Chapter V: Descriptive and Narrative Poetry (2)

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, [pick]
An' sun oursels about the dyke, [wall]
An' at our leisure, when ye like,
We'll--whistle owre the lave o't.

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,
An' while I kittle hair on thairms, [tickle, catgut]
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, [such]
May whistle owre the lave o't.

Recitativo

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, [tinker]
As well as poor gut-scraper;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,
An' draws a roosty rapier-- [rusty]
He swoor, by a' was swearing worth,
To spit him like a pliver, [plover]
Unless he would from that time forth
Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee
Upon his hunkers bended, [hams]
An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
An' sae the quarrel ended.
But tho' his little heart did grieve
When round the tinkler prest her,
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, [snigger]
When thus the caird address'd her:--

Air

TUNE: Clout the Cauldron

My bonnie lass, I work in brass,
A tinkler is my station;
I've travell'd round all Christian ground
In this my occupation;
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd
In many a noble squadron;
But vain they search'd when off I march'd
To go an' clout the cauldron. [patch]

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise an' caperin';
An' tak a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron; [tool-bag]
And, by that stoup, my faith an' houp! [hope]
And by that dear Kilbaigie, [a kind of whisky]
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, [dearth]
May I ne'er weet my craigie. [wet, throat]

Recitativo

The caird prevail'd--th' unblushing fair
In his embraces sunk,
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, [so sorely]
An' partly she was drunk.
Sir Violino, with an air
That show'd a man o' spunk, [spirit]
Wish'd unison between the pair,
An' made the bottle clunk
To their health that night.

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft [urchin]
That play'd a dame a shavie; [trick]
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,
Behint the chicken cavie. [hencoop]
Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft,
Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie, [spavin]
He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft, [hobbled, leapt]
And shor'd them _Dainty Davie_ [yielded them as lovers]
O' boot that night. [gratis]

He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed; [enlisted]
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had nae wish, but--to be glad,
Nor want but--when he thirsted;
He hated nought but--to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested
His sang that night.

Air

TUNE: For A' That, An' A' That

I am a bard of no regard
Wi' gentlefolks, and a' that;
But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke, [staring crowd]
Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS

For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that; [much]
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',
I've wife eneugh for a' that.

I never drank the Muses' stank, [pond]
Castalia's burn, an' a' that;
But there it streams, an' richly reams! [foams]
My Helicon I ca' that.

Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that. [thwart]

In raptures sweet this hour we meet
Wi' mutual love, an' a' that;
But for how lang the flee may stang, [fly, sting]
Let inclination law that. [regulate]

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, [crazy]
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that;
But clear your decks, an' _Here's the sex!_
I like the jads for a' that. [jades]

For a' that, and a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that,
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
They're welcome till't, for a' that. [to it]

Recitativo

So sung the bard--and Nansie's wa's [walls]
Shook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth;
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds. [emptied, pokes, rags]
They scarcely left to co'er their fads, [cover, tails]
To quench their lowin' drouth. [flaming]
Then owre again the jovial thrang [over, crowd]
The poet did request
To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang, [untie, choose]
A ballad o' the best;
He rising, rejoicing,
Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, an' found them
Impatient for the chorus.

Air

TUNE: Jolly Mortals, Fill Your Glasses

See the smoking bowl before us,
Mark our jovial ragged ring;
Round and round take up the chorus,
And in raptures let us sing:

CHORUS

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.

What is title? what is treasure?
What is reputation's care?
If we lead a life of pleasure,
'Tis no matter how or where!

With the ready trick and fable,
Round we wander all the day;
And at night, in barn or stable,
Hug our doxies on the hay. [mistresses]

Does the train-attended carriage
Thro' the country lighter rove?
Does the sober bed of marriage
Witness brighter scenes of love?

Life is all a variorum,
We regard not how it goes;
Let them cant about decorum
Who have characters to lose.

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!
Here's to all the wandering train!
Here's our ragged brats and callets! [wenches]
One and all cry out _Amen!_

The materials for rebuilding Burns's world are not confined to his explicitly descriptive poems. Much can be gathered from the songs and satires, and there are important contributions in his too scanty essays in narrative. Of these last by far the most valuable is _Tam o' Shanter_. The poem originated accidentally in the request of a certain Captain Grose for local legends to enrich a descriptive work which he was compiling. In Burns's correspondence will be found a prose account of the tradition on which the poem is founded, and he is supposed to have derived hints for the relations of Tam and his spouse from a couple he knew at Kirkoswald.

