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diff --git a/old/old/psorb10.txt b/old/old/psorb10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..203e191 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/psorb10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,25566 @@ +*The Project Gutenberg Etext of Poems and Songs of Robert Burns* +#1 in our series by Robert Burns + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Etext of Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns +by Robert Burns + + + + +Contents + +Introductory Note + +1771 -1779 + +Song - Handsome Nell +Song - O Tibbie, I Hae Seen The Day +Song - I Dream'd I Lay +Song - I Dream'd I Lay +Song - In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer +Tragic Fragment - All villain as I am +The Tarbolton Lasses +Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear +Song - Montgomerie's Peggy +The Ploughman's Life + +1780 + +The Ronalds Of The Bennals +Song - Here's To Thy Health +Song - The Lass Of Cessnock Banks +Song - Bonie Peggy Alison +Song - Mary Morison + +1781 + +Winter: A Dirge +A Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish +Paraphrase Of The First Psalm +The First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified +Prayer, In The Prospect Of Death +Stanzas, On The Same Occasion + +1782 +Fickle Fortune: A Fragment +Song - Raging Fortune - Fragment Of +I'll Go And Be A Sodger +Song - "No Churchman Am I" +My Father Was A Farmer +John Barleycorn: A Ballad + +1783 + +Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, +Poor Mailie's Elegy +Song - The Rigs O' Barley +Song Composed In August +Song - My Nanie, O! +Song - Green Grow The Rashes +Song - Wha Is That At My Bower-Door + +1784 + +Remorse: A Fragment +Epitaph On Wm. Hood, Senr., In Tarbolton +Epitaph On James Grieve, Laird Of Boghead, Tarbolton +Epitaph On My Own Friend And My Father's Friend, Wm. Muir In Tarbolton Mill +Epitaph On My Ever Honoured Father +Ballad On The American War +Reply To An Announcement By J. Rankine +Epistle To John Rankine +A Poet's Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter^1 +Song - O Leave Novels! +The Mauchline Lady: A Fragment +My Girl She's Airy: A Fragment +The Belles Of Mauchline +Epitaph On A Noisy Polemic +Epitaph On A Henpecked Country Squire +Epigram On The Said Occasion +Another On The said Occasion +On Tam The Chapman +Epitaph On John Rankine +Lines On The Author's Death +Man Was Made To Mourn: A Dirge +The Twa Herds; Or, The Holy Tulyie + +1785 + +Epistle To Davie, A Brother Poet +Holy Willie's Prayer +Epitaph On Holy Willie +Death and Doctor Hornbook +Epistle To J. Lapraik, An Old Scottish Bard +Second Epistle To J. Lapraik +Epistle To William Simson +One Night As I Did Wander +Tho' Cruel Fate Should Bid Us Part +Song - Rantin', Rovin' Robin +Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux +Epistle To John Goldie, In Kilmarnock +The Holy Fair +Third Epistle To J. Lapraik +Epistle To The Rev. John M'math +Second Epistle to Davie +Song-Young Peggy Blooms +Song-Farewell To Ballochmyle +Fragment-Her Flowing Locks +Halloween +To A Mouse +Epitaph On John Dove, Innkeeper +Epitaph For James Smith +Adam Armour's Prayer +The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata +Song - For A' That +Song - Merry Hae I Been Teethin A Heckle +The Cotter's Saturday Night +Address To The Deil +Scotch Drink + +1786 + +The Auld Farmer's New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare, Maggie +The Twa Dogs +The Author's Earnest Cry And Prayer +The Ordination +Epistle To James Smith +The Vision +Suppressed Stanza's Of "The Vision" +The Rantin' Dog, The Daddie O't +Here's His Health In Water +Address To The Unco Guid, Or The Rigidly Righteous +The Inventory +To John Kennedy, Dumfries House +To Mr. M'Adam, Of Craigen-Gillan +To A Louse +Inscribed On A Work Of Hannah More's +Song, Composed In Spring +To A Mountain Daisy, +To Ruin +The Lament +Despondency: An Ode +To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauchline, Recommending a Boy. +Versified Reply To An Invitation +Song - Will Ye Go To The Indies, My Mary? + +My Highland Lassie, O +Epistle To A Young Friend +Address Of Beelzebub +A Dream +A Dedication To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. +Versified Note To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline +The Farewell To the Brethren of St. James' Lodge, Tarbolton. +On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies +Song - Farewell To Eliza +A Bard's Epitaph +Epitaph For Robert Aiken, Esq. +Epitaph For Gavin Hamilton, Esq. +Epitaph On "Wee Johnie" +The Lass O' Ballochmyle +Lines To An Old Sweetheart +Motto Prefixed To The Author's First Publication +Lines To Mr. John Kennedy +Lines Written On A Banknote +Stanzas On Naething +The Farewell +The Calf +Nature's Law-A Poem +Song-Willie Chalmers +Reply To A Trimming Epistle Received From A Tailor +The Brigs Of Ayr +Fragment Of Song +Epigram On Rough Roads +Prayer-O Thou Dread Power +Song - Farewell To The Banks Of Ayr +Address To The Toothache +Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer +Masonic Song +Tam Samson's Elegy +Epistle To Major Logan +Fragment On Sensibility +A Winter Night +Song-Yon Wild Mossy Mountains +Address To Edinburgh +Address To A Haggis + +1787 + +To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems, For A New-Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787. +Mr. William Smellie-A Sketch +Rattlin', Roarin' Willie + +Song-Bonie Dundee +Extempore In The Court Of Session +Inscribed Under Fergusson's Portrait +Epistle To Mrs. Scott of Wauchope-House +Verses Intended To Be Written Below A Noble Earl's Picture^1 +Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Woods at Edinburgh. +Song - The Bonie Moor-Hen +Song - My Lord A-Hunting he is gane +Epigram At Roslin Inn +The Book-Worms +On Elphinstone's Translation Of Martial's Epigrams +Song-A Bottle And Friend +Lines Written Under The Picture Of The Celebrated Miss Burns +Epitaph For William Nicol, Of The High School, Edinburgh +Epitaph For Mr. William Michie +Boat song-Hey, Ca' Thro' +Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee +Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church +Burlesque Lament For The Absence Of William Creech' s Absence +Note To Mr. Renton Of Lamerton +Elegy On "Stella" +The Bard At Inverary +Epigram To Miss Jean Scott +On The Death Of John M'Leod, Esq, +Elegy On The Death Of Sir James Hunter Blair +Impromptu On Carron Iron Works +To Miss Ferrier +Written By Somebody On The Window Of an Inn at Stirling +The Poet's Reply To The Threat Of A Censorious Critic +The Libeller's Self-Reproof +Verses Written With A Pencil at the Inn at Kenmore +Song-The Birks Of Aberfeldy +The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water +Lines On The Fall Of Fyers Near Loch-Ness. +Epigram On Parting With A Kind Host In The Highlands +Song - Strathallan's Lament +Verses on Castle Gordon +Song-Lady Onlie, Honest Lucky +Song - Theniel Menzies' Bonie Mary +The Bonie Lass Of Albany +On Scaring Some Water-Fowl In Loch-Turit +Song - Blythe Was She +Song - A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk +Epitaph For Mr. W. Cruikshank +Song - The Banks Of The Devon + + Song - Braving Angry Winter's Storms +Song - My Peggy's Charms +Song - The Young Highland Rover +Birthday Ode For 31st December, 1787^1 +On The Death Of Robert Dundas, Esq., Of Arniston, +Sylvander To Clarinda + +1788 +Song - Love In The Guise Of Friendship +Song - Go On, Sweet Bird, And Sooth My Care +Song - Clarinda, Mistress Of My Soul +Song - I'm O'er Young To Marry Yet +Song - To The Weavers Gin Ye Go +Song - M'Pherson's Farewell +Song - Stay My Charmer +Song - My Hoggie +Song - Raving Winds Around Her Blowing +Song - Up In The Morning Early +Song - How Long And Dreary Is The Night +Song - Hey, The Dusty Miller +Song - Duncan Davison +Song - The Lad They Ca'Jumpin John +Song - Talk Of Him That's Far Awa +Song - To Daunton Me +Song - The Winter It Is Past +Song - The Bonie Lad That's Far Awa +Verses To Clarinda, with Drinking Glasses +Song - The Chevalier's Lament +Epistle To Hugh Parker +Song - Of A' The Airts The Wind Can Blaw +Song - I Hae a Wife O' My Ain +Lines Written In Friars'-Carse Hermitage +To Alex. Cunningham, ESQ., Writer, Edinburgh +Song.-Anna, Thy Charms +The Fete Champetre +Epistle To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintry +Song.-The Day Returns +Song.-O, Were I On Parnassus Hill +A Mother's Lament +Song - The Fall Of The Leaf +Song - I Reign In Jeanie's Bosom +Song - It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonie Face +Song - Auld Lang Syne +Song - My Bonie Mary +Verses On Aa Parting Kiss +Written In Friars Carse Hermitage (Second Version) +The Poet's Progress +Elegy On The Year 1788 +The Henpecked Husband +Versicles On Sign-Posts + +1789 + +Robin Shure In Hairst +Ode, Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald Of Auchencruive +Pegasus At Wanlockhead +Sappho Redivivus-A Fragment +Song-She's Fair And Fause +Impromptu Lines To Captain Riddell +Lines To John M'Murdo, Esq. Of Drumlanrig +Rhyming Reply To A Note From Captain Riddell +Caledonia-A Ballad +Verses To Miss Cruickshank +Beware O' Bonie Ann +Ode On The Departed Regency Bill +Epistle To James Tennant Of Glenconner +A New Psalm For The Chapel Of Kilmarnock +Sketch In Verse Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox. +The Wounded Hare +Delia, An Ode +Song - The Gard'ner Wi' His Paidle +Song - On A Bank Of Flowers +Song - Young Jockie Was The Blythest Lad +Song - The Banks Of Nith +Song - Jamie, Come Try Me +Song - I Love My Love In Secret +Song - Sweet Tibbie Dunbar +Song - The Captain's Lady +Song - John Anderson, My Jo +Song - My Love, She's But A Lassie Yet +Song - Tam Glen +Song - Carle, An The King Come +Song - The Laddie's Dear Sel' +Song - Whistle O'er The Lave O't +Song - My Eppie Adair +On The Late Captain Grose's Peregrinations Thro' Scotland +Epigram On Francis Grose The Antiquary +The Kirk Of Scotland's Alarm +Sonnet to Robert Graham, Esq., On Receiving A Favour +Extemporaneous Effusion On being appointed to an Excise division. +Song-Willie Brew'd A Peck O' Maut^1 +Song - Ca' The Yowes To The Knowes +Song - I Gaed A Waefu' Gate Yestreen +Song - Highland Harry Back Again +Song - The Battle Of Sherramuir +Song - The Braes O' Killiecrankie +Song - Awa' Whigs, Awa' +Song - A Waukrife Minnie +Song - The Captive Ribband +Song - My Heart's In The Highlands +The Whistle-A Ballad +Song - To Mary In Heaven +Epistle To Dr. Blacklock +The Five Carlins +Election Ballad For Westerha' +Prologue Spoken At The Theatre Of Dumfries + +1790 + +Sketch-New Year's Day [1790] +Scots' Prologue For Mr. Sutherland +Lines To A Gentleman, +Elegy On Willie Nicol's Mare +Song - The Gowden Locks Of Anna +Song - I Murder Hate +Song - Gudewife, Count The Lawin +Election Ballad At the close of the contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790. +Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson +The Epitaphon Captain Matthew Henderson +Verses On Captain Grose +Tam O' Shanter: A Tale +On The Birth Of A Posthumous Child +Elegy On The Late Miss Burnet Of Monboddo + +1791 + +Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring +There'll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame +Song - Out Over The Forth +The Banks O' Doon (First Version) +The Banks O' Doon (Second Version) +The Banks O' Doon (Third Version) +Lament For James, Earl Of Glencairn +Lines Sent To Sir John Whiteford, Bart +Song - Craigieburn Wood + +Song - The Bonie Wee Thing +Epigram On Miss Davies +Song - The Charms Of Lovely Davies +Song - What Can A Young Lassie Do Wi' An Auld Man +Song - The Posie +On Glenriddell's Fox Breaking His Chain +Poem On Pastoral Poetry +Verses On The Destruction Of The Woods Near Drumlanrig +Song - The Gallant Weaver +Epigram At Brownhill Inn^1 +Song - You're Welcome, Willie Stewart +Song - Lovely Polly Stewart +Song - Fragment,-Damon And Sylvia +Song - Fragment - Johnie Lad, Cock Up Your Beaver +Song - My Eppie Macnab +Song - Fragment - Altho' He Has Left Me +Song - O For Ane An' Twenty, Tam +Song - Thou Fair Eliza +Song - My Bonie Bell +Song - Sweet Afton +Address To The Shade Of Thomson +Song - Nithsdale's Welcome Hame +Song - Frae The Friends And Land I Love +Song - Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation +Song - Ye Jacobites By Name +Song - I Hae Been At Crookieden +Epistle To John Maxwell, ESQ., Of Terraughty +Second Epistle To Robert Graham, ESQ., Of Fintry +The Song Of Death +Poem On Sensibility +Epigram - The Toadeater +Epigram - Divine Service In The Kirk Of Lamington +Epigram - The Keekin'-Glass +A Grace Before Dinner +A Grace After Dinner +Song - O May, Thy Morn +Song - Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever +Song - Behold The Hour, The Boat, Arrive +Song - Thou Gloomy December +Song - My Native Land Sae Far Awa + +1792 + +Song - I do Confess Thou Art Sae Fair +Lines On Fergusson, The Poet + +Song - The Weary Pund O' Tow +Song - When She Cam' Ben She Bobbed +Song - Scroggam, My Dearie +Song - My Collier Laddie +Song - Sic A Wife As Willie Had +Song - Lady Mary Ann +Song - Kellyburn Braes +Song - The Slave's Lament +Song - O Can Ye Labour Lea? +Song - The Deuks Dang O'er My Daddie +Song - The Deil's Awa Wi' The Exciseman +Song - The Country Lass +Song - Bessy And Her Spinnin' Wheel +Song - Fragment - Love For Love +Song - Saw Ye Bonie Lesley +Song - Fragment Of Song +Song - I'll Meet Thee On The Lea Rig +Song - My Wife's A Winsome Wee Thing +Song - Highland Mary +Song - Auld Rob Morris +The Rights Of Woman - Spoken by Miss Fontenelle +Epigram On Miss Fontenelle +Extempore On Some Commemorations Of Thomson +Song - Duncan Gray +Song - A Health To Them That's Awa +A Tippling Ballad - When Princes and Prelates + +1793 + +Song - Poortith Cauld And Restless Love +Epigram On Politics +Song - Braw Lads O' Galla Water +Sonnet Written On The Author's Birthday, +Song - Wandering Willie +Wandering Willie (Revised Version) +Lord Gregory: A Ballad +Song - Open The Door To Me, Oh +Song - Lovely Young Jessie +Song - Meg O' The Mill +Song - Meg O' The Mill (Another Version) +The Soldier's Return: A Ballad +Epigram - The True Loyal Natives +Epigram - On Commissary Goldie's Brains +Lines Inscribed In A Lady's Pocket Almanac +Epigram - Thanksgiving For A National Victory + +Epigram - The Raptures Of Folly +Epigram - Kirk and State Excisemen +Extempore Reply To An Invitation +A Grace After Meat +Grace Before And After Meat +Impromptu On General Dumourier's Desertion From The French Republican Army +Song - The Last Time I Came O'er The Moor +Song - Logan Braes +Song - Blythe Hae I been On Yon Hill +Song - O Were My Love Yon Lilac Fair +Bonie Jean - A Ballad +Lines On John M'Murdo, ESQ. +Epitaph On A Lap-Dog +Epigrams Against The Earl Of Galloway +Epigram On The Laird Of Laggan +Song - Phillis The Fair +Song - Had I A Cave +Song.- By Allan Stream +Song - Whistle, And I'll Come To You, My Lad +Song - Phillis The Queen O' The Fair +Song - Come, Let Me Take Thee To My Breast +Song - Dainty Davie +Song - Robert Bruce's March To Bannockburn +Song - Behold The Hour, The Boat Arrive +Song - Down The Burn, Davie +Song - Thou Hast Left Me Ever, Jamie +Song - Where Are The Joys I have Met? +Song - Deluded Swain, The Pleasure +Song - Thine Am I, My Faithful Fair +Impromptu On Mrs. Riddell's Birthday +Song - My Spouse Nancy +Address Spoken by Miss Fontenelle +Complimentary Epigram On Maria Riddell + +1794 + +Remorseful Apology +Song - Wilt Thou Be My Dearie? +Song - A Fiddler In The North +The Minstrel At Lincluden +A Vision +Song - A Red, Red Rose +Song - Young Jamie, Pride Of A' The Plain +Song - The Flowery Banks Of Cree +Monody On a lady famed for her Caprice. +The Epitaph On the Same +Epigram Pinned To Mrs. Walter Riddell's Carriage +Epitaph For Mr. Walter Riddell +Epistle From Esopus To Maria +Epitaph On A Noted Coxcomb +Epitaph On Capt. Lascelles +Epitaph On Wm. Graham, Esq., Of Mossknowe +Epitaph On John Bushby, Esq., Tinwald Downs +Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell +Song - The Lovely Lass O' Inverness +Song - Charlie, He's My Darling +Song - Bannocks O' Bear Meal +Song - The Highland Balou +The Highland Widow's Lament +Song - It Was A' For Our Rightfu' King +Ode For General Washington's Birthday +Inscription To Miss Graham Of Fintry +Song - On The Seas And Far Away +Song - Ca' The Yowes To The Knowes +Song - She Says She Loes Me Best Of A' +Epigram - On Miss Jessy Staig's recovery. +To The Beautiful Miss Eliza J-N On her Principles of Liberty and Equality. +On Chloris Requesting me to give her a Spring of Blossomed Thorn. +On Seeing Mrs. Kemble In Yarico +Epigram On A Country Laird (Cardoness) +Epigram on the Same Laird's Country Seat +Epigram on Dr. Babinton's Looks +Epigram On A Suicide +Epigram On A Swearing Coxcomb +Epigram On An Innkeeper Nicknamed (The Marquis) +Epigram On Andrew Turner +Song - Pretty Peg +Esteem For Chloris +Song - Saw Ye My Dear, My Philly +Song - How Lang And Dreary Is The Night +Song - Inconstancy In Love +The Lover's Morning Salute To His Mistress +Song - The Winter Of Life +Song - Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves +Song - The Charming Month Of May +Song - Lassie Wi' The Lint-White Locks +Dialogue song-Philly And Willy +Song - Contented Wi' Little And Cantie Wi' Mair +Song - Farewell Thou Stream +Song - Canst Thou Leave Me Thus, My Katie +Song - My Nanie's Awa +Song - The Tear-Drop - Wae is my heart +Song - For The Sake O' Somebody + +1795 + +Song - A Man's A Man For A' That +The Solemn League And Covenant +Lines to John Syme with a Dozen of Porter. +Inscription On Mr. Syme's Crystal Goblet +Apology To Mr. Syme For Not Dining with him +Epitaph For Mr. Gabriel Richardson +Epigram On Mr. James Gracie +Song - Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay +Inscription At Friars' Carse Hermitage +Song - Fragment - There Was A Bonie Lass +Song - Fragment - Wee Willie Gray +Song - O Aye My Wife She Dang Me +Song - Gude Ale Keeps The Heart Aboon +Song - O Steer Her Up An' Haud Her Gaun +Song - The Lass O' Ecclefechan +Song - O Let Me In Thes Ae Night +Song - I'll Aye Ca' In By Yon Town +Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election- Ballad First +Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election- Ballad Second +Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election- Ballad Third +Inscription For An Altar Of Independence +Song - The Cardin O't, The Spinnin O't +Song - The Cooper O' Cuddy +Song - The Lass That Made The Bed To Me +Song - Had I The Wyte? She Bade Me +Song - Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat? +Song - Address To The Woodlark +Song.- On Chloris Being Ill +Song - How Cruel Are The Parents +Song - Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion +Song - 'Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E'e +Song - Their Groves O'Sweet Myrtle +Song - Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near +Song - Fragment,-Why, Why Tell The Lover +Song - The Braw Wooer +Song - This Is No My Ain Lassie +Song - O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier +Song - Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham +Song - O That's The Lassie O' My Heart + +Inscription to Chloris +Song - Fragment.-The Wren's Nest +Song - News, Lassies, News +Song - Crowdie Ever Mair +Song - Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet +Song - Jockey's Taen The Parting Kiss +Verses To Collector Mitchell + +1796 + +The Dean Of Faculty +Epistle To Colonel De Peyster +Song - A Lass Wi' A Tocher +Song - The Trogger. +Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars +1. The Toast +2. The Menagerie +3. Jessie's illness +4. On Her Recovery +Song - O Lay Thy Loof In Mine, Lass +Song - A Health To Ane I Loe Dear +Song - O Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast +Inscription To Miss Jessy Lewars +Song - Fairest Maid On Devon Banks +Glossary + +Etext of Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns +by Robert Burns + +Preface + +Robert Burns was born near Ayr, Scotland, 25th of January, 1759. He was +the son of William Burnes, or Burness, at the time of the poet's birth a +nurseryman on the banks of the Doon in Ayrshire. His father, though always +extremely poor, attempted to give his children a fair education, and Robert, +who was the eldest, went to school for three years in a neighboring village, +and later, for shorter periods, to three other schools in the vicinity. But it +was to his father and to his own reading that he owed the more important part +of his education; and by the time that he had reached manhood he had a good +knowledge of English, a reading knowledge of French, and a fairly wide +acquaintance with the masterpieces of English literature from the time of +Shakespeare to his own day. In 1766 William Burness rented on borrowed money +the farm of Mount Oliphant, and in taking his share in the effort to make +this undertaking succeed, the future poet seems to have seriously overstrained +his physique. In 1771 the family move to Lochlea, and Burns went to the +neighboring town of Irvine to learn flax-dressing. The only result of this +experiment, however, was the formation of an acquaintance with a dissipated +sailor, whom he afterward blamed as the prompter of his first licentious +adventures. His father died in 1784, and with his brother Gilbert the poet +rented the farm of Mossgiel; but this venture was as unsuccessful as the +others. He had meantime formed an irregular intimacy with Jean Armour, for +which he was censured by the Kirk-session. As a result of his farming +misfortunes, and the attempts of his father-in-law to overthrow his irregular +marriage with Jean, he resolved to emigrate; and in order to raise money for +the passage he published (Kilmarnock, 1786) a volume of the poems which he +had been composing from time to time for some years. This volume was +unexpectedly successful, so that, instead of sailing for the West Indies, he +went up to Edinburgh, and during that winter he was the chief literary +celebrity of the season. An enlarged edition of his poems was published there +in 1787, and the money derived from this enabled him to aid his brother in +Mossgiel, and to take and stock for himself the farm of Ellisland in +Dumfriesshire. His fame as poet had reconciled the Armours to the connection, +and having now regularly married Jean, he brought her to Ellisland, and once +more tried farming for three years. Continued ill-success, however, led him, +in 1791, to abandon Ellisland, and he moved to Dumfries, where he had obtained +a position in the Excise. But he was now thoroughly discouraged; his work was +mere drudgery; his tendency to take his relaxation in debauchery increased the +weakness of a constitution early undermined; and he died at Dumfries in his +thirty-eighth year. + +[See Burns' Birthplace: The living room in the Burns birthplace cottage.] + +It is not necessary here to attempt to disentangle or explain away the +numerous amours in which he was engaged through the greater part of his life. +It is evident that Burns was a man of extremely passionate nature and fond of +conviviality; and the misfortunes of his lot combined with his natural +tendencies to drive him to frequent excesses of self-indulgence. He was often +remorseful, and he strove painfully, if intermittently, after better things. +But the story of his life must be admitted to be in its externals a painful +and somewhat sordid chronicle. That it contained, however, many moments of joy +and exaltation is proved by the poems here printed. + +Burns' poetry falls into two main groups: English and Scottish. His +English poems are, for the most part, inferior specimens of conventional +eighteenth-century verse. But in Scottish poetry he achieved triumphs of a +quite extraordinary kind. Since the time of the Reformation and the union of +the crowns of England and Scotland, the Scots dialect had largely fallen into +disuse as a medium for dignified writing. Shortly before Burns' time, +however, Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson had been the leading figures in a +revival of the vernacular, and Burns received from them a national tradition +which he succeeded in carrying to its highest pitch, becoming thereby, to an +almost unique degree, the poet of his people. + +He first showed complete mastery of verse in the field of satire. In +"The Twa Herds," "Holy Willie's Prayer," "Address to the Unco Guid," "The +Holy Fair," and others, he manifested sympathy with the protest of the +so-called "New Light" party, which had sprung up in opposition to the extreme +Calvinism and intolerance of the dominant "Auld Lichts." The fact that Burns +had personally suffered from the discipline of the Kirk probably added fire +to his attacks, but the satires show more than personal animus. The force of +the invective, the keenness of the wit, and the fervor of the imagination +which they displayed, rendered them an important force in the theological +liberation of Scotland. + +The Kilmarnock volume contained, besides satire, a number of poems like +"The Twa Dogs" and "The Cotter's Saturday Night," which are vividly +descriptive of the Scots peasant life with which he was most familiar; and +a group like "Puir Mailie" and "To a Mouse," which, in the tenderness of their +treatment of animals, revealed one of the most attractive sides of Burns' +personality. Many of his poems were never printed during his lifetime, the +most remarkable of these being "The Jolly Beggars," a piece in which, by the +intensity of his imaginative sympathy and the brilliance of his technique, he +renders a picture of the lowest dregs of society in such a way as to raise it +into the realm of great poetry. + +But the real national importance of Burns is due chiefly to his songs. +The Puritan austerity of the centuries following the Reformation had +discouraged secular music, like other forms of art, in Scotland; and as a +result Scottish song had become hopelessly degraded in point both of decency +and literary quality. From youth Burns had been interested in collecting the +fragments he had heard sung or found printed, and he came to regard the +rescuing of this almost lost national inheritance in the light of a vocation. +About his song-making, two points are especially noteworthy: first, that the +greater number of his lyrics sprang from actual emotional experiences; second, +that almost all were composed to old melodies. While in Edinburgh he +undertook to supply material for Johnson's "Musical Museum," and as few of the +traditional songs could appear in a respectable collection, Burns found it +necessary to make them over. Sometimes he kept a stanza or two; sometimes only +a line or chorus; sometimes merely the name of the air; the rest was his own. +His method, as he has told us himself, was to become familiar with the +traditional melody, to catch a suggestion from some fragment of the old song, +to fix upon an idea or situation for the new poem; then, humming or +whistling the tune as he went about his work, he wrought out the new verses, +going into the house to write them down when the inspiration began to flag. +In this process is to be found the explanation of much of the peculiar +quality of the songs of Burns. Scarcely any known author has succeeded so +brilliantly in combining his work with folk material, or in carrying on with +such continuity of spirit the tradition of popular song. For George Thomson's +collection of Scottish airs he performed a function similar to that which he +had had in the "Museum"; and his poetical activity during the last eight or +nine years of his life was chiefly devoted to these two publications. In spite +of the fact that he was constantly in severe financial straits, he refused to +accept any recompense for this work, preferring to regard it as a patriotic +service. And it was, indeed, a patriotic service of no small magnitude. By +birth and temperament he was singularly fitted for the task, and this fitness +is proved by the unique extent to which his productions were accepted by his +countrymen, and have passed into the life and feeling of his race. + +Song - Handsome Nell^1 + +Tune - "I am a man unmarried." + +[Footnote 1: The first of my performances. - R. B.] + +Once I lov'd a bonie lass, +Ay, and I love her still; +And whilst that virtue warms my breast, +I'll love my handsome Nell. + +As bonie lasses I hae seen, +And mony full as braw; +But, for a modest gracefu' mein, +The like I never saw. + +A bonie lass, I will confess, +Is pleasant to the e'e; +But, without some better qualities, +She's no a lass for me. + +But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet, +And what is best of a', +Her reputation is complete, +And fair without a flaw. + +She dresses aye sae clean and neat, +Both decent and genteel; +And then there's something in her gait +Gars ony dress look weel. + +A gaudy dress and gentle air +May slightly touch the heart; +But it's innocence and modesty +That polishes the dart. + +'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, +'Tis this enchants my soul; +For absolutely in my breast +She reigns without control. + +Song - O Tibbie, I Hae Seen The Day + +Tune - "Invercauld's Reel, or Strathspey." + +Choir. - O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, +Ye wadna been sae shy; +For laik o' gear ye lightly me, +But, trowth, I care na by. + +Yestreen I met you on the moor, +Ye spak na, but gaed by like stour; +Ye geck at me because I'm poor, +But fient a hair care I. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +When coming hame on Sunday last, +Upon the road as I cam past, +Ye snufft and ga'e your head a cast- +But trowth I care't na by. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, +Because ye hae the name o' clink, +That ye can please me at a wink, +Whene'er ye like to try. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean, +Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, +Wha follows ony saucy quean, +That looks sae proud and high. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &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. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +But, if he hae the name o' gear, +Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, +Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, +Be better than the kye. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice: +Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; +The deil a ane wad speir your price, +Were ye as poor as I. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +There lives a lass beside yon park, +I'd rather hae her in her sark, +Than you wi' a' your thousand mark; +That gars you look sae high. +O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c. + +Song - I Dream'd I Lay + +I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing +Gaily in the sunny beam; +List'ning to the wild birds singing, +By a falling crystal stream: +Straight the sky grew black and daring; +Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; +Tress with aged arms were warring, +O'er the swelling drumlie wave. + +Such was my life's deceitful morning, +Such the pleasures I enjoyed: +But lang or noon, loud tempests storming +A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. +Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me- +She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill, +Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me- +I bear a heart shall support me still. + +Song - In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer + +Tune - "Go from my window, Love, do." + +The sun he is sunk in the west, +All creatures retired to rest, +While here I sit, all sore beset, +With sorrow, grief, and woe: +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +The prosperous man is asleep, +Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep; +But Misery and I must watch +The surly tempest blow: +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +There lies the dear partner of my breast; +Her cares for a moment at rest: +Must I see thee, my youthful pride, +Thus brought so very low! +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +There lie my sweet babies in her arms; +No anxious fear their little hearts alarms; +But for their sake my heart does ache, +With many a bitter throe: +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +I once was by Fortune carest: +I once could relieve the distrest: +Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd +My fate will scarce bestow: +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +No comfort, no comfort I have! +How welcome to me were the grave! +But then my wife and children dear- +O, wither would they go! +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +O whither, O whither shall I turn! +All friendless, forsaken, forlorn! +For, in this world, Rest or Peace +I never more shall know! +And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! + +Tragic Fragment + +All devil as I am-a damned wretch, +A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting villain, +Still my heart melts at human wretchedness; +And with sincere but unavailing sighs +I view the helpless children of distress: +With tears indignant I behold the oppressor +Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, +Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. - +Ev'n you, ye hapless crew! I pity you; +Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity; +Ye poor, despised, abandoned vagabonds, +Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin. +Oh! but for friends and interposing Heaven, +I had been driven forth like you forlorn, +The most detested, worthless wretch among you! +O injured God! Thy goodness has endow'd me +With talents passing most of my compeers, +Which I in just proportion have abused- +As far surpassing other common villains +As Thou in natural parts has given me more. + +Tarbolton Lasses, The + +If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, +Ye'll there see bonie Peggy; +She kens her father is a laird, +And she forsooth's a leddy. + +There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, +Besides a handsome fortune: +Wha canna win her in a night, +Has little art in courtin'. + +Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale, +And tak a look o' Mysie; +She's dour and din, a deil within, +But aiblins she may please ye. + +If she be shy, her sister try, +Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny; +If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense- +She kens hersel she's bonie. + +As ye gae up by yon hillside, +Speir in for bonie Bessy; +She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light, +And handsomely address ye. + +There's few sae bonie, nane sae guid, +In a' King George' dominion; +If ye should doubt the truth o' this- +It's Bessy's ain opinion! + +Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear + +Paraphrase of Jeremiah, 15th Chap., 10th verse. + +Ah, woe is me, my mother dear! +A man of strife ye've born me: +For sair contention I maun bear; +They hate, revile, and scorn me. + +I ne'er could lend on bill or band, +That five per cent. might blest me; +And borrowing, on the tither hand, +The deil a ane wad trust me. + +Yet I, a coin-denied wight, +By Fortune quite discarded; +Ye see how I am, day and night, +By lad and lass blackguarded! + +Montgomerie's Peggy + +Tune - "Galla Water." + +Altho' my bed were in yon muir, +Amang the heather, in my plaidie; +Yet happy, happy would I be, +Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. + +When o'er the hill beat surly storms, +And winter nights were dark and rainy; +I'd seek some dell, and in my arms +I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. + +Were I a baron proud and high, +And horse and servants waiting ready; +Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, - +The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy. + +Ploughman's Life, The + +As I was a-wand'ring ae morning in spring, +I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing; +And as he was singin', thir words he did say, - +There's nae life like the ploughman's in the month o' sweet May. + +The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest, +And mount i' the air wi' the dew on her breast, +And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing, +And at night she'll return to her nest back again. + +Ronalds Of The Bennals, The + +In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men, +And proper young lasses and a', man; +But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals, +They carry the gree frae them a', man. + +Their father's laird, and weel he can spare't, +Braid money to tocher them a', man; +To proper young men, he'll clink in the hand +Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man. + +There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye've seen +As bonie a lass or as braw, man; +But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best, +And a conduct that beautifies a', man. + +The charms o' the min', the langer they shine, +The mair admiration they draw, man; +While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies, +They fade and they wither awa, man, + +If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien', +A hint o' a rival or twa, man; +The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, +If that wad entice her awa, man. + +The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed, +For mair than a towmond or twa, man; +The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a board, +If he canna get her at a', man. + +Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin, +The boast of our bachelors a', man: +Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete, +She steals our affections awa, man. + +If I should detail the pick and the wale +O' lasses that live here awa, man, +The fau't wad be mine if they didna shine +The sweetest and best o' them a', man. + +I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell, +My poverty keeps me in awe, man; +For making o' rhymes, and working at times, +Does little or naething at a', man. + +Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, +Nor hae't in her power to say na, man: +For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure, +My stomach's as proud as them a', man. + +Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride, +And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man, +I can haud up my head wi' the best o' the breed, +Though fluttering ever so braw, man. + +My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best, +O'pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, man; +And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps, +And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man. + +My sarks they are few, but five o' them new, +Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, man, +A ten-shillings hat, a Holland cravat; +There are no mony poets sae braw, man. + +I never had frien's weel stockit in means, +To leave me a hundred or twa, man; +Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on their drants, +And wish them in hell for it a', man. + +I never was cannie for hoarding o' money, +Or claughtin't together at a', man; +I've little to spend, and naething to lend, +But deevil a shilling I awe, man. + +Song - Here's To Thy Health + +Tune - "Laggan Burn." + +Here's to thy health, my bonie lass, +Gude nicht and joy be wi' thee; +I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door, +To tell thee that I lo'e thee. +O dinna think, my pretty pink, +But I can live without thee: +I vow and swear I dinna care, +How lang ye look about ye. + +Thou'rt aye sae free informing me, +Thou hast nae mind to marry; +I'll be as free informing thee, +Nae time hae I to tarry: +I ken thy frien's try ilka means +Frae wedlock to delay thee; +Depending on some higher chance, +But fortune may betray thee. + +I ken they scorn my low estate, +But that does never grieve me; +For I'm as free as any he; +Sma' siller will relieve me. +I'll count my health my greatest wealth, +Sae lang as I'll enjoy it; +I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, +As lang's I get employment. + +But far off fowls hae feathers fair, +And, aye until ye try them, +Tho' they seem fair, still have a care; +They may prove waur than I am. +But at twal' at night, when the moon shines bright, +My dear, I'll come and see thee; +For the man that loves his mistress weel, +Nae travel makes him weary. + +Lass Of Cessnock Banks, The^1 + +[Footnote 1: The lass is identified as Ellison Begbie, a servant wench, +daughter of a "Farmer Lang".] + +A Song of Similes + +Tune - "If he be a Butcher neat and trim." + +On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; +Could I describe her shape and mein; +Our lasses a' she far excels, +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +She's sweeter than the morning dawn, +When rising Phoebus first is seen, +And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +She's stately like yon youthful ash, +That grows the cowslip braes between, +And drinks the stream with vigour fresh; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn, +With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, +When purest in the dewy morn; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her looks are like the vernal May, +When ev'ning Phoebus shines serene, +While birds rejoice on every spray; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her hair is like the curling mist, +That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, +When flow'r-reviving rains are past; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, +When gleaming sunbeams intervene +And gild the distant mountain's brow; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, +The pride of all the flowery scene, +Just opening on its thorny stem; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her bosom's like the nightly snow, +When pale the morning rises keen, +While hid the murm'ring streamlets flow; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, +That sunny walls from Boreas screen; +They tempt the taste and charm the sight; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, +With fleeces newly washen clean, +That slowly mount the rising steep; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, +That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, +When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush, +That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, +While his mate sits nestling in the bush; +An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. + +But it's not her air, her form, her face, +Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen; +'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, +An' chiefly in her roguish een. + + + +Song - Bonie Peggy Alison + +Tune - "The Braes o' Balquhidder." + +Chor. - And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, +And I'll kiss thee o'er again: +And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, +My bonie Peggy Alison. + +Ilk care and fear, when thou art near +I evermair defy them, O! +Young kings upon their hansel throne +Are no sae blest as I am, O! +And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c. + +When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, +I clasp my countless treasure, O! +I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share +Than sic a moment's pleasure, O! +And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c. + +And by thy een sae bonie blue, +I swear I'm thine for ever, O! +And on thy lips I seal my vow, +And break it shall I never, O! +And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c. + +Song - Mary Morison + +Tune - "Bide ye yet." + +O Mary, at thy window be, +It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! +Those smiles and glances let me see, +That make the miser's treasure poor: +How blythely was I bide the stour, +A weary slave frae sun to sun, +Could I the rich reward secure, +The lovely Mary Morison. + +Yestreen, when to the trembling string +The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', +To thee my fancy took its wing, +I sat, but neither heard nor saw: +Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, +And yon the toast of a' the town, +I sigh'd, and said among them a', +"Ye are na Mary Morison." + +Oh, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, +Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? +Or canst thou break that heart of his, +Whase only faut is loving thee? +If love for love thou wilt na gie, +At least be pity to me shown; +A thought ungentle canna be +The thought o' Mary Morison. + +Winter: A Dirge + +The wintry west extends his blast, +And hail and rain does blaw; +Or the stormy north sends driving forth +The blinding sleet and snaw: +While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, +And roars frae bank to brae; +And bird and beast in covert rest, +And pass the heartless day. + +"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," +The joyless winter day +Let others fear, to me more dear +Than all the pride of May: +The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, +My griefs it seems to join; +The leafless trees my fancy please, +Their fate resembles mine! + +Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme +These woes of mine fulfil, +Here firm I rest; they must be best, +Because they are Thy will! +Then all I want-O do Thou grant +This one request of mine!- +Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, +Assist me to resign. + +Prayer, Under The Pressure Of Violent Anguish + +O Thou Great Being! what Thou art, +Surpasses me to know; +Yet sure I am, that known to Thee +Are all Thy works below. + +Thy creature here before Thee stands, +All wretched and distrest; +Yet sure those ills that wring my soul +Obey Thy high behest. + +Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act +From cruelty or wrath! +O, free my weary eyes from tears, +Or close them fast in death! + +But, if I must afflicted be, +To suit some wise design, +Then man my soul with firm resolves, +To bear and not repine! + +Paraphrase Of The First Psalm + +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 humility and awe +Still walks before his God. + +That man shall flourish like the trees, +Which by the streamlets grow; +The fruitful top is spread on high, +And firm the root below. + +But he whose blossom buds in guilt +Shall to the ground be cast, +And, like the rootless stubble, tost +Before the sweeping blast. + +For why? that God the good adore, +Hath giv'n them peace and rest, +But hath decreed that wicked men +Shall ne'er be truly blest. + +First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified, The + +O Thou, the first, the greatest friend +Of all the human race! +Whose strong right hand has ever been +Their stay and dwelling 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, +Appear no more before Thy sight +Than yesterday that's past. + +Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man, +Is to existence brought; +Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men, +Return ye into nought!" + +Thou layest them, with all their cares, +In everlasting sleep; +As with a flood Thou tak'st them off +With overwhelming sweep. + +They flourish like the morning flow'r, +In beauty's pride array'd; +But long ere night cut down it lies +All wither'd and decay'd. + +Prayer, In The Prospect Of Death + +O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause +Of all my hope and fear! +In whose dread presence, ere an hour, +Perhaps I must appear! + +If I have wander'd in those paths +Of life I ought to shun, +As something, loudly, in my breast, +Remonstrates I have done; + +Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me +With passions wild and strong; +And list'ning to their witching voice +Has often led me wrong. + +Where human weakness has come short, +Or frailty stept aside, +Do Thou, All-Good-for such Thou art- +In shades of darkness hide. + +Where with intention I have err'd, +No other plea I have, +But, Thou art good; and Goodness still +Delighteth to forgive. + +Stanzas, On The Same Occasion + +Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? +Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? +Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between- +Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms, +Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? +Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? +For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms: +I tremble to approach an angry God, +And justly smart beneath His sin-avenging rod. + +Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offence," +Fain promise never more to disobey; +But, should my Author health again dispense, +Again I might desert fair virtue's way; +Again in folly's part might go astray; +Again exalt the brute and sink the man; +Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray +Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan? +Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? + +O Thou, great Governor of all below! +If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, +Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, +Or still the tumult of the raging sea: +With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, +Those headlong furious passions to confine, +For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be, +To rule their torrent in th' allowed line; +O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine! + +Fickle Fortune: A Fragment + +Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, +She pormis'd fair and perform'd but ill; +Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, +Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. + +I'll act with prudence as far 's I'm able, +But if success I must never find, +Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, +I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. + +Raging Fortune - Fragment Of Song + +O raging Fortune's withering blast +Has laid my leaf full low, O! +O raging Fortune's withering blast +Has laid my leaf full low, O! + +My stem was fair, my bud was green, +My blossom sweet did blow, O! +The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, +And made my branches grow, O! + +But luckless Fortune's northern storms +Laid a' my blossoms low, O! +But luckless Fortune's northern storms +Laid a' my blossoms low, O! + +Impromptu - "I'll Go And Be A Sodger" + +O why the deuce should I repine, +And be an ill foreboder? +I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine, +I'll go and be a sodger! + +I gat some gear wi' mickle care, +I held it weel thegither; +But now it's gane, and something mair- +I'll go and be a sodger! + +Song - "No Churchman Am I" + +Tune - "Prepare, my dear Brethren, to the tavern let's fly." + +No churchman am I for to rail and to write, +No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, +No sly man of business contriving a snare, +For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. + +The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; +I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low; +But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, +And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. + +Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse; +There centum per centum, the cit with his purse; +But see you the Crown how it waves in the air? +There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. + +The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die; +for sweet consolation to church I did fly; +I found that old Solomon proved it fair, +That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. + +I once was persuaded a venture to make; +A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; +But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd upstairs, +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 the Compass and Square +Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care. + +My Father Was A Farmer + +Tune - "The weaver and his shuttle, O." + +My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, +And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; +He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O; +For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O. + +Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; +Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O; +My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O: +Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O. + +In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O; +Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O; +Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O; +And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O. + +Then sore harass'd and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O, +I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O; +The past was bad, and the future hid, its good or ill untried, O; +But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O. + +No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O; +So I must toil, and sweat, and moil, and labour to sustain me, O; +To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O; +For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O. + +Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O, +Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: +No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; +I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O. + +But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in his palace, O, +Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O: +I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O: +But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O. + +When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O, +Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O; +Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur'd folly, O: +But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. + +All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O, +The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O: +Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O, +A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. + +John Barleycorn: A Ballad + +There was three kings into the east, +Three kings both great and high, +And they hae sworn a solemn oath +John Barleycorn should die. + +They took a plough and plough'd him down, +Put clods upon his head, +And they hae sworn a solemn oath +John Barleycorn was dead. + +But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, +And show'rs began to fall; +John Barleycorn got up again, +And sore surpris'd them all. + +The sultry suns of Summer came, +And he grew thick and strong; +His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, +That no one should him wrong. + +The sober Autumn enter'd mild, +When he grew wan and pale; +His bending joints and drooping head +Show'd he began to fail. + +His colour sicken'd more and more, +He faded into age; +And then his enemies began +To show their deadly rage. + +They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, +And cut him by the knee; +Then tied him fast upon a cart, +Like a rogue for forgerie. + +They laid him down upon his back, +And cudgell'd him full sore; +They hung him up before the storm, +And turned 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 still the more and more they drank, +Their joy did more abound. + +John Barleycorn was a hero bold, +Of noble enterprise; +For if you do but taste his blood, +'Twill make your courage rise. + +'Twill make a man forget his 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! + +Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, +The Author's Only Pet Yowe., The + +An Unco Mournfu' Tale + +As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, +Was ae day nibbling on the tether, +Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, +An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch: +There, groaning, dying, she did lie, +When Hughoc he cam doytin by. + +Wi' glowrin een, and lifted han's +Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; +He saw her days were near-hand ended, +But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it! +He gaped wide, but naething spak, +At langth poor Mailie silence brak. + +"O thou, whase lamentable face +Appears to mourn my woefu' case! +My dying words attentive hear, +An' bear them to my Master dear. + +"Tell him, if e'er again he keep +As muckle gear as buy a sheep- +O, bid him never tie them mair, +Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! +But ca' them out to park or hill, +An' let them wander at their will: +So may his flock increase, an' grow +To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo'! + +"Tell him, he was a Master kin', +An' aye was guid to me an' mine; +An' now my dying charge I gie him, +My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. + +"O, bid him save their harmless lives, +Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butcher's knives! +But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, +Till they be fit to fend themsel'; +An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, +Wi' taets o' hay an' ripps o' corn. + +"An' may they never learn the gaets, +Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets- +To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal +At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail! +So may they, like their great forbears, +For mony a year come thro the shears: +So wives will gie them bits o' bread, +An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. + +"My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, +O, bid him breed him up wi' care! +An' if he live to be a beast, +To pit some havins in his breast! + +"An' warn him-what I winna name- +To stay content wi' yowes at hame; +An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, +Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. + +"An' neist, my yowie, silly thing, +Gude keep thee frae a tether string! +O, may thou ne'er forgather up, +Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop; +But aye keep mind to moop an' mell, +Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel'! + +"And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, +I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith: +An' when you think upo' your mither, +Mind to be kind to ane anither. + +"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, +To tell my master a' my tale; +An' bid him burn this cursed tether, +An' for thy pains thou'se get my blather." + +This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, +And clos'd her een amang the dead! + +Poor Mailie's Elegy + +Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, +Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; +Our bardie's fate is at a close, +Past a' remead! +The last, sad cape-stane o' his woes; +Poor Mailie's dead! + +It's no the loss o' warl's gear, +That could sae bitter draw the tear, +Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear +The mourning weed: +He's lost a friend an' neebor dear +In Mailie dead. + +Thro' a' the town she trotted by him; +A lang half-mile she could descry him; +Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, +She ran wi' speed: +A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, +Than Mailie dead. + +I wat she was a sheep o' sense, +An' could behave hersel' wi' mense: +I'll say't, she never brak a fence, +Thro' thievish greed. +Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence +Sin' Mailie's dead. + +Or, if he wanders up the howe, +Her living image in her yowe +Comes bleating till him, owre the knowe, +For bits o' bread; +An' down the briny pearls rowe +For Mailie dead. + +She was nae get o' moorland tips, +Wi' tauted ket, an' hairy hips; +For her forbears were brought in ships, +Frae 'yont the Tweed. +A bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips +Than Mailie's dead. + +Wae worth the man wha first did shape +That vile, wanchancie thing-a raip! +It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, +Wi' chokin dread; +An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape +For Mailie dead. + +O, a' ye bards on bonie Doon! +An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! +Come, join the melancholious croon +O' Robin's reed! +His heart will never get aboon- +His Mailie's dead! + +Song - The Rigs O' Barley + +Tune - "Corn Rigs are bonie." + +It was upon a Lammas night, +When corn rigs are bonie, +Beneath the moon's unclouded light, +I held awa to Annie; +The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, +Till, 'tween the late and early, +Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed +To see me thro' the barley. + +Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, +An' corn rigs are bonie: +I'll ne'er forget that happy night, +Amang the rigs wi' Annie. + +The sky was blue, the wind was still, +The moon was shining clearly; +I set her down, wi' right good will, +Amang the rigs o' barley: +I ken't her heart was a' my ain; +I lov'd her most sincerely; + +I kiss'd her owre and owre again, +Amang the rigs o' barley. +Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c. + +I lock'd her in my fond embrace; +Her heart was beating rarely: +My blessings on that happy place, +Amang the rigs o' barley! +But by the moon and stars so bright, +That shone that hour so clearly! +She aye shall bless that happy night +Amang the rigs o' barley. +Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c. + +I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear; +I hae been merry drinking; +I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; +I hae been happy thinking: +But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, +Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, +That happy night was worth them a', +Amang the rigs o' barley. +Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c. + +Song Composed In August + +Tune - "I had a horse, I had nae mair." + +Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns +Bring Autumn's pleasant weather; +The moorcock springs on whirring wings +Amang the blooming heather: +Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, +Delights the weary farmer; +And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, +To muse upon my charmer. + +The partridge loves the fruitful fells, +The plover loves the mountains; +The woodcock haunts the lonely dells, +The soaring hern the fountains: +Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves, +The path of man to shun it; +The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, +The spreading thorn the linnet. + +Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, +The savage and the tender; +Some social join, and leagues combine, +Some solitary wander: +Avaunt, away! the cruel sway, +Tyrannic man's dominion; +The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, +The flutt'ring, gory pinion! + +But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, +Thick flies the skimming swallow, +The sky is blue, the fields in view, +All fading-green and yellow: +Come let us stray our gladsome way, +And view the charms of Nature; +The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, +And ev'ry happy creature. + +We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, +Till the silent moon shine clearly; +I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, +Swear how I love thee dearly: +Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, +Not Autumn to the farmer, +So dear can be as thou to me, +My fair, my lovely charmer! + +Song + +Tune - "My Nanie, O." + +Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, +'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, +The wintry sun the day has clos'd, +And I'll awa to Nanie, O. + +The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill; +The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; +But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal, +An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. + +My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young; +Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O: +May ill befa' the flattering tongue +That wad beguile my Nanie, O. + +Her face is fair, her heart is true; +As spotless as she's bonie, O: +The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, +Nae purer is than Nanie, O. + +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 aye to Nanie, O. + +My riches a's my penny-fee, +An' I maun guide it cannie, O; +But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, +My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O. + +Our auld guidman delights to view +His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O; +But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh, +An' has nae care but Nanie, O. + +Come weel, come woe, I care na by; +I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O: +Nae ither care in life have I, +But live, an' love my Nanie, O. + +Song-Green Grow The Rashes + +A Fragment + +Chor. - Green grow the rashes, O; +Green grow the rashes, O; +The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, +Are spent amang the lasses, O. + +There's nought but care on ev'ry han', +In ev'ry hour that passes, O: +What signifies the life o' man, +An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. +Green grow, &c. + +The war'ly race may riches chase, +An' riches still may fly them, O; +An' tho' at last they catch them fast, +Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. +Green grow, &c. + +But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, +My arms about my dearie, O; +An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, +May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! +Green grow, &c. + +For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; +Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: +The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, +He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. +Green grow, &c. + +Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears +Her noblest work she classes, O: +Her prentice han' she try'd on man, +An' then she made the lasses, O. +Green grow, &c. + +Song - Wha Is That At My Bower-Door + +Tune - "Lass, an I come near thee." + +"Wha is that at my bower-door?" +"O wha is it but Findlay!" +"Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here:" +"Indeed maun I," quo' Findlay; +"What mak' ye, sae like a thief?" +"O come and see," quo' Findlay; +"Before the morn ye'll work mischief:" +"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay. + +"Gif I rise and let you in"- +"Let me in," quo' Findlay; +"Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;" +"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay; +"In my bower if ye should stay"- +"Let me stay," quo' Findlay; +"I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;" +"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay. + +"Here this night if ye remain"- +"I'll remain," quo' Findlay; +"I dread ye'll learn the gate again;" +"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay. +"What may pass within this bower"- +"Let it pass," quo' Findlay; +"Ye maun conceal till your last hour:" +"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay. + +Remorse: A Fragment + +Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, +That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish +Beyond comparison the worst are those +By our own folly, or our guilt brought on: +In ev'ry other circumstance, the mind +Has this to say, "It was no deed of mine:" +But, when to all the evil of misfortune +This sting is added, "Blame thy foolish self!" +Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse, +The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt- +Of guilt, perhaps, when we've involved others, +The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us; +Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin! +O burning hell! in all thy store of torments +There's not a keener lash! +Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart +Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, +Can reason down its agonizing throbs; +And, after proper purpose of amendment, +Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? +O happy, happy, enviable man! +O glorious magnanimity of soul! + +Epitaph On Wm. Hood, Senr., In Tarbolton + +Here Souter Hood in death does sleep; +To hell if he's gane thither, +Satan, gie him thy gear to keep; +He'll haud it weel thegither. + +Epitaph On James Grieve, Laird Of Boghead, Tarbolton + +Here lies Boghead amang the dead +In hopes to get salvation; +But if such as he in Heav'n may be, +Then welcome, hail! damnation. + +Epitaph On My Own Friend And My Father's Friend, Wm. Muir In Tarbolton Mill + +An honest man here lies at rest +As e'er God with his image blest; +The friend of man, the friend of truth, +The friend of age, and guide of youth: +Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, +Few heads with knowledge so informed: +If there's another world, he lives in bliss; +If there is none, he made the best of this. + +Epitaph On My Ever Honoured Father + +O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, +Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend! +Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, +The tender father, and the gen'rous friend; +The pitying heart that felt for human woe, +The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride; +The friend of man-to vice alone a foe; +For "ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."^1 + +[Footnote 1: Goldsmith. - R.B.] + +Ballad On The American War + +Tune - "Killiecrankie." + +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 Burn he took a turn, +And Carleton did ca', man: +But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec, +Montgomery-like did fa', man, +Wi' sword in hand, before his band, +Amang his en'mies a', man. + +Poor Tammy Gage within a cage +Was kept at Boston-ha', man; +Till 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 York, wi' knife an' fork, +Sir-Loin he hacked sma', man. + +Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, +Till Fraser brave did fa', man; +Then lost his way, ae misty day, +In Saratoga shaw, man. +Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought, +An' did the Buckskins claw, man; +But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, +He hung it to the wa', man. + +Then Montague, an' Guilford too, +Began to fear, a fa', man; +And Sackville dour, wha stood the stour, +The German chief to thraw, man: +For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, +Nae mercy had at a', man; +An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, +An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. + +Then Rockingham took up the game, +Till death did on him ca', man; +When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, +Conform to gospel law, man: +Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, +They did his measures thraw, man; +For North an' Fox united stocks, +An' bore him to the wa', man. + +Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, +He swept the stakes awa', man, +Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, +Led him a sair faux pas, man: +The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, +On Chatham's boy did ca', man; +An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, +"Up, Willie, waur them a', man!" + +Behind the throne then Granville's gone, +A secret word or twa, man; +While slee Dundas arous'd the class +Be-north the Roman wa', man: +An' Chatham's wraith, in heav'nly graith, +(Inspired bardies saw, man), +Wi' kindling eyes, cry'd, "Willie, rise! +Would I hae fear'd them a', man?" + +But, word an' blow, 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 whittle draw, man; +An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid, +To mak it guid in law, man. + +Reply To An Announcement By J. Rankine + +On His Writing To The Poet, That A Girl In That Part Of The Country Was With +A Child To Him. + +I am a keeper of the law +In some sma' points, altho' not a'; +Some people tell me gin I fa', +Ae way or ither, +The breaking of ae point, tho' sma', +Breaks a' thegither. + +I hae been in for't ance or twice, +And winna say o'er far for thrice; +Yet never met wi' that surprise +That broke my rest; +But now a rumour's like to rise- +A whaup's i' the nest! + +Epistle To John Rankine + +Enclosing Some Poems + +O Rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine, +The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! +There's mony godly folks are thinkin, +Your dreams and tricks +Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin +Straught to auld Nick's. + +Ye hae saw mony cracks an' cants, +And in your wicked, drucken rants, +Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, +An' fill them fou; +And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, +Are a' seen thro'. + +Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it! +That holy robe, O dinna tear it! +Spare't for their sakes, wha aften wear it- +The lads in black; +But your curst wit, when it comes near it, +Rives't aff their back. + +Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're skaithing: +It's just the Blue-gown badge an' claithing +O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naething +To ken them by +Frae ony unregenerate heathen, +Like you or I. + +I've sent you here some rhyming ware, +A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair; +Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, +I will expect, +Yon sang ye'll sen't, wi' cannie care, +And no neglect. + +Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing! +My muse dow scarcely spread her wing; +I've play'd mysel a bonie spring, +An' danc'd my fill! +I'd better gaen an' sair't the king, +At Bunkjer's Hill. + +'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, +I gaed a rovin' wi' the gun, +An' brought a paitrick to the grun'- +A bonie hen; +And, as the twilight was begun, +Thought nane wad ken. + +The poor, wee thing was little hurt; +I straikit it a wee for sport, +Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't; +But, Deil-ma-care! +Somebody tells the poacher-court +The hale affair. + +Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note, +That sic a hen had got a shot; +I was suspected for the plot; +I scorn'd to lie; +So gat the whissle o' my groat, +An' pay't the fee. + +But by my gun, o' guns the wale, +An' by my pouther an' my hail, +An' by my hen, an' by her tail, +I vow an' swear! +The game shall pay, o'er muir an' dale, +For this, niest year. + +As soon's the clockin-time is by, +An' the wee pouts begun to cry, +Lord, I'se hae sporting by an' by +For my gowd guinea, +Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye +For't in Virginia. + +Trowth, they had muckle for to blame! +'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, +But twa-three draps about the wame, +Scarce thro' the feathers; +An' baith a yellow George to claim, +An' thole their blethers! + +It pits me aye as mad's a hare; +So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; +But pennyworths again is fair, +When time's expedient: +Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, +Your most obedient. + +A Poet's Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter^1 + +[Footnote 1: Burns never published this poem.] + +The First Instance That Entitled Him To The Venerable Appellation Of Father + +Thou's welcome, wean; mishanter fa' me, +If thoughts o' thee, or yet thy mamie, +Shall ever daunton me or awe me, +My bonie lady, +Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me +Tyta or daddie. + +Tho' now they ca' me fornicator, +An' tease my name in kintry clatter, +The mair they talk, I'm kent the better, +E'en let them clash; +An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter +To gie ane fash. + +Welcome! my bonie, sweet, wee dochter, +Tho' ye come here a wee unsought for, +And tho' your comin' I hae fought for, +Baith kirk and queir; +Yet, by my faith, ye're no unwrought for, +That I shall swear! + +Wee image o' my bonie Betty, +As fatherly I kiss and daut thee, +As dear, and near my heart I set thee +Wi' as gude will +As a' the priests had seen me get thee +That's out o' hell. + +Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, +My funny toil is now a' tint, +Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent, +Which fools may scoff at; +In my last plack thy part's be in't +The better ha'f o't. + +Tho' I should be the waur bestead, +Thou's be as braw and bienly clad, +And thy young years as nicely bred +Wi' education, +As ony brat o' wedlock's bed, +In a' thy station. + +Lord grant that thou may aye inherit +Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, +An' thy poor, worthless daddy's spirit, +Without his failins, +'Twill please me mair to see thee heir it, +Than stockit mailens. + +For if thou be what I wad hae thee, +And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, +I'll never rue my trouble wi' thee, +The cost nor shame o't, +But be a loving father to thee, +And brag the name o't. + +Song - O Leave Novels^1 + +[Footnote 1: Burns never published this poem.] + +O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles, +Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel; +Such witching books are baited hooks +For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel; +Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, +They make your youthful fancies reel; +They heat your brains, and fire your veins, +And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. + +Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, +A heart that warmly seems to feel; +That feeling heart but acts a part- +'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. +The frank address, the soft caress, +Are worse than poisoned darts of steel; +The frank address, and politesse, +Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. + +Fragment - The Mauchline Lady + +Tune - "I had a horse, I had nae mair." + +When first I came to Stewart Kyle, +My mind it was na steady; +Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, +A mistress still I had aye. + +But when I came roun' by Mauchline toun, +Not dreadin anybody, +My heart was caught, before I thought, +And by a Mauchline lady. + +Fragment - My Girl She's Airy + +Tune - "Black Jock." + +My girl she's airy, she's buxom and gay; +Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May; +A touch of her lips it ravishes quite: +She's always good natur'd, good humour'd, and free; +She dances, she glances, she smiles upon me; +I never am happy when out of her sight. + +The Belles Of Mauchline + +In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, +The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a'; +Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, +In Lon'on or Paris, they'd gotten it a'. + +Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, +Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw: +There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, +But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'. + +Epitaph On A Noisy Polemic + +Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes; +O Death, it's my opinion, +Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch +Into thy dark dominion! + +Epitaph On A Henpecked Country Squire + +As father Adam first was fool'd, +(A case that's still too common,) +Here lies man a woman ruled, +The devil ruled the woman. + +Epigram On The Said Occasion + +O Death, had'st thou but spar'd his life, +Whom we this day lament, +We freely wad exchanged the wife, +And a' been weel content. + +Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff, +The swap we yet will do't; +Tak thou the carlin's carcase aff, +Thou'se get the saul o'boot. + +Another + +One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, +When deprived of her husband she loved so well, +In respect for the love and affection he show'd her, +She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder. +But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion, +When called on to order the fun'ral direction, +Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence, +Not to show her respect, but-to save the expense! + +On Tam The Chapman + +As Tam the chapman on a day, +Wi'Death forgather'd by the way, +Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight so famous, +And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas, +Wha cheerfully lays down his pack, +And there blaws up a hearty crack: +His social, friendly, honest heart +Sae tickled Death, they could na part; +Sae, after viewing knives and garters, +Death taks him hame to gie him quarters. + +Epitaph On John Rankine + +Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl, +Was driving to the tither warl' +A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, +And mony a guilt-bespotted lad- +Black gowns of each denomination, +And thieves of every rank and station, +From him that wears the star and garter, +To him that wintles in a halter: +Ashamed himself to see the wretches, +He mutters, glowrin at the bitches, + +"By God I'll not be seen behint them, +Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, +Without, at least, ae honest man, +To grace this damn'd infernal clan!" +By Adamhill a glance he threw, +"Lord God!" quoth he, "I have it now; +There's just the man I want, i' faith!" +And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. + +Lines On The Author's Death + +Written With The Supposed View Of Being Handed To Rankine After The Poet's +Interment + +He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead, +And a green grassy hillock hides his head; +Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed. + +Man Was Made To Mourn: A Dirge + +When chill November's surly blast +Made fields and forests bare, +One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth +Along the banks of Ayr, +I spied a man, whose aged step +Seem'd weary, worn with care; +His face 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. + +"The sun that overhangs yon moors, +Out-spreading far and wide, +Where hundreds labour to support +A haughty lordling's pride;- +I've seen yon weary winter-sun +Twice forty times return; +And ev'ry time has added proofs, +That man was made to mourn. + +"O man! while in thy early years, +How prodigal of time! +Mis-spending all thy precious hours- +Thy glorious, youthful prime! +Alternate follies take the sway; +Licentious passions burn; +Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. +That man was made to mourn. + +"Look not alone on youthful prime, +Or manhood's active might; +Man then is useful to his kind, +Supported in his right: +But see him on the edge of life, +With cares and sorrows worn; +Then Age and Want-oh! ill-match'd pair- +Shew man was made to mourn. + +"A few seem favourites of fate, +In pleasure's lap carest; +Yet, think not all the rich and great +Are likewise truly blest: +But oh! what crowds in ev'ry land, +All wretched and forlorn, +Thro' weary life this lesson learn, +That man was made to mourn. + +"Many and sharp the num'rous ills +Inwoven with our frame! +More pointed still we make ourselves, +Regret, remorse, and shame! +And man, whose heav'n-erected face +The smiles of love adorn, - +Man's inhumanity to man +Makes countless thousands mourn! + +"See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, +So abject, mean, and vile, +Who begs a brother of the earth +To give him leave to toil; +And see his lordly fellow-worm +The poor petition spurn, +Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife +And helpless offspring mourn. + +"If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, +By Nature's law design'd, +Why was an independent wish +E'er planted in my mind? +If not, why am I subject to +His cruelty, or scorn? +Or why has man the will and pow'r +To make his fellow mourn? + +"Yet, let not this too much, my son, +Disturb thy youthful breast: +This partial view of human-kind +Is surely not the last! +The poor, oppressed, honest man +Had never, sure, been born, +Had there not been some recompense +To comfort those that mourn! + +"O Death! the poor man's dearest friend, +The kindest and the best! +Welcome the hour my aged limbs +Are laid with thee at rest! +The great, the wealthy fear thy blow +From pomp and pleasure torn; +But, oh! a blest relief for those +That weary-laden mourn!" + +The Twa Herds; Or, The Holy Tulyie + +An Unco Mournfu' Tale + +"Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, +But fool with fool is barbarous civil war,"-Pope. + +O a' ye pious godly flocks, +Weel fed on pastures orthodox, +Wha now will keep you frae the fox, +Or worrying tykes? +Or wha will tent the waifs an' crocks, +About the dykes? + +The twa best herds in a' the wast, +The e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast +These five an' twenty simmers past- +Oh, dool to tell! +Hae had a bitter black out-cast +Atween themsel'. + +O, Moddie,^1 man, an' wordy Russell,^2 +How could you raise so vile a bustle; +Ye'll see how New-Light herds will whistle, +An' think it fine! +The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, +Sin' I hae min'. + +O, sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit +Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, +Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit +To wear the plaid; +But by the brutes themselves eleckit, +To be their guide. + +What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank?- +Sae hale and hearty every shank! +Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank +He let them taste; +Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, drank, - +O, sic a feast! + +[Footnote 1: Rev. Mr. Moodie of Riccarton.] + +[Footnote 2: Rev. John Russell of Kilmarnock.] + +The thummart, willcat, brock, an' tod, +Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, +He smell'd their ilka hole an' road, +Baith out an in; +An' weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, +An' sell their skin. + +What herd like Russell tell'd his tale; +His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, +He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, +Owre a' the height; +An' saw gin they were sick or hale, +At the first sight. + +He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, +Or nobly fling the gospel club, +And New-Light herds could nicely drub +Or pay their skin; +Could shake them o'er the burning dub, +Or heave them in. + +Sic twa-O! do I live to see't?- +Sic famous twa should disagree't, +And names, like "villain," "hypocrite," +Ilk ither gi'en, +While New-Light herds, wi' laughin spite, +Say neither's liein! + +A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, +There's Duncan^3 deep, an' Peebles^4 shaul, +But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,^5 +We trust in thee, +That thou wilt work them, het an' cauld, +Till they agree. + +Consider, sirs, how we're beset; +There's scarce a new herd that we get, +But comes frae 'mang that cursed set, +I winna name; +I hope frae heav'n to see them yet +In fiery flame. + +[Footnote 3: Dr. Robert Duncan of Dundonald.] + +[Footnote 4: Rev. Wm. Peebles of Newton-on-Ayr.] + +[Footnote 5: Rev. Wm. Auld of Mauchline.] + +Dalrymple^6 has been lang our fae, +M'Gill^7 has wrought us meikle wae, +An' that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae,^8 +And baith the Shaws,^9 +That aft hae made us black an' blae, +Wi' vengefu' paws. + +Auld Wodrow^10 lang has hatch'd mischief; +We thought aye death wad bring relief; +But he has gotten, to our grief, +Ane to succeed him,^11 +A chield wha'll soundly buff our beef; +I meikle dread him. + +And mony a ane that I could tell, +Wha fain wad openly rebel, +Forby turn-coats amang oursel', +There's Smith^12 for ane; +I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, +An' that ye'll fin'. + +O! a' ye flocks o'er a, the hills, +By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, +Come, join your counsel and your skills +To cowe the lairds, +An' get the brutes the power themsel's +To choose their herds. + +Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, +An' Learning in a woody dance, +An' that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, +That bites sae sair, +Be banished o'er the sea to France: +Let him bark there. + +Then Shaw's an' D'rymple's eloquence, +M'Gill's close nervous excellence + +[Footnote 6: Rev. Dr. Dalrymple of Ayr.] + +[Footnote 7: Rev. Wm. M'Gill, colleague of Dr. Dalrymple.] + +[Footnote 8: Minister of St. Quivox.] + +[Footnote 9: Dr. Andrew Shaw of Craigie, and Dr. David Shaw of Coylton.] + +[Footnote 10: Dr. Peter Wodrow of Tarbolton.] + +[Footnote 11: Rev. John M'Math, a young assistant and successor to Wodrow.] + +[Footnote 12: Rev. George Smith of Galston.] + +M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, +An' guid M'Math, +Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, +May a' pack aff. + +Epistle To Davie, A Brother Poet + +January + +While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, +An' bar the doors wi' driving snaw, +An' hing us owre the ingle, +I set me down to pass the time, +An' spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, +In hamely, westlin jingle. +While frosty winds blaw in the drift, +Ben to the chimla lug, +I grudge a wee the great-folk's gift, +That live sae bien an' snug: +I tent less, and want less +Their roomy fire-side; +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' chiels are whiles in want, +While coofs on countless thousands rant, +And ken na how to wair't; +But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, +Tho' we hae little gear; +We're fit to win our daily bread, +As lang's we're hale and fier: +"Mair spier na, nor fear na,"^1 +Auld age ne'er mind a feg; +The last o't, the warst o't +Is only but to beg. + +To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, +When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, +Is doubtless, great distress! + +[Footnote 1: Ramsay. - R. B.] + +Yet then content could make us blest; +Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste +Of truest happiness. +The honest heart that's free frae a' +Intended fraud or guile, +However Fortune kick the ba', +Has aye some cause to smile; +An' mind still, you'll find still, +A comfort this nae sma'; +Nae mair then we'll care then, +Nae farther can we fa'. + +What tho', like commoners of air, +We wander out, we know not where, +But either house or hal', +Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, +The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, +Are free alike to all. +In days when daisies deck the ground, +And blackbirds whistle clear, +With honest joy our hearts will bound, +To see the coming year: +On braes when we please, then, +We'll sit an' sowth a tune; +Syne rhyme till't we'll time till't, +An' sing't when we hae done. + +It's no in titles nor in rank; +It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, +To purchase peace and rest: +It's no in makin' muckle, mair; +It's no in books, it's no in lear, +To make us truly blest: +If happiness hae not her seat +An' centre in the breast, +We may be wise, or rich, or great, +But never can be blest; +Nae treasures, nor pleasures +Could make us happy lang; +The heart aye's the part aye +That makes us right or wrang. + +Think ye, that sic as you and I, +Wha drudge an' drive thro' wet and dry, +Wi' never-ceasing toil; +Think ye, are we less blest than they, +Wha scarcely tent us in their way, +As hardly worth their while? +Alas! how aft in haughty mood, +God's creatures they oppress! +Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, +They riot in excess! +Baith careless and fearless +Of either heaven or hell; +Esteeming and deeming +It's a' an idle tale! + +Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, +Nor make our scanty pleasures less, +By pining at our state: +And, even should misfortunes come, +I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some- +An's thankfu' for them yet. +They gie the wit of age to youth; +They let us ken oursel'; +They make us see the naked truth, +The real guid and ill: +Tho' losses an' crosses +Be lessons right severe, +There's wit there, ye'll get there, +Ye'll find nae other where. + +But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! +(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, +And flatt'ry I detest) +This life has joys for you and I; +An' joys that riches ne'er could buy, +An' joys the very best. +There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, +The lover an' the frien'; +Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, +And I my darling Jean! +It warms me, it charms me, +To mention but her name: +It heats me, it beets me, +An' sets me a' on flame! + +O all ye Pow'rs who rule above! +O Thou whose very self art love! +Thou know'st my words sincere! +The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, +Or my more dear immortal part, +Is not more fondly dear! +When heart-corroding care and grief +Deprive my soul of rest, +Her dear idea brings relief, +And solace to my breast. +Thou Being, All-seeing, +O hear my fervent pray'r; +Still take her, and make her +Thy most peculiar care! + +All hail! ye tender feelings dear! +The smile of love, the friendly tear, +The sympathetic glow! +Long since, this world's thorny ways +Had number'd out my weary days, +Had it not been for you! +Fate still has blest me with a friend, +In ev'ry care and ill; +And oft a more endearing band- +A tie more tender still. +It lightens, it brightens +The tenebrific scene, +To meet with, and greet with +My Davie, or my Jean! + +O, how that name inspires my style! +The words come skelpin, rank an' file, +Amaist before I ken! +The ready measure rins as fine, +As Phoebus an' the famous Nine +Were glowrin owre my pen. +My spaviet Pegasus will limp, +Till ance he's fairly het; +And then he'll hilch, and stilt, an' jimp, +And rin an unco fit: +But least then the beast then +Should rue this hasty ride, +I'll light now, and dight now +His sweaty, wizen'd hide. + +Holy Willie's Prayer + +"And send the godly in a pet to pray." - Pope. + +Argument. + + Holy Willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of +Mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering, which ends +in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to +liquorish devotion. In a sessional process with a gentleman in Mauchline-a +Mr.Gavin Hamilton-Holy Willie and his priest, Father Auld, after full hearing +in the presbytery of Ayr, came off but second best; owing partly to the +oratorical powers of Mr. Robert Aiken, Mr. Hamilton's counsel; but chiefly to +Mr. Hamilton's being one of the most irreproachable and truly respectable +characters in the county. On losing the process, the muse overheard him +[Holy Willie] at his devotions, as follows:- + +O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell, +Who, as it pleases best Thysel', +Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell, +A' for Thy glory, +And no for ony gude or ill +They've done afore Thee! + +I bless and praise Thy matchless might, +When thousands Thou hast left in night, +That I am here afore Thy sight, +For gifts an' grace +A burning and a shining light +To a' this place. + +What was I, or my generation, +That I should get sic exaltation, +I wha deserve most just damnation +For broken laws, +Five thousand years ere my creation, +Thro' Adam's cause? + +When frae my mither's womb I fell, +Thou might hae plunged me in hell, +To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, +In burnin lakes, +Where damned devils roar and yell, +Chain'd to their stakes. + +Yet I am here a chosen sample, +To show thy grace is great and ample; +I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple, +Strong as a rock, +A guide, a buckler, and example, +To a' Thy flock. + +O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear, +When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear, +An' singin there, an' dancin here, +Wi' great and sma'; +For I am keepit by Thy fear +Free frae them a'. + +But yet, O Lord! confess I must, +At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust: +An' sometimes, too, in wardly trust, +Vile self gets in: +But Thou remembers we are dust, +Defil'd wi' sin. + +O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg- +Thy pardon I sincerely beg, +O! may't ne'er be a livin plague +To my dishonour, +An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg +Again upon her. + +Besides, I farther maun allow, +Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow- +But Lord, that Friday I was fou, +When I cam near her; +Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true +Wad never steer her. + +Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn +Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn, +Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn, +That he's sae gifted: +If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne, +Until Thou lift it. + +Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, +For here Thou hast a chosen race: +But God confound their stubborn face, +An' blast their name, +Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace +An' public shame. + +Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts; +He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, +Yet has sae mony takin arts, +Wi' great and sma', +Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts +He steals awa. + +An' when we chasten'd him therefor, +Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, +An' set the warld in a roar +O' laughing at us;- +Curse Thou his basket and his store, +Kail an' potatoes. + +Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, +Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr; +Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare +Upo' their heads; +Lord visit them, an' dinna spare, +For their misdeeds. + +O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken, +My vera heart and flesh are quakin, +To think how we stood sweatin', shakin, +An' p-'d wi' dread, +While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin, +Held up his head. + +Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him, +Lord, visit them wha did employ him, +And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em, +Nor hear their pray'r, +But for Thy people's sake, destroy 'em, +An' dinna spare. + +But, Lord, remember me an' mine +Wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine, +That I for grace an' gear may shine, +Excell'd by nane, +And a' the glory shall be thine, +Amen, Amen! + +Epitaph On Holy Willie + +Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay +Taks up its last abode; +His saul has ta'en some other way, +I fear, the left-hand road. + +Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, +Poor, silly body, see him; +Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, +Observe wha's standing wi' him. + +Your brunstane devilship, I see, +Has got him there before ye; +But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, +Till ance you've heard my story. + +Your pity I will not implore, +For pity ye have nane; +Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, +And mercy's day is gane. + +But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, +Look something to your credit; +A coof like him wad stain your name, +If it were kent ye did it. + +Death and Doctor Hornbook + +A True Story + +Some books are lies frae end to end, +And some great lies were never penn'd: +Ev'n ministers they hae been kenn'd, +In holy rapture, +A rousing whid at times to vend, +And nail't wi' Scripture. + +But this that I am gaun to tell, +Which lately on a night befell, +Is just as true's the Deil's in hell +Or Dublin city: +That e'er he nearer comes oursel' +'S a muckle pity. + +The clachan yill had made me canty, +I was na fou, but just had plenty; +I stacher'd whiles, but yet too tent aye +To free the ditches; +An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd eye +Frae ghaists an' witches. + +The rising moon began to glowre +The distant Cumnock hills out-owre: +To count her horns, wi' a my pow'r, +I set mysel'; +But whether she had three or four, +I cou'd na tell. + +I was come round about the hill, +An' todlin down on Willie's mill, +Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, +To keep me sicker; +Tho' leeward whiles, against my will, +I took a bicker. + +I there wi' Something did forgather, +That pat me in an eerie swither; +An' awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, +Clear-dangling, hang; +A three-tae'd leister on the ither +Lay, large an' lang. + +Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, +The queerest shape that e'er I saw, +For fient a wame it had ava; +And then its shanks, +They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' +As cheeks o' branks. + +"Guid-een," quo' I; "Friend! hae ye been mawin, +When ither folk are busy sawin!"^1 +I seem'd to make a kind o' stan' +But naething spak; +At length, says I, "Friend! whare ye gaun? +Will ye go back?" + +It spak right howe, - "My name is Death, +But be na 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!" + +"Gudeman," quo' he, "put up your whittle, +I'm no designed to try its mettle; +But if I did, I wad be kittle +To be mislear'd; +I wad na mind it, no that spittle +Out-owre my beard." + +"Weel, weel!" says I, "a bargain be't; +Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree't; +We'll ease our shanks an tak a seat- +Come, gie's your news; +This while ye hae been mony a gate, +At mony a house."^2 + +[Footnote 1: This recontre happened in seed-time, 1785. - R.B.] + +[Footnote 2: An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. - R.B.] + +"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 butching bred, +An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, +To stap or scar me; +Till ane Hornbook's^3 ta'en up the trade, +And faith! he'll waur me. + +"Ye ken Hornbook i' the clachan, +Deil mak his king's-hood in spleuchan! +He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan^4 +And ither chaps, +The weans haud out their fingers laughin, +An' pouk my hips. + +"See, here's a scythe, an' there's dart, +They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; +But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art +An' cursed skill, +Has made them baith no worth a f-t, +Damn'd haet they'll kill! + +"'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane, +I threw a noble throw at ane; +Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; +But deil-ma-care, +It just play'd dirl on the bane, +But did nae mair. + +"Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, +An' had sae fortify'd the part, + +[Footnote 3: This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brother of the +sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once +an apothecary, surgeon, and physician. - R.B.] + +[Footnote 4: Burchan's Domestic Medicine. - R.B.] + +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 near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry, +But yet the bauld Apothecary +Withstood the shock; +I might as weel hae tried a quarry +O' hard whin rock. + +"Ev'n them he canna get attended, +Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, +Just-in a kail-blade, an' sent 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 an' whittles, +Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, +A' kind o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, +He's sure to hae; +Their Latin names as fast he rattles +as A B C. + +"Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; +True sal-marinum o' the seas; +The farina of beans an' 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 clippings, +And mony mae." + +"Waes me for Johnie Ged's^5 Hole now," +Quoth I, "if that thae news be true! +His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, +Sae white and 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 pleugh, +Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, +Tak ye nae fear: +They'll be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh, +In twa-three year. + +"Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, +By loss o' blood or want of breath +This night I'm free to tak my aith, +That Hornbook's skill +Has clad a score i' their last claith, +By drap an' pill. + +"An honest wabster to his trade, +Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred +Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, +When it was sair; +The wife slade cannie to her bed, +But ne'er spak mair. + +"A country laird had ta'en the batts, +Or some curmurring in his guts, +His only son for Hornbook sets, +An' pays him well: +The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, +Was laird himsel'. + +"A 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. + +[Footnote 5: The grave-digger. - R.B.] + +"That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; +Thus goes he on from day to day, +Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, +An's weel paid for't; +Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, +Wi' his damn'd dirt: + +"But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, +Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't; +I'll nail the self-conceited sot, +As dead's a herrin; +Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, +He gets his fairin!" + +But just as he began to tell, +The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell +Some wee short hour ayont the twal', +Which rais'd us baith: +I took the way that pleas'd mysel', +And sae did Death. + +Epistle To J. Lapraik, An Old Scottish Bard + +April 1, 1785 + +While briers an' woodbines budding green, +An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, +An' morning poussie whiddin seen, +Inspire my muse, +This freedom, in an unknown frien', +I pray excuse. + +On Fasten-e'en 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. + +There was ae sang, amang the rest, +Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, +That some kind husband had addrest +To some sweet wife; +It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, +A' to the life. + +I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, +What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel; +Thought I "Can this be Pope, or Steele, +Or Beattie's wark?" +They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel +About Muirkirk. + +It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, +An' sae about him there I speir'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 douce or merry tale, +Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, +Or witty catches- +'Tween Inverness an' Teviotdale, +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' gill 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. + +I am nae poet, in a sense; +But just a rhymer like by chance, +An' hae to learning nae pretence; +Yet, what the matter? +Whene'er my muse does on me glance, +I jingle at her. + +Your critic-folk may cock their nose, +And say, "How can you e'er propose, +You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, +To mak a sang?" +But, by your leaves, my learned foes, +Ye're maybe wrang. + +What's a' your jargon o' your schools- +Your Latin names for horns an' stools? +If honest Nature made you fools, +What sairs your grammars? +Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, +Or knappin-hammers. + +A set o' dull, conceited hashes +Confuse their brains in college classes! +They gang in stirks, and come out asses, +Plain truth to speak; +An' syne they think to climb Parnassus +By dint o' Greek! + +Gie me ae spark o' nature's fire, +That's a' the learning I desire; +Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire +At pleugh or cart, +My muse, tho' hamely in attire, +May touch the heart. + +O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, +Or Fergusson's the bauld an' slee, +Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, +If I can hit it! +That would be lear eneugh for me, +If I could get it. + +Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, +Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few; +Yet, if your catalogue be fu', +I'se no insist: +But, gif ye want ae friend that's true, +I'm on your list. + +I winna blaw about mysel, +As ill I like my fauts to tell; +But friends, an' folk that wish me well, +They sometimes roose me; +Tho' I maun own, as mony still +As far abuse me. + +There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, +I like the lasses-Gude forgie me! +For mony 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' rhymin-ware +Wi' ane anither. + +The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, +An' kirsen him wi' reekin water; +Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, +To cheer our heart; +An' faith, we'se be acquainted better +Before we part. + +Awa ye selfish, war'ly race, +Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, +Ev'n love an' friendship should give place +To catch-the-plack! +I dinna like to see your face, +Nor hear your crack. + +But ye whom social pleasure charms +Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, +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 gristle, +Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, +Who am, most fervent, +While I can either sing or whistle, +Your friend and servant. + +Second Epistle To J. Lapraik + +April 21, 1785 + +While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake +An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, +This hour on e'enin's edge I take, +To own I'm debtor +To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, +For his kind letter. + +Forjesket sair, with weary legs, +Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, +Or dealing thro' amang the naigs +Their ten-hours' bite, +My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs +I would na write. + +The tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie, +She's saft at best an' something lazy: +Quo' she, "Ye ken we've been sae busy +This month an' mair, +That trowth, my head is grown right dizzie, +An' something sair." + +Her dowff excuses pat me mad; +"Conscience," says I, "ye thowless jade! +I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, +This vera night; +So dinna ye affront your trade, +But rhyme it right. + +"Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, +Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, +Roose you sae weel for your deserts, +In terms sae friendly; +Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts +An' thank him kindly?" + +Sae I gat paper in a blink, +An' down gaed stumpie in the ink: +Quoth I, "Before I sleep a wink, +I vow I'll close it; +An' if ye winna mak it clink, +By Jove, I'll prose it!" + +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 proof; +But I shall scribble down some blether +Just clean aff-loof. + +My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, +Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp; +Come, kittle up your moorland harp +Wi' gleesome touch! +Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and warp; +She's but a bitch. + +She 's gien me mony a jirt an' fleg, +Sin' I could striddle owre a rig; +But, by the Lord, 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'-twentieth simmer +I've seen the bud upon the timmer, +Still persecuted by the limmer +Frae year to year; +But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, +I, Rob, am here. + +Do ye envy the city gent, +Behint a kist to lie an' sklent; +Or pursue-proud, big wi' cent. per cent. +An' muckle wame, +In some bit brugh to represent +A bailie's name? + +Or is't the paughty, feudal thane, +Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane, +Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, +But lordly stalks; +While caps and bonnets aff are taen, +As by he walks? + +"O Thou wha gies us each guid gift! +Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, +Then turn me, if thou please, adrift, +Thro' Scotland wide; +Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, +In a' their pride!" + +Were this the charter of our state, +"On pain o' hell be rich an' great," +Damnation then would be our fate, +Beyond remead; +But, thanks to heaven, that's no the gate +We learn our creed. + +For thus the royal mandate ran, +When first the human race began; +"The social, friendly, honest man, +Whate'er he be- +'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, +And none but he." + +O mandate glorious and divine! +The ragged followers o' the Nine, +Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may shine +In glorious light, +While sordid sons o' Mammon's line +Are dark as night! + +Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, +Their worthless nievefu' of a soul +May in some future carcase howl, +The forest's fright; +Or in some day-detesting owl +May shun the light. + +Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, +To reach their native, kindred skies, +And sing their pleasures, hopes an' joys, +In some mild sphere; +Still closer knit in friendship's ties, +Each passing year! + +Epistle To William Simson + +Schoolmaster, Ochiltree. - May, 1785 + +I gat your letter, winsome Willie; +Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie; +Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, +And unco vain, +Should I believe, my coaxin billie +Your flatterin strain. + +But I'se believe ye kindly meant it: +I sud be laith to think ye hinted +Ironic satire, sidelins sklented +On my poor Musie; +Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, +I scarce excuse ye. + +My senses wad be in a creel, +Should I but dare a hope to speel +Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, +The braes o' fame; +Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, +A deathless name. + +(O Fergusson! thy glorious parts +Ill suited law's dry, musty arts! +My curse upon your whunstane hearts, +Ye E'nbrugh gentry! +The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes +Wad stow'd his pantry!) + +Yet when a tale comes i' my head, +Or lassies gie my heart a screed- +As whiles they're like to be my dead, +(O sad disease!) +I kittle up my rustic reed; +It gies me ease. + +Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, +She's gotten poets o' her ain; +Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, +But tune their lays, +Till echoes a' resound again +Her weel-sung praise. + +Nae poet thought her worth his while, +To set her name in measur'd style; +She lay like some unkenn'd-of-isle +Beside New Holland, +Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil +Besouth Magellan. + +Ramsay an' famous Fergusson +Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon; +Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, +Owre Scotland rings; +While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon +Naebody sings. + +Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, +Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line: +But Willie, set your fit to mine, +An' cock your crest; +We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine +Up wi' the best! + +We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, +Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, +Her banks an' braes, her dens and dells, +Whare 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 died! + +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! + +The muse, nae poet ever fand her, +Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, +Adown some trottin burn's meander, +An' no think lang: +O sweet to stray, an' pensive ponder +A heart-felt sang! + +The war'ly race may drudge an' drive, +Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' strive; +Let me fair Nature's face descrive, +And I, wi' pleasure, +Shall let the busy, grumbling hive +Bum owre their treasure. + +Fareweel, "my rhyme-composing" brither! +We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither: +Now let us lay our heads thegither, +In love fraternal: +May envy wallop in a tether, +Black fiend, infernal! + +While Highlandmen hate tools an' taxes; +While moorlan's herds like guid, fat braxies; +While terra firma, on her axis, +Diurnal turns; +Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, +In Robert Burns. + +Postcript + +My memory's no worth a preen; +I had amaist forgotten clean, +Ye bade 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, +Wore by degrees, till her last roon +Gaed past their viewin; +An' shortly after she was done +They gat a new ane. + +This passed for certain, undisputed; +It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, +Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, +An' ca'd it wrang; +An' muckle din there was about it, +Baith loud an' lang. + +Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, +Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk; +For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk +An' out of' sight, +An' backlins-comin to the leuk +She grew mair bright. + +This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; +The herds and hissels were alarm'd +The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, +That beardless laddies +Should think they better wer inform'd, +Than their auld daddies. + +Frae less to mair, it gaed to sticks; +Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks; +An monie a fallow gat his licks, +Wi' hearty crunt; +An' some, to learn them for their tricks, +Were hang'd an' brunt. + +This game was play'd in mony lands, +An' auld-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 ruin'd stick-an-stowe; +Till now, amaist on ev'ry knowe +Ye'll find ane plac'd; +An' some their new-light fair avow, +Just quite barefac'd. + +Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin; +Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin; +Mysel', I've even seen them greetin +Wi' girnin spite, +To hear the moon sae sadly lied on +By word an' write. + +But shortly they will cowe the louns! +Some auld-light herds in neebor touns +Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, +To tak a flight; +An' stay ae month amang the moons +An' see them right. + +Guid observation they will gie them; +An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, +The hindmaist shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them +Just i' their pouch; +An' when the new-light billies 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 tulyie, +I hope we bardies ken some better +Than mind sic brulyie. + +One Night As I Did Wander + +Tune - "John Anderson, my jo." + +One night as I did wander, +When corn begins to shoot, +I sat me down to ponder +Upon an auld tree root; +Auld Ayr ran by before me, +And bicker'd to the seas; +A cushat crooded o'er me, +That echoed through the braes +. . . . . . . + +Tho' Cruel Fate Should Bid Us Part + +Tune - "The Northern Lass." + +Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, +Far as the pole and line, +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. +. . . . . . . + +Song - Rantin', Rovin' Robin^1 + +[Footnote 1: Not published by Burns.] + +Tune - "Daintie Davie." + +There was a lad was born in Kyle, +But whatna day o' whatna style, +I doubt it's hardly worth the while +To be sae nice wi' Robin. + +Chor. - Robin was a rovin' boy, +Rantin', rovin', rantin', rovin', +Robin was a rovin' boy, +Rantin', rovin', Robin! + +Our monarch's hindmost year but ane +Was five-and-twenty days begun^2, +'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win' +Blew hansel in on Robin. +Robin was, &c. + +[Footnote 2: January 25, 1759, the date of my bardship's vital existence.-R. +B.] + +The gossip keekit in his loof, +Quo' scho, "Wha lives will see the proof, +This waly boy will be nae coof: +I think we'll ca' him Robin." +Robin was, &c. + +"He'll hae misfortunes great an' sma', +But aye a heart aboon them a', +He'll be a credit till us a'- +We'll a' be proud o' Robin." +Robin was, &c. + +"But sure as three times three mak nine, +I see by ilka score and line, +This chap will dearly like our kin', +So leeze me on thee! Robin." +Robin was, &c. + +"Guid faith," quo', scho, "I doubt you gar +The bonie lasses lie aspar; +But twenty fauts ye may hae waur +So blessins on thee! Robin." +Robin was, &c. + +Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux^1 + +Now Robin lies in his last lair, +He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; +Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, +Nae mair shall fear him; +Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, +E'er mair come near him. + +To tell the truth, they seldom fash'd him, +Except the moment that they crush'd him; +For sune as chance or fate had hush'd 'em +Tho' e'er sae short. +Then wi' a rhyme or sang he lash'd 'em, +And thought it sport. + +[Footnote 1: Ruisseaux is French for rivulets or "burns," a translation of his +name.] + +Tho'he was bred to kintra-wark, +And counted was baith wight and stark, +Yet that was never Robin's mark +To mak a man; +But tell him, he was learn'd and clark, +Ye roos'd him then! + +Epistle To John Goldie, In Kilmarnock + +Author Of The Gospel Recovered.-August, 1785 + +O Gowdie, terror o' the whigs, +Dread o' blackcoats and rev'rend wigs! +Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, +Girns an' looks back, +Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues +May seize you quick. + +Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition! +Wae's me, she's in a sad condition: +Fye: bring Black Jock,^1 her state physician, +To see her water; +Alas, there's ground for great suspicion +She'll ne'er get better. + +Enthusiasm's past redemption, +Gane in a gallopin' consumption: +Not a' her quacks, wi' a' their gumption, +Can ever mend her; +Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, +She'll soon surrender. + +Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, +For every hole to get a stapple; +But now she fetches at the thrapple, +An' fights for breath; +Haste, gie her name up in the chapel,^2 +Near unto death. + +It's you an' Taylor^3 are the chief +To blame for a' this black mischief; + +[Footnote 1: The Rev. J. Russell, Kilmarnock.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 2: Mr. Russell's Kirk.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 3: Dr. Taylor of Norwich.-R. B.] + +But, could the Lord's ain folk get leave, +A toom tar barrel +An' twa red peats wad bring relief, +And end the quarrel. + +For me, my skill's but very sma', +An' skill in prose I've nane ava'; +But quietlins-wise, between us twa, +Weel may you speed! +And tho' they sud your sair misca', +Ne'er fash your head. + +E'en swinge the dogs, and thresh them sicker! +The mair they squeel aye chap the thicker; +And still 'mang hands a hearty bicker +O' something stout; +It gars an owthor's pulse beat quicker, +And helps his wit. + +There's naething like the honest nappy; +Whare'll ye e'er see men sae happy, +Or women sonsie, saft an' sappy, +'Tween morn and morn, +As them wha like to taste the drappie, +In glass or horn? + +I've seen me dazed 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. + +The Holy Fair^1 + +A robe of seeming truth and trust +Hid crafty Observation; +And secret hung, with poison'd crust, +The dirk of Defamation: + +[Footnote 1: "Holy Fair" is a common phrase in the west of Scotland for a +sacramental occasion.-R. B.] + +A mask that 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 + +Upon a simmer Sunday morn +When Nature's face is fair, +I walked forth to view the corn, +An' snuff the caller air. +The rising sun owre Galston muirs +Wi' glorious light was glintin; +The hares were hirplin down the furrs, +The lav'rocks they were chantin +Fu' sweet that day. + +As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, +To see a scene sae gay, +Three hizzies, early at the road, +Cam skelpin up the way. +Twa had manteeles o" dolefu' black, +But ane wi' lyart lining; +The third, that gaed a wee a-back, +Was in the fashion shining +Fu' gay that day. + +The twa appear'd like sisters twin, +In feature, form, an' claes; +Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, +An' sour as only slaes: +The third cam up, hap-stap-an'-lowp, +As light as ony lambie, +An' wi'a curchie low did stoop, +As soon as e'er she saw me, +Fu' kind that day. + +Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass, +I think ye seem to ken me; +I'm sure I've seen that bonie face +But yet I canna name ye." +Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, +An' taks me by the han's, +"Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck +Of a' the ten comman's +A screed some day." + +"My name is Fun-your cronie dear, +The nearest friend ye hae; +An' this is Superstitution here, +An' that's Hypocrisy. +I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, +To spend an hour in daffin: +Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, +We will get famous laughin +At them this day." + +Quoth I, "Wi' 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 crowdie-time, +An' soon I made me ready; +For roads were clad, frae side to side, +Wi' mony a weary body +In droves that day. + +Here farmers gash, in ridin graith, +Gaed hoddin by their cotters; +There swankies young, in braw braid-claith, +Are springing owre the gutters. +The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, +In silks an' scarlets glitter; +Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang, +An' farls, bak'd wi' butter, +Fu' crump that day. + +When by the plate we set our nose, +Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, +A greedy glowr black-bonnet throws, +An' we maun draw our tippence. +Then in we go to see the show: +On ev'ry side they're gath'rin; +Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools, +An' some are busy bleth'rin +Right loud that day. + +Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, +An' screen our countra gentry; +There Racer Jess,^2 an' twa-three whores, +Are blinkin at the entry. +Here sits a raw o' tittlin jads, +Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck; +An' there a batch o' wabster lads, +Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, +For fun this day. + +Here, some are thinkin on their sins, +An' some upo' their claes; +Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, +Anither sighs an' prays: +On this hand sits a chosen swatch, +Wi' screwed-up, grace-proud faces; +On that a set o' chaps, at watch, +Thrang winkin on the lasses +To chairs that day. + +O happy is that man, an' blest! +Nae wonder that it pride him! +Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, +Comes clinkin down beside him! +Wi' arms repos'd on the chair back, +He sweetly does compose him; +Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, +An's loof upon her bosom, +Unkend that day. + +Now a' the congregation o'er +Is silent expectation; +For Moodie^3 speels the holy door, +Wi' tidings o' damnation: + +[Footnote 2: Racer Jess (d. 1813) was a half-witted daughter of Possie Nansie. +She was a great pedestrian.] + +[Footnote 3: Rev. Alexander Moodie of Riccarton.] + +Should Hornie, as in ancient days, +'Mang sons o' God present him, +The vera sight o' Moodie's face, +To 's ain het hame had sent him +Wi' fright that day. + +Hear how he clears the point o' faith +Wi' rattlin and wi' thumpin! +Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, +He's stampin, an' he's jumpin! +His lengthen'd chin, his turned-up snout, +His eldritch squeel an' gestures, +O how they fire the heart devout, +Like cantharidian plaisters +On sic a day! + +But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice, +There's peace an' rest nae langer; +For a' the real judges rise, +They canna sit for anger, +Smith^4 opens out his cauld harangues, +On practice and on morals; +An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, +To gie the jars an' barrels +A lift that day. + +What signifies his barren shine, +Of moral powers an' reason? +His English style, an' 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 poison'd nostrum; +For Peebles,^5 frae the water-fit, +Ascends the holy rostrum: + +[Footnote 4: Rev. George Smith of Galston.] + +[Footnote 5: Rev. Wm. Peebles of Newton-upon-Ayr.] + +See, up he's got, the word o' God, +An' meek an' mim has view'd it, +While Common-sense has taen the road, +An' aff, an' up the Cowgate^6 +Fast, fast that day. + +Wee Miller^7 neist the guard relieves, +An' Orthodoxy raibles, +Tho' in his heart he weel believes, +An' thinks it auld wives' fables: +But faith! the birkie wants a manse, +So, cannilie he hums them; +Altho' his carnal wit an' sense +Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him +At times that day. + +Now, butt an' ben, the change-house fills, +Wi' yill-caup commentators; +Here 's cryin out for bakes and gills, +An' there the pint-stowp clatters; +While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, +Wi' logic an' wi' scripture, +They raise a din, that in the end +Is like to breed a rupture +O' wrath that day. + +Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair +Than either school or college; +It kindles wit, it waukens lear, +It pangs us fou o' knowledge: +Be't whisky-gill or penny wheep, +Or ony stronger potion, +It never fails, or 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: + +[Footnote 6: A street so called which faces the tent in Mauchline.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 7: Rev. Alex. Miller, afterward of Kilmaurs.] + +On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, +They're makin observations; +While some are cozie i' the neuk, +An' forming assignations +To meet some day. + +But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, +Till a' the hills are rairin, +And echoes back return the shouts; +Black Russell is na sparin: +His piercin words, like Highlan' swords, +Divide the joints an' marrow; +His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell, +Our vera "sauls does harrow" +Wi' fright that day! + +A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, +Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane, +Whase raging flame, an' scorching heat, +Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! +The half-asleep start up wi' fear, +An' think they hear it roarin; +When presently it does appear, +'Twas but some neibor snorin +Asleep that day. + +'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, +How mony 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 guidwife, +An' sits down by the fire, +Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; +The lasses they are shyer: +The auld guidmen, about the grace +Frae side to side they bother; +Till some ane 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! +O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel' +How bonie lads ye wanted; +An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel +Let lasses be affronted +On sic a day! + +Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, +Begins to jow an' croon; +Some swagger hame the best they dow, +Some wait the afternoon. +At slaps the billies halt a blink, +Till lasses strip their shoon: +Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, +They're a' in famous tune +For crack that day. + +How mony hearts this day converts +O' sinners and o' lasses! +Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane +As saft as ony flesh is: +There's some are fou o' love divine; +There's some are fou o' brandy; +An' mony jobs that day begin, +May end in houghmagandie +Some ither day. + + +Third Epistle To J. Lapraik + +Guid speed and furder to you, Johnie, +Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonie; +Now, when ye're nickin down fu' cannie +The staff o' bread, +May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y +To clear your head. + +May Boreas never thresh your rigs, +Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, +Sendin the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs +Like drivin wrack; +But may the tapmost grain that wags +Come to the sack. + +I'm bizzie, too, an' skelpin at it, +But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it; +Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it +Wi' muckle wark, +An' took my jocteleg an whatt it, +Like ony clark. + +It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, +For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, +Abusin me for harsh ill-nature +On holy men, +While deil a hair yoursel' ye're better, +But mair profane. + +But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, +Let's sing about our noble sel's: +We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills +To help, or roose us; +But browster wives an' whisky stills, +They are the muses. + +Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, +An' if ye mak' objections at it, +Then hand in neive some day we'll knot it, +An' witness take, +An' when wi' usquabae we've wat it +It winna break. + +But if the beast an' branks be spar'd +Till kye be gaun without the herd, +And a' the vittel in the yard, +An' theekit right, +I mean your ingle-side to guard +Ae winter night. + +Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae +Shall make us baith sae blythe and witty, +Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty, +An' be as canty +As ye were nine years less than thretty- +Sweet ane an' twenty! + +But stooks are cowpit wi' the blast, +And now the sinn keeks in the west, +Then I maun rin amang the rest, +An' quat my chanter; +Sae I subscribe myself' in haste, +Yours, Rab the Ranter. + +Sept. 13, 1785. + +Epistle To The Rev. John M'math + +Inclosing A Copy Of "Holy Willie's Prayer," Which He Had Requested, Sept. 17, +1785 + +While at the stook the shearers cow'r +To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, +Or in gulravage rinnin scowr +To pass the time, +To you I dedicate the hour +In idle rhyme. + +My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet +On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, +Is grown right eerie now she's done it, +Lest they should blame her, +An' rouse their holy thunder on it +An anathem her. + +I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, +That I, a simple, country bardie, +Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, +Wha, if they ken me, +Can easy, wi' a single wordie, +Lowse hell upon me. + +But I gae mad at their grimaces, +Their sighin, cantin, grace-proud faces, +Their three-mile prayers, an' half-mile graces, +Their raxin conscience, +Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces +Waur nor their nonsense. + +There's Gaw'n, misca'd waur than a beast, +Wha has mair honour in his breast +Than mony scores as guid's the priest +Wha sae abus'd him: +And may a bard no crack his jest +What way they've us'd him? + +See him, the poor man's friend in need, +The gentleman in word an' deed- +An' shall his fame an' honour bleed +By worthless, skellums, +An' not a muse erect her head +To cowe the blellums? + +O Pope, had I thy satire's darts +To gie the rascals their deserts, +I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, +An' tell aloud +Their jugglin hocus-pocus arts +To cheat the crowd. + +God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, +Nor am I even the thing I could be, +But twenty times I rather would be +An atheist clean, +Than under gospel colours hid be +Just for a screen. + +An honest man may like a glass, +An honest man may like a lass, +But mean revenge, an' malice fause +He'll still disdain, +An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, +Like some we ken. + +They take religion in their mouth; +They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, +For what?-to gie their malice skouth +On some puir wight, +An' hunt him down, owre right and ruth, +To ruin straight. + +All hail, Religion! maid divine! +Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, +Who in her rough imperfect line +Thus daurs to name thee; +To stigmatise false friends of thine +Can ne'er defame thee. + +Tho' blotch't and foul wi' mony a stain, +An' far unworthy of thy train, +With trembling voice I tune my strain, +To join with those +Who boldly dare thy cause maintain +In spite of foes: + +In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, +In spite o' undermining jobs, +In spite o' dark banditti stabs +At worth an' merit, +By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, +But hellish spirit. + +O Ayr! my dear, my native ground, +Within thy presbyterial bound +A candid liberal band is found +Of public teachers, +As men, as Christians too, renown'd, +An' manly preachers. + +Sir, in that circle you are nam'd; +Sir, in that circle you are fam'd; +An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd +(Which gies you honour) +Even, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, +An' winning manner. + +Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, +An' if impertinent I've been, +Impute it not, good Sir, in ane +Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, +But to his utmost would befriend +Ought that belang'd ye. + +Second Epistle to Davie + +A Brother Poet + +Auld Neibour, +I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, +For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter; +Tho' I maun say't I doubt ye flatter, +Ye speak sae fair; +For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter +Some less maun sair. + +Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle, +Lang may your elbuck jink diddle, +To cheer you thro' the weary widdle +O' war'ly cares; +Till barins' barins kindly cuddle +Your auld grey hairs. + +But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; +I'm tauld the muse ye hae negleckit; +An, gif it's sae, ye sud by lickit +Until ye fyke; +Sic haun's as you sud ne'er be faikit, +Be hain't wha like. + +For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, +Rivin the words to gar them clink; +Whiles dazed wi' love, whiles dazed wi' drink, +Wi' jads or masons; +An' whiles, but aye owre late, I think +Braw sober lessons. + +Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, +Commen' to me the bardie clan; +Except it be some idle plan +O' rhymin clink, +The devil haet,-that I sud ban- +They ever think. + +Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin, +Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin, +But just the pouchie put the neive in, +An' while ought's there, +Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', +An' fash nae mair. + +Leeze me on rhyme! it's aye a treasure, +My chief, amaist my only pleasure; +At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure, +The Muse, poor hizzie! +Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, +She's seldom lazy. + +Haud to the Muse, my daintie Davie: +The warl' may play you mony a shavie; +But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, +Tho' e'er sae puir, +Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie +Frae door tae door. + +Song-Young Peggy Blooms + +Tune-"Loch Eroch-side." + +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'ning flower. + +Her lips, more than the cherries bright, +A richer dye has graced them; +They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, +And sweetly tempt to taste them; +Her smile is as the evening mild, +When feather'd pairs are courting, +And little lambkins wanton wild, +In playful bands disporting. + +Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, +Such sweetness would relent her; +As blooming 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 Honour, Love, and Truth, +From ev'ry ill defend her! +Inspire the highly-favour'd youth +The destinies intend her: +Still fan the sweet connubial flame +Responsive in each bosom; +And bless the dear parental name +With many a filial blossom. + +Song-Farewell To Ballochmyle + +Tune-"Miss Forbe's farewell to Banff." + +The Catrine woods were yellow seen, +The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, +Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, +But nature sicken'd on the e'e. +Thro' faded groves Maria sang, +Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while; +And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang, +Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle! + +Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, +Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; +Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, +Again ye'll charm the vocal air. +But here, alas! for me nae mair +Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; +Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr, +Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle! + +Fragment-Her Flowing Locks + +Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, +Adown her neck and bosom hing; +How sweet unto that breast to cling, +And round that neck entwine her! + +Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, +O' what a feast her bonie mou'! +Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, +A crimson still diviner! + +Halloween^1 + +[Footnote 1: Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other +mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands; +particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold +a grand anniversary,.-R.B.] + + The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but +for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of +the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of +the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the +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 honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the +more unenlightened in our own.-R.B. + +Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, +The simple pleasure of the lowly train; +To me more dear, congenial to my heart, +One native charm, than all the gloss of art.-Goldsmith. + +Upon that night, when fairies light +On Cassilis Downans^2 dance, +Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, +On sprightly coursers prance; +Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, +Beneath the moon's pale beams; +There, up the Cove,^3 to stray an' rove, +Amang the rocks and streams +To sport that night; + +[Footnote 2: Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the +neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 3: 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 +favorite haunt of fairies.-R.B.] + +Amang the bonie winding banks, +Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear; +Where Bruce^4 ance rul'd the martial ranks, +An' shook his Carrick spear; +Some merry, friendly, countra-folks +Together did convene, +To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, +An' haud their Halloween +Fu' blythe that night. + +[Footnote 4: The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the +great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.-R.B.] + +The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, +Mair braw than when they're fine; +Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, +Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': +The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs +Weel-knotted on their garten; +Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs +Gar lasses' hearts gang startin +Whiles fast at night. + +Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail, +Their stocks^5 maun a' be sought ance; + +[Footnote 5: The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a "stock," or +plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the +first they meet with: its being big or 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 "yird," or earth, stick to the root, that is "tocher," +or fortune; and the taste of the "custock," that is, the heart of the stem, is +indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to +give them their ordinary appellation, the "runts," are placed somewhere above +the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings +into the house are, according to the priority of placing the "runts," the +names in question.-R. B.] + +They steek their een, and grape an' wale +For muckle anes, an' straught anes. +Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, +An' wandered thro' the bow-kail, +An' pou't for want o' better shift +A runt was like a sow-tail +Sae bow't that night. + +Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, +They roar an' cry a' throu'ther; +The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin, +Wi' stocks out owre their 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 lie that night. + +The lassies staw frae 'mang them a', +To pou their stalks o' corn;^6 +But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, +Behint the muckle thorn: +He grippit Nelly hard and fast: +Loud skirl'd a' the lasses; +But her tap-pickle maist was lost, +Whan kiutlin in the fause-house^7 +Wi' him that night. + +[Footnote 6: They go to the barnyard, and pull each, at three different times, +a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the "top-pickle," that is, the grain +at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed +anything but a maid.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 7: When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet, +the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a large apartment in +his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: +this he calls a "fause-house."-R.B.] + +The auld guid-wife's weel-hoordit nits^8 +Are round an' round dividend, +An' mony lads an' lasses' fates +Are there that night decided: +Some kindle couthie side by side, +And burn thegither trimly; +Some start awa wi' saucy pride, +An' jump out owre the chimlie +Fu' high that night. + +[Footnote 8: Burning the nuts is a favorite charm. They name the lad and lass +to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they +burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue +of the courtship will be.-R.B.] + +Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; +Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; +But this is Jock, an' this is me, +She says in to hersel': +He bleez'd owre her, 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. + +Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, +Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; +An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, +To be compar'd to Willie: +Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, +An' her ain fit, it brunt it; +While Willie lap, and swore by jing, +'Twas just the way he wanted +To be that night. + +Nell had the fause-house in her min', +She pits hersel an' Rob in; +In loving bleeze they sweetly join, +Till white in ase they're sobbin: +Nell's heart was dancin at the view; +She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: +Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou', +Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, +Unseen that night. + +But Merran sat behint their backs, +Her thoughts on Andrew Bell: +She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, +An' slips out-by hersel'; +She thro' the yard the nearest taks, +An' for the kiln she goes then, +An' darklins grapit for the bauks, +And in the blue-clue^9 throws then, +Right fear't that night. + +[Footnote 9: Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly +observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling, +throw into the "pot" a clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old +one; and, toward the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, "Wha +hauds?" i.e., who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by +naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.-R.B.] + +An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat- +I wat she made nae jaukin; +Till something held within the pat, +Good Lord! but she was quaukin! +But whether 'twas the deil himsel, +Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', +Or whether it was Andrew Bell, +She did na wait on talkin +To spier that night. + +Wee Jenny to her graunie says, +"Will ye go wi' me, graunie? +I'll eat the apple at the glass,^10 +I gat frae uncle Johnie:" +She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, +In wrath she was sae vap'rin, +She notic't na an aizle brunt +Her braw, new, worset apron +Out thro' that night. + +[Footnote 10: Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple +before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time; the +face of your conjungal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if +peeping over your shoulder.-R.B.] + +"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face! +I daur you try sic sportin, +As seek the foul thief ony place, +For him to spae your fortune: +Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! +Great cause ye hae to fear it; +For mony a ane has gotten a fright, +An' liv'd an' died deleerit, +On sic a night. + +"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, +I mind't as weel's yestreen- +I was a gilpey then, I'm sure +I was na past fyfteen: +The simmer had been cauld an' wat, +An' stuff was unco green; +An' eye a rantin kirn we gat, +An' just on Halloween +It fell that night. + +"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, +A clever, sturdy fallow; +His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, +That lived in Achmacalla: +He gat hemp-seed,^11 I mind it weel, +An'he made unco light o't; +But mony a day was by himsel', +He was sae sairly frighted +That vera night." + +[Footnote 11: Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, +harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and +then: "Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee; and him (or her) that is +to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, +and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of +pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me and shaw thee," that is, +show thyself; in which case, it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and +say: "Come after me and harrow thee."-R.B.] + +Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, +An' he swoor by his conscience, +That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; +For it was a' but nonsense: +The auld guidman raught down the pock, +An' out a handfu' gied him; +Syne bad him slip frae' mang the folk, +Sometime when nae ane see'd him, +An' try't that night. + +He marches thro' amang the stacks, +Tho' he was something sturtin; +The graip he for a harrow taks, +An' haurls at his curpin: +And ev'ry now an' then, he says, +"Hemp-seed I saw thee, +An' her that is to be my lass +Come after me, an' draw thee +As fast this night." + +He wistl'd up Lord Lennox' March +To keep his courage cherry; +Altho' his hair began to arch, +He was sae fley'd an' eerie: +Till presently he hears a squeak, +An' then a grane an' gruntle; +He by his shouther gae a keek, +An' tumbled wi' a wintle +Out-owre that night. + +He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, +In dreadfu' desperation! +An' young an' auld come rinnin out, +An' hear the sad narration: +He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, +Or crouchie Merran Humphie- +Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; +And wha was it but grumphie +Asteer that night! + +Meg fain wad to the barn gaen, +To winn three wechts o' naething;^12 +But for to meet the deil her lane, +She pat but little faith in: + +[Footnote 12: This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You +go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; +for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do +you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which +in our country dialect we call a "wecht," and go through all the attitudes of +letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third time +an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the +other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, +marking the employment or station in life.-R.B.] + +She gies the herd a pickle nits, +An' twa red cheekit apples, +To watch, while for the barn she sets, +In hopes to see Tam Kipples +That vera night. + +She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, +An'owre the threshold ventures; +But first on Sawnie gies a ca', +Syne baudly in she enters: +A ratton rattl'd up the wa', +An' she cry'd Lord preserve her! +An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', +An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, +Fu' fast that night. + +They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; +They hecht him some fine braw ane; +It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice^13 +Was timmer-propt for thrawin: +He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak +For some black, grousome carlin; +An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, +Till skin in blypes cam haurlin +Aff's nieves that night. + +[Footnote 13: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a "bear-stack," and +fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch +in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.-R.B.] + +A wanton widow Leezie was, +As cantie as a kittlen; +But och! that night, amang the shaws, +She gat a fearfu' settlin! +She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, +An' owre the hill gaed scrievin; +Whare three lairds' lan's met at a burn,^14 +To dip her left sark-sleeve in, +Was bent that night. + +[Footnote 14: You go out, one or more (for this is a social spell), to a south +running spring, or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your +left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve +before it to dry. Lie awake, and, some time near midnight, an apparition, +having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn +the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.-R.B.] + +Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays, +As thro' the glen it wimpl't; +Whiles round a rocky scar it strays, +Whiles in a wiel it dimpl't; +Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays, +Wi' bickerin', dancin' dazzle; +Whiles cookit undeneath the braes, +Below the spreading hazel +Unseen that night. + +Amang the brachens, on the brae, +Between her an' the moon, +The deil, or else an outler quey, +Gat up an' ga'e a croon: +Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; +Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, +But mist a fit, an' in the pool +Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, +Wi' a plunge that night. + +In order, on the clean hearth-stane, +The luggies^15 three are ranged; +An' ev'ry time great care is ta'en +To see them duly changed: +Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys +Sin' Mar's-year did desire, +Because he gat the toom dish thrice, +He heav'd them on the fire +In wrath that night. + +[Footnote 15: Take three dishes, put clean water in one, foul water in +another, and leave the third empty; blindfold a person and lead him to the +hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand; if by +chance in the clean water, the future (husband or) wife will come to the bar +of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it +foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three +times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.-R.B.] + +Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, +I wat they did na weary; +And unco tales, an' funnie jokes- +Their sports were cheap an' cheery: +Till butter'd sowens,^16 wi' fragrant lunt, + +[Footnote 16: Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the +Halloween Supper.-R.B.] + +Set a' their gabs a-steerin; +Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, +They parted aff careerin +Fu' blythe that night. + +To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough, November, 1785 + +Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, +O, what a panic's in thy breastie! +Thou need na start awa sae hasty, +Wi' bickering brattle! +I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, +Wi' murd'ring pattle! + +I'm truly sorry man's dominion, +Has broken nature's social union, +An' justifies that ill opinion, +Which makes thee startle +At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, +An' fellow-mortal! + +I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; +What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! +A daimen icker in a thrave +'S a sma' request; +I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, +An' never miss't! + +Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! +It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! +An' naething, now, to big a new ane, +O' foggage green! +An' bleak December's winds ensuin, +Baith snell an' keen! + +Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, +An' weary winter comin fast, +An' cozie here, beneath the blast, +Thou thought to dwell- +Till crash! the cruel coulter past +Out thro' thy cell. + +That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, +Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! +Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, +But house or hald, +To thole the winter's sleety dribble, +An' cranreuch cauld! + +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! I backward cast my e'e. +On prospects drear! +An' forward, tho' I canna see, +I guess an' fear! + +Epitaph On John Dove, Innkeeper + +Here lies Johnie Pigeon; +What was his religion? +Whae'er desires to ken, +To some other warl' +Maun follow the carl, +For here Johnie Pigeon had nane! + +Strong ale was ablution, +Small beer persecution, +A dram was memento mori; +But a full-flowing bowl +Was the saving his soul, +And port was celestial glory. + +Epitaph For James Smith + +Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', +He aften did assist ye; +For had ye staid hale weeks awa, +Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. + +Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press +To school in bands thegither, +O tread ye lightly on his grass, - +Perhaps he was your father! + +Adam Armour's Prayer + +Gude pity me, because I'm little! +For though I am an elf o' mettle, +An' can, like ony wabster's shuttle, +Jink there or here, +Yet, scarce as lang's a gude kail-whittle, +I'm unco queer. + +An' now Thou kens our waefu' case; +For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace, +Because we stang'd her through the place, +An' hurt her spleuchan; +For whilk we daurna show our face +Within the clachan. + +An' now we're dern'd in dens and hollows, +And hunted, as was William Wallace, +Wi' constables-thae blackguard fallows, +An' sodgers baith; +But Gude preserve us frae the gallows, +That shamefu' death! + +Auld grim black-bearded Geordie's sel'- +O shake him owre the mouth o' hell! +There let him hing, an' roar, an' yell +Wi' hideous din, +And if he offers to rebel, +Then heave him in. + +When Death comes in wi' glimmerin blink, +An' tips auld drucken Nanse the wink, +May Sautan gie her doup a clink +Within his yett, +An' fill her up wi' brimstone drink, +Red-reekin het. + +Though Jock an' hav'rel Jean are merry- +Some devil seize them in a hurry, +An' waft them in th' infernal wherry +Straught through the lake, +An' gie their hides a noble curry +Wi' oil of aik! + +As for the jurr-puir worthless body! +She's got mischief enough already; +Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy +She's suffer'd sair; +But, may she wintle in a woody, +If she wh-e mair! + +The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata^1 + +[Footnote 1: Not published by Burns.] + +Recitativo + +When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, +Or wavering like the bauckie-bird, +Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; +When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, +And infant frosts begin to bite, +In hoary cranreuch drest; +Ae night at e'en a merry core +O' randie, gangrel bodies, +In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, +To drink their orra duddies; +Wi' quaffing an' laughing, +They ranted an' they sang, +Wi' jumping an' thumping, +The vera girdle rang, + +First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, +Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, + +And knapsack a' in order; +His doxy lay within his arm; +Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm +She blinkit on her sodger; +An' aye he gies the tozie drab +The tither skelpin' kiss, +While she held up her greedy gab, +Just like an aumous dish; +Ilk smack still, did crack still, +Just like a cadger's whip; +Then staggering an' swaggering +He roar'd this ditty up- + +Air + +Tune-"Soldier's Joy." + +I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, +And show my cuts and scars wherever I come; +This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, +When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. +Lal de daudle, &c. + +My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, +When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram: +and I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, +And the Morro low was laid at the sound of the drum. + +I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries, +And there I left for witness an arm and a limb; +Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, +I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. + +And now tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, +And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, +I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, +As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum. + +What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks, +Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, +When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, +I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of a drum. + +Recitativo + +He ended; and the kebars sheuk, +Aboon the chorus roar; +While frighted rattons backward leuk, +An' seek the benmost bore: +A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, +He skirl'd out, encore! +But up arose the martial chuck, +An' laid the loud uproar. + +Air + +Tune-"Sodger Laddie." +I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, +And still my delight is in proper young men; +Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, +No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie, +Sing, lal de lal, &c. + +The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, +To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; +His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, +Transported I was with my sodger laddie. + +But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch; +The sword I forsook for the sake of the church: +He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body, +'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. + +Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, +The regiment at large for a husband I got; +From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, +I asked no more but a sodger laddie. + +But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, +Till I met old boy in a Cunningham fair, +His rags regimental, they flutter'd so gaudy, +My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie. + +And now I have liv'd-I know not how long, +And still I can join in a cup and a song; +But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, +Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. + +Recitativo + +Poor Merry-Andrew, in the neuk, +Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler-hizzie; +They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, +Between themselves they were sae busy: +At length, wi' drink an' courting dizzy, +He stoiter'd up an' made a face; +Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzie, +Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. + +Air + +Tune-"Auld Sir Symon." + +Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou; +Sir Knave is a fool in a session; +He's there but a 'prentice I trow, +But I am a fool by profession. + +My grannie she bought me a beuk, +An' I held awa to the school; +I fear I my talent misteuk, +But what will ye hae of a fool? + +For drink I would venture my neck; +A hizzie's the half of my craft; +But what could ye other expect +Of ane that's avowedly daft? + +I ance was tied up like a stirk, +For civilly swearing and quaffin; +I ance was abus'd i' the kirk, +For towsing a lass i' my daffin. + +Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, +Let naebody name wi' a jeer; +There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court +A tumbler ca'd the Premier. + +Observ'd ye yon reverend lad +Mak faces to tickle the mob; +He rails at our mountebank squad, - +It's rivalship just i' the job. + +And now my conclusion I'll tell, +For faith I'm confoundedly dry; +The chiel that's a fool for himsel', +Guid Lord! he's far dafter than I. + +Recitativo + +Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, +Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin; +For mony a pursie she had hooked, +An' had in mony a well been douked; +Her love had been a Highland laddie, +But weary fa' the waefu' woodie! +Wi' sighs an' sobs she thus began +To wail her braw John Highlandman. + +Air + +Tune-"O, an ye were dead, Guidman." + +A Highland lad my love was born, +The Lalland laws he held in scorn; +But he still was faithfu' to his clan, +My gallant, braw John Highlandman. + +Chorus + +Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! +Sing ho my braw John Highlandman! +There's not a lad in a' the lan' +Was match for my John Highlandman. + +With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, +An' guid claymore down by his side, +The ladies' hearts he did trepan, +My gallant, braw John Highlandman. +Sing hey, &c. + +We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, +An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay; +For a Lalland face he feared none, - +My gallant, braw John Highlandman. +Sing hey, &c. + +They banish'd him beyond the sea. +But ere the bud was on the tree, +Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, +Embracing my John Highlandman. +Sing hey, &c. + +But, och! they catch'd him at the last, +And bound him in a dungeon fast: +My curse upon them every one, +They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman! +Sing hey, &c. + +And now a widow, I must mourn +The pleasures that will ne'er return: +The comfort but a hearty can, +When I think on John Highlandman. +Sing hey, &c. + +Recitativo + +A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, +Wha us'd at trystes an' fairs to driddle. +Her strappin limb and gausy middle +(He reach'd nae higher) +Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, +An' blawn't on fire. + +Wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e, +He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, +Then in an arioso key, +The wee Apoll +Set off wi' allegretto glee +His giga solo. + +Air + +Tune-"Whistle owre the lave o't." + +Let me ryke up to dight that tear, +An' go wi' me an' be my dear; +An' then your every care an' fear +May whistle owre the lave o't. + +Chorus + +I am a fiddler to my trade, +An' a' the tunes that e'er I played, +The sweetest still to wife or maid, +Was whistle owre the lave o't. + +At kirns an' weddins we'se be there, +An' O sae nicely's we will fare! +We'll bowse about till Daddie Care +Sing whistle owre the lave o't. +I am, &c. + +Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke, +An' sun oursel's about the dyke; +An' at our leisure, when ye like, +We'll whistle owre the lave o't. +I am, &c. + +But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, +An' while I kittle hair on thairms, +Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms, +May whistle owre the lave o't. +I am, &c. + +Recitativo + +Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, +As weel as poor gut-scraper; +He taks the fiddler by the beard, +An' draws a roosty rapier- +He swoor, by a' was swearing worth, +To speet him like a pliver, +Unless he would from that time forth +Relinquish her for ever. + +Wi' ghastly e'e poor tweedle-dee +Upon his hunkers bended, +An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, +An' so the quarrel ended. +But tho' his little heart did grieve +When round the tinkler prest her, +He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, +When thus the caird address'd her: + +Air + +Tune-"Clout the Cauldron." + +My bonie lass, I work in brass, +A tinkler is my station: +I've travell'd round all Christian ground +In this my occupation; +I've taen the gold, an' been enrolled +In many a noble squadron; +But vain they search'd when off I march'd +To go an' clout the cauldron. +I've taen the gold, &c. + +Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, +With a' his noise an' cap'rin; +An' take a share with those that bear +The budget and the apron! +And by that stowp! my faith an' houp, +And by that dear Kilbaigie,^1 +If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, +May I ne'er weet my craigie. +And by that stowp, &c. + +[Footnote 1: A peculiar sort of whisky so called, a great favorite with Poosie +Nansie's clubs.-R. B.] + +Recitativo + +The caird prevail'd-th' unblushing fair +In his embraces sunk; +Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, +An' partly she was drunk: +Sir Violino, with an air +That show'd a man o' spunk, +Wish'd unison between the pair, +An' made the bottle clunk +To their health that night. + +But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, +That play'd a dame a shavie- +The fiddler rak'd her, fore and aft, +Behint the chicken cavie. +Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft,^2 +Tho' limpin wi' the spavie, +He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft, +An' shor'd them Dainty Davie. +O' boot that night. + +He was a care-defying blade +As ever Bacchus listed! +Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, +His heart, she ever miss'd it. +He had no wish but-to be glad, +Nor want but-when he thirsted; +He hated nought but-to be sad, +An' thus the muse suggested +His sang that night. + +Air + +Tune-"For a' that, an' a' that." + +I am a Bard of no regard, +Wi' gentle folks an' a' that; +But Homer-like, the glowrin byke, +Frae town to town I draw that. + +Chorus + +For a' that, an' a' that, +An' twice as muckle's a' that; +I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', +I've wife eneugh for a' that. + +[Footnote 2: Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad-singer on record.-R. +B.] + +I never drank the Muses' stank, +Castalia's burn, an' a' that; +But there it streams an' richly reams, +My Helicon I ca' that. +For a' that, &c. + +Great love Idbear to a' the fair, +Their humble slave an' a' that; +But lordly will, I hold it still +A mortal sin to thraw that. +For a' that, &c. + +In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, +Wi' mutual love an' a' that; +But for how lang the flie may stang, +Let inclination law that. +For a' that, &c. + +Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft, +They've taen me in, an' a' that; +But clear your decks, and here's-"The Sex!" +I like the jads for a' that. + +Chorus + +For a' that, an' a' that, +An' twice as muckle's a' that; +My dearest bluid, to do them guid, +They're welcome till't for a' that. + +Recitativo + +So sang the bard - and Nansie's wa's +Shook with a thunder of applause, +Re-echo'd from each mouth! +They toom'd their pocks, they pawn'd their duds, +They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, +To quench their lowin drouth: +Then owre again, the jovial thrang +The poet did request +To lowse his pack an' wale a sang, +A ballad o' the best; +He rising, rejoicing, +Between his twa Deborahs, +Looks round him, an' found them +Impatient for the chorus. + +Air + +tune-"Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses." + +See the smoking bowl before us, +Mark our jovial ragged ring! +Round and round take up the chorus, +And in raptures let us sing- + +Chorus + +A fig for those by law protected! +Liberty's a glorious feast! +Courts for cowards were erected, +Churches built to please the priest. + +What is title, what is treasure, +What is reputation's care? +If we lead a life of pleasure, +'Tis no matter how or where! +A fig for, &c. + +With the ready trick and fable, +Round we wander all the day; +And at night in barn or stable, +Hug our doxies on the hay. +A fig for, &c. + +Does the train-attended carriage +Thro' the country lighter rove? +Does the sober bed of marriage +Witness brighter scenes of love? +A fig for, &c. + +Life is al a variorum, +We regard not how it goes; +Let them cant about decorum, +Who have character to lose. +A fig for, &c. + +Here's to budgets, bags and wallets! +Here's to all the wandering train. +Here's our ragged brats and callets, +One and all cry out, Amen! + +Chorus + +A fig for those by law protected! +Liberty's a glorious feast! +Courts for cowards were erected, +Churches built to please the priest. + + +song-For A' That^1 + +tune-"For a' that." + +Tho' women's minds, like winter winds, +May shift, and turn, an' a' that, +The noblest breast adores them maist- +A consequence I draw that. + +Chorus + +For a' that, an' a' that, +And twice as meikle's a' that; +The bonie lass that I loe best +She'll be my ain for a' that. + +Great love I bear to a' the fair, +Their humble slave, an' a' that; +But lordly will, I hold it still +A mortal sin to thraw that. +For a' that, &c. + +But there is ane aboon the lave, +Has wit, and sense, an' a' that; +A bonie lass, I like her best, +And wha a crime dare ca' that? +For a' that, &c. + +In rapture sweet this hour we meet, +Wi' mutual love an' a' that, + +[Footnote 1: A later version of "I am a bard of no regard" in "The Jolly +Beggars."] + +But for how lang the flie may stang, +Let inclination law that. +For a' that, &c. + +Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft. +They've taen me in, an' a' that; +But clear your decks, and here's-"The Sex!" +I like the jads for a' that. +For a' that, &c. + +Song-Merry Hae I Been Teethin A Heckle + +tune-"The bob O' Dumblane." + +O Merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, +An' merry hae I been shapin' a spoon; +O merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle, +An' kissin' my Katie when a' was done. +O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, +An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing; +O a' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, +An' a' the lang night as happy's a king. + +Bitter in idol I lickit my winnins +O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: +Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens, +And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave! +Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie; +O come to my arms and kiss me again! +Drucken or sober, here's to thee, Katie! +An' blest be the day I did it again. + +The Cotter's Saturday Night + +Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq., of Ayr. + +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. + +My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! +No mercenary bard his homage pays; +With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, +My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: +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 Aiken in a cottage would have been; +Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween! + +November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; +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 labour goes, - +This night his weekly moil is at an end, +Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, +Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, +And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. + +At length his lonely cot appears in view, +Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; +Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through +To meet their dead, wi' flichterin noise and glee. +His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie, +His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, +The lisping infant, prattling on his knee, +Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, +And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. + +Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, +At service out, amang the farmers roun'; +Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin +A cannie errand to a neibor town: +Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown, +In youthfu' bloom-love sparkling in her e'e- +Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, +Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, +To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. + +With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, +And each for other's weelfare kindly speirs: +The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet: +Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. +The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; +Anticipation forward points the view; +The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, +Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; +The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. + +Their master's and their mistress' command, +The younkers a' are warned to obey; +And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, +And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; +"And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, +And mind your duty, duly, morn and night; +Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, +Implore His counsel and assisting might: +They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright." + +But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; +Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, +Tells how a neibor 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 Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; +Weel-pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. + +Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; +A strappin youth, he takes the mother's eye; +Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; +The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. +The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, +But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; +The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy +What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave, +Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. + +O happy love! where love like this is found: +O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! +I've paced much this weary, mortal round, +And sage experience bids me this declare, - +"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare- +One cordial in this melancholy vale, +'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair +In other'sarms, breathe out the tender tale, +Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." + +Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, +A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth! +That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, +Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? +Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! +Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? +Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, +Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? +Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? + +But now the supper crowns their simple board, +The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food; +The sowp their only 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 wifie, garrulous, will tell +How t'was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. + +The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, +They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; +The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, +The big ha'bible, ance his father's pride: +His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, +His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare; +Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, +He wales a portion with judicious care; +And "Let us 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 Elgin 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. + +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 royal bard did groaning lie +Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; +Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; +Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; +Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. + +Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, +How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; +How 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 he, who lone in Patmos banished, +Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, +And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command. + +Then, kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, +The saint, the father, and the husband prays: +Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,"^1 +That thus 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 circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere + +Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, +In all the pomp of method, and of art; +When men display to congregations wide + +[Footnote 1: Pope's "Windsor Forest."-R.B.] + +Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! +The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, +The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; +But haply, in some cottage far apart, +May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul; +And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. + +Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; +The youngling cottagers retire to rest: +The parent-pair their secret homage pay, +And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, +That he who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, +And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, +Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, +For them and for their little ones provide; +But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. + +From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, +That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: +Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, +"An honest man's the noblest work of God;" +And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, +The cottage leaves the palace far behind; +What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, +Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, +Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'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 O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent +From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! +Then howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, +A virtuous populace may rise the 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' Wallace's undaunted heart, +Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, +Or nobly die, the second glorious part: +(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, +His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) +O never, never Scotia's realm desert; +But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard +In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! + +Address To The Deil + +O Prince! O chief of many throned Pow'rs +That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war- +Milton. + +O Thou! whatever title suit thee- +Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, +Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, +Clos'd under hatches, +Spairges about the brunstane cootie, +To scaud poor wretches! + +Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, +An' let poor damned bodies be; +I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, +Ev'n to a deil, +To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, +An' hear us squeel! + +Great is thy pow'r an' great thy fame; +Far ken'd an' noted is thy name; +An' tho' yon lowin' heuch's thy hame, +Thou travels far; +An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, +Nor blate, nor scaur. + +Whiles, ranging like a roarin lion, +For prey, a' holes and corners tryin; +Whiles, on the strong-wind'd tempest flyin, +Tirlin the kirks; +Whiles, in the human bosom pryin, +Unseen thou lurks. + +I've heard my rev'rend graunie say, +In lanely glens ye like to stray; +Or where auld ruin'd castles grey +Nod to the moon, +Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, +Wi' eldritch croon. + +When twilight did my graunie summon, +To say her pray'rs, douse, honest woman! +Aft'yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, +Wi' eerie drone; +Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, +Wi' heavy groan. + +Ae dreary, windy, winter night, +The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, +Wi' you, mysel' I gat a fright, +Ayont the lough; +Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, +Wi' wavin' sough. + +The cudgel in my nieve did shake, +Each brist'ld hair stood like a stake, +When wi' an eldritch, stoor "quaick, quaick," +Amang the springs, +Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, +On whistlin' wings. + +Let warlocks 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 howkit dead. + +Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain, +May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; +For oh! the yellow treasure's ta'en +By witchin' skill; +An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gane +As yell's the bill. + +Thence mystic knots mak great abuse +On young guidmen, fond, keen an' crouse, +When the best wark-lume i' the house, +By cantrip wit, +Is instant made no worth a louse, +Just at the bit. + +When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, +An' float the jinglin' icy boord, +Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, +By your direction, +And 'nighted trav'llers are allur'd +To their destruction. + +And aft your moss-traversin Spunkies +Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: +The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies +Delude his eyes, +Till in some miry slough he sunk is, +Ne'er mair to rise. + +When masons' mystic word an' grip +In storms an' tempests raise you up, +Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, +Or, strange to tell! +The youngest brither ye wad whip +Aff straught to hell. + +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 flow'ry swaird, +In shady bower;^1 + +Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog! +Ye cam to Paradise incog, + +[Footnote 1: The verse originally ran: "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, O' guileless heart."] + +An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, +(Black be your fa'!) +An' gied the infant warld a shog, +'Maist rui'd a'. + +D'ye mind that day when in a bizz +Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit 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 him out o' house an hal', +While scabs and botches did him gall, +Wi' bitter claw; +An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul', +Was warst ava? + +But a' your doings to rehearse, +Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, +Sin' that day Michael^2 did you pierce, +Down to this time, +Wad ding a Lallan tounge, or Erse, +In prose or rhyme. + +An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, +A certain bardie's rantin, drinkin, +Some luckless hour will send him linkin +To your black pit; +But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, +An' cheat you yet. + +But fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben! +O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! +Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken- +Stil hae a stake: +I'm wae to think up' yon den, +Ev'n for your sake! + +[Footnote 2: Vide Milton, Book vi.-R. B.] + +Scotch Drink + +Gie him strong drink until he wink, +That's sinking in despair; +An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, +That's prest wi' grief and care: +There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, +Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, +Till he forgets his loves or debts, +An' minds his griefs no more. +Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. + +Let other poets raise a fracas +"Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus, +An' crabbit names an'stories wrack us, +An' grate our lug: +I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, +In glass or jug. + +O thou, my muse! guid auld Scotch drink! +Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, +Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink, +In glorious faem, +Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, +To sing thy name! + +Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, +An' aits set up their awnie horn, +An' pease and beans, at e'en or morn, +Perfume the plain: +Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, +Thou king o' grain! + +On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, +In souple scones, the wale o'food! +Or tumblin in the boiling flood +Wi' kail an' beef; +But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, +There thou shines chief. + +Food fills the wame, an' keeps us leevin; +Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, +When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin; +But, oil'd by thee, +The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, +Wi' rattlin glee. + +Thou clears the head o'doited Lear; +Thou cheers ahe heart o' drooping Care; +Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, +At's weary toil; +Though even brightens dark Despair +Wi' gloomy smile. + +Aft, clad in massy siller weed, +Wi' gentles thou erects thy head; +Yet, humbly kind in time o' need, +The poor man's wine; +His weep drap parritch, or his bread, +Thou kitchens fine. + +Thou art the life o' public haunts; +But thee, what were our fairs and rants? +Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, +By thee inspired, +When gaping they besiege the tents, +Are doubly fir'd. + +That merry night we get the corn in, +O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in! +Or reekin on a New-year mornin +In cog or bicker, +An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, +An' gusty sucker! + +When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, +An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, +O rare! to see thee fizz an freath +I' th' luggit caup! +Then Burnewin comes on like death +At every chap. + +Nae mercy then, for airn or steel; +The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel, +Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, +The strong forehammer, +Till block an' studdie ring an reel, +Wi' dinsome clamour. + +When skirling weanies see the light, +Though maks the gossips clatter bright, +How fumblin' cuiffs their dearies slight; +Wae worth the name! +Nae howdie gets a social night, +Or plack frae them. + +When neibors anger at a plea, +An' just as wud as wud can be, +How easy can the barley brie +Cement the quarrel! +It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, +To taste the barrel. + +Alake! that e'er my muse has reason, +To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! +But mony daily weet their weason +Wi' liquors nice, +An' hardly, in a winter season, +E'er Spier her price. + +Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash! +Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash! +Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash, +O' half his days; +An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash +To her warst faes. + +Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well! +Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, +Poor, plackless devils like mysel'! +It sets you ill, +Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, +Or foreign gill. + +May gravels round his blather wrench, +An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, +What twists his gruntle wi' a glunch +O' sour disdain, +Out owre a glass o' whisky-punch +Wi' honest men! + +O Whisky! soul o' plays and pranks! +Accept a bardie's gratfu' thanks! +When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks +Are my poor verses! +Thou comes-they rattle in their ranks, +At ither's a-s! + +Thee, Ferintosh! O 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' the' Excise, +Wha mak the whisky stells their prize! +Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice! +There, seize the blinkers! +An' bake them up in brunstane pies +For poor damn'd drinkers. + +Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still +Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky gill, +An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, +Tak a' the rest, +An' deal't about as thy blind skill +Directs thee best. + +The Auld Farmer's New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare, Maggie + +On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the New Year. + +A Guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie! +Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: +Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, +I've seen the day +Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie, +Out-owre the lay. + +Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, +An' thy auld hide as white's a daisie, +I've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie, +A bonie gray: +He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, +Ance in a day. + +Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, +A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank; +An' set weel down a shapely shank, +As e'er tread yird; +An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, +Like ony bird. + +It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, +Sin' thou was my guid-father's mear; +He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, +An' fifty mark; +Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, +An' thou was stark. + +When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, +Ye then was trotting wi' your minnie: +Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, +Ye ne'er was donsie; +But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, +An' unco sonsie. + +That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, +When ye bure hame my bonie bride: +An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, +Wi' maiden air! +Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide +For sic a pair. + +Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, +An' wintle like a saumont coble, +That day, ye was a jinker noble, +For heels an' win'! +An' ran them till they a' did wauble, +Far, far, behin'! + +When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, +An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, +How thou wad prance, and snore, an' skreigh +An' tak the road! +Town's-bodies ran, an' stood abeigh, +An' ca't thee mad. + +When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, +We took the road aye like a swallow: +At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, +For pith an' speed; +But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollowm +Whare'er thou gaed. + +The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle +Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; +But sax Scotch mile, thou try't their mettle, +An' gar't them whaizle: +Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle +O' saugh or hazel. + +Thou was a noble fittie-lan', +As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! +Aft thee an' I, in aught hours' gaun, +In guid March-weather, +Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', +For days thegither. + +Thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit; +But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, +An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, +Wi' pith an' power; +Till sprittie knowes wad rair't an' riskit +An' slypet owre. + +When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, +An' threaten'd labour 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 reestit; +The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it; +Thou never lap, an' sten't, and breastit, +Then stood to blaw; +But just thy step a wee thing hastit, +Thou snoov't awa. + +My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', +Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; +Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa, +That thou hast nurst: +They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, +The vera warst. + +Mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, +An' wi' the weary warl' fought! +An' mony an anxious day, I thought +We wad be beat! +Yet here to crazy age we're brought, +Wi' something yet. + +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 heapit 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, +Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, +Wi' sma' fatigue. + +The Twa Dogs^1 + +A Tale + +'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, +That bears the name o' auld King Coil, +Upon a bonie day in June, +When wearin' thro' the afternoon, +Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, +Forgather'd ance upon a time. + +The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, +Was keepit for His Honor's pleasure: +His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, +Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; +But whalpit some place far abroad, +Whare sailors gang to fish for cod. + +His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar +Shew'd him the gentleman an' scholar; +But though he was o' high degree, +The fient a pride, nae pride had he; +But wad hae spent an hour caressin, +Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsy's messin: +At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, +Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, +But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, +An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. + +The tither was a ploughman's collie- +A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, +Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, +And in freak had Luath ca'd him, +After some dog in Highland Sang,^2 +Was made lang syne,-Lord knows how lang. + +He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, +As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. +His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face +Aye gat him friends in ilka place; +His breast was white, his touzie back +Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; +His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl, +Hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl. + +[Footnote 1: Luath was Burns' own dog.] + +[Footnote 2: Luath, Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's "Fingal."