No More Learning

In rueful apprehension enter'd O,
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe;
Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art;
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U,
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew!

As trembling U stood staring all aghast,
The pedant in his left hand clutched him fast,
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right,
Baptiz'd him _eu_, and kick'd him from his sight.

* * * * *




CXLI.

VERSES

TO JOHN RANKINE.

[With the "rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine," of Adamhill, in
Ayrshire, Burns kept up a will o'-wispish sort of a correspondence in
rhyme, till the day of his death: these communications, of which this
is one, were sometimes graceless, but always witty. It is supposed,
that those lines were suggested by Falstaff's account of his ragged
recruits:--

"I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat! "]


Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,
From him that wears the star and garter,
To him that wintles in a halter:
Asham'd himsel' to see the wretches,
He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches,
"By G--d, I'll not be seen behint them,
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,
Without, at least, ae honest man,
To grace this d--d infernal clan. "
By Adamhill a glance he threw,
"L--d G--d! " quoth he, "I have it now,
There's just the man I want, i' faith! "
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath.

* * * * *




CXLII.

ON SENSIBILITY.

TO

MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP,

OF DUNLOP.

[These verses were occasioned, it is said, by some sentiments
contained in a communication from Mrs. Dunlop. That excellent lady was
sorely tried with domestic afflictions for a time, and to these he
appears to allude; but he deadened the effect of his sympathy, when he
printed the stanzas in the Museum, changing the fourth line to,

"Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell! "

and so transferring the whole to another heroine. ]


Sensibility how charming,
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell:
But distress with horrors arming,
Thou host also known too well.

Fairest flower, behold the lily,
Blooming in the sunny ray:
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley,
See it prostrate on the clay.

Hear the woodlark charm the forest,
Telling o'er his little joys:
Hapless bird! a prey the surest,
To each pirate of the skies.

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure,
Finer feeling can bestow;
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.

* * * * *




CXLIII.

LINES,

SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD

OFFENDED.

[The too hospitable board of Mrs. Riddel occasioned these repentant
strains: they were accepted as they were meant by the party. The poet
had, it seems, not only spoken of mere titles and rank with
disrespect, but had allowed his tongue unbridled license of speech, on
the claim of political importance, and domestic equality, which Mary
Wolstonecroft and her followers patronized, at which Mrs. Riddel
affected to be grievously offended. ]


The friend whom wild from wisdom's way,
The fumes of wine infuriate send;
(Not moony madness more astray;)
Who but deplores that hapless friend?

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part,
Ah, why should I such scenes outlive
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!
'Tis thine to pity and forgive.

* * * * *




CXLIV.

ADDRESS,

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT

NIGHT.

[This address was spoken by Miss Fontenelle, at the Dumfries theatre,
on the 4th of December, 1795. ]


Still anxious to secure your partial favour,
And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever,
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better;
So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies,
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes;
Said nothing like his works was ever printed;
And last, my Prologue-business slyly hinted!
"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes,
"I know your bent--these are no laughing times:
Can you--but, Miss, I own I have my fears,
Dissolve in pause--and sentimental tears;
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence,
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance;
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand,
Waving on high the desolating brand,
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land? "

I could no more--askance the creature eyeing,
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying?
I'll laugh, that's poz--nay more, the world shall know it;
And so your servant: gloomy Master Poet!
Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief,
That Misery's another word for Grief;
I also think--so may I be a bride!
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd.

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh,
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye;
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive--
To make three guineas do the work of five:
Laugh in Misfortune's face--the beldam witch!
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich.

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love,
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove;
Who, us the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st in desperate thought--a rope--thy neck--
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep,
Peerest to meditate the healing leap:
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf?
Laugh at their follies--laugh e'en at thyself:
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific,
And love a kinder--that's your grand specific.

To sum up all, be merry, I advise;
And as we're merry, may we still be wise.

* * * * *




CXLV.

ON

SEEING MISS FONTENELLE

IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER.