It was a happy inspiration that led him to turn the story into verse, for it revealed a capacity which otherwise we could hardly have guessed him to possess. The vigor and rapidity of the action, the vivid sketching of the background, the pregnant characterization, the drollery of the humor give this piece a high place among stories in verse, and lead us to conjecture that, had he followed this vein instead of devoting his later years to the service of Johnson and Thomson, he might have won a place beside the author of the _Canterbury Tales_. He lacked, to be sure, Chaucer's breadth of experience and richness of culture: being far less a man of the world he would never have attained the air of breeding that distinguishes the English poet: but with most of the essential qualities that charm us in Chaucer's stories he was well equipped. He had the observant eye, the power of selection, command of the telling phrase and happy epithet, the sense of the comic and the pathetic. Beyond Chaucer he had passion and the power of rendering it, so that he might have reached greater tragic depth, as he surpassed him in lyric intensity.

As it is, however, Chaucer stands alone as a story-teller, for _Tam o' Shanter_ is with Burns an isolated achievement. There are three distinct elements in the work--narrative, descriptive, and reflective. The first can hardly be overpraised. We are made to feel the reluctance of the hero to abandon the genial inn fireside, with its warmth and uncritical companionship, for the bitter ride with a sulky sullen dame at the end of it; the rage of the thunderstorm, as with lowered head and fast-held bonnet the horseman plunges through it; the growing sense of terror as, past scene after scene of ancient horror, he approaches the ill-famed ruin. Then suddenly the mood changes. Emboldened by his potations, Tam faces the astounding infernal revelry with unabashed curiosity, which rises and rises till, in a pitch of enthusiastic admiration for Cutty-Sark, he loses all discretion and brings the "hellish legion" after him pell-mell. We reach the serio-comic catastrophe breathless but exhilarated.

The descriptive background of this galloping adventure is skilfully indicated. Each scene--the ale-house, the storm, the lighted church, the witches' dance--is sketched in a dozen lines, every stroke distinct and telling. Even the three lines indicating what waits the hero at home is an adequate picture. Though incidental, these vignettes add substantially to what the descriptive poems have told us of the environment, real and imaginative, in which the poet had been reared.

The value of the reflective element is more mixed. The most quoted passage, that beginning

"But pleasures are like poppies spread,"

can only be regretted. With its literacy similes, its English, its artificial diction, it is a patch of cheap silk upon honest homespun. But the other pieces of interspersed comment are all admirable. The ironic apostrophes--to Tam for neglecting his wife's warnings; to shrewish wives, consoling them for their husband's deafness to advice; to John Barleycorn, on the transient courage he inspires; to Tam again, when tragedy seems imminent--are all in perfect tone, and do much to add the element of drollery that mixes so delightfully with the weirdness of the scene. And like the other elements in the poem they are commendably short, for Burns nearly always fulfills Bagehot's requirement that poetry should be "memorable and emphatic, intense, and _soon over_."

TAM O' SHANTER

A TALE

Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.
GARVIN DOUGLAS.

When chapman billies leave the street, [pedlar fellows]
And drouthy neibors neibors meet, [thirsty]
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate; [road]
While we sit bousing at the nappy, [ale]
An' getting fou and unco happy, [full, mighty]
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, [bogs, gaps]
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, [found]
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter-- [one]
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonnie lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, [told, good-for-nothing]
A bletherin', blusterin', drunken blellum; [chattering, babbler]
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober; [One]
That ilka melder wi' the miller [every meal-grinding]
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; [money]
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, [nag]
The smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk [wizards, dark]
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet [makes, weep]
To think how many counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right, [uncommonly]
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, [fireside, blazing]
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; [foaming ale]
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, [Cobbler]
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; [loved]
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better;
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious;
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus;
The storm without might rair and rustle, [roar]
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, [loads]
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread--
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river--
A moment white, then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Nae man can tether time nor tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour, he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in; [such]
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, [spanked, puddle]
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; [song]
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, [staring]
Lest bogles catch him unawares, [goblins]
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. [ghosts, owls]

