TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.

The letter which follows was the consequence of a request for a sight of his Cotter's Saturday Night, from a person named John Kennedy, who then resided as clerk or sub-factor at Dumfries House, the seat of the Earl of Dumfries, a few miles from Mauchline. It is characteristic of the frankness of Burns, and expresses some of his predominant feelings.

MOSSGIEL, 3d March, 1786.

SIR-I have done myself the pleasure of complying with your request in sending you my Cottager. If you have a leisure minute, I should be glad you would copy it, and return me either the original or the transcript, as I have not a copy of it by me, and I have a friend who wishes to see it.

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse

E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse,1
L-, man, there's lasses there wad force
A hermit's fancy;

And down the gate, in faith, they're worse, road
And mair unchancy.

But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's,
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews,

1 The market-cross of the village.

Till some bit callan bring me news
That you are there;

And if we dinna haud a bouze,

I'se ne'er drink mair.

It's no I like to sit and swallow,

Then like a swine to puke and wallow;
But gie me just a true guid fallow,

Wi' right engine,

boy

hold

temper-genius

And spunkie, ance to make us mellow, lively And then we'll shine.

Now, if ye're ane o' warld's folk,
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak,
And sklent on poverty their joke,

Wi' bitter sneer,

Wi' you no friendship will I troke,
Nor cheap nor dear.

But if, as I'm informèd weel,
Ye hate, as ill's the very deil,

The flinty heart that canna feel,

Come, sir, here's tae you!

glance

exchange

Hae, there's my han', I wiss you weel,

And guid be wi' you!

R. B.

INSCRIBED ON THE BLANK-LEAF OF A COPY OF MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS, PRESENTED BY THE AUTHOR.

3d April, 1786.

THOU flattering mark of friendship kind,
Still may thy pages call to mind

The dear, the beauteous Donor:
Though sweetly female every part,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the sexes honour.
She shewed her taste refined and just
When she selected thee,

Yet deviating own I must,

In sae approving me;

But kind still, I'll mind still
The Giver in the gift-

I'll bless her, and wiss her

A friend aboon the lift.

above the sky

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786.

The title of this piece was originally The Gowan : the English appellation was subsequently adopted.

WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:

To spare thee now is past my power,
Thou bonny gem.

Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,
The bonny lark, companion meet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,

Wi' speckled breast,

When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east!

Cauld blew the bitter biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid the storm,

Scarce reared above the parent earth
Thy tender form.

dust

peeped

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,

High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield: But thou, beneath the random bield protection O' clod or stane,

Adorns the histie stibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;

But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet floweret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betrayed,

And guileless trust,

Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given,

dry

Who long with wants and woes has striven,

VOL. I.

17