So to heaven's gate the lark's shrill song ascends, But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift: MRS. FERGUSSON OF CRAIGDARROCH'S LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON, AN UNCOMMONLY PROMISING YOUTH OF EIGHTEEN OR NINETEEN YEARS OF AGE. "I am just arrived from Nithsdale, and will be here a fortnight. I was on horseback this morning by three o'clock; for between my wife and my farm is just forty-six miles. As I jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a poetic fit as follows."- Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, 27th Sept. 1788. FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, By cruel hands the sapling drops, The mother linnet in the brake Now, fond I bare my breast; Oh, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest! 1 1 It is a curious circumstance regarding the brief poem conveyed by this letter, that a copy of it in the possession of Mr. Allason Cunninghame of Logan House, Ayrshire, is understood by that gentleman's family to have been sent to his grandmother, Burns's early patron, Mrs. General Stewart of Afton, as a deploration of the death of her only son, Alexander Gordon Stewart, who died at a military academy at Strasburg, the 5th December, 1787. Allan Cunningham speaks of a copy of the poem in his possession bearing a note by the author, which shows that he really had endeavored to turn this piece to the account of gratifying two friends. "The THE LAZY MIST. TUNE- The Lazy Mist. THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill; How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear! As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year. Mother's Lament," he says, 66 was composed partly with a view to Mrs. Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and partly to the worthy patroness of my early muse, Mrs. Stewart of Afton." We may suppose that the parity of the two cases, and their nearness in point of time, had produced but one indivisible impression in the mind of the bard. Yet there is reason to believe that, in his complaisance towards his friends, he was somewhat over-eager to gratify them with poetical compliments, and oftener than once caused one to pay a double debt. We shall find that the little poem beginning, Sensibility, how charming, was first written on certain experiences of Mrs. M'Lehose, and sent to her, but afterwards addressed to "my dear and much-honoured friend, Mrs. Dunlop." So the reader will perceive that even Burns had his little mystères d'atelier. How long I have lived - but how much lived in vain! How little of life's scanty span may remain ! What aspects Old Time, in his progress, has worn! What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn ! How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gained! And downward, how weakened, how darkened, how pained! This life's not worth having with all it can give : For something beyond it poor man sure must live. I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. We may well believe that it was a time of great happiness to Burns when he first saw his mistress installed in her little mansion, and felt himself the master of a household, however humble-looked up to by a wife as "the goodman," and by a host of dependants as "the master." His sentiments on this occasion were in part expressed by the following vigorous and characteristic, though not very delicate verses. They are in imitation of an old ballad. I HAE a wife o' my ain, I'll partake wi' naebody; I'll tak cuckold frae nane, I'll gie cuckold to naebody. I hae a penny to spend, I am naebody's lord, I'll be slave to naebody; I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for naebody; If naebody care for me, blows AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, |