By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; [smothered]
And past the birks and meikle stane, [birches, big]
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, [gorse, pile of stones]
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn; [found]
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel,
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; [blaze]
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; [chink]
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn?
Wi tippenny, we fear nae evil; [ale]
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil! [whisky]
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, [ale]
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle! [farthing]
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,
Till by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! [strange]
Warlocks and witches in a dance!
Nae cotillon brent new frae France, [brand]
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east, [window-seat]
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast--
A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large! [shaggy dog]
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl. [squeal]
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. [ring]
Coffins stood round like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleight [magic trick]
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table [holy]
A murderer's banes in gibbet-airns; [-irons]
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;
A thief new-cutted frae the rape--
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted;
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft--
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, [linked]
Till ilka, carlin swat and reekit, [beldam, steamed]
And coost her duddies to the wark, [cast, rags, work]
And linkit at it in her sark! [tripped deftly, chemise]

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, [those, girls]
A' plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, [greasy flannel]
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen![21]
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, [These trousers]
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, [buttocks]
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! [maidens]

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, [Withered (?), wean]
Louping and flinging on a crummock, [Leaping, cudgel]
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie: [full well]
There was ae winsome wench and walie [choice]
That night enlisted in the core,
Lang after kent on Carrick shore!
(For mony a beast to dead she shot, [death]
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, [barley]
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, [short-shift, coarse linen]
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie. [proud]
Ah! little kent thy reverend grannie
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie [bought]
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches) [pounds]
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my muse her wing maun cour; [stoop]
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r--
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, [leapt, kicked]
(A souple jade she was, and strang);
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, [fidgeted with fondness]
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: [jerked]
Till first ae caper, syne anither, [then]
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, [lost]
And roars out 'Weel done, Cutty-sark!' [Short-shift]
And in an instant all was dark!
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke [fret]
When plundering herds assail their byke, [herd-boys, nest]
As open pussie's mortal foes [the hare's]
When pop! she starts before their nose,
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When 'Catch the thief!' resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs; the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. [weird screech]

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![22]
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane o' the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake! [devil]
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; [endeavor]
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale, [whole]
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carlin caught her by the rump, [clutched]
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 inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear;
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

[21] Woven in a reed of 1,700 divisions.

[22] Lit., a present from a fair; deserts and something more.

Description in Burns is not confined to man and society: he has much to say of nature, animate and inanimate.

Though within a few miles of the ocean, the scenery among which the poet grew up was inland scenery. He lived more than once by the sea for short periods, yet it appears but little in his verse, and then usually as the great severing element.

And seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne

is the characteristic line. Scottish poetry had no tradition of the sea. To England the sea had been the great boundary and defense against the continental powers, and her naval achievements had long produced a patriotic sentiment with regard to it which is reflected in her literature. But Scotland's frontier had been the line of the Cheviots and the Tweed, and save for a brief space under James IV she had never been a sea-power. Thus the cruelty and danger of the sea are almost the only phases prominent in her poetry, and Burns here once more follows tradition.

Again, the scenery of Ayrshire was Lowland scenery, with pastoral hills and valleys. On his Highland tours Burns saw and admired mountains, but they too appear little in his verse. Though not an unimportant figure in the development of natural description in literature, he had not reached the modern deliberateness in the seeking out of nature's beauties for worship or imitation, so that the phases of natural beauty which we find in his poetry are merely those which had unconsciously become fixed in a memory naturally retentive of visual images.

Not only do his natural descriptions deal with the aspects familiar to him in his ordinary surroundings, but they are for the most part treated in relation to life. The thunderstorm in _Tam o' Shanter_ is a characteristic example. It is detailed and vivid and is for the moment the center of interest; but it is introduced solely on Tam's account. Oftener the wilder moods of the weather are used as settings for lyric emotion. In _Winter, a Dirge_, the harmony of the poet's spirit with the tempest is the whole theme, and in _My Nannie's Awa_ the same idea is treated with more mature art:

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw
Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa.

