Imágenes de páginas

Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch

O'sour disdain, Out owre a glass o'whisky punch

Wi' honest men ! Oh whisky! soul o'plays and pranks! Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks

Are my poor verses ! Thou comes

-they rattle i' their ranks

At ither's a-!
Thee, Ferintosh! oh sadly lost! (99)
Scotland lament frae coast to coast !
Now colic grips, and barkin' hoast,

May kill us a' ;
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast,

Is ta'en awa!
Thae curst horse-leeches o' th’ Excise,
Wha mak the whisky stells their prize!
Haud up thy han’, Deil! ance, twice, thrice !

There, seize the blinkers !
And bake them up in brunstane pies


dand drinkers,
Fortune! if tlou'll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill,
And rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,

Tak a' the rest,
And deal't about as thy blind skill

Directs thee best.

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd

And shudder at the niffer,
But cast a moment's fair regard,

What maks the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave

That purity ye pride in,
And (what's aft mair than a'the lave)

Your better art o' hiding.
Think, when your castigated pulse

Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,

That still eternal gallop:
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,

Right on ye scud your sea-way ;
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,

It maks an unco lee-way.
See social life and glee sit down,

All joyous and withinking,
Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown

Debauchery and drinking :
Oh would they stay to calculate

Th' eternal consequences;
Or your more dreaded hell to state,

D-mnation of expenses !
Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,

Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor frailty names,

Suppose a change o' cases;
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,

A treacherous inclination
But, let me whisper i' your lug,

Ye're aiblins nae temptation.
Then gently scan your brother man,

Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a keunin' wrang,

To step aside is hunan :
One point must still be greatly dark,

The moving why they do it:
And just as lamely can ye mark,

How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone

Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord-its various tone,

Each spring-its various bias :
Then at the balance let's be mute,

We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,

But know not what's resisted.

Address to the Guru Gnid,


My son, these maxims make a rule,

And lump them aye thegither;
The Rigid Righteous is a fool,

The Rigid Wise anither;
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight

May hae some pyles o'caff in;
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o' daffin."

SOLOMON-Eccles. vii, 16.
Oh ye wha are sae guid yoursel,

Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell

Your neebour's fauts and folly !
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,

Supplied wi' store o' water, The heaped hapher's ebbing still,

And still the clap plays clatter, Hear me, ye venerable core,

As counsel for poor mortals,
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door

For glaiket Folly's portals;
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,

Would here propone defences,
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,

Their failings and mischances.

Tan Santsu's Elrgy. « An honest man's the noblest work of God."


Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil ?
Or great M-Kinlay (100) thrawn his heel?
Or Robertson (101) again grown weel,

To preach and read?

But yet he drew the mortal trigger

Wi' weel-aim'd heed; "I-d, five!” he cried, and owre did stagger

Tam Samson's dead!
Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither;
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ;
You auld grey stane, amang the heather,

Marks out his head,
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether,

Tam Samson's dead! There now he lies, in lasting rest; Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest,

To hatch and breed; Alas! nae mair he'll them molest!

Tam Samson's dead! When August winds the heather wave, And sportsmen wander by yon grave, Three volleys let his mem'ry crare

O'pouther and lead, Till echoe answer frae her cave,

Tam Samson's dead! Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be ! Is th' wish o'mony mae than me; He had twa faits, or inaybe three,

Yet what remead? Ae social, honest man want we:

Tam Samson's dead!

* Na, waur than a'! " cries ilka chiel

Tam Samson's dead !
Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane, ,
And sigh, and sob, and greet her lane,
And cleed her bairns, man, wife, and wean,

In mourning weed;
To death, she's dearly paid the kane-

Tam Samson's dead !
The brethren o' the mystic level
May hing their head in woefu' bevel,
While by their nose the tears will revel,

Like ony head;
Death's gi'en the lodge an unco devel-

Tam Samson's dead!
When winter muffles up his cloak,
And binds the mire like a rock;
When to the lochs the curlers flock

Wi' gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the cock ?-

Tam Samson's dead ?
He was the king o' a' the core,
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,
Or up the rink like Jehu roar

