Robert Burns

Tune - "Laddie, lie near me." I. 'Twas na her bonnie blue een was my ruin;

Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,

Expect na, Sir, in this narration, A fleechin', fleth'rin dedication, To roose you up, an' ca' you guid,

"Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason; But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason." On reading, in the public papers, the "Laureate's Ode," with the other parade of June 4th, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee; and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following "Address."

Tune - "John Anderson my jo." One night as I did wander, When corn begins to shoot,

O thou, who kindly dost provide For every creature's want! We bless thee, God of Nature wide,

O thou in whom we live and move, Who mad'st the sea and shore, Thy goodness constantly we prove,

Lord, we thank and thee adore, For temp'ral gifts we little merit; At present we will ask no more,

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart; And with him all the joys are fled

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear? In whose dread presence, ere an hour

O Thou Great Being! what Thou art Surpasses me to know; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee

Tune - "Graham's Strathspey." I. O, my luve's like a red, red rose,

Tune - "The Rose-bud." I. A rose-bud by my early walk,

As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower

"Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are That bide the pelting of the pitiless storm! How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors; Lord grant mae duddie desperate beggar,

Thou's welcome, wean, mischanter fa' me, If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, Shall ever daunton me, or awe me,

I. Edina! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,

"O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, That led th' embattled Seraphim to war." Milton

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood,

My curse upon thy venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang; And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,

"My son, these maxims make a rule, And lump them ay thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool,

Tune - "Where'll bonnie Ann lie." I. O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay!

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever, A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,

I. Adown winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;

Tune - "Rory Dall's Port." I. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;

Tune - "Major Graham." I. Ah, Chloris, since it may na be,

Tune - "The King of France, he rade a race." I. Amang the trees, where humming bees

Tune - "Bonnie Mary." Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, And waste my soul with care;

What ails ye now, ye lousie b----h, To thresh my back at sic a pitch? Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch,

Tune - "Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh." I. As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin',

I. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'?

I. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men;

I. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;

Tune - "The Killogie." I. Bannocks o' bear meal,

Tune - "Oran-gaoil." I. Behold the hour, the boat arrive;

Tune - "The sweet lass that lo'es me." I. O leeze me on my spinning-wheel,

Tune - "Ye gallants bright." I. Ye gallants bright, I red ye right,

Tune - "Andro and his cutty gun." Chorus. Blithe, blithe and merry was she,

Tune - "On a bank of flowers." I. On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

Tune - "Liggeram Cosh." I. Blythe hae I been on yon hill

I. There was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen,

Tune - "The birks of Aberfeldy." Chorus. Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

I. O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she ga'ed o'er the border?

I. As I came in by our gate end, As day was waxin' weary,

Tune - "Braes o' Balquihidder." Chorus. I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

Tune - "Neil Gow's Lamentations for Abercairny." I. Where, braving angry winter's storms,

Tune - "Galla Water." Chorus. Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;

Tune - "Hey, tuttie taitie." I. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,

Tune - "The winter of life." I. But lately seen in gladsome green,

I. By Allan stream I chanced to rove While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;

Tune - "Ca' the ewes to the knowes." Chorus Ca' the ewes to the knowes,

I. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them whare the heather growes,

Tune - "Humours of Glen." I. Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,

Tune - "Caledonian Hunt's Delight." I. There was once a day - but old Time then was young -

Tune - "Roy's Wife." I. Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?

I. Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green, An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring;

Air - "Daintie Davie." I. It was the charming month of May,

Air - "My lodging is on the cold ground." I. My Chloris, mark how green the groves,

Tune - "Caledonian Hunt's Delight." I. Why, why tell thy lover,

Tune - "Cock up your beaver." I. When first my brave Johnnie lad

Tune - "O'er the water to Charlie." I. Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,

Tune - "Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad." Chorus. O whistle, and I'll come

Air - "Cauld Kail." I. Come, let me take thee to my breast,

Tune - "Coming through the rye." I. Coming through the rye, poor body,

Tune - "Lumps o' Pudding." I. Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,

Tune - "The Country Lass." I. In simmer, when the hay was mawn,

I. Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, And blithe awakes the morrow;

I. Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers;

Some books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn'd: Ev'n ministers, they ha'e been kenn'd,

Fair the face of orient day, Fair the tints of op'ning rose, But fairer still my Delia dawns,

I. Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle fair can give thee,

I. Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear,

I. Duncan Gray cam here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize As Burnet, lovely from her native skies; Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,

Now Robin lies in his last lair, He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare,

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, E'en let them die, for that they're born, But oh! prodigious to reflec'!

