No More Learning

O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've pacèd much this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare:-
« If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale. ”
Is there in human form, that bears a heart
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling, smooth!
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ?
Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild ?
But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome partitch,8 chief o' Scotia's food:
The soupe their only Hawkie' does afford,
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood: 11
1 Half.
4 Cows.
7 Rest.
10 Wall.
2 Into the spence, or parlor.
5 Bashful.
6 Porridge.
11 Chews her cud.
3 Gossips.
6 Sheepish.
9 A white-faced cow.


## p. 2848 (#420) ###########################################

2848
ROBERT BURNS
The dame brings forth in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hained' kebbuck,? fell,
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i’ the be! 1. *
The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They round the ingle form a circle wide:
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets5 wearing thin an' bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales a portion wi' judicious care;
And “Let us worship God! ” he says, with solemn air.
They chant their artless notes in simple guise,
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim :
Perhaps Dundee's) wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs,' worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin' beets? the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays:
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.
The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
With Amalek's ungracious progeny;
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry:
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire:
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme:
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He who bore in heaven the second name
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head:
How his first followers and servants sped:
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land;
i Saved.
* Flax was in flower.
Increases.
2 Cheese.
5 Gray locks,
3 Twelvemonth.
6 Chooses.
7


## p. 2849 (#421) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2849
How he who, lone in Patmos banished,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand;
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's com.
mand.
Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply in some cottage far apart,
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enroll.
Then homeward all take off their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest :
The parent pair their secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request
That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside.
From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad;
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
“An honest man's the noblest work of God: )) 2
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road,
The cottage leaves the palace far behind;
2
1 Pope's (Windsor Forest. "
Pope's Essay on Man. )
V-179


## p. 2850 (#422) ###########################################

2850
ROBERT BURNS
What is a lordling's pomp! a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined !
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent !
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From Luxury's contagion weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle.
O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide
That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward! )
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert;
But still the patriot, and the patriot bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard !
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
JOHN
OHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.


## p. 2851 (#423) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2851
MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN
A DIRGE
WHEN
HEN chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,
I spied a man, whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;
His face was furrowed o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.
“Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? »
Began the reverend sage;
«Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure's rage ?
Or haply, pressed with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth, with me, to mourn
The miseries of man!
« The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Outspreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labor to support
A haughty lordling's pride;-
I've seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proofs
That man was made to mourn.
«O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway,
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.
“Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:
But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn,


## p. 2852 (#424) ###########################################

2852
ROBERT BURNS
Then age and want - oh ill-matched pair!
Show man was made to mourn.
A few seem favorites of fate,
In Pleasure's lap caressed;
Yet think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest.
But oh! what crowds in every land
Are wretched and forlorn!
Through weary life this lesson learn,
That man was made to mourn.
“Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Inwoven with our frame;
More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
"See yonder poor o'er-labored wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.
"If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,
By Nature's law designed,
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind ?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn ?
Or why has man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn ?
« Yet let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of humankind
Is surely not the best!
The poor, oppressèd, honest man,
Had never, sure, been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn.


## p. 2853 (#425) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2853
«O Death! the poor man's dearest friend -
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my agèd limbs
Are laid with thee at rest!
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow
From pomp and pleasure torn;
But, oh! a blest relief to those
That weary-laden mourn ! "
GREEN GROW THE RASHES
T"
HERE's naught but care on every han',
In every hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An 't werena for the lasses, O?
CHORUS
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent
Were spent amang the lasses, O!
The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still inay fly them, 0);
An' though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
But gi'e me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, 0;
An' warly cares, an’ warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0;
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, 0);
Her 'prentice han’ she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.


## p. 2854 (#426) ###########################################

2854
ROBERT BURNS
IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY
I
S THERE for honest poverty
That hangs his head, and a' that ?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toil's obscure, and a' that:
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ?
Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, and a' that -
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie,' ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that:
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof? for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that-
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that,
But an honest man's aboon his might -
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that. and a' that,
Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth
Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may -
As come it will for a' that
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
It's comin' yet, for a' that,-
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!
Spirited fellow.
2 Fool.


