^6S.i.1T/*3 i

c T ME J -^'octicol ^JJorlir. * s THE POETICAL WORKS OP ROBERT BURNS, Complete in One Volume.

WITH A GLOSSARY, and Life of t&e autfoor.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN RUMPUS, near si. John’s gate ; And sold by all Booksellers.

1814. 5 2l^:MYg \ 19 76

PBIJSTEDGARLICK-HILL, BY HAMBLIN thames-street. ANIJ SEYF\N DEDJ CATION. TO THE KOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN HUNT. My Lords and Gentlemen, .Ahighest Scotish ambition Bard, is to proud sing inof histhe Country’sname, and service, whose thewhere illustrious shall he Namesso properly of his looknative for Land patronage ; those as who to cestorsbear the ? honoursThe Poetic and inheritGenius the of virtuesmy Country of their found An- 'theme, Ploughas the prophetic ; and threw hard her Elijahinspiring did mantle Elisha—at over Jme.ral scenes, She badeand ruralme singpleasures the loves, of my the natal joys, soil the in myru- [nativeshe inspired.—She tongue: I whisperedtuned my mewild, to artlesscome to notes, this an-as dercient your Metropolis honoured of protection;Caiedonia, andI now lay obeymy songs her dtc-un- japproachThough you,much my indebted Lords and to Gentlemen,your goodness, in theI do usual not thatstyle patuof dedication, > so hackneyed to thank by you prostituted for past learning,favours; presentthat honest this Addressrusticity with is ashamedthe venal of soul it. ofNor a servile do I I—IAuthor, was loosingbred to forthe a Plough,continuation and ofam those independent, favours. you,jl come my illustriousto claim thecountrymen, common andScotish to tell name the worldwith |thatmy Country,1 glory inthat the the title. blood 1 ofcome her toancient congratulate heroes iv DEDICATION. stillrage, runs knowledge, uncontaminated and public ; and spirit, that shefrom may your expect cou- protection,I come to profferwealth, myand warmest liberty. wishesIn the to lastthe place,:Great; Fountainfor your welfareof Honour, and happiness. the Monarch of the Universe,^ ancientWhen and you favourite go forth amusement to waken of the your Echoes, Forefathers,, in the; maySocial Pleasure Joy await ever your be return.of your YVhenparty harassed; and may in badcourts measures, or camps may with the the honest jostlings consciousness of bad men of andin- juredand may worth Domestic attend yourHappiness, return towith your a nativesmiling Seats wel- ! come,shrink atmeet your you kindling at your indignant gates ! glanceMay ;corruption and may equallytyranny findin the an Ruler, inexorable and licentiousness foe! in the People, I have the honour to be. With the sincerest gratitude, And highest respect. My Lords and Gentlemen, Your most devoted humble servant, ROBERT BURNS. Edinburgh, April A, 1787. THE LIFE ROBERT BURNS.

mp ROBERT BURNS. THE LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

ROBERT BURNS.

ROBERT BURNS. XVI ENCOMIUM ON BURNS.

ENCOMIUM ON BURNS.

THE REV. JAMES NICOL. ThouHail, shame Bums! an’ glory whacsn o’ our theage !heart engage, Thy strong, expressive, pictur’d page.While time remains, Shall melt with love, or fire withThy rage, native swains.

BURNS’ EPITAPH ON HIMSELF. A HE beautiful Epitaph written by Burns, on himself, is sa here.better finishPrecept, cannot when be foundedgiven to on this the sketch deductions than by of itsexperience, insertion thebecomes simple of interference ten fold greater of reflection. value then when its crude advice is IsOwre there fash a whim-inspir’dfor thought, owre fool, hot for rule, And owre this grassy heap singAnd dool,dtap a tear. BURNS’ EPITAPH. xvii IsWho,notely, there a Bard steals of rustic the crowds song among, That weekly this area throngOb! ? pass not by, But, with a frater*feeling strong.Here heave a sigh! IsCan there others a man, teach whose the course judgement to steer, clear Yet runs himself life’s mad career,Wild as the wave 1 Here pause—and, through theSurvey starting this grave!tear, TheWas poorquick inhabitaut to learn andbelow wise to know. And keenly felt the friendly Andglow. softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid himAnd low. suiu'd his name. SoarsReader, fancy's attend, flights whether beyoud thy the soul pole, Or darkling grubs this earthlyIn hole.low pursuit, Know, prudent, caution, self-controul,Is wisdom’s root. A MONODY ON’ THE DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS, TUB SCOTCH BAUD. WRITTEN BY S. KEMBLE, ESQ. For two Voices.—Tune Gaffer Gray.

A.H ! Robinwhat’s Giay,there ill hews; speak, old That thyO blue ! sad bonnet’s news Ipluck’d have heard, o’er thy brow ’ And the Robyplough Burns, man weeps man, isover dead, his plough. And the Well,plough a manwell weepsa day. over his plough. Is he goneRobin then Gray for aye,? and for aye, No moreNo, shall cold we aslist a toclod, his song ? ‘ Poor RobinBeneath they’ve a green lain all sod along. Poor RobinWell, they’ve a well lain a day. all along. Adieu then the forest and hill. And farewellWhy thethe forestvallies and and hill grove! Still echoAnd his dittiesthe vallies of leva. ring still, Still echoWell, his ditties a well of a love.day,

CONTENTS. PAGE.l X HE Dedication . . , TheEncomium Life of onRobert Barns Barn* , . MonodyBurns’ Epitaph on the Deatlion himself of Robert Burns The Twa Dogs . . ... TheScotch Author’s Drink Earnest Cry. and Prayer. _to .the Scotch Repre- • sentativesPostscript in the House. of Commons. . . • 1511 TheDeath Holy and Fair Doctor Hornbook...... • id The OrdinationBrigs of Ayr . . : . . . . •. TheAddress Calf to the Dcil . . , . . 39 The onlyDeath Pet and Yewe Dying Words..... of Poor Mailie.'the Author’s 42 ToPoor J. Mailie’sS*«*« Elegy...... 4445 AThe Dream Vision—Duan . first ...... 5450 Address to the Unco Guid; or, the Rigidly Righteous 6157 Tam Sampson’sThe Epitaph Elegy ..... 6663 Halloween Per Contra...... ib.67 The AuldAuld MarcFarmer’s Maggie New Year’s. Morning. Salutation. to his. 75 To a Nov.Mouse, 178S on turning .her up in. herNest ...with the Plough, 78 EpistleA Winter to Davie,Night a Brother Poet .... 8280 LordSecond Gregory Epistle to Davie...... , . . 8886 TheWinter, Cotter’s a Dirge Saturday ...Night ...... ib.89 ToEpistle a Mountain to a young Daisy Friend .... 95y6 CONTENTS. lOn a-Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies . ATo Dedication.a Haggis To .....Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . EpistleTo a Loose, to J. onLapraik, seeing anone Old on Scotisha Lady’s Bard Bonnet at Church To W.the S»****n,Same Ochiltree, May, 1J85 Epistle— toP J.ostscript R*****, inclosing.... some Poems AJohn Fragmeot Barleycorn, a Ballad Song. NowIt was westlin upon windsa Lammas and slauteringNight guns. Song. GreenBehind grows yon Hills the Rashes, where Lugar a Fragment flows Song. AgainFarewel rejoicing to the Brethren Nature sees of St. James’s. Lodge,, Ta •Elegy onT Captainhe Epitaph Matthew Henderson . Lament offor Mary James, Queen Earl of of Scots Glencairn . EpitaphTam O’Shanter, on a celebrated a Tale Ruling Elder. . . • - NoisyWee Johnny TheOn the humble late Captain Petition Grose of Bruer Water TheOn the Lament, Birth ofoccasioned a Posthumous by theChild unfortun Despondency,Friend’s Amouran Ode AftonTo Mary Water in Heaven . . . . A Prayer in the Prospect of Death Verses left in the Room where the Author slept at a Reve. The rendFirst Friend"Psalm - TheA Prayer first Six under Vei To RuinMiss Loggan, with Beatie’s Poems as a N< Song.Address The to Edinbuichgloomy night is. gathering. fast . CONTENTS. CONTENTS. 8rfS»688 8r8r 8 SONGS.

l^eZ^la « lot me iu this ae .Sight xxir CONTENTS. PAGE. The Braes of Ballochmyle , . 235ib. Then0 for GuidwifeAoe an’ Twenty, count the Tam T.awin . . , 237236 TheWhai Birks can aof young Aberfeldy Lassie do wi’ an auld Man 238 The Chevalier’sBanks of the Lament Devon LinesHey for Extempore a Lass wt’ a Tocher. J TheVerses Jolly written Beggars, on a a Window Cantata of the .Inn at .Carron r ib’. I1 onceam a wasSon aof Maid Mars . ... 212 ASir Highland Wisdom’s Lad a Fool my Love .... 246 MyLet bonnieme ryke Lass, op toI workdight in Brass . j 248247 SeeI am the a Bard Smoaking of no Bowlregard before . us . . 250 Epigram onon theElphinstone’s Author’s Treatment Translation at theof Marshall’sInn at Inverary Epi- 252 | — gramso n Capt.. F. Grose,. the celebrated... Antiquarian . 253ib, ■!; GLOSSARY . 255 SCOTTISH POEMS.

THE TFT A DOGS. A TALE. ThatrW bears AS in the that name place o’ o’Auld Scotland’s King Coil, isle, WhenUpon awearing bonnia thro’day inthe June, afternoon, Forgather’dTivadogs that ante were upon nathrangat a lime. hatne. WasThe keepitfor first I’ll name,his Honor’s they ca’dpleasure: him Caisar, His3how’d hair, he his was size, nane his o’ mouth,Scotland's his dogs,lugs, ButWhere whalpit sailors some gang place to fish far for abroad, cod. ihow’dHis locked, him the letter’d, gentleman braw and brass scholar; cellar, TheJut thoughfient a pride,he was nao’ pridehigh degree, had he; 2v’nTut wad wi’ ahae tinkler-gipsey’s spent an hour messincaressin, ; faekt kirk tawted or market,tyke, tho’ mill e’er or saesmiddie, duddie, indlut stroan’tonhe wad stan’t, stanes as gladan’ hillocks to see him,wi’ him. L Therhyming, tither ranting,was a ploughman's raving billie, collie, IVhaind infor his his freaks friend had an’ Luathcomrade ca’d had him, him, Vasifter made some lang dog syne—Eordin Highland knowssang,* how lang. ; , , * Cochulliu’s dog in Ossian’i Fing»l. SCOTISH POEMS. AsHe ever was lap a gasha sheugh an’ faithful or dyke; tyke, AyHis gathonest, him friendssonsie, inbaws’nt ilka place. fare. HisWeel breast clad wi’was coat white, o’ glossyhis towziebaek black; HungHis gawcietail, o’er his hurdics wi’ upward wi’ a swirl. curl, An’Nae unco doubt pack but as! they thick were thegither; fain o' ither, WhylesWi’social mice nose an’ whyles inoudieworts snuff’d theyand snowkit,howkit; An’Whyles worry’d scour’d ither awa in indiversion; lang excursion, UntilUpon wi’a knowe datfin wearythey sat grown, them down, AndAbout there the lordsbegan o’ a thelong creation. disgression c^SAH. I’veWhat often sort wonder’d,o’ life poor honest dogs TikeLualh, you have; An’What when way thepoor gentry’s bodies lifeliv’d I saw,ava. HisOur coals, Laird his gets kain, in hisand racked a’ his stents;rents. HisHe risesflunkies when answer he likes at thehimsel; bell: He drawsca’s his a coach,bonny silkenhe ca’s pane, his horse; TheAs lang’s yellow my letter’d tail, whare, Geordie thro’ keeks. the steeks, AtFrae baking, morn roasting, to e’en it’sfrying, nought boiling; but toiling. AnYet tho’ ev’n the the gentry ha’ folk first fill arestcchin, their pechan That’sWi’ sauce, little ragouts,short of anddownright sicklike wastrie. trashiric, OarPoor whipper-in, worthless elf, we it blastit eats a wonner, dinner, BetterHis honour than basony intenant a’ the man !un’ SCOTISH POF.MS. 1An’ own what it’s poorpast mycot-folk comprehension. pit their paii.ch in, ' £>V ATH • ATrowth, cottar Caesar,howkin whylesin a sheugh, they’re fash’t enough ; "Wi’dirtyBaring a quarry,stanes biggin and sicka dyke, like, Himself,|A smytrie a o’ wife, wee he duddie thus sustains,weans, IThemfAn’ nought right butand his tight han’.dnrg, in thack toan’ keep rape. jl.ikcAn’ loss when o’health, they meet or wi’w ant sair o’ disasters,masters, An’life maistthey maun wad starvethink, o’a weecanid touch and longer,hunger ; But,jrhey’re how maistly it comes, wonderfu’ I never contented ken’d yet, ; j\n’Are buirdiybred in chiels,sic a way an’ asclever this is.dizzies, J5ut then to see how ye’re negteckit, (llowd huff’d, and cuff’d, and disrcspeckit! *'— man, oar gentry care as little, [’heyk delvers, gang as ditchers, sancy by an’sic'cattle poor folk, ; sI’ve I wad notic’d, by a stinkingon our Laird’sbrock. court-day, >y a time my heart’s been wae, towi— they-aant maun bodies, thole scant a factor’s o’ cash, snash : le’lle’il apprehendstamp an’ threaten,them, poind curse their an’ gearswear ; ’ ^hilea hear they it a’,maun an’ stan’, fear au’wi’ trembleaspect humble,! seesurely how poor folk folk live maun that haebe wretchesriches . ? [hey’rejho constantly nae sae onwretched poortith s anes brink wad : think 8C0TTSH POEMS. TheThcy’ie view sm* o’t arcustom’d gies them littlewi’ the fright. sight, They’reThen chanceay in less an’ orfortune mair providedare sae guided, ; AAn’ blink tho’ o’fatigu’d rest’s awi’ sweet close enjoyment employment, TheirThe arushie dearest weans,comfort an’faithfa’ o’ their lives. wives; ThatThe prattlingsweetens thingsa’ their are fire-side. just their pride, CanAn’ mak whyies the bodiestwalpennie unco happy;worth o’ nappy ToThey mind lay the aside kirk their and private state affairs: cares. V.TThey’ll kindling talk offury patronage in their breasts.and priests, An’Or tellferlie .7hat at thenew folk taxation’s in Lon’on coming, TheyAs bleak-fac’dget the jovial Hallowmass ranting kirns, returns, UniteWhen inrural common life, o’recreation; ev’ry station, Forget*Love blinks. there’s Wit Care slaps, upo’ an’social the earth. Mirth, TheyThat bar merry the doorday theon frostyyear begins. winds; An’The shedsnappy a reeksheart-inspiring wi’ mantling steam ream, ; AreThe luntin-pipe,handed round an’ wi’ sneeshin right guid mill, will; The cantieyoung auldanes ranlinfolks crackin thro’ the erouse. house— ThatMy heart I forjoy has been hae saebarkit fain wi’them.to see them, SicStill game its isowre now trueowre that aften ye play’d.hae said, There’sO’ decent, monte honest, a creditable fawsont stockfolk. SomeAre riven rascal’s out, pridefu’ both root greed and to branch, quench, InWha favour thinks wi’ to some knit gentlehimsel master,the faster, SCOTISH POEMS. Wlia’For Britain's aiblins, guidthrang his a saul parliament indentin— in, CJSSAR. ‘Haith, For Britain’slad, ye littleguid !’ken guid about faith! it; I doubt it. An’Say sayingrather, aye gauo or asno’s Premiers they bid lead him him,: An’Mortgaging, operas an’ gambling, plays parading, masquerading : ToOr mayHague be, or in Calais a frolic takes daft, a waft, To maklearn abon tour, ton, an’ an’ tak see athe whirl, worl’. HeThere, rives hisat father’sVienna orauld Versailles, entails ; OrTo thrumby Madrid guitars, he takesand fetch the rout,wi’ nowt} OrWh-re-hunting down Italian among vista startles,groves o’ myrtles: ToThen mak bouses himsel drumly look Germanfair and fatter,water, An’Love-gifts clear the of consequentialCarnival signoras. sorrows. *Wi’ For dissipation, Britain’s guid!’feud, foran’ faction.her destruction LUATH. [TheyHech wasteman! saedear mony sirs! ais braw that theestate! gate AreF or wegear sac to foughteugang that an’ gate harrass’d at last! An’O pleasewould themselsthey stay wi’ aback contra frae sports, courts, Theit wad laird, for ev’rythe tenant, ane be an’ better, the cotter! ForFient thae haet frank, o’ them’s rantin, ill-hearted ramblin fellowsbillies, ; OrExcept speaking for breakin lightly o’o’ theirtheir timmer,limmer, OrThe shooting ne’er a o’bit a they’re hare or ill moor-cock. to poor folk. SCOTISII POEMS. SureBut great will folk'syc tell life’s me, aMaster life o’ Caesar,pleasure ? NaeThe cauldvera thought nor hunger o’t needne’er na can fear steer them. them, C.ESAn. TheL—d, gentles man, ^were e wad ye ne'er bat whylesenvy ’em. whare I am, Thro’It’s true,winter’s they cauld, need orna simmer’sstarve or heat; sweat, They’veAn’ fill auld nae sairage wi’wark grips to crazean’ granes: their banes, ButFor humana’ their bodies colleges are and sic schools.fools, I’heyThat whenmake nae enow real themsels ills perplex to vex them, them ; An’In like ay proportionthe less they less line will to hurtsturt them. them, HisA country acres till’d, fellow he’s at theright pleugti, enough; HerA country dizzen’s lassy done, at hershe’s wheel, unco weel: Wi’But ev’ngentlemen, down want an’ ladieso’ wark warst, are curst. Tho’They deilloiter, haet lounging, ails them, lank, yet an’lazy;uneasy ; Their daysnights insipid, unquiet, dull, lang, an’ an’restless; tasteless : TheirAn’even galloping their sports, thro’ publictheir balls, places, an’races, ThejoyThere’s siccan parade, scarcely sic reach pomp, the an’heart. art, ThenThe men sovvther cast outa’ in in deep party debauches; matches. NAc iest night day they’re their life mad is pastwi’ drink enduring. an’ wh-ring, TheAs great ladies and arm-in-arm gracious a’in as clusters, sisters They’reBut hear a’ their run absentdeils an thoughts jads thegither. o’ ither. TheyWhyles, sip o’erthe scandalthe wee potion bit cup pretty; an’ piatie, SCOTISH POEMS. PoreOerlee-Iang owre the nights, devil’s wi’ pictur’d crabbitleuks. beuks; An’Stake cheat on alike chance onie aunhang’d farmer’s blackguard.stackyard, ButThere’s this is gentry’ssome exception, life in common. man an’ woman ; An’By darker this, the gloaming sun was brought out o’ sight,the night; The bum-clockkye stood rowtinhumm’d i’ wi’lazythe loan; drone Rejoic’dWhen up theythey weregat, andna men shook but their dogs; lugs, Resolv’dAn' each tookto meet aff somehis several ither way.day. SCOTCH BRISK. Gie him strong drink, until he wink An’That’s liquor sinking guid toin firedespair his bluid. ; There let him bouse, an’ deep carouse, Till■Wi’bumpers he forgets hisfl raring loves o'er or debts, Solomon's Proverbs, xitxi. 6, 7. ' ’BoutJjF.T vines, other an’poets wines, raise an’a fracas drunken Bacchus, An’ crabbit names an’ storiesAn’ gratewrack our us, lug, I sing the juice Scots bearIn can glass mak or jug. us, 0Whether thou, my thro’ Muse wimpling ! guid auldworms Scotch thou drink;jink, Or, richly brown, ream o’erIn glorious the brink. faem, 1 Inspire me, till I lisp and Towink, sing thy name’ SCOTISU POEMS. An’Let huskyaits set wheat up their the awnie haughs horn, adorn, An’ pease and beans at e’enPerfume or morn. the plain, Leeze me on thee, John ThouBarleycorn, king o’ grain! InOn souplethe aft scones, Scotland the chows wale o’foodher cood, ! Or tumblin in the boiling Wi’flood kail an’beaf; But when thou pours thy’ Therestrong thouheart’s shines blood, chief. Tho’Food life’sfills thea gift wame, no worth an’ keeps receivin, us livinj When heavy dragg’d wi’ pineBut, an’oil’d grivin by thee, ; The wheels o’ li gae down-hill,Wi’ rattlin scrievin, glee. Thou cheersclears the headheart o’o’ doiteddrooping Lear; Care; Thou strings the nerves o’ AVsLabour weary sair, toil; Thou even brightens darkWi’ Despair gloomy smile. Aft,Wi’ gentlesclad in thoumassy erects siller thy weed, head ; Yet humbly kind in time Theo’ need. poor man’s wine, His wee-drap parritch, orThou his bread,kitchens fine. ButThou thee, art thewhat life were o’ public our fairs haunts and ; rants ? Ev’n godly meetings o’ theBy saunts, thee inspir’d, W hen gaping they besiegeAre the doubly tents. tir’d. OThat sweetly merry then night thou we reams get the the corn horn in, in, SCOT1SH POEMS. Or reckin on a new-jear Inmorning cog or bicker. An’just a wee drap sp’ritualAn’ burngusty in, sucker! WhenAn’ ploughmen Vulcan gies gather his bellowswi’ their breath. graitb, O rare 1 to see thee fizz an’1’ th’ freath lugget caup ! Then Butnewin* comes onAt like ev’ry death chaup. TheNae brawnie,mercy, then, bainie, for ploughmanairn or steel; cbiel. Brings Imrdowrehip, wi’The sturdy strong wheel, forehainmer. Till block an’ studdie ringWi’ an’ diusomereel clamour. WhenThou maltsskirlin the weanies gossips seeclatter the light.bright. How fuinblin cuits their deariesWae worth slight; the name ! Nae how die gets a social night,Or plack frae them An’justWhen neebors as wud anger as wud at acan plea. be, How easy can the barley-breeCement the quarrel! It’s aye the cheapest lawyer’sTo taste fee, the barrel. AlakeTo wyte ! thather countrymene’er ray Muse wi’ has treason reason ! But monie daily wcet theirWi’ weason liquors nice. An’ hardly, in a winter’s E’erseason. spier her price. WaeTell sourceworth thato’ monie brandy, a pain burning an’ brash trash ! ! • Burnewin—burn-the-uB 2 inct—the blacksmith. SCOTISH POEMS. Twins monic a poor, doylt,O’ halfdrunken his days; hash, An’ sends, beside, auld Scotland’sTo her warst cash faes. Ye chief,Scots, towha you wish my auldtale ScotlandI tell, well; Poor plackless devils likeIt mysel sets you! ill, Wi’ bitter, dearthfu’ winesOr to foreign meil, gill. An’May gout gravels torment round him his inch blather by inch, wrench, Wha twists hisgruntle wi’O’ a sourglunch disdain, Out owre a glass o’ whiskyWi’ punch honest men. O Whisky ! soul o’ plays an’ pranks! AcceptWhen wanting a bardie’s thee, humble what thanks! tuneless cranks Thou comes they rattleAt i’ither’s their a—sranks ! Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost! NowScotland colic laments grips, fraean’ barkinconst to honst, coast! For loyal Forbes’s charter’dMay boast kill us a’; WhaThae mak.thecurst horse-leeches whisky stells o’ theirth’ Excise, prize ! Haud up thy ban’, Deil!There, ance, twice,seize the thrice! blinkers! An’ bake them up in brunstaneFor poor pies d—n’d drinkers. HaleFortune! breeks, if thou’ll a scone, but an’ gie whisky me still gill, Au’rowth o’ rhyme to raveTak at a'will, the rest, An’ deal’t about as thy blindDirects skill thee best. SCOTISH POEMS. 11 THE AUTHOR’S EJRNEST CRY ASD PRAYER* TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. Dearest of instillation! last and best!— How antiiou lost! Parody on Milton.

YeWha representScolish Lords, our brughs ye nights an’ shires,an’ Squires An’ doucely manage ourIn affairs parliament, To you a simple poet’s pray’rsAre humbly sent. AlasYour ! honours’my roupet heart Muse wi’ isgrief’twad hearse ! pierce, To see her sittin on herLow a-— i’ the dust, An’ scriechin out prosaicAn’ verse. like to burst! TellScotland them an’ wha me’s hae in the great chief affliction. direction, E’er sin’ they laid that Oncurst aqua restriction vitae; An’ rouse them up to strongAn’ move conviction, their pity. StandThe honest, forth, open,an’ tell naked yon Premier-youth, truth : Tell him o’ mine and Scotland’sHis servants drouth, humble: The muckle devil blawIf ye yesouth. dissemble! of •session This was 178C. written before the act anent the Scotch Distilleries 12 SCOTISTI POEMS. Does ony great man glunch an’ gloom ? LetSpeak posts out, an’ an’ pensions never fash sink your or sooin thumb ! If honestly they canna Wi’come. them wha grant ’em : r Far better want ’em. NowIn gath’rin stand votesas tightly you wbyere your na slack;tack; Ne’er claw your lug, an’An’ fidge hum your an’ haw; back, But raise your arm, an’Before tell your them crack a’. HerPaint mutchkin Scotland stoup greeting as toom’s ow're hera whistle thrissle; : An’d—n’d excisemen inSeizin a bussle, a stell, Triumphant crushin’t likeOr laropita mussel shell. AThen blackguard on the tither smuggler hand right present behint her, her, An’cheek-for-chow, achut&eColleaguing vintner, join, Picking her pouch as bareOf a’as kindwinter coin. ButIs there, feels histhat heart’sbluid bears the name rising o’ hot,Scot, To see his poor auld mither’sThus dung pot, in staves. An’ plunder’d o’ their. hindmostBy gallows groat knaves ? TrodeAlas ! i’I’m the but mire a namelessout o’ sight! wight, But could I like MontgomeriesOr gab likelight, Boswell; There’s some sark-necksAn’ 1 wadtie some draw hose tight. well. • TheOod kind,bless yourauld, honours, cantic carlin can ye greets see’t, SCOTISH POEMS. 13 An’ no get warmly to yourAn’ garfeet, them hear it, An’ tell them wi’ a patriotYe winnaheat. bear it! ISomeTo round o’ you the nicely period, ken an’ the pause, laws, !An’ wi’ rhetoric clause Toon clausemak harangues; Then echo thro’ Saint Stephen’sAuld Scotland’s wa's wrangs. Thee,Dempster, aith-detestiug, a true blue chaste Scot I’se Kilkerran;* warran ; An’ thatglib-gabbet HighlandThe Laird Baron, o’ Graham; + An’ ane’ a chap that’s d—n’dDundas auld his name.farran, TrueErskine, Campbells, a spunkie Frederic Norland an’ billie; Hay ; An’ Livingstone, the bauldAn’ monieSir Willie ithers, ; Whom auld DemosthenesMight or Tully own for brithers. Thee,If bardies sodga e’er Hugh.f are represented my watchman ; stented, I ken if that your swordYe’d were lend wanted, your hand, But when there’s ought Ye’reto say atanent a stand. it, ToArouse, get auld my Scotlandboys 1 exert back your her kettlemettle. ; Or faith ! I’ll wad my Ye’llnew pleugh-pettle, see’t or lang, She'll teach you, wi’aAnither reekin whittle, sang. ThisHer lostwhile militia she’s beenfir’d herin crankous bluid : mood, ♦ Sir Adam Frrguion. t The Duke of Montrose, jtativet Earl for of Ayrshire. Eglingtoun, the» Colonel Montgomery, anti represen. J4 SCOTISH POEMS. (Deil na they never mairPlay’d no guid, her that pliskic ! An’ now she’s like to rinAbout red-wud her whisky. HerAn’ L—d,tartan ifpetticoat ance they sbe’l! pit kilt,her till’t, An’ dirk an’ pistol at herShe’ll belt, tak the streets. An’ rin her whittle to theI’ th’hilt first she meets ! An’For straikG—d sake,her cannie sirs ! wi’then the speak hair. her fair, An’ to the muckle houseWi’ repair, instant speed. An’strive, wi’ a’ your Towit getand remead. lear YonMay ill-tongu’dtaunt you wi’tinkler, his jeers Charlie an’ mocks; Fox, But guie him’t het, myE’en hearty cowe cocks! the caddie! An’ send him to bis dicingAn’ boxsportin lady. I’llTell beyon his guid debt bluid twa o’mashlum auld Boconnock's bonnocks, An’ drink his health in Nineauld Nansetimes a-week.Tinnock’s* If he some scheme, likeWad tea an’kindly winnocks, seek. I'llCould pledge he some my aithcommutation in guid braid broach, Scotch, He need na fear their foolNor reproach erudition, Yon mixtie-maxtie queerThe hutch Coalition. potch, She’sAuld justScotland a devil has wi’ a rauclea rung; tongue ; sometimest A worthy studied old hostess politics of over the a Author’sglass of gudsin Mnuchline, auld Scotch where drink. he ’ SCOTISH POEMS. 15 \n’ if she promise auldTo or t;ikyoung their part, Tho" by the neck she shouldShe’ll beno strung,desert. dayIn’ now, still yourye chosen .Mitiler’s Five-aml-Forty, heart support ye; Then, though a MinisterAn’ grow kick doily, your place, fe ll snap your fingers,Before poor an’his face.hearty, iodVi’ sowpsbless your o’ kail honours and brats a’ your o’claise, days, n spite o’ a’ the thievishThat kaes, haunt St. Jamie’s! four humble poet singsWhile an’ prays Rab his name is. POSTSCRIPT. Letec future talf-starv’d wines rich slaves clustering in warmer rise; skies ^heir lot auld Scotland Butne’er blythe envies, and frisky, he eyes her free-born Takmartial aff theirboys whisky, fhilefiiat tho’fragrance their Phcebus blooms, kinderand beauty warms, charms ! fhcn wretches range, Thein famish’d scented swarms.groves, r hounded forth, dishonourIn hungry arms droves, heyheir downagun’s a bideburden the on stink their o’ shouther powther ; ; heir bauldest thought’sTo a hank’ringstan’ or rin, swither ill skclp—a shot—they’reTo save aff, theira’ throwther, skin, |laput bring in his a checkScotsman a Highland frae his gill,hill, Ifi SCOTISH POEMS. Say, such is royal George’sAn’ there’s will. the foe, lie has nae thought but Twahow atto akill blow'. Naecauld,Death comes, faint-hearted wi’ fearless doublings eye he sees tease him him ; ! Wi’ bluidy hand a welcomeAn’ when gies hehim fa’s, : His latest draught o’ breathinIn faint lea’es huzzas. him An’Sages raise their a solemnphilosophic een mayreek. steek, An’ physically causes seek.In clime and season ; But tell me whisky’s nameI’ll tellin Greek, the reason. Scotland,Tho’ whiles my you auld moistify respected your mither leather. ! Till whareye sit, on crapsYe tineo’ heather, your dam; Freedom and whisky gangTak thegitheraff your dram! ! THE HOLY FAIR.*

