The losses, the crosses,
That active man engage!
The fears all, the tears all,
Of dim declining age.

TO RUIN.

All hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word
The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, wo-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!

With stern-resolved, despairing eye,

I see each aimèd dart;
For one has cut my dearest tie,

And quivers in my heart.

Then lowering and pouring,

The storm no more I dread; Though thick'ning and black'ning Round my devoted head.

And thou grim Power, by life abhorred,
While life a pleasure can afford,

Oh hear a wretch's prayer!
No more I shrink appalled, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care!

When shall my soul, in silent peace,
Resign life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbings cease,
Cold mouldering in the clay?
No fear more, no tear more,
To stain my lifeless face;
Enclasped and graspèd
Within thy cold embrace!

SONG.

Again rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues ;
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steeped in morning dews.1

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the violets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ;
But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And everything is blest but I.

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorland whistles shrill;
Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree:
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When Nature all is sad like me!

The wretchedness breathed in these poems is of too extreme a character to have been long predominant, at least in all its force, in such a mind as that of Burns. At the beginning of May, he is found addressing Mr Hamilton in playful terms respecting a

1 Burns, on publishing this song in his first Edinburgh edition, 1787, admitted into it a chorus from a song written by a gentleman of that city:

'And maun I still on Menie doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e,
For it's jet jet black, and it's like a hawk,
And it winna let a body be!'

This doggrel interferes so sadly with the strain of Burns's beautiful ode, that the present editor felt compelled to extrude it. He hopes it will never hereafter be replaced.

2 The resemblance of this verse to a passage in the Mountain Daisy will be observed.

servant-boy, whom that gentleman had talked of taking off his hands, and who in the meantime had been spoken to with a view to engagement by a person whom Burns did not so much esteem:

NOTE TO GAVIN HAMILTON.

MOSGAVILLE, May 3, 1786.

I hold it, sir, my bounden duty,
To warn you how that Master Tootie,
Alias, Laird M'Gaun,

Was here to hire yon lad away
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day,
And wad hae done 't aff han':
But lest he learn the callan tricks,
As, faith, I muckle doubt him,

Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,
And tellin' lies about them;

As lieve then, I'd have then,

Your clerkship he should sair,
If sae be ye may be

Not fitted other where.

Although I say 't, he 's gleg enough,

2

And 'bout a house that's rude and rough,
The boy might learn to swear;

But then wi' you he'll be sae taught,
And get sic fair example straught,

I havena ony fear.

Ye'll catechise him every quirk,

And shore him weel wi' h-,

And gar him follow to the kirk-
Aye when ye gang yoursel'.

If ye, then, maun be, then,
Frac hame this comin' Friday;
Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir,
The orders wi' your leddy.

My word of honour I hae gien,
In Paisley John's, that night at e'en,
To meet the warld's worm;"

To try to get the twa to gree,
And name the airles* and the fee,
In legal mode and form:

1 Mossgavel is the proper appellation of the farm-shortened into Mossgiel.

instantly boy

willingly

serve

sharp

threaten

2 Tootie lived in Mauchline, and dealt in cows. The age of these animals is marked by rings on their horns, which may of course be cut and polished off, so as to cause the cow to appear younger than it is.

3 A term expressive of a mean, avaricious character.

The airles-carnest-money.

I ken he weel a sneck can draw,1
When simple bodies let him;
And if a devil be at a',

In faith he's sure to get him.
To phrase you, and praise you,
Ye ken your Laureate scorns :
The prayer still, you share still,
Of grateful MINSTREL BURNS.

In this month, also, he addressed a poetical letter of sagacious advice to Andrew Aiken, son of his patron Robert Aiken, then about to launch out into the world :—

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.

May 1786.

I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to have sent you,
Though it should serve nae other end
Than just a kind memento;
But how the subject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world fu' soon, my lad,
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,
And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble set your thought,
Even when your end's attained;
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where every nerve is strained.

I'll no say men are villains a';
The real, hardened wicked,
Wha hae nae check but human law,
Are to a few restricked;

But, och! mankind are unco weak,
And little to be trusted;

If self the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!

See note to the Address to the Deil, p. 169.

2 Andrew Aiken entered commercial life at Liverpool, and prospered. He died in 1831 at Riga, where he held the office of English consul. The late Mr Niven of Kilbride—the 'Willie' of the Kirkoswald anecdotes-always alleged that Burns originally addressed this epistle to him.

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife,
Their fate we should na censure,
For still th' important end of life
They equally may answer;
A man may hae an honest heart,
Though poortith hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neibor's part,
Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff han' your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel'
Ye scarcely tell to ony.
Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can
Frae critical dissection,
But keek through every other man
Wi' sharpened, sly inspection.'.

The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th' illicit rove,
Though naething should divulge it:
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But, och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by every wile
That's justified by honour;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train-attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip,
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that aye be your border:
Its slightest touches, instant pause—
Debar a' side-pretences;

And resolutely keep its laws,

Uncaring consequences.

poverty

look

flame

1 It is not often that the sagacity of Burns is open to challenge; but here certainly he is not philosophically right. It must always be a questionable maxim which proposes to benefit the individual at the expense of his fellow-creatures, or which, if generally followed, would neutralise itself as this would do. Let all men rather be open, and let all men be unsuspicious, to the utmost degree that a prudent regard to circumstances will allow.