Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust;
Fled, like the sun eclipsed as noon appears,
And left us darkling in a world of tears!
O hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer!-
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare!
Through a long life his hopes and wishes crown,
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down!
May bliss domestic smooth his private path,
Give energy to life, and soothe his latest breath,
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death!

ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON,

ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS.

Written at the suggestion of the Earl of Buchan, for the inauguration of a temple built to Thomson on Ednam Hill.

WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood,

Unfolds her tender mantle green,

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood,
Or tunes Eolian strains between:

While Summer with a matron grace
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade,

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace

The

progress of the spiky blade:

While Autumn, benefactor kind,
By Tweed erects his agèd head,
And sees, with self-approving mind,
Each creature on his bounty fed:

While maniac Winter rages o'er

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows:

So long, sweet Poet of the year!

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; While Scotia, with exulting tear,

Proclaims that Thomson was her son.1

1 Burns, in looking into Collins for his verses to the memory of Thomson, had probably glanced at the same poet's exquisite Ode to Evening, for the three concluding verses are manifestly imitated in this Address:

"While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve,

While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy lingering light:

"While sallow Autumn fills thy cup with leaves,
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

66

Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes:

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,
Thy gentlest influence own,

And love thy favorite name!"

Burns had become acquainted, probably at Friars' Carse, with a beautiful young Englishwoman, a relation of the Riddels, and also connected by the marriage of a sister with the noble family of Kenmure in the neighboring stewartry. Deborah Davies- - for this was her name - was of small stature, but exquisitely handsome, and she possessed more than an average share of mental graces. With his usual sensibility to female beauty, but especially that of a refined and educated woman, Burns became an idolater of Miss Davies, and the feelings which possessed him soon led to an effusion of both prose and verse. She was the subject of the two following songs.

O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try
The poet's occupation,

thus writes

1 "One day, while Burns was at Moffat" Allan Cunningham-"the charming, lovely Davies rode past, accompanied by a lady tall and portly: on a friend asking the poet, why God made one lady so large, and Miss Davies so little, he replied in the words of the epigram:

"Ask why God made the gem so small,

And why so huge the granite?

Because God meant mankind should set
The higher value on it."

The tunefu' powers, in happy hours,
That whisper inspiration?

Even they maun dare an effort mair
Than aught they ever gave us,
Ere they rehearse, in equal verse.
The charms o' lovely Davies.

Each eye it cheers, when she appears,
Like Phoebus in the morning,

When past the shower, and every flower
The garden is adorning.

As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore,
When winter-bound the wave is,

Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae charming, lovely Davies.

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, above-sky
That maks us mair than princes;

A sceptered hand, a king's command,
Is in her darting glances:

The man in arms 'gainst female charms,
Even he her willing slave is;

He hugs his chain, and owns the reign
Of conquering, lovely Davies.

My Muse to dream of such a theme,
Her feeble powers surrender;

The eagle's gaze alone surveys
The sun's meridian splendour:

I wad in vain essay the strain,

The deed too daring brave is;
I'll drop the lyre, and mute admire
The charms o' lovely Davies.

THE BONNY WEE THING.

TUNE- Bonny wee Thing.

BONNY wee thing, cannie wee thing, "nice"
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,

I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine!
Wishfully I look and languish

In that bonny face o' thine;

lose

And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, aches Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit and grace, and love and beauty,
In ae constellation shine;
To adore thee is my duty,

Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,

I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine!