THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS O' NITH. O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN O THAT I had ne'er been married, Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. Waefu want and hunger fley me, Glowrin by the hallen en'; But ay I'm eerie they come ben. THERE'S NEWS, LASSES. THERE'S news, lasses, news, Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she, I hae as gude a craft rig SCROGGAM. THERE was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, Scroggam; She brew'd gude ale for gentlemen, Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, Scroggam; The priest o' the parish fell in anither, Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 277 They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, Scroggam; That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither, Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, FRAE THE FRIENDS AND FRAE the friends and land I love, Never mair to taste delight; Ease frae toil, relief frae care : When remembrance wrecks the mind, Pleasures but unveil despair. Brightest climes shall mirk appear, Desart ilka blooming shore, Till the Fates, nae mair severe, Friendship, love, and peace restore; Till revenge, wi' laurell'd head, Bring our banish'd hame again; And ilka loyal, bonie lad Cross the seas and win his ain. THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS Ο' ΝΙΤΗ. TUNE-Up and waur them a' THE laddies by the banks o' Nith Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie, But he'll sair them as he sair'd the king Turn tail and rin awa, Jamie. Up and waur them a', Jamie, Up and waur them a'; The Johnstons hae the guidin' o't, Ye turncoat Whigs, awa. The day he stude his country's friend, Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, Or frae puir man a blessin' wan, That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie. But wha is he, his country's boast? Like him there is na twa, Jamie; There's no a callant tents the kye, But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. To end the wark, here's Whistlebirck, Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie; And Maxwell true o' sterling blue, And we'll be Johnstons a', Jamie. SONG. TUNE- Maggy Lauder' My een they almost failed me. She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, Had I Dundas's whole estate, Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in ; Could I but hope to move her, She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae But sair I fear some happier swain Though I maun never have her : "Twixt Forth and Tweed all over, While men have eyes, or ears, or taste, She'll always find a lover. She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, &c. APPENDIX. THE following Elegy, Extempore Verses to Gavin Hamilton, and Versicles on Signposts, now for the first time published, are extracted, it is supposed, from the copy of his Common-place Book which Burns presented to Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop. The copy, after having been in the hands of several persons, and at each remove denuded of certain pages, came into the possession of Mr. Stillie, bookseller, Princes Street, Edinburgh, some years since, and is now the property of Mr. Macmillan. Besides the following poems, it contains two stanzas never before published of the Epitaph on Robert Fergusson, versions of There was a Lad was born in Kyle, and Gordon Castle, differing in some respects from those commonly printed; all of which have been embodied in the notes to the present edition. In the Common-place book, the Elegy is thus introduced :-"The following poem is the work of some hapless unknown son of the Muses, who deserved a better fate. There is a great deal of 'The Voice of Cona,' in his solitary mournful notes; and had the sentiments been clothed in Shenstone's language, they would have been no discredit even to that elegant poet." Burns, it will be seen, does not claim the authorship, and, from internal evidence, the Editor is of opinion that it was not written by him. Still, the Elegy, so far at least as the Editor is aware, exists nowhere else; and if Burns did not actually compose it, he at least thought it worthy of being copied with his own hand into a book devoted almost exclusively to his own compositions. Even if it were certain that Burns was not the author, still, the knowledge that he admired it, and that through his agency it alone exists, is considered sufficient excuse for its admission here. The Extempore Verses to Gavin Hamilton are as certainly Burns's as is Death and Dr. Hornbook, or the Address to the Deil. The dialect, the turn of phrase, the glittering surface of sarcasm, with the strong under-current of sense, and the peculiar off-hand impetuosity of idea and illustration, unmistakeably indicate Burns's hand, and his only. In the Commonplace Book, no date is given; but from the terms of the two closing stanzas, it would appear that the voyage to Jamaica was in contemplation at the period of its composition. The last stanza is almost identical in thought and expression with the closing lines of the well-known Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, which was written at that time, and which appeared in the first edition of the Poems printed at Kilmarnock. The Versicles on Signposts have the following introduction :-"The everlasting surliness of a Lion, Saracen's head, &c. or the unchanging blandness of the Landlord welcoming a traveller, on some sign-posts, would be no bad similes of the constant affected fierceness of a Bully, or the eternal simper of a Frenchman or a Fiddler." The Versicles themselves are of little worth, and are indebted entirely to their paternity for their appearance here. ELEGY. STRAIT is the spot and green the sod, Pardon my transport, gentle shade, Not one poor stone to tell thy name, I'll sit me down upon this turf, And wipe away this tear : Dark is the dwelling of the Dead, Low lies the head by Death's cold arm I saw the grim Avenger stand Incessant by thy side; Pale grew the roses on thy cheek, Thus wasted are the ranks of men, And overwhelms us all. Behold where round thy narrow house Some, with the tottering steps of Age, Trod down the darksome way: Yet these, however hard their fate, From thy lov'd friends when first thy heart Was taught by Heaven to flow: At the last limits of our isle, Pensive he eyes, before him spread, And while, amid the silent Dead Like thee, cut off in early youth Him, too, the stern impulse of Fate And the same rapid tide shall whelm The tear of pity which he shed, His grief-worn heart, with truest joy, O, my dear maid, my Stella, when EXTEMPORE. TO MR. GAVIN HAMILTON. To you, Sir, this summons I've sent, Pray whip till the pownie is fraething; But if you demand what I want, I honestly answer you, naething. Her fingers I lovingly squeezed, And kissed her and promised hernaething. The priest anathemas may threat,—— Predicament, Sir, that we're baith in; But when honour's reveillé is beat, The holy artillery's naething. And now, I must mount on the wave, My voyage perhaps there is death in : But what of a watery grave? The drowning a Poet is naething. And now, as grim death's in my thought, To you, Sir, I make this bequeathing: My service as long as ye've aught, And my friendship, by G-, when ye've naething. VERSICLES ON SIGN-POSTS. He looked Just as your Sign-post lions do, PATIENT STUPIDITY. So heavy, passive to the tempests' shocks, Strong on the Sign-post stands the stupid Ox. His face with smile eternal drest, A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, The very image of a Barber's Poll; |