{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4746", "width": "2997", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "Qass\\nBook\\nf\\\\ 1.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4424", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "S/i\\nfa! iff\\ni", "height": "4535", "width": "2651", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "t 7", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "THE\\nCOMPLETE WORKS\\nOF\\nEOBEET BURNS;\\nWITH AN\\nACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE,\\nAND\\nA CRITICISM ON HIS WRITINGS.\\nTO WHICH ABE PREFIXED,\\nSOME OBSERVATIONS ON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION\\nOP\\nTHE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY.\\nBY JAMES CURRIE, M. D.\\nA NEW AND COMPLETE EDITION,\\nWITH\\nAN ENLARGED AND CORRECTED GLOSSARY.\\nABERDEEN:\\nPUBLISHED BY GEORGE CLARK AND SON.\\nIPSWICH J. M. BURTON.\\nMDcecxifYin.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "V w", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "TO\\nCAPTAIN GHAHAM MOOKE,\\nOF THE ROYAL NAVY.\\nWhen you were stationed upon our coast about twelve years ago,\\nyou first recommended to my particular notice the poems of the\\nAyrshire ploughman, whose works, published for the benefit of his\\nwidow and children, I now present to you. In a distant region of\\ne world, whither the service of your country has carried you, you\\n11, 1 know, receive with kindness this proof of my regard not\\nrhaps without some surprise on finding that I have been engaged\\nediting these volumes, nor without some curiosity to know how I\\nas qualified for such an undertaking. These points I will briefly\\nsplain.\\nHaving occasion to make an excursion to the county of Dumfries,\\na the summer of 1792, 1 had there an opportunity of seeing and\\nconversing with Burns. It has been my fortune to know some men\\njf high reputation in literature, as well as in public life, but never\\n\u00c2\u00ab-,o meet any one who, in the course of a single interview, communi-\\ncated to me so strong an impression of the force and versatility of\\nhis talents. After this I read the poems then published with\\ngreater interest and attention, and with a full conviction that, ex-\\ntraordinary as they are, they afford but an inadequate proof of the\\npowers of their unfortunate author.\\nFour years afterwards, Burns terminated his career. Among\\nthose whom the charms of genius had attached to him, was one\\nwith whom I have been bound in the ties of friendship, from early\\nlife\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mr. John Syme of Ryedale. This Gentleman, after the death\\nof Burns, promoted with the utmost zeal a subscription for the sup-\\nport of the widow and children, to which their relief from imme-\\ndiate distress is to be ascribed; and, in conjunction with other\\nfriends of this virtuous and destitute family, he projected the publi-", "height": "4508", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "VI DEDICATION.\\ncation of this volume for their benefit, by which the return of want\\nmight be prevented or prolonged.\\nTo this last undertaking, an editor and biographer was wanting\\nand Mr. Syme s modesty opposed a barrier to his assuming an office\\nfor which he was in other respects peculiarly qualified. On this\\nsubject he consulted me and with the hope of surmounting his\\nobjections, I offered him my assistance, but in vain. Endeavours\\nwere used to procure an editor in other quarters, but without ef-\\nfect. The task was beset with considerable difficulties and men\\nof established reputation naturally declined an undertaking, to the\\nperformance of which it was scarcely to be hoped that general ap-\\nprobation could be obtained, by any exertion of judgment or temper.\\nTo such an office, my place of residence, my accustomed studies,\\nand my occupation, were certainly little suited but the partiality\\nof Mr. Syme thought me in other respects not unqualified and his\\nsolicitations, joined to those of our excellent friend and relation\\nMrs. Dunlop, and of other friends of the family of the poet, I have\\nnot been able to resist. To remove difficulties which would other-\\nwise have been insurmountable, Mr. Syme and Mr. Gilbert Burns\\nmade a journey to Liverpool, where they explained and arranged\\nthe manuscripts, and arranged such as seemed worthy of the press.\\nFrom this visit I derived a degree of pleasure which has compen-\\nsated much of my labour. I had the satisfaction of renewing my\\npersonal intercourse with a much valued friend, and of forming an\\nacquaintance with a man closely allied to Burns in talents as well\\nas in blood, in whose future fortunes the friends of virtue will not,\\nI trust, be uninterested.\\nThe publication of these volumes has been delayed by obstacles\\nwhich these gentlemen could neither remove nor foresee, and which\\nit would be tedious to enumerate. At length the task is finished.\\nIf the part which I have taken, shall serve the interest of the fa-\\nmily, and receive the approbation of good men, I shall have my re-\\ncompense. The errors into which I have fallen are not, I hope,\\nvery important and they will be easily accounted for by those who\\nknow the circumstances under which this undertaking has been per-\\nformed. Generous minds will receive the posthumous works of\\nBurns with candour, and even partiality, as the remains of an un*", "height": "4508", "width": "2564", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "DEDICATION. Vll\\nfortunate man of genius, published for the benefit of his family, as\\nthe stay of the widow, and the hope of the fatherless.\\nTo secure the suffrages of such minds, all topics are omitted in\\nthe writings, and avoided in the life of Burns, that have a tendency\\nto awaken the animosity of party. In perusing the following vo-\\nlumes, no offence will be received, except by those to whom the\\nnatural erect aspect of genius is offensive characters that will\\nscarcely be found among those who are educated to the profession\\nof arms. Such men do not court situations of danger, nor tread in\\nthe paths of glory. They will not be found in your service, which\\nin our own days, emulates on another element, the superior fame of\\nthe Macedonian phalanx, or of the Roman legion, and which has\\nlately made the shores of Europe and of Africa, resound with the\\nshouts of victory, from the Texel to the Tagus, and from the Tagus\\nto the Nile\\nThe works of Burns will be received favourably by one who\\nstands in the foremost rank of this noble service, and who deserves\\nhis station. On the land or on the sea, I know no man more capa-\\nble of judging of the character or of the writings of this original ge-\\nnius. Homer, and Shakspeare, and Ossian, cannot always occupy\\nyour leisure. These volumes may sometimes engage your attention,\\nwhile the steady breezes of the tropic swell your sails, and in ano-\\nther quarter of the earth, charm you with the strains of nature, or\\nawake in your memory the scenes of your early days. Suffer me to\\nhope that they may sometimes recall to your mind the friend who\\naddresses you, and who bids you most affectionately adieu*\\nJ. CURRIE.\\nLiverpool, 1st May 1800.", "height": "4424", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "ADVERTISEMENT.\\nIt is impossible to dismiss this volume* of the correspondence of our Bard,\\nwithout some anxiety as to the reception it may meet with. The experiment we\\nare making has not often been tried perhaps on no occasion has so large a por-\\ntion of the recent and unpremeditated effusions of a man of genius been committed\\nto the press.\\nOf the following letters of Burns, a considerable number were transmitted for\\npublication, by the individuals to whom they were addressed but very few have\\nbeen printed entire. It will easily be believed, that in a series of letters written\\nwithout the least view to publication, various passages were found unfit for the\\npress, from different considerations. It will also be readily supposed, that our\\nPoet, writing nearly at the same time, and under the same feelings to different in-\\ndividuals, would sometimes fall into the s me train of sentiment and forms of ex-\\npression. To avoid, therefore, the tediousness of such repetitions, it has been\\nfound necessary to mutilate many of the individual letters, and sometimes to ex-\\nscind parts of great delicacy the unbridled effusions of panegyric and regard.\\nBut though many of the letters are printed from originals furnished by the per-\\nsons to whom they were addressed, others are printed from first draughts, or\\nsketches, found among the papers of our Bard. Though in general no man com-\\nmitted his thoughts to his correspondents with less consideration or effort than\\nBurns, yet it appears that in some instances he was dissatisfied with his first essays\\nand wrote out his communications in a fairer character or perhaps in more stu-\\ndied language. In the chaos of his manuscripts, some of the original sketches\\nwere found and as these sketches, though less perfect, are fairly to be considered\\nas the offspring of his mind, where they h ive seemed in themselves worthy of a\\nplace in this volume, we have not hesitated to insert them, though they may not\\nalways correspond exactly with the letters transmitted, which have been lost or\\nwithheld.\\nOur author appears at one time to have formed an intention of making a collec-\\ntion of his letters for the amusement of a friend. Accordingly he copied an in-\\nconsiderable number of them into a book, which he presented to Robert Riddel,\\nof Glenriddel, Esq. Among these was the account of his life, addressed to Dr.\\nMoore. In copying from his imperfect sketches (it does not appear that he had\\nthe letters actually sent to his correspondents before him) he seems to have occa-\\nsionally enlarged his observations, and altered his expressions. In such instances\\nhis emendations have been adopted but in truth there are but five of the letters\\nthus selected by the poet, to be found in the present volume, the rest being thought\\nof inferior merit, or otherwise unfit for the public eye.\\nIn printing this volume, the Editor has found some corrections of grammar ne-\\ncessary but these have been very few, and such as may be supposed to occur in\\nthe careless effusions, even of literary characters, who have not been in the habit\\nof carrying their compositions to the press. These corrections have never been\\nextended to any habitual modes of expression of the Poet, even where his phraseo-\\nlogy may eem to violate the delicacies of taste; or the idiom of our language,\\nwhich he wrote in general with great accuracy. Some difference will indeed be\\nfound in this respect in his earlier and in his later compositions and this volume\\nwill exhibit the progrses of his style, as well as the history of his mind. In the\\nFourth Edition, several new letters were introduced, and some of inferior impor-\\ntance were omitted.\\nDr. Currie s edition of Burn s Works was originally published in four vo\u00c2\u00ab\\nlumes, of which the following Correspondence formed the second.", "height": "4508", "width": "2608", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "LIFE\\nOF\\nROBERT BURNS.\\nPREFATORY REMARKS.\\nThough the dialect, in which many of the happiest effusions of\\nRobert Burns are composed, be peculiar to Scotland, yet his reputa-\\ntion has extended itself beyond the limits of that country, and his\\npoetry has been admired as the offspring of original genius, by per-\\nsons of taste, in every part of the sister islands. The interest ex-\\ncited by his early death, and the distress of his infant family, has\\nbeen felt in a remarkable manner, wherever his writings have been\\nknown and these posthumous volumes, which give to the world\\nhis works complete, and which, it is hoped, may raise his Widow\\nand Children from penury, are printed and published in England.\\nIt seems proper, therefore, to write the memoirs of his life, not\\nwith the view of their being read by Scotchmen only, but also by\\nnatives of England, and of other countries where the English\\nlanguage is spoken or understood.\\nRobert Burns was, in reality, what he has been represented to be,\\na Scottish peasant To render the incidents of his humble story\\ngenerally intelligible, it seems, therefore, advisable to prefix some\\nobservations on the character and situation of the order to which he\\nbelonged a class of men distinguished by many peculiarities by\\nthis means we shall form a more correct notion of the advantages\\nwith which he started, and of the obstacles which he surmounted.\\nA few observations on the Scottish peasantry will not, perhaps, be\\nfound unworthy of attention in other respects and the subject is,\\nin a great measure, new. Scotland has produced persons of high\\ndistinction in every branch of philosophy and literature and her\\nhistory, while a separate and independent nation, has been success-\\nfully explored. But the present character of the people was not\\nthen formed the nation then presented features similar to those\\nwhich the feudal system and the Catholic religion had diffused over\\nEurope, modified, indeed, by the peculiar nature of her territory\\nand climate. The Reformation, by which such important changes\\nwere produced on the national character, was speedily followed by\\nthe Accession of the Scottish monarchs to the English throne and\\nthe period which elapsed from that Accession to the Union has been\\nrendered memorable, chiefly by those bloody convulsions in which\\na 5", "height": "4508", "width": "2520", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "X PBlFATORY REMARKS,\\nboth divisions of the island were involved, and which in a con*\\nsiderable degree, concealed from the eye of the historian the do-\\nmestic history of the people, and the gradual variations in their\\ncondition and manners. Since the Union, Scotland, though the\\nseat of two unsuccessful attempts to restore the House of Stuart to\\nthe throne, has enjoyed a comparative tranquillity; and it is since\\nthis period that the present character of her peasantry has been in\\na great measure formed, though the political causes affecting it are\\nto be traced to the previous acts of her separate legislature.\\nA slight acquaintance with the peasantry of Scotland will serve\\nto convince an unprejudiced observer, that they possess a degree of\\nintelligence not generally found among the same class of men in\\nthe other countries of Europe. In the very humblest condition of\\nthe Scottish peasants, every one can read, and most persons are\\nmore or less skilled in writing and arithmetic and, under the dis-\\nguise of their uncouth appearance, and of their peculiar manners\\nand dialect, a stranger will discover that they possess a curiosity\\nand have obtained a degree of information, corresponding to these\\nacquirements.\\nThese advantages they owe to the legal provision made by the\\nparliament of Scotland in 1646, for the establishment of a school in\\nevery parish throughout the kingdom, for the express purpose of\\neducating the poor a law which may challenge comparison with\\nany act of legislation to be found in the records of history, whether\\nwe consider the wisdom ot the ends in view, the simplicity of the\\nmeans employed, or the provisions made to render these effectual to\\ntheir purpose. This excellent statute was repealed on the accession\\nof Charles II. in 1660, together with all the other laws passed\\nduring the commonwealth, as not being sanctioned by the royal\\nassent. It slept during the reigns of Charles and James, but was\\nre enacted precisely in the same terms, by the Scottish parliament,\\nafter the Ee volution in 1696 and this is the last provision on the\\nsubject. Its effects on the national character may be considered\\nto have commenced about the period of the Union and doubtless\\nit co-operated with the peace and security arising from that happy\\nevent, in producing the extraordinary change in favour of industry\\nand good morals, which the character of the common people of\\nScotland has since undergone.\\nThe church-establishment of Scotland happily coincides with the\\ninstitution just mentioned, which may be called its school- establish-\\nment. The clergyman, being every where resident in his particular\\nparish, becomes the natural patron and superintendent of the\\nparish school, and is enabled in various ways to promote the com-\\nfort of the teacher, and the proficiency of the scholars. The\\nteacher himself is often a candidate for holy orders, who, during\\nthe long course of study and probation required in the Scottish\\nchurch, renders the time which can be spared from his professional\\nstudies, useful to others as well as to himself, by assuming the re-\\nspectable character ot a schoolmaster. It is common for the estab-\\nlished schools, even in the country parishes of Scotland, to enjoy\\nthe means of classical instruction and many of the farmers, and\\neven some of the cottagers, submit to much privation, that they\\nmay obtain, for one of their sons at least, the precarious advantage", "height": "4540", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "PREFATORY REMARKS. X\\nof a learned education. The difficulty to be surmounted arises in-\\ndeed not from the expense of instructing their children, but from\\nthe charge of supporting them. In the country parish-schools, the\\nEnglish language, writing, and accounts are generally taught at the\\nrate of six shillings, and Latin at the rate of ten or twelve shillings\\nper annum. In the town, the prices are somewhat higher.\\nIt would be improper in this place to inquire minutely into the\\ndegree of instruction received at these seminaries, or to attempt\\nany precise estimate of its effects, either on the individuals who\\nare the subjects of this instruction, or on the community to which\\nthey belong. That it is on the whole favourable to industry and\\nmorals, though doubtless with some individual exceptions, seems to\\nbe proved by the most striking and decisive experience and it is\\nequally clear, that it is the cause of that spirit of emigration and\\nof adventure so prevalent among the Scotch. Knowledge has, by\\nLord Verulam, been denominated power; by others it has, with\\nless propriety, been denominated virtue or happiness we may\\nwith confidence consider it as motion. A human being, in propor-\\ntion as he is informed, has his wishes enlarged, as well as the means\\nof gratifying those wishes. He may be considered as taking within\\nthe sphere of his vision a larger portion of the globe on which we\\ntread, and spying advantage at a greater distance on its surface.\\nHis desires or ambition, once excited, are stimulated by his imagi-\\nnation and distant and uncertain objects, giving freer scope to the\\noperation of this faculty, often acquire, in the mind of the youthful\\nadventurer, an attraction from their very distance and uncertainty.\\nIf, therefore, a greater degree of instruction be given to the peasan-\\ntry of a country comparatively poor, in the neighbourhood of other\\ncountries rich in natural and acquired advantages and if the bar-\\nriers be removed that kept them separate, emigration from the\\nformer to the latter will take place to a certain extent, by laws\\nnearly as uniform as those by which heat diffuses itself among sur-\\nrounding bodies, or water finds its level when left to its natural\\ncourse. By the articles of the Union, the barrier was broken down\\nwhich divided the two British nations, and knowledge and poverty\\npoured the adventurous natives of the north over the fertile plains\\nof England, and more especially, over the colonies which she had\\nsettled in the East and in the West. The stream of population\\ncontinues to flow from the north to the south for the causes that\\noriginally impelled it, continue to operate and the richer country\\nis constantly invigorated by the accession of an informed and hardy\\nrace of men, educated in poverty, and prepared for hardship and\\ndanger, patient of labour, and prodigal of life.\\nThe preachers of the ^Reformation in Scotland were disciples of\\nCalvin, and brought with them the temper as well as the tenets of\\nthat celebrated heresiarch. The presbyterian form of worship and\\nof church government was endeared to the people, from its being\\nestablished by themselves. It was endeared to them, also, by the\\nstruggle it had to maintain with the Catholic and the Protestant\\nepiscopal churches, over both which, after a hundred years of fierce,\\nand sometimes bloody contention, it finally triumphed, receiving\\nthe countenance of government, and the sanction of law. During\\nthis long period of contention and of Buffering, the temper of the", "height": "4496", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "Xii PREFATORY REMARKS.\\npeople became more and more obstinate and bigotted and the\\nnation received the deep tinge of fanaticism, which colonred their\\npublic transactions as well as their private virtues, and of which\\nevident traces may be found in our own times. When the public\\nschools were established, the instruction communicated in them\\npartook of the religious character of the people. The Catechism of\\nthe Westminster Divines was the universal school-book, and was\\nput into the hands of the young peasant as soon as he had acquired\\na knowledge of his alphabet and his first exercises in the art of\\nreading introduced him to the most mysterious doctrines of the\\nChristian faith. This practice is continued in our own times.\\nAfter the Assembly s Catechism, the Proverbs of Solomon, and the\\nNew and Old Testament, follow in regular succession; and the\\nscholar departs, gifted with the knowledge of the sacred writings,\\nand receiving their doctrines according to the interpretation of the\\nWestminster Confession of Faith. Thus with the instruction of in-\\nfancy in the schools of Scotland, are blended the dogmas of the na-\\ntional church and hence the first and most constant exercise of\\ningenuity among the peasantry of Scotland, is displayed in religious\\ndisputation. With a strong attachment to the national creed, is\\nconjoined a bigotted preference of certain forms of worship the\\nsource of which would be often altogether obscure, if we did not\\nrecollect that the ceremonies of the Scottish Church were framed\\nin direct opposition, in every point, to those of the Church of Rome.\\nThe eccentricities of conduct, and singularities of opinion and\\nmanners, which characterized the English sectaries in the last cen-\\ntury, afforded a subject for the muse of Butler, whose pictures lose\\ntheir interest, since their archetypes are lost. Some of the pecu-\\nliarities common among the more rigid disciples of Calvinism in\\nScotland, in the present times, have given scope to the ridicule of\\nBurns, whose humour is equal to Butler s, and whose drawings\\nfrom living manners are singularly expressive and exact. Unfor-\\ntunately the correctness of his taste did not always correspond with\\nthe strength of his genius and hence some of the most exquisite\\nof the comic productions are rendered unfit for the light.\\nThe information and the religious education of the peasantry of\\nScotland, promote sedateness of conduct, and habits of thought and\\nreflection. These good qualities are not counteracted by the esta-\\nblishment of poor-laws, which while they reflect credit on the bene-\\nvolence, detract from the wisdom of the English legislature. To\\nmake a legal provision for the inevitable distress of the poor, who\\nby age or disease are rendered incapable of labour, may indeed\\nseem an indispensable duty of society and if, in the execution of\\na plan for this purpose, a distinction could be introduced, so as to\\nexclude from its benefits those whose sufferings are produced by\\nidleness or profligacy, such an institution would perhaps be as\\nrational as humane. But to lay a general tax on property for the\\nsupport of poverty, from whatever cause proceeding, is a measure\\nfull of danger. It must operate in a considerable degree as a\\nbounty on idleness, and a duty on industry. It takes away from\\nvice and indolence the prospect of their most dreaded consequences,\\nand from virtue and industry their peculiar sanctions. In many\\ntases it must render the rise in the price of labour, not a blessing,", "height": "4472", "width": "2600", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "PREFATORY REMARKS. Xlll\\nbut a curse to the labourer who, if there be an excess in what\\nhe earns beyond his immediate necessities, may be expected to de-\\nvote this excess to his present gratification trusting to the provi-\\nsion made by law for his own and his family s support, should\\ndisease suspend, or death terminate his labours. Happily in Scot-\\nland, the same legislature which established a system of instruction\\nfor the poor, resisted the introduction of a legal provision for the\\nsupport of poverty what they granted on the one hand, and what\\nthey refused on tlie other, was equally favourable to industry and\\ngood morals and hence it will not appear surprising, if the Scot-\\ntish peasantry have a more than usual share of prudence and reflec-\\ntion, if they approach nearer than persons of their order usually\\ndo, to the definition of man, that of a being that looks before and\\nafter. These observations must indeed be taken with many ex-\\nceptions the favourable operation of the causes just mentioned is\\ncounteracted by others of an opposite tendency and the subject, if\\nfully examined, would lead to discussions of great extent.\\nWhen the reformation was established in Scotland, instrumental\\nmusic was banished from the churches, as savouring too much of\\nprofane minstrelsy. Instead of being regulated by an instru-\\nment, the voices of the congregation are led and directed by a per-\\nson under the name of a precentor; and the people are all expected\\nto join in the tune which he chooses for the psalm which is to be\\nsung. Church-music is therefore a part of the education of the\\npeasantry in Scotland, in which they are usually instructed in the\\nlong winter nights by the parish schoolmaster, who is generally the\\nprecentor, or by itinerant teachers more celebrated for their powers\\nof voice. This branch of education had, in the last reign, fallen\\ninto some neglect, but was revived about thirty or forty years ago,\\nwhen the music itself was reformed and improved. The Scottish\\nsystem of psalmody is however radically bad. Destitute of taste or\\nharmony, it forms a striking contrast with the delicacy and pathos\\nof the profane airs. Our poet, it will be found, was taught church-\\nmusic, in which, however, he made little proficiency.\\nThat dancing should also be very generally a part of the educa-\\ntion of the Scottish peasantry, will surprise those who have only\\nseen this description of men and still more those who reflect on\\nthe rigid spirit of Calvinism with which the nation is so deeply\\naffected, and to which this recreation is so strongly abhorrent. The\\nwinter is also the season when they acquire dancing, and indeed al-\\nmost all their other instruction. They are taught to dance by per-\\nsons generally of their own number, many of whom work at daily\\nlabour during the summer months. The school is usually a barn,\\nand the arena for the performers is generally a clay floor. The\\ndome is lighted by candles stuck in one end of a cloven stick, the\\nother end of which is thrust into the wall. Reels, strathspeys\\ncountry- dances, and hornpipes, are here practised. The jig, so\\nmuch in favour among the English peasantry, has no place among\\nthem. The attachment of the people of Scotland, of every rank,\\nand particularly of the peasantry, to this amusement, is very great.\\nAfter the labours of the day are over, young men and women walk\\nmany miles, in the cold and dreary night of winter, to these coun-\\ntry dancing-schools and the instant that the violin sounds a Scot.", "height": "4508", "width": "2536", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "Xiv PREFATOR? REMARKS.\\ntish air, fatigue seems to vanish, the toil-bent rustic becomes erect,\\nhis features brighten with sympathy every nerve seems to thrill\\nwith sensation, and every artery to vibrate with life. These rustic\\nperformers are indeed less to be admired for grace, than for agility\\nand animation, and their accurate observance of time. Their modes\\nof dancing, as well as their tunes, are common to every rank in\\nScotland, and are now generally known. In our own day they have\\npenetrated into England, and have established themselves even in\\nthe circle of Koyalty. In another generation they will be natura-\\nlized in every part of the island.\\nThe prevalence of this taste, or rather passion for dancing,\\namong a people so deeply tinctured with the spirit and doctrines of\\nCalvin, is one of those contradictions which the philosophic ob-\\nserver so often finds in national character and manners. It is pro*\\nbably to be ascribed to the Scottish music, which, throughout all\\nits varieties, is so full of sensibility, and which, in its livelier\\nstrains, awaken those vivid emotions that find in dancing their\\nnatural solace and relief.\\nThis triumph of the music of Scotland over the spirit of the\\nestablished religion, has not, however, been obtained without long\\ncontinued and obstinate struggles. The numerous sectaries who\\ndissent from the establishment on account of the relaxation which\\nthey perceive or think they perceive, in the Church, from original\\ndoctrines and discipline, universally condemn the practice of\\ndancing, and the schools where it is taught; and the more elderly\\nand serious part of the people, of every persuasion, tolerate rather\\nthan approve these meetings of the young of both sexes, where\\ndancing is practised to their spirit-stirring music, where care is\\ndispelled, toil is forgotten, and prudence itself is sometimes lulled\\nto sleep.\\nThe Reformation, which proved fatal to the rise of the other fine\\narts in Scotland, probably impeded, but could not obstruct, the\\nprogress of its music a circumstance that will convince the im-\\npartial inquirer, that this music not only existed previous to that\\nera, but had taken a firm hold of the nation thus affording a\\nproof of its antiquity, stronger than any produced by the researches\\nof our antiquaries.\\nThe impression which the Scottish music has made on the people,\\nis deepened by its union with the national songs, of which various\\ncollections of unequal merit are before the public. These songs,\\nlike those of other nations, are many of them humorous, they\\nchiefly treat of love, war, and drinking. Love is the subject of\\nthe greater proportion. Without displaying the higher powers of\\nthe imagination, they exhibit a perfect knowledge of the human\\nheart, and breathe a spirit of affection, and sometimes of delicate\\nand romantic tenderness, not to be surpassed in modern poetry,\\nand which the more polished strains of antiquity have seldom\\npossessed.\\nThe origin of this amatory character in the rustic muse of Scot-\\nland, or of the greater number of those love- songs themselves, it\\nwould be difficult jfco trace; they have accumulated in the silent\\nlapse of time, and it is now perhaps impossible to give an arrange-\\nment of them in the order of their date, valuable as such a recor", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "PkfcfrATOR? REMARKS. XV\\nof taste and manners would be. Their present influence on\\nthe character of the nation is, however, great and striking. To\\nthem we must attribute, in a great measure, the romantic passion\\nwhich so often characterizes the attachments of the humblest of\\nthe people of Scotland, to a degree, that if we mistake not, is\\nseldom found in the same rank of society in other countries. The\\npictures of love and happiness exhibited in their rural songs, are\\nearly impressed on the minds of the peasant, and are rendered\\nmore attractive from the music with which they are united. They\\nassociate themselves with his own youthful emotions they elevate\\nthe object as well as the nature of his attachment and give to\\nthe impressions of sense the beautiful colours of imagination.\\nHence in the course of his passion, a Scottish peasant often exerts\\na spirit of adventure, of which a Spanish cavalier need not be\\nashamed. After the labours of the day are over, he sets out for\\nthe habitation of his mistress, perhaps at many miles distance,\\nregardless of the length or the dreariness of the way. He ap-\\nproaches her in secret, under the disguise of night. A. signal at\\nthe door or window, perhaps agreed on, and understood by none\\nbut her, gives information of his arrival and sometimes it is re-\\npeated again and again, before the capricious fair one will obey the\\nsummons. But if she favours his addresses, she escapes unobserved,\\nand receives the vows of her lover under the gloom of twilight, or\\nthe deeper shade of night. Interviews of this kind are the subjects\\nof many of the Scottish songs, some of the most beautiful of which\\nBurns has imitated or improved. In the art which they celebrate\\nhe was perfectly skilled he knew and had practised all its\\nmysteries. Intercourse of this sort is indeed universal, even in the\\nhumblest condition of man, in every region of the earth. But it\\nis not unnatural to suppose, that it may exist in a greater degree,\\nand in a more romantic form, among the peasantry of a country\\nwho is supposed to be more than commonly instructed who find\\nin their rural songs expressions of their youthful emotions and\\nin whom the embers of passion are continually fanned by the\\nbreathings of a music full of tenderness and sensibility. The\\ndirect influence of physical causes or the attachment between the\\nsexes is comparatively small, but it is modified by moral causes\\nbeyond any other affection of the mind. Of these music and poetry\\nare the chief. Among the snows of Lapland, and under the burn-\\ning sun of Angola, the savage is seen hastening to his mistress, and\\nevery where he beguiles the weariness of his journey with poetry\\nand song.\\nIn appreciating the happiness and virtue of a community, there\\nis perhaps no single criterion on which so much dependence may\\nbe placed, as the state of the intercourse between the sexes. Where\\nthis displays ardour of attachment, accompanied by purity of con-\\nduct, the character and the influence of women rise in society, our\\nimperfect nature mounts on the scale of moral excellence, and from\\nthe source of this single affection, a stream of felicity descends,\\nwhich branches into a thousand rivulets that enrich and adorn the\\nfield of life. Where the attachment between the sexes sinks into\\nan appetite, the heritage of our species is comparatively poor, and\\nman approaches the condition of the brutes that pmsh. If we could", "height": "4288", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "Xvi PREFATORY REMARKS.\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0with safety indulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal lived and\\nthat Ossian sung, Scotland, judging from this criterion, might be\\nconsidered as ranking high in happiness and virtue in very remote\\nages. To appreciate her situation by the same criterion in our own\\ntimes, would be a delicate and difficult undertaking. After con-\\nsidering the probable influence of her popular songs and her national\\nmusic, and examining how far the effects to be expected from these\\nare supported by facts, the inquirer would also have to examine the\\ninfluence of other causes, and particularly of her civil and ecclesi-\\nastical institutions, by which the character, and even the manners\\nof a people, though silently and slowly, are often powerfully con-\\ntrolled. In the point of view in which we are considering the sub-\\nject, the ecclesiastical establishments of Scotland may be supposed\\npeculiarly favourable to purity of conduct. The dissoluteness of\\nmanners among the Catholic clergy, which preceded, and in some\\nmeasure produced the Keformation, led to an extraordinary strict-\\nness on the part of the reformers, and especially in that particular\\nin which the licentiousness of the clergy had been carried to its\\ngreatest height the intercourse between the sexes. On this point,\\nas on all others connected with austerity of manners, the disciples\\nof Calvin assumed a greater severity than those of the Protestant\\nepiscopal church. The punishment of illicit connexion between\\nthe sexes was, throughout all Europe, a province which the clergy\\nassumed to themselves and the church of Scotland, which at the\\nKeformation renounced so many powers and privileges, at that\\nperiod took this crime under her more especial jurisdiction. Where\\npregnancy takes place without marriage, the condition of the female\\ncauses the discovery, and it is on her, therefore, in the first instance,\\nthat the clergy and elders of the church exercise their zeal. After\\nexamination before the kirk-session touching the circumstance of\\nher guilt, she must endure a public penance, and sustain a public\\nrebuke from the pulpit, for three Sabbaths successively, in the face\\nof the congregation to which she belongs, and thus have her weak-\\nness exposed, and her shame blazoned. The sentence is the same\\nwith respect to the male; but how much lighter the punishment\\nIt is well known that this dreadful law, worthy of the iron minds\\nof Calvin and of Knox, has often led to consequences, at the very\\nmention of which human nature recoils.\\nWhile the punishment of incontinence prescribed by the institu-\\ntions of Scotland, is severe, the culprits have an obvious method of\\navoiding it, afforded them by the law respecting marriage, the va-\\nvalidity of which requires neither the ceremonies, of the church,\\nnor any other ceremonies, but simply the deliberate acknowledge-\\nment of each other as husband and wife, made by the parties before\\nwitnesses, or in any other way that gives legal evidence of such an\\nacknowledgment having taken place. And as the parties them-\\nselves fix the date of their marriage, an opportunity is thus given\\nto avoid the punishment, and repair the consequences of illicit\\ngratification. Such a degree of laxity respecting so serious a con-\\ntract might produce much confusion in the descent of property,\\nwithout a still farther indulgence but the law of Scotland\\nlegitimating all children born before wedlock, on the subsequent\\nmarriage of their parents, renders the actual date of the marriage", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "PREFATORY REMARKS. XVll\\nitself of little consequence. Marriages contracted in Scotland\\nLthout the ceremonies of the church are considered as irregular\\nid the parties usually submit to a rebuke for their conduct, in the\\nface of their respective congregations, which is not, however, ne-\\ncessary to render the marriage valid. Burns, whose marriage it will\\nappear, was irregular, does not seem to have undergone this part of\\nthe discipline of the church.\\nThus, though the institutions of Scotland are in many particulars\\nfavourable to a conduct among the peasantry founded on foresight,\\nand reflection, on the subject of marriage the reverse of this is true.\\nIrregular marriages, it may be naturally supposed, are often im-\\nprovident ones, in whatever rank of society they occur. The children\\nof such marriages, poorly endowed by their parents, find a certain\\ndegree of instruction of easy acquisition but the comforts of life,\\nand the gratifications of ambition, they find of more difficult attain-\\nment in their native soil and thus the marriage laws of Scotland\\nconspire with other circumstance, to produce that habit of emigration\\nand spirit of adventure, for which the people are so remarkable.\\nThe manners and appearance of the Scottish peasantry do not\\nbespeak to a stranger the degree of their cultivation. In their own\\ncountry, their industry is inferior to that of the same description of\\nmen in the southern division of the island. Industry and the use-\\nful arts reached Scotland later than England and though their\\nadvance has been rapid there, the effects produced are as yet\\nfar inferior, both in reality and in appearance. The Scottish farmers\\nhave in general neither the opulence nor the comforts of those of\\nEagland neither vest the same capital in the soil, nor receive from\\nit the same return. Their clothing, their food, and their habi-\\ntations, are almost every where inferior. Their appearance in these\\nrespects corresponds with the appearance of their country i and\\nunder the operation of patient industry, both are improving. In-\\ndustry and the useful arts came later into Scotland than into Eng-\\nland, because the security of property came later. With causes of\\ninternal agitation and warfare similar to those which occurred to\\nthe more southern nation, the people of Scotland were exposed to\\nmore imminent hazards, and more extensive and destructive spol-\\niation, from external war. Occupied in the maintenance of their\\nindependence against their more powerful neighbours, to this were\\nnecessarily sacrificed the arts of peace, and at certain periods, the\\nflower of their population. And when the union of the crowns\\nproduced a security from national wars with England for the\\ncentury succeeding, the civil wars common to both divisions of the\\nisland, and the dependence, perhaps the necessary dependence of\\nthe Scottish councils on those of the more powerful kingdom, coun-\\nteracted this advantage. Even the union of the British nations\\nwas not, from obvious causes, immediately followed by all the be-\\nnefits which it was ultimately destined to produce. At length,\\nhowever, these benefits are distinctly felt, and generally acknowled-\\nged. Property is secure manufactures and commerce increasing,\\nand agriculture is rapidly improving in Scotland. As yet, indeed,\\nthe farmers are not, in general, enabled to make improvements out\\nof their own capitals, as in England but the landholders, who\\nhave seen and felt the advantages resulting from them, contribute", "height": "4508", "width": "2540", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "XV11I\\nprefatory Remarks.\\ntowards them with a liberal hand. Hence property, as well as po-\\npulation, is accumulating rapidly on the Scottish soil and the na-\\ntion, enjoying a great part of the blessings of Englishmen, and retain-\\ning several of their own happy institutions, might be considered,\\nif confidence could be placed in human foresight, to be as yet only\\nin an early stage of their progress. Yet there are obstructions in\\ntheir way. To the cultivation of the soil are opposed the extent\\nand the strictness of the entails to the improvement of the people\\nthe rapidly increasing use of spirituous liquors, a detestable practice,\\nwhich includes in its consequences almost every evil, physical and\\nmoral. The peculiarly social disposition of the Scottish peasantry\\nexposes them to this practice. This disposition, which is fostered\\nby their national songs and music, is perhaps characteristic of the\\nnation at large. Though the source of many pleasures, it counter-\\nacts by its consequences the effects of their patience, industry, and\\nfrugality both at home and abroad, of which those especially who\\nhave witnessed the progress of Scotsmen in other countries, must\\nhave known many striking instances.\\nSince the Union, the manners and language of the peoj le of\\nScotland have no longer a standard among themselves, but are tried\\nby the standard of the nation to which they are united. Though\\ntheir habits are far from being flexible, yet it is evident that their\\nmanners and dialect are undergoing a rapid change. Even the\\nfarmers of the present day appear to have less of the peculiarities of\\ntheir country in their speech, than the men of letters of the last\\ngeneration. Burns, who never left the island, nor penetrated far-\\nther into England than Carlisle on the one hand, or Newcastle on\\nthe other, had less of the Scottish dialect than Hume, who lived for\\nmany years in the best society in England and France or perhaps\\nthan Robertson, who wrote the English language in a style of such\\npurity and if he had been in other respects fitted to take a lead\\nin the British House of Commons, his pronunciation would neither\\nhave fettered his eloquence, nor deprived it of its due effect.\\nA striking particular in the character of the Scottish peasantry,\\nis one which it is hoped will not be lost\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the strength of their do-\\nmestic attachments. The privations to which many parents sub-\\nmit for the good of their children, and particularly to obtain for\\nthem instruction, which they consider as the chief good, has already\\nbeen noticed. If their children live and prosper, they have their\\ncertain reward, not merely as witnessing, but as sharing of their\\nprosperity. Even in the humblest ranks of the peasantry, the earn-\\nings of the children may generally be considered as at the disposal\\nof their parents perhaps in no country is so large a portion of the\\nwages of labour applied to the support and comfort of those whose\\ndays of labour are past. A similar strength of attachment extends\\nthrough all the domestic relations.\\nOur poet took largely of this amiable characteristic of his hum-\\nble compeers he was also strongly tinctured with another striking\\nfeature which belongs to them, a partiality for his native country,\\nof which many proofs may be found in his writings. This, it must\\nbe confessed, is a very strong and general sentiment among the na-\\ntives of Scotland, differing however in its character, according to", "height": "4508", "width": "2596", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "PREtfAtOfttf REMARKS. xix\\nthe character of the different minds in which it is found in some\\nappearing a selfish prejudice, in others a generous affection.\\nAn attachment to the land of their birth is, indeed, common to\\nall men. It is found among all the inhabitants of every region of\\nthe earth, from the arctic to the antarctic circle, in all the vast va-\\nriety of climate, of surface, of civilization. To analyze this gene-\\nral sentiment, to trace it through the mazes of association up to\\nthe primary affection in which it has its source, would neither be a\\ndifficult nor unpleasing labour. On the first consideration of the\\nsubject, we should, perhaps expect to find this attachment strong\\nin proportion to the physical advantage of the soil; but inquiry,\\nfar from confirming this supposition, seems rather to lead to an op-\\nposite conclusion. In those fertile regions where beneficent\\nnature yields almost spontaneously whatever is necessary to hu-\\nman wants, patriotism, as well as every other generous sentiment,\\nseems weak and languid. In countries less richly endowed, where\\nthe comforts, and even necessaries of life, must be purchased by\\npatient toil, the affections of the mind, as the faculties of the un-\\nderstanding, improve under exertion, and patriotism flourishes\\namidst its kindred virtues. Where it is necessary to combine for\\nmutual defence, as well as for the supply of common wants, mutual\\ngood-will springs from mutual difficulties and labours, the social af-\\nfections unfold themselves, and extend from the men with whom\\nwe live, to the soil on which we tread. It will perhaps be found,\\nindeed, that our affections cannot be originally called forth, but by\\nobjects capable, or supposed capable, of feeling our sentiments, and\\nof returning them but when once excited they are strengthened\\nby exercise they are expanded by the powers of imagination, and\\nseize more especially on those inanimate parts of creation, which\\nform the theatre on which we have first felt the alternations of joy\\nand sorrow, and first tasted the sweets of sympathy and regard. If\\nthis reasoning be just, the love of our country, although modified,\\nand even extinguished in individuals by the chances and changes of\\nlife, may be presumed, in our general reasonings, to be strong\\namong a people, in proportion to their social, and more especially\\nto their domestic affections. In free governments it is found more\\nactive than in despotic ones, because, as the individual becomes of\\nmore consequence in the community, the community becomes of\\nmore consequence to him in small states it is generally more active\\nthan in large ones, for the same reason, and also because the inde-\\npendence of a small community being maintained with difficulty,\\nand frequently endangered, sentiments of patriotism are more fre-\\nquently excited. In mountainous countries it is generally found\\nmore active than in plains, because there the necessities of life of-\\nten require a closer union of the inhabitants and more especially\\nbecause in such countries, though less populous than plains, the in-\\nhabitants, instead of being scattered equally over the whole, are\\nusually divided into small communities on the sides of their sepa-\\nrate valleys, and on the banks of their respective streams situa-\\ntions well calculated to call forth and to concentrate the social af-\\nfections amidst scenery that acts most powerfully on the sight, and\\nmakes a lasting impression on the memory. It may also be remarked,\\nthat mountainous countries are often peculiarly calculated to nou-", "height": "4340", "width": "2536", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "XX PREFATORY REMARKS.\\nrish sentiments of national pride and independence, from the influ-\\nence of history on the affections of the mind. In such countries, from\\ntheir natural strength, inferior nations have maintained their in-\\ndependence against their more powerful neighbours, and valour, in\\nall ages, has made its most successful efforts against oppression.\\nSuch countries present the fields of battle, where tide of invasion\\nwas rolled back, and where the ashes of those rest, who have died in\\ndefence of their nation\\nThe operation of the various causes we have mentioned is doubt-\\nless more general and more permanent, where the scenery of a\\ncountry, the peculiar manners of its inhabitants, and the martial\\nachievements of their ancestors are embodied in national songs,\\nand united to national music. By this combination, the ties that\\nattach men to the land of their birth are multiplied and strength-\\nened and the images of infancy strongly associating with the gen-\\nerous affections, resist the influence of time, and of new impres-\\nsions they often survive in countries far distant, and amidst far\\ndifferent scenes, to the latest periods of life, to soothe the heart\\nwith the pleasures of memory, when those of hppe die away.\\nIf this reasoning be just, it will explain to us why, among the\\nnatives of Scotland, even of cultivated minds, we so generally find\\na partial attachment to the land of their birth, and why this is so\\nstrongly discoverable in the writings of Burns, who joined to the\\nhigher powers of the understanding the most ardent affections.\\nLet no men of reflection think it a superfluous labour to trace the\\nrise and progress of a character like his. Born in the condition of\\na peasant, he rose by the force of his mind into distinction and in-\\nfluence, and in his works has exhibited what are rarely found, the\\ncharms of original genius. With a deep insight into the human\\nheart, his poetry exhibits high powers of imagination it displays,\\nand as it were embalms, the peculiar manners of his country and\\nit may be considered as a monument, not to his own name only,\\nbut to the expiring genius of an ancient and once independent na-\\ntion. In relating the incidents of his life, candour will prevent us\\nfrom dwelling invidiously on those faults and failings which justice\\nforbids us to conceal; we will tread lightly over his yet warm\\nashes, and respect the laurels that shelter his untimely grave.", "height": "4456", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "LIFE\\nOF\\nROBERT BURNS\\nRobert Burns was, as is well known, the son of a farmer in Ayr-\\nshire, and afterwards himself a farmer there but, having been\\nunsuccessful, he was about to emigrate to Jamaica. He had pre-\\nviously, however, attracted some notice by his poetical talents in\\nthe vicinity where he lived and having published a small volume\\nof his poems at Kilmarnock, this drew upon him more general\\nattention. In consequence of the encouragement he received, he\\nrepaired to Edinburgh, and there published, by subscription, an\\nimproved and enlarged edition of his poems, which met with extra-\\nordinary success. By the profits arising from the sale of this edi-\\ntion, he was enabled to enter on a farm in Dumfries-shire; and\\nhaving married a person to whom he had been long attached, he\\nretired to devote the remainder of his life to agriculture. He was\\nagain, however, unsuccessful; and, abandoning his farm, he removed\\nagain into the town of Dumfries, where he filled an inferior ofiice\\nin the excise, and where he terminated his life in July, 1796, in his\\nthirty- eighth year.\\nThe strength and originality of his genius procured him the\\nnotice of many persons distinguished in the republic of letters, and,\\namong others, that of Dr. Moore, well known for his Views of So*\\nciety and Manners on the Continent of Europe, for his Zeluco, and\\nvarious other works. To this gentleman our poet addressed a letter,\\nafter his first visit to Edinburgh, giving a history of his life, up to\\nthe period of his writing. In a composition never intended to see\\nthe light, elegance or perfect correctness of composition will not be\\nexpected. These, however, will be compensated by the opportunity\\nof seeing our poet, as he gives the incidents of his life, unfold the\\npeculiarities of his character with all the careless vigour and open\\nsincerity of his mind.\\nSir, Mauchhne, 2d August, 1787.\\nFor some months past I have been rambling over the country\\nbut I am now confined with some lingering complaints, originating,\\nas I take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this\\nmiserable fog of ennui, I have taken a whim to give you a history\\nof myself. My name has made some little noise in this country\\nyou have done me the honour to interest yourself very warmly in\\nmy behalf and I think a faithful account of what character of a", "height": "4144", "width": "2536", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "Ti\\nLIFE OF\\nman I am, and how I came by that character, may perhaps amuse\\nyou in an idle moment, I will give you an honest narrative though\\nI know it will be often at my own expense for I assure you, sir,\\nI have, like Solomon, whose character, except in the trifling affair\\nof wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble, 1 have, I say, like him,\\nturned my eyes to behold madness and folly, and like him, too, fre-\\nquently shaken hands with their intoxicating friendship.\\nAfter you have perused these pages, should you think them trifling\\nand impertinent, I only beg leave to tell you, that the poor author\\nwrote them under some twitching qualm3 of conscience, arising\\nfrom a suspicion that he was doing what he ought not to do a\\npredicament he has more than once been in before.\\nI have not the most distant pretensions to assume that charac-\\nter which the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a Gentleman.\\nWhen at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in the Herald s\\nOflice and, looking through that granary of honours, I found there\\nalmost every name in the kingdom but for me,\\nMy ancient but ignoble blood\\nHas crept through scoundrels ever since the flood.\\nGules, purpure, argent, c, quite disowned me.\\nMy father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer,\\nand was thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large where\\nafter many years wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty\\nlarge quantity of observation and experience, to which I am in-\\ndebted for most of my little pretensions to wisdom. I have met\\nwith few who understood men, their manners, and their ways, equal\\nto him but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovern-\\nable irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances; consequently I\\nwas born a very poor man s son. For the lirst six or seven years of\\nmy life, my father was a gardener to a worthy gentleman of small\\nestate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he continued in that\\nstation, I must have marched off to be one of the little underlings\\nabout a farm-house but it was his dearest wish and prayer to have\\nit in his power to keep his children under his own eye till they\\ncould discern between good and evil so, with the assistance of his\\ngenerous master, my father ventured on a small farm on his estate.\\nAt those years 1 was by no means a favourite with any body. I\\nwas a good deal noted for a retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy\\nsomething in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I\\nsay idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though it cost the\\nschoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar\\nand by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in\\nsubstantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant and boyish days,\\ntoo, I owed much to an old woman who resided in the family, re-\\nmarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had,\\nI suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and songs\\nconcerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spun-\\nkies, kelpies, elf- candles, deadlights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips,\\ngiants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cul-\\ntivated the latent seeds of poetry but had so strong an effect on\\nmy imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I\\nsometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places and though\\nnobody can be more sceptical than I am in such matters; yet it often", "height": "4390", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "KOBERT BURNS. 42\\ntakes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idel terrors. The\\nearliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure in, was The\\nVision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison s, beginning, How are thy\\nservants blest, Lord I particularly remember one half stanza\\nwhich was music to my boyish ears\\nFor though on dreadful whirls we hung\\nHigh on the broken wave\\nI met with these pieces in Mason s English Collection, one of my\\nschool books. The two first books I ever read in private, and which\\ngave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, were,\\nThe Life of Hannibal, and The History of Sir William Wallace.\\nHannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in\\nraptures up and down after the recruiting drum and bag-pipe, and\\nwish myself tall enough to be a soldier while the story of Wallace\\npoured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along\\nthere till the flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest.\\nPolemical divinity about this time was putting the country\\nhalf mad and I, ambitious of shining in conversation parties on\\nSundays, between sermons, at funerals, c, used, a few years after-\\nwards, to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indiscretion, that\\nI raised a hue and and cry of heresy against me, which has not\\nceased to this hour.\\nMy vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social\\ndisposition, when not checked by some modifications of spiritual\\npride, was, like our catechism-definition of infinitude, without\\nbounds m limits. I formed several connections with other younkers\\nwho poHessed superior advantages, the youngling actors, who were\\nbusy in the rehearsal of parts in which they were shortly to appear\\non the stage of life, where, alas I was destined to drudge behind\\nthe scenes. It is not commonly at this green age that our young\\ngentry have a just sense of the immense distance between them and\\ntheir ragged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes into the world, to\\ngive the young great man that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard\\nfor the poor insignificant stupid devils, the mechanics and peasantry\\naround him, who were perhaps born in the same village. My\\nyoung superiors never insulted the clouterly appearance of my\\nplough-boy carcase, the two extremes of which were often exposed\\nto all the inclemencies of the seasons. They would give me stray\\nvolumes of books among them, even then, I could pick up some\\nobservations and one, whose heart I am sure not even the Munny\\nBegum scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. Parting\\nwith these my young friends and benefactors, as they occasionally\\nwent off for the East or West Indies, was often to me a sore afflic-\\ntion but I was soon called to more serious evils. My father s\\ngenerous master died the farm proved a ruinous bargain and, to\\nclench the misfortune, we fell into the hands of a factor, who sat for\\nthe picture I have drawn of one in my Tale of Twa Dogs. My father\\nwas advanced in life when he married I was the eldest of seven\\nchildren and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit for\\nlabour. My father s spirit was soon irritated, but not easily broken.\\nThere was a freedom in his lease in two years more and to weather\\nthese two years, we retrenched our expenses. We lived very poorly\\nI was a dextrous ploughman, for my age and the next eldest to", "height": "4508", "width": "2528", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "24 LIFE OF\\nme was a brother (Gilbert) who could drive the plough very well,\\nand help me to thrash the corn. A novel writer might perhaps\\nhave viewed these scenes with some satisfaction but so did not I;\\nmy indignation yet boils at the recollection of the s =-1 factor s\\ninsolent threatening letters which used to set us all in tears.\\nThis kind of life the cheerless gloom of a hermit, with the un-\\nceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth year a\\nlittle before which period I first committed the sin of Rhyme. You\\nknow our country custom of coupling a man and woman together\\nas partners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my\\npartner was a bewitching creature a year younger than myself.\\nMy scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her justice in\\nthat language but you know the Scottish idoim she was a bonnie,\\nsweet, sonsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly to herself,\\ninitiated me in that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid disap-\\npointment, gin-horse prudence, and book- worm philosophy, I hold\\nto be the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here below\\nHow she caught the contagion, I cannot tell you medical people\\ntalk much of infection from breathing the same air, the touch. c.\\nbut I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know\\nmyself why I liked to loiter behind with her, when returning in the\\nevening from our labours; why the tones of her voice made my\\nheart-strings thrill like an iEolian harp and particularly why my\\npulse beat such a furious ratan when I looked and fingered over her\\nlittle hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among\\nher other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly and j|was her\\nfavourite reel, to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in\\nrhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could\\nmake verses like printed ones, composed by men who had Greek\\nand Latin but my girl sung a song, which was said to be composed\\nby a small country laird s son, on one of his father s maid3, with\\nwhom he was in love and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme\\nas well a3 he for, excepting that he could smear sheep, and cast\\npeats, his father living in the moor-lands, he had no more scholar-\\ncraft than myself.\\nThus with me began love and poetry, which at times have been\\nmy only, and till within the last twelve months, have been my\\nhighest enjoyment. My father struggled on till he reached the\\nfreedom in his lease, when he entered on a larger farm, about ten\\nmiles farther in the country. The nature of the bargain he\\nmade was such as to throw a little ready money into his hands at\\nthe commencement of his lease, otherwise the affair would have\\nbeen impracticable. For four years we lived comfortably here;\\nbut a difference commencing between him and his landlord, as to\\nterms, after three years tossing and whirling in the vortex of liti-\\ngation, my father was just saved from the horrors of a jail by con-\\nsumption, which, after two years promises, kindly stepped in, and\\ncarried him away, to where the wicked cease from troubling, and the\\nweary are at rest.\\nIt is during the time that we lived on this farm, that my little\\nstory is most eventful. I was, at the beginning of this period per-\\nhaps the most ungainly, awkward boy in the parish no solitaire\\nwas less acquainted with the ways of the worid* What I kaew of", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "EGBERT BURNS. 25\\nancient story was gathered from Salmon s and Outline s geographi-\\ncal grammars and the ideas I had formed of modern manners,^ of\\nliterature, and criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, with\\nPope s Works, some plays of Shakspeare, Tull and Dickson on Agri*\\nculture, the Pantheon, Locke s Essay on the Human Understanding,\\nStackhouse s History of the Bible, Justice^ British Gardener s Direc*\\ntory, Bayle s Lectures, Allan Ramsay s Works, Taylor s Scripture\\nDoctrine of Original Sin, a Select Collection of English Songs, and\\nHervey s Meditations, had formed the whole of my reading. OPhe\\ncollection of songs was my vade onecum. I pored over them driving\\nmy cart, or walking to labour, song by song, verse by verse, care-\\nfully noting the true tender, or sublime, from affectation and fus-\\ntian. I am convinced I owe to this practice much of my critic\\ncraft, such as it is.\\nIn my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, I went to\\na country dancing-school. My father had an unaccountable anti-\\npathy against these meetings and my going was, what to this mo-\\nment I repent, in opposition to his wishes. My father, as I said\\nbefore, was subject to strong passions from that instance of diso-\\nbedience in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe\\nwas one cause of the dissipation which marked my succeeding\\nyears. I say dissipation, in comparison with the strictness, and\\nsobriety, and regularity of Presbyterian country life for though\\nthe Will o Wisp meteors of thoughtless whim were almost the sole\\nlights of my path, yet early ingrained piety and virtue kept me for\\nseverakyears after within the line of innocence. The great misfor-\\ntune of my life was to want an aim. I had early felt some stirrings\\nof ambition, but they were the blind gropings of Homer s Cyclops\\nround the walls of his cave. I saw my father s situation entailed\\non me perpetual labour. The only two openings by which I could\\nenter the temple of Fortune, was the gate of niggardly economy, or\\nthe path of little chicaning bargain-making. The first is so con-\\ntracted an aperture, I never could squeeze myself into it the last\\nI always hated\u00e2\u0080\u0094 there was contamination in the very entrance\\nThus abandoned of aim or view in life, with a strong appetite for\\nsociability, as well from active hilarity, as from a pride of observa-\\ntion and remark; a constitutional melancholy or hypochondriasm\\nthat made me fly solitude add to these incentives to social life, my\\nreputation for bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical talent, and\\na strength of thought, something like the rudiments of good sense\\nand it will not seem surprising that I was generally a welcome\\nguest where I visited, or any great wonder that, always where two\\nor three met together, there was I among them. But far beyond\\nall other impulses of my heart, was un penchant a Vadorable moitie du\\ngenre humain. My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally\\nlighted up by some goddess or other and as in every other warfare\\nin this world my fortune was Various, sometimes I was received\\nwith favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a repulse. At the\\nplough, scythe, or reap hook, I feared no competitor, and thus I set\\nabsolute want at defiance and as I never cared further for my la-\\nbours than while I was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings\\nin the way after my own heart. A country lad seldom carries on a\\n3", "height": "4508", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "26 UFE OV\\nlove adventure without an assisting confidant. I possessed a curi-\\nosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recommended me as a pro-\\nper second on these occasions and I dare say, I felt as much plea-\\nsure in being in the secret of half the loves of the parish of\\nTarbolton, as ever did statesmen in knowing the intrigues of half\\nthe courts in Europe. The very goose-feather in my hand seems to\\nknow instinctively the well-worn path of my imagination, the fa-\\nvourite theme of my song and it is with difficulty restrained from\\ngiving you a couple of paragraphs on the love adventures of my\\ncompeers, the humble inmates of the farm- house and cottage but\\nthe grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, baptize these things\\nby the name of follies. To the sons and daughters of labour and\\npoverty, they are matters of the most serious nature to them, the\\nardent hope, the stolen interview, the tender farewell, are the\\ngreatest and most delicious parts of my enjoyments.\\nu Another circumstance in my life which made some alteration\\nin my mind and manners, was, that I spent my nineteenth summer\\non a smuggling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted school,\\nto learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, c, in which I made a\\npretty great progress. But I made a greater progress in the know-\\nledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at the time very suc-\\ncessful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those\\nwho carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring dissipa-\\ntion were till this time new to me but I was no enemy to social\\nlife. Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear\\nin a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high hand with my\\ngeometry, till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is always a\\ncarnival in my bosom, when a charming filette who lived next door\\nto the school, overset my trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent\\nfrom the sphere of my studies. I, however, struggled on with my\\nsines and co-sines, for a few days more but stepping into the gar-\\nden one charming noon to take the sun s altitude, there I met my\\nangel,\\n1 Like Proserpine gathering flowers,\\nHerself a fairer flower.\\nIt was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. The\\nremaining week I staid, I did nothing but craze the faculties of my\\nsoul about her, or steal out to meet her and the last two nights of\\nmy stay in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image of\\nthis modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless.\\nI returned home very considerably improved. My reading was\\nenlarged with the very important addition of Thomson s and Shen-\\nstone s Works I had seen human nature in a new phasis and I\\nengaged several of my school-fellows to keep up a literary corres-\\npondence with me. This improved me in composition. I had met\\nwith a collection of letters of the wits of Queen Anne s reign, and\\nI pored over them most devoutly I kept copies of any of my own\\nletters that pleased me, and a comparison between them and the\\ncomposition of most of my correspondents flattered my vanity. I\\ncarried this whim so far, that though I had not three farthings\\nworth of business in the world, yet almost every post brought me\\nas many letters as if I had been a broad plodding son of day-book\\nand ledger.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. -27\\net My life flowed on much in the same course till my twenty-third\\nyear. Vive Vamoin, et vive la bagatelle, were my sole principles of\\naction. The addition of two more authors to my library gave me\\ngreat pleasure Sterne and M Kenzie Tristram Shandy and The\\nMan of feeling were my bosom favourites. Poesy was still a dar-\\nling walk for my mind but it was only indulged in according to\\nthe humour of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or more pieces\\non hand I took up one or other, as it suited the momentary tone\\nof the mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. My\\npassions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils, till they\\ngot vent in rhyme and then the conning over my verses, like a\\nspell, soothed all into quiet None of the rhymes of those days\\nare in print, except Winter, a Dirge, the eldest of my printed\\npieces The Death of Poor Mailie, John Barleycorn, and Songs, first,\\nsecond, and third. Song second was the ebullition of that passion\\nwhich ended the forementioned school business.\\nMy twenty-third year was to me an important era. Partly\\nthrough whim, and partly that I wished to set about doing some-\\nthing in life, I joined a flax- dresser in a neighbouring town (Irvine)\\nto learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. My\\nand, to finish the whole, as we were giving a welcome carousal to\\nthe new year, the shop took fire and burnt to ashes and I was left\\nlike a true poet, not worth a sixpence.\\nI was obliged to give up this scheme the clouds of misfortune\\nwere gathering thick round my father s head and what was worst\\nof all, he was visibly far gone in a consumption and to crown my\\ndistresses, a telle fille whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul\\nto me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar circum-\\nstances of mortification. The finishing evil that brought up the\\nrear of this infernal file, was, my constitutional melancholy being\\nincreased to such a degree, that for three months I was in a state\\nof mind scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have\\ngot their mittimus Depart from me, ye accursed I\\nFrom this adventure, I learned something of a town life but\\nthe principal thing which gave my mind a turn, was a friendship I\\nformed with a young fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless\\nson of misfortune. He was the son of a simple mechanic but a\\ngreat man in the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage\\ngave him a genteel education, with a view of bettering his situation\\nin life. The patron dying just as he was ready to launch out into\\nthe world, the poor little fellow in dispair went to sea; where\\nafter a variety of good and ill fortune, a little before I was ac-\\nquainted with him, he had been set ashore by an American priva-\\nteer, on the wild coast ot Connaught, stripped of every thing. I\\ncannot quit this poor fellow s story, without adding, that he is at\\nthis time master of a large West Indiaman belonging to the\\nThames.\\nHis mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and\\nevery manly virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of en-\\nthusiasm, and of course tried to imitate him. In some measure, I\\nsucceeded 1 had pride before, but he taught it to flow in proper\\nchannels. His knowledge of the world was vastly superior to mine,\\nand I was all attention to learn. He was the only man I ever saw,", "height": "4372", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "28 LIFE OF\\nwho was a greater fool than myself, where woman was the presiding\\nstar but he spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, which\\nhitherto I had regarded with horror. Here his friendship did me\\na mischief; and the consequence was that soon after I resumed the\\nplough, I wrote the Poet s Welcome. My reading only increased,\\nwhile in this town, by two stray volumes of Pamela and one of Fer-\\ndinand Count Fathom, which gave me some idea of novels. Khyme,\\nexcept some religious pieces that are in print, I had given up but\\nmeeting with Ferguson s Scottish Poems, I strung anew my wildly-\\nsounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my father died, his\\nall went among the hellhounds that growl in the kennel of justice\\nbut we made a shift to collect a little money in the family amongst\\nus, with which, to keep us together, my brother and I took a\\nneigh bouing farm. My brother wanted my hair brained imagina-\\ntion, as well as my social and amorous madness: but in good\\nsense, and every sober qualiii cation, he was far my superior.\\nI entered on this farm with a full resolution, Come, go to, 1 will\\nhe wise! i read farming books; I calculated crops; 1 attended\\nmarkets and in short, in spite of the devil, and the world and the\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0flesh, I believe, I should, have been a wise man, but the first year\\nfrom unfortunately buying bad seed, the second, from a late harvest,\\nwe lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, and I returned.\\nlike the dog to his vomit and the sow that was washed to her wallotO\\ning in the mire,\\nI now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of\\nrhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that saw the light, was a\\nburlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvin-\\nists, both of them dramatis persona in my Holy Fair. I had a no-\\ntion myself, that the piece had some merit but to prevent the\\nworst, I gave a copy of it to a friend who was very fond of such\\nthings, and told him that I could not guess who was the author of\\nit, but that 1 thought it pretty clever. With a certain description\\nof the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar of applause.\\nHoly Willie s Prayer next made its appearance, and alarmed the\\nkirk session so much, that they held several meetings to look over\\ntheir spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed\\nagainst profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led\\nme on another ?ide, within point blank shot of their heaviest metal.\\nThis is the unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed poem,\\nThe L ment. This was a most melancholy affair, which 1 cannot\\nyet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given me one or two of\\nthe principal qualifications for a place among those who have lost\\nthe chart, and mistaken the reckoning of rationality.* I gave up\\nmy part of the farm to my brother in truth it wa3 only nominally\\nmine and made what little preparation was in my power for Ja-\\nmaica. But, before leaving my native country for ever, 1 resolved\\nto publish my poems. 1 weighed my productions as impartially as\\nwas in my power I thought they had merit and it was a delicious\\nidea that I should be called a clever fellow, even though it should\\nnever reach my ears a poor negro-driver, or perhaps a victim of\\nthat inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits 1 I can\\ntruly say, that po.uvre inconnu as 1 then was, 1 had pretty nearly as\\nAn explanation cf this will be found hereafter.", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 29\\nhigh an idea of myself and of my works as I have at this moment\\nwhen the public has decided in their favour. It ever was my\\nopinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and re-\\nligious point of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are\\nowing to their ignorance of themselves.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 To know myself, had been\\nall along my constant study. I weighed myself alone I balanced\\nmyself with others I watched every means of information, to see\\nhow much ground I occupied as a man and as a poet I studied as-\\nsiduously nature s design in my formation where the lights and\\nshades in my character were intended. 1 was pretty confident\\nmy poems would meet with some applause but, at the worst, the\\nroar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the\\nnovelty of West Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off\\nsix hundred copies, of which I had got subscriptions for about three\\nhundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the recep-\\ntion I had met with from the public and besides I pocketed, all\\nexpenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very\\nseasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money\\nto proeure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas,\\nthe price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in\\nthe first ship that was to sail from the Clyde for\\nHunrgy ruin had me in the wind,\\nI had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under\\nall the terrors of a jail as some ill-advised people had uncoupled\\nthe merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last\\nfarewell of my few friends my chest was on the road to Green-\\nock; I had composed the la3t song I should ever measure in Oala-\\ndonia, The gloomy night is gathering fast when a letter from Dr.\\nBlacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by\\nopening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The Doctor belonged\\nto a set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His\\nopinion that I would meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for\\na second edition, fired me so much, that away I posted for that\\ncity, without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduc-\\ntion. The baneful star, that had so long shed its blasting influence\\nin my zenith, for once mide a revolution to the nadir; and a kind\\nProvidence placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of\\nmen, the Earl of Glencairn. Oublie moi. Grand Dieu, si jamais je\\nPoublie t\\nI need relate no further. At Edinburgh I was in a new world\\nI mingled among many classes of men, but all of them new to me,\\nand I was all attention to catch the characters and the manners\\nliving as they rise. Whether I have profited time will shew.\\nAt the period of our poet s death, his brother Gilbert Burns, wa\\nignorant tha t he had himself written the foregoing narrative of hi\\nlife while in Ayrshire and having been applied to by Mrs. Dun\\nlop for some memoirs of his brother, he complied with her reques", "height": "4376", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "30 LIFE OF\\nin a letter, from which, the following narrative is chiefly extracted*\\nWhen Gilbert Burns afterwards saw the letter of our poet to Dr.\\nMoore, he made some annotations upon it, which shall be noticed\\nas we proceed.\\nRobert Burns was born on the 29th day of January, 1759, ina small\\nhouse about two miles from the town of Ayr, and within a few\\nhundred yards of Alio way Church, which his poem of Tarn o Shan-\\nter has rendered immortal. The name which the poet and his bro-\\nther modernized into Burns, was originally Burnes or Burness.\\nTheir father, William Burnes, was the son of a farmer in Kincar-\\ndineshire, and had received the education common in Scotland to\\npersons in his condition of life he could read and write, and had\\nsome knowledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen into re-\\nduced circumstances, he was compelled to leave his home in his\\nnineteenth year, and turned his steps towards the south in quest of\\na livelihood. The same necessity attended his eider brother Robert.\\nI have often heard my father, says Gilbert Burns, in his letter\\nto Mrs. Dunlop, describe the anguish of mind he felt when they\\nparted on the top of the hill on the confines of their native place,\\neach going off his several way in search of new adventures, and\\nscarcely knowing whither he went. My father undertook to act as\\ngardener, and shaped his course to Edinburgh, where he wrought\\nhard when he could get work, passing through a variety of diffi-\\nculties. Still, however, he endeavoured to spare something for the\\nsupport of his aged parent; and I recollect hearing him mention\\nMs having sent a bank-note for this purpose when money of that\\nkind was so scarce in Kincardineshire, that they scarcely knew how\\nto employ it when it arrived. From Edinburgh William Burnes\\npast westward into the county of Ayr, where he engaged himself as\\ngardener to the laird of Fairley, with whom he lived two years\\nthen changing his service for that of Crawford of Doonside. At\\nlength, being desirous of settling in life, he took a perpetual lease\\nof seven acres of land from Dr. Campbell, physician in Ayr, with\\nthe view of commencing nurseryman and public gardener; and hav-\\ning built a house upon it with his own hands, married in Decem-\\nber, 1757, Agnes Brown, the mother of our poet, who still sur-\\nvives. The first fruit of this marriage was Robert, the subject of\\nthese memoirs, born on the 29th of January, 1759, as has already been\\nmentioned. Before William Burnes had made much progress in\\npreparing his nursery, he was withdrawn from that undertaking by\\nMr. Fergusson, who purchased the estate of Doonside, in the imme-\\ndiate neighbourhood, and engaged him as his gardener and over-\\nseer and this was his situation when our poet was born. Though\\nin the service of Mr. Ferguson, lie lived in his own house, his\\nwife managing her family and little dairy, which consisted some-\\ntimes of two, sometimes of three milch cows and this state of un-\\nambitious content continued till the year 1766. His son Eobert\\nwas sent by him, in his sixth year, to a school at Alloway Miln,\\nabout a mile distant, taught by a person of the name of Campbell\\nbut this teacher being in a few months appointed master of the\\nworkhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in conjunction with some\\nother heads of families, engaged John Murdock in his stead. The\\neducation of our poet, and of his brother Gilbert, was in common;", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "BOBEBT BURNS. 31\\nand of their proficiency under Mr. Murdoch we have the following\\naccount With him we learnt to read English tolerably well, and\\nto write a little. He taught us too, the English grammar. I was\\ntoo young to profit much from his lessons in grammar but Robert\\nmade some proficiency in it a circumstance of considerable weight\\nin the upholding of his genius and character as he soon became\\nremarkable for the fluency and correctness of his expression, and\\nread the few books that came in his way with much pleasure and\\nimprovement; for even then he was a reader, when he could get a\\nbook. Murdoch, whose library at that time had no great variety\\nin it, lent him The Life of Hannibal, which was the first book he\\nread (the school-books excepted) and almost the only one he had\\nthe opportunity of reading while he was at school The Life of\\nWallace, which he classes with it in one of his letters to you, he\\ndid not see for some years afterwards, when he borrowed it from a\\nblacksmith who shod our horses.\\nIt appears that William Burnes improved himself greatly in the\\nservice of Mr. Ferguson, by his intelligence, industry, and integ-\\nrity. In consequence of this, with a view of promoting his interest,\\nMr. Fergusson leased him a farm, of which we have the following\\naccount\\nThe farm was upwards of seventy acres (between eighty and\\nninety, English statute measure), the rent of which was to be forty\\npounds annually for the first six years, and afterwards forty-five\\npounds. My father endeavoured to sell his leasehold property for\\nthe purpose of stocking this farm, but at that time was unable,\\nand Mr. Ferguson lent him a hundred pounds for that purpose.\\nHe removed to his new situation at Whitsuntide, 1766. It\\nwas, I think, not above two years after this, that Murdoch, our\\ntutor and friend, left this part of the country and there being no\\nschool near us, and our little services being useful on the farm, my\\nfather undertook to teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings, by\\ncandle-light and in this way my two elder sisters got all the\\neducation they received. I remember a circumstance that hap-\\npened at this time, which, though trifling in itself, is fresh in my\\nmemory, and may serve to illustrate the early character of my bro-\\nther. Murdoch came to spend a night with us, and to take his\\nleave, when he was about to go into Carrick. He brought us a\\npresent and memorial of him, a small compendium of English\\nGrammar, and the tragedy of Titus Andronicus; and by way of\\npassing the evening, he began to read the play aloud. We were all\\nattention for some time, till presently the whole party were dis-\\nsolved in tears. A female in the play (I have but a confused re-\\nmembrance of it) had her hands chopt off, and her tongue cut out,\\nand then was insultingly desired to call for water to wash her\\nhands. At this, in an agony of distress, we with one voice desired\\nhe would read no more. My father observed, that if we would not\\nhear it out, it would be needless to leave the play with us. Robert\\nreplied, that if it was left he would burn it. My father was go-\\ning to chide him for this ungrateful return to his tutor s kindness\\nbut Murdoch interfered, declaring that he liked to see so much\\nsensibility and he left The School for Love, and a comedy (trans-;\\nlated, I think from the French), in its place, 55", "height": "4416", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "32 LIFE OF\\nNothing, continues Gilbert Burns, could be more retired\\nthan our general manner of living at Mount Elephant; we rarely\\nsaw anybody but the members of our own family. There were no\\nboys of our own age, or near it, in the neighbourhood. Indeed\\nthe greatest part of the land in the vicinity was at that time possessed\\nby shopkeepers, and people of that stamp, who had retired from\\nbusiness, or who kept their farm in the country, at the same time that\\nthey followed business in town. My father was for some time almost\\nthe only companion we had. He conversed familiarly on all sub-\\njects with us, as if we had been men and was at great pains,\\nwhile we accompanied him in the labours of the farm, to lead the\\nconversation to such subjects as might tend to increase our know-\\nledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits. He borrowed Salmon\\nGeographical Grammar for us, and endevoured to make us ac-\\nquainted with the situation and history of the different countries\\nin the world while from a book society in Ayr, he procured for us\\nthe reading of Derhams Physico and Astro- Theology, and Rays\\nWisdom of God in the Creation, to give us some idea of astronomy and\\nnatural history. Eobert read all these books with an avidity and\\nindustry scarcely to be equalled. My father had been a subscriber to\\nStaclchouse s History of the Bible, then lately published by James\\nMeuros in Kilmarnock from this Eobert collected a competent\\nknowledge of ancient history for no book was so voluminous as\\nto slacken his industry, or so antiquated as to damp his researches.\\nA brother of my mother, who had lived with us for some time, and\\nhad learnt some arithmetic by our winter evening s candle, went\\nto a bookseller s shop in Ayr, to purchase The Ready Reckoner,, or\\nTradesman s sure Guide, and a book to teach him to write letters.\\nLuckily, in place of The Complete Letter- Writer, he got by mistake,\\na small collection of letters by the most eminent writers, with a\\nfew sensible directions for attaining an easy epistolary style. The\\nbook was to Robert of the greatest importance. It inspired him\\nwith a strong desire to excel in letter- writing, while it furnished\\nhim with models by some of the first writers in our language.\\nr. My brother was about thirteen or fourteen, when my father, re-\\ngretting that we wrote so ill, sent us, week about, during a summer\\nquarter, to the parish school of Dalrymple, which, though between\\ntwo or three miles distant, was the nearest to us, that we might\\nhave an opportunity of remedying this defect. About this time a\\nbookish acquaintance of my father s procured us a reading of two\\nvolumes of Richardson s Pamela, which was the first novel we read,\\nand the only part of Richardson s works my brother was acquainted\\nwith till towards the period of his commencing author. Till that\\ntime too he remained unacquainted with Fielding, with Smollet,\\n(two volumes of Ferdinand Count Fathom, and two volumes of\\nPeregrine Pickle excepted), with Hume and Robertson, and almost\\nall our authors of eminence of the later times. I recollect indeed\\nmy father borrowed a volume of English history from Mr. Hamilton\\nof Bourtree-hilPs gardener. It treated of the reign of James the\\nFirit, and his unfortunate son, Charles, but I do not know who was\\nthe author all that I remember of it is something of Charles s\\nconversation with his children. About this time Murdoch, our\\nformer teacher, after haying been in different places in the country.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 38\\nand having taught a school some time in Dumfries, came to be the\\nestablished teacher of the English language in Ayr, a circumstance\\nof considerable consequence to us. The remembrance of my father s\\nformer friendship, and his attachment to my brother, made him do\\nevery thing in his power for our improvement. He sent us Pope s\\nworks, and some other poetry, the first that we had an opportunity\\nof reading excepting what is contained in The English Collection,\\nand in the volume of The Edinburgh Magazine for 1772 excepting\\nalso those excellent new songs that are hawked about the country in\\nbaskets, or exposed on stalls in the streets.\\nThe summer after we had been at Dalrymple school, my father\\nsent Robert to Ayr, to revise his English grammar, with his former\\nteacher. He had been there only one week, when he was obliged\\nto return to assist at the harvest. When the harvest was over, he\\nwent back to school, where he remained two weeks and this com-\\npletes the account of his school education, excepting one summer\\nquarter some time afterwards, that he attended the parish school of\\nKirk Oswald (where he lived with a brother of my mother s) to\\nlearn surveying.\\nDuring the two last weeks that he was with Murdoch, he him-\\nself was engaged in learning French, and he communicated the in-\\nstructions he received to my brother, who, when he returned,\\nbrought with him a French dictionary and grammar, and the Ad-\\nventures of Telemachus in the original. In a little while, by the as-\\nstance ot these books, he acquired such a knowledge of the lan-\\nguage, as to read and understand any French author in prose. This\\nwas considered as a sort of prodigy, and, through the medium of\\nMurdoch, procured him the acquaintance of several lads in Ayr, who\\nwere at time gabbling French, and the notice of some families, par-\\nticularly that of Dr. Malcolm, where a knowledge of French was a\\nrecommendation.\\nObserving the facility with which he had acquired the French\\nlanguage, Mr. Robinson, the established writing-master in. Ayr, and\\nMr. Murdoch s particular friend, having himself acquired a con-\\nsiderable knowledge of the Latin language by his own industry,\\nwithout ever having learned it at school, advised Robert to make\\nthe same attempt, promising him every assistance in his power.\\nAgreeably to this advice, he purchased The Rudiments of the Latin\\nTongue, but finding this study dry and uninteresting, it was quickly\\nlaid aside. He frequently returned to his Rudiments on any little\\nchagrin or disappointment, particularly in his love aifairs but the\\nLatin seldom predominated more than a day or two at a time, or a\\nweek at most. Observing himself the ridicule that would attach\\nto this sort of conduct if it were known, he made two or three\\nhumorous stanzas on the subject, which I cannot now recollect, but\\nthey all ended,\\nSo I ll to my Latin again.\\nThus you see Mr. Murdoch was a principal means of my bro-\\nther s improvement. Worthy man though foreign to my present\\npurpose, I cannot take leave of him without tracing his future his-\\ntory, He continued for some years a respected and useful teacher\\n5", "height": "4500", "width": "2524", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "34 LIFE OF\\nat Ayr, till one evening that he had been overtaken in liquor, he\\nhappened to speak somewhat disrespectfully of Dr. Dalrymple, the\\nparish minister, who had not paid him that attention to which he\\nthought himself entitled. In Ayr he might as well have spoken\\nblasphemy. He found it proper to give up his appointment. He\\nwent to London, where he still lives, a private teacher of French.\\nHe has been a considerable time married, and keeps a shop of\\nstationary wares.\\nThe father of Dr. Paterson, now physician at Ayr, was, I be-\\nlieve, a native of Aberdeenshire, and was one of the established\\nteachers in Ayr when my father settled in the neighbourhood. He\\neagerly recognised my father as a fellow native of the north of Scot-\\nland, and a certain degree of intimacy subsisted between them dur-\\ning Mr. Paterson s life. After his death, his widow, who is a very\\ngeenteel woman, and of great worth, delighted in doing what she\\nthought her husband would have done, and assiduously kept up her\\nattentions to all his acquaintance. She kept alive the intimacy\\nwith our family, by frequently inviting my father and mother to\\nher house on Sundays, when she met them at church.\\nu When she came to know my brother s passion for books, she\\nkindly offered us the use of her husband s library, and from her we\\ngot the Spectator, Popes Translation of Homer, and several other\\nbooks that were of use to us. Mount Oiiphant, the farm my father\\npossessed in the parish of Ayr, is almost the very poorest soil I\\nknow of in a state of cultivation. A stronger proof of this I cannot\\ngive, than that, notwithstanding the extraordinary rise in the value\\nof lands in Scotland, it was, after a considerable sum laid out in im-\\nproving it by the proprietor, let, a few years ago, five pounds per\\nannum lower than the rent paid for it by my father thirty years\\nago. My father, in consequence of this, soon came into difficulties,\\nwhich were increased by the loss of several of his cattle by accidents\\nand disease. To the bufferings of misfortune, we could only oppose\\nhard labour and the most rigid economy. We lived very sparingly.\\nFor several years butcher s meat was a stranger in the house, while\\nall the members of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of\\ntheir strength, and rather beyond it, in the labours of the farm. My\\nbrother, at the age of thirteen, assisted in threshing the crop of\\ncorn, and at fifteen was the principal labourer on the farm, for we\\nhad no hired servant, male or female. The anguish of mind we\\nfelt at our tender years, under these straits and difficulties, was very\\ngreat. To think of our father growing old (for he was now above\\nfifty,) broken down with the long continued fatigues of his life,\\nwith a wife and five other children, and in a decling state of cir-\\ncumstances, these reflections produced in my brother s mind and\\nmine sensations of the deepest distress. I doubt not but the hard\\nlabour and sorrow of this period of his life, was in a great measure\\nthe cause of that depression of spirits with which Robert was so of-\\nten afflicted through his whole life afterwards. At this time he\\nwas almost constantly afflicted in the evenings with a dull head-\\nache, which, at a future period of his life, was exchanged for a palpi-\\ntation of the heart, and a threatening of fainting and suffocation in\\nhis bed, in the night time.\\nBy a stipulation in my father s lease, he had a right to throw", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 35\\nit up, if he thought proper, at the end of every sixth year. He at-\\ntempted to fix himself in a better farm at the end of the first six\\nyears, but failing in that attempt, he continued where he was for\\nsix years more. He then took the farm of Lochlea, of 130\\nacres, at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of Tar-\\nbolton, of Mr. then a merchant in Ayr, and now\\n(1797) a merchant in Liverpool. He removed to this farm at Whit-\\nsunday, 1777, and possessed it only seven years. No writing had\\never been made out of the conditions of the lease a misunderstand-\\ning took place respecting them; the subjects in dispute were sub-\\nmitted to arbitration, and the decision involved my father s affairs\\nin ruin. He lived to know of this decision, but not to see any ex-\\necution in consequence of it. He died on the 13th of February,\\n1784.\\nThe seven years we lived in Tarbolton parish (extending from\\nthe seventeenth to the twenty fourth of my brother s age), were\\nnot marked by much literary improvement but during this time\\nthe foundation was laid of certain habits in my brother s character,\\nwhich afterwards became but too prominent, and which malice and\\nenvy have taken delight to enlarge on. Though, when young, he\\nwas bashful and awkward in his intercourse with women, yet when\\nhe approached manhood, his attachment to their society became\\nvery strong, and he was constantly the victim of some fair enslaver.\\nThe symptoms of his passion were often such as nearly to equal\\nthose of the celebrated Sappho. I never indeed knew that he\\nfainted, sunk, and died away but the agitations of his mind and\\nbody exceeded any thing of the kind I ever knew in real life. He\\nhad always a particular jealousy of people who were richer than\\nhimself, or who had more consequence in life. His love, therefore,\\nrarely settled on persons of this description. When he selected any\\none, out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure, to whom he should,\\npay his particular attention, she was instantly invested with a suf\\nficient stock of charms, out of the plentiful stores of his own imagi\\nnation and there was often a great dissimilitude between his fair\\nCBptivator, as she appeared to -others, and as she seemed when in-\\nvested with the attributes he gave her. One generally reigned para-\\nmount in his affections but as Yorick s affections flowed out to-\\nward Madame de L at the remise door, while the eternal vows of\\nEliza were upon him, so Robert was frequently encountering other at-\\ntractions, which formed so many under plots in the drama of his\\nlove. As these connexions were governed by the strictest rules of\\nvirtue and modesty (from which he never deviated till he reached\\nhis 23d year), he became anxious to be in a situation to marry. This\\nwas not likely to be soon the case while he remained a farmer, as\\nthe stocking of a farm required a sum of money he had no proba-\\nbility of being master of for a great while. He began, therefore,\\nto think of trying some other line of life. He and I had for several\\nyears taken land of my father for the purpose of raising flax on our\\nown account. In the course of selling it, Robert began to thank of\\nturning flax-dresser, both as being suitable to his grand view of set-\\ntling in life, and as subservient to the flax raising. He accordingly\\nwrought at the business of a flax-dresser in Irvine for six months,\\nbut abandoned it at that period, as neither agreeing with his health", "height": "4508", "width": "2572", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "36 LIFE OF\\nnor inclination. In Irvine he had contracted some acquaintance of\\na freer manner of thinking and living than he had been used to,\\nwhose society prepared him for overleaping the bounds of rigid vir-\\ntue which had hitherto restrained him. Towards the end of the\\nperiod under review (in his 24th year), and soon after his father s\\ndeath, he was furnished with the subject of his epistle to John Ran-\\nkin. During this period also he became a freemason, which was his\\nfirst introduction to the life of a boon companion. Yet, notwith-\\nstanding these circumstances, and the praise he has bestowed on\\nScotch drink (which seems to have misled his historians), I do not\\nrecollect, during these seven years, nor till towards the end of his\\ncommencing author (when his growing celebrity occasioned his be-\\ning often in company), to have ever seen him intoxicated; nor was\\nhe at all given to drinking. A stronger proof of the general so-\\nbriety of his conduct need not be required than what I am about\\nto give. During the whole of the time we lived in the farm of Loch-\\nlea with my father, he allowed my brother and me such wages for\\nour labour as he gave to other labourers, as a part of which, every\\narticle of our clothing manufactured in the family was regularly ac-\\ncounted for. When my father s affairs drew near a crisis, Robert\\nand I took the farm of Mossgiel, consisting of 118 acres, at the rent\\nof \u00c2\u00a390 per annum (the farm on which I live at present) from Mr.\\nGavin Hamilton, as an asylum for the family in case of the worst.\\nIt was stocked by the property and individual savings of the whole\\nfamily, and was a joint concern among us. Every member of the\\nfamily was allowed ordinary wages for the labour he performed on\\nthe farm. My brother s allowance and mine was seven pounds per\\nannum each. And during the whole time this family concern\\nlasted, which was four years, as well as during the preceding period\\nat Lochlea, his expenses never in any one year exceeded his slender\\nincome. As I was intrusted with the keeping of the family accounts,\\nit is not possible that there can be any fallacy in this statement in\\nmy brother s favour. His temperance and frugality were every\\nthing that could be wished.\\nThe farm of Mossgiel lies very high, and mostly on a cold wet\\nbottom. The first four years that we were on the farm were very\\nfrosty, and the spring was very late. Our crops in consequence\\nwere very unprofitable; and, notwithstanding our utmost diligence\\nand economy, we found ourselves obliged to give up our bargain,\\nwith the loss of a considerable part of our original stock. It was\\nduring these four years that Robert formed his connexion with Jean\\nArmour, afterwards Mrs. Burns. The connexion could no longer be\\nconcealed, about the time we came to a final determination to quit\\nthe farm. Robert durst not engage with a family in his poor un-\\nsettled state, but was anxious to shield his partner by every means\\nin his power from the consequences of their imprudence. It was\\nagreed therefore between them, that they should make a legal\\nacknowledgment of an irregular and private marriage; that he\\nshould gro to Jamaica, to push his fortune and that she should re-\\nmain with her father till it might please Providence to put the\\nmeans of supporting a family in his power.\\nMrs. Burns was a great favourite of her father s. The intima-\\ntion of a private marriage was the first suggestion he received of", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 37\\nher real situation. He was in the greatest distress, and fainted\\naway. The marriage did not appear to him to make the matter any\\nbetter. A husband in Jamaica appeared to him and his wife little\\nbetter than none, and an effectual bar to any other prospects of a\\nsettlement in life that their daughter might have. They therefore\\nexpressed a wish to her, that the written papers which respected\\nthe marriage should be cancelled, and thus the marriage rendered\\nvoid. In her melancholy state she felt the deepest remorse at hav-\\ning brought such heavy affliction on parents that loved her so ten-\\nderly, and submitted to their entreaties. Their wish was mentioned\\nto Kobert. He felt the deepest anguish of mind. He offered to\\nstay at home and provide for his wife and family in the best man-\\nner that his daily labours could provide for them that being the\\nonly means in his power. Even this offer they did not approve of\\nfor humble as Miss Armour s station was, and great though her im-\\nprudence had been, she still, in the eyes of her partial parents,\\nmight look to a better connexion than that with my friendless and\\nunhappy brother, at that time without house or biding-place.\\nKobert at length consented to their wishes but his feelings on this\\noccasion were of the most distracting nature and the impression of\\nsorrow was not effaced, till by a regular marriage they were indis-\\nsolubly united. In the state of mind which this separation produced,\\nhe wished to leave the country as soon as possible, and agreed with\\nDr. Douglas to go out to Jamaica as an assistant overseer, or, as I\\nbelieve it is called, a book-keeper, on his estate. As he had not\\nsufficient money to pay his passage, and the vessel in which Dr.\\nDouglas was to procure a passage for him was not expected to sail\\nfor some time, Mr. Hamilton advised him to publish his poems in\\nthe meantime by subscription, as a likely way of getting a little\\nmoney to provide him more liberally in necessaries for Jamaica.\\nAgreeably to this advice, subscription bills were printed immedi-\\nately, and the printing was commenced at Kilmarnock, his prepar-\\nations going on at the same time for his voyage. The reception,\\nhowever, which his poems met with in the world, and the friends\\nthey procured him, made him change his resolution of going to\\nJamaica, and he was advised to go to Edinburgh to publish a second\\nedition. On his return, in happier circumstances, he renewed bis\\nconnexion with Mrs. Burns, and rendered it permanent by a union\\nfor life.\\nThus, Madam, have I endeavoured to give you a simple narra-\\ntive of the leading circumstances in my brother s early life. The\\nremaining part he spent in Edinburgh or Dumfries- shire, and its\\nincidents are as well known to you as to me. His genius having\\nprocured him your patronage and friendship, this gave rise to the\\ncorrespondence between you, in which, I believe, his sentiments\\nwere delivered with the most respectful, but most unreserved con-\\nfidence, and which only terminated with the last days of his life.\\nThis narrative of Gilbert Burns may serve as a commentary on\\nthe preceding sketch of our poet s life by himself. It will be seen\\nthat the distraction of mind which he mentions (p. xxviii,) arose\\nfrom the distress and sorrow in which he had involved his future", "height": "4128", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "38 LIFE OF\\nwife. The whole circumstances attending this connexion are cer-\\ntainly of a very singular nature.\\nThe reader will perceive, from the foregoing narrative how much\\nthe children of William Burnes were indebted to their father, who\\nwas certainly a man of uncommon talents though it does not ap-\\npear that he possessed any portion of that vivid imagination for\\nwhich the subject of these memoirs was distinguished. In page\\nxxv. it is observed by our poet, that his father had an unaccountable\\nantipathy to dancing-schools, and that his attending one of these\\nbrought on him his displeasure, and even dislike. On this observa-\\ntion Gilbert has made the following remark, which seems entitled\\nto implicit credit I wonder how Eobert could attribute to our\\nfather that lasting resentment of his going to a dancing-school\\nagainst his will, of which he was incapable. I believe the truth\\nwas, that he, about this time, began to see the dangerous impetu-\\nosity of my brother s passions, as well as his not being amenable to\\ncounsel, which often irritated my father and which he would na-\\nturally think a dancing-school was not likely to correct. But he\\nwas proud of Robert s genius, which he bestowed more expense in\\ncultivating than on the rest of the family, in the instances of send-\\ning him to Ayr and Kirk-Oswald schools and he was greatly de-\\nlighted with his warmth of heart, and his conversational powers.\\nHe had indeed that dislike of dancing-schools which Robert men-\\ntions but so far overcame it during Robert s first month of attend-\\nance, that he allowed all the rest of the family that were fit for it,\\nto accompany him during the second month. Robert excelled in\\ndancing, and was for some time distractedly fond of it.\\nIn the original letter to Dr. Moore, our poet described his ances-\\ntors as renting lands of the noble Keiths of Marischal, and as\\nhaving had the honour of sharing their fate. I do not, con-\\ntinues he, use the word honour with any reference to political\\nprinciples loyal and disloyal I take to be merely relative terms, in\\nthat ancient and formidable court, known in this country by the\\nname of Clublaw, where the right is always with the strongest.\\nBut those who dare welcome ruin and shake hands with infamy, for\\nwhat they sincerely believe to be the cause of their God, or their\\nking, are, as Mark Antony says in Shakspeare, of Brutus and Cas-\\nsius, honourable men. I mention this circumstance, because it threw\\nmy father on the world at large.\\nThis paragraph has been omitted in printing the letter, at the\\ndesire of Gilbert Burn3 and it would have been unnecessary to\\nhave noticed it on the present occasion, had not several manuscript\\ncopies of that letter been in circulation. I do not know, ob-\\nserves Gilbert Burns, how my brother could be misled in the ac-\\ncount he has given of the Jacobitism of his ancestors. I believe the\\nEarl of Marischal forfeited his title and estate in 1715, before my\\nfather was born and among a collection of parish-certificates in\\nhis possession, I have read one, stating that the bearer had no con-\\ncern in the late wicked rebellion. On the information of one who\\nknew William Burnes soon after he arrived in the county of Ayr,\\nit may be mentioned, that a report did prevail, that he had taken\\nthe field with the young chevalier a report which the certificate\\nmentioned by his son was, perhaps, intended to counteract.", "height": "4508", "width": "2592", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 39\\nStrangers from the North, settling in the low country of Scotland,\\nwere in those days liable to suspicions of having been, in the\\nfamiliar phrase of the country, Out in the forty-five, (1745,)\\nespecially when they had any stateliness or reserve about them, as\\nwas the case with William Burnes. It may easily be conceived,\\nthat our poet would cherish the belief of his father s having been\\nengaged in the daring enterprise of Prince Charles Edward. The\\ngenerous attachment, the heroic valour, and the final misfortunes\\nof the adherents of the house of Stuart, touched with sympathy his\\nyouthful and ardent mind, and influenced his orginal political\\nopinions. The father of our poet is described by one who knew\\nhim towards the latter end of his life, as above the common stature,\\nthin, and bent with labour. His countenance was serious and ex-\\npressive, and the scanty locks on his head were grey. He was of a\\nreligious turn of mind, and as is usual among the Scottish peasan-\\ntry, a good deal conversant in speculative theology. There is in\\nGilbert s hands a little manual of religious belief, in the form of a\\ndialogue between a father and his son, composed by him for the use\\nof his children, in which the benevolence of his heart seems to\\nhave led him to soften the rigid Calvinism of the Scottish church\\ninto something approaching to Arminianism. He was a devout\\nman, and in the practice of calling his family together to join in\\nprayer. It is known that the following exquisite picture, in the\\nCotter s Saturday Night, represents William Burnes and his family\\nat their evening devotions.\\nThe cheerful supper done, with serious face,\\nThey, round the ingle, form a circle wide\\nThe sire turns o er, with patriarchal grace,\\nThe big hall- Bible, once his father s pride\\nHis bonnet rev rently is laid aside,\\nHis lyart haffets wearing thin and bare\\nThose strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,\\nHe wales a portion with judicious care\\nAnd Let us worship God J he says with solemn air.\\nThey chant their artless notes in simple guise,\\nThey tune their hearts by far the noblest aim\\nPerhaps Dundee s wild warbling measures rise,\\nOr plaintive Martyrs worthy of the name\\nOr noble Elgin beets the heavenly flame,\\nThe sweetest far of Scotia s holy lays\\nCompared with these, Italian trills are tame,\\nThe tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise;\\nNo unison have they with our Creator s praise.\\nThe priest-like father reads the sacred page,\\nHow Air am was the friend of God on high;\\nOr, Moses bade eternal warfare wage\\nWith Amalek s ungracious progeny\\nOr how the royal bard did groaning lie,\\nBeneath the stroke of Heaven s avenging ire\\nOr, Job s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry\\nOr, rapt Isaiah s wild seraphic fire\\nOr other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.", "height": "4508", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "40 MFE OF\\nPerhaps the Christian volume is the theme,\\nHow guileless blood for guilty man was shed\\nHow he who bore in Heaven the second name,\\nHad not on earth whereon to lay his head\\nHow his first followers and servants sped\\nThe precepts sage they wrote to many a land\\nHow he who lone in Patmos banished,\\nSaw in the sun a mighty angel stand\\nAnd heard great Babylon s doom pronounced, by Heaven s com-\\nmand\\nThen kneeling down to Heaven s eternal King,\\nThe saint, the father, and the husband prays\\nHope springs exulting on triumphant wing,\\nThat thus they all shall meet in future days\\nThere ever bask in uncreated rays,\\nNo more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,\\nTogether hymning their Creator s praise,\\nIn such society, yet still more dear\\nWhile circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.\\nThen homeward all take off their several way\\nThe youngling cottagers retire to rest\\nThe parent pair their secret homaye pay,\\nAnd offer up to Heaven the warm request,\\nThat he who stills the raven s clam rous nest,\\nAnd decks the lily fair in flowery pride,\\nWould in the way his wisdom sees the best,\\nFor them and for their little ones provide\\nBut chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside\\nOf a family so interesting as that which inhabited the cottage of\\nWilliam Burnes and particularly of the father of the family, the\\nreader will perhaps be willing to listen to some farther account.\\nWhat follows is given by one already mentioned with so much\\nhonour, in the narrative of Gilbert Burns, Mr. Murdoch, the pre-\\nceptor of our poet, who, in a letter to Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq.\\nof Dublin, author of the Historical Memoir of the Italian Tragedy,\\nlately published, thus expresses himself\\nSir,\\nI was lately favoured with a letter from our worthy friend, the\\nRev. Wm. Adair, in which he requested me to communicate to you\\nwhatever particulars I could recollect concerning Robert Burns, the\\nAyrshire poet. My business being at present multifarious and\\nharrassing, my attention is consequently so much divided, and I am\\nbo little in the habit of expressing my thoughts on paper, that at\\nthis distance of time I can give but a very imperfect sketch of the\\nearly part of the life of that extraordinary genius with which alone\\nI am acquainted.\\nWilliam B times, the father of the poet, was born in the shire\\nof Kincardine, and bred a gardener. He had been settled in Ayr-\\nshire ten or twelve years before I knew him, and had been in the\\ngervice of Mr. Crawford of Doonside. He was afterwards employed", "height": "4508", "width": "2608", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 41\\nas a gardener and overseer by Provost Ferguson of Doonholm, in\\nthe parish of Alio way, which is now united with that of Ayr. In\\nthis parish, on the road-side, a Scotch mile and a half from the\\ntown of Ayr, and half a mile from the bridge of Doon, William\\nBurnes took a piece of land, consisting of about seven acres, part of\\nwhich he laid out in garden ground, and part of which he kept to\\ngraze a cow, c. still continuing in the employ of Provost Ferguson,\\ntlpon this little farm was erected an humble dwelling, of which\\nWilliam Burnes was the architect. It was, with the exception of\\na little straw, literally a tabernacle of clay. In this mean cottage,\\nof which I myself was at times an inhabitant, I really believe,\\nthere dwelt a larger portion of content than in any palace in\\nEurope. The Cotter s Saturday Night, will give some idea of the\\ntemper and manners that prevailed there.\\nIn 1705, about the middle of March, Mr W. Burnes came to Ayr,\\nand sent to the school where I was improving in writing under my\\ngood friend Mr Robinson, desiring that I would come and speak to\\nhim at a certain inn, and bring my writing book with me. This\\nwas immediately complied with. Having examined my writing, he\\nwas pleased with it (you will readily allow he was not difficult),\\nand told me that he had received very satisfactory information of\\nMr Tennant, the master of the English, school/concerning my im-\\nprovement in English and in his method of teaching. In the\\nmonth of May following, 1 was engaged by Mr Burnes, and four\\nof his neighbours to teach the little school at Alloway, which\\n-was situated a few yards from the argillaceous fabric above men-\\ntioned. My five employers undertook to board me by turns,\\nand to make up a certain salary, at the end of the year, provided\\nmy quarterly payments from the different pupils did not amount to\\nthat sum.\\nMy pupil, Robert Burns, was then between six and seven years\\nof age; his preceptor about eighteen. Robert and his younger\\nbrother Gilbert, had been grounded a little in English before they\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2were put under my care. They both made a rapid progress in read-\\ning, and a tolerable progress in writing. In reading, dividing\\nwords into syllables by rule, spelling without book, parsing sen-\\ntences, c. Robert and Gilbert were generally at the upper end of\\nthe class, even when ranged with boys by far their seniors. The\\nbooks most commonly used were the Spelling Boo7c, the New Testa-\\nmerit, the Bible, Mason s Collection of Prose and Verse, and Fisher r s\\nEnglish Grammer. They committed to memory the hymns, and\\nother poems of that collection, with uncommon facility. This fa-\\ncility was partly owing to the method pursued by their father and\\nme in instructing them, which was, to make them thoroughly ac-\\nquainted with the meaning of every word in each sentence that\\nwas to be committed to memory. By the bye, this may be easier\\ndone, and at an earlier time, than is generally thought. As soon as\\nthey were capable of it, I taught them to turn verse into its natural\\nprose order sometimes to substitute synonomous expressions for\\npoetical words, and to supply all the ellipses. These, you know, are\\nthe means of knowing that the pupil understands his author. These\\nare excellent helps to the arrangement of words in sentences, as\\nwell as to a variety of expression,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "42 LIFE OF\\nGilbert always appeared to me to possess a more lively imagina-\\ntion, and to be more of the wit, than Kobert. I attempted to\\nteach them a little church-music. Here they were left far behind\\nby all the rest of the school. Robert s ear, in particular, was re-\\nmarkably dull, and his voice untunable. It was long before I could\\nget them to distinguished one tune from another. Robert s coun-\\ntenance was generally grave, and expressive of a serious, contempla-\\ntive, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert s face said, Mirth, with thee I\\nmean to live and certainly, if any person who knew the two boys,\\nhad been asked which of them was the most likely to court the\\nmuses, he would surely never have guessed that Robert had a pro-\\npensity of that kind.\\nIn the year 1767, Mr. Burns quitted his mud edifice, and took\\npossession of a farm (Mount Oliphant) of his own improving, while\\nin the service of Provost Ferguson. This farm being at a consider-\\nable distance from the school, the boys could not attend regularly\\nand some changes had taken place among the other supporters of\\nthe school, I left it, having continued to conduct it for nearly two\\nyears and a half.\\nIn the year 1772, 1 was appointed (being one of five candidates\\nwho were examined) to teach the English school at Ayr and in\\n1773, Robert Burns came to board and lodge with me, for the pur-\\npose of revising English grammar, c. that he might be better\\nqualified to instruct his brothers and sisters at home. He was now\\nwith me day and night, in school, at all meals, and in all my walks.\\nAt the end of one week, I told him, that as he was now pretty\\nmuch master of the parts of speech, c. I should like to teach him\\nsomething of French pronunciation, that when he should meet with\\nthe name of a French town, ship, officer, or the like, in the news-\\npapers, he might be able to pronounce it something like a French\\nword. Robert was glad to hear this proposal, and immediately we\\nattacked the French with great courage.\\n]STow there was little else to be heard but the declension of\\nnouns, the conjugation of verbs, c. When walking together, and\\neven at meals, I was constantly telling him the names of different\\nobjects, as they presented themselves, in French so that he was\\nhourly laying in a stock of words, aud sometimes little phrases. In\\nshort, he took such pleasure in learning, and I in teaching, that it\\nwas difficult to say which of the two was most zealous in the busi-\\nness and about the end of the second week of our study of the\\nFrench, we began to read a little of the Adventures of Telemachus,\\nin Fenelon s own words.\\nBut now the plains of Mount Oliphant began to whiten, and\\nRobert was summoned to relinquish the pleasing scenes that sur-\\nrounded the grotto of Calypso, and, armed with a sickle, to seek\\nglory by signalizing himself in the fields of Ceres\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and so he did\\nfor althou-h but about fifteen, I was told that he performed the\\nwork of a man.\\nThus was I deprived of my very apt pupil, and consequently\\nagreeable companion, at the end of three weeks, one of which was\\nspent entirely in the study of English, and the other two chiefly\\nin that of French. I did not, however, lose sight of him but was\\na frequent visitor at his father s house, when I ha Jmy half-holiday,", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 43\\nand very often went accompanied with one or two persons more in-\\ntelligent than myself, that good William Burnes might enjoy a men-\\ntal feast. Then the labouring oar was shifted to some other hand.\\nThe father and the son sat down with us, when we enjoyed a con-\\nversation, wherein solid reasoning, sensible remark, and moderate\\nseasoning of jocularity, were so nicely blended as to render it palata-\\nble to all parties. Robert had a hundred questions to ask me about\\nthe French, c. and the father, who had always rational informa-\\ntion in view, had still some question to propose to my more learned\\nfriends, upon moral or natural philosophy, or some such interesting\\nsubject. Mrs. Burnes too was of the party as much as possible\\nBut still the house affairs would draw her thence,\\nWhich ever as she could with haste despatch,\\nShe d come again, and, with a greedy ear,\\nDevour up their discourse\\nand particularly that of her husband. At all times, and in all\\ncompanies, she listened to him with a more marked attention than\\nto any body else. When under the necessity of being absent while\\nhe was speaking, she seemed to regret, as a real loss, that she had\\nmissed what the good-man had said. This worthy woman, Agnes\\nBrown, had the mo3t thorough esteem for her husband of any\\nwoman I ever knew. I can by no means wonder that she always\\nconsidered William Burnes as by far the best of the human race\\nthat ever I had the pleasure of being acquainted with and many\\na worthy character I have known. I can cheerfully join with\\nRobert in the last line of his epitaph (borrowed from Goldsmith).\\nAnd ev n his failings lean d to virtue s side.\\nHe was an excellent husband, if I may judge from his assiduous\\nattention to the ease and comfort of his worthy partner, and from\\nher affectionate behaviour to him, as well as from her unwearied\\nattention to the duties of a mother.\\nHe was a tender and affectionate father he took pleasure in\\nleading his children in the path of virtue not in driving them, as\\nsome parents do, to the performance of duties to which they them-\\nselves are averse. He took care to find fault but very seldom and\\ntherefore, when he did rebuke, he was listened to with a kind of\\nreverential awe. A look of disapprobation was felt a reproof was\\nseverely so and a stripe of the taws, even on the skirt of the coat,\\ngave heart-felt pain, caused a loud lamentation, and brought forth a\\nflood of tears.\\nHe had the art of gaining the esteem and good- will of those\\nthat were fellow-labourers under him. I think I never saw him\\nangry but twice the one time it was with the foreman of the band,\\nfor not reaping the field as he was desired and the other time, it\\nwas with a very old man, for using some smutty inuendoes and\\ndouble entendres. Were every foul-mouthed old man to receive a\\nseasonable check in this way, it would be to the advantage of the\\nrising generation. As he was at no time overbearing to inferiors,\\nhe was equally incapable of that paltry, pitiful, passive spirit, that\\ninduces some people to keep booing and booing in the presence of a\\ngreat man. He always treated superiors with becoming respect\\nbut he never gave the smallest encouragement to aristocratical arro*", "height": "4504", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "44 LIFE OF\\ngance. But I must not pretend to give you a description of all the\\nmanly qualities, the rational and Christian virtues of the venerable\\nWilliam Burnes. Time would fail me. I shall only add, that he\\ncarefully practised every known duty, and avoided every thing that\\nwas criminal or, in the apostle s words, Herein did he exercise him\\nself, in living a life void of offence towards God and towards man.\\nfor a world of men of such dispositions We should then\\nhave no wars. I have often wished, for the good of mankind, that\\nit were as customary to honour and perpetuate the memory of\\nthose who excel in moral rectitude, as it is to extol what are called\\nheroic actions then would the mausoleum of the friend of my\\nyouth overtop and surpass most of the monuments I see in West-\\nminster Abbey.\\nAlthough I cannot do justice to the character of this worthy\\nman, yet you will perceive, from these few particulars, what kind\\nof person had the principal hand in the education of our poet. He\\nspoke the English language with more propriety (both with respect\\nto diction and pronunciation), than any man I ever knew with no\\ngreater advantages. This had a very good effect on the boys, who\\nbegan to talk and reason like men, much sooner than their neigh-\\nbours. I do not recollect any of their cotemporaries, at my little\\nseminary, who afterwards made any great figure as literary charac-\\nters, except Dr. Tennant, who was chaplain to Colonel Fullarton s\\nregiment, and who is now in the East Indies. He is a man of ge-\\nnius and learning yet affable, and free from pedantry.\\nMr. Burnes, in a short time, found that he had overrated Mount\\nOliphant, and that he could not rear his numerous family upon it.\\nAfter being there some years, he removed to Lochlea, in the parish\\nof Tarbolton, where, I believe, Eobert wrote most of his poems.\\nu But here, sir, you will permit me to pause. I can tell you but\\nlittle more relative to the poet. I shall, however, in my next, send\\nyou a copy of one of his letters to me, about the year 1783. I re-\\nceived one since, but it is mislaid. Please remember me, in the\\nbest manner, to my worthy friend, Mr. Adair, when you see him or\\nwrite to him.\\nHart- street, Bloomsbury-square, London, Feb. 22, 1799.\\nAs the narrative of Gilbert Burns was written at a time when he\\nwas ignorant of the existence of the preceding narrative of his\\nbrother so this letter of Mr. Murdoch was written without his\\nhaving any knowledge that either of his pupils had been employed\\non the same subject. The three relations served, therefore, not\\nmerely to illustrate, but to authenticate each other. Though the\\ninformation they convey might have been presented within a\\nshorter compass, by reducing the whole into one unbroken narra-\\ntive, it is scarcely to be doubted, that the intelligent reader will be\\nfar more gratified by a sight of these original documents them-\\nselves.\\nUnder the humble roof of his parents, it appears indeed that our\\npoet had great advantages but his opportunities of information at\\nschool were more limited as to time than they usually are among\\nhis countrymen, in his condition of life and the acquisitions which\\nhe made, and the poetical talent which he exerted, under the pres-", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 45\\nsure of early and incessant toil, and of inferior, and perhaps scanty\\nnutriment, testify at once the extraordinary force and activity of\\nhis mind. In his frame of body he rose nearly to five feet ten\\ninches, and assumed the proportions that indicate agility as well as\\nstrength. In the various labours of the farm he excelled all his\\ncompetitors. Gilbert Burns declares, that, in mowing, the exercise\\nthat tries all the muscles severely, Robert was the only man that, at\\nthe end of a summer s day, he was ever obliged to acknowledge as\\nhis master. But though our poet gave the powers of his body to\\nthe labours of the farm, he refused to bestow on them his thoughts\\nor his cares. While the ploughshare under his guidance passed\\nthrough the sward, or the grass fell under the sweep of his scythe,\\nhe was humming the songs of his country, musing on the deeds of\\nancient valour, or rapt in the illusions of Fancy, as her enchant-\\nments rose on his view. Happily the Sunday is yet a sabbath, on\\nwhich man and beast rest from their labours. On this day, there-\\nfore, Burns could indulge in a freer intercourse with the charms of\\nnature. It was his delight to wander alone on the banks of the\\nAyr, whose stream is now immortal, and to listen to the song of the\\nblackbird at the close of the summer s day. But still greater was\\nhis pleasure, as he himself informs us, in walking on the sheltered\\nside of a wood, in a cloudy winter day, and hearing the storm rave\\namong the trees and more elevated still his delight, to ascend some\\neminence during the agitations of nature, to stride along its sum-\\nmit, while the lightning flashed around him, and amidst the howl-\\nings of the tempest, to apostrophize the spirit of the storm. Such\\nsituations he declares most favourable to devotion Rapt in en-\\nthusiasm, I seem to ascend towards Him who walks on the wings of\\nthe wind If other proofs were wanting of the character of his\\ngenius, this might determine it. The heart of the poet is peculiarly\\nawake to every impression of beauty and sublimity but with the\\nhigher order of poets, the beautiful is less attractive than the su-\\nblime.\\nThe gaiety of many of Burns s writings, and the lively, and even\\ncheerful colouring with which he has pourtrayed his own character,\\nmay lead some persons to suppose, that the melancholy which hung\\nover him towards the end of his days, was not an original part of\\nhis constitution. It is not to be doubted, indeed, that this melan-\\ncholy acquired a darker hue in the progress of his life but, inde-\\npendent of his own and of his brother s testimony, evidence is to be\\nfound among his papers, that he was subject very early to those de-\\npressions of mind, which are perhaps not wholly separable from the\\nsensibility of genius, but which in him rose to an uncommon de-\\ngree. The following letter, addressed to his father, will serve as a\\nproof of this observation. It was written at the time when he was\\nlearning the business of a flax- dresser, and is dated\\nhonoured sir, Irvine, Dec. 27, 1781.\\nI have purposely delayed writing, in the hope that I should have\\nthe pleasure of seeing you on New-year s day but work comes so\\nhard upon us, that I do not chocse to be absent on that account, as\\nwell as for some other little reasons, which I shall tell you at meet-\\ning. My health is nearly the same as when you were here, only nrj", "height": "4508", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "46 LIFE OF\\nsleep is a little sounder, and, on the whole, I am rather better than\\notherwise, though 1 mend by very slow degrees; The weakness of\\nmy nerves has so debilitated my mind, that I dare neither review\\npast wants, nor look forward into futurity for the least anxiety or\\nperturbation in my breast, produces most unhappy effects on my\\nwhole frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour or two my\\nspirits are a little lightened, I glimmer a, little into futurity but\\nmy principal, and indeed my only pleasurable employment, is look-\\ning backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way. I am\\nquite transported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps very soon,\\n1 shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains and uneasinesses, and\\ndisquietudes of this weary life for I assure you I am heartily tired\\nof it and, if I do not very much deceive myself, I could contented-\\nly and gladly resign it.\\nThe soul, uneasy, and confined at home,\\nRests and expatiates in a life to come.\\nIt is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 16th, and\\n17th verses on the 7th chapter of Revelations, than with any ten\\ntimes as many verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange\\nthe noble enthusiasm with which they inspire me lor all that this\\nworld has to offer. As for this world, I despair of ever making a\\nfigure in it. I am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the\\nflutter of the gay. I shall never again be capable of entering into\\nsuch scenes. Indeed I am altogether unconcerned at the thoughts\\nof this life. I foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await\\nme, and I am in some measure prepared, and daily preparing to\\nmeet them. I have but just time and paper to return you my\\ngrateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and piety you have given\\nme, which were too much neglected at the time of giving them, but\\nwhich, I hope, have been remembered ere it is yet too late. Pre-\\nsent my dutiful respects to my mother, and my compliments to\\nMr. and Mrs. Muir and with wishing you a merry New-year s-day,\\nI shall conclude.\\nI am, honoured sir,\\nYour dutiful son,\\nROBERT BURNS.\\nP.S. My meal is nearly out but I am going to borrow, till I\\nget more.\\nThis letter written several years before the publication of his\\npoems, when his name was as obscure as his condition was humble,\\ndisplays the philosophic melancholy which so generally forms the\\npoetical temperament, and that buoyant and ambitious spirit\\nwhich indicates a mind conscious of its strength. At Irvine, Burns\\nat this time possessed a single room for his lodgings, rented perhaps\\nat the rate of a shilling a week. He passed his days in constant\\nlabour as a flax-dresser, and his food consisted chiefly of oatmeal\\nsent to him from his father s family. The store of this humble,\\nthough wholesome nutriment, it appears was nearly exhausted, and\\nhe was about to borrow till he should obtain a supply. Yet even in\\nthis situation, his active imagination had formed to itself pictures\\nof eminence and distinction. His despair of making a figure in the", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 47\\nworld, shows how ardently he wished for honourable fame J and his\\ncontempt of life, founded on this despair, is the genuine expression\\nof a youthful generous mind. In such a state of reflection, and of\\nsuffering, the imagination of Burns naturally passed the dark boun-\\ndaries of our earthly horizon, and rested on those beautiful repre-\\nsentations of a better world, where there is neither thirst, nor hun-\\nger, nor sorrow, and where happiness shall be in proportion to the\\ncapacity of happiness.\\nSuch a disposition is far from being at variance with social en-\\njoyments. Those who have studied the affinities of mind, know\\nthat a melancholy of this description, after a while, seeks relief in\\nthe endearments of society, and that it has no distant connection\\nwith the flow of cheerfulness, or even the extravagance of mirth.\\nIt was a few days after the writing of this letter that our poet, in\\ngiving a welcoming carousal to the new year, with his gay compa-\\nnions, suffered his flax to catch fire, and his shop to be consumed\\nto ashes.\\nThe energy of Burns mind was not exhausted by his daily la-\\nbours, the effusions of his muse, his social pleasures, or his solitary\\nmeditations. Some time previous to his engagement as a flax- dres-\\nser, having heard that a debating club had been established in Ayr,\\nhe resolved to try how such a meeting would succeed in the village\\nof Tarbolton. About the end of the year 1780, our poet, his bro-\\nther, and five other young peasants of the neighbourhood, formed\\nthemselves into a society of this sort, the declared objects of which\\nwere to relax themselves after toil, to promote sociality and friend-\\nship, and to improve the mind. The laws and regulations were\\nfurnished by Burns. The members were to meet after the labours\\nof the day were over, once a- week, in a small public- house in the\\nvillage where each should offer his opinion on a given question or\\nsubject, supporting it by such arguments as he thought proper.\\nThe debate was to be conducted with order and decorum; and after\\nit was finished, the members were to choose a subject for discus-\\nsion at the ensuing meeting. The sum expended by each, was not\\nto exceed three pence and, with the humble potation that this\\ncould procure, they were to toast their mistresses, and to cultivate\\nfriendship with each other. This society continued its meetings\\nregularly for some time; and in the autumn of 1782, wishing to\\npreserve some accounts of their proceedings, they purchased a\\nbook, into which their laws and regulations were copied, with a\\npreamble, containing a short history of their transactions down to\\nthat period. This curious document, which is evidently the\\nwork of our poet, has been discovered, and it deserves a place in his\\nmemoirs.\\nHistory of the Rise, Proceedings, and Regulations of the Bachelor s\\nClub.\\nOf birth or blood we do not boast,\\nNor gentry does our club afford\\nBut ploughmen and mechanics we\\nIn Nature s simple dress record.\\nu As the great end of human society is to become wiser and bet\\nter, this ought therefore to be the principal view of every man in", "height": "4508", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "48 LIFE OF\\nevery station of life. But as experience has taught hs, that such\\nstudies as inform the head and mend the heart, when long continu-\\ned, are apt to exhaust the faculties of the mind, it has been found\\nproper to relieve and unbend the mind by some employment or\\nanother, that may be agreeable enough to keep it3 powers in exer-\\ncise, but at the same time not so serious as to exhaust them. But\\nsuperadded to this, by far the greater part of mankind are under\\nthe necessity of earning the sustenance of human life by the labour of\\ntheir bodies, whereby, not only the faculties of the mind, but the\\nnerves and sinews of the body, are so fatigued, that it is absolutely\\nnecessary to have recourse to some amusement or diversion, to re-\\nlieve the wearied man worn down with the necessary labours of\\nlife.\\nAs the best of things, however, have been perverted to the\\nworst of purposes, so, under the pretence of amusement and diver-\\nsion, men have plunged into all the madness of riot and dissipation;\\nand instead of attending to the grand design of human life, they\\nhave begun with extravagance and folly, and ended with guilt and\\nwretchedness. Impressed with these considerations, we, the follow-\\ning lads in the parish of Tarbolton, viz. Hugh Reid, Kobert Burns,\\nGilbert Burns, Alexander Brown, Walter Mitchel, Thomas Wright,\\nand William M Gavin, resolved, for our mutual entertainment, to\\nunite ourselves into a club, or society, under such rules and regula-\\ntions, that while we should forget our cares and labours in mirth\\nand diversion, we might not transgress the bounds of innocence and\\ndecorum and after agreeing on these, and some other regulations,\\nwe held our first meeting at Tarbolton, in the house of John\\nKichard, upon the evening of the 11th of ^November, 1780, come\\nmonly called Hallowe en, and after choosing Robert Burns president\\nfor the night, we proceeded to debate on this question,- Suppose\\na young man, bred a farmer, but without any fortune, has it in his\\npower to marry either of two women, the one a girl oi large for-\\ntune, but neither handsome in person, nor agreeable in conversa-\\ntion, but who can manage the household affairs of a farm well\\nenough the other of them a girl every way agreeable in person\\nconversation, and behaviour, but without any fortune which of\\nthem shall he choose V Finding ourselves very happy in our\\nsociety, we resolved to continue to meet once a month in the same\\nhouse, in the way and manner proposed, and shortly thereafter we\\nchose Robert Ritchie for another member. In May, 1781, we\\nbrought in David Sillar, and in June, Adam Jamaison as members.\\nAbout the beginning of the year 1782, we admitted Matthew Pat-\\nterson, and John Orr, and in June following we chose James Patter-\\nson as a proper brother for such a society. The club being thus in-\\ncreased, we resolved to meet at Tarbolton on the race night, the\\nJuly following, and have a dance in honour of our society. Ac-\\ncordingly we did meet, each one with a partner, and spent the\\nevening in such innocence and merriment, such cheerfulness and\\ngood humour, that every brother will long remember it with plea-\\nsure and delight. To this preamble are subjoined the rules and\\nregulations.\\nThe philosophical mind will dwell with interest and pleasure on\\nan institution that combined so skiifullj the means cf instruction", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 49\\nand of happiness and if grandeur look down with a smile on these\\nsimple annals, let us trust that it will be a smile of benevolence and\\napprobation. It is with regret that the sequel of the history of the\\nBachelor s Club of Tarbolton must be told. It survived several\\nyears after our poet removed from Ayrshire, but no longer sustained\\nby his talents, or cemented by his social affections, its meetings lost\\nmuch of their attraction and at length, in an evil hour, dissension\\narising amongst its members, the institution was given up, and the\\nrecords committed to the flames. Happily the preamble and the\\nregulations were spared and, as matter of instruction and of ex-\\nample, they are transmitted to posterity.\\nAfter the family of our bard removed from Tarbolton to the\\nneighbourhood of Mauchline, he and his brother were requested to\\nassist in forming a similar institution there. The regulations of\\nthe club at Mauchline were nearly the same as those of the club at\\nTarbolton but one laudable alteration was made. The lints for\\nnon-attendance had at Tarbolton been spent in enlarging their\\nscanty potations at Mauchline it was fixed, that the money so\\narising, should be set apart for the purchase of books and the\\nfirst work procured in this manner was the Mirror, the separate\\nnumbers of which were at that time recently collected and pub-\\nlished in volumes. After it followed a number of other works,\\nchiefly of the same nature, and among these the Lounger. The\\nsociety of Mauchline still subsists, and was in the list of subscribers\\nto the first edition of the works of its celebrated associate.\\nThe members of these two societies were originally all young men\\nfrom the country, and chiefly sons of farmers a description of per-\\nsons in the opinion of our poet, more agreeable in their manners,\\nmore virtuous in their conduct, and more susceptible of improve-\\nment, than the self-sufficient mechanic of country towns. With\\ndeference to the Conversation-society of Mauchline, it may be\\ndoubted, whether the books which they purchased were of a kind\\nbest adapted to promote the interest and happiness of persons in this\\nsituation of life. The Mirror and the Lounger, though works of\\ngreat merit, may be said, on a general view of their contents, to be\\nless calculated to increase the knowledge, than to refine the taste of\\nthose who read them; and to this last object their morality itself,\\nwhich is however always perfectly pure, may be considered as sub-\\nordinate. As works of taste, they deserved great praise. They are\\nindeed, refined to a high degree of delicacy and to this circum-\\nstance it is perhaps owing, that they exhibit little or nothing of\\nthe peculiar manners of the age or country in which they were pro-\\nduced. But delicacy of taste, though the source of many pleasures,\\nis not without some disadvantages and to render it desirable, the\\npossessor should perhaps in all cases be raised above the necessity\\nof bodily labour, unless indeed we should include under this term\\nthe exercise of the imitative arts, over which taste immediately\\npresides. Delicacy of taste may be a blessing to him who has the\\ndisposal of his own time, and who can choose what book he shall\\nread, of what diversion he shall partake, and what company he\\nshall keep. To men so situated, the cultivation of taste affords a\\ngrateful occupation in itself, and opens a path to many other grati-\\nI", "height": "4508", "width": "2612", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "50 LIFE OF\\nfications. To men of geniu3, in the possession of opulence and lei-\\nsure, the cultivation of the taste may be said to be essential since\\nit affords employment to those faculties which, without employment\\nwould destroy the happiness of the possessor, and corrects that mor-\\nbid sensibility, or, to use the expression of Mr. Hume, that delicacy\\nof passion, which is the bane of the temperament of genius. Happy\\nhad it been for our bard, after he emerged from the condition of a\\npeasant, had the delicacy of his taste equalled the sensibillity of his\\npassions, regulating all the effusions of his muse, and presiding\\nover all his social enjoyments. But to the thousands who share the\\noriginal condition of Burns, and who are doomed to pass their lives\\nin the station in which they were born, delicacy of taste, were it\\neven of easy attainment, would, if not a positive evil, be at least a\\ndoubtful blessing. Delicacy of taste may make many necessary\\nlabours irksome or disgusting and should it render the cultivator\\nof the soil unhappy in his situation, it presents no means by which\\nthat situation may be improved. Taste and literature, which dif-\\nfuse so many charms throughout society, which sometimes secure\\nto their votaries distinction while living, and which still more fre-\\nquently obtain for them posthumous fame, seldom procure opulence,\\nor even independence, when cultivated with the utmost attention,\\nand can scarcely be pursued with advantage by the peasant in the\\nshort intervals of leisure which his occupations allow. Those who\\nraise themselves from the condition of daily labour, are usually\\nmen who excel in the practice of some useful art, or who join\\nhabits of industry and sobriety to an acquaintance with some of the\\nmore common branches of knowledge. The penmanship of Butter-\\nworth, and the arithmetic of Cocker, may be studied by men in the\\nhumblest walks of life and they will assist the peasant more in the\\npursuit of independence, than the study of Homer or of Shakspeare,\\nthough he could comprehend, and even imitate, the beauties of\\nthose immortal bards.\\nThese observations are not offered without some portion of doubt\\nand hesitation. The subject has many relations, and would justify\\nan ample discussion. It may be observed, on the other hand, that\\nthe first step to improvement is to awaken the desire of improve-\\nment, and that this will be most effectually done by such reading\\nas interests the heart and excites the imagination. The greater\\npart of the sacred writings themselves, which in Scotland are more\\nespecially the manual of the poor, come under this description. It\\nmay be farther observed, that every human being is the proper\\njudge of his own happiness, and, within the path of innocence,\\nought to be permitted to pursue it. Since it is the taste of the\\nScottish peasantry to give a preference to works of taste and of\\nfancy, it may be presumed they find a superior gratification in the\\nperusal of such work3 and it may be added, that it is of more con-\\nsequence they should be made happy in their original condition,\\nthan furnished with the means, or with the desire, of rising above\\nit. Such considerations are doubtless of much weight; neverthe-\\nless, the previous reflections may deserve to be examined, and here\\nwe shall leave the subject.\\nThough the records of the society at Tarbolton are lost and those\\nof the society of Mauchline have not been transmitted, yet we may", "height": "4508", "width": "2588", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS, 51\\nsafely affirm, that our poet was a distinguished member of both\\nthese associations, which were well calculated to excite and to de-\\nvelope the powers of his mind. From seven to twelve persons con-\\nstituted the society at Tarbolton, and such a number is best suited\\nto the purposes of information. Where this is the object of these\\nsocieties, the number should be such, that each person may have\\nan opportunity of imparting his sentiments, as well as of receiving\\nthose of others and the powers of private conversation are to be\\nemployed, not those of public debate. A limited society of this\\nkind, where the subject of conversation is fixed beforehand, so that\\neach member may revolve it previously in his mind, is perhaps one\\nthe happiest contrivances hitherto discovered for shortening the\\nacquisition of knowledge, and hastening the evolution of talents.\\nSuch an association requires indeed somewhat more of regulation\\nthan the rules of politeness established in common conversation\\nor rather, perhaps, it requires that the rules of politeness, which in\\nanimated conversation are liable to perpetual violation, should be\\nvigorously enforced. The order of speech established in the club\\nat Tarbolton, appears to have been more regular than was required\\nin so small a society; where all that is necessary seems to be, the\\nfixing on a member to whom every speaker shall address himself,\\nand who shall in return secure the speake^from interruption.\\nConversation, which among men whom intimacy and friendship\\nhave relieved from reserve and restraint, is liable, when left to\\nitself, to so many inequalities, and which, as it becomes rapid, so\\noften diverges into separate and collateral branches, in which it is\\ndissipated and lost, being kept within its channel by a simple limi-\\ntation of this kind, which practice renders easy and familiar, flows\\nalong in one full stream, and becomes smoother and clearer, and\\ndeeper, as it flows, it may also be observed, that in this way the\\nacquisition of knowledge becomes more pleasant and more easy,\\nfrom the gradual improvement of the faculty emj loyed to convey\\nit. Though some attention has been paid to the eloquence of the\\nsenate and the bar, which in this, as in all other free governments,\\nis productive of so much influence to a few who excel in it, yet\\nlittle regard has been paid to the humbler exercise of speech in\\nprivate conversation, an art that is of consequence to every descrip-\\ntion of persons under every form of government, and on which elo-\\nquence of every kind ought perhaps to be founded.\\nThe first requisite of every kind of elocution, a distinct utter-\\nance, is the offspring of much time, and long practice. Children\\nare always defective in clear articulation, and so are young people,\\nthough of a less degree. What is called slurring in speech, pre-\\nvails with some persons through life, especially in those who are\\ntaciturn. Articulation does not seem to reach its utmost degree of\\ndistinctness in men before the age of twenty, or upwards in wo-\\nmen it reaches this point somewhat earlier. Female occupations\\nrequire much use of speech, because they are duties in detail. Be-\\nsides, their occupations being generally sedentary, the respiration\\nis left at libery. Their nerves being more delicate, their sensibility\\nas well as fancy is more lively the natural consequence of which\\nis, a more frequent utterance of thought, a greater fluency of\\nspeech, and a distinct articulation at an earlier age. But in men", "height": "4508", "width": "2516", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "52 LIFE OF\\nwho have not mingled early and familiarly with the world, though\\nrich perhaps in knowledge, and clear in apprehension, it is often\\npainful to observe the difficulty with which their ideas are commu-\\nnicated by speech, through the want of those habits, that connect\\nthoughts, words, and sounds together which, when established,\\nseem as if they had arisen spontaneously, but which, in truth, are\\nthe result of long and painful practice, and when analyzed, exhibit\\nthe phenomena of most curious and complicated association.\\nSocieties then, such as we have been describing, while they may\\nbe said to put each member in possession of the knowledge of all\\nthe rest, improve the powers of utterance, and by the collision\\nof opinion, exite the faculties of reason and reflection. To those\\nwho wish to improve their minds in such intervals of labour as the\\nconditions of a peasant allows, this method of abbreviating instruc-\\ntion, may, under proper regulations, be highly useful. To the stu-\\ndent, whose opinions, springing out of solitary observation and me-\\nditation, are seldom in the first instance correct, and which have\\nnotwithstanding, while confined to himself, an increasing tendency\\nto assume in his own eye the character of demonstrations, an asso-\\nciation of this kind, where they may be examined as they arise, is\\nof the utmost importance since it may prevent those illusions of\\nimagination, by wmch genius being bewildered, science is often\\ndebased, and error propagated through successive generations.\\nAnd to men who, having cultivated letters or general science in\\nthe course of their education, are engaged in the active occupations\\nof life, and no longer able to devote to study or to books the time\\nrequisite for improving or preserving their acquisitions, associa-\\ntions of this kind, where the mind may unbend from its usual cares\\nin discussions of literature or science, afford the most pleasing, the\\nmost useful, and most rational of gratifications.\\nWhether, in the humble societies of which he was a member,\\nBurns acquired much direct information, may perhaps be question-\\ned. It cannot however be doubted, that by collision, the faculties\\nof his mind would be excited, that by practice, his habits of\\nenunciation would be established, and thus we have some explan-\\nation of that early command of words and of expression which\\nenabled him to pour fourth his thoughts in language not unworthy\\nof his genius, and which, of all his endowments, seemed, on his\\nappearance in Edinburgh, the most extraordinary. For associations\\nof a literary nature, our poet acquired a considerable relish and\\nhappy had it been for him, after he emerged from the condition of\\na peasant, if fortune had permitted him to enjoy them in the\\ndegree of which he was capable, so as to have fortified his prin-\\nciples of virtue by the purification of his taste, and given to the\\nenergies of his mind habits of exertion that might have excluded\\nother associations, in which it must be acknowledged they were too\\noften wasted, as well as debased.\\nThe whole course of the Ayr is fine but the banks of that river,\\nas it bends to the eastward above Mauchline, are singularly beauti-\\nful, and they were frequented, as may be imagined, by our poet\\nin his solitary walks. Here the muse often visited him. In one of\\nthese wanderings, he met among the woods a celebrated Beauty of\\nthe west of Scotland a lady of whom it is said, that the charms of", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 53\\nher person corresponded with the character of her mind. This\\nincident gave rise, as might be expected, to a poem, of which an\\naccount will be found in the letter, in which he enclosed it to the\\nobject of his inspiration\\nTo Miss\\nMadame, Mossgiel, 18th Nov. 1786.\\nPoets are such outre beings, so much the children of wayward\\nfancy and capricious whim, that I believe the world generally\\nallows them a larger latitude in the laws of propriety, than the\\nsober sons of judgment and prudence. I mention thi3 as an apology\\nfor the liberties that a nameless stranger has taken with you in the\\nenclosed poem, which he begs leave to present you with. Whether\\nit has poetical merit any way worthy of the theme, I am not the\\nproper judge; but it is the best my abilities can produce and\\nwhat to a good heart will perhaps be superior grace, it is equally\\nsincere as fervent.\\nThe scenery was nearly taken from real life, though I dare say,\\nmadam, you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed\\nthe poetic reveur as he wandered by you; I had roved out as\\nchance directed in the favourite haunts of m# muse, on the banks\\nof the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the vernal year.\\nThe evening sun was naming over the distant western hills not a\\nbreath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spread-\\ning leaf. It was a golden moment for a poetic heart. I listened to\\nthe feathered warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand, with\\na congenial kindred regard, and frequently turned out of my path,\\nlest I should disturb their little songs, or frighten them to another\\nstation. Surely, said I to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who,\\nregardless of your harmonious endeavour to please him, can eye\\nyour elusive flights to discover your secret recesses, and to rob you\\nof all the property nature gives you, your dearest comforts, your\\nhelpless nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn-twig that shot across\\nthe way, what heart at such a time but must have been interested\\nin its welfare, and wished it preserved from the rudely browsing\\ncattle, or the withering eastern blast Such was the scene, and\\nsuch the hour, when in a corner of my prospect, I spied one of the\\nfairest pieces of Nature s workmanship that ever crowned a poetic\\nlandscape, or met a poet s eye, those visionary bards excepted who\\nhold commerce with aerial beings Had Calumny and Villany\\ntaken my walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal peace with\\nsuch an object.\\nWhat an hour of inspiration for a poet It would have raised\\nplain, dull, historic prose into metaphor and measure.\\nThe enclosed song was the work of my return home and per-\\nhaps it but poorly answers what might be expected from such a\\nscene.\\nI have the honour to be,\\nMadam,\\nYour most obedient, and very\\nhumble servant,\\nROBERT BURNS.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "54 LIFE OF\\nTwas even the dewy fields were green,\\nOn every blade the pearls hang\\nThe Zephyr wanton d round the bean,\\nAnd bore its fragrant sweets alang\\nIn every glen the mavis sang,\\nAll nature listening seemed the while,\\nExcept where green- wood echoes rang,\\nAmang the braes o Ballochmyle.\\nWith careless step I onward strayed,\\nMy head rejoiced in nature s joy,\\nWhen musing in a lonely glade,\\nA maiden fair I chanc d to spy\\nHer look was like the morning s eye,\\nHer air like nature s vernal smile,\\nPerfection whisper d passing by,\\nBehold the lass o Ballochmyle\\nFair is the morn in flowery May,\\nAnd sweet is night in autumn mild\\nWhen roving through the garden gay,\\nOr wandering in the lonely wild\\nBut woman, nature s darling child\\nThere all her charms she does compile\\nEven there her other works are foil d\\nBy the bonny lass o Ballochmyle.\\nO had she been a country maid,\\nAnd I the happy country swain,\\nThough sheltered in the lowest shed\\nThat ever rose on Scotland s plains.\\nThrough weary winter s wind and rain,\\nWith joy, with rapture, I would toil,\\nAnd nightly to my bosom strain\\nThe bonny lass o Ballochmyle.\\nThen pride might climb the slippery steep,\\nWhere fame and honours lofty shine\\nAnd thirst of gold might tempt the deep,\\nOr downward seek the Indian mine\\nGive me the cot below the pine,\\nTo tend the flocks or till the soil,\\nAnd every day have joys divine,\\nWith the bonny lass o Ballochmyle.\\nIn the manuscript book in which our poet has recounted this in-\\ncident, and into which the letter and poem are copied, he complains\\nthat the lady made no reply to his effusions, and this appears to\\nhave wounded his self-love. It is not, however, difficult to find an\\nexcuse for her silence. Burns was at that time little known, and\\nwhere known at all, noted rather for the wild strength of his hu-\\nmour, than for those strains of tenderness, in which he afterwards\\nso much excelled. To the lady herself his name had perhaps never\\nbeen mentioned, and of such a poem she might not consider herself\\nas the proper judge. Her modesty might prevent her from per-", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 55\\nceiving that the muse of Tibullus breathed in the nameless poet\\nand that her beauty was awakening strains destined to immortality\\non the banks of the Ayr. It may be conceived, also, that suppos-\\ning the verses duly appreciated, delicacy might find it difficult to\\nexpress its acknowledgments. The fervent imagination of the rus-\\ntic bard possessed more of tenderness than of respect. Instead of\\nraising himself to the condition of the object of his admiration,\\nhe presumed to reduce her to his own, and to strain this high born\\nbeauty to his daring bosom. It is true, Burns might have found\\nprecedents for such freedoms among the poets of Greece and Rome,\\nand indeed of every country. And it is not to be denied, that\\nlovely women have generally submitted to this sort of profanation\\nwith patience, and even good humour. To what purpose is it to\\nrepine at misfortune which is the necessary consequence of their\\nown charms, or to remonstrate with a description of men who are\\nincapable of control 1\\n1 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,\\nAre of imagination all compact.\\nIt may easily be presumed, that the beautiful nymph of Balloch-\\nmyle, whoever she may have been, did not reject with scorn the\\nadorations of our poet, though she received them with silent\\nmodesty and dignified reserve.\\nThe sensibility of our bard s temper, andthe force of his imagin-\\nation, exposed him in a particular manner to the impressions of\\nbeauty and these qualities united to his impassioned eloquence\\ngave him in turn a powerful influence over the female heart. The\\nbanks of the Ayr formed the scene of youthful passions of a still\\ntenderer nature, the history of which it would be improper to re-\\nveal, were it even in our power, and the traces of which will soon\\nbe discoverable only in those strains of nature and sensibility to\\nwhich they gave birth. The song entitled Highland Mary, i3 known\\nto relate to one of these attachments. It was written, says our\\nbard, on one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days.\\nThe object of this passion died in early life, andthe impression left\\non the mind of Burns seems to have been deep and lasting. Several\\nyears afterwards, when he was removed to Nithsdale, he gave vent\\nto the sensibility of his recollections in the following impassioned\\nlines in the manuscript book from which we extract them, they\\nare addressed To Mary is Heaven\\nThou ling ring star, with less ning ray,\\nThat Jov st to greet the early morn,\\nAgain thou usher st in the day\\nMy Mary from my soul was torn.\\nO Mary dear departed shade\\nWhere is thy blissful place of rest\\nSeest thou thy lover lowly laid t\\nHear st thou the groans that rend his breast\\nThat sacred hour can 1 forget,\\nCan I forget the hallowed grove,\\nWhere by the winding Ayr we met,\\nTo live one day of parting love\\nEternity will not efface\\nThose records dear of transports past\\nThy image at our last embrace\\nAh little thought we twas our last", "height": "4508", "width": "2544", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "56 LIFE OF\\nAyr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore,\\nO erhung with wild woods thick ning green\\nThe fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,\\nTwin d amorous round the raptur d scene.\\nThe flowers sprang wanton to be press d,\\nThe birds sang love on every spray,\\nTill too, too soon the glowing west\\nProclaimed the speed of winged day.\\nStill o er these scenes my mem ry wakes,\\nAnd fondly broods with miser care\\nTime but the impression deeper makes\\nAs streams their channels deeper wear.\\nMy May. dear departed shade\\nWhere is thy blissful place of rest\\nSeest thou thy lover lowJy laid\\nHear st thou the groans that rend hi3 breast?\\nTo the delineations of the poet by himself, by his brother, and\\nby his tutor, these additions are necessary, in order that the reader\\nmay see his character in its various aspects, and may have an op-\\nportunity of forming a just notion of the variety, as well as the\\npower of his original genius.\\nWe have dwelt the longer on the early part of his life, because\\nit is the least known, and because, as has already been mentioned,\\nthis part of his history is connected with some views of the condition\\nand manners of the humblest ranks of society, hitherto little ob-\\nserved, and which will perhaps be found neither useless nor uninter-\\nesting.\\nAbout the time of leaving his native country, his correspondence\\ncommences and in the series of letters now given to the world,\\nthe chief incidents of the remaining part of his life will be found.\\nThis authentic, though melancholy record, will supersede in future\\nthe n essity of any extended narrative\\nBursts set out for Edinburgh in the month of November, 1786.\\nand arrived on the second day afterwards, having performed his\\njourney on foot. He was furnished with a letter of introduction\\nto Dr. Blacklock, from the gentleman to whom the Doctor had ad-\\ndressed the letter which is represented by our bard as the immediate\\ncause of his visiting the Scottish metropolis. He was acquainted\\nDr. Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University, and\\nhad been entertained by that gentleman at Catrine, his estate in\\nAyrshire. He had been introduced by Mr. Alexander Dalzel to\\nthe Earl of Glencairn, who had expressed his high approbation of\\nhis poetical talents. He had friends therefore who could introduce\\nhim into the circles of literature as well a3 of fashion, and his own\\nmanners and appearance exceeding every expectation that could\\nhave been formed of them, he soon became an object of general cu-\\nriosity and admiration. The following circumstance contributed\\nto this in a considerable degree. At the time when Burns arrived\\nin Edinburgh, the periodical paper, entitled The Lounger, was\\npublisding, every Saturday producing a successive number. His\\npoems had attracted the notice of the gentlemen engaged in that\\nundertaking, and the ninety-seventh mumber of those unequal,\\nthough frequently beautiful essays, is devoted to An Account of\\nRobert Burns, tne Ayrshire ploughman, with extracts from his Poems\\nwritten by the elegant pen of Mr. Mackenzie. The Lounger had", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "ROBEBT BURNS, 61\\nan extensive circulation among persons of taste and literature, not\\nin Scotland only, but in various parts of England, to whose acquaint-\\nance therefore our bard was immediately introduced. The paper\\nof Mr. Mackenzie was calculated to introduce him advantageously.\\nThe extracts arc well selected the criticisms and reflections are\\nj udicious as well as generous and in the style and sentiments there\\nis that happy delicacy, by which the writings of the author are\\nso eminently distinguished. The extracts from Burns poems in\\nthe ninety- seventh number of The Lounger were copied into the\\nLondon, as well a3 into many of the principal papers, and the fame\\nof our bard spread throughout the island. Of the manners,\\ncharacter, and conduct of Burns at this period, the following\\naccount has been given by Mr. Stewart, in a letter to the editor,\\nwhich he is particularly happy to have obtained permission to in-\\nsert in .these memoirs.\\nProfessor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh to Dr. James Currie of\\nLiverpool.\\nThe first time I saw Kobert Burns was on the 23rd of October,\\n1786, when he dined at my house in Ayrshire, together with our\\ncommon friend Mr. John Mackenzie, surgeon in Mauchline, to whom\\nI am indebted for the pleasure of his acquaintance. I am enabled\\nto mention the date particularly, by some verses which Burns wrote\\nafter he returned home, and in which the day of our meeting is re-\\ncorded. My excellent and much lamented friend, the late Basil,\\nLord Daer, happened to arrive at Catrine the same day, and by the\\nkindness and frankness of his manners, left an impression on the\\nmind of the poet, which never was effaced. The verses I allude to\\nare among the most imperfect of his pieces but a few stanzas may\\nperhaps be an object of curiosity to you, both on account of the\\ncharacter to which they relate, and of the light which they throw\\non the situation and feelings of the writer, before his name was\\nknown to the public.\\nI cannot positively say, at this distance of time, whether, at the\\nperiod of our first acquaintance, the Kilmarnock edition of his\\npoems had been just published, or was yet in the press. I suspect\\nthat the latter was the case, a3 I have still in my possession copies,\\nin his own hand- writing, of some of his favourite performances\\nparticularly of his verses on turning up a Mouse with his plough;\\non the Mountain Daisy f and the Lament. On my return\\nto Edinburgh, I showed the volume, and mentioned what I knew\\nof tbe author s history, to several of my friends, and, among others,\\nto Mr. Henry Mackenzie, who first recommended him to public no-\\ntice in the 9th number of The Lounger.\\nAt this time Bums prospects in life were so extremely gloomy,\\nthat he had seriously formed a plan of going out to Jamacia in a\\nvery humble situation, not, however, without lamenting, that his\\nwant of patronage should force him to think of a project so repug-\\nnant to his feelings, when his ambition aimed at no higher an ob-\\nject than the station of an exciseman or ganger in his own country.\\nu His manners were then, as they continued ever afterwards,\\nsimple, manly, and independent; strongly expressive of conscious\\no 5", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "58 LIFE OF\\ngenius and worth but without any thing that indicated forward-\\nness, arrogance, or vanity. He took his share in conversation, but\\nnot more than belonged to him and listened with apparent atten-\\ntion and deference, on subjects where his want of education de-\\nprived him of the means of information. If there had been a little\\nmore of gentleness and accommodation in his temper, he would, I\\nthink, have been still more interesting; but he had been accus-\\ntomed to give law in the circle of his ordinary acquaintance\\nand his dread of any thing approaching to meanness or servility,\\nrendered his manner somewhat decided and hard. Nothing, per-\\nhaps, was more remarkable among his various attainments, than the\\nfluency, and precision, and originality of his language, when he\\nspoke in company more particularly as he aimed at purity in his\\nturn of expression, and avoided more successfully than most Scotch-\\nmen, the peculiarities of Scottish phraseology.\\nHe came to Edinburgh early in the winter following, and re-\\nmained there for several months. By whose advice he took this\\nstep, I am unable to say. Perhaps it was suggested only by his own\\ncuriosity to see a little more of the world but, I confess, I dreaded\\nthe consequences from the first, and always wished that his pur-\\nsuits and habits should continue the same as in the former part of\\nlife with the addition of, what I considered as then completely\\nwithin his reach, a good farm on moderate terms, in a part of the\\ncountry agreeable to his taste.\\nThe attentions he received during his stay in town from all\\nranks and descriptions of persons, were such as would have turned\\nany head but his own. I cannot say that I could perceive any un-\\nfavourable effect which they left on his mind. He retained the\\nsame simplicity of manners and appearance which had struck me\\nso forcibly when I first saw him in the country nor did he seem\\nto feel any additional self-importance from the number and rank of\\nhis new acquaintance. Hi3 dress was perfectly suited to his station,\\nplain and unpretending, with a sufficient attention to neatness. If\\nI recollect right he always wore boots and, when on more than\\nusual ceremony, buck-skin breeches.\\nThe variety of his engagements, while in Edinburgh, prevented\\nme from seeing him so often as I could have wished. In the course\\nof the spring he called on me once or twice, at my request, early in\\nthe morning, and wa)ked with me to Braid- Hills, in the neighbour*\\nhood of the town, when he charmed me still more by his private\\nconversation, than he had ever done in company. He was passion-\\nately fond of the beauties of nature and I recollect once he told\\nme, when I was admiring a distant prospect in one of our morning\\nwalk3, that the sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure\\nto his mind, which none could understand who had not witnessed,\\nlike himself, the happiness and the worth which they contained.\\nw In his political principles he was then a Jacobite; which was\\nperhaps owing partly to this, that his father was originally from the\\nestate of Lord Mareschell. Indeed he did not appear to have\\nthought much on such subjects, nor very consistently. He had a\\nvery strong sense of religion, and expressed deep regret at the levity\\nwith which he had heard it treated occasionally in some convivial\\nmeetings which he frequented. I speak of him as he was in the", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "ROBERtf BURNS. 59\\nwinter of 1786-7; for afterwards we met but seldom, and our con-\\nversations turned chiefly on his literary projects, or his private af-\\nfairs.\\nI do not recollect whether it appears or not from any of your\\nletters to me, that you had ever seen Burns. If you have, it is\\nsuperfluous for me to add, that the idea which his conversation con-\\nveyed of the powers of his mind, exceeded, if possible, that which is\\nsuggested by his writings. Among the poets whom I have hap-\\npened to know, I have been struck, in more than one instance,\\nwith the unaccountable disparity between their general talents,\\nand the occasional inspirations of their more favoured moments.\\nBut all the faculties of Burns s mind were, as far as I could judge,\\nequally vigorous and his predilection for poetry was rather the re-\\nsult of his own enthusiastic and impassioned temper, than of a\\ngenius exclusively adapted to that species of composition. From\\nhis conversation I should have pronounced him to be fitted to ex-\\ncel in whatever walk of ambition he had chosen to exert his abilities.\\nAmong the subjects on which he was accustomed to dwell, the\\ncharacters of the individuals with whom he happened to meet, was\\nplainly a favourite one. The remarks he made on them were al-\\nways shrewd and pointed, though frequently inclining too much to\\nsarcasm. His praise of those he loved was sometimes indiscriminate\\nand extravagant; but this, 1 suspect, proceeded rather from the\\ncaprice and humour of the moment, than from the effects of attach-\\nment in blinding his judgment. His wit was ready, and always\\nimpressed with the marks of a vigorous understanding but, to my\\ntaste, not often pleasing or happy. His attempts at epigram, in his\\nprinted works, are the only performances, perhaps, that he has\\nproduced, totally unworthy of his genius.\\nIn summer, 1787, 1 passed some weeks in Ayrshire, and saw\\nBurns occasionally. I think that he made a pretty long excursion\\nthat season to the Highlands, and that he also visited what Beattie\\ncalls the Arcadian ground of Scotland, upon the banks of the Teviot\\nand the Tweed.\\nI should have mentioned before, that notwithstanding various\\nreports I heard during the preceding winter, of Burns s predilection\\nfor convivial, and not very select society, I should have concluded\\nin favour of his habits of sobriety, from all of him that ever fell\\nunder my own observation. He told me indeed himself, that the\\nweakness of his stomach was such as to deprive him entirely of any\\nmerit in his temperance. I was however somewhat alarmed about\\nthe effect of his now comparatively sedentary and luxurious life,\\nwhen he confessed to me, the first night he spent in my house afUr\\nhis winter s campaign in town, that he had been much disturbed\\nwhen in bed, by a palpitation at his heart, which, he said, was a\\ncomplaint to which he had of late become subject.\\nIn the course of the same season I was led by curiosity to at-\\ntend for an hour or two a Masonic- Lodge in Mauchline, where\\nBurns presided. He had occasion to make short unpremeditated\\ncompliments to different individuals from whom he had no reas m\\nto expect a visit, and every thing he said was happily conceived,\\nand forcibly as well as fluently expressed. If I am not mistaken,\\nhe told me, that in that village, before going to Edinburgh, he", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "60 \u00c2\u00a3IFE OF\\nhad belonged to a small club of such of the inhabitants as had a\\ntaste for books, when they used to converse and debate on any in-\\nteresting questions that occurred to them in the course of their\\nreading. Hi3 manner of speaking in public had evidently the marks\\nof some practice in extempore elocution.\\nI must not omit to mention, what I have always considered as\\ncharacteristical in a high degree of true genius, the extreme faclity\\nand good nature of his taste, in judging of the compositions of\\nothers, when there was any real grounds for praise. 1 repeated to\\nhim many passages of English poetry with which he was unac-\\nquainted, and have more than once witnessed the tears of admira-\\ntion and rapture with which he heard them. The collection of\\nsongs by Dr. Aiken, which I first put into his hands, he read with\\nunmixed delight, notwithstanding his former efforts in that very\\ndifficult species of writing and I have little d oubt that it had\\nsome effect in polishing his subsequent compositions.\\nIn judging of prose, I do not think his taste was equally sound.\\nI once read to him a passage or two in Franklin s works, which I\\nthought very happily executed, upon the model of Addison but\\nhe did not appear to relish, or to perceive the beauty which they\\nderived from their exquisite simplicity, and spoke of them with\\nindifference when compared with the point, and antithesis, and\\nquaintness of Junius. The influence of this taste is very percep-\\ntible in his own prose compositions, although their great and va-\\nrious excellencies render some of them scarcely less objects of won-\\nder than his poetical performances. The late Dr. Kobertson used\\nto say, that considering his education, the latter seemed to him the\\nmore extraordinary of the two.\\nHis memory was uncommonly retentive, at least for poetry, of\\nwhich he recited to me frequently long compositions with the most\\nminute accuracy. They were chiefly ballads, and other pieces in\\nour Scottish dialect great part of them (he told me) he had learned\\nin his childhood, from his mother, who delighted in such recita-\\ntions, and whose poetical taste, rude as it probably was, gave, it is\\npresumable, the first direction of her son s genius.\\nOf the more polished verses which accidentally fell into his\\nhands in his early years, he mentioned particularly the recommen-\\ndatory poems, by different authors, prefixed to Herveys Medita-\\ntions a book which has always had a very wide circulation among\\nsuch of the country people of Scotland, as affect to unite some de-\\ngree of taste with their religious studies. And these poems (al-\\nthough they are certainly below mediocrity) he continued to read\\nwith a degree of rapture beyond expression. He took notice of this\\nfact himself, as a proof how much the taste is liable to be influenced\\nby accidental circumstances.\\nHis father appeared to me, from the account he gave of him, to\\nhave been a respectable and worthy character, possessed of a mind\\nsuperior to what might have been expected from his station in life.\\nHe ascribed much of his own principles and feelings to the early\\nimpressions he had received from his instructions and example. I\\nrecollect that he one.?, applied to him, (and he added, that the pas-\\nsage was a literal statement of fact), the two last lines of the follow-", "height": "4508", "width": "2588", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "KOBERT BURNS. 61\\ning passage in the Minstrel, the whole of which he repeated with\\ngreat enthusiasm\\ni Shall I be left forgotten in the dust,\\nWhen fate relenting, lets the flower revive\\nShall natures voice, to man alone unjust,\\nBid him, though doom d to perish, hope to live?\\nIs it for this fair Virtue oft must strive\\nWith disappointment, penury, and pain\\nNo Heaven s immortal spring shall yet arrive\\nAnd man s majestic beauty bloom again,\\nBright through th eternal year of love s triumphant reign.\\nThis truth sublime, his simple sire had taught\\nIn sooth twas almost all the shepherd knew.\\nWith respect to Burns s early education, I cannot say any thing\\nwith certainty. He always spoke with respect and gratitude of the\\nschool-master who had taught him to read English and who, find-\\ning in his scholar a more than ordinary ardour for knowledge, had\\nbeen at pains to instruct him in the grammatical principles of the\\nlanguage. He began the study of Latin, but dropped it before he\\nhad finished the verbs. I have sometimes heard him quote a few\\nLatin words, such as omnia vincit amor c. but they seemed to be\\nsuch as he had caught from conversation, and which he repeated by\\nrote. I think he had a project after he came to Edinburgh, of pro-\\nsecuting the study under his intimate friend, the late Mr. JSTicol,\\none of the masters of the grammar-school here but I do not know\\nif he ever proceeded so far as to make the attempt.\\nHe certainly possessed a smattering of French and, if he had\\nan affectation in any thing, it was in introducing occasionally a\\nword or a phrase from that language. It is possible that his know-\\nledge in this respect might be more extensive than I suppose it to\\nbe but that you can learn from his more intimate acquaintance.\\nIt would be worth while to inquire, whether he was able to read\\nthe French authors with such facility as to receive from them any\\nimprovement to his taste. For my own part, I doubt it much nor\\nwould I believe it, but on very strong and pointed evidence.\\nif my memory does not fail me, he was well instructed in arith-\\nmetic, and knew something of practical geometry, particularly of\\nsurveying. All his other attainments were entirely his own.\\nThe last time I saw him was during the winter, 1788 89 when\\nhe passed an evening with me at Drunsheugh, in the neighbour-\\nhood of Edinburgh, where I was then living. My friend Mr. Alison\\nwas the only other in company. I never saw him more agreeable\\nor interesting. A present which Mr. Alison sent him afterwards of\\nhis Essays on Taste, drew from Burns a letter of acknowledgment,\\nwhich I remember to have read with some degree of surprise at the\\ndistinct conception he appeared from it to have formed, of the seve-\\nral principles of the doctrine of association. When I saw Mr. Ali-\\nson in Shropshire last autumn, 1 forget to inquire if the letter be\\nstill in existence. If it is, you may easily procure it, by means of\\ncur friend Mr. Houlbrooke.\\nThe scene that opened on our bard in Edinburgh was altogether\\nnew, and in a variety of other respects highly interesting, especially", "height": "4504", "width": "2540", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "62 LIFE OF\\nto one of his disposition of mind. To Hse an expression of his own\\nhe found himself suddenly translated from the veriest shades of\\nlife, into the presence, and, indeed, into the society of a number\\nof persons, previously known to him by report as of the highest dis-\\ntinction in his country, and whose characters it was natural for him\\nto examine with no common curiosity.\\nFrom the men of letters, in general, his reception was particular-\\nly flattering. The late Dr. Robertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, Mr.\\nStewart, Mr. Mackenzie, and Mr. Fraser Tytler, may be mentioned\\nin the list of those who perceived his uncommon talents, who ac-\\nknowledged more especially his power in conversation, and who\\ninterested themselves in the cultivation of his genius. In Edin-\\nburgh, literary and fashionable society are a good deal mixed. Our\\nbard was an acceptable guest in the gayest and most elevated circles,\\nand frequently received from female beauty and elegance, those at-\\ntentions above all others most grateful to him. At the table of\\nLord Monboddo he was a frequent guest and while he enjoyed the\\nsociety, and partook of the hospitalities of the venerable Judge, he\\nexperienced the kindness and condescension of his lovely and accom-\\nplished daughter. The singular beauty of thi3 young lady was illu-\\nmined by that happy expression of countenance which results from\\nthe union of cultivated taste and superior understanding, with the\\nfinest affections of the mind The influence of such attractions was\\nnot unfelt by our poet. n There has not been any thing like Mis3\\nBurnet, said he in a letter to a friend, in all the combinations of\\nbeauty, grace, and goodness, the Creator has formed, since Milton s\\nEve on the first day of her existence. In his Address to Edin-\\nburgh, she is celebrated in a strain of still greater elevation\\n1 Fair Burnet strikes th adoring eye,\\nHeaven s beauties on my fancy shine;\\nI see the Sire of Love on high,\\nAnd own his works indeed divine 1\\nThis lovely woman died a few year3 afterwards in the flower of\\nher youth. Our bard expressed his sensibility on that occasion, in\\nverses addressed to her memory.\\nAmong the men of rank and fashion, Burns was particularly dis-\\ntinguished by James, Earl of Glencaim. On the motion of this\\nnobleman, the Caledonian Hunt, (an association of the principal of\\nthe nobility and gentry of Scotland,) extended their patronage to our\\nbard, and admitted him to their gay orgies. He repaid their notice\\nby a dedication of the enlarged and improved edition of his poems,\\nin which he has celebrated their patriotism and independence in\\nvery animated terms.\\nu I congratulate my country that the blood of her ancient he-\\nroes runs uncontaminated and that, from your courage, know-\\nledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and\\nliberty. May corruption shrink at your kindling\\nindignant glance and may tyranny in the ruler, and licentiousness\\nin the people, equally find in you an inexorable foe\\nIt is to be presumed that these generous sentiments, uttered at\\nan era singularly propitious to independence of character and con-\\nduct, were favourably received by the persons to whom they were\\naddressed, and that they were echoed from every bosom, as well as", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BtfRNS. 63\\nfrom that of the Earl of Glencairn. This accomplished nobleman^\\na scholar, a man of taste and sensibility, died soon afterwards. Had\\nhe lived, and had his power equalled his wishes, Scotland might\\nstill have exulted in the genius, instead of lamenting the early\\nfate of her favourite bard.\\nA taste for letters is not always conjoined with habits of tem-\\nperance and regularity and Edinburgh, at the period of which\\nwe speak, contained perhaps an uncommon proportion of men of\\nconsiderable talents, devoted to social excesses, in which their\\ntalents were wasted and debased.\\nBurns entered into several parties of this description, with the\\nusual vehemence of his character. His generous affections, his ar-\\ndent eloquence, his brilliant and daring imagination, fitted him to\\nbe the idol of such associations and accustoming himself to con-\\nversation of unlimited range, and to festive indulgences that\\nscorned restraint, he gradually lost some portion of his relish for\\nthe more pure, but less poignant pleasures, to be found in the\\ncircles of taste, elegance, and literature. The sudden alteration in\\nhis habits of life operated on him physically as well as morally.\\nThe humble fare of an Ayrshire peasant he had exchanged for the\\nluxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and the effects of this change\\non his ardent constitution could not be inconsiderable. But what-\\never influence might be produced on his conduct, his excellent un-\\nderstanding suffered no correspondent debasement. He estimated\\nhis friends and associates of every description at their proper value,\\nand appreciated his own eonduct with a precision that might give\\nscope to much curious and melancholy reflection. He saw his dan-\\nger, and at times formed resolutions to guard against it but he\\nhad embarked on the tide of dissipation, and was borne along its\\nstream.\\nOf the state of his mind at this time, an authentic, though im-\\nperfect document remains in a book which he procured in the\\nspring of 1787, for the purpose, as he himself informs us, of re-\\ncording in it whatever seemed worthy of observation. The fol-\\nlowing extracts may serve as a specimen\\nEdinburgh, April 9, 1787.\\nu As I have seen a good deal of human life in Edinburgh, a great\\nmany characters which are new to one bred up in the shades of\\nlife as I have been, I am determined to take down my remarks on\\nthe spot. Gray observes in a letter to Mr. Palgrave, that half a\\nword fixed upon, or near the spot, is worth a cart-load of recollec-\\ntion. I don t know how it is with the world in general, but with\\nme, making my remarks is by no means a solitary pleasure. I want\\nsome one to laugh with me, some one to be grave with me, some\\none to please me, and help my discrimination, with his or her own\\nremark, and, at times, no doubt, to admire my acuteness and\\npenetration. The world are so busied with selfish pursuits, ambi-\\ntion, and vanity, interest, or pleasure, that very few think it worth\\ntheir while to make any observation on what passes around them,\\nexcept where that observation is a sucker, or branch of the darling\\nplant they are rearing in their fancy. Now 1 am sure, notwithstand-\\ning all the sentimental flights of novel-writers, and the sage phi-", "height": "4508", "width": "2536", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "64 LIFE OF\\nlosophy of moralists, whether we are capable of so intimate and\\ncordial a coalition of friendship, as that one man may pour out his\\nbosom, his every thought and floating fancy, his very inmost soul,\\nwith unreserved confidence to another, without hazard of losing\\npart of that respect which man deserves from man or from the\\nunavoidable imperfections attending human nature, of one day re-\\npenting his confidence.\\nFor these reasons I am determined to make these pages my con-\\nfident. I will sketch every character that any way strikes me, to\\nthe best of my power, with unshrinking justice. I will insert\\nanecdotes, and take down remarks, in the old law phrase, without\\nfeud or favour. Where I hit on any thing clever, my own applause\\nwill, in some measure, feast my vanity and begging Patroclus and\\nAchates pardon, I think a lock and key a security, at least equal to\\nthe bosom of any friend whatever.\\nMy own private story likewise, my love adventures, my ram-\\nbles the frowns and smiles of fortune on my hardship my poems\\nand fragments, that must never see the light, shall be occasionally\\ninserted. In short, never did four shillings purchase so much\\niriendship since confidence went first to market, or honesty was set\\nup for sale.\\nTo these seemingly invidious, but too just ideas of human\\nfriendship, I would cheerfully make one exemption\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the connexion\\nbetween two persons of different sexes, when their interests are\\nunited and absorbed by the tie of love\\nWhen thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,\\nAnd each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.\\nThere, confidence confidence that exalts them the more in one\\nanother s opinion, that endears them the more to each other s\\nhearts, unreservedly reigns and revels. But this is not my lot\\nand, in my situation, if I am wise (which by the bye I have no\\nreal chance of being), my fate should be cast with the Psalmist s\\nsparrow to watch alone on the house tops, Oh, the pity i\\nThere are few of the sore evils under the sun give me more un-\\neasiness and chagrin than the comparision how a man of genius,\\nnay of avowed worth, is received every where, with the reception\\nwhich a mere ordinary character, decorated with the trappings and\\nand futile distinctions of fortune, meets. I imagine a man of\\nabilities, his breast glowing with honest pride, conscious that men\\nare all born equal, still giving honour to whom honour is due; he\\nmeets, at a great man s table, a Squire something, or a Sir some-\\nbody ho knows the nolle landlord, at heart, gives the bard, or\\nwhatever he is, a share of his good wishes, beyond, perhaps, any one\\nat table; yet how will itoioriify him to see a fellow, whose abili-\\nties would scarcely have made an eiyhteenpenny tailor, and whose\\nheart is not worth three farthings, meet with attention and notice,\\nthat are withheld from the son of genius and poverty]\\nThe noble G has wounded me to the soul here, because I\\ndearly esteem, respect, and love him. He showed me so much at-\\ntention engrossing attention, one day, to the only blockhead at\\ntable (the whole company consisted of his lordship, dunderpate,\\nand niYself), that I was within half a point of throwing down my", "height": "4508", "width": "2612", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "ROBEBT BURNS. 65\\ngage of contemptuous defiance but he shook my hand, and looked\\nso benevolently good at parting. God bless him, though I should\\nnever see him more, I shall love him until my dying day I am\\npleased to think I am so capable of the throes of gratitude, as I am\\nmiserably deficient in some other virtues.\\nWith lam more at my ease. I never respect him with humble\\nveneration but when he kindly interests himself in my welfare,\\nor still more when he descends from bis pinacle, and meets me on\\nequal ground in conversation, my heart overflows with what is\\ncalled liking. When he neglects me for the mere carcass of great-\\nness, or when his eye measures the difference of our points of ele-\\nvation, I say to myself, with scarcely any emotion, what do I care\\nfor him, or his pomp either V\\nThe intentions of the poet in procuring this book, so fully de-\\nscribed by himself, were very imperfectly executed. He has in-\\nserted into it a few or no incidents, but several observations and\\nreflections, of which the greater part that are proper for the public\\neye, will be found interwoven in the volume of his letters. The\\nmost curious particulars in the book are the delineation of the cha-\\nracters he met with. These are not numerous; but they are\\nchiefly of persons of distinction in the republic of letters, and no-\\nthing but the delicacy and respect due to living characters prevents\\nus from committing them to the press. Though it appears that in\\nhis conversation he wa3 sometimes disposed to sarcastic remarks on\\nthe men with whom he lived, nothing of this kind is discoverable in\\nthese more deliberate efforts of his understanding, which, while they\\nexhibit great clearness of discrimination, manifest also the wish, as\\nwell as the power, to bestow high and generous praise.\\nBy the new edition of his poems, Burns acquired a sum of money\\nthat enabled him not only to partake of the pleasure, of Edinburgh,\\nbut to gratify a desire he had long entertained, of visiting those\\nparts of his native country, most attractive by their beauty or their\\ngrandeur a desire which the return of summer naturally revived.\\nThe scenery on the banks of the Tweed, and of its tributary streams\\nstrongly interested his fancy and, accordingly, he left Edinburgh\\non the 6th of May, 1787, on a tour through a country so much\\ncelebrated in the rural songs of Scotland. He travelled on horse-\\nback, and was accompanied, during some part of his journey, by Mr.\\nAinslie, now writer to the signet, a gentleman who enjoyed much of\\nhis friendship and of his confidence. Of this tour a journal remains,\\nwhich, however, contains only occasional remarks on the scenery,\\nand which is chiefly occupied with an account of the author s dif-\\nferent stages, and with his observations on the various characters to\\nwhom he was introduced. In the course of this tour he visited Mr.\\nAinslie of Berry well, the father of his companion Mr. Dry done,\\nthe celebrated traveller, to whom he carried a letter of introduction\\nfrom Mr. Mackenzie; the Rev. Dr. Somerville of Jedburgh, the his-\\ntorian Mr. and Mrs. Scott of Wauchope Dr. Elliot, physician, re-\\ntired to a romantic spot on the banks of the Roole Sir Alexander\\nDon Sir James Hall of Douglass and a great variety of other re-\\nspectable characters. Every where the fame of the poet had spread\\nbefore him, and every where he received the most hospitable and", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "66 LIFE OF\\nflattening attentions. At Jedburgh he continued several days, and\\nwas honoured by the magistrates with the freedom of their borough.\\nThe following may serve as a specimen of this tour, which the per-\\npetual reference to living characters prevents our giving at large.\\nSaturday, May 6. Left Edinburgh Lammer-muir hills, mi\\nserably dreary in general, but at times very picturesque.\\nLanson-edge, a glorious view of the Merse. Eeach Berry well.\\nThe family- meeting with my compagnon de voyage, very\\ncharming particularly the sister.\\nSunday. Went to church at Dunse. Heard Dr. Bowmaker.\\nMonday. Coldstream glorious river. Tweed clear and ma-\\njestic fine bridge dine at Coldstream with Mr. Ainslie and Mr.\\nForeman. Beat Mr. Ainslie in a dispute about Voltaire. Drink\\ntea at Lennel -House with Mr. and Mrs. Brydone. Recep-\\ntion extremely flattering. Sleep at Coldstream.\\nTuesday* Breakfast at Kelso charming situation of the town\\nfine bridge over the Tweed. Enchanting views and prospects on\\nboth sides of the river, especially on the Scotch side\\nVisit Roxburgh Palace fine situation of it. Ruins of Roxburgh\\nCastle. A holly -bush growing where James the Second was acci-\\ndentally killed by the bursting of a cannon. A small old religious\\nruin and a fine old garden planted by the religious, rooted out and\\ndestroyed by a Hottentot, a maitre a hotel of the Duke s Climate\\nand soil of Berwickshire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to\\nAyrshire bad roads turnip and sheep husbandry, their great im-\\nprovements. Low markets, consequently low lands mag-\\nnificence of farmers and farm -houses. Come up the Teviot, and up\\nthe Jed to Jedburgh, to lie, and so wish myself good night.\\nWednesday. Breakfast with Mr. Fair Charming\\nromantic situation of Jedburgh, with gardens and orchards, inter-\\nmingled among the houses and the ruins of a once magnificent ca-\\nthedral. All the towns here have the appearance of old rude\\ngrandeur, but extremely idle. Jed, a fine romantic little river.\\nDined with Captain Rutherford, return to Jedburgh.\\nWalked up the Jed with some ladies to be shown Love-lane, and\\nBlackburn, two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr. Potts, writer, and\\nto Mr. Somerville, the clergyman of the parish, a man, and a gen-\\ntleman, but sadly addicted to punning.\\nu Jedburgh, Saturday. Was presented by the magistrates with\\nthe freedom of the town.\\nu Took Farewell of Jedburgh, with some melancholy sensations.\\nMonday, May 14. Kelso. Dine with the farmer s club all\\ngentleman talking of high matters each of them keeps a hunter\\nfrom \u00c2\u00a330 to \u00c2\u00a350 value and attends the fox-hunting club in the\\ncountry. Go out with Mr Ker, one of the club, and a friend of Mr\\nAinslie s, to sleep. In his mind and manners, Mr Ainslie s, is\\nastonishingly like my dear old friend Robert Muir Every thing\\nin his house elegant. He offers to accompany me in my English\\ntour.\\nTuesday. Dine with Sir Alexander Don; a very wet day\\nSleep at Mr Ker s again, and set out next day for Melrose\\nvisit Dryburgh a fine old ruined abbey, by the way. Cross the", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 67\\nLeader, and come up the Tweed to Melrose. Dine there, and visit\\nthat far-famed glorious ruin Come to Selkirk up the Banks of\\nEttrick. The whole country hereabouts, both on Tweed and\\nEttrick, remarkably stony.\\nHaving spent three weeks in exploring this interesting scenery\\nBurns crossed over into Northumberland. Mr Ker, and Sir Hood,\\ntwo gentlemen with w r hom he had become acquainted in the course\\nof his tour, accompanied him, He visited Alnwick Castle the\\nprincely seat of the Duke of Northumberland the hermitage and\\nold castle of Warkworth Morpeth and Newcastle. In this town\\nhe spent two days, and then proceeded to the south-west by Hexham\\nand Wardrue, to Carlisle. After spending a few days at Carlisle\\nwith his friend Mr Mitchell, he returned into Scotland, and at\\nAnnan his journal terminates abruptly.\\nOf the various persons with whom he became acquainted in the\\ncourse of this journey, he has, in general, given some account; and\\nalmost always a favourable one. That on the banks of the Tweed\\nand of the Teviot, our bard should find nymphs that were beauti-\\nful, is what might be confidently presumed. Two of these are\\nparticularly described in his journal. But it does not appear that\\nthe scenery, or its inhabitants, produced any effort of his muse, as\\nwas to have been wished and expected. From Annan, Burns pro-\\nceeded to Dumfries, and thence through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel,\\nnear Mauchline, in Ayrshire, where he arrived about the 8 th of\\nJune, 1787, after an absence of six busy and eventful months. It\\nwill be easily conceived with what pleasure and pride he was re-\\nceived by his mother, his brothers, and sisters. He had left them\\npoor, and comparatively friendless he returned to them high in\\npublic estimation, and easy in his circumstances. He returned to\\nthem unchanged in his ardent affections, and ready to share with\\nthem to the uttermost farthing, the pittance that fortune had\\nbestowed.\\nHaving remained with them a few days, he proceeded again to\\nEdinburgh, and immediately set out on a journey to the Highlands.\\nOf this tour no particulars have been found among his manuscripts.\\nA letter to his friend Mr. Ainslie, dated Arracho.s, near CrochoArlas,\\nly Lochleary, June 28, 1787, commences as follows\\nI write you this on my tour through a country where savage\\nstreams tumble over savage mountains, thinly overspread with\\nsavage flocks, which starvingly support as savage inhabitants.\\nMy last stage was Inverary to-morrow night s stage, Dumbarton. I\\nought sooner to have answered your kind letter, but you know I am\\na man of many sins.\\nFrom this journey Burns returned to his friends in Ayrshire,\\nwith whom he spent the month of July, renewed his friendships,\\nand extended his acquaintance throughout the county, where he\\nwas now very generally known and admired. In August he again\\nvisited Edinburgh, whence he undertook another journey towards\\nthe middle of this month in company with Mr. M. Adair, now Dr.\\nAdair, of Harrowgate, of which this gentleman has favoured us with\\nthe following account\\nu Burns and I left Edinburgh together in August, 1787. We rode", "height": "4508", "width": "2640", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "68 LIFE OF\\nby Linlithgow and Carron to Stirling. We visited the ironworks\\nat Carron, with which the poet was forcibly struck. The resem-\\nblance between that place, and its inhabitants, to the cave of\\nCyclops, which must have occurred to every classical visitor, pre-\\nsented itself to Burns. At Stirling the prospects from the castle\\nstrongly interested him in a former visit to which, his national\\nfeelings had been powerfully excited by the ruinous and roofless\\nstate of the hall in which the Scottish Parliaments had frequently\\nbeen held. His indignation had vented itself in some imprudent\\nbut not unpoetical lines, which had given much offence, and which\\nhe took this opportunity of erasing, by breaking the pane of the\\nwindow at the inn on which they were written.\\nAt Stirling we met with a company of travellers from Edin-\\nburgh, among whom was a character in many respects congenial\\nwith that of Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of the\\nHigh Grammar- School at Edinburgh the same wit and power of\\nconversation the same fondness for convival society, and thought-\\nlessness of tomorrow, characterized berth. Jacobitical principles in\\npolitics were common to both of them; and these have been suspect-\\ned, since the revolution of France, to have given place to each, to\\nopinions apparently opposite. I regret that I have preserved no\\nmemorabilia of their conversation, either on this or on other occa-\\nsions, when I happened to meet them together. Many songs were\\nsung which I mention for the sake of observing, that when Burns\\nwas called on in his turn, he was accustomed, instead of singing, to\\nrecite one or other of his own shortest poems, with a tone and em-\\nphasis, which, though not correct or harmonious, were impressive\\nand pathetic. This he did on the present occasion.\\nFrom Stirling we went next morning through the romantic and\\nfertile vale of Devon to Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, then in-\\nhabited by Mrs. Hamilton, with the younger part of whose family\\nBurns-had been previously acquainted. He introduced me to the\\nfamily, and there was formed my first acquaintance with Mrs.\\nHamilton s eldest daughter, to whom I have been married for nine\\nyears. Thus was I indebted to Burns for a connexion from which\\nI have derived, and expect further to derive, much happiness.\\nDuring a residence of about ten days at Harvieston, we made\\nexcursions to visit various parts of the surrounding scenery, infe-\\nrior to none in Scotland, in beauty, sublimity, and romantic interest\\nparticularly Castle Campbell, the ancient seat of the family of\\nArgyle and the famous cataract of the Devon, called the Cauldron\\nLinn and the Rumbling Bridge, a single broad arch, thrown by\\nthe Devil, if tradition is to be believed, across the river, at about\\nthe height of a hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised that\\nnone of these scenes should have called forth an exertion of Burns s\\nmuse. But I doubt if he had much taste for the picturesque. I\\nwell remember, that the ladies at Harvieston, who accompanied us\\non this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at his not expressing\\nin more glowing and fervid language, his impressions of the Caul-\\ndron Linn scene, certainly highly sublime, and somewhat horrible.\\nA visit to Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, a lady above ninety, the\\nlineal descendant of that race who gave the Scottish throneits bright-\\nest ornament, interested his feelings more powerfully. This venerable", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 69\\ndame with characteristical dignity, informed me, on my observing\\nthat I believed she was descended from the family of Robert Bruce,\\nthat Robert Bruce was sprung from her family. Though almost de-\\nprived of speech by a paralytic affection, she preserved her hospi-\\ntality and urbanity. She was in possession of the hero s helmet and\\ntwo-handed sword, with which she conferred on Burns and myself\\nthe honour of knight -hood, remarking, that she had a better right\\nto confer that title than some people. You will of course\\nconclude that the old lady s political tenets were as Jacobitical as\\nthe poet s, a conformity which contributed not a little to the cordi-\\nality of our reception and entertainment.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 She gave as her first\\ntoast after dinner, awa, Uncos, or, Away with the Strangers. Who\\nthese strangers were, you will readily understand. Mrs A. corrects\\nme by saying it should be Hooi, or Hoolii uncos, a sound used by\\nshepherds to direct their dogs to drive away the sheep.\\nWe returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the shore of Loch-\\nleven) and Queen sferry. I am inclined to think Burns knew no-\\nthing of poor Michael Bruce, who was then alive at Kinross, or had\\ndied there a short while before. A meeting between the bards, or\\na visit to the deserted cottage and early grave of poor Bruce, would\\nhave been highly interesting.\\nAt Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey, and the abbey-\\nchurch, now consecrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted\\nthe cutty stool, or stool of repentance, assuming the character of a\\npenitent for fornication; while Burns from the pulpit addressed to\\nme a ludicrous reproof and exhortation, parodied from that which\\nhad been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had, he assured\\nme, once been one of seven who mounted the seat of shame together.\\nIn the church yard two broad flag-stones marked the grave of\\nRobert Bruce, for whose memory Burns had more than common\\nveneration. He knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervour,\\nand heartily (suus ut mos erat) execrated the worse than Gothic\\nneglect of the first of Scottish heroes.\\nThe surprise expressed by Dr. Adair, in his excellent letter, that\\nthe romantic scenery of the Devon should have failed to call forth\\nany exertion of the poet s muse, is not in its nature singular and\\nthe disappointment felt at his not expressing in more glowing\\nlanguage his emotions on the sight of the famous cataract of that\\nriver, is similar to what was felt by the friends of Burns, on other\\noccasions of the same nature. Yet the inference that Dr. Adair\\nseems inclined to draw from it, that he had little taste for the\\npicturesque, might be questioned, even if it stood uncontroverted\\nby other evidence. The muse of Burns was in a high degree\\ncapricious she came uncalled, and often refused to attend at his\\nbidding. Of all the numerous subjects suggested to him by his\\nfriends and correspondents, there is scarcely one that he adopted.\\nThe very expectation that a particular occasion would excite the\\nenergies of fancy, if communicated to Burns, seemed in him, as in\\nother poets, destructive of the effect expected. Hence perhaps it\\nmay be explained, why the banks of the Devon and the Tweed form\\nno part of the subject of his song.\\nA similar train of reasoning may perhaps explain the want of", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "70 LIFE OF\\nemotion with which he viewed the Cauldron Linn. Certainly\\nthere are no affections of the mind more deadened bj the influence\\nof previous expectation, than those arising from the sight of\\nnatural objects, and more especially of objects of grandeur. Minute\\ndescription of scenes, of a sublime nature, should never be given to\\nthose who are about to view them, particularly if they are persons\\nof great strength and sensibility of imagination. Language seldom\\nor never conveys an adequate idea of such objects, but in the mind\\nof a great poet it may excite a picture that far transcends them.\\nThe imagination of Burns might form a cataract in comparison\\nwith which the Cauldron Linn should seem the purling of a rill,\\nand even the mighty falls of Niagara a humble cascade.\\nWhether these suggestions may assist in explaining our Bard s\\ndeficiency of impression on the occasion referred to, or whether it\\nought rather to be imputed to some pre-occupation, or indisposition\\nof mind, we presume not to decide but that he was in general\\nfeelingly alive to the beautiful or sublime in scenery, may be sup-\\nported by irresistible evidence. It is true, this pleasure was greatly\\nheightened in his mind, as might be expected, when combined with\\nmoral emotions of a kind with which it happily unites. That un-\\nder this association Burns contemplated the scenery of the Devon\\nwith the eye of a genuine poet, the following lines, written at this\\nvery period, may bear witness.\\nOn a Young Lady, residing on the banks of the small river Devon, in\\nClackmannanshire^ hut ivhose infant years were spent in Ayrshire,\\nHow pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon\\nWith green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair;\\nBut the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon\\nV r as once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.\\nMild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,\\nIn the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew\\nAnd gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,\\nf That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.\\nO spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,\\nWith chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn\\nAnd far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes\\nThe verdure and pride of the garden and lawn\\nLet Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lillies,\\nAnd Eng and triumphant display her proud rose\\nA fairer than either adorns the green valleys\\nWhere Devon, swtet Devon, meandering flows.\\nThe different journeys already mentioned did not satisfy the\\ncuriosity of Barns. About the beginning of September he again\\nset out from Edinburgh, on a more extended tour to the Highlands,\\nin company with Mr. Xicol, with whom he had contracted a par-\\nticular intimacy, which lasted during the remainder of his life.\\nMr. Nicol was of Dumfries-shire, of a descent equally humble with\\nour poet. Like him he rose by the strength of his talents, and fell\\nby the strength of his passions. He died in the summer of 1797.\\nHaving received the elements of a classical instruction at his parish\\nschool, Mr. Kicol made a very rapid and singular proficiency and\\nby early undertaking the office of an instructor himself, he\\nacquired the means of entering himself at the University\\nof Edinburgh, There he was first a student of theology, then", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 71\\na student of medicine, and was afterwards employed in the\\nassistance and instruction of the graduates in medicine, in those\\nparts of their exercises in which the Latin language is employed.\\nIn this situation he was the contemporary and rival of the cele-\\nbrated Dr. Brown, whom he resembled in the particulars of his\\nhistory, as well as in the leading features of his character. The\\noffice of assistant teacher in the High- School being vacant, it was,\\nas usual, filled up by competition and, in the face of some pre*\\njudices, and perhaps of some well founded objections, Mr. Nicol,\\nby superior learning, carried it from all the other candidates. This\\noffice he filled at the period of which we speak.\\nIt is to be lamented, that an acquaintance with the writers of\\nGreece and Rome does not always supply an orignal want of taste\\nand correctness in manners and conduct and where it fails of this\\neffect, it sometimes inflames the native pride of temper, which\\ntreats with disdain those delicacies in which it has not learned to\\nexcel. It was thus with the fellow-traveller of Burns. Formed\\nby nature in a model of great strength, neither his person nor his\\nmanners had any tincture of taste or elegance and his coarseness\\nwas not compensated by that romantic sensibility, and those tower-\\ning flights of imagination, which distinguished the conversation of\\nBurns, in the blaze of whose genius all the deficiencies of his man-\\nners were absorbed and disappeared.\\nMr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a post-chaise, which they en*\\ngaged for the journey, and passing through the heart of the High-\\nlands, stretched northwards, about ten miles beyond Inverness.\\nThere they bent their course eastward, across the island, and re-\\nturned by the shore of the German Sea to Edinburgh. In the\\ncourse of this tour, some particulars of which will be found in a\\nletter of our bard, No. 34, they visited a number of remarkable\\nscenes, and the imagination of Burns was constantly excited by the\\nwild and sublime scenery through which he passed. Of this, seve-\\nral proofs may be found in the poems formerly printed. f the\\nhistory of one of these poems, The humble Petition of Bruar Water,\\nand of the bard s visit to Athole House, some particulars will be\\nfound in Letters No. 33. and JSTo. 34 and by the favour of Mr.\\nWalker of Perth, then residing in the family of the Duke of\\nAthole, we are enabled to give the following additional account.\\nOn reaching Blair, he sent me notice of his arrival (as I had\\nbeen previously acquainted with him), and I hastened to meet him\\nat the inn. The Duke, to whom he brought a letter of intro-\\nduction, was from home; but the Duchess, being informed of his\\narrival, gave him an invitation to sup and sleep at Athole House.\\nHe accepted the invitation but, a3 the hour of supper was at\\nsome distance, begged I would in the interval be his guide through\\nthe grounds. It was already growing dark; yet the softened,\\nthough faint and uncertain, view of their beauties, which the\\nmoonlight afforded us, seemed exactly suited to the state of his\\nfeelings at the time. I had often, like others, experienced the\\npleasures which arises from the sublime or elegant landscape, but I\\nnever saw those feelings so intense as in Burns. When we reached\\na rustic hut on the river Tilt, where it is overhung by a woody\\nprecipice, from which there is a noble water-fall, he threw himself", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "72 LIFE OF\\non the heathy seat, and gave himself up to a tender, abstracted,\\nand voluptuous enthusiasm of imagination. I cannot help thinking\\nit might have been here that he conceived the idea of the follow-\\ning lines, which he afterwards introduced into his poem, on Bruar\\nWater, when only fancying such a combination of objects as were\\nnow present to the eye.\\nOr by the reaper s nightly beam,\\nMild, chequering through the trees\\nRave to Boy darkly-dashing stream\\nHoarse-swelling on the breeze.\\nIt was with much difficulty I prevailed on him to quit this\\nspot, and to be introduced in proper time to supper.\\nMy curiosity was great to see how he would conduct himself\\nin company so different from what he had been accustomed to.\\nHis manner was unembarrassed, plain, and firm. He appeared to\\nhave complete reliance on his own native good sense for directing\\nhis behaviour. He seemed at once to perceive and to appreciate\\nwhat was due to the company and to himself, and never to forget a\\nproper respect for the separate species of dignity belonging to each.\\nHe did not arrogate conversation, but, when led into it, he spoke\\nwith ease, propriety, and manliness. He tried to exert his abilities,\\nbecause he knew it was ability alone that gave him a title to be there.\\nThe Duke s line young family attracted much of his admiration;\\nhe drank their healths as honest men and bonnie lassies an idea which\\nwas much applauded by the company, and with which he has very\\nfelicitously closed his poem.\\nNext day I took a ride with him through some of the* most ro-\\nmantic parts of that neighbourhood, and was highly gratified by\\nhis conversation. As a specimen of his happiness of conception and\\nstrength of expression, I will mention a remark which he made on\\nhis fellow-traveller, who was walking at the time a few paces before\\nus. He was a man of a robust but clumsy person and while Burns\\nwa3 expressing to me the value he entertained for him, on account\\nof his vigorous talents, although they were clouded at times by\\ncoarseness of manners; in short, he added, his mind is like his\\nbody, he has a confounded strong in-knee d sort of a soul.\\nMuch attention was paid to Burns both before and after the\\nDuke s return, of which he was perfectly sensible, without being\\nvain and at his departure I recommended to him, as the most ap-\\npropriate return he could make, to write some descriptive verses\\non any of the scenes with which he had been so much delighted.\\nAfter leaving Blair, he, by the Duke s advice, visited the Falls of\\nBruar, aud in a few days I received a letter from Inverness, with\\nthe verses enclosed.\\nIt appears that the impression made by our poet on the noble\\nfamily of Athole was in a high degree favourable it is certain he\\nwas charmed with the reception he received from them, and he of-\\nten mentioned the two days he spent at A thole-house as among the\\nhappiest of his life. He was warmly invited to prolong his stay,\\nbut sacrificed his inclinations to his engagement with Mr. Nicol\\nwhich is the more to be regretted, as he would otherwise have been\\nintroduced to Mr. Dundas (then daily expected on a visit to the\\nDuke), a circumstance that might have had a favourable influence", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "\u00c2\u00a3OBfll*r BURNS. 73\\non Burns s future fortunes. At Athole house, he met for the first\\ntime, Mr. Graham of Fintry, to whom he was afterwards indebted\\nfor his office in the Excise.\\nThe letters and poems which he addressed to Mr. Graham, bear\\ntestimony of his sensibility, and justify the supposition, that he\\nwould not have been deficient in gratitude had he been elevated to\\na situation better suited to his disposition and to his talents.\\nA few days after leaving Blair Athole, our poet and his fellow-\\ntraveller arrived at Fochabers. In the course of the preceding\\nwinter Burns had been introduced to the Duchess of Gordon at\\nEdinburgh, and presuming on his acquaintance, he proceded to\\nGordon Castle, leaving Mr. Nichol at the inn in the village. At\\nthe castle our poet was received with the utmost hospitality and\\nkindness, and the family being about to sit down to dinner, he was\\ninvited to take his place at the table, as a matter of course. This\\ninvitation he accepted, and after drinking a few glasses of wine, he\\nrose up and proposed to withdraw. On being pressed to stay, he\\nmentioned, for the first time, his engagement with his fellow-travel-\\nler and his noble host offering to send a servant to conduct Mr.\\nNicol to the castle, Burns insisted on undertaking that office him-\\nself. He was however, accompanied by a gentleman, a particular\\nacquaintance of the Duke, by whom the invitation was delivered in\\nall the forms of politeness. The invitation came too late the pride\\nof Nicol was inflamed to a high degree of passion, by the neglect\\nwhich he had already suffered. He had ordered the horses to be put\\nto the carriage, being determined to proceed on his journey alone:\\nand they found him parading the streets of Fochabers, before the door\\nof the inn, venting his anger on the postilliou, for the slownes with\\nwhich he obeyed his commands. As no explanation nor entreaty\\ncould change the purpose of his fellow-traveller, our poet was re-\\nduced to the necessity of separating from him entirely, or of in-\\nstantly proceeding with him on their journey. He chose the last\\nof these alternatives and seating himself beside Nicol in the post-\\nchaise, with mortification and regret, he turned his back on Gordon\\nCastle, where he had promised himself some happy days. Sensible,\\nhowever, of the great kindness of the noble family, he made the\\nbest return in his power, by the following poem.\\nStreams that glide in orient plains\\nNever bound by winter chains\\nGlowing here on golden sands,\\nThere commix d with foulest stains\\nFrom tyranny s empurpled bands;\\nThese, their richly gleaming waves,\\nI leave to tyrants and their slaves\\nGive me the stream that sweetly laves\\nThe banks by Castle-Gordon.\\nSpicy forests ever gay,\\nShading forth the burning ray\\nHapless wretches sold to toil\\nOr the ruthless native s way\\nBent on slaughter, blood and spoil\\nWoods that ever verdant wave,\\nI leave the tyrant and the slave,\\nGive me the groves that lofty brave\\nThe storms, by Castle-Gordon.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "74 LIFS o\u00c2\u00a3\\nWidly here without control,\\nNature reigns and rules the whole\\nIn that sober pensive mood,\\nDearest to the feeling soul,\\nShe plants the forest, pours the flood,\\nLife s poor day I ll musing rave,\\nAnd find at night a sheltering cave,\\nWhere waters flow and wild woods wave,\\nBy bonnie Castle- Gordon.\\nBurns remained in Edinburgh during the greater part of the\\nwinter, 1787-8, and again entered into the society and dissipation\\nof that metropolis. It appears that on the 31st day of December,\\nhe attended a meeting to celebrate the birth* day of the lineal de-\\nscendant of the Scottish race of kings, the late unfortunate Prince\\nCharles Edward. Whatever might have been the wish or purpose\\nof the original institutors of this annual meeting, there is no reason\\nto suppose that the gentlemen of which it was at this time com-\\nposed, were not perfectly loyal to the king and the throne. It is\\nnot to be conceived that they entertained any hope of, any wish for,\\nthe restoration of the House of Stuart but, over their sparkling\\nwine, they indulged the generous feelings which the recollection of\\nfallen greatness is calculated to inspire and commemorated the\\nheroic valour which strove to sustain it in vain valour worthy of\\na nobler cause and a happier fortune. On this occasion our bard\\ntook upon himself the office of poet-laureate, and produced an ode,\\nwhich, though deficient in the complicated rhythm and polished\\nversification that such composition require, might, on a fair com-\\npetition, where energy of feeling and of expression were alone in\\nquestion, have won the butt of Malmsey from the real laureate of\\nthat day.\\nThe following extracts may serve as a specimen\\nFalse flatterer, Hope, away\\nNor think to lure us as in days of yore\\nWe solemnize this sorrowing natal day,\\nTo prove our loyal truth we can no more\\nAnd, owning Heaven s mysterious sway\\nSubmissive, low, adore.\\nYe honour d mighty dead\\nWho nobly perish d in the glorious cause,\\nYour king, your country and her laws\\nFrom great Dundee, who smiling victory led,\\nAnd fell a martyr in her arms,\\n(What breasts of northern ice but warms\\nTo bold Balmerino s undying name,\\nWhose soul, of fire, lighted at Heaven s high flame,\\nDeserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim.\\nNot unrevenged your fate shall be\\nIt only lags the fatal hour\\nYour blood shall with incessant cry\\nAwake at last th unsparing power.\\nAs from the cliff, with thundering course,\\nThe snowy ruin smokes along,\\nWith doubling speed and gathering force,\\nTill the deep it crushing whelms the cottage in the. vale\\nSo vengeance", "height": "4508", "width": "2564", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURKS. 15\\nIn relating the incidents of our poet s life in Edinburgh, we\\nought to have mentioned the sentiments of respect snd sympathy\\nwith which he traced out the grave of his predecessor Ferguson,\\nover whose ashes, in the Cannongate church-yard, he obtained\\nleave to erect a monument, which will be viewed by reflecting\\nminds with no common interest, and which will awake, in the\\nbosom of kindred genius, many a high emotion. Neither should\\nwe pass over the continued friendship he experienced from a\\npoet then living, the amiable and accomplished Blacklock. To\\nnis encouraging advice it was owing (as has already appeared) that\\nBurns instead of emigrating to the West Indies, repaired to Edin-\\nburgh. He received him there with all the ardour of affectionate\\nadmiration he blazoned his fame he lavished upon him all the kind-\\nness of a generous heart into which nothing selfish or envious ever\\nfound admittance. Among the friends whom he introduced to\\nBurns wa3 Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, to whom our poet paid a\\nvisit in the autumn of 1787, at his delightful retirement in the\\nneighbourhood of Stirling, and on the banks of the Teith. Of this\\nwe have the following particulars\\nI have been in the company of many men of genius, says Mr.\\nRamsay, some of them poets, but never witnessed such flashes of\\nintellectual brightness as from him, the impulse of the moment,\\nsparks of celestial fire I never was more delighted, therefore,\\nthan with his company for two days, tete-a-tete. In a mixed company\\nI should have made little of him for in the gamester s phrase, he\\ndid not always know when to play off and when to play on.\\nI not only proposed to him the writing of a play similar to the\\nGentle Shepherd, qualem, decet esse sororem, but Scottish georgics, a\\nsubject which Thomson has by no means exhausted in his Seasons.\\nWhat beautiful landscapes of rural life and manners might not\\nhave been expected from a pencil so faithful and so forcible as his,\\nwhich could have exhibited scenes as familiar and interesting as\\nthose in the Gentle Shepherd, which every one who knows our swains\\nin the unadulterated state, instantly recognizes as true to nature.\\nBut to have executed either of these plans, steadiness and abstrac-\\ntion from company were wanting, not talents. When I asked him\\nwhether the Edinburgh Literati had mended his poems by their\\ncriticisms, Sir/ said he, these gentlemen remind me of some\\nspinsters in my country, who spin their thread so fine that it is\\nneither fit for weft nor woof. He said he had not changed a word\\nexcept one, to please Dr. Blair.\\nHaving settled with his publisher, Mr. Creech, in February,\\n1788, Burns found himself master of nearly five hundred pounds,\\nafter discharging all his expenses. Two hundred pound she imme-\\ndiately advanced to his brother Gilbert, who had taken upon him-\\nself the support of their aged mother, and was struggling with\\nmany difficulties in the farm of Mossgiel. With the remainder of\\nthis sum, and some further eventual profits from his poems, he de-\\ntermined on settling himself for life in the occupation of agricul-\\nExtract of a letter from Mr. Ramsay to the Editor This incorrigibility of\\nBurns extended, however, only to his poems printed before he arrived in Edin-\\nburgh for, in regard to his unpublished poems, he was amenable to criticism, of\\nwhich many proofs may b\u00c2\u00ab given, See some remarks on this subject, in Ap-\\npendix*", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "76 \u00c2\u00a3i:fe of\\nture and took from Mr. Miller of Dalswinton, the farm of Ellisland,\\non the blanks of the river Nith, six miles above Dumfries, on which\\nhe entered at Whitsunday, 1788. Having been previously recom-\\nmended to the Board of Excise, his name had been put on the list\\nof candidates for the humble office of a gauger or exciseman and\\nhe immediately applied to acquiring the information necessary for\\nfilling that office, when the honourable Board might judge it pro-\\nper to employ him.\\nHe expected to be called into service in the district in which his\\nfarm was situated, and vainly hoped to unite with success the la-\\nbours of the farmer with the duties of the exciseman.\\nWhen Burns had in this manner arranged his plans for futurity,\\nhis generous heart turned to the object of his most ardent attach-\\nment, and listening to no considerations but those of honour and\\naffection, he joined with her in a public declaration of marriage,\\nthus legalizing their union, and rendering it permanent for life.\\nBefore Burns was known in Edinburgh, a specimen of his poetry\\nhad recommended him to Mr. Miller of Dalswinton. Understand-\\ning that he intended to resume the life of a farmer, Mr. Miller had\\ninvited him in the spring of 1787, to view his estate in Mthsdale,\\noffering him at the same time the choice of any of his farms out of\\nlease, at such a rent as Burns and his friends might judge proper.\\nIt was not in the nature of Burns to take an undue advantage of\\nMr. Miller. He proceeded in his business, however, with more\\nthan usual deliberation. Having made choice of the farm of Ellis-\\nland, he employed two of his friends skilled in the value of land, to\\nexamine it, and, with their approbation, offered a rent to Mr.\\nMiller, which was immediately accepted. It was not convenient\\nfor Mrs. Burns to remove immediately from Ayrshire, and our poet\\ntherefore took up his residence alone at Ellisland, to prepare for\\nthe reception of his wife and children, who joined him towards the\\nend of the year.\\nThe situation in which Burns now found himself, was calculated\\nto awaken reflection. The different steps he had of late taken were\\nin their nature highly important, and might be said to have, in some\\nmeasure, fixed his destiny. He had become a husband and a father\\nhe had engaged in the management of a considerable farm, a diffi-\\ncult and laborious undertaking in his success the happiness of his\\nfamily were involved it was time, therefore, to abandon the gaiety\\nand dissipation of which he had been too much enamoured to\\nponder seriously on the past, and to form virtuous resolutions\\nrespecting the future. That such was actually the state of his\\nmind the following extract from his common- place book may bear\\nwitness\\nEllisland, Sunday, 14th June, 1788.\\nThis is now the third day that I have been in this country.\\nLord, what is man V What a bustling little bundle of passions,\\nappetites, ideas and fancies and what a capricious kind of exist-\\nence he has here There is indeed an elsewhere, where as\\nThompson says, virtue sole survives.\\nTell us, ye dead\\nWill none of you in pity disclose the secret,", "height": "4508", "width": "2592", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 77\\nWhat tis you are, and we must shortly be 1\\nA little time\\nWill make us wise as you are, and as close.\\nI am such a coward in life, so tired of the service, that I would\\nalmost at any time, with Milton s Adam, gladly lay me in my\\nmother s lap, and be at peace.\\nBut a wife and children bind me to struggle with the stream,\\ntill some sudden squall shall overset the silly vessel, or in the listless\\nreturn of years, its own craziness reduce it to a wreck. Farewell\\nnow to those giddy follies, those varnished vices, which, though\\nhalf-sanctified by the bewitching levity of wit and humour, are at\\nbest but thriftless idling with the precious current of existence\\nnay, often poisoning the whole, that, like the plains of Jerico, the\\nwater is naught and the ground barren, and nothing short of a\\nsupernaturally-gifted Elisha can ever after heal the evils.\\nWedlock, the circumstance that buckles me hardest to care, if\\nvirtue and religion were to be any thing with me but names, was\\nwhat in a few seasons I must have resolved on in my present situ-\\nation it was absolutely necessary. Humanity, generosity, honest\\npride of character, justice to my own happiness for after life, so far\\nas it could depend (which it surely will a great deal) on internal\\npeace all these joined their warmest suffrages, their most power-\\nful solicitations, with a rooted attachment, to urge the step I have\\ntaken. Nor have I any reason on her part to repent it. I can\\nfancy how, but have never seen where, I could have made a better\\nchoice. Come, then, let me act up to my favourite motto, that\\nglorious passage in Young\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n6 On reason build resolve,\\nThat column of true majesty in man\\nUnder the impulse of these reflectings, Burns immediately en-\\ngaged in rebuilding the dwelling-house on his farm, which, in the\\nstate he found it, was inadequate to the accommodation of his\\nfamily. On this occasion, he himself resumed at times the occupa-\\ntion of a labourer, and found neither his strength nor his skill\\nimpaired. Pleased with surveying the grounds he was about to\\ncultivate, and with the rearing of a building that should give shel-\\nter to his wife and children, and as he fondly hoped, to his own\\ngrey hairs, sentiments of independence buoyed up his mind, pic-\\ntures of domestic content and peace rose on his imagination and a\\nfew days passed away, as he himself informs us, the most tranquil,\\nif not the happiest, which he had ever experienced.*\\nAnimated sentiments of any kind, almost always gave rise in our poet to\\nsome production of his music. His sentiments on this occasion were in part ex-\\npressed by the following vigorous and characteristic, though not very delicate\\nverses.\\nI hae a wife o my ain,\\nI ll partake wi nae-body\\nI ll tak cuckold frae nane,\\nI ll gie cuckold to nae-body.\\nI hae a penny to spend,\\nThere\u00e2\u0080\u0094 thanks to nae-body\\nI hae naething to lend,\\nI ll borrow frae nae-body.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "7S LIFE OF\\nIt is to be lamented that at this critical period of his life, our\\npoet was without the society ot his wife and children. A great\\nchange had taken place in his situation his old habits were broken\\nand the new circumstances in which he was placed were calculated\\nto give a new direction to his thoughts and conduct. But his ap-\\nplication to the cares and labours of his farm was interrupted by\\nseveral visits to his family in Ayrshire and as the distance was too\\ngreat for a single day s journey, he generally spent a night at an\\ninn on the road. On such occasions he sometimes fell into com-\\npany, and forgot the resolutions he had formed. In a little while\\ntemptation assailed him near home.\\nHis fame naturally drew upon him the attention of his neigh-\\nbours, and he soon formed a general acquaintance in the district in\\nwhioh he lived. The public voice had now pronounced on the\\nsubject of his talents the reception he had met with in Edinburgh\\nhad given him the currency which fashion bestows he had sur-\\nmounted the prejudices arising from his humble birth, and he was\\nreceived at the table of the gentlemen of Nithsdale with welcome,\\nwith kindness, and even with respect. Their social parties too often\\nseduced him from his rustic labours and his rustic fare, overthrew\\nthe unsteady fabric of his resolutions, and inflamed those propen-\\nsities which temperance might have weakened, and prudence ulti-\\nmately suppressed. It was not long, therefore, before Burns began\\nto view his farm with dislike and despondence, if not with disgust.\\nUnfortunately he had for several years looked to an office in the\\nExcise as a certain means of livelihood, should his other expectations\\nfail. As has already been mentioned, he had been recommended to\\nthe Board of Excise, and had received the instructions necessary for\\nsuch a situation. He now applied to be employed; and by the in-\\nterest of Mr. Graham of Fintra, was appointed to be exciseman, or,\\nas it is vulgarly called gauger, of the district in which he lived.\\nHis farm was, after this, in a great measure abandoned to servants,\\nwhile he betook himself to the duties of his new appointment.\\nHe might indeed still be seen in the spring, directing his plough,\\na labour in which he excelled; or with a white sheet containing\\nhis seed-corn, slung across his shoulders, striding with measured\\nsteps along his turned-up furrows, and scattering the grain in the\\nearth, but his farm no longer occupied the principal part of his care\\nor his thoughts. It was not at Ellisland that he was now in general\\nto be found. Mounted on horseback, this high-minded poet was\\npursuing the defaulters of the revenue, among the hills and vales of\\nKUhsdale, his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature,\\nand muttering his wayward fancies as he moved along.\\nI had an adventure with him in the year 1790, says Mr. Ram-\\nBay of Ochtertyre, in a letter to the editor, when passing through\\nDumfries-shire, on a tour to the south, with Dr. Steuart of Luss.\\nI am nae-body s lord,\\nI ll be slave to nae-body;\\nI hae a guid braid sword,\\nI ll tak dunts frae nae-body.\\nI ll be merry and free,\\nI ll be sad for nae-body\\nIf nae-body care for me,\\nI ll care for nae-body.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "SOBER* fitTRNS, 79\\nSeeing him pass quickly near Closeburn, I said to my companion\\nthat is Burns. On coming to the inn, the hostler told us he would\\nbe back in a few hours to grant permits that where he met with\\nany thing seizable he was no better than any other gauger, in every\\nthing else, he was perfectly a gentleman. After leaving a note to\\nbe delivered to him on his return, I proceeded to his house, being\\ncurious to see his Jean, c. I was much pleased with his uxor Sa-\\nUna qualis, and the poet s modest mansion, so unlike the habitation\\nof ordinary rustics. In the evening he suddenly bounced in upon\\nus, and said as he entered, I come, to use the words of Shakspeare,\\nstewed in haste. In fact, he had ridden incredibly fast after receiv-\\ning my note. We fell into conversation directly, and soon got into\\nthe mare magnum of poetry. He told me that he had now gotten a\\nstory for a drama, which he was to call Rob Macquecharfs Elshon,\\nfrom a popular story of Robert Bruce being defeated on the water\\nof Caern, when the heel of his boot having loosened in his flight, he\\napplied to Robert Macquechan to fix it who, to make sure, ran his\\nawl nine inches up the king s heel. We were now going on at a\\ngreat rate, when Mr. S popped in his head which put a stop\\nto our discourse, which had become very interesting. Yet in a\\nlittle while it was resumed, and such was the force and versatility\\nof the bard s genius, that he made the tears run down Mr. S s\\ncheeks, albeit unused to the poetic strain. From that\\ntime we met no more, and I was grieved at the reports of him after-\\nwards. Poor Burns we shall hardly ever see his like again. He\\nwas, in truth, a sort of comet in literature, irregular in its motions,\\nwhich did not do good proportioned to the blaze of light it dis-\\nplayed.\\nIn the summer of 1791, two English gentlemen who had before\\nmet with him in Edinburgh, made a visit to him at Ellisland. On\\ncalling at the house, they were imformed that he had walked out on\\nthe banks of the river and dismounting from their horses, they pro-\\nceeded in search of him. On a rock that projected into the stream,\\nthey saw a man employed in angling, of a singular appearance. He\\nhad a cap made of a fox s skin on his head, a loose great- coat fixed\\nround him by a belt, from which depended an enormous highland\\nbroad-sword. It was Burns. He received them with cordiality, and\\nasked them to share his humble dinner an invitation which they ac-\\ncepted. On the table they found boiled beef, with vegetables and\\nbroth, after the manner of Scotland, of which they partook heartily.\\nAfter dinner, the bard told them ingenuously that he had no wine\\nto offer them, nothing better than Highland whiskey, a bottle \u00c2\u00a9f\\nwhich Mrs. Burns set on the board. He produced at the same time\\nhis punch-bowl made of Inverary marble, and mixing the spirits\\nwith water and sugar, filled their glasses, and invited them to drink.\\nThe travellers were in haste, and besides, the flavour of the whiskey\\nto their so uthron palates was scarcely tolerable but the generous\\npoet offered them his best, and his ardent hospitality they found it\\nimpossible to resist. Burns was in his happiest mood, and the\\ncharms of his conversation were altogether fascinating. He ranged\\nover a great variety of topics, illuminating whatever he touched.\\nHe related the tales of his infancy and of his youth; he recited some\\nof the gayest and some of the tenderest of his poems in the wildest", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "80 LIFE OF\\nof his strains of mirth, he threw in touches of melancholy, and\\nspread around him the electric emotions of his powerful mind. The\\nhighland whiskey improved in its flavour; the marble bowl was\\nagain and again emptied and replenished the guests of our poet\\nforgot the flight of time, and the dictates of prudence at the hour\\nof midmight they lost their way in returning to Dumfries, and could\\nscarcely distinguish it when assisted by the morning s dawn.\\nBesides his duties in the Excise and his social pleasures, other cir-\\ncumstances interfered with the attention of Burns to his farm. He\\nengaged in the formation of a society for purchasing and circulating\\nbooks among the farmers of his neighbourhood, of which he under-\\ntook the management and he occupied himself occasionally in\\ncomposing songs for the musical work of Mr. Johnson, then in the\\ncourse of publication. These engagements, useful and honourable\\nin themselves, contributed, no doubt, to the abstraction of his thoughts\\nfrom the business of agriculture.\\nThe consequences may be easily imagined. Notwithstanding the\\nuniform prudence and good management of Mrs Burns, and though\\nhis rent was moderate and reasonable, our poet found it convenient\\nif not necessary, to resign his farm to Mr. Miller after having oc-\\ncupied it three years and a half. His office in the Excise had origin-\\nally produced about fifty pounds per annum. Having acquitted\\nhimself to the satisfaction of the Board, he had been appointed to\\na new district, the emoluments of which rose to about seventy\\npounds per annum. Hoping to support himself and his family on\\nthis humble income till promotion should reach him, he disposed of\\nhis stock and of his crop on Ellisland by public auction, and removed\\nto a small house which he had taken in Dumfries, about the end of\\nthe year 1791.\\nHitherto Burns, though addicted, to excess, in social parties, had\\nabstained from the habitual use of strong liquors, and his consti-\\ntution had not suffered any permanent injury from the irregulari-\\nties of his conduct. In Dumfries, temptations to the sin that so\\neasily beset him, continually presented themselves and his irregu-\\nlarities grew by degrees, into habits. These temptations unhappily\\noccurred during his engagements in the business of his office, as\\nwell as during his hours of relaxation and though he clearly fore-\\nsaw the consequences of yielding to them, his appetites and sensa-\\ntions, which could not pervert the dictates of his judgment, finaDy\\ntriumphed over all the powers of his will. Yet this victory was\\nnot obtained without many obstinate struggles, and at times, tem-\\nEerance and virtue seemed to have obtained the mastery. Besides\\nis engagements in the Excise, and the society into which they\\nled, many circumstances contributed to the melancholy fate of\\nBurns. His great celebrity made him an object of interest and\\ncuriosity to strangers, and few persons of cultivated minds passed\\nthrough Dumfries without attempting to see our poet, and to enjoy\\nthe pleasure of his conversation. As he could not receive them\\nunder his own humble roof, these interviews passed at the inns of\\nthe town, and often terminated in those excesses which Burns\\nsometimes provoked, and was seldom able to resist. And among\\nthe inhabitants of Dunfries and its vicinity, there were never\\nwanting persons to sjiase his social pleasures to l\u00c2\u00a7a$ or accompany", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "KOBERT BURNS. 81\\nhim to the tavern to partake in the wildest sallies of his wit to\\nwitness the strength and degradation of his genius.\\nStill, however, he cultivated the society of persons of taste and\\nrespectability, and in their company would impose on himself tha\\nrestraints of temperance and decorum. Nor was his muse dormant.\\nIn the four years which he lived in Dumfries, he produced many of\\nhis beautiful lyrics, though it does not appear that he attempted\\nany poem of considerable length. During this time, he made seve-\\nral excursions into the neighbouring country, of one of which,\\nthrough Galloway, an account is preserved in a letter of Mr. Slyme,\\nwritten soon after which, as it gives an animated picture of him\\nby a correct and masterly hand, we shall present to the reader.\\nI got Burns a grey Highland shelty to ride on. We dined the\\nfirst day, 27th July, 1793, at Glendenwynes of Parton a beautiful\\nsituation on the banks of the Dee. In the evening we walked out,\\nand ascended a gentle eminence, from which we had as fine a view\\nof Alpine scenery as can well be imagined. A delightful soft even-\\ning showed all its wilder as well as its grander graces. Immediately\\nopposite, and within a mile of us we saw Airds, a charming roman-\\ntic place, where dwelt Low, the author of Mary weep no more for\\nme. This was classical ground for Burns. He viewed the highest\\nhill which rises o er the source of Dee and would have staid till\\nthe passing spirit had appeared, had we not resolved to reach\\nKenmore that night. We arrived as Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were\\nsitting down to supper.\\nHere is a genuine baron s seat. The castle, an old building,\\nstands on a large natural moat. In front, the river Ken winds for\\nseveral miles through the most fertile and beautiful holm, till it\\nexpands into a lake twelve miles long, the banks of which, on the\\nsouth, present a fine and soft landscape of green knolls, natural\\nwoods, and here and there a grey rock. On the north, the aspect is\\ngreat, wild, and, I may say, tremendous. In short, I can scarcely\\nconceive a scene more terribly romantic than the Castle of Ken-\\nmore. Burns thinks so highly of it, that he meditates a description\\nof it in poetry. Indeed, I believe he has begun the work. We\\nspent three days with Mr. Gordon, whose polished hospitality is of\\nan original and endearing kind. Mrs. Gordon s lap-dog, JScho, was\\ndead. She would have an epitath for him. Several had been\\nmade. Burns was asked for one. This was setting Hercules to his\\ndistaff. He disliked the subject but, to please the lady, he would\\ntry. Here is what he produced\\nIn wood and wild, ye warbling throng,\\nYour heavy loss deplore\\nNow half extinct your powers of song,\\nSweet Echo is no more.\\nYe jarring, screeching things around,\\nScream your discordant joys\\nNow half your din of tuneless sound\\nWith Echo silent lies.\\nWe left Kenmore, and went to Gatehouse. I took him the\\nmoor- road, where savage and desolate regions extended wide around.\\nThe sky was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil it be-\\ncame lowering and dark. The hollow winds sighed, the lightnings\\nd 5", "height": "4500", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "82 LIFE OF\\ngleamed, the thunder rolled. The poet enjoyed the awful scene-\\nhe spoke not a word, but seemed rapt in meditation. In a little\\nwhile the rain began to fall; it poured in floods upon us. For\\nthree hours did the wild elements rumble their belly full upon\\nour defenceless heads. Oh, oh twas foul. We got utterly wet\\nand to revenge ourselves, Burns insisted at Gatehouse on our getting\\nutterly drunk.\\nu From Gatehouse, we went next day to Kirkcudbright, through\\na fine country. But here I must tell you that Burns had got a pair\\nof jemmy boots for the journey, which had been thoroughly wet,\\nand which had been dried in such a manner that it was not possible\\nto get them on again. The brawney poet tried force, and tore them\\nto shreds. A whifling vexation of this sort is more trying to the\\ntemper than a serious calamity. We were going to Saint Mary s\\nIsle, the seat of the Earl of Selkirk, and the forlorn Burns was dis-\\ncomfited at the thought of his ruined boots. A sick stomach and\\na heart ache, lent their aid, and the man of verse was quite accable.\\nI attempted to reason with him. Mercy on us, how he did fume\\nand rage Nothing could reinstate him in temper. I tried various\\nexpedients, and at last hit on one that succeeded. I showed him\\nthe house of across the bay of Wigton. Against\\nwith whom he was offended, he expectorated his spleen, and regain-\\ned a most agreeable temper. He was in a most epigrammatic hu-\\nmour indeed He afterwards fell on humbler game. There is one\\nwhom he does not love. He had a passing blow at\\nhim.\\nWhen deceased, to the devil went down,\\nTwas nothing wouid serve him but Satan s own crown\\nThy fool s head, quoth Satan, that crown you sball wear never,\\nI grant thou rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.\\nu Well, I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright along with our poet,\\nwithout boots. I carried the torn ruins across my saddle in spite of\\nhis fulminations, and in contempt of appearances and what is more,\\nLord Selkirk carried them in his coach to Dumfries. He insisted\\nthey were worth mending.\\nu We reached Kirkcudbright about one o clock. I had promised\\nthat we should dine with one of the first men in our country, J.\\nDalzell. But Burns was in a wild and obstreperous humour, and\\nswore he would not dine where he should be under the smallest re-\\nstraint. We prevailed, therefore, on Mr. Dalzell to dine with us in\\nthe inn, and had a very agreeable party. In the evening we set out\\nfor St. Mary s Isle. Robert had not absolutely regained the milki-\\nness of good temper, and it occurred once or twice to him, as he\\nrode along, that St. Mary s Isle was the seat of a Lord yet that\\nLord was not an aristocrate, at least in his sense of the word. We\\narrived about eight o clock, as the family were at tea and coffee. St.\\nMary s Isle is one of the most delightful places that can, in my\\nopinion, be formed by the assemblage of every soft but not tame\\nobject which constitutes natural and cultivated beauty. But not to\\ndwell on its external graces, let me tell you that we found all the\\nladies of the family (as beautiful,) at home, and some strangers\\nand among others, who but Urbani The Italian sung us manj\\nScottish songs, accompanied with instrumental music. The twe", "height": "4508", "width": "2592", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 83\\nyoung ladies of Selkirk sung also. We had the song of Lord Gre-\\ngory, which I asked for, to have an opportunity of calling on Burns\\nto recite his ballad to that tune. He did recite it and such was\\nthe effect, that a dead silence ensued. It was such a silence as a\\nmind of feeling naturally preserves when it is touched with that\\nenthusiasm which banishes every other thought but the contempla-\\ntion and indulgence of the sympathy produced. Burns Lord Gre-\\ngory is, in my opinion, a most beautiful and affecting ballad. The\\nfastidious critic may perhaps say, some of the sentiments and ima-\\ngery are of too elevated a kind for such a style of composition for\\ninstance, Thou bolt of Heaven that passest by and, Ye\\nmustering thunder, c. but this is a cold-blooded objection, which\\nwill be said rather than /eft.\\nWe enjoyed a most happy evening at Lord Selkirk s, We had,\\nin every sense of the word, a feast, in which our minds and our\\nsenses were equally gratiied. The poet was delighted with his\\ncompany, and acquitted himself to admiration. The lion that had\\nraged so violently in the morning, was now as mild and gentle as a\\nlamb. Next day we returned to Dumfries, and so ends our pere-\\ngrination. I told you, that in the midst of the storm, on the wilds\\nof Kenmore, Burns was wrapt in meditation. What do you think\\nhe was about? He was charging the English army, along with\\nBruce, at Bannockburn. He was engaged in the same manner on\\nour ride home from St. Mary s Isle, and I did not disturb him.\\nNext day he produced me the following address of Bruce to his\\ntroops, and gave me a copy for Dalzell.\\nScots wha ha e wi Wallace bled, c.\\nBurns had entertained hopes of promotion in the Excise but\\ncircumstances occurred which retarded their fulfilment, and which\\nin his own mind, destroyed all expectation of their ever being ful-\\nfilled. The extraordinary events which ushered in the revolution\\nof France, interested the feelings, and excited the hopes of men in\\nevery corner of Europe. Prejudice and tyranny seemed about to\\ndisappear from among men, and the day- star of reason to rise upon\\na benighted world. In the dawn of this beautiful morning, the\\ngenius of French freedom appeared on our southern horizon with\\nthe countenance of an angel, but speedily assumed the features of\\na demon, and vanished in a shower of blood.\\nThough previously a Jacobite and a cavalier, Burns had shared in\\nthe original hopes entertained of this astonishing revolution, by ar-\\ndent and benevolent minds. The novelty and the hazard of the at-\\ntempt meditated by the First, or Constituent Assembly, served ra-\\nther, it is probable, to recommend it to his daring temper and the\\nunfettered scope proposed to be given to every kind of talents, was\\ndoubtless gratifying to the feelings of conscious but indignant\\ngenius. Burns foresaw not the mightv ruin that was to be the im-\\nmediate consequence of an enterprise, which, on its commencement,\\npromised so much happiness to the human race. And even after\\nthe career of guilt and of blood commenced, he could not immedi-\\nately, it may be presumed, withdraw his partial gaze from a peo-\\nple who had so lately breathed the sentiments of universal peace\\n$nd benignity, or obliterate in his bosom the pictures of hope and", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "84 LIFE OF\\nof happiness to which those sentiments had given birth. Under\\nthese impressions, he did not always conduct himself with the cir-\\ncumspection and prudence which his dependent situation seemed to\\ndemand. He engaged indeed in no popular associations, so common\\nat the time of which we speak but in company he did not conceal\\nhis opinions of public measures, or of the reforms required in the\\npractice of our government; and sometimes, in his social and un-\\nguarded moments, he uttered them with a wild and unjustifiable ve-\\nhemence. Information of this was given to the Board of Excise,\\nwith the exaggerations so general in such cases. A superior offieer\\nin that department was authorized to inquire into his conduct.\\nBurns defended himself in a letter addressed to one of the board,\\nwritten with great independence of spirit, and with more than his\\naccustomed eloquence. The officer appointed to inquire into his\\nconduct gave a favourable report. His steady friend, Mr. Graham\\nof Eintra, interposed his good offices in his behalf; and the impru-\\ndent gauger was suffered to retain his situation, but given to under-\\nstanp that his promotion was deferred, and must depend on his fu-\\nture behaviour.\\nThis circumstance made a deep impression on the mind of Burns.\\nFame exaggerated his misconduct, and represented him as actually\\ndismissed from his office and this report induced a gentleman of\\nmuch respectability to propose a subscription in his favour. The\\noffer was refused by our poet in a letter of great elevation of senti-\\nment, in which he gives an account of the whole of this transaction\\nand defends himself from imputation of disloyal sentiments on the\\none hand, and on the other, from the charge of having made sub-\\nmissions for the sake of his office, unworthy of his character.\\nThe partiality of my countrymen, he observes, has brought\\nme forward as a man of genius, and has given me a character to\\nsupport. In the poet I have avowed manly and independent sen-\\ntiments, which I hope have been found in the man. Reasons of no\\nless weight than the support of a wife and children, have pointed\\nout my present occupation as the only eligible line of life within\\nmy reach. Still my honest fame is my dearest concern, and a thou-\\nsand times have 1 trembled at the idea of the degrading epithets\\nthat malice or misrepresentation may affix to my name. Often in\\nblasting anticipation have I listened to some future hackney scrib-\\nbler, with the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exultingly assert-\\ning that Burns notwithstanding the fanfaronade of independence\\nto be found in his works, and after having been held up to public\\nview, and to public estimation, as a man of some genius, yet, quite\\ndestitute of resources within himself to support his borrowed dig-\\nnity, dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk out the rest of\\nhis insignificant existence in the meanest of pursuits, and among\\nthe lowest of mankind.\\nIn your illustrious hands, sir, permit me to lodge my strong\\ndisavowal and defiance of such slanderous falsehoods. Burns was a\\npoor man from his birth, and an exciseman by necessity but I\\nwill say it the sterling of his honest worth, poverty could not de-\\nbase, and his independent British spirit, oppression might bend,\\nbut could not subdue.\\nIt was one of the last acts of his life to copy this letter into his", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "KOBEBX 3URNS. 85\\nbook of manuscripts, accompanied by some additional remarks on\\nthe same subject. It is not surprising, that at a season of universal\\nalarm for the safety of the constitution, the indiscreet expressions\\nof a man so powerful as Burns, should have attracted notice. The\\ntimes certainly required extraordinary vigilance in those intrusted\\nwith the administration of the government, and to insure the safety\\nof the constitution was doubtless their first duty. Yet generous\\nminds will lament that their measures of precaution should have\\nrobbed the imagination of our poet of the last prop on which his\\nhopes of independence rested, and by embittering his peace, have\\naggravated those excesses which were soon to conduct him to an\\nuntimely grave.\\nThough the vehemence of Burns s temper, increased as it often\\nwas by stimulating liquors, might lead him into many improper\\nand unguarded expressions, there seems no reason to doubt of his\\nattachment to our mixed form of government. In his common-\\nplace book, where he could have no temptation to disguise, are the\\nfollowing sentiments. AYhatever might be my sentiments of re-\\npublics, ancient or modern, as to Britain, I ever abjured the idea.\\nA constitution which, in its original principles, experience has\\nproved to be every way fitted for our happiness, it would be in-\\nsanity to abandon for an untried visionary theory. In conformity\\nto these sentiments, when the pressing nature of public affairs\\ncalled in 1795 for a general arming of the people, Burns appeared\\nin the ranks of the Dumfries volunteers, and employed his poetical\\ntalents in stimulating their patriotism and at this season of alarm,\\nhe brought forward the following hymn, worthy of the Grecian\\nmuse, when Greece was most conspicuous for genius and valour.\\nScene A Field of Battle Time of the day, Evening the wounded\\nand dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the follezv*\\ning Song.\\nFarewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,\\nNow gay with the bright setting sun\\nFarewell loves and friendships, ye,, dear tender ties,\\nOur race of existence is run\\nThou grim king of terrors, thou life s gloomy foe,\\nGo, frighten the coward and slaves\\nGo, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant but know,\\nNo terrors hast thou to the brave\\nThou strik st the dull peassnt, he sinks in the dark,\\nNor saves e en the wreck of a name\\nThou strik st the young hero\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a glorious mark\\nHe falls in the blaze of his fame\\nIn the field of proud honour our swords in our hands,\\nOur king and our country to save\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhile victory shines on life s last ebbing sands\\nO who would not rest with the brave\\nThough by nature of^an athletic form, Barns had in his constitu\\ntion the peculiarities and the delicacies that belong to the tempera-\\nment of genius. He was liable, from a very early period, to that\\ninterruption in the process of digestion, which arises from deep and\\nanxious thought, and which is sometimes the effect, and sometimes\\nthe cause of depression of spirits. Connected with this disorder of\\nthe stomach, there was a disposition to head-ache, affecting more", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "86 MFE OF\\nespecially the temples and eye-balls, and frequently accompanied\\nby violent and irregular movements of the heart. Endowed by\\nnature with great sensibility of nerves, Burns was, in his corporeal,\\nas well as in his mental system, liable to inordinate impressions\\nto fever of body as well as of mind. This predisposition to disease,\\nwhich strict temperance in diet, regular exercise, and sound sleep,\\nmigh have subdued, habits of a different nature strengthened and\\ninflamed. Perpetually stimulated by alcohol in one or other of its\\nvarious forms, the inordinate actions of the circulating system be-\\ncame at length habitual the process of nutrition was unable to\\nsupply the waste, and the powers of life began to fail. Upwards of\\na year before his death, there was an evident decline in our poet s\\npersonal appearance, and though his appetite continued unimpaired\\nhe was himself sensible that his constitution was sinking. In his\\nmoments of thought he reflected with the deepest regret on this\\nfatal progress, clearly forseeing the goal towards which he was\\nhastening, without the strength of mind necessary to stop, or even\\nto slacken his course. His temper now became more irritable and\\ngloomy he fled from himself into society, often of the lowest kind.\\nAnd in such company, that part of the convivial scene, in which\\nwine increases sensibility and excites benevolence, was hurried\\nover, to reach the succeeding part, over which uncontrolled passion\\ngenerally presided. He who suffers the pollution of inebriation,\\nhow shall he escape other pollution But let us refrain from the\\nmention of errors over which delicacy and humanity draw the veil.\\nIn the midst of all his wanderings. Burns met nothing in his do-\\nmestic circle but gentleness and forgiveness, except in the gnawings\\nof his own remorse. He acknowledged his transgressions to the\\nwife of his bosom, promised amendment, and again and again re-\\nceived pardon for his offences. But as the strength of his body de-\\ncayed, his resolution became feebler, and habit acquired predomi-\\nnating strength.\\nFrom October, 1792, to the January following, an accidental com-\\nplaint confined him to the house. A few days after he began to go\\nabroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned home about three o clock\\nin a very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicated. This was fol-\\nlowed by an attack of rheumatism, which confined him about a\\nweek. His appetite now began to fail his hand shook, and his\\nvoice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker\\nand more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and\\nfeet, deprived him of the enj oyment of refreshing sleep. Too much\\ndejected in his spirits, and too well aware of his real situation to\\nentertain hopes of recovery, he was ever musing on the approaching\\ndesolation of his family, and his spirits sunk into a uniform gloom.\\nIt was hoped by some of his friends, that if he could live through\\nthe months of spring, the succeeding season might restore him. But\\nthey were disappointed. The genial beams of the sun infused no\\nvigour into his languid frame the summer wind blew upon him,\\nbut produced no refreshment. About the latter end of June he was\\nadvised to go into the country, and impatient of medical advice, as\\nwell as of every species of control, he determined for himself to try\\nthe effects of bathing in the sea. For this purpose he took up his", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "OBERT BUBNS. 87\\nt esidence at Brow, in Annandale, about ten miles east of Dumfries,\\non the shore of the Solway-Frith.\\nIt happened that at that time a lady with whom he had been\\nconnected in friendship by the sympathies of kindred genius was\\nresiding in the immediate neighbourhood. Being informed of his ar-\\nrival, she invited him to dinner, andseut her carriage for him to the\\ncottage where he lodged, as he was unable to walk. I was struck,\\nsays this lady (in a confidential letter to a friend written soon\\nafter,) with his appearance on entering the room. The stamp of\\ndeath was impressed on his features. He seemed already touching\\nthe brink of eternity. His salutation was Well, madam, have you\\nany commands for the other world V I replied, that it seemed a\\ndoubtful case which of us should be there soonest, and that I hoped\\nthat he would yet live to write my epitaph. (1 was then in a poor\\nstate of health.) He looked in my face with an air of great kind-\\nness, and expresed his concern at seeing me look so ill, with his\\naccustomed sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing, and he\\ncomplained of having entirely lost the tone of his stomach. We\\nhad a long and serious conversation about his present situation, and\\nthe approaching termination of all his earthly prospects. He spoke\\nof his death without any of the ostentation of philosophy, but with\\nfirmness as well as feeling as an event likely to happen very soon,\\nand which gave him concern chiefly from leaving his four children\\nso young and unprotected, and his wife in so interesting a situation\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094in hourly expectation of lying in of a fifth. He mentioned, with\\nseeming pride and satisfaction, the promising genius of his eldest\\nson, and the flattering marks of approbation he had received from\\nhis teachers, and dwelt particularly on his hopes of that boy s\\nfuture conduct and merit. His anxiety for his family seemed to\\nhang heavy upon him, and the more perhaps from the reflection\\nthat he had not done them all the justice he was so well qualified\\nto do. Passing from this subject, he showed great concern about\\nthe care of his literary fame, and particularly the publication of his\\nposthumous works. He said he was well aware that his death\\nwould occasion some noise, and that every scrap of his writing\\nwould be revived against him to the injury of his future reputa-\\ntion that letters and verses written with unguarded and improper\\nfreedom, and which he earnestly wished to have buried in oblivion,\\nwould be handed about by idle vanity or malevolence, when no\\ndread of his resentment would restrain them, or prevent the cen-\\nsures of shrill-tongued malice, or the insidious sarcasms of envy,\\nfrom pouring forth all their venom to blast his fame.\\nHe lamented that he had written many epigrams on persons\\nagainst whom he entertained no enmity, and whose characters he\\nshould be sorry to wound; and many indifferent poetical pieces,\\nwhich he feared would now with all their imperfections on their\\nhead, be thrust upon the world. On this account he deeply regret-\\nted having deferred to put his papers into a state of arrangement,\\nas he was now quite incapable of the exertion. The lady goes on\\nto mention many other topics of a private nature on which he\\nspoke. The conversation, she adds, was kept up with great\\nevenness and animation on his side. I had seldom seen his mind\\ngreater or more collected, There was frequently a considerable", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "88 LIFE OF\\ndegree of vivacity in his sallies, and they would probably have had\\na greater share, had not the concern and dejection I could not dis-\\nguise, damped the spirit of pleasantry he seemed not unwilling to\\nindulge.\\nWe parted about sun-set on the evening of that day (the 5th of\\nJuly, 17^6;) the next day I saw him again, and we parted to meet\\nnomore!\\nAt first, Burns imagined bathing in the sea had been of benefit to\\nhim the pains in his limbs were relieved but this was immediate-\\nly followed by a new attack of fever. When brought back to his\\nown house in Dumfries, on the 18th of July, he was no longer able\\nto stand upright. At this time a tremor pervaded his frame his\\ntongue was parched, and his mind sunk into delirium, when not\\nroused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever\\nincreased, and his strength diminished. On the fourth, the suffer-\\nings of this great, but ill-fated genius were terminated, and a life\\nwas closed in which virtue and passion had been at perpetual vari-\\nance.*\\nThe death of Burns made a strong and general impression on all\\nwho had interested themselves in his character, and especially on\\nthe inhabitants of the town and county in which he had spent the\\nlatter years of his life. Flagrant as his follies and errors had been,\\nthey had not deprived him of the respect and regard entertained for\\nthe extraordinary powers of his genius, and the generous qualities\\nof his heart. The Gentlemen- Volunteers of Dumfries determined\\nto bury their illustrious associate with military honours, and every\\npreparation was made to render this last service solemn and impres-\\nsive. The Fencible Infantry of Angus-shire, and the regiment of\\ncavalry of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered in Dumfries,\\noffered their assistance on this occasion the principal inhabitants\\nof the town and neighbourhood determined to walk in the funeral\\nprocession and a vast concourse of persons assembled, some of them\\nfrom a considerable distance, to witness the obsequies of the Scot-\\ntish Bard. On the evening of the 25th of July, the remains of\\nBurns were removed from his house to the Town-Hall, and the\\nfuneral took place on the succeeding day. A party of the volun-\\nteers, selected to perform the military duty in the church-yard,\\nstationed themselves in the front of the procession, with their arms\\nreversed the main body of the corps surrounded and supported\\nthe coffin, on which were placed the hat and sword of their friend\\nand fellow- soldier the numerous body of attendants ranged them-\\nselves in the rear; while the Fencible regiments of infantry and\\ncavalry lined the streets from the Town-Hall to the burial-ground\\nin the Southern church-yard, a distance of more than half a mile.\\nThe whole procession moved forward to that sublime and affecting\\nstrain of music, the Dead March in Saul and three vollies fired\\nover his grave marked the return of Burns to his parent earth\\nThe spectacle was in a high degree grand and solemn, and accorded\\nwith the general sentiments of sympathy and sorrow which the oc-\\ncasion had called forth.\\nIt was an affecting circumstance, that, on the morning of the day\\nThe particulars respecting the illness and death of Burns were obligingly fur-\\nnished by Dr. Maxwell the physician who attended him.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 39\\nof her husband s funeral, Mrs. Burns was undergoing the pains of\\nlabour, and that during the solemn service we have just been de-\\nscribing, the posthumous son of our poet was born. This infant boy,\\nwho received the name of Maxwell, was not destined to a long life.\\nHe has already become an inhabitant of the same grave with his\\ncelebrated father. The four other children of our poet, all sons (the\\neldest at that time about ten years of age) yet survive, and give every\\npromise of prudence and virtue that can be expected from their tender\\nyears. They remain under the care of their affectionate mother in\\nDumfries, and are enjoying the means of education which the ex-\\ncellent schools of that town afford; the teachers of which, in their\\nconduct to the children of Burns, do themselves great honour. On\\nthis occasion, the name of Mr. Whyte deserves to be particularly\\nmentioned, himself a poet as well as a man of science.\\nBurns died in great poverty but the independence of his spirit,\\nand the exemplary prudence of his wife, had preserved him from\\ndebt. He had received from his poems a clear profit of about nine\\nhundred pounds. Of this sum, the part expended on his library\\n(which was far from extensive) and in the humble furniture of his\\nhouse, remained and obligations were found for two hundred\\npounds advanced by him to the assistance of those to whom he was\\nunited by the ties of blood, and still more by those of esteem and\\naffection. When it is considered, that his expenses in Edinburgh,\\nand on his various journeys, could not be inconsiderable that his\\nagricultural undertaking was unsuccessful that his income from\\nthe Excise was for some time as low as fifty, and never rose to above\\nseventy pounds a-year; that his family was large, and his spirit\\nliberal no one will be surprised that his circumstances were so\\npoor, or that, as his health decayed, his proud and feeling heart sunk\\nunder the secret consciousness of indigence, and the apprehension\\nof absolute want. Yet poverty never bent the spirit of Burns to\\nany pecuniary meanness. Neither chicanery nor sordidness ever\\nappeared in his conduct. He carried his disregard of money to a\\nblameable excess. Even in the midst of distress he bore himself\\nloftily to the world, and received with a jealous reluctance every\\noffer of friendly assistance. His printed poems had procured him\\ngreat celebrity, and a just and fair recompense for the latter off-\\nsprings of his pen might have produced him considerable emolu-\\nment. In the year 1765, the Editor of a London newspaper, high\\nin its character for literature, and independence of sentiment, made\\na proposal to him that he should furnish them, once a- week, with\\nan article for their poetical department, and receive from them a\\nrecompense of fifty-two guineas per annum; an offer which the\\npride of genius disdained to accept. Yet he had for several years\\nfurnished, and was at that time furnishing the Museum of Johnson\\nwith his beautiful lyrics, without fee or reward, and was obstinately\\nrefusing all recompense for his assistance to the greater work of Mr.\\nThomson, which the justice and generosity of that gentleman was\\npressing upon him.\\nThe sense of his poverty, and of the approaching distress of his\\ninfant family, pressed heavily on Burns as he lay on the bed of\\ndeath. Yet he alluded to his indigence, at times, with something\\napproaching to his wonted getfety,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WJxat business, said he to", "height": "4480", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "90\\nhtm Ge\\nDr. Maxwell, who attended him with the utmost zeal, has a phy-\\nsician to waste his time on me 1 I am a poor pigeon, not worth\\nplucking. Alas I have not feathers enough to carry me to my\\ngrave. And when his reason was lost in delirium, his ideas ran in\\nthe same melancholy train. The horrors of a jail were still present\\nto his troubled imagination, and produced the most affecting excla-\\nmations.\\nAs for some months previous to his death he had been incapable\\nof the duties of his office, Burns had imagined that his salary was\\nreduced one half, as is usual in such cases. The Board, however, to\\ntheir honour, continued his lull emoluments and Mr. Graham of\\nPintra, hearing of his illness, though unacquainted with its dangerous\\nnature, made an offer of his assistance towards procuring him the\\nmeans of preserving his health. Whatever might be the faults of\\nBurns, ingratitude was not of the number. Amongst his manu-\\nscripts, various proofs are found of the sense he entertained of Mr.\\nGraham s friendship, which delicacy towards that gentleman has in-\\nduced us to suppress and on the last occasion there is no doubt\\nthat his heart overflowed towards him, though he had no longer the\\npower of expressing his feelings.*\\nOn the death of Burns, the inhabitants of Dumfries and its\\nneighbourhood opened a subscription for the support of his wife\\nand family and Mr. Miller, Mr. M Murdo, Dr. Maxwell, and Mr.\\nSyme, gentlemen of the first respectability, became trustees for the\\napplication of the money to its proper objects. The subscription\\nwas extended to other parts of Scotland, and of England also, par-\\nticularly London and Liverpool. By this means a sum was raised\\namounting to seven hundred pounds; and thus the widow and\\nchildren were rescued from immediate distress, and the most me-\\nlancholy of the forebodings of Burns happily disappointed. It is\\ntrue, this sum, though equal to their present support, is insufficient\\nto secure them from future penury. Their hope in regard to futu-\\nrity depends on the favourable reception of those volumes from the\\npublic at large, in the promoting of which the candour and huma-\\nnity of the reader may induce him to lend his assistance.\\nBurns, as has already been mentioned, was nearly five feet ten\\ninches in height, and of a form that indicated agility as well as\\nstrength. His well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling hair,\\nindicated extensive capacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of\\nardour and intelligence. His face was well formed and his coun-\\ntenance uncommonly interesting and expressive. His mode of\\ndressing, which was often slovenly, and a certain fulness and bend\\nin his shoulders, characteristic of his original profession, disguised\\nin some degree the natural symmetry and elegance of his form. The\\nexternal appearance of Burns was most strikingly indicative of the\\ncharacter of his mind. On a first view, his physiognomy had a\\ncertain air of coarseness, mingled, however, with an expression of\\ndeep penetration, and of calm thoughtfulness approaching to me-\\nlancholy. There appeared in his first manner and address, perfect\\nease and self-possession, but a stern and almost supercilious eleva-\\nThe letter of Mr. Graham alluded to above, is dated on the 13th of July, and\\nprobably arrived on the 15th. Burns became delirious on the 17th or 18th, and\\ndied on the 2 1st.", "height": "4508", "width": "2588", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "KOBB T BURNS. 91\\ntion, not, indeed, incompatible with openness and affability, which,\\nhewever, bespoke a mind conscious of superior talents.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Strangers\\nthat supposed themselves approaching an Ayrshire peasant, who\\ncould make rhymes, and to whom their notice was an honour,\\nfound themselves speedily overawed by the presence of a man who\\nbore himself with dignity, and who possessed a singular power of\\ncorrecting forwardness and of repelling intrusion. But though\\njealous of the respect due to himself, Burns never enforced it where\\nhe saw it was willingly paid and, though inaccessible to the ap-\\nproaches of pride, he was open to every advance of kindness and\\nof benevolence. His dark and haughty countenance easily relaxed\\ninto a look of good will, of pity, or of tenderness and, as the vari-\\nous emotions succeeded each other in his mind, assumed with equal\\nease the expression of the broadest humour, of the most extrava-\\ngant mirth, of the deepest melancholy, or of the most sublime emo-\\ntion. The tones of his voice happily corresponded with the ex-\\npression of his features, and with the feelings of his mind. When\\nto these endowments are added a rapid and distinct apprehension,\\na most powerful understanding, and a happy command of language\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094of strength as well as brilliancy of expression we shall be able\\nto account for the extraordinary attractions of his conversation\\nfor the sorcery which in his social parties he seemed to exert on all\\naround him. In the company of women this sorcery was more es-\\npecially apparent. Their presence charmed the fiend of melan-\\ncholy in his bosom, and awoke his happiest feelings it excited the\\npowers of his fancy, as well as the tenderness of his heart and, by\\nrestraining the vehemence and exuberance of his language, at times\\ngave to his manners the impression of taste, and even of elegance,\\nwhich in the company of men they seldom possessed. This influ-\\nence was doubtless reciprocal. A Scottish Lady, accustomed to the\\nbest society, declared with characteristic naivete, that no man s\\nconversation ever carried her so completely off her feet as that of\\nBurns and an English Lady, familiarly acquainted with several of\\nthe most distinguished characters of the present times, assured the\\neditor, that in the happiest of his social hours, there was a charm\\nabout Burns which she had never seen equalled. The charm arose\\nnot more from the power than the versatility of his genius. No\\nlanguor could be felt in the society of a man who passed at pleasure\\nfrom grave to gay, from the ludicrous to the pathetic, from the sim-\\nple to the sublime; who wielded all his faculties with equal\\nstrength and ease, and never failed to impress the offspring of his\\nfancy with the stamp of his understanding.\\nThis, indeed, is to represent Burns in his happiest phasis. In\\nlarge and mixed parties, he was often silent and dark, sometimes\\nfierce and overbearing he was jealous of the proud man s scorn,\\njealous to an extreme of the insolence of wealth, and prone to\\navenge, even on its innocent possessor, the partiality of fortune.\\nBy nature kind, brave, sincere, and in a singular degree compas-\\nsionate, he was on the other hand proud, irascible, and vindictive.\\nHis virtues and failings had their origin in the extraordinary sen-\\nsibility of his mind, and equally partook in the chills and glows of\\nsentiment. His friendships were liable to interruption from jea-\\nlousy or disgust, and his enmities died away under the influence of", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "92 LIFE OF\\npity or self-accusation. His understanding was equal to the other\\npowers of his mind, and his deliberate opinions were singularly can-\\ndid and just but, like other men of great and irregular genius, the\\nopinions which he delivered in conversation were often the offspring\\nof temporary feelings, and widely different from the calm decisions\\nof his judgment. This was not merely true respecting the charac-\\nters of others, but in regard to some of the most important points\\nof human speculation.\\nOn no subject did he give a more striking proof of the strength\\nof his understanding, than in the correct estimate he formed of\\nhimself. He knew hi3 own failings; he predicted their conse-\\nquence the melancholy foreboding was never long absent from his\\nmind yet his passions carried him down the stream of error, and\\nswept him over the precipice he saw directly in his course. The\\nfatal defect in his character lay in the comparative weakness of his\\nvolition, that superior faculty of the mind, which governing the\\nconduct according to the dictates of the understanding, alone enti\u00c2\u00ab\\nties it to be denominated rational which is the parent of fortitude,\\npatience, and self-denial which, by regulating and combining hu-\\nman exertions, may be said to have effected all that is great in the\\nworks of man, in literature, in science, or on the face of nature.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe occupations of a poet are not calculated to strengthen the go-\\nverning powers of the mind, or to weaken that sensibility which\\nrequires perpetual control, since it gives birth to the vehemence of\\npassion, as well as to the higher powers of imagination. Unfortu-\\nnately the favourite occupations of genius are calculated to increase\\nall its peculiarities to nourish that lofty pride, which disdains the\\nlittleness of prudence, and the restrictions of order and, by in-\\ndulgence, to increase that sensibility, which, in the present form of\\nour existence, is scarcely compatible with peace or happiness, even\\nwhen accompanied with the choicest gifts of fortune.\\nIt is observed by one who was a friend and associate of Burns,\\nand who has contemplated and explained the system of animated\\nnature, that no sentient being, with mental powers greater than\\nthose of men, could possibly live and be happy in this world. If\\nsuch a being really existed, continued he, his misery would be\\nextreme. With senses more delicate and refined with perceptions\\nmore acute and penetrating with a taste so exquisite that the ob-\\njects around him would by no means gratify it obliged to feed on\\nnourishment too gross for his frame he must be born only to be\\nmiserable and the continuation of his existence would be utterly\\nimpossible. Even in our present condition, the sameness and the\\ninsipidity of objects and pursuits, the futility of pleasure, and the\\ninfinite sources of excruciating pain, are supported with great diffi-\\nculty by cultivated and refined minds. Increase our sensibilities,\\ncontinue the same objects and situation, and no man could bear to\\nlive.\\nThus it appears, that our powers of sensation, as well as our other\\npowers, are adapted to the scene of our existence that they are\\nlimited in mercy, as well as in wisdom.\\nThe speculations of Mr. Smellie are not to be considered as the\\ndreams of a theorist they were probably founded on sad experi-\\nence. The being he supposes, with senses more delicate and re*", "height": "4508", "width": "2580", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "ROBEM BURNS. 93\\nfined, with perceptions more acute and penetrating, is to be found\\nin real life. He is the temperament of genius, and perhaps a poet.\\nIs there, then, no remedy for this inordinate sensibility? Are\\nthere no means by which the happiness of one so constituted by na-\\nture may be consulted 1 Perhaps it will be found, that regular and\\nconstant occupation, irksome though it may first be, is the true re-\\nmedy. Occupation in which the powers of the understanding are\\nexercised, will diminish the force of external impressions, and keep\\nthe imagination under restraint.\\nThat the bent of every man s mind should be followed in his edu-\\ncation and in his destination in life, is a maxim which has been\\noften repeated, but which cannot be admitted without many restric-\\ntions. It may be generally true when applied to weak minds,\\nwhich, being capable of little, must be encouraged and strengthened\\nin the feeble impulses by which that little is produced. But where\\nindulgent nature has betowed her gifts with a liberal hand, the\\nvery reverse of this maxim ought frequently to be the rule of con-\\nduct. In minds of a higher order, the object of instruction and of\\ndiscipline is very often to restrain rather than to impel to curb\\nthe impulses of imagination so that the passions also may be kept\\nunder control. Hence the advantages, even in a moral point of\\nview, of studies of a severe nature, which, while they inform the\\nunderstanding, employ the volition, that regulating power of the\\nmind, which like all our other faculties, is strengthened by exercise,\\nand on the superiority of which, virtue, happiness, and honourable\\nfame, are wholly dependent. Hence also the advantage of regular\\nand constant application, which aids the voluntary power by the\\nproduction of habits so necessary to the support of order and virtue,\\nand so difficult to be formed in the temperament of genius.\\nThe man who is so endowed and so regulated, may pursue his course\\nwith confidence in almost any of the various walks of life which\\nchoice or accident shall open to him and provided he employs the\\ntalents he has cultivated, may hope for such imperfect happi-\\nness, and such limited success, as are reasonably expected from hu-\\nman exertions.\\nThe pre-eminence among men, which procures personal respect,\\nand which terminates in lasting reputation, is seldom or never ob-\\ntained by the excellence of a single faculty of mind. Experience\\nteaches us, that it has been acquired by those only who have pos-\\nsessed the comprehension and the energy of general talents, and\\nwho have regulated their application, in the line which choice, or\\nperhaps accident may have determined, by the dictates of their\\njudgment. Imagination is supposed, and with justice, to be the\\nleading faculty of the poet. But what poet has stood the test of\\ntime by the force of this single faculty? Who does not see that\\nHomer and Shakspeare excelled the rest of their species in under-\\nstanding as well as in imagination that they were pre-eminent in\\nthe highest species of knowledge\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the knowledge of the nature and\\ncharacter of man On the other hand, the talent of ratiocination\\nis more especially requisite to the orator but no man ever attained\\nthe palm of oratory, even by the highest exercise in this single\\ntalent, who does not perceive that Demosthenes and Cicero were not\\nmore happy in their addresses to the reason, than in their appeals to", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "94 ^ife os 1\\nthe passions 1 they knew that to excite, to agitate, and to delight,\\nare among the most potent arts of persuasion and they enforced\\ntheir impression on the understanding, by their command of all\\nthe sympathies of the heart. These observations might be extended\\nto other walks of life. He who has the faculties fitted to excel in\\npoetry, has the faculties which, duly governed and differently\\ndirected, might lead to pre-eminence in other, and as far as respects\\nhimself, perhaps in happier destinations. The talents necessary to\\nthe construction of an Iliad, under discipline and application,\\nmight have led armies to victory, or kingdoms to prosperity might\\nhave wielded the thunder of eloquence, or discovered and enlarged\\nthe sciences that constitute the power, and improve the condition of\\nour species.\\nSuch talents are, indeed, rare among the productions of nature,\\nand occasions of bringing them into full exertion are rarer still.\\nBut safe and salutary occupations may be found for men of genius\\nin every direction, while the useful and ornamental arts remain to\\nbe cultivated, while the sciences remain to be studied and to be ex-\\ntended, and the principles of science to be applied to the correction\\nand improvement of art. In the temperament of sensibility, which\\nis in truth the temperament of general talents, the principal object\\nof discipline and instruction is, as has already been mentioned, to\\nstrengthen the self-command and this may be promoted by the di-\\nrection of the studies, more effectually perhaps than has been gene-\\nrally understood.\\n_ If these observations be founded in truth, they may lead to prac-\\ntical consequences of some importance. It ha3 been too mtfch the\\ncustom to consider the possession of poetical talents as excluding\\nthe possibility of application to the severer branches of study, and\\nin some degree incapacitating the possessor from attaining those\\nhabits, and from bestowing that attention, which are necessary to\\nsuccess in the details of business, and in the engagements of active\\nlife. It has been common for persons conscious of such talents, to\\nlook with a sort of disdain on other kinds of intellectual excellence,\\nand to consider themselves as in some degree absolved from those\\nrules of prudence by which humbler minds are restricted. They\\nare too much disposed to abandon themselves to their own sensa-\\ntions, and to suffer life to pass away without any regular exertion or\\nsettled purpose.\\nBut though men of genius are generally prone to indolence, with\\nthem indolence and unhappiness are in a more special way allied.\\nThe unbidden splendours of imagination may indeed at times irra-\\ndiate the gloom which inactivity produces; but such visions,\\nthough bright, are transient, and serve to cast the realities of life\\ninto deeper shade. In bestowing great talents, Nature seems very\\ngenerally to have imposed on the possessor the necessity of exer-\\ntion, if he would escape wretchedness. Better for him than sloth,\\ntoils the most painful, or adventures the most hazardous. Happier\\nto him than idleness, were the condition of the peasant, earning\\nwith incessant labour his scanty food; or that of the sailor, though\\nhanging on the yard-arm, and wrestling with the hurricane.\\nThese observations might be amply illustrated by the biography\\nof men of genius of \u00c2\u00abvery denomination, and more especially by", "height": "4508", "width": "2728", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "ftOtffcRT gtiRNS. 95\\nthe biography of the poets. Of this last description of men, few\\nseem to have enjoyed the usual portion of happiness that falls to\\nthe lot of humanity, those excepted who have cultivated poetry as\\nan elegant amusement in the hours of relaxation from other occu-\\npations, or the small number who have engaged with success in the\\ngreater or more arduous attempts of the muse, in which all the fa-\\nculties of the mind have been fully and permanently employed.\\nEven taste, virtue, and comparative independence, do not seem ca-\\npable of betowing, on men of genius, peace and tranquillity, with-\\nout such occupation as may give regular and healthful exercise to\\nthe faculties of body and mind. The amiable Shenstone has left\\nus the records of his imprudence, of his indolence, and of his un-\\nhappiness, amidst the shades of the Leasowes and the virtues,\\nthe learning, and the genius of Gray, equal to the loftiest attempt\\nof the epic muse, failed to procure him in the academic bowers of\\nCambridge, the tranquillity and that respect which less fastidious-\\nness of taste, and greater constancy and vigour of exertion, would\\nhave doubtless obtained.\\nIt is more necessary that men of genius should be aware of the\\nimportance of self-command, and of exertion, because their indo-\\nlence is peculiarly exposed, not merely to unhappiness, but to dis-\\neare of mind, and to errors of conduct, which are generally fatal.\\nThis interesting subject deserves a particular investigation but we\\nmust content ourselves with one or two cursory remarks. Belief is\\nsometimes sought for the melancholy of indolence in practices,\\nwhich for a time soothe and gratify the sensations, but which in\\nthe end involve the sufferer in darker gloom. To command the ex-\\nternal circumstances by which happiness is affected, it is not in\\nhuman power but there are various substances in nature which\\noperate on the system of the nerves, so as to give a fictitious gaiety\\nto the ideas of imagination, and to alter the effect of the external\\nimpressions which we receive. Opium is chiefly employed for this\\npurpose by the disciples of Mahomet, and the inhabitants of Asia\\nbut alcohol, the principle of intoxication in vinous and spiritous\\nliquors, is preferred in Europe, and is universally used in the Chris-\\ntian world. Under the various wounds to which indolent sensibility\\nis exposed, and under the gloomy apprehensions respecting futurity\\nto which it is so often a prey, how strong is the temptation to have\\nrecourse to an antidote by which the pain of these wounds is sus-\\npended by which the heart is exhilerated, ideas of hope and happi-\\nness are excited in the mind, add the forms of external nature clo\u00c2\u00ab\\nthed hith new beauty\\nElysium opens round,\\nA pleasing frenzy buoys the lighten d soul,\\nAnd sanguine hopes dispel your fleeting care\\nAnd what was difficult, and what was dire,\\nYields to your prowess, and superior stars\\nThe happiest of you all that e er were mad,\\nOr are, or shall be, could this folly last.\\nBut soon your heaven is gone a heavier gloom\\nShut o er your head\\nMorning comes your cares return\\nWith tenfold rage. An anxious stomach well\\nSee his letters, whjcjx, as ft display of th$ \u00c2\u00a9ffwtS of poettCftl i Jtenesi r\\nWgMy ipstructive.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "96 LIFE 61?\\nMay be endured so may thethrobing head\\nBut such a dim delirium, such a dream\\nInvolves you such a dastardly despair\\nUnmans your soul, as madd ning Pentheus felt,\\nWhen baited round Cithasron s cruel sides,\\nHe saw two suns and double Thebes ascend.\\nArmstrong s Art of Preserving Health, b. iv. 1. 168.\\nSuch are the pleasures and the pains of intoxication, as they oc\\ncur in the temperament of sensibility, described by a genuine poet,\\nwith a degree of truth and energy which nothing but experience\\ncould have dictated. There are, indeed, some {individuals of this\\ntemperament on whom wine produces no cheering influence. On\\nsome, even in very moderate quantities, its effects are painfully\\nirritating in large doses it excites dark and melancholy ideas\\nand in doses still larger, the fierceness of insanity itself. Such men\\nare happily exempted from a temptation, to which experiences\\nteaches us the finest dispositions often yield, and the influence of\\nwhich, when strengthened by habit, it is a humiliating truth, that\\nthe most powerful minds have not been able to resist.\\nIt is the more necessary for men of genius to be on their guard\\nagainst the habitual use of wine, because it is apt to steal on them\\ninsensibly and because the temptation to excess usually presents\\nitself to them in their social hours, when they are alive only to\\nwarm and generous emotions, and when prudence and moderation\\nare often contemned as selfishness and timidity.\\nIt is more necessary for them to guard against excess in the use\\nof wine, because on them its effects are physically and morally, in\\nan especial manner injurious. In proportion to its stimulating in-\\nfluence on the system (on which the pleasurable sensations depend,)\\nis the debility that ensues a debility that destroys digestion, and\\nterminates in habitual fever, dropsy, jaundice, paralysis, or insanity.\\nAs the strength of the body decays, the volition fails in propor-\\ntion as the sensations are soothed and gratified, the sensibility\\nincreases and morbid sensibility is the parent of indolence, be-\\ncause, while it impairs the regulating power of the mind, it exag-\\ngerates all the obstacles to exertion. Activity, perseverance, and\\nself-command, become more and more difficult, and the great pur-\\nposes, of utility, patriotism, or of honourable ambition, which had\\noccupied the imagination, die away in fruitless resolutions, or in\\nfeeble efforts.\\nTo apply these observations to the subject of our memoirs, would\\nbe a useless as well as a painful task. It is, indeed, a duty we owe\\nto the living, not to allow our admiration of great genius, or even\\nour pity for its unhappy destiny, to conceal or disguise its errors.\\nBut there are sentiments of respect, and even of tenderness, with\\nwhich this duty should be performed there is an awful sanctity\\nwhich invests the mansions of the dead and let those who moralize\\nover the graves of their contemporaries, reflect with humility one\\ntheir own errors, nor forget how soon they may themselves require\\nthe candour and the sympathy they are called upon to bestow.\\nSoon after the death of Burns, the following article appeared in\\nthe Dumfries Journal, from which it is copied into the Edinburgh\\nnewspapers, and into various other periodical publications. It is", "height": "4508", "width": "2720", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURN*. 97\\nfrom the elegant pen of a lady already alluded to in the course of\\nthese memoirs, whose exertions for the family of our bard, in the\\ncircles of literature and fashion in which she moves, have done her\\nso much honour.\\nIt is not probable that the late mournful event which is like-\\nly to be felt severely in the literary world, as well as in the\\ncircle of private friendship which surrounded our admired poet,\\nshould be unattended with the usual profusion of posthumous\\nanecdotes, memoirs, c. that commonly spring up at the death of\\nevery rare and celebrated personage. I shall not attempt to enlist\\nwith the numerous corps of biographers, who, it is probable may\\nwithout possessing his genius, arrogate to themselves the privilege of\\ncriticising the character or writings of Mr. Burns. The inspiring\\nmantle* thrown over him by that tutelarly muse who first found\\nhim, like the prophet Elisha, at his plough has been the portion\\nof few, may be the portion of fewer still and if it is true that men\\nof genius have a claim in their literary capacities to the legal right\\nof the British citizen in a court of justice, that of being tried only\\nby his peers, (I borrow here an expression I have frequently heard\\nBurns himself make use of,) God forbid I should, any more than the\\ngenerality of other people, assume the flattering and peculiar pri-\\nvilege of sitting upon his jury. But the intimacy of our acquaint-\\nance for several years past, may perhaps justify my presenting to\\nthe public a few of those ideas and observations I have had the op-\\nportunity of forming, and which, to the day that closed for ever the\\nscene of his happy qualities and of his errors, I have never had the\\nsmallest cause to deviate in, or to recall.\\nIt will be the misfortune of Burns reputation, in the records\\nof literature, not only to future generations and to foreign countries,\\nbut even with his native Scotland and a number of his con-\\ntemporaries, that he has been regarded as a poet, and nothing but\\na poet. It must not be supposed that I consider this title as a trivial\\none no person can be more penetrated with the respect due to\\nthe wreath bestowed by the muses than myself; and much certainly\\nis due to the merit of a self taught bard, deprived of the advantages of\\na classical education, and the intercourse of minds congenial to his\\nown, till that period of life, when his native fire, had already\\nblazed forth in all its wild graces of genuine simplicity and ener-\\ngetic eloquence of sentiment. But the fact is, that even when\\nall his honours are yielded to him, Burns will perhaps be found to\\nmove in a sphere less splendid, less dignified, and, even in his own\\npastoral style, less attractive, than several other writers have done;\\nand the poetry was (I appeal to all who have had the advantage of\\nbeing personally acquainted with him) actually not his forte. If\\nothers have climbed more successfully to the heights of Parnassus,\\nnone certainly ever out-shone Burns in the charms\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the sorcery I\\nwould almost call it, of fascinating conversation the spontaneous\\neloquence of social argument, or the unstudied poignancy of\\nbrilliant repartee. His personal endowments were perfectly corre-\\nspondent with the qualifications of his mind. His form was manly\\nhis action energy itself; devoid, in a great measure, however, of those\\n^graces of that polish, acquired only in the refinement of societies,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "98 LIFE 01\\nwhere in early life he had not the opportunity to mix but where\\nsuch was the irresistible power of attraction that encircled\\nhim, though his appearance and manners were always peculiar,\\nho never failed to delight and to excel. His figure certainly\\nbore the authentic impress of his birth and original station\\nin life; it seemed rather moulded by nature for the rough\\nexercise of agriculture, than the gentler cultivation of the belles\\nLitres. His features were stamped with the hardy character of\\nindependence, and the firmness of conscious, though not arrogant\\npre eminence, 1 believe no man was ever gifted with a larger por-\\ntion of the vivida vis animi the animated expressions of his coun-\\ntenance were almost peculiar to himself. The rapid lightnings of\\nhis eye were always the harbingers of some flash of genius, whe-\\nther they darted the fiery glances of insulted and indignant supe-\\nriority, or beamed with the impassioned sentiment of -fervent and\\nimpetuous affections. His voice alone could improve upon the magic\\nof his eye sonorous, replete with the finest modulations, it alter-\\nnately captivated the ear with the melody of poetic numbers, the\\nperspicuity of nervous reasoning, or the ardent sallies of enthusiastic\\npatriotism. The keeness of satire was, (I am almost at a loss whe-\\nther to say his forte or his foible;) for though nature had endowed him\\nwith a portion of the most pointed excellence in that perilous gift/\\nhe suffered it too often to be the vehicle of personal, and sometimes\\nunfounded animosities. It was not only that sportiveness of hu-\\nmour, that unwary pleasantry/ which Sterne has described to us\\nwith touches so conciliatory; but the darts of ridicule were fre-\\nquently directed as the caprice of the instant suggested, or the al-\\ntercations of parties or of persons happened to kindle the restlessness\\nof his spirit into interest or aversion. This was not, however, unex-\\nceptionably the case, his wit (which is no unusual matter indeed)\\nhad always the start of his judgment, and would lead him to the\\nindulgence of raillery uniformly acute, but often unaccompanied by\\nthe least desire to wound. The suppression of an arch and full\\npointed Ion mot, from the dread of injuring its object, the sage of\\nZurich very properly classes as a virtue only to be sought for in\\nthe calendar of saints; if so, Burns must not Ije dealt with uneon-\\nscientiously for being rather deficient in it. He paid the forfeit of\\nhis talents as dearly as any one could do. Twas no extravagant\\narithmetic to say of him, as of Yorick, that for every ten jokes he\\ngot a hundred enemies and much allowance should be made by a\\ncandid mind for the spenetic warmth of a spirit which distress\\nhad often spited with the world/ and which, unbounded in its in-\\ntellectual sallies and pursuits, continually experienced the curbs\\nimposed by the waywardness of his fortune. The vivacity of hi3\\nwishes and temper was indeed checked by constant disappoint-\\nments, which sat heavy on a heart that acknowledged the ruling\\nIon of independence, without having ever been placed beyond\\nthe grasp of penury. His soul was never languid or inactive, and\\nhis genius was extinguished only with the last sparks of retreating\\nlife. His passions rendered him, according as they disclosed them-\\nselves in affection or antipathy, the object of enthusiastic attach-\\nifc, or of decided enmity; for be possessed none of that negative\\ninsipidity of charaofpr, whose love m ght be regarded with indif-\\ni", "height": "4508", "width": "2744", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS, 99\\nterence, or whose resentment could be considered with contempt.\\nIn this it should seem the temper of his companions took the tinc-\\nture from his own for he acknowledged in the universe but two\\nclasses of objects, those of adoration the most fervent, or of aversion\\nthe most uncontrollable and it has been frequently asserted of\\nhim, that unsusceptible of indifference, often hating where he ought\\nto have despised, he alternately opened his heart, and poured forth\\nall the treasures of his understanding to such as were incapable of\\nappreciating the homage, and elevated to the privileges of an ad-\\nversary, some who were unqualified in talents, or by nature, for the\\nhonour of a contest so distinguished.\\nIt is said that the celebrated Dr. Johnson professed to t love a\\ngood hater, a temperament that had singularly adapted him to\\ncherish a prepossession in favour of our bard, who perhaps fell little\\nshort even of the surly Doctor in this qualification, as long as the\\ndisposition to ill-will continued but the fervour of his passions\\nwas fortunately tempered by their versatility. He was seldom,\\nnever indeed implacable in his resentments, and sometimes, it has\\nbeen alleged, not inviolably steady in his engagements of friendship.\\nMuch indeed has been said of his inconstancy and caprices but I\\nam inclined to believe, they originated less irom a levity of senti-\\nment, than from an impetuosity of feeling, that rendered him prompt\\nto take umbrage and his sensations of pique, where he had fancied\\nhe had discovered the traces of unkindness, scorn or neglect, took\\ntheir measure of asperity from the overflowings of the opposite sen-\\ntiment which preceded them, and which seldom failed to regain its\\nascendency in his bosom on the return of calmer reflections. He\\nwas candid and manly in the avowal of his errors, and Ms avowal\\nwas a reparation. His native fiarte never forsaking him a moment,\\nthe value of a frank acknowledgment was enhanced tenfold towards\\na generous mind, from its. never being attended with servility.\\nHis mind, organized only for the stronger and more acute operation\\nof the passions, was impracticable to the efforts of superciliousness\\nthat would have depressed it into humility, and equally superior\\nto the encroachments of venal suggestions that might have led him\\ninto the mazes of hypocrisy.\\nIt has been observed, that he was far from averse to the incense\\nof flattery, and could receive it tempered with less delicacy than\\nmight have been expected, as he seldom transgressed in that way\\nhimself; where he paid a compliment, it might indeed claim the\\npower of intoxication, as approbation from him was always an\\nhonest tribute from the warmth and sincerity of his heart. It has\\nbeen sometimes represented by those who it should seem had a view\\nto detract from, though they could not hope wholly to obscure that\\nnative brilliancy, which the power of this extraordinary man had\\ninvariably bestowed on every thing that came from his lips or pen,\\nthat the history of the Ayrshire ploughboy was an ingenious fiction,\\nfabricated for the purpose of obtaining the interests of the great,\\nand enhancing the merits of what in reality required no foil. The\\nCotter s Saturday Xight, Tarn o Shanter, and the Mountain Daisy,\\nbesides a number of later productions, where the maturity of his\\ngenius will be readily traced, and which will be given the public\\nas soon as his friends have collected and arranged them, speak suf-\\nLo?G.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "100 iitf* or\\nficiently for themselves and had they fallen from a hand more dig-\\nnified in the ranks of society than that of a peasant, they had per-\\nhaps bestowed as unusual a grace there, as even in the humbler shade\\nof rustic inspiration from whence they really sprung.\\nTo the obscure scene of Burn s education, and to the laborious,\\nthough honourable station of rural industry, in which his parentage\\nenrolled him, almost every inhabitant in the south of Scotland can\\ngive testimony. His only surviving brother, Gilbert Burns, now\\nguides the ploughshare of his forefathers in Ayrshire, at a small\\nfarm near Mauchline and our poet s eldest son, (a lad of nine years\\nof age, whose early dispositions already prove him to be the in-\\nheritor of his fathers talents as well as indigence,) has been destined\\nby his family to the humble employments of the loom.\\nThat Burns had received no classical education, and was ac-\\nquainted with the Greek and Roman authors only through the me-\\ndium of translations, is a fact that can be indisputably proved. I\\nhave seldom seen him at a loss in conversation, unless where the\\ndead languages and their writers were the subjects of discussion.\\nWhen 1 have pressed him to tell me why he never took pains to ac-\\nquire the Latin, in particular, a language which his happy memory\\nhad so soon enabled him to be master of, he used only to reply with\\na smile, that he already knew all the Latin he desired to learn, and\\nthat was, omma vincit amor a phrase, that from his writings and\\nmost favourite pursuits, it should undoubtedly seem he was most\\nthoroughly versed in but I really believe his classical erudition\\nextended little, if any, further.\\nThe penchant Mr. Burns had uniformily acknowledged for the\\nfestive pleasures of the table, and towards the fairer and softer ob-\\njects of nature s creation, has been the rallying point where the at-\\ntacks of his censors, both pious and moral, have been directed and\\nto these, it must be confessed, he showed himself no stoic. His\\npoetical pieces blend with alternate happiness of description, the\\nfrolic spirit ot the joy inspiring bowl, or melt the heart to the ten-\\nder and impassioned sentiments in which beauty always taught him\\nto pour forth his own. But who would wish to reprove the failings\\nhe has consecrated with such lively touches of nature And where\\nis the rugged moralist who will persuade us so far to chill the\\ngenial current of the soul/ as to regret that Ovid ever celebrated\\nhis Corinna, or that Anacreon sung beneath his vine 1\\nI will not, however, undertake to be the apologist of the irre-\\ngularities, even of a man of genius, though I believe it is certainly\\nunderstood that genius never was free of irregularities, as that their\\nabsolution may in a great measure be justly claimed, since it is cer-\\ntain that the world had continued very stationary in its intellectual\\nacquirements, had it never given birth to any but men of plain\\nsense. Evenness of conduct, and a due regard to the decorums of\\nthe world, have been so rarely seen to move hand in hand with\\ngenius, that some have gone a3 far as to say, though there I cannot\\nacquiesce, that they are even incompatible besides, the frailties\\nthat cast their shade over superior merit, are more conspicuously\\nglaring, than where they are the attendants of mere mediocrity\\nit is only on the gem we are disturbed to see the dust the peb-\\nWe may be soiled, and we never mind itt The eccentric intuitions", "height": "4508", "width": "2732", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 101\\nof geniug, too often yield the soul to the wild effervescence of de-\\nsires, always unbounded, and sometimes equally dangerous to the\\nrepose of others as fatal to its own. No wonder then if virtue her-\\nself be sometimes lost in the blaze of kindling animation, or that\\nthe calm monitions of reason were not found sufficient to fetter an\\nimagination, which scorned the narrow limits and restrictions that\\nwould chain it to the level of ordinary minds. The child of nature,\\nthe child of sensibility, unbroke to the refrigerative precepts of\\nphilosophy, untaught always to vanquish the passions which were\\nthe only source of his frequent errors, Burns makes his own art-\\nless apology in terms more forcible, than all the argumentatory\\nvindications in the world could do, in one of his poems, where\\nhe delineates, with his usual simplicity, the progress of his mind,\\nand its first expansion to the lessons of the tutelary muse.\\nI saw thy pulse s maddening play,\\nWild send thee Pleasure s devious way,\\nMisled by Fancy s meteor ray,\\nBy Passion driven\\nBut yet the light that led astray,\\nWas light from Heav n.\\nI have already transgressed far beyond the bounds I had pro-\\nposed to myself, on first committing to paper these sketches, which\\ncomprehend what at least 1 have been led to deem the leading\\nfeatures of Burns s mind and character. A critique, either literary\\nor moral, I do not aim at mine is wholly fulfilled, if in these\\nparagraphs I have been able to delineate any of those strong traits\\nthat distinguished him, of those talents which raised him from the\\nplough, where he passed the bleak morning of his life, weaving his\\nrude wreaths of poesy with the wild field-flowers that sprung round\\nhis cottage to that enviable eminence of literary fame, where\\nScotland will long cherish his memory with delight and gratitude\\nand proudly remember, that beneath her cold sky, a genius was\\nripened without care or culture, that would have done honour to the\\ngenial temperature of climes better adapted to cherishing its\\ngerms to the perfecting of those luxuriances, that warmth of fancy\\nand colouring, in which he so eminently excelled.\\nFrom several paragraphs I have noticed in the public prints,\\neven since the idea of sending these thither was formed, I find pri-\\nvate animosities are not yet subsided, and envy has not yet done\\nher part. I still trust that honest fame will be affixed to Burns s\\nreputation, which he will be found to have merited by the candid\\nof his countrymen and where a kindred bosom is found that has\\nbeen taught to glow with the fires that animated Burns, should a\\nrecollection of the imprudences that sullied his brighter qualifica-\\ntions interpose, let him remember at the same time the imperfec-\\ntion of all human excellence and leave those inconsistencies which\\nalternately exalted his nature to the seraph, and sunk it again into\\nthe man, to the tribunal which alone can investigate the labyrinths\\nof the human heart\\nWhere they alike in trembling hope repose;\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe bosom of his father, and his God.\\nGbai s Elegy.\\nAnnandale, Aug. 7. 1796.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "102 LIFE OF\\nAfter this account of the life and personal character of Burns, it\\nmay be expected that some inquiry should be made into his literary\\nmerits. It will not however be necessary to enter very minutely\\ninto this investigation. If fiction be, as some suppose, the soul of\\npoetry, no one had ever less pretensions to the name of poet than\\nBurns. Though he has displayed great powers of imagination, yet\\nthe subjects on which he has written, are seldom, if ever, imaginary\\nhis poems, as well as his letters, may be considered as the effusions\\nof his sensibility, and the transcript of his own musings on the real\\nincidents of his humble life. If we add, that they also contain most\\nhappy delineations of the characters, manners, and scenery that pre-\\nsented themselves to his observation, we shall include almost all the\\nsubjects of his muse. His writings may therefore be regarded as\\naffording a great part of the data on which our account of his per-\\nsonal character has been founded and most of the observations we\\nhave applied to the man, are applicable, with little variation, to\\nthe poet.\\nThe impression of his birth, and of his original station in life,\\nwas not more evident on his form and manners, than on his poetical\\nproductions. The incidents which form the subjects of his poems,\\nthough some of them highly interesting, and susceptible of poetical\\nimagery, are incidents in the life of a peasant who takes no pains to\\ndisguise the lowliness of his condition, or to throw into shade the\\ncircumstances attending it, which more feeble or more artificial\\nminds would have endeavoured to conceal. The same rudeness and\\ninattention appears in the formation of his rhymes, which are fre-\\nquently incorrect, while the measures in which many of the poems\\nare written has little of the pomp or harmony of modern versifica-\\ntion, and is indeed, to an English ear, strange and uncouth. The\\ngreater part of his earlier poems are written in the dialect of his\\ncountry, which is obscure, if not unintelligible to Englishmen, and\\nwhich, though it still adheres more or less to the speech of almost\\nevery Scotchman, all the polite and the ambitious are now endea-\\nvouring to banish from their tongues as well as their writings. The\\nuse of it in composition naturally therefore calls up ideas of vul-\\ngarity in the mind. These singularities are increased by the cha-\\nracter of the poet, who delights to express himself with a simplicity\\nthat approaches to nakedness, and with an unmeasured energy that\\noften alarms delicacy, and sometimes offends taste. Hence, in ap-\\nproaching him, the first impression is perhaps repulsive there is\\nan air of coarseness about him, which is difficultly reconciled with\\nour established notions of poetical excellence.\\nAs the reader, however, becomes better acquainted with the poet,\\nthe effects of his peculiarities lessen. He perceives in his poems,\\neven on the lowest subjects, expressions of sentiment, and delinea-\\ntions of manners, which are highly interesting. The scenery he de-\\nscribes is evidently taken from real life the characters he intro*\\nduces, and the incidents he relates, have the impression of nature\\nand truth. His humour, though wild and unbridled, is irresistibly\\namusing, and is sometimes, heightened in its effects by the introduc-\\ntion of emotions of tenderness, with which genuine humour so hap-\\npily unites. Nor is this the extent of his power. The reader, as\\nhe examines farther, discovers that the poet is not confined to the", "height": "4508", "width": "2704", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 103\\ndescriptive, the humourous, or the pathetic he is found, as occa-\\nsion offers, to rise with ease into the terrible and the sublime.\\nEvery where he appears devoid of artifice, performing what he at-\\ntempts with little apparent effort and impressing on the offspring\\nof his fancy the stamp of his understanding. The reader, capable of\\nforming a just estimate of poetical talent, discovers in these circum-\\nstances marks of uncommon genius, and is willing to investigate\\nmore minutely its nature and its claim to originality. This last\\npoint we shall examine first.\\nThat Burns had not the advantages of a classical education, or of\\nany degree of acquaintance with the Greek or Eoman writers in\\ntheir original dress, has appeared in the history of his life. He ac-\\nquired, indeed, some knowledge of the French language, but it does\\nnot appear that he was ever much conversant in French literature,\\nnor is there any evidence of his having derived any of his poetical\\nstories from that source. With the English classics he became well\\nacquainted iu the course of his life, and the effects of this acquaint-\\nance are observable in his latter productions; but the character and\\nstyle of his poetry were formed very early, and the model which he\\nfollowed, in as far as he can be. said to have had one, is to be sought\\nfor in the works of the poets who have written in the Scottish dia-\\nlect in the works of such of them more especially, as are familiar\\nto the peasantry of Scotland. Some observations on these may form\\na proper introduction to a more particular examination of the poetry\\nof Burns. The studies of the editor in this direction are indeed\\nvery recent and very imperfect. It would have been imprudent for\\nhim to have entered on this subject at all, but for the kindness of\\nMr. Eamsay of Oehtertyre, whose assistance he is proud to acknow-\\nledge, and to whom the reader must ascribe whatever is of any\\nvalue in the following imperfect sketch of literary compositions in\\nthe Scottish idiom.\\nIt is a circumstance not a little curious, and which does not seem\\nto be satisfactorily explained, that in the thirteenth century, the\\nlanguage of the two British nations, if at all different, differed only\\nin dialect, the Gaelic in the one, like the Welch and Armoric in the\\nother, being confined to the mountainous districts. The English\\nunder the Edwards, and the Scots under Wallace and Bruce, spoke\\nthe sajne language. We may observe also, that in Scotland the his-\\ntory ascends to a period nearly as remote as in England. Barbour\\nand Blind Harry, James the First, Dunbar, Douglas, and Lindsay,\\nwho lived in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, were\\ncoeval with the fathers of poetry in England and in the opinion of\\nMr. Wharton, not inferior to them in genius or in composition.\\nThough the language of the two countries gradually deviated from\\neach other during this period, yet the difference on the whole was\\nnot considerable nor perhaps greater than between the different\\ndialects of the different parts of England in our own time.\\nAt the death of James the Fifth, in 1542, the language of Scot-\\nland was in a flourishing condition, wanting only writers in prose\\nequal to those in verse. Two circumstances, propitious on the\\nwhole, operated to prevent this. The first was the passion of the\\nScots for composition in Latin and the second, the accession of\\nJames the Sixth to the English throne. It may easily be imagined,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "104 LIFE OF\\nthat if Buchanan had devoted his admirable talents, even in part,\\nto the cultivation of his native tongue, as was done by the revivers\\nof letters in Italy, he would have left compositions in that language\\nwhich might have excited other men of genius to have followed his\\nexample, and given duration to the language itself. The union of\\nthe two crowns in the person of James, overthrew all reasonable ex-\\npectation of this kind. That monarch, seated on the English throne,\\nwould no longer be addressed in the rude dialect in which the\\nScottish clergy had so often insulted his dignity. He encouraged\\nLatin or English only, both of which he prided himself on writing\\nwith purity, though he himself never could acquire the English\\npronunciation, but spoke with a Scottish idiom and intonation to\\nthe last. Scotsmen of talents declined writing in their native lan-\\nguage, which they knew was not acceptable to their learned and\\npedantic monarch and at a time when national prejudice and en-\\nmity prevailed to a great degree, they disdained to study the nice-\\nties of the English tongue, though of so much easier acquisition\\nthan a dead language. Lord Stirling and Drummond of Hawthorden,\\nthe only Scotsmen who wrote poetry in those times, were exceptions.\\nThey studied the language of England, and composed in it with pre-\\ncision and elegance. They were however the last of their countrymen\\nwho deserved to be considered as poets in that century. The muses\\nof Scotland sunk into silence, and did not again raise their voices\\nfor a period of eighty years.\\nTo what causes are we to attribute this extreme depression among\\na people comparatively learned, enterprising, and ingenious Shall\\nwe impute it to the fanaticism of the covenanters, or to the\\ntyranny of the house of Stuart after their restoration to the throne\\nDoubtless these causes operated, but they seem unequal to account\\nfor the effect. In England, similar distractions and oppressions\\ntook place, yet poetry flourished there in a remarkable degree.\\nDuring this period, Cowley, and Waller, and Dry den sung, andMil-\\nton raised his strain of unparalleled grandeur. To the cause al-\\nready mentioned, another must be added, in accounting for the\\ntorpor of Scottish literature the want of a proper vehicle for men\\nof genius to employ. The civil wars had frightened away the Latin\\nmuses, and no standard had been established of the Scottish tongue,\\nwhich was deviating still farther from the pure English idiom!\\nThe revival of literature in Scotland may be dated from the es-\\ntablishment of the union, or rather from the extinction of the re-\\nbellion in 1715. The nations being finally incorporated, it was\\nclearly seen that their tongues must in the end incorporate also or\\nrather indeed that the Scottish language must degenerate into a\\nprovincial idiom, to be avoided by those who would aim at distinc-\\ntion in letters, or rise to eminence in the united legislature.\\nSoon after this, a band of men of genius appeared, who studied\\nthe English classics, and imitated their beauties, in the same man-\\nner as they studied the classics of Greece and Kome. They had ad-\\nmirable models of composition lately presented to them by the\\nwriters of the reign of Queen Anne particularly in the periodical\\npapers published by Steele, Addison, and their associated friends,\\nwhich circulated widely through Scotland, and diffused every\\nwhere a taste for purity of style and sentiment, and for critical dis-", "height": "4508", "width": "2752", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 105\\nquisition. At length, the Scottish writers succeeded in English\\ncomposition, and a union was formed of the literary talents, as well\\nas of the legislatures of the two nations. On this occasion the poets\\ntook the lead. While Henry Home, Dr. Wallace, and their learned\\nassociates, were only laying in their intellectual stores, and study-\\ning to clear themselves of their Scottish idioms, Thomson, Mallet,\\nand Hamilton of Bangour, had made their appearance before the\\npublic, and been enrolled on the list of English poets. The writers\\nin prose followed a numerous and powerful band, and poured their\\nample stores into the general stream of British literature. Scot-\\nland possessed her four universities before the accession of James to\\nthe English throne. Immediately before the union, she acquired\\nher parochial schools. These establishments combining happily to-\\ngether, made the elements of knowledge of easy acquisition, and\\npresented a direct path, by which the ardent student might be car-\\nried along into the recesses of science or learning. As civil broils\\nceased, and faction and prejudice gradually died away, a wider field\\nwas opened to literary ambition, and the influence of the Scottish\\ninstitutions for instruction, on the productions of the press, became\\nmore and more apparent.\\nIt seems, indeed, probable, that the establishment of the paro-\\nchial schools produced effects on the rural muse of Scotland also,\\nwhich have not hitherto been suspected, and which, though less\\nsplendid in their nature, are not however to be regarded as trivial,\\nwhether we consider the happiness or the morals of the people.\\nThere is some reason to believe, that the original inhabitants of\\nthe British isles possessed a peculiar and interesting species of mu-\\nsic, which being banished from the plains by the successive inva-\\nsions of the Saxons, Danes, and Normans, was preserved with the\\nnative race, in the wilds of Ireland, and in the mountains of Scot-\\nland and Wales. The Irish, the Scottish, and the Welch music,\\ndiffer^ indeed, from each other, but the difference may be consi-\\ndered as in dialect only, and probably produced by the influence of\\ntime, like the different dialects of their common language. If this\\nconjecture be true, the Scottish music must be more immediately\\nof a Highland origin, and the Lowland tunes, though now of a cha-\\nracter somewhat distinct, must have descended from the mountains\\nin remote ages. Whatever credit may be given to conjectures, evi-\\ndently involved in great uncertainty, there can be no doubt that\\nthe Scottish peasantry have been long in possession of a number of\\nsongs and ballads composed in their native dialect, and sung to\\ntheir native music. The subjects of these compositions were such\\nas most interested the simple inhabitants, and in the succession of\\ntime, varied probably as the condition of society varied. During\\nthe separation and the hostility of the two nations, these songs and\\nballads, as far as our imperfect documents enable us to judge, were\\nchiefly warlike such as the Huntis of Cheviot, and the Battle of\\nHarlaw. After the union of the two crowns, when a certain degree\\nof peace and tranquility took place, the rural muse of Scotland\\nbreathed in softer accents. In the want of real evidence respect-\\ning the history of our songs, says Ramsay of Ochertyre, recourse\\nmay be had to conjecture. One would be disposed to think, that\\ne 5", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "106 XIFE OF\\nthe most beautiful of the Scottish tunes were clothed with new\\nwords after the union of the crowns. The inhabitants of the bor-\\nders, who had formerly been warriors from choice, and husbandmen\\nfrom necessity, either quitted the country, or were transformed into\\nreal shepherds, easy in their circumstances, and satisfied with their lot.\\nSome sparks of that spirit of chivalry for which they are celebrated\\nby Froissart, remained sufficient to inspire elevation of sentiment\\nand gallantry towards the fair sex. The familiarity and kindness\\nwhich had long subsisted between the gentry and the peasantry,\\ncould not all at once be obliterated, and this connexion tended to\\nsweeten rural life. In this state of innocence, ease, and tranquillity\\nof mind, the love of poetry and music would still retain its ground,\\nthough it would naturally assume a form congenial to the more\\npeaceful state of society. The minstrels, whose metrical tales used\\nonce to rouse the borderers, like the trumpet s sound, had been, by\\nan order of the Legislature (1579), classed with rogues and vaga-\\nbonds, and attempted to be suppressed. Knox and his disciples\\ninfluenced the Scottish parliament, but contended in vain with\\nher rural muse. Amidst our Arcadian vales, probably on the banks\\nof the Tweed, or some of its tributary streams, one or more ori-\\nginal geniuses may have arisen, who were destined to give a new\\nturn to the taste of their countrymen. They would see that the\\nevents and pursuits which chequer private life were the proper\\nsubjects for popular poetry. Love, which had formerly held a di-\\nvided sway with glory and ambition, became now the master-passion\\nof the soul. To portray in lively and delicate colours, though with\\na hasty hand, the hopes and fears that agitate the breast of the\\nlovesick swain, or forlorn maiden, afford ample scope to the rural\\npoet. Love-songs, of which Tibullus himself would not have been\\nashamed, might be composed by an uneducated rustic with a slight\\ntincture of letters; or if in these songs the character of the rustic\\nbe sometimes assumed, the truth of character, and the language of\\nnature, are preserved. With unaffected simplicity and tenderness,\\ntopics are urged, most likely to soften the heart of a cruel and coy\\nmistress, or to regain a fickle lover. E?en in such as are of a me-\\nlancholy cast, a ray of hope breaks through, and dispels the deep\\nand settled gloom which characterizes the sweetest of the Highland\\nluinags, or vocal airs. !Nor are these songs all plaintive many of\\nthem are lively and humourous, and some appear to us coarse and\\nindelicate. They seem, however, genuine descriptions of the man-\\nners of an energetic and sequestered people in their hours of mirth\\nand festivity, though in their portraits, some objects are brought\\ninto open view, which more fastidious painters would have thrown\\ninto shade.\\nAs those rural poets sung for amusement, not for gain, their\\neffusions seldom exceeded a love-song, or a ballad of satire or hu-\\nmour, which, like the words of the elder minstrels, were seldom\\ncommitted to writing, but treasured up in the memory of their\\nfriends and neighbours. Neither known to the learned nor pa\u00c2\u00ab\\ntronized by the great, these rustic bards lived and died in obscurity;\\nand by a strange fatality, their story, and even their very names\\nhave been forgotten. When proper models for pastoral songs were\\nproduced, there would be no want of imitators. To succeed in this", "height": "4508", "width": "2764", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 109\\nspecies of composition, soundness of understanding and sensibility\\nof heart were more requisite than flights of imagination or pomp\\nof numbers. Great changes have certainly taken place in Scottish\\nsong- writing, though we cannot trace the steps of thi3 change and\\nfew of the pieces admired in Queen Mary s time are now to be dis-\\ncovered in modern collections. It is possible, though not probable,\\nthat the music may have remained nearly the same, though the\\nwords to the tunes were entirely new-modelled.\\nThese conjectures are highly ingenious. It cannot, however, be\\npresumed, that the state of ease and tranquility described by Mr.\\nRamsay took place among the Scottish peasantry immediately on\\nthe union of the crowns, or indeed during the greater part of the\\nseventeenth century. The Scottish nation, through all ranks, was\\ndeeply agitated by the civil wars, and the religious persecutions\\nwhich succeeded each other in that disastrous period it was not\\ntill after the revolution in 1688, and the subsequent establishment\\nof their beloved form of church government, that the peasantry of\\nthe Lowlands enjoyed comparative repose and it is since that\\nperiod that a greai number of the most admired Scottkh songs\\nhave been produced, though the tunes to which they are sung, are,\\nin general, of much greater antiquity. It is not unreasonable to\\nsuppose, that the peace and security derived from the Revolution,\\nand the Union, produced a favourable change on the rustic poetry\\nof Scotland and it will scarcely be doubted, that the institution of\\nparish schools in 1696, by which a certain degree of instruction\\nwas diffused universally among the peasantry, contributed to this\\nhappy effect.\\nSoon after this appeared Allan Ramsay, the Scottish Theocritus.\\nHe was born on the high mountains that divides Clydesdale and\\nAnnandale, in a small hamlet by the banks of the Glengonar, a\\nstream which descends into the Clyde. The ruins of this hamlet\\nare still shown to the inquiring traveller. He was the son of a\\npeasant, and probably received such instruction as his parish-\\nschool bestowed, and the poverty of his parents admitted. Ramsay\\nmade his appearance in Edinburgh, in the beginning of the present\\ncentury, in the humble character of an apprentice to a barber he\\nwas then fourteen or fifteen years of age. By degrees he acquired\\nnotice for his social disposition, and his talent for the composition\\nof verses in the Scottish idiom and, changing his profession for\\nthat of a bookseller, he became intimate with many of the literary,\\nas well as the gay and fashionable characters of his time. Having\\npublished a volume of poems of his own in 1721, which was favour-\\nably received, he undertook to make a collection of ancient Scot-\\ntish poems, under the title of the Ever- Green, and was afterwards\\nencouraged to present to the world a collection of Scottish songs.\\nFrom what sources he procured them, says Ramsay of Ochteityre,\\nwhether from tradition or manuscript, is uncertain. As in the\\nEver- Green he made some rash attempts to improve on the origi-\\nnals of his ancient poems, he probably used still greater freedom\\nwith the songs and ballads. The truth cannot, however, be known\\non this point, till manuscripts of the songs printed by him, more\\nancient than the present century, shall be produced, or access be\\nobtained to his own papers, if they are still in existence. To seve-", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "108 LIFE OF\\nral tunes which either wanted words, or had words that were im-\\nproper or imperfect he or his friends adapted verses worthy of the\\nmelodies they accompanied, worthy indeed of the golden age.\\nThese verses were perfectly intelligible to every rustic, yet justly\\nadmired by persons of taste, who regarded them as the offspring of\\nthe pastoral muse. In some respects Ramsay had advantages\\nnot possessed by poets writing in the Scottish dialect in our days.\\nSongs in the dialect of Cumberland or Lancashire, could never be\\npopular, because these dialects have never been spoken by persons\\nof fashion. But till the middle of the present century, every\\nScotsman, from the peer to the peasant, spoke a truly Doric lan-\\nguage. It is true the English moralists and poets were by this\\ntime read by every person of condition, and considered as the stan-\\ndards for polite composition. But, as national prejudices were\\nstill strong, the busy, the learned, the gay, and the fair continued\\nto speak their native dialect, and that with an elegance and poig-\\nnancy of which Scotsmen of the present day can have no just no-\\ntion. I am old enough to have conversed with Mr. Spittal, of Leu-\\nchat, a scholar and a man of fashion, who survived all the members\\nof the Union Parliament, in which he had a seat. His pronuncia-\\ntion and phraseology differed as much from the common dialect,\\nas the language of St. James s from that of Thames Street. Had\\nwe retained a court and parliament of our own, the tongues of the\\ntwo sister kingdoms would indeed have differed like the Castilian\\nand Portuguese but each would have its own classics, not in a sin-\\ngle branch, but in the whole circle of literature..\\nRamsay associated with the men of wit and fashion of his day,\\nand several of them attempted to write poetry in his manner. Per-\\nsons too idle or too dissipated to think of compositions that required\\nmuch exertion, succeeded very happily in making tender sonnets\\nto favourite tunes in compliment to their mistresses, and trans-\\nforming themselves into impassioned shepherds, caught the lan-\\nguage of the characters they assumed. Thus, about the year 1731,\\nRobert Crawfurd of Auchinames, wrote the modern song of Tweed-\\nside, which has been so much admired. In 1743, Sir Gilbert Elliot,\\nthe first of our lawyers, who both spoke and wrote English elegantly,\\ncomposed, in the character of a love-sick swain, a beautiful song, be-\\nginning, Mg sheep I neglected, I lost my sheep hook, on the marriage\\nof his mistress, Miss Forbes, with Ronald Crawfurd. And about\\ntwelve years afterwards, the sister of Sir Gilbert wrote the ancient\\nwords to the tune of the Flowers of the Forest, and supposed to\\nallude to the battle of Flodden. In spite of the double rhyme, it\\nis a sweet, and though in some parts allegorical, a natural expres-\\nsion of national sorrow. The more modern words to the same tune,\\nbeginning, have seen the smiling of fortune beguiling, were written\\nlong before by Mrs. Cockburn, a woman of great wit, who outlived\\nail the first group of literati of the present century, all of whom\\nwere very fond of her. I was delighted with her company, though\\nwhen I saw her, she was very old. Much did she know that is now\\nlost.\\nIn addition to these instances of Scottish song3, produced in the\\nearlier part of the present century, may be mentioned the ballad of\\nffardiknute, by Lady Wardlaw the ballad of William and Marga*", "height": "4508", "width": "2764", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 1 1 SF\\nret and the song entitled the Biris of Invermay, by Mallet the\\nlove -song, beginning, For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove, produced\\nby the youthful muse of Thomson and the exquisite pathetic bal-\\nlad, the Braes of Yarrow, by Hamilton of Bangour. On the revival\\nof letters in Scotland, subsequent to the Union, a very general taste\\nseems to have prevailed for the national songs and music. For\\nmany years, says Mr. Ramsay, the singing of songs was the great\\ndelight of the higher and middle order of the people, as well as of\\nthe peasantry and though a taste for Italian music has interfered\\nwith this amusement, it is still very prevalent. Between forty and\\nfifty years ago, the common people were not only exceedingly fond\\nof songs and ballads, but of metrical history. Often have I, in my\\ncheerful morn of youth, listened to them with delight, when read-\\ning or reciting the exploits of Wallace and Bruce against the South\\nrons. Lord Hailes was wont to call Blind Harry their Bible, he\\nbeing their great favourite next the Scriptures. When, therefore,\\none in the vale of life felt the first emotion of genius, he wanted\\nnot models sui generis. But though the seeds of poetry were scat-\\ntered with a plentiful hand among the Scottish peasantry, the pro-\\nduct was probably like pears and apples of a thousand that sprung\\nup, nine hundred and fifty are so bad as to set the teeth on edge\\nforty- five or more are passable and useful and the rest of an ex-\\nquisite flavour. Allan Ramsay and Burns are wildings of this last\\ndescription. They had the example of the elder Scottish poets;\\nthey were not without the aid of the best English writers and,\\nwhat was of still more importance, they were no strangers to the\\nbook of nature, and to the book of God.\\nFrom this general view, it is apparent that Allan Ramsay may\\nbe considered as in a great measure the reviver of the rural poetry\\nof his country. His collection of ancient Scottish poems under the\\nname of The Ever- Green, his collection of Scottish songs, and his\\nown poems, the principal of which is the Gentle Shepherd, have\\nbeen universally read among the peasantry of his country, and have\\nin some degree superseded the adventures of Bruce and Wallace, as\\nrecorded by Barbour and Blind Harry. Burns was well acquainted\\nwith all of these. He had also before him the poems of Fergusson\\nin the Scottish dialect, which have been produced in our own\\ntimes, and of which it will be necessary to give a short account.\\nFergusson was born of parents who had it in their power to pro-\\ncure him a liberal education, a circumstance, however, which in\\nScotland, implies no very high rank in society. From a well\\nwritten and apparently authentic account of his life, we learn that\\nhe spent six years at the schools of Edinburgh and Dundee, and\\nseveral years at the universities of Edinburgh and St. Andrew s.\\nIt appears that he was at onetime destined for the Scottish church\\nbut as he advanced towards manhood, he renounced that intention,\\nand at Edinburgh entered the office of a writer to the signet, a\\ntitle which designates and separates a higher order of Scottish at-\\ntornies. Fergusson had sensibility of mind, a warm and generous\\nheart, and talents for society, of the most attractive kind. To such\\na man no situation could be more dangerous than that in which he\\nwas placed. The excesses into which he was led, impaired his fee-\\nble constitution, and he sunk under them in the month of October", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "110 LIFE OF\\n1774, in his 28d or 24th year. Burns was not acquainted with the\\npoems of this youthful genius when he himself began to write\\npoetry and when he first saw them, he had renounced the muses.\\nBut while he resided in the town of Irvine, meeting with Fergus-\\nson s Scottish Poems, he informs us that he strung his lyre anew\\nwith emulating vigour. Touched by the sympathy originating in\\nkindred genius, and in the forebodings of similar fortune, Burns\\nregarded Fergusson with a partial and an affectionate admiration.\\nOver his grave he erected a monument, as has already been men-\\ntioned and his poems he has in several instances, made the sub*\\njects of his imitation.\\nFrom this account of the Scottish poems known to Burns, those\\nwho are acquainted with them will see they are chiefly humourous\\nor pathetic and under one or other of these descriptions most of\\nhis own poems will class. Let us compare him with his prede-\\ncessors under each of these points of view, and close our examina-\\ntion with a few general observations.\\nIt has frequently been observed, that Scotland has produced\\ncomparatively speaking, few writers who have excelled in humour.\\nBut this observation is true only when applied to those who have\\ncontinued to reside in their own country, and have confined them-\\nselves to composition in pure English; and in these circumstances\\nit admits of an easy explanation. The Scottish poets, who have\\nwritten in the dialect of Scotland, have been at all times remark-\\nable for dwelling on subjects of humour, in which indeed some of\\nthem have excelled. It would be easy to show, that the dialect of\\nScotland having become provincial, is now scarcely suited to the\\nmore elevated kinds of poetry. If we may believe that the poem\\nof Christis Kirk of the Grene was written by James the First of\\nScotland, this accomplished monarch, who had received an English\\neducation under Henry the Fourth, and who bore arms under his\\ngallant successor, gave the model on which the greater part of the\\nhumorous productions of the rustic muse of Scotland had been\\nformed. Christis Kirk of the Grene was reprinted by .Ramsay,\\nsomewhat modernized in the orthography, and two cantos were\\nadded by him, in which he attempts to carry on the design. Hence\\nthe poem of King James is usually printed in Ramsay s works.\\nThe royal bard describes, in the first canto, a rustic dance, and\\nafterwards a contention in archery, ending in an affray. Ramsay\\nrelates the restoration of concord, and the renewal of the rural\\nsports with the humours of a country wedding. Though each of\\nthe poets describes the manners of his respective age, yet in the\\nwhole piece there is a very sufficient uniformity a striking proof\\nof the identity of character in i\\\\ie Scottish peasantry at the two\\nperiods, distant from each other three hundred years. It is an\\nhonourable distinction to this body of men, that their character\\nand manners, very little embellished, have been found to be sus-\\nceptible of an amusing and interesting species of poetry and it\\nmust appear not a little curious that the single nation of modern\\nEurope which possesses an original poetry, should have received\\nthe model, followed by their rustic bards, from the monarch on the\\nthrone,\\nThe two additional cantos to VhrUtU Kirk of the Grene, written", "height": "4508", "width": "2736", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. Ill\\nby Ramsay, though objectionable in point of delicacy, are among\\nthe happiest of his productions. His chief excellence indeed, lay\\nin the description of rural characters, incidents, and scenery for\\nhe did not possess any very high powers either of imagination or of\\nunderstanding. He was well acquainted with the peasantry of\\nScotland, their lives and opinions. The subject was in a great\\nmeasure new; his talents were equal to the subject, and he has\\nshown that it may be happily adapted to pastoral poetry. In his\\nGentle Shepherd, the characters are delineations from nature, the\\ndescriptive parts are in the genuine style of beautiful simplicity,\\nthe passions and affections of rural life are finely portrayed, and the\\nheart is pleasingly interested in the happiness that is bestowed on\\ninnocence and virtue. Throughout the whole there is an air of\\nreality which the most careless reader cannot but perceive and in\\nfact no poem ever perhaps acquired so high a reputation, in which\\ntruth received so little embellishment from the imagination. In\\npastoral songs, and his rural tales, Eamsay appears to less advan-\\ntage, indeed, but still with considerable attraction. The story of\\nthe Monk and the Miller s Wife, though somewhat licentious, may\\nrank with the happiest productions of Prior or La Fontaine. But\\nwhen he attempts subjects from higher life, and aims at pure\\nEnglish composition, he is feeble and uninteresting, and seldom\\never reaches mediocrity. Neither are his familiar epistles and\\nelegie3 in the Scottish dialect entitled to much approbation.\\nThough Fergusson had higher powers of imagination than Ramsay,\\nhis genius was not of the highest order; nor did his learning,\\nwhich was considerable, improve his genius. His poems written in\\npure English, in which he often follows classical models, though\\nsuperior to the English poems of Ramsay, seldom rise above medio-\\ncrity but in those composed in the Scottish dialect he is often\\nvery successful. He was, in general, however, less happy than\\nRamsay in the subjects of his muse. As he spent the greater part\\nof his life in Edinburgh, and wrote for his amusement in the in-\\ntervals of business or dissipation, his Scottish poems are chiefly\\nfounded on the incidents of a town life, which, though they are not\\nsusceptible of humour, do not admit of those delineations of scenery\\nand manners, which vivify the rural poetry of Ramsay, and which\\nso agreeably amuse the fancy and interest the heart. The town\\neclogues of Fergusson, if we may so denominate them, are however\\nfaithful to nature, and often distinguished by a very happy vein of\\nhumour. His poems entitled The Daft Days, The King s Birth day\\nin Edinburgh, Leith Races, and The Halloio Fair, will justify this\\ncharacter. In these, particularly in the last, he imitated Christis\\nKirk of the Grene, as Ramsay had done before him. His Address to\\nthe Tron-hirlc Bell is an exquisite piece of humour, which Burns\\nhas scarcely excelled. In appreciating the genius of Fergusson, it\\nought to be recollected, that his poems are the careless effusions of\\nan irregular though aimable young man, who wrote for the periodi-\\ncal papers of the day, and who died in early youth. Had his life\\nbeen prolonged under happier circumstances of fortune, he would\\nprobably have risen to much higher reputation. He might have\\nexcelled in rural poetry, for though his professed pastorals on the\\nestablished Sicilian model, axe stale and uninteresting, The Far", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "112 LIFE OF\\nmer s Ingle, which may be considered as a Scottish pastoral, is the\\nhappiest of all his productions, and certainly was the archetype of\\nthe Cotter s Saturday Night. Fergusson, and more especially Burns,\\nhave shown, that the character and manners of the peasantry of\\nScotland, of the present times, are as well adapted to poetry, as in\\nthe days of Eamsay, or of the author of Christis Kirk of the Grene.\\nThe humour of Burns is of a richer vein than that of Ramsay\\nor Fergusson, both of whom, as he himself informs us, he had\\nfrequently in his eye, but rather with a view to kindle at their\\nflame, than to servile imitation. His descriptive powers, whether\\nthe objects on which they are employed be comic or serious, animate,\\nor inanimate, are of the highest order. A superiority of this kind\\nis essential to every species of poetical excellence. In one of his\\nearlier poems his plan seems to be to inculcate a lesson of content-\\nment on the lower classes of society, by showing that their superiors\\nare neither much better nor happier than themselves and this he\\nchooses to execute in the form of a dialogue between two dogs.\\nHe introduces this dialogue by an account of the persons and\\ncharacters of the speakers. The first, whom he has named Coe$ar\\nis a dog of condition\\n1 His locked, letter d, braw brass -collar,\\nShowed him the gentleman and scholar.\\nHigh-bred though he is, he is however full of condescension\\nAt kirk or market, mill or smiddie,\\nNae tawted tyke, tho e er sae duddie,\\nBut he wad stan t, as glad to see him,\\nAn stroan t on stanes an hillocks wi him.\\nThe other Luath, is a ploughman s-collie, but a cur of a good\\nheart and a sound understanding.\\n1 His honest, sonsie, baws nt face,\\nAye gat him friends in ilka place\\nHis breast was white, his towsie back\\nWeel clad wi coat o glossy black\\nHis gawcie tail, wi upward curl,\\nHung o er his hurdies wi a swirl.\\nNever were twa doys so exquisitely delineated. Their gambols,\\nbefore they sit down to moralize, are described with an equal de*\\ngree of happiness and through the whole dialogue, the character,\\nas well as the different condition of the two speakers, is kept in\\nview. The speech of Luath, in which he enumerates the comforts\\nof the poor, gives the following account of their merriment on the\\nfirst day of the year\\nThat merry day the year begins,\\nThey bar the door on frosty winds\\nThe nappy reeks wi mantling ream,\\nAnd sheds a heart-inspirin steam\\nThe luntin pipe, and sneeshin* mill,\\nAre handed round wi right guid-will\\nThe canty auld folks crackin crouse,\\nThe young anes rantin thro the house\\nMy heart has been sae fain to see them,\\nThat I for joy hae barkit wi them.\\nOf all the animals who have moralized on human affairs\\nsince the days of JEsop, the dog seems best entitled to the privi-\\nlege, as well from his superior sagacity, as from his Leing, more", "height": "4508", "width": "2732", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 113\\nthan any other, the friend and associate of man. The dogs of\\nBurns, excepting in their talent for moralizing, are downright\\ndogs and not like the horses of Swift, or the Hind and Panther of\\nDryden, men in the shape ot brutes. It is this circumstance that\\nheightens the humour of the dialogue. The twa dogs are con-\\nstantly kept before our eyes, and the contrast between their form\\nand character as dogs, and the sagacity of their conversation,\\nheightens the humour, and deepens the impression of the poet s\\nsatire. Though in this poem the chief excellence may be consi-\\ndered as humour, yet great talents are displayed in its composition\\nthe happiest powers of description and the deepest insight into the\\nhuman heart. It is seldom, however, that the humour of Burns\\nappears in so simple a form. The liveliness of his sensibility fre-\\nquently impels him to introduce into subjects of humour, emotions\\nof tenderness or of pity and, where occasion admits, he is some-\\ntimes carried on to exert the higher powers of imagination. In\\nsuch instances he leaves the society of Ramsay and of Fergusson,\\nand associates himself with the masters of English poetry, whose\\nlanguage he frequently assumes.\\nOf the union of tenderness and humour, examples may be found\\nin The Death and Dying Words of poor Mailie, in The auld\\nFarmer s New- Year s Morning Salutation to his Mare Maggie, and in\\nmany other of his poems. The praise of whisky is a favourite sub-\\nject with Burns. To this he dedicates his poem of Scotch Drink,\\nAfter mentioning its cheering influence in a variety of situations,\\nhe describes, with singular liveliness and power of fancy, its stimu-\\nlating effects on the blacksmith working at his forge\\nNae mercy, then, for aim or steel\\nThe brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel,\\nBrings hard owre hip, wi sturdy wheel,\\nThe strong fore-hammer,\\nTill block an studdie ring and reel\\nWi dinsome clamour.\\nOn another occasion, choosing to exalt whisky above wine, he\\nintroduces a comparison between the natives of more genial climes,\\nto whom the vine furnishes their beverage, and his own country-\\nmen who drink the spirit of malt. The description of the Scotsman\\nis humorous\\nBut bring a Scotsman frae his hill,\\nClap in his cheek a Highland gill,\\nSay, such is royal George s will,\\nAn there s the foe\\nHe has nae thought but how to kill\\nTwa at a blow.\\nHere the notion of danger rouses the imagination of the poet.\\nHe goes on thus\\nNae cauld fainthearted doubtings teaze him;\\nDeath comes\u00e2\u0080\u0094 wi fearless eye he sees him\\nWi bluidy hand a welcome gies him,\\nAnd when he fa s.\\nHis latest draught o breathing lea es him\\nIn faint huzzas.\\nAgain, however, he sinks into humour, and concludes the poem\\nwith the following most laughable, but most irreverent apostrophe", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "114 LIFE OF\\nScotland, my auld, respected mither\\nThough whyles ye moistify your leather,\\nTill where you sit. on craps o heather,\\nYe tine your dam\\nFreedom and Whisky gang thegither,\\nTak aff your dram\\nOf this union of humour, with the higher powers of imagi-\\nnation, instances may be found in the poem entitled Death and Dr.\\nHornbook, and in almost every stanza of the Address to the Deil,\\none of the happiest of his productions. -After reproaching this\\nterrible being with all his doings and misdeeds, in the course of\\nwhich he passes through a series of Scottish superstitions, and\\nrises at times into a high strain of poetry; he concludes this\\naddress, delivered in a tone of great familiarity, not altogether\\nunmixed with apprehension, in the following words\\nBut, fare ye weel, auld Nickie ben\\nO wad ye tak a thought an men\\nYe ablins might\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I dinna ken-\\nStill ha e a stake\\nI m wane to think upo ^yon den\\nE en for your sake.\\nHumour and tenderness are here so happily intermixed, that it\\nis impossible to say which preponderates.\\nFergussion wrote a dialogue between the Causeway and the\\nPlainstones of Edinburgh. This probably suggested to Burns his\\ndialogue between the Old and ISTew Bridge over the river Ayr.\\nThe nature of such subjects requires that they shall be treated\\nhumorously, and Fergusson has attempted nothing beyond this.\\nThough the Causeway and the Plainstones talk together, no attempt\\nis made to personify the speakers. A cadie heard the conver-\\nsation, and reported it to the poet.\\nIn the dialogue between the Brigs of Ayr, Burns himself is the\\nauditor, and the time and occasion on which it occurred is related\\nwith great circumstantiality. The poet, press d by care, or\\nu inspired by whim, had left his bed in the town of Ayr, and\\nwandered out alone in the darkness and solitude of a winter night,\\nto the mouth of the river, where the stillness was interrupted only\\nby the rushing sound of the influx of the tide. It was after\\nmidnight. The Dungeon-clock had struck two, and the sound\\nhad been repeated by Wallace-Tower. All else wa3 hushed. The\\nmoon shone brightly, and\\nThe chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,\\nCrept, gently, crusting, o er the glittering stream.\\nIn this situation, the listening bard hears the clanging sugh\\nof wings moving through the air, and speedily he perceives two\\nbeings, reared, the one on the Old, the other on the New Bridge,\\nwhose form and attire he describes, and whose conversation with\\neach other he rehearses. These genii enter into a comparison of\\nthe respective edifices over which they preside, and afterwards, as\\nis usual between the old and young, compare modern characters\\nand manners with those of past times. They differ, as may be ex-\\npected, and taunt and scold each other in broad Scotch. This con-\\nversation, which is certainly humorous, may be considered as a\\nproper business of the peom, As the debate runs high, and threa-", "height": "4508", "width": "2724", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "ROBEftT BURNS. 115\\ntens serious consequences, all at once it is interrupted by a new\\nscene of wonders\\nall before their sight\\nA fairy train appear d in order bright\\nAdown the glittering stream they flatly danced;\\nBright to the moon their various dresses glanced\\nThey footed o er the wat ry glass so neat,\\nThe infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet\\nWhile arts of minstrelsy among them rung,\\nAnd soul-ennobled Bards heroic ditties sung.\\nThe Genius of the Stream in front appears,\\nA venerable chief, advanced in years\\nHis hoary head with water-lilies crown d\\nHis manly leg with garter tangle bound.\\nNext follow a number of other allegorical beings, among whom\\nare the four seasons, Rural Joy, Plenty, Hospitality, and Courage,\\n1 Benevolence, with mild benignant air,\\nA female form, came from the tow rs of Stair\\nLearning and Worth in equal measures trode,\\nFrom simple Catrine, their long-loved abode\\nLast, white-robed Peace, crown d with a hazel wreath,\\nTo rustic Agriculture did bequeath\\nThe broken iron instrument of Death\\nAt sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.\\nThis poem, irregular and imperfect as it is, displays various and\\npowerful talents, and may serve to illustrate the genius of Burns.\\nIn particular, in affords a striking instance of his being carried be-\\nyond his original purpose by the powers of imagination.\\nIn Fergussous poem, the Plainstones and Causeway contrast the\\ncharacters of the different persons who walked upon them. Burns\\nprobably conceived, that, by a dialogue between the Old and New\\nBridge, he might form a humorous contrast between ancient and\\nmodern manners in the town of Ayr. Such a dialogue could only\\nbe supposed to pass in the stillness of night and this led our poet\\ninto a description of a midnight scene, which excited in a high\\ndegree the powers of his imagination. During the whole dialogue\\nthe scenery is present to his fancy, and it at length suggests to him\\na fairy dance of aerial beings, under the beams of the moon, by\\nwhich the wrath of the Genii of the Brigs of Ayr is appeased.\\nIncongruous as the different parts of this poem are, it is not an\\nincongruity that displeases and we have only to regret that the\\npoet did not bestow a little pains in making the figures more cor-\\nrect, and in smoothing the versification.\\nThe epistles of Burns, in which may be included his Dedication\\nto O. H., Esq., discover, like his other writings, the powers of a su-\\nperior understanding. They display deep insight into human na-\\nture, a gay and happy strain of reflection, great independence of\\nsentiment, and generosity of heart. It is to be regretted, that in\\nhis Holy Fair, and in some of his other poems, his humour degene-\\nrates into personal satire, and is not sufficiently guarded in other\\nrespects. The Halloioeen of Burns is free from every objection of\\nthis sort. It is interesting not only from its humorous description\\nof manners, but as it records the spells and charms used on the ce-\\nlebration of a festival, now, even in Scotland, falling into neglect,", "height": "4508", "width": "2484", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "116 LIFE OF\\nbut which was once observed over the greater part of Britain and\\nIreland. These charms are supposed to afford an insight into fu-\\nturity, especially on the subject of marriage, the most interesting\\nevent of rural life. In the Halloween, a female, in performing one\\nof the spells, has occasion to go out by moonlight to dip her shift\\nsleeve into a stream running towards the South. It was not neces-\\nsary to Burns to give a description of this stream, but it was the\\ncharacter of his ardent mind to pour forth not merely what the\\noccasion required, but what it admitted and the temptation to de-\\nscribe so beautiful a natural object by moonlight, was not to be re-\\nsisted\\nWhyles owre a lynn the burnie plays,\\nAs through the glen it wimpl t\\nWhyles round the rocky scar it strays\\nWhyles in a wiel it dimpl t;\\nWhyles glitter d to the nightly rays,\\nWi bickering dancing dazzle\\nWhyles cookit underneath the braes,\\nBeneath the spreading hazel,\\nUnseen that night.\\nThose who understand the Scottish dialect will allow this to be\\none of the finest instances of description which the records of po-\\netry afford. Though of a very different nature, it may be com-\\npared, in point of excellence, with Thomson s description of a river\\nswollen by the rains of winter, bursting through the streights that\\nconfine its torrent, boiling, wheeling, foaming, and thundering\\nalong.\\nIn pastoral, or, to speak more correctly, in rural poetry of a se-\\nrious nature, Burns excelled equally as in that of a humorous\\nkind, and, using less of the Scottish dialect in his serious poems,\\nhe becomes more generally intelligible. It is difficult to decide whe-\\nther the Address to a Mouse whose nest was turned up with the\\nplough, should be considered as serious or comic. Be this as it\\nmay, the poem is one of the happiest and most finished of his pro-\\nductions. If we smile at the bickering brattle of the little fly-\\ning animal, it is a smile of tenderness and pity. The descriptive\\npart is admirable the moral reflections beautiful, and arising di-\\nrectly out of the occasion and in the conclusion there is a deep\\nmelancholy, a sentiment of doubt and dread, that arises to the\\nsublime. The Addrese to a Mountain Daisy turned down with the\\nplough, is a poem of the same nature, though somewhat inferior in\\npoint of originality, as well as in the interest produced. To extract\\nout of interests so common, and seemingly so trivial as these, so fine\\na train of sentiment and imagery, is the surest proof, as well as the\\nmost brilliant triumph, of original genius. The Vision, in two\\ncantos, from which a beautiful extract is taken by Mr. Mackenzie,\\nin the 97th number of the Lounger, is a poem of great and various\\nexcellence. The opening, in which the poet describes his own state\\nof mind, retiring in the evening, wearied from the labours of the\\nday, to moralize on his conduct and prospects, is truly interesting.\\nThe chamber, if we may so term it, in which he sits down to muse,\\nis an exquisite painting\\nThere, lanely by the ingle cheek,\\nI sat, and eyed the spewing reek,", "height": "4508", "width": "2724", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 117\\nThat filled wi hoast provoking smeek\\nThat auld clay biggin\\nAn heard the restless rattons squeak\\nAbout the riggin.\\nTo reconcile to our imagination the entrance of an aerial being\\ninto a mansion of this kind, required the powers of Burns he,\\nhowever succeeds. Coila enters, and her countenance, attitude, and\\ngestures, unlike those of other spiritual beings, are distinctly por-\\ntrayed. To the painting on her mantle, on which is depicted the\\nmost striking scenery, as well as the most distinguished characters\\nof his native country, some exceptions may be made. The mantle\\nof Coila, like the cup of Thyrsis, and the shield of Achilles, is too\\nmuch crowded with figures, and some of the objects represented\\nupon it are scarcely admissable, according to the principles of de-\\nsign. The generous temperament of Burns led him into these exu-\\nberances. In his second edition he enlarged the number of figures\\noriginally introduced, that he might include objects to which he\\nwas originally attached by sentiments of affection, gratitude, or pa-\\ntriotism. The second Duan, or canto of this poem, in which Coila\\ndescribes her own nature and occupations, particularly her super-\\nintendence of his infant genius, and in which she reconciles him\\nto the character of a bard, is an elevated and solemn strain of\\npoetry, ranking in all respects, excepting the harmony of numbers,\\nwith the higher productions of the English muse. The concluding\\nstanza, compared with that already quoted, will show to what a\\nheight Burns rises in this poem, from the point at which he set\\nout\\n1 And wear thou this \u00e2\u0080\u0094she solemn said,\\nAnd bound the holly round my head\\nThe polish d leaves and berries red,\\nDid rustling play\\nAnd, like a passing thought she fled\\nIn light away.\\nIn various poems Burns has exhibited the picture of a mind\\nunder the deep impressions of real sorrow. The Lament, the Ode to\\nRuin, Despondency, and Winter, a Dirge, are of this character. In\\nthe first of these poems the eighth stanza, which describes a sleep-\\nless night from anguish of mind, is particularly striking. Burns\\noften indulged in those melancholy views of the nature and condi-\\ntion of man, which are so congenial to the temperament of sensi-\\nbility. The poem entitled Man was made to Mourn, affords an\\ninstance of this kind, and The Winter Night is of the same descrip-\\ntion. The last is highly characteristic, both of the temper of mind,\\nand of the condition of Burns. It begins with a description of a\\ndreadful storm on a night in winter. The poet represents himself\\nas lying in bed, and listening to its howling. In this situation, he\\nnaturally turns his thoughts to the ourie* Cattle, and the silly f\\nSheep, exposed to all the violence of the tempest. Having lamented\\ntheir fate, he proceeds in the following\\n1 Ilk happing bird\u00e2\u0080\u0094 wee helpless thing\\nThat in the merry months of spring,\\nOurie, out-lying. Ourie Cattle, Cattle thatare unhoused all winter.\\nJ Sillj is in this, as in other places, a, term of compassion and endearment.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "118 LIFE OF\\nDelighted me to hear thee sing,\\nWhat comes o thee\\nWhare wilt thou cow r thy cluttering wing,\\nAn close thy e e\\nOther reflections of the same nature occur to his mind and a3\\nthe midnight moon, muffled with clouds, casts her dreary light\\non his window, thoughts of a darker and more melancholy nature\\ncrowd upon him. In this state of mind, he hears a voice pouring\\nthrough the gloom, a solemn and plaintive strain of reflection. The\\nmourner compares the fury of the elements with that of man to his\\nbrother man, and finds the former light in the balance,\\nSee stern Oppression s iron grip,\\nOr mad Ambition s gory hand,\\nSending, like blood-hounds from the slip,\\nWoe, want, 1 and murder, o er the land.\\nHe pursues this train of reflection through a variety of particu-\\nlars, in the course of which he introduces the following animated\\napostrophe\\nO ye who sink in beds of down,\\nFeel not a want but what yourselves create,\\nThink, for a moment, on his wretched iate,\\nWhom friends and fortune quite disown\\nIll-satisfy d keen Nature s clanrrous call,\\nStretch d on his straw he lays him down to sleep,\\nWhile thro the ragged roof and chinky wall,\\nChill o er his slumbers piles the drifty heap.\\nThe strain of sentiment which runs through this poem is noble,\\nthough the execution is unequal, and the versification is defective.\\nAmong the serious poems of Burns, The Cotter s Saturday Night\\nis perhaps entitled to the fir3t rank. The Farmers Ingle of Fergus-\\nson evidently suggested the plan of this poem, as has been already\\nmentioned but after the plan was formed, Burns trusted entirely\\nto his own powers for the execution. Fergusson s poem is certainly\\nvery beautiful. It has all the charms which depend on rural cha-\\nracters and manners happily portrayed, and exhibited under cir-\\ncumstances highly grateful to the imagination. The Farmers Ingle\\nbegins with describing the return of evening. The toils of the day\\nare over, and the farmer retires to his comfortable fire-side. The\\nreception which he and his men-servants receive from the careful\\nhouse- wife, is pleasingly described. After their supper is over, they\\nbegin to talk on the rural events of the day.\\nBout kirk and market eke their tales gae on,\\n/_ How Jock woo d Jenny here to be his bride\\nAnd there how Marion for a bastard son,\\nUpon the cutty stool wa3 forced to ride,\\nThe tvaefu scauld o cur Mess John to bide.\\nThe Gruidame i3 next introduced as forming a circle round the\\nfire, in the midst of her grand children, and while she spin3 from\\nthe rock, and the spindle plays on her russet lap, she is relating\\nto the young ones tale3 of witches and ghosts. The poet exclaims,\\nO mock na this my friends! but rather mourn,\\nYe in life s brav.est spring wi reason clear,\\nWi eild our idle fancies a return,\\nAnd dim our dolefu days wi bairnly fear\\nThe mind s aye cradl d when the grave is near.", "height": "4500", "width": "2704", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 119\\nIn the meantime the farmer, wearied with the fatigues of the\\nday, stretches himself at length on the settle, a sort of rustic couch,\\nwhich extends on one side of the fire, and the cat and house-dog\\nleap upon it to receive his caresses. Here, resting at his ease, he\\ngives his directions to his men-servants for the succeeding day. The\\nhouse- wife follows his example, and gives her orders to the maidens.\\nBy degrees the oil in the cruise begins to fail the fire runs low\\nsleep steals on his rustic group and they move off to enjoy their\\npeaceful slumbers. The poet concludes by bestowing his blessing\\non the husbandman and all his tribe.