-R. B.] + +Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, +And unco pack an' thick thegither; +Wi' social nose whiles snuff'd an' snowkit; +Whiles mice an' moudieworts they howkit; +Whiles scour'd awa' in lang excursion, +An' worry'd ither in diversion; +Until wi' daffin' weary grown +Upon a knowe they set them down. +An' there began a lang digression. +About the "lords o' the creation." + +Caesar + +I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, +What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; +An' when the gentry's life I saw, +What way poor bodies 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; +He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse; +He draws a bonie silken purse, +As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks, +The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. + +Frae morn to e'en, it's nought but toiling +At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; +An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, +Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan +Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie, +That's little short o' downright wastrie. +Our whipper-in, wee, blasted wonner, +Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner, +Better than ony tenant-man +His Honour has in a' the lan': +An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, +I own it's past my comprehension. + +Luath + +Trowth, Caesar, whiles they're fash't eneugh: +A cottar howkin in a sheugh, +Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, +Baring 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' rape. + +An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, +Like loss o' health or want o' masters, +Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, +An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hunger: +But how it comes, I never kent yet, +They're maistly wonderfu' contented; +An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, +Are bred in sic a way as this is. + +Caesar + +But then to see how ye're negleckit, +How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' disrespeckit! +Lord man, our gentry care as little +For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle; +They gang as saucy by poor folk, +As I wad by a stinkin 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 a factor's snash; +He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear +He'll apprehend them, poind 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 gives them little fright. + +Then chance and fortune are sae guided, +They're aye in less or mair provided: +An' tho' fatigued 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' whiles twalpennie worth o' nappy +Can mak the bodies unco happy: +They lay aside their private cares, +To mind the Kirk and State affairs; +They'll talk o' patronage an' priests, +Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, +Or tell what new taxation's comin, +An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. + +As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns, +They get the jovial, rantin kirns, +When rural life, of ev'ry station, +Unite in common recreation; +Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth +Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. + +That merry day the year begins, +They bar the door on frosty win's; +The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, +An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam; +The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, +Are handed round wi' right guid will; +The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, +The young anes rantin thro' the house- +My heart has been sae fain to see them, +That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. + +Still it's owre true that ye hae said, +Sic game is now owre aften play'd; +There's mony 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 favour wi' some gentle master, +Wha, aiblins, thrang a parliamentin, +For Britain's guid his saul indentin- + +Caesar + +Haith, lad, ye little ken about it: +For Britain's guid! guid faith! I doubt it. +Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him: +An' saying ay or no's they bid him: +At operas an' plays parading, +Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: +Or maybe, in a frolic daft, +To Hague or Calais takes a waft, +To mak a tour an' tak a whirl, +To learn bon ton, an' see the worl'. + +There, at Vienna, or Versailles, +He rives his father's auld entails; +Or by Madrid he takes the rout, +To thrum guitars an' fecht wi' nowt; +Or down Italian vista startles, + +Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles: +Then bowses drumlie German-water, +To mak himsel look fair an' fatter, +An' clear the consequential sorrows, +Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. + +For Britain's guid! for her destruction! +Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. + +Luath + +Hech, man! dear sirs! is that the gate +They waste sae mony a braw estate! +Are we sae foughten an' harass'd +For gear to gang that gate at last? + +O would they stay aback frae courts, +An' please themsels wi' country sports, +It wad for ev'ry ane be better, +The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter! +For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, +Feint haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows; +Except for breakin o' their timmer, +Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, +Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock, +The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk, + +But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, +Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? +Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, +The very thought o't need na fear them. + +Caesar + +Lord, man, were ye but whiles whare I am, +The gentles, ye wad ne'er envy them! + +It's true, they need na starve or sweat, +Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat: +They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, +An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes: +But human bodies are sic fools, +For a' their colleges an' schools, +That when nae real ills perplex them, +They mak enow themsel's to vex them; +An' aye the less they hae to sturt them, +In like proportion, less will hurt them. + +A country fellow at the pleugh, +His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh; +A country girl at her wheel, +Her dizzen's dune, she's unco weel; +But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, +Wi' ev'n-down want o' wark are curst. +They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy; +Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy; +Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless; +Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless. + +An'ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, +Their galloping through public places, +There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, +The joy can scarcely reach the heart. + +The men cast out in party-matches, +Then sowther a' in deep debauches. +Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' whoring, +Niest day their life is past enduring. + +The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, +As great an' gracious a' as sisters; +But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, +They're a' run-deils an' jads thegither. +Whiles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, +They sip the scandal-potion pretty; +Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks +Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks; +Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, +An' cheat like ony unhanged blackguard. + +There's some exceptions, man an' woman; +But this is gentry's life in common. + +By this, the sun was out of sight, +An' darker gloamin brought the night; +The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone; +The kye stood rowtin i' the loan; +When up they gat an' shook their lugs, +Rejoic'd they werena men but dogs; +An' each took aff his several way, +Resolv'd to meet some ither day. + +The Author's Earnest Cry And Prayer + + To the Right Honourable and Honourable Scotch Representatives in the +House of Commons.^1 + +Dearest of distillation! last and best- +-How art thou lost!- + +Parody on Milton. + +Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, +Wha represent our brughs an' shires, +An' doucely manage our affairs +In parliament, +To you a simple poet's pray'rs +Are humbly sent. + +Alas! my roupit Muse is hearse! +Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, +To see her sittin on her arse +Low i' the dust, +And scriechinhout prosaic verse, +An like to brust! + +[ Footnote 1": This was written before the Act anent the Scotch distilleries, +of session 1786, for which Scotland and the author return their most grateful +thanks.-R. B.] + +Tell them wha hae the chief direction, +Scotland an' me's in great affliction, +E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction +On aqua-vitae; +An' rouse them up to strong conviction, +An' move their pity. + +Stand forth an' tell yon Premier youth +The honest, open, naked truth: +Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, +His servants humble: +The muckle deevil blaw you south +If ye dissemble! + +Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? +Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! +Let posts an' pensions sink or soom +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 greetin owre her thrissle; +Her mutchkin stowp as toom's a whissle; +An' damn'd excisemen in a bussle, +Seizin a stell, +Triumphant crushin't like a mussel, +Or limpet shell! + +Then, on the tither hand present her- +A blackguard smuggler right behint her, +An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner +Colleaguing join, +Picking her pouch as bare as winter +Of a' kind coin. + +Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, +But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, +To see his poor auld mither's pot +Thus dung in staves, +An' plunder'd o' 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,^2 +There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, +An' tie some hose well. + +God bless your Honours! can ye see't- +The kind, auld cantie carlin greet, +An' no get warmly to your feet, +An' gar them hear it, +An' tell them wi'a patriot-heat +Ye winna bear it? + +Some o' you nicely ken the laws, +To round the period an' pause, +An' with rhetoric clause on clause +To mak harangues; +Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's +Auld Scotland's wrangs. + +Dempster,^3 a true blue Scot I'se warran'; +Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;^4 +An' that glib-gabbit Highland baron, +The Laird o' Graham;^5 +An' ane, a chap that's damn'd aulfarran', +Dundas his name:^6 + +Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie;^7 +True Campbells, Frederick and Ilay;^8 + +[Footnote 2: James Boswell of Auchinleck, the biographer of Johnson.] + +[Footnote 3: George Dempster of Dunnichen.] + +[Footnote 4: Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran, Bart.] + +[Footnote 5: The Marquis of Graham, eldest son of the Duke of Montrose.] + +[Footnote 6: Right Hon. Henry Dundas, M. P.] + +[Footnote 7: Probably Thomas, afterward Lord Erskine.] + +[Footnote 8: Lord Frederick Campbell, second brother of the Duke of Argyll, +and Ilay Campbell, Lord Advocate for Scotland, afterward President of the +Court of Session.] + +An' Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie;^9 +An' mony ithers, +Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully +Might own for brithers. + +See sodger Hugh,^10 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 anent it, +Ye're at a stand. + +Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, +To get auld Scotland back her kettle; +Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, +Ye'll see't or lang, +She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, +Anither sang. + +This while she's been in crankous mood, +Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid; +(Deil na they never mair do guid, +Play'd her that pliskie!) +An' now she's like to rin red-wud +About her whisky. + +An' Lord! if ance they pit her till't, +Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, +An'durk an' pistol at her belt, +She'll tak the streets, +An' rin her whittle to the hilt, +I' the first she meets! + +For God sake, sirs! then speak her fair, +An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, +An' to the muckle house repair, +Wi' instant speed, +An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear, +To get remead. + +[Footnote 9: Sir Wm. Augustus Cunningham, Baronet, of Livingstone.] + +[Footnote 10: Col. Hugh Montgomery, afterward Earl of Eglinton.] + +Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, +May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks; +But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! +E'en cowe the cadie! +An' send him to his dicing box +An' sportin' lady. + +Tell you guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's, ^11 +I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, +An' drink his health in auld Nance Tinnock's ^12 +Nine times a-week, +If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, +Was kindly seek. + +Could he some commutation broach, +I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, +He needna fear their foul reproach +Nor erudition, +Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, +The Coalition. + +Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; +She's just a devil wi' a rung; +An' if she promise auld or young +To tak their part, +Tho' by the neck she should be strung, +She'll no desert. + +And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, +May still you mither's heart support ye; +Then, tho'a minister grow dorty, +An' kick your place, +Ye'll snap your gingers, poor an' hearty, +Before his face. + +God bless your Honours, a' your days, +Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, + +[Footnote 11: Pitt, whose grandfather was of Boconnock in Cornwall.] + +[Footnote 12: A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where he +sometimes studies politics over a glass of gude auld Scotch Drink.-R.B.] + +In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, +That haunt St. Jamie's! +Your humble poet sings an' prays, +While Rab his name is. + +Postscript + +Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies +See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise; +Their lot auld Scotland ne're envies, +But, blythe and frisky, +She eyes her freeborn, martial boys +Tak aff their whisky. + +What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, +While fragrance blooms and beauty charms, +When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, +The scented groves; +Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms +In hungry droves! + +Their gun's a burden on their shouther; +They downa bide the stink o' powther; +Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither +To stan' or rin, +Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a'throw'ther, +To save their 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 hand a welcome gies him; +An' when he fa's, +His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him +In faint huzzas. + +Sages their solemn een may steek, +An' raise a philosophic reek, +An' physically causes seek, +In clime an' season; +But tell me whisky's name in Greek +I'll tell the reason. + +Scotland, my auld, respected mither! +Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, +Till, whare ye sit on craps o' heather, +Ye tine your dam; +Freedom an' whisky gang thegither! +Take aff your dram! + +The Ordination + +For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n- +To please the mob, they hide the little giv'n. + +Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an' claw, +An' pour your creeshie nations; +An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, +Of a' denominations; +Swith to the Ligh Kirk, ane an' a' +An' there tak up your stations; +Then aff to Begbie's in a raw, +An' pour divine libations +For joy this day. + +Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell, +Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder;^1 +But Oliphant^2 aft made her yell, +An' Russell^3 sair misca'd her: +This day Mackinlay^4 taks the flail, +An' he's the boy will blaud her! +He'll clap a shangan on her tail, +An' set the bairns to daud her +Wi' dirt this day. + +[Footnote 1: Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of +the late reverend and worthy Mr. Lihdsay to the "Laigh Kirk."-R.B.] + +[Footnote 2: Rev. James Oliphant, minister of Chapel of Ease, Kilmarnock.] + +[Footnote 3: Rev. John Russell of Kilmarnock.] + +[Footnote 4: Rev. James Mackinlay.] + +Mak haste an' turn King David owre, +And lilt wi' holy clangor; +O' double verse come gie us four, +An' skirl up the Bangor: +This day the kirk kicks up a stoure; +Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, +For Heresy is in her pow'r, +And gloriously she'll whang her +Wi' pith this day. + +Come, let a proper text be read, +An' touch it aff wi' vigour, +How graceless Ham^5 leugh at his dad, +Which made Canaan a nigger; +Or Phineas^6 drove the murdering blade, +Wi' whore-abhorring rigour; +Or Zipporah,^7 the scauldin jad, +Was like a bluidy tiger +I' th' inn that day. + +There, try his mettle on the creed, +An' bind him down wi' caution, +That stipend is a carnal weed +He taks by for the fashion; +And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, +And punish each transgression; +Especial, rams that cross the breed, +Gie them sufficient threshin; +Spare them nae day. + +Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, +An' toss thy horns fu' canty; +Nae mair thou'lt rowt 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. + +[Footnote 5: Genesis ix. 22.-R. B.] + +[Footnote : Numbers xxv. 8.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 7: Exodus iv. 52.-R. B] + +Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, +To think upon our Zion; +And hing our fiddles up to sleep, +Like baby-clouts a-dryin! +Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, +And o'er the thairms be tryin; +Oh, rare to see our elbucks wheep, +And a' like lamb-tails flyin +Fu' fast this day. + +Lang, Patronage, with rod o' airn, +Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin; +As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn, +Has proven to its ruin:^8 +Our patron, honest man! Glencairn, +He saw mischief was brewin; +An' like a godly, elect bairn, +He's waled us out a true ane, +And sound, this day. + +Now Robertson^9 harangue nae mair, +But steek your gab for ever; +Or try the 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^10 repair, +An' turn a carpet weaver +Aff-hand this day. + +Mu'trie^11 and you were just a match, +We never had sic twa drones; +Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, +Just like a winkin baudrons, +And aye he catch'd the tither wretch, +To fry them in his caudrons; +But now his Honour maun detach, +Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, +Fast, fast this day. + +[Footnote 8: Rev. Wm. Boyd, pastor of Fenwick.] + +[Footnote 9: Rev. John Robertson.] + +[Footnote 10: A district of Kilmarnock.] + +[Footnote 11: The Rev. John Multrie, a "Moderate," whom Mackinlay succeeded.] + +See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes +She's swingein 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 Morality himsel', +Embracing all opinions; +Hear, how he gies the tither yell, +Between his twa companions! +See, how she peels the skin an' fell, +As ane were peelin onions! +Now there, they're packed aff to hell, +An' banish'd our dominions, +Henceforth this day. + +O happy day! rejoice, rejoice! +Come bouse about the porter! +Morality's demure decoys +Shall here nae mair find quarter: +Mackinlay, 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 Light^12 mother's son, +From this time forth, Confusion! +If mair they deave us wi' their din, +Or Patronage intrusion, +We'll light a spunk, and ev'ry skin, +We'll rin them aff in fusion +Like oil, some day. + +[Footnote 12: "New Light" is a cant phrase in the west of Scotland for those +religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has so strenuously defended.- +R. B.] + +Epistle To James Smith + +Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul! +Sweet'ner of Life, and solder of Society! +I owe thee much-Blair. + +Dear Smith, the slee'st, pawkie thief, +That e'er attempted stealth or rief! +Ye surely hae some warlock-brief +Owre human hearts; +For ne'er a bosom yet was prief +Against your arts. + +For me, I swear by sun an' moon, +An' ev'ry star that blinks aboon, +Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon, +Just gaun to see you; +An' ev'ry ither pair that's done, +Mair taen I'm wi' you. + +That auld, capricious carlin, Nature, +To mak amends for scrimpit stature, +She's turn'd you off, a human creature +On her first plan, +And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature +She's wrote the Man. + +Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme, +My barmie noddle's working prime. +My fancy yerkit up sublime, +Wi' hasty summon; +Hae ye a leisure-moment's time +To hear what's comin? + +Some rhyme a neibor's name to lash; +Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; +Some rhyme to court the countra clash, +An' raise a din; +For me, an aim I never fash; +I rhyme for fun. + +The star that rules my luckless lot, +Has fated me the russet coat, +An' damn'd my fortune to the groat; +But, in requit, +Has blest me with a random-shot +O'countra wit. + +This while my notion's taen a sklent, +To try my fate in guid, black prent; +But still the mair I'm that way bent, +Something cries "Hooklie!" +I red you, honest man, tak tent? +Ye'll shaw your folly; + +"There's ither poets, much your betters, +Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, +Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, +A' future ages; +Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, +Their unknown pages." + +Then farewell hopes of laurel-boughs, +To garland my poetic brows! +Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs +Are whistlin' thrang, +An' teach the lanely heights an' howes +My rustic sang. + +I'll wander on, wi' tentless heed +How never-halting moments speed, +Till fate shall snap the brittle thread; +Then, all unknown, +I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead +Forgot and gone! + +But why o' death being a tale? +Just now we're living sound and hale; +Then top and maintop crowd the sail, +Heave Care o'er-side! +And large, before Enjoyment's gale, +Let's tak the tide. + +This life, sae far's I understand, +Is a' enchanted fairy-land, +Where Pleasure is the magic-wand, +That, wielded right, +Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, +Dance by fu' light. + +The magic-wand then let us wield; +For ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, +See, crazy, weary, joyless eild, +Wi' wrinkl'd face, +Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, +We' creepin pace. + +When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, +Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin; +An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin, +An' social noise: +An' fareweel dear, deluding woman, +The Joy of joys! + +O Life! how pleasant, in thy morning, +Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! +Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, +We frisk away, +Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, +To joy an' play. + +We wander there, we wander here, +We eye the rose upon the brier, +Unmindful that the thorn is near, +Among the leaves; +And tho' the puny wound appear, +Short while it grieves. + +Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, +For which they never toil'd nor swat; +They drink the sweet and eat the fat, +But care or pain; +And haply eye the barren hut +With high disdain. + +With steady aim, some Fortune chase; +Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace; +Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, +An' seize the prey: +Then cannie, in some cozie place, +They close the day. + +And others, like your humble servan', +Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin, +To right or left eternal swervin, +They zig-zag on; +Till, curst with age, obscure an' starvin, +They aften groan. + +Alas! what bitter toil an' straining- +But truce with peevish, poor complaining! +Is fortune's fickle Luna waning? +E'n let her gang! +Beneath what light she has remaining, +Let's sing our sang. + +My pen I here fling to the door, +And kneel, ye Pow'rs! and warm implore, +"Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, +In all her climes, +Grant me but this, I ask no more, +Aye rowth o' rhymes. + +"Gie dreepin roasts to countra lairds, +Till icicles hing frae their beards; +Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards, +And maids of honour; +An' yill an' whisky gie to cairds, +Until they sconner. + +"A title, Dempster^1 merits it; +A garter gie to Willie Pitt; +Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, +In cent. per cent.; +But give me real, sterling wit, +And I'm content. + +[Footnote 1: George Dempster of Dunnichen, M.P.] + +"While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, +I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, +Be't water-brose or muslin-kail, +Wi' cheerfu' face, +As lang's the Muses dinna fail +To say the grace." + +An anxious e'e I never throws +Behint my lug, or by my nose; +I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows +As weel's I may; +Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, +I rhyme away. + +O ye douce folk that live by rule, +Grave, tideless-blooded, calm an'cool, +Compar'd wi' you-O fool! fool! fool! +How much unlike! +Your hearts are just a standing pool, +Your lives, a dyke! + +Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces +In your unletter'd, nameless faces! +In arioso trills and graces +Ye never stray; +But gravissimo, solemn basses +Ye hum away. + +Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise; +Nae ferly tho' ye do despise +The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, +The rattling squad: +I see ye upward cast your eyes- +Ye ken the road! + +Whilst I-but I shall haud me there, +Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where- +Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, +But quat my sang, +Content wi' you to mak a pair. +Whare'er I gang. + +The Vision + +Duan First^1 + +The sun had clos'd the winter day, +The curless quat their roarin play, +And hunger'd maukin taen her way, +To kail-yards green, +While faithless snaws ilk step betray +Whare she has been. + +The thresher's weary flingin-tree, +The lee-lang day had tired me; +And when the day had clos'd his e'e, +Far i' the west, +Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, +I gaed to rest. + +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; +An' heard the restless rattons squeak +About the riggin. + +All in this mottie, misty clime, +I backward mus'd on wasted time, +How I had spent my youthfu' prime, +An' done nae thing, +But stringing blethers up in rhyme, +For fools to sing. + +Had I to guid advice but harkit, +I might, by this, hae led a market, +Or strutted in a bank and clarkit +My cash-account; +While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit. +Is a' th' amount. + +[Footnote 1: Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a +digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. 2 of M'Pherson's translation.-R. +B.] + +I started, mutt'ring, "blockhead! coof!" +And heav'd on high my waukit loof, +To swear by a' yon starry roof, +Or some rash aith, +That I henceforth wad be rhyme-proof +Till my last breath- + +When click! the string the snick did draw; +An' jee! the door gaed to the wa'; +An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, +Now bleezin bright, +A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, +Come full in sight. + +Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht; +The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht +I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht +In some wild glen; +When sweet, like honest Worth, she blusht, +An' stepped ben. + +Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs +Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows; +I took her for some Scottish Muse, +By that same token; +And come to stop those reckless vows, +Would soon been broken. + +A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace" +Was strongly marked in her face; +A wildly-witty, rustic grace +Shone full upon her; +Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, +Beam'd keen with honour. + +Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, +Till half a leg was scrimply seen; +An' such a leg! my bonie Jean +Could only peer it; +Sae straught, sae taper, tight an' 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 toss't: +Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, +With surging foam; +There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, +The lordly dome. + +Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; +There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds: +Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, +On to the shore; +And many a lesser torrent scuds, +With seeming roar. + +Low, in a sandy valley spread, +An ancient borough rear'd her head; +Still, as in Scottish story read, +She boasts a race +To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, +And polish'd grace.^2 + +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^3 wheel, + +[Footnote 2: The seven stanzas following this were first printed in the +Edinburgh edition, 1787. Other stanzas, never published by Burns himself, are +given on p. 180.] + +[Footnote 3: The Wallaces.-R. B.] + +And brandish round the deep-dyed steel, +In sturdy blows; +While, back-recoiling, seem'd to reel +Their Suthron foes. + +His Country's Saviour,^4 mark him well! +Bold Richardton's heroic swell,;^5 +The chief, on Sark who glorious fell,^6 +In high command; +And he whom ruthless fates expel +His native land. + +There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade +Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,^7 +I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd +In colours strong: +Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd, +They strode along. + +Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,^8 +Near many a hermit-fancied cove +(Fit haunts for friendship or for love, +In musing mood), +An aged Judge, I saw him rove, +Dispensing good. + +With deep-struck, reverential awe, +The learned Sire and Son I saw:^9 +To Nature's God, and Nature's law, +They gave their lore; +This, all its source and end to draw, +That, to adore. + +[Footnote 4: William Wallace.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 5: Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of +Scottish independence.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 6: Wallace, laird of Craigie, who was second in command under +Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought +anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious +conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant laird of Craigie, who died of his +wounds after the action.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 7: Coilus, 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 +Montgomeries of Coilsfield, where his burial-place is still shown.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 8: Barskimming, the seat of the Lord Justice-Clerk.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 9: Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor and present Professor +Stewart.-R.B.] + +Brydon's brave ward^10 I well could spy, +Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye: +Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, +To hand him on, +Where many a patriot-name on high, +And hero shone. + +Duan Second + +With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, +I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair; +A whispering throb did witness bear +Of kindred sweet, +When with an elder sister's air +She did me greet. + +"All hail! my own inspired bard! +In me thy native Muse regard; +Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, +Thus poorly low; +I come to give thee such reward, +As we bestow! + +"Know, the great genius of this land +Has many a light aerial band, +Who, all beneath his high command, +Harmoniously, +As arts or arms they understand, +Their labours ply. + +"They Scotia's race among them share: +Some fire the soldier on to dare; +Some rouse the patriot up to bare +Corruption's heart: +Some teach the bard - a darling care - +The tuneful art. + +"'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, +They, ardent, kindling spirits pour; + +[Footnote 10: Colonel Fullarton.-R.B. This gentleman had travelled under the +care of Patrick Brydone, author of a well-known "Tour Through Sicily and +Malta."] + +Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar, +They, sightless, stand, +To mend the honest patriot-lore, +And grace the hand. + +"And when the bard, or hoary sage, +Charm or instruct the future age, +They bind the wild poetric rage +In energy, +Or point the inconclusive page +Full on the eye. + +"Hence, Fullarton, the brave and young; +Hence, Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue; +Hence, 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 choose, as various they're inclin'd, +The various man. + +"When yellow waves the heavy grain, +The threat'ning storm 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. + +"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 opening grace, +A guide and guard. + +"Of these am I-Coila my name: +And this district as mine I claim, +Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, +Held ruling power: +I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, +Thy natal hour. + +"With future hope I oft would gaze +Fond, on thy little early ways, +Thy rudely, caroll'd, chiming phrase, +In uncouth rhymes; +Fir'd at the simple, artless lays +Of other times. + +"I saw thee seek the sounding shore, +Delighted with the dashing roar; +Or when the North his fleecy store +Drove thro' the sky, +I saw grim Nature's visage hoar +Struck thy young eye. + +"Or when the deep green-mantled earth +Warm cherish'd ev'ry floweret's birth, +And joy and music pouring forth +In ev'ry grove; +I saw thee eye the general mirth +With boundless love. + +"When ripen'd fields and azure skies +Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise, +I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, +And lonely stalk, +To vent thy bosom's swelling rise, +In pensive walk. + +"When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, +Keen-shivering, shot thy nerves along, +Those accents grateful to thy tongue, +Th' adored Name, +I taught thee how to pour in song, +To soothe thy flame. + +"I saw thy pulse's maddening play, +Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, +Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, +By passion driven; +But yet the light that led astray +Was light from Heaven. + +"I taught thy manners-painting strains, +The loves, the ways of simple swains, +Till now, o'er all my wide domains +Thy fame extends; +And some, the pride of Coila's plains, +Become thy friends. + +"Thou canst not learn, nor I can show, +To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; +Or wake the bosom-melting throe, +With Shenstone's art; +Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow +Warm on the heart. + +"Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, +T e lowly daisy sweetly blows; +Tho' large the forest's monarch throws +His army shade, +Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, +Adown the glade. + +"Then never murmur nor repine; +Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; +And trust me, not Potosi's mine, +Nor king's regard, +Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, +A rustic bard. + +"To give my counsels all in one, +Thy tuneful flame still careful fan: +Preserve the dignity of Man, +With soul erect; +And trust the Universal Plan +Will all protect. + +"And wear thou this"-she solemn said, +And bound the holly round my head: +The polish'd leaves and berries red +Did rustling play; +And, like a passing thought, she fled +In light away. + + [To Mrs. Stewart of Stair, Burns presented a manuscript copy of the +Vision. That copy embraces about twenty stanzas at the end of Duan First, +which he cancelled when he came to print the price in his Kilmarnock volume. +Seven of these he restored in printing his second edition, as noted on p. +174. The following are the verses which he left unpublished.] + +Suppressed Stanza's Of "The Vision" + + After 18th stanza of the text (at "His native land"):- + +With secret throes I marked that earth, +That cottage, witness of my birth; +And near I saw, bold issuing forth +In youthful pride, +A Lindsay race of noble worth, +Famed far and wide. + +Where, hid behind a spreading wood, +An ancient Pict-built mansion stood, +I spied, among an angel brood, +A female pair; +Sweet shone their high maternal blood, +And father's air.^1 + +An ancient tower^2 to memory brought +How Dettingen's bold hero fought; +Still, far from sinking into nought, +It owns a lord +Who far in western climates fought, +With trusty sword. + +[Footnote 1: Sundrum.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 2: Stair.-R.B.] + +Among the rest I well could spy +One gallant, graceful, martial boy, +The soldier sparkled in his eye, +A diamond water. +I blest that noble badge with joy, +That owned me frater.^3 + + After 20th stanza of the text (at "Dispensing good"):- + +Near by arose a mansion fine^4 +The seat of many a muse divine; +Not rustic muses such as mine, +With holly crown'd, +But th' ancient, tuneful, laurell'd Nine, +From classic ground. + +I mourn'd the card that Fortune dealt, +To see where bonie Whitefoords dwelt;^5 +But other prospects made me melt, +That village near;^6 +There Nature, Friendship, Love, I felt, +Fond-mingling, dear! + +Hail! Nature's pang, more strong than death! +Warm Friendship's glow, like kindling wrath! +Love, dearer than the parting breath +Of dying friend! +Not ev'n with life's wild devious path, +Your force shall end! + +The Power that gave the soft alarms +In blooming Whitefoord's rosy charms, +Still threats the tiny, feather'd arms, +The barbed dart, +While lovely Wilhelmina warms +The coldest heart.^7 + + After 21st stanza of the text (at "That, to adore"):- + +Where Lugar leaves his moorland plaid,^8 +Where lately Want was idly laid, + +[Footnote 3: Captain James Montgomerie, Master of St. James' Lodge, Tarbolton, +to which the author has the honour to belong., -R.B.] + +[Footnote 4: Auchinleck.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 5: Ballochmyle.] + +[Footnote 6: Mauchline.] + +[Footnote 7: Miss Wilhelmina Alexander.] + +[Footnote 8: Cumnock.-R.B.] + +I marked busy, bustling Trade, +In fervid flame, +Beneath a Patroness' aid, +of noble name. + +Wild, countless hills I could survey, +And countless flocks as wild as they; +But other scenes did charms display, +That better please, +Where polish'd manners dwell with Gray, +In rural ease.^9 + +Where Cessnock pours with gurgling sound;^10 +And Irwine, marking out the bound, +Enamour'd of the scenes around, +Slow runs his race, +A name I doubly honour'd found,^11 +With knightly grace. + +Brydon's brave ward,^12 I saw him stand, +Fame humbly offering her hand, +And near, his kinsman's rustic band,^13 +With one accord, +Lamenting their late blessed land +Must change its lord. + +The owner of a pleasant spot, +Near and sandy wilds, I last did note;^14 +A heart too warm, a pulse too hot +At times, o'erran: +But large in ev'ry feature wrote, +Appear'd the Man. + +The Rantin' Dog, The Daddie O't + + tune-"Whare'll our guidman lie." + +O wha my babie-clouts will buy? +O wha will tent me when I cry? +Wha will kiss me where I lie? +The rantin' dog, the daddie o't. + +[Footnote 9: Mr. Farquhar Gray.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 10: Auchinskieth.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 11: Caprington.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 12: Colonel Fullerton.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 13: Dr. Fullerton.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 14: Orangefield.-R.B.] + +O wha will own he did the faut? +O wha will buy 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 beside 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? +Wha will kiss me o'er again? +The rantin' dog, the daddie o't. + +Here's His Health In Water + + tune-"The Job of Journey-work." + +Altho' my back be at the wa', +And tho' he be the fautor; +Altho' my back be at the wa', +Yet, here's his health in water. +O wae gae by his wanton sides, +Sae brawlie's he could flatter; +Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, +And dree the kintra clatter: +But tho' my back be at the wa', +And tho' he be the fautor; +But tho' my back be at the wa', +Yet here's his health in water! + +Address To The Unco Guid, Or The Rigidly Righteous + +My Son, these maxims make a rule, +An' lump them aye thegither; +The Rigid Righteous is a fool, +The Rigid Wise anither: +The cleanest corn that ere was dight +May hae some pyles o' caff in; +So ne'er a fellow-creature slight +For random fits o' daffin. + +Solomon.-Eccles. ch. vii. verse 16. + +O ye wha are sae guid yoursel', +Sae pious and sae holy, +Ye've nought to do but mark and tell +Your neibours' fauts and folly! +Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, +Supplied wi' store o' water; +The heaped happer's ebbing still, +An' still the clap plays clatter. + +Hear me, ye venerable core, +As counsel for poor mortals +That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door +For glaikit Folly's portals: +I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, +Would here propone defences- +Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, +Their failings and mischances. + +Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, +And shudder at the niffer; +But cast a moment's fair regard, +What maks the mighty differ; +Discount what scant occasion gave, +That purity ye pride in; +And (what's aft mair than a' the lave), +Your better art o' hidin. + +Think, when your castigated pulse +Gies now and then a wallop! +What ragings must his veins convulse, +That still eternal gallop! +Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, +Right on ye scud your sea-way; +But in the teeth o' baith to sail, +It maks a unco lee-way. + +See Social Life and Glee sit down, +All joyous and unthinking, +Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown +Debauchery and Drinking: +O would they stay to calculate +Th' eternal consequences; +Or your more dreaded hell to state, +Damnation of expenses! + +Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, +Tied up in godly laces, +Before ye gie poor Frailty names, +Suppose a change o' cases; +A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, +A treach'rous inclination- +But let me whisper i' your lug, +Ye're aiblins nae temptation. + +Then gently scan your brother man, +Still gentler sister woman; +Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, +To step aside is human: +One point must still be greatly dark, - +The moving Why they do it; +And just as lamely can ye mark, +How far perhaps they rue it. + +Who made the heart, 'tis He alone +Decidedly can try us; +He knows each chord, its various tone, +Each spring, its various bias: +Then at the balance let's be mute, +We never can adjust it; +What's done we partly may compute, +But know not what's resisted. + +The Inventory^1 + + In answer to a mandate by the Surveyor of the Taxes + +Sir, as your mandate did request, +I send you here a faithfu' list, +O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, +To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith. + +Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, +I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle, +As ever drew afore a pettle. +My hand-afore 's a guid auld has-been, +An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been: +My hand-ahin 's a weel gaun fillie, +That aft has borne me hame frae Killie.^2 +An' your auld borough mony a time +In days when riding was nae crime. +But ance, when in my wooing pride +I, like a blockhead, boost to ride, +The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, +(Lord pardon a' my sins, an' that too!) +I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, +She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie. +My furr-ahin 's a wordy beast, +As e'er in tug or tow was traced. +The fourth's a Highland Donald hastle, +A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie! +Foreby a cowt, o' cowts the wale, +As ever ran afore a tail: +Gin he be spar'd to be a beast, +He'll draw me fifteen pund at least. +Wheel-carriages I ha'e but few, +Three carts, an' twa are feckly new; +An auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, +Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken; +I made a poker o' the spin'le, +An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le. + +[Footnote 1: The "Inventory" was addressed to Mr. Aitken of Ayr, surveyor of +taxes for the district.] + +[Footnote 2: Kilmarnock.-R. B.] + +For men, I've three mischievous boys, +Run-deils for ranting an' for noise; +A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t' other: +Wee Davock hauds the nowt in fother. +I rule them as I ought, discreetly, +An' aften labour them completely; +An' aye on Sundays duly, nightly, +I on the Questions targe them tightly; +Till, faith! wee Davock's grown sae gleg, +Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, +He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, +As fast as ony in the dwalling. + +I've nane in female servant station, +(Lord keep me aye frae a' temptation!) +I hae nae wife-and thay my bliss is, +An' ye have laid nae tax on misses; +An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, +I ken the deevils darena touch me. +Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, +Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted! +My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, +She stares the daddy in her face, +Enough of ought ye like but grace; +But her, my bonie, sweet wee lady, +I've paid enough for her already; +An' gin ye tax her or her mither, +By the Lord, ye'se get them a' thegither! + +And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, +Nae kind of licence out I'm takin: +Frae this time forth, I do declare +I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; +Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, +Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle; +My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, +I've sturdy bearers, Gude the thankit! +The kirk and you may tak you that, +It puts but little in your pat; +Sae dinna put me in your beuk, +Nor for my ten white shillings leuk. + +This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it, +The day and date as under noted; +Then know all ye whom it concerns, +Subscripsi huic, + +Robert Burns. +Mossgiel, February 22, 1786. + +To John Kennedy, Dumfries House + +Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse +E'er bring you in by Mauchlin corse, +(Lord, man, there's lasses there wad force +A hermit's fancy; +An' down the gate in faith they're worse, +An' mair unchancy). + +But as I'm sayin, please step to Dow's, +An' taste sic gear as Johnie brews, +Till some bit callan bring me news +That ye are there; +An' if we dinna hae a bouze, +I'se ne'er drink mair. + +It's no I like to sit an' swallow, +Then like a swine to puke an' wallow; +But gie me just a true good fallow, +Wi' right ingine, +And spunkie ance to mak us mellow, +An' then we'll shine. + +Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk, +Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, +An' sklent on poverty their joke, +Wi' bitter sneer, +Wi' you nae friendship I will troke, +Nor cheap nor dear. + +But if, as I'm informed weel, +Ye hate as ill's the very deil +The flinty heart that canna feel- +Come, sir, here's to you! +Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you weel, +An' gude be wi' you. + +Robt. Burness. +Mossgiel, 3rd March, 1786. + +To Mr. M'Adam, Of Craigen-Gillan + + In answer to an obliging Letter he sent in the commencement of my poetic +career. + +Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, +I trow it made me proud; +"See wha taks notice o' the bard!" +I lap and cried fu' loud. + +Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, +The senseless, gawky million; +I'll cock my nose abune them a', +I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan! + +'Twas noble, sir; 'twas like yourself', +To grant your high protection: +A great man's smile ye ken fu' well +Is aye a blest infection. + +Tho', by his banes wha in a tub +Match'd Macedonian Sandy! +On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub, +I independent stand aye, - + +And when those legs to gude, warm kail, +Wi' welcome canna bear me, +A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, +An' barley-scone shall cheer me. + +Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath +O' mony flow'ry simmers! +An' bless your bonie lasses baith, +I'm tauld they're loosome kimmers! + +An' God bless young Dunaskin's laird, +The blossom of our gentry! +An' may he wear and auld man's beard, +A credit to his country. + +To A Louse, On Seeing One On A Lady's Bonnet, At Church + +Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? +Your impudence protects you sairly; +I canna say but ye strunt rarely, +Owre gauze and lace; +Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely +On sic a place. + +Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, +Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, +How daur ye set your fit upon her- +Sae fine a lady? +Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner +On some poor body. + +Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle; +There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, +Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, +In shoals and nations; +Whaur horn nor bane 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 verra tapmost, tow'rin height +O' Miss' bonnet. + +My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, +As plump an' grey as ony groset: +O for some rank, mercurial rozet, +Or fell, red smeddum, +I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, +Wad dress your droddum. + +I wad na been surpris'd to spy +You on an auld wife's flainen toy; +Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy, +On's wyliecoat; +But Miss' fine Lunardi! fye! +How daur ye do't? + +O Jeany, dinna toss your head, +An' set your beauties a' abread! +Ye little ken what cursed speed +The blastie's makin: +Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread, +Are notice takin. + +O wad some Power the giftie gie us +To see oursels as ithers see us! +It wad frae mony a blunder free us, +An' foolish notion: +What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, +An' ev'n devotion! + +Inscribed On A Work Of Hannah More's + + Presented to the Author by a Lady. + +Thou flatt'ring mark of friendship kind, +Still may thy pages call to mind +The dear, the beauteous donor; +Tho' sweetly female ev'ry part, +Yet such a head, and more the heart +Does both the sexes honour: +She show'd her taste refin'd and just, +When she selected thee; +Yet deviating, own I must, +For sae approving me: +But kind still I'll mind still +The giver in the gift; +I'll bless her, an' wiss her +A Friend aboon the lift. + +Song, Composed In Spring + + tune-"Jockey's Grey Breeks." + +Again rejoicing Nature sees +Her robe assume its vernal hues: +Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, +All freshly steep'd in morning dews. + +Chorus.-And maun I still on Menie doat, +And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? +For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, +An' it winna let a body be. + +In vain to me the cowslips blaw, +In vain to me the vi'lets spring; +In vain to me in glen or shaw, +The mavis and the lintwhite sing. +And maun I still, &c. + +The merry ploughboy cheers his team, +Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks; +But life to me's a weary dream, +A dream of ane that never wauks. +And maun I still, &c. + +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. +And maun I still, &c. + +The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, +And o'er the moorlands whistles shill: +Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, +I meet him on the dewy hill. +And maun I still, &c. + +And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, +Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, +And mounts and sings on flittering wings, +A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. +And maun I still, &c. + +Come winter, with thine angry howl, +And raging, bend the naked tree; +Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, +When nature all is sad like me! +And maun I still, &c. + +To A Mountain Daisy, + + On turning down with the Plough, in April, 1786. + +Wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r, +Thou's met me in an evil hour; +For I maun crush amang the stoure +Thy slender stem: +To spare thee now is past my pow'r, +Thou bonie gem. + +Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, +The bonie lark, companion meet, +Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, +Wi' spreckl'd breast! +When upward-springing, blythe, to greet +The purpling east. + +Cauld blew the bitter-biting north +Upon thy early, humble birth; +Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth +Amid the storm, +Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth +Thy tender form. + +The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, +High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; +But thou, beneath the random bield +O' clod or stane, +Adorns the histie stibble field, +Unseen, alane. + +There, in thy scanty mantle clad, +Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, +Thou lifts thy unassuming head +In humble guise; +But now the share uptears thy bed, +And low thou lies! + +Such is the fate of artless maid, +Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! +By love's simplicity betray'd, +And guileless trust; +Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid +Low i' the dust. + +Such is the fate of simple bard, +On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd! +Unskilful he to note the card +Of prudent lore, +Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, +And whelm him o'er! + +Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, +Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, +By human pride or cunning driv'n +To mis'ry's brink; +Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, +He, ruin'd, sink! + +Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, +That fate is thine-no distant date; +Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate, +Full on thy bloom, +Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, +Shall be thy doom! + +To Ruin + +All hail! inexorable lord! +At whose destruction-breathing word, +The mightiest empires fall! +Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, +The ministers of grief and pain, +A sullen welcome, all! + +With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, +I see each aimed dart; +For one has cut my dearest tie, +And quivers in my heart. +Then low'ring, and pouring, +The storm no more I dread; +Tho' thick'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 pray'r! +Nor 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 joyless day- +My weary heart is throbbing cease, +Cold mould'ring in the clay? +No fear more, no tear more, +To stain my lifeless face, +Enclasped, and grasped, +Within thy cold embrace! + +The Lament + + Occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a Friend's Amour. + +Alas! how oft does goodness would itself, +And sweet affection prove the spring of woe! + +Home. + +O thou pale orb that silent shines +While care-untroubled mortals sleep! +Thou seest a wretch who inly pines. +And wanders here to wail and weep! +With woe I nightly vigils keep, +Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; +And mourn, in lamentation deep, +How life and love are all a dream! + +I joyless view thy rays adorn +The faintly-marked, distant hill; +I joyless view thy trembling horn, +Reflected in the gurgling rill: +My fondly-fluttering heart, be still! +Thou busy pow'r, remembrance, cease! +Ah! must the agonizing thrill +For ever bar returning peace! + +No idly-feign'd, poetic pains, +My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim: +No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains; +No fabled tortures, quaint and tame. +The plighted faith, the mutual flame, +The oft-attested pow'rs above, +The promis'd father's tender name; +These were the pledges of my love! + +Encircled in her clasping arms, +How have the raptur'd moments flown! +How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, +For her dear sake, and her's alone! +And, must I think it! is she gone, +My secret heart's exulting boast? +And does she heedless hear my groan? +And is she ever, ever lost? + +Oh! can she bear so base a heart, +So lost to honour, lost to truth, +As from the fondest lover part, +The plighted husband of her youth? +Alas! life's path may be unsmooth! +Her way may lie thro' rough distress! +Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe +Her sorrows share, and make them less? + +Ye winged hours that o'er us pass'd, +Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, +Your dear remembrance in my breast +My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd: +That breast, how dreary now, and void, +For her too scanty once of room! +Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, +And not a wish to gild the gloom! + +The morn, that warns th' approaching day, +Awakes me up to toil and woe; +I see the hours in long array, +That I must suffer, lingering, slow: +Full many a pang, and many a throe, +Keen recollection's direful train, +Must wring my soul, were Phoebus, low, +Shall kiss the distant western main. + +And when my nightly couch I try, +Sore harass'd out with care and grief, +My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, +Keep watchings with the nightly thief: +Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, +Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright: +Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief +From such a horror-breathing night. + +O thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse +Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway +Oft has thy silent-marking glance +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! + +Despondency: An Ode + +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'ning scenes appear! +What sorrows yet may pierce me through, +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! + +Happy! ye sons of busy life, +Who, equal to the bustling strife, +No other view regard! +Ev'n when the wished end's denied, +Yet while the busy means are plied, +They bring their own reward: +Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, +Unfitted with an aim, +Meet ev'ry sad returning night, +And joyless morn the same! +You, bustling, and justling, +Forget each grief and pain; +I, listless, yet restless, +Find ev'ry prospect vain. + +How blest the solitary's lot, +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 ways of men are distant brought, +A faint, collected dream; +While praising, and raising +His thoughts to heav'n on high, +As wand'ring, meand'ring, +He views the solemn sky. + +Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd +Where never human footstep trac'd, +Less 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 solitary can despise, +Can want, and yet be blest! +He needs not, he heeds not, +Or human love or hate; +Whilst I here must cry here +At perfidy ingrate! + +O, 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! +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! + +To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauchline, + + Recommending a Boy. + +Mossgaville, May 3, 1786. + +I hold it, sir, my bounden duty +To warn you how that Master Tootie, +Alias, Laird M'Gaun, +Was here to hire yon lad away +'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, +An' wad hae don't aff han'; + +But lest he learn the callan tricks- +An' faith I muckle doubt him- +Like scrapin out auld Crummie's nicks, +An' tellin lies about them; +As lieve then, I'd have then +Your clerkship he should sair, +If sae be ye may be +Not fitted otherwhere. + +Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough, +An' 'bout a house that's rude an' rough, +The boy might learn to swear; +But then, wi' you, he'll be sae taught, +An' get sic fair example straught, +I hae na ony fear. +Ye'll catechise him, every quirk, +An' shore him weel wi' hell; +An' gar him follow to the kirk- +Aye when ye gang yoursel. +If ye then maun be then +Frae hame this comin' Friday, +Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir, +The orders wi' your lady. + +My word of honour I hae gi'en, +In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, +To meet the warld's worm; +To try to get the twa to gree, +An' name the airles an' the fee, +In legal mode an' form: +I ken he weel a snick can draw, +When simple bodies let him: +An' if a Devil be at a', +In faith he's sure to get him. +To phrase you and praise you,. +Ye ken your Laureat scorns: +The pray'r still you share still +Of grateful Minstrel Burns. + +Versified Reply To An Invitation + +Sir, + +Yours this moment I unseal, +And faith I'm gay and hearty! +To tell the truth and shame the deil, +I am as fou as Bartie: +But Foorsday, sir, my promise leal, +Expect me o' your partie, +If on a beastie I can speel, +Or hurl in a cartie. + +Yours, + +Robert Burns. +Mauchlin, Monday night, 10 o'clock. + +song-Will Ye Go To The Indies, My Mary? + +tune-"Will ye go to the Ewe-Bughts, Marion." + +Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, +And leave auld Scotia's shore? +Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, +Across th' Atlantic roar? + +O sweet grows the lime and the orange, +And the apple on the pine; +But a' the charms o' the Indies +Can never equal thine. + +I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, +I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true; +And sae may the Heavens forget me, +When I forget my vow! + +O plight me your faith, my Mary, +And plight me your lily-white hand; +O plight me your faith, my Mary, +Before I leave Scotia's strand. + +We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, +In mutual affection to join; +And curst be the cause that shall part us! +The hour and the moment o' time! + +song-My Highland Lassie, O + +tune-"The deuks dang o'er my daddy." + +Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, +Shall ever be my muse's care: +Their titles a' arc empty show; +Gie me my Highland lassie, O. + +Chorus.-Within the glen sae bushy, O, +Aboon the plain sae rashy, O, +I set me down wi' right guid will, +To sing my Highland lassie, O. + +O were yon hills and vallies mine, +Yon palace and yon gardens fine! +The world then the love should know +I bear my Highland Lassie, O. + +But fickle fortune frowns on me, +And I maun cross the raging sea! +But while my crimson currents flow, +I'll love my Highland lassie, O. + +Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, +I know her heart will never change, +For her bosom burns with honour's glow, +My faithful Highland lassie, O. + +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. + +She has my heart, she has my hand, +By secret troth and honour's band! +Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, +I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. + +Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! +Farewell the plain sae rashy, O! +To other lands I now must go, +To sing my Highland lassie, O. + +Epistle To A Young Friend + + May __, 1786. + +I Lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, +A something to have sent you, +Tho' it should serve nae ither end +Than just a kind memento: +But how the subject-theme may gang, +Let time and chance determine; +Perhaps it may turn out a sang: +Perhaps turn out a sermon. + +Ye'll try the world soon, my lad; +And, Andrew dear, believe me, +Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, +And muckle 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 law, +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 shouldna censure; +For still, th' important end of life +They equally may answer; +A man may hae an honest heart, +Tho' poortith hourly stare him; +A man may tak a neibor's part, +Yet hae nae cash to spare him. + +Aye free, aff-han', your story tell, +When wi' a bosom crony; +But still keep something to yoursel', +Ye scarcely tell to ony: +Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can +Frae critical dissection; +But keek thro' ev'ry other man, +Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. + +The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, +Luxuriantly indulge it; +But never tempt th' illicit rove, +Tho' naething should divulge it: +I waive the quantum o' the sin, +The hazard of concealing; +But, Och! it hardens a' within, +And petrifies the feeling! + +To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, +Assiduous wait upon her; +And gather gear by ev'ry wile +That's justified by honour; +Not for to hide it in a hedge, +Nor for a train attendant; +But for the glorious privilege +Of being independent. + +The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, +To haud the wretch in order; +But where ye feel your honour grip, +Let that aye be your border; +Its slightest touches, instant pause- +Debar a' side-pretences; +And resolutely keep its laws, +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 profane to range, +Be complaisance extended; +An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange +For Deity offended! + +When ranting round in pleasure's ring, +Religion may be blinded; +Or if she gie a random sting, +It may be little minded; +But when on life we're tempest 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 phrase, "God send you speed," +Still daily to grow wiser; +And may ye better reck the rede, +Then ever did th' adviser! + +Address Of Beelzebub + + To the Right Honourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right +Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd of May +last at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate +the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were informed by +Mr. M'Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from +their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by emigrating from +the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of Canada, in search of +that fantastic thing-Liberty. + +Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, +Unskaithed by hunger'd Highland boors; +Lord grant me nae duddie, desperate beggar, +Wi' dirk, claymore, and rusty trigger, +May twin auld Scotland o' a life +She likes-as butchers like a knife. + +Faith you and Applecross were right +To keep the Highland hounds in sight: +I doubt na! they wad bid nae better, +Than let them ance out owre the water, +Then up among thae lakes and seas, +They'll mak what rules and laws they please: +Some daring Hancocke, or a Franklin, +May set their Highland bluid a-ranklin; +Some Washington again may head them, +Or some Montgomery, fearless, lead them, +Till God knows what may be effected +When by such heads and hearts directed, +Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire +May to Patrician rights aspire! +Nae sage North now, nor sager Sackville, +To watch and premier o'er the pack vile, - +An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons +To bring them to a right repentance- +To cowe the rebel generation, +An' save the honour o' the nation? +They, an' be d-d! what right hae they +To meat, or sleep, or light o' day? +Far less-to riches, pow'r, or freedom, +But what your lordship likes to gie them? + +But hear, my lord! Glengarry, hear! +Your hand's owre light to them, I fear; +Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, +I canna say but they do gaylies; +They lay aside a' tender mercies, +An' tirl the hallions to the birses; +Yet while they're only poind't and herriet, +They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit: +But smash them! crash them a' to spails, +An' rot the dyvors i' the jails! +The young dogs, swinge them to the labour; +Let wark an' hunger mak them sober! +The hizzies, if they're aughtlins fawsont, +Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd! +An' if the wives an' dirty brats +Come thiggin at your doors an' yetts, +Flaffin wi' duds, an' grey wi' beas', +Frightin away your ducks an' geese; +Get out a horsewhip or a jowler, +The langest thong, the fiercest growler, +An' gar the tatter'd gypsies pack +Wi' a' their bastards on their back! +Go on, my Lord! I lang to meet you, +An' in my house at hame to greet you; +Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, +The benmost neuk beside the ingle, +At my right han' assigned your seat, +'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate: +Or if you on your station tarrow, +Between Almagro and Pizarro, +A seat, I'm sure ye're well deservin't; +An' till ye come-your humble servant, + +Beelzebub. +June 1st, Anno Mundi, 5790. + +A Dream + +Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason; +But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason. + + On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the other +parade of June 4th, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he +imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee: and, in his dreaming +fancy, made the following Address: + +Guid-Mornin' to our Majesty! +May Heaven augment your blisses +On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, +A humble poet wishes. +My bardship here, at your Levee +On sic a day as this is, +Is sure an uncouth sight to see, +Amang thae birth-day dresses +Sae fine this day. + +I see ye're complimented thrang, +By mony a lord an' lady; +"God save the King" 's a cuckoo sang +That's unco easy said aye: +The poets, too, a venal gang, +Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready, +Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, +But aye unerring steady, +On sic a day. + +For me! before a monarch's face +Ev'n there I winna flatter; +For neither pension, post, nor place, +Am I your humble debtor: +So, nae reflection on your Grace, +Your Kingship to bespatter; +There's mony waur been o' the race, +And aiblins ane been better +Than you this day. + +'Tis very true, my sovereign King, +My skill may weel be doubted; +But facts are chiels that winna ding, +An' downa be disputed: +Your royal nest, beneath your wing, +Is e'en right reft and clouted, +And now the third part o' the string, +An' less, will gang aboot it +Than did ae day.^1 + +Far be't frae me that I aspire +To blame your legislation, +Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, +To rule this mighty nation: +But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire, +Ye've trusted ministration +To chaps wha in barn or byre +Wad better fill'd their station +Than courts yon day. + +And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, +Her broken shins to plaister, +Your sair taxation does her fleece, +Till she has scarce a tester: +For me, thank God, my life's a lease, +Nae bargain wearin' faster, +Or, faith! I fear, that, wi' the geese, +I shortly boost to pasture +I' the craft some day. + +[Footnote 1: The American colonies had recently been lost.] + +I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, +When taxes he enlarges, +(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, +A name not envy spairges), +That he intends to pay your debt, +An' lessen a' your charges; +But, God-sake! let nae saving fit +Abridge your bonie barges +An'boats this day. + +Adieu, my Liege; may freedom geck +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, wi' due respect, +May fealty an' subjection +This great birth-day. + +Hail, Majesty most Excellent! +While nobles strive to please ye, +Will ye accept a compliment, +A simple poet gies ye? +Thae bonie bairntime, Heav'n has lent, +Still higher may they heeze ye +In bliss, till fate some day is sent +For ever to release ye +Frae care that day. + +For you, young Potentate o'Wales, +I tell your highness fairly, +Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, +I'm tauld ye're driving rarely; +But some day ye may gnaw your nails, +An' curse your folly sairly, +That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, +Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie +By night or day. + +Yet aft a ragged cowt's been known, +To mak a noble aiver; +So, ye may doucely fill the throne, +For a'their clish-ma-claver: +There, him^2 at Agincourt wha shone, +Few better were or braver: +And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,^3 +He was an unco shaver +For mony a day. + +For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg, +Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, +Altho' a ribbon at your lug +Wad been a dress completer: +As ye disown yon paughty dog, +That bears the keys of Peter, +Then swith! an' get a wife to hug, +Or trowth, ye'll stain the mitre +Some luckless day! + +Young, royal Tarry-breeks, I learn, +Ye've lately come athwart her- +A glorious galley,^4 stem and stern, +Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; +But first hang out, that she'll discern, +Your hymeneal charter; +Then heave aboard your grapple airn, +An' large upon her quarter, +Come full that day. + +Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a', +Ye royal lasses dainty, +Heav'n mak you guid as well as braw, +An' gie you lads a-plenty! +But sneer na British boys awa! +For kings are unco scant aye, +An' German gentles are but sma', +They're better just than want aye +On ony day. + +[Footnote 2: King Henry V.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 3: Sir John Falstaff, vid. Shakespeare.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 4: Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain Royal sailor's +amour.-R. B. This was Prince William Henry, third son of George III, +afterward King William IV.] + +Gad bless you a'! consider now, +Ye're unco muckle dautit; +But ere the course o' life be through, +It may be bitter sautit: +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 clautit +Fu' clean that day. + +A Dedication + + To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. + +Expect na, sir, in this narration, +A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, +To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, +An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, +Because ye're surnam'd like His Grace- +Perhaps related to the race: +Then, when I'm tir'd-and sae are ye, +Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, +Set up a face how I stop short, +For fear your modesty be hurt. + +This may do-maun do, sir, wi' them wha +Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; +For me! sae laigh I need na bow, +For, Lord be thankit, I can plough; +And when I downa yoke a naig, +Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; +Sae I shall say-an' that's nae flatt'rin- +It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron. + +The Poet, some guid angel help him, +Or else, I fear, some ill 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 ance he says, he winna break it; +Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, +Till aft his guidness is abus'd; +And rascals whiles that do him wrang, +Ev'n that, 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 godly symptom ye can ca' that; +It's naething but a milder feature +Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt nature: +Ye'll get the best o' moral works, +'Mang black Gentoos, and pagan Turks, +Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, +Wha never heard of orthodoxy. +That he's the poor man's friend in need, +The gentleman in word and deed, +It's no thro' terror of damnation; +It's just a carnal inclination. + +Morality, thou deadly bane, +Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! +Vain is his hope, whase stay an' trust is +In moral mercy, truth, and justice! + +No-stretch a point to catch a plack: +Abuse a brother to his back; +Steal through the winnock frae a whore, +But point the rake that taks the door; +Be to the poor like ony whunstane, +And haud 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 they ye're nae deceiver, +A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. + +O ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin, +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 besom, +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 still 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: +Because (ye need na tak it ill), +I thought them something like yoursel'. + +Then patronize them wi' your favor, +And your petitioner shall ever- +I had amaist said, ever pray, +But that's a word I need na say; +For prayin, I hae little skill o't, +I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; +But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, +That kens or hears about you, sir- + +"May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark, +Howl thro' the dwelling o' the clerk! +May ne'er his genrous, honest heart, +For that same gen'rous spirit smart! +May Kennedy's far-honour'd name +Lang beet his hymeneal flame, +Till Hamiltons, at least a dizzen, +Are frae their nuptial labours 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, curlie John's ier-oe, +When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, +The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!" + +I will not wind a lang conclusion, +With complimentary effusion; +But, whilst your wishes and endeavours +Are blest with Fortune's smiles and 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, Want, +Attended, in his grim advances, +By sad mistakes, and black mischances, +While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, +Make you as poor a dog as I am, +Your humble servant then no more; +For who would humbly serve the poor? +But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n! +While recollection's pow'r is giv'n- +If, in the vale of humble life, +The victim sad of fortune's strife, +I, thro' the tender-gushing tear, +Should recognise my master dear; +If friendless, low, we meet together, +Then, sir, your hand-my Friend and Brother! + +Versified Note To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline + +Friday first's the day appointed +By the Right Worshipful anointed, + +To hold our grand procession; +To get a blad o' Johnie's morals, +And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels + +I' the way of our profession. +The Master and the Brotherhood +Would a' be glad to see you; +For me I would be mair than proud + +To share the mercies wi' you. +If Death, then, wi' skaith, then, +Some mortal heart is hechtin, +Inform him, and storm him, +That Saturday you'll fecht him. + +Robert Burns. +Mossgiel, An. M. 5790. + +The Farewell To the Brethren of St. James' Lodge, Tarbolton. + + tune-"Guidnight, and joy be wi' you a'." + +Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu; +Dear brothers of the mystic tie! +Ye favoured, enlighten'd few, +Companions of my social joy; +Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, +Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba'; +With melting heart, and brimful eye, +I'll mind you still, tho' far awa. + +Oft have I met your social band, +And spent the cheerful, festive night; +Oft, honour'd with supreme command, +Presided o'er the sons of light: +And by that hieroglyphic bright, +Which none but Craftsmen ever saw +Strong Mem'ry on my heart shall write +Those happy scenes, when far awa. + +May Freedom, Harmony, and Love, +Unite you in the grand Design, +Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above, +The glorious Architect Divine, +That you may keep th' unerring line, +Still rising by the plummet's law, +Till Order bright completely shine, +Shall be my pray'r when far awa. + +And you, farewell! whose merits claim +Justly that highest badge to wear: +Heav'n bless your honour'd noble name, +To Masonry and Scotia dear! +A last request permit me here, - +When yearly ye assemble a', +One round, I ask it with a tear, +To him, the Bard that's far awa. + +On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies + +A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, +A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, +A' ye wha live and never think, +Come, mourn wi' me! +Our billie 's gien us a' a jink, +An' owre the sea! + +Lament him a' ye rantin core, +Wha dearly like a random splore; +Nae mair he'll join the merry roar; +In social key; +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! + +O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! +Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, +Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, +'Twad been nae plea; +But he was gleg as ony wumble, +That's owre the sea! + +Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, +An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; +'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, +In flinders flee: +He was her Laureat mony a year, +That's owre the sea! + +He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west +Lang mustering up a bitter blast; +A jillet brak his heart at last, +Ill may she be! +So, took a berth afore the mast, +An' owre the sea. + +To tremble under Fortune's cummock, +On a scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, +Wi' his proud, independent stomach, +Could ill agree; +So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, +An' owre the sea. + +He ne'er was gien to great misguidin, +Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; +Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding; +He dealt it free: +The Muse was a' that he took pride in, +That's owre the sea. + +Jamaica bodies, use him weel, +An' hap him in cozie biel: +Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel, +An' fou o' glee: +He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, +That's owre the sea. + +Farewell, my rhyme-composing billie! +Your native soil was right ill-willie; +But may ye flourish like a lily, +Now bonilie! +I'll toast you in my hindmost gillie, +Tho' owre the sea! + +song-Farewell To Eliza + + tune-"Gilderoy." + +From thee, Eliza, I must go, +And from my native shore; +The cruel fates between us throw +A boundless ocean's roar: +But boundless oceans, roaring wide, +Between my love and me, +They never, never can divide +My heart and soul from thee. + +Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, +The maid that I adore! +A boding voice is in mine ear, +We part to meet no more! +But the latest throb that leaves my heart, +While Death stands victor by, - +That throb, Eliza, is thy part, +And thine that latest sigh! + +A Bard's Epitaph + +Is there a whim-inspired fool, +Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, +Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, +Let him draw near; +And owre this grassy heap sing dool, +And drap a tear. + +Is there a bard of rustic song, +Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, +That weekly this area throng, +O, pass not by! +But, with a frater-feeling strong, +Here, heave a sigh. + +Is there a man, whose judgment clear +Can others teach the course to steer, +Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, +Wild as the wave, +Here pause-and, thro' the starting tear, +Survey this grave. + +The poor inhabitant below +Was quick to learn the wise to know, +And keenly felt the friendly glow, +And softer flame; +But thoughtless follies laid him low, +And stain'd his name! + +Reader, attend! whether thy soul +Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, +Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, +In low pursuit: +Know, prudent, cautious, self-control +Is wisdom's root. + +Epitaph For Robert Aiken, Esq. + +Know thou, O stranger to the fame +Of this much lov'd, much honoured name! +(For none that knew him need be told) +A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. + +Epitaph For Gavin Hamilton, Esq. + +The poor man weeps-here Gavin sleeps, +Whom canting wretches blam'd; +But with such as he, where'er he be, +May I be sav'd or damn'd! + +Epitaph On "Wee Johnie" + + Hic Jacet wee Johnie. + +Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know +That Death has murder'd Johnie; +An' here his body lies fu' low; +For saul he ne'er had ony. + +The Lass O' Ballochmyle + + tune-"Ettrick Banks." + +'Twas even-the dewy fields were green, +On every blade the pearls hang; +The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, +And bore its fragrant sweets alang: +In ev'ry glen the mavis sang, +All nature list'ning seem'd the while, +Except where greenwood echoes rang, +Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. + +With careless step I onward stray'd, +My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, +When, musing in a lonely glade, +A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy: +Her look was like the morning's eye, +Her air like nature's vernal smile: +Perfection whisper'd, passing by, +"Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!" + +Fair is the morn in flowery May, +And sweet is night in autumn mild; +When roving thro' the garden gay, +Or wand'ring in the lonely wild: +But woman, nature's darling child! +There all her charms she does compile; +Even there her other works are foil'd +By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. + +O, had she been a country maid, +And I the happy country swain, +Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed +That ever rose on Scotland's plain! +Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, +With joy, with rapture, I would toil; +And nightly to my bosom strain +The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. + +Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, +Where frame and honours lofty shine; +And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, +Or downward seek the Indian mine: +Give me the cot below the pine, +To tend the flocks or till the soil; +And ev'ry day have joys divine +With the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. + +Lines To An Old Sweetheart + +Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, +Sweet early object of my youthful vows, +Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, +Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows. +And when you read the simple artless rhymes, +One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more, +Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes, +Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. + +Motto Prefixed To The Author's First Publication + +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. + +Lines To Mr. John Kennedy + +Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you, +And 'mang her favourites admit you: +If e'er Detraction shore to smit you, +May nane believe him, +And ony deil that thinks to get you, +Good Lord, deceive him! + +Lines Written On A Banknote + +Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! +Fell source o' a' my woe and grief! +For lack o' thee I've lost my lass! +For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass! +I see the children of affliction +Unaided, through thy curst restriction: +I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile +Amid his hapless victim's spoil; +And for thy potence vainly wished, +To crush the villain in the dust: +For lack o' thee, I leave this much-lov'd shore, +Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more. + +R.B. + +Stanzas On Naething + + Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. + +To you, sir, this summons I've sent, +Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing; +But if you demand what I want, +I honestly answer you-naething. + +Ne'er scorn a poor Poet like me, +For idly just living and breathing, +While people of every degree +Are busy employed about-naething. + +Poor Centum-per-centum may fast, +And grumble his hurdies their claithing, +He'll find, when the balance is cast, +He's gane to the devil for-naething. + +The courtier cringes and bows, +Ambition has likewise its plaything; +A coronet beams on his brows; +And what is a coronet-naething. + +Some quarrel the Presbyter gown, +Some quarrel Episcopal graithing; +But every good fellow will own +Their quarrel is a' about-naething. + +The lover may sparkle and glow, +Approaching his bonie bit gay thing: +But marriage will soon let him know +He's gotten-a buskit up naething. + +The Poet may jingle and rhyme, +In hopes of a laureate wreathing, +And when he has wasted his time, +He's kindly rewarded wi'-naething. + +The thundering bully may rage, +And swagger and swear like a heathen; +But collar him fast, I'll engage, +You'll find that his courage is-naething. + +Last night wi' a feminine whig- +A Poet she couldna put faith in; +But soon we grew lovingly big, +I taught her, her terrors were naething. + +Her whigship was wonderful pleased, +But charmingly tickled wi' ae thing, +Her fingers I lovingly squeezed, +And kissed her, and promised her-naething. + +The priest anathemas may threat- +Predicament, sir, that we're baith in; +But when honour's reveille is beat, +The holy artillery's naething. + +And now I must mount on the wave- +My voyage perhaps there is death in; +But what is a watery grave? +The drowning a Poet is naething. + +And now, as grim death's in my thought, +To you, sir, I make this bequeathing; +My service as long as ye've ought, +And my friendship, by God, when ye've naething. + +The Farewell + +The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? +Or what does he regard his single woes? +But when, alas! he multiplies himself, +To dearer serves, to the lov'd tender fair, +To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him, +To helpless children,-then, Oh then, he feels +The point of misery festering in his heart, +And weakly weeps his fortunes like a coward: +Such, such am I!