That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonny burdies!
But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal,
Louping and flinging on a cummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

loins wenches

Gaunt-wean

short stick

But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlie; There was ae winsome wench and walie, goodly That night enlisted in the core,

(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;

For monie a beast to dead she shot,
And perished monie a bonny boat,

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,

barley

And kept the country-side in fear.)

Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn, short shift—huckaback
That while a lassie she had worn,

In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches! 1

bought

1 A solitary-living woman, named Katie Steven, who dwelt at Laighpark, in the parish of Kirkoswald, and died there early in the present century, is thought to have been the personage represented under the character of Cutty-sark. She enjoyed the reputation of being a good fortune-teller, and was rather a favorite guest among her neighbors; yet with others, who knew her less, she was reputed a witch, addicted to those

But here my Muse her wing maun cour; stoop
Sic flights are far beyond her power;

To sing how Nannie lap and flang
(A souple jad she was and strang),
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched,
And thought his very e'en enriched;

Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain, fidgeted
And hotched and blew wi' might and jerked about

main :

Till first ae caper, syne anither,

Tam tint his reason a' thegither,

And roars out: "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant all was dark:

lost

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,

When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,

buzz-fret

When plundering herds assail their byke; hive As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;

As eager runs the market-crowd,

the hare

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

Wi' monie an eldritch screech and hollow. frightful

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'! reward
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin';

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!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane1 o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss ;
A running-stream they darena cross!
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle,
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!

Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:

deuce

endeavor

The carline claught her by the rump, snatched at And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed!
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think ye may buy the joys ower dear:
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

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

DISTRESS.

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,
And ward o' monie a prayer,

What heart o' stane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!

November hirples o'er the lea

Chill on thy lovely form;

And gane, alas! the sheltering tree
Should shield thee frae the storm.

May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw,
Protect thee frae the driving shower,
The bitter frost and snaw!

limps

May He, the friend of wo and want,
Who heals life's various stounds,
Protect and guard the mother-plant,
And heal her cruel wounds!

But late she flourished, rooted fast,
Fair on the summer-morn;
Now, feebly bends she in the blast,
Unsheltered and forlorn.

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
Unscathed by ruffian hand,

And from thee many a parent stem
Arise to deck our land!

pangs

November, 1790.

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,

1791.

This beautiful creature, to whom Burns paid so