[The good looks and the natural acting of Miss Fontenelle pleased
others as well as Burns. I know not to what character in the range of
her personations he alludes: she was a favourite on the Dumfries
boards. ]


Sweet naivete of feature,
Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to nature,
Thou art acting but thyself.

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected,
Spurning nature, torturing art;
Loves and graces all rejected,
Then indeed thou'dst act a part.

R. B.

* * * * *




CXLVI.

TO CHLORIS.

[Chloris was a Nithsdale beauty. Love and sorrow were strongly mingled
in her early history: that she did not look so lovely in other eyes as
she did in those of Burns is well known: but he had much of the taste
of an artist, and admired the elegance of her form, and the harmony of
her motion, as much as he did her blooming face and sweet voice. ]


'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,
Nor with unwilling ear attend
The moralizing muse.

Since thou in all thy youth and charms,
Must bid the world adieu,
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms)
To join the friendly few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower. )

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Still much is left behind;
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store--
The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part;
And, dearest gift of heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.

The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove:
And doubly were the poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

* * * * *




CXLVII.

POETICAL INSCRIPTION

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE.

[It was the fashion of the feverish times of the French Revolution to
plant trees of Liberty, and raise altars to Independence. Heron of
Kerroughtree, a gentleman widely esteemed in Galloway, was about to
engage in an election contest, and these noble lines served the
purpose of announcing the candidate's sentiments on freedom. ]


Thou of an independent mind,
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;
Virtue alone who dost revere,
Thy own reproach alone dost fear,
Approach this shrine, and worship here.

* * * * *




CXLVIII.

THE HERON BALLADS.

[BALLAD FIRST. ]

[This is the first of several party ballads which Burns wrote to serve
Patrick Heron, of Kerroughtree, in two elections for the Stewartry of
Kirkcudbright, in which he was opposed, first, by Gordon of Balmaghie,
and secondly, by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart. There is a personal
bitterness in these lampoons, which did not mingle with the strains in
which the poet recorded the contest between Miller and Johnstone. They
are printed here as matters of poetry, and I feel sure that none will
be displeased, and some will smile. ]


I.

Whom will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?
Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that?
For a' that, and a' that;
Thro Galloway and a' that;
Where is the laird or belted knight
That best deserves to fa' that?

II.

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
And wha is't never saw that?
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree meets
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that,
The independent patriot,
The honest man, an' a' that.

III.

Tho' wit and worth in either sex,
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that;
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.

IV.

But why should we to nobles jouk,
And it's against the law that;
For why, a lord may be a gouk,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.

V.

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels,
A man we ken, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
For we're not to be bought an' sold
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that.

VI.

Then let us drink the Stewartry,
Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that,
A House of Commons such as he,
They would be blest that saw that.

* * * * *




CXLIX.

THE HERON BALLADS.

[BALLAD SECOND. ]

[In this ballad the poet gathers together, after the manner of "Fy!
let us a' to the bridal," all the leading electors of the Stewartry,
who befriended Heron, or opposed him; and draws their portraits in the
colours of light or darkness, according to the complexion of their
politics. He is too severe in most instances, and in some he is
venomous. On the Earl of Galloway's family, and on the Murrays of
Broughton and Caillie, as well as on Bushby of Tinwaldowns, he pours
his hottest satire. But words which are unjust, or undeserved, fall
off their victims like rain-drops from a wild-duck's wing. The Murrays
of Broughton and Caillie have long borne, from the vulgar, the stigma
of treachery to the cause of Prince Charles Stewart: from such infamy
the family is wholly free: the traitor, Murray, was of a race now
extinct; and while he was betraying the cause in which so much noble
and gallant blood was shed, Murray of Broughton and Caillie was
performing the duties of an honourable and loyal man: he was, like his
great-grandson now, representing his native district in parliament. ]


THE ELECTION.

I.

Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin' there;
For Murray's[112] light horse are to muster,
And O, how the heroes will swear!
An' there will be Murray commander,
And Gordon[113] the battle to win;
Like brothers they'll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance an' kin.

