Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, While caps and bonnets aff are taen, "O Thou wha gies us each guid gift! Were this the charter of our state, [One of our greatest English poets used to recite, with commendations, most of the stanzas of this Second Epistle to Lapraik, pointing out, as he went, the all but inimitable ease and happiness of thought and language. He remarked, however, that Burns was either fond of out-of-the-way sort of words, or that he made them occasionally in his fits of feeling and fancy. --For instance, he calls his muse 'The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie,' and complains of being himself— 'Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs.' Now, I sorely suspect that though 'forjesket' may pass, both tapetless' and 'ramfeezled' are new comers-in to the Scottish dialect." The reply was that tapetless indicated want of strength; forjesket was a word in common use, and meant worn-out with labour; and, with respect to ramfeezled, hear the words of the immortal author of The Task,' written in August, 1787.-" Poor Burns loses much of his deserved praise in this country through our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting with any Englishman who will take the pains that I have taken to understand him. His candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible neighbour of mine; but his uncouth dialect spoiled all; and, before he had read him through, he was quite ramfeezled."-CowPER.] EPISTLE To William Simpson, OCHILTREE. May, 1785. I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; Should I believe, my coaxin' billie, But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, On my poor Musie; My senses wad be in a creel, (O Fergusson! thy glorious parts Ill suited law's dry, musty arts! My curse upon your whunstane hearts, Auld Coila, now, may fidge fu' fain, Till echoes a' resound again Her weel-sung praise. Nae poet thought her worth his while, Beside New-Holland, Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Ramsay an' famous Fergusson Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, An' cock your crest, We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine Up wi' the best. We'll sing Auld Coila's plains an' fells, Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, Where glorious Wallace Aft bare the gree, as story tells, Frae southron billies. At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, Their loves enjoy, While thro' the braes the cushat croods With wailfu' cry! Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me When winds rave thro' the naked tree; Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gray: Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, Dark'ning the day! O Nature! a' thy shews an' forms, Or winter howls, in gusty storms, The muse, nae Poet ever fand her, O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder The war'ly race may judge an' drive Shall let the busy, grumbling hive Bum owre their treasure. Fareweel, "my rhyme-composing brither!" May Envy wallop in a tether, Black fiend, infernal! My memory's no worth a preen : 'Bout which our herds sae oft hae been In days when mankind were but callans But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans, In thae auld times, they thought the moon, An' shortly after she was done, This past for certain-undisputed; * See note to The Ordination," Stanza XIV. 1 This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; Should think they better were inform'd Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; Wi' hearty crunt; This game was play'd in monie lands, "Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, But New Light herds gat sic a cowe, Ye'll find ane plac'd; Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin'; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' ; Mysel', I've even seen them greetin' Wi' girnin' spite, To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on But shortly they will cowe the louns! An' stay ae mouth amang the moons Guid observation they will gie them; Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter Than mind sic brulzie. [William Simpson was, in the days of Burns, schoolmaster of the parish of Ochiltree, afterwards of New Cumnock. He was a successful instructor of youth, and a poet of no mean order. Burns seems to have been partial to this class of men. He corresponded with David Sillar; he wrote anxiously to John Murdoch; William Nicol was long his companion, as well as correspondent; to Allan Masterton he was partial; he was intimate with the warm-hearted and enthusiastic James Gray. The present epistle shews what he thought of William Simpson; indeed, with all he was social and friendly who had any claim to education or information, save the unfortunate Dr. Hornbook. The natural modesty of the Poet is as visible in this epistle as it is elsewhere: as a rhymer, he aspires not to rank with Allan Ramsay, or Hamilton of Gilbertfield "Or Fergusson, the writer chiel, But he desires to sing of the hills and dales, and heroes and beauties of Kyle, in his own rude country tongue. As Simpson is "a rhymecomposing brither," Burns speaks to him about his own aspirations; and, as he is a candidate for a kirk, he adds a postscript-a rather mystical one-on the heresy of the New Light. It is likely that honest John Ochiltree" of the old song took his name from Simpson's parish and it is more than likely that the inimitable Edie Ochiltree of Scott's romance was baptized after the hero of the song: elsewhere, and in the strains of Burns, the name occurs. "The night it was a haly night, The day had been a haly day : On holy men, While deil a hair yoursel' ye're better, But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it But if the beast and branks be spar'd An' theekit right, Then muse-inspirin aqua-vitæ An' be as canty But stooks are cowpet wi' the blast, An' quat my chanter; Sae I subscribe myself in haste Your's, Rab the Ranter. [This third and last epistle of Burns to Lapraik was omitted in the Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions, and might have been lost had not the Bard of Muirkirk, cheered by the success of his brother of Mossgiel, given his poetic works to the world, and printed the hasty effort of his friend by way of illustration. The name of Rab the Ranter at the end of this poem seems to have been adopted by the Poet after the Border Piper, so spiritedly in * A Knife. † Ale-house Wives. Tumbled over. troduced in the popular song of Maggie Lauder: "Maggie, quo' he, and by my bags, • I'm fidgin' fain to see thee; "For I'm a piper to my trade, My name is Rab the Ranter; EPISTLE ΤΟ The Rev. John M'Math. Sept. 17th, 1785. WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme. My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet Lest they should blame her, An' rouse their holy thunder on it I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, Can easy, wi' a single wordie, Lowse h-ll upon me. But I gae mad at their grimaces, Whase greed, revenge, and pride disgraces There's Gawn, § misca't waur than a beast, An' may a bard no crack his jest What way they've use't him? An' not a muse erect her head To cowe the blellums? They take religion in their mouth; An' hunt him down, o'er right, an' ruth, All hail, Religion! maid divine! Thus daurs to name thee; To stigmatize false friends of thine Can ne'er defame thee. Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a stain, Who boldly daur thy cause maintain In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, At worth an' merit, O Ayr! my dear, my native ground, Of public teachers, Sir, in that circle you are nam'd; Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, An' if impertinent I've been, This is a beautiful little gem.-THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD, Impute it not, good sir, in ane Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, But to his utmost would befriend Ought that belang'd t'ye. [The gentleman to whom this epistle is addressed was a worthy minister in the west of Scotland, who believed and preached the New Light and it was written as an envelope to "Holy Willie's Prayer," of which it seems this reverend person had requested a copy. He was, at that time, enjoying the appointment of assistant and successor to the Rev. Peter Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton. He was an excellent preacher and a decided moderate. He enjoyed the friendship of the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, and of Burns; but unhappily fell into low spirits, in consequence of his dependant situation, and either resigned his charge or was deposed. After being for some time tutor to a family in the Western Isles, this unfortunate man ultimately enlisted as a common soldier.-ED.] To a Mouse,* ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, Wi' bickering brattle! I'm truly sorry man's dominion Which maks thee startle I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker† in a thrave 's a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's' winds ensuin', Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, "Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. † An ear of corn, occasionally. |