Hid cnifty Observation; CrUSt A Themask dirk that of like Defamation! the gorget sbow’d, ’ AndDye fora varying mantle on largethe pigeonand broad. ; Hypocrisy a la.mudt, UpONWhen Nature'sa simmer face Sunday is fair, morn, I walkedAn’ snuff forth the tocaller view air, the corn, t Holy fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for St'OTISH POEMS. The rising sun owre Galston muirs, TheWi’ hares glorious were lighthirplin was down glintin; the furs, The lav’recks they were1'u’ sweetcbautin that day. Is lightsomely l glowr’d abroad, ThreeTo see (lizzies, a scene early sae gay,at the road, PwaCam had skelpin manteeles up the o’ dolefulway : black. TheBut third, ane wi’lhatgaed (yard lininga-wee ;a-back. Was in the fashion shining,Fu’ gay that day. The tw a appear’d like sisters twin, PheirIn feature, visage, form,wither’d, an’ claeslang ; an’thin, PheAn’ third sour cam as onyup, slaeshap-step-an’-lowp, : ^n’As wi’ light a curchielowasony lamhie, did stoop. As soon as e’er she sawFu’ me, kind that day. Vi’ bonnet aff, quoth I, ‘ Sweet lass, ’mI thinksure I’ve ye seemseen thatto ken bonnie me ; face, tuo’But she, yet an’I canna laughin name as sheye.’ spak, Te,'I An’ for taks my me sake, by thehae hands,gi’en the feck Of a’ the ten commandsA screed some day. [y name is Fun—your cronie dear, ,n’The this nearest is Superstition friend ye here, hae ; mAn’ gaun that’s to **»**Hypocrisy,♦** » Holy Fair, iinTo ye’ll spend go anthere, hour yon in daflinrunkl’d : pair, We will get famous laughinAt then) this day.’ 18 SCOTISH POEMS. Quoth I, ‘ With a’ my heart I’ll do’t; An’I’Jl meet get youmy Sunday’son the holy sark spot; on. ThenFaith I gaed ne’se hame hae atfine crowdie remarkin!’ time, ForAn’ roads soon were I made clad, me fraeready side : to side, Wi’moniea wearie body,In droves that day. Here farmers gash, in ridin graith There,Gaed swankieshoddin by young, their cotters;in braw braid claith TheAre lasses, springin skelpin o’er barefit, the gutters. thrang, Wi’I n sweetsilks and milk scarlets cheese, glitter in mooiea ; whang, An’ furls bak’d' wi’ butterFu’ crump that day. When by the plate we set our nose, A greedyWeel heaped gluwr upBlack-Bonnet wi’ ha’pence, throws. ThenAn’ in we we maun go to draw see theour show. tippcnce. SomeOn ev’rycarrying side dales, they’re some gathrin. chairs an’ stools, An’ some ate busy blethrinRight loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show’rs, There,An’ screen racer ourJess, countra an’ twa-three gentry, wh—res, HereAre sits blinking a raw atof thetittlin entry. jades, An’Wi’ there heaving a batch bieast o’ wabster and bare lads, neck, Blackguarding frac KilmarnockFor fun this day. HereAn’ some some are upo’ thinkin their clacs;on their sins, AneAnitbcr curses sighsfeet that an’ prays:fyl’d his shins, SCOTISH POEMS. 19 On this hand sits a chosen swatch, V?i’that seren a set ’do’ upchaps grace-proud at watch, faces ; Thrang winkin on theTo lasses, chairs that day. ) happy is that man an’ blest! IVha’sNae ainwonder dear that lass, itthat pride he himlikes ! best, Vi’Comes arm repos’dclinkin ondown the beside chair back,him ! Vhich,He sweetly by degrees, does compose slips round him her; neck, An’s loof upon her bosomUnkend that day. fow a’ the congregation o’er ’’orIs ****»silent expectation♦ speels the ; holy door, ShouldWi’ tidingsHornie, o’ asd-mn-t—n. in ancient days, The’Mang verasight sons o’ o’ G— *****’sface, present him. To’s ain het hame hadWi’fright sent him that day. iff ear how he clears the points o’faith |’Tow Wi’ meekly rattlin calm,an’ thumpin! now wild in wrath, lisHe’s lengthen'd stampin chin, an’ he’shis turn’d-upjumpin ! snout. i Hishow eldritch they fire squeel the heart and gestures,devout, Like cantharidian plasters,On sic a day ! Sut hark! the tent has chang’d its voice dForThere’s a’ the peacereal judges an’*rest rise, nae langer : T****** They openscanna outsit hisfor cauldanger. harangues tAn’' On aff practice the godly and pour on morals in thrangs, -, 20 SCOTISH POEMS. What signifies his barren shine. HisOf English moral stylepow’rs an’ and gesture reason fine, ? ■ ikeAre Socrates a’ clean orout Autoniue, o’ season. TheOr moral some manauld hepagan does heathen,define. But ne’er a word o’ faithThat’s in right that day. In guid time comes an antidote I*’orAgainst *******, sic poison’d fraethe nostrum water-fit, ; See,Ascends up he’s the got holy the rostrum word o’; G—, WhileAn’ Commonmeek an’ Sensemim hashas view’dta’en the it. road, An’ aff, an’ up the Cowgate,*Fast, fast, that day] Wee «****, niets, the guard relieves Tho’An’ in Orthodoxy his heart he raibles, weel believes, But,An’ faith thinks the it birkicauld wives’ wants fablesa manse, : Altho’So, cannilyhis carnal he withums an’ them; sense Bike hafllins-ways o’ercomesAt times himthat day. Now butt an’ bcu, the Change-house fills Here’sWi’ yill-caupcrying out commentators for bakes and i gills. WhileAn’ therethick an’the thrang,pint stowp an’ clatters;loud an’ lang, TheyWi’logic, raise a din,an’ wi’scripture.that, in the end. Is like to breed a ruptureO’ wrath that day. FeezeThan me either on drink school ! orit giescollege ns mair : so called which feces the tent in SCOTISH POEMS. SI [t kindles wit, it waukens lair. Be’tIt pangswhisky us gill, fou o’or knowledge. penny wheep, [t Orn verony fails, stronger on drinkingpotion, deep, To kittle up our notionBy night or day. The lads an’ lasses, blylhely bent, litTo round mind the baith table, soul weel an’ body,content, )nAn' this sirer atie’s about dress, the an’ toddy. that one’s leuk tVliiie'someThey’re making are cozie observations i’ the neuk. ; An’ formin assignationsTo meet some day. Jut now the I.—d’s ain trumpet touts, In’Till echoes a’ the back hills return are rairin, the shouts: lisBlack piercing »»*•*** words, is likena spairin highlan ; swords, i asDivide talk o’ the h-U, joints where and devilsmarrow dwell, ; Our vera sauls does harrowWi’ fright * that day. . vast, nnbottnm’d, boundless pit, f Fill’dha's ragin fou o’Came, lowin an’ bninstane, scorchin heat, hetVad half melt asleep the starthardest up whunwi’ fear, stand t henAn’ thinkpresently they it hear does itappear, roarin, "Tw as but some neeborAsleep snorin that day. ’wadHow bemonie owre stories lang apast, tale, to tell !in’ When how theythey werecrouded a’ dismistto the yill,: 1 Shakespeare's Hamlet. 22 SCOTISH POEMS. How drink gaed round, in cogs and caups, Ad’Amang cheese the an’ forms bread, an’ frae benches; women’s laps, Was dealt about in bunches,An’ dawds that day. In comes a gaucie gash gnidwife, SyneAn’ draws sits down her kebbuckan’by the fire, her knife, TheThe auld lasses guidmen, they are about shyer. the grace, TillFrae some side ane to byside his they bonnet bother, lays. An’ gi’es them’t like Fu’a tether, lang that day. WaesucksOr lasses ! thatfor himhae thatnaething gets nae! lass, Sma’Or needmelvie has his he braw to say claithing a grace, ! O Howwives, bonnie be mindfu, lads ye ance wanted, yoursel, An’Let dinna, lasses for be aaffronted kebbuck-heel. Now ClinkumbcII, wi’ raltlin low, SomeBegins swagger to jow home, an’ croon; the best they dow, A< Someslaps waitthe billies the afternoon. halt a blink, Wi’Till faith lasses an’ strip hope, their an’ shoonlove an’ : drink, They’re a’ in famous Fortune, crack that day. •How monie hearts this day converts . TheirO’ sinners hearts ando’ stane o’ lasses! gin night are gane, There’sAs soft some as ony are flesh fou is.o’ love divine ; An’There’s monie jobssome thatare fouday o’ begin. brandy; May end in houghmangandieSome ither day. SCOTISH POEMS. 23 DEATH AND DR. HORNBROOK. A TRUE STORY. SomeAnd some books great arelines lies were frae never end topenn’d end. : Ev’n ministers that hae beenIn holykcnn’d, rapture, A rousing whid, at times, Andto vend, nail’t wi’ scripture. WhichBut this lately that Ion am a nightgaun tobefel. tell, Is just as true’s the deil’s inOr h-11 Dublin city : That e'er he nearer conies’S onrsel a muckle pity. IThe was clachan nae fnu, yill but had just made had meplenty; canty, I stacber’d whyles, but yetTo tookfree thetent ditches; ay An’ hillocks, stanes, an’ bushes,Frae ghaists kenn’d an’ ay witches. Ih rising moon began to glowr FoFlie count distant her Cumnock horns, wi’ bills a’ out-otvre:my pow’r, But whether she had threeI couldor four, na tell. , Ind[ was todlin come down round on about Willie’s the mill,hill, setting my stall’ wi’ a’ myTo skill, keep me sicker ; Fho’ leeward whyles, againstI took my a will,bicker. That[ there put wi’ me something in an eerie did swithcr; forgather, rn awfu’scythe, out-owreaeClear-dangling, shouther. hang; )A three-tae’d leister on theLay, ither large an’ lang. 24 SCOTISH POEMS. TheIts stature querest seem’d shape langthat Scotche’er 1 ellstwa,saw. For tient a wame it had ava,And then its shanks, They were as thin,*as sharpAs an’cheeks sma’ o’ branks. ‘When Guid-een,’ itherfolk quo’I; are busy“Friend! sawin ? hae*’ ye bcenmawin, It seem’d to mak a kind o’But slan’, naething spak ; At length, says I, ‘Friend!Wil whareyegaun,ye go back !’ TtBut spak be naright fley’d.’—Quoth howe,—' My 1,name ‘ Guid is Death, faith. Ye’re may be come to stapBut my tent breath me biliie; ; 1 red ye weel, tak care o’See skaith. there’s a gully !’ I’m‘ Gudeman,’quo no design’d to he, try ‘ itsput mettle up your ; whittle, But if I did, I wad be kittleTo be mislear’d, I wad na mind it, no thatOut-owre spittle my beard.’ Come,‘ Weel, gies weel! your (says hand, I) aan’ bargain sae we’re be’t; gree’t; We’ll ease our shanks an’ Come,taka seat; gies your news; { This while! ye hae been Atmony mony a gate a house.’ ‘‘ It’sAy, e'enay!’ a quo’lang, he,lang an’ time shook indeed his head, Sin I began to nick the thread.An’ choke the breath ; Folk maun do something forAn’ theirsae maun bread, Death. f• AnThis epidemical recounter feverhappened was Inthen seed raging time, in 1785. that country f SCOTISH. POEMS. 25 ‘Sin’ Sax I thousandwas to the years hutching are near bred, hand fled An’ raony a scheme in vain’sTo beenstap orlaid scar me; Till ane Hornbook’s* ta’enAn’ up faith, the trade,he’ll waur me. Deil‘ Ye mak ken Jockhis king’s-hood Hornbook in i’ a the spleuchan Clachan, ! He’s grown sae well acquaintAn’ ither wi’ Buchanchaps, + The weans baud out theirAnd fingers pouk laughin, my hips. ‘They See, haehere’s pierc’d a scythe, mony anda gallant there’s heart; a dart. But Doctor Hornbook, wi’And his cursed art skill, Has made them baith not Damn’dworth a haet f—t, they’ll kill. t ’Twasthrew buta noble yestreen, throw*at nae ane;farther gaen, iVi’less, I’m sure, I’ve hundredsBut deil-ma-care, slain : ,t just play’d dirl upon theBut bane, did nae mair. aidHornbook had sae fortifiedwas by, thewi’ part,ready art, 'hat when I looked to myIt dart.was sae blunt, 'ient haet o’t wad hae pierc’dOf a kail-runt.the heart Inearhand drew my cowpit scythe wi’in sicmy a hurry, fury, i ut yet the bauld apothecaryWithstood the shock; might as weel hae try’dO’ a quarryhard whin rock. !• This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, was, professionally, a bro- eripiration, of the' sovereignan apothecary, Order surgeon,of the Ferula and physician. : but by intuition and • t Buchan’s Domestic Medicine. 26 SCOTISH POEMS. Altbo’‘ Ev’n themtheir facehe canna he ne’er get hadattended, kend it, Just in a kail-blade, andAs soon send heit. smells’t, Eaitb their disease, and whatAt once will he mend tells’t. it. ‘Of And a’ dimensions, then a doctor’s shapes, saws an’ and mettles, whittles, A’ kinds o’ boxes, mugs, He’san’ bottles, sure to hae ; Their Latin names as fast Ashe Arattles B 0. True‘ Calces Sal-marinum o’ fossils, earth,o’ the seas;and trees; The Farina of beans and Hepeas. has’t in plenty : Aqua-fortis, what you please.He can content ye. Urinus‘ Forbye Spiritus some newof capons uncommon ; weapons, Or Mite-horn shavings, filings,Distill’d scrapings, per se; Sal-alkali o’ Midge-tail clippings,And mony mac. Quo’‘ Waes I, me‘ If for that Johnny the news Ged’s be Hole*true ! now His braw calf-ward whareSae gowans white grew, and bonnie, Nae doubt they’ll rive it wi’They’ll the plew;ruin Johnnie!’ AndThe says,creature ‘ Ye grain’d need anna eldritchyoke the laugh, pleugh, Kirkyards will soon be till’dTak eneugh,ye na fear; They’ll a’ be trench’d wi’In mony twa-three a sheugh yeare" •By Whare loss o’ I bloodkill’d orane want a fair o’ straebreath, death, * The grave digger. SCOTISH POEMS. 27 This night I’m free to takeThat my Hornbook'saith, skill Has clad' a score i’ their lastBy drapclaith, an’ pill. ‘IVhase An honest wife’s wabster twa nieves to his were trade, scarce weel brad. Gat tip'pence-worth to mendWhen her it headwas sair; The wife slade cannie to Buther ne’erbed. spak mair. *Or A somecontra curmurring laird had ta’enin his the guts. batts, His only son for HornbookAn’ sets, pays him well. The lad, for twa gnid grimmer-pets.Was laird himsel. ‘Some A bonnie ill-brewn lass, drinkye kenn’d had bow’dher name. her wame ; She trusts hersei, to hide Inthe Hornbook's shame. care; Horn sent her affto her langTo hame.hide it there. ‘Thus That’s goes just he a on swatch from dayo’ Hoinbook’s to day ; way ; Thus does he poison, kill,An’s an’ weelslay, paid for’t. Yet stops me o’ my lawfu’Wf prey, his d-mn’d dirt: Tho’‘ But, diuna hark ye ! I’llbe speakingtell you ofo’t: a plot, I’ll nail the self-conceitedAs sot. dead’s a herein : Niest time we meet. I’ll Hewad gets a groat. his fairinl’ But just as he began to tell, homeThe auld wee kirk-hammershort hour ayont strak the the twal, bell I ' took the way that pleas’dWhici, mysel. rais’d us baith : And sae did Death. SCOTISH POEMS. THE lillias OF AYR. INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALEANTINE, ESQ. BANKER IN AYR. TheLearning simple his tuneful ba»d, traderough fromat the ev’ry rustic bough plough, ; i! HailingThe chanting the setting linnet, sun,or thesweet, mellow in thrush,the green thorn The soaringbush; lark, the perching red-breast shrill. Or deep-ton’dhill; plovers, grey, wild whistling o’er tbti ToShall hardy he, nurs’dindependence in the peasant’s bravely lowlybred. shed, j AndBy early train’d poverty to arms to inhardship stern misfortune’s steel’d. field, TheShall servile he be guiltymercenary of their Swiss hireling of rhymek crimes, ? WithOr labour all the hard venal the soul panegyric of dedicating close, prose? i AndNo! throwsthough hishis handartless uncoutbly strains he o’er rudely the strings,sings, i Fame,He glows honest with fame, all the his spirit great, of histhe dearbard, reward. ' Still,Skill’d if in some the secret,patron’s to gen’rousbestow withcare gracehe trace, ; AndWhen hands Ballantine the rustic befriends stranger his up humble to fame, name. WithThe godlike heartfelt bliss, throes to give,his grateful alone excels.bosom swells, ’Twas when the stacks gets on their winter hap, j , AndPotatoe-bings thack and are rape snugged secure upthe fra toil-worn skaith crap ; TheOf coming bees, rejoicingWinter’s o’erbiting their frosty summer breath; toils, ’ Umiumber’dSeal’d up with buds frugal an’ flow’rs’care in massivedelicious waxen spoils, piles, ;! ,I SCOTISH POEMS. TheAre deathdoom’d o’ bydevils man, smoor’d that tyrant wi’ brimstone o’er the weak,reek; The woundedthund’rins coveys, gnns are reeling, heard onscatter ev’ry wide; side. Sires,The feather’d mothers, field-mates, children,, inbound one carnageby Nature’s lie ; tic. And(What execrates warm man’spoetit savage heart butruthless inly bleeds,deeds!) Nae mair the groveflow’r within field airy or concertmeadow rings, springs, ExceptProud o’perhaps the height the robin’so’ some whistlingbit half-lang glee, tree : TheMild, hoary calm, morns serene, precede wide thespreads sunny thedays. noon-tide While theblaze, thick gossamer waves wanton in[rays. the ’TwasUnknown in that and season,poor, simplicity’swhen a simple reward, bard, AeBy night,whom withininspir’d the or ancienthaply prest brough wi’ of care. Ayr, HeAnd left dowm his bybed, Simpson’s* and took wheel’dhis wayward the left ront. about: (WhetherTo witness impell’d what I afterby all-directing shall narratft; Fate, HeOr whether,wander’d raptout he in knewmeditation not where high, nor why :) AndThe Wallacedrowsy Dungeon-clockTow’r+ had sworn + had the number’d fact was two, true ; ThroughThe tide-swol’n the still Firth,night dash’dwith sullen-soundinghoarse along the roar, shore: TheAll elsesilent was moon hush’d shone as highnature’s o’er closed tow’r-and e’e; tree : TheCrept, chilly gently-crusting, frost, beneath o’er the the silver glitt’ring beam, stream. TheWhen clanging lo ! onsugh either of whistling hand the wings list’ning is heard;bard, TwoSwift dusky as the forms gossj dart drives through on the the wheeling midnight air. air, • A noted Uvern at the Auld Brig end. t The two steeples. $ The goss-hawk or falcon. 30 SCOTISH POEMS. AneTheither on the flutters Auld Bris;o’er histhe airyrising shape piers: uprears, TheOur warlocksprites that rhymer owre instantly the Brigs descry’d of Ayr preside. And(That ken bards the arelingo second-sighted of the sp’ritual is nofolk; joke, AndFays, ev’n spunkies, the very kelpies, deils they a’, brawlythey can ken explain them.) them, AuldThe veryBrig wrinklesappear’d Gothic of ancient in his Pictish face: race, YetHe seem’d teughly as doure,he wi’ Timehe bade had an warstl’d unco bang. lang, NewThat Brighe, atwas Lon’on, buskit fraein a anebraw Adams new coat, got; In’sWi’ handsvirls and five whirlygiguras taper staves asat smooth’sthe head. a bead, SpyingThe Goth the wastime-worn stalking flaws round in withev’ry anxious arch ; search, AndIt chanc’d e’en a hisvex’d new-come and angry neebor heart took had hishe e’e,! He,Wi’ thievelessdown the sneerwater, to giessee hishim modish this guideen mien. : AULD BRIG. AliceI doubt ye na, were frien’, streekit ye’ll o’er think frae ye’re bank nae to sheep-shankt bank ! ThoughBut gia yefaith be that a Brig day, as Iauld doubt, as me.ye’ll never see ; There’llSome fewer be, whigmeleeriesif that date come, in your I’ll noddle.wad a boddle, NEW BRIG. JustAuld muchVandal, about ye itbut wi’ show your your scanty little sense mense, ; WillWhere your twa poor wheel-barrows narrow foot-path tremble of when a street, they meet, YourCompare ruin’d wi’ formless bonnie Brigsbulk, o’o’ modernstane an’ time? lime. ThoughThere’s menthey o’should taste castwou’d the tak vera the sark Ducat-stream,* and swim, * A noted ford, just above the A old Brig. SCOTISH POEMS. 31 EreOf sic they an uglytvould Gothic grate theirhulk feelingsas you. wi’ the view AULD BRIG. ThisConceited mony gowk!a year puff'dI’ve stood up wi’the windyflood an’pride! tide \ I’llAnd be though a Brig wi’ when crazy ye’re eild a I’mshapeless sair forfairn, cairn 1 AsBut yet twa-three ye liltl'e winters ken about will the inform matter, ye better. WhenWi’ deep’ning heavy, dark, deluges continued, o’erflow a’-day the plains; rains, WhenOr stately from Eugar’s the hills mossy where fountains springs theboil, brawling Coif, Or hauntedwhe're the Garpal* Greenock draws winds its hisfeeble moorland source. course, Arous’dIn mony by a torrentblust’ring down winds his an’sna-broo- spotting rowes; thowes. SweepWhile crashingdams, an’ ice, mills, borne an’ on brigs, the roaring a’ to the speat. gate ; AuldAnd fromAyr Glenbnck,tis just one lengthen’ddown to thetumbling Ration sea;key,; AndThen dash down the ye’ll gumlie hurl, jaups diel norup toye thenever pouring rise ! skies. kThatA lesson architecture’s sadly teaching, noble to art your is lost! cost, TheFine L—dArchitecture, be thankit trowth, that we’ve I needs tint must the gatesay’t o’t!o’t!' Gaunt,Hanging ghastly, with threat’ning ghaist-alluring jut, like edifices, precipices; SupportingO’er arching, roofs mouldy, fantastic, gloom-inspiring stony groves: coves. WindowsWith order, and symmetry, doors, in nameless or state unblest;sculpture drest. • Thebanlcs of Carpel Water is oneof the few places in the west ofofi Scotland, Ghaiats, stillwhere continue those fancy-scaring pertinaciously beings, to inhabit, known by the name t TheA small source landing of the place river aboveAyr. the large key. SCOTISH POEMS. Forms like some bedlam statuary’s dream, FormsThe craz'd might creations be worship’d of misguided on the bendedwhim ; knee, 1 TheirAnd still likeness the second is not dread found command on earth, be in free,air, or sea;)C OfMansions any mason, that would reptile, disgrace bird, or the beast; building taste OfFit frostyonly formaids a doited forsworn monkish the dear race, embrace. ThatOr Cuifs sullen of gloom latter times,was sterling wha heldtrue thedevotion; notion AndFancies soon that may our they guid expire, Brugh unblest denies withprotection resurrection! ! AULD BRIO. O ye, my dear remember’d ancient yealings. YeWere worthy ye but Provesses, here to share an’ monymy wounded a Bailie, feeling 1 YeWha dainty in the Deacons, paths o’ righteousnessan ye douce Conveners,did toil ay ; ToYe whomgodly Councilsour moderns wha are hae but blest causey-cleaners this town 5 5 WhaYe godly meekly Brethren gie your of hurdiesthe sacred to thegown, smiters; AndA’ ye (what douce would folk I’venow bornbe strange) aboon theye godlybroo, writers; HowAVere wouldye but yourhere, spirits what groanwould in ye deep say vexation,or do ! And,To see agonizing, each melancholy curse the alteration time and ;place JVaWhen longer ye begat Bev’rend the baseMen, degen’rate their country’s race !glory, NaeIn plain langer braid thrifty Scots Citizens, hold forth an’ a douce. plain braid story ! ButMeet staumrel, owre a pint,corky-headed, or in the Council-house;graceless Gentry, TheMen, herryment three-parts and made ruin by of tailors the country and by ; barbers, Wha wasteBrigs your and weel-hain’dHarbours! gear on d d new SCOTISH POEMS. 33 NEW BRIG. AndNow muckle hand mair yon therethan ye! forcan faith mak ye’veto through. said eneugh, AsCorbies for your and Priesthood,Clergy are aI shotshall rightsay butkittle: little. AbuseBut, under o’ Magistrates favour o’ your might langer weel beard,Ije spar’d : ToI must liken needs them say, to yourcomparisons auld-ward are squad, odd. ToIn Ayr,mouth wag-wits ‘ a Citizen,’ nae mair a term can o’hae scandal a handle : ;InNae all mair the thepomp Council of ignorant waddles conceit; down the street, I MenOr gather’d wha grew lib’ral wise views priggin in bondsowre andhops seisins. an’ raisins, HadIf haply shor’d Knowledge, them with ona glimmer a random of tramp, his lamp. AndPlain would dull Stupidity to Common-Sense, slept kindly for in once to aid betray’d them. them,

WhatWhat bloody farther wars, chishmaclaver if sprites hadmight blood been to said.shed, ANo fairy man traincan tell;appear’d but allin beforeorder brighttheir sight,: AdownBright tothe the glitt’ring moon theirstream various they featlydresses danc’d; glanc’d : TheThey infant footed ice o’er scarce the bentwat’ry beneath glass sotbeii neat. feet: AndWhile soul-ennobling arts of minstrelsy bards among heroic them ditties rung. sung. BeenO had there M‘L.auc to heartdan,* this thairm-inspiring heav’nly band Sage,engage, "Sf When thro’Highland his dear rage, Strathspeys they bore with JC TheOr when lover’s they raptur’d struck joys old Scotia’sor bleeding melting cares; airs, * A well-known performer of Scotish music on the violin. ; SCOTISH POEMS- AndHow ev’n would his hismatchless Highland hand lug with been finer nobler touch fir’d. inspir’d ! No1 guess could tell what instrument appear’d, HarmoniousBu II the soul concert of Music’s rung in self ev’r.y was part, heard ; WhileThe simplegenius melodyof the Stream pour’d inmoving front appears,on the heart. AHis venerable hoary head Chief with advanc’d water lilies in years: crown’d, NextHis manly came leg the with loveliest garter pair tangle in all bound. the ring, Then,Sweet crown’dfemale Beauty with flow’ry hand-in-hand hay, came with Rural Spring Joy, ; All-cheeringAnd Summer, Plenty, with his with fervid-beaming her flowing horn,eye : ThenLed yellow Winter’s Autumn time-bleach’d wreath’d locks with didnodding hoary corn; show, NextBy Hospitality follow’d Courage, with cloudless with hisbrow. martial stride. FromBenevolence, where the with Feal mild wild benignant woody air,coverts hide; LearningA female andform, Worth came infrom equal the measures tow’rs of rode Stair: Last,From simplewhite-rob’d Catrine, Peace, their long-lov’dcrown’d withabode; a hazle To rustic Agriculture did bequeath TheAt sight broken of whomiron instruments our sprites of forgat death their ; kindling THE ORDINATION. ToFor please sense theythe mob little they owe hide to frugal the little Heav’n, giv'u. KilmarnockAn’ pour your creeshie wabsters, nations; edge an’ claw, An’Of ye a’denominations; wba leather rax an’ draw, SCOTISH POEMS. 35 Swift to the Laigh Kirk, ane an’ a’. ThenAn’ affthere to B-gb—’stak up your in a stations; raw, An’ pour divine libaiionsFor joy this day. Curst Common-Sense, that imp o’ hell, But_ Cam o******* in wi’ Maggie aft madeLauderj* her yell. ThisAn’ day M*******sair misca’d* takes her;the flail. He’llAn’ claphe’s athe shangan boy will on blaudher tail, her! An’ set the bairns to Wi’daub dirt her this day. Mak haste an’ turn King David oWre, O’An’ double lilt wi’verse holy come clangor; gie us four. ThisAn’ day skirl the up kirk the kicksBangor; np a stoitre, ForNae Heresy mair theis in knaves her pow’r. shall wrang her. And gloriously she’ll Wi’whang pith her this day. Come let a proper text be read, HowAn’ graceless touch it affHam+ wi’ vigour,leugh at his Dad, OrWhich Phineas} made drove Canaan the mauderinga niger: blade, OrWi’ Zipporah,^ wh-re-abhorring the scaulding rigour; jade, Was like a bluidy tigerI’ th’ . inn that day. There,And bindtry hishim mettle down on wi’ the caution, creed. ThatHe Stipendtakes but is fora carnal the fashion weed ; nission* Alluding of the latto reverendscoffing andballad worthy which Mr. was L. tomade the Laighon the K.rk ad §t Genesis,Exodus, ch.eh. iv.ix. “ " t Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 2. SCOTISH POEMS. And gie him o’er the flock, to feed. Especial,And punish rams each that transgiession; cro.-s the breed, Gie them sufficient threshin,Spare them na day. Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, NaeAn’ mair toss thou’ltthy horns rowte fu’ cantyout-owre ; the dale, Foriv tnpfu’s ause thy large pasture’s o’ gospel scanty kail ; An’Shall runts fill o’ thy grace crib the in pickplenty, an’ whale. No’ gi’en by way o’ dainty.But ilka day. Na mair by Babel’s streams we’ll weep, AndTo hing think our upon fiddles our up Zion to sleep,; Come,Like screwbaby-clouts the pegs a-dryin wi’ tunefu’ : cheep, O,And rare o’er ! to the see thairms our elbucks be tryin; wheep, An’ a’ like lamb-tailsFu’ flyin fast this day 1 Lang Patronage, wi’ rad o’ aim. AsHas lately shor’d F-nw-ck, the kirk’s sair undoin,forfairn. OurHas patron, proven honest to its man!ruin: Glencairn, AndHe like saw a mischiefgodly elect was bairn, brewin; He’s wal’d us out a trueAnd ane. sound this day. Now R****** harangue nae mair, OrBut try steekthe wicked your gab town for of ever: Ayr, Or,For nac there reflection they’ll on think your you lear. clever; OrYe to maythe N-th-rt-n commence repair, a shaver; And turn a carpet weaverAff-hand this day. SCOTISH POEMS. S7 M*****We never and had you sic were twa justdrones; a match, AuldJust Hornie like a didwinkin the Laighbaudrons Kirk : watch, AndTo ay’ fry he them catch’d in his the caudrons: tither wretch, ButWi’ now a’ his brimstonehonour maun squadrons, detach, See, see auld Orthodoxy’sFast, faesfast this day. HarkShe’s ! swingeinhow the thro’nine-tail’d the city cat ; she plays ! There,I vow Learning, its unco prettywith his: Greekish face, AndGrunts Common-Sense out some Latin is gaun, ditty she ; says, To mak to Jamie BeattieHer plaint this day. ButEmbracing there’s Morality all opinions; himsel, Hear,Between how hishe twagies thecompanions; tither yell. See,As howane werehe peels peeling the skin onions! an’ fell, NowAnd there—they’re banish’d our dominions,packed aff to hell, O happy day ! rejoice,Henceforth rejoice 1 this day. Morality’sCome bouse demure about decoys the porter! M‘**'*****,Shall here nae R,*****, mair find arequarter the boys. ; They’llThat heresygie her canon atorture; rape a hoyse, And cow her measureBy shorter th’ head some day. Come,And here’sbring thefor tithera conclusion, mutchkin in, ToFrom ev’ry this New time Light* forth, mother’s confusion son, : * New Light is a cant phrase, in the west of Scotland, for thosedefended religious so strenuously, opinions which Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, has SCOTISH POEMS. If mair they deave us with their din. We’llOr patronagelight a spunk, intrusion, and ev’ry skin, We’ll riii them aff’ inLike fusion, oil, some day.

THE CALF. XO THE MALACHI,REV. MR. CH. IV. ,VER. ON HIS2. TEXT, And tTicy shall go forth, and grow up like calves of the stall. HlGHT,Though hereticssir ! your may text laugh I’ll ; prove it true, ForGod instance; knows, there’san, unco yoursel calf! just now, AndAs shouldbless you some wi’ patron a kirk, be so kWid, I doubtYe’re na, still sir, as greatbut then a stirk. we’ll find But,Shall if theever lover’s be your raptur’d lot, hour ForbidYou e’erit, ev’ry should heav’nly be a stot! pow’r, Though,Your but-and-benwhen some adorns,kind connubial dear TheA likenoble has head been of thathorus. you may wear AndTo inhear your you lug, roar most and rev’rend rowte, James, FewTo rankmen o’amang sense thewill nowte. doubt your claims AndBelow when a ye’regrassy number’d hillock, wi’the dead. Wi’justice< Here lies they a famous may mark Bullock!’ your head— SCOTISH POEMS. ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. O Prince! O Chief of many throned Powers, That led the embattled Sejaphim to war—MILTON. AuldO THOU! Hornie, whateverSatan, Nick, title suitor Clootie, thee, Wha in your cavern grim Clos’dan’ sootie, under hatches, Spairges about the brunstaneTo scaudcootie, poor wretches ! An’Hear let me, poor auld damned Hangie, bodies for abe wee, ! I’m sure sma’ pleasure canE’en it gie. to a deil, To skelp an’ scaud poor dogsAn’ hearlike me,us squeal 1 FarGreat kend is thy and pow’r, noted isan’ thy great name thy ; fame j And tho’ you lowin heugh’sThou thy travelshame. far; An’ faith! thou’s neither Norlag norMate lame, nor scaur. ForIfhyles, prey, ranging, a’ holes likean’ cornersa roarin try lion. in ; iVhyles on the strong-wing’dTirling tempests the kirks; flyin, IFhyles, in the human bosomUnseen pryin, thou lurks. In!’ve lanely heard glens my rev’rendye like tograunie stray say,; where auld-ruin’d castles,Nod gray,to the moon, : fright the nightly wand’rer’sWi’ eldritch way, croon. ho(When say twilight her pray’rs, did my douce, graunie honest summon, woman! 40 SCOTISH POEMS. Aft yont the dyke she’s heard you bummin Or, rustlin, thro’ the boortriesMi’ eerie comin, drone; Wi’ heavy groan. TheAe dreary, stars shot windy, down winter wi’ sklentin pight, light, Wi’ you, mysel, I gat afright,Ayont the lough: Ye, like a rash-buss, stoodWi’ in sight,waving sugh. EachThe cudgel bristl’d in hairmy nievestood didlike shake, a stake, When wi’ an eldritch stour,Aiming quaick—quaick— the springs, Awa ye squatter'd, like aOn drake, whittling wings. TellLet warlockshow wi’ yougrim, on an’ ragweed wither’d nags, hags, They skim the muirs, an’ Wi’dizzy wicked crags, speed; And in kirkyards renew Owretheir leagues,l\pwkit dead. MayThencecountra plunge an’ wives,plunge wi’ the toilkirn an’in vain;pain, For, oh 1 the yellow treasure'sBy witching taen, skill; An’ dawtit, twal-pint hawkie’sgaenAs yell’s the Bill. OnThence young mystic guidmen, knots fond, mak keen,great an’abuse. crouse ; When the best wark-lume Byi’ the cantrip house. wit. Is instant made no worth Justa louse. at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An’Then float water-kelpies the jinglin icy-boord.haunt the foord, By your direction. An’ nigbted trav’llers areTo allur’d their destruction. SCOTISH POEMS. 41 DecoyAn’ aft theyour wight mos thattraversing late an’ spunkies drunk is : The bleeziu, curst, mischievousDelude monkeys his eyes, Till in some miry slough heNe’er sunk mair is. to rise. I InWhen storms Mason’s an’ tempests mystic word rise youan’ grip,up, Some cock or cat your rageOr, maunstrange stop, to tell! The youngest brotherAff ye straughtwad whip to hell. WhenLang syne,youthfu’ in Eden’s lovers bonie first wereyard. pair'd, An’ all the soul of love theyThe shar’d. raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant flow’ryIn shady sward, bow’r: YeThen came you, to ye Paradise auld, snic-drawing incog, dog ! An’ play’d on man a cursed(Black brogue, be your fa!) An’ gied the infant warld ’Maista shock, ruin’d a’, D’ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Wi’Ye did reekit present duds, your an’ smoutiereestit gizz. phiz, \ An’ sklented on the man of’Mang Uzz better folk, A Your spitefu’joke ? An’ brakhow yehim gat out him o’ housei’ your an’ thrall. hall, While scabs an’ blotches Wi’did himbitter gall, claw, t T lows’d his ill-tongu’d Waswarstava?wicked scawl, ijYourtButa’ wilyyour snaresdoings an’to rehearse,fechtin fierce, itSin that day VideMichael* Milton, did Book you VI. pierce. 42 SCOTISH POEMS. Down to this time AVad ding a’ Lallan tongue,Xu proseor Erse, or rhyme. An’A certain now, auldbardie’s Cloots, rantin, I ken drinking, ye’re thinking, Some luckless hour will sendTo yourhim linkinblack pit > But, faith! he’ll turn a cornerAn’ cheat jinkin, you yet. But,O wad fare ye you tak weel, a thought auld an’Nickie-ben men’ ! ! Ye aiblins might—I diunaStill ken— hae a stake— I’m wae to think upo’ yonEv’n den, for your sake! THE DEATHPOOR AND MAILIE, DYING WORDS OF THE AUTHOR’S ONLY PET YOWE. AN UNCO MORNFU’ TALE. AsWere Mailie,ae day nibblingan’ her lambs on the thegither, tether. An’Upon owre her clootshe warsl’d she coost in thea hitch, ditch : There,Wheij.Hughoc* groaning, he dying, cam doytinshe did by. lie, PoorWi’ Hughoc glowrin like een, a an’statue lifted stan’s ban’s, ; HeBut, saw waes her my days heart! were henear-hand could na ended, mend it! AtHe lenggaped poor wide, Mailie but silencenaething brak.— spak ; Appears‘ O thou, to whase mourn lamentable my woefu’ face case ! MyAn’ dyingbear them words to attentivemy master hear. dear. * A uvibor herd-callan. SCOTISH POEMS. 43 As‘ muckleTell him, gear if e’eras buy again a sheep, he keep, ■O,Wi’ bidwicked him neverstrings tie o’ themhemp mairor hair ! An’But letca’ themthem wanderout to park at their or hill. will; ToSo mayscores his o’lambs, flock increase an’ packs and o’grow woo. An’‘ Tellay was him guid he was to me a masterand mine; kin’, An’My helplessnow my iambs dying I chargetrust them I gie wi’ him, him. Frae‘ O, dogs, bid an’him tods, save an’their butcher’s harmless knives lives, ! TillBut giethey them be guidfit to cow-milkfeed themsel; their fill, An’Wi’ tentteats them o’ hay duly, an’ ripse’en o’an’ corn. morn, Of‘ itherAn’ may wile, they wanresfu’ never learn pets! the gaets AtTo stacksslink thro’ o’ pease, slaps, or an’ stocks reave, o’ kail.an’ steal, ForSo may monie they, a yearlike cometheir greatthro’ theforbears, sheers: ^V.n’So wives bairns will greet gie for them them bits when o’ bread, they’re dead. O,' ‘ bidMy himpoor breed toop-lamb, him up mywi’ soncare an’ ! heir, An’,To pit if somehe live bavins to be in a beast,his breast! ■ToAn’ staywarn content him, whatwi’ yowes I winna at hame;name, An’Like no ither to rin mensless an’ wear graceless his cloots. brutes. Gude‘ An’niest keep thee my fraeyowie, a tether silly string!thing, Wi’O, may only thoublastit ne’er moorland forgather toop up ; Wi’sheepBut ay keep o’ mindcredit to like moop thysel an raell,! ! I lea’emy‘ And now, blessin my bairns,wi’ you wi’ baith: my last breath 44 SCOTISH POEMS. MindAn’ when to be you kin’ think to ane upo’ anither. your mither, Now,To tell honest my master Hughoc, a’ mydinna tale, fail An’ forbid thyhim pains, burn thisthou’se cursed get tether. my blether.’ An’This clos’d said, her poor een Mailieamang theturn’d dead. her head. POOR MAILIE’S ELEGY. liAMENTWi’ saut tears in trickling rhyme, downlament your in prose, nose ; Our bardie’s fate is at a close,Past a’ remead; The last sad cape-stane ofPoor his woes;Mailie’s dead! ItsThat no couldthe loss sae o’ bitter warl’s draw gear, the tear, Or mak our bardie, dowie,The wear mourning weed: He’s lost a friend and neeborIn Mailie dear, dead. AThro’ lang a’ half-mile the tonn sheshe couldtrotted descry by him him : ; Wi’ kindly bleat, when sheShe did ran spy wi’ him, speed: A friend mair faithfu’ ne’erThan Cam Mailie nigh dead.him, An’1 wat could she wasbehave a sheep hersel o’ wi’sense. mense : I’ll say’t, she never brak Thro’a fence, thievish greed. Our bardie, lanely, keepsSin’ the Mailie’s spence dead. HerOr, livingif he wanders image in up her the yowe, howe, Comes bleating to him, owreFor bitsthe o’bread;knowe, SCOTISH POEMS. i5 An’ down the briny pearlsFor rowe Mailie dead. Wi’She wastawted nae ket, get o’an moorland hairy hips tips, ; For her forbears were broughtFrae yont in ships the Tweed; A bonier fleesh ne’er cross’dThan the Mailie clips dead. ThatWae worthvile wanchancie the man wha thing—a first did rape shape 1 It maks guid fellows girn Wi’an’ gape,choken dread: An’ Robin’s bonnet wave Forwi’ Mailie’scrape, dead. O,An’ a’ wha ye bardson Ayr on your bonnie chanters Doon tune1 ! Come, join the melancholiousO’ Robin’s croon reed ! His heart will never get aboonHis Mailie ! dead. TO J. S* * * *. SweetenerFriendship, of mysterious life, and soldercement of of society the soul! ! 1 owe thee much.— BLAIR. DeA.RS****,’er attempted the stealth sleest orpaukie rief, thief, ife surely hae some warlock-breefOwre human hearts; 1’er a bosom yet wasAgainst prief your arts, e, I swear by sun an’ moon, r’rycost starme twentythat blinks pair aboon, o’ shoon Just gauu to see you; 46 SCOTISH POEMS. And ev’17 kher pair that’sMair done, taen I’m wi’ you. ToThat mak anld amends capricious for scrimpitcarlin, Nature,stature. She’s turn'd you off, a humanOn her creature first plan, And in her freaks, on ev’ryShe’s feature. wrote, the Man. MyJust barmie now I’ve noddle’s ta’en theworking fit o’ rhyme,prime, My fancy yerkit up sublimeWi’ hasty summon ; Hae ye a leisure-moment’sTo time hear what’s comin? Some rhymerhyme a(vain neebor’s-name thouglit!) forto lash; needfu’ cash; Some rhyme to court the countraAn’ raise clash, a din; For me, an aim I never fashI rhyme ; for fun. HasThe starfated that me rulesthe russet my luckless coat, lot, An’ damn’d my fortune toBut the ingroat requir, j Has blest me wi’ a randomO’ shotcountra wit. ToThis try while my fatemy notion’sin guid blacktaen a prentsklent. ; But still the mair I’m thatSomething way bent, cries, ‘ Hoolie 1 I red you, honest man, takYe’ll tent! shaw your folly. Far‘ There’s seen initber Greek, poets, deep much men your o’ letters, betters, Hae thought they had ensur’dA’ future their ages; debtors, Now moths deform, in shapelessTheir unknown tetters. pages.’ ToThenfareweel garland my hopespoetic o’brows! laurel-boughs, SCOTISH POEMS. 47 Henceforth I’ll rove whereAre busy whistling ploughs thrang, An’ teach the lanely heightsMy an’ rustic howes sang. HowI’ll wander never-halting on, with moments tentless speed,heed Till fate shall snap the brittleThen, thread all unknown, ; I’ll lay me with th’ ingloriousForgot dead. and gone! JustBut whynow o’we’re death living begin sound a tale and ? hale ; Then top and maintop crowdHeave the care sail. o’er side! And large, before enjoyment’sLet’s takgale, the tide. Isa’This life,enchanted sac far's fairy I understand,land, Where pleasure is the magicThat, wand, wielded right, Maks hours like minutes, Dancehand-in-hand. by fu’ light. For,|The magicance that wand five-an’-forty’s then let us wield; speel’d, see crazy, weary, joylessWi’ eild wrinkl’d face, Hornes hostin, hirplin owreWi the creepin field, pace. ’henVhen fareweel ance life’s vacant day drawscareless near roamin the gloamin, ; In’ fareweel chearfu’ tankardsAn’ social foaming. noise; In’ fareweci dear deludingThe woman, joy of joys! foung) Life! Fancy’show pleasant rays the in thyhills morning, adorning ! lould-pausing Caution’s lessonWe frisk scorning, away, r.ike school-boys, at th’ expectedTo joy and warning, play. 48 SCOTISH POEMS. We wandereye the there,rose upon we wanderthe brier. here. Unmindful that the thorn Amangis near, the leaves; And tho’ the puny woundShort appear. while it grieves. ForSome, which lucky, they find never a flow’ry toil’d norspot, s wat; They drink the sweet, andBut eat care the orfat, pain ; And, haply, eye the barrenWith hut high disdain. KeenWith steadyhope does aim, ev’ry some sinew fortune brace chase; ; Thro’ fair, thro’ foul, theyAnd urge seize the therace. prey: Then canie, in some cozieThey place. close the day. PoorAnd others,wights like1 nae your rules humble nor roads servan’, observin ; To right or left, eternal swervin,They zig-zag on ; Till curst with age, obscureThey an’ aftenstarvin, groan. ButAlas truce ! what with bitter peevish toil an’ poor straining—— complaining ! Is fortune’s fickle Luna waningE’en let ? her gang ! • Beneath what light she hasLet’s remaining, sing our sang. AndMy penkneel, I here ‘Ye flingPow’rs! to the (and door, warm implore) Tho’ I should wander terraIn o’er,all her climes. Grant me but this, I ask Ayno more,rowth o’ rhymes. Till‘ Gie iciclesdreeping hing roasts frae totheir countra beards; lairds, Gie fine braw claes to fineAnd life-guards. maids of honour; SCOTISH POEMS. 49 And yill an’ whisky gieUntil to cairds, they sconner. ‘A A garter title, gieDempster to W illie merits Pitt; it: Gie wealth to some be-ledger’dIn cent, percit; cent. Bnt give me real sterlingAnd wit, I’m content. I’ll‘ While sit down ye are o’er pleas’d ray scanty to keep meal, me hale, Be’t water-brose, or muslin-kail,Wi’ chearfu’ face. As lang’s the Muses dinnaTo failsay the grace.’ BehintAn anxious my lug, e’e Ior never by my throws nose; I jouk beneath misfortune’sAs weel’s blows I may j- Sworn foe to sorrow, care,I rhyme and away.pose, Grave,0 ye douce tideless-blooded, folk, that live calm by andrule, cool, Compar’d wi’you—Ofool!How muchfool! unlike!fool! Your hearts are just a Yourstanding lives, pool, a dyke! NaeIn your hair-brain’d unletter’d sentimentalnameless faces traces ! In arioso trills and gracesYe never stray, But gravissimo, solemnYe basses hum away. YeNae are ferly sae tho’grave, ye donae despise doubt ye’re wise 5. The hairum-scairum ram-stamThe rattlin boys, squad: 1 see you upward cast —Yeyour eyes—ken- the road.— 50 SCOTISH POEMS. Wi’WhiM you I—but I’ll scarce I shall gang hand ony mewhere— there— Then, Jamie, I shall sayBut nae quat mair, my sang, Content wi’ you to mak aWhare’er pair, I gang. A DREAM. Thoughts,Rut surely words, dreams and were deeds, ne'er the indicted statute treason. blames with reason ; 'On reading in the public papers the Laureat’s Ode, with droptthe other asleep parade than of he June imagined 4, 1786, himself the author transported was no soonerto the followingbirth-day Address.]levee ; and, in hi, dreaming fancy, made the . GuiD-MORNIN to your Majesty ! OnMay ev’ry Heav’n new birth-dayaugment yourye see blisses, MyA hardshiphumble poethere, wishes at your ! levee. Is Onsure sic an auncouth day as sightthis is. to see, Amang thae birth-daySae finedresses this day. 5 see ye’re complimented thrang, ‘ GodBy monysave the a lord king and !’ ’slady; a cuckoo sang, TheThat’s poets, unco too, easy a venal said aygang, ; WadWi’ gar rhymes you trowweel-turn’d ye ne’er and do ready,wrang, But ay unerring steady.On sic a day. ForEv’n me there! before I winna a monarch’s flatter! face, ForAm neither 1 your pension, humble post,debtor: nor place, SCOTISH POEMS. 51 So, nne reflection on your grace. There’sYour moniekingship waur to bespatterbeen o’ the ; race. And aibiins ane beenThan better you this day. ’Tis very true, my sov’reign king. ButMy facts skill are may cheels weel that be doubtedwin na ding, : YourAn’ royaldowna nest, be disputed beneath : your wing, AndIs nowe'en theright third reft partan’ clouted. of the string, An’ less, will gangThan about did it ae day. Far be’t frae me that I aspire OrTo say, blame ye wisdom your legislation, want, or fire, But,To faithrule this! I mucklemighty doubt,nation 1my Sire, ToYe’ve chaps, trusted wha, ministrationin a barn or byre, Wad better fill'd theirThan station courts yon day. And now ye’ve gien auld Britain peace, YourHer sairbroken taxation shins doesto plaister her fleece, ; ForTill me, she thank has scarce God, amy tester; life’s a lease, Or,Nae faith bargain ! I fear, wearing that, faster, wi’the geese, I shortly boost to pastureI’ the craft some day. I’m no mistrusting Willie Pitt, (An’W henWill’s taxes a truehe enlarges, guid fallow’s get, ThatA name he intends not envy to payspairges) your debt. But,An’ G-d lessen sake a’ 1your let nacharges; saving-fit Abridge your bonnieAu’ barges boats this day. 52 SCOTISH POEMS. Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geek An’Beneath may he your rax corruption’shigh protection neck, ; ButAnd since gie I’mher here,for dissection I’il no neglect, ! ToIn pay loyal your true Queen, affection, with due respect, My fealty au’ subjectionThis great birth-day. Hail, Majesty most excellent! WillWhile ye acceptnobles astrive compliment to please ye, ThaebonnieA simple poet bairntime gies ye Heav’n? has lent, InStill bliss, higher till fate may some they day heeze is sent ye For ever to releaseFrae ye care that day. For you, young potentate o’ Wales, Down1 tell pleasure’s your Highness stream, fairly, wP swelling sails, ButI’m some tauld day ye’re ye maydriving gnaw rarely your ; nails, ThatAn’ e’er curse ye yourbrak folly Diana’s sairly, pales, Or rattled dice wi’By Charlie, night or day. Yet aft a ragged cowte’s been known SoTo ye makra^y adoucely noble aiverfill a throne,j There,For a’him* their at clishmaclever Agincourt wha : shone. AndFew yet,wi’ better funny were queeror braver Sir John,-f-; He was an unco shaverFor monie a day. Noryou,Nnne sets right the rev’rend lawn-sleeve Osnabrug, sweeter, Altho’Wad abeen ribban a dress at your completer lug ^ t Jving Henry V. j Sir John Falstaff; Tide Shakspeare. SCOTISH POEMS. 53 As ye disown yon paughty dog Then,That swith bears ! thean’ keysget aof wife Peter, to hug, Or, trouth ! ye’il stainSome the luckless mitre day. Young royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, A Ye’veglorious lately galley,* come stemathwart an’stern, her 5 ButWeel first rigg’dhang out,for Venus’that she’ll barter discern. ; ThenYour heave hymeneal aboard charter, your grapple airn, An’, large upo’ herCome quarter, full that’day. Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a’, Heav’nmakYe royal lassesyou guidas dainty, well as braw, ButAn’ sneer gie nayou British lads a-plenty boys awa’. : An’For German kings areGentles unco are scant but ay sma’, ; They’re better justOn than onie want day. ay God bless you a’! consider now, ButYour ere theunco course muckle o’ lifedautet; be through, An’It Imay hae beseen bitter their sautet: coggie fou. ButThat or theyet dayhae wastarrow’t done, at I it; trow, The laggen they haeFu’ clautetclean that day. t Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor’s 54 SCOTISH POEMS. THE VISION. DUAN FIRST. The curlers sun hadquat clos’d their theroaring winter play, day, An’ hunger’d maukinTo taen kail-yards her way green, While faithless snawsWhare ilk step she betrayhas been. The lee-langthresher’s day weary had flingin-treetir’d me; And when the day hadFar clos’d i’ the his west, e’e Ben i’ the spence, right1 gaed pensivelie, to rest. There,I sat and lanely, ey’d the by spewing the ingle-cheek, reek, That fill’d wi’ hoast-provokiugThe auld clay smeek biggin j An’ heard the restlessAbout rations the squeak riggin. AllI backward in this mottie mus’d mistyon wasted clime, time, How 1 nad spent myAn’ youtbfu’ done nae-thing, prime. But stringin blethers Forup in fools rhyme, to sing. HadI might, I to guidby this, advice hae butled aharkit, market. Or strutted in a bankMy an’ cash-account: clarkit While here, half-mad,Is a’half-fed, th’ amount. half-sarkit, AndI started, heav’d muttering, on high my blockhead waukit loof, ! coof! gressivepoem.1 Duan is a termSechis in OssianBath-Loda, for the vol. different ii. of M'Pherson’s divisions of trai a SCOTISH POEMS. 55- To swear by a’ you starryOr some roof. rash aith, That I, henceforth, Tillwould my be last rhyme-proof breath— AndWhen jee click ! the ! doorthe string gaed theto thesnick wa\ did draw j An’ by my ingle-loweNow I saw, bleezin bright, A tight outlandish hizzie,Come braw.full in sight. YeThe need infant na aith,doubt, half-form’d, I held my waswhisht; crushft; I glowr’d as eerie’s I’dIn beensome dushtwild glen ; When sweet, like modestAnd steppedworth, sheben* blusht, Green,Were twisted, slender, gracefu’, leaf-clad round holly-boughs her brows, 1 took her for some ScotisbBy that Muse, same token; An’ come to stop thoseWou’d reckless soon vows, been broken, AWas ‘ hair-brain’d strongly marked sentimental in her trace’face ; A wildy-witty rustic Shonegrace full upon her; Her eye, ev’n turn’d Beam’don empty keen space. with honour. DownTill half flow’d a leg her was robe, scrimply a tartan seen sheen, ; And such a leg; my bonnieCould onlyJean peer it; Sae straught, sae taper,Nane tight, else andcame dean, near it. MyHer gazingmantle wonder large, of chiefly greenish drew hue, ; Deep lights and shades,A lustrebold-mingling, grand; thre .v And seem’d, to my astonish’dA well-known view, land. 53 SCOTISII POEMS. There,Here, riversmountains in the to sea the were skies lost; were tost; Here, tumbling billowsWith mark’d surging the foam; coast. There, distant shone Theart’s lordly lofty dome.boast. There,Here, Doon well-fed pour’d Irwine down stately his far-fetch’d thuds: floods; Auld hermit Ayr stawOn thro’ to the his shore woods, ; And many a lesser torrentWith scuds,seeming roar. AnLow ancient in a sandy borough valley rear’d spread, her head : Still, as in Scotish storyShe read,boasts a race, To every nobler virtueAnd bred, polish’d grace. OrBy statelyruins pendant tow’r or in palacethe air, fair, Bold stems of heroes,£ couldhere and discern there, : Some seem’d to muse,With some feature seem’d stern. to dare, ToMy seeheart a race* did glowing heroic transportswheel, feel, And brandish round thedeep-dy’dIn sturdy blows; steel While back recoilingTheirsuthron seem’d to reel foes. BoldHis Coun. Richardton’sJ y’s Saviour, heroic + mark swell him ; well! The chief on Sark § whoIn high glorious command fell. ; And he whom ruthlessHis fates native espel land. J Adam• Ti Wallace,e Wallaces. of Richardton, cousint William to the Wallace. immortal pre- } Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command on- SCOTISH POEMS. 57 Stalk’dThere, whereround hisa sceptred ashes lowly Pictish laid, shade* I mark’d a martial race, Inpourtray’d colours strong; Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay’dThey strode along. NearThro’ manymany a a hermit-fancy’d wild romantic cove,grove, + (Fit haunts for friendshipIn or musing for love, mood) An aged Jud ge, I saw himDispensing rove, good. WithThe learneddeep-struck sire andreverential son I saw, awei. To Nature’s God and Nature’sThey gavelaw their lore. This, all its source and endThat, to draw,— to adore. BeneathBrydone’s old brave Scotia’s ward§ smiling I well eye; could spy. Who call’d on Fame, lowTo standing hand him by. on. Where many a patriot’s nameAnd heroon high shone. DUAN SECOND. With musing-deep astonish’d stare, AI view’dwhisp’ring the heav’flly-seemingthrob did witness B’air; bear When with an elder sister’sOf airkindred sweet. df r Douglas,Earl of Ormond, at theShe famous did baltieme greet: on the banks ofowing Sark, to fought the juduious anno 1448. conduct That andglorious intrepid victory valour was principal!of the gal- / lant* Coilus,Laird of King Craigie, of the who Piets, died from of his whom wounds the afterdistrict the ofaction. Kyle is familyplace is seat still of shown. the Montgomeries of Coil's-field, where his burial Jt Catrine,Barskimming, the seat t.;e of seat the oflate the Doctor, Lord Justice and present Clerk. Professor Stewart.$ Colonel Fullarton. 58 SCOTISH POEMS. In‘ All-bail me thy !native my own-inspired muse regard bard! ! Nor longer mourn thy fateThus is poorly hard, low l I come to give thee suchAs rewardwe bestow. Has‘ Know many the a greatlight aerialgenius band,of this land Who, all beneath his highHarmoniously,' command. As arts or arms they understand,Their labours ply. ‘Some They fire Scoria’s the soldier race amongon to dare them ; share ; Some rouse the patriot Corruption’sup to bare heart i- Some teach the bard, aThe darling tuneful care, art. ‘ ’Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, Or,They mid ardent the venalkindling senate’s spirits roar, pour ; To mend the honest patriot-lore,They, sightless, staad. 1 And grace the land. Charm And whenor instruct the bard, the futureor hoary age, sage, They bind the wild poeticIn energy,. rage Or point the inconclusiveFull page on the eye. ‘Hence Hence Dempster’s Fullarton, zeal-inspiredthe brave and tongue young; ; Hence, sweet harmoniousHis BeattieMinstrel-lays; sung Or tore, with noble ardourThe sceptic'sstung. bays. ‘ To lower orders are assign’d The rustichumbler bard, ranks the of labouring human kind, hiudj SCOTISH POEMS. 59 The artisan; AH choose, as varioas they’reThe inclin’d.various man. ‘The When threat’ning yellow wavesstorm somethe heavy strongly giain. rein ; Some teach to meliorate theWith plain tillage skill ; And some instruct the shepherd-train,Blythe o’er the hill. ‘Some Some grace hint thethe maiden’slover’s harmless artless smilewile ;; Some soothe the weary labourer’sFor humble toil gains, And make his cottage-scenesHis beguilecares and pains. ‘Explore Some, atbounded large man’sto a district infant race,space. To mark the embryotic traceOf rustic bard ; And careful note each op’ningA guide grace, and guard. And‘ Of thisthese district am I—Coila as mine my I claim.name ; Where once the Campbells,Held ruling chiefs pow’r: of fame, I mark’d thy embryo tunefulThy natalflame. hour. ‘Fond, With onfuture thy hope,little earlyI oft ways,would gaze, Thy rudely carolFd chimingIn uncouth phrase rhymes, Tir’d at the simple artless laysOf other times. ‘Delighted I saw thee with seek the the dashing sounding roar; shore, Or when the north his fleecyDrove store thro’ the sky, I saw grim nature’s visageStruck hoar thy young eye. 60 SCOT1SH POEMS. ‘Warm Or when cherish’d the deep-green ev’ry flow'ret’s mantl’d birth, earth And joy and music pouringlu forthev’ry grove, 1 saw thee eye the gen’ralWith mirth boundless love. ‘Call’d When forth ripen’d the fields,reaper’s and rustling azure skies,noise, 1 saw thee leave their eveningAnd lonely joys, stalk, To vent thy bosom’s swellingIn pensive rise walk. ‘Keen-shiv’ring When youthful shot love, thy warm-blushing, nerves along, strong, Those accents, grateful toTh’ thy adored tongue, Name, I taught thee how to pourTo in soothsong, thy flame. Wild‘ I saw send thy thee pulse’s pleasure’s madd’ning dev ious play way. Misled by fancy’s meteor-ray,By passion driv’n ; But yet the light that ledWas astray light front heav’n 1 *The 1 taught loves, thythe manners-paintingways of simple swains. strains Till now, o’er all myThy wide fame domains extends; And some, the prideBecome of Coila’s thy plains, friends. 'To Thou paint canst with not Thomson’s learn, nor landscape-glow; can I show', Or wake the bosom-meltingW ith throe, Shenstone’s art; Or pour, with Gray, theWarm moving on flow the heart. ‘ Yet all beneath th’ unrivall’d rose, TheTho’ lowly large daisythe forest’s sweetly monarch blows; throws SCOTISH POfiMS. 61 His army shade, Yet green the juicy hawthornAdown grows the glade. ‘Strive Then, in neverthy humble murmur, sphere nor torepine shine ; ; And trust me, not Potosi’sNor mine, king’s regard, Can give a bliss o’ermatchingA rustic thine, bard. ‘Thy To tunefulgive my flame counsels still allcareful in one. fan ; Preserve the dignity of man,With soul erect; And trust the Universal PlanWill all protect. ‘And And bound wear the thou holly this,’—she round my solemn head said,; The polish’d leaves, and berriesDid rustling red. play; And, like a passing thought,In light she fledaway. ADDRESS TO THE UtfCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. TheAnd rigid lump righteous them ay is thegithcr;a fool. TheThe cleanest rigid vise corn auither; that e'er was dight. SoMay ne’er hae a fellow-creaturesome pyles o’ chaff slight in j for randomSOLOMON.—Eccles.ch.vii. tits o’ daffin. ver. It) oSae YE pious wha and are sae sae holy, guid yoursel, Ye’veYour nought neebour’s to do fauts but markand folly and 1tell SCOTISH POEMS. WhaseSupply’d life iswi’ like store a well-gauno’ water. mill, TheAn heapet still the happer’s clap plays ebbing clatter. still, HearAs counselme, ye forvenerable poor mortals, core. ThatFor frequent glaikit folly’spass douce portals wisdom’s ; door I, Wouldfor their here thoughtless propone carelessdefences, sakes. TheirTheir donsie failings tricks, and theirmischances. black mistakes, YeAnd see shudderyour state at thewi’ niffer,theirs compar’d, ButWhat cast maksa moment’s the mighty fair regard. differ ? DiscountThat purity what yescant pride occasion in, gave. AndYour (what’s better aft art mair o’ thanhiding. a’ the lave) Think,Gies nowwhen and your then castigated a wallop. pulse WhatThat ragings still eternal must hisgallop veins . convulse. Wi’Bight wind on and ye scudtide faryour i’ yoursea-way tail. ; ButIt inmakes the teeth an unco o’ baith lee-way. to sail, SeeAll social joyous life andand gleeunthinking, sit down, Till,Debauchery quite transmugrify’d, aud drinking: they’re grown Oh,Th’ would eternal they consequences stay to calculate ; OrD-mnation your more of dreadful expences! hell to state, YeTy’d high, up exalted,in godly virtuouslaces. dames, BeforeSuppose ye giea change poor frailtyo’ cases; names, SCOTISH POEMS. 63 A Adear treach’rous lov’d lad, inclination— convenience snug; ButYe’re let me ablins whisper nae temptation.i’ your lug, ThenStill gently gentler scan sister your woman brother ; man, Tho’To theystep mayaside gang is human a kennin : wrang, OneThe point moving must why still the be ygreatly do it: dark. AndjustHow far as lamelyperhaps can they ye ruemark, it. WhoDecidedly made the can heart, try us, ’tis He alone HeEach knows spring—its each chord—its various variousbias: tone. ThenWe at never the balancecan adjust let’s it; be mute, What’sBut know done notwe what’spartly mayresisted. compute. TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. An honest man’s the noblest work of God.POPE. HasOr great auld M‘*******+ K******** thrawn seen the his Deilheel ?? Or {{,**** * * *J again grownTo preach we.el, an’ read ? *■ Na waur than a’! ’ criesTam ilka Samson’s chiel, dead!’ son,» Whenhe supposed this worthy it was old to sportsmanbe, in Ossiau’s went phrase, out last ‘ themuirfov last muirs. On thishintlhe author composed his Elegy and Ep thet AOrdination, certain preacher, stanza ii.a great favourite with tlie miliion at that time ailing. For him see also the Ordination, sta 64 SCOTISH POEMS. ]£*»****»** Jang may grunt an’graue, An’ sight an’ sab, an’ greet her lane, An’ deed her bairns, man,In wife, mourning an’ wean, weed ; To death, she’s dearly paidTara the Samson’s kane, dead! MayThe brethrenhing their of heads the mystic in wofu’ Itvel bevel, While by their nose the tearsLike will ony revel, bead: Death’s gien the lodge an Tamunco Samson’sdevel: dead. WhenAnd binds winter the muffles mire like up onyhis cloak.rock; When to the loughs the curlersWi’ gleesome flock speed, Wha will they station at theTam cock Samson’s ? dead. ToHe guard,was the or kingo’ draw, a’or the wick core a bore, Or up the rink like Jehu roarIn time of need; But now he lags on death’sTam hog-score— Samson’s dead. AndNow troutssafe the bedropp’dwi’ stately sawmont crimson sail, hail, And eels weel ken’d for soupleAnd geds tail. for greed, Since dark in death’s fish-creelTam weSamson wail dead. RejoiceYe cootie ye moorcocks, birring paitricks crousely a’; craw ; Ye maukins, cock your fudWithouten fu’ braw, dread; Your mortal fae is now awa’,Tam Samson’s dead. That woefu’ morn be ever mourn’d WhileSaw him pointers in shootin rouud graith impatient adorn’d. burn’d, SCOTISH POEMS. Frae couples freed; Bui, och! begaed, and ne’erTam return’d! Samson’s dead. In vain auldthe gout age his anklesbody batters; fetters; In vain the burns came downAn likeacre waters.braid! Nowev’ry auld wife, greetin,Tam Samson’s clatters, dead. An’O wre ay many the tithershot a weary hag he hethumpit. limpit, Till coward Death behindWi’ him deadly jumpit, feide; Now he .proclaims, wi’ toutTam o’ Samson’strumpet, dead. HeWhen reel’d at his his heartwonted he bottle-swagger,felt the dagger, But yet he drew the mortalWi’ trigger weel-aim’d heed; * L—d, five !’ he cry’d, an’Tam owre Samson’s did stagger dead ; ! Ilk sportsmanhoary banter youth mourn’d bemoan’d a brither; a father ; Yon auld gray stane, amangMarks the outheather, his head, Whare Burns has wrote, in‘ Tamrhyming Samson’s blether, dead !’ TherePerhaps low upon belies, his mould’ringin lasting rest; breast Somespitefu’ muirfowl buildsTo hatch her nest,an’ breed; Alas ! nae inair he’ll themTam molest! Samson’s dead ! AndW’hen sportsmen August winds wander the by heather yon grave, wave, Three vollies let his memoryO’ pouthercrave an’ lead, iTill Echo answers frae herTara cave, Samson’s dead! 66 SCOTIS POEMS . IsHeav’n (he wish rest o'his mony saul, maewhare’er than me;he be! He had twa fauts, or mayYet be three.what remead ? Ae-social honest man wantTam we: Samson’s dead !

