lxxx DEDICATION TO SECOND EDITION. and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe! I have the honour to be, With the sincerest gratitude, And highest respect, My Lords and Gentlemen, Your most devoted humble Servant, ROBERT BURNS. Edinburgh, April 4, 1787. WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, Forgather'd ance upon a time. Mr. Lockhart observes that this Poem owes its existence to the first dawn of patronage with which Burns' fortunes were brightened, as it was written in the interval between the publication of his works being first determined on, and their being sent to press.-Life of Burns, p. 93. On the 17th of February, 1786, Burns stated to his friend Mr. John Richmond, "I have completed my Poem on the Dogs, but have not shown it to the world." In a letter from Gilbert Burns to Dr. Currie, dated Mossgiel, 2nd September, 1798, he says, "The Tale of Twa Dogs was composed after the resolution of publishing was nearly taken. Robert had had a dog, which he called Luath, that was a great favourite. The Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to derive its name. The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar, His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, Wha for his friend and comrade had him, dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some person the night before my father's death. Robert said to me, that he should like to confer such immortality as he could bestow upon his old friend Luath, and that he had a great mind to introduce something into the book under the title of 'Stanzas to the Memory of a quadruped Friend;' but this plan was given up for the Tale as it now stands. Cæsar was merely the creature of the poet's imagination, created for the purpose of holding chat with his favourite Luath." The factor was the person into whose hands the affairs of his father fell after his misfortunes. Burns says, in a letter written in 1787, "My indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears." * Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal. R. B. Was made lang syne, Lord knows how lang. He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, As ever lap a sheugh or dike. His breast was white, his touzie back Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, CÆSAR. I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava. Our Laird gets in his racked rents, VAR. 1 Until wi' daffin weary grown, 30 40 50 He draws a bonie, silken purse As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks, Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, His Honour has in a' the lan: An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's past my comprehension. LUATH. Trowth, Cæsar, whyles they're fash't enough; A cotter howkin in a sheugh, Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, CO 70 80 |