-undone! + +Thomson's Edward and Eleanora. + +Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, +Far dearer than the torrid plains, +Where rich ananas blow! +Farewell, a mother's blessing dear! +A borther's sigh! a sister's tear! +My Jean's heart-rending throe! +Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft +Of my paternal care. +A faithful brother I have left, +My part in him thou'lt share! +Adieu, too, to you too, +My Smith, my bosom frien'; +When kindly you mind me, +O then befriend my Jean! + +What bursting anguish tears my heart; +From thee, my Jeany, must I part! +Thou, weeping, answ'rest-"No!" +Alas! misfortune stares my face, +And points to ruin and disgrace, +I for thy sake must go! +Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear, +A grateful, warm adieu: +I, with a much-indebted tear, +Shall still remember you! +All hail then, the gale then, +Wafts me from thee, dear shore! +It rustles, and whistles +I'll never see thee more! + +The Calf + + To the Rev. James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. "And ye +shall go forth, and grow up, as Calves of the stall." + +Right, sir! your text I'll prove it true, +Tho' heretics may laugh; +For instance, there's yourself just now, +God knows, an unco calf. + +And should some patron be so kind, +As bless you wi' a kirk, +I doubt na, sir but then we'll find, +Ye're still as great a stirk. + +But, if the lover's raptur'd 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 like has been that you may wear +A noble head of horns. + +And, in your lug, most reverend James, +To hear you roar and rowt, +Few men o' sense will doubt your claims +To rank amang the nowt. + +And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, +Below a grassy hillock, +With justice they may mark your head- +"Here lies a famous bullock!" + +Nature's Law-A Poem + + Humbly inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. + + Great Nature spoke: observant man obey'd-Pope. + +Let other heroes boast their scars, +The marks of sturt and strife: +And other poets sing of wars, +The plagues of human life: + +Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun +To slap mankind like lumber! +I sing his name, and nobler fame, +Wha multiplies our number. + +Great Nature spoke, with air benign, +"Go on, ye human race; +This lower world I you resign; +Be fruitful and increase. +The liquid fire of strong desire +I've pour'd it in each bosom; +Here, on this had, does Mankind stand, +And there is Beauty's blossom." + +The Hero of these artless strains, +A lowly bard was he, +Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains, +With meikle mirth an'glee; +Kind Nature's care had given his share +Large, of the flaming current; +And, all devout, he never sought +To stem the sacred torrent. + +He felt the powerful, high behest +Thrill, vital, thro' and thro'; +And sought a correspondent breast, +To give obedience due: +Propitious Powers screen'd the young flow'rs, +From mildews of abortion; +And low! the bard - a great reward - +Has got a double portion! + +Auld cantie Coil may count the day, +As annual it returns, +The third of Libra's equal sway, +That gave another Burns, +With future rhymes, an' other times, +To emulate his sire: +To sing auld Coil in nobler style +With more poetic fire. + +Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song, +Look down with gracious eyes; +And bless auld Coila, large and long, +With multiplying joys; +Lang may she stand to prop the land, +The flow'r of ancient nations; +And Burnses spring, her fame to sing, +To endless generations! + +song-Willie Chalmers + + Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked +me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, +but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows:- + +Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, +And eke a braw new brechan, +My Pegasus I'm got astride, +And up Parnassus pechin; +Whiles owre a bush wi' donwward crush, +The doited beastie stammers; +Then up he gets, and off he sets, +For sake o' Willie Chalmers. + +I doubt na, lass, that weel ken'd name +May cost a pair o' blushes; +I am nae stranger to your fame, +Nor his warm urged wishes. +Your bonie face sae mild and sweet, +His honest heart enamours, +And faith ye'll no be lost a whit, +Tho' wair'd on Willie Chalmers. + +Auld Truth hersel' might swear yer'e fair, +And Honour safely back her; +And Modesty assume your air, +And ne'er a ane mistak her: +And sic twa love-inspiring een +Might fire even holy palmers; +Nae wonder then they've fatal been +To honest Willie Chalmers. + +I doubt na fortune may you shore +Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priestie, +Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, +And band upon his breastie: +But oh! what signifies to you +His lexicons and grammars; +The feeling heart's the royal blue, +And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. + +Some gapin', glowrin' countra laird +May warsle for your favour; +May claw his lug, and straik his beard, +And hoast up some palaver: +My bonie maid, before ye wed +Sic clumsy-witted hammers, +Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp +Awa wi' Willie Chalmers. + +Forgive the Bard! my fond regard +For ane that shares my bosom, +Inspires my Muse to gie 'm his dues +For deil a hair I roose him. +May powers aboon unite you soon, +And fructify your amours, - +And every year come in mair dear +To you and Willie Chalmers. + +Reply To A Trimming Epistle Received From A Tailor + +What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch +To thresh my back at sic a pitch? +Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch, +Your bodkin's bauld; +I didna suffer half sae much +Frae Daddie Auld. + +What tho' at times, when I grow crouse, +I gie their wames a random pouse, +Is that enough for you to souse +Your servant sae? +Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse, +An' jag-the-flea! + +King David, o' poetic brief, +Wrocht 'mang the lasses sic mischief +As filled his after-life wi' grief, +An' bluidy rants, +An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief +O' lang-syne saunts. + +And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, +My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, +I'll gie auld cloven's Clootie's haunts +An unco slip yet, +An' snugly sit amang the saunts, +At Davie's hip yet! + +But, fegs! the session says I maun +Gae fa' upo' anither plan +Than garrin lasses coup the cran, +Clean heels ower body, +An' sairly thole their mother's ban +Afore the howdy. + +This leads me on to tell for sport, +How I did wi' the Session sort; +Auld Clinkum, at the inner port, +Cried three times, "Robin! +Come hither lad, and answer for't, +Ye're blam'd for jobbin!" + +Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, +An' snoov'd awa before the Session: +I made an open, fair confession- +I scorn't to lee, +An' syne Mess John, beyond expression, +Fell foul o' me. + +A fornicator-loun he call'd me, +An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me; +I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, +"But, what the matter? +(Quo' I) I fear unless ye geld me, +I'll ne'er be better!" + +"Geld you! (quo' he) an' what for no? +If that your right hand, leg or toe +Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe, +You should remember +To cut it aff-an' what for no +Your dearest member?" + +"Na, na, (quo' I,) I'm no for that, +Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't; +I'd rather suffer for my faut +A hearty flewit, +As sair owre hip as ye can draw't, +Tho' I should rue it. + +"Or, gin ye like to end the bother, +To please us a'-I've just ae ither- +When next wi' yon lass I forgather, +Whate'er betide it, +I'll frankly gie her 't a' thegither, +An' let her guide it." + +But, sir, this pleas'd them warst of a', +An' therefore, Tam, when that I saw, +I said "Gude night," an' cam' awa', +An' left the Session; +I saw they were resolved a' +On my oppression. + +The Brigs Of Ayr + +A Poem + + Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr. + +The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, +Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; +The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, +Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush; +The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, +Or deep-ton'd plovers grey, wild-whistling o'er the 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 hireling crimes, +The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes? +Or labour hard the panegyric close, +With all the venal soul of dedicating prose? +No! though his artless strains he rudely sings, +And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, +He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, +Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. +Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, +Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace; +When Ballantine 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 +O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath; +The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, +Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, +Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, +Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak, +The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek: +The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, +The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; +The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, +Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie: +(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds, +And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) +Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs, +Nae mair the grove 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 gosamour waves wanton in the rays. + +'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, +Unknown and poor-simplicity's reward!- +Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, +By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care, +He left his bed, and took his wayward route, +And down by Simpson's^1 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 or why:) +The drowsy Dungeon-clock^2 had number'd two, +and Wallace Tower^2 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 tower and tree; +The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, +Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream- +When, lo! on either hand the list'ning Bard, +The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard; +Two dusky forms dart through the midnight air; +Swift as the gos^3 drives on the wheeling hare; +Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, +The other flutters o'er the rising piers: +Our warlock Rhymer instantly dexcried +The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. +(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, +And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk; +Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, +And even the very deils they brawly ken them). +Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, +The very wrinkles Gothic in his face; +He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, +Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. + +[Footnote 1: A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 2: The two steeples.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 3: The Gos-hawk, or Falcon.-R. B.] + +New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, +That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got; +In 's hand five taper staves as smooth 's a bead, +Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. +The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, +Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch; +It chanc'd his new-come neibor took his e'e, +And e'en a vexed and angry heart had he! +Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, +He, down the water, gies him this guid-e'en:- + +Auld Brig + +"I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheepshank, +Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank! +But gin ye be a brig as auld as me- +Tho' faith, that date, I doubt, ye'll never see- +There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, +Some fewer whigmaleeries in your noddle." + +New Brig + +"Auld Vandal! ye but show your little mense, +Just much about it wi' your scanty sense: +Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, +Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, +Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, +Compare wi' bonie brigs o' modern time? +There's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat stream,^4 +Tho' they should cast the very sark and swim, +E'er they would grate their feelings wi' the view +O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you." + +Auld Brig + +"Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride! +This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide; +And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, +I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn! +As yet ye little ken about the matter, +But twa-three winters will inform ye better. +When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, + +[Footnote 4: A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig.-R. B.] + +Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; +When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, +Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil; +Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. +Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source, +Aroused by blustering winds an' spotting thowes, +In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes; +While crashing ice, borne on the rolling spate, +Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; +And from Glenbuck,^5 down to the Ratton-key,^6 +Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea- +Then down ye'll 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 Lord be thankit that we've tint the gate o't! +Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, +Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices; +O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, +Supporting roofs, fantastic, stony groves; +Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest +With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; +Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, +The craz'd creations of misguided whim; +Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, +And still the second dread command be free; +Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea! +Mansions that would disgrace the building taste +Of any mason reptile, bird or beast: +Fit only for a doited monkish race, +Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, +Or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion, +That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion: +Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, +And soon may they expire, unblest wi' resurrection!" + +[Footnote 5: The source of the River Ayr.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 6: A small landing place above the large quay.-R. B.] + +Auld Brig + +"O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, +Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings! +Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, +Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye; +Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveners, +To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners +Ye godly Councils, wha hae blest this town; +ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, +Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters; +And (what would now be strange), ye godly 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 tailors and by barbers, +Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on damn'd new brigs and harbours!" + +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, +Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle: +But, under favour o' your langer beard, +Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd; +To liken them to your auld-warld squad, +I must needs say, comparisons are odd. +In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle +To mouth 'a Citizen,' a term o' scandal; +Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, +In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; +Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops and raisins, +Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins: +If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, +Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, +And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them, +Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them." + +What farther clish-ma-claver aight been said, +What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, +No man can tell; but, all before their sight, +A fairy train appear'd in order bright; +Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd; +Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd: +They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, +The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: +While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, +And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. + +O had M'Lauchlan,^7 thairm-inspiring 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 raptured 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 self was heard; +Harmonious concert rung in every part, +While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. +The Genius of the Stream in front appears, +A venerable Chief advanc'd in years; +His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, +His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. +Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, +Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; +Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, +And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye; + +[Footnote 7: A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin.-R. B.] + +All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, +Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn; +Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, +By Hospitality with cloudless brow: +Next followed Courage with his martial stride, +From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;^8 +Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, +A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair;^9 +Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, +From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode:^10 +Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, +To rustic Agriculture did bequeath +The broken, iron instruments of death: +At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. + +Fragment Of Song + +The night was still, and o'er the hill +The moon shone on the castle wa'; +The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang +Around her on the castle wa'; +Sae merrily they danced the ring +Frae eenin' till the cock did craw; +And aye the o'erword o' the spring +Was "Irvine's bairns are bonie a'." + +Epigram On Rough Roads + +I'm now arrived-thanks to the gods!- +Thro' pathways rough and muddy, +A certain sign that makin roads +Is no this people's study: +Altho' Im not wi' Scripture cram'd, +I'm sure the Bible says +That heedless sinners shall be damn'd, +Unless they mend their ways. + +[Footnote 8: A compliment to the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, on the Feal or +Faile, a tributary of the Ayr.] + +[Footnote 9: Mrs. Stewart of Stair, an early patroness of the poet.] + +[Footnote 10: The house of Professor Dugald Stewart.] + +Prayer-O Thou Dread Power + + Lying at a reverend friend's house one night, the author left the +following verses in the room where he slept:- + +O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above, +I know thou wilt me hear, +When for this scene of peace and love, +I make this prayer sincere. + +The hoary Sire-the mortal stroke, +Long, long be pleas'd to spare; +To bless this little filial flock, +And show what good men are. + +She, who her lovely offspring eyes +With tender hopes and fears, +O bless her with a mother's joys, +But spare a mother's tears! + +Their hope, their stay, their darling youth. +In manhood's dawning blush, +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! + +Farewell Song To The Banks Of Ayr + + tune-"Roslin Castle." + + "I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to +Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my +farewell dirge to my native land."-R. B. + +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, prest 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 billow's 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 wound; +These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, +To leave the bonie banks of Ayr. + +Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, +Her healthy moors and winding vales; +The scenes where wretched Fancy roves, +Pursuing past, unhappy loves! +Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! +My peace with these, my love with those: +The bursting tears my heart declare- +Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr! + +Address To The Toothache + +My curse upon your venom'd stang, +That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, +An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, +Wi' gnawing vengeance, +Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, +Like racking engines! + +When fevers burn, or argues freezes, +Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes, +Our neibor's sympathy can ease us, +Wi' pitying moan; +But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases- +Aye mocks our groan. + +Adown my beard the slavers trickle +I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, +While round the fire the giglets keckle, +To see me loup, +While, raving mad, I wish a heckle +Were in their doup! + +In a' the numerous human dools, +Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools, +Or worthy frien's rak'd i' the mools, - +Sad sight to see! +The tricks o' knaves, or fash o'fools, +Thou bear'st the gree! + +Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, +Where a' the tones o' misery yell, +An' ranked plagues their numbers tell, +In dreadfu' raw, +Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell, +Amang them a'! + +O thou grim, mischief-making chiel, +That gars the notes o' discord squeel, +Till daft mankind aft dance a reel +In gore, a shoe-thick, +Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal +A townmond's toothache! + +Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer^1 + +This wot ye all whom it concerns, +I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, +October twenty-third, + +[Footnote 1: At the house of Professor Dugald Stewart.] + +A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, +Sae far I sprackl'd up the brae, +I dinner'd wi' a Lord. + +I've been at drucken writers' feasts, +Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests- +Wi' rev'rence be it spoken!- +I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, +When mighty Squireships of the quorum, +Their hydra drouth did sloken. + +But wi' a Lord!-stand out my shin, +A Lord-a Peer-an Earl's son! +Up higher yet, my bonnet +An' sic a Lord!-lang Scoth ells twa, +Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', +As I look o'er my sonnet. + +But O for Hogarth's magic pow'r! +To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, +An' how he star'd and stammer'd, +When, goavin, as if led wi' branks, +An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks, +He in the parlour hammer'd. + +I sidying shelter'd in a nook, +An' at his Lordship steal't a look, +Like some portentous omen; +Except good sense and social glee, +An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, +I marked nought uncommon. + +I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, +The gentle pride, the lordly state, +The arrogant assuming; +The fient a pride, nae pride had he, +Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, +Mair than an honest ploughman. + +Then from his Lordship I shall learn, +Henceforth to meet with unconcern +One rank as weel's another; +Nae honest, worthy man need care +To meet with noble youthful Daer, +For he but meets a brother. + + +Masonic Song + + tune-"Shawn-boy," or "Over the water to Charlie." + +Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, +To follow the noble vocation; +Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another +To sit in that honoured station. +I've little to say, but only to pray, +As praying's the ton of your fashion; +A prayer from thee Muse you well may excuse +'Tis seldom her favourite passion. + +Ye powers who preside o'er the wind, and the tide, +Who marked each element's border; +Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, +Whose sovereign statute is order:- +Within this dear mansion, may wayward Contention +Or withered Envy ne'er enter; +May secrecy round be the mystical bound, +And brotherly Love be the centre! + +Tam Samson's Elegy + + An honest man's the noblest work of God-Pope. + + When this worthy old sportman went out, last muirfowl season, he +supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields," and +expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the +author composed his elegy and epitaph.-R.B., 1787. + +Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? +Or great Mackinlay^1 thrawn his heel? +Or Robertson^2 again grown weel, +To preach an' read? +"Na' waur than a'! cries ilka chiel, +"Tam Samson's dead!" + +[Footnote 1: A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide "The +Ordination." stanza ii.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 2: Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at +that time ailing. For him see also "The Ordination," stanza ix.-R.B.] + +Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, +An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, +An' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, +In mourning weed; +To Death she's dearly pay'd the kane- +Tam Samson's dead! + +The Brethren, o' the mystic level +May hing their head in woefu' bevel, +While by their nose the tears will revel, +Like ony bead; +Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel; +Tam Samson's dead! + +When Winter muffles up his cloak, +And binds the mire like a rock; +When to the loughs the curlers flock, +Wi' gleesome speed, +Wha will they station at the cock? +Tam Samson's dead! +When Winter muffles up his cloak, +He was the king o' a' the core, +To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, +Or up the rink like Jehu roar, +In time o' need; +But now he lags on Death's hog-score- +Tam Samson's dead! + +Now safe the stately sawmont sail, +And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, +And eels, weel-ken'd for souple tail, +And geds for greed, +Since, dark in Death's fish-creel, we wail +Tam Samson's dead! + +Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; +Ye cootie muircocks, crousely craw; +Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw +Withouten dread; +Your mortal fae is now awa; +Tam Samson's dead! + +That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd, +Saw him in shooting graith adorn'd, +While pointers round impatient burn'd, +Frae couples free'd; +But och! he gaed and ne'er return'd! +Tam Samson's dead! + +In vain auld age his body batters, +In vain the gout his ancles fetters, +In vain the burns cam down like waters, +An acre braid! +Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters +"Tam Samson's dead!" + +Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, +An' aye the tither shot he thumpit, +Till coward Death behind him jumpit, +Wi' deadly feid; +Now he proclaims wi' tout o' trumpet, +"Tam Samson's dead!" + +When at his heart he felt the dagger, +He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, +But yet he drew the mortal trigger, +Wi' weel-aimed heed; +"Lord, five!" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger- +Tam Samson's dead! + +Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; +Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; +Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, +Marks out his head; +Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, +"Tam Samson's dead!" + +There, low he lies, in lasting rest; +Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast +Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest +To hatch an' breed: +Alas! nae mair he'll them molest! +Tam Samson's dead! + +When August winds the heather wave, +And sportsmen wander by yon grave, +Three volleys let his memory crave, +O' pouther an' lead, +Till Echo answer frae her cave, +"Tam Samson's dead!" + +Heav'n rest his saul whare'er he be! +Is th' wish o' mony mae than me: +He had twa fauts, or maybe three, +Yet what remead? +Ae social, honest man want we: +Tam Samson's dead! + +The Epitaph + +Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies +Ye canting zealots, spare him! +If honest worth in Heaven rise, +Ye'll mend or ye win near him. + +Per Contra + +Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly +Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie;^3 +Tell ev'ry social honest billie +To cease his grievin'; +For, yet unskaithed by Death's gleg gullie. +Tam Samson's leevin'! + +Epistle To Major Logan + +Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! +Tho' fortune's road be rough an' hilly +To every fiddling, rhyming billie, +We never heed, +But take it like the unback'd filly, +Proud o' her speed. + +[Footnote 3: Kilmarnock.-R. B.] + +When, idly goavin', whiles we saunter, +Yirr! fancy barks, awa we canter, +Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter, +Some black bog-hole, +Arrests us; then the scathe an' banter +We're forced to thole. + +Hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle! +Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, +To cheer you through the weary widdle +O' this wild warl'. +Until you on a crummock driddle, +A grey hair'd carl. + +Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, +Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tune, +And screw your temper-pins aboon +A fifth or mair +The melancholious, lazy croon +O' cankrie care. + +May still your life from day to day, +Nae "lente largo" in the play, +But "allegretto forte" gay, +Harmonious flow, +A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey- +Encore! Bravo! + +A blessing on the cheery gang +Wha dearly like a jig or sang, +An' never think o' right an' wrang +By square an' rule, +But, as the clegs o' feeling stang, +Are wise or fool. + +My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase +The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, +Wha count on poortith as disgrace; +Their tuneless hearts, +May fireside discords jar a base +To a' their parts. + +But come, your hand, my careless brither, +I' th' ither warl', if there's anither, +An' that there is, I've little swither +About the matter; +We, cheek for chow, shall jog thegither, +I'se ne'er bid better. + +We've faults and failings-granted clearly, +We're frail backsliding mortals merely, +Eve's bonie squad, priests wyte them sheerly +For our grand fa'; +But still, but still, I like them dearly- +God bless them a'! + +Ochone for poor Castalian drinkers, +When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers! +The witching, curs'd, delicious blinkers +Hae put me hyte, +And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, +Wi' girnin'spite. + +By by yon moon!-and that's high swearin- +An' every star within my hearin! +An' by her een wha was a dear ane! +I'll ne'er forget; +I hope to gie the jads a clearin +In fair play yet. + +My loss I mourn, but not repent it; +I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it; +Ance to the Indies I were wonted, +Some cantraip hour +By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted; +Then vive l'amour! + +Faites mes baissemains respectueuses, +To sentimental sister Susie, +And honest Lucky; no to roose you, +Ye may be proud, +That sic a couple Fate allows ye, +To grace your blood. + +Nae mair at present can I measure, +An' trowth my rhymin ware's nae treasure; +But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, +Be't light, be't dark, +Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure +To call at Park. + +Robert Burns. +Mossgiel, 30th October, 1786. + +Fragment On Sensibility + +Rusticity's ungainly form +May cloud the highest mind; +But when the heart is nobly warm, +The good excuse will find. + +Propriety's cold, cautious rules +Warm fervour may o'erlook: +But spare poor sensibility +Th' ungentle, harsh rebuke. + +A Winter Night + +Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, +That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm! +How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, +Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you +From seasons such as these?-Shakespeare. + +When biting Boreas, fell and dour, +Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; +When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, +Far south the lift, +Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, +Or whirling drift: + +Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, +Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, +While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked, +Wild-eddying swirl; +Or, thro' the mining outlet bocked, +Down headlong hurl: + +List'ning the doors an' winnocks rattle, +I thought me on the ourie cattle, +Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle +O' winter war, +And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle +Beneath a scar. + +Ilk happing bird,-wee, helpless thing! +That, in the merry months o' spring, +Delighted me to hear thee sing, +What comes o' thee? +Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, +An' close thy e'e? + +Ev'n you, on murdering 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 Phoebe in her midnight reign, +Dark-muff'd, view'd the dreary plain; +Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, +Rose in my soul, +When on my ear this plantive strain, +Slow, solemn, stole:- + +"Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! +And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! +Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows! +Not all your rage, as now united, shows +More hard unkindness unrelenting, +Vengeful malice unrepenting. +Than heaven-illumin'd Man on brother Man bestows! + +"See stern Oppression's iron grip, +Or mad Ambition's gory hand, +Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, +Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land! +Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, +Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, +How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, +The parasite empoisoning her ear, +With all the servile wretches in the rear, +Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide; +And eyes the simple, rustic hind, +Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show- +A creature of another kind, +Some coarser substance, unrefin'd- +Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below! + +"Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, +With lordly Honour'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 Honour turns away, +Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, +Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray'rs! +Perhaps this hour, in Misery's squalid nest, +She strains your infant to her joyless breast, +And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast! + +"Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down, +Feel not a want but what yourselves create, +Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, +Whom friends and fortune quite disown! +Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clamorous call, +Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep; +While through 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! +Guilt, erring man, relenting view, +But shall thy legal rage pursue +The wretch, already crushed low +By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow? +Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; +A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!" + +I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer +Shook off the pouthery snaw, +And hail'd the morning with a cheer, +A cottage-rousing craw. +But deep this truth impress'd my mind- +Thro' all His works abroad, +The heart benevolent and kind +The most resembles God. + +song-Yon Wild Mossy Mountains + +Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, +That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, +Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, +And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed. + +Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, +To me hae the charms o'yon wild, mossy moors; +For there, by a lanely, sequestered stream, +Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. + +Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, +Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath; +For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, +While o'er us unheeded flie the swift hours o'love. + +She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair; +O' nice education but sma' is her share; +Her parentage humble as humble can be; +But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. + +To Beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, +In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs? +And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, +They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts. + +But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond-sparkling e'e, +Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; +And the heart beating love as I'm clasp'd in her arms, +O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms! + +Address To Edinburgh + +Edina! Scotia's darling seat! +All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, +Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet, +Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs: +From marking wildly scatt'red flow'rs, +As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, +And singing, lone, the lingering hours, +I shelter in they honour'd shade. + +Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, +As busy Trade his labours plies; +There Architecture's noble pride +Bids elegance and splendour rise: +Here Justice, from her native skies, +High wields her balance and her rod; +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 liberal 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! +Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, +Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine; +I see the Sire of Love on high, +And own His work indeed divine! + +There, watching high the least alarms, +Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; +Like some bold veteran, grey in arms, +And mark'd with many a seamy scar: +The pond'rous wall and massy bar, +Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, +Have oft withstood assailing war, +And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. + +With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, +I view that noble, stately Dome, +Where Scotia's kings of other years, +Fam'd heroes! had their royal 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 Scotia's bloody lion bore: +Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, +Haply my sires have left their shed, +And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar, +Bold-following where your fathers led! + +Edina! Scotia's darling seat! +All hail thy palaces and tow'rs; +Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet, +Sat Legislation's sovereign pow'rs: +From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs, +As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, +And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, +I shelter in thy honour'd shade. + +Address To A Haggis + +Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, +Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! +Aboon them a' yet tak your place, +Painch, tripe, or thairm: +Weel are ye wordy o'a grace +As lang's my arm. + +The groaning trencher there ye fill, +Your hurdies like a distant hill, +Your pin was 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 sleight, +Trenching your gushing entrails bright, +Like ony ditch; +And then, O what a glorious sight, +Warm-reekin', rich! + +Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: +Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, +Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve +Are bent like drums; +Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, +Bethankit! hums. + +Is there that owre his French ragout +Or olio that wad staw a sow, +Or fricassee wad make her spew +Wi' perfect sconner, +Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view +On sic a dinner? + +Poor devil! see him owre his trash, +As feckles as wither'd rash, +His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash; +His nieve a nit; +Thro' blody flood or field to dash, +O how unfit! + +But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, +The trembling earth resounds his tread. +Clap in his walie nieve a blade, +He'll mak it whissle; +An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned, +Like taps o' trissle. + +Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, +And dish them out their bill o' fare, +Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware +That jaups in luggies; +But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer +Gie her a haggis! + +To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems, For A New-Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787. + +Again the silent wheels of time +Their annual round have driven, +And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, +Are so much nearer Heaven. + +No gifts have I from Indian coasts +The infant year to hail; +I send you more than India boasts, +In Edwin's simple tale. + +Our sex with guile, and faithless love, +Is charg'd, perhaps too true; +But may, dear maid, each lover prove +An Edwin still to you. + +Mr. William Smellie-A Sketch + +Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came; +The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout the same; +His bristling beard just rising in its might, +'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night: +His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd +A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd; +Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting-rude, +His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. + +Rattlin', Roarin' Willie^1 + +As I cam by Crochallan, +I cannilie keekit ben; +Rattlin', roarin' Willie +Was sittin at yon boord-en'; +Sittin at yon boord-en, +And amang gude companie; +Rattlin', roarin' Willie, +You're welcome hame to me! + +song-Bonie Dundee + +My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie! +My blessin's upon thy e'e-brie! +Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, +Thou's aye the dearer, and dearer to me! + +But I'll big a bow'r on yon bonie banks, +Whare Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear; +An' I'll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine, +And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. + +Extempore In The Court Of Session + + tune-"Killiercrankie." + +Lord Advocate + +He clenched his pamphlet in his fist, +He quoted and he hinted, +Till, in a declamation-mist, +His argument he tint it: +He gaped for't, he graped for't, +He fand it was awa, man; +But what his common sense came short, +He eked out wi' law, man. + +Mr. Erskine + +Collected, Harry stood awee, +Then open'd out his arm, man; + +[Footnote 1: William Dunbar, W. S., of the Crochallan Fencibles, a convivial +club.] + +His Lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, +And ey'd the gathering storm, man: +Like wind-driven hail it did assail' +Or torrents owre a lin, man: +The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, +Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. + +Inscription For The Headstone Of Fergusson The Poet^1 + +No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, +"No storied urn nor animated bust;" +This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way, +To pour her sorrows o'er the Poet's dust. + +Additional Stanzas + +She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate; +Tho' all the powers of song thy fancy fired, +Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state, +And, thankless, starv'd what they so much admired. + +This tribute, with a tear, now gives +A brother Bard-he can no more bestow: +But dear to fame thy Song immortal lives, +A nobler monument than Art can shew. + +Inscribed Under Fergusson's Portrait + +Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased, +And yet can starve the author of the pleasure. +O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, +By far my elder brother in the Muses, +With tears I pity thy unhappy fate! +Why is the Bard unpitied by the world, +Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? + +[Footnote 1: The stone was erected at Burns' expenses in February-March, +1789.] + +Epistle To Mrs. Scott + + Gudewife of Wauchope-House, Roxburghshire. + +Gudewife, + +I Mind it weel in early date, +When I was bardless, young, and blate, +An' first could thresh the barn, +Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh; +An, tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, +Yet unco proud to learn: +When first amang the yellow corn +A man I reckon'd was, +An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn +Could rank my rig and lass, +Still shearing, and clearing +The tither stooked raw, +Wi' claivers, an' haivers, +Wearing the day awa. + +E'en then, a wish, (I mind its pow'r), +A wish that to my latest hour +Shall strongly heave my breast, +That I for poor auld Scotland's sake +Some usefu' plan or book could make, +Or sing a sang at least. +The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide +Amang the bearded bear, +I turn'd the weeder-clips aside, +An' spar'd the symbol dear: +No nation, no station, +My envy e'er could raise; +A Scot still, but blot still, +I knew nae higher praise. + +But still the elements o' sang, +In formless jumble, right an' wrang, +Wild floated in my brain; +'Till on that har'st I said before, +May partner in the merry core, +She rous'd the forming strain; +I see her yet, the sonsie quean, +That lighted up my jingle, +Her witching smile, her pawky een +That gart my heart-strings tingle; +I fired, inspired, +At every kindling keek, +But bashing, and dashing, +I feared aye to speak. + +Health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says: +Wi' merry dance in winter days, +An' we to share in common; +The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, +The saul o' life, the heaven below, +Is rapture-giving woman. +Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, +Be mindfu' o' your mither; +She, honest woman, may think shame +That ye're connected with her: +Ye're wae men, ye're nae men +That slight the lovely dears; +To shame ye, disclaim ye, +Ilk honest birkie swears. + +For you, no bred to barn and byre, +Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, +Thanks to you for your line: +The marled plaid ye kindly spare, +By me should gratefully be ware; +'Twad please me to the nine. +I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap, +Douce hingin owre my curple, +Than ony ermine ever lap, +Or proud imperial purple. +Farewell then, lang hale then, +An' plenty be your fa; +May losses and crosses +Ne'er at your hallan ca'! + +R. Burns +March, 1787 + +Verses Intended To Be Written Below A Noble Earl's Picture^1 + +Whose is that noble, dauntless brow? +And whose that eye of fire? +And whose that generous princely mien, +E'en rooted foes admire? + +Stranger! to justly show that brow, +And mark that eye of fire, +Would take His hand, whose vernal tints +His other works admire. + +Bright as a cloudless summer sun, +With stately port he moves; +His guardian Seraph eyes with awe +The noble Ward he loves. + +Among the illustrious Scottish sons +That chief thou may'st discern, +Mark Scotia's fond-returning eye, - +It dwells upon Glencairn. + +Prologue + + Spoken by Mr. Woods on his benefit-night, Monday, 16th April, 1787. + +When, by a generous Public's kind acclaim, +That dearest meed is granted-honest fame; +Waen here your favour is the actor's lot, +Nor even the man in private life forgot; +What breast so dead to heavenly Virtue's glow, +But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe? + +Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, +It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song; +But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar, +For genius, learning high, as great in war. +Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear! +Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear? + +[Footnote 1: The Nobleman is James, Fourteenth Earl of Glencairn.] + +Where every science, every nobler art, +That can inform the mind or mend the heart, +Is known; as grateful nations oft have found, +Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. +Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, +Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam; +Here History paints with elegance and force +The tide of Empire's fluctuating course; +Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, +And Harley rouses all the God in man. +When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite +With manly lore, or female beauty bright, +(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace +Can only charm us in the second place), +Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, +As on this night, I've met these judges here! +But still the hope Experience taught to live, +Equal to judge-you're candid to forgive. +No hundred-headed riot here we meet, +With decency and law beneath his feet; +Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name: +Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. + +O Thou, dread Power! whose empire-giving hand +Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land! +Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire; +May every son be worthy of his sire; +Firm may she rise, with generous disdain +At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain; +Still Self-dependent in her native shore, +Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, +Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more. + +The Bonie Moor-Hen + +The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn, +Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn, +O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen, +At length they discover'd a bonie moor-hen. + +Chorus.-I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men, +I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men; +Take some on the wing, and some as they spring, +But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen. + +Sweet-brushing the dew from the brown heather bells +Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells; +Her plumage outlustr'd the pride o' the spring +And O! as she wanton'd sae gay on the wing. +I rede you, &c. + +Auld Phoebus himself, as he peep'd o'er the hill, +In spite at her plumage he tried his skill; +He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae- +His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay. +I rede you,&c. + +They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill, +The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill; +But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, +Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight. +I rede you, &c. + + +song-My Lord A-Hunting + +Chorus.-My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't, +And gowden flowers sae rare upon't; +But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet, +My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. + +My lord a-hunting he is gone, +But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane; +By Colin's cottage lies his game, +If Colin's Jenny be at hame. +My lady's gown, &c. + +My lady's white, my lady's red, +And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude; +But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude; +Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. +My lady's gown, &c. + +Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, +Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, +There wons auld Colin's bonie lass, +A lily in a wilderness. +My lady's gown, &c. + +Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, +Like music notes o'lovers' hymns: +The diamond-dew in her een sae blue, +Where laughing love sae wanton swims. +My lady's gown, &c. + +My lady's dink, my lady's drest, +The flower and fancy o' the west; +But the lassie than a man lo'es best, +O that's the lass to mak him blest. +My lady's gown, &c. + +Epigram At Roslin Inn + +My blessings on ye, honest wife! +I ne'er was here before; +Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and knife- +Heart could not wish for more. +Heav'n keep you clear o' sturt and strife, +Till far ayont fourscore, +And while I toddle on thro' life, +I'll ne'er gae by your door! + +Epigram Addressed To An Artist + +Dear _____, I'll gie ye some advice, +You'll tak it no uncivil: +You shouldna paint at angels mair, +But try and paint the devil. + +To paint an Angel's kittle wark, +Wi' Nick, there's little danger: +You'll easy draw a lang-kent face, +But no sae weel a stranger.-R. B. + +The Book-Worms + +Through and through th' inspir'd leaves, +Ye maggots, make your windings; +But O respect his lordship's taste, +And spare his golden bindings. + +On Elphinstone's Translation Of Martial's Epigrams + +O Thou whom Poetry abhors, +Whom Prose has turned out of doors, +Heard'st thou yon groan?-proceed no further, +'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther. + +song-A Bottle And Friend + +There's nane that's blest of human kind, +But the cheerful and the gay, man, +Fal, la, la, &c. + +Here's a bottle and an honest friend! +What wad ye wish for mair, man? +Wha kens, before his life may end, +What his share may be o' care, man? + +Then catch the moments as they fly, +And use them as ye ought, man: +Believe me, happiness is shy, +And comes not aye when sought, man. + +Lines Written Under The Picture Of The Celebrated Miss Burns + +Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, +Lovely Burns has charms-confess: +True it is, she had one failing, +Had a woman ever less? + +Epitaph For William Nicol, Of The High School, Edinburgh + +Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain, +For few sic feasts you've gotten; +And fix your claws in Nicol's heart, +For deil a bit o't's rotten. + +Epitaph For Mr. William Michie + + Schoolmaster of Cleish Parish, Fifeshire. + +Here lie Willie Michie's banes; +O Satan, when ye tak him, +Gie him the schulin o' your weans, +For clever deils he'll mak them! + +Boat song-Hey, Ca' Thro' + +Up wi' the carls o' Dysart, +And the lads o' Buckhaven, +And the kimmers o' Largo, +And the lasses o' Leven. + +Chorus.-Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', +For we hae muckle ado. +Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', +For we hae muckle ado; + +We hae tales to tell, +An' we hae sangs to sing; +We hae pennies tae spend, +An' we hae pints to bring. +Hey, ca' thro', &c. + +We'll live a' our days, +And them that comes behin', +Let them do the like, +An' spend the gear they win. +Hey, ca' thro', &c. + +Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee + + With an Impression of the Author's Portrait. + +Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, +Of Stuart, a name once respected; +A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart, +But now 'tis despis'd and neglected. + +Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, +Let no one misdeem me disloyal; +A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, +Still more if that wand'rer were royal. + +My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne: +My fathers have fallen to right it; +Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, +That name should he scoffingly slight it. + +Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, +The Queen, and the rest of the gentry: +Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; +Their title's avow'd by my country. + +But why of that epocha make such a fuss, +That gave us th' Electoral stem? +If bringing them over was lucky for us, +I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. + +But, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground; +Who knows how the fashions may alter? +The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, +To-morrow may bring us a halter! + +I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, +A trifle scarce worthy your care; +But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, +Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. + +Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, +And ushers the long dreary night: +But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, +Your course to the latest is bright. + +Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church + + Who was looking up the text during sermon. + +Fair maid, you need not take the hint, +Nor idle texts pursue: +'Twas guilty sinners that he meant, +Not Angels such as you. + +Burlesque Lament For The Absence Of William Creech, Publisher + +Auld chuckie Reekie's^1 sair distrest, +Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest, +Nae joy her bonie buskit nest +Can yield ava, +Her darling bird that she lo'es best- +Willie's awa! + +O Willie was a witty wight, +And had o' things an unco' sleight, +Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight, +And trig an' braw: +But now they'll busk her like a fright, - +Willie's awa! + +The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd, +The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd; +They durst nae mair than he allow'd, +That was a law: +We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd; +Willie's awa! + +Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools, +Frae colleges and boarding schools, +May sprout like simmer puddock-stools +In glen or shaw; +He wha could brush them down to mools- +Willie's awa! + +[Footnote 1: Edinburgh.] + +The brethren o' the Commerce-chaumer +May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; +He was a dictionar and grammar +Among them a'; +I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer; +Willie's awa! + +Nae mair we see his levee door +Philosophers and poets pour, +And toothy critics by the score, +In bloody raw! +The adjutant o' a' the core- +Willie's awa! + +Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, +Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace; +Mackenzie, Stewart, such a brace +As Rome ne'er saw; +They a' maun meet some ither place, +Willie's awa! + +Poor Burns ev'n Scotch Drink canna quicken, +He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken +Scar'd frae it's minnie and the cleckin, +By hoodie-craw; +Grieg's gien his heart an unco kickin, +Willie's awa! + +Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin blellum, +And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him; +Ilk self-conceited critic skellum +His quill may draw; +He wha could brawlie ward their bellum- +Willie's awa! + +Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, +And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, +And Ettrick banks, now roaring red, +While tempests blaw; +But every joy and pleasure's fled, +Willie's awa! + +May I be Slander's common speech; +A text for Infamy to preach; +And lastly, streekit out to bleach +In winter snaw; +When I forget thee, Willie Creech, +Tho' far awa! + +May never wicked Fortune touzle him! +May never wicked men bamboozle him! +Until a pow as auld's Methusalem +He canty claw! +Then to the blessed new Jerusalem, +Fleet wing awa! + +Note To Mr. Renton Of Lamerton + +Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt; +Wi' you I'll canter ony gate, +Tho' 'twere a trip to yon blue warl', +Whare birkies march on burning marl: +Then, Sir, God willing, I'll attend ye, +And to his goodness I commend ye. + +R. Burns + +Elegy On "Stella" + + The following poem is the work of some hapless son of the Muses who +deserved a better fate. There is a great deal of "The voice of Cona" in +his solitary, mournful notes; and had the sentiments been clothed in +Shenstone's language, they would have been no discredit even to that +elegant poet.-R.B. + +Strait is the spot and green the sod +From whence my sorrows flow; +And soundly sleeps the ever dear +Inhabitant below. + +Pardon my transport, gentle shade, +While o'er the turf I bow; +Thy earthy house is circumscrib'd, +And solitary now. + +Not one poor stone to tell thy name, +Or make thy virtues known: +But what avails to me-to thee, +The sculpture of a stone? + +I'll sit me down upon this turf, +And wipe the rising tear: +The chill blast passes swiftly by, +And flits around thy bier. + +Dark is the dwelling of the Dead, +And sad their house of rest: +Low lies the head, by Death's cold arms +In awful fold embrac'd. + +I saw the grim Avenger stand +Incessant by thy side; +Unseen by thee, his deadly breath +Thy lingering frame destroy'd. + +Pale grew the roses on thy cheek, +And wither'd was thy bloom, +Till the slow poison brought thy youth +Untimely to the tomb. + +Thus wasted are the ranks of men- +Youth, Health, and Beauty fall; +The ruthless ruin spreads around, +And overwhelms us all. + +Behold where, round thy narrow house, +The graves unnumber'd lie; +The multitude that sleep below +Existed but to die. + +Some, with the tottering steps of Age, +Trod down the darksome way; +And some, in youth's lamented prime, +Like thee were torn away: + +Yet these, however hard their fate, +Their native earth receives; +Amid their weeping friends they died, +And fill their fathers' graves. + +From thy lov'd friends, when first thy heart +Was taught by Heav'n to glow, +Far, far remov'd, the ruthless stroke +Surpris'd and laid thee low. + +At the last limits of our isle, +Wash'd by the western wave, +Touch'd by thy face, a thoughtful bard +Sits lonely by thy grave. + +Pensive he eyes, before him spread +The deep, outstretch'd and vast; +His mourning notes are borne away +Along the rapid blast. + +And while, amid the silent Dead +Thy hapless fate he mourns, +His own long sorrows freshly bleed, +And all his grief returns: + +Like thee, cut off in early youth, +And flower of beauty's pride, +His friend, his first and only joy, +His much lov'd Stella, died. + +Him, too, the stern impulse of Fate +Resistless bears along; +And the same rapid tide shall whelm +The Poet and the Song. + +The tear of pity which he sheds, +He asks not to receive; +Let but his poor remains be laid +Obscurely in the grave. + +His grief-worn heart, with truest joy, +Shall meet he welcome shock: +His airy harp shall lie unstrung, +And silent on the rock. + +O, my dear maid, my Stella, when +Shall this sick period close, +And lead the solitary bard +To his belov'd repose? + +The Bard At Inverary + +Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, +I pity much his case, +Unless he comes to wait upon +The Lord their God, His Grace. + +There's naething here but Highland pride, +And Highland scab and hunger: +If Providence has sent me here, +'Twas surely in his anger. + +Epigram To Miss Jean Scott + +O had each Scot of ancient times +Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art; +The bravest heart on English ground +Had yielded like a coward. + +On The Death Of John M'Leod, Esq, + + Brother to a young Lady, a particular friend of the Author's. + +Sad thy tale, thou idle page, +And rueful thy alarms: +Death tears the brother of her love +From Isabella's arms. + +Sweetly deckt with pearly dew +The morning rose may blow; +But cold successive noontide blasts +May lay its beauties low. + +Fair on Isabella's morn +The sun propitious smil'd; +But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds +Succeeding hopes beguil'd. + +Fate oft tears the bosom chords +That Nature finest strung; +So Isabella's heart was form'd, +And so that heart was wrung. + +Dread Omnipotence alone +Can heal the wound he gave- +Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes +To scenes beyond the grave. + +Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, +And fear no withering blast; +There Isabella's spotless worth +Shall happy be at last. + +Elegy On The Death Of Sir James Hunter Blair + +The lamp of day, with-ill presaging glare, +Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave; +Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the dark'ning air, +And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. + +Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, +Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train;^1 +Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd well,^2 +Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane.^3 + +Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, +The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky, +The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, +And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. + +[Footnote 1: The King's Park at Holyrood House.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 2: St. Anthony's well.-R. B.] + +[Footnote 3: St. Anthony's Chapel.-R. B.] + +The paly moon rose in the livid east. +And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form +In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast, +And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm + +Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, +'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd: +Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, +The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. + +Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, +Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, +That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, +And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world. + +"My patriot son fills an untimely grave!" +With accents wild and lifted arms she cried; +"Low lies the hand oft was stretch'd to save, +Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride. + +"A weeping country joins a widow's tear; +The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; +The drooping arts surround their patron's bier; +And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh! + +"I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; +I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow: +But ah! how hope is born but to expire! +Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. + +"My patriot falls: but shall he lie unsung, +While empty greatness saves a worthless name? +No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, +And future ages hear his growing fame. + +"And I will join a mother's tender cares, +Thro' future times to make his virtues last; +That distant years may boast of other Blairs!"- +She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. + +Impromptu On Carron Iron Works + +We cam na here to view your warks, +In hopes to be mair wise, +But only, lest we gang to hell, +It may be nae surprise: +But when we tirl'd at your door +Your porter dought na hear us; +Sae may, shou'd we to Hell's yetts come, +Your billy Satan sair us! + +To Miss Ferrier + + Enclosing the Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair. + +Nae heathen name shall I prefix, +Frae Pindus or Parnassus; +Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks, +For rhyme-inspiring lasses. + +Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three +Made Homer deep their debtor; +But, gien the body half an e'e, +Nine Ferriers wad done better! + +Last day my mind was in a bog, +Down George's Street I stoited; +A creeping cauld prosaic fog +My very sense doited. + +Do what I dought to set her free, +My saul lay in the mire; +Ye turned a neuk-I saw your e'e- +She took the wing like fire! + +The mournfu' sang I here enclose, +In gratitude I send you, +And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose, +A' gude things may attend you! + +Written By Somebody On The Window + + Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin. + +Here Stuarts once in glory reigned, +And laws for Scotland's weal ordained; +But now unroof'd their palace stands, +Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands; +Fallen indeed, and to the earth +Whence groveling reptiles take their birth. +The injured Stuart line is gone, +A race outlandish fills their throne; +An idiot race, to honour lost; +Who know them best despise them most. + +The Poet's Reply To The Threat Of A Censorious Critic + + My imprudent lines were answered, very petulantly, by somebody, I +believe, a Rev. Mr. Hamilton. In a MS., where I met the answer, I wrote +below:- + +With Esop's lion, Burns says: Sore I feel +Each other's scorn, but damn that ass' heel! + +The Libeller's Self-Reproof^1 + +Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name +Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame; +Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, +Says, the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel! + +Verses Written With A Pencil + + Over the Chimney-piece in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth. + +Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, +These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; +O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, +Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, + +[Footnote 1: These are rhymes of dubious authenticity.-Lang.] + +My savage journey, curious, I pursue, +Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. - +The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, +The woods wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides; +Th' outstretching lake, imbosomed 'mong the hills, +The eye with wonder and amazement fills; +The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, +The palace rising on his verdant side, +The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste, +The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste, +The arches striding o'er the new-born stream, +The village glittering in the noontide beam- + +Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, +Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell; +The sweeping theatre of hanging woods, +Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods- + +Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, +And look through Nature with creative fire; +Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, +Misfortunes lighten'd steps might wander wild; +And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, +Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds: +Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch her + + [scan, + +And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. + +song-The Birks Of Aberfeldy + + tune-"The Birks of Abergeldie." + +Chorus.-Bonie lassie, will ye go, +Will ye go, will ye go, +Bonie lassie, will ye go +To the birks of Aberfeldy! + +Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes, +And o'er the crystal streamlets plays; +Come let us spend the lightsome days, +In the birks of Aberfeldy. +Bonie lassie, &c. + +While o'er their heads the hazels hing, +The little birdies blythely sing, +Or lightly flit on wanton wing, +In the birks of Aberfeldy. +Bonie lassie, &c. + +The braes ascend like lofty wa's, +The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, +O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws- +The birks of Aberfeldy. +Bonie lassie, &c. + +The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, +White o'er the linns the burnie pours, +And rising, weets wi' misty showers +The birks of Aberfeldy. +Bonie lassie, &c. + +Let Fortune's gifts at randoe flee, +They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me; +Supremely blest wi' love and thee, +In the birks of Aberfeldy. +Bonie lassie, &c. + +The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water + + To the noble Duke of Athole. + +My lord, I know your noble ear +Woe ne'er assails in vain; +Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear +Your humble slave complain, +How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, +In flaming summer-pride, +Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, +And drink my crystal tide.^1 + +The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts, +That thro' my waters play, +If, in their random, wanton spouts, +They near the margin stray; + +[Footnote 1: Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and +beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs. +- R.B.] + +If, hapless chance! they linger lang, +I'm scorching up so shallow, +They're left the whitening stanes amang, +In gasping death to wallow. + +Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, +As poet Burns came by. +That, to a bard, I should be seen +Wi' half my channel dry; +A panegyric rhyme, I ween, +Ev'n as I was, he shor'd me; +But had I in my glory been, +He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. + +Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, +In twisting strength I rin; +There, high my boiling torrent smokes, +Wild-roaring o'er a linn: +Enjoying each large spring and well, +As Nature gave them me, +I am, altho' I say't mysel', +Worth gaun a mile to see. + +Would then my noble master please +To grant my highest wishes, +He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, +And bonie spreading bushes. +Delighted doubly then, my lord, +You'll wander on my banks, +And listen mony a grateful bird +Return you tuneful thanks. + +The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, +Shall to the skies aspire; +The gowdspink, Music's gayest child, +Shall sweetly join the choir; +The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, +The mavis mild and mellow; +The robin pensive Autumn cheer, +In all her locks of yellow. + +This, too, a covert shall ensure, +To shield them from the storm; +And coward maukin sleep secure, +Low in her grassy form: +Here shall the shepherd make his seat, +To weave his crown of flow'rs; +Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat, +From prone-descending show'rs. + +And here, by sweet, endearing stealth, +Shall meet the loving pair, +Despising worlds, with all their wealth, +As empty idle care; +The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms, +The hour of heav'n to grace; +And birks extend their fragrant arms +To screen the dear embrace. + +Here haply too, at vernal dawn, +Some musing bard may stray, +And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, +And misty mountain grey; +Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, +Mild-chequering thro' the trees, +Rave to my darkly dashing stream, +Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. + +Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, +My lowly banks o'erspread, +And view, deep-bending in the pool, +Their shadow's wat'ry bed: +Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest, +My craggy cliffs adorn; +And, for the little songster's nest, +The close embow'ring thorn. + +So may old Scotia's darling hope, +Your little angel band +Spring, like their fathers, up to prop +Their honour'd native land! +So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken, +To social-flowing glasses, +The grace be-"Athole's honest men, +And Athole's bonie lasses! + +Lines On The Fall Of Fyers Near Loch-Ness. + + Written with a Pencil on the Spot. + +Among the heathy hills and ragged woods +The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; +Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, +Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. +As high in air the bursting torrents flow, +As deep recoiling surges foam below, +Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, +And viewles Echo's ear, astonished, rends. +Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, +The hoary cavern, wide surrounding lours: +Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, +And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils- + +Epigram On Parting With A Kind Host In The Highlands + +When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, +A time that surely shall come, +In Heav'n itself I'll ask no more, +Than just a Highland welcome. + +Strathallan's Lament^1 + +Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling! +Howling tempests, o'er me rave! +Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, +Roaring by my lonely cave! + +[Footnote 1: Burns confesses that his Jacobtism was merely sentimental "except +when my passions were heated by some accidental cause," and a tour through the +country where Montrose, Claverhouse, and Prince Charles had fought, was cause +enough. Strathallan fell gloriously at Culloden.-Lang.] + +Crystal streamlets gently flowing, +Busy haunts of base mankind, +Western breezes softly blowing, +Suit not my distracted mind. + +In the cause of Right engaged, +Wrongs injurious to redress, +Honour's war we strongly waged, +But the Heavens denied 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. + +Castle Gordon + +Streams that glide in orient plains, +Never bound by Winter's chains; +Glowing here on golden sands, +There immix'd with foulest stains +From Tyranny's empurpled hands; +These, their richly gleaming waves, +I leave to tyrants and their slaves; +Give me the stream that sweetly laves +The banks by Castle Gordon. + +Spicy forests, ever gray, +Shading from the burning ray +Hapless wretches sold to toil; +Or the ruthless native's way, +Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil: +Woods that ever verdant wave, +I leave the tyrant and the slave; +Give me the groves that lofty brave +The storms by Castle Gordon. + +Wildly here, without control, +Nature reigns and rules the whole; +In that sober pensive mood, +Dearest to the feeling soul, +She plants the forest, pours the flood: +Life's poor day I'll musing rave +And find at night a sheltering cave, +Where waters flow and wild woods wave, +By bonie Castle Gordon. + +song-Lady Onlie, Honest Lucky + + tune-"The Ruffian's Rant." + +A' The lads o' Thorniebank, +When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, +They'll step in an' tak a pint +Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky. + +Chorus.-Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, +Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky; +I wish her sale for her gude ale, +The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. + +Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean +I wat she is a daintie chuckie; +And cheery blinks the ingle-gleed +O' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky! +Lady Onlie, &c. + +Theniel Menzies' Bonie Mary + + Air-"The Ruffian's Rant," or "Roy's Wife." + +In comin by the brig o' Dye, +At Darlet we a blink did tarry; +As day was dawnin in the sky, +We drank a health to bonie Mary. + +Chorus.-Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, +Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, +Charlie Grigor tint his plaidie, +Kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary. + +Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, +Her haffet locks as brown's a berry; +And aye they dimpl't wi' a smile, +The rosy cheeks o' bonie Mary. +Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, &c. + +We lap a' danc'd the lee-lang day, +Till piper lads were wae and weary; +But Charlie gat the spring to pay +For kissin Theniel's bonie Mary. +Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, &c. + +The Bonie Lass Of Albany^1 + + tune-"Mary's Dream." + +My heart is wae, and unco wae, +To think upon the raging sea, +That roars between her gardens green +An' the bonie Lass of Albany. + +This lovely maid's of royal blood +That ruled Albion's kingdoms three, +But oh, alas! for her bonie face, +They've wrang'd the Lass of Albany. + +In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde +There sits an isle of high degree, +And a town of fame whose princely name +Should grace the Lass of Albany. + +But there's a youth, a witless youth, +That fills the place where she should be; +We'll send him o'er to his native shore, +And bring our ain sweet Albany. + +Alas the day, and woe the day, +A false usurper wan the gree, +Who now commands the towers and lands- +The royal right of Albany. + +We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray, +On bended knees most fervently, +The time may come, with pipe an' drum +We'll welcome hame fair Albany. + +[Footnote 1: Natural daughter of Prince Charles Edward.] + +On Scaring Some Water-Fowl In Loch-Turit + + A wild scene among the Hills of Oughtertyre. + + "This was the production of a solitary forenoon's walk from Oughtertyre +House. I lived there, the guest of Sir William Murray, for two or three +weeks, and was much flattered by my hospitable reception. What a pity that +the mere emotions of gratitude are so impotent in this world. 'Tis lucky +that, as we are told, they will be of some avail in the world to come."-R. +B., Glenriddell MSS. + +Why, ye tenants of the lake, +For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? +Tell me, fellow-creatures, why +At my presence thus you fly? +Why disturb your social joys, +Parent, filial, kindred ties?- +Common friend to you and me, +yature's gifts to all are free: +Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, +Busy feed, or wanton lave; +Or, beneath the sheltering rock, +Bide the surging billow's shock. + +Conscious, blushing for our race, +Soon, too soon, your fears I trace, +Man, your proud, usurping foe, +Would be lord of all below: +Plumes himself in freedom's pride, +Tyrant stern to all beside. + +The eagle, from the cliffy brow, +Marking you his prey below, +In his breast no pity dwells, +Strong necessity compels: +But Man, to whom alone is giv'n +A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, +Glories in his heart humane- +And creatures for his pleasure slain! + +In these savage, liquid plains, +Only known to wand'ring swains, +Where the mossy riv'let strays, +Far from human haunts and ways; +All on Nature you depend, +And life's poor season peaceful spend. + +Or, if man's superior might +Dare invade your native right, +On the lofty ether borne, +Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; +Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, +Other lakes and other springs; +And the foe you cannot brave, +Scorn at least to be his slave. + +Blythe Was She^1 + + tune-"Andro and his Cutty Gun." + +Chorus.-Blythe, blythe and merry was she, +Blythe was she but and ben; +Blythe by the banks of Earn, +And blythe in Glenturit glen. + +By Oughtertyre grows the aik, +On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; +But Phemie was a bonier lass +Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. +Blythe, blythe, &c. + +Her looks were like a flow'r in May, +Her smile was like a simmer morn: +She tripped by the banks o' Earn, +As light's a bird upon a thorn. +Blythe, blythe, &c. + +Her bonie face it was as meek +As ony lamb upon a lea; +The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, +As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. +Blythe, blythe, &c. + +[Footnote 1: Written at Oughtertyre. Phemie is Miss Euphemia Murray, a cousin +of Sir William Murray of Oughtertyre.-Lang.] + +The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, +And o'er the Lawlands I hae been; +But Phemie was the blythest lass +That ever trod the dewy green. +Blythe, blythe, &c. + +A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk + +A Rose-bud by my early walk, +Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, +Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, +All on a dewy morning. +Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, +In a' its crimson glory spread, +And drooping rich the dewy head, +It scents the early morning. + +Within the bush her covert nest +A little linnet fondly prest; +The dew sat chilly on her breast, +Sae early in the morning. +She soon shall see her tender brood, +The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, +Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, +Awake the early morning. + +So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, +On trembling string or vocal air, +Shall sweetly pay the tender care +That tents thy early morning. +So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay, +Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, +And bless the parent's evening ray +That watch'd thy early morning. + +Epitaph For Mr. W. Cruikshank^1 + +Honest Will to Heaven's away +And mony shall lament him; +His fau'ts they a' in Latin lay, +In English nane e'er kent them. + +song-The Banks Of The Devon + + tune-"Bhanarach dhonn a' chruidh." + +How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, +With green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair! +But the boniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon +Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. +Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, +In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew; +And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, +That steals on the evening each leaf to renew! + +O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, +With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn; +And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes +The verdure and pride of the garden or lawn! +Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, +And England triumphant display her proud rose: +A fairer than either adorns the green valleys, +Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. + +Braving Angry Winter's Storms + + tune-"Neil Gow's Lament for Abercairny." + +Where, braving angry winter's storms, +The lofty Ochils rise, +Far in their shade my Peggy's charms +First blest my wondering eyes; +As one who by some savage stream +A lonely gem surveys, +Astonish'd, doubly marks it beam +With art's most polish'd blaze. + +[Footnote 1: Of the Edinburgh High School.] + +Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, +And blest the day and hour, +Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, +When first I felt their pow'r! +The tyrant Death, with grim control, +May seize my fleeting breath; +But tearing Peggy from my soul +Must be a stronger death. + +song-My Peggy's Charms + + tune-"Tha a' chailleach ir mo dheigh." + +My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, +The frost of hermit Age might warm; +My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, +Might charm the first of human kind. + +I love my Peggy's angel air, +Her face so truly heavenly fair, +Her native grace, so void of art, +But I adore my Peggy's heart. + +The lily's hue, the rose's dye, +The kindling lustre of an eye; +Who but owns their magic sway! +Who but knows they all decay! + +The tender thrill, the pitying tear, +The generous purpose nobly dear, +The gentle look that rage disarms- +These are all Immortal charms. + +The Young Highland Rover + + tune-"Morag." + +Loud blaw the frosty breezes, +The snaws the mountains cover; +Like winter on me seizes, +Since my young Highland rover +Far wanders nations over. + +Where'er he go, where'er he stray, +May heaven be his warden; +Return him safe to fair Strathspey, +And 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; +Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, +When by his mighty Warden +My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, +And bonie Castle-Gordon. + +Birthday Ode For 31st December, 1787^1 + +Afar the illustrious Exile roams, +Whom kingdoms on this day should hail; +An inmate in the casual shed, +On transient pity's bounty fed, +Haunted by busy memory's bitter tale! +Beasts of the forest have their savage homes, +But He, who should imperial purple wear, +Owns not the lap of earth where rests his royal head! +His wretched refuge, dark despair, +While ravening wrongs and woes pursue, +And distant far the faithful few +Who would his sorrows share. + +False flatterer, Hope, away! +Nor think to lure us as in days of yore: +We solemnize this sorrowing natal day, +To prove our loyal truth-we can no more, +And owning Heaven's mysterious sway, +Submissive, low adore. + +Ye honored, mighty Dead, +Who nobly perished in the glorious cause, +Your King, your Country, and her laws, + +[Footnote 1: The last birthday of Prince Charles Edward.] + +From great Dundee, who smiling Victory led, +And fell a Martyr in her arms, +(What breast of northern ice but warms!) +To bold Balmerino's undying name, +Whose soul of fire, lighted at Heaven's high flame, +Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim: +Nor unrevenged your fate shall lie, +It only lags, the fatal hour, +Your blood shall, with incessant cry, +Awake at last, th' unsparing Power; +As from the cliff, with thundering course, +The snowy ruin smokes along +With doubling speed and gathering force, +Till deep it, crushing, whelms the cottage in the vale; +So Vengeance' arm, ensanguin'd, strong, +Shall with resistless might assail, +Usurping Brunswick's pride shall lay, +And Stewart's wrongs and yours, with tenfold weight repay. + +Perdition, baleful child of night! +Rise and revenge the injured right +Of Stewart's royal race: +Lead on the unmuzzled hounds of hell, +Till all the frighted echoes tell +The blood-notes of the chase! +Full on the quarry point their view, +Full on the base usurping crew, +The tools of faction, and the nation's curse! +Hark how the cry grows on the wind; +They leave the lagging gale behind, +Their savage fury, pitiless, they pour; +With murdering eyes already they devour; +See Brunswick spent, a wretched prey, +His life one poor despairing day, +Where each avenging hour still ushers in a worse! +Such havock, howling all abroad, +Their utter ruin bring, +The base apostates to their God, +Or rebels to their King. + +On The Death Of Robert Dundas, Esq., Of Arniston, + + Late Lord President of the Court of Session. + +Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks +Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; +Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, +The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains; +Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan; +The hollow caves return a hollow moan. +Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, +Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves! +Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye, +Sad to your sympathetic glooms I fly; +Where, to the whistling blast and water's roar, +Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. + +O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear! +A loss these evil days can ne'er repair! +Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, +Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd her rod: +Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow, +She sank, abandon'd to the wildest woe. + +Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, +Now, gay in hope, explore the paths of men: +See from his cavern grim Oppression rise, +And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes; +Keen on the helpless victim see him fly, +And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry: +Mark Ruffian Violence, distained with crimes, +Rousing elate in these degenerate times, +View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, +As guileful Fraud points out the erring way: +While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue +The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong: +Hark, injur'd Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale, +And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours the unpitied wail! + +Ye dark waste hills, ye brown unsightly plains, +Congenial scenes, ye soothe my mournful strains: +Ye tempests, rage! ye turbid torrents, roll! +Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. +Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign; +Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, +To mourn the woes my country must endure- +That would degenerate ages cannot cure. + +Sylvander To Clarinda^1 + + Extempore Reply to Verses addressed to the Author by a Lady, under the +signature of "Clarinda" and entitled, On Burns saying he 'had nothing else to +do.' + +When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, +First struck Sylvander's raptur'd view, +He gaz'd, he listened to despair, +Alas! 'twas all he dared to do. + +Love, from Clarinda's heavenly eyes, +Transfixed his bosom thro' and thro'; +But still in Friendships' guarded guise, +For more the demon fear'd to do. + +That heart, already more than lost, +The imp beleaguer'd all perdue; +For frowning Honour kept his post- +To meet that frown, he shrunk to do. + +His pangs the Bard refused to own, +Tho' half he wish'd Clarinda knew; +But Anguish wrung the unweeting groan- +Who blames what frantic Pain must do? + +That heart, where motley follies blend, +Was sternly still to Honour true: +To prove Clarinda's fondest friend, +Was what a lover sure might do. + +[Footnote 1: A grass-widow, Mrs. M'Lehose.] + +The Muse his ready quill employed, +No nearer bliss he could pursue; +That bliss Clarinda cold deny'd- +"Send word by Charles how you do!" + +The chill behest disarm'd his muse, +Till passion all impatient grew: +He wrote, and hinted for excuse, +'Twas, 'cause "he'd nothing else to do." + +But by those hopes I have above! +And by those faults I dearly rue! +The deed, the boldest mark of love, +For thee that deed I dare uo do! + +O could the Fates but name the price +Would bless me with your charms and you! +With frantic joy I'd pay it thrice, +If human art and power could do! + +Then take, Clarinda, friendship's hand, +(Friendship, at least, I may avow;) +And lay no more your chill command, - +I'll write whatever I've to do. + +Sylvander. + +Love In The Guise Of Friendship + +Your friendship much can make me blest, +O 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. + +Go On, Sweet Bird, And Sooth My Care + +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. + +Clarinda, Mistress Of My Soul + +Clarinda, mistres of my soul, +The measur'd time is run! +The wretch beneath the dreary pole +So marks his latest sun. + +To what dark cave of frozen night +Shall poor Sylvander hie; +Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, +The sun of all his joy? + +We part-but by these precious drops, +That fill thy lovely eyes, +No other light shall guide my steps, +Till thy bright beams arise! + +She, the fair sun of all her sex, +Has blest my glorious day; +And shall a glimmering planet fix +My worship to its ray? + +I'm O'er Young To Marry Yet + +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. + +I am my mammny's ae bairn, +Wi' unco folk I weary, sir; +And lying in a man's bed, +I'm fley'd it mak me eerie, sir. +I'm o'er young, &c. + +My mammie coft me a new gown, +The kirk maun hae the gracing o't; +Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir, +I'm feared ye'd spoil the lacing o't. +I'm o'er young, &c. + +Hallowmass 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 an' 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. + +To The Weavers Gin Ye Go + +My heart was ance as blithe and free +As simmer days were lang; +But a bonie, westlin weaver lad +Has gart me change my sang. + +Chorus.-To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids, +To the weaver's gin ye go; +I rede you right, gang ne'er at night, +To the weaver's gin ye go. + +My mither sent me to the town, +To warp a plaiden wab; +But the weary, weary warpin o't +Has gart me sigh and sab. +To the weaver's, &c. + +A bonie, westlin weaver lad +Sat working at his loom; +He took my heart as wi' a net, +In every knot and thrum. +To the weaver's, &c. + +I sat beside my warpin-wheel, +And aye I ca'd it roun'; +But every shot and evey knock, +My heart it gae a stoun. +To the weaver's, &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 weaver's, &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 myself! +To the weaver's, &c. + +M'Pherson's Farewell + +tune-"M'Pherson's Rant." + +Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, +The wretch's destinie! +M'Pherson's time will not be long +On yonder gallows-tree. + +Chorus.-Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, +Sae dauntingly gaed he; +He play'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 dared his face, and in this place +I scorn him yet again! +Sae rantingly, &c. + +Untie these bands from off my hands, +And bring me to 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. + +Stay My Charmer + +tune-"An gille dubh ciar-dhubh." + +Stay my charmer, can you leave me? +Cruel, cruel to deceive me; +Well you know how much you grieve me; +Cruel charmer, can you go! +Cruel charmer, can you go! + +By my love so ill-requited, +By the faith you fondly plighted, +By the pangs of lovers slighted, +Do not, do not liave me so! +Do not, do not leave me so! + +song-My Hoggie + +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 nocht but the roaring linn, +Amang the braes sae scroggie. + +But the houlet cry'd frau the castle wa', +The blitter frae the boggie; +The tod reply'd upon the hill, +I trembled for my Hoggie. +When day did daw, and cocks did craw, +The morning it was foggie; +An unco tyke, lap o'er the dyke, +And maist has kill'd my Hoggie! + +Raving Winds Around Her Blowing + +tune-"M'Grigor of Roro's Lament." + + I composed these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raza, alluding to her +feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of +her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudoun, who shot himself out of sheer +heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, owing to the deranged state +of his finances.-R.B., 1971. + +Raving winds around her blowing, +Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, +By a river hoarsely roaring, +Isabella stray'd deploring- + +"Farewell, hours that late did measure +Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; +Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, +Cheerless night that knows no morrow! + +"O'er the past too fondly wandering, +On the hopeless future pondering; +Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, +Fell despair my fancy seizes. + +"Life, thou soul of every blessing, +Load to misery most distressing, +Gladly how wouldlI resign thee, +And to dark oblivion join thee!" + +Up In The Morning Early + +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 covered wi' snaw, +I'm sure it's winter fairly. + +The birds sit chittering in the thorn, +A' day they fare but sparely; +And lang's the night frae e'en to morn- +I'm sure it's winter fairly. +Up in the morning's, &c. + +How Long And Dreary Is The Night + +How long and dreary is the night, +When I am frae my dearie! +I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, +Tho' I were ne'er so weary: +I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, +Tho' I were ne'er sae weary! + +When I think on the happy days +I spent wi' you my dearie: +And now what lands between us lie, +How can I be but eerie! +And now what lands between us lie, +How can I be but eerie! + +How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, +As ye were wae and weary! +It wasna sae ye glinted by, +When I was wi' my dearie! +It wasna sae ye glinted by, +When I was wi' my dearie! + +Hey, The Dusty Miller + +Hey, the dusty Miller, +And his dusty coat, +He will win a shilling, +Or he spend a groat: +Dusty was the coat, +Dusty was the colour, +Dusty was the kiss +That I gat 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. + +Duncan Davison + +There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, +And she held o'er the moors to spin; +There was a lad that follow'd her, +They ca'd him Duncan Davison. +The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, +Her favour Duncan could na win; +For wi' the rock she wad him knock, +And aye she shook the temper-pin. + +As o'er the moor they lightly foor, +A burn was clear, a glen was green, +Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks, +And aye she set the wheel between: +But Duncan swoor a haly aith, +That Meg should be a bride the morn; +Then Meg took up her spinning-graith, +And flang them a' out o'er the burn. + +We will big a wee, wee house, +And we will live like king and queen; +Sae blythe and merry's we will be, +When ye set by the wheel at e'en. +A man may drink, and no be drunk; +A man may fight, and no be slain; +A man may kiss a bonie lass, +And aye be welcome back again! + +The Lad They Ca'Jumpin John + +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'Jumpin John +Beguil'd the bonie lassie. + +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 black e'e. +The lang lad, &c. + +Talk Of Him That's Far Awa + +Musing on the roaring ocean, +Which divides my love and me; +Wearying heav'n in warm devotion, +For his weal where'er he be. + +Hope and Fear's alternate billow +Yielding late to Nature's law, +Whispering spirits round my pillow, +Talk of him that's far awa. + +Ye whom sorrow never wounded, +Ye who never shed a tear, +Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, +Gaudy day to you is dear. + +Gentle night, do thou befriend me, +Downy sleep, the curtain draw; +Spirits kind, again attend me, +Talk of him that's far awa! + +To Daunton Me + +The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, +The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, +The frost may freeze the deepest sea; +But an auld man shall never daunton me. +Refrain.