Tune - "Gilderoy." I. From thee, Eliza, I must go,

From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, Where infamy with sad repentance dwells; Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast,

I. I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you,

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, A land unknown to prose or rhyme; Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles,

O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine, The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin'! There's monie godly folks are thinkin',

Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly To every fiddling, rhyming billie,

Fintray, my stay in worldly strife, Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, Are ye as idle's I am?

Selkirk, 13 May, 1787. Auld chukie Reekie's[1] sair distrest, Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest,

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Takes up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way,

Ye maggots, feast on Nicol's brain, For few sic feasts ye've gotten; And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,

Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, And empty all his barrels: He's blest, if, as he brew'd, he drink,

Tune - "My Eppie." I. An' O! my Eppie,

Lord Advocate. He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, He quoted and he hinted,

If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, Your speed will outrival the dart: But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road

A Gaelic Air. I. Turn again, thou fair Eliza,

Tune - "Saw ye my father?" I. Where are the joys I have met in the morning,

Tune - "Rothemurche." I. Fairest maid on Devon banks,

Air - "Nancy's to the greenwood gane." I. Farewell, thou stream that winding flows

I. While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, And bar the doors wi' driving snaw,

When Nature her great master-piece designed, And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,

Tune - "Whistle o'er the lave o't." I. First when Maggy was my care,

Tune - "Afton Water." I. Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,

The poor man weeps, here Gavin sleeps, Whom canting wretches blam'd: But with such as he, where'er he be,

Tune - "Let me in this ae night." I. Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,

Air - "Carron Side." I. Frae the friends and land I love,

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite; How virtue and vice blend their black and their white; How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction,

I. There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, That wander thro' the blooming heather;

Tune - "Gudewife count the lawin." I. Gane is the day, and mirk's the night,

Tune - "Wandering Willie." I. Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!

I. Gudeen to you, Kimmer, And how do ye do?

Tune - "Robin Adair." I. Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,

Tune - "Had I the wyte she bade me." I. Had I the wyte, had I the wyte,

"Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, The simple pleasures of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart,

Tune. - "I am a man unmarried." I. O once I lov'd a bonnie lass,

Tune - "The Highland Balou." I. Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald,

Tune - "Jumpin' John." I. Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad;

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to cling,

Tune - "Banks of Cree." I. Here is the glen, and here the bower,

Here's a bottle and an honest friend! What wad you wish for mair, man? Wha kens before his life may end,

Tune - "Here's a health to them that's awa." I. Here's a health to them that's awa,

Tune - "The job of journey-work." Altho' my back be at the wa', An' tho' he be the fautor;

Tune - "Laggan Burn." I. Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass,

Tune - "Balinamona Ora." I. Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,

Tune - "The Dusty Miller." I. Hey, the dusty miller,

Tune - "Katherine Ogie." I. Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

"And send the godly in a pet to pray." Pope. O thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell,

Tune - "The bonnie lad that's far awa." I. O how can I be blythe and glad,

Tune - "John Anderson, my jo." I. How cruel are the parents

Tune - "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." I. How lang and dreary is the night,

To a Gaelic air. I. How long and dreary is the night

Tune - "Jo Janet." I. Husband, husband, cease your strife,

Tune - "I'm o'er young to marry yet." I. I am my mammy's ae bairn,

Tune - "I do confess thou art sae fair." I. I do confess thou art sae fair,

I. I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam;

Air - "The blue-eyed lass." I. I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,

I. I murder hate by field or flood, Tho' glory's name may screen us:

Tune - "I'll gae nae mair to yon town." I. I'll ay ca' in by yon town,

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd, What have I done of all the year,

Fair maid, you need not take the hint, Nor idle texts pursue:- 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,

You're welcome, Willie Stewart, You're welcome, Willie Stewart; There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May,

There's death in the cup, sae beware! Nay, more, there is danger in touching; But wha can avoid the fell snare?

Here lies ROBERT FERGUSSON, Poet. Born, September 5, 1751;

Tune - "For a' that, and a' that." I. Is there, for honest poverty,

Tune - "The Maid's Complaint." I. It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face,

Tune - "Jamy, come try me." Chorus. Jamie, come try me,

I. True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,

Talk not to me of savages From Afric's burning sun, No savage e'er could rend my heart

Tune - "Here's a health to them that's awa." I. Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;

Tune - "Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss." I. Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss,

Tune - "John Anderson, my jo." I. "John Anderson, my jo, John,

I. There were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high;

Tune - "Craigtown's growing." I. O, Lady Mary Ann

Tune - "The Ruffian's Rant." I. A' the lads o' Thornie-bank,

I. The wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam

I. Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree,

"Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself! And sweet affection prove the spring of woe." Home.

Tune - "Hey tutti, taiti." I. Landlady, count the lawin,

Tune - "Rothemurche's Rant." I. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,

Tune - "The Lothian Lassie." I. Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,

Tune - "Duncan Gray." I. Let not woman e'er complain

Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, How's a' the folk about Glenconner? How do you this blae eastlin wind,

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, Thee, fam'd for martial deed and sacred song, To thee I turn with swimming eyes;

Whose is that noble dauntless brow? And whose that eye of fire? And whose that generous princely mien,

This wot ye all whom it concerns, I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third,

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief Of Moses and his rod; At Yarico's sweet notes of grief

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd, And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd; But now unroof'd their palace stands,

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, To thee this votive offering I impart,

He who of Rankine sang lies stiff and dead, And a green grassy hillock hides his head; Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed.

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf, Fell source o' a' my woe an' grief; For lack o' thee I've lost my lass,

The greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, Give me with gay Folly to live; I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hearing; What are you, landlords' rent-rolls? teasing ledgers:

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railings, Lovely Burns has charms, confess: True it is, she had one failing,

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way, The fumes of wine infuriate send; (Not moony madness more astray;)

I. O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride!

I. O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar;

Tune - "Louis, what reck I by thee." I. Louis, what reck I by thee,

Tune - "Miss Muir." I. O how shall I, unskilfu', try

Tune - "Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart." I. O lovely Polly Stewart!

O raging fortune's withering blast Has laid my leaf full low, O! O raging fortune's withering blast

I. O thou dread Power, who reign'st above! I know thou wilt me hear,

Tune - "M'Pherson's Rant." I. Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,

When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One ev'ning as I wandered forth

Tune - "Deil tak the wars." I. Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion

Tune - "Bide ye yet." I. O Mary, at thy window be,

Tune - "Blue Bonnets." I. Powers celestial! whose protection

Air - "Hey! bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack?" I. O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?

Tune - "My tocher's the jewel." I. O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty,

Tune. - "Johnny's grey breeks." I. Again rejoicing nature sees

Tune - "Lord Breadalbone's March." I. O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle,

How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd! How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired,

Tune - "Galla-Water." I. Altho' my bed were in yon muir,

Tune - "Druimion dubh." I. Musing on the roaring ocean,

I. When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;

Tune - "Go fetch to me a pint o' wine." I. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,

Tune - "The Collier Laddie." I. Where live ye, my bonnie lass?

Tune - "The Weaver and his Shuttle, O." I. My father was a farmer

Tune - "Highland's Lament." I. My Harry was a gallant gay,

Tune - "Tam Glen." I. My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie!

Tune - "To the weavers gin ye go." I. My heart was ance as blythe and free

Tune - "Failte na Miosg." I. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

Tune - "What will I do gin my Hoggie die?" What will I do gin my Hoggie die? My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!

Tune - "The Northern Lass." Though cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and line,

Tune - "Gregg's Pipes." I. My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't,

Tune - "Lady Bandinscoth's Reel." I. My love she's but a lassie yet,

Tune - "There'll never be peace." I. Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,

Tune - "My Peggy's Face." I. My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,

Tune - "Naebody." I. I hae a wife o' my ain,

I. Thine am I, my faithful fair, Thine, my lovely Nancy;

Tune - "My Nannie, O." I. Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows,

"Great nature spoke, observant man obey'd." Pope. Let other heroes boast their scars,

I. The noble Maxwells and their powers Are coming o'er the border,

I. Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers:

Tune - "My wife she dang me." I. O ay my wife she dang me,

I. O Bonnie was yon rosy brier, That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man,

I. O gude ale comes, and gude ale goes, Gude ale gars me sell my hose,

Tune - "O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie." I. O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!