## p. 2855 (#427) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2855
TO A MOUSE
FLYING BEFORE A Plow
W
EE, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie,
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty,
Wi’ bick'ring brattle! 1
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle! ?
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
Which mak's thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion
And fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave 3
'S a sma' request :
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss 't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly“ wa's the win's are strewin'!
And naething now to big 5 a new ane
O' foggage green!
And bleak December's winds ensuin',
Baith snell' and keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
And weary winter comin' fast,
And cozie here, beneath the blast
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out through thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hauld,8
i Hurrying run.
2 The plow-spade.
3 An ear of corn in twenty-four sheaves — that is, in a thrave.
* Frail. 5 Build. 6 Aftermath. 7 Bitter. * Holding


## p. 2856 (#428) ###########################################

2856
ROBERT BURNS
To thole' the winter's sleety dribble,
And cranreuch ? cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 3
In proving foresight may be vain!
The best-laid schemes o mice and men
Gang aft agley,
And lea'e us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee;
But och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear.
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE Plow
W"
TEE, modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure'
Thy slender stem;
To spare thee now is past my power,
Thou bonnie gem.
Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckled breast,
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth,
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent earth
Thy tender form.
1 Endure.
* Crevice.
3 Alone.
* Dust.
Peeped.
5


## p. 2857 (#429) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2857
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield;
But thou beneath the random bield?
O'clod or stane,
Adorns the histie? stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betrayed,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i' the dust.
Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starred !
Unskillful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!
Such fate to suffering worth is given,
Who long with wants and woes has striven,
By human pride or cunning driven
To mis'ry's brink,
Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven,
He, ruined, sink!
Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine — no distant date;
Stern Ruin's plowshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight
Shall be thy doom!
1 Shelter.
2 Barren.


## p. 2858 (#430) ###########################################

2858
ROBERT BURNS
TAM O'SHANTER
W*
"HEN chapman billies' leave the street,
And drouthy? neebors neebors meet,
As market days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak’ the gate 3;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whaur sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonny lasses).
0 Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta’en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum";
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder,9 wi’ the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 10
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean" till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon;
1 Fellows.
2 Thirsty.
3 Road.
4 Ale.
6 Gates or openings through a hedge.
6 Good-for-nothing fellow.
? Nonsensical.
8 Chattering fellow.
9 Grain sent to the mill to be ground; i. e. , that every time he carried the
corn to the mill he sat to drink with the miller.
10 Nag that required shoeing.
Jean Kennedy, a public-house keeper at Kirkoswald.
11


## p. 2859 (#431) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2859
Or catched wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How many lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!
But to our tale:- Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle,' bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter- Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better;
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favors, secret, sweet, and precious;
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;
The storm without might rairó and rustle.
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy;
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious !
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed !
Or like the snowfall in the river,
A moment white — then melts for ever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Nae •man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride:
1 Makes me weep.
2 Fire.
3 Foaming ale.
4 Shoemaker.
5 Roar.


## p. 2860 (#432) ###########################################

2860
ROBERT BURNS
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in:
And sic a night he tak's the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattlin' showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand,
The de'il had business on his hand.
Weel mounted on his gray mare Meg
(A better never lifted leg),
Tam skelpit' on through dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles? catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whaur ghaists and houlets 3 nightly cry.
By this time he was 'cross the ford,
Whaur in the snaw the chapman smoored;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whaur drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And through the whins, and by the cairn,
Whaur hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whaur Mungo's mither hanged hersel.
Before him Doon pours all his foods;
The doubling storm roars through the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering through the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Through ilka bore; the beams were glancing:
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak' us scorn!
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae ? we'll face the devil!
1 Rode carelessly. 2 Ghosts, bogies. 3 Owls.
4 Was smothered. 5 Crevice, or hole. 6 Twopenny ale.
Whisky.
7


## p. 2861 (#433) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2861
=;
LT
ci
The swats! sae reamed 2 in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he cared na de'ils a boddle. »
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels
Put life and mettle in their heels.
At winnock-bunker * in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke,5 black, grim, and large;
To gi'e them music was his charge:
He screwed the pipes and gart them skir1,6
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl! ?
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shawed the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantrip® slight,
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table
A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; 9
Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns;
A thief new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi’ his last gasp his gab 10 did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted;
Five scimitars wi' murder crusted;
A garter which a babe had strangled;
A knife a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft-
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft:
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.
As Tammie glow'red," amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
d;"
8
i Drink.
2 Frothed, mounted.
3 A small old coin.
4 Window-seat.
5 Shaggy dog.
6 Made them scream.
? Shake.
Spell.
9 Irons.
10 Mouth.
11 Stared.


