Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser-care; Time but th' impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear, My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest?

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Epistle To Dr. Blacklock

Ellisland, 21st Oct., 1789.

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!

And are ye hale, and weel and cantie?

I ken'd it still, your wee bit jauntie Wad bring ye to: Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye!

And then ye'll do.

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south!

And never drink be near his drouth!

He tauld myself by word o' mouth, He'd tak my letter; I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth, And bade nae better.

But aiblins, honest Master Heron Had, at the time, some dainty fair one To ware this theologic care on, And holy study; And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on, E'en tried the body.

But what d'ye think, my trusty fere, I'm turned a gauger--Peace be here!

Parna.s.sian queans, I fear, I fear, Ye'll now disdain me!

And then my fifty pounds a year Will little gain me.

Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, Wha, by Castalia's wimplin streamies, Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, Ye ken, ye ken, That strang necessity supreme is 'Mang sons o' men.

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies; They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies; Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is-- I need na vaunt But I'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies, Before they want.

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!

I'm weary sick o't late and air!

Not but I hae a richer share Than mony ithers; But why should ae man better fare, And a' men brithers?

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!

And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan A lady fair: Wha does the utmost that he can, Will whiles do mair.

But to conclude my silly rhyme (I'm scant o' verse and scant o' time), To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life.

My compliments to sister Beckie, And eke the same to honest Lucky; I wat she is a daintie chuckie, As e'er tread clay; And gratefully, my gude auld c.o.c.kie, I'm yours for aye.

Robert Burns.

The Five Carlins

An Election Ballad.

Tune--"Chevy Chase."

There was five Carlins in the South, They fell upon a scheme, To send a lad to London town, To bring them tidings hame.

Nor only bring them tidings hame, But do their errands there, And aiblins gowd and honor baith Might be that laddie's share.

There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith, A dame wi' pride eneugh; And Marjory o' the mony Lochs, A Carlin auld and teugh.

And blinkin Bess of Annandale, That dwelt near Solway-side; And whisky Jean, that took her gill, In Galloway sae wide.

And auld black Joan frae Crichton Peel,^1 O' gipsy kith an' kin; Five wighter Carlins were na found The South countrie within.

To send a lad to London town, They met upon a day; And mony a knight, and mony a laird, This errand fain wad gae.

O mony a knight, and mony a laird, This errand fain wad gae; But nae ane could their fancy please, O ne'er a ane but twae.

The first ane was a belted Knight, Bred of a Border band;^2 And he wad gae to London town, Might nae man him withstand.

And he wad do their errands weel, And meikle he wad say; And ilka ane about the court Wad bid to him gude-day.

[Footnote 1: Sanquhar.]

[Footnote 2: Sir James Johnston of Westerhall.]

The neist cam in a Soger youth,^3 Who spak wi' modest grace, And he wad gae to London town, If sae their pleasure was.

He wad na hecht them courtly gifts, Nor meikle speech pretend; But he wad hecht an honest heart, Wad ne'er desert his friend.

Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuse, At strife thir Carlins fell; For some had Gentlefolks to please, And some wad please themsel'.

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, And she spak up wi' pride, And she wad send the Soger youth, Whatever might betide.

For the auld Gudeman o' London court^4 She didna care a pin; But she wad send the Soger youth, To greet his eldest son.^5

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale, And a deadly aith she's ta'en, That she wad vote the Border Knight, Though she should vote her lane.

"For far-off fowls hae feathers fair, And fools o' change are fain; But I hae tried the Border Knight, And I'll try him yet again."

Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel, A Carlin stoor and grim.

"The auld Gudeman or young Gudeman, For me may sink or swim;

[Footnote 3: Captain Patrick Millar of Dalswinton.]

[Footnote 4: The King.]

[Footnote 5: The Prince of Wales.]

For fools will prate o' right or wrang, While knaves laugh them to scorn; But the Soger's friends hae blawn the best, So he shall bear the horn."