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And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him;
His quill may draw ;
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum
Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped,
But every joy and pleasure's fled-
May I be Slander's common speech,
And lastly, streekit out to bleach
When I forget thee, Willie Creech,
1 A term of contempt:
"She tauld thee weel, thou was a skellum."
May never wicked Fortune touzle him!
He canty claw !
Then to the blessèd New Jerusalem
ON INCIVILITY SHEWN HIM AT
The Duke of Argyle had an overabundance of guests in the castle, and the innkeeper at Inverary was too much occupied with the surplus to have any attention to spare for passing travellers. Hereupon Burns penned an epigram, which it is to be supposed he left inscribed on one of the windows. We must regret this as a discourtesy towards a most respectable nobleman the more so, as the names of the Duke and Duchess of Argyle stand at the head of the subscription for his Poems.
WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he come to wait upon
The Lord their God—his Grace.
There's naething here but Highland pride,
And Highland scab and hunger; If Providence has sent me here, 'Twas surely in an anger.
COMPOSED ON LEAVING A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS WHERE HE HAD BEEN KINDLY ENTERTAINED.
WHEN Death's dark stream I ferry o'er-
ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER
THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, Esq.,
BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.
SAD thy tale, thou idle page,
And rueful thy alarms:
Death tears the brother of her love
From Isabella's arms.
Sweetly decked with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow, But cold successive noontide blasts May lay its beauties low.
Fair on Isabella's morn
The sun propitious smiled,
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Fate oft tears the bosom cords
Were it in the poet's power,
Dread Omnipotence alone
Can heal the wound he gave,
Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,
ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR.
Sir James was an Ayrshire squire, and a member of the banking-house of Sir William Forbes and Company; a public-spirited citizen and magistrate of Edinburgh, and an amiable man. He had been one of Burns's kindest patrons when the poet first came to town, feeling, doubtless, a particular interest in his fortunes on account of his Ayrshire nativity.
THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,
Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave; The inconstant blast howled through the darkening air,
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.
Lone as I wandered by each cliff and dell,
Once the loved haunts of Scotia's royal train;1 Or mused where limpid streams once hallowed well,2
Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred fane;
The increasing blast roared round the beetling rocks,
The clouds, swift-winged, flew o'er the starry
1 The King's Park, at Holyrood House.
2 St. Anthony's Well.
3 St. Anthony's Chapel.