II.

An' there will be black-lippit Johnnie,[114]
The tongue o' the trump to them a';
And he get na hell for his haddin'
The deil gets na justice ava';
And there will Kempleton's birkie,
A boy no sae black at the bane,
But, as for his fine nabob fortune,
We'll e'en let the subject alane.

III.

An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff,
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped,
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby,
But, Lord, what's become o' the head?
An' there will be Cardoness,[115] Esquire,
Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes;
A wight that will weather damnation,
For the devil the prey will despise.

IV.

An' there will be Douglasses[116] doughty,
New christ'ning towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissing the ---- o' a peer;
An' there will be Kenmure[117] sae gen'rous,
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation,
He lent them his name to the firm.

V.

But we winna mention Redcastle,[118]
The body, e'en let him escape!
He'd venture the gallows for siller,
An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape.
An' where is our king's lord lieutenant,
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return?
The billie is gettin' his questions,
To say in St. Stephen's the morn.

VI.

An' there will be lads o' the gospel,
Muirhead,[119] wha's as gude as he's true;
An' there will be Buittle's[120] apostle,
Wha's more o' the black than the blue;
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's,[121]
A house o' great merit and note,
The deil ane but honours them highly,--
The deil ane will gie them his vote!

VII.

An' there will be wealthy young Richard,[122]
Dame Fortune should hing by the neck;
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing,
His merit had won him respect:
An' there will be rich brother nabobs,
Tho' nabobs, yet men of the first,
An' there will be Collieston's[123] whiskers,
An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst.

VIII.

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie,[124]
Tak' tent how ye purchase a dram;
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie,
An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam;
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree,[125]
Whose honour was ever his law,
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel,
His worth might be sample for a'.

IX.

An' can we forget the auld major,
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys,
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other,
Him only 'tis justice to praise.
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran,
And also Barskimming's gude knight,
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle,
Wha luckily roars in the right.

X.

An' there, frae the Niddisdale borders,
Will mingle the Maxwells in droves;
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie,
That griens for the fishes an' loaves;
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall,[126]
Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there,
An' also the wild Scot of Galloway,
Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair.

XI.

Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton,
An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring?
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,
In Sodom 'twould make him a king;
An' hey for the sanctified M----y,
Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd;
He founder'd his horse among harlots,
But gied the auld naig to the Lord.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 112: Murray, of Broughton and Caillie. ]

[Footnote 113: Gordon of Balmaghie. ]

[Footnote 114: Bushby, of Tinwald-Downs. ]

[Footnote 115: Maxwell, of Cardoness. ]

[Footnote 116: The Douglasses, of Orchardtown and Castle-Douglas. ]

[Footnote 117: Gordon, afterwards Viscount Kenmore. ]

[Footnote 118: Laurie, of Redcastle. ]

[Footnote 119: Morehead, Minister of Urr. ]

[Footnote 120: The Minister of Buittle. ]

[Footnote 121: Earl of Selkirk's family. ]

[Footnote 122: Oswald, of Auchuncruive. ]

[Footnote 123: Copland, of Collieston and Blackwood. ]

[Footnote 124: John Syme, of the Stamp-office. ]

[Footnote 125: Heron, of Kerroughtree. ]

[Footnote 126: Colonel Macdouall, of Logan. ]

* * * * *




CL.

THE HERON BALLADS.

[BALLAD THIRD. ]

[This third and last ballad was written on the contest between Heron
and Stewart, which followed close on that with Gordon. Heron carried
the election, but was unseated by the decision of a Committee of the
House of Commons: a decision which it is said he took so much to heart
that it affected his health, and shortened his life. ]


AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG.

Tune. --"_Buy broom besoms. _"

Wha will buy my troggin,
Fine election ware;
Broken trade o' Broughton,
A' in high repair.
Buy braw troggin,
Frae the banks o' Dee;
Wha wants troggin
Let him come to me.