In time o' need;
But now he lags on death's hog-score-

Tam Samson's dead!
Now safe the stately sawmont sail,
And trouts be-dropp'd wi' crimson hail,-
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail,

And geds for creed,
Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail

Tam Sanison dead!
Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a';
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw;
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw,

Withouten dread;
Your mortal fae is now awa-

Tam Samson's dead!
That woefu mourn be ever mourn'd
Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd,

Frae couples freed;
But, och! he gaed and ne'er return'd!-

Tam Sanson's dead!
In vain auld age his body batters;
In vain the gout his ancles fetters;
In vain the burns cam' down like waters,

An acre braid!
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin', clatters,

Tam Samson's dead!
Owre many a weary hay he limpit,
And aye the tither shot he thumpit,
Till coward death behind him jumpit,

Wi' deadly feide;
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet,

Tam Samson's dead!
When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger,


Tam Samson's weel worn clay here lies,

Ye canting zealots spare him ! If honest worth in heaven rise,

Ye'll mend or ye win near him.


Go, Fame, and canter like a filly
Thro'e the streets and neuks o' Killie (102),
Tell ev'ry social, honest billy

To cease his grievin',
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie,

Tam Samson's livin' (103)!



OPPRESS'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,

I set me down and sigh;
Oh life! thou art a galling load.
Along a rough, a weary roari,

To wretches such as I !
Dim-backward as I cast my view,

What sick’ning scenes appear !
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro',

Too justly I may fear!

Still caring, despairing,

Must be my bitter doom;
My woes here shall close ne'er

But with the closing tomb !
Happy, ye sons of busy life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,

No other view regard !
Er'n when the wished end's denied,
Yet while the husy means are plied,

They bring their own reward :
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,

Unfitted with an aim,
Meet ev'ry sad returning night
And joyless morn the same;
You, bustling, apa justling,

Forget each grief and pain;
I listless, yet restless,

Find every prospect vain.
How blest the solitary's lot,
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot,

Within his humble cell,
The cavern wild with tangling roots,
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits,

Beside his crystal well!
Or haply to his ev’ning thought,

By unfrequented streamı,
The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint collected dream;
While praising and raising

His thoughts to heav'n on high,
As wand'ring, meandring,

He views the solemn sky.
Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd
Where never human footstep trac'd,

Less fit to play the part;
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop, and just to move,

With self-respecting art:
But, ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,

Which I too keenly taste,
The solitary can despise,
Can want, and yet be blest!
He needs not, he heeds not,

Or human love or hate,
Whilst I here, must cry here

At perfidy ingrate!
Oh! enviable, early days,
When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,

To care, to guilt unknown!
How ill exchang'd for riper times,
To feel the follies, or the crimes,

Of others or my own!
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport,

Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
When manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,

That active man engage!
The fears all, the tears all,

Of dim declining age!

The Cutter's Saturdan Flight. INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKIN, ESQ. (104) " Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor.

(105)-GRAY. My loved, my honour'd, much respected

friend, No mercenary bard his homage pays : With honest pride I scorn each selfish end :

(praise : My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene;

(ways; The native feelings strong, the guileless What Aitken in a cottage would have been;

(there, I ween. Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier November chill blaws loud wi' angry sough;

[close; The short’ning winter-day is near a The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;

[repose : The black’ning trains o' craws to their The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

[spend, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to And weary, o'er the moor, his course does

haneward bend, At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the slieiter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee things toddlin, stacher thro'

[and glee.
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise
His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily,
His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie

wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile,

[his toil. And makes him quite forget his labour and Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,

At service out amang the farmers roun', Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some

tentie rin A cannie errand to a neibor town; Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

[e'e, In youthfu' bloom, love sparklin' in her Comes hame, perhaps, to show a bra’ new


Or deposit her sair-won penny fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hard

ship be.



the new;

With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters I've paced much this weary, mortal round, meet,

[spiers : And sage experience bids me this de And each for other's weelfare kindly


(spare, The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd “If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure fleet;

[hears; One cordial in this melancholy vale, Each tells the uncos that he sees or 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair The parents, partial, eye their hopeful In other's arms breathe out the tender years;


(the ev'ning gale.” Anticipation forward points the view, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents The mother, wi' her needle and her shears,

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's

A wretch! a villain ! lost to love and

truth!The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting Their master's and their mistress's com.