Many poems are introduced with a note of the season, even when it has no marked relation to the tone of the poem. _The Cotter's Saturday Night_ opens with

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

_The Jolly Beggars_ with

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird;

_The Epistle to Davie_ with

While winds frae off Ben-Lomond blaw,
An' bar the doors wi' drivin' snaw,

though in this last case it is skilfully used to introduce the theme. These introductions are probably less imitations of the traditional opening landscape which had been a convention since the early Middle Ages, than the natural result of a plowman's daily consciousness of the weather.

For whether related organically to his subject or not, Burns's descriptions of external nature are to a high degree marked by actual experience and observation. Even remembering Thomson in the previous generation and Cowper and Crabbe in his own, we may safely say that English poetry had hardly seen such realism. Its quality will be conceived from a few passages. Take the well-known description of the flood from _The Brigs of Ayr_.

When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, [all-day]
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains;
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil,
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course,
Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source,
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, [thaws]
In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes; [melted snow rolls]
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, [flood]
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; [way (to the sea)]
And from Glenbuck, down to the Ralton-key,
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea;
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise! [devil if]
And dash the gumlie jaup up to the pouring skies! [muddy splashes]

Any reader familiar with Gavin Douglas's description of a Scottish winter in his Prologue to the twelfth book of the _Æneid_ will be struck by the resemblance to this passage both in subject and manner. It is doubtful whether Burns knew more of Douglas than the motto to _Tam o' Shanter_, but from the days of the turbulent bishop in the early sixteenth century down to Burns's own time Scottish poetry had never lost touch with nature, and had rendered it with peculiar faithfulness. It is interesting to note that while _The Brigs of Ayr_ is Burns's most successful attempt at the heroic couplet, and though it contains verses that must have encouraged his ambition to be a Scottish Pope, yet it is sprinkled with touches of natural observation quite remote from the manner of that master. Compare, on the one hand, such couplets as these:

Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street,
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,--

and

And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn [old age, sorely worn-out]
I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn! [heap of stones]

and

Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of misguided whim;

and

As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle; [Ravens, sort, ticklish]

couplets of which Pope need hardly have been ashamed, with such touches of nature as these:

Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee,
Proud o' the height o some bit half-lang tree:

and

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree:
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently crusting, owre the glittering stream.

These examples of his power of exact, vigorous, or delicate rendering of familiar sights and sounds may be supplemented with a few from other poems.

O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, [intervales]
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, [linnets]
And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids, [dodging, gambols]
Their loves enjoy,
While thro' the braes the cushat croods [coos]
Wi' wailfu' cry!

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me
When winds rave thro' the naked tree;
Or frost on hills of Ochiltree
Are hoary gray;
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,
Dark'ning the day!
_Epistle to William Simpson._

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro' the glen it wimpled;
Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimpled;
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle;
Whyles cookit underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel,
Unseen that night.
_Halloween._

Closely interwoven with Burns's feelings for natural beauty is his sympathy with animals. The frequency of passages of pathos on the sufferings of beasts and birds may be in part due to the influence of Sterne, but in the main its origin is not literary but is an expression of a tender heart and a lifelong friendly intercourse. In this relation Burns most often allows his sentiment to come to the edge of sentimentality, yet in fairness it must be said that he seldom crosses the line. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he had no need to force the note; it was his instinct both as a farmer and as a lover of animals to think, when he heard the storm rise, how it would affect the lower creation.

List'ning the doors and winnocks rattle, [windows]
I thought me on the ourie cattle, [shivering]
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle [onset]
O' winter war,
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle [-sinking, scramble]
Beneath a scar.

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing! [Each hopping]
That, in the merry months o' spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o' thee?
Where wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing,
An' close thy e'e? [eye]
_A Winter Night._

A number of his most popular pieces are the expression of this warm-hearted sympathy, a sympathy not confined to suffering but extending to enjoyment of life and sunshine, and at times leading him to the half-humorous, half-tender ascription to horses and sheep of a quasi-human intelligence. Were we to indulge further our conjectures as to what Burns might have done under more favorable circumstances, it would be easy to argue that he could have ranked with Henryson and La Fontaine as a writer of fables.

TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, [sleek]
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle! [hurrying rush]
I wad na be laith to rin an' chase thee [loath]
Wi' murd'ring pattle! [plough-staff]

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave [odd ear, 24 sheaves]
'S a sma' request; [Is]
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, [rest]
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! [frail]
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin',
Baith snell an' keen! [bitter]

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin' fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble [stubble]
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald, [Without, holding]
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, [endure]
An' cranreuch cauld! [hoar-frost]

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, [alone]
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley, [Go oft askew]
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain [leave]
For promis'd joy.

Still thou art blest compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An' forward tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

TO A LOUSE

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie! [where are, going, wonder]
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, [swagger]
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place. [such]

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, [wonder]
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner! [saint]
How dare ye set your fit upon her, [foot]
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner [Go]
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle; [Quick, temples settle]
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle [i.e. comb]
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there! ye're out o' sight, [keep]
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight; [fal-de-rals]
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it,
The very tapmost tow'ring height
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as onie grozet; [gooseberry]
O for some rank mercurial rozet, [rosin]
Or fell red smeddum! [deadly, dust]
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,
Wad dress your droddum! [breech]

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flannen toy; [flannel cap]
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, [perhaps, ragged]
On's wyliecoat; [undervest]
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, [balloon bonnet]
How daur ye do't? [dare]

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread! [abroad]
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin'! [little wretch]
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, [Those]
Are notice takin'!

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n devotion!

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH A PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786

Wee modest crimson-tippèd flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure [must]
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonnie gem.

Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet
Wi' spreckl'd breast,
When upward springing, blythe to greet
The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, [walls]
But thou, beneath the random bield [shelter]
O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field, [barren]
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade,
By love's simplicity betray'd,
And guileless trust,
Till she like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd:
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 giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n
To mis'ry's brink,
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,
He, ruin'd, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine--no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate
Full on thy bloom,
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight
Shall be thy doom!

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE.

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR [welcome with a present]

A guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: [handful, belly]
Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, [hollow-backed, knobby]
I've seen the day,
Thou could hae gane like ony staggie [colt]
Out-owre the lay. [Across, lea]

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, [drooping]
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie,
I've seen thee dappled, sleek, an' glaizie, [glossy]
A bonnie gray:
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, [excite]
Ance in a day. [Once]

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, [stately, compact, limber]
An' set weel down a shapely shank,
As e'er tread yird; [earth]
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, [pool]
Like ony bird.

It's now some nine-an-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere;
He gied me thee, o' tocher dear, [as dowry]
An' fifty mark;
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, [wealth]
An' thou was stark. [strong]

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie: [mother]
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, [sly]
Ye ne'er was donsie; [unmanageable]
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, [tractable, good tempered]
An' unco sonsie. [very attractive]

That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride [much]
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride; [bore]
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!
Kyle-Stewart I could braggèd wide [have challenged]
For sic a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, [can only halt]
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, [stagger, salmon-boat]
That day ye was a jinker noble [goer]
For heels an' win'! [wind]
An' ran them till they a' did wobble
Far, far behin'.

When thou an' I were young and skeigh, [skittish]
An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh, [dull]
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh [snort, neigh]
An' tak the road!
Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh, [aloof]
An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, [full of corn]
We took the road aye like a swallow:
At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow [wedding-races]
For pith an' speed;
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Where'er thou gaed. [went]

The sma', drooped-rumpled hunter cattle, [short-rumped]
Might aiblins waur'd thee for a brattle; [perhaps have beat, spurt]
But sax Scotch miles, thou tried their mettle,
An' gart them whaizle; [wheeze]
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O' saugh or hazel. [willow]

Thou was a noble fittie-lan', [near horse of hindmost pair]
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! [hide or tow traces]
Aft thee an' I, in aucht hours gaun, [eight, going]
On guid March-weather,
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',
For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, [plunged, stopped,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, capered]
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, [chest]
Wi' pith an' pow'r, [rooty hillocks,
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit, roared, cracked]
An' slypet owre. [fallen gently over]

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep,
An' threaten'd labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap [dish]
Aboon the timmer; [edges]
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep
For that, or simmer. [ere]

In cart or car thou never reestit; [were restive]
The steyest brae thou wad hae faced it; [steepest]
Thou never lap, an' stenned, an' breastit, [leapt, jumped]
Then stood to blaw;
But, just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Thou snoov't awa. [jogged along]

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', [plough-team, issue]
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa [Besides, more, away]
That thou hast nurst:
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,
The very warst. [worst]

Mony a sair darg we twa hae wrought, [day's work]
An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
An' mony an anxious day I thought
We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.

