As soon's the clockin-time is by, An' the wee pouts begun to cry, L--d, I'se hae sportin' by an' by, For my gowd guinea; Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye For't, in Virginia.

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame!

'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three draps about the wame Scarce thro' the feathers; An' baith a yellow George to claim, An' thole their blethers!

It pits me ay as mad's a hare; So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; But pennyworths again is fair, When time's expedient: Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, Your most obedient.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 54: A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in the country-side.]

[Footnote 55: A song he had promised the author.]

L.

ON A SCOTCH BARD,

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES.

[Burns in this Poem, as well as in others, speaks openly of his tastes and pa.s.sions: his own fortunes are dwelt on with painful minuteness, and his errors are recorded with the accuracy, but not the seriousness of the confessional. He seems to have been fond of taking himself to task. It was written when "Hungry ruin had him in the wind," and emigration to the West Indies was the only refuge which he could think of, or his friends suggest, from the persecutions of fortune.]

A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, A' ye wha live and never think, Come, mourn wi' me!

Our billie's gien us a' a jink, An' owre the sea.

Lament him a' ye rantin' core, Wha dearly like a random-splore, Nae mair he'll join the merry roar In social key; For now he's taen anither sh.o.r.e, An' owre the sea!

The bonnie la.s.ses weel may wiss him, And in their dear pet.i.tions place him; The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, Wi' tearfu' e'e; For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him That's owre the sea!

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!

Hadst thou taen' aff some drowsy b.u.mmle Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 'Twad been nae plea, But he was gleg as onie wumble, That's owre the sea!

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee; He was her laureate monie a year, That's owre the sea!

He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west Lang mustering up a bitter blast; A jillet brak his heart at last, Ill may she be!

So, took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the sea.

To tremble under fortune's c.u.mmock, On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, Wi' his proud, independent stomach, Could ill agree; So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, An' owre the sea.

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding: He dealt it free; The muse was a' that he took pride in, That's owre the sea.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel; Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, And fou o' glee; He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, That's owre the sea.

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!

Your native soil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily, Now bonnilie!

I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, Tho' owre the sea!

LI.

THE FAREWELL.

"The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?

Or what does he regard his single woes?

But when, alas! he multiplies himself, To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair, The those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him, To helpless children! then, O then! he feels The point of misery fest'ring in his heart, And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.

Such, such am I! undone."

THOMSON.

[In these serious stanzas, where the comic, as in the lines to the Scottish bard, are not permitted to mingle, Burns bids farewell to all on whom his heart had any claim. He seems to have looked on the sea as only a place of peril, and on the West Indies as a charnel-house.]

I.

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, Far dearer than the torrid plains Where rich ananas blow!

Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!

A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!

My Jean's heart-rending throe!

Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft Of my parental care, A faithful brother I have left, My part in him thou'lt share!

Adieu too, to you too, My Smith, my bosom frien'; When kindly you mind me, O then befriend my Jean!

II.

What bursting anguish tears my heart!

From thee, my Jeany, must I part!

Thou weeping answ'rest--"No!"

Alas! misfortune stares my face, And points to ruin and disgrace, I for thy sake must go!

Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear, A grateful, warm adieu; I, with a much-indebted tear, Shall still remember you!

All-hail then, the gale then, Wafts me from thee, dear sh.o.r.e!

It rustles, and whistles I'll never see thee more!

LII.

WRITTEN

ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF MY POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED.