SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie; Willie was a wabster gude, Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie; He had a wife was dour and din, O Tinkler Madgie was her mither; Sie a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her. She has an e'e, she has but ane, Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper tongue wad deave a miller; A whiskin beard about her mou, Her nose and chin they threaten ither Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her. She's bow-hough'd, she's hem-shinn'd, She has a hump upon her breast, Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her. ; Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, She dights her grunzie wi' a hoshen; I wadna gie a button for her. A ditty which contained the chorus lines of this sprightly and graphic song was once well known among the peasantry. There was a slight but curious variation : Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a bodle for her. The measure and value price which this little obsolete Scottish coin gives, is now less easily understood than formerly; and a button supplies its place, and illustrates the worth of Willie's spouse as near as metal can come. Willie Wastle occurs in some old vaunting rhymes: I'm Willie o' the Wastle; I'll bide in my castle; And a' the dogs i' your town Who the unhappy Willie Wastle of Burns was, is of no importance to know, and it is in vain to inquire; for perhaps Linkumdoddie and tinkler Madgie never had a name and local habitation except in song. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget? Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, Where is thy place of blissful rest? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? The pleasant past and melancholy present are mingled by Burns very touchingly in this song. Of Mary Campbell, to the remembrance of whose charms this lyric is attributed, much has been said; but if truth could be separated from fiction, I imagine little would still be known. The story of the poet and his love standing on each side of a small brook, and laving their hands in the stream, and vowing eternal fidelity over the bible, has been told by Mr. Cromek, a zealous inquirer into all matters illustrative of the poet's verse and personal history; and it is certainly very striking and romantic. The poet himself gives no embellished picture of their affection. "After a pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal affection, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent a day in taking a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of Autumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness." During the first year of the poet's residence at Ellisland, when the anniversary of her death arrived, he was seized with extreme dejection and agitation of mind, and, retiring from his family, he threw himself down beside a cornstack, and conceived this pathetic song to Mary in Heaven. ANNIE. It was upon a Lammas night, The time flew by wi' tentless heed, The sky was blue, the wind was still, I kenn'd her heart was a' my ain; |