First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight,
But, ah! deform'd, dishonest to the sight!
His twisted head look'd backward on his way,
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted ai!
Reluctant, E stalk'd in; with piteous race
The jostling tears ran down his honest face!
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own,
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne!
The Pedant stifles keen the Roman sound

Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound;
And next, the title following close behind,
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd.
The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded, Y!
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply:
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round,
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground!
In rueful apprehension enter'd O,
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe;
Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert,
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art:
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U,
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew!

As trembling U stood staring all aghast,
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast,
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right,
Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight.*

Verses to John Rankine. †

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;

[The following, described by Burns as "Literary scolding and Hints," forms part of a letter sent to a critic who had taken him to task about obscure language and imperfect grammar. It was communicated by Mr. Laidlaw, Deputy Sheriff-Clerk of Berwick-shire, and may be added as a characteristic note to this odd poem; "Thou eunuch of language! thou Englishman, who never was south the Tweed thou servile echo of fashionable barbarisms; thou quack, vending the nostrums of empirical elocution thou marriagemaker between vowels and consonants, on the Gretna-green of caprice! thou cobbler, botching the flimsy socks of bombast oratory! thou blacksmith, hammering the rivets of absurdity! thou butcher, embruing thy hands in the bowels of orthography! thou arch-heretic in pronunciation! thou pitch-pipe of affected emphasis! thou carpenter, mortising the awkward joints of jarring sentences! thou squeaking dissonance of cadence! thou pimp of gender! thou Lyon Herald to silly etymology! thou antipode of grammar! thou executioner of construction! thou brood of the speech-distracting builders of the Tower of Babel! thou lingual confusion worse confounded! thou scape-gallows from the land of syntax! thou scavenger of mood and tense! thou murderous accoucheur of infant learning; thou ignis fatuus, misleading the steps of benighted ignorance! thou pickle-herring in the puppet-show of nonsense! thou faithful recorder of barbarous idiom! thou persecutor of syllabication! thou baleful meteor, foretelling and facilitating the rapid approach of Nox and Erebus.' -R.B. The Poet might have exclaimed during this fit of scolding "O for breath to utter!"]

[The "rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine" of Adamhill. These lines were suggested to Burns by the odd sarcastic dream about his being refused admission to the infernal regions because he was one of Lord K-'s damned brutes! Cromek imagines that the first thought of the poem was suggested by Falstaff's account of his ragged recruits,

"I'll not pass through Coventry with them, that's flat!" The conception of this invective is generally original; death, in the lines before us, refuses to march his scoundrel victims into the other world; and in the epigram to Grose, the devil is zo astonished at the antiquarian's weight and rotundity that he resolves to want him rather than strain himself with such a frightful load!]

[The Poet one day received a letter from Mrs. Dunlop, of which some of the sentiments charmed him so much that he immediately wrote these verses on sensibility, and sent them to his respected friend. It was about this time that Burns became acquainted with the poetry of Cowper: he loved the Task so much that he carried a copy of it usually in his pocket. "Now that I talk of authors," he says to Mrs. Dunlop, “how do you like Cowper; is not the Task a glorious poem? religion of the Task, bating a few scraps of Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and nature: the religion that exalts, that ennobles man."

The

The Poet likewise sent the above to Thomson's Collection. Another copy appears in the Musical Museum, and headed Sensibility how charming," to the tune of "Cornwallis's Lament for Colonel Muirhead," with this slight variation of the second line :-" Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell."]

["The insensate frenzied part," which the Poet intimates he had acted under the influence of wine, was at the too hospitable table of Mr. Riddel: he was unsparing of speech, and on this occasion spoke of thrones and dominions, and epauletted puppies" with a sarcastic vehemence offensive to many. Burns had suffered much, and was then suffering on account of his unbridled license of speech; the power of utterance was not given to him that he might conceal his thoughts. The reparation offered in these lines was warmly accepted, and the current of friendship ran smooth as before.]

Address,

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER

BENEFIT-NIGHT.

December 4, 1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries.

