In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,

And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the Queen o' bonie France,
Where happy I hae been,
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en:
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,

Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breast

Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe

Frae woman's pitying ee.

My son! my son! may kinder stars

Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,

That ne'er wad blink on mine! God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,

Or turn their hearts to thee:

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me!

Oh! soon, to me, may summer-suns
Nae mair light up the morn!

Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death

Let winter round me rave;

And the next flow'rs that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

50

EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.*

ZHEN Nature her great master-piece design'd,

W

And fram'd her last, best work, the
human mind,

Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,
She form'd of various parts the various man.

* Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq. was one of the Commissioners of Excise, and having met Burns at the Duke of Athole's, became interested about him, and showed him many kindnesses. In August, 1788, Burns sent Mrs. Dunlop sixteen lines of this Epistle, beginning with

"Pity the tuneful Muses' helpless train,"

saying, "Since I am in the way of transcribing, the following were the production of yesterday, as I jogged through

Then first she calls the useful many forth; Plain plodding industry, and sober worth: Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, And merchandise' whole genus take their birth: Each prudent cit a warm existence finds,

the wild hills of New Cumnock. I intend inserting them, or something like them, in an epistle I am going to write to the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise hopes depend, Mr. Graham of Fintry; one of the worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen, not only of this country, but, I will dare to say it, of this age. The following are just the first crude thoughts, 'unhousel'd, unanointed, unanell'd;"" and added, "Here the Muse left me."

The verses were sent to Mr. Graham in a letter, of which only these extracts have been printed, none of which refer to the Poem:

"SIR,

"When I had the honour of being introduced to you at Athole House, I did not think so soon of asking a favour of you. When Lear, in Shakespeare, asks old Kent why he wished to be in his service, he answers, 'Because you have that in your face which I could like to call master.' For some such reason, sir, do I now solicit your patronage. You know, I dare say, of an application I lately made to your Board to be admitted an officer of Excise. I have, according to form, been examined by a supervisor, and to-day I gave in his certificate, with a request for an order for instructions. In this affair, if I succeed, I am afraid I shall but too much need a patronizing friend. Propriety of conduct as a man, and fidelity and attention as an officer, I dare engage for; but for anything like business, except manual labour, I am totally unacquainted.

"I had intended to have closed my late appearance on the stage of life in the character of a country farmer; but after discharging some filial and fraternal claims, I find I could only fight for existence in that miserable manner which I have lived to see throw a venerable parent into the jaws of a jail; whence death, the poor man's last and often best friend, rescued him.

"I know, sir, that to need your goodness is to have a

And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds.
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet,
The lead and buoy are needful to the net:
The caput mortuum of gross desires

Makes a material for mere knights and squires; The martial phosphorus is taught to flow,

10

claim on it; may I therefore beg your patronage to forward me in this affair, till I be appointed to a division where, by the help of rigid economy, I will try to support that independence so dear to my soul, but which has been too often so distant from my situation."

To Dr. Moore, Burns wrote in January, 1789:-"I enclose you an Essay of mine, in a walk of poesy to me entirely new: I mean the Epistle addressed to R. G., or Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq., a gentleman of uncommon worth, to whom I lie under very great obligations. This story of the Poem, like most of my poems, is connected with my own story, and to give you the one, I must give you something of the other."

To Professor Stewart he said, a few weeks afterwards, "The enclosed sealed packet I sent to Edinburgh a few days after I had the happiness of meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone for the continent. I have added a few more of my productions, those for which I am indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. The piece inscribed to R. G. Esq., is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Graham, of Fintry, accompanying a request for his assistance in a matter, to me, of very great moment. To that gentleman I am already doubly indebted, for deeds of kindness of serious import to my dearest interests, done in a manner grateful to the delicate feelings of sensibility. This Poem is a species of composition new ot me; but I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you will see by the Poet's Progress.' These fragments, if my design succeeds, are but a small part of the intended whole. I propose it shall be the work of my utmost exertions ripened by years; of course I do not wish it much known."

On a subsequent occasion Burns wrote to Mrs: Graham, sending her the "Lament of Mary Queen of Scots," and expressing the warmest gratitude to her husband. The Poet addressed other pieces to this benevolent friend.

She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough,
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs,
Law, physics, politics, and deep divines:
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles,
The flashing elements of female souls.

The order'd system fair before her stood,
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good;
But ere she gave creating labour o'er,
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labour more;
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter;
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter;
With arch alacrity and conscious glee

(Nature may have her whim as well as we,

20

Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it)
She forms the thing, and christens it—a Poet. 30
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow,
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow.
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends,
Admir'd and prais'd-and there the homage ends:
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife,
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life;
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give,
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live:
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan,
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own.

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk,
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work.
Pitying the propless climber of mankind,
She cast about a standard tree to find;
And, to support his helpless woodbine state,
Attach'd him to the generous truly great,
A title, and the only one I claim,

40

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham.