« ForrigeFortsæt »
But here my Muse her wing maun cour; stoop
To sing how Nannie lap and flang
Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain, fidgeted
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out: "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke; hive
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
Wi' monie an eldritch screech and hollow. frightful
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'! reward
malevolent practices described in the poem. Neither her name nor her figure being appropriate (for she was a little woman), we confess we have doubts of this parallel.
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
The carline claught her by the rump, snatched at And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
1 It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any further than the middle of the next running-stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. — B.
STANZAS ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,
BORN UNDER PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY
Mrs. Dunlop had undergone a severe domestic affliction. Her daughter Susan had married a French gentleman named Henri, of good birth and fortune, and the young couple lived happily at Loudoun Castle, in Ayrshire, when (June 22, 1790) the gentleman sank under the effects of a severe cold, leaving his wife pregnant.
SWEET floweret, pledge o' meikle love,
What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
November hirples o'er the lea
Chill on thy lovely form;
And gane, alas! the sheltering tree
May He who gives the rain to pour,
May He, the friend of wo and want,
But late she flourished, rooted fast,
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
And from thee many a parent stem
ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO.
"I have these several months been hammering at an elegy on the amiable and accomplished Miss Burnet. I have got, and can get no further than the following fragment.” — Burns to Mr. Cunningham, 23d January,
This beautiful creature, to whom Burns paid so
high a compliment in his Address to Edinburgh, had been carried off by consumption, 17th June, 1790.
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shewn, As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.
In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves; Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, Ye cease to charm - Eliza is no more!
Ye heathy wastes, immixed with reedy fens,
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail, And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth, And not a Muse in honest grief bewail?