Tune - "Let me in this ae night." I. O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet,

Tune - "Cordwainer's March." I. O lay thy loof in mine, lass,

Tune - "Mauchline belles." I. O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles,

Tune - "The Posie." I. O luve will venture in

I. O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's modest and discreet,

Tune - "May, thy morn." I. O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet

Tune - "The Sow's Tail." He. O Philly, happy be that day,

Tune - "I had a horse." I. O poortith cauld, and restless love,

Tune - "Eppie Macnab." I. O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?

Tune - "O steer her up, and haud her gaun." I. O steer her up and haud her gaun -

O Tell Na Me O' Wind And Rain. I. O tell na me o' wind and rain,

Tune - "My love is lost to me." I. O, were I on Parnassus' hill!

Tune - "Morag." I. O wha is she that lo'es me,

Tune - "Bonnie Dundee." I. O, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock?

I. O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:

Tune - "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut." I. O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,

Tune - "The Moudiewort." Chorus. An O, for ane-and-twenty, Tam,

Tune - "I'll ay ca' in by yon town." Chorus. O, wat ye wha's in yon town,

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow-weeds appears,

Tune - "Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." I. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,

Tune - "Lass o' Livistone." I. Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast,

Here souter Hood in death does sleep; To h--ll, if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,

Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, With grateful lifted eyes, Who said that not the soul alone

An honest man here lies at rest As e'er God with his image blest! The friend of man, the friend of truth;

As father Adam first was fool'd, A case that's still too common, Here lies a man a woman rul'd,

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes: O Death, it's my opinion, Thou ne'er took such a blethrin' b--ch

Light lay the earth on Willy's breast, His chicken-heart so tender; But build a castle on his head,

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd; If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.

Here lie Willie Michie's banes; O, Satan! when ye tak' him, Gi' him the schoolin' o' your weans,

A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, A' ye wha live and never think,

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, Planted by Satan's dibble, Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel'

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', He aften did assist ye; For had ye staid whole weeks awa,

The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning,

Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's; If there's a hole in a' your coats,

"Should the poor be flattered?" Shakspeare. But now his radiant course is run,

Tune - "If he be a butcher neat and trim." I. On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;

Tune - "Ay wakin', O." I. Long, long the night,

O thou, whom poesy abhors, Whom prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan? proceed no further;

Here lies John Bushby, honest man! Cheat him, Devil, gin ye can.

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon; What was his religion? Wha e'er desires to ken,

Oh! had each Scot of ancient times, Been Jeany Scott, as thou art, The bravest heart on English ground

Say, sages, what's the charm on earth Can turn Death's dart aside? It is not purity and worth,

Know thou, O stranger to the fame Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name! (For none that knew him need be told)

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love

To Riddel, much-lamented man, This ivied cot was dear; Reader, dost value matchless worth?

Why, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? Tell me, fellow-creatures, why

Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,

Sweet naivet' of feature, Simple, wild, enchanting elf, Not to thee, but thanks to nature,

What dost thou in that mansion fair? Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave,

Sensibility how charming, Thou, my friend, canst truly tell: But distress with horrors arming,

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,

Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, And ward o' mony a pray'r, What heart o' stane wad thou na move,

Thou flattering work of friendship kind, Still may thy pages call to mind The dear, the beauteous donor;

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now half extinct your powers of song,

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains,

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave; Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air,

But rarely seen since Nature's birth, The natives of the sky; Yet still one seraph's left on earth,

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well, In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her,

O Death, hadst thou but spared his life, Whom we this day lament, We freely wad exchang'd the wife,

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, Thro' many a far-fam'd sire! So ran the far-fam'd Roman way,

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, The Stewarts all were brave; Besides, the Stewarts were but fools,

Tune - "O'er the hills," &c. I. How can my poor heart be glad,

Sic a reptile was Wat, Sic a miscreant slave, That the very worms damn'd him

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, That death has murder'd Johnny! An' here his body lies fu' low

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came, The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same; His bristling beard just rising in its might,

I. Oh, open the door, some pity to show, Oh, open the door to me, Oh![1]

Tune - "Awa Whigs, awa." Chorus. Awa Whigs, awa!

