TO A HAGGIS. THE haggis, though made up of heterogeneous materials not usually in high favour with gourmands, is very palatable and toothsome, and is supposed to be a Scotch adaptation of an ancient French dish. It is composed of minced offal of mutton, meal, and suet, flavoured with various condiments in the shape of seasoning. The mess is put into a sheep's stomach, and boiled therein. In the Edinburgh Literary Journal of 1829, the origin of the piece is thus explained :-"About sixteen years ago there resided at Mauchline Mr. Robert Morrison, cabinetmaker. He was a great crony of Burns's, and it was in Mr. Morrison's house that the poet usually spent the 'mids o' the day' on Sunday. It was in this house that he wrote his celebrated 'Address to a Haggis,' after partaking liberally of that dish as prepared by Mrs. Morrison." FAIR fa' your honest, sonsie1 face, Painch, tripe, or thairm: 2 Weel are ye worthy of a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your pin* wad help to mend a mill While through your pores the dews distil His knife see rustic labour dight,3 And then, oh, what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich! Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,5 Is there that owre his French ragoût, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect scunner, 6 Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 1 Comely. 2 Small intestines. 3 Seize. 4 Smoking. 5 Burst. 6 Loathing. *Which is introduced into the tied up mouth of the bag for lifting it with, because the thrust of a fork would result in the escape of the more liquid por tion of the contents. Till all their well-swollen bellies by and by. Poor devil! see him owre his trash, Through bloody flood or field to dash, But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, He'll mak it whissle; And legs, and arms, and heads will sned,3 Ye powers wha mak mankind your care, But if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, Gie her a haggis ! 4 * PROLOGUE. SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1787. WHEN by a generous public's kind acclaim, Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam ; The tide of Empire's fluctuating course; Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, * Mr. Woods had been the friend of Fergusson. 5 Splashes in wooden bowls. ↑ Henry Mackenzie, author of "The Man of Feeling." When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite O Thou dread Power! whose empire-giving hand Firm may she rise with generous disdain Still self-dependent in her native shore, Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, NATURE'S LAW HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. "Great Nature spoke-observant man obey'd."-POPE. LET other heroes boast their scars, The marks of sturt1 and strife; And other poets sing of wars, Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun, Great Nature spoke, with air benign, Be fruitful and increase. The liquid fire of strong desire I've pour'd it in each bosom ; Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, And there is beauty's blossom!" The hero of these artless strains, Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains, Kind Nature's care had given his share Large of the flaming current; And all devout, he never sought 1 Turmoil. He felt the powerful, high behest, Has got a double portion ! young flowers Auld cantie Coil may count the day, As annual it returns, The third of Libra's equal sway, That gave another Burns, With future rhymes, and other times, To emulate his sire; To sing auld Coil in nobler style, Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song, Lang may she stand to prop the land, THE HERMIT. WRITTEN ON A MARBLE SIDEBOARD IN THE HERMITAGE BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF ATHOLE, IN THE WOOD OF ABERFELDY. THESE lines were first printed by Peter Buchan, himself a poet and enthusiastic collector of Ancient Ballad Lore. They are accepted as genuine. WHOE'ER thou art, these lines now reading, This desert drear; That fell remorse, a conscience bleeding, No thought of guilt my bosom sours; That lust and pride, I saw mankind with vice incrusted; And hither came, with men disgusted, In this lone cave, in garments lowly, And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, My life, and in my office holy Consume the day. This rock my shield, when storms are blowing; But few enjoy the calm I know in This desert wood. Content and comfort bless me more in Each night and morn, with voice imploring, This wish I sigh "Let me, And when I die, Let me in this belief expire To God I fly." Stranger, if full of youth and riot, If thou hast known false love's vexation, Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, And makes thee pine, Oh! how must thou lament thy station, And envy mine! SKETCH OF A CHARACTER. "THIS fragment," says Burns to Dugald Stewart, "I have not shown to man living till I now send it to you. It forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching." A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, |