A caller burn o' siller sheen,

Ran cannily out o'er the green,

And whan our gutcher's1 drouth had been
To bide right sair,

He loutit down and drank bedeen3

A dainty skair".

His bairns a' before the flood

Had langer tack o' flesh and blood,
And on mair pithy shanks they stood
Than Noah's line,

Wha still hae been a feckless brood
Wi' drinking wine.

The fuddlin' Bardies now-a-days
Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus' praise,
And limp and stoiter thro' their lays
Anacreontic,

While each his sea of wine displays
As big's the Pontic.

6

My muse will no gang far frae hame,
Or scour a' airths to hound for fame;
In troth, the jillet' ye might blame

8

For thinking on 't,
Whan eithly she can find the theme
Of aqua font.

This is the name that doctors use
Their patients' noddles to confuse;
Wi' simples clad in terms abstruse,
They labour still,

In kittle words to gar you roose
9
Their want o' skill.

10

But we'll hae nae sick clitter-clatter,
And briefly to expound the matter,
It shall be ca'd good Caller Water,
Than whilk, I trow,

Few drogs in doctors' shops are better

1 staff.

Tho' joints are stiff as ony rung',
Your pith wi' pain be fairly dung,
Be you in Caller Water flung

Out o'er the lugs3,

'Twill mak you souple, swack' and young,
Withouten drugs.

Tho' cholic or the heart-scad teaze us,

Or ony inward pain should seize us,
It masters a' sic fell diseases

That would ye spulzie",

And brings them to a canny crisis
Wi' little tulzie ".

Wer't na for it the bonny lasses

Would glowr nae mair in keeking-glasses",
And soon tine dint o' a' the graces
That aft conveen

In gleefu' looks and bonny faces,
To catch our ein.

The fairest then might die a maid,
And Cupid quit his shooting trade,
For wha thro' clarty' masquerade

Could then discover,
Whether the features under shade
Were worth a lover?

ODE TO THE GOWDSPINK 10.

Frae fields where Spring her sweets has blawn
Wi' caller verdure o'er the lawn,

The gowdspink comes in new attire,
The brawest 'mang the whistling choir,
That, ere the sun can clear his ein,
Wi' glib notes sane 11 the simmer's green.
Sure Nature herried mony a tree,

12

For spraings 18 and bonny spats to thee;

2 exhausted.

7

looking-glasses.
12 plundered.

u bless.

5 spoil. dirty.

different coloured stripes.

Nae mair the rainbow can impart
Sic glowing ferlies1o' her art,

Whase pencil wrought its freaks at will
On thee the sey-piece 2 o' her skill.

Nae mair through straths in simmer dight
We seek the rose to bless our sight;
Or bid the bonny wa'-flowers sprout
On yonder Ruin's lofty snout.
Thy shining garments far outstrip
The cherries upo' Hebe's lip,

And fool the tints that Nature chose
To busk and paint the crimson rose.

'Mang men, wae's heart! we aften find
The brawest drest want peace of mind,
While he that gangs wi' ragged coat
Is weil contentit wi' his lot.
Whan wand wi' glewy birdlime's set,
To steal far aff your dautit3 mate,
Blyth wad ye change your cleething gay
In lieu of lav'rock's sober grey.

In vain thro' woods you sair may ban
Th' envious treachery of man,
That, wi' your gowden glister ta'en,
Still haunts you on the simmer's plain
And traps you 'mang the sudden fa's*
O' winter's dreary dreepin' snaws.
Now steekit frae the gowany field,

5

Frae ilka fav'rite houff and bield,
But mergh', alas! to disengage
Your bonny bouck frae fettering cage,
Your free-born bosom beats in vain
For darling liberty again.

In window hung, how aft we see

Like Tantalus they hing you here
To spy the glories o' the year;
And tho' you're at the burnie's brink,
They douna1 suffer you to drink.

Ah, Liberty! thou bonny dame,
How wildly wanton is thy stream,
Round whilk the birdies a' rejoice,
An' hail you wi' a gratefu' voice.
The gowdspink chatters joyous here,
And courts wi' gleesome sangs his peer:
The mavis frae the new-bloom'd thorn
Begins his lauds at earest morn;

And herd lowns 2 louping o'er the grass,
Need far less fleetching" till their lass,
Than paughty damsels bred at courts,
Wha thraw their mou's and take the dorts':
But, reft of thee, fient flee we care
For a' that life ahint can spare.

6

The gowdspink, that sae lang has kend
Thy happy sweets (his wonted friend),
Her sad confinement ill can brook
In some dark chamber's dowy nook;
Tho' Mary's hand his nebb' supplies,
Unkend to hunger's painfu' cries,
Ev'n beauty canna chear the heart
Frae life, frae liberty apart;

8

For now we tyne its wonted lay,
Sae lightsome sweet, sae blythely gay.
Thus Fortune aft a curse can gie,
To wyle us far frae liberty :

Then tent her syren smiles wha list,
I'll ne'er envy your girnal's 10 grist;
For whan fair freedom smiles nae mair,
Care I for life? Shame fa' the hair:
A field o'ergrown wi' rankest stubble,
The essence of a paltry bubble.

Bu

ROBERT BURNS.

[ROBERT BURNS was born 25th January, 1759, 'the hindmost year but ane' of George the Second's reign, in a cottage built by his father, two miles south of Ayr, and close to Alloway Kirk, that relic of nondescript architecture to which his genius has lent almost as worldwide an interest as that which makes Vaucluse a place of pilgrimage to all nations. Eldest son of William Burness, of a Kincardineshire family of small farmers, market gardener and overseer of a small estate in the neighbourhood of Ayr, and afterwards tenant of Lochlie and Mount Oliphant, small Ayrshire farms, Burns received an education which ultimately included a sound acquaintance with English grammar, a little mathematics, mensuration, French, and a smattering of Latin. At work on his father's farm from an early age till he was twenty-three, he tried then to establish himself in business as a flax-dresser in Irvine, but returned in a short time to his father's house with empty pockets and with a character hitherto blameless deteriorated by some new companionships. After the death of his father, a specimen of industry and integrity never rewarded in this life, his brother Gilbert and he took the farm of Mossgiel near Mauchline (1784), which also turned out to be a bad bargain. To escape troubles in which his youthful and characteristic follies involved him, especially with the father of his future partner in life, 'Bonie Jean,' he accepted an appointment to a clerkship in Jamaica; but on the point of starting on the voyage he had his footsteps turned towards Edinburgh by the success of his volume of poems (Kilmarnock, 1786), and by the patronage, literary and aristocratic, which it immediately secured for him. With the proceeds of a second edition of the volume (Edinburgh, 1787), amounting to £500 or £600, he established himself on the farm of Ellisland near Dumfries. Unsuccessful once more in this tenancy he became an exciseman to eke out his income, and finally in that capacity, unfortunately both for his health and for his reputation, removed to Dumfries, where he died in 1796.]

That admiration of Burns' poetry as the work of a ploughman which Jeffrey in his time had occasion to deprecate, in which he could see no more sense than 'in admiring it as if it had been written with his toes,' has not survived Jeffrey's ridicule. Burns, like Joseph in Egypt, was destined to 'forget his toil and his father's house.' His right to a place among the greater poets of Europe being no longer in dispute, to speak of him still as 'the