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As fast as ony in the dwalling.
And now, remember, Mr. Aiken,
This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it,
Mossgiel, February 22, 1786.
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH
WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
For I maun crush amang the stoure
To spare thee now is past my power,
Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
Wi' spreckled breast,
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter biting north
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless maid,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starred!
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!
Such fate to suffering worth is given,
To mis'ry's brink,
Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven,
He, ruined, sink!
E'en thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight,
ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE.
WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY
My curse upon thy venomed stang,
And through my lugs gi'es mony a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!
POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS.
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases,
Aye mocks our groan!
Adown my beard the slavers trickle!
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle
Of a' the numerous human dools,
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell
O thou grim mischief-making chiel,
In gore a shoe-thick,
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
A towmond's toothache!
MY HANDSOME NELL.
OH, once I loved a bonnie lass,
And whilst that virtue warms my breast
As bonnie lasses I ha'e seen,
A bonnie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the ee,
But without some better qualities
She's no a lass for me.
But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet;
And, what is best of a',
Her reputation is complete,
She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
And then there's something in her gait