Poems and Songs Read Online

–

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,

The senseless, gawky million;

I'll cock my nose aboon them a',

I'm roos'd by Craigengillan. –

'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel,

To grant your high protection:

A great man's smile ye ken fu' well,

Is ay a blest infection. –

Tho', by his1 banes wha in a tub

Match'd Macedonian Sandy!

On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub,

I independant stand ay. –

And when those legs to gude, warm kail

Wi' welcome canna bear me;

A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail,

And barley-scone shall chear me. –

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath

O' mony flowery simmers!

And bless your bonie lasses baith,

I'm tald they're loosome kimmers!

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird,

The blossom of our gentry!

And may he wear an auld man's beard,

A credit to his country!

1 Diogenes

Prologue

Spoken by Mr. Woods on his Benefit night, Monday, 16th April, 1787.

When by a generous Public's kind acclaim,

That dearest meed is granted – honest fame;

When here your favour is the actor's lot,

Nor even the man in private life forgot;

What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow,

But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe.

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng,

It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song;

But here an ancient nation fam'd afar,

For genius, learning high, as great in war –

Hail, CALEDONIA, name for ever dear!

Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear!

Where every science – every nobler art –

That can inform the mind, or mend the heart,

Is known; as grateful nations oft have found

Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound.

Philosophy, no idle pedant dream,

Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam;

Here History paints, with elegance and force,

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course;

Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan,

And Harley1 rouses all the god in man.

When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite,

With manly lore, or female beauty bright,

(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace,

Can only charm us in the second place,)

Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear,

As on this night, I've met these judges here!

But still the hope Experience taught to live,

Equal to judge – you're candid to forgive.

No hundred-headed Riot here we meet,

With decency and law beneath his feet;

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name;

Like CALEDONIANS, you applaud or blame.

O thou, dread Power! whose empire-giving hand

Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land!

Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire;

May every son be worthy of his sire;

Firm may she rise with generous disdain

At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain;

Still self-dependent in her native shore,

Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar,

Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more.

1 The Man of Feeling, wrote by Mr. M'Kenzie.

Epistle to Mr Tytler of Woodhouselee, Author of a Defence of Mary Queen of Scots –

May – 1787

Revered Defender of beauteous Stuart,

Of Stuart! – a Name once respected,

A Name which to love was the mark of a true heart,

But now 'tis despis'd and neglected.

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye,

Let no man misdeem me disloyal;

A poor, friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh,

Still more if that Wand'rer were royal.

My Fathers that name have rever'd on a throne,

My Fathers have died to right it;

Those Fathers would spurn their degenerate Son

That NAME should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in pray'rs for King G– I most cordially join,

The Queen and the rest of the gentry:

Be they wise, be they foolish, 'tis nothing of mine,

Their title's allow'd in the Country.

But why of that Epocha make such a fuss,

That brought us th' Electoral Stem?

If bringing them over was lucky for us,

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them!

But Politics, truce! we're on dangerous ground;

Who knows how the fashions may alter:

The doctrines today that are loyalty sound,

Tomorrow may bring us a halter.

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,

A trifle scarce worthy your care;

But accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard,

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye,

And ushers the long dreary night;

But you like the star that athwart gilds the sky,

Your course to the latest is bright.

[To Miss Ainslie, in Church]

Fair maid, you need not take the hint,

Nor idle texts pursue;

'Twas only sinners that he meant,

Not angels such as you.

[To William Creech]

Selkirk 13th May 1787

Auld chuckie REEKIE'S sair distrest,

Down droops her ance weel-burnish'd crest,

Nae joy her bonie buskit nest

Can yield ava;

Her darling bird that she loes best,

Willie's awa. –

O Willie was a witty wight,

And had o' things an unco slight;

Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight,

And trig and braw:

But now they'll busk her like a fright,

Willie's awa. –

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd,

The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd,

They durst nae mair than he allow'd,

That was a law:

We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd,

Willie's awa. –

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,

Frae colleges and boarding-schools,

May sprout like simmer puddock-stools

In glen or shaw;

He wha could brush them down to mools

Willie's awa. –

The brethren o' the commerce-chaumer

May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour;

He was a dictionar and grammar

Amang them a':

I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer,

Willie's awa. –

Nae mair we see his levee door

Philosophers and Poets pour,

And toothy Critics by the score

In bloody raw;

The Adjutant of a' the core

Willie's awa. –

Now worthy Greg'ry's latin face,

Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace,

Mckenzie, Stuart, such a brace

As Rome ne'er saw;