\\nThis is an original and truly interesting pastoral. It possese3\\nevery thing required in this species of composition. We might\\nhave perhaps said, every thing that it admits, had not Burn s writ-\\nten his Cotters Saturday Night,\\nThe cottager returning from his labours, has no servants to ac-\\ncompany him, to partake of his fare, or to receive his instructions,\\nThe circle which he joins, is composed of his wife and children only\\nand if it admits of less variety, it affords an opportunity for repre-\\nsenting scenes that more strongly interest the affections. The\\nyounger children running to meet him, and clambering round his\\nknee; the elder, returning from their weekly labours with the\\nneighbouring farmers, dutifully depositing their little gains with\\ntheir parents, and receiving their fathers blessing and instructions\\nthe incidents of the courtship of Jenny, their eldest daughter, wo-\\nman grown, are circumstances of the most interesting kind, which\\nare most happy delineated and after their frugal supper, the repre-\\nsensation of these humble cottagers forming a wider circle round\\ntheir hearth, and uniting in the worship of God is a picture the\\nmost deeply affecting of any which the rural muse had ever pre-\\nsented to the view. Burns was admirably adapted to this deline-\\nation. Like all men of genius he was of the temperament of devo-\\ntion, and the powers of memory co-operated in this instance with the\\nsensibility of his heart, and the fervour of his imagination. The\\nCotter s Saturday Night is tender and moral, it is solemn and devo-\\ntional, and rises at length in a strain of grandeur and sublimity,\\nwhich modern poetry has not surpassed. The noble sentiments of\\npatriotism with which it concludes, correspond with the rest of the\\npoem. In no age or country have the pastoral muses breathed such\\nelevated accents, if the Messiah of Pope be excepted, which is in-\\ndeed a pastoral in form only. It is to be regretted that Burns did not\\nemploy his genius on other subjects of the same nature, which the\\nmanners and customs of the Scottish peasantry would have amply\\nsupplied. Such poetry is not to be estimated by the degree of plea-\\nsure which it bestows; it sinks deeply into the heart, and is calcu-\\nlated far beyond any other human means, for giving permanence to\\nto the scenes and the characters it so exquisitely describes.*\\nA great number of manuscript poems were found among the papers of Burns,\\naddressed to him by admirers of his genius, from different parts of Britain, as well\\nas from Ireland and America. Among these was a poetical epistle from Mr. Tel-\\nford, of Shrewsbury, of superior meat. It was written in the dialect of Scotland\\n(of which country Mr. Telford is a native.) and in the versification generally em-\\nployed by our poet himself. Its object is to recommend to him other subjects of\\na serious nature similar to that of the U Cotter s Saturday Night and the reader\\nwill rind that the advice is happily enforced by example. It would have given the\\neditor pleasure to have inserted the whole of his poem, which he hopes will one", "height": "4500", "width": "2528", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "120\\nLIFE OF\\nBefore we conclude, it will be proper to offer a few observations\\non the lyric productions of Burns. His compositions of this kind\\nare chiefly songs, generally in the Scottish dialect, and always af-\\nter the model of the Scottish songs, on the general character and\\nmoral influence of which, some observations have already been of-\\nfered. We may hazard a few more pec uliar remarks,\\nday see the light he is happy to have obtained, in the mean time, his friend Mr.\\nTelford s permission to insert the following extract\\nHow placed along the sacred board,\\nO Burns, thy happy style,\\nPursue\\nThose manner-painting strains, that\\nwhile\\nThey bear me northward many a mile,\\nRecal the days,\\nWhen tender joys, with pleasing smile,\\nBlest my young ways\\nI see my fond companions rise,\\nI join the happy village joys,\\nI see our green hills touch the skies,\\nAnd thro the woods,\\nI hear the river s rushing noise,\\nIts roaring floods*\\nNo distant Swiss with warmer glow,\\nE er heard his native music flow,\\nNor could his wishes stronger grow,\\nThan still have mine\\nWhen up this ancient mountf I go,\\nWith songs of thine.\\nO happy Bard thy gen rous flame,\\nWas given to raise thy country s fame,\\nF or this thy charming numbers came,\\nThy matchless lays\\nThen sing and save her virtuous name,\\nTo latest days.\\nBut mony a theme awaits thy muse,\\nFine as thy cotter s sacred views,\\nThen in such verse thy soul infuse,\\nWith holy air,\\nAnd sing the course the pious choose,\\nWith all thy care.\\nHow with religious awe imprest,\\nThey open lay the guiltless breast,\\nAnd youth and age with fears distrest,\\nAll due prepare,\\nThe symbols of eternal rest\\nDevout to share\\nHow down ilk lang withdrawing hill,\\nSuccessive crowds the valleys fill,\\nWhile pure religious converse still\\nBeguiles the way,\\nAnd gives a cast to youthful will,\\nTo suit the day.\\n*The banks of the Esk in Dumfries-\\nshire, are here alluded to.\\nT A beautiful little mount which stands\\nimmediately before, or rather forms a\\npart of Shrewsbury castle, a seat of Sir\\nWilliam Pulteney, Bart.\\n\u00c2\u00a7The Sacrament, generally administer-\\ned in the country parishes of Scotland in\\nthe open air.\\nTheir hoary pastor s looks adored,\\nHis voice with peace andblessing stored,\\nSent from above\\nAnd faith, and hope, and joy afford,\\nAnd boundless love.\\nO er this, with warm seraphic glow,\\nCelestial beings, pleased, bow,\\nAnd, whispered, hear the holy vow,\\nMid grateful tears\\nAnd mark amid such scenes below,\\nTheir future peers.\\nO mark the awful solemn scene\\nWhen hoary winter clothes the plain,\\nAlong the snowy hills is seen\\nApproaching slow,\\nIn mourning weeds, the village train,\\nIn silent woe.\\nSome much-respected brother s bier,\\n(By turns in pious task they share)\\nWith heavy hearts they forward bear\\nAlong the path\\nWhere nei bours saw, in dusky air.t\\nThe light of death.\\nAnd when they pass the rocky howe,\\nWhere binwood bushes o er them flow,\\nAnd move around the rising knowe,\\nWhere far away\\nThe kirkyard trees are seen to grow,\\nBy th water brae.\\nAssembled round the narrow gTave,\\nWhile o er them wintry tempests rave,\\nIn the cold wind their grey locks wave,\\nAs low they lay\\nTheir brother s body mongst the lave\\nOf parent clay.\\nExpressive looks from each declare\\nThe griefs within, their bosoms bear,\\nOne holy bow devout they share,\\nThen home return,\\nAnd think o er all the virtues fair,\\nOf him they mourn.\\nSay how by early lessons taught,\\n(Truth s pleasing air is willing caught)\\nCongenial to th untainted thought,\\nThe shepherd boy,\\nWho tends his flocks on lonely height,\\nFeels holy joy.\\nA Scottish funeral.\\nt This alludes to a superstition preva-\\nlent in Eskdale, and Annandale, that a\\nlight precedes in the night every funeral,\\nmarking the precise path it if to pas#.", "height": "4508", "width": "2724", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURKS.\\n121\\nOf the historic or heroic ballads of Scotland it is unnecessary to\\nspeak. Burns has no where imitated them, a circumstance to be\\nregretted, since in this species of composition, from its admitting\\nthe more terrible, as well as the softer giaces of poetry, he was\\neminently qualified to have excelled. The Scottish songs which\\nserved as a model to Burns, are almost without exception pastoral,\\nor rather rural. Such of them as are comic, frequently treat of a\\nrustic courtship, or a country wedding or they describe the dif-\\nferences of opinion which arise in married life. Burns has imitated\\nthis species, and surpassed his models. The song beginning, Hus-\\nband, husband, cease your strife, may be cited in support of this\\nobservation. His other comic songs are of equal merit. In the\\nrural songs of Scotland, whether humorous or tender, the senti-\\nments are given to particular characters, and very generally, the\\nincidents are referred to particular scenery. This last circumstance\\nmay be considered as a distinguishing feature of Scottish songs, and\\non it a considerable part of their attraction depends. On all occasions\\nthe sentiments, of whatever nature, are delivered in the character of\\nthe persons principally interested. If love be described, it is not as\\nIs aught on earth so lovely known,\\nOn Sabbath morn, and far alone,\\nHis guileless soul all naked shown\\nBefore his God-\\nSuch pray rs must welcome reach the\\nthrone,\\nAnd blest abode.\\nO tell with what a heartfelt joy,\\nThe parent eyes the virtuous boy\\nAnd all his constant, kind employ\\nIs how to give\\nThe best of lear he can enjoy,\\nAs means to live.\\nThe parish-school, its curious site,\\nThe master who can clear indite,\\nAnd lead him on to count and write,\\nDemand thy care\\nNor pass the ploughman s school at night\\nWithout a share.\\nNor yet the tenty curious lad,\\nWho o er the ingle hings his head,\\nAnd begs o nerbours books to read\\nFor hence arise\\nThy country s sons, who far are spread,\\nBaith bauld and wise.\\nThe bonny lasses as they spin\\nPerhaps wi Allan s sangs begin,\\nHow Tay and Tweed smooth flowing rin\\nThro flowery hows\\nWhere Shepherd-lads their sweethearts\\nwin\\nWith earnest vows.\\nOr may be, Burns, thy thrilling page\\nMay a their virtuous thoughts engage,\\nWhile playful youth and placid age\\nIn concert join,\\nTo bless the bard, who, gay or sage,\\nImproves the mind.\\nLong may their harmless, simple ways,\\nNature s own pure emotions raise\\nMay still the dear romantic blaze\\nOf purest love,\\nTheir bosoms warm to latest days,\\nAnd aye improve.\\nMay still each fond attachment glow,\\nO er woods, o er streams, o er hills of\\nsnow\\nMay ruggid rocks still dearer grow,\\nAnd may their souls\\nEven love the warlock glens which\\nthrough\\nThe tempest howls.\\nTo eternize such themes as these.\\nAnd all their happy manners seize,\\nWill every virtuous bosom please,\\nAnd high in fame\\nTo future times will justly raise\\nThy patriot name.\\nWhile all the venal tribes decay,\\nThat bask in flattery s flaunting ray,\\nThe noisome vermin of a day,\\nThy works shall gain\\nO er every mind a boundless sway,\\nAnd lasting reign.\\nWhen winter binds the harden d plains*\\nAround each hearth, the hoary swains\\nShall teach the rising youth thy strains,\\nAnd anxious say,\\nOur blessing with our sons remains,\\nAnd Bubns s Lay!", "height": "4432", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "122 LIFE OF\\nit is observed, but as it is felt and the passion is delineated un-\\nder a particular aspect. Neither is it the fiercer impulses of de-\\nsire that are expressed, as in the celebrated ode to Sappho, the\\nmodel of so many modern songs but those gentler emotions of\\ntenderness and affection, which do not entirely absorb the lover,\\nbut permit him to associate his emotions with the charms of ex-\\nternal nature, and breathe the accents of purity and innocence, as\\nwell as of love. In these respects the love songs of Scotland are\\nhonourably distinguished from the most admired classical compo-\\nsitions of the same kind and by such associations, a variety as\\nwell as liveliness, is given to the representation of this passion,\\nwhich are not to be found in the poetry of Greece and Rome, or\\nperhaps of any other nation. Many of the love-songs of Scotland\\ndescribe scenes of rural courtship many may be considered as in-\\nvocations from their lovers to their mistresses. On such occasions a\\ndegree of interest and reality is given to the sentiment, by the\\nspot destined to these happy interviews being particularized. The\\nlovers perhaps meet at the Bush aboon Traquair, or on the Batiks\\nof FAtricJc the nymphs are invoked to wander among the wilds of\\nRoslin, or the woods of Invermay, nor is the spot merely pointed\\nout the scenery is often described as well as the character, so as\\nto represent a complete picture to the fancy. Thus the maxim of\\nHorace, ut pictura pern s, is faithfully observed by these rustic\\nbards, who are guided by the same impulse of nature and sensibility\\nwhich influenced the father of epic poetry, on whose example the\\nprecept of the Roman poet was perhaps founded. By this means\\nthe imagination is employed to interest the feelings. When we do\\nnot conceive distinctly, we do not sympathize deeply in any human\\naffection and we conceive nothing in the abstract. Abstraction,\\nbo useful in morals and so essential in science, must be abandoned\\nwhen the heart is to be subdued by the powers of poetry or of\\neloquence. The bards of a ruder condition of society paint indi-\\nvidual objects and hence, among other causes, the easy access they\\nobtain to the heart. Generalization is the vice of poets, whose learn-\\ning overpowers their genius of poets of a refined and scientific age.\\nThe dramatic style which prevails so much in the Scottish songs,\\nwhile it contributes greatly to the interest they excite, also shows\\nthat they have originated among/ people in the earlier stages of\\nsociety. Where this form of composition appears in songs of a\\nmodern date, it indicates that they have been written after the an-\\ncient model.\\nThe Scottish song3 are of very unequal poetical merit, and thi3\\ninequality often extends to the different parts of the same song.\\nThose that are humorous, or characteristic of manners, have in\\ngeneral the merit of copying nature those that are serious are\\ntender and often sweetly interesting, but seldom exhibit high pow-\\ners of imagination, which indeed do not easily find a place in this\\nspecies of composition. The alliance of the words of the Scottish\\nsongs with the music has in some instances given to the former a\\npopularity, which otherwise they would never have obtained.\\nThe association of words and the music of these songs with themore\\nbeautiful parts of the scenery of Scotland, contributes to the same\\neffect. It hasgiven them not merely popularity, but permanance it", "height": "4508", "width": "2764", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 123\\nhas imparted to the works of man some portion of the durability of\\nthe works of nature. If, from our imperfect experience of the past\\nwe may judge with any confidence respecting the future, songs of\\nthis description are of all others the least likely to die. In the\\nchanges of language they may no doubt suffer change but the as-\\nsociated strain of sentiment and of music will perhaps survive,\\nwhile the clear stream sweeps down the vale of Yarrow, or the yel-\\nlow broom waves on the Cowden-knowes.\\nThe first attempts of Burns in song- writing were not very suc-\\ncessful. His habitual inattention to the exactness of rhymes, and\\nto the harmony of numbers, arising probably from the models on\\nwhich his versification was formed, were faults likely to appear to\\nmore advantage in this species of composition, than in any other\\nand we may also remark, that the strength of his imagination, and\\nexuberance of his sensibility, were with difficulty restrained within\\nthe limits of gentleness, delicacy and tenderness, which seem to be\\nassigned to the love-songs of his nation. Burns was better adapted\\nby nature for following in such composition the model of the Gre-\\ncian than of the Scottish muse. By study and practice he however\\nsurmounted all these obstacles. In his earlier songs there is some\\nruggedness; but this gradually disappears in his successive efforts\\nand some of his later compositions of this kind may be compared, in\\npolished delicacy, with the finest songs in our language, while in\\nthe eloquence of sensibility they surpass them all.\\nThe songs of Burns, like the models he followed and excelled,\\nare often dramatic, and for the greater part amatory and the beau-\\nties of rural nature are everywhere associated with the passions\\nand emotions of the mind. Disdaining to copy the works of others,\\nhe has not, like some poets of great name, admitted into his de-\\nscriptions exotic imagery. The landscapes he has painted, and the\\nobjects with which they are embelished, are, in every single in-\\nstance, such as are to be found in his own country. In a moun-\\ntainous region, especially when it is comparatively rude and naked,\\nthe most beautiful scenery will always be found in the valleys, and\\non the banks of the wooded streams. Such scenery is peculiarly\\ninteresting at the close of a summer day. As we advance north-\\nwards, the number of the days of summer, indeed diminishes but\\nfrom this cause, as well as from the mildness of the temperature,\\nthe attraction increases, and the summer night becomes still more\\nbeautiful. The greater obliquity of the sun s path in the ecliptic,\\nprolongs the grateful season of twilight to the midnight hours, and\\nthe shades of the evening seem to mingle with the morning s dawn.\\nThe rural poets of Scotland, as may be expected, associate in their\\nsongs the expression of passion, with the most beautiful of their\\nscenery, in the fairest season of the year, and generally in those\\nhours of the evening when the beauties of nature are most inter-\\nesting.\\nTo all these adventitious circumstances, on which so much of\\nthe effect of poetry depends, great attention is paid by Burns.\\nThere is scarcely a single song of his in which particular scenery is\\nnot described, or allusions made to natural objects, remarkable for\\nbeauty or interest and though hi3 descriptions are not so full as\\nare sometimes met with in the older Scottish songs, they are in the", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "124 LIFE OF\\nhighest degree appropriate and interesting. Instances in proof of\\nthis might be quoted from the Lea Rig, Highland Mary, the Sol-\\ndiers Return, Logan Water, from that beautiful pastoral, Bonnie\\nJean, and a great number of others. Occasionally the force of his\\ngenius carries him beyond the usual boundaries of Scottish song,\\nand the natural objects introduced have more of the character of\\nsublimity. An instance of this kind is noticed by Mr. Syme, and\\nmany others might be adduced.\\nHad I a cave on some wild, distant shore,\\nWhere the winds howl to the wave s dashing roar\\nThere would I weep my woes,\\nThere seek my last repose,\\nTill grief my eyes should close,\\nNe er to wake more.\\nIn one song, the scene of which is laid in a winter night, the\\nwan moon is described as setting behind the white waves; in\\nanother, the storms are apostrophized, and commanded to rest\\nin the cave of their slumbers. On several occasions, the genius\\nof Burns loses sight entirely of his archetypes, and rises into a\\nstrain of uniform sublimity. Instances of this kind appear in\\nLiberty, a Vision, and in his two war- songs, Bruce to his troops, and\\nthe Song of Death. These last are of a description of which we\\nhave no other in our language. The martial songs of our nation\\nare not military, but naval. If we were to seek a comparison of\\nthese songs of Burns with others of a similar nature, we must have\\nrecourse to the poetry of ancient Greece, or of modern Gaul.\\nBurns has made an important addition to the songs of Scotland.\\nIn his compositions, the poetry equals and sometimes surpasses the\\nmusic. He has enlarged the poetical scenery of his country.\\nMany of her rivers and mountains, formerly unknown to the muse,\\nare now consecrated by his immortal verse. The Doon, the Lugar,\\nthe Ayr, the Nith, and the Cluden, will in future, like the Yarrow,\\nthe Tweed, and the Tay, be considered as classic streams, and their\\nborders will be trod with new and superior emotions.\\nThe greater part of the songs of Burns were written after he re\\nmoved into the county of Dumfries. Influenced, perhaps, by ha-\\nbits formed in early life, he usually composed while walking in the\\nopen air. When engaged in writing these songs, his favourite walks\\nwere on the banks of the Nith, or the Cluden, particularly near\\nthe ruins of Lincluden Abbey and this beautiful scenery he has\\nvery happily described under various aspects, as it appears during\\nthe softness and serenity of evening, and during the stillness and\\nsolemnity of the moon-light night.\\nThere is no species of poetry, the productions of the drama not\\nexcepted, so much calculated to influence the morals, as well as the\\nhappiness of a people, as those popular verses which are associated\\nwith the national airs, and which being learnt in the years of in-\\nfancy, make a deep impression on the heart before the evolution of\\nthe powers of the understanding. The compositions of Burns, of\\nthis kind, now presented in a collected form to the world, make a\\nmost important addition to the popular songs of his nation. Like\\nall his other writings, they exhibit independence of sentiment;\\nthey are peculiarly calculated to increase those ties which bind\\ngenerous hearts to their native soil, and to the domestic circle of", "height": "4508", "width": "2764", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "EOBERT BURNS. 125\\ntheir infancy and to cherish those sensibilities which, under due\\nrestriction, form the purest happiness of our nature. If in his un-\\nguarded moments he composed some songs on which this praise\\ncannot be bestowed, let us hope that they will speedily be forgot-\\nten. In several instances, where Scottish airs were allied to words\\nobjectionable in point of delicacy, Burns has substituted others of\\na purer character. On such occasions, without changing the sub-\\nject, he has changed the sentiments. A proof of this may be seen\\nin the air of John Anderson my Joe, which is now united to words\\nthat breathe a strain of conjugal tenderness, that is as higly moral\\nas it is exquisitely affecting.\\nFew circumstances could afford a more striking proof of the\\nstrength of Burns genius, than the general circulation of his poems\\nin England, notwithstanding the dialect in which the greater part\\nare written, and which might be supposed to render them here un-\\ncouth or obscure. In some instances he has used this dialect on\\nsubjects of a sublime nature; but in general he confines it to sen-\\ntiments or description of a tender or humorous kind and, where\\nhe rises in elevation of thought, he assumes a purer English style.\\nThe singular faculty he possessed of mingling in the same poem\\nhumorous sentiments and descriptions, with imagery of a sublime\\nand terrific nature, enabled him to use this variety of dialect on\\nsome occasions with striking effect. His poem of Tarn o Shanter\\naffords an instance of this. There he passes from a scene of the\\nlowest humour, to situations of the most awful and terrible kind.\\nHe is a musician that runs from the lowest to the highest of his\\nkeys and the use of the Scottish dialect enables him to add two\\nadditional notes to the bottom of his scale.\\nGreat efforts have been made by the inhabitants of Scotland, of\\nthe superior ranks, to approximate in their speech to the pure\\nEnglish standard and this has made it difficult to write in the\\nScottish dialect, without exciting in them some feelings of disgust,\\nwhich in English are scarcely felt. An Englisman who understands\\nthe meaning of the Scottish words, is not offended, nay, on certain\\nsubjects, he is perhaps pleased with the rustic dialect, as he may be\\nwith the Dorick Greek of Theocritus.\\nBut a Scotchman inhabiting his own country, if a man of educa-\\ntion, and more especially if a literary character, has banished such\\nwords from his writings, and has attempted to banish them from\\nhis speech and being accustomed to hear them from the vulgar\\ndaily, does not easily admit of their use in poetry, which require a\\nstyle elevated and ornamental. A dislike of this kind is, however,\\naccidental, not natural. It is of the species of disgust which we\\nfeel at seeing a female of high birth in the dress of a rustic which\\nif she be really young and beautiful, a little habit will enable us to\\novercome. A lady who assumes such a dress puts her beauty, in-\\ndeed, to a severe trial. She rejects she, indeed, opposes the influ-\\nence of fashion she, possibly, abandons the grace of elegant and\\nflowing drapery but her native charms remain, the more striking,\\nperhaps, because the less adorned and to these she trusts for fix-\\ning her empire on those affections over which fashion has no sway.\\nIf she succeeds, a new association arises. The dress of the beauti-\\nful rustic becomes itself beautiful, and establishes a new fashion\\nfor the young and the gay. And when, in after ages, the contem-", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "126\\nLIFE OF\\nplative observer shall view her picture in the gallery that contain\\nthe portraits of the beauties of successive centuries, each in the\\ndress of her repective day, her drapery will not deviate, more than\\nthat of her rivals, from the standard of his taste, and he will give\\nthe palm to her who excels in the lineaments of nature.\\nBurns wrote professedly for the peasantry of his country, and by\\nthem their native dialect is universally relished. To a numerous\\nclass of the natives of Scotland of another description, it may also\\nbe considered as attractive in a different point of view. Estranged\\nfrom their native soil, and spread over foreign lands, the idiom of\\ntheir country unites with the sentiments and the descriptions on\\nwhich it is employed, to recal to their minds the interesting scenes\\nof infancy and youth to awaken many pleasing, many tender re-\\ncollections. Literary men, residing at Edinburgh or Aberdeen,\\ncannot judge on this point for one hundred and fifty thousand of\\ntheir expatriated countrymen.\\nTo the use of the Scottish dialect in one species of poetry, the\\ncomposition of songs, the taste of the public has been for some time\\nreconciled. The dialect in question excels, as has already been ob-\\nserved, in the copiousness and exactness of its terms for natural\\nobjects and in pastoral or rural songs, it gives a Doric simplicity,\\nwhich is very generally approved. Neither does the regret seem\\nwell founded which some persons of taste have expressed, that\\nBurns used this dialect in so many other of his compositions. His\\ndeclared purpose was to paint the manners of rustic life among his\\nhumble compeers, and it is not easy to conceive, that this could\\nhave been done with equal humour and effect, if he had not adopt-\\ned their idiom. There are some, indeed, who will think the subject\\ntoo low for poetry. Persons of this sickly taste will find their de-\\nlicacies consulted in many a polite and learned author let them\\nnot seek for gratification in the rough and vigorous lines, in the\\nunbridled humour, or in the overpowering sensibility of this bard\\nof nature.\\nTo determine the comparative merit of Burns would be no easy\\ntask. Many persons afterwards distinguished in literature, have\\nbeen born in as humble a situation of life; but it would be difficult\\nto find any other who while earning his subsistence by daily labour\\nhas written verses which have attracted and retained universal at-\\ntention, and which are likely to give the author a permanent and\\ndistinguished place among the followers of the muses. If he is de-\\nficient in grace, he is distinguished for ease as well as energy;\\nand these are indications of the higher order of genius. The father\\nof epic poetry exhibits one of his heroes as excelling in strength,\\nanother in swiftness\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to form his perfect warrior, these attributes\\nare combined. Every species of intellectual superiority admits,\\nperhaps, of a similar arrangement. One writer excels in force\\nanother in ease he is superior to them both, in whom both these\\nqualities are united. Of Homer himself it may be said, that like\\nhis own Achilles, he surpasses his competitors in mobility as well as\\nstrength.\\nThe force of Burns lay in the powers of his understanding, and\\nin the sensibility of his heart and these will be found to infuse\\nthe living principle into all the works of genius which seem des-\\ntined to immortality. His sensibility bad an uncommon range,", "height": "4508", "width": "2744", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "ROBERT BURNS. 127\\nHe was alive to every species of emotion. He is one of the few\\npoets that can be mentioned, who have at once excelled in humour,\\nin tenderness, and in sublimity a praise unknown to the ancients,\\nand which in modern times is only due to Ariosto, to Shakespeare,\\nand perhaps to Voltaire. To compare the writings of the Scottish\\npeasant with the works of these giants in literature, might appear\\npresumptuous yet it may be asserted that he has displayed the\\nfoot of Hercules. How near he might have approached them by\\nproper culture, with lengthened years, and under happier auspices,\\nit is not for us to calculate. But while we run over the melancholy\\nstory of his life, it is impossible not to heave a sigh at the asperity\\nof his fortune and as we survey the records of his mind, it is easy\\nto see, that out of such materials have been reared the fairest and\\nthe most durable of the monuments of genius.\\nON\\nTHE DEATH OF BURNS,\\nBY MR. ROSCOE.\\nA great number of poems have been written on the death of Burns,\\nsome of them of considerable poetical merit. To have subjoined\\nall of them to the present edition, would have been to have en-\\nlarged it to another volume at least; and to have made a selection,\\nwould have been a task of considerable delicacy.\\nThe Editor, therefore, presents one poem only on this melancholy\\nsubject a poem which has not before appeared in print. It is\\nfrom the pen of one who has sympathized deeply in the fate of\\nBurns, and will not be found unworthy of its author\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the Bio-\\ngrapher of Lorenzo de 1 Medici. Of a person so well known, it is\\nwholly unnecessary for the Editor to speak and, if it were neces-\\nsary, it would not be easy for him to find language that would\\nadequately express his respect and his affection.\\nRear high thy bleak majestic hills,\\nThy sheltered valleys proudly spread,\\nAnd, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills,\\nAnd wave thy heaths with blossoms red.\\nBut ah what poet now shall tread\\nThy airy heights, thy woodland reign,\\nSince he, the sweetest bard, is dead,\\nThat ever breath d the soothing strain\\nAs green thy towering pines may grow,\\nAs clear thy streams may speed along,\\nAs bright thy summer suns may glow,\\nAs gaily charm thy feathery throng\\nBut now, unheeded is the song,\\nAnd dull and lifeless all around,\\nFor his wild harp lies all unstrung,\\nAnd cold the hand that waked its sound,", "height": "4116", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "128 ON THE DEATH OF BURNS.\\nWhat tho* thy vigorous offspring rise\\nIn arts, in arms, thy sons excel\\nTho beauty in thy daughters eyes,\\nAnd health in every feature dwell\\nYet who shall now their praises tell,\\nIn strains impassion d, fond, and free,\\nSince he no more the song shall swell\\nTo love, and liberty, and thee.\\nWith step- dame eye and frown severe\\nHis hapless youth why didst thou view I\\nFor all thy joys to him were dear,\\nAnd all his vows to thee were due\\nNor greater bless his bosom knew,\\nIn opening youth s delightful prime,\\nThan when thy favouring ear he drew\\nTo listen to his chanted rhyme.\\nThy lonely wastes and frowning skies\\nTo him were all with rapture fraught\\nHe heard with joy the tempest rise\\nThat waked him to sublimer thought\\nAnd oft thy winding dells he sought,\\nWhere wild flow rs pour d their rathe perfume,\\nAnd with sincere devotion brought\\nTo thee the summer s earliest bloom.\\nBut ah no fond maternal smile\\nHis unprotected youth enjoy d,\\nHis limbs inur d to early toil,\\nHis days with early hardships tried\\nAnd more to mark the gloomy void,\\nAnd bid him feel his misery,\\nBefore his infant eyes would glide\\nDay-dreams of immortality.\\nYet, not by cold neglect depress d,\\nWith sinewy arm he turn d the soil,\\nSunk with the evening sun to rest,\\nAnd met at morn his earliest smile.\\nWaked by his rustic pipe, meanwhile\\nThe powers of fancy came along,\\nAnd sooth d his lengthened hours of toil,\\nWith native wit and sprightly song.\\nAh days of bliss, too swiftly fled,\\nWhen vigorous health from labour springs,\\nAnd bland contentment smooths the bed,\\nAnd sleep his ready opiate brings\\nAnd hovering round on airy wings\\nFloat the light forms of young desire,\\nThat of unutterable things\\nThe soft and shadowy hope inspire.\\nNow spells of mightier power prepare,\\nBid brighter phantoms round him dance\\nLet Flattery spread her viewless snare,\\nAnd Fame attract his vagrant glance;", "height": "4508", "width": "2740", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 12\u00c2\u00a3\\nLet sprightly Pleasure too advance,\\nUnveil d her eyes, unclasp d her zone,\\nTill, lost in love s delirious trance,\\nHe scorns the joys his youth has known.\\nLet Friendship pour her brightest blaze,\\nExpanding all the bloom of soul\\nAnd Mirth concentre all her rays,\\nAnd point them from the sparkling bowl\\nAnd let the careless moments roll\\nIn social pleasure unconfined,\\nAnd confidence that spurns control\\nUnlock the inmost springs of mind\\nAnd lead his steps those bowers among,\\nWhere elegance with splendour vies,\\nOr Science bids her favour d throng,\\nTo more refined sensations rise\\nBeyond the peasant s humbler joys,\\nAnd freed from each laborious strife\\nThere let him learn the bliss to prize\\nThat waits the sons of polish d life.\\nThen whilst his throbbing veins beat high\\nWith every impulse of delight,\\nDash from his lips the cup of joy,\\nAnd shroud the scene in shades of night\\nAnd let Despair, with wizard light,\\nDisclose the yawning gulf below,\\nAnd pour incessant on his sight\\nHer spectred ills and shapes of woe\\nAnd show beneath a cheerless shed,\\nWith sorrowing heart and streaming eyes,\\nIn silent grief where droops her head,\\nThe partner of his early joys\\nAnd let his infants tender cries\\nHis fond parental succour claim,\\nAnd bid him hear in agonies\\nA husband s and a father s name.\\nTis done, the powerful charm succeeds\\nHis high reluctant spirit bends;\\nIn bitterness of soul he bleeds,\\nNor longer with his fate contends.\\nAn idiot laugh the welkin rends\\nAs genius thus degraded lies\\nTill pitying Heaven the veil extends\\nThat shrouds the Poet s ardent eyes.\\nKear high thy bleak majestic hills,\\nThy sheltered valleys proudly spread,\\nAnd Scotia, pour thy thousand rills,\\nAnd wave thy heaths with blossoms red\\nBut never more shall poet tread\\nThy airy height, thy woodland reign,\\nSince he, the sweetest bard, is dead,\\nThat ever breath d the soothing strain, jr 5", "height": "4176", "width": "2556", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE\\nop\\nROBERT BURNS.\\nNo I.\\nTO A FEMALE FRIEND.\\nWRITTEN ABOUT THE YEAR 1780.\\nI verily believe, my dear E. that the pure genuine feelings of\\nlove, are as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles of\\nvirtue and piety. This, I hope, will account for the uncommon\\nstyle of all my letters to you. By uncommon, I mean, their being\\nwritten in such a serious manner, which, to tell you the truth, has\\nmade me often afraid lest you should take me for a zealous bigot,\\nwho conversed with his mistress as he would converse with his minis-\\nter. I don t know how it is, my dear for though, except your\\ncompany, there is nothing on earth that gives me so much pleasure\\nas writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy raptures so\\nmuch talked of among lovers. I have often thought, that if a well-\\ngrounded affection be not really a part of virtue, tis something ex-\\ntremely akin to it. Whenever the thought of my E. warms my\\nheart, every feeling of humanity, every principle of generosity,\\nkindles in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark of malice\\nand envy, which are but too apt to infest me. I grasp every crea-\\nture in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally participate\\nin the pleasures of the happy, and symathise with the miseries of\\nthe unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, I often look up to the\\ndivine Disposer of events, with an eye ot gratitude for the blessing\\nwhich I hope he intends to bestow on me, in bestowing you. I\\nsincerely wish that he may bless my endeavours to make your life\\nas comfortable and happy as possible, both in sweetening the rougher\\nparts of my natural temper, and bettering the unkindly circum-\\nstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, at least in my\\nview, worthy of a man, and I will add, worthy of a Christian. The\\nsordid earth-worn may profess love to a woman s person, whilst\\nin reality, his affection is centered in her pocket and the slavish\\ndrudge may go a wooing as he goes to the horse-market, to choose\\none who is stout and firm, and, as we may say of an oldhorse,\\none who will be a good drudge and draw kindly. I disdain their\\ndirty, puny ideas. I would be heartily out of humour with my-\\nself, if I thought I were capable of having so poor a notion of\\nthe sex, which were designed to crown the pleasures of society.\\nPoor devils I don t envy them their happiness who have such\\nnotions. For my part, I propose quite other pleasures with my\\ndear partner.", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 131\\nNo. II.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nMY DEAR E.\\nI do not remember in the course of your acquaintance and mine,\\never to have heard your opinion on the ordinary way of falling in\\nlove, amongst people of our station of life I do not mean the per-\\nsons who proceed in the way of bargain, but those whose affection\\nis really placed on the person.\\nThough I be, as you know very well, but a very awkward lover\\nmyself, yet as I have some opportunities of observing the conduct\\nof others who are much better skilled in the affair of courtship\\nthan I am, I often think it is owing to lucky chance more than to\\ngood management, that there are not more unhappy marriages\\nthan usually are.\\nIt is natural for a young fellow to like the acquaintance of the\\nfemales, and customary for him to keep them company when occa-\\nsion serves; some one of them is more agreeable to him than the\\nrest there is something, he knows not what, pleases him, he knows\\nnot how, in her company. This I take to be what is called love\\nwith the greatest part of us, and I must own, my dear E. it is a hard\\ngame such a one as you have to play when you meet with such a\\nlover. You cannot refuse but he is sincere, and yet though you\\nuse him ever so favourably, perhaps in a few months, or at farthest\\nin a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy may make him as\\ndistractedly fond of another, whilst you are quite forgot. I am\\naware, that perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of seeing\\nyou, you may bid me take my own lesson home, and tell me that\\nthe passion I have professed for you is perhaps one of those transient\\nflashes I have been describing but I hope my dear E. you will do\\nme the justice to believe me, when 1 assure you, that the love I\\nhave for you is founded on the sacred principles of virtue and ho-\\nnour, and by consequence, so long as you continue possessed of\\nthose amiable qualities which first inspired my passion for you, so\\nlong must I continue to love you. Believe me, my dear, it is love\\nlike this alone which can render the married state happy. People\\nmay talk of flames and raptures as long as they please and a warm\\nfancy with a flow of youthful spirits, may make them feel some\\nthing like what they describe but sure I am, the nobler faculties\\nof the mind, with kindred feelings of the heart, can only be the\\nfoundation of friendship, and it has always been my opinion, that\\nthe married life was only friendship in a more exalted degree.\\nIf you will be so good as to grant my wishes, and it should please\\nprovidence to spare us to the latest periods of life, I can look for-\\nward and see, that even then, though bent down with wrinkled\\nage even then, when all other worldly circumstances will be in-\\ndifferent to me, I will regard my E. with the tenderest affection,\\nand for this plain reason, because she is still possessed of those noble\\nqualities, improved to a much higher degree, which first inspired\\nmy affection for her.\\nO happy state, when souls each other draw\\nWhen love is liberty, and nature law/\\nI know, were I to speak in such a stylo to many a girl who thinks", "height": "4156", "width": "2556", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": ".32\\nBURNS 5 WORKS.\\nherself possessed of no small share of sense, she would think it ridi-\\nculous\u00e2\u0080\u0094but the language of the heart is, my dear E., the only\\ncourtship I shall ever use to you.\\nWhen I look over what I have written, I am sensible it is vastly\\ndifferent from the ordinary style of courtship but I shall make no\\napology I know your good nature will excuse what your good\\nsense may see amiss.\\ntfo. III.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nMY DEAR E.\\nI have often thought it a peculiarly unlucky circumstance in love,\\nthat though, in every other situation in life, telling the truth if\\nnot only the safest, but actually by far the easiest way of pro-\\nceeding, a lover is never under greater difficulty in acting, or\\nmore puzzled for expression, than when his passion is sincere\\nand his intentions are honourable. I do not think that it is\\nvery difficult for a person of ordinary capacity to talk of love and\\nfondness, which are not felt, and to make vows of constancy and\\nfidelity, which are never intended to be performed, if he be villain\\nenough to practise such detestable conduct but to a man whose\\nheart glows with the principles of integrity and truth and who\\nsincerely loves a woman of amiable person, uncommon refinement\\nof sentiment, and purity of manners to such a one, in such cir-\\ncumstances, I can assure you, my dear, from my own feelings at\\nthis present moment, courtship is a task indeed. There is such\\nnumber of foreboding fears, and distrustful anxieties crowd into\\nmy mind when I am in your company, or when I sit down to write\\nto you, that what to speak or what to write I am altogether at a\\nloss.\\nThere is one rule which I have hitherto practised, and which\\nshall invariably keep with you, and that is, honestly to tell you\\nthe plain truth. There is something so mean and unmanly in the\\narts of dissimulation and falsehood, that I am surprised they can be\\nused by any one in so noble, so generous a passion as virtuous love.\\nNo, my dear E., I shall never endeavour to gain your favour by\\nsuch detestable practices. If you will be so good and so generous as\\nto admit me for your partner, your companion, your bosom friend\\nthrough life there is nothing on this side of eternity shall give me\\ngreater transport but I shall never think of purchasing your hand\\nby any arts unworthy of a man, and I will add, of a Christian.\\nThere is one thing, my dear, which I earnestly request of you, and\\nit is this that you would soon, either put an end to my hopes by a\\nperemptory refusal, or cure me of my fears by a generous consent.\\nIt would oblige me much if you would send me a line or two\\nwhen convenient. I shall only add further, that if a behaviour re-\\ngulated (though perhaps but very imperfectly,) by the rule3 of\\nhonour and virtue, if a heart devoted to love and esteem you, and\\nan earnest desire to promote your happiness and if these are qua-\\nlities you would wish in a friend, in a husband, T hope you shall\\never find them in your real friend and sincere lover.", "height": "4500", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "LETTERS.\\n133\\n\u00c2\u00a3To. IY.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nI ought in good manners to have acknowledged the receipt of your\\nletter before this time, but my heart was so shocked with the con-\\ntents of it, that I can scarcely yet collect my thoughts so as to write\\nto you on the subject. I will not attempt to describe what I felt\\non receiving your letter. I read it over and over, again and again,\\nand though it was in the politest language of refusal, still it was\\nperemptory; you were sorry you could not make me a return,\\nbut you wish me what, without you I never can obtain, you\\nwish me all kind of happiness. It would be weak and unmanly to\\nsay, that without you I never can be happy but sure I am, that\\nsharing life with you, would have given it a relish, that wanting\\nyou, I never can taste.\\nYour uncommon personal advantages, and your superior good\\nsense, do not so much strike me these, possibly in a few instances\\nmay be met with in others but that amiable goodness, that tender\\nfeminine softness, that endearing sweetness of disposition, with all\\nthe charming offspring of a warm feeling heart these I never\\nagain expect to meet with in such a degree in this world. All\\nthese charming qualities, heightened by an education much beyond\\nany thing I have ever met with in any woman I ever dared to ap-\\nproach, have made an impression on my heart that I do not think\\nthe world can ever efface. My imagination has fondly flattered it-\\nself with a wish, I dare not say it ever reached a hope, that possibly\\nI might one day call you mine. I had formed the most delightful\\nimages, and my fancy fondly brooded over them but no w I am\\nwretched for the loss of what I really had no right to expect. I\\nmust now think no more of you as a mistress, still I presume to ask\\nto be admitted as a friend. As such I wish to be allowed to wait\\non you, and as I expect to remove in a few days a little farther off,\\nand you, 1 suppose, will perhaps soon leave this place, I wish to see\\nyou or hear from you soon and if an expression should perhaps es-\\ncape me rather too warm for friendship, I hope you will pardon it\\nin, my dear Miss (pardon me the dear expression for once.)*\\nNo. Y.\\nTO ME. JOHJST MURDOCH.\\nSCHOOLMASTER,\\nSTAPLES INN BUILDINGS, LONDON.\\nDEAR SIR, Lochlee, 15th January, 1783.\\nAs I have an opportunity of sending you a letter, without putting\\nyou to that expense which any production of mine would but ill\\nrepay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that I have not for-\\ngotten, nor ever will forget, the many obligations I lie under to\\nyour kindness and friendship.\\nI do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know what has been the\\nresult of all the pains of an indulgent father, and a masterly teach-\\ner and I wish I could gratify your curiosity with such a recital as", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "134 BURNS WORKS.\\nyou would be pleased with but that is what I am afraid will not\\nbe the case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits\\nand in this respect, I hope, my conduct will not disgrace the edu-\\ncation I have gotten but as a man of the world, I am most misera-\\nbly deficient. One would have thought, that bred as I have been,\\nunder a father who has figured pretty well as un homme des affaires,\\nI might have been what the world calls a pushing, active fellow\\nbut, to tell you the truth, Sir, there is hardly any thing more my\\nreverse. I seem to be one sent into the word to see, and observe\\nand I very easily compound with the knave who tricks me of my\\nmoney, if there be any original about him which shows me human\\nnature in a different light from any thing I have seen before. In\\nshort, the joy of my heart is to M study men, their manners, and\\ntheir ways; and for this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice\\nevery other consideration. I am quite indolent about those\\ngreat concerns that set the bustling busy sons of care agog;\\nand if I have to answer for the present hour, I am very easy\\nwith regard to any thing further. Even the last, worst shift,*\\nof the unfortunate and the wretched, does not much terrify me I\\nknow that even then my talent for what country folks call a sen-\\nsible crack, when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, would pro-\\ncure me so much esteem, that even then I would learn to be\\nhappy. However, I am under no apprehension about that for,\\nthough indolent, yet, so far as an extremely delicate constitution\\npermits, I am not lazy and in many things, especially in tavern\\nmatters, I am a strict economist not indeed for the sake of the\\nmoney, but one of the principal parts in my composition is a kind\\nof pride of stomach, and I scorn to fear the face of any man living\\nabove every thing, I abhor as hell, the idea, of sneaking in a corner\\nto avoid a dun possibly some pitiful, sordid wretch, who in my\\nheart I despise and detest. lis this, and this alone, that en-\\ndears economy to me. In the matter of books, indeed, I am very\\nprofuse. My favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, such\\nas Shenstone, particularly his Elegies Thomson Man of Feeling,\\na book I prize next to the Bible Man of the World Sterne, espe-\\ncially his Sentimental Journey Macpherson, Ossian, c. These are\\nthe glorious models after which I endeavour to form my conduct\\nand tis incongruous, tis absurd, to suppose that the man whose\\nmind glows with sentiments lightened up at their sacred flame\\nthe man whose heart distends with benevolence to all the human\\nrace he who can soar above this little scene of things, can he\\ndescend to mind the paltry concerns about which the terrsefilial\\nrace fret, and fume, and vex themselves how the glorious tri-\\numph swells my heart I forget that I am a poor insignificant\\ndevil, unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down fairs and\\nmarkets, when I happen to be in them, reading a page or two of\\nmankind, and catching the manners living as they rise, whilst\\nthe men of business jostle me on every side as an idle encumbrance\\nin their way.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 But I dare say I have by this time tired your\\npatience so I shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs. Mur-\\ndoch\u00e2\u0080\u0094not my compliments, for that is a mere common-place story,\\nThe last shift alluded to here, r u3t he the condition of an itinerant beggar.", "height": "4456", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 135\\nbut my warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare and accept of the\\nsame for yourself, from,\\nDear Sir,\\nYours, c.\\nNo. YL\\n[The following is taken from the MS. prose presented by our Bard to Mb. Riddel.]\\nOn rummaging over some old papers, I lighted on a MS. of my early\\nyears, in which I had determined to write myself out, as I was\\nplaced by fortune among a class of men to whom my ideas would\\nhave been nonsense. I had meant that the book should have lain\\nby me, in the fond hope that, some time or other, even after I\\nwas no more, my thoughts would fall into the hands of somebody\\ncapable of appreciating their value. It sets off thus\\nObservations Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, c. by JR. J5. a man\\nwho had little art in making money, and still less in keeping it\\nbut was, however, a man of some sense, and a great deal of honesty,\\nand unbounded good- will to every creature, rational and irrational.\\nAs he was but little indebted to scholastic education, and bred at a\\nplough-tail, his performances must be strongly tinctured with his\\nunpolished rustic way of life but as I believe they are really his\\noivn, it may be some entertainment to a curious observer of human\\nnature, to see how a ploughman thinks and feels, under the pres-\\nsure of love, ambition, anxiety, grief, with the like cares and pas-\\nsions, which, however diversified by the modes and manners of life,\\noperate pretty much alike I believe, on all the species.\\nThere are numbers in the world who do not want sense to make\\na figure, so much as an opinion of their own abilities, to put them\\nupon recording their own observations, and allowing them the\\nsame importance which they do to those which appear in print.\\nShenstonb.\\nPleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace\\nThe forms our pencil, or our pen designed\\nSuch was our youthful air, and shape, and face,\\nSuch the soft image of our youthful mind. Ibid.\\nApril, 1793.\\nNotwithstanding all that has been said against love, respecting\\nthe folly and weakness it leads a young inexperienced mind into\\nstill I think it in a great measure deserves the highest encomiums\\nthat have been passed on it. If any thing on earth deserves the\\nname of rapture or transport, it is the feelings of green eighteen, in\\nthe company of the mistress of his heart, when she repays him with\\nan equal return of affection.\\nAugust.\\nThere is certainly some connection between love, and music, and\\npoetry and, therefore, I have always thought a fine touch of na-\\nture, that passage in a modern love composition\\nAs tow rd her cot he jogg d along,\\nHer name was frequent in his song.\\nFor my own part, I never had the least thought or inclination of", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "136 burns works.\\nturning poet, till I once got heartily in love and then rhyme and\\nsong were, in a manner, the spontaneous language of my heart.\\nSeptember.\\nI entirely agree with that judicious philosopher, Mr. Smith, in\\nhis excellent Theory of Moral Sentiments, that remorse is the most\\npainful sentiment that can embitter the human bosom. Any or-\\ndinary pitch of fortitude may bear up tolerably well, under those\\ncalamities, in the procurement of which we ourselves have had no\\nhand but when our follies or crimes have made us miserable and\\nwretched, to bear up with manly firmness, and at the same time\\nhave a proper penitential sense of our misconduct, is a glorious ef-\\nfort of self command.\\nOf all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,\\nThat press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish,\\nBeyond comparison the wor*t are those\\nThat to our folly or our guilt we owe.\\nIn every other circumstance the mind\\nHas this to say It was no deed of mine;\\nBut when to all the evil of misfortune\\nThis sting is added\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Blame thy foolish self!\\nOr worser far, the pangs of keen remorse\\nThe torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt\\nOf guilt, perhaps, where we ve involved others;\\nThe young, the innocent, who fondly loved us.\\nNay, more, that very love their cause of ruin\\nO burning hell in all thy store of torments,\\nThere s not a keener lash\\nLives there a man so firm, who, while his heart\\nFeels all the bitter horrors of his crime\\nCan reason down its agonising throbs\\nAnd, after proper purpose of amendment,\\nCan firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace\\nO, happy happy enviable man\\nO glorious magnanimity of soul.\\nMarch, 1784.\\nI have often observed, in the course of my experience of human\\nlife, that every man, even the worst, has something good about\\nhim though very often nothing else than a happy temperament\\nof constitution inclining him to this or that virtue. For this rea-\\nson, no man can say. in what degree any other person, besides him-\\nself, can be, with strict justice, called wicked. Let any of the strict-\\nest character for regularity of conduct among us, examine impar-\\ntially bow many vices he has never been guilty of, not from any\\ncare or vigilance, but for want of opportunity, or some accidental\\ncircumstance intervening; how many of the weaknesses of man-\\nkind he has escaped, because he was out of the line of such tempta-\\ntion and, what often, if not always weighs more than all the\\nrest, how much he is indebted to the world s good opinion, because\\nthe world does not know all I say, any man who can thus think,\\nwill scan the failings, nay, the faults and crimes, of mankind around\\nhim, with a brother s eye.\\nI have often courted the acquaintance of that part of mankind\\ncommonly known by the ordinary phrase of blackguards, sometimes\\nfarther than was consistent with the safety of my character; those\\nwho, by thoughtless prodigality or headstrong passions, have been\\ndriven to ruin. Though disgraced by follies, nay, sometimes\\nffcined with guilt,", "height": "4452", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 137\\nI have yet found among them, in not a few instances, some of the\\nnoblest virtues, magnanimity, generosity, disinterested friendship,\\nand even modesty.\\nApril,\\nAs I am what the men of the world, if they know such a man,\\nwould call a whimsical mortal, I have various sources of pleasure\\nand enjoyment, which are, in a manner, peculiar to myself, or\\nsome here and there such other out- of the way person. Such i3 the\\npeculiar pleasure I take in the season of winter, more than the rest\\nof the year. This, I believe, may be partly owing to my mis-\\nfortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast but there is some-\\nthing in the\\nMighty tempest, and the hoary waste\\nAbrupt and deep, stretch d o er the buried earth,\\nwhich raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable to every\\nthing great and noble. There is scarcely any earthly object gives\\nme more I do not know if I should call it pleasure but some-\\nthing which exalts me, something which enraptures me than to\\nwalk in the sheltered side of the wood, or high plantation, in a\\ncloudy winter-day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the\\ntrees, and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion\\nmy mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who, in the\\npompous language of the Hebrew bard, walks on the wings of the\\nwind. In one of these seasons, just after a train of misfortunes, I\\ncomposed the following\\nThe wintry west extends his blast, c.\\nSee Songs.\\nShenstone finally observes, that love- verses, writ without any\\nreal passion, are the most nauseous of all conceits and I have\\noften thought that no man can be a proper critic of love- compo-\\nsition, except he himself, in one or more instances, have been a\\nwarm votary of this passion. As I had been all along a miserable\\ndupe to love, and have been led into a thousand weaknesses and\\nfollies by it, for that reason I put the more confidence in my critical\\nskill, in distinguishing foppery, and conceit, from zeal passion and\\nnature. Whether the following song will stand the test, I will not\\npretend to say, because it is my own only I can say it was at the\\ntime, genuine from the heart.\\nBehind yon hills, c.\\nSee Songs.\\nI think the whole species of young men may be naturally enough\\ndivided into two grand classes, which I shall call the grave and the\\nmerry though, by the bye, these terms do not with propriety\\nenough express my ideas. The grave I shall cast into the usual\\ndivision of those who are goaded on by the love of money, and\\nwhose darling wish is to make a figure in the world. The merry\\nare, the men of pleasure of all denominations; the jovial lads,\\nwho have too much fire and spirit to have any settled rule of ac-\\ntion but without much deliberation, follow the strong impulses\\nof nature; the thoughtless, the careless, the indolent in particular", "height": "4460", "width": "2512", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "138 BURNS WORKS.\\nhe, who, with a happy sweetness of natural temper, and a cheerful\\nvacancy of thought, steals through life generally, indeed, in po-\\nverty and obscurity but poverty and obscurity are only evils to\\nhim who can sit gravely down and make a repining comparison be-\\ntween his own situation and that of others and lastly to grace the\\nquorum, such are, generally, those whose heads are capable of all\\nthe towerings of genius, and whose hearts are warmed with all the\\ndelicacy of feeling.\\nAs the grand end of human life is to cultivate an intercourse\\nwith that Being to whom we owe life, with every enjoyment that\\ncan render life delightful and to maintain an integritive conduct\\ntowards our fellow- creatures, that so, by forming piety and virtue\\ninto habit, we may be fit members for the society of the pious and\\nthe good, which reason and revelation teach us to expect beyond\\nthe grave I do not see that the turn of the mind, and pursuits of\\nany son of poverty and obscurity, are in the least more inimical to\\nthe sacred interests of piety and virtue, than the even lawful,\\nbustling and straining after the world s riches and honours and 1\\ndo not see, but that he may gain Heaven as well (which, by ihe bye,\\nis no mean consideration), who steals through the vale of life amus-\\ning himself with every little flower that fortune throws in his way\\nas he who, coming straight forward, and perhaps bespattering all\\nabout him, gains some of life s little eminences where, after all,\\nhe can only see and be seen, a little more conspicuously, than what,\\nin the pride of his heart, he is apt to term the poor, indolent devil\\nhe has left behind him.\\nThere is a noble sublimity, a heart-rending tenderness, in some of\\nour ancient ballads, which shows them to be the work of a masterly\\nhand and it has often given me many a heart-ache to reflect, that\\nsuch glorious old bards bards who very probably owed all their\\ntalents to native genius, yet have described the exploits of heroes,\\nthe pangs of disappointment, and the meltings of love, with such\\nfine strokes of nature that their very names (0 how mortifying to\\na bard s vanity are now buried among the wreck of things which\\nwere.\\nO ye illustrious names unknown who could feel so strongly and\\ndescribe so well the last, the meanest of the muses train one\\nwho, though far inferior to your flights, yet eyes your path, and\\nwith a trembling wing would sometimes soar after you a poor\\nrustic bard unknown, pays this sympathetic pang to your memory\\nSome of you tell us, with all the charms of verse, that you have\\nbeen unfortunate in the world unfortunate in love he too has\\nfelt the loss of his little fortune, the loss of friends, and, worse than\\nall, the loss of the woman he adored. Like you, all his consolation\\nwas his muse. She taught him in rustic measures to complain.\\nHappy could he have done it with your strength of imagination\\nand flow of verse. May the turf lie lightly on your bones and\\nmay you now enjoy that solace and rest which this world seldom\\ngives to the heart, tuned to all the feelings of poesy and love I", "height": "4508", "width": "2608", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 139\\nThis is all worth quoting in my MSS., and more than alL\\nR. B.\\nNo. VII.\\nTO MR. AIKEN.\\n[The Gentleman to whom the Cotter s Saturday Night is addressed.]\\nSir, Ayrshire, 1786.\\nI was with Wilson my printer, t other day, and settled all our by-\\ngone matters between us. After I had paid him all demands, I\\nmade him an offer of the second edition, on the hazard of being\\npaid out of the first and readiest, which he declines. By his ac-\\ncount, the paper of a thousand copies would cost about twenty-\\nseven pounds, and the printing about fifteen or sixteen he offers\\nto agree to this for the printing, if I will advance for the paper\\nbut this, you know, is out of my power so farewell hopes of a se-\\ncond edition till I grow richer an epocha which, I think, will\\narrive at the payment of the British national debt.\\nThere is scarcely any thing hurts me so much in being disap\u00c2\u00ab\\npointed of my second edition, as not having it in my power to show\\nmy gratitude to Mr. Ballantyne, by publishing my poem of The\\nBrigs of Ayr, 1 would detest myself as a wretch, if I thought I\\nwere capable, in a very long life, of forgetting the honest, warm,\\nand tender delicacy with which he enters into my interests. I am\\nsometimes pleased with myself in my grateful sensations but I\\nbelieve, on the whole, I have very little merit in it, as my grati-\\ntude is not a virtue, the consequence of reflection, but sheerly the\\ninstinctive emotion of a heart too inattentive to allow worldly\\nmaxims and views to settle into selfish habits.\\nI have been feeling all the various rotations and movements\\nwithin, respecting the excise. There are many things plead strongly\\nagainst it the uncertainty of getting soon into business, the con-\\nsequences of my follies, which may perhaps make it impracticable\\nfor me to stay at home and besides, I -have for some time been\\npining under secret wretchedness, from causes which you pretty\\nwell know the pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with\\nsome wandering stabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on my\\nvitals like vultures, when attention is not called away by the calls\\nof society or the vagaries of the muse. Even in the hour of social\\nmirth, my gaiety is the madness of an intoxicated criminal under\\nthe hands of the executioner. All these reasons urge me to go\\nabroad and to all these reasons I have only one answer the feel-\\nings of a father. This, in the present mood I am in, overbalances\\nevery thing that can be laid in the scale against it.\\nYou may perhaps think it an extravagant fancy, but it is a sen-\\ntiment which strikes home to my very soul though sceptical, in\\nsome points, of our current belief, yet, I think, I have every evi-\\ndence for the reality of a life beyond the stinted bourne of our\\npresent existence if so, then how should I, in the presence of that\\ntremendous Being, the Author of existence how should I meet the\\nreproaches of those who stand to me in the dear relation of children,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "140 burns works.\\nwhom I deserted in the smiling innocency of helpless infancy 1 O,\\nthou great unknown Power thou Almighty God who hast lighted\\nup reason in my breast, and blessed me with immortality I have\\nfrequently wandered from that order and regularity necessary for\\nthe perfection of thy works, yet thou hast never left me nor for-\\nsaken me\\nSince I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen something of the\\nstorm of mischief thickening over my folly-devoted head. Should\\nyoUj my friends, my benefactors,, be successful in your applications\\nfor me, perhaps it may not be in my power in that way to reap\\nthe fruit of your friendly efforts. What I have written in the pre-\\nceding pages is the settled tenour of my resolution but should\\ninimical circumstances forbid me closing with your kind offer, or,\\nenjoying it, only threaten to entail farther misery\\nTo tell the truth, I have little reason for this last complaint, as\\nthe world in general has been kind to me, fully up to my deserts.\\nI was, for some time past, fast getting into the pining distrustful\\nsnarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone, unfit for the strug-\\ngle of life, shrinking at every rising cloud in the chance- directed\\natmosphere of fortune, while, all defenceless, 1 looked about in vain\\nfor a cover. It never occurred to me, at least never with the force\\nit deserved, that this world is a busy scene, and man a creature des-\\ntined for progressive struggle and that, however I might possess a\\nwarm heart and inoffensive manners (which last, by the bye, was\\nrather more than I could well boast,) still more than these passive\\nqualities, there was something to be done. When all my school-\\nfellows and youthful compeers (those misguided few excepted, who\\njoined, to use a Gentoo phrase, the hallachores of the human race),\\nwere striking off with eager hope and earnest intent on some one\\nor other of the many paths of busy life, I was standing idle in\\nthe market-place, or left the chase of the butterfly from flower to\\nflower, to hunt fancy from whim to whim.\\n-St Jit\\nYou see, Sir, that if to know one s errors were a probability of\\nmending them, I stand a fair chance but according to the reverend\\nWestminster divines, though conviction must precede conversion,\\nit is very far from always implying it.\\nNo. VIII.\\nTO MKS. DUNLOP, OF DUN LOP.\\nmadam, Ayrshire, 1786.\\nI am truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when 1 was so much\\nhonoured with your order for my copies, and incomparably more\\nby the handsome compliments you are pleased to pay my poetic\\nabilities. I am fully persuaded that there is not any class of man-\\nkind so feelingly alive to the titillations of applause as the sons of\\nParnassus; nor is it easy to eonceive how the heart of the poor bard\\ndances with rapture, when those whose character in life gives them\\na right to be polite judges, honour him with their approbation.", "height": "4527", "width": "2569", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 141\\nHad you been throughly acquainted with me, Madam, you could\\nnot have touched my darling heart-chord more sweetly than notic-\\ning my attempts to celebrate your illustrious ancestor the Saviour\\nof his country.\\nGreat patriot hero ill requited chief\\nThe first book I met with in my early years, which I perused with\\npleasure, was The Life of Hannibal the next was The History of\\nSir William Wallace: for several of my earlier years 1 had few\\nother authors and many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the\\nlaborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their glorious\\nbut unfortunate stories. In these boyish days I remember in par-\\nticular being struck with that part of Wallace s story where these\\nlines occur\\n1 Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late,\\nTo make a silent and a safe retreat.\\nI chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life allow-\\ned, and walked half a dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leg-\\nlen wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to\\nLoretto and, as I explored every den and dell where I could sup-\\npose my heroic countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even\\nthen I was a rhymer), that my heart glowed with a wish to be able\\nto make a song on him in some measure equal to his merits.\\nNo. IX.\\nTO MES. STEWART, OF STAIR.\\nMadam, 1786.\\nThe hurry of my preparations for going abroad has hindered me\\nfrom performing my promise so soon as I intended. I have here\\nsent you a parcel of songs, c. which never made their appearance,\\nexcept to a friend or two at most. Perhaps some of them may be\\nno great entertainment to you but of that I am far from being an\\nadequate judge. The song to the tune of Ettrick Banks, you will\\neasily see the impropriety of exposing much even in manuscript. I\\nthink, myself, it has some merit, both as a tolerable description of\\none of Nature s sweetest scenes, a July evening, and one of the\\nfinest pieces of Nature s workmanship, the finest indeed we know\\nany thing of, an amiable, beautiful young woman but I have no\\ncommon friend to procure me that permission, without which I\\nwould not dare to spread the copy.\\nI am quite aware, madam, what task the world would assign me\\nin this letter. The obscure bard, when any of the great condescend\\nto take notice of him, should heap the altar with the incense of\\nflattery. Their high ancestry, their own great and godlike quali-\\nties and actions, should be recounted with the most exaggerated\\ndescription. This, madam, is a task for which I am altogether un-\\nfit. Besides a certain disqualifying pride of heart, I know nothing\\nof your connections in life, and have no access to where your real\\ncharacter is to be found\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the company of your compeers: and more,\\nI am afraid that even the most refined adulation is by no means the\\nroad to your good opinion.\\nOne feature of jour character I shall eyer with grateful pleasure", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "142 burns works.\\nremember the reception I got, when I had the honour of waiting\\non you at Stair. I am little acquainted with politeness but 1\\nknow a good deal of benevolence of temper and goodness of heart.\\nSurely, did those in exalted stations know how happy they could\\nmake some classes of their inferiors by condescension and affability,\\nthey would never stand so high, measuring out with every look the\\nheight of their elevation, but condescend as sweetly as did Mrs.\\nStewart of Stair.\\nNo. X.\\nDR. BLACKLOCK\\nTO\\nTHE REVEREND MR. G. LOWRIE.\\nReverend and deab sir,\\nI ought to have acknowledged your favour long ago, not only as a\\ntestimony of your kind remembrance, but as it gave me an oppor-\\ntunity of sharing one of the finest, and, perhaps, one of the mo9t\\ngenuine entertainments, of which the human mind is susceptible.\\nA number of avocations retarded my progress in reading the poems\\nat last, however, I have finished that pleasing perusal. Many in-\\nstances have 1 seen of Nature s force and beneficence exerted under\\nnumerous and formidable disadvantages; but none equal to that\\nwith which you have been kind enough to present me. There is a\\npathos and delicacy in his serious poems, a vein of wit and humour\\nin those of a more festive turn, which cannot be too much admired,\\nnor too warmly approved and I think I shall never open the book\\nwithout feeling my astonishment renewed and increased. It was\\nmy wish to have expressed my approbation in verse but whether\\nfrom declining life, or a temporary depression of spirits, it is at\\npresent out of my power to accomplish that agreeable intention.\\nMr. Stewart, Professor of Morals in this University, had formerly\\nread me three of the poems, and I had desired him to get my name\\ninserted among the subscribers but whether this was done, or not,\\nI never could learn. I have little intercourse with Dr. Blair, but\\nwill take care to have the poems communicated to him by the in-\\ntervention of some mutual friend. It has been told me by a gen-\\ntleman, to whom I showed the performances, and who sought a\\ncopy with diligence and ardour, that the whole impression is al-\\nready exhausted. It were, therefore, much to be wished, for\\nthe sake of the young man, that a second edition, more numer-\\nous than the former, could immediately be printed as it appears\\ncertain that its intrinsic merit, and the exertion of the author s\\nfriends, might give it a more universal circulation than anything of\\nthe kind which has been published within my memory.\\nNo. XI.\\nFROM SIR JOHN WHITEFORD.\\nSIR, Edinburgh, 4th December, 1786.\\nI received your letter a few day s ago. 1 do not pretend to much\\ninterest, but what I have I shall be ready to exert in procuring", "height": "4508", "width": "2788", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 143\\nthe attainment of any object you have in view. Your character as\\na man (forgive my reversing the order), as well as a poet, entitle\\nyou, I think, to the assistance of every inhabitant of Ayrshire. I\\nhave been told you wished to be made a guager I submit to your\\nconsideration, whether it would not be more desirable, if a sum\\ncould be raised by subscription, for a second edition of your poems,\\nto lay it out in the stocking of a small farm. I am persuaded it\\nwould be a line of life, much more agreeable to your feelings, and\\nin the end more satisfactory. When you have considered this, let\\nme know, and whatever you determine upon, I will endeavour to\\npromote as far as my abilities will permit. With compliments to\\nmy friend the doctor. I am,\\nYour friend and well-wisher,\\nJOHN WHITEFOKD.\\nP. S. I shall take it a9 a favour when you at any time send me\\na new production.\\nNo. XII.\\nFROM\\nDear Sir, 22d December, 1786.\\nI east week received a letter from Dr. Blacklock, in which he ex-\\npresses a desire of seeing you. I write this to you, that you may\\nlose no time in waiting upon him, should you not have seen him.\\nI rejoice to hear, from all corners, of your rising fame, and I wish\\nand expect it may tower still higher by the new publication. But,\\nas a friend, I warn you to prepare to meet with your share of detrac-\\ntion and envy a train that always accompany great men. For your\\ncomfort, I am in great hopes that the number of your friends and ad-\\nmirers will increase, and that you have some chance of ministerial,\\nor even patronage. Now, my friend, such rapid suc-\\ncess is very uncommon and do you think yourself in no danger of\\nsuffering by applause and a full purse Remember Solomon s ad-\\nvice, which he spoke from experience, stronger is he that con-\\nquers, c. Keep fast hold of your rural simplicity and purity,\\nlike Telemachus, by Mentor s aid, in Calypso s isle, or even in that\\nof Cyprus. I hope you have also Minerva with you. I need not\\ntell you how much a modest diffidence and invincible temperance\\nadorn the most shining talents, and elevate the mind, and exalt\\nand refine the imagination even of a poet.\\nI hope you will not imagine I speak from suspicion or evil report.\\nI assure you I speak from love and good report, and good opinion,\\nand a strong desire to see you shine as much in the sunshine as you\\nhave done in the shade, and in the practice as you do in the theory\\nof virtue. This is my prayer, in return for your elegant compo-\\nsition in verse. All here join in compliments, and good wishes for\\nyour further prosperity.\\nNo. XIII.\\nTO MR. CHALMERS.\\nMy Dear Friend, Edinburgh, 27th Dec. 1786.\\nI fQNFEss I have sinned the sin for which there is hardly any for-", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "144 burns works.\\ngiveness ingratitude to friendship in not writing you sooner;\\nbut of all men living, I had intended to send you an entertaining\\nletter; and by all the plodding, stupid powers, that in nodding\\nconceited majesty preside over the dull routine of business a\\nheavily solemn oath this I am, and have been ever since I came\\nto Edinburgh, as unfit to write a letter of humour as to write a\\ncommentary on the Reflations.\\nTo make you some amends for what, before you reach, this para-\\ngraph, you will have suffered, I inclose you two poems I have\\ncarded and spun since I past Glenbuck. One blank to the address\\nto Edinburgh, Fair B is the heavenly Miss Burnett, daugh-\\nter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honour to be\\nmore than once. There has not been any thing nearly like her,\\nin all the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness, the great\\nCreator has formed, since Milton s Eve on the first day of her ex-\\nistence.\\nI have sent you a parcel of suscription- bills, and have written to\\nMr. Ballantine and Mr. Aiken, to call on you for some of them, if\\nthey want them. My direction is Care of Andrew Bruce, merchant,\\nBridge Street.\\nNo. XIV.\\nTO THE EAEL OF EGLINTON.\\nMy LoaD, Edinburgh, January 1787.\\nAs I have but slender pretensions to philosophy, I cannot rise to\\nthe exalted idea of a citizen of the world but have all those na-\\ntional prejudices which, I believe, glow peculiarly strong in the\\nbreast of a Scotchman. There is scarcely any thing to which I am\\nso feelingly alive, as the honour and welfare of my country; and,\\nas a poet, I have no higher enjoyment than singing her sons and\\ndaughters. Fate had cast my station in the veriest shades of life\\nbut never did a heart pant more ardently than mine, to be distin-\\nguished though, till very lately, I looked in vain on every side for\\na ray of light. It is easy, then, to guess how much I was gratified\\nwith the countenance and approbation of one of my country s most\\nillustrious sons, when Mr. Wauchope called on me yesterday, on\\nthe part of your lordship. Your munificence, my lord, certainly\\ndeserves my very grateful acknowledgements but your patronage\\nis a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings. I am not master\\nenough of the etiquette of life to know whether there be not some\\nimpropriety in troubling your lordship with my thanks but my\\nheart whispered me to do it. From the emotions of my inmost\\nsoul I do it. Selfish ingratitude, I hope, I am incapable of and\\nmercenary servility, I trust, I shall ever have so much honest pride\\nas to detest.\\nNo. XY.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nMai am, Edinburgh, 15th January, 1787.\\nYouas of the 9th current, which 1 am this m.o\u00c2\u00bben.t honoured with,", "height": "4508", "width": "2768", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 146\\nis a deep reproach to me for ungrateful neglect. I will tell you the\\nreal truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib I wished to have\\nwritten to Dr. Moore before 1 wrote to you but though, every day\\nsince I received yours of December 30th, the idea, the wish to write\\nhim, has constantly pressed on my thoughts, yet I could not for my\\nsoul set about it. I know his fame and character, and I am one of\\nthe sons of little men. To write him a mere matter of fact affair,\\nlike a merchant s order, would be disgracing the little character I\\nhave and to write the author of The View of Society and Manners\\na letter of sentiment I declare every artery runs cold at the\\nthought. 1 shall try, however, to write him to morrow or next\\nday. His kind interposition in my behalf I have already expe-\\nrienced, as a gentlemen waited on me the other day, on the part of\\nLord Eglinton, with ten guineas by way of subscription for two\\ncopies of my next edition.\\nThe word you object to in the mention I have made of my glorious\\ncountryman and your immortal ancestor, is indeed borrowed from\\nThompson but it does not strike me as an improper epithet. I\\ndistrusted my own judgment on your finding fault with it, and ap-\\nplied for the opinion of some of the Literati here, who honour me\\nwith their critical strictures, and they all allow it to be proper.\\nThe song you ask I cannot recollect, and I have not a copy of\\nit. I have not composed any thing on the great Wallace, except\\nwhat you have seen in print, and the enclosed, which I will\\nprint in this edition.* You will see I have mentioned some\\nothers of the name. When I composed my Vision, long ago, I\\nhad attempted a description of Kyle, of which the additional\\nstanzas are a part, as it originally stood. My heart glows with a\\nwish to be able to do justice to the merits of the Saviour of his\\nCountry, which, sooner or later, I shall at least attempt.\\nYou are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a\\npoet. Alas madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do\\nnot mean any airs of affected modesty I am willing to believe that\\nmy abilities deserved some notice but in a most enlightened, in-\\nformed age and nation, when poetry is and has been the study of\\nmen*of the first natural genius aided with all the powers of polite\\nlearning, polite book?, and polite company to be dragged forth to\\nthe full glare of learned and polite observation, with all my imper-\\nfections of awkward rusticity and crude unpolished ideas en my\\nhead \u00e2\u0080\u0094I assure you, madam, I do not dissemble when I tell you I\\ntremble for the consequences. The novelty of a poet in my obscure\\nsituation, without any of those advantages which are reckoned\\nnecessary for that character, at least at this time of day, has raised\\na partial tide of public notice, which has borne me to a height\\nwhere I am absolutely, feeling certain, my abilities are inadequate\\nto support me and too surely do I see that time when the same\\ntide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far below the mark of\\ntruth.\\nYour patronizing me, and interesting yourself in my fame\\nStanzas in the Visiov, beginning third stanza, By stately tower or palace\\nfair, and ending with the fiist dtaa.", "height": "4476", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "140 BURNS WORKS.\\nand character as a poet, I rejoice in it; it exalts me in my own\\nidea and whether you can or cannot aid me in my subscription is\\na trifle. Has a paltry subscription bill any charms to the heart of\\na bard, compared with the patronage of the descendant of the im-\\nmortal Wallace 1\\nNo. XYI.\\nTO DR. MOORE.\\nsir, 1787.\\nMrs. Ddnlop has been so kind as to send me extracts of letters\\nshe has had from you, where you do the rustic bard the honour of\\nnoticing him and his works. Those who have felt the anxieties\\nand solicitudes of authorship, can only know what pleasure it gives\\nto be noticed in such a manner by judges of the first character.\\nYour criticisms, sir, I receive with reverence only, I am sorry\\nthey mostly came too late a peccant passage or two, that I would\\ncertainly have altered, were gone to press.\\nThe hope to be admired for ages is, in by far the greater part of\\nthose even who are authors of repute, an unsubstantial dream. For\\nmy part, my first ambition was, and still my strongest hope is, to\\nplease my compeers, the rustic inmates of the hamlet, while ever\\nchanging languages and manners shall allow me to be relished\\nand understood. I am very willing to admit that I have some\\npoetical abilities and as few, if any writers, either moral or\\npoetical, are intimately acquainted with the classes of man-\\nkind among whom 1 have chiefly mingled, I may have seen men\\nand manners in a different phasis from what is common, which may\\nassist originality of thought. Still I know very well the novelty of\\nmy character has by far the greatest share in the learned and polite\\nnotice I have lately had; and in a language where Pope and\\nChurchill have raised the laugh, and Shenstone and Gray\\ndrawn the tear where Thomson and Beattie have painted the\\nlandscape, and Lyttleton and Collins described the heart, I am not\\nvain enough to hope for distinguished poetic fame.\\nNo. XVII.\\nFROM DR. MOORE.\\nsir, Clifford Street, January 23, 1787.\\nI have just received your letter, by which I find I have reason to\\ncomplain of my friend Mr3. Dunlop for transmitting to you ex-\\ntracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too carelessly\\nwritten for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, in consi-\\nderation of her good intention, as you will forgive me, 1 hope, for\\nthe freedom I use with certain expressions, in consideration ot my\\nadmiration of the poems in general. If I may judge of the au-\\nthor s disposition from hi3 works, with all the other good qualities\\nof a poet, he has not the irritable temper ascribed to that race of\\nmen by one of their own number, whom you have the happiness to\\nresemble in ease and curious felicity of expression. Indeed the po-\\netical beauties, however original and brilliant, and lavishly scat-", "height": "4508", "width": "2808", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 147\\ntered, are hot all I admire in your works the love of your native\\ncountry, that feeling sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and\\nthe independent spirit which breathes through the whole, give me\\na most favourable impression of the poet, and have made me often\\nregret that I did not see the poems, the certain effect of which\\nwould have been my seeing the author last summer, when I was\\nlonger in Scotland than I have been for many years.\\nI rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement yon receive at\\nEdinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage\\nof Dr. Blair, who, I am informed, interests himself very much for\\nyou. I beg to be remembered to him nobody can have a warmer\\nregard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of the\\nworth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory of our\\ncommon friend, the late Mr. George B e.\\nBefore I received your letter, I sent inclosed in a letter to\\na sonnet by Miss Williams, a young poetical lady, which she wrote\\non reading your Mountain-Daisy perhaps it may not displease\\nyou.*\\nI have been trying too add to the number of your subscribers,\\nbut I find many of my acquaintance are already among them. I\\nhave only to add, that with every sentiment of esteem and most\\ncordial good wishes,\\nI am,\\nYour obedient humble servant,\\nJ. MOORE.\\nNo. XVIII.\\nTO DR. MOORE.\\nReverend Sir, Edinburgh, 15ih February, 17 7\\nPardon my seeming neglect in delaying so long to acknowledge the\\nhonour you have done me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d.\\nNot many months ago I knew no other employment than following\\nthe plough, nor could boast any thing higher than a distant ac-\\nquaintance with a country clergyman. Mere greatness never em*\\nbarrasses me I have nothing to ask from the great, and I do not\\nfear their judgment but genius, polished by learning, and at its\\nproper point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I\\nfrequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the\\n*The sonnet is as follows\\nWhile soon the garden s flaunting flowers decay,\\nAnd scattered on the earth neglected lie,\\nThe Mountain Daisy cherished by the ray\\nA poet drew from heaven, will never die.\\nAh, like that lonely flower the poet rose\\nMid penury s bare soil and bitter gale\\nHe felt each storm that on the mountain blows,\\nNor ever knew the shelter of the vale.\\nBy genius in her native vigour nurst,\\nOn nature with impassion d look he gazed\\nThen through the cloud of adverse fortune burst\\nIndignant, and in light unborrow d blazed.\\nScotia from rude affliction shield thy bard,\\nHis heaven-taught numbers Fame herself will guard.", "height": "4508", "width": "2608", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "14\u00c2\u00a3 BURNS WORKS.\\naffectation ot seeming modesty to cover self conceit. That I have\\nsome merit I do not deny but I see, with frequent wringings of\\nheart, that the novelty of my character, and the honest national\\nprejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether\\nuntenable to my abilities.\\nFor the honour Miss Y\\\\ r has done me, please, Sir, return her in\\nmy name, my most grateful thanks. I have more than once thought\\nof paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hope-\\nless despondency. I had never before heard of her but the other\\nday I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to\\nthe head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal\\nof pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore there are, I\\nthink, two characteristic features in her poetry the unfettered\\nwild flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre tenderness\\nof time -settled sorrow.\\n1 only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell\\nwhy.\\nNo. XIX.\\nFROM DR. MOORE.\\ndear sir, Clifford Street, 2 th February, 1787.\\nYour letter of the 15th gave me a great deal of pleasure. It is not\\nsurprising that you improve in correctness and taste, considering\\nwhere you have been for some time past. And I dare swear there\\nis no danger of your admitting any polish which might weaken the\\nvigour of your native powers.\\nI am glad that you disdain the nauseous affectation of decrying\\nyour own merit as a poet an affectation which is displayed with\\nmost ostentation by those who have the greatest share of self-con-\\nceit, and which only adds undeceiving falsehood to disgusting\\nvanity. For you to deny the merit of your poems would be arraign*\\ning the fixed opinion of the public.\\nAs the new edition of my View of Society is not yet ready, I have\\nsent you the former edition, which I beg you will accept as a mark\\nof my esteem. It is sent by sea, to the care of Mr. Creech and,\\nalong with these four volumes for yourself, I have also sent my Me-\\ndical Sketches, in one volume, for my friend Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop;\\nthis you will be so obliging as to transmit, or if you chance to pass\\nsoon by Dunlop, to give her.\\nI am happy to hear that your subscription is so ample, and shall\\nrejoice at every piece of fortune that befalls you for you are a very\\ngreat favourite in my family and this is a higher compliment\\nthan perhaps you are aware of. It includes almost all the profes-\\nsions, and of course is a proof that your writings are adapted to\\nvarious tastes and situations. My youngest son, who is at Winches-\\nter school, writes to me that he is translating some stanzas of your\\nHalloween into Latin verse, for the benefit of his comrades. This\\nunion of taste partly proceeds, no doubt, from the cement of Scot-\\ntish partiality, with which they are all somewhat tinctured. Even", "height": "4508", "width": "2756", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 149\\nyour translator, who left Scotland too early in life for recollection,\\nis not without it.\\nI remain, with greatest sincerity,\\nYour obedient servant,\\nJ. MOORE.\\nNo. XX.\\nTO THE EARL OF GLEETCAIRK\\nMY LORD, Edinburgh, 1787.\\nI wanted to purchase a profile of your lordship, which I was told\\nwas to be got in town but I am truly sorry to see that a blunder-\\ning painter has spoiled a human face divine. The enclosed\\nstanzas I intended to have written below a picture or profile of your\\nlordship, could I have been so happy as to procure one with any\\nthing of a likeness.\\nAs I will soon return to my shades, I wanted to have something\\nlike a material object for my gratitude I wanted to have it in my\\npower to say to a friend, There is my noble patron, my ge-\\nnerous benefactor. Allow me, my lord, to publish these verses.\\nI conjure your lordship by the honest throe of gratitude, by the\\ngenerous wish of benevolence, by all the throes and feelings which\\ncompose the magnanimous mind, do not deny me this petition.* I\\nowe to your lordship and what has not in some instances always\\nbeen the case with me, the weight of the obligation is a pleasing\\nload. I trust, I have a heart as independent as your lordship s,\\nthan which I can say nothing more and I would not be beholden\\nto favours that would crucify my feelings. Your dignified character\\nin life, and manner of supporting that character, are flattering to\\nmy pride and I would be jealous of the purity of my grateful at-\\ntachment, where 1 was under the patronage of one of the much fa-\\nvoured sons of fortune.\\nAlmost every poet has celebrated his patrons, particularly when\\nthey were names dear to fame, and illustrious in their country al-\\nlow me, then, my lord, if you think the verses have intrinsic merit,\\nto tell the world how much I have the honour to be\\nYour lordship s highly indebted,\\nAnd ever grateful humble servant.\\nNo. XXT.\\nTO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.\\nMY LORD,\\nTbe honour your lordship has done me, by your notice and advice\\nin yours of the 1st instant, I shall ever gratefully remember\\nPraise from thy lips tis mine with joy to boast,\\nThey best can give it who deserve it most.\\nYour lordship touches the darling chord of my heart when you\\nIt does not appear that the earl granted this request, nor have the verses al\\nluded to ever been found among the MSS.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "150 burns works.\\nadvise me to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scottish scenes. I\\nwish for nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through\\nmy native country to sit and muse on those once hard-contended\\nfields, where Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through\\nbroken ranks to victory and fame and, catching the inspiration, to\\npour the deathless names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of\\nthese enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry, moral-looking phan-\\ntom strides across my imagination, and pronounces these emphatic\\nword, I, Wisdom, dwell with prudence.\\nThis, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble sta-\\ntion, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail.\\nStill, my lord, while the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to\\nthat dear-loved country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude\\nto those her distinguished sons, who have honoured me so much\\nwith their patronage and approbation, shall, while stealing through\\nmy humble shades, ever distend my bosom, and at times draw forth\\nthe swelling tear.\\nExt. Property in favour of Mr. Robert Burns, to erect and keep up\\na Headstone in memory of Poet Fergusson, 1787.\\nSession-house, tvithin the Kirk of Canongate, the twenty -second\\nday of February, one thousand seven hundred and eighty*\\nseven years.\\nSederunt of the managers of the Kirk and Kirk-yard Funds of\\nCanongate.\\nWhioh day, the treasurer to the said funds produced a letter from\\nMr. Robert Burns, of date the sixth current, which was read, and\\nappointed to be engrossed in their sederunt-book, and of which\\nletter the tenor follows To the Honourable Bailies of Canongate,\\nEdinburgh. Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains of\\nRobert Fergusson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man whose\\ntalents, for ages to come, will do honour to our Caledonian name,\\nlie in your church-yard, among the ignoble dead, unnoticed and\\nunknown.\\nSome memorial to direct the steps of the lovers of Scottish song,\\nwhen they wish to shed a tear over the narrow house of the\\nbard who is no more, is surely a tribute due to Fergusson s memory\\na tribute I wish to have the honour of paying.\\nu I petition you, then, Gentlemen, to permit me to lay a simple\\nstone over his revered ashes, to remain an unalienable property to\\nhis deathless fame. I have the honour to be, Gentlemen, your very\\nhumble servant, (sic subscribitur), Robert Burns.\\nThereafter the said managers, in consideration of the laudable\\nand disinterested motion of Mr. ,Burns, and the propriety of his\\nrequest, did, and thereby do, unanimously grant power and liberty\\nto the said Robert Burns to erect a headstone at the grave of the\\nsaid Robert Fergusson, and to keep up and preserve the same to his\\nmemory in all time coming. Extracted forth of the records of the\\nmanagers, by\\nWilliam Sprott, Clcrh", "height": "4508", "width": "2808", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 151\\nNo. XXIII.\\nTO\\nMy dear sir,\\nYou may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish, an ungrateful\\nfellow, having received so many repeated instances of kindness\\nfrom you, and yet never putting pen to paper, to say thank you\\nbut if you knew what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on\\nthat account, your good heart would think yourself too much\\navenged. By-the bye, there is nothiDg in the whole frame of man\\nwhich seems to me so unaccountable as that thing called conscience.\\nHad the troublesome yelping cur power sufficient to prevent a mis-\\nchief, he might be of use but at the beginning of the business, his\\nfeeble efforts are to the workings of passion as the infant frosts of\\nan autumnal morning to the unclouded fervour of the rising sun;\\nand no sooner are the tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over,\\nthan, amidst the bitter native consequences of folly, in the very\\nvortex of our horrors, up starts conscience, and harrows us with\\nthe feelings of the\\nI have enclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose,\\nthat, if they merit a place in your truly entertaining miscellany,\\nyou are welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr. Sprott\\nsent it me.\\nThe Inscription on the Stone is as follows\\nHERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON,\\nPOET.\\nBorn September 5tb, 1/51.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Died, 16th October, 1774.\\nNo sculptured marble bere, nor pompous lay,\\nNo storied urn nor animated bust;\\nThis simple stone directs pale Scotia s way,\\nTo pour her sorrows o er her poet s dust.\\nOn the other side of the Stone is as follows\\nBy special grant of the Managers to Robert Burns, who erected\\nthis stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever sacred to the me-\\nmory of Robert Fergusson.\\nNo. XXIV.\\nEXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM\\n8th March, 1787.\\nI am truly happy to know you have feund a friend in his\\npatronage of you does hira great honour. He is truly a good man\\nby for the best I ever knew, or, perhaps, ever shall know, in this\\nworld. But I must not speak all I think of him, lest I should be\\nthought partial.\\nSo you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect a\\nstone over Fergusson s grave 1 I do not doubt it such things have\\nbeen, as Shakspeare says, in the olden-time\\n|The poet s fate, is here in emblem shown,\\nHe asls d for bread, and he received a stone. j", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "152 BURNS WORKS.\\nIt is, I believe, upon poor Butler s tomb, that this is written.\\nBut how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and\\npoor Fergusson, have asked for bread, and been served with the\\nsame sauce\\nThe magistrates gave you liberty, did they 1 generous magis-\\ntrates celebrated for his public spirit,\\ngives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet s memory\\nmost generous once upon a time gave that\\nsame poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence for a copy of his\\nworks. But, then, it must be considered, that the poet was at thi\\ntime absolutely starving, and besought his aid with all the earnest-\\nness of hunger and, over and above, he received a worth\\nat least, one-third of the value, in exchange, but which, I believe,\\nthe poet, afterwards, very ungratefully expunged.\\nNext week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edin-\\nburgh and as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I wish either\\nyou or would take a snug, well-aired bedroom for me,\\nwhere I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of\\ntea. But by all accounts, it will be a matter of some difficulty to\\nsee you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week beforehand.\\nThere is a great rumour here concerning your great intimacy with\\nthe Duchess of and other ladies of distinction. I am\\nreally told that cards to invite fly by thousands each night and\\nif you had one, I suppose there would also be bribes to your old\\nsecretary. It seems you are resolved to make hay while the sun\\nshines, and avoid the fate of poor Eergusson,\\nQucerenda pecunia primum est, virtus jpost nummos, is a good\\nmaxim to thrive by you seemed to despise it while in this coun-\\ntry but probably some philosopher in Edinburgh has taught you\\nbetter sense.\\nPray, are you yet engraving as well as printing? Are you yet\\nseized\\nWith iteh of picture in the front,\\nWith bays of wicked rhyme upon t!\\nBut I must give up this trifling, and attend to matters that more\\nconcern myself: so, as the Aberdeen wit says, Adieu, dryly, we sal\\ndrink phan we meet.\\nI\\nNo. XXV.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nMadam, Edinburgh March 23, 1787.\\nI read your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while\\nago, 1 had, scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom; now\\nI am distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Your friendly ad-\\nvices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive\\nwith reverence. I have made some small alterations in which I\\nbefore printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends\\namong the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it\\nnecessary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble\\nEarl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any man, does me", "height": "4508", "width": "2716", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "LETTERS, 153\\nthe honour of giving me his strictures his hints with respect to\\nimpropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly.\\nYou kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects\\nthere I can give you no light it is all\\nDark as was chaos, ere the infant sun\\nWas roll d together, or had tried his beams\\nAthwart the gloom profound.\\nThe appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my greatest pride\\nto continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish\\nscenes and Scottish story are the theme I could wish to sing. I\\nhave no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with\\nthe routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough,\\nto make leisurely pilgrimage through Caledonia to sit on the\\nfields of her battles to wander on the banks of her rivers and\\nto muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured\\nabodes of her heroes.\\nBut these are all Utopian thoughts I have dallied long enough\\nwith life tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mo-\\nther to care for and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender.\\nWhere the individual only suffers by the consequences of his own\\nthoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excusable nay,\\nshining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half sanctify\\na heedless character but where God and nature have intrusted\\nthe welfare of others to his care where the trust is sacred, and the\\nties are dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely\\nlost to reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse to exertion.\\nI guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds\\nby my authorship with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said\\nto have any intention, to return to my old acquaintance, the\\nplough, and, if I can meet with a lease by which I can live, to com-\\nmence farmer. I do not intend to give up poetry being bred to\\nlabour secures me independence and the muses are my chief,\\nsometimes have been my only, enjoyment. If my practice second\\nmy resolution, I shall have principally at heart the serious business\\nof life but while following my plough, or building up my shocks,\\nI shall cast a leisure glance to that dear, that only feature of my\\ncharacter, which gave me the notice of my country and the patron-\\nage of a Wallace.\\nThus, honoured madam, I have given you the bard, his situation,\\nand his views, native as they are in his own bosom.\\nIs T o. XXYJ.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nM ADA if, Edinburgh 15 th April, 1787.\\nThere is an affection of gratitude which I dislike. The periods of\\nJohnson and the pauses of Sterne may hide a selfish heart. For my\\npart, madam, I trust 1 have too much pride for servility, and too\\nlittle prudence for selfishness. I have thi3 moment broke open\\nvour fat-ter, but\\nG 5", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "154 BURNS* WORKS.\\nRude am I in speech,\\nAnd therefore little can I grace my cause\\nIn speaking for myself\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nso I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and hunted figures.\\nI shall just lay my hand on my heart, and say, I hope I shall ever\\nhave the truest, the warmest, sense of your goodness.\\nI come abroad in print for certain on Wednesday. Your orders I\\nshall punctually attend to only, by the way, I must tell you that\\nI was paid before for Dr. Moore s and Miss W. s copies, through the\\nmedium of Commissioner Cochrane in this place but that we can\\nsettle when I have the honour of waiting on you.\\nDr Smith* was just gone to London the morning before I received\\nyour letter to him.\\nNo. XXYII.\\nTO DK. MOORE.\\nEdinburgh, 2%d April, 1787.\\nI received the books, and sent the one you mentioned to Mrs. Dun-\\nlop. I am ill-skilled in beating the coverts of imagination for\\nmetaphors of gratitude. I thank you, sir, for the honour you have\\ndone me and to my latest hour will warmly remember it. To be\\nhighly pleased with your book, is what I have in common with the\\nworld but to regard these volumes as a mark of the author s\\nfriendly esteem, is a still more supreme gratification.\\nI leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight and\\nafter a few pilgrimages over some of the classic ground of Caledo-\\nnia, Cowden-Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, c. I shall return\\nto my rural shades, in all likelihood never more to quit them. I have\\nformed many intimacies, and friendships here, but I am afraid they\\nare of too tender a construction to bear carriage a hundred and\\nfifty miles. To the rich, the great, the fashionable, the polite,\\nI have no equivalent to offer and I am afraid my meteor appear-\\nance will by no means entitle me to a settled correspondence with\\nany of you, who are the permanent lights of genius and literature.\\nMy most respectful compliments to Miss W. If once this tan-\\ngent flight of mine were over, and I were returned to my wonted\\nleisurely motion in my old circle, I may probably endeavour to re-\\nturn her poetic compliment in kind.\\nNo. XXYIII.\\nEXTRACT OF A LETTER,\\nTO MES. DTOTLOP.\\nEdinburgh, ZOth April, 1787.\\nYour criticisms, madam, I understand very well, and could\\nhave wished to have pleased you better. You are right in your\\nguess that I am not very amenable to counsel. Poets, much my\\nsuperiors, have so flattered those who possessed the adventitious\\nAdam Smith, J", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 155\\nqualities of wealth and power, that I am determined to flatter no\\ncreated being either in prose or verse.\\nI set as little by lords, clergy, critics, c, as all these re-\\nspective gentry do by my hardship. I know what I may expect\\nfrom the world by and by illiberal abuse, and perhaps contemp-\\ntuous neglect.\\nI am happy, madam, that some of my own favourite pieces are\\ndistinguished by your particular approbation. For my Dream,\\nwhich has unfortunately incurred your loyal displeasure, I hope in\\na few weeks, or less, to have the honour of appearing at Dunlop in\\nits defence, in person.\\n]S T o. XXIX.\\nTO THE REY. DR. HUGH BLAIR.\\nLaivn- Market, Edinburgh, 3d May, 1787.\\nReverend and much respected sir,\\nI leave Edinburgh to-morrow morning, but could not go without\\ntroubling you with half a line, sincerely to thank you for your\\nkindness, patronage, and friendship you have shown me. I often\\nfelt the embarrassment of my singular situation drawn forth from\\nthe veriest shades of life to the glare of remark and honoured by\\nthe notice of those illustrious names of my country, whose works,\\nwhile they are applauded to the end of time, will ever instruct and\\namend the heart. However the meteor-like novelty of my appear-\\nance in the world might attract notice, and honour me with the\\nacquaintance of the permanent lights of genius and literature,\\nthose who are truly benefactors of the immortal nature of man\\n1 knew very well, that my utmost merit was far unequal to the task\\nof preserving that character when once the novelty was over. I\\nhave made up my mind, that abuse, or almost even neglect, will\\nnot surprise me in my quarters.\\nI have sent you a proof impression of Beugo s work for me, done\\non Indian paper, a3 a trifling but sincere testimony with what\\nheart- warm gratitude I am, c\u00c2\u00bb\\nNo. XXX.\\nFROM DR. BLAIR.\\nArgyle- Square, ^th May, 1787.\\nDear sir.\\nI was favoured this forenoon with your obliging letter, together\\nwith an impression of your portrait, for which I return you my best\\nthanks. The success you have met with I do not think was beyond\\nyour merits and if I have had any small hand in contributing to\\nit, it gives me great pleasure. I know no way in which literary\\npersons, who are advanced in years, can do more service to the\\nworld, than in forwarding the efforts of rising genius, or bringing\\nforth unknown merit from obscurity. I was the first person who\\nbrought out to the notice of the world, the poems of Ossian; first\\nby the Fragments of Ancient Poetry which I published, and after-\\nwards, by my setting on foot the undertaking for collecting and", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "156 BUKNS WORKS.\\npublishing the Worls of Ossian and I have always considered this\\nas a meritorious action of my life.\\nYour situation, as you say, was indeed very singular and, in\\nbeing brought out all at once from the shades of deepest privacy,\\nto so great a share of public notice and observation, you had to\\nstand a severe trial. I am happy that you have stood it so well\\nand as far as I have known or heard, though in the midst of many\\ntemptations, without reproach to your character and behaviour.\\nYou are now, I presume, to retire to a more private walk of life,\\nand I trust, will conduct yourself there with industry, prudence\\nand honour. You have laid the foundation for just public esteem.\\nIn the midst of those employments, which your situation will ren-\\nder proper, you will not, I hope, neglect to promote that esteem,\\nby cultivating your genius, and attending to such productions of it\\nas may raise your character still higher. At the same time, be not\\nin too great a haste to come forward. Take time and leisure to im-\\nprove and mature your talents; for on any second production you give\\nthe world, your fate, as a poet, will very much depend. There is,\\nno doubt, a gloss of novelty which time wears off. As you very pro-\\nperly hint yourself, you are not to be surprised if, in your rural re-\\ntreat, you do not find yourself surrounded with that glare of notice\\nand applause which here shone upon you. No man can be a good\\npoet without being somewhat of a philosopher. He must lay his\\naccount, that any one, who exposes himself to public observation,\\nwill occasionally meet with the attacks of illiberal censure, which it\\nis always best to overlook and despise. He will be obliged some-\\ntimes to court retreat, and to disappear from public view. He will\\nnot affect to shine always, that he may at proper seasons come forth\\nwith more advantage and energy. He will not think himself neg-\\nlected if he be not always praised. I have taken the liberty, you\\nsee, of an old man, to give advice and make reflections which your\\nown good sense will, I dare say, render unnecessary.\\nAs you mention your being just about to leave town, you are go-\\ning, I should suppose, to Dumfries-shire, to look at some of Mr.\\nMiller s farms. 1 heartily wish the offers to be made you there may\\nanswer as I am persuaded you will not easily find a more gener-\\nous and better hearted proprietor to live under than Mr. Miller.\\nWhen you return, if you come this way, I will be happy to see you,\\nand to know concerning your future plans of life. You will find me,\\nby the 22nd of this month, not in my house in Arsryle Square, but\\nat a country-house at Restalrig, about a mile east from Edinburgh,\\nnear the Musselburgh road. Wishing you all success and prospe-\\nrity, I am, with real regard and esteem,\\nDear Sir, Yours sincerely,\\nHUGH BLAIR.\\nNo. XXXI.\\nFROM DR. MOORE.\\nDear fir, Gifford Street, May 23, 1787.\\nI had the pleasure of your letter by Mr. Creech, and soon after he\\nsent me the new edition of your poems. You seem to think it\\nincumbent on you to send to each subscriber a number of copies", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 157\\nproportionate to his subscription money; but you may depend upon\\nit, few subscribers expect more than one copy, whatever they sub-\\nscribed. I must inform you, however, that I took twelve copies\\nfor those subscribers for whose money you were so accurate as to\\nsend me a receipt and Lord Eglinton told me he had sent for six\\ncopies for himself, as he wished to give five of them in presents.\\nSome of the poems you have added in this last edition are beauti-\\nful, particularly the Winter Night, the Address to Edinburgh, Green\\ngrow the Rashes, and the two songs immediately following; the\\nlatter of which was exquisite. By the way, I imagine you have a\\npeculiar talent for such compositions, which you ought to indulge.\\nNo kind of poetry demands more delicacy or higher polishing.\\nHorace is more admired on account of his Odes than all his other\\nwritings. But nothing now added is equal to your Vision and\\nCotter s Saturday Night. In these are united fine imagery, natural\\nand pathetic description, with sublimity of language and thought.\\nIt is evident that you already possess a great variety of expression\\nand command of the English language you ought, therefore, to\\nbe more sparingly for the future in the provincial dialect:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 why\\nshould you, by using that, limit the number of your admirers to\\nthose who understand the Scottish, when you can extend it to all\\npersons of taste who understand the English language? In my\\nopinion, you should plan some larger work than any you have as\\nyet attempted. I mean, reflect upon some proper subject, and\\narrange the plan in your mind, without beginning to execute any\\npart of it till you have studied most of the best English poets, and\\nread a little more of history. The Greek and Koman stories you\\ncan read in some abridgment, and soon become master of the most\\nbrilliant facts, which must highly delight a poetical mind. You\\nshould also, and very soon may, become master of the heathen my-\\nthology, to which there are everlasting allusions in all the poets,\\nand which in itself is charmingly fanciful. What will require to\\nbe studied with more attention, is modern history; that is the\\nhistory of France and Great Britain, from the beginning of Henry\\nthe Seventh s reign. I know very well you have a mind capable of\\nattaining knowledge by a shorter process than is commonly used,\\nand I am certain you are capable of making a better use of it,\\nwhen attained, than is generally done.\\nI beg you will not give yourself the trouble of writing to me\\nwhen it is inconvenient, and make no apology, when you do write,\\nfor having postponed it be assured of this, however, that I shall\\nalways be happy to hear from you. I think my friend Mr.\\ntold me that you had some poems in manuscript by you of a satiri-\\ncal and humorous nature (in which, by the way, I think you very\\nstrong.) which your prudent friends prevailed on you to omit, par-\\nticularly one called Somebody Confession if you will intrust me\\nwith a sight of any of these, 1 will pawn my word to give no copies,\\nand will be obliged to you for a perusal of them.\\nI understand you intend to take a farm, and make the useful\\nand respectable business of husbandry your chief occupation this,\\nI hope, will not prevent your making occasional addresses to the\\nnine ladies who have shown you such favour, one of whom visited\\nyou in the auld clay biggin, Virgil, before you proved to the", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "158 burns works.\\nworld that there is nothing in the business of husbandry inimical\\nto poetry; and I sincerely hope that you may afford an example of\\na good poet being a successful farmer. I fear it will not be in\\nmy power to visit Scotland this season when I do, I ll endeavour\\nto find you out, for I heartily wish to see and converse with you. If\\never your occasions call you to this place, I make no doubt of your\\npaying me a visit, and you may depend on a very cordial welcome\\nfrom this family.\\nI am, dear Sir, Your friend and obedient Servant,\\nJ. MOORE.\\nNo. XXXII.\\nFROM MR. JOHN HUTCHINSON.\\nSir, Jamaica, St. Ann s lith June, 1787.\\nI received yours, dated Edinburgh, 2d January, 1787, wherein\\nyou acquaint me you were engaged with Mr. Douglas of Port\\nAntonio, for three years, at thirty pounds sterling a-year and am\\nhappy some unexpected accidents intervened that prevented your\\nsailing with the vessel, as I have great reason to think Mr. Douglas s\\nemploy would by no means have answered your expectations. I\\nreceived a copy of your publications, for which I return you thanks,\\nand it is my own opinion, as well as that of such of my friends as\\nhave seen them, they are most excellent in their kind although\\nsome could have wished they had been in the English style, as they\\nallege the Scottish dialect is now becoming obsolete, and thereby\\nthe elegance and beauties of your poems are in a great measure lost\\nto far the greater part of the community. Nevertheless there is no\\ndoubt you had sufficient reasons for your conduct perhaps the\\nwishes of some of the Scottish nobility and gentry, your patrons,\\nwho will always relish their own old country style and your own\\ninclinations for the same. It is evident from several passages in\\nyour works, you are as capable of writing in the English as in the\\nScottish dialect, and I am in great hopes your genius for poetry,\\nfrom the specimen you have already given, will turn out both for\\nprofit and honour to yourself and country. I can by no means ad-\\nvise you now to think of coming to the West Indies, as I assure\\nyou, there is no encouragement for a man of learning and genius\\nhere and am very confident you can do far better in Great Bri-\\ntain, than in Jamaica. I am glad to hear my friends are well, and\\nshall always be happy to hear from you at all convenient opportu-\\nnities, wishing you succes in all your undertakings. I will esteem it\\na particular favour if you will send me a copy of the other edition\\nyou are now printing.\\nI am, with respect, Dear Sir, yours, c.\\nJOHN HUTCHINSON,\\nNo. XXXIII.\\nTO MR, WALKER, BLAIR OF ATHOLE.\\nMT dear sir, Inverness, 5t7i September, 1787.\\nI have just time to write the foregoing,* and to tell you that it\\nThe humble Petition of Bruar-Water to the Duke of Athole.*", "height": "4508", "width": "2616", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 159\\nwas (at least most part of it,) the effusion of an half hour I spent at\\nBruar. I do not mean it was extempore, for I have endeavoured to\\nbrush it up as well as Mr. N s chat, and the jogging of the\\nchaise, would allow. It eases my heart a good deal, as rhyme is\\nthe coin with which a poet pays his debts of honour or gratitude.\\nWhat I owe to the noble family of Athole, of the first kind, I shall\\never proudly boast what I owe of the last, so help me God in my\\nhour of need, I shall never forget.\\nThe little angel band I declare I prayed for them very\\nsincerely to-day at the Fall of Fyars. I shall never forget the fine\\nfamily-piece I saw at Blair; the amiable, the truly noble Duchess,\\nwith her smiling little seraph in her lap, at the head of the table\\nthe lovely olive plants, as the Hebrew bard finely says, round\\nthe happy mother the beautiful Mrs. G the lovely, sweet\\nMiss C. c. T wish I had the powers of Guido to do them justice\\nMy Lord Duke s kind hospitality, markedly kind, indeed Mr. G.\\nof F s charms of conversation Sir W. M s friendship\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in short,\\nthe recollection of all that polite, agreeable company, raises an\\nhonest glow in my bosom.\\nNo. XXXIY.\\nTO ME. GILBERT BURNS.\\nEdinburgh 17 th September, 1787.\\nMy dear brother,\\nI arrived here safe yesterday evening, after a tour of twenty-two\\ndays, and travelling near six-hundred miles, windings included. My\\nfarthest stretch was about ten miles beyond Inverness. I went\\nthrough the heart of the Highlands, by Crieff, Taymouth, the\\nfamous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among cascades\\nand druidical circles of stones to Dunkeld, a seat of the Duke of\\nAthole thence cross Tay, and up one of his tributary streams to\\nBlair of Athole, another of the Duke s seats, where I had the\\nhonour of spending two days with his Grace and family thence\\nmany miles through a wild country, among cliffs grey with eternal\\nsnows, and gloomy savage glens, till I crossed Spey and went down\\nthe stream through Strathspey, so famous in Scottish music,\\nBadenoch, c. till I reached Grant Castle, where I spent half a day\\nwith Sir James Grant and family and then crossed the country\\nfor Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, the ancient seat\\nof Macbeth there I saw the identical bed in which tradition says,\\nKing Duncan was murdered lastly, from Fort George to Inverness.\\nI returned by the coast, through Nairn, Forres, and so on, to\\nAberdeen; thence to Stonehive, where Jame3 Burnes, from Mon-\\ntrose, met me by appointment. I spent two days among our re-\\nlations, and found our aunts, Jean and Isabel, still alive, and hale\\nold women. John Caird, though born the same year with our\\nfather, walks as vigorously as I can they have had several letters\\nfrom his son in New York. William Brand is likewise a stout old\\nfellow but further particulars I delay till I see you, which will be\\nin two or three weeks. The rest of my stages are not worth re-\\nhearsing; warm as I was from Qssian s country, where I had seen", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "160\\nburns works.\\nhis very grave, what cared I for fishing towns or fertile carses] I\\nslept at the famous Brodie of Brodie s one night, and dined at\\nGordon Castle next day -with the Duke, Duchess, and family. I am\\nthinking to cause my old mare to meet me, by means of John\\nKonald, at Glasgow; but you shall hear farther from me before I\\nleave Edinburgh. My duty, and many compliments from the north,\\nto my mother, and my brotherly compliments to the rest. I have\\nbeen trying for a birth for William, but am not likely to be success-\\nful. Farewell.\\nNo. XXXY.\\nFROM MR. R\\nSir, Ocldertyre 22d October, 1787.\\nTwas only yesterday I got Colonel Edmonstoune s answer, that nei-\\nther the words of Down ike lurn Davie, nor Dainty Davie (I forgot\\nwhich you mentioned), were written by Colonel G. Crawford. Next\\ntime I meet him, I will inquire about his cousin s poetical talents.\\nEnclosed are the inscriptions you requested, and a letter to Mr.\\nYoung, whose company and musical talents will, I am persuaded,\\nbe a feast to you.* Kobody can give you better hints, as to your\\nThese inscription so much admired by Burns, are below\\nwritten m 1T6S.\\nFOR THE SALICTUMf AT\\nOCHTERTYRE.\\nSalcbritatis voluptatisque causa.\\nHoc Salicturn,\\nPaludem olirn infidam,\\nMihi meisque desicco et exorno.\\nHie, procul negotiis strepituque\\nInnocuis deliciis\\nSilvulas inter nascentes rep andi,\\nApiumque labores auspiciendi,\\nFruor,\\nHie. si faxit Dens opt. max.\\nPrope banc fontem peilucidum.\\nCum quandam juventutis amieo super-\\nstite,\\nSaepe conquiescam senex,\\nContentus modicis, meoque laetus\\nSin aliter\\nJEvique paululum supersit,\\nVos silvulae, et amici,\\nCaeteraque amoeua,\\nValete, diuque lcetamini\\n:Now fondly marking the progress of my\\ntrees,\\nNow studying the bee, its arts and man-\\nners.\\nHere, if is pleases Almighty God,\\nMay I often rest in the evening of life,\\nNear that transparent fountain,\\nWith some surviving friend of my youth\\nContented with a competency,\\nAnd happy with my lot.\\nIf vain these humble wishes,\\nAnd life draws near a close,\\nYe trees and friends,\\nAnd whatever else is dear,\\nFarewell, and long may ye flourish.\\nENGLISHED.\\nTo improve both air and soil.\\n1 drain and decorate his plantation of\\nwillows,\\nWhich was lately an unprofitable morass,\\nHere, far lrom noise and strife,\\nI love to wander,\\nABOVE THE DOOR OF THE\\nHOUSE.\\nWE ITT EN IN 1775.\\nMini meisque utinam contingat,\\nPrope Taichi marginem,\\nAviro in agello,\\nBene vivere fausteque mori\\nENGLISHED.\\nOn the banks of the Teith,\\nIn the small but sweet inheritance\\nOf my fathers.\\nMay I and mine live in peace,\\nAnd die in joyful hope\\nThese inscriptions, and the translations, are in the hand writing of Mr. R\\nThis gentleman if still alive, will, it is hoped .excuse the liberty taken by the un-\\nknown editor, in enriching the correspondence of Burns with his excellent letter,\\nth inscriptions so classical and so interesting.\\nt SsHcturn\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Grove of Willows, Willow^round-", "height": "4508", "width": "2624", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 161\\npresent plan, than he. Keceive also Omeron Cameron, which seemed\\nto make such a deep impression on your imagination, that I am not\\nwithout hopes it will beget something to delight the public in due\\ntime and, no doubt, the circumstances of this little tale might be\\nvaried or extended, so as to make part of a pastoral comedy. Age\\nor wounds might have kept Omeron at home, whilst his countrymen\\nwere in the field. His station may be somewhat varied, without\\nlosing his simplicity and kindness A group of\\ncharacters, male and female, connected with the plot, might be\\nformed from his family, or some neighbouring one of rank. It is\\nnot indispensable that the guest should be a man of high station\\nnor is the political quarrel in which he is engaged, of much im-\\nportance, unless to call forth the exercise of generosity and faith-\\nfulness, grafted on patriarchal hospitality. To introduce state af-\\nfairs, would raise the style above comedy though a small spice of\\nthem would season the converse of swains. Upon this head I can-\\nnot say more than to recommend the study of the character of\\nEumaeus in the Odyssey, which, in Mr. Pope s translation, is an ex-\\nquisite and invaluable drawing from nature, that would suit some of\\nour country elders of the present day.\\nThere must be love in the plot, and a happy discovery and peace\\nand pardon may be the reward of hospitality, and honest attachment\\nto misguided principles. When you have once thought of a plot,\\nand brought the story into form, Dr. Blacklock, or Mr. H, Mac-\\nkenzie, may be useful in dividing it into acts and scenes for in\\nthese matters one must pay some attention to certain rules of the\\ndrama. These you could afterwards fill up at your leisure. But,\\nwhilst I presume to give a few well-meant hints, let me advise you\\nto study the spirit of my namesake s dialogue,* which is natural\\nwithout being low, and, under the trammels of verse, is such as\\ncountry people in their situations speak every day. You have only\\nto bring down your own strain a very little. A great plan, such as\\nthis, would concenter all your ideas, which facilitates the execution,\\nand makes it a part of one s pleasure.\\nI approve of your plan of retiring from din and dissipation to a\\nfarm of very moderate size, sufficient to find exercise for mind and\\nbody, but not so great as to absorb better things. And if some in-\\ntellectual pursuit be well chosen and steadily pursued, it will be\\nmore lucrative than most farms, in this age of rapid improvement.\\nUpon this subject, as your well-wisher and admirer, permit me\\nto go a step farther. Let those bright talents which the Almighty\\nhas bestowed on you, be henceforth employed to the noble purpose\\nof supporting the cause of truth and virtue. An imagination so\\nvaried and forcible as yours, may do this in many different modes\\nnor is it necessary to be always serious, which you have been to good\\npurpose good morals may be recommended in a comedy, or even in\\na song. Great allowances are due to the heat and inexperience of\\nyouth and few poets can boast, like Thomson, of never having\\nwritte naline, which, dying, they would wish to blot. In particular,\\nI wish you to keep clear of the thorny walks of satire, which makes\\na man a hundred enemies for one friend, and is doubly dangerous\\nwhen one is supposed to extend the slips and weaknesses of indivi-\\nAllan Ramsay, in the Gentle Shepherd.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "162 BUBNS WORKS.\\nduals to their sect or party. About modes of faith, serious and ex-\\ncellent men have always differed; and there are certain curious\\nquestions, which may afford scope to men of metaphysical heads,\\nbut seldom mend the heart or temper. Whilst these points are be-\\nyond human ken, it is sufficient that all our sects concur in their\\nviews of morals. You will forgive me for these hints.\\nWell what think you of good Lady C. 1 It is a pity she is so deaf,\\nand speaks so indistinctly. Her house is a specimen of the mansions\\nof our gentry of the last age, when hospitality and elevation of mind\\nwere conspicuous amidst plain fare and plain furniture. I shall be\\nglad to hear from you at times, if it were no more than to show that\\nyou take the effusions of an obscure man like me in good part. I\\nbeg my best respects to Dr. and Mrs, Blacklock,\\nAnd am, Sir,\\nYour most obedient humble servant,\\nJ. RAMSAY.\\nNo. XXXYI.\\nFROM MR. W\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAthole House lWi September, 1787.\\nYour letter of the 5th reached me only on the 11th; what awkward\\nroute it had taken I know not but it deprived me of the pleasure\\nof writing to you in the manner you proposed, as you must have left\\nDundee before a letter could possibly have got there. I hope your\\ndisappointment on being forced to leave us was as great as appeared\\nfrom your expressions. This is the best consolation for the great-\\nness of ours. I still think with vexation on that ill-timed indisposi-\\ntion which lost me a day s enjoyment of a man (I speak without\\nflattery) possessed of those very dispositions and talents 1 most ad-\\nmire; one\\nYou know how anxious the Duke was to have\\nanother day of you, and to let Mr. Dundas have the pleasure of your\\nconversation as the best dainty with which he could entertain an\\nhonoured guest. You know likewise the eagerness the ladies showed\\nto detain you but perhaps you do not know the scheme which they\\ndevised, with their usual fertility in resources. One of the servants\\nwas sent to your driver to bribe him to loosen or pull off a shoe from\\none of his horses, but the ambush failed. Prohmirum! The driver\\nwas incorruptible. Your verses have given us much delight, and I\\nthink will produce their proper effect.* They produced a powerful\\none immediately for the morning after I read them, we all set out\\nin procession to the Bruar, where none of the ladies had been these\\nseven or eight years, and again enjoyed them there. The passages\\nwe most admired are the description of the dying Irouts. Of the\\nhigh fall twisting strength, is a happy picture of the upper part.\\nThe characters of the birds, mild and mellow, is the thrush it-\\nself. The benevolent anxiety for their happiness and safety I highly\\napprove. The two stanzas beginning Here haply too darHy\\nda hiiig, is most descriptively Ossianic.\\nThe humble Petition of Bruar-Water to the Duke of Athole.", "height": "4504", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 163\\nHere I cannot deny myself the pleasure of mentioning an inci-\\ndent which happened yesterday at the Bruar. As we passed the\\ndoor of a most miserable hovel, an old woman curtsied to us with\\nlooks of such poverty, and such contentment, that each of involun-\\ntarily gave her some money. She was astonished, and in the con-\\nfusion of her gratitude, invited us in. Miss C. and I, that we\\nmight not hurt her delicacy, entered but, good God, what wretch-\\nedness It was a cow-house\u00e2\u0080\u0094 her own cottage had been burnt last\\nwinter. The poor old creature stood perfectly silent\u00e2\u0080\u0094 looked at\\nMiss C. then to the money, and burst into tears Miss C. joined her,\\nand, with a vehemence of sensibility, took out her purse, and emp-\\ntied it into the old woman s lap. What a charming scene A\\nsweet accomplished girl of seventeen in so angelic a situation\\nTake your pencil and paint her in your most glowing tints. Hold\\nher up amidst the darkness of this scene of human woe, to the icy\\ndames that flaunt through the gaieties of life, without ever feeling\\none generous, one great emotion.\\nTwo day 8 after you left us, I went to Taymouth. It is a charm-\\ning place, but still I think art has been too busy. Let me be your\\nCicerone for two days at Dunkeld, and you will acknowledge that\\nin the beauties of naked nature we are not surpassed. The loch,\\nthe Gothic arcade, and the fall of the hermitage, gave me most de-\\nlight. But I think the last has not been taken proper advantage of.\\nThe hermitage is too much in common-place style. Every body\\nexpects the couch, the book-press, and the hairy gown. The Duke s\\nidea I think better. A rich and elegant apartment is an excellent\\ncontrast to a scene of Alpine horrors.\\nI must now beg your permission (unless you have some other de-\\nsign) to have your verses printed. They appear to me extremely\\ncorrect, and some particular stanzas would give universal pleasure.\\nLet me know, however, if you incline to give them any farther\\ntouches.\\nWere they in some of the public papers, we could more easily\\ndisseminate them among our friends, which many of us are anxious\\nto do.\\nWhen you pay your promised visit to the Braes of Ochtertyre,\\nMr. and Mrs. Graham of Balgowan beg to have the pleasure of con-\\nducting you to the bower of Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, which is\\nnow in their possession. The Duchess would give any consideration\\nfor another sight of your letter to Dr. Moore we must fall upon\\nsome method of procuring it for her. I shall inclose this to our\\nmutual friend Dr. B who may forward it. I shall be ex-\\ntremely happy to hear from you at your first leisure. Inclose your\\nletter in a cover addressed to the Duke of Athole, Dulkeld.\\nGod bless you,\\nJ W\\nNo. XXXVII.\\nFROM MR. A M-\\nsir, 6th October, 1787.\\nHaving just arrived from abroad, I had your poems put into my", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "164\\nhands tlie pleasure I received from reading tliem, has induced me\\nto solicit your liberty to publish them amongst a number of our\\ncountrymen in America, (to which place I shall shortly return),\\nand where they will be a treat of such excellence, that it would be\\nan injury to your merit and their feeling to prevent their appear-\\ning in public.\\nReceive the following hastily- written lines from a well-wisher.\\nFair fa your pen, my dainty Rob,\\nYour leisom way o writing,\\nWhiles, glowering o er your warks I sob,\\nWhiles laugh, whiles downright greeting\\nYour sonsie tykes may charm a chiel,\\nTheir words are wondrous bonny,\\nBut guid Scotch drink the truth does say,\\nIt is as guid as ony\\nWi you this day.\\nPoor Mailie, troth, I ll nae but think,\\nYe did the poor thing wrang,\\nTo leave her tether d on the brink\\nOf stank sae wide and lang\\nHer dying words upbraid ye sair,\\nCry fye on your neglect\\nGuid faith gin ye had got play fair,\\nThis deed had stretch d your neck\\nThat mournfu day.\\nBut, wae s me, how dare I fin taut,\\nWi sic a winsome bardie,\\nWha great an sma s begun to daut,\\nAnd tak him by the gardie;\\nIt sets na ony lawland chiel\\nLike you to verse or rhyme,\\nFor few like you can fley the de il,\\nAnd skelp auld wither d Time\\nOn ony day.\\nIt s fair to praise ilk canty calian,\\nBe he of purest fame,\\nIf he but tries to raise as Allan,\\nAuld Scotia s bonny name;\\nTo you, therefore, in humble rhyme,\\nBetter I canna gi e,\\nAnd tho it s but a swatch of thine,\\nAccept these lines frae me,\\nUpo this day.\\nFrae Jock o Groats to bonny Tweed,\\nFrae that e en to the line,\\nIn ilka place where Scotsmen bleed,\\nThere shall your hardship shine\\nIlk honest chiel wha reads your buick,\\nWill there aye meet a brither,\\nHe lang may seek and lang will look,\\nEre he tin sic anither\\nOn ony day.\\nj", "height": "4508", "width": "2612", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "LETTERS.\\nFeart that my cruicket verse should spairge\\nSome wark of wordie mak\\nI se na mair o this head enlarge,\\nBut now my farewell tak\\nLang may you live, lang may you write,\\nAnd sing like English Weischell,\\nThis prayer I do myself indite,\\nFrom yours still, A M\\nThis very day.\\nNo. XXXYIIf.\\nFROM MR. J. RAMSAY,\\nTO THE\\nREVEREND W. YOUNG, AT ERSKINE.\\ndear sir, Ochtertyre, 2d October, 1787-\\nAllow me to introduce Mr. Burns, whose poems, I dare say, have\\ngiven you so much pleasure. Upon a personal acquaintance, I\\ndoubt not, you will relish the man as much as hi3 works, in which\\nthere is a rich vein of intellectual ore. He has heard some of our\\nHighland luinigs or songs played, which delighted him so much\\nthat he has made words to one or two of them, which will render\\nthese more popular. As he has thought of being in your quarter,\\n1 am persuaded you will not think it labour lost to indulge the\\npoet of nature with a sample of those sweet artless melodies, which\\nonly want to be married (in Milton s phrase) to congenial words.\\nI wish we could conjure up the ghost of Joseph M D. to infuse into\\nour bard a portion of his enthusiasm for those neglected airs,\\nwhich do not suit the fastidious musicians of the present hour.\\nBut if it be true that Corelli (whom I looked on as the Homer of\\nmusic) is out of date, it is no proof of their taste; this, however,\\nis going out of my province. You can show Mr. Burns the man-\\nner of singing these same luinigs; and, if he can humour it in\\nwords, I do not despair of seeing one of them sung upon the stage,\\nin the original style, round a napkin.\\nI am very sorry we are likely to meet so seldom in this neigh-\\nbourhood. It is one of the greatest drawbacks that attends obscu-\\nrity, that one has so few opportunities of cultivating acquaintances\\nat a distance. I hope, however, some time or other, to have the\\npleasure of beating up your quarters at Erskine, and of hauling\\nyou away to Paisley, c. meanwhile I beg to be remembered to\\nMessrs. Boog and Mylne.\\nIf Mr. B. goes by give him a billet on our friend Mr.\\nStuart, who, I presume, does not dread the frown of his diocesan,\\nI am, Dear Sir,\\nYour most obedient humble servant,\\nJ. RAMSAY.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "166\\nburns works.\\nNo. XXXIX\\nFROM MR. RAMSAY, TO DR. BLACKLOCK.\\ndear SIR, Ochtertyre, 27th October, 1787.\\nI received yours by Mr. Burns, and give you many thanks for giv-\\ning me an opportunity of conversing with a man of his calibre.\\nHe will, I doubt not, let you know what passed between us on the\\nsubject of my hints, to which 1 have made additions, in a letter\\nsent him t other day to your care.\\nYou may tell Mr. Burns, when you see him, that Colonel Edmon-\\nstoune told me t other day, that his cousin, Colonel George Craw-\\nford, was no poet, but a great singer of songs but that his eldest\\nbrother Robert (by a former marriage) had a great turn that way,\\nhaving written the words of The bush aboon Traquair, and Tweed-\\nside. That the Mary to whom it was addressed was Mary Stewart\\nof Castlemilk family, afterwards wife of Mr. John Relches. The\\nColonel never saw Robert Crawford, though he was at his burial\\nfifty-five years ago. He was a pretty young man, and had lived\\nlong in France. Lady Ankerville i3 his niece, and may know more\\nof his poetical vein. An epitaph-monger like me might moralize\\nupon the vanity of life, and the vanity of those sweet effusions.\\nBut I have hardly room to offer my best compliments to Mrs.\\nBlacklock; and I am,\\nDear Doctor,\\nYour most obedient humble servant,\\nJ. RAMSAY.\\nNo. XL.\\nFROM MR. JOHN MURDOCH.\\nMy dear sir,\\nLondon, 28th October, 1787\\nAs my friend, Mr. Brown, is going from this place to your neigh-\\nbourhood, I embrace the opportunity of telling you that I am yet\\nalive, tolerably well, and always in expectation of being better. By\\nthe much- valued letters before me, I see that it was my duty to have\\ngiven you this intelligence about three years and nine months ago\\nand have nothing to allege as an excuse but that we poor, busy,\\nbustling bodies in London, are so much taken up with the various\\npursuits in which we are here engaged, that we seldom think of any\\nperson, creature, place, or thing, that is absent. But this is not al-\\ntogether the case with me for 1 often think of you, and Hornie,\\nand Russel, and an unfathomed depth, and lowan brunstane, all in\\nthe same minute, although you and they are (as I suppose) at a con-\\nsiderable distance. I flatter myself, however, with the pleasing\\nthought, that you and I shall meet some time or other either in\\nScotland or England. If ever you come hither, you will have the\\nsatisfaction of seeing your poems relished by the Caledonians in\\nLondon, full as much a3 they can be by those of Edinburgh. We\\nfrequently repeat some of your verses in our Caledonian society\\nand you may believe, that I am not a little vain that I have had\\nsome share in cultivating such a genius. I was not absolutely cer-", "height": "4388", "width": "2804", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "LETTER^ 167\\ntain that you were the author, till a few days ago, when I made a\\nvisit to Mrs. Hill, Dr. M Comb s eldest daughter, who lives in town,\\nand who told me that she was informed of it by a letter from her\\nsister in Edinburgh, with whom you had been in company when in\\nthat capital.\\nPray let me know if you have any intention of visiting this huge,\\novergrown metropolis 1 It would afford matter for a large poem.\\nHere you would have an opportunity of indulging your vein in the\\nstudy of mankind, perhaps to a greater degree than in any city\\nupon the face of the globe for the inhabitants of London, as you\\nknow, are a collection of all nations, kindreds, and tongues, who\\nmake it, as it were, the centre of their commerce.\\nPresent my respectful compliments to Mrs. Burns, to my dear\\nfriend Gilbert, and all the rest of her amiable children. May the\\nFather of the universe bless you all with those principles and dis-\\npositions thafc the best of parents took such uncommon pains to in-\\nstil into your minds from your earliest infancy May you live as\\nhe did if you do, you can never be unhappy. I feel myself grown\\nserious all at once, and affected in a manner I cannot describe. I\\nshall only add, that it is one of the greatest pleasures I promise my-\\nself before I die, that of seeing the family of a man whose memory\\nI revere more than that of any person that ever I was acquainted\\nwith.\\nI am, my dear Friend,\\nYours sincerely,\\nJOHN MURDOCH.\\nNo. XLT.\\nFROM MR\\nSir, Gordon Castle, olst October, 1787.\\nIf you were not sensible of your fault as well as of your loss in leav-\\ning this place so suddenly, I should condemn you to starve upon\\ncould hail for ae towmont at least; and as for Dick Latine,* your\\ntravelling companion, without banning him w\u00e2\u0082\u00ac a the curses con-\\ntained in your letter, (which he ll no value a bazebee,) I should give\\nhim nought but Strabogie castocls to chew for sax ouJcs, or aye until\\nhe was as sensible of his error as you seem to be of yours.\\nYour song I showed without producing the author and it was\\njudged by the Duchess to be the production of Dr. Beattie. I sent\\na copy of it, by her Grace s desire, to a Mrs. MTherson in Badenoch,\\nwho sings Morag and all other Gaelic songs in great perfection. I\\nhave recorded it likewise, by Lady Charlotte s desire, in a book be-\\nlonging to her ladyship, where- it is in company with a great many\\nother poem3 and verses, some of the writers of which are no less\\neminent for their political than for their poetical abilities. When\\nthe Duchess was informed that you were the author she wished you\\nhad written the verses in Scotch.\\nAny letter directed to me here will come to hand safely, and, if\\nMr. Nicol.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "168 burn s works.\\nsent under the Duke s cover, it will likewise come free that is, as\\nlong as the Duke is in this country.\\nI am, Sir, yours sincerely.\\nNo. XLII.\\nFROM THE KEY. JOHN SKINNER.\\nSir, Linshart, \\\\ith November, 1787.\\nYour kind return without date, but of post-mark October 25th,\\ncame to my hand only this day and, to testify my punctuality to\\nmy poetic engagement, I sit down immediately to answer it in kind.\\nYour acknowledgment of my poor but just ecomiums on your sur-\\nprising genius, and your opinion of my rhyming excursions, are\\nboth, I think, by far too high. The difference between our two\\ntracts of education and the ways of life is entirely in your favour,\\nand gives you the preference every manner of way. I know a classi-\\ncal education will not create a versifying taste, but it mightily im-\\nproves and assists it and though, where both these meet, there\\nmay sometimes be ground for approbation, yet where taste appears\\nsingle, as it were, and neither cramped nor supported by acquisition,\\nI will always sustain the justice of its prior claim to applause. A\\nsmall portion of taste, this way, I have had almost from childhood,\\nespecially in the old Scottish dialect and it is as old a thing as I\\nremember, my fondness for Christ s hirh o the Green, which I had\\nby heart ere I was twelve years of age, and which, some years ago,\\nI attempted to turn into Latin verse. While I was young, I dab-\\nbled a good deal in these things but on getting the black gown, I\\ngave it pretty much over, till my daughters grew up, who, being\\nall good singers, plagued me for words to some of their favourite\\ntunes, and so extorted these effusions, which have made a public\\nappearance beyond my expectation, and contrary to my intentions,\\nat the same time that I hope there is nothing to be found in them\\nuncharacteristic, or unbecoming the cloth, which I would always\\nwish to see respected.\\nAs to the assistance you propose from me in the undertaking you\\nare engaged in,* I am sorry I cannot give it so far as 1 could wish,\\nand you, perhaps, expect. My daughters, who were my only intelli-\\ngencers, are all forisfamiliate, and the old woman their mother has\\nlost that taste. There are two from my own pen, which I might\\ngive you, if worth the while. One to the old Scotch tune of Dum-\\nbarton s Drums.\\nThe other perhaps you have met with, as your noble friend the\\nDuchess has, I am told, heard of it. It was squeezed out of me by\\na brother parson in her neighbourhood, to accommodate a new\\nHighland reel for the Marquis s birth-day, to the stanza of\\n1 Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly. c.\\nIf this last answer your purpose, you may have it from a brother\\nof mine, Mr. James Skinner, writer in Edinburgh, who, I believe,\\ncan give the music too.\\nThere is another humorous thing, I have heard said to be done\\nby the Catholic priest Geddes, and which hit my taste much\\nA plan of publishing a. complete collection of Scottish Songs, c.", "height": "4452", "width": "2804", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 172\\nThere was a wee wifeikie was coming frae the fair,\\nHad gotten a little drapikie, which bred her meikle care\\nIt took upo the wifie s heart, and she began to spew,\\nAnd quo the wee wifeikie, I wish I binna fou,\\nI wish, c. c.\\nI have heard of another new composition, by a young ploughman\\nof my acquaintance, that I am vastly pleased with, to the tune of\\nThe humours of Glen, which I fear won t do, as the music, I am told,\\nis of Irish original. 1 have mentioned these, such as they are, to\\nshow my readiness to oblige you, and to contribute my mite, if I\\ncould, to the patriotic work you have in hand, and which I wish all\\nsuccess to. You have only to notify your mind, and what you want\\nof the above shall be sent to you.\\nMeantime, while you are thus publicly, I may say, employed, do\\nnot sheath your own proper and piercing weapon. From what I\\nhave seen of yours already, I am inclined to hope for much good.\\nOne lesson of virtue and morality, delivered in your amusing style,\\nand from such as you, will operate more than dozens would do from\\nsuch as me, who shall be told it is our employment, and be never\\nmore minded whereas, from a pen like yours, as being one of the\\nmany, what comes will be admired. Admiration will produce re-\\ngard, and regard will leave an impression, especially when example\\ngoes along.\\nNow binna saying I m ill bred,\\nElse, by my troth, I ll not be glad,\\nFor cadgers, ye have heard it said,\\nAnd sic like fry,\\nMaun aye be harland in their trade,\\nAnd sae maun I.\\nWishing you from my poet-pen, all success, and in my other cha-\\nracter, all happiness and heavenly direction,\\n1 remain, with esteem,\\nYour sincere friend,\\nJOHN SKINNER.\\nNo. XLIII.\\nFROM MRS*-\\nSiR, K 1 Castle, ZWi November, 1787.\\nI hope you will do me the justice to believe, that it was no defect\\nin gratitude for your punctual performance of your parting promise,\\nthat has made me so long in acknowledging it, but merely the diffi-\\nculty I had in getting the Highland songs you wished to have, ac-\\ncurately noted; they are at last inclosed; but how shall I convey\\nalong with them those graces they acquired from the melodious\\nvoice of one of the fair spirits of the hill of Kildrummie These I\\ni must leave to your imagination to supply. It has powers sufficient\\ni to transport you to her side, to recall her accents, and to make them\\nstill vibrate in the ears of memory. To her I am indebted for get\\nting the inclosed note3. They are clothed with thoughts thai\\nIrs. jtosg of KilraYQck, Nairnshire,\\na", "height": "4508", "width": "2628", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "170 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nbreathe, and words that burn. These, however, being in an unknown\\ntongue to you, you must again have recourse to that same fertile\\nimagination of yours to interpret them, and suppose a lover s de-\\nscription of the beauties of an adored mistress why did I say un-\\nknown 1 The language of love is an universal one, that seems to\\nhave escaped the confusion of Babel, and to be understood by all\\nnations.\\nI rejoice to find that you were pleased with so many things, per-\\nsons, and places in your northern tour, because it leads me to hope\\nyou may be induced to revisit them again. That the old castle of\\nK k, and its inhabitants, were amongst these, adds to my sa-\\ntisfaction. I am even vain enough to admit your very flattering\\napplication of the line of Addison s at any rate, allow me to believe\\nthat friendship will maintain the ground she has occupied in\\nboth our hearts, in spite of absence, and that, when we do meet, it\\nwill be as acquaintance of a score of years standing and on this\\nfooting, consider me as interested in the future course of your fame\\nso splendidly commenced. Any communications of the progress of\\nyour muse will be received with great gratitude, and the fire of\\nyour genius will have power to warm, even us, frozen sisters of the\\nnorth.\\nThe friends of K k and K e unite in cordial regards\\nto you. When you incline to figure either in your idea, suppose\\nsome of U3 reading your poems, and some of us singing your songs,\\nand my little Hugh looking at your picture, and you ll seldom be\\nwrong. We remember Mr. 2sT. with as much good will as we do\\nany body, who hurried Mr. Burns from us.\\nFarewell, sir, I can only contribute the widow s mite to the esteem\\nand admiration excited by your merits and genius, but this I give\\nas she did, with all my heart being sincerely yours,\\nE. K.\\nNo. XL1V.\\nTO DALBYMPLE, ESQ, OF ORANGEFIELD.\\nDear sib, Edinburgh, 1787.\\nI suppose the devil is so elated with his success with you, that he is\\ndetermined by a coup de main to complete his purposes on you all\\nat once, in making you a poet. I broke open the letter you sent\\nme hummed over the rhymes and, as I saw they were extempore,\\nsaid to myself they were well but when I saw at the bottom a name\\nthat I shall ever value with grateful respect, I gapit wide but nae-\\nthing spak. I was nearly as much struck as the friends of Job, of\\naffliction bearing memory, when they sat down with him seven days\\nand seven nights, and spake not a word.\\nI am naturally of a superstitious cast, and as soon as my wonder-\\nscared imagination regained its consciousness and resumed its func-\\ntions, I cast about what this mania of yours might portend. My\\nforeboding ideas had the wide stretch of possibility and several\\nevents, great in their magnitude, and important in their conse-\\nquences, occurred to my fancy. The downfall of the conclave, or", "height": "4508", "width": "2804", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "letters!. 171\\nthe crushing of the cork rumps a ducal coronet to Lord George\\nG and the protestant interest or Saint Peter s keys to\\nYou want to know how I come on. I am just in statu quo, or,\\nnot to insult a gentleman with my Latin, in auld use and wont.\\nThe noble Earl of Glencairn took me by the hand to-day, and in-\\nterested himself in my concerns, with a goodness like that be-\\nnevolent being, whose image he so richly bears. He is a stronger\\nproof of the immortality of the soul, that any that philosophy\\never produced. A mind like his can never die. Let he wor-\\nshipful squire, H. L. or the reverend Mass J. M. go into their\\nprimitive nothing. At best they are but ill-digested lumps of\\nchaos, only one of them strongly tinged with bituminous particles\\nand sulphureous effluvia. But my noble patron, eternal as the he-\\nroic swell of magnanimity, and the generous throb of benevolence,\\nshall look on with princely eye at the war of elements, the wreck\\nof matter, and the crash of worlds.\\nNo. XLY.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEdinburgh, list January, 1788.\\nAfter six weeks confinement, I am beginning to walk across the\\nroom. They have been six horrible weeks anguish and low spirits\\nmade me unfit to read, write or think.\\nI have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an\\nofficer resigns a commission for I would not take in any poor ig-\\nnorant wretch, by selling out. Lately I was a sixpenny private\\nand, God knows, a miserable soldier enough now I march to the\\ncampaign, a starving cadet a little more conspicuously wretched.\\n1 am ashamed of all this for though I do want bravery for the\\nwelfare of life, I could wish, like some other soldiers, to have as\\nmuch fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or conceal my cowardice.\\nAs soon as I can bear the journey, which will be, as 1 suppose,\\nabout the middle of next week, I leave Edinburgh, and soon after I\\nshall pay my grateful duty at Dunlop-house.\\nNo. XLYI.\\nEXTRACT OP A LETTER\\nTO THE SAME.\\nEdinburgh, 12th February, 1788.\\nSome things, in your late letters, hurt me not that you say them,\\nbut that you mistake me. Religion, my honoured madam, has not\\nonly been all my life my chief dependence, but my dearest enjoy-\\nment. I have indeed been the luckless victim of wayward follies\\nbut alas I have ever been more fool than knave. A mathema-\\ntician without religion, is a probable character an irreligious poet,\\nis a monster.", "height": "4508", "width": "2664", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "172 BUKNS* WORKS.\\nNo. XLVII.\\nTO A LADY.\\nMadam, Mossgiel, 1th March, 1788.\\nThe last paragraph in yours of the 20th February affected me most,\\nso I shall begin my answer where you ended your letter. That I\\nam often a sinner with any little wit I have, I do confess but I\\nhave taxed my recollection to no purpose, to find out when it was\\nemployed against you. I hate an ungenerous sarcasm, a great deal\\nworse than I do the devil at least as Milton describes him and\\nthough I may be rascally enough to be sometimes guilty of it my-\\nself, I cannot endure it in others. You, my honoured friend, who\\ncannot appear in any light, but you are sure of being respectable\\nyou can afford to pass by an occasion to display your wit, because\\nyou may depend for fame on your sense or if you choose to be si-\\nlent, you know you can rely on the gratitude of many and the es-\\nteem of all but God help us who are wits or witlings, by profession,\\nif we stand not for fame there, we sink unsupported 1\\nI am highly flattered by the news you tell me of Coila. I may\\nsay to the fair painter who does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie\\nsays to Ross the poet, of his Muse Scotia, from which, by the bye, I\\ntook the idea of Coila Tis a poem of Beatie s in the Scots dialect,\\nwhich perhaps you have never seen.)\\ni Ye shak your head, but o my fegs,\\nYe ve set auld Scetia on her legs\\nLang had she lien wi buffe and flegs,\\nBombaz d and dizzie,\\nHer fiddle wanted strings and pegs,\\nWaes me, poor hizzie/\\nNo. XLYIII.\\nTO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORK\\nMauchU?ie 9 %lst March, 1788.\\nYesterday, my dear sir, as I was riding through a track of melan-\\ncholy joyless muirs, between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being Sun-\\nday, I turned my thoughts to psalms, and spiritual songs and your\\nfavourite air, Captain O Kean, coming at length in my head, I\\ntried these words to it. You will see that the first part of the tune\\nmust be repeated.*\\nI am tolerably pleased with these verses, but as I have only a\\nsketch of the tune, I leave it with you to try if they suit the mea-\\nsure of the music.\\nI am so harassed with care and anxiety, about this farming pro-\\nject of mine, that my muse has degenerated into the veriest prose-\\nwench that ever picked cinders, or followed a tinker. When I am\\nfairly got into the routine of business, I shall trouble you with a\\nlonger epistle perhaps with some queries respecting farming at\\npresent, the world sits such a load on my mind, that it has effaced\\nalmost every trace of the in me.\\nMy very best compliments, and good wishes to Mrs. Cleghorn.\\nHere the bard gives ttie fiist Stanza of til? CheYaliw s J,ajnent.", "height": "4508", "width": "2812", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 173\\nNo. XLTX.\\nFROM MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN.\\nSauyhton Mills 27 th April, 1788.\\nMY DEAR BROTHER FARMER,\\nI was favoured with your very kind letter of the 31st ult. and con-\\nsider myself greatly obliged to you, for your attention in sending\\nme the song to my favourite air, Captain O Kean. The words de-\\nlighted me much they fit the tune to a hair. I wish you would\\nsend me a verse or two more and if you have no objection, I would\\nhave it in the Jacobite style. Suppose it should be sung after the\\nfatal field of Culloden by the unfortunate Charles Tenducci per-\\nsonates the lovely Mary Stuart in the song Queen Mary s Lamenta-\\ntion. Why may not 1 sing in the person of her great-great-great\\ngrandson ?t\\nAny skill I have in country business you may truly command.\\nSituation, soil, customs of countries may vary from each other, but\\nFarmer Attention is a good farmer in every place. I beg to hear\\nfrom you soon. Mrs. Cleghorn joins me in best compliments.\\nI am, in the most comprehensive sense of the word, your very\\nsincere friend. ROBERT CLEGHORN.\\nNo. L.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nMadam, Mauchline, 2Sth April, 1788.\\nYour powers of reprehension mu3t be great indeed, as I assure you\\nthey made my heart ache with penitential pangs, even though I\\nwas really not guilty. As I commence farmer at Whitsunday, you\\nwill easily guess 1 must be pretty busy but that is not all. As I\\ngot the offer of the excise business without solicitation? and as it\\ncosts me only six months attendance for instructions, to entitle me\\nto a commission which commission lies by me, and at any future\\nperiod, on my simple petition, can be resumed I thought five and\\nthirty pounds a-year was no bad dernier resort for a poor poet, if\\nt Our poet took this advice. The whole of this beautiful song, as it was after-\\nwards finished, is below\\nTHE CHEVALIER S LAMENT.\\nThe small birds rejoice in the sreen leaves returning,\\nThe murmuring streamlet winds clear thro the vale\\nThe hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,\\nAnd wild scatter d cowslips bedeck the green dale\\nBut what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,\\nWhile the lingering moments are number d by care?\\nNo flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing,\\nCan soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.\\nThe deed that I dared could it merit their malice\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA king and a father to place on his throne i\\nHis right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,\\nWhere the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.\\nBut tis not my sufferings thus wretched forlorn,\\nMy brave gallant friends, tis your ruin I mourn\\nYour deeds proved so loyal, in hot bloody trial,\\nAlas can I make you no sweeter return", "height": "4344", "width": "2588", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "174 burns works.\\nfortune in her jade tricks should kick him down from the little\\neminence to which she has lately helped him up.\\nFor this reason, I am at present attending these instructions, to\\nhave them completed before Whitsunday. Still, madam, I pre-\\npared with the sincerest pleasure to meet you at the Mount, and\\ncame to my brother s on Saturday night, to set out on Sunday\\nbut for some nights preceding 1 had slept in an apartment, where\\nthe force of the winds and rain was only mitigated by being sifted\\nthrough numberless apertures in the window, walls, c. In conse-\\nquence I was on Sunday, Monday, and part of Tuesday unable to\\nstir out of bed, with all the miserable effects of a violent cold.\\nYou see, madam, the truth of the French maxim, Le vrai n est\\npas toujours le vrai-semllable your last was so full of expostulation,\\nand was something so like the language of an offended friend, that\\nI began to tremble for a correspondence, which I had with grateful\\npleasure set down as one of the greatest enjoyments of my future\\nlife.\\nYour books have delighted me Virgil, Dryden, and Tasso, were\\nall equal strangers to me but of this more at large in my next.\\nNo. LI.\\nFROM THE KEY. JOHN SKINNER.\\nDear Sir, Linshart, 28th April, 1788.\\nI received your last, with the curious present you have favoured\\nme with, and would have made proper acknowledgments before\\nnow, but that I have been necessarily engaged in matters of a dif-\\nferent complexion. And now that I have got a little respite, I\\nmake use of it to thank you for this valuable instance of your good\\nwill, and to assure you that, with the sincere heart of a true Scots-\\nman, I highly esteem both the gift and the giver as a small testi-\\nmony of which I have herewith sent you for your amusement (and\\nin a form which I hope you will excuse for saving postage) the two\\nsongs I wrote about to you already. Charming Nancy is the real\\nproduction of genius in a ploughman of twenty years of age at the\\ntime of its appearing, with no more education than what he picked\\nup at an old farmer-grandfather s lire-side, though now, by the\\nstrength of natural parts, he is clerk to a thriving bleach field in\\nthe neighbourhood. And I doubt not but you will find in it a sim-\\nplicity and delicacy, with some turns of humour, that will please\\none of your taste at least it pleased me when I first saw it, if that\\ncan be any recommendation to it. The other is entirely descriptive\\nof my own sentiments, and you may make use of one or both as you\\nshall see good.*\\nCHARMING NANCY.\\nA SONG, BY A BUCHAN PLOUGHMAN.\\nTune Humours of Glen.\\nSome sing of sweet Mally, some sing of fair Nelly,\\nAnd some call sweet Susie the cause of their pain;\\nSome love to be jolly, some love melancholy,\\nAnd some love to sing of the Humours of Glen.", "height": "4508", "width": "2808", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 175\\nYou will oblige me by presenting my respects to your host, Mr.\\nCruikshank, who has given such high approbation to my poor La*\\nUnity you may let him know, that as I have, likewise been a\\ndabbler in Latin poetry, I have two things that I would, if he de-\\nsires it, submit not to his judgment, but to his amusement the\\nBut my only fancy, is my pretty Nancy,\\nIn venting my passions, I ll strive to be plain,\\nI ll ask no more treasure, I ll seek no more pleasure,\\nBut thee, my dear Nancy, gin thou wert my ain.\\nHer beauty delights me, her kindness invites me,\\nHer pleasant behaviour is free from all stain\\nTherefore my sweet jewel, O do not prove cruel,\\nConsent, my dear Nancy, and come be my ain:\\nHer carriage is comely, her language is homely,\\nHer dress is quite decent when ta en in the main\\nShe s blooming in feature, she s handsome in stature,\\nMy charming, dear Nancy, O wert thou my ain\\nLike Phoebus adorning the fair ruddy morning\\nHer bright eyes are sparkling, her brows are serene*\\nHer yellow locks shining, in beauty combining,\\nMy charming sweet Nancy, wilt thou be my ain?\\nThe whole of her face is, with maidenly graces\\nArray d like the go wans, that grow in yon glen,\\nShe s well shap d and slender, true hearted and tender,\\nMy charming, sweet Nancy, O wert thou my ain\\nI ll seek through the nation for some habitation,\\nTo shelter my dear from the cold, snow, and rain,\\nWith songs to my deary, I ll keep her aye cheery,\\nlly charming, sweet Nancy, gin thou wert my ain.\\nI ll work at my calling to furnish thy dwelling,\\nWith ev ry thing needful thy life to sustain\\nThou shalt not sit thee single, but by a clear ingle,\\nI ll marrow thee, Nancy, when thou art my ain.\\nI ll make true affection the constant direction,\\nOf loving my Nancy while life doth remain\\nTho youth will be wasting, true love shall be lasting,\\nMy charming, sweet Nancy, gin thou wert my ain.\\nBut what if my Nancy should alter her fancy,\\nTo favour another be forward and fain,\\nI will not compel her, but plainly I ll tell her,\\nBegone thou false Nancy, thou se ne er be my ain.\\nTHE OLD MAN S SONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Dumbarton s Drum,\\nBY THE REV. J. SKINNER.\\nO why should old age so much wound us O\\nThere is nothing in t all to confound us, O\\nFor how happy now am I,\\nWith my old wife sitting by,\\nAnd our bairns and our oes all around us, O\\nWe began in the world wi naething, O,\\nAnd we ve jogg d on, and toil d for the ae thing, O\\nWe made use of what we had,\\nAnd our thankful hearts were glad,\\nWhen we got the bit meat and the claithing, O.\\nWe have lived all our lifetime contented, O,\\nSince the day we became first acquainted, O\\nIt s true we ve been bat poor,\\nAnd we are so to this hour,\\nYet we never pined nor lamented, O.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "176 burns works.\\none a translation of ChrisVs Kirk o the Green, printed at Aberdeen\\nsome years ago the other Batrachomyomachia Homeri Latinis ver-\\nsibus cum additamentis, given in lately to Chalmers, to print if he\\npleases. Mr. C. will know Seria non semper delectant, nonjoca sem*\\nper. Semper delectant seria mixta jocis.\\nI have just room to repeat compliments and good wishes from,\\nSir, your humble servant,\\nJOHN SKINNER.\\nNo. LII.\\nTO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.\\nSir, Mauchline Zd May, 1787.\\nI enclose you one or two more of my bagatelles. If the fervent\\nwishes of honest gratitude have any influence with that great, un-\\nknown Being, who frames the chain of causes and events prospe-\\nrity and happiness will attend your visit to the Continent, and re-\\nturn you safe to your native shore.\\nWherever I am, allow me, sir, to claim it as my privilege, to ac-\\nquaint you with my progress in my trade of rhymes as I am sure\\nI could say it with truth, that, next to my little fame, and the\\nWe ne er thought of schemes to be wealthy, O,\\nBy ways that were cunning or stealthy, O,\\nBut we always had the bliss,\\nAnd what farther could we wiss,\\nTo be p! eased wi ourselves, and be healthy, O\\nWhat tho we canna boast of our guineas, O,\\nWe have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies, O,\\nAnd these, I am certain, are\\nMore desirable by far,\\nThan a pock full of poor yellow sleenies, O.\\nWe hare seen many a wonder and ferly, O,\\nOf changes that almost are yearly, O,\\nAmong rich folk, up and down,\\nBoth in country and town,\\nWho now live but scrimply, and barely, O.\\nThen why should people brag of prosperity, O\\nA straiten d life we see is no rarity, O\\nIndeed we ve been in want,\\nAnd our living been but scant,\\nYet we never were reduced to need charity, O.\\nIn this house we first came together, O,\\nWhere we ve long been a Father and Mither, O,\\nAnd tho not of stone and lime,\\nIt will last us a our time,\\nAnd I hope we shall never need anither, O.\\nAnd when we leave this habitation, O,\\nWell depart with a good commendation, O,\\nWe ll go hand in hand, I wiss,\\nTo a better house than this,\\nTo make room for the next generation, O.\\nThen why should old age so much wound us, O\\nThere is nothing in it all to confound us, O\\nFor how happy now am I,\\nWith my auld wife sitting by,\\nAnd our bairns and our oes all around us, O.", "height": "4508", "width": "2812", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 177\\nhaving it in my power to make life more comfortable to those\\nwhom nature has made dear to me, I shall ever regard your coun-\\ntenance, your patronage, your friendly good offices, as the most val-\\nued consequence of my late success in life.\\nNo. LIII.\\nEXTRACT OF A LETTER.\\nTO MRS. DUN LOP.\\nMadam, Mauchline, ith May, 1788.\\nDryden s Virgil has delighted me. I do not know whether the\\ncritics will agree with me, but the Georgia are to me by far\\nthe best of Virgil. It is indeed a species of writing entirely new\\nto me and has tilled my head with a thousand fancies of emula-\\ntion but, alas when I read the Georgics, and then survey my own.\\npowers, tis like the idea of a Shetland poney, drawn up by the\\nside of a thorough-bred hunter, to start for the plate. I own I am\\ndisappointed in the JErieid. Faultless correctness may please, and\\ndoes highly please the learned critic but to that awful character I\\nhave not the most distant pretensions. I do not know whether I\\ndo not hazard my pretensions to be a critic of any kind, when I say\\nthat I think Virgil, in many instances, a servile copier of Homer.\\nIf 1 had the Odyssey by me, I could parallel many passages where\\nVirgil has evidently copied, but by no means improved Homer.\\nNor can I think there is any thing of this owing to the translators\\nfor, from every thing I have seen of Dryden, I think him, in genius\\nand fluency of language, Pope s master. I have not perused Tasso\\nenough to form an opinion in some future letter, you shall have\\nmy ideas of him though I am conscious my criticisms must be\\nvery inaccurate and imperfect, as thtre I have ever felt and la-\\nmented my want of learning most.\\nNo. LIV.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nMadam, 27 tk May, 1788.\\n1 have been torturing my philosophy to no purpose, to account for\\nthat kind partiality of yours, which, unlike\\nhas followed me in my return to the shade of\\nlife, with assiduous benevolence. Often did I regret in the fleeting\\nhours of my late will-o -wisp appearance, that here I had no con-\\ntinuing city and but for the consolation of a few solid guineas,\\ncould almost lament the time that a momentary acquaintance with\\nwealth and splendour put me so much out of conceit with the sworn\\ncompanions of my road through life, insignificance and poverty.\\nThere are few circumstances relating to the unequal distribution\\nof the good things of this life, that give me more vexation (I mean\\nin what I see around me) than the importance the opulent bestow\\non their trifling family affairs, compared with the very same things\\nh 5", "height": "4508", "width": "2652", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "173 burns works.\\non the contracted scale of a cottage. Last afternoon I Lad thg\\nhonour to spend an hour or two at a good woman s fireside, where\\nthe planks that composed the floor were decorated with a splendid\\ncarpet, and the gay table sparkled with silver and china. Tis now\\nabout term-day, and there has been a revolution among those crea-\\ntures, who, though in appearance partakers, and equally noble par-\\ntakers of the same nature with madame are from time to time\\ntheir nerves, their sinews, their health, strength, wisdom, expe-\\nrience, genius, time, nay, a good part of their very thoughts, sold\\nfor months and years, not only\\nto the necessities, the conveniences, but the caprices of the impor-\\ntant few.* We talked of the insignificant creatures; nay, notwith-\\nstanding their general stupidity and rascality, did some of the poor\\ndevils the honour to commend them. But light be the turf upon\\nhis breast, who taught Keverence thyself. We looked down on\\nthe unpolished wretches, their impertinent wives and clouterly\\nbrats, as the lordly bull does on the little dirty ant-hill, whose puny\\ninhabitants he crushes in the carelessness of his ramble, or tosses in\\nthe air in the wantonness of his pride.\\nNo. LY.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nAT Mft. DUNLOPS, HADDINGTON.\\nEllisland, 13th June, 1788.\\nWhere er I roam, whatever realms I see,\\nMy heart, untravell d, fondly turns to thee\\nStill to my friend it turns with ceaseless pain,\\nAnd drags at each remove a lengthen d chain.\\nGOLDSMITH.\\nThis is the second day, my honoured friend, that I have been on\\nmy farm, A solitary inmate of an old, smoky spence far from\\nevery object I love, or by whom I am loved nor any acquaintance\\nolder than yesterday, except Jenny Geddes the old mare I ride on;\\nwhile uncouth cares, and novel plans, hourly insult my awkward\\nignorance and bashful inexperience. There is a foggy atmosphere\\nnative to my soul in the hour of care, consequently the dreary ob-\\njects seem larger than the life. Extreme sensibility, irritated and\\nprejudiced on the gloomy side by a series of misfortunes and disap-\\npointments, at that period of my existence when the soul is laying\\nin her cargo of ideas for the voyage of life, is, I believe, the prin-\\ncipal cause of this unhappy frame of mind.\\nThe valiant, in himself, what can he suffer\\nOr what need he regard his single woes V c.\\nYour surmise, madam, is just; I am indeed a husband.\\n1 found a once much-loved and still much-loved female, literally\\nand truly cast out to the mercy of the naked elements, but as I en-\\nServants in Scotland aie hired from term to term, i. e. from Whitsunday to\\nMartinmas, c.", "height": "4412", "width": "2804", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 179\\nabled her to purchase a shelter and there is no sporting with a\\nfellow-creature s happiness or misery.\\nThe most placid good-nature and sweetness of disposition a warm\\nheart, gratefully devoted with all its powers to love me vigorous\\nhealth and sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the best advantage, by\\na more than common handsome figure these, I think, in a woman,\\nmay make a good wife, though she should never have read a page,\\nbut the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, nor have danced in\\na brighter assembly than a penny pay- wedding.\\nNo. LVI.\\nTO ME. P. HILL.\\nMy dear hill,\\nI shall say nothing at all to your mad present you have so long\\nand often been of important service to me, and I suppose you mean\\nto go on conferring obligations until I shall not be able to lift up\\nmy face before you. In the meantime, as Sir Eoger de Coverley,\\nbecause it happened to be a cold day in which he made his will,\\nordered his servants great coats for mourning, so, because I have\\nbeen this week plagued with an indigestion, I have sent you by the\\ncarrier a fine old ewe-milk cheese.\\nIndigestion is the devil nay, tis the devil and all. It besets a\\nman in every one of his senses. I lose my appetite at the sight of\\nsuccessful knavery and sicken to loathing at the noise and nonsense\\nof self-important folly. When the hollow-hearted wretch takes me\\nby the hand, the feeling spoils my dinner the proud man s wine so\\noffends my palate, that it chokes me in the gullet and the pulvilis d\\nfeathered, pert coxcomb, is so disgustful in my nostril that my sto-\\nmach turns.\\nIf ever you have any of these disagreeable sensations, let me pre-\\nscribe for your patience and a bit of my cheese. I know that you\\nare no niggard to your good things among your friends, and some\\nof them are in much need of a slice. There in my eye is our friend\\nSmellie, a man positively of the first abilities and greatest strength\\nof mind, as well as one of the best hearts and keenest wits that I\\nhave ever met with when you see him, as, alas he too is smart-\\ning at the pinch of distressful circumstances, aggravated by the\\nsneer of contumelious greatness\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a bit of my cheese alone will not\\ncure him, but if you add a tankard of brown stout, and superadd a\\nmagnum of right Oporto, you will see his sorrows vanish like the\\nmorning mist before the sunmer sun.\\nC h, the earliest friend, except my only brother, that I have\\non earth, and one of the worthiest fellows that ever any man called\\nby the name of friend, if a luncheon of my cheese would help to rid\\nhim of some of his superabundant modesty, you would do well to\\ngive it him.\\nDavid* with his Courant comes, too, across my recollection, and\\nI beg you will help him largely from the said ewe-milk cheese, to\\nenable him to digest those bedaubing paragraphs with which\\nfee is eternally larding the lean characters of certain great men in\\nPrinter of the Edinburgh Evening Courant.", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "180 burns works^\\na certain great town. I grant you the periods are very well turned\\nso, a fresh egg is a very good thing but when thrown at a man in\\na pillory it does not at all improve his figure, not to mention the\\nirreparable loss of the egg.\\nMy facetious friend, D r, I would wish also to be a partaker;\\nnot to digest his spleen, for that he laughs off, but to digest his last\\nnight s wine at the last field-day of the Crochallan corps.\\nAmong our common friends I must not forget one of the dearest\\nof them, Cunningham. The brutality, insolence, and selfishness of\\na world unworthy of having such a fellow as he is in it, I know\\nsticks in his stomach, and if you can help him to any thing that\\nwill make him a little easier on that score, it will be very obliging.\\nAs to honest J S e, he is such a contented happy man\\nthat I know not what can annoy him, except perhaps he may not\\nhave got the better of a parcel of modest anecdotes which a certain\\npoet gave him one night at supper, the last time the said poet was\\nin town.\\nThough I have mentioned so many men of law, I shall have no-\\nthing to do with them professedly the Faculty are beyond my pre-\\nscription. As to their clients, that is another thing God knows\\nthey have much to digest\\nThe clergy 1 pass by their profundity of erudition, and their\\nliberality of sentiment their total want of pride, and their detes-\\ntation of hypocrisy, are so proverbially notorious as to place them\\nfar, far above either my praise or censure.\\nI was going to mention a man of worth, whom I have the honour\\nto call friend, the Laird of Craigdarroch but I have spoken to the\\nlandlord of the King s arms inn here, to have, at the next county-\\nmeeting, a large ewe- milk cheese on the table, for the benefit of the\\nDumfries-shire whigs, to enable them to digest the Duke of Queens-\\nberry s late political conduct.\\nI have just this moment an opportunity of a private hand to\\nEdinburgh, as perhaps you would not digest double postage.\\nNo. LYII.\\nTO MRS. DUXLOP.\\nMauchline, 2d August. 1788.\\nHonoured kadam,\\nYour kind letter welcomed me yesternight, to Ayrshire. I am in-\\ndeed seriously angry with you at the quantum of your lucJcpenny\\nbut vexed and hurt as I was, 1 could not help laughing very hear-\\ntily at the noble lord s apology for the missed napkin.\\n1 would write you from Xithsdale, and give you my direction\\nthere, but I have scarce an opportunity of calling at a post-office\\nonce in a fortnight. I am six miles from Dumfries, am scarcely\\never in it myself, and, as yet, have little acquaintance in the neigh-\\nbourhood. Besides, I am now very busy on my farm, building a\\ndwelling house as at present 1 am almost an evangelical man in\\nNithsdUe, for I have scarce where to lay my head.\\nThere are some passages in your last that brought tears in my\\nt A club oi choice Fpirits-", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 181\\neyes. w The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and a stranger inter-\\nmeddleth not therewith. The repository of these sorrows of the\\nheart/ is a kind of sanctum sanctorum; and tis only a chosen\\nfriend, and that too at particular, sacred times, who dares enter\\ninto them.\\nHeaven oft tears the bosom-chords\\nThat nature finest strung.\\nYou will excuse this quotation for the sake of the author. In-\\nstead of entering on this subject farther, I shall transcribe you a\\nfew lines I wrote in a hermitage belonging to a gentleman in my\\nNithsdale neighbourhood. They are almost the only favours the\\nmuse has conferred on me in that country.\\nThou whom chance may hither lead,\\nBe thou clad in russet weed,\\nBe thou deck d in silken stole,\\nGrave these maxims on thy soul\\nLife is but a day at most,\\nSprung from night, in darkness lost\\nHope not sunshine ev ry hour\\nFear not clouds will ever lour.\\nHappiness is but a name,\\nMake content and ease thy aim.\\nAmbition is a meteor- gleam\\nFame, an idle restless dream\\nPeace, the tend rest flow r of spring\\nPleasures, insects on the wing.\\nThose that sip the dew alone,\\nMake the butterflies thy own\\nThose that would the bloom devour,\\nCrush the locusts, save the flower.\\nFor the future be prepared,\\nGuard wherever thou canst guard\\nBut thy utmost duly done,\\nWelcome what thou canst not shun.\\nFollies past give thou to air,\\nMake their consequence thy care\\nKeep the name of man in mind,\\nAnd dishonour not thy kind.\\nKeverence with lowly heart\\nHim whose wond rous work thou art\\nKeep his goodness still in view,\\nThy trust and thy example too.\\nStranger go heaven be thy guide\\nQuod the Beadesman of Nithside.\\nSince I am in the way of transcribing, the following were the\\nproduction of yesterday as 1 jogged through the wild hills of New\\nCumnock. I intended inserting them, or something like them, in\\nan epistle I am going to write to the gentleman on whose friend-\\nship my excise hopes depend, Mr. Graham of Fintry one of the", "height": "4428", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "182 burns works.\\nworthiest and most accomplished gentlemen, not only of this coun-\\ntry, but I will dare to say it, of this age. The following are just\\nthe first crude thoughts unhousel d, unanointed, unanell d.\\nPity the tuneful muses helpless train\\nWeak, timid landsmen on life s stormy main\\nThe world were blest, did bless on them depend\\nAh, that the friendly e er should want a friend\\nThe little fate bestows they share as soon\\nUnlike sage, proverb d, wisdom s hard- wrung boon.\\nLet prudence number o er each sturdy son\\nWho life and wisdom at one race begun\\nWho feel by reason and who give by rule\\nInstinct s a brute, and sentiment a fool\\nWho make poor will do wait upon I should\\nWe own they re prudent, but who feels they re good?\\nYe wise ones, hence ye hurt the social eye\\nGod s image rudely etch d on base alloy\\nBut come\\nHere the muse left me. I am astonished at what you tell me of\\nAnthony s writing to me. I never received it. Poor fellow you vex\\nme much by telling me that he is unfortunate. I shall be in Ayr-\\nshire ten days from this date. I have just room for an old Koman\\nfarewell\\nISTo. LYIII.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nMaucKline,10th August, 1788.\\nMY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,\\nYours of the 24th June is before me. I found it, as well as ano-\\nther valued friend my wife, waiting to welcome me to Ayrshire\\nI met both with the sincerest pleasure.\\nWhen I write you, madam, I do not sit down to answer every pa-\\nragraph of yours, by echoing every sentiment, like the faithful com-\\nmons of Great Britain in parliament assembled, answering a speech\\nfrom the best of kings I express myself in the fulness of my heart,\\nand may perhaps be guilty of neglecting some of your kind inqui-\\nries but not from your very odd reason that I do not read your\\nletters. All your epistles for several months have cost me nothing,\\nexcept a swelling throb of gratitude, or a deep felt sentiment of\\nveneration.\\nMrs. Burns, madam, is the identical woman\\nWhen she first found herself as women wish to be who love their\\nlords; as I loved her nearly to distraction, we took steps for a pri-\\nvate marriage. Her parents got the hint and not only forbade\\nme her company and their house, but on my rumoured West Indian\\nvoyage, got a warrant to put me in jail, till I should find security\\nin my about-to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky reverse\\nof fortune. On my eclatant return to Mauchline, 1 was made very\\nwelcome to visit my girl, The usual consequences began to betray", "height": "4508", "width": "2760", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "letters; 183\\nher and as I was at that time laid up a cripple in Edinburgh, she\\nwas turned, literally turned out of doors, and I wrote to a friend\\nto shelter her, till my return, when our marriage was declared.\\nHer happiness or misery was in my hands, and who could trifle\\nwith such a deposit\\nI can easily fancy a more agreeable companion for my journey of\\nlife, but, upon my honour, I have never seen the individual in\\nstance.\\nCircumstanced as I am, I could never have got a female partner\\nfor life, who could have entered into my favourite studies, relished\\nmy favourite authors, c. without probably entailing on me at the\\nsame time, expensive living, fantastic caprice, perhaps apish affec-\\ntation, with all the other blessed boarding-school acquirements,\\nwhich (pardonnez moi, madame) are sometimes to be found among\\nfemales of the upper ranks, but almost universally pervade the\\nmisses of the would- be-gentry.\\nI like your way in your church-yard lucubrations. Thoughts\\nthat are the spontaneous result of accidental situations, either re-\\nspecting health, place, or company, have often a strength, and al-\\nways an originality, that would in vain be looked for in fancied\\ncircumstances and studied paragraphs. For me, I have often\\nthought of keeping a letter, in progression, by me, to send when\\nthe sheet was written out. Now I talk of sheets, 1 must tell you,\\nmy reason for writing to you on paper of this kind, is my pruriency\\nof writing to you at large. A page of post is on such a dissocial,\\nnarrow-minded scale, that I cannot abide it and double letters, at\\nleast in my miscellaneous reverie manner, are a monstrous tax in a\\nclose correspondence.\\nNo. LIX.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nEllisland, 16th August, 1788.\\nI am in a fine disposition, my honoured friend, to send you an ele-\\ngiac epistle and want only genius to make it quite Shenstonian.\\nWhy droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn?\\nWhy sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky V\\nMy increasing cares in this, as yet, strange country gloomy con-\\njectures in the dark vista of futurity consciousness of my own in-\\nability for the struggle of the world my broadened mark to mis-\\nfortune in a wife and children I could indulge these reflections,\\ntill my humour should ferment into the most acrid chagrin, that\\nwould corrode the very thread of life.\\nTo counterwork these baneful feelings, I have sat down to write\\nto you as I declare upon my soul 1 always find that the most\\nsovereign balm for my wounded spirit.\\nI was yesterday at Mr. s to dinner, for the first time. My\\nreception was quite to my mind j from the lady of the house quite", "height": "4508", "width": "2536", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "184 burns works.\\nflattering. She sometimes hits on a couplet or two, impromptu.\\nShe repeated one or two to the admiration of all present. My suf-\\nfrage as a professional man was expected I for once went agoniz-\\ning over the belly of my conscience. Pardon me, ye, my adored\\nhousehold gods, Independence of Spirit, and Integrity of Soul In\\nthe course of conversation, Johnson s Musical Museum, a collection\\nof Scottish songs with the music, was talked of. We got a song on\\nthe harpsichord, beginning,\\nRaving winds around her blowing.\\nThe air was much admired the lady of the house asked me whose\\nwere the words Mine, madam they are indeed my very best\\nverses she took not the smallest notice of them The old Scot-\\ntish proverb says, well king s caff is better than ither folks corn.\\nI was going to make a New Testament quotation about casting\\npearls f but that would be too virulent, for the lady is actually a\\nwoman of good taste.\\nAfter all that has been said on the other side of the question,\\nman is by no means a happy creature. I do not speak of the se-\\nlected few, favoured by partial heaven, whose souls are tuned to\\ngladness amid riches and honours, and prudence and wisdom I\\nspeak of the neglected many, whose nerves, whose sinews, whose\\ndays are sold to the minions of fortune.\\nIf I thought you had never seen it, I would transcribe for you a\\nstanza of an old Scottish ballad, called The Life and Age of Man,\\nbeginning thus,\\nTwas in the sixteenth hunder year\\nOf God and fifty three,\\nFrae Christ was born, that bought us dear,\\nAs Avritings testifie.\\nI had an old grand uncle, with whom my mother lived a while in\\nher girlish years the good old man, for such he was, was long\\nblind ere he died, during which time, his highest enjoyment was\\nto sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the simple old\\nsong of The Life and Age of Man.