He felt the powerful high behest From mildews of abortion ! Has got a double portion ! Auld cantie Coil may count the day, As annual it returns, The third of Libra's equal sway That gave another Burns, With future rhymes and other times, To emulate his sire; To sing auld Coil in nobler style, With more poetic fire. Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song, Look down with gracious eyes, With multiplying joys: The flower of ancient nations; -0 THE RONALDS OF THE BENNALS. Their father's a laird, and weel he can spare 't, Braid money to tocher them a', man; To proper young men, he 'll clink in the han' Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man. There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye 've seen As bonnie a lass or as braw, man; But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best, And a conduct that beautifies a', man. The charms o' the min', the langer they shine, The mair admiration they draw, man; While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies, They fade and they wither awa', man. If ye be for Miss Jean, tak' this frae a frien', A hint o' a rival or twa, man, The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, If that wad entice her awa', man. The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed, For mair than a towmond or twa, man; [The Bennals was the title of a farm some few miles west of Lochlea, the Ronalds, Jean and Annie, being the daughters of Mr. Ronald, the tenant-farmer. Jean, reputed to have been admired by the Poet's brother Gilbert, was The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a eventually married to a Mr. William Reid.. Annie Ronald, of the two, had the Poet's prcference.] IN Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men, And proper young lasses and a', man; But ken ye the Ronalds, that live in the Bennals? They carry the gree frae them a', man. board, If he canna get her at a', man. Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin, The boast o' our bachelors a', man; Sae sonsie and sweet, sae fully complete, She steals our affections awa', man. [These lines enclosed to Burns's correspondent My stomach's as proud as them a', the original manuscript of "The Cotter's Satur man. day Night." Kennedy, who was the Poet's senior by two years, was factor for thirteen years Though I canna ride in weel-booted to the last Earl of Dumfries, and acted in the same capacity for eighteen years to the Earl of Breadalbane.] pride, And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man, Now Kennedy, if foot or horse I can haud up my head with the best o' E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse, the breed, Though fluttering ever so braw, man. Lord, man, there's lasses there wad force A hermit's fancy; My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' And down the gate, in faith they're the best, O' pairs o' guid breeks I ha'e twa, man, worse, And mair unchancy. But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, And stockings and pumps to put on my And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, stumps, And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man. My sarks they are few, but five o' them new, Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, man, A ten-shilling hat, a Holland cravat; man. Till some bit callant bring me news I'se ne'er drink mair. It's no I like to sit and swallow, [The following stanzas were for the first time published in The Sun newspaper, on Tuesday, the 8th of April, 1823, headed simply "Verses by Burns," and were unaccompanied by even one syllable of explanation as to whence they had been derived. Although they have been reprinted again and again since then, in countless editions of Burns, under the above title, their authenticity appears to be exceedingly doubtful. The supposition is, on the contingency of their being genuine, that they were written in the summer of 1786, on the fly-leaf of a copy of his maiden volume of poems, published at Kilmarnock ] [ACCEPT the gift a friend sincere Wad on thy worth be pressin', Remembrance aft may start a tear, But oh! that tenderness forbear, Though 't wad my sorrows lessen. My morning rase sae clear an' fair, I thought sair storms wad never Bedew the scene; but grief an' care In wildest fury ha'e made bare My peace, my hope, for ever. COMPOSED IN EARLY LIFE BETWEEN THE STILTS OF A PLOUGH. [This was first published in 1835 by James Hogg in his Memoir of Burns, and was first included among the collected writings of the Poet in the 1876 edition of his works published at Kilmarnock.] AH! woe is me, my Mother dear! A man of strife ye 've born me; For sair contention I maun bearThey hate, revile, and scorn me. I ne'er could lend on bill or band, That five per cent. might blest me; And borrowing, on the tither handThe de'il a ane wad trust me. Yet I, a coin-denied wight, By Fortune quite discarded, Ye see how I am, day and night, By lad and lass blackguarded! A REVOLUTIONARY LYRIC. [This fragment of a revolutionary song was first published as from the hand of Burns by Cunningham.] WHY should we idly waste our prime Repeating our oppressions? Come, rouse to arms, 't is now the time To punish past transgressions. 'Tis said that Kings can do no wrong— Their murderous deeds deny it; And, since from us their power is sprung, We have a right to try it. Now each true patriot's song shall be, "Welcome Death or Libertie!" Proud Priests and Bishops we'll translate, And canonize as Martyrs; The guillotine on Peers shall wait, And Knights shall hang in garters: Those despots long have trode us down, And Judges are their engines; Such wretched minions of a Crown Demand the people's vengeance. To-day 't is theirs,-to-morrow, we Shall don the Cap of Libertie! The golden age we 'll then revive,— And share the earth together. THE RUINED FARMER. [Probably among the earliest effusions of Burns, the following verses (intended by him to be sung to an exquisitely pathetic old air) had particular reference to his father, William Burness, as he was when living at Mount Oliphant. They were included by the Poet in the collection he presented in 1786 to Mrs. Stewart of Stair.] Tune-"Go from my Window, Love, go." THE sun he is sunk in the west- With sorrow, grief, and woe: The prosperous man is asleep, Nor hears he how the whirlwinds sweep; But Misery and I must watch The surly tempest blow: And it's "O fickle Fortune," oh! There lies the dear partner of my breast, Her cares for a moment at rest : And must I see my youthful pride Thus brought so very low? And it 's-"O fickle Fortune," oh! There lie my sweet babes in her arms, No fear each little heart alarms; But for their sake my heart doth ache, With many a bitter throe: And it's "O fickle Fortune," oh! I once was by Fortune carest, I once could relieve the distrest ; But now life's poor support hard-earn’d, My fate will scarce bestow : And it 's-" O fickle Fortune," oh! No comfort-no comfort I have! How welcome to me were the grave! But then my wife and children dearO whither would they go? And it's "O fickle Fortune," oh! O whither-O whither shall I turn?- THE BONNIE LASS OF ALBANY. All friendless, forsaken, forlorn! In this wide world, sweet rest or peace I never more shall know ! And it 's-"O fickle Fortune," oh! TO MISS FERRIER. [Prince Charles Edward Stuart, in the September of 1787, having publicly declared the legitimacy of his supposed natural daughter, the Duchess of Albany, Burns thereupon wrote these stanzas.] Tune-" Mary's Dream." My heart is wae, and unco wɛe, [Enclosed in these lines, which were addressed That roars between her gardens green by the Poet, in the August of 1787, to the daughter of John Ferrier, Writer to the Signet, in George Street, Edinburgh, was the Elegy of Sir James Hunter Blair. Susan Edmondstone Ferrier, a sister of the lady to whom these verses were inscribed, afterwards obtained some distinction as a novelist.] NAE heathen name shall I prefix Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three Last day my mind was in a bog, Do what I dought to set her free, Ye turned a neuk-I saw your e'e— The mornfu' sang I here enclose, In gratitude I send you; And pray in rhyme as weel as prose,— May a' that's gude attend you! And the bonnie Lass of Albany. This lovely maid's of royal blood, That ruled Albion's kingdoms three, But oh, alas! for her bonnie face, They've wranged the Lass of Albany. |