SONG-IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUINED

FARMER.

Tune-"Go from my window, Love, do."

THE sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retired to rest,

While here I sit, all sore beset,

With sorrow, grief, and woe:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

The prosperous man is asleep,

Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch

The surly tempest blow :

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear [partner] of my breast ;

Her cares for a moment at rest:

Must I see thee, my youthful pride,

Thus brought so very low !

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lie my sweet [babies] in her arms;

[mate]

[babes]

No anxious fear their [little] hearts alarms; [delete]

But for their sake my heart does ache,

With many a bitter throe:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O !

I once was by Fortune carest:

I once could relieve the distrest:

Now life's poor [support,] hardly earn'd,
My fate will scarce bestow :

[pittance]

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!

How welcome to me were the grave!

But then my wife and children dear-
O, whither would they go !

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

O whither, O [whither] shall I turn!

[where]

All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!

For, in this world, Rest or Peace

I never more shall know!

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

[The "ruined farmer" here is undoubtedly meant as a presentment of the author's father bravely struggling to weather out his hard fate at Mount Oliphant. As a pathetic dirge, it is the best illustration of the following passage in the poet's autobiography:

"The farm proved a ruinous bargain. . . . . My father was advanced in life when he married. I was the eldest of seven children, and he, worn out by early hardship, was unfit for labour. My father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily broken. There was a freedom in his lease in two years more; and to weather these two years we retrenched expenses," &c.]

TRAGIC FRAGMENT.

In my early years, nothing less would serve me than courting the Tragic Muse. I was, I think, about eighteen or nineteen when I sketched the outlines of a tragedy forsooth; but the bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, which had for some time threatened us, prevented my farther progress. In those days I never wrote down anything; so, except a speech or two, the whole has escaped my memory. The following, which I most distinctly remember, was an exclamation from a great character-great in occasional instances of generosity, and daring at times in villanies. He is supposed to meet with a child of misery, and exclaims to himself—

ALL villain as I am-a damnèd wretch,
A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting sinner,
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;
And with sincere but unavailing sighs
I view the helpless children of distress :
With tears indignant I behold the oppressor
Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction,
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.-

Ev'n you, ye hapless crew! I pity you ;

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity;
Ye poor, despised, abandoned vagabonds,
Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin.
Oh! but for friends and interposing Heaven,
I had been driven forth like you forlorn,
The most detested, worthless wretch among you!
O injured God! Thy goodness has endow'd me
With talents passing most of my compeers,
Which I in just proportion have abused—
As far surpassing other common villains

As Thou in natural parts has given me more.

[The "human wretchedness" deplored in this pathetic soliloquy was that of his father's suffering household at Mount Oliphant, which the poet has so touchingly recorded in his autobiography.]

THE TARBOLTON LASSES.

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,
Ye'll there see bonie Peggy;
She kens her father is a laird,
And she forsooth's a leddy.

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:

Wha canna win her in a night,
Has little art in courtin.

Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,
And tak a look o' Mysie;

*

She's dour and din,† a deil within,

But aiblins ‡ she may please ye.

If she be shy, her sister try,

Ye'll may be fancy Jenny ;

* sulky.

till-complexioned.

+ perhaps.

If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense-
She kens hersel she's bonie.

As ye gae up by yon hillside,
Speer in for bonie Bessy;

She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light,
And handsomely address ye.

There's few sae bonie, nane sae guid,
In a' King George' dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o' this-
It's Bessy's ain opinion !

AH, WOE IS ME, MY MOTHER DEAR.
Paraphrase of Jeremiah, 15th Chap., 10th verse.

Aн, woe is me, my Mother dear!
A man of strife ye've born me:
For sair contention I maun bear ;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
I ne'er could lend on bill or band,
That five per cent. might blest me ;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
The de'il a ane wad trust me.

Yet I, a coin-denièd wight,

By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,

By lad and lass blackguarded!

[Burns in 1785 records the remark-"I don't well know what is the reason of it, but somehow or other though I am, when I have a mind, pretty generally beloved; yet I never could get the art of commanding respect." Again, referring to his early boyhood, he says in his autobiography:-" At those years, I was by no means a favourite with anybody." David Sillar, speaking of Burns in 1781, says:-"His social disposition easily procured him acquaintances; but a certain satirical seasoning, while it set the rustic circle in a roar, was not unaccompanied by its kindred attendant,-suspicious fear."

MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY.

ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir,
Amang the heather, in my plaidie ;
Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy;
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

Were I a Baron proud and high,

And horse and servants waiting ready;
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,—

The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy.

["Montgomerie's Peggy" was the poet's deity for six or eight months. Mrs Begg, in her notes regarding this affair, says :-"The lady was housekeeper at Coilsfield House; my brother Robert had met her frequently at Tarboth Mill; they sat in the same church, and contracted an intimacy together; but she was engaged to another before ever they met. So, on her part, it was nothing but amusement, and on Burns' part, little more, from the way he speaks of it."]

THE PLOUGHMAN'S LIFE.

As I was a-wand'ring ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin', thir words he did say,—

There's nae life like the ploughman's in the month o' sweet May.

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest,
And mount i' the air wi' the dew on her breast,
And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing,
And at night she'll return to her nest back again.