And thou grim power, by life abhorred, My weary heart its throbbing cease, No fear more, no tear more, Within thy cold embrace! LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK NOTE. WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! 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, Come, mourn wi' me! Our billie 's gi'en us a' a jink, Lament him a' ye rantin' core, The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 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, He was her laureate monie a year, That's owre the sea. He saw misfortune's cauld nor❜-west And owre the sea. To tremble under Fortune's cummock, So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, 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, He wad na wranged the vera de'il, 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 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 Though, when some kind, connubial dear, Your but-and-ben adorns, The like has been that you may wear And in your lug, most reverend James, To hear you roar and rowte, 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, Or up the rink like Jehu roar In time o' need; Now safe the stately salmon sail, Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; Your mortal fae is now awa'— Tam Samson's dead! That waefu' morn be ever mourned But, och he gaed and ne'er returned ! In vain auld age his body batters; Now every auld wife, greetin', clatters, 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, When at his heart he felt the dagger, Wi' weel-aimed heed; "Lord, five!" he cried, and owre did stagger Tam Samson's dead! May Kennedy's far-honoured name THE LAMENT. OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF [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 May health and peace, with mutual rays, passion of his life; his love for her at all times 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, Make you as poor a dog as I am, brother! Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself, |