ET. 38.] TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 201 As once on Pisgah purged was the sight Of a son of Circumcision, So may be, on this Pisgah height, Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet, That met the Ass of Balaam. In your heretic sins may you live and die, Ye heretic Eight-and-Thirty! But accept, ye sublime majority, My congratulations hearty! With your Honours and a certain King, TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. Early in the month of January, when his health was in the course of improvement, Burns tarried to a late hour at a jovial party in the Globe Tavern. Before returning home, he unluckily remained for some time in the open air, and, overpowered by the effects of the liquor he had drunk, fell asleep. In these circumstances, and in the peculiar condition to which a severe medicine had reduced his constitution, a fatal chill penetrated to his bones: he reached home with the seeds of a rheumatic fever already in possession of his weakened frame. In this little accident, and not in the pressure of poverty or disrepute, or wounded feelings or a broken heart, truly lay the determining cause of the sadly shortened days of this great poet. The commander of the Dumfries Volunteer Corps having sent to make inquiries after his health, Burns replied in rhyme. My honoured colonel, deep I feel Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel Surrounded thus by bolus pill, And potion glasses. O what a canty warld were it, Would pain and care and sickness spare it; And fortune favour worth and merit, As they deserve ! And aye a rowth roast-beef and claret; Syne, wha wad starve? climb merry plenty Then Dame Life, though fiction out may trick her, And in paste gems and frippery deck her ET. 38.] TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker I've found her still, Aye wavering like the willow-wicker, 'Tween good and ill. Then that curst Carmagnole, auld Satan, Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on Wi' felon ire; 203 uncertain the cat clutch Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair, Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare mad Poor man, the flee, aft bizzes by, And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh, itches Already in thy fancy's eye, Thy sicker treasure! certain Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie! in he gangs, heels-overhead And like a sheep-head on a tangs, Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs And murdering wrestle, tongs grinning As, dangling in the wind, he hangs But lest you think I am uncivil, To plague you with this draunting drivel, I quat my pen: The Lord preserve us frae the devil! HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. TUNE- Balinamona ora. Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, CHORUS. Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; dower Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher - the nice yellow guineas for me. T. 38.] JESSY. 205 Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, And withers the faster the faster it grows, knowes, Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonny white yowes! ewes And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest; But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae them, the mair they're carest. February, 1796. JESSY. "I once mentioned to you an air which I have long admired Here's a Health to them that's awa', Hiney, but I forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses, and I beg leave to recommend the air to your attention once more. I have only begun it."-Burns to Mr. Thomson, about May 17, 1796. Jessy Lewars was a friend of Mrs. Burns, who acted the part of a ministering angel in the poet's house dur |