He sings the Lass o' Ballochmyle, He sings John Anderson, my Joe, He sings "A man's a man for a'' He tells how lion-hearted Bruce, And grieves to think Tam Samson's gone, He paints the jolly beggars met A raudy gangrel core, Wha's den shook Poosie Nancy's wa's, That night they held the splore. He pictures Tam o' Shanter's ride In nicht o' blackest murk, Pursued by witching Kutty Sark But yet our poet-soothe to say Then black remorse takes up its seat Yet aye he hears the voice that says, "Come unto Me and rest." And aye he cries, O Scotia's sons Shun ill; than me be wiser. O may ye better reck the rede, Repentance hill is hard to spiel, Stey, Stey's repentance brae, Sin's joys are short, its grief is long As thus he spake death timed his breath, But splendor crowns his name, O'er all the earth his songs are heard, Aye, greener grows his fame. Wherever beats the Scottish heart, And Scotia's sons shall bear the gree The Psalms our fathers loved so well And the songs of Robert Burns. I The Bixby and Lehmann Collections N President Bixby and Frederick W. Lehmann the club has two members whose collections of Burns manuscripts and Burns rare editions are of international repute. At one Burns Night, Mr. Bixby and Mr. Lehmann showed from their collections two copies of the same poem by Burns, both copies fully authenticated as in the handwriting of Burns. This was easily explained. The poet in his earlier efforts not infrequently made several copies of the same unpublished poem to send to intimate friends. At one meeting the members handled reverently the "Kilmarnock Burns," a small, cheaply printed book, the first issue of Burns in print, with this title and preface: Poems chiefly in the Scottish Dialect by Robert Burns "If any Critic catches at the word genius, the author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possest of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he has done would be a manoeuvre below the worst character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him; but to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he with equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly admired Scotch Poets he has often had in his eye in the following pieces; but rather with a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile imitation." In the second Edinburg edition the club traced the progress of the poet. The copy viewed was the identical one presented by the author to "John McMurdo, esq., Drumlanrig." On the flyleaf, in Burns' handwriting, was: "Will Mr. McMurdo do me the favor to accept of these volumes; a trifling, but sincere mark of the very high respect I bear for his worth as a man, his manners as a gentleman, and his kindness as a friend. However inferior, now or afterwards, I may rank as a poet; one honest virtue, to which few poets can pretend, I trust I shall ever claim as mine: to no man, whatever his station in life, or his power to serve me, have I ever paid a compliment, at the expense of truth. THE AUTHOR." Burns was wont to write in presentation copies of his books something which has added lasting value to those copies which have been preserved. In a copy of "The Scotch Musical Museum, humbly dedicated to the Catch Club instituted at Edinburgh, June, 1771, by James Johnson, Published 1787," the poet wrote: "To Ann Masterton from Robert Burns. Beware of Bonnie Annie. I composed this song out of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend, Allan Masterton, the author of the air, 'Strathallan's Lament,' and two or three others in this work." A laugh went round the club chamber as President Bixby held up and read from an ancient looking book which had recently come into his possession. The title was: "Catalogue of Five Hundred Celebrated Authors of Great Britain now living, the whole arranged in alphabetical order; and including a complete list of their publications, with occasional strictures and anecdotes of their lives, London, 1788." "Burns, Robert. A ploughman in the County of Ayr in the Kingdom of Scotland. He was introduced to notice by a paper in a periodical publication called 'The Lounger,' and his poems were published in the year 1787. Mr. Burns was upon the point of embarking for America, when he was prevented from executing his intention by a letter exciting him to further pursuit of his literary career by Doctor Blacklock." And this was all the Who's Who of 1788 had to say of Robert Burns! Another of President Bixby's marvelous collection, which the club viewed with no ordinary interest, was Charles Lamb's Commonplace Book. It afforded a revelation of what Lamb thought of Burns. The first thing in the book, copied in Lamb's handwriting, is a song by Burns, "Oh, Saw ye Bonie Lesley." Burns often used this form of one "n" in bonnie. Nearly at the end of the book, again in Lamb's hand, is "John Anderson, My Joe." And at the end of the book is, copied by Lamb, "Auld Lang Syne." A very rare edition which President Bixby brought to one meeting of the club was printed in 1795,-"An address to the Deil, by Robert Burns, with the Answer by John Lauderdale, near Wigton.” Another very rare edition of Burns, only one copy of which has appeared in the English or American marts of rare books, consists of "Verses to the Memory of James Thomson, Author of the Seasons," together with "A Poem written in Carse Hermitage by Nithside" and an epitaph on Sir Isaac Newton. And still another edition bears the long title of "The Auld Farmer's Salutation to His Auld Mare Maggie on Giving Her a Ripp of Corn to Hansel in the New Year, to which are added An address to Scotch Haggis New Year's Day and Tam Samson's Elegy by Robert Burns, the Ayrshire Poet." The autograph of Burns appears on the title page. Lines to St. Louis Burnsians In honor of their latest publication Dear Brither Burnsians owre the sea, But yet as plain as ocht can be I tak' my bannet off my broo And let a Scotchman tell ye hoo I've read your "Nichts Wi' Burns" richt throo- On ilka page gleam gems o' thocht, Frae wit or learnin'; Tho' faur and wide sae keenly socht It pleases me mair than ye ken Ye speak o' glorious nichts ye spen'; But mind ye we've a guid club here, The "Jolly Beggars" herty cheer That canna be, yet prood I feel And fain wad owre the waters steal |