STILL anxious to secure your partial favour, And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, Told him I came to feast my curious eyes; Said, nothing like his works was ever printed; And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. "Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes,

"I know your bent-these are no laughing times: Can you-but, Miss, I own I have my fears,— Dissolve in pause-and sentimental tears, With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repent

ance;

Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid stand, Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty Waving on high the desolating brand, [land?"

D'ye think, said I, this face was made for cryI could no more-askance the creature eyeing, I'll laugh, that's poz-nay more, the world shall ing? [know it; And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet!

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief, That Misery's another word for Grief; I also think-so may I be a bride! That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd.

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; Doom'd to that sorest task of man aliveTo make three guineas do the work of five:1 Laugh in Misfortune's face-the beldam witch! Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich.

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove; Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, Measur'd in desperate thought a rope-thy neck

Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, Peerest to meditate the healing leap:

[Some of the audience on this occasion, who knew the condition of the Bard's affairs, sympathized in these lines:- [ "Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye." At this time Burns had suffered much affliction in the loss of a favourite child, and from ill health in his own person; and in his own words :

'In faith, sma' heart had he to sing.' "We have had a brilliant theatre here, this season," the Poet writes to Mrs. Dunlop; "only, as all other business does, it experiences a stagnation of trade from the epidemical complaint of the country, want of cash. I mention our theatre merely to lug in an Occasional Address which 1 wrote for the benefit night of one of the actresses."]

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,

Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralizing muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,
Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms)
To join the friendly few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower.)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Still much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store-
The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part;
And, dearest gift of heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.
The joys refin'd of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove:
And doubly were the poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

[These lines were written on the blank leaf of a copy of his poems, and presented to Chloris; she retained the book long, and prized it much: nor was she insensible of the light which the muse shed around her. That she did not seem so lovely in the sight of others as in the eyes of Burns is well known; but the Poet looked not at bloom alone; he had something of the taste of an artist: he admired the elegance of her form, the harmony of her movements as she danced, and the sweetness of her voice. The lady in question was Miss Jean Lorimer, of Craigieburn-Wood, near Moffat. Her history was unfortunate-she married an officer of the name of Whelpdale, but in consequence of his misconduct, she lived with him only a few months. After her separation, she re

Poetical Inscription,

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE.

THOU of an independent mind,
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have, a slave;
Virtue alone who dost revere,
Thy own reproach alone dost fear,
Approach this shrine, and worship here.†

The Heron Ballads. [BALLAD I.]

I.

WHOM Will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?

Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that?
For a' that, and a' that,

Thro' Galloway and a' that;
Where is the laird or belted knight
That best deserves to fa' that?

II.

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
And wha is't never saw that?

Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that;
The independent patriot,
The honest man, an' a' that.

III.

Tho' wit and worth in either sex,
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that;
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.

IV.

But why should we to nobles jouk ?
And it's against the law that;
For why, a lord may be a gouk
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.

sided at Dumfries, where the Poet often met her, and she seems to have inspired him with admiration and esteem. He has touchingly adverted to her misfortunes in the above charming verses.]

t[These lines were inscribed on an altar erected at the seat of Heron of Kerroughtree, in Galloway. It was the fashion of those feverish times to raise altars to Freedom, and plant trees to Liberty. Burns wrote the inscription during the summer of 1795; Heron was about to engage in an election contest, and these noble verses of the Poet served as an advertisement of the candidate's sentiments concerning freedom a subject which was then fiercely agitating the country.] Y

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels,
A man we ken, an' a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that,

Here's Heron yet for a' that!

For we're not to be bought an' sold
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that.

VI.

Then let us drink the Stewartry,
Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that,
Our representative to be,

For weel he's worthy a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They would be blest that saw that."

The Heron Ballads. [BALLAD II.]

THE ELECTION.

Tune.-Fy, let us a' to the Bridal.

I.

Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,

For there will be bickerin' there; For Murray's light-horse are to muster, An' O, how the heroes will swear! An' there will be Murray commander, An' Gordon the battle to win; Like brothers they'll stand by each other, Sae knit in alliance an' kin.

II.

An' there will be black-nebbit Johnnie,+
The tongue o' the trump to them a';
An' he get na hell for his haddin'

The deil gets na justice ava';
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie,
A boy na sae black at the bane,
But, as for his fine nabob fortune,
We'll e'en let the subject alane. ‡

III.