## p. 2862 (#434) ###########################################

2862
ROBERT BURNS
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,'
Till ilka carlin ? swat and reekit, 3
And coost 4 her duddies 5 to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark! ?
Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans
A' plump and strapping, in their teens:
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen,
Thir breeks 10 o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,
For ane blink o' the bonnie burdies !
But withered beldams old and droll,
Rigwoodie" hags wad spean ! ? a foal,
Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 13
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.
But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie:
“There was ae winsome wench and walie, » 14
That night inlisted in the core
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore !
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 13
And kept the country-side in fear),
Her cutty sark, 16 o' Paisley harn, 17
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft 19 for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever graced a dance of witches!
18
· Caught hold of each other.
2 Old hag.
3 Reeked with heat.
4 Cast off.
5 Clothes.
6 Tripped.
7 Chemise.
& Greasy flannel.
9 Manufacturers' term for linen
woven in a reed of 1700 divisions.
10 Breeches.
11 Gallows-worthy.
12 Wean.
13 A crutch - a stick with a crook.
14 Quoted from Allan Ramsay.
Barley.
16 Short shift or shirt.
17 Very coarse linen.
18 Proud.
19 Bought.
15


## p. 2863 (#435) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2863
But here my muse her wing maun cour';
Sic flights are far beyond her power:
To sing how Nannie lap and flang
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu’ fain,
And hotched and blew wi' might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tints? his reason a'thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark! ”
And in an instant all was dark;
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,3
When plundering hords assail their byke;
As open pussie's mortal foes
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When «Catch the thief! » resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch 5 screech and hollow.
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam, thou'll get thy fairin'!
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,—
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle —
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
i Cower - sink.
? Loses.
* Hive.
3 Fuss.
5 Unearthly.


## p. 2864 (#436) ###########################################

2864
ROBERT BURNS
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump!
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty Sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear-
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN
SO
COTS wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots whain Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour:
See approach proud Edward's pow'r —
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freemen stand, or freemen fa',
Let him follow me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By our sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow! -
Let us do or die!


## p. 2865 (#437) ###########################################

ROBERT BURNS
2865
HIGHLAND MARY
Y®
E BANKS and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There Simmer first unfald her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom!
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi’mony a vow and locked embrace
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursel's asunder;
But oh! fell Death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay
That wraps my Highland Mary!
Oh pale, pale now those rosy lips,
I aft hae kissed so fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And moldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
V-180


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2866
ROBERT BURNS
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS
M My heart's in the Highlands, wa-chasing the deer:
Y HEART's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North!
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow!
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below!
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods!
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods !
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe -
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
THE BANKS O'DOON
Y
E BANKS and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care ?
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons through the flowering thorn;
Thou ininds me o' departed joys,
Departed— never to return!
Oft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o’ its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.


## p. 2867 (#439) ###########################################

2867
JOHN BURROUGHS
(1837-)
OHN BURROUGHS was born in Roxbury, New York, April 3d,
1837, and like many other American youths who later in
life became distinguished, he went to school winters and
worked on the farm in summer. He grew up among people who
neither read books nor cared for them, and he considers this cir-
cumstance best suited to his development. Early intercourse with
literary men would, he believes, have dwarfed his original faculty.
He began to write essays at the age of fourteen, but these early
literary efforts give little hint of his later
work, of that faculty for seeing, and com-
menting on all that he saw in nature,
which became his chief characteristic. He
was especially fond of essays; one of his
first purchases with his own money was a
full set of Dr. Johnson, and for a whole
year he lived on (The Idler) and The
Rambler' and tried to imitate their pon-
derous prose.
His first contributions to
literature, modeled on these essays, were
promptly returned. By chance he picked
up a volume of Emerson, the master who
JOHN BURROUGHS
was to revolutionize his whole manner of
thinking; and as he had fed on Dr. Johnson he fed on the Essays
and Miscellanies,' until a paper he wrote at nineteen on Expres-
sions) was accepted by the editor of the Atlantic, with a lurking
doubt whether it had not come to him on false pretenses, as it was
very much like an early essay of Emerson.
Mr. Burroughs ascribes to Emerson, who stimulated his religious
nature, his improved literary expression; while Whitman was to him
a great humanizing power, and Matthew Arnold taught him clear
thinking and clean writing. He had passed through these different
influences by the time he was twenty-one or twenty-two; had taught
for a while; and from 1863 to 1873 was vault-keeper and afterwards
chief of the organization division of the Bureau of National Banks,
in the Treasury Department. For several years afterward he was a
special national bank examiner.
The literary quality of his writings from the first captivates the
reader. He has the interpretive power which makes us see what he