THE EPITAPH. TamYe Samson’s canting zealots, weel-worn spare clay him! here lies, If Ye’llhonest mend, worth or in ye heav’u win nearrise, him. PER CONTRA. Thro’Go, Famej a’ the an’ streets canter an’ like neuks a filly o’ Killie,* Tell ev’ry social honest billieTo cease his grievin, For yet, unskaith’d by Death’sTam Samson’s gleg gullie, Ilyin. » Killie is a phrasethe country-folkssometimes use forKilniar. SCOTISH POEMS. «7 UALLOWEEN* Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdaia TheTo me simple more pleasures dear, congenial of the lowlyto my traia; heart, One native charm, than all theGOLDSMITH. gloss of art. [The following Poem will, by many readers, be well enough withunderstood the manners ; but for and the traditions sake ofthosewho of the country areunacquainted where the principalscene is cast, charms notes and are spellsadded, of thatto give night, some so account big with of pro- the phecyof pryingintofuturity to the peasantry inmakes the westa striking of Scotland. part of The the passionhistory oftions human ; and natureit may in be itssome rxtde entertainment state, in all toages a philosophicand all na- mind,rusal, ifto anysee the such remains should of honour it among the the author more with unenlight- a pe- XJpON that night when fairies light. OrOn owre Cassilis the lays, Downanst in splendid dance. blaze. OrOn for sprightly Colean the coursers rout is prance; ta’en, There,Beneath up thethe cove,tmoon’s topale stray beams an’ rove; Amang the rocksTo and sport streams that night. AmangWhere the Doon bonnie rins, winding wimplin, hanks clear. WhereAn’ shook Bruce§ the ante Garrick rul’d spear,the martial ranks. SomeTogether merry, did friendly, convene, countra folks ug beings,to be a arenight all abroadwhen witches,on tbeir devils,baneful aud midnight other nightlicularly to holdthose a aerialgrand people,anniversary, the Fairies, who are thelittle, ancient romantic, seat ofrocky, the Eatgreen IS ofhills, Cassilis. in the neigh- cavernas Cassilis near Dowoans.is Colean House, famed called in counlry The Cove story of Co-for nserer family of hisof thatcountry, name,the were Earlsancestors of Garrick. of ROEERT, f>8 SCOTISH POEMS. To burn their nits, an’ pon their stocks, And hand their HalloweenFu’ blythe that night. TheMair lasses braw feat, than an’ •when cleanly they’re neat, fine; TheirHearts faces leal, blythe, an’warm, fu’ sweetly an’kin’: kythe, TheWeel lads knottedsae trig, oh Wi’ their wooer-babs, garten, SomeGar uncolasses blate,hearts an'gang some startin wi’ gabs, Then first and foremost,Whiles thro’ thefast kail,at night. TheyTheir steek stocks* their matineen, an’a’ be graip sought an’ ancewale, : PoorFor hav’rel muckle Will anes fellan’ alfthestraught drift, anes. An’An’ pow’t wander’d for want through o’ better the bow-kail, shift, A runt was like a sow-tail,Sae bow’t that night. Then,They straught roar an’ or cry erooked, a’ throu’ther; ylrd or nane, TheWi’ vera stocks wee out-owre things todlin their rin shou’ther ; An’Wi’joctelegs gif the costoc’s they sweet taste or them; sour, SyneWi’ coziely, canni care, aboou they’ve the door, plac’d them The lasses staw fraeTo ’mang lie that them night. a’ • The firstTo ceremony pou their of Halloweenstalks o’ cornis, palling ;t each a stock, or andplant pull of kail. firstThey they must pieet go with; out, hand-inits being hand, big at with little, eyes strait shur, or allcrooked, theirspells—the is prophetic husband of the size or wife.and shapeIf any of yird, the grand or earth, object stick of toe,to the that root, is, thethat heart is tocher, of the or stem, fortune is indicative; and the stateof the of thenatural cus- temperordinary and appellation, disposition. the Lastly,runts, theare stems,placed or, somewhere to give them above their whomthe head chance of the brings door; into and the the house Christiau are, according names toof thethe priority people of tplacing They go the to runts,the baru-yard, the names and iu pull question, each, at three several times, SCOTISH POEMS. ButBehint Rab slipsthe muckle out, and thorn; jinks about HeLoud grippet skirled Nelly a’ hardthe lasses; an’ fast; ButWhen her tap-picklekiutliu in themaist fause-house* was lost, The auld guidwife’s weel Wi’hoordet him thatnitst night. An’Are inonie round lads an’ an’ round lasses divided,fates SomeAre kindle,there that couthie, night decidedside by :side, SomeAnd start burn awa thegither wi’ saucy trimly pride, ; Aud jump out-owre theFu’ chimlie high that night. JeanWha slips ’twas, in twa she wi’wedna tentie tell; e’e ; ButShe this says is Jock,in to herselan’ this i is me, HeAs bleez’d they wadovvre never her, mairan’ she part; owrehinr, TillAn’ fuff!.he Jean had started e’en up a sairthe lum,heart Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kailTo see’t runt,that night. Ah’Was Mallie, bruut nae wi’ doubt, primsie took Mallic; the drunt; Mall'sTo be nit compar’d lap out towi’ Willie pridefu’ r fling, WhileAn’ herWillie ain lap,fit it andbrunt swore it; - byjing, ’Twas just the way heTo wanted be that night. liestalk grain of atoats. the topIf theof the third stalk, stalk the wants party the in questiontop pickle, will that come is, othe» When marriage-bed the corn isany in thinga doubtful but a state,maid. by haiug too green, or ret,partment the stack-builder, in his stack, bywith means an opening of old timber,in the side &c. which makes is a fairest large assfBorning toeach particular the nuts is nut, a famous as they charm. lay themTheynamethe in the fire, ladand and as. TO SCOTISH POEMS. Nell had the fause-house in her min’, In Shelovin pits bleeze hersel they an’ sweetlyRob in; join. Nell'sTill heartwhite w'asin ase dancin they’re at thesobbin; view. Rob,She stowlins,whisper’d pric’d Rob toher leuk bonnie for’t: mou, Fu’ cozie in the neukUnseen for’t that night. ButHer Merran thoughts sarbehint on Andrew their Bell;backs SheAn’ lea’es slips them out bygashinat hersel: their cracks. SheAn’ thro’ to thethe kilnyard she the goes nearest then. taks. An’And darklins in the grapi!blue-clue* for thethrows bauks. then. An’ ay she n in’t, an’ ayRight she swat,fear’t that night. TillI watsomething she made held nae within jaukin the ; pat, ButGuid w hether L—d !’twas but shethe wasDeil quakin himsel. ! OrOr whether whether it twaswas Andrewa bauk-en’. Bell, She did na wait on talkinTo spier that night. Wee‘ Will Jenny ye goto wi’her me,graunie graunie? says, ’llI eatgat thefrae applet uncle Johnnie.’ at the glass, icordinglyone another, as thethey course born andquietly issue together, of the courtship or start willfrom be. beside serve• Whoever these directions: would with Steal success out, alltry alone, this Spell, to the must kiln,and,dark- strictly ob- lingclue throwoff the into old theoae pot ; and a clue towards of blue the yarn; latter windend, itsomething in a uew willand answerhold the will thread be returned ; demand, from wha the hands kilu-pst t i. by e. whouatniug holds; the beforet Take it, anda candle, some traditionsand go alone say, to you a looking-glass should comb : youreat an hair apple all seenthe time; iu the the glass, face as of if peepingyour conjugal over your companion shoulder. tote, will be SCOTISH POEMS. 11 She fnff’t her pipe wi’ aic a luut. SheIn notic'd wrath na,she anwas aizle sae vap’rin.brunt Her braw new worsetOut thro’ apron that night. ‘ YeHow little daur skelpie-Iimmer’s you try sic sportin. face! AsFor seek him the to foul spae thief your ony fortune: place, NaeGreat doubt cause but ye ye hae may to get fear a sight!it; ForAn’ monie liv’d an’a ane di’d has deleeret. gotten a fl ight, ‘ Ae hairst afore the Sherra-inoor,On sic a night. | I wasI mind’t a gilpey as weel’s then, yestreen,I’m sure Thel,was simmer na past had fyfteeu:been caul’d an’ wat, An’An’ ay stuffa rantin was uncokirn wegreen gat, ; And just on Halloween x 4 Our stibhle-rig was RabIt fell M4 Green,that night. HisA sin clever gat sturdyEppie fallowSim wi’ ; wean, HeThat gat liv’dhemp-seed,* in Achmacalla I mind : it weel, ButAn’ monie he made a day unco was light by himsel. o’t ; He was sae sairly frightedThat vera night.’ ThenAn’ uphe gatswoor fetchtin by his Jamie conscience, Fleck, * Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed ; har- owinglepeat itnow with and any then, thing ‘ Hemp-seedyou can conveniently I saw thee, hemp-seeddraw after Iyou. saw hend appearancepou thee.’ ofLook the overperson your invoked, left shoulder, in the attitude and you of will pulliue see Ihmiihat theis, showharrowing, thyself; and in say, which * Come case afterit simply me, andappears. harrow Others thee,’ 7*1 SCOTISH POEMS. ThatFor he it couldwas a’ saw but hemp-seed nonsense; a peck, TheAn’ auld out guidmana handfu’ raught gied him; down the pock, 1 SyneSometime bade him when slip naefrae ane ’mang see’d the him, folk, He marches thro’ amangAn’ the try’t stacks, that night* TheTho’ graip he hewas for something a harrow sturtin taks, : An’An’ ev’ry haurls now at an’ his then curpin: he says,. Ail’‘ Hemp-seedher that is toI sawbe my thee, lass, Come after me, an’ drawAs fast thee this night.’ HeTo whistled keep his up courage Lord Lenox’ cheary march, ; Altho’He was his hairsae fley’d began an’ to arch.eerie: TillAu’ presently then a grane he hears an’ gruntlea squeak, ; HeAn’ by tumbledhis shouther wi’a gaewintle a keek, He roai’d a horrid murder-shout,Out-owre that night; i An'In young dreadfu’desperation an’ auld came runnin ! out. HeAn’ swoor hear ’twas the sad hilchin narration: Jean M‘Craw, TillOr stop crouchie ! she Merrantrotted thro’Hiimphie, them a’, An’ wha was it but GrumphieAsteer that night! MegTo fain win wad three to wechtsthe barn o’ gaen,naething ;* alone.* This You charm go mustto the likewise barn, and be open performed, both doors, unperceived, taking them and off* ‘ tothe appear, hinges, mayif possible; shut the for doors, there and is danger,do you somethat mischief.the being aboutThen 4( countrytake that dialect, instrument wccall used a weclit;in winnowing and go thethrough corn, all which, theauttudes in our , SCOTISH POEMS. li But for to meet the deil her lane. SheShe gies pat the but herd little a picklefaith in nits. : ToAn’ watch, twa whilered cheekit for the apples, barn she sets. In hopes to see TamThat Kipplcs vera night. She turns the key wi’ cannie thraw, ButAn’ first owre on Sawniethe threshold gies a ventures;ca’ A Syneration bauldly rattled inup she the enters wa’ : An’An’ ran she thro’ cried midden L—d holepreserve an’ a’. her! An’ pray’d wi’ zeal andFu’ fastfervour that night. Then hoy’t out Will, wi’ sairadvice; I It chanc’dThey hechtthe stack him hesome faddom’t fine braw thrice,* ane; HeWas takes tiinmer a swirlie, propt auld for moss-oak.thrawin ; An’For loot some a winze, black an’grousome drew acarlin stroke, ; Till skin in blypes camAll’s haurlin nievcs that nigh!. A Aswanton canty widow as a kittlen Leezie ; was. ButShe och got ! thata fearfu’ night, settlin amang ! the shaws, SheAn’ thro’ owre the the whins, hill gaedan’ by scrieviu, the cairn, andof latting a third down time corn an apparitionagainst the will wind. pass throughRepeat itthe three barn, times; in at thequestion, windy anddoor, the and appearance out at the orother, retinue, having marking both thethe figureemploy iu * Take the opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a beau-stack, and fathomyou will it catch three intimes your round. arms the The appearaucc last fathom of yourof the future last timecon- jugal yoke-fellow. D 74 SCOTISH POEMS. WhereTo dip three her lairds’left sark-sleeve lands met in, at a burn,* Whyles owre a linn theWas burnie bent plays, that night. WhylesAs thro’ round the aglen rocky it wimpl’t, scar it strays; WhylesWhyles glitter’d in a wiel to theit dimpl’t; nightly rays, WhylesWi’ bickering cookit underneath dancing dazzle; the braes. Below the spreading Unseenhazle. that night. AmangBetween the herbranches, an’ the onmoon. the brae, TheGat deil up, or an’ else gie an a outlercroon quey,: PoorNear Leezie’s lav’rock-height heart maist she lap jumpit, the hool; ButOut-owre mist a fit, the an’ lugs in shethe plumpit,pool In order, on the clean hearthWi’ a plungestane, that night. AndTheluggies ev’ry time three+ great careare ranged, is ta’en, AuldTo unclesee them John, duly wha changed wedlock’s : joys BecauseSin Mar’s-year he gat the did toom-dish desire. thrice. He heav’d them on theIn firewrath that night. * You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south dipruuning your spring, left shirt or sleeve.rivulet, whereGo to “bed three insignl lairds’ of lands a fire, meet,” and hang and | midnight,yourwet sleevean apparition, before it having to dry. the Lie exact awake, figure and, of some the grandtime near ob. ! other side of it’. ther,t Take leave three the dishes;third empty: put clean blindfold water ain person, one, foul and water lead inhim ano. to handthe hearth : if by where chance the in dishesthe clean are water, ranged; the he future (or she)dips husband theor wife)lefti ifwill in comethe empty to the dish, bar of it matrimony foretelswitli a maid; equal ifcertainty in the fool, no amarriage’ widow; I atraent all. of Itthe is dishesrepeated is altered.three times, and every time the arrange, SCOTISH POEMS. T5 Wi’ merry sang?, an’ friendly cracks, An’I watunco they tales, did an’ na fnnnieweary; jokes, TillTheir butter’d sports so’ns,* were cheapwi’ fragrant an’ cheary lunt, f Syne,Set a’wi’ their a social gabs glassa steerin o’ strunt, ; They parted aff careerinFu’ blythe that night. THE AVLD FARMER'S KEW-YEARMARE MAGGIE: MORNING ON SALUTATIONGIVING HER TOTHE HIS ACCUS- ABLI> NEWTOMED YEAR. RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN TH*

Hae,A. Quid there’s New-year a ripp to I thywish auld thee, baggie Maggie! : Tho’ thoa’s howe-backit now,I’Ve seen an’ knaggie,the day Thou could hae gaen like Out-owreonie staggie the lay. An’Tho’ thy now auld thou’s hide dowie, as white’s stiff, a an’daisy, crazy. I’ve seen thee dappl’t, sleek,A bonny and grayglaizie, : He should been tight thatAnce daur’t in toa raizeday. thee* AThou filly ance buirdly, was i’sleeve, the foremost an’ swank, rank, An’ set weel down a shapelyAs e’er shank. tread yirdj An’ could hae flown out-owreLike aony stank, bird. Halloween• Soweus, supper. with buttsr instead of milk to them, is always the 76 SCOTISH POEMS. SinIt’s tliounow wassome my nine-ao’-twenty guid father’s meereyear, ; He gied me thee, o’ tocherAn’ clear, fifty mark j Tho’ it was sma’, ’twas weel-wonAn’ thou gear,was stark. YeWhen then first was I gaedtrotten to wi’woo your my Jenny,minnie: Tho’ ye was trickie, slee,Ye an’ ne’er funnie. was donsie ! But hamely, tawie, quiet,An’ an’ unco cannie, sonsie. ThatW hgn day, ye bure ye pranc’dhame my wi’ bonny muckle bride: pride, An’ sweet and gracefu’ sheWi’ did maiden ride, air I Kyle Stewart I could braggedI'or sic wide, a pair. An’Tho’ wintle now ye like dow a saumont-coble,but hoyte and hoble, That day ye was a jinkerFor noble, heels an’ win’! An’ ran them till they a’ didFar, wauble, far, behin’. An’When stable-meals thou an’ I atwere fairs young were an’ dreigh. skeigh, How thou wad prance, an’An’ snore, tak thean’ road skreigh. ! Town’s bodies ran, an’ stoodAn’ abeigh.ca’t thee mad. WhenWe took thou the was road corn’t, ay like an’ a Iswallow: was mellow. At Brooses thou had ne’erFor a fellow. pith an’ speed; Bui cv'ry tail thou pay’t Whare’erthem hollow, thou gaed. MightThe sma’, aiblings droop-rumpl’t, waur’t thee hunterfor a brattle;cattle. SCOTISH POEMS. 7T But sax Scotch miles thouAn’ try’t gar’t their them mettle, whaizle, Nae whip nor spur, but jastO’saugh a wattle or hazle. AsThou e’er was in atug noble or tow flttie-lau’. was drawn ! Aft thee an’ 1, in aught hoursOn guid gaun, March-weather, Hae turn’d sax rood besideFor our daysthegither. han’. ThouBut thy never auld braindgt, tail thou an’fetch’!, wad hae whiskit.an’fliskit, An’ spread abreed thy weel-fill’dWi’ pith briskit, an’ pow’r, Till spritty knowes wad An’rair’t slypet and riskit.owre. An’When threaten’d frosts lay labor lang, back and snawsto keep, were deep, I gied thy cog a wee bit heap,Aboon the timmer; I ken’d my Maggie wad naFor sleep, that, or simmer. InThe cart steyest or car brae thou thou never wad reestit; hae fac’t it; Thou never lap, an’ sten’t,Then an’ stoodbreastit, to blaw ; But just thy step a wee thingThou hastit, snoov’t awa. MyFour pleugh gallant is nowbrutes thy as bairn-timee’er did draw a’; ; Forbye sax mae, I’ve seli’tThat awa, thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pundThe vera an’ twa, warst. An’Monie wi’ a the sair weary daurk warl’ we hae hae wrought. fought ! An’ monie an anxious day,We I wadtho ghtbe beat! Yet here to crazy age we’reWt’ somethingbrought, yet. ’TS SCOTISH POEMS. AndThat thinknow perhapsna, my auldthou’s trusty less deservin,servan’. An’ thy auld days may endFor in starvin,my last fou, A heap it stimpart, I’ll reserveLaid by ane for you. We’veWe’ll toyteworn aboutto crazy wi’ yearsane anither thegither; ; Wi’- tentie care I’ll flit thyTo tether, some hain'd rig. Where ye may nobly ra*W your i’ sma’ leather, fatigue.

