EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. In the course of his visits to Ayr, Burns had formed an acquaintance with Major William Logan, a retired military officer, noted for his wit, his violin-playing, and his convivial habits, who lived a cheerful bachelorlife with his mother and an unmarried sister. Burns had visited Logan at his villa of Park, near Ayr, had enjoyed his fiddle and his waggery, and run over— so to speak the whole gamut of his congenial heart. He had also been much pleased with the manners of the old lady and her daughter. On the 30th of October, he is found addressing the major in an epistle expressed in merry but careless verse. HAIL, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! Though Fortune's road be rough and hilly To every fiddling, rhyming billie, We never heed, But take it like the unbacked filly, Proud of her speed. cat-gut fellow When idly goavan whyles we walking aimlessly saunter, Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter Uphill, down brae, till some mischanter, accidut Some black bog-hole, Arrests us, then the scaith and banter We're forced to thole. damage bear -hale be your fiddle: Lang may your elbock jink and diddle, To cheer you through the weary widdle struggle O'this wild warl', Until you on a crummock driddle A gray-haired carle. staff-creep Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, poverty Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tune, And screw your temper-pins aboon, A fifth or mair, The melancholious, lazy croon, O' cankrie care. May still your life from day to day But "allegretto forte" gay Harmonious flow, A sweeping, kindling, bauld Strathspey- A blessing on the cheery gang And never think o' right and wrang But as the clegs o' feeling stang, Are wise or fool. above gadflies My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase chosen The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, miserly Wha count on poortith as disgrace! Their tuneless hearts May fireside discords jar a base But come, your hand, my careless brither, About the matter We cheek for chow shall jog thegither; We've faults and failings-granted clearly, sheerly For our grand fa'; But still, but still-I like them dearly God bless them a'! Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, doubt jole expect blame smartly When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers, sprightly girls The witching cursed delicious blinkers Hae put me hyte, And gart me weet my waukrife winkers Wi' girnin' spite. mad made-sleepless grinning But by yon moon!-and that's high swearin'- And every star within my hearin'! And by her een wha was a dear ane! I hope to gie the jads a clearin' My loss I mourn, but not repent it, By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, Faites mes baise-mains respectueuses, To sentimental sister Susie, And honest Lucky; no to roose you, Ye may be proud, That sic a couple Fate allows ye Nae mair at present can I measure, jades lost gone witching smitten praise And trowth, my rhymin' ware's nae treasure; But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, Be't light, be't dark, Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure To call at Park. MOSSIGEL, 30th October, 1786. R. B. AN EXPOSTULATION ON A REBUKE AD MINISTERED BY MRS. LAWRIE. RUSTICITY'S ungainly form May cloud the highest mind; Propriety's cold cautious rules But spare poor Sensibility The ungentle, harsh rebuke. ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. EDINA! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and towers, |