After 20th stanza of the text (at “Dispensing good”):— Near by arose a mansion fine4 The seat of many a muse divine; Not rustic muses such as mine, With holly crown’d, But th’ ancient, tuneful, laurell’d Nine, From classic ground. I mourn’d the card that Fortune dealt, To see where bonie Whitefoords dwelt;5 But other prospects made me melt, That village near;6 There Nature, Friendship, Love, I felt, Fond-mingling, dear! Hail! Nature’s pang, more strong than death! Warm Friendship’s glow, like kindling wrath! Love, dearer than the parting breath Of dying friend! Not ev’n with life’s wild devious path, Your force shall end! The Power that gave the soft alarms In blooming Whitefoord’s rosy charms, Still threats the tiny, feather’d arms, The barbed dart, While lovely Wilhelmina warms The coldest heart.7
After 21st stanza of the text (at “That, to adore”):— Where Lugar leaves his moorland plaid,8 Where lately Want was idly laid, [Footnote 3: Captain James Montgomerie, Master of St. James’ Lodge, Tarbolton, to which the author has the honour to belong.—R.B.] [Footnote 4: Auchinleck.—R.B.] [Footnote 5: Ballochmyle.] [Footnote 6: Mauchline.] [Footnote 7: Miss Wilhelmina Alexander.] [Footnote 8: Cumnock.—R.B.] I marked busy, bustling Trade, In fervid flame, Beneath a Patroness’ aid, of noble name. Wild, countless hills I could survey, And countless flocks as wild as they; But other scenes did charms display, That better please, Where polish’d manners dwell with Gray, In rural ease.9 Where Cessnock pours with gurgling sound;10 And Irwine, marking out the bound, Enamour’d of the scenes around, Slow runs his race, A name I doubly honour’d found,11 With knightly grace. Brydon’s brave ward,12 I saw him stand, Fame humbly offering her hand, And near, his kinsman’s rustic band,13 With one accord, Lamenting their late blessed land Must change its lord. The owner of a pleasant spot, Near and sandy wilds, I last did note;14 A heart too warm, a pulse too hot At times, o’erran: But large in ev’ry feature wrote, Appear’d the Man.
The Rantin’ Dog, The Daddie O’t Tune—“Whare’ll our guidman lie.”
O wha my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry? Wha will kiss me where I lie? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. [Footnote 9: Mr. Farquhar Gray.—R.B.] [Footnote 10: Auchinskieth.—R.B.] [Footnote 11: Caprington.—R.B.] [Footnote 12: Colonel Fullerton.—R.B.] [Footnote 13: Dr. Fullerton.—R.B.] [Footnote 14: Orangefield.—R.B.] O wha will own he did the faut? O wha will buy the groanin maut? O wha will tell me how to ca’t? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. When I mount the creepie-chair, Wha will sit beside me there? Gie me Rob, I’ll seek nae mair, The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. Wha will crack to me my lane? Wha will mak me fidgin’ fain? Wha will kiss me o’er again? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
Here’s His Health In Water Tune—“The Job of Journey-work.”
Altho’ my back be at the wa’, And tho’ he be the fautor; Altho’ my back be at the wa’, Yet, here’s his health in water. O wae gae by his wanton sides, Sae brawlie’s he could flatter; Till for his sake I’m slighted sair, And dree the kintra clatter: But tho’ my back be at the wa’, And tho’ he be the fautor; But tho’ my back be at the wa’, Yet here’s his health in water!
Address To The Unco Guid, Or The Rigidly Righteous
My Son, these maxims make a rule, An’ lump them aye thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither: The cleanest corn that ere was dight May hae some pyles o’ caff in; So ne’er a fellow-creature slight For random fits o’ daffin. (Solomon.—Eccles. ch. vii. verse 16.) O ye wha are sae guid yoursel’, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye’ve nought to do but mark and tell Your neibours’ fauts and folly! Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supplied wi’ store o’ water; The heaped happer’s ebbing still, An’ still the clap plays clatter. Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals That frequent pass douce Wisdom’s door For glaikit Folly’s portals: I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Would here propone defences— Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. Ye see your state wi’ theirs compared, And shudder at the niffer; But cast a moment’s fair regard, What maks the mighty differ; Discount what scant occasion gave, That purity ye pride in; And (what’s aft mair than a’ the lave), Your better art o’ hidin. Think, when your castigated pulse Gies now and then a wallop! What ragings must his veins convulse, That still eternal gallop! Wi’ wind and tide fair i’ your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o’ baith to sail, It maks a unco lee-way. See Social Life and Glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking, Till, quite transmugrified, they’re grown Debauchery and Drinking: O would they stay to calculate Th’ eternal consequences; Or your more dreaded hell to state, Damnation of expenses! Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gie poor Frailty names, Suppose a change o’ cases; A dear-lov’d lad, convenience snug, A treach’rous inclination— But let me whisper i’ your lug, Ye’re aiblins nae temptation. Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark,— The moving Why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, ’tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord, its various tone, Each spring, its various bias: Then at the balance let’s be mute, We never can adjust it; What’s done we partly may compute, But know not what’s resisted.