TO A MOUSE, OK TURNINGPLOUGH, HER UP NOVEMBEK, IK HER NEST1785. WITH TH WeeO, u hat , sleekit,a panic’s cowrio, in thy breastietim’rous ! beastie, Thou need na start away saeWi’ hasty,bickering brattle! I wad be lakh to rinan’ chaseWi’ murd’ring thee, pattle! I’mHas trulybroken sorry nature’s man’s social dominion union, An’justifies that ill opinionWhich makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-bornAn’fellow-mortal! companion IW’hat doubt then na, ? whyles,poor beastie, but thou thou may maun thieve live! ; A daimen icker in a thrave’S a sma’ request; I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,An’ never miss’ll It’sThy sillywee wa’abit housie, the wins too, are instrewiu.l ruiu ! 8C0TISH POEMS- T9 Ad’ naething, now, to bigO’ a foggagenew ane, green! An’ bleak December’s windsBaith ensuin, snell an’ keen ! An’Thou weary saw the winter fields comin laid barefast. and waste, An’ cozie here, beneath Thouthe blast, thought to dwell. Till, crash ! the cruel coulterOut thro’ past thy cell. ThatHast costwee theebit heap monie o’ leavesa weary an’ nibble! stibble, Now thou’s turn’d out, forBut a’ thyhouse trouble. or hauld. To thole the winter’s sleetyAn’ dribble. cranreuch cauld! InBut, proving Mousie, foresight thou art may no be thy vain lane. ; The best-laid schemes o’ miceGang an’ aft men a-gly, An’ lea’e us nought but griefFor and promis’d pain joy. Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me ! But,The presentoch ! I onlybackward toucheth cast thee: my e’e. An’ forward, tho’ I cannaOn see. prospects drear! SCOTISir POEMS. a winter night. ThatPoor nakedbide the wretches, pelting wheresoe’rof this pitiless yon stormare, ! Your loop’d aud window’d raegedness, defend you J/'rom seasons such as these i SHAKESPEARE. WhENSharp shivers biting thro’ Boreas, the leafless fell and botv’r; doure. When Phoebus gies a short-liv’dFar south glow’r the lift, Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flakyOr whirling show’r, drift: PoorAc night labour the stormsweet thein sleep steeples was rocked.locked. While burns, wi’snawy wreethsWild-eddying up-choked. swirl, Or thro’ the mining outletDown bocked, headlong hurl. List’ning, the doors an’ winnocks rattle, Ori thought silly sheep, me on whathe.ourie bide thiscattle, brattle And thro’ the drift deep lairingBeneath sprattle. a scar. That,Ilk happing in the bird,merry wee months helpless o’ spring, thing, Delighted me to bear theeWhat sing. comes o’ thee ! W’hare wilt thou cow’r thyAn’ chittering close thy wing, e’e ? LoneF.v’n youfrom on your murd’ring savage errandshomes exil’d.toil’d, The blood-stain’d roost, andMy sheep-coteheart forgets, spoil’d. While pityless the tempestSore wild on you beats. SCOTISH POEMS. 81 DarkNow Phoebe,muffled, inview’d her midnight the dreary reign, plain ; Still crowding thoughts,Rose a pensive in my soul,train. 'When on my ear this plaintiveSlow, solemn, strain. stole— ‘ Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! Descend,And freeze, ye thouchilly bitter-biting smothering frost!snows 1 NotMore all yourhard rage,unkindness, as now unrelenting. united, shows ThanVengeful heav’n-illumin'd malice unrepenting. man on brother man bestows! SeeOr stern mad oppression’s ambition’s gory iron hand.grip. Sending,Woe, want,like blood-hounds and murder o’erfrom the the land slip. ! Ev'nTruth, in theweeping, peaceful tells rural the vale,mournful tale,. HowThe pamper’d parasite empoisoningluxury, flatt’ry her byear, her side. LooksWith o’er all proudthe servile property, wretches extended in the widerear, ; AndWhose eyes toilthe simpleupholds rustic the glitt’ring hind, show, SomeA creature coarser of substance,another kind. unrefin’d, Plac’dWhere, for her where lordly is use love’s thus fond far, tenderthus vile, throe, below. WithThe lordlypow’rs honour’s you proudly lofty ownbrow, ? IsCan there harbour, beneath dark, love’s the noble selfish name aim,. MarkTo blessmaiden-innocence, himself alone ! a prey ThisTo boastedlove-pretending honour turns snares, away. RegardlessShunning of thesoft tearspity's and rising unavailing sway, pray’rs ! ShePerhaps, strains this your hour, infant in mis’ry’sto her joyless squalid breast. nest, SCOTISH POEMS. And wi(hblast! a mother’s fears shrinks at the rocking FeelO ye!not awho, want sunk but inwhat beds yourselvesof down, create ThinkWhom for friendsa moment and onfortune his wretched quite disown! fate Stretch’dIll-satisfied on keenhis straw nature’s he laysclamorous himself call. to sleep, WhileChill, through o’er his the slumbers, ragged roofpiles andthe chinkydrifty heap wall. ! WhereThink onguilt the and dungeon’s poor misfortune grim confine, pine ! ButGuilt, shall erring thy man,legal ragerelenting pursue view 1 ByThe cruel wretch, fortune's already undeserved crushed blow?low AAffiiction’s brother to sons relieve, are brothers how exquisite in distress, the bliss!” I heardShook nae off mair,the pouthery for Chanticleer snaw, AndA cottage-rousinghail’d the morning craw. with a cheer, ButThrough deep this all truthhis works impress’d abroad, my mind— TheThe heart most benevolent resembles andGod. kind EPISTLE TO DAVIE,* A BROTHER POET. January . Andw HILEbar the winds doors frae wi’ aff driving Ben-Lomond snaw, blaw, I setAnd me hing down us owto passre the the ingle, time, AndIn spinhamely a verse westlin or twa jingle. o’ rhyme. dialect.* David SjlUr, author of a volute* of poems in the Scotish SCOTISH POEMS. 83 WhileBen frostyto the windschimla blaw lug, in the drift, 1 grudgeThat live a wee sae thebien great an’ snug:folk’s gift 1 tentTheir less, roomy and wantfire-side; less. ButTo banker see their and curs’dcanker. pride. It’sTo keephardly at in times a body’s frae beingpow’r sour. HowTo bestsee howo’ chiels things are are whiles shar’d in : want, WhilesAnd kencoofs na on how countless to wair’t; thousands rant. But,Tho’ Davie, we hae lad, little ne’er gear. fash your head, We’reAs lang’s fit to we’rewin our hale daily and bread.fier: MairAuld spier age na, ne'er nor mind fear ana’,* feg. TheIs lastonly o’t, for theto beg. warst o’t. WhenTo lie banesin kilns are and craz’d, barns and at e’en,bluid Is thin. YetIs, then doubtless, content great could distress! make us blest; Ev'nOf thentruest sometimes happiness. we’d snatch a taste TheIntended honest manfraud that’s or guile, free frae a’ HoweverHas ay fortunesome cause kick to the smile. ba’, AndA mindcomfort still, this you’ll nae sma’;find still, NaeNae mair farther then, can we'll we carefa’. then, What, though, like commoners of air. WeBut wander either out, house we or know hal’J not where, * Ramsay. 84 SCOTISH POEMS. Yet nature’s charms, the hills and woods, TheAre sweeping free alike vales to all.and foaming floods, In Anddays blackbirdswhen daisies whistle deck clear,the ground, WithTo honestsee the joy coming our heartsyear : will bound, OnWe’ll braes sit when and wesowth please, a tune; then. SyneAnd rhyme slng’t till’t, when we’llwe hae time done, till’t, It’sIt’s no in wealthtitles nor like in rank;Lon’on bank. It’sTo no purchase in makin peace muckle and rnair: rest; It’sTo no make in books: us truly it’s blest:no in lear; If Andhappiness centre haein thenot breast. her seat WeBut may never be wise,can be or blest; rich, or great, NaeCould treasures, make usnor happy pleasures, lang; TheThat heart makes ay’s us the right part or ay, wrang. ThinkWha drudge ye, that and sic drive as you thro’ an’ wetI, and dry, ThinkWi’ ye,never-ceasing are we less toil, blest than they WhaAs scarcelyhardly worth tent us their in their while way, ? AlasGod’s ! row creature’s aft in haughty they oppress mood ! OrThey else, riotneglecting in excess a’ that’s 1 guid, BaithOf either careless heaven and fearlessor hell! EsteemingIt’s a’ an andidle deeming tale! Then let us chcarfu’ acquiesce; Nor make our scanty pleasures less. SCOTISH POEMS. 85 And,By piningeven should at our misfortunes state; come, I, An’shere thankfu’wha sit, forhae them met wi’yet. some, TheyThey gie let the us wit ken of oursel; age to youth; TheyThe mak real usguid see and the ill.naked truth. Tho’Be losses, lessons andright crosses, severe, There’sYe’ll findwit there,uae other ye’ll where. get there, {ToBut tentsay aughtme, Davie, less wad ace wrang o’ hearts, the cartes, ThisAnd life flatt’ry has joys I detest) for you and I; AndAnd joys joys that the riches very ne’erbest. could buy; There’sThe lover a’ the an’ pleasures the frien’; o’ the heart, YeAnd hae I your my darlingMeg, your Jean dearest 1 part, It Towarms mention me, butit charms her name me, : It Andheats sets me, me it beetsa’ on me,flame 1 O Thou,all yepow’rs, whose very who self rule art above! love! TheThou life-blood know’st streaming my words through sincere! my heart, OrIs my not more more dear fondly immortal dear 1 part, WhenDeprive heart-corroding my soul of rest,care and grief HerAnd dear solace idea to brings my breast. relief ThouOh Being,hear my All-seeing, fervent pray’rj StillThy take most her, peculiar and make care her 1 SCOTISH POEMS. TheAll hail,smile ye of tender love, feelingsthe friendly dear !tear, LongThe since sympathetic this world’s glow sharp ; thorny way» HadHad number’d it not been out myfor youweary ! days, FateIn ev’rystill has care blest and meill; with a friend. AndA tieoft morea more tender endearing still. band, It Thelightens, tcnebrific it brightens scene, ToMy meet Davie with, or andmy greetJean. with TheO, how words that come name skelpin inspires rank my andstyle file, ! TheAmaist ready beforemeasure I rinsken !as fine As WerePhoebus glowrin and the owre famous my pen.Nine MyTill spaviet ance Pegasus he’s fairly will het limp. ; AndAnd then rin he’ll an unco hilch, fit: and stilt, and jimp, ButShould lest then, rue thisthe hastybeast ride,then, I’llHis light sweaty now, wizen’dand dight hide. now SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE.* Anno NEEBOR, ForI’M yourthree auld-farrent times, doubly frien’ly o’er, yourletter debtor, ; Tho’ I maun say’t, I doubtYe ye speak flatter, sae fair ; For my puir, silly, rhyminSome clatter less maun sair. marnock,* Prefixed 1789- to the Poems of Dsvid Sillar, published at Kil- SCOTISH POEMS. ST LangHale maybe your your heart, elbuck hale jink be and your diddle, fiddle ; To chear you thro’ the wearyO’ warly widdle cares, Till bairns’ bairns kindly Yourcuddle auld gray hairs. But,I’m tauldDavie, the lad,Muse I’m ye red hae ye’re negleckit; glaikit; An’gif its sae, ye sud be Untillicket ye fyke; Sic hauns as you sud ne’erBe be hain’t faiket. wha like. HivinForme, the I’mwords on Parnassus’to gar them brink, clink ; Whyles daez’t wi’ love, whylesWi’jads daez’t or masons wi’ drink, ; An’ whyles, but ay owreBraw late Isober think lessons. Commen’Of a’ the thoughtlessme to the bardie sons o’clan man, ; Except it be some idle planO’ rhymin’ clink. The devil-haet, that I sudThey ban, ever think. Nae thought,cares to gieHae us view, joy ornae grievin’: scheme o’ livin’, But just the pouchie put theAn’ nievewhile in, ought’s there, Then hiltie, skiltie, we gaeAn’ fashscrivin’. nae mair. MyLeeze chief, me onamaistmy rhyme ! onlyit’s ay pleasure. a treasure. At hame, a fiel, at wark,The or leisure.Muse, poorhizzie! Though rough and raplochShe’s be herseldom measure. lazy. SCOTISH POEMS. Tho’ e’er sae puir, Na, even tho’ limpan wi’Frae the spaviedoor to LORD GREGORY. oAnd MIRK, loud themirk tempest’s is this midnight roar; hour, A Lordwaefu’ Gregory wand’rer ope seeks thy thydoor. tow’r, AnAnd exile a’ fraefor lovingher father’s thee ; ha’, At Ifleast love some it may pity na on be. me shavr, LordBy Gregory,bonnie Irwine-side, mind’st thou not the grove, IVhereI lang, first lang I own’d had denied that virgin-love ? HowThou aften wad didst for thouay be pledge mine !and vow, AndIt ne’ermy fond mistrusted heart, itselthine. sae true, HardAnd is flinty thy heart,is thy Lordbreast? Gregory, ThouO wiltdart thou of Heav’n give me that rest! flashest by, YeYour must’ring willing thunders victim fromsee ! above, EufHis spare, wrangs and to pardon heav’n myand fause me 1 love WINTER. A JHRGE. ThEAnd hailwintry and west rain extendsdoes blaw his jblast. SCOTISH POEMS. Or, the stormy north sends driving forth WhileThe tumblingblinding sleet brown, and snawthe burn : comes down, AndAnd bird roars and frae beast bank in covert to brae rest, ; 4 And pass the heartless day. TheThe sweeping joyless winter-day, blast, the sky o’ercast,’* LetThan others all fear,the pride to me of moreMay: dear TheMy tempest's griefs it howl,seems toit joinsoothes ; my soul, TheTheir lealless fate treesresembles my fancy mine please, ! ‘ ThouThese Pow’r woes ofSupreme, mine fulfil whose ; mighty scheme Here,Because firm, they I rest, are Thythey Willmust ! be best, ThenThis all onerequest I want (Oh of domine!) thou grant SinceAssist to enjoyme to thouresign.’ dost deny, THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO ROBERT A1KIN, ESQ. LetTheir not ambitionhomely joys, mock and their destiny useful obscure: toil, The short but simple annals of the poo:.GRAY. MyNo mercenary lov'd, my bardhonour’d, his homage much respectedpays; friend, WithMy honestdearest pride meed I a scorn friend’s each esteem selfish and end, praise Dr. Young. SCOTISH POEMS. ToThe you lowly I sing, train in simplein life’s Scotis/i sequester’d lays. scene; TheWhat native Aikin feeling’s in a cottagestrong, thewould guileless have been;ways; Ah! •bo’ween! his worth unknown, far happier there I NovemberThe short’ning chill blaws winter-day loud wi’ is angrynear a sughclose ; ; TheThe miry black’ning beasts retreating trains o’ crawsfrae the to pleughtheir repose ; ; TheThis toil-worn night his cotter weekly frae moil his labouris at an goes. end. CollectsHoping his the spades, morn inhis ease mattocks, and rest and to spend.his hoes, And weary,bend. o’er the muir, his course does hameward At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th’Beneath expectant the wee-things,shelter of an todlin,aged tree stacher ; through HisTo wee-bit meet their ingle Dad blinkin wi’ flighterinbonnily, noise and glee: TheHis lisping clean infanthearth-stane, prattling his on thriftyhis knee, Wifie’s smile, An’Does makes a’ hishim weary quite carkingforget his cares labour beguile. an’ his toil. Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in. SomeAt serviceca’ the out,pleugh, amang some the herd, farmers some roun’; tentie ria TheirA cannie eldest errandhope, totheir a neebor Jenny, town: woman grown, ComesIn youthfu’ hame, bloom,perhaps, I.ove to show sparklin a braw in her new e'e, gown, ToOr help deposit her parents her sair-won dear, ifpenny-fee. they in hardship be. Wi’joy unfeign’d, brothers and sisters meet. TheAnd social each hours, for other’s swift-wing’d, weelfare unnotic’dkindly spiers, fleet; TheEach parents, tells thepartial, uncos eyethat their he sees hopeful or hears; years; SCOTISH POEMS. 91 TheAnticipation mother wi’ forwardher needle points and the her view sheers. : TheGars father auld mixes claes a’look wi’ amaist admonition as weel’s due. the new; TheirThe Master’syounkers an’ a’ theirare warned Mistress’s to obeycommand, : ' An’An mindne’er, their tho’ labours out o’ sight, wi’ an to eydent jauk orhand. play; An’An’ Oh mind ! be yoursure toduty, fear duly, the Lord morn alwayan’ night! ! LestImplore in temptation’s his counsel path and ye assisting gang astray. might; They neveraright!’ sought in vain that sought the Lord ButJenny, hark! whaa rap kens comes the meaninggently to o’the the door; same, TellsTo howdo some a neebor errands, lad andcam convoyo’er the her moor, hame. TheSparkle wily mother in Jenny's sees e’e,the consciousand flush flameher cheek; WithWhile heart-struck Jenny bafllins anxious is afraidcare enquiresto speak: his name, Weel pleas’d,less rake. the mother hears, its nae wild worth- Wi_’A kindlystrap pen welcome youth ; Jennyhe takes brings the himmother’s ben ; eye ; BlytheThe fatherJenny crackssees the of visit’s horses, no pleughs,ill ta'en ;and kye. TheBut youngster’s blate and artlesslaithfu’, heart scarce o'erflovvs can weel wi’joy. behave; TheWhat mother, makes wi’ the a youthwoman’s sae wiles,bashfu’ can an’ spysae grave ; Weel pleas’dlave. to think her bairn’s respected like the O happyO heart-felt-raptures! love! where love bliss like beyond this is foundcompare ! 1 I’veAnd paced sage much experience this weary bids memortal this round,declare*— 92 SCOTISH POEMS. ‘ IfOne Heaven cordial a draughtin this melancholy of heav’nly vale, pleasure spare, ’TisIn whenother’s a youthful,arms breathe loving, out themodest tender pair tale, Beneath thegale.’ milk-white thorn that scents the evening Is Athere, wretch in human! a villain form, ! lost that to bears love anda heart— truth ! ThatBetray can, sweetwith studied,Jenny’s sly,unsuspecting ensnaring youth art. ? CurseAre onhonour, his perjur’d virtue, arts conscience, ! dissembling all exil’d smooth ? ! Is Pointsthere no to pity,the parentsno relenting fondling ruth. o’er their child ? Then paintswild the ? ruin’d maid, and their distraction But now the supper crowns their simple board. TheThe soupe healsome the only parritch, hawkie chief does o’ afford. Scotia’s food; TheThat dame ’yont brings the forthItalian in snugly complimental chows her mood, cood: An'To aft grace he’s theprest, lad, an’ her aft weel-hain’d he ca’s it guid; kebbuck, fell. HowThe ’twas frugal a towmondwifie, garrulous, auld, sin’lint will tell. was i’ the bell. The cheerfu’supper done, wi’ serious face, TheThey, sire turnsround o’er, the ingle,with patriarchalform a circle grace, wide; HisThe bonnet big ha’-Bible,reverently anceis laid his aside. father’s pride: ThoseHis strainslyart haft'etsthat once wearing did sweet thin an’in Zionbare; glide, AndHe ‘ Letwales us aworship portion Godwith !’judicious he says, carewith ; solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; PerhapsThey tuneDundee’s their wildhearts, warbling by far measuresthe noblest rise, aim : OrOr noble plaintive Elgin Martyrs,beets the heav’n-wardworthy of the flame, name: SCOTISH POEMS. 93 Compar’dThe sweetest with farthese, of Scotia’sItalian holytrills lays: are tame, NaeThe unison tickled hae ears they no with heart-felt our Creator’s raptures praise. raise; The priest-like father reads the sacred page. Or,How Moses Abram bade waseternal the friendwarfare of wageGod on high; OrWith how Amalek’sthe royal ungraciousbard did groaning progeny lie : Oi BeneathJob’s pathetic the stroke plaint, of Heaven’sand wailing avenging cry : ire; OrOr other rapt holyIsaiah’s seers wild thattune seraphic the firesacred ; lyre. PerhapsHow guiltless the Christian blood volumefor guilty is the man theme. was shed ; HowHad He, noton who earth bore inwhereon Heav’n to the lay second his head; name. HowThe his precepts first followers sage they and wrote servants to many sped, aland; HowSaw he, in thewho sun lone a mighty in Patmos angel banished, stand, AnI heardHeav’n’s great command.Babylon’s doom pronounc’d by Then kneelingdown to Heaven’s Eternal King, Hope1 he ‘ saint,springs the exulting father, on and triumphant the husband wing,’* prays; ThereThat ever thus baskthey inall uncreated shall meet rays, in future days: TogetherNo more hymning to sigh theiror shed Creator’s the bitter praise. tear, 'WlrleIn such circling society, time yetmoves still round more in dear; an eternal sphere. Compar’dIn all the w pompith this, of howmethod poor and Religion’s of art, pride, WhenDevotion’s men display ev’ry tograce, congregations except the wide, heart ! TheThe Power, pompous incens’d, strain, the the pageant sacerdotal will stole desert, : * Pope’s Windsor Foiest. 94 SCOTTSH POEMS. But Imply, in some cottage far apart, AndMay in hishear, book well of pleas’d, life the theinmates language poor of enrol. the soul; Then homeward all take off their sev’ral way; TheThe parent-pair youngling their cottagers secret retire homage to rest: pay, ThatAnd He proffer who stillsup to the Heav’n ravens’ the clam’rous warm request, nest. Would,And decks in the the way lily his fair wisdom in flow’ry sees thepride, best. But,For chiefly, them and in fortheir their hearts little with ones grace provide; divine pre- From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs. PrincesThat makesand lords her arelov’d but at the home, breath rever’d of kings, abroad: And,‘ An certes, honest in man’s fair virtue’sthe noblest heav’nly work road,of God :’ WhatThe iscottage a lordling’s leaves pomp the palace ? a cumbrous far behind load, : StudiedDisguising in arts oft of the hell, wretch in wickedness of human refin’dkind, ! O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! LongFor may whom thy myhardy warmest sons of wLh rustic to toil.Heav’n is sent! And,Be blestOh' withmay health,Heavn andtheir peace, simple and lives sweet prevent content 1 Then,From howe’er Luxury’s crowns contagion, and coronets weak andbe vile!rent, AndA standvirtuous a wall populace of fire mayaround rise their the while,much-lov’d Isle! O Thou ! who pour’d the patriotic tide WhoThat dar’d stream’d to nobly through stem tyrannicWallace’s pride. undaunted heart; (TheOr patriot’snobly die—the God peculiarly second glorious thou art. part; O never,His friend, never inspirer, Scotia’s guardian,realm desert; and reward!) In Butbl ight still succession the patriot, raise, and her the ornamentpatriot bard, and guard. SCOTISH POEMS. 95 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786. WeeThou’st ,met modest, me in crimson-tippedan evil hour: flow’r, For I maun crush amangThy the slender stoure stem ; To spare thee now is pastThou my bonnie pow’r, gem. TheAlas! bonnie its no lark, thy neeborcompanion sweet, meet! Bending thee ’mang theWi’ dewy speckled weet, breast, When upward springing,The blythe purpling to greet east. UponCauld thyblew early the bitter-bitinghnmble birth north ; Yet cheerfully thou glintedAmid forththe storm, Scarce rear’d above theThy parent-earth tender form. HighThe flaunting shelt’ring flow’rs woods or and gardens wa’s maunyield. shield ; But thou, beneath the randomO’ clod orbield stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field.Unseen alane. ThyThere, snawie in thy bosom scantie sun-ward mantle spread,clad. Thou lifts thy unassumingIn humble head guise; But now the share uptearsAn’ lowthy bed,thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid. BySweet love’s flow’ret simplicity of the betray’d, rural shade, 96 SCOTISH POEMS. And guileless trust. Till she, like thee, all soil’d,Low i’ isthe laid dust. SuchOn life’s is the rough fate oceanof simple luckless bard, starr'd. Unskilful he to note theOf card prudent lore. Till billows rage, and galesAnd whelmblow hard,him o’er ! WhoSuch fatelong towith suff’ring wants worth and woes is giv’n. has striv’n, By human pride or cunningTo mis’ry’s driv'n brink, Till, wrench’d of ev’ry He,stay ruin’d,but Heav’n, sink! ThatEv’n thoufate whois thine—no mourn’st distantthe Daisy’s date; fate, Stern Ruin’s pleugh-shareFull drives, on thy elate, bloom, Till crush'd beneath theShall furrow's be thy weight. doom!

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.* May—1787. I ALANG something hae thought,to bae sent my you, youthfu’ friend, Tho’Than it should just a servekind naememento; other end, ButLet how time the and subject-theme chance determine may gang. ; PerhapsPerhaps, it mayturn turnout aout sermon. a sang; Ye’llAnd, try Andrew the world dear, fu’ believesoon, my me, lad. Mr. A. A. Aikin, now of Liverpool: the ion of Robert Aikin, SCOTISH POEMS. 9T Ye’llAnd find murkle mankind they anmay unco grieve squad. ye: ForEv’n care when and yourtrouble end’s set attained your thought, ; AndWhere a’ your ev’ry views nerve may is comestrained. to nought, I’llThe no sayreal menharden’d are villains wicked, a’: WhaAre hae to naea few check restricted but human ; law. ButAn’ och, little mankind to be trustedare unco ; weak, If It’sself rarelythe wav’ring right adjusted balance ! shake, YetTheir they fate wha we fa’ should in fortune’s nae censure. strife, ForThey still equallyth’ important may answer. end of life A Tho’man poortithmay hae hourlyan honest stare heart, him: A Yetman haemay nae tak cash a neebor’s to spare part, him. AyWhen free, wi’aff ahan’ bosom your crony story ; tell, ButYe still scarcely keep somethingtell to ony. to yonrsel ConcealFrae criticalyoursel dissectionas weel’s ye; can ButWi’ keek sharpen’d thro’ ev’ry sly inspection.ither man, TheLuxuriantly sacred lowe indulge o’weel-plac’d it: love’ ButTho’ never naething tempt shouldth’ illicit divulge rove, it; I waveThe hazardthe quantum o’concealing; o’ the sin, ButAnd och, petrifies it hardens the feelinga’ within. ! ToAssiduous catch dame wait Fortune’s upon her; golden smile. 98 SCOTTSH POEMS. AndThat’s gather justified gear byby ev’ry honour! wile NotNot for for to a hidetrain-attendant; it in a hedge, ButOf for being the gloriousindependent. privilege TheTo fear baud o’ theHell’s wretch a hangman’s in order; whip ButLet where that yeay feelbe youryour border:honour grip, It’sDebar slightest a’ side-pretences;touches, instant pause— AndUncaring resolutely consequences. keep its laws, TheMust great sure Creator become to the revere creature; ButAnd still ev’n the the creature rigid feature:can’t forbear,' YetBe ne’er complaisance with wits extended profane ;to range, AnFor atheist-laugh’s Deity otfended! a poor exchange WhenReligion rantin maybe round inblinded; pleasure’s ring, Or,It ifmay she be gie little a random minded sting,: ButA whenconscience on life but we’re a canker— tempest-driv’n, A Iscorrespondence sure a noble anchor. fix’d wi’ Hcav’n, Adieu,Your dearheart amiable can ne’er youth, be wanting; MayErect prudence, your brow fortitude, undaunting and truth, ! In Stillploughman’s daily to phrase,grow wiser ‘ God ; send you speed,’ AsidThau may e’er ye didbetter the reck adviser. the rede, SCOTISH POEMS. O.V J SCOTCH BARD, (gone to the west indies.) A’ ye YE wha wha live liveby crambo-clink,by soups o’ drink, A’ ye wha live and neverCome, think, mourn wi’me! Our Bilfie’s gien us a jink.An’ owre the sea. Lament him a’ ye rantin core, WhaNae mair dearly he’ll like join a random-splorethe merry roar. ; For now he’s ta’en anitherIn social shore, key; TheAnd bonniein their lasses dear weelpetitions may place wiss Him,him : The widows, wives, an’Wi’tearfu’ a’ may bless e’e; him, For weel I wat they’ll That’ssairly miss owre him the sea. HadstO Fortune, thou ta’enthey offhae some room drousy to grumble! bummle, Wha can do nought but’Twad fyke an’been fumble, nae plea ; But he was gleg as onyThat’s wumble. owre the sea. AuldAn’ stain cantie them Kyle wi’ may the weeperssaut, saut wear, tear : ’Twill mak her poor auldIn fljndeisheart, ]flee; fear, He was her laureat monieThat’s a year, owre the sea. HeLang saw mustering misfortune’s up a cauldbitter nor-west, blast; A , ilet brak bis heart at111 last,may she be 1 So, took a birth afore An’the mast.owre the sea. 100 SCOTISH POEMS. OnTo scarcetremble a underbellyfu’ Fortune’s o’ drummuck, cummock, Wi’ his proud independentCould stomach. ill agree; So, row’t his hurdles inAn' a hammock. owre the sea. YetHe ne’ercoin hiswas pouches glen to greatwad naemisguidin. bide in; Wi’ him it ne’er W'as underHe dealthidden it ; free: The muse was a’ that heThat’s look owrepride the in, sea. JamaicaAn’ hap himbodies, in a usecozie him biel; weel. Ye’ll find him ay a daintyAnd chiel. fou’ o’ glee : He wad na wrang’d theThat’s vera deil.owre the sea, YourFareweel, native my soil rhyme-composing was right ill-willie; Billie! But may ye flourish likeNow a lily. bonnilie ! I’ll toast ye in my hindmostTho’ gillie,owre the sea. TO A HAGGIS. FairGreat chieftain fa’ your o’ honest the puddin-race sonsie face, 1 Aboon them a’ ye tak yourPainch, place, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye worthy Asof alang’s grace my arm. YourThe groanin hurdles trencher like a distant there yehill, fill. Your pin wad help to mendIn time a millo’ need. While thro’ your poresLike the dews amber distil. bead. SCOTISH POEMS. 101 AndHis knifecut you see uprustic-labour wi’ ready slight,dight, Trenchin your gushin entrailsLike onte bright ditch; And then, O what a gloriousWarm-reekin, sight, rich. Then,Deil tak horn the for hindmost, horn,^hey on stretchthey drive, and strive, Till a’their weel swall’dAre kytes, bent likebelyve. drums ; Then auld guidman, maistBethankit like to hums.rive, OrIs there olio thatthat wado’er stawhis French a sow, ragout, Or fricasee wad mak himWi’ spew, perfect sconner, Looks down wi’sneerinOn scornfu’view, sic a dinner 1 AsPoor feckless devil 1 assee a wither’dhim owre rash, his trash. His spindle shank a guidHis whip-lash, nieve a nit; Thro’ bluidy flood or fieldO how to dash, unfit 1 TheBut tremblingmark the rustic,earth resoundshaggis-fed. his tread; Clap in his walie nieveHe’ll a blade. mak it whissle ; And legs, and arms, andLike heads, taps will o’ thrissle. sned YeAud Pow’rs, dish them wha out mak their mankind bill o’ fare, your care, Auld Scotland wants naeskinkinThat jaups ware in luggies: But, if ye wish her gratefulGie her pray’r, a Haggis 1 10S SCOTTSH POEMS. A DEDICATION, tO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. AExpect fleechin fleth’rin na. Sir, dedication, in this narration, An’To roosesprung you o’ greatup, an’ an’ ca’ noble you bluidguid. ; BecausePerhaps ye’rerelated siruam’d to the likerace his ; grace, ThenWi’mony when a I’mfulsome tir’d—an’ sinfu’ sae lie. are ye ForSet upfear a face,your modestyhow I stopt be hurt.short. MaunThis please may do—maunthe great foukdo. Sir,for awi’ wamefou them wha ; For,For me,Lord sae be laigh thankit, I need I can na ploughbow, ; Then,And when Lord I bedowna thankit, yoke I acan naig, beg; It’sjustsicSae I shall poet,say, an’an’sic that’s patron. nae flattTin, TheOr else, poet, I somefear, guidsome angel ill ane help skelp him. him; ButHe maydoonly he’s weel no forjust a’ begun he’s done yet. yet, I winnaThe patron lie, come (sir, what ye maun will forgieo’ me,) me, OnHe’s ev’ry just—nae hand itbetter will allow’dthan he shouldbe. be. HeI downareadily see and a poorfreely man grant want; WhatWhat’s aince no his he ain says he he winna winna tak break it. it; TillOught aft he his can guidness lend he’ll is abus’d; not refus’d, An’rascalsEv’n that he whyles does nathat mind do ithim lang. wrang, AsHe master,does na landlord,fail his part husband, in either. father. SCOTISH POEMS. 103 ButNae then, godly nae symptom thanks yeto canhim ca’for that; a’ that; ItsOf naethingour poor butsinfu’ a mildercorrupt feature, nature: ’MangYe’ll get black the bestGentoos o’ moral and Paganworks, Turks, OrWha hunters never wildheard on ofPonotaxi, orthodoxy. ThatThe gentleman he's the poor in word man’s an’ friend deed. in need It’sIt's justno thro’ a carnal terror inclination. o’ d-mn-t—n; ThyMorality, tens o’ thousandsthou deadly thou bane, hast slain; VainIn moral is his mercy, hope, truth,whose and stay justice. an’ trust is AbuseNo—stretch a brother a topoint his toback; catch a plack j StealBut point thro’ the a w rake innock that frae taks a thewh-re. door; An’Be to baud the theirpoor noseslike ony to the whunstane. gi unstane: NoPly matter,ev’ry heart stick o’ to legal sound thieving; believing. Wi’Learn weel-spread three-mile looves, pray’rs, an’ an’ lang half-mile wry fajes; graces, An’Grunt damn up aa’ solemn parties lengthen’d but your owngroan. ; I’llA steady, warrant sturdy, then, ye’restaunch nae believer.deceiver, O ye wha leave the springs o’ Calvin, ForYe sonsgumlie o’ heresy, dubs of an’your error, ain delvin: WhenYe’ll somevengeance day squeel draws in the quakin swi rd terror; in wralh, WhenAnd in ruin, the fire with throws hissweepiu the sheath besom, ; JustWhile frets owre till theHeav’n harp commissionpale mis’ry giesmoans, him : ) Andbtill strikeslouder theshrieks, ever-deep’ning an’ heavier tones, groans! JC 104 SCOTISH POEMS. I inaistYour forgat pardon, my sir,dedication; for this digression, MyBut readerswhen divinity still are comes sure toacross lose me,me. ButSo, 1 sir,maturely you see thought ’twas itnae proper. daft vapour, ToWhen dedicate a’ my them,works sir,I did to review,You; IBecause thought (yeneednatak them something it likeill,) yoursel. An’Then your patronize petitioner them shall wi’ ever— your favour. ButI hadaraaist that’s a word said, Iever needna pray. say : I’mFor baithprayin dead-sweer, I hae little andskill wretched o’t ; ill o’t; ThatBut I’se kens repeat or hears each about poor you,man’s sir pray’r, * May ne’er misfortune’s growling bark MayHowl ne’er thro’ his the gen’rous dwellin honesto’ the Clerk!heart. MayFor thatK******’s same gen’rous far honour’d spirit smart. name LangTill H*******’sat beat his hymeneal least flame, a dizen, AreFive fraebonnie their lasses nuptial round labours their table,risen: AndTo serve seven their hraw king fellows, and country stout an’ weel, able ByMay word, health or an’ pen, peace, or pointed with mutual steel! rays, ShineTill his on wee the eveningcurlie John’s o’ his ier-oe,days; I TheWhen last, ebbing sad, lifemournful nae mair rites shall bestow.’ flow, )> Wi’1 willcomplimentary not wind a langeffusion, conclusion, AreBut whilstblest with your fortune’s wishes and smiles endeavours and favours, YourI am, much-indebteddear sir, with zealhumble most servant. fervent, 8COTISH POEMS. 3»j ThatBut iron-hearted if (which pow’rs carl, aboveca’dWanl, preveut!) AttendedBy sad mistakes, in his grim and advances, black mischances. WhileMake youhopes, as poorand joys, a dog and as lpleasures am. fly him, ForYour who humble would servant humbly then serve no more;the poor! WhileBut by recollection’s a poor man’s pow’r hopes isin giv’n,Heav’n! TheIf, in victim the vale sad ofof humblefortune’s life. strife, ShouldI, through recognize the tender my m:ister gushing dear. tear, Then,If friendless, sir, your low, hand, we metmy together,friend and brother! TO A LOOSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY’S BONNET AT CHURCH. YourHa impudence! whare ye protects gaun, ye you crowlinferlie sairly : ? I canua say but ye struntO wrerarely gauze and lace: Tho’ faith, I fear, ye dineOn sic but a sparelyplace. YeDetested, ugly, creepin,shunn’d byblastit saunt wonner. an’sinner. How dare ye set your fitSae upon fine her,a lady ( Gae somewhere else an’On seek some your poor dinner. body. Swith in some beggar’s haffet squattle: ThereWi’ ither ye kindred,may creep, jutnpin an’ sprawl, cattle. an’sprattle Whare horn or bane ne'erIn shoals dare unsettlean’ natrons $ Your thick plantations. 106 SCOTISH POEMS. BelowNow baud the fatt’rils,you there, snug ye’re an’ outtight; o’ sight. Na, faith ye yet t ye’ll Tillno be ye’ve right got on it. The vera tapmost tow’rin’O’ Miss’s height bonnet. AsMy plump sooth !an’ right gray bauld as onie ye grozetset your : nose out, ' 0 for some rank mercurialOr fellrozet, red smeddum, I’d gie ye sic a hearty dozeWad dresso’t, your droddum. You1 wad on na an been auld surpris’d wife’s flannen to spy toy; Or aiblins some bit duddieOn’s hoy. w yliecoat; But Miss’s fine Lunardi!How fie, daur you do’t! An’setO Jenny, your dinna beauties toss youra’ abread head, ! Ye little ken what cursedTheblastie’s speed makin! Thae winks an’ finger-ends,Are noticeI dread. taken ! OTo wad see ourselssome pow’r as others the giftiesee us! gie us It wad frae monie a blunderAn’ foolish free us- notion: What airs in dress an’ gaitAn’ ev’nwad devotionlea’e us, ! EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTISH BARD. April 1st, 1785. An’ HILEpaitrick’s briers scraichin an’ woodbines loud at e’en,budding green, SCOTISH POEMS. 107 An’ morning pousie whiddenInspire seen, rny Muse, This freedom in an unknownI pray frien’, excuse. ToOn ca’fasten-ees the crack, we hadand aweave rockin, ourstockin ; An’ tuere was muckle funYe an’jokin,needna doubt} At length we had a heartyAt sang yokin about. ThereA boon wasthem ae a’ sang, it pleas’d amang me the best, rest, That some kind husbandTo had some addrest sweet wife ; It thrill’d the heartstringsA’ thro’to the the life. breast, I’veWhat scarce gen’rotis heard manly ought bosoms describ’d feel; sae weel, Thought I, ‘ Can this beOr Pope, Beatie’s or warkSteele, !’ They tald me ’twas an Aboutodd kind Muirkirk. chiel ItAnd pat sae me about fidgin-faiu him there to hear’t, 1 spier’t, Then a’ that„ ken’t him Heround was declar’d ingine; That name excell’d it, Itfew was cam sae near’t. fine. ThatAn’ either set him douce to a orpint merry of ale. tale, Or rhymes an’ sangs he’dOr made witty tilmsel. catches, ’Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale,He had few matches. Tho’Then Iup should I gat, pawn an’ sworemy pleugh an aitb, an’ graith, Or die a cadger pownie’sAt somedeath, dyke-back, A pint an’ gill I’d gie themTo hear baith you crack. SCOTISH POEMS. AmaistBut, first as an’soon foremost, as I could I shouldspell, tell, I to the crambo-jingle fell,Tho’ rude an’ rongh. Yet crooning to a body’sDoes sel, tree! enough, ButI am just nae a poet, rhymer, in a like,sense. by chance, An’ hae to learning nae Yet,pretence. what the matter, -Whene’er my Muse doesI jingleon me atglance, her. YourAnd say, critic 1 Howfolk maycan youcock e’er their propose, nose. You wha ken hardly verseTo makfrae aprose, sang ?’ But, by your leaves, myYejnay learned be foes, u rang. YourWhat’s Latin a’ your names jargon for o’horns your an’ schools. stools; If honest nature made youWhatsairs fools, yourgrammars. Ye’d better taen up spadesOr knappin-hammers.an’ shools, AConfuse set o’ dulltheir conceited brains in hashes, college classes! They gang in sticks, andPlain come truth out toasses. speak; An’ syne they think to climbBy dint Parnassus o’ Greek! GieThat’s me a’ae the spark learning o’ Nature’s I desire; fire, Then, tho’ I drudge thro’At dubpleugh an’ ormire carf, My Muse, tho’ hamely Mayin attire. touch the heart. O for a spunk o’ Allan’s glee 1 Or brightFerguson’s, Lapraik’s, the bauld my friendan’ slee, to be. SCOTISH POEMS. 109 Iflcau bit it! That would be lear enoughIf I forcould me. get it. Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, Yet,Tho’ realif your friends catalogue I b’lieve be arefu’. few. But, gif ye want ae friendI’m that’son your true, list. AsI winna ill I likeblaw my about fauts mysel; to tell: But friends an’ folks thatThey wish sometimes me well, roose me ; Tho’ I maun own, as monieAs sair still abuse me. IThere’s like the ae lasses—Guid wee faut they forgie whiles me lay! to me, For monie a plack theyAt wheedle dance or frae fair} me. May be some ither thingThey they weel gie me.can spare. IBut should Mauchline be proud race, to meetor Mauchline you there fair, ; We’se gie ae night’s dischargeIf we forgather, to care, An’ hae a swap o’ rhymin-ware,Wi’ ane anither. An’The four-gillkirsen him chap, wi’ reekinwe’se gar water him ; clatter, Syne we’ll sit down an’ Totak cheerour whitter, our heart; An’faith, we’se be acquaintedBefore we better part. WhaAwa, thinkye selfish that warly bavins, race, sense, an’ grace, Ev’n love an’ friendship,To shouldcatch-the-plack give place 1 I dinna like to see yourNor face, h«ar your crack. 110 SCOTISH POEMS. WhoseBut ye heartswhom thesocial tide pleasure of kindness charms, warms, Who hold your being on‘ Eachthe terms, aid the others Come to my bowl, comeMy to friends, my arms. my brothers! AsBut, my to auld conclude pen’s wornmy lang to the epistle. grissel, Twa lines frae you wadWho gar am,me fissle,most fervent. While I can either singYour or whissle, friend and servant. EPISTLE TO THE SAME. April 2ist, 1785. An’W powniesHILE new-ca’d reek in pleughkye rout or at braik, the stake. This hour on e’enin’sTo edge own 1 take.I’m debtor To bonest-hearted auldFor Lapraik,his kind letter. RattlinForjeskit the sair, corn without-owre weary the legs, rigs, Or dealing thro’ araangTheir the ten naigs hours bite, My awkart muse sairI pleads would and na write.begs TheShe’s tapetless saft at best,ramfeezled and something hizzie, lazy, Quo’ she, * Ye ken, we’veThis month beensae an’ busy,mair, Tbattrouth my head isAn’ grown something right dizzie, sair.’ Her‘ Conscieuce, dowfif circuses ^says pat 11 meye thowlessjad!mad ; I’ll write, an’ that a Thishearty vera blaud, night; SCOTISH POEMS. Ill So dinna ye affront yourBut trade,rhyme it right. ‘Tho’ Shall mankind bauld Lapraik,were a pack the o’ king cartes, o’ hearts, Roose ye sae weel forIn yourterms deserts, sae friendly ; Yet ye’ll neglect to shawAn’ thank your himparts. kindly !’ An’Sae downI gat papergaed stumpie in a blink, in the ink : Quoth I, ‘ Before I sleepI vow a I’llwink, close it 5 Ah’ if ye winna roak Byit clink, Jove, I’ll prose it. SaeIn rhyme, I’ve begnn or prose, to scrawl, or baith but thegither.whether Or some hotch-potch Letthat’s time rightly mak proof;neither, But 1 shall scribble downJust cleansome bletheraff-loof. MyTho’ worthy fortune friend, use you ne’er hard grudge an’ sharp an’ carp,: Come, kittle up yourWi’ moorland gleesome harp, touch! Ke’er mind how FortuneShe’s waftbut a an’warpsb-tch. She’sSin I giencould me striddle monie owrea jirt a an’ rig; fleg, But, by the L—d, thoughWi’ lyart I should pow. beg I’ll laugh, an’ sing, an’As shakelang’s myI dow leg. ! NowI’ve seen comes the the bud sax upo’ and thetwentieth timmer. simmer Still persecuted by theFrae limmer year to year j But yet, despite'he kittleI, Rob, kimmer, am here. BehintDo ye envya kist the to citylie an’ gent, sklent, 112 SCOTISH POEMS. Or purse-proud, bigAn’ wi’ muckle cent, per wame, cent. In some bit brugh toA represent Bailie’s name ? Wi’Or i’struffled the sark,paugbty an’ feudalglancing Thane, cane, Wha thinks hirasel naeBut sheep-shang lordly stalks, banc, While caps an’ bonnetsAs affareby he walkstaen, ? *Gie O Thoume o’ whan it an’sensegies us each a lift, guid gift! Then turn me, if ThouThro’ please, Scotland adrift, wide; Wi’ cit nor lairds I tvadnaIn a’ their shift, pride !’ ‘Were On pain this o’the hell charier be rich of an’ our great,’ state, Damnation then wouldBeyond be our remead: fate, But, thanks to Heav'n,We that’slearn ourno the creed. gato ForWhen thus first the the royal human mandate race began,ran, ‘The social, friendly,Whate’er honest man, he be, ’Tis he fulfils great Nature’sAn’ none plan, but he !’ TheO mandate, followers glorious o’ the raggedand divine! Nine, Poor thoughtless devilsIn glorious! yet may light, shine While sordid sons of AreMammon’s dark as line night. Tho’Their here worthless they scrape,uievefu’ofa an’ squeeze, soul an’ growl, May in some future carcassThe forest’s howl, fright; Or in some day-detestingMay owlshun the light . SCOTISH POEMS. IIS ThenTo reach may their Lapraik native and kindred Burns skies,arise, And sing their pleasures,In some hopes, mild an’joys, sp liere, Still closer knit in friendship’sEach passing ties year.

