In vain auld age his body batters;
In vain the gout his ankles fetters;
In vain the burns cam' down like waters
An acre braid!

Now every auld wife, greetin', clatters
Tam Samson's dead!

Owre many a weary hag he limpit,
And aye the tither shot he thumpit,
Till coward Death behind him jumpit,
Wi' deadly feide;

Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet,
Tam Samson's dead!

When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reeled his wonted bottle-swagger,
But yet he drew the mortal trigger
Wi' weel-aimed heed;
"L—, five!" he cried, and owre did stagger
Tam Samson's dead!

66

Ilk hoary hunter mourned a brither;
Ilk sportsman youth bemoaned a father;
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather,
Marks out his head,

Where Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether,
Tam Samson's dead!

There low he lies, in lasting rest;
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest,
To hatch and breed;

Alas! nae mair he 'll them molest!

Tam Samson's dead!

When August winds the heather wave,
And sportsmen wander by yon grave,
Three volleys let his memory crave
O' pouther and lead,

Till Echo answer frae her cave,

Tam Samson's dead!

Heaven rest his saul, where'er he be !
Is th' wish o' monie mae than me;
He had twa fauts, or maybe three,
Yet what remead?

Ae social, honest man want we:
Tam Samson 's dead!

EPITAPH.

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies,
Ye canting zealots spare him;

If honest worth in heaven rise,
Ye'll mend or ye win near him.

PER CONTRA.

Go, Fame, and canter like a fillie
Through a' the streets and neuks o' Killie;
Tell every social, honest billie

To cease his grievin',

For yet, unskaithed by Death's gleg gullie, Tam Samson 's leevin'!

TO MR. M'ADAM OF CRAIGENGILLAN.

IR, o'er a gill I gat your card,

SIR,

I trow it made me proud;

"See wha taks notice o' the Bard!"

I lap and cried fu' loud.

Now diel-ma-care about their jaw,
The senseless, gawky million :
I'll cock my nose aboon them a'
I'm roosed by Craigengillan !

'T was noble, sir; 't was like yoursel'
To grant your high protection:
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well,
Is aye a blest infection ;-

Though, by his banes who in a tub
Matched Macedonian Sandy!
On my ain legs, through dirt and dub,
I independent stand aye.

And when those legs to guid warm kail, Wi' welcome canna bear me,

A lee dike-side, a sybow-tail,

And barley-scone, shall cheer me.

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath O' many flowery simmers!

And bless your bonny lasses baithI'm tauld they 're lo'esome kimmers !

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird,
The blossom of our gentry,

And may he wear an auld man's beard,
A credit to his country!

LYING AT A FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR

LEFT THE FOLLOWING

VERSES

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.

OH thou dread Power who reign'st above,

I know thou wilt me hear,

When for this scene of peace and love
I make my prayer sincere!

The hoary sire

the mortal stroke,

Long, long be pleased to spare,

To bless his filial little flock,

And shew what good men are.

She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
Oh bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,

In manhood's dawning blush

Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!

The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,

Thou know'st the snares on every hand
Guide thou their steps alway.

When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost -
A family in heaven! 1

THE GLOOMY NIGHT IS GATHERING FAST

TUNE Roslin Castle.

THE gloomy night is gathering fast,

Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;

Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain.

The hunter now has left the moor,

The scattered coveys meet secure ;
While here I wander, pressed with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

1 Miss Louisa Lawrie possessed a scrap of verse in the poet's handwriting-a mere trifle, but apparently intended as part of a lyric description of the manse festivities. Some little license must be granted to the poet with respect to his lengthening the domestic dance so far into the night.

The night was still, and o'er the hill
The moon shone on the castle wa';
The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang
Around her, on the castle wa'.

Sae merrily they danced the ring,
Frae eenin' till the cock did craw;
And aye the o'erword o' the spring,
Was Irvine's bairns are bonny a'

1