And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him;
And self-conceited critic skellum 1

His quill may draw;

mother

brood

hooded-crow

grinning

talking fellow

He wha could brawlie ward their bellum —
Willie's awa'!

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, winding And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,

And Ettrick banks now roaring red,

While tempests blaw;

But every joy and pleasure's fled-
Willie's awa'!

May I be Slander's common speech,
A text for infamy to preach,

And lastly, streekit out to bleach
In winter snaw,

When I forget thee, Willie Creech,
Though far awa'!

1 A term of contempt:

"She tauld thee weel, thou was a skellum."

stretched

Tam O'Shanter.

May never wicked Fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem

He canty claw!

teaze

cheerfully scratch

Then to the blessèd New Jerusalem
Fleet wing awa'!

ON INCIVILITY SHEWN HIM AT

INVERARY.

The Duke of Argyle had an overabundance of guests in the castle, and the innkeeper at Inverary was too much occupied with the surplus to have any attention to spare for passing travellers. Hereupon Burns penned an epigram, which it is to be supposed he left inscribed on one of the windows. We must regret this as a discourtesy towards a most respectable nobleman the more so, as the names of the Duke and Duchess of Argyle stand at the head of the subscription for his Poems.

WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here,

I pity much his case,

Unless he come to wait upon

The Lord their God—his Grace.

There's naething here but Highland pride,

And Highland scab and hunger; If Providence has sent me here, 'Twas surely in an anger.

COMPOSED ON LEAVING A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS WHERE HE HAD BEEN KINDLY ENTERTAINED.

WHEN Death's dark stream I ferry o'er-
A time that surely shall come
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more,
Than just a Highland welcome!

ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER

THE DEATH OF JOHN MLEOD, Esq.,

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.

SAD thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms:

Death tears the brother of her love

From Isabella's arms.

Sweetly decked with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow,
But cold successive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smiled,

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Succeeding hopes beguiled.

Fate oft tears the bosom cords
That nature finest strung;
So Isabella's heart was formed,
And so that heart was wrung.

Were it in the poet's power,
Strong as he shares the grief
That pierces Isabella's heart,
To give that heart relief!

Dread Omnipotence alone

Can heal the wound he gave,
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes
To scenes beyond the grave.

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,
And fear no withering blast;
There Isabella's spotless worth
Shall happy be at last.

1010

ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR.

Sir James was an Ayrshire squire, and a member of the banking-house of Sir William Forbes and Company; a public-spirited citizen and magistrate of Edinburgh, and an amiable man. He had been one of Burns's kindest patrons when the poet first came to town, feeling, doubtless, a particular interest in his fortunes on account of his Ayrshire nativity.

THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,

Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave; The inconstant blast howled through the darkening air,

And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.

Lone as I wandered by each cliff and dell,

Once the loved haunts of Scotia's royal train;1 Or mused where limpid streams once hallowed well,2

8

Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred fane; 3

The increasing blast roared round the beetling rocks,

The clouds, swift-winged, flew o'er the starry

sky,

1 The King's Park, at Holyrood House.

2 St. Anthony's Well.

3 St. Anthony's Chapel.