TO TV. S*****N. OCHILTREE. Miy, 1785. Wi’I GAT gratefu’ your heart letter, I thankwinsome you Williebrawlie ; 5 Tho’ I maun say’t, I wadAn’ beunco silly, vain, Should I believe, my coaxenYour flatterin billie, strain. IBut sud I’se be laithbelieve to thinkye kindly ye hinted meant it, Ironic satire, sidelens sklentedOn my poor music : Tho’ in sic phrasin termsI scarceye’ve penn’dexcuse it,ye. ShouldMy senses I but wad dare be ain hope a creel. to speel, Wi’ Allen, or wi’ Giibertfield,The braes o’ fame; Or Ferguson 1 the writer-chiel,A deathless name. 111O Ferguson suited law’s ! thy dry glorious musty parts,arts I My curse upon your whunstaueYe Eubrugh hearts, gentry! The tythe o’ what ye wasteWad atstow’d cartes his pantry I YetOr lasses when gie a talemy comesheart at’ screed,my head, 114 SCOTISH POEMS. As whiles they’re like (Oto besad my disease!) deed, A kittle up my rustic reedIt gies : me ease. AuldShe’s Coilagolten now poets may o’ herfidge ain, fa’ faM, Chiels wha their chantersBut winnatune their hain, lays Till echoes a^resound againHer weel-sung praise. NaeTo set poet her thought name in it measur'd worth his stile while ; She lay like some unkenn’d-ofBeside New-Holland,isle Or whare wild-meetingBesouth oceans boilMagellan. GiedRamsay Forth an’ an’ famous Tay aFerguson lift aboon ; Yarrow an’ Tweed to monieOwre Scotlanda tune, rings, While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr,Nae an’body Doon, sings. Th’Glide llissus, sweet Tiber,in monie Thames, a tuneful an’ line Seine, ! But, Willie, set your fitAn’ to cock mine, your crest. We’ll gar our streams an’Up burnie’s wi’ the shine best. We’llHer moors sing auldred-brown Coila’s wi’ plains heather an’ fells, bells. Her banks an’ braes, herWhere dens glorious and dells. Wallace Aft bure the gree, as storyFrae tells, southron billies. AtBut Wallace’ boils up namein a spring-tide what Scotish flood blood ! Oft have our fearless fathersBy Wallace strode side. Still pressing onward, red-watOr glorious shod, died 1 SCOTTSH POEMS. 115 When lintwhiles chant among the buds, And jmkin hares, in amorousTheir loveswhids. enjoy, While thro’ the braes theWith cushat wailfu’ croods cry ! Ev’nWhen winter winds bleakrave thro’has charms the naked to me. tree; Or frosts on hills of OchiltreeAre hoary gray : Or blinding drifts wild-furiousDark’ning flee, the day ! ToO Naturefeeling ! pensivea’ thy shewshearts an’ hae forms charms ! Whether the summer kindlyWi’ lifewarms an’ light, Or winter howls, in gustyThe storms, lang dark night! TillThe bymuse himsel nae poethe learn’d ever fandto wander, her. Adown some trotting burn’sAn’ nomeander. think lang; O sweet to stray an’ pensiveA heart-felt ponder sang ! Jlog-shouther,The warly race jundie, may drudge stretch, an’ an’ drive, strive. Let me fair nature’s faceAnd descrive, I, wi’ pleasure, Shall let the busy grumblingBum owre hive their treasure. Fareweel,We’ve been ‘ owremy rhyme-composing lang unken’d to itherbrither : [’ Now let us lay our headsIn thegither.love fraternal: May envy wallop in a tether.Black fiend, infernal! WhileW hile Highlandmenmoorlan’ herils hate like tolls guid an’taxesfat braxies: ; lift SCOTTSH POEMS. While terra firma, on herDiurnal axis turns. Count on a friend, in faithIn Robert an’ practice. Bums. POSTSCRIPT. IMy had amaistmemory’s forgotten no worth clean, a preen : Ye bade me write you Bywhat this they new mean light,* ’Bout which our herds Maistsae aft like hae tobeen tight. AtIn grammar,days when logic,mankind an’ weresic talents, but callans They took nae pains theirOr rulesspeech to togie, balance, But spak their thoughtsLike in plain you braidor me. lallans, JustIn thae like auld a sark, times, or they pair thoughto’ shoon, the moon. Wore by degrees, till herGaed last past roon their viewing, An* shortly after she wasThey done gat a new one. ThisIt ne’er past cam for i’certain their headsundisputed to doubt ; it. Till duels gat up an’ wadAn' confute ca’d it it,wrang ; And muckle din there wasBaith about loud it, an’ lang. WadSome threapherds, auldweel folk learn'd the upo’thing the misteuk; beuk. For ’twas the auld moonAn’ turn’d out o’ a sight, neuk, An’ backlins-comin, to Shethe grewleuk, mair bright. SCOTISH POEMS. Uff TheThis herdswas deny’d—it an’ hissels waswere affirm’d alarm’d ; ; The rev’rend gray-beardsThat rav’d beardless an’ storm’d. laddies Should think they betterThan were their inform’d auld daddies. Frae lesswords to anmair aiths it gaedto clours to sticks: an’ nicks ; An’ monie a fallow gatWi’ his heartylicks, crunt; An’some, to learn themWere for their bang’d tricks. an’ brunt: ThisAn’ auld-lightgame was caddiesplay’d inbure monie sic hands. lands, That faith, the youngstersWi’ tooknimble the shanks, sands Till lairds forbade, by Sicstrict bluidy commands. pranks. FolkBut new-light thought themherds ruin’dgat sic stick-and-stowe,a cowe, Till now amaist on ev’ryYe’ll knowe. find ane plac’d; An’ some, their new-lightJust fair quite avow, barefac’d. NaeTheir doubt zealous the herds auld-light are vex’d flocks an’ are sweatin hleatin } ; Mysel’, I’ve even seen Wi’them girnin greetin sprite, To hear the moon sae sadlyBy word lie’d an’on write. ButSome shortly auld-light they herdswill cowein neebor the louns! towns Are miud’t, in things theyTo takca’ aballoons. flight. An’ stay a month amangAn’ the see moons, them right. GuidAn’ when observation the auld they moon's will gaun gie them;to lea’e them, The hindmost shaird^ they'llJust i’ fetchtheir itpouch, wi’ them. 113 SCOTISH POEMS. An’ when the new-light billiesI think see they’ll them, crnuch ! Sae,Is naething ye observe but a that 4 moonshine a’ this clatter matter;’ But, tho’dull prose-folkIn Latin logic splatter tulzie, I hope we bardies kenThan some mind better sic brulzie. EPISTLE TO J. R******, INCLOSING SOME POEMS. OThe ROUGH,wale o’ cocks rude, for funready-witted and driukin! R*****», There's monie godly folksYour are dreams* thinkin, an’ tricks Will send you, Korah-like,Straught a-sinkin, to auld Nick’s. YeAnd haesae in your monie wicked cracks drunken an’ cants,rants, Ye mak a devil o’ the An’saunts, fill them fou ; And then their failings,Are flaws, a’ seen an’ thro’. wants. Hypocrisy,That holy robe, in mercy O dinna spare tear it! it! Spare’! for their sakes whaThe ladsoften in wear black; it, But-your curst wit, whenRives't it comes aff their near back. it, It’sThink, just thewicked blue-gown sinner, badgewha ye’rean’ claithing skaithing, O’saunts; tak that, yeTo lea’e ken them them naething by, Frae ony unregenerateLike heathen you or I. in •tot A country-side.certain humourous dream of his was then malting a noise SCOTISH POEMS. 119 A’I’ve that sent I"bargain’d >ou here some for, an’rhyming mair; ware, Sae, when ye hae an hourI will to expectspare, Yon sang,* Ye’ll sen’t Andwi cannieno neglect. care. Tho’My Muse faith, dow sma’ scarcely heart spreadhae f to her sing! wing 1 I’ve play’d mysel a bonnieAn’ danc’dspring, my fill •. I’d better gaen, an’ sairdAt the Bunker’s king Hill. I’Twas gaed aae rovingnight lately wi’ the in gun,my fun, An’ brought a patrick Ato bonniethe grun, hen. An’ as the twilight was Thoughtbegun. nane wad ken. TheI straikit poor weeit a weething for was sport, little hurt, ife’er thinkin they wadBut fash deil-ma-care! me for’t; Somebody tells the poacher-courtThe hale affair. ThatSome sicauld-us’d a ben hadhands got had a shot: ta’en a note, I was suspected for theI plot;scorn’d to lie; So gat the whissle o’ myAn’ groat. pay’t the fee. But. by my gun, o’ guns the wale, Au’An’ by my hen,pouther, an’ byan’ her my tail,hail, The game shall pay o’erFor moor this an’ niest dale. year. An’theAs soon’s wee the pouts clockin-time begin to iscry, by, A song he had promised the author ISO SCOTISH POEMS. L—d, I’se hae sportin Forby an’my by,guid guinea : Tho’ I should herd (be For’t,buckskin in Virginia.kye ’TwasTrnwth, neither they hadbroken muckle wing for nor to limb. blame ! But wa-three draps aboutScarce the thro’ wame the feathers; An’ baith a yellow GeorgeAn’ tholeto claim, their blethers! SoIt pitsI can me rhyme ay as normad’s write a hare; nae mair; But pennyworths again Whenis fair. time’s expedient: Meanwhile I am, respectedYour mostsir. obedient. JOHN BARLEYCORN,* A BALLAD. THEREThree kings was both three great kings and into high, the east. AndJohn they Barleycorn hae sworn should a solemn die. oath TheyPut took clods a uponplough, his an’head, plough’d him down. AndJohn they Barleycorn hae sworn wasa solemn dead :oath ButAnd cheerful show’rs spring began came to fall; kindly on. JohnAnd Barleycorn sore surpri, got d themup again, all. TheAnd sultry he grew suns ofthick summer and strong. came, HisThat head no weel one shouldarm’d wi'him pointed wrong. spears, the• This same is name. pirtly composed on the plan of an old song known by SGOTISH POEMS- 121 TheWhen sober he autumn grew wan en ter’dand palemild. : HisShow’d bending he joints began and to droopingfail. head HisHe colour faded sicken’d into age; more and more, AndTo then show his their enemies deadly began rage. They’veAnd cut ta’en him a byweapon, the knee long ; and sharp, ThenLike ty’d a rogue him fastfor forgerie.upon a cart. TheyAnd laid cudgell’d him down him uponfull sore;his back, TheyAnd hung turn’d him him up o'erbefore and the o’er. storm, TheyWith filled water up ato darksome the brim. pit. TheyThere heaved let him in Johnsink orBarleycorn, swim. TheyTo laidwork hjm him out farther upon thewoe, floor, AndThey still, toss’d as signs him ofto lifeand appear’d. fro. TheyThe wasted, marrow o’erof his a scorchingbones ; flame. ButFor a millerhe crush’d us’d him ’tweenworst oftwo all, stones. AndAnd they drank hae itta’en round his and very round heart’s ; blood, AndTheir still joy the didmore more and abound. more they drank, JohnOf Barleycorn’snoble enterprize, a hero bold. For’Twill if you make do but your taste courage his blood, rise. ’Twill’Twill make heighten a man all forget his joy his : woe ; ’TwillThough make the yie tear widow’s were in heart her eye.to sing. IS* SCOTISH POEMS ThenEach let man us toast a glass John in Barleycorn,hand : AndNe’er may fail his ingreat old Scotland!posterity A FRAGMENT. Tune, ‘ Gillicrankie.’ WhenAnd did Guildfordour hellim good thraw, our man,pilot stood. AeWithin night atAmerica, tea, began man: a plea, ThenAnd up in theythe seagat did the jaw, maskin-pat, man; An’Than did quitenae less, refuse in fullour congress.law, man. ThenI wat thro’ he thewas lakes na slaw, Montgomery man; takes, DownAnd Lowrie’sCarleton burndid ca’,he tookman !a turn. ButMontgomery-like, yet, what reck, didhe atfa’, Quebec, man, Wi’Amang sword his in en’mieshand, before a’, man. his band, PoorWas Tammy kept at Gage Boston within ha’, aman; cage TillFor Willie Philadelphia, Howe took man; o’er the knowe Wi’Guid sword Christian an’ gun blood he thought to draw, a sinman; ButSir-loin at New he York, hacked wi’ sma’, knife man. an’ fork, Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an’ whip, ThenTill lost Fraser his way,brave aedid misty fa’, man day, ; CornwallisIn Saragota fought shaw, as lang’sman. he dought. And did the buckskings claw, man; SCOTTISH POEMS. 123 ButHe Clinton’s hung it toglaive the wa’,frae rustman. to save, ThenBegan Montague, to fear aan’ fa’, Guildford man; too. AndThe Sackville German doure, chief towha thraw, stood man: the stoure. ForNae Paddy mercy Burke, had at likea’, onyman Turk,; An’An’ Charlie lows’d Fox his tinkler-jaw,threw by the man. box, ThenTill Rockingham death did on tookhim ca’,up the man game, ; WhenConform Shelburne to gospel meek law, held man; up his cheek. SaintThey Stephen’s did his measuresboys, wi’jarring thraw, man.noise. ForAn’ North bore an’him Fox to the united wa’, stocks, man. ThenHe clubsswept an’ the hearts stakes were awa’, Charlie’s man, cartes. TillLed the him diamond’s asair faux ace, pas, of Indianman : race, TheOn Saxon Chatham’s lads, wi’boy louddid ca’,placads, man; An’‘ Up,Scotland Willie, drew waur her thempipe, a’,an’ man’. blew, BehindA secret the wordthrone or then twa, Grenville’s man: gone, WhileBe-north slee theDundas Roman arous’d wa’, theman class : An’(Inspired Chatham’s bardies wraith, saw, inman) heav’nly graitb, Wi’Would kindling I hae eyes fear’d cried, them ‘ W’illie, a’, man rise !’ ! But,Gowff’d word Williean’ blow, like North, a ba’, man,Fox, and Co. TillBehind Southron him raise,in a raw, and man.coost their claise An’An’ Caledon did her threw whittle by thedraw, drone. man: 124 SCOTISH POEMS. An’swoorTo mak itfu’ guid rude, in Ihro’law, man.dirtan’ blood,

SONG. Tune, ‘ Corn rigs are bonnie.* TtWhen was uponcorn rigsa Lammas are bonnie, night, Beneath[ held theawa moon’s to Annie; unclouded light, TheTill time ’tween flew theby latewl’ tentlessan’ early, heed. Wi’To sma’ see mepersuasion thro’ the she barley. agreed TheThe sky moon was wasblue, shining the wind clearly was ; still, I setAmang her down,the rigs wi’ o’ rightbarley good : will, I ken'tI lov’d her her heart most was sincerely a’ my ;ain; I kiss’dAmang her the owre rigs ando’ barley. owre again I lock’dHer heart her inwas my beating fond embrace; rarely : MyAmang blessings the onrigs that o’ barley.happy place, ButThat by theshone moon that and hour stars so clearly,so bright. SheAmang ay shall the bless rigs o’that barley. happy night I Ihae hae been been blythe merry wi’ drinking comrades : dear; I haeI hae been been joyfu’ happy gath’rin thinking: gear; ButTho’ a’ the three pleasures times doubl’de’er I saw, fairly. ThatAmang happy the night rigs ofrias barley. worth them a', SCOTISH POEMS. 125 CHORUS. CornAn’ rigs, corn an’rigs barley are bonnie rigs. : I’llAmang ne’er forgetthe rigs that wi’ happy Annie. night,

COMPOSED IN AUGUST. Tune, ' I bad a horse, I had nae mair.’ NowBring westlinautuiim’s winds pleasant and slaughteringweather; gu» TheAmang moorcock the blooming springs, heather:on whirring wings, NowDelights waving the grain, weary wide farmer; o’er the plain. AndTo the muse moonshines upon my bright,charmer. when I rove at night,. TheThe partridge plover loves loves thethe mountainsfruitful fells; ; TheThe woodcock soaring hernhaunts the the fountains: lonely dells; Thro’The loftypath grovesof man theto shuncushat it; roves TheThe hazel spreading bush o’erhangs thorn the the linnet. thrush, ThusThe ev’ry savage kind and their the pleasuretender ; find, SomeSome social solitary join, wander: and leagues combine; Avaunt,Tyrannic away man’s ! the dominion; cruel sway, TheThe sportsman’s flutt’ring joy,gory thepinion murd’ring ! cry, ButThick Peggy flies dear, the skimming the ev’ning’s swallow; clear, 126 SCOTISH POEMS. TheAll sky fading-green is blue, the and fields yellow in view, ; ComeAnd letview us straythe charms our gladsome of nature; way, , TheAnd rustling ev’ry corn,happy the creature. fruited thorn. We’llTill gentlythe silent walk, moon and shines sweetly clearly talk. ; I’llSwear grasp how thy waist,I love theeand, dearly.fondly prest. NotNot vernal autumn show’rs to the to farmer. budding flow’rs. SoMy dear fair, can mybe aslovely thou charmerto me, ! SONG. Tune, ‘ My Name, 0.’ BEHIND’Mang moors yon an’ hills mosses where many, Lugar O, flows, TheAnd wintry I’ll awa sun theto Nanie,day has O. clos’d, TheThe westlin night’s wind baith blaws mirk loudand rainy,an’ shrili. O, ButAn’ I’ll owre get mythe plaid,hills to an’ Nanie, out I'll O. steal. MyNae Nanie’s artfu’wiles charming, to winsweet, ye, an’O; young.; MayThat ill wadbefa’ beguile the flattering my Nanie, tongue O. HerAs face spotless is fair, as she’sher heartbonnie, is true.O; TheNae op’ninggowan, purer is than Nanie,wet wi’dew, O. A An’country few ladthere is mybe thatdegree, ken me, O; ButI’m what w elcome care Iay how to fewNanie, they Q. be,— SCOTISH POEMS. 127 MyAn’ riches I maun a’s myguide penny-fee, it cannie, O ; ButMy warly thoughts gear are ne’er a’ troublesmy Nanie, me, O. OurauldHis sheep guid an’ man kye delights thrive tobonnie, view O ; ButAn’ I’m has as nae blythe care thatbut Nanie,bauds his O. pleugb, ComeI’ll takweel, what come Heav’n woe, willI care sen’ na me, by, O ; NaeBut ither live, care an’love in life my have Nanie, I, O.

SONG. GREEN GROW THE RASHES. A FRAGMENT. CHORDS. GreenGreen grow grow the the rashes, rashes, O; O ; TheAre sweetest spent amang hours thethat lasses, e’er I O.spend, ThERE’S nought but care on ev’ry han’ WhatIn ev’ry signifies hour the that life passes, of man. O ; An’ ’twere na’ for theGreen lasses, grow, O. fyc. TheAn’ warly riches race still maymay richesfly them, chase. O ; An’Their tho’ athearts last canthey ne'er catch enjoy them them, fast, O, Green grow, &c. ButMy gie arms me abouta canny my hour dearie, at e’en,O, 128 SCOTISH FORMS. An’ warly cares, an’ warly men, May a’ gae tapsalteerie,Green O. grow, &c. For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, TheYe’re wisest nought man thebut warl’senseless e’er asses, saw, O : He dearly lov’d the lasses,Green grow,O. &c. Auld nature swears, the lovely dears HerHer ’prentice noblest han’work she she try’d classes, on man,O : An’ then she made theGreen lasses, grow, O. &c. SONG. Tune, * Jockej’s grey breeke.’ AgAINHer robe rejoicing assume it’snature vernal sees hues. HerAH leafy freshly rocks steep’d wave in in morning the breeze, dews. CHORUS.* AndAnd maun bear T thestill scorn on Meniet that’s indoat. her e’e 1 ForAn’ it’s it jet, wnina jet letblack, a body an’ be.it’s like a hawk. In vain to me the cowslips blaw. In Invain vain to tome, me in the glen vi’lets or shaw, spring ; The mavis and the lintwhiteAnd maun sing. 1 still, &c. TheIV merryi'joy theploughboy tentie seedsman cheers his stalks, team, Edinburgh,» This chorus a patticu is pan ar offriend a soog of the composed author’s, by a gentleman in t M«ni« is the common abbieviation of Mariann*. SCOTISH POEMS. 129 But life to me’s a weary dream, A dream of ane that neverAnd maun wauks. I still, &c. The wanton root the water skims, TheAmang stately the swan reeds majestic the ducklings swims, cry, And every thing is blestAnd but maun I. I still, &c. The shepherd steeks bis faulding slap, Wi’And wild, owre unequal, the moorlands wand’ring whistles step, shrill, I meet him on the dewyAnd hill. maun I still, &c. And when the lark, ’tween light and dark, AndBlythe mounts waukens and sings by onthe flittering daisy’s side. wings, A woe-worn ghaist IAnd hameward maun I glide.still, &c. Come,And ragingwinter, bend with the thine naked angry tree howl, ; ThyWhen gloom nature will allsoothe is sad my like cheerless me! soul. CHORUS. AndAn’ maun bear I thestill scorn on Menie that’s doat. in her e’e ! ForAn’ it’s it jet, winna jet letblack, a body an’ be.it’s like a hawk, ISO SCOTISH POEMS. SONG. THE FJ REWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES’S LODGE, TARBOI.TOX. Tune, ‘ Goodnight, an’joj be wi’ jou all.’ AdIEUDear brothers ! a heart-warm of the mystic fond tye adieu! ! YeCompanions favour’d, ye of enlighten’d my social joy! few, ThoughPursuing I to Fortune’s foreign lands slidd’ry must ba\ hie, WithI’ll meltingmiud you heart, still, andtho’ brimfulfar awa’. eye, OftAnd have spent I met the your cheerful social festive band. night; Oft,Presided honour’d o’er with the supremesons of light: command, AndWhich by that none hieroglyphic but craftsmen bright, ever saw. StrongThose memory happy sceneson my whenheart farshall awa.’ write MayUnite freedom, you in harmony,the grand design,and love, BeneathThe glorious th’ omniscient architect eye divine above. I ThatStill you rising may by keep the plummet’sth’ unerring law. line, TillShall order be brightmy pray’r completely when far shine, awa’! AndJustly, you, farewell,that highest whose badge merits to wear! claim. Heav’nT5 Masonry bless your and honour’d Scotia dear! noble name, SCOTISH POEMS. 1S1 A lastWhen request yearly permit ye assemble me here, a’. OneTo round, him, theI ask Bard it withthat’s a far tear. awa'.

ELEGY CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON, GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT VOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD ! ButFor now Matthew’s his radiant course course was isbright; run. HisA soulmatchless was likeheav’nly the glorious light. sun, TheO meikleDEATH devil-wi’ ! thou tyranta woodie fell and bloody! Haurl thee hame to hisO’er black hurcheon smiddie, hides. And like stock-fish comeWi’ o’er thy his auld studdie sides t TheaeHeVgane, best he’sfellow gane! e’er he’s was frae born! us torn, Thee, Matthew, Nature’sBy woodsel shall and mourn wild. Where, haply, pity straysFrae forlorn,man exil’d. Ye hills, near neebors o’ the starns, ThatYs cliffs, proudly the cockhaunts your of sailing cresting y earns, cairns 5 SCOTISH POEMS. Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature’sMy sturdiest wailing bairns. numbers! Mourn,Ye hazly ilka shaws grove and the briery cushat dens kens! ! Yeburnies wimplin downWi’ toddlinyour glens. din. Or foaming, strang wi’ Fraehasty lin stens, to lin. MournYe stately little foxgloves harebells fair o’er to the see; lee; Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie.In scented bow’rs $ Ye roses on your thornyThe tree. first o’ flow’rs. AtDroops dawn, with whenev’ry a diamond grassy at his blade head, At ev’n, when beans theirI’ th’ fragrance rustling gale,shed Ye maukins whiddin thro’Comejoin the glade, my wail. Mourn,Yegrouss ye thatwee crapsongsters the heather o’ the wood bud; ; Ye curlews calling thro’Ye a whistlingclud ; plover; And mourn, ye whirringHe’s paitrickbrood; gane for ever! YeMourn, fisher sooty herons, coots watching and speckled eels; teals, Ye duck, and drake, wi’Circling airy wheels the lake; Ye bitterns, till the quagmireHair for reels,his sake. ’MangMourn, fields clam’ring o’ tlow’ring craiks cloverat close gay o’ day,; And when ye wing yourFrae annual our cauldway shore, Tell thae far warlds, wWham ha lies we in clay,deplorq. SCOTISH POEMS. 133 InYehoulets, some auld frae tree, your or eldritchivy bow’r, tow’r. What time the moon, Setswi’ silent up her glowr, horn, Wail thro’ the dreary midnightTill waukrife hour morn! OOft rivers, have yeforests, heard hills,my canty and plains!strains. But now, what else forBut me talesremains of woe f And frae my een the droppingMaun ever rains flow. IlkMourn, cowslip spring, cup thonshall darlingkep a tear: of the year ! Thou, simmer, while eachShoots corny up itsspear head, Thy gay, green, flow’ryFor tresses him that'sshear, dead! Thou,In grief autumn, thy sallow wi’ mantlethy yellow tear !hair, Thou winter, hurling thro’The theroaring air blast. Wide o’er the naked worldThe declareworth we’ve lost Mourn,Mourn him,empress thou ofsun, the greatsilent source night! of light! And you, ye twinkling Mystarnies Matthew bright. mourn 1 For through your orbs Ne’erhe’s ta’en to return. his flight, AndG Henderson! art thou gone, the man!and gone the forbrother ever! ! And hast thou crost thatLife’s unknown dreary river. bound ! Like thee, where I shallThe find world anither, around! InGo a’to the your tinsel sculptur’d trash o’ tombs, state! ye Great, 134 SCOTISH POEMS. But by thy honest turf I’llThou wait, man of worth ! And weep the ae best fellow’sE’er lay fate in earth.

THE EPITAPH. StopAnd truth /passenger! I shall relate,ray story’s man; brief. I tellFor na Matthew common was tale a o’great grief. man. If Yetthou spurn’duncommon at fortune’s merit hast, door, man, A Forlook Matthew of pity hitherwas a cast,poor man. If Thatthou apasses! noble bysodger this art,grave, man, ThereFor mouldersMatthew herewas a gallantbrave man.heart, IfConst thou onthrow men, uncommon their works light, and man.ways, HereFor lies Matthew wha weel Was hada bright won thyman. praise. If Wadthou lifeat friendship’s itself resign, sacred man, ca’ ThyFor sympathetic Matthew was tear a maunkind man.fa’. If Likethou artthe staunchunchanging without blue, aman, stain, ThisFor was Matthew a kinsman was o’a truethy ain,man. If Andthou ne’er hast gudewit, wineand fun,did fear,and fire,man, ThisFor was Matthew thy billie, was,a dam, queer and man, sire, SCOTISH POEMS. 135 If Toony blame whiggish poor whiggin Matthew sot, dare, man, MayFor dool Matthew and sorrow was a rarebe his man. lot.

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. NowOn every Nature blooming hangs tree.her mantle green AndOut spreads o’er the her grassy sheets lea: o’ daisies white NowAnd Phoebus glads the cheers azure the skies; chrystal streams. ButThat nought fast incan durance glad the lies. weary wight NowAloft lav’rocks on dewy wake wing the ; merry morn. TheMakes merle, woodland in his noontide echoes ringbow’r. ; TheSings mavis drowsy wild wi’day manyto rest: a note In Wi’love care and norfreedom thrall they opprest. rejoice, NowThe blooms primrose the downlily by the the brae; bank. TheAnd hawthorn’s milk-white budding is the inslae the : glen, TheMay meanest rove theirhind sweetsin fair amang;Scotland ButMaun I, the lie Queen in prison of a’strang. Scotland, I wasWhere the happy Queen Io’ hae bonnie been; France, 138 SCOTISH POEMS. Fu’As lightly blythe rase lay Idown in the at morn,e’en : AndAnd I’m monie the sov’reigna traitor ofthere; Scotland, YetAnd here never-ending I lie in foreign care. bands, ButMy as sister for tbee, and mythou fae, false woman, GrimThat vengeance, thro’ thy soulyet, shall gaewet : a sword TheWas weeping never knownblood into woman’sthee ; breast KorFrae th’ woman’sbalm that pityinge’e. draps on wounds of wae MyUpon son! thymy fortuneson! may shine! kinder stars AndThat may ne’er those wad pleasures blink on gild mine thy ! reign GodOr keep turn theetheir fraehearts thy to mother’s thee; faes, AndRemember where thou him meet’st for me thy ! mother’s friend, O Nae! soon mair to melight may up summer-sunsthe morn 1 NaeWave mair o’er to me the the yellow' autumn corn winds ! AndLet in winter the narrow round houseme rave: o’ death AndBloom the next on my flpw’rs, peaceful that grave deck 1 the spring, LAMENT FOR JAMES EARL OF GLENCAIRN The wind blew hollow frae the hills, Look’dBy fits on the the sun’s fading departing yellow beam woods SCOTISH POEMS. 137 BeneathLaden awith craigy years steep, and meiklea bard, pain, In Whomloud lament death bewail’dhad all untimely his lord. ta’en. HeWhose lean’d trunkhim to was an mould’ringancient aik, down with years} HisHis locks hoary were cheek bleached was wet white wi’ withtears; time, AndAnd as ashe hetouch’d tun’d hishis dolefultrembling sang. harp, TheTo winds, echo borelamenting the notes through alang.— their cares, ‘ YeThe scatter’d relics of birds, the vernal that faintly quire ! sing YeThe woods honours that shedof the on aged a’ the year! winds A Againfew short ye’ll months, charm andthe earglad and and c’e; gay. ButCan nought gladness in ail bring revolving again totime me. IThat am abendinglong has stood aged thetree, wind and rain ; ButAnd now my has last come hold aof cruel earth blast, is gane : NaeNae leaf simmer o’ mine sun shall exalt greet my bloomthe spring, ; ButAnd 1 maun ithers lie plant before them the in storm. my room. * I’veOn seenearth sae I ammony a stranger changefu’ grown years, ; I wanderAlike unknowing in the ways and of unknown:men. Unheard,I bear alaneunpitied, my ladeunreliev’d, o’ care, TorLie silent, a’ that low, would on beds my sorrowsof dust, share. < AndMy last,noble (the master sum lies of ina’ claymy griefs!) j 138 SCOTISH POEMS. TheHis flowers country’s aiming pride, our his barons country’s bold, stay; InFor weary a’the being ‘ life now of life’isI pine, dead, AndOn hope forward has leftwing my for aged ever ken. fled. ‘ AwakeThe voice thy oflast woe sad and voice, wild my despair harp !1 A wake,.resoundThen sleep in silencethy latest ever lay. inair ! AndThat thou, fillest my anlast, untimely best, only tomb. friend, AcceptThou this brought tribute from from fortune’s the bard mirkest gloom. ‘ InThick poverty’s mists, lowobscure, barren involv’d vale, me round; ThoughNae ray oft of1 turn’dfame wasthe wistfulto be found eye, : ThouThat found’st melts theme, fogs like in the limpid morning air; sun TheBecame friendless alike bard thy and fostering rustic songcare. ‘ OWhile ! why villains has worth ripen so grey short with a date, time? MustFall thou, in bold the manhood’snoble generous hardy great. prime! WhyA daydid toI live me toso seefull thatof woe? day— O Which1 had Ilaid met my the benefactor mortal shaft low I ‘ TheWas bridegroom made his wedded may forget wife yestreen;the bride TheThat monarch on his mayhead forget an hour the has crown seen ; TheThat mother smiles may sae forget sweetly the on child her knee ButAnd I’ll tv’ remember that thou thee, hast doneGlencairn, for me!' SCOTTSH POEMS. 139 TJM O' SHAN TER. A TALE Of Brownyis and of BogihsGAWIN full is this DOUGLAS. buhe.

WHENAnd diouthy-neebors chapman billies neebors leave meet, the street. AsAn’ market-days folk begin to are tak wearing the gate late. ; An’While gettin we fousit bousingand unco at happy.the nappy. TheWe thinkmosses, na waters, on the langslaps, Scots and miles.styles. WhareThat lie sets between our sulky us and sullen our dame, hame, OatheringNursing her her wrath brows to likekeep gathering it warm. storm. AsThis he frae truth Ayr fand ae honestnight didTam canter, o’ Shanter, T'or(Auld honest Ayr menwham and ne’er bonnie a town lasses.) surpasses, AsO taen Tam thy ! hadstain wife thou Kate’s but been advice sae wise,! AShe blethering, tauld thee blustering,weel thou drunkenwas a skellum, blellum; ThatAe market-day frae November thou tillwas October, nae sober. ThatThou ilkasat asmelder, lang as wi’ thou the had miller, siller; ThatThe smith ev’ry and naig thee was gat ca’d roaring a shoe fou on, on, ThouThat atdrank the L—d’swi’ Kirton house Jean ev’n tillon Sunday,Monday. ThouShe prophesied, would be foundthat late deep or drown’dsoon, in X)osn j 140 SCOTISH POEMS. Orcatcb’dBy Alloway’s vyi’ auldwarlocks hunted in (hekirk. mirk, ToAh, think gentle how dames!mony counsels it gars mesweet, greet, TheHow husbandmony lengthen’d frae the wifesage despises!advices, TamBut had to ourgot taleplanted : Ae unco market right: night, Wi’Fast reamingby an ingle, swats, bleezing that drank finely, divinely? And11 is ancient,at his elbow, trusty, souter drouthy Johnny, crony ; TamThey lo’edhad beenhim likefou fora very weeks brither; thegither. AndThe nightay the drave ale was on wi’growing sangs betteran’ clatter? ? Wi’The favours,landlady secret,and Tam sweet, grew and gracious? precious: /TheThe souterlandlord’s tauld laugh his queerestwas ready stories: chorus : TamThe stormdid na without mind the might storm rair a whistle. and rustle, E’enCare, drown’d mad himselfto see a amangman sae the happy, nappy ? TheAs bees minutes flee hamewing’d wi’ their lades way o’ wi’treasure. pleasure . KingsO’er a’ may the beills blest,o’ life but victorious. Tam was glorious, YouBut seize pleasures the flow’r, are like its bloompoppies is spread,shed; AOr moment like the white—then snow-falls inmelts the forriver, ever? OrThat like flit the ere borealis you can race. point their place; EvanishingOr like the amidrainbow’s the storm.— lovely form TheNae hourman canapproaches tether time Tam or maun tide? ride ; That hour,dreary o’ hour night’s he mountsblack arch his beastthe key in; stane. SCOTISH POEMS. 141 AndAs ne’er sic a poor night sinner he taks was the abroad road in,in. The windrattlin blew show’rs as ’twad rose onblawn thp blast;its last, Loud,The speedy deep, gleamsand lang, the the darkness thunder swallow’d bellow’d: ; ThatThe deil night, had a businesschild might on hisunderstand, hand. A Weelbetter mounted never lifted on his leg, grey mare, Meg, DespisingTam skelpit wind, on throughand rain, dub and and tire; mire, "WhilesWhiles holdingcrooning fast o’er his some gude auld blue Scots bonnet; sonnet ; LestWhiles bogles glow’ring catch himround unawares: wi’ prudent cares, Kirk-AllowayWhare ghaists andwas houletsdrawing nightly nigh, cry.— WhareBy this in timethe snaw he was the crosschapman the ford, smoor’d; AndWhare past drunken the birks C harlie and meikle brak’s stane, neck-bane; AndWhare through nunters the fand whins, the murder’dand by the bairn cairn, ; WhareAnd near Mungo’s the thorn, mither aboon bang’d the hersel.—well, TheBefore doubling him Doon storm pours roars all through his hoods; the woods; NearThe lightnings and more flashnear fromthe thunders pole to rollpole ; ; Kirk-AllowayW'hen, glimm’ring seem’d through in a thebleeze; groaning trees, AndThrough loud ilkaresounded bore themirth beams and weredaucing.— glancing; Inspiring bold John Barleycorn 1 Wi’What tippenny, dangers thouwe fear ranst ua make evil, us scorn 1 Wi’ usquebae, we’ll facer the devil 1— TheFair swatsplay, saehe car’dream’d ua in dells l ammie’s a boddle. noddle, 142 SCOTTISH POEMS. Till,But Maggieby the stoodheel andright hand sair admonish’d, astonish’d, And,She ventur’d vow ! Tamforward saw onan theunco light: sight! WarlocksNae cotillion and brent witches new in fraea dance France, ; ButPut hornpipes,life and mettle jigs, in strathspeys,their heels, and reels. ThereA w innock-bunker sat auld Nick, in inthe shape east, o’ beast; ATo towzie gie them tyke, music black, was grim,his charge: and large, ' TillHe screw’d roof and the rafters pipes, a’ and^artdid dirl.— them skirl, ThatCoffins shaw’d stood theround, dead like in openthe*ir presses,last dresses; AndEach by in someits cauld dev’lish hand cantrip held a slight,light ; ToBy notewhich upon heroic the Tamhaly wastable, able ATwa murderer’s span lang, banes wee, in unchristen’dgibbet aims; bairns ; AWi’ thief, his lastnew-cutted gasp his fraegab adid rape, gape; Five tomahawks,scimitars, wi’ wi’ murder blude crustedred-rusted ; ; A garter,knife, awhich father’s a babethroat had had strangled mangled, ; TheWhom gray his heirs ain son yet o’ stack life tobereft, the heft; Wi’Which mair ev’n o’ tohorrible name wadand awfu’,be unlawfu’. TheAs mirth Tammie and glowr’dfun grew amaz’d fast and and furious: curious. The piperdances loud quick and and louder quicker blew flew ; ; TillThey ilka reel’d, carlin they swat set, and they reekit, cross’d, they cleekit. And coostlinket her at itduddies in her tosark the ! wark. SCOTISH POEMS. 143 A’Now plump Tam, and O strappingTam ! had in thaetheir been teens; queans, TheirBeen snaw-whitesarks, instead seventeen o’ ereeshie under flannen. linen! ThirThat breeksante were o’ mine, plush, my o’ onlygude pair,blue hair, ForI wad ae haeblink gi’en o’ the them bonnie off my burdies! hurdles, RigwoodieBut wither’d hags beldams, wad spean auld a foal,and droll, ILowping wonder an’did flingingna turn onthy a stomach. crummock, ThereBut Tamwas aeken’dwhat winsome wenchwas what and fu’wawlte. brawlie. That(Lang night after enlisted kend on in Carrick the core, shore j ForAnd monyperish’d a beastmony to a deadbonnie she boat. shot, And keptshook the baith country-side meikle corn in fear,)and bear. HerThat cutty while sark, a lassie o’-Paisley she had ham. worn. InIt longitudewas her best, tho’ andsorely she scanty. was vaunfie.— AhThat ! littlesark shekend coft thy for rev’rend her wee grannie. Nannie, Wi’Wad twa ever pund grac’d Scots, a dance (’twas of a’witches! her riches,) SicBut flights here are my far Muse beyond her wingher pow’r; maun cour. (ATo singsouplejade how Nannie she was lap and and strung,) flang, And thoughthow Tam his stood very likeeen enrich’dane bewitch’d. ; AndEven botch’d Satan glowr’d and blew and wi’ fidg’d might fu’ an’ fain. main : TamTill first tint aehis caper,reason synea’ thegither, anither, AudAnd roarsin an out,instant ‘ Weel all was done. dark; Cutty sark 1’ 144 SCOTISH POEMS. AndWhen scarcely out the hadhellish he legionMaggie sallied. rallied, WhenAs bees plund’ring bizz out herds wi’ angryassail fyke,their byke ; AsWhen, open pop pussie’s ! she mortal starts beforefoes, their nose ; AsWhen, eager ‘ Catchruns the the market thief!’ crowd, resounds aloud ; Wi’So Maggie mony an runs, eldritch the witchesskreech follow,and hollow. InAh, hell Tamthey’ll ! ah,roast Tam thee ! likethou’ll a herrin;get thy fairin ! KateIn vain soon thy will Kate be awaitsa woefu’ thy woman comin !! Now,And win do thethy key-stane*speedy utmost, of the Meg, brig; ThereA running at them stream thou they thy daretail mayna cross, toss, TheBut erefient the a tailkey-stane she had she to couldshake make, 1 .ForHard Nannie, upon noble far beforeMaggie the prest, rest, AndBut littleflew atwist Tam she wi’Maggie’s furious mettle— ettle ; AeBut spring left behind brought her off ain her grey master tail: hale. AndThe carlinleft poor claught Maggie her scarce by the a rump, stump. IlkNow, man whaand mother’sthis tale son,of truth take shall heed read,: OrWhene’er cutty-sarks to drink run inyou your are mind. inclin’d. KeinemberThink, ye mayTam buyo’ Shunter’s the joys mare.o’er dear,— have• It no is apower well-known to follow tradition a poor that wightwitches, any or fartherany evil than spirits' the middleto mention of the to nextthe benightedrunning stream.—It traveller, maythat, be when proper he likewise falls in withthere bogles,is much whatevermore hazard danger in taming may back.be in his going forward, SCOTISH POEMS. 11 j EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. HereTo hell sowterif he’s gane**** thither, in death does sleep ; Satan,He’ll gie hand him it thy weel gear thegither. to keep.