There's a noble Earl's[127]
Fame and high renown
For an auld sang--
It's thought the gudes were stown.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here's the worth o' Broughton[128]
In a needle's ee;
Here's a reputation
Tint by Balmaghie.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here's an honest conscience
Might a prince adorn;
Frae the downs o' Tinwald--[129]
So was never worn.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here's its stuff and lining,
Cardoness'[130] head;
Fine for a sodger
A' the wale o' lead.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here's a little wadset
Buittle's[131] scrap o' truth,
Pawn'd in a gin-shop
Quenching holy drouth.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here's armorial bearings
Frae the manse o' Urr;[132]
The crest, an auld crab-apple
Rotten at the core.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here is Satan's picture,
Like a bizzard gled,
Pouncing poor Redcastle,[133]
Sprawlin' as a taed.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here's the worth and wisdom
Collieston[134] can boast;
By a thievish midge
They had been nearly lost.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Here is Murray's fragments
O' the ten commands;
Gifted by black Jock[135]
To get them aff his hands.
Buy braw troggin, &c.

Saw ye e'er sic troggin?
If to buy ye're slack,
Hornie's turnin' chapman,
He'll buy a' the pack.
Buy braw troggin,
Frae the banks o' Dee;
Wha wants troggin
Let him come to me.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 127: The Earl of Galloway. ]

[Footnote 128: Murray, of Broughton and Caillie. ]

[Footnote 129: Bushby, of Tinwald-downs. ]

[Footnote 130: Maxwell, of Cardoness. ]

[Footnote 131: The Minister of Buittle. ]

[Footnote 132: Morehead, of Urr. ]

[Footnote 133: Laurie, of Redcastle. ]

[Footnote 134: Copland, of Collieston and Blackwood. ]

[Footnote 135: John Bushby, of Tinwald-downs. ]

* * * * *




CLI.

POEM,

ADDRESSED TO

MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF EXCISE.

DUMFRIES, 1796.
[The gentlemen to whom this very modest, and, under the circumstances,
most affecting application for his salary was made, filled the office
of Collector of Excise for the district, and was of a kind and
generous nature: but few were aware that the poet was suffering both
from ill-health and poverty. ]


Friend of the Poet, tried and leal,
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;
Alake, alake, the meikle deil
Wi' a' his witches
Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel,
In my poor pouches!

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,
That one pound one, I sairly want it,
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,
It would be kind;
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted
I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin
To thee and thine;
Domestic peace and comforts crowning
The hale design.

* * * * *

POSTSCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,
And by felt death was nearly nicket;
Grim loon! he got me by the fecket,
And sair me sheuk;
But by guid luck I lap a wicket,
And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't,
And by that life, I'm promised mair o't,
My hale and weel I'll tak a care o't,
A tentier way:
Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,
For ance and aye!

* * * * *




CLII.

TO

MISS JESSY LEWARS,

DUMFRIES.

WITH JOHNSON'S 'MUSICAL MUSEUM. '

[Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the declining days of the poet, with
the affectionate reverence of a daughter: for this she has the silent
gratitude of all who admire the genius of Burns; she has received
more, the thanks of the poet himself, expressed in verses not destined
soon to die. ]


Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer;
That fate may in her fairest page,
With every kindliest, best presage
Of future bliss, enrol thy name:
With native worth and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution still aware
Of ill--but chief, man's felon snare;
All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind--
These be thy guardian and reward;
So prays thy faithful friend, The Bard.

_June_ 26, 1796.

* * * * *




CLIII.

POEM ON LIFE,

ADDRESSED TO

COLONEL DE PEYSTER.

DUMFRIES, 1796.

[This is supposed to be the last Poem written by the hand, or
conceived by the muse of Burns. The person to whom it is addressed was
Colonel of the gentlemen Volunteers of Dumfries, in whose ranks Burns
was a private: he was a Canadian by birth, and prided himself on
having defended Detroit, against the united efforts of the French and
Americans. He was rough and austere, and thought the science of war
the noblest of all sciences: he affected a taste for literature, and
wrote verses. ]


My honoured colonel, deep I feel
Your interest in the Poet's weal;
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel
The steep Parnassus,
Surrounded thus by bolus, pill,
And potion glasses.