\\nIt is this way of thinking it is those melancholy truths, that\\nmake religion so precious to the poor, miserable children of men\\nIf it is a mere phantom, existing only in the heated imagination of\\nenthusiasm,\\nWhat truth on earth so precious as the lie\\nMy idle reasonings sometimes make me a little sceptical, but the\\nnecessities of my heart always give the cold philosophizings the lie.\\nWho looks for the heart weaned from earth the soul affianced to\\nher God the correspondence fixed with heaven the pious suppli-\\ncation and devout thanksgiving, constant as the vicissitudes of even\\nand morn; who thinks to meet with these in the court, the palace,\\nin the glare of public life 1 No to find them in their precious im-\\nportance and divine efficacy, we must search among the obscure re-\\ncesses of disappointment, affliction, poverty, and distress.\\nI am sure, dear mad*m, you are now more than pleased with the\\nlength ol my letters. I return to Ayrshire, middle of next week i\\nse", "height": "4508", "width": "2804", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 185\\nand it quickens my pace to think that there will be a letter from\\nyou waiting me there. I must be here again very soon for my\\nharvest.\\nNo. LX.\\n0. R. GRAHAM, OF FINTRY, ESQ.\\nSir,\\nWhen I had the honour of being introduced to you at Athole-house,\\nI did not think so soon of asking a favour of you. When Lear, in\\nShakspeare, asks old Kent, why he wished to be in his service, he\\nanswers, u Because you have in your face which I could like to call\\nmaster. For some such reason, sir, do I now solicit your patronage.\\nYou know, I dare say, of an application I lately made to your Board\\nto be admitted an officer of excise. I have, according to form, been\\nexamined by a supervisor, and to-day I gave in his certificate, with\\na request for an order for instructions. In this affair, if I succeed, I\\nam afraid I shall but too much need a patronizing friend. Propriety\\nof conduct as a man, and fidelity and attention as an officer, I dare\\nengage for but with any thing like business, except manual labour,\\nI am totally unacquainted.\\nI had intended to have closed my late appearance on the stage of\\nlife, in the character of a country farmer but after discharging\\nsome filial and fraternal claims, I find I could only fight for exist-\\nence in that miserable manner, which I have lived to see throw a\\nvenerable parent into the jaws of a jail whence death, the poor\\nman s last and often best friend, rescued him.\\nI know, sir, that to need your goodness is to have a claim on it\\nmay I therefore beg your patronage to forward me in this affair, till\\nI be appointed to a division, where, by the help of rigid economy,\\nI will try to support that independence so dear to my soul, but\\nwhich has been too often so distant from my situation.\\nsk su. sJa. ik. Mi. ik. ik.\\n7F TfT Tfr Tfr vfc\\nWhen nature her great master- piece designed,\\nAnd iram d her last, best work, the human mind,\\nHer eye intent on all the mazy plan,\\nShe form d of various parts the various man.\\nThen first she calls the useful many forth\\nPlain plodding industry, and sober worth\\nThence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth,\\nAnd merchandie s whole genus take their birth.\\nEach prudent cit a warm existence finds,\\nAnd all mechanics many-aproned kinds.\\nSome other rarer sorts are wanted yet,\\nThe lead and buoy are needful to the net\\nThe caput mortuum of gros3 desires\\nMakes a material, for mere knights and squires\\nThe martial phosphorus is taught to flow,\\nShe kneads the lumpish philosophic dough,", "height": "4420", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "186 BURNS \\\\VORKS.\\nThen marks th unyielding mass with grave designs,\\nLaw, physics, politics, and deep divines\\nLast, she sublimes th Aurora of the poles,\\nThe flashing elements of female souls.\\nThe order d system fair before her stood,\\nNature well pleased pronounced it very good\\nBut here she gave creating labour o er,\\nHalf jest, she tried one curious labour more.\\nSome spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter\\nSuch as the slightest breath of air might scatter\\nWith arch alacrity and conscious glee\\n(Nature may have her whim as well as we,\\nHer Hogarth- art perhaps she meant to show it)\\nShe forms the thing, and christens it\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a poet.\\nCreature, tho oft the prey of care and sorrow,\\nWhen bless d to-day unmindful of to-morrow.\\nA being form d t amuse his graver friends,\\nAdmired and praised and there the homage ends\\nA mortal quite unfit for fortune s strife,\\nYet oft the sport of all the ills of life\\nProne to enjoy each pleasure riches give,\\nYet haply wanting wherewithal to live\\nLonging to wipe each tear, to heal each groan,\\nYet frequent all unheeded in his own.\\nBut honest Nature is not quite a Turk,\\nShe laugh d at first, then felt for her poor work.\\nPitying the propless climber of mankind,\\nShe cast about a standard tree to find\\nAnd to support his helpless woodbine state,\\nAttach d him to the generous truly great.\\nA title, and the only one I claim,\\nTo lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham.\\nPity the tuneful muses hapless train,\\nWeak, timid landmen on life s stormy main\\nTheir hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff,\\nThat never gives tho humbly takes enough\\nThe little fate allows, they share as soon,\\nUnlike sage, proverb d, wisdom s hard-wrung boon.\\nThe world were blessed, did bless on them depend,\\nAh, that the friendly e er should want a friend 1\\nLet prudence number o er each sturdy son,\\nWho life and wisdom at one race begun,\\nWho feel by reason, and who give by rule,\\n(Instinct s a brute, and sentiment a fool\\nWho make poor will do wait upon i sliould\\nWe own they re prudent, but who feels they re good\\nYe wise ones, hence ye hurt the social eye\\nGod s image rudely etch d on base alloy\\nBut come ye who the godlike pleasure know,\\nHeaven s attribute distingush d to bestow\\nWhose arms of love would grasp the human race\\nCome thou who giv^st with all a courtier s grace;", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 187\\nFriend of my life, true patron of my rhymes\\nProp of my dearest hopes for future times.\\nWhy shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid,\\nBackward, abash d to ask thy friendly aid 1\\nI know my need, I know thy giving hand,\\nI crave thy friendship at thy kind command\\nBut there are such who court the tuneful nine\\nHeavens, should the branded character be mine\\nWhose verse in manhood s pride sublimely flows,\\nYet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.\\nMark, how their lofty independent spirit,\\nSoars on the spurning wing of injured merit\\nSeek not the proofs in private life to find\\nPity, the best of words, should be but wind\\nSo, to heaven s gates the lark-shrill song ascends,\\nBut grovelling on the earth the carol ends.\\nIn all the clam rous cry of starving want,\\nThey dun benevolence with shameless front\\nOblige them, patronize their tinsel lays,\\nThey persecute you all your future days\\nEre my poor soul such deep damnation stain,\\nMy horny fist assume the plough again\\nThe pie-ball d jacket let me patch once more;\\nOn eighteen pence a- week I ve lived before.\\nThough, thanks to heaven, I dare even that last shift,\\nI trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift\\nThat placed by thee, upon the wish dfor height,\\nWhere, man and nature fairer in her sight,\\nMy muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight.\\nNo. LXI.\\nTO MR. P. HILL.\\nMauchline, 1st October, 1788.\\nI have been here in this country about three days, and all that\\ntime my chief reading has been the Address to Loch Lomond, you\\nwere so obliging as to send to me. Were I impannelled one of the\\nauthor s jury, to determine his criminality respecting the sin of\\npoesy, my verdict should be guilty A poet of Nature s making\\nIt is an excellent method for improvement, and what I believe\\nevery poet does, to place some favourite classic author, in his own\\nwalks of study and composition, before him, as a model. Though\\nyour author had not mentioned the name, I could have, at half a\\nglance, guessed his model to be Thomson. Will my brother poet\\nforgive me, if I venture to hint, that his imitation of that immortal\\nbard, is in two or three places rather more servile than such a genius\\nas his required. e. g.\\nTo soothe the madding passions all to peace,\\nADDRESS.\\nTo soothe the throbbing passions into peace,\\nTHOMSON.", "height": "4504", "width": "2608", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "188 burns works.\\nI think the Address is, in simplicity, harmony, and elegance of\\nversification, fully equal to the Seasons. Like Thomson, too, he has\\nlooked into nature for himself you meet with no copied descrip-\\ntion. One particular criticism I made at first reading in no one\\ninstance has he said too much. He never flags in his progress, but\\nlike a true poet of Nature s making, kindles in his course. His be-\\nginning is simple, and modest, as if distrustful of the strength of\\nhis pinion only, I do not altogether like\\nTruth,\\nThe soul of every song that s nobly great.\\nFiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly great. Perhaps I\\nam wrong this may be but a prose criticism. Is not the phrase,\\nin line 7, page 6, Great lake, too much vulgarized by every- day\\nlanguage, for so sublime a poem 1\\nGreat mass of waters, thence for nobler song,\\nis perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a comparison with\\nother lakes, is at once harmonious and poetic. Every reader s ideas\\nmust sweep the\\nWinding margin of an hundred miles.\\nThe perspective that follows mountains blue the imprisoned\\nbillows beating in vain the wooded isles the digression on the\\nyew tree Ben Lomond s lofty cloud- enveloped head, c. are\\nbeautiful. A thunderstorm is a subject which has been often\\ntried, yet our poet, in his grand picture, has interjected a circum-\\nstance, so far as I know, entirely original\\nThe gloom\\nDeep seam d with frequent streaks of moving fire.\\nIn his preface to the storm, the glens how dark between, is\\nnoble highland landscape The rain plowing the red mould, too,\\nis beautifully fancied. Ben Lomond s lofty, pathless top, is a\\ngood expression and the surrounding view from it is truly great\\nthe\\nSilver mist,\\n1 Beneath the beaming sun,\\nis well described and here he has contrived to enliven his poem\\nwith a little of that passion which bids fair, I think, to usurp the\\nmodern muses altogether. I know not how far this episode is a\\nbeauty upon the whole, but the swain s wish to carry some faint\\nidea of the vision bright, to entertain her partial listening ear,\\nis a pretty thought. But, in my opinion, the most beautiful pas-\\nsages in the whole poem, are the fowls crowding, in wintry frosts,\\nto Loch Lomond s hospitable flood; their wheeling round, their\\nlighting, mixing, diving, c. and the glorious description of the\\nsportsman. This last is equal to any thing in the Seasons. The\\nidea of the floating tribes distant seem, far glistering to the\\nmoon, provoking his eye as he is obliged to leave them, is a noble\\nray of poetic genius. The howling winds, the hideous roar\\nof the white cascades, are all in the same style.\\nI forget that while I am thus holding forth, with the heedless\\nwarmth of an enthusiast, I am perhaps tiring you with nonsense.\\nI must, however, mention, that the last verse of the sixteenth page", "height": "4508", "width": "2776", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 189\\nis one of the most elegant compliments I have ever seen. I must\\nlikewise notice that beautiful paragraph, beginning, The gleam-\\ning lake, c. I dare not go into the particular beauties of the\\ntwo last paragraphs, but they are admirably fine, and truly Ossianic.\\nI must beg your pardon for this lengthened scrawl. I had no\\nidea of it when I began\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I should like to know who the author is\\nbut, whoever he be, please present him with my grateful thanks\\nfor the entertainment he has afforded me.*\\nA friend of mine desired me to commission for him two books,\\nLetters on the Religion essential to Man, a book you sent me before\\nand, The World Unmasked, or the Philosopher the greatest Cheat\\nSend me them by the first opportunity. The Bible you sent me is\\ntruly elegant I only wish it had been in two volumes.\\nNo. LXII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MOREHAM MAINS.\\nMadam, Mauchline, 13th November 1788.\\nI had the very great pleasure of dining at Dunlop yesterday. Men\\nare said to flatter women because they are weak if it is so, poets\\nmust be weaker still for Misses R. and K. and Miss G. M K., with\\ntheir flattering attentions and artful compliments, absolutely turned\\nmy head. I own they did not lard me over as many a poet does his\\npatron but they so intoxicated me\\nwith their sly insinuations and delicate inuendoes of compliment\\nthat if it had not been for a lucky recollection, how much addi-\\ntional lustre your good opinion and friendship must give me in that\\ncircle, I had certainly looked upon myself as a person of no small\\nconsequence. I dare not say one word how much I was charmed\\nwith the major s friendly welcome, elegant manner, and acute re-\\nmarks, lest 1 should be thought to balance my orientalisms of ap-\\nplause over against the finest queyf in Ayrshire, which he made a\\npresent of to help and adorn my farm- stock. As it was on hallow-\\nday, I am determined annually as that day returns, to decorate h^er\\nhorns with an ode of gratitude to the family of Dunlop.\\nSo soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, I will take the first\\nconvenience to dedicate a day, or perhaps two, to you and friend-\\nship, under the guarantee of the major s hospitality. There will\\nsoon be threescore and ten miles of permanent distance between\\nus and now that your friendship and friendly correspondence is\\nentwisted with the heart-strings of my enjoyment of life, I must\\nindulge myself in a happy day of The feast of reason and the flow\\nof soul.\\nThe poem entitled An Address to Loch Lomond, is said to be written by a\\ngentleman, now one of the masters of the High Scool at Edinburgh, and the same\\nwho translated the beautiful story of the Paria, as published in the Bee of Dr.\\nAnderson.\\n+Eeifer.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "19U burns works\\n\u00c2\u00a3To. LXIII.\\nTO\\nSir, November 8, 1788.\\nNotwithstanding the opprobrious epithets with which some of our\\nphilosophers and gloomy sectaries have branded our nature the\\nprinciple of universal selfishness, the proneness to evil, they have\\ngiven us still the detestation in which inhumanity to the dis-\\ntressed, or insolence to the fallen, are held by all mankind, shows\\nthat they are not natives of the human heart. Even the unhappy\\npartner of our kind who is undone the bitter consequence of his\\nfollies or his crimes who but sympathizes with the miseries of this\\nruined profligate brother we forget the injuries, and feel for the\\nman.\\nI went last Wednesday to my parish church, most cordially to\\njoin in grateful acknowledgments to the Author of all Good, for\\nthe consequent blessings of the glorious revolution. To that aus-\\npicious event we owe no less than our liberties civil and religious\\nto it we are likewise indebted for the present Royal Family, the\\nruling features in whose administration have ever been, mildness to\\nthe subject, and tenderness of his rights.\\nBred and educated in revolution principles, the principles of reason\\nand common sense, it could not be any silly political prejudice\\nwhich made my heart revolt at the harsh, abusive manner, in which\\nthe reverend gentleman mentioned the House of Stuart, and which\\n1 am afraid was too much the language of the day. We may re-\\njoice sufficiently in our deliverance from past evils, without cruelly\\nraking up the ashes of those, whose misfortune it was, perhaps as\\nmuch as their crime, to be the authors of those evils and we may\\nbless God for all his goodness to us as a nation, without, at the same\\ntime, cursing a few ruined, powerless exiles, who only harboured\\nideas, and made attempts, that most of us would have done had\\nwe been in their situation.\\nThe bloody and tyrannical House of Stuart, may be said with\\npropriety and justice, when compared with the present Royal\\nFamily, and the sentiments of our days but is there no allowance\\nto be made for the manners of the times Were the royal contem-\\nporaries of the Stuarts more attentive to their subjects, rights?\\nMight not the epithets of bloody and tyrannical be with at least\\nequal justice, applied to the House of Tudor, of York, or any of\\ntheir predecessors\\nThe simple state of the case, sir, seems to be this\u00e2\u0080\u0094 At that pe-\\nriod, the science of government, the knowledge of the true relation\\nbetween king and subject, wa3, like other sciences and other know-\\nledge, just in its infancy, emerging from dark ages of ignorance and\\nbarbarity.\\nThe Stuarts only contended for prerogatives which they knew\\ntheir predecessors enjoyed, and which they saw their contemporaries\\nenjoying but these prerogatives were inimical to the happiness\\na nation, and the rights of subjects.\\nIn this contest between prince and people, the consequence\\nthat light of science, which had lately dawned over Europe, the\\nmonarch of France, for example, was victorious oyer the struggling", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "LETTERS, 191\\nliberties of his people with us, luckily the monarch failed, and\\nhis unwarrantable pretensions fell a sacrifice to our rights and hap-\\npiness. Whether it was owing to the wisdom of leading individuals,\\nor to the justling of parties, I cannot pretend to determine but\\nlikewise, happily for us, the kingly power was shifted into another\\nbranch of the family, who, as they owed the throne solely to the\\ncall of a free people, could claim nothing inconsistent with the\\ncovenanted terms which placed them there.\\nThe Stuarts have been condemned and laughed at for the folly\\nand impracticability of their attempts in 1715 and 1745. That\\nthey failed, I bless God but cannot join in the ridicule against\\nthem. Who does not know that the abilities or defects of leaders\\nand commanders are often hidden until put to the touchstone of\\nexigency and that there is a caprice of fortune, an omnipotence\\nin particular accidents and conjunctures of circumstances, which\\nexalt us as heroes, or brand us as madmen, just as they are for or\\nagainst us\\nMan, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, inconsistent being. Who\\nwould believe, sir, that, in this our Augustan age of liberality and\\nrefinement, while we seem so justly sensible and jealous of our\\nrights and liberties, and animated with such indignation against\\nthe very memory of those who would have subverted them that a\\ncertain people, under our national protection, should complain not\\nagainst our monarch and a few favourite advisers, but against our\\nwhole legislative bodt, for similar oppression, and almost in the\\nvery same terms, as our forefathers did of the House of Stuart I\\nwill not, I cannot enter into the merits of the cause, but I dare say\\nthe American Congress, in 1776, will be allowed to be as able and\\nas enlightened as the English convention was in 1688 and that\\ntheir posterity will celebrate the centenary of their deliverance\\nfrom us, as duly and sincerely as we do ours from the oppressive\\nmeasures of the wrong-headed House of Stuart.\\nTo conclude, sir let every man who has a tear for the many\\nmiseries incident to humanity, feel for a family illustrious as any\\nin Europe, and unfortunate beyond historic precedent; and let\\nevery Briton (and particularly every Scotsman), who ever looked\\nwith reverential pity on the dotage of a parent, cast a veil over the\\nfatal mistakes of the kings of his forefathers.*\\nNo. LXIV.\\nTO MES. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland, 17th December, 1788.\\nMy dear honoured friend,\\nYours, dated Edinburgh, which I have just read, makes me very\\nunhappy. Almost blind and wholly deaf, are melancholy news\\nof human nature but when told of a much loved and honoured\\nfriend, they carry misery in the sound. Goodness on your part, and\\ngratitude on mine, began a tie, which has gradually and strongly\\nentwisted itself among the dearest chords of my bosom and I trem-\\nThis letter was sent to the publisher of some newspaper, probably the pub-\\nlisher, of the Edinburgh Evening Courant.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "192 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nble at the omens of your late and present ailing habits and shattered\\nhealth. You miscalculate matters widely, when you forbid my\\nwaiting on you, lest it should hurt my worldly concerns. My small\\nscale of farming is exceedingly more simple and easy than what you\\nhave lately seen at Moreham Mains. But be that as it may, the\\nheart of the man, and the fancy of the poet, are the two grand con-\\nsiderations for which I live if miry ridge3, and dirty dunghills are\\nto engross the best part of the functions of my soul immortal, I had\\nbetter been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I should not have\\nbeen plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of clods, and pick-\\ning up grubs: not to mention barn-door cocks or mallards, creatures\\nwith which I could almost exchange lives at any time. If you con-\\ntinue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to either\\nof us but if I hear you are got so well again as to be able to relish\\nconversation, look you to it, madam, for I will make my threaten-\\nings good I am to be at the new-year-day fair of Ayr, and by all\\nthat is sacred in the world, friend, I will come and see you.\\nYour meeting, which you so well describe, with your old school-\\nfellow and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the\\nworld They spoil these social offsprings of the heart. Two\\nveterans of the men of the world would have met, with little\\nmore heart-workings than two old hacks worn out on the road.\\nApropos, is not the Scotch phrase, Auldiang syne/ exceedingly\\nexpressive. There is an old song and true which has often thrilled\\nthrough my soul. You know I am an enthusiast in old Scotch\\nsongs. I shall give you the verses on the other sheet, as I suppose\\nMr. Ker will save you the postage.*\\nLight be the turf on the breast of the Heaven-inspired poet who\\ncomposed this glorious fragment There is more of the fire of na-\\ntive genius in it, than in half a dozen of modern English Bacchana-\\nlians. Now I am on my hobby horse, I cannot help inserting two\\nother old stanzas, which please me mightily.\\nGo fetch to me a pint o wine,\\nAn fill it in a silver tassie\\nThat I may drink, before I go,\\nA service to my bonnie lassie\\nThe boat rocks at the pier o Leith;\\nFu loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,\\nThe ship rides by the Berwick law,\\nAnd I maun lea e my bonnie Mary.\\nThe trumpets sound, the banners fly,\\nThe glittering spears are ranked ready\\nThe shouts o war are heard afar,\\nThe battle closes thick and bloody\\nBut its not the roar o sea or shore,\\nWad make me langer wish to tarry\\nNor shouts o war thafs heard afar,\\nIt s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.\\nHere follows the song of Auld lang syne.", "height": "4508", "width": "2792", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 193\\nNo. LXY.\\nTO A YOUNG LADY.\\nWHO HAD HEARD HE HAD BEEN MAKING A BALLAD ON HER,\\nINCLOSING THAT BALLAD.\\nmadam, December, 1783.\\nI understand my very worthy neighbour, Mr. Riddel, has informed\\nyou that I have made you the subject of some verses. There is\\nsomething so provoking in the idea of being the burden of a bal-\\nlad, that I do not think Job or Moses, though such patterns of pa-\\ntience and meekness, could have resisted the curiosity to know what\\nthe ballad was so my worthy friend has done me a mischief,\\nwhich I dare say he never intended and reduced me to the unfor-\\ntunate alternative of leaving your curiosity ungratified, or else dis-\\ngusting you with foolish verses, the unfinished production of a ran-\\ndom moment, and never meant to have reached your ear. I have\\nheard or read somewhere of a gentleman, who had some genius,\\nmuch eccentricity, and very considerable dexterity with his pencil.\\nIn the accidental groups of life into which one is thrown, wherever\\nthis gentlemen met With a character in a more than ordinary de-\\ngree congenial to his heart, he used to steal a sketch of the face,\\nmerely he said, as nota bene to point out the agreeable recollection\\nto his memory. What this gentleman s pencil was to him, is my\\nmuse to me; and the verses I do myself the honour to send you\\nare a memento exactly of the same kind that he indulged in.\\nIt may be more owing to the fastidiousness of my caprice, than\\nthe delicacy of my taste, that 1 am so often tired, disgusted, and\\nhurt with the insipidity, affectation and pride of mankind, that\\nv hen I meet with a person after my own heart, I positively feel\\nwhat an orthodox protectant would call a species of idolatry which\\nacts on my fancy like inspiration, and I can no more desist from\\nrhyming on the impulse, than an iEolian harp can refuse its tones\\nto the streaming air. A distich or two would be the consequence\\nthough the object w-hioh hit my fancy were grey-bearded age but\\nwhere my theme is youth and beauty, a young lady whose personal\\ncharms, wit, and sentiment, are equally striking and unaffected, by\\nheavens though I had lived threescore years a married man, and\\nthreescore years before I was a married man, my imagination would\\nhallow the very idea and I am truly sorry that the inch sed stanzas\\nhave done such poor justice to a subject.\\nNo. LXYI.\\nTO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD.\\nSIR, December, 1783.\\nMr. M KENZiE,in Mauchline, my very warm and worthy friend, has\\ninformed me how much you are pleased to interest yourself in my\\nfate as a man, and, (what to me is incomparably dearer) my fame\\nas a poet. I have, sir, in one or two instances, been patronized by\\nthose of your character in life, when I was introduced to their no-\\ntice by friends to them, and honoured acquaintance to", "height": "4508", "width": "2572", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "104\\nburns works.\\nme but you are the first gentleman in the country whose benevo*\\nlence and goodness of heart has interested him for me, unsolicited\\nand unknown. I am not master enough of the etiquette of these\\nmatters to know, nor did I stay to inquire, whether formal duty\\nbade, or cold propriety disallowed, my thanking you in this man-\\nner, as I am convinced, from the light in which you kindly view me,\\nthat you will do me the justice to believe this letter is not the\\nmanoeuvre of a needy, sharping author, fastening on those in upper\\nlife, who honour him with a little notice of him or his works. In-\\ndeed the situation of poets is generally such, to a proverb, as may,\\nin some measure, palliate that prostitution of heart and talents\\nthey have been guilty of. I do not think prodigality is by any\\nmeans, a necessary concomitant of poetic turn, but believe a care-\\nless, indolent inattention to economy, is almost inseparable from\\nit then there must be in the heart of every bard of Nature s\\nmaking, a certain modest sensibility, mixed with a kind of pride,\\nthat will ever keep him out of the way of those windfalls of fortune\\nwhich frequently light on hardy impudence and footlickng ser-\\nvility. It is not easy to imagine a more helpless state than his\\nwhose poetic fancy unfits him for the world, and whose character as\\na scholar, gives him some pretensions to the politesse of life yet is\\nas poor as I am.\\nFor my part, I thank Heaven, my star has been kinder learning\\nnever elevated my ideas above the peasant s shed, and I have an\\nindependent fortune at the plough-tail.\\nI was surprised to hear that any one, who pretended in the least\\nto the manners of the gentleman, should be so foolish, or worse, as to\\nstoop to traduce the morals of such a one as I am, and so inhumanly\\ncruel, too, as to meddle with that late most unfortunate, unhappy\\npart of my story. With a tear of gratitude, I thank you, sir, for\\nthe warmth with which you interposed in behalf of my conduct. I\\nam, I acknowledge, too frequently the sport of whim, caprice, and\\npassion but reverence to God, and integrity to my fellow- creatures,\\nI hope 1 shall ever preserve. I have no return, sir, to make you for\\nyour goodness but one a return which, I am persuaded, will not\\nbe unacceptable the honest, warm wishes of a grateful heart for\\nyour happines, and every one of that lovely flock, who stand to you\\nin a filial relation. If ever calumny aim the poisoned shaft at them,\\nmay friendship be by to guard the blow\\nNo. LXYII.\\nFKOM ME. G. BURNS.\\nMossgiel, 1st January, 1789.\\nDEAR BROTHER,\\nI have just finished my new-year s- day breakfast in the usual form,\\nwhich naturally makes me call to mind the days of former years,\\nand the society in which we used to begin them and when I look\\nat onr family vicissitudes, through the dark postern of time long\\nelapsed, I cannot help remarking to you, my dear brother, how\\ngood the God of Seasons is to us and that however some clouds\\nmay seem to lower over the portion of time before us, we have great\\nreason to hope that all will turn out well.", "height": "4508", "width": "2848", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 19S\\nYour mother and sisters, with Robert the second, join me in the\\ncompliments of the season to you and Mrs. Burns, and beg you will\\nremember us in the same manner to William, the first time you see\\nhim. I am, dear brother, yours,\\nGILBERT BURNS.\\nNo. LXVIII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland, New- Year-Day Morning, 1789.\\nThis, dear madam, is a morning of wishes, and would to God that I\\ncame under the apostle James s description the prayer of a righte*\\no%is man availeih much. In that case, madam, you should welcome\\nin a year full of blessings every thing that obstructs or disturbs\\ntranquility and self-enjoyment, should be removed, and every plea-\\nsure that frail humanity can taste, should be yours. I own myself\\nso little a Presbyterian, that I approve of set times, and seasons\\nof more than ordinary acts of devotion, for breaking in on that ha-\\nbituated routine of life and thought, which is so apt to reduce our\\nexistence to a kind of instinct, or even sometimes, and with some\\nminds, to a state very little superior to mere machinery.\\nThis day the first Sunday of May a breezy, blue skyed noon\\nsome time about the beginning, and a hoary morning and calm\\nsunny day about the end, of autumn these, time out of mind, have\\nbeen with me a kind of holiday.\\n7 Sfc -Jfc\\nI believe I owe this to that glorious paper in the Spectator, The\\nYision of Mirza a piece that struck my fancy before I was capable\\nof fixing an idea to a word of three syllables On the 5th of the\\nmoon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I always\\nkeep holy, after having washed myself, and offered up my morning\\ndevotions, I ascended the high hill of Bagdat, in order to pass the\\nrest of the day in meditation and prayer.\\nAVe know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance or\\nstructure of our souls, so cannot account for those seeming caprices,\\nin them, that one should be particularly pleased with this thing, or\\nstruck with that, which, on minds of a different cast, makes no ex-\\ntraordinary impression. I have some favourite flowers in spring,\\namong which are the mountain daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove,\\nwild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I\\nview and hang over with peculiar delight. I never heard the loud,\\nsolitary whistle of the curlew, in a summer noon, or the wild mix-\\ning cadence of a troop of grey plovers, in an autumnal morning,\\nwithout feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion\\nor poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing?\\nAre we a piece of machinery, which, like the iEolian harp, passive,\\ntakes the impression of the passing accident Or do these work-\\nings argue something within us above the trodden clod I own\\nmyself partial to such proofs of those awful and important reali-\\nties a God that made all things man s immaterial and immortal\\nnature\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the grave,", "height": "4508", "width": "2572", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "196 burn s works.\\nNo. LXIX.\\nTO DR. MOORE.\\nsir, Ellislandf near Dumfries, 4th Jan. 17 29\\nAs of i en as I think of writing to you, which, has been three or four\\ntimes every week, these six months, it gives me something so like\\nthe idea of an ordinary- sized statue offering at a conversation with\\nthe Rhodian Colossus, that my mind misgives me, and the affair al-\\nways miscarries somewhere between purpose and resolve. I have,\\nat last, got some business with you, and business-letters are written\\nby the style-book. 1 say my business is with you, sir, for you have\\nnever had any with me, except the busines that benevolence has in\\nthe manner of poverty.\\nThe character and employment of a poet were formerly my\\npleasure, but are now my pride. I know that a very great deal of\\nmy late eclat was owing to the singularity of my situation, and the\\nhonest prejudice of Scotsmen; but still, as I said in the preface to\\nmy first edition, I do look upon myself as having some pretensions\\nfrom Nature to the poetic character. I have not a doubt but the\\nknack, the aptitude, to learn the muses trade, is a gift bestowed by\\nHim who forms the secret bias of the soul but as I firmly be-\\nlieve, that excellence in the profession is the fruit of industry, labour,\\nattention, and pains. At least I am resolved to try my doctrine by\\nthe test of experience. Another appearance from the press I put\\noff to a very distant day, a day that may never arrive but poesy I\\nam determined to prosecute with all my vigour. Nature has given\\nvery few, if any, of the profession, the talents of shining in every\\nspecies of composition. I shall try (for until trial it is impossible\\nto know) whether she has qualified me to shine in any one. The\\nworst of it is, by the time one has finished a piece, it has been so\\noften viewed and reviewed before the mental eye, that one loses,\\nin a good measure, the powers of critical discrimination. Here\\nthe best criterion I know is a friend not only of abilities to judge,\\nbut with good nature enough like a prudent teacher with a young\\nlearner, to praise perhaps a little more than exactly just, lest the\\nthin-skinned animal fall into that most deplorable of all poetic\\ndiseases heart-breaking despondency of himself. Dare I, sir, al-\\nready immensely indebted to your goodness, ask the additional obli-\\ngation of your being that friend to me 1 enclose you an essay of\\nmine, in a walk of poesy to me entirely new I mean the epistle\\naddressed to R. G. Esq. or, Robert Graham, of Eintry. Esq. a\\ngentleman of uncommon worth, to whom 1 lie under very great\\nobligations. The story of the poem, like most of my poems, is con-\\nnected with my own story, and to give you the one, I must give you\\nsomething of the other. I cannot boast of\\nI believe I shall, in whole, \u00c2\u00a3100 copy-right included, clear about\\n\u00c2\u00a3400 some little odds and even part of this depends upon what\\nthe gentleman has yet to settle with me. I give you this informa-\\ntion, because you did me the honour to interest yourself much in\\nmy welfare.\\nTo give the rest of my story in brief, I have married my Jean,", "height": "4508", "width": "2816", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 197\\nand taken a farm with the first step I have every day more and\\nmore reason to be satisfied with the last, it is rather the reverse.\\nI have a younger brother, who supports mv aged mother another\\nstill younger brother and three sisters in a farm. On my last re-\\nturn from Edinburgh, it cost me about \u00c2\u00a3180 to save them from\\nruin. Not that I have lost so much\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 only interposed between my\\nbrother and his impending fate by the loan of so much. I give\\nmyself no airs on this, for it was mere selfishness on my part I\\nwas conscious that the wrong scale of the balance was pretty hea-\\nvily charged and I thought that throwing a little filial piety, and\\nfraternal affection, into the scale in my favour, might help to\\nsmooth matters at the grand reckoning. There is still one thing\\nwould make my circumstances quite easy I have an excise officer s\\ncommission, and I live in the midst of a country division. My re-\\nquest to Mr. Graham, who is one of the commissioners of excise,\\nwas, if in his power, to procure me that division. If I were very\\nsanguine, I might hope that some of my great patrons might pro-\\ncure me a treasury warrant for supervisor, surveyor-general, c.\\nThus secure of a livelihood, to thee, sweet poetry, delightful maid,\\nI would consecrate my future days.\\nNo. LXX.\\nTO BISHOP GEDDES.\\nEllisland, near Dumfries, Zd Feb. 1789\\nVENERABLE FATHER,\\nAs I am conscious that wherever I am you do me the honour to in-\\nterest yourself in my welfare, it gives me pleasure to inform you\\nthat I am here at last, stationary in the serious business of life, and\\nhave now not only the retired leisure, but the hearty inclination,\\nto attend to those great and important questions what I am 1 where\\nI am and for what I am destined\\nIn that first concern, the conduct of the man, there was ever but\\none side on which I was habitually blameable, and there I have se-\\ncured myself in the way pointed out by Nature and Nature s God.\\nI was sensible that, to so helpless a creature as a poor poet, a wife\\nand family were incumbrances, which a species of prudence would\\nbid him shun but when the alternative was, being at eternal war-\\nfare with myself, on account of habitual follies, to give them no\\nworse name, which no general example, no licentious wit, no sophis-\\ntical infidelity would, to me, ever justify, I must have been a fool\\nto have hesitated, and a madman to have made another choice.\\nIn the affair of a livelihood, I think myself tolerably secure I\\nhave good hopes of my farm j but should they fail, I have an excise\\ncommission, which on my simple petition, will, at any time, pro-\\ncure me bread. There is a certain stigma affixed to the character\\nof an excise officer, but I do not intend to borrow honour from any\\nprofession and though the salary be comparatively small, it is\\ngreat to any thing that the first twenty-live years of my life taught\\nme to expect.", "height": "4508", "width": "2572", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "198 burns works.\\nThus, with a rational aim and method in life, you may easily\\nguess my reverend and much-honoured friend, that my character*\\nistical trade is not forgotten. I am, if possible, more than ever an\\nenthusiast to the muses. 1 am determined to study man and na-\\nture, and in that view incessantly and to try if the ripening and\\ncorrections of years can enable me to produce something worth\\npreserving.\\nYou will see in your book, which I beg your pardon for detaining\\nso long, that I have been turning my lyre on the banks of .N ith.\\nSome larger poetic plans that are floating in my imagination, or partly\\nput in execution, 1 shall impart to you when I have the pleasure of\\nmeeting with you, which, if you are then in Edinburgh, I shall\\nhave about the beginning of March.\\nThat acquaintance, worthy sir, with which you were pleased to\\nhonour me, you must still allow me to challenge; for with what-\\never unconcern I give up my transient connection with the merely\\ngreat, I cannot lose the patronizing notice of the learned and the\\ngood, without the bitterest regret.\\nNo. LXXI.\\nFKOM THE KEY. P. C-\\nsir, 2d January, 1789.\\nIf you have lately seen Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop, you have certainly\\nheard of the author of the verses which accompany this letter. He\\nwas a man highly respectable for every accomplishment and virtue\\nwhich adorns the character of a man or a Christian. To a great\\ndegree of literature, of taste, and poetic genius, was added an invin-\\ncible modesty of temper, which prevented, in a great degree, his figur-\\ning in life, and confined the perfect knowledge of his character and\\ntalents to the small circle of his chosen friends. He was untimely\\ntaken from us, a few weeks ago, by an inflamatory fever, in the prime\\nof life beloved by all, who enjoyed his acquaintance, lamented by\\nall, who have any regard for virtue and genius. There is a woe\\npronounced in Scripture against the person whom all men speak\\nwell of if ever that woe fell upon the head of mortal man, it fell\\nupon him. He has left behind him a considerable number of com-\\npositions, chiefly poetical sufficient, I imagine, to make a large oc-\\ntavo volume. In particular, two complete and regular tragedies, a\\nfarce of three acts, and some smaller poems on different subjects.\\nIt falls to my share, who have always lived in the most intimate\\nand uninterrupted friendship with him from my youth upwards,\\nto transmit to you the verses he wrote on the publication of your\\nincomparable poems. It is probable they were his last, as they were\\nfound in his scrutoire, folded up in the form of a letter addressed\\nto you, and I imagine, were only prevented from being sent by him-\\nself, by that melancholy dispensation which we still bemoan. The\\nverses themselves I will not pretend to criticise when writing to a\\ngentleman whom I consider as entirely qualified to judge of their\\nmerit. They are the only verses he seems to have attempted in the\\nScottish style and I hesitate not to say, in general, that they will\\nbring no dishonour on the Scottish muse and allow me to add,\\nthat if it is your opinion they are not unworthy of the author, and", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "LETTEKS, 199\\nwill be no discredit to you, it is the inclination of Mr. Mylne s\\nfriends, that they should be immediately published in some periodi-\\ncal work, to give the world a specimen of what may be expected\\nfrom his performances in the poetic line, which, perhaps, will be\\nafterwards published for the advantage of his family.\\nI must beg the favour of a letter from you, acknowledging the\\nreceipt of this, and to be allowed to subscribe myself with great re-\\ngard,\\nSir, your most obedient servant,\\nP. C.\\nJSTo. LXXIL\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland, 4th March, 1789.\\nHere am I, my honoured friend, returned safe from the capital.\\nTo a man, who has a home, however humble or remote if that\\nhome is like mine, the scene of domestic comfort the bustle of\\nEdinburgh will soon be a business of sickening disgust.\\nVain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you.\\nWhen I must sculk into a corner, lest the rattling equipage of\\nsome gaping blockhead should mangle me in the mire, 1 am tempted\\nto exclaim What merits has he had, or what demerit have I\\nhad, in some state of pre- existence, that he is ushered into this\\nstate of being with the sceptre of rule, and the key of riches, in hi3\\npuny fist, and I am kicked into the world, the sport; of folly, or the\\nvictim of pride V I have read somewhere of a monarch (in Spain I\\nthink it was), who was so out of humour with the Ptolemean sys-\\ntem of astronomy, that he said, had he been of the Ckeator s coun-\\ncil, he could have saved him a great deal of labour and absurdity.\\nI will not defend this blasphemous speech but often, as I have\\nglided with humble stealth through the pomp of Prince s-street, it\\nhas suggested itself to me, as an improvement on the present human\\nfigure, that a man, in proportion to his own conceit of his conse-\\nquence in the world, could have pushed out the longitude of his\\ncommon size, as a snail pushes out his horns, or as we draw a\\nperspective. This trifling alteration, not to mention the prodi-\\ngious saving it would be in the tear and wear of the neck and\\nlimb-sinews of many of his Majesty s liege subjects in the way of\\ntossing the head and tiptoe strutting, would evidently turn out a\\nvast advantage, in enabling us at once to adjust the ceremonials in\\nmaking a bow, or making way to a great man, and that too within\\na second of the precise spherical angle of reverence, or an inch of\\nthe particular point of respectful distance, which the important\\ncreature itself requires as a measuring glance at its towering alti-\\ntude would determine the affair like instinct.\\nYou are right, madam, in your idea of poor Mylne s poem, which\\nhe has addressed to me. The piece has a~good deal of merit, but it\\nhas one great fault it is, by far, to 3 long. Besides, my success has\\nencouraged such a shoal of ill-spawned monsters to crawl into pub-\\nlic notice, under the title of Scottish Poets, that the very term of", "height": "4508", "width": "2536", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "200 burns works.\\nScottish Poetry borders on the burlesque. When I write to Mr. C.\\nI shall advise him rather to try one of his deceased friend s English\\npieces. I am prodigiously hurried with my own matters, else I\\nwould have requested a perusal of all Mylne s poetic performances\\nand would have offered his friends my assistance in either selecting\\nor correcting what would be proper for the press. What it is that\\noccupies me so much, and perhaps a little oppresses my present\\nspirits, shall fill up a paragraph in some future letter. In the mean-\\ntime allow me to close this epistle with a few lines done by a friend\\nof mine I give you them, that as\\nyou have seen the original, you may guess whether one or two\\nalterations I have ventured to make in them, be any real improve-\\nment.\\nLike the fair plant that from our touch withdraws,\\nShrink mildly fearful even from applause,\\nBe all a mother s fondest hope can dream,\\nAnd all you are, my charming seem.\\nStraight as the fox glove, ere her bells disclose,\\nMild as the maiden blushing hawthorn blows,\\nFair as the fairest of each lovely kind,\\nYour form shall be the image of your mind\\nYour manners shall so true your soul express.\\nThat all shall long to know the worth they guess\\nCongenial hearts shall greet with kindred love,\\nAnd ev n sick ning envy must approve.*\\ntfo. LXXIII.\\nTO THE KEY. P. CARFRAE.\\nReverend Sir, 1789.\\nI do not recollect that I have ever felt a severer pang of shame,\\nthan on looking at the date of your obliging letter, which accom-\\npanied Mr. Mylne s poem.\\nI am much to blame the honour Mr. Mylne has done me, greatly\\nenhanced in its value by the endearing, though melancholy circum-\\nstance, of its being the last production of his muse, deserved a better\\nreturn.\\nI have, as you hint, thought of sending a copy of the poem to\\nsome periodical publication but, on second thoughts, I am afraid\\nthat, in the present case, it would be an improper step. My success,\\nperhaps as much accidental as merited, has brought an indundation\\nof nonsense under the name of Scottish poetry. Subscription- bills\\nfor Scottish poems have so dunned, and daily do dun the public,\\nthat the very name is in danger of contempt. For these reasons,\\nif publishing any of Mr. M s poems in a magazine, c, be at all\\nprudent, in my opinion it certainly should not be a Scottish poem.\\nThe profits of the labours of a man of genius, are, I hope, as hon-\\nourable as any profits whatever and Mr. Mylne s relations are\\nmost justly entitled to that honest harvest, which fate has denied\\nThese beautifml lincf, we have reason to believe, are the production of the\\nlady to ffhom this letter is addressed.", "height": "4508", "width": "2844", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "LETTERS* 201\\nhimself to reap. But let the friends of Mr. Mylne s fame (among\\nwhom I crave the honour of ranking myself,) always keep in eye\\nhis respectability as a man and a poet, and take no measure that,\\nbefore the world knows any thing about him, would risk his name\\nand character being classed with the fools of the times.\\nI have, sir, some experience of publishing and the way in which\\nI would proceed with Mr. Mylne s poems, is this I would publish\\nin two or three English and Scottish public papers, any one of hia\\nEnglish poems which should, by private judges, be thought the\\nmost excellent, and mention it at the same time, as one of the pro-\\nductions of a Lothian fa: mer, of respectable character, lately de-\\nceased, whose poems his friends had it in idea to publish soon, by\\nsubscription, for the sake of his numerous family not in pity to\\nthat family, but in justice to what his friends think the poetic\\nmerits of the deceased and to secure, in the most effectual manner,\\nto those tender connexions, whose right it is, the pecuniary reward\\nof those merits.\\nNo. LXXIY.\\nTO DR. MOORE.\\nsir, Ellislancl, 23d March, 1789.\\nThe gentleman who will deliver this is a Mr Nielson, a worthy\\nclergyman in my neighbourhood, and a very particular acquain-\\ntance of mine. As I have troubled him with this packet, I must\\nturn him over to your goodness, to recompense him for it in a way\\nin which he much needs your assistance, and where you can effec-\\ntually serve him Mr. Nielsen is on his way for France, to wait\\non his Grace of Queensbury, on some little business of a good deal\\nof importance to him, and he wishes for your instructions respect-\\ning the most eligible mode of travelling, kc- for him, when he has\\ncrossed the channel. I should not have dared to take this liberty\\nwith you, but that I am told, by those who have the honour of\\nyour personal acquaintance, that to be a poor honest Scotchman is\\na letter of recommendation to you, and that to have it in your\\npower to serve such a character, gives you much pleasure.\\nThe enclosed ode is a compliment to the memory of the late Mrs.\\nof You probably knew her personally, an honour\\nof which I cannot boast but I spent my early years in her neigh-\\nbourhood, and among her servants and tenants. 1 know that she\\nwas detested with the most heartfelt cordiality. However, in the\\nparticular part of her conduct which roused my poetic wrath, she\\nwas much less blameable. In January last, on my road to Ayrshire,\\nI had put up at Bailie Wigham s in Sanquhar, the only tolerable\\ninn in the place. The frost was keen, and the grim evening and\\nhowling wind was ushering in a night of snow and drift. My horse\\nand I were very much fatigued with the labours of the day, and\\njust as my friend the Bailie and I were bidding defiance to the\\nstorm, over a smoking bowk in wheels the funeral pageantry of the\\nlate great Mr*. and poor 1 am forced to brave ail the hor\\ni of the tempestuous nighty and jade my horse,, my young favouri", "height": "4508", "width": "2508", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "202 burns works.\\nite horse, whom I had just christened Pegasus, twelve miles further\\non, through the wildest muirs and hills of Ayrshire, to New Cum-\\nnock, the next inn. The powers of poesy and prose sink under me,\\nwhen I would describe what I felt. Suffice it to say, that when a\\ngood fire, at New Cumnock, had so far recovered my frozen sinews,\\nI sat down and wrote the enclosed ode.\\nI was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally with Mr. Creech\\nand I must own, that, at last, he has been amicable and fair with me.\\nNo. LXXV.\\nEllisland, 2d April, 1789.\\nI will make no excuses, my dear Bibliopolus,, (God forgive me for\\nmurdering language that I have sat down to write you on this\\nvile paper.\\nIt is economy, sir; it is that cardinal virtue, prudence; so I beg\\nyou will sit down, and either compose or borrow a panegyric. If\\nyou are going to borrow, apply to\\nto compose, or rather to compound, something very clever on my\\nremarkable frugality that I write to one of my most esteemed\\nfriends on this wretched paper, which was originally intended for\\nthe venal fist of some drunken exciseman, to take dirty notes in a\\nmiserable vault of an ale- cellar.\\nfrugality thou mother of ten thousand blessings thou cook\\nof fat beef and dainty greens thou manufacturer of warm Shet-\\nland hose, and comfortable surtouts thou old housewife, darning\\nthy decayed stockings with thy ancient spectacles on thy aged nose\\nlead me, hand me in thy clutching palsied fist, up those heights,\\nand through those thickets, hitherto inaccessible, and impervious to\\nmy anxious wearied feet not those Parnassian craggs, bleak and\\nbarren, where the hungry worshippers of fame are, breathless, clam-\\nbering, hanging between heaven and hell; but those glittering\\ncliffs of Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all-powerful deity, Wealth,\\nholds his immediate court of joys and pleasures; where the sunny\\nexposure of plenty, and the hot walls of profusion, produce those\\nblissful fruits of luxury, exotics in this world, and natives of para-\\ndise Thou withered sybil, my sage conductress, usher me into the\\nrefulgent, adored presence The power, splendid and potent as he\\nnow is, was once the puling nursling of thy faithful care, and ten-\\nder arms Call me thy son, thy cousin, thy kinsman, or favourite,\\nand adjure the god, by the scenes of his infant years, no longer to\\nrepulse me as a stranger or an alien, but to favour me with his pe-\\nculiar countenance and protection He daily bestows his greatest\\nkindness on the undeserving and the worthless assure him, that I\\nbring ample documents of meritorious demerits Pledge yourself\\nfor me, that, for the glorious cause of Lucre, I will do any thing,\\nbe any thing but the horse-leach of private oppression, or the vul-\\nture of public robbery\\nBut to descend from heroics,", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 203\\nI want a Shakspeare; I want likewise an English dictionary\\nJohnson s, I suppose, is best. In these and all my prose commis-\\nsiors, the cheapest is always the best for me. There is a small\\ndebt of honour that I owe Mr. Robert Cleghorn, in Saughton mills,\\nmy worthy friend, and your well-wisher. Please give him, and\\nurge him to take it, the first time you see him, ten shillings worth\\nof any thing you have to sell, and place it to my account.\\nThe library scheme that I mentioned to you is already begun,\\nunder the direction of Captain Riddel. There is another in emu-\\nlation of it going on at Closeburn, under the auspices of Mr. Mon-\\nteith, of Closeburn, which will be on a greater scale than ours.\\nCaptain E. gave his infant society a great many of his old books,\\nelse I had written you on that subject but, one of these days, I shall\\ntrouble you with a commission for The Monkland Friendly\\nSociety, a copy of The Spectator, Mirror, and Lounger Man of\\nthe World, Guthrie s Geographical Grammar, with some religious\\npieces, will likely be our first order.\\nWhen I grow richer, 1 will write to you on gilt post, to make\\namends for this sheet. At present, every guinea has a five guinea\\nerrand with My dear sir,\\nYour faithful, poor, but honest friend,\\nR. B.\\nNo. LXXYI.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland, 2d April, 1789.\\nI no sooner hit on any poetic plan or fancy, but I wish to send it to\\nyou and if knowing and reading these give half the pleasure to\\nyou, that communicating them to you gives to me, I am satisfied.\\nI have a poetic whim in my head, which I at present dedicate, or\\nrather inscribe, to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox but how long that\\nfancy may hold, I cannot say. A few of the first lines I have just\\nrough-sketched, as follows\\nSKETCH.\\nHow wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite\\nHow virtue and vice blend their black and their white\\nHow genius, th illustrious father of fiction,\\nConfounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction\\nI sing if these mortals, the critics, should bustle,\\nI care not, not I, let the critics go whistle.\\nBut now for a patron, whose name and whose glory,\\nAt once may illustrate and honour my story.\\nThou first of our orators, first of our wits\\nYet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits\\nWith knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong,\\nNo man with the half of em e er went far wrong\\nWith passions so potent, and fancies so bright,\\nNo man with the half of e xn e er went quite right", "height": "4448", "width": "2606", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "204 BURNS WORKS.\\nA sorry, poor misbegot son of the muses,\\nFor using thy name offers fifty excuses.\\nGood L d, what is man for as simple he looks,\\nDo but try to develope his hooks and his crooks\\nWith his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil,\\nAnd in all he s a problem must puzzle the devil.\\nOn his ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labours,\\nThat like the old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its neighbours\\nMankind are his show-box a friend, would you know him\\nPull the string, ruling passion, the picture will show him.\\nWhat pity, in rearing so beauteous a system,\\nOne trifling particular, truth, should have miss d him\\nFor, spite of his fine theoretic positions,\\nMankind is a science defies definitions.\\nSome sort all our qualities each to its tribe,\\nAnd think human nature they truly describe\\nHave you found this, or t other there s more in the wind,\\nAs by one drunken fellow his comrades you ll find.\\nBut such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan,\\nIn the make of that wonderful creature call d Man,\\nNo two virtues, whatever relation they claim,\\nNor even two different shades of the same,\\nThough like as was ever twin brother to brother,\\nPossessing the one shall imply you ve the other.\\nOn the 20th current I hope to have the honour of assuring you,\\nin person, how sincerely I am,\\nNo. LXXYII.\\nTO MR CUNNINGHAM.\\nMy Dear Sir, Ellisland, 4tk May, 1789.\\nYour duty free favour of the 26th April I received two days ago I\\nwill not say I perused it with pleasure that is the cold com-\\npliment of ceremony 1 perused it, sir, with delicious satisfaction.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094In short, it is such a letter, that not you nor your friend, but the\\nlegislature; by express proviso in their postage laws, should frank.\\nA letter informed with the soul of friendship is such an honour to\\nhuman nature, that they should order it free ingress and egress to\\nand from their bags, and mails, as an encouragement and mark of\\ndistinction to super eminent virtue.\\nI have just put the last hand to a little poem which I think\\nwill be something to your taste.* One morning lately as I was\\nout pretty early in the fields sowing some grass seeds, I heard\\nthe burst of a shot from a neighbouring plantation, and presently a\\npoor little wounded hare came crippling by me. You will guess\\nmy indignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot a hare at\\nthis season, when they all of them have young ones. Indeed there\\nomething in that business of destroying, for our sport, individr^\\nf See Poem c, On Seeing a Fellr\u00c2\u00abw Wound a Hare.", "height": "4508", "width": "2844", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "LETTERS, 2U5\\nals in the animal creation that do not injure us materially, which I\\ncoiild never reconcile to my ideas of virtue.\\nLet me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful whether it\\nwould not be an improvement to keep out the last stanza but one\\naltogether.\\nC is a glorious production of the author of man. You, he,\\nand the noble Colonel of the C F are, to me,\\n41 Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my breast.\\nI have a good mind to make verses on you all, to the tune of three\\ngood fellows ay out the glen\\nNo. LXXVIII.\\n[The poem, in the preceding letter, had also been sent by our bard\\nto Dr. Gregory for his criticism. The following is that gentleman s\\nreply-]\\nFROM DR. GREGORY.\\nDEAR sir, Edinburgh, 2nd June, 1789.\\nI take the first leisure hour I could command, to thank you for\\nyour letter, and the copy of verses inclosed in it. As there is real\\npoetic merit, I mean both fancy, and tenderness and some happy\\nexpressions, in them, 1 think they well deserve that you should re-\\nvise them carefully and polish them to the utmost. This I am sure\\nyou can do if you please, for you have great command both of ex-\\npression and of rhymes and you may j udge from the two last\\npieces of Mrs. Hunter s poetry, that I gave you, how much correct-\\nness and high polish enhance the value of such compositions. As\\nyou desire it, I shall, with great freedom, give you my most rigorous\\ncriticisms on your verses. 1 wish you would give me another edition\\nof them, much amended, and I will send it to Mrs. Hunter, who I\\nam sure, will have much pleasure in reading it. Pray, give me\\nlikewise for myself, and her too, a copy (us much amended as you\\nplease) of the Water Fowl on Loch Turit.\\nThe Wounded Hare is a pretty good subject but the measure, or\\nstanza, you have chosen for it, is not a good one; it does not floio\\nwell and the rhyme of the fourth line is almost lost by its distance\\nfrom the first and the two interposed, close rhymes. If 1 were\\nyou, I would put it into a different stanza yet.\\nStanza 1. The execrations in the first two line3 are strong or\\ncoarse but they may pass. Murder-aiming is a bad compound\\nepithet, and not very intelligible. Blood-stained, in stanza iii.\\nline 4, has the same fault Bleeding bosom is infinitely better.\\nYou have accustomed yourself tq such epithets, and have no notion\\nhow stiff and quaint they appear to others, and how incongruous\\nwith poetic fancy, and tender sentiments. Suppose Pope had writ-\\nten, Why that blood-stained bosom gored, how would you have\\nliked it Form is neither a poetic, nor a dignified, not a plain,\\ncommon word it is a mere sportsman s word unsuitable to pa*\\nthetic or serious poetry.\\nMangled ia a coarse word. Innocent, in this sense, is a nur-\\nsery, word but both may pass.\\nStmw 4,w Who will now provide that life a mother o$lv e^%", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "206 BURNS WORKS.\\nbestow, will not do at all it is not grammar\u00e2\u0080\u0094 it is not intelli-\\ngible. Do you mean provide for that life which the mother had\\nbestowed and used to provide for V\\nThere was a ridiculous slip of the pen, Feeling (I suppose) for\\nFellow, in the title of your copy of verses but even fellow would\\nbe wrong: it is but a colloquial and vulgar word, unsuitable to\\nyour sentiments.\\nu Shot is improper too. On seeing a person (or a sportsman)\\nwound a hare it is needless to add with what weapon but if you\\nthink otherwise, you should say, with a fowling-piece.\\nLet me see you when you come to town, and I will show you\\nsome more of Mrs. Hunter s poems.*\\nNo. LXXIX.\\nTO MR. M AULEY.\\nOF DUMBARTON.\\ndear sir, Uh June, 1789.\\nThough I am not without my fears respecting my fate at that\\ngrand, universal inquest of right and wrong, commonly called The\\nLast Day, yet I trust there is one sin, which that arch-vagabond,\\nSatan, who, I understand, is to be king s evidence, cannot throw\\nin my teeth I mean ingratitude. There is a certain pretty large\\nquantum of kindness for which I remain, and from inability, I fear\\nmust remain your debtor but though unable to repay the debt, I\\nassure you, sir, I shall ever warmly remember the obligation. It\\ngives me the sincerest pleasure to hear by my old acquaintance, Mr.\\nKennedy, that you are, in immortal Allan s language, Hale and\\nweel, and living and that your charming family are well, and\\npromising to be an amiable and respectable addition to the com-\\npany of performers, whom the Great Manager of the Drama of Man\\nis bringing into action for the succeeding age.\\nWith respect to my welfare, a subject in which you once warmly\\nand effectively interested yourself, I am here in my old way, hold-\\ning my plough, marking the growth of my corn, or the health of\\nmy dairy and at times sauntering by the delightful windings of\\nthe Nith, on the margin of which I have built my humble domicile,\\npraying for seasonable weather, or holding an intrigue with the\\nMuses the only gipseys with whom I have now any intercourse.\\nAs I am entered into the holy state of matrimony, I trust my face\\nis turned completely Zion-ward and as it is a rule with all honest\\nfellows, to repeat no grievances, I hope that the little poetic licen-\\nces of former days, will of course fall under the oblivious influence\\nof some good-natured statute of celestial proscription. In my family\\ndevotion, which, like a good presbyterian, I occasionally give to my\\nhousehold folks, I am extremely fond of the psalm, Let not the\\nIt must be admitted, that this criticism is not more distinguished by its good\\nsense, than by its freedom from ceremony. It is impossible not to smile at the\\nmanner in which the poet may be supposed to have received it. In fact it appears,\\nas the sailors say, to have thrown him quite a-back. In a letter which he wrote\\nBoon after, he says, Dr. G is a good man, but he crucifies me. And\\nagain, I believe in the iron justice of Dr. G but like the devils,. I belief\\nand tremble, floweyer, he profited by these criticism?", "height": "4508", "width": "2832", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 207\\nerrors of my youth, c. and that other, ia Lo, children are God s\\nheritage, c. in which last Mrs. Burns, who, by the bye, has a glo-\\nrious wood-note wild at either old song or psalmody, joins me\\nwith the pathos of Handel s Messiah.\\n\u00c2\u00a3To. LXXX.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nDEAR madam, Ellisland, 21st June, 1789.\\nWill you take the effusions, the miserable effusions of low spirits,\\njust as they flow from their bitter spring. I know not of any parti-\\ncular cause for this worst of all my foes besetting me, but for some\\ntime my soul has been beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of\\nevil imaginations and gloomy presages.\\nMonday Evening,\\nI have just heard give a sermon. He is a man\\nfamous for his benevolence, and I revere him but from such ideas\\nof my Creator, good Lord deliver me Eeligion, my honoured\\nfriend, is surely a simple business, as it equally concerns the ignor-\\nant and the learned, the poor and the rich. That there is an in-\\ncomprehensible great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and that\\nhe must be intimately acquainted with the operations and progress\\nof the internal machinery, and consequent outward deportment of\\nthis creature which he has made these are, I think, self-evident\\npropositions. That there is a real and eternal distinction between\\nvirtue and vice, and consequently that I am an accountable crea-\\nture that from the seeming nature of the human mind, as well as\\nfrom the evident imperfection, nay positive injustice, in the admi-\\nnistration of affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds, there\\nmust be a retributive scene of existence beyond the grave must, I\\nthink, be allowed by every one who will give himself a moment s\\nreflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that from the sublimity,\\nexcellence, and purity of his doctrine and precepts, unparalled by\\nall the aggregated wisdom and learning of many preceding ages,\\nthough, to appearance, he himself was the obscurest and most illi-\\nterate of our species therefore, Jesus Christ was from God.\\nWhatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others,\\nthis is my criterion of goodness and whatever injures society at large\\nor any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity.\\nWhat think you, madam, of my creed 1 I trust that I have said\\nnothing that will lessen me in the eye of one, whose good opinion\\nI value almost next to the approbation of my own mind,\\nNo. LXXXT.\\nFROM DR. MOORE,\\nDEAR sir, Clifford Street, 10 th June, 1789.\\nThahk you for the different communications you have made me of\\nyour occasional productions in manuscript, all of which have merit\\n2nd some^f them merit of a different kind from what appears ii|", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "208 BURNS WORKS.\\nthe poems you have published. You ought carefully to preserve\\nall your occasional productions, to correct and improve them at\\nyour leisure and when you can select as many of these as will\\nmake a volume, publish it either at Edinburgh or London, by\\nsubscription On such an occasion, in may be in my power, as it\\nis very much in my inclination, to be of service to you.\\nIf I were to offer an opinion, it would be, that in your future\\nproductions you should abandon the Scotish stanza and dialect, and\\nadopt the measure and language of modern English poetry.\\nThe stanza which you use in imitation of Christ Kirk on the Green,\\nwith the tiresome repetition of that day, is fatiguing to English\\nears, and I should think not very agreeable to Scottish.\\nAll the fine satire and humour of your Holy Fair is lost on the\\nEnglish yet, without more trouble to yourself, you could have\\nconveyed the whole to them. The same is true of some of your\\nother poems. In your Ejnstle to J. S the stanza from that be-\\nginning with this line, This life, so far s 1 understand, to that\\nwhich ends with, Short while it grieves, are easy, flowing, gaily\\nphilosophical, and of Horatian elegance the language is English,\\nwith a few Scottish words, and some of those so harmonious, as to\\nadd to the beauty for what poet would not prefer gloaming to\\ntwilight.\\nI imagine, that by carefully keeping, and occasionally polishing\\nand correcting these verses, which the muse dictates, you will\\nwithin a year or two, have another volume as large as the first,\\nready for the press and this without diverting you from every\\nproper attention to the study and practice of husbandry, in which\\nI understand you are very learned, and which I fancy you will\\nchoose to adhere to as a wife, while poetry amuses you from time to\\ntime as a mistress. The former like a prudent wife, must not show\\nill humour, although you show a sneaking kindness to this agree-\\nable gipsey, and pay her occasional visits, which in no manner\\nalienates your heart from your lawful spouse, but tends on the con-\\ntrary to promote her interest.\\nI desired Mr. Cadell to write to Mr. Creech to send you a copy of\\nZeluco. This performance has had great success here, but I shall\\nbe glad to have your opinion of it, because I know you are above\\nsaying what you do not think.\\nI beg you will offer my best wishes to my very good friend Mrs.\\nHamilton, who 1 understand is your neighbour. If she is as happy\\nas I wish her, she is happy enough. Make my compliments also to\\nMrs. Bums, and believe me to be, with sincere esteem,\\nDear Sir, yours, c.\\nNo. LXXXII.\\nFROM MISS J. L\\nsir, Loudon- House, 12zA July, 1717.\\nThough I have not the happiness of being personally acquainted\\nwith you, yet amongst the number of those who have read and ad-\\nmired your publications, may I be permuted to trouble you with\\nthis, You must know, sir, I am somewhat in love with the Muses 4\\nthough I cannot boast of any i\\\\i yours they have deigned to qqjj", "height": "4508", "width": "2828", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "LETTERS.\\n209\\nupon me as yet my situation in life has been very much against\\nme as to that. I have spent some years in and about Ecclefechan\\n(where my parents reside), in the station of a servant, and am now\\ncome to Loudon-House, at present possessed by Mrs. H she is\\ndaughter to Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop, whom I understand you are\\nacquainted with. As I had the pleasure of perusing your poems, I\\nfelt a partiality for the author, which I should not have experienced\\nhad you been in more dignified station. I wrote a few verses of ad-\\ndress to you, which I did not then think of ever presenting but\\nas fortune seems to have favoured me in this, by bringing me into\\na family by whom you are well known and much esteemed, and\\nwhere perhaps I may have an opportunity of seeing you I shall, in\\nhopes of your friendship, take the liberty to transcribe them.\\nFair fa* the honest rustic swain,\\nThe pride o a* our Scottish plain\\nThou gi es us joy to hear thy strain,\\nAnd notes sae sweet\\nOld Ramsay s shade revived again\\nIn thee we greet.\\nLoved Thalia, that delightfu muse,\\nSeem d lang shut up as a recluse\\nTo all she did her aid refuse\\nSince Allan s day\\nTill Burns arose, then did she chuse\\nTo grace his lay.\\nTo hear thy sang all ranks desire,\\nSae weel you strike the dormant lyre;\\nApollo with poetic fire\\nThy breast does warm;\\nAnd critics silently admire\\nThy art to charm.\\nCagsar and Luath weel can speak,\\nTis pity e er their gabs should steek,\\nBut into human nature keek,\\nAnd knots unravel\\nTo hear their lectures once a- week,\\nNine miles I d travel.\\nThy dedication to G. H.\\nAn unco bonnie homespun speech,\\nWi winsome glee the heart can teach\\nA better lesson,\\nThan servile bards, who fawn and neech\\nLike beggar s messon.\\nWhen slighted love becomes your theme,\\nAnd women s faithless vows you blame;\\nWith so much pathos you exclaim,\\nIn your lament\\nBut glanced by the most frigid dame,\\nShe would relent.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "210\\nThe daisy too ye sing wi skill\\nAnd weel ye praise the whisky gill\\nIn vain I blunt my feckless quill,\\nYour fame to raise\\nWhile echo sounds from ilka hill\\nTo Burns s praise.\\nDid Addison or Pope but hear,\\nOr Sam, that critic most severe,\\nA ploughboy sing with throat sae clear,\\nThey in a rage,\\nTheir works would a in pieces tear,\\nAnd curse your page.\\nSure Milton s eloquence were faint\\nThe beauties of your verse to paint,\\nMy rude unpolish d strokes but taint\\nTheir brilliancy\\nTh attempt would doubtless vex a saint\\nAnd weel may me.\\nThe task I ll drop with heart sincere,\\nTo heaven present my humble pray r,\\nThat all the blessings mortals share,\\nMay be by turns,\\nDispensed by an indulgent care\\nTo Robert Burns.\\nSir, I hope you will pardon my boldness in this my hand\\ntrembles while I write to you, conscious of my unworthiness of\\nwhat I would most earnestly solicit, viz. your favour and friendship;\\nyet hoping you will show yourself possessed of as much generosity\\nand good nature as will prevent your exposing what may justly be\\nfound liable to censure in this measure, I shall take the liberty to\\nsubscribe myself,\\nSir,\\nYour most obedient humble servant,\\nJ\\nP.S. If you would condescend to honour me with a few lines\\nfrom your hand I would take it as a particular favour, and direct\\nto me at Loudon- House, near Galstock.\\nNo. LXXXIII.\\nFROM MR.\\nMr dear sir, London, 5th August, 1789.\\nExcuse me when I say, that the uncommon abilities which you pos-\\nsess, must render your correspondence very acceptable to any one.\\nI can assure you, I am particularly proud of your partiality, and\\nshall endeavour, by every method in my power, to merit a continu-\\nance of your politeness.\\nWhen you can spare a few moments I should be proud of a letter\\nfrom you, directed for me, Gerrard Street, Soho,", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 211\\nI cannot express my happiness sufficiently at the instance of your\\nattachment to my late inestimable friend, Bob Fergusson, who was\\nparticularly intimate with myself and relations.* While I recol-\\nlect with pleasure his extraordinary talents, and many amiable qua-\\nlities, it affords the greatest consolation, that I am honoured with\\nthe correspondence of hi3 successor in national simplicity and genius.\\nThat Mr. Burns has refined in the art of poetry, must readily be\\nadmitted but notwithstanding many favourable representations, 1\\nam yet to learn that he inherits his convivial powers.\\nThere was such a richness of conversation, such a plenitude of\\nfancy and attraction in him, that when I call the happy period of\\nour intercourse to my memory, 1 feel myself in a state of delirium,\\nI was then younger than him by eight or ten years but his manner\\nwas so felitious, that he enraptured every person around him, and\\ninfused into the young and the old, the spirit and animation which\\noperated on his own mind.\\nI am dear sir, yours, c.\\nNo. LXXXIY.\\nTO ME.\\nIN ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING.\\nMY DEAR SIR,\\nThe hurry of a farmer in this particular season, and the indolence\\nof a poet at all times and seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for\\nneglecting so long to answer your obliging letter of the fifth of\\nAugust.\\nThat you have done well in quitting your laborious concern in\\nI do not doubt; the weighty reasons you men-\\ntion were, I hope, very and deservedly indeed, weighty ones, and\\nyour health is a matter of the last importance but whether the re-\\nmaining proprietors of the paper have also done well, is what I\\nmuch doubt. The so far as I was a reader, exhi-\\nbited such a brilliancy of point, such a degree of elegance of para-\\ngraph, and such a variety of intelligence, that I can hardly con-\\nceive it possible to continue a daily paper in the same degree of\\nexcellence but if there was a man equal to the task, that man s\\nassistance the proprietors have lost.\\nWhen I received your letter I was transcribing, for\\nmy letter to the Magistrates of the Canongate, Edinburgh, beg-\\nging their permission to place a tomb stone over poor Fergusson,\\nand their edict in consequence of my petition but now I shall send\\nthem to Poor Fergusson If there be a life\\nbeyond the grave, which I trust there is and if there be a good\\nGod presiding over all nature, which I am sure there is thou art\\nnow enjoying existence in a glorious world, where worth of the heart\\nalone is distinction in the man where riches, deprived of all their\\npleasure-seeking powers return to their sordid matter where titles\\nand honours are the disregarded reveries of an idle dream and\\nwhere that heavy virtue, which is the negative consequence of\\nsteady dulness, and thoughtless, though often destructive follies,\\nThe erection of a monument to him.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "212 BURNS WORKS.\\nwhich are the unavoidable aberrations of frail human nature, will\\nbe thrown into equal oblivion as if they had never been\\nAdieu, my dear Sir so soon as your present views and schemes\\nare concentrated in an aim, I shall be glad to hear from you, as\\nyour welfare and happiness is by no means a subject indifferent to\\nYours, c.\\nNo. LXXXY.\\nTO MRS. DUJSLOP.\\ndear madam, Ellisland, 6th September, 1789.\\nI have mentioned in my last, my appointment to the excise, and\\nthe birth of little Frank who, by the bye, I trust will be no dis-\\ncredit to the honourable name of Wallace, as he ha3 a fine manly\\ncountenance, and a figure that might do credit to a little fellow\\ntwo months older and likewise an excellent good temper, though\\nwhen he pleases he has a pipe, only not quite so loud as the horn\\nthat his immortal namesake blew as a signal to take out the pin\\nof Stirling bridge.\\nI had some time ago an epistle, part poetic, and part prosaic,\\nfrom your poetess, Mrs. J. L a very ingenious, but modest\\ncomposition. I should have written her as she requested, but for\\nthe hurry of this new business. 1 have heard of her and her com-\\npositions in this country and I am happy to add, always to the\\nhonour of her character. The fact is, I know not well how to write\\nto her I should sit down to a sheet of paper that I knew not how\\nto stain. I am no daub at fine drawn letter- writing and except\\nwhen prompted by friendship or gratitude, or which happens ex-\\ntremely rarely, inspired by the Muse (I know not her name) that\\npresides over epistolary writing, 1 sit down, when necessitated to\\nwrite, as I would sit down to beat hemp.\\nSome parts of your letter of the 20th August struck me with\\nmelancholy concern for the state of your mind at present.\\nWould I could write you a letter of comfort I would sit down to it\\nwith as much pleasure as I would to write an epic poem of my own\\ncomposition, that should equal the Iliad. Eeligion, my dear friend,\\nis the true comfort A strong persuasion in a future state of exis-\\ntence a proposition so obviously probable, that, setting revelation\\naside, every nation and people, so far as investigation has reached,\\nfor at least near four thousand years, have in some mode or other,\\nfirmly believed it. In vain would we reason and pretend to doubt.\\nI have myself done so to a very daring pitch but when I reflected,\\nthat I was opposing the most ardent wishes, and the most darling\\nhopes of good men, and flying in the face of all human belief, in all\\nages, I was shocked at my own conduct.\\nI know not whether 1 have ever sent you the following lines, or\\nif you have ever seen them; but it is one of my favourite quota-\\ntions, which I keep constantly by me in my progress through life\\nin the language of the book of Job,\\nAgainst the day of tattle and of war.\\nspoken of religion.", "height": "4580", "width": "2844", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 213\\nTis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright,\\nTis this that gilds the horror of our night,\\n.When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few;\\nWhen friends are faithless, or when foes pursue\\nTis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,\\nDisarms affliction or repels his dart\\nWithin the breast bids purest raptures rise,\\nBids^smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.\\nI have been very busy with Zeluco. The Doctor is so obliging as\\nto request my opinion of it and 1 have been revolving in my\\nmind some kind of criticisms on novel writing, but it is a depth\\nbeyond my research. I shall however digest my thoughts on the\\nsubject as well as I can. Zeluco is a most sterling performance.\\nFarewell A Dun, le bon Dieu,je vous commende\\nNo. LXXXVL\\nFBQM DR. BLACKLOCK.\\nEdinburgh, 2ith August, 1789.\\nDear Burns, thou brother of my heart,\\nBoth for thy virtues and thy art\\nIf art it may be call d in thee,\\nWhich nature s bounty, large and free,\\nWith pleasure on thy breast diffuses,\\nAnd warms thy soul with all the Muses.\\nWhether to laugh with easy grace.\\nThy numbers move the sage s face,\\nOr bid the softer passions rise,\\nAnd ruthless souls with grief surprise,\\nTis Nature s voice distinctly felt,\\nThrough thee her organ, thus to melt.\\nMost anxiously I wish to know,\\nWith thee of late how matters go\\nHow keeps thy much- loved Jean her health\\nWhat promises thy farm of wealth\\nWhether the Muse persists to smile,\\nAnd all thy anxious cares beguile\\nWhether bright fancy keeps alive\\nAnd how thy darling infants thrive\\nFor me, with grief and sickness spent,\\nSince I my journey homeward bent,\\nSpirits depress d no more I mourn,\\nBut vigour, life, and health return.\\nNo more to gloomy thoughts a prey,\\n1 sleep all night, and live all day\\nBy turns my book and friend enjoy,\\nAnd thus my circling hours employ\\nHappy while yet these hours remain,\\nIf Burns could join the cheerful train,\\nWith wonted zeal, sincere and fervent,\\nSalute once more his humble servant,\\nTHO. BLACKLOCK.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "2l4 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nNo. LXXXYII.\\nTO DR. BLACKLOCK.\\nEllisland, list October, 1789.\\nWow, but your letter made me vauntie\\nAnd are ye hale, and weel, and cantie\\nI ken d it still your wee bit j auntie,\\nWad bring ye to\\nLord send you aye as weel s I want ye,\\nAnd then ye ll do.\\nThe ill thief blaw the Heron south\\nAnd never drink be near his drouth\\nHe tauld mysel by word o mouth,\\nHe d tak my letter\\nI lippen d to the chiel in trouth,\\nAnd bade nae better.\\nBut aiblins honest Master Heron,\\nHad at the time some dainty fair one,\\nTo ware his theologic care on,\\nAnd holy study\\nAnd tired o sauls to waste his lear on,\\nE en tried the body.\\nBut what d ye think, my trusty fier,\\nI m turn d a gauger Peace be here\\nParnassian queens, 1 fear, I fear,\\nYe ll now disdain me,\\nAnd then my fifty pounds a-year\\nWill little gain me.\\nYe glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies,\\nWha by Castalia s wimplin streamies,\\nLowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,\\nYe ken, ye ken,\\nThat Strang necessity supreme is\\nMang sons o men.\\nI hae a wife and twa wee laddies,\\nThey maun hae brose and brats o duddies\\nYe ken yoursel my heart right proud is,\\nI needna vaunt,\\nBut I ll sned besoms thraw saugh woodies,\\nBefore they want.\\nLord help me thro this warld o care\\nI m weary sick o t late and air\\nNot but I hae a richer share\\nThan mony ithers\\nBut why should ae man better fare,\\nAnd a men brithers\\nCome Firm Resolve take thou the van,\\nThou stalk o carl-hemp in man\\nAnd let m mind, faint heart ne er wan\\nA lady fair\\nWha does the utmost that he can,\\nWill whyles do mair.", "height": "4508", "width": "2824", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 215\\nBut to conclude my silly rhyme,\\n(I m scant o verse, and scant o time,)\\nTo make a happy fire-side clime\\nTo weans and wife,\\nThat s the true pathos and sublime\\nOf human life.\\nMy compliments to sister Beckie\\nAnd eke the same to honest Lucky\\nI wat she is a dainty chuckie,\\nAs e er tread clay\\nAnd gratefully my gude auld cockie,\\nI m yours for aye.\\nROBERT BURNS.\\nNo. LXXXYIII.\\nTO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY.\\nSIR, 9th December, 1789.\\nI have a good while had a wish to trouble you with a letter, and\\nhad certainly done it long ere now\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but for a humiliating some-\\nthing that throws cold water on the resolution, as if one should say,\\nYou have found Mr. Graham a very kind and powerful friend\\nindeed, and that interest he is so kindly taking in your con-\\ncerns, you ought by every thing in your power to keep alive and\\ncherish. Now though, since God has thought proper to make one\\npowerful and another helpless, the connexion of obliger and obliged\\nis all fair and though my being under your patronage is to me\\nhighly honourable, yet, sir, allow me to flatter myself, that, as a\\npoet and an honest man, you first interested yourself in my welfare,\\nand principally as such still, you permit me to approach you.\\nI have found the excise business go on a great deal smoother\\nwith me than I expected owing a good deal to the generous friend-\\nship of Mr. Mitchell, my collector, and the kind assistance of Mr.\\nFindlater, my supervisor. I dare to be honest, and I fear no labour.\\nNor do I find my hurried life greatly inimical to my correspon-\\ndence with the Muses. Their visits to me, indeed, and I believe\\nto most of their acquaintance, like the visits of good angels, are\\nshort and far between but I meet them now and then as I jog\\nthrough the hills of Nithsdale, just as I used to do on the banks of\\nAyr. I take the liberty to inclose you a few bagatelles, all of them\\nthe productions of my leisure thoughts in my excise rides.\\nIf you know or have ever seen Captain Grose, the antiquarian,\\nyou will enter into any humour that is in the verses on him. Per-\\nhaps you have seen them before, as I sent them to a London news\\npaper. Though I dare say you have none of the solemn-league- and-\\ncovenant fire, which shone so conspicuous in Lord George Gordon,\\nand the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think you must have heard of\\nDr. M Gill of one of the clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical book.\\nGod help, him poor man Though he is one of the worthiest, as\\nwell as one of the ablest of the whole priesthood of the Kirk of\\nScotland, in every sense of that ambiguous term, yet the poor Doc-\\ntor and his numerous family are in imminent danger of being", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "216 burns works.\\nthrown out to the mercy of the winter- winds. The inclosed ballad\\non that business is, I confess, too local, but I laughed myself at some\\nconceits in it, though I am convinced in my conscience, that there\\nare a good many heavy stanzas in it too.\\nThe election ballad, as you will see, alludes to the present ean-\\nvass in our string of boroughs. I do not believe there will be such\\na hard run match in the whole general election.\\nI am too little a man to have any political attachments I am\\ndeeply indebted to, and have the warmest veneration for individuals\\nof both parties but a man who has it in his power to be the fa-\\nther of a country, and who is a character that one cannot\\nspeak of with patience.\\nSir J. J. does what man can do, but yet I doubt his fate.\\nNo. LXXXIX.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEUisland, 13th of Decemler, 1789.\\nMany thanks, dear madam, for your sheetful of rhymes. Though\\nat present 1 am below the veriest prose, yet from you every thing\\npleases. 1 am groaning under the miseries of a diseased nervous\\nsystem a system, the state of which is most conducive to our\\nhappiness\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or the most productive of our misery. For now near\\nthree weeks I have been so ill with a nervous headache, that I\\nhave been obliged to give up, for a time, my excise books, being\\nscarce able to lift my head, much less to ride once a- week over ten\\nmuir parishes. What is Man To-day, in the luxuriance of health,\\nexulting in the enjoyment of existence in a few days, perhaps in\\na few hours, loaded with conscious painful being, counting the tardy\\npace of the lingering moments by the repercussions of anguish,\\nand refusing or denied a comforter. Day follows night, and night\\ncomes after day, only to curse him with ife which gives him no\\npleasure and yet the awful, dark termination of that life, is a\\nsomething at which he recoils.\\nTell us, ye dead will none of you in pity\\nDisclose the secret\\nWhat tis you are, and we must shortly be\\ntis no matter\\nA little time will make us learn d as you are.\\nCan it be possible, that when I resign this frail feverish being, I\\nshall still find myself in conscious existence When the last gasp\\nof agony has announced, that I am no more to those that knew me,\\nand the few that loved me when the cold, stiffened, unconscious,\\nghastly corse is resigned into the earth, to be the prey of unsightly\\nreptiles, and to become in time a trodden clod, shall I yet be warm\\nin life, seeing and seen, enjoying and enjoyed? Ye venerable sages,\\nand holy flamens, is there probability in your conjectures, truth in\\nyour stories of another world beyond death or are they all alike,\\nbaseless visions, and fabricated fables If there is another life, it", "height": "4508", "width": "2808", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "LETTEBS. 217\\nmust be only for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the hu-\\nmane; what a flattering idea, then, is the world to cornel Would\\nto God I as firmly believed it, as I ardently wish it There I\\nshould meet an aged parent, now at rest from the many buffetings\\nof an evil world, against which he so long and so bravely struggled.\\nThere should I meet the friend, the disinterested friend of my early\\nlife the man who rejoiced to see me, because he loved me and\\ncould serve me. Muir thy weaknesses were the aberrations of\\nhuman nature, but thy heart glowed with every thing generous,\\nmanly, and noble and if ever emanation from the All-good Being\\nanimated a human form, it was thine There should I with\\nspeechless agony of rapture, again recognize my lost, my ever dear\\nMary whose bosom was fraught with truth, honour, constancy and\\nlove.\\nMy Mary, dear departed shade!\\nWhere is thy place of heavenly rest\\nSeest shou thy lover lowly laid 1\\nHear st thou the groans that rend his breast?\\nJesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters, I trust thou art no\\nimpostor, and that thy revelation of blissful scenes of existence be-\\nyond death and the grave, is not one of the many impositions which\\ntime alter time have been palmed on credulous mankind. I trust\\nthat in thee, shall all the families of the earth be blessed, by\\nbeing yet connected together in a better world, where every tie\\nthat bound heart to heart, in this state of existence, shall be, far\\nbeyond our present conception, more endearing.\\nI am a good deal inclined to think with those who maintain, that\\nwhat are called nervous affections are in fact diseases of the mind.\\nI cannot reason, I cannot think and but to you I would not ven-\\nture to write any thing above an order to a cobbler. You have felt\\ntoo much of the ills of life not to sympathize with a diseased\\nwretch, who is impaired more than half of any faculties he posses-\\nsed. Your goodness will excuse this distracted scrawl, which the\\nwriter dare scarcely read, and which he would throw into the fire,\\nwere he able to write any thing better, or indeed any thing at all.\\nRumour told me something of a son of yours who was returned\\nfrom the East or West Indies. If you have gotten news of James\\nand Anthony, it was cruel in you not to let me know as I promise\\nyou, on the sincerity of a man, who is weary of one world and\\nanxious about another, that scarce any thing could give me so much\\npleasure as to hear of any good befalling my honoured friend.\\nIf you have a minute s leisure, take up your pen in pity to le\\npauvre miserable\\nR. B.\\nNo. XC.\\nTO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR.\\nSIR,\\nThe following circumstance has, I believe, been omitted in the sta-\\ntistical account, transmitted to you, of the parish of Dunscore, in\\nNithdale. I beg leave to send it to you, because it is new and may", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "21 S BURNS 9 WORKS.\\nbe useful. How far it may be deserving of a place in your patriotic\\npublication, you are the best judge.\\nTo store the minds of the lower classes with useful knowledge,\\nis certainly of very great importance, both to them as individuals,\\nand to society at large. Giving them a turn for reading and reflec-\\ntion, is giving them a source of innocent and laudable amusement\\nand besides raises them to a more dignified degree in the scale of\\nrationality. Impressed with this idea, a gentleman in this parish,\\nRobert Eiddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, set on foot a species of circulat-\\ning library, on a plan so simple a3 to be practicable in any corner\\nof the country; and so useful, as to deserve the notice of every\\ncountry gentleman, who thinks the improvement of that part of\\nhis own species, whom chance has thrown into the humble walks\\nof the peasant and the artisan, a matter worthy of his attention.\\nMr. Riddel got a number of his tenants, and farming neighbours,\\nto form themselves into a society for the purpose of having a library\\namong themselves. They entered into a legal engagement to abide\\nby it for three years with a saving clause or two, in case of remo-\\nval to a distance or death. Each member, at his entry, paid five\\nshillings, and at each of their meetings, which where held every\\nfourth Saturday, sixpence more. With their entry-money, and the\\ncredit they took on the faith of their future funds, they laid in a\\ntolerable stock of books at the commencement. What authors they\\nwere to purchase, was always decided by the majority. At every\\nmeeting, all the books, under certain fines and forfeitures, by way\\nof penalty, were to be produced and the members had their choice\\nof their volumes in rotation. He whose name stood, for that night,\\nfirst on the list, had his choice of what volume he pleased in the\\nwhole collection the second had his choice after the first the\\nthird after the second, and so on to the last. At next meeting, he\\nwho had been first on the list at the preceding meeting, was last at\\nthis he who had been second was first and so on through the\\nwhole three years. At the expiration of the engagement, the books\\nwere sold by auction, but only among the members themselves\\nand each man had his share of the common stock, in money or in\\nbooks, as he chose to be a purchaser or not.\\nAt the breaking up of this little society, which was formed un-\\nder Mr. Riddel s patronage, what with benefactions of books from\\nhim, and what with their own purchases, they had collected toge-\\nther upwards of one hundred and fifty volumes. It will easily be\\nguessed, that a good deal of trash would be bought. Among the\\nbooks, however, of this little library, were Blair s Sermons, Rohert-\\nson s History of Scotland* Hume s History of the Stuarts, the Specta-\\ntor, Idler, Adventurer, Mirror, Lounger, Observer, Man of Feeling,\\nMan of the World, Chrysal, Don Quixote, Joseph Andrews, c, A\\npeasant who can read, and enjoy such books, is certainly a much\\nsuperior being to his neighbour, who perhaps stalks beside his team,\\nvery little removed, except in shape, from the brute he drives.\\nWishing your patriotic exertions their so much merited success,\\nI am\\nSir,\\nYour humble servant,\\nA PEASANT,", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "LETTERS* 219\\nNo. XCI.\\nTO MR. GILBERT BURNS.\\ndear brother, JEllisland, 11th January, 1790.\\nI mean to take advantage of the frank, though I have not in my\\npresent frame of mind much appetite for exertion in writing. My\\nnerves are in a state. I feel that horrid hypochondria\\npervad ing every atom of both body and soul. This farm has un\u00c2\u00ab\\ndone my enjoyment of myself. It is a ruinous affair on all hands.\\nBut let it go to I ll fight it out and be off with it.\\nWe have gotten a set of very decent players here just now. I\\nhave seen them an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote\\nto me by the manager of the company, a Mr. Sutherland, who is a\\nman of apparent worth. On New-year s- day evening I gave him\\nthe following prologue, which he spouted to his audience with\\napplause.\\nNo song nor dance I bring from your great city,\\nThat queens it o er our taste the more s to pity\\nThough, by the bye, abroad why will you roam\\nGood sense and taste are natives, here at home\\nBut not for panegyric I appear,\\nI come to wish you all a good new year\\nOld Father Time deputes me here before ye,\\nNot for to preach, but tell his simple story\\nThe sage grave ancient cough d, and bade me say,\\nYou re one year older this important day,\\nIf wiser too he hinted some suggestion,\\nBut twould be rude, you know, to ask the question\\nAnd with a would be roguish leer and wink,\\nHe bade me on you press this one word think\\nYe sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit,\\nWho think to storm the world by dint of merit,\\nTo you the dotard has a deal to say,\\nIn his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way\\nHe bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,\\nThat the first blow is ever half the battle\\nThat though some by the skirt may try to snatch him,\\nYet by the forelock is the hold to catch him,\\nThat whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,\\nYou may do miracles by persevering.\\nLast, though not least in love, ye youthful fair,\\nAngelic forms, high Heaven s peculiar care\\nTo you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,\\nAnd humbly begs you ll mind the important now\\nTo crown your happiness, he asks your leave,\\nAnd offers, bliss to give and to receive.\\nFor our sincere, though haply weak endeavours,\\nWith grateful pride we own you many favours,\\nAnd howsoe er our tongue may ill reveal it,\\nBelieve our glowing bosoms truly feel it.\\nI can no more,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 If once I was clear of this farm, I should\\nrespire more at ease.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "220 burns works.\\nNo. XCII.\\nTO MES. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland 25th January, 1790.\\nIt h?s been owing to unremitting hurry of business that I hare\\nnot written to you, madam, long ere now. My health is greatly\\nbetter, and I now begin once more to share in satisfaction and en-\\njoyment with the rest of my fellow- creatures.\\nMany thanks, my much esteemed friend, for your kind letters\\nbut why will you make me run the risk of being contemptible and\\nmercenary in my own eyes When 1 pique myself on my inde-\\npendent spirit, 1 hope it is neither poetic licence, nor poetic rant\\nand I am so flattered with the honour you have done me, in making\\nme your compeer in friendship and friendly correspondence, that I\\ncannot without pain, and a degree of mortification, be reminded of\\nthe real inequality between our situations.\\nMost sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear madam, in the good\\nnews of Anthony. Not only your anxiety about his fate, but my\\nown esteem for such a noble, warm-hearted, manly young fellow, in\\nthe little I had of his acquaintance, has interested me deeply in his\\nfortunes.\\nFalconer, the unfortunate author of the Shipwreck, which you so\\nmuch admire, is no more. After weathering the dreadful catas-\\ntrophe he so feelingly describes in his poem, and after weathering\\nmany hard gales of fortune, he went to the bottom with the Aurora\\nfrigate I forget what part of Scotland had the honour of giving\\nhim birth, but he was the son of obscurity and misfortune. He\\nwas one of those daring adventurous spirits, which Scotland beyond\\nany other country is remarkable for producing. Little does the\\nfond mother think, as she hangs delighted over the sweet little\\nleech at her bosom, where the poor fellow may hereafter wander,\\nand what may be his fate. I remember a stanza in an old Scottish\\nballad, which, notwithstanding its rude simplicity, speaks feel-\\ningly to the heart\\nLittle did my mother think,\\nThat day She cradled me,\\nWhat land I was to travel in,\\nOr what death I should die.\\nOld Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite study and pursuit\\nof mine and now I am on that subject, allow me to give you two\\nstanza of another old simple ballad, which I am sure will please\\nyou. The catastrophe of the piece is a poor ruined female, lament-\\ning her fate. She concludes with this pathetic wish\\n11 O that ray father had ne er on me smiled\\nO that my mother had ne er to me sung\\nO that my cradle had never been rock d\\nBut that I had died when I was young\\nO that the grave it were my bed\\nMy blankets were my winding sheet\\nThe clocks and the worms my bedfellows a\\nAnd O sae sound as I should sleep\\nI do not remember in all my reading to have met with any thing\\nmore truly the language of misery, than the exclamation in the", "height": "4508", "width": "2852", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 221\\nlast line. Misery is like love; to speak its language truly, the\\nauthor must have felt it.\\nI am every day expecting the doctor to give your little god-son\\nthe small-pox. They are rife in the country, and I tremble for his\\nfate. By the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his looks\\nand spirit. Every person who sees him, acknowledges him to be\\nthe finest, handsomest child he has ever seen. I am myself de-\\nlighted with the manly swell of his little chest, and a certain\\nminiature dignity in the carriage of his head, and glance of his\\nline black eye, which promise the undaunted gallantry of an\\nindependent mind.\\nI thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time forbids. I\\npromise you poetry until you are tired of it, next time I have the\\nhonour of assuring you how truly I am, c.\\nNo. XC1II.\\nFROM MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\n28th January, 1790.\\nIn some instances it is reckoned unpardonable to quote any one s\\nown words but the value I have for your friendship, nothing can\\nmore truly or more elegantly express, than\\nTime but the impression stronger makes,\\nAs streams their channels deeper wear.\\nHaving written to you twice without having heard from you, I\\nam apt to think my letters have miscarried. My conjecture is\\nonly framed upon the chapter of accidents turning up against me,\\nas it too often does, in the trivial, and I may with truth add, the\\nmore important affairs of life but I shall continue occasionally to\\ninform you what is going on among the circle of your friends in\\nthese parts. In these days of merriment, I have frequently heard\\nyour name proclaimed at the jovial board\u00e2\u0080\u0094 under the roof of our\\nhospitable friend at Stenhouse Mills, there were no\\nLingering moments number d with care.\\nI saw your Address to the New Year in the Dumfries Journal. Of\\nyour productions I shall say nothing, but my acquaintances allege\\nthat when your name is mentioned, which every man of celebrity\\nmust know often happens, I am the champion, the Mendoza, against\\nall snarling critics, and narrow-minded reptiles, of whom few on\\nthis planet do craw\\\\.\\nWith best compliments to your wife, and her black-eyed sister, I\\nremain, yours, c.\\nNo. XCIV.\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nElhsland, IZth February, l79Ct\\nI beg your pardon, my dear and much valued friend, for writing to\\nyou on this very unfashionable, unsightly sheet\\nMy poverty but not my will consents-\\nBut to make amends, since of modish post I have none, except", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "222 burns works.\\none poor widowed half sheet of gilt, which lies in my drawer among\\nmy plebian foolscap pages, like the widow of a man of fashion, whom\\nthat unpolite scoundrel, Necessity, ha3 driven from Burgundy and\\nPine-apple, to a dish of Bohea, with the scandal-bearing helpmate\\nof a village priest or a glass of whiskey -toddy, with the ruby-\\nnosed yoke-fellow of a foot-padding exciseman I make a vow to\\nenclose this sheet full of epistolary fragments in that my only scrap\\nof gilt-paper.\\nI am indeed your unworthy debtor for three friendly letters. I\\nought to have written to you long ere now, but it is a literal fact, I\\nhave scarcely a spare moment. It is not that I will not write to\\nyou Miss Burnet is not more dear to her guardian angel, nor his\\ngrace the Duke of to the powers of than my friend\\nCunningham to me. It is not that. I cannot write to you; should\\nyou doubt it, take the following fragment, which was intended for\\nyou some time ago, and be convinced that I can antithesize senti-\\nment, and circumvolute periods, as well as any coiner of phrase in\\nthe regions of philology.\\nMY dear Cunningham, December, 1789.\\nWhere are you And what are you doing 1 Can you be that son\\nof levity, who takes up a friendship as he takes up a fashion or\\nare you, like some other of the worthiest fellows in the world, the\\nvictim of indolence, laden with fetters of ever-increasing weight.\\nWhat strange beings we are Since we have a portion of con-\\nscious existence, equally capable of enjoying pleasure, happiness,\\nand rapture, or of suffering pain, wretchedness, and misery, it is\\nsurely worthy of an inquiry, whether there be not such a thing as\\na science of life whether method, economy, and fertility of expedi-\\nents be not applicable to enjoyment; and whether there be not a\\nwant of dexterity in pleasure, which renders our little scantling of\\nhappiness still less and a profuseness, an intoxication in bliss which\\nleads to satiety, disgust, and self- abhorrence. There is not a doubt\\nbut that health, talents, character, decent competency, respectable\\nfriends, are real substantial blessings and yet do we not daily see\\nthose who enjoy many or all of these good things, contrive, not-\\nwithstanding, to be as unhappy as others to whose lot few of them\\nhave fallen. I believe one great source of this mistake or miscon-\\nduct is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called ambition, which\\ngoads us up the hill of life, not as we ascend other eminences, for\\nthe laudable curiosity of viewing an extended landscape, but rather\\nfor the dishonest pride of looking down on others of our fellow-\\ncreatures, seemingly diminutive, in humble stations, c. c.\\nSunday, lith February, 1790.\\nGod help me I am now obliged to join\\nNight to day, and Sunday to the week.\\nIf there be any truth in the orthodox faith of these churches, I am\\npast redemption, and what is worse, to all eternity.\\nI am deeply read in Boston s Fourfold State, Marshall on Sanctifica-\\ntion, Guthrie s Trial of a Saving Interest, kc. but There is no\\nbalm in Gilead, there is no physician there, for me so I shall e en", "height": "4508", "width": "2824", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 223\\nturn Arminian, and trust to Sincere, though imperfect obedi-\\nence.\\nTuesday j 16th.\\nLucKiLr for me I was prevented from the discussion of the knotty\\npoint at which I had just made a full stop. All my fears and cares\\nare of this world if there is another, an honest man has nothing to\\nfear from it. I hate a man that wishes to be a Deist, but I fear,\\nevery fair, unprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be a sceptic.\\nIt is not that there are any very staggering arguments against the\\nimmortality of man but like electricity, phlogiston, c. the sub-\\nject is so involved in darkness, that we want data to go upon. One\\nthing frightens me much that we are to live for ever, seems too\\ngood news to he true. That we are to enter into a new scene of ex-\\nistence, where, exempt from want and pain, we shall enjoy our-\\nselves and our friends without satiety or separation how much\\nshould I be indebted to any one who could fully assure me that\\nthis was certain\\nMy time is once more expired. I will write to Mr. Cleghorn\\nsoon. God bless him and all his concerns And may all the\\npowers that preside over conviviality and friendship, be present\\nwith all their kindest influence, when the bearer of this, Mr. Syme,\\nand you meet I wish I could also make one. I think we should\\nbe\\nFinally, brethren, farewell AVhatsoever things are lovely,\\nwhatsoever things are gentle, whatsoever things are charitable,\\nwhatsoever things are kind, think on these things, and think on\\nBOBERT BURNS.\\nNo. XCY.\\nTO ME. HILL.\\nEllisland, 2d March, 1790.\\nAt a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly Society, it was resolved\\nto augment their library by the following books, which you are to\\nsend us as soon as possible The Mirror, The Lounger, Man of\\nFeeling, Man of the World, (these for my own sake I wish to have\\nby the first carrier) Knox s History of the Reformation Rae s His-\\ntory of the Rebellion in 1715 any good History of the Rebellion in\\n1745 A Display of the Session Act and. Testimony, by Mr. Gibb\\nHervey s Meditations; Beveridge s Thoughts; and another copy of\\nWatson s Body of Divinity.\\nI wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four months ago, to pay\\nsome money he owed me into your hands, and lately 1 wrote to you\\nto the same purpose, but I have heard from neither one nor other\\nof you.\\nIn addition to the books I commissioned in my last, I want very\\nmuch, An Index to the Excise Laws, or an abridgement of all the\\nStatutes now in force, relative to the Excise, by Jellinger Symons I\\nwant three copies of this book if it is now to be had, cheap or\\ndear, get it for me. An honest country neighbour of mine wants,\\ntoo, A Family Bible, the larger the better, but second-handed, for", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "224 BURNS WORKS.\\nhe does not choose to give above ten shillings for the book. I want\\nlikewise for myself, as you can pick them up, second-handed or\\ncheap, copies of Ottway s Dramatic Works, Ben Johnson s, Dryden*s,\\nCongreve s, Wycherleys, VanbrugJis Cibber s, or any Dramatic Works\\nof the more modern Macklin, Garrick, Foote, Colman, or Sheridan*\\nA good copy too of Moliere, in French, I much want. Any other\\ngood dramatic authors in that language I want also but comic\\nauthors, chiefly, though T should wish to have Racine, Comeille,\\nand Voltaire too. I am in no hurry for all, or any of these, but if\\nyou accidentally meet with them very cheap, get them for me.\\nAnd now, to quit the dry walk of business, how do you do, my\\ndear friend 1 and how is Mrs. Hill 1 I trust if now and then not so\\nelegantly handsome, at least as amiable, and sings as divinely as ever.\\nMy good- wife too has a charming wood- note wild; now could we\\nfour\\nI am out of all patience with this vile world, for one thing. Man-\\nkind are by nature benevolent creatures except in a few scoun-\\ndrelly instances, I do not think that avarice of the good things we\\nchance to have, is born with us but we are placed here amid so\\nmuch nakedness, and hunger, and poverty, and want, that we are\\nunder a cursed necessity of studying selfishness, in order that we\\nmay exist Still there are, in every age, a few souls, that all the\\nwants and woes of life cannot debase to selfishness, or even to the\\nnecessary alloy of caution and prudence. If ever I am in danger of\\nvanity, it is when I contemplate myself on this side of my disposi-\\ntion and character. God knows I am no saint I have a whole host\\nof follies and sins to answer for but if I could, and I believe I do\\nit as far as I can, I would wipe away all tears from all eyes. Adieu\\nNo. XCYI.\\nTO MRS. DOTLOP.\\nEllisland, 10th April, 1799.\\nI have just now, my ever-honoured friend, enjoyed a very high\\nluxury, in reading a paper of the Lounger. Tou know my national\\nprejudices. I had often read and admired the Spectator, Adven-\\nturer Rambler, and World but still with a certain regret, that\\nthey were so thoroughly and entirely English. Alas have I often\\nBaid to myself, what are all the boasted advantages which my coun-\\ntry reaps from the Union, that can counterbalance the annihilation\\nof her independence, and even her very name I often repeat that\\ncouplet of my favourite poet, Goldsmith\\nStates of native liberty possest,\\nThough very poor, may yet be very blest.\\nNothing can reconcile me to the common terms, English am-\\nbassador, English court, c. And I am out of all patience to see\\nthat equivocal character, Hastings, impeached by the Commons\\nof England. Tell me, my friend, is this weak prejudice? I\\nbelieve in my conscienoe such ideas, as my country her inde-\\npence^her honour; the illustrious names that mark the history of\\nmy native land, c. I believe these, among your men of the world", "height": "4508", "width": "2824", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 225\\nmen who in fact guide for the most part and govern our world, are\\nlooked on as so many modifications of wrongheadedness. They\\nknow the use of bawling out such terms, to rouse or lead the rab-\\nble but for their own private use, with almost all the able states*\\nmen that ever existed, or now exist, when they talk of right or\\nwrong, they only mean proper and improper; and their measure of\\nconduct is, not what they ought, but what they dake. For the\\ntruth of this I shall not ransack the history of nations, but appeal\\nto one of the ablest judges of men, and himself one of the ablest\\nmen that ever lived the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield. In fact,\\na man who could thoroughly control his vices whenever they inter-\\nfered with his interest, and who could completely put on the ap-\\npearance of every virtue as often as it suited his purpose, is on the\\nStanhopian plan, the perfect man a man to lead nations. But are\\ngreat abilities, complete without a Haw, and polished without a\\nblemish, the standard of human excellence This is certainly the\\nstaunch opinion of man of the world but I call on honour, virtue,\\nand worth, to give the Stygian doctrine a loud negative How-\\never, this must be allowed, that if you abstract from man the idea\\nof an existence beyond the grave, then, the true measure of human\\nconduct is proper and improper Yirtue and vice, as dispositions\\nof the heart, are in that case, of scarcely the import and value to the\\nworld at large, as harmony and discord in the modifications of sound;\\nand a delicate sense of honour, like a nice ear for music, though it\\nmay sometimes give the possessor an ecstacy unknown to the coarser\\norgans of the herd, yet considering the harsh gratings, and inhar-\\nmomic jars, in this ill-tuned state of being, it is odds but the in-\\ndividual would be as happy, and certainly would be as much re-\\nspected by the true judges of society, as it would then stand, without\\neither a good ear or a good heart.\\nYou must know I have just met with the Mirror and Lounger\\nfor the first time, and I am quite in raptures with them 1 should\\nbe glad to have your opinion of some of the papers. The one I\\nhave just read, Lounger, No. 61, has cost me more honest tears than\\nanything I have read of a long time. Mr. M Kenzie has been called\\nthe Addison of the Scots, and in ray opinion, Addison would not\\nbe hurt at the comparison. If he has not Addison s exquisite hu-\\nmour, he certainly outdoes him in the tender and pathetic. His\\nMan of Feeling (but I am not counsel learned in the laws of criti-\\ncism,) I estimate as the first performance in its kind I ever saw.\\nFrom what books, moral or even pious, will the susceptible young\\nmind receive impressions more congenial to humanity and kindness,\\ngenerosity and benevolence in short, more of all that enobles the soul\\nto herself, or endears her to others than from the simple affect-\\ning tale of poor Harley.\\nStill, with all my admiration of M Kenzie s writings, I do not\\nknow if they are the fittest reading for a young man who is\\nabout to set out, as the phrase is, to make his way into life. Do\\nnot you think, madam, that among the few favoured of Heaven\\nin the structure of their minds (for such there certainly are),\\nthere may be a purity, a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance of\\nI .-ill, which are of no use, nay in some degree, absolutely disqualifying\\nk 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "226 BURNS* WORK!?.\\nfor the truly important business of making a man s way into life.\\nIf I am not much mistaken, my gallant young friend, A is\\nvery much under these disqualifications and for the young females\\nof a family I could mention, well may they excite parental solici-\\ntude, for I, a common acquaintance, or as my vanity will have it,\\nan humble friend, have often trembled for a turn of mind which\\nmay render them eminently happy or peculiarly miserable\\nI have been manufacturing some verses lately but as I have got\\nthe most hurried season of excise business over, I hope to have\\nmore leisure to transcribe any thing that may show how much I\\nhave the honour to be, madam, yours, c.\\nNo. XCVII.\\nFROM ME. CUNNINGHAM.\\nMY DEAR burns, Edinburgh, 25th, May 1790.\\nI am much indebted to you for your last friendly, elegant epistle,\\nand it shall make a part of the vanity of my composition, to retain\\nyour correspondence through life. It was remarkable your intro-\\nducing the name of Miss Burnet, at a time when she was in such ill\\nhealth and I am sure it will grieve your gentle heart, to hear of\\nher being in the last stage of a consumption. Alas that so much\\nbeauty, innocence, and virtue, should be nipt in the bud. Hers\\nwas the smile of cheerfulness of sensibility, not of allurement and\\nher elegance of manners corresponded with the purity and eleva-\\ntion of her mind.\\nHow does your friendly muse 1 I am sure she still retains her\\naffection for you, and that you have many of her favours in your\\npossession, which I have not seen. I weary much to hear from\\nyou.\\nI beseech you do not forget me.\\nI most sincerely hope all your concerns in life prosper, and that\\nyour roof-tree enjoys the blessing of good health. All your friends\\nhere are well, among whom, and not the least, is your acquaintance,\\nCleghorn. As for myself, I am well, as far as\\nwill let a man be but with these I am happy.\\nWhen you meet with my very agreeable friend J. Syme, give him\\nfor me a hearty squeeze, and bid, God bless him.\\nIs there any probability of your being soon in Edinburgh\\nNo. XCYIII.\\nTO DR. MOOEE.\\nsir, Dumfries, Excise- Office, 14th July, 1790.\\nComing into town this morning, to attend my duty in this office, it\\nbeing collection- day, I met with a gentleman who tells me he is on\\nhis way to London so I take the opportunity of writing to you, as\\nfranking is at present under a temporary death. I shall have some\\nsnatches of leisure through the day, ami J our horrid business mi", "height": "4508", "width": "2840", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 227\\nbustle, and I shall improve them as well as I can; but let my letter\\nbe as stupid as as miscellaneous as a news-paper, as\\na hungry grace-before-meat, or as long as a law- paper in the Doug-\\nlas cause as ill-spelt as country John s billet-doux, or as unsightly\\na scrawl as Betty Byremucker s answer to it I hope, considering\\ncircumstances, you will forgive it and as it will put you to no ex-\\npense of postage, I shall have the less reflection about it.\\nI am sadly ungrateful in not returning you my thanks for your\\nmost valuable present, Zehico. In fact, you are in some degree\\nblamable for my neglect. You were pleased to express a wish for\\nmy opinion of the work, which so flattered me, that nothing less\\nwould serve my over- weening fancy, than a formal criticism on the\\nbook. In fact, I have gravely planned a comparative view of you,\\nFielding, Eichardson, and Smollet, in your different qualities and\\nmerits as novel-writers. This I own, betrays my ridiculous vanity,\\nand I may probable never bring the business to bear but I am\\nfond of the spirit young Elihu shows in the book of Job And\\nI said, I will also declare my opinion. I have quite disfigured my\\ncopy of the book with my annotations. I never take it up without\\nat the same time taking my pencil, and marking with asterisks,\\nparenthesis, c. wherever I meet with an original thought, a ner-\\nvous remark on life and manners, a remarkable well turned period,\\nor a character sketched with uncommon precision.\\nThough I hardly think of fairly writing out my Comparative\\nYiew, I shall certainly trouble you with my remarks, such as they\\nare. I have just received from my gentleman, that horrid summons\\nin the book of Kevelations That time shall be no more\\nThe little collection of sonnets have some charming poetry in\\nthem. If indeed I am indebted to the fair author for the book, and\\nnot, as I rather suspect, to a celebrated author of the other sex, I\\nshould certainly have written to the lady, with my grateful ac-\\nknowledgments, and my own ideas of the comparative excellence of\\nher pieces. I would do this last, not from any vanity of thinking\\nthat my remarks could be of much consequence to Mrs. Smith, but\\nmerely from my own feelings as an author, doing as 1 would be\\ndone by.\\nISTo. XCIX.\\nTO MKS. DUNLOP.\\nDEAR MADAM, $th of August, 1790.\\nAfter a long day s toil, plague, and care, I sit down to write to you.\\nAsk me not why I have delayed it so long 1 It was owing to hurry,\\nindolence, and fifty other things in short, to any thing but for-\\ngetfulness of la plus amiable de son sexe. By the bye, you are in-\\ndebted your best courtesy to me for this last compliment; as I pay\\nit from sincere conviction of its truth\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a quality rather rare in\\ncompliments of these grinning, bowing, scraping times.\\nWell, I hope writing to you, will ease a little my troubled soul.\\nSorely has it been bruised to-day A ci-devant friend of mine, and\\nan intimate acquaintance of yours, has given my feelings a wound\\nthat I perceive will gangrene dangerously ere It cure, He km\\n\\\\wmde d my pride i\\nfffffffffifffff", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "228 BURNS WORKS.\\nffo. C.\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nEllisland, 8th August, 1790.\\nForgive me at once dear, and ever dear friend, my seeming negli-\\ngence. You cannot sit down, and fancy the busy life I lead.\\nI laid down my goose feather to beat my brains for an apt simile,\\nand had some thoughts of a country grannam at a family christen-\\ning a bride on the market-day before her marriage\\na tavern-keeper at an election dinner c. c. but the resemblance\\nthat hits my fancy best is, that blackguard miscreant, Satan, who\\nroams about like a roaring lion, seeking, searching whom he may de-\\nvour. However, tossed about as I am, if I choose (and who would not\\nchoose) to bind down with the crampets of attention, the brazen\\nfoundation of integrity, I may rear up the superstructure of Inde-\\npendence, and from its daring turrets, bid defiance to the storm of\\nfate. And is not this a consummation devoutly to be wished I*\\nThy spirit, Independence, let me share\\nLord of the lion-heart, and eagle- eye\\nThy steps I follow with ray bosom bare,\\nNor heed the storm that howls along the sky\\nAre not these noble verses They are the introduction of Smol-\\nlet s Ode to Independence. If you have not seen the poem, I will\\nsend it to you. How wretched is the man that hangs on by the fa-\\nvours of the great. To shrink from every dignity of man, at the\\napproach of a lordly piece of self- consequence, \\\\jho, amid all his tin-\\nsel glitter, and stately hauteur, is but a creature formed as thou\\nart and perhaps not so well formed as thou art came into the\\nworld a puling infant as thou didst, and must go out of it as all\\nmen must a naked corse.*\\nNo. CI.\\nFROM DR. BLACLOCK.\\nEdinburgh, 1st September, 1790.\\nHow does my dear friend 1 much I languish to hear,\\nHis fortune, relations, and all that are dear\\nWith love of the Muses so strongly still smitten,\\nI meant this epistle in verse to have written\\nBut from age and infirmity, indolence Hows,\\nAnd this, much I fear, will restore me to prose.\\nAnon to my business I wish to proceed,\\nDr. Anderson guides and provokes me to speed,\\nA man of integrity, genius and worth,\\nWho soon a performance intends to set forth\\nA work miscellanous, extensive, and free,\\nWhich will weekly appear, by the name of the Bee\\nOf this from himself I inclose you a plan,\\nAnd hope you will give what assistance you can,\\n*The preceding letter explains the feelings under which this was written. The\\nStrain of indignant invective goes on some time longer in the style which our barq\\n(fag too ant to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so m", "height": "4508", "width": "2856", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 229\\nEntangle with business, and haunted with care,\\nIn which more or less human nature must share,\\nSome moments of leisure the Muses will claim,\\nA sacrifice due to amusement and fame.\\nThe Bee, which sucks honey from ev ry gay bloom.\\nWith some rays of your genius her work may illume,\\nWhilst the flower whence her honey spontaneously flows,\\nAs fragrantly smells, and as vig rously grows.\\nNow with kind gratulation tis time to conclude,\\nAnd add, your promotion is here understood\\nThus free from the servile employ of excise, sir,\\nWe hope soon to hear you commence supervisor\\nYou then more at leisure, and free from control,\\nMay indulge the strong passion that reigns in your soul.\\nBut I, feeble, I must to nature give way\\nDevoted cold death s and longevity s prey.\\nFrom verses tho languid my thoughts must unbend,\\nTho still I remain your affectionate friend,\\nTHO. BLACKLOCK.\\nNo CII.\\nEXTRACT OP A LETTER\\nFJSOM MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nEdinburgh, 13th October, 1790.\\nI lately received a letter from our friend B what a\\ncharming fellow lost to society born to great expectations with\\nsuperior abilities, a pure heart, and untainted morals, his fate in\\nlife has been hard indeed still I am persuaded he is happy not\\nlike the gallant, the gay Lothario, but in the simplicity of rural\\nenjoyment, unmixed with regret at the remembrance of the days\\nof other years.\\nI saw Mr. Dunbar put, under cover of your newspaper, Mr. Wood s\\nPoem on Thomson. This Poem has suggested an idea to me which\\nyou alone are capable to execute a song adapted to each season of\\nthe year. The task is difficult, but the theme is charming should\\nyou succeed, I will undertake to get new music worthy of the sub-\\nject. What a line field for your imagination, and who is there alive\\ncan draw so many beauties from Nature and pastoral imagery as\\nyourself? It is, by the way, surprising that there does not exist,\\nso far as I know, a proper song for each season. We have songs on\\nhunting, fishing, skaiting, and one autumnal song, Harvest Home.\\nAs your muse is neither spavied nor rusty, you may mount the hill\\nof Parnassus, and return with a sonnet in your pocket for every\\nseason. For my suggestions, if I be rude, correct me if imperti-\\nnent, chastise me if presuming, despise me. But if you blend all\\nmy weaknesses, and pound out one grain of insincerity, then am I\\nnot thy\\nFaithful friend, c,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "230\\nburns works.\\nNo. cm.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nto a\\nNovember, 1790.\\nthirsty soul, so is good news from a far\\nAs cold waters\\ncountry.\\nFate has long owed me a letter of good news from you, in return\\nfor the many tidings of sorrow which I have received. In this in-\\nstance, I most cordially obey the apostle Rejoice with them that\\ndo rejoice for me to sing for joy is no new thing but to preach\\nfor joy, as I have done in the commencement of this epistle, is a\\npitch of extravagant rapture to which I never rose before.\\nI read your letter I literally jumped for joy. How could such\\na mercurial creature as a poet, lumpishly keep his seat on the re-\\nceipt of the best news from his best friend. I seized my gilt-headed\\nWangee rod, an instrument indispensably necessary, in my left\\nhand, in the moment of inspiration and rapture and stride, stride\\nquicker and quicker out skipt I among the broomy banks of\\nNith, to muse over my joy by retail. To keep within the bounds of\\nprose was impossible. Mrs. Little s is a more elegant, but not a\\nmore sincere compliment to the sweet little fellow, than I, extem-\\npore almost, poured forth to him in the following verses. See the\\npoem On the Birth of a Posthumous Child.\\nI am much pleased with your approbation of my Tarn o Shanter,\\nwhich you express in your former letter, though, by the bye, you\\nload me in that said letter with accusations heavy and many to all\\nof which I plead not guilty Your book is, I hear, on the road to\\nreach me. As to printing of poetry, when you prepare it for the\\npress, you have only to spell it right, and place the capital letters\\nproperly as to the punctuation, the printers will do that them*\\nselves.\\nI have a copy of Tarn o Shanter ready to send by the first oppor-\\ntunity, it is too heavy to send by post.\\nI heard of Mr. Corbet lately. He, in consequence of your recom-\\nmendation, is most zealous to serve me. Please favour me soon with\\nan account of your good folks if Mrs. H. is recovering, and the\\nyoung gentleman doing well.\\nNo. CIY.\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nEllisland, 2Zd January, 1791.\\nMany happy returns of the season to you, my dear friend As\\nmany of the good things of this life, as is consistent with the\\nusual mixture of good and evil in the cup of Being\\nI have just finished a poem, which you will receive inclosed. It\\nis my first essay in the way of tales.\\nI have, these several months, been hammering at an elegy for the\\namiable and accomplished Miss Burnet, I have got, and can get,\\nno farther than the following fragment, on which please to give me\\nmr strictures, in all Hgdi of poetic composition, I mt great value", "height": "4508", "width": "2836", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 231\\non your opinion but in sentimental verses, in the poetry of the\\nheart, no Roman Catholic ever set more value on the infallibility of\\nthe Holy Father than I do on yours.\\nI mean the introductory couplets as text verses.\\nELEGY\\nON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO.\\nLife ne er exulted in so rich a prize,\\nAs Burnet, lovely from her native skies\\nNor envious death so triumph d in a blow,\\nAs that which laid th accomplish d Burnet low.\\nThy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget\\nIn richest ore the brightest jewel set\\nIn thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,\\nAs by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.\\nIn vain ye flaunt in summer s pride, ye groves;\\nThou crystal streamlet, with thy flowery shore\\nYe woodland choir that chaunt your idle loves,\\nYe cease to charm Eliza is no more.\\nYe heathy wastes, inmix d with reedy fens,\\nYe mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor d*\\nYe rugged cliffs, o erhanging dreary glens,\\nTo you I fly, ye with my soul accord.\\nPrinces, whose cumb rous pride was all their worth,\\nShall venal lays their pompous exit hail\\nAnd thou, sweet excellence forsake our earth,\\nAnd not a muse in honest grief bewail.\\nWe saw thee shine in youth and beauty s pride,\\nAnd virtue s light, that beams beyond the spheres;\\nBut like the sun eclips d at morning tide,\\nThou left st us darkling in a world of tears.\\nLet me hear from you soon. Adieu\\nNo. CY.\\nTO MR. PETER HILL.\\n17 th January, 1791.\\nTake these two guineas, and place them over against that\\naccount of yours, which has gagged my mouth these five or six\\nmonths I can as little write good things as apologies to the\\nman I owe money to. O the supreme curse of making three gui-\\nneas do the business of five Not all the labours of Hercules not\\nall the Hebrews three centuries of Egyptian bondage, were such an\\ninsuperable business, such an task Poverty thou half-\\nsister of death, thou cousin-german of hell where shall I find\\nforce of execration equal to the amplitude of thy demerits Op-\\npressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the practice\\nof every virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, implores a little\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094little aid to support his existence, from a stony-hearted son of\\nMammon, whose sun of prosperity never knew a cloud and is by\\nfiim betrayed and insulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of senti.\\nmeat, whose h mrfc glows with Mepenjeaqej mi igelte witti mmi*", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "232 burns works.\\nbility, inly pines under the neglect, or writhes in bitterness of soul,\\ntinder the contumely of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by\\nby thee, the son of genius, whose ill starred ambition plants him at\\nthe tables of the fashionable and polite, must see in suffering silence\\nhis remark neglected, and his person despised, while shallow great-\\nness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall meet with countenance and\\napplause. Nor is it only the family of worth that have reason to\\ncomplain of thee the children of folly and vice, though in com-\\nmon with thee, the offspring of evil, smart equally under thy rod.\\nOwing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposition, and neglected\\neducation, is condemned as a fool for his dissipation, despised and\\nshunned as a needy wretch, when his follies, as usual, bring him to\\nwant, and when his unprincipled necessities drive him to dishonest\\npractices, he is abhorred as a miscreant, and perishes by the justice\\nof his country. But far otherwise is the lot of the man of family\\nand fortune. His early follies and extravagance, are spirit and fire\\nhis consequent wants are the embarrassments of an honest fellow\\nand when, to remedy the matter, he has gained a legal commission\\nto plunder distant provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, he re-\\nturns, perhaps, laden with the spoils of rapine and murder lives\\nwicked and respected, and dies a and a lord. Nay, worst of\\nall, alas for helpless woman the needy prostitute, who has shivered\\nat the corner of the street, waiting to earn the wages of carnal\\nprostitution, is left neglected and insulted, ridden down by the\\nchariot wheels of the coronetted rip, hurrying on to the guilty as-\\nsignation she, too, without the same necessities to plead, riots\\nnightly in the same guilty trade.\\nWell divines may say of it what they please, but execration is\\nto the mind, what phlebotomy, is to the body the vital sluices of\\nboth are wonderfully relieved by their respective evacuations.\\nNo. CYI.\\nFROM A. F. TYTLER, ESQ.\\nDEAR sir, Edinburgh, V2th March, 1791.\\nMr. Hill yesterday put into my hands a sheet of Grose s Antiquities\\ncontaining a poem of yours, entitled Tain o Shanter y a tale. The\\nvery high pleasure I have received from the perusal of the admira-\\nble piece, I feel, demands the warmest acknowledgments. Hill tells\\nme he is to send off a packet for you this day I cannot resist there-\\nfore putting on paper what I must have told you in person, had I\\nmet with you after the recent perusal of your tale, which is, that I\\nfeel I owe you a debt, which, if undischarged, would reproach me\\nwith ingratitude. I have seldom in my life tasted of higher enjoy-\\nment from any work of genius, than I have received from this com-\\nposition and I am much mistaken, if this poem alone, had you\\nnever written another syllable, would not have been sufficient to\\nhave transmitted your name down to posterity with high reputa-\\ntion. In the introductory part, where you paint the character of\\nyour hero, and exhibit him at the ale-house ingle, with his tippling\\ncronies, you have delineated nature with a humour and naivete, thati\\nwould do honour to Matthew Prior; but when you describe th^\\nTtunatc orgies of the witches sabbath, and the hellish \u00c2\u00abcer", "height": "4508", "width": "2852", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 233\\nin which they are exhibited, you display a power of imagination,\\nthat Shakspeare himself could not have exceeded. I know not\\nthat I have ever met *vith a picture of more horrible fancy than the\\nfollowing\\na Coffins stood round like open presses,\\nThat showed the dead in their last dresses\\nAnd by some devilish cantrip slight,\\nEach in his cauld hand held a light.\\nBut when I came to the succeeding lines, my blood ran cold with-\\nin me\\nA knife a father s throat had mangled,\\nWhom his ain son of life bereft\\nThe grey hairs yet stuck to the heft.\\nAnd here, after the two following lines, Wi mair o horrible and\\nawful c. the descriptive part might perhaps have been better\\nclosed, than the four lines which succeed, which, though good in\\nthemselves, yet as they derive all their merit from the satire they\\ncontain, are here rather misplaced among the circumstances of pure\\nhorror.* The initiation of the young witch is most happily de-\\nscribed the effect of her charms, exhibited in the dance, on Satan\\nhimself\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the apostrophe Ah, little thought thy reverend gran-\\nnie the transport of Tarn, who forgets his situation, and enters\\ncompletely into the spirit of the scene, are all features of high merit,\\nin this excellent composition. The only fault it possesses, is, that\\nthe winding up, or conclusion of the story, is not commensurate to\\nthe interest which is excited by the descriptive and characteristic\\npainting of the preceding part. The preparation is line, but the\\nresult is not adequate. But for this, perhaps, you have a good\\napology you stick to the popular tale.\\nAnd now that I have got out my mind, and feel a little relieved\\nof the weight of that debt I owed you, let me end this desultory\\nscroll by an advice You have proved your talent for a species of\\ncomposition, in which but a very few of our own poets have suc-\\nceeded\u00e2\u0080\u0094Go on write more tales in the same style you will eclipse\\nPrior and La Fontaine for, with equal wit, equal power of num-\\nbers, and equal naivete of expression, you have a bolder, and more\\nvigorous imagination.\\nI am, dear Sir, with much esteem,\\nYours, c.\\nNo. CYII.\\nTO A. F. TYTLER, ESQ.\\nSIR,\\nNothing less than the unfortunate accident I have met with, could\\nhave prevented my grateful acknowledgments for your letter. His\\nown favourite poem, and that an essay in a walk of the muses en-\\nI tirely new to him, where consequently his hopes and fears were in\\nthe most anxious alarm for his success in the attempt to have that\\npoem so much applauded by one of the first judges, was the most\\nOur bard profitted by Mr. Ty tier s criticism, and expunged the four lines ac-\\ncordingly.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "234 BURNS WOBKS\\ndelicious vibration that ever trilled along the heart strings of a\\npoor poet. However, providence, to keep up the proper proportion\\nof evU with the good, which it seems is necessary in this sublunary\\nstate, thought proper to check my exultation by a very serious mis-\\nfortune. A day or two after I received your letter, my horse came\\ndown with me and broke my right arm. As this is the first service\\nmy arm has done me since its disaster, I find myself unable to do\\nmore than just in general terms to thank you for this additional\\ninstance of your patronage and friendship. As to the faults you\\ndetected in the piece, they are truly there one of them, the hit at\\nthe lawyer and priest, I shall cut out as to the falling off in the\\ncatastrophe, for the reason you justly adduce, it cannot easily be re-\\nmedied. Your approbation, sir, has given me such additional spirits\\nto persevere in this species of poetic composition, that I am already\\nrevolving two or three stories in my fancy. If I can bring these\\nfloating ideas to bear any kind of embodied form, it will give me\\nan additional opportunity of assuring you how much I have the\\nhonour to be, c.\\nNo. CVIII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland, 7th February, 1791.\\nWhen I tell you, madam, that by a fall, not from my horse but with\\nmy horse, I have been a cripple some time, and that this is the first\\nday my arm and hand have been able to serve me. in writing; you\\nwill allow that it is too good an apology for my seemingly ungrate-\\nful silence. I am now getting better, and am able to rhyme a lit-\\ntle, which implies some tolerable ease as I cannot think that the\\nmost poetic genius is able to compose on the rack.\\nI do not remember if ever I mentioned to you my having an idea\\nof composing an elegy on the late Miss Burnet of Monboddo. I had\\nthe honour of being pretty well acquainted with her, and have sel-\\ndom felt so much at the loss of an acquaintance, as when I heard\\nthat so amiable and accomplished a piece of God s works was no\\nmore. I have as yet gone no farther than the following fragments,\\nof which please let me have your opinion. You know that elegy\\nis a subject so much exhausted, that any new idea on the business\\nis not to be expected tis well if we can place an old idea in anew\\nlight. How far I have succeeded as to this last, you will judge from\\nwhat follows\\n(Here follows the Elegy dse, 9 adding this verse.)\\nThe parent s heart that nestled fond in thee,\\nThat heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care\\nSo deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree,\\nSo from it ravaged, leaves it bleak and bare.\\nI have proceeded no further.\\nYour kind letter, with your kind remembrance of your god- son,\\ncame safe. This last, madam, is scarcely what my pride can bear.\\nAs to the little fellow, he is, partiality apart, the finest boy I have\\nof long time seen. He is now seventeen months old, has the small-", "height": "4508", "width": "2752", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 235\\npox and measles over, has cut several teeth, and yet never had a\\ngrain of doctor s drugs in his bowels.\\nI am truly happy to hear that the little floweret is blooming\\nso fresh and fair, and that the mother plant is rather recovering\\nher drooping head. Soon and well may her cruel wounds be\\nhealed I have written thus far with a good deal of difficulty.\\nWhen I get a little abler you shall hear farther from,\\nMadam, yours, c.\\nNo. CIX.\\nTO LADY W. M. CONSTABLE.\\nACKNOWLEDGING A PRESENT OP A VALUABLE SNUFF-BOX, WITH A FINE\\nPICTURE OF MARY, QUEEN OP SCOTS, ON THE LID.\\nMY LADY,\\nNothing less than the unlucky accident of having lately broken my\\nright arm, could have prevented me, the moment I received your\\nladyship s elegant present by Mrs. Miller, from returning you my\\nwarmest and most grateful acknowledgments. I assure your lady-\\nship, I shall set it apart the symbols of religion shall only be more\\nsacred. In the moment of poetic composition, the box shall be my\\ninspiring genius. When I would breathe the comprehensive wish\\nof benevolence for the happiness of others, I shall recollect your\\nladyship when I would interest my fancy in the distresses incident\\nto humanity, I shall remember the unfortunate Mary.\\nNo. CX.\\nMRS. GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.\\nMADAM,\\nWhether it is that the story of our Mary, Queen of Scots, has a\\npeculiar effect on the feelings of a poet, or whether I have, in the\\ninclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic success, I know\\nnot but it has pleased me beyond any effort of my muse for a good\\nwhile past on that account I inclose it particularly to you. It is\\ntrue, the purity of my motives may be suspected. I am already\\ndeeply indebted to Mr. G s goodness; and, what in the\\nusual ways of men, is of infinitely greater importance, Mr. G. can do\\nme service of the utmost importance in time to come. I was born\\na poor dog and however I may occasionally pick a better bone than\\nI used to do, I know I must live and die poor but I will indulge\\nthe flattering faith that my poetry will considerably outlive my\\npoverty and without any fustian affection of spirit, I can promise\\nand affirm, that it must be no ordinary craving of the latter shall\\never make me do any thing injurious to the honest fame of the\\nformer. Whatever may be my failings, for failings are a part of\\nhuman nature, may they ever be those of a generous heart, and an\\nindependent mind. It is no fault of mine that I was born to de-\\npendence nor is it Mr. G s chief est praise that he can\\ncommand influence but it is his merit to bestow, not only with the\\nkindness of a brother, but with the politeness of a gentleman and", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "23 6 BURNS WORKS.\\nI trust it shall be mine, to receive with thankfulness and remember\\nwith undiminished gratitude.\\nNo. CXI.\\nFROM THE REV. G. BAIRD.\\nsir, London, 8th February, 1791.\\nI trouble you with this letter, to inform you that I am in hopes of\\nbeing able very soon to bring to the press a new edition (long since\\ntalked of) of Michael Bruce s Poems. The profits of the edition are\\nto go to his mother a woman of eighty years of age poor and\\nhelpless. The poems are to be published by subscription and it\\nmay be possible I think, to make out a 2s. Qd. or 3s. volume, with\\nthe assistance of a few hitherto unpublished verses, which I have\\ngot from the mother of the poet.\\nBut the design I have in view in writing to you, is not merely to\\ninform you of these facts, it is to solicit the aid of your name and\\npen in support of the scheme. The reputation of Bruce is already\\nhigh with every reader of classical taste, and I shall be anxious to\\nguard against tarnishing his character, by allowing any new poems\\nto appear that may lower it. For this purpose, the MSS. I am in\\npossession of, have been submitted to the revision of some whose\\ncritical talents I can trust to, and I mean still to submit them to\\nothers.\\nMay I beg to know, therefore, if you will take the trouble of pe-\\nrusing the MSS. of giving your opinion, and suggesting what cur-\\ntailments, alterations, or amendments, occur to you as advisable 1\\nAnd will you allow us to let it be known, that a few lines by you\\nwill be added to the volume 1\\nI know the extent of this request. It is bold to make it. But\\nI have this consolation, that though you see it proper to refuse it,\\nyou will not blame me for having made it you will see my apology\\nin the motive.\\nMay I just add, that Michael Bruce is one in whose company,\\nfrom his past appearance, you would not, I am convinced, blush to\\nbe tound; and as I would submit every line of his that should now\\nbe published, to your own criticisms, you would be assured that\\nnothing derogatory either to him or you would be admitted in that\\nappearance he may make in future.\\nYou have already paid an honourable tribute to kindred genius\\nin Fergusson I fondly hope that the mother of Bruce will expe-\\nrience your patronage.\\nI wish to have the subscription papers circulated by the 14th of\\nMarch, Bruce s birth- day; which, I understand, some friends in\\nScotland talk this year of observing at that time it will be re-\\nsolved, I imagine, to place a plain humble stone over his grave.\\nThis, at least, I trust you will agree to do to furnish, in a few\\ncouplets, an inscription for it.\\nOn these points may I solicit an answer as early as possible a\\nshort delay might disappoint us in procuring that relief to the mo-\\nther, which is the object of the whole.\\nYou will be pleased to address for me under cover to the Duke\\nof Athole, London.", "height": "4508", "width": "2828", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 237\\nP. S.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Have you ever seen an engraving published here some\\ntime ago from one of your poems, thou pale Orb If you have\\nnot, I shall have the pleasure of sending it to you.\\n2 To CXII.\\nTO THE REV. G. BAIRD.\\nIN ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING.\\nWrt did you, my dear sir, write to me in such a hesitating style,\\non the business of poor Bruce] Don t T know, and have I not felt,\\nthe many ills, the peculiar ills that poetic flesh is heir to 1 You\\nshall have your choice of all the unpublished poems I have and\\nhad your letter had my direction so as to have reached me sooner\\n(it only came to my hand this moment), I should directly have put\\nyou out of suspense on the subject. I only ask, that some prefa-\\ntory advertisement in the book, as well as the subscription bills,\\nmay bear, that the publication is solely for the benefit of Bruce s\\nmother. I would not put it in the power of ignorance to surmise,\\nor malice to insinuate, that I clubbed a share in the work from mer-\\ncenary motives. Nor need you give me credit for any remarkable\\ngenerosity in my part of the business. I have such a host of pecca-\\ndilloes, failings, follies, and backslidings (any body but myself\\nmight perhaps give some of them a worse appellation,) that by way\\nof some balance, however trifling, in the account, I am fain to do\\nany good that occurs in my very limited power to a fellow creature,\\njust for the selfish purpose of clearing a little the vista of retro-\\nspection.\\n/f* tic y^ yfc 5t\u00c2\u00bb ss\\nNo. CXIII.\\nTO DR. MOORE.\\nEllisland, 2Sth February, 1791.\\nI do not know, sir, whether you are a subscriber to Grose s Antiqui-\\nties*of Scotland, If you are, the inclosed poem will not be altoge-\\nther new to you. Captain Grose did me the favour to send me a\\ndozen copies of the proof-sheet, of which this is one. Should you\\nhave read the piece before, still this will answer the principal\\nend I have in view it will give me another opportunity of thank-\\ning you for all your goodness to the rustic bard and also of show-\\ning you, that the abilities you have been pleased to commend and\\npatronize are still employed in the way you wish.\\nThe Elegy on Captain Hen derson, is a tribute to the memory of a\\nman I loved much. Poets have in this the same advantage as the\\nRoman Catholics they can be of service to their friends after they\\nhave past that bourne where all other kindness ceases to be of any\\navail. Whether, after all, either the one or the other be of any\\nreal service to the dead, is, I fear, very problematical but 1 am\\nsure they are highly gratifying to the living and as a very ortho-\\ndox text, I forget where in Scripture, says, whatsoever is not of", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "238\\nBURNS 9 WORKS.\\nfaith, is sin f so say I, whatsoever is not detrimental to society,\\nand is of positive enjoyment, is of God, the giver of all good things,\\nand ought to be received and enjoyed by his creatures with thank-\\nful delight. As almost all my religious tenets originate from my\\nheart, I am wonderfully pleased with the idea, that I can still\\nkeep up a tender intercourse with the dearly beloved friend, or\\nstill more dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to th e world of\\nspirits.\\nThe ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I was busy with\\nPercy s Eeliques of English Poetry. By the way, how much is\\nevery honest heart, which has a tincture of Caledonian prejudice\\nobliged to you for your glorious story of Buchanan and Targe.\\nTwas an unequivocal proof of your loyal gallantry of soul, giving\\nTarge the victory. 1 should have been mortified to the ground if\\nyou had not.\\nI have just read over, once more of many times, your Zeluco.\\nI marked with my pencil, as I went along, every passage that pleas-\\ned me particularly above the rest and one, or two, I think, which,\\nwith humble deference, I am disposed to think unequal to the me-\\nrits of the book. I have sometimes thought to transcribe these\\nmarked passages, or at least so much of them as to point where\\nthey are, and send them to you. Original strokes that strongly de-\\npict the human heart, is your and Fielding s province, beyond any\\nother novelist I have ever perused. Richardson indeed might per-\\nhaps be excepted but, unhappily, his dramatis persona are beings\\nof some other world and however they may captivate the unex-\\nperienced, romantic fancy of a boy or a girl, they will ever, in pro-\\nportion as we have made human nature our study, dissatisfy our\\nriper minds.\\nAs to my private concerns, I am going on a mighty tax-gatherer\\nbefore the Lord, and have lately had the interest to get myself\\nranked on the list of excise as a supervisor. I am not yet employed\\nas such, but in a few years I shall fall into the file of supervisor-\\nship by seniority. I have had an immense loss in the death of the\\nEarl of Glencairn the patron from whom all my fame and good\\nfortune took its rise. Independent of my grateful attachment to\\nhim, which was indeed so strong that it pervaded my very soul,\\nand was entwined with the thread ol my existence so soon as the\\nprince s friends had got in (and every dog, you know, has his day),\\nmy getting forward in the excise would have been an easier busi-\\nness than otherwise it will be. Though this was a consummation\\ndevoutly to be wished, yet, thank Heaven, I can liv^e and rhyme as\\nI am; and as to my boys, poor little fellows if I cannot place\\nthem on as high an elevation in life as I could wish, I shall, if I\\nam favoured so much of the Disposer of events as to see that period,\\nfix them on as broad and independent a basis as possible. Among\\nthe many wise adages which have been treasured up by our Scot-\\ntish ancestors, this is one of the best, Better he the head of the com\\nmonalty, as the tail o the gentry.\\nBut I am got on a subject, which, however interesting to me, is of\\nno manner of consequence to you so I shall give you a short poem", "height": "4508", "width": "2780", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "LETTERS, 239\\non the other page, and close this with assuring you how sincerely\\n1 have the honour to be, yours, c.\\nWritten on the blank leaf of a book, which I presented to a very\\nyoung lady, whom 1 had formerly characterised under the denomi-\\nnation of The Red Rose.\\nNo. CXIV.\\nFEOM DE. MOOEE.\\ndear SIR, London, 29th March, 1791.\\nYour letter of the 28th of February I received only two days ago,\\nand this day I had the pleasure of waiting on the Eev. Mr. Baird,\\nat the Duke of Athole s, who had been so obliging as to transmit it\\nto me, with the printed verses on Alloway Church, the Elegy on\\nCapt. Henderson, and the Epitaph. There are many poetical beau-\\nties in the former what I particularly admire are the three\\nstriking similes from\\n1 Or like the snow falls in the river.\\nand the eight lines which begin with\\n6 By this time he was cross the ford\\nso exquisitely expressive of the superstitious impressions of the\\ncountry. And the twenty-two lines from\\nCoffins stood round like open presses,\\nwhich, in my opinion, are equal to the ingredients of Shakspeare s\\ncauldron in Macbeth.\\nAs for the Elegy, the chief merit of it consists in the very graphic\\ndescription of the objects belonging to the country in which the\\npoet writes, and which none but a Scottish poet could have de-\\nscribed, and none but a real poet, and a close observer of Nature,\\ncould have so described.\\nThere is something original, and to me wonderfully pleasing in the\\nEpitaph.\\nI remember you once hinted before, what you repeat in your\\nlast, that you had made some remarks on Zeluco, on the margin. I\\nshould be very glad to see them, and regret you did not send them\\nbefore the last edition, which is just published. Pray transcribe\\nthem for me. I sincerely value your opinion very highly, and pray\\ndo not suppress one of those in which you censure the sentiment or\\nexpression. Trust me ifc will break no squares between us I am\\nnot akin to the Bishop of Grenada.\\nI must now mention what has been on my mind for some time\\nI cannot help thinking you imprudent in scattering abroad so many\\ncopies of your verses. It is most natural to give a few to confiden-\\ntial friends, particularly to those who are connected with the sub-\\nject, or who are perhaps themselves the subject, but this ought to\\nbe done under promise not to give other copies. Of the poem you\\nsent me on Queen Mary, I refused every solicitation for copies, but\\n1 lately saw it in a newspaper. My motive for cautioning you on\\nthis subject is, that I wish to engage you to collect all your fugitive", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "240 burns works.\\npieces, not already printed, and after they have been re- considered,\\nand polished to the utmost of your power, I would have you to\\npublish them by another subscription in promoting of which I\\nwill exert myself with pleasure.\\nIn your future compositions, I wish you would use the modern\\nEnglish. You have shown your powers in Scottish sufficiently.\\nAlthough in certain subjects it gives additional zest to the humour,\\nyet it is lost to the English and why should you write only for a\\npart of the island, when you can command the admiration of the\\nwhole.\\nIf you chance to write to my friend Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop, I\\nbeg to be affectionately remembered to her. She must not judge\\nof the warmth of my sentiments respecting her, by the number of\\nmy letters I hardly ever write a line but on business and I do\\nnot know that I should have scribbled all this to you, but for the\\nbusiness-part, that is, to instigate you to a new publication and to\\ntell you that when you think you have a sufficient number to make\\na volume, you should set your friends on getting subscriptions. I\\nwish I could have a few hours conversation with you I have many\\nthings to say which I cannot write. If I ever go to Scotland, I will\\nlet you know, that you may meet me at your own house, or my\\nfriend Mrs. Hamilton s, or both.\\nAdieu, my dear Sir, c.\\nNo. CXV.\\nTO THE EEY. ARCH. ALISON.\\nsir, Ellisland, near Dumfries, 14th Feb.^ 1791.\\nYou must, by thi3 time, have set me down as one of the most un-\\ngrateful of men. You did me the honour to present me with a book\\nwhich does honour to science and the intellectual powers of man, and\\nI have not even so much as acknowledged the receipt of it. Flat-\\ntered as I was by your telling me that you wished to have my opi-\\nnion of the work, the old spiritual enemy of mankind, who knows\\nwell that vanity is one of the sins that most easily beset me, put it\\ninto my head to ponder over the performance with the look-out of\\na critic, and to draw up forsooth a deep learned digest of strictures\\non a composition, of which, in fact, until I read the book, I did not\\neven know the first principles. I own, sir, that at first glance, se-\\nveral of your propositions startled me as paradoxical. That the\\nmartial clangor of a trumpet had something in it vastly more grand,\\nheroic and sublime, than the twingle twangle of a Jews harp that\\nthe delicate flexure of a rose-twig, when the half blown flower is\\nheavy with the tears of the dawn, was infinitely more beautiful and\\nelegant than the upright stub of a burdock and that from some-\\nthing innate and independent of all association of ideas these I\\nset down as irrefragible, orthodox truths, until perusing your book\\nshook my faith. In short, sir, except Euclid s Elements of Geometry,\\nwhich I made a shift to unravel by my father s fire side, in the win-\\nter evening of the first season I held the plough, I never read a book\\nwhich gave me such a quantum of information, and added so much\\nto my stock of ideas as your Essays on the Principles of Taste,\\nOne thing, sir, you must forgive my mentioning as an uncommon", "height": "4508", "width": "2788", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "1ETTERS. 241\\nmerit in the work, I mean the language. To clothe abstract phi-\\nlosophy in elegance of style, sounds something like a contradiction\\nin terms; but you have convinced me that they are quite compa-\\ntible.\\nI inclose you some poetic bagatelles of my late composition. The\\none in print is my first essay in the way of telling a tale.\\nI am, Sir, c.\\nv\\nNo. CXYI.\\nEXTRACT OP A LETTER\\nTO ME. CUNNINGHAM.\\n12th March, 1791.\\nIf the foregoing piece be worth your strictures, let me have them.\\nFor my own part, a thing that I have just composed, always appears\\nthrough a double portion of that partial medium in which an au-\\nthor will ever view his own works. I believe, in general, novelty\\nhas something in it that inebriates the fancy, and not unfrequently\\ndissipates and fumes away like other intoxication, and leaves the\\npoor patient, as usual, with an aching heart. A striking instance\\nof this might be adduced, in the revolution of many a hymeneal\\nhoneymoon. But lest I sink into stupid prose, and so sacrilegiously\\nintrude on the ofiice of my parish priest, I shall lill up the page in\\nmy own way, and give you another song of my late composition,\\nwhich will appear, perhaps, in Johnson s weak, as well as the\\nformer.\\nYou must know a beautiful Jacobite air, There ll never he peace\\ntillJamie comes hame. When political combustion ceases to be the\\nobject of princes and patriots, it then, you know, becomes the law-\\nful prey of historians and poets.\\nBy yon castle wa\\\\ at the close of the day,\\nI heard a man sing, though his head it was grey\\ni\\\\nd as he Avas singing, the tears last down came-\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nhere ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.\\nThe church is in ruins, the st ;te is in jars,\\nDelusions, oppressions, and n.urderous wars\\nWe dare na weel say t, but we ken wha s to blame\\nThere ll never be peace WW Jamie comes hame.\\nMy seven br -iw sons for Jamie drew sword,\\nAnd now I greet round their green beds in the yerd\\nIt brack the sweetheart o my f aithfu auld dame\\nThere ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.\\nNow life is a burden that bows me down,\\nSin I tint ray bairns, and he tint his crown\\nBut till my last moment my words are the same\\nThere ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.\\nIf you like the air, and if the stanzas hit your fancy, you cannot\\nimagine, my dear friend, how much you would oblige me, if, by\\nthe charms of your delightful voice, you would give my honest effu-\\nsion to the memory of joys that are past, tothe few friends whom\\nyou indulge in that pleasure. But 1 have subscribed on till 1 hear\\nthe clock has intimated the near approach of\\nThat hoar o night s black arch the key-stane.\\nJ*", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "242 BUBNS WORKS.\\nSo good-night to you Sound be your sleep, and delectable your\\ndreams A propos, how do you like this thought in a ballad, I have\\nj ust now on the tapis\\nI look to the west, when I gae to rest,\\nThat happy ray dreams and my slumbers may he\\nFor far in the west is he 1 lo e best\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe lad that is dear to my baby and me\\n\u00c2\u00bb\u00c2\u00ab\u00c2\u00abt\\nGood night, once more, and God bless you\\nNo. CXVIL\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEll-island^ Wth April, 1791.\\n1 A si once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with my\\nown hand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, and\\nparticularly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster that my evil\\ngenius had in store for me. However, life is chequered joy and\\nsorrow for on Saturday last, Mrs. Burns made me a present of a\\nfine boy rather stouter but not so handsome as your god-son was\\nat his time of life. Indeed, I look on your little namesake to be\\nmy chef d auvre in that species of manufacture, as I look on Tarn,\\no Shanter to be my standard performance in the poetical line.\\nTis true, both the one and the other discover a spice of roguish\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2waggery, that might, perhaps, be as well spared; but then,\\nthey also show, in my opinion, a force of genius, and a finishing\\npolish, that I despair of ever excelling. Mr3. Burns is getting\\nstout again, and laid as lustily about her to-day at breakfast, as a\\nreaper from the corn-ridge. That is the peculiar privilege and\\nblessing of our hale, sprightly damsels, that are bred among the\\nhay and heather. We cannot hope for that highly polished mind,\\nthat charming delicacy of soul, which is found among the female\\nworld in the more elevated stations of life, and which is certainly\\nby far the most bewitching charm in the famous cestus of Yenus.\\nIt is, indeed, such an inestimable treasure, that where it can be\\nhad in its native heavenly purity, unstained by some one or other\\nof the many shades of affectation, and unalloyed by some one or\\nother of the many species of caprice, 1 declare to Heaven, I should\\nthink it cheaply purchased at the expense of every other earthly\\ngood But as this angelic creature is, I am afraid, extremely rare\\nin any station and rank of life, and totally denied to such an hum-\\nble one as mine we meaner mortals must put up with the next\\nrank of female excellence as fine a figure and face we can produce\\nas any rank of life whatever rustic, native grace unaffected mo-\\ndesty, and unsullied purity; nature s mother- wit, and the rudi-\\nments of taste a simplicity of soul, unconscious of, because unac-\\nquainted with, the crooked ways of a selfish, interested, disingenu-\\nous world and the dearest charm of all the rest, a yielding sweet*\\nnes3 of disposition, and a generous warmth of heart, grateful for\\nlove on our part, and ardently glowing with a more than equal re-\\nturn these, with a healthy frame, a sound vigorous constitution,\\nwhich your high ranks can scarcely ever hope to enjoy, are the\\ncharms of lovely woman in my humble walk of life.", "height": "4508", "width": "2776", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 243\\nThis is the greatest effort my broken arm has yet made. Do, let\\nme hear by fir3t post, how cker petit Monsieiir comes on with his\\nsmall-pox. May Almighty Goodness preserve and restore him\\nNo. CXVIII\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\n11th June, 1791.\\nLet me interest yon, my dear Cunningham, in behalf of the gentle-\\nman, who waits on you with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of Moffat,\\nprincipal schoolmaster there, and is at present suffering severely\\nunder the of one or two powerful individuals of\\nhis employers. He is accused of harshness to that\\nwere placed under his care. God help the teacher, if a man of\\nsensibility and genius, and such is my friend Clarke, when a booby\\nfather presents him with his booby son, and insists on lightening up\\nthe rays of science, in a fellow s head whose skull is impervious and\\ninaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture with a cudgel\\na fellow whom, in fact, it savours of impiety to attempt making a\\nscholar of, as he has been marked a blockhead in the book of fate,\\nat the Almighty fiat of his Creator.\\nThe patrons of Moffat school are, the ministers, magistrates, and\\ntown-council of Edinburgh, and as the business comes now before\\nthem, let me beg my dearest friend to do every thing in his power\\nto serve the interests of a man of genius and worth, and a man\\nwhom I particularly respect and esteem. You know some good\\nfellows among the magistracy and council,\\nbut particularly, you have much to say with a rev-\\nerend gentleman to whom you have the honour of being very\\nnearly related, and whom this country and age have had the honour\\nto produce. 1 need not name the historian of Charles V.* I tell\\nhim, through the medium of his nephew s influence, that Mr. Clarke\\nis a gentleman who will not disgrace even his patronage. I know\\nthe merits of the cause thoroughly, and say it, that my friend is\\nfalling a sacrifice to prejudiced ignorance, and God\\nhelp the children of dependence Hated and persecuted by\\ntheir enemies, and too often, alas almost unexceptionably, received\\nby their friends with disrespect and reproach, under the thin\\ndisguise of cold civility and humiliating advice. O to be a\\nsturdy savage, stalking in the pride of his independence, amid the\\nsolitary wilds of his deserts, rather than in civilized life, helplessly\\nto tremble for subsistence, precarious as the caprice of a fellow-\\ncreature Every man has his virtues, and no man is without his\\nfailings and curse on that privileged plain-dealing of friendship,\\nwhich in the hour of my calamity, cannot reach forth the helping\\nhand without at the same time pointing out those failings, and ap-\\nportioning them their share in procuring my present distress. My\\nfriends, for such the world calls ye, and such ye think yourselves\\nto be, pas3 by virtues if you please, but do, also, spare my follies\\nthe first will witness in my breast for themselves, and the last will\\ngive pain enough to the ingenuous mind without you. And since\\ndeviating more or less from the paths of propriety and rectitude,\\n*Dr. Robertson was uncle to Mr. Cunningham.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "244 BURNS 1 WORKS.\\nmust be incident to human nature, do thou, fortune, put it in my\\npower, always from myself, and of myself, to bear the consequences\\nof those errors. I do not want to be independent that I may\\nsin, but I want to be independent in my sinning.\\nTo return in this rambling letter to the subject I set-out with,\\nlet me recommend my iriend, Mr. Clarke, to your acquaintance and\\ngood offices his worth entitles him to the one, and his gratitude\\nwill merit the other. I long much to hear from you. Adieu.\\nNo. CXIX.\\nFROM THE EARL OF BITCH AN.\\nDryburgh Abbey, Ylth June, 1791.\\nLord Buchan has the pleasure to invite Mr. Burns to make one at\\nthe coronation of the bust of Thomson, on Ednam Hill, on the\\n22nd of September for which day perhaps his muse may inspire\\nan ode suited to the occasion. Suppose Mr. Burns should, leaving\\nthe Nith, go across the country, and meet the Tweed at the nearest\\npoint from his farm and, wandering along the pastoral banks of\\nThomson s pure parent stream, catch inspiration on the devious\\nwalk, till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on the ruins of Dryburgh.\\nThere the commendator will give him a hearty welcome, and try to\\nlight his lamp at the pure flame of native genius, upon the altar of\\nCaledonian virtue. This poetical perambulation of the Tweed, is a\\nthought of the late Sir Gilbert Elliot s and of Lord Minto s, fol-\\nlowed out by his accomplished grandson, the present Sir Gilbert,\\nwho, having been with Lord Buchan lately, the project was renewed,\\nand will, they hope, be executed in the manner proposed.\\nNo. CXX.\\nTO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.\\nMy Lord,\\nLanguage sinks under the ardour of my feelings, when I would\\nthank your lordship for the honour you have done me in inviting\\nme to make one at the coronation of the bust of Thomson. In my\\nfirst enthusiasm in reading the card you did me the honour to\\nwrite me, I overlooked every obstacle, and determined to go but\\nI fear it will not be in my power. A week or two s absence, in the\\nvery middle of my harvest, is what I much doubt I dare not ven-\\nture on.\\nYour lordship hints at an ode for the occasion but who would\\nwrite after Collins? I read over his verses to the memory of\\nThomson, and despaired I got indeed to the length of three or\\nfour stanzas, in the way of address to the shade of the bard, on\\ncrowning his bust. I shall trouble your lordship, with the sub-\\njoined copy of them, which, I am afraid, will be but too convincing\\na proof how unequal 1 am to the task. However, it affords me an\\nopportunity of approaching your lordship, and declaring how sin-\\ncerely and gratefully 1 have the honour to be, c.", "height": "4508", "width": "2780", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 245\\nNo. CXXI.\\nFKOM THE SAME.\\nDryburyh Abbey, 18th September, 1791.\\nSir,\\nYour address to the shade of Thomson has been well received by\\nthe public and though I should disapprove of your allowing Pe-\\ngassus to ride with you off the field of your honourable and useful\\nprofession, yet I cannot resist an impulse which I feel at this mo-\\nment to suggest to your muse, Harvest Home, as an excellent sub-\\nject for her grateful song, in which the peculiar aspect and manners\\nof our country might furnish an excellent portrait and landscape of\\nScotland, for the employment of happy moments of leisure and\\nrecess, from your more important occupations.\\nYour Halloween, and Saturday Night, will remain to distant pos-\\nterity as interesting pictures of rural innocence and happiness in\\nyour native country, and were happily written in the dialect of the\\npeople but Harvest Home being suited to descriptive poetry, ex-\\ncept where colloquial, may escape disguise of a dialect which ad-\\nmits of no elegance or dignity of expression. Without the assist-\\nance of any god or goddess, and without the invocation of any foreign\\nmuse, you may convey in epistolary form the description of a scene\\nso gladdening and picturesque, with all the concomitant local posi-\\ntion, landscape and costume contrasting the peace, improvement,\\nand happiness of the borders of the once hostile nations of Britain,\\nwith their former oppression and misery, and showing, in lively and\\nbeautifnl colours, the beauties and joys of a rural life. And as the\\nunvitiated heart is naturally disposed to overflow in gratitude in\\nthe moment of prosperity, such a subject would furnish you with\\nan amiable opportunity of perpetuating the names of Glencairn,\\nMiller, and your other eminent benefactors which from what I\\nknow of your spirit, and have seen of jour poems and letters, will\\nnot deviate from the chastity of praise, that is so uniformly united\\nto true taste and genius. I am, Sir, c.\\nNo. CXX1I.\\nTO LADY CUNNINGHAM.\\nMY LADY,\\nI would, as usual, have availed myself of the privilege your good-\\nness has allowed me, of sending you any thing I compose in the\\npoetical way but as 1 had resolved, so soon as the shock of my ir-\\nreparable loss would allow me, to pay a tribute to my late benefactor,\\nI determined to make that the first piece 1 should do myself the honour\\nof sending you. Had the wing of my fancy been equal to the ar-\\ndour of my heart, the enclosed had been much more worthy of your\\nperusal as it is I beg leave to lay it at your ladyship s feet. As all\\nthe world knows my obligations to the late Earl of Glencairn, I\\nwould wish to shew as openly that my heart glows with the most\\ngrateful sense of rememberance of his lordship s goodness. The\\nsables I did myself the honour to wear to his lordship s memory were\\nnot the mockery of woe. Nor shall my gratitude perish with\\nme If, among my children, 1 shall have a son that has a heart,\\nhe shall hand it down to his child as a family honour, and a family", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "246\\nBURNS WORKS.\\ndebt, that my dearest existence I owe to the noble house of Glen-\\ncairn\\nI was about to say, my lady, that if you think the poem may ven-\\nture to see the light, I would, in some way or other give it to the\\nworld.*\\nNo. CXXIII.\\nTO ME. AINSLIE.\\nMY BEAR AINSLIE,\\nCan you minister to a mind diseased 1\\nCan\\nyou.\\namid the hor-\\nrors of penitence, regret, remorse, head-ache, nausea, and all the\\nd d hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch, who has been\\nguilty of the sin of drunkeness can you speak to the troubled\\nsoul?\\nMiserable perdu that I am, I have tried every thing that used to\\namuse me, but in vain here must I sit a monument of the venge-\\nance laid up in store for the wicked, slowly counting every chick of\\nthe clock as it slowly slowly numbers over these lazy scoundrels of\\nhours, who d n them, are ranked up before me, every one at his\\nneighbour s backside, and every one with a burthen of anguish\\non his back, to pour on my devoted head\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and there is none to pity\\nme. My wife scolds me my business torments me, and my sins\\ncome staring me in the face, every one telling a more bitter tale\\nthan his fellow. When I tell you even has lost his\\npower to please, yon will guess something of my hell within, and\\nall around me I began Elibanks and JSiibraes, but the stanza fell\\nunen joyed and unfinished from my listless tongue at last I luckily\\nthought of reading over an old letter of yours, that lay by me in\\nmy book-case, and I felt something for the first time since I opened\\nmy eyes, of pleasurable existence. Well I begin to breathe a\\nlittle, since I began to write you. How are you and what are you\\ndoing 1 How goes law Appropos, for connection s sake do not ad-\\ndress me supervisor, for that in an honour I cannot pretend to I\\nam on the list, as we call it, for a supervisor, and will be called out\\nby and bye to act one but at present, I am a simple guager, tho\\nt other day I got an appointment to an excise division of \u00c2\u00a325 per\\nann. better than the rest. My present income, down money, is\\n\u00c2\u00a370 per ann.\\nI have one or two good fellows here whom you would be glad\\nto know.\\nNo. CXXIV.\\nFROM SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD.\\nSir, Near Maybole, \\\\\u00c2\u00a7th October, 1791.\\nAccept of my thanks for your favour with the Lament on the death\\nof my much esteemed friend, and your worthy patron, the perusal\\nThe peem inclosed, is The I ai\u00c2\u00bbent for James, Earl of Glencaim.", "height": "4508", "width": "2788", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 247\\nof which pleased and affected me much. The lines addressed to\\nme are very flattering.\\nI have always thought it most natural to suppose, (and a strong\\nargument in favour of a future existence) that when we see an\\nhonourable and virtuous man labouring under bodily inlirmities,\\nand oppressed by the frowns of fortune in this world, that there was\\na happier state beyond the grave where that worth and honour\\nwhich were neglected here, would meet with their just reward, and\\nwhere temporal misfortunes would receive an eternal recompense.\\nLet us cherish this hope for cur departed friend and moderate our\\ngrief for that loss we have sustained knowing that he cannot re-\\nturn to us, but we may go to him.\\nRemember me to your wife, and with every good wish for the\\nprosperity of you and your family, believe me at all times,\\nYour most sincere friend,\\nJOHN WHITEFOORD.\\nNo. CXXY.\\nFROM A. F. TYTLER, ESQ.\\nEdinburgh, 27 th Nov. 1791.\\nYou have much reason to blame me for neglecting till now to ac-\\nknowledge the receipt of a most agreeable packet, containing The\\nWhistle, a ballad; and The Lament which reached me about six\\nweeks ago in London, from whence I am just returned. Your let-\\nter was forwarded to me there from Edinburgh, where, as I ob-\\nserved by the date, it had lain for some days. This was an addi-\\ntional reason for me to have answered it immediately on receiving\\nit but the truth was, the bustle of business, engagements and con-\\nfusion of one kind or another, in which I found myself immersed\\nall the time I was in London, absolutely put it out of my power.\\nBut to have done with apologies, let me now endeavour to prove\\nmyself in some degree deserving of the very flattering compliment\\nyou pay me, by giving you at least a frank and candid, if it should\\nnot be a judicious criticism on the poems you sent me.\\nThe ballad of The Whistle is, in my opinion, truly excellent. The\\nold tradition which you have taken up is the best adapted for a\\nBacchanalian composition of any I have ever met with, and you\\nhave done it full justice. In the first place, the strokes of wit arise\\nnaturally from the subject, and are commonly happy. For ex-\\nample,\\n4 The hands grew the tighter the more they were wet\\n1 Cynthia hinted she d find them next morn/\\n1 Though Fate said a hero should perish in light,\\nSo up rose bright Phoebus and down fell the knight.\\nIn the next place, you are singularly happy in the discrimination\\nof your heroes, and in giving each the sentiments and language\\nsuitable to his character. And, lastly, you have much merit in the\\ndelicacy of the panegyric which you have contrived to throw on\\neach of the dramatis persona;, perfectly appropriate to his character.\\nThis compliment to Sir Robert, the blunt soldier, is peculiarly fine.\\nIn short, this composition, in my opinion, does you great honour.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "248 BURNS WORKS.\\nand I see not a line or a word in it which I could wish to be\\naltered.\\nAs to The Lament, I suspect, from some expressions in your letter\\nto me, that you are more doubtful with respect to the merits of this\\npiece than of the other, and I own T think you have reason for\\nalthough it contains some beautiful stanzas, as the first, The wind\\nblew hollow, c. the fifth, Ye scatter d birds the thirteenth,\\nAwake thy last sad voice, c. Yet it appears to me faulty as a\\nwhole, and inferior to several of those you have already published\\nin the same strain. My principal objection lies against the plan of\\nthe piece. I think it was unnecessary and improper to put the la-\\nmentation in the mouth of a fictitious character, an aged lard. It\\nhad been much better to have lamented your patron in your own\\nperson, to have expressed your genuine feelings for his loss, and to\\nhave spoken the language of nature rather than that of fiction on\\nthe subject. Compare this with your poem of the same title in\\nyour printed volume, which begins, thou, pale Orb I and observe\\nwhat it is that forms the charm of that composition. It i3, that it\\nspeaks the language of truth and of nature. The change is, in my\\nopinion, injudicious too in this respect, that an aged bard has much\\nless need of a patron and protector than a young one. I have thus\\ngiven you, with much freedom, my opinion of both the pieces. I\\nshould have made a very ill return to the compliment you paid me,\\nif I had given you any other than my genuine sentiments.\\nIt will give me great pleasure to hear from you when you find\\nleisure, and I beg you wiil believe me ever, dear Sir, yours, c.\\nNo. CXXYI.\\nTO MISS DAYIES.\\nIt is impossible, madam, that the generous warmth and angelic\\npurity of your youthful mind, can have any idea of that moral\\ndisease under which I unhappily must rank as the chief of sinners\\nI mean a torpitude of the moral powers that may be called, a lethargy\\nof conscience. In vain remorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses\\nall her snakes beneath the deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of in-\\ndolence, their wildest ire is charmed into the torpor of the bat,\\nslumbering out the rigours of winter in the chink of a ruined wall.\\nNothing less, madam, could have made me so long neglect your\\nobliging commands. Indeed I had one apology the bagatelle was\\nnot worth presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested in Miss\\nD s fate and welfare in the serious business of life, amid its\\nchances and changes that to make her the subject of a silly ballad,\\nis downright mockery of these ardent feelings; tis like an imperti-\\nnent jest to a dying friend.\\nGracious Heaven why this disparity between our wishes and\\nour powers] Why is the most generous wish to make others blest,\\nimpotent and ineffectual\u00e2\u0080\u0094 as the idle breeze that crosses the path-\\nless desert] In my walks of life I have met with a few people to\\nwhom how gladly would I have said Go, be happy 1 know\\nthat your hearts have been wounded by the scorn of the proud,\\nwhom accident has placed above you\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or worse still, in whose hand\\nare, perhaps, placed many of the comforts of your life. But there", "height": "4508", "width": "2780", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 249\\nascend that rock, Independence, and look justly down on their\\nlittleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble under your indigna-\\ntion, and the foolish sink before your contempt and largely impart\\nthat happiness to others, which, I am certain, will give yourselves\\nso much pleasure to bestow\\nWhy, dear madam, must I wake from this delightful reverie, and\\nfind it all a dream Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I\\nfind myself poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from\\nthe eye of pity, or of adding one comfort to the friend I love Out\\nupon the world say I, that its affairs are administered so ill\\nThey talk of reform good Heaven what a reform would I make\\namong the sons, and even the daughters of meu Down, immedi-\\nately, should go fools from the high places where misbegotten\\nchance has perked them up, and through life should they skulk,\\never haunted by their native insignificance, as the body marches\\naccompanied by its shadow. As for a much more formidable class,\\nthe knaves, I am at a loss what to do with them Had I a world,\\nthere should not be a knave in it.\\nBut the hand that could give, I would liberally fill and I would\\npour delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously\\nlove.\\nStill the inequalities of his life are, among men, comparatively\\ntolerable but there is a delicacy, in tenderness, accompanying\\nevery view in which we can place lovely Woman, that are grated\\nand shocked at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Women\\nis the blood- royal of life let there be slight degrees of precedency\\namong them but let them be all sacred. Whether this last senti-\\nment be right or wrong, 1 am not accountable it is an original\\ncomponent feature of my mind.\\nNo. CXXVII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nEllisland, 17 th December, 1791.\\nMany thanks to you, madam, for your good news respecting the\\nlittle floweret and the mother plant. I hope my poetic prayers have\\nbeen heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of\\ntheir fullest extent and then Mrs. Henri will find her little dar-\\nling the representative of his late parent, in every thing but his\\nabridged existence.\\nI have just finished the following song, which, to a lady the de-\\nscendant of Wallace, and many heroes of his truly illustrious line,\\nand herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface nor\\napology.\\nScene, A field of battle time of the day, evening the wounded and\\ndying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following\\nSONG OF DEATH.\\nFarewell, theu f a r day, thou green eartii aid ye sk^g,\\nNbw giy with the broad setting sun;\\nh 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "250 BURNS* WORKS.\\nFarewell, loves and friendships ye dear, tender ties,\\nOur race of existence is run\\nThou grim king of terrors, thou life s gloomy foe,\\nGo frighten the coward and slave\\nGo, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant but know,\\nNo terror hast thou to the brave\\nThou strik st the poor peasant\u00e2\u0080\u0094 he sinks in the dark,\\nNor saves e en the wreck of a name\\nThou strik st the young hero a glorious mark\\nHe falls in the blaze of his fame\\nIn the field of proud honour our swords in our hands,\\nOur king and our country to save\\nWhile victory shines on life s last ebbing sands\\nO, who would not die with the brave\\nThe circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was,\\nlooking over, with a musical friend, M Donald s collection of High-\\nland airs I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled\\nOr an an Aoig, or The Song of Death, to the measure of which 1\\nhave adapted my stanzas. I have of late composed two or three\\nother little pieces, which ere yon full orbed moon, whose broad im-\\npudent face now stares at old mother earth all night, shall have\\nshrunk into a modest crescent, j ust peeping forth at dewy dawn, I\\nshall find an hour to transcribe for you. A Dieuje votes commende I\\nNo. CXXYIII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\n5th January, 1792.\\nYou see my hurried life, madam I can only command starts of\\ntime however, I am glad of one thing since I finished the other\\nsheet, the political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown.\\nI have corresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the Board had\\nmade me the subject of their animadversions; and now I have the\\npleasure of informing you, that all is set to rights in that quarter.\\nNow, as to these informers, may the devil be let loose to but\\nhold I was praying most fervently in my last sheet, and I must\\nnot so soon fall a swearing in this.\\nAlas how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what\\nmischief they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect imperti-\\nnence, or thoughtless blabbings. What a difference there is in in-\\ntrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, generosity, kindness in all\\nthe charities and all the virtues, between one class of human beings\\nand another. For instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed\\nwith in the hospitable hall of D their generous hearts their\\nuncontaminated dignified minds their informed and polished un-\\nderstandings what a contrast, when compared if such comparing\\nwere not downright sacrilege with the soul of the miscreant who\\ncan deliberately plot the destruction of an honest man that never\\noffended him, and with a grin of satisfaction see the unfortunate\\nbeing, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents, turned over to\\nbeggary and ruin\\nYour cup, my dear madam, arrived safe, I had two worthy\\nw3 dining with me the other day, when I, with great formality.?", "height": "4508", "width": "2648", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 251\\nproduced my whigmeleerie cup, and told them that it had been a\\nfamily-piece among the descendants of Sir William Wallace. This\\nroused such an enthusiasm, that they insisted on bumpering the\\npunch round in it and by and bye, never did your great ancestor\\nlay a Southron more completely to rest than for a time did your\\ncup my two friends. Apropos, this is the season of wishing. May\\nGod bless you, my dear friend, and bless me the humblest and sin-\\ncerest of your friends, by granting you yet many returns of the\\nseason May all good things attend you and yours wherever they\\nare scattered over the earth\\nKo. CXXIX.