Delighted doubly then, my Lord, The sober laverock,3 warbling wild, The gowdspink, music's gayest child, The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, This, too, a covert shall ensure, To shield them from the storms; The shepherd here shall make his seat, And here, by sweet endearing stealth, The flowers shall vie in all their charms Here haply too, at vernal dawn, Some musing bard may stray, And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, And misty mountain grey; Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, Mild-chequering through the trees, Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, My lowly banks o'erspread, And view, deep-bending in the pool, Their shadows' watery bed! Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest My craggy cliffs adorn; And, for the little songster's nest, The close embowering thorn. So may old Scotia's darling hope, 3 Laverock is lark; gowdspink, goldfinch; lintwhite, linnet; mavis, thrush. So may through Albion's farthest ken, To social flowing glasses, The grace be-"Athole's honest men, And Athole's bonnie lasses!"4 CASTLE-GORDON. STREAMS that glide in orient plains, Glowing here on golden sands, From tyranny's empurpled bands: Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil: The storms, by Castle-Gordon. Wildly here, without control, She plants the forest, pours the flood: 4 It seems that this poem had the desired effect. So we learn from Chambers: "Trees have been thickly planted along the chasm, and are now far advanced to maturity. Throughout this young forest a walk has been cut, and a number of fantastic little grottoes erected for the convenience of those who visit the spot."Professor Walker, also, notes upon the poem as follows: "Burns passed two or three days with the Duke of Athole, and was highly delighted by the attention he received. By the Duke's advice he visit. ed the Falls of Bruar; and in a few days I received a letter from Inverness, with the above verses inclosed." 5 Burns conceived the idea of these verses during a brief visit to Gordon Castle in 1784; wrote them down as he hurried south, and inclosed them to James Hay, the Duke's librarian. The Duchess guessed them to be written by Beattie, and, when told they were written by Burns, wished they had been in the Scot tish dialect. TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS, A VERY YOUNG LADY.6 (Written on the blank leaf of a book presented to her by the Author.) BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay, Nor even Sol too fiercely view Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem, The loveliest form she e'er gave birth." POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY.8 LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Past a' remcad; The last sad cape-stane of his woes; It's no the loss o' warl's gear, He's lost a friend and neebor dear In Mailie dead. 6 The young lady who inspired these beautiful lines was then only twelve years old. 7 Burns often intimated his friendships or attachments-in verse or prose, on the blank leaf of a favorite book, and then presented the volume to the object of his regard. He was mostly attached to ladies whose voices were sweet and harmonious, or who excelled in music.-WALKER. 8 The sheep, whose death occasioned this strain of laughing grief, or weeping mirth, is described as "the author's only pet yowe." Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him; A friend mair faithful ne'er cam nigh him I wat she was a sheep o' sense, Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Or, if he wanders up the howe, An' down the briny pearls rowe She was nae get o' moorland tips, Wae worth the man wha first did shape An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape O, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon! His heart will never get aboon 1 Mailie's ewe lamb, or "yowie," that she had been nursing. 2 Poor Mailie was tethered in a field near the poet's house at Lochlea. She got entangled in the rope, and was thrown into a ditch; hence her death. 3 The principle of love, which is the great characteristic of Burns, often manifests itself in the shape of humour. Ev. erywhere, in his sunny mood, a full buoyant flood of mirth runs through his mind: he rises to the high and stoops to the low, and is brother and playmate to all Nat ure. He has a bold and irresistible faculty of caricature; this is drollery rather than humour. A much tenderer sportfulness dwells in him than this, and comes forth here and there in evanescent and beautiful touches; as in his Address to a An' ran them till they a' did wauble, Far, far behin'. When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, When thou was corn't an' I was mellow, But every tail thou pay't them hollow, The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle Thou was a noble fittie-lan',4 As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, Till spritty knowes would rair't and When frosts lay lang an' snaws were deep, I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep In cart or car thou never reestit; But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 4 The near horse of the hindmost pair at the plough. That is the post of honour in a plough-team. 5 Hillocks with tough-rooted plants in them.- Risket is a noise like the tearing of roots. 6 Never leaped, and reared, and started forward. My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';" Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, Yet here to crazy age we're brought, An' think na, my auld, trusty servan', A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane We've worn to crazy years thegither; Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, TO A LOUSE. Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight, The vera tapmost, towering height My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't, Wad dress your droddum! I wad na been surprised to spy But Miss's fine Lunardi,8-fie! O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, O, wad some power the giftie gie us It wad frae monie a blunder free us, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, AT CHURCH. HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie! I canna say but ye strunt rarely Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but sparely Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, How dare ye set your fit upon her, Sae fine a lady! And e'en devotion! A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, And owre this grassy heap sing dool, Is there a bard of rustic song Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, On some poor body. Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle: There ye may creep an' sprawl an' sprattle Wi' ither kindred jumpin' cattle, In shoals and nations; Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle Your thick plantations. That weekly this aréa throng? But, with a frater-feeling strong, Is there a man whose judgment clear 8 Lunardi made two ascents in his balloon from the Green of Glasgow in 1785. bonnets was named from the aeronaut. 7 My plough-team now are all thy It appears that a certain fashion of ladies' children. ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. When upward-springing, blithe, to greet WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, The purpling East. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Scarce rear'd above the parent earth The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield; But thou, beneath the random bield Adorns the histie stibble-field, 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! Unfolds her tender mantle green, So long, sweet Poet of the year, |