She show'd her taste refined and just, Yet deviating, own I must, For so approving me! But kind still, I'll mind still The giver in the gift; I'll bless her, and wiss her A Friend above the Lift. Mossgiel, April, 1786. TO THE MEN AND BRETHREN OF THE MASONIC LODGE AT TARBOLTON. WITHIN your dear mansion may wayward contention, Or withering envy ne'er enter: May secrecy round be the mystical bound, And brotherly love be the centre. Edinburgh, 23 August, 1787. IMPROMPTU. [The tumbler on which these verses are inscribed by the diamond of Burns, found its way to the hands of Sir Walter Scott, and is now among the treasures of Abbotsford.] YOU'RE welcome, Willie Stewart, You're welcome, Willie Stewart; There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half sae welcome's thou art. Come bumpers high, express your joy, The bowl we maun renew it; The tappit-hen, gae bring her ben, May foes be straing, and friends be slack, May woman on him turn her back, That wrongs thee, Willie Stewart. PRAYER FOR ADAM ARMOUR. [The origin of this prayer is curious. In 1785, the maid servant of an innkeeper at Mauchline, having been caught in what old ballad-makers delicately call "the deed of shame," Adam Armour, the brother of the poet's bonnie Jean, with one or two more of his comrades, executed a rustic act of justice upon her, by parading her perforce through the village, placed on a rough, unpruned piece of wood: an unpleasant ceremony, vulgarly called "Riding the Stang." This was resented by Geordie and Nanse, the girl's master and mistress: law was resorted to, and as Adam had to hide till the matter was settled, he durst not venture home till late on the Saturday nights. In one of these homecomings he met Burns, who laughed when he heard the story, and said, "You have need of some one to pray for you." "No one can do that better than yourself," was the reply, and this humorous intercession was made on the instant, and, as it is said, "clean off loof." From Adam Armour I obtained the verses, and when he wrote them out, he told the story in which the prayer originated.] LORD, pity me, for I am little, An elf of mischief and of mettle, That can like ony wabster's shuttle, Jink there or here; Though scarce as lang's a gude kale-whittle, I'm unco queer. Lord pity now our waefu' case, For Geordie's Jurr we're in disgrace, Because we stang'd her through the place, 'Mang hundreds laughin', For which we daurna show our face Within the clachan. And now we're dern'd in glens and hallows, O Lord, preserve us frae the gallows! Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel', And let him hing, and roar, and yell, Wi' hideous din, And if he offers to rebel, Just heave him in. When Death comes in wi' glimmering blink, And tips auld drunken Nanse the wink, Gaur Satan gie her a―e a clink Behint his yett, And fill her up wi' brimstone drink, Red reeking het! There's Jockie and the hav'rel Jenny, Straught through the lake, And gie their hides a noble curry, Wi' oil of aik. As for the lass, lascivious body, She's had mischief enough already, Weel stang'd by market, mill, and smiddie She's suffer'd sair; But may she wintle in a widdie, If she wh-re mair. SONGS AND BALLADS. HANDSOME NELL. Tune-"I am a man unmarried." ["This composition," says Burns in his "Common-place Book," "was the first of my performances, and done at an early period in life, when my heart glowed with honest, warm simplicity; unacquainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. The subject of it was a young girl who really deserved all the praises I have bestowed on her."] O ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass, Ay, and I love her still; And, whilst that honour warms my breast, Ill love my handsome Nell. As bonnie lasses I hae seen, The like I never saw. A bonnie lass, I will confess, Is pleasant to the e'e, But without some better qualities She's no a lass for me. But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, And what is best of a', Her reputation is complete, And fair without a flaw. She dresses ay sae clean and neat, And then there's something in her gait A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart; 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, For absolutely in my breast LUCKLESS FORTUNE. [These lines, as Burns informs us, were written to a tune of his own composing, con sisting of three parts, and the words were the echo of the air.] O RAGING fortune's withering blast [These melancholy verses were written when the poet was some seventeen years old: his early days were typical of his latter.] I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam; List'ning to the wild birds singing By a falling crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and daring; Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; Trees with aged arms were warring, Such was my life's deceitful morning, But lang or noon, loud tempests storming, |