\\nTO MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, PRINTER.\\nDumfries, 22 d January, 1792.\\nI sit down, my dear sir, to introduce a young lady to you, and a\\nlady in the first ranks of fashion too. What a task to you who\\ncare no more for the herd of animals called young ladies, than you\\ndo for the herd of animals called young gentlemen. To you who\\ndespise and detest the groupings and combinations of fashion, as an\\nidiot painter that seems industrious to place staring fools and un-\\nprincipled knaves in the foregoing of his picture, while men of\\nsense and honesty are too often thrown in the dimmest shades.\\nMrs. Riddel, who will take this letter to town with her and send it\\nto you, is a character that, even in your own way, as a naturalist\\nand a philosopher, would be an acquisition to your acquaintance.\\nThe lady too is a votary of the muses and as I think myself some-\\nwhat of a judge in my own trade, I assure you that her verses,\\nalways correct, and often elegant, are much beyond the common\\nrun of the lady-poetesses of the day. She is a great admirer of\\nyour book, and hearing me say that I wa3 acquainted with you,\\nshe begged to be known to you, as she is just going to pay her first\\nvisit to our Caledonian capital. I told her that her best way was\\nto desire her near relation, and your intimate friend, Craigdarroch,\\nto have you at hi3 house while she was there and lest you might\\nthink of a lively West Indian girl of eighteen, as girls of eighteen\\ntoo often deserve to be thought of, 1 should take care to remove\\nthat prejudice. To be impartial, however, in appreciating the\\nlady s merits, she has one unlucky failing, a failing which you will\\neasily discover, as she seems rather pleased with indulging in it\\nand a failing that you will easily pardon, as it is a sin which very\\nmuch besets yourself; where she dislikes or despises, she is apt to\\nmake no more a secret of it, than where she esteems and respects.\\nI will not present you with the unmeaning compliments of the\\nseason, but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent\\nprayers, that fortune may never throw your subsistence to the\\nmercy of a knave, or set your character on the judgment of a fool,\\nbut that, upright and erect, you may walk to an honest grave,\\nwhere men of letters shall say, here lies a man who did honour to\\nscience and men of worth shall say, here lies a man who did honouif\\n\u00c2\u00a3o Jiuman nature", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "252 BURNS WORKS.\\nNo. CXXX.\\nTO MR. W. NICHOL.\\n29 th February, 1792.\\nO thou, wisest among the wise, meredian blaze of prudence, full\\nmoon of discretion, and chief of many counsellors How infinitely\\n33 thy puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round headed\\nslave indebted to thy super-eminent goodness, that from the lumi-\\nnous path of thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly\\ndown on an erring wretch, of whom the zig zag wanderings defy all\\nthe powers of calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up\\nto the hidden mysteries of fluxions May one feeble ray of that\\nlight of wisdom which darts from thy sensorium, straight as the\\narrow of heaven, and bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be\\nmy portion, so that I may be less unworthy of the face and favour\\nof that father of proverbs and master of maxims, that antipode of\\nfolly, and magnet among the sages, the wise and witty Willie Nicol\\nAmen Amen Yea, so be it\\nFor me I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing From the\\ncave of my ignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential\\nfumes of my political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad\\nthrough the iron barred lucerne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the\\ncloudless glory of a summer s sun Sorely sighing in bitterness of\\nsoul, I say, when shall my name be the quotation of the wise, and\\nmy countenance be the delight of the godly, like the illustrious\\nlord of Laggan s many hills]* As for him, his works are perfect\\nnever did the pen of calumny blur the fair page of his reputation,\\nnor the bolt of hatred fly at his dwelling.\\nThou mirror of purity, when shall the elphine lamp of my glim-\\nrnerous understanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross de-\\nsires, shine like the constellation of thy intellectual powers. As\\nfor thee, thy thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did\\nthe unhallowed breath of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures\\nof darkness, pollute the sacred flame of the sky- descended and\\nheaven- bound desires; never did the vapours of impurity stain the\\nunclouded serene of thy cerulean imagination. that like thine\\nwere the tenor of my life, like thine the tenor of my conversation\\nthen should no friend fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my\\nweakness Then should I lie down and rise up, and none to make\\nme afraid. May thy pity and thy prayer be exercised for, thou\\nlamp of wisdom and mirror of morality thy devoted slave.\\nt T; is strain of irony was excited by a letter of Mr. Nicol s containing good\\nadvice.\\nNo. CXXXI.\\nTO MR, CUNNINGHAM.\\nZd March, 1792.\\nSince I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had time\\nto write you farther. When I say that I had not time, that, as\\nMr. Nichol.", "height": "4508", "width": "2600", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 253\\nusual, means, that the three demons, indolence, business, and ennui,\\nhave so completely shared my hours among them, as notjto leave\\nme a five minutes fragment to take up a pen in.\\nThank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the re-\\nnovating year. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson s\\nsongs. I dare say he thinks I have used him unkindly, and 1 must\\nown with too much appearance of truth. Apropos, do you know\\nthe much admired old Highland air called The Sutors Dockter 1 It\\ni3 a first-rate favourite of mine, and I have written what I reckon\\none of my best songs to it. I will send it to you as it was sung\\nwith great applause in some fashionable circles by Major Robert-\\nson, of Lade, who wa3 here with his corps.\\nThere is one coinmisson that I must trouble you with. I lately\\nlost a valuable seal, a present from a departed friend, which vexes\\nme much. I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I\\nfancy would make a very decent one and I want to cut my armo-\\nrial bearing on it wiil you be so obliging as inquire what will be\\nthe expense of such a business] 1 do not know that my name is\\nmatriculated, as the heralds call it, at all but I have invented\\narms for myself, so you know I shall be chief of the name and\\nby courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled to supporters.\\nThese, however, 1 do not intend having en my seal. I am a bit of\\na herald and shall give you, secundum artem, my arms. On a\\nfield, azure, a holly bush, seeded, proper, in base a shepherd s\\npipe and crook, saltier- wise, also proper, in chief. On a wreath of\\nthe colours, a wood-lark perching on a sprig of bay- tree, proper\\nfor crest, two mottoes, round the top of the crest, Wood notes wild.\\nAt the bottom of the shield, in the usual place, Better a wee lush\\nthan nae Held. By the shepherd s pipe and crook I do not mean\\nthe nonsense of painters of Arcada but a Slock and Horn, and a\\nCulb, such as you see at the head ol Allan Ramsay, in Allan s\\nquarto edition of the Gentle Shepherd. By the bye, do you know\\nAllan He must be a man of very great genius. Why is he not\\nmore known? Has he no patrons? or do Poverty s cold wind\\nand crushing rain beat keen and heavy on him I once, and but\\nonce, got a glance of that noble edition of the noblest pastoral in\\nthe world, and dear as it was, I mean dear as to my pocket, I would\\nhave bought it but I was told that it was printed and engraved\\nfor subscribers only. He is the only artist who has hit genuine\\npastoral costume. What, my dear Cunningham, is there in riches,\\nthat they narrow and harden the heart so? I think were I as rich\\nas the sun, I should be as generous as the day; but as I have no\\nreason to imagine my soul a nobler one than any other man s, I\\nmust conclude that wealth imparts a birdlime quality to the\\npossessor, at which the man, in his native poverty, would have\\nrevolted. What has led me to this, is the idea of such merit as\\nMr. Allan possesses, and such riches as a nabob or governor- con-\\ntractor possesses, and why they do not form a mutual league. Let\\nwealth shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the gratitude\\nand celebrity of that merit will richly repay it.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "254 BURNS* WORKS,\\nNo. CXXXII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nAnnan Water Foot, 22nd August, 1792.\\nDo not blame me for it, madame my own conscience, hackneyed\\nand weather-beaten as it is, in watching and reproving my vagaries,\\nfollies, indolence, c. has continued to blame and punish me suf-\\nficiently.\\nDo you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I\\ncould be so lost to gratitude for many favours to esteem for much\\nworth, and to the honest, kind, pleasurable tie of, now, old acquaint-\\nance, and I hope and am sure of progressive increasing friendship\\nas, for a single day, not to think of you to ask the Fates what they\\nare doing and about to do with my much beloved friend and her\\nwide-scattered connexions, and to beg of them to be as kind to you\\nand yours as they posssibly can.\\nApropos (though how it is apropos, I have not leisure to explain,)\\ndo you know that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of\\nyours Almost said I I am in love, souse over head and ears,\\ndeep as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean but\\nthe word, Love, owing to the interminglecloms of the good and the\\nbad, the pure and the impure, in this world, being rather an\\nequivocal term for expressing one s sentiments and sensations, I\\nmust do justice to the sacred purity of my attachment. Know then,\\nthat the heart-struck awe the distant humble approach the de-\\nlight we should have in gazing upon and listening to a Messenger of\\nHeaven, appearing in all the unspotted purity of his celestial home,\\namong the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver to\\nthem tidings that make their hearts swim in joy, and their imagi-\\nnations soar in transport such, so delighting, and so pure, were the\\nemotions of my soul on meeting the other day with Miss L B\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nyour neighbour at M Mr. B. with his two daughters, accom-\\npanied by Mr. H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few days ago,\\non their way to England, did me the honour of calling on me on\\nwhich I took my horse (though God knows I could ill spare the\\ntime,) and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined\\nand spent the day with them. Twas about nine, I think, when I\\nleft them and riding home, I composed the following ballad, of\\nwhich you will probably think that you have a dear bargain, as it\\nwill cost you another groat of postage. You must know that there\\nis an old ballad beginning with\\nMy bonnie Lizzie Baillie\\nI ll row thee in my pladie,\\nSo I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy, un-\\nanointed unannealed, as Halet says.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 See the poem.\\nSo much for ballads. I regret that you are gone to the east coun-\\ntry, as I am to be in Ayrshire in about a fortnight. This world of\\nours, notwithstanding it has many good things in it, yet it has ever\\nhad this curse, that two or three people who would be the happier\\nthe oftener they met together, are almost without exception, always\\nso placed as never to meet but once or twice a-year, which, con-\\nsidering the few years of a man s life, is a very great evil under\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2m/ wbioh i do not iccollcefc that Solomon has mentioned", "height": "4508", "width": "2644", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "LETTERS, 255\\nhis catalogue of the miseries of man. I hope and believe that there\\nis a state of existence beyond the grave, where the worthy of this\\nlife will renew their former intimacies, with this endearing addition,\\nthat we meet to part no more.\\n1 Tell us, ye dead,\\nWill none of you in pity disclose the secret\\nWhat tis you are, and we must shortly he\\nA thousand times have I made this apostrophe to the departed sons\\nof men, but not one of them has ever thought fit to answer the\\nquestion. that some courteous ghost would blab it out but\\nit cannot be you and I, my friend, may make the experiment by\\nourselves and for ourselves. However, I am so convinced that an\\nunshaken faith in the doctrines of religion is not only neccessary, by\\nmaking us happier men, that I shall take every care that your little\\ngod-son, and every little creature that shall call me father, shall be\\ntaught them.\\nSo ends this heterogeneous letter, written at this wild place of\\nthe world, in the intervals of my labour of discharging a vessel of\\nrum from Antigua,\\nNo. CXXXIII.\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nDumfries, 10th September, 1792.\\nNo I will not attempt an apology. Amid all my hurry of busi-\\nness, grinding the face of the publican and the sinner on the\\nmerciless wheels of the excise making ballads, and then drinking,\\nand singing them; and, over and above all, the correcting the\\npress work of two different publications still, still I might have\\nstolen five minutes to dedicate to one of the first of my friends and\\nfellow- creatures. I might have done, as I do at present, snatched\\nan hour near witching time of night and scrawled a page or\\ntwo. I might have congratulated my friend on his marriage or I\\nmight have thanked the Caledonian archers for the honour they\\nhave done (though to do myself justice, I intended to have done\\nboth in rhyme, else I had done both long ere now.) Well, then, here is\\nto your good health for you must know, I have set a nipperkin of\\ntoddy by me, just by way of spell, to keep away the meikle horned\\nDeil, or any of his subaltern imps who may be on their nightly\\nrounds.\\nBut what shall I write to you The voice said cry, and I said\\nwhat shall I cry 0, thou spirit whatever thou art, or when-\\never thou makest thyself visible be thou a bogle by the eerie\\nside of an auld thorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd\\ncallan maun bicker in his gloamin route frae the faulde Be thou\\na brownie, set, at dead of night, to thy task by the blazing ingle,\\nor in the solitary barn where the repercussions of thy iron flail\\nhalf affright thyself, a3 thou performest the work of twenty of the\\nsons of men, ere the cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog\\nof substantial brose Be thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or ferry,\\nin the starless night, mixing thy laughing yell with the howling of\\nthe storm, and the roaring of the flood, as thou viewest the perils\\nand miseries of man on the foundering horse* or in the fumbling", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "25b BURNS WORKS.\\nboat Or, lastly, be thou a ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to\\nthe hoary ruins of decayed grandeur or performing thy mystic\\nrites in the shadow of thy time-worn church, while the moon looks,\\nwithout a cloud, on the silent, ghastly dwellings of the dead around\\nthee or taking thy stand by the bedside of the villain, or the\\nmurderer, pourtraying on his dreaming fancy, pictures, dreadful as\\nthe horrors of unveiled hell, and terrible as the wrath of incensed\\nDiety Come, thou spirit, but not in those horrid forms; come\\nwith the. milder, gentle, easy inspirations, which thou breathest\\nround the wig of a prating advocate, or the tete of a tea-sipping\\ngossip, while their tongues run at the light horse gallop of clishma-\\nclaver for ever and ever\u00e2\u0080\u0094 come and assist a poor devil who is quite\\njaded in the attempt to share half an idea among half a hundred\\nwords to fill up four quarto pages, while he has not got one single\\nsentence of recollection, information, or remark worth putting pen\\nto paper for.\\nI feel, I feel the presence of supernatural assistance circled in\\nthe embrace of my elbow chair, my breast labours, like the bloated\\nSybil on her three-footed stool, and like her too, labours with Is on-\\nsense. Nonsense, auspicious name Tutor, friend, and finger-post\\nin the mystic mazes of law the cadaverous paths of physic and\\nparticularly in the sightless soarings of school divinity, who leav-\\ning Common Sense confounded at his strength of pinion, Reason\\ndelirious with eying his giddy flight, and Truth creeping back into\\nthe bottom of her well, cursing the hour that ever she offered her\\nscorned alliance to the wizard power of Theologic Vision raves\\nabroad on all the winds. i( On earth Discord a gloomy Heaven\\nabove, opening her jealous gates to the nineteen thousandth part\\nof the tithe of mankind and below, an inescapable and inexorable\\nhell, expanding its leviathan j a ^vs for the vast residue of mortals\\ndoctrine comfortable and healing to the weary, wounded soul\\nof a man Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye paitvres miser-\\nable, to whom day brings no pleasure, and night yieids no rest, be\\ncomforted Tis but one to nineteen hundred thousand that your\\nsituation will mend in this world so, alas the experience of the\\npoor and the needy too often affirms and tis nineteen hundred\\nthousand to one, by the dogmas of that you will be damned\\nin the world to come\\nBut of all Nonsense, Religious Nonsense is the most nonsensical\\nso enough, and more than enough of it. Only, by the bye, will\\nyon, or can you tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a sectarian\\nturn of mind has always a tendency to narrow and il liberalize the\\nheart 1 They are orderly; they may be just; nay, I have known\\nthem merciful but. still your children of sanctity move among\\ntheir fellow- creatures with a nostril snuffing putrescence, and a\\nfoot-spurning tilth, in short, with a conceited dignity that your\\ntitled or any other of\\nyour Scottish lordlings of seven centuries standing, display, when\\nthey accidentally mix among the many aproned sons of mechanical\\nlife. 1 remember, in my plough boy days, I could not conceive it\\npossible that, a noble lord could be a fool, or a godly man could be\\na knave. How ignorant are plough-boys Nay, 1 have since dis-\\ncovered that a godly woman may be a But- hold Here s t ye", "height": "4508", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 257\\nagain\u00e2\u0080\u0094 this rum is generous Antigua, so a very unfit menstruum\\nfor scandal.\\nApropos how do you like, I mean really like the married life 1\\nAh, my friend matrimony is quite a different thing from what\\nyour love sick youths and sighing girls take it to be But mar-\\nriage, we are told, is appointed by God, and I shall never quarrel\\nwith any of his institution. I am a husband of older standing\\nthan you, and shall give you my ideas of the conjugal state (en\\npassant, you know I am no Latinist, is not conjugal derived from\\njugum, a yoke)] Well, then, the scale of good-wifeship I divide into\\nten parts. Goodnature, four; Good Sense, two; Wit, one; Per-\\nsonal charms, viz., a sweet face, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, graceful\\ncarriage, (I would add a fine waist, too, but that is so soon spoilt,\\nyou know), all these, one as for the other qualities belonging to,\\nor attending on, a wife, such as Fortune, Connexions, Education,\\n(I mean Education extraordinary,) Family Blood, c, divide the\\ntwo remaining degrees among them as you please only, remember\\nthat all these minor properties must be expressed by fractions, for\\nthere is not any one of them, in the aforesaid scale, entitled to the\\ndignity of an integer.\\nAs for the rest of my fancies and reveries how I lately met with\\nMiss L B the most beautiful, elegant woman in the\\nworld how I accompanied her and her father s family fifteen miles\\non their journey, out of pure devotion, to admire the loveliness of\\nthe works of God, in such an unequalled display of them how, in\\ngalloping home at night, I made a ballad on her, of which these\\ntwo stanzas make a part\\nThou, bonnie L art a queen,\\nThy subjects we before thee\\nThou, bonnie L ,art divine,\\nTi e hearts o men adore thee.\\nThe very Dei! he could na scaith\\nWhatever wad belang thee!\\nHe d look into thy bonnie face\\nAnd say, I canna wrang thee.*\\nbehold all these things are written in the chronicles of my ima-\\ngination, and shall be read by thee, my dear friend, and by thy be-\\nloved spouse, my other dear friend, at a more convenient season.\\nNow, to thee, and to thy before-designed fros(???i-companion, be\\ngiven the precious things brought forth by the sun, and the precious\\nthings brought forth by the moon, and the benignest influence of the\\nstars, and the living streams which flow from the fountains of life,\\nand by the tree of life, for ever and ever Amen\\nNo. CXXXIV.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.^\\nDumfries, 2ith Se2)tembcr 1792.\\nI have this moment, my dear madam, yours of the twenty-\\nthird. All your other kind reproaches, your news, c. are out\\nof my head when I read and think on Mrs H s situation.\\nGood God a heart- wounded helpless young woman in a strange,\\nforeign land and that land convulsed with every horror, that can\\nharrow the human feelings\u00e2\u0080\u0094sick\u00e2\u0080\u0094 looking, longing for a comforter", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "258 BURNS* WORKS.\\nbut finding none a mother s feelings, too but it is too much he\\nwho wounded (he only can) may He heal I*\\nI wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to his family.\\nI cannot say that I give him joy of his\\nlife as a farmer. Tis, as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable\\nrent, a cursed life As to a laird farming his own property sowing\\nhis own corn in hope; and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather,\\nin gladness knowing that none can say unto him, what dost\\nthou? 1 fattening his herds; shearing his flocks; rejoicing at\\nChristmas and begetting sons and daughters, until he be the\\nvenerated, grey-haired leader of a little tribe tis a heavenly life\\nbut Devil take the life of reaping the fruits that another must eat.\\nWell, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to seeing me when I\\nmake my Ayrshire visit. I cannot leave Mrs B until her nine\\nmonths race is run, which may perhaps be in three or four weeks.\\nShe, too, seems determined to make me the patriachal leader of a\\nband. However, if Heaven will be so obliging as let me have them\\non the proportion of three boys to one girl, I shall be so much the\\nmore pleased. I hope, if I am spared with them, to show a set of\\nboys that will do honour to my cares and name; but I am not equal\\nto the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am poor a girl should always\\nhave a fortune. Apropos, your little god-son is thriving charmingly,\\nbut is a very devil. He, though two years younger, has completely\\nmastered his brother. Robert is indeed the mildest, gentlest\\ncreature I never saw. He has a most surprising memory, and is\\nquite the pride of his school-master.\\nYou know how readily we get into prattle upon a subject dear to\\nour heart you can excuse it. God bless you and yours\\nNo. CXXXY.\\nTO MRS DITNLOP.\\nSUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MRS. H HER\\nDAUGHTER.\\nI had been from home, and did not receive your letter until my\\nreturn the other day. What shall I say to comfort you, my much-\\nvalued, much-afilicted friend I can but grieve with you; consola-\\ntion I have none to offer except that which religion holds out to the\\nchildren of affliction children of affliction! how just the expres-\\nsion and like every other family, they have matters among them\\nwhich they hear, see, and feel in a serious, all- important manner,\\nof which the world has not, nor cares to have, any idea .The world\\nlooks indifferently on, makes the passing remark, and proceeds to\\nthe next novel occurrence.\\nAlas, madam who would wish for many years What is it but\\nto drag on existence until our joys gradually expire and leave us in\\na night of misery like the gloom which blots out the stars one by\\none, from the face of night, and leaves us, without a ray of comfort\\nin the howling waste\\nThis much-lamented lady was gone to the south of France with her infaiut\\nson, where she died soon after.", "height": "4508", "width": "2640", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 25$\\nI am interrupted, and must leave off. You shall soon hear from\\nme again.\\nNo. CXXXYI.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nDumfries, Gth December, 1792.\\nI shall be in Ayrshire, I think, next week and, if at all possible,\\nI shall certainly, my much esteemed friend, have the pleasure of\\nvisiting at Dunlop- house.\\nAlas, madam how seldom do we meet in this world, that we\\nhave reason to congratulate ourselves on accessions of happiness\\nI have not passed half the ordinary term of an old man s life, and\\nyet I scarcely look over the obituary of a newspaper, that I do not\\nsee some names that I have known, and which I, and other ac-\\nquaintances, little thought to meet with there so soon. Every other\\ninstance of the mortality of our kind, makes us cast an anxiou3\\nlook into the dreadful abyss of uncertainty, and shudder with ap-\\nprehensions for our own fate. But of how different an importance\\nare the lives of different individuals 1 JS r ay, of what importance is\\none period of the same life, more than another 1 A few years ago,\\nI could have lain down in the dust, careless of the voice of the\\nmorning and now not a few, and these most helpless individuals,\\nwould, on losing me and my exertions, lose both my staff and\\nshield. By the way, these helpless ones have lately got an addi-\\ntion, Mrs. B. having given me a line girl since I wrote you. There\\nis a charming passage in Thomson s Edward and Eleanora,\\nThe valiant, in himself, what can he suffer\\nOr what need he regard his single woes c.\\nAs I am got in the way of quotations, I shall give you another\\nfrom the same piece, peculiarly, alas too peculiarly apposite, my\\ndear madam, to your present frame of mind\\nWho so unworthy but may proudly deck him,\\nWith his fair weather virtue, that exults\\nGlad o er the summer main 1 the tempest comes,\\nThe rough winds rage aloud; when from the helm\\nThis virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies,\\nLamenting Heavens if privileged from trial,\\nHow cheap a thing vt ere virtue 1\\nI do not remember to have heard you mention Thomson s\\ndramas. I pick up favourite quotations, and store them in my\\nmind as ready armour, offensive, or defensive, amid the struggle of\\nthis turbulent existence. Of these is one, a very favourite one,\\nfrom his Alfred,\\nAttach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds\\nAnd offices of life to life itself,\\nWith all its vain and transient joys, sit loose. 1\\nProbably they have quoted some of these to you formerly, as in\\ndeed when I write from the heart, 1 am apt to be guilty of such re\\npetitions. The compass of the heart, in the musical style of expres\\nsion, is much more bounded than that of the imagination so the\\nnotes of the former are extremely apt to run into one another but\\nin return for the paucity of its compass, its few notes are mucji\\nmore sweet. I must still give you another quotation, which I am", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "260 BURNS WORKS.\\nalmost sure I have given you before, but I cannot resist the temp-\\ntation. The subject is religion speaking of its importance to\\nmankind, the author says,\\nlis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright, c.\\nI see you are in for double postage, so I shall e en scribble out\\nt other sheet. We in this country here have many alarms of the\\nreforming, or rather the republican spirit of your part of the king-\\ndom. Indeed we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me,\\nI am a placeman, you know a very humble one indeed, Heaven\\nknows, but still so much so as to gag me. What my private scnti\\ninents are, you will find out without an interpreter.\\nI have taken up the subject in another view; and the other day,\\nfor a pretty actress s benefit- night, I wrote an address, which I will\\ngive you on the other page, called The Rights of Woman.\\nTHE RIGHTS OF WOMAN.\\nAn Occasional Address spoken by Miss Foktenelle on her benefit\\nnight.\\nWhile Europe s eye is fix d on mighty things,\\nThe fate of empires and the fall of kings,\\nWhile Quacks of state must each produce his plan,\\nAnd even children lisp the Righ s .f Man\\nAmid this mighty fuss just let me mention,\\nThe Rights of Woman merit some attention.\\nFirst, in the sexes intermix d connexion,\\nOne sacred Right of Woman is protection.\\nThe tender flower that lifts its head, elate,\\nHelpless, must fall before the blast of fate,\\nSunk to the earth, defaced its lovely form,\\nUnless your shelter ward th impending storm.\\nOur second Right s but needless here is caution,\\nTo keep that right inviolate s the fashion,\\nEach man of sense has it so full before him,\\nHe d die before he d wrong it tis decorum.\\nThere was, indeed, in far less polish d days,\\nA time, when rough rude men had naughty ways\\nWould swagger, wear, get drunk, kick, up a riot,\\nNay, even thus invade a lady s quiet.\\nNow, thank our stars these Gothic times are fled\\nNow, well-bred men\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and you are all well-bred\\nM( -st jus ly think (a; d we are much the gainers)\\nSuch conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners.\\nFor Right the third, our last, our best, our Nearest,\\nThat right to fluttering female hearts the nearest,\\nWhich even the Rights of Kings in low prostration\\nMost humbly own tis dear, dear admiration\\nIn that blest sphere alone wre live and move;\\nThere (aste that life of life immortal love\\nSmiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs,\\nGainst such an ho t what flinty savage dares\\nWhen awful Beauty joins with all her charms\\nWho is so rash as rise in rebel arms\\nT ut truce with kings, and true- with constitutions,\\nWith bloody armaments and revolutions,\\nLet majes y your first attcn ion summon.\\nAh! ca ira xnE Majesty of WoMiu\\nI shall have the honour of receiving your criticisms in perbon at\\nDunlop.", "height": "4508", "width": "2640", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 261\\nNo. CXXXYI.\\nTO MISS B OF YORK.\\nmu am, 21 st March, 1793.\\nAmong many things for which I envy those hale, long-lived old fel-\\nlows before the flood, is this in particular, that when they met with\\nany body after their own heart, they had a charming long prospect\\nof many, many happy meetings with them in after-life.\\nNow, in this short, stormy winter day of our fleeting existence,\\nwhen you now and then, in the Chapter of Accidents, meet an in-\\ndividual whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, there are all the\\nprobabilities against you, that yon shall never meet with that\\nvalued character more. On the other hand, brief as the miserable\\nbeing is, it is none of the least of the miseries belonging to it, that\\nif there is any miscreant whom you hate, or creature whom you\\ndespise, the ill run of the chances shall be ?o against you, that in\\nthe overtakings, turnings, and jostlings of life, pop, at some unlucky\\ncorner, eternally comes the wretch upon you, and will not allow\\nyour indignation or contempt a moment s repose. As I am a sturdy\\nbeliever in the powers of darkness, I take those to be the doings of\\nthat old author of mischief, the devil. It is well known that he\\nhas some kind of short-hand way of taking down our thoughts, and\\nI make no doubt that he is perfectly acquainted with my sentiments\\nrespecting Miss B how T much I admired her abilities and\\nvalued her worth, and how very fortunate I thought myself in her\\nacquaintance. For this last reason, my dear madam, I must enter-\\ntain no hopes of the very great pleasure of meeting with you again.\\nMiss H tells me that she is sending a packet to you, and 1\\nbeg leave to send you the inclosed sonnet, though to tell you the\\nreal truth, the sonnet is a mere pretence, that I may have the op-\\nportunity of declaring with how much respectful esteem I have the\\nhonour to be, c.\\nNo. CXXXYIII.\\nTO MISS C\\nmadam, August, 1793.\\nSome rather unlooked-for accidents have prevented me doing my-\\nself the honour of a second visit to Arbiegland, as I was so hospi-\\ntably invited, and so positively meant to have done. However, I still\\nhope to have that pleasure before the busy months of harvest\\nbegin.\\n1 inclose you two of my late pieces, as some kind return for the\\npleasure I have received in perusing a certain MS. volume of poems\\nin the possession of Captain Riddel. To repay one with an old song,\\nis a proverb, whose force you, madam, I know will not allow.\\nWhat is said of illustrious descent is, I believe, equally true of a\\ntalent for poetry none ever despised it who had pretensions to it.\\nThe fates and characters of the rhyming tribe often employ my\\nthoughts when I am disposed to be melancholy. There is not,\\namong all the martyrologies that ever were penned, so rueful a nar-\\nrative as the lives of the poets. In the comparative view of wretches,\\nthe criterion is not what they are doomed to suffer, but how", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "2G2 BURKS* WORKS.\\nthey are formed to bear. Take a being of our kind, give him a\\nstronger imagination and a more delicate sensibility, which between.\\nthem will ever engender a more ungovernable set of passions than,\\nare the usual lot of man; implant in him an irresistible impulse to\\nsome idle vagary, such as, arranging wild flowers in fantastical\\nnosegays, tracing the grasshopper to his haunt by his chirping song,\\nwatching the frisks of the little minnows in the sunny pool, or\\nhunting after the intrigues of butterflies in short, send him adrift\\nafter some pursuit which shall eternally mislead him from the path\\nof lucre, and yet curse him with a keener relish than any man liv-\\ning, for the pleasures that lucre can purchase lastly, till up the\\nmeasure of his woes by bestowing on him a spurning sense of his\\nown dignity, and you have created a wight nearly as miserable as a\\npoet. To you, madam, I need not recount the fairy pleasures the\\nmuse bestows to counterbalance this catalogue of evils. Bewitch-\\ning poetry is like bewitching woman she has in all ages been ac-\\ncused of misleading mankind from the counsels of wisdom and the\\npaths of prudence, involving them in difficulties, baiting them with\\npoverty, branding them with infamy, and plunging them in the\\nwhirling vortex of ruin yet where is the man but must own that\\nall happiness on earth is not worthy the name -that even the holy\\nhermit s solitary prospect of paradisaical bliss is but the glitter of a\\nnorthern sun, rising over a frozen region, compared with the many\\npleasures, the nameless raptures that wo owe to the lovely Queen\\nof the heart of Man\\nNo. CXXXIX.\\nTO JOHN M MUKDO, ESQ.\\nsir, December, 1703.\\nIt is said that we take the greatest liberties with our greatest\\nfriends, and I pay myself a very high compliment in the manner in\\nwhich I am going to apply the remark. I have owed you money\\nlonger than ever I owed it to any man. Here is Ker s account, and\\nhere are six guineas and now, I don t owe a shilling to man\u00e2\u0080\u0094 or\\nwoman either. But for these damned dirty, dog s ear d like pages,*\\nI had done myself the honour to have waited on you long ago. In-\\ndependent of the obligations your hospitality has laid me under, the\\nconsciousness of your superiority in the rank of man and gentleman,\\nof itrelf was fully as much a3 I could ever make head against but\\nto owe you money too, was more than I could face.\\nI think I once mentioned something of a collection of Scotch\\nsongs I have for some years been making I send you a perusal of\\nwhat I have got together. I could not conveniently spare them\\nabove five or six days, and five or six glances of them will probably\\nmore than suffice you. A very few of them are my own. When\\nyou are tired of them, please leave them with Mr. Clint, of the\\nKing s Arms. There is not another copy of the collection in the\\nworld and I shall be sorry that any unfortunate negligence should\\ndeprive me of what has cost me a good deal of pains.\\nScottish bank-notes.", "height": "4508", "width": "2828", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 263\\nNo. CXL.\\nTO MRS. R\\nWHO WAS TO BESPEAK A PLAY ONE EVENING AT THE DUMFRIES\\nTHEATRE.\\nI am thinking to send my Address to some periodical publication,\\nbut it has not got your sanction, so pray look over it.\\nAs to the Tuesday s play, let me beg of you, my dear madam,\\nlet me beg of you to give us, The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret\\nto which please add, The Spoiled Child you will highly oblige\\nme by so doing.\\nAh, what an enviable creature you are There now, this cursed\\ngloomy blue-devil day, you are going to a party of choice spirits\\nTo play the shapes\\nOf frolic fancy, and incesant form\\nThose rapid pictures, that assembled train\\nOf fleet ideas, never join d before,\\nWhere lively wit excites to gay surprise\\nOr folly, painting humour, grave himself,\\nCalls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve.\\nBut as you rejoice with them that do rejoice, do also remember\\nto weep with them that weep, and pity your melancholy friend.\\nNo. CXLI.\\nTO A LADY.\\nIN FAVOUR OF A PLAIEtt S BENEFIT.\\nMADAM,\\nYou were so very good as to promise to honour my friend with your\\npresence on his benefit night. That night is fixed for Friday first\\nthe play a most instructing one The way to keep Him. 1 have the plea-\\nsure to know Mr. G. well. His merit as an actor is generally ac-\\nknowledged. He has a genius and worth which would do honour to\\npatronage he is a poor and modest man claims which, from their\\nvery silence, have the more forcible power on the generous heart.\\nAlas for pity that, from the indolence of those who have the\\ngood things of this life in gift, too often does brazen-fronted impor-\\ntunity snatch that boon, the rightful due of retiring, humble want\\nOf all the qualities we assign to the author and director of Nature,\\nby far the mo3t enviable is\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to be able To wipe away all tears\\nfrom all eyes. what insignificant, sordid wretches are they,\\nhowever chance may have loaded them with wealth, who go to their\\ngraves, to their magnificent mausoleums, with hardly the conscious-\\nness of having made one poor honest heart happy\\nBut I crave your pardon, madam I came to beg, not to preach.\\nNo. CXL1I.\\nEXTRACT OF A LETTER.\\nTO MR.\\n1794.\\nI am extremely obliged to you for your kind mention of my inter-\\nests, in a letter which Mr. S showed me. At present, my\\nsituation in life must be in a great measure stationary, at least for\\ntwo or three years. The statement is this\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I am on the supervisor*", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "264 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nlist and as we come on there by precedency, in two or three years\\nI stall be at the head of that list, and be appointed of course then\\na Friend might be of service to me in getting me into a place of\\nthe kingdom which I like. A supervisor s income varies from about\\none hundred and twenty to two hundred ay ear; but the business\\nis an incessant drudgery, and would be nearly a complete bar to every\\nspecies of literary pursuit. The moment I am appointed supervi-\\nsor in the common routine, I may be nominated on the collector s\\nlist and this is always a business purely of political patronage. A\\ncollectorship varies much, from better than two hundred a year to\\nnear a thousand. They also come forward by precedency on the\\nlist, and have, besides a handsome income, a life of complete lei-\\nsure. A life of literary leisure, with a decent competence, is the\\nsummit of my wishes. It would be the prudish affectation of silly\\npride in me, to say that I do not need or would not be indebted to\\na political friend at the same time, sir, I by no means lay my af-\\nfairs before you thus, too hook my dependent situation on your be-\\nnevolence. If, in my progress of life, an opening should occur where\\nthe good offices of a gentleman of your public character and poli-\\ntical consequence might bring me forward, I will petition your\\ngoodness with the same frankness and sincerity as 1 now do myself\\nthe honour to subscribe myself, c.\\n]S T o. CXL1I1.\\nTO MRS.\\nDEAR MADAM,\\nI mkaxt to have called on you yesternight, but as I edged up to your\\nbox-door, the first object which greeted my view, was one of those\\nlobster-coated puppies, sitting like another dragon guarding th\\nHesperian fruit. On the conditions and capitulations you so\\nobligingly offer, I shall certainly make my weather-beaten rustic\\nphiz a part of your box-furniture on Tuesday, when we may ar-\\nrange the business of the visit.\\ncv\\n.1.\\ne\\nAmong the profusion of idle compliments which insidious craft,\\nor unmeaning folly incessantly offers at your shrine a shrine, how\\nfar exalted above such adoration permit me, were it but for rarity s\\nsake, to pay you the honest tribute of my heart, and an independ-\\nent mind and to assure, you, that I am, thou most amiable, and\\nmost accomplished of thy sex, with the most respectful esteem, and\\nregard, thine, kc.\\nNo. CXLIY.\\nTO THE SAME\\nI will wait on you, my ever- valued friend, but whether in the\\nmorning I am not sure. Sunday closes a period of our curst re-\\nvenue business, and may probably keep me employed with my pen\\nuntil noon. Fine employment for a poet s pen There is a specie\\nof the human genus that I call the gin-horse class what enviable\\ndogs they are. Round, and round, and round they go, Mundell s\\nox that drives his cotton mill, is their exact prototype \u00e2\u0080\u0094without an", "height": "4508", "width": "2840", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 265\\nidea beyond their circle fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and con-\\ntented while here I sit, altogether Novemberish, a d\u00e2\u0080\u0094 melange\\nof fretfulness aud melancholy not enough of the one to rouse me\\nto passion, nor of the other to repose me in torpor my soul flounc-\\ning and fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, caught\\namid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust into a cage. Well, I am\\npersuaded that it was of me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he\\nforetold And behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart,\\nit shall not prosper If my resentment is awakened, it is sure to\\nbe where it dare not squeak and if\\nPray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent visitors of\\nR. B.\\nNo. CXLY.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nI have this moment got the song from S and I am sorry to see\\nthat he has spoilt it a good deal. It shall be a lesson to me how I\\nlend him any thing again.\\nI have sent you Werter, truly happy to have any the smallest\\nopportunity of obliging you.\\nTistrue, madam, I saw you once since I was at W and that once\\nfroze the very life-blood of my heart. Your reception of me was\\nsuch, that a wretch meeting the eye of his judge, about to pro-\\nnounce sentence of death on him, could only have envied my feel-\\nings and situation. But I hate the theme, and never more shall\\nwrite or speak on it.\\nOne thing I shall proudly say, that I can pay Mrs. a higher\\ntribute of esteem, and appreciate her amiable worth more truly,\\nthan any man whom I have seen approach her.\\nNo. CXLYI.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nI have often told you, my dear friend, that you had a spice of\\ncaprice in your composition, and you have as often disavowed it,\\neven perhaps while your opinions were, at the moment, irrefragably\\nproving it. Could any thing estrange me from a friend such as\\nyou No To-morrow I shall have the honour of waiting upon\\nyou.\\nFarewell, thou first of friends, and most accomplished of women;\\neven with all thy little caprices\\nNo. CXLYII.\\nTO THE SAME.\\n1IADAM,\\nI return your common-place book. I have perused it with much\\npleasure, and would have continued my criticisms, but as it seems\\nthe critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures must lose their\\nvalue,\\nM", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "266\\nBURNS WORKS.\\nIf it i3 true that offences come only from the heart, before\\nyou I am guiltless.. To admire, esteem, and prize you, as the most\\naccomplished of women, and the first of friends if these are crimes,\\nI am the most offending thing alive.\\nIn a face where I used to meet the kind complacency of friendly\\nconfidence, now to find cold neglect, and contemptuous scorn is a\\nwrench that my heart can ill bear. It is, however, some kind of\\nmiserable good luck that while de-haut en-las rigour may depress\\nan unoffending wretch to the ground, it has a tendency to rouse a\\nstubborn something in his bosom, which though it cannot heal the\\nwounds of his soul, is at least an opiate to blunt their poignancy.\\nWith the profoundest respect for your abilities the most sin-\\ncere esteem, and ardent regard for your gentle heart and amiable\\nmanners and the most fervent wish and prayer for your welfare,\\npeace, and bliss, I have the honour to be, madam, your most de-\\nvoted humble servant.\\nNo. CXLVIII.\\nTO JOHN SYME, ESQ.\\nYou know that among other high dignities, you have the honour to\\nbe my supreme court of critical judicature, from which there is no\\nappeal. I inclose you a song which I composed since I saw you,\\nand I am going to give you the history of it. Do you know that\\namong much that I admire in the characters and manners of those\\ngreat folks whom I have now the honour to call my acquaintances,\\nthe family, there is nothing charms me more than Mr. O s un-\\nconcealable attachment to that incomparable woman. Did you ever\\nmy dear Syme, meet with a man who owed more to the Divine Giver\\nof all good things than Mr. 0. 1 A fine fortune a pleasing exterior\\nself-evident amiable dispositions, and ingenious upright mind, and\\nthat informed too, much beyond the usual run of young fellows of\\nhis rank and fortune; and to all this, such a woman 1 but of her\\nI shall say nothing at all, in despair of saying any thing adequate\\nin my song, I have endeavoured to do justice to what would be his\\nfeelings on seeing, in the scene I have drawn, the habitation of his\\nLucy. As I am a good deal pleased with my performance, I in my\\nfirst fervour thought of sending it to Mrs. but on second\\nthoughts, perhaps what I offer as the honest incense of genuine res-\\npect, might from the well-known character of poverty and poetry,\\nbe construed into some modification or other of that servility which\\nmy soul abhors.*\\nNo. CXLIX.\\nTO MISS\\nMADAM,\\nNothing short of a kind of absolute necessity could have made me\\ntrouble you with this letter. Except my ardent and just esteem\\nThe song inclosed was the one beginning with\\nO wat ye wha s in yon town.", "height": "4508", "width": "2852", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 267\\nfor your sense, taste, and worth, every sentiment arising in my\\nbreast, as I put pen to paper to you, is painful. The scenes I have\\npast with the friend of my soul, and his amiable connexions The\\nwrench at my heart to think that he is gone, for ever gone from me,\\nnever more to meet in the wanderings of a weary world and the\\ncutting reflection of all, that I had most unfortunately, though most\\nundeservedly, lost the confidence of that soul of worth, ere it took\\nits flight\\nThese, madam, are sensations of no ordinary anguish. However,\\nyou, also, may be offended with some imputed improprieties of\\nmine sensibility you know I possess, and sincerity none will deny\\nme.\\nTo oppose those prejudices which have been raised against me, i3\\nnot the business of this letter. Indeed it is a warfare I know not\\nhow to wage. The powers of positive vice I can in some degree cal-\\nculate, and against direct malevolence I can be on my guard but\\nwho can estimate the fatuity of giddy caprice, or ward off the un-\\nthinking mischief of precipitate folly\\nI have a favour to request of you, madam, and of your sister Mrs.\\nthrough your means. You know, that, at the wish of my late\\nfriend, I made a collection of all my trifles in verse which I had\\never written. They are many of them local, some of them puerile,\\nand silly, and all of them unfit for the public eye. As I have some\\nlittle fame at stake, a fame that I trust may live, when the hate of\\nthose who watch for my halting, and the contumelious sneer of\\nthose whom accident has made my superiors, will, with themselves,\\nbe gone to the regions of oblivion 1 am uneasy now for the fate of\\nthose manuscripts. Will Mrs. have the goodness to destroy\\nthem or return them to me 1 As a pledge of friendship they were\\nbestowed; and that circumstance, indeed, was all their merit. Most\\nunhappily for me, that merit they no longer possess, and I hope that\\nMrs. s goodness, which I well know, and ever will revere, will\\nnot refuse this favour to a man whom she once held in some degree\\nof estimation.\\nWith the sincerest esteem I have the honour to be, madam, c.\\nNo. CL.\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\n25th February, 1794.\\nCanst thou minister to a mind diseased Canst thou speak peace\\nand rest to a soul tossed on a sea of troubles, without one friendly\\nstar to guide her course, and dreading that; the next surge may\\noverwhelm her 1 Canst thou give to a fame, tremblingly alive to\\nthe tortures of suspense, the stability and hardihood of the rock\\nthat braves the blast 1 If thou canst not do the least of these, why\\nwouldst thou disturb me in my miseries, with thy inquiries after me 1\\nFor these two months I have not been able to lift a pen. My con-\\nstitution and frame were, ab origine t blasted with a deep incurable\\ntaint of hypochondria, which poisons my existence. Of late a num-", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "268 burns works.\\nber of domestic vexations, and some pecuniary share in the ruin of\\nthese times losses which, though trifling, were yet what I\\ncould ill bear, have so irritated me, that my feelings at times could\\nonly be envied by a reprobate spirit listening to the sentence that\\ndooms it to perdition.\\nAre you deep in the language of consolation I have exhausted\\nin reflection every topic of comfort. A heart at ease would have\\nbeen charmed with my sentiments and reasonings but as to myself\\nI was like Judas Iscariot preaching the gospel he might melt and\\nmould the hearts of those around him, but his own kept its native\\nincorrigibility.\\nStill there are two great pillars that bear us up, amid the wreck\\nof misfortune and misery. The one is composed of the different mo-\\ndifications of a certain noble, stubborn something in man, known by\\nthe names of courage, fortitude, magnanimity. The other is made\\nup of those feelings and sentiments, which, however, the sceptic\\nmay deny them, or the enthusiast disfigure them, are yet, I am con-\\nvinced, original and component parts of the human soul those senses\\nof the mind, if 1 may be allowed the expression, which connect us\\nwith, and link us to, those awful obscure realities and all-powerful\\nand equally beneficient God and a world to come, beyond death\\nand the grave. The first gives the nerve of combat, while a ray of\\nhope beams on the field the last pours the balm of comfort into\\nthe wounds which time can never cure.\\nI do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that you and I ever\\ntalked on the subject of religion at all. I know some who laugh at\\nit, as the trick of the crafty few, to lead the undiscerning many or\\nat most as an uncertain obscurity, which mankind can never know\\nany thing of, and with which they are fools if they give themselves\\nmuch to do. Nor would I quarrel with a man for his irreligion,\\nany more than I would for his want of a musical ear. I would re-\\ngret that he was shut out from what, to me and to others were such\\nsuperlative sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of view, and\\nfor this reason, that I will deeply imbue the mind of every child of\\nmine with religion. If my son should happen to be a man of feeling,\\nsentiment, and taste, 1 shall thus add largely to his enjoyments.\\nLet me flatter myself that this sweet little fellow who is now run-\\nning about my desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing\\nheart and an imagination, delighted with the painter, and rapt\\nwith the poet. Let me figure him, wandering out in a sweet even-\\ning, to inhale the balmy gales, and enjoying the growing luxuriance\\nof the spring himself the while in the blooming youth of life. He\\nlooks abroad on all nature, and through nature up to nature s God.\\nHis soul, by swift, delighting degrees, is wrapt above this sublunary\\nsphere, until he can be silent no longer, and bursts out into the\\nglorious enthusiasm of Thomson.\\nThese, as they change, Almighty Father, these\\nAre but the varied God\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The rolling year\\nIs full of thee.\\nAnd so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that charming hymn.\\nThese are no ideal pleasures; they are real delights, and I ask what\\nof the delights among the sons of men are superior, not to say, equal", "height": "4508", "width": "2832", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 269\\nto them 1 And they have this precious, vast addition, that conscious\\nvirtue stamps them for her own and lays hold on them to bring\\nherself into the presence of a witnessing, judging, and approving\\nGod.\\nNo. CLI.\\nTo\\nSUPPOSES HIMSELF TO BE WRITING FROM THE DEAD TO THE LIVING.\\nMADAM,\\nI dare say this is the first epistle you ever received from this nether\\nworld. I write you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors of\\nthe damned. The time and manner of my leaving your earth T do\\nnot exactly know as I took my departure in the heat of a fever of\\nintoxication, contracted at your too hospitable mansion but on ray\\narrival here, I was fairly tried and .sentenced to endure the purga-\\ntorial tortures of this infernal confine, for the space of ninety-nine\\nyears, eleven months, and twenty- nine days and all on account of\\nthe impropriety of my conduct yesternight under your roof. Here\\nam I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with my aching head reclining\\non a pillow of ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal tormentor,\\nwrinkled, and old, and cruel, his name, I think, is Recollection, with\\na whip of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to approach me, and keeps\\nanguish eternally awake. Still, madam, if 1 could in any measure\\nbe reinstated in the good opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct\\nlast night so much injured, I think it would be an alleviation to my\\ntorments. For this reason I trouble you with this letter. To the\\nmen of the company I will make no apology. Your husband, who\\ninsisted on my drinking more than 1 chose, has no right to blame\\nme and the other gentlemen were partakers of my guilt. But to\\nyou, madam, I have much to apologize. Your good opinion I valued\\nas one of the greatest acquisitions I had made on earth, and I was\\ntruly a beast to forfeit it. There was a Miss I too, a woman of\\nfine sense, gentle and unassuming manners do make, on my part,\\na miserable d d wretch s best apology to her. A Mrs. G a\\ncharming woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced in my favour;\\nthis makes me hope that I have not outraged her beyond ail forgive-\\nness. To all the other ladies please present my humblest contrition\\nfor my conduct, and my petition for their gracious pardon. all\\nye powers of decency and decorum whisper to them that my errors,\\nthough great, were involuntary that an intoxicated man is the\\nvilest of beasts that it was not in my nature to be brutal to any\\none that to be rude to a woman, when in my senses, was impossi-\\nble with me but\\nRegret Remorse Shame ye three hell-hounds that ever dog\\nmy steps and bay at my heels, spare me spare me\\nForgive the offences, and pity the perdition of, madam, your\\nhumble slave.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "270 BURNS WORKS.\\nNo. CLII.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\nMy \u00c2\u00a9ear fbiend, loth December, 1795.\\nAs I am in a complete Decemberish humour, gloomy, sullen, stupid,\\nas even the deity of Dulness herself could wish, I shall now drawl\\nout a heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies, for my late\\nsilence. Only one I shall mention, because I know you will sym-\\npathize in it these four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest\\nchild, has been so ill, that every day, a week or less threatened to\\nterminate her existence. There had much need be many pleasures\\nannexed to the states of husband and father, for God knows, they\\nhave many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the anxious,\\nsleepless hours these ties frequently give me. I see a train of help-\\nless little folks me and my exertions all their stay and on what\\na brittle thread does the life of man hang 1 If I am nipt off at the\\ncommand of fate even in all the vigour of manhood as I am, such\\nthings happen every day gracious God what would become of my\\nlittle flock Tis here that I envy your people of fortune. A\\nfather on his death-bed, taking an everlasting leave of his children,\\nhas indeed woe enough but the man of competent fortune leaves\\nhis sons and daughters independency and friends while I but I\\nshall run distracted if I think any longer on the subject\\nTo leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing with the\\nold Scots ballad\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nO that I had ne er been married,\\nI would never had na care\\nNow I ve gotten wife and bairns,\\nThey cry, crowdie, evermair,\\nCrowdie ance crowdie twice\\nCrowdie three times in a day\\nAn ye crowdie ony mair,\\nYe ll crowdie a my meal away.\\nDecember 2ith.\\nWe have had a brilliant theatre here, this season only, as all\\nother business has, it experiences a stagnation of trade from the\\nepidemical complaint of the country, want of cash. I mention our\\ntheatre merely to lug in an occasional Address, which I wrote for\\nthe benefit- night of one of the actresses, and which is as follows\\nADDRESS.\\nSpoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit-nighty Dec. i, 1795, at the\\nTheatre, Dumfries.\\n8 till anxious to secure your partial favour,\\nAnd not less anxious, sure, this night than ever,\\nA Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,\\n5 T would vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better\\nSo, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies,\\nTold him, I came to feast my curious eyes\\nSaid, nothing like his works was ever printed\\nAnd last, my prologue-business slily hinted,", "height": "4508", "width": "2816", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 271\\nMa am, let me tell you, quoth my man of rhymes\\n1 know your bent\u00e2\u0080\u0094 these are no laughing times,\\nCan you but Miss, I own I have my fears,\\nDissolve in pause and sentimental tears\\nWith laden sighs, and solemn rounded sentence,\\nRouse from his sluggish clumbers fell Repentance\\nPaint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand\\nWaving on high the desolating brand,\\nCalling the storms to bear him o er a guilty land\\nI could no more\u00e2\u0080\u0094 askance the creature eyeing,\\nD ye think, said I, this face was made for crying\\nI ll laugh, that s poz\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nay, more, the world shall know it\\nAnd so, your servant\u00e2\u0080\u0094 gloomy Master Poet.\\nFirm as my creed, sirs, tis my fixed belief,\\nThat Misery s another word for Grief\\nI also think so may 1 be a bride\\nThat so much laughter, so much life enjoy d\\nThou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh,\\nStill under bleak misfortune s blasting eye\\nDoom d to that sorest task of man alive\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo make three guineas do the work of five\\nLaugh in Misfortune s face\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the beldam witch\\nSay, you ll be merry, though you can t be rich.\\nThou other man of care, the wretch in love,\\nWho long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove\\nMeasur st in desperate thought\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a rope\u00e2\u0080\u0094 thy neck\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOr, where the beetling cliff o erhangs the deep,\\nPeerest to meditate the healing leap\\nWould st thou be cured, thou silly, moping elf,\\nLaugh at her follies\u00e2\u0080\u0094 laugh e en at thysdf\\nLearn to despise those f owns now so terrific,\\nAnd love a kinder that s your grand specific\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo sum up all, be merry, I advise\\nAnd as we re merry, may we still be wise.\\n25th, Christmas Morning.\\nThis, nay mucli-loved friend, is a morning of wishes accept mine\\nso Heaven hear me as they are sincere that blessings may attend\\nyour steps, and affliction know you not In the charming words\\nof my favourite author, The Man of Feeling, May the great spirit\\nbear up the weight of thy gray hairs and blunt the arrow that\\nbrings them rest\\nNow that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper 1 is not the\\nTask a glorious poem 1 The religion of the Tasl; bating in a few\\nscraps of Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and Nature\\nthe religion that exalts, that enobles man. Were not you to send\\nme your Zeluco in return for mine 1 Tell me how you like my\\nmarks and notes through the book. I would not give a farthing\\nfor a book, unless I were at liberty to blot it with my criticisms.\\nI have lately collected, for a friend s perusal, all my letters I\\nmean those which I first sketched, in a rough draught, and after-\\nwards wrote out fair. On looking over some old musty papers,\\nwhich from time to time I had parcelled by, as trash that were\\nscarce worth preserving, and which yet, at the same time, I did not\\ncare to destroy, I discovered many of those rude sketches, and have\\nwritten, and am writing them out, in a bound MS. for my friend s", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "272 BURNS* WORKS.\\nlibrary. A3 I wrote always to yon the rhapsody of the moment, I\\ncannot find a single scroll to you, except one, about the commence-\\nment of our acquaintance. If there were any possible conveyance,\\nI would send you a perusal of my book.\\nNo. CLIII.\\nTO MES. DUNLOP, IN LONDON.\\nDumfries, 20^A December, 1795.\\nI have been prodigiously disappointed in this London journey of\\nyours. In the first place, when your last to me reached Dumfries,\\nI was in the country, and did not return until too late to answer\\nyour letter in the next place, I thought you would certainly take\\nthis route and now I know not what is become of you, or whe-\\nther this may reach you at all. God grant that it may find you\\nand yours in prospering health and good spirits. Do let me hear\\nfrom you the soonest possible.\\nAs I hope to get a frank from my friend Captain Miller, I shall,\\nevery leisure hour, take up the pen, and gossip away whatever\\ncomes first, prose or poesy, sermon or song. In this last article, I\\nhave abounded of late. I have often mentioned to you a superb\\npublication of Scottish songs which is making its appearance in\\nyour great metropolis, and where I have the honour to preside over\\nthe Scottish verse, as no less a personage than Peter Pindar does\\nover the English. I wrote the following for a favourite air.\\nDecember, 29.\\nSince I began this letter I have been appointed to act in capacity\\nas supervisor here, and I assure you, what with the load of busi-\\nness, and what with that business being new to me, I could scarcely\\nhave commanded ten minutes to have spoken to you, had you been\\nin town, much less to have written you an epistle. This appoint-\\nment is only temporary, and during the illness of the present in-\\ncumbent but I look forward to an early period when I shall be\\nappointed in full form a consummation devoutly to be wished\\nMy political sins seem to be forgiven me.\\nThis is the season (New-year s- day is now my date) of wishing and\\nmine are most fervently offered up for you May life to you be a\\npositive blessing while it lasts, for your own sake and that it may\\nyet be greatly prolonged, is my wish for my own sake, and for the\\nsake of the rest of your friends What a transient business is\\nlife Very lately I was a boy but t other day I was a young man;\\nand I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of\\nold age coming fast o er my frame. With all my follies of youth,\\nand, 1 fear, a few vices of manhood, still I congratulate myself on\\nhaving had, in early days, religion strongly impressed on my mind.\\nI have nothing to say to any one as to which sect he belongs to, or\\nwhat creed he believes but I look on the man who is firmly per\\nsuaded of infinite wisdom and goodness, superintending and direct\\ning every circumstance that can happen in his lot I felicitat", "height": "4508", "width": "2816", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "LETTERS. 273\\nSuch a man as having a solid foundation for his mental enjoyment\\na firm prop and sure stay, in the hour of difficulty, trouble, and\\ndistress and a never-failing anchor of hope, when he looks beyond\\nthe grave.\\nJanuary, 12.\\nYou will have seen our worthy and ingenious friend, the Doctor,\\nlong ero this. I hope he is well, and beg to be remembered to\\nhim. I have just been reading over again, 1 dare say for the hun-\\ndred and fiftieth time, his View of Society and Manners and still I\\nread it with delight. His humour is perfectly original it is nei-\\nther the humour of Addison, nor Swift, nor Sterne, nor of any\\nbody but Dr. Moore. By the bye, you have deprived me of Zeluvo\\nremember that, when you are disposed to rake up the sins of my\\nneglect from among the ashes of laziness.\\nHe has paid me a pretty compliment, by quoting me in his last\\npublication.*\\nNo. CLIV\\nTO MRS.\\n20 January, 1796.\\nI cannot express my gratitude to you for allowing me a longer pe-\\nrusal of Anacharsis. In fact, I never met with a book that be-\\nwitched me so much and 1, as a member of the library, must\\nwarmly feel the obligations you have laid me under. Indeed, to me\\nthe obligation is stronger than to any other individual of our so-\\nciety as Anacharsis is an indispensable desideratum to a son of the\\nmuses.\\nThe health you wished me in your morning s card, is, I think,\\nflown from me for ever. I have not been able to leave my bed to-\\nday, till about an hour ago. These wickedly unlucky advertise-\\ntisements I lent (I did wrong) to a friend, and I am ill able to go\\nin quest of h im.\\nThe muses have not quite forsaken me. The following detached\\nstanzas 1 intend to interweave in some disastrous tale of a shep-\\nherd.\\nNo. CLY.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOP.\\n\u00c2\u00a7\\\\st January! 1796.\\nThese many months you have been two packets in my debt what\\n^in of ignorance I have committed against so highly valued a\\nEd.vard.\\nM 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "274 BUENS WORKS\\nfriend I am utterly at a loss to guess. Alas madam, ill can I af-\\nford at this time, to be deprived of any of the small remnant of\\nmy pleasures. I have lately drunk deep of the cup of affliction.\\nThe autumn robbed me of my only daughter and darling child, and\\nthat at a distance too, and so rapidly, as to put it out of my power\\nto pay the last duties to her. I had scarcely begun to recover\\nfrom the shock, when I became myself the victim of a most severe\\nrheumatic fever, and long the die spun doubtful, until after many\\nweeks of a sick-bed, it seems to have turned up life, and I am be-\\nginning to crawl across my room, and once indeed have been before\\nmy own door in the street.\\nWhen pleasure fascinates the mental sight,\\nAffliction purifies the visual ray,\\nReligion haiis the drear, the untried night,\\nThat shuts, for ever shuts life s doubtful day.\\nNo. CLVL\\nTO MISS R\\nWHO HAD DESIRED HIM TO GO TO THE BIRTH-DAY ASSEMBLY ON THAT\\nDAY TO 8HOW HIS LOYALTY.\\n4th June, 1796/\\nI am in such miserable health as to be utterly incapable of showing\\nmy loyalty in any way. Racked as I am with rheumatisms, I meet\\nevery face with a greeting, like that of Balak to Balaam Come\\ncurse me Jacob, and defy me Israel So say I Come curse me\\nthat east wind and come defy me the north Would you have\\nme, in such circumstances, to copy you out a love song\\nI may perhaps see you on Saturday, but I will not be at the ball.\\nWhy should 11 man delights me not, nor woman either. Can\\nyou supply me with the song, Let 2is all be unhappy together 1 do if\\nyou can, and oblige le pauvre miserable.\\nR. B.\\nNo. CLYII.\\nTO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nBrow, Sea- Bathing Quarters, 7th July 1796.\\nMY DEAR CUNNINGHAM,\\nI received yours here this moment, and am highly flattered with\\nthe approbation of the literary circle you mention a literary circle\\ninferior to none in the two kingdoms. Alas my friend, I fear\\nthe voice of the bard will soon be heard among you no more For\\nthese eight or ten months I have been ailing, sometimes bed fast\\nand sometimes not but these last three months I have been tor-\\ntured w th an excruciating rheumatism, which has reduced me to", "height": "4508", "width": "2628", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "LETTERS\\n275\\nnearly the last stage. You actually would not know me if you saw\\nme. Pale, emaciated, and so feeble, as occasionally to need help\\nfrom my chair my spirits fled fled but I can no more on the\\nsubject\u00e2\u0080\u0094 only the medical folks tell me that my last and only\\nchance is bathing and country quarters, and riding. The deuce of\\nthe matter is this when an exciseman is off duty, his salary is re-\\nduced to \u00c2\u00a335 instead of \u00c2\u00a350. What way, in the name of thrift,\\nshall I maintain myself and keep a horse in country quarters\u00e2\u0080\u0094 with\\na wife and five children at home, on \u00c2\u00a335 I mention this, because\\nI had intended to beg your utmost interest, and that of all the\\nfriends you can muster, to move our Commissioners of Excise to\\ngrant me the full salary. I dare say you know them all personally.\\nIf they do not grant it me. I must lay my account with an exit\\ntruly en poete if I die not of disease, I must perish with hunger.\\nI have sent you one of the songs the other my memory does not\\nserve me with, and I have no copy here but I shall be at home\\nsoon, when I will send it you. Apropos to being at home, Mrs.\\nBurns threatens in a week or two to add one more to my paternal\\ncharge, which, if of the right gender, 1 intend shall be introduced\\nto the respectable designation of Alexander Cunningham Burns;\\nmy last was James Glencaim so you can have no objection to the\\ncompany of nobility. Farewell.\\nNo. CLVIII.\\nTO MRS. BURNS.\\nBra w, TJc urs da y.\\nMY DEAREST LOVE,\\nI delayed writing until I could tell you what effect sea-bathing\\nwas likely to produce. It would be injustice to deny that it has\\neased my pains, and I think has strengthened me but my appetite\\nis still extremely bad. No flesh nor fish can I swallow porridge\\nand milk are the only things I can taste. 1 am very happy to hear,\\nby Miss Jesse Lewars, that you are well. My very best and kindest\\ncompliments to her and all the children. I will see you on Sun-\\nday. Your affectionate husband, R. B.\\nNo. CLIX.\\nTO MRS. DUNLOR.\\nmadam, 12th July, 1796.\\nI have written to you so often, without receiving any answer, that\\nI would not trouble you again, but for the circumstances in which I\\nam. An illness which has long hung about me, in all probability\\nwill speedily send me beyond that o ourne whence no traveller returns.\\nYour friendship, with which you honoured me, was a friendship\\ndearest to my soul. Your conversation, and especially your corres-\\npondence, were at once highly entertaining and instructive. With\\nwhat pleasure did I use to break up the seal The remembrance\\nyet adds one pulse more to my palpitating heart, Farewell\\nR B,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "276 burns works.\\nThe above is supposed to be the last production of Eobert Bdres\\nwho died on the 21st of the month, nine days afterwards. He\\nhad, however, the pleasure of receiving a satisfactory explanation\\nof his friend s silence, and an assurance of the continuance of her\\nfriendship to his widow and children an assurance that has been\\namply fulfilled.\\nIt is probable that the greater part of her letters to him were\\ndestroyed by our bard about the time that this last was written,\\nHe did not foresee that his own letters to her were to appear in\\nprint, nor conceive the disappointment that will be felt, that a few\\nof this excellent lady s have not served to enrich and adorn the col-\\nlection.", "height": "4524", "width": "2632", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "THE POEMS\\nOF\\nROBERT BURNS.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "TO THE\\nNOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN\\nOP THE\\nCALEDONIAN HUNT.\\nMr Lords and Gentlemen,\\nA Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest ambition\\nis to sing in his Country s service where shall he so properly look\\nfor patronage as to the illustrious names of his native Land those\\nwho bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors\\nThe Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard\\nElijah did Elisha at the plough and threw her inspiring mantle\\nover me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes\\nand rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue; I tuned\\nmy wild, artless notes, as she inspired She whispered me to come\\nto this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs under\\nyour honoured protection I now obey her dictates.\\nThough much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you,\\nmy Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank\\nyou for past favours; that path is so hackneyed by prostituted\\nlearning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present\\nthis Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a\\ncontinuation of those favours 1 was bred to the Plough, and am\\nindependent. I come to claim the Scottish name with you, my\\nillustrious Countrymen and to tell the world that I glory in the\\ntitle. I come to congratulate my Country, that the blood of her\\nancient heroe3 still runs uncontaminated and that from your cou-\\nrage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection,\\nwealth, and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my warm-\\nest wishes to the Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the\\nUniverse, for your welfare and happiness.\\nWhen you go forth to awaken the Echoes, in the ancient and fa-\\nvourite amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of\\nyour party; and may Social Joy await your return when harassed\\nin courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad measures,\\nmay the honest consciousness of injured worth attend your return\\nto your native Seats and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling\\nwelcome, meet you at your gates May corruption shrink at your\\nkindling indignant glance; and may tyranny in the Ruler, and li-\\ncentiousness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe\\nI have the honour to be,\\nWith the eincerest gratitude,\\nand highest respect,\\nMy Lords and Gentlemen,\\nYour most devoted humble servant,\\n\u00c2\u00bb--i i a ijvra* ROBERT BURNS,\\nEdinburgh, April 4, 178/,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "POEMS,\\nCHIEFLY SCOTTISH\\nTHE TWA DOGS:\\nA TALE.\\nTvtas iu that place o Scotland s isle,\\nThat bears the name o Auld King Coil,\\nUpon a bonnie day in June,\\nWhen wearing thro the afternoon,\\nTwa dogs that were na thrang at hame,\\nForgather d ance upon a time.\\nThe first I ll name they ca d him Ccesar,\\nWas keepit for his Honour s pleasure\\nHis hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,\\nShow d he was nane o Scotland s dogs\\nBut whalpit some place far abroad,\\nWhere sailors gang to fish for cod.\\nHis locked, letter d, braw brass collar\\nShow d him the gentleman and scholar\\nBut tho he was o high degree,\\nThe fient a pride na pride had he\\nBut wad hae spent an hour caressin\\nEv n with a tinkler gipsey s messin\\nAt kirk or market, mill or smiddie,\\nKae tawted tyke, tho e er sae duddie,\\nBut he wad stan t, as glad to see him,\\nAnd stroan t on stanes and hillocks wi him.\\nThe tither was a ploughman s collie,\\nA rhyming, ranting, raving billie,\\nWha for his friend an comrade had him,\\nAnd in his freaks had Luath ca d him,\\nAfter some dog in Highland sang,*\\nWas made lang syne Lord knows how lang.\\nHe was a gash an faithfu tyke,\\nAs ever lap a sheugh or dyke,\\nHi3 honet, sonsie, baws nt face,\\nAye gafcrhim friends in ilka place.\\nHis breast was white, his towzie back\\nWeel clad wi coat o glossy black\\nHis gawcie tail, wi upward curl,\\nHung o er his hurdies wi a swurL\\n9 Cuchuliin s dog in Ossiau s Fingal.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "280 BUBNS WOKKS.\\nNae doubt but they were fain o ither,\\nAn unco pack an thick .thegither\\nWi social nose whyles snuff d and snowkit;\\nWhyles mice and modieworts they hookit\\nWhyles scour d awa in lang excursion,\\nAn worry d ither in diversion\\nUntil wi damn weary grown,\\nUpon a knowe they sat them down,\\nAnd there began a lang digression,\\nAbout the lords o the creation.\\nC^SAR.\\nI ve aften wonder d honest Luatk,\\nWhat sort o life poor dogs like you have\\nAn when the gentry s life I saw,\\nWhat way poor bodies lived ava.\\nOar Laird gets in his racked rents,\\nHis coals, his kain, and a his stents\\nHe rises when he likes himsel\\nHis flunkies answer at the bell\\nHe ca s his coach, he ca s his horse\\nHe draws a bonnie silken purse,\\nAs lang s my tail, whare thro the steeks,\\nThe yellow letter d Geordie keeks.\\nFrae morn to -e en its nought but toiling,\\nAt baking, roasting, frying, boiling\\nAn tho the gentry fast are stechin\\nYet e vn the ha folk fill their pechan\\nWi sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie,\\nThat s little short o downright wastrie.\\nOur whipper-in, wee blastit wonner,\\nPoor worthless elf, it eats a dinner,\\nBetter than ony tenant man\\nHis Honour has in a the Ian\\nAn what poor cot folk pit their painch in,\\n1 own its past my comprehension.\\nLUATH.\\nTrowth, Caesar, whyles they re fash t eneugh;\\nA cotter howkin in a sheugh,\\nWi dirty stanes biggin a dyke,\\nBaring a quarry, and sic like,\\nHimself, a wife, he thus sustains,\\nA smytrie o we duddie weans,\\nAn nought but his han darg, to keep\\nThem right and tight in thack an rape.\\nAn when they meet wi sair disasters,\\nLike loss o health, or want of masters,\\nYe maist wad think, a wee touch langer.\\nAn they maun starve o cauld and hunger\\nBut, how it comes, I never ken d yet,\\nThey re maistly wonderfu contented\\nAn buirdly chiels, an clever hizzies.\\nAre bred in sic a way as this j", "height": "4508", "width": "2684", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 281\\nC^SAR.\\nBut then to see how ye re negleckit,\\nHow huff d, and cuff d, and disrepeckit f\\nL d, man, our gentry care as little\\nFor delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle\\nThey gang as saucy by poor fo k,\\nAs I wad by a stinking brock.\\nI ve notic d on our Laird s court day\\nAn mony a time my heart s been wae,\\nPoor tenant bodies, scant o cash,\\nHow they maun thole a factor s snash\\nHe ll stamp an threaten, curse an swear,\\nHe ll apprehend them, poind their gear\\nWhile they maun stan wi aspect humble,\\nAn hear it a an fear an tremble\\nI see how folk live that hae riches\\nBut surely poor folk maun be wretches\\nLUATH.\\nThey re nae sae wretched s ane wad think\\nTho constantly on poortith s brink\\nThey re sae accustomed wi the sight,\\nThe view o t gi es them little fright.\\nThen chance an fortune are sae guided,\\nThey re aye in less or mair provided\\nAn tho fatigu d wi close employment,\\nA blink o rest s a sweet enjoyment.\\nThe dearest comfort o their lives,\\nTheir grushie weans and faithf u wives\\nThe prattlin things are just their pride\\nThat sweetens a their fire-side.\\nAn whyles twalpennie worth o nappy\\nCan mak the bodies unco happy\\nThey lay aside their private cares,\\nTo mind the Kirk and State affairs;\\nThey ll talk o patronage and priests,\\nWi kindling fury in their breasts,\\nOr tell what new taxation s comin\\nAnd ferlie at the folk in Lon on.\\nAs bleak- fac d Hallowmas returns,\\nThey get the jovial, rantin kirns,\\nWhen rural life, o every station,\\nUnite in common recreation\\nLove blinks, Wit slaps, an social Mirth,\\nForgets there s Care upo the earth.\\nThat merry day the year begins,\\nThey bar the door on frosty winds\\nThe nappy reeks wi mantling ream\\nAn sheds a heart- inspiring stream\\nThe luntin pipe, and sneeshin mill,\\nAre handed round wi right guid will", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "282\\nThe cantie auld folks crackin crouse,\\nThe young anes rantin thro the house,\\nMy heart has been sae fain to see them,\\nThat I for joy hae barkit wi them.\\nStill it s owre true that ye hae said,\\nSic game i3 now owre aften play d.\\nThere s monie a creditable stock\\n0 decent, honest, fawsont fo k,\\nAre riven out baith root and branch,\\nSome rascal s pridefu greed to quench,\\nWha thinks to knit himself the faster\\nIn favours wi some gentle master,\\nWha aiblins thrang a parliamentm\\nFor Britain s guid his saul indentin\\nGzBSAR.\\nHaith, lad, ye little ken about it\\nFor Britain s guid guid faith, I doubt it\\nSay, rather, gaun as Premiers lead him,\\nAn saying aye or no s they bid him\\nAt operas an plays parading,\\nMortgaging, gambling, masquerading\\nOr may be, in a frolic daft,\\nTo Hague or Calais takes a waft,\\nTo mak a tour, and tak a whirl,\\nTo learn Ion ton and see the worl\\\\\\nThere, at Vienna, or Versailles,\\nHe rives his father s auld entails\\nOr by Madrid he takes the rout,\\nTo thrum guitars and fecht wi nowt\\nOr down Italian vista startles,\\nWh\u00e2\u0080\u0094 re-hunting among groves o myrtles\\nThen bouses drumly German water,\\nTo mak himsel look fair and fatter,\\nAn clear the consequential sorrows,\\nLove gifts of Carnival signoras.\\nFor Britain s guid I for her destruction\\nWi dissipation, feud, an* faction.\\nLUATH.\\nHech man dear sirs is that the gate\\nThey waste sae mony a braw estate\\nAre we sae foughten an harass d\\nFor gear to gang that gate at last\\nO would they stay aback frae courts,\\nAn please themselves wi countra sports,\\nIt wad for every ane be better,\\nThe Laird, the Tenant, an the Cotter\\nFor thae frank, rantin ramblin billies,\\nFient haet o them s ill-hearted fellows\\nExcept for breakin o their timmer,\\nOr speakin* lightly o their limmer,", "height": "4508", "width": "2684", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "poems. 283\\nOr shootin o a hare or moor-cock,\\nThe ne er a bit they re ill to poor folk.\\nBut will ye tell me, Master Ccesar,\\nSure great folk s life s a life o pleasure\\nKae cauld or hunger e er can steer them,\\nThe very thought o t need na fear them.\\nC^SAR.\\nL d, man, were ye but whyles where I am,\\nThe gentles ye wad ne er envy em.\\nIt s true, they need na starve or sweat,\\nThro winter s cauld or simmer s heat;\\nThey ve nae sair wark to craze their banes,\\nAn fill auld age wi gripe3 an granes\\nBut human bodies are sic fools,\\nFor a their colleges an schools,\\nThat when nae real ills perplex them,\\nThey mak enow themselves to vex them.\\nAn aye the less they hae to sturt them,\\nIn like proportion less will hurt them\\nA country fellow at the pleugh,\\nHis acres till d, he s right eneugh\\nA country girl at her wheel,\\nHer dizzens done, she s unco weel\\nBut Gentlemen, an Ladies warst,\\nWi ev ndown want o wark are curst.\\nThey loiter, lounging, lank, an lazy\\nTho deil haet ails them, yet uneasy\\nTheir days insipid, dull, an tasteless;\\nTheir nights unquiet, lang, an restless\\nAn eVn their sports, their balls, an races,\\nTheir gallopin through public places.\\nThere s sic parade, sic pomp, an art,\\nThe joy can scarcely reach the heart.\\nThe men cast out in party matches,\\nThen sowther a in deep debauches\\nAe night they re mad wi drink an wh-ring,\\nKeist day their life is past enduring.\\nThe ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,\\nAs great and gracious a as sisters\\nBut hear their absent thoughts o ither,\\nThey re a run deils an jads thegither.\\nWhyles o er the wee bit cup and platie,\\nThey, sip the scandal potion pretty\\nOr lee larag nights, wi crabbit leuks\\nPore owre the devil s pictur d beuks\\nStake on a chance a farmer s stackyard,\\nAn cheat like ony unhang d blackguard.\\nThere s some exception, man an woman\\nBut this is Gentry s life in common.\\nBy this the sun was out o sight\\nAn darker gloaming brought the night", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "284 burns works.\\nThe bum- clock humm d wi lazy drone\\nThe kye stood rowtin i the loan\\nWhen up they gat an shook their lugs,\\nRejoic d they were na men but clogs\\nAnd each took aff his several way,\\nResolv d to meet some ither day.\\nSCOTCH DRINK.\\nGie him strong drink, until he wink,\\nThat s sinking in despair\\nAn liquor guid to fire his bluid,\\nThat s prest wi grief an care\\nThere let him bouse, and deep carouse\\nWi bumpers flowing o er,\\nTill he forgets his loves or debts,\\nAn minds his griefs no more.\\nSolomon s Pboverbs. xxxi, G, 7.\\nLet other poets raise a fracas,\\nBout vines, and wines, and drunken Bacchus,\\nAn crabbit names an stories wrack us,\\nAn grate our lug,\\nI sing the juice Scots bear can mak us,\\nIn glass or jug.\\nthou, my Muse guid auld Scotch Drink\\nWhether thro wimpling worms thou jink,\\nOr, richly brown, ream o er the brink,\\nIn glorious faem,\\nInspire me, till I lisp and wink,\\nTo sing thy name.\\nLet husky Wheat the haughs adorn,\\nAnd Aits set up their awnie horn,\\nAn Pease and Beans at e en or morn,\\nPerfume the plain,\\nLeeze me on thee, John Barleycorn\\nThou king o grain\\nOn thee aft Scotland chows her cood,\\nIn souple scones, the wale o food\\nOr tumblin in the boiling flood,\\nWi kail an beef;\\nBut when thou pours thy strong heart s blood,\\nThere thou shines chief.\\nFood fills the wame, an keeps us livin\\nTho life s a gift no worth receivin\\nWhen heavy dragg d wi pine and grievin\\nBut oil d by thee,\\nThe wheels o life gae down-hill, scrievin\\nWi rattlin glee.\\nThou clears the head o doited Lear\\nThou cheers the heart o drooping Care\\nThou strings the nerves o Labour sair\\nAt s weary toil", "height": "4508", "width": "2632", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nThou even brightens dark Despair\\nWi gloomy smile.\\nAft, clad in massy silver weed,\\nWi* gentles thou erects thy head\\nYet numbly kind in time o need,\\nThe poor man s wine,\\nHis wee drap parritch, or his bread,\\nThou kitchens fine.\\nThou art the life o public haunts\\nBut thee, what were our fairs and rants\\nEv n godly meetings o the saunts,\\nBy thee inspir d,\\nWhen gaping they besiege the tents,\\nAre doubly fir d,\\nThat merry night we get the corn in,\\nsweetly then thou reams the horn in:\\nOr rekin on a New-year morning\\nIn cog or bicker,\\nAn just a wee drap sp ritual burn in,\\nAn gusty sucker\\nWhen Vulcan gies his bellows breath,\\nAn ploughmen gather wi their graith,\\nrare to see the fizz an freath\\nI the lugget caup\\nThen Burnetvin comes on like death\\nAt ev ry chaup.\\nNae mercy then for aim or steel\\nThe brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel\\nBrings hard owrehip wi sturdy wheel,\\nThe strong forehammer,\\nTill block an studdie ring an reel\\nWi dinsome clamour.\\nWhen skirlin weanies see the light,\\nThou maks the gossips clatter bright,\\nHow fuinblin cuifs their dearies slight,\\nWae worth the name\\nISTae howdie gets a social night,\\nOr plack frae them.\\nWhen neebours anger at a plea,\\nAn just as wud as wud can be,\\nHow easy can the barley bree\\nCement the quarrel\\nIt s aye the cheapest lawyer s fee,\\nTo taste the barrel.\\nAlake that e er my Muse has reason\\nTo wy te her countrymen wi treason\\nBut mony daily weet their weason\\nWi liquors nice,\\nAn hardly in a winter s season,\\nE er spier her price.\\n285", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "286\\nWae worth that brandy, burning trash,\\nFell source o monie a pain an brash\\nTwins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash,\\n0 half his days\\nAn sends, beside, auld Scotland s cash\\nTo her warst faes.\\nYe Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well\\nYe chief, to you my tale I tell,\\nPoor plackless devils, like mysel\\nIt sets you ill,\\nWi bitter, dearthfa wines to mell,\\nOr foreign gill.\\nMay gravels round his blather wrench,\\nAn gouts torment him inch by inch,\\nWha twists his gruntle wi a glunch\\nO sour disdain,\\nOut owre a glass o* whisky punch\\nWi honest men.\\nWhishj soul o plays an pranks\\nAccept a Bardie s humble thanks\\nWhen wanting thee, what tuneless cranks\\nAre my poor verses\\nThou comes they rattle i their ranks\\nAt ither s a\u00e2\u0080\u0094 s\\nThee, Ferintosh sadly lost\\nScotland, lament frae coast to coast\\nKow colic grips, and barkin hoast,\\nMay kill us a\\nFor loyal Forbes chartered boast\\nIs ta en awa\\nThae curst horse leeches o th Excise,\\nWha mak the Whisky Stells their prize\\nHaud up thy han Deil ance, twice, thrice\\nThere, seize the blinkers\\nAn bake them up in brunstane pies\\nFor poor d n d drinkers.\\nFortune if thou ll but gie me still\\nHale breeks, a scone, an Whisky gill,\\nAn rowth o rhyme to rave at will,\\nTak a the rest,\\nAn deal t about as thy blind skill\\nDirects thee best.", "height": "4508", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 287\\nTHE AUTHOR S\\nEARNEST CRY AND PRAYER*\\nTO THE\\nSCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES\\nIN THE\\nHOUSE OF COMMONS.\\nDearest of Distillation last and best\\nHow art thou lost Parody on Milton.\\nYe Irish Lords, Ye Knights an Squires,\\nWha represent ourbrughs an* shires,\\nAnd doucely manage our affairs\\nIn parliament,\\nTo you a simple Poet s prayers\\nAre humbly sent.\\nAlas my roupet Muse is hearse\\nYour honours hearts wi grief twad pierce\\nTo see her sittin on her a\\nLow i the dust,\\nAn* screichin out prosaic verse,\\nAn like to bru3t\\nTell them wha hae the chief direction,\\nScotland an me s in great affliction,\\nE er sin they laid that curst restriction\\nOn Aquavitce;\\nAn rouse them up to strong conviction\\nAn move their pity.\\nStand forth, an tell yon Premier Youth,\\nThe honest, open, naked truth\\nTell him o mine an Scotland s drouth,\\nH s servants humble\\nThe muckle devil blaw ye south,\\nIf ye dissemble\\nDoes ony great man glunch an gloom\\nSpeak out, an never fash your thumb\\nLet posts an pensions sink or soom\\nWi them wha grant em\\nIf honestly they canna come,\\nFar better want em.\\nIn gath ring votes you were na slack\\nNow stand as tightly by your tack\\nNe er claw your lug, an fidge your back,\\nAn hum an haw\\nThis was written before the act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of session 1786\\nfor which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "288 burns works.\\nBut raise your arm, an tell your crack\\nBefore them a\\nPaint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle\\nHer mutchkin stoup as toom s a whissle\\nAn d-rnn d Excisemen in a bussle,\\nSeizin a stell,\\nTriumphant crushing like a mussel,\\nOr lampit shell.\\nThen on the tither hand present her,\\nA blackguard Smnggler right behint her,\\nAn cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Yintner,\\nColleaguing join,\\nPicking her pouch as bare as winter,\\nOf a kind coin.\\nIs there, that bears the name of Scot,\\nBut feels his beart s bluid rising hot,\\nTo see his poor auld Mither s pot\\nThus dung in staves,\\nAn plundered o her hindmost groat\\nBy gallows knaves\\nAlas I m but a nameless wight,\\nTrode i the mire out o sight\\nBut could I like Montgomeries fight,\\nOr gab like Boswell,\\nThere s some sark-necks I wad draw tight,\\nAn tie some hose well.\\nGod bless your Honours, can ye see t,\\nThe kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet*\\nAn no get warmly to your feet,\\nAn gar them hear it,\\nAn tell them wi a patriot heat,\\nYe winna bear it\\nSome o you nicely ken the laws,\\nTo round the period an pause,\\nAn wi rhetoric clause on clause\\nTo mak harangues\\nThen echo thro Saint Stephen s wa s\\nAuld Scotland s wrangs.\\nDempster, a true blue Scot I se warran\\nThee, aith- detesting, chaste Kilkerran;\\nAn that glib-gabbet Highland Baron,\\nThe Laird o Graham\\nAn ane, a chap that s damn d auld farran,\\nDundas his name.\\nErslcine, a spunkie Norland billie\\nTrue Campbells, Frederick, an Hay\\nAn Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie\\nAn mony ithers,\\nWhom auld Demosthenes or Tully\\nMight own for brithers.", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "poems. 289\\nArouse, my boys exert your mettle,\\nTo get auld Scotland back her kettle\\nOr faith I ll wad my new pleughpettle,\\nYe ll see t or lang,\\nShe ll teach you, wi a reekin whittle,\\nAnither sang.\\nThis while she s been in cank rous mood,\\nHer lost Militia fir d her bluid\\n(Deil na they never mair do guid,\\nPlay d her that pliskie\\nAn now she s like to rin red-wud\\nAbout her Whisky.\\nAn L\u00e2\u0080\u0094 d if ance they pit her till t,\\nHer tartan petticoat she ll kilt,\\nAn durk an pistol at her belt,\\nShe ll tak the streets,\\nAn rin her whittle to the hilt,\\nI the first she meets\\nFor G d sake, Sirs then speak her fair,\\nAn straik her cannie wi the hair,\\nAn to the muckle house repair,\\nWi instant speed,\\nAn strive, wi a your wit an lear,\\nTo get remead.\\nYon ill-tongu d tinkler, Charlie Fox,\\nMay taunt you wi his jeers an mocks;\\nBat gie him t het, my hearty cocks\\nE en cowe the caddie\\nAn send him to his dicing box\\nAn sportin lady.\\nTell yon guid bluid o auld BoconnoclSs,\\nI ll be his debt twa mashlum bannocks,\\nAn drink hi3 health in auld Nanse TinnocVs\\nNine time3 a week,\\nIf he some scheme, like tea an winnocks,\\nWad kindly seek.\\nCould he some commutation broach,\\nI ll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch,\\nHe need na fear their foul reproach\\nNor erudition,\\nYon mixtiemaxtie queer hotch-potch,\\nThe Coalition.\\nAuld Scotland has a raucle tongue\\nShe s just a devil wi a rung\\nAn if she promise auld or young\\nTo tak their part,\\nTho by the neck she should be strung\\nShe ll no desert.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "290 burns works.\\nAn now, ye chosen Free- and- Forty,\\nMay still your Mither s heart support ye\\nThen, tho a minister grow dorty,\\nAn kick your place,\\nYe ll snap your fingers, poor an hearty,\\nBefore his face.\\nGod bless your Honours a your days,\\nWi soups o kail and brats o claise,\\nIn spite o a the thievish kaes\\nThat haunt SoAnt Jamie\\nYour humble poet sings an prays\\nWhile Rab his name is.\\nPOSTSCRIPT.\\nLet half-staiVd slaves in warmer skies\\nSee future wines, rich clust ring rise\\nTheir lot auld Scotland ne er envies,\\nBut blithe and frisky.\\nShe eyes her freeborn martial boys,\\nTak aff their Whisky.\\nWhat tho their Phoebus kinder warms,\\nWhile fragrance blooms and beauty charms\\nWhen wretches range, in famish d swarms,\\nThe scented groves,\\nOr hounded forth, dishonour arms\\nIn hungry droves.\\nTheir gun s a burthen on their shouther\\nThey downa bide the stink o pouther\\nTheir bauldest thought s a hankering swither\\nTo stan or rin,\\nTill skelp a shot\u00e2\u0080\u0094they re aff, a throwther,\\nTo save their skin.\\nBut bring a Scotsman frae his hill,\\nClap in his cheek a Highland gill,\\nSay, such is royal Georges will,\\nAn there s the foe,\\nHe has nae thought but how to kill\\nTwa at a blow.\\nNae cauld, faint-hearted doub tings tease him\\nDeath comes, with fearless eyes he sees him\\nWi bluidy hand a welcome gies him\\nAn when he fa s,\\nHis latest draught o breathin lea es him\\nIn faint huzzas.\\nSages their solemn een may steek,\\nAn raise a philosophic reek,\\nAn physically causes seek,\\nIn clime an season\\nBut tell me Whisky s name in Greek,\\nI ll tell the reason.", "height": "4508", "width": "2580", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 291\\nScotland, my auld, respected Mither\\nTho, whyles ye moistify your leather,\\nTill whare you sit, on craps o* heather,\\nYe tine your dam\\n(Freedom and Whisky gang thegither\\nTak aff your dram\\nTHE HOLY FAIR\\nA robe of seeming truth and trust\\nHid crafty Observation;\\nAnd secret hung with poison d crust,\\nThe dirk of Defamation\\nA mask that like the gorget show d\\nDye- varying on the pigeon\\nAnd for a mantle large and broad,\\nHe wrapt him in Religion.\\nHytocbisy-a-la-mode.\\nUpon a simmer Sunday morn,\\nWhen Nature s face is fair,\\nI walked forth to view the corn,\\nAn snuff the callar air,\\nThe rising sun owre Galston muirs,\\nWi glorious light was glintin\\nThe hares were hirplin down the furs,\\nThe lav rocks they were chantin\\nFu sweet that day.\\nAs lightsomely I glowr d abroad\\nTo see a scene sae gay,\\nThree hizzies, early at the road,\\nCam skelpin up the way\\nTwa had manteeles o dolefu black,\\nBut ane wi lyart lining\\nThe third that gaed a wee a-back,\\nWas in the fashion shining,\\nFu gay that gay.\\nThe twa appear d like sisters twin,\\nIn feature, form, an claes\\nTheir visage wither d, lang, an thin,\\nAn* sour as ony slaes\\nThe third came up, hap-stap-an -loup,\\nAs light as ony lammie,\\nAn wi a curchie low did stoop,\\nAs soon as e er she saw me,\\nFu kind that day.\\nWi bannet, aff, quoth I, Sweet lass,\\nI think ye seem to ken me\\nI m sure I ve seen that bonnie face,\\nBut yet I canna name ye.\\nQuo she, an laughin as she spak,\\nAn tak s me by the hands,\\nHoly Fair is a common phrase in the west of Scotland for a sacramental\\noccasion.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "292 BURNS 9 WORKS.\\nu Ye, for my sake, ha e gi en the feck\\nOf a the ten commands\\nA screed some day.\\nMy name is Fun your cronie dear,\\nThe nearest friend ye ha e\\nAn this is Superstition here,\\nAn that s Hypocrisy.\\nI m gaun to Holy Fair,\\nTo spend an hour in daffin\\nGin ye ll go there, yon runkled pair,\\nWe will get famous laughin\\nAt them this day.\\nQuoth I, With a my heart I ll do t\\nI ll get my Sunday s sark on,\\nAn meet you on the holy spot\\nFaith we se hae fine remarkin\\nThen 1 gaed hame at crowdie time,\\nAn soon I made me ready\\nFor roads were clad frae side to side,\\nWi monie a weary body,\\nIn droves that day.\\nHere farmers gash, in ridin graith\\nGaed hod din by their cotters\\nTheir swankies young, in braw braid-claith\\nAre spriugin o er the gutters.\\nThe lasses, skelpin barefoot, thrang,\\nIn silks an scarlets glitter\\nWi sweet milk- cheese in monie a whang,\\nAn f arte bak d wi butter.\\nFu crump that day.\\nWhen by the plate we set our nose,\\nWeel heaped up wi ha pence,\\nA greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,\\nAn we maun draw our tippence.\\nThen in we go to see the show,\\nOn ev ry side they re gathering\\nSome carrying deals, some chairs an stools,\\nAn some are busy bletherin\\nRight loud that day.\\nHere stands a shed to fend the show rs,\\nAn screen our countra Gentry,\\nThere, racer Jess, an twa- three whores,\\nAre blinkin at the entry.\\nHere sits a raw of tittlin jades,\\nWi heavin breast and bare neck,\\nAn there a batch of wabster lads,\\nBlackguardin frae K ck,\\nFor fun this day.\\nHere some are thinkin on their sins,\\nAn some upo their claes;", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "poems. 293\\nAne curses feet that fyl d his shins,\\nAnither sighs an prays;\\nOn this hand sits a chosen swatch,\\nWi screw d up grace- proud faces;\\nOn that a set o chaps at watch,\\nThrang winkin on the lasses\\nTo chairs that day.\\nhappy is the man an blest\\nNae wonder that it pride him\\nWha s ain dear lass, that he likes best,\\nComes clinkin down beside him\\nWi arm repos d on the chair-back,\\nHe sweetly does compose him\\nWhich, by degrees, slips round her neck,\\nAn s loof upon her bosom\\nUnkenn d that day.\\nNow a* the congregation o er\\nIs silent expectation\\nFor speels the holy door\\nWi tidings o damnation.\\nShould Eornie, as in ancient days,\\nMang sons o God present him,\\nThe vera sight o *s face,\\nTo s ain het hame had sent him\\nWi fright that day.\\nHear how he clears the points o faith\\nWi rattlin an thumpin\\nNow meekly calm, now wild in wrath,\\nHe s stampin an he s jumpin\\nHis lengthen d chin, his turn d-up snout,\\nHis eldritch squeel and gestures,\\nOh, how they fire the heart devout,\\nLike cantharidian plasters,\\nOn sic a day.\\nBut hark the tent has chang d its voice\\nThere s peace and rest nae langer\\nFor a the real judges rise,\\nThey canna sit for anger.\\nopens out his cauld harangues\\nOn practice and on morals\\nAn aff the godly pour in thrang3,\\nTo gie the jars an barrels\\nA lift that day.\\nWhat signifies his barren shine\\nOf moral pow rs and reason\\nHis English style, an gesture fine,\\nAre a* clean out o season.\\nLike Socrates or Antonine,\\nOr some auld pagan Heathen,\\nThe moral man he does define,\\nBut ne er a word o* faith in\\nThat s right that day.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "294 BURNS WORKS.\\nIn guid time comes an antidote\\nAgainst sic poison d nostrum\\nFor frae the water-fit,\\nAscends the holy rostrum\\nSee, up he s got the word o God,\\nAn meek an* mim has viewM it,\\nWhile Common- sense has ta en the road,\\nAn aff, an up the Cowgate,\\nFast, fast, that day.\\nWee neist the guard relieves,\\nAn orthodoxy raibles,\\nTho in his heart he weel believes,\\nAnd thinks it auld wives fables\\nBut, faith the birkie wants a manse\\nSo cannily he hums them\\nAltho his carnal wit and sense\\nLike hafflins-ways o ercomes him\\nAt times that day.\\nNow but an ben, the change-house fills,\\nWi yill-caup commentators\\nHere s crying out for bakes and gills,\\nAnd there the pint stoop clatters\\nWhile thick an thrang, an loud an lang,\\nWi logic, an wi Scripture,\\nThey raise a din, that in the end,\\nIs like to breed a rupture\\n0 wrath that day.\\nLeeze me on Drink it gi es us mair\\nThan either School or College\\nIt kindles wit, it waukens lair,\\nIt pangs us fou o knowledge.\\nBe t whisky gill, or penny wheep,\\nOr ony stronger potion,\\nIt never fails, on drinking deep,\\nTo kittle up our notion\\nBy night or day.\\nThe lads an lasses, blythely bent\\nTo mind baith saul and body,\\nSit round the table weel content,\\nAn steer about the toddy.\\nOn this ane s dress, an that ane s leuk,\\nThey re makin observations\\nWhile some are cozie i the neuk,\\nAn forming assignations\\nTo meet some day.\\nBut now the L\u00e2\u0080\u0094 d s ain trumpet touts,\\nTill a the hills are rairin\\nAn echoes back return the shouts\\nBlack is na sparin\\nHis piercing words, like Highland swords\\nDivide the joints an marrow;", "height": "4508", "width": "2592", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "poems. 295\\nHis talk o Hell, where devils dwell,\\nOur very sauls does harrow*\\nWi fright that day.\\nA vast, utibottom d boundless pit,\\nFill d fou o lowin brunstane,\\nWha s ragin flame an scorchin heat,\\nWad melt the hardest whun-stane\\nThe half asleep start up wi fear,\\nAnd think they hear it roarin\\nWhen presently it does appear,\\nTwas but some neighbour snorin\\nAsleep that day.\\nTwad be owre lang a tale to tell\\nHow monie stories past,\\nAn how they crowded to the yill,\\nWhen they were a dismist\\nHow drink gaed round, in cogs an caups,\\nAmang the furms an benches\\nAn cheese an bread, frae women s laps,\\nWas dealt about in lunches\\nAn dawds that day.\\nIn comes a gaucie, gash guidwife,\\nAn sits down by the fire,\\nSyne draws her kebbuck an her knife,\\nThe lasses they are shyer.\\nThe auld guidmen, about the grace,\\nFrae side to side they bother,\\nTill some ane by his bonnet lays,\\nAnd gi es them t like a tether,\\nFu lang that day,\\nWaesucks for him that gets nae lass,\\nOr lasses that hae naething\\nSma need has he to say a grace\\nOr melvie his braw claithing\\nO wives be mindfu ance yoursel\\nHow bonnie lads ye wanted,\\nAn* dinna for a kebbuck-heel,\\nLet lasses be affronted\\nOn sic a day.\\nNow CUnumJcbell, wi rattlin* tow,\\nBegins to jow an croon\\nSome swagger hame, the best they dow,\\nSome wait the afternoon.\\nAt slaps the billies halt a blink,\\nTill lasses strip their shoon\\nWi faith an hope, an love an drink,\\nThey re a in famous tune,\\nFor crack that day.\\nHow monie hearts this day converts\\nO* sinners and o lasses\\nShakespeare s Hamlet.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "296 BURNS WORKS.\\nTheir hearts o* stane, gin night, are gane\\nA.s saft as ony flesh is.\\nThere s some are fou o love divine\\nThere s some are fou o brandy\\nAn mony jobs that day begin,\\nMay end in houghmagandie\\nSome hither day.\\nDEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK.\\nA TRUE STORY.\\nSome books are lies frae end to end,\\nAnd some great lies were never penn d\\nEv n Ministers, they hae been kenn d,\\nIn holy rapture,\\nA rousing whid, at times, to vend,\\nAnd nail t wi Scripture.\\nBut this that I am gaun to tell,\\nWhich lately on a night befell,\\nIs just as trues the De il s in hell\\nOr Dublin city\\nThat e er he nearer comes oursel\\nS a muckle pity.\\nThe Clachan yill had made me canty,\\nI was nae fou but just had plenty;\\n1 stacher d whiles, but yet took tent aye\\nTo free the ditches\\nAn hillocks, stanes, an bushes, kenn d aye\\nFrae ghaists an witches.\\nThe rising moon began to glow r\\nThe distant Cumnock hills out-owre\\nTo count her horns, wi a my pow r,\\nI set mysel\\nBut whether she had three or four,\\n1 couldna tell.\\nI was come round about the hill,\\nAnd todlin down on Willies mill\\nSetting my staff wi a my skill,\\nTo keep me sicker\\nTho leeward whyles, against my will,\\nI took a bicker*\\nI there wi Something did forgather,\\nThat put me in an eerie swither\\nAn awfu scythe, out-owre ae shouthcr,\\nClear-dangling, hang;\\nA three-taed leister on the ither,\\nLay, large an lang.\\nIts stature seem d lang Scotch ells twa,\\nThe queerest shape that e er I saw,\\nFor fient a wame it had ava\\nAnd then, its shanks,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nThey were as thin, as sharp, an* sma\\nAs cheeks o branks.\\nGuid-een, quo I; Friend hae ye been mawin\\nWhen ither folk, are busy sawin V\\nIt seem d to mak a kind o stan\\nBut naething spak\\nAt length, says I, f Friend, where ye gaun,\\nWill ye go back V\\nIt spak right ho we, My name is Death,\\nBut be na fley d. Quoth I, Guid faith,\\nYe re maybe come to stap my breath\\nBut tent me, billie\\nI red ye weel, tak care o skaith,\\nSee there s a gully\\n1 Guidman, quo he, put up your whittle,\\nI m no design d to try its mettle\\nBut if I did, I wad be kittle\\nTo be mislear d,\\nI wad na mind it, no, that spittle\\nOut owre my beard.\\nWeel, weel says I, a bargain be t\\nCome, gie s your hand, an sae we re gree t\\nWe ll ease our shanks an tak a seat,\\nCome gie s your news\\nThis while ye hae been mony a gate,\\nAt mony a house.\\n1 Ay, ay quo he, an shook his head,\\nIts een a lang, lang time indeed\\nSin I began to nick the thread,\\nAn choke the breath\\nFolk maun do something for their bread,\\nAn sae maun Death.\\nSax thousand years are near hand fled\\nSin I was to the hutching bred,\\nAn mony a scheme in vain s been laid,\\nTo stap or scar me\\nTill ane Hornbook s taen up the trade,\\nAn faith, he ll waur me.\\nYe ken Jock Hornbook, i the Clachan,\\nDeil mak his king s hood in a spleuchan\\nHe s grown sae weel acquaint wi Buchan,\\nAn ither chaps,\\nThe weans haud out their fingers laughin\\nAn pouk my hips.\\n1 See, here s a scythe, and there s a dart,\\nThey hae pierc d mony a gallant heart\\nBut Doctor Hornbook, wi his art\\nAnd cursed skill,\\nHas made them baith no worth a f\u00e2\u0080\u0094 t,\\nDamn d haet they ll kill.\\nBuchan s Domestic Medicine,\\nN 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "298 burns works*\\n1 Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,\\nI threw a noble throw at ane\\nWi less, I m sure, I ve hundreds slain;\\nBut deil-ma\u00c2\u00abcare,\\nIt just play d dirl on the bane,\\nBut did na mair.\\nHornbook was by, wi ready art,\\nAnd had sae fortified the part,\\nThen when I looked to my dart,\\nIt was sae blunt,\\nFient haet o t wad hae a pierc d the heart\\nOf a kail-runt.\\nI I drew my scythe in sic a fury,\\nI nearhand coupit wi my hurry,\\nBut yet the bauld Apothecary\\nWithstood the shock\\nI might as weel hae tried a quarry\\nO hard whin rock.\\nEv*n them he canna get attended,\\nAltho their face he ne er had kend it,\\nJust in a kail-blade, and send it,\\nAs soon s he smells t,\\nBaith their disease, and what will mend it,\\nAt once he tells t.\\nAn then a doctors saws and whittles,\\nOf a dimensions, shapes, an mettles,\\nA kinds o boxes, mugs, an bottles,\\nHe s sure to hae\\nTheir Latin names as fast he rattles\\nAs A B C.\\nCalces o fossils, earths, and trees;\\nTrue Sal-marinum o the seas\\nThe Farina of beans and pease,\\nHe has t in plenty\\nAqua-fontis, what you please,\\nHe can content ye.\\nForbye some new, uncommon weapons,\\nUriDus Spiritus of capons\\nOr Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings\\nDistilTd per se\\nSal-alkali o Midge-tail clippings,\\nAn mony mae.\\nWaes me for Johnny GeoVs Hole now f\\nQuo I, If that the news be true\\nHis braw calf- ward where gowans grew,\\nSae white an bonnie,\\nNae doubt they ll rive it wi the plough\\nThey ll ruin Johnnie f\\nThe creature grain d an eldritch laugh,\\nAn says, Ye need na yoke the pleugh,\\nKirk-yards will soon be till d eneugh,", "height": "4508", "width": "2720", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "poems 299\\nTak ye nae fear\\nThey ll a be trench d wi mony a sheugh\\nIn twa-three year.\\n1 Whare I kill d ane a fair strae death,\\nBy loss o blood or want o breath,\\nThis night I m free to tak my aith,\\nThat Hornbook s skill\\nHa clad a score i their last claith,\\nBy drap an pill.\\n1 An honest Wabster to his trade,\\nWhase wife s twa nieves were scarce weel bred,\\nGat tippence- worth to mend her head,\\nWhen it was sair\\nThe wife slade cannie to her bed,\\nBut ne er spak mair.\\nA countra Laird had ta en the batts,\\nOr some curmurring in his guts,\\nHis only son for Hornbook sets,\\nAn pays him well\\nThe lad, for twa guid gimmer pets,\\nWas Jaird himseF.\\nA bonnie lass, ye ken her name,\\nSome ill-brewn drink had hov d her wame\\nShe trusts hersel to hide the shame,\\nIn Hornbook s care\\nHorn sent her aff to her lang hame,\\nTo hide it there.\\nThat s just a swatch o Hornbook s way\\nThus goes he on from day to day,\\nThus does he poison, kill, an slay.\\nAn s weel paid for t\\nYet stops me o my lawfu prey,\\nWi his damn d dirt.\\nBut hark I ll tell you of a plot,\\nThough dinna ye be speaking o t\\nI ll nail the self-conceited sot,\\nAs dead s a herrin\\nNeist time we meet, I ll wad a groat,\\nHe gets his fairin\\nBut just as he began to tell,\\nThe auld kirk-hammer strak the bell,\\nSome wee short hour ayont the twal,\\nWhich rais d us baith;\\nI took the way that pleased mysel\\nAnd sae did Heath,\\ni\\nTHE BRIGS OF AYR:\\nA POEM.\\nInscribed to J. B Esq. Ayb.\\nThe simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,\\nLearning his tuneful trade from every bough", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "300 BURNS WORKS.\\nThe chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,\\nHailing the setting sun, sweet in the green thorn bush;\\nThe soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,\\nOr deep toned plovers, grey, wild whistling o er the hill;\\nShall he, nurst in the Peasant s lowly shed,\\nTo hardy independence bravely bred,\\nBy early Poverty to hardship steel d,\\nAnd train d to arms in stern Misfortune s field\\nShall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,\\nThe servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes?\\nOr labour hard the panegyric close,\\nWith all the venal soul of dedicating Prose\\nNo though his artless strains he rudely sings,\\nAnd throws his hand uncouthly o er the strings,\\nHe glows with all the spirit of the Bard,\\nFame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward.\\nStill if some Patron s generous care he trace,\\nSkilled in the secret, to bestow with grace\\nWhen B befriends his humble name,\\nAnd hands the rustic stranger up to fame,\\nWith heart- felt throbs his grateful bosom swells,\\nThe godlike bliss, to give alone excels.\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0Jffc 7K W\u00c2\u00bb 7F fc\\nTwas when the stacks get on their winter hap,\\nAnd thack and rape secure the toil won crap\\nPotatoe bings are snugged up frae skaith\\nOf coming Winter s biting, frosty breath\\nThe bees rejoicing o er their simmer toils,\\nUnnumber d buds an flowers delicious spoils,\\nSeal d up with frugal care in massive waxen piles,\\nAre doom d by man, that tyrant o er the weak,\\nThe death o devils, smoor d wi brimstone reek\\nThe thundering guns are heard on ev ry side,\\nThe wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide\\nThe feather d field-mates, bound by Nature s tie,\\nSires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie\\n(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds,\\nAnd execrates man s savage, ruthless deeds\\nNae mair the flow r in field or meadow springs\\nNae mair the grove wi airy concert rings,\\nExcept, perhaps, the Robin s whistling glee,\\nProud o the height o some bit half-lang tree\\nThe hoary morns precede the sunny days,\\nMild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze,\\nWhile thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays.\\nTwas in that season, when a simple bard,\\nUnknown and poor, simplicity s reward,\\nAe night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr,\\nBy whim inspired, or haply prest wi care\\nHe left his bed, and took his wayward route,\\nAnd down by Simpson s wheel d the left about\\n(Whether ioipeljL d bv ail-directing Fate\\nTo witness what I after shall narrate", "height": "4508", "width": "2732", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 301\\nOr whether rapt in meditation high,\\nHe wander d out he knew not where nor why),\\nThe drowsy Dungeon clock, had number d two,\\nAnd Wallace tower had sworn the fact was true\\nThe tideswoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar,\\nThro the still night dash d hoarse along the shore\\nAll else was hush d in Nature s closed e e\\nThe silent moon shone high o er tow r and tree\\nThe chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,\\nCrept, gently crustling, o er the glittering stream.\\nWhen, lo on either hand the list ning bard,\\nThe clanging sough of whistling wings he heard\\nTwo dusky forms dart thro the midnight air,\\nSwift as the Gos drives on the wheeling hare;\\nAne on th Auld Brig his airy shape uprears,\\nThe ither nutters o er the rising piers\\nOur warlike Rhymer instantly descry d\\nThe Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside.\\n(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,\\nAn ken the lingo of the sp ritual folk\\nFays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a they can explain them,\\nAnd ev n the vera deils they brawly ken them.)\\nAuld Brig appear d of ancient Piotish race,\\nThe vera wrinkles Gothic in his face\\nHe seem d as he wi Time had warstl d lang,\\nYet teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.\\nXew Brig was buskit in a braw new coat,\\nThat he, at Lonon frae ane A dams got\\nIn s hand five taper staves as smoothes a bead,\\nYVi virls and whirlygigums at the head.\\nThe Goth was stalking round with anxious search,\\nSpying the time-worn flaws in every arch\\nIt chanc d his new-come neebor took his e e,\\nAnd e en a vex d an angry heart had he\\nWi thieveless sneer to see each modish mien\\nHe, down the water, gies him thus guide en\\nAULD BRIG.\\nI doubt na frien ye ll think ye re nae sheep-shank,\\nAnce ye were streekit o er frae bank to bank\\nBut gin ye be a brig as auld as me,\\nTho faith that day 1 doubt ye ll never see\\nThere ll be, if that day come, I ll wad a boddle,\\nSome fewer whigmaleeries in your noddle.\\n1SEW BRIG.\\nAuld Yandal, ye but show your little mense,\\nJust much about it wi your scanty sense\\nWill your poor narrow foot-path of a street,\\nWhere twa wheel barrows tremble when they meet,\\nYour ruin d formless bulk, o stane an lime,\\nCompare wi bonnie Brigs o modern time]\\nThere s men o taste would tak the Ducatstream,\\nTho they should cast the very sark and swim,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "302 burns works.\\nEre they would grate their feelings wi* the view\\nOf sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you.\\nAULD BRIG.\\nConceited gowk pufFd up wi windy pride\\nThis monie a year I ve stood the flood an tide\\nAn tho wi crazy eild I m sair forfairn,\\nI ll be a Brig when ye re a shapeless cairn\\nAs yet ye little ken about the matter,\\nBut twa-three winters will inform ye better.\\nWhen heavy, dark, continued, a -day rains,\\nWi deepening deluges o erflow the plains\\nWhen from the hills where springs the brawling Coil,\\nOr stately Lugar s mossy fountains boil,\\nOr where the Greenock winds his moorland course,\\nOr haunted Garpal draws his feeble source,\\nArous d by blust ring winds and spotted thowes,\\nIn mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes\\nWhile crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat,\\nSweeps dams, an mills, an brigs, a to the gate\\nAnd from Glenbuck down to the JRatton hey,\\nAuld Ayr is just one lengthen d tumbling sea;\\nThen down ye ll hurl, deil nor ye never rise\\nAnd dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies,\\nA lesson sadly teaching, to your cost,\\nThat Architecture s noble art is lost\\nHEW BRIG.\\nTine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say t o t\\nThe L d be thankit that we ve tint the gate o t\\nGaunt, ghastly, ghaist- alluring edifices,\\nHanging with threat ning jut, like precipices;\\nO er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,\\nSupporting roofs fantastic, stony groves\\nWindows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest,\\nWith order, symmetry, or taste unblest\\nForms like some bedlam statuary s dream,\\nThe craz d creations of misguided whim\\nForms might be worshipp d on the bended knee,\\nAnd still the second dread command be free,\\nTheir likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea.\\nMansions that would disgrace the building taste\\nOf any mason, reptile, bird, or beast\\nFit only for a doited Monkish race,\\nOr frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace,\\nOr cuifs of later times, wha held the notion\\nThat sullen gloom was sterling true devotion.\\nFancies that our guid Brugh denies protection,\\nAnd soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection\\nAtTLD BRIG.\\nO ye, my dear-remember d ancient yealings,\\nWere ye but here to share my wounded feelings", "height": "4508", "width": "2744", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "POEMS 303\\nYe worthy Proveses, an mony a Bailie,\\nWha in the paths o righteousness did toil aye\\nYe dainty Deacons, an ye douce Conveners,\\nTo whom our moderns are but causey- cleaners\\nYe godly Councils wha hae blest this town\\nYe godly Brethren of the sacred gown,\\nWha meekly gae your liurdies to the smiters\\nAnd (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers\\nA ye douce folk I ve borne aboon the broo,\\nWere ye but here, what would ye say or do\\nHow would your spirits groan in deep vexation.\\nTo see each melancholy alteration\\nAnd agonizing, curse the time and place\\nWhen ye begat the base, degenerate race\\nNae laoger Kev rend Men, their country s glory,\\nIn plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story\\nNae longer thrifty Citizens, an douce,\\nMeet owre a pint, or in the Council house\\nBut staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry,\\nThe herryment and ruin of the country\\nMen, three parts made by tailors and by barbers,\\nWha waste your well-hain d gear on d d new Brigs and\\nHarbours I\\nHEW BRIG.\\nNow haud you there for faith ye ve said enough,\\nAnd muckle mair than ye can mak to through,\\nAs for your Priesthood, I shall say but little\\nCorbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle\\nBut, under favour o your langer beard,\\nAbuse o Magistrates might weel be spared\\nTo liken them to your auld warld squad,\\n1 must needs say comparisons are odd.\\nIn Ayr, Wag- wits nae mair can hae a handle\\nTo mouth a Citizen, a term o scandal\\nNae mair the Council waddles down the street\\nIn all the pomp of ignorant conceit\\nMen wha grew wise priggin owre hops an raisins,\\nOr gather d lib ral views in Bonds and Seisins.\\nIf haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,\\nHad shored them with a glimmer of his lamp,\\nAnd would to Common-sense, for once betrayed them,\\nPlain dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.\\nWhat farther clishmaclaver might been said,\\nWhat bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed,\\nNo man can tell but all before their sight,\\nA fairy train appear d in order bright\\nAdown the glitt ring stream they featly danced\\nBright to the moon their various dresses glanced\\nThey footed o er the wat ry glass so neat,\\nThe infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet.\\nWhile arts of Minstrelsy among them rung,\\nAnd soul ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "304 BURNS WORKS.\\nhad M Lauchlin, thairm-inspiring sage,\\nBeen there to hear this heavenly band engage,\\nWhen thro his dear Strathspeys they bore with Highland\\nrage;\\nOr when they struck old Scotia s melting airs,\\nThe lover s raptured joys or bleeding cares\\nHow would his Highland lug been nobler fired,\\nAnd even his matchless hand with finer touch inspir d\\nNo guess could tell what intrument appear d,\\nBut all the soul of Music s self was heard\\nHarmonious concert rung in every part,\\nWhile simple melody poured moving on the heart.\\nThe Genius of the stream in front appears,\\nA venerable chief advanced in years\\nHis hoary head with water lilies crownd,\\nHis manly leg with garter tangle bound.\\nNext came the loveliest pair in all the ring,\\nSweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring\\nThen, crown d with flow ry hay, came Rural Joy,\\nAnd Summer, with his fervid -beaming eye\\nAll-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,\\nLed yellow Autumn wreath d with nodding corn;\\nThen Winter s time-bleached locks did hoary ghow,\\nBy Hospitality with cloudless brow\\nNext follow d Courage with his martial stride,\\nFrom where tiheFeal wild- woody coverts hide\\nBenevolence, with mild benignant air,\\nA female form, came from the tow rs of Stair\\nLearning and Worth in equal measures trode\\nFrom simple Catrine, their long-lov d abode;\\nLast, white-rob d Peace, crown d with a hazel wreath,\\nTo rustic Agriculture did bequeath\\nThe broken iron instruments of death\\nAt sight of whom our Sprites forgac their kindling wrath.\\nTHE ORDINATION.\\nFor sense they little owe to Frugal Heav n\\nTo please the Mob they hide the little giv n.\\nKilmarnock Wabsters, fidge and claw\\nAn pour your creeshie nations\\nAn ye wha leather rax an draw,\\nOf a denominations.\\nSwith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an a\\nAn there tak up your stations\\nThen aff to Beglies in a raw,\\nAn pour divine libations,\\nFor joy this day.\\nCurst Common Sense, that imp o hell,\\nCam in wi Maggie Lauder\\nBut aft made her yell,\\nAn II sair misca d her", "height": "4508", "width": "2716", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 305\\nThis day M takes the flail,\\nAn he s the boy will blaud her\\nHe ll clap a shangan on her tail,\\nAn set the bairns to daud her\\nWi dirt this day.\\nMak haste an turn King David owre,\\nAn lilt wi holy clangor\\n0* double verse come gie us four,\\nAn skirl up the Bangor\\nThis day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,\\nNae mair the knaves shall wrang her,\\nFor heresy is in her power,\\nAnd gloriously she ll whang her\\nWi pith this day.\\nCome let a proper text be read,\\nAn touch it aff wi vigour,\\nHow graceless Ham leugh at his Dad,\\nWhich made Canaan a niger\\nOr Phineas drove the murdering blade,\\nWi whore-abhorring rigour\\nOr Zipporah, the scaulding jade,\\nWas like a bluidy tiger\\n1 the inn that day.\\nThere, try his mettle on the creed,\\nAn bind him down wi caution,\\nThat Stipend is a carnal weed,\\nHe taks but for the fashion\\nAn gie him o er the flock to feed,\\nAn punish each transgression\\nEspecial, rams that cross the breed,\\nGie them sufficient threshin\\nSpare them nae day.\\nNow auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail,\\nAn toss thy horns fu canty\\nNae mair thoul t rowte out owre the dale\\nBecause thy pasture s scanty\\nFor lapfu s large o gospel hail,\\nShall fill thy crib in plenty,\\nAn runts o grace, the pick and wale,\\nNo gi en by way o dainty,\\nBut ilka day.\\nNae mair by BabeVs streams we ll weep,\\nTo think upon our Zion,\\nAn hing our fiddles up to sleep,\\nLike baby- clouts a-dryin\\nCome, screw the pegs wi tunefu cheep,\\nAn owre the thairms be tryin\\nOh, rare to see our elbucks wheep,\\nAn a like lambs tails flyin\\nFu fast this day.\\nLang Patronage, wi* rod o aim,\\nHas shored the Kirk s undoing", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "306 burns works.\\nAs lately Fenwich, sair forfaim,\\nHas proven to its ruin\\nOur Patron, honest man Glencaim,\\nHe saw mischef was brewing\\nAn like a godly elect bairn,\\nHe s waled us out a true ane,\\nAn sound this day.\\nNow R harangue nae mair,\\nBut steek your gab for ever\\nOr try the wicked town of Ayr,\\nFor there they ll think you clever\\nOr, nae reflection on your lear,\\nYe may commence a shaver\\nOr to the Netherton repair,\\nAn turn a carpet weaver\\nAff hand this day.\\nM and you were just a match,\\nWe never had sic twa drones\\nAuld Homie did the Laigh Kirk watch,\\nJust like a winkin baudrons\\nAn aye he catch d the tither wretch,\\nTo fry them in his caudrons\\nBut now his honour maun detach,\\nWi a his brimstone squadrons,\\nFast, fast, this day.\\nSee, see auld Orthodoxy s faes,\\nShe s swingein through the city\\nHark, how the nine-tail d cat she plays\\nI vow it s unco pretty\\nThere Learning, wi his Greekish face,\\nGrunts out some Latin ditty\\nAn Common-sense is gaun, she says,\\nTo mak to Jamie Beattie\\nHer plaint this day.\\nBut there s Morality himself\\nEmbracing a opinions\\nHear, how he gies the tither yell,\\nBetween his twa companions\\nSee, how she peels the skin an fell,\\nAs ane were peelin onions\\nNow there they re packed aff to hell,\\nAn banish d our dominions,\\nHenceforth this day.\\nhappy day rejoice, rejoice\\nCome bouse about the porter\\nMorality s demure decoys\\nShall here nae mair find quarter\\nM c R are the boys,\\nThat heresy can torture\\nThey ll gie her on a rape a hoyse,\\nAn* cowe her measure shorter\\nBy the head some day.", "height": "4508", "width": "2708", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "POEMS, 307\\nCome bring the tither mutchkin in,\\nAn* here s for a conclusion,\\nTo every Nece Light mother s son,\\nFrom this time forth Confusion\\nIf mair they deave us wi their din,\\nOr Patronage intrusion,\\nWe ll light a spunk, an ev ry skin,\\nWe ll rin them aff in fusion,\\nLike oil some day.\\nTHE CALF.\\nTO THE REV. MR.\\nOn his Text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2. And they shall go forth, and grow up,\\nlike calves of the stall.\\nRight Sir you text I ll prove it true,\\nThough heretics may laugh\\nFor instance there s yoursel just now,\\nGod knows, an unco Calf!\\nAn* should some Patron be so kind,\\nAs bless you wi a kirk,\\nI doubt nae, Sir, but then we ll find,\\nYe re still as great a Stirh\\nBut, if the Lover s raptur d hour\\nShall ever be your lot,\\nForbid it, every heavenly Power,\\nYou e er should prove a JStot\\nTho when some kind, connubial Dear,\\nYour but-and-ben adorns,\\nThe like has been that you may wear\\nA noble head of horns.\\nAnd in your lug, most reverend James,\\nTo hear you roar and rowte,\\nFew men o sense will doubt your claims\\nTo rank amang the nowte.\\nAnd when ye re number d wi the dead,\\nBelow a grassy hillock,\\nWi justice they may mark your head\\nHere lies a famous Bulloch\\nADDRESS TO THE DEIL.\\nO Prince! O Chief of many throned Powers,\\nWho led the embattled Seraphim to war. Milton.\\nO thou whatever title suit thee,\\nAuld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,\\nWha in yon cavern grim an sootie,\\nClos d under hatches,\\nSpairges about the brunstane cootie,\\nTo scaud poor wretches.\\nHear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,\\nAn* let poor damned bodies be", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "308 BURNS WORKS.\\nI m sure sma pleasure it can gie,\\nE en to a deil,\\nTo skelp an scaud poor dogs like me,\\nAn hear us squeel\\nGreat is thy pow r, an great thy fame\\nFar kend and noted is thy name\\nAn tho yon lowin heugh s thy name,\\nThou travels far;\\nAn faith thou s neither lag nor lame,\\naSTor blate nor scaur.\\nWhyles, ranging like a roarin lion,\\nFor prey, a holes and corners try in\\nWhyles on the strong- wing d tempest flyin\\nTirling the kirks\\nWhyles, in the human bosom pryin\\nUnseen thou lurk3.\\nI ve heard my reverend Grannie say,\\nIn lanely glens you like to stray\\nOr where auld ruin d castles gray,\\nNod to the moon,\\nYe fright the nightly wand rer s way,\\nWi eldritch croon.\\nWhen twilight did my Graunie summon,\\nTo say her prayers, douce honest woman\\nAft yont the dyke she s heard you bummin\\nWi eerie drone\\nOr, rustlin thro the boortries comin\\nWi heavy groan.\\nAe weary, windy, winter night,\\nThe stars shot down wi sklentin light,\\nWi you, mysel I gat a fright,\\nAyont the lough\\nYe, like a rash-bush stood in sight,\\nWi waving sough.\\nThe cudgel in my nieve did shake,\\nEach bristl d hair stood like a stake,\\nWhen wi an eldritch stour, quaick quaick-\\nAmang the springs,\\nAwa ye squatter d like a drake,\\nOn whistling wings.\\nLet Warlocks grim, an wither d hags,\\nTell how wi you on ragweed nags,\\nThey skim the muirs, and dizzy crags,\\nWi wicked speed\\nAnd in kirk-yards renew their leagues,\\nOwre howkit dead.\\nThence countra wives, wi toil an pain,\\nMay plunge an plunge the kirn in vain\\nFor, oh the yellow treasure s ta en\\nBy witching skill\\nAn dawtit, twal-pint Haivkie s gaen\\nAs yell s the Bill.", "height": "4508", "width": "2732", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 309\\nThence mystic knots mak great abuse,\\nOn young Guidman, fond, keen, an* crouse\\nWhen the best wark-lume i the house,\\nBy cantrip wit,\\nIs instant made no worth a louse,\\nJust at the bit.\\nWhen thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,\\nAn float the jinglin icy-boord,\\nThen Water-kelpies haunt the f oord,\\nBy your direction,\\nAn lighted Travelers are allured\\nTo their destruction.\\nAn* aft your moss- traversing Spunkies\\nDecoy the wight that late and drunk is\\nThe bleezin curst, mischievous monkeys\\nDelude his eyes,\\nTill in some miry slough he sunk is,\\nNe er mair to rise.\\nWhen Mason s mystic word an grip,\\nIn storms an tempests raise you up,\\nSome cock or cat your rage maun stop,\\nOr, strange to tell\\nThe youngest Brother ye wad whip\\nAff straught to hell\\nLang syne, in Eden s bonnie yard,\\nWhen youthfu lovers first were pair d,\\nAn all the soul of love they shared,\\nThe raptured hour,\\nSweet on the fragrant flowery swaird\\nIn shady bower.\\nThen you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog\\nYe came to Paradise incog.,\\nAn* played on man a cursed brogue,\\n(Black be your fa\\nAn gied the infant world a shog,\\nMaist ruined a\\nD ye mind that day, when in a bizz,\\nWi reekit duds, and reestit gizz,\\nYe did present your smoutie phiz\\nMang better folk,\\nAn sklented on the man of TJz\\nYour spitefu joke 1\\nAn how ye gat him i your thrall,\\nAn brak him out o house an hall,\\nWhile scabs and blotches did him gall,\\nWi bitter claw,\\nAn lowsed his ill-tongued wicked Scawl,\\nWas warst ava 1\\nBut a your doings to rehearse,\\nYour wily snares an fechtin fierce,\\nSin that day Michael did you pierce", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "310 burns works.\\nDown to this time,\\nWad ding a Lallan tongue or Erse,\\nIn prose or rhyme.\\nAn* now, auld Cloots, I ken ye re thinkin\\nA certain Bardie s rantin drinkin\\nSome luckless hour will send him linking\\nTo your black pit\\nBut faith he ll turn a corner, jinkin\\nAnd cheat you yet.\\nBut, fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben\\nO wad ye tak a thought and men I\\nYe aiblins might\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I dinna ken\\nStill hae a stake\\nI m wae to think upon yon den,\\nEven for your sake\\nTHE\\nDEATH AND DYING WORDS\\nOF\\nPOOR MAILIE,\\nTHE AUTHOR S ONLY PET YOWE.\\nAs Mailie, an her lambs thegither,\\nWere ae day nibbling on the tether,\\nUpon her cloot she coost a hitch,\\nAn owre she warsled in the ditch\\nThere, groaning, dying, she did lie,\\nWhen Hughoc he came doytin by.\\nWi glowrin een, and lifted ban s,\\nPoor Hughoc like a statue s tan s\\nHe saw her days were near-hand ended,\\nBut wae s my heart he could na mend it\\nHe gaped wide, but naething spak\\nAt length poor Mailie silence brak.\\nthou, whase lamentable face\\nAppears to mourn my waefu case\\nMy dying words attentive hear,\\nAn bear them to my Master dear.\\nTell him, if e er again he keep\\nAs muckle gear as buy a sheep,\\nO, bid him never tie them mair\\nWi wicked strings o hemp or hair\\nBut ca them out to park or hill,\\nAn let them wander at their will\\nSo may his flock increase, an grow\\nTo score 3 o lambs, an packs o woo\\nTell him, he was a master kin\\nAn aye was guid to me an mine", "height": "4472", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 311\\nAn now my dying charge I gie him,\\nMy helpless lambs I trust them wi him.\\nbid him save their harmless lives,\\nFrae dogs, an tods, an butchers knives\\nBut gie them guid cow milk their fill,\\nTill they be fit to fend themseP\\nAn tent them duly, e en an morn,\\nWi teats o hay an rips o corn.\\nAn may they never learn the gaets,\\nOf ither vile, wanrestfu pets\\nTo slink thro slaps, an reave an steal,\\nAt stacks o pease, or stocks o kail.\\nSo may they, like their great forbears,\\nFor mony a year come thro the sheers\\nSo wives will gie them bits o bread,\\nAn bairns greet for them when they re dead.\\nMy poor tooplamh, my son an heir,\\nbid him breed him up wi care\\nAn if he live to be a beast,\\nTo pit some havins in his breast,\\nAn warn him, what I winna name,\\nTo stay content wi yowes at hame\\nAn no to rin an wear his cloots,\\nLike ither menseless, graceless, brutes,\\nAn neist, my yowie, silly thing,\\nGuid keep thee frae a tether string\\nmay thou ne er forgather up\\nWi ony blastit moorland toop\\nBut aye keep mind to moop an mell\\nWi sheep o credit like thysel\\nAn now, my bairns, wi my last breath,\\n1 lea e my blessin wi you baith\\nAn when you think upo your mither,\\nMind to be kin to ane anither.\\nJSTow, honest Huglioc, dinna fail\\nTo tell my master a my tale\\nAn bid him burn this cursed tether,\\nAn for thy pains, thou se get my blether-\\nThis said, poor Mailie turn d her head,\\nAnd clos d her een amang the dead.\\nPOOR MAILIE S ELEGY.\\nLament in rhyme, lament in prose,\\nWi saut tears trickling down your nose\\nOur bardie s fate is at a close,\\nPast a remead\\nThe last sad cape-stane o his woes\\nPoor Mailie s dead\\nIt s no the loss o warl s gear,\\nThat could sae bitter draw the tear,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "312 BURNS WORKS.\\nOr mak our bardie, dowie, wear\\nThe mourning weed\\nHe s lost a friend and neebor dear,\\nIn Mailie dead.\\nThro a the town she trotted by him\\nA lang half-mile she could descry him\\nWi kindly bleat, when she did spy him,\\nShe ran wi speed\\nA friend mair faithfu ne er cam nigh him,\\nThan Mailie dead.\\nI wat she was a sheep o sense,\\nAn could behave hersel wi mense\\nI ll say t, she never brack a fence,\\nThro thievish greed.\\nOur bardie, lanely, keeps the spence\\nSin Mailie dead.\\nOr, if he wanders up the howe,\\nHer living image in her yowe\\nComes bleating to him, owre the knowe,\\nFor bits o bread\\nAn down the briny pearls rowe\\nFor Mailie dead.\\nShe was nae get o moorland tips,\\nWi tawted ket, an hairy hips\\nFor her forbears were brought in ships,\\nFrae yont the Tweed\\nA bonnier fleesh ne er cross d the clips\\nThan Mailie dead.\\nWae worth the man wha first did shape\\nThat vile wanchancie thing \u00e2\u0080\u0094a rape\\nIt maks guid fellows girn an gape,\\nWi chokin dread\\nAn Mobin s bonnet wave wi crape,\\nFor Mailie dead.\\nO, a ye bards on bonnie Doon\\nAn wha on Ayr your chaunters tune\\nCome, join the melancholious croon\\n0 Robin* s reed\\nHis heart will never get aboon\\nHis Mailie dead.\\nTO J, S-\\nFriendship mysterious cement of the soul\\nSweet ner of life, and solder of society\\nI owe thee much Blair.\\nDear S the sleest, paukie thief,\\nThat e er attempted stealth or rief,\\nYe surely hae some warlock-breef", "height": "4552", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nOwre human hearts\\nFor ne er a bosom yet was prief\\nAgainst your arts.\\nFor me, I swear by sun an moon,\\nAnd every star that blinks aboon,\\nYe ve cost me twenty pair o shoon,\\nJust gaun to see you\\nAnd every ither pair that s done,\\nMair taen I m with you.\\nThat auld capricious carlin, Nature,\\nTo mak amends for scrimpit stature,\\nShe s turn d you atf, a human creature\\nOn her first plan,\\nAnd in her freaks, on every feature,\\nShe s wrote, the Man,\\nJust now I ve taen the fit o rhyme,\\nMy barmie noddle s working prime,\\nMy fancy yerkit up sublime\\nWi hasty summon\\nHae ye a leisure moment s time\\nTo hear what s comin\\nSome rhyme a neebor s name to lash\\nSome rhyme (vain thought for needfu cash,\\nSome rhyme to court the countra clash,\\nAn raise a din;\\nFor me an aim I never fash\\nI rhyme for fun.\\nThe star that rules my luckless lot,\\nHas fated me the russet coat,\\nAn damned my fortune to the groat\\nBut in requit,\\nHas bless d me wi a random shot\\n0 countra wit.\\nThis while my notion s taen a sklent,\\nTo try my fate in guid black prent\\nBut still the mair I m that way bent,\\nSomething cries Hoolie\\nI red you, honest man, tak tent\\nYell shaw your folly.\\n1 There s ither poets, much your betters,\\nFar seen in Greek, deep men o letters,\\nHae thought they had ensured their debtors,\\nA future ages\\nNow moths deform in shapeless tetters,\\nTheir unknown pages.\\nThen farewell hopes o laurel-bough3,\\nTo garland my poetic brows\\nHenceforth I ll rove where busy ploughs\\nQ\\n313", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "314 BURNS* WORKS.\\nAre whistling thrang,\\nAn teach the lanely heights an howes\\nMy rustic sang.\\nI ll wander on, with tentless heed\\nHow never-halting moments speed,\\nTill fate shall snap the brittle thread\\nThen, all unknown,\\nI ll lay me with th inglorious dead,\\nForgot and gone\\nBut why o death begin a tale\\nJust now we re living, sound an hale,\\nThen top and maintop crowd the sail,\\nHeave care o er side\\nAnd large, before enjoyment s gale,\\nLet s tak the tide.\\nThis life, sae far s I understand,\\nIs a enchanted fairy land,\\nWhere pleasure is the magic wand,\\nThat, wielded right,\\nMaks hour3 like minutes, hand in hand,\\nDance by fu light.\\nThe magic- wand then let us wield\\nFor ance that five-an forty s speel d,\\nSee crazy, weary, joyless eild,\\nWi wrinkled face,\\nComes hostin hirplin owre the field,\\nWi creepin pace.\\nWhen ance life s day draws near the gloamin\\nThen fareweel vacant careless roamin\\nAn fareweel cheerfu tankards foamin\\nAn social noise\\nAn fareweel dear deluding woman.\\nThe joy of joys\\nLife how pleasant in thy morning,\\nYoung Fancy s rays the hills adorning\\nCold pausing Caution s lesson scorning,\\nWe frisk away,\\nLike school-boys, at the expected warning,\\nTo joy and play.\\nWe wander there, we wander here,\\nWe eye the rose upon the brier,\\nUnmindful that the thorn is near,\\nAmang the leaves\\nAnd though the puny wound appear,\\nShort while it grieves.\\nSome lucky, find a flowery spat,\\nFor which they never toiled nor swat\\nThey drink the sweet and eat the fat,\\nBut care or pain\\nAnd haply eye the barren hut\\nWith high disdain.", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 315\\nWith steady aim, some Fortune chase\\nKeen hope does every sinew brace\\nThro* fair, thro foul, they urge the race,\\nAnd seize the prey\\nThen cannie in some cozie place,\\nThey close the day.\\nAn* others, like your humble servan\\nPoor wights nae rules or roads observing\\nTo right or left, eternal swerving\\nThey zig-zag on\\nTill curst wi age, obscure an starvin/\\nThey af ten groan.\\nAlas what bitter toil an* straining\\nBut truce with peevish poor complaining\\nIs Fortune s fickle Luna waning 1\\nE en let her gang,\\nBeneath what light she has remaining,\\nLet s sing our sang.\\nMy pen I here fling to the door,\\nAnd kneel, Ye Pow rs and warm implore,\\nTho I should wander terra o er,\\nIn all her climes,\\nGrant me but this, I ask no more,\\nAye rowth o rhymes.\\nGie dreeping roasts to countra lairds,\\nTill icicles hing frae their beards\\nGie fine braw claes to fine life-guards,\\nAn maids of honour\\nAn* yill an* whisky gie to cairds,\\nUntil they sconner.\\nA title, Dempster merits it\\nAnd garter gie to Willie Pitt,\\nGie wealth to some be-ledger d cit,\\nIn cent, per cent.\\nBut give me real, sterling wit,\\nAn I m content.\\nWhile ye are pleased to keep me hale,\\nI ll sit down o er my scanty meal,\\nBe t water-brose, or muslin-kail,\\nWi cheerfu face,\\nAs lang s the muses dinna fail\\nTo say the grace.\\nAn anxious e e I never throws\\nBehint my lug, or by my nose\\nI jouk beneath misfortune s blows,\\nAs weel s I may\\nSworn foe to sorrow, care, an prose,\\nI rhyme away.\\nO ye douce folk, that live by rule,\\nGraves, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,\\nCompar d wi you\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -0 fool fool fool f", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "31.6 burns works.\\nHow much unlike\\nYour hearts are just a standing pool,\\nYour lives, a dyke\\nNae hair-brain d sentimental traces\\nIn your unlettered nameless faces\\nIn arioso trills and graces\\nYe never stray,\\nBut gravissimo, solemn basses\\nYe hum away.\\nYe are sae grave, nae doubt ye re wise,\\nNae ferly tho ye do despise\\nThe hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,\\nThe rattlin squad\\nI see you upward cast your eyes\\nYe ken the road.\\nWhilst I but I shall haud me there\\nWi you I ll scarce gang ony where\\nThen, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,\\nBut quat my sang,\\nContent wi you to mak a pair,\\nWhare er I gang.\\nA DREAM.\\nThoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason\\nBut surely dreams were ne er indicted treason.\\nOn reading, in the public papers, the Laureate s Ode, with the other parade of\\nJune 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself\\ntransported to the birthday levee; and in his dreaming fancy, made the fol-\\nlowing Address.]\\nGuid-mornin to your Majesty 1\\nMay heaven augment your blisses,\\nOn every new birth day ye see,\\nA humble poet wishes\\nMy hardship here at your levee,\\nOn sic a day as this is,\\nIs sure an uncouth sight to see,\\nAmang the birth-day dresses\\nSae fine this day.\\nI see ye re complimented thrang,\\nBy mony a lord an lady,\\nGod save the King s a cuckoo sang\\nThat s unco easy said aye\\nThe poets, too, a venal gang,\\nWr rhymes weel turn d an ready,\\nWad gar you trow ye ne er do wrang,\\nBut aye unerring steady,\\nOn sic a day,\\nFor me before a monarch s face,\\nEv n there I winna Hatter;\\nFor neither pension, post, nor place,\\nAmi your humble debtor", "height": "4508", "width": "2584", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 317\\nSo nae reflection on your grace\\nYour kingship to bespatter\\nThere s monie waur been o the race,\\nAn aiblins ane been better\\nThan you this day.\\nTis very true, my sov reign king,\\nMy skill may well be doubted\\nBut facts are chiels that winna ding\\nAn downa be disputed\\nYour royal nest beneath your wing,\\nIs e en right reft an clouted,\\nAn now the third part o the string,\\nAn less, will gang about it\\nThan did ae day.\\nFar be t frae me that I aspire\\nTo blame your legislation,\\nOr say, ye wisdom want, or lire,\\nTo rule this mighty nation\\nBut faith I muckle doubt, my Sire,\\nYe ve trusted ministration\\nTo chaps, wha in a barn or byre,\\nWad better fill d their station\\nThan courts yon day.\\nAn now ye eve gien auld Britain peace,\\nHer broken shins to plaister\\nYour sair taxation does her fleece,\\nTill she has scarce a tester\\nFor me, thank God, my life s a lease,\\nNae bargain wearing faster,\\nOr faith I fear that wi the geese,\\nI shortly boost to pasture\\nI the craft some day.\\nI m no mistrusting Willie Pitt,\\nWhen taxes he enlarges,\\nAn Will s true guid fallow s get,\\nA name not envy spairges),\\nThat he intends to pay your debt,\\nAn lessen a your charges\\nBut God sake let nae saving Jit\\nAbridge your bonnie barges\\nAn boats this day.\\nAdieu, my Liege, may freedom geek\\nBeneath your high protection\\nAn may ye rax Corruption s neck,\\nAn gie her for dissection\\nBut since I m here, I ll no neglect,\\nIn loyal, true affection,\\nTo pay your Queen, with due respect,\\nMy fealty an subjection\\nThis great birth-day.\\nHail Majesty, Most Excellent,\\nWhile nobles strive to please ye,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "318 burns works.\\nWill ye accept a compliment\\nA simple poet gies ye\\nThae bonnie bairntime, Heav n has lent,\\nStill higher may they heeze ye,\\nIn bliss, till fate some day is sent,\\nFor ever to release ye\\nFrae care that day.\\nFor you, young potentate o Wales,\\nI tell your Highness fairly,\\nDown Pleasure s stream, wi swelling sails,\\nI m tauld ye re driving rarely\\nBut some day ye may gnaw your nails,\\nAn curse your folly sairly,\\nThat e er ye brak Diana s pales,\\nOr rattled dice wi Charlie,\\nBy night or day.\\nYet aft a ragged cowte s been known\\nTo mak a noble aiver\\nSo, ye may doucely fill a throne,\\nFor a their clish-ma-claver\\nThere, him at Agincourt wha shone,\\nFew better were or braver\\nAnd yet wi funny queer Sir John,\\nHe was an unco shaver,\\nFor monie a day.\\nFor you, right reverend Osnabrug,\\nNane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,\\nAltho a ribbon at your lug\\nWad been a dress completer\\nAs ye disown that paughty dog\\nThat bears the keys of Peter,\\nThen, swith an get a wife to hug,\\nOr, trouth, yell stain the mitre\\nSome luckless day.\\nYoung royal Tarry Breels, I learn,\\nYe ve lately come athwart her\\nA glorious galley stem an stern,\\nWeel rigged for Venus barter;\\nBut first hang out, that she ll discern\\nYour hymeneal charter,\\nThen heave aboard your grapple aim,\\nAn large upo her quarter,\\nCome full that day.\\nYe, lastly, bonnie blossoms a/\\nYe royal lasses dainty,\\nHeav n make you guid as well as braw,\\nAn gie you lads a-plenty\\nBut sneer nae British boys awa\\nFor kings are unco scant aye\\nAn German gentles are but sma\\nThey re better just than want aye,\\nOn onie day.", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nGod bless you a consider now,\\nYe re unco muckle dautet\\nBut, ere the course o life be thro\\nIt may be bitter sautet\\nAn* I hae seen their coggie fou,\\nThat yet hae tarrow t at it\\nBut or the day was done, I trow,\\nThe laggen they hae clautet\\nFu clean that day.\\n319\\nTHE VISION.\\nDtJAN FIRST.\\nThe sun had closed the winter s day,\\nThe curler s quat their roaring play,\\nAn hunger d maukin ta en her way\\nTo kail-yards green,\\nWhile faithless snaws ilk step betray\\nWhare she has been.\\nThe thresher s weary flingin-tree\\nThe lee-lang day had tired me\\nAnd whan the day had closed his e e,\\nFar i the west,\\nBen i the spence, right pensivelie,\\nI gaed to rest.\\nThere, lanely by the ingle -cheek,\\nI sat, and ey d the spewing reek,\\nThat fill d wi hoast-provoking smeek,\\nThe auld clay biggin\\nAn heard the restless rattons squeak\\nAbout the riggin*.\\nAll in this mottie mistie clime,\\nI backward mus d on wasted time,\\nHow I had spent my youthfu prime,\\nAn* done nae-thing,\\nBut stringin blethers up in rhyme,\\nFor fools to sing.\\nHad I to guid advice but harkit,\\nI might, by this, hae led a market,\\nOr strutted in a bank and clarkit\\nMy cash account\\nWhilst here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,\\n1 a th amount.\\nI started, mutt ring, blockhead coof\\nAnd heav d on high my waukit loof,\\nTo swear by a yon starry roof,\\nOr some rash aith,\\nThat I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof,\\nTill my last breath\\nWhen click the string the sneck did draw\\nAn jee the door gaed to the wa", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "320 BURNS WORKS.\\nA by the ingle-lowe I saw,\\nNow bleezin bright,\\nA tight outlandish Eizzie, braw,\\nCome full in sight.\\nYe need na doubt, 1 held my whisht\\nThe infant-aith half-form d was crush t\\nI glowr d as eerie s I d been dusht\\nIn some wild glen\\nWhen sweet, like modest worth, she blush t,\\nAnd stepped ben.\\nGreen, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs,\\nWere twisted gracefu round her brows\\nI took her for some Scottish Muse,\\nBy that same token\\nAn come to stop those reckless vows,\\nWould soon been broken.\\nA hair- brained sentimental trace\\nWas strongly marked in her face\\nA wildly-witty rustic grace\\nShone full upon her\\nHer eye, eVn turned on empty space,\\nBeam d keen with honour.\\nDown fiow d her robe, a tartan sheen,\\nTill half a leg was scrimply seen\\nAnd such a leg my bonnie Jean\\nCould only pear it\\nSae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,\\nNane else cam near it.\\nHer mantle large of greenish hue,\\nMy gazing wonder chiefly drew\\nDeep lights and shades, bold mingling, threw\\nA lustre grand\\nAnd seem d to my astonish d view,\\nA well-known land.\\nHere, rivers in the sea were lost;\\nThere, mountains to the skies were tost\\nHere, tumbling billows mark d the coast,\\nWith surging foam\\nThere, distant shore Art s lofty boast,\\nThe lordly dome.\\nHere Boon pour d down his far-fetch d floods\\nThere, well-fed Irwine stately thuds\\nAuld hermit Ayr staw thro his woods,\\nOn to the shore\\nAnd many a lesser torrent scuds,\\nWith seeming roar.\\nLow, in a sandy valley spread,\\nAn ancient borough rear d her head\\nStill, as in Scottish story read,\\nShe boasts a race,", "height": "4508", "width": "2576", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nTo every nobler virtue bred,\\nAnd polish d grace.\\nBy stately tow r or palace fair,\\nOr ruins pendent in the air,\\nBold stems of heroes, here and there,\\nI could discern\\nSome seem d to muse, some seem d to dare,\\nWith feature stern.\\nMy heart did glowing transport feel,\\nTo see a race heroic wheel,\\nAnd brandish round the deep dy d steel\\nIn sturdy blows\\nWhile back-recoiling seem d to reel\\nTheir suthron foes.\\nHis Country s Saviour, mark him well\\nBold Richardtoris heroic swell\\nThe chief on Sarh who glorious fell,\\nIn high command\\nAnd he whom ruthless fates expel\\nHis native land.\\nThere, where a sceptred Pictish shade\\nStalk d round his ashes lowly laid,\\nI mark d a martial race portray d\\nIn colours strong\\nBold, soldier-featur d, undismay d\\nThey strode along.\\nThro many a wild, romantic grove,\\nNear many a hermit-fancy d cove,\\n(Fit haunts for friendship or for love\\nIn musing mood,)\\nAn aged Jzidge, I saw him rove,\\nDispensing good.\\nWith deep -struck reverential awe,\\nThe learned sire and son I saw,\\nTo Nature s God and Nature s law\\nThey gave their lore,\\nThis, all its source and end to draw,\\nThat to adore.\\nBrydoris brave ward I well could spy,\\nBeneath old Scotia^s smiling eye\\nWho call d on Fame, low standing by,\\nTo hand him on,\\nWhere many a patriot-name on high,\\nAnd hero shone.\\nDUAN SECOND.\\nWith musing-deep, astonish d stare,\\nI view d the heav nly seeming fair\\nA whisp ring throb did witness bear,\\nOf kindred sweet,\\no 5\\n32\\\\", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "322 bubNs* wGRks.\\nWhen with an elder sister s air,\\nShe did me greet.\\nAll hail my own inspired bard\\nIn me thy native muse regard\\nNor longer mourn thy fate is hard,\\nThus poorly low,\\nI come^to give thee such reward\\nAs we bestow.\\n9i Know, the great genius of this land.\\nHas many a light, aerial band,\\nWho, all beneath his high command,\\nHarmoniously,\\nAs arts or arms thev understand,\\nTheir labours ply.\\nThey Scotia* s racs among them share\\nSome fire the soldier on to dare\\nSome rouse the patriot up to bare\\nCorruption s heart\\nSome teach the bard, a darling care,\\nThe tuneful art.\\nu Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,\\nThey, ardent, kindling spirits pour\\nOr, mid the vernal senate s roar,\\nThey, sightless, stand,\\nTo mend the honest patriot-lore,\\nAnd grace the land.\\nAnd when the bard, or hoary sage,\\nCharm or instruct the future age,\\nThey bind the wild poetic rage\\nIn energy,\\nOr point the inconclusive page\\nFull on the eye.\\nHence Fullarton, the brave and young\\nHence Dempsters zeal-inspired tongue\\nHence sweet harmonious Bealtie sung\\nHis Minstrel lays;\\nOr tore, with noble ardour stung,\\nThe sceptic s bays.\\nTo lower orders are assign d\\nThe humbler ranks of human kind,\\nThe rustic Bard, the lab ring Hind,\\nThe Artisan\\nAll choose, as various they re inclin d,\\nThe various man.\\nWhen yellow waves the heavy grain,\\nThe threat ning storm some strongly rein\\nSome teach to meliorate the plain,\\nWith tillage skill\\nAnd some instruct the shepherd-train,\\nBlithe o er the hilL", "height": "4508", "width": "2716", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 32 J\\nSome hint the lover s harmless wile\\nSome grace the maiden s artless smile\\nSome soothe the lab rer s weary toil,\\nFor humble gains,\\nAnd make his cottage scenes beguile\\nHis cares and pains.\\nSome bounded to a district space,\\nExplore at large man s infant race,\\nTo mark the embryotic trace,\\nOf rustic Bard;\\nAnd careful note each op ning grace,\\nA guide and guard.\\nOf these am I\u00e2\u0080\u0094Coila my name\\nAnd this district as mine I claim,\\nWhere once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,\\nHeld ruling pow r,\\nI mark d thy embryo tuneful flame,\\nThy natal hour.\\nWith future hope, I oft would gaze,\\nFond on thy little early ways,\\nThy rudely caroll d, chiming phrase,\\nIn uncouth rhymes,\\nFired at the simple, artless lays\\nOf other times.\\nI saw thee seek the sounding shore,\\nDelighted with the dashing roar\\nOr when the north his fleecy store\\nDrove thro the sky,\\nI saw grim Nature s visage hoar\\nStruck thy young eye.\\nOr when the deep-green mantled earth\\nWarm cherish d ev ry flow ret s birth,\\nAnd joy and music pouring forth\\nIn ev ry grove,\\nI saw thee eye the general mirth\\nWith boundless love.\\nWhen ripen d fields, and azure skies,\\nCall d forth the reaper s rustling noise,\\nI saw thee leave their ev ning joys,\\nAnd lonely stalk,\\nTo vent thy bosom s swelling rise\\nIn pensive walk.\\nWhen youthful love, warm-blushing, strong,\\nKeen-shivering shot thy nerves along,\\nThose accents, grateful to thy tongue,\\nTh adored Name,\\nI taught thee how to pour in song,\\nTo soothe thy flame.\\nI saw thy pulse s maddening play,\\nWild send thee Pleasure s devious way*", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "$24* burns works.\\nMisled by Fancy s meteor ray,\\nBy Passion driven\\nBut yet the light that led astray\\nWas light from heaven.\\nI taught thy manners painting strains,\\nThe loves, the ways of simple swains,\\nTill now, o er all my wide domains\\nThy fame extends\\nAnd some, the pride of Coila s plains,\\nBecome thy friends.\\nThou canst not learn, nor can I show,\\nTo paint with Thomson s landscape glow\\nOr wake the bosom -melting throe,\\nWith Shenstone s art\\nOr pour, with Gray, the moving flow\\nWarm on the heart.\\nYet all beneath th unrivall d rose,\\nThe lowly daisy sweetly blows\\nTho large the forest s monarch throws\\nHis army shade,\\nYet green the juicy hawthorn grows,\\nAdown the glade.\\nThen never murmur nor repine\\nStrive in thy humble sphere to shine\\nAnd trust me, not Potosis mine,\\nNor kings regard,\\nCan give a bliss o ermatching thine,\\nA rustic Bard.\\nTo give my counsel? all in one,\\nThy tuneful flame still careful fan\\nPreserve the dignity of Man,\\nWith soul erect\\nAnd trust the Universal Plan\\nWill all protect.\\nAnd wear thou this/ she solemn said,\\nAnd bound the Holly round my head;\\nThe polish d leaves, and berries red,\\nDid rustling play\\nAnd, like a passing thought, she fled\\nIn light away.\\nADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID,\\nOR THE\\nRIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.\\nMy son, these maxims make a rule,\\nAnd lump them aye thegither\\nThe Rigid Righteous is a fool,\\nThe Rigid Wise anither\\nThe cleanest corn that e er was dight\\nMay hie some pyles o c if in\\nSae ne er a fellow-creature slight\\nFor random fits o daffin.\\nSolomon.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16.", "height": "4532", "width": "2764", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "POEMS,\\n325\\nO ye wha are sae guid yoursel,\\nSae pious and sae holy,\\nYe ve nought to do but mark and tell\\nYour neebour s fauts and folly\\nWhase life is like a weel gaun mill,\\nSupply d wi store o water,\\nThe heapet happer s ebbing still,\\nAnd still the clap plays clatter.\\nHear me, ye venerable core,\\nAs counsel for poor mortals,\\nThat frequent pass douce Wisdom s door\\nFor glaikit Folly s portals\\nI, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,\\nWould here propone defences,\\nTheir donsie tricks, their black mistakes,\\nTheir failings and mischances.\\nYe see your state wi theirs compared.\\nAnd shudder at the niffer,\\nBut cast a moment s fair regard,\\nWhat maks the mighty differ\\nDiscount what scant occasion gave\\nThat purity ye pride in,\\nAnd (what s aft mair than a the lave)\\nYour better art o hiding.\\nThink, when your castigated pulse\\nGies now and fchen a wallop,\\nWhat ragings must his veins convulse,\\nThat still eternal gallop\\nWi wind and tide fair i your tail,\\nEight on ye scud your sea-way\\nBut in the teeth o baith to sail,\\nIt makes an unco lee way.\\nSee social life and glee sit down,\\nAll joyous and unthinking,\\nTill, quite transmogrified, they re grown\\nDebauchery and drinking\\nwould they stay to calculate\\nTh eternal consequences\\nOr your more dreaded bell to state,\\nDamnation of expenses\\nYe high, exalted, virtuous dames,\\nTy d up in godly laces,\\nBefore ye gie -poor frailty names,\\nSuppose a change o cases\\nA dear lov d lad, convenience snug,\\nA treacherous inclination\\nBut let me whisper i your lug,\\nYe re aiblins nae temptation.\\nThen gently scan your brother man,\\nStill gentler sister woman\\nTho they may gang a kenniu wrar.g,\\nTo step aside u human", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "32f burns works.\\nOne point must still be greatly dark,\\nThe moving why they do it\\nAnd just as lamely can ye mark,\\nHow far perhaps they rue it.\\nWho made the heart, tis Ee alone\\nDecidedly can try us,\\nHe knows each chord its various tone,\\nEach spring its various bias\\nThen at the balance let s be mute,\\nWe never can adjust it;\\nWhat s done we partly may compute,\\nBut know not what s resisted.\\nTAM SAMSON S ELEGY\\nAn honest man s the noblest work of God.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Pope,\\nHas auld K seen the deil\\nOr great M f thrawn his heel 1\\nOr 5.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\u00e2\u0080\u0094 again grown weel\\nTo preach an read\\ni Na, waur than a cries ilka chiel,\\nTarn Samsons dead\\nlang may grunt an* grane,\\nAn sigh, an sab an greet her lane,\\nAn deed her bairns, man, wife, and wean,\\nIn mourning weed\\nTo death, she s dearly paid the kane,\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nThe brethren of the mystic level,\\nMay hing their head in woefu bevel,\\nWhile by their nose the tears will revel,\\nLike ony head\\nDeath s gien the lodge an unco devel,\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nWhen winter muffles up his cloak,\\nAnd binds the mire like a rock\\nWhen to the lochs the curlers flock,\\nWi gleesome speed\\nWha will they station at the cock I\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nHe was the king o a the core,\\nTo guard, or draw, or wick a bore,\\nOr up the rink, like Jehu roar,\\nIn time o need\\nBut now he lags on death s hog-score,\\nTarn Samsom s dead\\nNow safe the stately sawmont sail,\\nAnd trouts bedropp d wi crimsom hail,\\nAnd eels weel kenn d for souple tail,\\nAnd geds for greed,\\nSince dark in death s fish-creel we wail,\\nTarn Samson dead i", "height": "4540", "width": "2748", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nRejoice, ye birring paitricks a\\nYe cootie moorcocks, crousely craw\\nYe maukins, cock your fud fu braw,\\nWithouten dread\\nYour mortal fae is now awa\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nThat waefu morn be ever mourn d,\\nSaw him in shootin graith adorn d,\\nWhile pointers round impatient burn d\\nFrae couples freed\\nBut, och he gaed and ne er return d\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nIn vain auld age his body batters\\nIn vain the gout his ancles fetters\\nIn vain the burns came down like waters\\nAn acre braid\\nNow eVry auld wife greetin clatters,\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nOwre mony a weary hag he limpit,\\nAn* aye the tither shot he thumpit,\\nTill coward death behind him jumpit\\nWi deadly feide\\nNow he proclaims wi tout o trumpet,\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nWhen at his heart he felt the dagger,\\nHe reel d his wonted bottle-swagger,\\nBut yet he drew the mortal trigger\\nWi weel-aim d heed\\nL\u00e2\u0080\u0094 d, five P he cry d, an owre did stagger;\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nIlk hoary hunter mourn d a brither\\nIlk sportsman youth bemoan d a father\\nYon auld grey stane, amang the heather,\\nMarks out his head,\\nWhare Bums has wrote, in rhyming blether,\\nTam Samsons dead I\\nThere low he lies, in lasting rest\\nPerhaps upon his mould ring breast\\nSome spitefu muirfowl bigs her nest,\\nTo hatch an breed\\nAlas nae mair he ll them molest\\nTam Samson s dead.\\nWhen August winds the heather wave,\\nAnd sportsmen wander by yon grave,\\nThree volleys let his mem ry crave\\npouther an lead,\\nTill Echo answer frae her cave,\\nTam Samson s dead\\nHeav n rest his saul, whare er he be\\nIs th wish o mony mae than me\\nHe had twa fauts, or may be three,\\nYet what remeadl\\n327", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "S28 BURNS WORKS.\\nAe social, honest man, want we\\nTarn Samson s dead\\nTHE EPITAPH.\\nTam Samson s weel-worn clay here lies,\\nYe canting zealots, spare him\\nIf honest worth in heaven rise,\\nYe ll mend or ye won near him.\\nPER CONTRA.\\nGo, Fame, and canter like a filly\\nThro a the streets an neuks o Killie,\\nTell every social, honest billie,\\nTo cease his grievin\\nFor yet unskaith d by death s gleg gullie,\\nTam Samson s liviri.\\nHALLOWEEN\\nYes let the rich deride, the poor disdain,\\nThe simple pleasures of the lowly train\\nTo me more dear, congenial to my heart,\\nOne native charm, than all the gloss of art.\\nUp\u00c2\u00bbn that night, when fairies light,\\nOn Cassilis Downans dance,\\nOr owre the lays, in splendid blaze,\\nOn sprightly coursers prance\\nOr for Cohan the route is ta en,\\nBeneath the moon s pale beams\\nThere up the cove* to stray an rove\\nAmang the rocks and streams,\\nTo sport that night.\\nAmang the bonnie winding banks\\nWhere Boon rins, wimplin clear,\\nWhere Bruce ance rul d the martial ranks,\\nAn shook his Carrick spear,\\nSome merry, friendly, countra folks,\\nTogether did convene,\\nTo burn their nits, an pou their stocks,\\nAn haud their Halloween\\nFu blithe that night.\\nThe lasses feat, an cleanly neat,\\nMair braw than when they re fine\\nTheir faces blithe, fu sweetly kythe,\\nHearts leal, an warm, an kin\\nThe lads sae trig wi 1 wooer-babs,\\nWeel knotted on their garten,\\nSome unco blate, and some wi gabs,\\nQ* hearts ?zr\\\\g startm\\nWhy lei fast at night.", "height": "4508", "width": "2756", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nThen first and foremost, thro the kail,\\nTheir stocks maun a be sought ance\\nThey steek their een, an graip, an wale,\\nFor muckle anes and straught anes.\\nPoor hav rel Will fell aff the drift,\\nAn wander d thro the low-kail,\\nAn pou t for want o better shift,\\nA runt was like a sow-tail,\\nSae bow t that night.\\nThen, straught or crooked, yird or nane,\\nThey roar an cry a throu ther\\nThe vera wee things, todlin rin\\nWi stocks out-owre their shouther\\nAn gif the customs sweet or sour,\\nWi joctelegs they taste them;\\nSyne coziely, aboon the door,\\nWi cannie care, they ve plac d them\\nTo lie that night.\\nThe lasses staw frae mang then a\\nTo pou their statics o com\\nBut Rab slips out, and jinks about,\\nBehint the muckle thorn\\nHe grippet Nelly hard an fast\\nLoud skirl d a the lasses\\nBut her tap-pickle maist was lost,\\nWhen kiuttlin in the fause-house\\nWi him that night.\\nThe auld guidwife s weel-hoordet nits\\nAre round an round divided,\\nAnd monie lads and lasses fates,\\nAre there that night decided\\nSome kindle, couthy side by side,\\nAn burn thegither trimly\\nSome smart awa wi saucy pride,\\nAn jump out-owre the chimlie\\nFu high that night.\\nJean slips in twa wi tentie e e\\nWha twas, she wadna tell\\nBut this is Jock, an this is me,\\nShe says in to hersel\\nHe bleez^d owre her, and she owre him,\\nAs they wad never mair part\\nTill faff he started up the lum,\\nAn Jean had e en a sair heart\\nTo see t that night.\\nPoor Willie, wi his how -hail runt,\\nWas brunt wi primsie Mallie\\nAn Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt,\\nTo be compar d to Willie\\nMall s nit lap out wi pridefu fling,\\nAn her ain fit it brunt it\\n329", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "330 BURNS WORKS.\\nWhile Willie lap, and swoor by jing,\\nT was just the way he wanted\\nTo be that night.\\nNell had the fause-house in her min\\nShe pits hersel an Rob in\\nIn lovin bleeze they sweetly join,\\nTill white in ase they re Bobbin\\nNell s heart was dancin at the view,\\nShe whisper d Rob to seek for t\\nRob, stowlins prie d her bonnie mou,\\nFu cozie in the neuk for t,\\nUnseen that night.\\nBut Merran sat behint their backs,\\nHer thoughts on Andrew Bell\\nShe lea es them gashin at their cracks,\\nAnd slips out by hersel\\nShe thro the yard the nearest taks,\\nAn to the kiln she goes then,\\nAn darklins graipit for the bauks,\\nAnd in the Hue clue thraws then,\\nRight fear t that night.\\nAn aye she win t, an ay she swat,\\nI wat she made nae jaukin\\nTill something held within the pat,\\nGuid L\u00e2\u0080\u0094 d but she was quakin\\nBut whether twas the Deil himsel\\nOr whether twas a bauk-en,\\nOr whether it was Andrew Bell,\\nShe did na wait on talkin\\nTo spier that night.\\nWee Jenny to her Graunie says,\\nWill ye go wi me graunie\\nI ll eat the apple at the glass,\\nI gat frae Uncle Johnnie\\nShe fuff t her pipe wi sic a lunt,\\nIn wrath she was sae vap rin\\nShe notic d na, an aizle brunt\\nHer braw new worset apron\\nOut thro that night.\\nu Ye little skelpie-limmer s face\\nHow daur ye try sic sportin\\nAs seek the foul Thief ony place,\\nFor him to spae your fortune\\nNae doubt but ye may get a sight J\\nGreat cause ye hae to fear it\\nFor monie a ane has gotten a fright,\\nAn liv d an di d deleeret\\nOn sic a night.\\nAe hairst afore the Sherra-moor,\\nI mind t as weel s yestreen,\\nI was a gilpey then, I m sure\\nwas na past fyfteen", "height": "4508", "width": "2748", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 331\\nThe simmer had been cauld an wat,\\nAn stuff was unco green\\nAn aye a rantin kirn we gat,\\nAn just on Halloween\\nIt fell that night.\\nOur stibble-rig was Rab M Graen,\\nA clever, sturdy fallow\\nHe s sin gat Eppie Sim wi wean,\\nThat liv d in Achmacalla\\nHe gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel,\\nAn he made unco light o t\\nBut monie a day was by himsel\\nHe was sae sairly frighted\\nThat vera night.\\nThen up gat fetchtin Jamie Fleck,\\nAn* he swoor by his conscience,\\nThat he could saw hemp-seed a peck\\nFor it was a but nonsense\\nThe auld guid man raught down the pock,\\nAn 5 out a handfu gied him\\nSyne bad him slip frae mang the folk,\\nSometime when nae ane see d him,\\nAn try t that night.\\nHe marches thro amang the stacks,\\nTho he was something sturtin,\\nThe giaip he for a harrow taks,\\nAn haurls at his curpin\\nAn every now an then he says,\\nHemp-seed I saw thee,\\nAn her that is to be my lass,\\nCome after me, and draw thee,\\nAs fast this night.\\nHe whistl d up Lord Lennox march,\\nTo keep his courage cheery\\nAltho his hair began to arch,\\nHe was sae fley d an eerie\\nTill presently he hears a squeak,\\nAn then a grane an gruntle\\nHe by his shouther gae a keek,\\nAn tumbl d wi a wintle\\nOut-owre that night.\\nHe roar d a horrid murder shout,\\nIn dreadfu desperation\\nAn young an auld cam rinnin out,\\nTo hear the sad narration\\nHe swoor twas hilchin Jean M Craw,\\nOr crouchie Merran Humphie,\\nTill stop she trotted thro them a*\\nAn wha was it but Grumphie\\nA steer that night\\nMeg fain wad to the harm hae gane,\\nTo win thm mchts o 1 meihing", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "332 BURNS WORKS.\\nBut for to meet the deil her lane,\\nShe pat but little faith in\\nShe gies the herd a pickle nits,\\nAn twa red cheekit apples,\\nTo watch, while for the barn she sets\\nIn hopes to see Tarn Kipples\\nThat vera night.\\nShe turns the key wi cannie thraw,\\nAn owre the threshold ventures\\nBut first on Sawnie gies a ca\\nSyne bauldly in she enters\\nA ration rattled up the wa\\nAn she cry d, L d preserve her\\nAn ran thro midden hole an a\\nAn pray d wi zeal and fervour,\\nFu fast that night,\\nThey hoy t out Will, wi sair advice\\nThen hecht him some fine braw ane\\nIt chanc d the stack hefaddom d thrice,\\nWas timmer-prapt for thrawin\\nHe taks a swirlie auld moss- oak,\\nFor some black, grousome carlin\\nAn loot a wince, an drew a stroke,\\nTill skin in biypes cam haurlin\\nAff s nieves that night.\\nA wanton widow Leezie was,\\nAs canty as a kitten\\nBut Och that night, amang the shaws,\\nShe got a fearfu settlin\\nShe thro the whins, an by the cairn,\\nAn owre the hill gaed scrievin\\nWhare thrae lairds lands met at a bum,\\nTo dip her left sark sleeve in,\\nWas bent that night.\\nWhyles owre a linn the burnie plays,\\nAs thro the glen it wimpl t\\nWhyles round a rocky scar it strays\\nWhyles in a wiel it dimpl t\\nWhyles glitter d to the nightly rays,\\nWi bickering, dancing dazzle\\nWhyles cookit underneath the braes,\\nBelow the spreading hazel,\\nUnseen that night.\\nAmang the brackens, on the brae,\\nBetween her an the moor,\\nThe deil, or else an outler quey,\\nGat up an gae a croon\\nPoor Leezie s heart maist lap the hool\\nNe er lavrock height she jumpet,\\nBut mist a fit, an in the pool\\nOut owre the lugs she plumpit,\\nWi a plunge that night.", "height": "4508", "width": "2776", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "poems. 333\\nIn order, on the clean hearth-stane,\\nThe lug gees three are ranged,\\nAnd ev ry time great care is ta en,\\nTo see them duly changed\\nAuld uiiele John, wha wedlock s joys\\nSin Mar 8-year did desire,\\nBecause he gat the tooru-dish thrice,\\nHe heav d them on the fire,\\nIn wrath that night.\\nWi merry sangs, an friendly cracks,\\nI wat they did na weary\\nAn unco tales, and funnie jokes,\\nTheir sports were cheap an cheery\\nTill butter d so ns, wi fragrant hint,\\nSet a their gabs a-steerin\\nSyne, wi a social glass o strunt,\\nThey parted aff careerin\\nFu blithe that night,\\nTHE\\nAULD FARMER S\\nNEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS\\nAULD MARE MAGGIE,\\nON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN\\nTHE NEW TEAR.\\nA Guid Xew-year I wish thee Maggie\\nHae, there s a ripp to thy auld baggie\\nTho thou s howe-backit, now an knaggie,\\nI ve seen the day,\\nThou could hae gaen like onie staggie\\nOut-owre the lay.\\ni\\nTho now thou s dowie, stiff, and crazy,\\nAn thy auld hide s as white s a daisy,\\nI ve seen thee dappl t, sleek, an glaizie,\\nA bonnie gray\\nHe should been tight that daur t to raize thee,\\nAnce in a day.\\nThou ance was i the foremost rank,\\nA filly buirdly, steeve, an swank,\\nAn set weel down a shapely shank\\nAs e er tred yird\\nAn could hae flown out-owre a stank,\\nLike onie bird.\\nIt s now some nine-an twenty year,\\nSin thou was my guid father s meere r\\nHe gied me thee, o tocher clear,\\nAn fifty mark\\nTho it was sma twas weel- won gear,\\nAn thou was stark.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "334 BURNS WORKS.\\nWhan first I gaed to woo my Jenny,\\nYe then was trottin wi your minnie\\nTho ye was trickie, slee, an* funnie,\\nYe ne er was donsie,\\nBut namely, tawie, quiet, an* cannie\\nAn unco sonsie.\\nThat day, ye pranc d wi muckle pride,\\nWhen ye bure hame my bonnie bride\\nAn sweet an gracefu she did ride,\\nWi maiden air\\nKyle Stewart I could bragged wide,\\nFor sic a pair.\\nTho* now ye dow but hoyte an hobble,\\nAn wintle like a samount- coble,\\nThat day ye was a j inker noble,\\nFor heels an win\\nAn ran them till they a did wauble,\\nFar, far behin\\nWhen thou an* I were young and skeigh,\\nAn stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,\\nHow thou wad prance, an* snore, an skreigh,\\nAn tak the road\\nTown s bodies ran, an stood abeigh,\\nAn ca t thee mad.\\nWhen thou was corn t, an I was mellow,\\nWe took the road aye like a swallow\\nAt Brooses thou had ne er a fellow,\\nFor pith an speed\\nAnd ev ry tail thou pay t them hollow,\\nWhare er thou gaed.\\nThe sma droop-rumpl t, hunter cattle,\\nMight aiblins waur t thee for a brattle\\nBut sax Scotch miles thou try t their mettle,\\nAn gar t them whaizle\\nNae whip nor spur, but just a wattle\\n0 saugh or hazel.\\nThou was a noble fittie-lan\\nAs e er in tug or tow was drawn\\nAft thee an I, in aught hours gaun,\\nOn guid March weather,\\nHae turn d sax rood beside our han\\nFor days thegither.\\nThou never braindg t an fetch fc, an fliskit,\\nBut thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,\\nAn* spread abreed thy weel-fill d brisket,\\nWi* pith an pow r,\\nTill spritty knowes wad rair t an risket,\\nAn slypet owre.\\nWhen frosts lay lang, an* snaws were deep,\\nAn* threaten d labour back to keep,", "height": "4508", "width": "2724", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nI gied my cog a wee bit heap\\nA boon the timmer\\nI ken d my Maygie wadna sleep\\nFor that, or simmer.\\nIn cart or car thou never reestit\\nThe steyest brae thou wad hae fac t it\\nThou never lap, and sten t, and breastit,\\nThen stood to blaw\\nBut just thy step a wee thing has tit,\\nThou snoov t awa.\\nMy pleugh is now thy bairn-time a*\\nFour gallant brutes as e er did draw\\nForbye sax mae, I ve sell t awa,\\nThat thou hast nurst.\\nThey drew me thretteen pund and twa,\\nThe vera warst.\\nMonie a sair daurk we twa had wrought,\\nAn wi the weary warl fought\\nAn monie an anxious day, I thought\\nWe wad be beat\\nYet here to crazy age we re brought,\\nWi something yet.\\nAn think na, my auld, trusty servan\\nThat now perhaps thou s less deservin\\nAn thy auld days may end in starvin\\nFor my last fou,\\nA heapit stimpart, I ll reserve ane\\nLaid by for you.\\nWe ve worn to crazy years thegither\\nWe ll toyt about wi ane anither;\\nWi tentie care I ll flit thy tether\\nTo some hain d rig,\\nWhare ye may nobly rax your leather,\\nWi sma fatigue.\\nTO A MOUSE,\\nON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785.\\nWee, sleekit, cow rin tim rous beastie,\\nO, what a panic s in thy breastie\\nThou need na start awa sa hasty,\\nWi bickering brattle\\nI wad be laith to rin an chase thee,\\nWi murd ring pattle\\nI m truly sorry man s dominion\\nHas broken Nature s social union,\\nAnd justifies that ill opinion\\nThat makes thee startle\\nAt me, thy poor earth-born companion\\nAn fellow-mortal I\\nI doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve\\nWhat then poor beastie, thou maun live J", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "336 BURNS* WORKS.\\nA claimen icher in a thrave\\nS a sma request\\nI ll get a blessin wi the lave,\\nAnd never miss t\\nThy wee bit housie, too, in ruin\\nIts silly wa s the win s are strewin\\nAn naethin now to big a new ane,\\nO foggage green\\nAn bleak December s winds ensuin\\nBaith snell and keen\\nThou saw the fields laid bare an waste,\\nAn weary winter comin fast,\\nAn cozie here beneath the blast,\\nThou thought to dwell,\\nTill crash the cruel coulter past\\nOut thro thy cell.\\nThat wee bit heap o leaves and stibble,\\nHas cost thee mony a weary nibble\\nNow thou s turn d out, for a thy trouble,\\nBut house or hald,\\nTo thole the winter s sleety dribble,\\nAn cranreuch cauld\\nBut Mousie, thou art no thy lane,\\nIn proving foresight may be vain:\\nThe best laid schemes o mice an men,\\nGang aft agley,\\nAn lea e us nought but grief and pain,\\nFor promis d joy.\\nStill thou art blest, compar d wi me I\\nThe present only toucheth thee\\nBut Och I backward cast my e e\\nOn prospects dear\\nAn forward, though I canna see,\\nI guess an fear.\\nA WINTER NIGHT.\\nPoor naked wretches, whereso er you are,\\nThat bide the pelting of this pitiless storm\\nHow shall your houseless heads, and unfitted sides,\\nYour loup d and windovrd raggedness, defend you\\nFrom seasons such as these Shakespear.\\nWhen biting Boreas, fell and doure,\\nSharp shivers through the leafless bow r\\nWhen Phcebus gi es a short- liv d glowr\\nFar south the lift,\\nDim-dark ning through the flaky show r\\nOr whirling drift\\nAe night the storm the steeples rocked,\\nPoor labour sweet in sleep was locked,", "height": "4508", "width": "2768", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "poems. 337\\nWhile burns wi snawy wreaths up chocked,\\nWild- eddying swirl,\\nOr through the mining outlet bocked,\\nDown headlong hurl.\\nList ning, the doors an winnocks rattle,\\nI thought me on the ourie cattle,\\nOr silly sheep, who bide this brattle\\n0 winter war,\\nAnd through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle\\nBeneath a scar.\\nIlk happing bird, wee, helpless thing,\\nThat in the merry month o spring,\\nDelighted me to hear thee sing,\\nWhat comes o thee\\nWhare wilt thou cow r thy cluttering wing,\\nAn close thy e e]\\nEv n you on murd ring errands toil d,\\nLone from your savage homes exil d,\\nThe blood stain d roost, and sheep-cote spoii d,\\nMy heart forgets,\\nWhile pitiless the tempest wild\\nSore on you beats.\\nNow Phcebe, in her midnight rein,\\nDark muffled, view d the dreary plain\\nStill crowding thoughts, a pensive train,\\nRose in my soul,\\nWhen on my ear this plaintive strain,\\nSlow solemn stole\\n1 Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust\\nAnd freeze, ye bitter-biting frost\\nDescend ye chilling, smothering snows;\\nNot all your rage, as now, united, shows\\nMore hard unkindness, unrelenting,\\nYengeful malice unrepenting,\\nThan heaven illumin d man on brother man bestows\\nSee stern Oppression s iron grip,\\nOr mad Ambition s gory hand,\\nSending, like blood-hounds from the slip,\\nWoe, Want, and Murder o er the land\\nEven in the peaceful rural vale,\\nTruth weeping, tells a mournful tale,\\nHow pamper d Luxury, Fiatt ry by her side,\\nThe parasite empoisoning her ear,\\nWith all the servile wretches in the rear,\\nLooks o er proud property, extended wide\\nAnd eyes the simple rustic hind,\\nWhose toil upholds the glitt ring show,\\nA creature of another kind,\\nSome coarser substance, unrefin d,\\nPlaced for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below.\\nWhere, where is Love s fond, tender throe,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "338 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nWith lordly Honour s lofty brow,\\nThe power3 ye proudly own\\nIs there, beneath Love s noble name,\\nCan harbour, dark, the selfish aim,\\nTo bless himself alone\\nMark maiden-innocence a prey\\nTo love pretending snares,\\nThis boasting Honour turns away,\\nShunning soft Pity s rising sway,\\nEegardless of the tears, and unaviling pray rs\\nPerhaps, this hour, in Mis ry s squalid nest,\\nShe strains your infant to her joyless breast,\\nAnd with a Mother s fears shrinks at the rocking blast\\nOh ye who, sunk in beds of down,\\nFeel not a want but what yourselves create,\\nThink for a moment, on his wretched fate,\\nWhom friends and fortune quite disown\\n111 satisfy d keen Nature s clam rous call,\\nStretch d on his straw he lays himself to sleep,\\nWhile thro the rugged roof and chinky wall,\\nChill o er his slumbers piles the drifty heap\\nThink on the dungeon s grim confine,\\nWhere guilt and poor misfortune pine\\nGuilt, erring man, relenting view\\nBut shall thy legal rage pursue\\nThe wretch, already crushed low\\nBy cruel Fortune s undeserved blow\\nAffliction s sons are brothers in distress,\\nA brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss \\\\f\\nI heard nae mair, for Chanticleer\\nShook off the pouthery snaw,\\nAnd hail d the morning with a cheer,\\nA cottage-rousing craw.\\nBut deep this truth impressed my mind\\nThro all his works abroad,\\nThe heart benevolent and kind,\\nThe most resembles God.\\nEPISTLE TO DAY1E.\\nA BROTHER POET.\\nJanuary\\nWhile winds fra aff Ben- Lomond blaw,\\nAnd bar the doors wi driving snaw,\\nAnd hing us owre the ingle,\\nI set me down to pass the time,\\nAnd spin a verse or twa o rhyme,\\nIn hamely westlan jingle,\\nWhile frosty winds blaw in the drift,\\nBen to the chimla lug,\\nI grudge a wee the great folk s gift,\\nThat live sa bein and snug", "height": "4508", "width": "2712", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "poems* 339\\nI tent less, and want less\\nTheir roomy fireside\\nBut hanker and canker,\\nTo see their cursed pride.\\nIt s hardly in a body s pow r\\nTo keep at times frae being sour,\\nTo see how things are shar d\\nHow best o chiels are whiles in want,\\nWhile coofs on countless thousands rant,\\nAn* ken na how to wair t\\nBut, Davie, lad, ne er fash your head,\\nTho we hae little gear,\\nWe re lit to win our daily bread,\\nAs tang s we re hale and fier\\nMair speir na, nor fear na\\nAuld age ne er mind a feg,\\nThe last o t, the warst o t,\\nIs only for to beg.\\nTo lie in kilns and barns at e en,\\nWhen banes are craz d and bluid is thin,\\nIs, doubtless, great distress\\nYet then, content could make us blest\\nE en then sometimes we d snatch a taste\\nOf truest happiness\\nThe honest heart that s free frae a\\nIntended fraud or guile\\nHowever fortune kick the ba\\nHas aye some cause to smile\\nAnd mind still, you ll find still,\\nA comfort this nae sma\\nNae mair then, we ll care then,\\nNae farther can we fa\\nWhat though like commoners of air,\\nWe wander out we know not where,\\nBut either house or hall\\nYet nature s charms, the hills and woods,\\nThe sweeping vales, and foaming floods,\\nAre free alike to all.\\nIn days when daisies deck the ground,\\nAnd blackbirds whistle clear.\\nWith honest joy our hearts will bound,\\nTo see the coming year,\\nOn braes when we please, then,\\nWe ll sit and sowth a tune\\nSyne rhyme till t, we ll time till t,\\nAnd sing t when we hae done.\\nIt s no in titles nor in rank\\nIt s no in wealth like Lon on bank,\\nTo purchase peace and rest\\nIt s no in making muckle mair\\nIt s no in books it s no in lear,\\nTo mak us truly blest", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "340 BURNS 9 WORKS.\\nIf happiness hae not her seat\\nAnd centre in the breast,\\nWe may be wise, or rich, or great,\\nBut never can be blest\\nISTae treasures, nor pleasures,\\nCould make us happy lang\\nThe heart aye s the part aye,\\nThat makes us right or wrang.\\nThink ye that sic as you and I,\\nWha drudge and drive through wet an dry,\\nWi never ceasing toil\\nThink ye, are we less blest than they,\\nWha scarcely tent us in their way,\\nAs hardly worth their while 1\\nAlas how oft in haughty mood,\\nGod s creatures they oppress\\nOr else neglecting a that s guid,\\nThey riot in excess 1\\nBaith careless and fearless\\nOf either heav n or hell\\nEsteeming and deeming\\nIt s a an idle tale\\nThen let us cheerfu acquiesce\\nNor make our scanty pleasures less,\\nBy pining at our state\\nAnd, even should misfortunes come,\\nI here wha sit. hae met wi some,\\nAn s thankfu for them yet.\\nThey gie the wit of age to youth\\nThey let us ken oursel\\nThey make us see the naked truth,\\nThe real guid and ill.\\nTho losses and crosses,\\nBe lessons right severe,\\nThere s wit there, ye ll get there,\\nTe ll find nae other where.\\nBut tent me, Davie, ace o hearts\\n(To say aught else wad wrang the cartes,\\nAnd flatt ry I detest\\nThis life has joys for you and I I\\nAnd joys that riches ne er could buy;\\nAnd joys the very best,\\nThere s a the pleasures o the heart.\\nThe lover an the frien\\nYe have your Meg, your dearest part,\\nAnd I my darling Jean,\\nIt warms me, it charms me,\\nTo mention but her name\\nIt heats me, it beets me,\\nAnd sets me a on flame\\nO all ye Powers who rule above\\nThou, whose very self art love,", "height": "4508", "width": "2772", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\n341\\nThou knowest my words sincere\\nThe life-blood streaming thro my heart,\\nOr my more dear immortal part,\\nIs not more fondly dear\\nWhen heart-corroding care and grief\\nDeprive my soul of rest,\\nHer dear idea brings relief\\nAnd solace to my breast.\\nThou Being, All-seeing,\\nhear my fervent pray r\\nStill take her, and make her,\\nThy most peculiar care\\nAll hail, ye tender feelings dear\\nThe smile of love, the friendly tear,\\nThe sympathetic glow\\nLong since this world s thorny ways\\nHad numbered out my weary days,\\nHad it not been for you\\nFate still has blest me with a friend,\\nIn every care and ill\\nAnd oft a more endearing band,\\nA tie more tender still.\\nIt lightens, it brightens\\nThe tenebrific scene,\\nTo meet with, and greet with\\nMy Davie or my Jean.\\nO, how that name inspires my style 1\\nThe words come skelpin rank and file,\\nAmaist before I ken\\nThe ready measure rins as fine,\\nAs Phoebus and the famous Nine\\nWere glow rin owre my pen.\\nMy spaviet Pegasus will limp,\\nTill ance he s fairly het\\nAnd then he ll hitch, and stilt, and jimp,\\nAn rin an unco fit\\nBut lest then, the beast then,\\nShould rue his hasty ride,\\nI ll light now, and dight now\\nHis sweaty wizen d hide.\\nTHE LAMENT.\\nOCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OP A FRIEND S AMOUR.\\nAlas how oft does Goodness wound itself,\\nAnd sweet Affection prove the spring of woe Home.\\nthou pale orb that silent shines,\\nWhile care untroubled mortals sleep\\nThou seest a wretch that inly pines,\\nAnd wanders here to wail and weep\\nWith woe I nightly vigils keep,\\nBeneath thy wan un warming beam\\nAnd mourn, in lamentation deep,\\nHow life and love are all a dream.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "342 BURNS WORKS.\\n1 joyless view thy rays adorn\\nThe faintly marked distant hill\\nI joyless view thy trembling horn\\nReflected on the gurgling rill\\nMy fondly fluttering heart, be still\\nThou busy power, Remembrance, cease\\nAh must the agonizing thrill\\nFor ever bar returning peace\\nNo idly feign d poetic pains,\\nMy sad, love-lorn lamentings claim\\nNo shepherd s pipe Arcadian strains\\nNo fabled tortures, quaint and tame\\nThe plighted faith the mutual flame\\nThe oft-attested Powers above\\nThe promised Father s tender name\\nThese were the pledges of my love\\nEncircled in her clasping arms,\\nHow have the raptur d moments flown\\nHow have I wish d for Fortune s charms,\\nFor her dear sake, and her s alone\\nAnd must I think it 1 is she gone,\\nMy secret heart s exulting boast\\nAnd does she heedless hear my groan\\nAnd is she ever, ever lost\\nOh can she bear so base a heart,\\nSo lost to honour, lost to truth,\\nAs from the fondest lover part,\\nThe plighted husband of her youth\\nAlas life s path may be unsmooth\\nHer way may lie through rough distress\\nThen, who her pangs and pains will sooth 1\\nHer sorrows share, and make them less]\\nYe winged hours that o er us past,\\nEnraptur d more, the more enjoy d,\\nYour dear remembrance in my breast,\\nMy fondly treasur d thoughtse mploy d.\\nThat breast how dreary now, and void,\\nFor her too scanty once of room\\nEv n every ray of hope destroy d,\\nAnd not a wish to gild the gloom\\nThe morn that warns the approaching day,\\nAwakes me up to toil and woe\\nI see the hours in long array,\\nThat I must suffer, lingering, slow.\\nFull many a pang, and may a throe,\\nKeen recollection s direful train,\\nMust wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low,\\nShall kiss the distant, western main.\\nAnd when my nightly couch I try,\\nSore-harass d out with care and grief,\\nMy toil-beat nerves, and tear- worn eye,\\nKeep watchingg with the nightly thief", "height": "4508", "width": "2808", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "poems. 343\\nif I slumber, fancy, chief,\\nReigns haggard wild, in sore affright\\nEv n day, all bitter, brings relief,\\nFrom such a horror-breathing night.\\nO thou bright queen, who o er th expanse\\nNow highest reign st, with boundless sway\\nOft has thy silent- marking glance\\nObserv d us fondly wandering, stray\\nThe time, unheeded, sped away,\\nWhile love s luxurious pulse beat high,\\nBeneath thy silver-gleaming ray,\\nTo mark the mutual kindling eye.\\nOh scenes in strong remembrance set\\nScenes, never, never, to return\\nScenes, if in stupor I forget,\\nAgain I feel, again I burn\\nFrom ev ry joy and pleasure torn,\\nLife s weary vale I ll wander thro\\nAnd hopeless, comfortless I ll mourn\\nA faithless woman s broken vow.\\nDESPONDENCY.\\nAN \u00c2\u00a9DE.\\nOppeess d with grief, oppress d with care,\\nA burden more than I can bear,\\nI sit me down and sigh\\nO life thou art a galling load,\\nAlong a rough, a weary road,\\nTo wretches such as I\\nDim backward as I cast my view,\\nWhat sick ning scenes appear\\nWhat sorrows yet may pierce me thro*\\nToo justly I may fear\\nStill caring, despairing\\nMust be my bitter doom\\nMy woes here shall close ne er\\nBut with the closing tomb\\nHappy, ye sons of busy life,\\nWho, equal to the bustling strife,\\nNo other view regard\\nEv n when the wished ends deny d,\\nYet while the busy means are ply d,\\nThey bring their own reward\\nWhilst I, a hope abandon d wight,\\nUnfitted with an aim,\\nMeet ev ry sad returning night,\\nAnd joyless morn the same\\nYou, bustling, and justling,\\nForget each grief and pain\\nI, listless, yet restless,\\nFind ev ry prospect vain,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "344 BURNS WORKS.