An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff,
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped,
She's gotten the heart of a Busby,

But, Lord, what's become o' the head? An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire, Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes;

This is the first of several ballads which Burns wrote to serve Patrick Heron of Kerroughtree, in two elections, in which he was opposed, first by Gordon of Balmaghie, and secondly by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart. They are known to the peasantry by the name of the "Heron Ballads." The poet seems at first to have contemplated some such harmless and laughable effusions as those which he wrote on Miller's election. The first ballad is gentle and moderate: it is a song of eulogy on Heron-not of reproof to his opposers. These ballads were printed at the time on one side of a sheet, and widely disseminated over the country: they were understood merely as election squibs, and none of the gentlemen lampooned looked otherwise upon them than as productions

A wight that will weather damnationThe Devil the prey will despise.

IV.

An' there will be Douglasses || doughty,
New christ'ning towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissing the o' a peer;
An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous!
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation,
He lent them his name to the firm.
v.

But we winna mention Redcastle,
The body, e'en let him escape!
He'd venture the gallows for siller,
An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape.
An' where is our King's lord lieutenant,
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return?
The billie is gettin' his questions,

To say in St. Stephen's the morn.

VI.

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, Muirhead, wha's as gude as he's true; An' there will be Buittle's apostle,

Wha's mair o' the black than the blue; An' there will be folk frae St. Mary's, A house 'o great merit and note, The deil ane but honours them highly,The deil ane will gie them his vote!

VII.

An' there will be wealthy young Richard,
Dame Fortune should hing by the neck;
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing,

His merit had won him respect:
An' there will be rich brother nabobs,
Tho' nabobs, yet men of the first,
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers,
An' Quentin, o' lads not the warst.

VIII.

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie,¶ Tak' tent how ye purchase a dram; An' there will be gay Cassencarrie,

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam; An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, Whase honour was ever his law, If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, His worth might be sample for a'.

IX.

An' can we forget the auld Major,
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys,
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some ither,
Him only it's justice to praise.

of poetic art. In this spirit they are included now in the Poet's works.]

+ John Busby, of Tinwald Downs.

Allusion is here made to a brother of Mr. Busby, whose East Indian fortune was popularly represented as having originated in some transactions connected with the Ayr Bank, before its owner went abroad.

Maxwell, of Cardoness.

| Mr. Douglas of Corlingwark gave the name of Castle Douglas to a village which rose in his neighbourhood-now a populous town.

John Syme, the poet's friend.

[When Burns wrote this second ballad, the election had taken a serious turn against Heron. The verses are severe in most instances. Worthier men than several of those lampooned were not then alive, but he desired to help his friend, and regarded not what weapons he used, provided they were sharp. The gentlemen named were the most active canvassers on both sides; praise is lavished on the adherents of Heron, and satiric abuse is bestowed on the friends of the Gordon.]

+ A set of miscellaneous dealers, who used to travel in Scotland, were called troggers. Troggin is a general phrase

for their wares.

The Earl of Galloway.

Mr. Murray, of Broughton.

Gordon of Balmaghie, one of the candidates.

A bitter allusion to Mr. Busby.

Burns here alludes to a brother wit, the Rev. Dr. Muirhead, minister of Urr, in Galloway. The hit applied very

well, for Muirhead was a wind-dried, unhealthy looking little manikin, very proud of his genealogy, and ambitious of being acknowledged on all occasions as the chief of the Muirheads!

tt [This third ballad refers to the contest between Heron and Stewart: the former was successful on the hustings, but was unseated by a Committee of the Commons, and died on his way back to Scotland. But his nature was too noble, and his mind too pious, to allow political disappointment to prevail against reason; his health had been for some time giving way: he was taken ill at Grantham, and died in peace with all mankind. It was one of the dreams of his day, in which Burns indulged, that, by some miraculous movement, the Tory counsellors of the king would be dismissed, and the Whigs, with the Prince of Wales at their head, rule and reign in their stead. That Heron aided in strengthening this "devout imagination " is certain; but then the laird of Kerroughtree was the victim of the delusion himself.]