## p. 2868 (#440) ###########################################

2868
JOHN BURROUGHS
sees and invites us to share his enjoyment in his strange adventures.
The stories of the wary trout and the pastoral bee, the ways of
sylvan folk, their quarrels and their love-making, are so many char-
acter sketches on paper, showing a most intimate acquaintance with
nature.
He is a born naturalist. He tells us that from childhood he was
familiar with the homely facts of the barn, the cattle and the horses,
the sugar-making and the work of the corn-field, the hay-field, the
threshing, the planting, the burning of fallows. He «loved nature
in those material examples and subtle expressions, with a love pass-
ing all the books in the world. ” But he also loved and knew books,
and this other love gives to his works their literary charm.
His account of a bird, a flower, or an open-air incident, however
painstaking and minute the record, teems with literary memories.
The sight of the Scotch hills recalls Shakespeare's line,
«The tufty mountains where lie the nibbling sheep. ”
The plane-tree vocal with birds' voices recalls Tennyson,—“The pil-
lared dusk of sounding sycamores”; he hears the English chaffinch,
and remembers with keen delight that Drayton calls it the throstle
with sharp thrills,” and Ben Jonson “the lusty throstle. ” After much
wondering, he finds out why Shakespeare wrote
« The murmuring surge
That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes,”
his own experience being that sea-shores are sandy; but the pebbled
cliffs of Folkestone, with not a grain of sand on the chalk founda-
tion, justified the poet.
This lover of nature loves not only the beautiful things he sees,
but he loves what they suggest, what they remind him of, what they
bid him aspire to. Like Wordsworth, he looks on the hills with
tenderness, and makes deep friendship with the streams and groves. ”
He notes what he divines hy observation. And what an observer he
He discovers that the bobolink goes south in the night. He
scraped an acquaintance with a yellow rumpled warbler who, taking
the reflection of the clouds and blue sky in a pond for a short cut
to the tropics, tried to cross it; with the result of his clinging for a
day and night to a twig that hung down in the water.
Burroughs has found that whatever bait you use in trout
stream, - grasshopper, grub, or fly,— there is one thing you must
always put on your hook; namely, your heart. It is a morsel they
love above everything else. He tells us that man has sharper eyes
than a dog, a fox, or any of the wild creatures except the birds, but
not so sharp an ear or a nose; he says that a certain quality of
youth is indispensable in the angler, a certain unworldliness and
is!
1
a


## p. 2869 (#441) ###########################################

JOHN BURROUGHS
2869
we never
readiness to invest in an enterprise that does not pay in current
coin. He says that nature loves to enter a door another hand has
opened: a mountain view never looks better than when one has been
warmed up by the capture of a big trout. Like certain wary game,
she is best taken by seeming to pass her by, intent on other mat-
ters. What he does not find out for himself, people tell him. From
a hedge-cutter he learns that some of the birds take an earth-bath
and some a water-bath, while a few take both; a farmer boy con-
fided to him that the reason
see any small turtles is
because for two or three years the young turtles bury themselves in
the ground and keep hidden from observation. From a Maine farmer
he heard that both male and female hawks take part in incubation.
A barefooted New Jersey boy told him that "lampers” die as soon
as they have built their nests and laid their eggs. How apt he is in
similes! The pastoral fields of Scotland are “stall-fed,” and the hill-
sides “wrinkled and dimpled, like the forms of fatted sheep. ”
And what other bird-lover has such charming fancies about birds,
in whom he finds a hundred human significances ? «The song of the
bobolink,” he says, “expresses hilarity; the sparrow sings faith, the
bluebird love, the catbirds pride, the white-eyed fly-catchers self-
consciousness, that of the hermit thrush spiritual serenity, while
there is something military in the call of the robin. ” Mr. Burroughs
has been compared with Thoreau, but he seems closer to White of
Selborne, whom he has commemorated in one of his most charming
essays. Like White, he is a literary man who is a born naturalist in
close intimacy with his brute neighbors and “rural nature's varied
shows. ” In both, the moral element is back of nature and the
source of her value and charm. Never nature for her own sake, but
for the sake of the soul that is above all and over all. Like White,
too, though by nature solitary, Burroughs is on cordial terms with
his kind. He is an accurate observer, and he takes Bryant to task
for giving an odor to the yellow violet, and Coleridge for making a
lark perch on the stalk of a foxglove. He gloats over a felicitous
expression, like Arnold's blond meadow-sweet” and Tennyson's
"little speedwell's darling blue”; though in commenting on another
poet he waives the question of accuracy, and says “his happy liter-
ary talent makes up for the poverty of his observation. ”
And again as with White, he walks through life slowly and in a
ruminating fashion, as though he had leisure to linger with the
impression of the moment. Incident he uses with reserve, but with
picturesque effects; figures do not dominate his landscape but hu-
manize it.
As a critic Mr. Burroughs most fully reveals his personality. In
his sketches of nature we see what he sees; in his critiques, what he


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