-To daunton me, to daunton me, +And auld man shall never daunton me. + +To daunton me, and me sae young, +Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, +That is the thing you shall never see, +For an auld man shall never daunton me. +To daunton me, &c. + +For a' his meal and a' his maut, +For a' his fresh beef and his saut, +For a' his gold and white monie, +And auld men 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, &c. + +He hirples twa 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 me. +To daunton me, &c. + +The Winter It Is Past + +The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last +And the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree; +Now ev'ry thing is glad, while I am very sad, +Since my true love is parted from me. + +The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear, +May have charms for the linnet or the bee; +Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, +But my true love is parted from me. + +The Bonie Lad That's Far Awa + +O how can I be blythe and glad, +Or how can I gang brisk and braw, +When the bonie lad that I lo'e best +Is o'er the hills and far awa! + +It's no the frosty winter wind, +It's no the driving drift and snaw; +But aye the tear comes in my e'e, +To think on him that's far awa. + +My father pat me frae his door, +My friends they hae disown'd me a'; +But I hae ane will tak my part, +The bonie lad that's far awa. + +A pair o' glooves he bought to me, +And silken snoods he gae me twa; +And I will wear them for his sake, +The bonie lad that's far awa. + +O weary Winter soon will pass, +And Spring will cleed the birken shaw; +And my young babie will be born, +And he'll be hame that's far awa. + +Verses To Clarinda + +Sent with a Pair of Wine-Glasses. + +Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, +And Queen of Poetesses; +Clarinda, take this little boon, +This humble pair of glasses: + +And fill them up with generous juice, +As generous as your mind; +And pledge them to the generous toast, +"The whole of human kind!" + +"To those who love us!" second fill; +But not to those whom we love; +Lest we love those who love not us- +A third-"To thee and me, Love!" + +The Chevalier's Lament + +Air-"Captain O'Kean." + +The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, +The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale; +The primroses blow in the dews of the morning, +And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale: +But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, +When the lingering moments are numbered by care? +No birds sweetly singing, nor flow'rs gaily springing, +Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. + +The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice? +A king and a father to place on his throne! +His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, +Where the wild beasts find shelter, tho' I can find none! +But 'tis not my suff'rings, thus wretched, forlorn, +My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn; +Your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, - +Alas! I can make it no better return! + +Epistle To Hugh Parker + +In this strange land, this uncouth clime, +A land unknown to prose or rhyme; +Where words ne'er cross't the Muse's heckles, +Nor limpit in poetic shackles: +A land that Prose did never view it, +Except when drunk he stacher't thro' it; +Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek, +Hid in an atmosphere of reek, +I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, +I hear it-for in vain I leuk. +The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, +Enhusked by a fog infernal: +Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, +I sit and count my sins by chapters; +For life and spunk like ither Christians, +I'm dwindled down to mere existence, +Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, +Wi' nae kenn'd face but Jenny Geddes, +Jenny, my Pegasean pride! +Dowie she saunters down Nithside, +And aye a westlin leuk she throws, +While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose! +Was it for this, wi' cannie care, +Thou bure the Bard through many a shire? +At howes, or hillocks never stumbled, +And late or early never grumbled?- +O had I power like inclination, +I'd heeze thee up a constellation, +To canter with the Sagitarre, +Or loup the ecliptic like a bar; +Or turn the pole like any arrow; +Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow, +Down the zodiac urge the race, +And cast dirt on his godship's face; +For I could lay my bread and kail +He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. - +Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, +And sma', sma' prospect of relief, +And nought but peat reek i' my head, +How can I write what ye can read?- +Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, +Ye'll find me in a better tune; +But till we meet and weet our whistle, +Tak this excuse for nae epistle. + +Robert Burns. + +Of A' The Airts The Wind Can Blaw^1 + +tune-"Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." + +Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, +I dearly like the west, +For there the bonie lassie lives, +The lassie I lo'e best: + +[Footnote 1: Written during a separation from Mrs. Burns in their honeymoon. +Burns was preparing a home at Ellisland; Mrs. Burns was at Mossgiel.-Lang.] + +There's wild-woods grow, and rivers row, +And mony a hill between: +But day and night my fancys' flight +Is ever wi' my Jean. + +I see her in the dewy flowers, +I see her sweet and fair: +I hear her in the tunefu' birds, +I hear her charm the air: +There's not a bonie flower that springs, +By fountain, shaw, or green; +There's not a bonie bird that sings, +But minds me o' my Jean. + +song-I Hae a Wife O' My Ain + +I Hae a wife of my ain, +I'll partake wi' naebody; +I'll take Cuckold frae nane, +I'll gie Cuckold to naebody. + +I hae a penny to spend, +There-thanks to naebody! +I hae naething to lend, +I'll borrow frae naebody. + +I am naebody's lord, +I'll be slave to naebody; +I hae a gude braid sword, +I'll tak dunts frae naebody. + +I'll be merry and free, +I'll be sad for naebody; +Naebody cares for me, +I care for naebody. + +Lines Written In Friars'-Carse Hermitage + +Glenriddel Hermitage, June 28th, 1788. + +Thou whom chance may hither lead, +Be thou clad in russet weed, +Be thou deckt in silken stole, +Grave these maxims on thy soul. + +Life is but a day at most, +Sprung from night, in darkness lost: +Hope not sunshine every hour, +Fear not clouds will always lour. + +Happiness is but a name, +Make content and ease thy aim, +Ambition is a meteor-gleam; +Fame, an idle restless dream; + +Peace, the tend'rest flow'r of spring; +Pleasures, insects on the wing; +Those that sip the dew alone- +Make the butterflies thy own; +Those that would the bloom devour- +Crush the locusts, save the flower. + +For the future be prepar'd, +Guard wherever thou can'st guard; +But thy utmost duly done, +Welcome what thou can'st not shun. +Follies past, give thou to air, +Make their consequence thy care: +Keep the name of Man in mind, +And dishonour not thy kind. +Reverence with lowly heart +Him, whose wondrous work thou art; +Keep His Goodness still in view, +Thy trust, and thy example, too. + +Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide! +Quod the Beadsman of Nidside. + +To Alex. Cunningham, ESQ., Writer + +Ellisland, Nithsdale, July 27th, 1788. + +My godlike friend-nay, do not stare, +You think the phrase is odd-like; +But God is love, the saints declare, +Then surely thou art god-like. + +And is thy ardour still the same? +And kindled still at Anna? +Others may boast a partial flame, +But thou art a volcano! + +Ev'n Wedlock asks not love beyond +Death's tie-dissolving portal; +But thou, omnipotently fond, +May'st promise love immortal! + +Thy wounds such healing powers defy, +Such symptoms dire attend them, +That last great antihectic try- +Marriage perhaps may mend them. + +Sweet Anna has an air-a grace, +Divine, magnetic, touching: +She talks, she charms-but who can trace +The process of bewitching? + +Song.-Anna, Thy Charms + +Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, +And waste my soul with care; +But ah! how bootless to admire, +When fated to despair! + +Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, +To hope may be forgiven; +For sure 'twere impious to despair +So much in sight of heaven. + +The Fete Champetre + +tune-"Killiecrankie." + +O Wha will to Saint Stephen's House, +To do our errands there, man? +O wha will to Saint Stephen's House +O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man? + +Or will we send a man o' law? +Or will we send a sodger? +Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' +The meikle Ursa-Major?^1 + +Come, will ye court a noble lord, +Or buy a score o'lairds, man? +For worth and honour pawn their word, +Their vote shall be Glencaird's,^2 man. +Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, +Anither gies them clatter: +Annbank,^3 wha guessed the ladies' taste, +He gies a Fete Champetre. + +When Love and Beauty heard the news, +The gay green woods amang, man; +Where, gathering flowers, and busking bowers, +They heard the blackbird's sang, man: +A vow, they sealed it with a kiss, +Sir Politics to fetter; +As their's alone, the patent bliss, +To hold a Fete Champetre. + +Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing +O'er hill and dale she flew, man; +Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, +Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man: +She summon'd every social sprite, +That sports by wood or water, +On th' bonie banks of Ayr to meet, +And keep this Fete Champetre. + +Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, +Were bound to stakes like kye, man, +And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', +Clamb up the starry sky, man: +Reflected beams dwell in the streams, +Or down the current shatter; +The western breeze steals thro'the trees, +To view this Fete Champetre. + +[Footnote 1: James Boswell, the biographer of Dr. Johnson.] + +[Footnote 2: Sir John Whitefoord, then residing at Cloncaird or "Glencaird."] + +[Footnote 3: William Cunninghame, Esq., of Annbank and Enterkin.] + +How many a robe sae gaily floats! +What sparkling jewels glance, man! +To Harmony's enchanting notes, +As moves the mazy dance, man. +The echoing wood, the winding flood, +Like Paradise did glitter, +When angels met, at Adam's yett, +To hold their Fete Champetre. + +When Politics came there, to mix +And make his ether-stane, man! +He circled round the magic ground, +But entrance found he nane, man: +He blush'd for shame, he quat his name, +Forswore it, every letter, +Wi' humble prayer to join and share +This festive Fete Champetre. + +Epistle To Robert Graham, Esq., Of Fintry + +Requesting a Favour + +When Nature her great master-piece design'd, +And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, +Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, +She form'd of various parts the various Man. + +Then first she calls the useful many forth; +Plain plodding Industry, and sober Worth: +Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, +And merchandise' whole genus take their birth: +Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, +And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. +Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, +The lead and buoy are needful to the net: +The caput mortuum of grnss desires +Makes a material for mere knights and squires; +The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, +She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, +Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs, +Law, physic, politics, and deep divines; +Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, +The flashing elements of female souls. + +The order'd system fair before her stood, +Nature, well pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good; +But ere she gave creating labour o'er, +Half-jest, she tried one curious labour more. +Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter, +Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; +With arch-alacrity and conscious glee, +(Nature may have her whim as well as we, +Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it), +She forms the thing and christens it-a Poet: +Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, +When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow; +A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends, +Admir'd and prais'd-and there the homage ends; +A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, +Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life; +Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, +Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live; +Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, +Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. + +But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, +She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work: +Pitying the propless climber of mankind, +She cast about a standard tree to find; +And, to support his helpless woodbine state, +Attach'd him to the generous, truly great: +A title, and the only one I claim, +To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. + +Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train, +Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main! +Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff, +That never gives-tho' humbly takes enough; +The little fate allows, they share as soon, +Unlike sage proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon: +The world were blest did bliss on them depend, +Ah, that "the friendly e'er should want a friend!" +Let Prudence number o'er each sturdy son, +Who life and wisdom at one race begun, +Who feel by reason and who give by rule, +(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool!) +Who make poor "will do" wait upon "I should"- +We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good? +Ye wise ones hence! ye hurt the social eye! +God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy! +But come ye who the godlike pleasure know, +Heaven's attribute distinguished-to bestow! +Whose arms of love would grasp the human race: +Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace; +Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes! +Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. +Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, +Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid? +I know my need, I know thy giving hand, +I crave thy friendship at thy kind command; +But there are such who court the tuneful Nine- +Heavens! should the branded character be mine! +Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, +Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. +Mark, how their lofty independent spirit +Soars on the spurning wing of injured merit! +Seek not the proofs in private life to find +Pity the best of words should be but wind! +So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends, +But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. +In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, +They dun Benevolence with shameless front; +Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays- +They persecute you all your future days! +Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, +My horny fist assume the plough again, +The pie-bald jacket let me patch once more, +On eighteenpence a week I've liv'd before. +Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift, +I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift: +That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, +Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, +My Muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. + +Song.-The Day Returns + +tune-"Seventh of November." + +The day returns, my bosom burns, +The blissful day we twa did meet: +Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, +Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. +Than a' the pride that loads the tide, +And crosses o'er the sultry line; +Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, +Heav'n gave me more-it made thee mine! + +While day and night can bring delight, +Or Nature aught of pleasure give; +While joys above my mind can move, +For thee, and thee alone, I live. +When that grim foe of life below +Comes in between to make us part, +The iron hand that breaks our band, +It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart! + +Song.-O, Were I On Parnassus Hill + +tune-"My love is lost to me." + +O, were I on Parnassus hill, +Or had o' Helicon my fill, +That I might catch poetic skill, +To sing how dear I love thee! +But Nith maun be my Muse's well, +My Muse maun be thy bonie sel', +On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell, +And write how dear I love thee. + +Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! +For a' the lee-lang simmer's day +I couldna sing, I couldna say, +How much, how dear, I love thee, +I see thee dancing o'er the green, +Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, +Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een- +By Heaven and Earth I love thee! + +By night, by day, a-field, at hame, +The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame: +And aye I muse and sing thy name- +I only live to love thee. +Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, +Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, +Till my last weary sand was run; +Till then-and then I love thee! + +A Mother's Lament + +For the Death of Her Son. + +Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, +And pierc'd my darling's heart; +And with him all the joys are fled +Life can to me impart. + +By cruel hands the sapling drops, +In dust dishonour'd laid; +So fell the pride of all my hopes, +My age's future shade. + +The mother-linnet in the brake +Bewails her ravish'd young; +So I, for my lost darling's sake, +Lament the live-day long. + +Death, oft I've feared thy fatal blow. +Now, fond, I bare my breast; +O, do thou kindly lay me low +With him I love, at rest! + +The Fall Of The Leaf + +The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, +Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill; +How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear! +As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year. + +The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, +And all the gay foppery of summer is flown: +Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, +How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues! + +How long I have liv'd-but how much liv'd in vain, +How little of life's scanty span may remain, +What aspects old Time in his progress has worn, +What ties cruel Fate, in my bosom has torn. + +How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd! +And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd! +Life is not worth having with all it can give- +For something beyond it poor man sure must live. + +I Reign In Jeanie's Bosom + +Louis, what reck I by thee, +Or Geordie on his ocean? +Dyvor, beggar louns to me, +I reign in Jeanie's bosom! + +Let her crown my love her law, +And in her breast enthrone me, +Kings and nations-swith awa'! +Reif randies, I disown ye! + +It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonie Face + +It is na, Jean, thy bonie face, +Nor shape that I admire; +Altho' thy beauty and thy grace +Might weel awauk desire. + +Something, in ilka part o' thee, +To praise, to love, I find, +But dear as is thy form to me, +Still dearer is thy mind. + +Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae, +Nor stronger in my breast, +Than, if I canna make thee sae, +At least to see thee blest. + +Content am I, if heaven shall give +But happiness, to thee; +And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, +For thee I'd bear to die. + +Auld Lang Syne + +Should auld acquaintance be forgot, +And never brought to mind? +Should auld acquaintance be forgot, +And auld lang syne! + +Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear, +For auld lang syne. +We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, +For auld lang syne. + +And surely ye'll be your pint stowp! +And surely I'll be mine! +And we'll tak a cup o'kindness yet, +For auld lang syne. +For auld, &c. + +We twa hae run about the braes, +And pou'd the gowans fine; +But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, +Sin' auld lang syne. +For auld, &c. + +We twa hae paidl'd in the burn, +Frae morning sun till dine; +But seas between us braid hae roar'd +Sin' auld lang syne. +For auld, &c. + +And there's a hand, my trusty fere! +And gie's a hand o' thine! +And we'll tak a right gude-willie waught, +For auld lang syne. +For auld, &c. + +My Bonie Mary + +Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, +And fill it in a silver tassie; +That I may drink before I go, +A service to my bonie lassie. +The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith; +Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry; +The ship rides by the Berwick-law, +And I maun leave my bonie Mary. + +The trumpets sound, the banners fly, +The glittering spears are ranked ready: +The shouts o' war are heard afar, +The battle closes deep and bloody; +It's not the roar o' sea or shore, +Wad mak me langer wish to tarry! +Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar- +It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary! + +The Parting Kiss + +Humid seal of soft affections, +Tenderest pledge of future bliss, +Dearest tie of young connections, +Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss! + +Speaking silence, dumb confession, +Passion's birth, and infant's play, +Dove-like fondness, chaste concession, +Glowing dawn of future day! + +Sorrowing joy, Adieu's last action, +(Lingering lips must now disjoin), +What words can ever speak affection +So thrilling and sincere as thine! + +Written In Friars Carse Hermitage + +On Nithside + +Thou whom chance may hither lead, +Be thou clad in russet weed, +Be thou deckt in silken stole, +Grave these counsels on thy soul. + +Life is but a day at most, +Sprung from night,-in darkness lost; +Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, +Fear not clouds will always lour. + +As Youth and Love with sprightly dance, +Beneath thy morning star advance, +Pleasure with her siren air +May delude the thoughtless pair; +Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, +Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. + +As thy day grows warm and high, +Life's meridian flaming nigh, +Dost thou spurn the humble vale? +Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? +Check thy climbing step, elate, +Evils lurk in felon wait: +Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, +Soar around each cliffy hold! +While cheerful Peace, with linnet song, +Chants the lowly dells among. + +As the shades of ev'ning close, +Beck'ning thee to long repose; +As life itself becomes disease, +Seek the chimney-nook of ease; +There ruminate with sober thought, +On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought, +And teach the sportive younkers round, +Saws of experience, sage and sound: +Say, man's true, genuine estimate, +The grand criterion of his fate, +Is not,-Arth thou high or low? +Did thy fortune ebb or flow? +Did many talents gild thy span? +Or frugal Nature grudge thee one? +Tell them, and press it on their mind, +As thou thyself must shortly find, +The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, +To virtue or to Vice is giv'n, +Say, to be just, and kind, and wise- +There solid self-enjoyment lies; +That foolish, selfish, faithless ways +Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. + +Thus resign'd and quiet, creep +To the bed of lasting sleep, - +Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, +Night, where dawn shall never break, +Till future life, future no more, +To light and joy the good restore, +To light and joy unknown before. +Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide! +Quod the Beadsman of Nithside. + +The Poet's Progress + +A Poem In Embryo + +Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; +Of thy caprice maternal I complain. + +The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, +The horned bull, tremendous, spurns the ground; +The lordly lion has enough and more, +The forest trembles at his very roar; +Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, +The puny wasp, victorious, guards his cell. +Thy minions, kings defend, controul devour, +In all th' omnipotence of rule and power: +Foxes and statesmen subtle wiles ensure; +The cit and polecat stink, and are secure: +Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, +The priest and hedgehog, in their robes, are snug: +E'en silly women have defensive arts, +Their eyes, their tongues-and nameless other parts. + +But O thou cruel stepmother and hard, +To thy poor fenceless, naked child, the Bard! +A thing unteachable in worldly skill, +And half an idiot too, more helpless still: +No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun, +No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun: +No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, +And those, alas! not Amalthea's horn: +No nerves olfact'ry, true to Mammon's foot, +Or grunting, grub sagacious, evil's root: +The silly sheep that wanders wild astray, +Is not more friendless, is not more a prey; +Vampyre-booksellers drain him to the heart, +And viper-critics cureless venom dart. + +Critics! appll'd I venture on the name, +Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame, +Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes, +He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose: +By blockhead's daring into madness stung, +His heart by wanton, causeless malice wrung, +His well-won ways-than life itself more dear - +By miscreants torn who ne'er one sprig must wear; +Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal strife, +The hapless Poet flounces on through life, +Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fired, +And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd, +Low-sunk in squalid, unprotected age, +Dead even resentment for his injur'd page, +He heeds no more the ruthless critics' rage. + +So by some hedge the generous steed deceas'd, +For half-starv'd, snarling curs a dainty feast; +By toil and famine worn to skin and bone, +Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. + +A little upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, +And still his precious self his dear delight; +Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets, +Better than e'er the fairest she he meets; +Much specious lore, but little understood, +(Veneering oft outshines the solid wood), +His solid sense, by inches you must tell, +But mete his cunning by the Scottish ell! +A man of fashion too, he made his tour, +Learn'd "vive la bagatelle et vive l'amour;" +So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, +Polish their grin-nay, sigh for ladies' love! +His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, +Still making work his selfish craft must mend. + +* * * Crochallan came, +The old cock'd hat, the brown surtout-the same; +His grisly beard just bristling in its might- +'Twas four long nights and days from shaving-night; +His uncomb'd, hoary locks, wild-staring, thatch'd +A head, for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd; +Yet, tho' his caustic wit was biting-rude, +His heart was warm, benevolent and good. + +O Dulness, portion of the truly blest! +Calm, shelter'd haven of eternal rest! +Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes +Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams; +If mantling high she fills the golden cup, +With sober, selfish ease they sip it up; +Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, +They only wonder "some folks" do not starve! +The grave, sage hern thus easy picks his frog, +And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. +When disappointment snaps the thread of Hope, +When, thro' disastrous night, they darkling grope, +With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, +And just conclude that "fools are Fortune's care:" +So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, +Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. + +Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, +Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; +In equanimity they never dwell, +By turns in soaring heaven, or vaulted hell! + +Elegy On The Year 1788 + +For lords or kings I dinna mourn, +E'en let them die-for that they're born: +But oh! prodigious to reflec'! +A Towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck! +O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space, +What dire events hae taken place! +Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us! +In what a pickle thou has left us! + +The Spanish empire's tint a head, +And my auld teethless, Bawtie's dead: +The tulyie's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox, +And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks; +The tane is game, a bluidy devil, +But to the hen-birds unco civil; +The tither's something dour o' treadin, +But better stuff ne'er claw'd a middin. + +Ye ministers, come mount the poupit, +An' cry till ye be hearse an' roupit, +For Eighty-eight, he wished you weel, +An' gied ye a' baith gear an' meal; +E'en monc a plack, and mony a peck, +Ye ken yoursels, for little feck! + +Ye bonie lasses, dight your e'en, +For some o' you hae tint a frien'; +In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was taen, +What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. + +Observe the very nowt an' sheep, +How dowff an' daviely they creep; +Nay, even the yirth itsel' does cry, +For E'nburgh wells are grutten dry. + +O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, +An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn! +Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, +Thou now hast got thy Daddy's chair; +Nae handcuff'd, mizl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent, +But, like himsel, a full free agent, +Be sure ye follow out the plan +Nae waur than he did, honest man! +As muckle better as you can. + +January, 1, 1789. + +The Henpecked Husband + +Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, +The crouching vassal to a tyrant wife! +Who has no will but by her high permission, +Who has not sixpence but in her possession; +Who must to he, his dear friend's secrets tell, +Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. +Were such the wife had fallen to my part, +I'd break her spirit or I'd break her heart; +I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, +I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch. + +Versicles On Sign-Posts + +His face with smile eternal drest, +Just like the Landlord's to his Guest's, +High as they hang with creaking din, +To index out the Country Inn. +He looked just as your sign-post Lions do, +With aspect fierce, and quite as harmless too. + +A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, +The very image of a barber's Poll; +It shews a human face, and wears a wig, +And looks, when well preserv'd, amazing big. + +Robin Shure In Hairst + +Chorus.-Robin shure in hairst, +I shure wi' him. +Fient a heuk had I, +Yet I stack by him. + +I gaed up to Dunse, +To warp a wab o' plaiden, +At his daddie's yett, +Wha met me but Robin: +Robin shure, &c. + +Was na Robin bauld, +Tho' I was a cotter, +Play'd me sic a trick, +An' me the El'er's dochter! +Robin shure, &c. + +Robin promis'd me +A' my winter vittle; +Fient haet he had but three +Guse-feathers and a whittle! +Robin shure, &c. + +Ode, Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald Of Auchencruive + +Dweller in yon dungeon dark, +Hangman of creation! mark, +Who in widow-weeds appears, +Laden with unhonour'd years, +Noosing with care a bursting purse, +Baited with many a deadly curse? + +Strophe + +View the wither'd Beldam's face; +Can thy keen inspection trace +Aught of Humanity's sweet, melting grace? +Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows; +Pity's flood there never rose, +See these hands ne'er stretched to save, +Hands that took, but never gave: +Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, +Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest, +She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest! + +Antistrophe + +Plunderer of Armies! lift thine eyes, +(A while forbear, ye torturing fiends;) +Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends? +No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; +'Tis thy trusty quondam Mate, +Doom'd to share thy fiery fate; +She, tardy, hell-ward plies. + +Epode + +And are they of no more avail, +Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year? +In other worlds can Mammon fail, +Omnipotent as he is here! + +O, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, +While down the wretched Vital Part is driven! +The cave-lodged Beggar,with a conscience clear, +Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heaven. + +Pegasus At Wanlockhead + +With Pegasus upon a day, +Apollo, weary flying, +Through frosty hills the journey lay, +On foot the way was plying. + +Poor slipshod giddy Pegasus +Was but a sorry walker; +To Vulcan then Apollo goes, +To get a frosty caulker. + +Obliging Vulcan fell to work, +Threw by his coat and bonnet, +And did Sol's business in a crack; +Sol paid him with a sonnet. + +Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, +Pity my sad disaster; +My Pegasus is poorly shod, +I'll pay you like my master. + +Sappho Redivivus-A Fragment + +By all I lov'd, neglected and forgot, +No friendly face e'er lights my squalid cot; +Shunn'd, hated, wrong'd, unpitied, unredrest, +The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest! +Ev'n the poor support of my wretched life, +Snatched by the violence of legal strife. +Oft grateful for my very daily bread +To those my family's once large bounty fed; +A welcome inmate at their homely fare, +My griefs, my woes, my sighs, my tears they share: +(Their vulgar souls unlike the souls refin'd, +The fashioned marble of the polished mind). + +In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, +Point out a censuring world, and bid me fear; +Above the world, on wings of Love, I rise- +I know its worst, and can that worst despise; +Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, +M[ontgomer]y, rich reward, o'erpays them all! + +Mild zephyrs waft thee to life's farthest shore, +Nor think of me and my distress more, - +Falsehood accurst! No! still I beg a place, +Still near thy heart some little, little trace: +For that dear trace the world I would resign: +O let me live, and die, and think it mine! + +"I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn +By driving winds the crackling flames are borne;" +Now raving-wild, I curse that fatal night, +Then bless the hour that charm'd my guilty sight: +In vain the laws their feeble force oppose, +Chain'd at Love's feet, they groan, his vanquish'd foes. +In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye, +I dare not combat, but I turn and fly: +Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallow'd fire, +Love grasps her scorpions-stifled they expire! +Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne, + +Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone; +Each thought intoxicated homage yields, +And riots wanton in forbidden fields. +By all on high adoring mortals know! +By all the conscious villain fears below! +By your dear self!-the last great oath I swear, +Not life, nor soul, were ever half so dear! + +song-She's Fair And Fause + +She's fair and fause that causes my smart, +I lo'ed her meikle and lang; +She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, +And I may e'en gae hang. +A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, +And I hae tint my dearest dear; +But Woman is but warld's gear, +Sae let the bonie lass gang. + +Whae'er ye be that woman love, +To this be never blind; +Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, +A woman has't by kind. +O Woman lovely, Woman fair! +An angel form's faun to thy share, +'Twad been o'er meikle to gi'en thee mair- +I mean an angel mind. + +Impromptu Lines To Captain Riddell + +On Returning a Newspaper. + +Your News and Review, sir. +I've read through and through, sir, +With little admiring or blaming; +The Papers are barren +Of home-news or foreign, +No murders or rapes worth the naming. + +Our friends, the Reviewers, +Those chippers and hewers, +Are judges of mortar and stone, sir; +But of meet or unmeet, +In a fabric complete, +I'll boldly pronounce they are none, sir; + +My goose-quill too rude is +To tell all your goodness +Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet; +Would to God I had one +Like a beam of the sun, +And then all the world, sir, should know it! + +Lines To John M'Murdo, Esq. Of Drumlanrig + +Sent with some of the Author's Poems. + +O could I give thee India's wealth, +As I this trifle send; +Because thy joy in both would be +To share them with a friend. + +But golden sands did never grace +The Heliconian stream; +Then take what gold could never buy- +An honest bard's esteem. + +Rhyming Reply To A Note From Captain Riddell + +Dear, Sir, at ony time or tide, +I'd rather sit wi' you than ride, +Though 'twere wi' royal Geordie: +And trowth, your kindness, soon and late, +Aft gars me to mysel' look blate- +The Lord in Heav'n reward ye! + +R. Burns. + +Ellisland. + +Caledonia-A Ballad + +tune-"Caledonian Hunts' Delight" of Mr. Gow. + +There was once a day, but old Time wasythen young, +That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, +From some of your northern deities sprung, +(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) +From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, +To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: +Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign, +And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. + +A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, +The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew: +Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, - +"Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!" +With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, +To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; +But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, +Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. + +Long quiet she reigned; till thitherward steers +A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand: +Repeated, successive, for many long years, +They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: +Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, +They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside; +She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, +The daring invaders they fled or they died. + +The Cameleon-Savage disturb'd her repose, +With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; +Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, +And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life: +The Anglian lion, the terror of France, +Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; +But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, +He learned to fear in his own native wood. + +The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, +The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; +The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth +To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: +O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, +No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; +But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, +As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. + +Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, +Her bright course of glory for ever shall run: +For brave Caledonia immortal must be; +I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: +Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll chuse: +The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; +But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse; +Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them always. + +To Miss Cruickshank + +A very Young Lady + + Written on the Blank Leaf of a Book, presented to her by the Author. + +Beauteous Rosebud, young and gay, +Blooming in thy early May, +Never may'st thou, lovely flower, +Chilly shrink in sleety shower! +Never Boreas' hoary path, +Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, +Never baleful stellar lights, +Taint thee with untimely blights! +Never, never reptile thief +Riot on thy virgin leaf! +Nor even Sol too fiercely view +Thy bosom blushing still with dew! + +May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, +Richly deck thy native stem; +Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, +Dropping dews, and breathing balm, +While all around the woodland rings, +And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings; +Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, +Shed thy dying honours round, +And resign to parent Earth +The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. + +Beware O' Bonie Ann + +Ye gallants bright, I rede you right, +Beware o' bonie Ann; +Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, +Your heart she will trepan: +Her een sae bright, like stars by night, +Her skin sae like the swan; +Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, +That sweetly ye might span. + +Youth, Grace, and Love attendant move, +And pleasure leads the van: +In a' their charms, and conquering arms, +They wait on bonie Ann. +The captive bands may chain the hands, +But love enslaves the man: +Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', +Beware o' bonie Ann! + +Ode On The Departed Regency Bill + +(March, 1789) + +Daughter of Chaos' doting years, +Nurse of ten thousand hopes and fears, +Whether thy airy, insubstantial shade +(The rights of sepulture now duly paid) +Spread abroad its hideous form +On the roaring civil storm, +Deafening din and warring rage +Factions wild with factions wage; +Or under-ground, deep-sunk, profound, +Among the demons of the earth, +With groans that make the mountains shake, +Thou mourn thy ill-starr'd, blighted birth; +Or in the uncreated Void, +Where seeds of future being fight, +With lessen'd step thou wander wide, +To greet thy Mother-Ancient Night. +And as each jarring, monster-mass is past, +Fond recollect what once thou wast: +In manner due, beneath this sacred oak, +Hear, Spirit, hear! thy presence I invoke! +By a Monarch's heaven-struck fate, +By a disunited State, +By a generous Prince's wrongs. +By a Senate's strife of tongues, +By a Premier's sullen pride, +Louring on the changing tide; +By dread Thurlow's powers to awe +Rhetoric, blasphemy and law; +By the turbulent ocean- +A Nation's commotion, +By the harlot-caresses +Of borough addresses, +By days few and evil, +(Thy portion, poor devil!) +By Power, Wealth, and Show, +(The Gods by men adored,) +By nameless Poverty, +(Their hell abhorred,) +By all they hope, by all they fear, +Hear! and appear! + +Stare not on me, thou ghastly Power! +Nor, grim with chained defiance, lour: +No Babel-structure would I build +Where, order exil'd from his native sway, +Confusion may the regent-sceptre wield, +While all would rule and none obey: +Go, to the world of man relate +The story of thy sad, eventful fate; +And call presumptuous Hope to hear +And bid him check his blind career; +And tell the sore-prest sons of Care, +Never, never to despair! +Paint Charles' speed on wings of fire, +The object of his fond desire, +Beyond his boldest hopes, at hand: +Paint all the triumph of the Portland Band; +Hark how they lift the joy-elated voice! +And who are these that equally rejoice? +Jews, Gentiles, what a motley crew! +The iron tears their flinty cheeks bedew; +See how unfurled the parchment ensigns fly, +And Principal and Interest all the cry! +And how their num'rous creditors rejoice; +But just as hopes to warm enjoyment rise, +Cry Convalescence! and the vision flies. +Then next pourtray a dark'ning twilight gloom, +Eclipsing sad a gay, rejoicing morn, +While proud Ambition to th' untimely tomb +By gnashing, grim, despairing fiends is borne: +Paint ruin, in the shape of high D[undas] +Gaping with giddy terror o'er the brow; +In vain he struggles, the fates behind him press, +And clam'rous hell yawns for her prey below: +How fallen That, whose pride late scaled the skies! +And This, like Lucifer, no more to rise! +Again pronounce the powerful word; +See Day, triumphant from the night, restored. + +Then know this truth, ye Sons of Men! +(Thus ends thy moral tale,) +Your darkest terrors may be vain, +Your brightest hopes may fail. + +Epistle To James Tennant Of Glenconner + +Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, +How's a' the folk about Glenconner? +How do you this blae eastlin wind, +That's like to blaw a body blind? +For me, my faculties are frozen, +My dearest member nearly dozen'd. +I've sent you here, by Johnie Simson, +Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on; +Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, +An' Reid, to common sense appealing. +Philosophers have fought and wrangled, +An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, +Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, +And in the depth of science mir'd, +To common sense they now appeal, +What wives and wabsters see and feel. +But, hark ye, friend! I charge you strictly, +Peruse them, an' return them quickly: +For now I'm grown sae cursed douce +I pray and ponder butt the house; +My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin', +Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston, +Till by an' by, if I haud on, +I'll grunt a real gospel-groan: +Already I begin to try it, +To cast my e'en up like a pyet, +When by the gun she tumbles o'er +Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore: +Sae shortly you shall see me bright, +A burning an' a shining light. + +My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, +The ace an' wale of honest men: +When bending down wi' auld grey hairs +Beneath the load of years and cares, +May He who made him still support him, +An' views beyond the grave comfort him; +His worthy fam'ly far and near, +God bless them a' wi' grace and gear! + +My auld schoolfellow, Preacher Willie, +The manly tar, my mason-billie, +And Auchenbay, I wish him joy, +If he's a parent, lass or boy, +May he be dad, and Meg the mither, +Just five-and-forty years thegither! +And no forgetting wabster Charlie, +I'm tauld he offers very fairly. +An' Lord, remember singing Sannock, +Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock! +And next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy, +Since she is fitted to her fancy, +An' her kind stars hae airted till her +gA guid chiel wi' a pickle siller. +My kindest, best respects, I sen' it, +To cousin Kate, an' sister Janet: +Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, +For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashious; +To grant a heart is fairly civil, +But to grant a maidenhead's the devil. +An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, +May guardian angels tak a spell, +An' steer you seven miles south o' hell: +But first, before you see heaven's glory, +May ye get mony a merry story, +Mony a laugh, and mony a drink, +And aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. + +Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you: +For my sake, this I beg it o' you, +Assist poor Simson a' ye can, +Ye'll fin; him just an honest man; +Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, +Your's, saint or sinner, +Rob the Ranter. + +A New Psalm For The Chapel Of Kilmarnock + + On the Thanksgiving-Day for His Majesty's Recovery. + +O sing a new song to the Lord, +Make, all and every one, +A joyful noise, even for the King +His restoration. + +The sons of Belial in the land +Did set their heads together; +Come, let us sweep them off, said they, +Like an o'erflowing river. + +They set their heads together, I say, +They set their heads together; +On right, on left, on every hand, +We saw none to deliver. + +Thou madest strong two chosen ones +To quell the Wicked's pride; +That Young Man, great in Issachar, +The burden-bearing tribe. + +And him, among the Princes chief +In our Jerusalem, +The judge that's mighty in thy law, +The man that fears thy name. + +Yet they, even they, with all their strength, +Began to faint and fail: +Even as two howling, ravenous wolves +To dogs do turn their tail. + +Th' ungodly o'er the just prevail'd, +For so thou hadst appointed; +That thou might'st greater glory give +Unto thine own anointed. + +And now thou hast restored our State, +Pity our Kirk also; +For she by tribulations +Is now brought very low. + +Consume that high-place, Patronage, +From off thy holy hill; +And in thy fury burn the book- +Even of that man M'Gill.^1 + +Now hear our prayer, accept our song, +And fight thy chosen's battle: +We seek but little, Lord, from thee, +Thou kens we get as little. + +[Footnote 1: Dr. William M'Gill of Ayr, whose "Practical Essay on the Death of +Jesus Christ" led to a charge of heresy against him. Burns took up his cause +in "The Kirk of Scotland's Alarm" (p. 351).-Lang.] + +Sketch In Verse + + Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox. + +How wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite, +How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white, +How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, +Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, +I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, +I care not, not I-let the Critics go whistle! + +But now for a Patron whose name and whose glory, +At once may illustrate and honour my story. + +Thou first of our orators, first of our wits; +Yet whose parts and acquirements seem just lucky hits; +With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, +No man with the half of 'em e'er could go wrong; +With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, +No man with the half of 'em e'er could go right; +A sorry, poor, misbegot son of the Muses, +For using thy name, offers fifty excuses. +Good Lord, what is Man! for as simple he looks, +Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks; +With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, +All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. + +On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labours, +That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its neighbours: +Mankind are his show-box-a friend, would you know him? +Pull the string, Ruling Passion the picture will show him, +What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, +One trifling particular, Truth, should have miss'd him; +For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, +Mankind is a science defies definitions. + +Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, +And think human nature they truly describe; +Have you found this, or t'other? There's more in the wind; +As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. +But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, +In the make of that wonderful creature called Man, +No two virtues, whatever relation they claim. +Nor even two different shades of the same, +Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, +Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. + +But truce with abstraction, and truce with a Muse +Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, Sir, ne'er deign to peruse: +Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your quarrels, +Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels? +My much-honour'd Patron, believe your poor poet, +Your courage, much more than your prudence, you show it: +In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle: +He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle: +Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em, +He'd up the back stairs, and by God, he would steal 'em, +Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em; +It is not, out-do him-the task is, out-thieve him! + +The Wounded Hare + +Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art, +And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; +May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, +Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! + +Go live, poor wand'rer of the wood and field! +The bitter little that of life remains: +No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains +To thee a home, or food, or pastime yield. + +Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, +No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! +The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, +The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. + +Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe; +The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side; +Ah! helpless nurslings, who will now provide +That life a mother only can bestow! + +Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait +The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, +I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, +And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. + +Delia, An Ode + + "To the Editor of The Star.-Mr. Printer-If the productions of a simple +ploughman can merit a place in the same paper with Sylvester Otway, and the +other favourites of the Muses who illuminate the Star with the lustre of +genius, your insertion of the enclosed trifle will be succeeded by future +communications from-Yours, &c., R. Burns. + + Ellisland, near Dumfries, 18th May, 1789." + +Fair the face of orient day, +Fair the tints of op'ning rose; +But fairer still my Delia dawns, +More lovely far her beauty shows. + +Sweet the lark's wild warbled lay, +Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; +But, Delia, more delightful still, +Steal thine accents on mine ear. + +The flower-enamour'd busy bee +The rosy banquet loves to sip; +Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse +To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip. + +But, Delia, on thy balmy lips +Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; +O let me steal one liquid kiss, +For Oh! my soul is parch'd with love. + +The Gard'ner Wi' His Paidle + +tune-"The Gardener's March." + +When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, +To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers, +Then busy, busy are his hours, +The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. + +The crystal waters gently fa', +The merry bards are lovers a', +The scented breezes round him blaw- +The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. + +When purple morning starts the hare +To steal upon her early fare; +Then thro' the dews he maun repair- +The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. + +When day, expiring in the west, +The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, +He flies to her arms he lo'es the best, +The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. + +On A Bank Of Flowers + +On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, +For summer lightly drest, +The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, +With love and sleep opprest; +When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, +Who for her favour oft had sued; +He gaz'd, he wish'd +He fear'd, he blush'd, +And trembled where he stood. + +Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, +Were seal'd in soft repose; +Her lip, still as she fragrant breath'd, +It richer dyed the rose; +The springing lilies, sweetly prest, +Wild-wanton kissed her rival breast; +He gaz'd, he wish'd, +He mear'd, he blush'd, +His bosom ill at rest. + +Her robes, light-waving in the breeze, +Her tender limbs embrace; +Her lovely form, her native ease, +All harmony and grace; +Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, +A faltering, ardent kiss he stole; +He gaz'd, he wish'd, +He fear'd, he blush'd, +And sigh'd his very soul. + +As flies the partridge from the brake, +On fear-inspired wings, +So Nelly, starting, half-awake, +Away affrighted springs; +But Willie follow'd-as he should, +He overtook her in the wood; +He vow'd, he pray'd, +He found the maid +Forgiving all, and good. + + +Young Jockie Was The Blythest Lad + +Young Jockie was the blythest lad, +In a' our town or here awa; +Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, +Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha'. + +He roos'd my een sae bonie blue, +He roos'd my waist sae genty sma'; +An' aye my heart cam to my mou', +When ne'er a body heard or saw. + +My Jockie toils upon the plain, +Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw: +And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain, +When Jockie's owsen hameward ca'. + +An' aye the night comes round again, +When in his arms he taks me a'; +An' aye he vows he'll be my ain, +As lang's he has a breath to draw. + +The Banks Of Nith + +The Thames flows proudly to the sea, +Where royal cities stately stand; +But sweeter flows the Nith to me, +Where Comyns ance had high command. +When shall I see that honour'd land, +That winding stream I love so dear! +Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand +For ever, ever keep me here! + +How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, +Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom; +And sweetly spread thy sloping dales, +Where lambkins wanton through the broom. +Tho' wandering now must be my doom, +Far from thy bonie banks and braes, +May there my latest hours consume, +Amang the friends of early days! + +Jamie, Come Try Me + +Chorus.-Jamie, come try me, +Jamie, come try me, +If thou would win my love, +Jamie, come try me. + +If thou should ask my love, +Could I deny thee? +If thou would win my love, +Jamie, come try me! +Jamie, come try me, &c. + +If thou should kiss me, love, +Wha could espy thee? +If thou wad be my love, +Jamie, come try me! +Jamie, come try me, &c. + +I Love My Love In Secret + +My Sandy gied to me a ring, +Was a' beset wi' diamonds fine; +But I gied him a far better thing, +I gied my heart in pledge o' his ring. + +Chorus.-My Sandy O, my Sandy O, +My bonie, bonie Sandy O; +Tho' the love that I owe +To thee I dare na show, +Yet I love my love in secret, my Sandy O. + +My Sandy brak a piece o' gowd, +While down his cheeks the saut tears row'd; +He took a hauf, and gied it to me, +And I'll keep it till the hour I die. +My Sand O, &c. + +Sweet Tibbie Dunbar + +O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? +O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? +Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, +Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar? + +I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, +I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly; +But sae that thou'lt hae me for better for waur, +And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. + +The Captain's Lady + +Chorus.-O mount and go, mount and make you ready, +O mount and go, and be the Captain's lady. + +When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle, +Thou shalt sit in state, and see thy love in battle: +When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle, +Thou shalt sit in state, and see thy love in battle. +O mount and go, &c. + +When the vanquish'd foe sues for peace and quiet, +To the shades we'll go, and in love enjoy it: +When the vanquish'd foe sues for peace and quiet, +To the shades we'll go, and in love enjoy it. +O mount and go, &c. + +John Anderson, My Jo + +John Anderson, my jo, John, +When we were first acquent; +Your locks were like the raven, +Your bonie brow was brent; +But now your brow is beld, John, +Your locks are like the snaw; +But blessings on your frosty pow, +John Anderson, my jo. + +John Anderson, my jo, John, +We clamb the hill thegither; +And mony a cantie day, John, +We've had wi' ane anither: +Now we maun totter down, John, +And hand in hand we'll go, +And sleep thegither at the foot, +John Anderson, my jo. + +My Love, She's But A Lassie Yet + +My love, she's but a lassie yet, +My love, she's but a lassie yet; +We'll let her stand a year or twa, +She'll no be half sae saucy yet; +I rue the day I sought her, O! +I rue the day I sought her, O! +Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd, +But he may say he's bought her, O. + +Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet, +Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet, +Gae seek for pleasure whare you will, +But here I never miss'd it yet, +We're a' dry wi' drinkin o't, +We're a' dry wi' drinkin o't; +The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife; +He could na preach for thinkin o't. + +song-Tam Glen + +My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, +Some counsel unto me come len', +To anger them a' is a pity, +But what will I do wi' Tam Glen? + +I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, +In poortith I might mak a fen; +What care I in riches to wallow, +If I maunna marry Tam Glen! + +There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller- +"Gude day to you, brute!" he comes ben: +He brags and he blaws o' his siller, +But when will he dance like Tam Glen! + +My minnie does constantly deave me, +And bids me beware o' young men; +They flatter, she says, to deceive me, +But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen! + +My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, +He'd gie me gude hunder marks ten; +But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, +O wha will I get but Tam Glen! + +Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, +My heart to my mou' gied a sten'; +For thrice I drew ane without failing, +And thrice it was written "Tam Glen"! + +The last Halloween I was waukin +My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, +His likeness came up the house staukin, +And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! + +Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry; +I'll gie ye my bonie black hen, +Gif ye will advise me to marry +The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. + +Carle, An The King Come + +Chorus.-Carle, an the King come, +Carle, an the King come, +Thou shalt dance and I will sing, +Carle, an the King come. + +An somebody were come again, +Then somebody maun cross the main, +And every man shall hae his ain, +Carle, an the King come. +Carle, an the King come, &c. + +I trow we swapped for the worse, +We gae the boot and better horse; +And that we'll tell them at the cross, +Carle, an the King come. +Carle, an the King come, &c. + +Coggie, an the King come, +Coggie, an the King come, +I'se be fou, and thou'se be toom +Coggie, an the King come. +Coggie, an the King come, &c. + +The Laddie's Dear Sel' + +There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity +That he from our lassies should wander awa'; +For he's bonie and braw, weel-favor'd witha', +An' his hair has a natural buckle an' a'. + +His coat is the hue o' his bonnet sae blue, +His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; +His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, +And his clear siller buckles, they dazzle us a'. + +For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; +Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted an' braw; +But chiefly the siller that gars him gang till her, +The penny's the jewel that beautifies a'. + +There's Meg wi' the mailen that fain wad a haen him, +And Susie, wha's daddie was laird o' the Ha'; +There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, +-But the laddie's dear sel', he loes dearest of a'. + +Whistle O'er The Lave O't + +First when Maggie was my care, +Heav'n, I thought, was in her air, +Now we're married-speir nae mair, +But whistle o'er the lave o't! + +Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, +Sweet and harmless as a child- +Wiser men than me's beguil'd; +Whistle o'er the lave o't! + +How we live, my Meg and me, +How we love, and how we gree, +I care na by how few may see- +Whistle o'er the lave o't! + +Wha I wish were maggot's meat, +Dish'd up in her winding-sheet, +I could write-but Meg maun see't- +Whistle o'er the lave o't! + +My Eppie Adair + +Chorus.-An' O my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie, +Wha wad na be happy wi' Eppie Adair? + +By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty, +I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! +By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty, +I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! +And O my Eppie, &c. + +A' pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me, +If e'er I beguile ye, my Eppie Adair! +A' pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me, +If e'er I beguile thee, my Eppie Adair! +And O my Eppie, &c. + +On The Late Captain Grose's Peregrinations Thro' Scotland + +Collecting The Antiquities Of That Kingdom + +Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, +Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;- +If there's a hole in a' your coats, +I rede you tent it: +A chield's amang you takin notes, +And, faith, he'll prent it: + +If in your bounds ye chance to light +Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight, +O' stature short, but genius bright, +That's he, mark weel; +And wow! he has an unco sleight +O' cauk and keel. + +By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, +Or kirk deserted by its riggin, +It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in +Some eldritch part, +Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguin +At some black art. + +Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer, +Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour, +And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar, +Warlocks and witches, +Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, +Ye midnight bitches. + +It's tauld he was a sodger bred, +And ane wad rather fa'n than fled; +But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, +And dog-skin wallet, +And taen the-Antiquarian trade, +I think they call it. + +He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets: +Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets, +Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, +A towmont gude; +And parritch-pats and auld saut-backets, +Before the Flood. + +Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder; +Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender; +That which distinguished the gender +O' Balaam's ass: +A broomstick o' the witch of Endor, +Weel shod wi' brass. + +Forbye, he'll shape you aff fu' gleg +The cut of Adam's philibeg; +The knife that nickit Abel's craig +He'll prove you fully, +It was a faulding jocteleg, +Or lang-kail gullie. + +But wad ye see him in his glee, +For meikle glee and fun has he, +Then set him down, and twa or three +Gude fellows wi' him: +And port, O port! shine thou a wee, +And Then ye'll see him! + +Now, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose! +Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose!- +Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, +They sair misca' thee; +I'd take the rascal by the nose, +Wad say, "Shame fa' thee!" + +Epigram On Francis Grose The Antiquary + +The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying +So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; +But when he approached where poor Francis lay moaning, +And saw each bed-post with its burthen a-groaning, +Astonish'd, confounded, cries Satan-"By God, +I'll want him, ere I take such a damnable load!" + +The Kirk Of Scotland's Alarm + +A Ballad. + +tune-"Come rouse, Brother Sportsman!" + +Orthodox! orthodox, who believe in John Knox, +Let me sound an alarm to your conscience: +A heretic blast has been blown in the West, +"That what is no sense must be nonsense," +Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense. + +Doctor Mac! Doctor Mac, you should streek on a rack, +To strike evil-doers wi' terror: +To join Faith and Sense, upon any pretence, +Was heretic, damnable error, +Doctor Mac!^1 'Twas heretic, damnable error. + +Town of Ayr! town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare, +To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing,^2 +Provost John^3 is still deaf to the Church's relief, +And Orator Bob^4 is its ruin, +Town of Ayr! Yes, Orator Bob is its ruin. + +D'rymple mild! D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's like a child, +And your life like the new-driven snaw, +Yet that winna save you, auld Satan must have you, +For preaching that three's ane an' twa, +D'rymple mild!^5 For preaching that three's ane an' twa. + +Rumble John! rumble John, mount the steps with a groan, +Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd; +Then out wi' your ladle, deal brimstone like aidle, +And roar ev'ry note of the damn'd. +Rumble John!^6 And roar ev'ry note of the damn'd. + +[Footnote 1: Dr. M'Gill, Ayr.-R.B,] + +[Footnote 2: See the advertisement.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 3: John Ballantine,-R.B.] + +[Footnote 4: Robert Aiken.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 5: Dr. Dalrymple, Ayr.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 6: John Russell, Kilmarnock.-R.B.] + +Simper James! simper James, leave your fair Killie dames, +There's a holier chase in your view: +I'll lay on your head, that the pack you'll soon lead, +For puppies like you there's but few, +Simper James!^7 For puppies like you there's but few. + +Singet Sawnie! singet Sawnie, are ye huirdin the penny, +Unconscious what evils await? +With a jump, yell, and howl, alarm ev'ry soul, +For the foul thief is just at your gate. +Singet Sawnie!^8 For the foul thief is just at your gate. + +Poet Willie! poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, +Wi' your "Liberty's Chain" and your wit; +O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, +Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. +Poet Willie!^9 Ye but smelt man, the place where he sh-t. + +Barr Steenie! Barr Steenie, what mean ye, what mean ye? +If ye meddle nae mair wi' the matter, +Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, +Wi' people that ken ye nae better, +Barr Steenie!^10 Wi'people that ken ye nae better. + +Jamie Goose! Jamie Goose, ye made but toom roose, +In hunting the wicked Lieutenant; +But the Doctor's your mark, for the Lord's holy ark, +He has cooper'd an' ca'd a wrang pin in't, +Jamie Goose!^11 He has cooper'd an' ca'd a wrang pin in't. + +Davie Bluster! Davie Bluster, for a saint ye do muster, +The corps is no nice o' recruits; + +[Footnote 7: James Mackinlay, Kilmarnock.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 8: Alexander Moodie of Riccarton.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 9: William Peebles, in Newton-upon-Ayr, a poetaster, who, among many +other things, published an ode on the "Centenary of the Revolution," in which +was the line: "And bound in Liberty's endering chain."-R.B.] + +[Footnote 10: Stephen Young of Barr.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 11: James Young, in New Cumnock, who had lately been foiled in an +ecclesiastical prosecution against a Lieutenant Mitchel-R.B.] + +Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, +If the Ass were the king o' the brutes, +Davie Bluster!^12 If the Ass were the king o' the brutes. + +Irvine Side! Irvine Side, wi' your turkey-cock pride +Of manhood but sma' is your share: +Ye've the figure, 'tis true, ev'n your foes will allow, +And your friends they dare grant you nae mair, +Irvine Side!^13 And your friends they dare grant you nae mair. + +Muirland Jock! muirland Jock, when the Lord makes a rock, +To crush common-sense for her sins; +If ill-manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit +To confound the poor Doctor at ance, +Muirland Jock!^14 To confound the poor Doctor at ance. + +Andro Gowk! Andro Gowk, ye may slander the Book, +An' the Book nought the waur, let me tell ye; +Tho' ye're rich, an' look big, yet, lay by hat an' wig, +An' ye'll hae a calf's-had o' sma' value, +Andro Gowk!^15 Ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma value. + +Daddy Auld! daddy Auld, there'a a tod in the fauld, +A tod meikle waur than the clerk; +Tho' ye do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death, +For gif ye canna bite, ye may bark, +Daddy Auld!^16 Gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. + +Holy Will! holy Will, there was wit in your skull, +When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; +The timmer is scant when ye're taen for a saunt, +Wha should swing in a rape for an hour, +Holy Will!^17 Ye should swing in a rape for an hour. + +Calvin's sons! Calvin's sons, seize your spiritual guns, +Ammunition you never can need; + +[Footnote 12: David Grant, Ochiltree.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 13: George Smith, Galston.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 14: John Shepherd Muirkirk.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 15: Dr. Andrew Mitchel, Monkton.-R.B.] + +[Footnote 16: William Auld, Mauchline; for the clerk, see "Holy Willie"s +Prayer."-R.B.] + +[Footnote 17: Vide the "Prayer" of this saint.-R.B.] + +Your hearts are the stuff will be powder enough, +And your skulls are a storehouse o' lead, +Calvin's sons! Your skulls are a storehouse o' lead. + +Poet Burns! poet Burns, wi" your priest-skelpin turns, +Why desert ye your auld native shire? +Your muse is a gipsy, yet were she e'en tipsy, +She could ca'us nae waur than we are, +Poet Burns! She could ca'us nae waur than we are. + +Presentation Stanzas To Correspondents + +Factor John! Factor John, whom the Lord made alone, +And ne'er made anither, thy peer, +Thy poor servant, the Bard, in respectful regard, +He presents thee this token sincere, +Factor John! He presents thee this token sincere. + +Afton's Laird! Afton's Laird, when your pen can be spared, +A copy of this I bequeath, +On the same sicker score as I mention'd before, +To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith, +Afton's Laird! To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith. + +Sonnet On Receiving A Favour + +10 Aug., 1979. + +Addressed to Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintry. + +I call no Goddess to inspire my strains, +A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns: +Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns, +And all the tribute of my heart returns, +For boons accorded, goodness ever new, +The gifts still dearer, as the giver you. +Thou orb of day! thou other paler light! +And all ye many sparkling stars of night! +If aught that giver from my mind efface, +If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace, +Then roll to me along your wand'rig spheres, +Only to number out a villain's years! +I lay my hand upon my swelling breast, +And grateful would, but cannot speak the rest. + +Extemporaneous Effusion + +On being appointed to an Excise division. + +Searching auld wives' barrels, +Ochon the day! +That clarty barm should stain my laurels: +But-what'll ye say? +These movin' things ca'd wives an' weans, +Wad move the very hearts o' stanes! + +Song -Willie Brew'd A Peck O' Maut^1 + +O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, +And Rob and Allen cam to see; +Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, +Ye wadna found in Christendie. + +Chorus.-We are na fou, we're nae that fou, +But just a drappie in our ee; +The cock may craw, the day may daw +And aye we'll taste the barley bree. + +Here are we met, three merry boys, +Three merry boys I trow are we; +And mony a night we've merry been, +And mony mae we hope to be! +We are na fou, &c. + +It is the moon, I ken her horn, +That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; +She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, +But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! +We are na fou, &c. + +Wha first shall rise to gang awa, +A cuckold, coward loun is he! +Wha first beside his chair shall fa', +He is the King amang us three. +We are na fou, &c. + +[Footnote 1: Willie is Nicol, Allan is Masterton the writing-master. The scene +is between Moffat and the head of the Loch of the Lowes. Date, +August-September, 1789.-Lang.] + + +Ca' The Yowes To The Knowes + +Chorus.-Ca' the yowes to the knowes, +Ca' them where the heather grows, +Ca' them where the burnie rowes, +My bonie dearie + +As I gaed down the water-side, +There I met my shepherd lad: +He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, +And he ca'd me his dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +Will ye gang down the water-side, +And see the waves sae sweetly glide +Beneath the hazels spreading wide, +The moon it shines fu' clearly. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, +Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, +And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, +An' ye sall be my dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, +I'se gang wi' thee, my shepherd lad, +And ye may row me in your plaid, +And I sall be your dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +While waters wimple to the sea, +While day blinks in the lift sae hie, +Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e, +Ye sall be my dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +I Gaed A Waefu' Gate Yestreen + +I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, +A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue; +I gat my death frae twa sweet een, +Twa lovely een o'bonie blue. + +'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, +Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, +Her heaving bosom, lily-white- +It was her een sae bonie blue. + +She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd; +She charm'd my soul I wist na how; +And aye the stound, the deadly wound, +Cam frae her een so bonie blue. +But "spare to speak, and spare to speed;" +She'll aiblins listen to my vow: +Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead +To her twa een sae bonie blue. + +Highland Harry Back Again + +My Harry was a gallant gay, +Fu' stately strade he on the plain; +But now he's banish'd far away, +I'll never see him back again. + +Chorus.-O for him back again! +O for him back again! +I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land +For Highland Harry back again. + +When a' the lave gae to their bed, +I wander dowie up the glen; +I set me down and greet my fill, +And aye I wish him back again. +O for him, &c. + +O were some villains hangit high, +And ilka body had their ain! +Then I might see the joyfu' sight, +My Highland Harry back again. +O for him, &c. + +The Battle Of Sherramuir + +tune-"The Cameronian Rant." + +"O cam ye here the fight to shun, +Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? +Or were ye 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, gaed sough for sough, +To hear the thuds, and see the cluds +O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, +Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. +La, la, la, la, &c. + +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 glanced twenty miles; +They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles, +They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords, clash'd, +And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, +Till fey men died awa, man. +La, la, la, la, &c. + +But had ye seen the philibegs, +And skyrin tartan trews, man; +When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs, +And covenant True-blues, man: +In lines extended lang and large, +When 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 like frighted dows, man! +La, la, la, la, &c. + +"O how deil, Tam, 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 Dunblane, in my ain sight, +They took the brig wi' a' their might, +And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight; +But, cursed lot! the gates were shut; +And mony a huntit poor red-coat, +For fear amaist did swarf, man!" +La, la, la, la, &c. + +My sister Kate cam up the gate +Wi' crowdie unto me, man; +She swoor she saw some rebels run +To Perth unto Dundee, man; +Their left-hand general had nae skill; +The Angus lads had nae gude will +That day their neibors' blude to spill; +For fear, for foes, that they should lose +Their cogs o' brose; they scar'd at blows, +And hameward fast did flee, man. +La, la, la, la, &c. + +They've lost some gallant gentlemen, +Amang the Highland clans, man! +I fear my Lord Panmure is slain, +Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man, +Now wad ye sing this double fight, +Some fell for wrang, and some for right; +But mony bade the world gude-night; +Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, +By red claymores, and muskets knell, +Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, +And Whigs to hell did flee, man. +La, la, la, la, &c. + +The Braes O' Killiecrankie + +Where hae ye been sae braw, lad? +Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O? +Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? +Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O? + +Chorus.-An ye had been whare I hae been, +Ye wad na been sae cantie, O; +An ye had seen what I hae seen, +I' the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O. + +I faught at land, I faught at sea, +At hame I faught my Auntie, O; +But I met the devil an' Dundee, +On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O. +An ye had been, &c. + +The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, +An' Clavers gat a clankie, O; +Or I had fed an Athole gled, +On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O. +An ye had been, &c. + +Awa' Whigs, Awa' + +Chorus.-Awa' Whigs, awa'! +Awa' Whigs, awa'! +Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, +Ye'll do nae gude at a'. + +Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, +And bonie bloom'd our roses; +But Whigs cam' like a frost in June, +An' wither'd a' our posies. +Awa' Whigs, &c. + +Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust- +Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't! +An' write their names in his black beuk, +Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. +Awa' Whigs, &c. + +Our sad decay in church and state +Surpasses my descriving: +The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse, +An' we hae done wi' thriving. +Awa' Whigs, &c. + +Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap, +But we may see him wauken: +Gude help the day when royal heads +Are hunted like a maukin! +Awa' Whigs, &c. + +A Waukrife Minnie + +Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass, +Whare are you gaun, my hinnie? +She answered me right saucilie, +"An errand for my minnie." + +O whare live ye, my bonie lass, +O whare live ye, my hinnie? +"By yon burnside, gin ye maun ken, +In a wee house wi' my minnie." + +But I foor up the glen at e'en. +To see my bonie lassie; +And lang before the grey morn cam, +She was na hauf sae saucie. + +O weary fa' the waukrife cock, +And the foumart lay his crawin! +He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep, +A wee blink or the dawin. + +An angry wife I wat she raise, +And o'er the bed she brocht her; +And wi' a meikle hazel rung +She made her a weel-pay'd dochter. + +O fare thee weel, my bonie lass, +O fare thee well, my hinnie! +Thou art a gay an' a bonnie lass, +But thou has a waukrife minnie. + +The Captive Ribband + +tune-"Robaidh dona gorach." + +Dear Myra, the captive ribband's mine, +'Twas all my faithful love could gain; +And would you ask me to resign +The sole reward that crowns my pain? + +Go, bid the hero who has run +Thro' fields of death to gather fame, +Go, bid him lay his laurels down, +And all his well-earn'd praise disclaim. + +The ribband shall its freedom lose- +Lose all the bliss it had with you, +And share the fate I would impose +On thee, wert thou my captive too. + +It shall upon my bosom live, +Or clasp me in a close embrace; +And at its fortune if you grieve, +Retrieve its doom, and take its place. + +My Heart's In The Highlands + +tune-"Failte na Miosg." + +Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, +The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; +Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, +The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. + +Chorus.-My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, +My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; +Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, +My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. + +Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow, +Farewell to the straths and green vallies below; +Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, +Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. +My heart's in the Highlands, &c. + +The Whistle-A Ballad + +I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, +I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. +Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King, +And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. + +Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal, +The god of the bottle sends down from his hall- +"The Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, +And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er see me more!" + +Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, +What champions ventur'd, what champions fell: +The son of great Loda was conqueror still, +And blew on the Whistle their requiem shrill. + +Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, +Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, +He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea; +No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. + +Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd; +Which now in his house has for ages remain'd; +Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, +The jovial contest again have renew'd. + +Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw +Craigdarroch, so famous for with, worth, and law; +And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins; +And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. + +Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, +Desiring Downrightly to yield up the spoil; +Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, +And once more, in claret, try which was the man. + +"By the gods of the ancients!" Downrightly replies, +"Before I surrender so glorious a prize, +I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More, +And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." + +Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, +But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe, or his friend; +Said, "Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field," +And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. + +To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, +So noted for drowning of sorrow and care; +But, for wine and for welcome, not more known to fame, +Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. + +A bard was selected to witness the fray, +And tell future ages the feats of the day; +A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen, +And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. + +The dinner being over, the claret they ply, +And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy; +In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, +And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. + +Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er: +Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, +And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, +Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. + +Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, +When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, +Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, +And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. + +Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, +No longer the warfare ungodly would wage; +A high Ruling Elder to wallow in wine; +He left the foul business to folks less divine. + +The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end; +But who can with Fate and quart bumpers contend! +Though Fate said, a hero should perish in light; +So uprose bright Phoebus-and down fell the knight. + +Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink:- +"Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink! +But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, +Come-one bottle more-and have at the sublime! + +"Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, +Shall heroes and patriots ever produce: +So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; +The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!" + +To Mary In Heaven + +Thou ling'ring star, with lessening ray, +That lov'st to greet the early morn, +Again thou usher'st in the day +My Mary from my soul was torn. +O Mary! dear departed shade! +Where is thy place of blissful rest? +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, by the winding Ayr, we met, +To live one day of parting love! +Eternity will not efface +Those records dear of transports past, +Thy image at our last embrace, +Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! + +Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, +O'erhung with wild-woods, thickening 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 mem'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 blissful place of rest? +See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? +Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + +Epistle To Dr. Blacklock + +Ellisland, 21st Oct., 1789. + +Wow, but your letter made me vauntie! +And are ye hale, and weel and cantie? +I ken'd it still, your wee bit jauntie +Wad bring ye to: +Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye! +And then ye'll do. + +The ill-thief blaw the Heron south! +And never drink be near his drouth! +He tauld myself by word o' mouth, +He'd tak my letter; +I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth, +And bade nae better. + +But aiblins, honest Master Heron +Had, at the time, some dainty fair one +To ware this theologic care on, +And holy study; +And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on, +E'en tried the body. + +But what d'ye think, my trusty fere, +I'm turned a gauger-Peace be here! +Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, +Ye'll now disdain me! +And then my fifty pounds a year +Will little gain me. + +Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, +Wha, by Castalia's wimplin streamies, +Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, +Ye ken, ye ken, +That strang necessity supreme is +'Mang sons o' men. + +I hae a wife and twa wee laddies; +They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies; +Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is- +I need na vaunt +But I'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies, +Before they want. + +Lord help me thro' this warld o' care! +I'm weary sick o't late and air! +Not but I hae a richer share +Than mony ithers; +But why should ae man better fare, +And a' men brithers? + +Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, +Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man! +And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan +A lady fair: +Wha does the utmost that he can, +Will whiles do mair. + +But to conclude my silly rhyme +(I'm scant o' verse and scant o' time), +To make a happy fireside clime +To weans and wife, +That's the true pathos and sublime +Of human life. + +My compliments to sister Beckie, +And eke the same to honest Lucky; +I wat she is a daintie chuckie, +As e'er tread clay; +And gratefully, my gude auld cockie, +I'm yours for aye. +Robert Burns. + +The Five Carlins + +An Election Ballad. + +tune-"Chevy Chase." + +There was five Carlins in the South, +They fell upon a scheme, +To send a lad to London town, +To bring them tidings hame. + +Nor only bring them tidings hame, +But do their errands there, +And aiblins gowd and honor baith +Might be that laddie's share. + +There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith, +A dame wi' pride eneugh; +And Marjory o' the mony Lochs, +A Carlin auld and teugh. + +And blinkin Bess of Annandale, +That dwelt near Solway-side; +And whisky Jean, that took her gill, +In Galloway sae wide. + +And auld black Joan frae Crichton Peel,^1 +O' gipsy kith an' kin; +Five wighter Carlins were na found +The South countrie within. + +To send a lad to London town, +They met upon a day; +And mony a knight, and mony a laird, +This errand fain wad gae. + +O mony a knight, and mony a laird, +This errand fain wad gae; +But nae ane could their fancy please, +O ne'er a ane but twae. + +The first ane was a belted Knight, +Bred of a Border band;^2 +And he wad gae to London town, +Might nae man him withstand. + +And he wad do their errands weel, +And meikle he wad say; +And ilka ane about the court +Wad bid to him gude -day. + +[Footnote 1: Sanquhar.] + +[Footnote 2: Sir James Johnston of Westerhall.] + +The neist cam in a Soger youth,^3 +Who spak wi' modest grace, +And he wad gae to London town, +If sae their pleasure was. + +He wad na hecht them courtly gifts, +Nor meikle speech pretend; +But he wad hecht an honest heart, +Wad ne'er desert his friend. + +Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuse, +At strife thir Carlins fell; +For some had Gentlefolks to please, +And some wad please themsel'. + +Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, +And she spak up wi' pride, +And she wad send the Soger youth, +Whatever might betide. + +For the auld Gudeman o' London court^4 +She didna care a pin; +But she wad send the Soger youth, +To greet his eldest son.^5 + +Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale, +And a deadly aith she's ta'en, +That she wad vote the Border Knight, +Though she should vote her lane. + +"For far-off fowls hae feathers fair, +And fools o' change are fain; +But I hae tried the Border Knight, +And I'll try him yet again." + +Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel, +A Carlin stoor and grim. +"The auld Gudeman or young Gudeman, +For me may sink or swim; + +[Footnote 3: Captain Patrick Millar of Dalswinton.] + +[Footnote 4: The King.] + +[Footnote 5: The Prince of Wales.] + +For fools will prate o' right or wrang, +While knaves laugh them to scorn; +But the Soger's friends hae blawn the best, +So he shall bear the horn." + +Then whisky Jean spak owre her drink, +"Ye weel ken, kimmers a', +The auld gudeman o' London court, +His back's been at the wa'; + +"And mony a friend that kiss'd his caup +Is now a fremit wight; +But it's ne'er be said o' whisky Jean- +We'll send the Border Knight." + +Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, +And wrinkled was her brow, +Her ancient weed was russet gray, +Her auld Scots bluid was true; + +"There's some great folk set light by me, +I set as light by them; +But I will send to London town +Wham I like best at hame." + +Sae how this mighty plea may end, +Nae mortal wight can tell; +God grant the King and ilka man +May look weel to himsel. + +Election Ballad For Westerha' + +tune-"Up and waur them a', Willie." + +The Laddies by the banks o' Nith +Wad trust his Grace^1 wi a', Jamie; +But he'll sair them, as he sair'd the King- +Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie. + +[Footnote 1: The fourth Duke of Queensberry, who supported the proposal that, +during George III's illness, the Prince of Wales should assume the Government +with full prerogative.] + +Chorus.