The Lass of Cessnock Banks, he took very seriously, and he proposed marriage to the girl in some portentously solemn epistles which remain to us as the earliest examples of his prose. In order to put himself in a position to marry, he determined to learn the trade of flax-dressing; and though Ellison refused him, he went to the neighboring seaport of Irvine to carry out his purpose in the summer of 1781. The flax-dressing experiment ended disastrously with a fire which burned the workshop, and Burns returned penniless to the farm. The poems written about this time express profound melancholy, a mood natural enough in the circumstances, and aggravated by his poor nervous and physical condition.

But his spirit could not remain permanently depressed, and shortly after his return to Lochlea, a trifling accident to a ewe he had bought prompted him to the following delightful and characteristic production.

THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR
MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,
Was ae day nibbling on the tether,
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
An' owre she warsled in the ditch;

together

one

hoof, looped

over, floundered

doddering staring

own

much money

drive

wool

give

foxes

look after

tend

bunches, handfuls

There, groaning, dying, she did lie,
When Hughoc he cam doytin by.

Wi glowrin' een, an' lifted nan's,
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's;
He saw her days were near-hand ended,
But wae's my heart! he could na mend it!
He gaped wide, but naething spak;
At length poor Mailie silence brak:-

'O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case!
My dying words attentive hear,
An' bear them to my Master dear.
'Tell him, if e'er again he keep
As muckle gear as buy a sheep,-
O bid him never tie them mair
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,
An' let them wander at their will;
So may his flock increase, an' grow
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo'!
"Tell him he was a Master kin',
An' aye was guid to me an' mine;
An' now my dying charge I gie him,
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him.
'O bid him save their harmless lives
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives!
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill,
Till they be fit to fend themsel:
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn,
Wi' teats o' hay an' ripps o' corn.

'An' may they never learn the gates Of ither vile wanrestfu' pets

To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal,

At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail.

So may they, like their great forbears,

For mony a year come thro' the shears;

So wives will gie them bits o' bread,

An' bairns greet for them when they're dead.

'My poor tup-lamb, my son an' heir,

O bid him breed him up wi' care!
An', if he live to be a beast,
To pit some havins in his breast!
An' warn him, what I winna name,
To stay content wi' yowes at hame;
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots,
Like ither menseless graceless brutes.
'An neist my yowie, silly thing,
Gude keep thee frae a tether string!
O may thou ne'er forgather up
Wi' ony blastit moorland tup;

But ay keep mind to moop an' mell,

Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel!

'And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath

I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith;

An' when you think upo' your mither,

Mind to be kind to ane anither.

'Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail

ways
restless

holes in fences plants

weep

put, behavior will not

ewes
hoofs

unmannerly

next

make friends

nibble, meddle

To tell my master a' my tale;

An' bid him burn this cursed tether;

An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.'

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, An' closed her een amang the dead!

bladder

eyes

How long he continued to mourn for Ellison Begbie, it is hard to say; but the three following songs, inspired, it would seem, by three different girls, testify at once to his power of recuperation