POSTSCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, And by felt death was nearly nicket; Grim loon! he got me by the f.e.c.ket, And sair me sheuk; But by guid luck I lap a wicket, And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't, And by that life, I'm promised mair o't, My hale and weel I'll tak a care o't, A tentier way: Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't, For ance and aye!

CLII.

TO

MISS JESSY LEWARS,

DUMFRIES.

WITH JOHNSON'S 'MUSICAL MUSEUM.'

[Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the declining days of the poet, with the affectionate reverence of a daughter: for this she has the silent grat.i.tude of all who admire the genius of Burns; she has received more, the thanks of the poet himself, expressed in verses not destined soon to die.]

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, And with them take the Poet's prayer; That fate may in her fairest page, With every kindliest, best presage Of future bliss, enrol thy name: With native worth and spotless fame, And wakeful caution still aware Of ill--but chief, man's felon snare; All blameless joys on earth we find, And all the treasures of the mind-- These be thy guardian and reward; So prays thy faithful friend, The Bard.

_June_ 26, 1796.

CLIII.

POEM ON LIFE,

ADDRESSED TO

COLONEL DE PEYSTER.

DUMFRIES, 1796.

[This is supposed to be the last Poem written by the hand, or conceived by the muse of Burns. The person to whom it is addressed was Colonel of the gentlemen Volunteers of Dumfries, in whose ranks Burns was a private: he was a Canadian by birth, and prided himself on having defended Detroit, against the united efforts of the French and Americans. He was rough and austere, and thought the science of war the n.o.blest of all sciences: he affected a taste for literature, and wrote verses.]

My honoured colonel, deep I feel Your interest in the Poet's weal; Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel The steep Parna.s.sus, Surrounded thus by bolus, pill, And potion gla.s.ses.

O what a canty warld were it, Would pain and care and sickness spare it; And fortune favour worth and merit, As they deserve!

(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret; Syne, wha wad starve?)

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, And in paste gems and frippery deck her; Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker I've found her still, Ay wavering like the willow-wicker, 'Tween good and ill.

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, Watches, like baudrons by a rattan, Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on Wi' felon ire; Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on-- He's aff like fire.

Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair, First shewing us the tempting ware, Bright wines and bonnie la.s.ses rare, To put us daft; Syne, weave, unseen, thy spider snare O' h.e.l.l's d.a.m.n'd waft.

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes bye, And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, Thy auld danm'd elbow yeuks wi' joy, And h.e.l.lish pleasure; Already in thy fancy's eye, Thy sicker treasure!

Soon heels-o'er gowdie! in he gangs, And like a sheep head on a tangs, Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs And murd'ring wrestle, As, dangling in the wind, he hangs A gibbet's ta.s.sel.

But lest you think I am uncivil, To plague you with this draunting drivel, Abjuring a' intentions evil, I quat my pen: The Lord preserve us frae the devil, Amen! amen!

EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, FRAGMENTS,

ETC., ETC.

I.

ON THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

[William Burness merited his son's eulogiums: he was an example of piety, patience, and fort.i.tude.]

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend!

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father and the gen'rous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human woe; The dauntless heart that feared no human pride; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe; "For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."

II.

ON R.A., ESQ.

[Robert Aiken, Esq., to whom "The Cotter's Sat.u.r.day Night" is addressed: a kind and generous man.]

Know thou, O stranger to the fame Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name!

(For none that knew him need be told) A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.