I.] EARLY EDUCATION. [17G5.— AGE 6.] My talents they were not the tcorst, Nw yet my education. — (P. 257, Vol. IL) " In the month of May, 17G5, I was engaged by Mr. Bumess and four of his neighbours, to teach the little school at AUoway. My pupil, Eobert Burns, •was between six and seven years of age, his preceptor about eighteen. Eobert and his brother, Gilbert, had been grounded a little in English before they were put under my care. They both made a rapid progress in reading, and a tolerable progress in -writing, and were generally at the head of the class, when ranged with boys far their seniors. Robert's countenance was generally grave, and expressive of a serious, contemplative, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's face said. Mirth, uith thee I mean to live; and certainlj-, if any person who knew the two boys had been asked which of them was the most likely to court the Muses, ho would surely never have guessed that Kobert had a propensity of tliat kind." — Jolin Murdoch's Narrative. MOUNT OLIPHANT. [17GG.— AGE 7.] " For the first six or seven years of my hfe, my father Avas gardener to a worthy gentleman of small estate, in the neighbourhood of Ayr. ]Iad he continued in that station, I must have been inarched off to ))e one of the little underlings of a farm-house; but it was his dearest wish and prayer to have it in his power to keep his children under his own eye till they should discern between good and evil. So, with the assistance of his generous master, my father ventured on a small farm on his estate." — A utoh. ( XXV ) " In the year 17CG, Mr. Burncss quitted his mud edifice, and took possession of a farm of his own improving. Tho farm being a considerable distance from the school, the boys could not attend regularly, and some changes talking place among the other supporters of the school, I loft it, having continued to conduct it for nearly tv?o years and a half." — Murdoch's Narrative. " The farm of Mount Oliphant was upwards of seventy acres : the rent was £40 annually, for the first six years [Martinmas 17G5 to Martinmas 1771,] and afterwards [1771 to 1777] £4.5. My father endeavoured to sell his leasehold property* for the purpose of stocking this farm, but at that time was unable, and Mr. Ferguson lent him £100 for that ^xxr^ose."— Gilbert's Narrative. EARLY TEAINING CONTINUED. [17G8.— AGE 9.] An' buirdlij chiels and clever Mzzies, Are bred in sic a way as this is. — (P. 3, VoL I.) " At those years, I was by no means a favorite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a retentive memory — a stubborn, sturdy something in my disposition, and an euthusiastic idiot-piety. I say idiot-piety, because I was then but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar, and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. " In my infant and boyish days, I owed much to an old woman who resided in the family [Betty Davidson, a rela- tion by the mother's side,] remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and songs con- cerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, appari- tions, cautraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry. " The two first books I ever read in private, and which gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read * When the poet's father, In 1777, removed to Lochlea, he sold the leasehold right to the clan biamn and land adjoining, to the Corporation of Shoemakers of A}-r, who are s'till its proud owners. The Cottage has long been a country ale-house, and one of the apartments is converted into a sale-shop for "relics of Burns." A considerable addition was, some years ago, built to it, in the form of a fine large Hall to the back, in which the Burns Anniversary is regularly celebrated. ( xxvi ) since, were The Life of Hannibal [leut by Murdoch] and The Ilistorji of Sir William Wallace [leut by tbe village blacksmith.] Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a soldier; while the story of Wallace poured a tide of Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there till the floodgates of life are shut in eternal rest." — A utohiogvaphy. " It was then that Murdoch, our tutor and friend, left this part of the country; and there being no school near us, and our little services being useful on the farm, my father undertook to teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings by candle-light; and in this way my two eldest sisters got all the education they received." — Gilbert's Narrative. "BONIE BAEBNTIME."— THE CLOSED EECOED. I177L— AGE 12.] When skirlin weanies see (he light. — (P. 10, Vol. L) William Bukness and Agnes Brown were "Married together, 15th December, 1757: — "Had a son, Robert, 25th Jan., 1759 Had a son, Gilbert, 28th Sep., 1760 Had a daughter,. ..Agnes, 30th Sep., 1762 Had a daughter,. ..Anabella,.... 14th Nov., 1764 Had a son, William, 30th July, 1767 Had a son, John, 10th July, 1769 Had a daughter,... Isabel, 27th June, 1771." — Family Bible Record. piVhile we are transcribing the foregoing record, the reflection is forced upon VLB that Mrs. Begg, the last named in that list of seven brothers and sisters, would have been precisely 100 years old, had she survived to this time. Twenty- one years ago, wo had some correspondence with her, and she was pleased to favour us with a few notes in reference to this I'lirorwlogical Table now passing through the press, a draught of which had been transmitted to her for ex- amination and correction. Those notes of information will bo incorporated at their proper places. Mrs. Begg died in 1858.] "Nothing could bo more retired than our general manner of living at Mount Oliphant, where we rarely saw anybody but the memboi'8 of our own family." — OilberC't Narrative. ( xxvii ) [III the Tica Dogs, the picture of the fireside at Mount Oliphant is faithfully painted iu these lines, put into the mouth of Luath ; — "The dearest comfort o' their lives, Their grushie weans an' failhfu' wives; The prattling thiuRs are just their pride That sweetens a' their fire side. The cantio auld folks, crackin' crouse, The younp; anos rantin' through the house — My heart has been sac fain to see them, That I for joy hao barkot wi' them."] FAETHEB TKAINING AT MOUNT OLIPHANT. [1773.— AGE 14.] " In the year 1772, 1 was appointed to teach the English school at Ajt; and in 1773, Eobert Bums came to board and lodge with me for the purpose of revising Enghsh grammar, &c., that he might be better qualified to instruct his brothers and sisters at home. At the end of one week I told him I should like to teach him something of French. He took such pleasure in learning and I in teaching, that it was difficult to say which was most zealous in the business; and about the end of our second week of the study of French, he began to read the Adventures of Telemachus, in Fenelon's own words. "But now the plains of Mount Oliphant began to whiten, and Eobert was summoned to signalize himself in the fields of Ceres— and so he did ; for although under fifteen, I was told that he performed the work of a man. Thus was I deprived of my very apt pupil, and consequently agreeable companion, at the end of three weeks." — Murdoch's Narrative. " Mount Oliphant is almost the very poorest soil I know of in a state of culti- vation. My father in consequence of this, soon fell into difficulties, which were increased by the loss of several of his cattle by accident and disease. To the buffetings of misfortune, we could only oppose hard labour and the most rigid economy. We lived very sparingly, and for several years butcher's meat was a stranger in the house ; while all the members of the family exerted them- selves to the utmost of their strength — and rather beyond it — in the labours of the farm. My brother, at the age of thirteen, assisted in threshing the crop of corn, and at fifteen, was the principal labourer on the farm — for we had no hired servant, male or female. I doubt not, but that the hard labour and sorrow of this period of his life was, in a great measure, the cause of that depression of spirits with which Eobert was so often afflicted through his whole life after- wards. At this time, he was almost constantly afflicted in the evenings with a dull headache, which, at a subsequent period of his life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the heart, and a threatening of fainting and suffocation in the night-time." — Gilbert's Narrative. FIEST LOVE AND FIEST SONG. [177a— AGE 14.] SONG : once I loved a bonielass.—(P. 235, Vol. II.; references at p. 135, Vol. II.) ( xxviii ) " Tnis kind of life — the ebecrless gloom of a hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth year, a little before which period I first committed the sin of rhyme." — See fine passage in AutobiograpJiy^ in reference to this incident. " Many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over the glorious, but unfortunate story of "Wallace. Iq those boyish days I remember, in particular, being struck with that part of his story where these lines occur : — ' Syne to the Lcglen Wood, when it was late, To make a sUeut and a safe retreat' I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my time of life allowed, and walked half-a-dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen Wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as over pilgrim did to Loretto; and as I explored every den and doll where I could suppose my heroic countrj-man to have lodged, I recollect — for even then I was a rhymer — that my heart glowed with a wish to bo able to make a song on him, in some measure equal to his merits." — Burns to Afrs. Dunlop, October, 17S6. FARTHEB STRUGGLES, AND TRAINING IN POESY. [1775.— AGE IG.] " My father's generous master died ; the farm proved a ruinous bargain ; and to clench the misfortune, we fell into the hands of a factor who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my tale of The Twa Dogs. There was a freedom from his lease in two years more, and to weather these two years, we retrenched our expenses and lived very poorly. A novel-writer might perhaps have viewed these scenes with satisfaction ; but so did not I. My indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent, threatening letters which used to set us all in tears. " A collection of English songs was my vade mccwn. I pored over them driving my cart, or walking to labour — song by song — verse by verse; carefully noting the true, tender, or subhme, from affectation and fustian ; and 1 am convinced I owe to this practice much of my critic-craft, such as it is." — Autohiographtj. [Mrs. Begghas noted that her brother posRessed Hamsay's Tea-Table Miscellany at an early period, and also a collection of songs called T/tc Lark.'i " The mother of Dr. Paterson, now physician in Ayr, and widow of one of the established teachers there, frequently invited my father and mother to her ( xxix ) house on Sundays, when she met them at church. When she came to know my brother's passion for books, she kindly offered us the use of her late husband's library, and from her we got the Spcclalor, Pope's translation of Homer, aud several other books that were of use to ub."— Gilbert's Narrative. EAELY LYRICAL ATTEMPTS. [1770.— AGE 17.] " My father struggled on till he reached the freedom in his lease, when he entered on a larger farm, about ten miles farther in the country." — Autohiograiyliij. Song : / dream'd I lay ichere floxoers iKre springing. — (Page 216, Vol. I.) — " These two stanzas I composed at the age of seventeen, and are among the oldest of my printed pieces." — Reliques. Fragment: Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me. — (Page 2^A, Vol. II.) Song : raging Fortune's icithenng blast. — (Page 250, Vol. II.) Prayer: thou great Being .'—(P&ge 176, Vol. L) SONG : The Ruined Fanner.— (Page 395, VoL IL) Winter: a Dirge.— (P. 86, Vol. L)—" Eldest of my printed pieces."— (1787.) Tragic Fragment: All devil as I am, a damned wretch. — (Page 252, Vol. II.) " I was, I think, about eighteen or nineteen, when I sketched the outlines of a Tragedy, forsooth ! but the bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, which had for some time threatened us, prevented my farther progress." — Reliques. REMOVAL TO LOCHLEA. [1777.— AGE 18.] SONG : Tibbie, J hae seen the ctoy.— (Page 235, Vol. I.) SOKG: The Tarbolton Lasses.— (Page 396, Vol. II.) " It is during the time that we lived on this farm, that my little story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning of this period, perhaps the most ungainly, awkward boy in the parish, and no solitaire was less acquainted with the ways of the world. To give my manners a brush, I went to a country dancing school. " I was generally a welcome guest where I visited ; and where two or three were gathered together, there was I among them. Polemical divinity about this time was ( XXX ) putting tlie country half-mad ; and I, ambitious of shining in conversation parties on Sundays, between sermons, at funerals, &c., used, a few years afterwards, to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue and cry of heresy against me which has not ceased to this hour." — Autobiograph/. " My father took the farm of Lochlea, of 130 acres, in the parish of Tarbolton, of Mr. , then a merchant in Ayr, and now [171)7] a merchant in Liverpool. He removed to this farm at Whitsunday, 1777, and possessed it only seven years. No writing had ever been made out of the conditions of the lease; a misunderstanding took place respecting them ; the subjects in dispute were submitted to arbitration, and the decision involved my father in ruin." — Gilbert's Narrative. SUMMEE AT KIEKOSWALD. [1777.— AGE 18.] If anything on earth deserves the name of rapture or transport, it is the feelings of green eighteen in company of the mistress of his heart, ichen she repays him with an equal return of affection. — (Common-place Book, April, 1783.) '• A ciRCtHMSTANCE in my hfe which made some alteration in my mind and manners was, that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted school, to learn mensuration, surveying, dialing, &c., in which I made a pretty good progress ; but I made a greater progress in the knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at this time very successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation w^ere, till this time, quite new to me ; but I was no enemy (o social life. Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high hand with my geometry, till the sun entered Virgo — a month which is always a carnival in my bosom, when a charming///e«e, who lived next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent from the spheres of my studies. I, however, struggled on with my sines and co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into tlie garden one charming noon, to take the sun's alti- tude, there I met my angel — ' Like Prcserpine gathering flowers — Herself a fairer flower.' ( xxxi ) It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. The remaining week I stayed I did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or steal out to meet her ; and the two last nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless." — Autobiography. [The young poet was then in the district where his mother's relatives resided, and here he is said to have first piolied uji the story which furnished the materials for his future Tarn o' Shanter. Here also, it is supposed, the first idea was formed of his ultimate vocation of Excise-officer, for undertaking the technical duties of which post, he was then unconsciously being trained. The name of tho " charming flllette " who interrupted his studies, was Peggy Thomson, and, according to Mrs. Begg, he renewed acquaintance with her at a. later period of life, when his " Song composed in August " received a brushing up into its published shape.] SONQ : Now fcestUn tcinds and slaugM ring guns. — (Page 124, Vol. I.) " Song second [of Edinburgh edition], was the ebulli- tion of that passion which ended the forementioned school business. " — A utohiography. LIFE AT LOCHLEA AND TAEBOLTON. [1778-79.— AGE 19-20.] " I RETURNED homc [from Kirkoswald] very considerably improved. My reading was enlarged with the very important addition of Thomson's and Shenstone's works. I had seen human nature in a new phasis ; and I engaged several of my schoolfellows to keep up a literary corres- pondence with me. This improved me in composition. I had met with a collection of letters, by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, and I pored over them most devoutly. I kept copies of any of my own letters that pleased me, and a comparison between them and the compositions of most of my correspondents, flattered my vanity. " The great misfortune of my hfe was to want an aim. I had early felt some stirrings of ambition, but they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the walls of his cave. With a strong appetite for sociability, as well from native hilarity, as from a pride of observation and remark ; a constitutional melancholy or hypochondriaeism that made me fly from solitude; and to these incentives to / c ( xx.xii ) social life, add my reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical talent, a strength of thought, something like tlie rudiments of good sense ; and it will not seem surprising that I was generally a welcome guest where I visited." — Autohiograpliy. " The seven years that we lived in Tarbolton parish were not marked by much literary improvement; but, during this time, the foundation was laid of certain habits in my brotlier's character, which afterwards became but too prominent, and which malice and envy have taken del igh t to enlarge upon. Ho was constantly the victim of some fair enslaver. The symptoms of his passion were often such as nearly to equal those of the celebrated Sappho. I never, indeed, knew that he ' fainted, sunk, and died away ; ' but the agitations of his mind and body exceeded anything of the kind I ever knew in real life. He had always a particular jealousy of people who were richer than himself, or who had more consequence in life. His love, therefore, rarely ever settled on persons of this description. When he selected any one out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure to whom ho 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 disparity between his fair captivator and her attributes. One generally reigned paramount in his affections ; but as Torick's affections flowed out towards Madame de L at the remise-door, while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, so Eobert was frequently encountering other attractions, which formed so many underplots in the drama of his love." — Gilbert's Narrative. SONU : The Ronalds of the Bcnnals.—CPago 397, Vol. II.) LOVE ENTANGLEMENTS. [1779.— AGE 20.] " Were I a baron prottd and high. And horse and servants waiting ready ; Then a' 'ticad m a Tailor. — (Page 201, Vol. II.) The Court of Equity : a Poem.—12TU May, 1786:— " In Truth and lienor's name, amen! Know all men by these presents then, The twelfth of May, at Mauchlino given, And year 'tween eighty-five and seven : We [old practitioners] by profession — As per extracts frao Books o' Session— In way and manner here narrated, All con amove congregated, And by our brolhren constituted A Court of Equity." &c. [Such are the opening lines of a long composition of Burns which can never appear in any edition of his works intended for public circulation. A notice of it, however, cannot consistently in this place be withheld, if a full view of every pliase of Burns' mind and character is to be presented in the epitomized form here attempted. If the compiler had any doubt regarding the authenticity of this comic production, he would, of course, have passed it by; but the piece has been pretty widely circulated in privately printed and manuscript copies, and Chambers, in his last edition of Burns, makes pointed reference to it in these words: — "In the midst of the cross-fire of various affections, and the, dreary prospects of exile, he composed a poem on the reigning scandals of his village, — cases on which the Session record throws ample light, if light were of any use in the matter; but, unfortunately, though the mock-serious was never carried to a greater pitch of excellence than in this poem, its license of phrase renders it utterly unfit for publication." The date of its composition given by Chambers, is 4th June, 178G (Sunday, King George Third's Birthday), and although we have seen several copies, with that date inserted in its text, yet we are assured by Mr. Greenshields of Kerse, possessor of one or more copies of it which formed part of what are known as The Pickering MSS., that \2th Maij, 1786, is the date in the body of the Pickering copy, although the other date (4th June) is inscribed on the margin as that of citation or service. He also mentions that Pickering's editor (Sir Harris Nicolas), had collated the copy with several others, and marked, in red ink, innumerable variations.] THE EPISODE OF HIGHLAND MABY. [1786— MAY 14.— AGE 27.] Truth is stranger than Fiction — Aye, and stronger too! " The Second S^jnday of May."— Song : The Ilighland Lassie, 0.—(P. 208, Vol. I.) " This was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was known at all in the world. My Ilighland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of ( xlvi ) the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appoint- ment, on the second Siindai/ of May ^ in a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell, before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life." — Cromek's Eeliques, page 237. SONQ : Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary ?— (Page 85, Vol. II.) " I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 1 hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; And sae may the Heavens forget me, When I forget my vow 1" " In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies [!], I took this farewell of a dear girl. All my earlier love songs were the breathings of ardent passion ; and though it might have been easy for me in aftertimes to have given them a polish, yet that pohsh to me, whose they were, and who alone cared for them, would have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faith- fully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race." — Letter to Thomson^ Nov., 1792. "Such epochs in the history of our lives, may be termed the trials of the heart We treasure them deeply in our memory, and as time glides silently away, they help us to number our days. Of this character was the parting of Burns with his Highland Manj, that interesting female, the first object of the youthful poet's love C]. This adieu was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials which rustic sentiment devised to prolong tender emotions and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small, purling brook ; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and holding a Bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. They parted— never to meet again ! " — Cromek, 1808. Inscriptions on the Bibles presented by Burns to Highland Mary, accurately cojned from the originals, on their return from Canada, to be deposited in the Monmnent at Ayr, December, 1840 : — Vol. L— (Inside of board) : " And ye shall not swear by My name falsely : I am the Lord." — Levit. xix, 12. „ (Below Inscription) : Obliterated hfason-mark. „ (On opposite fly-leaf) : Inscription obtiterated— apparently "Hary Camp- bell." „ (Below Inscription) : The Poet's Mason-mark (very perfect). Vol. II.— (Inside of board) : "Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oath." — Matthew v, 33. „ (On opposite fly-leaf): Inscription considerably effaced, "HOBERT BURNS, MossGiEL." „ (Below Inscription) : Obliterated markings. ( xlvii ) [The handwriting is unmistaliably that of Burns, and the date on the Title Page is 1782. Bookseller's price, marked on Vol. I., " 5/6."] " BiUDQBHOCSE, AYR, 21sT JANUAET, 1850.— Mr. Douglas is perfectly right with regard to Burns and his Highland Mary's short love passage. It was in 1786, just as ho supposes; at least so my mother has all along thought, from a revulsion of feeling attendant on the heartless desertion of him by Jean Armour. Ho just then became acquainted with Mary Campbell, who was acting as nursery-maid in the family of Gavin Hamilton. He must have known her previously to that time, though his love-flt had only begun then. My mother has no doubt that he meant to marry her. " — Letter from MU* Agnet Begg to Robert Chambers. [The reference here is to a Paper by the present editor, which was read at a meeting of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, on ICth January, 1850 — John Whitefoord Mackenzie, Esq., in the chair; on which occasion. His Grace the Duke of Argyle, Lord Murray, and John Miller of Millfleld, Esq., wore elected as Fellows. Among the company present were — Sir W. C. 'Trevellyan, Sir James Eamsay ; Professors John Wilson, John Goodsir, and J. Y. Simpson ; Mr. Bobert Chambers ; Eev. A, K. Bonar; Drs. Huie, Eobertson, &c.] PEOGRESS OF THE PEESS, AND POSITION OF THE POET. [1786.— MAY 14 TO JULY 30.] The sacred lotce o' weel-placed love, luxuriantly indulge it. — (P. 92, Vol. I.) Mat 15. — Epistle to a young friend. — (Page 91, Vol. I.) „ 15. — [Servants' Term-day ; Mary leaves Ayrshire for the West Highlands.] „ 25. — " The Poet holds a Mason Lodge in Mauchline." — Chambers' Notes. June \.— Address to Beelzebub.— (Pa,se 297, Vol. II.) „ 4.— King's Birthday : A Dream.— (Pa,ge 40, Vol. I.) „ 9. — [Jean Armour returns to Mauchline, after three months' sojourn in Paisley. — See notes to The Gallant Weaver, page 322, VoL L] June 12. — "Poor, ill-advised, ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last You have heard all the particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is. What she thinks of her conduct now, I don't know ; one thing I do know — she has made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather adored, a woman more than I did her; and, to confess a truth between you and me, I do still love her to distraction after all, though I won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I don't want to do. " May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from my very soul forgive her; and may His grace be with her and bless her in all her future life ! I can have no nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment than what I have felt in my own breast on her account. I have tried often to forget her; I have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking-matches, and other mischief, to drive her out of my head, — but all in Tain. And now for a grand cure! — The ship is on her way home that is to take me out to Jamaica ; and then, farewell dear old Scotland I and farewell dear, imgratef ul Jean ! for never, never shall I see you more. / d ( xlviii ) "You will have heard that 1 am going to commence poet in print; and to- . morrow my works go to the press. I expect it will bo a volume of about 200 pages : it is just the last foolish thing I intend to do; and then turn a wise man as fast as possibly." — Letter to David Brice, at Olasgow. Address to the Umo Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous. — Page 162, Vol. I.) Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. — (Page 98, Vol. I.) On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies. — (Page 95, Vol. I.) SONQ: From thee, Eliza, J must go. — (Page 126, Vol. I.) Fareicell to the Brethren of St. James' Lodge, Tai-holton.—(?. 127, Vol. L) A Bard's Epitaph.— (Page 131, Vol. I.) SONDAY, July 9. — " I have waited on Armour since her return home ; not from the least view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for her health, and — to you I will confess it — from a foolish hankering fondness, very ill-placed indeed. The mother forbade me the house, nor did Jean show that penitence that might have been expected. However, the priest, I am informed, will give me a certificate as a single man, if I comply with the rules of the Church, which, for that very reason, I intend to do. I am (therefore) going to put on sackcloth and ashes this day. I am indulged so far as to appear in my own seat. Peccavi, pater; miserere me. The Lord stand with the righteous, amen! " My book will be ready in a fortnight." — Letter to John Richmond. July 17. — "I have already appeared publicly in church, and was indulged in the liberty of standing in my own seat. 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 blamed as the causo of it. though I am sure I am innocent; but I am very much pleased for all that, not to have had her company." — Letter to David Brice. SONG: The Lass o' Ballochmyle. — (Page 119, Vol. II.) July 22. — Burns executes an assignation of his effects — the proiits of his edition then in the press, and the copy- right of his poems, in favour of Gilbert Burns, for behoof of his own illegitimate child, Elizabeth Burns, — " wee image of my bonie Betty," born in November, 1 784.* July 29. — The " Kilmarnock Volume " ready for Publi- cation. rOi.D Home Forest, near Kilmarnock.— The poet's aunt, named Allan, resided there, and in her house he found shelter from legal diligence; and Uiither he conveyed the large sea-chest, containing his outfit and providings for the voyage to Jamaica.] •This child was brought up with the poofs mother and sisters, nt Mossgiol. In 1804, by the exertions of Mr. Aklorman Shaw of London, a fund of :.£400 was raised by Kul)scription, and sunk for behoof of this girl and anotner illegitimate child of the poet rborn in 1791)— to be equally divided between them at their marriag<", or arrival at majority, the survivor to succeed to the predeceasor's share. Both liveci to receive their marnage-tocher of £200 each. Bonie Betty's child survived to Dec, 1816, as the wife of John Bishop, Overseer at Polkemmet ( xlix ) ANIMOSITY OF THE ARMOURS— THE POET IN PRINT— AYBSHIBE IN AGITATION. [1786.— JULY 30 TO SEPTEMBER 3.] There's a Divinity tliai shapes our ends, rouah-hew them hoxe we wiU. " Old Rome Forest, SOth July, 1786. — My dear Rich- mond, my hour is now come : you and I shall never meet in Britain more. "Would you believe it ? Armour has got a warrant to throw me in jail till I find security for an enormous sum. I know you will pour an execration on her head ; but spare the poor, ill-advised girl for my sake." — Letter to John Eiclimond^ Edinburgh. July, 3J. — The blue-paper boarded thin octavo volume of "Poems, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, by Robert Burns," was issued to eager crowds of sub- scribers as fast as " Wee Johnie's " folders, stitchers, and binders could get through their work. The following list is made up from the careful typo- grapher's check-note of distribution, in the possession of Robert Cole, Esq., London : — Copies. Mr. Aiken, of Ayr, 14-5 Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, 72 Gilbert Burns, Mossgiel, 70 James Smith, Mauchline, 41 Gavin Hamilton, Mauchline, 40 John Logan, Esq., Laight, 20 John Kennedy, Dumfries House, 20 Mr. M'Whinnie, Ayr, 20 Copies. Amount brought over, 423 David Sillar, Irvine, 14 "Wm. Niven, Maybole, 7 Walter Morton, Cumnock, 6 John Neilson, Cumnock, 5 The Author, 3 The Printer, 70 Sundry persons, 67 Carry over,... 428 Total,... eoo [Mrs. Begg has noted the fact that, so very scarce did copies become within a few weeks after publication, the inmates at Mossgiel liad to wait till the appearance of the Edinburgh edition before they had an opportunity of reading their brother's poems in print. The poet, in his autobiography, saj's that ho cleared nearly £20 by the adventure, after paying outlays ; but, from the copy account between the poet and the printer — also in Mr. Cole's possession — Bums' profits ought to have exceeded Fifty Pounds.] " These poems eminently possessed all those qualities which never fail to render a literary work quickly and permanently popular. Old and young, high and low, grave and gay, learned or ignorant, — all were alike delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time resident in Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire ; and I can well remember how that even plough-boys and maid- servants would have gladly bestowed the wages which they earned the most liardly, and which they wanted for necessary clothing, if they might but pro- cure the works of Buens. A friend in my neighbourhood put a copy into my ( 1 ) hands on a Saturday evening. I opened the volume while I was undressing to go to bed, and closed it not till a late hour on the rising Sunday morn, after I had read over every syllable it contained." — Heron's Memoir of Burns, 1797. " August [15]. — A vessel sails from Greenock the 1st of September, right for the place of my destination. Where I shall shelter 1 know not, but I hope to weather the storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears them ! I know their worst, and am prepared to meet it : ' I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, as lang's I dow.' After all, Heaven bless the sex ! I feel there is still happiness for me among them : ' O Woman, lovely Woman ! Heaven designed you To temper Man! — we had been brutes without you.' " Lines on a Bank-note.— (Page 301, Vol. XL) Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains. — Page 300, Vol. II.) Imcribed on the Author's poems, presented to an old Sweetheart — (P. 131, VoL II.) THE "THIRD OF LIBRA," AND ITS RESULTS. [1786.— SEPTEMBER 3 TO NOVEMBER 27.] Then at the balance let's be mute, we never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, but know not what's resisted. — (P. 1C4, V. L) " MossGiEL, Sunday, 3rd Sept., 1786.— Wish me luck, dear Richmond ! Armour has just brought me a fine boy and girl at one throw. God bless them, poor little dears ! 'Green grow the rashes, O! green grow the rashes ! ^^^ The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, were spent amang the lasses, 01'' — Note to Richmond^ in Pickering MSS. Sept. 3.— The Calf : To the Rev. J. Steven, on his text in Church.— (V. 155, Vol. I.) Sept. 8.—" I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive. You will have heard that Armour has repaid me double. A very flue boy and girl have awakened thoughts and feelings that thrill, some with tender pressure, and some with foreboding anguish through my soul."— Z.e«er to Robert Muir. Nature's Law: a Poem, inscribed to Oavin Hamilton, J?*?.— (Page 302, Vol. XL) SONG: Willie Chalmers.— (Page 304, Vol IL) [Dr. Blacklock's Letter to the Rev. George Lawrie, dated, " Sept. 4, 1786."] Verses left at a Reverend Friend's Itouse, where the Author slept.— (Page 174, Vol. L) SONO : Ye sons of old Killie.— (Pago 3G4, Vol. II.) Tarn Samscm's Elegy.— {P. 105, Vol. I.) The BiHioM.—(P. 276, VoL IL) Profits of Edinburgh Edition, and Disposal thereof. — "I believe I shall, in whole (£100 copyright included), clear about £400, some little odds; and even part of this depends upon what the gentleman (Creech) has yet to settle with me. In a month, I shall go to town to wind up the business if possible. I have a younger brother, who supports my aged mother; another still younger brother and three sisters, in the farm of Mossgiel. On my last return from Edinburgh, it cost me about £180 to save them from ruin. Not that I have lost so much; I only interposed between my brother and his impending fate by the loan of so much. I give myself no airs on this," &c. — Letter to Moore, January 4, 1789. [" There can be no doubt that Burns' profits from his Edinburgh Edition exceeded £500. In his calculation he seems to have mentally included, as relative outlay, the money he spent in Edinburgh, and on his Tours." — Chambers.'] [Hurried visit to Edinburgh at end of February, when accounts between the poet and Creech were closed.] "I would have called on j'ou when I was in town, indeed I could not have resisted it, but that Ainslie told me you were determined to avoid your windows while I was in town, lest even a glance of me should occur in the Btreet" — Letter to Clarinda, March 9, 1789. " But for the consolation of a few solid guineas, I could almost lament the time that a momentary acquaintance with wealth and splendour put me so much out of conceit with the sworn companions of my road through life — insignificance and poverty ! . . . Often, as I have glided with humble stealth through the pomp of Princes street, it has suggested itself to me, as an im- provement on the present human figure, that a man, in proportion to his own conceit of his consequence in the world, should have power to push out the longitude of his common size, as a snail pushes out his horns, or as we draw out a prospect glass." — Letter to Mrs. Dtmlop, March 4, 1789. Happy Domestic Position. — " I am here in my old way, holding my plough, marking the growth of my corn or the health of my dairy, and at times sauntering by the delightful windings of the Nith — on the margin of which I have built my humble domicile — praj-iug for seasonable weather, or holding an intrigue with the Muses, — the only gipsies with whom I have now any inter- course. Ab I am entered into the holy state of matrimony, I trust my face is turned completely Zion-ward; and as it is a rule with all honest fellows to repeat no grievances, I hope that the little poetic licences of former days will, of course, fall under the oblivious influence of some good-natured statute of celestial prescription. In my family devotion — which, like a good Presbyterian I occasionally give to my household folks — I am extremely fond of the psalm. Let not the errors of my youth, &c., and that other, Lo, children are God's heritage, in which last, Mrs. Burns — who, by the by, has a glorious ' wood-note wild ' at either old song or psalmody — joins mo with the pathos of Handel's Messiak" — Letter to Mr. M'Auley. June 4, 1789. Jan'^. — Ode to the memory of Mn. Oswald of Auchincruive, — (Page 333, Vol. L) April. — Fragment inscribed to Charles James Fox. — (Page 144, Vol. IL) April. — Neu> Psalmody on the King's restoration from illness. — (Page 410, Vol. IT.) }>lAY.—Add7-ess to a Wounded //ar^.— (Page 357, Vol. I.) ( Ixvii ) May.— Address to the Toothaclie— (Page 140, Vol. II.) Ava.—The Kirk's Alarm.— (Vage '209, Vol. II.) Aug. 10.— Second Epistle to Mr. Graham of Fintnj.—(P&s<> 155, Vol. II.) E.rcise Expectancies.-"- There is still one thing would make my circumstances quite easy: I have an excise-ofDcer's commiBsion, and I live iu the midst of a country Division. My request to Mr. Graham was, if in his power, to procure me that Division. It I were very sanguine, I might hope that some of my great patrons might procure me a Treasury-warrant for supervisor, surveyor-general, &c. Thus, secure of a livelihood— 'To thee, sweet Poesy! delightful maid,' I would consecrate my future days." — Letter to Moore, Jan. 4, 1789. " I do not know ho w the word ' exciseman,' or still more opprobrious ' ganger,' will sound on your ears. I have seen the day when my auditory nerves would have felt very delicately on the subject; but a wife and children are things which have a wonderful power in blunting these kind of sensations ; and £50 a-year for life, and a provision for widows and orphans, you will allow, is no bad settlement for a Poet." — Letter to Ainslie, Nov. 1, 1789. "There is a certain stigma afOxed to the character of an excise-officer; but I do not pretend to borrow honour from my profession."— ie«er to Bishop Geddes, February 3, 1789. " I would much rather have it said that my profession borrowed credit from me, than that I borrowed credit from my profession."— ie«cr to Lady Qlencairn, December, 1789. [Enters on work as an Excisemaa Epigram.— P&ge 277, Vol. II.] Aug. 18.— Birth of a son— Francis Wallace. (Died in 1803.) Sep.— SONO : Willie brewed a peck o' maut.— (Page 268, Vol. L) Oct Ballad of tlie Whistle.— (P&ge 280, Vol. I.) Oct.— Epistle to Dr. Blacklock.— (Page 147, Vol. II.) Oct.— On Captain Groses Fercgrinations.—(Page 360, Vol. I.) THE FALL OF THE YEAR-" HORRID HYPOCHONDRIA." [Ellisland, 1789.— age 30.] There is a foggy atmospJiere native to my soul in the hour of care; consequently, the dreary objects seem larger than the life. Disgust with Fakmikg. — "If miry ridges and dirty dunghills are to engross the best part of the functions of my soul immortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I should not have been plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of clods and picking of grubs ; not to mention barn-door cocks or mallards, — creatures with which I could almost exchange lives at any time." — Biu-ns to Mrs. Dunlop. ( Ixviii ) " I mentioned to my lord, my fears concorning my farm : those fears were indeed too true ; it is a bargain would have ruined mo, but for tUo lucky cir- cumstance of my having an oxciso-commiBsion." — Letter to Lady Glencairn, December, 17S9. The Agony in the Barn-yard. — "The anniversary of Mary Campbell's death, awakening in the sensitive mind of Burns, the most lively emotion, he retired from his family, then residing on the farm of Ellisland, and wandered solitary on the banks of the Nith, and about the farm-yard, in the cxtremest agitation of mind, nearly the whole of the night. His agitation was so great that he threw himself on the side of a corn-stack, and there conceived his sublime and tender elegy — his address to Maey in Heaven." — Cromek, 1808. [Such is the simple and truth-like account of this picturesque incident given by the poet's first and best annotator after the time of Dr. Currie; (and that biographer purposely avoids all details on this delicate theme, for he distinctly Bays : " Its history it would be improper to reveal, were it even in our power, and its traces will soon be discoverable only in those strains of nature and sensibility to which it gave birth.") The authority which Cromek gives for his Btatemouts, is that of " several persons, some of them most nearly connected by the ties of relationship with the poet." But how very different is the above narrative from the sensational picture of the same incident, as furnished by Lockhart, from the same alleged authority, twenty years later ! It belongs to that class of tales which loses nothing by carriage. We are disposed to regard both versions as nujlliohigical : the story has evidently — and with little exercise of the inventive faculty — been derived from the lyric itself, — precisely like " William Hunter's affidavit" concerning the REAL PRESENCE at the Whistle-contest! The world has a large sensatlonal- Bwallow, and will not readily submit to bo baulked of its cherished mouthful, or to render it back after making the gulp, and being satisfied. It will ever be thus in the history of any human soul who appears among the ehUdren of men, and looms out largely above his fellows : the crust of mythology and exaggera- tion must infallibly attach to, and distort his natural proportions, and a dim religious mystery be thrown over the more hidden facts of his life. For our part, we have more satisfaction in conceiving that the poet, while in the act of composing this most artistic of his lyrics, was unobserved even by the wife of his bosom, who, most probably, knew less about the history of that secret love- attachment than we now do. We believe that, instead of "drooping, woeful- wan, like one forlorn, or crazed with care," and lying out on a mass of straw in the cold night-air, gazing at the silent stars (particularly the one that " shone like another moon '"), he was less uncomfortably laid beside his unconscious Jean on their "nightly couch." The "lingering star" — if star there was in view — glimmered through the window-pane of their little chamber, — not bright, but waning " with lessening ray " in the advancing llicker of the " early morn." This was no new experience of Burns; for, on a parallel occasion in which Jean had some concern, did ho not thus sing — "And when my nightly couch I try, Sore-harrass'd out with care and grief; My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief?" How naturally does " Mary in Heaven, " of 1789, recall its memorable counter- part, Tfie Lament, of 17SG: — " See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Uear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? " Why those groans in the imaginary presence of that " departed shade ? " Did he feel himself to be then " lowly laid," while thus stretched by the side of her whom, in the ear of the living Mary — the generous-hearted one — he had so solemnly renounced, and so bitterly denounced? Hut, conjectures in that direction are unavailing. We only know that so wakeful was the poet's memory concerning this mysterious theme, and so fondly did ho " brood " over it (and "with miser care," too), that all tmobserved by his Jean, and ushered in by no Bonsational appliances, ho composed, in his little study in the Woo Vennel, at ( Ixix ) Dumfries (precisely three years after tbiii period), another thrilling lyric ou Mary, of equal power with its predccoBsur! We cannot omit tliiw diipurtunity of^ re- ferring to the intense interest which the late Dr. Ghanilicrs took in the now light which, duriughis latter career, had liccusheil upon thiB remarkable partof Burns' history. Immediately ou adopting the new theory, he rested not till he pro- ceeded to tho West Kirkyard of Greenock, and searched till ho found tho precise date when Mary's relatives llrst ac(iuired a right of sepulture in that spot whore her remains were afterwards laid; nay, more (to use I3r. Waddclls words), " with an amount of care and anxiety, by astronomical and barometrical calculations, which endears tho learned gentleman to our hearts, he determined that 'Mary in llcaveu ' was compnsed and written ou Tuesday, the '20th of October, and that this was consciiueutly tho auuiversary-dato of the death of the hcruiue." !j THE EXCISEMAN-POET, AT HOME AND iVBKOAD. [ELLISLAND, 1790.