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Part XXPart XX
Part XX
Lines To An Old Sweetheart
Once fondly lov`d, and still remember`d dear,
Sweet early object of my youthful vows,
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,
Friendship! `tis all cold duty now allows.
And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more,
Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes,
Or haply lies beneath th` Atlantic roar.
Motto Prefixed To The Author`s First Publication
The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art,
He pours the wild effusions of the heart;
And if inspir`d `tis Nature`s pow`rs inspire;
Her`s all the melting thrill, and her`s the kindling fire.
Lines To Mr. John Kennedy
Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,
And `mang her favourites admit you:
If e`er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him,
And ony deil that thinks to get you,
Good Lord, deceive him!
Lines Written On A Banknote
Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o` a` my woe and grief!
For lack o` thee I`ve lost my lass!
For lack o` thee I scrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy curst restriction:
I`ve seen the oppressor`s cruel smile
Amid his hapless victim`s spoil;
And for thy potence vainly wished,
To crush the villain in the dust:
For lack o` thee, I leave this much-lov`d shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.
R.B.
Stanzas On Naething
Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
To you, sir, this summons I`ve sent,
Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing;
But if you demand what I want,
I honestly answer you-naething.
Ne`er scorn a poor Poet like me,
For idly just living and breathing,
While people of every degree
Are busy employed about-naething.
Poor Centum-per-centum may fast,
And grumble his hurdies their claithing,
He`ll find, when the balance is cast,
He`s gane to the devil for-naething.
The courtier cringes and bows,
Ambition has likewise its plaything;
A coronet beams on his brows;
And what is a coronet-naething.
Some quarrel the Presbyter gown,
Some quarrel Episcopal graithing;
But every good fellow will own
Their quarrel is a` about-naething.
The lover may sparkle and glow,
Approaching his bonie bit gay thing:
But marriage will soon let him know
He`s gotten-a buskit up naething.
The Poet may jingle and rhyme,
In hopes of a laureate wreathing,
And when he has wasted his time,
He`s kindly rewarded wi`-naething.
The thundering bully may rage,
And swagger and swear like a heathen;
But collar him fast, I`ll engage,
You`ll find that his courage is-naething.
Last night wi` a feminine whig-
A Poet she couldna put faith in;
But soon we grew lovingly big,
I taught her, her terrors were naething.
Her whigship was wonderful pleased,
But charmingly tickled wi` ae thing,
Her fingers I lovingly squeezed,
And kissed her, and promised her-naething.
The priest anathemas may threat-
Predicament, sir, that we`re baith in;
But when honour`s reveille is beat,
The holy artillery`s naething.
And now I must mount on the wave-
My voyage perhaps there is death in;
But what is a watery grave?
The drowning a Poet is naething.
And now, as grim death`s in my thought,
To you, sir, I make this bequeathing;
My service as long as ye`ve ought,
And my friendship, by God, when ye`ve naething.
The Farewell
The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?
Or what does he regard his single woes?
But when, alas! he multiplies himself,
To dearer serves, to the lov`d tender fair,
To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,
To helpless children,-then, Oh then, he feels
The point of misery festering in his heart,
And weakly weeps his fortunes like a coward:
Such, such am I!-undone!
Thomson`s Edward and Eleanora.
Farewell, old Scotia`s bleak domains,
Far dearer than the torrid plains,
Where rich ananas blow!
Farewell, a mother`s blessing dear!
A borther`s sigh! a sister`s tear!
My Jean`s heart-rending throe!
Farewell, my Bess! tho` thou`rt bereft
Of my paternal care.
A faithful brother I have left,
My part in him thou`lt share!
Adieu, too, to you too,
My Smith, my bosom frien`;
When kindly you mind me,
O then befriend my Jean!
What bursting anguish tears my heart;
From thee, my Jeany, must I part!
Thou, weeping, answ`rest-"No!"
Alas! misfortune stares my face,
And points to ruin and disgrace,
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,
Wafts me from thee, dear shore!
It rustles, and whistles
I`ll never see thee more!
The Calf
To the Rev. James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. "And ye
shall go forth, and grow up, as Calves of the stall."
Right, sir! your text I`ll prove it true,
Tho` heretics may laugh;
For instance, there`s yourself just now,
God knows, an unco calf.
And should some patron be so kind,
As bless you wi` a kirk,
I doubt na, sir but then we`ll find,
Ye`re still as great a stirk.
But, if the lover`s raptur`d hour,
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, ev`ry heavenly Power,
You e`er should be a stot!
Tho` when some kind connubial dear
Your but-and-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
And, in your lug, most reverend James,
To hear you roar and rowt,
Few men o` sense will doubt your claims
To rank amang the nowt.
And when ye`re number`d wi` the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,
With justice they may mark your head-
"Here lies a famous bullock!"
Nature`s Law-A Poem
Humbly inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
Great Nature spoke: observant man obey`d-Pope.
Let other heroes boast their scars,
The marks of sturt and strife:
And other poets sing of wars,
The plagues of human life:
Shame fa` the fun, wi` sword and gun
To slap mankind like lumber!
I sing his name, and nobler fame,
Wha multiplies our number.
Great Nature spoke, with air benign,
"Go on, ye human race;
This lower world I you resign;
Be fruitful and increase.
