Ye ministers, come mount the poupit,
An' cry till ye
be haerse an' roupet,
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel,
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal;
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck,
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck!-

Ye bonie lasses, dight your e'en,
For some o' you ha'e tint a frien';
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en
What ye 'll ne'er ha'e to gie again.

Observe the very nowt an' sheep,
How dowf and daviely they creep;
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry,
For E'nbrugh wells are grutten dry.

O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn,
An' no o'er auld, I hope, to learn!
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care,
Thou now has got thy Daddy's chair,
Nae hand-cuff'd mizl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent,
But, like himsel, a full free agent.
Be sure ye follow out the plan

Nae waur than he did, honest man!
As muckle better as you can.

January 1, 1789.

VERSES,

Written under the portrait of Fergusson, the poet, in a copy of that author's works presented to a young Lady in Edinburgh, March 19th, 1787.

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, And yet can starve the author of the pleasure. O thou my elder brother in misfortune,

By far my elder brother in the muses,

With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?*

* This apostrophe to Fergusson, bears a striking affinity to one in Burns's poems, Dr. Currie's edition, vol. III, p. 248.

O Fergusson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law's dry musty arts!

My curse upon your whunstane hearts,

Ye E'nbrugh gentry!

The tythe o' what ye waste at Cartes

Wad stow'd his pantry!

This was written before Burns visited the Scottish capital. Even without a poet's susceptibility we may feel how the prophetic parallel of Fergusson's case with his own must have pressed on the memory of our bard, when he paid his second tribute of affection to his elder brother in misfortune.

E.

SONGS AND BALLADS.