Tune - "Charlie Gordon's welcome hame." I. Out over the Forth I look to the north,

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, As ever trode on airn; But now she's floating down the Nith,

Tune - "Cauld is the e'enin blast." I. Cauld is the e'enin' blast

I. Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather;

Tune - "Robin Adair." I. While larks with little wing

My honoured colonel, deep I feel Your interest in the Poet's weal; Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel

Hail Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal; Alake, alake, the meikle deil

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, Of Stuart, a name once respected, A name, which to love, was once mark of a true heart,

Thou of an independent mind, With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Our bardie's fate is at a close,

Lord, pity me, for I am little, An elf of mischief and of mettle, That can like ony wabster's shuttle,

When by a generous Public's kind acclaim, That dearest meed is granted, honest fame; When here your favour is the actor's lot,

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-by, abroad why will you roam?

Tune - "Rattlin', roarin' Willie." I. O rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Tune - "Macgregor of Rura's Lament." I. Raving winds around her blowing,

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, Beyond comparison the worst are those

I. Robin shure in hairst, I shure wi' him,

Tune - "Daintie Davie." I. There was a lad was born in Kyle,

Tune - "Dalkeith Maiden Bridge." I. O, sad and heavy should I part,

Tune - "When she came ben she bobbit." I. O saw ye my dear, my Phely?

"Gie him strong drink, until he wink, That's sinking in despair; An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, How this new play an' that new sang is comin'? Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?

AULD NIBOR, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter;

Tune - "Onagh's Waterfall." I. Sae flaxen were her ringlets,

Tune - "She's fair and fause." I. She's fair and fause that causes my smart,

Tune - "Ay waukin o'." I. Simmer's a pleasant time,

A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, And still his precious self his dear delight; Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets

This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, To run the twelvemonth's length again: I see the old, bald-pated follow,

Tune - "For the sake of somebody." I. My heart is sair, I dare na tell

Air - "Oran an Aoig." Scene - A field of battle. Time of the day, evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following song: I.

No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more! Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul; Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole,

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain: See, aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,

Searching auld wives' barrels, Och, hon! the day! That clarty barm should stain my laurels;

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? How I so found it full of pleasing charms? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between:

Tune - "An Gille dubh ciar dhubh." I. Stay, my charmer, can you leave me?

Tune - "Morag." I. Streams that glide in orient plains,

Tune. - "A parcel of rogues in a nation." I. Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,

Tune - "Craigie-burn-wood." Chorus. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,

"Of brownys and of bogilis full is this buke." Gawin Douglas When chapman billies leave the street,

"An honest man's the noblest work of God." Pope. Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?

As Tam the Chapman on a day, Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, Weel pleas'd he greets a wight so famous,

I. When Guildford good our pilot stood, And did our hellim thraw, man,

A guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there's a rip to thy auld baggie: Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie,

'Dearest of distillation! last and best!---- ------How art thou lost!--------' Parody On Milton

Tune - "The deuks dang o'er my daddie." I. The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,

Tune - "Caledonian Hunt's Delight." I. Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

I. Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fair;

Tune - "Robie donna Gorach." I. The Thames flows proudly to the sea,

Tune. - "Bhannerach dhon na chri." I. How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,

Tune - "Cameronian Rant." I. "O cam ye here the fight to shun,

Tune - "To daunton me." I. The blude red rose at Yule may blaw,

Tune - "Bonnie wee thing." I. Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,

Through and through the inspir'd leaves, Ye maggots, make your windings; But oh! respect his lordship's taste,

Tune - "The Braes o' Ballochmyle." I. The Catrine woods were yellow seen,

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,

On his text, MALACHI, iv. 2 - "And ye shall go forth, and grow up as CALVES of the stall." Right, Sir! your text I'll prove it true, Though Heretics may laugh;

Tune - "O mount and go." Chorus. O mount and go,

Tune - "Salt-fish and dumplings." I. I coft a stane o' haslock woo',

Tune - "Kellyburn Braes." I. There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes,

Tune - "Hey ca' thro'." I. Up wi' the carles o' Dysart,

Tune - "Captain O'Kean." I. The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,

Tune - "Bab at the bowster." I. The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa,

"Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure: Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

In politics if thou would'st mix, And mean thy fortunes be; Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind;

Tune - "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's fly." I. No churchman am I for to rail and to write,

Tune - "Seventh of November." I. The day returns, my bosom burns,

I. Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, That Scot to Scot did carry;

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, Were ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,

Tune - "Push about the jorum." I. Does haughty Gaul invasion threat,

Tune - "The Deil cam' fiddling through the town." I. The deil cam' fiddling through the town,

Tune - "Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'." I. Adieu! a heart-warm, fond adieu!

