EPIGRAM ON THE SAID OCCASION.

O DEATH, had'st thou but spar'd his life,
Whom we this day lament!

We freely wad exchanged the wife,

And a' been weel content.

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff,
The swap* we yet will do't;
Tak thou the carlin's carcase aff,
Thou'se get the saul o' boot.t

ANOTHER.

ONE Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell,
When deprived of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he show'd her.
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder.
But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion,
When called on to order the fun'ral direction,
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence,
Not to show her respect, but-to save the expence !

[The three foregoing epigrams were directed against Mr Campbell of Netherplace and his wife, whose house and grounds the poet daily passed on his way between Mossgiel and Mauchline.]

ON TAM THE CHAPMAN.

As Tam the chapman on a day,

Wi' Death forgather'd by the way,

Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight so famous,

And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas,

Wha cheerfully lays down his pack,

And there blaws up a hearty crack:

His social, friendly, honest heart

Sae tickled Death, they could na part;

Sae, after viewing knives and garters,

Death taks him hame to gie him quarters.

[These lines were composed on the recovery of Thomas Kennedy, a friend of the poet's, from a severe illness. When advanced in life, Kennedy communicated them to Cobbett's Magazine.]

EPITAPH ON JOHN RANKINE.
AE day, as Death, that gruesome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad—
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,
From him that wears the star and garter,
To him that wintles in a halter:
Ashamed himself to see the wretches,
He mutters, glowrin at the bitches,
"By G-d I'll not be seen behint them,
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,
Without, at least, ae honest man,
To grace this d- -d infernal clan !"
By Adamhill a glance he threw,

"L-d God!" quoth he, "I have it now;
There's just the man I want, i' faith!"
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath.

LINES ON THE AUTHOR'S DEATH,

WRITTEN WITH THE SUPPOSED VIEW OF BEING HANDED
TO RANKINE AFTER THE POET'S INTERMENT.

HE who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead,
And a green grassy hillock hides his head;
Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed.

[These lines must be regarded as a counterpart of the poet's elegy on himself, composed shortly afterwards, beginning,

"Now Robin lies in his last lair,

He'll gabble rhyme and sing nae mair."]

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.-A DIRGE.

WHEN chill November's surly blast

Made fields and forests bare,
One ev❜ning, as I wander'd forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spied a man, whose aged step
Seem'd weary, worn with care;
His face was furrow'd o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

66

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?”
Began the rev'rend sage;

"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure's rage?

Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me to mourn
The miseries of man.

"The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride ;-
I've seen yon weary winter-sun
Twice forty times return;
And ev'ry time has added proofs,
That man was made to mourn.

"O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Mis-spending all thy precious hours --

Thy glorious, youthful prime!

Alternate follies take the sway;

Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,

That man was made to mourn. "Look not alone on youthful prime,

Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:

But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn ;

Then Age and Want-oh! ill-match'd pair-
Shew man was made to mourn.

"A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest;

Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest :

But oh! what crowds in ev'ry land,
All wretched and forlorn,

Thro' weary life this lesson learn,
That man was made to mourn.

"Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Inwoven with our frame !

More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heav'n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,-
Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

"See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, So abject, mean, and vile,

Who begs a brother of the earth

To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn.

"If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave

By Nature's law design'd-
Why was an independent wish

E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty, or scorn?

Or why has man the will and pow'r
To make his fellow mourn?

"Yet, let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast:
This partial view of human-kind
Is surely not the best!

The poor, oppressèd, honest man
Had never, sure, been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn !

"O Death! the poor man's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!

Welcome the hour my aged limbs

Are laid with thee at rest!

The great, the wealthy fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn ;

But, oh! a blest relief for those

That weary-laden mourn !”

[A lovely spot called "Haugh," near where the Lugar flows into the river Ayr, is pointed out as the locality indicated by the poet in his opening verse. In one of his letters to Mrs Dunlop, Burns writes :-"I had an old grand-uncle with whom my mother lived in her girlish years; the good old man was long blind ere he died, during which time his highest enjoyment was to sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the simple old song, 'The Life and Age of Man.'' Southey in his "Doctor," thus refers to the present poem, and its connection with the above pathetic incident :-" It is certain that this old song was in Burns's mind when he composed to the same cadence those well-known stanzas of which the burthen is 'Man was made to mourn.' But the old blind man's tears were tears of piety, not of regret; while he thus listened and wept, his heart was not so much in the past as his hopes were in the future. Burns must have been conscious in his better hours (and he had many such) that he inherited the feeling-if not the sober piety-which is so touchingly exemplified in this family anecdote."]