ON A NOIST POLEMIC.1 B'BLOW thir stanes lie Jamie’s banes : Into thy dark dominion 1 EPITAPH. ON WEE JOHNNIE. Hie jacet nee Johnnie. WHOE’ERThat death hasthon murder’d art, O reader, Johnnie! know An’For here saol his he body ne’er lies had fu’ ony. low A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fastblate for to thought,seek, owre owre proud hot forto snool.rule, 146 SCOTISH POEMS. Let him draw near: And owre this grassy heapAnd singdrap dool. a tear. “Who,Is there noteless, a bard o’steals rustic the song, crowds among, T1 at weekly this area. O,throng, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feelingHere, strong. heave a sigh. IsCan there others a man, teach whose the course judgment to steer. clear. Yet runs, himself, life’sWild mad as career. the wave; Here pause—and, throughSurvey the this starting grave. tear, WasThe poorquick inhabitant to learn and below wise to know, And keenly felt the friendlyAnd softer glow, flame. But thoughtless follies laidAnd him stain’d low. his name. SoarsHeader, fancy’s attend- flights whether beyond thy the soul pole. Or darkling grubs this earthlyIn low pursuit;hole, Know, prudent, cautious,Is wisdom’s self-control. root. out THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE’S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECT- ING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. HeAR, Land o’Cakes, and brither Scots, FraeIf there’s Maidenkirk a hole in to a’ Johnny your coats, Groats: SCOTISH POEMS. 147 I rede you tent.it; A chield’s amang you, And,taking faith, notes, he’ll prent it. UponIf in your a tine, bounds fat, fodgelye chance wight, to light O’ stature short, but geniusThat’s bright, he, mark weel— And wow ! he has an uncoO’ cauk slight and keel. OrBy Kirksome aulddeserted houlet-haunted by its riggio. biggin,* It’s ten to ane ye’ll findSome him snugeldritch in part, Wi’ deils, they say, L—dAt some safe’s black ! colleaguin art.— IlkYe ghaistgipsey-gang that haunts that deal auld in ha’ glamor. or chamer, And you deep read in hell’sWarlocks black and grammar, witches; Ye’ll quake at his conjuringYe midnight hammer. b es. AndIt’s tauld ane wad he was rather a sodger fa’n than bred. fled; But now he’s quat the spurtleAnd dog-skin blade, wallet, And ta’en the—AntiquarianI think trade, they call it. BustyHe has airn a fouth caps o' and auld jingling nick-nackets: jackets,+ Wad baud the LothiansA three towmont in rackets, gude; And parritch-pats, andBefore anld saut-backets, the Flood. AuldOf Eve’s Tubalcain’s first fire fire-shoolhe has a cinder; and fender; That which distinguishedO’ theBalaam’s gender ass; t Vide his• Vide uaatiae his antiquitieson ancient armourof Scotland, and weapons. 148 SCOTISH POEMS. A broom-stick o’ the witchWeelshod of Endor, wi’ brass. TheForbye, cut ofhe’ll Adam’s shape philibeg; you af fu’ gleg The knife that nicket Abel’sHe’ll provecraig you fully, It was a fauldingjocteleg.Or lang-kail gullie.— FormeikleBut wad ye gleesee himand infun his has glee, he, Then set him down, andGudefellows twa or three wi’ him; And port, O port! shineAnd thou then a wee,ye’ll see him! ThouNow, artby athe dainty pow’rs chield, o’ verse O Grose!— and prose ! Whae’er o’ thee shall illThey suppose, sair misca’ thee; I’d take the rascal by theWad nose. say, Shame fa’ thee. THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRATJR WATER* TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. MyWoe Lord,ne’er assailsI know, in vainyour ; noble ear Embolden’dYour humble thus, slave I beg complain. you’ll hear HowIn flamingsaucy Phoebus’scorching summer-pride. beams. DryAnd withering, drink my wastecrystal my tide. foamy streams, tiful* Braur; but Falls,their effect in Athole,ar« is •’juch impairedexceedingly by the picturesqe want of and trees beau- and SCOTISH POEMS. 149 TheThat lightly-jumpin thro’ my waters glowrin trouts. If,They in their near random the margin wanton stray; spouts, If,I’m hapless scorching chance up tothey shallow. linger lang, They’reIn gasping left thedeath whitening to wallow. stanes amang, LastAs daypoet I Burnsgrat wi’ cam. spite by, and teen, ThatWi’ tohalf a bard my channel I should dry be : seen • A Ev’npanegyric as I wasrhyme, he shor’d I ween, me : ButHe, had kneeling, I in my gloryw ad ador’d been, me. Here,In twisting foaming strength down the I rin shelvy ; rocks. There,Wild-roaring high my o’erboiling a linn: torrent smokes, EnjoyingAs Nature large gave each them spring me, and well I am,Worth altho’ gaun I asay’t mile mysel.to see. WouldTo grant then mymy highestnoble master wishes, please He’llAnd shade bonnie my spreading banks wi’ bushes. towering trees, DelightedYou’ll wanderdoubly then,on my my banks. Lord, AndReturn listen you monie tuneful a grateful thanks. bird, TheShall sober to lav’rock,the skies aspire;warbling wild, TheShall gowdspink, sweetly join music’s the choirgayest : child. TheThe blackbird mavis mild strong, and themellow lintwhite ; clear, TheIn robinall her pensive locks ofautumn yellow. cheer, ISO SCOTTISH POEMS ThisTo too shield a covert them shallfrom theensure, storm ; AndLow coward in her maukin grassy sleepform. secure, HereTo shallweave the his shepherd crown of make flow’rs his jseat, OrFrom find aprone sheltering descending safe retreat, sbow’rs. AndShall here, meet by the sweet loving endearing pair, stealth, DespisingAs empty worlds idle carewith : all their wealth, TheThe flowers hour ofshall heaven vie in to all grace. their charms AndTo birks screen extend the dear their embrace. fragrant arms HereSome haply musing too, bardat vernal may stray,dawn. AndAnd eye misty the smokingmountain, dewy gray; lawn, Or,Mild-chequering by the reaper’s through nightly thebeam, trees,. RaveHoarse-swelling to my darkly on dashing the breeze. stream, LetMy lofty lowly firs banksand ashes o’erspread, cool AndTheir view, shadows’ deep-bending wat’ry inbed. the pool, LetMy fragrant craggy birkscliffs adorn;in woodbines drest. And,The for close the embow’ringlittle songster’s thorn. nest, SoYour may oldlittle Scotia’s angel band.darling hope, Spring,Their likehonour’d their nativefathers, land up ! to prop So Tomay social-flowing thro Albion's glasses, farthest ken, TheAnd grace Athole’s be—‘ bonnieAthole’s lasses honest 1’ men, SCOTISH POEMS. 151 ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD> BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OP FAMILY DISTRESS. SwEET flow’ret, pledge o’ meikle love. And ward o’ mony ar pray'r, WhatSae hearthelpless, o’ stane sweet, w adand thou fair. na’ move, NovemberChill on hirplesthy lovely o’er formthe lea, : AndShould gane, shield alas ! theethe fraesheltering the storm. tree MayAnd He wings who the gies blast the torain blaw, to pour, ProtectThe bitter thee fraefrost the and driving snaw. show’r, MayWho He, heal's the friendlife’s various of woe stounds. and want, ProtectAnd heal and herguard cruel the wounds. mother plant, ButFair late on she the flourish’d, summer mornrooted : fast. NowUnshelter’d feebly bends and sheforlorn. in the blast, BlestUnscath’d be thy bloom,by ru Ilian thou hand lovely ! gem, AndArise from to thee deck many our land-a parent stem 152 SCOTISII POEMS. THE LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A friend’s AMOUR. Alas! how oft doth goodness wound itself, And sweet affection prove the spring of woeHOME. ! uWhile THOU care-untroubled pale orb, that mortals silent shines.sleep ! ThouAnd seest wanders a wretch here thatto wail inly and pines. w eep ! WithBeneath woe Ithy nightly wan unwarmingvigils keep beam; AndHow mouin, life andin lamentation love are all deep, a dream. I joylessThe faintly-marked view thy rays distant adorn hill: I joylessReflected view in thythe gurglingtrembling rill: horn MyThou fondly-fluttering busy pow’r, heart,Remembrance, be still: cease! AhFor ! must ever the bar agonizing returning thrill peace NoMy idly sad feign’d love-lorn poetic lamentings pains claim; NoNo shepherd’s fabled tortures, pipe—Arcadian quaint and strains; tame: TheThe plighted oft-attested faith, powers the mutual above, flame, TheThese promis’d were Father’sthe pledges tender of my name love :— ! EncircledHow have in herthe claspingraptur’d arms,moments flown ! HowFor have her dearl wish'd sake, for and Fortune’s fief’s alone! charms, SCOTISH POEMS. 153 AndMy must secret I think heart's it! exultingis she gone, boast f AndAnd does is sheshe ever,heedless ever hear lost my ? groan ? OhSo ! lostcan toshe honour, bear so lost base to a truth, heart. AsThe from plighted the fondest husband lover of part, her youth! Alas!Her life’sway pathmay liemay through be unsmooth. rough distress ! Then,Her whosorrows her share,pangs andand pains make will them soothe. less i YeEnraptur’d winged hours more that the o’er more us enjoy’d.past. YourMy fondly-treasur’ddear remembrance thoughts in my employ’d.breast. ThatFor breast, her too how scanty dreary once now, of room and !void. Ev’nAnd ev’ry not aray wish of hopeto gild destroy’d. the gloom ! *TheAwakes morn that me upwarns to toil th’ andapproaching woe: day I seeThat the I hoursmust suffer,in long ling’ring,array. slow. FullKeen many recollection’s a pang, and direful many train.a throe, MustShall wring kiss my the ^oul,distant ere western Phoebus, main. low. AndSore when harrass’d my nightly out with couch care I try.and grief. MyKeep toil-beat watchings nerves, with and the tear-worn nightly thief;eye. OrReigns if I slumber, haggard-wild, Fancy, inchief. sore affright: Ev’nFrom day, such all a bitter, horror-breathing brings relief. night. O Nowthou, highestbright reigns’t,queen, who with o’er boundless th’ expans sway OftObserv’d has thy us,silent-marking fondly-waudering, glance stray ! 154 SCOTISH POEMS. TlieWhile time, love’s unheeded, luxurious sped pulse away. beat high, BeneathTo mark thy the silver mutual gleaming kindling ray, eye. OhScenes, ! scenes never, in strong never remembrance to return ! set! Scenes,Again if I in feel, stupor again I forget, I burn ! FromLife’s ev’ry weary joy valeand pleasureI’ll wander torn. through ; AndA faithlesshopeless, woman’scomfortless, broken I’ll vow. mourn

VEPONDENCV.

AOppress’d burden more thanwith Igrief, can bear,oppress’d with care O life!I sit methou down art anda galling sigh : load. AlongTo wretches a rough, sucha weary as I! road, DimWhat backward sick’uing as scenesI cast appear my view, ! WhatToo sorrowsjustly I yetmay may fear; pierce me through, StillMust caring, be my despairing, bitter doom ; MyBut woes with here the shall closing close tomb ne’er, ! Who,Happy, equal ye sonsto the of bustlingbusy life. strife, Ev’nNo when other the view wished regard end’s ! denied. YetThey while bring the theirbusy ownmeans reward are plied, : SCOTISH POEMS. 155 WhilstUnfitted I, awith hope-abandon’d an aim, wight, MeetAnd ev’ry joyless sad morn returning the same night ; YouForget bustling, each andjustling. grief and pain ; I Findlistless, ev’ry yet prospect restless. vain. HowWho, blestall-forgetting, the Solitary’s all-forgot, lot, TheWithin cavern his wild humble with cell. tangling roots, SitsBeside o’er hishis newly-gather’dcrystal well! fruits. Or,By haply, unfrequented to his evening stream. thought. TheA waysfaint collectedof men are dream distant : brought, WhileHis thoughts praising, to and Heav’n raising, oa high, AsHe wand’ring, views the meand’ring. solemn sky. WhereThan I, never no lonely human hermit footstep plac’d trac’d. TheLess lucky fit to moment play the to part;improve, AndWith just self-respecting to stop, and just art: to move. ButWhich ah ! thoseI too pleasures,keenly taste, loves, and joys. TheCan Solitary want, canand despise. yet be blest 1 HeOr heeds human not, love he needsor hate. not, WhilstAt perfidy I here ingrate! must cry here, Oh! enviable early days. WhenTo care, dancing to guilttboughtless unknown pleasure’s ! maze, 156 SCOTISH POEMS. How ill exchang’d for riper times, ToOf feel others, the follies, or my or own the crimes! YeLike tiny linnets elves, thatin the guiltless bush, sport YeWhen little manhood know the is illsyour ye wishcourt, 1 TheThat losses, active the man crosses, engage ! TheOf fears dim-declining all, the tears agel all,

AFTON WATER. Flow gently. gently I’ll , sweet sing thee Afton, a song among in thythe praise;green braes, MyFlow Mary’s gently, asleep sweet by Afton, thy murmuring disturb not stream. her dream. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the Ye wildglen, whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. IThou charge green-crested you disturb lapwing, not my slumberingthy screaming fair. forbear; FarHow mark’d lofty, withsweet the Afton, courses thy of neighbouring clear winding hills, rills; MyThere flocks daily and I wandermy Mary’s as noon sweet rises cot high,in my eye. HowWhere pleasant wild in thythe bankswoodlands and greenthe primroses valleys below.blow ; TheThere sweet-scented oft as mild evening birk shades weeps my over Mary the andlea, me. AndThy crystalwinds by stream," the cot Afton, where howmy Marylovely resides!it glides, AsHow-wanton gathering sweetthy waters flow’rets her she snowy stems feet thy lave,clear wave SCOTISH POEMS. 157 Flow gently, sweetsweet Afton,river, theamong theme the of green my lays braes, : FlowMy Mary’s gently, asleep sweet by Afton, thy murmuring disturb not stream. her dream. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. ThouThat lov’st ling’ring to greet star, the with early less’ning morn, ray, AgainMy Marythou usher’stfrom my in soulthe daywas torn. O WhereMary ! isdear thy departedplace of blissfulshade ! rest ? See’stHear’st thou thouthy loverthe groans lowly thatlaid rend? his breast ? ThatCan sacred I forget hour the can hallow’d I forget, grove. WhereTo live by onethe daywinding of parting Ayr we love! met. EternityThose recordswill not dear efface of transports past; ThyAh image 1 little at thought our last we embrace ’twas our ; last! AyrO’erhung gurgling with kiss’d wild his woods pebbled thick’ning shore, green ; TheTwin’d fragrant am’rous birch round and thehawthorn raptur’d hoar scene. TheThe flowers birds sprangsang love wanton on ev’ry to bespray, prest. TillProclaim’d too, too soon, the speed the glowingof winged west, day. StillAnd o’er fondly these broods scenes withmy memory miser care; wakes. TimeAs streamsbut th’ impressiontheir channels deeper deeper makes, wear. 158 SCOTISH POEMS. MyWhere Mary, is dearthy blissful departed place shade of rest! ? See'stHear’st thou thou thy thelover groans lowly that laid rend ? his breast ? MAN WJh MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. WHENMade fields chill and November’s forests bare, surly blast OneAlong ev’uing, the banksas I wander’d of Ayr, forth I spiedSeem’d a man,weary, whose worn aged with step care; HisAnd face hoary was furrow’dwas his hair. o’er with years, ‘ YoungBegan thestranger, reverend whither sage; wand’rest thou ? ‘ DoesOr youthful thirst of pleasure’s wealth thy rage step ? constrain, Or,To haply, soon thou prest hast with begun cares and woes, ToThe wander miseries forth, ofi withman. me to mourn TheOut-spreading sun that overhangs far and yonwide. moors. WhereA haughty hundreds lordliug’s labour pride; to support I’veTwice seen fortyyon weary times return;winter-sun AndThat ev’ry man time was has made added to mourn.proofs. Oman!How prodigalwhile in ofthy time! early years Mis-spendingThy glorious all youthful thy precious prime! hours, AlternateLicentious follies passions take burn;the sway ! SCOTISH POEMS. 159 WhichThat ten-foldman was force made gives to mourn. nature’s law, ‘ LookOr manhood’s not alone active on youthful might; prime, ManSupported then is useful is his to right: his kind, ButWith see careshim on and the sorrows edge of worn, life, ThenShow age man and waswant, ijmde O ill-match’d to mourn. pair! ‘ AIn fewpleasure’s seem favourites lap caress’d of ;fate. YetAre think likewise not all truly the richblest. and great Butoh!Are wretched what crowds and forlorn; in ev’ry land ThroughThat man weary was lifemade this to lesson mourn. learn, ‘ ManyInwoven and withsharp our the frame num’rous ! ills MoreRegret, pointed remorse, still we and make shame ourselves. ! AndThe man, smiles whose of love heav’n-erected adorn, face Man’sMakes inhumanity' countless tothousands man mourn! ‘ SeeSo abject,yonder poormean, e’erlabour’d and tile. wight. WhoTo givebegs hima brother leave ofto thetoil; earth AndThe see poor his lordlypetition fellow-worm spurn, Unmindful,And helpless though offspring a weeping mourn. wife ‘ IfBy I’m Nature’s design’d laws yon design’d,lordling’s slave, WhyE’er was planted an independent in my mind wish } If Hisnot, crueltywhy am or I scornsubject ? to 160 SCOTISH POEMS. OrTo why make has hisman fellow the will mourn and ?pow’r • ‘Yet,Disturb let notthy this youthful too much, breast my : son. ThisIs surelypartial not view the of last! human-kind TheHad poor, never, oppressed, sure, been honest born. man. HadTo therecomfort not thosebeen somethat mourn recompence ! ‘ OThe death kindest ! the and poor the man’s best! dearest friend. WelcomeAre laid the with hour thee my at aged rest 1limbs TheFrom great, pomp the andwealthy, pleasure fear torn thy ; blow, But,That oh weary-laden ! a blest relief mourn to those 1’ A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. oOf THOU all my unknownhope and fearAlmighty ! Cause InPerhaps whose dread I must presence, appear ! ere an hour, IfOf I have life Iwander’d ought to inshun those ; paths As Remonstratessomething loudly I have in mydone breast ; ThouWith know’st passions that wild thou and hast strong formed ; me AndHas list’ning often ledto theirme wrong. witching voice WhereOr frailty human stept weakness aside, has come short, DoIn thou shades ! All-Good! of darkness for bide. such thou art, SCOTISH POEMS. 161 WhereNo other with plea intention I have, I have err’d, But,Delighteth Thou art to good forgive. ; and goodness still STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCiSION. Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene 1 SomeHave drops I so of found joy withit full draughts of pleasing of illcharms between ! : Is Someit departing gleams pangsof sunshine my soul mid alarms renewing ? storms: ForOr guilt, death’s for unlovely, guilt, ray dreary, terrors dark,are in abode?arms; AndI tremblejustly smart to approach beneath anhis angry sin-avenging God, rod. Fain would I say, ‘ Forgive my foul offence l’ But,Fain should promise, my Author never morehealth to again disobey dispense. ; AgainAgain in Ifolly’s might path desert might fair govirtue’s astray: way } ThenAgain how exalt should the Ibrute, for heavn’ly and sink mercy the man; pray. WhoWho sin counteract so oft have so mourn’d, heav’nly yetmercy’s to temptation plan ? ran. O thou great Governor of all below ! ThyIf nodI may can dare make a thelifted tempest eye to ceaseThee, to blow. WithOr stillthat thecontrolling tumult of power the raging assist seaev’n : me. ForThose all unfit headlong I feel furious my pow’rs passions to be, to confine; O,To aid rule me thewith torrent thy help, in th’ Omnipotence allowed line Divine: ! 162 SCOTISH POEMS. LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND1** HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING VERSES IN A ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. oI knowTHOU thou dread wilt PowY, me hear. who reigu’st above ! WhenI make for thismy pray’rscene of sincere. peace and love TheLong, hoary long, sire—the be pleas’d-to mortal sparestroke. ; ToAnd bless show his littlewhat filial good flock, men are. She,With who tender her lovely hopes oflspringand fears, eyes O,But bless spare her witha mother’s a mother’s tears joys.! TheirIn manhood’s hope, their dawning stay, their blush darling ; youth, BlessUp him,to a parent’sthou God wish. of love and truth, TheWith beauteous, earnest seraph,tears I pray,sister-band, ThouGuide know’st thou theirthe snares step alway.on ev’ry hand, WhenO’er soon life’s or rough late theyocean reach driv’n, that corst, MayA familythey rejoice, in Heav’n! no wand’rer lost, ' Dr. Laurie, then minister of the parish of Loudon. SCOTISH POEMS. 163 THE FIRST PSALM. TheHath man, happiness in life in wherever store, plac'd, WhoNor walks learns not their in guiltythe wicked’s lore ! way, NorCasts from forth the hisseat eyes of scornful abroad. pride ButStill with walks humility before and his awe God. ThatWhich man byshall the flourish streamlets like grow the trees ; TheAnd fruitful firm thetop rootis spread below. on high, ButShall he whoseto the blossomground be buds cast, in guilt AndBefore like the rootlesssweeping stubble blast. tost, ForHath why giv’n ? that them God peace the goodand restadore, j ButShall hath ne’er decreed be truly that blest.wicked men

A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. OSurpasses THOU meGreat to knowBeing! : what thou art YetAre sure all I thy am, works that knownbelow. to thee ThyAll creature wretched here and before distrest thee ; stands, YetObey sure thy those high ills behest. that wring my soul 164 SCOTTISH POEMS. SureFrom thou. cruelty Almighty, or wrath canst ! not act O,Or free close my themweary fast eyes in fromdeath tears, 1 ButI'o if suit I must some afflicted wise design; be, ThenTo manbear, my and soul not with repine! firm resolves THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. oOf THOU, all the humanthe first, race the ! greatest friend WhoseTheir strong stay andright dwelling hand has place ever ! been BeforeBeneath the thymountains forming heav’d hand, their heads BeforeArose this at thypond’rous command globe ; itself ThatThis pow’r universal that frame,rais’d and still upholds FromWas countless ever still unbcginning the same. time ThoseWhich mighty seem periods to us so ofvast. years AppearThan noyesterday more before that’s thypast. sight ThouIs to giv’st existence the word brought : Thy 5 creature, man, AgainReturn thou ye say’st, into nought!’ ‘Ye sons . of men, ThouIn everlastinglayest them, sleep with ; all their cares AsWith with overwhelminga flood thou tak’st sweep. them off SCOTISH POEMS. 165 TheyIn beauty’sflourish’d pride like array’d;the morning flow’r, ButAll long wither’d ere night and cutdecay’d. down it lies,

TO RUTN. -A.LLAt whose hail destruction-breathing ! inexorable lord ! word ThyThe cruel mightiest woe-delighted empires fall!train, TheA sullenministers welcome, of grief all! and pain, WithI see stern, each resolv’d, aimed dart; despairing eye, ForAnd one quivers has cut in my my dearest heart; tye. ThenThe lowering storm no and more pouring, I dread ; ThoughRound thickening my devoted and head. blackening AndWhile thou life grim a pleasure pow’r,by can life afford. abhorr’d. NoOh! more hear I shrink a wretch’s appall’d, pray’r afraid; 1 I court,To close I begthis thyscene friendly of care! aid. WhenResign shall life’s my joyless soul, inday; silent peace, MyCold weary mould’ring heart its inthrobbing the clay cease,? NoTo fear stain more, my nolifel tearmore. -s face ; Enclasped,Within thy and cold gra embrace ped ! SCOTISH POEMS. TO MISS LOGAN, WITH BEATTIE’S FOEMS AS A NEW YEAR’S GIFT, JANUARY* 1, 1787. AgainTheir annual He silent round wheels have driv’n, of time AndAre you, so muchthough nearer scarce Heav’n. in maiden prime, NoThe gifts infant have year I from to hail;Indian coasts I sendIn Edwin’s you more simple than tale. India boasts, OurIs sexcharg’d, with guileperhaps, and toofaithless true; love ButAn may, Edwin dear still maid, to you! each lover prove ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. JKjDINAAll hail thy! Scotia’s palaces darling and tow’rs, seat! WhereSat legislation’s once, beneath sov’reign a monarch’s pow’rs feet,! FromAs onmarking the banks wildly-scatter’d of Ayr I stray’d, flow’rs, AndI shelter singing, in lone, thy honour’dthe lingering shade. hours, HereAs busywealth trade still his swells labour the plies,golden tide. ThereBids architecture’s elegance and splendournoble pride rise: HereHigh justice, wields from her balanceher native and skies, her rod: SCPTISH POEMS. 16T ThyWith sons, open Edina, arms social, the stranger kind, hail ; TheirAbove views the enlarg’d, narrow rural their vale;lib’ral mind, AttentiveOr modest still merit’s to sorrow’s silent wail,claim ; y AndAnd never never may envy their blot sources his name! fail! ThyGay daughters as the gilded bright summer thy walks sky. adorn; SweetDear as as the the dewy raptur’d milk-white thrill of thorn. }oy ! FairHeaven’s Burnet* beauties strikes onth’ my adoring fancy eye. shine; I seeAnd the own sire his of work love onindeed high. divine ! There,Thy roughwatching rude high fortress the leastgleams alarms. afar : LikeAnd some mark’d bold with vet’ran, many grey a seamy in arms, scar. TheGrim-rising pond’rous o’erwall the and rugged massy rock,bar, HaveAnd oft oft withstoodrepell’d th’ assailing invader war. shock. WithI view awe-struck that noble thought stately and dome, pitying tears, WhereFam’d Scotia’s heroes, kings had oftheir other royal years, home : Alas,Their how royal chang’d name the low times in theto come!dust! TheirThough hapless rigid race law wild-wand’ring cries out, ‘ ’twasjust!’ roam ! WildWhose beats ancestors, my heart in to days trace of your yore, steps, ThroughOld Scotia’s hostile bloody ranks lionand ruin’dbore; gaps Ev’nHaply I who my sing sires in haverustic left lore. their shed, • The lovely end accomplished daughter of iord Monboddo. SCOTISH POEMS. AndBold fac’d following grim danger’s where yourloudest fathers roar. led. Edina!All hail Scotia’s thy palaces darling and seat! tow’rs, WhereSat legislation’s once beneath sov’reign a monarch’s pow’rs feet ! FromAs on marking the banks wildly-scatter’d of Ayr I stray’d, flow’rs, AndI shelter singing, in lone, thy honour’dthe lingering shade. hours,

SONG. Tune, ‘ Roslin Castle.' ThELoud roars gloomy the nightwild inconstantis gathering blast. fast, YonI see murkey it driving cloud o’er is the foul plain; w ith rain, The scatter’dhunter now coveys has leftmeet the secure. moor. WhileAlong herethe lonely I wander, banks prest of Ayr. with care. ByThe early autumn winter’s mourns ravage her ripening torn ; corn SheAcross sees her the placid scowling azure tempest sky, fly : IChill think runs upon my theblood stormy to hear wave, it rave, FarWhere from many the abonnie danger banks I must of dare, Ayr. ’Tis’Tis not thatthe surging fatal deadly billow’s shore; roar, TheThough wretched death inhave ev’ry no shapemore toappear, fear; ButThat round heart mytranspierc’d heart the withties aremany bound, a wound ; TheseTo leave bled the afresh, bonnic those banks ties of IAyr. tear, SCOTISH POEMS. 109 HerFarewell, heathy old moors Coila’s and hills winding and dales,vales } PursuingThe scenes past where unhappy wretched loves fancy 1 roves. MyFarewell, peace mywith friends these, 1 myFarewell, love with my'foes! thosi — TheFarewell bursting the tearsbonnie my banks heart ofdeclare. Ayr.

SONG. Tune, ‘Gilderoy.’ FromAnd from thee, my Eliza,native Ishore must ; go. TheA cruelboundless fates ocean’s between roar: us throw ButBetween boundless my oceans, love and roaring me. wide, TheyMy never,heart andnever soul can from divide thee! Farewell,The maid farewell, that I adore! Eliza dear. A Weboding part voice to meet is in no mine more ear. 1 ButWhile the last death throb stands that victor leaves by, my heart, ThatAnd throb, thine thatEliza, latest is thy sigh! part,

SONG. Tune, ‘Prepare, »r brethren, to the ti |Nostatesman churchman or soldierfor to to plot rail orand to totight, write, or slya big-belly’d man of business bottle’s contriving the whole a snare,of my care. 170 SCOTISH POEMS. IThe scorn peer not I thedon’t peasant, envy, I thoughgive him ever his so bow; low, AndBut aa bottleclub of like good this, fellows, are my like glory those and that care. are herey ThereHere passes centum the per ’squire centum, on histhe brother—his cit with his horse;purse; ThereBut see a youbig-belly’d the Crown bottle how still it waveseases myin thecare. air, ForThe sweetwife of consolation my bosom, to alas church ! she I diddid die;fly ; ThatI found a big-belly’dthat old Solomon bottle’s proved a cure itfor fair, all care. AI onceletter was informed persuaded me that a venture all was to tomake: wreck ;— WithBut the a gloriouspursy old bottle landlordjust that ended waddled my cares. up stairs, ‘ Life’s downcares they are comforts,*—a maxim laid By theblack bard, gown; what d’ye call him, that wore the AndFor afaith big-belly’d I agree bottle’swith th’ a old heav’n prig toof acare. hair, A STANZA ADDED IN A MASONS’ LODGE. AndThen honours fill up a masonic bumper, prepare and make for itto o’erflow, throw; MayHave ev’iy a big-belly’d true brother bottle of when the compass harrass’d and with square care. Young’s Night Thoughts. SCOTISH POEMS. 171 WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITH-SIDE. ThouBe thou clad whom in russetchance weed. may hither lead, BeGrave thou these deck’d counsels in silken on thy stole, soul. SprungLife isfrom but night,a day atin most,darkness lost; FearHope not not cloudssunshine will ev’ry always hour, lour. BeneathAs youth thy and morning love with star sprightlyadvance, dancev MayPleasure delude with the her thoughtless syren air pair ; ThenLet prudence raptur’d bless sip, andenjoyment’s sip it up. cup, Life’sAs thymeridian day grows flaming warm nigh, and high, DostLife’s thou proud spurn summits the humblewouldst vale thou ? scale ? Evil’sCheck lurk thy climbingin felon wait: step, elate} SoarDangers, around eagle each pinion’d, cliffy hold, bold, WhileChants cheerfulthe lowly peace dells with among. linnet song, Beck’ningAs the shades thee toof longevening repose close, 5 AsSeek life the itself chimney-nook becomes disease, of ease. OnThere all ruminatethou’st seen, with and sober heard, thought, and wrought; SawsAnd teach of experience, the sportive sage youngers and sound. round, TheSay, grandman’s criterion true genuine of his estimate, fate, 172 SCOTISH POEMS. IsDid not, thy art fortune thou ebbhigh oror flowlow ? OrDid frugal many naturetalents grudgegild thy thee span one ? ? AsTell thou them, thyself and mustpress shortly it on thy fiyd, mind, ToThe virtue smile oror tofrown vice ofis giv’u.awful Heav’n, ThereSay, to solid be just, self-enjoyment and kind, lies:and wise. LeadThat tofoolish, the wretched, selfish, faithless vile, and ways base. Thus resign’d and quiet, creep ToSleep, the bedwhence of lastingsleep thou shall ne’er: awake, TillNight, future where life, dawn future shall no more,never break.7 To light and joy theunknown good restore,before. )>■ QuodStranger, the beadsman go ! Heav’n of Nith-side. be thy guide!

ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. , OF . HangmanDwELLER of creation, in yon dungeon mark 1 dark, LadenWho in with widow unhonour’d weeds appears, years. NoosingBaited with with many care a deadlybursting curse? purse, STROPHE. View the wither’d beldam’s face— 7 AughtCan thy of keen humanity’s inspection sweet trace melting grace ? j> NotePity’s thatflood eye, there ’tis never rheum rose. o’erflows,— ■ SCOTISH POEMS. 113 See those hands ne’er stretch’d to save, HandsKeeper that of Mammon’stook—but neveriron chest, gave. SheLo, goes,there butshe notgoes, to unpitiedrealms of and everlasting unblest; s ANTI STROPHE. Plund’rer of armies, lift thine eyes, Seest(Awhile thou forbear, whose step,unwilling, ye torturing fiends,) hither bends ? ’TisJfo fallenthy trusty angel, quondam hurl’d frommate, npper skies; Doom’dShe, tardy, to sharehell-ward thy fiery plies. fate, ERODE. And are they of no more avail, InTen other thousand words, glitt’ring can Mammon pounds fail,a-year ? OOmnipotent bitter mock’ry as he isof here the pompous? bier, WhileThe cave-lodg’d down the wretched beggar, vitalwith parta conscience is driv’nl Expiresclear, in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav’n.

ROBERT GRAHAM^ ESQ. OF FtNTRA. XaATEAbout to crippled beg a pass of foran arm,leave andto beg now 5 a leg, (.NatureDull, listless, is adverse teas’d, to adejected, cripple’s and rest;) deprest, Will(It soothes gen’rous poor Graham misery, listen heark’ning to his poet’s to her wail tale,) ? And doublyhear him curse curse the the luckless light herhyming first survey’d, trade. . 174 SCOTISH POEMS. OfThou, thy caprice Nature, maternal partial I Nature,complain. I arraign ! TheOne shakeslion and the the forests, bull thy and care one have spurns found. the ground: Th’Thou envenom’d giv’st the waspass his victorious hide, the guards snail his his shell, cell.— InThy all minions th’ omnipotence kings defend, of rulecontroul, and pow’r.— devour, FoxesThe cit and and statesmen polecat stink, subtile and wiles are ensuresecure. : TheToads priest with andtheir hedgehog, poison, doctors in their with robes, their are drug. snug. HerEv’n tongue silly woman and eyes, has herher warlikedreaded arts,spear and darts. ToBut thy ohpoor, ! thou fenceless, bitter step-mothernaked child—the and hard, Bard ! AndA thing half unteachable an idiot too, in morethis world’s helpless skill, still. No clawsheels toto bear dig, himhis hatedfrom thesight opening to shun; dun; AndNo horns those, but alas those 1 not by Amalthea’sluckless Hymen horn: worn, CladNo nerves in rich olfact’ry. dulness’ comfortableMammon’s trustyfur. cur. HeIn nakedbears feeling,th’ unbroken and inblast aching from pride, ev’ry side : AndVampyre scorpion booksellers critics cureless drain himvenom to thedart. heart, ThoseCritics—appall’d, cut-throat bandits I venture in the onpaths the ofname, fame: HeBloody hacks dissectors, to teach, worsethey mangle than ten to Monros;expose. ByHis blockhead’s heart by causelessdaring, into wanton madness malice stung; wrung, HisBy miscreantswell-worn torn,bays, whothan ne’er life itselfone sprig more must dear, wear; The,Foil’d, hapless bleeding, poet flounderstortur’d inon th’through unequal life. strife., AndTill fled each musehope thatthat glorious once his oncebosom inspir’d, fir’d, SCOTISH POEMS. 175 Low sunk iu squalid unprotected age, 1 HeDead, heeds even or resentment,feels no more for the his ruthless injur'd critic’spage, rage !)> ForSo, half-slarv’d by some hedge, snarling the curs gen'rous a dainty steed feast; deceas’d, LiesBy toil senseless and famine of each worn tugging to skin bitch’s and sou.bone, Calm0 Dulness shelter’d ! portionhaven of of eternal the truly rest! blest! ThyOf fortune’s sons ne’er polar madden frost inor the torrid fierce beams. extremes IfWith mantling sober highselfish she ease fills they the sipgolden it up cup, : TheyConscious only thewonder bounteous ‘ some meed folks they do notwell starve.’ deserve, AndThe gravethinks sage the mallardhern thus a sadeasy worthless picks his dog.frog. AndWhen through disappointment disastrous snaps night the they clue darkling of hope. grope, AndWith just deaf conclude, endurance that sluggishly ‘ fools are they fortune’s bear, care.’ SoStrong heavy on thepassive sign-post to the stands tempest’s the stupid shocks, ox. NotNot such so thethe workingsidle muses’ of mad-cap their moon-struck train, brain ; ByIn equanimity turns in soaring they heav’nnever dwell, or vaunted hell. 1 dread thee. Fate, relentless and severe. AlreadyWith all onea poet’s, strong husband’s,hold of hope father’s, is lost, fear! (Fled,Glencairn, like thethe truly sun eclips’dnoble, liesas noon in dust; appears. AndO ! hearleft us my darkling ardent, ingrateful, a world selfishof tears pray’r! :) ThroughFintra, my a long other life stay, his hopeslong blessand wishesand spare! crown ; AndMay brightbliss domestic in cloudless smooth skies his his private sun go path down ; ! GiveCircling energy with to many life ; aand filial soothe tear histhe latestbed of breath. death ! 176 SCOTISH POEMS. LINES SENT TO SIR JOHN WH1TEF0RD, OF WHITEFORD, BART. •WITH THE ‘ LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.’ Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, Who,To thee save this thy votive mind’s off’ring reproach, I impart, nought earthly fear’st, The tearfulfriend thou tribute valued’st of a broken ; I, the heart. patron, lov’d; HisWe’ll worth, mourn his till honour, we, too, all go the as world he has approv’d. gone, And treadknown. the dreary path to that dark world un-

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. InhumanAnd blasted manbe thy \ curse murder-aiming on thy barb’rous eye ! art, NorMay ever never pleasure pity sootheglad thy thee cruel with heart! a sigh, GoThe live, bitter poor little wand’rer that of of life the woodremains ar.d ; field. ToNo thee more shall the home, thick’ning or food, brakes or pastimeand verdant yield. plains Seek,No moremangled of rest, wretch, but nowsome thy place dying of bedwonted ! rest: TheThe cold sheltering earth with rushes thy whistlingbloody bosom o’er prest.thy head, SCOTISH POEMS. m Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait TheI’ll misssober thee eve, sporting or hail o’erthe cheerfulthe dewy dawn, lawn, And corsefate. the ruffian’s aim, and mourn thy hapless ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS, 1800. WhileUnfolds hervirgin tender Spring, mantle by green,Eden’s OrOr pranks tunes theEolian sod instrains frolic between mood, : WhileRetreats Summer to Dryburgh’s with a matron cooling grace shade. YetThe oft, progress delighted, of the stops spiky to traceblade : WhileBy Tweed Autumn, erects benefactor his aged kind.head, AndEach sees creature with self-approving on his bounty mind. fed: WhileThe maniachills whence Winter classic rages Yarrow o’er flows, RousingOr sweeping, the turbid wild, torrent’s a waste roar, of snows: SoShall long, bloom sweet that Poet wreath of the thouyear well 1 hast won ; WhileProclaims Scotia, that with Thomson exulting tear.was her son. 178 SCOTISH POEMS. EPITAPH FOR THE author’s FATHER. oDraw YE, nearwhose with cheek pious the rev’rence tear of pityand attendstains. ! HereThe lie tender the loving father, husband’s and the deargen’rous remains. friend. TheThe pitying dauntless heart heart that thatfelt forfear’d human no human woe ; pride; The‘ For friend ev’n of his man, failings to vice lean’d alone to virtue’sa foe ; side.’*

EPITAPH FOR R. A. ESQ. OfKnow th s much-lov’d, thou, O strangermuch-honour’d to the fame name! A(For warmer none thatheart knew death him ne’er need made be told)cold.

EPITAPH. FOR G. H. ESQ. TheWhom poor canting man wretchesweeps—here blam’d; G n sleeps, But Maywith suchI be sav'das he, orwhere’er d d !he be, Goldsmith. SCOTISH POEMS. 179 INSCRIPTION TO THE MEMORY OF FERGUSSON. HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSOX, POET. Born September 5, 1751—Died October 16, 1771. No‘ No sculptnr’dstoried urn, marble nor animated here, nor bust,’ pompous lay, ThisTo simple pour her stone sorrows directs o’er poor her Scotia’sPoet’s dust. way TO MISS CRUIKS HANKS, A VERY YOUNG LADY• WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK, PRE- SENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. BeAUTIOUSBlooming on thy rose-bud,early May, young and gay, NeverChilly may’stshrink inthou, sleety lovely show’r flow’r, 1 Never Eurus’Boreas’ pois’nous hoary path, breath, TaintNever theebaleful with stellar untimely lights. blights! Never,Riot on never,thy virgin reptile leaf! thief ThyNor bosomev’n Sol blushing too fiercely still with view dew ! RichlyMay’st deck thou thy long, native sweet stem crimson ; gem, TillDropping some dewsevening, and sober,breathing calm, balm, AndWhile ev’ry all aroundbird thy the requiem woodland sings; rings, 180 SCOTISH POEMS. ShedThou thyamid dying the dirgeful honours sound,round, AndThe loveliestresign to formparent she earth e’er gave birth.

SONG. Anna,And waste thy my charms soul with my bosomcare ; fire, But,When ah ! fatedhow tobootless despair! to admire. YetTo in hope thy maypresence, be forgiv’n lovely ; fair, ForSo sure much ’twere in sight impious of Heav’n. to despair

ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ. BROTHER TO A YOUNG X.ADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR’S. SadAnd thyrueful tale, thy thou alarms; idle page, DeathFrom tears Isabella’s the brother arms. of her love SweetlyThe morning deck’d rosewith may pearly blow dew ; ButMay cold lay successive its beauties noontide low. blasts FairThe on sun Isabella’s propitious morn smil’d; But,Succeeding long ere hopesnoon, beguil’d.succeeding clouds SCOTISH POEMS. 1S1 FateThat oft naturetears the finest bosom strung; chords SoAnd Isabella’s so that heart was form’d.rung. DreadCan healOmnipotence, the wound alone, he gave; CanTo point scenes the beyond brimful the grief-worn grave. eyes Virtue’sAnd fear blossoms no withering there shall blast; blow, ThereShall Isabella’s happy be spotless at last. worth

ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH-TV HIT; A WILD SCENE AMONG TUB HILLS OF ODGHTERTYRE. For IIY,me your ye tenantswatry hauntof the forsake? lake, AtTell my me, presence fellow-creatures, thus you fly why ? Parent,Why disturb filial, your kindred social ties joys, ? CommonNature’s giftsfriend to to all you are and free me. : BusyPeaceful feed, keep or wanton your dimpling lave: wave, Or,Bid beneaththe snrging the billowsshelt’ring shock. rock, Soon,Couscious, too soon, blushing your for fears our Irace, trace. Man,Would your be lord proud of allusurping below foe,: TyrantPlumes sternhimself to allin freedom’sbeside. pride, SCOTISH POEMS. MarkingThe eagle, you from his theprey cliffy below, brow, StrongIn his breastnecessity no pitycompels: dwells, ABut ray man, direct to fromwhom pitying alone isHeav’n, giv’n AndGlories creatures in his heartfor his humane. pleasure slain. InOnly these known savage to waud’ringliquid plains, swains, WhereFar from the human mossy, haunts riv’let strays,and ways ; AndAll onlife’s nature poor you season depend. peaceful spend. DareOr, if invade man’s yoursuperior native might right, Man,On the with lofty all ether his pow’rs, borne, you scorn; OtherSwiftly lakes seek, and on other clanging springs; wings, AndScorn the at foeleast you to cannotbe his slave.brave,

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER the chimney-piece in the parlour of THE INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH. TheseAdMIRING northern scenesNature with in her weary wildest feet grace, I trace : O’erTh’ abodes many aof winding covey’d dale grouse and andpainful timid steep, sheep, MyTill savagefam’d journey,Breadalbane curious, opens I to pursue, my view. The meetingwoods, wildclifts scatter’d,each deep clothesunk glen their divides, ample sides; TheTh’ outstretchingeye with wonder lake, and imbosom’d’mong amazement fills; the hills, SCOTISH POEMS. TheTie Taypalace meandering rising on itssweet verdant in infant side; pride, The lawnshillocks wood-fring’d, dropt in Nature’s in Nature’s careless native haste taste;; The village,arches striding glittering o’er in the the new-born noon-tide stream; beam - LonePoetic wand’ring ardours inby my the bosom hermit’s swell mossy cell: The1 h’ incessantsweeping roar theatre of headlongof hanging tumbling woods; floods— Here Poesy might wake her heav’n-taught lyre, AndHere, look to throughthe wrongs nature of fate with half creative reconcil’d, fire; AndMisfortune’s Disappointment, lighten’d stepsin these might lonely wander bounds, wild; HereFind balmheart-struck to soothe Grief her mightbitter ranklingheav’nward wounds; stretch her And injur’d* Worth forget and pardon man.

