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On turning one DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, Thou lifts thy unassuming head

IN APRIL, 1786,

In humble guise;

And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betrayed,

[Writing on the 20th of April, 1786, to his But now the share uptears thy bed, intimate friend John Kennedy, the Poet enclosed these verses, under the title of "The Gowan," observing that they were the latest of his productions, and adding, “I am a good deal pleased with some of the sentiments myself, as they are just the native querulous feelings of a heart which Melancholy has marked for her own.' Burns, it should be remembered, was nearly distraught at this juncture, by reason of the wanton destruction of his written promise of marriage to Jean Armour.]

WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem;
To spare thee now is past my power,
Thou bonnie gem.

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet!

"

And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid

Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starred !
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven,

EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, To try to get the twa to gree,

ESQ.,

RECOMMENDING A BOY.

[Gavin Hamilton, here addressed, under date Mosgaville, May 3, 1786, was a writer to the signet or legal practitioner, whose residence at this time was the most conspicuous dwellinghouse in the village of Mauchline. Master Tootie was a dealer in cows, well known in that locality.]

I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty
To warn you how that Master Tootie,
Alias, Laird M'Gaun,

Was here to hire yon lad away
'Bout whom ye spak' the tither day,
And wad ha'e done 't aff han';
But lest he learn the callan tricks,

As, faith, I muckle doubt him,
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,
And tellin' lies about them:

As lieve then, I'd have then,
You clerkship he should sair,
If sae be, ye may be

Not fitted other where.

Although I say 't, he's gleg enough, And 'bout a house that's rude rough,

The boy might learn to swear; But then wi' you he'll be sae taught, And get sic fair example straught,

I haena ony fear.
Ye'll catechise him every quirk,

And shore him weel wi' hell;
And gar him follow to the kirk―
Aye when ye gang yoursel'.
If ye then, maun be then
Frae hame this comin' Friday;
Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir,
The orders wi' your lady.

My word of honour I ha'e gi'en,
In Paisley John's that night at e'en,
To meet the warld's worm;

and

And name the airles and the fee,

In legal mode and form :
I ken he weel a sneck can draw,
When simple bodies let him ;
And if a devil be at a',

In faith he 's sure to get him.
To phrase you, and praise you,
Ye ken your laureate scorns;
The prayer still you share still,
Of grateful Minstrel BURNS.

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND

[The young friend here addressed, under date May, 1786, was Andrew Aiken, son of Robert Aiken, to whom Burns inscribed, as an unwitting passport to fame, his noble "Cotter's Saturday Night." Andrew Aiken proved eminently successful in afterlife, first as a merchant in Liverpool, and later on as a servant of the Crown abroad, in which capacity he died some forty years ago at St. Petersburgh.]

I LANG ha'e thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to have sent you,
Though it should serve nae other end

Then just a kind memento;
But how the subject theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad,
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,

And muckle they may grieve ye :
For care and trouble set your thought,
E'en when your end 's attained :
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where every nerve is strained.

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TO A LOUSE.

ON Seeing ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT

CHURCH.

[Mention is made in the sixth stanza of the

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose
out,

As plump and grey as onie grozet;
Oh, for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,

following, of a then fashionable gauze or muslin I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't,

bonnet for ladies, called the Lunardi. The name was given to it in compliment to the famous Italian aeronaut Vincent Lunardi, who in 1785 astonished the people of Scotland, at Edinburgh, Glasgow, St. Andrews, and other

places, by making some of the most marvellous
ascents in a balloon on record, going up literally
with the velocity of a skyrocket! Revolting
though the theme is which Burns has here
selected, the poem has won its way to as wide
a celebrity as any he ever produced, the last
stanza being rendered familiar to the whole
world by frequent repetition.]

HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely

Owre gauze and lace;
Though, faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saunt an' sinner,
How dare ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your
dinner

On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle

Wi' ither kindred jumpin' cattle,

In shoals and nations;

Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye 've got on it,
The vera tapmost, towering height
O' Miss's bonnet.

Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surprised to spy
You on an' auld wife's flainen toy,
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;

But Miss's fine Lunardi-fie!
How dare ye do 't!

Oh, Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie 's makin'!
Thae wings and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin'!

Oh, wad some power the giftie gi'e us
To see oursel's as others see us!

It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And e'en devotion !

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

[In this self-condemnatory epitaph, Burns seems, in obedience to a sombre presentiment, to have donned the sackcloth and ashes by anticipation.]

Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool?
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.

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