Dalrymple has been lang our fae,
M.Gill has wrought us meikle wae,
And that FELL rascal ca'd M'Quhae,
And baith the Shaws,

That aft hae made us black and blae,
Wi' vengefu' paws.

Auld Wodrow lang has hatched mischief,
We thought aye death wad bring relief,
But he has gotten, to our grief,

Ane to succeed him,

A chield wha'll soundly buff our beef;
I meikle dread him.

And mony a ane that I could tell,
Wha fain would openly rebel,
Forby turn-coats amang oursel;
There's Smith for ane,

I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill,
And that ye'll fin'.

Oh a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills,

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,
Come, join your counsel and your skills,
To cowe the lairds,

And get the brutes the powers themsels
To choose their herds.

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance,
And Learning in a woody dance,
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense,
That bites sae sair,

Be banished o'er the sea to France:
Let him bark there.

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence,
M'Gill's close nervous excellence,

M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense,

And guid M Math,

Wi' Smith, wha through the heart can glance,
May a' pack aff.

foe

much woe

both oft, blue

one

fellow, thrash

many

besides

unmasculine

halter

So sore

good

off

May 1785.

got heartily

must, would

very fellow

should, loath

sidelong directed

cajoling

basket

climb

Ironic satire, sidelins sklented

On my poor Musie;

Though in sic phrasin' terms ye've penned it,

I scarce excuse ye.

My senses wad be in a creel,

Should I but dare a hope to speel,

Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield,

The braes o' fame;

Or Fergusson, the writer chiel,
A deathless name.

(Oh, Fergusson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law's dry musty arts!

MY BAN upon your whunstane hearts,
Ye E'nbrugh gentry;

The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes
Wad stowed his pantry!)

Yet when a tale comes i' my head,
Or lasses gie my heart a screed,

As whiles they're like to be my deid,
(Oh sad disease!)

I kittle up my rustic reed;

It gies me ease.

youth

whinstone

Edinburgh

cards

filled

give, rive

death

excite

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain,

Kyle in Ayrshire

own

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,

youths, pipes, spare

She's gotten poets o' her ain,

But tune their lays,

Till echoes a' resound again

Her weel-sung praise.

Nae poet thought her worth his while,
To set her name in measured style;
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle

Beside New Holland,

Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil
Besouth Magellan.

Ramsay and famous Fergusson
Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon
Yarrow and Tweed, to monie a tune,
Owre Scotland rings,

While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon,
Naebody sings.

Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, and Seine,
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line;

But, Willie, set your fit to mine,

And cock your crest,

We'll gar our streams and burnies shine

Up wi' the best!

We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells,
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells,

unknown

to southward of

gave, upwards

many over

foot

make rivulets

hills

Her banks and braes, her dens and dells,
Where glorious Wallace

Aft bure the gree, as story tell,

Frae southron billies.

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood
But boils up in spring-tide flood!
Oft have our fearless fathers strode

By Wallace' side,

Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,
Or glorious died!

O sweet are Coila's haughs and woods
When lintwhites chant amang the buds,
And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids,*
Their loves enjoy;

While through the braes the cushat croods
With wailfu' cry!

Even winter bleak has charms to me

When winds rave through the naked tree;
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree

Are hoary gray:

Or blinding drifts wild furious flee,

Darkening the day!

O Nature! a' thy shows and forms
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms!
Whether the summer kindly warms,
Wi' life and light,

Or winter howls, in gusty storms,
The lang, dark night!

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her,
Till by himsel he learned to wander,
Adown some trotting burn's meander,
And no think lang;

O sweet to stray, and pensive ponder
A heart-felt sang!

The war'ly race may drudge and drive,
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, and strive

Let me fair Nature's face descrive,

And I, wi' pleasure,

Shall let the busy grumbling hive
Bum owre their treasure.

Fareweel, "my rhyme-composing brither!"

bore the bell fellows

walking in blood

meadows linnets

dove coos

no, found

worldly jostle, push

describe

buzz over

brother

We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither: too, unknown, each

Now let us lay our heads thegither,

In love fraternal;

May Envy wallop in a tether,

Black fiend internal !

Nimble frisking movements of the hare.

[other

quiver, halter

While Highlandmen hate tolls and taxes;
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies,
While terra firma on her axis

Diurnal turns,

Count on a friend in faith and practice,
In ROBERT BURNS.

POSTCRIPT.

My memory's no worth a preen;
I had amaist forgotten clean,

Ye bade me write you what they mean
By this New Light,

'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been
Maist like to fight.

In days when mankind were but callans

At

grammar, logic, and sic talents,

They took nae pains their speech to balance,

Or rules to gie,

dead sheep

pin

almost, quite

so oft have almost

boys

such

give

But spak their thoughts in plain braid lallans, lowland speech

Like you or me.

In thae auld times, they thought the moon,

Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon,

Wore by degrees, till her last roon

Gaed past their viewing,

And shortly after she was done,
They gat a new one.

This passed for certain-undisputed;
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it,
Till chiels gat up, and wad confute it
And ca'd it wrang;

And muckle din there was about it,
Baith loud and lang.

Some herds, well learned upo' the beuk,
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk;
For 'twas the auld moon turned a neuk,

And out o' sight,

And backlins-comin', to the leuk
She grew mair bright.

This was denied-it was affirmed;

The herds and hirsels were alarmed,

The reverend gray-beards raved and stormed

That beardless laddies

Should think they better were informed
Then their auld daddies.

these

shirt, shoes

paring

went

got

fellows, would

much

both

book

assert, mistook

corner

backwards, look

flocks

fathers

This game was played in monie lands,
And Auld-Light caddies bure sic hands,
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands
Wi' nimble shanks,

Till lairds forbade, by strict commands,
Sic bluidy pranks.

But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe,

Folk thought them ruined stick-and-stowe,
Till now amaist on every knowe

Ye'll find ane placed;

And some their New-Light fair avow,
Just quite barefaced.

Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are bleatin';
Their zealous herds are vexed and sweatin';
Mysel' I've even seen them greetin'

Wi' girnin' spite,

To hear the moon sae sadly lied on
By word and write.

porters bore

legs

such bloody

completely

almost, hillock

crying grinning

But shortly they will cowe the loons!
Some Auld-Light herds in neebor touns
Are mind't in things they ca' balloons
To tak a flight,

neighbour

And stay ae month among the moons,
And see them right.

Guid observation they will gie them;

And when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them,

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them,

Just i' their pouch,

And when the New-Light billies see them,
I think they'll crouch!

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter

66

Is naething but a moonshine matter;"
But though dull prose-folk Latin splatter
In logic tulzie,

I hope we bardies ken some better

Than mind sic brulzie.

THIRD EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK.

one

going

fragment

fellows

nothing

oontention

such broil

September 13, 1785.

GUIDSpeed and furder to you, Johnny,

prosperity

Guid health, hale han's, and weather bonny;
Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny