By human pride or cunning driven To mis'ry's brink, To cheer you through the weary widdle Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, Your auld grey hairs. But, Davie, lad, I'm rede ye 're glaikit; Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket, him : [The subject of these lines was the daughter of Mr. William Cruikshank, Dominie at the High School in Edinburgh. She was then no more than twelve years of age, and, as the Ettrick Shepherd has asked, "Who loves not a little girl of twelve?" She afterwards married a lawyer at Jedburgh, named Henderson.] and gay, BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, For sune as Chance or Fate had husht Richly deck thy native stem; EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., RECOMMENDING A BOY. [Gavin Hamilton, here addressed, under date Mosgaville, May 3, 1786, was a writer to the signet or legal practitioner, whose residence at this time was the most conspicuous dwellinghouse in the village of Mauchline. Master Tootie was a dealer in cows, well known in that locality.] I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty Was here to hire yon lad away As lieve then, I'd have then, Not fitted other where. Although I say 't, he's gleg enough, And 'bout a house that's rude and rough, The boy might learn to swear; I haena ony fear. If ye then, maun be then Frae hame this comin' Friday; My word of honour I ha'e gi'en, To try to get the twa to gree, And name the airles and the fee, I ken he weel a sneck can draw, In faith he 's sure to get him. Ye ken your laureate scorns; EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND [The young friend here addressed, under date May, 1786, was Andrew Aiken, son of Robert Aiken, to whom Burns inscribed, as an unwitting passport to fame, his noble "Cotter's Saturday Night." Andrew Aiken proved eminently successful in afterlife, first as a merchant in Liverpool, and later on as a servant of the Crown abroad, in which capacity he died some forty years ago at St. Petersburgh.] I LANG ha'e thought, my youthfu' friend, Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, And muckle they may grieve ye : TO A LOUSE. ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT [Mention is made in the sixth stanza of the My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose As plump and grey as onie grozet ; following, of a then fashionable gauze or muslin I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't, bonnet for ladies, called the Lunardi. The HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie! Owre gauze and lace; Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, On some poor body. Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred jumpin' cattle, In shoals and nations; Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, Wad dress your droddum! I wad na been surprised to spy How dare ye do 't! Oh, Jenny, dinna toss your head, Oh, wad some power the giftie gi'e us A BARD'S EPITAPH. [In this self-condemnatory epitaph, Burns seems, in obedience to a sombre presentiment, to have donned the sackcloth and ashes by anticipation.] Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, |