But first hang out, that she 'll discern The point of misery festering in his heart, THOMSON'S Edward and Eleanora. Come full that day. Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', Ye royal lasses dainty, FAREWELL Old Scotia's bleak domains, Heaven mak' you guid as weel as braw, Farewell a mother's blessing dear! A brother's sigh! a sister's tear! My Jean's heart-rending throe! A faithful brother I have left, My Smith, my bosom frien'; Oh, then befriend my Jean! What bursting anguish tears my heart! Thou, weeping, answerest, "No!" All hail then, the gale then, It rustles, and whistles I'll never see thee more! VERSES LEFT IN THE ROOM WHERE THE POET SLEPT A DEDICATION TO GAVIN [It was from Gavin Hamilton, already mentioned as a writer to the signet at Mauchline, and who was principal tenant of the Earl of Loudoun, the chief landed proprietor of the neighbourhood, that the Poet, shortly after the death of his father, William Burness, took the sub-lease of the farm of Mossgiel. Apart from O THOU dread Power, who reign'st tion, it was upon the whole a most fortunate the farm itself, which proved an unlucky specula [The friend here alluded to was the Rev. George Lawrie, D.D., at the time of their acquaintance fifty-seven years of age and minister of Loudoun.] above, I know Thou wilt me hear, I make my prayer sincere ! The hoary sire-the mortal stroke, And show what good men are. She, who her lovely offspring eyes With tender hopes and fears, Their hope, their stay, their darling In manhood's dawning blush; The beauteous, seraph sister-band, connection, for the young lawyer was not only Burns's intimate and congenial friend, but one of his most sagacious admirers.] EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, This may do-maun do, Sir, wi' them Maun please the great folk for a wame. For me! sae laigh I needna bow, Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand-It's just sic poet, an' sic patron. When, soon or late, they reach that coast, O'er life's rough ocean driven, May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, A family in heaven! The Poet, some guid angel help him, The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgi'e me, I readily and freely grant, He downa see a poor man want; But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! No-stretch a point to catch a plack; I'll warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver, O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror! And in the fire throws the sheath; him: While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry means, Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, So, Sir, ye see 't was nae daft vapour, Then patronize them wi' your favour, Learn three-mile prayers, an' half-mile That kens or hears about you, graces, Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang wry faces; Grunt up a solemn, lengthened groan, And damn a' parties but your own ; "May ne'er Misfortune's growling bark Au wote wat kg and country weel, By or pointed steel! THE LAMENT. Occasioned BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. [The mention of the "friend," here, was the merest blind-this passionate lament having reference exclusively to the agonizing commencement of his own life-long connection with Jean Armour, from first to last the one great dominant Alga berth wind postces with mutual rays, passion of his life; his love for her at all times Mauno yuu the evening o' his days; I will not wind a lang conclusion I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, But if (which Powers above prevent!) By sad mistakes, and black mischances, While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, Make you as poor a dog as I am, immeasurably surpassing the rapt ideal of his tenderness for the pale memory of Highland Mary.] Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself, And sweet affection prove the spring of woe! -HOME. O THOU pale orb, that silent shines, While care-untroubled mortals sleep! Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep! With woe I nightly vigils keep, Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream. I joyless view thy rays adorn The faintly marked distant hill: Ah! must the agonizing thrill No idly-feigned poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : The plighted faith; the mutual flame; The oft-attested Powers above; The promised father's tender name; These were the pledges of my love! The morn that warns th' approaching ALL hail! inexorable lord! day, Awakes me up to toil and woe: I see the hours in long array, That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen recollection's direful train, Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, Shall kiss the distant, western main. And when my nightly couch I try, Sore harassed out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief: At whose destruction-breathing word Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, With stern-resolved, despairing eye, For one has cut my dearest tie, Then lowering and pouring, The storm no more I dread; Though thickening, and blackening, Round my devoted head. F |