TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN HUNT. MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated; and A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and that from your courage, knowledge, and public whose highest ambition is to sing in his spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and Country's service-where shall he so properly liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my look for patronage as to the illustrious names warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Honof his native Land; those who bear the honour, the March of the Universe, for your ours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors? welfare and happiness. The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha-at the plough; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she inspired-She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs under your honoured protection: I now obey her dictates. Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for past favours; that path is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a continuation of those favours: I was bred to the Plough, and am independent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious Countrymen; and to tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to congratulate my Country, that the blood of her When you go forth to awaken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party; and may Social Joy await your return : When harassed in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend your return to your native Seats; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates! May corruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance; and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe! I have the honour to be, My Lords and Gentlemen, Edinburgh, POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. THE TWA DOGS: A TALE. TWAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, When wearing thro' the afternoon, The first I'll name they ca'd him Cæsar, His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar Show'd him the gentleman and scholar : But tho' he was o' high degree, The fient a pride na pride had he; But wad hae spent an hour caressin', Ev'n with a tinkler gipsey's messin'. At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. The tither was a ploughman's collie, He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, • Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal. Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither; Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit; Whyles mice and modieworts they howkit; Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, An' worry'd ither in diversion; Until wi' daffin weary grown, Upon a knowe they sat them down, And there began a lang digression, About the lords o' the creation. CÆSAR. I've aften wonder'd honest Luath, Our Laird gets in his racked rents, As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks, Frae morn to e'en its nought but toiling, At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; An' tho' the gentry fast are stechin', Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, That's little short o' downright wastrie. Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, Better than ony tenant man His Honour has in a' the lan': An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, I own its past my comprehension. LUATH. Trowth, Cæsar, whyles they're fash't eneugh; A cotter howkin in a sheugh, Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, Baring a quarry, and sic like, Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, An' nought but his han' darg, to keep Them right and tight in thack ar' rape. But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts, An' echoes back return the shouts : His piercing words, like Highland swords A vast, unbottom'd boundless pit, A street so called, which faces the tent in † Shakspeare's Hamlet. WORKS. The half asleep start up wi' fear, XXIII. 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell An' how they crowded to the yıll, An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, XXIV. In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife, The auld guidmen, about the grace, Till some ane by his bonnet lays, XXV. Waesucks for him that gets nae lass, On sic a day. XXVI. Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame, the best they dow, At slaps the billies halt a blink, Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane There's some are fou o' love divine; Some ither day. TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN HUNT. ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated; and that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Hon MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service-where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious names of his native Land; those who bear the honour, the March of the Universe, for your ours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors? welfare and happiness. The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha-at the plough; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she inspired-She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs under your honoured protection: I now obey her dictates. Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for past favours; that path is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a continuation of those favours: I was bred to the Plough, and am independent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious Countrymen; and to tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to congratulate my Country, that the blood of her When you go forth to awaken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party; and may Social Joy await your return: When harassed in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend your return to your native Seats; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates! May corruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance; and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People, equally find you an inexorable |