-Up and waur them a', Jamie, +Up and waur them a'; +The Johnstones hae the guidin o't, +Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'! + +The day he stude his country's friend, +Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, +Or frae puir man a blessin wan, +That day the Duke ne'er saw, Jamie. +Up and waur them, &c. + +But wha is he, his country's boast? +Like him there is na twa, Jamie; +There's no a callent tents the kye, +But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. +Up and waur them, &c. + +To end the wark, here's Whistlebirk, +Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie; +And Maxwell true, o' sterling blue; +And we'll be Johnstones a', Jamie. +Up and waur them, &c. + +Prologue Spoken At The Theatre Of Dumfries + + On New Year's Day Evening, 1790. + +No song nor dance I bring from yon great city, +That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the pity: +Tho' by the bye, abroad why will you roam? +Good sense and taste are natives here at home: +But not for panegyric I appear, +I come to wish you all a good New Year! +Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, +Not for to preach, but tell his simple story: +The sage, grave Ancient cough'd, and bade me say, +"You're one year older this important day," +If wiser too-he hinted some suggestion, +But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; +And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, +Said-"Sutherland, in one word, bid them Think!" + +Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit, +Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, +To you the dotard has a deal to say, +In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way! +He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, +That the first blow is ever half the battle; +That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him, +Yet by the foreclock is the hold to catch him; +That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, +You may do miracles by persevering. + +Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, +Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care! +To you old Bald-pate smoothes his wrinkled brow, +And humbly begs you'll mind the important-Now! +To crown your happiness he asks your leave, +And offers, bliss to give and to receive. + +For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, +With grateful pride we own your many favours; +And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, +Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. + +Sketch-New Year's Day [1790] + +To Mrs. Dunlop. + +This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain; +To run the twelvemonth's length again: +I see, the old bald-pated fellow, +With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, +Adjust the unimpair'd machine, +To wheel the equal, dull routine. + +The absent lover, minor heir, +In vain assail him with their prayer; +Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, +Nor makes the hour one moment less, +Will you (the Major's with the hounds, +The happy tenants share his rounds; +Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day, +And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray) +From housewife cares a minute borrow, +(That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow,) +And join with me a-moralizing; +This day's propitious to be wise in. + +First, what did yesternight deliver? +"Another year has gone for ever." +And what is this day's strong suggestion? +"The passing moment's all we rest on!" +Rest on-for what? what do we here? +Or why regard the passing year? +Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, +Add to our date one minute more? +A few days may-a few years must- +Repose us in the silent dust. +Then, is it wise to damp our bliss? +Yes-all such reasonings are amiss! +The voice of Nature loudly cries, +And many a message from the skies, +That something in us never dies: +That on his frail, uncertain state, +Hang matters of eternal weight: +That future life in worlds unknown +Must take its hue from this alone; +Whether as heavenly glory bright, +Or dark as Misery's woeful night. + +Since then, my honour'd first of friends, +On this poor being all depends, +Let us th' important now employ, +And live as those who never die. +Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, +Witness that filial circle round, +(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, +A sight pale Envy to convulse), +Others now claim your chief regard; +Yourself, you wait your bright reward. + +Scots' Prologue For Mr. Sutherland + + On his Benefit-Night, at the Theatre, Dumfries. + +What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, +How this new play an' that new sang is comin? +Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted? +Does nonsense mend, like brandy, when imported? +Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, +Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame? +For Comedy abroad he need to toil, +A fool and knave are plants of every soil; +Nor need he hunt as far as Rome or Greece, +To gather matter for a serious piece; +There's themes enow in Caledonian story, +Would shew the Tragic Muse in a' her glory. - + +Is there no daring Bard will rise and tell +How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell? +Where are the Muses fled that could produce +A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce? +How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword +'Gainst mighty England and her guilty Lord; +And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, +Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of Ruin! +O for a Shakespeare, or an Otway scene, +To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen! +Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms +'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms: +She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, +To glut that direst foe-a vengeful woman; +A woman, (tho' the phrase may seem uncivil,) +As able and as wicked as the Devil! +One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, +But Douglasses were heroes every age: +And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, +A Douglas followed to the martial strife, +Perhaps, if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, +Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads! + +As ye hae generous done, if a' the land +Would take the Muses' servants by the hand; +Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, +And where he justly can commend, commend them; +And aiblins when they winna stand the test, +Wink hard, and say The folks hae done their best! +Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caition, +Ye'll soon hae Poets o' the Scottish nation +Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack, +And warsle Time, an' lay him on his back! + +For us and for our Stage, should ony spier, +"Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here?" +My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow- +We have the honour to belong to you! +We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, +But like good mithers shore before ye strike; +And gratefu' still, I trust ye'll ever find us, +For gen'rous patronage, and meikle kindness +We've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks: +God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get but thanks. + +Lines To A Gentleman, + + Who had sent the Poet a Newspaper, and offered to continue it free of +Expense. + +Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, +And faith, to me, 'twas really new! +How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted? +This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted, +To ken what French mischief was brewin; +Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin; +That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, +If Venus yet had got his nose off; +Or how the collieshangie works +Atween the Russians and the Turks, +Or if the Swede, before he halt, +Would play anither Charles the twalt; +If Denmark, any body spak o't; +Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't: +How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin; +How libbet Italy was singin; + +If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, +Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss; +Or how our merry lads at hame, +In Britain's court kept up the game; +How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him! +Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; +If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, +Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in; +How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, +If Warren Hasting's neck was yeukin; +How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd. +Or if bare arses yet were tax'd; +The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, +Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls; +If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, +Was threshing still at hizzies' tails; +Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, +And no a perfect kintra cooser: +A' this and mair I never heard of; +And, but for you, I might despair'd of. +So, gratefu', back your news I send you, +And pray a' gude things may attend you. + +Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790. + +Elegy On Willie Nicol's Mare + +Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, +As ever trod on airn; +But now she's floating down the Nith, +And past the mouth o' Cairn. + +Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, +An' rode thro' thick and thin; +But now she's floating down the Nith, +And wanting even the skin. + +Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, +And ance she bore a priest; +But now she's floating down the Nith, +For Solway fish a feast. + +Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, +An' the priest he rode her sair; +And much oppress'd and bruis'd she was, +As priest-rid cattle are,-&c. &c. + +The Gowden Locks Of Anna + +Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, +A place where body saw na; +Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine +The gowden locks of Anna. + +The hungry Jew in wilderness, +Rejoicing o'er his manna, +Was naething to my hinny bliss +Upon the lips of Anna. + +Ye monarchs, take the East and West +Frae Indus to Savannah; +Gie me, within my straining grasp, +The melting form of Anna: + +There I'll despise Imperial charms, +An Empress or Sultana, +While dying raptures in her arms +I give and take wi' Anna! + +Awa, thou flaunting God of Day! +Awa, thou pale Diana! +Ilk Star, gae hide thy twinkling ray, +When I'm to meet my Anna! + +Come, in thy raven plumage, Night, +(Sun, Moon, and Stars, withdrawn a';) +And bring an angel-pen to write +My transports with my Anna! + +Postscript + +The Kirk an' State may join an' tell, +To do sic things I maunna: +The Kirk an' State may gae to hell, +And I'll gae to my Anna. + +She is the sunshine o' my e'e, +To live but her I canna; +Had I on earth but wishes three, +The first should be my Anna. + +Song -I Murder Hate + +I murder hate by flood or field, +Tho' glory's name may screen us; +In wars at home I'll spend my blood- +Life-giving wars of Venus. +The deities that I adore +Are social Peace and Plenty; +I'm better pleas'd to make one more, +Than be the death of twenty. + +I would not die like Socrates, +For all the fuss of Plato; +Nor would I with Leonidas, +Nor yet would I with Cato: +The zealots of the Church and State +Shall ne'er my mortal foes be; +But let me have bold Zimri's fate, +Within the arms of Cozbi! + +Gudewife, Count The Lawin + +Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, +But we'll ne'er stray for faut o' light; +Gude ale and bratdy's stars and moon, +And blue-red wine's the risin' sun. + +Chorus.-Then gudewife, count the lawin, +The lawin, the lawin, +Then gudewife, count the lawin, +And bring a coggie mair. + +There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, +And simple folk maun fecht and fen'; +But here we're a' in ae accord, +For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. +Then gudewife, &c. + +My coggie is a haly pool +That heals the wounds o' care and dool; +And Pleasure is a wanton trout, +An ye drink it a', ye'll find him out. +Then gudewife, &c. + +Election Ballad + + At the close of the contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790. + +Addressed to R. Graham, Esq. of Fintry. + +Fintry, my stay in wordly strife, +Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, +Are ye as idle's I am? +Come then, wi' uncouth kintra fleg, +O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, +And ye shall see me try him. + +But where shall I go rin a ride, +That I may splatter nane beside? +I wad na be uncivil: +In manhood's various paths and ways +There's aye some doytin' body strays, +And I ride like the devil. + +Thus I break aff wi' a' my birr, +And down yon dark, deep alley spur, +Where Theologics daunder: +Alas! curst wi' eternal fogs, +And damn'd in everlasting bogs, +As sure's the creed I'll blunder! + +I'll stain a band, or jaup a gown, +Or rin my reckless, guilty crown +Against the haly door: +Sair do I rue my luckless fate, +When, as the Muse an' Deil wad hae't, +I rade that road before. + +Suppose I take a spurt, and mix +Amang the wilds o' Politics- +Electors and elected, +Where dogs at Court (sad sons of bitches!) +Septennially a madness touches, +Till all the land's infected. + +All hail! Drumlanrig's haughty Grace, +Discarded remnant of a race +Once godlike-great in story; +Thy forbears' virtues all contrasted, +The very name of Douglas blasted, +Thine that inverted glory! + +Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore, +But thou hast superadded more, +And sunk them in contempt; +Follies and crimes have stain'd the name, +But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim, +From aught that's good exempt! + +I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears, +Who left the all-important cares +Of princes, and their darlings: +And, bent on winning borough touns, +Came shaking hands wi' wabster-loons, +And kissing barefit carlins. + +Combustion thro' our boroughs rode, +Whistling his roaring pack abroad +Of mad unmuzzled lions; +As Queensberry blue and buff unfurl'd, +And Westerha' and Hopetoun hurled +To every Whig defiance. + +But cautious Queensberry left the war, +Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star, +Besides, he hated bleeding: +But left behind him heroes bright, +Heroes in Caesarean fight, +Or Ciceronian pleading. + +O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, +To muster o'er each ardent Whig +Beneath Drumlanrig's banners; +Heroes and heroines commix, +All in the field of politics, +To win immortal honours. + +M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, +(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!) +Led on the Loves and Graces: +She won each gaping burgess' heart, +While he, sub rosa, played his part +Amang their wives and lasses. + +Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd core, +Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour, +Like Hecla streaming thunder: +Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins, +Blew up each Tory's dark designs, +And bared the treason under. + +In either wing two champions fought; +Redoubted Staig, who set at nought +The wildest savage Tory; +And Welsh who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, +High-wav'd his magnum-bonum round +With Cyclopeian fury. + +Miller brought up th' artillery ranks, +The many-pounders of the Banks, +Resistless desolation! +While Maxwelton, that baron bold, +'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold, +And threaten'd worse damnation. + +To these what Tory hosts oppos'd +With these what Tory warriors clos'd +Surpasses my descriving; +Squadrons, extended long and large, +With furious speed rush to the charge, +Like furious devils driving. + +What verse can sing, what prose narrate, +The butcher deeds of bloody Fate, +Amid this mighty tulyie! +Grim Horror girn'd, pale Terror roar'd, +As Murder at his thrapple shor'd, +And Hell mix'd in the brulyie. + +As Highland craigs by thunder cleft, +When lightnings fire the stormy lift, +Hurl down with crashing rattle; +As flames among a hundred woods, +As headlong foam from a hundred floods, +Such is the rage of Battle. + +The stubborn Tories dare to die; +As soon the rooted oaks would fly +Before th' approaching fellers: +The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, +When all his wintry billows pour +Against the Buchan Bullers. + +Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, +Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, +And think on former daring: +The muffled murtherer of Charles +The Magna Charter flag unfurls, +All deadly gules its bearing. + +Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame; +Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham; +Auld Covenanters shiver- +Forgive! forgive! much-wrong'd Montrose! +Now Death and Hell engulph thy foes, +Thou liv'st on high for ever. + +Still o'er the field the combat burns, +The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns; +But Fate the word has spoken: +For woman's wit and strength o'man, +Alas! can do but what they can; +The Tory ranks are broken. + +O that my een were flowing burns! +My voice, a lioness that mourns +Her darling cubs' undoing! +That I might greet, that I might cry, +While Tories fall, while Tories fly, +And furious Whigs pursuing! + +What Whig but melts for good Sir James, +Dear to his country, by the names, +Friend, Patron, Benefactor! +Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save; +And Hopetoun falls, the generous, brave; +And Stewart, bold as Hector. + +Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow, +And Thurlow growl a curse of woe, +And Melville melt in wailing: +Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice, +And Burke shall sing, "O Prince, arise! +Thy power is all-prevailing!" + +For your poor friend, the Bard, afar +He only hears and sees the war, +A cool spectator purely! +So, when the storm the forest rends, +The robin in the hedge descends, +And sober chirps securely. + +Now, for my friends' and brethren's sakes, +And for my dear-lov'd Land o' Cakes, +I pray with holy fire: +Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' Hell +O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell, +To grind them in the mire! + +Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson + + A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately from +Almighty God. + +Should the poor be flattered?-Shakespeare. + +O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! +The meikle devil wi' a woodie +Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, +O'er hurcheon hides, +And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie +Wi' thy auld sides! + +He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, +The ae best fellow e'er was born! +Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn, +By wood and wild, +Where haply, Pity strays forlorn, +Frae man exil'd. + +Ye hills, near neighbours o' the starns, +That proudly cock your cresting cairns! +Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns, +Where Echo slumbers! +Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, +My wailing numbers! + +Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! +Ye haz'ly shaws and briery dens! +Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, +Wi' toddlin din, +Or foaming, strang, wi' hasty stens, +Frae lin to lin. + +Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; +Ye stately foxgloves, fair to see; +Ye woodbines hanging bonilie, +In scented bow'rs; +Ye roses on your thorny tree, +The first o' flow'rs. + +At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade +Droops with a diamond at his head, +At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, +I' th' rustling gale, +Ye maukins, whiddin thro' the glade, +Come join my wail. + +Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; +Ye grouse that crap the heather bud; +Ye curlews, calling thro' a clud; +Ye whistling plover; +And mourn, we whirring paitrick brood; +He's gane for ever! + +Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; +Ye fisher herons, watching eels; +Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels +Circling the lake; +Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, +Rair for his sake. + +Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, +'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; +And when ye wing your annual way +Frae our claud shore, +Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, +Wham we deplore. + +Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r +In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, +What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, +Sets up her horn, +Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour, +Till waukrife morn! + +O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! +Oft have ye heard my canty strains; +But now, what else for me remains +But tales of woe; +And frae my een the drapping rains +Maun ever flow. + +Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! +Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: +Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear +Shoots up its head, +Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, +For him that's dead! + +Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, +In grief thy sallow mantle tear! +Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air +The roaring blast, +Wide o'er the naked world declare +The worth we've lost! + +Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light! +Mourn, Empress of the silent night! +And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, +My Matthew mourn! +For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, +Ne'er to return. + +O Henderson! the man! the brother! +And art thou gone, and gone for ever! +And hast thou crost that unknown river, +Life's dreary bound! +Like thee, where shall I find another, +The world around! + +Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, +In a' the tinsel trash o' state! +But by thy honest turf I'll wait, +Thou man of worth! +And weep the ae best fellow's fate +E'er lay in earth. + +The Epitaph + +Stop, passenger! my story's brief, +And truth I shall relate, man; +I tell nae common tale o' grief, +For Matthew was a great man. + +If thou uncommon merit hast, +Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man; +A look of pity hither cast, +For Matthew was a poor man. + +If thou a noble sodger art, +That passest by this grave, man; +There moulders here a gallant heart, +For Matthew was a brave man. + +If thou on men, their works and ways, +Canst throw uncommon light, man; +Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, +For Matthew was a bright man. + +If thou, at Friendship's sacred ca', +Wad life itself resign, man: +Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', +For Matthew was a kind man. + +If thou art staunch, without a stain, +Like the unchanging blue, man; +This was a kinsman o' thy ain, +For Matthew was a true man. + +If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, +And ne'er guid wine did fear, man; +This was thy billie, dam, and sire, +For Matthew was a queer man. + +If ony whiggish, whingin' sot, +To blame poor Matthew dare, man; +May dool and sorrow be his lot, +For Matthew was a rare man. + +But now, his radiant course is run, +For Matthew's was a bright one! +His soul was like the glorious sun, +A matchless, Heavenly light, man. + +Verses On Captain Grose + + Written on an Envelope, enclosing a Letter to Him. + +Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose?-Igo, and ago, +If he's amang his friends or foes?-Iram, coram, dago. + +Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane?-Igo, and ago, +Or haudin Sarah by the wame?-Iram, coram dago. + +Is he south or is he north?-Igo, and ago, +Or drowned in the river Forth?-Iram, coram dago. + +Is he slain by Hielan' bodies?-Igo, and ago, +And eaten like a wether haggis?-Iram, coram, dago. + +Where'er he be, the Lord be near him!-Igo, and ago, +As for the deil, he daur na steer him.-Iram, coram, dago. + +But please transmit th' enclosed letter,-Igo, and ago, +Which will oblige your humble debtor.-Iram, coram, dago. + +So may ye hae auld stanes in store,-Igo, and ago, +The very stanes that Adam bore.-Iram, coram, dago, + +So may ye get in glad possession,-Igo, and ago, +The coins o' Satan's coronation!-Iram coram dago. + +Tam O' Shanter + +A Tale. + +"Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." + +Gawin Douglas. + +When chapman billies leave the street, +And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet; +As market days are wearing late, +And folk begin to tak the gate, +While we sit bousing at the nappy, +An' getting fou and unco happy, +We think na on the lang Scots miles, +The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles, +That lie between us and our hame, +Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, +Gathering her brows like gathering storm, +Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. + +This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, +As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: +(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, +For honest men and bonie lasses). + +O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, +As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! +She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, +A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; +That frae November till October, +Ae market-day thou was na sober; +That ilka melder wi' the Miller, +Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; +That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on +The Smith and thee gat roarin' fou on; +That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, +Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday, +She prophesied that late or soon, +Thou wad be found, deep drown'd in Doon, +Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, +By Alloway's auld, haunted kirk. + +Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, +To think how mony counsels sweet, +How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, +The husband frae the wife despises! + +But to our tale: Ae market night, +Tam had got planted unco right, +Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, +Wi reaming sAats, that drank divinely; +And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, +His ancient, trusty, drougthy crony: +Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; +They had been fou for weeks thegither. +The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; +And aye the ale was growing better: +The Landlady and Tam grew gracious, +Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious: +The Souter tauld his queerest stories; +The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus: +The storm without might rair and rustle, +Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. + +Care, mad to see a man sae happy, +E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. +As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, +The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: +Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, +O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! + +But pleasures are like poppies spread, +You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; +Or like the snow falls in the river, +A moment white-then melts for ever; +Or like the Borealis race, +That flit ere you can point their place; +Or like the Rainbow's lovely form +Evanishing amid the storm. - +Nae man can tether Time nor Tide, +The hour approaches Tam maun ride; +That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, +That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; +And sic a night he taks the road in, +As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. + +The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; +The rattling showers rose on the blast; +The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; +Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: +That night, a child might understand, +The deil had business on his hand. + +Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg, +A better never lifted leg, +Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, +Despising wind, and rain, and fire; +Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet, +Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, +Whiles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares, +Lest bogles catch him unawares; +Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, +Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. + +By this time he was cross the ford, +Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; +And past the birks and meikle stane, +Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; +And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, +Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn; +And near the thorn, aboon the well, +Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'. +Before him Doon pours all his floods, +The doubling storm roars thro' the woods, +The lightnings flash from pole to pole, +Near and more near the thunders roll, +When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, +Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze, +Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, +And loud resounded mirth and dancing. + +Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! +What dangers thou canst make us scorn! +Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; +Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil! +The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, +Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle, +But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, +Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, +She ventur'd forward on the light; +And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! + +Warlocks and witches in a dance: +Nae cotillon, brent new frae France, +But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, +Put life and mettle in their heels. +A winnock-bunker in the east, +There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; +A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, +To gie them music was his charge: +He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, +Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. - +Coffins stood round, like open presses, +That shaw'd the Dead in their last dresses; +And (by some devilish cantraip sleight) +Each in its cauld hand held a light. +By which heroic Tam was able +To note upon the haly table, +A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns; +Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; +A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, +Wi' his last gasp his gabudid gape; +Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted: +Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; +A garter which a babe had strangled: +A knife, a father's throat had mangled. +Whom his ain son of life bereft, +The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft; +Wi' mair of horrible and awfu', +Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. + +As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, +The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; +The Piper loud and louder blew, +The dancers quick and quicker flew, +The reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, +Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, +And coost her duddies to the wark, +And linkit at it in her sark! + +Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans, +A' plump and strapping in their teens! +Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flainen, +Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!- +Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, +That ance were plush o' guid blue hair, +I wad hae gien them off my hurdies, +For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! +But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, +Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, +Louping an' flinging on a crummock. +I wonder did na turn thy stomach. + +But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie: +There was ae winsome wench and waulie +That night enlisted in the core, +Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; +(For mony a beast to dead she shot, +And perish'd mony a bonie boat, +And shook baith meikle corn and bear, +And kept the country-side in fear); +Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, +That while a lassie she had worn, +In longitude tho' sorely scanty, +It was her best, and she was vauntie. +Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, +That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, +Wi twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), +Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! + +But here my Muse her wing maun cour, +Sic flights are far beyond her power; +To sing how Nannie lap and flang, +(A souple jade she was and strang), +And how Tam stood, like ane bewithc'd, +And thought his very een enrich'd: +Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, +And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: +Till first ae caper, syne anither, +Tam tint his reason a thegither, +And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" +And in an instant all was dark: +And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. +When out the hellish legion sallied. + +As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, +When plundering herds assail their byke; +As open pussie's mortal foes, +When, pop! she starts before their nose; +As eager runs the market-crowd, +When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; +So Maggie runs, the witches follow, +Wi' mony an eldritch skreich and hollow. + +Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! +In hell, they'll roast thee like a herrin! +In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! +Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! +Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg, +And win the key-stone o' the brig;^1 +There, at them thou thy tail may toss, +A running stream they dare na cross. +But ere the keystane she could make, +The fient a tail she had to shake! +For Nannie, far before the rest, +Hard upon noble Maggie prest, +And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; +But little wist she Maggie's mettle! +Ae spring brought off her master hale, +But left behind her ain grey tail: +The carlin claught her by the rump, +And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. + +Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, +Ilk man and mother's son, take heed: +Whene'er to Drink you are inclin'd, +Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind, +Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear; +Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. + +On The Birth Of A Posthumous Child + + Born in peculiar circumstances of family distress. + +Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, +And ward o' mony a prayer, +What heart o' stane wad thou na move, +Sae helpless, sweet, and fair? + +November hirples o'er the lea, +Chil, on thy lovely form: +And gane, alas! the shelt'ring tree, +Should shield thee frae the storm. + +[Footnote 1: It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have +no power to follow a poor wight any further than the middle of the next +running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted +traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his +going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back.-R. B.] + +May He who gives the rain to pour, +And wings the blast to blaw, +Protect thee frae the driving show'r, +The bitter frost and snaw. + +May He, the friend o' Woe and Want, +Who heals life's various stounds, +Protect and guard the mother plant, +And heal her cruel wounds. + +But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, +Fair in the summer morn, +Now feebly bends she in the blast, +Unshelter'd and forlorn. + +Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, +Unscath'd by ruffian hand! +And from thee many a parent stem +Arise to deck our land! + +Elegy On The Late Miss Burnet Of Monboddo + +Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, +As Burnet, lovely from her native skies; +Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow, +As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low. + +Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? +In richest ore the brightest jewel set! +In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, +As by His noblest work the Godhead best is known. + +In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves; +Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, +Ye woodland choir that chaunt your idle loves, +Ye cease to charm; Eliza is no more. + +Ye healthy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens; +Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd: +Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens, +To you I fly-ye with my soul accord. + +Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth, +Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail, +And thou, sweet Excellence! forsake our earth, +And not a Muse with honest grief bewail? + +We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, +And Virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres; +But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, +Thou left us darkling in a world of tears. + +The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, +That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care; +So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree; +So, from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. + +Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring + +Now Nature hangs her mantle green +On every blooming tree, +And spreads her sheets o' daisies white +Out o'er the grassy lea; +Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, +And glads the azure skies; +But nought can glad the weary wight +That fast in durance lies. + +Now laverocks wake the merry morn +Aloft on dewy wing; +The merle, in his noontide bow'r, +Makes woodland echoes ring; +The mavis wild wi' mony a note, +Sings drowsy day to rest: +In love and freedom they rejoice, +Wi' care nor thrall opprest. + +Now blooms the lily by the bank, +The primrose down the brae; +The hawthorn's budding in the glen, +And milk-white is the slae: +The meanest hind in fair Scotland +May rove their sweets amang; +But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, +Maun lie in prison strang. + +I was the Queen o' bonie France, +Where happy I hae been; +Fu' lightly raise I in the morn, +As blythe lay down at e'en: +And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, +And mony a traitor there; +Yet here I lie in foreign bands, +And never-ending care. + +But as for thee, thou false woman, +My sister and my fae, +Grim Vengeance yet shall whet a sword +That thro' thy soul shall gae; +The weeping blood in woman's breast +Was never known to thee; +Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe +Frae woman's pitying e'e. + +My son! my son! may kinder stars +Upon thy fortune shine; +And may those pleasures gild thy reign, +That ne'er wad blink on mine! +God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, +Or turn their hearts to thee: +And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, +Remember him for me! + +O! soon, to me, may Summer suns +Nae mair light up the morn! +Nae mair to me the Autumn winds +Wave o'er the yellow corn? +And, in the narrow house of death, +Let Winter round me rave; +And the next flow'rs that deck the Spring, +Bloom on my peaceful grave! + +There'll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame + +By yon Castle wa', at the close of the day, +I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey: +And as he was singing, the tears doon came, - +There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + +The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars, +Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars, +We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame, - +There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + +My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, +But now I greet round their green beds in the yerd; +It brak the sweet heart o' my faithful and dame, - +There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + +Now life is a burden that bows me down, +Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; +But till my last moments my words are the same, - +There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + +Song -Out Over The Forth + +Out over the Forth, I look to the North; +But what is the north and its Highlands to me? +The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, +The far foreign land, or the wide rolling sea. + +But I look to the west when I gae to rest, +That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; +For far in the west lives he I loe best, +The man that is dear to my babie and me. + +The Banks O' Doon + +First Version + +Sweet are the banks-the banks o' Doon, +The spreading flowers are fair, +And everything is blythe and glad, +But I am fu' o' care. +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, +That sings upon the bough; +Thou minds me o' the happy days +When my fause Luve was true: +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, +That sings beside thy mate; +For sae I sat, and sae I sang, +And wist na o' my fate. + +Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, +To see the woodbine twine; +And ilka birds sang o' its Luve, +And sae did I o' mine: +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, +Upon its thorny tree; +But my fause Luver staw my rose +And left the thorn wi' me: +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, +Upon a morn in June; +And sae I flourished on the morn, +And sae was pu'd or noon! + +The Banks O' Doon + +Second Version + +Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, +How can ye blume sae fair? +How can ye chant, ye little birds, +And I sae fu' o care! +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, +That sings upon the bough! +Thou minds me o' the happy days +When my fause Luve was true. +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, +That sings beside thy mate; +For sae I sat, and sae I sang, +And wist na o' my fate. + +Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, +To see the woodbine twine; +And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, +And sae did I o' mine. +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, +Upon its thorny tree; +But my fause Luver staw my rose, +And left the thorn wi' me. +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, +Upon a morn in June; +And sae I flourished on the morn, +And sae was pu'd or noon. + +The Banks O' Doon + +Third Version + +Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, +How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? +How can ye chant, ye little birds, +And I sae weary fu' o' care! +Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, +That wantons thro' the flowering thorn: +Thou minds me o' departed joys, +Departed never to return. + +Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon, +To see the rose and woodbine twine: +And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, +And fondly sae did I o' mine; +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, +Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree! +And may fause Luver staw my rose, +But ah! he left the thorn wi' me. + +Lament For James, Earl Of Glencairn + +The wind blew hollow frae the hills, +By fits the sun's departing beam +Look'd on the fading yellow woods, +That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: +Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, +Laden with years and meikle pain, +In loud lament bewail'd his lord, +Whom Death had all untimely ta'en. + +He lean'd him to an ancient aik, +Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; +His locks were bleached white with time, +His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears! +And as he touch'd his trembling harp, +And as he tun'd his doleful sang, +The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, +To Echo bore the notes alang. + +"Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, +The reliques o' the vernal queir! +Ye woods that shed on a' the winds +The honours of the aged year! +A few short months, and glad and gay, +Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e; +But nocht in all-revolving time +Can gladness bring again to me. + +"I am a bending aged tree, +That long has stood the wind and rain; +But now has come a cruel blast, +And my last hald of earth is gane; +Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, +Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; +But I maun lie before the storm, +And ithers plant them in my room. + +"I've seen sae mony changefu' years, +On earth I am a stranger grown: +I wander in the ways of men, +Alike unknowing, and unknown: +Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, +I bear alane my lade o' care, +For silent, low, on beds of dust, +Lie a' +hat would my sorrows share. + +"And last, (the sum of a' my griefs!) +My noble master lies in clay; +The flow'r amang our barons bold, +His country's pride, his country's stay: +In weary being now I pine, +For a' the life of life is dead, +And hope has left may aged ken, +On forward wing for ever fled. + +"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! +The voice of woe and wild despair! +Awake, resound thy latest lay, +Then sleep in silence evermair! +And thou, my last, best, only, friend, +That fillest an untimely tomb, +Accept this tribute from the Bard +Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest gloom. + +"In Poverty's low barren vale, +Thick mists obscure involv'd me round; +Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, +Nae ray of fame was to be found: +Thou found'st me, like the morning sun +That melts the fogs in limpid air, +The friendless bard and rustic song +Became alike thy fostering care. + +"O! why has worth so short a date, +While villains ripen grey with time? +Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, +Fall in bold manhood's hardy prim +Why did I live to see that day- +A day to me so full of woe? +O! had I met the mortal shaft +That laid my benefactor low! + +"The bridegroom may forget the bride +Was made his wedded wife yestreen; +The monarch may forget the crown +That on his head an hour has been; +The mother may forget the child +That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; +But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, +And a' that thou hast done for me!" + +Lines Sent To Sir John Whiteford, Bart + +With The Lament On The Death Of the Earl Of Glencairn + +Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, +Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, +To thee this votive offering I impart, +The tearful tribute of a broken heart. +The Friend thou valued'st, I, the Patron lov'd; +His worth, his honour, all the world approved: +We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, +And tread the shadowy path to that dark world unknown. + +Craigieburn Wood + +Sweet closes the ev'ning on Craigieburn Wood, +And blythely awaukens the morrow; +But the pride o' the spring in the Craigieburn Wood +Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. + +Chorus.-Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, +And O to be lying beyond thee! +O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep +That's laid in the bed beyond thee! + +I see the spreading leaves and flowers, +I hear the wild birds singing; +But pleasure they hae nane for me, +While care my heart is wringing. +Beyond thee, &c. + +I can na tell, I maun na tell, +I daur na for your anger; +But secret love will break my heart, +If I conceal it langer. +Beyond thee, &c. + +I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, +I see thee sweet and bonie; +But oh, what will my torment be, +If thou refuse thy Johnie! +Beyond thee, &c. + +To see thee in another's arms, +In love to lie and languish, +'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, +My heart wad burst wi' anguish. +Beyond thee, &c. + +But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, +Say thou lo'es nane before me; +And a' may days o' life to come +I'l gratefully adore thee, +Beyond thee, &c. + +The Bonie Wee Thing + +Chorus.-Bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing, +Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, +I wad wear thee in my bosom, +Lest my jewel it should tine. + +Wishfully I look and languish +In that bonie face o' thine, +And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, +Lest my wee thing be na mine. +Bonie wee thing, &c. + +Wit, and Grace, and Love, and Beauty, +In ae constellation shine; +To adore thee is my duty, +Goddess o' this soul o' mine! +Bonie wee thing, &c. + + +Epigram On Miss Davies + + On being asked why she had been formed so little, and Mrs. A-so big. + +Ask why God made the gem so small? +And why so huge the granite?- +Because God meant mankind should set +That higher value on it. + +The Charms Of Lovely Davies + +tune-"Miss Muir." + +O how shall I, unskilfu', try +The poet's occupation? +The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, +That whisper inspiration; +Even they maun dare an effort mair +Than aught they ever gave us, +Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, +The charms o' lovely Davies. + +Each eye it cheers when she appears, +Like Phoebus in the morning, +When past the shower, and every flower +The garden is adorning: +As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, +When winter-bound the wave is; +Sae droops our heart, when we maun part +Frae charming, lovely Davies. + +Her smile's a gift frae 'boon the lift, +That maks us mair than princes; +A sceptred hand, a king's command, +Is in her darting glances; +The man in arms 'gainst female charms +Even he her willing slave is, +He hugs his chain, and owns the reign +Of conquering, lovely Davies. + +My Muse, to dream of such a theme, +Her feeble powers surrender: +The eagle's gaze alone surveys +The sun's meridian splendour. +I wad in vain essay the strain, +The deed too daring brave is; +I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire +The charms o' lovely Davies. + +What Can A Young Lassie Do Wi' An Auld Man + +What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, +What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? +Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie +To sell her puir Jenny for siller an' lan'. +Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie +To sell her puir Jenny for siller an' lan'! + +He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', +He hoasts and he hirples the weary day lang; +He's doylt and he's dozin, his blude it is frozen, - +O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man! +He's doylt and he's dozin, his blude it is frozen, +O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man. + +He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, +I never can please him do a' that I can; +He's peevish an' jealous o' a' the young fellows, - +O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man! +He's peevish an' jealous o' a' the young fellows, +O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man. + +My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity, +I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan; +I'll cross him an' wrack him, until I heartbreak him +And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan, +I'll cross him an' wrack him, until I heartbreak him, +And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. + + +The Posie + +O luve will venture in where it daur na weel be seen, +O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been; +But I will doun yon river rove, amang the wood sae green, +And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May. + +The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, +And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear; +For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer, +And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. + +I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, +For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet, bonie mou; +The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue, +And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. + +The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, +And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; +The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, +And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. + +The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, +Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day; +But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away +And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. + +The woodbine I will pu', when the e'ening star is near, +And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear; +The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear, +And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. + +I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, +And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, +That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove, +And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May. + +On Glenriddell's Fox Breaking His Chain + +A Fragment, 1791. + +Thou, Liberty, thou art my theme; +Not such as idle poets dream, +Who trick thee up a heathen goddess +That a fantastic cap and rod has; +Such stale conceits are poor and silly; +I paint thee out, a Highland filly, +A sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple, +As sleek's a mouse, as round's an apple, +That when thou pleasest canst do wonders; +But when thy luckless rider blunders, +Or if thy fancy should demur there, +Wilt break thy neck ere thou go further. + +These things premised, I sing a Fox, +Was caught among his native rocks, +And to a dirty kennel chained, +How he his liberty regained. + +Glenriddell! Whig without a stain, +A Whig in principle and grain, +Could'st thou enslave a free-born creature, +A native denizen of Nature? +How could'st thou, with a heart so good, +(A better ne'er was sluiced with blood!) +Nail a poor devil to a tree, +That ne'er did harm to thine or thee? + +The staunchest Whig Glenriddell was, +Quite frantic in his country's cause; +And oft was Reynard's prison passing, +And with his brother-Whigs canvassing +The Rights of Men, the Powers of Women, +With all the dignity of Freemen. + +Sir Reynard daily heard debates +Of Princes', Kings', and Nations' fates, +With many rueful, bloody stories +Of Tyrants, Jacobites, and Tories: +From liberty how angels fell, +That now are galley-slaves in hell; +How Nimrod first the trade began +Of binding Slavery's chains on Man; +How fell Semiramis-God damn her! +Did first, with sacrilegious hammer, +(All ills till then were trivial matters) +For Man dethron'd forge hen-peck fetters; + +How Xerxes, that abandoned Tory, +Thought cutting throats was reaping glory, +Until the stubborn Whigs of Sparta +Taught him great Nature's Magna Charta; +How mighty Rome her fiat hurl'd +Resistless o'er a bowing world, +And, kinder than they did desire, +Polish'd mankind with sword and fire; +With much, too tedious to relate, +Of ancient and of modern date, +But ending still, how Billy Pitt +(Unlucky boy!) with wicked wit, +Has gagg'd old Britain, drain'd her coffer, +As butchers bind and bleed a heifer, + +Thus wily Reynard by degrees, +In kennel listening at his ease, +Suck'd in a mighty stock of knowledge, +As much as some folks at a College; +Knew Britain's rights and constitution, +Her aggrandisement, diminution, +How fortune wrought us good from evil; +Let no man, then, despise the Devil, +As who should say, 'I never can need him,' +Since we to scoundrels owe our freedom. + +Poem On Pastoral Poetry + +Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd! +In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd +Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd +'Mang heaps o' clavers: +And och! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd, +'Mid a' thy favours! + +Say, Lassie, why, thy train amang, +While loud the trump's heroic clang, +And sock or buskin skelp alang +To death or marriage; +Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang +But wi' miscarriage? + +In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives; +Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; +Wee Pope, the knurlin', till him rives +Horatian fame; +In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives +Even Sappho's flame. + +But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? +They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches; +Squire Pope but busks his skinklin' patches +O' heathen tatters: +I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, +That ape their betters. + +In this braw age o' wit and lear, +Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair +Blaw sweetly in its native air, +And rural grace; +And, wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share +A rival place? + +Yes! there is ane-a Scottish callan! +There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan! +Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, +A chiel sae clever; +The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan, +But thou's for ever. + +Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, +In thy sweet Caledonian lines; +Nae gowden stream thro' myrtle twines, +Where Philomel, +While nightly breezes sweep the vines, +Her griefs will tell! + +In gowany glens thy burnie strays, +Where bonie lasses bleach their claes, +Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, +Wi' hawthorns gray, +Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays, +At close o' day. + +Thy rural loves are Nature's sel'; +Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell; +Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell +O' witchin love, +That charm that can the strongest quell, +The sternest move. + +Verses On The Destruction Of The Woods Near Drumlanrig + +As on the banks o' wandering Nith, +Ae smiling simmer morn I stray'd, +And traced its bonie howes and haughs, +Where linties sang and lammies play'd, +I sat me down upon a craig, +And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, +When from the eddying deep below, +Up rose the genius of the stream. + +Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, +And troubled, like his wintry wave, +And deep, as sughs the boding wind +Amang his caves, the sigh he gave- +"And come ye here, my son," he cried, +"To wander in my birken shade? +To muse some favourite Scottish theme, +Or sing some favourite Scottish maid? + +"There was a time, it's nae lang syne, +Ye might hae seen me in my pride, +When a' my banks sae bravely saw +Their woody pictures in my tide; +When hanging beech and spreading elm +Shaded my stream sae clear and cool: +And stately oaks their twisted arms +Threw broad and dark across the pool; + +"When, glinting thro' the trees, appear'd +The wee white cot aboon the mill, +And peacefu' rose its ingle reek, +That, slowly curling, clamb the hill. +But now the cot is bare and cauld, +Its leafy bield for ever gane, +And scarce a stinted birk is left +To shiver in the blast its lane." + +"Alas!" quoth I, "what ruefu' chance +Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees? +Has laid your rocky bosom bare- +Has stripped the cleeding o' your braes? +Was it the bitter eastern blast, +That scatters blight in early spring? +Or was't the wil'fire scorch'd their boughs, +Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?" + +"Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied; +"It blaws na here sae fierce and fell, +And on my dry and halesome banks +Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell: +Man! cruel man!" the genius sighed- +As through the cliffs he sank him down- +"The worm that gnaw'd my bonie trees, +That reptile wears a ducal crown."^1 + +The Gallant Weaver + +Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, +By mony a flower and spreading tree, +There lives a lad, the lad for me, +He is a gallant Weaver. +O, I had wooers aught or nine, +They gied me rings and ribbons fine; +And I was fear'd my heart wad tine, +And I gied it to the Weaver. + +My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, +To gie the lad that has the land, +But to my heart I'll add my hand, +And give it to the Weaver. +While birds rejoice in leafy bowers, +While bees delight in opening flowers, +While corn grows green in summer showers, +I love my gallant Weaver. + +[Footnote 1: The Duke of Queensberry.] + +Epigram At Brownhill Inn^1 + +At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, +And plenty of bacon each day in the year; +We've a' thing that's nice, and mostly in season, +But why always Bacon-come, tell me a reason? + +You're Welcome, Willie Stewart + +Chorus.-You're welcome, Willie Stewart, +You're welcome, Willie Stewart, +There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, +That's half sae welcome's thou art! + +Come, bumpers high, express your joy, +The bowl we maun renew it, +The tappet hen, gae bring her ben, +To welcome Willie Stewart, +You're welcome, Willie Stewart, &c. + +May foes be strang, and friends be slack +Ilk action, may he rue it, +May woman on him turn her back +That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart, +You're welcome, Willie Stewart, &c. + +Lovely Polly Stewart + +Chorus.-O lovely Polly Stewart, +O charming Polly Stewart, +There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, +That's half so fair as thou art! + +The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, +And art can ne'er renew it; +But worth and truth, eternal youth +Will gie to Polly Stewart, +O lovely Polly Stewart, &c. + +[Footnote 1: Bacon was the name of a presumably intrusive host. The lines are +said to have "afforded much amusement."-Lang] + +May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms +Possess a leal and true heart! +To him be given to ken the heaven +He grasps in Polly Stewart! +O lovely Polly Stewart, &c. + +Fragment,-Damon And Sylvia + +tune-"The Tither Morn." + +Yon wandering rill that marks the hill, +And glances o'er the brae, Sir, +Slides by a bower, where mony a flower +Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir; +There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, +To love they thought no crime, Sir, +The wild birds sang, the echoes rang, +While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. + +Johnie Lad, Cock Up Your Beaver + +When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town, +He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown; +But now he has gotten a hat and a feather, +Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver! + +Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu' sprush, +We'll over the border, and gie them a brush; +There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour, +Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver! + +My Eppie Macnab + +O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? +O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? +She's down in the yard, she's kissin the laird, +She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab. + +O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab; +O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab; +Whate'er thou hast dune, be it late, be it sune, +Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. + +What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? +What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab? +She let's thee to wit that she has thee forgot, +And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. + +O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab! +O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab! +As light as the air, and as fause as thou's fair, +Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab. + +Altho' He Has Left Me + +Altho' he has left me for greed o' the siller, +I dinna envy him the gains he can win; +I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow, +Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. + +My Tocher's The Jewel + +O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, +And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; +But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie +My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. +It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree, +It's a' for the hinny he'll cherish the bee, +My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, +He canna hae luve to spare for me. + +Your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny, +My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; +But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', +Sae ye wi anither your fortune may try. +Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, +Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, +Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, +And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. + +O For Ane An' Twenty, Tam + +Chorus.-An' O for ane an' twenty, Tam! +And hey, sweet ane an' twenty, Tam! +I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, +An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam. + +They snool me sair, and haud me down, +An' gar me look like bluntie, Tam; +But three short years will soon wheel roun', +An' then comes ane an' twenty, Tam. +An' O for, &c. + +A glieb o' lan', a claut o' gear, +Was left me by my auntie, Tam; +At kith or kin I need na spier, +An I saw ane an' twenty, Tam. +An' O for, &c. + +They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, +Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam; +But, hear'st thou laddie! there's my loof, +I'm thine at ane an' twenty, Tam! +An' O for, &c. + +Thou Fair Eliza + +Turn again, thou fair Eliza! +Ae kind blink before we part; +Rue on thy despairing lover, +Can'st thou break his faithfu' heart? +Turn again, thou fair Eliza! +If to love thy heart denies, +Oh, in pity hide the sentence +Under friendship's kind disguise! + +Thee, sweet maid, hae I offended? +My offence is loving thee; +Can'st thou wreck his peace for ever, +Wha for thine would gladly die? +While the life beats in my bosom, +Thou shalt mix in ilka throe: +Turn again, thou lovely maiden, +Ae sweet smile on me bestow. + +Not the bee upon the blossom, +In the pride o' sinny noon; +Not the little sporting fairy, +All beneath the simmer moon; +Not the Minstrel in the moment +Fancy lightens in his e'e, +Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, +That thy presence gies to me. + +My Bonie Bell + +The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, +And surly Winter grimly flies; +Now crystal clear are the falling waters, +And bonie blue are the sunny skies. +Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, +The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell; +All creatures joy in the sun's returning, +And I rejoice in my bonie Bell. + +The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, +The yellow Autumn presses near; +Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, +Till smiling Spring again appear: +Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, +Old Time and Nature their changes tell; +But never ranging, still unchanging, +I adore my bonie Bell. + +Sweet Afton + +Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, +Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; +My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, +Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. + +Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, +Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, +Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, +I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair. + +How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, +Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; +There daily I wander as noon rises high, +My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. + +How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, +Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; +There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea, +The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. + +Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, +And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; +How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, +As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. + +Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, +Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; +My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, +Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. + +Address To The Shade Of Thomson + + On Crowning His Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire, with a Wreath of Bays. + +While virgin Spring by Eden's flood, +Unfolds her tender mantle green, +Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, +Or tunes Eolian strains between. + +While Summer, with a matron grace, +Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, +Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace +The progress of the spiky blade. + +While Autumn, benefactor kind, +By Tweed erects his aged head, +And sees, with self-approving mind, +Each creature on his bounty fed. + +While maniac Winter rages o'er +The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, +Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, +Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows. + +So long, sweet Poet of the year! +Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; +While Scotia, with exulting tear, +Proclaims that Thomson was her son. + +Nithsdale's Welcome Hame + +The noble Maxwells and their powers +Are coming o'er the border, +And they'll gae big Terreagles' towers +And set them a' in order. +And they declare Terreagles fair, +For their abode they choose it; +There's no a heart in a' the land +But's lighter at the news o't. + +Tho' stars in skies may disappear, +And angry tempests gather; +The happy hour may soon be near +That brings us pleasant weather: +The weary night o' care and grief +May hae a joyfu' morrow; +so dawning day has brought relief, +Fareweel our night o' sorrow. + +Frae The Friends And Land I Love + +Tune.-"Carron Side." + +Frae the friends and land I love, +Driv'n by Fortune's felly spite; +Frae my best belov'd I rove, +Never mair to taste delight: +Never mair maun hope to find +Ease frae toil, relief frae care; +When Remembrance wracks the mind, +Pleasures but unveil despair. + +Brightest climes shall mirk appear, +Desert ilka blooming shore, +Till the Fates, nae mair severe, +Friendship, love, and peace restore, +Till Revenge, wi' laurel'd head, +Bring our banished hame again; +And ilk loyal, bonie lad +Cross the seas, and win his ain. + +Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation + +Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, +Fareweel our ancient glory; +Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, +Sae fam'd in martial story. +Now Sark rins over Solway sands, +An' Tweed rins to the ocean, +To mark where England's province stands- +Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! + +What force or guile could not subdue, +Thro' many warlike ages, +Is wrought now by a coward few, +For hireling traitor's wages. +The English stell we could disdain, +Secure in valour's station; +But English gold has been our bane- +Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! + +O would, or I had seen the day +That Treason thus could sell us, +My auld grey head had lien in clay, +Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! +But pith and power, till my last hour, +I'll mak this declaration; +We're bought and sold for English gold- +Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! + +Ye Jacobites By Name + +Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear, +Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, +Ye Jacobites by name, +Your fautes I will proclaim, +Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear. + +What is Right, and What is Wrang, by the law, by +the law? +What is Right and what is Wrang by the law? +What is Right, and what is Wrang? +A short sword, and a lang, +A weak arm and a strang, for to draw. + +What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar? +What makes heroic strife famed afar? +What makes heroic strife? +To whet th' assassin's knife, +Or hunt a Parent's life, wi' bluidy war? + +Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state, +Then let your schemes alone in the state. +Then let your schemes alone, +Adore the rising sun, +And leave a man undone, to his fate. + +I Hae Been At Crookieden + +I Hae been at Crookieden, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, +Viewing Willie and his men, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. +There our foes that burnt and slew, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, +There, at last, they gat their due, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. + +Satan sits in his black neuk, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, +Breaking sticks to roast the Duke, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie, +The bloody monster gae a yell, +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. +And loud the laugh gied round a' hell +My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. + +O Kenmure's On And Awa, Willie + +O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie, +O Kenmure's on and awa: +An' Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord +That ever Galloway saw. + +Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! +Success to Kenmure's band! +There's no a heart that fears a Whig, +That rides by kenmure's hand. + +Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! +Here's Kenmure's health in wine! +There's ne'er a coward o' Kenmure's blude, +Nor yet o' Gordon's line. + +O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie, +O Kenmure's lads are men; +Their hearts and swords are metal true, +And that their foes shall ken. + +They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie; +They'll live or die wi' fame; +But sune, wi' sounding victorie, +May Kenmure's lord come hame! + +Here's him that's far awa, Willie! +Here's him that's far awa! +And here's the flower that I loe best, +The rose that's like the snaw. + +Epistle To John Maxwell, ESQ., Of Terraughty + +On His Birthday. + +Health to the Maxwell's veteran Chief! +Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: +Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf, +This natal morn, +I see thy life is stuff o' prief, +Scarce quite half-worn. + +This day thou metes threescore eleven, +And I can tell that bounteous Heaven +(The second-sight, ye ken, is given +To ilka Poet) +On thee a tack o' seven times seven +Will yet bestow it. + +If envious buckies view wi' sorrow +Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, +May Desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, +Nine miles an hour, +Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, +In brunstane stour. + +But for thy friends, and they are mony, +Baith honest men, and lassies bonie, +May couthie Fortune, kind and cannie, +In social glee, +Wi' mornings blythe, and e'enings funny, +Bless them and thee! + +Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye, +And then the deil, he daurna steer ye: +Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye; +For me, shame fa' me, +If neist my heart I dinna wear ye, +While Burns they ca' me. + +Second Epistle To Robert Graham, ESQ., Of Fintry + +5th October 1791. + +Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, +About to beg a pass for leave to beg; +Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest +(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest); +Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail? +(It soothes poor Misery, hearkening to her tale) +And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, +And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade? + +Thou, Nature! partial Nature, I arraign; +Of thy caprice maternal I complain; +The lion and the bull thy care have found, +One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground; +Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell; +Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell; +Thy minions kings defend, control, devour, +In all th' omnipotence of rule and power; +Foxes and statesmen subtile wiles ensure; +The cit and polecat stink, and are secure; +Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, +The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug; +Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, +Her tongue and eyes-her dreaded spear and darts. + +But Oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard, +To thy poor, fenceless, naked child-the Bard! +A thing unteachable in world's skill, +And half an idiot too, more helpless still: +No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun; +No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun; +No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, +And those, alas! not, Amalthea's horn: +No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, +Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur; +In naked feeling, and in aching pride, +He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side: +Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, +And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. + +Critics-appall'd, I venture on the name; +Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame: +Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes; +He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose: + +His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, +By blockheads' daring into madness stung; +His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, +By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear; +Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal strife, +The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life: +Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, +And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, +Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, +Dead even resentment for his injur'd page, +He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage! + +So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd, +For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast; +By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, +Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. + +O Dulness! portion of the truly blest! +Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest! +Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes +Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. +If mantling high she fills the golden cup, +With sober selfish ease they sip it up; +Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, +They only wonder "some folks" do not starve. +The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, +And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. +When disappointments snaps the clue of hope, +And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, +With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, +And just conclude that "fools are fortune's care." +So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, +Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. + +Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, +Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; +In equanimity they never dwell, +By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. + +I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, +With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear! +Already one strong hold of hope is lost- +Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust +(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, +And left us darkling in a world of tears); +O! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! +Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare! +Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown, +And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down! +May bliss domestic smooth his private path; +Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath, +With many a filial tear circling the bed of death! + +The Song Of Death + +tune-"Oran an aoig." + + Scene-A Field of Battle. Time of the day-evening. The wounded and dying +of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following song. + +Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, +Now gay with the broad setting sun; +Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, +Our race of existence is run! +Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life's gloomy foe! +Go, frighten the coward and slave; +Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know +No terrors hast thou to the brave! + +Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark, +Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name; +Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark; +He falls in the blaze of his fame! +In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands, +Our King and our country to save; +While victory shines on Life's last ebbing sands, - +O! who would not die with the brave! + +Poem On Sensibility + +Sensibility, how charming, +Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell; +But distress, with horrors arming, +Thou alas! hast known too well! + +Fairest flower, behold the lily +Blooming in the sunny ray: +Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, +See it prostrate in the clay. + +Hear the wood lark charm the forest, +Telling o'er his little joys; +But alas! a prey the surest +To each pirate of the skies. + +Dearly bought the hidden treasure +Finer feelings can bestow: +Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure +Thrill the deepest notes of woe. + +The Toadeater + +Of Lordly acquaintance you boast, +And the Dukes that you dined wi' yestreen, +Yet an insect's an insect at most, +Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen! + +Divine Service In The Kirk Of Lamington + +As cauld a wind as ever blew, +A cauld kirk, an in't but few: +As cauld a minister's e'er spak; +Ye'se a' be het e'er I come back. + +The Keekin'-Glass + +How daur ye ca' me howlet-face, +Ye blear-e'ed, withered spectre? +Ye only spied the keekin'-glass, +An' there ye saw your picture. + +A Grace Before Dinner, Extempore + +O thou who kindly dost provide +For every creature's want! +We bless Thee, God of Nature wide, +For all Thy goodness lent: +And if it please Thee, Heavenly Guide, +May never worse be sent; +But, whether granted, or denied, +Lord, bless us with content. Amen! + +A Grace After Dinner, Extempore + +O thou, in whom we live and move- +Who made the sea and shore; +Thy goodness constantly we prove, +And grateful would adore; +And, if it please Thee, Power above! +Still grant us, with such store, +The friend we trust, the fair we love- +And we desire no more. Amen! + +O May, Thy Morn + +O may, thy morn was ne'er so sweet +As the mirk night o' December! +For sparkling was the rosy wine, +And private was the chamber: +And dear was she I dare na name, +But I will aye remember: +And dear was she I dare na name, +But I will aye remember. + +And here's to them that, like oursel, +Can push about the jorum! +And here's to them that wish us weel, +May a' that's guid watch o'er 'em! +And here's to them, we dare na tell, +The dearest o' the quorum! +And here's to them, we dare na tell, +The dearest o' the quorum. + +Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever + +tune-"Rory Dall's Port." + +Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; +Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! +Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, +Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. +Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, +While the star of hope she leaves him? +Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me; +Dark despair around benights me. + +I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, +Naething could resist my Nancy: +But to see her was to love her; +Love but her, and love for ever. +Had we never lov'd sae kindly, +Had we never lov'd sae blindly, +Never met-or never parted, +We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + +Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! +Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest! +Thine be ilka joy and treasure, +Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure! +Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! +Ae fareweeli alas, for ever! +Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, +Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + +Behold The Hour, The Boat, Arrive + +Behold the hour, the boat, arrive! +My dearest Nancy, O fareweel! +Severed frae thee, can I survive, +Frae thee whom I hae lov'd sae weel? + +Endless and deep shall be my grief; +LNae ray of comfort shall I see, +But this most precious, dear belief, +That thou wilt still remember me! + +Alang the solitary shore +Where flitting sea-fowl round me cry, +Across the rolling, dashing roar, +I'll westward turn my wishful eye. + +"Happy thou Indian grove," I'll say, +"Where now my Nancy's path shall be! +While thro' your sweets she holds her way, +O tell me, does she muse on me?" + +Thou Gloomy December + +Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! +Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; +Sad was the parting thou makes me remember- +Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! + +Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure, +Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; +But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever! +Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure! + +Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, +Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown; +Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, +Till my last hope and last comfort is gone. + +Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, +Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; +For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, +Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair. + +My Native Land Sae Far Awa + +O sad and heavy, should I part, +But for her sake, sae far awa; +Unknowing what my way may thwart, +My native land sae far awa. + +Thou that of a' things Maker art, +That formed this Fair sae far awa, +Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start +At this my way sae far awa. + +How true is love to pure desert! +Like mine for her sae far awa; +And nocht can heal my bosom's smart, +While, oh, she is sae far awa! + +Nane other love, nane other dart, +I feel but her's sae far awa; +But fairer never touch'd a heart +Than her's, the Fair, sae far awa. + +I do Confess Thou Art Sae Fair + +Alteration of an Old Poem. + +I Do confess thou art sae fair, +I was been o'er the lugs in luve, +Had I na found the slightest prayer +That lips could speak thy heart could muve. + +I do confess thee sweet, but find +Thou art so thriftless o' thy sweets, +Thy favours are the silly wind +That kisses ilka thing it meets. + +See yonder rosebud, rich in dew, +Amang its native briers sae coy; +How sune it tines its scent and hue, +When pu'd and worn a common toy. + +Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, +Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile; +And sune thou shalt be thrown aside, +Like ony common weed and vile. + +Lines On Fergusson, The Poet + +Ill-fated genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson! +What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, +To think Life's sun did set e'er well begun +To shed its influence on thy bright career. + +O why should truest Worth and Genius pine +Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe, +While titled knaves and idiot-Greatness shine +In all the splendour Fortune can bestow? + +The Weary Pund O' Tow + +Chorus.-The weary pund, the weary pund, +The weary pund o' tow; +I think my wife will end her life, +Before she spin her tow. + +I bought my wife a stane o' lint, +As gude as e'er did grow, +And a' that she has made o' that +Is ae puir pund o' tow. +The weary pund, &c. + +There sat a bottle in a bole, +Beyont the ingle low; +And aye she took the tither souk, +To drouk the stourie tow. +The weary pund, &c. + +Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame, +Gae spin your tap o' tow! +She took the rock, and wi' a knock, +She brak it o'er my pow. +The weary pund, &c. + +At last her feet-I sang to see't! +Gaed foremost o'er the knowe, +And or I wad anither jad, +I'll wallop in a tow. +The weary pund, &c. + +When She Cam' Ben She Bobbed + +O when she cam' ben she bobbed fu' law, +O when she cam' ben she bobbed fu' law, +And when she cam' ben, she kiss'd Cockpen, +And syne denied she did it at a'. + +And was na Cockpen right saucy witha'? +And was na Cockpen right saucy witha'? +In leaving the daughter of a lord, +And kissin' a collier lassie an' a'! + +O never look down, my lassie, at a', +O never look down, my lassie, at a', +Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete, +As the finest dame in castle or ha'. + +Tho' thou has nae silk, and holland sae sma', +Tho' thou has nae silk, and holland sae sma', +Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handiwark, +And lady Jean was never sae braw. + +Scroggam, My Dearie + +There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, Scroggam; +She brew'd gude ale for gentlemen; +Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, +Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. + +The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, Scroggam; +The priest o' the parish he fell in anither; +Sing auld Cowl lay ye down by me, +Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. + +They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, Scroggam; +That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither; +Sing auld Cowl, lay ye down by me, +Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. + +My Collier Laddie + +"Whare live ye, my bonie lass? +And tell me what they ca' ye;" +"My name," she says, "is mistress Jean, +And I follow the Collier laddie." +"My name, she says, &c. + +"See you not yon hills and dales +The sun shines on sae brawlie; +They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, +Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie. +"They a' are mine, &c. + +"Ye shall gang in gay attire, +Weel buskit up sae gaudy; +And ane to wait on every hand, +Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie." +"And ane to wait, &c. + +"Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on, +And the earth conceals sae lowly, +I wad turn my back on you and it a', +And embrace my Collier laddie. +"I wad turn my back, &c. + +"I can win my five pennies in a day, +An' spen't at night fu' brawlie: +And make my bed in the collier's neuk, +And lie down wi' my Collier laddie. +"And make my bed, &c. + +"Love for love is the bargain for me, +Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me; +and the warld before me to win my bread, +And fair fa' my Collier laddie!" +"And the warld before me, &c. + +Sic A Wife As Willie Had + +Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, +The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie; +Willie was a wabster gude, +Could stown a clue wi' ony body: +He had a wife was dour and din, +O Tinkler Maidgie was her mither; +Sic a wife as Willie had, +I wad na gie a button for her! + +She has an e'e, she has but ane, +The cat has twa the very colour; +Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, +A clapper tongue wad deave a miller: +A whiskin beard about her mou', +Her nose and chin they threaten ither; +Sic a wife as Willie had, +I wadna gie a button for her! + +She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shin'd, +Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter; +She's twisted right, she's twisted left, +To balance fair in ilka quarter: +She has a lump upon her breast, +The twin o' that upon her shouther; +Sic a wife as Willie had, +I wadna gie a button for her! + +Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, +An' wi' her loof her face a-washin; +But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, +She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; +Her walie nieves like midden-creels, +Her face wad fyle the Logan Water; +Sic a wife as Willie had, +I wadna gie a button for her! + +Lady Mary Ann + +O lady Mary Ann looks o'er the Castle wa', +She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba', +The youngest he was the flower amang them a', +My bonie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. + +O father, O father, an ye think it fit, +We'll send him a year to the college yet, +We'll sew a green ribbon round about his hat, +And that will let them ken he's to marry yet. + +Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew, +Sweet was its smell and bonie was its hue, +And the longer it blossom'd the sweeter it grew, +For the lily in the bud will be bonier yet. + +Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik, +Bonie and bloomin' and straught was its make, +The sun took delight to shine for its sake, +And it will be the brag o' the forest yet. + +The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green, +And the days are awa' that we hae seen, +But far better days I trust will come again; +For my bonie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. + +Kellyburn Braes + +There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +And he had a wife was the plague of his days, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +He met with the Devil, says, "How do you fen?" +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +I've got a bad wife, sir, that's a' my complaint, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +"For, savin your presence, to her ye're a saint," +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +"But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have," +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +"O welcome most kindly!" the blythe carl said, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +"But if ye can match her ye're waur than ye're ca'd," +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +The Devil has got the auld wife on his back, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +He's carried her hame to his ain hallan door, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +Syne bade her gae in, for a bitch, and a whore, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme: +Turn out on her guard in the clap o' a hand, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +Whae'er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +A reekit wee deevil looks over the wa', +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +"O help, maister, help, or she'll ruin us a'!" +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +The Devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +He pitied the man that was tied to a wife, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +He was not in wedlock, thank Heav'n, but in hell, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +And to her auld husband he's carried her back, +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +I hae been a Devil the feck o' my life, +Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; +"But ne'er was in hell till I met wi' a wife," +And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. + +The Slave's Lament + +It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, +For the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O: +Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; +And alas! I am weary, weary O: +Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; +And alas! I am weary, weary O. + +All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost, +Like the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O: +There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow, +And alas! I am weary, weary O: +There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow, +And alas! I am weary, weary O: + +The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, +In the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O; +And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, +And alas! I am weary, weary O: +And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, +And alas! I am weary, weary O: + +O Can Ye Labour Lea? + +Chorus-O can ye labour lea, young man, +O can ye labour lea? +It fee nor bountith shall us twine +Gin ye can labour lea. + +I fee'd a man at Michaelmas, +Wi' airle pennies three; +But a' the faut I had to him, +He could na labour lea, +O can ye labour lea, &c. + +O clappin's gude in Febarwar, +An' kissin's sweet in May; +But my delight's the ploughman lad, +That weel can labour lea, +O can ye labour lea, &c. + +O kissin is the key o' luve, +And clappin' is the lock; +An' makin' o's the best thing yet, +That e'er a young thing gat. +O can ye labour lea, &c. + +The Deuks Dang O'er My Daddie + +The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, +The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O! +The fien-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife, +He was but a paidlin' body, O! +He paidles out, and he paidles in, +rn' he paidles late and early, O! +This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, +An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O. + +O haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife, +O haud your tongue, now Nansie, O: +I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, +Ye wad na ben sae donsie, O. +I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, +And cuddl'd me late and early, O; +But downa-do's come o'er me now, +And oh, I find it sairly, O! + +The Deil's Awa Wi' The Exciseman + +The deil cam fiddlin' thro' the town, +And danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman, +And ilka wife cries, "Auld Mahoun, +I wish you luck o' the prize, man." +Chorus-The deil's awa, the deil's awa, +The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman, +He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa, +He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. + +We'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink, +We'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man, +And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil, +That danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman. +The deil's awa, &c. + +There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, +There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man, +But the ae best dance ere came to the land +Was-the deil's awa wi' the Exciseman. +The deil's awa, &c. + +The Country Lass + +In simmer, when the hay was mawn, +And corn wav'd green in ilka field, +While claver blooms white o'er the lea +And roses blaw in ilka beild! +Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel, +Says-"I'll be wed, come o't what will": +Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild; +"O' gude advisement comes nae ill. + +"It's ye hae wooers mony ane, +And lassie, ye're but young ye ken; +Then wait a wee, and cannie wale +A routhie butt, a routhie ben; +There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, +Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; +Take this frae me, my bonie hen, +It's plenty beets the luver's fire." + +"For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, +I dinna care a single flie; +He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, +He has nae love to spare for me; +But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, +And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: +Ae blink o' him I wad na gie +For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." + +"O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught; +The canniest gate, the strife is sair; +But aye fu'-han't is fechtin' best, +A hungry care's an unco care: +But some will spend and some will spare, +An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will; +Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, +Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill." + +"O gear will buy me rigs o' land, +And gear will buy me sheep and kye; +But the tender heart o' leesome love, +The gowd and siller canna buy; +We may be poor-Robie and I- +Light is the burden love lays on; +Content and love brings peace and joy- +What mair hae Queens upon a throne?" + +Bessy And Her Spinnin' Wheel + +O Leeze me on my spinnin' wheel, +And leeze me on my rock and reel; +Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien, +And haps me biel and warm at e'en; +I'll set me down and sing and spin, +While laigh descends the simmer sun, +Blest wi' content, and milk and meal, +O leeze me on my spinnin' wheel. + +On ilka hand the burnies trot, +And meet below my theekit cot; +The scented birk and hawthorn white, +Across the pool their arms unite, +Alike to screen the birdie's nest, +And little fishes' caller rest; +The sun blinks kindly in the beil', +Where blythe I turn my spinnin' wheel. + +On lofty aiks the cushats wail, +And Echo cons the doolfu' tale; +The lintwhites in the hazel braes, +Delighted, rival ither's lays; +The craik amang the claver hay, +The pairtrick whirring o'er the ley, +The swallow jinkin' round my shiel, +Amuse me at my spinnin' wheel. + +Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, +Aboon distress, below envy, +O wha wad leave this humble state, +For a' the pride of a' the great? +Amid their flairing, idle toys, +Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, +Can they the peace and pleasure feel +Of Bessy at her spinnin' wheel? + +Love For Love + +Ithers seek they ken na what, +Features, carriage, and a' that; +Gie me love in her I court, +Love to love maks a' the sport. + +Let love sparkle in her e'e; +Let her lo'e nae man but me; +That's the tocher-gude I prize, +There the luver's treasure lies. + +Saw Ye Bonie Lesley + +O saw ye bonie Lesley, +As she gaed o'er the Border? +She's gane, like Alexander, +To spread her conquests farther. + +To see her is to love her, +And love but her for ever; +For Nature made her what she is, +And never made anither! + +Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, +Thy subjects, we before thee; +Thou art divine, fair Lesley, +The hearts o' men adore thee. + +The deil he could na scaith thee, +Or aught that wad belang thee; +He'd look into thy bonie face, +And say-"I canna wrang thee!" + +The Powers aboon will tent thee, +Misfortune sha'na steer thee; +Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, +That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. + +Return again, fair Lesley, +Return to Caledonie! +That we may brag we hae a lass +There's nane again sae bonie. + +Fragment Of Song + +No cold approach, no altered mien, +Just what would make suspicion start; +No pause the dire extremes between, +He made me blest-and broke my heart. + +I'll Meet Thee On The Lea Rig + +When o'er the hill the eastern star +Tells bughtin time is near, my jo, +And owsen frae the furrow'd field +Return sae dowf and weary O; +Down by the burn, where birken buds +Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo, +I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, +My ain kind Dearie O. + +At midnight hour, in mirkest glen, +I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, +If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, +My ain kind Dearie O; +Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, +And I were ne'er sae weary O, +I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, +My ain kind Dearie O. + +The hunter lo'es the morning sun; +To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; +At noon the fisher seeks the glen +Adown the burn to steer, my jo: +Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey, +It maks my heart sae cheery O, +To meet thee on the lea-rig, +My ain kind Dearie O. + +My Wife's A Winsome Wee Thing + +Air-"My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing." + +Chorus.