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALX, OF FYERS, NEAR X.OCH-NESS. .AmONGThe roaring the Fyers heathy pours hills his and mossy ragged floods woods ; TillWhere full through he dashes a shapeless on the rocky breach mounds, his stream resounds. As deephigh inrecoiling air the surgesbursting foam torrents below. flow. AndProne viewless down the Echo’s rock theear, whiteningastonish'd, sheet rends. descends, TheDim-seen, hoary cavern,through risingwide-resounding, mists and ceaseless low’rs. show'rs, I singSING of aof Whistle, a Whistle, the apride Whistle of the of North,worth, AndWas longbrought with to this the Whistle court of all our Scotland good Scotish shall ring.king, SCOTISH POEMS. 185 TheOld Loda*god of thestill bottle rueing sends the downarm of from Fingal, his hall— And‘ This drink Whistle’s them toyour hell, challenge, Sir, or ne’erto Scotland see me getmore!” o’er, WhatOld poets champions have sung, ventur’d, .and old what chronicles champions tell. fell; AndThe sonblew of on great the LodaWhistle was his conqueror requiem shrill.still, Unmatch’dTill Robert, at the the lordbottle, of theunconquer’d Cairn and in the war. scaur, NoHe tidedrank of histhe poor Baltic god-ship e’er drunker as deep than as thehe. sea, WhichThus Robert, now in victorious,his house has the for trophy ages remain’dhas gain’d, ; TheTill jovialthree noble contest chieftains, again have and renew’d. all of his blood, Craigdarrock,Three joyous good so famous fellows, for with wit, heartsworth, clear and law;of flaw, And gallanttrusty Glenriddel, Sir Robert, so deep skilled read in in old old coins'. wines. DesiringCraigdarrock Glenriddel began, to with yield a tongueup the smoothespoil; as oil, AndOr else once he more,would in muster claret, the try heads which of was the theclan, man. ‘Before By the I godssurrender of the so ancients! glorious a(Glenriddel prize, replies) I’llAnd conjure bumper the his ghost horn withof the him great twenty Rorie times More,+ o’er.’ ButSir Robert, be ne’er aturn’d soldier, his noback speech on his would foe—or pretend, his friend, SaysAnd, ‘knee-deep Toss down in the claret, Whistle, he’d thedie, prize ere he’dof the yield.’ field, ToSo notedthe board for drowning of Glenriddel of sorrow our heroesand care repair, ; t• ASee chieftain Ossiau’s of Caric-thura. the M'l.eod family, who kept a horn of a quart i withmeasure his clanin hiswere hall, compelled which thoseto drink who off aspired at a draught, to a connection in proof I theof theirHebrides. belonging to his doughty race. See Johnson’s Tour to SCOTISH POEMS. But for winefame, and for welcome not more known In Than thedame. sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet love* AAnd bard tell was future selected ages theto witness feats of the the fray. day; AndA bard wish’d who thatdetested Parnassus all sadness a vine\ and ard spleen. had been. \ AndThe dinnerevery newbeing cork over, is athe new' claret spring they of ply,joy ; i AndIn the the bands bands of oldgrew friendship the tighter and the kindred more sothey set, wefj GayBright pleasure Phoebus ran ne’er riot witness’das bumpers so joyousran o’er; a corps, [ TillAnd Cynthiavow’d that hinted to leave she’d them see them he was next quite morn. forloru, WhenSix bottles gallant a piece Sir Robert, had well to wornfinish out the the fight. night, AndTurn’d swore o’er ’twasin one the bumper way that a bottle their of ancestors red, did. NoThen longer worthy the Glenriddcl,warfare, ungodly, so cautious would and wage;sage. HeA high-ruling left the foul Elder business to wallow to folks in less wine. divine. ButThe whogallant can Sirwith Robert fate and fought quart hard bumpers to the contend end, ? ThoughSo up rose fate bright said—a Phcebus, hero should and down perish fell in thelight; knight, j *Next Craigdarrock, uprose our thoul’tbard, soarlike whena prophet creation in drink shall : sink li Come—oneBut if thou wouldbottle flourishmore—and immortal have atin therhyme, sublime ! * Thy line, that have struggled for fieedom with Shall heroesBruce, and patriots ever produce : TheSo thine field bethou the hast laurel, won, and by mine yon brightbe the godbay, of day !* SCOTISH POEMS. 187 THE INVENTORY. IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY A SURVEYOR OF TAXES. Sir,I send youas your here mandate a faithfu’ did list, request, O’To gudeswhich an’ I’m gear, clear an’ to a’gie my my graith. aith. I haveImprimfs—then, four brutes o’for gallant carriage mettle, cattle, > AsMy* ever lan’ drew afore’s before gude a auldpettle. has been. ) An’My +wight lan’ ahin’san' wilfu’ a weel a’ gaunhis days fillie, been. An’That your aft has auld borne burrough me hame mony frae a time,Killie,* But1 n days ance when whan riding in my was wooing nae crime— pride IThe like wilfu’ a blockhead creaturesae boost I patto ride, to, {L—dI play’d pardon my fillie a’ my sic sins a shavie.an’that too!) My^She’s furra’ bedevil’d ahin’s a wi’wordy the beast,spavie. AThe d—n’d fourth’?a red-wud Highland Kilburnie Donald blastie; hastie, ForebyAs ever ranacowt, afore o’ a cowt’s tail. the wale, He’llIf he draw be spar'd me fifteen to be pun’a beast. at least.— ThreeWheel carts,an’carriages twa’ I ha’e are but feckly few, new ; Ae legauld an wheelbarrow, baith the trams mair are forbroken token, : t• TheThe hindmostfore-horse on on the the left left hand hand in in the the plough. plough, x$ Kilmarnock.The hindmost horse oa the right hand of the plough. SCOTISII POEMS. I made a poker o’ the spin’le, An’For men,my auld I’ve mother three mischievousbrunt the trin’le.— boys, JtuuA gaudsman deils for ane, rantin a thresherand for noise;t’other, IWee rule Davock them as baudsI ought, the discreetly,nowt in fother. An’ aftenay on labourSunday’s them duly completely. nightly, TillI on faith,the questions wee Davock’s targe them turn’d tightly: sae gleg, He’llTho’ scarcelyscreed you larger aff Effectualthan your Calling, leg, AsI’ve fast nane as inony female in the servan’ dwalling.— station, (L—dkeepI ha’e nae wife, me ay and frae that a’temptation my bliss is, !) An’ yethen have if kirk laid folksnae tax dinna on clutchmisses; me, Wi’I ken weans the devils I’m mairthan dare nae touchweel contented,me. MyHeav’n sonsie sent smirking me ane dear-boughtmae than I wanted,Bess, F.noughShe stares of theought daddy ye likein her but face, grace ; I’veBut paidher, enoughmy bonnie for sweether already, wee lady, An’B’ the gin L—d! ye tax ye’se her onget her them mither, a’ thegither. NaeAnd kind now, of licenceremember out Mr.I’m takin’;A-k-n, I’seFrae ne’er this timeride horseforth, nor I dohizie declare, mair : EreThro’ I dirtsae dearand dubpay forfor life a saddle: I’ll paddle, I’veMy travelsturdy a’ bearers, on foot Gude I’ll shank be thankit.— it, TheIt puts kirk but an’ little you in may your tak’ pat: you that. NorSae dinnafor my put ten me white in your shillings buke, luke. SCOTISH POEMS. 1S9 ' This list wi’ my ane han’ I wrote it, ThenDay an’know date all as ye under whom notit. il concerns, Subscripsi huic, Robert Burn*. Mossgiel, Feb. 22d, I78<5.

EXTEMPORE VERSES ON DINING WITH LORD DJER. Mossgiel, October Zbth. ThisI, rhymer wot Rab, all yealias whom Burns, it concerns, A ne’er toOctober be forgotten twenty-third, day ! Sae far I Isprachl’d dinner’d upwi’ the a Lord. brae, Nay,I’ve been been at bitch drunken fou ’mangWriters’ godly feasts; Priests; I’ve even■( join’dVV i’ rev'rence the honour’d be it spoken!)jorum, When mightyTheir Squireships hydra drouth o’ thedid Quorumsloken. ABut Lord—a wi’ a Lord!—stand Peer—an Earl's out Son-my shin ! An’ such aUp Lord—lang higher yet Scotchmy bonnet! ell twa ! Our PeerageAs I helook looks o’er o’er my themsonnet. a’, But,To shew O ! Sirfor Bardie’s'wiilyartHogarth’s magic pow’r.glowr, When gaunAn’ as how he’d he been star’d led an’wi’ stammer’d branks, ! An’ stumpinHe onin thehis ploughmanparlour hammer’d. shanks. 190 SCOTISH POEMS. OrTo Scotia’smeet good sacred Stuart Demosthenes, little pain is, But Burns,Thinks my Lord—Guid I, they are Godbut men!! I doited ! My kneesAs on faultering one anitber I gaedknoited. ben! IAn’ sidling at his shelter’d lordship in sfaw a neuk, a leuk, Except goodLike sense, some an’portentous social glee. omen : An’ (whatI markedsurpris’d nought me) modesty, uncommon. TheI watch’d gentle thepride, symptoms the lordly o’ the state. great. The fient Thea pride, arrogant nae pride assuming had ;he. Nor sauce,Mair nor than state, an that honest 1 could ploughman. see, HenceforthThen from histo meetLordship with Iunconcern shall learn, Nae honestOne worthy rank manas weel’s need anothercare, : To meet wi’For noblehe but youthfu’ meets aDaer, brother. BEAR SIR, folks with thatI never pleasure spent asan whenafternoon in company among greatwith you.that plain,I had honest, the honour worthy of man,paying the myProfessor. devoirs to:I nesswould and be friendship, delighted tothough see him I wereperform not acts the of object, kind- dividedhe does itinto with ten such parts, a grace.—I stands thus—four think his character,parts So- peare’scrates—four Brutus. parts Nathaniel—and too parts Shake- a littleThe foregoingcorrected versessince. wereThey really may extempore,entertain you but a SCOTISH POEMS. 191 ^youlittle, are with so goodthe helpas to offavour that thepartiality performances with whichof. Dear Sir, Your very humble Servant, Wednesday Morning. ROBERT BURNS. ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE, WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR AT A TIME WHEN HS WAS GRIEVOUSLYTHAT DISORDER. TORMENTED BY MyThat shoots curse myon yourtortur’d envenom’d gums alang, stang, An’ thro’ my lugs giesW mony i’ gnawing a bang, vengeance : Tearing my nerves wi’Like bitter racking twang, engines. A’I cast down the my wee beard stools the owre slavers the trickle,meikle. While round the fire Tothe seehav’rels me loup keckle. ; I curse an’ ban, an’ wishWere a i’heckle their doup. RheumaticsWhen fevers gnaw, burn, or colicsagues squeezefreeze us, us, Our neebors sympathize,Wi’ pityingto ease us,moan; But thou—the hell o’They a’ diseases, mock our groan. I’llO’ a’ har’sts, the num’rous daft bargains, human dools,cutty-stools, Or worthy friends laidSad i’ sightthe mools, to see ! The tricks o’ knaves,Thou or fash bear’st o’ fools, the gree ! SCOTISH POEMS. Whare’erWhare a’ thethat tones place o’ be mis’ry priests yell, ca’ hell, An’ plagues in rankedIn number deadly dwellraw, Thou, Tooth-Ache, surelyAboon bear’st them a’the ! bell ThatO ! thougars grimthe notes mischief-makin o’ discord squeel, chiel. Till human-kind aft danceIn gore a areel shoe thick, Gie a’ the faes o’a Scotlandtowmond’s weal tooth-aohe.

LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCH, ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. Dreadu Goudie o’ black ! terror coats ando’ the rev’rend Wigs, wigs, Soor Bigotry, on herGirnin’ last legs, looks back, Wishin’ the ten EgyptianWad plaguesseize you quick. Wae’sPoor gapin me ! she’sglowrin in a Superstition, sad condition ; Fly, bring Black-Jock,To seeher herstate w-ter; Physician, Alas ! there’s groundShe’ll o’ great ne’er suspicion get better. AuldBut now Orthodoxy she’s got lang an uncodid grapple.ripple. Haste, gae her nameNigh up i’ unto the chapel.death: See how she fetches atAn' the gasps thrapple, for breath. SCOTISH POEMS. 19S GaenEnthusiasm’s in a galloping past redemption, consumption. Not a’ the quacks, wi’Will a’ theirever gumption,mend her; Her feeble pulse giesDeath strong soon presumption will end her. ’TisWha you are andto blame Taylor* for arethis themischief; chief But gin the Lord’s ainA fockstodta targat barrelleave, An’ twa red peats wadAn’ send end relief, the quarrel.

JNSWER TO A TRIMMING LETTER from: A TAYLOR. WhatTo thresh myails backye now, at sic ye alousie pitch b—h. ? Lush, maul hae mercyYourbodkiu’s wi’ your natch, bauld, I did na suffer ba’f saeFrae much Daddie Auld. IWhat gie their tho’ atwames times a when random I grow pouse, crouse, Is that enough for yonYour to souse servant sae? Gae mind your seam,An’ gae jag prick the theflea. louse. WroughtKing David, 'mang o’ thepoetic lasses brief, sic mischief. As fill'd his after-life An’with bloody grief rants, An yet he’s rank’d amangO’ lang the syne chief tnoofe; Dr. Taylor of Norwi h. SCOTISH POEMS. MyAnd wickedmay be, rhymes, Tam, foran’ a’drunken my cants, rants, i I’ll gie auld cloven Clootie’sAn unco haunts slip yet, An’ snugly sit amang Atthe Davie’s saunts hip yet. ButGae fegsfa’ upo’the Sessionanither says plan, I maun. Than garran lasses cowpClean the heels cran owre body, And fairly thole theirAfore mither’s the banhowdy. ThisHow leadsI did mewi’ on the to Session tell for sort— sport, Auld Clinkum at the CriedInner-port three times ‘ Robin 1 Come hither, lad, an’Ye’re answer blam’d for’t, for jobbin.’ AndWi’ pinchsnoov’d I putawa’ a Sunday’sbefore the face Session— on, I made an open fair confession,I scorn to lie; An syne Mess John, Fellbey ond foul expression, o’ me. An’A fornicator said my lown,faut frae he blisscall’d expell’d me, me : I ow n the tale was trueBut he what tell’d the me, matter. Quo’ I, ‘ I fear, unlessI'll ye ne’er geld be me, better.’ *If Geld that you!’ your quo’right he, hand, ‘ and leg, whatfore or toe. no, Should ever prove yourYou sp’ritual sbou’d remembeafoe, To cut it alf, an’ whatforeYour dearestno. member.’ 4 Na, na, quo’ I, 4 I’m no for that Gelding'sI’d rathe naefswfler better for mythan faut, ’tis ca’t, SCOTISH POEMS. A hearty flewit. As sair owre hip as ye Tho’can draw’t, I shou*d rue it. ‘To Or please gin ye us like a’, toI’vejust end the ae bother, ither. When next wi’ yon lassWbate’er I forgather, betide it. I’ll frankly gie her’t a’An’ thegither, let her guide it.’ An’But, therefore,Sir, this pleas’dTam, whenthem warstthat I ava, saw, I said, ‘ Gude night,’ andAnd came left theawa. Session j I saw they were resolvedOn a’my oppression.

JDDRESS TO JN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. jfThoU’s ought of welcome, thee, or ofwean thy ; mammy,mishanter fa’ me, hall ever danton me, Myor awe sweet me. wee lady ; Or if I blush when thouTit-ta shall orca’ daddy. me IWee fatherly image will of mykiss bonnyan’ daut Betty, thee, As dear an’ near my heartWi’as I set gude thee will As a’ the priests had seenThat’s me outget o’ thee h-U. An’What teaze tho’ my they name ca’ inme kintry fornicator, clatter. The mair they tauk I’mE’en kent let the them better, clash ; An auld wife’s tongue’s Toa teckless gie ane matterfash. 196 SCOTISH POEMS. MySweet funny fruit toil o’ ismony now aa’ merry tint, dint, Sin thou came to the warlWhich asklent, fools may scoff at jj In my last plack thy part'sThe bebetter in’t, ha’f o’t. An’ takif thou the becounsel what II shall wad giehae thee, thee, A lovin’ father I’ll be toIf thee. thou be spar’d ; Thro’ a’ thy childish yearsAn’ I’llthink't e’e thee,weel war’d. ThyGude mither’s grant that person, thou maygrace, ay an’ inherit merit, And thy poor worthlessWithout daddy’s hisspirit, failins, ’Twill please me mair toThan hear stocket an’ see’t. mailens.

, POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL. Collector of Excise, Dumfries, 1796. FrIENDWha, wantingthee, of the poet, might tried beg and or steal,leal, Alake, alake the meikleWi’ deil a’ his witches Are at it, skelpin ! jig Inand my reel poor pouches. ThatI modestly one pound fu fain one, wad I hintsairly it. want it; If wi’ the hizzie down yeIt sentwould it, be kind : And while my heart’s wi’I’d life-blood bear’t in mind.dunted, SCOTISH POEMS. 19T ToSo maysee the the new auld come year laden gang groaning,out moaning WF double plenty o’er. To the theeloanin arid thine ; Domestic peace and comfortThe hailcrowning design. POSTCRIPT. Ye’veAnd by heard fell death this while was nearlyhow I’ve uicket; been licket. Grim loon ! he gat me byAnd the sair fecket, me sheuk But by gude luck I lap Anda wicket, turn’d a neuk. AndBut byby that life,health, I’m I’ve promis’d got a mairshare o’t.o’t, My hale and weel, I’ll Atake tentier a care way: o’t, Then farewell, folly, hideFor andanee hair and o’tay.

COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, WtTB THE PRESENT OF THE BARD's PICTURE. .R.EVER’DOf Stuart, a defendername once of respected,beauteous Stuart, A Butname now which ’tis despis’dto love wasand theneglected mark of: a true heart, Tho’Let something no one misdeem like moisture me disloyal; conglobes in my eye, A Stillpoor more, friendless if that wand’rer wand’rer may were well royal. claim a sigh, MyMy fathers fathers that have name fallen have to rightrever’d it; on a throne; 198 SCOTISH POEMS. ThoseThat fathers name shouldwould hespurn scotiingly their degenerate slight it. son tillThe in Q—prayers and thefor restK— of G— the Igentry, most heartily join, BeTheir they title’swise, beavow’d they byfoolish, my country. is nothing of rninef But w hy of that epocha make such a fuss.

ButWho loyalty knows truce how 1 thewe’re fashions on dangerous may.alter ground, j TheTo-morrow doctrine, mayto-day, bring that us isa loyaltyhalter. sound. I sendA trifle you scarce a trifle, worthy a head your of care;a bard, ButSincere accept as it, a saint’sgood Sir, dying as pray’r.a mark of regard. NowAnd life’s ushers chilly the ev’ninglong dreary dim shadesnight; on your eye. ButYour you, course like the to starthe latestthat athwart is bright. gilds the sky,

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUM, BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYDE AND THE EARL OF MAR. oOr herdCAM the ye sheep here thew i’ fightme, manto shun, ? OrAnd ware did ye the at battlethe Sherra-muir, see, man ?’ 1 saw the battle, sair and tough, jMyAnd heartreekin-red for fear ran gae mony sough a sheugh, for sough, SCOTISH POEMS. 195 To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, O’ Whaclans glaum’dfrae woods, at kingdoms in tartan three, duds, man. TheTo red-coat meet them lads werewi’ black na slaw, cockades, man; TheyAnd rush’d wony anda bouk push’d, did fa’,and man:blude outgush'd, IThe wat great they Argyle glanced led twenty on his miles files, : They hack’dclash’d, and hash’d, while broad swords AndTill thro’they fey men dash’d, died awa, and man.hew’d and smash’d, ButAnd had skyrin you seen tartan the trews,philibegs. man, WhenAnd incovenant the teeth true-blues, they dar’d man: our whigs, InWhen lines bayonets extended oppos’d lang and the large, targe. AndWi’ highlandthousands wrath hasten’d they to frae the charge,the sheath DrewThey blades fled like o’ death, frighted till doos, out o’ man. breath ‘ OThe how chace deil gaedTam fraecan thatthe north,be true man ? : 1 sawThe mysel,horsemen they back did to pursue Forth, man; AndThey at took Dnnblane the brig in mywi’ ain a’ theirsight. might, AndBut cursedstraught lot! to theSterling gates wing’d were shut;their flight: AndFor raony fear aamaist huntit did poor swarf, red-coat man.’ My sister Kate cam up the gate SheWi’ swoor crowdie she sawunto some me, manrebels ; run TheirFrae left-hand Perth unto general Dundee, had naeman skill, ; ThatThe Angus day their lads neebor’shad nae blood^ood willto spill; 200 SCOTISH POEMS. Porfear, by foes, that they should lose TheirAud cogs so o’it goes,brose ;you all see, crying man. woes, They’ve lost some gallant gentlemen, I fearAmang my theLord Highland Panmure clans, is slain, man; NowOr fall’llwad ye in singwhiggish this double hands, fight, man ButSome mony fell forbade wrung, the world and some gude-night; for right; ByThen red ye claymores, may tell, howand muskets’pell and knell,mell, ■YVi’And dying whigs yell to thebell tones did flee, fell, man. LINES W KITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. CeASE,Lovely Burns ye prudes, has charms—confess; your envious railing, TrueHad it ais, woman she had ever one less failing, ? THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN •WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OF- FERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENCE. And]\.IND faith, Sir, to me,I’ve ’twasread yourreally paper new !through, HowThis monyguess’d a dayye, Sir,I’ve whatgrain’d maist and Igrunted. wanted? SCOTISII POEMS. SOI OrTo whatken what the drumlie French Dutchmischief were was doin: brewin ! ThatIf Venus vile yetdoup-skelper. had got his Emperoruose off; Joseph, OrAtween how thethe Russianscollieshangie and theworks Turks; WouldOr if the play Swede, anither before Charles he halt,the twalt i IfOr Denmark,Poland, wha any had body now spak the o’t;tack o’t; How cut-throatlibbet Italy Prussian was singin; blades werehingin; WereIf Spaniard, sayin or Portuguese, takin aught oramiss: Swiss, InOr Britain’show our courtmerry kept lads upat hame.the game: HowWas managingRoyal George, St. Stephen’s the Lord quorum leuk o’er; him ! IfOr sleekit glaikit Chatham Charlie gotWill his was nieve livin, in; HowIf Warren daddie Hastings’ Burke theneck plea was was yeukin; cookin; HowOr if cesses,bare a—s stents, yet wereand fees tax’d; were rax’d, ThePimps, news sharpers, o’ princes, bawds, dukes, and and opera-girls; earls, IfWas that threshin daft buckie, still at Geordiehizzies’ tails.W***s, AndOr if no he a was perfect grown kintra outline cooser: douser. AndA’ this but and for mairyou II mightnever hearddespair’d of. of. AndSo gratefu’, pray a’ backgude yourthings news may I attend send you, you! Ellisland, 1790.

l2 20* SCOTISH POEMS. POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. InHaIL, chase o’ Poesie! thee, whatthou crowdsNymph hae reserv’d! swerv’d Frae common sense, or sunk’Mang enerv’d heaps o’ clavers ; And och! owre aft thy joes’Mid hae a’ starv’d,thy favours ! WhileSay, Lassie, loud the why trumps thy train heroic amang, clang, And sock or buskin skelp Toalang death or marriage. Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sangBut wi’ miscarriage? Eschylus’In Homer’s pen craft Will Jock Shakespeare Milton thrives; drives; Wee Pope, the knurlin, tillHoratian him rives fame ; In thy sweet sang, BarbauldEven survives Sappho’s flame. They’reEut thee, no Theocritus, herd’s ballats, who Maro’s matches catches; ? Squire Pope but busks hisO’ skinkling heathen patches tatters: I pass by hundreds, namelessThat wretches. ape their betters. InWill this nane braw the age shepherd’s o’ wit and whistle lear. mair Blaw sweetly in its nativeAnd air native grace; And wi’ the far-fam’d GrecianA rival share place ? TheiVsYes! there ane ;is comeane ; foia Scotishrit, honest callan Allan ! .' Thou need najouk behintA the chiel hallan, sae clever ; The teeth o’ time may Butknaw thou’s Tamtallau; for ever. SGOTISH POEMS. 203 TbouIn thy paints sweet auld Caledonian nature to lines the ;nines, Nae gowden stream thro’Where myrtle Philomel, twines, While nightly breezesHer sweep griefs the will vines. tell! WhereIn gowany bonnie glens lasses thy bleachburnie theirstrays, claes , ; Or trots by hazelly shawsWi’ hawthorns and braes, gray. Where blackbirds joinAt the close shepherd’s o’ day. lays ThyNae bombastrural loves spates are nature’so’ nonsense sel; swell; Nae snap conceits, butO’ that witchin sweet love. spell That charm, that canThe the sterneststrongest move. quell.

SKETCH. NEW YEAR'S DAY, TO MRS. DUNLOP. To.THIS run theday. twelvemonth’s Time winds lengthth’ exhausted again : chain,- SeetheWith ardent old bald-pated eyes, complexion fallow, sallow, ToAdjust wheel the the unimpair’d equal dull machine. routine. InThe vain absent assail lover, him minorwith their heir, pray’r, NorDeaf makes as my theFriend, hour onehe sees moment them press.less. WillThe happyyou (the tenants Major’s share with his therounds: hounds, 304 SCOTISH POEMS. AndCoila’s blooming fair Rachel’s Keith’s care engaged to day,* with Gray:) ThatFrom grandchild’s housewife cares cap willa minute do to-morrow— borrow— ThisAndjoinwith day propitious me a moralizing. to be wise in. First, what did yesternight deliver ? Ai‘ Another d what yearis this is day’s gone strongfor ever.’ suggestion ? Rest‘ The on—for passing what?moment’s what all wedo werest hear?on !’ WillOr why time, legard amus’d the withpassing proverb’d year ? lore, AAdd few to daysyour mav—adate one few minute years more? must— ThenRepose is itus wise in the to silentdamp dust.our bliss ? Yes—allThe voice such of nature reasonings loudly are cries, amiss. ThatAnd manysomething a message in us neverfrom thedies; skies, HangsThat on matters this frail of eternaluncertain weight: state, ThatMust future-lifetake its hue in fromworlds this unknown alone; WhetherOr dark as as rais’ry’s heav’nly woefu’ glory bright.night— SinceOn this then poor my being honour’d, all depends, first of friends. AndLet uslive th’ as important those who now never employ, die. WilnessTho’ you, that with filial days circle and round, honours crown’d, A(A sight right pale life’s envy sorrows to convulse,) to repulse, Yourself,Others now you claim wait your your chief bright regard. reward. This young lady whs drawing a picture ef Coila, from th* SCOTISH POEMS. 205 GRACE BEFORE MEAT. oFor THOU, ever creature’s who kindly want. dost provide WeFor bless this thee, thy goodnessGod of nature lent: wide, AndMay if itnever please worse thee, be Heav’nly sent; Guide, ButLord, whether bless grantedus with content.or denied,

MONODY A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. How cold is that bosom which folly once fir’d, How paleglisten’d, is that cheek where the rouge.lately HowHow silent dull thatis that tongue ear which tothe flatt’ry echoes sooft listen’d! tir’d, If Fromsorrow friendship and anguish and theirdearest exit affection awake. remov’d ; HowThou doubly diedst severe, unwept Eliza, as thou thy lived’st fate, unlov’d. Loves,So shy, graces, grave, and and virtues, distant, I yecall shed not noton youa tear ; j ButAnd come, flow’rs all letye offspringus cull for of Eliza’s folly so cold true, bier. We’ll search through the garden for each silly flow’r. ButWe’ll chiefly roam the through nettle, sothe topical, forest forshow’r, each idle weed, For nonedeed. e’er approach’d her but rued the rash SCOTISH POEMS. We’ll sculpture the marble, we’ll measure the lay ; ThereHere keen vanity indignation strums on shall her idiotdart onlyre; her prey, Which lyre,spurning contempt shall redeem from hi»| THE EPITAPH. HereWhat lies, once now was a preya butterfly to insulting gay inneglect, life’s beam, WantWant only only of ofwisdom goodness denied denied her herrespect, esteem. IMPROMPTU, On Mrs. Birth-day, \th Nov. 1793. ThusOld once Winter, to Jove with his hispray’r frosty preferr’d; beard. ToWhat bear have this I hateddone ofdoom all the severe? year, Night’sMy cheerless horrid suns car nodrags, pleasure dreary, know; slow: MyBut dismalspleeny months English, no joys hanging, are crowning, drowning. NowTo counterbalance Jove, for once all he this mighty evil; civil, Give me,me Maria’sand I’ve natal no more day ! to say, ThatSpring, brilliant Summer, gift Autumn,will so enrich cannot me, match me. And‘ ’Tis Winter done 1’ oncesays rejoic’dJove; so in ends glory. my story, SCOTISH POEMS. 20T TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. ON SENS1BXUTT. Sensibility,Thou, my friend, howcanst charming’. truly tell; ButThou distress, hast alsowith known horrors too arming. well. FairestBlooming flow’r, in thebehold summer the lily.ray ; LetSee the it blastprostrate sweep on o’er the clay.the valley, HearTelling the wood-larko’er his little charm joys the : forest, HaplessTo each bird! pirate a prey of the the skies. surest DearlyFiner bought feelings the can hidden bestow treasure ; ChordsThrill that the deepestvibrate sweetestnotes of woe.pleasure, POEM ON LIFE. ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER, DUMFRIES. YourMy int’rest honor’d in Colonel, the poet’s deep weal: I feel Ah ! how sma’ heart hae The1 to steepspeel Parnassus, Surrounded thus by bolus,And pill, potion glasses. SCOTTSH POEMS. OWould what pain, a canty and warld care, andwere sickness it. spare it; And fortune favour worth andAs theymerit. deserve: (And aye a rowth, roast beefSyne and wha claret; would starve?) AndDame in life,paste tho’and fictionfrippery out deck may her.trick her. Oh! flickering, feeble, andI've unsicker, found her still j Ay, wavering, like a willow’Tween wicker, good and ill. ThenWatches, that likecurst bawd’tons carmagnole, by aulda rattan, Satan, Our sinfu’ saul to get a eluteWi’ onfelon ire; Syne, whip ! his tail ye’llHe’s ne’er off cast like saut fire. on, FirstAh! shewingNick, ah! us Nick,the tempting itisnaefair, ware. Bright wines and bonnie lassesTo put rare, us daft 5 Syne weave, unseen thy spiderO’ hell’s snare damn’d waft. AndPoor aft man as thechance flie, heaft comes bizzies thee bye, nigh, Thy auld damn’d elbow yeuksAnd hellishwi’ joy pleasure— Already in thy fancy’s eye.Thy sicker treasure. AndSoon likeaheels sheep-heado’er gowdie on! inthe he tangs, bangs, Thy girning laugh enjoysAnd his pangsmurd’ring wrestle, As dangling in the wind heA hangsgibbet’s tassel. ToBut plague lest you you think with I thisam uncivil.draunting drivel, SCOTISH poems. 209 'Abjuring a’intentions evil,I quat my pen : The Lord preserve us fraeAmen the devil! ! amen! POETICAL INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, At Kerrouchlry, the seat of Mr. Heron. Written in Summer, 1795. i Thou,With soul resolv’d,of an independent with soul mind, resign’d ; Prepar’dWho wilt Pow’r’s not be, proudestnor have frowna slave to : brave. | Virtue alone who dost revere, ' ThyApproach own reproach this shrine, alone and dost worship fear, here. TO A YOUNG LADY, MISS JESSY DUMFRIES, WITH BOOKS THAT THE BARD PRESENTED HEN,

TlIINEbeAnd with them the take volumes, the poet’s Jessy pray’r; fair, ThatWith everyfate may kindness in her best fairest presage. page, WithOf future native bliss, worth enrol and thy spotless name fame, OfAnd ill—but wakeful chief, caution, man’s still felon aware, snare; S10 SCOTISH POEMS. AndAll blameless all the treasures joys on ofearth the wemind— find, SoThese prays be thythy faithfulguardian friend, and reward; the Bard.

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. or FlttTRJ, ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR.

AI fabledCALL Muse no goodness may suit to a inspire bard that my strains,feigns; AndFriend all of the my tribute life! myof myardent heart spirit returns. bures, ForThe boonsgift still accorded, dearer, asgoodness the giver ever you. new, AndThou all orb ye of many day 1 sparklingthou other stars paler of light!night. If oughtI that thatgiver’s giver bounty from e'ermy disgrace,mind efface. ThenOnly toroll number to me, outalong a villain’s your wand’ringspheres, years !

A VISION. AsWhere I stood the bywa’-flow’r yon roofless scents tow’r, the dewy air, WhereAnd th’tells houlet the moon mourns her midnightin her ivy care bow’r, : TheThe winds stars were they laid,shot alangthe air the was sky; still. SCOTISH FORMS. Sll TheAnd fox the was distant-echoing howling on the glens hill, reply: TheWas stream rushing adown by theits ruin'dhazelly was, path HastingtojoinWhase distant the roaring sweeping swells Nith, and fa’s: TheHer cauld lights, blue wi’ north hizzing was eeriestreaming din ; forth. AthortLike thefortune’s lift they favours, start andtint asshift. win: ByAnd, heedless by thechance moon-beam, I turn’d mineshook, eyes, to see A Attir’dstern and as stalwartminstrels ghaist wont arise.to be. HadHis I dariua statue look been had o’ dauntedstane, me; AndThe on sacred his bonnet posy—Libertie! grav’d was plain AndMight frae rous’dhis harp the sic slumb’ring strains did dead flow, to hear: ButAs ohever 1 it met was a aBriton’s tale of earwoe, ! HeHe, sang weeping, wi’joy hiswail’d former his day,latter times ; ButI -what inna heventur’tin said it was my nae rhymes. play, SONG. ADDRESS TO A LADY. Oh,On yonder wert thou lea, inon the yonder cauld lea; blast. MyI’d plaidie shelter to thee, the angryI’d shelter airt, thee. OrAround did misfortune’s thee blaw, bitter around storms the blaw. SCOTISH POEMS.

OrSae were black I in and the bare, wildest sae waste, black and bare, TheIf desertthou wertwere there, a paradise. if thou wert there. O Wi’were thee I monarch to reign, o’wi’ the thee globe, to reign, TheWad brightest be my jewel queen, in wadray becrown my queen.

Written on the 25th of January, 1793, ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR. ON HEARING ATHRtlSH SING IN A MORNING WAEKj

SingSingon,3 on,01 sweetsweet bird, thrush, I listen upon to the thy leafless strain ;bough, AtSee thy aged blythe Winter, carol clears’mid his furrow’dsurly reign. brow. SoSits in lonemeek poverty’s Content, dominionwith light drear, unanxious heart, NorWelcomes asks if they the rapidbring oughtmoments, to hope bids or them fear. part. I thankThou, thee, whose Author bright of sun this now op’ning gilds yonday orient! skies, 1 WhatRiches wealth denied, could thy never boon give of norpurer take joys, away ! Yet come, thou child of poverty and care, The miteI’ll high share. Heav’n bestow’d, that mite with thee SCOTISH POEMS. 213 HOLY WILLIE’S PRAYER. Wha,0 THOU, as it pleases wha inbest the thysel’, heav’ns dost dwell, Sends ane to heav’n, and tenA’ forto bell,thy glory, And no’ for any guid or illThey’ve done afore thee !* 1Whan bless thousandsand praise thou thy matchlesshast left in might, night That I am here afore thy sight.For gifts an’ grace, A burnin’ an’ a shinin’ light,To a’ this place. ThatWhat I was should I, orget my such generation, exultation, I wha desarve sic just damnation,For broken laws, Five thousand years ’fore Thro’my creation, Adam’s cause. IThou|When mightfrae my hae raither’s plung’d womb me into I fell,hell, ITo gnash my gums, to weepIn burnin’and wail. lake, Whare damned devils roarChain’d and yell, to a stake. • This is highly characteristic of the seutimeuts and disposi- imagine,)tions of many but notignorant according Bigots, to whoknowledge ‘ have a zealand forthe God, author (as here, they ingenious talent of satire to expose their ignorance and hypocrisy. mayFarther be worthy to confirm of observatioo, the reality in ofthis this place, pharisaical that the character,Rev. Geoige it byWhitfield, the Seceders, inone ofbecause his visits he to refused Scotland, to wassolemniyconfine his itinerant reprobated la- •was,bours that wholly they to were them. EXCLUSIVELY The reason assigned God’s people!for this Mr.monopoly Whit- hisfield services; smartly replied,for his aimthat was they to bad,turn therefore,sinners from the the less error need and of wickedness«f greatjoy. of their ways, by preaching among them glad tidings *14 SCOTISH POEMS. ToYet show I am thyhere grace a chosen is great sample. an’ ample ; I’m here a pillar in thy temple,Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler,an’ example,To a’ thy flock. OWhen L—d, drinkers thou kens drink, what and zeal swearers I bear, swear, i And singin’ here, an’ dancin’Wi’ there,great an’ sma’; For I am keeprt by the fear,Frae frae them ai AtBut times yet, I’mO L—d sash’d ! wi’confess fleshly I must.lust, An’ sometimes too, wi’ warldlyVile self trust, gets in ; But thou remembers we areDefil’d dust, in sin. ThyO L—d pardon ! yestreen, 1 sincerely thou beg, kens, wi’ Meg, O ! may’t ne’er be a livin’To plague my dishonour. And I’ll ne’er lift a lawlessAgain 1-g upon her. Wi’Besides, Lizzie’s I farther lass, threemaun times,I avow, trow; But, L—d, that Friday IWhen was sow, I came near her. Or else thou kens thy servantWad true ne’er bae steer’d her. MayBeset be thy thou servant lets thise’en fleshy and morn, thorn Lest heowre high and proudCause shou’d he’s saeturn, gifted; | If sae, thy ban’ maun e’enUntil be borne thou lift it. L—d, bless thy chosen in this place. ButFor Godhere confoundttiou hast theirstubborn a chosen race; face, SCOTISH POEMS. 215 And blast their name, Wha bring thy elders to An’disgrace public shame. HeL—d, drinks, mind an’G—v—n swears, fi—m—u’sdeserts, an’ plays at carts, Yet has sae mony fakin’ Wi’arts, grit an sma’, Frae G—d’s ain priest theHe people’s steals awa.’hearts An’Thou whan kens we how chasten’d he bred him sic atherefore, splore. As sat the world fu’ in a roarO’ laughin’ at us; Curse thou his basket andKail his store.an’ potatoes. AgainstL—d, hear that my presbyt’ry earnest cryo’ Ayran’ pray’r.; Thy strong right hand, L—d,Upo’ maketheir itheads; bare,' L—d, weigh it doryn, andFor dinna their spare, misdeeds. MyO L—d vera my heart G—d, andsaul that are glib-tongu’d quakin’. A—k—n. To think how we sat sweetin’,An’ p—d shakin’, w i’ dreadj While he wi’ bangin’ lip Heldand snakin’. up his head. L—d, invisit the themday ofwha vengeance did employ try him,him, j An’ pass not in thy mercy Norby ’em.hear their pray’r5 Bu for thy people’s sake destroy’em.And dinna spare. | ■But,Wi’ merciesL—d, remembertemp’ral and me divine,and mine, I That X for gear and graceExcell’d may shine, by nane, An’ a’ the glory shall be thine,Amen, Amen. 216 SCOTISH POEMS. ^ EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. HeRETakes up Holy its last Willie’s abode; sair-worn clay HisI saulfear, hasthe ta’en left-hand some road.other way, StopPoor ! there silly hebody, is as see sure's him a ; gun. NaeObserve wonder wha’s he’s standin’as black’s wi’ the him. grun, YcurbrunstaneHas got him there devilship before I seeye; ButTill ha’d ance your you’ve nine-tail heard cat my a wee.story. YourFor pity pity Iye will bae notnane; implore, Justice,And mercy’s alas! hasday gi’en is gacn. him o’er, ButLook hear something me, Sir, tode’il your as credit;ye are. A Ifcoof it likewere himkent wou’dye did stainit. your name, ]

ON THE DEATH OF MR. RIDDEL. NoNor more, pour yourye warblers accents gratingof the wood, on my nocar; more, MoreThou welcome young-ey’d were spring,to me grim thy charmswinter’s I wildestcannot bear;roar. How can ye please, ye flowers, with all-your dies ? HowYe bio can w uponI to the the tuneful sod that strain wraps attend} my friend : That straindel pours lies; round tk’ untimely tomb where Rid- SCOTISH POEMS. *17 SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED. TheThe fumes friend of whom wine wildinfuriate from send; wisdom's way, (NotWho moony but deplores madness thatmore hapless astray) friend f MineAh! was why th’ should insensate I such frenzied scenes part. outlive, Scenes’Tis sothine abhorrent to pity toaud my forgive. heart! ihmpostd and rtpeated by BURNS, to the Matter qf the heHouse, had onbeen taking hospitably leave entertained.at a place in tin Highlands where

WA HENtime thatdeath’s surely dark shall stream come, I ferry o InThau heav’n just itself a Highland I’ll ask nowelcome. more,

DELIA. AN ODE. FaIRFair the the tints face of of op’ning orient day,rose ; JJut>torg fairest l9Vf'y still far my her Delia beauty dawns, blows. 218 SCOTISH POEMS. SweetSweet the the lark’s tinkling wild-warbled rill to hear lay, 1 But,Steal Delia, thine more accents delightful on mine still, ear. TheThe flower-enamour’d rosy banquet loves busy to beesip ! SweetTo the the sun-brown’d streamlet’s limpidArab’s lapse lip : But,Let Delia, me, no on vagrant my balmy insect, lips rove ! O Forlet me oh steal ! my one soul liquid is parch’d kiss ! with love.