And think na, my auld trusty servan',
That now perhaps thou's less deservin',
An' thy auld days may end in starvin';
For my last fou, [bushel]
A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane [quarter-peck]
Laid by for you.

We've worn to crazy years thegither;
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; [totter]
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether [attentive, change]
To some hain'd rig, [reserved plot]
Where ye may nobly rax your leather, [stretch, sides]
Wi' sma' fatigue.

To the evidence of Burns's warm-heartedness supplied by these kindly verses may appropriately be added the _Address to the Deil_. Burns's attitude to the supernatural we have already slightly touched on. Apart from the somewhat vague Deism which seems to have formed his personal creed, the poet's attitude toward most of the beliefs in the other world which were held around him was one of amused skepticism. _Halloween_ and _Tam o' Shanter_ show how he regarded the grosser rural superstitions; but the Devil was another matter. Scottish Calvinism had, as has been said, made him almost the fourth person in the Godhead; and Burns's thrusts at this belief are among the most effective things in his satire. In the present piece, however, the satirical spirit is almost overcome by kindliness and benevolent humor, and few of his poems are more characteristic of this side of his nature.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL

O thou! whatever title suit thee,
Auld Hornie, Satan, Mick, or Clootie, [Hoofie]
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, [Splashes, dish]
To scaud poor wretches! [scald]

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, [Hangman]
An' let poor damnèd bodies be;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
Ev'n to a deil,
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, [spank, scald]
An' hear us squeal!

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame;
Far kenn'd an' noted is thy name;
An', tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, [flaming pit]
Thou travels far;
An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, [backward]
Nor blate nor scaur. [shy, afraid]

Whyles rangin' like a roarin' lion
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin';
Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin',
Tirlin' the kirks; [Stripping]
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin',
Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my reverend grannie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or, where auld ruin'd castles gray
Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way,
Wi' eldritch croon. [weird]

When twilight did my grannie summon
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! [sedate]
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', [beyond]
Wi' eerie drone;
Or, rustlin', thro' the boortrees comin', [elders]
Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary windy winter night
The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, [squinting]
Wi' you mysel I gat a fright
Ayont the lough; [pond]
Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight [clump of rushes]
Wi' waving sough. [moan]

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, [fist]
Each bristled hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch stoor 'quaick, quaick,' [weird, harsh]
Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake
On whistlin' wings.

Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags [ragwort]
They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags
Wi' wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues
Owre howkit dead. [disturbed]

Thence country wives, wi' toil an' pain,
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; [churn]
For oh! the yellow treasure's taen [i.e., the butter]
By witchin' skill;
An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gane [petted, twelve-pint cow]
As yell's the bill. [dry, bull]

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; [husbands, cocksure]
When the best wark-lume i' the house, [tool]
By cantrip wit, [magic]
Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit. [crisis]

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, [thaws, hoard]
An' float the jinglin' icy boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, [-spirits]
By your direction,
An' 'nighted travelers are allur'd
To their destruction.

An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies [bog-, goblins]
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.

When masons' mystic word an' grip
In storms an' tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, [must]
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell. [straight]

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, [ago, garden]
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd,
And all the soul of love they shar'd,
The raptur'd hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, [sward]
In shady bow'r;

Then you, ye auld snick-drawing dog! [scheming]
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, [trick]
(Black be your fa!)
An' gied the infant warld a shog, [shake]
'Maist ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, [flurry]
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, [smoky rags, scorched wig]
Ye did present your smoutie phiz [smutty]
'Mang better folk,
An' sklented on the man of Uz [squinted]
Your spitefu' joke?

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house an' hal', [holding]
While scabs an' blotches did him gall
Wi' bitter claw,
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul, [loosed, scold]
Was warst ava? [of all]

But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, [fighting]
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, [heat, Lowland]
In prose or rhyme.

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', [Hoofs]
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', [roistering]
Some luckless hour will send him linkin', [hurrying]
To your black pit;
But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin', [dodging]
An' cheat you yet.

