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And thou grim power, by life abhorred,
While life a pleasure can afford,
Oh, hear a wretch's prayer!
No more I shrink appalled, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,
To close this scene of care!
When shall my soul, in silent peace,
Resign life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbing cease,
Cold mould'ring in the clay?

No fear more, no tear more,
To stain my lifeless face;
Enclasped, and grasped

Within thy cold embrace!

LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK

NOTE.

WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief!
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass!
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy cursed restriction.
I've seen th' oppressor's cruel smile,
Amid his hapless victim's spoil,
And, for thy potence vainly wished
To crush the villain in the dust.
For lack o' thee, I leave this much-loved
shore,

Never, perhaps, to greet auld Scotland

more !

ON A SCOTCH BARD,

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES.

[Written in 1786, when Burns fully intended crossing the Atlantic to Jamaica. The fifth line in one manuscript copy of the poem, ran quite frankly thus: "Our billie, Rob, has ta'en a jink."]

A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink,
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,
A' ye wha live and never think,

Come, mourn wi' me!

Our billie 's gi'en us a' a jink,
An' owre the sea.

Lament him a' ye rantin' core,
Wha dearly like a random splore,
Nae mair he 'll join the merry roar
In social key;
For now he's ta'en anither shore,
An' owre the sea.

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him,
And in their dear petitions place him:
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless
him,
Wi' tearfu' e'e;
For weel I wat they 'll sairly miss him
That's owre the sea.

O Fortune, they ha'e room to grumble! Hadst thou ta'en aff some drowsy bumble,

Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 'T wad been nae plea; But he was gleg as ony wumble,

That's owre the sea.

Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear,
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear;
'T will mak' her poor auld heart, I fear,
In flinders flee;

He was her laureate monie a year,

That's owre the sea.

He saw misfortune's cauld nor❜-west
Lang mustering up a bitter blast;
A jillet brak his heart at last,
Ill may she be !
So, took a berth afore the mast,

And owre the sea.

To tremble under Fortune's cummock,
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,
Wi' his proud, independent stomach
Could ill agree;

So, row't his hurdies in a hammock,
And owre the sea.

He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; Wi' him it ne'er was under hidingHe dealt it free:

The Muse was a' that he took pride in, That's owre the sea.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
An' hap him in a cozie biel:
Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,
And fu' o' glee;

He wad na wranged the vera de'il,
That's owre the sea.

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! Your native soil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily,

Now bonnilie!

I'll toast ye in my hind'most gillie, Though owre the sea.

TO AN OLD SWEETHEART AFTER HER MARRIAGE.

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS PRESENTED TO THE LADY.

[Peggy Thomson of Kirkoswald was the old sweetheart here referred to, and not as Isabel

Burns, afterwards Mrs. Begg, erroneously imagined, the Lass of Cessnock Banks. The identity of Peggy Thomson as the old sweetheart is put beyond dispute by the Glenriddel manu script, wherein Burns himself has written"Poor Peggy! Her husband is my old acquaintance, and a most worthy fellow. When I was taking leave of my Carrick friends, intending to go to the West Indies, I took farewell of her, but neither of us could speak a syllable."]

ONCE fondly loved, and still remembered dear!

Sweet early object of my vouthful

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marized the discourse on the spur of the moment in these scathing lines. It has been remarked that, although dashed off almost extempore, it is, nevertheless, one of Burns's most finished productions. The Rev. James Steven later on became for a time minister at the Scotch Church in Crown Court, Covent Garden: and as indicative of how the name stuck to him as tenaciously as a bur, we find one of the Poet's younger brothers writing to him from London, under date the 21st of March. 1790-"We were at Covent Garden Chapel this afternoon to hear the Calf preach : he is grown very fat, and is as boisterous as ever."]

RIGHT, Sir! your text I'll prove it true,

Though heretics may laugh; For instance, there's yoursel' just now, God knows, an unco calf!

And should some patron be so kind As bless you wi' a kirk,

I doubt na, Sir, but then we 'll find Ye 're still as great a stirk.

But, if the lover's raptured hour
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, every heavenly power,
You e'er should be a stot!

Though, when some kind, connubial dear,

Your but-and-ben adorns,

The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns!

And in your lug, most reverend James, To hear you roar and rowte,

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Few men o' sense will doubt your claims When Winter muffles up his cloak, To rank amang the nowte.

And when ye 're numbered wi' the dead, Below a grassy hillock,

Wi' justice they may mark your head"Here lies a famous bullock!"

-0

And binds the mire up like a rock; When to the lochs the curlers flock Wi' gleesome speed, Wha will they station at the cock ?— Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o' a' the core,
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore;

Or up the rink like Jehu roar

In time o' need;
But now he lags on Death's hog-score-
Tam Samson 's dead!

Now safe the stately salmon sail,
And trouts be-dropped wi' crimson hail,
And eels weel kenned for souple tail,
And geds for greed,

Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail
Tam Samson dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a';
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw:
Ye mawkins, cock your fud fu' braw,
Withouten dread;

Your mortal fae is now awa'—

Tam Samson's dead!

That waefu' morn be ever mourned
Saw him in shootin' graith adorned,
While pointers round impatient burned,
Frae couples freed;

But, och he gaed and ne'er returned !
Tam Samson's dead!

In vain auld age his body batters;
In vain the gout his ankles fetters;
In vain the burns came down like waters,
An acre braid!

Now every auld wife, greetin', clatters,
Tam Samson's dead!

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, And aye the tither shot he thumpit, Till coward Death behind him jumpit, Wi' deadly feide;

Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet,
Tam Samson's dead!

When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reeled his wonted bottle-swagger,
But yet he drew the mortal trigger

Wi' weel-aimed heed; "Lord, five!" he cried, and owre did stagger

Tam Samson's dead!

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May Kennedy's far-honoured name
Lang beet his hymeneal flame,
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen,
Are frae their nuptial labours risen:
Five bonnie lasses round their table,
And seven braw fellows, stout and able
To serve their king and country weel,
By word, or pen, 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

immeasurably surpassing the rapt ideal of his
tenderness for the pale memory of Highland
Mary.]

May health and peace, with mutual rays, passion of his life; his love for her at all times
Shine on the evening o' his days;
Till his wee curlie John's ier-oe,
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow,
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!"

I will not wind a lang conclusion
Wi' complimentary effusion:
But whilst your wishes and endeavours
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and
favours,

I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble servant.

But if (which Powers above prevent!)
That iron-hearted carl, Want,
Attended in his grim advances

By sad mistakes, and black mischances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly
him,

Make you as poor a dog as I am,
Your humble servant then no more;
For who would humbly serve the poor!
But by a poor man's hopes in heaven!
While recollection's power is given,
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of Fortune's strife,
I, through the tender gushing tear,
Should recognize my master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, Sir, your hand-my friend and

brother!

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself,
And sweet affection prove the spring of woe!
-HOME.

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