POEMS. EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER.* In this strange land, this uncouth clime, A land that prose did never view it, I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, I hear it-for in vain I leuk. And aye a westlin leuk she throws, While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose! * This epistle is dated June, 1788, and is addressed to Mr Hugh Parker, Merchant, Kilmarnock, one of Burns' earliest friends and patrons. It is honourable to the memory of Mr Parker, that he subscribed for thirty copies of the poet's works when he first brought them out at the Kilmarnock press.-M. 2 Was it for this, wi' canny care, Thou bure the Bard through many a shire? But till we meet and weet our whistle, Tak this excuse for nae epistle. ROBERT BURNS. THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE,* TO ROBERT BURNS. February, 1787. My canty, witty, rhyming ploughman, I hafllins doubt, it is na true, man, That ye between the stilts were bred, Wi' ploughmen school'd, wi' ploughmen fed. *The guidwife of Wauchope-house was the late talented Mrs Scott of Wauchope.-M. |