VERSES TO MISS GRAHAM OF FINTRY,

WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS.

HERE, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd,
Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives,
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.

So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast,
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among;
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest,
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song :

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears,

As modest want the tale of wo reveals :
While conscious virtue all the strain endears,
And heaven-born piety her sanction seals.

A VERSE

COMPOSED AND REPEATED BY BURNS, TO THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE ON TAKING LEAVE AT A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS, WHERE HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY 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 SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD

GALLOWAY.

WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair?

Flit, Galloway, and find

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave,

The picture of thy mind!

ON THE SAME.

No Stewart art thou Galloway,
The Stewarts all were brave;
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools,
Not one of them a knave.

ON THE SAME.

BRIGHT ran thy line, O Galloway,
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire!
So ran the far-fam'd Roman way
So ended in a mire.

TO THE SAME,

ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT.

SPARE me thy vengeance, Galloway,

In quiet let me live :

I ask no kindness at thy hand,

For thou hast none to give.

VERSES

WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH, MARCH 19th, 1787.

CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd,
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure
O thou my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the muses,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ?*

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.

We cam' na here to view your warks,
In hopes to be mair wise,

But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise :

*This apostrophe to Fergusson bears a striking affinity to one in the epistle to Mr Simpson.

O Fergusson! thy glorious parts

Ill suited law's dry musty arts!

My curse upon your whunstane hearts,

Ye E'nbrugh gentry!

The tythe o' what ye waste at Cartes

Wad stow'd his pantry!

This was written before Burns visited the Scottish capital. Even without a poet's susceptibility we may feel how this prophetic parallel of Fergusson's case with his own must have pressed on the memory of our bard, when he paid this second tribute of affection to his elder brother in misfortune. M.

But whan we tirled at your door,

Your porter dought na hear us;

Sae may, should we to hell's yetts come,
Your billy Satan sair us!*

VERSES

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS,

PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED.

ONCE fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear,
Sweet early object of my youthful vows,
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere ;
Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.

And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more,
Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes,

Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar.

* Burns, it would appear, had gone to Carron on a Sunday, and given in an assumed name for permission to see the Works. The following lines, in answer to the foregoing, were written by Mr Benson, one of the clerks there.

If you came here to see our works,
You should have been more civil,

Than to give a fictitious name,
In hopes to cheat the Devil.

Six days a week to you and all
We think it very well;

The other, if you go to church,
May keep you out of hell.

M.

VERSES

ADDRESSED TO THE LANDLADY OF THE INN AT ROSLIN.

My blessings on you, sonsy wife ;

I ne'er was here before ;

You've gi'en us walth for horn and knife,

Nae heart could wish for more.

Heaven keep you free frae care and strife,

Till far ayont fourscore;

And while I toddle on thro' life,

I'll ne'er gang by your door.

ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN AT TABLE

WHO KEPT BOASTING OF THE COMPANY HE KEPT.

WHAT of lords with whom you have supp❜d,
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen!
A louse, sir, is still but a louse,

Tho' it crawl on the locks of a queen.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF THE CELEBRATED

MISS BURNS.

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing;

Lovely Burns has charms-confess!
True it is, she has one failing-

Had a woman ever less?*

The Miss Burns of these lines was more notorious than reputable in Edinburgh at the period when Burns first visited that city.-M.