"The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? Or what does he regard his single woes? But when, alas! he multiplies himself,

Tune - "It was a' for our rightfu' king." I. It was a' for our rightfu' king,

Tune - "Killiecrankie." I. O wha will to Saint Stephen's house,

The man, in life wherever plac'd, Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked's way,

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race! Whose strong right hand has ever been

Tune - Chevy Chase. There were five carlins in the south, They fell upon a scheme,

Tune - "The Weavers' March." I. Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,

Tune - "Roslin Castle." I. The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,

Tune - "Banks of Banna." I. Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife! Who has no will but by her high permission;

I. Whom will you send to London town, To Parliament and a' that?

I. Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, For there will be bickerin' there;

An Excellent New Song. Tune. "Buy broom besoms." Wha will buy my troggin,

Tune - "If thou'lt play me fair play." I. The bonniest lad that e'er I saw,

Tune - "The deuks dang o'er my daddy!" I. Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, A time that surely shall come; In Heaven itself I'll ask no more

I. Oh! I am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

A robe of seeming truth and trust Did crafty observation; And secret hung, with poison'd crust,

I. My Lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain;

Sir, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list, O' gudes, an' gear, an' a' my graith,

The King's most humble servant I, Can scarcely spare a minute; But I am yours at dinner-time,

Recitativo. When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,

Tune - "Maggy Lauder." I. I married with a scolding wife

As cauld a wind as ever blew, As caulder kirk, and in't but few; As cauld a minister's e'er spak,

I. Orthodox, orthodox, Who believe in John Knox,

Orthodox, orthodox, Wha believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:

The laddies by the banks o' Nith, Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie, But he'll sair them, as he sair'd the King,

Tune - "Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff." I. 'Twas even, the dewy fields were green,

Tune - "Jacky Latin." I. Gat ye me, O gat ye me,

Tune - "The lazy mist." I. The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,

The solemn League and Covenant Cost Scotland blood, cost Scotland tears; But it sealed freedom's sacred cause,

Tune - "Lass of Inverness." I. The lovely lass o' Inverness,

Tune - "Deil tak the Wars." I. Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature?

Tune - "I had a horse, I had nae mair." When first I came to Stewart Kyle, My mind it was nae steady;

"For sense they little owe to frugal heav'n, To please the mob they hide the little giv'n." Kilmarnock wabsters fidge an' claw,

That there is falsehood in his looks I must and will deny; They say their master is a knave,

Tune - "Up wi' the ploughman." I. The ploughman he's a bonnie lad,

Air - "The Mill, Mill, O." I. When wild war's deadly blast was blawn

I. O wha my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry?

Air - "Hughie Graham." I. O were my love yon lilac fair,

Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel All others' scorn, but damn that ass's heel.

Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name Shall no longer appear in the records of fame; Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible,

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings; While quacks of state must each produce his plan,

Tune - "Corn rigs are bonnie." I. It was upon a Lammas night,

Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat and we can eat,

Tune - "The Bonnie Bell." I. The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,

Tune - "Shawnboy." I. Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,

Tune - "The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'." I. The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a',

To a Highland Air. I. The tither morn,

What of earls with whom you have supt, And of dukes that you dined with yestreen? Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost! That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;

Fill me with the rosy-wine, Call a toast, a toast divine; Give the Poet's darling flame,

Ye true "Loyal Natives," attend to my song, In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; From envy or hatred your corps is exempt,

Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, Upon a bonnie day in June,

O a' ye pious godly flocks, Weel fed on pastures orthodox, Wha now will keep you frae the fox,

Duan First.[1] The sun had clos'd the winter day, The curlers quat their roaring play,

'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd, The noisy domicile of pedant pride; Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws,

Tune - "The weary Pund o' Tow." I. The weary pund, the weary pund,

I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth, I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king,

I. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing,

Tune - "Morag." I. Loud blaw the frosty breezes,

Tune. - "The Ruffian's Rant." I. In coming by the brig o' Dye,

I. There was a bonnie lass, And a bonnie, bonnie lass,

Tune - "Duncan Davison." I. There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,

Tune - "There art few gude fellows when Willie's awa." I. By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,

To a Gaelic Air. I. There's a youth in this city,

There's naethin like the honest nappy! Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy, Or women, sonsie, saft an' sappy,

Tune - "Green grow the rashes." Chorus. Green grow the rashes, O!

Tune - "Strathallan's Lament." I. Thickest night, surround my dwelling!

Tune - "This is no my ain house." I. O this is no my ain lassie,

Tune - "Fee him, father." I. Thou hast left me ever, Jamie!

Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill; Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me,

Tune - "Johnny M'Gill." I. O, Wilt thou go wi' me,

Tune--"Invercald's Reel." Chorus. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, And, faith, to me 'twas really new! How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, And Queen of Poetesses; Clarinda, take this little boon,

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie! Your impudence protects you sairly: I canna say by ye strunt rarely,

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Ellisland, Monday Evening. Your news and review, Sir, I've read through and through, Sir, With little admiring or blaming;

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, The measur'd time is run! The wretch beneath the dreary pole

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789. Wow, but your letter made me vauntie! And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?

Maxwell, if merit here you crave That merit I deny, You save fair Jessie from the grave,

Mossgiel, May 3, 1786. I. I hold it, Sir, my bounden duty,

I. You're welcome to despots, Dumourier; You're welcome to despots, Dumourier;

April 21st, 1785. While new-ca'd ky, rowte at the stake, An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,

Sept. 13th, 1785. Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny, Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonny;

April 1st, 1785. While briers an' woodbines budding green, An' paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en,

I am a keeper of the law In some sma' points, altho' not a'; Some people tell me gin I fa'

"Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! Sweet'ner of life and solder of society! I owe thee much!"

O Goudie! terror of the Whigs, Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,

Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you, And 'mang her favourites admit you! If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse E'er bring you in by Mauchline Cross, L--d, man, there's lasses there wad force

O, could I give thee India's wealth, As I this trifle send! Because thy joy in both would be

Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief! Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf

With Pegasus upon a day, Apollo weary flying, Through frosty hills the journey lay,

I. Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, And leave old Scotia's shore?

Tune - "Death of Captain Cook." I. Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,

Tune - "Could aught of song." I. Could aught of song declare my pains,

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, Blooming in thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r,

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, And with them take the Poet's prayer; That fate may in her fairest page,

Again the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driv'n, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime,

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, I trow it made me proud; See wha tak's notice o' the bard

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, And cook'ry the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,

O, had the malt thy strength of mind, Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind,

I mind it weel in early date, When I was beardless, young and blate, An' first could thresh the barn;

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg: Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest,

I call no goddess to inspire my strains, A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns; Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns,

I. All hail! inexorable lord! At whose destruction-breathing word,

Within your dear mansion may wayward contention Or withering envy ne'er enter: May secrecy round be the mystical bound,

Sept. 17th, 1785. While at the stook the shearers cow'r To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r,

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, In quiet let me live: I ask no kindness at thy hand,

I. To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,

May, 1785. I gat your letter, winsome Willie; Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie;

Tune - "Cold blows the wind." Chorus. Up in the morning's no for me,

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,

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives,

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, Was driving to the tither warl' A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,

We came na here to view your warks In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to hell,

Tune - "Wae is my heart." I. Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e;

I. Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;

I. Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;

Tune - "Duncan Gray." I. Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray,

Tune - "Lass an I come near thee." I. Wha is that at my bower door?

I. Whan I sleep I dream, Whan I wauk I'm eerie,

Tune - "Killiecrankie." I. Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?

Tune - "What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man." I. What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,

I. When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie;

Tune - "The lass that made the bed for me." I. When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,

Tune - "The gardener wi' his paidle." I. When rosy May comes in wi' flowers,

I. Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, And eke a braw new brechan,

Tune - "The eight men of Moidart." I. Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,

Air - "The Sutor's Dochter." I. Wilt thou be my dearie?

The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or the stormy north sends driving forth

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, I pity much his case, Unless he's come to wait upon

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live To see the miscreants feel the pains they give, Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose? Igo and ago, If he's amang his friends or foes?

Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deck'd in silken stole,

Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deck'd in silken stole,

Ask why God made the gem so small, And why so huge the granite? Because God meant mankind should set

Once fondly lov'd and still remember'd dear; Sweet early object of my youthful vows! Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,

Tune - "Ye Jacobites by name." I. Ye Jacobites by name, give and ear, give an ear;

Tune - "Yon wild mossy mountains." I. Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,

Tune - "The carlin o' the glen." I. Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain,

Tune - "Young Jockey." I. Young Jockey was the blythest lad

Tune - "Last time I cam o'er the muir." I. Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,