Extempore In The Court Of Session
Tune—“Killiercrankie.”
Lord Advocate He clenched his pamphlet in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, Till, in a declamation-mist, His argument he tint it: He gaped for’t, he graped for’t, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short, He eked out wi’ law, man.
Mr. Erskine Collected, Harry stood awee, Then open’d out his arm, man; [Footnote 1: William Dunbar, W. S., of the Crochallan Fencibles, a convivial club.] His Lordship sat wi’ ruefu’ e’e, And ey’d the gathering storm, man: Like wind-driven hail it did assail’ Or torrents owre a lin, man: The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, Half-wauken’d wi’ the din, man.
Inscription For The Headstone Of Fergusson The Poet1
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, “No storied urn nor animated bust;” This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way, To pour her sorrows o’er the Poet’s dust.
Additional Stanzas She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate; Tho’ all the powers of song thy fancy fired, Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state, And, thankless, starv’d what they so much admired. This tribute, with a tear, now gives A brother Bard—he can no more bestow: But dear to fame thy Song immortal lives, A nobler monument than Art can shew.
Inscribed Under Fergusson’s Portrait Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased, And yet can starve the author of the pleasure. O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the Muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate! Why is the Bard unpitied by the world, Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? [Footnote 1: The stone was erected at Burns’ expenses in February—March, 1789.]