O what a canty warld were it,
Would pain and care and sickness spare it;
And fortune favour worth and merit,
As they deserve!
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret;
Syne, wha wad starve? )

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,
And in paste gems and frippery deck her;
Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker
I've found her still,
Ay wavering like the willow-wicker,
'Tween good and ill.

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,
Watches, like baudrons by a rattan,
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on
Wi' felon ire;
Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on--
He's aff like fire.

Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair,
First shewing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,
To put us daft;
Syne, weave, unseen, thy spider snare
O' hell's damn'd waft.

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes bye,
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Thy auld danm'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,
And hellish pleasure;
Already in thy fancy's eye,
Thy sicker treasure!

Soon heels-o'er gowdie! in he gangs,
And like a sheep head on a tangs,
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs
And murd'ring wrestle,
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs
A gibbet's tassel.

But lest you think I am uncivil,
To plague you with this draunting drivel,
Abjuring a' intentions evil,
I quat my pen:
The Lord preserve us frae the devil,
Amen! amen!

* * * * *




EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, FRAGMENTS,

ETC. , ETC.


I.

ON THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

[William Burness merited his son's eulogiums: he was an example of
piety, patience, and fortitude. ]


O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains,
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father and the gen'rous friend.
The pitying heart that felt for human woe;
The dauntless heart that feared no human pride;
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;
"For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side. "

* * * * *




II.

ON R. A. , ESQ.

[Robert Aiken, Esq. , to whom "The Cotter's Saturday Night" is
addressed: a kind and generous man. ]


Know thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.

* * * * *




III.

ON A FRIEND.

[The name of this friend is neither mentioned nor alluded to in any of
the poet's productions. ]


An honest man here lies at rest
As e'er God with his image blest!
The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The friend of age, and guide of youth;
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd:
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

* * * * *




IV.

FOR GAVIN HAMILTON.

[These lines allude to the persecution which Hamilton endured for
presuming to ride on Sunday, and say, "damn it," in the presence of
the minister of Mauchline. ]


The poor man weeps--here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blam'd:
But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or damn'd!

* * * * *




V.

ON WEE JOHNNY.

HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY.

[Wee Johnny was John Wilson, printer of the Kilmarnock edition of
Burns's Poems: he doubted the success of the speculation, and the poet
punished him in these lines, which he printed unaware of their
meaning. ]


Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,
That death has murder'd Johnny!
An' here his body lies fu' low--
For saul he ne'er had ony.

* * * * *




VI.

ON JOHN DOVE,

INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.

[John Dove kept the Whitefoord Arms in Mauchline: his religion is made
to consist of a comparative appreciation of the liquors he kept. ]


Here lies Johnny Pidgeon;
What was his religion?
Wha e'er desires to ken,
To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,
For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!

Strong ale was ablution--
Small beer, persecution,
A dram was _memento mori_;
But a full flowing bowl
Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory.

* * * * *




VII.

ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.

[This laborious and useful wag was the "Dear Smith, thou sleest pawkie
thief," of one of the poet's finest epistles: he died in the West
Indies. ]


Lament him, Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;
For had ye staid whole weeks awa,
Your wives they ne'er had missed ye.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press
To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on his grass,--
Perhaps he was your father.

* * * * *




VIII.

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.

[Souter Hood obtained the distinction of this Epigram by his
impertinent inquiries into what he called the moral delinquencies of
Burns. ]


Here souter Hood in death does sleep;--
To h--ll, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it weel thegither.

* * * * *




IX.

ON A NOISY POLEMIC.

[This noisy polemic was a mason of the name of James Humphrey: he
astonished Cromek by an eloquent dissertation on free grace,
effectual-calling, and predestination. ]


Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes:
O Death, it's my opinion,
Thou ne'er took such a blethrin' b--ch
Into thy dark dominion!

