O ye, my dear-remembered, ancient yealings,'
Were
ye but here to share my wounded feelings!
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie,
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye;
Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners,
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners;
Ye godly councils wha hae blest this town;
Ye godly brethren of the sacred gown,
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters;
And (what would now be strange) ye godly writers:
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,2
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do!
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation,
To see each melancholy alteration;
And agonizing, curse the time and place
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race!
Nae langer reverend men, their country's glory,
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story!
Nae langer thrifty citizens, and douce,
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house;
But staumrel,3 corky-headed, graceless gentry,
The herryment and ruin of the country;
Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers,
Wha waste your weel-hained gear on d-
Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough,
And muckle mair than ye can mak' to through:
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle:
But, under favour o' your langer beard,
Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spared:
To liken them to your auld-warld squad,
I must needs say, comparisons are odd.
In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle
To mouth "a citizen," a term o' scandal:
Nae mair the council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' raisins,
Or gathered liberal views in bonds and seisins.
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
Had shored them with a glimmer of his lamp,
And would to Common-sense, for once betrayed them,
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.
What farther clishmaclaver' might been said,
What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed,
No man can tell; but all before their sight
A fairy train appeared, in order bright:
Adown the glittering stream they featly danced;
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced:
They footed o'er the watery glass so neat,
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.
Oh, had M'Lauchlan,2 thairm 3-inspiring sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When through his dear Strathspeys they bore with High-
land rage;
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs,
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares;
How would his Highland lug been nobler tired,
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired!
No guess could tell what instrument appeared,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,
While simple melody poured moving on the heart.
The Genius of the Stream in front appears,
A venerable chief advanced in years;
His hoary head with water-lilies crowned,
His manly leg with garter tangle bound.
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Then, crowned with flowery hay, came Rural Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid beaming eye:
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreathed with nodding corn;
Then Winter's time-bleached locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow.
Next followed Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild woody coverts hide;
Benevolence, with mild benignant air,
A female form," came from the towers of Stair:
? A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin. 3 Fiddle-string.
* Capt. Hugh Montgomery, of Coils-field.
5 A tributary stream of the Ayr.
6 The Poet alludes here to Mrs. Stewart, of Stair. Stair was then in her possession. She afterwards removed to Afton Lodge, on the banks of the Afton, a stream which he afterwards celebrated in a song entitled "Afton Water."
Learning and Worth1 in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-loved abode :
Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with a hazel wreath,
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath
The broken iron instruments of death;
At sight of whom our sprites forgat their kindling wrath.
LINES ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER.
THIS Wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,
October twenty-third,
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day!
Sae far I sprachled up the brae,
I dinnered wi' a lord.
I've been at drucken writers' feasts,
Nay, been bitch fou 'mang godly priests;
(Wi' reverence be it spoken!)
I've even joined the honoured jorum
When mighty squireships o' the quorum
Their hydra drouth did sloken.
But wi' a lord!-stand out, my shin:
A lord-a peer-an earl's son!-
Up higher yet, my bonnet!
And sic a lord!-lang Scotch ells twa,
Our peerage he o'erlooks them a',
As I look o'er my sonnet.
But, oh! for Hogarth's magic power!
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glower,3
And how he stared and stammered!
When goavan, as if led wi' branks,5
And stumpin' on his ploughman shanks,
He in the parlour hammered.
To meet good Stewart little pain is,
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes;
Thinks I, they are but men!
But Burns, my lord-guid God! I doited!
My knees on ane anither knoited,"
As faultering I gaed ben!8
I sidling sheltered in a nook,
And at his lordship steal't a look,
Like some portentous omen;
Except good sense and social glee,
And (what surprised me) modesty,
I marked nought uncommon.
I watched the symptoms o' the great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,
The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see,
Mair than an honest ploughman.
Then from his lordship I shall learn
Henceforth to meet with unconcern
One rank as weel's another;
Nae honest, worthy man need care,
To meet wi' noble, youthful Daer,
For he but meets a brother.
EDINA! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and towers,
Whare once beneath a monarch's feet
Sat Legislation's sovereign powers!
From marking wildly-scattered flowers,
As on the banks of Ayr I strayed,
And singing, lone, the lingering hours,
I shelter in thy honoured shade.
Here wealth still swells the golden tide,
As busy Trade his labour plies;
There Architecture's noble pride
Bids elegance and splendour rise!
Here Justice, from her native skies,
High wields her balance and her rod;
There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
Seeks Science in her coy abode.
Thy sons, Edina! social, kind,
With open arms the stranger hail;
Their views enlarged, their liberal mind,
Above the narrow, rural vale;
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail,
Or modest Merit's silent claim;
And never may their sources fail!
And never envy blot their name!
Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn,
Gay as the gilded summer sky,
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn,
Dear as the raptured thrill of joy!
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine.
There, watching high the least alarms,
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar;
Like some bold veteran, grey in arms,
And marked with many a seamy scar:
The ponderous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,
Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repelled th' invader's shock.
With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,
I view that noble, stately dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
Famed heroes! had their royal home:
Alas, how changed the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust!
Their hapless race wild wandering roam
Though rigid law cries out, 'Twas just.
Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Through hostile ranks and ruined gaps
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
Even I who sing in rustic lore,
Haply, my sires have left their shed,
And faced grim Danger's loudest roar,
Bold-following where your fathers led!
Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and towers, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sovereign powers! From marking wildly-scattered flowers, As on the banks of Ayr I strayed, And singing, lone, the lingering hours, I shelter in thy honoured shade.
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