5 It's tauld he was a sodger bred, And dog-skin wallet And ta'en the-Antiquarian trade, I think they call it. 6 He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets: Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets, Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, A towmont guid ; And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Before the Flood. 7 Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder; A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor, 8 Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, The cut of Adam's philabeg; The knife that nicket Abel's craig, He'll prove you fully, It was a faulding jokteleg, Or lang kail gullie. 9 But wad ye see him in his glee, Guid fellows wi' him; And port, O port! shine thou a wee, And then ye'll see him! 10 Now, by the powers o' verse and prose, They sair misca' thee; I'd take the rascal by the nose, Wad say, Shame fa' thee! TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS,1 A VERY YOUNG LADY. WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and Blooming in thy early May, Never, never reptile thief Riot on thy virgin leaf! gay, Nor even Sol too fiercely view Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem, Richly deck thy native stem; 10 Miss Cruikshanks :' daughter of William Cruikshanks, a teacher in the High School, Edinburgh. Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 19 SONG. 1 ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, 2 Yet in thy presence, lovely fair! ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD,1 Esq. BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. 1 SAD thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms— Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella's arms. ''M'Leod:' of Raasay. His sister Isabella was a favourite of Burns, who composed on her his song, 'Roaring winds around her blowing.' 2 Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew 3 Fair on Isabella's morn The sun propitious smiled; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 4 Fate oft tears the bosom chords 5 Were it in the poet's power, 6 Dread Omnipotence, alone, Can heal the wound he gave; 7 Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER.1 TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 1 MY LORD, I know your noble ear 2 The lightly-jumping glowrin' trouts 3 Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, That to a bard I should be seen He, kneeling, wad adored me. ''Bruar Water:' Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque anl beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs, -B. This defect has iong ago been supplied. |