\\nHow blest the solitary s lot,\\nWho, all- forgetting, all-forgot,\\nWithin his humble cell,\\nThe cavern wild with tangling roots,\\nSits o er his newly gather d fruits,\\nBeside his crystal well\\nOr haply, to his ev ning thought,\\nBy unfrequented stream,\\nThe ways of men are distant brought,\\nA faint collected dream\\nWhile praising, and raising\\nHis thoughts to heav n on high,\\nAs wand ring, meand ring,\\nHe views the solemn sky.\\nThan I, no lonely hermit placed\\nWhere never human footstep traced,\\nLess fit to play the part\\nThe lucky moment to improve,\\nAnd just to stop, and just to move,\\nWith self-respecting art\\nBut ah those pleasures, loves, and joys,\\nWhich I too keenly taste,\\nThe Solitary can despise,\\nCan want, and yet be blest\\nHe needs not, he heeds not,\\nOr human love or hate,\\nWhilst I here must cry here,\\nAt ^perfidy ingrate\\nOh enviable, early days,\\nWhen dancing thoughtless pleasure s maze,\\nTo care, to guilt unknown\\nHow ill exchanged for riper times,\\nTo feel the follies, or the crimes,\\nOf others, or my own\\nYe tiny elves that guiltless sport,\\nLike linnets in the bush,\\nYe little know the ills ye court,\\nWhen manhood is your wish\\nThe losses, the crosses,\\nThat active men engage\\nThe fears all, the tears all,\\nOf dim declining age\\nWINTER.\\nA DIRGE.\\nThe wintry west extends his blast,\\nAnd hail and rain does blaw\\nOr, the stormy north sends driving forth\\nThe blinding sleet and snaw\\nWhile tumbling brown, the burn comes down,\\nAnd roars frae bank to brae", "height": "4508", "width": "2776", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "poems. 345\\nAnd bird and beast in covert rest,\\nAnd pass the heartless day.\\nThe sweeping blast, the sky o ercast,\\nThe joyless winter- day,\\nLet others fear, to me more dear\\nThan all the pride of May\\nThe tempest s howl, it soothes my soul,\\nMy griefs it seems to join,\\nThe leafless trees my fancy please,\\nTheir fate resembles mine\\nThou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme\\nThese woes of mine fulfil,\\nHere, firm, I rest, they must be best,\\nEecause they are Thy Will\\nThen all I want (0, do thou grant\\nThis one request of mine\\nSince to enjoy thou dost deny,\\nAssist me to resign.\\nTHE\\nCOTTER S SATURDAY NIGHT.\\nINSCRIBED TO R. AITKEN, ESQ.\\nLet not ambition mock their useful toil,\\nTheir homely joys and destiny obscure\\nNor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,\\nThe short but simple annals of the poor. Gray.\\nMr loved, my honour d, much respected friend,\\nNo mercenary bard his homage pays\\nWith honest pride I scorn each selfish end\\nMy dearest meed, a friend s esteem and praise\\nTo you 1 sing, in simple Scottish lays,\\nThe lowly train in life s sequester d scene\\nThe native feelings strong, the guileless ways\\nWhat Aitken in a cottage would have been\\nAh tho his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween.\\nNovember chill blaws loud wi angry sough\\nThe short ning winter- day is near a close;\\nThe miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh\\nThe black ning trains o craws to their repose\\nThe toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,\\nThis night his weekly moil is at an end,\\nCollects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,\\nHoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,\\nAnd weary, o er the moor, his course does hameward bend.\\nAt length his lonely cot appears in view,\\nBeneath the shelter of an aged tree\\nTh expectant wee things, toddlin, stacher thro\\nTo meet their Dad, wi flichterin noise and glee.\\nHis wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily,\\nHis clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wijie s smile,\\nThe lisping infant prattling on his knee,\\no", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "346 burns works.\\nDoes a his weary carking cares beguile,\\nAnd makes Mm quite forget his labour an his toil.\\nBelyve the elder bairns come drapping in,\\nAt service out amang the farmers roun\\nSome ca the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin\\nA cannie errand to a neebor town\\nTheir eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,\\nIn youthfu bloom, love sparklin in her e e,\\nComes hame, perhaps, to show a bra new gown,\\nOr deposit her sair-won penny fee,\\nTo help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.\\nWi joy unfeign d brothers and sisters meet,\\nAn each for other s weelfare kindly spiers\\nThe social hours, swift- wing d, unnotic d fleet;\\nEach tells the uncos that he sees or hears\\nThe parents, partial, eye their hopeful years\\nAnticipation forward points the view,\\nThe mother, wi her needle an her shears,\\nGars aula* claes look amaist as weel s the new\\nThe father mixes a wi admonition due.\\nTheir master s an their mistress s command,\\nThe younkers a are warned to obey\\nAnd mind their labours wi an eydent hand,\\nAnd ne er tho out o sight, to jauk or play\\nAn be sure to fear the Lord alway\\nAn mind your duty, duly, morn an night\\nLest in temptation s path ye gang astray,\\nImplore his counsel and assisting might\\nThey never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright\\nBut, hark a rap comes gently to the door,\\nJenny, wha kens the meaning o the same,\\nTells how a neebor lad cam o er the moor,\\nTo do some errands, and convey her hame.\\nThe wily mother sees the conscious flame\\nSparkle in Jenny s e e, and flush her cheek\\nWi heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name,\\nWhile Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak\\nWeel pleas d the mother hears it s nae wild worthless rake.\\nWi kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben\\nA strap pin youth he taks the mother s e e\\nBlithe Jenny sees the visit s no ill ta en\\nThe father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.\\nThe youngster s artless heart o erflows wi joy,\\nBut blate and laithfu scarce can weel behave\\nThe mother wi a woman s wiles, can spy\\nWhat makes the youth sae bashfu an sae grave\\nWeel pleas d to think her bairn s respected like the lave.\\nO happy love where love like this is found\\nO heart felt raptures bliss beyond compare\\nI ve paced much this weary mortal round.\\nAnd sage experience bids me this declare\\nIf HeaVa a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,", "height": "4508", "width": "2792", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\n347\\nOne cordial in this melancholy vale,\\nTis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,\\nIn other s arms breathe out the tender tale,\\nBeneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.\\nIs there, in human form, that bears a heart\\nA wretch a villain lost to love and truth\\nThat can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,\\nBetray sweet Jenny s unsuspecting youth\\nCurse on his perjur d arts dissembling smooth\\nAre honour, virtue, conscience all exil d\\nIs there no pity, no relenting ruth,\\nPoints to the parents fondling o er their child\\nThen paints the ruin d maid, and their distraction wild]\\nBut now the supper crowns their simple board,\\nThe halesome parritch, chief o Scotia s food\\nThe sowpe their only Raiokie does afford,\\nThat yont the hallan snugly chows her cood\\nThe dame brings forth in complimental mood,\\nTo grace the lad, her weel-hain d kebbuck fell,\\nAn aft he s prest, an aft he ca s it guid\\nThe frugal wine, garrulous, will tell,\\nHow twas a towmond auld, sin lint was i the bell.\\nThe cheerfu supper done, wi serious face,\\nThey, round the ingle, form a circle wide\\nThe sire turns o er, wi patriarchal grace,\\nThe big ha -Bible, ance his father s pride\\nHis bonnet rev rently is laid aside,\\nHis lyart haffets wearing thin an bare\\nThose strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,\\nHe wales a portion with judicious care\\nAnd Let us worship God he says, with solemn air.\\nThey chant their artless notes in simple guise\\nThey tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim\\nPerhaps Dundee s wild warbling measures rise\\nOr plaintive Martyrs worthy of the name\\nOr noble Elgin beets the heav nward flame,\\nThe sweetest far of Scotia s holy lays\\nCompar d with these, Italian trills are tame\\nThe tickl d ears no heart-felt raptures raise\\nNae unison hae they with our Creator s praise.\\nThe priest-like father reads the sacred page,\\nHow Abram was the friend of God on high;\\nOr, Moses bade eternal warfare wage\\nWith Amaleh s ungracious progeny\\nOr how the royal bard did groaning lie\\nBeneath the stroke of Heaven s avenging ire\\nOr, Job s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry\\nOr rapt Isaiah s wild, seraphic fire\\nOr other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.\\nPerhaps the Christian volume is the theme,\\nHow guiltless blood for guilty man was shed", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "348 BURNS WORKS.\\nHow Be, who bore in Heaven the second name,\\nHad not on earth whereon to lay his head\\nHow his first followers and servants sped\\nThe precepts sage they wrote to many a land\\nHow he, who lone in Patmos banished,\\nSaw in the sun a mighty angel stand\\nAnd heard great BaVlon^s doom pronounced by Heaven s com-\\nmand.\\nThen kneeling down to Heaven s Eternal King,\\nThe saint, the father, and the husband prays\\nHope springs exulting on triumphant wing,\\nThat thus they all shall meet in future days\\nThere ever bask in uncreated rays,\\nNo more to sigh or shed the bitter tear,\\nTogether hymning their Creator s praise,\\nIn such society, yet still more dear\\nWhile circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.\\nCompared with this, how poor Eeligion s pride,\\nIn all the pomp of method and of art,\\nWhen men display to congregations wide,\\nDevotion s ev ry grace except the heart\\nThe Pov/r incensed the pageant will desert,\\nThe pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole\\nBut haply, in some cottage far apart,\\nMay hear, well-pleased, the language of the soul\\nAnd in his book of life the inmates poor enrol.\\nThen homeward all take off their sev ral way\\nThe youngling cottagers retire to rest;\\nThe parent pair their secret homage pay,\\nAnd proffer up to Heaven the warm request,\\nThat Re who stills the raven s clam rous nest,\\nAnd decks the lily fair in flowery pride,\\nWould in the way his wisdom sees the best,\\nFor them and for their little ones provide\\nBut chiefly in their hearts with (/race divine preside.\\nFrom scenes like these old Scotia s grandeur springs,\\nThat makes her loved at home, revered abroad\\nPrinces and lords are but the breath of kings\\nAn honest man s the noblest work of God\\nAnd certes, in fair virtue s heav nly road,\\nTh ccottige leaves the palace far behind\\nWhat is a lordling s pomp a cumbrous load\\nDisguising oft the wretch of human kind,\\nStudied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined\\nScotia my dear, my native soil\\nFor whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent\\nLong may thy hardy sons of rustic toil,\\nBe blest with health, and peace, and sweet content\\nAnd, O may Heav a their simple lives prevent\\nFrom Luxury s contagion, weak and vile\\nThen, however crowns and coronets be rent.", "height": "4508", "width": "2852", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "poems. 349\\nA virtuous populace may rise the while,\\nAnd stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle*\\nThou who pour d the patriotic tide,\\nThat stream d thro Wallace s undaunted heart\\nWho dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,\\nOr nobly die, the second glorious part,\\n(The patriot s God, peculiarly thou art,\\nHis friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward\\nO never, never, Scotia s realm desert;\\nBut still the patriot and the patriot lard,\\nIn bright succession raise, her ornament and guard\\nMAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.\\nA DIRGE.\\nWhen chill November s surly blast\\nMade fields and forests bare,\\nOne ev ning, as I wander d forth\\nAlong the banks of Ayr,\\nI spy d a man, whose aged step\\nSeem d weary, worn with care\\nHis face was furrow d o er with years,\\nAnd hoary was his hair.\\nYoung stranger, whither wand rst thou?\\nBegan the rev rend sage\\nDoes thirst of wealth thy step constrain\\nOr youthful pleasure s rage\\nOr, haply, prest with cares and woes,\\nToo soon thou hast began\\nTo wander forth, with me to mourn\\nThe miseries of man\\nThe sun that overhangs yon moors,\\nOut-spreading far and wide,\\nWhere hundreds labour to support\\nW haughty lordling s pride\\nI ve seen yon weary winter-sun\\nTwice forty times return\\nAnd ev ry time has added proofs\\nThat man was made to mourn.\\nO man while in thy early years,\\nHow prodigal of time\\nMisspending all thy precious hours\\nThy glorious youthful prime;\\nAlternate follies take the sway\\nLicentious passions burn\\nWhich tenfold force gives Nature s law,\\nThat man was made to mourn.\\nLook not alone on youthful prime,\\nOr manhood s active might\\nMan then is useful to his kind,\\nSupported in his right", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "350 BURNS WORKS.\\nBut see him on the edge of life,\\nWith cares and sorrows worn,\\nThen age and want, Oh ill match d pair\\nShow man was made to mourn.\\nA few seem favourites of fate,\\nIn pleasure s lap carest\\nYet, think not all the rich and great\\nAre likewise truly blest.\\nBut, Oh what crowds in every land,\\nAre wretched and forlorn;\\nThro weary life this lesson learn,\\nThat man was made to mourn.\\nMany and sharp the num rous ills,\\nInwoven with our frame\\nMore pointed still we make ourselves,\\nRegret, remorse, and shame\\nAnd man, whose heav n- erected face\\nThe smiles of love adorn,\\nMan s inhumanity to man\\nMakes countless thousands mourn.\\nSee yonder poor, o erlabour d wight,\\nSo abject, mean, and vile,\\nWho begs a brother of the earth\\nTo give him leave to toil\\nAnd see his lordly fellow-worm\\nThe poor petition spurn,\\nUnmindful tho a weeping wife\\nAnd helpless offspring mourn.\\nIf I m design d yon lordling s slave\\nBy Nature s law design d,\\nWhy was an independent wish\\nE er planted in my mind\\nIf not, why am I subject to\\nHis cruelty and scorn\\nOr why has man the will and pow r\\nTo make his fellow mourn\\nYet let not this too much, my son,\\nDisturb thy youthful breast\\nThis partial view of human kind\\nIs surely not the last\\nThe poor, oppressed, honest man,\\nHad never, sure, been born,\\nHad there not been some recompense\\nTo comfort those that mourn\\nO Death the poor man s dearest friend,\\nThe kindest and the best\\nWelcome the hour my aged limbs\\nAre laid with thee at rest,\\nThe great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,\\nFrom pomp and pleasure torn\\nBut Oh a blest relief to those\\nThat, weary-laden, mourn", "height": "4508", "width": "2792", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nA PRAYER.\\nIN THE PROSPECT OP DEATH.\\nO thou unknown Almighty Cause\\nOf all my hope and fear\\nIn whose dread presence, ere an hour,\\nPerhaps I must appear\\nIf I have wander d in those paths\\nOf life I ought to shun\\nAs something loudly, in my breast,\\nRemonstrates I have done\\nThou know st that Thou hast formed me\\nWith passions wild and strong\\nAnd list ning to their witching voice\\nHas often led me wrong,\\nWhere human weakness has come short,\\nOr frailty stept aside,\\nDo thou All Good for such thou art,\\nIn shades of darkness hide.\\nWhere with intention I have err d,\\nNo other plea I have,\\nBut Thou art good and goodness still\\nDelighteth to forgive.\\n351\\nSTANZAS\\nON THE SAME OCCASION.\\nWhy am I loath to leave this earthly scene 1\\nHave I so found it full of pleasing charms 1\\nSome drops of joy with draughts of ill between\\nSome gleams of sunshine mid renewed storms\\nIs it departing pangs my soul alarms\\nOr death s unlovely, dreary, dark abode 1\\nFor guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms\\nI tremble to approach an angry Gob,\\nAnd justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod.\\nFain would I say, Forgive my foul offence\\nFain promise never more to disobey\\nBut should my Author health again dispense,\\nAgain I might desert fair virtue s sway\\nAgain in folly s path might go astray\\nAgain exalt the brute and sink the man\\nThen how should I for heavenly mercy pray,\\nWho act so counter heavenly mercy s plan 1\\nWho sin so oft have mourn d, yet to temptation ran\\nThou great Governor of all below\\nIf I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,\\nThy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,\\nOr still the tumult of the raging sea\\nWith that controlling pow r assist ev n me,\\nThose headlong furious passions to confine\\nFor all unfit I feel my powers to be,\\nTo rule their torrent in th allowed line\\naid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "352 BURNS WORKS.\\nLYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR\\nLEFT THE FOLLOWING\\nYERSES,\\nIN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.\\nthou dread Pow r, who reign st above,\\nI know thou wilt me hear,\\nWhen for this scene of peace and love,\\nI make my prayer sincere.\\nThe hoary sire the mortal stroke,\\nLong, long be pleased to spare,\\nTo bless his little filial flock,\\nAnd show what good men are.\\nShe, who her lovely offspring eyes\\nWith tender hopes and fears,\\nbless her with a mother s joys,\\nBut spare a mother s tears\\nTheir hope, their stay, their darling youth,\\nIn manhood s dawning blush\\nBless him, thou God of love and truth,\\nUp to a parent s wish\\nThe beauteous, seraph sister-band,\\nWith earnest tears I pray,\\nThou know st the snares on ev ry hand,\\nGuide thou their steps alway\\nWhen soon or late they reach that coast,\\nO er life s rough ocean driv n,\\nMay they rejoice, no wand rer lost,\\nA family in Heav n\\nTHE FIKST PSALM.\\nThe man, in life, wherever placed,\\nHath happiness in store,\\nWho walks not in the wicked s way,\\nNor learns their guilty lore\\nXor from the seat of scornful pride\\nCasts forth his eyes abroad,\\nBut with humility and awe\\nStill walks before his God.\\nThat man shall flourish like the trees\\nWhich by the streamlets grow\\nThe fruitful top is spread on high,\\nAnd firm the root below.\\nBut he whose blossom buds in guilt\\nShall to the ground be cast,\\nAnd like the rootless stubble, tost\\nBefore the sweeping blast.\\nFor why t that God, the good adore,\\nHath giv n them peace and rest,\\nBut hath decreed that wicked men\\nShall ne er be truly blest.", "height": "4508", "width": "2816", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 35\\nA PKAYER\\nUNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.\\nO thou Great Being what thou art\\nSurpasses me to know\\nYet sure am I, that known to thee\\nAre all thy works below.\\nThy creature here before thee stands\\nAll wretched and distrest\\nYet sure those ills that wring my soul\\nObey thy high behest.\\nSure thou, Almighty, canst not act\\nFrom cruelty or wrath\\nfree my weary eyes from tears,\\nOr close them fast in death\\nBut if I must afflicted be,\\nTo suit some wise design\\nThen man my soul with firm resolves,\\nTo bear and not repine.\\nTHE FIRST SIX VERSES OF\\nTHE NINETIETH PSALM.\\nthou, the first, the greatest Friend\\nOf all the human race\\nWhose strong right hand has ever been\\nTheir stay and dwelling-place\\nBefore the mountains heav d their heads\\nBeneath thy forming hand,\\nBefore this pond rous globe itself\\nArose at thy command\\nThat pow r which rais d, and still upholds\\nThis universal frame,\\nFrom countless, unbeginning time,\\nWas ever still the same.\\nThose mighty periods of years,\\nWhich seem to us so vast,\\nAppear no more before thy sight,\\nThan yesterday that s past.\\nThou gav st the word Thy creature, man,\\nIs to existence brought\\nAgain thou say st, Ye sons of men,\\nEeturn ye into nought.\\nThou layest them, with all their cares,\\nIn everlasting sleep\\nAs with a flood thou tak st them off\\nWith overwhelming sweep.\\nThey flourish like the morning flow r,\\nIn beauty s pride array d\\nBut long ere night cut down, it lies\\nAll wither d and decay d,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "354\\nBURNS works.\\nTO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,\\nON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APBIL, 1786.\\nWee, modest, crimson-tipped flow r,\\nThou s met me in an evil hour;\\nFor I maun crush amang the stoure\\nThy slender stem\\nTo spare thee now is past my pow r,\\nThou bonnie gem.\\nAlas it s no thy neebor sweet,\\nThe bonny Lark, companion meet\\nBending thee mang the dewy weet\\nWi spreckl d breast,\\nWhen upward-springing, blithe, to greet\\nThe purpling east.\\nCauld blew the bitter-biting north\\nUpon thy early, humble, birth\\nYet cheerfully thou glinted forth\\nAmid the storm,\\nScarce rear d above the parent earth\\nThy tender form.\\nThe flaunting flow rs our gardens yield,\\nHigh shelt ring woods and wa s maun shield\\nBut thou beneath the random bield\\n0 clod or stane,\\nAdorns the histie stihMe-field,\\nUnseen, alane.\\nThere, in thy scanty mantle clad,\\nThy snawie bosom sun- ward spread,\\nThou lifts thy unassuming head\\nIn humble guise\\nBut now the share uptears thy bed,\\nAnd low thou lies\\nSuch is the fate of artless Maid,\\nSweet floweret of the rural shade\\nBy love s simplicity betray d,\\nAnd guileless trust,\\nTill she, like thee, all soil d, is laid\\nLow i the dust.\\nSuch is the fate of simple Bard,\\nOn life s rough ocean luckless starr d,\\nUnskilful he to note the card\\nOf prudent lore,\\nTill billows rage, and gales blow hard,\\nAnd whelm him o er\\nSuch fate to suffering worth is giv n,\\nWho long with wants and woes has striven,\\nBy human pride or cunning driv n\\nTo mis ry s brink,\\nTill wrench d of every stay but Heaven,,\\nHe, ruin d, sink", "height": "4508", "width": "2812", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "poems. 355\\nEv n thou who mourn st the Daisy s fate,\\nThat fate is thine no distant date\\nStern Ruin s plough-share drives, elate\\nFull on thy bloom,\\nTill crush d beneath the furrow s weight,\\nShall be thy doom\\nTO RUIN.\\nAll hail inexorable lord\\nAt whose destruction-breathing word,\\nThe mightiest empires fall\\nThy cruel, woe-delighted train,\\nThe ministers of grief and pain,\\nA sullen welcome, all\\nWith stern-resolv d, despairing eye,\\nI see each aimed dart\\nFor one has cut my dearest tie,\\nAnd quivers in my heart.\\nThen low ring and pouring,\\nThe storm no more I dread\\nTho thickening and black ning,\\nRound my devoted head.\\nAnd thou grim power, by life abhorr d\\nWhile life a pleasure can afford,\\nOh hear a wretch s prayer\\nNo more I shrink appall d, afraid\\nI court, I beg thy friendly aid,\\nTo close this scene of care\\nWhen shall my soul, in silent peace,\\nResign life s joyless day\\nMy weary heart its throbbings cease,\\nCold mouldering in the clay\\nNo fear more, no tear more,\\nTo stain my lifeless face\\nEnclasped, and grasped\\nWithin thy cold embrace\\nTO MISS L\\nWITH BBATTIE S POEMS, AS A NEW-YEAR S GIFT, JAN. 1, 1787.\\nAgain the silent wheels of time\\nTheir annual round have driv n,\\nAnd you, tho scarce in maiden prime,\\nAre so much nearer Heav n.\\nNo gifts have I from Indian coasts,\\nThe infant year to hail\\nI send you more than India boasts\\nIn Edwin s simple tale.\\nOur sex with guile and faithless love\\nIs charg d, perhaps, too true\\nBut may, dear maid, each lover prove\\nAn Edwin still to you", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "356 BURNS WORKS.\\nEPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.\\nMAY 1786.\\nI lanq hae thought, my youthfu Friend,\\nA something to have sent you,\\nThough it should serve nae other end\\nThan just a kind memento\\nBut how the subject theme may gang,\\nLet time and chance determine\\nPerhaps it may turn out a sang,\\nPerhaps turn out a sermon.\\nYe ll try the warld soon, my lad,\\nAnd, Andrew, dear, believe me,\\nYe ll find mankind an unco squad,\\nAnd muckle they may grieve ye\\nFor care and trouble set your thought,\\nE en when yout end s attained\\nAn a* your views may come to nought,\\nWhere ev ry nerve is strained.\\nI ll no say men are villains a\\nThe real, harden d wicked,\\nWha hae nae check but human law,\\nAre to a few restricked\\nBut och, mankind are unco weak,\\nAn little to be trusted\\nIf self the wavering balance shake,\\nIt s rarely right adjusted\\nYet they wha fa in fortune s strife,\\nTheir fate we should na censure,\\nFor still the important end of life\\nThey equally may answer;\\nA man may hae an honest heart,\\nTho poortith hourly stare him\\nA man may tak a neebor s part,\\nYet hae nae cash to spare him.\\nAye free afT han your story tell,\\nWhen wi a bosom crony\\nBut still keep something to yoursel\\nYe scarcely tell to ony.\\nConceal yoursel as weel s ye can\\nFrae critical dissection\\nBut keek thro every other man,\\nWi sharpen d sly inspection.\\nThe sacred lowe o weel plac d love,\\nLuxuriantly indulge it\\nBut never tempt th illicit rove,\\nTho naething should divulge it\\nI wave the quantum o the sin,\\nThe hazard of concealing,\\nBut och it hardens a within,\\nAnd petrifies the feeling", "height": "4508", "width": "2740", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "poems. 357\\nTo catch dame Fortune s golden smile,\\nAssiduous wait upon her\\nAnd gather gear by every wile,\\nThat s justified by honour\\nNot for to hide it in a hedge,\\nNor for a train attendant\\nBut for the glorious privilege\\nOf being independent\\nThe fear o hell s a hangman s whip,\\nTo hand the wretch in order\\nBut where you feel your honour grip,\\nLet that aye be your border\\nIts slightest touches, instant pause\\nDebar a* side pretences\\nAnd resolutely keep its law3,\\nUncaring consequences.\\nThe great Creator to revere,\\nMust sure become the creature\\nBut still the preaching cant forbear,\\nAnd ev n the rigid feature\\nYet ne er with wits profane to range,\\nBe complaisance extended\\nAn Atheist s laugh s a poor exchange\\nFor Deity offended\\nWhen ranting round in pleasure s ring,\\nReligion may be blinded\\nOr, if she gie a random sting,\\nIt may be little minded\\nBut when on life we re tempest driv n,\\nA conscience but a canker\\nA correspondence fix d wi Heav n,\\nIs sure a noble anchor.\\nAdieu, dear amiable youth,\\nYour heart can ne er be wanting\\nMay prudence, fortitude, and truth,\\nErect your brow undaunting\\nIn ploughman phrase, God send you speed,\\nStill daily to grow wiser\\nAnd may you better reck the rede.\\nThan ever did th adviser\\nON A SCOTCH BARD,\\nGONE TO THE WEST INDIES.\\nA ye wha live by soups o drink,\\nA ye wha live by crambo clink,\\nA ye wha live and never think,\\nCome mourn wi me\\nOur oilliis gi en us a a jink,\\nAn owre the sea.\\nLament him a ye ran tin core,\\nWha dearly like a random splore,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "358 BURNS WORKS.\\nNae mair he ll join the merry roar,\\nIn social key\\nFor now he s ta en anither shore,\\nAn* owre the sea.\\nThe bonnie lasses weel may miss him,\\nAnd in their dear petitions place him\\nThe widows, wives, an a* may bless him,\\nWi tearful e e\\nFor weel I wat they ll sairly miss him,\\nThat s owre the sea.\\nO Fortune, they hae room to grumble\\nHadst thou ta en aff, some drowsy bummel,\\nWha can do nought but fyke an* fumble,\\nTwad been nae plea;\\nBut he was gleg as ony wumble,\\nThat s owre the sea.\\nAuld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,\\nAn stain them wi the saut, saut tear\\nTwill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,\\nIn flinders flee\\nHe was her laureate monie a year,\\nThat s owre the sea,\\nHe saw misfortune s cauld nore-wast\\nLang mustering up a bitter blast\\nA jillet brak his heart at last,\\n111 may she be\\nSo, took a berth afore the mast\\nAn owre the sea.\\nTo tremble under Fortune s cummock,\\nOn scarce a bellyfu o drummock,\\nWi his proud independent stomach\\nCould ill agree\\nSo row t his hurdies in a hammock,\\nAn owre the sea.\\nHe ne er was gi en to great misguiding,\\nYet coin his pouches wad na bide in\\nWi him it ne er was under hiding\\nHe dealt it free\\nThe muse was a that he took pride in,\\nThat s owre the sea.\\nJamaica lodies, use him weel,\\nAn hap him in a cozie biel\\nYe ll lind him aye a dainty chiel,\\nAnd fu o glee\\nHe wadna wrang d the vera deil,\\nThat s owre the sea.\\nFareweel, my rhyme composing billie,\\nYour native soil was right ill-willie\\nBut ye may flourish like a lily,\\nNow bonnilie\\nI ll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,\\nTho owre the sea.", "height": "4508", "width": "2624", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "poems. 359\\nTO A HAGGIS.\\nFair fa your honest, sonsie face,\\nGreat chieftain o the puddinrace.\\nAboon them a* ye tak your place,\\nPainch, tripe, or thairm\\nWeel are ye wordy of a grace\\nAs lang s my arm.\\nThe groaning trencher there ye fill,\\nYour hurdies like a distant hill,\\nYour pin wad help to mend a mill\\nIn time o need,\\nWhile thro your pores the dews distill\\nLike amber bead.\\nHis knife see rustic labour dight,\\nAn cut you up wi ready slight,\\nTrenching your gushing entrails bright,\\nLike onie ditch\\nAnd then, what a glorious sight,\\nWarm-reekin, rich\\nThen horn for horn they stretch an strive,\\nDeil tak the hindmost, on they drive,\\nTill a their weelswall d kytes belyve\\nAre bent like drums\\nThen auld guidman, maist like to ryve,\\nBethanlit hums.\\nIs there that o er his French ragout,\\nOr olio that wad staw a sow,\\nOr fricassee wad mak her spew,\\nWi perfect sconner,\\nLooks down wi sneering, scornfu view,\\nOn sic a dinner 1\\nPoor devil see him owre his trash,\\nAs feckless as a wither d rash,\\nHis spindle-shank a guid whip lash,\\nHis nieve a nit\\nThro bloody flood or field to dash,\\nO how unfit\\nBut mark the rustic, haggis-fed,\\nThe trembling earth resounds his tread,\\nClap in his walie nieve a blade,\\nHe ll mak it whissle\\nAn legs, an arms, an heads will sned,\\nLike taps o thrissle.\\nYe Pow rs wha mak mankind your care,\\nAnd dish them out their bill o fare,\\nAuld Scotland wants na skinking ware\\nThat jaups in luggies\\nBut, if ye wish her gratefu pray r,\\nGie her a Haggis I", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "360 burns works.\\nA DEDICATION.\\nTO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.\\nExpect na, Sir, in this narration,\\nA fleechin, fleth rin dedication,\\nTo rooze you up, an ca you guid,\\nAn sprung o* great an noble bluid,\\nBecause ye re surnamed like his Grace,\\nPerhaps related to the race\\nThen when I m tired and sae are ye,\\nWi mony a fulsome, sinfu lie,\\nSet up a face, how I stop short,\\nFor fear your modesty be hurt.\\nThis may do maun do, Sir, wi them wha\\nMaun please the great folk for a wamef u\\nFor me sae laigh I needna bow,\\nFor, Lord be thankit, I can plough\\nAnd when I dinna yoke a naig,\\nThen, Lord be thankit, I can beg\\nSae I shall say, and that s nae flatt rin\\nIt s just sic poet an sic patron.\\nThe Poet, some guid angel help him,\\nOr else, I fear some ill ane skelp him\\nHe may do weel for a he s done yet,\\nBut only he s no just begun yet.\\nThe Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me,\\nI winna lie, come what will o me)\\nOn eVry hand it will allowed be,\\nHe s just\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nae better than he should be.\\nI readily and freely grant,\\nHe downa see a poor man want\\nWhat s no his ain he winna tak it,\\nWhat ance he says he winna break it\\nOught he can lend he ll no refuse t,\\nTill aft his goodness is abused\\nAnd rascals whyles that do him wrang,\\nEv n that, he does na mind it lang\\nAs master, landlord, husband, father,\\nHe does nae fail his part in either.\\nBut then, nae thanks to him for a that\\nNae godly symptom ye can ca that\\nIt s naething but a milder feature,\\nOf our poor, sinfu corrupt nature\\nYe ll get the best o moral works,\\nMang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks,\\nOr hunters wild on Ponotaxi\\nWha never heard of orthodoxy.\\nThat he s the poor man s friend in need.\\nThe gentleman in word and deed,\\nIt s no thro terror of damnation\\nIt s just a carnal inclination.\\nMorality, thou deadly bane,\\nThy tens o thousands thou hast slain", "height": "4508", "width": "2608", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 361\\nVain is his hope, whose stay and trust i3\\nIn moral mercy, truth, and justice\\nNo, stretch a point to catch a plack\\nAbuse a brother to his back\\nSteal thro a winnock frae a wh-re,\\nBut point the rake that taks the door\\nBe to the poor like onie whunstane,\\nAnd haud their noses to the grunstane\\nPly ev ry art o legal thieving\\nNo matter, stick to sound believing.\\nLearn three mile pray rs, an half-mile graces,\\nWi weel-spread looves, an lang wry faces\\nGrunt up a solemn, lengthened groan,\\nAn damn a parties but your own\\nI ll warrant then, ye re nae deceiver,\\nA steady, sturdy, staunch believer.\\nye wha leave the springs of Calvin\\nFor gumlie dubs of your ain delvin\\nYe sons of heresy and error,\\nYe ll some day squeel in quaking terror\\nWhen vengeance draws the sword in wrath,\\nAnd in the fire throws the sheath\\nWhen ruin with his sweeping besom.\\nJust frets till Heav n commission gies him\\nWhile o er the harp pale Misery moans,\\nAnd strikes the ever-deep ning tones,\\nStill louder shrieks, and heavier groans\\nYour pardon, Sir, for this digression,\\nI maist forgat my dedication\\nBut when divinity comes cross me,\\nMy readers still are sure to lose me.\\nSo, Sir, ye see twas nae daft vapour,\\nBut I maturely thought it proper,\\nWhen a my works I did review,\\nTo dedicate them, Sir, to You\\nBecause (ye needna tak it ill)\\nI thought them something like yoursel\\nThen patronize them wi your favour,\\nAnd your petitioner shall ever\\nI had amaist said ever pray,\\nBut that s a word I need na say\\nFor prayin I hae little skill o t\\nI m baith dead-sweer, an wretched ill o t\\nBut I se repeat each poor man s pray r,\\nThat kens or hears about you, Sir\\nMay ne er misfortune s gowling bark,\\nHowl thro the dwelling o the Clerk\\nMay ne er his gen rous, honest heart\\nFor that same gen rous spirit smart\\nMay K s far honour d name\\nLang beet his hymeneal flame,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "362 BURNS WORKS.\\nTill H s at least a dizen,\\nAre frae her nuptial labours risen\\nFive bonnie lasses round their table,\\nAnd seven braw fellows, stout an able\\nTo serve their king and country weel,\\nBy word, or pen, or pointed steel\\nMay health and peace, with mutual rays,\\nShine on the evening o his days\\nTill his wee curlie John s ier-oe,\\nWhen ebbing life nae niair shall flow,\\nThe last, sad, mournful rites bestow\\nI will not mind a lang conclusion,\\nWi complimentary effusion\\nBut whilst your wishes and endeavours\\nAre blest wi Fortune s smiles and favours,\\nI am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent,\\nYour much indebted humble servant.\\nBut if (which Pow rs above prevent\\nThat iron-hearted carl, Want,\\nAttended in his grim advances,\\nBy sad mistakes, and black mischances,\\nWhile hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,\\nMake you as poor a dog as I am,\\nYour humble servant then no more\\nFor who would humbly serve the poor\\nBut by a poor man s hopes in Heaven\\nWhile recollection s power is given,\\nIf, in the vale of humble life,\\nThe victim sad of fortune s strife,\\nI, thro the tender gushing tear,\\nShould recognize my master dear,\\nIf friendless low we meet together,\\nThen, Sir, your hand my friend and brother.\\nTO A LOUSE,\\nON SEEING ONE ON A LADY S BONNET AT CHURCH.\\nHa whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie 1\\nYour impudence protects you sairly\\nI canna say but ye strunt rarely,\\nOwre gauze and lace;\\nTho faith, I fear ye dine but sparely\\nOn sic a place.\\nYe ugly, creepin biastit wonner,\\nDetested, shunn d by saunt an* sinner,\\nHow dare you set your fit upon her,\\nSae fine a lady\\nGae somewhere else and seek your dinner,\\nOn some poor body.\\nSwith, in some beggar s haffet squattle\\nThere ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle\\nWi ither kindred, jumpin cattle,\\nIn shoals and nations", "height": "4508", "width": "2600", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "poems* 363\\nWhare horn nor bane ne er dare unsettle\\nYour thick plantations.\\nNow haud you there, ye re out o sight,\\nBelow the fatt rils, snug an* tight\\nNa, faith ye yet yell no be right\\nTill ye ve got on it,\\nThe vera tapmost height tow ring height\\n0 Miss s bonnet.\\nMy sooth right bauld ye set your nose out\\nAs plump and grey as onie grozet\\nfor some rank, mercurial rozet,\\nOr fell, red smeddum,\\nI d gi e you sic a hearty dose o t,\\nWad dress your droddum\\n1 wad na been surprised to spy\\nYou on an auld wife s flannen toy\\nOr aiblin3 some bit duddie boy,\\nOn s wyliecoat\\nBut Miss s fine Lunar die, fie,\\nHow dare ye do t\\nJenny, dinna toss your head,\\nAn set your beauties a abread\\nYe little ken what cursed speed\\nThe blastie s makin\\nThae winks and/?i#er ends,I dread,\\nAre notice takin\\nO wad some power the giftie gie us\\nTo see oursels as others see us\\nIt wad frae monie a blunder free us,\\nAnd foolish notion\\nWhat airs in dress an gait wad lea e us,\\nAnd ev n Devotion\\nADDKESS TO ED1NBUKGH.\\nEdina Scotia s darling seat\\nAll hail thy palaces and towers,\\nWhere once beneath a monarch s feet\\nSat legislation s sovereign powers\\nFrom marking wildly scatter d iiowers,\\nAs on the banks of Ayr I stray d,\\nAnd singing, lone, the lingering hours,\\nI shelter in thy honour d shade.\\nHere wealth still swells the golden tide,\\nAs busy trade his labours piles\\nThere architecture s noble pride\\nBids elegance and splendour rise\\nHere justice, from her native skies,\\nHigh wields her balance and her rod\\nThere learning, with his eagle eyes,\\nSeeks science in her coy ulod;.\\nThy sons, Edisa, social, kind,\\nWith open arms the stranger hail", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "364 BURNS WORKS.\\nTheir views enlarged, their liberal mind,\\nAbove the narrow, rural vale\\nAttentive still to sorrow s wail,\\nOr modest merit s silent claim;\\nAnd never may their sources fail\\nAnd never envy blot their name.\\nThy daughters bright thy walks adorn\\nGay as the gilded summer sky,\\nSweet as the dewy milk-white thorn,\\nDear as the raptured thrill of joy\\nFair Burnet strikes th adoring eye,\\nHeav ns beauties on my fancy shine\\nI see the sire of love on high,\\nAnd own his work indeed divine\\nThere, watching high the least alarms,\\nThy rough rude fortress gleams afar\\nLike some bold veteran grey in arms,\\nAnd mark d with many a seamy scar\\nThe pon drous wall and massy bar,\\nGrim- rising o er the rugged rock\\nHave oft withstood assailing war,\\nAnd oft repell d th invader s shock.\\nWith awe- struck thought and pitying tears,\\n1 view that noble, stately dome,\\nWhere Scotia s kings of other years,\\nFamed heroes, had their royal home\\nAlas how changed the times to come\\nTheir royal name low in the dust\\nTheir hapless race wild-wand ring roam\\nTho rigid law cries out, twas just\\nWild beats my heart to trace your steps,\\nWhose ancestors in days of yore,\\nThro hostile ranks and ruin d gaps\\nOld Scotia s bloody lion bore\\nE en who sing in rustic lore,\\nHaply my sires have left their shed,\\nAnd faced grim danger s loudest roar,\\nBold following where your fathers led\\nEdina Scotia s darling seat\\nAll hail thy palaces and tow rs,\\nWhere once beneath a monarch s feet\\nSat legislation s sov reign pow rs\\nFrom marking wildly scatter d flowers,\\nAs on the banks of Ayr I stray d,\\nAnd singing, lone, the ling ring hours,\\nI shelter d in thy honour d shade.\\nEPISTLE TO J. LAPKA1K.\\nAN OLD SCOTTISH BARD, APRIL 1ST, 1785.\\nWhile briers an woodbines budding green,\\nAn paitricks serai vhin loud at e en", "height": "4508", "width": "2592", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "poems. 365\\nAn morning poussie whiddin seen,\\nInspire my muse,\\nThis freedom in an unknown frien\\nI pray excuse.\\nOn fasten- een we had a rockin\\nTo ca the crack, and weave our stockin\\nAnd there was muckle fun and jokin*,\\nYe need na doubt\\nAt length we had a hearty yokin*\\nAt sang about.\\nThere was ae sang amang the rest,\\nAboon them a it pleased me best,\\nThat some kind husband had addrest\\nTo some sweet wife\\nIt thirl d the heart-strings thro the breast,\\nA to the life.\\nI ve scarce heard ought described sae weel,\\nWhat gen rous., manly bosoms feel\\nThought I, Can this be Pope, or Steele,\\nOr Beattie s wark V\\nThey tald me twas an odd kind chiel\\nAbout MuirkirJc.\\nIt pat me fidgin-fain to hear t,\\nAnd sae about him there I spiert,\\nThen a that ken t him, round declared\\nHe had ingine,\\nThat name excell d it, few cam near t,\\nIt was sae fine.\\nThat set him to a pint of ale,\\nAn either douce or merry tale,\\nOr rhymes an sangs he d made himsel\\nOr witty catches,\\nTween Inverness and Teviotdale,\\nHe had few matches.\\nThen up I gat, an swoor an aith,\\nTho I should pawn my pleugh an graith,\\nOr die a cadger pownie s death,\\nAt some dyke back,\\nA pint an gill I d gie them baith\\nTo hear your crack.\\nBut, first an foremost, I should tell,\\nAmaist as soon as I could spell,\\nI to the crambo jingle fell,\\nTho rude an rough,\\nYet crooning to a body s sel\\nDoes weel eneugh.\\nI am na poet, in a sense,\\nBut just a rhymer, like, by chance,\\nAn, hae to learning nae pretence,\\nYet, what the matter\\nWhene er my muse does on me glance,\\nI jingle at her.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "366 burns works.\\nYour critic folk may cock their nose,\\nAnd say, How can you e er propose,\\nYou wha ken hardly verse frae prose,\\nTo mak a sang V\\nBut, by your leaves, my learned foes,\\nYe re may be wrang.\\nWhat s a your jargon o your schools,\\nYour Latin names for horns an stools\\nIf honest nature made you fools.\\nWhat sairs your grammars 1\\nYe d better taen up spades and shools,\\nOr knappin-hammers.\\nA set o* dull conceited hashes,\\nConfuse their brains in college classes\\nThey gang in stirks, and come out asses,\\nPlain truth to speak\\nAn syne they think to climb Parnassus\\nBy dint o Greek I\\nGie me ae spark o Nature s fire\\nThat s a the learning I desire\\nThen tho I drudge thro dub an mire\\nAt pleugh or cart,\\nMy muse, though namely in attire,\\nMay touch the heart.\\nfor a spunk o Allan s glee,\\nOr Ferguson s, the bauld and slee,\\nOr bright Lapraitis, my friend to be\\nIf I can hit it\\nThat would be lear eneugh for me\\nIf I could get it.\\nNow, Sir, if ye hae friends enow,\\nTho real friends, I b lieve, are few,\\nYet, if your catalogue be fou,\\nI se no insist,\\nBut gif ye want ae friend that s true,\\nI m on your list.\\n1 winna blaw about mysel\\nAs ill I like my faults to tell\\nBut friends, and folk that wish me well,\\nThey sometimes roose me.\\nTho I maun own, as monie still\\nAs far abuse me.\\nThere s ae wee f ant they whyles lay to me,\\nI like the lasses Guid forgie me\\nFor monie a plack they wheedle frae me\\nAt dance or fair\\nMay be some iiker thing they gie me\\nThey weel can spare.\\nBut MaucliUne race, or Mauchline fair,\\nI should be proud to meet you there\\nWe se gie ae night s discharge to care,\\nIf we forgather,", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 36?\\nAn hae a swap o rhyming ware\\nWi ane anither.\\nThe four-gill chap, we se gar him clatter,\\nAn kirsen him wi reekin water\\nSyne well sit down an tak our whitter,\\nTo cheer our heart\\nAn 5 faith, we se be acquainted better\\nBefore we part.\\nAwa, ye selfish warly race,\\nWha think that havins, sense, an grace,\\nEv n love and friendship should give place\\nTo catch the placlc I\\nI dinna like to see your face,\\nNor hear your crack.\\nBut ye whom social pleasure charms,\\nWhose hearts the tide of kindness warms,\\nWho hold your being on the terms,\\n4 Each aid the others,\\nCome to my bowl, come to my arms,\\nMy friends, my brothers\\nBut, to conclude my lang epistle,\\nAs my auld pen s worn to the grissle\\nTwa lines frae you wad gar me fissle,\\nWho am most fervent,\\nWhile I can either sing, or whissle,\\nYour friend and servant.\\nTO THE SAME.\\nApril 21, 1785.\\nWhile new ca d kye rout at the stake,\\nAn pownies reek in pleugh or brake,\\nThis hour on e ening s edge I take,\\nTo own I m debtor\\nTo honest-hearted auld LapraiJc,\\nFor his kind letter.\\nForjesket sair, with weary legs,\\nRattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,\\nOr dealing thro amang the naigs\\nTheir ten hours bite,\\nMy awkart-muse sair pleads and begs,\\nI would na write.\\nThe tapetless ramfeel d hizzie,\\nShe s saft at best, and something lazy,\\nQuo she, Ye ken ye ve been sae busy\\nThis month an mair,\\nThat troth my head is grown right dizzie,\\nAn something sair/\\nHer dowff excuses pat me mad\\n1 Conscience, says I, ye thowless jad\\nI ll write, an that a hearty blaud,\\nThis vera night", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "368 burns works.\\nSo dinna ye affront your trade,\\nBut rhyme it right.\\nShall bauld Lapraik the king o hearts,\\nTho mankind were a pack o cartes,\\nRoose you sae weel for your deserts,\\nIn terms sae friendly,\\nYet ye ll neglect to shaw your parts,\\nAn thank him kindly\\nSae I gat paper in a blink,\\nAn down gaed stumjrie in the ink\\nQuoth I, Before 1 sleep a wink,\\nI vow I ll close it\\nAn if ye winna mak it clink,\\nBy Jove I ll prose it\\nSae I ve begun to scrawl, but whether\\nIn rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither,\\nOr some hotch-potch that s rightly neither,\\nLet us mak proof\\nBut I shall scribble down some blether\\nJust clean aff loof.\\nMy worthy friend, ne er grudge an carp,\\nTho fortune use you hard an sharp;\\nCome, kittle up your moorland harp\\nWi 5 gleesome touch\\nNe er mind haw Fortune waft and warp\\nShe s but a b-tch.\\nShe s gien me monie a jirt and fleg,\\nSin I could striddle owre a rig\\nBut, by the L d, tho I should beg,\\nWi lyart pow,\\nI ll laugh, an sing, an shake my leg,\\nAs lang s I dow\\nNo comes the sax and twentieth simmer,\\nI ve seen the bud upo the timmer,\\nStill persecuted by the limmer,\\nFrae year to year\\nBut yet, despite the kittle kimmer,\\nI, Rob, am here.\\nDo you envy the city Gent,\\nBehint a kist to lie and sklent,\\nOr purse proud, big wi cent per cent,\\nAnd muckle wame,\\nIn some bit brugh to represent\\nA Bailie s name 1\\nOr is t the paughty feudal thane,\\nWi ruffled sark and glancin cane,\\nWha thinks himself nae sheep-shank bane,\\nBut lordly stalks.\\nWhile caps an bonnets aff are taen,\\nAs by he walks", "height": "4508", "width": "2588", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "poems 369\\nThou wha gies us each guid gift\\nGie me o wit and sense a lift,\\nThen turn me if Thou please adrift\\nThro Scotland wide\\nWi cits nor lairds I would not shift,\\nIn a their pride\\nWere this the charter of our state,\\nOn pain o hell be rich and great/\\nDamnation then would be our fate,\\nBeyond remead\\nBut thanks to Heav n that s no the gate\\nWe learn our creed.\\nFor thus the royal mandate ran,\\nWhen first the human race began,\\nThe social, friendly, honest man,\\nWhate er he be,\\nTis he fulfils Great Nature s plan,\\nAn none but he\\nmandate glorious and divine\\nThe followers o the ragged Nine,\\nPoor glorious devils yet may shine\\nIn glorious light,\\nWhile sordid sons of Mammon s line\\nAre dark as night.\\nTho here they scrape, an squeeze, an growl,\\nTheir worthless nievefu o a soul\\nMay in some future carcase howl\\nThe forest s fright\\nOr in some day-detesting owl\\nMay shun the light\\nThen may Lapraih and Burns arise,\\nTo reach their native, kindred skies,\\nAnd sing their pleasures, hopes, and joys,\\nIn some mild sphere,\\nStill closer knit in friendship s ties,\\nEach passing year,\\nto w. s N/;\\nOCHILTREE.\\nMay 1785.\\nI gat your letter, winsome Willie\\nWi gratefu heart 1 thank you brawlie\\nTho I maun say t I wad be silly,\\nAn unco vain,\\nShould I believe, my coaxin billie,\\nYour natterin strain.\\nBut I se believe ye kindly meant it.\\n1 sud be laith to think ye hinted\\nIronic satire sidelins sklented\\nOn my poor musie\\nTho in sic phrasin terms ye ve penn d it,\\nI scarce excuse ye.\\nQ 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "310 burns works.\\nMy senses wad be in a creel,\\nShould I but dare a hope to speel,\\nWi Allan or wi GilbertMd,\\nThe braes of fame\\nOr Fergusson the writer chiel,\\nA deathless name.\\n(0 Fergusson thy glorious parts\\n111 suited law s dry musty arts,\\nMy curse upon your whunstane hearts,\\nYe E nbrugh Gentry\\nThe tithe o what ye waste at cartes,\\nWad stow d his pantry\\nYet when a tale comes i my head,\\nOr lasses gie my heart a screed,\\nAs whyles they re like to be my dead,\\n(0 sad disease I)\\nI kittle up my rustic reed\\nIt gies me ease.\\nAuld Coila now may fidge fu fain,\\nShe s gotten poets o* her ain,\\nChiels wha their chanters winna hain,\\nBut tune their lays,\\nTill echoes all resound again\\nHer well sung praise.\\n!Nae poet thought her worth his while,\\nTo set her name in measured style\\nShe lay like some unkenned of isle\\nBesides New-Holland,\\nOr whare wild-meeting oceans boil\\nBesouth Magellan.\\nRamsay an famous Fergvsson\\nGied Forth an Tay a lift aboon\\nYarrow an Tweed to monie a tune,\\nOwre Scotland rings,\\nWhile Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an Boon,\\nXae body sings.\\nTh Illissus. Tiber, Thames, an Seine,\\nGlide sweet in monie a tunefu line\\nBut, Willie set your fit to mine,\\nAn cock your crest,\\nWe ll gar our streams and burnies shine\\nUp wi the best.\\nWe ll sing auld Coila s plains an fells,\\nHer moors red- brown wi heather bells,\\nHer banks an braes, her dens an dells,\\nWhere glorious Wallace\\nAft bure the gree as story tells,\\nFrae southren billies.\\nAt Wallace name what Scottish blood\\nBut boils up in a spring-tide flood\\nOft have our fearless fathers strode\\nBy Wallace side,", "height": "4508", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 371\\nStill pressing onward, red wat shod,\\nOr glorious died.\\nO sweet are Coila s haughs an woods,\\nWhen lintwhites chant among the buds,\\nAn jinking hares, in amorous whids,\\nTheir loves enjoy,\\nWhile thro* the braes the cushat croods\\nWith wailfu cry\\nEv n winter bleak has charms to me\\nWhen winds rave thro the naked tree,\\nOr frost on hills of Ochiltree\\nAre hoary grey\\nOr blinding drifts wild-furious flee,\\nDark ning the day\\nO Nature 1 a thy shows an forms\\nTo feeling, pensive hearts hae charms\\nWhether the summer kindly warms\\nWi life an light,\\nOr winter howls in gusty storms,\\nThe lang, dark night\\nThe Muse, nae poet ever fand her,\\nTill by himsel he learn d to wander,\\nA down some trotting burn s meander\\nAn no think lang,\\nsweet, to stray, an pensive ponder\\nA heartfelt sang\\nThe warly race may drudge and drive,\\nHog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an strive,\\nLet me fair Nature s face descrive,\\nAnd I, wi pleasure,\\nShall let the busy, grumbling hive\\nBum o er their treasure.\\nFareweel, my rhyme- composing brither\\nWe ve been owre lang unkenn d to ither,\\nNow let us lay our heads thegither.\\nIn love fraternal\\nMay Envy wallop in a tether,\\nBlack fiend, infernal.\\nWhile highlandmen hate tolls and taxes;\\nWhile moorlan herds like guid fat braxies;\\nWhile terra firma on her axis\\nDiurnal turns,\\nCount on a friend, in faith and practice,\\nIn Robert Burns,\\nP08TSCEIPT.\\nMy memory s no worth a preen,\\n1 had amaist forgotten clean,\\nYe bade me write you what they mean\\nBy this new-light,\\nBout which our herds sae aft hae been\\nMaist like to fight.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "372 BURNS WORKS.\\nIn days when mankind were but callans\\nAt grammar, logic, an sic talents,\\nThey took nae pains their speech to balance,\\nOr rules to gi e,\\nBut spak their thoughts in plain braid lallans,\\nLike you or me.\\nIn thae auld times, they thought the moon,\\nJust like a sark, a pair o shoon.\\nWore by degrees, till her last roon,\\nGaed past her viewing,\\nAn shortly after she was done,\\nThey gat a new ane.\\nThis past for certain, undisputed\\nIt ne er cam i their heads to doubt it,\\nTill chiels gat up an wad confute it\\nAn ca d it wrang\\nAn muckle din there was about it,\\nBaith loud and lang.\\nSome herds, weel learn d upo the beuk,\\nWad threap auld folk the thing misteuk\\nFor twas the auld moon turn d a neuk,\\nAn out a sight,\\nAn backlins comin to the leuk\\nShe grew mair bright.\\nThis was deny d, it was affirm d\\nThe herds and hissels were alarm d\\nThe rev rend grey- beards rav d an storm d;\\nThat beardless laddies\\nShould think they better were inform d\\nThan their old daddies.\\nFrae less to mair it gaed to sticks\\nFrae words an aiths to clours an nicks;\\nAn monie a fallow gat his licks,\\nWi hearty crunt\\nAn some, to learn them for their tricks,\\nWere hang d an burnt.\\nThis game was played in monie lands,\\nAn s auld lihrft caddies bure sic hands,\\nThat faith, the youngsters took the sands\\nWi nimble shanks,\\nTill lairds forbade, by strict commands,\\nSic bluidy pranks.\\nBut new light herds gat sic a cowe,\\nFolk thought them ruined stiek-and-stowe,\\nTill now amaist on ev ry knowe,\\nYe ll find ane plac d\\nAn some, their new-light fair avow,\\nJust quite barefac d.\\nNae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin\\nTheir zealous herds are vex d an sweatin\\nMysel, I ve even seen them greetin\\nWi girnin spite.", "height": "4508", "width": "2596", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "poems! 373\\nTo hear the moon sae sadly lie d on\\nBy word an write.\\nBut shortly they will cowe the louns\\nSome auld-light herds in neebor towns\\nAre mind t, in things they ca balloons,\\nTo tak a flight,\\nAn* stay a month amang the moons\\nAn see them right.\\nGuid observation they will gi e them\\nAn when the auld moons gann to lea e them,\\nThe hindmost shaird, they ll fetch it wi them,\\nJust i their pouch,\\nAn* when the new-light billies see them,\\nI think they ll crouch\\nSae, ye observe that a* this clatter\\nTs naething but a moonshine matter;\\nBut tho dull prose- folk Latin splatter\\nIn logic tulzie,\\nI hope, we bardies ken some better\\nThan mind sic brulzie.\\nEPISTLE TO J. RANKINE.\\nENCLOSING SOME POEMS.\\nrough, rude, ready-witted Eankine,\\nThe wale o cocks for fun and drinkin\\nThere s mony godly folks are thinkin\\nYour dreams an tricks\\nWill send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin\\nStraight to auld ^Tick s.\\nYe ha e sae monie cracks an cants\\nAnd in your wicked, drucken rants,\\nYe mak a devil o the saunts,\\nAn fill them fou\\nAnd then their failings, flaws, an wants,\\nAre a seen thro\\nHypocrisy, in mercy spare it\\nThat holy robe, O dinna tear it\\nSpare t for their sakes wha aften wear it,\\nThe lads in black I\\nBut your curst wit, when it comes near it,\\nKives t aff their back.\\nThink, wicked sinner, wha ye re skaithing,\\nIt s just the blue-gown badge an claithing\\n0 saunts tak that, ye lea e them naething\\nTo ken them by,\\nFrae ony unregenerate heathen\\nLike you or I.\\nI ve sent you here some rhyming ware,\\nA that I bargain d for an mair;\\nSae, when ye hae an hour to spare,\\nI will expect", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "374 BURNS 1 WORKS.\\nYon sang, ye ll sen t wi cannie care,\\nAnd no neglect.\\nTho faith, sma heart hae I to sing\\nMy muse dow scarcely spread her wing\\nI ve play d mysel a bonnie spring,\\nAn danc d my fill\\nI d better gaen and sair d the king\\nAt Bunker s HUL\\nTwas ae night lately in my fun\\nI gaed a roving wi the gun,\\nAn brought a paitiick to the grun,\\nA bonnie hen,\\nAnd, as the twilight was begun,\\nThought nane wad ken.\\nThe poor wee thing was little hurt\\nI straikit it a wee for sport,\\nNe er thinkin they wad fash me for t\\nBut, deil-ma care\\nSomebody tells the poacher-court\\nThe hale affair.\\nSome auld us d hands had ta en a note,\\nThat sic a hen had got a shot\\nI was suspected for the plot\\nI scorn d to lie\\nSo gat the whissle o my groat,\\nAn pay t the/^.\\nBut, by my gun, o guns the wale,\\nAn by my pouther au my hail,\\nAn by my hen, an by her tail,\\nI vow an swear,\\nThy name shall pay o er moor an dale,\\nFor this, niest year.\\nAs soon s the clockiu time is by,\\nAn the wee poufcs begun to cry,\\nLord, I se hae sportin by an by,\\nFor my gowd guinea\\nTho I should herd the buckskin kye\\nFor t in Virginia.\\nTrowth, they had meikle for to blame\\nTwas neither broken wing nor limb,\\nBut twa- three draps about the wame,\\nScarce thro the feathers;\\nAn baith a yellow George to claim,\\nAn thole their blethers\\nIt pits me aye as mad s a hare\\nSo I can rhyme nor write nae mair,\\nBut yennywortlis again is fair,\\nWhen time s expedient\\nMeanwhile I am, respected Sir,\\nYour most obedient.", "height": "4508", "width": "2596", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "poems. 375\\nJOHN BARLEYCORN.\\nA BALLAD.\\nThere were three kings into the east,\\nThree kings both great and high,\\nAn they hae sworn a solemn oath\\nJohn Barleycorn should die.\\nThey took a plough and plough d him down,\\nPut clods upon his head,\\nAnd they hae sworn a solemn oath\\nJohn Barleycorn was dead.\\nBut the cheerful spring came kindly on,\\nAnd show rs began to fall\\nJohn Barleyeorn got up again,\\nAnd sore surpris d them all.\\nThe sultry suns of summer came,\\nAnd he grew thick and strong,\\nHis head weel arra d wi pointed spears,\\nThat no one should him wrong.\\nThe sober autumn enter d mild,\\nWhen he grew wan and pale\\nHis bending joints and drooping head,\\nShow d he began to fail.\\nHis colour sicken d more and more,\\nHe faded into age\\nAnd then his enemies began\\nTo show their deadly rage,\\nThey ve ta en a weapon long and sharp,\\nAnd cut him by the knee\\nThey ty d him fast upon a cart,\\nLike a rogue for forgerie.\\nThey laid him down upon his back,\\nAnd cudgell d him full sore\\nThey hung him up before the storm,\\nAnd turn d him o er and o er.\\nThey filled up a darksome pit\\nWith water to the brim,\\nThey heaved in John Barleycorn,\\nThere let him sink or swim.\\nThey laid him out upon the floor,\\nTo work him further woe,\\nAnd still as signs of life appear d,\\nThey toss d him to and fro.\\nThey wasted o er a scorching flame,\\nThe marrow of his bones\\nBut a miller used him worst of all,\\nFor he crus d him between two stones.\\nAnd they hae ta en his very heart s blood\\nAnd drank it round and round\\nAnd still the more and more they drank,\\nTheir joy did more abound.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "376 BtJRNS WORKS.\\nJohn Barleycorn was a hero bold,\\nOf noble enterprise,\\nFor if yon do bnt taste his blood,\\nTwill make yonr conrage rise.\\nTwill make a man forget his woe\\nTwill heighten all his joy\\nTwill make the widow s heart to sing,\\nTho the tear were in her eye.\\nThen let us toast John Barleycorn,\\nEach man a glass in hand\\nAnd may his great posterity\\n$T er fail in old Scotland\\nA FRAGMENT.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 G illicrankie\\nWhen Guildford good our pilot stood,\\nAnd did our helm thraw, man,\\nAe naight, at tea, began a plea,\\nWithin America, man\\nThen up they gat the maskin-pat,\\nAnd in the sea did jaw, man\\nAn did nae less,, in fall congress,\\nThan quite refuse our law, man.\\nThen thro the lakes Montgomery takes,\\nI wat he was na slaw, man\\nDown Lowrie s burn he took a turn,\\nAnd Carleton did ca man\\nBut yet, what reck, he, at Quebec,\\nMontgomery- like did fa man\\nWi sword in hand,before his band,\\nAmang his enemies a man.\\nPoor Tammy Gage, within a cage.\\nWas kept at Boston ha\\\\ man;\\nTill Willie Howe took o er the knowe\\nFor Philadelphia, man\\nWi sword an gun he thought a sin\\nGuid Christian blood to draw, man\\nBut at New-Yorh, wi knife and fork,\\nSir-loin he hacked sma man.\\nBurgoyne gaed up, like spur an whip,\\nTill Fraser brave did fa man\\nThen lost his way, ae misty day,\\nIn Saratoga shaw, man.\\nCornwallis fought as lang s he dought,\\nAn did the buckskins claw, man\\nBut Clinton s glaive frae rust to save\\nHe hung it to the wa man.\\nThen Montague, an Guildford too,\\nBegan to fear a fa man\\nAnd Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure^\\nThe German chief to thraw, man", "height": "4508", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "poems. 377\\nFor Paddy Burlce, like onie Turk,\\nNae mercy had at a man\\nAn Charlie Fox threw by the box,\\nAn lows d his tinkler jaw, man.\\nThen Rockingham took up the game;\\nTill death did on him ca man\\nWhen Shelburne meek held up his cheek,\\nConform to gospel law, man,\\nSaint Stephen s boys, wi jarring noise,\\nThey did his measures thraw, man,\\nFor North and Fox united stocks,\\nAnd bore him to the wa man.\\nThen clubs an hearts were Charlie s cartes,\\nHe swept the stakes awa man,\\nTill the diamond s ace of Indian race,\\nLed him a s ir faux pas, man\\nThe Saxon lads, wi loud placads,\\nOn Chatham s hoy did ca man\\nAnd Scotland drew her pipe, an blew,\\nUp, Willie, waur them a man\\nBehind the throne then Grenville s gone,\\nA secret word or twa, man\\nWhile slee JPundas arous d the class\\nBe-north the Roman wa man\\nAn Chatham s wraith, in heavenly graith,\\n(Inspired bardies saw, man)\\nWi kindling eyes, cry d, Willie, rise\\nWould I ha e fear d them a man?\\nBut word an blow, North, Fox and Co.\\nGowfTd Willie like a ba man,\\nTill Suthrons raise, and coost their claise\\nBehind him in a raw, man\\nAn* Caledon threw by the drone,\\nAn did her whittle draw, man;\\nAn swoor fu rude, thro dirt and blood\\nTo mak it guid in law, man.\\nSONG.\\nCorn Rigs are Bonnie.\\nIt was upon a Lammas night,\\nWhen corn rigs are bonnie,\\nBeneath the moon s unclouded light,\\nI held awa to Annie\\nThe time flew by wi tentless heed,\\nTill tween the late and early,\\nWi so) a persuasion she agreed,\\nTo see me thro the barley.\\nThe sky was blue, the wind was still,\\nThe moon was shining clearly\\nI set her down, wi right good will\\nAmang the rigs o barley.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "378 burns works.\\nI kent her heart was a my ain\\nI lov d her most sincerely\\nI kiss d her owre and owre again\\nAmang the rigs o barley.\\nI lock d her in my fond embrace\\nHer heart was beating rarely\\nMy blessings on that happy place,\\nAmang the rigs o barley\\nBut by the moons and stars so bright,\\nThat shone that hour so clearly\\nShe aye shall bless that happy night,\\nAmang the rigs o barley.\\nI hae been blythe wi comrades dear\\nI hae been merry drinkin*\\nI hae been joy fu gath rin gear;\\nI hae been happy thinkin\\nBut a the pleasures e er I saw,\\nTho three times doubled fairly,\\nThat happy night was worth them a\\nAmang the rigs o barley.\\nCHORUS.\\nCorn rigs an barley rigs,\\nAn corn rigs are bonnie\\n111 ne er forget that happy night,\\nAmang the rigs wi Annie.\\nSONG.\\nCOMPOSED IN AUGUST.\\nTune I had a Horse, I had nae mair.\\nNow westlin winds, and slaught ring guns,\\nBring autumn s pleasant weather\\nThe moorcock springs, on whirring wings,\\nAmang the blooming heather\\nNow waving grain, wide o er the plain,\\nDelights the weary farmer\\nAnd the moon shines bright, when I rove at night,\\nTo muse upon my charmer.\\nThe partridge loves the fruitful fells\\nThe plover loves the mountains\\nThe woodcock haunts the lonely dells;\\nThe soaring hern the fountains\\nThro lofty groves the cushat roves\\nThe path of man to shun it\\nThe hazel bush o erhangs the thrush,\\nThe spreading thorn the linnet.\\nThus ev ry kind their pleasure find,\\nThe savage and the tender\\nSome social join, and leagues combine\\nSome solitary wander\\nAvaunt, away the cruel sway,\\nTyrannic man s dominion\\nThe sportsman s joy the murd ring cry.\\nThe flutt ring, gory pinion", "height": "4508", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "poems. 379\\nBut Peggy dear, the ev ning s clear,\\nThick flies the skimming swallow\\nThe sky is blue, the fields in view,\\nAll fading green and yellow\\nCome let us stray our gladsome way,\\nAnd view the charms of nature\\nThe rustling corn, the fruited thorn,\\nAnd ev ry happy creature.\\nWe ll gently walk, and sweetly talk,\\nTill the silent moon shine clearly\\nI ll grasp thy waist, and fondly prest,\\nSwear how I love thee dearly\\nNot vernal show rs to budding flow rs,\\nNot autumn to the farmer,\\nSo dear can be as thou to me,\\nMy fair, my lovely charmer\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My Nannie, O.\\nBehind yon hills where Stinchar flows.\\nMang moor3 an mosses many, 0,\\nThe wintry sun the day has clos d,\\nAnd I ll awa to Nannie, 0.\\nThe westlin wind blaws loud an shill\\nThe night s baith mirk and rainy, O\\nBut I ll got my plaid and out I ll steal,\\nAn owre the hills to Nannie, O.\\nMy Nannie s charming, sweet, an young\\nNae artfu wiles to win ye,\\nMay ill befa the flattering tongue\\nThat wad beguile my Nannie, O\\nHer face is fair, her heart is true,\\nAs spotless as she s bonnie, O\\nThe opening gowan, wet wi dew,\\nNae purer is than Nannie, 0.\\nA country lad is my degree,\\nAn few there be that ken me,\\nBut what care I how few they be,\\nI m welcome aye to Nannie, 0.\\nMy riches a s my penny- fee,\\nAn I maun guide it cannie, O\\nBut warl s gear ne er troubles me,\\nMy thoughts are a my Nannie, 0.\\nOur auld Guidman delights to view\\nHis sheep an* kye thrive bonnie, 0;\\nBut I m as blithe that haud3 his pleugh,\\nAn has nae care but Nannie, 0.\\nCome weel, come woe, I care na by,\\nI ll take what Heaven will sen me,\\nNae ither care in life have I,\\nBut live, an love my Nannie, 0.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "380 burns works.\\nGREEN GROW THE RASHES.\\nA FRAGMENT.\\nCHORUS.\\nGreen grow the rashes,\\nGreen grow the rashes,\\nThe sweetest hours that e er I spend,\\nAre spent amang the lasses,\\nThere s nought but care on every han\\nIn every hour that passes,\\nWhat signifies the life o man,\\nAn twere na for the lasses, 0.\\nGreen grow, c.\\nThe warly race may riches chase,\\nAn riches still may fly them,\\nAn though at last they catch them fast,\\nTheir hearts can ne er enjoy them, O,\\nGreen grow, c.\\nBut gie me a canny hour at e en,\\nMy arms about my dearie,\\nAn warly cares, an warly men,\\nMay a gae tapsalteerie, 0.\\nGreen grow, c.\\nFor you so douse, ye sneer at this,\\nYe re nought but senseless asses,\\nThe wisest man the warld e er saw,\\nHe dearly loved the lasses, O.\\nGreen grow, c.\\nAuld Nature swears, the lovely dears\\nHer noblest work she classes,\\nHer prentice han she tried on man,\\nAnd then she made the lasses, 0.\\nGreen grow, c.\\nSONG.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Jockie s Grey Breeks.\\nAgain rejoicing Nature sees\\nHer robe assume its vernal hues,\\nHer leafy locks wave in the breeze,\\nAll freshly steep d in morning dews.\\nCHORUS.\\nAnd maun I still on Menie doat,\\nAnd bear the scorn that s in her e e 1\\nFor it s jet, jet black, and it s like a hawk,\\nAnd it winna let a body be\\nIn vain to me the cowslips blaw,\\nIn vain to me the vi iets spring\\nIn vain to me, in glen or shaw,\\nThe mavis and the lintwhite sing.\\nAnd maun I still, c.", "height": "4492", "width": "2604", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 381\\nThe merry ploughboy cheere his team,\\nWi joy the tentie seedsman stalks,\\nBut life to me s a weary dream,\\nA dream of ane that never wauks.\\nAnd maun I still, c.\\nThe wanton coot the water skims,\\nAmang the reeds the ducklings cry,\\nThe stately swan majestic swims,\\nAnd every thing is blest but I.\\nAnd maun I still, c.\\nThe shepherd steeks his faulding slap,\\nAnd owre the moorlands whistle shill,\\nWi wild, unequal, wandering step\\nI meet him on the dewy hill.\\nAnd maun I still, c.\\nAnd when the lark, tween light and dark,\\nBlithe waukens by the daisy s side,\\nAnd mounts and sings on fluttering wings,\\nA woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.\\nAnd maun I still, c.\\nCome, Winter, with thine angry howl,\\nAnd raging bend the naked tree\\nThy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,\\nWhen nature all is sad like me\\nCHORUS.\\nAnd maun I still on 2Ienie doat,\\nAnd bear the scorn that s in her ee 1\\nFor it s jet black, and it s like a hau-J:,\\nAn it winna let a body be*\\nSOHG.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Roslin Castle.\\nThe gloomy night is gath ring fast,\\nLoud roars the wild inconstant blast,\\nYon murky cloud is foul wi rain,\\nI see it driving o er the plain\\nThe hunter now has left the moor,\\nThe scatter d coveys meet secure,\\nWhile here I wander prest wi care,\\nAlong. the lonely banks of Ayr.\\nThe Autumn mourns her ripening corn\\nBy early Winter s ravage torn\\nAcross her placid, azure sky,\\nShe sees the scowling tempest fly\\nChill runs my blood to hear it rave,\\nI think upon the stormy wave,\\nWhere many a danger I must dare,\\nFar from the bonnie banks of Ayr.\\nWe cannot presume to alter any of the poems of our bard, and more especially\\nthose printed under his own direction jet it is to be regretted that this chorus\\nwhich is not his own composition, should be attached to these fine stanzas, as it\\nperpetually interrupts, the train of sentiment which they excite,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "382 burns works.\\nTis not the surging billow s roar,\\nTis not that fatal deadly shore\\nTho death in every shape appear,\\nThe wretched have no more to fear\\nBut round my heart the ties are bound,\\nThat heart transpierced with many a wound\\nThese bleed afresh, those ties I tear\\nTo leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.\\nFarewell, old Coilds hills and dales,\\nHer heathy moors and winding vales;\\nThe scenes where wretched fancy roves,\\nPursuing past unhappy loves\\nFarewell, my friends, farewell, my foes\\nMy peace with these, my love with those\\nThe bursting tears my heart declare,\\nFarewell the bonnie banks of Ayr\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Gilderoy.\\nFrom thee, Eliza, I must go,\\nAnd from my native shore\\nThe cruel fates between us throw\\nA boundless ocean s roar,\\nBut boundless oceans roaring wide,\\nBetween my love and me,\\nThey never, never can divide\\nMy heart and soul from thee.\\nFarewell, farewell, Eliza dear,\\nThe maid that I adorn\\nA boding voice is in mine ear,\\nWe part to meet no more\\nBut the last throb that leaves my heart,\\nWhile death stands victor by,\\nThat throb, Eliza, is thy part,\\nAnd thine that latest sigh\\nTHE FAREWELL,\\nTO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES S LODGE, TARBOLTON.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Good night and Joy be wi you a\\nAdieu a heart- warm, fond adieu\\nDear brothers of the mystic tie I\\nYe favour d, ye enlighten d few,\\nCompanions of my social joy\\nTho I to foreign lands must hie,\\nPursuing Fortune s slidd ry ba\\nWith melting heart, and brimful eye,\\nI ll mind you still, tho* far awa\\nOft have I met your social band,\\nAnd spent the cheerful festive night;\\nOft honour d with supreme command,\\nPresided o er the sons of light", "height": "4508", "width": "2832", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "poems. 383\\nAnd by that hieroglyphic bright,\\nWhich none but craftsmen ever saw\\nStrong mem ry on my heart shall write\\nThose happy scenes when far awa\\\\\\nMay freedom, harmony, and love,\\nUnite you in the grand design.\\nBeneath th omniscient eye above,\\nThe glorious architect divine\\nThat you may keep th unerring line,\\nStill rising by the plummet s law,\\nTill order bright completely shine,\\nShall be my pray r when far awa\\nAnd you, farewell whose merits claim,\\nJustly that highest ladge to wear\\nHeav n bless your honour d, noble name,\\nTo masonry and Scotia dear\\nA last request, permit me here,\\nWhen yearly ye assemble a\\nOne round, I ask it with a tear,\\nTo him, the lard that s far awa\\nSONG.\\nTone.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Prepare, my dear Brethren, to the Tavern let s fly.\\nNo churchman am I for to rail and to write,\\nNo statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,\\nNo sly man of business contriving a snare,\\nFor a big-bellied bottle s the whole of my care.\\nThe peer I don t envy, I give him his bow\\nI scorn not the peasant, tho ever so low\\nBut a club of good fellows like those that are here,\\nAnd a bottle like this, are my glory and care.\\nHere passes the squire on his brother his horse\\nThere centum per centum, the cit with his purse\\nBut see you the crown, how it waves in the air,\\nThere, a big-belly d bottle still eases my care.\\nThe wife of my bosom, alas she did die\\nFor sweet consolation to church I did fly\\nI found that old Solomon proved it fair,\\nThat a big-belly d bottle s a cure for all care.\\nI once was persuaded a venture to make\\nA letter inform d me that all was to wreck\\nBut the pursy old landlord just waddl d up stairs,\\nWith a glorious bottle that ended my cares.\\n9 Life s cares they are comforts a maxim laid down\\nBy the bard, what d ye call him, that wore the black gown\\nAnd faith I agree with th old prig to a hair\\nFor a big-belly d bottle s a heaven of care.\\n[^i Stanza added in a Mason Lodge.]\\nThen fill up a bumper and make it o erflow,\\nThe honours masonic prepare for to throw\\nMay every true brother of the compass and square\\nHave a big-belly d bottle when harass d with care.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "384 BURNS WORKS.\\nWRITTEN IN\\nFRIERS CARSE HERMITAGE\\nON KITH-SIDE.\\nThou whom chance may hither lead,\\nBe thou clad in russet weed,\\nBe thou deckt in silken stole,\\nGrave these counsels on thy soul.\\nLife is but a day at most,\\nSprung from night, in darkness lost\\nHope not sunshine every hour,\\nFear not clouds will always lower.\\nAs youth and love with sprightly dance,\\nBeneath thy morning star advance,\\nPleasure with her siren air\\nMay delude the thoughtless pair\\nLet prudence bless enjoyment s cup,\\nThen raptur d sip, and sip it up.\\nAs thy day grow3 warm and high,\\nLife s meridian flaming nigh,\\nDost thou spurn the humble vale 1\\nLife s proud summits wouldst thou scale\\nCheck thy climbing step, elate,\\nEvils lurk in felon wait\\nDangers, eagle-pinion d, bold,\\nSoar around each cliffy hold,\\nWhile cheerful peace, with linnet song,\\nChants the lowly dells among.\\nAs the shades of ev ning close,\\nBeck ning thee to long repose\\nAs life itself becomes disease,\\nSeek the chimney-neuk of ease.\\nThere ruminate with sober thought,\\nOn all thou st seen, and heard, and wrought\\nAnd teach the sportive younkers round,\\nSaws of experience, sage and sound.\\nSay, man s true, genuine estimate,\\nThe grand criterion of his fate,\\nIs not, Art thou high or low\\nDid thy fortune ebb or flow\\nDid many talents gild thy span\\nOr frugal nature grudge the one]\\nTell them, and press it on their mind,\\nAs thou thyself must shortly find,\\nThe smile or frown of awful Heav n,\\nTo virtue or to vice is giv n.\\nSay, to be just, and kind, and wise,\\nThere solid self-enjoyment lies;\\nThat foolish, selfish, faithless ways,\\nLead to the wretched, vile, and base.\\nThus resign d and quiet, creep\\nTo the bed of lasting sleep", "height": "4392", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "poems. 385\\nSleep, whence thou shalt ne er awake,\\nNight where dawn shall never break,\\nTill future life, future no more,\\nTo light and joy the good restore,\\nTo light and joy unknown before.\\nStranger, go. Heav n be thy guide\\nQuod the beadsman of Nith-side.\\nODE.\\nSACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MJRS. OP\\nDweller in yon dungeon dark,\\nHangman of creation mark\\nWho in widow- weeds appears,\\nLaden with unhonoured years,\\nNoosing with care a bursting purse,\\nBaited with many a deadly curse\\nSTROPHE.\\nView the wither d beldam s face\\nCan thy keen inspection trace\\nAught of humanity s sweet melting grace\\nNot that eye, tis rheum o erflows,\\nPity s flood there never rose,\\nSee those hands, ne er stretch d to save,\\nHands that took but never gave.\\nKeeper of Mammon s iron chest,\\nLo, there she goes, un pitied, and unblest\\nShe goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest\\nantistrophe.\\nPlunderer of armies, lift thine eyes,\\n(A while forbear, ye tort ring fiends,)\\nSeest thou whose step unwilling hither bends\\nNo fallen angel, hurPd from upper skies\\nTis thy trusty quondam mate,\\nDoom d to share thy fiery fate,\\nShe, tardy hell- ward plies.\\nEPODE.\\nAnd are they of no more avail,\\nTen thousand glitt ring pounds a year]\\nIn other worlds can Mammon fail,\\nOmnipotent as he is here\\nO, bitter mock ry of the pompous bier,\\nWhile down the wretched vital part is driv n\\nThe cavelodg d beggar, with a conscience clear,\\nExpires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav n.\\nELEGY\\nON\\nCAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON\\nBut now his radiant course is run,\\nFor Matthew s course was bright\\nHis soul was like the glorious sun,\\nA matchless Heav \u00c2\u00bb]y light I", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "396 BURNS* WORKS.\\nO Death thou tyrant fell and bloody\\nThe meikle devil wi a woodie\\nHaurl thee hame to his black smiddie,\\nO er hurcheon hides,\\nAnd like stock-fish come o er his studdie\\nWi thy auld sides\\nHe s gane, he s gane he s frae us torn,\\nThe ae best fellow e er was born\\nThee, Matthew, Nature s sel shall mourn\\nBy wood and wild,\\nWhere haply, Pity strays forlorn,\\nFrae man exil d.\\nYe hills, near neebors o the starns,\\nThat proudly cock your cresting cairns\\nYe cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,\\nWhere echo slumbers\\nCome join, ye Nature s sturdiest bairns,\\nMy wailing numbers\\nMourn ilka grove the cushat kens\\nYe haz lly shaws and briery dens\\nYe burnies wimplin down your glens,\\nWi toddlin din,\\nOr foaming, Strang, wi hasty sten3,\\nFrae lin to lin.\\nMourn little harebells o er the lee\\nYe stately fox-gloves fair to see\\nYe woodbines, hanging bonnilie\\nIn scented bow rs;\\nYe roses on your thorny tree,\\nThe first o flow rs.\\nAt dawn, when ev ry grassy blade\\nDroops with a diamond at his head,\\nAt ev n, when beans their fragrance shed,\\n1 th rustling gale,\\nYe maukins whiddin thro the glade,\\nCome join my wail.\\nMourn ye wee songsters o the wood\\nYe grouse that crap the heather bud;\\nYe curlews calling thro a clud\\nYe whistling plover\\nAnd mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood\\nHe s gane for ever\\nMourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals\\nYe fisher herons, watching eels\\nYe duck and drake, wi airy wheels\\nCircling the lake\\nYe bitterns, till the quagmire reels,\\nKair for his sake.\\nMourn, clam ring craiks at close o day,\\nMang fields o flow ring clover gay;\\nAnd when ye wing your annual way\\nFrae our caul d shore", "height": "4380", "width": "2868", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 38?\\nTe)\\\\ thae far warlds, wha lies in clay,\\nWham we deplore.\\nYe houlets, frae your ivy bow*r,\\nIn some auld tree, or eldritch tow r,\\nWhat time the moon, wi silent glow r,\\nSets up her horn,\\nWail thro the dreary midnight hour\\nTill waukrift morn\\nrivers, forests, hills, and plains\\nOft have ye heard my canty strains\\nBut now what else for me remains\\nBut tales of woe\\nAn frae my een the drapping rains\\nMaun ever flow.\\nMourn, spring, thou darling of the year\\nIlk cowslip cup shall kep a tear\\nThou, simmer, while each corny spear\\nShoots up its head,\\nThy gay, green, flow ry tresses shear,\\nFor him that s dead\\nThou, autumn, with thy yellow hair,\\nIn grief thy sallow mantle tear\\nThou, winter, hurling thro the air\\nThe roaring blast,\\nWide o er the naked world declare\\nThe worth we ve lost\\nMourn him, thou sun, great source of light\\nMourn, empress of the silent night\\nAnd you, ye twinkling starnies bright,\\nMy Matthew mourn\\nFor through your orbs he s ta en his flight,\\nKe er to return.\\nO Henderson f the man, the brother\\nAnd art thou gone, and gone for ever\\nAnd hast thou cross d that unknown river,\\nLife s dreary bound\\nLike thee, where shall I find another;\\nThe world around\\nGo to your sculp fcur d tombs, ye Great,\\nIn a the tinsel trash of state\\nBut by the honest turf I ll wait,\\nThou man of worth\\nAnd weep the ae best fellow s fate\\nE er lay in earth.\\nTHE EPITAPH.\\nStop, passenger! my story s brief;\\nAnd truth I shall relate, man\\nI tell nae common tale o grief,\\nFor Matthew was a great man.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "388 burns works.\\nIf thou uncommon merit hast,\\nYet spurn d at fortune s door, man\\nA look of pity hither cast,\\nFor Matthew was a poor man.\\nIf thou a noble soldier art,\\nThat passest by his grave, man\\nThere moulders here a gallant heart,\\nFor Matthew was a brave man.\\nIf thou on men, their works and ways,\\nCanst throw uncommon light, man\\nHere lies wha weel had won thy praise,\\nFor Matthew was a bright man.\\nIf thou at friendship s sacred ca\\nWad life itself resign, man\\nThy sympathetic tear maun fa*\\nFor Matthew was a kind man.\\nIf thou art staunch without a stain,\\nLike the unchanging blue, man,\\nThis was a kinsman o thy ain,\\nFor Matthew was a true man.\\nIf thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,\\nAnd ne er guid wine did fear, man,\\nThis was thy billie, dam, and sire,\\nFor Matthew was a queer man,\\nIf ony waggish whingin sot,\\nTo blame poor Matthew dare, man\\nMay dool and sorrow be his lot,\\nFor Matthew was a rare man.\\nLAMENT ON MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,\\nON THE APPROACH OP SPRING.\\nNow Nature hangs her mantle green\\nOn every blooming tree,\\nAnd spreads her sheets o daisies white\\nOut o er the grassy lea\\nNow Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,\\nAnd glads the azure skies\\nBut nought can glad the weary wight\\nThat fast in durance lies.\\nNow lav rocks wake the merry morn,\\nAloft on dewy wing\\nThe merle, in his noontide bowV\\nMakes woodland echoes ring\\nThe mavis mild wi many a note,\\nSings drowsy day to rest\\nIn love and freedom they rejoice,\\nWi care nor thrall opprest.\\nNow blooms the lily by the bank,\\nThe primrose down the brae\\nThe hawthorn s budding in the glen,\\nAnd nilk vlitcis theslae:", "height": "4508", "width": "2884", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "poEMsi 389\\nThe meanest hind in fair Scotland,\\nMay rove their sweets amang\\nBut I, the Queen of a Scotland,\\nMaun lie in prison Strang.\\nI was the Queen o bonnie France,\\nWhere happy I hae been\\nFu lightly raise I in the morn,\\nAs blithe lay down at e en\\nAnd I m the sovereign of Scotland,\\nAnd mony a traitor there\\nYet here I lie in foreign bands\\nAnd never ending care.\\nBut as for thee, thou false woman,\\nMy sister and my fae,\\nGrim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword\\nThat thro thy soul shall gae\\nThe weeping blood in woman s breast\\nWas never known to thee\\nNor th balm that draps on wounds of woe\\nFrae woman s pitying e e.\\nMy son my son may kinder stars\\nUpon thy fortune shine\\nAnd may those pleasures gild thy reign,\\nThat neer wad blink on mine\\nGod keep thee frae thy mother s faes,\\nOr turn their hearts to thee\\nAnd where thou meet s thy mother s friend,\\nRemember him for me\\nsoon, to me, may summer-suns\\nNae mair light up the morn\\nNae mair, to me, the autumn winds\\nWave o er the yellow corn\\nAnd in the narrow house o death\\nLet winter round me rave\\nAnd the next flow rs that deck the spring,\\nBloom on my peaceful grave.\\nTO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq,\\nOF FINTRA.\\nLate crippled of an arm and now a leg\\nAbout to beg a pass for leave to beg\\nDull, listless, teas d, dejected, and deprest,\\n(Nature is adverse to a cripple s rest\\nWill generous Graham list to his poet s wail 1\\n(It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,)\\nAnd hear him curse the light he first survey d\\nAnd doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade 1\\nThou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign;\\nOf thy caprice maternal I complain.\\nThe lion and the bull thy care have found,\\nOne shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground\\nThou giv st the ass his hide, the snail his shell,\\nTh envenom d wasp, victorious guards his cell.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "390 burns works;\\nThy minions, kings, defend, control, devour,\\nIn all the omnipotence of rule and power.\\nFoxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure\\nThe cit and polecat stink, and are secure\\nToads with their poison, doctors with their drug,\\nThe priest and hedge-hog in their robes are snug,\\nEv n silly woman has her warlike arts,\\nHer tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts.\\nBut Oh thou bitter step-mother and hard,\\nTo thy poor, fenceless, naked child the Bard\\nA thing unteachable in world s skill,\\nAnd half an idiot too, more helpless still.\\nNo heels to bear him from the opening dun\\nNo claws to dig, hi3 hated sight to shun\\nNo horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn,\\nAnd those, alas not Amalthea s horn\\nNo nerves olfactory, Mammon s trusty cur,\\nClad in rich dulness comfortable fur,\\nIn naked feeling, and in aching pride,\\nHe bears th unbroken blast from every side\\nVampyre booksellers drain him to the heart,\\nAnd scorpion critics cureless venom dart.\\nCritics\u00e2\u0080\u0094 appall d, I venture on the name,\\nThose cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame\\nBloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes\\nHe hacks to teach, they mangle to expose.\\nHis heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung,\\nBy blockheads daring into madness stung\\nHis well-won bays, than life itself more dear,\\nBy miscreants torn, who ne er one sprig must wear\\nFoiTd, bleading, tortur d, in unequal strife,\\nThe hapless poet flounders on through life,\\nTill fled each hope that once his bosom fired,\\nAnd fled each muse that glorious once inspired,\\nLow sunk in squalid, unprotected age,\\nDead even resentment for his injured page,\\nHe heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic s rage.\\nSo, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased,\\nFor half starv d snarling curs a dainty feast\\nBy toil and famine wore to skin and bone,\\nLies senseless of each tugging bitch s son.\\ndulness portion of the truly blest\\nCalm shelter d haven of eternal rest\\nThy sons ne er madden in the fierce extremes\\nOf fortune s polar frost, or torrid beams.\\nIf mantling high she fills the golden cup,\\nWith sober selfish ease they sip it up\\nConscious the bounteous meed they well deserve,\\nThey only wonder, some folks do not starve.\\nThe grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog,\\nAnd thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog.\\nWhen disappointment snaps the clue of hope,\\nAnd thro disastrous night they darkling grope,", "height": "4580", "width": "2872", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 391\\nWith deaf endurance sluggishly they bear,\\nAnd just conclude that fools are fortune s care/\\nSo, heavy, passive to the tempest s shocks,\\nStrong on the sign- post stands the stupid ox.\\nNot so the idle muses mad cap train,\\nNot such the working of their moon struck brain;\\nIn equanimity they never dwell,\\nBy turns in soaring heaven, or vaulted hell.\\nI dread the fate, relentless and severe,\\nWith all a poet s, husband s, father s fear;\\nAlready one strong hold of hope is lost,\\nGlencaim, the truly noble, lies in dust\\n(Fled like the suneclips d as noon appears,\\nAnd left us darkling in a world of tears\\nO hear my ardent, grateful selfish pray r\\nFintra, my other stay, long bless and spare\\nThro a long life his hopes and wishes crown,\\nAnd bright in cloudless skies hiss un go down\\nMay bliss domestic smooth his private path\\nGive energy to life and sooth his latest breath,\\nWith many a filial tear circling the bed of death\\nLAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.\\nThe wind blew hollow frae the hills,\\nBy fits the sun s departing beam\\nLook d on the fading yellow woods\\nThat wav d o er Lugar s winding stream\\nBeneath a craigy steep, a bard,\\nLaden with years and meikle pain,\\nIn loud lament bewail d his lord,\\nWhom death had all untimely ta en.\\nHe leaned him to an ancient aik,\\nWhose trunk was mould ring down with years\\nHis locks were bleached white wi time,\\nHis hoary cheek was wet wi tears\\nAnd as he touch d his trembling harp,\\nAnd as he tun d his doleful sang,\\nThe winds, lamenting thro their caves,\\nTo echo bore their notes alang,\\nu Ye scatter d birds, that faintly sing,\\nThe relics of the vernal quire\\nYe woods that shed on a the winds\\nThe honours of the aged year\\nA few short months, and glad and gay,\\nAgain ye ll charm the ear and e e\\nBut nocht in all revolving time\\nCan gladness bring again to me.\\nI am a bending aged tree,\\nThat long has stood the wind and rain\\nBut now has come a cruel blast,\\nAnd my last hald of earth is gane", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "392 burns works.\\nNae leaf o mine shall greet the spring,\\nKae simmer sun exalt my bloom\\nBut I maun lie before the storm,\\nAnd ithers plant them in my room.\\nI ve see sae mony changefu years,\\nOn earth I am a stranger grown\\nI wander in the ways of men,\\nAlike unknowing and unknown\\nUnheard, unpitied, unreliev d,\\nI bear alane my lade o care,\\nFor silent, low, on beds of dust,\\nLie a that would my sorrow share.\\nAnd last, (the sum of a my griefs\\nMy noble master lies in clay\\nThe flower amang our barons bold,\\nHis country s pride, his country s stay\\nIn weary being now I pine,\\nFor a the life of life is dead,\\nAnd hope has left my aged ken,\\nOn forward wing for ever fled,\\nAwake thy last sad voice, my harp\\nThe voice of woe and wild despair\\nAwake, resound thy latest lay,\\nThen sleep in silence evermair\\nAnd thou, my last, best, only friend,\\nThat fillest an untimely tomb,\\nAccept this tribute from the bard\\nThou brought from fortune s mirkeat gloom.\\nIn poverty s low, barren vale,\\nThick mists, obscure, involv d me round\\nTho oft I turn d the wistful eye,\\nISTae ray of fame was to be found\\nThou found st me like the morning sun\\nThat melts the fogs in limpid air,\\nThe friendless bard and rustic song,\\nBecame alike thy fostering care.\\nwhy has worth so short a date\\nWhile villains ripen gray with time\\nMust thou, the noble, generous, great,\\nFall in bold manhood s hardy prime\\nWhy did I live to see that day\\nA day to me so full of woe\\nO had I seen the mortal shaft\\nWhich laid my benefactor low\\nThe bridegroom may forget the bride\\nWas made his wedded wife yestreen\\nThe monarch may forget the crown\\nThat on his head an hour has been\\nThe mother may forget the child\\nThat smiles sae sweetly on her knee\\nBut I ll remember thee, Glencairn,\\nAnd a that thou hast done forme", "height": "4508", "width": "2868", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "poems. 393\\nLIKES,\\nSENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OP WHITEFORD, BART WITH THE\\nFOREGOING POEM.\\nThou, who thy honour as thy God rever st,\\nWho, save thy mind s reproach, nought earthly fear st,\\nTo thee this votive offering 1 impart,\\nThe tearful tribute of a broken heart.\\nThe friend thou valued st, I the patron, lov d;\\nHis worth, his honour, all the world approv d.\\nWe ll mourn till we too go as he is gone,\\nAnd tread the dreary path to that dark world Unknown.\\nTAM 0 SHANTER:\\nA TALE.\\nOf Brownies and of Bogilis full is this Buke. Gawin Dooglas.\\nWhen chapman billies leave the street,\\nAnd drouthy neebors, neebors meet,\\nAs market days are wearing late,\\nAn* folk begin to tak the gate;\\nWhile we sit bousing at the nappy,\\nAn gettin* fou and unco happy,\\nWe think na on the lang Scots miles,\\nThe mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,\\nThat lie between U3 and our hame,\\nWhare sits our sulky sullen dame,\\nGathering her brows like gathering storm,\\nNursing her wrath to keep it warm.\\nThis truth fand honest Tarn o JShanter,\\nAs he frae Ayr ae night did canter,\\n(Auld Ayr, wham ne er a town surpasses,\\nFor honest men and bonny lasses.)\\nTarn I hads t thou but been sae wise,\\nAs ta en thy ain wife Kate s advice\\nShe tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,\\nA blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;\\nThat frae November till October,\\nAe market day thou was na sober\\nThat ilka melder wi the miller.\\nThou sat as long as thou had siller\\nThat ev ry naig was ca d a shoe on,\\nThe smith and thee gat roaring fou on\\nThat at the L d s house, ev n on Sunday,\\nThou drank wi Kirkton Jean till Monday.\\nShe prophesy d that late or soon,\\nThou would be found deep drown d in JDoon\\nOr catch M wi warlocks in the mirk,\\nBy Alloway s uld haunted kirk.\\nAh, gentle dames it gars me greet,\\nTo think how mony counsels sweet,\\nHow mony lengthen d sage advices,\\nThe husband frae the wife despises\\nu 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "394 burns works;\\nBut to our tale Ae market night,\\nTarn had got planted unco right,\\nFast by an ingle, bleezing finely,\\nWi reaming swats, that drank divinely\\nAnd at his elbow, souter Johnny,\\nHis ancient, trusty, drouthy crony\\nTarn lo ed him like a vera brither\\nThey had been fou for weeks thegither.\\nThe night drave on wi sangs an clatter\\nAnd aye the ale was growing better\\nThe landlady and Tarn grew gracious,\\nWi favours secret, sweet, and precious\\nThe souter tauld his queerest stories\\nThe landlord s laugh was ready chorus\\nThe storm without might rair and rustle,\\nTarn did na mind the storm a whistle.\\nCare, mad to see a man sae happy,\\nE en drown d himself amang the nappy\\nAs bees flee hame wi lades o treasure,\\nThe minutes wing d their way wi pleasure\\nKings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious,\\nO er a the ills o life victorious\\nBut pleasures are like poppies spread,\\nYou seize the flow r, its bloom is shed\\nOr like the snow-falls in the river,\\nA moment white then melts for ever\\nOr like the borealis race,\\nThat flit ere you can point their place\\nOr like the rainbow s lovely form,\\nEvanishing amid the storm.\\nNae man can tether time or tide\\nThe hour approaches Tarn maun ride\\nThat hour, o night s black arch the kej -stane,\\nThat dreary hour he mounts his beast in,\\nAnd sic a night he taks the road in,\\nAs ne er poor sinner was abroad in.\\nThe wind blew as twad blawn its last\\nThe rattlin* showers rose on the blast\\nThe speedy gleams the darkness swallow d\\nLoud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow d\\nThat night a child might understand,\\nThe deil had business on his hand.\\nWeel mounted on his grey mare Meg\\nA better never lifted leg\\nTarn skelpit on thro dub and mire,\\nDespising wind, and rain,, and fire\\nWhiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet\\nWhiles crooning o er some auld Scots sonnet\\nWhiles glow ring round wi prudent cares,\\nLest bogles catch him unawares\\nKirh Alloway was drawing nigh,\\nWhare ghaists and houlets nightly cry", "height": "4580", "width": "2896", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "poems. 395\\nBy this time he was cross the ford,\\nWhare in the snaw the chapman smoor d\\nAnd past the birks and meikle stane,\\nWhare drunken Charlie brak s neck bane,\\nAnd thro the whins, and by the cairn,\\nWhare hunters fand themurder d bairn\\nAnd near the thorn, abobn the well,\\nWhare Mungo s mither hanged hersel.\\nBefore him Boon pours all his floods\\nThe doubling storm roars through the wcods\\nThe lightnings flash from pole to pole\\nNear and more near the thunders roll\\nWhen glimmering thro the groaning trees,\\nKirlc A lloway seem d in a bleeze\\nThro ilka bore the beams were glancing,\\nAnd loud resounded mirth and dancing\\nInspiring bold John Barleycorn,\\nWhat dangers thou canst make us scorn\\nWi tippenny we fear nae evil\\nWi usquebae we ll face the devil.\\nThe swats sae ream d in Tammies noddle,\\nFair play, he cared nae deils a boddle.\\nBut Maggie stood right sair astonish d,\\nTill by the heeland hand admonish d,\\nShe ventured forward on the light\\nAnd vow Tarn saw an unco sight\\nWarlocks and witches in a dance,\\nNae cotillon brent new frae France,\\nBut hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,\\nPut life and mettle in their heels.\\nA winnock bunker in the east\\nThere sat auld Nick in shape o beast\\nA towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,\\nTo gie them music was his charge\\nHe screw d his pipes, and gart them i klrl,\\nTill roof and rafters a* did dirl.\\nCoffins stood round, like open presses,\\nThat show d the dead in their last d] es es\\nAnd by some devilish cantrip slight,\\nEach in his cauld hand held a light,\\nBy which heroic Tam was able\\nTo note upon the holy table,\\nA murderer s banes in gibbet aims\\nTwa span lang, wee unchristen d bairns\\nA thief new-cutted frae a rape,\\nWi his last gasp, his gab did gape\\nFive tomahawks, wi bluid red-rusted\\nFive scimitars, wi murder crusted;\\nA garter which a babe had strangled\\nA knife a father s throat had mangled,\\nWhom his ain son o life bereft,\\nThe gray hairs yet stuck to the heft\\nWi mair o horrible and awfu\\nWhich ev n to name wad be unlawfu", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "396 BURNS WORKS.\\nAs Tammie glowr d, amaz d and curions,\\nThe mirth and fun grew fast and furious\\nThe piper loud and louder blew\\nThe dancers quick and quicker flew\\nThey reel d, they set, they cross d, they cleekit,\\nTill ilka carlin swat and reekit,\\nAnd coost her duddies to the wark,\\nAnd linket at it in her sark\\n2STow Tarn, Tam had they been queens\\nA plump an strapping, in their teens\\nTheir sarks, instead o creeshie flannen,\\nBeen snaw-white seventeen hunder linen\\nThir breeks o mine, my only pair,\\nThat ance were plush o guid blue hair,\\nI wad hae gien them aff my hurdies\\nFor ae blink o the bonnie burdies\\nBut wither d beldams auld and droll,\\nBigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,\\nLowping and flinging on a crummock,\\nI wonder didna turn thy stomach.\\nBut Tam kenn d what was what fu 1 brawlie,\\nThare was ae winsome wench and walie,\\nThat night enlisted in the core,\\n(Lang after kenn d on Carrich shore\\nFor mony a beast to dead she shot,\\nAnd perish d mony a bonnie boat,\\nAnd shook baith meikle corn and bear,\\nAnd kept the country side in fear,)\\nHer cutty sark o Paisley harn,\\nThat while a lassie she had worn,\\nIn longitude though sorely scanty,\\nIt was her best, and she was vauntie,\\nAh little kenn d thy reverend grannie,\\nThat sark she cooft for her wee Nannie,\\nWi twa pund Scots, twas a her riches,)\\nWad ever graced a dance of witches\\nBut here my muse her wing maun cour\\nSic flights are far beyond her pow r\\nTo sing how Nannie lap and flang,\\n(A souple jade she was and Strang,)\\nAnd how Tam stood, like ane bewitch d,\\nAnd thought his very een enrich d\\nEv n Satan glowr d and fidg d fu fain,\\nAnd hotch d and blew wi might and main\\nTill first ae caper, syne anither,\\nTam tint his reason a thegither,\\nAnd roars out, Weel done, Cutty sark\\nAnd in an instant all was dark\\nAnd scarcely had he Maggie rallied,\\nWhen out the hellish legion sallied.\\nAe bees bizz out wi angry fyke,\\nWhen plundering herds assail their byke;", "height": "4508", "width": "2896", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nAs open pussie s mortal foes,\\nWhen, pop she starts before their nose\\nAs eager runs the market crowd,\\nWhen Catch the thief resounds aloud\\nSo Maggie runs, the witches follow,\\nWi monie an eldritch screech and hollow.\\nAh, Tarn, Ah, Tam, thoul t get thy fairin,\\nIn hell they ll roast thee like a herrin\\nIn vain thy Kate awaits thy comin\\nKate soon will be a woefu* woman\\nNow, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,\\nAnd win the key-stane* of the brig\\nThere at them thou thy tail may toss,\\nA running stream they dare na cross.\\nBut ere the key-stane she could make,\\nThe fient a tail she had to shake\\nFor Nannie, far before the rest,\\nHard upon noble Maggie prest,\\nAnd flew at Tam wi furious ettle\\nBut little wist she Maggie s mettle\\nAe spring brought aff her master hale,\\nBut left behind her ain grey tail\\nThe carlin claught her by the rump,\\nAnd left poor Maggie scarce a stump.\\nw, wha this tale o truth shall read,\\nIlk man and mother s son, take heed\\nWhene er to drink you are inclin d,\\nOr cutty sarks run in your mind,\\nThink ye may buy the joys o er dear,\\nEemember Tam o Shanter s mare.\\n397\\nON SEEING A WOUNDED HAKE LIMP BY ME,\\nWHICH A FELLOW HAD JCST SHOT AT.\\nInhuman man, curse on thy barb rous art,\\nAnd blasted be thy murder-aiming eye\\nMay never pity soothe thee with a sigh,\\nNor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart\\nGo live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,\\nThe bitter little that of life remains\\nNo more the thickening brakes and verdant plains,\\nTo thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.\\nSeek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,\\nNo more of rest, but now thy dying bed\\nThe sheltering rushes whistling o er thy head,\\nThe cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.\\nOft as by winding Nith, I musing wait\\nThe sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,\\nI ll miss thee sporting o er the dewy lawn,\\nAnd curse the ruffian s aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.\\nIt is a well known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to fol-\\nlow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Tt\\nmay be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls\\nin with bogles, whatever danger there may be in his going forward, there is much\\nmore hazard in turning back.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "398 burns works.\\nADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON,\\nON CBOWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS.\\nWhile Yirgin Spring, by Eden s flood,\\nUnfolds her tender mantle green,\\nOr pranks the sod in frolic mood,\\nOr tunes Eolian strains between\\nWhile Summer, with a matron grace,\\nRetreats to Dryburgh s cooling shade,\\nYet oft, delighted, stops to trace\\nThe progress of the spiky blade\\nWhile Autumn, benefactor kind,\\nBy Tweed erects his aged head,\\nAnd sees, with self-approving mind,\\nEach creature on his bounty fed\\nWhile maniac Winter rages o er\\nThe hills where classic Yarrow flows,\\nRousing the turbid torrent s roar,\\nOr sweeping wild, a waste of snows\\nSo long, sweet Poet of the year,\\nShall bloom that wreath thou well hast won\\nWhile Scotia, with exulting tear,\\nProclaims that Thomson washer son.\\nEPITAPHS,\\nON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.\\nHere souter John in death does sleep\\nTo hell, if he s gane thither,\\nSatan, gie him thy gear to keep,\\nHe ll haud it weel thegither.\\nON A NOISY POLEMIC.\\nBelow thir stanes lie Jamie s banes\\nO Death, it s my opinion,\\nThou ne er took such a bleth rin bitch\\nInto thy dark dominion\\nON WEE JOHNNY.\\nHie jacet wee Johnny.\\nWhoe er thou art, reader, know,\\nThat death has murder d Johnny,\\nAn here his body lies fu low\\nFor saul he ne er had ony.\\nFOR THE AUTHOR S FATHER.\\nO Ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains,\\nDraw near with pious rev rence, and attend\\nHere lie the loving husband s dear remains,\\nThe tender father and the gen rous friend.", "height": "4312", "width": "2896", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0402.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "poems, 399\\nThe pitying heart that felt for human woe\\nThe dauntless heart that fear d no human pride\\nThe friend of man, to vice alone a foe\\nFor evn his failings lean d to virtue s side.\\nFOR R. A., Esq.\\nKnow thou, stranger to the fame\\nOf this much lov d, much honour d name\\n(For none that knew him need be told)\\nA warmer heart death ne er made cold.\\nFOR G. H. Esq.\\nThe poor man weeps here G n sleeps,\\nWham canting wretches blam d\\nBut with such as he, where er he be,\\nMay I be saved or d d.\\nA BARD S EFITAPH.\\nIs there a whim-inspired fool,\\nOwre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,\\nOwre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,\\nLet him draw near\\nAnd owre this grassy heap sing dool,\\nAnd drap a tear.\\nIs there a bard of rustic song,\\nWho noteless, steals the crowds among,\\nThat weekly this area throng,\\n0, pass not by\\nBut, with a frater- feeling strong,\\nHere heave a sigh.\\nIs there a man, whose judgment clear,\\nCan others teach the course to steer,\\nYet runs, himself, life s mad career,\\nWild as the wave\\nHere pause and, through the starting tear,\\nSurvey this grave.\\nThe poor inhabitant below,\\nWas quick to learn and wise to know,\\nAnd keenly felt the friendly glow,\\nAnd softer flame,\\nBut thoughtless follies laid him low,\\nAnd stain d his name I\\nReader, attend whether thy soul\\nSoars fancy s flights beyond the pole,\\nOr darkly grubs this earthly hole,\\nIn low pursuit\\nKnow, prudent, cautious, self- control,\\nIs wisdom s root,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0403.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "400 BURNS WORKS.\\nON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE S\\nPEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND,\\nCOLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OP THAT KINGDOM.\\nHear, Land o Cakes, and brither Scots,\\nFrae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat s\\nIf there s a hole in a your eoats,\\nI rede you tent it\\nA chield s aniang you, taking notes,\\nAnd, faith, he ll prent it.\\nIf in your bounds ye chance to light\\nUpon a fine, fat fodgel wight,\\n0 stature short, but genius bright,\\nThat s he, mark weel\\nAnd vow he has an unco slight\\n0 cauk and keel.\\nBy some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,*\\nOr kirk, deserted by its riggin,\\nIt s ten to ane yell find him snug in\\nSome eldritch part,\\nWi deils, they say, L d safe s colleaguin\\nAt some black art.\\nIlk ghaisfc that haunts auld ha or chamer,\\nYe gipsy gang that deal in glamor,\\nAnd you deep-read in hell s black grammar,\\nWarlocks and witches\\nYe ll quake at his conjuring hammer,\\nYe midnight bitches.\\nIt s tauld he was a scdger bred,\\nAnd ane wad rather fa n than fled\\nBut now he s quat the sportle blade,\\nAnd dog skin wallet,\\nAnd ta en the Antiquarian trade.\\nI think they call it.\\nHe has a fouth o auld nick-nackets\\nRusty aim caps and jingiin jackets,\\nWad baud the Lothians three in tackets,\\nA towmont guid\\nAnd parritch pats, and auld saut-backets,\\nBefore the Flood.\\nOf Eve s first fire he has a cinder\\nAuld Tubal Cain s fire-shool and fender\\nThat which distinguished the gender\\n0 Balaam s ass\\nA broom-stick o the witch of Endor,\\nWeel shod wi brass.\\nForbye he ll shape you aff, fu gleg,\\nThe cut of Adam s philibeg\\nThe knife that nicket Abel s craig.\\nHe Jl prove you fully,\\nIt was a faulding jocteleg,\\nOr lang ail gullie.\\nVide his Antiquities of Scotland.\\nf Vide his treatise on Ancient Armour and Weapons.", "height": "4312", "width": "2912", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0404.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nBut wad ye see him in his glee,\\nFor meikle glee and fun has he,\\nThen sit bim down, and twa or three\\nGuid fellows wi him,\\nAnd port, port shine thou a wee,\\nAnd then ye ll see him\\nNow, by the pow rs o verse and prose\\nThou art a dainty chiel, Grose\\nWhae er o thee shall ill suppose,\\nThey sair misca thee\\nI d take the rascal by the nose,\\nWad say, Shame fa thee 1\\n401\\nTO MISS CRUIKSHANKS,\\nA VERY YOUNG LADY, WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAP OP A BOOK, PRE-\\nSENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR.\\nBeauteous rose-bud, young and gay,\\nBlooming on thy early May,\\nNever may st thou, lovely flower,\\nChilly shrink in sleety shower\\nNever Boreas hoary path,\\nNever Eurus pois nous breath,\\nNever baleful stellar lights,\\nTaint thee with untimely blights\\nNever, never reptile thief\\nEiot on thy virgin leaf\\nNor ever Sol too fiercely view\\nThy bosom blushing still with dew\\nMay st thou long, sweet crimson gem,\\nEichly deck thy native stem\\nTill some ev ning, sober, calm,\\nDropping dews, and breathing balm,\\nWhile all around the woodland rings,\\nAnd ev ry bird thy requiem sings\\nThou, amid the dirgeful sound,\\nShed thy dying honours round,\\nAnd resign to parent earth\\nThe loveliest form she e er gave birth.\\nSONG.\\nAnna, thy charms my bosom fire,\\nAnd waste my soul with care\\nBut ah I how bootless to admire,\\nWhen fated to despair\\nYet in thy presence, lovely Fair,\\nTo hope may be forgiv n\\nFor sure twere impious to despair,\\nSo much in sight of Heav n.\\nON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER,\\nTHE DEATH OF JOHN M LEOD, Esq,\\nSad thy tale thou idle page,\\nAnd rueful thy alarms", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0405.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "402 BURNS WORKS.\\nDeath tears the brother of her love\\nFrom Isabella s arms.\\nSweetly deck d with pearl dew,\\nThe morning rose may blow\\nBut cold successive noontide blasts\\nMay lay its beauties low.\\nFair on Isabella s morn\\nThe sun propitious smil d\\nBut long ere noon, succeding clouds\\nSucceeding hopes beguil d.\\nFate oft tears the bosom chords\\nThat nature finest strung\\nSo Isabella s heart was form d,\\nAnd so that heart was wrung.\\nDread Omnipotence, alone,\\nCan heal the wound he gave\\nCan point the brimful grief- worn eyes\\nTo scenes beyond the grave.\\nVirtuous blossoms there shall blow,\\nAnd fear no withering blast\\nThere Isabella s spotless worth\\nShall happy be at last.\\nHUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER.\\nTO THE NOBLE DUKE OP ATHOLE.\\nMy Lord, I know your noble ear\\nWoe ne er assails in vain\\nEmbolden d thus, I beg you ll hear\\nYour humble slave complain,\\nHow saucy Phoebus, scorching beams,\\nIn flaming summer pride,\\nDry-withering, waste my foaming streams,\\nAnd drink my crystal tide.\\nThe lightly jumping glowrin trouts,\\nThat thro my waters play,\\nIf, in their random, wanton spouts,\\nThey near the margin stray\\nIf hapless chance they linger lang,\\nI m scorching up so shallow,\\nThey re left the whitening stanes amang,\\nIn gasping death to Wallow.\\nLast day I grat, wi spite and teen,\\nAs poet B came by,\\nThat, to a bard I should be seen,\\nWi half my channel dry\\nA panegyric rhyme, I ween,\\nEven as I was he shor d me\\nBut had I in my glory been,\\nHe, kneeling, wad ador d me.\\nHere, foaming down the shelvy rocks,\\nIn twisting strength I rin", "height": "4588", "width": "2924", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0406.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 403\\nThere, high my boiling torrent smokes,\\nWild roaring o er a linn\\nEnjoying large each spring and well\\nAs nature gave them me,\\nI am, although I say t mysel,\\nWorth gaun a mile to see.\\nWould then my noble master please\\nTo grant my highest wishes,\\nHe ll shade my banks wi tow ring trees,\\nAnd bonnie spreading bushes\\nDelighted doubly then, my Lord,\\nYou ll wander on my banks,\\nAnd listen mony a grateful bird\\nKeturn you tuneful thanks.\\nThe sober laverock warbling wild,\\nShall to the skies aspire\\nThe gowdspink, music s gayest child,\\nShall sweetly join the choir\\nThe blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,\\nI The mavis wild and mellow\\nThe robin pensive autumn cheer,\\nIn all her locks of yellow\\nThis too, a covert shall insure,\\nTo shield them from the storm\\nAnd coward maukin sleep secure,\\nLow in her grassy form\\nHere shall the shepherd make his seat,\\nTo weave his crown of flowers\\nOr find a shelt ring safe retreat,\\nFrom prone descending showers.\\nAnd here, by sweet endearing stealth,\\nShall meet the loving pair,\\nDespising worlds with all their wealth\\nAs empty idle care\\nThe flow rs shall vie in all their charms\\nThe hour of heaven to grace,\\nAnd birks extend their fragrant arms\\nTo screen the dear embrace.\\nHere, haply too, at vernal dawn,\\nSome musing bard may stray,\\nAnd eye the smoking, dewy lawn,\\nAnd misty mountain, grey\\nOr, by the reaper s nightly beam,\\nMild chequering thro the trees,\\nRave to my darkly dashing stream,\\nHoarse swelling on the breeze.\\nLet lofty firs, and ashes cool,\\nMy lowly banks o erspread,\\nAnd view, deep-bending in the pool,\\nTheir shadows watery bed\\nLet fragrant birks in woodbines drest,\\nMy craggy cliffs adorn", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0407.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "404\\nBURNS* WORKS.\\nAnd, for the little songster s nest,\\nThe close embow ring thorn.\\nSo may old Scotia s darling hope,\\nYour little angel band\\nSpring, like their fathers, up to prop\\nTheir honour d native land\\nSo may, thro Albion s farthest ken,\\nTo social flowing glasses,\\nThe grace be Athole s honest men,\\nAnd Athole s bonnie lassies\\nON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL,\\nIN LOCH-TURIT J\\nA WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OP OCHTERTTRE.\\nWhy, ye tenants of the lake,\\nFor me your watery haunt forsake,\\nTell me, fellow-creatures, why\\nAt my presence thus you fly\\nWhy disturb your social joys,\\nParent, filial, kindred ties\\nCommon friend to you and me,\\nNature s gifts to all are free\\nPeaceful keep your dimpling wave,\\nBusy food, or wanton lave\\nOr, beneath the sheltering rock,\\nBide the surging billow s shock.\\nConscious, blushing for our race,\\nSoon, too soon, your fears I trace,\\nMan, your proud, usurping foe,\\nWould be lord of all below\\nPlumes himself in Freedom s pride,\\nTyrant stern to all beside.\\nThe eagle, from the cliffy brow,\\nMarking you his prey below,\\nIn his breast no pity dwells,\\nStrong necessity compels.\\nBut man, to whom alone is giv n\\nA ray direct from pitying heav n,\\nGlorious in his heart humane\\nAnd creatures for his pleasure slain.\\nIn these savage, liquid plains,\\nOnly known to wand ring swains,\\nWhere the mossy riv let strays\\nFar from human haunts and ways\\nAll on nature you depend,\\nAnd life s poor season peaceful spend.\\nOr, if man s superior might,\\nDare invade your native right,\\nOn the lofty ether borne,\\nMan with all his pow rs you scorn\\nSwiftly seek, on clanging wings,\\nOther lakes and other springs", "height": "4588", "width": "2924", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0408.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 405\\nAnd the foe you cannot brave,\\nScorn at least to be his slave.\\nWRITTEN WITH A PENCIL\\nOVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OP THE INN AT KENMORE,\\nTAYMOfTH.\\nAdmiring Nature in her wildest grace,\\nThese northern scenes with weary feet I trace\\nO er many a winding dale and painful steep,\\nTh abodes of covey d grouse and timid sheep,\\nMy savage journey, curious, I pursue,\\nTill fam d Breadalbane open to my view,\\nThe meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,\\nThe woods, wild, scatter d, clothe their ample sides,\\nAh outstretching lake, embosom d mong the hills,\\nThe eye with wonder and amazement fills\\nThe Tay meand ring sweet in infant pride,\\nThe palace rising on his verdant sides,\\nThe lawns wood- fringed in Nature s native taste;\\nThe hillocks dropt in Nature s, careless haste\\nThe arches striding o er the new-born stream\\nThe village, glittering in the moon tide beam\\nPoetic ardours in my bosom swell,\\nLone wandering by the hermit s mossy cell\\nThe sweeping theatre of hanging woods\\nThe incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods\\nHere Poesy might wake her heav n taught lyre,\\nAnd look through nature with creative fire\\nHere, to the wrongs of fate half reconciled,\\nMisfortune s lighten d steps might wander wild\\nAnd Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,\\nFind balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds\\nHere heart-struck Grief might heaven- ward stretch her scan,\\nAnd injur d Worth forget and pardon man.\\nWEITTEN WITH A PENCIL,\\nSTANDING BY THE FALL OTf FXERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS.\\nAmong the heathy hills and ragged woods\\nThe roaring Eyers pours his mossy floods\\nTill full he dashes on the rocky mounds,\\nWhere, thro a shapeless breach, his stream resounds.\\nAs high in air, the bursting torrents flow,\\nAs deep recoiling surges foam below,\\nProne down the rock the whitening shoot descends,\\nAnd viewless echo s ear, astonish d, rends,\\nDim- seen, through mists, and ceaseless showers,\\nThe hoary cavern, wide-surrounding lowers.\\nStill thro the gap the struggling river toils,\\nAnd still below, the horrid caldron boils", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0409.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "406 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nON THE BIRTH OP A\\nPOSTHUMOUS CHILD,\\nBORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMIL7 DISTRESS.\\nSweet Flow ret, pledge o meikle love,\\nAnd ward o mony a prayer,\\nWhat heart o stane wad thou na move,\\nSae helpless, sweet, and fair\\nNovember hirples o er the lea,\\nChill on thy lovely form\\nAnd gane, alas the shelt ring tree,\\nShould shield thee frae the storm.\\nMay He who gives the rain to pour,\\nAnd wings the blast to blaw,\\nProtect thee frae the driving shower,\\nThe bitter frost and snaw\\nMay He, the friend of woe and want,\\nWho heals life s various stounds,\\nProtect and guard the mother plant,\\nAnd heal her cruel wounds\\nBat late she flourish d, rooted fast,\\nFair on the summer morn\\nNow feebly bends she in the blast,\\nUnshelter d and forlorn.\\nBlest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,\\nUnscathM by ruffian hand\\nAnd from thee many a parent stem\\nArise to deck our land\\nTHE WHISTLE\\nA BALLAD.\\nAs the authentic prose history of the Whistle is curious, I shall here give it\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIn the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland, with our James the\\nSixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and of great\\nprowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony Whistle\\nwhich, at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the table, and whoever was\\nlast able to blow it, everybody else being disabled by the potency of the bottle,\\nwas to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced creden-\\ntials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stock-\\nholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts of Germany and chal-\\nlenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of\\nacknowledging their inferiority. After many overthrows on the part of the\\nScots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor to\\nthe present worthy baronet of that name who, after three days and three nights\\nhard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table,\\nAnd blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill.\\nSir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the Whistle to\\nSir Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter s.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 On Friday,\\nthe IGth of October, 1760, at Friars Carse, the Whistle was once more contended\\nfor, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton;\\nRobert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Wal-\\nter Riddd, who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued; and\\nAlexander Ferguson, Esq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir\\nRobert which last gentleman carried off the hard won honours of the field.\\nI sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,\\nI sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North,\\nWas brought to the court of our good Scottish king,\\nAnd long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.", "height": "4384", "width": "2908", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0410.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 40?\\nOld Loda*, still rueing the arm of Fingal,\\nThe god of the bottle sends down from his hall\\nThis Whistle s your challenge, to Scotland get o er,\\nAnd drink them to hell, Sir or ne er see me more\\nOld poets have sung, and old chronicles tell,\\nWhat champions ventur d, and what champions fell\\nThe son of great Loda was conqueror still,\\nAnd blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill.\\nTill Eobert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur,\\nUnmatch d at the bottle, unconquer d in war,\\nHe drank his poor god- ship as deep as the sea,\\nNo tide of the Baltic e er drunker than he.\\nThus Eobert, victorious, the trophy has gain d\\nWhich now in his house has for ages remain d\\nTill three noble chieftains, and all of his blood,\\nThe jovial contest again haverenew d.\\nThree joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw;\\nCraigdarrocb, so famous for wit, worth, and law\\nAnd trusty Glenriddel, so skill d in old coins\\nAnd gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines.\\nCraigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil,\\nDesiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil\\nOr else he would muster the heads of the clan,\\nAnd once more, in claret, try which was the man.\\nBy the gods of the ancients, Glenriddel replies,\\nBefore I surrender so glorious a prize,\\nI ll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,\\nAnd bumper his horn with him twenty times o er/*\\nSir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend,\\nBut he ne er turn d his back on his foe or his friend,\\nSaid, Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field,\\nAnd knee-deep in claret, he d die or he d yield.\\nTo the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,\\nSo noted for drowning of sorrow and care;\\nBut for wine and for welcome not moreknown to fame\\nThan the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame.\\nA bard was selected to witness the fray\\nAnd tell future ages the feats of the day\\nA bard who detested all sadness and spleen,\\nAnd wish d that Parnassus a vineyard had been.\\nThe dinner being over, the claret they ply,\\nAnd ev ry new cork is a new spring of joy\\nIn the bands of old friendship and kindred so set,\\nAnd the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet.\\nGay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o er\\nBright Phoebus ne er witness d so joyous a core,\\nAnd vowed that to leave them he was quite forlorn,\\nTill Cynthia hinted he d see them next morn.\\n\u00e2\u0099\u00a6See Ossian 9 Caric-thura.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0411.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "408 BURNS WORKS.\\nSix bottles a piece had well wore out the night,\\nWhen gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight,\\nTurn d o er in one bumper a bottle of red,\\nAnd swore twas the way that their ancestors did.\\nThen worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage,\\nNo longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage\\nA high-ruling Elder to wallow in wine\\nHe left the foul business to folks less divine.\\nThe gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end\\nBut who can with fate and quart bumpers contend 1\\nThough fate said a hero should perish in light;\\nSo uprose bright Phcehus and down fell the knight.\\nNext uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink\\nCraigdarroch, thou lt soar when creation shall sink\\nBut if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme\\nCome one bottle more and have at the sublime\\nThy line, that have struggled for Freedom with Bruce,\\nShall heroes and patriots ever produce\\nSo thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay\\nThe field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day\\nSECOND EPISTLE TO DAYIE,\\nA BROTHEB POET.\\nATTLD NEEBOR,\\nI m three times doubly o er your debtor,\\nFor your auld farrent, frien ly letter\\nTho I maun say t, I doubt ye flatter,\\nYe speak so fair\\nFor my puir, silly, rhymin clatter,\\nSome less maun sair.\\nHale be your heart, hale be your fiddle\\nLang may your el buck jint and diddle,\\nTae cheer you through the weary widdle\\n0 war ly cares,\\nTill bairns bairns kindly cuddle\\nYour auld grey hairs.\\nBut Davie, lad, I ll red ye er glaikit\\nI m tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit\\nAn gif it s sae, ye sud be lickit\\nUntil ye fyke\\nSic hans as you sud ne er be faikit,\\nBe hain t wha like.\\nFor me, I m on Parnassus brink,\\nRivin the words tae gar them clink\\nWhyles daez t wi love, whyles daez t we drink,\\nWi jads or masons\\nAn whyles, but aye owre late, I think,\\nBraw sober lessens.\\nOf a the thoughtless sons o man,\\nCommon me to the bardie clan\\nExcept it be some idle plan\\nQ rhymin clink.", "height": "4508", "width": "2920", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0412.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 409\\nThe devil-haet, that I sud ban,\\nThey ever think.\\nNae thought, nae view, nae scheme of livin\\nNae cares to give us joy or grievin\\nBut just the pouchie put the nieve in,\\nAn while ought s there,\\nThen, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin\\nAn fash nae mair.\\nLeeze me on rhyme its aye a treasure,\\nMy chief, amaist my only pleasure,\\nAt hame, a-fiel at wark or leisure,\\nThe Muse, poor hizzie\\nTho rough an raploch be her measure,\\nShe s seldom lazy.\\nHaud tae the Muse, my dainty Davie\\nThe warl may play you mony a shavie\\nBut for the Muse, she ll ne er leave ye,\\nTho e er sae poor,\\nNa, even tho limpin wi the spavie\\nFrae door tae door.\\nON MY EAKLY DAYS.\\nI mind, it weel in early date,\\nWhen I was beardless, young, and blate,\\nAn first could thresh the barn\\nOr haud a yokin o the pleugh\\nAn tho forfoughten sair-eneugh,\\nYet unco proud to learn\\nWhen first amang the yellow corn\\nA man I reckon d was,\\nAnd wi the lave ilk merry morn\\nCould rank my rig and lass,\\nStill shearing, and clearing\\nThe tither stooked raw,\\nWi claivers, an haivers,\\nWearing the day awa.\\nE en then a wish, I mind its pow r,\\nA wish that to my latest hour\\nShall strongly heave my breast,\\nThat I for poor auld Scotland s sake\\nSome usefu plan or book could make,\\nOr sing a sang at least.\\nThe rough burr-thistle, spreading wide\\nAmang the bearded bear,\\nI turn d the weeder-clips aside,\\nAn spared the symbol dear\\nNo nation, no station,\\nMy envy e er could raise,\\nA Scot still, but blot still,\\nI knew nae higher praise,\\n8", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0413.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "410 BtJRNS WORKS.\\nBut still the elements o sang\\nIn formless jumble, right an rang,\\nWild floated in my brain\\nTill on that har st I said before,\\nMy partner in the merry core,\\nShe rous d the forming strain\\nI see her yet, the sonsie quean,\\nThat lighted up her jingle,\\nHer witching smile, her pauky e en\\nThat gart my heart-strings tingle\\nI fired, inspired,\\nAt every kindling keek,\\nBut bashing, and dashing,\\nI feared aye to speak.\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ,J Bonnie Dundee.\\nIn Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles,\\nThe pride of the place and its neighbourhood a\\nTheir carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,\\nIn Lon on or Paris they d gotten it a\\nMiss Miller is fine, Miss Maryland s divine,\\nMiss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw\\nThere s beauty and fortune to get wi Miss Morton,\\nBut Armour s* the jewel for me o them a\\nOH THE DEATH OF\\nSIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR.\\nThe lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,\\nDim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave\\nTh inconstant blast howl d thro the darkening air,\\nAnd hollow whistled in the rocky cave.\\nLone as I wander d by each cliff and dell,\\nOnce the loved haunts of Scotia s royal train\\nOr mused where limpid streams once hallow d, well,\\nOr mould ring ruins mark the sacred fane.\\nTh increasing blast roar d round the beetling rocks,\\nThe clouds, swift- wing d, flew o er the starry sky,\\nThe groaning trees untimely shed their locks,\\nAnd shooting meteors caught the startled eye.\\nThe paly moon rose in the livid east,\\nAnd mong the cliffs disclosed a stately form,\\nIn weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast,\\nAnd mix d her wailings with the raving storm.\\nWild to my heart the filial pulses glow,\\nTwas Caledonia s trophied shield I view d\\nHer form majestic droop d in pensive woe,\\nThe lightning of her eye in tears imbued.\\nThis is one of our Bard s early productions, Armour is now Mrs, Burns.", "height": "4508", "width": "2928", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0414.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 411\\nReversed that spear, redoubtable in war,\\nReclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl d,\\nThat like a deathful meteor gleam d afar,\\nAnd braved the mighty monarchs of the world.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMy patriot son fills an untimely grave\\nWith accents wild and lifted arms she cried\\nLow lies the hand that oft was stretch d to save,\\nLow lies the heart that swell d with honest pride\\nA weeping country joins a widow s tear,\\nThe helpless poor mix with the orphan s cry\\nThe drooping arts around their patron s bier,\\nAnd grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh.\\nI saw my sons resume their ancient fire\\nI saw fair Freedom s blossoms richly blow\\nBut, ah how hope is born but to expire\\nRelentless fate has laid the guardian low.\\nMy patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung,\\nWhile empty greatness saves a worthless name\\nNo every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue,\\nAnd future ages hear his growing fame.\\nAnd I will join a mother s tender cares,\\nThro* future times to make his virtues last,\\nThat distant years may boast of other Blairs\\nShe said, and vanish d with the sweeping blast.\\nWRITTEN\\nON THE BLANK LEAP OF A COPY OP THE POEMS, PRESENTED\\nTO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED.\\nOnce fondly lov d, and still remember d dear,\\nSweet early object of my youthful vows,\\nAccept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,\\nFriendship tis all cold duty now allows.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd when you read the simple artless rhymes,\\nOne friendly sigh for him, .he asks no more,\\nWho distant burns in flaming torrid climes,\\nOr haply lies beneath th Atlantic roar.\\nTHE JOLLY BEGGARS.\\nA CANTATA.\\nREOITATIV\u00c2\u00a9.\\nWhen lyart leaves bestrow the yird,\\nOr wavering like the Bauckie-bird,\\nBedim cauld Boreas blast\\nWhen hailstanes drive wi bitter skyte,\\nAnd infant frosts begin to bite,\\nIn hoary cranreuch drest\\nAe night at e en a merry core,\\n0 randie, gangrel bodies,\\nIn Poosie-Nansie s held the splore,\\nTo drink their orra daddies", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0415.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "412 burns works.\\nWi quaffing and laughing,\\nThey ranted and they sang\\nWi jumping and thumping,\\nThe vera girdle rang.\\nFirst, niest the fire, in auld red rags,\\nAne sat, weel brac d wi mealy bags,\\nAnd knapsack a in order\\nHis doxy lay within his arm,\\nWi usquebae an blankets warm\\nShe blinket on her sodger\\nAn aye he gies the tousie drab\\nThe tither skelpin kiss,\\nWhile she held up her greedy gab\\nJust like an a mous dish.\\nIlk smack did crack still,\\nJust like a cadger s whip,\\nThen staggering and swaggering\\nHe roar d this ditty up\\nAIR.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Soldier s Joy.\\nI am a son of Mars who have been in many wars,\\nAnd show my cuts and scars wherever I come\\nThis here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,\\nWhen welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.\\nLai de daudle, c.\\nMy prenticeship I past where my leader breath d his last,\\nWhen the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram\\nI served out my trade when the gallant game was play d,\\nAnd the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.\\nLai de daudle, c.\\nI lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt ries,\\nAnd there I left for witness an arm and a limb\\nYet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,\\nI d clatter my stumps at the sound of the drum.\\nLai de daudle, c.\\nAnd now tho I must beg with a wooden arm and leg,\\nAnd many a tatter d rag hanging over my bum,\\nI m as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet,\\nAs when I us d in scarlet to follow a drum.\\nLai de daudle, c.\\nWhat tho with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,\\nBeneath the woods and rocks often times for a home,\\nWhen the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell,\\nI could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum.\\nLai de daudle, c.\\nRECITATIVO.\\nHe ended and the kebars sheuk,\\nAboon the chorus roar\\nWhile frighted rattans backward leuk,\\nAnd seek the becmost bore;\\nA fairy fiddler frae the neuk,\\nHe skirl d out encore", "height": "4508", "width": "2932", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0416.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 413\\nBut up arose the martial chuck,\\nAnd laid the loud uproar.\\nAIR.\\nTone.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Soldier Laddie.\\nI onoe was a maid, tho I cannot tell when,\\nAnd still my delight is in proper young men\\nSome one of a troop of dragoons, was my daddie,\\nNo wonder I m fond of a sodger laddie.\\nSing, Lai de lal, c.\\nThe first of my loves was a swaggering blade,\\nTo rattle the thundering drum was his trade\\nHis leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,\\nTransported 1 was with my sodger laddie.\\nSing, Lal de lal, c.\\nBut the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,\\nThe sword I forsook for the sake of the church,\\nHe ventur d the soul, and I risked the body,\\nTwas then I prov d false to my sodger laddie.\\nSing, Lal de lal, e.\\nFull soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,\\nThe regiment at large for a husband I got\\nFrom the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,\\nI asked no more but a sodger laddie.\\nSing, Lal de lal, c.\\nBut the peace it reduc d me to beg in despair,\\nTill I met my old boy at Cunningham fair\\nHis rags regimental they flutter d so gaudy,\\nMy heart it rejoic d at my sodger laddie.\\nSing, Lal de lal, c.\\nAnd now I have liVd I know not how long,\\nAnd still I can join in a cup or a song\\nBut whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,\\nHere s to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.\\nSing, Lal de lal, c.\\nRECITATIVO.\\nThen niest outspak a raucle carlin,\\nWha kent sae weel to cleek the sterling,\\nFor monie a pursie she had hooked,\\nAnd had in mony a well been ducked.\\nHer dove had been a Highland laddie,\\nBut weary fa the waefu woodie\\nWi sighs and sobs she thus began\\nTo wail her braw John Highlandman.\\nAIR.\\nTone.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 O an ye were dead Gudeman.\\nA highland lad my love was born,\\nThe Lalland laws he held in scorn\\nBut he still was faithfu to his clan,\\nMy gallant braw John Highlandman.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0417.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "414 burns works.\\nCHORUS.\\nSing, hey my braw John Highlandman\\nSing, ho my braw John Highlandman\\nThere s not a lad in a the Ian\\nWas match for my John Highlandman.\\nWith his philibeg an tartan plaid,\\nAn gude claymore down by his side,\\nThe ladies hearts he did trepan,\\nMy gallant braw John Highlandman.\\nSing, hey, c.\\nWe ranged a from Tweed to Spey,\\nAn liv d like lords and ladies gay\\nFor a Lalland face he feared none,\\nMy gallant braw John Highlandman.\\nSing, hey, c.\\nThey banish d him beyond the sea,\\nBut ere the bud was on the tree,\\nAdown my cheeks the pearls ran,\\nEmbracing my John Highlandman.\\nSing, hey, c.\\nBut, oh they catch d him at the last,\\nAnd bound him in a dungeon fast\\nMy curse upon them every one,\\nThey ve hang d my braw John Highlandman.\\nSing, hey, fcc\\nAnd now a widow, I must mourn\\nThe pleasures that will ne er return\\nNo comfort but a hearty can,\\nWhen I think on John Highlandman.\\nSing, hey, c.\\nRECITATIVO.\\nA pigmy scraper, wi his fiddle,\\nWha us d at trysts and fairs to driddle,\\nHer strappan limb and gausy middle\\nHe reach d nae higher,\\nHad hol d his heartie like a riddle,\\nAn blawn t on tire.\\nWi hand on haunch, an upward e e,\\nHe croon d his gamut, one, two, three,\\nThen in an Arioso key,\\nThe wee Apollo\\nSet off wi 1 Allegretto glee\\nHis giga solo.\\nAIR.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094* Whistle owre the lave o t.\\nLet me ryke up to dight that tear,\\nAn go wi 1 me to be my dear,\\nAn then your every care and fear\\nMay whistle owre the lave o%", "height": "4508", "width": "2932", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0418.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 415\\nCHORUS.\\nI am a fiddler to my trade,\\nAn* a* the tunes that e er I play d,\\nThe sweetest still to wife or maid,\\nWas whistle owre the lave o t.\\nAt kirns and weddings we se be there,\\nAn sae nicely s we will fare\\nWe ll bouse about till Daddie Care\\nSings whistle o er the lave o t.\\nI am, c.\\nSae merrily the banes we ll pyke,\\nAn sun oursels about the dyke,\\nAn at our leisure, when we like,\\nWe ll whistle o er the lave o t\\nI am, c.\\nBut bless me wi your heaven o charms,\\nAnd while I kittle hair on thairms,\\nHunger, cauld, an a sick harms,\\nMay whistle o er the lave o t.\\nI am, c.\\nRECITATIVO.\\nHer charms had struck a sturdy Caird,\\nAs weel as poor Gutscraper\\nHe taks the fiddler by the beard,\\nAnd draws a rusty rapier\\nHe swoor by a was swearing worth,\\nTo speet him like a pliver,\\nUnless he would from that time forth,\\nRelinquish her for ever.\\nWi ghastly e e, poor tweedle dee\\nUpon his hunkers bended,\\nAnd pray d for grace wi ruefu face,\\nAnd sae the quarrel ended.\\nBut though his little heart did grieve,\\nWhen round the tinkler prest her,\\nHe feign d to snirtle in his sleeve,\\nWhen thus the caird address d her.\\nAIR.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Clout the Cauldron.\\nMy bonnie lass, I work in brass,\\nA tinkler is my station\\nI ve travell d round all Christian ground\\nIn this my occupation.\\nI ve ta en the gold, I ve been enroll d\\nIn many a noble squadron\\nBut vain they search d, when off I march d\\nTo go and clout the cauldron.\\nI ve ta en the gold, c.\\nDespise that shrimp, that wither d imp,\\nWi a his noise an caprin", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0419.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "416 BURNS WORKS.\\nAn tak a share wi those that bear\\nThe budget an the apron.\\nAn by that stowp, my faith and houp,\\nAn by that dear Keilbagie,\\nIf e er ye want, or meet wi scant,\\nMay I ne er weet my craigie.\\nAn by that stowp, c.\\nRECITATIVO.\\nThe caird prevail d the unblushing fair\\nIn his embraces sunk,\\nPartly wi love o er come sae sair,\\nAc partly she was drunk.\\nSir Yiolino, with an air\\nThat show d a man of spunk,\\nWish d unison between the pair,\\nAn made the bottle clunk\\nTo their health that night.\\nBut hurchin Cupid shot a shatt\\nThat play d a dame a shavie,\\nThe fiddler rak d her fore and aft,\\nBehint the chicken cavie.\\nHer lord, a wight o Homer s craft,\\nTho limping with the spavie,\\nHe hirpl d up, and lap like daft,\\nAn shor d them Daintie Davie\\nboot that nigh.\\nHe was a care-defying blade\\nAs ever Bacchus listed,\\nThough Fortune sair upon him laid,\\nHis heart she ever miss d it.\\nHe had no wish but to be glad,\\nNor want but when he thirsted\\nHe hated nought but to be sad,\\nAnd thus the Muse suggested,\\nHis sang that night.\\nAIR.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 For a that, an a that/\\nI am a bard of no regard,\\nWi gentle folks, an a that\\nBut Homer-like, the-glowran byke,\\nFrae town to town I draw that.\\nCHORUS.\\nFor a that, an a that\\nAn twice as meikle s a that\\nI ve lost but ane, I ve twa behin\\nI ve wife enough for a that.\\nI never drank the Muse s stank,\\nCastalia s burn, an a that\\nBut there it streams, and richly reams,\\nMy Helicon I ca that.\\nFor a that, c.", "height": "4508", "width": "2916", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0420.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 41 J\\nGreat love I bear to a* the fair,\\nTheir humble slave, an a that\\nBut lordly will, I hold it still\\nA moral sin to thraw that.\\nFor a that, c.\\nIn raptures sweet, this hour we meet,\\nWi mutual love an a* that\\nBut for how lang theflie may stang,\\nLet inclination law that.\\nFor a that, e.\\nTheir tricks and craft have put me daft,\\nThey ve ta en me in an a that\\nBut clear your decks, and here s the sex!\\nI like the jads for a that.\\nFor a that, an a that,\\nAn twice as meikle s a that\\nMy dearest bluid, to do them guid,\\nThey re welcome till t for a that.\\nRECITATIVO.\\nSo sung the bard and Nansie s wa s\\nShook with a thunder of applause,\\nRe-echo d from each mouth\\nThey toom d their pocks, an pawn d their duds,\\nThey scarcely left to co er their fuds,\\nTo quench their lowan drouth.\\nThen owre again, the jovial thrang,\\nThe poet did request,\\nTo loose his pack an wale a sang,\\nA ballad o* the best\\nHe rising, rejoicing,\\nBetween his twa Deborahs,\\nLooks round him, an found them\\nImpatient for the chorus.\\nAIR.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Jolly Mortals fill your Glasses.\\nSee the smoking bowl before us,\\nMark our jovial ragged ring\\nRound and round take up the chorus,\\nAnd in raptures let us sing.\\nCHORUS.\\nA fig for those by law protected\\nLiberty s a glorious feast\\nCourts for cowards were erected,\\nChurches built to please the priest.\\nWhat is title what is treasure]\\nWhat is reputation s care\\nIf we lead a life of pleasure,\\nTis no matter hoic or here\\nA fig, c.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0421.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "413 BURNS WORKS.\\nWith the ready trick and fable,\\nRound we wander all the day\\nAnd at night, in barn or stable,\\nHug our doxies on the hay.\\nA fig, c.\\nDoes the train- attended carriage\\nThrough the country lighter rove 1\\nDoes the sober bed of marriage\\nWitness brighter scenes of love 1\\nA fig, c.\\nLife is all a variorum,\\nWe regard not how it goes\\nLet them cant about decorum\\nWho have characters to lose.\\nA fig, c.\\nHere s to the budgets, bags, and wallets\\nHere s to all the wandering train\\nHere s our ragged brats and collets I 4\\nOne and all cry out, Amen\\nA fig for those by law protected\\nLiberty s a glorious feast\\nCourts for cowards were erected,\\nChurches built to please the priest.\\nTHE KIRK S ALARM.\\nA SATIRE.\\nOrthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox,\\nLet me sound an alarm to your conscience\\nThere s a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast,\\nThat what is no sense must be nonsense.\\nDr. Mac, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack,\\nTo strike evil doers wi terror\\nTo join faith and sense upon ony pretence,\\nIs heretic, damnable error.\\nTown of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare,\\nTo meddle wi mischief a brewing\\nProvost John is still deaf to the church s relief,\\nAnd orator Bob is its ruin.\\nD rymple mild, D rymple mild, tho your heart s like a child,\\nAnd your life like the new driven snaw,\\nYet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye,\\nFor preaching that three s ane an twa.\\nRumble John, Rumble John, mount the steps wi a groan,\\nCry the book is wi heresy cramm d\\nThen lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle,\\nAnd roar every a 9fce of the damn d.\\nSimper James, Simper James, leave the fair Killiedames,\\nThere s a holier chace in your view\\nI ll lay on your head, that the pack ye ll soon lead,\\nFor puppies like you there s but few.", "height": "4504", "width": "2944", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0422.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 419\\nSinget Sawney, Singet Sawney, are ye herding the penny,\\nUnconscious what evils await\\nWi* a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every soul,\\nFor the foul thief is just at your gate.\\nDaddy Auld, Daddy Auld, there s a tod in the fauld,\\nA tod meikle waur than the clerk\\nTho 1 ye can do little skaith, yell be in at the death,\\nAnd if ye canna bite ye may bark.\\nDavie Bluster, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do muster,\\nThe corps is no nice of recruits\\nYet to worth let s be just, royal blood ye might boast,\\nIf the ass was the king of the brutes.\\nJamie Goose, Jamie Goose, ye ha e made but toom roose,\\nIn hunting the wicked lieutenant\\nBut the Doctor s your mark, for the L d s haly ark\\nHe has cooper d and cawd a wrang pin in t,\\nPoet Willie, Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley,\\nWi your liberty s chain and your wit\\nO er Pegasus side ye ne er laid a stride,\\nYe but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t.\\nAndro Gouk, Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book,\\nAnd the book not the waur let me tell ye\\nYe are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig,\\nAnd ye ll ha e a calf s head o sma value.\\nBarr Steenie, Barr Steenie, what mean ye? what mean ye?\\nIf ye ll meddle nae mair wi the matter,\\nYe may ha e some pretence to havins and sense,\\nWi people wha ken ye nae better.\\nIrvine side, Irvine side, wi your turkey-cock pride,\\nOf manhood but sma is your share\\nYe ve the figure, tis true, even your faes will allow,\\nAnd your friends they dare grant you nae mair.\\nMuirland Jock, Muirland Jock, when the L\u00e2\u0080\u0094 d makes a rock,\\nTo crush Common Sense for her sins,\\nIf ill manners were wit, there s no mortal so fit,\\nTo confound the poor Doctor at ance.\\nHoly Will, Holy Will, there was wit in your skull,\\nWhen ye pilfer d the alms o the poor;\\nThe timmer is scant, when ye re ta en for a saint,\\nWha should swing in a rape for an hour.\\nCalvin s sons, Calvin s sons, seize your sp ritual guns,\\nAmmunition ye can never need\\nYour hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough,\\nAnd your skulls are storehouses o lead.\\nPoet Burns, Poet Burns, wi your priest- skelping turns,\\nWhy desert ye your auld native shire\\nYour muse is a gipsie, e en tho she were tipsie,\\nShe could ca us na waur than we are.\\nTHE TWA HERDS.\\nO a ye pious godly flocks,\\nWeel fed on pasture s orthodox,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0423.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "420 burns works.\\nWha now will keep you frae the fox,\\nOr worrying tykes,\\nOr wha will tent the waifs and crocks,\\nAbout the dykes 1\\nThe twa best herds in a* the west,\\nThat e er ga e gospel horn a blast,\\nThese five and twenty simmers past,\\nO dool to tell,\\nHa e had a bitter black out-cast,\\nAtween themsel.\\n0, M y, man, and worthy R 11,\\nHow could you raise so vile a bustle,\\nYe ll see how new-light herds will whistle,\\nAnd think it fine\\nThe Lord s cause ne er gat sic a twistle,\\nSin I ha e min\\\\\\nO, Sirs, whae er wad hae expeckit,\\nYour duty ye wad sae negleckit.\\nYe wha were ne er by laird respeckit,\\nTo wear the plaid,\\nBut by the brutes themselves eleckit,\\nTo be their guide.\\nWhat flock wi M y s llock could rank,\\nSae hale and hearty every shank,\\nNae poison d eoor Arminian stank,\\nHe let them taste,\\nFrae Calvin s well, aye clear they drank,\\nO sic a feast\\nThe thummart, wil cat, brock and tod,\\nWeel kend his voice thro a the wood,\\nHe smelt their ilka hole and road,\\nBaith out and in,\\nAnd weel he lik d to shed their bluid,\\nAnd sell their skin.\\nWhat herd like R II, tell d his tale,\\nHis voice was heard thro muir and dale,\\nHe kend the Lord s sheep, ilka tail,\\nO er a the height,\\nAnd saw gin they were sick or hale,\\nAt the first sight.\\nHe fine a mangy sheep could scrub,\\nOr nobly fling the gospel club,\\nAnd new-light herd3 could nicely drub,\\nOr pay their skin,\\nCould shake them o er the burning dub\\nOr heave them in.\\nSic twa do I live to see t,\\nSic famous twa should disagreet,\\nAn names, like villain, hypocrite,\\nIlk ither gi en,\\nWhile new-light herds wi laughin spite,\\nSay n either s Jiein", "height": "4508", "width": "2920", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0424.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nA* ye wha tent the gospel fauld,\\nThere s D n, deep, and P s, shard,\\nBut chiefly thou, apostle A d\\nWe trust in thee,\\nThat thou wilt work them, hot and cauld,\\nTill they agree.\\nConsider, Sirs, how we re beset,\\nThere s scarce a new herd that we get,\\nBut comes frae mang that cursen set,\\nI winna name,\\nI hope frae heav n to see them yet\\nIn fiery flame.\\nD e has been lang our fae,\\nM* 11 has wraught us meikie wae,\\nAnd that curs d rascal ca d M e,\\nAnd baith the S s,\\nThat aft ha e made us black and blae,\\nWi vengefu paws.\\nAuld W w lang has hatch d mischief,\\nWe thought aye death wad bring relief,\\nBut he has gotten, to our grief,\\nAne to succeed him,\\nA chield wha ll soundly buff our beef;\\nI meikie dread him.\\nAnd mony a ane that I could tell,\\nWha fain would openly rebel,\\nForby turn-coats amang oursel,\\nThere S\u00e2\u0080\u0094 h for ane,\\nI doubt he s but a grey-nick quill,\\nAnd that yell fin\\nO a ye flocks o er a the hills,\\nBy mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,\\nCome join your counsel and your skills,\\nTo cow the lairds,\\nAnd get the brutes the power themsels,\\nTo chose their herds.\\nThen Orthodoxy yet may prance,\\nAnd learning in a woody dance,\\nAnd that fell cur ca d Common Sense,\\nThat bites sae sair,\\nBe banish d o er the sea to France\\nLet him bark there.\\nThen Shaw s and Dalrymple s eloquence,\\nM H s close nervous excellence,\\nM Q e s pathetic manly sense,\\nAnd guid W- h,\\nWi S th, wha thro the heart can glance,\\nMay a pack aff.\\n421\\nTHE HENPECK D HUSBAND.\\nCurs d be the man, the poorest wretch in life,\\nThe crouching vassal to the tyrant wife,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0425.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "422 burns works.\\nWho has no will but by her high permission\\nWho has not sixpence but in her possession\\nWho must to her his dear friend s secret tell\\nWho dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell.\\nWere such the wife had fallen to my part,\\nI d break her spirit, or I d break her heart\\nI d charm her with the magic of a switch,\\nI d kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b h.\\nELEGY OST THE YEAR 1788.\\nFor lords or kings I dinna mourn,\\nE en let them die for that they re born\\nBut, oh, prodigious to reflect,\\nA Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck\\nO Eighty-eight, in thy sma space\\nWhat dire events ha e taken place\\nOf what enjoyments thou hast reft U3\\nIn what a pickle thou hast left us\\nThe Spanish empire s tint ahead,\\nAn my auld teethless Bawtie s dead\\nThe toolzie s teugh tween Pitt an Fox,\\nAn our guidwife s wee birdy cocks\\nThe tane is game, a bluidy devil,\\nBut to the hen-birds unco civil\\nThe tither s dour, has nae sic breedin\\nBut better stuff ne er claw d a midden\\nYe ministers, come mount the pulpit,\\nAn cry till ye be hearse an rupit\\nFor Eighty-eight, he wish d you weel\\nAn gied you a baith gear an meal\\nE en mony a plack, an mony a peck,\\nYe ken yoursels, for little feck\\nYe bonnie lasses dight your een,\\nFor some o you hae tint a frien\\nIn Eighty eight, ye ken, was ta en\\nWhat ye ll ne er hae to gi e again.\\nObserve the very nowt an sheep,\\nHow dowff an dowie now they creep\\nKay, even the yirth itsel does cry,\\nFor Embro wells are grutten dry.\\nO Eighty-nine thou s but a bairn,\\nAn no owre auld, I hope, to learn\\nThou beardless boy, I pray tak care,\\nThou now has got thy daddy s chair,\\nKae hand-cufFd, mizzled, haff-shackl d Regent,\\nBut, like himsel a full free agent.\\nBe sure ye follow out the plan\\nNae waur than he did, honest man\\nAs meikle better as you can,\\nJanuary 1, 1789.", "height": "4508", "width": "2920", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0426.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nVERSES\\nWRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.\\nWe cam na here to view your warks\\nIn hopes to be mair wise,\\nBut only, lest we gang to hell,\\nIt may be nae surprise\\nBut when we tirl d at your door,\\nYour porter dought na hear us\\nSae may, should we to hell s yetts come\\nYour billy Satan sair us 1\\n423\\nLIKES WRITTEN BY BURNS,\\nWHILE ON HIS DEATH-BED, TO J\u00e2\u0080\u0094 N R K N., AYRSHIRE, AND FOR-\\nWARDED TO HIM IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE POET S DEATH.\\nHe who of R k\u00e2\u0080\u0094 n sang, lies stiff and dead,\\nAnd a green grassy hillock hides his head\\nAlas I alas a devilish change indeed\\nAt a meeting of the Dumfries-shire Volunteers, held to commemorate the an-\\nniversary of Rodney s victory, Apil 12th, 1782, Burns was called upon for a\\nSong, instead of which he delivered the following Lines\\nInstead of a song, boys, I ll give you a toast,\\nHere s the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost\\nThat we lost, did I say, nay, by heav n that we found,\\nFor their fame it shall last while the world goes round.\\nThe next in succession, I ll give you the King,\\nWhoe er would betray him on high may he swing;\\nAnd here s the grand fabric, our free Constitution,\\nAs built on the base of the great Revolution\\nAnd longer with Politics not to be cramm d,\\nBe Anarchy curs d, and be Tyranny damn d;\\nAnd who would to Liberty e er prove disloyal,\\nMay his son be a hangman, and he is first trial.\\nTHE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.\\nBonny lassie will ye go, will ye go, will ye go,\\nBonny lassie will ye go, to the Birks of Aberfeldy 1\\nKow summer blinks on flowery braes,\\nAnd o er the crystal streamlet plays,\\nCome let us spend the lightsome days\\nIn the birks of Aberfeldy.\\nBonnie lassie, c.\\nWhile o er their heads the hazels hing,\\nThe little birdies blythely sing,\\nOr lightly flit on wanton wing\\nIn the birks of Aberfeldy.\\nBonnie lassie, c.\\nThe braes ascend like lofty wa s,\\nThe foaming stream deep-roaring fa s,\\nO erhung wi fragrant spreading shaws,\\nThe birks of Aberfeldy.\\nBonnie lassie, c.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0427.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "424 BURNS WORKS.\\nThe hoary cliffs are crown d wi flowers,\\nWhite o er the linns the burnie pours,\\nAnd rising, weets wi misty showers\\nThe birks of Aberfeldy.\\nBonnie lassie, c.\\nLet fortune s gifts at random flee,\\nThey ne er shall draw a wish frae me,\\nSupremely blest wi* love and thee\\nIn the birks of Aberfeldy.\\nBonnie lassie, c\u00c2\u00ab\\nSTAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAYE ME?\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 An Gille dubh ciar dhubh.\\nStay, my charmer can you leave me\\nCruel, cruel to deceive me\\nWell you know how much you grieve me\\nCruel charmer, can you go 1\\nCruel charmer, can you go\\nBy my love so ill- requited\\nBy the faith you fondly plighted\\nBy the pangs of lovers slighted\\nDo not, do not leave me so\\nDo not, do not leave me so\\nSTRATHALLAN S LAMENT.\\nThickest night o erhangs my dwelling\\nHowling tempests o er me rave\\nTurbid torrents, wintry swelling,\\nStill surround my lonely cave\\nChrystal streamlets gently flowing,\\nBusy haunts of base mankind,\\nWestern breezes, softly blowing,\\nSuit not thy distracted mind.\\nIn the cause of right engaged,\\nWrongs injurious to redress,\\nHonour s war we strongly waged,\\nBut the heavens deny d success.\\nRuin s wheel has driven o er us,\\nNot a hope that dare attend,\\nThe wide world is all before us\\nBut a world without a friend\\nTHE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROYER.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Morag.\\nLoud blaw the frosty breezes,\\nThe snaws the mountains cover\\nLike winter on me seizes,\\nSince my young highland rover\\nFar wanders nations over.\\nWhere er he go, where er he stray.\\nMay heaven be his warden", "height": "4508", "width": "2924", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0428.jp2"}, "429": {"fulltext": "poems. 425\\nReturn him safe to fair Strathspey,\\nAnd bonnie Castle-Gordon\\nThe trees now naked groaning,\\nShall soon wi leaves be hinging,\\nThe birdies dowie moaning,\\nShall a be blythely singing,\\nAnd every flower be springing.\\nSae 111 rejoice the lee-lang day,\\nWhen by his mighty warden\\nMy youth s returned to fair Strathspey,\\nAnd bonnie Castle- Gordon.*\\nRAYING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 M Grigor of Ruaro s Lament.\\nRaving winds around her blowing\\nYellow leaves the woodlands strowing,\\nBy a river hoarsely roaring,\\nIsabella stray d deploring.\\nFarewell, hours that late did measure\\nSunshine days of joy and pleasure;\\nHail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,\\nCheerless night that knows no morrow.\\nO er the past too fondly wandering,\\nOn the hopeless future pondering\\nChilly grief my life-blood freezes,\\nFell despair my fancy seizes.\\nLife, thou soul of every blessing,\\nLoad to misery more distressing,\\nO how gladly I d resign thee,\\nAnd to dark oblivion join thee\\nMUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.\\nTune Druimion dubh.\\nMusing on the roaring ocean,\\nWhich divides my love and me\\nWearying heaven in warm devotion,\\nFor his weal where er he be.\\nHope and fear s alternate billow\\nYielding late to nature s law,\\nWhisp ring spirits round my pillow\\nTalk of him that s far awa.\\nYe whom sorrow never wounded,\\nYe who never shed a tear,\\nCare-troubled, joy- surrounded,\\nGaudy day to you is dear.\\nGentle night, do thou befriend me\\nDowny sleep the curtain draw\\nSpirits kind, again attend me,\\nTalk of him that s far awa I\\nThe young Highland rover is supposed to be the young Chavalier, Prince\\nrles Edward.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0429.jp2"}, "430": {"fulltext": "426\\nburns works.\\nBLYTHE WAS SHE,\\nBlythe, blythe and merry was she,\\nBlythe was she but and ben\\nBlythe by the banks of Ern,\\nAnd blythe in Glenturit glen.\\nBy Oughtertyre grows the aik,\\nOn Yarrow banks, the birkin shaw\\nBut Phemie was a bonnier lass\\nThan braes o Yarrow ever saw,\\nBlythe, c.\\nHer looks were like a flow r in May,\\nHer smile was like a simmer morn\\nShe tripped by the banks of Ern,\\nAs light s a bird upon a thorn.\\nBlythe, c.\\nHer bonnie face it was as meek\\nAs ony lamb upon a lee\\nThe evening sun was ne er sae sweet\\nAs was the blink o Phemie s e e.\\nBlythe, c.\\nThe Highland hills I ve wander d wide,\\nAnd o er the Lowlands I hae been\\nBut Phemie was the blythest lass\\nThat ever trod the dewy green.\\nBlythe, c.\\nA ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.\\nA rose-bud by my early walk\\nAdown a corn-inclosed bawk,\\nSae gently bent its thorny stalk,\\nAll on a dewy morning.\\nEre twice the shades o dawn are fled,\\nIn a its crimson glory spread,\\nAnd drooping rich the dewy head,\\nIt scents the early morning.\\nWithin the bush, her covert nest\\nA little linnet fondly prest,\\nThe dew sat chilly on her breast\\nSae early in the morning.\\nShe soon shall see her tender brood,\\nThe pride, the pleasure o the wood,\\nAmang the fresh green leaves bedewed,\\nAwake the early morning.\\nSo thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair,\\nOn trembling string or vocal air,\\nShall sweetly pay the tender care\\nThat tents thy early morning.\\nSo thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay\\nShalt beauteous blaze upon the day,\\nAnd bless the parent s evening ray\\nThat watched thy early morning", "height": "4508", "width": "2948", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0430.jp2"}, "431": {"fulltext": "poems. 427\\nWHERE BRAYING ANGRY WINTER S STORMS.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 N. Gow s Lamentation for Abercairny.\\nWhere braving angry winter s storms,\\nThe lofty Ochils rise,\\nFar in their shade my Peggy s charms\\nFirst blest my wondering eyes.\\nAs one who by some savage stream,\\nA lonely gem surveys,\\nAstonished doubly marks its beam,\\nWith art s most polished blaze.\\nBlest be the wild, sequester d shade,\\nAnd blest the day and hour,\\nWhere Peggy s charms I first survey d,\\nWhen first I felt their pow r\\nThe tyrant Death, with grim control,\\nMay seize my fleeting breath\\nBut tearing Peggy from my soul\\nMust be a stronger death.\\nTIBBIE I HAE SEEN THE DAY.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Invercauld s Reel.\\nO Tibbie, I hae seen the day\\nYe would na been sae shy\\nFor laik o gear ye lightly me,\\nBut troth, I care na by.\\nYestreen I met you on the moor,\\nYe spak na, but gaed by like stoure\\nYe geek at me because I m poor,\\nBut fient a hair care I.\\nO Tibbie I hae, c.\\nI doubt na lass, but you may think,\\nBecause ye hae the name o clink,\\nThat you can please me at a wink,\\nWhene er ye like to try.\\nO Tibbie, I hae, e.\\nBut sorrow tak him that s sae mean,\\nAltho his pouch o coin were clean,\\nWha follows ony saucy quean\\nThat looks sae proud and high.\\nO Tibbie, I hae, c.\\nAltho a lad were e er sae smart,\\nIf that he want the yellow dirt,\\nYell cast your head anither airt,\\nAnd answer him fu dry.\\nTibbie, I hae, c.\\nBut if he hae the name o gear,\\nYe ll fasten to him like a brier,\\nTho hardly he, for sense or lear,\\nBe better than the kye.\\nTibbe, I hae, c,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0431.jp2"}, "432": {"fulltext": "428 BURNS WORKS,.\\nBut, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,\\nYour daddie s gear maks you sae nice\\nThe deil a ane wad spier your price,\\nWere ye as poor as I.\\nTibbe, I hae, c.\\nThere lives a lass in yonder park,\\nI would nae gie her under sark,\\nFor thee wi a thy thousand mark\\nYe need na look sae high.\\nTibbie, I hae, c.\\nCLARINDA.\\nClarinda, mistress of my soul,\\nThe measur d time is run\\nThe wretch beneath the dreary pole,\\nSo marks his latest sun.\\nTo what dark cave of frozen night\\nShall poor Sylvander hie\\nDepriv d of thee, his life and light,\\nThe sun of all his joy.\\nWe part, but by these precious drops,\\nThat fill thy lovely eyes\\nNo other light shall guide my steps,\\nTill thy bright beams arise.\\nShe, the fair sun of all her sex,\\nHas blest my glorious day\\nAnd shall a glimmering planet fix\\nMy worship to its ray\\nTHE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Seventh of November,\\nThe day returns, my bosom burns\\nThe blissful day we twa did meet,\\nTho winter wild in tempest toil d.\\nNe er summer sun was half sae sweet\\nThan a the pride that loads the tide,\\nAnd crosses o er the sultry line\\nThan kingly robes, than crown and globes,\\nHeaven gave me more, it made thee mine.\\nWhile day and night can bring delight,\\nOr nature ought of pleasure give\\nWhile joys above, my mind can move,\\nFor thee, and thee alone, I live\\nWhen that grim foe of life below,\\nComes in between to make us part\\nThe iron hand that breaks our band,\\nIt breaks my bliss it breaks my heart.\\nTHE LAZY MIST.\\nThe lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,\\nConcealing the course of the dark winding rill", "height": "4508", "width": "2948", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0432.jp2"}, "433": {"fulltext": "poems. 429\\nHow languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear,\\nAs autumn resigns the pale year,\\nThe forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,\\nAnd all the gay foppery of summer is flown\\nApart let me wander, apart let me muse,\\nHow quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues\\nHow long I have liv d but how much liv d in vain\\nHow little of life s scanty span may remain\\nWhat aspects old Time, in his progress, has worn\\nWhat ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn.\\nHow foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain d\\nAnd downward, how weaken d, how darken d, how pain d\\nThis life s not worth having with all it can give.\\nFor something beyond it poor man sure must live.\\n0, WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 My love is lost to me.\\nwere I on Parnassus hill\\nOr had of Helicon my fill\\nThat I might catch poetic skill,\\nTo sing how dear I love thee.\\nBut Nith maun be my muse s well,\\nMy muse maun be thy bonnie sel\\nOn Corsincon I ll glower and spell,\\nAnd write how dear I love thee.\\nThen come, sweet muse, inspire my lay\\nFor a s the lee-long simmer s day,\\n1 coulda sing, I coulda say,\\nHow much, how dear, I love thee,\\nI see thee dancing o er the green,\\nThy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,\\nThy tempting lips, thy roguish e en\\nBy heaven and earth I love thee.\\nBy night, by day, a field, at hame,\\nThe thoughts of thee my breast inflame\\nAnd aye I muse and sing thy name\\nI only live to love thee,\\nTho I were doom d to wander on,\\nBeyond the sea, beyond the sun,\\nTill my last, weary sand was run\\nTill then and then I love thee.\\nI LOVE MY JEAN.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Miss Admiral Gordon s Strathspey.\\nOp a the airts the wind can blaw,\\nI dearly like the west,\\nFor there the bonnie lassie lives,\\nThe lassie I lo e best\\nThere wild woods grow, and rivers row,\\nAnd mony a hill between\\nBut day and night my fancy s flight\\nIs ever wi my Jean,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0433.jp2"}, "434": {"fulltext": "430\\nBURNS* WORKS.\\nI see her in the dewy flowers,\\n1 see her sweet and fair\\nI hear her in the tunefu birds,\\nI he ar her charm the air\\nThere s not a bonnie flower that springs\\nBy fountain, shaw, or green,\\nThere s not a bonnie bird that sings,\\nBut minds me a my Jean.\\nTHE BRAES 0 BALLOCHMYLE.\\nThe Catrine woods were yellow seen,\\nThe flowers decayed on Catrine lee,\\nThe lav rock sang on hillock green,\\nBut nature sicken d on the e e.\\nThro faded groves Maria sang,\\nHersel in beauty s bloom the while,\\nAnd aye the wild wood echoes rang,\\nFarewele the braes o Ballochmyle.\\nLow in your wintry beds, ye flowers,\\nAgain ye ll flourish fresh and fair\\nYe birdies dumb, in withering bowers,\\nAgain ye ll charm the vocal air.\\nBut here, alas for me nae mair,\\nShall birdie charm, or floweret smile\\nFareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr,\\nFareweel, Fareweel sweet Ballochmyle\\nWILLIE BREW D A PECK 0 MAUT.\\nO Willie brew d a peck o maut,\\nAnd Rob and Allan cam to pree\\nThree blyther lads that lee lang night,\\nYe wad na find on Christendie.\\nWe are nae fou, we re nae that fou,\\nBut just a drappie in our e e\\nThe cock may craw, the day may daw,\\nAnd aye we ll taste the barley bree,\\nHere are we met, three merry boys,\\nThree merry boys I trow are we\\nAnd mony a night we ve merry been,\\nAnd mony mair we hope to be\\nWe are nae fou, c.\\nIt is the moon, I ken her horn,\\nThat s blinkin in the lift sae hie\\nShe shines sae bright to wyle us hame,\\nBut by my troth shell wait a wee\\nWe are na fou, c.\\nWha first shall rise to gang awa,\\nA cuckold, coward, loun is he\\nWha first beside his chair shall fa*,\\nHe is the king amang us three\\nWe are na fou, c.", "height": "4508", "width": "2956", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0434.jp2"}, "435": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nTHE BLUE-EYED LASSIfi.\\nI GA.ED a waefu gate yestreen,\\nA gate, I fear, I ll dearly rue\\nI gat my death frae twa sweet e en,\\nTwa lovely e en o bonnie blue.\\nTwas not her golden ringlets bright\\nHer lips like roses wat wi dew,\\nHer heaving bosom, lily-white\\nIt was her e en sae bonnie blue.\\nShe talk d, she smil d, my heart she wyld,\\nShe charm d my soul I wist na how\\nAnd aye the stound, the deadly wound,\\nCam frae her e en sae bonnie blue,\\nBut spare to speak, and spare to speed\\nShe ll aiblins listen to my vow\\nShould she refuse, I ll lay my dead\\nTo her twa e en sae bonny blue.\\nTHE BANKS OF NITH.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Robie Donna Gorach,\\nThe Thames flows proudly to the sea,\\nWhere royal cities stand\\nBut sweeter flows the Nith to me,\\nWhere Cummins an ce had high command\\nWhen shall I see that honoured land,\\nThat winding stream I love so dear\\nMust wayward fortune s adverse hand,\\nFor ever, ever, keep me here.\\nHow lovely, Kith, thy fruitful vales,\\nWhere spreading hawthorns gaily bloom\\nHow sweetly wind thy sloping dales\\nWhere lambkins wanton thro the broom\\nTho wandering, now, must be my doom,\\nFar from thy bonnie banks and braes,\\nMay there my latest hours consume,\\nAmang the friends of early days\\n431\\nJOHN ANDEKSON, MY JO.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, I wonder what you mean,\\nTo rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at e en,\\nYe ll blear out a your e en John, and why should you do so,\\nGang sooner to your bed at e en, John Anderson, my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, when nature first began\\nTo try her canny hand, John, her master- work was man\\nAnd you amang them a John, sae trig frae top to toe,\\nShe proved to be nae journey-work, John Anderson, my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John you were my first conceit,\\nAnd ye na think it strange, John, tho* I ca ye trim and neat\\nTho* some folk say ye re auld, John, I never think ye so,\\nBut I think ye re aye the same to me, John Anderson, my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, we ve seen our bairns bairns,\\nAnd yet, my dear John Anderson, I m happy in your arms,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0435.jp2"}, "436": {"fulltext": "432 burns works.\\nAnd sae are you in mine, John I m sure ye ll ne er say no,\\nTho the days are gane, that we hae seen, John Anderson, my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, what pleasure does it gie\\nTo see sae many sprouts, John, spring up tween you and me,\\nAnd ilka lad and lass, John, in our footsteps to go,\\nMakes perfect heaven here on earth, John Anderson, my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, when we were first acquaint,\\nYour locks were like the raven, your bonnie brow was brent\\nBut now your head s turned. bald, John, your locks are like the\\nsnaw\\nTet blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, frae year to year we ve past\\nAnd soon that year maun come, John, will bring us to our last\\nBut let nae that affright us, John, our hearts were ne er our foe,\\nWhile in innocent delight we lived, John Anderson, my jo.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither;\\nAnd mony a canty day, John, w ve had wi ane anither.\\nN ow we maun totter down, John, but hand in hand we ll go\\nAnd we ll sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.\\nTAM GLEN.\\nMy heart is a-breaking, dear tittie,\\nSome counsel unto me come len\\nTo anger them a is a pity,\\nBut what will I do wi Tarn Glen\\nI m thinking, wi sic a braw fellow,\\nIn poortith I might mak a fen\\nWhat care I in riches to wallow,\\nIf I maunna marry Tarn Glen.\\nThere s Lowrie the laird o Dumeller,\\nGuide day to you, brute, he comes ben\\nHe brags and he blaws o his siller,\\nBut when will he dance like Tarn Glen 1\\nMy minnie does constantly deave me,\\nAnd bids me beware o young men\\nThey flatter, she says, to deceive me,\\nBut wha can think sae o Tarn Glen\\nMy daddie says, gin I ll forsake him,\\nHe ll gie me gude hunder marks ten\\nBut, if it s ordain d I maun tak him,\\nwha will I get like Tarn Glen\\nYestreen at the Yalentine s dealing,\\nMy heart to my mou gied a sten\\nFor thrice I drew ane without failing,\\nAnd thrice it was written Tarn Glen.\\nThe last Hallowe en I was waukin\\nMy droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken\\nHis likeness cam up the house staukin,\\nAnd the very grey breeks o Tarn Glen", "height": "4596", "width": "2996", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0436.jp2"}, "437": {"fulltext": "poems. 433\\nCome counsel, dear tittie, don t tarry\\nI ll gie you my bonnie black hen,\\nGin ye will advise me to marry\\nThe lad I lo e dearly, Tarn Glen.\\nMY TOCHER S THE JEWEL.\\nmeikle thinks my luve o my beauty,\\nAnd meikle thinks my luve o my kin;\\nBut little thinks my luve I ken brawlie,\\nMy tocher s the jewel has charms ior him.\\nIt s a for the apple he ll nourish the tree\\nIt s a for the hinney he ll cherish the bee,\\nMy laddie s sae meikle in luve wi the siller,\\nHe canna hae luve to spare for me.\\nYour proffer o luve s an arle penny,\\nMy tocher s the bargain ye wad buy\\nBut an ye be crafty, 1 am cunnin,\\nSae ye wi anither your fortune maun try.\\nYe re like to the timmer o yon rotten wood,\\nYe re like to the bark o yon rotten tree,\\nYe ll slip frae me like a knotless thread,\\nAnd ye ll crack your credit wi mae nor me.\\nTHEN GUIDEWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN.\\nGane is the day and mirk s the night,\\nBut we ll ne er stray for faute o light\\nFor ale and brandy s stars and moon,\\nAnd bluid red wine s the risin sun.\\nThen guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin,\\nThen guidwife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair,\\nThere s wealth an ease for gentlemen,\\nAnd semple folk maun fecht and fen\\nBut here we re a in ae accord,\\nFor ilka man that s drunk s a lord.\\nThen guidwife count, c.\\nMy coggie is a haly pool,\\nThat heals the wounds o care and dool\\nAnd pleasure is a wanton trout,\\nAn ye drink it a* ye ll find him out.\\nThen guidwife count, c.\\nIAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI AN AULD MAN.\\nWhat can a, young lassie, what shall a young lassie,\\nWhat can a young lassie do wi an auld man\\nBad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie\\nTo sell her poor Jenny for siller an Ian\\nBad luck on the pennie, c.\\nHe s always compleenin frae mornin to e enin,\\nHe hosts and he hirples the weary day lang,\\nHe s doy lt and he s dozin, his bluid it is frozen\\n0 dreary s the night wi a crazy auld man", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0437.jp2"}, "438": {"fulltext": "434 burns works.\\nHe hums and he hankers, he fret3 and he cankers\\nI never can please him, do a that I can\\nHe s peevish, and jealous of a* the young fellows,\\nO, dool on the day, I met wi an auld man\\nMy auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,\\nI ll do my endeavour to follow her plan\\nI ll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him,\\nAnd then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.\\nTHE BONNIE WEE THING.\\nBonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,\\nLovely wee thing, was thou mine\\nI wad wear thee in my bosom,\\nLest my jewel I should tine.\\nWistfully I look and languish,\\nIn that bonnie face of thine\\nAnd my heart it stounds wi anguish.\\nLest my wee thing be na mine.\\nWit, and grace, and love, and beauty,\\nIn ae constellation shine\\nTo adore thee is my duty,\\nGoddess o this soul o mine\\nBonnie wee, c.\\nO, FOE ANE AND TWENTY TAM.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Moudiewort.\\nAn O, for ane and twenty, Tarn\\nAn hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tarn\\nI ll learn my kin a rattlin sang,\\nAn I saw ane and twenty, Tarn.\\nThey snool me sair, and haud me down,\\nAnd gar me look like bl untie, Tarn\\nBut three short years will soon wheel roun\\nAnd then comes ane and twenty, Tarn.\\nAn 0, for ane, c.\\nA gleib o Ian a claut o gear,\\nWas left me by my auntie, Tarn\\nAt kith or kin I need na spier,\\nAn* I saw ane and twenty, Tarn.\\nAn 0, for ane, c.\\nThey ll hae me wed a wealthy coof,\\nTho I mysel hae plenty, Tarn\\nBut hear st thou laddie, there s my loo\u00c2\u00a3\\nI m thine at ane and twenty, Tarn\\nAn 0, for ane, c.\\nBESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.\\nO leeze me on my spinning wheel,\\nO leeze me on my rock and reel\\nErae tap to tae that deeds me bien,\\nAnd haps me iiel and warm at e en I", "height": "4508", "width": "2972", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0438.jp2"}, "439": {"fulltext": "poems, 435\\nI ll set me down and sing and spin,\\nWhile laigh descends the simmer sun,\\nBlest wi content, and milk and meal\\nO leeze me on my spinning wheel.\\nOn ilka hand the burnies trot,\\nAnd meet below thy theekit cot\\nThe scented birk and hawthorn white\\nAcross the pool their arms unite,\\nAlike to screen the bridie s nest,\\nAnd little fishes caller rest\\nThe snn blinks kindly in the bier,\\nWhere, blythe I turn my spinning wheel.\\nOn lofty aiks the cushats wail,\\nAnd echo cons the doolfu tale\\nThe lint whites in the hazel braes,\\nDelighted, rival ither s lays\\nThe craik amang the claver hay,\\nThe paitrick whirrin o er the ley,\\nThe swallow jinking round my shiel,\\nAmuse me at my spinning wheel.\\nWi sma to sell, and less to buy,\\nAboon distress, below envy,\\nO wha wad leave this humble state,\\nFor a the pride of a the great 1\\nAmid their flairing, idle toys,\\nAmid their cumbrous, dinsome joy3,\\nCan they the peace and pleasure feel,\\nOf Bessy at her spinning wheel.\\nCOUNTRY LASSIE.\\nIn simmer when the hay was mawn,\\nAnd corn wav d green in ilka field,\\nWhile claver blooms white o er the lea,\\nAnd roses blaw in ilka bield\\nBlythe Bessie in the milking shiel,\\nSay3, I ll be wed come o t what will\\nOut spake a dame in wrinkled eild,\\n0 gude advisement comes nae ill.\\nIts ye hae wooers mony a ane,\\nAnd, lassie, ye re but young, ye ken\\nThen wait a wee, and cannie wale,\\nA routine butt, a routhie ben\\nThere s Johnie o the Buskie-glen,\\nFu is his barn, fu is his byre\\nTak this frae me, my bonnie hen,\\nIt s plenty beets the luver s fire.\\nFor Johnie o the Buskie-glen,\\nI dinna care a single flie\\nHe lo es sae weel his craps and kye,\\nHe has nae luve to spare for me\\nBut bly the s the blink o Robin s e e,\\nAnd weel I wat he lo es me dear", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0439.jp2"}, "440": {"fulltext": "436 burns works.\\nAe blink o him I wad na gie\\nFor Buskie glen and a his gear.\\nO thoughtless lassie, life s a faught,\\nThe canniest gate, the strife is sair\\nBut aye fu han t is fechtin best,\\nA hungry care s an unco care\\nBut some will spend, and some will spare,\\nAnd wilfu folk maun hae their will\\nSyne as ye brew, my maiden fair,\\nKeep mind that ye maun drink the yill.\\ngear will buy me rigs o land,\\nAnd gear will buy me sheep and kye\\nBut the tender heart o leesome luve,\\nThe gowd and siller canna buy\\nWe may be poor, Eobie and I,\\nLight is the burden luve lays on\\nContent and love brings peace and joy,\\nWhat mair hae queens upon a throne\\nFAIR ELIZA.\\nA GAELIC AIR.\\nTukn again, thou fair Eliza,\\nAe kind blink before we part,\\nRew on thy despairing lover\\nCanst thou break his faithfu heart\\nTurn again, thou fair Eliza\\nIf to love thy heart denies,\\nFor pity hide the cruel sentence\\nUnder friendship s kind disguise\\nThee, dear maid, hae I offended\\nThe offence is loving thee\\nCanst thou wreck his peace for ever,\\nWha for thine wad gladly die\\nWhile the life beats in my bosom,\\nThou shalt mix in ilka throe\\nTurn again, my lovely maiden,\\nAe sweet smile on me bestow.\\nNot the bee upon the blossom,\\nIn the pride o sinny noon\\nNot the little sporting fairy,\\nAll beneath the simmer moon\\nNot the poet at the moment\\nFancy lightens on his e e,\\nKens the pleasure, feels the rapture,\\nThat thy presence gies to me.\\nTHE POS1E.\\nLuve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen,\\nO luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been\\nBut I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green,\\nAnd a to pu a posie to my ia dear a", "height": "4508", "width": "2976", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0440.jp2"}, "441": {"fulltext": "poems. 437\\nThe primrose I will pu the firstling o the year,\\nAnd I will pu the pink, the emblem o my dear,\\nFor she s the pink o womankind, and blooms without a pear\\nAnd a to be a posie to my ain dear May.\\nI ll pu the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,\\nFor it s like a baumy kiss o her sweet bonnie mou\\nThe hyacinth s for constancy, wi its unchanging blue\\nAnd a to be a posie to my ain dear May.\\nThe lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,\\nAnd in her lovely bosom I ll place the lily there\\nThe daisy s for simplicity and unaffected air,\\nAnd a to be a posie to my ain dear May.\\nThe hawthorn I will pu wi its locks o siller grey,\\nWhere, like an aged man, it stands at break o day\\nBut the songster s nest within the bush I winna tak away\\nAnd a to be a posie to my ain dear May.\\nThe woodbine I will pu when the e ening star is near,\\nAnd the diamond drops o dew shall be her een sae clear\\nThe violet for modesty, which weel she fa s to wear\\nAnd a to be a posie to my ain dear May.\\nI ll tie the posie round wi the silken band o luve,\\nAnd I ll place it in her breast, and swear by a above,\\nThat to my latest draught o life the band shall ne er remuve,\\nAnd this will be a posie to my ain dear May.\\nTHE BANKS 0 DOOK\\nYe banks and braes o bonnie Doon,\\nHow can ye bloom sae fresh and fair\\nHow can ye chant, ye little birds,\\nAnd I sae weary fu o care\\nThou ll break my heart, thou warbling bird,\\nThat wantons thro the flowering thorn\\nThou minds me o departed joys,\\nDeparted never to return\\nOft hae I rov d by bonnie Doon,\\nTo see the rose and woodbine twine\\nAnd ilka bird sang o its luve,\\nAnd, fondly, sae did I o mine.\\nWi lightsome heart I pu d a rose,\\nFu sweet upon its thorny tree\\nAnd my fause lover stole my rose,\\nBut ah he left the thorn wi me.\\nSIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.\\nWillie Wastle dwelt on Tweed,\\nThe spot they ca d it Linkumdoddie\\nWillie was a wab3ter gude,\\nCou d stown a clue wi ony bodie;\\nHe had a wife was dour and din,\\nTinkler Madgie was her mither", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0441.jp2"}, "442": {"fulltext": "438 burns works;\\nSic a wife as Willie had,\\nI wad na gie a button for her.\\nShe has an e e, she has but ane,\\nThe cat has twa the very colour\\nFive rusty teeth, forbye a stump,\\nA clapper tongue wad deave a miller\\nA whiskin beard about her mou,\\nHer nose and chin they threaten ither\\nSic a wife, c.\\nShe s bow hough d, she s hein shinn d,\\nAe limpin leg a hand-breed shorter\\nShe s twisted right, she s twisted left,\\nTo balance fair in ilka quarter\\nShe has a hump upon her breast,\\nThe twin o that upon her shouther\\nSic a wife, c.\\nAuld baudrans by the ingle sits,\\nAnd wi her loof her face a-washin\\nBut Willie s wife is nae sae trig,\\nShe dights her grunzie wi* a hushion\\nHer walie nieves like midden creels,\\nHer face wad fyle the Logan- water;\\nSic a wife as Willlie had,\\nI wad na gie a button for her.\\nGLOOMY DECEMBEE.\\nAnce mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December,\\nAnce mair I hail thee, wi sorrow and care\\nSad was the parting thou makes me remember,\\nParting wi Nancy, Oh ne er to meet mair.\\nFond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure,\\nHope beaming mild on the soft parting hour;\\nBut the dire feeling, farewell for ever,\\nIs anguish unmingl d, and agony pure.\\nWild as the winter now tearing the forest,\\nTill the last leaf o the summer i3 flown,\\nSuch is the tempest has shaken my bosom,\\nSince my last hope and last comfort is gone\\nStill as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,\\nStill I shall hail thee wi sorrow and care\\nFor sad was the parting thou makes me remember,\\nParting wi Nancy, Oh, ne er to meet mair.\\nEYAN BANKS.\\nSlow spreads the gloom my soul desires,\\nThe sun from India s shore retires\\nTo Evan banks, with temp rate ray,\\nHome of my youth, it leads the day.\\nOh banks to me for ever dear\\nOh stream whose murmurs still I hear\\nAll my hopes of bliss reside,\\nWhere Evan mingles with the Clyde.", "height": "4508", "width": "2976", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0442.jp2"}, "443": {"fulltext": "poems, 439\\nAnd she, in simple beauty drest, m\\nWhose image lives within my breast\\nWho trembling heard my piercing sigh,\\nAnd long pursued me with her eye\\nDoes she, with heart unchang d as mine,\\nOft in the vocal bowers recline 1\\nOr where yon grot o erhangs the tide,\\nMuse while the Evan seeks the Clyde.\\nYe lofty banks that Evan bound\\nYe lavish woods that reign around,\\nAnd o er the stream your shadows throw,\\nWhich sweetly winds so far below\\nWhat secret charm to mem ry brings,\\nAll that on Evan s border springs 1\\nSweet banks ye bloom by Mary s side\\nBlest stream, she views thee haste to Clyde*\\nCan all the wealth of India s coast\\nAtone for years in absence lost 1\\nEeturn, ye moments of delight,\\nWith richer treasures bless my sight\\nSwift from this desert let me part,\\nAnd fly to meet a kindred heart\\nNor more may aught my steps divide\\nFrom that dear stream which flows to Clyde*\\nWILT THOU BE MY DEARIE.\\nWilt thou be my dearie 1\\nWhen sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,\\nwilt thou let me cheer thee 1\\nBy the treasure of my soul,\\nAnd that s the love I bear thee\\nI swear and vow that only thou\\nShall ever be my dearie.\\nOnly thou I swear and vow,\\nShall ever be my dearie.\\nLassie, say thou lo es me\\nOr, if thou wilt na be my ain,\\nSay na thou lt refuse me\\nIf it winna, canna be,\\nThou, for thine, may choose me\\nLet me, lassie, quickly die,\\nTrusting that thou lo es me,\\nLassie, let me quickly die,\\nTrusting that thou lo es me*\\nSHE S FAIR AND FAUSE.\\nShe s fair and fause that causes my smart,\\nI lo ed her meikle and lang\\nShe 3 broken her vow, she s broken my heart.\\nAnd I may e en gae hang.\\nA coof cam in with routh o gear,\\nAnd I ixae tint my dearest dear,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0443.jp2"}, "444": {"fulltext": "440 BURNS WORKS.\\nBut woman is but warld s gear,\\nSae let the bonnie lass gang,\\nWhae er ye be that woman love,\\nTo this be never blind,\\nNae ferlie tis tho fickle she prove,\\nA woman has t by kind\\nO woman, lovely woman, fair\\nAn angel form s faun to thy share,\\nTwad been o er meikle to gien thee mair,\\nI mean an angel mind.\\nAFTON WATER.\\nFlow gently, sweet Afton, among the green braes,\\nFlow gently, I ll sing thee a song in thy praise\\nMy Mary s asleep by the murmuring stream,\\nFlow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.\\nThou stock dove whose echo resounds thro the glen,\\nYe wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,\\nThou green- crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,\\nI charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.\\nHow lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,\\nFar mark d with courses of clear winding rills\\nThere daily I wander as noon rises high,\\nMy flocks and my Mary s sweet cot in my eye.\\nHow pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,\\nWhere wild in the woodlands the primroses blow\\nThere oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,\\nThe sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and ine.\\nThy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,\\nAnd winds by the cot where my Mary resides\\nHow wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,\\nAs gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.\\nFlow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,\\nFlow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays\\nMy Mary s asleep by thy murmuring stream,\\nFlow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.\\nBONNIE BELL.\\nThe smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,\\nAnd surly Winter grimly flies\\nNow crystal clear are the falling waters,\\nAnd bonnie blue are the sunny skies;\\nFresh o er the mountains breaks forth the morning,\\nThe ev ning gilds the ocean s swell\\nAll creatures joy in the sun s returning,\\nAnd I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.\\nThe flow ry Spring leads sunny Summer,\\nAnd yellow Autumn presses near,\\nThen in his turn comes gloomy Winter,\\nTill smiling Spring again appear.", "height": "4508", "width": "2968", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0444.jp2"}, "445": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 41\\nThus seasons dancing, life advancing,\\nOld Time and Nature their changes tell,\\nBut never ranging, still unchanging\\nI adore my bonnie Bell.\\nTHE GALLANT WEAVER.\\nWhere Cart rins rowin to the sea,\\nBj mony a flow r and spreading tree,\\nThere lives a lad, the lad for me,\\nHe is a gallant weaver.\\nOh I had wooers aught or nine,\\nThey gied me rings and ribbons fine\\nAnd I was fear d my heart would tine,\\nAnd I gied it to the weaver.\\nMy daddie sign d my tocher-band\\nTo gie the lad that has the land,\\nBut to my heart I ll add my hand,\\nAnd give it to the weaver.\\nWhile birds rejoice in leafy bowers\\nWhile bees delight in opening flowers\\nWhile corn grows green in simmer showers,\\nI ll love my gallant weaver.*\\nLOUIS, WHAT EECK I BY THEE.\\nLouis, what reck I by thee,\\nOr Geordie on his ocean\\nDyvor beggar louns to me,\\nI reign in Jeanie s bosom.\\nLet her crown my love her law,\\nAnd in her breast enthrone me\\nKings and nations, swith awa\\nEeif randies I disown ye\\nFOE THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY.\\nMy heart is sair, I dare nae tell,\\nMy heart is sair for somebody\\nI could wake a winter night\\nFor the sake of somebody.\\nOh-hon for somebody\\nOh-hey for somebody\\nI could range the world around,\\nFor the sake of somebody\\nYe powers that smile on virtuous love,\\nsweetly smile on somebody\\nFrae ilka danger keep him free,\\nAnd send me safe my somebody\\nOh-hon for somebody\\nOh-hey for somebody\\nI wad do what wad I not.\\nFor the sake of somebody\\nIn some editions Sailor is substituted for Weaver.\\nT 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0445.jp2"}, "446": {"fulltext": "442 burns works;\\nTHE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS.\\nThe lovely lass o Inverness,\\nNae joy nor pleasure can she see;\\nFor e en and morn she cries, alas\\nAnd aye the saut tear blins her e e\\nDramossie moor, Drumossie day,\\nA waefu day it was to me\\nFor there I lost my father dear,\\nMy father dear, and brethren three.\\nTheir winding sheet the bloody clay,\\nTheir graves are growing green to see\\nAnd by them lies the dearest lad\\nThat ever blest a woman s e e\\nNow wae to thee, thou cruel lord,\\nA bluidy man I trow thou be\\nFor mony a heart thou hast made sair,\\nThat ne er did wrong to thine or thee.\\nA MOTHER S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Finlayston House.\\nFate gave the word, the arrow sped,\\nAnd pierced my darling s heart\\nAnd with him all the joys are lied\\nLife can to me impart.\\nBy cruel hands the sapling drops,\\nIn dust dishonour d laid\\nSo fell the pride of all my, hopes,\\nMy age s future shade.\\nThe mother linnet in the brake\\nBewails her ravished young;\\nSo I for my lost darling s sake,\\nLament the live-day long.\\nDeath, oft I ve fear d thy fatal blow,\\nNow fond I bare my breast,\\nO do thou kindly lay me low\\nWith him I love at rest\\nO MAY, THY MORN.\\nMay, thy morn was ne er sae sweet,\\nAs the mirk night o December\\nFor sparkling was the rosy wine,\\nAnd private was the chamber\\nAnd dear was she I darna name,\\nBut I will aye remember\\nAnd dear, c.\\nAnd here s to them, that like oursel,\\nCan push about the jorum;\\nAnd here s to them that wish us weel,\\nMay a that s gude watch o er them\\nAnd here s to them, we darna tell,\\nThe dearest o the quorum,\\nAnd here s to, c.", "height": "4508", "width": "2988", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0446.jp2"}, "447": {"fulltext": "O WHAT YE WHA S IN YON TOWN.\\nO what ye wha s in yon town,\\nYe see the e ening sun upon,\\nThe fairest dame s in yon town,\\nThat e ening sun is shining on.\\nNow haply down yon gay green shaw,\\nShe wanders by yon spreading tree\\nHow blest ye flow rs that mind herblaw,\\nYe catch the glances o her e e.\\nHow blest ye birds that round her sing,\\nAnd welcome in the blooming year,\\nAnd doubly welcome be the spring,\\nThe season to my Lucy dear.\\nThe sun blinks blythe on yon town,\\nAnd on yon bonnie braes of Ayr\\nBut my delight in yon town,\\nAnd dearest bliss is Lucy fair.\\nWithout my love, not a the charms,\\n0 paradise could yield me joy\\nBut gie me Lucy in my arms,\\nAnd welcome Lapland s dreary sky*\\nMy cave wad be a lover s bower,\\nTho raging winter rent the air\\nAnd she a lovely little flower,\\nThat I wad tent and shelter there.\\nsweet is she in yon town,\\nYon sinkin sun s gane down upon\\nA fairer than s in yon town,\\nHis setting beam ne er shone upon.