THE HEN-PECK’D HUSBAND. TheCurs’d crouching be thevassal man, to thethe pooresttyrant wife,wretch in life. Who has nonot will,sixpence, but by but her in highher possession.permission ; AThoWho dreadsmust to a hercurtain his dearlecture friend’s worse secret than tellhell. ; I’dWere break such her the spirit, wife hador I’d fallen break to rayher part,heart; I’d kisscharm her her maids, with andthe kickmagic the of perverse a switch, b—hi SCOTISH POEMS. 219 SONGS. THE LEA-RIG. wTells HEN bughtin-tiine o’er the hills is near,the eastern my jo star; AndRetarns owscn sae frae dowf the furrow’dand weary field O ; DownWi’ bydew the are burn, hanging where clear, scented my jo. birks I’llMy meet ain thee kind on dearie the lea-rig, O. InI’d mirkest rove, glen,and ne’er at midnight be eerie hour, O, If Mythro’ aine that kind glen dearie l gaed O. to thee. AlthoughAnd I were the nightne’e* weresae wearie ne’er saeO, dark, I’dMy meet am thee kind on dearie the lea-rig. O. TheTo hunter rouse lo’esthe mountain the morning deer, sun, my jo ; AtAlang noon the fisherburn toseeks steer, the my glen, jo ; GieIt me makes the hourmy heart o’ gloaming sae cheery grey. O, ToMy meet ain theekind ondearie thee O. lea-rig, DUNCAN GREY. D,'UNCAN Ha, ha, Gray the camewooing here o’t, to woo w-year’sHa, ha, daythe wooingwhen we o’t) were fou, *20 8COTISH POEMS. Look’dMaggie asklentcoost her and head unko fu’ skeigb,heigh, Gart Ha,poor ha,Duncan the wooing stand abeigh, o’t. DuncanHa, fleech’d, ha, the andwooing Duncan o’t, pray’d, Meg Ha,was deafha, theas Ailsawooing craig, o’t? GratDuncan his sigh’deen baith baith bleer’d out and and in, blin’, SpakHa, o’ loupinha, the o’er wooing a Jin, o’t. TimeHa, and ha,chance the arewooing but ao’t; tide, SlightedHa, loveha, isthe sair wooing to bide, o’t. ShallFor a Ihaughty like a fool, hussy quo’ die ?he, She mayHa, gaeha, tothe France wooing for o’t. me, How Ha,it comes, ha, thelet wooingdoctors o’t,tell, Meg Ha,grew ha, sick, the as wooing he grew o’t; well, . ForSomething relief ain sighher shebosom brings, wrings. And Ha,oh! ha,her ecnthe wooingthey spak o’t. sic things, DuncanHa, was ha, athe lad wooing of grace, o’f, Meggy'sHa, washa, athe ticklish wooing case, o’t; DuncanSwelling could pity smoor’dnot be her his death. wrath ? NowHa, they’re ha, crousethe wooing and cantyo’t. baith, SCOTISH POEMS. 22! BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL. Oo leeae LEEZE me on me my on rock my andspinning reel :■wheel, AndFrae hapstap tome tae fiel that and deeds warm me at bien,e’en !' I’llWhilelaigh set me down descends and singthe simmer and spin. sun, OBlest leeze wi’ me content, on my and spinning milk, wheel.and meal—• AneOn ilka meet hand below the my burnies theekit trot, cot; AcrossThe scented the pool birk their and hawthornarms unite. white AlikeAnd little to screen fishes thecaller birdie’s rest s nest: TheWhere sun blytheblinks kindlyI turn myin the spinning bid,’ wheel. AndOn lofty echo aiks cons the the cushats dolefu’ wail, tale 1 TheDelighted, lintwhites rival in ither’sthe hazel lays: braes. The craikpaitrick amang whirrin the clavero’er the hay, ley. AmuseThe swallow me at jinkin my spinning round mywheel. shiel. AboonWi’ sma’ distress, to sell, below and less envy, to buy, O,For wha a’ the wad pride leave of thisa’ the humble great state.? Amid their Hairingcumbrous idle dinsome toys, joys. CanOf Bessy they theat herpeace spinning and pleasure wheel ? feel 22* SCOTISH POEMS. THE GALLANT WEAVER. ByWhere raony a flow’rcart rins and rowin spreading to the tree. sea. ThereHe islives a gallant a lad, weaver. the lad for me. OhThey I hadgied wooers me rings aught and orribbons nine. fine; An’An’ I wasI gied fear’d it to mythe heartweaver. would tine, MyTo giedaddy the sign’dlad that my has tocher-band. the land; ButAn’ to givemy heart it to theI’ll weaver.add my hand, While birdsbees delightrejoice in leafyopening bow’rs; flow’rs; WhileI’ll love corn my grows gallant green weaver.* in simmer show’rs. TVILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MALT. oAn’ WILLIE Rob an’ brew’dAllan cam’a peck to o’see maut, ; ThreeYe wadblyther na findhearts, in Christendie. that lee-lang night, CHORDS. WeBut are just na afou, drappie we’re in nae our that e’e fou.; TheAn’ cock ay mayw’ell craw, taste the daybarley may brie. daw. Here we met, three merry boys, AndThree rnony merry a night boys we’ve I trow merry are been,we; An’ mony mair we hopeWe areto bena ! fou, &c. « In tome editions Sailor is substituted for Weaver, SCOTISH POEMS. 22» It is the moon, I ken her horn, SheThat’s shines blinkin sae bright in the to leftwyle sae us hie hame. ; But by my sooth she’llWe arewait na a fou, wee! &c. Wha first shall rise to gang awa, WhaA cuckold,first beside coward his chair loun shall is he! fa’, He is the king amangWe us are three! na fou, &c. OF A’ THE ARTS THE WIN’ CAN BLAW. OfI dearly a’ the like arts the the west, win’ can blaw, ForThe there lass the that bonny I lo’e lassie best; lives. Tho’Wi’ wild mony woods a hill grow, between, and rivers row, BaithIs ever day withan’ night my Jean. my fancy’s flight I seeSae herlovely, in the sweet, dewy an’ flow’rs, fair, I hearWi’ musicher voice charm in ilkathe airbird, ; There’sBy fountain, not a bonny shaw, flow’r or green, that springs NorBut yet minds a bonny me ofbird my that Jean. sings, THE BANKS O’ DOON. YeHow banks can yean’ bloombraes o’so bonnyfresh an’ Doon, fair? HowAn’ canI sae you weary, chant, fu’ ye o’little care! birds, «4 iCOTISH POEMS. Thou’llThat breakwantons my thro’ heart the thou flow’ring warbling thorn: bird. ThouDeparted, minds me never o’ departed to return. joys, OftTo have see theI rov’d rose andby bonniewoodbine Doon, twine; An’An’ ilka fondly bird saesang did o’ Iits o’ love, mine. Wi’Fu’ lightsome sweet upon heart its Ithorny pu’d a tree; rose, An’Eut, my abfause I he lover left stolethe thorn my rose, wi’ me. A MAN’S A MAN, FOR A’ THAT. IsWho there hangs for honesthis head, poverty, and a’ that ? TheAnd coward dare beslave poor we for pass a’ himthat; by, ForOur a’ toils,that, obscure,an’ a’ that, an’ a’ that, TheThe rank man’s is butthe thegowd, guinea for stamp.a’ that. W Wearhat though hodden on grey,hamely an’ fare a’ thatwe dine.? GieA foolsman’s their a man, silk, for an’ a’ knavesthat; their wine,. ForTheir a’ that, tinsel and shew, a’ that. an’ a’ that;. AnIs honest chief man,o’ men, though for a’ ne’er that. sae poor. YouWha see struts yon andbirkie, stares, ca’d an’ a Lord,a’ that, Tho’He’s hundreds but a cuif worship for a’ atthat. his word, ForHis a’ ribband,that, and star, a’ that, and a’ that; A man look,of independent and laugh mindat a’ that. SCOTISH POEMS. TheA kingmarquis, can niakduke, a andbelted a’ that;knight, AnQuid honest faith man's he mannaaboon hisfa’ that!might. ForHis a’ dignities,that, and and a’ that, a’ that: TheAre pith grandeur o’ sense, far and than pride a’ that. o’ worth. ThenAs comelet us itpray shall that for comea’ that. it may. ThatShall sense bear an’ the worth gree, o’er and all a’ thethat; earth. ForIt’s a’ cominthat, andyet, a’for that; a’ that; ThatShall man brothers to man, be, the for wide a’ that. world o’er.

FOR THE SAKE O’ SOMEBODY. MyMy heartheart is is sair sair, for I somebody;dare na tell. I couldFor the wake sake a ofwinter somebody. night Oh-honOh-hey! ! forfor somebody!somebody! ForI could the rangesake o’the somebody. world all round. YeO pow’rs sweetly that smile smile on on somebody virtuous ;love, FraeAnd ilka send danger me safe keep my himsomebody. free. Oh-hon!Oh-hey! for somebodysomebody! ! IFor wad the do—what sake o’ somebody wad I not ! i 226 SCOTISH POEMS. HERE AWA, THERE AWA. HeREHere awa, awa, there there awa, awa, hand wandering away haine Willie, ; ComeTell tome my thou bosom, briug'st my me, ain myonly Willie, deary, the same. WinterFears winds for my blew, Willie loud brought and cauld, tears atin myour e’eparting, ; Welcome,The simmer now to simmer, Nature, and my welcome,Willie to me.my Willie; Rest,How ye your wild dread storms, howling in the acave lover of alarms! your slumbers, Wauken,And waft ye mybreezes, dear Laddierow gently, once yemore billows! to my arms. Buti lowah, stillif he’s between faithless, us, andthou mindswide naroaring his Nannie, main, MayBut, I never(tying, see believe it, may that I mynever Willie's trow it, my ain. ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. OnFor a summer bank of lightly flow’rs dress’d. one summer’s day, TheWith youthful love andblooming sleep oppress’d Nelly lay, : WhenW'ho Willy for her wand’ring favour oft thro’ had the su’d. wood, HeAnd gaz’d, trembled he wish’d, when he he fear’d, stood. he blush’d, HerWere closed seal’d eyes, in likesoft reposeweapons ; sheath’d, HerIt lipsricher still dy’d as the fragrantrose. breath’d, TheWild springing wanton lilies kiss'd sweetly her rival press’d, breast; HeHis gaz’d, b^som he illwish’d, at rest. he fear’d, he blush’d, SCOTISIT POEMS. 227 HerHer robes, tender light limbs waving embrace, in the breeze. HerAll lovely harmony form, and her grace. native ease, TumultuousA flatt’ring tides ardent his kisspulses he roll, stole: HeAnd gaz’d, sigh’d he hiswish’d, very soul.he fear’d, he blush’d, AsOn flies feardnspired the partridge wings; from the brake. SoAway Nelly affrightedstarting, halfsprings av^ake, : ButHe Willy overtook follow’d, her inas thebe should.wood. HeForgiving vow’d, be all pray’d, and good. he found the maid,

TAM GLEN. My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie. ToSome anger counsel them a’ unto is a me pity. come len’; But what will I do wi’To Tamanger Glen them, ? &c. I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fallow. WhatIn poortith care I in I richesmight tomak wallow. a fen’; If I mauna marry TamWhat Glen. care I, &c. There’s Lowrie the laird o’ Drumeller, HeGude brags day and to heyon blaws brute, o’ hehis comessiller, ben; But when wilt he danceHe likeBrags, Tam &c, Glen ? MyAnd minnie bids doesme beware constantly o’ youngdeave men.me. 228 SCOTISH POEMS. They flatter, she says,

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. AAdown ROSE-BUD a corn inclosed by my bawk, early walk SaeAll gently on a bentdewy its morning. thorny stalk, EreIn a’ twice its crimson the shades glory o’ spread. dawn are fled, AndIt droopingscents the rich early the morniag. dewy head, AWithin little thelinnet bush, fondly her prest, covert nesr, SCOTISH POEMS. 229 TheSae dew early sat inchilly the morning.on her breast SheThe soonpride, shall the see pleasure her tender o’ the brood, woody AmongAwake the the fresh early green morning. leaves bedew’d. Go,So thou, .rembling dear bird,string yonngor vocal Jeany air, fair. ShallThat sweetly tent- thepay early the tender morning. care ShaltSo thou, beauteous sweet rose-bud,blaze upon yonng the day. and gay, AndThat bless watch’d the parent’s thy early evening morning.* ray

AE DAY A BRAW WOOER. AeAnd day sair a wi’ braw his wooerlove he came did deave down methe ; lang glen, ButThe I saiddeuce there gae waswi’ himnothing to believe I hated me. like men. A Andweel bridal stockit aft' mailin, ban’ was himsel’ the proffer;o’t the laird, I neverBut thought loot on Ithat might I ken’d get a orwaur I car’d, ofl'er. HeAnd spake how o’ forthe my darts love o’ heray was bonny dien’; black een, I saidBut hegude might forgive die whenme for he lien.’ liket for Jean, But(The what de’il’s do you in histhink taste ! into a gae fortnight near her;) or less, HeThink down yeto howthe castle the jade to black I con’d consin bear Bess, her. daughter• This songof a friendwas written of the during Bard, theis the winter heroine. of 1787. Miss J. C. 230 SCOTTSH POEMS. And1 gaeda’ the to niest the trysteouk as o’ I Dulgarlock,fretted with care, AndWha wha glowr’d but my as braw if he'd fickle seen wooer a warlock. was there, ButLest owre neibours my left shou’d shouther think I giedI was him saucy; a blink, MyAnd wooer vow’d he thatcaper’d 1 was as he’da dear been lassie. in drink. I spier’dAnd if forshe my had cousin recover’d fu’ couthie her hearin; and sweet. AndGude how safe my usauld ! how shoon he fitted fell a her swearin. sbackel’d feet,' HeOr begg’d else I me, wad for kill Gudesake! him wi’ sorrowthat I’d ; be his wife, So Ijust think to preserveI will wed the him poor to-morrow. body in life,

Written and sung at a general Meeting of the EXCISE-OFFICES IN SCOTLAND. TheAnd danc’dde’il cam awa fiddling \ji’ the thro’ Exciseman the town, ; AndWe ilka wish auld you wife luck cry’d o’ the ‘ prize,Auld Mahoun,man.’ chorus. ** ‘ We’llWe’|l makdance, our and maut, sing, and and brew rejoice, our drink,man; AndThat mony danc’d braw awa thanks wi’ theto theExciseman.’ muckle black de’H ‘ There’s threesome reels, and foursome reels. ButThere’s the ae hornpipes best dance and e’er strathspeys, cam to our manIan’, ; Was the de’il’s awa‘ We’ll wi’ makthe Exciseman.’ our inaut, &c. SCOTISH POEMS. 231 JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. IMPROVED BV ROBERT BURNS. JohnI wonder Anderson, what you my mean, jo, John, ToAnd rise sitso upsoon so inlate the at morning, e’en. Ye’llAnd blear why shouldout a’ youryou doe’en, so 1John, GangJohn sooner Anderson, to your my bed jo. at e’en, JohnWhen Anderson, nature firstmy jo,began John, ToHer try master-workher canny hand, was John,Jl/an; AndSae you trig amang from themtop to a’, toe, John, SheJohn prov’d Anderson, to be nae my journey-work, jo. -JohnYe Anderson,were my first my conceit.jo, John, AndTho’ ye Ineed ca’ yena trimthink and it strange, neat; John, Tho’l never some thinkfolks sayye so, ye’re auld, John, ButJohn I think Anderson, ye’re ay my the jo. same to me, JohnWe’ve Anderson, seen our my bairns’ jo, John, bairns. AndI’m yet, happy my dearin your John arms; Anderson, AndI’m sae sure are ye’ll ye in ne’er mine, say John— no, Tho’John the Anderson,days are gone my jo.that we have seen, JohnWhat Anderson, pleasure my does jo, it John,g>e> 932 SCOTISH POEMS. ToSpring see sae up many ’tween sprouts, you and John, me; AndId ilkaour footstepslad and lass, to go, John, MakesJohn perfectAnderson, heaven my herejo. on earth, JohnWhen Anderson, we were ray first jo, acquaint. John, YourYour locks bonny were brow like was the brent:raven, ButYour now locks your arehead's like turn'd the snow, bald, John, YetJohn blessings Anderson, on your my frosty jo. pow, JohnFrae Anderson, year to yearmy jo,we’ve John, past, AndWill soon bring that ns year to onr maun last; come, John, ButOur let heartsDa that were atl'right ne’er us, our John, foe, WhileJohn in Anderson, innocent delightmy jo. we liv’d, JohnWe Anderson, chimb the myhill jo, thegither. John, AndWe’ve many had a cantyw H tine day, anither; John, NotvBut we hand maun in handtotter we’ll down, go. John, AndJohn ire’ll Anderson, sleep thegither my jo. at the foot,

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. WlLLIEThe spot theyWastle call dwalt it Linkumdoddie, on Tweed, WillieCou’d was stown a wabster a clue wi’gude, ony boddie; SCOTISH POEMS. 233 HeA hadTinkler a wife Madgie was dour was uu’her din, mither ISic wad a wife na gieas Williea button had, for her. She has an e’e, she has but ane. FiveThe rusty cat hasteeth twa forbye the rera a stump, colour; A Awhiskin clapper beard tongue about wad her deave mou, a miller t Her nose and chin theySic threatena wife, &c.ither :' She’s bow-hough’d, she’s hein-shinn’d, She’sAe twistedlimpin leg right, a hand-breed she’s twisted shorter;. left. SheTo has balance a hump fair upon in ilka her quarter;breast. The twin o’ that uponSic her a wife,shouther; &e. AuldAn’ baudrons wi’ her loof by the her ingle face sits,a washin; ButShe Willie’s dights wifeher grunzie is nae saewi’ trig, a hushion ; HerHer walie face nieves wad fyle like the midden-creels, Loggan-water; Sic1 wad a wife nae asgie Willie a button had, for her.

CALEDONIA. fHEIR groves o-’ sweet myrtles let foreign land# Wherereckon. bright-beaming summers exhale the per- Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, Wi’ broom.the burn stealing under the lang yellow FarWhere dearer the to blue me yonbell low-humbleand gowan lurkbroom lowly bow’rs, unseen; 234 SCOTISH POEMS. ForA there,list’niog lightly the linnet tripping aft wandersamang the my wild Jean. flowers, Tho’And rich cauld is the Caledonia’s breeze in blasttheir ongay the sunny wave; valleys, Their sweet-scentedpalace. woodlands that skirt the proud Whatslave. are they ?—the haunt o’ the tyrant and The slave’s spicy forests, and gold bubbling foun- The tains,brave Caledonian views with disdain; HeSave wanders love’s as willing free as fetters,the wind the on chains his mountains, of his Jean,

O LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. Or0 artLASSIE, thou wakin, art thou I would sleeping wit; yet ? ForAnd love I wouldhas bound fain me, be in,hand jo. and fit, ThisO let ae, me ae,in this ae aenight; night, ForO pity’srise and sake, let methis in, ae jo. night, Out oe’r the moss, out o’er the muir And1 came, here this I stand dark without and dreary the door.hour, Amid the pouring storm,O let me, jo. &c. Thou hear’st the winter wind and weet, NaeTak starpity blinkson my thro’weary the feet, driving sleet: And shield me fraeO the let rain, me in,jo. &c. SCOTISH POEMS. 235 The bitter blast around me blaws. TheUnheeded cauldness howls, o’ thy unheeded heart’s fa’s;the cause O' a’ my grief andO pain, let me jo. in, &c. HER ANSWER. oUpbraid TELE na na me me wi’ o’ canidwind anddisdain, rain, GaeI winnaback the let gateyou in,ye jo.cam again, ThisI tell ae, you ae, now ae this night; ae night, And Iance winna for leta’ thisyou aein, night,jo. The snellest blast, at mirkest hours. IsThat notcht round to thewhat pathless poor shewand’rer endures, pours, That’s trusted faithlessI tellman, you jo. now, Ac. The sweetest flow’r that deck’d the mead. NowLet simple trodden maid like the the lessou vilest read. weed; The weird may be herI tellain, you jo. now, Ac. The bird that charm’d his summer-day, IsLet now witless the crueltrusting fowler’s woman prey say : How aft her fate’s theI tellsame, you jo. now, Ac.

THE BRAES O’ BALLOCHMYLE. TheThe flow’rsCatrine decay’d woods onwere Catrine yellow lee; seen, SCOTTSH POEMS. NaeBut lav’rock nature sicken’dsang on hillockon the e’e.green, Thro’Hersel faded in beautiesgroves Maria bloom sang, the while. An’Fareweel ay the wild-wood the brae* o’ echoes Ballochmyle. rang, LowAgain in your 3'e’Il wintr’y flourish beds, fresh ye and flow’rs. fair; YeAgain birdies ye’ll dumb, charm in thewith’ring vocal bow’rs.air. NaeNae joys, pleasure alas! findfor meI in are this here,. soil, UntilFarewell Maria the again braes appear. o’ Ballochtnyle.

O FOR ANE AN’ TWENTY, TAM. An’An* O, hey, for sweetane an’ ane twenty, an’ twenty, Tam Tam! ; I’llAn’ learn I saw my anekin an’a rattlin twenty, sang. Tam! They snool me sair, and hand me down, ButAn’ three gar meshort look years like will bluntie, soon wheelTam ! roun’, An’ then comes ane an’An’ twenty, 0,for ane,Tam. &c. A gleib o’ lan’, a claut o’ gear, At Waskith leftor kidme 1by need my naauntie, spier, Tam ; An’ I saw ane an’ twenty,An’ O, Tam. for ane, &c, They’ll hae me wed a wealthy coof, ButTho’ hear’st I mysel thou, hae laddie, plenty, there’s Tam my: loof, I’m thine at»ue an’ twenty,An 6, Tamfor ane, ! &e. SCOTISH POEMS. 2ST THEN GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LA WIN. ButGane we’ll ne’ers the strayday, forand fautemirk’s o’light. the night. i AndFor aleblude-red and brandy’s wine’s starsthe risin and son.moon, | Then guidwifeguidwife countcount thethe lawin, lawin, the and lawin, bring the a coggielawin, There’s wealth and ease for gentlemen. AndBut heresimple we’re folk a’ maun in ae fechtand accord. fen, For ilka man that’s drunk’sThen a gudewife lord. count, &c. My coggie is a haly pool, AndThat pleasureheals the is woundsa wanton o’ caretrout. an’ dool; An’ ye drink it a’ ye’ll findThen him gudewife out. count, &c. WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE, &c. Whalassie, a young lassie, what shall a young BadWhat luck can on athe young pennie lassie that do tempted wi’ an auldmy minnie man ? To sell her poor JennyBad for luck siller ou an’the lan’! pennie, &c. He’sHe always hosts and compleenin he hirples frae the morning weary dayto e’enin. lang ; He’sO dreary’sdoyl’t and the he’s night dozin, wi’ ahis crazy blade auld it is man frozen, ! HeI humsnever and can heplease hankers, him, hedo frets a’ that and I hecan; cankers, He’sO, peevishdool on andthe jealousday I met of wi’a’ thean auldyoung man! fellowij SCOTISII POEMS. My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, I’llI’ll cross do my him, endeavour and wrack to follow him, heruntil plan I hcart-brak; And him,then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. AndNOW o’er simmerthe chrystal blinks streamlets on flow’ry plays, braes* Ccme,In the let Birks us spend of Aberfeldy. the lightsome days CHORUS. Bonnie lassie,lassie, will ye go, willto the ye Birks go, will of Aberfeldyye go, ? While o’er their heads the hazels hing, TheOr lightly little birdiesflit on wantonblithely wing sing, In the Birks of Aberfeldy.Bonnie lassie, &c. The braes ascend like lofty wa’s. O’erhungThe foaming with stream fragrant deep spreading roaring shavvs. fa’s, In the Birks of Aberfeldy.Bonny lassie, &c. The hoary cliffs are crown’d w'f fiow’rs. AndWhite rising o’er weetsthe linns wi’ themisty burnie show’rs, pours. In the Birks of Aberfeidy.Bonnie lassie, &c Let fortune's gifts at random flee, SupremelyThey ne’er shallblest drawwi’ love a wish and frae thee me, In the Birks of Aberfeldy.Bonnie lassie, &c. SCOTISH POEMS. *39 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. HOWDevon, pleasant the banks of the clear winding Withfair, green spreading bushes, and flow’rs blooming ButWas the oncebonniest a sweet flow’r bad on on the the banks braes of of the the Devon, Ayr. MildIn bethe the gay sun rosy on morn,this sweet as ii blushing bathes in flow’r. the dew. AndThat gentle steals the oa fall the of ev’ning the soft each vernal leaf show’r, to renew. O spareWith chillthe dear hoary blossoms, wing, as ye ye orient usher breezes. the dawn; AndThe far verdure be thou and distant, pride thou of the reptile garden that and seizes lawn. LetAnd Bourbon England, exult triumphant, in her gay displaygilded lilies,her proud rose;. A Wherefairer thanDevon, either sweet adorns Devon, the green meandering valleys, flows. THE CHEVALIER’S LAMENT. Tune—Captain O’Kain. The small birds rejoice in the green leaves re- The turning,murmuring streamlet runs clear thro’the vale. TheAnd primroses wild scatter’d blow incowslips the dew bedeck of the themorning, green dale; ButWhen what the can lingering give pleasure, moments or what are cannumbered seem fair. by No birds sweetly singing, nor flow’rs gaily spring- Can ing.sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. 240 SCOTISH POEMS. The deed that I dar’d, could it merit their malice, HisA rightking andare athese father hills, to placand e hison righthis throne! are these val

ButMy ’tis brave not my gallant sufferings, friends, thus ’tis wretched, your ruin forlorn,I mourn, YourAlas! faith -can prov’d I make so loyalit no betterin hot bloodyreturn. trial,

HEY FOR A LASS WI’ A TOCHER. TheA\V slender A wi’ bityour beauty witchcraft you grasp o’ beauty’s in your alarms; arms: O, gicgie me the lasslass wi’that the has weel-stockit acres o’ charms, farms. CHORUS. Then heywi’ foraa tocher; lass wi' a tocher; then hey for a lass Then heyguineas for fora lass me. wi’ a tocher ; the nice yellow Your beauty’s a flow’r, in the morning that blows. AndBut thewithers rapturous the faster, charms the o’ fasterthe bonnie it grows; green knowes, llkspringthey’renew deckitThen wi’ bonniehey, &c. white yowes. And e’en when this beauty your bosom has blest. ButThe thebrightest sweet yellowof beauty darlings may cloywi' Geordie when possest; imprest, Thelanger ye hae them—theThen mair hey, they’re &c, carest, SCOTT?I! POEMS. 54L EXTEMPORE, Written in answer to a Card from an intimate of BURNS, wish TheCan scarcelyKing’s nujyt spare humble a minute servant, , ButOr I’ll else be the with Dell’s you beby inan’ it. bye. VERSES WRITTEN ON AWINDOWOF THE INN AT CARRON. WeIn hopes came tonae be here more to wise, view your warks. ButIt onlymay lestbe naewe surprisegang to : hellj ButYour when porter we tirled dought at yournae heardoor, us; aeYour may, billy sltou’d Satan we sair to us!hell’s yet come.

TUE JOLLY BEGGARS. A CANTATA. RICITATIVO. OrWHEN wavering lyart like leaves the Bauckie-bird,* bestrew the yird. WhenBedim hailstanes cauld drive Boreas’blast; wi’ bitter skyte, And Ininfant hoary frosts craureucb begin to drest: bite, .• Xhe old Scotch name for the Bat. 242 SCOTISH POEMS. Ae nightO randie at e’en gangrel a merry bodies, core In Poosie-Nansie’sTo drink their heldorra thedaddies; splore, Wi’They quaffing ranted and and laughing, they sang Wi’jumpingThe vera girdle and thumping, rang. AneFirst, sat; niest weel the brac’d fire, in wi’ auld mealy red bags,rags, His doxyAnd knapsacklay within a’ hisin orderarm, ; Wi’ usquebaeShe blinket an onblankets her sodger warm, ; An’ ayThe he tither gies theskelpin’ ozie drab,kiss, WhileJust she like held an up autnos her greedy dish. gab IlkJust smack like still,a cadger’s did crack whip, still, ThenHe staggeringroar’d this andditty swaggering up— AIR. Tune—Soldier's Joy. AndI am show a son my of cuts Mars, and whoscars have wherever been inI come;many wars, WhenThis here welcoming was for athe wench, French and thatat theother sound in a trench,of the drum. Lai de daudle, &c. My prenticeshiplast, I past where my leader breath’d his When Abram;the bloody die was cast on the heights of I serv’dplay’d, out my trade when the gallant game was And theMoro low was laidLai atde the daudle, sound &c.of the drum. SCOTISH POEMS. 243 1 lastly was with Curtis> among the floating batt’ries, AndYet letthere my I countryleft for witnessneed me, an witharm Elliotand a limbto head ; me, I’d clatter on ray stumps Laiat the de sounddandle, of &c. a drum. And now tho’ I must beg, with a wooden arm and And manyleg, a tatter’d rag hanging over my bum, I’m as callet.happy with my wallet, my bottle and my As when I us’d in scarlet Laito followde daudle, a drum. &c. What tho’ with hoary locks, I must stand the winter Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, WhenI could the meet tother a bagtroop I sell,of hell,and theat totherthe sound bottle of tell,the drum. Lai de daudle, &c. HECITATIVO. HeAboon ended; the and chorus the kebarsroar ; sheuk, WhileAnd frightedsepk the rattongsbenmost backwardbore : lenk, A Hefairy thirled fiddler out frae encore the neuk, ! ButAnd up laidarose the the loud martial uproar. chuck. AIR. Tune—Soldier Laddie. And1 once still was my a delightmaid, tho’is in Iproper cannot young tell when. men ; NoSome wonder one of if a I’mtroop fond of ofDragoons a sodger was laddie. my daddie. Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 244 SCOTTSH POEMS. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, ToHis rattleleg was the sothundering tight, and drum his cheekwas his was trade so ruddy, , Transported I was with mySing, sodger Lai deladdie. lal, &c. But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, TheHe venturedsword I forsookthe sow/, for and the I riskedsake of the the body, church ; ’Twas then I prov’d false Sing,to my Lal sodger de lal, laddie. &c. Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, From.theThe regiment gilded at largespontoon for ato husband the fife II wasgot; ready, I asked no more but a sodgerSing, laddie. Lal de lal, &c. But the peace it reduc’d me to beg in despair, TillHis ragsl met regimental my old boy they at fluttereda Cunningham so gaudy. fair ; My heart it rejoiced at mySing, sodger Lal laddie.dc lal, &c. And stillnow II conjoinhave liv’d—I in a cup know or a not song how ; long. But whilststeady, with both hands I can hold the glass Here’s to thee, my hero, Sing,my sodger Lal de laddie. lal, &c. RECITATIVO. PoorSat merryguzziing Andrew wi’ a tinkleri’ theneuk, hizzie; TheyBehind mind’t themselves na wha theyt(ie chorus were saetook, bisy. AtHe length stoiter’d wi’ drinkup an’ an’ made courting a face; dizzy. 1 henSyne turn’d tun'd an’ his laid pipes a smack wi’ grave on Grizzy, grimace. S-COTISH POEMS. 545 AIH. Tune—Auld, Sir Simon. SirSir Wisdom’s Knave isa afool fool when in a sessionhe’s fon, 5 He’sBut there I am but a fool a prentice by profession. I trow. MyAn’ grannie I held she awa bought to the me school; a beuk. I fearBut Iwhat my talentwill ye misteuk. hae of a fool. ForA drinkhizzie’s I wouldthe half venture of my mycraft; neck, HutOf what ane that’scould avowedlyye ever expect. daft ? I anceFor civillywas tied swearing up like an’ a stick.quaffing ; I anceFor towzlingwas abus’d a lassi’ the i’ kirk,my daffin. PoorLet Andrew naebody that name tumbles wi’ fora jeer; sport. There’sA Tumbler ev’n I’m ca’d tald the i’ Premier. the court, Observ’dMak faces ye yonto tickle reverend the lad,mob : HeIts rails rivakhip at our just mountebank t’ the job. squad. AndFor now faith my I’m conclusion confoundedly I’ll tell. dry. TheGuid chiel L —d,that’s he’s a fool far fordafter himsel’, than I. RECITATIVO. WhaThen niestkent fu’outspak weel toa ranciecleek carlin,the sterling. ForAnd wonyhad in a inonypursie a she well had been hooked. ducked. 246 SCOTISH POEMS. HerBut wearydove had fa’ beenthe waefu’ a Highland woodie laddie, ! To■Wi’ wailsighs herand braw sobs sheJohn thus Highlandinan. began AIR. Tune—0 an' ye were dead Gudeman. TheA Highland Lalland ladlaws my he love held was in scorn born, ; MyBut gallanthe still brawwas faithfu’ John Highland to his clan, man. CHORUS. Sing, heyho my my braw braw John John Highlandman Highlandman! ! WasThere’s match not fora lad my in John a’ the Highlandman. lan’ With his philibeg an’ tartan plaid. An’The gudeladies’ claymore hearts he down did trepan,by his side, My gallant braw JohnSing, Highlandman. hey, &c. We ranged a’ from Tweed to Spey, An’For liv’da Lalland like lordsface heand feared ladies none. gay; My gallant braw JohnSing, Highlandman,hey, &c. They banish’d him beyond the sea. AdownBut ere mythe cheekbud was the on pearl-drops the tree, ran, Embracing my John Sing,Highlandman. hey, &c. But, oh ! they catch’d him at the last, AndMy curse bound upon him them in a dungeonev’ry one, fast They’ve bang’d my brawSing, Johnhey, Highlandman.&c. SCOTISH POEMS. 245 And now a widow I must mourn NoThe comfort pleasures but that a heartywill ne'er cann. return ; When I think on my Sing,John hey,Highlandman. &c. ItECITATIVO. AWha pigmy-scraper us’d at trysts wi’and hisfairs fiddle, to driddle. Her strappan limb andHe gausyreach’d middle. nae higher, Had hol’d his heartieAn’ like blawn’t a riddle, on fire. HeV*'i’ croonedhand on hishaunch, gamut an’one, upward two, three.e’e. Then in an Arioso key,The wee Apollo Set off wi’ AllegrettoHis glee giga solo. Ain. Tune—Whistle otcra the lave o’t. An’Let mego wi’ryke me up to to be dight,that my dear. tear, And Maythen yourwhistle ev’ry owre care the and lave fear o’t, CHORUS. An’I am a’ a thefiddler tunes to thatmy trade.e’er I play’d, The sweetestWas whistle still o’erto wife the laveor maid o’t. At kirns an’ weddings we’se be there* We’llAn’ O bouse! sae nicely’sabout till we Daddie will fare; Care Sings whistle owreI am, the &c.lave o’t.- *1S SCOTISH POEMS. Sae nierrily’s t!ie banes we'll pyke, An’ atsun our nursels leisure about who the i we dyke, like We’ll whistle owreI theam, lave &c. o’t. But bless me wt’ your heaven o’ charms, AndHunger, while cauld, I kittle an’ a’hair sic on harms. thairms, May whistle owra Ithe am, lave &c. o’t. recitatjvo. HerAs charms weel as had poor struck Gutscraper; a sturdy Caird, HeAnd takes ckaws the tiddlera roosty by rapier. the beard. HeTo swoor speet by him a’ likewas aswearing pliver. worth. UnlessRelinquish he would her for ever.that time forth, Wi’ghaistlyUpon his hunkerse’e, poor bended, tweedle-dee AndAnd pray’d so the for quarrel grace, ended. wi’ ruefu’ face. ButWhen tho’ roundhis little the hearttinker did prest grieve. her, 1 He feign’dWhen tothus snirtle the Cairdin his address’dsleeve, her. AIR. Tunt—Clout the Caudron. MyA bonnytinker lass, is my I stationwork in ; brass, I’veIn travpll’dthis my occupation.round all Christian ground I’veIn ta’enmany the a noblegold, squadron I’ve been j. enroll’d SCOTISH POEMS. 249 Bui vain they search’d, when off I march’d To go an’ clout the caudron.I’ve ta’en the gold, &c. Despise that shrimp, that wither’d imp, An’Wi’a’ take hisa share noise wi’ and those caprin’. that bear An’The by budgetthat stowp an’ the! my apron. faith an’ houpe, IfAn’ e’er by ye thatwant, dear or Keilbagie,*meet wi’ scant. May I ne’er weet myAn’ cragie. by that stowp, &c. RECITATIVO. The Caird prevail'd—th’ unblushing fair PartlyIn his wi’ embraces love o’ercome sunk, sae sair, SirAn’ Violino partiy with she anwas air. drunk. Wish’dThat show’dunison betweena man of the spunk. pair. An’ made the bottleTo clunk their health that nigh* ButThat urchin play’d Cupid a dame shot aa shavie.shaft TheBehint fiddler the rak’d chicken her cavie. fore and aft, HerTho’ Lord limping a wight wi’ o’the + spavie,Homer’s craft, HeAn’ hirpled shor’d up, them and Dainty lap like Davie daft. O boot that night. HeAs was ever a care-defying Bacchhs listed, blade Tho’His Fortune heart she sair ever upon miss’d him it.laid, * A peculiar sort of whisky so called: a great favourite witht flomer Poosie’s is Naosie’sallowed clubs.to be the oldest ballad-siuger on record. 250 SCOTISH POEMS. He had no wish but—to be glad HeNor hated want nought but—when but—to he bethirsted; sad, And thus the muse suggestedHis sang that night. AIH. Tf. tie—For a’ that an' a’ that. I amAVi’ a bardgentle of folks no regard, an’ a’ that: Putlr raeHomer-like, town to town the 1glowran draw that. bjke, chorus. Fora’that,An’ twice an’a’as muckle’s that. a’ that; I’veI’ve lost wife but enough ane, I’ve for a’twa that. bellin’, I never drank the Muses’stank, ButCastalio’s there it streams,burn an’ a’and that, richly reams, My Helicon I ca’ that.For a’ that, &c. Great love 1 bear to a’Hie fair. ButTheir lordly humble will, slaveI hold an’ it a’still that; A mortals in to thrawFor that. a’ that, &c. In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, ButAVi’ for mutual how lang love thean’ fiiea’ that;may stang, Let inclination law that.For a’ that, &c. TheirThey’ve tricks ta’en and mecraft in havean’ a’ put that; me daft. But1 likeclear the your jads decks, for a’ andthat. here's the sex ! SCOTISH POEMS. 251 ForAn’twice a’ that, asand muckle’s a’ that; a’that; MyThey’re dearest welcome bluid, todo till't them for a’guid, that. BECITATIVO. SoShook sung with the bard—anda thunder ofNansie’s applause, wa’s TheyRe-echo’d toom’d their from pocks, each an’mouth pawn’d ; their duds, TheyTo scarcely quench left their to Iowancoor their drouth. fuds, ThenThe owre poet againdid request, the jovial thrang ToA lowse ballad his o’ pack the best: an’ wale a sang, HeBetween rising, rejoicinghis twa Deborahs, LooksImpatient round forhim, the an’ chorus. found them AIR. Tune—Jolly Mortals fill your Glnses. SeeMark ! the our smoaking jovial ragged bowl beforering ! us, RoundAnd andin raptures round take let usup sing. the chorus, cnonus. A• Liberty’sfig for those a glorious by law feast!protected! CourtsChurches for cowards built to wereplease erected, the priest. What is title ? what is treasure i IfWhat we lead is reputation’sa life of pleasure, care ? ’Tb no matter how or Awhere fig, &c.! 252 SCOTISH POEMS. With the ready trick and fable, AndRound at night we wanderin barn allor stablethe day ; Hug our doxies on the hay.A fig, &c. Does the train attended carriage DoesThrough the sober the bedcountry of marriage lighter rove ? Witness brighter scenesA of fig, love &c. ? Life is all a variorum. LetWe them regard cant not about how decorum, it goes; Who have characters toA lose. fig, &c. Here’sHere’s to tobudgets, all the bags,wand’ring and wallets train 1 4 Here’sOne andour allragged cry out,brats Amen and callets 1 1 A Liberty’sfig for those a glorious by law feast! protected ; CourtsChurches for cowards built to wereplease erected. the priest.

EPIGRAM. Burns, accompanied by a friend, having gone to Inverary at ottiie Argyle, Inn-keeper, finding whose himself whole and attention his companion seemed entirely to be occupied neglected with by vility with which they were treated in the following lines.

wI pityHOE’ER much hishe becase, that sojourns here, UnlessThe Lordne come their to God, w ait bis upon Grace. SCOTISII POEMS. 253 There’sAnd Highland naething scabhere andbut hunger;Highland pride. If ’TwasProvidence surely has in sentan anger. me here,

EPIGRAM Elphinsione's Translation of Martial's Epigrams. oWhom THOU, Prose whom has Poetryturned outabhors, of doors, Heard’st’Twas laurell’dthou that Martial groan—proceed roaring murder.no further, EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE, THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARIAN. The following Epigram, written in a moment of festivity by anBurns, excuse was for soprolonging much idished the convivial by Grose, occasion that he that made gave it serveit birth as The Devil got notice that Grosz was a dying. ButSo whip when at hethe approach’d summons, oldwhere Satan poor came Francis flying: lay And sawmoaning, each bed-post with its burden a groaning,* Astonish’dI’ll want ’im, I confoundedere I take !such cried ad Satan, Byble G-d load. ! himself* Mr. with Grose the was greatest exceedingly gbod humour, corpulent, on the and singular used rotundity to rally GLOSSARY.

GLOSSARY.

GLOSSARY. m GLOSSARY.

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