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The Heron Ballads.

[BALLAD IV..]

JOHN BUSBY'S LAMENTATION.

'Twas in the seventeen hundred year
O' Christ, and ninety-five,
That year I was the waest man
O' ony man alive.

In March, the three-and-twentieth day,

The sun raise clear and bright;

But O, I was a waefu' man

Ere toofa' o' the night.

Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land
Wi' equal right and fame,

And thereto was his kinsman join'd

The Murray's noble name!

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land

Made me the judge o' strife;

But now yerl Galloway's sceptre's broke,

And eke my hangman's knife.

'Twas by the banks o' bonny Dee,

Beside Kirkcudbright towers,

The Stewart and the Murray there
Did muster a' their powers.

The Murray on the auld grey yaud,

Wi' winged spurs did ride,

That auld grey yaud, yea, Nid'sdale rade,
He staw upon Nidside.

An' there had been the yerl himsel',
O there had been nae play;
But Garlies was to London gane,
And sae the kye might stray.

And there was Balmaghie, I ween,
In the front rank he wad shine;
But Balmaghie had better been
Drinking Madeira wine.

Frae the Glenken came to our aid
A chief o' doughty deed,

In case that worth should wanted be,
O' Kenmore we had need.

And there sae grave Squire Cardoness
Look'd on till a' was done;
Sae, in the tower o' Cardoness,
A howlet sits at noon.

And there led I the Busbys a';

My gamesome Billy Will,

And my son Maitland, wise as brave,
My footsteps followed still.

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* John Busby, Esq. of Tinwald-downs. † [The Poet's hopes, alas! were not realized. He died a few months after these lines were written.]

[In this modest and affecting way Burns reminded his superior officer that he was a poor man, suffering from ill health, and that his salary, then due, would be very acceptable. Collector Mitchell was a kind and generous man,

and befriended the Poet on many occasions; but he was not aware, at this time, that

Hungry ruin had him in the wind,"

or that his family were enduring privations such as preyed with double force on the sensitive and feeling heart of Burns.]

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Wi' you no friendship will I troke,

Nor cheap nor dear.

But if, as I'm informed weel,

Ye hate, as ill's the vera deil,

The flinty heart that canna feel

Come, Sir, here's tae you!

Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you weel,

And guid be wi' you.

with other precious reliques of the immortal Bard. They were subsequently presented by him to Allan Cunningham, who was then editing a complete edition of the Poet's works. They had previously been submitted to Sir Walter Scott, who set a very high value upon them.]

To Mrs. C,

ON RECEIVING A WORK OF
HANNAH MORE.

THOU flattering mark of friendship kind,
Still may thy pages call to mind

The dear, the beauteous donor!
Though sweetly female every part,
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the sexes honour.
She show'd her taste refin'd and just
When she selected thee,
Yet deviating, own I must,
For so approving me.

But kind still, I mind still
The giver in the gift,
I'll bless her, and wiss her
A Friend above the Lift.

[Burns sent a copy of these lines to Mr.

Aiken, in April, 1786.]

To Miss Jessy Lewars,+

DUMFRIES,

WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS.

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the Poet's prayer; -
That fate may in her fairest page,
With every kindliest, best presage

The above epistle was accompanied by the Of future bliss, enrol thy name; following letter:

Mossgiel, March 3rd, 1786.

SIR, I have done myself the pleasure of complying with your request in sending you my Cottager. If you have a leisure minute, I should be glad if you would copy it, and return me either the original or the transcript, as I have not a copy of it by me, and I have a friend who wishes to see it.-R. B.

[John Kennedy then resided at Dumfries House: he interested himself greatly in the success of the Kilmarnock edition of the poems of Burns. The original manuscript of the Cotter's Saturday Night, inclosed in the letter, came into the possession of Mr. Cochrane, the publisher,

* The market-cross.

With native worth, and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution still aware
Of ill-but chief, man's felon snare.
All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind-
These be thy guardian and reward;
So prays thy faithful friend, The Bard.

POEM ON LIFE,

ADDRESSED

To Colonel De Pepster,
DUMFRIES, 1796.

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel
Your interest in the Poet's weal:

-the undying thanks of the Poet himself; his songs to † [Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the poet and his little her honour, and his simple gifts of books and verse, will household during his declining days, with all the affectionate keep her name and fame long in the world.] reverence of a daughter. For this she has received the [Arentz de Peyster, Colonel of the Gentleman Volunsilent thanks of all who admire the genius of Burns, or teers of Dumfries, was a rigid disciplinarian: he had dislook with sorrow on his setting sun; she has received more tinguished himself in the colonial war in America, and

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strength.]

I.

[THE epigrams of Burns are numerous: they | trates him, not so much by science as by robust are sharp and personal, and partake of the character of the natural, rather than the artificial, man. He differs from other wits of his time; and, because he does so, his invective has been pronounced harsh and acrimonious, and his sarcasms coarse and savage. He is not indeed one of those who

"Hint a fault and hesitate dislike."