They a' maun meet some ither place,

Willie's awa. –

Poor BURNS – even Scotch Drink canna quicken,

He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken,

Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin

By hoodie-craw:

Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin,

Willie's awa. –

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd, girnin blellum,

And Calvin's folk are fit to fell him;

Ilk self-conceited, critic skellum

His quill may draw;

He wha could brawlie ward their bellum

Willie's awa. –

Up wimpling, stately Tweed I've sped,

And Eden scenes on chrystal Jed,

And Ettrick banks now roaring red

While tempests blaw;

But ev'ry joy and pleasure's fled,

Willie's awa. –

May I be Slander's common speech;

A text for Infamy to preach;

And lastly, streekit out to bleach

In winter snaw

When I forget thee, WILLIE CREECH,

Tho' far awa! –

May never wicked Fortune touzle him,

May never wicked men bamboozle him,

Until a pow as auld's Methusalem

He canty claw:

Then to the blessed, new Jerusalem

Fleet-wing awa. –

[To Symon Gray]

I

Symon Gray,

You're dull to-day.

II

Dulness, with redoubted sway,

Has seized the wits of Symon Gray.

III

Dear Cimon Gray,

The other day,

When you sent me some rhyme,

I could not then just ascertain

Its worth, for want of time.

But now today, good Mr. Gray,

I've read it o'er and o'er,

Tried all my skill, but find I'm still

Just where I was before.

We auld wives' minions gie our opinions,

Solicited or no;

Then of its fau'ts my honest thoughts

I'll give – and here they go.

Such d–'d bombast no time that's past

Will show, or time to come,

So, Cimon dear, your song I'll tear,

And with it wipe my [bum].

[To Renton of Lamerton]

Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt;

Wi' you I'll canter ony gate;

Tho' 'twere a trip to yon blue warl

Whare Birkies march on burning marl.

Then, Sir, God willing, I'll attend ye;

An' to His goodness I commend ye –

R. Burns.

Bonie Dundee

»O whar did ye get that hauver-meal bannock?«

O silly blind body, O dinna ye see;

I gat it frae a young brisk Sodger Laddie,

Between Saint Johnston and bonie Dundee.

O gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't!

Aft has he doudl'd me upon his knee;

May Heaven protect my bonie Scots laddie,

And send him safe hame to his babie and me.

My blessins upon thy sweet, wee lippie!

My blessins upon thy bonie e'e brie!

Thy smiles are sae like my blyth Sodger laddie,

Thou's ay the dearer, and dearer to me!

But I'll big a bow'r on yon bonie banks,

Whare Tay rins wimplin by sae clear;

And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine,

And mak thee a man like thy dadie dear.

[At Roslin Inn]

My blessings on ye, honest wife,

I ne'er was here before;

Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and knife –

Heart could not wish for more.

Heav'n keep you clear o' sturt and strife,

Till far ayont fourscore,

And by the Lord o' death and life,

I'll ne'er gae by your door!

Epigram

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here,

I pity much his case,

Unless he come to wait upon

The Lord their God, his Grace.

There's naething here but Highland pride,

And Highland scab and hunger;

If Providence has sent me here,

'Twas surely in an anger.

On the death of Sir J. Hunter Blair –

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,

Dim, cloudy, sunk beyond the western wave:

Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air,

And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,

1Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train;

Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd, well;

Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred Fane.2

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks;

The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky;

The groaning trees, untimely, shed their locks,

And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. –

The paly moon rose in the livid east,

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form,

In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast,

And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. –

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow;

'Twas CALEDONIA'S trophy'd shield I view'd;

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe,

The lightening of her eye in tears embu'd. –

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,

Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd,

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar,

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world. –

»My patriot-Son fills an untimely grave!«

With accent wild and lifted arms she cry'd;

»Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save,

Low lies the heart that swell'd with honor's pride. –

A weeping Country joins a Widow's tear,

The helpless Poor mix with the Orphans' cry;

The drooping arts surround their Patron's bier,

And grateful Science heaves the heart-felt sigh. –

I saw my Sons resume their ancient fire;

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow:

But ah, how hope is born but to expire!

Relentless Fate has laid their Guardian low. –

My Patriot falls – but shall he lie unsung,

While empty Greatness saves a worthless name?

No: every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue,

And future ages hear his growing fame. –

And I will join a Mother's tender cares,

Thro' future times to make his virtues last,

That distant years may boast of other BLAIRS –«

She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast.

1 The king's park at Holyroodhouse. –

2 St Anthony's well and chapel.