He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, An' he swore by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; For it was a' but nonsense : The auld guidman raught down the pock, He marches through amang the stacks, And haurls at his curpin : He whistled up Lord Lennox' March, Out-owre that night. He roared a horrid murder-shout, Meg fain wad to the barn ha'e gaen, An' twa red-cheekit apples, She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, An' owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gi'es a ca', Syne bauldly in she enters; A ratton rattled up the wa', An' she cried, Lord preserve her! An' ran through midden-hole an' a’ An' prayed wi' zeal an' fervour, Fu' fast that night. They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; For some black, grousome carlin; A wanton widow Leezie was, But och! that night, amang the shaws, She got a fearfu' settlin' ! She through the whins, an' by the cairn, An' owre the hill ga'ed scrievin', Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn, To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As through the glen it wimpl't; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays, Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; Whyles glittered to the nightly rays, Amang the brackens, on the brae, Gat up an' ga'e a croon ; Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. [Burns evidently caught the notion of the title he has given to the following stanzas from the refrain of an old song on "The Life and Age of Man," named by him in one of his letters to Mrs. Dunlop, a refrain running "Ah, man was made to moan!" The wayfarer alluded to in the opening lines as having been encountered by the author was a certain James Andrew, a miller of Mauchline. Immediately before their chance meeting, the Poet, in answer to the appeal of a half-distracted mother, had set forth, in the deepening twilight, along the banks of the river, in search of a lassie named Kate Kemp, who, as well as a cow which had been Wi' a plunge that night. in her charge, had mysteriously disappeared. THE INVENTORY. In Answer to a MANDATE BY THE SUR- [These verses were addressed to Robert Aiken in his capacity as Surveyor of Taxes in Ayr, apropos to the new tax imposed on Female Servants by Mr. Pitt in 1785, with a view to the reduction of the National Debt.] SIR, as your mandate did request, My han'-afore 's a guid auld has-been, I made a poker o' the spin'le, Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted, (Lord, pardon a' my sins, and that too!) I've paid enough for her already, I played my fillie sic a shavie, Wheel-carriages I ha'e but few, And gin ye tax her or her mither, And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 'Tis you and Taylor are the chief An' end the quarrel, [This was obviously the merest fragment of an epistle, and one which was probably never intended for publication. It appeared originally in the edition of Burns printed in 1801, at Glasgow. Two additional stanzas, since then brought to light, are appended, and have been An' twa red peats wad send relief, duly marked as supplementary by being separated from their predecessors. John Goldie or Goudie-for his surname is thus differently spelt- -was about the cleverest and ablest of all the Poet's local contemporaries. Born in 1717 at Craigmill, where his progenitors, generation after generation, had carried on their occupation as millers, for a period of fully four centuries, he died in his ninety-second year, in 1809. Although but very partially educated, he was a man of extraordinary ingenuity.] O GOUDIE! terror of the Whigs, For me, my skill 's but very sma', And tho' they sud ye sair misca', Dread of black coats and reverend wigs, E'en swinge the dogs, and thresh them Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girnin', looks back, Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues Wad seize you quick. Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, Fie! bring Black Jock, her state phy- To see her water: Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion sicker; The mair they squeel aye chap the thicker; And still 'mang hands a hearty bicker It gars an owther's pulse beat quicker, |