But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! [mend]
Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-- [perhaps]
Still hae a stake:
I'm wae to think upo' yon den,
Ev'n for your sake!

Somewhat akin in nature is _Death and Doctor Hornbook_. The purpose is personal satire, Doctor Hornbook being a real person, John Wilson, a schoolmaster in Tarbolton, who had turned quack and apothecary. The figure of Death is an amazingly graphic creation, with its mixture of weirdness and familiar humor; while the attack on Hornbook is managed with consummate skill. Death is made to complain that the doctor is balking him of his legitimate prey, and the drift seems to be complimentary; when in the last few verses it appears that in compensation Hornbook kills far more than he cures.

DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK

Some books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn'd:
Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd, [known]
In holy rapture,
A rousing whid at times to vend, [fib]
And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell, [going]
Which lately on a night befell,
Is just as true's the Deil's in hell
Or Dublin city:
That e'er he nearer comes oursel
'S a muckle pity. [great]

The clachan yill had made me canty, [village age, cheerful]
I wasna fou, but just had plenty; [full]
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye [staggered, heed]
To free the ditches; [clear]
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes kent aye
Frae ghaists an' witches.

The rising moon began to glowre [stare]
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; [above]
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four
I cou'd na tell.

I was come round about the hill,
And todlin' down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill,
To keep me sicker; [secure]
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will,
I took a bicker. [run]

I there wi' _Something_ does forgather, [meet]
That pat me in an eerie swither; [put, ghostly dread]
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, [across one shoulder]
Gear-dangling, hang; [hung]
A three-tae'd leister on the ither [-toed fish-spear]
Lay large an' lang.

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
The queerest shape that e'er I saw,
For fient a wame it had ava: [devil a belly, at all]
And then its shanks,
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma'
As cheeks o' branks. [sides of an ox's bridle]

'Guid-een,' quo' I; 'Friend! hae ye been mawin, [Good-evening, mowing]
When ither folk are busy sawin?' [sowing]
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',
But naething spak;
At length says I, 'Friend, wh'are ye gaun? [going]
Will ye go back?'

It spak right howe: 'My name is Death, [hollow]
But be na fley'd.'--Quoth I, 'Guid faith, [frightened]
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath;
But tent me, billie: [heed, fellow]
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, [advise, harm]
See, there's a gully!' [big knife]

'Gudeman,' quo' he, 'put up your whittle, [knife]
I'm no design'd to try its mettle;
But if I did--I wad be kittle [ticklish]
To be mislear'd-- [if mischievous]
I wad na mind it, no that spittle
Out-owre my beard.' [Over]

'Weel, weel!' says I, 'a bargain be't;
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; [give us, agreed]
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat--
Come, gies your news;
This while ye hae been mony a gate, [road]
At mony a house.'

'Ay, ay!' quo' he, an' shook his head,
'It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed
Sin' I began to nick the thread,
An' choke the breath:
Folk maun do something for their bread, [must]
An' sae maun Death.

'Sax thousand years are near-hand fled, [well-nigh]
Sin' I was to the hutching bred; [butchering]
An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid
To stap or scaur me; [stop, scare]
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade,
An' faith! he'll waur me. [worst]

'Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan-- [village]
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan! [second stomach, tobacco pouch]
He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan [(Author of _Domestic Medicine_)]
An' ither chaps,
The weans haud out their fingers laughin', [children]
And pouk my hips. [poke]

'See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart--
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart;
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art
And cursed skill,
Has made them baith no worth a fart;
Damn'd haet they'll kill. [Devil a thing]

''Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane, [last night]
I threw a noble throw at ane--
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain--
But deil-ma-care!
It just play'd dirl on the bane, [rang, bone]
But did nae mair.

'Hornbook was by wi' ready art,
And had sae fortified the part
That, when I lookèd to my dart,
It was sae blunt,
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart [Devil a bit]
O' a kail-runt. [cabbage stalk]

'I drew my scythe in sic a fury
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry, [upset]
But yet the bauld Apothecary
Withstood the shock;
I might as weel hae tried a quarry
O' hard whin rock.

'E'en them he canna get attended,
Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it,
Just sh-- in a kail-blade, and send it, [cabbage-leaf]
As soon's he smells't,
Baith their disease, and what will mend it,
At once he tells't.

