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When Guildford good our pilot stood,

And did our helm thraw, man,

Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:

Then up they gat the maskin-pat,
And in the sea did jaw, man;
An' did nae less, in full Congress,
Than quite refuse our law, man.


Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes,
I wat he was na slaw, man;
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn,

And Carleton did ca', man;

But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec,

Montgomery-like did fa', man,

Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
Amang his en'mies a', man.


Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage,
Was kept at Boston ha', man;

Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe

For Philadelphia, man;

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Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin
Guid Christian blood to draw, man:
But at New York, wi' knife an' fork,
Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.


Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip,
Till Fraser brave did fa', man;
Then lost his way, ae misty day,
In Saratoga shaw, man.
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,
An' did the buckskins claw, man;
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save,
He hung it to the wa', man.


Then Montague, an' Guilford, too,

Began to fear a fa', man;

And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure,
The German Chief to thraw, man:

For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,
Nae mercy had at a', man;

An' Charlie Fox threw by the box,
An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.

Then Rockingham took up the game,

Till death did on him ca', man;

When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,

Conform to gospel law, man;

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,
They did his measures thraw, man,
For North an' Fox united stocks,

An' bore him to the wa', man.


Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes,
He swept the stakes awa', man,
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,

Led him a sair faux pas, man;
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,
On Chatham's boy did ca', man;
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew,
Up, Willie, waur them a', man!'


Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,
A secret word or twa, man;
While slee Dundas arous'd the class,
Be-north the Roman wa', man :

An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, (Inspired Bardies saw, man)

Wi' kindling eyes cry'd Willie, rise! 'Would I hae fear'd them a', man?'


But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,

Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise

Behind him in a raw, man;

An' Caledon threw by the drone,

An' did her whittle draw, man;

An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood
To make it guid in law, man.

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"The page of Burns," Campbell observes, " contains a lively image of contemporary life, and the country from which he sprung." Dr. Blair said something not unlike this when he remarked of this poem "6 Burns's politics smell of the smithy." To understand the allusion of the critic, the reader would require to be acquainted, as no doubt many are, with the scene which a country smithy presents,

"When ploughmen gather wi' their graith,"

and ale, politics, and parish scandal are all alike carefully discussed. The forge is small, and all within it is black, save the fire, which, awakened by a pair of large bellows, blazes bright, while the blacksmith anxiously heaps the glowing coals over the sock which he wishes to weld, or the coulter he has to sharpen, and drops in a word now and then in the conversation maintained among his customers and auditors. All at once out comes the blazing iron from the fire-flash after flash passes over the faces of the gathered groups-the quick clang of hammers is heard-the smithy darkens down as the iron cools, and when it is restored to the fire for another heat, the controversy of tongues is renewed, and so the evening passes. Blair intimated by his remark that the opinions of the Poet respecting the American war were unstatesmanlike, and only worthy of rude, ready-witted ploughmen.




DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
That Scot to Scot did carry;
And dire the discord Langside saw,
For beauteous, hapless Mary:
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,

Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous jobWho should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.


This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
Among the first was number'd;
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
Commandment tenth remember'd.—
Yet simple Bob the victory got,

And won his heart's desire;

Which shews that heaven can boil the pot,
Though the devil p-s in the fire.-


Squire Hal besides had in this case

Pretensions rather brassy,

For talents to deserve a place

Are qualifications saucy;

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