No. Page. CL. To Mr Cunningham. 25th Feb. 1794. CLI. To Mrs 445 Supposed to be written from "The dead to the living" 449 CLII. To Mrs Dunlop. 15th Dec. 1795. Re- he should die-praise of the poem entit- 452 CLIII. To the Same, in London. 20th Dec. 1795 458 20th Jan. 1796. Thanks CLIV. To Mrs for the Travels of Anacharsis CLV. To Mrs Dunlop. 31st Jan. 1796. Account of the Death of his Daughter, and of his own ill health CLVI. To Mrs R*****. 4th June 1796. A pology for not going to the birth-night CLVII. To Mr Cunningham. 7th July 1796. Account of his illness and of his poverty CLVIII. To Mrs Burns. Sea-bathing affords little CLIX. To Mrs Dunlop. 12th July 1796. Last 462 463 465 466 469 Farewell 470 Go fetch to me a pint of wine Dear Burns, thou brother of my heart Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies How does my dear friend, much I languish to hear How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite I look to the west when I gae to rest Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay O that my father had ne'er on me smil❜d 266 253 113 385 199 316 234 358 238 O! why should old age so much wound us? O Still anxious to secure your partial favour "Tis this my friend, that streaks our morning bright 454 LETTERS, &c. No. I. To A FEMALE FRIEND. WRITTEN ABOUT THE YEAR 1780. I VERILY believe, my dear E. that the pure genuine feelings of love, are as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles of virtue and piety. This, I hope, will account for the uncommon style of all my letters to you. By uncommon, I mean, their being written in such a serious manner, which, to tell you the truth, has made me often afraid lest you should take me for some zealous bigot, who conversed with his mistress as he would converse with his minister. I don't know how it is, my dear; for though, except your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so much pleasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy raptures so much talked of among lovers. I have often thought, that if a well-grounded affection be not really a part of virtue, 'tis something extremely akin toit. Whenever the thought of my E. warms my heart, every feeling of humanity, every principle of generosity, kindles in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark of malice and envy, which are but too apt to infest me. I grasp every creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally participate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathize with the miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, I often look up to the divine disposer of events, with an eye of gratitude for the blessing which I hope he intends to bestow on me, in bestowing you. I sincerely wish that he may bless my endeavours to make your life as comfortable and happy as possible, both in sweetening the rougher parts of my natural temper, and bettering the unkindly circumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, at least in my view, worthy of a man, and I will add, worthy of a Christian. The sordid earth-worm may profess love to a woman's person, whilst, in reality, his affection is centered in her pocket; and the slavish drudge may go a wooing as he goes to the horse-market, to chuse one who is stout and firm, and, as we may say of an old horse, one who will be a good drudge and draw kindly. I disdain |