— AGE 31.] Ve glaiket, gleesome, dainty Damies, wha by Castalia's wimplin slreamies Loirp, sing, and lave your jirclly limbies — ye ken, ye ken, T/iat Strang necessity supreme is 'mang sons o" men. Farmer and Exciseman. — " His farm was after this, in a great measure, abandoned to servants, while he betook himself to the duties of his new appointment. It was not at EUisland that he was now generally to be found. Mounted on horseback, this high-minded poet was pursuing the defaulters of the revenue among the hills and vales of Nithsdale, his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature, and ' muttering his wayward fancies ' as he moved along." — Currie. "My nerves are in a d state. I feel that horrid hypochondria pervading every atom of both body and soul. This farm has undone my enjoyment of myself. It is a ruinous affair on all hands. But let it go to ! I'll light it out, and be off with it. We have a decent set of players in Dumfries : the manager of the company, Mr. Sutherland, is a man of apparent worth. On New-Year's-Day evening I gave him the following Prologue :— ' No song nor dance I bring from yon great city,' &c. — [P. 151, Vol II.] If once I was clear of this d farm, I should respire more at ease."— ic«(?»- to Oilbert Burns, January 11, 1790. Sketch: New-Year's-Day: To Mrs. Dunlop.—f^&ge 160, Vol. IL) Scots Prologue for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit-night.— (P&ge 222, Vol. II.) Feb. 2.— [Third volume of Johnson's Museum published.— Forty songs by Burns —See page 237, Vol. I.] " Besides my farm business, I ride on my excise matters at least 200 miles every week : I have not by any means given up the Muses. Tou will see in the third volume of Johnson's Scots Songs, that I have contributed my mite thero."— Letter to Dunbar, January 4, 1790. ( Ixx ) Election Ballads: Tlie Laddies by the Banks o' Nith.—(9. 31G, Vol II.) The Five Carlines.—(P. 219, "Vol. II.) „ „ Fititry, my stay in worldly strife. — (P. 317, Vol. II.) Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson. — (P. 33.5, Vol. I.) [Obituarj-: — "1788, November 20, at Edinburgh, Matthew Henderson, Esq."] Song : Yestreen I had a pint o' wine.—{V. 224, Vol. II.) " In the summer of 1790, as well as in that of the subsequent year, Mrs. Burns had left her husband for several weeks, while she visited her father and mother at Mauchline. It was natural for the young wife to desire to spend a little time with her own relations, and to shew them her thriving young brood ; but it was an injudicious step for the wife of such a husband : it tended to break the good domestic habits which for some time our poet had been forming. His sister, Agnes, who had been at EUisland from the beginning, superintending the dairy, used to say that she never knew him fail to keep good hours at night, till the first unlucky absence of her sister-in-law in Ayrshire." — Chambers, 1851. Tourist-Visitors. — "The great Glasgow road ran through the poet's ground, and the coach often set down West-country passengers, who, trusting to the airt they came from, and the accessibi'iity of the bard, made their, sometimes unwelcome, appearance at the doors of EUisland. Such visitations — from which no man of genius is free — consumed his time, and wasted his substance ; for hungry friends could not be entertained on air." — A. Cunningham. Visit of Sir Egerton Brydges, and his Observations. — [In our former edition we recorded here, in the best of faith, an Interesting extract from the narrative of this visit to Burns at EUisland, published in the Metropolitan Magazine; but we have since been informed by Dr. Carruthers of Inverness that the said visit and conversation with the poet were purely ideal, having been written after the manner of Laudor's Imaginary Conversations with ancient Greeks and Eomans. Dr. Chambers certainly did not regard this visit as an " imaginary" one, for his words introductory to a largo extract from the Narrative, are these: — " An equally competent observer — the lato Sir Egerton Brydges — paid a visit to Burns about the same time (1790) ; and many years after, he thus reported his recollections of what passed. " However, when Chambers compiled the General Index at end of vol. 4, he seems to have been better informed, as there we read : — " Brj'dges, Sir Egerton, ideal visit of, :s.—{Vai;c 283, Vol. 11.) Burns in Sliadoie. — "Mr. David M'CuUoch, of Ardwell, has often told me that he was seldom more grieved, than when riding into Dumfries, one fine summer evening, ahout this time, to attend a county-l)all, ho saw Burns walking alone, on the shady side of the principal street, while the opposite side was gay with successive groups of gentlemen and ladies, all drawn together for the festivites of the night, not one of whom appeared willing to recognise him." — Lockhart, 1828. " There Is reason to helieve that, in his latter years, the Dumfries Aristocracy had partly withdrawn themselves from Burns, as from a tainted person, no longer worthy of their acquaintance. That painful class, stationed, in all pro- vincial cities, behind the outmost breast-work of gentility, there to stand siege, and do battle against the intrusions of grocerdom and graziordom, had actually seen dishonour in the society of Burns, and branded him with their veto, — had, as we vulgarly say, cut him! Alas! when we think that Bums now sleeps ' where bitter indignation can no longer lacerate his heart,' and that those fair dames and frizzled gentlemen already lie at his side, — where the breast-work of gentility is quite thrown down, — who would not sigh over the thin delusions and foolish toys that divide heart from heart, and make man unmerciful to his brother!" — Thomas Carlyle, 1828. June 25. — " I have been in poor health. I am afraid that I am about to suffer for the follies of my youth. My medical friends threaten me with a flying gout ; but, I trust they are mistaken. " 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 subject is Liberty : yon know, my honoured friend, how dear the theme is to me. I design it as an irregular Ode for Genera 1 Washington's Birth-Day. After having mentioned the degeneracy of other kingdoms, I come to Scotland, thus : — 'Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among,' " &c. — Page 282, Vol. II. — Letter to Mrs. lyunlop. Aug. 12.— Birth of a Son— James Glencairn Burns. (Died in ISGo.) Aug. — On the seas and far awau. — (Page 98, Vol. II.) Sep. — She says she lo'es me best of a'. — (Page 19, Vol. II.) Sep. — Ca' the Yowes to the knowes.. — (Page 99, Vol. II.) Oct. — Tlie Lover's Morning Salutation to his Mistress. — (P. 101, Vol. II.) Oct. — ["Clarinda" styled "a ci-devant goddess of mine" in a letter to Thomson, and her name directed to be effaced from the song, " Thine am I, niy faithful Fair," in order that its heroineship may be transferred to Chloris r\ Nov.— [Visit of Professor Walker to Burns.— See Nov., 1795.] Nov. — My Chloris, mark how green the groves. — (Page 103, Vol. II.) Nov. — Lassie wV the lintwhite locks. — (Page 104, Vol. II.) Nov. — Contented un" little, and cantie wV niair. — (Page 68, Vol. II.) Dec. — My Nannie's awa' — (Page 71, Vol. IL) Dec. — [Burns announces to Mrs. Dunlori his appointment to a temporary Supervisorship.] ( Ixxx ) TUE BRIUHT SUNSET, AND TUEN THE QLOAMIN. [DUMFRIES, 1795.— AGE 36.] When ance Life's day draics nfcir the gloamin Then faretceel vacant, careless foatnin'. An' farcweel chear/u' tankards foamin' , an' social noise! An' farewell dear, deluding Woman, the joy of joys I "Nbw-Year'S-Day, 1795.— This is the season of wishes, and mine are most fervently offered up for you! What a transient business is life! Very lately I was a boy, — but t'other day I was a young man, — and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast o'er my frame I " — Letter to Mrs. Dunlop. J AH.— Is there, for honest Poverty.— C?age 107, Vol. II.) Jan. — Craigiebum. — New Version. — (Page 52, Vol. II.) Feb.— Lassie, art thou sleeping yet f-iVeige lOS, Vol. II.) Feb.— uiat ye who's in yon town.— (Pa,ge 25, Vol. II.) Feb.— [Great Snow-storm of 1795.] The Heron Election Sallads.—(Page 3S2, Vol. II.) " 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 votarie.s of honest laughter, and fair, candid ridicule. " At present, my situation in life must be in a great measure stationary, at least for two or three years. I am on the Supervisors' list, and as we come on by precedency, in two or three years I shall be at the head of that list, and be appointed of course. Then, a Friend might bo of service to me in getting me into a place of the kingdom which I would like. A Supervisor's income varies from about £120 to £200 a-year; but the business is incessant drudgery, and would be nearly a complete bar to every species of literary pursuit A Col- lectorship varies much, from better than £200 a-year to near £1000. They, also, come forward by precedency on the list, and have, besides a handsome income, a life of complete leisure." — Letter to Mr. Heron of Heron, 1795 [A Begiment of Dumfries Volunteers formed. Burns joins one of the Companies] The Dumfries Volunteers.— (P&ge 123, Vol. II.) Inscription for an Altar of Independence. — (Page 1C5, Vol. II.) May. — stay sweet warbling woodlark, stay. — (Page 53, Vol. II.) „ On Chloris being ill: -Long, long the night.' — (Pago 111, Vol. IL) „ Their Groves o' sweet myrtle. — (Page 76, Vol. II.) „ 'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin. — (Pago 112, Vol. II.) „ Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion.— (P&ge 102, Vol. II.) July. — Last May a braw wooer cam' doun the lang glen. — (Page 74, Vol. II.) „ this is no my ain lassie. — (Page 77, Vol. II.) Au8. — -Vow Spring has clad the grove in green — (Page 78, Vol. II.; „ bonie was yon rosy brier. — (Pago 113, Vol. II.) ( Ixxxi ) ["Like the hurricane eclipse of the sun," — so suddenly is the lyre of Burna hushed at this stage, and his correspondence makes ii dead halt till the close of December, when we have the poor bard addressing Collector Mitchell, thus: — " Ye'vo heard this while how I've been licket, And by fell Death was nearly nickot ; Grim loon! ho got mo by the feeket, and sair me sheuk; But, by gude luck, I lap a wicket, and turned a neuk." We have no account of the progress of the poet during September of thin year, but, from Dr. Currie's Narrative, wo learn that, "from October 1795, to the January following, an accidental complaint confined him to the house." In September, 17!W, his only daughter, and favourite child, Elizabeth, died at Mauchliue, and this event is pathetically referred to by the poet in his letter to Mrs. Dunliip. dated .31st January, ITUfl, in which he reproaches that lady for not having written in reply to his two last communications, namely: of 2-5th June, 1794, and of Xew- Year's time. 1795. It is an indisputable fact that Mrs. Dunlop, on whose steady friendship the bard had so fondly relied, did in the end prove herself to be like manj' others of his fair-weather satellites ; and that Dr. Currie, who was her relative, with the manifest design of hiding that scandal, dis- arranged and mis-dated the poet's letters addressed to her during his latter years! And it is grievous further to point out, that through the grossest edi- torial blindness, in every reprint of his correspondence, from that of Currie to Waddell, one of his most pathetic letters, the real date of which is December, 1793, is set down under date "December, 179.5," although we there read of Riddel, of Glcnriddel (who died in April, 1794) being still alive (!), and of the poet's only daughter, Elizabeth, (who died in September, 1795,) being under anxious nursing on account of illness ! Query. — Was it a feeling of reverence for the poet's memory, or expiatory remorse for a mother's error, that prompted the daughter of Mrs. Dunlop to consign her own dead body to the same grave which had been occupied by the dust of Burns during nineteen j-ears ? Another glaring mis-date of this same period, is that of the poet's biographer. Professor Walker, who gives "November, 1796," instead of Xovemher, 1794, as the period of that visit of his to Burns in Dumfries, in regard to which he is so mercilessly squabas/iedby John Wilson. The description which the visitor gives of the hale condition of Burns on that occasion, cannot possibly apply to the period of November, 1795, when, as Is perfectly certain, ho was on a sick-bed, and unable for a long ramble up Nithside, much less to drink the Professor and his friend both blind, in their own inn, up to three in the morning. The reference to the Frayment on Libertii — composed In June, 1794 — seems to point to that year; and the Election Ba'lada, recited by the poet to Walker, must have been the matchless Five Carlines, and its magnificent companion-ballad against Queensberry, adtlrcssed to Graham of Fintry, — not the squibs, barely Intelligible to a non-elector and stranger — the IJeron Ballads of 1795-96.] LAST ILLNESS, AND DEATH. [D0MFUli;s, 1796.— AGE -37.] Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the broad-setting sun : Farewell loves and friend.thips. ye dear tender ties — My race of existence is run ! " Upwards of a year before his death, there was an evident decline in our poet's personal appearance; and, though his appetite continued unimpaired, he was himself sensible that his constitution was sinking. From October, 1795, to the January foUomng, an accidental complaint confined him to the hous& A few days after he began to go abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned home about three o'clock in a very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicated. This was followed by an attack of rheumatism," &c. — Di: Currie, 1800. ( Ixxxii ) Jan. 20. — " The health you wished mo iu your morning's card is, I think, flown from me for ever. I liave not been able to leave my bed to-day till an hour ago." — Xote to Mrs. liiddet. Jan. 28. — [Burns attends the Mason Lodge, to recommend James Georgeson, merchant, as an apjirontico.] Note of his attendance at the Lodtje Meetings during his residence in Dumfries. — [1791, Dec. 27; 1792, Feb. 6, May 14, May 31, June 5, Nov. 22, Nov. 30; 1793, Nov. 30; 1794, Nov. 29; 1796, Jan. 28, April 14.] Jan. 31. — " These many months you have been two packets in my debt What sin of ignorance I have committed against so highly valueil a friend, I am utterly at a loss to guess. The Autumn robbed me of my only daughter 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 begun to recover from that shock, when I became myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and long the die spun doubtful ; until, after many weeks of a sick-bed, it seems to have turned up life." — Letter to Mrs. Dun/op. Ehyining Epistle to Colonel de Peyster.—(^a,ge lfl9. Vol. II.) Feb. — [Letter to George Thomson, with song, " Hey for a lass wi' a tocher." —See page 79, Vol. II.] April. — " Alas ! my dear Thomson, I fear it will be long ere I tune my lyre again. ' By Babel streams I have sat and wept ' almost ever since I wrote you last. I have only known existence by the pressure of the heavy hand of sick- ness, and counted time by the repercussion of pain ! Rheumatism, cold, and fever, have formed to mo a terrible combination. I close my eyes in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the vernal day, and say with poor Fergusson — ' Say, wherefore has an over-bounteous Heaven Light to the comfortless and wretched given f ' " — Letter to T/iomson. Election Ballad : TJ^a will buy my Troggin ?— (Page 389, Vol. IL) Song : Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast.— {F&ge 125, Vol. II.) The Toast: Fill me toith t/ie rosy wine. — (Page 338, Vol. IL) Epigram: Talk not to nu of savages. — (Page 337, Vol. II.) Song : Say, sages, what's the charm on earth. — (Page 338, Vol. II.) MAY 17. — [Letter to Thomson, enclosing the last /«!'.?/ifd offspring of his Muse, "Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear." — See page 80, VoL IL] JtJNE 4. — King's Birth-day. — " I am in such miserable health as to be utterly in capable of showing my loyalty in any way. Racked with rheumatism, I meet every face with a greeting like that of Balak to I'alaam : Come curse me, Jacob! and come defy me, Irsael ! So say I : Come, curse me, that east wind ! and come, defy me, the north. Would you have mo in such circumstances copy you out a love-song? I may perhaps see you on Saturday, but I will not be at the Ball. Why should I ? — ' Man delights not me, nor woman neither ! ' Can you supply me with the song, ' Let us all bo unhappy together ! ' Do if you can, and oblige lepauvre miserable. — R. B." — Note to Mrs. liiddet. Dumfries, June 2(J. — " Alas, dear Clarke, I begin to fear the worst As to my individual self, I am tranquil, and would despise myself if I were not ; but ( Ixx.xiii ) Burns' poor widow, and half-a-dozen of his dear little ones— helpless orphans! — there, ' I am weaker than a woman's tear.' Enough of this! — 'tis half of my disease. If I must go, I shall leave a few friends behind mo whom I shall re- gret while consciousness remains. I know I shall live in their remembrance." — Letter to James Clarke. Brow, July 7.— "Alas, my friend, I fear the voice of the bard will soon bo heard among you no more. For these eight or t«n months, I have been ailing, sometimes bedfast, and sometimes not ; but these three months, I have been tortured by an excruciating rheumatism, which has reduced me to nearly the last stage. You actually would not know me if you saw me. Pale, emaciated, and so feeble as occasionally to need help from my chair, my spirits fled — fled !— but I can no more on this subject. The deuce of the matter is this : when an exciseman is off duty, his salary is reduced to £35, instead of £50. What way, in the name of thrift, shall I maintain myself, and keep a horse in country quarters, with a wife and five children at home, on £50?" — Letter to Atexander Cunningham. Brow, July 12. — "Madam, I have written 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 hung about me, will, in all probability, speedily send me beyond that bourne, whence no traveller returns! Your friendship, with which for so many years you honored me, was a friendship dearest to my soul. Your conversation, and especially your correspondence, were at once highly entertaining and instructive. With what pleasure did I use to break the seal ! The remembrance yet adds one pulse more to my poor palpitating heart. Farewell! ! — B. B." — Letter to Mrs. Dunlop. Brow, July 12. — [Letter to James Burness, Montrose, requesting a loan of £10, to meet the claim of a haberdasher, who had employed a law-agent to recover from the poet the price of his Volunteer suit.] Brow, July 12.— [Letter to George Thomson to the same eltect, soliciting a loan of £5:]— "I do not ask this gratuitously; for, upon returning health 1 hereby promise and engage to furnish you with Five Pound's worth of the tieatesl song-genius you have seen. I tried my hand on Rothemurche this morning. The measure is so difBcult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines ; they are on the other side. Forgive, forgive me ! " Fairest maid on Devon Banks. — (Page 114, Vol. II.) [Thus, only nine days before he expired, his mind reverts to the cause of estrangement betwixt Margaret Chalmers and him : " Could'st thou to malicii lend an ear? oh, did not Love exclaim, ' Forbear! ' " In the head-note to this song, we followed other authorities by giving Charlotte Hamilton the credit of possessing his last minstrel-thoughts; but "Peggy Chalmers" was clearly the dying bard's " Fairest maid on Devon Banks."] Brow, July 14. — " My dearest Love, — I delayed writing until I could tell you what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. It would be injustice to deny that it has eased my pains. ... I will see you on Sunday."— Ze/Zer to Mrs. Burns. Dumfries, July 18.— "Do, for Heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour here im- mediately. My wife is hourly expecting to be put to bed. Good God ! what a situation for her to be in, poor girl, without a friend ! I think and feel that my ( Ixxxiv ) strength is so gone, that the disorder will prove fatal to me. Your son-in-law. — R. B." — Letter to James Armour, JUauchliiw. Thursday, Jl'LY 21. — "Early in the morning, he sank into delirium; the children were brought to see their parent for the last time in life. They stood round the bed, while calmly and gradually he sank into his last repose. His last expression was a muttered reference to the threatening letter he had re- ceived from the clothier's law-agent." — Information of Robert Burns, Junior. " And thus he passed, not softly, yet speedily, into that still country, where the hail-storms and fire-showers do not reach, and the heaviest-laden wayfarer at length lays down his load." — Carlijle. THE «EAVE AND THE MAUSOLEUM. Such graves as his are pilgrim slirines — sliriiies to no code or creed confined — The Delphian vales, the Palestines — the Meccas of the mind. — (F. Halleck.) The spot of ground in St. Michael's Churchyard, Dumfries, where all that was mortal of the bard was deposited, on Monday the 25th of July, 1796, had been selected by himself in the north-east corner of the cemetery. In one of his published letters, we find him using this proud language: — "When I am laid in my grave, I wish to be stretched at my full length, that I may occupy every inch of ground that I have a right to ! " The bard's countrymen, in their generation, are not unlike the rest of the human family that are said to " build up the tombs of those prophets whom their fathers had persecuted to death ; " and in process of time they conceived that Burns was entitled to occupy a much larger space of ground than he had humbly claimed as his own. Ac- cordingly, in 181.5, they erected the present Mausoleum, upon a site in the south- east portion of the same burial-ground, — the change of position being requisite because the poet's own corner was too contracted to hold so bulky a structure. At the solemn hour when night and morning meet, the remains of the bard and his two boys (Maxwell Burns, a posthumous child, who lived two years and nine months, and Francis Wallace Burns, who died in 1803, aged fourteen), were carefully disinterred, and placed in the magnificent habitation thus prepared for their reception. A Ponderous Latin inscription was composed with the view of telling visitors that "Uoc Mausoleum" was built "in Kternum honorem Eoberti Burns, Poetarum Caledouiie; " but by the rarest good fortune, it was never put up, although some of the poet's biographers have quoted the whole inscription, as " noted down from the original," and Cunning- ham laments that " the merits of him who wrote Tarn o S/ianter, and The Cotter's Saturday Night, are concealed in Latin ! " No need of " sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay! " '•'■ In pitying admiration he lies enshrined in all our hearts, in a far nobior mausoleum tlian that one of marble. Love and pity are ])rone to magnify; yet it is not chielly as a poet but as a man that he interests and affects us. lie was often ( Ixxxv ) advised to write a tragedy : time and means were not lent him for this, but through Ule he enacted a tragedy, and one of the deepest. We question whether the world has since witnessed so utterly sad a scene — whether Napoleon himself, left to brawl with Sir Hudson Lowe, and perish on his rock 'amid the melancholy main,' presented to the reflecting mind such a spectacle of pity and fear as did this intrinsically nobler, gentler, and perhaps greater soul, wasting itself away in a hopeless struggle with base eu- tanglements which coiled closer and closer round him, till only death opened him an outlet." — CarhjU. EXCERPTS FEOM LETTERS AND PRIVATE JOURNALS, OF DISTIN- GUISHED ADMIRERS OF THE GENIUS OF BURNS. Sir Gilbert Elliot— First Earl of Minto,— writing from London in 1787, to a relative at Minto, remarket! as follows ;— " I have read about half of Burns' Poems, and am in the highest degree of admiration. I admire and wonder at his general knowledge of the human character — of the manners, merits, and defects, of all ranks, and of many countries; the great justness, and also the great liberality of his judgement ; and— what is most to be stared at— the un- common refinement of his mind in all his views and opinions, and the uncommon refinement of his taste in composition. This, I say, seems more wonderful than genius, because one is apt to suppose genius is born, refinement is acquired. Now, granting his access to good books, yet consider the company he has lived in, and in how much worse than total solitude his mind has had to work and purify itself ; consider how severe labour blunts the edge of every mind, and how the discomforts of poverty in a Scotch climate shall cripple genius, and what a sedative it must be to the imagination— nay, how much nearer even the pleasures of his rank must lead to sottishness than to elegance and wit,— and then we see what a victory mind has over matter, and how, in this prodigy. Will has dung Fate! What a pity that Hawick had not been so celebrated in- stead of Ayr ! "—Life and letters of Sir Gilbert Elliot, edited by his grand-neicc. 1874. Francis Jeffrey, in a letter dated Edinburgh, 6th July, 1800, to his friend Robert Morhoad, wrote as follows:— "Burns" complete works are also come out; the Life I ha,\e not yet read. It is, I believe, by Currie and Eosooe. Some of the songs are enchantingly beautiful, and affect me more than any other species of poetry whatsoever. The facility and rapidity with which he appears to have composed them amaze me. Indeed, his whole correspondence (although infected now and then with a silly affectation of sentiment, and some common-places of adulation), gives me a higher opinion, both of his refine- ment and real modesty of character than anything ho had formerly published." — Life ofJeffreij, hu Lord Cockburn, 18f>'-'. ( Ixxxvi ) Lord Jefi'REY, (thirty years after he penned the foregoing) thus wrote from Craigcrook, ou Uth Nov., 1837, to his friend, Mr. Empson : — " lu the last week I have read all Burns' Life and Works, not without many tears, for the life especially. What touches me most is the pitiable poverty in which that gift«d being (together with his noble-minded father) passed his early days — the pain- ful frugality to which their innocence was doomed, and the thought that how small a share of the useless luxuries in which toe (such comparatively poor creatures) indulge, would have sufficed to shed joy and cheerfulness in their dwelling, and perhaps saved that glorious spirit from the trials and tempta- tions under which he fell so prematurely. Oh, my dear Empson, there must be something terribly wrong in the present arrangements of the universe when those things can happen, and be thought natural. I could lie down in the dirt and cry and grovel there, I think, for a century, to save such a soul as Bums' from the suffering and the contamination and the degradation which these same arrangements imposed upon him ; and fancy that, if I could but have known him, (in my present state of wealth and influence), I might have saved and reclaimed and preserved him even to the present day. He would not have been so old as my brother judge. Lord Qlenlee, ot Lord Lynedoch, or a dozen others that one meets daily in society. And what a creature: not only in genius, but in nobleness of character; potentially at least, if right models had been put gently before him. But we must not dwell on it — you southern Saxons cannot value him rightly, and you miss half the pathos, and more than half the sweetness. There is no such mistake as that your chief miss is in the humour, or the shrewd sense. It is far higher and more delicate elements than these — God bless you! We shall be up to the whole, I trust, in another world. When I think on his position, I have no feeling for the ideal poverty of your Wordsworth's or Coleridge's; comfortable, flattered, very spoiled, capricious, idle beings, fantastically discontented because they cannot make an easy tour to Italy and buy casts and cameos,— and what poor, peddUug, whining drivellers in comparison with him ! But I will have no uucharity. They too should have been richer." — Li/e of Je^rey, by Lord Cockburn. 1852. UUGH MiLLEli, shortly before his death, writing to Dr. Guthrie, declining a kind invitation to meet the Duke of Argj'lc, thus expressed himself: — "There is a feeling — which, strong when I was young, is now when I am old, greatly stronger still — that I cannot overcome, and which has ever prevented me from coming in contact with men even far below his Grace's station. Our nobles have their place (and long may they adorn it), and I have inim, with its own humble responsibilities and duties. Farther than that, I know that men in my position, but vastly my superiors — poor BuuNS, for instance — have usually lost greatly more than they have gained by their approaches to the Great. You will think this very foolish, but it is fixed, and I really can't help it,"— flf . autli- rie's Memoirs by Ms Son. 1 HTr>. The laic NORMAn MA0i,K0n, D.D., in reference to his occasional visits to Balmoral, by invitation of the Queen, noted in his diary how «<>nio <>r those ( Ixxxvii ) autumnal evenings wore spent. Not the least intcrcsUnK glimpse of Balmoral life is that which shows Her Majesty sitting at her spinning wheel, tete a tete with the genial Scotch parson, ami listening intently while ho read to her from Burns' poems, such pieces as " Tarn o' Shanter," and " A man's a man for a that." Dr. Maclood records that this latter was declared by the Queen to bo her "favourite" among Burns' productions." — Memoirs of Dr. Macleod. 1870. Louis Kossdth, the exiled Magyar patriot, spent a night in Ayr during his lecturing tour through the United Kingdom. The classic town had a peculiar interest to him ; but tho groat centre of attraction was the " auld clay biggin " through whose creaking rafters, more than a century ago "a blast o' Janwar win' blew hansel in on Bobin." On being requested to insert his name in the Visitor's Book, he pondered a little, and seizing tho pen, recorded this beautifully appropriate inscription : — "LOUIS KOSSUTH In Exile, To EOBERT BURNS IN IMMORTALITY. 'The man of independent mind is King o' men for ■■> •>■■>••>•■>■•: ••>■■>■■>•>•>■>••>••>•■> >.>..>..>•+..>.+.■>.•>••>•>••>■>••>••>■>■>■•> j^^.i'lj P O E M S> CHIEFLY IN THE SCOTTISH DIALICCT, B Y ROBERT BURNS. ••<■■<■•<■<■■+■<■•♦•♦•<■■<•■<•■<•♦■<•<■■<■<■<■<•<■<■<•<■•<•<■ <■<•<•.<■•<.■<••<■■<•.<•<•<■•<•■< «•■< THE Simple Bard, unbroke by rules of Art, He pours the wild effusions of the heart: And if inspir'd, 'tis Nature's pow'rs inspire ; Her's all the melting thrill, and her's the kindling fire. A N o N V M o L' s. ■•<■<■<< <..<.<..<..<.■<..<.■<■■<.■<•<.■<■■< .-.<..<. KILMARNOCK: PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON. M,DCC,LXXXVI. Tr5^i^)c„i§?iT THE POET'S PREFACE (178G.) [Burns, in the course of his authorship, committod himself to only one prose Preface, and one pruso DaUcalion. The latter will be found at page 135, Vol. I. It has been descriljcd by a voluminous critic and pi-ofessed eulogist of the poet, as "a more ambitious performance than the original Kilmarnock Preface; conceived in an entirely different style, and expressed with studied emphasis and formality." He farther says, that "one can hardly help surmising that the author had some slight misgivings as to the genuineness, or at least the dignity of that dedication to his patrons in the metropolis." Now, we must own that, in common with the vulgar herd of Burns' admirers, we had always reclconed this Dedication to the Caledonian Hunt as next to perfection itself, both in style of composition and in dignity of sentiment. We must learn, therefore, to be less rash in being pleased for the future. Burns, we are bound to confess, pleases us still better in his versified dedica- tions : he has two of them. — that to Gavin Hamilton, at page 98 (O, how rich it is !) and that other, contained in the opening twenty-four lines of The Brigs of Ayr. — page 143, — which certainly beats his prose hollow. His Preface (here subjoined) is no mean production, although he did withdraw it in favour of the prose dedication ; and it has barely got justice from the poet's editors, from Ourrie down to (but excluding) Waddcll, who alone has printed it correctly — always, of course, excepting ourselves; for our facsimile I'eprint was pro- duced iu 18G7. A copy of the Kilmarnock edition was so rare, even at the time of the poet's death, that Dr. CuiTie could not procure one to print the preface from, so he applied to Gilbert Burns for a copy of the preface, which, in transcribing, Gilbert ventured to amend, but did it no good, except correct- ing the spelling of the Greek poet's name, Theocritus. In the second sentence, he unueoessarily introduced before the words, " in their original languages," the expression "at least," and dropped the plural s in "languages," to the de- triment of the poet's grammar. In the closing paragraph, the author uses the exioression, " lie is indebted to Benevolence," and this was apparently deemed tcanting in dignity, for it was altered thus — "he oices to Benevolence! " In the third paragraph of the preface, we are reminded of Sir Walter Scott's observation that, "having twenty times the abilities of Allan Bamsay and of FergusGon, ho talked of them with too much humility as his models."] 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 Theocrites or Virgil. To the Author of this, these and other celebrated names their countrymen are, in their original languages, 'A fountain shut up, and a 'book sealed." Un- acquainted 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 Ehymer from his earliest years, at least from the earliest impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very lately, that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of Friendship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him think any thing of his was worth showing; and none of the following works were ever composed with a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues 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 Musea, and in these he found Poetry to be it's own reward. Now that he appears in the public character of an Author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast, at the thought of being branded as ' An impertinent bloclihead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; and because ho can malie a shift to jinglo a few doggerel, Scotch rhymes together, looks upon himself as a Poet of no small consequence forsooth.' It is an observation of that celebrated Poet, * whoso divine Elegies do honor to our language, our nation, and our species, that ' Humility has depressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame.' If any Critic catches at the word genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possest of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he has done, would be a manojuvre below the worst character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him : but to the genius of a Bamsay, or the glorious dawniugs of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he, with equal un affected sincerity, declares, that, even in his highest puise of vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly admired 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 gratitute of the Bard, conscious how much he is indebted 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 honor him with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for Education and Circumstances of Life : but, if after a fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of DulnesB and Nonsense, let him be done by, as he would in that case do by others — let him be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion. * Shcnstone. THE TWA DOGS. [The first notice we have of this admired poem is in one of the Bard's letters, dated 17th February, 178fi, addressed to his Mauchline friend John Riehmond, then in Edinburgh. After mentioning ■• The Ordination," " Scotch Drinlc," " The Cotter's Saturday Night," and '■ An Address to the Deil," as having been newly composed, he adds: — " I have likewise completed my poem on Tlic Dogs, but have not shown it to the world." This was but a few weeks before sending out his printed proposals for publishing ; and we are told that this poem was placed t\ve first in his volume by request of Wilson the printer, who suggested the propriety of placing one of his more important pieces at the beginning. This accords -with Gilbert Burns' information, that the tale of the Ttra Dogs was com- posed after the resolution of publishing was almost formed. Robert's favourite dog, Luat/i, had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some person, the night beforehis father's death, and the Poet resolved to introduce into his book some composition which would testify his regard for the memory of his quadruped fi'iend.] 'TwAs iu that place o' Scotland's isle, That bears the name o' auld king COIL, Upon a bonic day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Twa Doffs, that were na thrang at hame, Forgather'd ance upon a time. The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cccsar, Was keepet for His Honor's pleasure ; His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, J^ut whalpet some place far abroad, Where sailors gang to fish for Cod. His locked, letter'd, 1)raw brass-collar Shew'd him the gentleman an' scholar; But tho' he was o' high degree, The fient a pride na pride had he, But wad hae spent an hour caressan, Ev'n wi' a Tinkler-gipsey's messan: At Kirk or Market, Mill or Smiddie, Nae tawted tt/ke, tho' e'er sae duddie, k A ( 2 ) But he wad stan't as glad to see him, An' stroan't on stancs an' hillocks wi' him. The tither was a j)loi(rjhinan' s collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving biUic, Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, After some dog in * Highland sang, Was made lang syne, lord knows how lang. He was a gash an' faithfu' t)jke, As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; His breast was white, his towzie back, Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl, Hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl. Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thogither ; Wi' social nose whyles snuffd an' snowket ; Whyles mice and modewurks they howket ; Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, An' worry'd ither in diversion ; Till tir'd at last wi' mony a farce. They set them down upon their arse, I An' there began a lang digression About the lorils o' tlie creation. CiESAR. I've afteu wonder'd, honest Lnatlu What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; An' when the gentrifs life I saw, What way j)oor bodies liv'd ava. Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents : He rises when he likes himsel ; His flunkies answer at the bell ; • CucliulHn's dog in Ossian's Fingal.— (E. B. 178G.) t Altered, in 1794, to— " Until wi' daffln weary grown, Upon a knowe they sat them down." ( 3 ) He ca's bis coach ; he ca's his horse ; He draws a bonie, silken purse As king's my tail, whare thro' the steeks, The yellow letter'd GeonUe kecks. Frae morn to eeii it's nought but toiling, At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; An' tho' the gentry first are steghan. Yet ev'n the hd folk lill their peghan Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie. That's little short o' downright wastrie. Our Whijiper-in^ wee, blastet wonner. Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner, Better than ony Tenant-man His Honor has in a' the Ian': An' what poor Cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's past my comprehension, LUATH. Trowth, Csesar, whyles their fash't enough ; A Cotter howkan in a sheugh, Wi' dirty stanes biggan a dyke, Bairan a quarry, an' sic like, Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, A smytrie o' wee, duddie weans. An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep Them right an' tight in thack an' raep. An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, Like loss o' health or want o' masters. Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger : But how it comes, I never kent yet. They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies, Are bred in sic a way as this is. C^SAR. But then, to see how ye're negleket. How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' disrespeket ! L — d man, our gentry care as little For dehiei^Sy ditchers^ an' sic cattle ; ( 4 ) They gang as saucy by poor folk, As I wad by a stinkan brock. I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day. An' mony a time my heart's been wae, Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole o. factor s snash ; He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, He'll apprehend them, j)oi7id their gear ; While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! I see how folk live that hae riches ; But surely poor-folk maun be wretches! LUATH. They're no sae wretched's ane wad think ; Tho' constantly on poortith's brink, They're sae accustom' d wi' the sight, The view o't gies them little fright. Then chance and fortune are sae guided, They're ay in less or mair provided ; An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. The dearest comfort o' their lives. Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; The prattling things are just their pride. That sweetens a' their fire side. An' whyles twalpennie-worth o' nappi/ Can mak the bodies unco happy ; They lay aside their private cares. To mind tlie Kirk and State affairs ; They'll talk o' patronage an' pi-iests, Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts. Or tell what new taxation's comin, An' fcrlie at the folk in LON'ON. As bliak-fac'd Hallowmass returns, Tliey get the jovial, rantan Kirns, When 7-ural life, of ev'ry station, Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks. Wit slaps, an' social Mirth Forgets there's care upo' the earth. ( ^ ) That merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frosty win's ; The nappy reeks wi' mantling- ream, An' sheds' a heart-inspiring steam ; The luntan pipe, an' sueeshin mill, Are handed ronnd wi' right guid will ; The cantie, auld folks, crackan crouse. The young anes rantan thro' the house — ]My heart has been sae fain to see them. That I for joy hae barket wi' them. Still it's owre true that ye hae said, Sic game is now owre aften play'd ; There's mouie a creditable stock O' decent, honest, fawsont folk. Are riven out baith root an' branch, Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster In favor wi' some gentle Master^ Wha aiblins thrang a jmrliamentiii, For Britain's guid his saul indentin — C^SAR. Haith lad ye little ken about it ; For Britain's guid! guid faith ! 1 doubt it. Say rather, gaun as PREMIERS lead him. An' saying aye or no's they bid him : At Operas an' Plays parading. Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading : Or maylae, in a frolic daft. To HAGUE or CALAIS takes a waft, To make a tour an' tak a whirl. To learn ban ton an' see the worl'. There, at VIENNA or VERSAILLES, He rives his father's auld entails ; Or by MADRID he takes the rout. To thrum guitfars an' fecht wi' nowt ; Or down Italian Vista startles, Wh — re-hunting amang groves o' myrtles : Then bowses drumlie German-icater, To mak himsel look fair and fatter, ( <^ ) An' purge the bitter ga's an' cankers, O' curst Venetian b — res an' ch — ncres.* jPo;- Britain's guid! for her tlestructiou ! Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! LUATII. Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate. They waste sae mony a braw estate ! Are we sae foughten and harass'd For gear to gang that gate at last ! O woukl they stay aback frae courts, An' please themsels wi' countra sports. It wad for ev'ry ane be better, The Laird^ the Tenant^ an' the Cotter! For thae frank, rantau, ramblan billies, Fieut haet o' them's ill hearted fellows ; Except for breakin o' their timmer. Or speakin lightly o' their Limmci\ Or shootin of a hare or moorcock. The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. But will ye tell me, master Ca'sar, Sure great four's life's a life o' pleasure? Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, The vera thought o't need ua fear them. CiESAR. L — d man, were ye but whyles where I am, The gentles ye wad ne'er envy them ! It's true, they need na starve or sweat, Thro' Winters cauld, or Summer's heat ; They've nae sair-wark to craze their banes. An' fill auld-age wi' grips an' granes ; But human-hodies are sic fools, For a' their colledgcs an' schools, That when nae real ills pcri)lex them, They mak enow themsels to vex them ; An' ay the less they hae to start them. In like proportion, less will hurt them. ♦ Altered, in 1787, to— " And clear tho cousoquential sorrows, Love-gifts of Carnival Signloras." ( 7 ) A country fellow at the pleugli, His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh ; A country girl at her wheel, Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel ; But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, Wi' ev'n down ivant d ivark are curst. They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy ; Tho' deil-haet ails tliem, yet uneasy ; Their days, insipid, dull an' tasteless, Their nights, unquiet, king an' restless. An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, Their galloping thro' public places, There's sic parade, sic pomp an' art. The joy can scarcely reach the heart. The Men cast out in party -matches^ Then sowther a' in deep debauches. Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' wli — ring, Niest day their life is past enduring. The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; But hear their absent thoughts o' ither They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, They sip the scandal-potion ]5retty ; Or Ice-lang nights, wi' crabbet leaks, Pore owre the devil's pictur''d beuks ; Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, An' cheat like ony unhanrfd blackguard. There's some exceptions, man an' woman ; But this is Gentry's life in common. By this, the sun was out o' sight, An' darker gloamin brought the night : The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, The kye stood rowtan i' the loan ; When up they gat an' shook their lugs, Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs; An' each took off his several way, Resolv'd to meet some ither day. ( 8 ) SCOTCH DRINK. (lie him stron(i Driuk until he wink, Tliat's sinking in di'spair; An liquor r/uid to fire his bluid. That's prest ici grief an care: There let him bowse an deep carouse, ]Vi' bumpers fioicing o'er, Till he forgets his loves or debts, An' minds his griefs no more. Solomon's PaovEUBs, xsxi. 6, 7. [It has been pointed out by former editors that this poem must have been com- posed on the model of Robert Fergusson's " Caller Water,'' but the resemblance consists only in the measure being the same, and in the one celebrating aqiia-vilx, while the other cries up aqua-fontis. That our poet had read the Poems of Fcrgusson before '•Scotch Drink" was composed at the close of the year ITSS, we know from his autobiography, in which he says, referring to his unlucky winter of 17S1-S2 in the town of Irvine, "Ehynie I had given up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour : " yet it is curious to observe in part of the same letter referred to in our head-note to the Twa Dogs, that in Febniary, 1786, Burns did not possess a copy of Fergusson's Poems, which he requests his friend in Edinburgh to procure for him, and despatch by the Mauchline Carrier.] Let other Poets raise a fracas 'Bout vines, aa' "^vines, an' druken Bacchus, An' crabbed names an' stories "wrack us, An' grate our hifr, I sing the juice Scotch bear can inalv us. In glass or Jug. thou, my 3Ii(se ! guid, auld Scotch Drink ! Whether thro' wimplin •worms thou jink, Or, richly brown, ream owrc the brink. In glorious faeiu. Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink. To sing thy name ! Ijct husky Wheat the haughs adorn. And Aits set up their awnie horn, An' Pease an' 13eans, at e'en or morn. Perfume the plain, Leeze me on thee Julm Barleijcom, Thou king o' grain ! On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. In soui)le scones, the wale o' food ! ( ^ ) Or luiiil)liiig iu the boiIin,f>' flood AVi' kuil au' beef ; But when tliou i^ours tliy strong heart's blood, There thou yliines chief. Food fills the warae, an' keeps us liviii ; Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, "When hcavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grieviu ; But oil'd by thee, The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, Wi' rattlin glee. Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; Thou chears the heart o' drooping Care ; Thou strings the nerves o' Labor-sair, At's weary toil ; Thou ev'n brightens dark Despair, Wi' gloomy smile. Aft, clad in massy, siller weed, Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; Yet humbly kind, in time o' need, The 2'>oo7- man's wine ; His wee drap pirratcli,* or his bread. Thou kitchens fine. Thou art the life o' pu1)lic haunts ; But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts. By thee inspir'd, When gaping they Ijesiege the tents. Are doubly fir'd. That merry night we get the corn in, O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn iu ! Or reekan on a Neiv-]icar-mornin In cog or bicker. An' just a wee drap sj-i'ritual burn in, An' gusty sucker ! * Corrected to " parritch " iu 17S7. ( 10 ) When Yiilcan gies Lis bellys * breath, Au' Ploughmen gather wi' their graith, O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath r the higget caup ! Then Burnewin comes on lilce Death At ev'ry chap, f Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; The brawnie, banie, plonghman-chiel Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, The strong forehamnier, Till block an' studdie ring an' reel Wi' dinsome clamour. When skirlin weanies see the light, Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, Ilow fumljling coofs their dearies slight, Wae worth them for't ! While healths gae round to him wha, tight^ Gies famous sport. :j: When neebors anger at a plea, An' just as wud as wnd can be. How easy can the harley-hrie Cement the quarrel ! It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee To taste the barrel. A lake ! that e'er my Muse has reason. To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! I3ut monie daily weet their weason Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter season, E'er spier her price. Wae worth that Brcnuh/, burnan trash ! Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! * Correctodto "bellows" in 1787. t Altered to "chaup" in 1787. t Altered, in 1787, to— " Wae worth the name ! Nae Howdie gets a social night. Or plack true them." ( H ) Twins monie a poor, doylt, drukea hash O' half his days ; Au' sends, beside, anld Scotland's cash To her warst faes. Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well. Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor, plackless devils like imjsel. It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' ivincs to raell. Or foreign gill. May Gravels round his blather wrench, An' Gouts torment him, inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 0' sour disdain. Out owre a glass o' WhisJci/-punch Wi' honest men ! O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! Accept a Bardie's gratefu' * thanks ! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks Are my poor Verses ! Thou comes — they rattle i' their ranks At ither's arses ! Thee Ferintosh ! sadly lost ! Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast. May kill us a' ; For loyal Forbes' Charter'' d boast Is ta'en awa ! Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, Wha mak the Whisky stells their prize ! Hand up thy han' Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! There, sieze the blinkers ! An' bake them up in brunstane pies For poor d — n'd Drinhers. * Altered, in 1794, to "hiunble.'' ( 1-' ) Fo)'tu7ie, if thou'll but gie me still Hale breaks, a scone, au' whisk?/ rjiU, An' rowth o' 7-It7/me to rave at will, Tak a' the rest, An' deal't about as thy blind skill Directs thee best. THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER,* TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AXD HOXORABLE, THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. Dearest of Distillation ! last and best: Bow art thou lost ! Parody ox Milton. [The subject of Scotch Drink is here resumed in the same favourite ineasure and with even more iioctic Are than its precursor. The opening words of this poem have given rise to some discussion, no former editor having ventured or deemed it necessary to point out why the poet addresses Irisli Lords as among tlie " Scotch Representatives in the House of Commons." We will now attempt an explanation of this. On referring to the Almanacks of that period we find the names of several Irish Peers on the list of Scotland's " chosen Five and Forty." Election patronage in North Britain was then In the liaiids of a very few domi- nant Dukes and Earls, whose daughters were frequently allied in marriage to poor Peers of Erin, who then, as now, were fain to improve their fortunes by any likely shift of position, and found no difliculty in being elected Scotch Members of Parliament. Tlie Poet winced under this implied disgrace, and his reference to the Irisli Lords in this "Earnest Cry" is, therefore, strongly satirical. An Edinburgh edition of the Poet's works — 1805 — ridiculously alters the reading of the llrst lino to " Ye Scottish Lords," &c.] Ye Irish lorcki ye hiights an' squires^ Wha represent our Bnirjhs an' Shires, An' dousely niaiiafije our affairs In Parlidmcnt, To you a simple Bardie's f prny'rs Are humbly sent. * Foot--noto added in 1787: — "This was wrote before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of session 178B; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks." t Changed, in 1791, to "Poet's." ( 13 ) Alas ! my roupet Muse is haerse ! Your Honor's hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittaii on lier arse Low i' the dust, Au' scrlechan out prosaic verse, An' like to brust ! Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' ine's in great affliction. E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On AQUAVITJ^ ; An' rouse them up to strong conviction. An' move their pity. Stand forth and tell yon PREMIER YOUTIT, The honest, open, naked truth : Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth. His servants humble : The muckle devil blaw you south, If ye dissemble ! Docs ony great yuan glunch an' gloom ? Speak out an' never fash your thumb. Let posts an' pensions sink or swooni Wi' them wha grant them : If honestly they canna come. Far better want them. In gath'rin votes you were na slack, Now stand as tightly by your tack : Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw. But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'. Paint Scotland greetan owre her thrissle ; Her mntchkin stowp as toom's a whissle ; An' d — mu'd Excise-men in a bussle, Seizau a Stell, Triumphant crushan't like a muscle * Or laimpet shell. * Corrected to "mussel" in 1787. ( 14 ) Then on the tither hand jireseut her, A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, An' cheek-for-chow, a chudie Vintner, Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as Winter, Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name o' SCOT, But feels his heart's bluid rising hot. To see his poor, auld Mither's j^ot, Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat, By gallows knaves ? Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! But could I like MONTGOMERIES fight, Or gab like BOSWELL, There's some sark-necks I wad draiv tight, An' tye some hose well. God bless your Honors, can ye see't, The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet. An' no get warmly to your feet, Au' gar them hear it. An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat. Ye winna bear it ? Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' pause, An' with rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues ; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster, a true-blue Scot I'se warran ; Thee, aith-detcsting, chaste Kilkerran ; An' that glib-gabbet Highland JJaron, The Laird o' Graham ; And ane, a chap that's d — mu'd auldfarran, Dundas his name. ( 15 ) Erskine^ a spuukie norland billie ; True Campbells, Frederich an' Hay ; An' Livistoue, the bank! Sir Willie ; An' monie itlicrs, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers.* Arouse my boys ! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle ! Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pcttle, Ye'll see't or lang She'll teach you, wi' a reekan whittle, Anither sang. This while she's been in crankous mood, Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; (Deil ua they never mair do guid, Play'd her that pliskie ! ) An' now she's like to rin red-wud About her Whisky. An' L — d ! if ance they pit her till't. Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, An' durk an' pistol at her belt, She'll tak the streets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt, I' th' first she meets ! For G — d-sake. Sirs ! then speak her fair, An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, An' to the muclcle home repair, Wi' instant speed, An' strive, wi' a' your Wit an' Lear, To get remead. * In the early MS. copies of this poem, of which several exist, a verse compli- mentary to Colonel Hugh Montogomery of Coilslleld, is here introduced, (and it is given in the most of modern editions,) but the bard suppressed it owing to the banter in the closing words, alluding to the imperfect eloquence of the gallant soldier. The verse is as follows : — " See, sodger Hugh, my watchman stented, If poets e'er are represented ; I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye'd lend a hand. But when there's ought to say ancnt it, Ye're at a stand." All the " bardies " in this and other poems of 1786, were afterwards altered to " poets " — a more intelligible word. ( 1<^ ) You ill-tougu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' bis jeers an' mocks ; But gie him't hot, my hearty cocks ! E'en cowe the cadie ! An' send him to his dicing box, An' sportiu lady. Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnoclcs,* I'll be his debt twa mashlum bounocks. An' drink his health in auld f Nanse Tinnock's Nine times a week, If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, Wad kindly seek. Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He need na fear their foul reproach Kor erudition. Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, The Coalition. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; She's just a devil wi' a rung ; An' if she promise auld or young To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung. She'll no desert. And now, ye chosen FIVE AND FORTY, May still your INIither's heart support ye ; Then, tho' a Minister grow dorty. An' kick your place, Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, Before his face. God bless your Honors, a' your days, Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claisc, * Tho roferonco hnro is to tho Prime Miiiistor of State, William Pitt, whose grandl'athor was Eobort Pitt of Boconnock, iu Curnv^all. t A worthy old Hostess of tho Author's in ifauchline, where he somotimcs studios Politics over a glass of guid, auld Scotch Drink. — (E. B. 17SU.) ( 17 ) In spite o' a' the thievish kaes That haunt St. Jamie's ! Your humble Bardie sings an' prays While Rob his name is. POSTSCRIPT. Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies, See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise ; Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. But blythe an' frisky. She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, Tak aff then- Whisky. What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While Fragrance blooms an' Beauty charms ! When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, The scented groves, Or hounded forth, dishonor arms In hungry droves. Their fiuvis a burden on their shouther ; They downa bide the stink o' powther ; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither, To Stan' or rm. Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throw'ther, To save theu* skin. But bring a SCOTCHMAN frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal GEORGE'S will. An' there's the foe. He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; An' when he fa's. His latest draught o' breathiu lea'es him In faint huzzas. ( 18 ) Sages their solemn een may steek, An' raise a philosophic reek, An' physically causes seek, In clime an' season, But tell me Whishjs name in Greek, I'll tell the reason. SCOTLAND, my auld, respected Mither I Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather. Ye tine your dam ; FREEDOM and WHISKY gang thegither, Tak aff your dram ! * * In the Edition of 1794, — being the last the author lived to edit, — he altered these closing lines as follows : — " Till, when ye speak, ye aiblins blether, Yet, deil mak matter ! Freedom and Whisky gang thegither, Tak aff your whitter! " But the public did not approve of this alteration, and no sul)8cquent editor seems to have adopted it. ( !'■» ) THE HOLY FAIR.* A robe of seeming trirt/i and trust Hid crafty observation ; And secret lnin(i. irith poison'd crust. The dirk of Defamation: A mask thai like the gorget show'd, Dye-varying, on the pigeon; And for a mantle large and broad. He wrapt him in Religion. Hypocrisy a-la-Mode, [In this poem, as well as in " The Cotter's Saturday Night " and " Halloween," (all portiims of the marvollous work of that proliflc Spring of 178G,) we have proof that John Kichmond did not neglect the Bard's order to forward to him the poems of Forgusson. The " Hallow Fair " of that poet suggested the title and the measure of the present work of genius, and his " Leitb Races " supplied :is plan, for an imaginary being called MIRTH — •' A sweet braw buskit bonnie lass That lap like Hebe o'er the grass," convoyed the Edinburgh poet to the races, in the same way as FUN conducted the bard of Ayrshire to the Holy Fair ; yet ever>' reader of both poets is bound to confess that Burns spoke the truth in his first Preface when he said that ho " often had Ramsay and Fergusson in his eye in the fcjllowing pieces, but rather with a view to kindle at their flame than for servile imitation. "] Upon a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuil the callor aii*. The rising sun, ourf G ALSTON Muh-s, AVi' glorious light was gliutan ; The hares were hirplan down the furrs, The lav'rocks they were chantan Fu' sweet that day. As lightsomely I glowi''d abroad, To see a scene sae gay. Three hizzies, early at the road, Cam skelpan up the way. Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, But aue wi' lyart lining ; The thu-d, that gaed a wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. * Foot-note, added in 1787 :— " Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacramental occasion." t Corrected to " owre " in 1787, ( 20 ) The twa appear'd like sisters twin, In feature, form an' claes ; Their visage wither'd, hing an' thin, An' sour as ony slaes : The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup, As light as ony lam))ie, An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kmd that day. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, " I think ye seem to ken me ; '• I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, " But yet I cauna name ye." Quo' she, an' laughan as she spak. An' taks me by the hau's, '' Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck " Of a' the ten commcuCs " A screed some day." " My name is FUN — your cronie dear, " The nearest friend ye hae ; " An' this is SUPERSTITION here, " An' that's HYPOCRISY. " I'm gaun to ********* hob/ fair,* " To spend an hour in daffin : " Gin ye'll go there, yon ruukl'd pair, " We will get famous laughin " At them this day." Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't ; " I'll get my Sunday's sark on, " An' meet you on the holy spot ; " Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin!" Then I gaed hame at crowdio-time. An' soon I made me ready ; For roads were clad, frae side to side, Wi' monie a wearie body, In droves that day. ♦ (Mauchllno.) ( 21 ) Here, farmers gash, iu ridin graith, Gaecl hoddau by their cotters ; There, swankies youug, in braw braid-claith, Are springan owre the gutters. The lasses, skelpan barefit, thrang. In silks an' scarlets glitter ; Wi' sweet-milk cheese^ in monie a whang. An' farls, bak'd wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. When by the plate we set our uose, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, A greedy glowr hlack-honnet throws, An' we maun draw our tippeuce. Then in we go to see the show. On ev'ry side they're gath'ran ; Some carryan dails, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy bleth'ran Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs. An' screen our countra Gentry ; There, racer Jess, an' twathree wh — res, Are bUnkan at the entry. Here sits a raw o' tittlan jads, Wi' heaving breasts an' bare neck ; An' there a batch o' Wabster lads, Blackguarding frae K*******ck* For/M/j this day. Here, some are thinkan on their sins, An' some upo' their claes ; Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, Auither sighs an' prays : On this hand sits an Elect f swatch, Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud faces ; On that, a set o' chaps, at watch, Thrang winkan on the lasses To chairs that day. * (Kilmainock.) t Altered, in 1787, to "a chosen.' ( 22 ) O liuppy is that mau, an' blest ! Nae wonder that it pride him ! Whase aiu dear lass, that he likes best, Comes eliukan down beside him ! Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back, He sweetly does compose him ; Which, by degrees, shps round her neck, Au's loof upon her bosom Unkend that day. Now a' the congregation o'er In silent expectation*, For ****** speels the holy door,* Wi' tidings o' s — Iv — t — n.f Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 'Mang sons o' G — present him. The vera sight o' ******'$ face, | To's ain het kame had sent him Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' Faith Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, He's stampan, an' he's jumpan ! His lengthen'd chin, his turu'd up snout, His eldritch squeel an' gestures, how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plaisters On sic a day ! But hark ! the tent has chang'd it's voiL-c ; There's peace an' rest nae langer ; For a' the realjuchjes rise. They canna sit for auger. ***** opens out his cauld harangues, § On practice and on morals ; An' aff the fjodly pour in thrangs, To gie the jars an' l)arrcls A hft that day. * (Mooclie.) t Altered, in 1787, to " d — mn — t — n," ut the suggestion nf Dr. Hugh Blair. X (Moodie.) } (Smith.) ( 23 ) What signifies his barren shine, Of moral povfrs an' reason ? His EngUsh style, and gesture fine. Are a' clean out o' season. Like SOCRATES or ANTONINE, Or some auld pagan heathen, The moral man he does define, But ne'er a word o' faith in That's right that day. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poosiou'd nostrum ; Yqx *******, frae the water-fit,* Ascends the holy rostrum : See, up he's got tlie word o' G— -, An' meek an' mim has view'd it. While COMMON-SENSE f has taen the road. An' aff, an' up the Cowgate X Fast, fast that day. Wee ****** niest, the Guard relieves, § An' Orthodoxy raibles, Tho' in his heart he weel believes. An' thinks it auld wives' fables : But faith ! the birkie wants a Manse, So, cannilie he hums them ; Altho' his carnal Wit an' Sense Like hafiflins-wise o'ercomes him At times that day. * (The very orthoilox Wm. Peebles, minister of Newton-upon-Ayr, locally styled " The Water-flt.") t Many well-iaformed persons in Mauchline had the idea that the phrase "Coiuimm Sense," in this passage— instead of being used allegorically to signify that the sensible portion of the hearers ran away at sight of Mr. Peebles- referred, in fact, to Mr. Mackenzie, the vUIago surgeon, who had recently published in a local journal, his opinion on some topic of controversy, 'n-ith the signature Common Sense attached; but as we find the poet again adopting the same allegorical i)hrase in '-The Ordination," where it can mean only .\ew Light Doctrine, we must discard such an idea. t Foot-note, added in 1787:— "A street so called, which faces the tent in ." [Mauchline.] § (Mr. Miller, a short, paunchy minister, suspected of a AVic IJyhi tondenc\ .) ( 24 ) Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, Wi' yill-caup Commentators : Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, An' there the pint-sto^v]! clatters ; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scnptitre, They raise a din, that, in the end. Is like to breed a rupture 0' wrath that day. Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair Than either School or Colledge : It kindles Wit, it waukeus Lear, It pangs us fou o' Knowledge. Be't whisJcy-gill or penny-wheep. Or ony stronger potion. It never fails, on drinkin deep, To kittle up our notion, By night or day. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an' body. Sit round the table, weel content, An' steer about the toddy. On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leak, They're makin observations ; While some are cozie i' the neuk. An' forming assignations To meet some day. But now the L — 's ain trumpet touts, Till a' the hills are rairan. An' echoes back return the shouts ; Black ****** is na spairan : * His piercin Avords Uke llighlan swords, Divide the joints an' marrow ; His talk o' H — 11, whare devils dwell, Our vera f " Sauls does harrow " Wi' fright that day ! (EusBoU.) t RliakPspoarnV Ifntnlrtt.— (H. R. 178C.) ( '^^ ) A vast, unbottom'd, boundless Pit, Fill'd fou o' lowan hrunstane, Whase raging flame, an' scorching heat, Wad molt the hardest whun-staue ! The half asleep start up wi' fear. An' think they hear it roaran, When presently it does appear, Twas but some neebor snoran Asleep that day. 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, How monie stories past, An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismist : How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches ; An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps. Was dealt about in lunches An' dawds that day. In comes a gawsie, gash Guidioife, An' sits down by the fire. Syne draws her kehhuck an' her knife ; The lasses they are shyer. The auld Guidmen, about the (jvace, Frae side to side they bother, Till some aue by his bonnet lays, An' gies them't, like a tether, Fu' lang that day. Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, Or lasses that hae naething ! Sma' need has he to say a grace, Or melvie his braw claithing ! Wives be mindfu', ance yoursel. How bonie lads ye wanted, An' chnna, for a kebback-heel, Let lasses be affronted On sic a day ! ( ^<5 ) Now Clinhimbell, wi' rattlau tow, Begins to jow an' croon ; Some swagger liame, the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the bilUes halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon : Wi'faith an' hope^ an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. IIow monie hearts this day converts, 0' sinners and o' Lasses ! Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane. As saft as ony flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine ; There's some are fou o' brandy ; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in Houghnagandie Some ither day. ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. Prince. chief of many throned pow'rs. That ledth' embaitl'd Seraphim to war— Milton. [Gilbert Burns gives the winter of 178-J-85 as the date of this universally admircil production. Eoforriiig to the last verse, Carly'o remarks,—" Burns even pities the very dcil, without knowing, I am sure, that my uncle Toby had been beforehand there with him! 'Ho is the father of curses and lies,' said Dr. Slop, 'and is cursed and damned already." 'I am sorry for it,' said my uncle Toby. A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility."] Thou, whatever title suit thee ! Auld llornie, Satan, Nick, or CMoolie, Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie. To scaud poor wretches ! ( 27 ) Hear me, mild Hangie^ for a wee, An' let ])oor, damned bodies bee ; I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gic, Ev'u to a dcil., To skelp an' scaucl poor dogs like me, An' hear us squeel ! Great is tliy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; Far kend an' noted is thy name ; An' tho' yon loivan Jmujlis thy hame. Thou travels far ; An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate nor scaur. Whyles, rangmg Hke a roaran lion, For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; Whyles, on the strong-wing'd Tempest llyiu, Tirlan the kirks ; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin. Unseen thou lurks, I've heard my rev'rend Gi-aunie say, In lauely glens ye hke to stray ; Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray, Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. When twiUght did my Grannie summon. To say her pray'rs, douse, honest woman ! Aft 'yont the dyke she's heard you bumman, Wi' eerie drone ; Or, rusthug, thi-o' the boortries coman, Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklentan hght, Wi' you, mrjsd^ I gat a fright, Ayont the lough ; Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, Wi' waving sugh. ( 28 ) The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood Hke a stake, "When wi' au eldritch, stoor quaiclc, quaick^ Amang the springs, Awa yc squatter'd like a drake, On whistling wings. Let WarlocJcs grim, an' wither'd Hags, Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, Wi' wicked speed ; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, Owre howcket dead. Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; For Oh ! the yellow treasure's taen By witching skill ; An' dawtet, twal-pint Hawkie's gane As yell's the Bill. Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, On Yoimg-Guidmen, fond, keen an' croose ; When the best tvark-lume i' the house, By cantraip wit, Is instant made no worth a louse. Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' float the jinglan icy boord. Then, Water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction, ' An' nighted Trav'Uers are allur'd To their destruction. An' aft your moss-traversing Sjmnkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : The bleezan, curst, mischievous moukies Delude his eyes. Till in some miry slougli he sunk is, Ne'er mair (o rise. ( 20 ) When MASOXS' mystic word an' ^?-, In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat, your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell ! The youngest Brother ye wad whip Aff straught to II — //. Lang syne, in EDEN'S bonie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd. An' all the Soul of Love they shar'd. The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant, (low'ry swaird, In shady bow'r.* Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! Ye cam to Paradise incog. An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, (Black be your fa' !) An' gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz Wi' reeket duds, an' reestet gizz. Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 'Mang better folk, An' sklented on the man of Uzz, Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak hiui out o' house an' hal', While scabs an' botches did him gall, Wi' bitter claw. An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl Was warst ava? In early MS. copies this verse reads thus:— " Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, When strappin Adam's days were green, And Eve was like my bonie Jean, My dearest part, A dancin, sweet, young handsome quean Wi' guileless heart." ( 30 ) But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily suares an' fechtiu lierce, Siu' that day * MICHAEL did you pierce, Down to tliis time, Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse^ In Prose or Rhyme. An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkan, A certain Bardies rantin, drinl I'm no mistrusting Willie Fit, When taxes he enlarges, (An' WiWs a true guid fallow's get, A Name not Envy spairges) That he intends to pay your debt, An' lessen a' your charges; But, G — d-sake ! let nae saving-Jit Abridge your bonie Barges An' Boats this day. Adieu, my LIEGE ! may Freedom geek Beneath your high protection ; An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck, And gie her for dissection ! But since I'm here, I'll no neglect. In loyal, true affection, To pay your QUEEN, with due respect, My fealty an' subjection This great Birth-day. Hail, Majesty viost Excellent ! While Nobles strive to please Ye, Will Ye accept a CompUment, A simple Bardie * gies Ye ? Thae bonie Bairntime, Heav'n has lent, Still higher may they heeze Ye In bhss, till Fate some day is sent. For ever to release Ye Frae Care that day. For you, young Potentate o' W — , I tell your Highness fairly, Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; But some day ye may gnaw your nails. An' curse your folly sairly, That e'er ye brak Diana's joa/es. Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie By night or day.f ♦ Altered, in 1794, to " Poet." t Thp Prince of Wales was then of the WTiIr, "r Fox Party. ( 43 ) Yet afl a ragged Coivte's been kuovvu, To mak a noble A iver ; So, ye may dousely fill a Throne, For a' their CUsh-nia-clavcr : There, Him* at Agincourl wha shone, Few better were or braver ; And yet, wi' funny, queer aS'^V f John^ He was an unco shaver For monie a day. For you, right rev'rend ,t Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, Altho' a ribban at your lug Wad been a dress compleater : As ye disown yon paughty dog. That hears the Keys of Peter, Then swith ! an' get a ivi.fe to hug, Or trouth ! ye'U stain the Mitre Some luckless day. Young, royal TARRY-BREEKS, I learn, Ye've lately come athwart her ; A glorious § Galley^ stem and stern, Weel rigg'd for Venus barter; But first hang out that she'll discern, Your hymeneal Charter^ Then heave aboard your grapple aim, An', large upon her quarter, Come full that day. Ye lastly, bonie blossoms a'. Ye royal Lasses dainty, Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, An' gie you lads a plenty : But sneer na British-boys awa ; For King's are unco scant ay, An' German-Gentles are but s)na\ * Foot-note, 1787, "King Henry." t Sir John Falstaff, Vide Shakespeare.— (K. B. 1786.) X Frederick, the second son of George III., at first Bishop of Osnaburg, after- wards Duke of York. § Alluding to the Newspaper account of a certain royal Sailor's Amour.— fR. B. 1786.) [His alliance with Mrs. Jordan, the actress.] •( 44 ) They're better just than want ay On onie day, God bless you a' ! consider now, Ye're unco muckle dautet ; But ere the course o' hfe be through, It may be bitter sautet : An' I hae seen their coggie fou, That yet hae tarrow't at it, But or the day was done, I trow, The laggen they hae clautet Fu' clean that day. THE VISION. DUAN FIRST.* [This delightful poem, consisting of 33 stanzas, was, in its original MS. foim, dragged out to no less than 60 verses, of which, 24 were devoted to the adorn- ment of Coila's mantle, by depicting thereon a description of the chief localities and the heroes of Kyle. This cumbersome robe was much lightened by the good taste of the poet when he came to trim it down for publication in that first volume, of which we here furnish a verbatim el literatim copy, where the whole emblazonment is comprised in 3 or 4 stanzas at the close of Ditan First. Anxious, however, to please some of his Ayrshire patrons, he restored, in his Edinburgh edition, 7 of those rejected stanzas, and these have ever since been retained as a portion of the poem; they will be given at another part of this work in their proper place, and, in form of a note thereto, will also be given those other stanzas which were entirely suppressed by the author.] The sun had clos'd the winter-day^ The Curlers quat their roaring play, And hunger'd Maukin taen her way To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The Threslier's weary flingin-tree, The lee-lang day had tir'd me ; And when the Day had clos'd his e'e. Far i' the West, Ben r the Spence^ right pensivelie, I gaed to rest. * Duan, a term of Ossian'e for the different divisions of a ditfresBive Poem. .See his Cath-Lodft, Vol. 2. of M'Pherson'B Translation. (R. B. 1786.) ( 45 ) There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, The auld, clay biggin; And heard the restless rattons squeak About the riggin. All in this mottie, misty clime, I backward mus'd on wasted time, How I had spent my youthfiC prime, An' done nae-thing, But stringing blethers up in rhyme For fools to sing. Had I to guid advice but harket, I might, by this, hae led a market. Or strutted in a Bank and clarket My Cash-Account ; While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarket, Is a' th' amount. I started, mutt'ring blockhead ! coof ! And heav'd on high my wauket loof, To swear by a' yon starry roof. Or some rash aith. That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof Till my last breath — When click ! the string the snich did draw ; And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; And by my ingle-lowe I saw. Now bleezau bright, A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, Come full in sight. Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht, In some wild glen ; When sweet, hke modest Worth, she blusht. And stepped ben. ( 4G ) Green, slender, leaf-clad Holly-houghs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, I took her for some SCOTTISH MUSE, By that same token ; And come to stop those reckless vows, Would soon been broken. A " hare-brain'd, sentimental trace " Was strongly marked in her face ; A wildly-witty, rustic grace Shone full upon her ; Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Beam'd keen with Honor. Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, Till half a leg was scr imply seen ; And such a leg! my BESS, I ween,* Could only peer it ; Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, Nane else came near it. Her Mantle large, of greenish hue. My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; Deep lights and shades., bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand ; And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, A well-known Land. Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; There, mountains to the skies were tost : Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, With surging foam ; There, distant shone, Art's lofty boast. The lordly dome. Here, DOON pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed I II WINE stately thuds: Auld, hermit AKIE f staw thro' his woods, On to the shore ; And many a lesser torrent scuds. With seeming roar. • Altered, in 1787, to "My bonny Jean." t Altered, in 1787, to "Ayr." ( 47 ) Low, iu a sandy valley spread, An ancient BOROUGH rear'd her head ; Still, as iu Scottish Story read. She boasts a Race^ To ev'ry nobler virtue bred. And polish'd grace. DUAN SECOND. With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair ; A whisp'ring throb did witness bear Of kindred sweet. When with an elder Sister's air She did me greet. ' All hail ! my oivn inspired Bard ! ' In me thy native Muse regard ! ' Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, ' Thus poorly low ! ' I come to give thee such retvard, ' As we bestow. ' Know, the great Geriizis of this Land, Has many a light aerial band. Who, all beneath his high command, ' Harmoniously, As Arts or Arms they understand, ' Their labors ply. ' They SCOTIA'S Race among them share ; Some tire the Sodger on to dare ; Some rouse the Patriot up to bare ' Corruption's heart : Some teach the Bard^ a darling care, ' The tuneful Art. ( 48 ) ' 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, ' They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; ' Or, mid the venal Senate's roar, ' They, sightless, stand, ' To mend the honest Patriot-lore^ ' And grace the hand.* ' Hence FULLARTON, the brave and young ; ' Hence, DEMPSTER'S truth-prevailing f tongue; ' Hence, sweet harmonious BEATTIE sung ' His " Minstrel lays ; " ' Or tore, with noble ardour stung, ' The Sceptic's bays. ' To lower Orders are assign'd, ' The humbler ranks of Human-kind, ' The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, ' The Artisan ; ' All chuse, as, various they're inclin'd, ' The various man. ' When yellow waves the heavy grain, ' The threat'uing Storin^ some, strongly, rein ; ' Some teach to meliorate the plain, ' With tillage-skill; ' And some instruct the Shepherd-train, ' Blythe o'er the hill. ' Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; ' Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; ' Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil, ' For humble gains, ' And make his cottage scenes beguile ' His cares and pains. ♦ A verse introclucod here, in 1787: — " And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, Charm or instruct tlio future age, Thoy bind the wild Poetic rage In energy, Or point the inconclusive jmge Full on the eye." t Altered, in 1787, to " zeal-inspired." ( 49 ) ' Some, bounded to a district-space, ' Explore at large Man's infant race^ ' To mark the embryotic trace, ' Of rustic Bard; ' And careful note each op'ning grace, ' A guide and guard. ' Of these am I — COIL A my name; ' And this district as mine I claim, ' Where once the CampbeWs * chiefs of fame, ' Held ruhng pow'r : ' I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, ' Thy natal hour. ' With future hope, I oft would gaze, ' Fond, on thy little, early ways, ' Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, ' In uncouth rhymes, ' Fir'd at the simple, artless lays ' Of other times. ' I saw thee seek the sounding shore, ' Dehghted with the dashing roar ; ' Or when the N'orth his fleecy store ' Drove thro' the sky, ' I saw grim Nature's visage hoar, ' Struck thy young eye. ' Or when the deep-green-mantl'd Earth, ' Warm-cherish'd ev'ry floweret's birth, ' And joy and music pouring forth, ' In ev'ry grove, ' I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth ' With boundless love. ' When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, ' Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling noise, ' I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, ' And lonely stalk, ' To vent thy bosom's swelUng rise, ' In pensive walk. * Mossglel and Ita neighbourtiood belonged to the Earl of Loudoun: family surname, Caiupbell. k '^ ( 50 ) • When yonthful Love^ warm-blushing, stron<5, ' Keen-sluvering shot thy nerves along, ' Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, ' Th' adored Name^ ' I taught thee how to pour in song, ' To soothe thy flame. ' I saw thy pulse's maddening play, ' Wild-send thee Pleasure's devious way, ' Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray^ ' By Passion driven ; ' But yet the liglit that led astray, ' Was Ugl\t from Heaven. ' I taught thy manners-painting strains, ' The loves^ the %mys of simple swains, ' Till now, o'er all my wide domains, ' Thy fame extends ; ' And some, the pride of Goila's plains, ' Become thy friends. ' Thou canst not learn, nor I can show, ' To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow ; ' Or wake the bosom-melting throe, ' With Shenstones art ; ' Or pour, with Gray^ the moving flow, ' Warm on the heart. ' Yet all beneath th- unrivall'd Rose, ' The lowly Daisy sweetly blows ; ' Tho' large the forest's Monarch throws ' IJis army shade, ' Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows, ' Adown the glade. ' Then never murmur nor repine ; ' Strive in thy humble S2)here to shine ; ' And trust me, not PotosVs mine, ' Nor Kings rei/djxl, ' Can give a bliss o'ermatcliing thine, ' A 7-i(s(ic Bard. ( 51 ) ' To give my counsels all in one, ' Thy tuneful Jlame still careful fan ; ' Preserve the digniUj of Man., ' With Soul erect ; ' And trust, the UNIVERSAL PLAN ' Will all protect. ' And wear thou this'' — She solemn said, And bound the Holhj round my head ; The poUsh'd leaves, and berries red, Did rusthng play ; And, like a passing thought, she fled. In Ught away. [In support of what we have stated in the head-note to the present poem regarding its extraordinary length, as originally composed, we hero insert a referonoe to that subject which occurs in a letter from the poet to Mrs. Dunlop, dated 15th January, 17S7 : — " I have not composed anything on the great Wallace, except what you have seen in print, and the enclosed, which I will print in tliis edition (then at press.) You will see I have mentioned some others of the name. When I composed my Vision long ago, I had attempted a description of Kyle, of which the additional stanzas are a part as it originally stood." Dr. Currie observes, "To the painting on Coila's mantle, on which is depicted the most striking scenery, as well as the most distinguished characters of his native district, some exception may be made : the mantle of CoUa, like the cup of Thyrsis and the shield of Achilles, is too much crowded with figures, and some of the objects represented upon it are scarcely admissable according to the principles of design." It would appear that, by the very instinct of genius. Burns had a feeling of this kind when left to his own judgement, for the present text is quite faultless as regards extravagance in CuUa'a robe.] ( 52 ) Thb following POEM will, by many Readers, be well enough understood ; but, for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, Notes are added, to give some account of the principal Charms and Spells of that Night, so big with Prophecy to the Peasantry in the West of Scotland. The passion of prying into Futurity makes a striking part of the history of Human-nature, in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honor the Author with a perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more unenlightened in our own. — (R. B. 1786.) HALLOWEEN* Yet! let the Rich deride, the Proud disdain, The simple pleasures of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to mij heart. One native charm, than all the gloss of art. Goldsmith. [This has ever been a special favourite with the peasantry of Scotland, abounding as it does in lively and characteristic description of manners and Bcenery so familiar to them. Few passages of Burns have been more frequently quoted in illustration of his graphic dexterity in hitting off a living landscape in a few touches, than the 25th stanza, commencing — " Whyles owre a linn," &c.] Upon that night, when Fairies light, On Cassilis Dowiians^ dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance ; Or for Colean, the rout is taen, Beneath the moon's pale beams ; There, up the Cove, | to stray an' rove, Amang the rocks an' streams To sport that night. Amang the bonie, winding banks. Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear. Where BRUCE § ance rul'd the martial ranks. An' shook his Carrick spear, • Is thought to be a night when Witches, De\ils, and other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands: particularly, those, aerial people, the Fairies, are said, on that night, to hold a grand Anniversary. — (E. B. 1786.) t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient scat of the Earls of Cassilia. — (E. B. 1 786.) t A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies.— (E. B. 1786.) § The famous family of that name, the ancost^jrs of ROBERT the great Deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.— (E. B. 1786.) ( 53 ) Some merry, friendly, countra folks, Together did convene, To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, An' baud their Halloween Fu' blythe that night. The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they're fine ; Their faces blythe, f u' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, Weel knotted on their garten, ' Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, Gar lasses hearts gang startin Whyles fast at night. Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail, Their stocks * maun a' be sought ance ; They steek their een, an' grape an' wale, For muckle anes, an' straught anes. Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift. An' wander'd thro' the Bow-hail, An' pow't, for want o' better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail Sae bow't that night. Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, They roar an' cry a' throw'ther ; The vera ivee-thinrjs, toddlan, rin, Wi' stocks out owre theu* shouther : An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; Syne coziely, aboon the door, Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them To lye that night. •The first ceremony of Halloween, is, pulling each a Sfoci, or plant of kaU. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with : its being bi| or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their Spells-the husband or wife. If any ytrd or earth, .Uck to the root, that is tocher, or fortune ; and the taste of the custoc. tliat is he heart of the stem, is indicative of the natui-al temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or to give them their ordinary appellation, the r«n?s are placed some- where above the head of the door ; and the christian names of the people whom rfTance brilgs into the house, are, according t^ the priority of plying the runf,. the names in question. — (E. B. 178''^.) ( 54 ) The lasses staw frae 'mang them a', To pou their stalks o' corn ; * But Bab sh'ps out, an' jinks about, Behint the muekle thorn : He grippet Nell>/ hard an' fast ; Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; But her tap-pickle maist was lost. When kiutlan in the Fause-home f Wi' him that night. The auld Guidwife's weel-hoordet nits \ Are round an' round divided, An' monie lads an' lasses fates Are there that night decided : Some kindle, couthie, side by side, An' burn thegither trimly ; Some start awa, wi' saucy pride. An' jump out owre the chimlie Fu' high that night. Jean slips in twa, wi' tontie e'e ; Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; But this is JocJc^ an' this is me^ She says in to hersel : He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, As they wad never mair part. Till fuff ! he started up the lum, An' Jean had e'en a sair heart To see't that night. * They go to the barn-yard, and pviU each, at three several times, a stalk ot Oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the Btalk, the party in question mil want the Maiduuhead. — (E. B. IT.Sfi.) [The three closing words of this note altered In 17.S7, to "come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid."] t When the com is in a doubtful etato, by hoing too green, or wot, the Stack- builder, by means of old timber, i\ As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! Aft tbee an' I, in aught hours gaun, On guid March-weather, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', For days thegither. Thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an' flisket, But thy auld tail thou wad liae whisket, An' spread abreed tliy weel-fiU'd brisket, Wi' pith an' pow'r, Till sprittie knowes wad rair't an' risket, An' slypet owre. When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labor back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap Aboon the timmer ; I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep For that, or Simmer. In cart or car thou never reestet ; The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ; Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastet. Then stood to blaw ; But just thy step a wee thing hastet. Thou snoov't awa. My Pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; Four gallant brutes, as e'er did di-aw ; Forby sax mae, I've sell't awa. That thou hast nurst : They drew me thretteen puud an' twa. The vera warst. Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought. An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! An' monie an anxious day, I thought We wad be beat ! Yet here to crazy Age we're brought, Wi' something yet. ( 64 ) An' think na, my auld, trusty Servan\ That now perhaps thou's less deservin, An' thy auld days may end in starvin', For my last fow, A heapet Stimpart, I'll reserve ane Laid by for you. We've worn to crazy years thegither ; We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, To some hain'd rig, Wbare ye may nobly rax your leather, Wi' sma' fatigue. ( 65 ) THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ.* Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the Poor. Gray. [The spirit of Poetry is akin to that of EeUgion, and the union of the two is, In no human composition, more powerful than in the present production. The two concluding stan2as of this noble poem, the first being a patriotic apostrophe to Scotland, and the last a grand address to the Deity in her behalf, were fervently recited by the bard, with head uncovered, and kneeling on English soil with his face towards Scotland, immediately after crossing the Tweed for the first time into the sister kingdom, on the morning of Monday, 8th May, 1787, while on his Border tour with Ainslie. The grand reference to Sir William Wallace in the last stanza, and another noble verse or two on the same hero, in the Epistle to W S , Ochiltree, will recall to the reader the poet's observation in his autobiography, when speaking of the books perused by him during his early boyhood : — " The story of Wallace poured a tide of Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there till the floodgates of Ufa shut in eternal rest." The fine religious tone of this whole poem, together with the noble tributes to Wallace, above referred to, procured for the bard the friendship of Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop, a lineal descendent of that patriot's brother. She, however, could not be reconciled to the epithet " great, unhappy Wallace " adopted by the poet, and she urged him to alter the phrase in his first Edinburgh Edition. In his letter to her of 15th January, 1787, he says, "The word you object to, borrowed from Thomson, does not strike me as being an improper epithet. I distrusted my own judgement on your finding fault with it, and applied for the opinion of some literati here, who honour me with their critical strictures, and they all allow it to be proper." Accordingly it was left in that edition precisely as in the text ; but Mrs. Dunlop would not j-ield her point, and the poet was, in 1793, prevailed on to alter the line as indicated in our relative foot-note. Many readers will think the change is for the better. Burns is indebted to the " Farmer's Ingle " of Fergusson for suggesting the title and structure of the poem before us, and all the world knows that William Burns the poet's father, supplied the model of " the Saint, the Father, and the Husband," therein depicted in colours that shall never fade.] My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend, No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; With honest pride I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways, What A**** in a Cottage would have been ; Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween ! • Eobert Aiken, writer in Ayr, one of the poet's early friends and patrons . ( G6 ) November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugb ; The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn COTTER frae his labor goes, T/iis night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes, Hoping the ?7ioj-n in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does haraeward l)end. At length his lonely Cot appears in view. Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; The expectant ivee-things, toddlan, stacher through To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee. His wee-bit ingle, blinkan bonilie. His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty Wifie's smile. The lisping infant, pratthng on his knee, Does a' his weary kiangh and care * beguile. And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At Service out, amang the Farmers roun' ; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town : Their eldest hoi)e, their Jenny, woman-grown. In youthfu' l^loom. Love sparkling in her e'e. Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown. Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, To helj) her Parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, And each for other's weelfare kindly si)iers : The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. The Parents partial eye their hopeful years ; Anticipation forward ))oints the view; The Mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. * " Kiaufjh nnd care" altered, in 17nn, tn " oarliinjr cnrps." ( C7 ) Their Master's and their Mistress's command, The i/oitngkers a' are warned to obey ; And niiiiil their hvbors wi' an eydent hand, And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : ' And ! be sure to fear the LORD alway ! ' And mind your dufij, duely, morn and night ! ' Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, ' Implore his counsel and assisting 7nir//it: ' They never sought in vain that sought the LORD aright. But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jeimi/, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor. To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily Mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek. With heart-struck, anxious care enquires his name, While Jenwj hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel-pleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless Rake. With kindly welcome, Jennt) brings him ben; A strappan youth ; he takes the Mother's eye ; Blythe Jenny sees the i-isit's no ill taen ; The Father cracks of horses, pleughs and kye. The youngsters artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave ; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heart-felt raptures ! bhss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal rounds And sage EXPERIENCE bids me this declare— ' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, ' One cordial in this melancholy Vale^ ' 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest Pair, ' In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, ' Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'uing gale.' ( 68 ) Is there in human form, that bears a heart — A Wretch ! a Villain ! lost to love and truth ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! Are Honoi\ Virtue^ Conscience^ all exil'd ! Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth, Points to the Parents fondling o'er their Child ? Then paints the ruirCd Maid, and their distraction wild ! But now the Supper crowns their simple board, The healsome Porritch, chief of SCOTIA'S food : The soupe their onb/ Hawkie does afford. That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : The Dame brings forth, in complimental mood. To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid ; The frugal Wijie, garrulous, will tell. How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' Lint was i' the bell. The chearfu' Supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The Sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, The big hd -Bible, ance his Fathers pride : His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His h/aj-t haffets wearing thin and bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in ZION glide. He wales a portion with judicious care ; ' And let us worship GOD!' he says with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; Or noble Ehjin beets the heaven-ward flame. The sweetest far of SCOTIA'S holy lays : Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they, with our CREATOR'S praise. ( 69 ) The priest-like Father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the Friend of GOD on high ; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage, With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the roj/al Bard did groaning lye, Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; Or rapt IsaiaJis wild, seraphic fire ; Or other Holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian Volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; How HE, who bore in heaven the second name, Had not on Earth whereon to lay His head : How His first followers and servants sped ; The Precepts sage they wrote to many a land : How Ae, who lone in Patmos banished. Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; And heard great Bab Ion's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command. Then kneeUng down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KING, The Saint, the Father, and the Husband prays : Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant wing,' * That thtis they all shall meet in future days : There, ever bask in uncreated rays. No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. Together hymning their CREATOR'S praise, In such society, yet still more dear ; While circhng Time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide. Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! The POWER, incens'd, the Pageant will desert. The pompous strain, the sacredotal stole ; But haply, in some Cottage far apart, May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the Soul; And in His Book of Life the Inmates poor enroll. • Pope's WindBor Forest. (R. B. 178fi.) ( 70 ) Then homeward all take off tlieir sev'ral way ; The youngling Cottagers retire to rest ; The Parent -pair their secret homarje pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That HE who stills the raveiis elam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best. For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine preside. From scenes hke these, old SCOTIA'S grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, ' An honest man's the noble * work of GOD :' And certes^ in fair Virtue's heavenly road. The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind : What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness reliu'd ! O SCOTIA ! my dear, my native soil ! For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent ! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil^ Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! And may Heaven their simple lives prevent From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then howe'er croivns and coronets be rent, A virtuous Pojmlace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd ISLE. O THOU ! who pour'd the patriotic tide^ That stream'd thro' great, unhappy WALLACE' heart; f Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyramiic pride. Or ?iobly die, the second glorious part : (The Patriot's GOD, i)eculiurly thou art, Ills Jrie7id, inspirer, guardian and reward/) O never, never SCOTIA'S realm desert. But still the Patriot, and the Patriot-Bard, In bright succession raise, her Ornament and Guard! • "Noblo" misquoted here for "noblest:" corrected in the second edition of 1787. t Altered, in 1793, to— " That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heart." ( 71 TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST, WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785. [Hero we again see how, in the words of Thomas Carlyle, the poet " rises to the high, stoops to the low, and is brother and playmate to all nature." This is, by readers gentle and readers simple, acknowledged to be one of the most per- fect little gems that ever human genius produced. One of its couplets has passed into a proverb; — " The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley."] Wee, sleeket, cowrau, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need ua start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle ! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'rmg 2}ci'ttle ! I'm truly sorry Man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle, At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal ! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve , What then ? poor beastie, thou maun Uve ! A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request : I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't ! Thy wee-bit hoiisie, too, in ruin ! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin ! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green ! An' bleak Decembers icinds eusuin, Baith suell an' keen I ( 72 ) Thou saw the fields laid bare au' wast, An' weary Winter comia fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble. But house or hald, To thole the Wmter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld ! But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain : The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, Gang aft agley. An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain. For promis'd joy ! Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! The present only toucheth thee : But Och ! 1 backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear ! An' forward, the' I canna see, I ffuess &n'fear/ ( 73 ) EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. January — - [The references to " my darling Jean," in this most delightful poem, shew that January, 1785, is its proper date. Some editors have set down the year 1784, and the writer of the memoir of Sillar, in the " Contemporaries of Burns," unreasonably contends for 1782 being tho real date; but " Eab Moss^riel" had no acquaintanceship with " Mauchline Belles " before the spring and summer of 1784. David Sillar was one year younger than Burns, and like him, was the son of a small farmer in the neighbourhood of Tarbolton, and although he had taught in the parish school for a month or two, during a vacancy previous to the appointment of John Wilson (Hornbook o" the clachan), ho had no claim to the character of " scholar," bestowed on him by Allan Cunningham. His " Poems," published in 1789, prove him to have been no poet. He resided In Irvine from the close of the year 1783, first as a grocer, and thereafter as a schoolmaster: for several years, latterly, he was a councillor, and eventually a bailie of that town, where he died much respected in 1830. The intensity of Burns' love for his Jean is strongly indicated in the present poem, and some of the expressions used in reference to that affection — " Her dear idea brings relief," and those lines — " The life blood streaming thro' my heart, Or my more dear Immm-tal part, Is not more fondly dear! " have their counterparts in the little fragment in his Scrap-Book, under date May, 1786, which evidently is the first sketch of the world-famous song, " Of a' the airts," &c., composed in honour of her, — " Her dear idea round my heart should tenderly entvrine : Tho' mountains rise and deserts howl, and oceans roar between; Yet dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean."] While winds frae off BEN-LOMOND blaw, And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, And hiug us owre the ingle, I set me down, to pass the time. And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, In hamely, ivestlin jingle. While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Ben to the chimla lug, I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift, That Kve sae bien an' snug : I tent less, and want less Their roomy fire-side ; But hanker, and canker. To see their cursed pride. It's hardly in a body's pow'r. To keep, at times, frae being sour. To see how things are shar'd ; How best o' duels are whyles in want. While Coofs on countless thousands rant, And ken na how to wair't ; ( 74 ) But DAVIE lad, ne'er fash your head, Tho' we hae Utile gear, We're fit to wiu our daily bread. As lang's we're hale and fier : ' Mair spier ua, nor fear na,' * Auld age ne'er mind a feg ; The last o't, the warst o't, Is only but to beg. To lye in kilns and barns at e'en. When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin. Is, doubtless, great distress ! Yet then content could make us blest ; Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste Of truest happiness. The honest heart that's free frae a' Intended fraud or guile, Ilowever Fortune kick the ba'. Has ay some cause to smile : And mind still, you'll find still, A comfort this nae sma'; Nae mair then, we'll care then, i^ae farther we can/o.' What tho', like Commoners of air. We wander out, we know not where. But either house or hal"? Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods. The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, Are free ahke to all. In days when Daisies deck the ground, And Blackbirds whistle clear, With honesit joy, our hearts will bound, To see the coming year : On braes when we please then, We'll sit and soivth a tune ; Syne rhijme till't, we'll time till't, And sing't when we hae done. • Bamfsay.— (H. B. 1786.) ( 7o ) It's uo iu titles aor ia rank ; It's no in wealth like Lonon Bau/c^ To purchase peace and rest ; It's no in makin muckle, 7nair : It's no in books ; it's no in Lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And center in the breast, "We may be tuise, or rich, or (/reat, But never can be blest: Nae treasures, nor pleasures Could make us happy lang ; The heart ay's the part ay, That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and /, Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry, Wi' never-ceasing toil ; Think ye, are we lest blest than they, Wha scarcely tent us in their way. As hardly worth their while 1 Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood, GOD'S creatures they oppress ! Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, They riot in excess ! Baith careless, and fearless, Of either Heaven or Hell ; Esteeming, and deeming. It a' an idle tale ! Then let us chearfu' acquiesce ; Nor make our scanty Pleasures l&?s, By pining at our state : And, ev'n should Misfortunes come, I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, An's thankfu' for them yet. They gie the wit of Age to Youth ; They let us ken oursel ; They make us see the naked truth, The j-eaJ guid and ill. ( 76 ) Tho' losses, and crosses, Be lessons right severe, There's luit there, ye'U get there, Ye'll find nae other where. But tent me, DAYIE, Ace o' Hearts! (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes^ And flatt'ry I detest) This Ufe has joys for you and I ; And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; And joys the very best. There's a' the Pleasures o' the Heart, The Lover and the Frien'; Ye hae your MEG, your dearest part. And I my darling JEAN ! It warms me, it charms me, To mention but her name : It heats me, it beets me. And sets me a' on flame ! O, all ye Poiv'rs who rule above ! O THOU, whose very self art love ! THOU know'st my words sincere ! The life blood streaming thro' my heart,* Or my more dear Immortal part. Is not more fondly dear ! When heart-corroding care and grief Deprive my soul of rest, Her dear idea brings reUef, And solace to my breast. Thou BEING, Allseeing, O hear my fervent pray'r ! Still take her, and make her, THY most pecuUar care ! All hail! ye tender feehngs dear ! The smile of love, the friendly tear, The sympathetic glow ! • This line Is liko one in the Cotter's Saturday Night .— " That Brream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart,' ( 77 ) Long since, this world's thorny ways Had number'd out my weary days, Had it not been for you ! Fate still has blest me with a friend, In ev'ry care and ill ; And oft a more endearing band, A tye more tender still. It hghtens, it brightens, The tenebrific scene, To meet with, and greet with. My DAVIE or my JEAN ! 0, how that name inspires my style ! The words come skelpan, rank and file, Amaist before I ken ! The ready measure rins as fine. As Phwhus and the famous Nine Were glowran owre my pen. My spavet Pegasus will hmp, Till ance he's fairly het ; And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp. And rin an unco fit : But least then, the beast then. Should rue this hasty ride, I'll Ught now, and dight now, His sweaty, wizen'd hide. ( 78 ) THE LAMENT. OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A friend's AMOUR. Alas .' hoiD oft does goodness wound itself! And sweet Affection ^roue the spring of Woe! Home. (Tho poet in his autobiography, says " Tho unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed poem, ' Tho Lament ' (Jean Armour's ilesertinn of him in spring, 17Sfi, by command of her father), was a most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given mn one or two of the principal qualiflcations for a place among those who have lost the chart and mistaken the reckoning of rationality. I gave up my part of tho farm to my brother, and made what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica; but before leaving my native country for ever, I resolved to publish my poems." The very exercise of producing such pieces as " The Lament " and " Des- pondency, an Ode," caused the distraction of his feeUngs to su))side, and the healthful excitement consequent on tho work of superintending the printing of his poems, completed the cure. The wonderful volume came out, and attracted the attention it could not fail to command. " The poetic Genius of his country whispered him to come to the ancient metropolis of Caledonia, and he obeyed her dictates." The Muse of History inscribed his name on her Records, and tracked his footsteps for ever after.] Thou pale Orb, that silent shines, While care-nntroubled mortals sleep ! Thou seest a wretch, who inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep ! With Woe I nighty vigils keep, Beneath thy wan, unwarmiug beaiu ; And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream ! 1 joyless view thy rays adorn, The faintly-marked, distant hill : I joyles.'^ view thy trembling horn, Keilected in the gurgling rill. My fondly-fluttering heart, be still! Thou l)usy pow'r, Remembrance, cease! Ah! must the agonizing thrill. For ever bar returning Peace ! No idly-feign'd, poetic pains, My sad, lovelorn lament ings claim : No she])herd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame. ( 79 ) The pUyhted faith ; the mutual fiame ; The oft-attested Poivers above ; The promised Fathers tender name ; These were the pledges of my love ! Encircled iu her clasping arms, Tlow have the raptur'd moments flown ! How have I wish'd for Fortmie's charms, For her dear sake, and her's alone! And, must I think it ! is she gone, My secret -heart's exulting boast 1 And does she heedless hear my groan ? And is she ever, ever lost ? Oh ! can she bear so base a heart. So lost to Honor, lost to Truth, As from the fondest lover part. The plighted husband of her youth ? Alas ! Life's path may be unsmooth ! Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share and make them less 1 Ye winged Hours that o'er us ])ast, Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my l)reast. My fondly-treasur'd thoughts emi)loy'd. That breast, how dreary now, and void. For her too scanty once of room ! Ev'n ev'ry ray of Hoj:)e destroy'd. And not a Wish to gild the gloom ! The morn that warns th'approaching day. Awakes me up to toil and woe : I see the hours, in long array. That I must suffer, hngering, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen Recollection's direful train. Must wring mv soul, ere Phoebus, low. Shall kiss the distant, western main. ( 80 ) And when my nightly couch I try, Sore-harass'd out, with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief : Or if I slumber, Fancy, chief. Reigns, hagard-wild, in sore afright : Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief. From such a horror-breathing night. ! thou bright Queen, who, o'er th'expanse. Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! The time, unheeded, sped away. While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. To mark the mutual-kindling eye. Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! Scenes, never, never to return ! Scenes, if in stupor I forget. Again I feel, again I burn ! From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn. Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' ; And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn A faithless woman's broken vow. [It may be worth while to notice here (an instance, by the way, of the early popularity of Burns' Poems out of Scotland), the following passage from a letter dated "London, 8th February, 1791," addressed to the poet by the Rev. George Baird, afterwards Principal of Edinburgh University : — " Have you ever seen an engraving published here some time ago, from one of your poems,— O thoupaleorbt If you have not, I uhall have the pleasure of sending It to you."] ( «1 ) DESPONDENCY, AN ODE. [This, and the " Ode to Ruin " are on the same subject, and were composed on the same occasion as the foregoing. It is sad to thinlj of the author, who was even then in the bloom of young manhood — only 27 years old — writing thus, and reverting to his " enviable early days." And how tender and beautiful is the closing apostrophe to the younger portion of his Ayrshire compeers : — " Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, like linnets in the bush. Ye little know the ills ye court, when Manhood is your wish ! " In one of his letters of this eventful year, he says, "The consequence of my follies may perhaps make it impracticable for me to stay at home ; and besides, I have for some time been pining under severe wretchedness, from causes which you pretty well know — the pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with some wandering stabs of remorse, which never faO to settle on my vitals like vultures, when attention is not called away by the vagaries of the Muse."] Oppress'd with grief, oppress' d with care, A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh : O Life ! Thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I ! Dim-backward as I cast my view. What sick'uing Scenes appear ! What Sorrows t^et may pierce me thro', Too justly I may fear ! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom ; My woes here, shall close ne'er, But with the closing tomb / Tlappy ! ye sons of Busy-Hfe, Who, equal to the bustling strife. No other view regard ! Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd. Yet while the busy means are ply'd. They bring their own reward : Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, Unfitted with an a/?H, Meet ev'ry sad-returning night, And joyless morn the same. k p ( H:^ ) You, bustling and justling, Forget each grief and pain ; I, listless, yet restless, Find ev'ry prospect vain. How blest the Sohtary's lot, Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. Within his humble cell. The cavern wild with tangling roots, Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, Beside his crystal well ! Or haply, to his ev'ning thought, By unfrequented stream. The waiis of men are distant brought, A faint-collected dream : While praising, and raismg His thoughts to Heaven on high, As wand'ring, meand'ring. He views the solemn sky. Than I, no lonely Hermit plac'd Where never human footstep trae'd, Less fit to play the part. The lucky moment to improve. And just to stop, and just to move, With self-respecting art : But ah ! those pleasures. Loves and Joys, Which I too keenly taste. The Solitani can despise. Can want, and yet be blest ! He needs not, he heeds not, Or human love or hate ; Whilst I here, must cry here, At perfidy ingrate ! Oh, enviable, early days, ' When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze, To Care, to Guilt unknown ! How ill exchang'd for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own ! ( «;5 ) Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Like linnets in the bush, Ye little know the ills ye court. When Manhood is your wish ! The losses, the crosses. That active man engage ; The fears all, the tears all, Of dim declining Age! MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, A DIRGE. [Lockhart remarks, " The indignation with which Burns through life con- templated the inequality of human condition, and particularly (and who shall say with absolute injustice?) the contrast between his own felt intellectual strength and his worldly circumstances, were never more bitterly nor more loftily expressed than in some of these stanzas : — See yonder poor, o'erlahour'd wight, &c." The hint for this production was derived from an old Soots dirge called " The Life and Age of Man." which his mother had committed to memory while yet a little girl. The poet tells Mrs. Dunlop in one of his letters, that an old grand- uncle of his, with whom his mother was brought up, and who was long blind before he died, experienced great enjoyment in sitting beside her and crying while she sung over to him the metrical history of Man, which is so pathetically told in the poem. Cromek recovered the old words from the recitation of the poet's mother.] When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare. One ev'ning, as I wand'red forth, Along the banks of AIRE, I spy'd a man, whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care ; His face was furrow'd o'er with years, And hoary was his hair. Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ? Began the rev'rend Sage ; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful Pleasure's rage ? Or haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began, To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of Man. ( «4 ) The Snn that overhangs you moors, Out-spreading far and wide, Where hundreds hibour to support A haughty lordHng's pride ; I've seen yon weary winter-sun Twice forty times return ; And ev'ry time has added proofs, That Man was made to mourn. Man ! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time ! Mispending all thy precious hours. Thy glorious, youthful prime ! Alternate FolUes take the sway ; Licentious Passions burn ; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, That Man was made to mourn. Look not alone on youthful Prime, Or Manhood's active might ; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right : But see him on the edge of life, With Cares and Sorrows worn. Then Age and Want, Oh ! ill-match'd pair ! Show Man was made to mourn. A few seem favourites of Fate, In Pleasure's lap carest ; Yet, think not all the Rich and Great, Are likewise truly blest. But Oh ! what crouds in ev'ry land. All wretched and forlorn. Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That Man was maile to mourn ! Many and sharp the num'rous Ills Inwoven with our frame ! More pointed still we make ourselves. Regret, Remorse and Shame ! ( »^ ) And Mau, wliose heav'n-erected face, The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to Man Makes countless thousands mourn ! See, yonder poor, o'erlal)our'd wight, So abject, mean and vile. Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his \on\\y fellow-ivorm, The poor petition spurn. Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife, And helpless offspring mourn. If I'm design'd yon lordhug's slave. By Nature's law design'd. Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind 1 If not, why am I subject to His cruelty, or scorn ? Or why has Man the will and pow'r To make his fellow mourn ? Yet, let not this too much, my Sou, Disturb thy youthful breast : This partial view of human-kind Is surely not the last ! The poor, oppressed, honest mau Had never, sure, been born, Had there not been some recompence To comfort those that mourn ! O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best ! Welcome the hour, my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest ! The Great, the Wealthy fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn ; But Oh ! a blest relief for those That weary-laden mourn ! WINTER, A DIRGE. [The poet, in 1787, notes this as being the eldest of his printed pieces. In April, 17*4, he had inserted it in his oonimon-place Book, prefaced with some eloquent observations, of which the follo«-ing passage is an excerpt: — "I take a peculiar pleasm-e in the season of Winter, more than the rest of the year. This, I believe, may be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast ; but there is something even iii the mighty tempest which raises the mind to a serious sublimity favourable to everything great and noble. There is scarcely any earthly object which gives me more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure, but something which exalts and enraptures ine, than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and hear the storm howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my very best season for devotion : my mind is -wrapt in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who, in the lofty language of the Hebrew bard, ' walks on the wings of the wind.' In one of those seasons, just after a train of misfortunes, I composed the following:"] — The Wintry West extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw ; Or, the stormy North sends driving forth, The bhnding sleet and snaw : While, tumbhng brown, the Burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beast, in covert, rest. And pass the heartless day. ' The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,' * The joyless ivinte^'-dw/, Let others fear, to me more dear. Than all the pride of May : The Tempest's howl, it soothes my soul. My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine ! Thou POW'R SUPREME, whose mighty Scheme, These u'oes of mine fulfil ; Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. Because they arc T/iij Will ! Then all I want (Oh, do thou grant This one request of mine !) Since to enjo!/ Thou dost deny, Assist me to i-esiyn ! Dr. Young.— (B. B. I7S(!.) ( 87 ) A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. [The poet entered these verses in his early Scrap-Book under this title : — " A Prayer when fainting fits and other alarminR symptoms of a pleurisy or somn other dangerous disorder, which indeed still threatens me, first put nature on the alarm." We, can have no difficulty in assigning the date of this pincc, as well as those other beautiful " Stanzas on the same occasion," which ho printed in his Edinburgh volume, to the period of his six months' sojourn at Irvine, in 1781; for, in reference thereto, he says in his autobiography, " Ehymo, except some religious pieces which are in print, I had given up." His melancholy letter to his father in December of that year, exactly accords with the sentiment of the verses: — " Sometimes indeed," so he writes, " when for an hour or two my spirits are a little lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity: but my only pleasureablo emploj-ment is looking backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way: I am quite transported at the thought that ere long, perliaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains and disquietudes of this weary life."] THOU unknown, Almighty Cause, Of all my hope and fear ! In whose dread Presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear ! If I have wander'd in those paths Of Ufe I ought to shun ; As Something, loudly, iu my breast, Remonstrates I have done ; Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me, With Passions wild and strong ; And hst'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong.* Where human weakness has come short, Or frailt>i stept aside, Do Thou, ALL-GOOD, for such Thou art, In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd. No other plea I have. But, Thou art good; and Goodness still Dehghteth to forgive. * Uncandid or unthinking detractors of the poet (some of these style them- selves Reverend) — confounding the distinction between a confession and an e.vculpatonj plea — have referred to this verse as shewing that Bui-ns pleaded the strengtli of his passions as an excuse for sin. Tried by this standard. King David would also be condemned for reminding his Maker that he was "conceived in sin and shapen in iniquity." The Hebrew Bard, like him of Scotland, " be- moaned himself ' for " listening to the ^^^tching voice " of his own passions. ( 88 ) TO A MOUNTAIN-DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGir, IN APRIL 1786. [On the 20th of April, 1786, the poet transcribed these verses, under the title of " The Gowan," to his friend John Kennedy, with these words : — " I have here enclosed a small piece, the very latest of my productions : I am a good deal pleased with some of the sentiments myself, as they are just the native querulous feelings of a heart which ' melancholy "has marked for her own.' " Under what circumstances then, was this " bonie gem " produced ? — On 3rd April, he wrote thus to a friend : — " My proposals for publishing, I am just going to send to press." Next week, he wrote to Ballantjaie, as follows: — "My proposals came to hand last night. Old Mr. Armour prevailed with Mr. Aitken to mutilate that unlucky paper yesterday, (the mutual acknowledgment of marriage betwixt him and Miss Armour.) Would you believe it? although I had not a hope, nor even a wish to make her mine after her conduct, yet when he told me the names were all out of the paper, my heart died within me, and he cut my veins with the news. Perdition seize her falsehood! " This was the "perfidy ingrato " which he refers to in his Ode of Despondency, and the " dart " of his next poem — the Ode to Ruin, where he says, '■ One has cut my dearest tye, and quivers in my heart." Thus, then, we see that the " Mountain-Daisy " was a sort of prelude to his pathetic Lament, and mournful Odes of this dreary period.] Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem : To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonie Lai% companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! Wi's spreckl'd breast,* When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpUng East. Cauld blew the bitter-biting North Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet chearfuUy thou ghnted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the Parent-earth Thy tender form. Altered, in 1787, to •' Wi' spreckl'd breast." ( «!> ) The flaunting /owVs our Gardens yield, Higli-shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibhk-Jield^ Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou hes ! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow' ret of the rural shade ! By Love's simphcity betray'd. And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! Unskilful he to note the card 01 prudait Lore^ Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to snjfering worth is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n To Mis'ry's brink, Till wrencli'd of ev'ry stay but HEAV'N, He, ruiu'd, sink ! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine no distant date; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, Full on thy bloom. Till crush'd beneath i\w furronfs weight. Shall be thy doom ! ( yo ) TO RUIN. [The head-note to the foregoing poem, and those to the Lament and Despondemy, will serve to illustrate this also, where the same theme is pursued. Here the outraged feelings of the suffering bard sul)side into resignation. In the first stanza, he gives sullen welcome to the ministers of woe, and in the closing verse ho woos the cold embrace of the "grim Power, by Life abhorred." Some of its words he afterwards wove into a touching couplet of one of his lyrics : — " This bruis'd heart o' mine that now beats in my breast, I can feel by its throbbings, will soon be at rest."] All hail ! inexorable lord ! At whose destruction-breathing word, The mightiest empires fall ! Thy cruel, woe-dehghted train, The ministers of Grief and Pain, A sullen welcome, all ! With stern-resolv'd despairing eye, I see each aimed dart ; For one has cut my dearest lye And quivers in my heart. Then low'ring, and pouring. The Storm no more I dread ; Tho' thiek'ning, and black'ning. Round my devoted head. And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd, While Life a pleasure can afford, Oh ! hear a wretch's ])ray'r ! No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; I court, I beg thy friendly aid, To close this scene of care ! When shall my soul, in silent peace, Resign Life's joy /ess day? My weary heart its throbbings cease, Cold-mould'ring in the day ? No fear more, no tear more. To stain my lifeless face, Enclasped, and grasped. Within thv cold embrace! ( '-H ) EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. Matj 1786. [The poet has printed "May, 1786," as the date of this very sensible memento, which has a good deal more of the sermon than tlio sonrj in it. The only copy of this epistle known to exist in the author's MS. gives the date more minutely, thus— "Mossgiol, 15th May. 1780." That day was a Monday— the Term-day on ■which any maid-servant who has resolved on leaving her place, must "row up herweekist vri' her a' in't," and go elsewhere. It has been established by a minute searcher into such matters, that on that day a humble serving-maid at Mauchline, whose name has since become imperishable in the lustre thrown over it by the lyric genius of Burns, bade fari'well to Ayrshire, and went homo to reside with her parents in the West Highlands. It is extremely difficult to realize in our minds the fact — yet a fact it is, that the day preceiling the one on which this shrewd and prudential epistle was penned, was that memorable '• day of lasting love," regarding which the poet has left us this record in prose : — "My Highland Lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blest a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot on the banks of the Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell, before she should embark for the West Highlands to arrange matters for our projected change of life." One naturally asks — Where is the room, and when could the poet tind time, during this season of disquietude — of restless activity and {lowing inspiration, for "a pretty long tract" of courtship with one who was never seen In his company ? — with one, too, whose name he was never known to whisper in mortal ear till she had boon three years in her grave — one whom he did not allude to in his minute autobiography — never spoke of, even in his eonlldential unbosomiugs to Clarinda, and never once referred to mitil he had provoked enquiry by the production of his sublime Address to " Mary in Heaven "? One answer, and only one, to all this is, that Burns, not- withstanding his apparent ingenuousness and candour, may not have been quite 60 open-hearted as his own COILA, " whose eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, beam'd keen vnih honor." Indeed, the very poem which has given rise to this note, inculcates secretiveness and cunning, of a very questionable kind : — "Ay free, aff han', your storj- tell, when wi' a bosom crony; But still keep something to yoursel j'c scarcely tell to ony. Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can frae critical dissection ; But keek thro" ev'i-y other man, wi' sharpen' d, sly inspection." We quite concur with Robert Chambers in holding that Burns is neither philo- sophically nor morally right in giving such advice to his young friend. It remains to be noted that Andrew Aiken, to whom the epistle is addressed, was the son of Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr. the early patroti of the poet. He became a successful merchant, and died at Riga in 1831, while holding the office of English Consul there.] I Lang hae thoufrht, my yonthfu' friend, A Something to have sent you, Tho' it should serve nae other end Than just a kind memento ; But how the subject theme may gang, Let time and chance determine ; i Perhaps it may turn out a Sang ; Perhaps, turn out a Sermon. ( i)^ ) Ye'll try the world soon my lad, i\nd ANDREW dear believe me, Ye'll fiud mankind an unco squad, And muekle they may grieve ye : For care and trouble set your thought, Ev'n when your end's attained ; And a' your views may come to nought, Where ev'ry nerve is strained. I'll no say, men are villains a' ; The real, harden'd wicked, Wha hae nae check but human laio, Are to a few restricked : But Och, mankind are unco weak, An' little to be trusted ; If Self the wavering balance shake, It's rarely right adjusted ! Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife, Their fate we should na censure. For still th' important end of hfe. They equally may answer : A man may hae an honest hearty Tho' Poortith hourly stare him ; A man may tak a neebor's part. Yet hae nae cash to spare him. Ay free, aff lian', your story tell, When wi' a bosom crony ; But still keep something to yoursel Ye scarcely tell to ony. Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can Frae critical dissection ; But keek thro' ev'ry other man, Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. The saa-ed lowe o' weel plac'd love. Luxuriantly indulge it; Bnt never temi)t i\\i/h'cit I'ove, II10' niU'tliing should divnlgp il : ( y^ ) I wave the quantum o' the sin ; Tlie hazard of concealing ; But Och ! it liardens «' loithin^ And petrifies the feehng ! * To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, Assiduous wait upon her; And gather gear by ev'ry wile, That's justify 'd by Honor : Not for to hide it in a hedge^ Nor for a train- attendant ; But for the glorious priviledge Of being indejKndant. The /ear o' HeWs a hangman's whip, To hand the wretch in order ; But where ye feel your Honor grip, Let that ay be your border : It's slightest touches, instant pause — Debar a' side-pretences ; And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. The great CREATOR to revere. Must sure become the Creature; But still the preaching cant forbear. And ev'n the rigid feature : Yet ne'er with Wits prophaue to range, Be complaisance extended ; An athiest-laugli s a poor exchange For Deity offended ! * Here, in the MS. occurs this additional stanza : — " If ye hae made a step aside, some hap mistake o'ertane you, Yet still keep up a decent pride, and ne'er o'er far demean you : Time comes wi' kind oblivious shade, and daily darker sets it. And if nae mair mistakes are made, the world soon forgets it." Mr. Chambers well remarks, that although this verse throws a valuable light on the state of the poet's mind at this crisis, we should not desire to see it replaced in the poem from which the author excluded it in his book, as felt to 6e below the other stanzas in terseness and point. ( i>4 ) When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded ; Or if she gie a random-sting^ It may be little minded ; But when on Life we're tempest-driv'n, A Conscience but a canker — A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n, Is sure a noble anchor ! Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! May Prudence, Fortitude and Truth Erect your brow undaunting ! In ploughman 2)hrase ' GOD send you speed,' Still daily to grow wiser ; And may ye better reck the ?-ec?e, Than ever did th' Adviser! ( 'J^ ) ON A SCOTCH BARD GONE TO TUE WEST INDIES. [Whatever wnre the poet's feelings at this period, in reference to the hostility of the Armour family, he certainly made no secret of his intentions to go abroad. On July 17th, 178G, within a fortniijht of the publication of his Book, he wrote thus to a friend: — "I am now llxed to go to the West Indies in October, I have already appeared publicly in church, and was indulged in the liberty of standing in my own seat : I do this to get a certificate as a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has promised me. Jean and her friends insisted much that she should stand along with me in the Kirk ; but the minister would not allow it. I am very much pleased, for all that, not to have had her company.'' The present humorous poem, therefore, must have been dashed off, about this time, to help the tilling up of his volume. The heart of the poet had grown lighter under the excitement of preparing and superintending the printing of his poems, and the jircsent Lament forms a striking contrast to that mournful poem so named which he had composed not three months before. He now makes a laugh at those calamities which then wrung his very soul, and perhaps, after all, his later frame of spirit is the more philosophic and wholesome of the two. The mock tenderness of the foUovriug verse is irresistable : — " He saw ^Misfortune's cauld Jfor-west, Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; A Jillet brak his heart at last, 111 may she be ! So, took a birth afore the mast. An' owre the Sea."] A' YE wba live by sowps o' drink, A' ye wha live by cranibo-clinli, A' ye wba live and never think, Come, mourn wi' me Our billies giea us a' a jink,* An' owre the Sea. Lament him a' ye rantan core, Wha dearly like a random-splore ; Nae aiair he'll join the merry roar, In social key ; For now he's taen anither shore. An' owre the Sea ! The bonie lasses weel may wiss him, And in their dear petitions place him : The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, Wi' tearfu' e'e ; For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him That's owre the Sea ! * In the MS, — " Our biUie Eob has taen a jink." ( y<3 ) O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! ITadst thou taeu aff some drowsy buinmle, Wha cau do nought but fyke au' fumble, 'Twad been nae plea ; But he was gleg as onie wumble, That's owre the Sea ! Auld, cantie KYLE * may weepers wear, An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear : 'Twill mak her poor, auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee : He was her Lauveat monie a year, That's owre the Sea. lie saw Misfortune's cauld Nor- west Lang-mustering f up a bitter blast ; A Jillet brak his heart at last, 111 may she be ! So, took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the Sea ! To tremble under Fortune's cummoek, On scarce a bellyfu' o' dntjnmock, Wi' his proud, independant stomach, Could ill agree ; So, row't his hurdles in a hammock, An' owre the Sea. He ne'er was gien to great misguidin, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; Wi' him it ne'er was under liidiii ; He dealt it free : The Mme was a' that he took pride in. That's owre the Sea. * "Kyle." — The district of Kyle in Ayrsliire. Some editors, in deplorable ignorance, have noted this to mean Kilmarnock ! t " Lang-mustering." — The hyphen here is evidently a printer's error, which was corrected in subsequent editions. ( 97 ) Jamaica bodies^ use him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel : Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, An' fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'n the vera Dez7, That's ov/re the Sea. Fareweel, my rhyme'Composing hillie ! * Your native soil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourish hke a Uly, Now boniUe ! I'll toast you in my hindmost gillie, Tho' owre the Sea ! * lu the MS. — " Theu fare-ye-weel, my rhymiu billie ( ^'« ) A DEDICATION TO G**** H******* Esq. [Tlie poet's connection mth Mr. Qaviu Hamilton, writer, Maiichlino, com- mencod in the spring of 1784, immediately after the death of his father William Burness, when the family of the deceased removed from Lochlea to the farm of MosRgiel, of which they liad obtained a sub-lease from Hamilton, who was principal tenant, under the Earl of Loudoun, the proprietor. The intimacy which sprang up betwixt the pnct and his young laird had a marked effect in forming his future ca,roor. A strong similarity of taste and sentiment pervaded the minds of both, more particularly in matters of religious faith and practice ; and when the latter was placed under the censure of the Kirk-Session of Mauchlinc for "neglect of public ordinances, and disobedience to the recommendations of the presbytery," the pen of the poet, in his friend's behalf, was wielded with unsparing energy from his own Olympus on the heights of Mi issgiel. Satire after satire against Hamilton's alleged enemies, followed each other in close succes- sion, and on these productions chiefly rested the extensive local fame of Burns, prior to the publication of his poems in July, 1 78G. The present production is generally regarded as one of his best, displaying — as noted by Dr. Currie — those qualities which his poetical epistles possess, — " deep insight into human nature, a gay and happy train of reflection, great independence of sentiment, and generosity of heart." One of the couplets which compliments Hamilton as being " The poor man's friend in need, The gentleman in word and deed," had been made use of by the poet before, in referring to the same friend, in a poetical epistle addressed in September, 1785, to a young minister of kindred sentiments in Church matters ; and in it Burns excuses himself for cracking his jest at holy men and holy things on the ground that Hamilton, "who has umir honour in his breast than scores of his persecutors," was sair misca'd by them : and then he adds — " See him, the poor man's friend in need, The gentleman in word and deed, — And shall his fame ami honour bleed By worthless skellums, And not a muse erect her head To CO we the blellums ? "] Expect na, Sir, in this narration, A fleechan, fleth'ran Dedication, To roose you up, an' ca' you guid. An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid ; Because ye're sirnam'd like Ills Grace, Perhaps related to the race : Then T,vhen I'm tir'd — and sae are ?/'J ) Aud when I downa yoke a naig, Then, LORD be thanket, / can be;/ ; Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron. The Poet, some guid Angel help liini, Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him ! He may do weel for a' he's done yet, But only — he's no just begun yet. The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, I winna lie, come what will o' me) On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. He's just — nae better than he should be. I readily and freely grant, He downa see a poor man want ; What's no his ain, he winna tak it ; What auce he says, he winna break it ; Ought he can lend he'll no refus't. Till aft his guiduess is abus'd ; And rascals whyles that do him wrang, Ev'n that^i he does na mind it lang : As Master, Landlord, Husband, Father, He does na fail his part in either. But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; Nae gocll/i symptom ye can ca' that ; It's naething but a milder feature, Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt Nature : Ye'U get the best o' moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos^ and Pagan Turks, Or Hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of Orth-d-xy. That he's the poor man's friend in need. The GENTLEMAN in word and deed, It's no through terror of D-mu-t-u ; It's just a carnal inclination, And Och ! that's nae r-g-n-r-t-n ! * * This line was omitted in the Edinburgh Edition (1787), and has been kept out ever since. ( 100 ) Morality, thou deadly baue, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slaiu ! Vain is his hope, whase stay an' trust is, In moral Mercy, Truth and Justice ! No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; Abuse a Brother to his back ; Steal thro' the icinnock frae a wh-re, But point the Rake that taks the door; Be to the Poor like onie whuustaue, And hand their noses to the grunstane ; Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; No matter — stick to sound believing. Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, Wi' weel spread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. And damn a' Parties but your own ; I'll warrant then, ye're nae Deceiver, A steady, sturdy, staunch Believer. ye wha leave the springs o' C-lv-n, For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! Ye sons of Heresy and Error, Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, And in the fire throws the sheath ; When Ruin, with his sweeping hesom^ Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him ; While o'er the Harp pale Misery moans. And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones. Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, I maist forgat my Dedication ; But when Divinity comes cross me. My readers then are sure to lose me. So Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour, But I maturely thought it proper. When a' my works I did review, To dedicate them, Sir, to YOU : ( 101 ) Because (ye need na tak it ill) I thought them something hke yoursel. Then patronize them wi' your favor, And your Petitioner shall ever — I had amaist said, ever pra>/^ But that's a word I need na say : For prayin I hae little skill o't ; I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; But I'se repeat each poor man's prwjr^ That kens or hears about you, Sir ' May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark, ' Howl thro' the dweUlng o' the CLERK ! ' May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, ' For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! ' May K******'s * far-honor'd name ' Lang beet his hymeneal flame, ' Till H*******'s, at least a diz'n, ' Are frae their nuptial labors risen : ' Five bonie Lasses round their table, ' And sev'n braw fellows, stout an' able, ' To serve their King an' Country weel, ' By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! ' May Health and Peace, with mutual rays, ' Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; ' Till his wee, curhe Jolnis ier-oe, ' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, ' The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !' I will not wind a lang conclusion, With complimentary effusion : But whilst your wishes and endeavours, Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, I am, Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, Your much indebted, humble servant. But if, which Pow'rs above prevent, That iron-hearted Carl, Wcmt, Attended, in his grim advances, By sad mistakes^ and black mischances^ * Kennedy was the surname of Hamilton's wife's family. ( lt»^ ) While hopes, and joys, and pleasui-es fly him, Make you as poor a dog as I am, Your Jnunhle servant then no more ; For who would humbly serve the Poor ? But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! While recollection's pow'r is giv'n. If, in the vale of humble hfe. The victim sad of Fortune's strife, I, through the tender-gushing tear. Should recognise my Master dear, If friendless, low, we meet together. Then, Sir, your hand— my FRIEND and BROTHER. TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY's BONNET AT CHURCH. [In preceding pages we have seen how much Bums could make of very humble subjects, such as the Dogs, the Pet-Yowe, the Mouse, and the Avid Mare: here we have him descending for a theme, still lower in the scale of animal life. Lowly, even repulsive as tlio subject is, however, he has done it ample justice, and makes it point a moral if it does not adorn his page. Only himself and Peter Pindar ever had the hardihood to introduce genteel readers to such a crawlin " blastet wonner, Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner," — adopting it as a vehicle for humorous sarcasm. Motherwell justly remarks, in reference to the closing verse, that " if poetical merit were to be determined by frequency of quotation, it would stand very high in the scale." It is pointed out in the " Burnsiana " (18G0), that, in an edition of Bums, illus- trated by Gilbert, of which the Eev. Robert Aris Willmott is editor, the title of this poem is squeamishly veiled with a printer's dash, thus, — " To a ."] Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferhe ! Your impudence protects you sairly : I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gawze and lace ; Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely. On sic a place. Ye ugly, creepan, blastet wonner, Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner. How daur ye set your fit upon her, Sae fine a Ladji ! Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, On sonic poor body. ( 103 ) Switli, ia some beggar's halYet s(iuu(tle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, In shoals and nations ; Whare horn nor hane ne'er daur unsettle. Your thick plantations. Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight, Na faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right, Till ye've got on it, The very tapmost, towrin height 0' Miss's bonnet. My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump an' gray as onie grozet : O for some rank, mercurial rozet. Or fell, red smeddum, I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, Wad dress your droddum ! I wad na been surpriz'd to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; Or aiblius some bit duddie boy, On's tvi/lecoat ; But Miss's fine Lunardi^* fye ! How daur you do't ? O Jenny dinna toss your head. An' set your beauties a' abread ! Ye little ken what cursed speed The blastie's makin ! Thae ivinks and finger-ends^ I dread, Are notice takin ! O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us To see onrsels as ot/iers see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us An' foolish notion : What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n Devotion ! ♦ " Lunardi."— A peculiarly shaped bonnet, worn by ladies of fashion, was so named in honour of Vincent Lunardi, who, in 1784, introduced the spectacle of balloon ascents into Britain. In 1785, he displayed his aerial feats in several parte of Scotland. ( 104 ) EPISTLE TO J. L*****K, AN OLD SCOTCH BAKD. April 1st, 1785. [This "old Scotch bard," as Burns fondly styled him, was born in 1727; so he must have been 58 years old when the poet thus addressed him. Encouraged by the success of Burns' appeal to the public in print, and still more emboldened by the flattering compliments in the present poem, bestowed on his " ae sang " therein referred to, Lapraik published from the same press, a volume of verses in 1788, as likewise did Davie Sillar, a year thereafter. Burns had hailed the Jitter as "brother-poet" and "Ace o' Hearts," and now ho pronounces the /jrmer to be not only " a bard " but " King o' Hearts." Both of them we believe to have been good fellows In their way, else Burns could not have taken them to his bosom as he did, and we know that if our bard was tolerant of anv failings his friends might possess, he was still more tolerant of the quality of their verses. An able reviewer of the poems of Sillar (Contemporaries of Burns, p. 44), admits that the Pegasus ridden by honest Davie, is sorely " bedevU'd wi' the spavie," and of Lapraik's book ho saj's, that " with the exception of the song so much commended by Burns, few of the pieces display any approach to poetic merit." This Song, beginning — " When I upon thy bosom lean," was sent by Burns to Johnson's Museum in 1789, and on comparing the copy there with that In Lapraik's volume, the reader will be at no loss to discover how much that Bong (as now found in collections) is indebted to Burns, who has redeemed the tameness of Lapraik's copy by several exquisite touches. But our readers vnl\ scarcely be prepared now to learn that the song which " thirl'd the heart-strings through the breast " of Bums, when he heard it sung at a roctin in his own house on Fasten's e'en, 1785, was not by Lapraik after all! An admirable con- tributor to Hogg's Instructor, in an article on Burns (November 9th, 1850, p. 189), states that " the song of Lapraik, praised by Burns, beginning — ' When I upon thy bosom lean,' is actually taken, and certainly not improved, from an elegant copy of verses which tee have seen in an old Magazine, of a date prior to the composition of the song ascribed to Lapraik." If this be so, then " the Bard of Muirkirk " must havo been an old cardsharper to play off his odd-trick on Burns in this manner. " The bauld Lapraik " indeed !— the very Knave of Spades, instead the " King o' Hearts " !] While briers an' woodbines budding green, An' Paitricks scraiclian loud at e'en, And morning Poossie whiddan seen. Inspire my Muse, This freedom, in an unknown frien', I pray excuse. On Fasteueen we had a rockin, To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; And there was muckle fun and jokin, Ye need na doubt ; At length we had a hearty yokin, At sang about. ( 105 ) There was ae sanr/^ amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, That some kind husband had addrest, To some sweet wife : It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, A' to the life. I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, What geu'rous, manly bosoms feel ; Thought I, ' Can this be Fope, or Steele, Or Beattie's wark ;' They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel About Muirkirk. It pat me fidgean-fain to hear't, An' sae about him there I spier't ; Then a' that kent him round declar'd, He had ingine, That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, It was sae fine. That set him to a pint of ale. An' either douse or merry tale. Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, Or witty catches, 'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, He had few matches. Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, Tho' I should pawn my pleugh an' graith. Or die a cadger pownie's death. At some dyke-back, A pint an' (jill I'd gie them baith, To hear your crack. But first an' foremost, I should tell, Amaist as soon as I could spell, I to the crambo-jingle fell, Tho' rude an' rough, Yet crooning to a body's sel, Does weel eneugh. ( lOG ) I am nae Poet^ in a sense, But just a Rhymev like by chance, Au' luie to Learning uae pretence. Yet, what the matter ? Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. Your Critic-folk may cock their nose, And say, ' How can you e'er propose, ' You wha ken hardly verse ho^Q prose., ' To mak a sang?^ But by your leaves, my learned foes, Ye're maybe wrang. What's a' your jargon o' your Schools, Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; If honest Nature made yon fools, What sairs your Grammars ? Ye'd better taen up spades and sJiools, Or knappin-hammers. A set o' dull, conceited Hashes, Confuse their brains in CoUedge-classes f They gang in Stirks, and come out Asses, Plain truth to speak ; An' syne they think to chmb Parnassus By dint o' Greek! Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire ; Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire At pleugh or cart. My Muse, tho' hamely in attire. May touch the heart. O for a spunk o' ALLAN'S glee, Or FERGUSON'S, the bauld an' slee, Or bright L*****K'S, my friend to be, If I can hit it ! That would bo Icar eneugh for me. If I could get it. ( 107 ) Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, Tho' real friends I b'lieve are few, Yet, if your catalogue be fow, I'se no insist ; But gif ye want ae friend that's true, I'm on your list. I winna blaw about mj/sel, As ill I like my fauls to tell ; But friends an' folk that wish me well, They sometimes roose me ; Tho' I maun own, as monie still, As far abuse me. There's ae weefcmi they whiles lay to me, I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! For monie a Plack they wheedle frae me. At dance or fair : Maybe some ither thing they gie me They weel can spare. But MAUCHLINE Race or MAUCHLINE Fair, I should be proud to meet you there ; We'se gie ae night's discharge to care^ If we forgather. An' hae a swap o' rhpnin-icare^ Wi' ane anither. The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, An' kirs'n him wi' reekin water ; Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, To chear our heart ; An' faith, we'se be acquainted better Before we part.* Awa ye selfish, warly race, Wha think that havins, sense an' grace, Ev'n love an' friendship should give place To catch-the-jilack ! I dinna like to see your face. Nor hear your crack. * See nest page, for two stanzas introduced here in the MS. ( 108 ) But ye whom social pleasure charms, Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, Who hold your being on the terms, ' Each aid the others,' Come to my bowl, come to my arms, My friends, my brothers ! But to conclude my lang epistle, As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, Who am, most fervent. While I can either sing, or whissle. Your friend and servant. The two following verses, first printed in the Reliques (1808), from a memo- randum book which had belonged to the poet, appear to have been intended to form jiart of the precedinK Epistle ; indeed, Cunningham asserts that he had Been a copy of tho latter in the MS.of Bums, with these two stanzas inserted in it, lietween the third and fourth verse from the end, where we have placed the asterisk : — " There's naething like the honest nappy! Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy, Or women sonsie, saft and sappy, 'Tween morn an' mom, As them wha like to taste the drappy In glass or horn? I've seen me daez't upon a time ; I scarce could wink or see a styme ; Just ae half mutchkin does me prime, Ought less is little. Then back I rattle on the rhyme As gleg's a whittle 1 " t The poet recorded this admired poem (with very trifling variations) in his Comnion-pUtce Honk, under date June, 1785, and these two stanzas in praise of "honest nappy," do not apjiear there. But tho recent recovery (1874) of the Book of unpublished poems transcribed by the poet for his friend Mr. Riddel, has revealed the fact that they originally formed part of his Kpiitle to John Qoldie, dated August, 1785. ( 10'.) ) TO THE SAME. April 21st, 1785. [The poet's generous anri noble epistle, addressed on April 1,1785, to this old worthy, was replied to by its recipient. " Honest-hearted and kind " this reply is said to have tieen, but it has not been preserved. Had he been able to "kittle up his moorlan harp" so as to satisfy Burns, we maybe certain that it would have been published in Lapraik's volume. In that book certainly there is a rhyiuins epistle from Lapraik to Burns, but it is not a " reply," as Cunning- ham styles it : it is a sort of apology for the old man's appearance as an author in 1788. The foUomng quotation will more than satisfy the reader :— " Yet still it ne'or ran in my head, to trouble Mankind with My dull, insipid, thowless rhyme, and stupid, senseless stuff ; Till your kind Muse, \n.' friendly blast, first tooted up my fame, And sounded loud, through a' the Wast, my lang forgotten name. Quoth I, ' Shall I, like to a sumph, sit douf and dowie here. And suffer the ill-natur'd warld to ca' Eab Burns a liar? ' " And therefore he published his poems ; and what did they prove ?— the very fact they were meant to disprove ! t, . , t -i -u ■. One of Burns' biographers has recorded of this Second Epistle to Lapraik that a great English poet used to recite with commendation the most of its stanzas, pointing out as he went, their all but inimitable ease of thought and language. He expressed his suspicion, however, that such words as " tapetless "— " ram- feezled "— " forjeskit," &c., must have been manufactured by Burns himself to suit his own crambo-jingle. The Scottish reader will know that Wordsworth was mistaken there, for they are all native words, and the following extract of a letter by WUliam Co^vper, author of " The Task," will shew that he at least comprehended the meaning of the word ranifeezled :—'' Poor Burns loses much of his deserved praise in this country through our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting any Englishman who will take the pains that I have taken to understand him. His candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible neighbour of mine; but the uncouth dialect spoiled all; and before he had read him through, he was quite ram/eezled:'} Whtle new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, An' powoies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'eulu's edge I take, To own I'm debtor, To honest-hearted, anld L*****K, For his kind leUe7\ Forjesket sair, with weary legs, RattUn the corn out-owre the rigs. Or deahng thro' amang the naigs Their ten-hours bite, My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, 1 would na write. ( 110 ) The tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie, She's saft at best an' something lazy, Quo' she, ' Ye ken we've been sac bnsy ' This month an' mair, ' That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie, ' An' something sair.' Her dowf excuses pat me mad ; ' Conscience,' says I, ' ye thowless jad ! ' I'll write, an' that a hearty bland, ' This vera night ; ' So dinna ye affront your trade, ' 13 ut rhyme it right. ' Shall bauld L*****K, the king o' hearts, ' Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, ' Roose ye sae weel for your deserts, ' In terms sae friendly, ' Yet ye'U neglect to shaw your parts ' An' thank him kindly '? ' Sae I gat paper in a bUnk, An' down gaed sttmipie in the ink : Quoth I, ' Before I sleep a wink, ' I vow I'll close it ; ' An' if ye winna mak it clink, ' By Jove I'll prose it ! ' Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither. Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither. Let time mak ]iroof ; But I shall scribble down some blether Just clean aff-loof. My worthy friend, ne'or grudge an' carp, Tho' Fortune use you hard an' sharp ; Come, kittle up your moorlan harp Wi' gleesome touch ! Ne'er mind how Fortune ivaft an' inirp; She's but a b-tch. ( 111 ) She's gieu me mouie a jirt an' fleg, Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; But by the L — d, tho' I should beg Wi' lyart pow, I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, As lang's I dow ! Now comes the sax an' hventielh simmer, I've seen the bud upo' the timmer. Still persecuted by the limmer Frae year to year ; But yet despite the kittle kimmer, /, Bob, am here. Do ye envy the city-gent, Behint a kist to he an' sklent, Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent. An' muckle wame. In some bit Brugh to represent A Baillie's name ? Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancm cane, Wha thinks himsel nae sheepshank bane, But lordly stalks, While caps an' bonnets aff are taen. As by he walks ? ' Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! ' Gie me o' ivit an' sense a hft, ' Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, ' Thro' Scotland wide ; ' Wi' cits nor lainls I wadna shift, ' In a' their pride ! ' Were this the charter of our state, ' On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' Damnation then would be our fate, licyond remead ; But, thanks to Heavn, that's no the gate We learn our creed. ( 11^ ) For thus the royal Mandate ran, When first the human race began, ' The social, friendly, honest man, ' Whate'er he be, ' 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, ' And none but he.' O Mandate, glorious and divine ! The followers o' the ragged Nine,* Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine In glorious light, While sordid sons o' Mammon's line A re dark as night ! Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, Their worthless nievefu' of a soid, May in ^omQ future carcase howl. The forest's fright ; Or in some day-detesting owl May shun the light. Then may L*****K and B**** arise, To reach their native, kindred skies. And sing their pleasures, hopes an' joys, In some mild sphere. Still closer knit in friendship's ties Each passing year ! • " The followers o' the ragged Nine : " — This line stands so in all the author's editions ; but is there no mistake ? Have not the \!otAs foUotcers and ragged got unobservedly transposed in passing through tho press ? Tho followers of tho Muses are proverbially " ragged," but who ever heard of those nine beautiful daughters of Jupiter being arrayed in rags. Uamilton Paul, Allau Cunningham, and Motherwell concur in adopting the following alteration : — " The ragged followers of the Nine." t In the poet's common-place book this poem is recorded under date " June, 1785." The 10th verse does not appear there, and in the closing stanza the first line stands thus: — " Lapraik and Rurncss then may rise." When he came to publish tho poem a year thereafter, he altorod its construction, in order to fit the contracted pronunciation of his name then adopted. ( n-'5 ) TO W. S*****xN, OCHILTREE. May 1785. [■William Simpson, to whom this beautiful Epistio is addressed, was, at the date thereof. Schoolmaster of Ochiltree. He seems, from talent as well as education, to have bettor merited the designation, "my rhyme-composing brither," than either Sillar or Lapraik, although ho was never, like them, induced to give his effusions to the public. He removed in 1788 to Cumnock, where he discharged the duties of parisli teacher with great efficiency, and died in 1815, much respected. Cunningliam, Hogg, and other editors, in making reference to " W S , Ochiltree," have confounded him with his brother Patrick, who succeeded him as teacher there in 1788, and was still alive in 1844. It has ijeeu often remarked that Burns was partial to schoolmasters : this is plamly evinced in his loving intercourse ynih Murdoch, Nicol, Masterton, Cruickshanlis, Clarke, and James Gray. " Indeed," remarlvs Cunningham, "ho was social and friendly with all who had any claim to education and intelligence, with the exception of the unfortunate Dr. Hornbook." The following passage from his early Scrap-Book, entered under August, 1784 — some nine mouths ptior to the date of this Epistle, seems to have been the poet's prose outline of the subject matter of the poem : — " However I am pleased with the works of our Scotch poets, particularly the excellent Ramsay, and the still more excellent Fergusson, yet I am hurt to see other places of Scotland, their towns, woods, rivers, haughs, &c., immortalised in such celebrated per- formances, while my dear native country, the ancient bailieries of Carrick, Kyle, and Cuninghame, famous both in ancient and modern times for a gallant and warlike race of inhabitants — a country where civil, and particularly religious libertj', have ever found their first support, and their last asylum — a country, the birthplace of many famous philosophers, soldiers, and statesmen, and the scene of many important events recorded in Scottish history, particularly actions of the 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, the romantic woodlands and sequestered scenes of Ayr, and the heathy mountainous source and winding sweep of Doon, emulate Tay, Forth, Ettrick, Tweed, &c. This is a complaint I would gladly remedy ; but, alas ! I am far unequal to the task, both in native genius and education. Obscure I am, and obscui-e I must be ; though no young poet's, nor young soldier's heart, ever beat more fondly for fame than mine."] I GAT your letter, winsome Willie; Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, An' unco vain, Should I beUeve, my coaxin billie, Your flatterin strain. But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, I sud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic satire, sidelins sklented. On ray poor Musie ; Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 1 scarce excuse ye. k H ( 114 ) My senses wad be in a creel, Should I but dare a hojye to speel, Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbei-tfield, The braes o' fame ; Or Ferguson, the writer-chiel, A deathless name. (O Fergtison ! thy glorious parts, Ill-suited law^s dry, musty arts ! My curse upon your whunstane hearts. Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes Wad stow'd his pantry !) Yet when a tale comes i' my head, Or lasses gie my heart a screed. As whiles they're like to be ray dead, (0 sad disease !) I kittle up my rnstic reed; It gies me ease. Auld COILA, now, may fidge fu' fain, She's gotten Bardies o' her ain, Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, But tune their lays, Till echoes a' resound again Her weel-sung praise. Nae Poet thought her worth his while, To set her name in measur'd style ; She lay like some unkend-of isle Beside Neio Holland, Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Besouth Magellan. Ranuay an' famous Ferguson Gied Foi-th an' 7aij a lift al)oon ; Yarrow an' Tweed, to monic a tune, Owre Scotland rings, While IriVi'n, Lugar, Aire an' Doon, Naebody sings. ( 115 ) Th' IlUssus, Tibe); Thames an' Seine, Glide sweet iu monie a tunefu' line ; But WiUie set your fit to mine, An' cock your crest, We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine Up wi' the best. We'll sing auld COILA'S plains an' fells, Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells. Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells. Where glorious WALLACE Aft bure the gree, as story tells, Frae Suthron billies. At WALLACE' name, what Scottish blood. But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! Oft have our fearless fathers strode By WALLACE' side, Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod. Or glorious dy'd ! O sweet are COILA'S haughs an' woods, When lintwhites chant amang the buds, And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, Their loves enjoy. While thro' the braes the cushat croods With wailfu' cry ! Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gray ; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, Dark'ning the day ! O NATURE ! a' thy shews an' forms To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! Whether the Summer kindly warms, Wi' life an' light, Or Winter howls, in gusty storms, The lang, dark night ! ( 11« ) The Mttse^ nae Poet ever fand her, Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, A down some trottin burn's meander, An' no think lang ; sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder A heart-felt sang ! The warly race may drudge an' drive, Hog-shouther, jiindie, stretch an' strive, Let me fair NATURE'S face descrive. And I, wi' pleasure. Shall let the busy, grmnbling hive. Bum owre their treasure. Fareweel, ' my rhyme-composing ' * brither ! We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : Now let us lay our heads thegither, In love fraternal : May Envy wallop in a tether, Black fiend, infernal ! While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; While moorlan herds like guid, fat braxies ; While Terra firma, on her axis. Diurnal turns. Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, In ROBERT BURNS. * It is very curious to observe that, In like manner as ho marks in the Vision a line quoted from his own epistle " To J S ," so here he has placed tho words ' my rhyme composing ' between inverted commas. This phrase occurs, without quotational marks, in tho last stanza of his lament " On a Scotch Bard gone to tho West Indies" — /»?/ rliiime-cotuposing billie. That boinK tho later composition of the two, we would rather have expected to see the inverted commas there, if the expression is quoted from himself. But the quotation i3 probably from Simpson's own Epistle, to which the present is a reply. ( 117 ) POSTSCRIPT. [This matchless Postscript, of wliich Hogg says, " I look on this as superior to the Epistlo," lets us know something of the circumstanco which gave rise to the correspondence between the poet and Simpson. The satire, called The Twa Herds, or t/ie Iluhj Tulzie, which mot with such a roar of applause from laymen and a certain description of the clergy, had Just lately been produced and multiplied in MS. copies. One of these having found its way to the school- master of Ochiltree, ho was constrained to address a versillod letter to Burns, which, although not preserved, is referred to by the poet in the opening lines of his Epistle. The subject of the Postscript, it will be observed, has a manifost reference to that of the Twa Herds.} My memory's no worth a preen ; I had amaist forgotten clean, Ye bad me write you what they mean By this new-light* 'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been Maist like to fight. In days when mankind were but callans, At Grammar^ Logic, an' sic talents, They took nae pains their speech to balance, Or rules to gie, But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans, Like you or me. In thae auld times, they thought the Moon^ Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, Woor by degrees, till her last roon Gaed jjast theu" viewin, An' shortly after she was done They gat a new ane. This past for certain, undisputed ; It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, An' ca'd it wrang ; An' muckle din their was about it, Baith loud an' lang. * A cant-term for those religious opinions, which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has defended so strenuously. — (B. B. 17S6.) ( ns ) Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thiufj misteuk ; For 'twas the aidd 7noon turu'cl a newk An' out o' sight, An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, She grew mair bright. This was deny'd, it was affirmed ; The herds an' hissels were alarm'd ; The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, That beardless laddies Should think they better were inform'd, Than their auld dadies. Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ; An' monie a fallow gat his licks, Wi' hearty crunt ; An' some, to learn them for their tricks, Were hang'd an' bruut. This game was play'd in monie lands. An' aidd-light caddies bure sic hands, That faith, the youngsters took the sands Wi' nimble shanks. Till Lairds forbad, by strict commands. Sic bluidy pranks. But new-light herds gat sic a cowe, Folk thought them ruiu'd stick-an-stowc. Till now amaist on ev'ry hwire Ye'll find ane plac'd ; An' some, their New-light fair avow. Just quite barefac'd. Nac doubt the mdd-light flocks are ))leatan ; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatan ; Mysel, I've ev'u seen them greetan Wi' girnan spite, To hear the Moon sae sadly lie'd on By word an' write. ( no ) But shortly tliey will cowc the louns ! Some auUl-li(jlit /lerds in neebor towns Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons^ To tak a flight, An' stay ae month amaug the Moons An' see them right. Guicl observation they will gie them ; An' when the auld 3foon's gaun to lea'e them, The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, Just i' their pouch, An' when the neiv-light bilhes see them, I think they'll crouch ! Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter Is naething but a ' moonshine matter ; ' But tho' dull prose-folk latin splatter In logic tulzie, I hope we, Bardies^ ken some better Than mind sic brulzie. ( 120 ) EPISTLE TO J. R******, ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. [John Uankine was, at the date of this noted Epistle, a farmer at Adamhill, In the parish of Craigie, and not far from Lochloa, the former dwolliug-placG of the poet. lie is described as liaving been a groat wag — a prince of boon com- panions — in good terms with country gentlemen, but not iu the best of terms with the stricter order of the clergy. Such a one must, of course, have been a man after Burns' own heart. Gilbert, in his narrative of the early life of his brother, says that " soon after his father's death (Feb., 1784) he was furnished with the subject of his Epistle to John Rankine." If Gilbert is right here, then it follows, that the "bonie hen" referred to, was Elizabeth Paton, who had been a servant in his father's house at Lochlea — the " bonnie Betty ' of the Poet's Welcome. There is, therefore, little necessity for the following note in the "AldinoEtUtion" of Burns: — "Allan Cunningham considers Burns' account of the iiartridge, and of hia being fined for poaching, a figurative allusion to the connection which produced the illegitimate child of his celebrated Address; but it is by no means certain that the conjecture is well founded." It will now be expected that we say a little regarding the poet's allusions to Eankine's tricks and dreams. We are told that he made a deevil of at least one saunt, by entertaining the godly man over a jug of toddy, which grew always the more potent the more it was diluted wth hot water from the kettle on his host's fire ; this rcater, of course, being boikd whisky. The version which Cunningham gives of " Eankine's Dream," as being a rebuke administered to Lord Kames, to correct his absurd custom of calling his friends " d — d brutes," is well known. But another version, or rather a counterpart of that " dream " (and the current one of the district), is, that on a certain occasion, Eankine being an invited guest at a dimier-party in the 7nansi', some of the black-coats present were hitting him pretty hard upon some of his foibles, when, after fencing with them for a little, he affected to sink into an interval of taciturnity, which they chuckled over as a triumph. One of the company, after a pause, endeavoured to start the hare again, by enquiring in a sj-mpathising tone, why ho looked so serious to-day? — had any calamity befallen him? — and so on. Eankine replied that on the preceding night he had been troubled with a rather serious dream, which kept running in his mind, and damped his spirits. He was urged to tell the dream. " Oh," quoth he, " I dreamed that I was dead." " And went to heaven, of course ! " interjected the minister. " Indeed, sir," continued Eankine, " you never guessed better in your life." " And what saw you there, Eankine ? " shouted more than one of the company. " Oh," he replied, " I saw the angel Gabriel, and he speired whare I cam frae, and I tellt him frae AjTshire in Scotland. He then asked what news I brocht frae that part of the world, and I said there was naething worthy o' special notice, except that there had been an unco mortality of late amang the clergy there. The archangel shook his head at that, and, says he, ' I'm sorry indeed, to hear such painful intelligence, for not one of them has made his appearance here.' " The effect of such a retort as this may be better conceived than narrated. Eankine, like Banyan, could command dreams at any time it suited his purpose to go on a pilgrimage to the other world.] ROUGH, rude, ready-'wittetl R,******, The wale o' cocks for fun au' drinkin ! There's monie godly folks are thiukin, Your drecmis * au' tricks Will scud you, Korah-like, a siukin, Straught to auld Nick's. • A certain humorous dream of his was then makuig a noise in the world. — (B. B. 178 ) ' Guid-een,' quo' I; ' Friend ! hae ye been mawiu, ' When ither folk are busy sawin ? ' * It seem'd to mak a kind o' stau', But naetliing spak ; At length, says I, ' Friend, whare ye gauii, ' Will ye go back ? ' It spak right howe — ' My name is Death^ '■ But be ua' fley'd.' — Quoth I, ' Guid faith, ' Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; ' But tent me billie ; ' I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, ' See, there's a gully ! ' ' Guderaan,' quo' he, ' put up your whittle, ' I'm no desigu'd to try its mettle ; ' But if I did, I wad be kittle ' To be mislear'd, ' I wad na' mind it, no that spittle ' Out-owre my beard.' ' Weel, weel ! ' says I, ' a bargain be't ; ' Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; ' We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, ' Come, gies your news ! ' This while f ye hae been mony a gate, ' At mony a house.' ' Ay, ay ! quo' he, an' shook his head, ' It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed ' Sin' I began to nick the thread, ' An' choke the breath : ' Folk maun do something for their bread, ' An' sae maun Death. ' Sax thousand years are near hand fled ' Sin' I was to the hutching bred, ' And mony a scheme in vain's been laid, ' To stap or scar me ; * This vencountev happened in seed-timo 1785. — (H. B. 1787.) t An epidemical fever was then raging in thai country. — (R. B. 1787.) ( 1-10 ) ' Till ane Hornbook's * taen up the trade, ' And faith, he'll waur me. ' Ye ken Joch Hornbook i' the Clachan, ' Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! ' He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan^^ ' And ither chaps, ' The weans hand out their fingers laughin, ' And pouk my hips. ' See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, ' They hae picrc'd mony a gallant heart ; ' But Doctor Hornbook^ wi' his art ' And cursed skill, ' Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 'D—n'dhaet they'll kill! ' 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, ' I tlirew a noble throw at ane ; ' Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; ' But deil-ma-care ! ' It just play'd dirl on the bane, ' But did nae mair. ' Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, ' And had sae fortify'd the part, ' That when I looked to my dart, ' It was sae blunt, ' Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart ' Of a kail-runt, ' I drew my scythe in sic a fury, ' I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, * But yet the bauld Apothecary ' Withstood the shock ; ' I might as weel hae try'd a quarry ' 0' hard wliin-rock. • This gontleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of tho sovereign Order of tho Forula ; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician. — (U. B. 1787.) t Buohan's Domestic Medicine.— (R. B. 1787.) ( 141 ) ' Ev'a them be canna get attended, ' Altho' their face he ue'er had kend it, ' Just sh — in a kail-blade aud send it, ' As soon 's he smells 't, ' Baith their disease, and what will mend it, ' At once he tells 't. ' And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, ' Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, ' A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, ' lie's sure to hae ; ' Their Latin names as fast he rattles ' As A B C. ' Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; ' True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; ' The Farina of beans and pease, ' He has't in plenty ; ' Aqua-fontis, what you please, ' He can content ye. ' Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, ' Urinus Spiritus of capons ; ' Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, ' Distill' d per se ; ' Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail chppings, ' And mouy mae.' ' Waes me for Johnnij GeiVs Hole * now,' Quoth I, ' if that thae news be true ! ' His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, ' Sae white an' bonie, ' Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; ' They'll ruin Johnie!^ The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, And says, ' Ye needna yoke the plough, ' Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, ' Tak ye nae fear : ' They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh, ' In twa-three year. The grave-digger.— (R. B. 17S7.) ( 142 ) ' Wharc I kill'd aue, a fair strae-deatb, ' By loss o' blood, or waut o' breath, ' This night I'm free to tak my aith, ' That Hornbook's skill ' Has clad a score i' their last claith, ' By drap and pill. ' An honest Wabster to his trade, ' Whase wife's twa uieves were scarce weel-bred, ' Gat tippence- worth to mend her head, ' When it was sair ; ' The wife slade cannie to her bed, ' But ne'er spak mair. ' A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, ' Or some curmurring in his guts, ' His only son for Hornbook sets, ' And pays him well, ' The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, ' Was Laird himsel. ' A bonie lass, ye kend her name, ' Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame, ' She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, ' In Hornbook's care ; ' Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, ' To hide it there. ' That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way, ' Thus goes he on from day to day, ' Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, ' Au's weel pay'd for't ; ' Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, ' Wi' his d-nm'd dirt ! ' 15ut hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, ' Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't ; ' I'll nail the self-conceited Sot, ' As dead's a hcrrin : ' Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, ' He gets his fairiu !' ( 143 ) But just as he bej^an to tell, The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell Some wee, short hour ayout the twal^ Which rais'd us baith ; I took the way that pleas'd mysel, And sae did Death. THE BRIGS OF AYR. A POEM. INSCKIBED TO J. B********* Esq., AYE. [Mr. John Ballantjme, banker in Ayr, to whom this interesting and amusing poem is inscribed, was Dean of Guild, and afterwards Provost of the Burgli. It seems to bo allowed that to his exertions the community of Ayr were chiefly indebted for the building of the New Bridge, commenced in May, 178C, and com- pleted in November, 1788. Mr. Robert Aiken, writer, had inti'oduced the poet to Mr. Ballantpie, and in one of the bard's letters to the former, written early in October, 1786, we find the first mention of the present poem: he says — "Thero is scarcely any thing hurts me so much in being disappointed of my second edition, as not having it in my power to show my gratitude to Mr. Ballantyne by publishing my poem of ' The Brigs of Ajt.' " It appears that efforts had been made to induce^Wilson to bring out a more extensive edition of the poems — for every copy of the Kilmarnock issue had been bought up ; but cautious "Johnie," who could poorly appreciate the value of the musings that he had been a means of giving to the world, declined to risk the price of paper for 1000 copies — the number proposed for the second edition. This sum (£27) the poet found it impossible to raise, and Gilbert informs us that Mr. Ballantyne at length offered to advance any necessary sum ; but, at the same time, recommended him to make Edinburgh the place of pubhcation, which, as aU the world knows, he did shortly thereafter. Eobert Fergusson's poetical Dialogue between The Plainstanes and Causeicav, and his other poem called The Twa Ghaisls, liave evideuty suggested the plan of this production of Burns.] The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry l^ough ; The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, Haihng the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush, The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill ; Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, To hardy Independence bravely bred. By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field, Shall he be guilty of their hirehng crimes. The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? ( 144 ) Or labour hard the panegyric close, With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? Ko ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, Fame, honest fame, his great his dear reward. Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, SkiU'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; When B********* befriends his humble name, And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame. With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells, The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap. And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer-toils, Uunumber'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 thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side, The wounded coveys, reehng, scatter wide ; The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage he : (What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds. And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) Is ae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : The hoary morns precede the sunny days. Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noontide blaze. While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 'Twas in that season ; when a simple Bard, Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, Ae night, within the ancient l)rugh of Aijr^ By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care. ( 145 ) He left his bed and took his wayward rout, And down by Simpsori's * wheel'd the left about : (Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, To witness what I after shall narrate ; Or whether, rapt in meditation high, He wander'd out he knew not where nor why.) The drowsy Dungeon-clock f had numl)cr'd two, And Wallace Toiifr f had sworn the fact was true : The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar. Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore ; All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : The chilly Frost, beneath the silver beam. Crept, gently-crustigg, o'er the ghttering stream. When, lo ! on either hand the hst'ning Bard, The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, Swift as the Gos \ drives on the wheeUng hare ; Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd The Sprites that owre the Biigs of Ayr preside. (That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, And ken the Ungo of the sp'ritual folk ; Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them. And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) A uld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. New Brig was buskit in a braw, new coat. That he, at LorHon^ frae ane Adams got ; In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. The Goth was stalkhig round with anxious search. Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; * A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. — (E. B. 17S7.) t The two steeples.— (K. B. 1787.) t The gos-hawk, or falcon.— (R. B. 1737.) K ( 140 ) It cliauc'd bis new-come ueebor took his e'e, And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, He, down the water, gies him this guideen — AULD BRIG. I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, A nee ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! But gin ye be a Brig as auld as me, Tho' faith, that date, I doubt, ye'll never see ; There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle. Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle.* NEW BUIG. Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense. Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street. Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet. Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, Com])are wi' bouie Brigs o' modern time ? There's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream^] Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. AULD BRIG. Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, I'll be a Brirj when ye're a shiipcless cairn ! As yet ye little ken about \W matter, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. AVhen heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; When from the hills where springs the I)rawling Coil^ Or stately Lugars mossy fountains boil, * Altered, in 1794, to — " Tho" faitli that day, I doubt, yo'U novor seo , There'll be, if that date pomo, I'll wad a boddlo." t A iiotod ford, just above tho AuM /i;-/7.-(n. B. 17S7.) ( 147 ) Or where the Greenock winds bis moorland course, Or haunted Garpal * draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blustering winds an' spotting thowes, In niony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes ; While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; And from Glenhuck^'] down to the Ratton-lcey^ \ Auld Ai/r is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; Then down ye'U hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, That Architecture's noble art is lost ! NEW BRIG. Fine architecture^ trowth, I needs must say't o't ! The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. Hanging with threat'ning jut like precipices ; O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves. Supporting roofs, fantastic, stony groves : Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream. The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, And still the second dread command be free. Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. Mansions that would disgrace the building taste Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; Fit only for a doited Monkish race. Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, Or Cuifs of later times, wha held the notion. That sullen gloom was sterhng, true devotion : Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! * The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the West of Scotland where those fancy scaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. — (E. 15. 1787.) t The source of the river of Ajt.— (R. B. 1787.) % A small landing-place above the large key. — (R. B. 1787.) ( 148 ) AULD BRIG. ye, my dear-reraember'd, aucieut yealings, Were ye but here to share my wounded feeliugs ! Ye worthy Proveses^ an' mony a Bailie^ Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; Ye dainty Deacons^ an' ye douce Conveeners^ To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; Ye godly Brethi-en o' the sacred gown, Wha meekly gae your Imrdies to the smiters ; And (what would now be strange) ye godhj Writers : A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, To see each melancholy alteration ; And, agonising, curse the time and place When ye begat the base, degen'rate race ! Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, In plain, braid Scots hold forth a plain, braid story : Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, The herryment and ruin of the country ; Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers, Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d — d new Brigs and Harbours 1 NEW BRIG. Now haud you there ! for faith ye've said enough. And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, Corhies and Clerg;/ are a shot right kittle : But, under favor o' your langer beard. Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd ; To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 1 must needs say, comparisons are odd. In A]p\ Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle To mouth ' A Citizen,' a term o' scandal : Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; ( Ml' ) Meu vvba grew wise priggin owre hops an' rasins, Or gather'd lib'ral views iu Bonds and Seisins. If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, Had slior'd them with a glimmer of his lamp. And wonld to Common-sense for once befray'd them, Plain, dull Stupidity slept kindly in to aid them. What farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed. No man can tell ; but, all before their sight, A fairy train appear'd in order bright : Adown the ghttering stream they featly danc'd ; Bright to the moon their various dresses glauc'd : They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat. The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. O had W-Lcmchlan* thairm-inspirmg Sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with Highland rage; Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs. The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd. And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! No guess could tell what instrument appear'd. But all the soul of Music's seK was heard ; Harmonious concert rung in every part. While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; His hoary head with water-lihes crown'd. His manly leg with garter tangle bound. Next came the lovUest pair in all the ring. Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; * A -n-ell known performer of Scottiph music on the violin.— (R. B. 17«7.) ( 150 ) Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, Aud Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : AU-chearing Plenty, with her flowing horn. Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, By HospitaUty with cloudless brow. Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, From where the Feed wild-woody coverts hide : Benevolence, with mild, benignant aii", A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, From simple Catrine^ their long-lov'd abode : Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazle wreath, To Rustic Agriculture did bequeath The broken, iron instruments of Death, At sight of whom our Sprites format their kmdling wrath. ( 1 .') I ) THE ORDINATION. For sense tkey little owe lofrwjal Ileav'n- To please tlie Mob they hide the little ijiv'it. [On Feb. 27, 178(>, the poet penned a letter to his companion, Juhu Ricluuonti, thou in Edinburgh, in which inter alia, he says—" I have boon very busy with tlie Muses since I saw vou.and have composed among several others, The Ordination, a poem on llr. Mackiiilay's being called to Kilmarnock." This bold satire, like the Twa /h-rds. the Uolii Fair, the Kirk's Alarm, and some others, was composed in ridicule of the rigid 'Calvinism of the ortlwdo.r. or Auld Light party in the Kirk of Scotland, and in commendation of the Arminianisni, if not Socinianism of the Moderate or Xew Light party, to which the poet had become attached. The pfople of Kilmarnock had long rejoiced, and do still rejoice in the reputation of being staunch to the true blue colour of the Covenant flag, abhorring patronage as tho pestilence, and prizing as pure gold, the privilege " That gives the brutes the power themselves to choose their herds." But so far back as the year 1764, when Bums was but five years old, the feelings of the faithful in " Auld Killie " had been outraged by what was considered a wanton exorcise of patronage on the part of the then Earl of Glencairn, who presented the Rev. Wm. Lindsay, a confirmed Moderate, to the Laigh Kirk. The induction of this minister was the occasion of a riot and a rising in tho town of Kilmarnock, which resulted in some criminal trials and punishment of offenders. But above all, the affair was marked by the composition of a satirical ballad against Lindsay and his party, which is referred to by Bums in the second stanza of the present poem and relative foot-note. This " scoffing ballad," which is stUl preserved, was tho production of a waggish shoemaker, named Hunter. Mr. Lindsay of the Laigh Kirk died in 1774, and was succeeded by the Eev. John Mutrie, another New Light preacher, who died in the course of the year 1785, and his death closed tho career of •' cauld moderation" in the Laigh Kirk of Kilmarnock. Lord Glencairn, on the occasion of this vacancy, filled it up to the satisfaction of the Old Light party, by putting in " one of the right sort," namely, the Eev. James Mackinlay, whose appointment occasioned the present poem. To the foot-note of the poet, regarding " Maggie Lauder," Mr. Robert Chambers, in his Edition of Burns (183S). made the following addendum:— •''i^v. Lindsay, ordained to the Laigh Kirk in 1764. was the first Moderate clergyman known in the place. He was supposed to have obtained the appointm(>nt through the influence of his wife, whose maiden name was Margaret Lauder, wIkj had been housekeeper to the Earl of Glencairn, patron of the kirk : hence the scoffing ballad to which the poet refers." The following is the reference to this matter in Hmiters ballad of 1764 :— " But some folk had it in their head His Lordship wad mak nae sic speed If Maggie Lauder had been dead. — Good people, hear my ditty. This as it may, I canna tell, Glencairn he kens it best himsel'. His reason thus the kirk to fill.— Good people, hear my ditty."] Kilmarnock Wabsters, fidge au' claw, An' pour your creeshie nation.^; ; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, Of a' denominations ; ( 152 ) Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a', An' there tak up your stations ; Then aflf to Begbie's in a raw, An' pour divine Ubations For joy this day. Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-11, Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; * But Oliphant aft made her yell, An' Russell sair misca'd her : This day M'Kinlay taks the flail, An' he's the boy will bland her ! He'll clap a shangan on her tail. An' set the bairns to daud her Wi' dirt this day. Mak haste an' turn king David owre, An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 0' double verse come gie us four. An' skirl up the Bangor : This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, For Heresy is in her pow'r, And gloriously she'll whang her Wi' pith this day. Come, let a proper text be read, An' touch it aff wi' vigour. How graceless Ham f leugh at his Dad, Which made Canaan a nigger ; Or Phineas % drove the murdering blade, Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; Or Zippnrah, § the scauldin jad, Was Hke a bluidy tiger r th' inn that day. • Alluding to a Bcofflnf? ballad which was mado on tho admission of the late Eeverend and worthy Mr L to tho Lavjh Kirk. — (E. B. 1787.1 t Genesis, ch. is. vers. 22.— (H. B. 1787.) X Numbers, ch. xxv. vers. 8.— (B. B. 1787.) } Exodus, ch. iv. vers. 26.— (R. B. 1787.) ( 153 ) There, try his mettle on the creed, And bind liim down wi' caution, That Stipend is a carnal weed He takes but for the fashion ; And gie him o'er the flock, to feed. And punish each transgression ; Especial, nms that cross the breed, Gie them sufficient threshin. Spare them nae day. Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale. Because thy pasture's scanty ; For lapfu's large o' gospel kail Shall fill thy crib in plenty. An' runts o' grace the pick an' wale. No gi'en by way o' dainty But ilka day. Nae mair by BaleVs streams we'll weep. To think upon our Zion; And hing our fiddles up to sleep, Like baby-clouts a-dryui : Come, screw the pegs wi' tuiJefu' cheep, And o'er the thairms be tryin ; Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep. And a' like lamb-tails flyin Fu' fast this day ! Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn. Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin. As lately FenwicJc, sair forfairn, Has proven to its ruin : Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn^ He saw mischief was brewin ; And hke a godly, elect bairn, He's wal'd us out a true ane. And sound this day. ( 154 ) Now Robinson harangue nae mair, But steek your gab for ever ; Or try tlie wicked town of Ayr, For there they'll think you clever ; Or. nae reflection on your lear, Ye may commence a Shaver ; Or to the Netherton repair, And turn a Carpet-weaver Aff-hand this day. Mutrie and you were just a match. We never had sic twa drones ; Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, Just like a winkiu baudrons : And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, To fry them in his caudrons ; But now his Honor maun detach, Wi' a' his brunstoue squadrons, Fast, fast this day. See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes She's swingeiu thro' the city ! Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! I vow it's unco pretty : There, Learning, with his Greekish face, Grunts out some Latin ditty ; And Common Sense is gaun, she says, To mak to Jamie Beattie Her plaint this day. But there's Morahty himsel. Embracing all opinions ; Hear, how he gies the tither yell, Between his twa companions ! See, how she peels the skin au' fell. As ane were peehn onions ! Kow there, they're packed aff to h-11, And banish'd our dominions. Henceforth this dav. ( 155 ) happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! Come bouse about the porter ! MoraUty's demure decoys Sliall here nae mair find quarter : M'KiuUiy, Russell, are the boys That Heresy can torture ; They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, And cowe her measure shorter By th' head some day. Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, And here's, for a conclusion, To ev'ry New-Uyht * mother's son. From this time forth. Confusion : If mair they deave us wi' their din. Or Patronage intrusion. We'll Kght a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, We'll rin them aff in fusion Like oil, some day. THE CALF. lo the Rev. Mr , on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2.—' And thoy shall go forth, and grow up, like Calves of the stall.' [The preacher was the Ecv. James Steven, afterwards of the Scotch Church in London, and ultimately minister of KUwinning in Ayrshire. On the morning of the same day on which poor Jean Armour was delivered of the poet's twin- children, namely, Simday, 3rd September, 1788, he had called for Gavin Hamilton on his way to tlio church at Mauchline, and that gentleman being indisposed to go, requested the poet to bring him back a note of the sermon. He called on returning, and produced the poem almost extempore. The verses are very clever, but recklessly severe ; for the author could have no personal dislike to this victim of his satirical propensity. The appellation of The Calf seems to have stuck to the decent preacher throughout his life.] Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, Tho' Heretics may laugh ; For instance, there's yoursel just now, God knows, au unco Calf! ♦ See note page 117. ( 15G ) And should some Patron be so kind, As bless you wi' a kirk, I doubt ua, Sir, but then we'll find, Ye're still as great a Stii-L But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour Shall ever be your lot. Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, You e'er should be a Stot ! Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear Your But-and-ben adorns, The hke has been that you may wear A noble head of horiis. And, in your log, most reverend J , To hear you roar and rowte, Few men o' sense will doubt your claims To rank amang the Noiote. And when ye're number'd wl' the dead, Below a grassy hillock, Wi' justice they may mark your head — ' Here lies a famous Bullock ! ' ( 157 ) THE VISION. STANZAS INTRODUCED AT CLOSE OF DUAN FIRST, IN THE author's SECOND EDITION, AND RETAINED THEREAFTER AS A PORTION OF THE TEXT. — See cuite^ P^gG 44. By stately tow'r, or palace fair. Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, I could discern ; Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, With feature stern. My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a Race * heroic wheel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel In sturdy blows ; While back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their Suthron foes. His Country's Saviour,! mark hun well ! Bold Bichardtnn's \ heroic swell ; The Chief on Sark § who glorious fell. In high command ; And He whom ruthless Fates expel His native land. || * The Wallaces.— (R. B. 17S7.) t William Wallace.— (R. B. 1787.) % Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal Preserver of Scottish Independence.— (R. B. 1787.) § Wallace Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno. 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Graigie, who died of his wounds after the action. — (R.B. 1787.) II Here, in the Stair MS., four suppressed stanzas are introduced. (See p. 159.) ( 158 ) There, where a sceptr'd Pictish * shade Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, I niark'd a martial Race, pourtray'd In colours strong ; f Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd They strode along. \ Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, § Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, (Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love, In musing mood) An aged Judge^ I saw him rove, Dispensing good. |1 With deep-struck, reverential awe, % The learned Sire and Son I saw. To Nature's God and Nature's law They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw. That, to adore.** Brt/don's brave Wardf f I well could spy, Beneath old ScotixCs smiling eye ; Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, To hand him on, Where many a Patriot-name on high And Hero shone. • CoiluB King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the Moutgomeries of C'oilsUeld, where his burial place is still shown. — (11. B. 1787.) t The Montgomories of Coilsfleld. X Var. in MS. — " stalked along." § Barskimming. the seat of the Lord Justice Clerk.— (E. B. 1787.) II Here, in the Stair MS., four suppressed stanzas are introduced. {See p. 160.) % Catrine, the scat of the late Doctor, and present Professor Stewart. — (R. B. 1787.) •* Here, in the Stair MS., five suppressed stanzas are introduced. (See-g. IGO.) tt Colonel FuUarton.— (R. B. 1787.) ( 1-^^ ) SUPPBESSED STANZAS OF "THE VISION." [Tho poet in his letter to Mrs. Dunlop of 15th January, 1787, refers to the fore- going seven stanzas, a copy of which ho encloses to her -ivith these words: — " I have not composed anything on the great Wallace, except what you have seen in print and the enclosed, which I will print in this edition. When I composed my Vision long ago, I had attempted a description of Kyle, of which these stanzas are a part as it originally stood." The entire poem, in tho poet's hand- writing, is inserted in a MS. of ten loaves, which he transcribed and presented to Mrs. Stewart of Stair about tho month of August, 1786. Besides 77ie Vision, it contains T/ie lass of Ballochintile, and six other pieces not printed In tho Kilmarnock edition.'then just "published. This interesting manuscript, which the grandson of Mrs. Stewart sold to the late John Dick, bookseller in Ayr, is not to be confounded with another MS. collection which the poet presented to the same la ) TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. An honest man's the noblest work of God. — POPK. [Bums became acquainted with the hero of this admired production, while Buporintendins the printing of his poems in KiUuarnocli during tlie spring or summer of 17.SG. The llrst meiilion wc have of it is in a letter to Kobert Muir, dated 18th Nov., 17S6:— "Enclosed you have Tain Hamson" as I intend to print him. I am thinliing for my Edinburgh expedition on Monday or Tuesday como ee'eunight, for j^os." Thomas Samsuu, nurscrjTiian, Eoscbank, Braehead, Kil- marnock, belonged to a circle of the poet's early patrons in that town: he subscribed and aided in procuring subscriptions for the AjTshire edition, an one can misiaki> it.' t KilUe is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for the name of a certain town in {\v West.— (H. 15. 1787.) ( 169 ) A WINTER NiailT. Poor naked toretches, wher-esoe'er you are, That hide the pelting of this pityless storm ! How shall ijour houseless heads, and unfed side's, Your loop'd and uindow'd ragr/edncss, di'/end ijou From seasons sudt as tltcse Shakespeabb. [This is another of those pieces which the author must have had " on the stocks " and uufiuished at the time of his Kilmarnocli publication. Amid many exquisite touches of tenderness, there is in it much of the gloomy grandeur of "Man was made to Mourn." In the following withering passage, we at once recognise the hand that wrote the two stanzas of that Uh-ge commencing with — " See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight " : — -pamper'd Luxury Surveys her Property extended wide, And eyes the simple, rustic Hind Whose toil upholds the glittering sho\i' — A creature of another kinil — Some coarser substance uuretln'd, Placed for her lordly use thus far— thus vile, below! '■ The bard has headed this production with a motto from King Lear's sublime exclamations during the storm on the heath, at the door of the hovel, and the poem throughout shows that he had been studying Shakespeare : indeed, the passage commencing—" Blow, blow, ye -n-inds, with heavier gust ! " is little else than a fine paraphrase of the famous song on "Man's Ingratitude" in As YOU Like it: — " Blow, blow, thou bitter wind! thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude: Thy tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen. Although thy breath be nide ! Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky! thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, thy sting is not so sharp As friends remember'dnot!" Carlyle's remarks on this poem are worth quoting: — "How touching is it, amid the gloom of personal misery that broods over and around him. that even amid the storm he thinks of ' the ourie cattle, the silly sheep, and the wee helpless birdies ! ' yes. the tenant of the mean, Inwly hut has the heart of pity for all these. This is worth a whole volume of homilies on mercy : for it is the voice of mercy itself. Burns lives in sympathy: his soul rushes forth into all the realms of being : nothing that has existence can be indifferent to him."] When l)iting Boreas, fell and doure, Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; Wheu Pkebiis gies a short-liv'd glow'r, Far south the lift, Piiu-dark'niiig thro' the flaky show'r. Or whirling drift. ( 170 ) Ae night the Storm the steeples rocked, Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, AVild-eddying swhl, Or thro' the mining outlet booked, Down headlong hurl. List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle, I thought me on the ourie cattle, Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 0' winter war, And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle, Beneath a scar. Ilk happing Ijird, wee, helpless thing ! That, in the merry months o' spring. Delighted me to hear thee sing. What comes o' thee ? Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chitteriiig wiug. An' close thy e'e .^ Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, Lone from your savage homes exil'd, The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, My heart forgets, While pityless the tempest wild Sore on you beats. Now Phivhe, in her midnight reign, Dark-muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; Still crouding thoughts, a pensive train. Rose in my soul. When on my ear this plaintive strain, Slow-solemn, stole — ' Blow, blow, ye Winds, with heavier gust ! ' And freeze, thou bitter-lnting Frost! ' Descend, ye chilly, smothering Snows ! ' Not all your rage, as now, united shows ' More hard uukiudness, unrelenting, ' A'engeful malice, unrepenting, ' Than heaven-illumin'd Man on l)r()thcr Man bestows ! ( 171 ) ' See stern Oppression's iron jrrip, ' Or mad Ambition's gory hand, ' Sending, lilce blood-honnds from the slip, ' Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land ! ' Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, ' Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, ' The parasite empoisoning her ear, ' With all the servile wretches in the rear. Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide ; ' And eyes the simple, rustic Pliiid, ' Whose toil upholds the gUtt'ring show, ' A creature of another kind, ' Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below ! ' Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, ' With lordly Honor's lofty brow, ' The pow'rs you proudly own? ' Is there, beneath Love's noble name, ' Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, ' To bless himself alone ! ' Mark Maiden-innocence a prey ' To love-pretending snares, ' This boasted Honor turns away, ' Shunnmg soft Pity's rising sway. Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! ' Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's squahd nest, ' She strains your infant to her joyless breast. And with a Mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast! ' Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, ' Feel not a want but what yourselves create, ' Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, ' Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! ■ Ill-satisfy'd, keen Nature's clam'rous call, ' Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, ' While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, ' Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap ! ' Think on the Dungeon's grim confine, ' Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine ! ( 172 ) ' Guilt, erring Man, relenting view ! ' But sliall thy legal rage pursue ' The Wretch, already crushed low ' By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ; A Brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! ' I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer Shook off the pouthery snaw. And hail'd the morning with a cheer, A cottage-rousiug craw. But deep this truth impress'd my mind — Thro' all his works abroad, The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God. STANZAS OX THE SAME OCCASIO:?^ AS THE POEM ENTITLED "A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH." [These stanzas are given in the Stair MS. under the title of •■ Misgivings of Despondency on the approach of the Gloomy Monarch of the Grave." Our hcail-note to its companion Prayer, at page 87, will apply to this also ; but wo cannot resist the impulse to refer here to the interesting sketch by John Brown, M.D.. (author of '• Eab and his Friends,'") entitled, " Pet JIarjorie : a Story of Child Life Fifty Years ago," (1SC3.) This clever little girl, related to the Keiths of llavelston, was a groat favourite of Sir Walter Scott, and was rather suddenly cut off by measles when about nine years old, on l!)th December, ISH. She had a wonderful gift for reciting poetry, even of the highest order, and on the evenmg before her death,— we give the narrative in Dr. Brown's words,—'- her father bein" present in the room, she said, ' Father, I will repeat something to you : whaf would you like?' He said, 'Just choose for yourself, Maidie.' She hesitated for a moment between the paraphrase, ' Few are thy days, and full of woe' and a poem by Burns, called 'A Prayer in the prospect of Death, beginning, , , „ , ' Why am I loth to leave this earthly scone ? — a remarkable choice for a child. She sat up in bed, w of sniisliinc mid renewing storms ( 1"3 ) Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; I tremble to approach an aiigi-y God, And justly smart Ijeneath his sin-avenging rod. Fain would I say, 'Forgive my foul offence! ' Fain promise never more to disobey ; But, sliould my Author health again dispense, Again 1 might desert fair Virtue's way ; Again in Folly's path might go astray ; Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; Then how should I for Heavenly Mercy pray, Who act so counter Heavenly Mercy's plan ? Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran ? Thou, Great Governor of all below ! If I may dare a hfted eye to Thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, Or still the tumult of the raging sea : With that controuling pow'r assist ev'n me, Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; For all unfit I feel my powers be,* To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 0, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! * Altered, in 1794, to " powers to be." ( 174 ) LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND's HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING VERSES IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. [This " Reverend Friend " was George Lawrie, D.D., minister of Loudoun, who, at this time, was 57 years old. A note, dated Mossgiel, 13th November, 1786, addressed by the poet to Mr. Archibald (afterwards Rev. Dr.) Lawrie — referred to in the verses as the " Darling youth, in manhood's dawning blush," gives us some idea of the date of the verses, as the follo'wing words in the note evidently refer to them: — "A poet's warmest wishes for the happiness of the young ladies, particularly the fair musician, wliom 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." Gilbert Burns, in his notes, says, " The first time over Robert heard the spinnet jilayed was at the house of Dr. La^vrie, minister of Loudoun. Dr. Lawrie had several accomplished daughters ; one of them played the spinnet ; the father and mother led down the dance ; the rest of the sisters, the brother, the poet, and the other guests mixed in it. It was a delightful family scene for our poet, then lately introduced to the world. His mind was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the stanzas were left in the room whore he slept." Dr. Lawrie had sent a copy of the Kilmarnock volume to Dr. Blacklock of Edinburgh, and the blind bard replied, in a letter dated September 4th, 17SG, in terms of enthusiastic admiration of the poems in that volume, and recommend- ing a second edition. It appears that Dr. Lawrie some time thereafter com- municated the contents of this letter to Burns, who thus refers to it in his autobiography : — "My chest was on the road to Greenock; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew all my schemes by opening new jirospects to my poetic ambition. The Dr. belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. Uis opinion, that I would meet with encouragement in Edin- l)urKh for a second edition, tired me so much, that away I jiosted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction."] Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! T know Thou wilt me hear ; When for this scene of peace and love, 1 make my pray'r sincere. The hoary Sire — tlie mortal stroke, Lonj?, lonp: be pleas'd to spare ; To J)less his little filial (lock, And show what good men are. ( 170 ) She, who her lovely 0£fspring eyes With tender hopes and fears, bless her with a Mother's joys, But spare a Mother's tears ! Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, In manhood's dawning blush ; Bless him. Thou God of love and truth, Up to a Parent's wish. The beauteous, seraph Sister-band, With earnest tears I pray. Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand. Guide Thou their steps alway. When soon or late they reach that coast, O'er life's rough ocean driven, May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, A Family in Heaven ! THE rmST PSALM. [This, and the two following pieces, are evidently juvenile productions, ap- parentb' composed while resident at Irvine, in 1781. He refers to such early efforts in a letter to Iviohard Brown, his sailor friend, with whom he became intimate in Irvine. Writing in December, 1787, he says,—" Do you recollect a Sunday wo spent together in Eglintou woods ? You told me, on my repeating some versos to you, that you wondered I could resist the temptation of sending verses of such merit to a magazine. It was from this remark I derived that idea of my own pieces, which encouraged me to endeavour at the character of a poet."] The man, in life wherever plac'd. Hath happiness in store. Who walks not in the wicked's way, Nor learns their guilty lore ! Nor from the seat of scornful Pride Casts forth his eyes abroad, But with humihty and awe Still walks before his God. That man shall flourish like the trees Which by the streamlets grow ; The fruitful top is spread on high, And firm the root below. ( no ) But he whose blossom buds in guilt Shall to the ground be cast, Aud like the rootless stubble tost, Before the sweeping blast. For why ? that God the good adore Hath giv'n them peace and rest, But hath decreed that wicked men Shall ne'er be truly blest. A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. fin the poet's Scrap-Book, of March, 1784, this piece is entered under the following head-note : — " There was a period of my life that my spirit was broken by repeated losses and disasters, which threatened, and indeed effected the utter ruin of my fortune. My body, too, was attacked by that most dreadful dis- temper, a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In this wretched state, the recollection of which makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on the willow trees, except in some lucid intervals, in one of which I composed the following : "] — Thou great Being ! what Thou art, Surpasses me to know : Yet sure I am, that kuown to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here l^efore Thee stands, All wretched aud distrest ; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey Thy high behest. Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wratli ! 0, free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death ! But if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design ; Then, man my soul with lirui resolves To bear and not rci)iue ! ( 1" ) THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. [I'his is a little more succeasful than the attempt to paraphrase the First Psiilni, althouj,'li neither of them, in poetical merit, comes up to the versions of these Psalms in the common Scottish Psalter.] Tiiou, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race ! Whose strong right hand has ever been Their stay and dweUing-place ! Before the mountains heav'd their heads Beneath Thy forming hand, Before this ponderous globe itself Arose at Thy command : That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds This universal frame, From countless, unbeginning time Was ever still the same. Those mighty periods of years Which seem to us so vast, A]ipear no more before Thy sight Than yesterday that's past. Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, man, Is to existence brought ; Again Thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, ' Return ye into nought ! ' Thou layest them with all their cares In everlasting sleep ; As with a flood Thou tak'st them off With overwhelming sweep. They flourish hke the morning flow'r. In beauty's pride array'd ; But long ere night cut down it lies All wither'd and decay'd. ( 17S ) TO MISS L- WITII BEATTIE S POEMS FOK A NEW-YEAR S GIFT. JAN. 1, 1787. [The poet appears to have soiit a copy of Beattio's Poems from Edinburgh to the sistor of Major Logan, resident in Ayr, to whom he liad addressed a poetical epistle un 3Uth October previous, ia which ho refers to Miss Logau as his '-seuti- mental sister Susie."] Again the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driv'n, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer Heav'n. No gifts have I from Indian coasts The infant year to hail ; I send you more than India boasts In Edwin's simple tale. Our Sex with guile and faithless love Is charg'd, perhaps too true ; But may, dear Maid, each Lover prove An Edwin still to you. ( 1''' ) TO A HAGGIS. [This notod production was composed within a fortnight after tlio poet's arrival in Edinljur^h, and was printed in the pages of the Cah'Jonian Mercury, December '20th, 178(5. Hogg assurcis us that it was i)roduced almost extempore, at dinner, within the house of Mr. Andrew Bruce, merchant, Castlchill, there. It is usual to have this Scotch disli at the anniversary celebrations of the poet's birth, and a very savoui-y viand it is, although unsafe to oat much of. Allan Cunn- inghain trc^iits of its component parts in the following way : — " ' Pray, sir,' said a man from the south, ' why do you boil it in a sheep's bag ; and. above all, what is it made of/' — 'Sir,' answered a man of the north, ' we boil it in a sheep's bag because such was the primitive way before linen was invented; and as for what it is made ot, I dare not trust myself to tell — I can never name all the savoury items without teai-s ; and surely you would not have me expose such wealiness in a public company.' " Gait records in his autobiography, that he sat next the Dulce of York at one of the poet's anniversary dinners, when his royal Highness was attracted by the savoury steam Issuing from a Scotch haggis. It was evidently ill-made — the bag dingy — altogether an ugly, flabby trencher full of fat things. " Pray, what dish is that?" inquired the Duke. "A boiled pair of bagpipes!" gravely replied Gait, wlio dearly relished a joke in his own quiet way. The dish was soon ordered off the board.] Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great Cbieftau o' the Puddiii-race ! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairiii : Weel are ye wordy of a grace As hing's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye till, Your hurdies hive a distant hill. Your 2^ln wad help to mend a mill * In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see Rustic-labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready slight. Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like onie ditch ; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekiu, rich ! Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, ( 1-^0 ) Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums ; Theu auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bcthankit hums. Is there that owre his French ragout^ Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner ? Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a g-uid whip-lash, His nieve a nit ; Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash, how unfit ! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed^ The trembling earth resounds liis tread, Clap in his waUe nieve a blade. He'll mak it whissle ; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, Like taps o' thrissle. Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants uae skh)king ware That jaups in higgles ; ]3ut, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r, Gie her a Haggis ! * * This stanza was originally written out as follows: — " Yo Pow'rs wild Rio us a' that's gude Still bless auld Caledonia's brood, Wi' great John Barleyeorn's heart's bluid In stoups or luKK'es ; And nn our boards, that king o' food, A glide Scotch Haggis I " ( IHl ) ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. [This universally admired piece could not fail to assist in giving the poet's name a Hft in the Scottisli capital. He has omitt(3(l to notice none of the specialities of which Edinburgli is so justly proud, not oven its charitable institutions being passed over without a compliment. He enclosed this poem along with another piece unnamed, to Mr. William Chalmers, writer, Ayr, so early as 'iith Dec, 178G, thus showing the rapidity with which he had composed it ; for he had then been only three weeks in the city. He says, " I enclose you two poems, which I have cunlod and spun since I passed Glenbuck. One blank in the Address to EdinOiiiy/i, • Fair R ,' is heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honour to be more than once. There has not been anything nearly like her in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness the Creator has formed, since Milton's f^vc on the llrst day of her existence. This beautiful creature died in 1789. We will afterwards refer to her in con- nection with an Elegy which Burns composed on the occasion.] Edina! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a Monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs, As on the banks of Ai/r I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honor'd shade. Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, As bnsy Trade his labours plies ; There Architecture's noble pride Bids elegance and splendor rise; Here Justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod ; There Learning, with his eagle eyes. Seeks Science in her coy abode. Thy Sons, Edina^ social, kind. With open arms the Stranger hail ; Their views enlarg'd, their hb'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural vale : Attentive still to Sorrow's wail, Or modest Merit's silent claim ; And never may their sources fail ! And never envy blot their name ! Thy Daughters bright thy walks adorn. Gay as the gilded summer sky. Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn. Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! ( 1^^^ ) Fiiir B strikes tli' adoring eye, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ; I see the Sire of Love on high, And own his work indeed divine ! There, watching high the least alarms, Thy rough, rude Fortress gleams afar ; Like some bold Yet'ran, gray in arms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar : The pond'rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing War, And oft repell'd th' Invader's shock. With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, I view that noble, stately Dome, Where Scotias kings of other years, Pam'd heroes ! had their royal home : Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! Their royal Name low in the dust ! Their hapless Race wild-wand'ring roam ! Tho' rigid Law cries out, 'twas just! Wild-beats my heart, to trace your steps, Whose ancestors, in days of yore, Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps Old ScotiiCs bloody lion bore : Ev'n / who sing in rustic lore. Haply Hjy Sires have left their shed. And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar, Bold-following where your Fathers led ! Ediiia ! ScoticCs darling seat ! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once, J)eneath a Monm-ch's feet, 8at Legislation's sov'reign jiow'rs ! From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs. As on the i)anks of Ai/r I stray'd. And singing, lone, the ling'riiig hours, J sheller in thy honor'd shade. SONGS. JOHN BARLEYCORN.* A BALLAD. [It is curious that the poet never corrected the defective grammar in the first line of this ballad : his posthumous editors, however, have almost universally done this for him. There can be no doubt that Burns liked the antique euphony of was in this line, otherwise he must have changed it in the course of his various revisals. Sometimes bad grammar is a positive beauty : Shakespeare indulged in it ; and the Ettrick Shepherd declared that his favourite song, " Meet a bonie lassie when the kye comes hame," was murdered on one occasion by an attempt to correct the grammar in singing it. The ancient ballad on which this is founded is printed in Robert Jamieson'a Ballads (1806,) taken from a black-letter copy in the Pepys' Librarj-.] There was three kiugs into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head. And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the chearful Spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall ; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all. The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong. His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. * This is partly composed on the plan of an old soug known by the same name. (R. B. 1787.) ( 184 ) The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale ; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age ; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee ; Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgeU'd him full sore ; They hung him up before the storm, And turn'd him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim. They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe, And still, as signs of life appear' d. They toss'd him to and fro. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. The marrow of his bones ; But a Miller us'd him worst of all. For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round ; And si ill the more and more they drank, Tlicir jov ilid itiorc alMtuiid. ( 185 ) Jolin Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if ye do but taste bis blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 'Twill heighten all his joy : 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand ; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland. A FRAGMENT. Tune — Gillicrankie. [This is a rustic ballad, on the American War of Independence, which tho poet might well have omitted from his printed worics, for the only notice it elicited was from Dr. Hugh Blair, who remarked that, " the ploughman bard's politics smell of the smithy."] When Guilford good our Pilot stood, An' did our hellim thraw, man, Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 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. Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, I wat he was na slaw, man ; Down Lowrie^s hum he took a turn, And Carleton did ca', man : But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec^ Montgomery-like did fa', man, Wi' sword in hand, before his band, Amang his en'niies a', man. ( l^fi ) Toor TavDiuj Gage within a cage AVas kept at Boston-ha\ man ; Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe .For Philadelphia^ man: Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; But at New- Yorl\ wi' knife an fork, Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; Then lost his way, ae misty day. In Saratoga shaw, man, Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought, An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; But Clinton s glaive frae rust to save lie hung it to the wa', man. Then Montague^ an' Guilford too, Began to fear a fa', man ; And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure. The German Chief to thraw, man : For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, Nae mercy had at a', man ; An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. Then Rockingham took up the game ; Till Death did on him ea', man ; AYhen Shelburne meek held up his cheek, Conform to Gospel law. man: Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise. They did his measures tln*aw, man. For North an' Fox united stocks, An' bore him to the wa', man. Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's cartes, lie swept the stakes awa', man, Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race. Led him a s;iir /J///./ ;)'/.-•, uuui : ( 1B7 ) The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, ()u Chathams Btiij did ca', man ; An' Scotland drew her pipe an' Idew, ' Up, Willie, vvaur them a', man ! ' Behind the tlirone then GrenvUles gone, A secret word or twa, man ; While slee Dundas arous'd the class Be-north the lloman wa', mnn : An' Ckatham's wraith, in heav'uly graith, (Inspired Bardies saw, man) Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, ' Willie, rise ! ' Would I hae fear'd them a', man ! ' But, word an' blow. North, Fox, and Co. Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man. Till Suthron raise, an' coost their claise Behind him in a raw, man : An' Caledon threw by the drone. An' did her w^hittle draw, man; An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood, To mak it guid in law, man. ( 188 ) SONG. Tune — Mij Nanie^ 0. [ITiis is noticed by the author as haying been composed before he went to Irvine, in his twenty-third year. Be this as it may, it is the very perfection of a rustic love-song, and no after effort of his ever surpassed it in delicacy of senti- ment, truthful simplicity, and beautj' of versification. He well knew its merits, for in his early Scrap-Book, under date 1784, in referring to his own critical Bkill in distinguishing foppery and conceit from real passion and nature in love- verses, he adds, " Whether My yanie will stand the test, I will not pretend to say, because it is my ovra. ; only, I can say it was at the time genuine from the heart." Annotators have In vain puzzled themselves to find a heroine for it. No doubt he had a living model, but it does not necessarily follow that hor name must have been Nannie. The air is one of the divinest of Scotland's melodies, and the name " Nanie, O " being identitied with it, no versifier of taste would ever dream of composing words for it which closed otherwise than with the familiar refrain. Allan Cunningham and others, from a misreading of the construction of the opening stanza, have set it down as evident that the Nannie of Burns must have dwelt in Carrick, where the Girvan and the Sfincliar flow through moors and mosses : even Mrs. Begg suggested Peggy Thomson of Kirkoswald, as the charming inspirer ; but when the poet, in the 7th and 8th lines, says — " I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal, An' owre the hill to Nanie O," he is not referring to the " hills " of the opening line of the song. It is the " wintry sun " and not the lover who closes the day " behind yon hills where Stinchar flows." In short, the young ploughman lover, at the close of the brief winter's day, sees from Lochlea, the sun set behind the Carrick hills, and this is his signal to don his plaid and steal out to his tryste with Nannie. ] Behind yon bills where Stinchar flows,* 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And 111 awa to Nanie, 0. The westliu wind blaws loud an' sliill ; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; But I'll get my i)laid an' out I'll steal, An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. My Nanie's charming, sweet an' young ; Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : May ill befa' the flattering tongue That wad beguile my Nanie, O. * In 1792, the poet gave George Thomson liberty to adopt tliis song in his collection, and to alter the name of the river to Lugar for the sake of euphony; observing, at same time, that Gii-van would better suit the idea intended. ( 189 ) Her face is fair, her heart is true, As spotless as she's bonie, ; The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, Nae purer is than Name, 0. A country lad is my degree. An' few there be that ken me, O ; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O. My riches a's my penny-fee, An' 1 maun guide it cannie, ; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. My thoughts are a', my Nanie, 0. Our auld Guidman delights to view His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, ; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, An' has nae care but Nanie, 0. Come weel come woe, I care na by, I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, : Nae ither care in life have I, But Uve, an' love my Nanie, 0. ( I'.'o ) GREEN GROW THE RASHES. A FRAGMENT. [This is one of the most characteristic of all Burns' songs, although one of his earlicKt. In August, 1784, he sets it down in hia Commonplace-Book, with some raml)ling remarks on "the various species of young men," whom lie divides iuti> two classes — "the grave and the merry." The former he reckons to be thusc who are either "goaded on by the love of money," or else "whose darling wish it is to make a figure in the world," and the latter he notes as " the jovial lads, who have too much fire and spirit to have any settled rule of action, but without much deliberation follow the strong impulses of nature." " I do not see," he adds, " that the turn of mind and pursuits of such a one as the following verses describe, — who steals through tho vale of life, amusing himself with every little flower that fortune throws in his way, is, in tho least, more inimical to the sacred interests of piety and virtue : I do not see but he may gain heaven as well as he who, straining straight forward, and perhaps bespattering all about him, gains some of life's little eminences, where, after all, he can only see and be seen a little more conspicuously than he whom, in the pride of his heart, he is apt to term the poor, indolent devil he has left behind him."] CHORUS. Green grotv tlie rashes, ; Green grow the rashes, ; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend* Are spent amang the lasses, 0. There's nought but care on evVy han', In ev'ry hour that passes, : What signifies the hfe o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, 0. Gi-een grou; &c. The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, ; An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. Green grow, &c. But gie me a canny hour at e'en, My arms about my Dearie, O ; An' warly cares, an' warly men. May a' gae tapsalteerie, ! Green grow, &C. • Altered, in 1793, to " spent," which necessarily involves another change iu next lino: " Are " must then be " Were." ( 101 ) For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Ye're noug-bt but senseless asses, : Tha wisest Man the warl' saw,* 1 le dearly lov'd the lasses, O. Green (/ruir, &c. [Auld Nature swears, the lovely Dears Her noblest work she classes, 0, Her prentice han' she try'd on man. An' then she made the lasses, 0. Green groio, &c.] [N.B. — This verse is not contained in the copy inserted in the poet's tirst commonplace book ; therefore, the presumption is that he added that crowniug stanza while in Edinburgh.] SONG. Tune — Joclceifs Gray B reeks. [This (leaving out the absurd chorus) is a very exquisite production, and seems to point to the period when T/ie Lament, Despondency, and Ode to Ruin were com- posed. Tlie similarity between the sixth verse and a well-ljnown passage in the Mountain-Daisij is very noticeable ; and a like similarity between the two closing lines of the preceding verse and a passage in Gray's Eleyrj is also apparent: — " One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill." " Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn. Brushing, with hasty steps, the dew away."] Again rejoicing Nature sees Her rolbe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the breeze All freshly steep'd in morning dews. CHORUS, f And maun I still on Menie :j: doat., And bear the scorn that's in her e'e! For it's Jet, jet black, an' it's like a haivk, An' it winna let a body be ! § * In 1794, the author changed this to " warl' e'er saw." t This Chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a, particular friend of the Author's. — (R. B. 1787.) X Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamne. — (R. B. 1787.) § This, beyond all the songs of Burns, is spoiled by the chorus : and the best of it is. he tells us that the chorus is not his own, but put in to gratify a friend. ( 192 ) In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to nie the vi'lots spring ; In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the hntwliite sinff. The merry Ploughboy cheers his team, Wi' joy the tentie Seedsman stalks, But life to me's a weaiy dream, A dream of ane that never wanks. The wanton coot the water skims, Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately swan majestic swims, And ev'ry thing is blest but I. The Sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And owre the moorlands whistles shill, Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. Come Winter, with thine angry howl. And raging bend the naked tree ; Thy gloom will soothe my chearless soul. When Nature all is sad like me ! The editor is much inclined to suspect that the choi-us objected to for ita dlRturbing effect, was really a portion of another song by JBurns himself referring to Jean Armour, and that the first line of the chorus was originally " And maun I still on Joanie doat? " In all descriptions given of Mrs. liurns' personal appearance, her black eyes socm to have been the distinguishing features. Her lips were thin, and the mouth not flnoly formed; yet the partial lover Bung of her " Tempting lips, and roguish een." ( lys ) SONG. Tune — Hoslin Castle. [Professor Walker, who was introduced to Bums in Edinburgh shortly after his arrival there, at the close of the year 1786, says, "I requested him to com- municate some of his unpublished poems, and he recited his farewell song to the Banks of Ayr, introducing it with a description of the circumstances in which it had been composed, -more striking than the poem itself. He had left Dr. Lawrie's famil}', after a visit which he expected to be the last, and on his way homo had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor. His mind was strongly affected by parting for ever with a scene where he had tasted so much elegant and social pleasure ; and, depressed by the contrasted gloom of his prospects, the aspect of nature harmonized with his feelings. It was a lowering and heavy evening in the end of autumn : the wind was up, and whistled through the rushes and long spear-grass, which bent before it : the clouds were driving across the sky ; and cold, pelting showers at inter\'als, added discomfort of body to cheer- lessness of mind. Under these circumstances, and in this frame of mind, Burns composed his poem."] The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast, Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain ; The Hunter now has left the moor, The scatt'red coveys meet secure. While here I wander, pressed with care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr. The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn By early Winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid, azure sky, She sees the scowling tempest fly : Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, I think upon the stormy wave. Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonie banks of Ayr. 'Tis not the surging billows roar, 'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; Tho' Death in ev'ry shape appear, The Wretched have no more to fear : But round my heart the ties are bound. That heart transpierc'd with many a wouud ; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear. To leave the bonie banks of Aj/?-. e N ( li'4 ) Farewell, oUl Coila's hills and dales, Her heatliy moors and winding; vales; Tlie scenes where wretched Fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! Farewell, ray friends ! farewell, my foes ! My peace with these, my love with those — The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell, the bonie banks of Ai/i'/ SONG. Tune — Prepare, my clear brethren, to the tavern lei's fly, &e. [This is not a happy production, although, douhtlcss. It would pass very well among his youthful cumpatiioiis at Tarboltuu, when the table was in a roar, after a Lodge Meeting. It looks more like an attempted imitation of an English song, than a spontaneous burst of the author's genius. He tells us that a Collection of English Songs was his vade nucum wherever he went, and in a standard Collec- tion, dating from the year 1751, called " Yair's Charmer," we tlud (at page 293, Vol. I.) a song which very likely was in Burns' eye as a model. We also see a trace of the same model in one of the last songs he ever composed — the one beginning, " Awa' wi' your witchcraft." Take the following sample: — " My Chloe had dimples and smiles I must own. But tho' she could smile, yet in truth she could frown; But tell mo, ye lovers of liquor divine, Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine ? Her lilies and roses were just in their prime, Yet lilies and roses are conquered by time ; But in wine, from its ago such a benefit flows, That we like it the bettor, the older it grows. She, too, might have poison'd the joy of my life "With nurses and babies, and squalling and strife; But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring — And a big-bellied bottle's a mighty good thing."] No Churchman am I for to rail and to write. No Statesman nor Soldier io plot or to fight. No sly man of business contriving a snare. For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. The Peer I don't envy, I give him his l)0w ; I scorn not the Peasant, tho' ever so low ; But a club of good fellows, like those that arc there, And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. ( 195 ) Here passes the Squire on his brother — his horse ; There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse ; But see you the Crown how it waves in the air, There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did cUe ; For sweet consolation to churcli 1 did fly ; I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a l)ig-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. I once was persuaded a venture to make ; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd up stairs. With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. ' Life's cares they are comforts ' * — a maxim laid down By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown ; And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care. A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge : Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow. And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; May ev'ry true Brother of th' Compass and Square Have a big-belly'd bottle when pressed f with care. * Young's Night Thoughts.— (R. B. 1787.) t Altered, in 1793, to " harassed.' THE FOREGOING SONG CLOSES THE LIST OF PIECES ADDED IN THE AUTHOR'S SECOND EDITION. CONCLUDINQ NOTE ON EDINBUKaH EDITION. (UURNS' FIRST WINTER IN TIIK CITY.) We have some reason to think that Tuesday, 6th December, 178G, was the date of the poet's arrival in Edinburgh, notwithstanding Dr. Chambers makes it a week earlier. Ho was stUl in Mauchline on 20th November. On 18th Novem- ber, he says in a note to Robert Muir, " I am thinking for my Edinburgh expedition on Monday or Tuesday se'night, for pos."~(27th. and 28th Nov.) We know that he left AjTshire by way of Muirkirk, and spent some time with his friends on the road ; and his letter to Ballantyne from Edinburgh, dated Wednesday, 13th December, 1786, distinctly says, "I arrived here on Tuesday was se'night,"— which should mean the 5th. On the Gth, he may have written his (undated) published letter to Mr. Dalrympie of Orangefleld, wherein he says, " The noble Earl of Glencairn took me by the hand to-day," &c. On the 7th, he wrote to Gavin Hamilton, in which letter he says, " My Lord Glencairn and the Dean of Faculty, Mr. Erskine, have taken me under their wing. My subscription bills come out to-morrow." These letters disprove the statement quoted by Chambers from the little masonic bfochure, called A Winter with Robert Burns, that the poet, on the evening of the 7th. attended at a meeting of the Canongate Kilwinning Lodge, and was there introduced by Mr. Dalrj-mple to the Past- Master, t\\a Honourable Harry Erskine, and also to Lord Glencairn. Indeed, there is not a shadow of evidence in the minutes of that Lodge to show that Burns was ever within its walls till 1st Feb., 1787, on which occasion he was " unanimously assumed a member of that Lodge." Another meeting (the last of the season) was held on 1st March, at which Burns is said to have been present, and to have been formally inaugurated as Poet-Laureate of that Lodge; but there is no record of all this in the minutes of the Lodge, and, consequently, Mr. Stewart Watson's well-known picture of that spectacle may bo no mora than a piece of innocent mythologj-. At same time, in endeavouring to fix the precise date of the poet's arrival in Edinburgh, let us admit that he may, in announcing to Ballantyne on 13th Doc. the fact of his having arrived " on Tuesday was se'night," have meant Tuesday, a fortnight past ; and it is not inconsistent with probability that Burns may have left Mossgiol early on the morning of Monday, 27th November, on horseback — slept the first night at Covington Mains, near Biggar, and reached Edinburgh on the evening of the 2Sth. By adopting this view, we allow the poet more time to see Mr. DalrjTnple — carry his letter of introduction to Lord Glencairn, and obtain that nobleman's influence with the gontlemeu of the Caledonian Hunt, referred to in his letter, of 7th Deccmlior, to llamiltuii. SONGS PRODUCED BY BURNS, IN TlIK KlUST FOUR VOIA'MKS OK "JOHNSON'S SCOTS MUSICAL UUSKUM,' FROM 22nd may, 1787, TO 13th AUGUST, 1792. INTRODUCTORY NOTE, Our poet, during the spring of 17S7, while engaged with his own Second Ediliou, appears to have been introduced to Mr. James Johnson, music-engraver In Edinburgh, by Mr. Wm. Dunbar, W.S., styled, " Colonel of the Orochallan Fencibles." Among the last letters that Burns ever penned, was one to Mr. Johnson, in which he says, " Your work is a great one, and though, now that it is nearly finished, I see, if we were to begin again, two or three things that might be mended, yet I will venture to prophesy, that to future ages, your publication will be the text-book and standard of Scottish song and music." So early as 4th May, 1787, the poet addressed a letter to Johnson, before leaving Edinburgh, in which are these words, "Farewell, my dear Sir! 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 con- versation gave me so much pleasure; because I have met with few whose sentiments are so congenial to my own." Mr. David Laing, in his preface to the edition of Johnson's 'Work, produced under his superintendence in 1839, remarks as follows: — "The Musical Museum was a work so congenial to the poet's mind, that it evidently had a decided effect in directing his efforts more exclusively to song-writing. Burns, from the period of his acquaintance with Johnson, ought to be considered not merely as a contributor, but as the proper and efficient editor of the work. He not only contributed a large number of original songs, expressly written for it, but he applied to every person likely to render assistance, and while visiting different parts of the country, diligently gleaned fragments of old songs, hitherto unpublished, which he completed vrith additional lines or stanzas as might be required." In a letter from the poet to Wm. Dunbar (7th April, 1788), occurs the follow- ing passage referring to Johnson's work : — " When I meet with an old Scotj* air that has any facetious idea in its name, I have a peculiar pleasure in follow- ing out that idea for a verse or two." This observation of the bard throws light on many " snatches of song " found intermixed with the lyrics furnished by him for that work, and now laid before the reader in the same order in which they were originally given to the world. ( 198 ) It may be as well here to indicate upon what authority several songs and lyrical fragments, which appear in the Museum without any distinguishing mark, are attributed to Burns, aud included among his acknowledged productions. The poet, in one of his letters, says — "The songs marked Z in the Museum, I have given to the world as old verses to their respective tunes ; but, in fact, little more than the chorus, of a good many of them, is ancient, though there is no reason for telling everybody this piece of intelligence." A much more definite guidance than this however, is supplied to us in the many interesting notes on Scottish Song which the poet inserted in an interleaved copy of the first four volumes of the Museum, which belonged to his friend Captain Eiddel of Glenriddel, and in the course of these remarks he generally noted what anonymous songs and additions to lyrics, there printed, had been composed by himself. Where that source of information stops short, we farther have the authority of Mr. Wm. Stenhouso for attaching Burns' name to several pieces and snatches of song scattered thro\ighout the Museum, that had been otherwise unacknowledged. Mr. Stenhouse, who was an accountant in Edin- burgh, and compiler of a set of Tables of Interest and Exchange, still highly valued, was an enthusiast in Scottish music, and a personal friend of Johnson the publisher of the Museum, and of Clarke the organist, who harmonized the airs in that work. Johnson died in 1811, and a few years thereafter, the whole of the music-plates of the Museum, and the manuscripts and copy connected therewith, were purdliased from his widow by Mr. Wm. Blackwood, bookseller who engaged Mr. Stenhouso to supply elaborate notes and illustrations for a new edition of Johnson's work. These interesting notes were in type in 1821, but from some unexplained cause, the publication of the work was delayed for several years, (Mr Stenhouse having meanwhile died in 1827.) In 1839, however, the new edition of Johnson was published by William Blackwood & Sons, and besides containing all Mr. Stenhouse's illustrations, it was further enriched by notes, preface, and introduction by Mr. David Laing, assisted by Mr. C. K. Sharpe, a distinguished connoisseur in such matters. SONGS BY BURNS, IN JOHNSON'S FIRST VOL,, MAY 22, 1787, YOUNG PEGGY. Tune — Loch Eroch-side. [This stands No. 78 in the worli, with Burns' name attached, immediately preceded by another song of his — Green Groto the Rashes — ah-eady given at page 190. This is a very beautiful lyric, and has a remarkable history attaclied to it. Miss Peggy Kennedy, was the daugliter of a landed proprietor in Carrick, to whom the poet was introduced while she was on a visit to a friend in Mauchline, during the autumn of 1785. She was then a blooming girl of 17, and appeared to be the betrothed bride of Captain Maxwell, the youthful representative of the oldest and richest family in (jalloway. Burns, m the warmth of Ids admiration, addressed a respectful letter to her enclosing the present song, " as a small though grateful tribute for the honour of her acquaintance." But, alas ! the poet's prayer that the " Pow'rs of Honor, Love, and Truth " might defend her from every ill. was not to be realized. Cunningham tells us that '• tliis beautiful and accomplished creature fell a victim to her passion for M'Douall of Logan." It was about the time of the poet's leaving Ayrshire for Edinburgh, at the close of autumn, 1786, that the sad story of this hapless daughter of beauty began to be talked of ; and ere he reached the metropolis, he seems to have composed, in reference to her fate, his never-dying lyric, Ve Banks and Braes o Bonie Uoon.] Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass, With early gems adorning : Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower. And glitter o'er the crystal streams. And cheer each fresh'nmg flower. Her lips more than the cherries bright, A richer die has grac'd them; They charm th' admiring gazer's sight And sweetly tempt to taste them : Her smile is as the ev'ning mild. When feather'd pairs ai-e courting, And little lambkins wanton wild, Tn playful bauds disporting. ( 200 ) Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, Such sweetness would relent her, As blooming spring unbends the brow Of surly, savage winter. Detraction's eye no aim can gain Her winning pow'rs to lessen ; And fretful Envy grins in vain, The poison'd tooth to fasten. Ye Pow'rs of Honor, Love and Truth, From ev'ry ill defend her ; Inspire the highly -favor'd Youth The destinies intend her ; Still fan the sweet connubial flame . Responsive in each bosom ; And bless the dear parental name With many a fihal blossom. ( ^01 ) THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. Tune — Maggy Lauder. [This l3 song 98 In Johnson. No author's name is attached to it, and no one, from internal evidence, could ever judge it to be the work of Burns ; but it would seem that the verses were furnished by our poet, and that the MS. is still in existence. Mr. Stenhouse explicitly tells us that it is the work of Burns. _ ^ There is a verse on the same subject, and similarly treated, in "Yairs Charmer" (1751, Vol. I.,) with Charles Coffee's name attached;— " Ye gods, you gave to me a wife, Out of your grace and favour, To be the comfort of my life, And I was glad to have her : But if your providence divine, For greater bliss design her, To obey your will, at any time, I'm ready to resign her I "] I MARRIED with a scolding wife The fourteenth of November ; She made me weary of my hfe, By one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, And many griefs attended ; But, to my comfort be it spoke, Now, now her life is ended. We liv'd full one-and-twenty years, A man and wife together ; At length from me her course she steer'd, And gone I know not whither : Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak and do not flatter. Of all the women in the world, I never would come at her. Her body is bestowed well, A handsome grave does hide her ; But sure her soul is not in hell, The deil would ne'er abide her. I rather think she is aloft, And imitating thunder, For why, — methinks I hear her voice Tearing the clouds asunder. ( 202 ) BONIE DUNDEE. [These euphonious words suggest more than any actual view of that hive of industry itself could do, seen from any point of the compass. Thoughts of old baUad-poeti-y and primitive melody are wakened up thereby; indeed, in the whole catalogue of Scottish airs, there is not one more deliciously flowing than that of Uojiie Dundee — not the tune to which Sir Walter Scott's Bonnets of ISonie Dundee is sung — an excellent air too, yet modern, hut the fine old melody which was selected by Hector M'Neil for his ballad, Manj of Castlecary, so frequently produced in popular concerts even yet. Burns was much attached to this tune, and wliilc at the convivial board of an early Edinburgh associate, Mr. Robert Cleghorn, farmer, Saughton Mills, in the spring of 1787, ho hoard the old song warbled In such a style that he regretted the want of more suitable words, so he took an early opportunity to construct the following sweet verses, in which the opening four lines of the original ballad are preserved. Ho enclosed the song to Clc^rhprn, with the following note : — " Dear Cleghorn,— You will see by the above that I have added a stanza to Bonie Dundee. If you think it will do, you may set it agoing ' Upon a ten-string'd instrument, and on the Psaltery." "] AvnAR did ye get that hauver-meal bannock '? * silly blind body, dinna ye see ; 1 gat it frae a young brisk Sodger Laddie, Between Saint Johnston and bonie Dundee. gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee ; May Heaven protect my bonie Scots laddie. And send him safe hame to his babie and me ! My blessin's upon thy sweet, wee hppie ! My blessin's upon thy bonie e'e brie ! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe Sodger laddie, Thou's ay the dearer, and dearer to me ! But I'll big a bow'r on yon bonie banks, Whare Tay rins wimjilin by sae clear ; And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine. And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. * In the Burns Monument at Edinburgh is preserved a letter addressed to Burns by the Earl of Buchan on 1st February, 17(J7. On the lly leaf the poet has scrawled in pencil (from Clcghorn's singing, wo presume), the first eight lines of the song. The Jlrst verse varies thus :— " whar gat yo that happer-moal bannock ?" SONGS PRODUCED IN VOL. II. OF "MUSICAL MUSEUM," FEB. 14, 1788, It may bo notod here, that the spirited Preface to Vol. II. of the Museum dated March 1, 1788, bear.') evident marks nf BurnH' hand. Notwithstanding that date, however, the poot on lltli Feb.. 1788, forwarded a copy to the Rev. John Skinner, and iu his accompanying letter he says — " The 'iud volume of the songs I mentioned to yuu iu my last is published to-day. I senil you a copy," &c. TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO. [This is No. 103 of Johnson, without indication of authorship; but the poet says in his MS. notes — " The chorus of this song is old, the rest is mine. — Here, once for all, let mo apologise for many silly compositions of mine in this work. Many beautiful airs wanted words, and, in the hurry of other avocations, if I could string a parcel of rhymes together anything nearly tolerable, I was fain to let them pass. He must be an excellent poet indeed, whose every per- formance is excellent."] My heart was ance as blythe and free As simmer days were lang, But a bonie, westlin weaver lad Has gart me change my sang. CHORUS. To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, To the weavers gin ye go, I rede you right, gang ne'er at night. To the weavers gin ye go. My mither sent me to the town To warp a plaiden wal) ; But the weary, weary warpin' o't Has gart me sigh and sab. To the weavers, &c. A bonie, westlin weaver lad Sat working at his loom ; He took my heart as wi' a net In every knot and tlirum. To the weaver?. &r. ( 204 ) I sat beside my warpin'-wheel, And ay I ca'd it roun' ; But every shot and every knock, My heart it gae a stoun. To the weavers, &c. The moon was sinking in the west Wi' visage pale and wan, As my bonie, westlin weaver lad Convoy'd me thro' the glen. To the weavers, &c. But what was said, or what was done, Shame fa' me gin I tell ; But Oh ! I fear the kintra soon Will ken as weel's mysel' ! To the weavers, &e. WHISTLE, AN' I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. [This is the first sketch of one of Burns' most popular songs. Here he con- tents himself with stringing away at one line in the second half of the stanza, to fill up the measure of the tune ; but in August, 1793, he resumed the theme and ■worked out the song, for George Thomson's collection, in a most satisfactory manner.] O WHISTLE, an' I'll come to you, my lad ; O whistle, an' I'll come to you, my lad : Though father and mither should baith gae mad, whistle, an' I'll come to you, my lad. Come down the back stairs when ye come to court me ; Come down the back stairs when ye come to court me ; Come down the back stairs, and let naebody see ; And come as ye were na coming to me, And come as ye were na coming to me. ( 205 ) I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. [The author's note is as follows :— " The chorus of this song is old ; the rest of It, such as it is, is mine." The air is very si)rightly ami characteristic, and tho song, having been dressed up a little since Burns' time, to suit polite ears, became very popular by tho singing of opera favourites some thirty years ago, and still keeps its x'lace.] I AM my mammy's ae bairn, Wi' uuco folk I weary, Sir, And lying in a man's bed, I'm fley'd it make me eerie, Sir. CHORUS. I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young to marry yet ; I'm o'er young, 'twad be a sin To tak me frae my mammy yet. Ilallowmass is come and gane, The nights are lang in winter. Sir ; And you an' I in ae bed. In trowth, I dare na venture. Sir, I'm o'er young, &c. Fu' loud and shill the frosty wind Blaws thro' the leafless timmer. Sir ; But if ye come this gate again, I'll aulder be gin simmer. Sir. I'm o'er young, &c. ( 20G ) THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. Tune — Birhs of Ahergeldie. [The author notes here — " I composed these stanzas standing under the Falls of Moness, at or near Aberfeldy." This, as we learn from the diary he kept of his n.irth(M'n tour, was on Thursday, 30th August, 1787. It is regarded as one of his iK^st lyries, and sings onchantingly to its proper air, sung as a duet in slowish time, when the counter-tenor is taken by a male voice well managed.] CHORUS. Bonie lassie, loill ye go, Will ye go, will ye go, Bonie lassie, ivill ye go To the birks of Aberfeldie? Now Simmer blinks on flow'ry braes, And o'er the crystal streamlets plays ; Come let us spend the lightsome days In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonie lassie, &c. The little birdies blythely sing. While o'er their heads the hazels hing, Or lightly flit on wanton wing In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonie lassie, &ic. The braes ascend like lofty wa's. The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's, O'erhung wi' fragrant-spreading shaws. The birks of Aberfeldy. Bonie lassie, &c. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the bnrnie pours, And rising, wcets wi' misty showers The birks of A))erfeldy. Bonie lassie, &c. Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me ; Su])remely blest wi' love and thee In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonie lassie, &c. ( 207 ) M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. [James M'Phoreon, a Ilighlaiid freebooter, who was executed at Banff in Novoral)Pr, HUO, is said to have boon an excellent violinist, and composer of tho striking air to wliich those words are sot. There still exists, in old collections, a ballad which was produeod at the period, and shews some spirit, but can never compare with the wild stanzas that Burns puts into the mouth of the dai-ing desperado. September, 17a7, is, doubtless, the date of this composition.] Farewell, ye climgeon's dark and strong, The wretch's destinie ! M'Phersou's time will not be long. On yonder gallows-tree. CHORUS. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauutonly gae'd he : He iilay'd a spring, and danc'd it round, Below the gallows-tree. O what is death but parting breath ? On many a bloody plain I've dar'd his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again ! Sae rantingly, &c. Untie these bands from off my hands. And bring to me my sword ; And there's no a man in all Scotland, But I'll brave him at a word. Sae rantingly, &c. I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; I die by treacherie : It burns my heart I must depart, And not avenged be. Sae rantingly, &c. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky ! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die ! Sae rantingly, &c. ( 208 ) THE HIGHLAND LASSIE, O. [Published anonjinouBly in Johnson, but the poet, in his MS. note, says— "This was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was at all known in the world." The roa(ior on turning to our head-note of the Epistle to a Young Friend, at page 91, will llnd some details of the circumstances wliich gave rise to the present lyric and others on the same subject, namely, his " Highland Mary," around whose living history he contrived to throw such a shroud of mystery. The present song has all the character of a fareivell effusion, and in sentiment corresponds precisely to that other lyric which, in 17'J2, he offered to George Thomson, beginning — "Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary," and which waa rejected as being in quality beneath the standard of his publication. The present song, however, is even more humble as regards poetical pretensions ; Indeed, the contrast between the quality of those strains which the poet produced under the influence of his Mary "in "the days of her flesh" (who waa almost unknown in Ayrshire), and those impassioned lyrics that were inspired by "Mary, dear departed shade," whose image stands, and will ever stand pictured in the mental vision of Burns' every reader — and when shall these have an end ? — is very striking. The " Prayer for Mary," given at page 2S, vol. 2nd, although not eompoeed was nrfop/t'rf by Burns with reference to her. All the three lyrics show that it was the poet's" intention, at the close of Autumn, 178(5, to leave Mary in Scotland behind him, while he proceeded to the West Indies, in the expectation of returning for her after making his fortune abroad : — "For her I'll dare the billow's roar; For her I'll trace a distant shore ; That Indian wealth may lustre throw Around my Highland Lassie, O. " The poet concludes his affecting note on this production, with these words: — "At the close of autiman she crossed the sea (from the West Uighlauds) to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed, when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few daya, before I could even hear of her illness."] Nae gentle dames, tho' ne'er sae fair. Shall ever be my muse's care ; Their titles a' are empty show ; Gie me my Highland Lassie, 0. CHORUS. Within the glen sae bushy, O, Aboon the plain sae rashy, O, I set me down wi' right gude will, To sing ray Highland Lassie, O. were yon hills and valleys mine, Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! The world then the love should know 1 bear my Highland Lassie, O. Within the glen, &c. ( 2o;» ) But iickle fortune frowns on rae, And I maun cross the raji-ing sea ; But while my crimson currents flow, I love my Highhind Lassie, O. Witliin the glen, ttc. Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 1 know her heart will never change, For her bosom burns witli honor's glow, My faithful Highland Lassie, 0. Within the glen, &c. For her I'll dare the billow's roar ; For her I'll trace a distant shore ; That Indian wealth may lustre throw Around my Highland Lassie, 0. Within the glen, &c. She has my heart, she has my hand, By secret truth and honor's band ! Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, 0. Farewell, the glen sae bushy, ! Farewell, the plain sae rashy, ! To other lands I now must go To sing my Highland Lassie, ! ( 210 ) THO' CRUEL FATE SHOULD BID US PART. Tune — The Noi-thern Lass. [It is very remarkable that this exquisite little fragment appears in Johnson's pages mjuxta-position with the preceding: it has the author's name attached, while the other is unacknowledged. The subject of this is Joan Armour, and, as before observed at page 73, is evidently the progenitor of the poet's honey- moon song of 1788, — "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." Gilbert Burns in- forms us that "one fair enslaver generally reigned paramount in his brother's affections ; but as Yorick's love flowed out towards Madame de Q at the remise door, while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, so Robert was frequently encountering other attractions, which formed so many under-plota in the drama of his love." Gilbert also very naively remarks that "there was often a great disparity between his fair captivator and her attributes." Here then, in the pages of Johnson, we have Jean and Mary, who reAlly seem to have reigned in his bosom at one time, set over against each other as counter- foils. Who will Uike upon him to say which of these " fair enslavers " was the subject of the "under-plot in the drama of his love"? In the present piece, as in the preceding song, he contemplates a lasting separation, with howling deserts and oceans roaring between himself and the object of his affections; — but "many waters cannot quench love;" — her "dear idea round my heart sball tenderly entwine " for ever ! — " She has my heart, she has my hand, By secret 'Truth and llonor's band ! Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, O."] Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and Hue ; Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains rise, and deserts howl, And oceans roar between ; Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean. STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME. Tune — An Gille chthh ciar dhubh. [These words were written as a vehicle for preserving a plaintive Gaelic air, which attracted him in the course of liis nurtliern tour, in the autumn of 1787. It is called An Gilleaah Jubh; or. The lilack-haired Lad. Burns' name is given as the author.] Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! Well you know how much you grieve me : Cruel charmer, can you go ! Crn9l charmer, can you go ! ( 211 ) By my love so ill requited ; By the faith yon fondly plighted ; By the pangs of lovers slighted ; Do not, do not leave me so ! Do not, do not leave me so ! STRATH ALLAN'S LAMENT. [The poet's MS. note says of the present lyric—" This air is the composition of one of the worthiest and best men living— Allan Masterton. schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause. But, to tell the matter of fact, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by way of viiv la bagatelle." The words are descriptive of the feelings of James Drummond, Viscount Strathallan, who, after his father's death at Culloden. wandered among the mountains of the north, till he escaped with several other followers of "bonie Prince Charlie" to France, and died in exile.] Thickest night, surround my dwelling ! Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! Turbid torrents, wintry sweUing, Roaring by my lonely cave. Crystal streamlets gently flowing. Busy haunts of Ibase mankind. Western breezes softly blowing. Suit not my distracted mind. In the cause of Right engaged. Wrongs injurious to redress. Honor's war we strongly waged. But the heavens deny'd success : Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, Not a hope that dare attend, The wide world is all before us — But a world without a friend. ( ^12 ) WHAT WILL I DO GIN MY nOGGIE DIE. [Although Burns does not acknowledge the authorship of these lines, there can be no doubt they are his; and Stciihouse assures us they are so. Thoy were written for the purpose of prcservinj,' its characteristic air. which was picked up by Stephen Clarke, from the crooning of an old woman, at Mosspoul, in Liddisdale. All she could tell about it, was that she had been taught it when a chOd, and it was called, " What will I do gin my Hoggie die ? "] What will I do gin my Hoggie die, My joy, my pride, my Hoggie, My only beast, I had nae mae, And vow but I was vogie ! The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, Me and my faithfu' doggie ; We heard nought but the roaring Hnn, Amang the braes sae seroggie. But the houlet cry'd frae the Castle wa'. The blitter frae the boggle, The tod reply'd upon the hill, I trembled for my Hoggie. • When day did daw, and cocks did craw. The morning it was foggie ; An unco tyke lap o'er the Dyke, And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. JUMPIN JOHN. [This has been given as Burns' in several editions of his songs; but Stenhoiise says that it is merely a fragment of the old himiorous ballad, with some verbal corrections by our poet] Her Daddie forbad, her Minnie forbad. Forbidden she wadna be : She wadna trow't, the browst she brew'd Wad taste sae bitterlie. CHORUS. The lang lad they ca' jumpin John Beguil'd the bonie lassie. The lang lad they ca' jum[)in John Beguil'd the bonie lassie. ( 2l:l ) A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, And thretty gude shillin's and three ; A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter, The lass wi' the bonie bhick e'e. The lang lad, &c. UP IX THE MORNING EARLY. [The poet says — "The chorus of this song is old; the two stanzas are mine." The air is one of Scotland's oldest and best: it was a great favourite mth Mai-y Stuart, wife of William III., who, after listening to Purcell's music on one occasion till it made her yawn with fatigue, asked Mrs. Hunt the vocalist, then present, to sing her the fine old Scots ballad. Up in the mornintj early. Purcell felt so chagrined at this preference, that in the next Koyal birth-day Bong (that for the year 1692) he composed an air to the words — "May her bright example chase Vice in troops out of the land; " and the bass part of the hamiony is, note for note, this very Scots tune.] Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly ; Sae loud and shill's I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly. 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. The birds sit cluttering in the thorn, A' day they fare but sparely ; And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Up in the morning's, kc. ( ^14 ) THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. Tune — Morag. [This is part of the fruits of the poet's northern tour with Nicol in Septemher, 1787. Somewhere in the course of that journey — most probably at Kilravock Castle — he was smitten with the beauty of the Gaelic air Morag (or Marion), sung by the lips of a retlned minstrel. In February, 1788, he presented Mrs. Eose of Kilravock with the first two vols, of Johnson ; and in his accompanying letter he says: — "Every air worth preserving is to be included: among others I have given Morag — and some few Highland airs which pleased me most — a dress which will be more generally known." The day after his visit to Kilravock, Bums crossed the Spey to Fochabers, and on the strength of his having been introduced to the Duchess of Gordon in the preceding winter, he paid a visit to Gordon Castle, leaving his companion Nicol at the Inn of Fochabers. He there met with a warm reception and invitation to remain, butonNicol's account, he could not avail himself of the Duke's kindness. On 20th October thereafter, he enclosed the present song on "Bonie Castle Gordon" to Mr. James Hoy, the Duke's librarian, who, in his reply, said: — "Yom- song I showed without naming the author, and it was judged by the Duchess to be the production of Dr. Beattie. I sent a copy of it, by her Grace's desire, to a Mrs. M'Pherson in Badenoch, who sings Morag, and all other Gaelic songs, in great perfection. When the Duchess was informed that you were the author, she wished that you had written the verses in Scotch." The reader will observe that the verses really have a sprinkling of Scotch thrown among them ; but we naust point out that along with the present song the bard forwarded another composition in pure English on the subject of Castle Gordon, commencing — "Streams that glide in orient plains," which reads like a paraphrase from the Gaelic; but the measure and accentuation are totally different from the stanzas which suit the air of Morag. The " Highland Bover" alluded to was the young chevalier. Prince Charles Edward Stuart. So pagsionately fond was Bm'ns of this air, that he afterwards wrote one of his tenderest love-songs to suit it, commencing — "O wha is she that loes me."] Loud blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover, Like winter on me seizes. Since my young Highland Rover, Far wanders nations over. CHORUS. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May Heaven be his warden : Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonie Castle Gordon ! The trees now naked groaning, Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging. The birdies dowie moaning. Shall a' be blythely singing. And every flower be springing. ( 215 ) Sae I'll rejoice the lee-Iang day, When by his mighty Warden My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, And bonie Castle Gordon. DUSTY MILLER. [This is not acknowledged by Burns in his notes, but his touches are so discernible, tliat the old ditty which was its foundation has almost entirely disappeared. Stenhouse points it out as " a fragment of the old ballad, with a few verbal alterations by Burns."] Hey, the Dusty Miller, And his dusty coat, He will win a shilUng, Or he spend a groat. Dusty was the coat, Dusty was the colour, Dusty was the kiss That I got frae the Miller. Hey, the dusty Miller, And his dusty sack ; Leeze me on the calling Fills the dusty peck : Fills the dusty peck, Brings the dusty siller ; I wad gie my coatie For the dusty Miller. ( 21G ) I DREAM'D I LAY, &c. [The poet has noted that he compoRed these verses when he was 17 years old. This takes us back to the porio dubitably his, and exists in his own MS.] The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw. The simmer-liUes bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; But an auld man shall never daunton me. CHORUS. To daunton me, and me sae young, Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue I That is the thing you ne'er shall see, For an auld man shall never daunton me. For a' his meal and a' his maut. For a' his fresh beef and his saut, For a' his gold and white monie, An auld man shall never daunton me. To daunton me, &c. His gear may buy him kye and yowes, His gear may buy him glens and knowes, But me he shall not buy nor fee, For an auld man shall never daunton me. To daunton me, &e. ( 228 ) He hirples tvv-a-fauld as he dow, Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, And the rain rains down frae his red blear'd e'e;- That auld man shall never daunton rae. To daunton me, &c. TALK NOT OF LOVE, IT GIVES ME PAD^. Tune — Banks of Spey. [The basis of this song is by Mrs. M'Lehose (Clarinda), with whom the poet became acquaintod early in Doc, 17S7, just about tlie time when ho had intended leaving Edinburgh for good and all; but, between the effect of her charms, and the lameness caused by being overset by a drunken coachman, he was detained In the city till the close of the following February. We give here Clarinda's versos entire, in order that the reader may at once see what share Bui-ns hadio the lyric as printed in the Museum : — " Talk not of Love — it gives me pain, for Love has been my foe: He bound me in an iron chain, and plunged me deep in woe ! But Friendship's pure and lasting joys my heart was formed to prove — The worthy object be of those, but never talk of Love! The Hand of Friendship I accept — may Honour be our guard ! Virtue our intercourse direct, her smiles our dear reward." — Clarinda.] Talk not of love, it gives me pain, For love has been my foe ; He bound me with an iron chain, And pluug'd me deep in woe. But friendship's pure and lasting joys, My heart was form'd to prove ; There, welcome wan and wear the prize. But never talk of love. Your friendship much can make me blest. Oh, why that bliss destroy ! Why urge the only, one request You know I will deny ! Your thought, if love must harbour there. Conceal it in that thought ; Nor cause me from my bosom tear The very friend I sought. ( 220 ) O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE. [The second aud third verses of this song soem to be much indebted to Burns, although ho has claimed none of it. Stenhouse, in reference to this matter, Bays : — " The verses in the Museum were revised and improved by Burns."] Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, To boat me o'er to CharUe. CHORUS. We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea. We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, And hve or die wi' Charlie. I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, Tho' some there be abhor him : But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame. And Charhe's faes before him ! We'll o'er, &c. I swear and vow by moon and stars, And sun that shines so early ! If I had twenty thousand lives, I'd die as aft for Charhe. We'll o'er, &c.* * Verse added by Hogg : — " I ance had sons, but nov7 hae nane, — I bred them, toiling sairly; And I would bear them a' again. And lose them a' for Charlie ! We'll o'er, &c." ( 230 ) A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. [This song is not claimed for Bums by any mark in Johnson except the letter B : he, however, has noted in MS. as follows :— "This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruiokshank. only child to my worthy friend, Mr. Wni. Cruickshank of the High School, Edinbw-gh. The air is by David Sillar, quondam merchant, and now schoolmaster at Irvine." He afterwards composed some beautiful lines on the same young lady, l)eginniug — " Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay." On rcturnbig from his northern tour, the poet took up his residence with Mr. Cruickshank, at his house in St. James's Square. The " Eose-bud," although then only " entered in her teens," was a considerable proficient in musia Professor "Walker has told us that he called upon Burns about the end of October, 17S7, and " found him seated by the harpsichord of this young lady, listening with the keenest interest to his own verses, which she sung and accompanied, and adjusting them to the music by repeated trials of the effect In this occupation he was so totally absorbed, that it was difficult to di-aw his attention from it for a moment." Mr. Cruickshank died in 1795, and the "Eose-bud" became the wife of Mr. Henderson, a legal practitioner in Jedburgh. The word " bawk," in verse first of the song, means a thorn-fringed footpath through a cidtivated field.] A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, Adown a corn-mclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, In a' its crimson glory spread, And drooping rich the dewy head, It scents the early morning. Within the bush, her covert nest, A little hnnet fondly prest. The dew sat chilly on her breast, Sae early in the morning. She soon shall see her tender brood. The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, Awauk the early morning. So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair ! On trembling string or vocal air, Shalt sweetly pay the tender care That tents thy early morning. So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, And l)less the parent's evening ray That watch'd thy early morning. ( ^:^l ) TO A BLACKBIRD. Tune — Scots Queen. [This, like the lyric at paffo 2'2.S — Talk riot of Love, is tho joint composition of " Clarinila " and Burns. Wo will adopt the same course with this piece as wo did with the other, giving the lady's verses in the note, and the same, as amended by Burns, in tho text. Clarinda composed the lines one day on hearing a black- bird sing, while walking with her children at the head of Bruntsflcld Links, Edinburgh. They have a manifest reference to her own desolate condition, — deserted as she was by a faithless husband : — " Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care, Thy cheerful notes will hush despair; Thy tuneful warblings, void of art, ThrUl sweetly through my aching heart. Now choose thy mate, and fondly love, And all the charming transport prove ; Those sweet emotions all enjoy, Let Love and Song thy hours employ; Whilst I, a lovelorn exile, live, And rapture nor receive nor give. Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care. Thy cheerful notes will hush despair."] Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care, Thy tuneful notes will hush despair ; Thy plaintive warblings, void of art, Thrill sweetly thro' my aching heart. Now choose thy mate, and fondly love, And all the charming transport prove ; While I a lovelorn exile live. Nor transport or receive or give. For thee is laughing nature gay ; For thee she pours the vernal day : For me in vain is nature drest, While joy's a stranger to my breast ! These sweet emotions all enjoy ; Let Love and Song thy hours employ ! Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care, Thy tuneful notes will hush despair. ( 2;52 ) AN' I'LL KISS THEE YET. Tune — Braes o Balqulddder. [In a MS. copy of this song, the following verse — omitted in JohnBon — is in- serted immediately after the tirst stanza and chorus: — " Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, I ever mair defy them, O : Young kings upon their hansel throno Are nae sae blest as I am, O." The poet afterwards remodelled this song for George Thomson's collection, to answer the tune of Cauhi Kail, for which Thomson seems to have had a great penrliant. He enclosed it in a letter, under date August, 1793, in which he says, " The last stanza of the song I now send you contains the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johtison's Museum." It has been ascertained, through information of the poet's sister (Mrs. Begg) to E. Chambers, and to the late Capt. C. Gray, R.M.. that when Burns was 22 years old, he fell in love with a young woman named HHisou Bn/bie, who was servant with a family on the banks of the Cessnock, about two miles from Lochlca. He addressed several letters to her, which are printed among his correspondence, her name appearing only under the initial "E;" and he also. composed a beautiful song in her praise, beginning — On Cessnock Banks there lives a lass. Although this fair one ultimatelj' rejected the poet, and became the wife of another man, it is certain that his passion for her was serious, and that the issue cost him many a heart-ache. It was suggested by a minute inquirer into the early history of Burns, that the present song, and also a juvenile lyric, dis- playing deep passion, called — Ma?-!/ Alorison, might have been inspired by that young woman's charms; and Mrs. Begg, on hearing his reasons for so thinking, admitted the strong probability that those suggestions were well founded. Steuhouse tells us that Stephen Clarke wrote below the score of this song the following words : — " I am charmed with this song almost as mucb as the lover is with bonie Peggy Alison."] CHORUS. An'' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, ArC I'll kiss thee o'er again; An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet. My bonie Peggy Alison. When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure, ! I seek nae mair o' lleav'n to share, Than sic a moment's pleasure, ! When in my arms, &c. And by thy een sae bonie blue, I swear I'm thine for ever, ! And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never, 0! And by thy een, &o. ( 2;3;3 ) RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE. [Burns notes this prodiu'ticn thus:— "The last stanm of this song is mine: it (vas composed out of compliment to one of the worthiest fellows in the world, William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the signet, Edinburgli, and Colonel of the Crochnllan corps— a club of wits who took that title at the time of raising the fenoible regiments." We are thus to conclude that the two preceding verses are old, although helped a little by the poet. In March, 1780, Burns makes the following honourable mention of the " Colonel " in a letter to Peter Hill, to whom he then presented a ewe-milk cheese, giving him a list of friends who were to get a slice of it:— "My facetious friend Dunbar I would wish also to be a partaker; not to digest his spleen, for that he laughs ofT, but to digest his last night's wine at the last fleld-day of the Crochallan corps."] RATTLm', roarin' Willie, O he held to the fair ; An' for to sell his fiddle, And buy some other ware -, But parting wi' his fiddle, The saut tear blin't his e'e ; And ratthn', roarin' Wilhe, Ye're welcome hame to me ! Willie, come sell your fiddle, sell your fiddle sae fine ; Wilhe, come sell your fiddle. And buy a pint o' wine. If I should sell my fiddle. The warld would think I was mad. For mony a rantin' day My fiddle and I hae had. As I cam by Crochallan, 1 cannily keekit ben : Rattlin', roarin' Willie Was sitting at yon boord-en' — Sitting at yon boord-en'. And amang gude companie ; Rattlin', roarin' Willie, Ye're welcome hame to me ! ( 234 ) WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. XuNE — Neil Gold's Lcmuntation for Ahercairny. [Burns acknowledged tlic authorship of this rather philosophical song. He says in a letter to its inspirer, Miss Margaret Chalmers, inclosing the present song, and also another beginning— J/;/ 2'egr/i/'s face, my Peggy's /o/v/i.-— "The poetic compliments I pay cannot be misnnilerstood: I have complimented you chieily, almost solely on your mental charms. Shall I be plain with you ? I \\-\\\ : BO look to it. Personal attractions, madam, you have above par — wit, understanding, and worth, you possess in the first class." Miss Chalmers, two years after these songs were composed, became Jlrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes & Co.'b bank, Edinburgh.— (See note to song, T/ic hcinls of the Devon, page 220, for some information concerning this lady.) Shortly before leaving Edinburgh, in Februai-y 1788, he wi-ote to her as follows: — "You must not desert me. Your friendship, I think I can count on, though I should date my letters from a marching regiment. Early in life, and all my life, I reckoned on a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope." When the poet lay in Mr. Cruickshank's house, with his bruised limb, a month or two before this, he wrote to her in these words :— "I would give mv best song to my worst enemy— I mean the merit of making it, to have you and Charlotte by me. You are angelic creatures, and would pour oil and wine into my wounded spirit" After his marriage, he i,\T0t6 to her thus, from Ellisland, in September, 1788:— "I have lived more of real life with you in eight days tlian I can do ^vith almost anybody I meet with in eight years ; and when I "think on the improbability of meeting you in this world again, I could sit do-wu and cry like a child."] Where, brfiving augry winter's storms, The lofty Ocbils rise ; Far in their* shade, my Peggy's charms First blest my wondering eyes, — As one, who, by some savage stream, A lonely gem snrveys, Astouish'd, doubly marks it beam, With art's most pohsh'd blaze. Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, And blest the day and hour. Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, When first I felt their pow'r ! The tyrant death, willi grim control, May seize my fleeting breath; But tearing Peggy from my soul Must be a stronger death. ( 235 ) TIBBIE, I II AE SEEX THE DAY. Tune — InvercaulcVs Reel. [The authorship of this clover song is aelinowlertijed in Johnson. The poet, in his notes, tolls us that he composed it before leaviiij? Mount Oliphant, when only ahout sovonloon years old. Mrs. Begp. in reply to some questions raised by the writer of those notes, in is.'ji), remarked as follows re^jarding this song: — "This must liave been composed in Lochlea; for Tihinc S/rin, the heroine, was unknown to Burns at Mount Oliphant. She lived at 'Little Hill, 'a farm inarching with that of Lochlea : the thing was well known iu the ueighbourhood, uo one doubting it"] CHORUS. Tibbie, I hae seen the day. Ye tvoidd na been me shy ; For lath o' gear ye lightly me. But, troii'th, I care na by. Yestreen I met ye on the moor, Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ; Ye geek at me because I'm poor. But fient a hair care I ! Tibbie, I hae, &c. I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, Because ye hae the name o' cUnk, That ye can please me at a wink, Whene'er ye like to try. Tibbie, I hae, &c. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, Wha follows ony saucy quean That looks sae proud and high. Tibbie, I hae, &c. Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart ; If that he want the yellow dirt. Ye'll cast your head anither airt. And answer him fu' dry. Tibbie, I hae, .) ( 260 ) THE RANTIN DOG, THE DADDIE O'T. Tune — East nooJc o' Fife. [The poet's note on this humorous effusion, is as follows: — "I oomposed this Bong prettj' early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaint- ance of mine, who was at that timo under a cloud." It seems likely that the girl referred to was his "bonie Betty," mother of the child for whom he pro- duced The Poet's Wikome in the latter part of the year 3784. Sir Harris Nicolas, in a memoir by no means distinguished for its tenderness towards Burns' failings, takes Lockharttotaskfor the "injustice" of the following passage: — "There is a song in honour of the same occasion (as the Poet's }yelcome). or a similar one about the same period, The Pan/in Dog, the DacMie o't, which esliibits the poet as glorying, and only glorying, in his shame." Sir Harris is quite right in saying that both the Poet's Welcome and the Rantin Dog are re- markable for the tenderness they breathe towards his infant and its mother; and Lockhart, in trusting to memory while he was commenting on this suljject, must have made a mistake in naming the present song as illiLstrating the bravado he sought to condemn: and, no doubt, he meant some other production. His quotation from the Poet's Welcome is more to the point: — "The mair they talk. I'm kend the better; E'en let them clash." "It is impossible," he adds, "not to smile at this item of consolation which Burns projioses to himself. This is indeed a singular manifestation of 'the last infirmity of noble minds.' "] O WT7A my babie-clouts will buy ? O wha will tent me when I cry ? Wha will kiss me where I lie 1 The rantin dog, the daddie o't. O wha will own he did the faut ? O wha will bny the groanin' maut ? O wha will tell me how to ca't ? The rantin dog, the daddie o't. When I mount the creepie-chair, Wha will sit bo.'^ide me there ? Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair — The rantin dog, the daddie o't. Wha will crack to me my lane? Wha will mak me fidgin fain? Wlia will kiss me o'er again ? The rantin dog, the daddie o't. ( 2r,i ) MY MARY, DEAR DEPARTED SHADE. Tune — Captain Cook's Death. [This "noblest of all his ballails," as Lockhart styles it, was composeil at Ellislaud, in the close of autumn, 1789; but not given to the worki, nor even shown in MS. to any of his friends, so fur as appears in his printed cor- respondence, till it was produced in Vol. III. of the Museum. The poet was, even thus early, beginning to despair of the success of his Nithsdalo farm, and sinking into unwholesome despondouey about it. With gloomy grandeur he says, in one of his letters, "There is a foggy atmosphere, native to my soul in the hour of care, which makes the dreary olijects seem larger than life." On 13th December of that year, he addi-essed one of his dreamy, melancholy letters to Mrs. Dimlop, in which ho seems to make his very first reference to " Mary in Heaven," and he quotes the opening four lines of the present poem at the close of a long rhapsody about meeting his pre-deceased friends in the better world, particularly his venerated father, and his Kilmarnock friend, Eobert Muir; and thus he concludes: — "There should I, with speechless agony of rapture, again recognise my lost, my ever-dear Mai'y, whose bosom was fraught with truth, honour, constancy, and love. 'My Mary, dear departed shade! where is thy place of heavenly rest?' Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters ! I trust thou art no impostor," &c., &c. Burns, in giving to the world his imperishable lyrics on Mary, felt that he had awakened a curiosity i-egarding her history which he was bound, in some measure, to gratify; therefore ho furnished some interesting and affecting details in relation to the subject, while, at same time, he withheld certain facts, and falsified others in such a degree, that it is to be regretted he did not rather candidly say, as he did of another lyric — "This song alludes to a part of my private history which it is of no consequence to the world to know." In a letter penned by him just about the very time (Oct., 1786) when — as now demonstrated — poor Mary was laid under the turf, in the Old Kirkyard of Greenock, he complains of "some wandering stabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on my vitals like vultures, when attention is not called away by the claims of society or the vagaries of the muse." Now, when we find Burns rejecting present good, refusing to be comforted in regard to the future, and " brooding with miser care " over the memory of " one day of jiarting love " with an humble girl — long since dead— we are constrained to see something like remorse in these words: — " See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast ? " Sir Harris Nicolas, whose memoir of the bard we referred to in the notes to the preceding song, has the following very bold passage in regard to the present lyric ; — " Experience has taught how differently a Poet can writ^ and feel on the subject of his musings. Burns' connection with Jean Armour establish 's beyond all contradiction, either that he was insincere with respect to her, or — v.h.it is more likely — that his disposition was wavering and unsettled. Nor did his con- sistency increase after he became her husband ; for almost at the same moment when-he represented himself as enjoying perfect connubial bliss, he was unfaith- ful to her; and if farther evidence be wanting that his wife did not entirely possess his heart, it is to be found in the fact, that after a fit of melancholy abstraction one evening, he was induced by her tenderness to return home : when, calling for pen and ink, the source of his depression became apparent in a beautiful Ode to a woman he had once loved, of whose death, that day happened to be the anniversary." These remarks bear reference to the story which first appeared in Lockhart's memoir of Burns (1828), quoted from Mr. M'Diarmid's notes of conversation with Mrs. Burns. It now turns out, by reference to these memoranda, that Lockhart embellished and exaggerated the picture suggested by Jean Armour's retrospect of nearly forty years; for while she is made to say that the poet, when prevailed on by her to drop his star-gaziog and come home, called for his desk, and -wrote down the Ode "exactly as it now stands,'' she really went no farther length. ( 2G2 ) than to say that he wrote down the first verse of it. In fact, we are disposed to regard the whole particulars as a myth. It has now been ascertained that the anniversary of Mary's death was at least a month after the latest of the Kithsdale harvest operations with which the story is mixed up, and as well might she have painted another sensational scene in his writing-closet_ at Dumfries, In October or November, 1732, when he composed the equally affecting lyric—" Ye banks, and braes, and streams around the Castle o' Montgomery." See onthis subject, notes at pages 91,208, 319, and p. Ixviii. &lxsiv, of Memoir.] Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st iu the clay My Mary from my soul was torn. Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of bUssful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ^ Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget. Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where 1)y the winding Ayr we met, To hve one day of parting love ! Eternity can not efface Those records dear of transports past ; Thy image at our last embrace, — Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhuug with wild woods thick'ning green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene ; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. The birds sang love on every spray ; Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my mcm'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ! Time but th' impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? .Hear'st thou the groans that reud his breast? ( 263 ) EPPIE ADAIR. [There is no mark to inrticate that tliis is by Burns, hut Stenhouse assures us that it is his. Accordiu^ to Potor Bucliaii, the vorsps were suggested by an old piece representing the Earl of Kilmarnock's farewell to his wife, before his execution, in 174G. We give a specimen of it : — " Hey my Eppio, and How my Eppie ! Sac lang as she'll wait ere she see me now: In strong prison I lio. with no power to fly, And I'll never return to my Eppie, I trow. Farewell to my Eppio, my wish be wi' Eppie, Too soon will my Eppie receive my adieu : My sentence is past, the morn is my last, And I'll never win hame to my Eppie, I trow." But unfortunately for the authenticity of this "neck verse," the name of the Countess was not Eppie. She was Lady Anne Livingston, daughter of Jamos, Earl of Linlithgow, attainted for his share in the Rebellion of 1715. She was a Catholic, and tradition says that it was in consequence of her entreaties that the Earl of Kilmarnock joined Prince Charles.] CHORrS. Art 0! my Eppie, Mji jewel., inij Eppie ! Wha loadna he happj Wi' Eppie Adair ? Br love and by beauty, By law, and by duty, I swear to be true to My Eppie Adair ! An' ! mj) Eppie, cj-c. A' pleasure exile me, Dishonour defile me. If e'er I beguile thee. My Eppie Adair ! AvL ! my Eppie, ^-c. ( 264 ) THE BATTLE OF SHERRA-MOOR. Tune — Caineronian Rant. [Burns has attached his name to this clever paraphrase of the original ballad, written by the Kev. John Barclay, founder of the religious sect named Bereans (born 1734, died 1798). It is given in exlensohy Stcnhouse, and also by Hogg and Motherwell. There is considerable wit in it, although it wants the concentrated force of Burns' version. Barclay is also much more severe on the Highlanders than our poet is, whose prejudices are northern and Jacobite.] * CAM ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? Or were you at the Sherra-moor, Or did the battle see, man?' ' I saw the battle, sair and teugh, And reekin red ran mony a sheugh, My heart, for fear, gae songh for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, O' Clans frae woods, in tartan duds, Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. ' The red-coat lads, wi' black cockauds, To meet them were na slaw, man ; They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd. And mony a bouk did fa', man : The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles : They hough'd the Clans hke nine-pin kylcs ; They hack'd and hash'd, while braidswords clash'd, And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd, and smash'd, Till fey men dee'd awa', man. ' But had ye seen the phiUbegs And skyriu tartan trews, man ; When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs, And covenant true-blues, man ; In fines extended lang and large. When baiginets o'erpower'd the targe, And thousands hasten'd to the charge ; Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath. Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath, They fled hke frighted dows, man.' ( 2G5 ) ' how deil Tarn can that be true ? The chase gaed frae the North, man ; I saw mysel', they did pursue The horsemen back to Forth, man ; And at Dnnl)hvne, in my ain siglit. They took the brig wi' a' their might. And straught to Stirhng wing'd their flight ; But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut ; And mony a huntit, poor red-coat. For fear amaist did swarf, man.' 'My sister Kate cam up the gate Wi' crowdie unto me, man ;