He knows each chord-its various tone, Each spring-its various bias: We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.1 "An honest man's the noblest work of God."-POPE. [Tam Samson was a west country seedsman and sportsman, who loved a good song, a social glass, and relished a shot so well that he expressed a wish to die and be buried in the moors. On this hint Burns wrote the Elegy: when Tam heard of this he waited on the poet, caused him to recite it, and expressed displeasure at being numbered with the dead: the author, whose wit was as ready as his rhymes, added the Per Contra in a moment, much to the delight of his friend. At his death the four lines of Epitaph were cut on his gravestone. This poem has always," says Hogg, "been a great country favourite: it abounds with happy expressions. 'In vain the burns cam' down like waters, An acre braid.' What a picture of a flooded burn! any other poet would have given us a long description: Burns dashes it down at once in a style so graphic no one can mistake it. 'Perhaps upon his mouldering breast Match that sentence who can."] HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? To preach an' read? 'Na, waur than a'!" cries ilka chiel, Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, To death, she's dearly paid the kane, Tam Samson's dead! 1 When this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields." 2 A preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide the Ordination, stanza II. Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that time ailing. For him see also the Ordination, stanza IX. The brethren o' the mystic level Death's gien the lodge an unco devel, When Winter muffles up his cloak, Wi' gleesome speed, Wha will they station at the cock? Tam Samson's dead! But now he lags on death's hog-score, Tam Samson's dead! Now safe the stately sawmont sail, And geds for greed, Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail Tam Samson dead. Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; Withouten dread; Your mortal fae is now awa' Tam Samson's dead! That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd, While pointers round impatient burn'd, Frae couples freed; But, och he gaed and ne'er return'd! Tam Samson's dead! In vain auld age his body batters; In vain the burns cam' down like waters, Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin', clatters, Tam Samson's dead! Owre many a weary hag he limpit, Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, When at his heart he felt the dagger, "L-d, five!" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger; Tam Samson's dead! Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; Marks out his head, Whare Burns has wrote in rhyming blether, Tam Samson's dead! There low he lies, in lasting rest; To hatch an' breed; Alas! nae mair he'll them molest! Tam Samson's dead! When August winds the heather wave, And sportsmen wander by yon grave, Three volleys let his mem❜ry crave O' pouther an' lead, 'Till echo answer frae her cave, Tam Samson's dead! Heav'n rest his soul, whare'er he be! Yet what remead? Ae social, honest man want we: Tam Samson's dead! ЕРІТАРН. TAM SAMSON's weel-worn clay here lies, Ye canting zealots spare him! If honest worth in heaven rise, PER CONTRA. Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie, Tell ev'ry social honest billie To cease his grievin', For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, Tam Samson's livin'. LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. "Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself! And sweet affection prove the spring of woe." [The hero and heroine of this little mournful poem, were Robert Burns and Jean Armour "This was a most melancholy affair," says the poet in his letter to Moore, "which I can not yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given me one or two of the principal quali fications for a place among those who have lost the chart and mistaken the reckoning of rationality." Hogg and Motherwell, with an ignorance which is easier to laugh at than account for, say this Poem was "written on the occasion of Alexander Cunningham's dar ling sweetheart slighting him and marrying another :-she acted a wise part." With what care they had read the great poet whom they jointly edited it is needless to say: and how they could read the last two lines of the third verse and commend the lady's wisdom for slighting her lover, seems a problem which defies definition. This mistake was pointed out by a friend, and corrected in a second issue of the volume.] O THOU pale orb, that silent shines, While care-untroubled mortals sleep! And wanders here to wail and weep! With woe I nightly vigils keep, How life and love are all a dream. I joyless view thy rays adorn The faintly marked distant hill: I joyless view thy trembling horn, Reflected in the gurgling rill: My fondly-fluttering heart, be still: Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease! Ah! must the agonizing thrill For ever bar returning peace! No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown! How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it!-is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost? Oh! can she bear so base a heart, As from the fondest lover part, Her sorrows share, and make them less? |