* * * * *




X.

ON MISS JEAN SCOTT.

[The heroine of these complimentary lines lived in Ayr, and cheered
the poet with her sweet voice, as well as her sweet looks. ]


Oh! had each Scot of ancient times,
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward!

* * * * *




XI.

ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE.

[Though satisfied with the severe satire of these lines, the poet made
a second attempt. ]


As father Adam first was fool'd,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
The devil rul'd the woman.

* * * * *




XII.

ON THE SAME.

[The second attempt did not in Burns's fancy exhaust this fruitful
subject: he tried his hand again. ]


O Death, hadst thou but spared his life,
Whom we this day lament,
We freely wad exchang'd the wife,
And a' been weel content!

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff,
The swap we yet will do't;
Take thou the carlin's carcase aff,
Thou'se get the soul to boot.

* * * * *




XIII.

ON THE SAME.

[In these lines he bade farewell to the sordid dame, who lived, it is
said, in Netherplace, near Mauchline. ]


One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her,
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder.
But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion,
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction,
Would have eat her dear lord, on a slender pretence,
Not to show her respect, but to save the expense.

* * * * *




XIV.

THE HIGHLAND WELCOME.

[Burns took farewell of the hospitalities of the Scottish Highlands in
these happy lines. ]


When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er,
A time that surely shall come;
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more
Than just a Highland welcome.

* * * * *




XV.

ON WILLIAM SMELLIE.

[Smellie, author of the Philosophy of History; a singular person, of
ready wit, and negligent in nothing save his dress. ]


Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came,
The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same;
His bristling beard just rising in its might,
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night:

His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd:
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

* * * * *




XVI.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.

[These lines were written on receiving what the poet considered an
uncivil refusal to look at the works of the celebrated Carron
foundry. ]


We came na here to view your warks
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise:

For whan we tirl'd at your door,
Your porter dought na hear us;
Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come
Your billy Satan sair us!

* * * * *




XVII.

THE BOOK-WORMS.

[Burns wrote this reproof in a Shakspeare, which he found splendidly
bound and gilt, but unread and worm-eaten, in a noble person's
library. ]


Through and through the inspir'd leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But oh! respect his lordship's taste,
And spare his golden bindings.

* * * * *




XVIII.

LINES ON STIRLING.

[On visiting Stirling, Burns was stung at beholding nothing but
desolation in the palaces of our princes and our halls of legislation,
and vented his indignation in those unloyal lines: some one has said
that they were written by his companion, Nicol, but this wants
confirmation. ]


Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd,
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd;
But now unroof'd their palace stands,
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands;
The injured Stuart line is gone,
A race outlandish fills their throne;
An idiot race, to honour lost;
Who know them best despise them most.

* * * * *




XIX.

THE REPROOF.

[The imprudence of making the lines written at Stirling public was
hinted to Burns by a friend; he said, "Oh, but I mean to reprove
myself for it," which he did in these words. ]


Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame;
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible,
Says the more 'tis a truth, Sir, the more 'tis a libel?

* * * * *




XX.

THE REPLY.

[The minister of Gladsmuir wrote a censure on the Stirling lines,
intimating, as a priest, that Burns's race was nigh run, and as a
prophet, that oblivion awaited his muse. The poet replied to the
expostulation. ]


Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel
All others' scorn--but damn that ass's heel.

* * * * *




XXI.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS.

[The Miss Burns of these lines was well known in those days to the
bucks of the Scottish metropolis: there is still a letter by the poet,
claiming from the magistrates of Edinburgh a liberal interpretation of
the laws of social morality, in belief of his fair namesake. ]


Cease, ye prudes, your envious railings,
Lovely Burns has charms--confess:
True it is, she had one failing--
Had a woman ever less?

* * * * *




XXII.

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION.

[These portraits are strongly coloured with the partialities of the
poet: Dundas had offended his pride, Erskine had pleased his vanity;
and as he felt he spoke. ]


LORD ADVOCATE.

