licentiousness in the People equally find you an inex

orable foe!

I have the honour to be, with the sincerest gratitude and highest respect,

MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN,

Your most devoted humble Servant,

EDINBURGH, April 4, 1787.

ROBERT BURNS.

POEMS AND SONGS.

SONG-HANDSOME NELL.

Tune-"I am a man unmarried."

I never had the least thought or inclination of turning Poet till I got once heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, in a manner, the spontaneous language of my heart. The following composition was the first of my performances. It is, indeed, very puerile and silly; but I am always pleased with it, as it recalls to my mind those happy days when my heart was yet honest, and my tongue was sincere.-Commonplace Book, Aug. 1783.

O ONCE I lov'd a bonie lass,

Aye, and I love her still;

And whilst that virtue warms my breast,

I'll love my handsome Nell.

But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet,

And what is best of a',

* handsome.

A

Her reputation is complete,

And fair without a flaw.

She dresses ay sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;

And then there's something in her gait
Gars* ony dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul;
For absolutely in my breast

She reigns without controul.

[Burns delighted to refer to the incident that gave rise to these juvenile verses :-Nelly Kirkpatrick, daughter of a blacksmith in the neighbourhood of Mount Oliphant, inspired the song in the harvest-field, in the autumn of 1773, when he was yet under fifteen years old. Speaking of "Nell" in his autobiography, he says:-"Among other love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly; and it was her favourite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme."]

SONG-O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
Tune-"Invercauld's Reel, or Strathspey."

Chor.-O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
Ye wadna been sae shy;

For laik o' geart ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.

Yestreen I met you on the moor,

Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;

* makes.

+ lack of money.

‡ dust in motion.

Ye geck* at me because I'm poor,
But fient + a hair care I.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

When comin hame on Sunday last,
Upon the road as I cam past,
Ye snufft an gae your head a cast-
But trowth I care't na by.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,+
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,
That looks sae proud and high.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,§
And answer him fu' dry.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,

Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,||
Be better than the kye.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice:

Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;

* toss the head.
8 direction.

† a petty oath.

+ cash.

Il education.

The deil a ane wad spier* your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

There lives a lass beside yon park,
I'd rather hae her in her sark,
Than you wi' a' your thousand mark ;
That garst you look sae high.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, &c.

[According to Mrs Begg, the poet's sister, the heroine of this song was Tibbie Stein, who lived at Little Hill, a farm marching with that of Lochlie.]

SONG-I DREAM'D I LAY.

These two stanzas I composed when I was seventeen, and are among the oldest of my printed pieces.-Glenriddell Notes in Cromek.

I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing

Gaily in the sunny beam;

List'ning to the wild birds singing,

By a falling crystal stream:

Straight the sky grew black and daring;

Thro' the wood the whirlwinds rave;

Trees with aged arms were warring,
O'er the swelling drumlie wave.

Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I enjoy'd:

But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.

Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but iil,
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me—
I bear a heart shall support me still.