L. ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. HERE lies a rose, a budding rose, Whose innocence did sweets disclose To those who for her loss are griev'd, And blooms a rose in heaven. These tender and affecting lines were written, it is said, on the death of the Poet's daughter, in 1795. He loved the child dearly, and mourned her loss with many tears. His own health was giving way—he was fading before his time. LI. EPITAPH. HERE brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, And empty all his barrels : He's blest-if as he brew'd he drink In upright honest morals. Gabriel Richardson, a worthy man and a good brewer, lived in Dumfries, and at his hospitable table Burns spent many pleasant hours. His son, Dr. Richardson, the distinguished traveller, said the last mark of civilization which he found on his expedition to the north, was poetry and that by Burns. These lines were written on a goblet, still preserved in the family. LII. ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG, NAMED ECHO. IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Now half extinct your powers of song, Ye jarring screeching things around, With Echo silent lies. Burns wrote these lines at Kenmore Castle, an ancient seat of the Gordons. It happened that Mrs. Gordon's lap-dog died on the day of the Poet's arrival. She requested an epitaph for him. This," says Syme," was setting Hercules to his distaff: he disliked the subject, but to please the lady he would try." LIII. ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair?— Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, The picture of thy mind! LIV. ON THE SAME. No Stewart art thou, Galloway, LV. ON THE SAME. BRIGHT ran thy line, O Galloway, So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, LVI. TO THE SAME, ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT. SPARE me thy vengeance, Galloway, I ask no kindness at thy hand, For thou hast none to give. These sharp squibs were launched against the house of Galloway, during the Heron contest. Though "The Stewart" at first felt offended, he smiled, it is said, when he considered how wayward the muse is, and how hot even the calmest blood grows during an election. LVII. ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, Alas! alas! O Cardoness, Then thou hadst slept for ever. The hero of these merciless verses was, it is said, a very worthy person, Sir David Maxwell of Cardoness, who had offended the Poet in the heat of the Heron election. What the offence was has not been stated; but contradiction is enough in election matters, when the wisest men justify the sarcasm of the Frenchman, that the British go stark mad every seven years. LVIII. ON JOHN BUSHBY. HERE lies John Bushby, honest man! This person has already been mentioned. He was a good lawyer, keen, acute, fertile in expedients, and full of resources in all pressing emergencies. The peasantry, who hate all stirring attornies, regarded him with much malevolence; and as he crossed the Poet in the thorny path of politics, it was reckoned a service rendered the cause of virtue when Burns lampooned him. It is said that as he lay on his death-bed, knock followed knock at his door, and creditor succeeded creditor so fast, demanding money, that the sinking man turned his face sullenly away, and muttered, "They winna let me die, by G-d!" LIX. THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. YE true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song, But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? |