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ET. 37.] O BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 189

The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair,"
What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell!

August, 1795.

O BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER.

"Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my Poems, presented to the lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of Chloris." - Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1795.

O BONNY was yon rosy brier

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; And bonny she, and ah! how dear! It shaded frae the e'enin' sun.

Yon rose-buds in the morning dew,
How pure amang the leaves sae green!
But purer was the lover's vow

They witnessed in their shade yestreen.

All in its rude and prickly bower,

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair!

190 FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. [1795.

But love is far a sweeter flower

Amid life's thorny path o' care.

The pathless wild and wimpling burn, winding brook
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine;

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn,
Its joys and griefs alike resign.

INSCRIPTION

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTREE, THE SEAT OF MR. HERON.

Assigned by Dr. Currie to the summer of 1795.

THOU of an independent mind,

With soul resolved, with soul resigned;
Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;
Virtue alone who dost revere,

Thy own reproach alone dost fear,
Approach this shrine, and worship here!

ET. 37.] THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.

191

THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.

Allusion has several times been made to the Duke of Queensberry, as a personage held in hatred by the poet. The two following stanzas were probably a part of the election-ballad of 1790, but omitted from the copy sent by the author to Mr. Graham.

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace-
Discarded remnant of a race

Once great in martial story? His forbears' virtues all contrasted The very name of Douglas blasted His that inverted glory.

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore;
But he has superadded more,

ancestors

And sunk them in contempt; Follies and crimes have stained the name, But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim, From aught that's good exempt.

192

THE WOODS OF DRUMLANRIG.

[1795.

VERSES ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIG.

In 1795, the Duke of Queensberry stripped his domains of Drumlanrig, in Dumfriesshire, and Neidpath, in Peeblesshire, of all the wood fit for being cut, in order to furnish a dowry for the Countess of Yarmouth, whom he supposed to be his daughter, and to whom, by a singular piece of good-fortune on her part, Mr. George Selwyn, the celebrated wit, also left a fortune, under the same (probably equally mistaken) impression. It fell to the lot of Wordsworth to avenge on the "degenerate Douglas" his leaving old Neidpath SO beggared and outraged." The vindication of nature in the case of Drumlanrig became a pleasing duty to Burns. In one of his rides, he inscribed the following verses on the back of a window-shutter in an inn or toll-house near the scene of the devastations.

66

As on the banks o' wandering Nith,

Ae smiling simmer-morn I strayed,

And traced its bonny howes and haughs,1

hollows

Where linties sang and lambkins played, linnets

I sat me down upon a craig,

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream;

When, from the eddying deep below,

Uprose the genius of the stream.

1 Low lands on the margin of a river (the New England "interval.")

AT. 37.] THE WOODS OF DRUMLANRIG.

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow,
And troubled, like his wintry wave,
And deep, as sughs the boding wind

193

soughs

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave: :"And came ye here, my son," he cried, "To wander in my birken shade? To muse some favourite Scottish theme, Or sing some favourite Scottish maid.

"There was a time, it's nae lang syne,
Ye might hae seen me in my pride,
When a' my banks sae bravely saw
Their woody pictures in my tide;
When hanging beech and spreading elm
Shaded my stream sae clear and cool,
And stately oaks their twisted arms

Threw broad and dark across the pool;

"When glinting, through the trees, appeared The wee white cot aboon the mill,

And peacefu' rose its ingle reek, chimney smoke That slowly curled up the hill.

But now the cot is bare and cauld,

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane,

And scarce a stinted birk is left

To shiver in the blast its lane."

alone

"Alas!" said I, "what ruefu' chance

Has twined ye o' your stately trees? deprived Has laid your rocky bosom bare?

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