-She is a winsome wee thing, +She is a handsome wee thing, +She is a lo'esome wee thing, +This dear wee wife o' mine. + +I never saw a fairer, +I never lo'ed a dearer, +And neist my heart I'll wear her, +For fear my jewel tine, +She is a winsome, &c. + +The warld's wrack we share o't; +The warstle and the care o't; +Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, +And think my lot divine. +She is a winsome, &c. + +Highland Mary + +tune-"Katherine Ogie." + +Ye banks, and braes, and streams around +The castle o' Montgomery! +Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, +Your waters never drumlie: +There Simmer first unfauld her robes, +And there the langest tarry; +For there I took the last Farewell +O' my sweet Highland Mary. + +How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, +How rich the hawthorn's blossom, +As underneath their fragrant shade, +I clasp'd her to my bosom! +The golden Hours on angel wings, +Flew o'er me and my Dearie; +For dear to me, as light and life, +Was my sweet Highland Mary. + +Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, +Our parting was fu' tender; +And, pledging aft to meet again, +We tore oursels asunder; +But oh! fell Death's untimely frost, +That nipt my Flower sae early! +Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay +That wraps my Highland Mary! + +O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, +I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! +And clos'd for aye, the sparkling glance +That dwalt on me sae kindly! +And mouldering now in silent dust, +That heart that lo'ed me dearly! +But still within my bosom's core +Shall live my Highland Mary. + +Auld Rob Morris + +There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, +He's the King o' gude fellows, and wale o' auld men; +He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, +And ae bonie lass, his dautie and mine. + +She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; +She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; +As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, +And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. + +But oh! she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird, +And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; +A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, +The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. + +The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; +The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; +I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, +And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. + +O had she but been of a lower degree, +I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! +O how past descriving had then been my bliss, +As now my distraction nae words can express. + +The Rights Of Woman + +An Occasional Address. + +Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit night, November 26, 1792. + +While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, +The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings; +While quacks of State must each produce his plan, +And even children lisp the Rights of Man; +Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, +The Rights of Woman merit some attention. + +First, in the Sexes' intermix'd connection, +One sacred Right of Woman is, protection. - +The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, +Helpless, must fall before the blasts of Fate, +Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, +Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. + +Our second Right-but needless here is caution, +To keep that right inviolate's the fashion; +Each man of sense has it so full before him, +He'd die before he'd wrong it-'tis decorum. - +There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, +A time, when rough rude man had naughty ways, +Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, +Nay even thus invade a Lady's quiet. + +Now, thank our stars! those Gothic times are fled; +Now, well-bred men-and you are all well-bred- +Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) +Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. + +For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, +That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest; +Which even the Rights of Kings, in low prostration, +Most humbly own-'tis dear, dear admiration! +In that blest sphere alone we live and move; +There taste that life of life-immortal love. +Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs; +'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares, +When awful Beauty joins with all her charms- +Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? + +But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, +With bloody armaments and revolutions; +Let Majesty your first attention summon, +Ah! ca ira! The Majesty Of Woman! + +Epigram On Seeing Miss Fontenelle In A Favourite Character + +Sweet naivete of feature, +Simple, wild, enchanting elf, +Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, +Thou art acting but thyself. + +Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, +Spurning Nature, torturing art; +Loves and Graces all rejected, +Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. + +Extempore On Some Commemorations Of Thomson + +Dost thou not rise, indignant shade, +And smile wi' spurning scorn, +When they wha wad hae starved thy life, +Thy senseless turf adorn? + +Helpless, alane, thou clamb the brae, +Wi' meikle honest toil, +And claught th' unfading garland there- +Thy sair-worn, rightful spoil. + +And wear it thou! and call aloud +This axiom undoubted- +Would thou hae Nobles' patronage? +First learn to live without it! + +To whom hae much, more shall be given, +Is every Great man's faith; +But he, the helpless, needful wretch, +Shall lose the mite he hath. + +Duncan Gray + +Duncan Gray cam' here to woo, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't, +On blythe Yule-night when we were fou, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't, +Maggie coost her head fu' heigh, +Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, +Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; +Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + +Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd; +Ha, ha, the wooing o't, +Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't: +Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, +Grat his e'en baith blear't an' blin', +Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn; +Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + +Time and Chance are but a tide, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't, +Slighted love is sair to bide, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't: +Shall I like a fool, quoth he, +For a haughty hizzie die? +She may gae to-France for me! +Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + +How it comes let doctors tell, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't; +Meg grew sick, as he grew hale, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + +Something in her bosom wrings, +For relief a sigh she brings: +And oh! her een they spak sic things! +Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + +Duncan was a lad o' grace, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't: +Maggie's was a piteous case, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't: +Duncan could na be her death, +Swelling Pity smoor'd his wrath; +Now they're crouse and canty baith, +Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + +Here's A Health To Them That's Awa + +Here's a health to them that's awa, +Here's a health to them that's awa; +And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause, +May never gude luck be their fa'! +It's gude to be merry and wise, +It's gude to be honest and true; +It's gude to support Caledonia's cause, +And bide by the buff and the blue. + +Here's a health to them that's awa, +Here's a health to them that's awa, +Here's a health to Charlie^1 the chief o' the clan, +Altho' that his band be but sma'! +May Liberty meet wi' success! +May Prudence protect her frae evil! +May tyrants and tyranny tine i' the mist, +And wander their way to the devil! + +Here's a health to them that's awa, +Here's a health to them that's awa; +Here's a health to Tammie,^2 the Norlan' laddie, +That lives at the lug o' the law! +Here's freedom to them that wad read, +Here's freedom to them that wad write, + +[Footnote 1: Charles James Fox.] + +[Footnote 2: Hon. Thos. Erskine, afterwards Lord Erskine.] + +There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, +But they whom the truth would indite. + +Here's a Health to them that's awa, +An' here's to them that's awa! +Here's to Maitland and Wycombe, let wha doesna like 'em +Be built in a hole in the wa'; +Here's timmer that's red at the heart +Here's fruit that is sound at the core; +And may he be that wad turn the buff and blue coat +Be turn'd to the back o' the door. + +Here's a health to them that's awa, +Here's a health to them that's awa; +Here's chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, +Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw; +Here's friends on baith sides o' the firth, +And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed; +And wha wad betray old Albion's right, +May they never eat of her bread! + +A Tippling Ballad + + On the Duke of Brunswick's Breaking up his Camp, and the defeat of the +Austrians, by Dumourier, November 1792. + +When Princes and Prelates, +And hot-headed zealots, +A'Europe had set in a low, a low, +The poor man lies down, +Nor envies a crown, +And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow, +And comforts himself as he dow. + +The black-headed eagle, +As keen as a beagle, +He hunted o'er height and o'er howe, +In the braes o' Gemappe, +He fell in a trap, +E'en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow, +E'en let him come out as he dow. + +But truce with commotions, +And new-fangled notions, +A bumper, I trust you'll allow; +Here's George our good king, +And Charlotte his queen, +And lang may they ring as they dow, dow, dow, +And lang may they ring as they dow. + +Poortith Cauld And Restless Love + +tune-"Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." + +O poortith cauld, and restless love, +Ye wrack my peace between ye; +Yet poortith a' I could forgive, +An 'twere na for my Jeanie. + +Chorus-O why should Fate sic pleasure have, +Life's dearest bands untwining? +Or why sae sweet a flower as love +Depend on Fortune's shining? + +The warld's wealth, when I think on, +It's pride and a' the lave o't; +O fie on silly coward man, +That he should be the slave o't! +O why, &c. + +Her e'en, sae bonie blue, betray +How she repays my passion; +But prudence is her o'erword aye, +She talks o' rank and fashion. +O why, &c. + +O wha can prudence think upon, +And sic a lassie by him? +O wha can prudence think upon, +And sae in love as I am? +O why, &c. + +How blest the simple cotter's fate! +He woos his artless dearie; +The silly bogles, wealth and state, +Can never make him eerie, +O why, &c. + +On Politics + +In Politics if thou would'st mix, +And mean thy fortunes be; +Bear this in mind,-be deaf and blind, +Let great folk hear and see. + +Braw Lads O' Galla Water + +Braw, braw lads on Yarrow-braes, +They rove amang the blooming heather; +But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws +Can match the lads o' Galla Water. + +But there is ane, a secret ane, +Aboon them a' I loe him better; +And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, +The bonie lad o' Galla Water. + +Altho' his daddie was nae laird, +And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher, +Yet rich in kindest, truest love, +We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. + +It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, +That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; +The bands and bliss o' mutual love, +O that's the chiefest warld's treasure. + +Sonnet Written On The Author's Birthday, + +On hearing a Thrush sing in his Morning Walk. + +Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, +Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, +See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, +At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow. + +So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, +Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart; +Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, +Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear. + +I thank thee, Author of this opening day! +Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies! +Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys- +What wealth could never give nor take away! + +Yet come, thou child of poverty and care, +The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share. + +Wandering Willie + +First Version + +Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, +Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame; +Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, +And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. +Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; +It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e: +Now welcome the Simmer, and welcome my Willie, +The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me. + +Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o'your slumbers, +O how your wild horrors a lover alarms! +Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows, +And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. +But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie, +O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main; +May I never see it, may I never trow it, +But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! + +Wandering Willie + +Revised Version + +Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, +Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; +Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, +Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. +Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, +Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, +Welcome nowhSimmer, and welcome, my Willie, +The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me! + +Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, +How your dread howling a lover alarms! +Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, +And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. +But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, +Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main! +May I never see it, may I never trow it, +But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! + +Lord Gregory + +O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, +And loud the tempest's roar; +A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, +Lord Gregory, ope thy door. +An exile frae her father's ha', +And a' for loving thee; +At least some pity on me shaw, +If love it may na be. + +Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove +By bonie Irwine side, +Where first I own'd that virgin love +I lang, lang had denied. +How aften didst thou pledge and vow +Thou wad for aye be mine! +And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, +It ne'er mistrusted thine. + +Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, +And flinty is thy breast: +Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, +O, wilt thou bring me rest! +Ye mustering thunders from above, +Your willing victim see; +But spare and pardon my fause Love, +His wrangs to Heaven and me. + +Open The Door To Me, Oh + +Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, +Oh, open the door to me, oh, +Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, +Oh, open the door to me, oh. + +Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, +But caulder thy love for me, oh: +The frost that freezes the life at my heart, +Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh. + +The wan Moon is setting beyond the white wave, +And Time is setting with me, oh: +False friends, false love, farewell! for mair +I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh. + +She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide, +She sees the pale corse on the plain, oh: +"My true love!" she cried, and sank down by his side, +Never to rise again, oh. + +Lovely Young Jessie + +True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, +And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr; +But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, +Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: +To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; +To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain, +Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, +And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. + +O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, +And sweet is the lily, at evening close; +But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, +Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. +Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; +Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law: +And still to her charms she alone is a stranger; +Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. + +Meg O' The Mill + +O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, +An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? +She gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller, +And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. + +The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; +A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady; +The laird was a widdifu', bleerit knurl; +She's left the gude fellow, and taen the churl. + +The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving, +The lair did address her wi' matter mair moving, +A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear chained bridle, +A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle. + +O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin', +And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen! +A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, +But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl'! + +Meg O' The Mill + +Another Version + +O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, +An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? +A braw new naig wi' the tail o' a rottan, +And that's what Meg o' the Mill has gotten. + +O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly, +An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly? +A dram o' gude strunt in the morning early, +And that's what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly. + +O ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married, +An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married? +The priest he was oxter'd, the clark he was carried, +And that's how Meg o' the Mill was married. + +O ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded, +An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded? +The groom gat sae fou', he fell awald beside it, +And that's how Meg o' the Mill was bedded. + +The Soldier's Return + +Air-"The Mill, mill, O." + +When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, +And gentle peace returning, +Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, +And mony a widow mourning; +I left the lines and tented field, +Where lang I'd been a lodger, +My humble knapsack a' my wealth, +A poor and honest sodger. + +A leal, light heart was in my breast, +My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; +And for fair Scotia hame again, +I cheery on did wander: +I thought upon the banks o' Coil, +I thought upon my Nancy, +I thought upon the witching smile +That caught my youthful fancy. + +At length I reach'd the bonie glen, +Where early life I sported; +I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn, +Where Nancy aft I courted: +Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, +Down by her mother's dwelling! +And turn'd me round to hide the flood +That in my een was swelling. + +Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass, +Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, +O! happy, happy may he be, +That's dearest to thy bosom: +My purse is light, I've far to gang, +And fain would be thy lodger; +I've serv'd my king and country lang- +Take pity on a sodger." + +Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, +And lovelier was than ever; +Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed, +Forget him shall I never: +Our humble cot, and hamely fare, +Ye freely shall partake it; +That gallant badge-the dear cockade, +Ye're welcome for the sake o't." + +She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose - +Syne pale like only lily; +She sank within my arms, and cried, +"Art thou my ain dear Willie?" +"By him who made yon sun and sky! +By whom true love's regarded, +I am the man; and thus may still +True lovers be rewarded. + +"The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, +And find thee still true-hearted; +Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, +And mair we'se ne'er be parted." +Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd, +A mailen plenish'd fairly; +And come, my faithfu' sodger lad, +Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!" + +For gold the merchant ploughs the main, +The farmer ploughs the manor; +But glory is the sodger's prize, +The sodgerpppp's wealth is honor: +The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, +Nor count him as a stranger; +Remember he's his country's stay, +In day and hour of danger. + +Versicles, A.D. 1793 + +The True Loyal Natives + +Ye true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song +In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; +From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt, +But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt! + +On Commissary Goldie's Brains + +Lord, to account who dares thee call, +Or e'er dispute thy pleasure? +Else why, within so thick a wall, +Enclose so poor a treasure? + +Lines Inscribed In A Lady's Pocket Almanac + +Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live, +To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; +Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, +Till Slave and Despot be but things that were. + +Thanksgiving For A National Victory + +Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? +To murder men and give God thanks! +Desist, for shame!-proceed no further; +God won't accept your thanks for Murther! + +Lines On The Commemoration Of Rodney's Victory + +Instead of a Song, boy's, I'll give you a Toast; +Here's to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!- +That we lost, did I say?-nay, by Heav'n, that we found; +For their fame it will last while the world goes round. + +The next in succession I'll give you's the King! +Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing! +And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, +As built on the base of our great Revolution! +And longer with Politics not to be cramm'd, +Be Anarchy curs'd, and Tyranny damn'd! +And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, +May his son be a hangman-and he his first trial! + +The Raptures Of Folly + +Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures; +Give me with young Folly to live; +I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, +But Folly has raptures to give. + +Kirk and State Excisemen + +Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering +'Gainst poor Excisemen? Give the cause a hearing: +What are your Landlord's rent-rolls? Taxing ledgers! +What Premiers? What ev'n Monarchs? Mighty Gaugers! +Nay, what are Priests? (those seeming godly wise-men,) +What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excisemen! + +Extempore Reply To An Invitation + +The King's most humble servant, I +Can scarcely spare a minute; +But I'll be wi' you by an' by; +Or else the Deil's be in it. + +Grace After Meat + +Lord, we thank, and thee adore, +For temporal gifts we little merit; +At present we will ask no more- +Let William Hislop give the spirit. + +Grace Before And After Meat + +O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, +Do thou stand us in stead, +And send us, from thy bounteous store, +A tup or wether head! Amen. + +O Lord, since we have feasted thus, +Which we so little merit, +Let Meg now take away the flesh, +And Jock bring in the spirit! Amen. + +Impromptu On General Dumourier's Desertion From The French Republican Army + +You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier; +You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier: +How does Dampiere do? +Ay, and Bournonville too? +Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? + +I will fight France with you, Dumourier; +I will fight France with you, Dumourier; +I will fight France with you, +I will take my chance with you; +By my soul, I'll dance with you, Dumourier. + +Then let us fight about, Dumourier; +Then let us fight about, Dumourier; +Then let us fight about, +Till Freedom's spark be out, +Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier. + +The Last Time I Came O'er The Moor + +The last time I came o'er the moor, +And left Maria's dwelling, +What throes, what tortures passing cure, +Were in my bosom swelling: +Condemn'd to see my rival's reign, +While I in secret languish; +To feel a fire in every vein, +Yet dare not speak my anguish. + +Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I +Fain, fain, my crime would cover; +Th' unweeting groan, the bursting sigh, +Betray the guilty lover. +I know my doom must be despair, +Thou wilt nor canst relieve me; +But oh, Maria, hear my prayer, +For Pity's sake forgive me! + +The music of thy tongue I heard, +Nor wist while it enslav'd me; +I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, +Till fear no more had sav'd me: +The unwary sailor thus, aghast, +The wheeling torrent viewing, +'Mid circling horrors yields at last +To overwhelming ruin. + +Logan Braes + +tune-"Logan Water." + +O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, +That day I was my Willie's bride, +And years sin syne hae o'er us run, +Like Logan to the simmer sun: +But now thy flowery banks appear +Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear, +While my dear lad maun face his faes, +Far, far frae me and Logan braes. + +Again the merry month of May +Has made our hills and valleys gay; +The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, +The bees hum round the breathing flowers; +Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye, +And Evening's tears are tears o' joy: +My soul, delightless a' surveys, +While Willie's far frae Logan braes. + +Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, +Amang her nestlings sits the thrush: +Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, +Or wi' his song her cares beguile; +But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, +Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, +Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, +While Willie's far frae Logan braes. + +O wae be to you, Men o' State, +That brethren rouse to deadly hate! +As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, +Sae may it on your heads return! +How can your flinty hearts enjoy +The widow's tear, the orphan's cry? +But soon may peace bring happy days, +And Willie hame to Logan braes! + +Blythe Hae I been On Yon Hill + +tune-"The Quaker's Wife." + +Blythe hae I been on yon hill, +As the lambs before me; +Careless ilka thought and free, +As the breeze flew o'er me; +Now nae langer sport and play, +Mirth or sang can please me; +Lesley is sae fair and coy, +Care and anguish seize me. + +Heavy, heavy is the task, +Hopeless love declaring; +Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r, +Sighing, dumb despairing! +If she winna ease the thraws +In my bosom swelling, +Underneath the grass-green sod, +Soon maun be my dwelling. + +O Were My Love Yon Lilac Fair + +Air-"Hughie Graham." + +O were my love yon Lilac fair, +Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring, +And I, a bird to shelter there, +When wearied on my little wing! +How I wad mourn when it was torn +By Autumn wild, and Winter rude! +But I wad sing on wanton wing, +When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. + +O gin my love were yon red rose, +That grows upon the castle wa'; +And I myself a drap o' dew, +Into her bonie breast to fa'! +O there, beyond expression blest, +I'd feast on beauty a' the night; +Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, +Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light! + +Bonie Jean-A Ballad + +To its ain tune. + +There was a lass, and she was fair, +At kirk or market to be seen; +When a' our fairest maids were met, +The fairest maid was bonie Jean. + +And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, +And aye she sang sae merrilie; +The blythest bird upon the bush +Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. + +But hawks will rob the tender joys +That bless the little lintwhite's nest; +And frost will blight the fairest flowers, +And love will break the soundest rest. + +Young Robie was the brawest lad, +The flower and pride of a' the glen; +And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, +And wanton naigies nine or ten. + +He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, +He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; +And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist, +Her heart was tint, her peace was stown! + +As in the bosom of the stream, +The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en; +So trembling, pure, was tender love +Within the breast of bonie Jean. + +And now she works her mammie's wark, +And aye she sighs wi' care and pain; +Yet wist na what her ail might be, +Or what wad make her weel again. + +But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, +And didna joy blink in her e'e, +As Robie tauld a tale o' love +Ae e'ening on the lily lea? + +The sun was sinking in the west, +The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; +His cheek to hers he fondly laid, +And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: + +"O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; +O canst thou think to fancy me, +Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, +And learn to tent the farms wi' me? + +"At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, +Or naething else to trouble thee; +But stray amang the heather-bells, +And tent the waving corn wi' me." + +Now what could artless Jeanie do? +She had nae will to say him na: +At length she blush'd a sweet consent, +And love was aye between them twa. + +Lines On John M'Murdo, ESQ. + +Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day! +No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray; +No wrinkle, furrow'd by the hand of care, +Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair! +O may no son the father's honour stain, +Nor ever daughter give the mother pain! + +Epitaph On A Lap-Dog + +Named Echo + +In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, +Your heavy loss deplore; +Now, half extinct your powers of song, +Sweet Echo is no more. + +Ye jarring, screeching things around, +Scream your discordant joys; +Now, half your din of tuneless sound +With Echo silent lies. + +Epigrams Against The Earl Of Galloway + +What dost thou in that mansion fair? +Flit, Galloway, and find +Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, +The picture of thy mind. + +No Stewart art thou, Galloway, +The Stewarts 'll were brave; +Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, +Not one of them a knave. + +Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, +Thro' many a far-fam'd sire! +So ran the far-famed Roman way, +And ended in a mire. + +Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway! +In quiet let me live: +I ask no kindness at thy hand, +For thou hast none to give. + +Epigram On The Laird Of Laggan + +When Morine, deceas'd, to the Devil went down, +'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown; +"Thy fool's head," quoth Satan, "that crown shall wear never, +I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever." + +Song -Phillis The Fair + +tune-"Robin Adair." + +While larks, with little wing, +Fann'd the pure air, +Tasting the breathing Spring, +Forth I did fare: +Gay the sun's golden eye +Peep'd o'er the mountains high; +Such thy morn! did I cry, +Phillis the fair. + +In each bird's careless song, +Glad I did share; +While yon wild-flowers among, +Chance led me there! +Sweet to the op'ning day, +Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; +Such thy bloom! did I say, +Phillis the fair. + +Down in a shady walk, +Doves cooing were; +I mark'd the cruel hawk +Caught in a snare: +So kind may fortune be, +Such make his destiny, +He who would injure thee, +Phillis the fair. + +Song -Had I A Cave + +tune-"Robin Adair." + +Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, +Where the winds howl to the wave's dashing roar: +There would I weep my woes, +There seek my lost repose, +Till grief my eyes should close, +Ne'er to wake more! + +Falsest of womankind, can'st thou declare +All thy fond, plighted vows fleeting as air! +To thy new lover hie, +Laugh o'er thy perjury; +Then in thy bosom try +What peace is there! + +Song.-By Allan Stream + +By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, +While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi; +The winds are whispering thro' the grove, +The yellow corn was waving ready: +I listen'd to a lover's sang, +An' thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; +And aye the wild-wood echoes rang- +"O, dearly do I love thee, Annie! + +"O, happy be the woodbine bower, +Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; +Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, +The place and time I met my Dearie! +Her head upon my throbbing breast, +She, sinking, said, 'I'm thine for ever!' +While mony a kiss the seal imprest- +The sacred vow we ne'er should sever." + +The haunt o' Spring's the primrose-brae, +The Summer joys the flocks to follow; +How cheery thro' her short'ning day, +Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow; +But can they melt the glowing heart, +Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? +Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, +Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? + +Whistle, And I'll Come To You, My Lad + +Chorus.-O Whistle, an' I'll come to ye, my lad, +O whistle, an' I'll come to ye, my lad, +Tho' father an' mother an' a' should gae mad, +O whistle, an' I'll come to ye, my lad. + +But warily tent when ye come to court me, +And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee; +Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, +And come as ye were na comin' to me, +And come as ye were na comin' to me. +O whistle an' I'll come, &c. + +At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, +Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie; +But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e, +Yet look as ye were na lookin' to me, +Yet look as ye were na lookin' to me. +O whistle an' I'll come, &c. + +Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, +And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a-wee; +But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be, +For fear that she wile your fancy frae me, +For fear that she wile your fancy frae me. +O whistle an' I'll come, &c. + +Phillis The Queen O' The Fair + +tune-"The Muckin o' Geordie's Byre." + +Adown winding Nith I did wander, +To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; +Adown winding Nith I did wander, +Of Phillis to muse and to sing. + +Chorus.-Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties, +They never wi' her can compare, +Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, +Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. + +The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, +So artless, so simple, so wild; +Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis- +For she is Simplicity's child. +Awa' wi' your belles, &c. + +The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, +Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest: +How fair and how pure is the lily! +But fairer and purer her breast. +Awa' wi' your belles, &c. + +Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, +They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie: +Her breath is the breath of the woodbine, +Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. +Awa' wi' your belles, &c. + +Her voice is the song o' the morning, +That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove +When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, +On music, and pleasure, and love. +Awa' wi' your belles, &c. + +But beauty, how frail and how fleeting! +The bloom of a fine summer's day; +While worth in the mind o' my Phillis, +Will flourish without a decay. +Awa' wi' your belles, &c. + +Come, Let Me Take Thee To My Breast + +Come, let me take thee to my breast, +And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; +And I shall spurn as vilest dust +The world's wealth and grandeur: +And do I hear my Jeanie own +That equal transports move her? +I ask for dearest life alone, +That I may live to love her. + +Thus, in my arms, wi' a' her charms, +I clasp my countless treasure; +I'll seek nae main o' Heav'n to share, +Tha sic a moment's pleasure: +And by thy e'en sae bonie blue, +I swear I'm thine for ever! +And on thy lips I seal my vow, +And break it shall I never. + +Dainty Davie + +Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, +To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers; +And now comes in the happy hours, +To wander wi' my Davie. + +Chorus.-Meet me on the warlock knowe, +Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie; +There I'll spend the day wi' you, +My ain dear Dainty Davie. + +The crystal waters round us fa', +The merry birds are lovers a', +The scented breezes round us blaw, +A wandering wi' my Davie. +Meet me on, &c. + +As purple morning starts the hare, +To steal upon her early fare, +Then thro' the dews I will repair, +To meet my faithfu' Davie. +Meet me on, &c. + +When day, expiring in the west, +The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, +I flee to his arms I loe' the best, +And that's my ain dear Davie. +Meet me on, &c. + +Robert Bruce's March To Bannockburn + +Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, +Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, +Welcome to your gory bed, +Or to Victorie! + +Now's the day, and now's the hour; +See the front o' battle lour; +See approach proud Edward's power- +Chains and Slaverie! + +Wha will be a traitor knave? +Wha can fill a coward's grave? +Wha sae base as be a Slave? +Let him turn and flee! + +Wha, for Scotland's King and Law, +Freedom's sword will strongly draw, +Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', +Let him on wi' me! + +By Oppression's woes and pains! +By your Sons in servile chains! +We will drain our dearest veins, +But they shall be free! + +Lay the proud Usurpers low! +Tyrants fall in every foe! +Liberty's in every blow!- +Let us Do or Die! + +Behold The Hour, The Boat Arrive + +Behold the hour, the boat arrive; +Thou goest, the darling of my heart; +Sever'd from thee, can I survive, +But Fate has will'd and we must part. +I'll often greet the surging swell, +Yon distant Isle will often hail: +"E'en here I took the last farewell; +There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." +Along the solitary shore, +While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, +Across the rolling, dashing roar, +I'll westward turn my wistful eye: +"Happy thou Indian grove," I'll say, +"Where now my Nancy's path may be! +While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, +O tell me, does she muse on me!" + +Down The Burn, Davie + +As down the burn they took their way, +And thro' the flowery dale; +His cheek to hers he aft did lay, +And love was aye the tale: + +With "Mary, when shall we return, +Sic pleasure to renew?" +Quoth Mary-"Love, I like the burn, +And aye shall follow you." + +Thou Hast Left Me Ever, Jamie + +tune-"Fee him, father, fee him." + +Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, +Thou hast left me ever; +Thou has left me ever, Jamie, +Thou hast left me ever: +Aften hast thou vow'd that Death +Only should us sever; +Now thou'st left thy lass for aye- +I maun see thee never, Jamie, +I'll see thee never. + +Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, +Thou hast me forsaken; +Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, +Thou hast me forsaken; +Thou canst love another jo, +While my heart is breaking; +Soon my weary een I'll close, +Never mair to waken, Jamie, +Never mair to waken! + +Where Are The Joys I have Met? + +tune-"Saw ye my father." + +Where are the joys I have met in the morning, +That danc'd to the lark's early song? +Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, +At evening the wild-woods among? + +No more a winding the course of yon river, +And marking sweet flowerets so fair, +No more I trace the light footsteps of Pleasure, +But Sorrow and sad-sighing Care. + +Is it that Summer's forsaken our valleys, +And grim, surly Winter is near? +No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses +Proclaim it the pride of the year. + +Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, +Yet long, long, too well have I known; +All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, +Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. + +Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, +Nor Hope dare a comfort bestow: +Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, +Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. + +Deluded Swain, The Pleasure + +tune-"The Collier's Dochter." + +Deluded swain, the pleasure +The fickle Fair can give thee, +Is but a fairy treasure, +Thy hopes will soon deceive thee: +The billows on the ocean, +The breezes idly roaming, +The cloud's uncertain motion, +They are but types of Woman. + +O art thou not asham'd +To doat upon a feature? +If Man thou wouldst be nam'd, +Despise the silly creature. +Go, find an honest fellow, +Good claret set before thee, +Hold on till thou art mellow, +And then to bed in glory! + +Thine Am I, My Faithful Fair + +tune-"The Quaker's Wife." + +Thine am I, my faithful Fair, +Thine, my lovely Nancy; +Ev'ry pulse along my veins, +Ev'ry roving fancy. +To thy bosom lay my heart, +There to throb and languish; +Tho' despair had wrung its core, +That would heal its anguish. + +Take away those rosy lips, +Rich with balmy treasure; +Turn away thine eyes of love, +Lest I die with pleasure! +What is life when wanting Love? +Night without a morning: +Love's the cloudless summer sun, +Nature gay adorning. + +On Mrs. Riddell's Birthday + +4th November 1793. + +Old Winter, with his frosty beard, +Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: +"What have I done of all the year, +To bear this hated doom severe? + +My cheerless suns no pleasure know; +Night's horrid car drags, dreary slow; +My dismal months no joys are crowning, +But spleeny English hanging, drowning. + +"Now Jove, for once be mighty civil. +To counterbalance all this evil; +Give me, and I've no more to say, +Give me Maria's natal day! +That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, +Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me." +"'Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story, +And Winter once rejoiced in glory. + +My Spouse Nancy + +tune-"My Jo Janet." + +"Husband, husband, cease your strife, +Nor longer idly rave, Sir; +Tho' I am your wedded wife +Yet I am not your slave, Sir." +"One of two must still obey, +Nancy, Nancy; +Is it Man or Woman, say, +My spouse Nancy?' + +"If 'tis still the lordly word, +Service and obedience; +I'll desert my sov'reign lord, +And so, good bye, allegiance!" +"Sad shall I be, so bereft, +Nancy, Nancy; +Yet I'll try to make a shift, +My spouse Nancy." + +"My poor heart, then break it must, +My last hour I am near it: +When you lay me in the dust, +Think how you will bear it." + +"I will hope and trust in Heaven, +Nancy, Nancy; +Strength to bear it will be given, +My spouse Nancy." + +"Well, Sir, from the silent dead, +Still I'll try to daunt you; +Ever round your midnight bed +Horrid sprites shall haunt you!" +"I'll wed another like my dear +Nancy, Nancy; +Then all hell will fly for fear, +My spouse Nancy." + +Address + + Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her Benefit Night, December 4th, 1793, +at the Theatre, Dumfries. + +Still anxious to secure your partial favour, +And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, +A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, +'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; +So sought a poet, roosted near the skies, +Told him I came to feast my curious eyes; +Said, nothing like his works was ever printed; +And last, my prologue-business slily hinted. +"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, +"I know your bent-these are no laughing times: +Can you-but, Miss, I own I have my fears- +Dissolve in pause, and sentimental tears; +With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, +Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance; +Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, +Waving on high the desolating brand, +Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?" + +I could no more-askance the creature eyeing, +"D'ye think," said I, "this face was made for crying? +I'll laugh, that's poz-nay more, the world shall know it; +And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet!" + +Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief, +That Misery's another word for Grief: +I also think-so may I be a bride! +That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. + +Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, +Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; +Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive- +To make three guineas do the work of five: +Laugh in Misfortune's face-the beldam witch! +Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. + +Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, +Who long with jiltish airs and arts hast strove; +Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, +Measur'st in desperate thought-a rope-thy neck- +Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, +Peerest to meditate the healing leap: +Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf? +Laugh at her follies-laugh e'en at thyself: +Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, +And love a kinder-that's your grand specific. + +To sum up all, be merry, I advise; +And as we're merry, may we still be wise. + +Complimentary Epigram On Maria Riddell + +"Praise Woman still," his lordship roars, +"Deserv'd or not, no matter?" +But thee, whom all my soul adores, +Ev'n Flattery cannot flatter: + +Maria, all my thought and dream, +Inspires my vocal shell; +The more I praise my lovely theme, +The more the truth I tell. + +Remorseful Apology + +The friend whom, wild from Wisdom's way, +The fumes of wine infuriate send, +(Not moony madness more astray) +Who but deplores that hapless friend? + +Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, +Ah! why should I such scenes outlive? +Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!- +'Tis thine to pity and forgive. + +Wilt Thou Be My Dearie? + +tune-"The Sutor's Dochter." + +Wilt thou be my Dearie? +When Sorrow wring thy gentle heart, +O wilt thou let me cheer thee! +By the treasure of my soul, +That's the love I bear thee: +I swear and vow that only thou +Shall ever be my Dearie! +Only thou, I swear and vow, +Shall ever be my Dearie! + +Lassie, say thou lo'es me; +Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, +O say na thou'lt refuse me! +If it winna, canna be, +Thou for thine may choose me, +Let me, lassie, quickly die, +Still trusting that thou lo'es me! +Lassie, let me quickly die, +Still trusting that thou lo'es me! + +A Fiddler In The North + +tune-"The King o' France he rade a race." + +Amang the trees, where humming bees, +At buds and flowers were hinging, O, +Auld Caledon drew out her drone, +And to her pipe was singing, O: +'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels, +She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O: +When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels, +That dang her tapsalteerie, O. + +Their capon craws an' queer "ha, ha's," +They made our lugs grow eerie, O; +The hungry bike did scrape and fyke, +Till we were wae and weary, O: +But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd, +A prisoner, aughteen year awa', +He fir'd a Fiddler in the North, +That dang them tapsalteerie, O. + +The Minstrel At Lincluden + +tune-"Cumnock Psalms." + +As I stood by yon roofless tower, +Where the wa'flow'r scents the dery air, +Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, +And tells the midnight moon her care. + +Chorus-A lassie all alone, was making her moan, +Lamenting our lads beyond the sea: +In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honour's gane an' a', +And broken-hearted we maun die. + +The winds were laid, the air was till, +The stars they shot along the sky; +The tod was howling on the hill, +And the distant-echoing glens reply. +A lassie all alone, &c. + +The burn, adown its hazelly path, +Was rushing by the ruin'd wa', +Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, +Whase roarings seem'd to rise and fa'. +A lassie all alone, &c. + +The cauld blae North was streaming forth +Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din, +Athort the lift they start and shift, +Like Fortune's favours, tint as win. +A lassie all alone, &c. + +Now, looking over firth and fauld, +Her horn the pale-faced Cynthia rear'd, +When lo! in form of Minstrel auld, +A stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd. +A lassie all alone, &c. + +And frae his harp sic strains did flow, +Might rous'd the slumbering Dead to hear; +But oh, it was a tale of woe, +As ever met a Briton's ear! +A lassie all alone, &c. + +He sang wi' joy his former day, +He, weeping, wail'd his latter times; +But what he said-it was nae play, +I winna venture't in my rhymes. +A lassie all alone, &c. + +A Vision + +As I stood by yon roofless tower, +Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air, +Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, +And tells the midnight moon her care. + +The winds were laid, the air was still, +The stars they shot alang the sky; +The fox was howling on the hill, +And the distant echoing glens reply. + +The stream, adown its hazelly path, +Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, +Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, +Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. + +The cauld blae North was streaming forth +Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din; +Athwart the lift they start and shift, +Like Fortune's favors, tint as win. + +By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, +And, by the moonbeam, shook to see +A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, +Attir'd as Minstrels wont to be. + +Had I a statue been o' stane, +His daring look had daunted me; +And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, +The sacred posy-"Libertie!" + +And frae his harp sic strains did flow, +Might rous'd the slumb'ring Dead to hear; +But oh, it was a tale of woe, +As ever met a Briton's ear! + +He sang wi' joy his former day, +He, weeping, wailed his latter times; +But what he said-it was nae play, +I winna venture't in my rhymes. + +A Red, Red Rose + +[Hear Red, Red Rose] + +O my Luve's like a red, red rose, +That's newly sprung in June: +O my Luve's like the melodie, +That's sweetly play'd in tune. + +As fair art thou, my bonie lass, +So deep in luve am I; +And I will luve thee still, my dear, +Till a' the seas gang dry. + +Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, +And the rocks melt wi' the sun; +And I will luve thee still, my dear, +While the sands o' life shall run. + +And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! +And fare-thee-weel, a while! +And I will come again, my Luve, +Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile! + +Young Jamie, Pride Of A' The Plain + +tune-"The Carlin of the Glen." + +Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, +Sae gallant and sae gay a swain, +Thro' a' our lasses he did rove, +And reign'd resistless King of Love. + +But now, wi' sighs and starting tears, +He strays amang the woods and breirs; +Or in the glens and rocky caves, +His sad complaining dowie raves:- + +"I wha sae late did range and rove, +And chang'd with every moon my love, +I little thought the time was near, +Repentance I should buy sae dear. + +"The slighted maids my torments see, +And laugh at a' the pangs I dree; +While she, my cruel, scornful Fair, +Forbids me e'er to see her mair." + +The Flowery Banks Of Cree + +Here is the glen, and here the bower +All underneath the birchen shade; +The village-bell has told the hour, +O what can stay my lovely maid? + +'Tis not Maria's whispering call; +'Tis but the balmy breathing gale, +Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, +The dewy star of eve to hail. + +It is Maria's voice I hear; +So calls the woodlark in the grove, +His little, faithful mate to cheer; +At once 'tis music and 'tis love. + +And art thou come! and art thou true! +O welcome dear to love and me! +And let us all our vows renew, +Along the flowery banks of Cree. + +Monody + +On a lady famed for her Caprice. + +How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, +How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd; +How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, +How dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listen'd! + +If sorrow and anguish their exit await, +From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; +How doubly severer, Maria, thy fate, +Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd. + +Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you; +So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear: +But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, +And flowers let us cull for Maria's cold bier. + +We'll search through the garden for each silly flower, +We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed; +But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, +For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. + +We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay; +Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; +There keen Indignation shall dart on his prey, +Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. + +The Epitaph + +Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, +What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam: +Want only of wisdom denied her respect, +Want only of goodness denied her esteem. + +Pinned To Mrs. Walter Riddell's Carriage + +If you rattle along like your Mistress' tongue, +Your speed will outrival the dart; +But a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road, +If your stuff be as rotten's her heart. + +Epitaph For Mr. Walter Riddell + +Sic a reptile was Wat, sic a miscreant slave, +That the worms ev'n damn'd him when laid in his grave; +"In his flesh there's a famine," a starved reptile cries, +"And his heart is rank poison!" another replies. + +Epistle From Esopus To Maria + +From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, +Where Infamy with sad Repentance dwells; +Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, +And deal from iron hands the spare repast; +Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin, +Blush at the curious stranger peeping in; +Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, +Resolve to drink, nay, half, to whore, no more; +Where tiny thieves not destin'd yet to swing, +Beat hemp for others, riper for the string: +From these dire scenes my wretched lines I date, +To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. + +"Alas! I feel I am no actor here!" +'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear! +Prepare Maria, for a horrid tale +Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale; +Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd, +By barber woven, and by barber sold, +Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, +Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. +The hero of the mimic scene, no more +I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar; +Or, haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din of arms +In Highland Bonnet, woo Malvina's charms; +While sans-culottes stoop up the mountain high, +And steal from me Maria's prying eye. +Blest Highland bonnet! once my proudest dress, +Now prouder still, Maria's temples press; +I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, +And call each coxcomb to the wordy war: +I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, +And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze; +The crafty Colonel leaves the tartan'd lines, +For other wars, where he a hero shines: +The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, +Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head, +Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs, to display +That veni, vidi, vici, is his way: +The shrinking Bard adown the alley skulks, +And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks: +Though there, his heresies in Church and State +Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate: +Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, +And dares the public like a noontide sun. +What scandal called Maria's jaunty stagger +The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger? +Whose spleen (e'en worse than Burns' venom, when +He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, +And pours his vengeance in the burning line,)- +Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre-divine +The idiot strum of Vanity bemus'd, +And even the abuse of Poesy abus'd?- +Who called her verse a Parish Workhouse, made +For motley foundling Fancies, stolen or strayed? + +A Workhouse! ah, that sound awakes my woes, +And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose! +In durance vile here must I wake and weep, +And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep; +That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, +And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. + +Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour? +Must earth no rascal save thyself endure? +Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, +And make a vast monopoly of hell? +Thou know'st the Virtues cannot hate thee worse; +The Vices also, must they club their curse? +Or must no tiny sin to others fall, +Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all? + +Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares; +In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. +As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, +Who on my fair one Satire's vengeance hurls- +Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette, +A wit in folly, and a fool in wit! +Who says that fool alone is not thy due, +And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true! + +Our force united on thy foes we'll turn, +And dare the war with all of woman born: +For who can write and speak as thou and I? +My periods that deciphering defy, +And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply! + +Epitaph On A Noted Coxcomb + +Capt. Wm. Roddirk, of Corbiston. + +Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, +His chicken heart so tender; +But build a castle on his head, +His scull will prop it under. + +On Capt. Lascelles + +When Lascelles thought fit from this world to depart, +Some friends warmly thought of embalming his heart; +A bystander whispers- "Pray don't make so much o't, +The subject is poison, no reptile will touch it." + +On Wm. Graham, Esq., Of Mossknowe + +"Stop thief!" dame Nature call'd to Death, +As Willy drew his latest breath; +How shall I make a fool again? +My choicest model thou hast ta'en. + +On John Bushby, Esq., Tinwald Downs + +Here lies John Bushby-honest man, +Cheat him, Devil-if you can! + +Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell + +Of Glenriddell and Friars' Carse. + +No more, ye warblers of the wood! no more; +Nor pour your descant grating on my soul; +Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole, +More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. + +How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes? +Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend! +How can I to the tuneful strain attend? +That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies. + +Yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe, +And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier: +The man of worth-and hath not left his peer! +Is in his "narrow house," for ever darkly low. + +Thee, Spring! again with joy shall others greet; +Me, memory of my loss will only meet. + +The Lovely Lass O' Inverness + +The lovely lass o' Inverness, +Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; +For, e'en to morn she cries, alas! +And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e. + +"Drumossie moor, Drumossie day- +A waefu' day it was to me! +For there I lost my father dear, +My father dear, and brethren three. + +"Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, +Their graves are growin' green to see; +And by them lies the dearest lad +That ever blest a woman's e'e! + +"Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, +A bluidy man I trow thou be; +For mony a heart thou has made sair, +That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!" + +Charlie, He's My Darling + +'Twas on a Monday morning, +Right early in the year, +That Charlie came to our town, +The young Chevalier. + +Chorus-An' Charlie, he's my darling, +My darling, my darling, +Charlie, he's my darling, +The young Chevalier. + +As he was walking up the street, +The city for to view, +O there he spied a bonie lass +The window looking through, +An' Charlie, &c. + +Sae light's he jumped up the stair, +And tirl'd at the pin; +And wha sae ready as hersel' +To let the laddie in. +An' Charlie, &c. + +He set his Jenny on his knee, +All in his Highland dress; +For brawly weel he ken'd the way +To please a bonie lass. +An' Charlie, &c. + +It's up yon heathery mountain, +An' down yon scroggie glen, +We daur na gang a milking, +For Charlie and his men, +An' Charlie, &c. + +Bannocks O' Bear Meal + +Chorus-Bannocks o' bear meal, +Bannocks o' barley, +Here's to the Highlandman's +Bannocks o' barley! + +Wha, in a brulyie, will +First cry a parley? +Never the lads wi' the +Bannocks o' barley, +Bannocks o' bear meal, &c. + +Wha, in his wae days, +Were loyal to Charlie? +Wha but the lads wi' the +Bannocks o' barley! +Bannocks o' bear meal, &c. + +The Highland Balou + +Hee balou, my sweet wee Donald, +Picture o' the great Clanronald; +Brawlie kens our wanton Chief +Wha gat my young Highland thief. + +Leeze me on thy bonie craigie, +An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie, +Travel the country thro' and thro', +And bring hame a Carlisle cow. + +Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the Border, +Weel, my babie, may thou furder! +Herry the louns o' the laigh Countrie, +Syne to the Highlands hame to me. + +The Highland Widow's Lament + +Oh I am come to the low Countrie, +Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! +Without a penny in my purse, +To buy a meal to me. + +It was na sae in the Highland hills, +Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! +Nae woman in the Country wide, +Sae happy was as me. + +For then I had a score o'kye, +Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! +Feeding on you hill sae high, +And giving milk to me. + +And there I had three score o'yowes, +Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! +Skipping on yon bonie knowes, +And casting woo' to me. + +I was the happiest of a' the Clan, +Sair, sair, may I repine; +For Donald was the brawest man, +And Donald he was mine. + +Till Charlie Stewart cam at last, +Sae far to set us free; +My Donald's arm was wanted then, +For Scotland and for me. + +Their waefu' fate what need I tell, +Right to the wrang did yield; +My Donald and his Country fell, +Upon Culloden field. + +Oh I am come to the low Countrie, +Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! +Nae woman in the warld wide, +Sae wretched now as me. + +It Was A' For Our Rightfu' King + +It was a' for our rightfu' King +We left fair Scotland's strand; +It was a' for our rightfu' King +We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, +We e'er saw Irish land. + +Now a' is done that men can do, +And a' is done in vain; +My Love and Native Land fareweel, +For I maun cross the main, my dear, +For I maun cross the main. + +He turn'd him right and round about, +Upon the Irish shore; +And gae his bridle reins a shake, +With adieu for evermore, my dear, +And adiue for evermore. + +The soger frae the wars returns, +The sailor frae the main; +But I hae parted frae my Love, +Never to meet again, my dear, +Never to meet again. + +When day is gane, and night is come, +And a' folk bound to sleep; +I think on him that's far awa, +The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear, +The lee-lang night, and weep. + +Ode For General Washington's Birthday + +No Spartan tube, no Attic shell, +No lyre Aeolian I awake; +'Tis liberty's bold note I swell, +Thy harp, Columbia, let me take! +See gathering thousands, while I sing, +A broken chain exulting bring, +And dash it in a tyrant's face, +And dare him to his very beard, +And tell him he no more is feared- +No more the despot of Columbia's race! +A tyrant's proudest insults brav'd, +They shout-a People freed! They hail an Empire saved. +Where is man's god-like form? +Where is that brow erect and bold- +That eye that can unmov'd behold +The wildest rage, the loudest storm +That e'er created fury dared to raise? +Avaunt! thou caitiff, servile, base, +That tremblest at a despot's nod, +Yet, crouching under the iron rod, +Canst laud the hand that struck th' insulting blow! +Art thou of man's Imperial line? +Dost boast that countenance divine? +Each skulking feature answers, No! +But come, ye sons of Liberty, +Columbia's offspring, brave as free, +In danger's hour still flaming in the van, +Ye know, and dare maintain, the Royalty of Man! + +Alfred! on thy starry throne, +Surrounded by the tuneful choir, +The bards that erst have struck the patriot lyre, +And rous'd the freeborn Briton's soul of fire, +No more thy England own! +Dare injured nations form the great design, +To make detested tyrants bleed? +Thy England execrates the glorious deed! +Beneath her hostile banners waving, +Every pang of honour braving, +England in thunder calls, "The tyrant's cause is mine!" +That hour accurst how did the fiends rejoice +And hell, thro' all her confines, raise the exulting voice, +That hour which saw the generous English name +Linkt with such damned deeds of everlasting shame! + +Thee, Caledonia! thy wild heaths among, +Fam'd for the martial deed, the heaven-taught song, +To thee I turn with swimming eyes; +Where is that soul of Freedom fled? +Immingled with the mighty dead, +Beneath that hallow'd turf where Wallace lies +Hear it not, Wallace! in thy bed of death. +Ye babbling winds! in silence sweep, +Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, +Nor give the coward secret breath! +Is this the ancient Caledonian form, +Firm as the rock, resistless as the storm? +Show me that eye which shot immortal hate, +Blasting the despot's proudest bearing; +Show me that arm which, nerv'd with thundering fate, +Crush'd Usurpation's boldest daring!- +Dark-quench'd as yonder sinking star, +No more that glance lightens afar; +That palsied arm no more whirls on the waste of war. + +Inscription To Miss Graham Of Fintry + +Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, +In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined, +Accept the gift; though humble he who gives, +Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. + +So may no ruffian-feeling in my breast, +Discordant, jar thy bosom-chords among; +But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, +Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song, + +Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears, +As modest Want the tale of woe reveals; +While conscious Virtue all the strains endears, +And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals. + +On The Seas And Far Away + +tune-"O'er the hills and far away." + +How can my poor heart be glad, +When absent from my sailor lad; +How can I the thought forego- +He's on the seas to meet the foe? +Let me wander, let me rove, +Still my heart is with my love; +Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day, +Are with him that's far away. + +Chorus.-On the seas and far away, +On stormy seas and far away; +Nightly dreams and thoughts by day, +Are aye with him that's far away. + +When in summer noon I faint, +As weary flocks around me pant, +Haply in this scorching sun, +My sailor's thund'ring at his gun; +Bullets, spare my only joy! +Bullets, spare my darling boy! +Fate, do with me what you may, +Spare but him that's far away, +On the seas and far away, +On stormy seas and far away; +Fate, do with me what you may, +Spare but him that's far away. + +At the starless, midnight hour +When Winter rules with boundless power, +As the storms the forests tear, +And thunders rend the howling air, +Listening to the doubling roar, +Surging on the rocky shore, +All I can-I weep and pray +For his weal that's far away, +On the seas and far away, +On stormy seas and far away; +All I can-I weep and pray, +For his weal that's far away. + +Peace, thy olive wand extend, +And bid wild War his ravage end, +Man with brother Man to meet, +And as a brother kindly greet; +Then may heav'n with prosperous gales, +Fill my sailor's welcome sails; +To my arms their charge convey, +My dear lad that's far away. +On the seas and far away, +On stormy seas and far away; +To my arms their charge convey, +My dear lad that's far away. + +Ca' The Yowes To The Knowes + +Second Version + +Chorus.-Ca'the yowes to the knowes, +Ca' them where the heather grows, +Ca' them where the burnie rowes, +My bonie Dearie. + +Hark the mavis' e'ening sang, +Sounding Clouden's woods amang; +Then a-faulding let us gang, +My bonie Dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +We'll gae down by Clouden side, +Thro' the hazels, spreading wide, +O'er the waves that sweetly glide, +To the moon sae clearly. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +Yonder Clouden's silent towers,^1 +Where, at moonshine's midnight hours, +O'er the dewy-bending flowers, +Fairies dance sae cheery. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear, +Thou'rt to Love and Heav'n sae dear, +Nocht of ill may come thee near; +My bonie Dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +Fair and lovely as thou art, +Thou hast stown my very heart; +I can die-but canna part, +My bonie Dearie. +Ca' the yowes, &c. + +[Footnote 1: An old ruin in a sweet situation at the confluence of the Clouden +and the Nith.-R. B.] + +She Says She Loes Me Best Of A' + +tune-"Oonagh's Waterfall." + +Sae flaxen were her ringlets, +Her eyebrows of a darker hue, +Bewitchingly o'er-arching +Twa laughing e'en o' lovely blue; +Her smiling, sae wyling. +Wad make a wretch forget his woe; +What pleasure, what treasure, +Unto these rosy lips to grow! +Such was my Chloris' bonie face, +When first that bonie face I saw; +And aye my Chloris' dearest charm- +She says, she lo'es me best of a'. + +Like harmony her motion, +Her pretty ankle is a spy, +Betraying fair proportion, +Wad make a saint forget the sky: +Sae warming, sae charming, +Her faultless form and gracefu' air; +Ilk feature-auld Nature +Declar'd that she could do nae mair: +Hers are the willing chains o' love, +By conquering Beauty's sovereign law; +And still my Chloris' dearest charm- +She says, she lo'es me best of a'. + +Let others love the city, +And gaudy show, at sunny noon; +Gie me the lonely valley, +The dewy eve and rising moon, +Fair beaming, and streaming, +Her silver light the boughs amang; +While falling; recalling, +The amorous thrush concludes his sang; +There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove, +By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, +And hear my vows o' truth and love, +And say, thou lo'es me best of a'. + +To Dr. Maxwell + +On Miss Jessy Staig's recovery. + +Maxwell, if merit here you crave, +That merit I deny; +You save fair Jessie from the grave!- +An Angel could not die! + +To The Beautiful Miss Eliza J-N + +On her Principles of Liberty and Equality. + +How, Liberty! girl, can it be by thee nam'd? +Equality too! hussey, art not asham'd? +Free and Equal indeed, while mankind thou enchainest, +And over their hearts a proud Despot so reignest. + +On Chloris + +Requesting me to give her a Spring of Blossomed Thorn. + +From the white-blossom'd sloe my dear Chloris requested +A sprig, her fair breast to adorn: +No, by Heavens! I exclaim'd, let me perish, if ever +I plant in that bosom a thorn! + +On Seeing Mrs. Kemble In Yarico + +Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief +For Moses and his rod; +At Yarico's sweet nor of grief +The rock with tears had flow'd. + +Epigram On A Country Laird, + +not quite so wise as Solomon. + +Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp, +With grateful, lifted eyes, +Who taught that not the soul alone, +But body too shall rise; +For had He said "the soul alone +From death I will deliver," +Alas, alas! O Cardoness, +Then hadst thou lain for ever. + +On Being Shewn A Beautiful Country Seat + +Belonging to the same Laird. + +We grant they're thine, those beauties all, +So lovely in our eye; +Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness, +For others to enjoy! + +On Hearing It Asserted Falsehood + +is expressed in the Rev. Dr. Babington's very looks. + +That there is a falsehood in his looks, +I must and will deny: +They tell their Master is a knave, +And sure they do not lie. + +On A Suicide + +Earth'd up, here lies an imp o' hell, +Planted by Satan's dibble; +Poor silly wretch, he's damned himsel', +To save the Lord the trouble. + +On A Swearing Coxcomb + +Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, +A buck, a beau, or "Dem my eyes!" +Who in his life did little good, +And his last words were "Dem my blood!" + +On An Innkeeper Nicknamed "The Marquis" + +Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd, +If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd. + +On Andrew Turner + +In se'enteen hunder'n forty-nine, +The deil gat stuff to mak a swine, +An' coost it in a corner; +But wilily he chang'd his plan, +An' shap'd it something like a man, +An' ca'd it Andrew Turner. + +Pretty Peg + +As I gaed up by yon gate-end, +When day was waxin' weary, +Wha did I meet come down the street, +But pretty Peg, my dearie! + +Her air sae sweet, an' shape complete, +Wi' nae proportion wanting, +The Queen of Love did never move +Wi' motion mair enchanting. + +Wi' linked hands we took the sands, +Adown yon winding river; +Oh, that sweet hour and shady bower, +Forget it shall I never! + +Esteem For Chloris + +As, Chloris, since it may not be, +That thou of love wilt hear; +If from the lover thou maun flee, +Yet let the friend be dear. + +Altho' I love my Chloris mair +Than ever tongue could tell; +My passion I will ne'er declare- +I'll say, I wish thee well. + +Tho' a' my daily care thou art, +And a' my nightly dream, +I'll hide the struggle in my heart, +And say it is esteem. + +Saw Ye My Dear, My Philly + +tune-"When she cam' ben she bobbit." + +O saw ye my Dear, my Philly? +O saw ye my Dear, my Philly, +She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new Love, +She winna come hame to her Willy. + +What says she my dear, my Philly? +What says she my dear, my Philly? +She lets thee to wit she has thee forgot, +And forever disowns thee, her Willy. + +O had I ne'er seen thee, my Philly! +O had I ne'er seen thee, my Philly! +As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, +Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy. + +How Lang And Dreary Is The Night + +How lang and dreary is the night +When I am frae my Dearie; +I restless lie frae e'en to morn +Though I were ne'er sae weary. + +Chorus.-For oh, her lanely nights are lang! +And oh, her dreams are eerie; +And oh, her window'd heart is sair, +That's absent frae her Dearie! + +When I think on the lightsome days +I spent wi' thee, my Dearie; +And now what seas between us roar, +How can I be but eerie? +For oh, &c. + +How slow ye move, ye heavy hours; +The joyless day how dreary: +It was na sae ye glinted by, +When I was wi' my Dearie! +For oh, &c. + +Inconstancy In Love + +tune-"Duncan Gray." + +Let not Woman e'er complain +Of inconstancy in love; +Let not Woman e'er complain +Fickle Man is apt to rove: +Look abroad thro' Nature's range, +Nature's mighty Law is change, +Ladies, would it not seem strange +Man should then a monster prove! + +Mark the winds, and mark the skies, +Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow, +Sun and moon but set to rise, +Round and round the seasons go. +Why then ask of silly Man +To oppose great Nature's plan? +We'll be constant while we can- +You can be no more, you know. + +The Lover's Morning Salute To His Mistress + +tune-"Deil tak the wars." + +Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? +Rosy morn now lifts his eye, +Numbering ilka bud which Nature +Waters wi' the tears o' joy. +Now, to the streaming fountain, +Or up the heathy mountain, +The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray; +In twining hazel bowers, +Its lay the linnet pours, +The laverock to the sky +Ascends, wi' sangs o' joy, +While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. + +Phoebus gilding the brow of morning, +Banishes ilk darksome shade, +Nature, gladdening and adorning; +Such to me my lovely maid. +When frae my Chloris parted, +Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, +The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky: +But when she charms my sight, +In pride of Beauty's light- +When thro' my very heart +Her burning glories dart; +'Tis then-'tis then I wake to life and joy! + +The Winter Of Life + +But lately seen in gladsome green, +The woods rejoic'd the day, +Thro' gentle showers, the laughing flowers +In double pride were gay: +But now our joys are fled +On winter blasts awa; +Yet maiden May, in rich array, +Again shall bring them a'. + +But my white pow, nae kindly thowe +Shall melt the snaws of Age; +My trunk of eild, but buss or beild, +Sinks in Time's wintry rage. +Oh, Age has weary days, +And nights o' sleepless pain: +Thou golden time, o' Youthfu' prime, +Why comes thou not again! + +Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves + +tune-"My lodging is on the cold ground." + +Behold, my love, how green the groves, +The primrose banks how fair; +The balmy gales awake the flowers, +And wave thy flowing hair. + +The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, +And o'er the cottage sings: +For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, +To Shepherds as to Kings. + +Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string, +In lordly lighted ha': +The Shepherd stops his simple reed, +Blythe in the birken shaw. + +The Princely revel may survey +Our rustic dance wi' scorn; +But are their hearts as light as ours, +Beneath the milk-white thorn! + +The shepherd, in the flowery glen; +In shepherd's phrase, will woo: +The courtier tells a finer tale, +But is his heart as true! + +These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck +That spotless breast o' thine: +The courtiers' gems may witness love, +But, 'tis na love like mine. + +The Charming Month Of May + +tune-"Daintie Davie." + +It was the charming month of May, +When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay. +One morning, by the break of day, +The youthful, charming Chloe- +From peaceful slumber she arose, +Girt on her mantle and her hose, +And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes- +The youthful, charming Chloe. + +Chorus.-Lovely was she by the dawn, +Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, +Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, +The youthful, charming Chloe. + +The feather'd people you might see +Perch'd all around on every tree, +In notes of sweetest melody +They hail the charming Chloe; +Till, painting gay the eastern skies, +The glorious sun began to rise, +Outrival'd by the radiant eyes +Of youthful, charming Chloe. +Lovely was she, &c. + +Lassie Wi' The Lint-White Locks + +tune-"Rothiemurchie's Rant." + +Chorus.-Lassie wi'the lint-white locks, +Bonie lassie, artless lassie, +Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, +Wilt thou be my Dearie, O? + +Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea, +And a' is young and sweet like thee, +O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, +And say thou'lt be my Dearie, O. +Lassie wi' the, &c. + +The primrose bank, the wimpling burn, +The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn, +The wanton lambs at early morn, +Shall welcome thee, my Dearie, O. +Lassie wi' the, &c. + +And when the welcome simmer shower +Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, +We'll to the breathing woodbine bower, +At sultry noon, my Dearie, O. +Lassie wi' the, &c. + +When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, +The weary shearer's hameward way, +Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, +And talk o' love, my Dearie, O. +Lassie wi' the, &c. + +And when the howling wintry blast +Disturbs my Lassie's midnight rest, +Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, +I'll comfort thee, my Dearie, O. +Lassie wi' the, &c. + +Dialogue song - Philly And Willy +tune-"The Sow's tail to Geordie." + + He. O Philly, happy be that day, +When roving thro' the gather'd hay, +My youthfu' heart was stown away, +And by thy charms, my Philly. + + She. O Willy, aye I bless the grove +Where first I own'd my maiden love, +Whilst thou did pledge the Powers above, +To be my ain dear Willy. + + Both. For a' the joys that gowd can gie, +I dinna care a single flie; +The lad I love's the lad for me, +The lass I love's the lass for me, +And that's my ain dear Willy. +And that's my ain dear Philly. + + He. As songsters of the early year, +Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, +So ilka day to me mair dear +And charming is my Philly. + + She. As on the brier the budding rose, +Still richer breathes and fairer blows, +So in my tender bosom grows +The love I bear my Willy. + + Both. For a' the joys, &c. + + He. The milder sun and bluer sky +That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, +Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye +As is a sight o' Philly. + + She. The little swallow's wanton wing, +Tho' wafting o'er the flowery Spring, +Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, +As meeting o' my Willy. +Both. For a' the joys, &c. + + He. The bee that thro' the sunny hour +Sips nectar in the op'ning flower, +Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, +Upon the lips o' Philly. + + She. The woodbine in the dewy weet, +When ev'ning shades in silence meet, +Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet +As is a kiss o' Willy. + + Both. For a' the joys, &c. + + He. Let fortune's wheel at random rin, +And fools may tine and knaves may win; +My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, +And that's my ain dear Philly. + + She. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie? +I dinna care a single flie; +The lad I love's the lad for me, +And that's my ain dear Willy. + + Both. For a' the joys, &c. + +Contented Wi' Little And Cantie Wi' Mair + +tune-"Lumps o' Puddin'." + +Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, +Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care, +I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang, +Wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld Scottish sang. +Chorus-Contented wi' little, &c. + +I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; +But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught; +My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, +And my Freedom's my Lairdship nae monarch dare touch. +Contented wi' little, &c. + +A townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa', +A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a': +When at the blythe end o' our journey at last, +Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? +Contented wi' little, &c. + +Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; +Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: +Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain, +My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!" +Contented wi' little, &c. + +Farewell Thou Stream + +Air-"Nansie's to the greenwood gane." + +Farewell, thou stream that winding flows +Around Eliza's dwelling; +O mem'ry! spare the cruel thoes +Within my bosom swelling. +Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain +And yet in secret languish; +To feel a fire in every vein, +Nor dare disclose my anguish. + +Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, +I fain my griefs would cover; +The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, +Betray the hapless lover. +I know thou doom'st me to despair, +Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me; +But, O Eliza, hear one prayer- +For pity's sake forgive me! + +The music of thy voice I heard, +Nor wist while it enslav'd me; +I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, +Till fears no more had sav'd me: +Th' unwary sailor thus, aghast +The wheeling torrent viewing, +'Mid circling horrors sinks at last, +In overwhelming ruin. + +Canst Thou Leave Me Thus, My Katie + +tune-"Roy's Wife." + +Chorus-Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? +Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? +Well thou know'st my aching heart, +And canst thou leave me thus, for pity? + +Is this thy plighted, fond regard, +Thus cruelly to part, my Katie? +Is this thy faithful swain's reward- +An aching, broken heart, my Katie! +Canst thou leave me, &c. + +Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear +That finkle heart of thine, my Katie! +Thou maysn find those will love thee dear, +But not a love like mine, my Katie, +Canst thou leave me, &c. + +My Nanie's Awa + +tune-"There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame." + +Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, +And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes; +While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw, +But to me it's delightless-my Nanie's awa. + +The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, +And violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn; +They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, +They mind me o' Nanie- and Nanie's awa. + +Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, +The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, +And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', +Give over for pity-my Nanie's awa. + +Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, +And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay: +The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw +Alane can delight me-now Nanie's awa. + +The Tear-Drop + +Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e; +Lang, lang has Joy been a stranger to me: +Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear, +And the sweet voice o' Pity ne'er sounds in my ear. + +Love thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I luv'd; +Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I pruv'd; +But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, +I can feel, by its throbbings, will soon be at rest. + +Oh, if I were-where happy I hae been- +Down by yon stream, and yon bonie castle-green; +For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, +Wha wad soon dry the tear-drop that clings to my e'e. + +For The Sake O' Somebody + +My heart is sair-I dare na tell, +My heart is sair for Somebody; +I could wake a winter night +For the sake o' Somebody. +O-hon! for Somebody! +O-hey! for Somebody! +I could range the world around, +For the sake o' Somebody. + +Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, +O, sweetly smile on Somebody! +Frae ilka danger keep him free, +And send me safe my Somebody! +O-hon! for Somebody! +O-hey! for Somebody! +I wad do-what wad I not? +For the sake o' Somebody. + +A Man's A Man For A' That + +tune-"For a' that." + +Is there for honest Poverty +That hings his head, an' a' that; +The coward slave-we pass him by, +We dare be poor for a' that! +For a' that, an' a' that. +Our toils obscure an' a' that, +The rank is but the guinea's stamp, +The Man's the gowd for a' that. + +What though on hamely fare we dine, +Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; +Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; +A Man's a Man for a' that: +For a' that, and a' that, +Their tinsel show, an' a' that; +The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, +Is king o' men for a' that. + +Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, +Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; +Tho' hundreds worship at his word, +He's but a coof for a' that: +For a' that, an' a' that, +His ribband, star, an' a' that: +The man o' independent mind +He looks an' laughs at a' that. + +A prince can mak a belted knight, +A marquis, duke, an' a' that; +But an honest man's abon his might, +Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! +For a' that, an' a' that, +Their dignities an' a' that; +The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, +Are higher rank than a' that. + +Then let us pray that come it may, +(As come it will for a' that,) +That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, +Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. +For a' that, an' a' that, +It's coming yet for a' that, +That Man to Man, the world o'er, +Shall brothers be for a' that. + +Craigieburn Wood + +Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn, +And blythe awakes the morrow; +But a' the pride o' Spring's return +Can yield me nocht but sorrow. + +I see the flowers and spreading trees, +I hear the wild birds singing; +But what a weary wight can please, +And Care his bosom wringing! + +Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, +Yet dare na for your anger; +But secret love will break my heart, +If I conceal it langer. + +If thou refuse to pity me, +If thou shalt love another, +When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, +Around my grave they'll wither. + +Versicles of 1795 + +The Solemn League And Covenant + +The Solemn League and Covenant +Now brings a smile, now brings a tear; +But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs: +If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer. + +Compliments Of John Syme Of Ryedale + +Lines sent with a Present of a Dozen of Porter. + +O had the malt thy strength of mind, +Or hops the flavour of thy wit, +'Twere drink for first of human kind, +A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. + +Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. + +Inscription On A Goblet + +There's Death in the cup, so beware! +Nay, more-there is danger in touching; +But who can avoid the fell snare, +The man and his wine's so bewitching! + +Apology For Declining An Invitation To Dine + +No more of your guests, be they titled or not, +And cookery the first in the nation; +Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, +Is proof to all other temptation. + +Epitaph For Mr. Gabriel Richardson + +Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, +And empty all his barrels: +He's blest-if, as he brew'd, he drink, +In upright, honest morals. + +Epigram On Mr. James Gracie + +Gracie, thou art a man of worth, +O be thou Dean for ever! +May he be damned to hell henceforth, +Who fauts thy weight or measure! + +Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay + +Cauld is the e'enin blast, +O' Boreas o'er the pool, +An' dawin' it is dreary, +When birks are bare at Yule. + +Cauld blaws the e'enin blast, +When bitter bites the frost, +And, in the mirk and dreary drift, +The hills and glens are lost: + +Ne'er sae murky blew the night +That drifted o'er the hill, +But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay +Gat grist to her mill. + +Inscription At Friars' Carse Hermitage + +To the Memory of Robert Riddell. + +To Riddell, much lamented man, +This ivied cot was dear; +Wandr'er, dost value matchless worth? +This ivied cot revere. + +There Was A Bonie Lass + +There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass, +And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear; +Till War's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, +Wi' mony a sigh and tear. +Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, +He still was a stranger to fear; +And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail, +But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear. + +Wee Willie Gray + +tune-"Wee Totum Fogg." + +Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, +Peel a willow wand to be him boots and jacket; +The rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet, +The rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet, +Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, +Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat; +Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, +Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. + +O Aye My Wife She Dang Me + +Chorus-O aye my wife she dang me, +An' aft my wife she bang'd me, +If ye gie a woman a' her will, +Gude faith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye. + +On peace an' rest my mind was bent, +And, fool I was! I married; +But never honest man's intent +Sane cursedly miscarried. +O aye my wife, &c. + +Some sairie comfort at the last, +When a' thir days are done, man, +My pains o' hell on earth is past, +I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man, +O aye my wife, &c. + +Gude Ale Keeps The Heart Aboon + +Chorus-O gude ale comes and gude ale goes; +Gude ale gars me sell my hose, +Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon- +Gude ale keeps my heart aboon! + +I had sax owsen in a pleugh, +And they drew a' weel eneugh: +I sell'd them a' just ane by ane- +Gude ale keeps the heart aboon! +O gude ale comes, &c. + +Gude ale hauds me bare and busy, +Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, +Stand i' the stool when I hae done- +Gude ale keeps the heart aboon! +O gude ale comes, &c. + +O Steer Her Up An' Haud Her Gaun + +O steer her up, an' haud her gaun, +Her mither's at the mill, jo; +An' gin she winna tak a man, +E'en let her tak her will, jo. +First shore her wi' a gentle kiss, +And ca' anither gill, jo; +An' gin she tak the thing amiss, +E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. + +O steer her up, an' be na blate, +An' gin she tak it ill, jo, +Then leave the lassie till her fate, +And time nae langer spill, jo: +Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, +But think upon it still, jo: +That gin the lassie winna do't, +Ye'll find anither will, jo. + +The Lass O' Ecclefechan + +tune-"Jack o' Latin." + +Gat ye me, O gat ye me, +O gat ye me wi' naething? +Rock an reel, and spinning wheel, +A mickle quarter basin: +Bye attour my Gutcher has +A heich house and a laich ane, +A' forbye my bonie sel, +The toss o' Ecclefechan. + +O haud your tongue now, Lucky Lang, +O haud your tongue and jauner +I held the gate till you I met, +Syne I began to wander: +I tint my whistle and my sang, +I tint my peace and pleasure; +But your green graff, now Lucky Lang, +Wad airt me to my treasure. + +O Let Me In Thes Ae Night + +O Lassie, are ye sleepin yet, +Or are ye waukin, I wad wit? +For Love has bound me hand an' fit, +And I would fain be in, jo. + +Chorus-O let me in this ae night, +This ae, ae, ae night; +O let me in this ae night, +I'll no come back again, jo! + +O hear'st thou not the wind an' weet? +Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet; +Tak pity on my weary feet, +And shield me frae the rain, jo. +O let me in, &c. + +The bitter blast that round me blaws, +Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's; +The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause +Of a' my care and pine, jo. +O let me in, &c. + +Her Answer + +O tell na me o' wind an' rain, +Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain, +Gae back the gate ye cam again, +I winna let ye in, jo. + +Chorus-I tell you now this ae night, +This ae, ae, ae night; +And ance for a' this ae night, +I winna let ye in, jo. + +The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, +That round the pathless wand'rer pours +Is nocht to what poor she endures, +That's trusted faithless man, jo. +I tell you now, &c. + +The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, +Now trodden like the vilest weed- +Let simple maid the lesson read +The weird may be her ain, jo. +I tell you now, &c. + +The bird that charm'd his summer day, +Is now the cruel Fowler's prey; +Let witless, trusting, Woman say +How aft her fate's the same, jo! +I tell you now, &c. + +I'll Aye Ca' In By Yon Town + +Air-"I'll gang nae mair to yon toun." + +Chorus-I'll aye ca' in by yon town, +And by yon garden-green again; +I'll aye ca' in by yon town, +And see my bonie Jean again. + +There's nane sall ken, there's nane can guess +What brings me back the gate again, +But she, my fairest faithfu' lass, +And stownlins we sall meet again. +I'll aye ca' in, &c. + +She'll wander by the aiken tree, +When trystin time draws near again; +And when her lovely form I see, +O haith! she's doubly dear again. +I'll aye ca' in, &c. + +O Wat Ye Wha's In Yon Town + +tune-"I'll gang nae mair to yon toun." + +Chorus-O wat ye wha's in yon town, +Ye see the e'enin sun upon, +The dearest maid's in yon town, +That e'ening sun is shining on. + +Now haply down yon gay green shaw, +She wanders by yon spreading tree; +How blest ye flowers that round her blaw, +Ye catch the glances o' her e'e! +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +How blest ye birds that round her sing, +And welcome in the blooming year; +And doubly welcome be the Spring, +The season to my Jeanie dear. +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +The sun blinks blythe on yon town, +Among the broomy braes sae green; +But my delight in yon town, +And dearest pleasure, is my Jean. +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +Without my Fair, not a' the charms +O' Paradise could yield me joy; +But give me Jeanie in my arms +And welcome Lapland's dreary sky! +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +My cave wad be a lover's bower, +Tho' raging Winter rent the air; +And she a lovely little flower, +That I wad tent and shelter there. +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +O sweet is she in yon town, +The sinkin, sun's gane down upon; +A fairer than's in yon town, +His setting beam ne'er shone upon. +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +If angry Fate is sworn my foe, +And suff'ring I am doom'd to bear; +I careless quit aught else below, +But spare, O spare me Jeanie dear. +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +For while life's dearest blood is warm, +Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, +And she, as fairest is her form, +She has the truest, kindest heart. +O wat ye wha's, &c. + +Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election, 1795 + +Ballad First + +Whom will you send to London town, +To Parliament and a' that? +Or wha in a' the country round +The best deserves to fa' that? +For a' that, and a' that, +Thro' Galloway and a' that, +Where is the Laird or belted Knight +The best deserves to fa' that? + +Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, +(And wha is't never saw that?) +Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met, +And has a doubt of a' that? +For a' that, and a' that, +Here's Heron yet for a' that! +The independent patriot, +The honest man, and a' that. + +Tho' wit and worth, in either sex, +Saint Mary's Isle can shaw that, +Wi' Dukes and Lords let Selkirk mix, +And weel does Selkirk fa' that. +For a' that, and a' that, +Here's Heron yet for a' that! +The independent commoner +Shall be the man for a' that. + +But why should we to Nobles jouk, +And is't against the law, that? +For why, a Lord may be a gowk, +Wi' ribband, star and a' that, +For a' that, and a' that, +Here's Heron yet for a' that! +A Lord may be a lousy loun, +Wi' ribband, star and a' that. + +A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, +Wi' uncle's purse and a' that; +But we'll hae ane frae mang oursels, +A man we ken, and a' that. +For a' that, and a' that, +Here's Heron yet for a' that! +For we're not to be bought and sold, +Like naigs, and nowt, and a' that. + +Then let us drink-The Stewartry, +Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that, +Our representative to be, +For weel he's worthy a' that. +For a' that, and a' that, +Here's Heron yet for a' that! +A House of Commons such as he, +They wad be blest that saw that. + +Ballad Second-Election Day + +tune-"Fy, let us a' to the Bridal." + +Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, +For there will be bickerin' there; +For Murray's light horse are to muster, +And O how the heroes will swear! +And there will be Murray, Commander, +And Gordon, the battle to win; +Like brothers they'll stand by each other, +Sae knit in alliance and kin. + +And there will be black-nebbit Johnie, +The tongue o' the trump to them a'; +An he get na Hell for his haddin', +The Deil gets na justice ava. + +And there will be Kempleton's birkie, +A boy no sae black at the bane; +But as to his fine Nabob fortune, +We'll e'en let the subject alane. + +And there will be Wigton's new Sheriff; +Dame Justice fu' brawly has sped, +She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, +But, Lord! what's become o' the head? +And there will be Cardoness, Esquire, +Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes; +A wight that will weather damnation, +The Devil the prey will despise. + +And there will be Douglasses doughty, +New christening towns far and near; +Abjuring their democrat doings, +By kissin' the-o' a Peer: +And there will be folk frae Saint Mary's +A house o' great merit and note; +The deil ane but honours them highly- +The deil ane will gie them his vote! + +And there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous, +Whose honour is proof to the storm, +To save them from stark reprobation, +He lent them his name in the Firm. +And there will be lads o' the gospel, +Muirhead wha's as gude as he's true; +And there will be Buittle's Apostle, +Wha's mair o' the black than the blue. + +And there will be Logan M'Dowall, +Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, +And also the Wild Scot o' Galloway, +Sogering, gunpowder Blair. +But we winna mention Redcastle, +The body, e'en let him escape! +He'd venture the gallows for siller, +An 'twere na the cost o' the rape. + +But where is the Doggerbank hero, +That made "Hogan Mogan" to skulk? +Poor Keith's gane to hell to be fuel, +The auld rotten wreck of a Hulk. +And where is our King's Lord Lieutenant, +Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return? +The birkie is gettin' his Questions +To say in Saint Stephen's the morn. + +But mark ye! there's trusty Kerroughtree, +Whose honor was ever his law; +If the Virtues were pack'd in a parcel, +His worth might be sample for a'; +And strang an' respectfu's his backing, +The maist o' the lairds wi' him stand; +Nae gipsy-like nominal barons, +Wha's property's paper-not land. + +And there, frae the Niddisdale borders, +The Maxwells will gather in droves, +Teugh Jockie, staunch Geordie, an' Wellwood, +That griens for the fishes and loaves; +And there will be Heron, the Major, +Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys; +Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other, +Him, only it's justice to praise. + +And there will be maiden Kilkerran, +And also Barskimming's gude Knight, +And there will be roarin Birtwhistle, +Yet luckily roars i' the right. +And there'll be Stamp Office Johnie, +(Tak tent how ye purchase a dram!) +And there will be gay Cassencarry, +And there'll be gleg Colonel Tam. + +And there'll be wealthy young Richard, +Dame Fortune should hing by the neck, +For prodigal, thriftless bestowing- +His merit had won him respect. + +And there will be rich brother nabobs, +(Tho' Nabobs, yet men not the worst,) +And there will be Collieston's whiskers, +And Quintin-a lad o' the first. + +Then hey! the chaste Interest o' Broughton +And hey! for the blessin's 'twill bring; +It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, +In Sodom 'twould make him a king; +And hey! for the sanctified Murray, +Our land wha wi' chapels has stor'd; +He founder'd his horse among harlots, +But gied the auld naig to the Lord. + +Ballad Third + +John Bushby's Lamentation. + +tune-"Babes in the Wood." + +'Twas in the seventeen hunder year +O' grace, and ninety-five, +That year I was the wae'est man +Of ony man alive. + +In March the three-an'-twentieth morn, +The sun raise clear an' bright; +But oh! I was a waefu' man, +Ere to-fa' o' the night. + +Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land, +Wi' equal right and fame, +And thereto was his kinsmen join'd, +The Murray's noble name. + +Yerl Galloway's man o' men was I, +And chief o' Broughton's host; +So twa blind beggars, on a string, +The faithfu' tyke will trust. + +But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre's broke, +And Broughton's wi' the slain, +And I my ancient craft may try, +Sin' honesty is gane. + +'Twas by the banks o' bonie Dee, +Beside Kirkcudbright's towers, +The Stewart and the Murray there, +Did muster a' their powers. + +Then Murray on the auld grey yaud, +Wi' winged spurs did ride, +That auld grey yaud a' Nidsdale rade, +He staw upon Nidside. + +And there had na been the Yerl himsel, +O there had been nae play; +But Garlies was to London gane, +And sae the kye might stray. + +And there was Balmaghie, I ween, +In front rank he wad shine; +But Balmaghie had better been +Drinkin' Madeira wine. + +And frae Glenkens cam to our aid +A chief o' doughty deed; +In case that worth should wanted be, +O' Kenmure we had need. + +And by our banners march'd Muirhead, +And Buittle was na slack; +Whase haly priesthood nane could stain, +For wha could dye the black? + +And there was grave squire Cardoness, +Look'd on till a' was done; +Sae in the tower o' Cardoness +A howlet sits at noon. + +And there led I the Bushby clan, +My gamesome billie, Will, +And my son Maitland, wise as brave, +My footsteps follow'd still. + +The Douglas and the Heron's name, +We set nought to their score; +The Douglas and the Heron's name, +Had felt our weight before. + +But Douglasses o' weight had we, +The pair o' lusty lairds, +For building cot-houses sae fam'd, +And christenin' kail-yards. + +And there Redcastle drew his sword, +That ne'er was stain'd wi' gore, +Save on a wand'rer lame and blind, +To drive him frae his door. + +And last cam creepin' Collieston, +Was mair in fear than wrath; +Ae knave was constant in his mind- +To keep that knave frae scaith. + +Inscription For An Altar Of Independence + +At Kerroughtree, the Seat of Mr. Heron. + +Thou of an independent mind, +With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; +Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, +Who wilt not be, nor have a slave; +Virtue alone who dost revere, +Thy own reproach alone dost fear- +Approach this shrine, and worship here. + +The Cardin O't, The Spinnin O't + +I coft a stane o' haslock woo', +To mak a wab to Johnie o't; +For Johnie is my only jo, +I loe him best of onie yet. + +Chorus-The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, +The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't; +When ilka ell cost me a groat, +The tailor staw the lynin' o't. + +For tho' his locks be lyart grey, +And tho' his brow be beld aboon, +Yet I hae seen him on a day, +The pride of a' the parishen. +The cardin o't, &c. + +The Cooper O' Cuddy + +tune-"Bab at the bowster." + +Chorus-We'll hide the Cooper behint the door, +Behint the door, behint the door, +We'll hide the Cooper behint the door, +And cover him under a mawn, O. + +The Cooper o' Cuddy came here awa, +He ca'd the girrs out o'er us a'; +An' our gudewife has gotten a ca', +That's anger'd the silly gudeman O. +We'll hide the Cooper, &c. + +He sought them out, he sought them in, +Wi' deil hae her! an', deil hae him! +But the body he was sae doited and blin', +He wist na where he was gaun O. +We'll hide the Cooper, &c. + +They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morn, +Till our gudeman has gotten the scorn; +On ilka brow she's planted a horn, +And swears that there they sall stan' O. +We'll hide the Cooper, &c. + +The Lass That Made The Bed To Me + +When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, +As to the north I took my way, +The mirksome night did me enfauld, +I knew na where to lodge till day: + +By my gude luck a maid I met, +Just in the middle o' my care, +And kindly she did me invite +To walk into a chamber fair. + +I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, +And thank'd her for her courtesie; +I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, +An' bade her make a bed to me; +She made the bed baith large and wide, +Wi' twa white hands she spread it doun; +She put the cup to her rosy lips, +And drank-"Young man, now sleep ye soun'." + +Chorus-The bonie lass made the bed to me, +The braw lass made the bed to me, +I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, +The lass that made the bed to me. + +She snatch'd the candle in her hand, +And frae my chamber went wi' speed; +But I call'd her quickly back again, +To lay some mair below my head: +A cod she laid below my head, +And served me with due respect, +And, to salute her wi' a kiss, +I put my arms about her neck. +The bonie lass, &c. + +"Haud aff your hands, young man!" she said, +"And dinna sae uncivil be; +Gif ye hae ony luve for me, +O wrang na my virginitie." +Her hair was like the links o' gowd, +Her teeth were like the ivorie, +Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, +The lass that made the bed to me: +The bonie lass, &c. + +Her bosom was the driven snaw, +Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; +Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, +The lass that made the bed to me. +I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again, +And aye she wist na what to say: +I laid her 'tween me and the wa'; +The lassie thocht na lang till day. +The bonie lass, &c. + +Upon the morrow when we raise, +I thank'd her for her courtesie; +But aye she blush'd and aye she sigh'd, +And said, "Alas, ye've ruin'd me." +I claps'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, +While the tear stood twinkling in her e'e; +I said, my lassie, dinna cry. +For ye aye shall make the bed to me. +The bonie lass, &c. + +She took her mither's holland sheets, +An' made them a' in sarks to me; +Blythe and merry may she be, +The lass that made the bed to me. + +Chorus-The bonie lass made the bed to me, +The braw lass made the bed to me. +I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, +The lass that made the bed to me. + +Had I The Wyte? She Bade Me + +Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, +Had I the wyte? she bade me; +She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, +And up the loan she shaw'd me. +And when I wadna venture in, +A coward loon she ca'd me: +Had Kirk an' State been in the gate, +I'd lighted when she bade me. + +Sae craftilie she took me ben, +And bade me mak nae clatter; +"For our ramgunshoch, glum gudeman +Is o'er ayont the water." + +Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, +When I did kiss and dawte her, +Let him be planted in my place, +Syne say, I was the fautor. + +Could I for shame, could I for shame, +Could I for shame refus'd her; +And wadna manhood been to blame, +Had I unkindly used her! +He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, +And blae and bluidy bruis'd her; +When sic a husband was frae hame, +What wife but wad excus'd her! + +I dighted aye her e'en sae blue, +An' bann'd the cruel randy, +And weel I wat, her willin' mou +Was sweet as sugar-candie. +At gloamin-shot, it was I wot, +I lighted on the Monday; +But I cam thro' the Tyseday's dew, +To wanton Willie's brandy. + +Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat? + +tune-"Push about the Jorum." + +Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? +Then let the louns beware, Sir; +There's wooden walls upon our seas, +And volunteers on shore, Sir: +The Nith shall run to Corsincon, +And Criffel sink in Solway, +Ere we permit a Foreign Foe +On British ground to rally! +We'll ne'er permit a Foreign Foe +On British ground to rally! + +O let us not, like snarling curs, +In wrangling be divided, +Till, slap! come in an unco loun, +And wi' a rung decide it! +Be Britain still to Britain true, +Amang ourselves united; +For never but by British hands +Maun British wrangs be righted! +No! never but by British hands +Shall British wrangs be righted! + +The Kettle o' the Kirk and State, +Perhaps a clout may fail in't; +But deil a foreign tinkler loun +Shall ever ca'a nail in't. +Our father's blude the Kettle bought, +And wha wad dare to spoil it; +By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog +Shall fuel be to boil it! +By Heav'ns! the sacrilegious dog +Shall fuel be to boil it! + +The wretch that would a tyrant own, +And the wretch, his true-born brother, +Who would set the Mob aboon the Throne, +May they be damn'd together! +Who will not sing "God save the King," +Shall hang as high's the steeple; +But while we sing "God save the King," +We'll ne'er forget The People! +But while we sing "God save the King," +We'll ne'er forget The People! + +Address To The Woodlark + +tune-"Loch Erroch Side." + +O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, +Nor quit for me the trembling spray, +A hapless lover courts thy lay, +Thy soothing, fond complaining. +Again, again that tender part, +That I may catch thy melting art; +For surely that wad touch her heart +Wha kills me wi' disdaining. +Say, was thy little mate unkind, +And heard thee as the careless wind? +Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, +Sic notes o' woe could wauken! +Thou tells o' never-ending care; +O'speechless grief, and dark despair: +For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair! +Or my poor heart is broken. + +Song.-On Chloris Being Ill + +tune-"Aye wauken O." + +Chorus-Long, long the night, +Heavy comes the morrow +While my soul's delight +Is on her bed of sorrow. + +Can I cease to care? +Can I cease to languish, +While my darling Fair +Is on the couch of anguish? +Long, long, &c. + +Ev'ry hope is fled, +Ev'ry fear is terror, +Slumber ev'n I dread, +Ev'ry dream is horror. +Long, long, &c. + +Hear me, Powers Divine! +Oh, in pity, hear me! +Take aught else of mine, +But my Chloris spare me! +Long, long, &c. + +How Cruel Are The Parents + +Altered from an old English song. +tune-"John Anderson, my jo." + +How cruel are the parents +Who riches only prize, +And to the wealthy booby +Poor Woman sacrifice! +Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter +Has but a choice of strife; +To shun a tyrant Father's hate- +Become a wretched Wife. + +The ravening hawk pursuing, +The trembling dove thus flies, +To shun impelling ruin, +Awhile her pinions tries; +Till, of escape despairing, +No shelter or retreat, +She trusts the ruthless Falconer, +And drops beneath his feet. + +Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion + +Air-"Deil tak the wars." + +Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion +Round the wealthy, titled bride: +But when compar'd with real passion, +Poor is all that princely pride. +Mark yonder, &c. (four lines repeated). + +What are the showy treasures, +What are the noisy pleasures? +The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art: +The polish'd jewels' blaze +May draw the wond'ring gaze; +And courtly grandeur bright +The fancy may delight, +But never, never can come near the heart. + +But did you see my dearest Chloris, +In simplicity's array; +Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, +Shrinking from the gaze of day, +But did you see, &c. + +O then, the heart alarming, +And all resistless charming, +In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul! +Ambition would disown +The world's imperial crown, +Ev'n Avarice would deny, +His worshipp'd deity, +And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. + +'Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E'e + +tune-"Laddie, lie near me." + +'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin, +Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin'; +'Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us, +'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness: +'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. + +Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, +Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me, +But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, +Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever: +Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. + +Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, +And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest! +And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, +Sooner the sun in his motion would falter: +Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. + +Their Groves O'Sweet Myrtle + +tune-"Humours of Glen." + +Their groves o' sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, +Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; +Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, +Wi' the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom. +Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers +Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen; +For there, lightly tripping, among the wild flowers, +A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. + +Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys, +And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; +Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, +What are they?-the haunt of the Tyrant and Slave. +The Slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, +The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain; +He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, +Save Love's willing fetters-the chains of his Jean. + +Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near + +Air-"Let me in this ae night." + +Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near, +Far, far from thee, I wander here; +Far, far from thee, the fate severe, +At which I most repine, Love. + +Chorus-O wert thou, Love, but near me! +But near, near, near me, +How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, +And mingle sighs with mine, Love. + +Around me scowls a wintry sky, +Blasting each bud of hope and joy; +And shelter, shade, nor home have I; +Save in these arms of thine, Love. +O wert thou, &c. + +Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, +To poison Fortune's ruthless dart- +Let me not break thy faithful heart, +And say that fate is mine, Love. +O wert thou, &c. + +But, dreary tho' the moments fleet, +O let me think we yet shall meet; +That only ray of solace sweet, +Can on thy Chloris shine, Love! +O wert thou, &c. + +Fragment,-Why, Why Tell The Lover + +tune-"Caledonian Hunt's delight." + +Why, why tell thy lover +Bliss he never must enjoy"? +Why, why undeceive him, +And give all his hopes the lie? +O why, while fancy, raptur'd slumbers, +Chloris, Chloris all the theme, +Why, why would'st thou, cruel- +Wake thy lover from his dream? + +The Braw Wooer + +tune-"The Lothian Lassie." + +Last May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen, +And sair wi' his love he did deave me; +I said, there was naething I hated like men- +The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me; +The deuce gae wi'm to believe me. + +He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en, +And vow'd for my love he was diein, +I said, he might die when he liked for Jean- +The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein; +The Lord forgie me for liein! + +A weel-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird, +And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers; +I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd; +But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers; +But thought I might hae waur offers. + +But what wad ye think?-in a fortnight or less- +The deil tak his taste to gae near her! +He up the Gate-slack to my black cousin, Bess- +Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her; +Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. + +But a' the niest week, as I petted wi' care, +I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock; +But wha but my fine fickle wooer was there, +I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, +I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. + +But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, +Lest neibours might say I was saucy; +My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, +And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, +And vow'd I was his dear lassie. + +I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, +Gin she had recover'd her hearin', +And how her new shoon fit her auld schachl't feet, +But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, +But heavens! how he fell a swearin. + +He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, +Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow; +So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, +I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow; +I think I maun wed him to-morrow. + +This Is No My Ain Lassie + +tune-"This is no my house." + +Chorus-This is no my ain lassie, +Fair tho, the lassie be; +Weel ken I my ain lassie, +Kind love is in her e're. + +I see a form, I see a face, +Ye weel may wi' the fairest place; +It wants, to me, the witching grace, +The kind love that's in her e'e. +This is no my ain, &c. + +She's bonie, blooming, straight, and tall, +And lang has had my heart in thrall; +And aye it charms my very saul, +The kind love that's in her e'e. +This is no my ain, &c. + +A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, +To steal a blink, by a' unseen; +But gleg as light are lover's een, +When kind love is in her e'e. +This is no my ain, &c. + +It may escape the courtly sparks, +It may escape the learned clerks; +But well the watching lover marks +The kind love that's in her eye. +This is no my ain, &c. + +O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier + +O bonie was yon rosy brier, +That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man; +And bonie she, and ah, how dear! +It shaded frae the e'enin sun. + +Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, +How pure, amang the leaves sae green; +But purer was the lover's vow +They witness'd in their shade yestreen. + +All in its rude and prickly bower, +That crimson rose, how sweet and fair; +But love is far a sweeter flower, +Amid life's thorny path o' care. + +The pathless, wild and wimpling burn, +Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine; +And I the warld nor wish nor scorn, +Its joys and griefs alike resign. + +Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham + +Now spring has clad the grove in green, +And strew'd the lea wi' flowers; +The furrow'd, waving corn is seen +Rejoice in fostering showers. +While ilka thing in nature join +Their sorrows to forego, +O why thus all alone are mine +The weary steps o' woe! + +The trout in yonder wimpling burn +That glides, a silver dart, +And, safe beneath the shady thorn, +Defies the angler's art- +My life was ance that careless stream, +That wanton trout was I; +But Love, wi' unrelenting beam, +Has scorch'd my fountains dry. + +That little floweret's peaceful lot, +In yonder cliff that grows, +Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, +Nae ruder visit knows, +Was mine, till Love has o'er me past, +And blighted a' my bloom; +And now, beneath the withering blast, +My youth and joy consume. + +The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, +And climbs the early sky, +Winnowing blythe his dewy wings +In morning's rosy eye; +As little reck'd I sorrow's power, +Until the flowery snare +O'witching Love, in luckless hour, +Made me the thrall o' care. + +O had my fate been Greenland snows, +Or Afric's burning zone, +Wi'man and nature leagued my foes, +So Peggy ne'er I'd known! +The wretch whose doom is "Hope nae mair" +What tongue his woes can tell; +Within whase bosom, save Despair, +Nae kinder spirits dwell. + +O That's The Lassie O' My Heart + +tune-"Morag." + +O wat ye wha that lo'es me +And has my heart a-keeping? +O sweet is she that lo'es me, +As dews o' summer weeping, +In tears the rosebuds steeping! + +Chorus-O that's the lassie o' my heart, +My lassie ever dearer; +O she's the queen o' womankind, +And ne'er a ane to peer her. + +If thou shalt meet a lassie, +In grace and beauty charming, +That e'en thy chosen lassie, +Erewhile thy breast sae warming, +Had ne'er sic powers alarming; +O that's the lassie, &c. + +If thou hadst heard her talking, +And thy attention's plighted, +That ilka body talking, +But her, by thee is slighted, +And thou art all delighted; +O that's the lassie, &c. + +If thou hast met this Fair One, +When frae her thou hast parted, +If every other Fair One +But her, thou hast deserted, +And thou art broken-hearted, +O that's the lassie o' my heart, +My lassie ever dearer; +O that's the queen o' womankind, +And ne'er a ane to peer her. + +Inscription + + Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, +presented to the Lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but +with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung +under the name of-"Chloris."^1 + +'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, +Nor thou the gift refuse, +Nor with unwilling ear attend +The moralising Muse. + +Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, +Must bid the world adieu, +(A world 'gainst Peace in constant arms) +To join the Friendly Few. + +Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, +Chill came the tempest's lour; +(And ne'er Misfortune's eastern blast +Did nip a fairer flower.) + +Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, +Still much is left behind, +Still nobler wealth hast thou in store- +The comforts of the mind! + +Thine is the self-approving glow, +Of conscious Honour's part; +And (dearest gift of Heaven below) +Thine Friendship's truest heart. + +The joys refin'd of Sense and Taste, +With every Muse to rove: +And doubly were the Poet blest, +These joys could he improve. +R.B. + +[Footnote 1: Miss Lorimer.] + +Fragment.-Leezie Lindsay + +Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay, +Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me? +Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay, +My pride and my darling to be. + +Fragment.-The Wren's Nest + +The Robin to the Wren's nest +Cam keekin' in, cam keekin' in; +O weel's me on your auld pow, +Wad ye be in, wad ye be in? +Thou's ne'er get leave to lie without, +And I within, and I within, +Sae lang's I hae an auld clout +To rowe ye in, to rowe ye in. + +News, Lassies, News + +There's news, lassies, news, +Gude news I've to tell! +There's a boatfu' o' lads +Come to our town to sell. + +Chorus-The wean wants a cradle, +And the cradle wants a cod: +I'll no gang to my bed, +Until I get a nod. + +Father, quo' she, Mither, quo she, +Do what you can, +I'll no gang to my bed, +Until I get a man. +The wean, &c. + +I hae as gude a craft rig +As made o'yird and stane; +And waly fa' the ley-crap, +For I maun till'd again. +The wean, &c. + +Crowdie Ever Mair + +O that I had ne'er been married, +I wad never had nae care, +Now I've gotten wife an' weans, +An' they cry "Crowdie" evermair. + +Chorus-Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, +Three times crowdie in a day +Gin ye crowdie ony mair, +Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. + +Waefu' Want and Hunger fley me, +Glowrin' by the hallan en'; +Sair I fecht them at the door, +But aye I'm eerie they come ben. +Ance crowdie, &c. + +Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet + +Chorus-Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, +Mally's modest and discreet; +Mally's rare, Mally's fair, +Mally's every way complete. + +As I was walking up the street, +A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet; +But O the road was very hard +For that fair maiden's tender feet. +Mally's meek, &c. + +It were mair meet that those fine feet +Were weel laced up in silken shoon; +An' 'twere more fit that she should sit +Within yon chariot gilt aboon, +Mally's meek, &c. + +Her yellow hair, beyond compare, +Comes trinklin down her swan-like neck, +And her two eyes, like stars in skies, +Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck, +Mally's meek, &c. + +Jockey's Taen The Parting Kiss + +Air-"Bonie lass tak a man." + +Jockey's taen the parting kiss, +O'er the mountains he is gane, +And with him is a' my bliss, +Nought but griefs with me remain, +Spare my Love, ye winds that blaw, +Plashy sleets and beating rain! +Spare my Love, thou feath'ry snaw, +Drifting o'er the frozen plain! + +When the shades of evening creep +O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, +Sound and safely may he sleep, +Sweetly blythe his waukening be. +He will think on her he loves, +Fondly he'll repeat her name; +For where'er he distant roves, +Jockey's heart is still the same. + +Verses To Collector Mitchell + +Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, +Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal; +Alake, alake, the meikle deil +Wi' a' his witches +Are at it skelpin jig and reel, +In my poor pouches? + +I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, +That One-pound-one, I sairly want it; +If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, +It would be kind; +And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, +I'd bear't in mind. + +So may the Auld year gang out moanin' +To see the New come laden, groanin', +Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin', +To thee and thine: +Domestic peace and comforts crownin' +The hale design. + +Postscript + +Ye've heard this while how I've been lickit, +And by fell Death was nearly nickit; +Grim loon! he got me by the fecket, +And sair me sheuk; +But by gude luck I lap a wicket, +And turn'd a neuk. + +But by that health, I've got a share o't, +But by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, +My hale and wee, I'll tak a care o't, +A tentier way; +Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't, +For ance and aye! + +The Dean Of Faculty + +A New Ballad + +tune-"The Dragon of Wantley." + +Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, +That Scot to Scot did carry; +And dire the discord Langside saw +For beauteous, hapless Mary: +But Scot to Scot ne'er met so hot, +Or were more in fury seen, Sir, +Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job, +Who should be the Faculty's Dean, Sir. + +This Hal for genius, wit and lore, +Among the first was number'd; +But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, +Commandment the tenth remember'd: +Yet simple Bob the victory got, +And wan his heart's desire, +Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, +Tho' the devil piss in the fire. + +Squire Hal, besides, had in this case +Pretensions rather brassy; +For talents, to deserve a place, +Are qualifications saucy. +So their worships of the Faculty, +Quite sick of merit's rudeness, +Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, +To their gratis grace and goodness. + +As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight +Of a son of Circumcision, +So may be, on this Pisgah height, +Bob's purblind mental vision- +Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet, +Till for eloquence you hail him, +And swear that he has the angel met +That met the ass of Balaam. + +In your heretic sins may you live and die, +Ye heretic Eight-and-Tairty! +But accept, ye sublime Majority, +My congratulations hearty. +With your honours, as with a certain king, +In your servants this is striking, +The more incapacity they bring, +The more they're to your liking. + +Epistle To Colonel De Peyster + +My honor'd Colonel, deep I feel +Your interest in the Poet's weal; +Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel +The steep Parnassus, +Surrounded thus by bolus pill, +And potion glasses. + +O what a canty world were it, +Would pain and care and sickness spare it; +And Fortune favour worth and merit +As they deserve; +And aye rowth o' roast-beef and claret, +Syne, wha wad starve? + +Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, +And in paste gems and frippery deck her; +Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker +I've found her still, +Aye wavering like the willow-wicker, +'Tween good and ill. + +Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, +Watches like baudrons by a ratton +Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on, +Wi'felon ire; +Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, +He's aff like fire. + +Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair, +First showing us the tempting ware, +Bright wines, and bonie lasses rare, +To put us daft +Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare +O hell's damned waft. + +Poor Man, the flie, aft bizzes by, +And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh, +Thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi'joy +And hellish pleasure! +Already in thy fancy's eye, +Thy sicker treasure. + +Soon, heels o'er gowdie, in he gangs, +And, like a sheep-head on a tangs, +Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs, +And murdering wrestle, +As, dangling in the wind, he hangs, +A gibbet's tassel. + +But lest you think I am uncivil +To plague you with this draunting drivel, +Abjuring a' intentions evil, +I quat my pen, +The Lord preserve us frae the devil! +Amen! Amen! + +A Lass Wi' A Tocher + +tune-"Ballinamona Ora." + +Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' Beauty's alarms, +The slender bit Beauty you grasp in your arms, +O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, +O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. + +Chorus-Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, +Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher; +Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher; +The nice yellow guineas for me. + +Your Beauty's a flower in the morning that blows, +And withers the faster, the faster it grows: +But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes, +Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes. +Then hey, for a lass, &c. + +And e'en when this Beauty your bosom hath blest +The brightest o' Beauty may cloy when possess'd; +But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie impress'd, +The langer ye hae them, the mair they're carest. +Then hey, for a lass, &c. + +Heron Election Ballad, No. IV. + +The Trogger. + +tune-"Buy Broom Besoms." + +Wha will buy my troggin, fine election ware, +Broken trade o' Broughton, a' in high repair? + +Chorus-Buy braw troggin frae the banks o' Dee; +Wha wants troggin let him come to me. + +There's a noble Earl's fame and high renown, +For an auld sang-it's thought the gudes were stown- +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's the worth o' Broughton in a needle's e'e; +Here's a reputation tint by Balmaghie. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's its stuff and lining, Cardoness' head, +Fine for a soger, a' the wale o' lead. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's a little wadset, Buittle's scrap o' truth, +Pawn'd in a gin-shop, quenching holy drouth. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's an honest conscience might a prince adorn; +Frae the downs o' Tinwald, so was never worn. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's armorial bearings frae the manse o' Urr; +The crest, a sour crab-apple, rotten at the core. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's the worth and wisdom Collieston can boast; +By a thievish midge they had been nearly lost. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here is Satan's picture, like a bizzard gled, +Pouncing poor Redcastle, sprawlin' like a taed. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here's the font where Douglas stane and mortar names; +Lately used at Caily christening Murray's crimes. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Here is Murray's fragments o' the ten commands; +Gifted by black Jock to get them aff his hands. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Saw ye e'er sic troggin? if to buy ye're slack, +Hornie's turnin chapman - he'll buy a' the pack. +Buy braw troggin, &c. + +Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars + +The Toast + +Fill me with the rosy wine, +Call a toast, a toast divine: +Giveth me Poet's darling flame, +Lovely Jessie be her name; +Then thou mayest freely boast, +Thou hast given a peerless toast. + +The Menagerie + +Talk not to me of savages, +From Afric's burning sun; +No savage e'er could rend my heart, +As Jessie, thou hast done: +But Jessie's lovely hand in mine, +A mutual faith to plight, +Not even to view the heavenly choir, +Would be so blest a sight. + +Jessie's illness + +Say, sages, what's the charm on earth +Can turn Death's dart aside! +It is not purity and worth, +Else Jessie had not died. + +On Her Recovery + +But rarely seen since Nature's birth, +The natives of the sky; +Yet still one seraph's left on earth, +For Jessie did not die. + +O Lay Thy Loof In Mine, Lass + +Chorus-O lay thy loof in mine, lass, +In mine, lass, in mine, lass; +And swear on thy white hand, lass, +That thou wilt be my ain. + +A slave to Love's unbounded sway, +He aft has wrought me meikle wae; +But now he is my deadly fae, +Unless thou be my ain. +O lay thy loof, &c. + +There's mony a lass has broke my rest, +That for a blink I hae lo'ed best; +But thou art Queen within my breast, +For ever to remain. +O lay thy loof, &c. + +A Health To Ane I Loe Dear + +Chorus-Here's a health to ane I loe dear, +Here's a health to ane I loe dear; +Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, +And soft as their parting tear-Jessy. + +Altho' thou maun never be mine, +Altho' even hope is denied; +'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, +Than ought in the world beside-Jessy. +Here's a health, &c. + +I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, +As hopeless I muse on thy charms; +But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, +For then I am lockt in thine arms-Jessy. +Here's a health, &c. + +I guess by the dear angel smile, +I guess by the love-rolling e'e; +But why urge the tender confession, +'Gainst Fortune's fell, cruel decree?-Jessy. +Here's a health, &c. + +O Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast + +O wert thou in the cauld blast, +On yonder lea, on yonder lea, +My plaidie to the angry airt, +I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee; +Or did Misfortune's bitter storms +Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, +Thy bield should be my bosom, +To share it a', to share it a'. + +Or were I in the wildest waste, +Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, +The desert were a Paradise, +If thou wert there, if thou wert there; +Or were I Monarch o' the globe, +Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, +The brightest jewel in my Crown +Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen. + +Inscription To Miss Jessy Lewars + +On a copy of the Scots Musical Museum, in four volumes, presented to her by +Burns. ^1 + +Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, +And with them take the Poet's prayer, +That Fate may, in her fairest page, +With ev'ry kindliest, best presage +Of future bliss, enroll thy name: +With native worth and spotless fame, +And wakeful caution, still aware +Of ill-but chief, Man's felon snare; + +All blameless joys on earth we find, +And all the treasures of the mind- +These be thy guardian and reward; +So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. + +Dumfries, June 26, 1769. + +[Footnote 1: Written for music played by Miss Lewars, who nursed him in his +last illness.] + +Fairest Maid On Devon Banks + +tune-'Rothiemurchie." + +Chorus-Fairest maid on Devon banks, +Crystal Devon, winding Devon, +Wilt thou lay that frown aside, +And smile as thou wert wont to do? + +Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, +Couldst thou to malice lend an ear! +O did not Love exclaim: "Forbear, +Nor use a faithful lover so." +Fairest maid, &c. + +Then come, thou fairest of the fair, +Those wonted smiles, O let me share; +And by thy beauteous self I swear, +No love but thine my heart shall know. +Fairest maid, &c. + +Glossary + +A', all. +A-back, behind, away. +Abiegh, aloof, off. +Ablins, v. aiblins. +Aboon, above up. +Abread, abroad. +Abreed, in breadth. +Ae, one. +Aff, off. +Aff-hand, at once. +Aff-loof, offhand. +A-fiel, afield. +Afore, before. +Aft, oft. +Aften, often. +Agley, awry. +Ahin, behind. +Aiblins, perhaps. +Aidle, foul water. +Aik, oak. +Aiken, oaken. +Ain, own. +Air, early. +Airle, earnest money. +Airn, iron. +Airt, direction. +Airt, to direct. +Aith, oath. +Aits, oats. +Aiver, an old horse. +Aizle, a cinder. +A-jee, ajar; to one side. +Alake, alas. +Alane, alone. +Alang, along. +Amaist, almost. +Amang, among. +An, if. +An', and. +Ance, once. +Ane, one. +Aneath, beneath. +Anes, ones. +Anither, another. +Aqua-fontis, spring water. +Aqua-vitae, whiskey. +Arle, v. airle. +Ase, ashes. +Asklent, askew, askance. +Aspar, aspread. +Asteer, astir. +A'thegither, altogether. +Athort, athwart. +Atweel, in truth. +Atween, between. +Aught, eight. +Aught, possessed of. +Aughten, eighteen. +Aughtlins, at all. +Auld, old. +Auldfarran, auldfarrant, shrewd, old-fashioned, sagacious. +Auld Reekie, Edinburgh. +Auld-warld, old-world. +Aumous, alms. +Ava, at all. +Awa, away. +Awald, backways and doubled up. +Awauk, awake. +Awauken, awaken. +Awe, owe. +Awkart, awkward. +Awnie, bearded. +Ayont, beyond. + +Ba', a ball. +Backet, bucket, box. +Backit, backed. +Backlins-comin, coming back. +Back-yett, gate at the back. +Bade, endured. +Bade, asked. +Baggie, stomach. +Baig'nets, bayonets. +Baillie, magistrate of a Scots burgh. +Bainie, bony. +Bairn, child. +Bairntime, brood. +Baith, both. +Bakes, biscuits. +Ballats, ballads. +Balou, lullaby. +Ban, swear. +Ban', band (of the Presbyterian clergyman). +Bane, bone. +Bang, an effort; a blow; a large number. +Bang, to thump. +Banie, v. bainie. +Bannet, bonnet. +Bannock, bonnock, a thick oatmeal cake. +Bardie, dim. of bard. +Barefit, barefooted. +Barket, barked. +Barley-brie, or bree, barley-brew-ale or whiskey. +Barm, yeast. +Barmie, yeasty. +Barn-yard, stackyard. +Bartie, the Devil. +Bashing, abashing. +Batch, a number. +Batts, the botts; the colic. +Bauckie-bird, the bat. +Baudrons, Baudrans, the cat. +Bauk, cross-beam. +Bauk, v. bawk. +Bauk-en', beam-end. +Bauld, bold. +Bauldest, boldest. +Bauldly, boldly. +Baumy, balmy. +Bawbee, a half-penny. +Bawdrons, v. baudrons. +Bawk, a field path. +Baws'nt, white-streaked. +Bear, barley. +Beas', beasts, vermin. +Beastie, dim. of beast. +Beck, a curtsy. +Beet, feed, kindle. +Beild, v. biel. +Belang, belong. +Beld, bald. +Bellum, assault. +Bellys, bellows. +Belyve, by and by. +Ben, a parlor (i.e., the inner apartment); into the parlor. +Benmost, inmost. +Be-north, to the northward of. +Be-south, to the southward of. +Bethankit, grace after meat. +Beuk, a book: devil's pictur'd beuks-playing-cards. +Bicker, a wooden cup. +Bicker, a short run. +Bicker, to flow swiftly and with a slight noise. +Bickerin, noisy contention. +Bickering, hurrying. +Bid, to ask, to wish, to offer. +Bide, abide, endure. +Biel, bield, a shelter; a sheltered spot. +Biel, comfortable. +Bien, comfortable. +Bien, bienly, comfortably. +Big, to build. +Biggin, building. +Bike, v. byke. +Bill, the bull. +Billie, fellow, comrade, brother. +Bings, heaps. +Birdie, dim. of bird; also maidens. +Birk, the birch. +Birken, birchen. +Birkie, a fellow. +Birr, force, vigor. +Birring, whirring. +Birses, bristles. +Birth, berth. +Bit, small (e.g., bit lassie). +Bit, nick of time. +Bitch-fou, completely drunk. +Bizz, a flurry. +Bizz, buzz. +Bizzard, the buzzard. +Bizzie, busy. +Black-bonnet, the Presbyterian elder. +Black-nebbit, black-beaked. +Blad, v. blaud. +Blae, blue, livid. +Blastet, blastit, blasted. +Blastie, a blasted (i.e., damned) creature; a little wretch. +Blate, modest, bashful. +Blather, bladder. +Blaud, a large quantity. +Blaud, to slap, pelt. +Blaw, blow. +Blaw, to brag. +Blawing, blowing. +Blawn, blown. +Bleer, to blear. +Bleer't, bleared. +Bleeze, blaze. +Blellum, a babbler; a railer; a blusterer. +Blether, blethers, nonsense. +Blether, to talk nonsense. +Bletherin', talking nonsense. +Blin', blind. +Blink, a glance, a moment. +Blink, to glance, to shine. +Blinkers, spies, oglers. +Blinkin, smirking, leering. +Blin't, blinded. +Blitter, the snipe. +Blue-gown, the livery of the licensed beggar. +Bluid, blood. +Bluidy, bloody. +Blume, to bloom. +Bluntie, a stupid. +Blypes, shreds. +Bobbed, curtsied. +Bocked, vomited. +Boddle, a farthing. +Bode, look for. +Bodkin, tailor's needle. +Body, bodie, a person. +Boggie, dim. of bog. +Bogle, a bogie, a hobgoblin. +Bole, a hole, or small recess in the wall. +Bonie, bonnie, pretty, beautiful. +Bonilie, prettily. +Bonnock, v. Bannock. +'Boon, above. +Boord, board, surface. +Boord-en', board-end. +Boortress, elders. +Boost, must needs. +Boot, payment to the bargain. +Bore, a chink, recess. +Botch, an angry tumor. +Bouk, a human trunk; bulk. +Bountith, bounty. +'Bout, about. +Bow-hough'd, bandy-thighed. +Bow-kail, cabbage. +Bow't, bent. +Brachens, ferns. +Brae, the slope of a hill. +Braid, broad. +Broad-claith, broad-cloth. +Braik, a harrow. +Braing't, plunged. +Brak, broke. +Brak's, broke his. +Brankie, gay, fine. +Branks, a wooden curb, a bridle. +Bran'y, brandy. +Brash, short attack. +Brats, small pieces, rags. +Brats, small children. +Brattle, a scamper. +Brattle, noisy onset. +Braw, handsome, fine, gaily dressed. +Brawlie, finely, perfectly, heartily. +Braxies, sheep that have died of braxie (a disease). +Breastie, dim. of breast. +Breastit, sprang forward. +Brechan, ferns. +Breeks, breeches. +Breer, brier. +Brent, brand. +Brent, straight, steep (i.e., not sloping from baldness). +Brie, v. barley-brie. +Brief, writ. +Brier, briar. +Brig, bridge. +Brisket, breast. +Brither, brother. +Brock, a badger. +Brogue, a trick. +Broo, soup, broth, water; liquid in which anything is cooked. +Brooses, wedding races from the church to the home of the bride. +Brose, a thick mixture of meal and warm water; also a synonym for porridge. +Browster wives, ale wives. +Brugh, a burgh. +Brulzie, brulyie, a brawl. +Brunstane, brimstone. +Brunt, burned. +Brust, burst. +Buckie, dim. of buck; a smart younker. +Buckle, a curl. +Buckskin, Virginian: the buckskin kye, negroes. +Budget, tinker's bag of tools. +Buff, to bang, to thump. +Bughtin, folding. +Buirdly, stalwart. +Bum, the buttocks. +Bum, to hum. +Bum-clock, beetle, cockchafer, Junebug. +Bummle, a drone, a useless fellow. +Bunker, a seat. +Bunters, harlots. +Burdies, dim. of bird or burd (a lady); maidens. +Bure, bore. +Burn, a rivulet. +Burnewin, the blacksmith (i.e., burn the wind). +Burnie, dim. of burn, a rivulet. +Burr-thistle, spear-thistle. +Busk, to dress; to garb; to dress up; to adorn. +Buss, a bush. +Bussle, bustle. +But, without. +But, butt, in the kitchen (i.e., the outer apartment). +By, past, aside. +By, beside. +By himsel, beside himself. +Bye attour (i.e., by and attour), beside and at a distance. +Byke, a bees' nest; a hive; a swarm; a crowd. +Byre, a cow-house. + +Ca', call, knock, drive. +Cadger, a hawker (especially of fish). +Cadie, caddie, a fellow. +Caff, chaff. +Caird, a tinker. +Calf-ward, grazing plot for calves (i.e., churchyard). +Callan, callant, a stripling. +Caller, cool, refreshing. +Callet, a trull. +Cam, came. +Canie, cannie, gentle, tractable, quiet, prudent, careful. +Cankrie, crabbed. +Canna, can not. +Canniest, quietest. +Cannilie, cannily, quietly, prudently, cautiously. +Cantie, cheerful, lively, jolly, merry. +Cantraip, magic, witching. +Cants, merry stories, canters or sprees or merry doings. +Cape-stanc, copestone. +Capon-castrate. +Care na by, do not care. +Carl, carle, a man, an old man. +Carl-hemp, male-hemp. +Carlie, a manikin. +Carlin, carline a middle-aged, or old, woman; a beldam, a witch. +Carmagnole, a violent Jacobin. +Cartes, playing-cards. +Cartie, dim. of cart. +Catch-the-plack, the hunt for money. +Caudron, a caldron. +Cauf, calf. +Cauf-leather, calf-leather. +Cauk, chalk. +Cauld, cold. +Cauldron, caldron. +Caup, a wooden drinking vessel. +Causey-cleaners, causeway-cleaners. +Cavie, a hen-coop. +Chamer, chaumer, chamber. +Change-house, tavern. +Chanter, bagpipes; the pipe of the bag-pipes which produces the melody; song. +Chap, a fellow, a young fellow. +Chap, to strike. +Chapman, a pedler. +Chaup, chap, a stroke, a blow. +Chear, cheer. +Chearfu', cheerful. +Chearless, cheerless. +Cheary, cheery. +Cheek-for-chow, cheek-by-jowl (i.e. close beside). +Cheep, peep, squeak. +Chiel, chield (i. e., child), a fellow, a young fellow. +Chimla, chimney. +Chittering, shivering. +Chows, chews. +Chuck, a hen, a dear. +Chuckie, dim. of chuck, but usually signifies mother hen, an old dear. +Chuffie, fat-faced. +Chuse, to choose. +Cit, the civet. +Cit, a citizen, a merchant. +Clachan, a small village about a church. +Claeding, clothing. +Claes, claise, clothes. +Claith, cloth. +Claithing, clothing. +Clankie, a severe knock. +Clap, the clapper of a mill. +Clark, a clerk. +Clark, clerkly, scholarly. +Clarkit, clerked, wrote. +Clarty, dirty. +Clash, an idle tale; gossip. +Clash, to tattle. +Clatter, noise, tattle, talk, disputation, babble. +Clatter, to make a noise by striking; to babble; to prattle. +Claught, clutched, seized. +Claughtin, clutching, grasping. +Claut, a clutch, a handful. +Claut, to scrape. +Claver, clover. +Clavers, gossip, nonsense. +Claw, a scratch, a blow. +Claw, to scratch, to strike. +Clay-cauld, clay-cold. +Claymore, a two-handed Highland sword. +Cleckin, a brood. +Cleed, to clothe. +Cleek, to snatch. +Cleekit, linked arms. +Cleg, gadfly. +Clink, a sharp stroke; jingle. +Clink, money, coin. +Clink, to chink. +Clink, to rhyme. +Clinkin, with a smart motion. +Clinkum, clinkumbell, the beadle, the bellman. +Clips, shears. +Clish-ma-claver, gossip, taletelling; non-sense. +Clockin-time, clucking- (i. e., hatching-) time. +Cloot, the hoof. +Clootie, cloots, hoofie, hoofs (a nickname of the Devil). +Clour, a bump or swelling after a blow. +Clout, a cloth, a patch. +Clout, to patch. +Clud, a cloud. +Clunk, to make a hollow sound. +Coble, a broad and flat boat. +Cock, the mark (in curling). +Cockie, dim. of cock (applied to an old man). +Cocks, fellows, good fellows. +Cod, a pillow. +Coft, bought. +Cog, a wooden drinking vessel, a porridge dish, a corn measure for horses. +Coggie, dim. of cog, a little dish. +Coil, Coila, Kyle (one of the ancient districts of Ayrshire). +Collieshangie, a squabble. +Cood, cud. +Coof, v. cuif. +Cookit, hid. +Coor, cover. +Cooser, a courser, a stallion. +Coost (i. e., cast), looped, threw off, tossed, chucked. +Cootie, a small pail. +Cootie, leg-plumed. +Corbies, ravens, crows. +Core, corps. +Corn mou, corn heap. +Corn't, fed with corn. +Corse, corpse. +Corss, cross. +Cou'dna, couldna, couldn't. +Countra, country. +Coup, to capsize. +Couthie, couthy, loving, affable, cosy, comfortable. +Cowe, to scare, to daunt. +Cowe, to lop. +Crack, tale; a chat; talk. +Crack, to chat, to talk. +Craft, croft. +Craft-rig, croft-ridge. +Craig, the throat. +Craig, a crag. +Craigie, dim. of craig, the throat. +Craigy, craggy. +Craik, the corn-crake, the land-rail. +Crambo-clink, rhyme. +Crambo-jingle, rhyming. +Cran, the support for a pot or kettle. +Crankous, fretful. +Cranks, creakings. +Cranreuch, hoar-frost. +Crap, crop, top. +Craw, crow. +Creel, an osier basket. +Creepie-chair, stool of repentance. +Creeshie, greasy. +Crocks, old ewes. +Cronie, intimate friend. +Crooded, cooed. +Croods, coos. +Croon, moan, low. +Croon, to toll. +Crooning, humming. +Croose, crouse, cocksure, set, proud, cheerful. +Crouchie, hunchbacked. +Crousely, confidently. +Crowdie, meal and cold water, meal and milk, porridge. +Crowdie-time, porridge-time (i. e., breakfast-time). +Crowlin, crawling. +Crummie, a horned cow. +Crummock, cummock, a cudgel, a crooked staff. +Crump, crisp. +Crunt, a blow. +Cuddle, to fondle. +Cuif, coof, a dolt, a ninny; a dastard. +Cummock, v. crummock. +Curch, a kerchief for the head. +Curchie, a curtsy. +Curler, one who plays at curling. +Curmurring, commotion. +Curpin, the crupper of a horse. +Curple, the crupper (i. e., buttocks). +Cushat, the wood pigeon. +Custock, the pith of the colewort. +Cutes, feet, ankles. +Cutty, short. +Cutty-stools, stools of repentance. + +Dad, daddie, father. +Daez't, dazed. +Daffin, larking, fun. +Daft, mad, foolish. +Dails, planks. +Daimen icker, an odd ear of corn. +Dam, pent-up water, urine. +Damie, dim. of dame. +Dang, pret. of ding. +Danton, v. daunton. +Darena, dare not. +Darg, labor, task, a day's work. +Darklins, in the dark. +Daud, a large piece. +Daud, to pelt. +Daunder, saunter. +Daunton, to daunt. +Daur, dare. +Daurna, dare not. +Daur't, dared. +Daut, dawte, to fondle. +Daviely, spiritless. +Daw, to dawn. +Dawds, lumps. +Dawtingly, prettily, caressingly. +Dead, death. +Dead-sweer, extremely reluctant. +Deave, to deafen. +Deil, devil. +Deil-haet, nothing (Devil have it). +Deil-ma-care, Devil may care. +Deleeret, delirious, mad. +Delvin, digging. +Dern'd, hid. +Descrive, to describe. +Deuk, duck. +Devel, a stunning blow. +Diddle, to move quickly. +Dight, to wipe. +Dight, winnowed, sifted. +Din, dun, muddy of complexion. +Ding, to beat, to surpass. +Dink, trim. +Dinna, do not. +Dirl, to vibrate, to ring. +Diz'n, dizzen, dozen. +Dochter, daughter. +Doited, muddled, doting; stupid, bewildered. +Donsie, vicious, bad-tempered; restive; testy. +Dool, wo, sorrow. +Doolfu', doleful, woful. +Dorty, pettish. +Douce, douse, sedate, sober, prudent. +Douce, doucely, dousely, sedately, prudently. +Doudl'd, dandled. +Dought (pret. of dow), could. +Douked, ducked. +Doup, the bottom. +Doup-skelper, bottom-smacker. +Dour-doure, stubborn, obstinate; cutting. +Dow, dowe, am (is or are) able, can. +Dow, a dove. +Dowf, dowff, dull. +Dowie, drooping, mournful. +Dowilie, drooping. +Downa, can not. +Downa-do (can not do), lack of power. +Doylt, stupid, stupefied. +Doytin, doddering., +Dozen'd, torpid. +Dozin, torpid. +Draigl't, draggled. +Drant, prosing. +Drap, drop. +Draunting, tedious. +Dree, endure, suffer. +Dreigh, v. dreight. +Dribble, drizzle. +Driddle, to toddle. +Dreigh, tedious, dull. +Droddum, the breech. +Drone, part of the bagpipe. +Droop-rumpl't, short-rumped. +Drouk, to wet, to drench. +Droukit, wetted. +Drouth, thirst. +Drouthy, thirsty. +Druken, drucken, drunken. +Drumlie, muddy, turbid. +Drummock, raw meal and cold water. +Drunt, the huff. +Dry, thirsty. +Dub, puddle, slush. +Duddie, ragged. +Duddies, dim. of duds, rags. +Duds, rags, clothes. +Dung, v. dang. +Dunted, throbbed, beat. +Dunts, blows. +Durk, dirk. +Dusht, pushed or thrown down violently. +Dwalling, dwelling. +Dwalt, dwelt. +Dyke, a fence (of stone or turf), a wall. +Dyvor, a bankrupt. + +Ear', early. +Earn, eagle. +Eastlin, eastern. +E'e, eye. +E'ebrie, eyebrow. +Een, eyes. +E'en, even. +E'en, evening. +E'enin', evening. +E'er, ever. +Eerie, apprehensive; inspiring ghostly fear. +Eild, eld. +Eke, also. +Elbuck, elbow. +Eldritch, unearthly, haunted, fearsome. +Elekit, elected. +Ell (Scots), thirty-seven inches. +Eller, elder. +En', end. +Eneugh, enough. +Enfauld, infold. +Enow, enough. +Erse, Gaelic. +Ether-stane, adder-stone. +Ettle, aim. +Evermair, evermore. +Ev'n down, downright, positive. +Eydent, diligent. + +Fa', fall. +Fa', lot, portion. +Fa', to get; suit; claim. +Faddom'd, fathomed. +Fae, foe. +Faem, foam. +Faiket, let off, excused. +Fain, fond, glad. +Fainness, fondness. +Fair fa', good befall! welcome. +Fairin., a present from a fair. +Fallow, fellow. +Fa'n, fallen. +Fand, found. +Far-aff, far-off. +Farls, oat-cakes. +Fash, annoyance. +Fash, to trouble; worry. +Fash'd, fash't, bothered; irked. +Fashious, troublesome. +Fasten-e'en, Fasten's Even (the evening before Lent). +Faught, a fight. +Fauld, the sheep-fold. +Fauld, folded. +Faulding, sheep-folding. +Faun, fallen. +Fause, false. +Fause-house, hole in a cornstack. +Faut, fault. +Fautor, transgressor. +Fawsont, seemly, well-doing; good-looking. +Feat, spruce. +Fecht, fight. +Feck, the bulk, the most part. +Feck, value, return. +Fecket, waistcoat; sleeve waistcoat (used by farm-servants as both vest and +jacket). +Feckless, weak, pithless, feeble. +Feckly, mostly. +Feg, a fig. +Fegs, faith! +Feide, feud. +Feint, v. fient. +Feirrie, lusty. +Fell, keen, cruel, dreadful, deadly; pungent. +Fell, the cuticle under the skin. +Felly, relentless. +Fen', a shift. +Fen', fend, to look after; to care for; keep off. +Fenceless, defenseless. +Ferlie, ferly, a wonder. +Ferlie, to marvel. +Fetches, catches, gurgles. +Fetch't, stopped suddenly. +Fey, fated to death. +Fidge, to fidget, to wriggle. +Fidgin-fain, tingling-wild. +Fiel, well. +Fient, fiend, a petty oath. +Fient a, not a, devil a. +Fient haet, nothing (fiend have it). +Fient haet o', not one of. +Fient-ma-care, the fiend may care (I don't!). +Fier, fiere, companion. +Fier, sound, active. +Fin', to find. +Fissle, tingle, fidget with delight. +Fit, foot. +Fittie-lan', the near horse of the hind-most pair in the plough. +Flae, a flea. +Flaffin, flapping. +Flainin, flannen, flannel. +Flang, flung. +Flee, to fly. +Fleech, wheedle. +Fleesh, fleece. +Fleg, scare, blow, jerk. +Fleth'rin, flattering. +Flewit, a sharp lash. +Fley, to scare. +Flichterin, fluttering. +Flinders, shreds, broken pieces. +Flinging, kicking out in dancing; capering. +Flingin-tree, a piece of timber hung by way of partition between two horses +in a stable; a flail. +Fliskit, fretted, capered. +Flit, to shift. +Flittering, fluttering. +Flyte, scold. +Fock, focks, folk. +Fodgel, dumpy. +Foor, fared (i. e., went). +Foorsday, Thursday. +Forbears, forebears, forefathers. +Forby, forbye, besides. +Forfairn, worn out; forlorn. +Forfoughten, exhausted. +Forgather, to meet with. +Forgie, to forgive. +Forjesket, jaded. +Forrit, forward. +Fother, fodder. +Fou, fow, full (i. e., drunk). +Foughten, troubled. +Foumart, a polecat. +Foursome, a quartet. +Fouth, fulness, abundance. +Fow, v. fou. +Fow, a bushel. +Frae, from. +Freath, to froth, +Fremit, estranged, hostile. +Fu', full. +Fu'-han't, full-handed. +Fud, a short tail (of a rabbit or hare). +Fuff't, puffed. +Fur, furr, a furrow. +Fur-ahin, the hindmost plough-horse in the furrow. +Furder, success. +Furder, to succeed. +Furm, a wooden form. +Fusionless, pithless, sapless, tasteless, +Fyke, fret. +Fyke, to fuss; fidget. +Fyle, to defile, to foul. + +Gab, the mouth. +Gab, to talk. +Gabs, talk. +Gae, gave. +Gae, to go. +Gaed, went. +Gaen, gone. +Gaets, ways, manners. +Gairs, gores. +Gane, gone. +Gang, to go. +Gangrel, vagrant. +Gar, to cause, to make, to compel. +Garcock, the moorcock. +Garten, garter. +Gash, wise; self-complacent (implying prudence and prosperity); talkative. +Gashing, talking, gabbing. +Gat, got. +Gate, way-road, manner. +Gatty, enervated. +Gaucie, v. Gawsie. +Gaud, a. goad. +Gaudsman, goadsman, driver of the plough-team. +Gau'n. gavin. +Gaun, going. +Gaunted, gaped, yawned. +Gawky, a foolish woman or lad. +Gawky, foolish. +Gawsie, buxom; jolly. +Gaylies, gaily, rather. +Gear, money, wealth; goods; stuff. +Geck, to sport; toss the head. +Ged. a pike. +Gentles, gentry. +Genty, trim and elegant. +Geordie, dim. of George, a guinea. +Get, issue, offspring, breed. +Ghaist, ghost. +Gie, to give. +Gied, gave. +Gien, given. +Gif, if. +Giftie, dim. of gift. +Giglets, giggling youngsters or maids. +Gillie, dim. of gill (glass of whiskey). +Gilpey, young girl. +Gimmer, a young ewe. +Gin, if, should, whether; by. +Girdle, plate of metal for firing cakes, bannocks. +Girn, to grin, to twist the face (but from pain or rage, not joy); gapes; +snarls. +Gizz, wig. +Glaikit, foolish, thoughtless, giddy. +Glaizie, glossy, shiny. +Glaum'd, grasped. +Gled, a hawk, a kite. +Gleede, a glowing coal. +Gleg, nimble, sharp, keen-witted. +Gleg, smartly. +Glieb, a portion of land. +Glib-gabbet, smooth-tongued. +Glint, sparkle. +Gloamin, twilight; gloamin-shot, sunset. +Glow'r, stare. +Glunch, frown, growl. +Goavin, looking dazedlyl; mooning. +Gotten, got. +Gowan, the wild, or mountain, daisy. +Gowany, covered with wild daisies. +Gowd, gold. +Gowdie, the head. +Gowff'd, struck, as in the game of golf. +Gowk, the cuckoo, a dolt. +Gowling, lamenting (as a dog in grief). +Graff, a grave, a vault. +Grain'd, groaned. +Graip, a dung-fork. +Graith, implements, gear; furniture; attire. +Graithing, gearing, vestments. +Grane, groan. +Grannie, graunie, grandmother. +Grape, grope. +Grat, wept. +Gree, the prize (degree). +Gree, to agree. +Greet, to weep. +Groanin maut, groaning malt, brewed for a lying-in. +Grozet, a gooseberry. +Grumphie, the pig. +Grun', the ground. +Gruntle, the face. +Gruntle, dim. of grunt. +Grunzie, growing. +Grutten, wept. +Gude, God. +Guid, gude, good. +Guid-e'en, good evening. +Guid-father, father-in-law. +Guid-man, husband. +Guid-wife. mistress of the house. +Guid-willie, hearty, full of good-will. +Gullie, gully, a large knife. +Gulravage, riotous play. +Gumlie, muddy. +Gumption, wisdom. +Gusty, tasty. +Gutcher, goodsire, grandfather. + +Ha', hall. +Ha' folk, the servants. +Haddin, holding, inheritance. +Hae, have. +Haet, a thing. +Haffet, hauffet, the temple, the side of the head. +Haffets, side-locks. +Hafflins, half, partly. +Hag, a moss, a broken bog. +Haggis, a special Scots pudding, made of sheep's lungs, liver and heart, +onions and oatmeal, boiled in a sheep's stomach. +Hain, to spare, to save. +Hairst, har'st, harvest. +Haith, faith (an oath). +Haivers, v. havers. +Hal', hald, holding, possession. +Hale, hail, the whole. +Hale, health. +Hale, hail, whole, healthy. +Halesome, wholesome. +Hallan, a partition wall, a porch, outer door. +Halloween, All Saints' Eve (31st of October). +Hallowmas, All Saints' Day (1st of November). +Haly, holy. +Hame, home, +Han', haun, hand. +Han-darg, v. darg. +Hand-wal'd, hand-picked (i.e., choicest). +Hangie, hangman (nickname of the Devil). +Hansel, the first gift; earnest. +Hap, a wrap, a covering against cold. +Hap, to shelter. +Hap, to hop. +Happer, hopper (of a mill). +Hap-step-an'-lowp. hop-step-and-jump. +Harkit, hearkened. +Harn, coarse cloth. +Hash, an oaf. +Haslock woo, the wool on the neck of a sheep. +Haud, to hold, to keep. +Hauf, half. +Haughs, low-lying rich lands by a river. +Haun, v. han', +Haurl, to trail. +Hause, cuddle, embrace. +Haveril, hav'rel, one who talks nonsense. +Havers, nonsense. +Havins, manners, conduct. +Hawkie, a white-faced cow; a cow. +Heal, v. hale. +Healsome, v. halesome. +Hecht, to promise; threaten. +Heckle, a flax-comb. +Heels-o'er-gowdie, v. gowdie. +Heeze, to hoist. +Heich, heigh, high. +Hem-shin'd, crooked-shin'd. +Herd, a herd-boy. +Here awa, hereabout. +Herry, to harry. +Herryment, spoliation. +Hersel, herself. +Het, hot. +Heugh, a hollow or pit; a crag, a steep bank. +Heuk, a hook. +Hilch, to hobble. +Hiltie-skiltie, helter-skelter. +Himsel, himselfk +Hiney, hinny, honey. +Hing, to hang. +Hirple, to move unevenly; to limp. +Hissels, so many cattle as one person can attend (R. B.). +Histie, bare. +Hizzie, a hussy, a wench. +Hoast, cough. +Hoddin, the motion of a sage countryman riding on a cart-horse (R. B.). +Hoddin-grey, coarse gray woolen. +Hoggie, dim. of hog; a lamb. +Hog-score, a line on the curling rink. +Hog-shouther, a kind of horse-play by jostling with the shoulder; to jostle. +Hoodie-craw, the hooded crow, the carrion crow. +Hoodock, grasping, vulturish. +Hooked, caught. +Hool, the outer case, the sheath. +Hoolie, softly. +Hoord, hoard. +Hoordet, hoarded. +Horn, a horn spoon; a comb of horn. +Hornie, the Devil. +Host, v. hoast. +Hotch'd, jerked. +Houghmagandie, fornication. +Houlet, v. howlet. +Houpe, hope. +Hove, swell. +Howdie, howdy, a midwife. +Howe, hollow. +Howk, to dig. +Howlet, the owl. +Hoyse, a hoist. +Hoy't, urged (R. B.). +Hoyte, to amble crazily (R. B.). +Hughoc, dim. of Hugh. +Hullions, slovens. +Hunder, a hundred. +Hunkers, hams. +Hurcheon, the hedgehog. +Hurchin, urchin. +Hurdies, the loins, the crupper (R. B.) (i. e., the buttocks). +Hurl, to trundle. +Hushion, a footless stocking. +Hyte, furious. + +I', in. +Icker, an ear of corn. +Ier-oe, a great-grandchild. +Ilk, ilka, each, every. +Ill o't, bad at it. +Ill-taen, ill-taken. +Ill-thief. the Devil. +Ill-willie, ill-natured, niggardly. +Indentin, indenturing. +Ingine, genius, ingenuity; wit. +Ingle, the fire, the fireside. +Ingle-cheek, fireside (properly the jamb of the fireplace). +Ingle-lowe, ingle-low, flame of the fire. +I'se, I shall, or will. +Itsel', itself. +Ither, other, another. + +Jad, a jade. +Janwar, January. +Jauk, to trifle, to dally. +Jauner, gabber. +Jauntie, dim. of jaunt. +Jaup, splash. +Jaw, talk, impudence. +Jaw, to throw, to dash. +Jeeg, to jog. +Jillet, a jilt. +Jimp, small, slender. +Jimply, neatly. +Jimps, stays. +Jink, the slip. +Jink, to frisk, to sport, to dodge. +Jinker, dodger (coquette); a jinker noble; a noble goer. +Jirkinet, bodice. +Jirt, a jerk. +Jiz, a wig. +Jo, a sweetheart. +Jocteleg, a clasp-knife. +Jouk, to duck, to cover, to dodge. +Jow, to jow, a verb which included both the swinging motion and pealing +sound of a large bell (R. B.). +Jumpet, jumpit, jumped. +Jundie, to jostle. +Jurr, a servant wench. + +Kae, a jackdaw. +Kail, kale, the colewort; cabbage; Scots' broth. +Kail-blade, the leaf of the colewort. +Kail-gullie, a cabbage knife. +Kail-runt, the stem of the colewort. +Kail-whittle, a cabbage knife. +Kail-yard, a kitchen garden. +Kain, kane, rents in kind. +Kame, a comb. +Kebars, rafters. +Kebbuck, a cheese; a kebbuck heel = the last crust of a cheese. +Keckle, to cackle, to giggle. +Keek, look, glance. +Keekin-glass, the looking-glass. +Keel, red chalk. +Kelpies, river demons. +Ken, to know. +Kenna, know not. +Kennin, a very little (merely as much as can be perceived). +Kep, to catch. +Ket, the fleece on a sheep's body. +Key, quay. +Kiaugh, anxiety. +Kilt, to tuck up. +Kimmer, a wench, a gossip; a wife. +Kin', kind. +King's-hood, the 2d stomach in a ruminant (equivocal for the scrotum). +Kintra, country. +Kirk, church. +Kirn, a churn. +Kirn, harvest home. +Kirsen, to christen. +Kist, chest, counter. +Kitchen, to relish. +Kittle, difficult, ticklish, delicate, fickle. +Kittle, to tickle. +Kittlin, kitten. +Kiutlin, cuddling. +Knaggie, knobby. +Knappin-hammers, hammers for breaking stones. +Knowe, knoll. +Knurl, knurlin, dwarf. +Kye, cows. +Kytes, bellies. +Kythe, to show. + +Laddie, dim. of lad. +Lade, a load. +Lag, backward. +Laggen, the bottom angle of a wooden dish. +Laigh, low. +Laik, lack. +Lair, lore, learning. +Laird, landowner. +Lairing, sticking or sinking in moss or mud. +Laith, loath. +Laithfu', loathful, sheepish. +Lallan, lowland. +Lallans, Scots Lowland vernacular. +Lammie, dim. of lamb. +Lan', land. +Lan'-afore, the foremost horse on the unplowed land side. +Lan'-ahin, the hindmost horse on the unplowed land side. +Lane, lone. +Lang, long. +Lang syne, long since, long ago. +Lap, leapt. +Lave, the rest. +Laverock, lav'rock, the lark. +Lawin, the reckoning. +Lea, grass, untilled land. +Lear, lore, learning. +Leddy, lady. +Lee-lang, live-long. +Leesome, lawful. +Leeze me on, dear is to me; blessings on; commend me to. +Leister, a fish-spear. +Len', to lend. +Leugh, laugh'd. +Leuk, look. +Ley-crap, lea-crop. +Libbet, castrated. +Licks, a beating. +Lien, lain. +Lieve, lief. +Lift, the sky. +Lift, a load. +Lightly, to disparage, to scorn. +Lilt, to sing. +Limmer, to jade; mistress. +Lin, v. linn. +Linn, a waterfall. +Lint, flax. +Lint-white, flax-colored. +Lintwhite, the linnet. +Lippen'd, trusted. +Lippie, dim. of lip. +Loan, a lane, +Loanin, the private road leading to a farm. +Lo'ed, loved. +Lon'on, London. +Loof (pl. looves), the palm of the hand. +Loon, loun, lown, a fellow, a varlet. +Loosome, lovable. +Loot, let. +Loove, love. +Looves, v. loof. +Losh, a minced oath. +Lough, a pond, a lake. +Loup, lowp, to leap. +Low, lowe, a flame. +Lowin, lowing, flaming, burning. +Lown, v. loon. +Lowp, v. loup. +Lowse, louse, to untie, let loose. +Lucky, a grandmother, an old woman; an ale wife. +Lug, the ear. +Lugget, having ears. +Luggie, a porringer. +Lum, the chimney. +Lume, a loom. +Lunardi, a balloon bonnet. +Lunches, full portions. +Lunt, a column of smoke or steam. +Luntin, smoking. +Luve, love. +Lyart, gray in general; discolored by decay or old age. +Lynin, lining. + +Mae, more. +Mailen, mailin, a farm. +Mailie, Molly. +Mair, more. +Maist. most. +Maist, almost. +Mak, make. +Mak o', make o', to pet, to fondle. +Mall, Mally. +Manteele, a mantle. +Mark, merk, an old Scots coin (13 1-3d. sterling). +Mashlum, of mixed meal. +Maskin-pat, the teapot. +Maukin, a hare. +Maun, must. +Maunna, mustn't. +Maut, malt. +Mavis, the thrush. +Mawin, mowing. +Mawn, mown. +Mawn, a large basket. +Mear, a mare. +Meikle, mickle, muckle, much, great. +Melder, a grinding corn. +Mell, to meddle. +Melvie, to powder with meal-dust. +Men', mend. +Mense, tact, discretion, politeness. +Menseless, unmannerly. +Merle, the blackbird. +Merran, Marian. +Mess John, Mass John, the parish priest, the minister. +Messin, a cur, a mongrel. +Midden, a dunghill. +Midden-creels, manure-baskets. +Midden dub, midden puddle. +Midden-hole, a gutter at the bottom of the dunghill. +Milking shiel, the milking shed. +Mim, prim, affectedly meek. +Mim-mou'd, prim-lipped. +Min', mind, remembrance. +Mind, to remember, to bear in mind. +Minnie, mother. +Mirk, dark. +Misca', to miscall, to abuse. +Mishanter, mishap. +Mislear'd, mischievous, unmannerly. +Mistak, mistake. +Misteuk, mistook. +Mither, mother. +Mixtie-maxtie, confused. +Monie, many. +Mools, crumbling earth, grave. +Moop, to nibble, to keep close company, to meddle. +Mottie, dusty. +Mou', the mouth. +Moudieworts, moles. +Muckle, v. meikle. +Muslin-kail, beefless broth. +Mutchkin, an English pint. + +Na, nae, no, not. +Naething, naithing, nothing. +Naig, a nag. +Nane, none, +Nappy, ale, liquor. +Natch, a notching implement; abuse. +Neebor, neibor, neighbor. +Needna, needn't. +Neist, next. +Neuk, newk, a nook, a corner. +New-ca'd, newly driven. +Nick (Auld), Nickie-ben, a name of the Devil. +Nick, to sever; to slit; to nail, to seize away. +Nickie-ben, v. Nick. +Nick-nackets, curiosities. +Nicks, cuts; the rings on a cow's horns. +Nieve, the fist. +Nieve-fu', fistful. +Niffer, exchange. +Nit, a nut. +No, not. +Nocht, nothing. +Norland, northern. +Nowt, nowte, cattle. + +O', of. +O'erword, the refrain; catchword. +Onie, any. +Or, ere, before. +Orra, extra. +O't, of it. +Ought, aught. +Oughtlins, aughtlins, aught in the least; at all. +Ourie, shivering, drooping. +Outler, unhoused. +Owre, over, too. +Owsen, oxen. +Owthor, author. +Oxter'd, held up under the arms. + +Pack an' thick, confidential. +Paidle, to paddle, to wade; to walk with a weak action. +Paidle, nail-bag. +Painch, the paunch. +Paitrick, a partridge; used equivocally of a wanton girl. +Pang, to cram. +Parishen, the parish. +Parritch, porridge. +Parritch-pats, porridge-pots. +Pat, pot. +Pat, put. +Pattle, pettle, a plow-staff. +Paughty, haughty. +Paukie, pauky, pawkie, artful, sly. +Pechan, the stomach. +Pechin, panting, blowing. +Penny-fee, wage in money. +Penny-wheep, small beer. +Pettle, v. pattle. +Philibeg, the Highlander's kilt. +Phraisin, flattering, wheedling. +Phrase, to flatter, to wheedle. +Pickle, a few, a little. +Pint (Scots), three imperial pints. +Pit, put. +Placads, proclamations. +Plack, four pennies (Scots). +Plackless, penniless. +Plaiden, coarse woolen cloth. +Plaister, plaster. +Plenish'd, stocked. +Pleugh, plew, a plow. +Pliskie, a trick. +Pliver, a plover. +Pock, a poke, a bag, a wallet. +Poind, to seize, to distrain, to impound. +Poortith, poverty. +Pou, to pull. +Pouch, pocket. +Pouk, to poke. +Poupit, pulpit. +Pouse, a push. +Poussie, a hare (also a cat). +Pouther, powther, powder. +Pouts, chicks. +Pow, the poll, the head. +Pownie, a pony. +Pow't, pulled. +Pree'd, pried (proved), tasted. +Preen, a pin. +Prent, print. +Prie, to taste. +Prief, proof. +Priggin, haggling. +Primsie, dim. of prim, precise. +Proveses, provosts. +Pu', to pull. +Puddock-stools, toadstools, mushrooms. +Puir, poor. +Pun', pund, pound. +Pursie, dim. of purse. +Pussie, a hare. +Pyet, a magpie. +Pyke, to pick. +Pyles, grains. + +Quat, quit, quitted. +Quean, a young woman, a lass. +Queir, choir. +Quey, a young cow. +Quietlin-wise, quietly. +Quo', quod, quoth. + +Rab, rob. +Rade, rode. +Raep, a rope. +Ragweed, ragwort. +Raibles, recites by rote. +Rair, to roar. +Rairin, roaring. +Rair't, roared. +Raise, rase, rose. +Raize, to excite, anger. +Ramfeezl'd, exhausted. +Ramgunshoch, surly. +Ram-stam, headlong. +Randie, lawless, obstreperous. +Randie, randy, a scoundrel, a rascal. +Rant, to rollick, to roister. +Rants, merry meetings; rows. +Rape, v. raep. +Raploch, homespun. +Rash, a rush. +Rash-buss, a clump of rushes. +Rashy, rushy. +Rattan, rattoon, a rat. +Ratton-key, the rat-quay. +Raucle, rough, bitter, sturdy. +Raught, reached. +Raw, a row. +Rax, to stretch, to extend. +Ream, cream, foam. +Ream, to cream, to foam. +Reave, to rob. +Rebute, rebuff. +Red, advised, afraid. +Red, rede, to advise, to counsel. +Red-wat-shod, red-wet-shod. +Red-wud, stark mad. +Reek, smoke. +Reekie, reeky, smoky. +Reestit, scorched. +Reestit, refused to go. +Reif, theiving. +Remead, remedy. +Rickles, small stacks of corn in the fields. +Rief, plunder. +Rig, a ridge. +Riggin, the roof-tree, the roof. +Rigwoodie, lean. +Rin, to run. +Ripp, a handful of corn from the sheaf. +Ripplin-kame, the wool or flax comb. +Riskit, cracked. +Rive, to split, to tear, to tug, to burst. +Rock, a distaff. +Rockin, a social meeting. +Roon, round, shred. +Roose, to praise, to flatter. +Roose, reputation. +Roosty, rusty. +Rottan, a rat. +Roun', round. +Roupet, exhausted in voice. +Routh, v. rowth. +Routhie, well-stocked. +Row, rowe, to roll; to flow, as a river; to wrap. +Rowte, to low, to bellow. +Rowth, plenty, a store. +Rozet, resin. +Run-deils, downright devils. +Rung, a cudgel. +Runkl'd, wrinkled. +Runt, a cabbage or colewort stalk. +Ryke, to reach. + +Sab, to sob. +Sae, so. +Saft, soft. +Sair, sore, hard, severe, strong. +Sair, to serve. +Sair, sairly, sorely. +Sairie, sorrowful, sorry. +Sall, shall. +Sandy, Sannack, dim. of Alexander. +Sark, a shirt. +Saugh, the willow. +Saul, soul. +Saumont, sawmont, the salmon. +Saunt, saint. +Saut, salt. +Saut-backets, v. backets. +Saw, to sow. +Sawney, v. sandy. +Sax, six. +Scar, to scare. +Scar, v. scaur. +Scathe, scaith, damage; v. skaith. +Scaud, to scald. +Scaul, scold. +Scauld, to scold. +Scaur, afraid; apt to be scared. +Scaur, a jutting rock or bank of earth. +Scho, she. +Scone, a soft flour cake. +Sconner, disgust. +Sconner, sicken. +Scraichin, calling hoarsely. +Screed, a rip, a rent. +Screed, to repeat rapidly, to rattle. +Scriechin, screeching. +Scriegh, skriegh, v. skriegh. +Scrievin, careering. +Scrimpit, scanty. +Scroggie, scroggy, scrubby. +Sculdudd'ry, bawdry. +See'd, saw. +Seisins, freehold possessions. +Sel, sel', sell, self. +Sell'd, sell't, sold. +Semple, simple. +Sen', send. +Set, to set off; to start. +Set, sat. +Sets, becomes. +Shachl'd, shapeless. +Shaird, shred, shard. +Shanagan, a cleft stick. +Shanna, shall not. +Shaul, shallow. +Shaver, a funny fellow. +Shavie, trick. +Shaw, a wood. +Shaw, to show. +Shearer, a reaper. +Sheep-shank, a sheep's trotter; nae sheep-shank bane = a person of no small +importance. +Sheerly, wholly. +Sheers, scissors. +Sherra-moor, sheriffmuir. +Sheugh, a ditch, a furrow; gutter. +Sheuk, shook. +Shiel, a shed, cottage. +Shill, shrill. +Shog, a shake. +Shool, a shovel. +Shoon, shoes. +Shore, to offer, to threaten. +Short syne, a little while ago. +Shouldna, should not. +Shouther, showther, shoulder. +Shure, shore (did shear). +Sic, such. +Siccan, such a. +Sicker, steady, certain; sicker score = strict conditions. +Sidelins, sideways. +Siller, silver; money in general. +Simmer, summer. +Sin, son. +Sin', since. +Sindry, sundry. +Singet, singed, shriveled. +Sinn, the sun. +Sinny, sunny. +Skaith, damage. +Skeigh, skiegh, skittish. +Skellum, a good-for-nothing. +Skelp, a slap, a smack. +Skelp, to spank; skelpin at it = driving at it. +Skelpie-limmer's-face, a technical term in female scolding (R. B.). +Skelvy, shelvy. +Skiegh, v. skeigh. +Skinking, watery. +Skinklin, glittering. +Skirl, to cry or sound shrilly. +Sklent, a slant, a turn. +Sklent, to slant, to squint, to cheat. +Skouth, scope. +Skriech, a scream. +Skriegh, to scream, to whinny. +Skyrin, flaring. +Skyte, squirt, lash. +Slade, slid. +Slae, the sloe. +Slap, a breach in a fence; a gate. +Slaw, slow. +Slee, sly, ingenious. +Sleekit, sleek, crafty. +Slidd'ry, slippery. +Sloken, to slake. +Slypet, slipped. +Sma', small. +Smeddum, a powder. +Smeek, smoke. +Smiddy, smithy. +Smoor'd, smothered. +Smoutie, smutty. +Smytrie, a small collection; a litter. +Snakin, sneering. +Snap smart. +Snapper, to stumble. +Snash, abuse. +Snaw, snow. +Snaw-broo, snow-brew (melted snow). +Sned, to lop, to prune. +Sneeshin mill, a snuff-box. +Snell, bitter, biting. +Snick, a latch; snick-drawing = scheming; he weel a snick can draw = he is +good at cheating. +Snirtle, to snigger. +Snoods, fillets worn by maids. +Snool, to cringe, to snub. +Snoove, to go slowly. +Snowkit, snuffed. +Sodger, soger, a soldier. +Sonsie, sonsy, pleasant, good-natured, jolly. +Soom, to swim. +Soor, sour. +Sough, v. sugh. +Souk, suck. +Soupe, sup, liquid. +Souple, supple. +Souter, cobbler. +Sowens, porridge of oat flour. +Sowps, sups. +Sowth, to hum or whistle in a low tune. +Sowther, to solder. +Spae, to foretell. +Spails, chips. +Spairge, to splash; to spatter. +Spak, spoke. +Spates, floods. +Spavie, the spavin. +Spavit, spavined. +Spean, to wean. +Speat, a flood. +Speel, to climb. +Speer, spier, to ask. +Speet, to spit. +Spence, the parlor. +Spier. v. speer. +Spleuchan, pouch. +Splore, a frolic; a carousal. +Sprachl'd, clambered. +Sprattle, scramble. +Spreckled, speckled. +Spring, a quick tune; a dance. +Sprittie, full of roots or sprouts (a kind of rush). +Sprush, spruce. +Spunk, a match; a spark; fire, spirit. +Spunkie, full of spirit. +Spunkie, liquor, spirits. +Spunkies, jack-o'-lanterns, will-o'-wisps. +Spurtle-blade, the pot-stick. +Squatter, to flap. +Squattle, to squat; to settle. +Stacher, to totter. +Staggie, dim. of staig. +Staig, a young horse. +Stan', stand. +Stane, stone. +Stan't, stood. +Stang, sting. +Stank, a moat; a pond. +Stap, to stop. +Stapple, a stopper. +Stark, strong. +Starnies, dim. of starn, star. +Starns, stars. +Startle, to course. +Staumrel, half-witted. +Staw, a stall. +Staw, to surfeit; to sicken. +Staw, stole. +Stechin, cramming. +Steek, a stitch. +Steek, to shut; to close. +Steek, to shut; to touch, meddle with. +Steeve, compact. +Stell, a still. +Sten, a leap; a spring. +Sten't, sprang. +Stented, erected; set on high. +Stents, assessments, dues. +Steyest, steepest. +Stibble, stubble. +Stibble-rig, chief reaper. +Stick-an-stowe, completely. +Stilt, limp (with the aid of stilts). +Stimpart, a quarter peck. +Stirk, a young bullock. +Stock, a plant of cabbage; colewort. +Stoited, stumbled. +Stoiter'd, staggered. +Stoor, harsh, stern. +Stoun', pang, throb. +Stoure, dust. +Stourie, dusty. +Stown, stolen. +Stownlins, by stealth. +Stoyte, to stagger. +Strae death, death in bed. (i. e., on straw). +Staik, to stroke. +Strak, struck. +Strang, strong. +Straught, straight. +Straught, to stretch. +Streekit, stretched. +Striddle, to straddle. +Stron't, lanted. +Strunt, liquor. +Strunt, to swagger. +Studdie, an anvil. +Stumpie, dim. of stump; a worn quill. +Sturt, worry, trouble. +Sturt, to fret; to vex. +Sturtin, frighted, staggered. +Styme, the faintest trace. +Sucker, sugar. +Sud, should. +Sugh, sough, sigh, moan, wail, swish. +Sumph, churl. +Sune, soon. +Suthron, southern. +Swaird, sward. +Swall'd, swelled. +Swank, limber. +Swankies, strapping fellows. +Swap, exchange. +Swapped, swopped, exchanged. +Swarf, to swoon. +Swat, sweated. +Swatch, sample. +Swats, new ale. +Sweer, v. dead-sweer. +Swirl, curl. +Swirlie, twisted, knaggy. +Swith, haste; off and away. +Swither, doubt, hesitation. +Swoom, swim. +Swoor, swore. +Sybow, a young union. +Syne, since, then. + +Tack, possession, lease. +Tacket, shoe-nail. +Tae, to. +Tae, toe. +Tae'd, toed. +Taed, toad. +Taen, taken. +Taet, small quantity. +Tairge, to target. +Tak, take. +Tald, told. +Tane, one in contrast to other. +Tangs, tongs. +Tap, top. +Tapetless, senseless. +Tapmost, topmost. +Tappet-hen, a crested hen-shaped bottle holding three quarts of claret. +Tap-pickle, the grain at the top of the stalk. +Topsalteerie, topsy-turvy. +Targe, to examine. +Tarrow, to tarry; to be reluctant, to murmur; to weary. +Tassie, a goblet. +Tauk, talk. +Tauld, told. +Tawie, tractable. +Tawpie, a foolish woman. +Tawted, matted. +Teats, small quantities. +Teen, vexation. +Tell'd, told. +Temper-pin, a fiddle-peg; the regulating pin of the spinning-wheel. +Tent, heed. +Tent, to tend; to heed; to observe. +Tentie, watchful, careful, heedful. +Tentier, more watchful. +Tentless, careless. +Tester, an old silver coin about sixpence in value. +Teugh, tough. +Teuk, took. +Thack, thatch; thack and rape = the covering of a house, and so, home +necessities. +Thae, those. +Thairm, small guts; catgut (a fiddle-string). +Theckit, thatched. +Thegither, together. +Thick, v. pack an' thick. +Thieveless, forbidding, spiteful. +Thiggin, begging. +Thir, these. +Thirl'd, thrilled. +Thole, to endure; to suffer. +Thou'se, thou shalt. +Thowe, thaw. +Thowless, lazy, useless. +Thrang, busy; thronging in crowds. +Thrang, a throng. +Thrapple, the windpipe. +Thrave, twenty-four sheaves of corn. +Thraw, a twist. +Thraw, to twist; to turn; to thwart. +Thraws, throes. +Threap, maintain, argue. +Threesome, trio. +Thretteen, thirteen. +Thretty, thirty. +Thrissle, thistle. +Thristed, thirsted. +Through, mak to through = make good. +Throu'ther (through other), pell-mell. +Thummart, polecat. +Thy lane, alone. +Tight, girt, prepared. +Till, to. +Till't, to it. +Timmer, timber, material. +Tine, to lose; to be lost. +Tinkler, tinker. +Tint, lost +Tippence, twopence. +Tip, v. toop. +Tirl, to strip. +Tirl, to knock for entrance. +Tither, the other. +Tittlin, whispering. +Tocher, dowry. +Tocher, to give a dowry. +Tocher-gude, marriage portion. +Tod, the fox. +To-fa', the fall. +Toom, empty. +Toop, tup, ram. +Toss, the toast. +Toun, town; farm steading. +Tousie, shaggy. +Tout, blast. +Tow, flax, a rope. +Towmond, towmont, a twelvemonth. +Towsing, rumpling (equivocal). +Toyte, to totter. +Tozie, flushed with drink. +Trams, shafts. +Transmogrify, change. +Trashtrie, small trash. +Trews, trousers. +Trig, neat, trim. +Trinklin, flowing. +Trin'le, the wheel of a barrow. +Trogger, packman. +Troggin, wares. +Troke, to barter. +Trouse, trousers. +Trowth, in truth. +Trump, a jew's harp. +Tryste, a fair; a cattle-market. +Trysted, appointed. +Trysting, meeting. +Tulyie, tulzie, a squabble; a tussle. +Twa, two. +Twafauld, twofold, double. +Twal, twelve; the twal = twelve at night. +Twalpennie worth, a penny worth (English money). +Twang, twinge. +Twa-three, two or three. +Tway, two. +Twin, twine, to rob; to deprive; bereave. +Twistle, a twist; a sprain. +Tyke, a dog. +Tyne, v. tine. +Tysday, Tuesday. + +Ulzie, oil. +Unchancy, dangerous. +Unco, remarkably, uncommonly, excessively. +Unco, remarkable, uncommon, terrible (sarcastic). +Uncos, news, strange things, wonders. +Unkend, unknown. +Unsicker, uncertain. +Unskaithed, unhurt. +Usquabae, usquebae, whisky. + +Vauntie, proud. +Vera, very. +Virls, rings. +Vittle, victual, grain, food. +Vogie, vain. + +Wa', waw, a wall. +Wab, a web. +Wabster, a weaver. +Wad, to wager. +Wad, to wed. +Wad, would, would have. +Wad'a, would have. +Wadna, would not. +Wadset, a mortgage. +Wae, woful, sorrowful. +Wae, wo; wae's me = wo is to me. +Waesucks, alas! +Wae worth, wo befall. +Wair, v. ware. +Wale, to choose. +Wale, choice. +Walie, wawlie, choice, ample, large. +Wallop, to kick; to dangle; to gallop; to dance. +Waly fa', ill befall! +Wame, the belly. +Wamefou, bellyful. +Wan, won. +Wanchancie, dangerous. +Wanrestfu', restless. +Ware, wair, to spend; bestow. +Ware, worn. +Wark, work. +Wark-lume, tool. +Warl', warld, world. +Warlock, a wizard +Warl'y, warldly, worldly. +Warran, warrant. +Warse, worse. +Warsle, warstle, wrestle. +Wast, west. +Wastrie, waste. +Wat, wet. +Wat, wot, know. +Water-fit, water-foot (the river's mouth). +Water-kelpies, v. kelpies. +Wauble, to wobble. +Waught, a draft. +Wauk, to awake. +Wauken, to awaken. +Waukin, awake. +Waukit (with toil), horny. +Waukrife, wakeful. +Waulie, jolly. +Waur, worse. +Waur, to worst. +Waur't, worsted, beat. +Wean (wee one), a child. +Weanies, babies. +Weason, weasand. +Wecht, a measure for corn. +Wee, a little; a wee = a short space or time. +Wee things, children. +Weel, well. +Weel-faured, well-favored. +Weel-gaun, well-going. +Weel-hain'd, well-saved. +Weepers, mournings (on the steeve or hat). +Werena, were not. +We'se, we shall. +Westlin, western. +Wha, who. +Whaizle, wheeze. +Whalpet, whelped. +Wham, whom. +Whan, when. +Whang, a shive. +Whang, flog. +Whar, whare, where. +Wha's whose. +Wha's, who is. +Whase, whose. +What for, whatfore, wherefore. +Whatna, what. +What reck, what matter; nevertheless. +Whatt, whittled. +Whaup, the curlew. +Whaur, where. +Wheep, v. penny-wheep. +Wheep, jerk. +Whid, a fib. +Whiddin, scudding. +Whids, gambols. +Whigmeleeries, crotches. +Whingin, whining. +Whins, furze. +Whirlygigums, flourishes. +Whist, silence. +Whissle, whistle. +Whitter, a draft. +Whittle, a knife. +Wi', with. +Wick a bore, hit a curling-stone obliquely and send it through an opening. +Wi's, with his. +Wi't, with it. +Widdifu', gallows-worthy. +Widdle, wriggle. +Wiel, eddy. +Wight, strong, stout. +Wighter, more influential. +Willcat wildcat. +Willyart, disordered. +Wimple, to meander. +Win, won. +Winn, to winnow. +Winna, will not. +Winnin, winding. +Winnock, window. +Winnock-bunker, v. bunker. +Win't, did wind. +Wintle, a somersault. +Wintle, to stagger; to swing; to wriggle. +Winze, a curse. +Wiss, wish. +Won, to dwell. +Wonner, a wonder. +Woo', wool. +Woodie, woody, a rope (originally of withes); a gallows rope. +Woodies, twigs, withes. +Wooer-babs, love-knots. +Wordy, worthy. +Worset, worsted. +Worth, v. wae worth. +Wraith, ghost. +Wrang, wrong. +Wud, wild, mad. +Wumble, wimble. +Wyliecoat, undervest. +Wyte (weight), blame. +Wyte, to blame; to reproach. + +Yard, a garden; a stackyard. +Yaud, an old mare. +Yealings, coevals. +Yell, dry (milkless). +Yerd, earth. +Yerkit, jerked. +Yerl, earl. +Ye'se, ye shall. +Yestreen, last night. +Yett, a gate. +Yeuk, to itch. +Yill, ale. +Yill-Caup, ale-stoup. +Yird, yearth, earth. +Yokin, yoking; a spell; a day's work. +Yon, yonder. +'Yont, beyond. +Yowe, ewe. +Yowie, dim. of ewe; a pet ewe. +Yule, Christmas. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Poems and Songs of Robert Burns + |