He tald mysel by word o' mouth,

He'd tak my letter ;

I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth,

And bade nae better.

But aiblins honest Master Heron*

Had at the time some dainty fair one,
To ware his theologic care on,

And holy study;

And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on,
E'en tried the body.

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,
I'm turn'd a gauger-Peace be here!
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear,

Ye'll now disdain me,

And then my fifty pounds a year

Will little gain me.

Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,

That strang necessity supreme is

’Mang sons o’ men.

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies,

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is,
I needna vaunt,

But I'll sned besoms-thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.

Lord, help me through this warld o' care!

Mr Robert Heron, author of the History of Scotland, and of various other works.

Not but I hae a richer share

Than monie ithers;

But why should ae man better fare,

And a' men brithers?

Come, Firm Resolve, tak thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!

And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair;

Wha does the utmost that he can,

Will whyles do mair.

But to conclude my silly rhyme,
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,)

To mak a happy fire-side clime

To weans and wife,

That's the true pathos and sublime

Of human life.

My compliments to sister Beckie,
And eke the same to honest Lucky;

I wat she is a dainty chuckie

As e'er tread clay!

And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,

I'm yours for aye.

ROBERT BURNS.

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND, ON NEW YEAR'S

DAY EVENING.

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the pity;
Tho', by the bye, abroad why will you roam?
Good sense and taste are natives here at home:

But not for panegyric I appear,

I come to wish you all a good new-year!
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story :
The sage, grave ancient, cough'd, and bade me say,
"You're one year older this important day."
If wiser too-he hinted some suggestion,

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
He bade me on you press this one word-"think!"

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush'd with hope and spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, the dotard has a deal to say,

To you

In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way!

He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
That the first blow is ever half the battle;

That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him;
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by persevering.

Last, though not least in love, ye youthful fair,
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care!
Το you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,
And humbly begs you'll mind the important—now!
To crown your happiness he asks your leave,
And offers bliss to give and to receive.

For our sincere, though haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours ; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD.

O SWEET be thy sleep in the land of the grave,

My dear little angel, for ever;

For ever,-O no! let not man be a slave,

His hopes from existence to sever.

Though cold be the clay, where thou pillow'st thy head,

In the dark silent mansions of sorrow,

The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed,
Like the beam of the day star to-morrow.

The flower stem shall bloom like my sweet seraph fair,

Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom,

When thou shrunk frae the scoul of the loud winter storm,

And nestled thee close to that bosom.

O still I behold thee, all lovely in death,
Reclined on the lap of thy mother,

When the tear trickled bright, when the short stifled breath,
Told how dear ye were aye to each other.

My child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest,

Where suffering no longer can harm ye,

Where the songs of the good, where the hymns of the blest, Through an endless existence shall charm thee.

While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojourn,
Through the dire desert regions of sorrow,
O'er the hope and misfortune of being to mourn,
And sigh for this life's latest morrow.

GUDE pity me, because I'm little,
For though I am an elf o' mettle,
And can like ony wabster's shuttle,
Jink there or here;

Yet scarce as lang's a guid kail whittle,
I'm unco queer.

And now thou kens our wofu' case,
For Geordie's Jurr* we're in disgrace,
Because we stang'd her through the place,
And hurt her spleuchan

For which we daurna show our face

Within the clachan.

And now we're darn'd in dens and hollows
And hunted, as was William Wallace,
Wi' constables, these blackguard fallows,
And sogers baith ;

*"For Geordie's Jurr," &c.- Jurr' is in the west of Scotland a colloquial term for 'journeyman,' and is often applied to designate a servant of either sex. The circumstances here alluded to were as follows:-A certain Mauchline innkeeper, named George, had a female servant who committed a faux paux with one of her master's 'gude customers,' which brought her into such odium in the village, that a number of reckless young persons, among whom Adam A. an ill-made little fellow, was a ringleader, violently 'rade the stang' upon her; that is, placed her astride upon a rantletree, or other wooden pole, and in this plight carried her through the town, by which means she sustained much personal skaith as well as scorn. The girl's master and mistress highly resented this lawless outrage, and raised an action at law against the principals, which occasioned Adam A to abscond. While skulking under hiding, Burns met him, and knowing his situation, said, "Adam, puir fallow, ye wad need somebody to pray for you;" to which Adam rejoined, "Just do't yoursel', Burns." The above poem was the result: it bears unquestionable marks of the characteristic genius of Burns, although it can by no means be reckoned among his happiest efforts.-M.