ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER

THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ.,

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.

[John M'Leod was of the ancient family of Raza, and brother to that Isabella M'Leod, for whom Burns, in his correspondence, expressed great regard. The little Poem, when first printed, consisted of six verses: I found a seventh in the M'Murdo Manuscripts, the fifth in this edition, along with an intimation in prose, that the M'Leod family had endured many unmerited misfortunes. I observe that Sir Harris Nicolas has rejected this new verse, because, he says, it repeats the same sentiment as the one which precedes it. I think differently, and have retained it.]

SAD thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms:

Death tears the brother of her love

From Isabella's arms.

Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow;
But cold successive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low.

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smil'd;

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Succeeding hopes beguil'd.

Fate oft tears the bosom chords
That nature finest strung:
So Isabella's heart was form'd,
And so that heart was wrung.

Were it in the poet's power,
Strong as he shares the grief
That pierces Isabella's heart,
To give that heart relief!

Dread Omnipotence, alone,

Can heal the wound He gave;
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes
To scenes beyond the

grave.

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,

And fear no withering blast;

There Isabella's spotless worth
Shall happy be at last.

TO MISS LOGAN,

WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS FOR A NEW YEAR'S GIFT.

JAN. 1, 1787.

[Burns was fond of writing compliments in books, and giving them in presents among his fair friends. Miss Logan, of Park House, was sister to Major Logan, of Camlarg, and the "sentimental sister Susie," of the Epistle to her brother. Both these names were early dropped out of the poet's correspondence.]

[Dr. Blair said that the politics of Burns smelt of the smithy, which, interpreted, means, that they were unstatesman-like, and worthy of a country ale-house, and an audience of peasants. The Poem gives us a striking picture of the humorous and familiar way in which the hinds and husbandmen of Scotland handle national topics: the smithy is a favourite resort, during the winter evenings, of rustic politicians; and national affairs and parish scandal are alike discussed. Burns was in those days, and some time after, a vehement Tory: his admiration of "Chatham's Boy," called down on him the dusty indigna tion of the republican Ritson.]

WHEN Guildford good our pilot stood,

And did our hellim thraw, man,
Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,

And in the sea did jaw, man;
An' did nae less in full Congress,

Than quite refuse our law, man.

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes,

I wat he was na slaw, man;
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn,

And Carleton did ca', man;
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec,

Montgomery-like did fa', man,
Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
Amang his en'mies a', man.

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage,
Was kept at Boston ha', man;
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe
For Philadelphia, man;

Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin
Guid Christian blood to draw, man:
But at New York, wi' knife an' fork,
Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip,
Till Fraser brave did fa', man,
Then lost his way, ae misty day,
In Saratoga shaw, man.
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,
An' did the buckskins claw, man;
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save,
He hung it to the wa', man.

Then Montague, an' Guilford, too,
Began to fear a fa', man;

And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure
The German Chief to thraw, man;

For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,
Nae mercy had at a', man;

An' Charlie Fox threw by the box,
An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.

Then Rockingham took up the game,
Till death did on him ca', man;
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,
Conform to gospel law, man;

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,
They did his measures thraw, man,
For North an' Fox united stocks,

An' bore him to the wa', man.

Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes,
He swept the stakes awa', man,
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,
Led him a sair faux pas, man;
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,
On Chatham's boy did ca', man;
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew,
"Up, Willie, waur them a', man!"

Behind the throne then Greenville's gone,
A secret word or twa, man;
While slee Dundas arous'd the class,
Be-north the Roman wa', man:
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith,
(Inspired Bardies saw, man ;)

Wi' kindling eyes cry'd "Willie, rise!
Would I hae fear'd them a', man?"

But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co.,
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,
Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise
Behind him in a raw, man;

An' Caledon threw by the drone,
An' did her whittle draw, man;

An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid

To make it guid in law, man.

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.

A NEW BALLAD.

[The Hal and Bob of these satiric lines were Henry Erskine, and Robert Dundas: and their contention was, as the verses intimate, for the place of Dean of the Faculty of Advocates: Erskine was successful. It is supposed that in characterizing Dundas, the poet remembered "the incurable wound which his pride had got" in the affair of the elegiac verses on the death of the elder Dundas. The poem first appeared in the Reliques of Burns.]

DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,

That Scot to Scot did carry;
And dire the discord Langside saw,

For beauteous, hapless Mary:
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,

Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job-
Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.-

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
Among the first was number'd;
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
Commandment tenth remember'd.-
Yet simple Bob the victory got,

And won his heart's desire;

Which shows that heaven can boil the pot,
Though the devil p-s in the fire.-

Squire Hal besides had in this case
Pretensions rather brassy,

For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;

So, their worships of the Faculty,

Quite sick of merit's rudeness,

Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,
To their gratis grace and goodness.—

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight
Of a son of Circumcision,

So may be, on this Pisgah height,

Bob's purblind, mental vision:
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet
Till for eloquence you hail him,

And swear he has the angel met

That met the Ass of Balaam.