He grapples at once with his enemy, and pros

defended Detroit against the united efforts of the Indians and Republicans. He was regarded by many as a person harsh and stern; but this belonged rather to his manners than to his heart. He was in every respect a soldier. He thought the science of war the noblest of all sciences; a parade day the most glorious of all days, save that of victory. His voice was rough and commanding; his eye

brightened up whenever he looked along the glittering ranks which he ruled; he forgot that he was eighty years old, and

"Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed,
He strode along."

On the Author's Father,

O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, I
Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,

The tender father and the gen'rous friend.

This good old soldier befriended the Poet as far as the Poet would permit; for Burns was not without friends in his last moments.]

* [This exquisite little gem, of which Burns's authorship cannot be doubted, first appeared in a periodical paper published at Liverpool under the title of Kaleidoscope.]

† [William Burness merited the eulogy of his eminent son: early suffering made him somewhat austere, and a conscious ness of declining strength and sinking fortunes hindered him from mixing much in the world's mirth; but he set his children an example of piety, patience and fortitude, and deserves to be named whenever humble worth is recorded.] VAR. Who sympathise with virtue's pains.-MS.

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Goldsmith.

† [The above lines were published by the late Mr. Cobbett, with the following particulars: - "It is our fortune to know a Mr. Kennedy, an aged gentleman, a native of Scotland, and the early associate and friend of Robert Burns. Both were born in Ayr-shire, near the town of Ayr, so frequently celebrated in the poems of the bard. Burns, in the 'Cotter's Saturday Night, gives a noble picture of what we may presume to be the family circle of his father. Kennedy, whose boyhood was passed in the labours of a farm, subsequently became the agent to a mercantile house in a neighbouring town. Hence he is called in the epitaph which the Poet wrote on him, "Tam the Chapman." These lines were composed on Kennedy's recovery from a severe illness. On his way to kirk, on a bright Sabbath morning, he was met by the Poet, who, having rallied him on the sombre expression of his countenance, fell back, but soon overtook him, and presented him with the epitaph written on a bit of paper with a pencil.]

[The gentleman to whom the "Cotter's Saturday Night" is addressed-one of the Poet's earliest patrons. He was so anxious to make his friend's merits known that, wherever he went, he recited his witty or serious poems, with so much taste and effect, that Burns said "I was unknown, Sir, till you read me into reputation."]

[These lines form the conclusion of a letter from Burns to Mr. John Kennedy, dated Kilmarnock, August, 1786, in which he alluded to his intention to go to Jamaica, See the correspondence of that period.]

[This is one of those which Johnson calls an epithet to let. The name of the individual is neither mentioned in it nor alluded to in any of the author's productions. This is

An honest man here lies at rest,
As e'er God with his image blest!
The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The friend of age, and guide of youth;
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd:
If there's another world, he lives in bliss,
If there is none, he made the best of this.

VI.

On Gavin Hamilton.

THE poor man weeps-here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blam'd :
But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or damn'd! **

VII.

On Burns's Horse being impounded. ††

Was e'er puir Poet sae befitted,
The maister drunk, -the horse committed:
Puir harmless beast! tak' thee nae care,
Thou'lt be a horse when he's nae mair (mayor.)

VIII.

On Wee Johnny. ‡‡

HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY.

WHOE'ER thou art, O reader know
That death has murder'd Johnny !

An' here his body lies fu' low-
For saul he ne'er had ony.

the more to be regretted for Burns seldom praised without reason.-"To no man," he observed in a note to John M'Murdo, "whatever his station in life, or his power to serve me, have I ever paid a compliment at the expense of truth."] **["These lines allude to the persecution which Gavin Hamilton endured for riding on Sunday, and speaking irreverently in the presence of a clergyman. The church should be merciful in all frivolous matters; disputes about trifles tend to pull dignity down. The day is past for a minister being expelled from his kirk for writing a virtuous drama, or a hearer being rebuked for gallopping on Sunday."-CUNNINGHAM.]

†† [The Poet on one occasion paid the "merry city" of Carlisle a visit, and got "unco happy" within its ancient walls. He had come into the city on horseback, and his nag was turned out to grass for a few hours. The horse, as may well be supposed, having such a master, was a brute of taste; he, accordingly, took it into his head that the grass in a field belonging to the worthy corporation, which adjoined that in which it had been put, was of a better and sweeter flavour than its own allotment, and made good a lodgment there. The mayor impounded the horse, and the next morning, when Burns heard of the disaster, he wrote the above Stanza. The mayoralty of this worthy was about to expire on the very day on which the verse was written. As soon as he learned whose horse he had impounded, he gave instant orders for its liberation, exclaiming, Let him have it, by all means, or the circumstance will be heard of for ages to come.']