(smooth! mand,

Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling The younkers a’ are warned to obey ;

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? And mind their labours wi' an eydent

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, hand,


Points to the parents fondling o'er their And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or

child ?

[traction wild? “And oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their disAnd mind your duty, duly, morn and night!

But now the supper crowns their simple Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,


[food; Implore His counsel and assisting

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's might:

Lord aright!

The soupe their only hawkie does afford, They never sought in vain that sought the

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood:


The dame brings forth, in complimental But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door,


To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd keb

luck, fell, Jenny wha kens the meaning o' the

And aft he's prest, and aft he ca’s it guid; Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor,

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, To do some errands, and convoy her

How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was hame.

i' the bell. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, cheek,

[name, They,round the ingle, form a circle vide; Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his

The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;

The big ha’-bible, ance his father's pride; eel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, worthless rake.

His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare;

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him

gfide, [e'e;

He wales a portion with judicious care; A strappin youth; he taks the mether's And “Let us worship GOD!” he says, with Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ;

solemn air. The father cracks of horses, pleughs, They chant their artless notes in simple and kye.


[aim : The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi'

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest But blate and lathefu’, scarce can weel Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures behave;


[name, The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, canı Or plaintive Martyrs, wortlıy of the What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward sae grave;

flame, Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : like the lave.

Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame;

(raise; Oh happy love!where love like this is The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures found!

[compare! Nae unison hae they with our Creator's Oh heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond praise.




The priest-like father reads the sacred For them and for their little ones provide; page

[high; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine How Abram was the friend of GOD ou

preside. Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny;

From scenes like these old Scotia's grar

deur springs, Or how the royal bard did groaning lie


That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging

Princes and lords are but the breath of

kings, Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;


“An honest man's the noblest work of Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;

And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

The cottage leaves the palace far behind; Perhaps the Christian volume is the What is a lordling's pomp?-a cumbrous theme


[kind How guiltless blood for guilty man was Disguising oft the wretch of human How He, who bore in Heaven the second studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! name,

[head :

Oh Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! Had not on earth whereon to lay his

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven How his first followers and servants sped,

is sent! The precepts sage they wrote to mauy a

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil,

Be blest with health, and peace, and How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

sweet content!

[prevent Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand;

And oh! may Heaven their simple lives And heard great Bab’lon's doom pronounced

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! by Heaven's conimaud.

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETER

rent, NAL KING,

(prays :

A virtuous populace may rise the while, The saint, the father, and the husband And stand a wall of fire around their much Hope “springs exulting on triumphant

lov'd isle. wing,” (106)


Oh Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That thus they all shall meet in future There ever bask in uncreated rays,

That strcan'd through Wallace's un

daunted heart, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,

Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear;

Or nobly die the second glorious part, While circling time moves round in an eter

(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, nal sphere.

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and re

ward !) Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's

Oh never, never, Scotia's realm desert; pride,

But still the patriot, and the patriot In all the pomp of method, and of art,


[guard! When men display to congregations wide, In bright succession raise, her ornament and

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! The pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will de. sert,

To a Plunntain Daisy.
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But, haply, in some cottage far apart,

IN TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THB May hear, well pleas'd, the language of PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786. (107) the soul;

(enrol. WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, And in his book of life the inmates poor | Thou's met me in an evil hour; Then homeward all take off their sey'ral For I maun crush amang the stoure

Thy slender stem: way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest:

To spare thee now is past my pow'r, The parent.pair their secret homage pay,

Thou bonnie gem. And proffer up to Heaven the warm re- Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, quest,

(nest, The bonnie lark, companion meet, That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,

Wi’speckl'd breast, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the When up-ward-springing, blythe, to greet best,

The purpling east.

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