\\nIf angry fate has sworn my foe,\\nAnd suffering I am doom d to bear;\\n1 careless quit aught else below,\\nBut spare me, spare me, Lucy dear.\\nFor while life s dearest blood is warm,\\nAe thought frae her shall ne er depart,\\nAnd she as fairest is her form\\nShe has the truest kindest heart.\\nA RED, RED ROSE.\\nO my love s like a red, red rose,\\nThat s newly sprung in June,\\nO my love s like the melody,\\nThat s sweetly play d in tune.\\nAs fair art thou, my bonnie lass,\\nSo deep in love am I\\nAnd I will love thee still, my dear,\\nTill a the seas gang dry.\\nTill a the seas gang dry, my dear,\\nAnd the rocks melt wi the sun;", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0447.jp2"}, "448": {"fulltext": "444 burns works.\\nI will love thee still, my dear,\\nWhile the sands o life shall run.\\nAnd fare thee weel, my only love,\\nAnd fare thee weel awhile\\nAnd I will come again, my love,\\nTho it were ten thousand mile.\\nA YISIOET.\\nAs I stood by yon roofless tower,\\nWhere the wa -flower scents the dewy air,\\nWhere th h owlet mourns in her ivy bower,\\nAnd tells the midnight moon her care.\\nThe winds were laid, the air was still,\\nThe stars they shot alang the sky\\nThe fox was howling on the hill,\\nAnd the distant echoing glens reply.\\nThe stream adown its hazelly path,\\nWas rushing by the ruin d wa s,\\nHasting to join the sweeping Mth,\\nWhase distant roaring swells and fa s.\\nThe cauld blue north was streaming forth\\nHer lights, wi hissing eerie din\\nAthort the lift they start and shift,\\nLike fortune s favours, tint as win.\\nBy heedless chance I turn d mine eyes,\\nAnd, by the moon-beam, shook to see\\nA stern and stalwart ghaist arise,\\nAttir d as minstrels wont to be.\\nHad I a statue been of stane,\\nHis darin look had daunted me\\nAnd on his bonnet grav d was plain,\\nThe sacred posie Liberty\\nAnd frae his harp sic strains did flow,\\nMight roused the slumb ring dead to hear\\nBHt oh, it was a tale of woe,\\nAs ever met a Briton s ear\\nHe sang wi joy his former day,\\nHe weeping wail d his latter times\\nBut what he said it was nae play,\\nI winna ventur t in my rhymes.\\nCOPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS\\nTO\\nME. WILLIAM TYTLER,\\nWITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD S PICTURE.\\nRevered defender of beauteous Stuart,\\nOf Stuart, a name once respected\\nA name, which to love was the mark of a true heart=\\nBut now tis despised and neglected", "height": "4508", "width": "2984", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0448.jp2"}, "449": {"fulltext": "poems. 445\\nTho something like moisture conglobes in my eye\\nLet no one misdeem me disloyal\\nA poor friendless wand rer may well claim a sigh,\\nStill more, if that wand rer were royal.\\nMy fathers, that name have rever d on a throne\\nMy fathers have fallen to right it\\nThose fathers would spurn their degenerate son,\\nThat name should he scoffingly slight it.\\nStill in prayers for King George I most heartily join,\\nThe Queen and the rest of the gentry,\\nBe they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine\\nTheir title s avow d by the country.\\nBut why of that epocha make such a fuss,\\nBut loyalty, truce we re on dangerous ground,\\nWho knows how the fashions may alter,\\nThe doctrine, to day that is loyalty sound,\\nTo-morrow may bring us a halter.\\nI send you a trifle, a head of a bard,\\nA trifle scarce worthy your care\\nBut accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard,\\nSincere as a saint s dying prayer.\\nNow life s chilly evening dim shades on your eye,\\nAnd ushers the long dreary night\\nBut you, like the star that awthwart gilds the sky,\\nYour course to the latest is bright.\\nMy muse jilted me here, and turned a corner on me, and I have\\nnot got again into her good graces. Do me the justice to believe\\nme sincere in my grateful remembrance of the many civilities you\\nhave honoured me with since I came to Edinburgh, and in assur-\\ning you that I have the honour to be,\\nEevered Sir,\\nYour obliged and very humble Servant,\\nBUKNS.\\nEdinburgh, 1787.\\nCALEDONIA.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Caledonian Hunt s Delight.\\nThere was once a day, but old Time then was young,\\nThat brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,\\nFrom some of your northern deities sprung,\\n(Who knows not that brave Caledonia s divine?)\\nFrom Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,\\nTo hunt, or to pasture, or to do what she would\\nHer heavenly relations there fixed her reign,\\nAnd pledg d her their godheads to warrant it good.\\nA lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,\\nThe pride of her kindred the heroine grew\\nHer grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,\\nWhoe er shall provoke thee th encounter shall rue,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0449.jp2"}, "450": {"fulltext": "446 burns works*\\nWith tillage or pasture at times she would sport,\\nTo feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn,\\nBut chiefly the woods were herfav rite resort,\\nHer darling amusement, the hounds and the horn*\\nLong quiet she reigned till thitherward steers\\nA flight of young eagles from Adria s strand\\nRepeated, successive, for many long years,\\nThey darken d the air, and they plundered the land\\nTheir pounces were murder, and terror their cry,\\nThey d conquer d and ruin d a world beside\\nShe took to her hills and her arrows let fly,\\nThe daring invaders they fled or they died.\\nThe fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north,\\nThe scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore\\nThe wild Scandinavian boar issued forth\\nTo wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore\\nO er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail d,\\nNo arts could appease them, nor arms could repel\\nBut brave Caledonia in vain they assail d,\\nAs Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.\\nThe Cameleon-savage disturb d her repose,\\nWith tumult, disquiet, rebellion and strife\\nProvoked beyond bearing, at last she arose,\\nAnd robb d him at once of his hopes and his life\\nThe Anglian lion, the terror of France,\\nOft prowling, ensanguin d the Tweed s silver flood;\\nBut taught by the bright Caledonian lance,\\nHe learned to fear in his own native wood.\\nThus bold, independent, unconquer d and free,\\nHer bright course of glory for ever shall run\\nFor brave Caledonia immortal must be\\nI ll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun\\nRectangle triangle, the figure we ll choose,\\nThe upright is Chance, and old Time is the base\\nBut brave Caledonia s the hypothenuse\\nThen ergo she ll match them, and match them always.\\nTHE FOLLOWING POEM\\nWAS WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER,\\nAND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE.\\nKind sir, I ve read your paper through,\\nAnd faith, to me, twas really new\\nHow guessed ye, sir, what maist I wanted\\nThis mony a day I ve grain d and grunted,\\nTo ken what French mischief was brewin\\nOr what the drumlie Dutch were doin\\nThat vile doup skelper, Emperor Joseph,\\nIf Yenus yet had got his nose off;\\nOr how the collieshangic works\\nAtween the Russian and the Turks\\nOr if the Swede before he halt,\\nWould play anither Charles the Twalt", "height": "4508", "width": "3000", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0450.jp2"}, "451": {"fulltext": "If Denmark, ony body spak o t\\nOr Poland, wha had now the tack o t\\nHow cut- throat Prussian blades were hingin\\nHow libbet Italy was singin\\nIf Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,\\nWere sayin or takin ought amiss\\nOr how our merry lads at hame,\\nIn Britain s court kept up the game\\nHow royal George, the Lord leuk o er him\\nWas managing St. Stephen s quorum\\nIf sleekit Chatham Will was livin\\nOr glaikit Charlie got his nieve in\\nHow daddie Burke the plea was cookin,\\nIf Warren Hastings neck was yeukin\\nHow cesses, stents, and fees were raxed,\\nOr if bare a yet were taxed\\nThe news o princes, dukes, and earls,\\nPimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls\\nIf that daft Buckie, Geordie Wales,\\nWas threshin still at hizzies tails,\\nOr if he was growin oughtlins douser,\\nAnd no a perfect kintra cooser.\\nA this and mair I never heard of;\\nAnd, but for you, I might despair d of.\\nSo gratefu back your news I send you.\\nAnd pray, a* guid things may attend you\\nEllisland, Monday Morning, 1790.\\nPOEM.\\nON PASTORAL POETRY.\\nHail Poesie thou nymph reserved\\nIn chase o thee, what crowds hae swerved\\nFrae common sense, or sunk enerved\\nMang heaps o clavers\\nAnd och o er aft thy joes hae starved,\\nMid a thy favours\\nSay, Lassie, why thy train amang,\\nWhile loud the trump s heroic clang,\\nAnd sock or buskin skelp alang\\nTo death or marriage\\nScarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang\\nBut wi miscarriage 1\\nIn Homer s craft Jock Milton thrives\\nEschylus pen Will Shakespeare drives\\nWee Pope, the knurlin, till him rives\\nHoratian fame\\nIn thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives\\nEven Sappho s flame.\\nBut thee, Theocritus, wha matches?\\nThey re no herd s ballats, Maro s catches\\nSquire Pope but busks his skinlin patches\\n0 heathen tatters\\nI pass by hunders, nameless wretches,\\nThat ape their betters.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0451.jp2"}, "452": {"fulltext": "[48\\nBURNS WORKS.\\nIn this braw age o wit and lear,\\nWill nane the Shepherd s whistle mair\\nBlaw sweetly in its native air\\nAnd rural grace\\nAnd wi the far-famed Grecian share\\nA rival place\\nYes there is ane a Scottish callan\\nThere s ane come forrit, honest Allan\\nThou need na jouk behint the hallan,\\nA chiel so clever\\nThe teeth o time may gnaw Tamtallan,\\nBut thou s for ever.\\nThou paints auld nature to the nines,\\nIn thy sweet Caledonian lines\\n!N ae gowden stream thro myrtles twines,\\nWhere Philomel,\\nWhile nightly breezes sweep the vines,\\nHer griefs will tell\\nIn gowany glens thy burnie strays,\\nWhere bonnie lasses bleach their claes\\nOr trots by hazelly shaws or braes,\\nWi hawthorns gray,\\nWhere blackbirds join the shepherd s lays\\nAt close o day.\\nThy rural loves are nature s sel\\n]^ae bombast spates o nonsense swell\\nISslq snap conceits, but that sweet spell\\n0 witcliin love,\\nThat charm that can the strongest quell,\\nThe sternest move.\\nTHE BATTLE OF SHER1FF-MTTIR.\\nBETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR.\\ncam ye here the fight to shun,\\nOr herd the sheep wi me, man?\\nOr were ye at the Sherra-muir,\\nAnd did the battle see, man\\nI saw the battle sair and teugh,\\nAnd reekin-red ran monie a sheugh,\\nMy heart for fear gae sough for sough,\\nTo hear the thud?, and see the cluds\\n0 clans frae woods, in tartan duds,\\nWha glaum d at kingdoms three, man.\\nThe red-coat lads wi black cockades,\\nTo meet them were na slaw, man\\nThey rush d and push d, and bluid outgush d,\\nAnd mony a bouk did fa man\\nThe great Argyle led on his file?,\\nI wat they glanced twenty miles\\nThey hack d and hash d, while broadswords chish d,\\nAnd thro they dash d, and hew d and smash d,\\nTill fey men died awa, man.", "height": "4508", "width": "2984", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0452.jp2"}, "453": {"fulltext": "poems. 449\\nBut had you seen the philibegs,\\nAnd skyrin tartan trews, man,\\nWhen in the teeth they dar d our whigs,\\nA nd covenant true blues, man\\nIn lines extended lang and large,\\nWhen bayonets opposed the targe,\\nAnd thousands hastened to the charge,\\nWi highland wrath they frae the sheath,\\nDrew blades o death, till out o breath,\\nThey fled like frighted doos, man.\\nhow deil Tarn can that be true 1\\nThe chase gaed frae the north, man\\nI saw myself, they did pursue\\nThe horseman back to Forth, man;\\nAnd at Dumblane, in my ain sight,\\nThey took the brig wi a their might,\\nAnd straught to Stirling winged their flight\\nBut, cursed lot the gates were shut\\nAnd money a hunted poor red coat\\nFor fear amaist did swarf, man.\\nMy sister Kate came up the gate\\nWi crowdie unto me, man\\nShe swoor she saw some rebels run,\\nFrae Perth unto Dundee, man\\nTheir left- hand general had nae skill,\\nThe Angus lads had nae good will\\nThat day their neebor s blocd to spill\\nFor fear by foes, that they should lose\\nTheir cogs o brose all crying woes,\\nAnd so it goes, you see, man.\\nThey ve lost some gallant gentlemen,\\nAmang the Highland clans, man\\nI fear my Lord Panmure is slain,\\nOr fallen in whiggish hands, man\\nNow wad ye sing this double fight,\\nSome fell for wrang, and some for right\\nBut mony bade the world gude-night\\nThen ye may tell, how pell and mell,\\nBy red claymores, and muskets, knell,\\nWi dying yell, the tories fell,\\nAnd whigs to hell did flee, man.\\nSKETCH.\\nNEW YEAR S DAY.\\nTO MRS. DTTNLOP.\\nThis day, Time winds th exhausted chain,\\nTo run the twelvemonths length again\\nI see the old bald-pated fellow,\\nWith ardent eyes, complexion sallow\\nAdjust the unimpair d machine,\\nTo wheel the equal dull routine.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0453.jp2"}, "454": {"fulltext": "450 burns works.\\nThe absent lover, minor heir,\\nIn vain assail him with their prayer.\\nDeaf as my friend he sees them press,\\nNor makes the hour one moment less.\\nWill you (the Major s with the hounds,\\nThe happy tenants share his rounds\\nCoila s fair Rachel s care to-day,\\nAnd blooming Keith s engaged with Gray\\nFrom housewife cares a minute borrow\\nThat grandchild s cap will do to-morrow\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd join with me a moralizing,\\nThis day s propitious to be wise in.\\nFirst, what did yesternight deliver\\nAnother year is gone for ever.\\nAnd what is this day s strong suggestion\\nu The passing moment s all we rest on\\nRest on for what What do we here\\nOr why regard the passing year\\nWill time, amus d with proverb d lore,\\nAdd to our date one minute more 1\\nA few days may a few years must\\nRepose us in the silent dust.\\nThen, is it wise to damp our bliss\\nYes, all such reasonings are amiss\\nThe voice of nature loudly cries,\\nAnd many a message from the skies,\\nThat something in U3 never dies\\nThat on this frail, uncertain state,\\nHang matters of eternal weight\\nThat future-life in worlds unknown\\nMust take its hue from this alone\\nWhether as heavenly glory bright,\\nOr dark as misery s woeful night\\nSince then, my honour d first of friends.\\nOn this poor being all depends\\nLet us th important now employ,\\nAnd live as those who never die.\\nTho you, with days and honours crown d,\\nWitness that filial circle round,\\n(A sight life s sorrows to repulse,\\nA sight pale envy to convulse),\\nOthers now claim your chief regard\\nYourself, you wait your bright reward.\\nEXTEMPORE,\\nON THE LATE MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE,\\nAUTHOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, AND MEMBER OF THE ANIl\\nQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH.\\nTo Crochallan came\\nThe old cock d hat, the grey surtout, the same\\nHis bristling beard just rising in its might,\\nTwas four long nights and days to shaving night,\\nHis uncombed grizzly locks wild- staring, thatch d,\\nA head for thought profound and clear, unmatched", "height": "4508", "width": "3000", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0454.jp2"}, "455": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 451\\nYet,tho 5 his caustic wit was biting, rude,\\nHis heart was warm, benevolent and good.\\nPOETICAL INSCRIPTION,\\nFOR\\nAN ALTAE TO INDEPENDENCE,\\nAT KEJHIOUCHTEY, THE SEAT OF MR. HEBON.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WBITTEN IN SUMMER 1795.\\nThou of an independent mind,\\nWith soul resolved, with soul resigned\\nPrepared power s proudest fro *vn to brave,\\nWho wilt not be, nor have a slave\\nVirtue alone who dost revere,\\nThy own reproach alone dost fear,\\nApproach this shrine, and worship here.\\nSONNET,\\nON\\nTHE DEATH OF ME. EIDDEL.\\nNo more, ye warblers of the wood, no more,\\nNor pour your descant grating on my ear\\nThou young-eyed Spring thy charms I cannot bear\\nMore welcome were to me grim Winter s wildest roar.\\nHow can ye please, ye flowers, with all your dies 1\\nYe blow upon the sod that wraps my friend\\nHow can I to the tuneful strain attend\\nThat strain pours round th untimely tomb where Eiddel lies.\\nYes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe,\\nAnd soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier;\\nThe Man of Worth, and has not left his peer,\\nIs in his narrow house* for ever darkly low.\\nThee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet;\\nMe, mem ry of my loss will only meet.\\nMONODY\\nON\\nA LADY FAMED FOE HEE CAPEICE.\\nHow cold is that bosom which folly once fir d,\\nHow pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten d\\nHow silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired,\\nHow dull is that ear which to flattery so listened.\\nIf sorrow and anguish their exit await,\\nFrom friendship and dearest affection removed\\nHow doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate,\\nThou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unloved.\\nLoves, graces, and virtues, I call not on you\\nSo shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear\\nBut come, all ye offspring of folly so true,\\nAnd flowers let us cull for Eliza s cold bier.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0455.jp2"}, "456": {"fulltext": "452 BURNS WORKS.\\nWe ll search through the garden for each silly flower,\\nWe ll roam through the forest for each idle weed\\nBut chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower,\\nFor none e er approach d her but rued the rash deed.\\nWe ll sculpture the marble, we ll measure the lay\\nHere Yanity strums on her idiot lyre\\nThere keen indignation shall dart on her prey,\\nWhich spurning contempt shall redeem from his ire.\\nTHE EPITAPH.\\nHere lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,\\nWhat once was a butterfly gay in life s beam\\nWant only of wisdom denied her respect,\\nWant only of goodness denied her esteem.\\nANSWER TO A MANDATE\\nSENT BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE WINDOWS, CARRIAGES, C. TO EACH\\nFARMER, ORDERING HIM TO SEND A LIST OF HIS HORSES, SERVANTS,\\nWHEEL- CARRIAGES, C. AND WHETHER HE WAS A MARRIED MAN OR A\\nBACHELOR, AND WHAT CHILDREN THEY HAD.\\nSir, as your mandate did request,\\nI send you here a faithfu list,\\nMy horses, servants, carts, and graith,\\nTo which I m free to tak my aith.\\nImprimis, then, for carriage cattle,\\nI hae four brutes o gallant mettle,\\nAs ever drew before a pettle.\\nMy hand-afore, a guid auld has been\\nAnd wight and wilfu a his days seen\\nMy hand-akin, a guid brown tilly,\\nWha aft has borne me safe frae Killie\\nAnd your auld borough mony a time,\\nIn days when riding was nae crime\\nMy fur-a-hin a guid, grey beast,\\nAs e er in tug or tow was traced\\nThe fourth, a Highland Donald hasty,\\nA d-mn d red-wud, Kilburnie blastie.\\nFor-by a cowte, of cowtes the wale,\\nAs ever ran before a tail\\nAn he be spared to be a beast,\\nHe ll draw me fifteen pund at least.\\nWheel carriages I hae but few,\\nThree carts, and twa are feckly new,\\nAn auld wheel-barrow, mair for token,\\nAe leg and baith the trams are broken\\nI made a poker o the spindle,\\nAnd my auld mither brunt the trundle.\\nFor men, I ve three mischievous boys,\\nRun-deils for rantin and for noise\\nA gadsman ane, a thresher t other,\\nWee Davoc hauds the nowt in fother.", "height": "4508", "width": "3016", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0456.jp2"}, "457": {"fulltext": "poems. 453\\n1 rule them, as I ought, discreetly,\\nAnd often labour them completely,\\nAnd aye on Sundays duly nightly,\\nI on the questions tairge them tightly,\\nTill, faith wee Davoc s grown so gleg,\\n(Tho scarcely langer than my leg)\\nHe ll screed you aff effectual calling,\\nAs fast as ony in the dwalling.\\nI ve nane in female servant station,\\nLord keep me aye frae a temptation\\nI hae nae wife, and that my bliss is,\\nAnd ye hae laid nae tax on misses\\nFor weans I m niair than weel contented,\\nHeaven sent me ane mair than I wanted\\nMy sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,\\nShe stares the daddie in her face,\\nEnough of ought ye like but grace.\\nBut her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady,\\nI ve said enough for her already,\\nAnd if ye tax her or her mither,\\nBy the L d ye se yet them a thegither\\nAnd now, remember, Mr. Aiken,\\nNae kind of license out I m taking,\\nThro dirt and dub for life I ll paidle,\\nEre I sae dear pay for a saddle\\nI ve sturdy stumps, the Lord be thankit\\nAnd a my gates on foot I ll shank it.\\nThis list wi my ain hand I ve wrote it,\\nThe day and date as under notet\\nThen know all ye whom it concerns,\\nSubscripsi hide.\\nROBERT BURNS.\\nSONG.\\nNae dames, tho e er sae fair\\nShall ever be my muse s care\\nTheir titles a are empty show;\\nGie me my highland lassie, 0.\\nWithin the glen sae bushy, O,\\nAboon the plain sae rushy, O\\nI set me down, wi right good will,\\nTo sing my highland lassie, 0.\\nwere yon hills and valleys mine,\\nYon palace and yon gardens fine\\nThe world then the love should know\\nI bear my highland lassie, 0.\\nWithin the glen, c.\\nBut fickle fortune frowns on me,\\nAnd I maun cross the raging sea\\nBut while the crimson currents flow,\\nI ll love my highland lassie, O.\\nWithin the glen, c,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0457.jp2"}, "458": {"fulltext": "454 BURNS* WORKS,\\nAltho thro foreign climes 1 range,\\nI know her heart will never change,\\nFor her bosom burns with honour s glow\\nMy faithful highland lassie, 0.\\nWithin the glen, c.\\nFor her I ll dare the billow s roar,\\nFor her I ll trace a distant shore,\\nThat Indian wealth may lustre throw,\\nAround my highland lassie,\\nWithin the glen, c.\\nShe has my heart, she ha3 my hand,\\nBy sacred truth and honour s band\\nTill the mortal stroke shall lay me low,\\nI m thine my highland lassie, O.\\nWithin the glen, c.\\nFarewell the glen sae bushy, O\\nFarewell the plain sae rushy, O\\nTo other lands I now must go\\nTo sing my highland lassie, 0.\\nIMPROMPTU,\\nON MRS. *S BIRTH DAY.\\n4th November, 1 798.\\nOld Winter with his frosty beard,\\nThus once to Jove his prayer preferr d\\nWhat have I done of all the year,\\nTo bear this hated doom severe\\nMy cheerless sons no pleasure know;\\nNight s horrid car drags, dreary, slow\\nMy dismal months no joys are crowning,\\nBut spleeny English hanging, drowning.\\nNow, Jove, for once be mighty civil\\nTo counterbalance all this evil\\nGive me, and I ve no more to say,\\nGive me Maria s natal day\\nThat brilliant gift will so enrich me,\\nSpring, Summer, Autumn cannot match me\\nTis done says Jove so ends my story,\\nAnd Winter once rejoiced in glory.\\nADDRESS TO A LADY.\\nOh wert thou in the cauld blast,\\nOn yondea lea, on yonder lea,\\nMy plaidie to the angry airt,\\nI d shelter thee, I d shelter thee\\nOr did misfortune s bitter storms\\nAround thee blaw, around thee blaw,\\nThy bield should be my bosom,\\nTo share it a to share it a\\nOr were I in the wildest waste,\\nSae black and frare, sae black and bare.", "height": "4508", "width": "2984", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0458.jp2"}, "459": {"fulltext": "poems, 455\\nThe desert were a paradise,\\nIf thou wert there, if thou wert there.\\nOr were I monarch o the globe,\\nWi thee to reign, wi thee to reign\\nThe brightest jewel in my crown\\nWad be my queen, wad be my queen.\\nTO A YOUNG LADY,\\nMISS JESST L OF DUMFRIES;\\nWITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER.\\nThine be the volumes, Jessy fair,\\nAnd with them take the poet s prayer\\nThat fate may in her fairest page,\\nWith every kindliest, best presage\\nOf future bliss, enrol thy name\\nWith native worth, and spotless fame,\\nAnd wakeful caution, still aware\\nOf ill but chief, man s felon snare;\\nAnd blameless joys on earth we find,\\nAnd all the treasures of the mind\\nThese be thy guardian and reward\\nSo prays thy faithful friend, the lard.\\nSONNET,\\nWRITTEN ON THE 25TH JANUARY 1793, THE BIRTH-DAY OF THH\\nAUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK.,\\nSing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,\\nSing on sweet bird, I listen to thy strain,\\nSee aged Winter mid his surly reign,\\nAt thy blythe carol clears his furrowed brow.\\nSo in lone poverty s dominion drear,\\nSits meek content with light unanxious heart,\\nWelcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,\\nNor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear.\\nI thank thee, Author of this opening day\\nThou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies\\nEiches denied, thy boon was purer joys,\\nWhat wealth could never give nor take away\\nYet come, thou child of poverty and care,\\nThe mite high heaven bestowed, that mite with thee I ll share.\\nEXTEMPORE,\\nTO MR. S\u00e2\u0080\u0094 E,\\nON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAYING BEEN PROMISED THS\\nFIRST OF COMPANY, AND THE FIRST OF COOKERY, 17TH DEC, 17 V\u00c2\u00a3.\\nNo more of your guests, be they titled or not,\\nAnd cookery the first in the nation\\nWho is proof to thy personal converse and wit,\\nIs proof to all other temptation,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0459.jp2"}, "460": {"fulltext": "456 burn s works.\\nTo Mr. S\u00e2\u0080\u0094 E,\\nWITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OP PORTER.\\nO had the malt thy strength of mind,\\nOr hops the flavour of thy wit\\nTwere drink for first of human kind,\\nA gift that e en for S\u00e2\u0080\u0094 e were fit.\\nJerusalem Tavern, Dumfries.\\nTHE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.\\nTune Push about the Jorum.\\nApril, 1795.\\nDoes haughty Gaul invasion threat\\nThen let the loons beware, sir,\\nThere s wooden walls upon our seas,\\nAnd volunteers on shore, sir.\\nThe Mth shall run to Corsincon,\\nAnd Criffel sink in Sol way,\\nEre we permit a foreign foe\\nOn British ground to rally\\nFal de rail, c.\\nlet us not, like snarling tykes,\\nIn wrangling be divided\\nTill slap come in an unco loon\\nAnd wi a rung decide it.\\nBe Britain still to Britain true*\\nAmang oursels united\\nFor never but by British hands\\nMaun British wrangs he righted.\\nFal de rail, c.\\nThe kettle o the kirk and state,\\nPerhaps a clout may fail in t\\nBut deil a foreign tinkler loon\\nShall ever ca a nail in t.\\nOur fathers bluid the kettle bought,\\nAnd wha wad dare to spoil it\\nBy heaven the sacrilegious dog\\nShall fuel be to boil it.\\nFal de rail, c.\\nThe wretch that wad a tyrant own,\\nAnd the wretch his true-born brother,\\nWho would set the mob aboon the throne,\\nMay they be damned together\\nWho will not sing God save the king/\\nShall hang as high s the steeple\\nBut, while we sing God save the king,\\nWe ll ne er forget the people.\\nPOEM,\\nADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OP EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 179\\nFriend of the poet, tried and leal,\\nWha, wanting thee, might beg or Bteal;", "height": "4508", "width": "3016", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0460.jp2"}, "461": {"fulltext": "poems. 457\\nAlake, alake, the meikle deil,\\nWi* a* his witches\\nAre at it, skelphin jig and reel,\\nIn my poor pouches.\\nI, modestly, fa* fain wad hint it,\\nThat one pound one, 1 sairly want it\\nIf wi the hizzie down ye send it,\\nIt would be kind\\nAnd while my heart wi life-blood dunted\\nI d bear t in mind.\\nSo may the auld year gang out moaning\\nTo see the new come laden, groaning,\\nWi* double plenty o er the loanin\\nTo thee and thine\\nDomestic peace and comforts crowning\\nThe hail design.\\nPOSTSCRIPT.\\nYe ve heard this while how I ve been licket,\\nAnd by fell death was nearly nicket\\nGrim loon he gat me by the fecket,\\nAnd sair me sheuk\\nBut, by guid luck, I lap a wicket,\\nAnd turn d a neuk.\\nBut by that health, I ve got a share o t,\\nAnd by that life I m promised mair o t,\\nMy hale and weel 111 tak a care o t\\nA tentier way\\nThen farewell folly, hide and hair o t,\\nFor ance and aye.\\nSE8T TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED.\\nThe friend whom wild from wisdom s way,\\nThe fumes of wine infuriate send\\n(Not moony madness more astray)\\nWho but deplores that hapless friend\\nWine was th* insensate frenzied part,\\nAh why should I such scenes outlive\\nScenes so abhorrent to my heart\\nTis thine to pity and forgive.\\nPOEM ON LIFE,\\nADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER, DUMFRIES, 1796.\\nMt honoured colonel, deep I feel\\nYour interest in the poet s weel\\nAh how sma heart hae I to speel\\nThe steep Parnassus,\\nSurrounded thus by bolus pill,\\nAnd potion glasses.\\nO what a canty world were it,\\nWould pain and care, and sickness spare it\\nu", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0461.jp2"}, "462": {"fulltext": "458\\nburns Works.\\nAnd fortune, favour, worth, and merit,\\nAs they deserve\\n(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret\\nSyne wha would starve?)\\nDame life, tho fiction out may trick her,\\nAnd in paste gems and frippery deck her\\nOh flickering, feeble, and unsicker\\nI ve found her still,\\nAye wavering like the willow wicker,\\nTween good and ill.\\nThen that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,\\nWatches like baudrons by a rattan,\\nOur sinfu saul to get a claut on\\nWi felon ire\\nSyne, whip his tail yell ne er cast saut on,\\nHe s aff like fire.\\nAh Nick ah Nick, it is na fair,\\nFirst showing us the tempting ware,\\nBright wines and bonnie lasses rare,\\nTo put us daft\\nSyne weave unseen thy spider s snare\\nhell s damn d waft.\\nPoor man, the file, aft bizzes by,\\nAnd aft as chance he comes thee nigh,\\nThy auld damn d elbow yeuks wi joy,\\nAnd hellish pleasure\\nAlready in thy fancy s eye,\\nThy sicker treasure.\\nSoon heels o er gowdie in he gangs,\\nAnd like a sheep-head on a tangs,\\nThy girning laugh enjoys his pangs\\nAnd murdering wrestle^\\nAs dangling in the wind he hangs\\nA gibbet s tassel.\\nBut lest you think I am uncivil,\\nTo plague you with this draunting drivel,\\nAbjuring a intentions evil,\\n1 squat my pen\\nThe Lord preserve us frae the devil I\\nAmen amen\\nADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE.\\nMt curse upon your venom d stang,\\nThat shoots my tortur d gums alang\\nAnd thro my lugs gies mony a twang,\\nWi gnawing vengeance\\nTearing my nerves wi bitter pang,\\nLike racking engines\\nWhen fevers burn, or ague freezes,\\nRheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes\\nOur neighbour s sympathy may ease us\\nWi* pitying moan", "height": "4508", "width": "3020", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0462.jp2"}, "463": {"fulltext": "i?OEtos\\\\ 459\\nBut thee\u00e2\u0080\u0094 thou hell o a diseases,\\nAye mocks our groan\\nAdown my beard the slavers trickle\\nI throw the wee stools o er the meikle,\\nAs round the fire the giglets keckle,\\nTo see me loup\\nWhile raving mad, I wish a heckle\\nWere in their doup.\\n0 a* the num rous human dools,\\n111 har sts, daft bargains, cutty stools,\\nOr worthy friends raked i the mools,\\nSad sight to see\\nThe tricks o knaves or fash o* fools,\\nThou bear st the gree,\\nWhere er that place be, priests ca hell,\\nWhence a the tones o mis ry yell,\\nAnd ranked plagues their numbers tell,\\nIn dreadfu raw,\\nThou, Tooth-ache, surely bear st the bell,\\nAmang them a\\nO thou grim mischief making chiel,\\nThat gars the notes o* discord squeel,\\nTill daft mankind aft dance a reel\\nIn gore a shoe-thick\\nGie a the faes o Sctoland s weel\\nA towmond s Tooth-Ache.\\nSONG.\\nTone.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Morag.\\nO wha is she that lo es me,\\nAnd has my heart a-keeping?\\nO sweet is she that lo es me,\\nAs dews o summer weeping,\\nIn tears the rose-buds steeping.\\nCHORUS.\\nO that s the lassie o my heart,\\nMy lassie ever dearer\\nthat s the queen o womankind,\\nAnd ne er a ane to peer her.\\nIf thou shalt meet a lassie,\\nIn grace and beauty charming,\\nThat e en thy chosen lassie,\\nEre while thy breast sae warming\\nHad ne er sic powers alarming.\\nthat s, c.\\nIf thou hadst heard her talking,\\nAnd thy attentions plighted,\\nThat ilka body talking,\\nBut her by thee is slighted\\nAnd thou art all delighted.\\nthat s c.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0463.jp2"}, "464": {"fulltext": "460 BURNS WORKS.\\nIf thou hast met this fair one\\nWhen frae her thou hast parted,\\nIf every other fair one,\\nBut her thou hast deserted,\\nAnd thou art broken hearted\\nthat s c.\\nSONG.\\nJockie s ta en the parting kiss,\\nO er the mountain he is gane\\nAnd with him is a my bliss,\\nNought but griefs with me remain.\\nSpare my luve, ye winds that blaw,\\nPlashy sleets and beating rain,\\nSpare my luve, thou feathery snaw,\\nDrifting o er the frozen plain.\\nWhen the shades of evening creep\\nO er the day s fair, gladsome e e,\\nSound and safely may he sleep,\\nSweetly blythe his waukening be\\nHe will think on her he loves,\\nFondly he ll repeat her name\\nFor where er he distant roves,\\nJockey s heart is still at hame.\\nSONG.\\nMy Peggy s face, my Peggy s form\\nThe frost of Hermit age might warm\\nMy Peggy s worth, my Peggy s mind,\\nMight charm the first of human kind\\nI love my Peggy s angel air,\\nHer face so truly, heavenly fair,\\nHer native grace so void of art,\\nBut I adore my Peggy s heart.\\nThe lily s hue, the rose s dye,\\nThe kindling lustre of an eye\\nWho but owns their magic sway,\\nWho but knows they all decay i\\nThe tender thrill, the pitying tear,\\nThe generous purpose, nobly dear,\\nThe gentle look, that rage disarms\\nThese are all immortal charms.\\nWRITTEN IN A WRAPPER,\\nINCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE, TO BE LEFT WITH MR. CARDON-\\nNEL, ANTIQUARIAN.\\nTitnb.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Sir John Malcolm.\\nKen ye ought o Captain Grose\\nIgo, and ago,\\nIf he s amang his friends or foes t\\nIram, coram, dago.", "height": "4508", "width": "3028", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0464.jp2"}, "465": {"fulltext": "POEMS. 461\\nIs he South, or is he Norths?\\nIgo, and ago,\\nOr drowned in the river Forth\\nIram, coram, dago.\\nIs he slain by Highland bodies\\nIgo, and ago,\\nAnd eaten like a wether-haggis\\nIram, coram, dago,\\nIs he to Abram s bosom gane\\nIgo, and ago\\nOr haudin Sarah by the wame 1\\nIram, coram, dago.\\nWhere er he be, the Lord be near him\\nIgo, and ago,\\nAs for the deil he daur na steer him,\\nIram, coram, dago.\\nBut please transmit th inclosed letter,\\nIgo, and ago,\\nWhich will oblige your humble debtor\\nIram, coram, dago.\\nSo may you have auld stanes in store,\\nIgo, and ago,\\nThe very stanes that Adam bore,\\nIram, coram, dago.\\nSo may ye get in glad possession,\\nIgo, and ago,\\nThe coins o Satan s coronation\\nIram, coram, dago.\\nROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. OF F1NTRY.\\nON RECEIVING A FAVOUR.\\nI call no goddess to inspire my strains,\\nA fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns\\nFriend of my life my ardent spirit burns,\\nAnd all the tribute of my heart returns,\\nFor boons accorded, goodness ever new,\\nThe gift still dearer as the giver you.\\nThou orb of day thou other paler light\\nAnd all ye many sparkling stars of night\\nIf aught that giver from my mind efface\\nIf I that giver s bounty e er disgrace\\nThen roll to me, along your wandering spheres,\\nOnly to number out a villain s year\\nEPITAPH ON A FRIEND.\\nAn honest man here lies at rest,\\nAs e er God with his image blest,\\nThe friend of man, the friend of truth\\nThe friend of age, and guide of youth", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0465.jp2"}, "466": {"fulltext": "462 burns woeks.\\nFew hearts like his, with virtue warm d,\\nFew heads with knowledge so inform d\\nIf there s another world, he lives in bliss\\nIf there is none, he made the best of this.\\nA GRACE BEFORE DINNER.\\nO Thou, who kindly dost provide\\nFor ev*ry creature s want\\nWe bless thee, God of nature wide,\\nFor all thy goodness lent\\nAnd if it please the heavenly guide,\\nMay never worse be sent\\nBut whether granted, or denied,\\nLord bless us with content\\nAmen!\\nTO MI DEAR AND MUCH RESPECTED PRIEKD,\\nMrs. DUNLOP, OF DTJNLOP.\\nON SENSIBITITT.\\nSensibility how charming.\\nThou, my friend, canst truly tell\\nBut distress, with horrors arming,\\nThou hast also known too well\\nFairest flower, behold the lily,\\nBlooming in the sunny ray\\nLet the blast sweep o er the valley,\\nSee it prostrate on the clay.\\nHear the wood-lark charm the forest,\\nTelling o er his little joys\\nHapless bird a prey the surest,\\nTo each pirate of the skies.\\nDearly bought the hidden treasure,\\nFiner feelings can bestow\\nChords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,\\nThrill the deepest notes of woe.\\nA YERSE,\\nCOMPOSED AND BEFEATED BY BUBNS, TO THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, ON TAKING\\nLEAVE AX A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS WHEBE HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY\\nENTERTAINED.\\nWhen death s dark stream I ferry o er\\nA time that surely shall come\\nIn heaven itself, I ask no more,\\nThan just a Highland welcome", "height": "4508", "width": "3024", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0466.jp2"}, "467": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE\\nWITH\\nME. GEOKGE THOMSON,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0467.jp2"}, "468": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4508", "width": "3020", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0468.jp2"}, "469": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE, c,\\nNo. L\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nSir, Edinburgh, Sept. 1792.\\nFor some years past, I have, with a friend or two, employed many\\nleisure hours in selecting and collating the most favourite of our\\nnational melodies for publication. We have engaged Pleyel the\\nmost agreeable composor living, to put accompaniments to these,\\nand also to compose an instrumental prelude and conclusion to\\neach air, the better to fit them for concerts, both public and pri-\\nvate. To render this work perfect, we are desirous to have the\\npoetry improved, wherever it seems unworthy of the music; and\\nthat it is so in many instances, is allowed by every one that is con-\\nversant with our musical collections. The editors of these seem in\\ngeneral to have depended on the musio proving an excuse for the\\nverses and hence some charming melodies are united to mere\\nnonsense and doggrel, while others are accommodated with rhymes\\nso loose and indelicate, as cannot be sung in decent company. To\\nremove this reproach, would be an easy task to the author of The\\nCotter s Saturday Night and, for the honour of Caledonia, I would\\nfain hope he may be induced to take up the pen. If so, we shall\\nbe enabled to present the public with a collection infinitely more\\ninteresting than any that has yet appeared, and acceptable to all\\npersons of taste, whether they wish for correct melodies, delicate\\naccompaniments, or characteristic verses. We will esteem your\\npoetical assistance a particular favour, besides paying any reasona-\\nble price you shall please to demand for it. Profit is quite a se-\\ncondary consideration with u% and we are resolved to spare nei-\\nther pains nor expense on the publication. Tell me frankly then\\nwhether you will devote your leisure to writing twenty or twenty-\\nfive songs, suited to the particular melodies, which I am prepared\\nto send you. A few songs exceptionable only in some of their\\nverses, I will likewise submit to your consideration; leaving it\\nto you, either to mend these or make new songs in their stead. It\\nis superfluous to assure you that, I have no intention to displace\\nany of the sterling old songs those only will be removed that ap-\\npear quite silly, or absolutely indecent. Even these shall all be\\nexamined by Mr. Burns, and if he is of opinion that any of them\\nare deserving of the music in such cases, no divorce shall take\\nplace.\\nRelying on the letter accompanying this, to be forgiven for the\\nliberty I have taken in addressing you, 1 am, with great esteem,\\nsir, your most obedient humble servant,\\nG, THOMSON.\\nu 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0469.jp2"}, "470": {"fulltext": "466 BURNS WORKS,\\nNo. II.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSir, Dumfries, 16 September, 1792.\\nI have just this moment got your letter. As the request you make\\nto me will positively add to my enjoyments in complying with it,\\nI shall enter into your undertaking with all the small portion of\\nabilities I have, strained to their utmost exertion by the impulse of\\nenthusiasm. Only, don t hurry me Deil tak the hindmost is\\nby no means the cri de guerre of my muse. Will you, as I am in-\\nferior to none of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry and\\nmusic of old Caledonia, and since you request it, have cheerfully\\npromised my mite of assistance will you let me have a list of your\\nairs, with the first line of the printed verses you intend for them,\\nthat 1 may have an opportunity of suggesting any alteration that\\nmay occur to me. You know tis in the way of my trade; still\\nleaving you, gentlemen, the undoubted right of publishers, to ap-\\nprove, or reject, at your pleasure, for your own publication. Apro-\\npos, if you are for English verses, there is, on my part, an end of the\\nmatter. Whether in the simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of\\nthe song, I can only hope to please myself in being allowed at\\nleast a sprinkling of our native tongue. English verses, particularly\\nthe works of Scotsmen, that have merit, are certainly very eligible.\\nTweedside; Ah I the poor Shepherd s mournful fate Ah! Chloris,\\ncould I now but sit, c. you cannot mend but such insipid stuff as\\nTo Fanny fair, could I impajt, c. usually set to The Mill Mill 0,\\nis a disgrace to the collection in which it has already appeared, and\\nwould doubly disgrace a collection that will have the superior merit\\nof yours. But more of this in the farther prosecution of the business,\\nif I am called on for my strictures and amendments I say, amend-\\nments for I will not alter except where I myself, at least, think\\nthat I amend.\\nAs to any remuneration, you may think my songs either above or\\nbelow price for they shall absolutely be the one or the other. In\\nthe honest enthusiasm with which I embark in your undertaking,\\nto talk of money, wages, fee, hire, c. would be downright jprostitw\\ntion of soul A proof of each of the songs that I compose or amend,\\nI shall receive as a favour. In the rustic phrase of the season,\\nil Guid speed the wark\\nI am, Sir, your very humble servant,\\nR. BURNS.\\nP. S. I have some particular reasons for wishing my interference\\nto be known as little as possible.\\nNo. III.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nDear Sir, Edinburgh, 13th October, 1792.\\nI received, with much satisfaction, your pleasant and obliging let-\\nter, and I return my warmest acknowledgments for the enthusiasm\\nwith which you have entered into our undertaking. We have now\\nno doubt of being able to produce a collection highly deserving of\\npublic attention, in all respects.", "height": "4508", "width": "3036", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0470.jp2"}, "471": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE^ 467\\nI agree with you in thinking English verses, that have merit,\\nvery eligible, wherever new verses are necessary; because the Eng-\\nlish becomes every year, more and more, the language of Scotland\\nbut if you mean that no English verses, except those by Scottish\\nauthors, ought to be admitted, I am half inclined to differ from\\nyou. I should consider it unpardonable to sacrifice one good song\\nin the Scottish dialect, to make room for English verses but if we\\ncan select a few excellent ones suited to the unprovided or ill-pro-\\nvided airs, would it not be the very bigotry of literary patriotism\\nto reject such, merely because the authors were born south of the\\nTweed Our sweet air My Nannie 0, which in the collections\\nis joined to the poorest stuff that Allan Ramsay ever wrote, begin-\\nning, While some for pleasure pawn their health, answers so finely\\nto Dr. Percy s beautiful song, Nancy wilt thou go with me, that,\\none would think he wrote it on purpose for the air. However, it\\nis not at all our wish to confine you to English verses you shall\\nfreely be allowed a sprinkling of your native tongue, as you ele-\\ngantly express it, and, moreover, we will patiently wait your own\\ntime. One thing only I beg, which is, that however, gay and\\nsportive the muse may be, she may always be decent. Let her not\\nwrite what beauty would blush to speak, nor wound that charming\\ndelicacy, which forms the most precious dowry of our daughters.\\nI do not conceive the song to be the most proper vehicle for witty\\nand brilliant conceits simplicity, 1 believe, should be its promi-\\nnent feature but in some of our songs, the writers have con-\\nfounded simplicity with coarseness and vulgarity although between\\nthe one and the other, as Dr. Beattie well observes, there is as great\\na difference as between a plain suit of clothes and a bundle of rags.\\nThe humorous ballad, or pathetic complaint, is best suited to our\\nartless melodies and more interesting indeed in all songs than the\\nmost pointed wit, dazzling descriptions, and flowery fancies.\\nWith these trite observations, I send you eleven of the songs, for\\nwhich it is my wish to substitute others of your writing. I shall\\nsoon transmit the rest, and at the same time, a prospectus of the\\nwhole collection and you may believe we will receive any hints\\nthat you are so kind as to give for improving the work, with the\\ngreatest pleasure and thankfulness.\\nI remain, dear Sir,\\nNo. IV.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMr Dear Sir,\\nLet me tell you, that you are too fastidious in your ideas of songs\\nand ballads. I own that your criticisms are just the songs you\\nspecify in your list have all but one the faults you remark in them\\nbut who shall mend the matter 1 Who shall rise up and say\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Go\\nto, 1 will make a better For instance, on reading over The Lea\\nRig, I immediately set about trying my hand on it, and, after all\\ncould make nothing more of it than the following, which, Heaven\\nknows, is poor enough.\\nWhen o er the hill the eastern star/\\nTells bugntin-time is near, my jo;", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0471.jp2"}, "472": {"fulltext": "468 bubns* works!\\nAnd owsen frae the rurrow d field,\\nReturn sae dowf and weary O\\nDown by the burn, where scented birks\\nWi dew are hanging clear, my jo,\\nI ll meet thee on the lea-rig,\\nMy ain kind dearie O.\\nIn mirkest glen at midnight hour,\\nI d rove and ne er be eerie O,\\nIf through that glen I gaed to thee,\\nMy ain kind dearie O,\\nAlthough the night were ne er so wild,\\nAnd I were ne er sae wearie O,\\nI d meet thee on the lea-rig,\\nMy ain kind dearie O.\\nYour observation as to the aptitude of Dr. Percy s ballad to the\\nair Nannie 0, is just. It is, besides, perhaps the most beautiful\\nballad in the English language. But let me remark to you, that\\nin the sentiment and style of our Scottish airs, there is a pastoral\\nsimplicity, a something that one may call the Doric style and dia-\\nlect of vocal music, to which a dash of our native tongue and man-\\nners is particularly, nay, peculiarly, apposite. For this reason,\\nand, upon my honour, for this reason alone, I am of opinion (but\\nas I told you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to approve\\nor reject, as you please) that my ballad of Nannie might perhaps\\ndo for one set of verses to the tune. Now don t let it enter into\\nyour head, that you are under any necessity of taking my verses. I\\nhave long ago made up my mind as to my own reputation in the\\nbusiness of authorship and have nothing to be pleased or offended\\nat, in your adoption or rejection of my verses. Though you should\\nreject one half of what 1 give you, I shall be pleased with your\\nadopting the other half, and shall continue to serve you with the\\nsame assiduity.\\nIn the printed copy of my Nannie 0, the name of the river is\\nhorridly prosaic. I will alter it,\\nBehind yon hills where Lugar flows.\\nGirvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza\\nbest, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of syllables.\\nI will soon give you a great many more remarks on this business\\nbut I have just now an opportunity of conveying you this scrawl,\\nfree of postage, an expense that it is ill able to pay so, with my\\nbest compliments to honest Allan, Good be wi* ye, c.\\nFriday Night.\\n7TC yp 7F *T^\\nSaturday Morning,\\nAs I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before my\\nconveyance goes away, 1 will give you Nannie at length,\\nYour remarks on Ewe hughts, Marion, are just; still it has ob-\\ntained a place among our more classical Scottish songs and what\\nwith many beauties in its composition, and more prejudices in its\\nfavour, you will not find it easy to supplant it.\\nIn my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the\\nWest Indies I took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is^ quite\\ntrilling, and has nothing of the merit of Ewe hughts but it will\\nfill up the page. You must know, that all my earliest love-\\neongs were the breathings of ardent passion, and though it migh+.", "height": "4508", "width": "3044", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0472.jp2"}, "473": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE,\\n46a\\nhave been easy in after times to have given them a polish, yet that\\npolish, to me, whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for\\nthem, wonld have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so\\nfaithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as\\nthey say of wines, their race.\\nAnd sae may the Heavens forget, me,\\nWhen I forget my vow.\\nWill ye go to the Indies my Mary,\\nAnd leave old Scotia s shore?\\nWilirycm go to Indies, my Mary,\\nAcross th Atlantic s roar X\\nO plight me your faith, my Mary,\\nAnd plight me your lily white hand\\nO plight me your faith, my Mary,\\nBefore I leave Scotia s strand.\\nWe hae plighted our troth, my Mary,\\nIn mutual affection to join,\\nAnd curst be the cause that shall part usj\\nThe hour and the moment o time.*\\nsweet grows the lime and the orang\\nAnd the apple on the pine\\nBut a the charms o the Indies,\\nCan never equal thine.\\n1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary\\nI hae sworn by the Heavens to be true,\\nGalla Water and Auld Bob Morris, I think, will most probably\\nby the next subject of my musings. However, even on my verses,\\nspeak out your criticisms with equal frankness. My wish is, not\\nto stand aloof, the uncomplying bigot of opiniatrete, but cordially\\nto join issue with you in the furtherance of the work.\\nNo. Y.\\nMR. BURNS to MR, THOMSON.\\nNovember 8th, 1792.\\nIf you mean, my dear sir, that all the songs in your collection shall\\nbe poetry of the first merit, I am afraid you willjimd more difficulty\\nin the undertaking than you are aware of. There is a peculiar\\nrhythmus in many of our airs and a necessity of adapting syllables\\nto the emphasis, or what I should call the feature notes, of the tune,\\nthat cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable difficul-\\nties. For instance, in the air, My wifes a wanton wee thing, if a\\nfew lines, smooth and pretty, can be adapted to it, it is all you\\ncan expect. The following were made extempore to it and\\nthough on further study, 1 might give you something more profound,\\nyet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this\\nrandom clink,\\nMY WIFE S A WINSOME WEE THING.\\nShe is a winsome wee thing,\\nShe is a handsome wee thing,\\nShe is a bonnie wee thing,\\nThis sweet wee wife o mine.\\nI never saw a fairer,\\nI never lo ed a dearer,\\nAnd neist my heart I ll wear, her,\\nFor fear my jewel tine.\\nShe is a winsome wee thing,\\nShe is a handsome wee thing,\\nShe is a bonnie wee tlln?,\\nThis sweet wee wife o mine,\\nThe warld s wrack we share o t,\\nThe wrastle and the care o t\\nM V her I ll blythely bear it,\\nAnd tnink my lot divine.\\nI have been looking over the Collier s bonny Dochter, and if the\\nfollowing raphsody, which I composed the other day, on a charming\\nAyrshire girl, Miss as she passed through this place to Eng-\\nland, will suit your taste better than the Collier Lassie, fall on and\\nwelcome.\\n\u00e2\u0099\u00a6This song Mr, Thomson has not adopted in his collection. It deserves\\nhowever, to be preserved.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0473.jp2"}, "474": {"fulltext": "470\\nBURNS works.\\nO saw ye bonnie Lesley\\nAs she gaed o er the border\\nShe s gane, like Alexander,\\nTo spread her conquests farther.\\nTo see her is to love her,\\nAnd love but her for ever\\nFor Nature made her what she is,\\nAnd never made anither\\nThou art a queen, fair Lesley,\\nThy subjects we, before thee\\nThou art divine, fair Lesley,\\nThe hearts o men adore, thee,\\nThe Deil he could na Scaith thee,\\nOr aught that wad belang thee\\nHe d look into thy bonnie face,\\nAnd say, I canna wrang thee.\\nThe powers aboon will tent thee\\nMisfortune sha na steer thee\\nThou rt like themselves sae lovely,\\nThat ill they ll ne er let near thee.\\nReturn again, fair Lesley,\\nReturn to Caledonie\\nT hat we may brag we hae a lass\\nThere s nane again sae bonnie.\\n*l* *r\\nI have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs, until\\nmore leisure, as they will take, and deserve, a greater effort. How-\\never, they are all put into your hands, as clay into the hands of the\\npotter, to make one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour.\\nFarewell, c.\\nNo. VI.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nHIGHLAND MARY.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Katherine Ogie.\\nYe banks, and braes, and streams around\\nThe castle o Montgomery,\\nGreen be your woods, and fair your flowers,\\nYour waters never drumlie\\nThere simmer first unfauld her robes,\\nAnd there the langest tarry;\\nFor there I took the last fareweel\\nO my sweet Highland Mary.\\nHow sweetly bloom d the gay, green birk,\\nHow rich the hawthorn s blossom\\nAs underneath her fragrant shade,\\nI clasp d her to my bosom\\nThe golden hours, on angel wings,\\nFlew o er me and my dearie\\nFor dear to me as light and life,\\nWas my sweet Highland Mary.\\nWi mony a vow, and lock d embrace,\\nOur parting was fu tender\\nAnd, pledging aft to meet again,\\nWe tore our selves asunder\\nBut Oh fell death s untimely frost,\\nThat nipt my flower sae early\\nNow green s the sod and cauld s the clay,\\nThat wraps my Highland Mary\\npale, pale now, those rosy lips,\\nI aft hae kissed sae fondly\\nAnd closed for aye, the sparkling glance,\\nThat dwelt on me sae kindly", "height": "4508", "width": "3040", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0474.jp2"}, "475": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 471\\nA d mouldering now in silent dust\\nThe heart that lo ed me dearly\\nBut still within my bosom s core,\\nShall live my Highland Mary.\\nMr Dear Sir, Uth November, 1792.\\nI agree with you, that the song, Katherine Ogie, is very poor stuff,\\nand unworthy altogether unworthy\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of so beautiful an air. I\\ntried to mend it, but the awkward word Ogie, recurring so often in\\nthe rhyme, spoils every attempt at introducing sentiment into the\\npiece. The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my hap-\\npiest manner you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The\\nsubject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my\\nyouthful days and I own that I should be much flattered to see\\nthe verses set to an air, which should insure celebrity. Perhaps,\\nafter all, tis the still glowing prejudice of my heart, that throws\\na borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition.\\nI have partly taken your idea of Auld Rob Morris. I have\\nadopted the two first verses, and am going on with the song on a\\nnew plan, which promises pretty well. I take up one or another,\\njust as the bee of the moment buzzes in my bonnet lug and do\\nyou, sans ceremonie, make what use you please of the productions.\\nAdieu, c.\\nNo. VII.\\nMR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS.\\nDear Sie, Edinburgh, Nov. 7. 1792.\\nI was just going to write to you, that on meeting with your\\nNannie, I had fallen violently in love with her. I thank you,\\ntherefore, for sending the charming rustic to me in the dress you\\nwish her to appear before the public. She does you great credit,\\nand will soon be admitted into the best company.\\nI regret that your song for the Lea-Rig is so short the air is\\neasy, sung soon, and very pleasing so that if the singer stops at\\nthe end of two stanzas, it is a pleasure lost, ere it is well possessed.\\nAlthough a dash of our native tongue and manners is doubtless\\npeculiarly congenial and appropriate to our melodies, yet I shall be\\nable to present a considerable number of the very Flowers of Eng-\\nlish Song, well adapted to those melodies, which, in England at\\nleast, will be the means of recommending them to still greater\\nattention than they have procured there. But you must observe,\\nmy plan is, that every air shall, in the first place, have verses wholly\\nby Scottish poets and that those of English writers shall follow as\\nadditional songs, for the choice of the singer.\\nWhat you say of the Ewe-bughts is just I admire it, and never\\nmeant to supplant it. All I requested was, that you would try\\nyour hand on some of the inferior stanzas, which are apparently no\\npart of the original song but this I do not urge, because the song\\nis of sufficient length though those inferior stanzas be omitted, as\\nthey will be by the singer of taste. You must not think I expect\\nall the songs to be of superlative merit that were an unreasona-\\nble expectation. I am sensible that no poet can sit down doggedjy\\nto pen verses and succeed well at all times,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0475.jp2"}, "476": {"fulltext": "472 BURNS WORKS*\\nI am highly pleased with your humorous and amorous rhapsody\\non Bonnie Leslie: it is a thousand times better than the Collier s\\nLassie The deil he couldna scaith thee, c. is an eccentric and\\nhappy thought. Do you not think, however, that the names of\\nsuch old heroes as Alexander, sound rather queer, unless in pomp-\\nous or mere burlesque verse 1 Instead of the line, And never\\nmade anither, I would humbly suggest, And ne er made sio\\nanither and I would fain have you substitute some other line for\\nReturn to Caledonie, in the last verse, because 1 think this\\nalteration in the orthography, and of the sound of Caledonia, dis-\\nfigures the word, and renders it Hudibrastic.\\nOf the other song, My wife s a winsome toee thing, I think the\\nfirst eight lines are very good but I do not admire the other eight,\\nbecause four of them are bare repetitions of the first verses. I\\nhave been trying to spin a stanza, but could make nothing better\\nthan the following do you mend it, or as Yorick did with the\\nlove-letter, whip it up in your own way.\\nO leeze me on my wee thing.\\nMy bonnie blythesome wee thing\\nSae lang s I hae my wee thing\\nI ll think my lot divine.\\nTho warld s care we share o t,\\nAnd may see meikle mair o t,\\nWi her I ll blythely bear it,\\nAnd ne er a word repine.\\nYou perceive, my dear sir, I avail myself of the liberty which\\nyou condescend to allow me by speaking freely what I think. Be\\nassured, it is not my disposition to pick out the faults of any poem,\\nor picture 1 see my first and chief object is to discover and be de-\\nlighted with the beauties of the piece. If I sit down to examine\\ncritically, and at leisure, what perhaps you have written in haste,\\nI may happen to observe careless lines, the re-perusal of which\\nmight lead you to improve them. The wren will often see what\\nhas been overlooked by the eagle.\\nI remain yours, faithfully, c.\\nP. S. Your verses upon Highland Mary are just come to hand\\nthey breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and, like the music, will\\nlast for ever. Such verses united to such an air, with the delicate\\nharmony of Pleyel supperadded, might form a treat worthy of being\\npresented to Apollo himself. I have heard the sad story of your\\nMary you always seem inspired when you write of her.\\nNo. VIII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nDumfries, 1st December, 1792.\\nYour alterations of my Nannie are perfectly right. So are those\\nof My wife s a wanton wee thing. Your alteration of the second\\nstanza is a positive improvement. Now, my dear sir, with the\\nfreedom which characterises our correspondence, I must not, can-\\nnot alter Bonnie Leslie. You are right, the word Alexander\\nmakes the line a little uncouth, but I think the thought is pretty.\\nOf Alexander, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the sub-\\nlime language of scripture, that he went forth conquering and to\\nconquer.", "height": "4508", "width": "2964", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0476.jp2"}, "477": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 473\\nFor nature made her what she is,\\nAnd never made anither, (such a person as she is.)\\nThis is in my opinion more poetical than Ne er made sic an-\\nither. However, it is immaterial Make it either way.* Cale-\\ndonie, I agree with you, is not so good a word as could be wished,\\nthough it is santioned in three or four instances by Allan Earn-\\nsay but I cannot help it. In short, that species of stanza is\\nthe most difficult that I have ever tried.\\nThe Lea-rig is as follows. (Where the poet gives the two first\\nstanzas as before, p. 268, with the following in addition.)\\nThe hunter lo es the morning sun,\\nTo rouse the mountain deer, my jo\\nAt noon the fisher seeks the glen,\\nAlong the burn to steer my jo\\nGie me the hour o gloamin grey,\\nIt mak s my heart sae cherry O,\\nTo meet thee on the lea rig,\\nMy ain kind dearie, O.\\nI am interrupted. Yours, c.\\nNo. IX.\\nME. BUENS TO ME. THOMSON.\\nAULD ROB MORRIS.\\nThere s auld Eob Morris that wons in yon glen,\\nHe s the king o guid fellows, and wale o auld men\\nHe has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,\\nAnd ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.\\nShe s fresh as the morning, the fairest in May\\nShe s sweet as the eVning amang the new hay\\nAs blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,\\nAnd dear to my heart as the light to my e e.\\nBut Oh she s an heiress, and Eobin s a laird,\\nAnd my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard\\nA wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,\\nThe wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.\\nThe day comes to me, but delight brings me nane\\nThe night comes to me, but my rest it is gane\\nI wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,\\nAnd I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.\\nhad she but been of a lower degree,\\n1 then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me\\nO, how past describing had then been my bliss,\\nAs now my distraction no words can express\\nDUNCAY GEAY.\\nDuncan Gray cam here to woo,\\nHa, ha, the wooing o t.\\nOn blythe yule night when we were fu\\nHa, ha, the wooing o t.\\nMr. Thomson* has decided Ne er made sic anither.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0477.jp2"}, "478": {"fulltext": "474 BURNS* WORKS.\\nMaggie coost her head fu high,\\nLook d asklent and unco skeigh,\\nGart poor Duncan stand abeigh\\nHa, ha, the wooing o t.\\nDuncan fleech d, and Duncan pray*d\\nHa, ha, c.\\nMeg was deaf as Ailsa craig,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nDuncan sigh d baith out and in,\\nGrat his een baith bleer t and blin\\nSpak o* lowpin o er a linn,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nTime and chance are but a tide,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nSlighted love is sair to bide,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nShall I, like a fool, quoth he,\\nFor a haughty hizzie die\\nShe may gae to France for me\\nHa, ha, c.\\nHow it comes let doctors tell,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nMeg grew sick as he grew heal,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nSomething in her bosom wrings,\\nFor relief a sigh she brings,\\nAnd Oh, her e en they spak sic things\\nHa, ha, c.\\nDuncan was a lad o* grace,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nMaggie s was a piteous case,\\nHa, ha, c.\\nDuncan could na be her death,\\nSwelling pity smoored his wrath\\nNow they re crouse and canty baith,\\nHa, ha, the wooing o t.\\n4th December, 1792.\\nThe foregoing I submit, my dear sir, to your better judgment.\\nAcquit them or condemn them as seemeth good in your sight.\\nDuncan Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air, which\\nprecludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature.\\nNo. X.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 had a horse.\\nO poobtith cauld and restless love,\\nYe wreck my peace between yej\\nYet poortith a I could forgive,\\nAn* twere na for my Jeanie.\\nO why should fate sic pleasure have,\\nLife s dearest bands untwining\\nOr why sae sweet a flower as love,\\nDepend on fortune s shining", "height": "4508", "width": "2988", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0478.jp2"}, "479": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 475\\nThis warld s wealth when I think on,\\nIt s pride and a the lave o t\\nFie, fie, on silly coward man,\\nThat he should be the slave o t.\\nO why, c.\\nHer een sae bonnie blue betray,\\nHow she repays my passion\\nBut prudence is her o erword aye,\\nShe talks of rank and fashion.\\nO wha can prudence think upon,\\nAnd sae in love as I am\\nO why, c.\\nHow blest the humble cotter s fate I\\nHe wooes his simple dearie\\nThe silly bogles wealth and state,\\nCan never make them eerie.\\nO why should fate sic pleasure have,\\nO whv c Life s dearest bands untwining\\nI Or why sae sweet a flower as love\\nO wha can prudence think upon, Depend on Fortune s shining!\\nAnd sic a lassie by him?\\nGALLA WATER.\\nThere s braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,\\nThat wander thro* the blooming heather\\nBut Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,\\nCan match the lads o Galla water.\\nBut there is ane, a secret ane,\\nAboon them a I loe him better\\nAnd I ll be his, and he ll be mine,\\nThe bonnie lad o Galla Water.\\nAltho his daddie was nae laird,\\nAnd tho I hae nae meikle tocher\\nYet rich in kindness, truest love,\\nWe ll tent our flocks by Galla Water.\\nIt ne er was wealth, it ne er was wealth,\\nThat coft contentment, peace, or pleasure\\nThe bands and bliss o mutual love,\\nthat s the chiefest warld s treasure.\\nJanuary, 1793.\\nMany returns of the season to you, my dear sir. How comes on\\nyour publication? will these two foregoing be of any service to\\nyou? I should like to know what songs you print to each tune,\\nbesides the verses to which it is set. In short, I would wish to\\ngive you my opinion on all the poetry you publish. You know, it\\nis my trade and a man in the way of his trade may suggest useful\\nhints, that escape men of much superior parts and endowments in\\nother things.\\nNo. XI.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, January 20th, 1793.\\nYou make me happy, my dear sir, and thousands will be happy to\\nsee the charming songs you have sent me. Many merry returns of\\nthe season to you, and may you long continue among the sons and\\ndaughters of Caledonia, to delight them, and to honour yourself.\\nThe four last songs with which you favoured me, for Auld Rob\\nMorris, Duncan Gray, Galla Water, and Cauld Kail, are admir-\\nable. Duncan is indeed a lad of grace, and his humour will endear\\nhim to every body.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0479.jp2"}, "480": {"fulltext": "476 burns works.\\nThe distracted lover in Auld Rob, and the happy shepherdess in\\nGalla Water, exhibit an excellent contrast they speak from\\ngenuine feeling, and powerfully touch the heart.\\nThe number of songs which I had originally in view was very\\nlimited, but I now resolve to include every Scotch air and song\\nworth singing leaving none behind but mere gleanings, to which\\nthe publishers of omnegatherum are welcome. I would rather be\\nthe editor of a collection from which nothing could be taken away,\\nthan of one to which nothing could be added. We intend pre-\\nsenting the subscribers with two beautiful stroke engravings the\\none characteristic of the plaintive, and the other of the lively\\nsongs; and I have Dr. Beattie s promise of an essay on the subject\\nof our national music, if his health will permit him to write it. As\\na number of our songs have doubtless been called forth by particu-\\nlar events or by the peerless charms of peerless damsels, there must\\nbe many curious anecdotes relating to them.\\nThe late Mr. Tytler of Woodhouselee, I believe, knew more of\\nthis than anybody, for he joined to the pursuits of an antiquary, a\\ntaste for poetry, besides being a man of the world, and possessing\\nan enthusiasm for music beyond most of his contemporaries. He\\nwas quite pleased with this plan of mine, for I may say, it has been\\nsolely managed by me, and we had several conversations about it,\\nwhen it was in embryo. If I could simply mention the name of\\nthe heroine of each song, and the incident which occasioned the\\nverses, it would be gratifying. Pray, will you send me any infor-\\nmation of this sort, as well with regard to your own songs, as the\\nold ones\\nTo all the favourite songs of the plaintive or pastoral kind, will\\nbe joined the delicate accompaniments, c. of Pleydell. To those\\nof the comic or humorous class, I think accompaniments scarcely\\nnecessary they are chiefly fitted for the conviviality of the festive\\nboard, and a tuneful voice, with a proper delivery of the words,\\nrenders them perfect. Nevertheless, to these I propose adding\\nbass accompaniments, because then they are fitted either for sing-\\ning, or for instrumental performance, when there happens to be no\\nsinger. I mean to employ our right trusty friend Mr. Clarke to\\nset the bass to these, which he assures me he will do, con amove*\\nand with much greater attention than he ever bestowed upon any\\nthing of the kind. But for this last class of airs, I will not attempt\\nto find more than one set of verses.\\nThat eccentric bard Peter Pindar, has started I know not how\\nmany difficulties, about writing for the airs 1 sent to him, because\\nof the peculiarity of their measure, and the trammels they impose\\non his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for your perusal the only one I\\nhave yet got from him, being the fine air Lord Gregory. The\\nScots verses printed with that air, are taken from the middle of an\\nold ballad, called, The Lass of Lochroyan, which I do not admire.\\nI have set down the air therefore as a creditor of yours. Many of\\nthe Jacobite songs are replete with wit and humour might not the\\nbest of these be included in our volume of comic songs I", "height": "4508", "width": "2992", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0480.jp2"}, "481": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 477\\nPOSTSCRIPT.\\nFROM THE Hon. A. ERSKINE.\\nMr. Thomson has been so obliging as to give me a perusal of your\\nsongs. Highland Mary is most enchantingly pathetic, and Duncan\\nGray possesses native genuine humour; spak o lowpin o er a\\nlinn, is a line of itself that should make you immortal. I some-\\ntimes hear of you from our mutual friend C. who is a most excel-\\nlent fellow, and possesses, above all men I know, the charm of a\\nmost obliging disposition. You kindly promised me, about a year\\nago, a collection of your unpublished productions, religious and\\namorous I know from experience how irksome it is to copy. If\\nyou will get any trusty person in Dumfries to write them over fair,\\nI will give Peter Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble and\\nI certainly shall not betray your confidence.\\nI am, your hearty admirer,\\nANDREW ERSKINE.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. .THOMSON.\\n26th January, 179B.\\nI approve greatly, my dear sir, of your plans. Dr. Beattie s es3ay\\nwill of itself be a treasure. On my part, I mean to draw up an ap-\\npendix to the Doctor s essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, c.\\nof our Scots songs. All the late Mr. Tytler s anecdotes I have by\\nme, taken down in the course of my acquaintance with him from\\nhis own mouth. I am such an enthusiast, that in the course of my\\nseveral peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to\\nthe individual spot from which every song took its rise, Locha-\\nber, v and the Braes of Ballenden, excepted. So far as the loca-\\nlity, either from the title of the air, or the tenor of the song, could\\nbe ascertained, I have paid my devotions at the particular shrine\\nof every Scotch muse.\\nI do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of\\nJacobite songs\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but would it give no offence? In the mean time,\\ndo not you think that some of them, particularly The Sow s tail\\nto Geordie, as an air, with other words, might be well worth a\\nplace in your collection of lively songs f\\nIf it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be proper\\nto have one set of Scots words to every air, and that the set of\\nwords to which the notes ought to be set. There is a naivete, a\\npastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and\\nphraseology, which is more in unison (at least to my taste, and I\\nwill add, to every genuine Caledonian taste,) with the simple pa-\\nthos, or rustic sprightliness of our native music, than any English\\nverses whatever.\\nThe very name of Peter Pindar, is an acquisition to your work.\\nHis Gregory is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stan-\\nzas in Scots, on the same subject, which are at your service. Not\\nthat I intend to enter the lists with Peter that would be presump-\\ntion indeed. My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has I\\nthink more of the ballad simplicity in it.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0481.jp2"}, "482": {"fulltext": "478 BURNS* WORKS,\\nLORD GREGORY.\\nO MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,\\nAnd loud the tempests roar\\nA waeful wanderer seeks thy tower\\nLord Gregory ope thy door.\\nAn exile frae her father s ha*,\\nAnd a for loving thee\\nAt least some pity on me shaw,\\nIf love it may na be.\\nLord Gregory, mind st thou not the grove\\nBy bonnie Irwine side,\\nWhere first I own d that virgin love\\nI lang, lang had denied.\\nHow aften didst thou pledge and vow,\\nThou wad for aye be mine\\nAnd my fond heart, itsel sae true,\\nIt ne er mistrusted thine.\\nHard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,\\nAnd flinty is thy breast\\nThou dart of hea^n that flashest by,\\nO wilt thou give me rest\\nYe mustering thunders from above\\nYour willing victim see\\nBut spare and pardon my fause love,\\nHis wrangs to heaven and me\\nMy most respectable compliments to the honourable gentleman-\\nwho favoured me with a postscript in your last. He shall hear from\\nme and his MSS. soon.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2The song of Dr. Walcott on the same subject is as follow\\nAh ope, Lord Gregory thy door,\\nA midnight wanderer sighs\\nHard rush the rains, the tempests roar,\\nAnd lightnings cleave the skies.\\nWho comes with woe at this drear night\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA pilgrim of the gloom,\\nIf she whose love did once delight,\\nMy cot shall yield her room,\\nAlas thou heard st a pilgrim mourn,\\nThat once was priz d by thee\\nThink of the ring by yonder burn\\nThou gav st to love and me.\\ny* But should st thou not poor Marian know,\\nI ll turn my feet and part\\nAnd think the storms that round me blow,\\nFar kinder than thy heart.\\nIt is but doing justice to Dr Walcott to mention, that his song is original. Mr.\\nBurns saw it. liked it, and immediately wrote the other on the same subject,\\nwhich is derived from an old Scottish ballad of uncertain origin.", "height": "4508", "width": "2988", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0482.jp2"}, "483": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONfcEKCE 479\\nNO. XIII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\n20th March, W3.\\nMARY MORISON.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Bide ye yet.\\nMary, at thy window be,\\nIt is the wish d, the trysted hour\\nThose smiles and glances let me see,\\nThat make the miser s treasure poor;\\nHow blythely wad I bide the stoure,\\nA weary slave frae sun to sun\\nCould I the rich reward secure,\\nThe lovely Mary Morison.\\nYestreen when to the trembling string,\\nThe dance gaed thro the lighted ha\\nTo thee my fancy took its wing,\\nI sat but neither heard nor saw\\nTho* this was fair, and that was braw\\nAnd you the toast of a the town,\\n1 sigh d, and said, amang them a%\\nYe are na Mary Morison.\\nO Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,\\nWha for thy sake wad gladly die\\nOr canst thou break that heart of his,\\nWhase only faut is loving thee.\\nIf love for love thou wilt nae gie,\\nAt least be pity to me shown\\nA thought ungentle canna be\\nThe thought o Mary Morison.\\nMr dear sir,\\nThe song prefixed is one of my juvenile works. I leave it in\\nyour hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its\\nmerits, or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my\\nstinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty.\\nWhat is become of the list, c. of your songs I shall be out\\nof all temper with you by and by. I have always looked on my-\\nself as the prince of indolent correspondents, and valued myself\\naccordingly and I will not, cannot bear rivalship from you, or\\nany body else.\\nNo. XIV.\\nMR. BURNS to MR, THOMSON.\\nMarch, 1793.\\nWANDERING WILLIE.\\nHere awa, there awa, wandering Willie,\\nNow tired with wandering, haud awa hame,\\nCome to my bosom my ae only dearie,\\nAnd tell me thou bring st me my Willie the same,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0483.jp2"}, "484": {"fulltext": "480\\nburns works.\\nLoud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting\\nIt was nae the blast brought the tear in my e e\\nNow welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,\\nThe simmer to nature, my Willie to me.\\nYe hurricanes rest in the cave o your slumbers,\\nhow your wild horrors a lover alarms\\nAwaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,\\nAnd waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.\\nBut if he s forgotten his faithf ulest Nannie,\\nO still flow between us, thou wide roaring main\\nMay I never see it, may I never trow it,\\nBut, dying, believe that my Willie s my ain.\\n+h n ^r* *f* sfi\\nI leave it to you, my dear sir, to determine whether the above,\\nor the old Through the lang Muir be the best.\\nNo. XV.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nOPEN THE DOOR TO ME OH\\nWITH ALTERATIONS.\\nOh open the door, some pity to show,\\nOh, open the door to me, Oh.\\nTho thou hast been false, I ll ever prove true,\\nOh, open the door to me, Oh.\\nCauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,\\nBut caulder thy love for me, Oh\\nThe frost that freezes the life at my heart,\\nIs nought to my pains frae thee, Oh.\\nThe wan moon is setting behind the white wave,\\nAnd time is setting with me, Oh\\nFalse friends, false love, farewell for ever mair\\nI ll ne er trouble them nor thee, Oh.\\nShe has open d the door, she has open d it wide,\\nShe sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh\\nMy true love, she cried, and sank down by his side,\\nNever to rise again, Oh.\\nI do not know whether this song be really mended.\\nNo. XYI.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nJESSIE.\\nTune Bonny Dundee\\nTrue hearted was he, the sad swain o the Yarrow,\\nAnd fair are the maids on the banks o the Ayr,\\nBut by the sweet side o the Nith s winding river,\\nAre lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair\\nTo equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over\\nTo equal young Jessie you seek it in vain,", "height": "4508", "width": "2984", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0484.jp2"}, "485": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 481\\nGrace, beauty and elegance fetter her lover,\\nAnd maidenly modesty fixes the chain.\\nfresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,\\nAnd sweet is the lily at evening close\\nBut in the fair presence o lovely youDg Jessie,\\nUnseen is the lily, unheeded the rose,\\nLove sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring\\nEnthron d in her een he delivers his law\\nAnd still to her charms she alone is a stranger,\\nHer modest demeanor s the jewel of a\\nNo. XVII.\\nMR. THOMSOX to MR BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, 2d April, 1793.\\nI will not recognise the title you give yourself, the prince of\\nindolent correspondents but if the adjective were taken away, I\\nthink the title would then fit you exactly, It gives me pleasure to\\nfind you can furnish anecdotes with respect; to most of the song3\\nthese will be a literary curiosity.\\nI now send you my list of the songs, which I believe will be found\\nnearly complete. 1 have put down the first lines of all the Eng-\\nlish songs, which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch verses.\\nIf any others occur to you, better adapted to tbe character of the\\nairs, pray mention them, when you favour me with your strictures\\nupon every thing else relating to the work.\\nPleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, with his sym-\\nphonies and accompaniments added to them. I wish you were here,\\nthat I might serve up some of them to you with your own verse,\\nby way of desert after dinner. There is so much delightful fancy\\nin the symphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in the accom-\\npaniments they are indeed beyond all praise.\\nI am very much pleased with the several last productions of your\\nmuse your Lord Gregory, in my estimation, is more interesting\\nthan Peter s, beautiful as his is Your Here Awa Willie must un-\\ndergo some alterations to suit the air. Mr. Erskine and I have been\\nconning it over he will suggest what is necessary to make them a\\nfit match.*\\nWANDERING WILLIE.\\nA3 ALTERED BY ME. ERSKINE AND MR. THOMSON\\nHere awa, there awa, wandering Willie;\\nHere awa, there awa, haud awahame;\\nCome to my bosom my ain only dearie,\\nTell me thou bring st me my Willie the same.\\nWinter- winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,\\nFears for my Willie brought tears in my e e\\nWelcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,\\nAs simmer to nature, so Willie to me.\\nRest ye wild storms in the cave o your slumbers,\\nHow your dread howling a lover alarms\\nBlow soft, ye breezes roll gently ye billows\\nAnd waft my dear laddie ance rnair to my arms.\\nBut oh, if he s faithless and minds nae his Nannie,\\nFlow still between us, thou dark heaving main\\nJMay I never see it, may I never trow it,\\nWhile, dying, I think that my Willie 3 ain.\\nX", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0485.jp2"}, "486": {"fulltext": "482 BURNS 9 WORK*.\\nThe gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste you are no\\nstranger to, is so well pleased both with the musical and poetical\\npart of our work, that he has volunteered his assistance, and has\\nalready written four songs for it, which, by his own desire, I send\\nfor your perusal.\\nNo. XYI1I.\\nMR BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nWHEN WILD WAR S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN.\\nWhen wild war s deadly blast was blawn,\\nAnd gentle peace returning,\\nWi mony a sweet babe fatherless,\\nAnd mony a widow mourning,\\nI left the lines and tented field,\\nWhere lang I d been a lodger,\\nMy humble knapsack a my wealth,\\nA poor and honest sodger.\\nA leal, light heart was in my breast,\\nMy hand unstain d wi plunder\\nAnd for fair Scotia, hame again,\\nI cheery on did wander.\\nI thought upon the banks o Coil,\\nI thought upon my Nancy,\\nI thought upon the witching smile\\nThat caught my youthful fancy\\nAt length I reach d the bonnie glen,\\nWhere early life I sported\\nI pass d the mill and trysting thorn,\\nWhere Nancy aft I courted\\nWha spied I but my ain dear maid,\\nDown by her mother s dwelling\\nAnd turn d me round to hide the flood\\nThat in my een was swelling.\\nOur poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these alterations, and re-\\njected others. The last edition is as follows\\nHere awa, there awa, wandering Willie,\\nHere awa, there awa, haud awa hame\\nCome to my bosom my ain only dearie,\\nTell me thou bring st me my Willie the same.\\nWinter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting\\nFears for my Willie brought tears in my e e.\\nWelcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,\\nThe simmer to nature, my Willie to me.\\nRest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,\\nHow your dread howling a lover alarms\\nWaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,\\nAnd waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.\\nBut oh, if he s faithless, and minds na his Nannie,\\nFlow still between us tbou wide-roaring main I\\nMay I never see it, may I never trow it,\\nBut, dying, believe that my Willie s my ain.\\nSeveral of the alterations seem to be of little importance in themselves, and\\nwere adopted, it may be presumed, for the sake of suiting the words better to the\\nmusic-", "height": "4508", "width": "3028", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0486.jp2"}, "487": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 483\\nWr alter d voice, quoth I, sweet las?,\\nSweet as yon hawthorn s blossom,\\nhappy, happy may he be,\\nThat s dearest to thy bosom\\nMy purse is light, I ve far to gang,\\nAnd fain wad be thy lodger\\nIv e serv d my king and country lang,\\nTake pity on a sodger.\\nSae wistfully she gaz d on me,\\nAnd lovelier was than ever\\nQuo she, a sodger ance I lo ed\\nForget him shall 1 never\\nOur humble cot, and hamely fare,\\nYe freely shall partake it,\\nThat gallant badge, the dear cockade\\nYe re welcome for the sake o t\\nShe gaz d she redden d like a rose\\nSyne pale like ony lily\\nShe sank within my arms, and, cried,\\nArt thou my ain dear Willie\\nBy Him who made yon sun and sky\u00e2\u0080\u0094 t\\nBy whom true love s regarded,\\n1 am the man and thus may still\\nTrue lovers be rewarded.\\nThe wars are o er, and I m come hame,\\nAnd find thee still true hearted\\nTho poor in gear, we re rich in love,\\nAnd mair we se ne er be parted.\\nQuo she, my grandsire left me gowd,\\nA mailin plenish d fairly\\nAnd come, my faithful sodger lad,\\nThou rt welcome to it dearly\\nFor gold the merchant ploughs the main,\\nThe farmer ploughs the manor\\nBut glory is the sodger s prize,\\nThe sodger s wealth is honour;\\nThe brave poor sodger ne er despise,\\nNor count him as a stranger\\nRemember he s his country s stay\\nIn day and hour of danger.\\nMEG 0 THE MILL.\\nAir\u00e2\u0080\u0094 m O Bonnie Lass will you lie in a Barrack\\nken ye what Meg o the Mill has gotten,\\nAn ken ye what Meg o the Mill has gotten\\nShe has gotten a coof wi a claut o siller,\\nAnd broken the heart o the barley Miller.\\nThe Miller was strapping the Miller was ruddy\\nA heart like a lord and a hue like a lady\\nThe Laird was a widdiefu bleerit knurl\\nShe s left the guid fellow and ta en the churl,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0487.jp2"}, "488": {"fulltext": "484 BURNS WORKS.\\nThe Miller he hecht her, a heart leal and loving\\nThe Laird did address her wi matter mair moving\\nA fine pacing horse wi a clear chained bridle,\\nA whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.\\nO wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing\\nAnd wae on the love that s iix d on a mailin\\nA tocher s nae word in a true lover s parle,\\nBut, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl\\nNo. XIX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR, THOMSON.\\n7 th April, 1793.\\nThank you my dear sir, for your packet. You cannot imagine how-\\nmuch this business of composing for your publication has added to\\nmy enjoyments. What with my early attachment to ballads, your\\nbook, c, ballad making is now as completely my hobby-horse, as\\never fortification was Uncle Toby s so I ll e en canter it away till\\n1 come to the limit of my race, (God grant that I may take the right\\nside of the winning-post and then cheerfully looking back on the\\nhonest folks with whom I have been happy, I shall say, or sing,\\nu Sae merry as we a hae been, and raising my last looks to the\\nwhole human race, the last words of the voice of Coila* shall be\\nGood night and joy be wi you a So much for my last words\\nnow for a few present remarks as they have occurred at random on\\nlooking over your list.\\nThe first lines of The last time I came o er the Jfoor, and several\\nother lines in it, are beautiful but in my opinion pardon me, re-\\nvered shade of Ramsay the song is unworthy of the divine air. I\\nshall try to make or mend. For ever, Fortune wilt thou prove, is a\\ncharming song but Logan bum and Logan braes, are sweetly sus-\\nceptible of rural imagery I ll try that likewise, and if I succeed,\\nthe other song may class among the English ones. I remember the\\ntwo last lines of a verse in some of the old songs of Logan Water,\\n(for I know a good many different ones) which I think pretty\\nNow my dear lad maun face his faes,\\nFar, far frae me and Logan braes.\\nMy Patie is a lover gay, is unequal. His mind is never muddy,\\nis a muddy expression indeed.\\nThen I ll resign and marry Pate,\\nf And syne my cockernony.\\nThis is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your book. My song*\\nFags of Barley, to the same tune, does not altogether please me,\\nbut if I can mend it, and thresh a few loose sentiments out of it, I\\nwill submit it to your consideration. The Lass o Paiie s Mill is\\none of Ramsay s best songs but there is one loose sentiment in it,\\nwhich my much- valued friend, Mr. Erskine, will take into his cri-\\ntical consideration. In Sir J. Sinclair s Statistical volumes are two\\nclaims, one, I think, from Aberdeenshire, and the other from Ayr-\\nshire, for the honour of this song. The following anecdote, which\\nBurns here calls himself the Voice of Coila, in imitation of Ossian, who de-\\nnominates himself the Voice of Cona. Sae merry as we a hae beAH and G 00\\naigut a 4 joy fee. wi you aie the maw of two Scottish tunes.", "height": "4504", "width": "3012", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0488.jp2"}, "489": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 485\\nm\\nI had from the present Sir William Cunningham, of Kobertland*\\nwho had it of the late John, Earl of Loudon, I can on such autho\\nrities believe.\\nAllan Ramsay was residing at Loudon Castle with the then Earl\\nfather to Earl John and one forenoon, riding, or walking out to-\\ngether, his Lordship and A llan passed a sweet, romantic spot on Ir-\\nwine water, still called Patie s Mill, where a bonnie lass was\\ntedding hay, bareheaded on the green. My Lord observed to\\nAllan, that it would be a fine theme for a song. Ramsay took the\\nhint, and lingering behind, he composed the first sketch of it,\\nwhich he produced at dinner.\\nOne day I heard Mary say, is a fine song; but for consistency s\\nsake, alter the name Adonis. Was there ever such banns pub-\\nlished, as a purpose of marriage between Adonis and Mary I I\\nagree with you that my song, There s nought but care on every hand,\\nis much superior to Poortith could. The original song The mill, mill\\nO, though excellent, is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible still\\nI like the title, and think a Scottish song would suit the notes best\\nand let your chosen song, which is very pretty, follow, as an Eng-\\nlish set. The Banks of the Dee is, you know, literally Langolee in\\nslow time. The song is well enough, but has some false imagery to\\nit, for instance,\\nl* And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree.\\nIn the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never\\nfrom a tree and in the second place, there never was a nightingale\\nseen or heard on the Banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any\\nother river in Scotland. Exotic rural imagery is always compara-\\ntively flat. If I could hit on another stanza equal to The small\\nbirds rejoice, c. I do myself honestly avow that I think it a supe-\\nrior song.* John Anderson my jo the song to this tune in John-\\nson s Museum, is my composition, and I think it not the worst If\\nit suit you, take it and welcome. Your collection of sentimental\\nand pathetic songs, is in my opinion, very complete but not so\\nyour comic ones. Where are Tullochgorum, Lumps o puddin, Tibbie\\nFowler, and several others, which, in my humble judgment, are\\nwell worthy of preservation. There is also one sentimental song of\\nmine in the Museum, which never was known out of the immedi-\\nate neighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a country girl s\\nsinging. It is called Craigiebum Wood; and in the opinion of Mr.\\nClarke, is one of our sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an en-\\nthuiast about it and I would take his taste in Scottish music against\\nthe taste of most connoisseurs.\\nYou are quite right in inserting the last five in your list, though\\nthey are certainly Irish. Shepherds I have lost my love, is to me a\\nheavenly air what would you think of a set of Scottish verses to\\nit I have made one to it a good while ago, which I think\\nbut in its original state is not quite a lady s\\nsong. I enclosed an altered, not amended copy for you, if you\\nchoose to set the tune to it, and let the Irish verses follow.f\\nIt will be found in the course of this correspondence, that the Bard produced\\na second stanza of The Chevalier s Lament, (to which he here alludes) worthy\\nof the first.\\nt Mr. Thomson, it appears, did not approve of this song, even in its altered", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0489.jp2"}, "490": {"fulltext": "486 BURNS* WORKS*\\nMr. Erskine s songs are all pretty, but his Lone Vale is divine.\\nYours, c.\\nLet me know just how you like these random hits.\\nNo. XX.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, April, 1793.\\nI rejoice to find, my dear sir, that ballad-making continues to be\\nyour hobbyhorse. Great pity twould be were it otherwise. I\\nhope you will amble it away for many a year and witch the world\\nwith your horsemanship.\\nI know there are a good many lively songs of merit that I have\\nnot put down in the list sent you but I have them all in my eye.\\nMy Patien a lover gay, though a little unequal, is a natural and\\nvery pleasing song, and 1 humbly think we ought not to displace or\\nalter it, except the last stanza.\\nNo. XXI.\\nMR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.\\nApril, 1793.\\nhave yours, my dear sir, this moment. I shall answer it and\\nyour former letter, in my desultory way of saying whatever comes\\nuppermost.\\nThe business of many of our tunes wanting, at the beginning,\\nwhat fiddlers call a starting-note, is often a rub to us poor rhymers.\\nThere s braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,\\nThat wander thro the blooming heather,\\nYou may alter to\\nBraw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,\\nYe wander, c.\\nMy song, Here awa there awa, as mended by Mr. Erskine, I en-\\ntirely approve of, and return you.*\\nGive me leave to criticise your taste in the only thing in which\\nit is in my opinion reprehensible. You know 1 ought to know\\nsomething of my own trade. Of pathos, sentiment, and point, you\\nare a complete judge but there is a quality more necessary than\\neither, in a song, and which is the very essence of a ballad, I mean\\nsimplicity now, if I mistake not, this last feature you are a little\\napt to sacrifice to the foregoing.\\nRamsay, as every other poet, has not been always equally happy\\nin his pieces still 1 cannot approve of taking such liberties with\\nstate. It does not appear in the correspondence but is probably one to be found\\nin his MSS. beginning,\\nYestreen I got a pint of wine,\\nA place where body saw na\\nYestreen lay on this breast of mine,\\nThe gowden locks of Anna.\\nIt is highly characteristic of our Bard, but the strain of sentiment does not\\ncorrespond with the air, to which he proposes it should be allied.\\nThe reader has already seen that Burns did not finally adopt all Mr. Ewfcine g\\nalterations.", "height": "4508", "width": "3016", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0490.jp2"}, "491": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 487\\nan author as Mr. W. proposes doing with The last time 1 came o er\\nthe Moor, Let a poet, if he chooses, take up the idea of another,\\nand work it into a piece of his own but to mangle the works of\\nthe poor bard, whose tuneful tongue is now mute for ever, in the\\ndark and narrow house by Heaven twould be sacrilege I grant\\nthat Mr. W s version is an improvement; but I know Mr. W. well,\\nand esteem him much let him amend the song, as the Highlander\\nmended his gun he gave it a new stock, and a new lock, and a\\nnew barrel.\\nI do not, by this, object to leaving out improper stanzas, where\\nthat can be done without spoiling the whole. One stanza in The\\nLass o* Patie s mill, must be left out the song will be nothing\\nworse for it. I am not sure if we can take the same liberty with.\\nCom Rigs are bonnie.. Perhaps it might want the last stanza, and\\nbe the better for it. Cauld Kail in Aberdeen, you must leave with\\nme yet awhile. I have vowed to have a song to that air on the lady\\nwhom I attempted to celebrate in the verses, Poortith cauld and rest-\\nless Love, At any rate, my other song, Green grow the Rashes, will\\nnever suit. That song is current in Scotland under the old title,\\nand to the merry old tune of that name; which of course would\\nmar the progress of your song to celebrity. Your book will be the\\nstandard of Scotch songs for the future let this idea ever keep\\nyour judgment on the alarm.\\nI send a song, on a celebrated toast in this country, to suit Bon*\\n%ie Dundee. I send you also a ballad to the Mill, mill 0,\\nThe last time I came o er the Moor, I would fain attempt to make\\na Scots song for, and let Kamsay s be the English set. You shall\\nhear from me soon. When you go to London on this business, can\\nyou come by Dumfries I have still several MSS. Scots airs by me\\nwhich I have picked up, mostly from the singing of country lasses.\\nThey please me vastly but your learned lugs would perhaps be\\ndispleased with the very feature for which I like them. I call them\\nsimple; you would pronounce them silly. Do you know a line air\\ncalled Jackie Hume s Lament I I have a song of considerable merit\\nto that air. I ll enclose you both the song and tune, as I had them\\nready tofsend to Johnson s Museum.* I send you likewise, to me a\\nbeautiful little air, which I had taken down from viva voce.f\\nAdieu!\\nNo. XXIL\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nApril, 179S,\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The last time I came o er the Moor.\\nFarewell thou stream that winding flows\\nAround Maria s dwelling\\nAh cruel mem ry spare the throes\\nWithin my my bosom swelling\\nThe Bong here mentioned is that given in No. XVIII. O ken ye what\\nMeg [o the mill has gotten. This song is surely Mr. Burns own writing, though\\nhe does not generally praise his own songs so much. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Note by Mr. Thomson.\\nt The air here mentioned is that for which he wrote the hallad of Bonny\\nJean.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0491.jp2"}, "492": {"fulltext": "488 burns works*\\nCondemned to drag a hopeless chain,\\nAnd still in secret languish\\nTo feel a fire in ev ry vein,\\nYet dare not speak my anguish.\\nThe wretch of love, unseen, unknown,\\nI fain my crime would cover\\nThe bursting sigh, th unweeting groan\\nBetray the hopeless lover.\\nI know my doom must be despair,\\nThou wilt, nor canst relieve me\\nBat oh, Maria, hear one prayer,\\nFor pky s sake forgive me.\\nThe music of thy tongue I heard,\\nNor wist while it enslav d me\\nI saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear d,\\nTill fears no more had saved me.\\nThe unwary sailor thus aghast,\\nThe wheeling torrent viewing\\nMid circling horrors yields at last\\nTo overwhelming ruin.\\nBear Sir,\\nI had scarcely put my last; letter into the post office, when I took\\nup the subject of The last time I came o er the Moor, and ere I slept\\n1 drew the outlines of the foregoing. How far I have succeeded, I\\nleave on this, as on every other occasion, to you to decide. I own\\nmy vanity is flattered, when you give my songs a place in your ele-\\ngant and superb work but to be of service to the work is my first\\nwish. As I have often told you, I do not in a single instance wish\\nyou, out of compliment to me, to insert any thing of mine. One hint\\nlet me give you whatever Mr. Pleyel does, let him not alter one iota\\nof the original Scottish airs; I mean, in the song department; but\\nlet our national music preserve its native features. They are, I\\nown, frequently wild and irreducible to the more modern rules\\nbut that on very eccentricity, perhaps depends a great part of their\\neffect.\\nNo. XXIII.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, 26th April, 1793.\\nI heartily thank you, my dear sir, for your last two letters, and the\\nsong which accompanied them. I am always both instructed and\\nentertained by your observations and tho frankness with which\\nyou speak your mind, is to me highly agreeable. It is very possible\\nI may not have the true idea of simplicity in composition. I con-\\nfess there are several songs of Allan Ramsay s, for example, that I\\nthink silly enough, which another person more conversant than I\\nhave been with country people, would perhaps call simple and na-\\ntural. But the lowest scenes of simple nature will not please gen-\\nerally, if copied precisely as they are. The poet, like the painter,\\nmust select what will form an agreeable as well as a natural pic-\\nture. On this subject it were easy to enlarge but at present suf-", "height": "4508", "width": "3000", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0492.jp2"}, "493": {"fulltext": "correspondence: 489\\nfice it to say, that 1 consider simplicity, rightly understood, as a\\nmost essential quality in composition, and the ground- work of beauty\\nin all the arts. I will gladly appropriate your most interesting new\\nballad When wild Wars deadly blast, c. to the Mill mill, 0, as\\nwell as the other two songs to their respective airs; but the third and\\nfourth line of the first verses must undergo some little alteration in\\norder to suit the music* Pleyel does not alter a single note of the\\nsongs. That would be absurd indeed With the airs which he\\nintroduces into the sonatas, 1 allow him to take such liberties as he\\npleases, but that has nothing to do with the songs.\\nP. S. I wish you would do as you proposed with your Rigs o\\nBarley. If the loose sentiments were threshed out of it, I will find\\nan air for it but as to this there is no hurry.\\nNo. XXIY.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMPSON.\\nJune, 1793.\\nWhen I tell you, my dear sir, that a friend of mine, in whom I am\\nmuch interested, has fallen a sacrifice to these accursed times, you\\nwill easily allow that it might unhinge me for doing any good\\namong ballads. My own loss, as to pecuniary matters, is trifling;\\nbut the total ruin of a much-loved friend, is a loss indeed. Pardon\\nmy seeming inattention to your last commands.\\nI cannot alter the disputed lines in the Mill mill 0. What you\\nthink a defect I esteem as a positive beauty so you see how doc-\\ntors differ. I shall now, with as much alacrity as I can muster, go\\non with your commands.\\nYou know Eraser, the hautboy player in Edinburgh he is here\\ninstructing a band of music for a fencible corps quartered in this\\ncountry. Among many of the airs that please me, there is one well\\nknown as a reel by the name of The Quaker s Wife and which I\\nremember a grand aunt of mine used to sing, by the name of\\nLiggeram cosh, my bonny wee lass. Mr. Fraser plays it slow, and\\nwith an expression that quite charms me. I became such an en-\\nthusiast about it, that I made a song for it, which I here subjoin\\nand enclose Fraser s set of the tune. If they hit your fancy, they\\nare at your service if not, return me the tune, and I will put it\\nin Johnson s Museum. I think the song is not in my worst manner.\\nThe lines were the third and fourth.\\nWr mony a sweet babe fatherless,\\nAnd mony a widow mourning.\\nAs our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first number of Mr.\\nThomson s Musical Work was in the press, this gentleman ventured, by Mr. Ers-\\nkine s advice, to substitute for them in that publication,\\nAnd eyes again with pleasure beamed\\nThat had been bleared with mourning.\\nThough better suited to the music, these lines are inferior to the original. This\\nis the only alteration, adopted by Mr. Xhcmson, which Burns did not approve or\\nat least agent to.\\nx 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0493.jp2"}, "494": {"fulltext": "490 burns works;\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Liggeram cosh.\\nBlithe hae I been on yon hill,\\nAs the lamb3 before me\\nCareless ilka thought and free,\\nAs the breeze flew o er me\\nNow nae langer sport and play,\\nMirth or sang can please me\\nLesley is sae fair and coy,\\nCare and anguish seize me.\\nHeavy, heavy is the task,\\nHopeless love declaring\\nTrembling, I dow nocht but glowr,\\nSighing, dumb, despairing\\nIf she winna ease the thaws,\\nIn my bosom swelling\\nUnderneath the grass green sod,\\nSoon maun be my dwelling.\\nI should wish to hear how this pleases you,\\nNo. XXV.\\nMR BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nJanuary, 5, 1 793,\\nHave you ever, my dear sir, felt your bosom ready to burst with\\nindignation on reading of those mighty villains who divide king-\\ndom against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay nations waste\\nout of the wantonness of ambition, or often from still more ignoble\\npassions In a mood of this kind to day, I recollected the air of\\nLogan water and it occurred to me that its querulous melody pro-\\nbably had its origin from the plaintive indignation of some swel-\\nling, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some public\\ndestroyer and overwhelmed with private distress, the consequence\\nof a country s ruin. If I have done any thing at all like justice to\\nmy feelings, the following song, composed in three quarters of an\\nhour s meditation in my elbow chair, ought to have some merit.\\nTunz Logan water.\\nO, Logan sweetly didst thou glide,\\nThat day I was my Willie s bride\\nAnd years sinsyne hae o er us run,\\nLike Logan to the simmer sum\\nBut now the flowery banks appear\\nLike drumlie winter, dark and drear,\\nWhile my dear lad maun face his faes,\\nFar, far frae me and Logan braes.\\nAgain the merry month o May,\\nHas made our hills and valleys gay\\nThe birds rejoice in leafy bowers,\\nThe bees hum round the breathing flowers\\nBlythe morning lifts his rosy eye,\\nAnd evening s tears are tears of joy\\nMy soul, delightless, a surveys,\\nWhile Willie s far frae Logan braes*\\nii", "height": "4508", "width": "3016", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0494.jp2"}, "495": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 491\\nWithin yon milk-white hawthorn bush,\\nAmang her nestlings sits the thrush\\nHer faithfu mate will share her toil,\\nOr wi his song her cares beguile\\nBut I, wi my sweet nurslings here,\\nNae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,\\nPass widow d nights and joyless days,\\nWhile Willie s far frae Logan braes.\\nO wae upon you, men o* state,\\nThat brethren rouse to deadly hate t\\nAs ye mak mony a fond heart mourn,\\nSae may it on your heads return\\nHow can your flinty hearts enjoy,\\nThe widow s tears, the orphan s cry\\nBut soon may peace bring happy days\\nAnd Willie name to Logan braes\\nDo you know the following beautiful little fragment, in Wither-\\nspoon s Collection of Scots Songs\\ngin my love were yon red rose\\nThat grows upon the castle wa\\nAnd I mysel a drap o dew,\\nu Into her bonnie breast to fa\\nOh there beyond expression blest,\\nI d feast on beauty a the night\\nSeal d on her silk-saft faulds to rest,\\nTill fley d away by Pheebus light.\\nThis thought is inexpressibly beautiful aud quite, so far as I\\nknow, original. It is too short for a song, else I would forswear\\nyou altogether, unless you gave it a place. I have often tried to eke\\nout a stanza to it, but in vain, after balancing myself for a musing\\nfive minutes, on the hind legs of my elbow chair, I produced the\\nfollowing.\\nThe verses are far inferior to the foregoing I frankly confess bu\u00c2\u00a3\\nif worthy of insertion at all, they might be first in place; as evry\\npoet who knows any thing of his trade, will husband his best\\nthoughts for a concluding stroke.\\nwere my love yon lilach fair,\\nWi purple blossoms to the spring\\nAnd I a bird to shelter there\\nWhen wearied on my little wing.\\nHow I wad mourn, when it was torn\\nBy autumn wild, and winter rude\\nBut I wad sing on wanton wing,\\nWhen youthfu May its bloom renew d,\\nNo. XXYI.\\nMR. THOMSON to ME. BURNS.\\nMonday, 1st July, 1793.\\nI AM extremely sorry, my good sir, that any thing should happen", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0495.jp2"}, "496": {"fulltext": "492 burns works!\\nto unhinge you. The times are terribly out of tune, and when\\nharmony will be restored, heaven knows.\\nThe first book of songs, just published, will be despatched to you\\nalong with this. Let me be favoured with your opinion of it frankly\\nand freely.\\nI shall certainly give a place to the song you have written for the\\nQuaker s Wife it is quite enchanting. Pray, will you return the\\nlist of songs, with such airs added to it as you think ought to be\\nincluded. The business now rests entirely on myself, the gentleman\\nwho originally agreed to join in the speculation having requested\\nto be off. No matter a loser I cannot be. The superior excel-\\nlence of the work will create a general demand for it, as soon as it\\nis properly known. And were the sale even slower than what it\\npromises to be, I should be somewhat compensated for my labour,\\nby the pleasure I should receive from the music. I cannot express\\nhow much I am obliged to you for the exquisite new songs you are\\nsending me but thanks, my friend, are a poor return for what you\\nhave done as I shall be benefitted by the publication, you must\\nsuffer me to enclose a small mark of my gratitude, and to repeat it\\nafterwards when I find it convenient. Do not return it, for by\\nheaven, if you do, our correspondence is at an end and though this\\nwould be no loss to you, it would mar the publication, which, un-\\nder your auspices, cannot fail to be respectable and interesting.\\nWednesday morning.\\nI thank you for your delicate additional verses to the old frag-\\nment, and for your excellent song of Logan water Thomson s truly\\nelegant one will follow for the English singer. Your apostrophe to\\nstatesmen, is admirable, but I am not sure if it is quite suitable to\\nthe supposed gentle character of the fair mourner who speaks it.\\nNo. XXY1I.\\nME. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMy Dear Sik, July 2, 1793,\\nI have just finished the following ballad, and as 1 do think it in\\nmy best style, I send it you. Mr, Clarke, who wrote down the air\\nfrom Mrs. Burns wood-note wild, is very fond of it; and has given\\nit a celebrity by teaching it to some young ladies of the first fashion\\nhere. If you do not like the air enough to give it a place in your\\ncollection, please return it. The song you may keep, as I remem-\\nber it.\\nThere was a lass, and she was fair,\\nAt kirk and market to be seen\\nWhen a the fairest maids were met,\\nThe fairest maid was bonnie Jean.\\nAnd aye she wrought her mammie s wark,\\nAnd aye she sang sae merrilie\\nThe bl) thest bird upon the bush\\nHad ne er a lighter heart than she.\\nI", "height": "4508", "width": "3024", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0496.jp2"}, "497": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE^ 493\\nBut hawks will rob the tender joys\\nThat bless the little lintwhite s nest\\nAnd frost will blight the fairest flowers,\\nAnd love will break the soundest rest.\\nYoung Eobie was the brawest lad,\\nThe flower and pride of a the glen\\nAnd he had owsen, sheep, and kye,\\nAnd wanton naigies nine or ten.\\nHe gaed wi Jeanie to the tryst,\\nHe danced wi* Jeanie on the down\\nAnd land ere witless Jeanie wist,\\nHer heart was tint, her peace was stown.\\nAs in the bosom o the stream,\\nThe moon-beam dwells at dewy e en\\nSo trembling pure, was tender love\\nWithin the breast o bonnie Jean.*\\nAnd now she works her mammie s wark,\\nAnd aye she sighs wi care and pain\\nYet wist na what her all might be,\\nOr what wad mak her weel again.\\nBut did na Jeanie s heart loup light,\\nAnd did na joy blink in her e e,\\nAs Robie tauld a tale o love\\nAe e enin, on the lily lea 1\\nThe sun was sinking in the west,\\nThe birds sang sweet in ilka grove\\nHis cheek to hers he fondly prest,\\nAnd whisper d thus his tale o love.\\nJeanie fair, I lo e thee dear\\nO canst thou think to fancy me 1\\nOr wilt thou leave thy mammie s cot,\\nAnd learn to tent the farms wi me.\\nAt barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,\\nOr nae thing else to trouble thee;\\nBut stray amang the heather-bells,\\nAnd tent the waving corn wi me.\\n\u00c2\u00a3Tow what could artless Jeanie do\\nShe had na will to say him na\\nAt length she blushed a sweet consent,\\nAnd love was aye between them twa.\\nI have some thoughts of inserting in your index, or in my notes,\\nthe names of the fair ones, the themes of my songs. I do not mean\\nthe name at full but dashes or asterisms, so as ingenuity may find\\nthem out.\\nThe heroine of the foregoing is Miss M. daughter to Mr. M. of\\nD. one of your subscribers, I have not painted her in the rank\\nwhich she holds in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager.\\n*ln the original MS. our poet asks Mr, Thomson if this stanza is not original?", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0497.jp2"}, "498": {"fulltext": "494 burns works^\\nNo. XXVIII.\\nME. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\n/uty, 3793.\\nI assure you, my dear sir, that you truly hurt me with your pecu-\\nniary parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to return\\nit would savour of affectation but as to any more traffic of that\\ndebtor and creditor kind, I swear by that Honour which crowns the\\nupright statue of Robert Burrs Integrity on the least motion of\\nit, I will indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from that\\nmoment commence entire stranger to you Burns character for\\ngenerosity of sentiment and independence of mind will, I trust,\\nlong outlive any of his wants, which the cold unfeeling ore can sup-\\nply at least, I will take care that such a character he shall deserve.\\nThank you for my copy of your publication. Never did my eyea\\nbehold, in any musical work, such elegance and correctness. Tour\\npreface, too, is admirably written only, your partiality to me has\\nmade you say too much however, it will bind me down to double\\nevery effort in the future progress of the work. The following are\\na few remarks on the songs in the list you sent me. I never copy\\nwhat I write to you, so I may be often tautological, or perhaps con-\\ntradictory.\\nThe Flowers of the Forest is charming as a poem and should be,\\nand must be, set to the notes but, though out of your rule, the\\nthree stanzas, beginning,\\nI hae seen the smiling o fortune beguiling,\\nare worthy of a place, were it but to immortalize the author of them,\\nwho is an old lady of my acquaintance, and at this moment living\\nin Edinburgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn I forget of what place\\nbut from Roxburghshire. What a charming apostrophe is\\nO fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting,\\nWhy, why torment us\u00e2\u0080\u0094 poor sons of a day\\nThe old ballad, wish I were where Helen lies, is silly, to con-\\ntemptibility. My alteration of it, in Johnson s, is not much better.\\nMr. Pinkerton, in his, what he calls, Ancient Ballads (many of them\\nnotorious, though beautiful enough forgeries) has the best set. It\\nis full of his own interpolations but no matter.\\nIn my next, I will suggest to your consideration, a few songs which\\nmay have escaped your hurried notice. In the meantime, allow\\nme to congratulate you now, as a brother of the quill. You have\\ncommitted your character and fame which will now be tried, for\\nages to come, by the illustrious jury of the Sons and Daughters of\\nTaste all whom poesy can please, or music charm.\\nBeing a bard of nature, I have some pretensions to second sight\\nand I am warranted by the spirit to foretell and affirm, that your\\ngreat grandchild will hold up your volumes, and say, with honest\\npride, This so much admired selection was the work of my ancestor,\\nNo. XXIX.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nDeir Sir, Edinburgh, August, 1793.\\nI had the pleasure of receiving your last two letters, and am happy", "height": "4508", "width": "3020", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0498.jp2"}, "499": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 495\\nto find you are quito pleased with the appearance of the first book.\\nWhen you come to hear the songs sung and accompanied, you will\\nbe charmed with them.\\nThe bonnie brucJcet Lassie, certainly deserves better verses, and I\\nhope you will match her. Cauld Kail in Aberdeen, Let me in this\\nae night, and several of the livelier airs, wait the muse s leisure\\nthese are peculiarly worthy of her choicest gifts besides, you ll\\nnotice, that in the airs of this sort, the singer can always do greater\\njustice to the poet, than in the slower airs of The bush aboon Tra-\\nquair, Lord Gregory, and the like for in the manner the latter are\\nfrequently sung, you must be contented with the sound, without\\nthe sense. Indeed, both the airs and words are disguised by the\\nvery slow, languid, psalm-singing style in which they are too often\\nperformed they lose animation and expression altogether, and in-\\nstead of speaking to the mind, or touching the heart, they cloy\\nupon the ear, and set us a yawning\\nYour ballad, There was a lass and she was fair, is simple and\\nbeautiful, and shall undoubtedly grace my collection.\\nNO XXX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMt Dear Thompson, August, 1793.\\nI hold the pen for our friend Clarke, who, at present, is studying\\nthe music of the spheres at my elbow. The Georgium Sidus, he\\nthinks, is rather out of tune so until he rectify that matter, he\\ncannot stoop to terrestrial affairs.\\nHe sends you six of the Rondeau subjects, and if more are\\nwanted, he says you shall have them.\\nConfound your long stairs\\nS. CLARKE.\\nNo. XXXI.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nAugust, 1793.\\nYour objection my dear sir, to the passages in my song Logan Wa*\\nter, is right in one instance but it is difficult to mend it If I can,\\nI will. The other passage you object to does not appear in the\\nsame light to me.\\nI have tried my hand on Robin Adair, and you will probably\\nthink, with little success but it is such a cursed, cramp, out of the\\nway measure, that I despair of doing any thing better to it.\\n7 7t* 7K Tp* Tfs\\nPHILLIS THE FAIR.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Robin Adair.\\nWhile larks with little wing,\\nFann d the pure air,\\nTasting the breathing springy\\nForth I did fare;", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0499.jp2"}, "500": {"fulltext": "496 BURNS WORKS.\\nGay the sun s golden eye,\\nPeep d o er the mountains high\\nSuch thy morn did I cry,\\nPhillis the fair.\\nIn each bird s careless song,\\nGlad, I did share\\nWhile yon wild flowers among,\\nChance led me there\\nSweet to the opening day,\\nRosebuds bent the dewy spray\\nSuch thy bloom, did I say,\\nPhillis the fair.\\nDown in a shady walk,\\nDoves cooing were,\\nI rnark d the cruel hawk\\nCaught in a snare\\nSo kind may fortune be,\\nSuch make his destiny\\nHe who would injure thee,\\nPhillis the fair.\\nSo much for namby pamby. I may, after all try my hand on it\\nin Scots verse. There I always find myself most at home.\\nI have just put the last hand to the song I meant for Cauld Kail\\nin Aberdeen.. If it suits you to insert it, I shall be pleased, as the\\nheroine is a favourite of mine if not, I shall also be pleased be-\\ncause I wish and will be glad, to see you act decidedly on the bu-\\nsiness.* Tis a tribute as a man of taste, and as an editor, which\\nyou owe yourself.\\nNo. XXXII.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Good Sir, August, 1793.\\nI consider it one of the most agreeable circumstances attending\\nthis publication of mine, that it has procured me so many of your\\nmuch valued epistles. Pray make my acknowledgments to St.\\nStephen for the tunes; tell him I admit the justness of his conij\\nplaint on my stair-case, conveyed in his laconic postscript to your\\njeu a esprit which I perused more than once, without discovering\\nexactly whether your discussion was music, astronomy, or politics\\nthough a sagacious friend, acquainted with the convivial habits of\\nthe poet and the musician, offered me a bet of two to one, you\\nwere just drowning care together that an empty bowl was the\\nonly thing that would deeply affect you, and the only matter you\\ncould then study how to remedy\\nI shall be glad to see you give Robin Adair a Scottish dress.\\nPeter is furnishing him with an English suit for a change, and\\nyou are well matched together. Robin s air is excellent, though\\nhe certainly has an out of the way measure as ever poor Parnassian\\nTvight was plagued with. I wish you would invoke the muse for a\\nsingle elegant stanza to be substituted for the concluding objec-\\nThe long lent herewith is that in p. 474.", "height": "4504", "width": "3012", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0500.jp2"}, "501": {"fulltext": "CORRESP0NDENCE. 497\\ntionable verses of Down the burn Davie, so that this most exquisite\\nsong may no longer be excluded from good company.\\nMr. Allan has made an inimitable drawing from your John An*\\nderson my Jo, which I am to have engraved, as a frontispiece to the\\nhumorous class of songs you will be quite charmed with it, I pro-\\nmise you. The old couple are seated by the fireside. Mrs. Ander-\\nson, in great good humour, is clapping John s shoulders, while he\\nsmiles and looks at her with such glee, as to show that he fully\\nrecollects the pleasant days and nights when they were first acquent.\\nThe drawing would do honour to the pencil of Teniers.\\nNo. XXXIII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nAugust, 1793.\\nThat crinkum crankum tune, Robin Adair, has run so in my head,\\nand I succeeded so ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured in\\nthis morning s walk, one essay more. You, my dear sir, will re-\\nmember an unfortunate part of our worthy friend C. s story,\\nwhich happened about three years ago. That struck my fancy,\\nand I endeavoured to do the idea justice, as follows.\\nSONG.\\nHad I a cave on some wild, distant shore,\\nWhere the winds howl to the wave s dashing roar\\nThere would I weep my woes,\\nThere seek my last repose,\\nTill grief my eyes should close,\\nNe er to wake more.\\nFalsest of womankind, canst thou declare,\\nAll thy fond plighted vows fleeting as air\\nTo thy new lover hie,\\nLaugh o er thy perjury,\\nThen in thy bosom try\\nWhat peace is there\\nBy the way, I have met with a musical Highlander, in Breadal-\\nbane s fencibles, which are quartered here, who assures me that he\\nwell remembers his mother s singing Gaelic songs both to Robin\\nAdair and Gramachree. They certainly have more of the Scotch\\nthan Irish taste in them.\\nThis man comes from the vicinity of Inverness so it could not\\nbe any intercourse with Ireland that could bring them except,\\nwhat I shrewdly suspect to be the case, the wandering minstrels,\\nharpers, and pipers, used to go frequently errant through the wilds\\nboth of Scotland and Ireland, and so some favourite airs might be\\ncommon to both. A case in point They have lately, in Ireland,\\npublished an Irish air, as they say, called Caun du delish. The\\nfact is, in a publication of Corri s, a great while ago, you will find\\nthe same air, called a Highland one, with a Gaelic song set to it.\\nIts name there, I think, is Oran Gaoil and a fine air it is. Do\\nask honest Allan, or the Rev. Gaelic Parson, about these matters.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0501.jp2"}, "502": {"fulltext": "498 burns works.\\nNo. XXXIV.\\nMR. BUKNS to MR. THOMPSON.\\nMy Dear Sir, August, 1793.\\nLet me in this ae night, I will re-consider. I am glad you are\\npleased with my song, Had I a cave, c. as I liked it myself.\\nI walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the Museum\\nin my hand when turning up Allan Water, What numbers\\nshall the muse repeat, c, as the words appeared to me rather un-\\nworthy of so fine an air and recollecting that it is on your list, I\\nsat and raved under the shadow of an old thorn, till I wrote out\\none to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in\\nmy worst style. You must know, that in Ramsay s Tea-table,\\nwhere the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the\\ntune, Allan says, is Allan Water, or, My love Annie s very\\nbonnie. This last has certainly been a line of the original song\\nso I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the\\nline in its place, which I presume it formerly occupied though I\\nlikewise give you a choosing line, that should not hit the cut of\\nyour fancy.\\n7 7 t\u00c2\u00a3 3fc\\nBr Allan-stream I chanced to rove,\\nWhile Poebus sank beyond Benleddi\\nThe winds were whispering through the grove,\\nThe yellow corn was waving ready\\nI listen d to a lover s sang,\\nAnd thought on youthfu* pleasures mony\\nAnd aye the wild- wood echoes rang\\ndearly do I lo e thee Annie.+\\nhappy be the woodbine bower,\\nNae nightly bogle make it eerie\\nNor ever sorrow stain the hour,\\nThe place and time I met my dearie\\nHer head upon my throbbing breast,\\nShe, sinking said, I m thine for ever\\nWhile mony a kiss the seal imprest,\\nThe sacred vow, we ne er should sever.\\nThe haunt o spring s the primrose brae,\\nThe simmer joys the flocks to follow;\\nHow cheery, through her shortening day,\\nIs autumn in her weeds o yellow\\nBut can they melt the glowing heart,\\nOr chain the soul in speechless pleasure,\\nOr thro each nerve the rapture dart,\\nLike meeting her, our bosom s treasure.\\nBravo say I it is a good song. Should you think so too, (not\\nelse) you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as Eng-\\nUsh verses.\\nA mountain west of Strath- Allan, 3000 feet high.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 R. B.\\nt Or, Omy love Annie s Yery bonnie. R. B.", "height": "4508", "width": "3020", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0502.jp2"}, "503": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 499\\nAutunm is my propitious season, I make more verses in it than\\nin all the year else.\\nGod bless you\\nNo. XXXV.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nAugust, 1793.\\nIs Whistle and I ll come to you, my lad, one of your airs 1 I ad-\\nmire it much and yesterday I set the following verses to it. Ur-\\nbani, whom I met with here, begged them of me, as he admires the\\nair much but as I understand that he looks with rather an evil\\neye on your work, I did not choose to comply. However, if the\\nsong does not suit your taste, I may possibly send it to him. The\\nset of the air which I had in my eye, is in Johnson s Museum.\\nO whistle and I ll come to you, my lad,*\\nwhistle and I ll come to you, my lad\\nTho father and mither and a should gae mad,\\nwhistle and I ll come to you, my lad.\\nBut warily tent when ye come to court me,\\nAnd come nae unless the back-yett be ajee\\nSyne up the back style, and let nae body see,\\nAnd come as ye were nae comin to me.\\nAnd come, c.\\nwhistle, c.\\nAt kirk, or at market, whene er ye meet me,\\nGang by me as tho that ye cared nae a flie\\nBut steal me a blink o your bonnie black e e,\\nYet look as ye were nae lookin at me.\\nYet look, c.\\nwhistle, c.\\nAye vow and protest that ye care na for me,\\nAnd whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee\\nBut court nae anither, tho jokin ye be,\\nFor fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.\\nFor fear, c.\\nwhistle, e.\\nAnother favourite air of mine, is, The muckin o Oeordie s byre.\\nWhen sung slow, with expression, I have wished that it had had\\nbetter poetry that I have endeavoured to supply as follows\\nA down winding Nith I did wander,\\nTo mark the sweet flowers as they spring\\nAdown winding Nith I did wander,\\nOf Phillis to muse and to sing.\\nIn some of the MSS. the first four lines run thus\\nO whistle and I ll come to thee, my jo,\\nO whistle and 111 come to thee, my jo\\nTho father and mother and a should say no,\\nwhistle and I ll come to thee, my jo.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0503.jp2"}, "504": {"fulltext": "500 BURNS WORKS.\\nCHORUS.\\nAwa wi your belles and your beauties,\\nThey never wi her can compare.\\nWhaever has met wi my Phillis,\\nHas met wi the queen o the fair.\\nThe daisy amus d my fond fancy,\\nSo artless, so simple, so wild\\nThou emblem^ said I, o my Phillis,\\nFor she is Simplicity s child.\\nAwa, c.\\nThe rose-bud s the blush o my charmer,\\nHer sweet balmy lip when tis prest\\nHow fair and how pure is the lily,\\nBut fairer and purer her breast.\\nAwa, c.\\nYon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,\\nThey ne er wi my Phillis can vie\\nHer breath is the breath o* the woodbine,\\nIts dew-drop o diamond, her eye.\\nAwa, c.\\nHer voice is the song of the morning,\\nThat wakes thro the green spreading grove,\\nWhen Phoebus peeps over the mountains,\\nOn music, and pleasure, and love.\\nAwa, kc.\\nBut beauty, how frail and how fleeting,\\nThe bloom of a fine summer s day\\nWhile worth in the mind o my Phillis\\nWill flourish without a decay.*\\nAwa, c.\\nMr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book,\\nas she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss P. M. sister to\\nlonnie Jean. They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from\\nme, the very first grist I get from my rhyming mill.\\nNo. XXXYI.\\nME. BURNS to ME. THOMSON.\\nAugust, 1793.\\nThat tune Cavld Kail is such a favourite of yours, that I once\\nmore roved out yesterday for a gloamin shot at the muses ;t when\\nthe muse that presides o er the shores of Nith, or rather my old\\ninspiring dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I\\nhave two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet, simple,\\ninspirer that was by my elbow, smooth gliding without step,\\nThis song, certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the\\nchoTus as is indeed the case with several other songs of our author.\\nt Gloamin, twilight, probably from glooming. A beautiful poetical word\\nwhich ought to be adopted in England. A gloamin-shot, a twilight interview\\nL", "height": "4508", "width": "3016", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0504.jp2"}, "505": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 501\\nand pouring the song on my glowing fancy. In the first place,\\nsince I left Coila s native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has risen\\nto cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her so\\nI more than suspect that she has followed me hither, or at least,\\nmakes me occasional visits secondly, the last stanza of this song I\\nsend you in the very words that Coila taught me many years ago,\\nand which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson s Museum.\\nAir.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Cauld Kail.\\nGome let me take thee to my breast,\\nAnd pledge we ne er shall sunder\\nAnd I shall spurn, as vilest dust,\\nThe warld s wealth and grandeur\\nAnd do I hear my Jeanie own\\nThat equal transports move her\\nI ask for dearest life alone,\\nThat I may live to love her.\\nThus in my arms, wi a thy charms,\\nI clasp my countless treasure\\nI ll seek nae mair o heaven to share,\\nThan sic a moment s pleasure\\nAnd by thy een, sae bonnie blue,\\nI swear I m thine for ever\\nAnd on thy lips I seal my vow,\\nAnd break it shall I never.\\nIf you think the above will suit your idea of your favourite air, I\\nshall be highly pleased. The last time I came o er the Muir, I can-\\nnot meddle with, as to mending it and the musical world have\\nbeen so long accustomed to Ramsay s words, that a different song,\\nthough positively superior, would not be so well received. I am\\nnot fond of choruses to songs, so I have not made one for the fore-\\ngoing.\\nNo. XXXYII.\\nME. BURNS to MR, THOMSON.\\nAugust, 1793.\\nDAINTY DAYIE.\\nNow rosy May comes in wi flowers,\\nTo deck her gay, green spreading bowers\\nAnd now comes in my happy hours,\\nTo wander wi my Davie.\\nCHORUS.\\nMeet me on the warlock knowe\\nDainty Davie, dainty Davie,\\nThere 111 spend the day wi you,\\nMy ain dear dainty Davie.\\nThe crystal waters round us fa\\nThe merry birds are lovers a\\nThe scented breezes round us blaw,\\nA wandering wi my Davie,\\nMeet me, c", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0505.jp2"}, "506": {"fulltext": "502 BURNS WORKS*\\nWhen purple morning starts the hare\\nTo steal upon her early fare,\\nThen thro the dews I will repair,\\nTo meet my faithfu Davie,\\nMeet me, c.\\nWhen day, expiring in the west,\\nThe curtain draws o nature s rest*\\nI flee to his arms I loe best,\\nAnd that s my ain dear Davie.\\nCHORUS.\\nMeet me on the warlock knowe,\\nBonnie Davie, dainty Davie,\\nThere I ll spend the day wi 1 you,\\nMy ain dear dainty Davie.*\\nSo much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the low part of\\nthe tune. See Clarke s set of it in the Museum.\\nN. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve\\nlines of poetry, which is nonsense. Four lines of song, and\\nfour of chorus, is the way.\\nNo. XXXVIIL\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Dear Sir, Edinburgh, 1st Sept 1793.\\nSince writing you last, I have received half a dozen songs, with\\nwhich I am delighted beyond expression. The humour and fancy\\nof Whistle and I ll come to you my lad, will render it nearly as great\\na favourite as Duncan Gray. Come let me take thee to my breast,\\nAdown winding Niih, and By Allan stream, c. are full of imagina-\\ntion and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are in-\\ntended. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, is a striking and\\naffecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, read it\\nwith a swelling heart, I assure you. The union we are now form-\\ning, I think can never be broken these songs of yours will descend\\nwith the music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly cherished\\nso long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our island.\\nWhile the muse seems so propitious, I think it right to inclose a\\nlist of all the favours 1 have to ask of her, no fewer than twenty\\nand three I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many as it\\nis probable he will attend to most of the remaining airs would\\npuzzle the English poet not a little they are of that peculiar mea-\\nsure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him who writes for\\nthem.\\nNo. XXXIX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR, THOMSON.\\nSeptember 1793.\\nYou may readily trust, my dear sir, that any exertion in my power\\nis heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you the\\nDainty Davie is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns has taken\\nnothing but the title and the measure.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0506.jp2"}, "507": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 503\\nvery name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication,\\nso get a verse from him now and then though I have no objection,\\nas well as I can, to bear the burden of the business.\\nYou know that my pretensions to musical taste, are merely a few\\nof nature s instincts, untaught and untutored by art. For this rea-\\nson, many musical compositions, particularly where much of the\\nmerit lies in counterpoint; however they may transport and ravish\\nthe ears of the connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than\\nmerely as melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I\\nam delighted with many little melodies, which the learned musician\\ndespises as silly or insipid, 1 do not know whether the old air Bey\\ntuttie taittie may rank among this number but well I know that,\\nwith Fraser s hautboy, it has oiten filled my eyes with tears. There\\nis a tradition, which I have met with in many places in Scotland,\\nthat it was Robert Bruce s march at the battle of Bannockburn.\\nThis thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of\\nenthusiasm on the theme of Liberty and Independence, which I\\nthrew into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air that one might\\nsuppose to be the Royal Scot s address to his heroic followers on\\nthat eventful morning.*\\nBRUCE TO HIS TROOPS.\\nON THE EVE OF THE BATTLE OP BANNOCKBURN.\\nTo its own Tune.\\nScots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,\\nScots wham Bruce has aften led\\nWelcome to your gory bed,\\nOr to victorie.\\nKow s the day, and now s the hour\\nSee the front o battle lour\\nSee approach proud Edward s power\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nChains and slaverie\\nWha will be a traitor-knave?\\nWha can fill a coward s grave?\\nWha sae base as be a slave\\nLet him turn and flee.\\nWha for Scotland s king and law\\nFreedom s sword will strongly draw 1\\nFree-man stand, or Free-man fa\\nLet him follow me I\\nBy oppression s woes and pains\\nBy your sons in servile chains\\nWe will drain our dearest veins,\\nBut they shall be free\\nLay the proud usurpers low\\nTyrants fall in every foe\\nLiberty s in every blow\\nLet us do or die\\nThis noble strain was conceived by ctir poet during a storm among the wilds\\nof Glen Kien, in Galloway. A more finished cojy will be found afterwards.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0507.jp2"}, "508": {"fulltext": "504 burns works.\\nSo may God ever defend the cause of Truth and Liberty, as he\\ndid that day Amen.\\nP. S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with\\nit, and begged me to make soft verses for it but I had no idea of\\ngiving myself any trouble on the subject, till the accidental recol-\\nlection of that glorious struggle for freedom, associated with the\\nglowing ideas of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite\\nso ancient, roused my rhyming mania. Clarke s set of the tune,\\nwith his bass, you will find in the Museum though I am afraid\\nthat the air is not what will entitle it to a place in your elegant\\nselection.\\nNo. XL.\\nME. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSeptember, 1793.\\nI dare say, my dear sir, that you will begin to think my corres-\\npondence is persecution. No matter, I can t help it, a ballad is my\\nhobby-horse which, though otherwise a simple sort of harmless,\\nidiotical beast enough, has yet this blessed headstrong property,\\nthat when once it has fairly made off with a hapless wight, it gets\\nso enamoured with the tinkle-gingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells,\\nthat it is sure to run poor pil-garlick, the bedlam jockey, quite be-\\nyond any useful point or post in the common race of man.\\nTho following song I have composed for Oran-gaoil, the Highland\\nair that you tell me, in your last, you have resolved to give a place\\nto in your book. I have this moment finished the song so you\\nhave it glowing from the mint. If it suit you, well if not, tis\\nalso well\\nTune Oran gaoil.\\nBehold the hour, the boat arrive\\nThou goest, thou darling of my heart\\nSevered from thee can I survive\\nBut fate has will d, and we must part,\\nI ll often greet this surging swell,\\nYon distant isle will often hail\\nE en here, I took the last farewell\\nThere latest mark d her vanish d sail.\\nAlong the solitary shore,\\nWhile flitting sea fowl round me cry,\\nAcross the rolling, dashing roar,\\nI ll westward turn my wistful eye\\nHappy, thou Indian grove, I ll say,\\nWhere now my Nancy s path may be\\nWhile thro thy sweets she loves to stray,\\ntell me, does she muse on me\\nNo. XLI.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, 5th Sept. 1793.\\nI believe it is generally allowed that the greatest modesty is the\\nsure attendant of the greatest merit. While you are sending me", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0508.jp2"}, "509": {"fulltext": "COBRESPONDENCE. 505\\nverses that even Shakspeare might be proud to own, you speak of\\nthem as if they were ordinary productions Your heroic ode is to\\nme the noblest composition of the kind in the Scottish language. I\\nhappened to dine yesterday with a party of your friends, to whom\\nI read it. They were all charmed with it, entreated me to find out\\na suitable air for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so\\ntotally devoid of interest or grandeur as Hey tuttie taitiie. As*\\nsuredly your partiality for this tune must arise from the ideas as-\\nsociated in your mind by the tradition concerning it, for I never\\nheard any person, and I have conversed again and again with the\\ngreatest enthusiasts for Scottish airs\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I say I never heard any one\\nspeak of it as worthy of notice.\\nI have been running over the whole hundred airs, of which I\\nlately sent you the list and I think Lewie Gordon is most happily\\nadapted to your ode at least with a very short variation of the\\nfourth line, which I shall presently submit to you. There is in\\nLewie Gordon more of the grand than the plaintive, particularly\\nwhen it is sung with a degree of spirit, which your words would\\noblige the singer to give it. I would have no scruple about substitu-\\nting your ode in the room of Leivie Gordon, which has neither the\\ninterest, the grandeur, nor the poetry that characterise your verses.\\nNow the variation I have to suggest upon the last line of each\\nverse, the only line too short for the air, is as follows\\nVerse 1st, Or to glorious victorie.\\n2d, Chains chains and slaverie.\\nZd, Let him, let him turn and flie.\\n4th, Let him bravely follow me.\\n5 th, But they shall, they shall be free.\\n6th, Let us, let us do, or die\\nIf you connect each line with its own verse, I do not think you\\nwill find that either the sentiment or the expression loses any of its\\nenergy. The only line which I dislike in the whole of the song is,\\nWelcome to your gory bed. Would not another word be prefer-\\nable to welcome In the next I expect to be informed whether you\\nagree to what I have proposed. These little alterations I submit\\nwith the greatest deference.\\nThe beauty of the verses you have made for Oran-gaoil will in-\\nsure celebrity to the air.\\nNo. XLII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON,\\nSeptember, 1793.\\nI have recived your list, my dear sir, and here go my observations\\non it.*\\nDown the Burn Davie. I have this moment tried an alteration,\\nleaving out the last half of the third stanza, and the first half of\\nthe last stanza, thus\\nMr. Thomson s list of songs for publication In his remarks the bard pro-\\nceeds in order, and goes through the whole but on many of them he merely sig-\\nnifies his approbation. All his remarks of any importance are presented to the\\nreader.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0509.jp2"}, "510": {"fulltext": "506 BURNS WORKS.\\nAs down the burn they took their way,\\nAnd thro* the flowery dale\\nHis cheek to hers he aft did lay,\\nAnd love was aye the tale.\\nWith Mary, when shall we return,\\nSic pleasure to renew\\nQuoth Mary, Love, I like the burn,\\nAnd aye shall follow you.\\nThro 1 the wood, Laddie. I am decidedly of opinion that both in\\nthis, and There ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame, the second or\\nhigh part of the tune being a repetition of the first part an octave\\nhigher, is only for instrumental music, and would be much better\\nomitted in singing.\\nCowden-Tcnowes, Kemember in your index that the song in pure\\nEnglish to this tune, beginning\\nWhen summer comes, the swains on Tweed,\\nis the production of Crawford Eobert was his Christian name.\\nLaddie lie near me, must lie by me for some time. I do not know\\nthe air and until I am complete master of a tune, in my own sing-\\ning, (such as it is,) I never can compose for it. My way is I con-\\nsider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical\\nexpression then choose my theme begin one stanza when that\\nis composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the busi-\\nness, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in na-\\nture around me, that are in unison or harmony with the cogita-\\ntions of my fancy, and workings of my bosom humming every\\nnow and then the air, with the verses I have framed. When I feel\\nmy music beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fireside of my\\nstudy, and there commit my effusions to paper swinging at inter-\\nvals on the hind legs of my elbow-chair, by way of calling forth my\\nown critical strictures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this at home,\\nis almost invariably my way.\\nWhat cursed egotism\\nGill Morice I am for leaving out. It is a plaguey length; the air\\nitself is never sung and its place can well be supplied by one or\\ntwo songs for fine airs that are not in your list. For instance,\\nCraigieburn-wood and Roy s Wife. The first, beside its intrinsic\\nmerit, has novelty and the last has high merit, as well as great\\ncelebrity. I have the original words of a song for the last air, in\\nthe hand writing of the lady who composed it and they are supe-\\nrior to any edition of the song which the public has yet seen.\\nHighland laddie. The old set will please a mere Scotch ear best\\nand the new an Italianized one. There is a third, and what Os-\\nwald calls the old Highland laddie, which pleases me more than\\neither of them. It is sometimes called Ginglan Johnnie it being the\\nair of an old humorous tawdry song of that name. You will find\\nit in the Museum, I hae been at Croohieden, c, I would advise\\nyou, in this musical quandary, to offer up your prayers to the muses\\nfor inspiring direction and in the meantime, waiting for this di-\\nThis alteration Mr. Thomson has adopted, (or at least intended to adopt,) in-\\nstead of the original song, which is objectionable in point of delicacy.\\nt This song, so much admired by our bard, will be found in the future part of\\nthe volume.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0510.jp2"}, "511": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 507\\nrection, bestow a libation to Bacchus and there is not a doubt but\\nyou will hit on a judicious choice. Probatum est.\\nAuld Sir Simon, I must beg you to leave out, and put in its\\nplace, The Quaker s wife.\\nBlythe hae I been o er the hill is one of the finest songs ever I\\nmade in my life and besides is composed on a young lady, posi-\\ntively the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world. As I pur-\\npose giving you the names and designations of all my heroines, to\\nappear in some future edition of your works, perhaps half a cen-\\ntury hence, you must certainly include the bonnie lass in a 9 the warld\\nin your collection.\\nDaintie Davie I have heard sung, nineteen thousand, nine hun-\\ndred and ninety nine times, and always with the chorus to the low\\npart of the tune and nothing has surprised me so much as your\\nopinion on this subject. If it will not suit, as I proposed, we will\\nlay two of the stanzas together, and then make the chorus follow.\\nFee him father 1 inclose you Fraser s set of this tune when he\\nplays it slow; in fact, he makes it the language of despair. I\\nshall here give you two stanzas in that style merely to try if it\\nwill be any improvement. Were it possible, in singing, to give it\\nhalf the pathos which Fraser gives it in playing, it would make an\\nadmirable pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit\\nthey have. I composed them at the time in which Patie Allan s\\nmither died, that was about the back o midnight; and by the leeside\\nof a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company,\\nexcept the hautbois and the muse.\\nThou ha3t left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever,\\nThou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever.\\nAften hast thou vow d that death, Only should us sever,\\nNow thou s left thy lass for aye\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I maun see thee never, Jamie,\\nI ll see thee never.*\\nThou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken.\\nThou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken,\\nThou canst love anither jo, While my heart is breaking\\nSoon my weary e en I ll close Never mair to waken, Jamie,\\nNe er mair to waken, f\\nJocky and Jenny I would discard, and in its place would put\\nThere s nae luck about the house, which has a very pleasant air and\\nwhich is positively the finest love-ballad in that style in the Scot-\\ntish, or perhaps in any other language. When she cam ben she bob\\nbet, as an air, is more beautiful than either, and in the andante\\nway, would unite with a charming sentimental ballad.\\nSaw ye my father, is one of my greatest favourites. The evening\\nbefore last, I wandered out and began a tender song in what I\\nthink is its native style. 1 must premise that the old way, and the\\nway to give most effect, is to have no starting note, as the fiddlers\\nThe Scottish (the Editor U3es the word substantively, as the English) em-\\nploy the abbreviation I ll, for I shall, as well as I will and it is for I shall, it is\\nused here. In Annandale, as in the northern counties of England, for I shall,\\nthey use I se.\\nT This is the whole of the song. The bard never proceeded farther \u00e2\u0080\u0094Note by\\nMr. Thomson,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0511.jp2"}, "512": {"fulltext": "508 BURNS WORKS.\\ncall it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every country girl\\nsings\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Saw ye my father, c.\\nMy song is but just begun and I should like, before I proceed,\\nto know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish\\ndialect, but it may be easily turned into correct English.\\nFRAGMENT.\\nTune Saw ye my Father.\\nWhere are the joys I hae met in the morning,\\nThat danc d to the larks early sang\\nWhere is the peace that awaited my wandering,\\nAt e enin the wild woods amang\\nKae mair a- winding the course o* yon river,\\nAnd marking sweet flow rets sae fair\\nKae mair I trace the light footsteps o pleasure,\\nBut sorrow and sad sighing care.\\nIs it that summer s forsaken our valleys,\\nAnd grim surly winter is near\\nNo, no the bees humming round the gay roses\\nProclaim it the pride o the year.\\nFain would I hide, what I fear to discover,\\nYet lang, lang too well hae I known\\nA that has caused the wreck in my bosom,\\nIs Jenny, fair Jenny alone.\\nCETERA DESUNT.\\nTo lirC hdme* Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has\\nlong been mine that this air is highly susceptible of pathos ac-\\ncordingly, you will soon hear him, at your concert, try it to a song\\nof mine in the Museum, Ye banks and braes o bonnie Doon.\\nOne song more and I have done. Auld lang syne. The air is\\nbut mediocre, but the following song, the old song of the olden\\ntimes, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript,\\nuntil 1 took it down from an old man s singing, is enough to re-\\ncommend any air.\\nAULD LANG SYNF.\\nShould auld acquaintance be forget,\\nAnd never brought to miiJl\\nShould auld acquaintance be forgot,\\nAnd days o lang syne.\\nFor auld lang syne, my dear,\\nFor auld lang syne,\\nWe ll tak a cup o kindness yet,\\nFor auld lang syne.\\nWe twa hae run about the braes,\\nAnd pou t the go wans fine;\\nBut we ve wandered many a weary foot\\nSin auld lang syne.\\nFor auld, c.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0512.jp2"}, "513": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 509\\nWe twa hae paidelt i the burn,\\nFra mornin sun till dine\\nBut seas between us braid hae roar d\\nSin auld lang syne.\\nFor auld, o.\\nAnd here s a hand, my trusty fiere,\\nAnd gie s a hand o thine\\nAnd we ll tak a right guid willie-waughfe,\\nFor auld lang syne.\\nFor auld, c.\\nAnd surely ye ll be your pint-stowp,\\nAnd surely I ll be mine\\nAnd well tak a cup o kindness yet,\\nFor auld lang syne.*\\nFor auld, c.\\nNow, I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You must,\\nafter all is over, have a number of ballads, properly so called. Gill\\nMorice, Tranent Muir, M Pherson s Farewell, Battle of Sheriff-\\nmuir, or We ran and they ran, (I know the author of this charm-\\ning ballad, and his history,) Hardiknute, Barbara Allan/ (I can\\nfurnish a finer set of this tune than any that has yet appeared,) and\\nbesides, do you know that I redlly have the old tune to which\\nThe Cherry and the Slae was sung and which is mentioned as a\\nwell known air in Scotland s complaint, a book published before\\npoor Mary s days. It was then called The banks o Helicon an\\nold poem which Ptnkerton has brought to light. You will see all\\nthis in Ty tier s History of Scottish Music. The tune to a learned\\near, may have no great merit but it is a great curiosity. I have\\na good many original things of this kind.\\nNo. XLIIL\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSeptember, 1793.\\nI Am happy, my dear sir, that my ode pleases you so much. Your\\nidea, honour s bed, is, though a beautiful, hackneyed idea: so,\\nif you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I have altered the\\nsong as follows\\nBANNOCI^BURN.\\nROBERT BRUCE s ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.\\nScots, wha hae wi Wallace bled\\nScots, wham Bruce has aften led\\nWelcome to your gory bed,\\nOr to glorious victory.\\nNow s the day and now s the hour;\\nSee the front of battle lour\\nSee approach proud Edward s power\\nEdward chains and slavery\\nThis song of the olden times is excellent\u00e2\u0080\u0094 It is worthy of our bard.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0513.jp2"}, "514": {"fulltext": "510 BURNS WORKS.\\nWha will be a traitor knave\\nWha can fill a coward s grave 1\\nWha sae base as be a slave 1\\nTraitor coward turn and flee\\nWha for Scotland s king and law\\nFreedom s sword will strongly draw\\nFree-man stand, or free-man fa\\nCaladonian on wi me\\nBy oppression s woes and pains\\nBy your sons in servile chains\\nWe will drain our dearest veins.\\nBut they shall be shall be free\\nLay the proud usurpers low\\nTyrants fall in every foe\\nLiberty s in every blow\\nForward let us do, or die\\nK.B.\u00e2\u0080\u0094I have borrowed the last stanza from the common stall\\nedition of Wallace.\\nA false usurper sinks in every foe,\\nAnd liberty returns with every blow.\\nA couplet worthy of Horace. Yesterday you had enough of my\\ncorrespondence. The post goes, and my head aches miserably.\\nOne comfort I suffer so much, just now, in this world, for the last\\nnight s jo vality, that I shall escape seot-free for it in the world to\\ncome. Amen\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\n12th Sept. 1793.\\nA thousand thanks to you, my dear sir, for your observations on\\nthe list of my songs. I am happy to find yor ideas so much in\\nunison with my own respecting the generality of the airs, as well as\\nthe verses. About them we differ, but there is no disputing about\\nhobby-horses. 1 shall not fail to profit by the remarks you made\\nand to re- consider the whole with attention.\\nDaintie Davie must be sung two stanzas together, and then the\\nchorus tis the proper way. 1 agree with you, that there may be\\nfomething of pathos, or tenderness at least, in the air of Fee him,\\nFather, when performed with feeling but a tender cast may be\\ngiven almost to any lively air, if you sing it very slowly, expressive-\\nly, and with serious words. I am, however, clearly, and invariably\\nfor retaining the cheerful tunes joined to their own humourous\\nver3es, wherever the verses are passable. But the sweet song for\\nFee him. Father, which you began about the back of mid-\\nnight, I will publish as an additional one. Mr. James Balfour, the\\nking of good fellows, and the best singer of the lively Scottish\\nballads that ever existed, has charmed thousands of companies with\\nFee him, father/ and with Todlinhame also, to the old words,\\nwhich should be disunited from either of these airs. Some Bac-\\nchanalians I would wish to discard. Fy let us a to the bridal,\\nfor instance is so coarse and vulgar, that I think it fit only to be", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0514.jp2"}, "515": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 511\\nsung in a company of drunken colliers and Saw ye my father**\\nappears to me both indelicate and silly.\\nOne word more with regard to your heroic ode. I think, with\\ngreat deference to the poet, that a prudent general would avoid\\nsaying any thing to his soldiers which might tend to make death\\nmore frightful than it is. Gory, presents a disagreeable image to\\nthe mind and to tell them, Welcome to your gory bed, seems\\nrather a discouraging address, notwithstanding the alternative\\nwhich follows. X have shown the song to three friends of excel-\\nlent taste, and each of them objected to this line, which emboldens\\nme to use the freedom of bringing it again under your notice. I\\nwould suggest,\\nNow prepare for honour s bed,\\nQr for glorious victor ie.\\nNo. XLY.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSeptember, 1793.\\nWho will decide when doctors disagree My ode pleases me so\\nmuch that I cannot alter it. Your proposed alterations would, in\\nmy opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly obliged to you for\\nputting me on reconsidering it I think I have much improved\\nit. Instead of sodger hero 1 I will have Caledonia on\\nwi me\\nI have scrutinized it over and over and to the world some way\\nor other it shall go as it is. At the same time it will not in the\\nleast hurt me, should you leave it out altogether and adhere to\\nyour first intention of adopting Logan s verses.*\\nMr. Thomson has very properly adopted this song (if it may be so called) as\\nthe bard presented it to him. He has attached to it the air of Lewis Gordon, and\\nperhaps among the existing airs he could not find a better but the poetry is\\nsuited to a much higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of some\\nScottish Handel, if any such should in future arise. The reader will have ob-\\nserved, that Burns adopted the alteration proposed by his friend and correspondent\\nin former instances with great readiness perhaps, indeed, on all indifferent occa~\\nsions. In the present instance, however, he rejected them, though repeatedly\\nurged, with determined resolution. With every respect for the judgment of Mr.\\nThomson and his friends, we may be satisfied that he did so. He who in prepar-\\ning for an engagement attempts to withdraw his imagination from images of death\\nwill probably have but imperfect success, and is not fitted to stand in the ranks of\\nbattle, where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue. Of such men the conquerors\\nof Bannockburn were not composed. Bruce s troops were inured to war, and fa-\\nmiliar with all its sufferings and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day,\\ntheir spirits were without doubt wound up to the pitch of enthusiasm suited to the\\noccasion a pitch of enthusiasm at which danger becomes attractive, and the most\\nterrific forms of death are no longer terrible. Such a strain of sentiment this he-\\nroic welcome may be supposed well calculated to elevate\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to raise their hearts\\nhigh above fear, and to nerve their arms to the utmost pitch of mortal exertion.\\nThese observations might be illustrated and supported, by a reference to the mar-\\ntial poetry of all nations, from the spirit-stirring strains of Tyrteus, to the war-\\nsong of General Wolfe. Mr. Thomson s observations, that Welcome to your\\ngory bed, is a discouraging address seems not sufficiently considered. Perhaps,\\nindeed, it may be admitted, that the term gory is somewhat objectionable, not\\non account of its presenting a frightful but a disagreeable image to the mind. But\\na great poet uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, seeks always to\\npresent a picture that is vivid, and is uniformly disposed to sacrifice, the delica*\\ncies of taste on the altar of the imagination,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0515.jp2"}, "516": {"fulltext": "512 BURNS WORKS.\\nI have finished my song to Saw ye my father f and in English,\\nas you will see. That there is a syllable too much for the e xpres*\\nsion of the air, it i3 true but allow me to say, that the mere divid-\\ning of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver, k not a great\\nmatter however, in that, I have no pretension to cope in judgment\\nwith you. Of the poetry I speak with confidence but the music\\nis a business where I hint my ideas with modest diffidence.\\nThe old verses have merit, though unequal, and are popular my\\nadvice is to set the air to the old words, and let mine follow as Eng-\\nlish verses.\\nFAIK JENNY.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Saw ye my Father.\\nWhere are the joys I hae met in the morning,\\nThat danc d to the lark s early sang\\nWhere is the peace that awaited my wandering,\\nAt evening the wild woods among 1\\nNo more a winding the course of yon river,\\nAnd marking sweet flow rets so fair\\nNo more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,\\nBut sorrow and sad-sighing care.\\nIs it that summer s forsaken our valleys,\\nAnd grim surly winter is near\\nNo, no, the bees humming round the gay roses,\\nProclaim it the pride of the year.\\nFain would I hide what I fear to discover,\\nYet long, long too well have I known\\nAll that has caused this wreck in my bosom,\\nIs Jenny, fair Jenny alone.\\nTime cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,\\nNor Hope dare a comfort bestow\\nCome then, enamour d and fond of my anguish,\\nEnjoyment I ll seek in my woe.\\nAdieu, my dear sir The post goes, so I shall defer some other\\nremarks until more leisure.\\nNo. XLYI.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSeptember, 1793.\\nI have been turning over some volumes of songs, to find verses\\nwhose measures would suit the airs for which you have allotted me\\nto find English songs.\\nFor Muirland Willie you have, in Ramsay s Tea-table, an excel-\\nlent song beginning Ah, those tears in Nelly s eyes] 1 As for\\n94 The Collier s Dochter, take the following old Bacchanal.\\nDeluded swain, the pleasure\\nThe fickle fair can give thee,\\nIs but a fairy treasure,\\nThy hopes will soon deceive thee.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0516.jp2"}, "517": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 513\\nThe billows on the ocean,\\nThe breezes idly roaming.\\nThe cloud s uncertain motion,\\nThey are but types of women.\\nO art thou not ashamed,\\nTo doat upon a feature\\nIf man thou wouldest be named,\\nDespise the silly creature.\\nGo, find an honest fellow\\nGood claret set before thee\\nHold on till thou art mellow,\\nAnd then to bed in glory.\\nThe faulty line in Logan- water, I mend thus\\nu How can your flinty hearts enjoy\\n11 The widow s tear, the orphan s cry V\\nThe song, otherwise, will pass. As to M Gregoira Rua-Ruth, you\\nwill see a song of mine to it, with a set of the air superior to yours,\\nin the Museum, Yol. ii. p. 181. The song begins,\\nRaving winds around her blowing.\\nYour Irish airs are pretty, but they are downright Irish. If they\\nwere like the Banks of Banna, for instance, though really Irish, yet\\nin the Scottish taste, you might adopt them. Since you are so\\nfond of Irish mus^c, what say you to twenty-five of them in an ad-\\nditional number We could easily find this quantity of charming\\nairs I will take care that you shall not want songs and I assure\\nyou that you would find it the most saleable of the whole. If you\\ndo not approve of Roys Wife, for the music sake, we shall not in-\\nsert it. Deil talc the wars; is a charming song so is Saw ye my Peggy.\\nThere s nae luck about the house, well deserves a place 1 cannot say\\nthat O er the hills and far aiva strikes me as equal to your selection.\\nThis is no my ain house is a great favourite air of mine and if you\\nwill send me your set of it, I will task my muse to her highest ef-\\nfort. What is your opinion of i hae laid a herring in sawt I like\\nit much. Your Jacobite airs are pretty and there are many others\\nof the same kind pretty\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but you have not room for them. You\\ncannot, 1 think, insert Fye let us a to the bridal to any other words\\nthan its own.\\nWhat pleases me, as simple and naive, disgusts you a3 ludicrous\\nand low. For this reason, Fye, gie me my coggie sirs Fye let us\\na 1 to the bridal, with several others of that cast, are to me, highly\\npleasing while, Saio ye my Mother, delights me with its descriptive\\nsimple pathos. Thus, my song, Ken ye what Meg o the mill has got-\\nten? pleases myself so much, that I cannot try my hand at another\\nsong to the air so I shall not attempt it. 1 know you will langh at\\nall this; but, ilka man wears his belt his ain gait.\\nNo. XLVII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nOctober, 1793.\\nYour last letter, n:y dear Thomson, wa- indeed laden with heavy\\nThis will be fouad in tht latter d ut c f this volun.e.\\ny 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0517.jp2"}, "518": {"fulltext": "514 burns works.\\nnews. Alas, poor Erskine The recollection that he was a coad-\\njutor in your publication, has, till now, scared me from writing to\\nyou, or turning my thoughts on composing for you.\\n1 am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of the Quaker s\\nWife, though, by the bye, an old Highland gentleman, and a deep an-\\ntiquarian, tells me it is a Gaelic air, and known by the name of\\nLeigher m choss. The following verses I hope will please you, as an\\nEnglish song to the air.\\nThink am I, my faithful fair,\\nThine, my lovely Nancy\\nEv*ry pulse along my veins,\\nEv ry roving fancy\\nTo thy bosom lay my heart,\\nThere to throb and languish\\nTho despair had wrung its core,\\nThat would heal its anguish.\\nTake away these rosy lips,\\nRich with balmy treasure\\nTurn away thine eyes of love,\\nLest I die with pleasure.\\nWhat is life when wanting love\\nNight without a morning\\nLove s the cloudless summer sun,\\nNature gay adorning.\\nYour objection to the English song I proposed for John Anderson\\nmy jo, is certainly just. The following is by an old acquaintance\\nof mine, and I think has merit. The song was never in print,\\nwhich I think is so much in your favour. The more original good\\npoetry your collection contains, it certainly has so much the more\\nmerit.\\nSONG,\\nBY GAVIN TURNBULL.\\ncondescend, dear, charming maid,\\nMy wretched state to view;\\nA tender swain to love betray d,\\nAnd sad despair, by you.\\nWhile here, all melancholy,\\nMy passion 1 deplore,\\nYet, urg d by stern resistless fate,\\nI love thee more and more.\\n1 heard of love, and with disdain,\\nThe urchin s power denied\\nI laugh d at every lover s pain,\\nAnd mock d them when they sigh d\\nBut how my state is altered\\nThose happy days are o er\\nThe Honourable A. Eskine, brother to Lord Kelly, vrhose melancholy death\\nMr. Thomson had communicated in an excellent letter, which he has suppressed.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0518.jp2"}, "519": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 515\\nFor all thy unrelenting hate,\\nI love thee more and more.\\nO yield, illustrious beauty, yield,\\nNo longer let me mourn\\nAnd tho victorious in the field,\\nThy captive do not scorn.\\nLet generous pity warm thee,\\nMy wonted peace restore;\\nAnd grateful, I shall bless thee still,\\nAnd love thee more and more.\\nThe following address of Turnbull to the nightingale will suit, as\\nan English song, to the air There was a lass and she teas fair, By\\nthe bye, Turnbull has a great many songs in MS. which 1 can com-\\nmand, if you like his manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of\\nmine, I may be prejudiced in his favour but I like some of his\\npieces very much.\\nite fife ate Ale 2S \u00c2\u00a3fe afe\\n7y\u00c2\u00bb \u00c2\u00bbpf 7p\u00c2\u00bb 7F TfC 7pT ?f\u00c2\u00bb\\nTHE NIGHTINGALE.\\nBY G. TURNBULL.\\nThou sweetest minstrel of the grove,\\nThat ever tried the plaintive strain,\\nAwake thy tender tale of love,\\nAnd soothe a poor forsaken swain.\\nFor tho the muses deign to aid,\\nAnd teach him smoothly to complain\\nYet Delia, charming, cruel maid,\\nIs deaf to her forsaken swain.\\nAll day, with Fashion s gaudy sons,\\nIn sport she wanders o er the plain\\nTheir tales approves, and still she shuns\\nThe notes of her forsaken swain.\\nWhen evening shades obscure the sky,\\nAnd bring the solemn hour3 again,\\nBegin, sweet bird, thy melody,\\nAnd soothe a poor forsaken swain.\\nI shall just transcribe another of TurnbuH s, which would go\\ncharmingly to Leivie Gordon,\\nLAURA,\\nBY Q, TURNBULL.\\nLet me wander where I will,\\nBy shady wood, or winding rill\\nWhere the sweetest May-born flowers\\nPaint the meadows, deck the bowers\\nWhere the linnet s early song\\nEchoes sweet the woods among\\nLet me wander where I will,\\nLaura haunts my fancy still.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0519.jp2"}, "520": {"fulltext": "516 Burns works.\\nIf at rosy dawn I choose\\nTo indulge the smiling muse,\\nIf I court some cool retreat,\\nTo avoid the noon-tide heat\\nIf beneath the moon s pale ray,\\nThro* unfrequented wilds I stray\\nLet me wander where I will,\\nLaura haunts my fancy still.\\nWhen at night the drowsy god\\nWaves his sleep- compelling rod,\\nAnd to Fancy s wakeful eyes\\nBids celestial visions rise\\nWhile with boundless joy I rove\\nThro the fairy land of love\\nLet me wander where I will,\\nLaura haunts my fancy still.\\nThe rest of your letter I shall answer at some other opportunity.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMr dear sib, 7 th Nov. 1793.\\nAfter so long a silence, it gave me a peculiar pleasure to recog-\\nnise your well-known hand, for I had begun to be apprehensive\\nthat all was not well with you. I am happy to find, however, that\\nyour silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you have\\ngot among the ballads once more.\\nI have to thank you for your English song to Leiger m choss,\\nwhich I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm.\\nYour friend Mr. Turn bull s songs have doubtless considerable merit\\nand as you have the command of his manuscripts, I hope you may\\nfind out some that will answer as English songs to the airs yet un-\\nprovided.\\nNo. XLIX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nDecember 1793.\\nTell me how you like the following verses to the tune of Jo Janet,\\nHusband, husband cease your strife,\\nNor longer idly rave, sir\\nTho I am your wedded wife,\\nYet 1 am not your slave, sir.\\nOne of two must still obey,\\nNancy, Nancy,\\nIs it man or woman, say,\\nMy spouse Nancy f\\nIf tis stiil the lordly word,\\nService and obedience\\nI ll desert my sovereign lord,\\nAnd so good bye allegiance", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0520.jp2"}, "521": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 517\\nSad will I be so bereft,\\nNancy, Nancy\\nYet I ll try to make a shift,\\nMy spouse Nancy.\\nMy poor heart then break it must,\\nMy last hour I m near it\\nWhen you lay me in the dust,\\nThink, think how you will bear it.\\nI will hope and trust in heaven,\\nNancy, Nancy\\nStrength to bear it will be given,\\nMy spouse Nancy.\\nWell, sir, from the silent dead,\\nStill I ll try to daunt you\\nEver round your midnight bed\\nHorrid sprites shall haunt you.\\nI ll wed another like my dear,\\nNancy, Nancy\\nThen all hell will fly for fear,\\nMy spouse, Nancy.\\nAir\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Sutor s Dochter.\\nWilt thou be my dearie\\nWhen sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,\\nWilt thou let me cheer thee\\nBy the treasure of my soul,\\nThat s the love I bear thee\\nI swear and vow that only thou\\nShall ever be my dearie.\\nOnly thou, 1 swear and vow\\nShall ever be my dearie.\\nLassie, say thou loe s me\\nOr if thou wilt na be my ain,\\nSay na thou lt refuse me\\nIf it winna, canna be,\\nThou for thine may choose me,\\nLet me, lassie, quickly die,\\nTrusting that thou lo es me\\nLassie let me quickly die,\\nTrusting that thou lo es me.\\nNo L.\\nMR. THOMSON to ME. BURNS.\\nMi Dear Sir, Edinburgh 7 th April, 1794.\\nOwing to the distress of our friend for the loss of his child, at the\\ntime of his receiving your admirable but melancholy letter, I had\\nnot an opportunity till lately of perusing it. How sorry am I\\nto find Barns saying, Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased 1\\nwhile he is delighting others from one end of the island to the\\nA letter to Mt. Cunningham, to be found in p. 297.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0521.jp2"}, "522": {"fulltext": "518 BURNS* WORKS.\\nother. Like the hypochondriac who went to consult a physician\\nupon his case Go, says the doctor, and see the famous Carlini, who\\nkeeps all Paris in good humour. Alas sir, replied the patient, I\\nam that unhappy Carlini I\\nYour plan for our meeting together pleases me greatly, and I\\ntrust that by some means or other it will soon take place but your\\nBacchanalian challenge almost frightens me, for I am a miserable\\nweak drinker\\nAllan is much gratified by the good opinion of his talents. He\\nhas just begun a sketch from your Cotter* s Saturday Night, and if it\\npleases himself in the design, he will probably etch or engrave it.\\nIn subjects of the pastoral or humorous kind, he is perhaps unri-\\nvalled by any artist living. He fails a little in giving beauty and\\ngrace to his females, and his colouring is sombre, otherwise his paint-\\nings and drawings would be in greater request.\\nI like the music of the Sutors Dodder, and will consider whether it\\nshall be added to the last volume your verses to it are pretty but\\nyour humorous English to suit Jo Janet is inimitable. What think you\\nof the air, Within a mile of Edinburgh I It has always struck me\\nas a modern English imitation but is said to be Oswald s, and is so\\nmuch liked, that I believe I must include it. The verses are little\\nbetter than namby pamby. Do you consider it worth a stanza\\nor two 1\\nNo. LI.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMy Dear Sir, May, 1794.\\nI return you the plates, with which I am highly pleased; I would\\nhumbly propose, instead of the younker knitting stockings, to put\\na stock and horn into his hands. A friend of mine, who is posi-\\ntively the ablest judge on the subject I have ever met with, and\\nthough an unknown, is yet a superior artist with the Burin, is\\nquite charmed with Allan s manner I got him a peep of the Gentle\\nShepherd, and he pronounces Allan a most original artist of great\\nexcellence.\\nFor my part, I look on Mr. Allan s choosing my favourite poem\\nfor his subject, to be one of the highest compliments I have ever\\nreceived.\\nI am quite vexed at Pleyel s being cooped up in France, as it will\\nput an entire stop to our work. Now, and for six or seven months,\\nu I shall be quite in song, as you shall see by and bye. I got an\\nair, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron,\\nwhich she calls The Banks of Cree. Cree is a beautiful romantic\\nstream and as her ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have\\nwritten the following song to it.\\nBANKS OF CREE.\\nHere is the glen, and here the bower,\\nAll underneath the birchen shade\\nThe village bell has told the hour,\\nwhat can stay my lovely maid.\\nTis not Maria s whispering call\\nTis but the balmy breathing gale,", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0522.jp2"}, "523": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 519\\nMixt with some warbler s dying fall,\\nThe dewy star of eve to hail.\\nIt is Maria s voice I hear\\nSo calls the woodlark in the grove,\\nHis little faithful mate to cheer\\nAt once tis music and tis love.\\nAnd art thou come and art thou true\\nO welcome dear to love and me\\nAnd let us all our vows renew,\\nAlong the flowery banks of Cree.\\nNo. LII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nJuly, 1794.\\nIs there no news yet of Pleyel Or is your work to be at a dead stop\\nuntil the allies set our modern Orpheus at liberty from the savage\\nthraldom of democratic discords. Alas, the day And woe s me\\nThat auspicious period, pregnant with the happiness of mil-\\nlions.*\\nI have presented a copy of your songs to the daughter of a much-\\nvalued and much honoured friend of mine, Mr. Graham of Fintry.\\nI wrote, on the blank side of a title-page, the following address to\\nthe young lady.\\nHere, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,\\nIn sacred strains and tuneful numbers join d,\\nAccept the gift, though humble he who gives,\\nRich is the tribute of a grateful mind.\\nSo may no ruffianf feeling in thy breast,\\nDiscordant jar thy bosom-chords among;\\nBut peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,\\nOr love ecstatic wake his seraph song.\\nOr pity s notes, in luxury of tears,\\nAs modest want the tale of woe reveals\\nWhile conscious virtue all the strain endears,\\nAnd heaven-born piety her sanction seals.\\nNo. LIII.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Dear Sir, Edinburgh, \\\\tith Aug., 17 4.\\nI owe an apology for having so long delayed to acknowledge the\\nfavour of your last. I fear it will be as you say. 1 shall have no\\nmore songs from Pleyel till France and we are friends but, never-\\ntheless, I am very desirous to be prepared with the poetry, and as\\nthe season approaches in which your muse of Coil a visits you, I\\ntrust I shall, as formerly, be frequently gratified with the result of\\nyour amorous and tender interviews\\nA portion of this letter has been left out, for reasons that can easily be ima-\\ngined.\\nIt were to have been wished that instead of ruffian feeling, the bard had\\nused a less rugged epithet, e. g. ruder,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0523.jp2"}, "524": {"fulltext": "520 burns works.\\nNo. LIV.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nZOth August 179L\\nThe last evening, as I was straying out and thinking of O er the\\nhills and far awa, I spun the following stanza for it but whether\\nmy spinning will de serve to be laid up in store like the precious\\nthread of the silk-worm, or brushed to the devil like the vile manu-\\nfactures of the spider, I leave, my dear sir, to your usual candid\\ncriticism. I was pleased with several lines in it at first but I\\nown, that now, it appears rather a flimsy business.\\nThis is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether it be worth a\\ncritique. We have many sailor songs but, os far as I at present\\nrecollect, they are mostly the effusions of the jovial sailor, not the\\nwailings of his lovelorn mistress. I must here make one sweet ex-\\nception Sweet Annie frae the Sea beach came. Now for the\\nsong.\\nON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.\\nHow can my poor heart be glad,\\nWhen absent from my sailor lad 1\\nHow can I the thoughts forego,\\nHe s on the seas to meet the foe?-\\nLet me wander, let me rove,\\nStill my heart is with my love\\nNightly dreams and thoughts by day\\nAre with him that s far away.\\nCHORUS.\\nOn the seas and far away,\\nOn stormy seas and far away\\nNightly thoughts and dreams by day\\nAre aye with him that s far away.\\nWhen in summer s noon I faint,\\nAs weary flocks around me pant,\\nHaply in this scorching sun\\nMy sailor s thundering at his gun\\nBullets, spare my only joy\\nBullets, spare my darling boy\\nFate do with me what you may,\\nSpare but him that s far away\\nOn the seas, c.\\nAt the starless midnight hour,\\nWhen winter rules with boundless power\\nAs the storms the forest tear,\\nAnd thunders rend the howling air,\\nListening to the doubling roar,\\nSurging on the rocky shore,\\nAll I can I weep and pray,\\nFor his weal that s faraway,\\nOa the seas, kc.\\nPeace, thy olive wand extend,\\nAnd bid wild war his ravage end", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0524.jp2"}, "525": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONBENCE. 521\\nMan with brother man to meet,\\nAnd as a brother kindly greet\\nThen may heaven, with prosp rous gales,\\nFill my sailor s welcome sails,\\nTo my arms their charge convey,\\nMy dear lad that s far away,\\nOn the seas, c.\\nI give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit of\\nChristian meekness.\\nNo. LY.\\nMK. THOMSON to ME. BURNS.\\nMr Dear Sir, Edinburgh, 16th Sept. 1794.\\nYou have anticipated my opinion of On the seas and far away\\ndo not think it one of your very happy productions, though it ce3\\ntainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation.\\nThe second is the least to my liking, particularly, Bullets,\\nspare my only joy. Confound the bullets. It might perhaps be\\nobjected to the third verse, At the starless midnight hour, that\\nit has too much grandeur of imagery, and that greater simplicity\\nof thought would have better suited the character of a sailor s\\nsweetheart. The tune, it must be remembered, is of the brisk,\\ncheerful kind. Upon the whole, therefore, in my humble opinion,\\nthe song would be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of\\nthe first and last verses, with the choruses.\\nNo. LYI.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSeptember, 1794.\\nI shall withdraw my On the seas and far away altogether it is\\nunequal, and unworthy of the work. Making a poem is like be-\\ngetting a son you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a\\nfool, until you produce him to the world and try him.\\nFor that reason I send you the offspring of my brain, abortions\\nand all and as such, pray look over them and forgive them, and\\nburn them.* I am flattered at your adopting Ca the yewes to\\nthe knowes, as it was owing to me that it ever saw the light.\\nAbout seven years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy little\\nfellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunzie, who sung it charmingly and,\\nat my request, Mr. Clarke took it down from his singing. When I\\ngave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and mended\\nothers, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll which I\\ntook to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up\\nthe idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with\\nall its crudities and imperfections on its head.\\nThi8 Virgilian order of the poet, should, I think, he disobeyed with respect to\\nthe song in question, the second stanza excepted Note by Mr Thompson.\\nDoctors differ. The objection to the second stanza does not strike the Editor.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0525.jp2"}, "526": {"fulltext": "522 burns works.\\nCHORUS.\\nCa the yewes to the knowes,\\nCa them whare the heather grows,\\nCa them whare the burnie rows,\\nMy bonnie dearie.\\nHark the mavis evening sang\\nSounding Clouden s woods amang*h\\nThan afaulding let us gang,\\nMy bonnie dearie.\\nCa the, c.\\nWe ll gae down by Clouden side,\\nThro the hazels spreading wide,\\nO er the waves, that sweetly glide\\nTo the moon sae clearly.\\nCa the, c.\\nYonder Clouden s silent towers,\\nWhere at moonshine midnight hours,\\nO er the dewy bending flowers,\\nFairies dance sae cheery.\\nCa the, c.\\nGhaist nor bogle shalt thou fear\\nThou rt to love and heaven sae dear,\\nNoeht of ill may come thee near,\\nMy bonnie dearie.\\nCa the, c.\\nFair and lovely as thou art,\\nThou hast stown my very heart\\nI can die but canna part,\\nMy bonnie dearie.\\nCa the, c.\\nI shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs,\\nmy first scribbling fit.\\nNo. LTII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMPSON.\\nSeptember, 1794.\\nDo you know a blackguard Irish song, called OnagKs Waterfall I\\nThe air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent\\nverses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rustic muse,\\nto expect that every effort of hers shall have merit still 1 think it\\nis better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air, than none at\\nall. On this principle I have all along proceeded in the Scots Mu-\\nsical Museum, and as that publication is at its last volume, I in-\\ntend the following song, to the air above mentioned, for that work.\\nIf it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased to have\\nverses to it that you can sing before ladies.\\nt The river Clouden, a tributary stream to the Nith,", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0526.jp2"}, "527": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE, 623\\nSHE SAYS SHE LO ES ME BEST OF A\\\\\\n11 Onagh s Water- Fall.\\nSab flaxen were her ringlets,\\nHer eyebrows of a darker hue,\\nBewitchingly o er arching\\nTwa laughing een o bonnie blue.\\nHer smiling sae wyling,\\nWad make a wretch forget his woe\\nWhat pleasure, what treasure,\\nUnto these rosy lips to grow\\nSuch was my Chloris bonnie face,\\nWhen first her bonnie face I saw,\\nAnd aye my Chloris dearest charm,\\nShe says she lo e3 me best of a\\nLike harmony her motion\\nHer pretty ancle is a spy\\nBetraying fair proportion,\\nWad make a saint forget the sky.\\nSae warming, sae charming,\\nHer faultless form and graceful air\\nIlk feature auld Nature\\nDeclar d that she could do na mair\\nHers are the willing chains o love,\\nBy conquering beauty s sovereign law\\nAnd aye my Chloris dearest charm,\\nShe says she lo es me best of a\\nLet others love the city,\\nAnd gaudy show at sunny noon\\nGie me the lonely valley,\\nThe dewy eve, and rising moon.\\nFair beaming and streaming,\\nHer silver light the boughs amang\\nWhile falling, recalling,\\nThe amorous thrush concludes his sang.\\nThere dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove\\nBy wimpling burn and Jeafy shaw,\\nAnd hear my vows o truth and love,\\nAnd say thou lo es me best of a\\\\\\nNot to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like\\nthe mighty Frederick of Prussia s taste in painting we are told\\nthat he frequently admired what the connoisseurs decried, and\\nalways without any hypocrisy confessed his admiration. I am sensi-\\nble that my taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, because\\npeople of undisputed and cultivated taste can find no merit in my\\nfavourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that any\\nreason why I should deny myself that pleasure] Many of our\\nstrathspeys, ancient and modern, give me the most exquisite en-\\njoyment, where you and other judges would probably be showing\\ndisgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for Rothie-\\nmurche s Rant, an air which put me in raptures and in fact, un-\\nless I be pleased with the tune, I never can make verses to it, Here", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0527.jp2"}, "528": {"fulltext": "524 burns works.\\nI have Clark on my side, who is a judge that I will pit against any\\nof you. u Eothieniurche, he says, is in the air both original and\\nbeautiful f and on his recommendation I have taken the first part\\nof the tune for a chorus, and the fourth or last part for the soDg. I\\nam but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly you may think,\\nand justly, that the poetry is as little worth your attention as the\\nmusic*\\nI have begun, anew, Let me in this ae night. Do you think\\nthat we ought to retain the old chorus 1 I think we must retain\\nboth the old chorus and the first stanza of the old song. I do not\\naltogether like the third line of the first stanza, but cannot alter it\\nto please myself. I am just three stanzas deep in it. Would you\\nhave the denouement to be successful or otherwise should she\\nlet him in or not.\\nDid you not once propose The Sow s tail to Geordie, as an air\\nfor your work I am quite delighted with it but I acknowledge\\nthat is no mark of its real excellence. I once set about verses for\\nit, which I meant to be in the alternate way of a lover and his mis-\\ntress chanting together. I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs.\\nThomson s Christian name, and yours, I am afraid is rather bur-\\nlesque for sentiment, else I had meant to have made you the hero\\nand heroine of the little piece.\\nHow do you like the following epigram, which I wrote the other\\nday on a lovely young girl s recovery from a fever Doctor Max-\\nwell was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave,\\nand to him I address the following\\nTO DE. MAXWELL,\\nON MISS JESSY STAIG S RECOVERY.\\nMaxwell, if merit here you crave,\\nThat merit I deny\\nYou save fair Jessy from the grave\\n-An angel could not die\\nGod grant you patience with this stupid epistle\\nNo. LTIII.\\nMR. THOMSON to ME. BURNS.\\nI perceive the sprightly muse is now attendant upon her favourite\\npoet, whose wood- notes wild are become as enchanting as ever.\\nShe says she lo es me best of a is one of the pleasantest table-\\nsongs I have seen and henceforth shall be mine when the song is\\ngoing round. I ll give Cunningham a copy, he can. more power-\\nfully proclaim your merit. I am far from undervaluing your taste\\nfor the strathspey music on the contrary, I think it highly ani-\\nmating and agreeable, and that some of the strathspeys, when\\ngraced with such verses as yours, will make very pleasing songs, in\\nthe same way that rough Christians are tempered and softened by\\nlovely woman, without whom, you know, they had been brutes.\\nI am clear for having the Sow s tail, particularly as vour pro-\\nposed verses to it are so extremely promising. Geordie, as you ob-\\nIn the original follow here two stanzas of a song, beginning, Lassie wi the\\nlint-white locks -which will be found at full length afterwards.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0528.jp2"}, "529": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE.\\nserve, is a name only fit for burlesque composition, Mrs. Thom-\\nson s name (Katharine) is not at all poetical. Retain Jeanie, there-\\nfore, and make the other Jamie, or any other that sounds agree-\\nably.\\nYour CcC ike yewes, is a precious little morceau. Indeed I am\\nperfectly astonished and charmed with the endless variety of your\\nfancy. Here let me ask you, whether you never seriously turned\\nyour thoughs upon dramatic writing. That is a field worthy of\\nyour genius, in which it might shine forth in all its splendour.