#["Wee Johnny" was John Wilson, printer of the Kilmarnock edition of the Poet's works. He was so unconscious of the worth of what he was working upon, that he doubted the success of the speculation, upon which Burns said he was

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To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!

Strong ale was ablution-
Small beer, persecution,

A dram was memento mori ;

But a full flowing bowl
Was the saving his soul,

And port was celestial glory.

X1.

On a Wag in Mauchline.* LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a', He aften did assist ye; For had ye staid whole years awa, Your wives they ne'er had missed ye. Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass To school in bands thegither, O tread ye lighty on his grass,Perhaps he was your father.

XII.

On a Celebrated Ruling Elder. §

HERE souter Hood in death does sleep;-
To h-ll, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it weel thegither.

XIII.

On a Noisy Polemic. ||

a "silly saulless body," and wrote this sarcastic epitaph, which he printed without being aware that it was his own forlorn hic jacet. He had his revenge, when Burns proposed a second edition, Wee Johnny demurred, unless some good man" would guarantee payment. Mr. William Parker, of Kilmarnock, offered to do this at once. "It is like you to offer," said the Poet, "and like me to refuse."

*[" Mr. Ladyman, an English commercial traveller, alighting one afternoon, in the year 1794, at Brownhill, a stage about thirteen miles from Dumfries, was informed by the landlord that Burns, the Poet, was in the house, and that he had now the best possible opportunity of being introduced to the company of the cleverest man in Scotland. Mr. Ladyman immediately requested the honour of an introduction, and was forthwith shown into the room in which the Bard was sitting with two other gentlemen. The landlord, who was a forward sort of man, and stood upon no ceremony with Burns, presented Mr. Ladyman; and while the Poet rose and received the stranger with that courtesy which always marked his conduct, sat down himself along with his guests, and mixed in the conversation.

When Mr. Ladyman entered the inn, it was about two o'clock. The Poet had been drinking since mid-day with the two gentlemen, and was slightly elevated with liquor, but not to such a degree as to make any particular alteration upon his voice or manner. He did not speak much, nor take any eager share in the conversation. He frequently leant down his head upon the edge of the table, and was silent for a considerable time, as if he had been suffering bodily pain. However, when opportunity occurred, he would start up, and say something shrewd or decisive upon the subject in agitation.

About an hour after Mr. Ladyman arrived dinner was served, consisting of beans and bacon, &c., of which the landlord partook, like the rest of the company, evidently to the displeasure of the poet. During the course of the subsequent toddy, Mr. Ladyman ventured to request of Burns to let the company have a small specimen of his poetry upon any subject he liked to think of "just any thing, in short-whatever might come uppermost-doggerel or not." Burns was never offended by any solicitation of this sort, when it was made in a polite manner, and with proper deference to his own good pleasure. In the present case, he granted the request so readily that, almost imme

BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes:
O Death, it's my opinion,
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' b-h
Into thy dark dominion!

diately after Mr. Ladyman had done speaking, he delibe-
rately uttered the above lines. It must be understood that
Bacon was the name of the landlord, whose habit of in-
truding into all companies was thus cleverly ridiculed. As
far as Mr. Ladyman can recollect, Burns pronounced the
lines without the least hesitation of voice, and apparently
without finding any difficulty in embodying the thought in
rhyme. No effort seemed necessary. He happened to have
the glass in his hand at the time the request was made, and
so trifling was the exertion of intellect apparently required
that he did not put it down upon the table, but waited till
he concluded the epigram, and then drank off his liquor
amidst the roar of applause that ensued. The landlord had
retired some little time before, otherwise Burns would not
perhaps have chosen him as the subject of his satire. There
is no doubt, however, that he would see and hear enough
of it afterwards; for Burns, at the earnest entreaties of the
company, immediately committed it to the breath of Fame,
by writing it upon one of the panes in the window behind
his chair."-CHAMBERS.]

† [This person kept the Whitefoord Arms, at the entrance of the Cowgate in Mauchline. The honest landlord's religion is made out to be a comparative appreciation of his various liquors.]

['This laborious wag was James Smith, whose history has been related in the note to that exquisite epistle beginning "Dear Smith, the sleest pawkie thief!" He failed in all his speculations in Scotland, afterwards emigrated and died in the West Indies.]

[This ruling elder was one of those who examined anxiously into the poetical delinquencies of Burns, and hoped to find that the spiritual artillery of the kirk could be levelled at profane rhymers. He got hold, it is said, of some indecorous verses, which, in a mirthful moment, had dropt from the pen of the Poet, and as he read them in the Session, he paused at every verse, exclaiming "A wild lad! a wild lad!"]

[This person's name is James Humphrey: he is by trade a mason, is now grown old and infirm, but loves to talk of Burns and of the warm debates between them on Effectual Calling and Free Grace. Cromek said that he found him at work in a quarry, with a fox-skin cap and wooden clogs on, and stirred him up to talk on devotional matters, which he did with a natural eloquence and a quick acuteness that surprised him.]

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