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Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung
His Minstrel lays;
The sceptic's bays.
The artisan ;
The various man.
With tillage skill ;
Blithe o'er the hill.
For humble gains,
His cares and pains.
Of rustic bard :
A guide and guard. “Of these am I—Coila my name, And this district as mine I claim, Where once the Campbells, * chiefs of fame,
Held ruling power,
Thy natal hour.
In uncouth rhymes,
Of other times.
Drove through the sky
Struck thy young eye.
* The Loudoun branch of the Campbell family is here meant.
“Or when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth
In every grove,
With boundless love.
And lonely stalk,
In pensive walk. “When youthful love, warm-blushing, stroig, Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
To soothe thy flame.
By passion driven ;
Was light from Heaven.
Thy fame extends ;
Become thy friends.
With Shenstone's art;
Warm on the heart.
His army shade,
Adown the glade.
Nor kings' regard,
A rustic bard.
"To give my counsels all in one,
With soul erect;
Will all protect.
Did rustling play;
In light away.
A WINTER NIGHT. CARLYLE says of this Poem-"How touching is it, amid the gloom of personal misery that broods over and around him, that, amid the storm, he still thinks of the cattle, the silly sheep, and the wee harmless birdies !-yes, the tenant of the mean lowly hut has the heart to pity all these. This is worth a whole volume of homilies on mercy, for it is the voice of mercy itself. Burns lives in sympathy: his soul rushes forth into all the realms of being : nothing that has existence can be indifferent to him."
“Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of the pitiless storm!
From seasons such as these?"-SHAKESPEARE,
Far south the lift,
Or whirling drift:
Down headlong hurl.
O' winter war,
Beneath a scaur.
1 Keen. 2 Stern. 3 Look.
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o' thee?
And close thy ee !
My heart forgets,
Sore on you beats.
Rose in my soul,
Slow, solemn, stole :-
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,
Vengeful malice unrepenting,
“ See stern Oppression's iron grip,
Or mad Ambition's gory hand,
Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land !
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale,
The parasite empoisoning her ear,
With all the servile wretches in the rear,
Whose toil upholds the glittering show,
Some coarser substance unrefined,
“Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe,
The powers you proudly own?
To bless himself alone!
To love-pretending snares :
Regardless of the tears and unavailing prayers !
Perhaps this hour, in misery's squalid nest,
She strains your infant to her joyless breast,
“Oye who, sunk in beds of down,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep,
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap !
Guilt, erring man, relenting view !
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow?
I heard na mair, for chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
A cottage-rousing craw.
Through all His works abroad,
The most resembles God.
SCOTCH DRINK. DUNCAN FORBES of Culloden, who did so much to pacify the country after the defeat of Culloden, received from the government as a reward for his services the privilege of distilling whisky free of duty. So popular did his whisky become, that Ferintosh, the name of his barony in which his whisky was manufactured, became a recognised name or synonym throughout the country for all sorts of whisky.
When the privilege was withdrawn in 1785, his family received from the government compensation to the amount of £21,580.
In addition to this the public attention was further turned to "the national beverage," on account of the stringent way in which the Excise laws were being enforced at the various distilleries. These circumstances gave the poet
Writing to Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, he says, “I here enclose you my 'Scotch Drink,' and may the devil follow with a blessing for your edification. I hope some time before we hear the gowk, (cuckoo, ) to have the pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a gill between us in a mutchkin
stoup, which will be a great comfort and consolation to your humble Servant, R, B.
“Gie him strong drink, until he wink,
That's sinking in despair :
That's prest wi' grief and care :