The liquid fire of strong desire
I`ve pour`d it in each bosom;
Here, on this had, does Mankind stand,
And there is Beauty`s blossom."
The Hero of these artless strains,
A lowly bard was he,
Who sung his rhymes in Coila`s plains,
With meikle mirth an`glee;
Kind Nature`s care had given his share
Large, of the flaming current;
And, all devout, he never sought
To stem the sacred torrent.
He felt the powerful, high behest
Thrill, vital, thro` and thro`;
And sought a correspondent breast,
To give obedience due:
Propitious Powers screen`d the young flow`rs,
From mildews of abortion;
And low! the bard - a great reward -
Has got a double portion!
Auld cantie Coil may count the day,
As annual it returns,
The third of Libra`s equal sway,
That gave another Burns,
With future rhymes, an` other times,
To emulate his sire:
To sing auld Coil in nobler style
With more poetic fire.
Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song,
Look down with gracious eyes;
And bless auld Coila, large and long,
With multiplying joys;
Lang may she stand to prop the land,
The flow`r of ancient nations;
And Burnses spring, her fame to sing,
To endless generations!
song-Willie Chalmers
Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked
me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her,
but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows:-
Wi` braw new branks in mickle pride,
And eke a braw new brechan,
My Pegasus I`m got astride,
And up Parnassus pechin;
Whiles owre a bush wi` donwward crush,
The doited beastie stammers;
Then up he gets, and off he sets,
For sake o` Willie Chalmers.
I doubt na, lass, that weel ken`d name
May cost a pair o` blushes;
I am nae stranger to your fame,
Nor his warm urged wishes.
Your bonie face sae mild and sweet,
His honest heart enamours,
And faith ye`ll no be lost a whit,
Tho` wair`d on Willie Chalmers.
Auld Truth hersel` might swear yer`e fair,
And Honour safely back her;
And Modesty assume your air,
And ne`er a ane mistak her:
And sic twa love-inspiring een
Might fire even holy palmers;
Nae wonder then they`ve fatal been
To honest Willie Chalmers.
I doubt na fortune may you shore
Some mim-mou`d pouther`d priestie,
Fu` lifted up wi` Hebrew lore,
And band upon his breastie:
But oh! what signifies to you
His lexicons and grammars;
The feeling heart`s the royal blue,
And that`s wi` Willie Chalmers.
Some gapin`, glowrin` countra laird
May warsle for your favour;
May claw his lug, and straik his beard,
And hoast up some palaver:
My bonie maid, before ye wed
Sic clumsy-witted hammers,
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp
Awa wi` Willie Chalmers.
Forgive the Bard! my fond regard
For ane that shares my bosom,
Inspires my Muse to gie `m his dues
For deil a hair I roose him.
May powers aboon unite you soon,
And fructify your amours, -
And every year come in mair dear
To you and Willie Chalmers.
Reply To A Trimming Epistle Received From A Tailor
What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch
To thresh my back at sic a pitch?
Losh, man! hae mercy wi` your natch,
Your bodkin`s bauld;
I didna suffer half sae much
Frae Daddie Auld.
What tho` at times, when I grow crouse,
I gie their wames a random pouse,
Is that enough for you to souse
Your servant sae?
Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse,
An` jag-the-flea!
King David, o` poetic brief,
Wrocht `mang the lasses sic mischief
As filled his after-life wi` grief,
An` bluidy rants,
An` yet he`s rank`d amang the chief
O` lang-syne saunts.
And maybe, Tam, for a` my cants,
My wicked rhymes, an` drucken rants,
I`ll gie auld cloven`s Clootie`s haunts
An unco slip yet,
An` snugly sit amang the saunts,
At Davie`s hip yet!
But, fegs! the session says I maun
Gae fa` upo` anither plan
Than garrin lasses coup the cran,
Clean heels ower body,
An` sairly thole their mother`s ban
Afore the howdy.
This leads me on to tell for sport,
How I did wi` the Session sort;
Auld Clinkum, at the inner port,
Cried three times, "Robin!
Come hither lad, and answer for`t,
Ye`re blam`d for jobbin!"
Wi` pinch I put a Sunday`s face on,
An` snoov`d awa before the Session:
I made an open, fair confession-
I scorn`t to lee,
An` syne Mess John, beyond expression,
Fell foul o` me.
A fornicator-loun he call`d me,
An` said my faut frae bliss expell`d me;
I own`d the tale was true he tell`d me,
"But, what the matter?
(Quo` I) I fear unless ye geld me,
I`ll ne`er be better!"
"Geld you! (quo` he) an` what for no?
If that your right hand, leg or toe
Should ever prove your sp`ritual foe,
You should remember
To cut it aff-an` what for no
Your dearest member?"
"Na, na, (quo` I,) I`m no for that,
Gelding`s nae better than `tis ca`t;
I`d rather suffer for my faut
A hearty flewit,
As sair owre hip as ye can draw`t,
Tho` I should rue it.
"Or, gin ye like to end the bother,
To please us a`-I`ve just ae ither-
When next wi` yon lass I forgather,
Whate`er betide it,
I`ll frankly gie her `t a` thegither,
An` let her guide it."
But, sir, this pleas`d them warst of a`,
An` therefore, Tam, when that I saw,
I said "Gude night," an` cam` awa`,
An` left the Session;
I saw they were resolved a`
On my oppression.
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