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TO A HAGGIS.
161 The widows, wives, and a' may bless him, And when you read the simple artless rhymes, Wi tearfu' e'e;
One friendly sigh for him--he asks no more, For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, That's owre the sea !
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar." Oh fortune, they ha'e room to grumble! Had'st thou taen aff some drowsy bumble, Wha can do uought but fyke and fumble, 'Twad been nae plea ;
The Farrwell, But he was gleg as ony wumble,
"The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer That's owre the sea !
Or what does he regard his single woes?
But when, alas ! he inultiplies himself, Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear
To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair, And stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ;
To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon "Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,
him, In flinders flee;
To helpless children!--then, oh then ! he feels
The point of misery fest'ring in his heart, He was her laureat mony a year,
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. That's owre the sea !
Such, such am I! undone!” He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west;
THOMSON's Edward and Eleanora. Lang mustering up a bitter blast;
FAREWELL, old Scotia’s bleak domains, A jillet brak his heart at last,
Far dearer than the torrid plains
Where rich ananas blow!
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!
A brother's sigh! a sister's tear !
My Jean's heart-rending throe! On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou’rt bereft Wi' his proud, independent stomach,
Of my parental care;
A faithful brother I have left,
My part in him thou'lt share!
Adieu too, to you too,
My Smith, my bosom frien'; He ne'er was gien to great misguiding,
When kindly you mind me,
Oh then befriend my Jean!
What bursting anguish tears my heart! The muse was a' that he took pride in,
From thee, my Jeany, must I part!
Thou, weeping, answ'rest “No!"
Alas! misfortune stares my face, Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
And points to ruin and disgrace, And hap him in a cozie biel :
I for thy sake must go!
Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,
A grateful, warm adieu !
I, with a much indebted tear,
Shall still remember you?
All-hail then, the gale then, Your native soil was right ill-willie;
Wafts me from thee, dear shore ! But may ye flourish like a lily,
It rustles, and whistles-
I'll never see thee more!
Ti a Baggis. (191)
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
AN OLD SWEET- Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm
| Weel are ye wordy of a grace ONCE fondly lov'd and still remembered dear; 1 Sweet early object of my youthful vows!
As lang's my arm. Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, The groaning trencher there ye fill, Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows. Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
Grtempore in the Court of bresion.
LORD ADVOCATE. (193)
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, And cut you up wi' ready slight,
He quoted and he hinted,
Till in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint it:
He gaped for't, he graiped for't,
He fand it was awa, man;
But what his common sense came short, Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
He eked out wi' law, man.
MR. ERSKINE. (194)
Collected Harry stood a wee,
Then opend out his arm, man:
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,
And ey'd the gathering storm, man; Or Olio that wad staw a sow,
Like wind-driv'n hail, it did assail,
Or torrents owre a linn, man;
The bench sae wise lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.
To the Guidwife of Wanrhape Bunse.
“My cantie, witty, rhyming ploughman, His nieve a nit;
I hafflins doubt it is na' true, inan, Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
| That ye between the stilts was bred,
Wi' ploughmen schooled, wi' ploughmen fed Oh how unfit!
I doubt it sair, ye’ve drawn your knowledge But mark the rustic, haggis-fed,
Kither frae grammar-school or college. The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Guid troth, your saul and body baith Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
War better fed, I'd gie my aith,
Than theirs who sup sour milk and parritch, He'll mak it whissle;
And bummil through the single Carritch.
Whaerer heard the ploughman speak,
Could tell gif Homer was a Greek ?
He'd fee as soon upon a cudgel,
As get a single line of Virgil.
And then sae slee ye crack your jokes
Our great men a' sae weel descrive,
And how to gar the nation thrive,
Ane maist vad swear ye dwelt amang them.
Ye are a funny blade, I swear ;
And though the cauld I ill can bide,
Yet twenty miles and mair I'd ride AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT, JAN. 1. 1787. O'er moss and moor, and never grumble, (192)
Though my auld yad should gie a stumble,
To crack a winter night wi' thee, AGAIN the silent wheels of time
And hear thy sangs and sonnets slee.
