My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, AN EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION. On being appointed to the Excise. Searching auld wives barrels Och, ho! the day! That clarty barm should stain But what 'l ye say! my laurels; These muvin' things ca'd wives and weans Wad muve the very hearts o' stanes! TO THE OWL-By John M'Creddie.* Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth, Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy bow'r? * Burns sometimes wrote poems in the old ballad style, which for reasons best known to himself, he gave to the world as songs of the olden time. That famous soldier's song in particular, first printed in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Dr. Currie's ed. ol. ii, No. LX, beginning Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' fill it in a silver tassie; A service to my bonie lassie; has been pronounced by some of our best living poets an inimitable relique of some ancient Minstrel! Yet I have discover Is it, sad owl, that autumn strips the shade, Or friendless melancholy bids thee mourn? Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather'd train, Sing on, sad mourner! I will bless thy strain, Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek Ah no, sad owl! nor is thy voice less sweet, That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there; That spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou canst repeat; That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair: ed it to be the actual production of Burns himself. The ballad of Auld lang syne was also introduced in this ambiguous manner, though there exist proofs that the two best stanzas of it are indisputably his; hence there are strong grounds for believing this poem also to be his production, notwithstanding the evidence to the contrary. It was found among his MSS. in his own hand writing, with occasional interlineations, such as occur in all his primitive effusions. It is worthy of his muse; but it is more in the style of Gray or Collins. Should there however, be a real author of the name of John M'Creddie, he will not be displeased at the publication of his poem, when he recollects that it had obtained the notice of Burns, and had undergone his correction. A a E. Nor that the treble songsters of the day, Are quite estranged, sad bird of night! from thee; From some old tow'r, thy melancholy dome, There hooting; I will list more pleas'd to thee, Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with misery, No Stewart art thou G The Stewarts all were brave; ON THE SAME. Bright ran thy line O, G Thro' many a far-fam'd sire! TO THE SAME, On the Author being threatened with his resentment. Spare me thy vengeance, G I ask no kindness at thy hand, THE DEAN OF FACULTY. A NEW BALLAD. Tune-The Dragon of Wantley. Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, Squire Hal besides had in this case 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 So may be, on this Pisgah height, * EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. Tune-Gillicrankie. LORD A-TE. He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, Till in a declamation-mist, He gaped for 't, he gaped for 't, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short, Mr. ER-NE. Collected Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man; And ey'd the gathering storm, man: *Tint-lost. |