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III What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation ? I, wha deserv'd most just damnation

For broken laws Sax thousand years ere my creation,

Thro' Adam's cause!

210

IV

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 of the brig;
There, at them thou they tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross !
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake;
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man, and mother's son, take heed: 230
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear:
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

When from my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung'd me deep in hell 20
To gnash my gooms, and weep, and wail

In burning lakes,
Whare damnèd devils roar and yell,

Chain'd to their stakes.

| Yet I am bere, a chosen sample,

To show Thy grace is great and ample:
I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,

Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, and example

To a' Thy flock?

VI

But yet, O Lord ! confess I must: At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust; An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust,

Vile self gets in; But Thou remembers we are dust,

Defiled wi' sin.

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER
And send the godly in a pet to pray.

POPE. ARGUMENT Holy Willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of Mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering which ends in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to liquorish devotion. In a sessional process with a gentleman in Mauchline-Mr. Gavin Hamilton Holy Willie and his priest, Father Auld, after full hearing in the Presbytery of Ayr, came off but second best, owing partly to the oratorical powers of Mr. Robert Aiken, Mr. Hamilton's counsel; but chiefly to Mr. Hamilton's being one of the most irreproachable and truly respectable characters in the country. On losing his process, the muse overheard him at his devotions, as follows."

VII O Lord ! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg | Thy pardon I sincerely beg 0, may 't ne'er be a living plague

To my dishonour ! An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg

Again upon her.

VIII Besides, I farther maun avow Wi' Leezie's lass, three times, I trow But, Lord, that Friday I was fou,

When I cam near her, Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true

Wad never steer her.

O Thou that in the Heavens does dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best Thysel,
Sends ane to Heaven an' ten to Hell

A' for Thy glory,
And no for onie guid or ili

They've done before Thee !

II I bless and praise Thy matchless might, When thousands Thou hast left in night, That I am here before Thy sight, For gifts an' grace

TO A burning and a shining light

To a' this place.

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A ROSE-BUD, BY MY EARLY

WALK

Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou has a chosen race !
But God confound their stubborn face

An' blast their name,
Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
An' open shame!

60 XI Lord, mind Gau'n Hamilton's deserts: He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, Yet has sae monie takin arts

Wi' great and sma', Frae God's ain Priest the people's hearts

He steals awa.

“ This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruickshank, only child to my worthy friend Mr. Wm. Cruickshank, of the High School, Edinburgh. The air is by David Sillar, quondam merchant, and now schoolmaster in Irvine. He is the Davie' to whom I address my printed poetical epistle in the measure of The Cherry and the Slae." (R. B.)

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A ROSE-BUD, by my early walk
Adown a corn-inclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.

II
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast,

Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.

III
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tents thy early morning! 20
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watch'd thy early morning!

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THE SILVER TASSIE

Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him! Lord, visit him wha did employ him! And pass not in Thy mercy by them,

Nor hear their pray'r, But for Thy people's sake destroy them,

An' dinna spare !

XVI
But, Lord, remember me and mine
Wi' mercies temporal and divine,
That I for grace an' gear may shine

Excell'd by pane;
And a' the glory shall be Thine —

Amen, Amen!

“This air is Oswald's; the first half stanza :

"Go fetch to me a pint o wine,

And fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink before I go

A service to my bonie lassie :'"is old ; the rest is mine." (R. B.)

Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine,

And fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink before I go

A service to my bonie lassie!

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The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-Law,
And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

II
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,

The glittering spears are ranked ready, 10 The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes deep and bloody. It's not the roar o sea or shore

Wad mak me langer wish to tarry, Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar:

It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary!

FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to

the North, The birthplace of valour, the country of

worth ! Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

OF A’ THE AIRTS

10

• The air is by Marshall; the song I composed out of compliment to Mrs. Burns. N. B. It was during the honeymoon.” (R. B.)

II Farewell to the mountains high cover'd

with snow, Farewell to the straths and green valleys

below, Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging

woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!

CHORUS | My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is

not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the

deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the My heart's in the Highlands, wherever

I go!

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And monie a hill between,
But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

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I see her in the dewy flowers —

I see her sweet and fair.
I hear her in the tunefu' birds -

I hear her charm the air.
There's not a bonie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH

LANDS

John ANDERSON my jo, John,

When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John,

Your locks are like the snaw, But blessings on your frosty pow, Jobn Anderson my jo!

II
John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,
And monie a cantie day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither; Now we maun totter down, John,

And hand in hand we 'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson my jo!

"The first half stanza of this song is old, the rest is mine." (R. B.)

10

CHORUS My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is

not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the

deer,

THOU LINGERING STAR

[Publ. 1789]

Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray,

That lov'st to greet the early inorn, Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary, dear departed shade !

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend bis

breast ?

vacation being at Moffat, honest Allan (who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton) and I went to pay Nicol a visit. We had such a joyous meeting that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business.” (R. B.)

CHORUS
We are na fou, we're nae that fou,

But just a drappie in our e'e!
The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And ay we'll taste the barley-bree!

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I
O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,

And Rob and Allan cam to see.
Three blyther hearts that lee-lang night
Ye wad na found in Christendie.

II
Here are we met three merry boys,

Three merry boys I trow are we; 10 And monie a night we've merry been,

And monie mae we hope to be!

III

III
It is the moon, I ken her horn,

That's blinkin in the lift sae hie: She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,

But, by my sooth, she 'll wait a wee!

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods thickening

green ; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 'Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd

scene; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Wha first shall rise to gang awa,

A cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha first beside his chair shall fa',
He is the King amang us three! 20

CHORUS
We are na fou, we ’re nae that fou,

But just a drappie in our e'e!
The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And ay we'll taste the barley-bree!

IV Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,

And fondly broods with miser-care. Time but th' impression stronger makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. O Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 30 See'st thon thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his

breast ?

AE FOND KISS

WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O'MAUT

[Publ. 1789) “The air is Masterton's; the song mine. The occasion of it was this: Mr. Wm. Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, during the autumn

AE fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae farewell, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I 'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I 'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him ?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.

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II

II
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy:

The Deil cam fiddlin thro' the town,
Naething could resist my Nancy!

And danc'd awa wi' th’ Exciseman, But to see her was to love her,

And ilka wife cries : _“Auld Mahoun, Love but her, and love for ever.

I wish you luck o' the prize, man!
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met — or never parted —

“We'll mak our maut, and we 'll brew our We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

drink,

We'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man, 10 III

And monie braw thanks to the meikle Fare-the-weel, thou first and fairest !

black Deil, Fare-the-weel, thou best and dearest!

That danc'd awa wi' th’ Exciseman.” Thine be ilka joy and treasure,

III
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure ! 20
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!

There's threesome reels, there's foursome Ae farewell, alas, for ever!

reels, Deep in heart-wrung tears I 'll pledge thee, There's hornpipes and strathpeys, man, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land

Was The Deil's Awa wi' thExciseman.

CHORUS
THE BANKS O' DOON

The Deil's awa, the Deil's awa,

The Deil's awa wi' th’ Exciseman!

He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa, Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,

He's danc'd awa wi' th’ Exciseman! 20 How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ? How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care ! Thou 'll break my heart, thou warbling | THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERbird,

NESS
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn!
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

The lovely lass of Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;

For e'en to morn she cries “ Alas!” Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon

And ay the saut tear blin's her e'e: To see the rose and woodbine twine, 10 And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

II And fondly sae did I o' mine.

“ Drumossie moor, Drumossie day — Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

A waefu' day it was to me! Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree !

For there I lost my father dear, And my fause luver staw my rose

My father dear and brethren three. But ahl he left the thorn wi' me.

TT

III

THE DEIL'S AWA WI' TH'

EXCISEMAN

“Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,

Their graves are growin green to see, 10 And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever blest a woman's e'e.

IV

CHORUS
The Deil's awa, the Deil's awa,

The Deil's awa wi' th’ Exciseman!
He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa,

He's danc'd awa wi' th’ Exciseman!

“Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,

A bluidy man I trow thou be,
For monie a heart thou hast made sair
I That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!”

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