EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH. Nae mair we see his levée door Philosophers and poets pour, The adjutant o' a' the core, Willie's awa'! Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace; Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace As Rome ne'er saw ; They a' maun meet some ither place, Willie's awa'! Poor Burns-e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, Scared frae its minnie and the cleckin' By hoodie-craw; Grief's gi'en his heart an unco kickin', — Willie's awa'! Now every sour-mou'd girnin' blellum, And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him; And 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, While tempests blaw; But every joy and pleasure's fled, — Willie's awa'! May I be slander's common speech; The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer Amang them a'; I fear they'll now mak' mony a stammer, Willie's awa'! Though 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 blessèd New Jerusalem, Fleet wing awa'! ON SCARING SOME WATERFOWL IN LOCH-TURIT, A WILD SCENE AMID THE HILLS OF OUGH TERTYRE. [Burns when he wrote this was staying for a few days, in 1787, on a visit to Sir William and Lady Augusta Murray, at their beautiful residence in Perthshire.] WHY, ye tenants of the lake, For me your watery haunt forsake? The eagle, from the cliffy brow, And creatures for his pleasure slain. In these savage, liquid plains, And life's poor season peaceful spend. Or, if man's superior might LINES WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH. [It was on the 20th of August, 1787, that Burns visited Kenmore, and there pencilled this inscription.] ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, The abodes of coveyed grouse and timid sheep, My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Till famed Breadalbane opens to my view, The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, The woods, wild-scattered, clothe their ample sides; The outstretching lake, embosomed 'mong the hills, THE HERMIT. The eye with wonder and amazement WRITTEN ON A MARBLE Sideboard in the fills: The Tay, meandering sweet in infant pride, HERMITAGE BELONGING TO THE DUKE [First included among the writings of Burns in the Glasgow edition, which was jointly and very The palace, rising on its verdant side ; native taste; Hogg and William Motherwell.] ing, The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless WHOE'ER thou art these lines now readhaste; The arches, striding o'er the new-born Think not, though from the world reced stream; ing, The village, glittering in the noontide I joy my lonely days to lead in beam Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, The sweeping theatre of hanging woods! Here Poesy might wake her Heaventaught lyre, This desert drear; That fell remorse, a conscience bleeding, No thought of guilt my bosom sours; That lust and pride, And look through Nature with creative I saw mankind with vice incrusted; fire; I saw that Honour's sword was rusted; Here, to the wrongs of Fate half recon- That few for aught but folly lusted; Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling In this lone cave, in garments lowly, Supplying drink, the earth bestowing But few enjoy the calm I know in Content and comfort bless me more in To God on high, THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER, TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. [Written at the suggestion of Professor Walker, who was tutor in the Duke of Athole's family, when Burns, during the course of his third northern tour, visited the Falls of Bruar and, his Grace being from home at the time, was most hospitably and graciously entertained by the Duchess. The firs and ash-trees for which the Each night and morn, with voice implor- Poet pleaded in the name of the Falls were, in compliance with his artistic request, afterwards planted by the Duke in abundance.] MY LORD, I know your noble ear The lightly-jumping glowering trouts, Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, He, kneeling, wad adored me. Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, Enjoying large each spring and well, Would then my noble master please To grant my highest wishes, He'll shade my banks wi' towering trees, And bonnie spreading bushes; Delighted doubly then, my Lord, You'll wander on my banks, The sober laverock, warbling wild, This, too, a covert shall ensure, To shield them from the storm; And coward maukin sleep secure, Low in her grassy form: Here shall the shepherd make his seat, To weave his crown of flowers; Or find a sheltering safe retreat, From prone descending showers. And here, by sweet endearing stealth, Shall meet the loving pair, Despising worlds with all their wealth As empty, idle care: The flowers shall vie in all their charms Here haply too, at vernal dawn, Some musing bard may stray, And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, And misty mountain grey: |