And, after proper purpose of amendment, O glorious magnanimity of soul! 19 THE TOAD-EATER.* HAT of Earls with whom you have supt, yestreen? Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse, OURS this moment I unseal, And faith I am gay and hearty! To tell the truth and shame the Deil I am as fu' as Bartie: But foorsday Sir, my promise leal Expect me o' your partie, If on a beastie I can speel, Or hurl in a cartie, R. B. "At the table of Maxwell of Terraughty, when it was the pleasure of one of the guests to talk only of Dukes with whom he had drank, and of Earls with whom he had dined, Burns silenced him with this epigram." The original of this reply to an invitation is preserved in the Paisley library. "IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE."* N vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, Above that world on wings of love I rise, "THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE.”+ HOUGH fickle Fortune has deceived me, She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill; Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, * These lines occur in one of Burns' letters to Clarinda (Mrs. M'Lehose), in March, 1788, to which he adds: "I have been rhyming a little of late, but I do not know if they are worth postage. Tell me.” 66 "The above," says Burns, was an extempore, under the pressure of a heavy train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened to undo me altogether. It was just at the close of that dreadful period before mentioned (March, 1784); and though the weather has brightened up a little with me since, yet there has always been a tempest brewing round me in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty plainly see will "I BURN, I BURN." BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn, By driving winds the crackling flames. are borne,' Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night; Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight. In vain the laws their feeble force oppose: Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foes; In vain religion meets my sinking eye; I dare not combat--but I turn and fly; Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallowed fire; By all on high adoring mortals know! some time or other, perhaps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretchedness. However, as I hope my poor country Muse, who, all rustic, awkward, and unpolished as she is, has more charms for me than any other of the pleasures of life beside as I hope she will not then desert me, I may even then learn to be, if not happy, at least easy, and south a sang to sooth my misery." These verses were first printed in Cromek's Reliques from the Poet's MS. * These verses occur in one of Burns' letters to Clarinda in 1788. EPIGRAM ON A NOTED COXCOMB.* IGHT lay the earth on Billy's breast, But build a castle on his head, TAM THE CHAPMAN.† S Tam the Chapman on a day Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight so famous, *Printed from Burns' manuscript. These verses were printed by the late Mr. Cobbett, with this account of them: "It is our fortune to know a Mr. Kennedy, an aged gentleman, a native of Scotland, and the early associate and friend of Robert Burns. Both were born in Ayrshire, near the town of Ayr, so frequently celebrated in the poems of the bard. Burns, as is well known, was the poor peasant's son; and in the Cotter's Saturday Night,' gives a noble picture of, what we may presume to be, the family circle of his father. Kennedy, whose boyhood was passed in the labours of a farm, subsequently became the agent to a mercantile house in a neighbouring town. Hence he is called, in an epitaph which his friend the Poet wrote on him, 'the Chapman.' These lines, omitted in all editions of Burns' works, were composed on Kennedy's recovery from a severe illness. On his way to kirk on a bright Sabbath morning, he was met by the Poet, who, having rallied him on the sombre expression of his countenance, fell back, and soon rejoined him, presented him with the epitaph scrawled on a bit of paper with a pencil." Kennedy's occupation," 66 Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, TO DR. MAXWELL, ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY.* BURNS wrote to Mr. Thomson in September or October, 1794, "How do you like the following epigram, which I wrote the other day on a lovely young girl's recovery from a fever? Doctor Maxwell was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave, and to him I address the following:" AXWELL, if merit here you crave, M You save fair Jessy from the grave! says Allan Cunningham, "which gave him a knowledge of the world at that time far beyond that of the humble cotter's son, made him an extremely acceptable companion, while his social, friendly, honest heart,' converted acquaintance into friendship. They maintained a regular correspondence until about the time of Burns' departure for Edinburgh, when Kennedy removed far from the banks and braes' of his native Ayrshire." · * Miss Jessy Staig married Major Miller, and died young. She was the Jessy of the song, "True hearted was he, the sad swain of the Yarrow." |