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,
'Till in a declamation-mist
His argument he tint it:
He gaped for't, he grap'd for't,
He fand it was awa, man;
But what his common sense came short
He eked out wi' law, man.

MR. ERSKINE.

Collected Harry stood awee,
Then open'd out his arm, man:
His lordship sat wi' rueful e'e,
And ey'd the gathering storm, man;
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.

* * * * *




XXIII.

THE HENPECKED HUSBAND.

[A lady who expressed herself with incivility about her husband's
potations with Burns, was rewarded by these sharp lines. ]


Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell!
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart;
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b----h.

* * * * *




XXIV.

WRITTEN AT INVERARY.

[Neglected at the inn of Inverary, on account of the presence of some
northern chiefs, and overlooked by his Grace of Argyll, the poet let
loose his wrath and his rhyme: tradition speaks of a pursuit which
took place on the part of the Campbell, when he was told of his
mistake, and of a resolution not to be soothed on the part of the
bard. ]


Whoe'er he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he's come to wait upon
The Lord their God, his Grace.

There's naething here but Highland pride
And Highland cauld and hunger;
If Providence has sent me here,
T'was surely in his anger.

* * * * *




XXV.

ON ELPHINSTON'S TRANSLATIONS.

OF

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.

[Burns thus relates the origin of this sally:--"Stopping at a
merchant's shop in Edinburgh, a friend of mine one day put
Elphinston's Translation of Martial into my hand, and desired my
opinion of it. I asked permission to write my opinion on a blank leaf
of the book; which being granted, I wrote this epigram. "]


O thou, whom poesy abhors,
Whom prose has turned out of doors,
Heard'st thou that groan? proceed no further;
'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murther!

* * * * *




XXVI.

INSCRIPTION.

ON THE HEADSTONE OF FERGUSSON.

[Some social friends, whose good feelings were better than their
taste, have ornamented with supplemental iron work the headstone which
Burns erected, with this inscription to the memory of his brother
bard, Fergusson. ]


Here lies
ROBERT FERGUSSON, Poet.
Born, September 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.

* * * * *




XXVII.

ON A SCHOOLMASTER.

[The Willie Michie of this epigram was, it is said, schoolmaster of
the parish of Cleish, in Fifeshire: he met Burns during his first
visit to Edinburgh. ]


Here lie Willie Michie's banes;
O, Satan! when ye tak' him,
Gi' him the schoolin' o' your weans,
For clever de'ils he'll mak' them.

* * * * *




XXVIII.

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.

[This was an extempore grace, pronounced by the poet at a
dinner-table, in Dumfries: he was ever ready to contribute the small
change of rhyme, for either the use or amusement of a company. ]


O thou, who kindly dost provide
For every creature's want!
We bless thee, God of Nature wide,
For all thy goodness lent:
And if it please thee, Heavenly Guide,
May never worse be sent;
But, whether granted or denied,
Lord bless us with content!
Amen.

* * * * *




XXIX.

A GRACE BEFORE MEAT.

[Pronounced, tradition says, at the table of Mrs. Riddel, of
Woodleigh-Park. ]


O thou in whom we live and move,
Who mad'st the sea and shore,
Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore.
And if it please thee, Power above,
Still grant us with such store,
The friend we trust, the fair we love,
And we desire no more.

* * * * *




XXX.

ON WAT.

[The name of the object of this fierce epigram might be found, but in
gratifying curiosity, some pain would be inflicted. ]


Sic a reptile was Wat,
Sic a miscreant slave,
That the very worms damn'd him
When laid in his grave.
"In his flesh there's a famine,"
A starv'd reptile cries;
"An' his heart is rank poison,"
Another replies.

* * * * *




XXXI.

ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE.

[This was a festive sally: it is said that Grose, who was very fat,
though he joined in the laugh, did not relish it. ]


The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,
So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying;
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning,
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning,
Astonish'd! confounded!