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POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS.

[ROBERT BURNS, Scotch poet and song writer, was born January 25, 1759; the son of a struggling farmer, and himself hard-worked. Resolving to emigrate to Jamaica, he published his poems in 1786 to gain passage money; but the name they made him drew him to Edinburgh instead, and gained him an entrée into the best circles, where he made a deep impression; a second edition was issued in 1787. After that he never took money for any of his songs, and lived in voluntary hardship, though their sale would have put him at ease. He was made an exciseman in 1788, and took a farm also. His sympathies with the French Revolution hindered his promotion; and dissipated habits hastened his death, which occurred July 21, 1796.]

TAM O' SHANTER.

WHEN chapman billies1 leave the street,

An' drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market days are wearing late,

An' folk begin to tak the gate; 3
While we sit bousing at the nappy,*
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter;
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,"
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum,'

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