Lx.x.xI.

SKETCH.

[This Sketch is a portion of a long Poem which Burns proposed to call "The Poet's Progress." He communicated the little he had done, for he was a courter of opinions, to Dugald Stewart. "The Fragment forms,"

said he, "the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights.

This particular part I send you, merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching." It is probable that the professor's response was not favourable for we hear no more of the Poem.]

A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, And still his precious self his dear delight; Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets Better than e'er the fairest she he meets: A man of fashion, too, he made his tour, Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive l'amour: So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love.

Much specious lore, but little understood; Veneering oft outshines the solid wood: His solid sense--by inches you must tell.

But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell; His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, Still making work his selfish craft must mend.

Lx.x.xII.

TO MRS. SCOTT,

OF WAUCHOPE.

[The lady to whom this epistle is addressed was a painter and a poetess: her pencil sketches are said to have been beautiful; and she had a ready skill in rhyme, as the verses addressed to Burns fully testify. Taste and poetry belonged to her family; she was the niece of Mrs. c.o.c.kburn, auth.o.r.ess of a beautiful variation of The Flowers of the Forest.]

I mind it weel in early date, When I was beardless, young and blate, An' first could thresh the barn; Or hand a yokin at the pleugh; An' tho' forfoughten sair enough, Yet unco proud to learn: When first amang the yellow corn A man I reckon'd was, An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and la.s.s, Still shearing, and clearing, The t.i.ther stooked raw, Wi' claivers, an' haivers, Wearing the day awa.

E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r, A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast, That I for poor auld Scotland's sake Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.

The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide Amang the bearded bear, I turn'd the weeder-clips aside, An' spar'd the symbol dear: No nation, no station, My envy e'er could raise, A Scot still, but blot still, I knew nae higher praise.

But still the elements o' sang In formless jumble, right an' wrang, Wild floated in my brain; 'Till on that har'st I said before, My partner in the merry core, She rous'd the forming strain: I see her yet, the sonsie quean, That lighted up her jingle, Her witching smile, her pauky een That gart my heart-strings tingle: I fired, inspired, At every kindling keek, But bashing and dashing I feared aye to speak.

Health to the s.e.x, ilk guid chiel says, Wi' merry dance in winter days, An' we to share in common: The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, The saul o' life, the heaven below, Is rapture-giving woman.

Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, Be mindfu' o' your mither: She, honest woman, may think shame That ye're connected with her.

Ye're wae men, ye're nae men That slight the lovely dears; To shame ye, disclaim ye, Ilk honest birkie swears.

For you, no bred to barn and byre, Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, Thanks to you for your line: The marled plaid ye kindly spare, By me should gratefully be ware; 'Twad please me to the nine.

I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap, Douce hingin' owre my curple Than ony ermine ever lap, Or proud imperial purple.

Fareweel then, lang heel then, An' plenty be your fa'; May losses and crosses Ne'er at your hallan ca'.

Lx.x.xIII.

EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH.

[A storm of rain detained Burns one day, during his border tour, at Selkirk, and he employed his time in writing this characteristic epistle to Creech, his bookseller. Creech was a person of education and taste; he was not only the most popular publisher in the north, but he was intimate with almost all the distinguished men who, in those days, adorned Scottish literature. But though a joyous man, a lover of sociality, and the keeper of a good table, he was close and parsimonious, and loved to hold money to the last moment that the law allowed.]

_Selkirk_, 13 _May_, 1787.

Auld chukie Reekie's[69] sair distrest, Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest, Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest Can yield ava, Her darling bird that she lo'es best, Willie's awa!

O Willie was a witty wight, And had o' things an unco slight; Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, An' trig an' braw: But now they'll busk her like a fright, Willie's awa!

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd; The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd; They durst nae mair than he allow'd, That was a law; We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, Willie's awa!

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools, Frae colleges and boarding-schools, May sprout like simmer puddock stools In glen or shaw; He wha could brush them down to mools, Willie's awa!

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer[70]

May mourn their loss wi' doofu' clamour; He was a dictionar and grammar Amang them a'; I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer, Willie's awa!

Nae mair we see his levee door Philosophers and poets pour,[71]

And toothy critics by the score In b.l.o.o.d.y raw!

The adjutant o' a' the core, Willie's awa!

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace; Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace As Rome n'er saw; They a' maun meet some ither place, Willie's awa!

Poor Burns--e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken, Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin By hoodie-craw; Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin', Willie's awa!

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum, And Calvin's fock are fit to fell him; And self-conceited critic skellum His quill may draw; He wha could brawlie ward their bellum, Willie's awa!

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, And Ettrick banks now roaring red, While tempests blaw; But every joy and pleasure's fled, Willie's awa!

May I be slander's common speech; A text for infamy to preach; And lastly, streekit out to bleach In winter snaw; When I forget thee! Willie Creech, Tho' far awa!

May never wicked fortune touzle him!

May never wicked man bamboozle him!

Until a pow as auld's Methusalem He canty claw!

Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, Fleet wing awa!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 69: Edinburgh.]

[Footnote 70: The Chamber of Commerce in Edinburgh, of which Creech was Secretary.]

[Footnote 71: Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet at Mr.

Creech's house at breakfast.]