'And then a' doctor's saws and whittles,
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles,
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles,
He's sure to hae;
Their Latin names as fast he rattles
As A B C.

'_Calces_ o' fossils, earths, and trees;
True _sal-marinum_ o' the seas;
The _farina_ of beans and pease,
He has't in plenty;
_Aqua-fortis_, what you please,
He can content ye.

'Forbye some new uncommon weapons,-- [Besides]
_Urinus spiritus_ of capons;
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,
Distill'd _per se_;
_Sal-alkali_ o' midge-tail clippings,
And mony mae.' [more]

'Wae's me for Johnny Ged's Hole now,' [the grave-digger's]
Quoth I, 'if that thae news be true! [those]
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew [grazing-plot, daisies]
Sae white and bonnie,
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; [split]
They'll ruin Johnie!'

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, [groaned, weird]
And says: 'Ye needna yoke the pleugh,
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh,
Tak ye nae fear;
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh [ditch]
In twa-three year.

'Where I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, [straw (i.e., bed)]
By loss o' blood or want o' breath,
This night I'm free to tak my aith [oath]
That Hornbook's skill
Has clad a score i' their last claith, [cloth]
By drap and pill.

'An honest wabster to his trade, [weaver by]
Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, [fists]
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head
When it was sair; [aching]
The wife slade cannie to her bed, [slid quietly]
But ne'er spak mair.

'A country laird had ta'en the batts, [botts]
Or some curmurring in his guts, [commotion]
His only son for Hornbook sets,
An' pays him well:
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, [pet-ewes]
Was laird himsel.

'A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name,
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame; [raised, belly]
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,
In Hornbook's care;
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,
To hide it there.

'That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; [sample]
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he poison, kill an' slay,
An's weel pay'd for't;
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey
Wi' his damn'd dirt.

'But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot,
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't;
I'll nail the self-conceited sot
As dead's a herrin':
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, [Next, wager]
He gets his fairin'!'

But, just as he began to tell,
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell [struck]
Some wee short hour ayont the twal, [beyond, twelve]
Which rais'd us baith: [got us to our feet]
I took the way that pleas'd mysel,
And sae did Death.

A few miscellaneous poems remain to be quoted. These do not naturally fall into any of the major glasses of Burns's work, yet are too important either for their intrinsic worth or the light they throw on his character and genius to be omitted. The Elegies, of which he wrote many, following, as has been seen, the tradition founded by Sempill of Beltrees, may be exemplified by _Tam Samson's Elegy_ and that on Captain Matthew Henderson. Special phases of Scottish patriotism are expressed in _Scotch Drink_, and the address _To a Haggis_; while more personal is _A Bard's Epitaph_. In this last we have Burns's summing up of his own character, and it closes with his recommendation of the virtue he strove after but could never attain.

TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil?
Or great Mackinlay thrawn his heel? [twisted]
Or Robertson again grown weel,
To preach an' read?
'Na, waur than a'!' cries ilka chiel, [worse, everybody]
'Tam Samson's dead!'

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, [groan]
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, [weep alone]
An' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, [clothe, child]
In mourning weed;
To death, she's dearly paid the kane,-- [rent in kind]
Tam Samson's dead!

The Brethren o' the mystic level
May hing their head in woefu' bevel, [slope]
While by their nose the tears will revel,
Like ony bead;
Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel,-- [stunning blow]
Tam Samson's dead!

When Winter muffles up his cloak,
And binds the mire like a rock;
When to the loughs the curler's flock [ponds]
Wi' gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the cock? [mark]
Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o' a' the core [gang]
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,[23]
Or up the rink like Jehu roar
In time o' need;
But now he lags on Death's hogscore,[24]--
Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, [salmon]
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail,
And eels weel kent for souple tail,
And geds for greed, [pikes]
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail
Tam Samson's dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; [whirring partridges]
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; [leg-plumed, confidently]
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, [hares, tail]
Withouten dread;
Your mortal fae is now awa',--
Tam Samson's dead!

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, [attire]
While pointers round impatient burn'd,
Frae couples freed;
But oh! he gaed and ne'er return'd!
Tam Samson's dead!