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FROM MR. A***** M*******

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HAVING just arrived from abroad, I had your poems put into my hands : the pleasure I received in reading them, has induced me to solicit your liberty to publish them amongst a number of our countrymen in America, (to which place I shall shortly return) and where they will be a treat of such excellence, that it would be an injury to your merit and their feeling to prevent their appearing in public.

Receive the following hastily written lines from a well wisher.

Fair fa' your pen my dainty Rob,

Your leisom way o' writing,
Whiles glowring o'er your warks I sob,
Whiles laugh, whiles downright greeting;

Your Your sonsie tykes may charm a cheel,

Their words are wond'rous bonney, But guid Scotch drink the truth does seal, It is as guid as ony.

Wi' you this day.

Poor Maillie, troth I'll nae but think,

Ye did the poor thing wrang,
To leave her tether'd o' the brink,

Of stank so wide and lang;
Her dying words upbraid ye sair,

Cry fye on your neglect,
Guid faith gin ye had got play fair,
This deed had stretch'd your neck

That mournfu' day.

But wae's me, how dare I fin faut,

Wi' sic a winsom bardie,
Wha great an' sma’s begun to daut,

And tak him by the gardie;
It sets na ony lawland cheel,

Like you to verse or rhyme,
For few like you can fley the Deil,
And skelp auld wither'd Time

On ony day.

It's fair to praise ilk canty callan,

Be he of purest fame,
If he but tries to raise an Allan,

Auld Scotia's bonney name ;

To you therefore in humble rhymo“, !

Better I canna gie, ?
And tho' its but a swatch of thine,
Accept these lines frae me,

. Upo' this day.

Frae Jock o' Groats to bonny Tweed,

Frae that e'en to the line,
In ilka place where Scotsmen bleed,

There shall your bardship shine;
Ilk honest chiel' wha.reads your buick,

Will there aye meet a brither,
He lang may seek and lang will look,
E’er he fin sic' anither

- On ony day.

Feart that my cruiket verse should spairge

Some wark, of wordie mak,"
I'se nae mair o'this head enlarge,

But now my farewell tak;
Lang may you live, lang may you write,

And sing like English Weischell,
This pray'r I do myself indite,
From yours still, A***** M*******,

• This very day. .



FROM Mr. R*****

Ochlertyre, 220 October, 1787.


TWAS only yesterday I got Colonel Edmonstoune's answer, that neither the words of Down the burn Davie, nor Daintie Davie (I forgot which you mentioned) were written by Colonel G. Crawford. Next time I meet him I will inquire about his cousin's poetical talents.


Inclosed are the inscriptions you requested, and a letter to Mr. Young, whose company and musical talents will, I am persuaded, be a feast to


you. * Nobody can give you better hints as to your present plan than he. Receive also Omeron Cameron, which seemed to make such a deep im


* These inscriptions, so much admired by Burns, are below.


For the Salictum * at Ochtertyre.

SALUBRITATIS voluptatisque causâ,

Hoc Salictum,
Paludem olim infidam,
Mihi meisque desicco et exorno.
Hic, procul negotiis strepituque,

Innocuis deliciis
Silvulas inter nascentes reptandi,
Apiumque labores suspiciendi,

.. Hic, si faxit Deus opt. max.

Prope hunc fontem pellucidum,
Cum quadam juventutis amico superstite,

Sæpe conquiescam, senex,
Contentus modicis, meoque lætus!

Sin aliter-
Ævique paululum supersit,
Vos silvulæ, et amici,

Cæteraque amoena,
Valete, diuque lætamini!


* Salictum-Grove of Willows. Willow-ground.

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