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THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON.

As cauld a wind as ever blew,
A caulder kirk, and in't but few;
As cauld a minister's e'er spak,
Ye'se a' be het1 ere I come back.

TO MISS C.-WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF ONE OF
MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS.

THOU flattering mark of friendship kind,
Still may thy pages call to mind

The dear, the beauteous donor:
Though sweetly female every part,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the sexes honour.
She showed her taste refined and just
When she selected thee,

Yet deviating, own I must,

For so approving me.

But kind still, I'll mind still

The giver in the gift;

I'll bless her and wiss her

A Friend above the Lift.2

INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET.

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

The man and his wine sae bewitching!

THE BOOK-WORMS.3

THROUGH and through the inspired leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But, oh! respect his Lordship's taste,
And spare his golden bindings.

1 Hot.

2 Sky.

3 Suggested by a splendidly bound, but worm-eaten copy of Shakspeare.

ON ROBERT RIDDEL.

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

WILLIE CHALMERS.1

Wr' braw new branks in mickle pride,
And eke a braw new brechan,2
My Pegasus I'm got astride,

And up Parnassus pechin;3

Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush,
The doited beastie stammers;
Then up he gets, and off he sets,
For sake o' Willie Chalmers.

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name
May cost a pair o' blushes;

I am nae stranger to your fame,
Nor his warm-urged wishes.
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet,

His honest heart enamours,
And, faith, ye'll no be lost a whit,

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers.

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair,
And Honour safely back her,
And Modesty assume your air,
And ne'er a ane mistak her:
And sic twa love-inspiring een
Might fire even holy Palmers;
Nae wonder then they've fatal been
To honest Willie Chalmers.

I doubt nae fortune may you shore
Some mim-mou'd' pouthered priestie;
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore,

And band upon his breastie:

1 Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows.-R. B.

2 With new bridle and collar. 3 Panting. 4 Gentle-mouthed.

But oh! what signifies to you,
His lexicons and grammars;
The feeling heart's the royal blue,
And that's wi' Willie Chalmers.

Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird
May warsle for your favour;
May claw his lug, and straik his beard,
And hoast up some palaver;
My bonny maid, before ye wed
Sic clumsy-witted hammers,

Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp
Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers.

Forgive the Bard! my fond regard,
For ane that shares my bosom,
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues,
For deil a hair I roose1 him.
May powers aboon unite you soon,
And fructify your amours,-
And every year come in mair dear
you and Willie Chalmers.

To

TO JOHN TAYLOR.2

WITH Pegasus upon a day,
Apollo, weary flying,-

Through frosty hills the journey lay,
On foot the way was plying.

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus
Was but a sorry walker;
To Vulcan then Apollo goes,
To get a frosty calker.

Obliging Vulcan fell to work,

Threw by his coat and bonnet,
And did Sol's business in a crack;
Sol paid him with a sonnet.

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead,
Pity my sad disaster;

My Pegasus is poorly shod

I'll

pay you

like my master.

1 Praise.

2 Burns, during one of his excise journeys, on a winter day, found it necessary to get his horse's shoes "roughed." The blacksmith was ver busy; and the Poet sought Mr. Taylor's influence in obtaining his aid.

R

LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE.

The following verses, in the hand-writing of Burns, were copied from a bank-note, in the possession of Mr. James F. Gracie, of Dumfries. The note is of the Bank of Scotland, and is dated on the 1st of March, 1780.

WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief!
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass!
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass.
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction.
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile,
Amid his hapless victim's spoil,
And for thy potence vainly wish'd,
To crush the villain in the dust.

For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.

BURNS-EXTEMPORE.

YE true 'Loyal Natives," attend to my song,
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long;
From envy and hatred your corps is exempt:
But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ?

REMORSE.2

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

That to our folly, or our guilt, we owe.

1 The political fever ran high in 1794, and a member of a club at Dumfries, called the Loyal Natives, in a violent paroxysm, produced some verses to which Burns gave the extempore reply.

2 I entirely agree with that judicious philosopher, Mr. Smith, in his excellent "Theory of Moral Sentiments," that remorse is the most painful sentiment that can embitter the human bosom. Any ordinary pitch of fortitude may bear up tolerably well under those calamities in the procurement of which we ourselves have had no hand; but when our own follies or crimes have made us miserable and wretched, to bear up with manly firmness, and at the same time have a proper penitential sense of our misconduct, is a, glorious effort of self-command.-R. B.

In every other circumstance, the mind
Has this to say-" It was no deed of mine;".
But when to all the evil of misfortune

This sting is added-" Blame thy foolish self!"
Or worser far, the pangs of keen Remorse;
The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt-
Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others;
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us;
Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin!
O burning hell! in all thy store of torments,
There's not a keener lash!

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,
Can reason down its agonizing throbs;
And, after proper purpose of amendment,
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?
O, happy! happy! enviable man!
O glorious magnanimity of soul!

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66

'IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE."

IN vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer,
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear;
Above that world on wings of love I rise,

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I know its worst-and do that worst despise.
Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd, unpitied, unredrest,—
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest,"
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall,
Clarinda, rich reward! o'erpays them all!

1 A proverb for a drinker.

2 Climb.

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