Oh gif I kenn'd but where ye baide,
'Twad houd your shouthers warm and bray,
And douce at kirk or market shaw; No gifts have I from Indian coasts
Fra’ soutlı as weel as norti, my lad, The infant year to hail ;
A' honest Scotsmen loe the inaud." I send you more than India boasts
I MIND it weel in early date, In Edwin's simple tale.
When I was beardless young, and blate, Our sex with guile and faithless love
And first could thresh the barn; Is charg'd, perhaps, too true;
Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh; But may, dear maid, each lover prove
And tho' forfoughten sair eneug An Edwin still to you!
Yet unco proud to learn :
War beheirs who suh the singine
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,
Douce hingin' owre my curple, Than ony ermine ever lap,
When first amang the yellow corn
A man I reckon'd was,
The tither stooked raw,
Wearing the day awa.
Fareweel then, lang heal then,
And plenty be your fa', May losses and crosses
Ne'er at your hallan ca'.
E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'rA wish that to my latest hour
Shall strongly heave my breastThat I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan or beuk could make
Or sing a sang at least
Amang the bearded bear,
My envy e'er could raise,
I knew nae higher praise.
Urrses WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON,
THE POET, IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN
EDINBURCH, MARCH 19, 1787. CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd,
[pleasure ! And yet can starve the author of the Oh thou, my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the muses, With tears I pity tly unhappy fate! Why is the hard unpitied by the world, Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ?
Now envy, etut blot stonise.
Born, Sept. 5, 1751.
Died, Oct. 15, 1774. No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,
“No storied urn nor animated bust;" This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.
Health to the sex, ilk guid chiel says, Wi' merry dance in winter days,
And we to share in common : The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, The saul o' life, the heaven below,
Is rapture-giving woman. Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name,
Be mindfu' o your mither: She, honest woman, may think shame That ye're connected with her. Ye're wae men, ye're nae men
That slight the lovely dears; To shame ye, disclaim ye,
Ilk honest birkie swears.
Prologne, SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT
NIGHT. Monday, 16th April, 1787. (196) WHEN by a generous Public's kind acclaim, That dearest need is granted honest fame: When here your favour is the actor's lot, Nor even the man in private life forgot; What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow, But heaves impassion'd with thegrateful throe. Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng,
(song, It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's But here an ancient nation fam'd afar, For genius, learning high, as great in warHail, CALEDONIA, name for ever dear! Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear :
For you, no bred to barn and byre, Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre,
Thanks to you for your line: The marled plaid ye kindly spare, By me should gratefully be ware;
'Twad please me to the nine,
Where every science-every nobler art- / The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd;
That was a law :
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowdHere holds her search by heaven-taught
Willie's awa! Reason's beam;
Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools, Here history paints with elegance and force,
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, The tide of Empire's fluctuating course;
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into
In glen or shaw; plan,
He wha could brush them down to mools, And Harley (197) rouses all the god in man,
Willie's awa! When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite
The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer With manly lore, or female beauty bright
(200) (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and May morn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; grace,
He was a dictionar and grammar Can only charm us in the second place),
Amang them a'; Witness my heart, how oft with panting | | I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer fear
Willie's awa! As on this night, I've met these judges here!
Nae mair we see his levee door But still the hope Experience taught to live,
Philosophers and poets pour, Equal to judge-you're candid to forgive.
And toothy critics by the score, No hundred-headed Riot here we meet,
In bloody raw! With decency and law beneath his feet;
The adjutant o' a' the core,
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace; Oh thou dread Power; whose empire Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace giving hand
As Rome ne'er saw; Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd They a' maun meet some ither place, Strong may she glow with all lier ancient
Willie's awa! fire!
Poor Burns - e'en Scotch drink canna May every son be worthy of his sire! Firm may she rise with generous disdain
He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken, At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain !
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin Still self-dependent in her native shore,
By hoodie-craw ! Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin' roar,
Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,
And self-conceited critic skellum
His quill may draw;
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum, (198)
And Ettrick banks now roaring red,
While tempests blaw;
But every joy and pleasure's filed
May I be slander's common speech; And had o' things an unco slight;
A text for infamy to preach ;
And lastly, streekit out to bleach
In winter snaw;
Tho' far awa!