\\nOne or two successful pieces upon the London stage would make\\nyour fortune. The rage at present is for musical dramas few or\\nnone of those which have appeared since the Duenna, possesses\\nmuch poetical merit there i3 little in the conduct of the fable, or\\nin the dialogue, to interest the audience. They are chiefly vehicles\\nfor music and pageantry. I think you might produce a comic opera\\nin three acts, which would live by the poetry, at the same time\\nthat it would be proper to take every assistance from her tuneful\\nsister. Part of the songs of course would be to our favourite Scot-\\ntish airs; the rest might be left with the London composer Storace\\nfor Drury Lane, or Shield for Covent garden; both of them very\\nable and popular musicians. I believe that interest and manoeuvr-\\ning are often necessary to have a drama brought on so it may be\\nwith the namby pamby tribe of flowery scribblers but were you\\nto address Mr. Sheridan himself by letter, and send him a dramatic\\npiece, I am persuaded he would, for the honour of genius, give it a\\nfair and candid trial. Excuse me for obtruding these hints upon\\nyour consideration.*\\nHo. LIX.\\nMR, THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, \\\\ith October, 1794.\\nThe last eight days have been devoted to the re-examination of the\\nScottish collections. I have read, and sung, and fiddled, and con-\\nsidered, till I am half blind and wholly stupid. The few airs I\\nhave added, are enclosed.\\nPeter Pindar has at length sent me all the songs I expected from\\nhim, which are in general elegant and beautiful. Have you heard\\nof a London collection of Scottish airs and songs, just published by\\nMr. Ritson, an Englishman. I shall send you a copy. His intro-\\nductory essay on the subject is curious, and evinces great reading\\nand research, but it does not decide the question as to the origin\\nof our melodies though he shows clearly that Mr. Tytler, in his\\ningenious dissertation, has adduced no sort of proof of the hypothesis\\nhe wished to establish; and that his classification of the airs, ac-\\ncording to the eras when they were composed, is mere faney and\\nconjecture. On John Pinkerton, Esq. he has no mercy; but con-\\nsigns him to damnation He snarls at my publication, on the\\nscore of Pindar being engaged to write songs for it uncandidly\\nand unjustly leaving it to be inferred, that the Songs of Scottish\\nwriters had been sent a-packing to make room for Peter s Of you\\nOur bard had before received the same advice, and certainly took it 30 far into\\nconsideration, as to have cast about for a subject.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0529.jp2"}, "530": {"fulltext": "526 burns works.\\nhe speaks with some respect, but gives you a passing hit or two, for\\ndaring to dress up a little some old foolish songs for the Museum.\\nHis sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, from the oldest col-\\nlections and best authorities many of them, however, have such a\\nstrange aspect, and are so unlike the sets which are sung by every\\nperson of taste, old or young, in town or country, that we can\\nscarcely recognise the features of our favourites. By going to the\\noldest collections of our music, it does not follow that we find the\\nmelodies in their original state. These melodies had been pre-\\nserved, we know not how long, by oral communication, before be-\\ning collected and printed and as different persons sang the same\\nair very differently, according to their accurate or confused recol-\\nlection of it, so even supposing the first collectors to have possessed\\nthe industry, the taste and discernment to choose the best they\\ncould hear, (which is far from certain,) still it must evidently be a\\nchance, whether the collections exhibit any of the melodies in the\\nstate they were first composed. In selecting the melodies for my\\nown collection, I have been as much guided by the living as by the\\ndead. Where these differed, I preferred the sets that appeared to\\nme the most simple and beautiful, and the most generally ap-\\nproved and, without meaning any compliment to my own capa-\\nbility of choosing, or speaking of the pains I have taken, I flatter\\nmyself that my sets will be found equally freed from vulgar errors\\non the one hand, and affected graces on the other.\\nNo. LX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMr Dear Friend, 19^ October, 1794.\\nBv this morning s post I have your list, and, in general, I highly\\napprove of it. I shall, at more leisure, give you a critique on the\\nwhole. Clarke goes to your town by to-day s fly, and 1 wish you\\nwould call on him and take his opinion in general you know his\\ntaste is a standard. He will return here again in a week or two,\\nso, please do not miss asking for him. One thing I hope he will\\ndo, persuade you to adopt my favourite, Craigie-burn wood, in\\nyour selection It is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The\\nlady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland\\nand, in fact, (entre nous) is in a manner to me what Sterne s Eliza\\nwas to him a mistress, a friend, or what you will, in the guileless\\nsimplicity of Platonic love. (Now don t put any of your squinting\\nconstructions on this, or have any clishmaclaiver about it among\\nour acquaintances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend you are\\nindebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that\\nthe sober, gin-horse routine of existence, could inspire a man with\\nlife, and love, and joy could fire him with enthusiasm or melt\\nhim with pathos, equal to the genius of your book No no\\nWhenever I want to be more than ordinary in song to be in\\nsome degree equal to your diviner airs do you imagine I\\nfast and pray for the divine emanation 1 Tout au contraire I\\nI have a glorious recipe the very one that for hi3 own use\\nwas invented by the divinity of healing and poetry, when first\\nhe piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0530.jp2"}, "531": {"fulltext": "COfc ESPONDENCE. 527\\nadmiring a fine Woman in proportion to the adorability of her\\ncharms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The\\nlightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery\\nof her smile, the divinity of Helicon\\nTo descend to business if you like my idea of When she cam\\nben she bobbet, the following stanzas of mine, altered a little from\\nwhat they were formerly when set to another air, may perhaps do\\ninstead of worse stanzas.\\nSAW YE MY PHELY.\\n(QUA8I DICAT PH1LUS.)\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 When she came ben she bobbet.\\nO saw ye my dear, my Phely I\\nO saw ye my dear, my Phely\\nShe s down i the grove, she s wi a new love,\\nShe winna come hame to her Willie.\\nWhat says she, my dearest, my Phely\\nWhat says she, my dearest, my Phely\\nShe lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot,\\nAnd for ever disowns thee her Willie.\\nO had I ne er seen thee, my Phely\\nO had I ne er seen thee, my Phely\\nAs light as the air, and as fause as thou s fair,\\nThou s broken the heart o thy Willie.\\nNow for a few miscellaneous remarks. The Posie (in the Mu-\\nseum) is my composition the air was taken down fron Mrs. Burns\\nvoice.* It is well known in the West Country, but the old words\\nare trash. By the bye, take a look at the tune again, and tell me\\nif you do not think it is the original from which Eoslin Castle\\nis composed. The second part, in particular, for the first two or\\nthree bars, is exactly the old air. Strathallan s Lament is mine\\nthe music is by our right trusty and deservedly well beloved Allan\\nMasterton. Donnochthead, is not mine: I would give ten\\npounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald and\\ncame to the Editor of that paper with the Newcastle post-mark on\\nit.f Whistle o er the lave o t is mine the music said to be by\\nThe Posie will be found afterwards. This and the other poems of which he\\nspeaks, had appeared in Johnson s Museum, and Mr. T. had inquired whether\\nthey were our bard s.\\nt The reader will be curious to see this poem so highly praised by Bubns.\\nHere it is\\nKeen blaws the wind o er Donocht-head,\\nThe snaw drives snelly thro the dale,\\nThe Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck,\\nAnd shivering, tells his waefu tale.\\nCauld is the night, O let me in,\\nAnd dinna let your minstrel fa\\nAnd dinna let his winding-sheet\\nBe naething but a wreath o snaw.\\nFull ninety winters hae I seen,\\nAnd pip d whar gor- cocks whirring flew\\nAnd mony a day I ve danc d I ween,\\nTo lifts which from my drone I blew.\\nMy Eppie wak d, and soon she cry d,\\nGet up, Guidman, and let him in\\nFor weel ye ken the winter night\\nWas short when he began his din.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0531.jp2"}, "532": {"fulltext": "528 burns works.\\na John Bruce, a celebrated violin-player in Dumfries, about the\\nbeginning of this century. This, I know, Bruce, who was an honest\\nman, though a red wud Highlandman, constantly claimed it and\\nby all the old musical people here, believed to be the author of it.\\nAndrew and his cutty gun. The song to which this is set in the\\nMuseum, is mine and was composed on Miss Euphemia Murray,\\nof Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called, the Flower of Strath-\\nmore.\\nSow lang and dreary is the night. I met with some such words\\nin a collection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged\\nand to please you and to suit your favourite air, I have taken a\\nstride or two across my room, and have arranged it anew, as you\\nwill find on the other page.\\nHow lang and dreary is the night,\\nWhen I am frae my dearie\\nI restless lie frae e en to morn,\\nThough I were ne er sae weary.\\nCHOKUS.\\nFor oh, her lanely nights are lang\\nAnd oh, her dreams are eerie\\nAnd oh, her widow d heart is sair,\\nThat s absent frae her dearie.\\nWhen I think on the lightsome days\\nI spent wi thee, my dearie\\nAnd now what seas between us roar,\\nHow can I be but eerie\\nFor oh, c.\\nHow slow ye move ye heavy hours\\nThe joyless day how dreary\\nIt was na sae, ye glinted by,\\nWhen 1 was wi my dearie.\\nFor oh, c.\\nTell me how you like this. I differ from your idea of the expres-\\nsion of the tune. There is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it.\\nYou cannot, in my opinion, dispense with a bass to your addenda\\nairs. A lady of my acquaintance, a noted performer, plays and\\nsings at the same time so charmingly, that I shall never bear to see\\nany of her songs sent into the world, as naked as Mr. What-d ye-\\ncall-um has done in his London collection.*\\nMy Eppie s voice, O vow it s sweet,\\nEven tho she bans and scaulds a wee;\\nBut when it s tun d to sorrow s tale,\\nO. haith, it s doubly dear to me\\nCome in, auld carl, I ll steer my fire,\\nI ll make it bleeze a bonnie flame\\nYour blood is thin, ye ve tint the gate,\\nYe should na stray sae far frae hame.\\nNae hame have I, the minstrel said,\\nSad party-strife o erturned my ha\\nAnd, weeping at the eve o life,\\nI wander thro a wreath o snaw.\\nThis affecting poem is apparently incomplete. The author need not be ashamed\\nto own himself. It is worthy of Burns, or of Macneli,\\nMr. EitscB,", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0532.jp2"}, "533": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 529\\nThese English songs gravel me to death. I have not that com-\\nmand of the language that I have of my native tongue. I have\\nbeen at Duncan Gray, to dress it in English, but all I can do is\\ndeplorably stupid. For instance.\\nTune Duncan Gray,\\nLet not woman e er complain,\\nOf inconsistency in love;\\nLet not woman e re complain,\\nFickle man is apt to rove\\nLook abroad through Nature s range,\\nNature s mighty law is change\\nLadies would it not be strange\\nMan should then a monster prove?\\nMark the winds, and mark the skies\\nOcean s ebb, and ocean s flow\\nSun and moon but set to rise,\\nRound and round the seasons go\\nWhy then ask of silly man,\\nTo oppose great Nature s plan\\nWe ll be constant while we can\\nYou can be no more you know.\\nSince the above, I have been out in the country taking a dinner\\nwith a friend, where I met with the lady whom 1 mentioned in the\\nsecond page of this odds-and ends of a letter. As usual, I got into\\nsong and returning home, I composed the following.\\nTHE LOYER S MORNING SALUTE\\nTO HIS MISTRESS.\\nTune Deil tak the wars.\\nSleep st thou, or wak st thou, fairest creature\\nRosy morn now lifts his eye.\\nNumbering ilka bud which Nature\\nWaters wi* the tears o joy\\nNow through the leafy woods,\\nAnd by the reeking floods\\nWild Nature s tenants, freely, gladly stray\\nThe lintwhite in his bower\\nChants o er the breathing flower\\nThe lav rock to the sky\\nAscends wi sangs o joy,\\nWhile the sun and thou arise to bless the day,*\\nPhoebus gilding the brow o morning\\nBanishes ilka darksome shade,\\nNature gladdening and adorning\\nSuch to me my lovely maid.\\nVariation. Now to the streaming fountain,\\nOr up the heathy mountain\\nThe hart, hind, and roe. freely, wildly-wan on stray\\nIn twining hazel bowers\\nHis lay the linnet pours\\nTuelaY rock, c.\\nZ", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0533.jp2"}, "534": {"fulltext": "530 Burns* works.\\nWhen absent frae my fair,\\nThe murky shades o care\\nWith starless gloom o ercast my sullen sky\\nBut when in beauty s light,\\nShe meets my ravish d sight,\\nWhen through my very heart\\nHer beaming glories dart\\nTis then I wake to life, to light and joy.*\\nIf you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp\\nup the old soug, and make it English enough to be understood.\\nI enclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you\\nwould swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as\\nthe gentleman who brought it over is a particular acquaintance of\\nmine. Do preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one\\nI have. Clark has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the\\nMusical Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it.\\nTHE AULD MAN.\\nBut lately seen in gladsome green\\nThe woods rejoiced the day,\\nThro gentle showers the laughing flowers\\nIn double pride were gay\\nBut now our joys are fled,\\nOn winter blasts awa\\nYet maiden May, in rich array,\\nAgain shall bring them a\\nBut my white pow, nae kindly thowe\\nShall melt the snaws of age\\nMy trunk of eild, but buss or beild,\\nSinks in time s wintry rage.\\nOh, age has weary day3,\\nAnd nights o sleepless pain\\nThou golden time o youthfu prime,\\nWhy comest thou not again\\nI would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of\\nEitson s collection of English songs, which you mention in your\\nletter. I will thank you for another information, and that as\\nspeedily as you please whether this miserable drawling hotch-\\npotch epistle has not completely tired you of my correspondence.\\nNo. LXI.\\nME. THOMSON to ME. BURNS.\\nEdinburgh, 27th October, 1794.\\nI am sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet can no more\\nexist without his mistress than his meat. I wish I knew the ador-\\nable she, whose bright eyes and witching smiles have so often en-\\nVabtatiox. When frae my Chloris parted,\\nSad, cheerless, broken-hearted, [sky;\\nTh(n night s gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o ereast my\\nBut when she charms my sight,\\nIn p; ide of beauty s light,\\nWhen thro my very heart\\nHer beaming glories dart\\nTia then; Ms then I wake to life and joy.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0534.jp2"}, "535": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 531\\nraptured the Scottish bard that I might drink her sweet health\\nwhen the toast is going round. Craigie-burn wood must certainly\\nbe adopted into my family, since she is the object of the song but\\nin the name of decency, I must beg a new chorus verse from you.\\nto be lying beyond thee, dearie, is perhaps a consumption to be\\nwished, but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. The\\nsongs in your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the respective\\nairs charmingly. I am perfectly of your opinion with respect to the\\nadditional airs. The idea of sending them into the world naked as\\nthey were born was ungenerous. They must all be clothed and\\nmade decent by our friend Clarke.\\n1 find I am anticipated by the friendly Cunningham, in sending\\nyou Eitson s Scottish collection. Permit me, therefore, to present\\nyou with his English collection, which you will receive by the\\ncoach. I do not find his historical essay on Scottish song interest-\\ning. Your anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks will, 1 am sure,\\nbe much more so. Allan has just sketched a charming design from\\nMaggie Lauder. She is dancing with such spirit as to electrify the\\npiper, who seems almost dancing too, while he is playing with the\\nmost exquisite glee.\\n1 am much inclined to get a small copy, and to have it engraved\\nin the style of Ritson s prints.\\nP. S. Pray, what do your anecdotes say concerning Maggie\\nLauder 1 was she a real personage, and of what rank You would\\nsurely spier for her if you ca J d at Anstruther toivn.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nNo. LXII.\\nNovember, 1794.\\nMany thanks to you, my dear sir, for your present it is a book of\\nthe utmost importance to me. I have yesterday begun my anec-\\ndotes, c, for your work. I intend drawing it up in the form of a\\nletter to you, which will save me from the tedious dull business of\\nsystematic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say consists of\\nunconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps, old songs, c, it would be\\nimpossible to give the work a beginning, a middle, and an end;\\nwhich the critics insist to be absolutely necessary in a work.* In\\nmy last, 1 told you my objections to the song you had selected for\\nmy lodging is on the cold ground On my visit the other day to\\nmy fair Chloris (that is the name of the lovely goddess of my in-\\nspiration) she suggested an idea, which I, in my return from the\\nvisit, wrought into the following song.\\nMy Chloris, mark how green the groves,\\nThe primrose banks how fair\\nThe balmy gales awake the flowers,\\nAnd wave thy flaxen hair.\\nThe lav rock shuns the palace gay,\\nAnd o er the cottage sings\\nFor nature smiles as sweet I ween,\\nTo shepherds as to kings.\\nIt does not appear whether Burns completed these anecdotes, c. Something\\nof the kind (probably the rude draughts) was found amongst his papers, and ap-\\npear in p. xxvii,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0535.jp2"}, "536": {"fulltext": "532 BURNS WORKS.\\nLet minstrels sweep the skilfu string\\nIn lordly lighted ha\\nThe shepherd stops his simple reed,\\nBlythe, in the birken shaw.\\nThe princely revel may survey\\nOur rustic dance wi scorn\\nBut are their hearts as light as ours,\\nBeneath the milk-white thorn\\nThe shepherd in the flowery glen,\\nIn shepherd s phrase will woo\\nThe shepherd tells a finer tale,\\nBut is his heart as true 1\\nThese wild-wood flowers, I ve pu d to deck\\nThat spotless breast o* thine\\nThe courtier s gems may witness love\\nBut tis na love like mine.\\nHow do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral 1\\nI think it pretty well.\\nI like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of\\nma chere amie. I assure you, I was never more earnest in my life,\\nthan in the account of that affair which I sent you in my last.\\nConjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel and highly venerate\\nbut somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other\\nspecies of the passion,\\nWhere Love is liberty, and nature law.\\nMusically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is\\nscanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet while the\\nlast has power equal to all the intellectual modulations of the hu-\\nman soul. Still, I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion.\\nThe welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first and in-\\nviolate sentiment that pervades my soul and whatever pleasures I\\nmight wish for, or whatever might be the raptures they would give\\nme, yet, if they interfere with the first principle, it is having these\\npleasures at a dishonest price and justice forbids, and generosity\\ndisdains to purchase\\nDespairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in Eng\u00c2\u00ab\\nlish songs, 1 have been turning over old collections to pick out song3\\nof which the measure is something similar to what I want and,\\nwith a little alteration, so as to suit the rhyme of the air exactly,\\nto give you them for your work. Where the songs have hitherto\\nbeen but little noticed, nor have ever been set to music, I think\\nthe shift a fair one. A song, which, under the same first verse, you\\nwill find in Ramsay s Tea-Table Miscellany, I have cut down for\\nan English dress to your Dainyt Davie, as follows.\\nSONG,\\nALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH ONE.\\nIt was the charming month of May,\\nWhen all the flowers were fresh and gay,\\nOne morning by the break of day,\\nThe youthful, charming Chloe\\nFrom peaceful slumber she arose,\\nGirt one her mantle and her hose,", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0536.jp2"}, "537": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 533\\nAnd o er the flowery mead she goes,\\nThe youthful, charming Chloe.\\nCHORUS.\\nLovely was she by the dawn,\\nYouthful Chloe, charming Chloe,\\nTripping o er the pearly lawn,\\nThe youthful, charming Chloe.\\nThe feather d people you might see,\\nPerch d all around on every tree,\\nIn notes of sweetest melody\\nThey hail the charming Chloe\\nTill, painting gay the eastern skies,\\nThe glorious sun began to rise,\\nOutrivall d by the radiant eyes\\nOf youthful, charming Chloe.\\nLovely was she, c.\\nYou may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast\\noriginal, and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it.\\nI have finished my song to Rothiemurchie s Rant and you have\\nClarke to consult, as to the set of the air for singing.\\nLASSIE W? THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Rothiemurchie s Rant.\\nCHORUS.\\nLassie wi the lint- white locks,\\nBonnie lassie, artless lassie,\\nWilt thou wi me tent the flocks,\\nWilt thou be my dearie 0.\\nNow Nature deeds the flowery lea,\\nAnd a is young and sweet like thee\\nO wilt thou share its joys wi* me,\\nAnd say thou lt be my dearie 0.\\nLassie wi c.\\nAnd when the welcome summer shower\\nHas cheer ilk drooping little flower,\\nWe ll to the breathing woodbine bower,\\nAt sultry noon, my dearie 0.\\nLassie wi c.\\nWhen Cynthia lights, wi* silver ray,\\nThe weary shearer s hameward way\\nThro yellow waving fields we ll stray,\\nAnd talk o love, my dearie O.\\nLassie wi c.\\nAnd when the howling wintry blast\\nDisturbs my lassie s midnight rest\\nEnclasped to my faithfu breast,\\nI ll comfort thee, my dearie 0.*\\nIn some of the MSS. this stanza runs thus\\nAnd should the howling wintry blast\\nDisturb my lassie s midnight rest\\n111 fauld thee to my faithful breast,\\nAnd comfort thee, my dearie O.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0537.jp2"}, "538": {"fulltext": "534 burns works.\\nLassie wi the lint-white locks,\\nBonnie lassie, artless lassie,\\nWilt thou wi me tent the flocks,\\nWilt thou be my dearie 0.\\nThis piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral the\\nvernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the\\nwinter night are regularly rounded. If you like it, well if not I\\nwill insert it in the Museum.\\nI am out of temper that you should set so sweet, so tender an\\nair, as, Deii tak the wars, to the foolish old verses. You talk\\nof the silliness of Saw ye my Father by heavens the odds is\\ngold to brass Besides, the old song, though now pretty well\\nodernized into the Scottish language, is, originally, and in the\\nearly editions, a bungling low imitation of the Scottish manner,\\nby that genius Tom D Urfey so has no pretensions to be a Scottish\\nproduction. There is a pretty English song by Sheridan in the\\nDuenna, to thi3 air, which is out of sight superior to D Urfcy s.\\nIt begins\\nWhen sable night each drooping plant restoring.-\\nThe air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very\\nnative language of simplicity, tenderness and love. I have again\\ngone over my song to the tune as follows.\\nNow for my English song to Nancy s to the Greenwood, c. f\\nThere is an air, The Caledonian Hunt s delight, to which I wrote,\\na song that you will find in Johnson. Ye banks and braes o bonnie\\nBoon this air I think, might find a place among your hundred as\\nLear says, of his nights. Co you know the history of the air 1 It\\nis curious enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller,\\nwriter in your good town, a gentleman whom possibly you know,\\nwas in company with our friend Clarke and talking of Scottish\\nmusic, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to compose\\na Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to\\nthe black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some kind of\\nrhythm; and he would infallibly compose a Scots air. Certain it is\\nthat in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of au air, which\\nMr. Clarke, with some touches and corrections, fashioned into the\\ntune in question. Eitson, you know has the same story of the black\\nkeys; but this account, which I have just given you, Mr. Clarke\\ninformed me of several years ago. Now, to show you how difficult\\nSee the song in its first and best dress in p. 529. Our bard remarks upon it,\\nI could easily throw this into an English mould but, to my taste, in the\\nsimple and the tender of the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an\\ninimitable effect.\\nt Here our poet gives a new edition of the song in p. 487 of this volume, and\\nproposes it for another tune. The alterations are unimportant. The name Maria\\nhe changes to Eliza. Instead of the fifth and sixth lines, as in p. 488 he in-\\ntroduces,\\nLove s veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,\\nI fain my griefs would cover.\\nInstead of the tenth line, which seems not perfectly grammatical as it is printed,\\nhe has, more properly,\\nNor wilt, nor canst relieve me.\\nThis edition ought to have been preferred had it been observed in time.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0538.jp2"}, "539": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 535\\nit is to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly as-\\nserted that this was an Irish air nay, I met with an Irish gentle-\\nman who affirmed that he had heard it in Ireland among the old\\nwomen while, on the other hand, a countess informed me that the\\nfirst person who introduced the air into this country, was a\\nbaronet s lady of her acquaintance, who took down the notes from\\nan itinerant piper in the Isle of Man. How difficult then to ascer-\\ntain the truth respecting our poesy and music I, myself, have\\nlately seen a couple of ballads sung through the streets of Dum-\\nfries, with my name at the head of them as the author, though it\\nwas the first time I had ever seen them.\\nI thank you for admitting Craigie-burn wood f and I shall take\\ncare to furnish you with a new chorus. In fact, the chorus was\\nnot my work, but a part of some old verses to the air. If I catch\\nmyself in a more than ordinarily propitious moment I shall write\\na new Craigie-burn wood altogether. My heart is much in the\\ntheme.\\nI am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the request tis dun-\\nning your generosity but in a moment when I had forgotten whe-\\nther I was rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of your songs. It\\nwrings my honest pride to write you this but an ungracious re-\\nquest is doubly so, by a tedious apology. To make you some\\namends as soon as I have extracted the necessary information out\\nof them, I will return you Ritson s volumes.\\nThe lady is not a little proud that she is to make so distinguished\\na figure in your collection, and I am not a little proud that I have\\nit in my power to please her so much. Lucky it is for your pa-\\ntience that my paper is done for when I am in a scribbling humour\\nI know not when to give over.\\nKo. LXIII.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Good Sir, 15th November, 1794.\\nSince receiving your last, I have had another interview with Mr.\\nClarke, and a long consultation. He thinks the Caledonian Hunt\\nis more bacchanalian than amorous in its nature, and recommends\\nit to you to match the air accordingly. Pray did it ever occur to\\nyou how peculiarly well the Scottish airs are adapted for verses, in\\nthe form of a dialogue 1 The first part of the air is generally low,\\nand suited for a man s voice, and the second part, in many instances,\\ncannot be sung at concert pitch, but by a female voice. A song\\nthus performed makes an agreeable variety, but few of ours are\\nwritten in this form I wish you would think of it in some of those\\nthat remain. The only one of the kind you have sent me is admir-\\nable, and will be a universal favourite.\\nThe verses for Rothiemurchie are so sweetly pastoral, and your\\nseranade to Chloris, for Deil iah the wars, so passionately tender\\nthat I have sung myself into raptures with them. Your song for\\nMy lodging is on the cold ground is likewise a diamond of the first\\nwater I am quite dazzled and delighted by it. Some of your\\nChlorises I suppose have flaxen hair, from your partiality for this\\ncolour; else we differ about it for I should scarcely conceive a\\nwoman to be a beauty, on reading that she had lint- white-locks I", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0539.jp2"}, "540": {"fulltext": "536 burns works.\\nFarewell thou stream that winding flows, I think excellent, but\\nit is much too serious to come after Nancy at least it would seem\\nan incongruity to provide the same air with merry Scottish and\\nmelancholy English verse3 The more that the two sets of verses\\nresemble each other in their general character, the better. Those\\nyou have manufactured for Dainty Davie will answer charmingly.\\nI am happy to find you have begun your anecdotes. 1 care not\\nhow long they be, ior it is impossible that any thing from your pen\\ncan be tedious. Let me beseech you to use no ceremony in telling\\nme when you wish to present any of your friends with the songs\\nthe next carrier will bring you three copies, and you are as wel-\\ncome to twenty as to a pinch of snuff.\\nNo. LXIY.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\n19lh November, 1794.\\nYou see, my dear sir, what a punctual correspondent I am\\nthough indeed you may thank yourself for the tedium of my letters\\nas you have so flattered me on my horsemanship with my favourite\\nhobby, and have praised the grace of his ambling so much, that I\\nam scarcely ever off his back. For instance, this morning, though\\na keen blowing frost, in my walk before breakfast, I finished my\\nduet which you were pleased to praise so much. Whether 1 have\\nuniformly succeeded, I will not say but here it is for you though\\nit is not an hour old.\\nTunb\u00e2\u0080\u0094 u The sow s tail.\\nHE.\\nPhilly, happy be that day\\nWhen roving through the gather d hay.\\nMy youthfu heart was stown away,\\nAnd by thy charms, my Philly.\\nSHE.\\nO Willie, aye I bless the grove\\nWhere first 1 own d my maiden love,\\nWhilst thou didst pledge the powers above,\\nTo be my ain dear Willie.\\nHE.\\nAs songsters of the early year\\nAre ilka day mair sweet to hear,\\nSo ilka day to me mair dear\\nAnd charming is my Philly.\\nSHE.\\nAs on the brier the budding rose\\nStill richer breathes and fairer blows,\\nSo in my tender bosom grows\\nThe love I bear my Willie.\\nHE.\\nThe milder sun and bluer sky,\\nThat crowns my harvest cares wi joy,\\nWere ne er 3ae welcome in my eye\\nAs is a sight of Philly.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0540.jp2"}, "541": {"fulltext": "correspondence; 537\\nSHE.\\nThe little swallow s wanton wing,\\nTho* wafting o er the flowery spiing\\nDid ne er to me sic tidings bring,\\nAs meeting o my Willie.\\nHE.\\nThe bee, that thro the sunny hour\\nSips nectar in the opening flower,\\nCompar d wi my delight is poor,\\nUpon the lips o Philly.\\nSHE.\\nThe woodbine in the dewy weet\\nWhen evening shades in silence meet,\\nIs nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet\\nAs is a kiss o Willie.\\nHE.\\nLet fortune s wheel at random rin,\\nAnd fools may tyne, and knaves may win\\nMy thoughts are a bound upon ane,\\nAnd that s my ain dear Philly.\\nSHE.\\nWhat s a the joys thatgowd can gie!\\nI care nae wealth a single flie\\nThe lad I loe s the lad for me,\\nAnd that s my ain dear Willie.\\nTell me honestly how you like it and point out whatever you\\nthink faulty.\\nI am much pleased with your idea of singing our songs in alter-\\nnate stanza?, and regret that you did not hint it to me sooner. In\\nthose that remain, I shall have it in my eye. I remember your ob-\\njections to the name, Philly; but it is the common abreviation of\\nPhillis. Sally, the only name that suits, has to my ear, a vulgarity\\nabout it, which unfits it for any thing but burlesque. The legion of\\nScottish poetasters of the day, whom your brother editor, Mr. Kit-\\nson, ranks with me, as my coevals, has always mistaken vulgarity\\nfor simplicicy whereas simplicity is as much eloignee from vulgar-\\nity on the one hand, as from affected point and puerile conceit, on\\nthe other.\\nI agree with you as to the air, Cragie-burn wood, that a cho-\\nrus would in some degree spoil the effect, and shall certainly have\\nnone in my projected song to it. It is not however a casein point with\\nil Eothiemurchie there, as in Eoy s Wife of Aldivalloch, a\\nchorus goes to my taste well enough. As to the chorus going first,\\nthat is the case with Roy s Wife, as well as Rothiemurchie.\\nIn fact, in the first part of both tunes, the rhyme is so peculiar and\\nirregular, and on that irregularity depends so much of their beau-\\nty, that we must e en take them with all their wildness, and hu-\\nmour the verse accordingly. Leaving out the staring note, in both\\ntunes, has, I think, an effect that no regularity could counterbal*\\nance the want of.\\nz 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0541.jp2"}, "542": {"fulltext": "538 Burns works.\\nT Roy s wife of Aldivalloch.\\nlassie wi the lint-white locks.\\nand\\nCompare f Roy s wife of Aldivalloch.\\nwith Lassie wi the lint- white locks.\\nDoes not the tameness of the prefixed syllable strike yon In the\\nlast case, with the true furor of genius, you strike at once into the\\nwild originality of the air; whereas in the first insipid method, it is\\nlike the grating screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into\\ntune. This is my taste if I m wrong I beg pardon of the cognoscenti.\\nThe Caledonian Hunt is so charming, that it would make any\\nsubject in a song go down but pathosis certainly its native tongue.\\nScottish Bacchanalians we certainly want, though the few we have\\nare excellent. For instance, Todlin hame is, for wit and hu-\\nmour, an unparalled composition and Andro and his cutty gun\\nis the work of a master. By the way, are you not quite\\nvexed to think that those men of genius, for such they certainly\\nwere, who composed our fine Scottish lyrics, should be unknown\\nIt has given me many a heart-ache. Apropos to Bacchanalian songs\\nin Scottish I composed one yesterday ior an air I like much\\nH Lumps o pudding.\\nContented wi little, and cantie wi mair,\\nWhene er I forgather wi sorrow and care,\\nI gie them a skelp, as they re creeping alang,\\nWF a cog o guid swats and an auld Scottish sang.\\nI whyles claw the elbow o troublesome thought\\nBut man is a sodger, and life is a faught\\nMy mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch,\\nAnd my freedom s my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.\\nA towmond o trouble, should that be my fa\\nA night o guid fellowship so wt hers it a\\nWhen at the blythe end of our journey at last,\\nWha the deil ever thinks o the road he has past 1\\nBlind chance, let her snapper and stoy te on her way\\nBe tto me, be t fraeme, e en let the jad gae\\nCome ease, or come travail come pleasure or pain\\nMy warst word is Welcome and welcome again\\nIf you do not relish the air, I will send it to Johnson.\\nSince yesterday s penmanship, I have framed a couple of Eng-\\nlish son* to Roy s wife. You will allow me that in this instance,\\nmy English corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish.\\nCANST THOU LEAYE ME THUS MY KATY?\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Roy s wife.\\nCHORUS.\\nCanst thou leave me thus my Katy\\nCanst thou leave me thus my Katy 1\\nWell thou know st my aching heart,\\nAnd canst thou leave me thus for pity", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0542.jp2"}, "543": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE, 539\\nIt this thy plighted fond regard,\\nThus cruelly to part, my Katy\\nIs this thy faithful swain s reward\\nAn aching, broken heart, my Katy\\nCanst thou, c.\\nFarewell and ne er such sorrows tear\\nThat fickle heart of thine, my Katy\\nThou may st find those will love thee dear\\nBut not a love like mine my Katy 1\\nCanst thou, c.*\\nWell I think this, to be done in two or three turns across my\\nroom, and with two or three pinches of Irish Blackguard, is not so\\nfar amiss. You see I am determined to have my quantum of ap-\\nplause from somebody.\\nTell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the trifling\\ncircumstance of being known to one another, to be the best friends\\non earth), that I much suspect he has, in his plates, mistaken the\\nfigure of the stock and horn. I have, at last, gotten one but it is\\na very rude instrument. It is composed of three parts the stock\\nwhich is the hinder thigh- bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mut-\\nton-ham the horn, which is a common Highland cow s horn, cut\\noff at the smaller end, until the aperture be large enough to admit\\nthe stock to be pushed up through the horn, until it be held by the\\nthicker end of the thigh-bone and lastly, an oaken reed exactly\\ncut and notched like that which you see every shepherd-boy have,\\nwhen the corn stems are green and full-grown. The reed is not\\nmade fast in the bone, but is held by the lips, and plays loose in the\\nTo this address, in the character of a forsaken lover, a reply was found on the\\npart of the lady, among the MSS. of our bard, evidently in a female hand writing\\nwhich is doubtless that referred to in p. 506 of this volume. The temptation to\\ngive it to the public is irresistible and if, in so doing, offence should be given to\\n^he fair authorities, the beauty of her verses must plead our excuse,\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Roy s wife.\\nCHORUS.\\nStay, my Willie\u00e2\u0080\u0094 yet believe me,\\nStay, my Willie yet believe me,\\ntweel thou know st na every pang\\nWad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me,\\nTell me that thou yet art true.\\nAnd a my wrongs shall be forgiven,\\nAnd when this heart proves fause to thee,\\nYon sun shall cease its course in heaven.\\nStay, my Willie, c.\\nBut to think I was betray d\\nThat falsehood e er our love should sunder\\nTo take the flow ret to my breast,\\nAnd find the guile fu serpent under 1\\nStay, my Willie, c.\\nCould I hope thou st ne er deceive,\\nCelestial pleasures might I choose em\\nI d slight, nor seek in other spheres\\nThat heaven I d find within thy bosom.\\nStay, my Willie, c.\\nIt may amuse the reader to be told, that on this occasion the gentleman and\\nthe lady have exchanged the dialects of their respective countries. The Scottish\\nbard makes his address in pure English the reply on .the part of the lady, in the\\nScottish dialect, is, if we mistake not, by a young and beautiful Englishwoman.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0543.jp2"}, "544": {"fulltext": "J\\n540 burns works.\\nsmaller end of the stock; while the stock, with the horn hanging\\non its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock has\\nsix or seven ventiges on the upper side, and one back-ventige, like\\nthe common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the braes\\nof Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds are wont to use in this\\ncountry.\\nHowever, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, or\\nelee we have not the art of blowing it rightly; for we can make\\nlittle use of it. If Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him a sight of\\nmine as I took ony mself to be a kind of brother-brush with him.\\nPride in Poets is nae sin, and, I will say it, that I look on Mr.\\nAllan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real painters of\\nScottish custom in the world.\\nNo. LXY.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\n28^ November 1794.\\nI acknowledge, my dear sir, you are not only the most punctual,\\nbut the most delectable correspondent I ever met with. To at-\\ntempt flattering you never entered my head the truth is, 1 look\\nback with surprise at my impudence, in so frequently nibbling at\\nlines and couplets of your incomparable lyrics, for which, perhaps,\\nif you had served me right, you would have sent me to the de-\\nvil. On the contrary, however, you have all along condescended\\nto invite my criticism with so much [courtesy, that it (ceases to be\\nwonderful, if 1 have sometimes given myself the airs of a re-\\nviewer. Your last budget demands unqualified T^ aise I all the\\nsongs are charming,^ but the duet is a ckef d ceurre. Lumps of\\npudding shall certainly make one of my family dishes you have\\ncooked it so capitally, that it will please all palates. Do give us\\na few more of this cast, when you find yourself in good spirits\\nthese convivial songs are more wanted than those of the amor-\\nous kind, oi which we have great choice. Besides, one does not\\noiten meet with a singer capable of giving the proper effect to the\\nlatter, while the former are easily sung, and acceptable to every\\nbody. I participate in your regret that the authors of some of our\\nbest songs are unknown it is provoking to every admirer of genius.\\nI mean to have a picture painted from your beautiful ballad,\\nThe soldier s return, to be engraved for one of my frontispieces.\\nThe most interesting point of time appears to me, when she first\\nrecognizes her ain dear Willy, a She gaz d, she redden d like a\\nrose. The three lines immediately following, are no doubt more\\nimpressive on the reader s feelings but were the painter to fix on\\nthese, then you ll observe the animation and anxiety of her coun-\\ntenance is gone, and he could only represent her fainting in the\\nsoldier s arms. But 1 submit the matter to yon, and beg your\\nopinion.\\nAllan desires me to thank you, for your accurate description of\\nthe stock and horn, and for the very gratifying compliment you\\npay him, in considering him worthy of standing in a niche by the\\nside of Burns in the Scottish Pantheon, lie has seen the rude in-\\nstrument you describe, so does not want you to Bend it but wishes\\nto know whether you believe it to have ever been generally used", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0544.jp2"}, "545": {"fulltext": "correspondence^ 541\\nas a musical pipe by the Scottish shepherds, and when, and in what\\npart of the country chiefly. 1 doubt much if it was capable of any\\nthing but routing and roaring. A friend of mine says, he remem-\\nbers to have seen one in his younger days (made of wood instead of\\nyour bone,) and that the sound was abominable.\\nDo not, 1 beseech you, return any books.\\nNo. LXVI.\\nME. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nDecember. 1794.\\nIt is, I assure you, the pride of my heart to do any thing to for-\\nward your book and as I agree with you that the Jacobite song in\\nthe Museum, to There ll ne er be peace till Jamie comes hame,\\nwould not so well consort with Peter Pindar s excellent love-song\\nto the air, I have just framed for you the following.\\nMY NANNIE S AWA.\\nTune There ll ne er be peace, c.\\nNow in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,\\nAnd listens the lambkins that bleat o er the braes,\\nWhile birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw\\nBut to me its delightless my Nannie s awa.\\nThe snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,\\nAnd violets bathe in the weet o the morn\\nThey pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,\\nThey mind me o Nannie and Nannie s awa.\\nThou lav rock that springs frae the dews o the lawn,\\nThe shepherd to warn o the grey breaking dawn,\\nAnd thou mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa, 1\\nGive over for pity my Nannie s awa.\\nCome autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,\\nAnd soothe me wi tidings o Nature s decay\\nThe dark dreary winter and wild driving snaw,\\nAlane can delight me now Nannie s awa.\\nNo. LXVII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nJanuary, 1795.\\nI fear for my songs however, a few may please, yet originality is\\na coy feature, in composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the\\nsame style, disappear altogether. For these three thousand years,\\nwe poetic folks have been describing the spring, for instance and\\nas the spring continues the same, there must soon be a sameness in\\nthe imagery, c. of these said rhyming folks.\\nA jrreat critic, Aiken on songs, say*, that love and wine are the\\nexclusive themes for song writing. The following is on neither sub-\\nject, and consequently, is no song; but will be allowed, I think, to\\nbe two or three pretty good prose thoughts, inverted into rhyme.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0545.jp2"}, "546": {"fulltext": "\\\\J\\n542\\nburn s works.\\nFOR A THAT AND A THAT.\\nIs there for honest poverty\\nThat hangs his head, and a that;\\nThe coward slave, we pass him by,\\nWe dare be poor for a that\\nFor a that, and a that,\\nOur toils obscure, and a that,\\nThe rank is but the guinea s stamp,\\nThe man s the gowd for a that.\\nWhat though on hamely fare we dine,\\nWear hoddin* grey, and a that\\nGie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,\\nA man s a man for a that\\nFor a that, and a that,\\nTheir tinsel show and a that\\nThe honest man, though e er sae poor,\\nIs king o\\nmen for a that.\\nYe see yon birkie, ca d a lord,\\nWha struts, and stares, and a that\\nThough hundreds worship at his word,\\nHe s but a coof for a that\\nFor a that, and a that,\\nHis riband, star, and a that,\\nThe man of independent mind,\\nHe looks and laughs at a that.\\nA prince can mak a belted knight,\\nA marquis, duke, and a that\\nBut an honest man s aboon his might,\\nGuid faith, he mauna fa that\\nFor a that, and a that,\\nTheir dignities, and a that,\\nThe pith o sense and pride o worth,\\nAre higher ranks than a that.\\nThen let us pray that come it may,\\nAs come it will for a that,\\nThat sense and worth, o er a the earth,\\nMay bear the gree, and a that.\\nFor a that and a* that,\\nIts comin yet for a that,\\nThat man to man, the warld o er,\\nShall brothers be for a that.\\nI do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely\\nby way of Vive la bagatelle; for the piece is not really poetry.\\nHow will the following do for Craigie-burn wood?\\nSweet fa s the eve on Craigie-burn,\\nAnd blythe awakes the morrow,\\nBut a the pride o spring s return\\nCan yield me nocht but sorrow,\\nI see the flowers and spreading trees,\\nI hear the wild birds singing", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0546.jp2"}, "547": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 543\\nBut what a weary wight can please,\\nAnd care his bosom wringing\\nFain, fain would I my griefs impart,\\nYet dare na for your anger\\nBut secret love will break my heart,\\nIf I conceal it langer.\\nIf thou refuse to pity me,\\nIf thou shalt love anither,\\nWhen yon green leaves fade frae the tree,\\nAround my grave they ll wither.*\\nFarewell God bless you.\\nNo. XLYIII.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Dear Sir, Edinburgh, ZOth Jan, 1795.\\nI thank you heartily for Nannie s awa, as well as for Craigie-\\nburn, which I think a very comely pair. Your observation on the\\ndifficulty of original writing in a number of efforts, in the same\\nstyle, strikes me very forcibly and it has again and again excited\\nmy wonder to find you continually surmounting this difficulty, in\\nthe many delightful songs you have sent me. Your vive la baga\\ntelle song, For a that, shall undoubtedly be included in my list.\\nNo. LXIX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nFebruary, 1795.\\nHere is another trial at your favourite air.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094* Let me in this ae night.\\nO Lassie, art thou sleeping yet,\\nOr art thou wakin, I would wit,\\nFor love has bound me hand and foot,\\nAnd I would fain be in, jo.\\nCHORUS.\\nO let me in this ae night,\\nThis ae, ae, ae night,\\nFor pity s sake this ae night,\\nrise and let me in jo.\\nThou hear st the winter wind and weet,\\nNae star blinks thro the driving sleet,\\nTak pity on my weary feet,\\nAnd shield me frae the rain, jo.\\nlet me in, c.\\nThe bitter blast that round me blaws\\nUnheeded howls, unheeded fa s\\nCraigie burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, and about\\nthree miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal wa-\\nters. The woods of Craigie-burn and of Dumcrief, were at one time the favour-\\nite haunts of our poet. It was there he met the Lassie wi the lint-white locks, 1\\nand that he conceived several of his beautiful lyrics.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0547.jp2"}, "548": {"fulltext": "\\\\J\\n514 BURNS WORKS.\\nThe cauldness o thy heart s the cause\\nOf a my grief and pain, jo.\\nlet me in, c.\\nHER ANSWER.\\nO Tell nae me o wind and rain,\\nUpbraid nae me wi cauld disdain,\\nGae back the road ye cam again,\\nI winna let you in jo.\\nCHORUS.\\nI tell you now this ae night,\\nThis ae, ae, ae night\\nAnd ance for a this ae night\\n1 winna let you in, jo.\\nThe snellest blast at mirkest hours,\\nThat round the pathless wand rer pours,\\nIs nought to what poor she endures\\nThat s trusted faithless man, jo.\\nI tell you now, c.\\nThe sweetest flower that deck d the mead,\\nNow trodden like the vilest weed\\nLet simple maid the lesson read,\\nThe weird may be her ain jo.\\nI tell you now, c.\\nThe bird that charm d his summer-day,\\nIs now the cruel fowler s prey\\nLet witless, trusting woman say\\nHow aft her fate*s the same, jo.\\nI tell you now, c.\\nI do not know whether it will do.\\nNo. LXX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nEcclefechan. 7th February^ 1795.\\nMy Dkar Thomson,\\nYou cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to\\nyou. In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I\\nhave acted of late) I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked\\nlittle village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep\\nhave impeded my progress I have tried to gae back the gate I\\ncam again, but the same obstacle has shut me up within insuper-\\nable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has\\nbeen torturing catgut, in sounds that would have insulted the dy-\\ning agonies of a row, under the hands of a butcher, and thinks\\nhimself, on that very account, exceeding good company. In fact, I\\nhave been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these\\nmiseries or to hang myself, to get rid of them like a prudent\\nman, (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed.)", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0548.jp2"}, "549": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 545\\nI, of two evils have chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your\\nservice\\nI wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to\\ntell you all I wanted to say and heaven knows, at present, I have\\nnot capacity.\\nDo you know an air I am sure you must know it, We ll gang\\nnae mair to yon town t I think, in slowish time, it would make an\\nexcellent song. I am highly delighted with it and if you should\\nthink it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to\\nwhom I would consecrate it.\\nAs I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.\\nNo. LXXL\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\n25th February, 1795.\\nI havh to thank you, my dear sir, for two epistles, one containing\\nLet me in this ae night and the other from Ecclefechan, proving,\\nthat drunk or sober, your mind is never muddy. You have dis-\\nplayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent,\\nand at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise\\nwould have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now\\nstands, very much.\\nI had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan,\\nand be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song making.\\nIt will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for,\\nwat ye wha s in this town.\\nNo. LXXII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMay, 1795.\\nADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Where ll bonnie Annie lie. Or, Loch-Erroch Side.\\nO Stat, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,\\nNor quit for me the trembling spray,\\nA helpless lover courts thy lay,\\nThy soothing fond complaining.\\nAgain, again that tender part,\\nThat 1 may catch thy melting art\\nFor surely that wad touch her heart,\\nWha kills me wi disdaining.\\nSay, was thy little mate unkind,\\nAnd heard thee as the careless wind\\nOh, nocht but love and sorrow join d,\\nSic notes o woe could wauken.\\nThou tells o never-ending care\\n0 speechless grief, and dark despair\\nEor pity s sake, sweet bird, nae mair\\nOr my poor heart is broken\\n\u00e2\u0099\u00a6The bard must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0549.jp2"}, "550": {"fulltext": "r\\n1/\\ni\\n546 burns works.\\nLet ine know your very first leisure how you like this song.\\nON CHLORIS BEING ILL.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Aye wakinV\\nCHORUS.\\nLong, long the night,\\nHeavy comes the morrow,\\nWhile my souYs d elight,\\nIs on her bed of sorrow.\\nCan I cease to care,\\nCan I cease to languish,\\nWhile my darling fair\\nIs on the couch of anguish\\nLong, c.\\nEvery hope is fled,\\nEvery fear is terror\\nSlumber e en I dread,\\nEvery dream is horror.\\nLong, c.\\nHear me, pow rs divine\\nOh, in pity hear me\\nTake aught else of mine,\\nBut my Chloris spare me\\nLong, c.\\nHow do you like the foregoing 1 The Irish air, Humours of\\nGlen, is a great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in\\nthe u Poor Soldier, there are not any descent verses for it, I have\\nwritten for it as follow.\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Humours of Glen,\\nTheir groves o sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,\\nWhere bright beaming summers exalt the perfume,\\nFar dearer to me yon lone glen o green breckan,\\nWi the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom\\nFar dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,\\nWhere the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen\\nFor there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,\\nA listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.\\nThro rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,\\nAnd cauld Caledonia s blast on the wave\\nTheir sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,\\nWhat are they The haunt o the tyrant and slave\\nThe slave s spicy forests, and gold bubbling fountains,\\nThe brave Caledonian views with disdain\\nHe wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,\\nSave Love s willing fetters, the chains o his Jean,\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Laddie, lie near me.\\nTwas na her bonnie blue e e was my ruin\\nFair tho she be, that was ne er my undoing:", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0550.jp2"}, "551": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 647\\nTwas the dear smile when nae body did mind us,\\nTwas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o 1 kindness,\\nSair do I fear that to hope is denied me,\\nSair do I fear that despair maun abide me\\nBut tho fell fortune should fate us to sever,\\nQueen shall she be in my bosom for ever.\\nMary, I m thine wi a passion sincerest,\\nAnd thou hast plighted me love o the dearest\\nAnd thou rt the angel that never can alter,\\nSooner the sun in his motion would falter.\\nLet me hear from you.\\nNo. LXXI1I.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nYou must not think, my good sir, that I have any intention to en-\\nhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious\\nand worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter s\\nSaturday Night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions\\nof Allans pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not\\nquite pleased with it.\\nThe figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you,\\nas far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece\\ninteresting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs. Burns\\nfinds you out among the figures.\\nI cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have\\nread your pathetic Address to the Wood-lark, your elegant Pane-\\ngyric on Caledonia, and your affecting verses on Chloris illness.\\nEvery repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song\\nto Laddie, lie near me, though not equal to these, is very pleasing.\\nNo. LXXIV.\\nMR, BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG.\\nAir. John Anderson my jo.\\nHow cruel are the parents\\nWho riches only prize,\\nAnd to the wealthy booby,\\nPoor woman sacrifice.\\nMeanwhile the hapless daughter\\nHas but a choice of strife\\nTo shun a tyrant father s hate,\\nBecome a wretched wife.\\nThe ravening hawk pursuing,\\nThe trembling dove thus flies,\\nTo shun impelling ruin\\nA while her pinions tries\\nTill of escape despairing,\\nNo shelter or retreat,\\nShe trusts the ruthless falconer,\\nAnd drops beneath his feet.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0551.jp2"}, "552": {"fulltext": "548 BURNS WORKS.\\nSOXG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Deil tak the wars.\\nMark yonder pomp of costly fashion,\\nRound the wealthy, titled bride\\nBut when compared with real passion,\\nPoor is all that princely pride.\\nWhat are their showy treasures\\nWhat are their noisy pleasures 1\\nThe gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art.\\nThe polish d jewel s blaze,\\nMay draw the wond ring gaze,\\nAnd courtly grandeur bright,\\nThe fancy may delight,\\nBut never, never can come near the heart.\\nBut did you see my dearest Chloris,\\nIn simplicity s array\\nLovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,\\nShrinking from the gaze of day.\\nthen the heart alarming,\\nAnd all resistless charming,\\nIn Love s delightful fetters she chains the willing soul\\nAmbition would disown\\nThe world s imperial crown.\\nEven Av rice would deny\\nHis worshipp d deity,\\nAnd feel thro every vein Love s raptures roll.\\nWell this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders\\nyour tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high\\nfit of poetizing, provided that the strait-jacket of criticism don t\\ncure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the\\nintoxicating potion of your applause, it will raise your humble ser-\\nvant s phrenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment\\nholding high converse with the Muses, and have not a word to\\nthrow away on such a prosaic dog as you are.\\nXo. LXXY.\\nMR. BURXS to MR. THOMSON.\\nMay, 1794.\\nTen thousand thanks, for your elegant present; though 1 am\\nashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not\\nby any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shown\\nit to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all\\nagree with me in classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is\\nsae kenspeckle, that the very joiner s apprentice whom Mr3.\\nBurns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that\\nday) knew it at once. My most grateful compliments to Allan,\\nwho has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil.\\nOne strange coincidence is, that the little one who is making the\\nfelonious attempt on the cat s tail, is the most striking likeness of\\nill-deedie damn d, wee, rumble-garie urchin of mine, whom, from\\nthat propensity to witty wickedness and manfu mischief, which", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0552.jp2"}, "553": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 549\\neven at twa days auld I foresaw would form the striking features of\\nhis disposition, I named Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine,\\nwho is one of the masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall\\nbe nameless.\\nGive the inclosed epigram to my much- valued friend Cunningham,\\nand tell him that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to\\nwhom his friendly partiality in speaking of me, in a manner intro-\\nduced me I mean a well known military and literary character,\\nColonel Dirom.\\nYou do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. Are they\\ncondemned\\n]S T o. LXXVI.\\nME. THOMSON to ME.. BURNS.\\nIZth May, 1795.\\nIt gives me great pleasure to find that you are all so well satisfied\\nwith Mr. Allan s production. The chance resemblance of your little\\nfellow, whose promising disposition appeared so very early, and sug-\\ngested whom he should be named after, is curious enough. I am\\nacquainted with that person, who is a prodigy of learning and\\ngenius, and a pleasant fellow, though no saint.\\nYou really make me blush when you tell me you have not\\nmerited the drawing from me. I do not think I can ever repay\\nyou, or sufficiently esteem and respect you for the liberal and kind\\nmanner in which you have entered into the spirit of my undertak-\\ning, which could not have been perfected without you So I beg\\nyou would not make a fool of me again, by speaking of obligation.\\nI like your two last songs very much, and am happy to find you\\nare in such a high fit of poetizing. Long may it last. Clarke has\\nmade a fine pathetic air to Mallet s superlative ballad of William\\nand Margaret, and is to give it to me, to be inrolled among the\\nelect.\\nNo. LXXVII.\\nME. BURNS to ME. THOMSON.\\nIn Whistle and I ll come to ye, my lad, the iteration of that line is\\ntiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think is an improvement.\\nwhistle and I ll come to ye, my lad;\\nO whistle and I ll come to ye, my lad\\nTho father and mother, and a should gae mad,\\nThy Jeany will venture wi ye, my lad.\\nIn fact, a fair dame at whose shrine I, the priest of the Nine,\\noffer up the incense of Parnassus a dame whom the Graces have\\nattired in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed with light-\\nning, a Fair One, herself the heroine of the song, insists on the\\nmendment; and dispute her commands if you dare I", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0553.jp2"}, "554": {"fulltext": "550 BUBN8 WORKS.\\nSONG.\\nTune.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 This is no my ain house\\nCHOR\u00c2\u00a5S.\\nthis is no my ain lassie\\nFair tho the lassie be\\nO weel ken I my ain lassie,\\nKind love is in her e e.\\nI see a form, I see a face,\\nYe weel may wi the fairest place\\nIt wants to me the witching grace,\\nThe kind o love that s in her e e.\\nthis is no, c.\\nShe s bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,\\nAnd lang has had my heart in thrall\\nAnd aye it charms my very saul,\\nThe kind love that s in her e e.\\nO this is no, c.\\nA thief sae pawkie is my Jean,\\nTo steal a blink by a unseen\\nBut gleg as light are lover s e en,\\nWhen kind love is in her e e.\\nthis is no, c.\\nIt may escape the courtly sparks,\\nIt may escape the learned clerks\\nBut weel the watching lover marks,\\nThe kind love that s in her e e.\\nthis is no, c.\\nDo you know that you have roused the torpidity of Clarke at\\nlast He has requested me to write three or four songs for him,\\nwhich he is to set to music himself. The inclosed sheet contains\\ntwo songs for him, which please to present to my valued friend\\nCunningham.\\nI inclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, and that you\\nmay copy the song, bonnie was yon rosy brier. I do not know\\nwhether I am right but that song pleases me, and as it is ex-\\ntremely probable that Clarke s newly roused celestial spark will\\nsoon be smothered in the fogs of indulgence, if you like the song,\\nit may go as Scottish verses, to the air of I wish my love was in\\nthe mire and poor Erskine s English lines may follow.\\nI inclose you f For a that and a that, which was never in print\\nit is a much superior song to mine. 1 have been told that it was\\ncomposed by a lady.\\nTo MR. CUNNINGHAM.\\nSCOTTISH SONG.\\nNow spring has clad the grove in green,\\nAnd strew d the lea wi flowers\\nThe furrow d, waving corn is seen\\nRejoice in fostering showers\\nWhile ilka thing in nature join\\nTheir sorrows to forego,", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0554.jp2"}, "555": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 551\\nO why thus all alone are mine\\nThe weary steps of woe\\nThe trout within yon wimpling burn\\nGlides swift, a silver dart,\\nAnd safe beneath the shady thorn\\nDefies the angler s art\\nMy life was ance that careless stream,\\nThat wanton trout was I\\nBut love, wi unrelenting beam,\\nHas scorch d my fountains dry.\\nThe little flow ret s peaceful lot,\\nIn yonder cliff that grows,\\nWhich save the linnet s flight, I wot,\\nNae ruder visit knows,\\nWas mine till love has o er me past,\\nAnd blighted a my bloom,\\nAnd now beneath the with ring blast,\\nMy youth and joy consume.\\nThe waken d lav rock warbling springs,\\nAnd climbs the early sky,\\nWinnowing bly the her dewy wings\\nIn morning s rosy eye\\nAs little reckt I sorrow s power,\\nUntil the flowery snare\\n0 witching love, in luckless hour,\\nMade me the thrall o care.\\nhad my fate been Greenland s snows,\\nOr Afric s burning zone,\\nWi man and nature leagued my foes,\\nSo Peggy ne er I d known\\nThe wretch whase doom is, hope nae mair,\\nThat tongue his woes can tell\\nWithin whase bosom, save despair,\\nNae kinder spirits dwell.\\nSCOTTISH SONG.\\neohnie was yon rosy brier,\\nThat blooms sae far frae haunt o man\\nAnd bonnie she, and ah how dear\\nIt shaded frae the e enin sun.\\nYon rosebuds in the morning dew\\nHow pure, amang the leaves sae green\\nBut purer was the lover s vow\\nThey witness d in their shade yestreen.\\nAll in its rude and prickly bower,\\nThat crimson rose, how sweet and fair\\nBut love is far a sweeter flower\\nAmid life s thorny path o care.\\nThe pathless wild, and wimpling burn,\\nWi* Chloris in my arms, be mine\\nAnd I the world, nor wish, nor scorn,\\nIts joys and griefs alike resign.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0555.jp2"}, "556": {"fulltext": "552 BURNS 5 WORKS.\\nWritten on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my\\npoems presented to the lady, whom in so many fictitious reveries of\\npassion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I\\nhave so often sung under the name of Chloris.\\nTis Friendship s pledge, my young, fair friend,\\nNor thou the gift refuse,\\nNor with unwilling ear attend\\nThe moralizing muse.\\nSince thou, in all thy youth and charms,\\nMust bid the world adieu,\\n(A world gainst peace in constant arms)\\nTo join the friendly few.\\nSince thy gay morn of life o ercast,\\nChill came the tempest s lour\\n(And ne er misfortune s eastern blast\\nDid nip a fairer flower.)\\nSince life s gay scenes must charm no more,\\nStill much is. left behind\\nStill nobler wealth hast thou in store,\\nThe comforts of the mind I\\nThine is the self approving glow,\\nOn conscious honour s part\\nAnd, dearest gift of heaven below,\\nThine friendship s truest heart.\\nThe joys refined of sense and taste\\nWith every muse to rove\\nAnd doubly were the poet blest\\nThese joys could he improve.\\nUne bagatelle de Vamitie.\\nNo. LXXV1II.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nDear Sir, Edinburgh Aug. 3rd, 1795.\\nTali will be delivered to you by a Dr. Brianton, who has read\\nyour works, and pants for the honour of your acquaintance. I do\\nnot know the gentleman, but his friend who applied to me for this\\nintroduction, being an excellent young man, I have no doubt he is\\nworthy of all acceptation.\\nMy eyes have just been gladdened, and my mind feasted, with\\nyour last packet\u00e2\u0080\u0094 full of pleasant things indeed. What an imagin-\\nation is yours It is superfluous to tell you that I am delighted\\nwith all the three songs, as well as your elegant and tender verses\\nto Chloris.\\nI am sorry you should be induced to alter whistle and I ll\\ncome to ye, my lad, to the prosaic line, Thy Jeany will venture\\nwi ve my lad. I must be permitted to say, that I do not think\\nqhe latter either reads or sings go well as the former. I wish,", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0556.jp2"}, "557": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 553\\ntherefore, you would in my name petition the charming Jeany,\\nwhoever she be, to let the line remain unaltered.*\\nI should be happy to see Mr. Clarke produce a few songs to be\\njoined to your verses. Every body regrets his writing so very lit-\\ntle, as every body acknowledges his ability to write well. Pray,\\nwas the resolution formed coolly before dinner, or was it a mid-\\nnight vow made over a bowl of punch with the bard 1\\nI shall not fail to give Mr. Cunningham what you have sent him.\\nP.S. The lady s For a that and a that is sensible enough,\\nbut no more to be compared to your s than I to Hercules,\\nNo. LXXIX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nENGLISH SONG.\\nForlorn, my love, no comfort near,\\nFar, lar from thee I wander here\\nFar, far from thee, the fate severe\\nAt which I most repine, love.\\nCHORUS.\\nwert thou love, but near me,\\nBut near, near, near me\\nHow kindly thou wouldst cheer me.\\nAnd mingle sighs with mine, love.\\nAround me scowls a wintry sky,\\nThat blasts each bud of hope and joy\\nAnd shelter, shade, nor home have I,\\nSave in these arms of thine, love.\\nwert, c.\\nCold, alter d friendship s cruel part,\\nTo poison fortune s ruthless dart\\nLet me not break thy faithful heart,\\nAnd say that fate is mine, love.\\nwert, c.\\nBut dreary tho the moments fleet,\\nO let me think we yet shall meet\\nThat only ray of solace sweet\\nCan on thy Chloris shine, love.\\nwert, c.\\nHot. do you like the foregoing] I have written it within this\\nhour so much for the speed of my Pegasus but what say you to\\nhis bottom I\\nThe Editor, who has heard the heroine of this song sing it herself in the very\\nspirit of arch simplicity that it requires, thinks Mr. Thompson s petition unrea-\\nsonable. If we mistake not, this is the same lady who produced the lines to the\\ntune of Roy s Wife, p.539 f\\n2 A", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0557.jp2"}, "558": {"fulltext": "!l\\n554 BURNS WORKS.\\n2*0. LXXX.\\nMK. BUENS to MR. THOMSON.\\nSCOTTISH BALLAD.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Lothian Lassie.\\nLast May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,\\nAnd sair wi his love he did deave me\\nI said there was naething I hated like men,\\nThe deuce gae wi m, to believe me, believe me,\\nThe deuce gae wi m, to believe me.\\nHe spak o the darts in my bonnie black e en,\\nAnd vow d for my love he was dying\\nI said he might die when he liked, for Jean,\\nI The Lord forgi e me for lying, for lying,\\nThe Lord forgi e me for lying\\nA weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,\\nAnd marriage aff hand, were his proffers\\nI never loot on that I kend it, or cared,\\nBut thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,\\nBut thought I might hae waur offers.\\nBut what wad ye think 1 in a fortnight or less,\\nThe deil tak his taste to gae near her\\nHe up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,*\\nGuess ye how the jad I could bear her, could bear her,\\nGuess ye how the jad I could bear her.\\nBut a* the neist week as I fretted wi* care,\\nI gaed to the tryste of Dalgarnock,\\nAnd wha but my fine fickle lover was there\\nI glowred as I d seen a warlock, a warlock,\\nI glowred as I d seen a warlock.\\nBut owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,\\nLest neebors might say I was saucy\\nMy wooer he caper d as he d been in drink,\\nAnd vow d I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,\\nAnd vow d I was his dear lassie.\\nI spier d for my cousin fa couthy and sweet,\\nGin she had recovered her hearin,\\nAnd how her new shoon fit her auld shachlet* feet,\\nBut heavens how he fell a swearin, a swearin\\nBut heavens how he fell a swearin.\\nHe begged, for Gude3ake I wad be his wife,\\nOr else I would kill him wi sorrow\\nSo, e en to preserve the poor body in life,\\nIn the original MS. this line runs, He up the Gateslack to my black cousin\\nBess Mr. Thomson objected to this word, as well as to the word Dalgarnock\\nin the next verse. Mr. Burns replies as follows\\nGateslack is the name of a particular place, a kind of passage, up amang the\\nLawther hills, on the confines of this country. Dalgarnock is also the name of\\na romantic spot near the Nith, where are still a ruined church and a burial-\\nground. However let the first line run, He up the lang loan, c.\\nIt is always a pity to throw out any thing that giYOS locality to our poet s yerses#", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0558.jp2"}, "559": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 555\\nI think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,\\nI think I maun wed him to-morrow,\\nFRAGMENT.\\nTctfE\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Caledonian Hunt s delight.\\nWhy, why tell thy lover,\\nBliss he never must enjoy\\nWhy, why undeceive him,\\nAnd give all his hopes the lie.\\nwhy, while fancy, raptured, slumbers,\\nChloris, Chloris all the theme,\\nWhy, why wouldst thou, cruel,\\nWake thy lover from his dream.\\nSuch is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it\\nimpossible to make another stanza to suit it.\\nI am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of\\nthe toothache, so have not a word to spare.\\nNo. LXXXI.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Dear Sir, %d June, 1795.\\nYour English verses to Let me in this ae night, are tender and\\nbeautiful and your ballad to the Lothian Lassie is a master-\\npiece for its humour and naivetS. The fragment for the Caledonian\\nHunt, is quite suited to the original measure of the air, and, as it\\nplagues you so, the fragment must content it. I would rather, as I\\nsaid before, have had Bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the poet\\nbut, nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord make U3 thankful.\\nNo. LXXXII.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\n5th February, 1796.\\nRobby Burns, are ye sleeping yet 1\\nOr are ye wauking, I would wit 1\\nThe pause you have made, my dear sir, is awful Am I never to\\nhear from you again? I know and I lament how much you h*ve\\nbeen afflicted of late, but I trust that returning health and spirits\\nwill now enable you to resume the pen, and delight us with your\\nmusings. I have still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs that I\\nwish married o immortal verse. We have several true-born\\nIrishmen on the Scottish list; but they are now naturalized, and\\nreckoned our ow$ good subjects. Indeed we have none better. I be-\\nlieve I before told you that I have been much urged by some\\nfriends to publish a collection of all our favourite airs and songs in\\noctavo, embellished with a number of etchings by our ingenious\\nfrieud Allan what is your opinion of this", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0559.jp2"}, "560": {"fulltext": "I\\n556 burns works.\\nNo. LXXXIII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nFebruary, 1796.\\nMany thanks, my dear sir, for your handsome, elegant present, to\\nMrs. B and for my remaining volume of P. Pindar. Peter\\nis a delightful fellow, and a first favourite of mine. 1 am much\\npleased with your idea of publishing a collection of our songs in\\noctavo with etchings. I am extremely willing to lend every assist-\\nance in my power. The Irish airs I shall cheerfully undertake the\\ntask of finding verses for.\\nI have already, you know, equipped three with words, and the\\nother day I strung up a kind of rhapsody to another Hibernian me-\\nlody, which I admire much.\\nHEY FOR A LASS WF A TOCHER.\\nTone Balinamona Ora\\nAwa wi* your witchcraft o beauty s alarms,\\nThe slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms;\\nO, gie me the lass that has acres o charms,\\nO, gie me the lass wi the weelstockit farms.\\nCHORUS.\\nThen hey for a lass wi a tocher, then hey for a lass wi a tocher,\\nThen hey for a lass wi a tocher the nice yellow guineas for me.\\nYour beauty s a flower, in the morning that blows,\\nAnd withers the faster, the faster it grows\\nBut the rapturous charm o the bonnie green knowes,\\nIlk spring they re new deckit wi bonnie white yowes.\\nThen, hey, c.\\nAnd e en when this beauty your bosom has blest,\\nThe brightest o beauty may cloy, when possest;\\nBut the sweet yellow darlings wi Geordie imprest,\\nThe langer ye hae them the mair they re carest.\\nThen, hey, c.\\nIf this will do, you have now four of my Irish engagement. In\\nmy by- past songs, 1 dislike one thing; the name Chloris\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I meant\\nit as the fictitious name of a certain lady but, on second thoughts,\\nit is a high incongruity to have a Greek appellation to a Scottish\\npastoral ballad.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Of this, and some things else, in my next I have\\nmore amendments to propose. What you once mentioned of\\nflaxen locks is just they cannot enter into an elegant descrip-\\ntion of beauty.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Of this also again.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 God bless you\\nNo. LXXXIY.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nApril, 1796.\\nYour Hey for a lass wi a tocher is a most excellent song, and\\nwith you the subject is something new indeed. It is the first time\\nI have seen you debasing the god of soft desire into an amateur of\\nacres and guineas.\\nOur poet never explained what name be ttouia bays jmtetitute4 for, CWojis.^", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0560.jp2"}, "561": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE^ 557\\nI am happy to find you approve of my proposed octavo edition*\\nAllan has designed and etched about twenty plates, and I am to\\nhave my choice of them for that work. Independently of the\\nHogarthian humour with which they abound, they exhibit the\\ncharacter and costume of the Scottish peasantry with inimitable\\nfelicity. In this respect he himself says, they will far exceed the\\nacquatinta plates he did for the Gentle Shepherd, because, in the\\netching, he sees clearly what he is doing but not so with the\\nacquatinta, which he could not manage to his mind.\\nThe Dutch boors of Ostade are scarcely more characteristic and\\nnatural, than the Scottish figures in those etchings.\\nNo. LXXXY.\\nMK. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\nApril, 179^.\\nAlas, my dear Thomson, I fear it will be some time ere I tune my\\nlyre again By Babel streams I have sat and wept, almost ever\\nsince 1 wrote you last I have only known existence by the pres-\\nsure of the heavy hand of sickness and have counted time by the\\nrepercussions of pain Rheumatism, cold, and fever, have formed\\nto me a terrible combination. I close my eyes in misery, and open\\nthem without hope. I look on the vernal day, and say with poor\\nFergusson\\nSay wherefore has an indulgent heaven\\nLight to the comfortless and wretched given\\nThis will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyslop, landlady of the\\nGlobe tavern here, which for these many years has been my howf,\\nand where our friend Clarke and I have had many a merry squeeze.\\nI am highly delighted with Mr. Allan s etchings. Wood and mar-\\nried and a* is admirable 1 The grouping is beyond all praise. The\\nexpression of the figures, conformable to the story in the ballad, is\\nabsolutely faultless perfection. I next admire TurnimspiJce. What\\nI like least is, Jenny said to Jochie. Besides the female being in\\nher appearance if you take her stooping into the ac-\\ncount, she is at least two inches taller than her lover. Poor Cleg-\\nhorn I sincerely sympathize with him Happy I am to think\\nthat he has a well-grounded hope of health and enjoyment in this\\nworld. As for me but that is a subject\\nNo. LXXXYI.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\n4th May, 1795.\\nI need not tell you, my good sir, what concern the receipt of your\\nlast gave me, and how much I sympathize in your sufferings. But\\ndo not, I beseech you, give yourself up to despondency, nor speak\\nthe language of despair. The vigour of your constitution, I trust,\\nwill soon set you on your feet again and then, it is to be hoped,\\nyou \\\\*ill see the wisdom and the necessity of taking due care of a\\nlife so valuable to your family, to your friends, and to the world.\\nTrusting that your next will bring agreeable accounts of your\\nc onvalescence, and returning good spirits, I remain, with sincere\\negard, yours.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0561.jp2"}, "562": {"fulltext": "558 burns works*\\nP.S.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mrs. Hyslop, I doubt not, delivered the gold seal to you in\\ngood condition.\\nNo. LXXXVII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSONS\\nMy Dear Sir,\\nI okce mentioned to you an air which I have long admired, Here s a\\nhealth to them that s awa, hiney, but I forget if you took any notice of\\nit. I have just been trying to suit it with verses and I beg leave\\nto recommend the air to your attention once more. I have only\\nbegun it.\\nCHORUS.\\nHere s a health to ane I lo e dear,\\nHere s a health to ane I lo e dear\\nThou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,\\nAnd soft as the parting tear Jessie\\nAlthough thou maun never be mine,\\nAlthough even hope is denied\\nTis sweeter for thee despairing,\\nThan aught in the world beside Jessie\\nHere s a health, c.\\nI mourn thro the gay, gaudy day,\\nAs, hopeless I muse on thy charms\\nBut welcome the dream o sweet slumber,\\nFor then I am look t in thy arms Jessie\\nHere s a health, c.\\n[uess by the dear angel smile,\\nguess by the love-rolling e e\\nBut why urge the tender confession\\nGainst fortune s fell cruel decree Jessie\\nHere s a health, c*\\nNo. LXXXVIII.\\nMR. BURNS to MR, THOMSON.\\nThis will be delivered by a Mr. Lewars, a young fellow of uncommon\\nmerit. As he will be a day or two in town, you will have leisure,\\nif you chose, to write me by him and if you have a spare half\\nhour to spend with him, I shall place your kindness to my account.\\nI have no copies of the songs I have sent you, and I have -taken a\\nfancy to review them all, and possibly may mend some of them\\nso when you have complete leisure, I will thank you for either the\\noriginals or copies.+ I had rather be the author of five well written\\nsongs, than of ten otherwise. I have great hopes that the genial\\ninfluence of the approaching summer will set me to rights, but as\\nyet I cannot boast of returning health. I have now reason to be-\\nlieve that my complaint is a flying gout a sad business\\nIn the letter to Mr. Thomson, the three first stanzas only are given, and Mr.\\nThomson supposed our poet had never gone farther. Among his MSS. was, how-\\never, found the fourth stanza, which completes this exquisite song, the last finished\\noffspring of his muse.\\nt It is needless to say, that this revisal Burns did not live to perform.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0562.jp2"}, "563": {"fulltext": "CORRESPONDENCE. 559\\nDo let me know how Cleghorn is, and remember me to him.\\nThis should have been delivered to you a month ago, I am still\\nvery poorly, but should like much to hear from you.\\nNo. LXXXIX.\\nMR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.\\n12th July, 1796.\\nAfter all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels me to\\nimplore you for five pounds. A cruel of a haber-\\ndasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that I\\nam dying, has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me into\\njail. Do, for God s sake, send me that sum, and that by return of\\npost. Forgive me this earnestness, but the horrors of a jail ha ve\\nmade me half distracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously fo r,\\nupon returning health, 1 hereby promise and engage to furnish you\\nwith five pounds worth of the neatest song genius you have seen.\\nI tried my hand on Rothiemurchie this morning. The measure is\\nso difficult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the\\nlines. They are on the other side. Forgive, forgive me\\nSONG.\\nTune\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Rothiemurchie.\\nFairest maid on Devon banks,\\nCrystal Devon, winding Devon,\\nWilt thou lay that frown aside,\\nAnd smile as thou wert wont to do\\nFull well thou knowest I love thee, dear,\\nCouldst thou to malice lend an ear\\nO did not love exclaim, Forbear\\nNor use a faithful lover so.\\nFairest maid, c.\\nThen come, thou fairest of the fair,\\nThy wonted smiles, let me share\\nAnd by thy beauteous self I swear,\\nNo love but thine my heart shall know.\\nFairest maid, c*\\nNO. XC.\\nMR. THOMSON to MR. BURNS.\\nMy Dear Sir, Uth July, 17$6*.\\nEver since I received your melancholy letter by Mrs. Hyslop, I\\nhave been ruminating in what manner I could endeavour to alle-\\nThese verses, and the letter enclosing them, are written in a character that\\nmarks the very feeble state of their author. Mr. Syme is of opinion that he could\\nnot have been in any danger of a jail at Dumfries, where certainly he had many\\nfirm friends, nor under any necessity of imploring aid from Edinburgh. But\\nabout this time his mind began to be at times unsettled, and the horrors of a jail\\nperpetually haunted his imagination. He died on the 22d of this month.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0563.jp2"}, "564": {"fulltext": "1\\n560\\nBtlRNS* WORKf.\\nviate your sufferings. Again and again I thought of a pecuniary\\noffer, but the recollection of one of your letters on this subject, and\\nthe fear of offending your independent spirit, checked my resolu-\\ntion. I thank you heartily, therefore, for the frankness of your\\nletter of the 11th, and with great pleasure inclose a draft for the\\nvery sum I proposed sending. Would 1 were the Chancellor of the\\nExchequer but for one day, for your sake.\\nPray, my good sir, is it not possible for you to muster a volume\\nof poetry? If too much trouble to you in the present state of\\nyour health, some literary friend might be found here, who would\\nselect and arrange from your manuscripts, and take upon him the\\ntask of Editor. In the mean time it could be advertised to be pub-\\nlished by subscription. Think of this, my dear Burns, and do not\\nreckon me intrusive with my advice. You are too well convinced of\\nthe respect and friendship I bear you, to impute any thing I say to\\nan unworthy motive. Yours, faithfully.\\nThe verses to Kothiemurchie will answer finely. 1 am happy to\\nsee you can still tune your lyre.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0564.jp2"}, "565": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX.\\nIt may gratify curiosity to know some particulars of the history of\\nthe preceding Poems, on which the celebrity of our Bard has been,\\nhitherto founded and with this view the following extract is\\nmade from a letter of Gilbert Burns, the brother of our Poet,\\nand his friend and confidant from his earliest years.\\nDear Sir, Mossgiel, 2nd April, 1798.\\nYour letter of the 14th of March. I received in due\\ncourse, but, from the hurry of the season, have been hitherto hin-\\ndered from answering it. I will now try to give you what satisfac-\\ntion I can in regard to the particulars you mention. I cannot pre-\\ntend to be very accurate in respect to the dates of the poems, but\\nnone of them, except Winter, a Dirge, (which was a juvenile pro-\\nduction,) the Death and Dying Words of poor Mailie, and some of\\nthe songs, were composed before the year 1784. The circumstances\\nof the poor sheep were pretty much as he has described them he\\nhad, partly by way of frolic, bought a ewe and two lambs from a\\nneighbour, and she was tethered in a held adjoining the house at\\nLochlie. He and I were going out with our teams, and our two\\nyounger brothers to drive for us, at mid-day, when Hugh Wilson,\\na curious looking awkward boy, clad in plaiding, came to us with\\nmuch anxiety in his face, with the information that the ewe\\nhad entangled herself in the tether, and was lying in the ditch.\\nRobert was much tickled with Hughoc s appearance and postures\\non the occasion. Poor Mailie was set to rights, and when we re-\\nturned from the plough in the evening, he repeated to me her\\nDeath and Dying words pretty much in the way they now stand.\\nAmong the earliest of his poems was the Epistle to Davie.\\nRobert often composed without a regular plan. When any thing\\nmade a strong impression on his mind, so as to rouse it to poetic\\nexertion, he would give way to the impulse, and embody tb thought\\nin rhyme. If he hit on two or three stanzas to please him, he\\nwould then think of proper introductory, connecting, and conclud-\\ning stanzas hence the middle of a poem was often first produced.\\nIt was, I think, in summer, 1784, when in ^e interval of harder\\nlabour, he and I were weeding in the garden (kailyard,) that he re-\\npeated to me the principal part of this epistle. I believe the first\\nidea of Robert s becoming an author was started on this occasion.\\nI was much pleased with the epistle, and said to him I was of opi-\\nnion it would bear being printed, and that it would be well re-\\nceived by people of taste that I thought it at least equal, if not\\nsuperior, to many of Allan Ramsay s epistles, and that the merit of\\nthese, and much other Scotch poetry, seemed to consist principally\\nin the knack of the expression but here, there was a strain of in-\\nteresting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the language scarcely\\n2 A 5", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0565.jp2"}, "566": {"fulltext": "I\\n562 APPENDIX.\\nseemed affected, but appeared to be the natural language of the\\npoet; that, besides, there was certainly some novelty in a poet\\npointing out the consolations that were in store for him when he\\nshould go a-begging. Robert seemed very well pleased with my\\ncriticism and we talked of sending it to some magazine, but as\\nthis plan afforded no opportunity of knowing how it would take,\\nthe idea was dropped.\\nIt was, I think, in the winter following, as we were going toge-\\nther with carts for coal to the family fire (and I could yet point\\nout the particular spot), that the author first repeated to me the\\nAddress to the Deil. The curious idea of such an address was\\nsuggested to him, by running over his mind the many ludicrous\\naccounts and representations we have, from various quarters, of\\nthis august personage. Death and Dr. Hornbook/ though not\\npublished in the Kilmarnock edition, was produced early in the\\nyear 1785. The schoolmaster of Tarbolton parish, to eke up the\\nscanty subsistence allowed to that useful class of men, had set up\\na shop of grocery goods. Having accidentally fallen in with some\\nmedical books, and become most hobby-horsically attached to the\\nstudy of medicine, he had added the sale of a few medicines to his\\nlittle trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, at the bottom of\\nwhich, overlooking his own incapacity, he had advertised, that\\nAdvice would be given in common disorders at the shop, gratis.\\nRobert was at a mason-meeting, in Tarbolton, when the rt Dominie\\nunfortunately made too ostentations a display of his medical skill.\\nAs he parted in the evening from this mixture of pedantry and\\nphysic, at the place where he describes his meeting with Death,\\none of those floating ideas of apparition, he mentions in his letter\\nto Dr. Moore, crossed his mind this set him to work for the rest\\nof the way home. These circumstances he related when he re-\\npeated the verses to me next afternoon, as I was holding the plough,\\nand he was letting the water off the field beside me. The Epistle\\nto John Lapraik was produced exactly on the occasion described\\nby the author. He says in that poem, On fasten e en he had a\\nrockin (p. 36f). I believe he has omitted the word rocking in\\nthe glossary. It is a term derived from those primitive times,\\nwhen the country-women employed their spare hours in spinning\\non the rock, or distaff. This simple instrument is a very portable\\none, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in a neigh-\\nbour s house hence the phrase of going a- rocking, or with the\\nrock. As the connection the phrase had with the implement was\\nforgotten when the rock gave way to the spinning-wheel, the\\nphrase came to be used by both sexes on social occasions, and men\\ntalk of going with their rocks as well as women.\\nIt was at one of these roclrings at our house, when we had twelve\\nor fifteen young people with their rods, that Lapraik s song, begin-\\nning When I upon thy bosom lean, was sung, and we were in-\\nformed who was the author. Upon this Robert wrote his first\\nepistle to Lapraik and his second in reply to his answer. The\\nverses to the Mouse and Mountain Daisy were composed on the\\noccasions mentioned, and while the author was holding the plough\\nI could point out the particular spot where each was composed.\\nHolding the plough was a favourite situation with Robert for poetic", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0566.jp2"}, "567": {"fulltext": "compositions, and some of his best verses Were produced while he\\nwas at that exercise. Several of the poems were produced for the\\npurpose of bringing forward some favourite sentiment of the author.\\nHe used to remark to me, that he could not conceive a more mor-\\ntifying picture of human life, than a man seeking work. In cast-\\ning about in his mind how this sentiment might be brought for-\\nward, the elegy, Man was made to Mourn, was composed. Ro-\\nbert had frequently remarked to me, that he thought there was\\nsomething peculiarly venerable in the phrase, Let us worship\\nGod, used by a decent sober head of a family introducing family\\nworship. To this sentiment of the author the world is indebted\\nfor the Cotter s Saturday Night. The hint of the plan, and title\\nof the poem, were taken from Fergusson s Farmer s Ingle. When\\nRobert had not some pleasure in view in which I was not thought\\nfit to participate, we used frequently to walk together when the\\nweather was favourable on the Sunday afternoons (those precious\\nbreathing-times to the labouring part of the community), and en-\\njoyed such Sundays as would make one regret to see their number\\nabridged. It was in one of these walks that I first had the pleasure\\nof hearing the author repeat the Cotter s Saturday Night. I do\\nnot recollect to have read or heard any thing by which I was more\\nhighly electrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth,\\nthrilled with peculiar ecstasy through my soul. I mention this to\\nyou, that you may see what hit the taste of unlettered criticism. I\\nshould be glad to know, if the enlightened mind and refined taste\\nof Mr. Roscoe, who has borne such honourable testimony to this\\npoem, agrees with me in the selection. Fergusson, in his M Hallow\\nFair of Edinburgh, I believe, likewise furnished a hint of the title\\nand plan of the Holy Fair. The farcical scene the poet there de-\\nscribes was often a favourite field of his observation, and the most\\nof the incidents he mentions had actually passed before his eyes.\\nIt is scarcely necessary to mention, that the Lament was com-\\nposed on that unfortunate passage in his matrimonial history, which\\nI have mentioned in my letter to Mrs, Dunlop, after the first dis-\\ntraction of his feelings had a little subsided. The Tale of Twa\\nDogs was composed after the resolution of publishing was nearly\\ntaken. Robert had had a dog, which he called Luath, that was a\\ngreat favourite. The dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty\\nof some person the night before my father s death. Robert said to\\nme, that he should like to confer such immortality as he could be-\\nstow upon his old friend Luat7i, and that he had a great mind to\\nintroduce something into the book under the title of Stanzas to\\nthe Memory of a quadruped Friend but this plan was given up\\nfor the tale as it now stands. Ccesar was merely the creature of\\nthe poet s imagination, created for the purpose of holding chat with\\nhis favourite Luath. The first time Robert heard the spinet played\\nupon was at the house of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of the parish\\nof Loudon now in Glasgow, having given up the parish in favour\\nof his son. Dr. Lawrie has several daughters one of them played\\nthe father and mother led down the dance the rest of the sisters,\\nthe brother, the poet, and the other guests, mixed in it. It was a\\ndelightful family scene for our poet, then lately introduced to the\\nworld. His mind was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0567.jp2"}, "568": {"fulltext": "I\\n564 APPENDIX.\\nstanzas, p. 852, were left in the room where he slept. It was to\\nDr. Lawrie that Dr. Blacklock s letter was addressed, which my\\nbrother, in his letter to Dr. Moore, mentions as the reason of his\\ngoing to Edinbnrgh.\\nWhen my father feued his little property near Alloway-Kirk,\\nthe wall of the church-yard had gone to ruin, and cattle had freo\\nliberty of pasture in it. My father, with two or three. other neigh-\\nbours, joined in an application to the town council of Ayr, who\\nwere superiors of the adjoining land, for liberty to rebuild it, and\\nraised by subscription a sum for enclosing this ancient cemetery\\nwith a wall hence he came to consider it as his burial place, and\\nand we learned that reverence for it people generally have for the\\nburial-place of their ancestors. My brother was living in Ellisland,\\nwhen Captain Grose, on his peregrinations through Scotland, staid\\nsome time at Oarse- house in the neighbourhood, with Captain Ro-\\nbert Riddel of Glenriddel, a particular friend of my brother s. The\\nAntiquarian and the Poet were Unco pack and thick thegither.\\nRobert requested of Captain Grose, when he should come to Ayr-\\nshire, that he would make a drawing of Alloway-Kirk, as it was the\\nburial-place of his father, and where he himself had a sort of claim\\nto lay down his bones when they should be no longer serviceable to\\nhim and added, by way of encouragement, that it was the scene\\nof many a good story of witches and apparitions, of which he knew\\nthe Captain was very fond. The Captain agreed to the request,\\nprovided the poet would furnish a witch story, to be printed along\\nwith it. Tarn o Shanter was produced on this occasion, and was\\nfirst published in Grose s Antiquities of Scotland.\\nThe poem is founded on a traditional story. The leading cir-\\ncumstances of a man riding home very late from Ayr, in a stormy\\nnight, his seeing a light in Alloway Kirk, his having the curiosity\\nto look in, his seeing a dance of witches, with the devil playing on\\nthe bag pipe to them, the scanty covering of one of the witches,\\nwhich made him so far forget himself as to cry Weel loupen,\\nshort sark F with the melancholy catastrophe of the piece it is\\nall a true story, and can be well attested by many respectable old\\npeople in that neighbourhood.\\nI do not at present recollect any circumstances respecting the\\nother poems, that could be at all interesting even some of those I\\nhave mentioned, I am afraid, may appear trifling enough, but you\\nwill only make use of what appears to you of consequence.\\nThe following poems in the first Edinburgh edition were not in\\nthat published in Kilmarnock. Death and Dr. Hornbook; The\\nB i s of Ayr; The Calf; (the poet had been with Mr. Gavin\\nHamilton in the morning, who said jocularly to him when he was\\ngoing to church, in allusion to the injunction of some parents to\\ntheir children, that he must be sure to bring a note of the sermon\\nat midday; this address to the Reverend Gentleman on his text\\nwas accordingly produced;) The Ordination; The Address to\\nthe Unco Guid Tarn Samson s Elegy; A Winter Night;\\nStanzas on the same occasion as the preceding prayer; Verses\\nleft at a Reverend Friend s boiu^e The first Psalm; Prayer\\nunder the pressure of violent anguish; The first six Verses of\\nthe ninetieth Paslm Verses to Miss Logan, with Beattie s Poems;", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0568.jp2"}, "569": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX^ 565\\nTo a Haggis; Address to Edinburgh John Barleycorn;\\nWhen Guildford Guid Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows;\\nGreen grow the Rashes; Again rejoicing Nature sees; The\\ngloomy Night; No Churchman am 1.\\nIf you have never seen the first edition, it will, perhaps, not be\\namiss to transcribe the preface, that you may see the manner in\\nwhich the Poet made his first awe-struck approach to the bar of\\npublic judgment.\\nPreface to the first Edition of Burns* Poems, published at\\nKilmarnock.\\nThe following Trifles are not the production of the poet, who\\nwith all the advantages of learned art, and perhaps, amid the ele-\\ngances and idlenesses of upper life, looks down for a rural theme,\\nwith an eye to Theocritus or Yirgil, To the author of this, these\\nand other celebrated names, their countrymen, are, at least in their\\noriginal language, a fountain shut up, and a book sealed. Un-\\nacquainted with the necessary requisites for conmencing poet by\\nrule, he sings the sentiments and manners, he felt and saw in him:\\nself and his rustic compeers around hjm, in his and their native\\nlanguage. Though a rhymer from his t ~liest years, at least from\\nthe earliest impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very\\nlately that the applause, perhaps the partiality of friendship,\\nawakened his vanity so far as to make him think any thing of his\\nworth showing and none of the following works were composed\\nwith a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little crea-\\ntions of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious\\nlife to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the\\nhopes, the fears, in his own breast to find some kind of counter-\\npoise to the struggles of a world, always an alien scene, a task un-\\ncouth to the poetical mind these were his motives for courting the\\nmuses, and in these he found poetry to be its own reward.\\nNow that he appears in the public character of an author, he\\ndoes, it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming\\ntribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at the\\nthought of being branded as an impertinent blockhead, obtruding\\nhis nonsence on the world and, because he can make a shift to\\njingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon himself\\nas a poet of no small consequence forsooth.\\nIt is an observation of that celebrated poet Shenstone, whose\\ndivine elegies do honour to our nation, and our species, that Hu-\\nmility has depressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised\\none to fame If any critic catches at the word genius, the au-\\nthor tells him once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as\\npossessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the\\nmanner he has done, would be a manoeuvre beneath the lowest and\\nworst character, which he hopes his worst enemy will never give\\nhim. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of\\nthe poor unfortunate Fergusson, he with equal unaffected sincerity,\\ndeclares, that even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the\\n-most ditt;mt pretensions These two justly admired Scotch poets\\nhe h*fe often had in his eye in the fallowing pieces but rather with\\na view to kindle at their flame for servile imitation.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0569.jp2"}, "570": {"fulltext": "I\\n566 APPENDIX.\\nTo his Subscribers the Author returns his most sincere thanks.\\nNot the mercenary bow over the counter, but the heart-throbbing\\ngratitude of the bard, conscious how much he owes to benevolence\\nand friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that dearest\\nwish of every poetic bosom to be distinguished. If he begs his\\nreaders, particularly the learned and the polite, who may honour\\nhim with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for educa-\\ntion and circumstances of life; but, if after a fair, candid, and im-\\npartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dullness and nonsense,\\nlet him be done by as he would in that case do by others let him\\nbe condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion.\\nI am, dear Sir,\\nYour most obedient humble servant,\\nGILBERT BURNS.\\nDb. Currib, Liverpool.\\nTo this history of the poems which are contained in this volume,\\nit may be added, that our author appears to have made little alter-\\nation in them after their original composition, except in some few\\ninstances, where considerable additions have been introduced. Af-\\nter he had attracted the notice of the public by his first edition,\\nvarious criticisms were offered him on the peculiarities of his style,\\nas well as of his sentiments, and some of these which remain among\\nhis manuscripts, are by persons of great taste and judgment. Some\\nfew of these criticisms he adopted, but the far greater part he re-\\njected and, though something has by this means been lost in point\\nof delicacy and correctness, yet a deeper impression is left of the\\nstrength and originality of his genius. The firmness of our poet s\\ncharacter, arising from a just confidence in his own powers, may,\\nin part, explain his tenaciousness of his peculiar expressions but\\nit may be in some degree accounted for also, by the circumstances\\nunder which the poems were composed. Burns did not, like men of\\ngenius born under happier auspices, retire, in the moment of inspi-\\nration, to the silence and solitude of his study, and commit his\\nverses to paper as arranged themselves in his mind. Fortune did\\nnot afford him this indulgence. It was during the toils of daily\\nlabour that his fancy exerted itself; the muse, as he himself informs\\nus, found him at the plough. In this situation, it was necessary to\\nfix his verses on his memory, and it was many days, nay week, af-\\nter a poem was finished, before it was written down. During all\\nthis time, by frequent repetition, the association between the\\nthought and the expression was confirmed, and the impartiality of\\ntaste with which written language is reviewed and retouched after\\nit has faded on the memory, could not in such instances be exerted.\\nThe original manuscripts of many of his poems are preserved, and\\nthey differ in nothing material from the last printed edition.\\nSome few variations may be noticed.\\nIn the Author s earnest Cry and Prayer, after the stanaas, p.\\n288, beginning,\\nErskine, a spunkie Norland Billie,\\nthere appears, in his book of manuscripts, the following", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0570.jp2"}, "571": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX. 567\\nThee, sodger Hugh, my watchman stented\\nIf Bardies e er are represented\\nI ken if that your sword were wanted\\nYe d lend your hand,\\nBut when there s ought to say anent it,\\nYe re at a stand.\\nSodger Hugh is evidently the present Earl of Eglinton, then Colo-\\nnel Montgomery of Coilsfield, and representing in Parliament the\\ncounty of Ayr. Why this was left out in printing does not appear.\\nThe noble Earl will not be sorry to see this notice of him, familiar\\nthough it be, by a bard whose genius he admired, and whose fate\\nhe lamented.\\n2. In The Address to the Deil, the seventh stanzas, in p. 309,\\nran originally thus\\nLang syne in Eden s happy scene,\\nWhen strappin Adam s days were green,\\nAnd Eve was like my bonnie Jean,\\nMy dearest part,\\nA dancing sweet, young, handsome quean,\\nWi guiltless heart.\\n3. In The Elegy on Poor Mailie, the second stanzas, in p. 312,\\nbeginning,\\nShe was nae get o moorland tips,\\nwas, at first, as follows\\nShe was nae get o runted rams,\\nWi woo like goats, and legs like trams\\nShe was the flower o Fairlie lambs,\\nA famous breed\\nNow Robin, greetin chows the hams\\n0 Mailie dead.\\nIt were a pity that the Fairlie lambs should lose the honour onc e\\nintended them.\\n4. But the chief variations are found in the poems here intro-\\nduced, for the first time, in the edition in two volumes small oc-\\ntavo, published in 1792. Of the poem written in Friars Carse\\nHermitage, there are several editions, and one of these* has no-\\nthing in common with the printed poem but the four first lines.\\nThe poem that is published, which was his second effort on the\\nsubject, received considerable alterations in printing.\\nInstead of the six lines beginning,\\nSay man s true genuine estimate,\\nin manuscript the following are inserted,\\nSay the criterion of their fate,\\nTh important query of their state,\\nIs not, part thou high or low 1\\nDid thy fortune ebb or flow\\nWert thou cottager or king?\\nPrince or peasant no such thing.\\n5. The Epistle to R. G. of F., Esq., that is, to R. Graham of Fin-\\ntry, Esq., also underwent considerable alterations, as may be col-\\nThis is given in the Correspondence.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0571.jp2"}, "572": {"fulltext": "I\\n568 APPENDIX.\\nlected from the volume of Correspondence. This style of poetry\\nwas new to our poet, and though he was fitted to excel in it, it\\ncost him more trouble than his Scottish poetry. On the contrary.\\nTarn o Shanter seems to have issued perfect from the author s\\nbrain. The only considerable alteration made on reflection, is the\\nomission of four lines, which had been inserted after the poem was\\nfinished, at the end of the dreadful catalogue of the articles found\\non the haly table, and which appeared in the first edition of the\\npoem, printed separately. They came after the last line page 398,\\nWhich even to name would be unlawfu\\nand are as follows\\nThree lawyers tongues tura d inside out,\\nWi lies seam d like a beggar s clout,\\nAnd priests hearts, rotten, black as muck\\nLay stinking vile in every neuk.\\nThese lines, which, independent of other objections, interrupt and\\ndestroy the emotions of terror which the preceding description had\\nexcited, were very properly left out of the printed collection, by the\\nadvice of Mr. Fraser Tytler to which Burns seem to have paid\\nsome deference.\\n6. The Address to the Shade of Thomson, page 391, began in the\\nfirst manuscript copy in the following manner\\nWhile cold eyed Spring, a virgin coy,\\nUnfolds her verdant mantle sweet,\\nOr pranks the sod in frolic joy,\\nA carpet for her youthful feet\\nWhile Summer, with a matron s grace,\\nWalks stately in the cooling shade,\\nAnd oft delighted loves to trace\\nThe progress of the spiky blade\\nWhile Autmmn, benefactor kind,\\nWith age s honours clad,\\nSurveys, with self-approving mind,\\nEach creature on his bounty fed, kc.\\nBy the alteration in the printed poem, it may be questioned whe-\\nther the poetry is much improved the poet, however, has found\\nmeans to introduce the shades of Dryburgh, the residence of the\\nEarl of Buchan, at who?e request these verses were written.\\nThese observations might be extended, but what are already of-\\nfered will satisfy curiosity, and there is nothing of any importance\\nthat could be added.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0572.jp2"}, "573": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\nThe ch and p7i have always the gutteral sound. The sound of the\\nEnglish diphthong oo t is commonly spelled ou. The French u, a\\nsound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo,\\nor ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a\\ndiphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single consonant,\\nsounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scot-\\ntish diphtong ce, very often, sound like the French e masculine.\\nThe Scottish diphthong cy, sounds like the Latin ei.\\naught, in all my possession\\nAuld lang syne, olden time\\nAuld, old\\nAuldfarran, or, auld f arrant, sa-\\ngacious, cunning, prudent\\nAva, at all\\nAwa away\\nAwfu awful\\nAwn, the beard of barley, c.\\nAwnie, bearded\\nAyont, beyond\\nB\\nBa ball\\nBackets, ash boards\\nBacklins, coming returning\\nBack, returning\\nBad, did bid\\nBaide, endured, did stay\\nBaggie, the belly\\nBainie, having large bones, stout\\nBairn, a child\\nBairntime, a family of children,\\na brood\\nBaith, both\\nBan, to swear\\nBane, bone\\nBang, to beat to strive\\nBardie, diminutive of bard\\nBarefit, barefooted\\nBarmie, of, or like barm\\nBatch, a crew, a gang\\nBatts, bots\\nBaudrons, a cat\\nBauld, bold\\nBawk, bank\\nBawsn t, having a white stripe\\ndown the face\\nA All\\nAback, away, aloof\\nAbeigh, at a shy distance\\nAboon, above, up\\nAbread, abroad, in sight\\nAbreed, in breadth\\nAddle, putrid water, c.\\nAe, one\\nAff, off; aff lOof, unpremeditated\\nAfore, before\\nAft, oft\\nAften, often\\nAgley, off the right line wrong\\nAiblins, perhaps\\nAin, own\\nAirle-penny, Airles, earnest mo-\\nney\\nAim, iron\\nAith, an oath\\nAiver, an old horse\\nAizle, a hot cinder\\nAlake, alas\\nAlane, alone\\nAkwart, awkward\\nAmaist, almost\\nAmang, among\\nAn and if\\nAnce, once\\nAne, one and\\nAnent, over, against\\nAnither, another\\nAse, ashes\\nAsklent, asquint aslant\\nAsteer, abroad stirring\\nAthart, thwart\\nAught, possession as, In a 1 my", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0573.jp2"}, "574": {"fulltext": "570\\naLOS\u00c2\u00bbAlt*.\\nBe, to let be to give over\\nBear, barley\\nBeastie, diminutive of beast\\nBeet, to add fuel to fire\\nBeld, bald\\nBely ve, by and bye\\nBen, into the spence or parlour;\\na spence\\nBenlomond, a noted mountain in\\nDumbartonshire\\nBethankit, grace after meat\\nBeuk, a book\\nBicker, a kind ef wooden dish a\\nshort race\\nBie, or Bield, shelter\\nBien, wealthy, plentiful\\nBig, to build\\nBiggin, building a house\\nBiggit, built\\nBill, a bull\\nBillie, a brother a young fellow\\nBing, a heap of grain, potatoes,\\nc.\\nBirk, birch\\nBirken-shaw, Birchen-wood-shaw\\na small wood\\nBirkie, a clever fellow\\nBirring, the noise of partridges,\\nc. when they spring\\nBit, crisis, nick of time\\nBizz, a bustle, to buzz\\nBlastie, a shrivelled dwarf; a\\nterm of contempt\\nBlastit, blasted\\nBlate, bashful, sheepish\\nBlather, bladder\\nBladd, a flat piece; any thing;\\nto slap\\nBlaw, to blow, to boast\\nBleerit, bleared, sore with rheum\\nBleert and blin bleared and\\nblind.\\nBleezing, blazing\\nBlellum, an idle, talking fellow\\nBlether, to talk idly nonsense\\nBlink, a little while a smiling\\nlook to shine by fits\\nBlinker, a term of contempt\\nBlinkin, smirking\\nBlue-gown, one of those beggars\\nwho get annually, on the sove-\\nreign s birth-day, a blue cloak\\nor gown, with a badge\\nBluid, blood\\nBluntie, a sniveller, a stupid\\nperson\\nBlype, a shred, a large piece\\nBock, to vomit, to gush inter-\\nmittently\\nBodle, a small gold coin\\nBogles, spirits, hobgoblins\\nBonnie or bonny, handsome\\nBonnock, a kind of thick cake\\nof bread, a small jannock, or\\nloaf made of oatmeal\\nBoord, a board\\nBoortree, the shrub elder plant-\\ned much of old in hedges of\\nbarn- yards, c\\nBoost, behaved, must needs\\nBore, a hole in the wall\\nBotch, an angry tumour\\nBousing, drinking\\nBow-kail, cabbage\\nBowt, bended, crooked\\nBrackens, fern\\nBrae, a declivity a precipice\\nBraid, broad\\nBraingd t, reeled forward\\nBraik, a kind of harrow\\nBraindge, to rush rashly for-\\nward\\nBrak, broke, made insolvent\\nBranks, a kind of wooden curb\\nfor horses\\nBrash, a sudden illness\\nBrats, coarse clothes, rags, c\\nBrattle, a short race, hurry fury;\\nBraw, fine, handsome\\nBrawly, or brawlie, very well\\nBraxie, a morbid sheep\\nBreastie, diminutive of breast\\nBreastit, did spring up or for*\\nward\\nBreckan, fern\\nBreef, an irresistible spell\\nBreeks, breeches\\nBrent, smooth\\nBrewin brewing\\nBrie, juier, liquid\\nBrig, a bridge\\nBrunstane, brimstone\\nBrisket, the breast, the bosom\\nBrither, a brother\\nBrock, a badger\\nBrogue, a hum, a trick", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0574.jp2"}, "575": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n571\\nBroose, broth a race at country\\nweddings, who shall first reach\\nthe bridegroom s house on re-\\nturning from the church\\nBrowster-wives, ale-house-wives\\nBrugh, a bnrgh\\nBruzlzie, a broil, a combustion\\nBrunt, did burn, burnt\\nBrust, to burst burst\\nBuchan-bullers,the boiling of the\\nsea among the rocks of Buchan\\nBuckskin, an inbahitant of Vir-\\nginia\\nBught, a pen\\nBughtin-time, the time of collect-\\ning the sheep in the pens to be\\nmilked\\nBuirdly, stout made broad made\\nBumclock, a humming beetle\\nthat flies in the summer even-\\nings\\nBumming, humming as bees\\nBummle, to blunder\\nBunker, a window-seat\\nBurdies, diminutive of birds\\nBure, did bear\\nBurn, water, a rivulet\\nBurnewin, i. e. burn the wind\\na blacksmith\\nBurnie, diminutive of burn\\nBuskie, bushey\\nBuskit, dressed\\nBusks, dresses\\nBussle, a bustle; to bustle\\nBuss, shelter\\nBut, bot, with without\\nBut an* ben, the country kitchen\\nand parlour\\nBy himsel, lunatic, distracted\\nByke, a bee-hive\\nByre, a cow-stable a sheep-pen\\nC\\nC A to call, to name to drive\\nCa t; or ca d called, driven calv-\\ned\\nCadger, a carrier\\nCadie, or Caddie, a person: a\\nyoung fellow\\nCaff, chaff\\nCaird, a tinker\\nCairn, a loose heap of stones\\nCalf- ward, a small enclosure for\\ncalves\\nCallan, a boy\\nCaller, fresh sound refreshing.\\nCanie, or cannie, gentle, mild\\ndexterous.\\nCannilie, dexterously\\nCantie, or canty, cheerful, merry\\nCantrip, a charm, a spell.\\nCapestane, cope-stone keystone\\nCareerin, cheerfully\\nCarl, an old man\\nCarlin, a stout old woman\\nCartes, cards\\nCaudron, a caldron\\nCauk and keel, chalk and red clay\\nCauld, cold\\nCaup, a wooden drinking vessel\\nCesses, taxes\\nChanter, a part of a bagpipe\\nChap, a person, a fellow a blow\\nChaup, a stroke, a blow\\nCheekit, cheeked\\nCheep, a chirp to chirp\\nChiel, or cheel, a young fellow\\nChimla, or chimlie, a fire-grate,\\na fire place\\nChimla-lug, the fireside\\nChittering, shivering, trembling\\nChockin, choking\\nChow, to chew\\nChuffie, fat-faced\\nClachan, a small village about a\\nchurch a hamlet\\nClaise, or claes, clothes\\nClaith, cloth\\nClaivers, nonsense not speaking\\nsense\\nClap, clapper of a mill\\nClarkit, wrote\\nClash, an idle tale, the story of\\nthe day\\nClatter, to tell idle stories; an\\nidle story\\nClaught, snatched at, laid hold\\nof\\nClaut, to clean to scrape\\nClavers, idle stories\\nClaw, to scratch\\nCleed, to clothe\\nCleede, clothes\\nCleekit, having caught\\nClinkin, jerking clinking\\nClinkumbell, he who rings the\\nchurch-bell", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0575.jp2"}, "576": {"fulltext": "572\\nGLOSSARY.\\nI,\\nClips, shears\\nClishmaclaver, idle conversation\\nClock, to hatch a beetle\\nClockin, hatching\\nCloot, the hoof of a cow, sheep c\\nClootie, an old name for the\\nDevil\\nClour, a bump or swelling after\\na blow\\nCluds, clouds\\nCoaxin, wheedling\\nCoble, a fishing boat\\nCockernony, a lock of hair tied\\nupon a girl s head a cap\\nCoft, bought\\nCog, a wood eh dish\\nCoggie, diminutive of cog\\nCoDa, from Kyle, a district of\\nAyrshire; so called, saith tradi-\\ntion, from Coil, or Coilus, a\\nPictish monarch\\nCollie, a general and sometimes a\\nparticular name for country\\ncurs\\nCollieshangie, quarrelling, an up-\\nroar\\nCommaun, command\\nCood, the cud\\nCoof, a blockhead a ninny\\nCookit, appeared and disappeared\\nby fits\\nCoost, did cast\\nCoot, the ancle or foot\\nCootie, a wooden kitchen dish\\nalso, those fowls whose legs\\nare clad with feathers are said\\nto be cootie\\nCorbies, a species of the crow\\nCore, corps party clan\\nCorn t, fed with oats\\nCotter, the inhabitant of a cot-\\nhouse, or cottager\\nCouthie, kind, loving\\nCove, a cave\\nCo we, to terrify to keep under,\\nto lop fright a branch of\\nfurze, broom, c.\\nCowp, to barter to tumble over\\na gang\\nCowpit, tumbled\\nCowrin, cowering\\nCowt, a colt\\nCozie, snug\\nCrabbit, crabbed, fretful\\nCrack, conversation to converse\\nCrackin, conversing\\nCraft, or croft, a field near a\\nhouse (in old husbandry)\\nCraiks, cries or calls incessantly;\\na bird\\nCrambo, clink, or crambo jingle,\\nrhymes, doggrel verses\\nCrank, the noise of an ungreased\\nwheel\\nCrankous, fretful, eaptious\\nCranreuch, the hoar frost\\nCrap, a crop to crop\\nCraw, a crow of a cock a rook\\nCreel, a basket; to have one s\\nwits in a creel, to be crazed\\nto be fascinated\\nCreepie-stool, the same as cutty-\\nstool\\nCresshie, greasy\\nCrood, or croud, to coo as a dove\\nCroon, a hollow and continued\\nmoan to make a noise like\\nthe continued roar of a bull\\nto hum a tune\\nCrouchie, crook-backed\\nCroose, cheerfully courageously\\nCrowdie, a composition of oat-\\nmeal and boiled water, some-\\ntimes from the broth of beef,\\nmutton, c.\\nCrowdie- time, breakfast time\\nCrowlin, crawling\\nCrummock, a cow with crooked\\nhorns\\nCrump, hard and brittle; spoken\\nof bread\\nCrunt, a blow on the head with\\na cudgel\\nCuif, a blockhead, a ninny\\nCummock, a short staff with a\\ncrooked head\\nCurchie, a courtesy\\nCurler, a player at a game on the\\nice, practised in Scotland, call-\\ned curling\\nCurlie, curled, whose hair falls\\nnaturally in ringlets\\nCurling, a well known game on\\nthe ice\\nCurmurring, murmuring\\nCurpin, the crupper", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0576.jp2"}, "577": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n573\\nCushat, the dove, or wood-pigeon\\nCutty, short a spoon broken in\\nthe middle\\nCutty-stool, the stool of repent-\\nance\\nD.\\nDADDIE; a father\\nDamn, merriment foolishness\\nDaft, merry, giddy foolish\\nDaimen, rare, now and then;\\ndaimen icker, an ear of corn\\nnow and then\\nDainty, pleasant, good humoured\\nDaise, daez, to stupify\\nDales, plains, valleys\\nDarklins, darkling\\nDaud, to thrash, to abuse\\nDaur, to dare\\nDaurt, dared\\nDaurg, or daurk, a day s labour\\nDavoc, David\\nDawd, a large piece\\nDawtit, or dawtet, fondled, ca-\\nressed\\nDearies, diminutive of dears\\nDearthfu dear\\nDeave, to deafen\\nDeilma-care no matter! for all\\ni that!\\nDeleerit, delirious\\nDescrive, to describe\\nDight, to wipe; to clean corn\\nfrom chaff\\nDing, to worst, to push\\nDink, neat, tidy, trim\\nDinna, do not\\nDirl, a alight tremulous stroke\\nor pain\\nDizen, or dizz n, a dozen\\nDoited, stupified, hebetated\\nDolt, stupified, crazed\\nDonsie, unlucky\\nDool, sorrow; to sing dool, to\\nlament, to mourn\\nDoos, doves\\nDorty, saucy, nice\\nDouce, or douse, sober, wise, pru-\\ndent\\nDoucely, soberly, prudently _\\nDought, was or were able\\nDoup, backside\\nDoup-skelper, one that strikes\\nthe tail\\nDour and din, sullen and sallow\\nDoure, stout, durable; sullen,\\nstubborn\\nDow, am or are able, can\\nDowfT, pithless, wanting force\\nDowie, worn with grief, fatigue,\\nc. half asleep\\nDowna, am or are not able cannot\\nDoylt, stupid\\nDozent, stupified, impotent\\nDrap, a drop to drop\\nDraigle, to soil by trailing, to\\ndraggle among wet, c.\\nDropping, dropping\\nDraunting, drawling; of a slow\\nenunciation\\nDreep, to ooze, to drop\\nDreigh, tedious, long about it\\nDribble, drizzling; slaver\\nDrift, a drove\\nDroddum, the breech\\nDrone, part of a bagpipe\\nDroop-rumpl t, that droops at the\\ncrupper\\nDroukit, wet\\nDrounting, drawling\\nDrouth, thirst, drought\\nDrucken, drunken\\nDrumly, muddy\\nDrummock, meal and water\\nmixed in a raw state\\nDrunt, pet, sour humour\\nDub, a small pond\\nDuds, rags, clothes\\nDuddie, ragged\\nDung, worsted pushed, driven\\nDunted, beaten, boxed\\nDush, to push as a ram, c.\\nDusht, pushed by a ram, ox, c\\nE.\\nE E, the eye\\nE en, the eyes\\nE ening, evening\\nEerie, frighted, dreading spirits\\nEild, old age\\nElbuck, the elbow\\nEldritch, ghastly, frightful\\nEller, an elder, or church officer\\nEn end\\nEnbrugh, Edinburgh\\nEneugh, enough\\nEspecial, especially\\nEttle, to try, to attempt", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0577.jp2"}, "578": {"fulltext": "6U\\nGLOSSARY.\\nEydent, diligent\\nF.\\nFA fall; lot; to fall\\nFa s, does fall water-falls\\nFaddom t, fathomed\\nFae, a foe\\nFaem, foam\\nFaiket, unknown\\nFairn, a fairing a present\\nFallow, fellow\\nFand, did find\\nFarl, a cake of oaten bread, c\\nFash, trouble, care; to trouble,\\nto care for\\nFasht, troubled\\nFasteren-e en, Fasten s Even\\nFauld, a fold to fold\\nFaulding, folding\\nFaut, fault\\nFaute, want, lack\\nFawsont, decent, seemly\\nFeal, a field smooth\\nFearfu frightful\\nFeart, frighted\\nFeat, neat, spruce\\nFecht, to fight\\nFechtin, fighting\\nFeck, many, plenty\\nFecket, an under waistcoat with\\nsleeves\\nFeckfu large, brawny, stout\\nFeckless, puny, weak\\nFeckly, weakly\\nFeg, a fig\\nFeide, feud, enmity\\nFeirrie, stout, vigorous, healthy\\nFell, keen, biting the flesh im-\\nmediately under the skin; a\\nfield pretty level, on the side\\nor top of a hill\\nFen, successful struggle, fight\\nFend, to live comfortably\\nFerlie, or ,ferley, to wonder a\\nwonder a term of contempt\\nFetch, to pull by fits\\nFetch t, pulled intermittently\\nFidge, to fidget\\nFiel, soft, smooth\\nFient, fiend, a petty oath\\nFier, sound, healthy; a brother\\nFissle, to make a rustling noise\\nto fidget a bustle\\nFit, a foot\\nFittie-lan the nearer horse of the\\nhindmost pair in the plough\\nFizz, to make a hissing noise,\\nlike fermentation\\nFlainen, flannel\\nFleech, to supplicate in a flat-\\ntering manner\\nFleech d, supplicated\\nFleechin, supplicating\\nFleesh, a fleece\\nFleg, a kick, a random stroke\\nFlether, to decoy by fair words\\nFletherin, flattering\\nFley, to scare, to frighten\\nFlichter, to flutter, as young\\nnestlings when their dam ap-\\nFlinders, shreds, broken pieces,\\nsplinters\\nFlinging-tree, a piece of timber\\nhung by way of partition be-\\ntween two horses in a stable\\na flail\\nFlisk, to fret at the yoke\\nFlisked, fretted\\nFlitter, to vibrate like the wings\\nof small birds\\nFlittering, fluttering, vibrating\\nFlunkie, a servant in livery\\nFodgel, squat and plump\\nFoord, a ford\\nForbears, forefathers\\nForbye, besides\\nForfairn, distressed, worn out\\nForfoughten, fatigued\\nForgather, to meet, to encounter\\nwith\\nForgie, to forgive\\nForjesket, jaded with fatigue\\nFother, fodder\\nFou, full, drunk\\nFoughten, troubled, harassed\\nFouth, plenty, enough\\nFow, a bushel, c, also a pitch-\\nfork\\nFree, from off\\nFrammit, strange, estranged\\nfrom, at enmity with\\nFreath, froth\\nFrien friend\\nFu full\\nFuel, the scut, or tail of the hare,\\ncony, c", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0578.jp2"}, "579": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n675\\nFuff, to blow intermittently\\nFuff t, did blow\\nFunnie, full of merriment\\nFur, a furrow\\nFurm, a form, bench\\nFyke, trifling cares to piddle, to\\nbe in a fuss about trifles\\nFyle, to soil, to dirty\\nFyl t, soiled, dirtied.\\nG.\\nGAB, the mouth; to speak bold-\\nly, or pertly\\nGaberlunzie, an old man\\nGadsman, a ploughboy, the boy\\nthat drives the horses in the\\nplough\\nGae, to go gaed, went gaen, or\\ngane, gone; gaun, going\\nGaet, or gate, way, manner; road\\nGairs, triangular pieces of cloth\\nsewed on the bottom of a\\ngown, c\\nGang, to go, to walk\\nGar, to make, to force to\\nGar*t, forced to\\nGarten, a garter\\nGash, wise, sagacious talkative\\nto converse\\nGashin, conversing\\nGaucy, jolly, large\\nGaud, a plough\\nGear, riches goods of any kind.\\nGeek, to toss the head in wanton-\\nness or scorn\\nGed, a pike\\nGentles, great folks, gentry\\nGenty, elegantly formed, neat\\nGeordie, a guinea\\nGet, a child, a young one\\nGhaist, a ghost\\nGie, to give; gied, gave; gien,\\ngiven\\nGiftie, diminutive of gift\\nGiglets, playful girls\\nGillie, diminutive of gill\\nGilpey, a half grown, half in-\\nformed boy or girl, a romping\\nlad, a hoiden\\nGimmer, a ewe from one to two\\nyears old\\nGin, if against\\nGipsey, a young girl\\nGirn, to grin, to twist the fea-\\ntures in rage, agony, c\\nGirning, grinning\\nGizz, a periwig\\nGlaiket, inattentive, foolish\\nGlaive, a sword\\nGawky, half-witted, foolish, romp-\\ning\\nGlaizie, glittering; smooth like\\nglass\\nGlaum, to snatch greedily\\nGlaum d, aimed, snatched\\nGleck, sharp, ready\\nGleg, sharp, ready\\nGleib, glebe\\nGlen, a dale, a deep valley\\nGley, a squint; to squint; a-gley,\\noff at a side, wrong.\\nGlibgabbet, smooth and ready in\\nspeech\\nGlint, to peep\\nGlinted, peeped\\nGlintin, peeping\\nGloamin, the twilight\\nGlowr, to stare, to look a stare,\\na look\\nGlowred, looked, stared\\nGlunsh, a frown, a sour look\\nGoavan, looking round with a\\nstrange, inquiring gaze; star-\\ning stupidly\\nGowan, the flower of the wild\\ndaisy, hawkweed, c\\nGowany, daisied, abounding with\\ndaisies\\nGowd, gold\\nGowff, the game of Golf; to strike\\nas the bat does the ball at golf\\nGowfFd, struck\\nGowk, a cuckoo a term of con-\\ntempt\\nGowl, to howl\\nGrane, or grain, a groan; to\\ngroan\\nGrain d and grunted, groaned and\\ngrunted\\nGraining, groaning\\nGraip, a pronged instrument for\\ncleaning stables\\nGraith, accoutrements, furniture,\\ndress, gear\\nGrannie, grandmother\\nGrape, to grope", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0579.jp2"}, "580": {"fulltext": "576\\nGLOSSARY.\\nGraipit, groped\\nGrat, wept, shed tears\\nGreat, intimate, familiar\\nGree, to agree to bear the gree,\\nto be decidedly victor\\nGree t, agreed\\nGreet, to shed tears, to weep\\nGreetin, crying, weeping\\nGrippet, catched; seized\\nGroat, to get the whistle of one s\\ngroat, to play a losing game\\nGrousome, loathsomely grim\\nGrozet, a gooseberry\\nGrumph, a grunt; to grunt\\nGrumphie, a sow\\nGrun ground\\nGrunstane, a grindstone\\nGruntle, the phiz; a grunting\\nnoise\\nGrunzie, mouth\\nGrushie, thick; of a thriving\\ngrowth\\nGude, the Supreme Being good\\nGuid, good\\nGuid-morning, good morrow\\nGuid- e en, good evening\\nGuidman and guidwife, the mas-\\nter and mistress of the house\\nyoung guidman, a man newly\\nmarried\\nGuid-willie, liberal cordial\\nGuidfather, guidmother, father-\\nin-law, and mother-in-law\\nGully, or gullie, a large knife\\nGumlie, muddy\\nGusty, tasteful\\nHA hall\\nHa -Bible, the great Bible that\\nlies in the hafl\\nHae, to have\\nHaen, had, the participle\\nHaet, fient haet, a petty oath of\\nnegation nothing\\nHaffet, the temple, the side of\\nthe head\\nHafflins, nearly half, partly\\nHag, a scar, or gulf in mosses\\nor moors\\nHaggis, a kind of pudding boiled\\nin the stomach of a cow or a\\nsheep\\nHajn, to spare, to save\\nHain d, spared\\nHairst, harvest\\nHaith, a petty oath\\nHaivers, nonsense, speaking\\nwithout thought\\nHal or hald, an abiding place\\nHale, whole, tight, healthy\\nHaly, holy\\nHame, home\\nHallun, a particular partition-\\nwall in a cottage, or more pro-\\nperly a seat of turf at the out-\\nside\\nHallowmas, Hallow- eve, the 31st\\nof October\\nHamely, homely, affable\\nHan, or haun hand\\nHap, an outer garment, mantle,\\nplaid, c., to wrap, to cover\\nto hop\\nHapper, a hopper\\nHapping, hopping\\nHap step an loup, hop skip and\\nleap\\nHarkit, hearkened\\nHam, very coarse linen\\nHash, a fellow that neither\\nknows how to dress nor act\\nwith propriety\\nHastit, hastened\\nHaud, to hold\\nHaughs, low lying, rich lands\\nHaurl, to drag, to peel\\nHaurlin, peeling\\nHaverel, a half-witted person\\nHavins, good manners, decorum\\nHawkie, a cow, properly one with\\na white face\\nHeapit, heaped\\nHealsome, healthful, wholesome\\nHearse, hoarse\\nHear t, hear it\\nHeather, heath\\nHech oh strange\\nHecht, promised; to foretell\\nsomething that is to be got or\\ngiven; foretold; the thing\\nforetold; offered\\nHeckle, a board, in which are\\nfixed a number of sharp pins,\\nused in dressing hemp, c\\nHeeze, to elevate, to raise\\nHelm, the rudder or helm", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0580.jp2"}, "581": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n577\\nHerd, to tend flocks\\nHerrin, a herring\\nHerry, to plunder\\nHerryment, plundering, devas-\\ntation\\nHersel, herself; also a herd of\\ncattle, of any sort\\nHet, hot\\nHeugh, a crag, a coalpit\\nHikh, a hobble to halt\\nHilchin, halting\\nHimsel, himself\\nHiney, honey\\nHing, to hang\\nHirple, to walk lazily, to creep\\nHissel, so many cattle as one per-\\nson can attend\\nHastie, dry chapped barren\\nHitch, a loop, a knot\\nHizzie, a hussy, a young girl\\nHoddin, the motion of a sage\\ncountryman riding on a cart-\\nhorse humble\\nHog-score, a kind of distance\\nline, in curling, drawn across\\nthe rink\\nHog-shouther, a kind of horse\\nplay, by justling with the\\nshoulder to justle\\nHool, outer skin or case, a nut\\nshell a peascod\\nHoolie, slowly, leisurely\\nHoolie take leisure, stop\\nHoord, a hoard; to hoard\\nHoordit, hoarded\\nHorn, a spoon made of horn\\nHornie, one of the many names\\nof the devil\\nHost, or hoast, to cough a cough\\nHostin, coughing\\nHosts, coughs\\nHotch d, turn d topsyturvy;\\nblended, mixed\\nHoughmagandie, fornication\\nHoulet, an owl\\nHousie, diminutive of house\\nHove, to heave, to swell\\nHoved, heaved, swelled\\nHowdie, a midwife\\nHowe, hollow a hollow or dell\\nHowebackit, sunk in the back,\\nspoken of a horse, c,\\n2 b\\nHowff, a tippling house; a house\\nof resort\\nHowk, to dig\\nHowkit, digged\\nHowkin, digging\\nHowlet, an owl\\nHoy, to urge\\nHoy t, urged\\nHoyse, to pull upwards\\nHoyte, to amble crazily\\nHughoc, diminutive of Hugh\\nHurcheon, a hedgehog\\nHurdies, the loins the crupper\\nHushion, a cushion\\nI\\nI in\\nIcker, an ear of corn\\nIer-oe, a great-grandchild\\nIlk, or ilka, each, every\\nIll-willie, ill-natured, malicious?,\\nniggardly\\nIngine, genius, ingenuity\\nIngle, fire fire place\\nIse, I shall or will\\nIther, other; one another\\nJ\\nJAD, jade also a familiar term\\namong country folks for a giddy\\nyoung girl\\nJauk, to dally, to trifle\\n,#aukin, trilling, dallying\\n1 Jaup, a jerk of water to jerk as\\nagitated water\\nJaw, coarse raillery; to pour out;\\nto shut, to jerk a3 water\\nJerkinet, a jerkin, or short gown\\nJillet, a jilt, a giddy girl\\nJimp, to jump slender in the\\nwaist; handsome\\nJimps, easy stays\\nJink, to dodge, to turn a corner\\na sudden turning a corner\\nJinker, that turns quickly a gay\\nsprightly girl a wag\\nj Jinkin, dodging\\nj Jirk, a jerk\\nJocteleg, a kind of knife\\nJouk, to stoop, to bow the head\\nJow, to jow, a verb which in-\\ncludes both the swinging mo-\\ntion and pealing sound of a\\nlarge bell", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0581.jp2"}, "582": {"fulltext": "578\\nGLOSSARY.\\nJundie, to justie.\\nK.\\nKAE, a daw\\nKail, colewort a kind of broth\\nKail-runt, the stem of colewort\\nKain, fowls, e. paid as rent by a\\nfarmer\\nKebbuck, a cheese\\nKeckle, to giggle to titter\\nKeek, a peep, to peep\\nKelpies, a sort of mischievous\\nspirits, said to haunt fords and\\nferries at night, especially in\\nstorms\\nKen, to know; kend or kenn d,\\nknew\\nKennin, a small matter\\nKenspeckle, well known, easily\\nknown\\nKet, matted, hairy; a fleece of\\nwool\\nKilt, to truss up the clothes\\nKimmer, a young girl, a gossip\\nKin, kindred kin kind, adj.\\nKing s- hood, a certain part of the\\nentrails of an ox, c.\\nKintra, country\\nKintra Cooser, country stallion\\nKirn, the harvest supper a\\nchurn\\nKirsen, to christen, or baptize\\nKist, a chest a shop counter\\nKitchen, any thing that eats with\\nbread to serve for soup, gravy,\\nc\\nKith, kindred\\nKittle, a tickle ticklish lively,\\napt\\nKittlin, a young cat\\nKiuttle, to cuddle\\nKiuttlin, cuddling\\nKn aggie, like knags, or points of\\nrocks\\nKnap, to strike smartly, a smart\\nblow\\nKnappin-hammer, a hammer for\\nbreaking stones\\nKnowe, a small round hillock\\nKnurl, a dwarf\\nKye, cows\\nKyle, a district in Ayrshire\\nKyte, the belly\\nKythe, to discover to show one s\\nself\\nL.\\nLADDIE, diminutive of lad\\nLaggen, the angle between the\\nside and bottom of a wooden\\ndish\\nLaigh, low\\nLairing, wading, and sinking in\\nsnow, mud, c.\\nLaith, loath\\nLaithfu bashful sheepish\\nLallans, the Scottish dialect of\\nthe English language\\nLambie, diminutive of lamb\\nLampit, a kind of shell-fish, a\\nlimpit.\\nLan land estate\\nLane, lone my lane, thy lane c.\\nmyself alone, c\\nLanely, lonely\\nLang, long To think lang, to\\nlong, to weary\\nLap, did leap\\nLave, the rest, the remainder,\\nthe others\\nLaverock, the lark\\nLawin, shot, reckoning, bill\\nLawlan, lowland\\nLea e, to leave\\nLeal, loyal, true, faithful.\\nLea-rig, grassy ridge\\nLear, (pronounced lare), learning\\nLee- lang, live- long\\nLeesome, pleasant\\nLeeze-me, a phrase of congratula-\\ntory endearment I am happy\\nin thee, or proud of thee\\nLeister, a three-prong d dart for\\nstriking fish\\nLeugh, did laugh\\nLeuk, a look to look\\nLibbet, gelded\\nLift, the sky\\nLightly, sneeringly to sneer at\\nLilt, a ballad a tune to sing\\nLimmer, a kept mistress, a\\nstrumpet\\nLimp t, limped, hobbled\\nLink, to trip along\\nLinkin, tripping\\nLinn, a waterfall a precipice\\nLint, flax Lint i the bell, flax\\nin flower\\nLintwhite, a linnet", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0582.jp2"}, "583": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY,\\nm\\nLoan, or loanin, the place of milk-\\ning\\nLoof, the palm of the hand\\nLoot, did let\\nLooves, plural of loof\\nLoun, a fellow, a ragamuffin a\\nwoman of easy virtue\\nLoup, jump, leap\\nLowe, a flame\\nLowin, flaming\\nLowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence\\nLowse, to loose\\nLows d, loosed\\nLug, the ear a handle\\nLugget, having a handle\\nLuggie, a small wooden dish with\\na handle\\nLum, the chimney\\nLunch, a large piece of cheese,\\nflesh, c.\\nLunt, a column of smoke to\\nsmoke\\nLuntin, smoking\\nLyart, of a mixed colour, gray\\nM\\nMAE, more\\nMair, more\\nMaist, most, almost\\nMaistly, mostly\\nMak, to make\\nMakin, making\\nMailen, a farm\\nMallie, Molly\\nMang, among\\nManse, the parsonage house,\\nwhere the minister lives\\nManteele, a mantle\\nMark, marks (This and several\\nother nouns which in English\\nrequire an s, to form the plural,\\nare in Scotch, like the words\\nsheep, deer, the same in both\\nnumbers)\\nMarled, variegated spotted\\nMar s year, the year 1715\\nMashlum, meslin, mixed corn\\nMask, to mash, as malt, c.\\nMaskin pat, a tea-pot\\nMaud, maad, a plaid worn by\\nshepherds, c.\\nMaukin, a hare\\nMaun, must\\nMavis, the thrush\\nMaw, to mow\\nMawin, mowing\\nMeere, a mare\\nMeikle, meickle, much\\nMelancholious, mournful\\nMelder, corn, or grain of any\\nkind, sent to the mill to be\\nground.\\nMell, to meddle. Also a mallet\\nfor pounding barley in a stone\\ntrough\\nMelvie, to soil with meal\\nMen to mend\\nMense, good manners, decorum\\nMenseless, ill-bred, rude, impu-\\ndent\\nMessin, a small dog\\nMidden, a dunghill\\nMidden-hole, a gutter at the bot-\\ntom of a dunghill\\nMim, prim, affectedly meek\\nMin mind resemblance\\nMind t, mind it; resolved, intend-\\ning\\nMinnie, mother, dam\\nMirk, mirkest, dark, darkest\\nMisca to abase, to call names\\nMisca d, abused\\nMislear d, mischievous, unman-\\nnerly\\nMisteuk, mistook\\nMither, a mother\\nMixtie maxtie, confusedly mixed\\nMoistify, to moisten\\nMony, or monie, many\\nMools, dust, earth, the earth of\\nthe grave To rake i the\\nmools to lay in the dust\\nMoop, to nibble as a sheep\\nMoorlan of or belonging to\\nmoors\\nMorn, the next day, to morrow\\nMou, the mouth\\nMoudiwort, a mole\\nMousie, diminutive of mouse\\nMuckle, or mickle, great, big,\\nmuch\\nMusie, diminutive of muse\\nMuslin-kail, broth, composed sim-\\nply of water, shelled barley,\\nand greens\\nMutchkin, an English pint\\nMysel, myself", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0583.jp2"}, "584": {"fulltext": "I\\n\u00c2\u00a380\\nGLOSSARY.\\nN\\nNA, no, not, nor\\nNae, no, not any\\nNaething, or naithin, nothing\\nNaig, a horse\\nKane, none\\nNappy, ale to be tipsy\\nNegleckit, neglected\\nNeuk, a nook\\nNeist, next\\nNieve, the fist\\nNievefu handful\\nNiffer, an exchange; to exchange,\\nto barter\\nNiger, a negro\\nNine- tailed- cat, a hangman s whip\\nNit, a nut\\nNorland, of or belonging to the\\nnorth\\nNotic t, noticed\\nNowte, black cattle.\\n0.\\n0\\\\ of\\nOchils, name of mountains\\nO haith, faith an oath\\nOny, or onie, any\\nOr, is often used for ere, before\\nOra, or orra, supernumerary\\nthat can be spared\\nO t, of it\\nOurie, shivering drooping\\nOursel, oursels, ourselves\\nOutlers, cattle not housed\\nOwre, over; too.\\nOwre-hip, a way of fetching a\\nblow with the hammer over the\\narm\\nPACK intimate, familiar twelve\\nstone of wool\\nPainch, paunch\\nPaitrick, a partridge\\nPang, to cram\\nParle, speech\\nParritch, oatmeal pudding, a\\nwell-known Scotch dish\\nPat, did put a pot\\nPattle, or pettle, a plough-staff\\nPaughty, proud, haughty\\nPauky, or pawkie, cunning, sly\\nPay t, paid beat\\nPech, to fetch the breath short,\\nas in an asthma\\nPechan, the crop, the stomach\\nPeelin, peeling, the rind of fruit\\nPet,a domesticated sheep, c.\\nPettle, to cherish a plough staff\\nPhilabegs, short petticoats worn\\nby the Highlandmen\\nPhraise, fair speeches, Mattery\\nto flatter\\nPhraisin, flattery\\nPibroch, Highland war music\\nadapted to the bagpipe\\nPickle, a small quantity\\nPine, pain, uneasiaes3\\nPit, to put\\nPlacad, public proclamation\\nPlack, an old Scotch coin, the\\nthird part of a Scotch penny,\\ntwelve of which make an Eng-\\nlish penny\\nPlackless, pennyless, without\\nmoney\\nPlatie, diminutive of plate\\nPlew, or pleugh, a plough\\nPliskie, a trick\\nPoind, to seize cattle or goods\\nfor rent, as the laws of Scotland\\nallow\\nPoortith, poverty\\nPou, to pull\\nPouk, to pluck\\nPoussie, a hare, or cat\\nPout, a poult, a chick\\nPou t, did pull\\nPowthery, like powder\\nPow, the head, the skull\\nPownie, a little horse\\nPowther, or pouther, powder\\nPreen, a pin\\nPrent, to print print\\nPrie, to taste\\nPrie d, tasted\\nPrief, proof\\nPrig, to cheapen to dispute\\nPrimsie, demure, precise\\nPropone, to lay down, to propose\\nProvoses, provosts\\nPuddockstool, a mushroom, fun-\\ngus\\nPund, pound pounds\\nPyle,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a pyle o caff, a singly\\ngrain of chaff\\nI QUAT,toquit\\nQ.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0584.jp2"}, "585": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n881\\nQuak, to quake\\nQuey, a cow from one to two\\nyears old\\nR.\\nRAGWEED, the herb ragwort\\nRaible, to rattle nonsense\\nRair, to roar\\nRaize, to madden, to inflame\\nRarn-feezl d, fatigued overspread j\\nRam stam, thoughtless, forward\\nRaploch, properlya coarse cloth; j\\nbut used as an adnoun for\\ncoarse\\nRarely, excellently, very well\\nRash, a rush rash- buss, a bush\\nof rushes\\nRat ton, a rat\\nRaucle, rash; stout-; fearless\\nRaught, reached\\nRaw, a row\\nRax, to stretch\\nReam, cream to cream\\nReaming, brimful, frothing\\nReave, rove\\nReek, to heed\\nRede, counsel to counsel\\nRed-wat-shod, walking in blood\\nover the hoe tops\\nRed-wud, stark mad\\nRee, half drunk, fuddled\\nReek, smoke\\nReekin, smoking\\nReekit, smoked smoky\\nRemead, remedy\\nRequite, requited\\nRest, to stand restive\\nRestit, stood restive; stunted;\\nwithered\\nRestricked, restricted\\nRew, to repent, to compassionate\\nRief, reef, plenty\\nRief randies, sturdy beggars\\nRig, a ridge\\nRigwiddie, rigwoodie, the rope or\\nchain that crosses the saddle\\nof ahorse to support the epokea\\nof a cart spare, withered, sap\\nless\\nl Rin, to run, to melt; Rinnin,\\nrunning\\nf Rink, the course of the stones*\\na term in cnrling on ice\\nRip, a handful of unthreshed\\ncorn\\nRiskit, made a noise like the\\ntearing of roots\\nRockin, spinning on the rock, or\\ndistaff\\nRood, stands likewise for the\\nplural roods\\nRoon, a shred, a border or sel-\\nvage\\nRoose, to praise, to commend\\nRoosty, rusty\\nRoun round, in the circle of\\nneighbourhood\\nRoupet, hoarse, as with a cold\\nRouthie, plentiful\\nRow, to roll, to wrap\\nRow t, rolled, wrapped\\nRowte, to low, to bellow\\nRonth, or routh, plenty\\nRowtin, lowing\\nRozet, rosin\\nRung, a cudgel\\nRunkled, wrinkled\\nRunt, the stem of cole wort or\\ncabbage\\nRuth, a woman s name the book\\nso called sorrow\\nRyke, to reach\\nS.\\nSAE, so\\nSaft, soft\\nSair, to serve a sore\\nSairly, or sairlie, sorely\\nSair t, served\\nSark, a shirt a shift\\nSarkit, provided in shirts\\nSaugh, the willow\\nSaul, soul\\nSaumont, salmon\\nSaunt, a saint\\nj Saut, salt, adj. salt\\nSaw, to sow\\nS Sawin, sowing\\nI Sax, six\\nj Scaith, to damage, to injure in-\\nI jury\\nScar, a cliff\\nScaud, to scald\\nj Scauld, to scold\\nI Scaur, apt to be scard\\nSeal, a scold a termagant\\nScon, a cake of bread\\nSconner, a loathin to loathe\\nScraich, to scream as a hen, c.\\nScreed, to tear; a rent", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0585.jp2"}, "586": {"fulltext": "582\\nGLOSSARY.\\nScrieve, to glide swiftly along\\nScrimp, to scant\\nScrimpet, did scant scanty\\nSee d did see\\nSeizin, seizing\\nSel, self a body s sel, one s self\\nalone\\nSell t, did sell\\nSen to send\\nSen t, I, c. sent, or did send it\\nsend it\\nServan servant\\nSettlin/ settling; to get a settlin,\\nto be frighted into quietness\\nSets, sets off, goes away\\nShackled, distorted shapeless\\nShaird, a shred, a shard\\nShangan, a stick cleft at one end\\nfor puttin the tail of a dog, c.\\ninto the by of mischief, or to\\nfrighten him away.\\nShrver, a humorous wag a bar-\\nber\\nShaw, to show a small wood in\\na hollow\\nSheen, bright, shining\\nSheep- shank to think one s self\\nnae sheep shank, to be conceit-\\ned.\\nSherra-moor, sheriff- moor, the\\nfamous battle fought in the re-\\nbellion, a,d. 1746\\nSheugh, a ditch, a trench\\nShiel, a sired\\nShill,shrll\\nShog, a shock a push off at one\\none side\\nSchool, a shovel\\nShoon, shoes\\nSnore, to offer, to threaten\\nShor d, offered\\nShouther, the shoulder\\nShure, did shear, shore\\nSic, such\\nSicker, sure, steady\\nSidelins, sidelong, slanting\\nSiller, silver money\\nSimmer, summer\\nSin, a son\\nSin since\\nSkaith, see scaith\\nSkellum, worthless fellow\\nSkelp, to strike, to slap to walk\\na smart tripping stept a smart\\nstroke\\nSkelpie-limmer, a reproachful\\nterm in female scolding\\nSkelpin, stepping, walking\\nSkiegh, or skeigh, proud, .nice,\\nhighmettled\\nSkinklin, a small portion\\nSkirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly\\nSkirl t, shrieked\\nSklen, slont to run aslgnt, to\\ndeviate from truth\\nSklented, ran, or hit, in an\\noblique direction\\nSkouth, freedom to converse with-\\nout restraint range, scope\\nSkriegh, a scream to scream\\nSkyrin, shining\\nSkyte, force\\nSlae, a sloe\\nSlade, did slide\\nSlap, a gate a breach in a fence\\nSlaver, saliva to emit saliva\\nSlaw, slow\\nSlee, sly sleest, sliest\\nSleekit, sleek sly\\nSliddery, slippery\\nSlype, to fall over, as a wet fur-\\nrow from the plough\\nSlypet, fell\\nSma/ small\\nSmeddum, dust, powder mettle,\\nsense\\nSmiddy, a smithy\\nSmoor, to smother\\nSmoor d, smothered\\nSmoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly\\nSmytrie, a numerous collection of\\nsmall individuals\\nSnapper, to stumble\\nSnash, abuse, Billingsgate\\nSnaw, snow to snow\\nSnaw-broo, melted snow\\nSnawie, snowy\\nSneck, snick, the latch of a door\\nSned, to lop, to cut off\\nSneeshin, snuff\\nSneeshin-mill, a snuff-box.\\nSnell, bitter, biting\\nSnick- drawing, trick-contriving\\ncrafty", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0586.jp2"}, "587": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n583\\nSnirtle, to laugh restrainedly\\nSnood, a ribbon for binding the\\nhair\\nSnool, one whose spirit is broken\\nwith oppressive slavery to\\nsubmit tamely, to sneak\\nSnoove, to go smoothly and con-\\nstantly to sneak\\nSnowk, to scent, or snuff, as a dog,\\nc.\\nSnowkit, scented, snuffed\\nSonsie, having sweet, engaging\\nlooks; lucky, jolly\\nSoom, to Swim.\\nSooth, truth, a petty oath\\nSough, a heavy sigh, a sound dy-\\ning in the ear.\\nSouple, flexible swift\\nS outer, a shoemaker\\nSowens, a dish made of oatmeal\\nthe seeds of oatmeal soured,\\nc. flummery\\nSowp, a spoonful, a small quan-\\ntity of any thing liquid\\nSowth, to try over a tune with a\\nlow whistle\\nSowther, solder to solder, to ce-\\nment\\nSpae, to prophesy, to divine.\\nSpaul, a limb.\\nSpairge, to dash, to soil, as with\\nmire\\nSpaviet, having the spavin\\nSpean, spane, to wean\\nSpeat, or spate, a sweeping tor-\\nrent, after rain, or thaw\\nSpeel, to climb\\nSpence the country parlour\\nSpier, to ask, to inquire\\nSpier t, inquired\\nSplatter, a splutter, to splutter\\nSpleughan, tobacco-pouch\\nSplore, a frolic a noise, riot\\nSprackle, sprachle, to clamber\\nSprattle, to scramble\\nSpreckled, spotted, speckled\\nSpring, a quick air in music a\\nScottish reel\\nSprit, a tough -rooted plant, some-\\nthing like rushes\\nSprittie, full of sprits\\nSpunk, fire, mettle wit\\nSpunkie, mettlesome, fiery will-\\no wisp, or ignis fatuus\\nSpurtle, a stick, used in making\\noatmeal pudding or porridge\\nSquad, a crew, a party\\nSquatter, to flutter in water, as a\\nwild duck\\nSquattle, to sprawl\\nSqueel, a scream, a screech to\\nscream\\nSfcacher, to stagger\\nStack, a rick of corn, hay, c.\\nStaggie, the diminutive of stag\\nStalwart, strong, stout\\nStan, to stand stan t, did stand\\nStane, a stone\\nStang, to sting an acute pain\\nStank, did stink\\nStap, stop\\nStark, stout\\nStartle, to run as cattle stung by\\nthe gad-fly\\nStaumrel, a blockhead\\nStaw, did steal to surfeit\\nStech, to cram the belly\\nStechin, cramming\\nSteek, to shut a stitch\\nStear, to molest to stir\\nSteeve, firm, compacted\\nStell, a still\\nSten, to rear as a horse\\nSten t, reared\\nStents, tribute\\nStey, steep steyest, steepest\\nStibble, stubble stibble-rig, the\\nreaper in harvest who takes the\\nlead\\nStick an stow, totally, altogether\\nStile, a crutch to halt, to limp\\nStimpart, the eighth part of a\\nWinchester bushel\\nStirk, a cow or bullock a year old\\nStock, a plant or root of cole wort,\\ncabbage, c.\\nStockin, a stocking Throwing\\nthe stockin, when the bride\\nand bridegroom are put into\\nbed, and the candle out, the\\nformer throws a stocking at\\nrandom among the company,\\nand the person whom it strikes\\nis the next that will be mar-\\nried.\\nStoiter, to stagger, to stammer\\nStooked, made up in shocks as\\ncorn", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0587.jp2"}, "588": {"fulltext": "584\\nC4L0SSARY.\\ni\\nStoor, Bounding hollow, strong,\\nand hoarse\\nStot, an ox\\nStoup, or stowp, a kind of jug or\\ndish with a handle,\\nStoure, dust, more particularly\\ndust in motion\\nStowlins, by stealth\\nStown, stolen\\nStoyte, to stumble\\nS track, did strike\\nStrae, straw; to die a fair strae\\ndeath, to die in bed\\nStraik, did strike\\nStraikit, stroked\\nStrappin, tall and handsome\\nStraught, straight\\nStreet, stretched, tight\\nStriddle, to straddle\\nStroain, to spout, to piss\\nStud die, an anvil\\nStumpie, diminutive of stump\\nStrunt, spirituous liquor of any\\nkind to walk sturdily huff,\\nsullenness\\nStuff, corn or pulse of any kind\\nSturt, tro uble to molest\\nSturtin, frighted\\nSucker, sugar\\nSud, should\\nSugh, the continued rushing\\nnoise of wind or water.\\nSouthron, southern an old name\\nfor the English nation\\nSwaird, sward\\nSwall d, swelled\\nSwank, stately, jolly\\nSwankie, or s wanker, a tight\\nstrappin young fellow or girl\\nSwap, an exchange to barter\\nSwarf, to swoon a swoon\\nSwat, did sweat\\nSwatch, a sample\\nSwats, drink; good ale\\nSweaten, sweating\\nSweer, lazy, averse deadsweer,\\nextremely averse\\nSwoor, swore, did swear\\nSwinge, to beat to whip\\nSwirl, a curve; an eddying blast,\\nor pool a knot in wood\\nSwirlie, knaggie, full of knots\\nSwith,- get away\\nS wither, to hesitate in choice\\nan irresolute wavering in choice\\nSyne, since, ago then\\nT\\nTACKETS, a kind of nails for\\ndriving into the heels of shoes\\nTae, a toe; three tae d, having\\nthree prengs\\nTairge, a target\\nTak, to take takin, taking\\nTamtallan, the name of a moun-\\ntain\\nTangle, a sea-weed\\nTap, the top\\nTapetless, heedless, foolish\\nTarrow, to murmur at one s\\nallowance\\nTarrow t, murmured\\nTarry-breeks, a sailor\\nTauld, or tald, told\\nTaupie, a foolish, thoughtless\\nyoung person\\nTauted, or tautie, matted to-\\ngether spoken of hair or wool\\nTawie, that alows itself peaceably\\nto be handled; spoken of a\\nhorse, cow, c.\\nTeat, a small quantity\\nTeen, to provoke, provocation\\nTedding, spreading after the\\nmower\\nTen- hours bite, a slight feed to\\nthe horses while in the yoke,\\nin the forenoon\\nTent, a field-pulpit heed, cau-\\ntion to take heed to tend or\\nherd cattle\\nTentie, heedful, cautious\\nTentless, heedless\\nTeugh, tough\\nThack, thatch; thack an rape,\\nclothing necessaries\\nThae, these\\nThairms, small guts; fiddle-\\nstrings\\nThankit, thanked\\nTheekit, thatched\\nThegithcr, together\\nThemsel, themselves\\nThick, intimate, familiar", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0588.jp2"}, "589": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY*\\ntea\\nThieveless, cold, dry, spited; spo-\\nken of a person s demeanour\\nThir, these\\nThirl, thrill\\nThirled, thrilled, vibrated\\nThole, to suffer, to endure\\nThowe, a thaw to thaw\\nThowless, slack, lazy\\nThrang, throng a crowd\\nThrapple, throat, windpipe\\nThrave, twenty- four sheaves or\\ntwo shocks of corn a consider-\\nable number\\nThraw, to sprain, to twist; to\\ncontradict\\nThrawin, twisting, c.\\nThrawn, sprained, twisted; con-\\ntradicted\\nThreap, to maintain by dint of\\nassertion\\nThreshin, thrashing\\nThreteen, thirteen\\nThristle, thistle\\nThrough, to go on with to make\\nout.\\nThrouther, pell-mell, confusedly\\nThud, to make a loud intermit-\\ntent noise\\nThumpit, thumped\\nThysel, thyself\\nTili t, to it\\nTimmer, timber\\nTine, to loose tint, lost\\nTinkler, a tinker\\nTint the gate, lost the way\\nTip, a ram\\nTip pence, twopence\\nTirl, to make a slight noise to\\nuncover\\nTirlin, uncovering\\nTither, the other\\nTittle, to whisper\\nTittlin, whispering\\nTocher, marriage portion\\nTod, a fox\\nToddle, to totter, like the walk of\\na child,\\nToddlin, tottering\\nTooni, empty, to empty\\nToop, a rani\\nTouri, a hamlet; a farm-house\\nTout, the btetst of a horn or trum-\\npet to blow a horn, c.\\n2b fi\\nTow, a rope\\nTowmond, a twelvemonth\\nTowzie, rough, and shaggy\\nToy, a very old fashion of female\\nhead-dress\\nI Toy te, to totter like old age\\nTransmugrified, transmigrated,\\nmetamorphosed\\nTrashtrie, trash\\nTrews, trowsers\\nTrickie, full of tricks\\nTrig, spruce, neat\\nTrimly, excellently\\nTrow,, to believe\\nTrowtb, truth, a petty oath\\nTryste, an appointment; a fair\\nTrysted, appointed To tryste\\nto make an appointment\\nTry t, tried\\nTug, raw hide, of which in old\\ntimes ploughtraces were fre-\\nquently made\\nTulzie, a quarrel to quarrel, to\\nlight.\\nTw T a, two\\nTwa-three, a few\\nTwad, it would\\nTwal, twelve twal-pennie worth\\na small quantity, a pennie-\\nworth\\nST. B. One penny English is 12d\\nScotch\\nTwin, to part\\nTyke, a dog\\nUNCO, strange, uncouth; very,\\nvery great, prodigious\\nUncos, news\\nUnkenn d, unknown\\nUnsicker, unsure, unsteady\\nUnskaith d, undamaged, unhurt\\nUnweeting, unwittingly, unknow\\ni^-giy\\nUpo upon\\nUrchin, a hedgehog\\nVAP RIN, vapouring\\nVers, very\\nVirl, a ring round a column, c\\nVittle, corn of all kinds, food\\nW\\nWA wall wa s, walls\\nWabster, a weaver.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0589.jp2"}, "590": {"fulltext": "58S\\nGLOSSARY,\\nWad, would to bet, a pledge\\nWadna, would not\\nWae, wo sorrowful\\nWaefu woful, sorrowful, wail-\\ning\\nWaesucks or waes me alas\\nthe pity\\nWaft, the cross thread that goes\\nfrom the shuttle through the\\nweb woof\\nWair, to lay out, to expend.\\nWale, choice to choose\\nWaled, chose, chosen\\nWalie, ample, large, jolly; also\\nan interjection of distress\\nWame, the belly\\nWamefu a belly- full\\nWanchancie, unlucky\\nWanrestfu restless\\nWark, work\\nWark-lume, a tool to work with\\nWar], or warld, world\\nWarlock, a wizard\\nWarly, worldly, eager on amass-\\ning wealth\\nWarran, a warrant to warrant\\nWarst, worst\\nWarstl d or warsl d, wrestled\\nWastrie, prodigality\\nWat, wet I wat, 1 wot, I know\\nWater-brose, brose made of mea-\\nand water simply, without the\\naddition of milk, butter c.\\nWattle, a twig, a wand\\nWauble, to swing, to reel\\nWaught, a draught\\nWaukit, thickened as fullers do\\ncloth\\nWaukrife, not apt to sleep\\nWaur, worse to worst\\nWaur t, worsted\\nWean, or weanie, a child\\nWearie, or weary many a weary\\nbody, many a different person\\nWeason, weasand\\nWeaving the stocking. See\\nStocking, p. 583\\nWee, little; Wee things, little\\nones Wee bit, a small matter\\nWeel, well Weelfare, welfare\\nWeet, rain, wetness\\nWeird, fate\\nWe se, we shall\\nWha, who\\nWhaizle, to wheeze\\nWhalpit, whelped\\nWhang, a leathern string; apiece\\nof cheese, bread, c. to give the\\nstrappado\\nWhare, where; Whare er, wher-\\never\\nWheep, to fly nimbly, jerk;\\npenny- wheep, small beer\\nWhase, whose\\nWhatreck, nevertheless\\nWhid, the motion of a hare, run-\\nning but not frighted a lie\\nWhiddio, running as a hare or\\ncony\\nWhigmeleeries, whims, fancies,\\ncrotchets\\nWhingin, crying, complaining,\\nfretting\\nWhirligigums, useless ornaments,\\ntrifling appendages\\nWhissle, a whistle to whistle\\nWhisht, silence; to hold one s\\nwhisht, to be silent\\nWhisk, to sweep, to lash\\nWhiskit, lashed\\nWhitter, a hearty draught of\\nliquor\\nWhunstane, a whin-stone\\nWhyles, whiles, sometimes\\nWi with\\nWicht, wight, powerful, strong\\ninventive of a superior genius\\nWick, to strike a stone in an\\noblique direction; a term in\\ncurling\\nWicher, willow (the smaller sort)\\nWiel, a small whirlpool\\nWifie, a diminutive or endearing\\nterm for wife\\nWilyart, bashful and reserved;\\navoiding society or appearing\\nawkward in it, wild, strange,\\ntimid\\nWimple, to meander\\nWimpl t, meandered\\nWimplin, waving, meandering\\nWin, to win, to winnow\\nWin t winded as a bottom of yam\\nWin wind Win s, winds", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0590.jp2"}, "591": {"fulltext": "GLOSSARY.\\n587\\nWinna, will not\\nWinnock, a window\\nWinsome, hearty, vaunted, gay\\nVVintle, a staggering motion to\\nstagger, to reel\\nWinze, an oath.\\nWiss, to wish\\nWithoutten, without\\nWizen d, hide-bound, dried,\\nshrunk\\nWonner, a wonder a contemptu-\\nous appellation\\nWons, dwells\\nWoo wool\\nWoo, to court, to make love to\\nWoodie, a rope, more properly\\none made of withes or willows\\nWooer-bab, the garter knotted\\nbelow the knee with a couple\\nof loops\\nWordy, worthy\\nWorset, worsted\\nWow, an exclamation of pleasure\\nor wonder\\nWrack, to teaze, to vex\\nWraith, a spirit, or ghost an ap-\\naparition exactly like a living\\nperson, whose appearance is\\nsaid to forbode the person s ap-\\nproaching death.\\nWrang, wrong to wrong\\nWreeth, a drifted heap of snow\\nWud, mad, distracted\\nWumble, a wimble\\nWyle, to beguile\\nWyliecoat, a flannel vest\\nWyte, blame; to blame\\nY\\nYAD, an old mare a worn out\\nhorse\\nYe; this pronoun is frequently\\nused for thou\\nYearns, longs much\\nYearlings, born in the same year,\\ncoevals\\nYear is used both for singular\\nand plural years\\nYearn, earn, an eagle, an ospray\\nYell, barren, that gives no milk\\nYerk, to lash, to jerk\\nYerkit, jerked, lashed\\nYestreen, yesternight\\nYett, a gate, such as is usually at\\nthe entrance into a farm-yard\\nor held\\nTill, ale\\nYird, earth\\nYokin, yoking a bout\\nYont, beyond\\nYoursel, yourself\\nYowe, a ewe\\nYowie, diminutive of yowe\\nYule, Christmas", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0591.jp2"}, "592": {"fulltext": "INDEX,\\nPREFATORY REMARKS\\nON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY*\\nPAGET.\\nEffects of the legal establishment of parochial schools of the\\nchurch establishment of the absence of poor laws of\\nthe Scottish music and national songs of the laws re-\\nspecting marriage and incontinence Observations on\\nthe domestic and national attachment of the Scots ix\\nLIFE OF BURNS.\\nNarrative of his infaney and youth, by himself Narrative on\\nthe same subject, by his brother, and by Mr. Murdoch\\nof London, his teacher Other particulars of Burns\\nwhile resident in Ayrshire History of Burns while\\nresident in Edinburgh, including letters to the Editor\\nfrom Mr. Stewart, and Dr. Adair History of Barns\\nwhile on the farm of Ellisland, in Dumfries-shire--\\nHistory of Burns while in Dumfries his last illness\\ndeath and character\u00e2\u0080\u0094 with genera^ reflections 21\\nMemoir respecting Burns, by a lady 96\\nCriticism on the Works of Burns, including observations on\\npoetry in the Scottish dialect, and some remarks on\\nScottish literature 102\\nTributary Yerses on the Death of Burns, by Mr. Roscoe 127\\nGENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.\\n1 To a Female Friend. Written about the year 1780 130\\n2. To the same 131\\n3. To the same 132\\n4. To the same 133\\n5. To Mr. John Murdoch, 15th Jan. 1783, Burn s former\\nteacher giving an account of his present studies and\\ntemper of mind ib.\\n6. Extracts from MSS. Observations on various subjects 135\\n7. To Mr. Aiken, 1786. Written under distress of mind 139\\n8. To Mrs. Dunlop. Thanks for her notice. Praise of her\\nancestor, Sir William Wallace 140\\n9. To Mrs. Stewart of Stair, enclosing a poem on Miss A 111\\n10. Dr. Blacklock to the Rev. G. Lowrie, encouraging the\\nBard to visit Edinburgh, and print anew edition of\\nhis poems there 142", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0592.jp2"}, "593": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 589\\nPAGE.\\n11. From Sir John Whitefoord 142\\n12. From the Rev. Mr. Lowrie, 22d December, 1786. Ad-\\nvice to the Bard how to conduct himself in Edinburgh 143\\n13. To Mr. Chalmers, 27th December 1786. Praise of Miss\\nBurnet of Monboddo ib.\\n14. To the Earl of Eglinton, Jan. 1787. Thanks for his pa-\\ntronage 144\\n15. To Mrs. Dunlop, 15th Jan. 1787. Account of his situa-\\ntion in Edinburgh ib.\\n16. To Dr. Moore, 1787. Grateful acknowledgments of Dr.\\nM. s notice of him in his letters to Mrs. Dunlop 146\\n17. From Dr. Moore, 23d Jan. 1787. In answer to the fore-\\ngoing, and enclosing a sonnet on the Bard, by Miss\\nWilliams ib.\\n18. To Dr. Moore, 15th February, 1787 147\\n19. From Dr. Moore, 28th February 1787. Sends the Bard\\na present of his Yiew of Society and Manners, c. 148\\n20. To the Earl of Glencairn, 1787. Grateful acknowledg-\\nments of kindness 149\\n21. To the Earl of Buchan, in reply to a letter of advice ib.\\n22. Extract concerning the monument erected for Ferguson\\nby our Poet 150\\n23. To accompanying the foregoing 151\\n24. Extract from 8th March 1787. Good advice ib.\\n25. To Mrs. Dunlop, 22d March 1787. Respecting his pros-\\npects on leaving Edinburgh 152\\n26. To the same, 15th April 1787. On the same subject 153\\n27. To Dr. Moore, 23d April 1787. On the same subject 154\\n28. Extract to Mrs. Dunlop, 30th April. Reply to Criti-\\ncisms ib.\\n29. To the Rev. Dr. Blair, 3rd May. Written on leaving\\nEdinburgh. Thanks for his kindness 155\\n30. From Dr. Blair, 4th May, in reply to the preceding ib.\\n31. From Dr. Moore, 23rd May 1787. Criticism and good\\nadvice 156\\n32. From Mr. John Hutchison 158\\n33. To Mr. Walker, at Blair of Athgie, enclosing the Humble\\nPetition of Bruar Water to the Duke of A thole ib.\\n34. To Mr. G. Burns, 17th Sept. Account of his tour through\\nthe Highlands 159\\n35. From Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, 22d October, enclosing\\nLatin inscriptions, with translations, and the tale of\\nOmeron Cameron 160\\n36. From Mr. Walker 162\\n37. From Mr. A M 163\\n38. Mr. Ramsay to Rev. W. Young, 22d Oct. introducing our\\nPoet 165\\n39. Mr. Ramsay to Dr Blacklock, 27th Oct. Anecdotes of\\nScottish Songs for our Poet 166\\n40. Frcm Mr. John Murdoch, in London, 28th Oct. in answer\\nto JNo. 5 ib.", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0593.jp2"}, "594": {"fulltext": "590\\nINDEX.\\nPAGE.\\n41. From Mr. Gordon Castle, 31st Oct. 1787, acknow-\\nledging a song sent to Lady Charlotte Gordon\\n42. From Kev. J. Skinner, 14th November, 1787, some ac-\\ncount of Scottish Poems\\n43. From Mrs 30th Nov. enclosing Erse Songs, with\\nthe Music\\n44. To Dalrymple, Esq. Congratulation on his becom-\\ning a poet. Praise of Lord Glencairn\\n45. To Mrs. Dunlop, 21st Jan., 1798. Written on recovery\\nfrom sickness\\n46. Extract to the same, 12th Feb., 1788. Defence of himself\\n47. To the same, 7th March, 1788. Who had heard that he\\nhad ridiculed her\\n48. To Mr. Cleghorn, 31st March, 1788, mentioning his hav-\\ning composed the first stanza of the Chevalier s Lament\\n49. From Mr. Cleghorn, 27th April, in reply to the above.\\nThe Chevalier s Lament in full, in a note\\n50. To Mrs. Dunlop, 28th April, giving an account of his\\nprospects\\n51. From the Eev. J. Skinner, 28th April, 1788, enclosing\\ntwo songs, one by a Buchan ploughman the songs\\nprinted at large\\n52. To Professor D. Stewart, 3d May. Thanks for his friend-\\nship\\n53^ Extract to Mrs. Dunlop, 4th May, Eemarks on Dryden s\\nYirgil, and Pope s Odyssey\\n54. To the same, 27th May. General Eeflections\\n55. To the same, at Mr. Dunlop s, Haddington, 13th June, 1788.\\nAccount of his marriage\\n56. To Mr. P. Hill, with a present of a cheese\\n57. To Mrs. Dunlop, 2d August, 1788. With lines on a her-\\nmitage\\n58. To the same, 10th August. Further account of his mar-\\nriage\\n59. To the same, 16th August. Eeflections on Human Life\\n60. To E. Graham, Esq., of Fintry. A petition in verse for\\na situation in the Excise\\n61. To Mr. P. Hill, 1st Oct., 1788. Criticism on a poem en-\\ntitled, An address to Loch-Lomond\\n62. To Mrs. Dunlop, at Moreham Maines, 13th November\\n63. To 8th Nov. Defence of the family of the Stuarts.\\nBaseness of insulting fallen greatness\\n64. To Mrs. Dunlop, 17th Dec. with the soldier s song Go\\nfetch to me a pint of wine\\n65. To Miss Davies, a young Lady who had heard he had been\\nmaking a ballad on her, enclosing that ballad\\n66. To Sir John Whitefoord\\n67. From Mr. G. Burns, 1st Jan. 1789. Eeflections suggested\\nbv the day\\n63. To Mrs. Dunlop, 1st Jan. Eeflections suggested by the\\nday\\n167\\n168\\n199\\n170\\n171\\nib.\\n172\\nib.\\n173\\nib.\\n174\\n176\\n177\\nib.\\n17S\\n179\\n186\\n182\\n183\\n182\\n187\\n189\\n19$\\n191\\n193\\nib.\\n194\\n195", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0594.jp2"}, "595": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 5$I\\nPAGE.\\n69. To Dr. Moore, 4th Jan. Account of his situation and\\nprospects 196\\n70. To Bishop Geddes, 3d February. Account of his situa-\\ntion and prospects 197\\n71. From the Rev. P. Carfrae, 2d January, 1789. Requesting\\nadvice as to the publishing Mr. Mylne s poems 198\\n72. To Mrs. Dunlop, 4th March. Reflections after a visit to\\nEdinburgh 199\\n73. To the Rev. P. Carfrae, in answer to No. 71 200\\n74. To Dr. Moore. Inclosing a poem 201\\n75. To Mr. Hill. Apostrophe to Frugality 202\\n76. To Mrs. Dunlop. With a sketch of an epistle in verse to\\nthe Right Hon. C. J. Fox 203.\\n77. To Mr. Cunningham 204\\n78. From Dr. Gregory. Criticism of the poem on a Wounded\\nHare 205\\n79. To Mr. M Auley of Dumbarton. Account of his situation 206\\n80. To Mrs. Dunlop. Reflections on Religion 207\\n81. From Dr. Moore. Good advice ib.\\n82. From Miss J. Little. A poetess in humble life, with a\\npoem in praise of our Bard 208\\n83. From Mr. Some account of Ferguson 210\\n84. To Mr. In answer 211\\n85. To Mrs. Dunlop: Praise of Zeluco 212\\n86. From Dr. Blacklock. An epistle in verse 213\\n87. To Dr. Blacklock. Poetical reply to the above 214\\n88. To R. Graham, Esq. Inclosing some electioneering bal-\\nlads 215\\n89. To Mrs. Dunlop. Serious and interesting reflections 216\\n90. To Sir John Sinclair. Account of a book society among\\nthe farmers in Nithsdale 217\\n91. To Mr. Gilbert Burns. With a Prologue spoken in the\\nDumfries Theatre 219\\n92. To Mrs. Dunlop. Some account of Falconer, the author\\nof the Shipwreck 220\\n93. From Mr. Cunningham. Inquiries of our Bard 221\\n94. To Mr. Cunningham. In reply to the above ib.\\n95. To Mr. Hill. Order for books 223\\n96. To Mrs. Dunlop. Remarks on the Lounger, and on the\\nwritings of Mr. Mackenzie 224\\n97. From Mr. Cunningham. Account of the Death of Mrs.\\nMonboddo 226\\n98. To Dr. Moore. Thanks for a present of Zeluco ib.\\n99. To Mrs. Dunlop. Written under wounded pride 227\\n100. To Mr. Cunningham, 8 th August. Aspirations after in-\\ndependence 228\\n101. From Dr. Blacklock, 1st September 1790. Poetical let-\\nter of Friendship ib.\\n102. Extract from Mr. Cunningham, 14th October. Suggest-\\ning subjects for our Poet s muse 229\\n103. To Mr. Dunlop, 1790. Congratulations on the birth of\\nher grandson 230", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0595.jp2"}, "596": {"fulltext": "592\\nINDEX.\\nPAGE.\\n194. To Mr. Cunningham, 23d Jan. 1791, with an elegy on\\nMiss Burnet of Monboddo ib.\\n3 05. To Mr. Hill, 17th Jan. Indignant Apostrophe to Poverty 231\\n106. From A. F. Tytler, Esq. 12th March. Criticismfon Tarn o\\nShanter 232\\n107. To A. F. Tytler, Esq. in reply to the above 233\\n108. To Mrs. Dunlop, 7th February 1791. Enclosing his elegy\\non Miss Burnet 234\\n1G9. To Lady W. M. Constable, acknowledging a present of a\\nsnuff-box 235\\n110. To Mrs Graham of Fin try, enclosing Queen Mary s Lament ib.\\n111. From the Rev. G. Baird, 8th February, 1781, requesting\\nassistance in publishing the poems of Michael Bruce 236\\n112. To the Rev. G. Baird, in reply to the above 237\\n113. To Dr Moore, 28th February 1791, enclosing Tarn o Shan-\\nter, c. ib.\\n114. From Dr Moore, 29th March, with remarks on Tarn o\\nShanter, c. 239\\n115. To the Rev. A. Alison, 14th Feb. acknowledging his pre-\\nsent. of the Essays on the Principles of Taste, witty re-\\nmarks on the book 240\\n116. To Mr Cunningham, 1 2th March, with a Jacobite song, c. 241\\n117. To Mrs Dunlop, 11th April. Comparison between female\\nattractions in high and humble life 242\\n118. To Mr Cunningham, 11th June, requesting his interest\\nfor an oppressed friend 243\\n119. From the Earl of Buchan, 17th June 1791, inviting over\\nour Bard to the coronation of the bust of Thomson on Ed-\\nnam hill 244\\n120. To the Earl of Buchan, in reply ib.\\n121. From the Earl of Buchan, 16th Sept. 1791, proposing\\na subject for our Poet s muse 245\\n122. To Lady E. Cunningham enclosing u The Lament for\\nJames, Earl of Glencairn ib.\\n123. To Mr Ainslie. State of his mind after inebriation 246\\n124. FronrSir John Whitefoord,16th Oct. Thanksfor The La-\\nment on James, Earl of Glencairn ib.\\n125. From A. F. Tytler, Esq. 27th November 1721. Criticism\\non the Whistle and the Lament 247\\n126. To Miss Davies. Apology for neglecting her commands\\nmoral reflections 248\\n127. To Mrs Dunlop, 17th December, enclosing the song of\\nDeath 249\\n128. To Mrs Dunlop, 5th January 1792, acknowledging the\\npresent of a cup 250\\n129. To Mr William Smcliie, 22nd January, introducing Mrs\\nRiddel 251\\n130. To Mr W. Nicol, 20th February. Ironical thanks for ad-\\nvice 252\\n131. To Mr Cunningham, 3d March 1792. Commissions Lis\\narms to be cut on a seal moral reflections ib.\\n132. To Mrs Dunlop, 2-2d August. Account of his meeting", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0596.jp2"}, "597": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 593\\nPAGE.\\nwith Miss L B and enclosing a song on her 254\\n133. To Mr Cunningham, 10th Sept. Wild Apostrophe to a\\nSpirit! 255\\n134. To Mrs Dunlop, 24th September. Account of his family 257\\n135. To Mrs Dunlop. Letter of condolence under affliction 258\\n136. To Mrs Dunlop, 6th December 1762, with a poem en-\\ntitled, The Rights of Woman 259\\n137. To Miss B of York, 21st March 1793. Letter of\\nfriendship 261\\n138. To Miss C August 1793. Character and tempera-\\ninert of a poet ib.\\n139. To John M Murdo, Esq. December 179 3. Repaying money 262\\n140. To Miss B advising her what play to bespeak at the\\nDumfries Theatre 263\\n141. To a Lady in favour of a Player s Benefit ib.\\n142. Extract to Mr. 1794. On his prospects in the Excise ib.\\n143. To Mrs. R 264\\n144. To the same. Describes his melancholy feelings ib.\\n145. To the same, lending Wert er 265\\n146. To the same, on a return of interrupted friendship ib.\\n147. To the same, on a temporary estrangement ib.\\n148. To John Syme, Esq. Reflections on the happiness of Mr.\\n266\\n149. To Miss requesting the return of MSS. lent to a de-\\nceased friend ib.\\n150. To Mr. Cunningham, 25th February, 1794. Melancholy\\nreflection\u00e2\u0080\u0094 cheering prospects of a happier world 267\\n151. To Mrs. R Supposed to be written from The dead\\nto the living 269\\n152. To Mrs. Dunlop, 15th December 1795. Reflections on the\\nsituation of his family, if he should die\u00e2\u0080\u0094 praise of the\\npoem entitled The Tax 270\\n153. To the same, in London, 20th December 1755. 272\\n154. To Mrs. R 20th January 1796. Thanks for the\\ntravels of Anacharsis 273\\n155. To Mrs. Dunlop, 31st January 1796. Account of the\\ndeath of his daughter, and of his own ill health ib.\\n156. To Mrs. R 4th June 1796. Apology for not going\\nto the birth night assembly 274\\n157. To Mr. Cunningham, 7th July 1796. Account of his ill-\\nness and of his poverty anticipation of his death ib.\\n158. To Mrs. Burns. Sea-bathing affords little relief 275\\n159. To Mrs. Dunlop, 12th July 1796. Last farewell ib.\\nPOEMS.\\nThe twa dogs a tale 279\\nScotch Drink ,284\\nThe author s earnest cry and prayer to the Scotch representa-\\ntives in the House of Commons 287\\nThe Holy Fair 291\\nDeath and Dr. Hornbook 296\\nThe Brigs of Ayr 299", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0597.jp2"}, "598": {"fulltext": "594 INDEX.\\nPAGE.\\nThe ordination 304\\nThe Calf 307\\nAddress to the Deil ib.\\nThe death and dying words of Poor Mallie 310\\nBoor Mallie s Elegy 311\\nTo J. S**** 312\\nA Dream 316\\nThe Vision 319\\nAddress to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous 324\\nTarn Samson s Elegy 326\\nHalloween 328\\nThe Auld Farmer New-year Morning Salutation to his Aukl\\nMare Maggie 333\\nTo a Mouse 335\\nA Winter Night 336\\nEpistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 338\\nThe Lament 341\\nDespondency: An Ode 343\\nWinter A Dirge 344\\nThe Cotter s Saturday Night 345\\nMan was made to Mourn A Dirge 349\\nA Prayer in the Prospect of Death 351\\nStanzas on the same occasion ib.\\nTerses left at a Friend s House 352\\nThe First Psalm ib.\\nA Prayer 353\\nThe first six verses of the Ninetieth Psalm ib.\\nTo a Mountain Daisie 354\\nTo Ruin 355\\nTo Miss L with Beattie s Poems, for a New- Year s Gift ib.\\nEpistle to a Young Friend 356\\nOn a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies 357\\nTo a Haggis 359\\nA Dedication to G H Esq. 360\\nTo a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady s Bonnet at Church 362\\nAddress to Edinburgh 363\\nEpistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard 364\\nTo the Same 367\\nEpistle to W. S Ochiltree 369\\nEpistle to J. R enclosing some Poems 373\\nJohn Barleycorn A Ballad 375\\nA Fragment, When Guildford good our Pilot stood* 376\\nSong, It was upon a Lammas Night 377\\nSong, Now westlin winds, and slaught ring guns 378\\nSong, Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows 379\\nGreen grows the Rashes A Fragment 380\\nSong, Again rejoicing Nature sees ib.\\nSong, The gloomy Night is gathering fast 381\\nSong, From thee, Eliza, I must go 382\\nThe Farewell, to the Brethren of St. James s Lodge, Tarbolton ib.\\nSong, No churchman am I for to rail and to write 383\\nWritten in Friar s Carse Hermitage 384", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0598.jp2"}, "599": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 595\\nAGEP.\\nOde to the Memory of Mrs. of 385\\nElegy on Captain Matthew Henderson ib.\\nLament of Mary Queen of Scots 388\\nTo Eobert Graham, Esq. of Fin tra 389\\nLament for James, Earl of Glencairn 391\\nLines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, with the foregoing poem 393\\nTarn o Shanter A Tale ibj\\nOn seeing a wounded Hare a fellow had shot at 397\\nAddress to the Shade of Thomson 398\\nEpitaph on a celebrated Ruling Elder ib.\\non a noisy Polemic ib.\\non Wee Johnny ib.\\nfor the Author s Father lb.\\nfor E. A. Esq. 399\\nfor G. H. Esq. ib.\\nA Bard s Epitaph ib.\\nOn Captain Grose s Peregrinations 400\\nOn Miss Cruikshanks 401\\nSong, Anne, thy charms my bosom fire ib.\\nOn the death of John M Leod, Esq. ib.\\nHumble Petition of Bruar AVater 402\\nOn Scaring some Water Fowl 404\\nWritten at the Inn in Taymouth 405\\nat the Fall of Fyers ib.\\nOn the birth of a Posthumous child 406\\nThe Whistle ib.\\nSecond Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 408\\nOn my Early days 406\\nSong, In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles.* 410\\nOn the death of Sir James Hunter Blair ib.\\nWritten on the blank leaf of a copy of the Poems presented\\nto an old Sweetheart, then married 411\\nThe Jolly Beggars A Cantata ib.\\nThe Kirk s Alarm A Satire 41$\\nTheTwaHerds 419\\nTne Henpecked Husband 421\\nElegy on the year 1778 422\\nYerses written on the Window of the Inn at Carron 423\\nLines wrote by Burns on his Deathbed ib.\\nLines delivered by Burns at a Meeting of the Dumfriesshire\\nVolunteers ib.\\nThe birks of Aberfeldy ib.\\nStay, my charmer, can you leave me 424\\nStrathallan s lament ib.\\nThe young highland rover ib.\\nEaving winds around her blowing 425\\nMusing on the roaring ocean ib.\\nBlythe was she 426\\nA rose bud by my early walk ib.\\nWhere braving angry winter s storms 427\\nTibbie I hae seen the day ib.\\nClarinda 428", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0599.jp2"}, "600": {"fulltext": "596 INDEX.\\nPAGE\\nThe day returns^ ray bosoni bur:i3 ib\\nThe lazy mist ib*\\n0, were I on Parnassus hill 429\\nI love my Jean ib.\\nThe braes o Ballochmyle 430\\nWillie brew d a peck o Maut ib.\\nThe blue eyed Lassie 481\\nThe banks of Kith ib.\\nJohn Anderson, my jo ib.\\nTarn glen 432\\nMy tocher s the Jewel 433\\nThen guidewife count the lawin ib.\\nWhat can a young lassie do wi an auld man ib.\\nThe bonnie wee thing 434\\n0, for ane and twenty Tarn ib.\\nBess and her spinning wheel ib.\\nCountry lassie 435\\nFair Eliza 436\\nThe posie ib.\\nThe banks 0 Doon 437\\nSic a wife as Willie had ..i ib.\\nGloomy December 438\\nEvan banks ib.\\nWilt thou be my dearie 439\\nShe s fair and fause ib.\\nAfton water 440\\nBonnie Bell ib.\\nThe gallant weaver 441\\nLouis, what reck I by thee ib.\\nFor the sake of somebody ib.\\nThe lovely lass of Inverness 442\\nA mother s lament for the death of her son ib.\\nO may, thy morn ib.\\nwhat ye wha s in yon town 443\\nA red, red rose ib.\\nA Vision 444\\nAddress to W. Ty tier, Esq. ib.\\nTo a Gentleman who had sent a Newspaper and offered to con-\\ntinue it 446\\nOn Pastoral Poetry 447\\nSketch. New Year s day 449\\nOnMr. William Smellie 450\\nOn the Death of Mr. Riddel 451\\nInscription for an Altar to Independence ib.\\nMonody on a Lady famed for her caprice ib.\\nAnswer to a Surveyor s mandate 452\\nImpromptu on Mrs s Birth Day 454\\nTo Miss Jessy L 455\\nExtempore to Mr. S e\\nDumfries Volunteers 4 56\\nTo Mr. Mitchell ib.\\nTo a gentleman whom he had offended 457", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0600.jp2"}, "601": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 597\\nPAGE.\\nOn Life, addressed to Col. De Peyster ib.\\nAddress to the Tooth-ache 458\\nTo R. Graham, Esq, on receiving a favour 461\\nEpitaph on a friend ib.\\nGrace before Dinner 462\\nOn Sensibility, to Mrs. Dunlop 462\\nOn taking leave at a place in the Highlands ib.\\nWritten in Friars- Carse Hermitage, on Nithside 181\\nEpistle to R. Graham, Esq. 185\\nPrologue 209\\nTo Dr. Blacklock 214\\nElegy on the late Miss Burnet of Monboddo 231\\nThe Rights of Woman 260\\nAddress, spoken by Miss Fontenelle. 270\\nCORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN\\nMR. THOMSON AND MR. BURNS.\\n1. Mr. Thomson to Mr. Burns. 1792. Desiring the Bard\\nto furnish verses for some of the Scottish airs, and to\\nrevise former songs 465\\n2. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Promising assistance 466\\n3. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Sending some tunes ib.\\n4. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With The Lee Rig, and Will ye go to\\nthe Indies, my Mary 467\\n5. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With f My wife s a winsome wee thing,\\nand f saw ye bonny Lesley 469\\n6. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Highland Mary 470\\n7. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks and critical observations 471\\n8. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With an additional stanza to The Lee\\nBi\u00c2\u00a3 472\\n9. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Auld Rob Morris and Duncan\\nGray 473\\n10. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With O Poortith Cauld, c. and\\nGalla Water 474\\n11. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Jan. 1793. Desiring anecdotes on the\\norigin of particular songs. Tytler of Woodhouselee\\nPleyel\u00e2\u0080\u0094 sends P. Pindar s Lord Gregory. Postscript\\nfrom the Hon. A. Erskine 475\\n12. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Has Mr. Ty tier s anecdotes, and means\\nto give his own sends his own Lord Gregory 477\\n13. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Mary Morrison 479\\n14. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Wandering Willie ib.\\n15. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Open the door to me, O 4S0\\n16. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Jessie ib.\\n1 7. Mr. T. to Mr. B. With a list of songs, and Wandering\\nWillie altered 4S1\\n18. Mr. B. to Mr. T. When wild war s deadly blast was\\nblawn, and Meg o the Mill 482\\n19. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Yoice of Coila criticism Origin of\\nThe Lass o Patie s Mill AU\\n20. Mr, T, to Mr, B, 3S U m", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0601.jp2"}, "602": {"fulltext": "598\\nINDEX.\\n21\\n22,\\n23,\\n24,\\n25,\\n26,\\n27.\\n28.\\n29.\\n30.\\n31.\\n32.\\n33.\\n34.\\n35.\\n36.\\n37.\\n38.\\n39.\\n40.\\n41.\\n42.\\n43.\\n44.\\n45.\\n46.\\n47\\n48.\\n49.\\n50.\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. Simplicity requisite in a song\u00e2\u0080\u0094 one\\npoet should not mangle the works of another\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. Farewell, thou stream that winding\\nflows Wishes that the national music may preserve\\nits native features\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks and observations\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Blythe hae I been on yon hill\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Logan, sweetly didst thou\\nglide gin my love were yon red rose/ c.\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. Enclosing a note Thanks\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With There was a lass and s\\nfair\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. Hurt at the idea of pecuniary\\npense Remarks on songs\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. Musical expression\\nFor Mr. Clarke\\nWith Phillis the fair\\nMr. Allan Drawing from JohnAn-\\nPAGEi\\nwas\\nre corn-\\nMr. B. to Mr. T.\\nMr. B. to Mr. T.\\nMr. T. to Mr. B.\\nderson my jo\\nMr. B. to Mr. T\\nWith Had 1 a cave, c. Some airs\\ncommon to Scotland and Ireland\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With By Allan stream I chanced to\\nrove*\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Whistle and I ll come to you,\\nmy lad, and Awa wi your belles and your beauties\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Come let me take thee to my\\nbreast*\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. Daintie Davie\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. Delighted with the productions of\\nBurn s muse\\nWith Bruce to his troops at Bannock-\\nMr. B. to Mr. T.\\nburn\\nMr. B. to Mr. T.\\nMr. T. to Mr. B.\\nMr. B, to Mr. T.\\nWith Behold the hour, the boat arrive*\\nObservations on Bruce to his troops\\nBemarks on songs in Mr. T. s list His\\nown method of forming a song Thou hast left me\\never, Jamie Where are the joys I hae left in the\\nmorning Auld lang syne\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With a variation of Bannockburn\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks and observations\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. On Bannockburn sends Fair Jenny\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Deluded swain, the pleasure\\nRemarks\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Thine am I, my faithful fair\\ncondescend, dear charming maid The Nightingale\\n1 Laura (the three last by G. Turnbull)\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. Apprehensions Thanks\\nMr. B. to Mr. T. With Husband, husband, cease your\\nstrife, and Wilt thou be my dearie\\nMr. T. to Mr. B. 1794. Melancholy comparison betw een\\nBurns and Carlini\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mr. Allan has begun a sketch from\\nThe Cottar s Saturday Night\\nib\\n487\\n483\\n489\\n490\\n491\\n492\\n494\\nib.\\n495\\nib.\\n496\\n497\\n498\\n499\\n500\\n501\\n502\\nib.\\n504\\n501\\n50i\\n599\\n510\\n511\\n512\\n513\\n517\\nib.\\n517", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0602.jp2"}, "603": {"fulltext": "INDEX. 599\\nPAGE.\\n51. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Praise of Mr. Allan\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Bank3 of Cree 518\\n52. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Pleyel in France Here where the\\nScottish Muse immortal lives/ presented to Miss Gra-\\nham, of Fintry, with a copy of Mr. Thomson s col-\\nlection 519\\n53. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Does not expect to hear from Pleyel\\nsoon, but desires to be prepared with the poetry ib.\\n54. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With On the seas and far away 520\\n55. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Criticism... 521\\n56. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Ca the yowes to the knowes ib.\\n57. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With She says she loe s me best of a*\\nlet me in/ c. Stanza to Dr. Maxwell 522\\n58. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Advising to write a Musical Drama 524\\n59. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Has been examining Scottish collec-\\ntions Ritson\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Difficult to obtain ancient melodies in\\ntheir original state 925\\n60. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Recipe for producing a love-song\\nSaw ye my Phely Remarks and anecdotes How\\nlong and dreary is the night Let not woman e er\\ncomplain The lover s morning salute to his mistress\\nKeen blaws the wind o er Donnochthead/ in a note 526\\n61. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Wishes he knew the inspiring Fair One\\nRitson s historical essay not interesting Allan\\nMaggie Lauder 530\\n62. Mr. B. to Mr. T Has begun his anecdotes, c. My\\nChloris, mark how green the groves Love It was\\nthe charming month of May Lassie wi the lint-\\nwhite locks History of the Air Ye banks and braes\\no bonny Doon James Miller Clarke The black\\nkeys Instances of the difficulty of tracing the origin\\nof ancient airs 531\\n63. Mr. T. to Mr. B. With three copies of the Scottish airs 535\\n64. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Philly, happy be that day\u00e2\u0080\u0094 start-\\ning note Contented wi little, and cantie wi mair\\nCanst thou leave me thus, my Katy (The reply,\\nStay my Willie\u00e2\u0080\u0094 yet believe me/ in a note) Stock\\nand horn 536\\nQ5. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Praise\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Desires more songs of the hu-\\nmorous cast Means to have a picture of The Sol-\\ndier s Return 540\\n66. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With My Nannie s awa 541\\n67. Mr. B. to Mr. T. 1795. With For a that an a that/\\nand Sweet fa s the eve on Craigie- burn ib.\\n68. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks 543\\n69. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Lassie, art thou sleeping yet/ and\\nthe Answer ib.\\n70. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Dispraise of Ecclefechan 544\\n71. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks 545\\n72. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Address to the Woodlark On Chlo-\\nris being ill Their groves o sweet myrtle/ c\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTwas na her bonny blue e e/ c. ib,", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0603.jp2"}, "604": {"fulltext": "2253*\\n600 INDEX, 4,*tf\\nPAGE.\\n73. Mr. T. to Mr. B. With Allan s design from The Cot-\\ntar s Saturday Night 547\\n74. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With How cruel are the parents/ and\\nMark yonder pomp of costly fashion ib.\\n75. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Thanks for Allan s designs 548\\n76. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Compliment 549\\n77. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With an improvement in Whistle and\\nI ll come to you, my lad this is na my ain lassie\\nNow Spring has clad the groves in green bonnie\\nwas yon rose brier Tis Friendship s pledge, my\\nyoung fair friend I\\n78. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Introducing Dr. Brianton 5\\n79. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Forlorn my love, no comfort near 5\\n80. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Last May, a braw wooer cam down\\nthe lang glen Why, why tell thy lover, a fragment 5\u00c2\u00abM\\n81. Mr. T. to Mr. B. 5jf\\n82. Mr. T. to Mr. B. 1696. After an awful pause if\\n83. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Thanks for P. Pindar, c\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Hey for a\\nlass wi a tocher 51\\n84. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Allan has designed some plates for an\\noctavo edition ib\\n85. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Afflicted by sickness, but pleased with\\nMr. Allan s etchings 5tt\\n86. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Sympathy encouragement.. ib.\\n87. Mr. B. to Mr. T. With Here s a health to ane I lo e\\ndear 55S\\n88. Mr. B. to Mr. T, Introducing Mr. Lewars\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Has taken a\\nfancy to review his songs hopes to recover. ib.\\n89. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Dreading the horrors of a jail, solicits\\nthe advance of five pounds, and encloses I Fairest maid\\non Devon banks i\\n90. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Sympathy Advises a volume of poetry\\nto be published by subscription, Pope published the\\nIliad so. ib\\nJames Clark, Printer, Aberdeen.", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0604.jp2"}, "605": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4599", "width": "2377", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0605.jp2"}, "606": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4508", "width": "2860", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0606.jp2"}, "607": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4438", "width": "2553", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0607.jp2"}, "608": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4768", "width": "2883", "jp2-path": "completeworksofr00bur_0608.jp2"}}