by Robert Burns
Alphabetical List of Poems
306.
Election Ballad at close of Contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790
At the close of the contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790.
Addressed to R. GRAHAM, Esq. of Fintry.
FINTRY, my stay in wordly strife,
Friend o’ my muse, friend o’ my life,
Are ye as idle’s I am?
Come then, wi’ uncouth kintra fleg,
O’er Pegasus I’ll fling my leg, 5
And ye shall see me try him.
But where shall I go rin a ride,
That I may splatter nane beside?
I wad na be uncivil:
In manhood’s various paths and ways 10
There’s aye some doytin’ body strays,
And I ride like the devil.
Thus I break aff wi’ a’ my birr,
And down yon dark, deep alley spur,
Where Theologics daunder: 15
Alas! curst wi’ eternal fogs,
And damn’d in everlasting bogs,
As sure’s the creed I’ll blunder!
I’ll stain a band, or jaup a gown,
Or rin my reckless, guilty crown 20
Against the haly door:
Sair do I rue my luckless fate,
When, as the Muse an’ Deil wad hae’t,
I rade that road before.
Suppose I take a spurt, and mix 25
Amang the wilds o’ Politics —
Electors and elected,
Where dogs at Court (sad sons of bitches!)
Septennially a madness touches,
Till all the land’s infected. 30
All hail! Drumlanrig’s haughty Grace,
Discarded remnant of a race
Once godlike-great in story;
Thy forbears’ virtues all contrasted,
The very name of Douglas blasted, 35
Thine that inverted glory!
Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore,
But thou hast superadded more,
And sunk them in contempt;
Follies and crimes have stain’d the name, 40
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim,
From aught that’s good exempt!
I’ll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears,
Who left the all-important cares
Of princes, and their darlings: 45
And, bent on winning borough touns,
Came shaking hands wi’ wabster-loons,
And kissing barefit carlins.
Combustion thro’ our boroughs rode,
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 50
Of mad unmuzzled lions;
As Queensberry blue and buff unfurl’d,
And Westerha’ and Hopetoun hurled
To every Whig defiance.
But cautious Queensberry left the war, 55
Th’ unmanner’d dust might soil his star,
Besides, he hated bleeding:
But left behind him heroes bright,
Heroes in C&æsarean fight,
Or Ciceronian pleading. 60
O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg,
To muster o’er each ardent Whig
Beneath Drumlanrig’s banners;
Heroes and heroines commix,
All in the field of politics, 65
To win immortal honours.
M’Murdo and his lovely spouse,
(Th’ enamour’d laurels kiss her brows!)
Led on the Loves and Graces:
She won each gaping burgess’ heart, 70
While he, sub rosa, played his part
Amang their wives and lasses.
Craigdarroch led a light-arm’d core,
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,
Like Hecla streaming thunder: 75
Glenriddel, skill’d in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory’s dark designs,
And bared the treason under.
In either wing two champions fought;
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought 80
The wildest savage Tory;
And Welsh who ne’er yet flinch’d his ground,
High-wav’d his magnum-bonum round
With Cyclopeian fury.
Miller brought up th’ artillery ranks, 85
The many-pounders of the Banks,
Resistless desolation!
While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
‘Mid Lawson’s port entrench’d his hold,
And threaten’d worse damnation. 90
To these what Tory hosts oppos’d
With these what Tory warriors clos’d
Surpasses my descriving;
Squadrons, extended long and large,
With furious speed rush to the charge, 95
Like furious devils driving.
What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
The butcher deeds of bloody Fate,
Amid this mighty tulyie!
Grim Horror girn’d, pale Terror roar’d, 100
As Murder at his thrapple shor’d,
And Hell mix’d in the brulyie.
As Highland craigs by thunder cleft,
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,
Hurl down with crashing rattle; 105
As flames among a hundred woods,
As headlong foam from a hundred floods,
Such is the rage of Battle.
The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 110
Before th’ approaching fellers:
The Whigs come on like Ocean’s roar,
When all his wintry billows pour
Against the Buchan Bullers.
Lo, from the shades of Death’s deep night, 115
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,
And think on former daring:
The muffled murtherer of Charles
The Magna Charter flag unfurls,
All deadly gules its bearing. 120
Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame;
Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham;
Auld Covenanters shiver —
Forgive! forgive! much-wrong’d Montrose!
Now Death and Hell engulph thy foes, 125
Thou liv’st on high for ever.
Still o’er the field the combat burns,
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;
But Fate the word has spoken:
For woman’s wit and strength o’man, 130
Alas! can do but what they can;
The Tory ranks are broken.
O that my een were flowing burns!
My voice, a lioness that mourns
Her darling cubs’ undoing! 135
That I might greet, that I might cry,
While Tories fall, while Tories fly,
And furious Whigs pursuing!
What Whig but melts for good Sir James,
Dear to his country, by the names, 140
Friend, Patron, Benefactor!
Not Pulteney’s wealth can Pulteney save;
And Hopetoun falls, the generous, brave;
And Stewart, bold as Hector.
Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow, 145
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe,
And Melville melt in wailing:
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice,
And Burke shall sing, “O Prince, arise!
Thy power is all-prevailing!” 150
For your poor friend, the Bard, afar
He only hears and sees the war,
A cool spectator purely!
So, when the storm the forest rends,
The robin in the hedge descends, 155
And sober chirps securely.
Now, for my friends’ and brethren’s sakes,
And for my dear-lov’d Land o’ Cakes,
I pray with holy fire:
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o’ Hell 160
O’er a’ wad Scotland buy or sell,
To grind them in the mire!
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Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
307.
Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson
A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God.
“Should the poor be flattered?” — Shakespeare.
O DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
The meikle devil wi’ a woodie
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,
O’er hurcheon hides,
And like stock-fish come o’er his studdie 5
Wi’ thy auld sides!
He’s gane, he’s gane! he’s frae us torn,
The ae best fellow e’er was born!
Thee, Matthew, Nature’s sel’ shall mourn,
By wood and wild, 10
Where haply, Pity strays forlorn,
Frae man exil’d.
Ye hills, near neighbours o’ the starns,
That proudly cock your cresting cairns!
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns, 15
Where Echo slumbers!
Come join, ye Nature’s sturdiest bairns,
My wailing numbers!
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!
Ye haz’ly shaws and briery dens! 20
Ye burnies, wimplin’ down your glens,
Wi’ toddlin din,
Or foaming, strang, wi’ hasty stens,
Frae lin to lin.
Mourn, little harebells o’er the lea; 25
Ye stately foxgloves, fair to see;
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie,
In scented bow’rs;
Ye roses on your thorny tree,
The first o’ flow’rs. 30
At dawn, when ev’ry grassy blade
Droops with a diamond at his head,
At ev’n, when beans their fragrance shed,
I’ th’ rustling gale,
Ye maukins, whiddin thro’ the glade, 35
Come join my wail.
Mourn, ye wee songsters o’ the wood;
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud;
Ye curlews, calling thro’ a clud;
Ye whistling plover; 40
And mourn, we whirring paitrick brood;
He’s gane for ever!
Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals;
Ye fisher herons, watching eels;
Ye duck and drake, wi’ airy wheels 45
Circling the lake;
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,
Rair for his sake.
Mourn, clam’ring craiks at close o’ day,
‘Mang fields o’ flow’ring clover gay; 50
And when ye wing your annual way
Frae our claud shore,
Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay,
Wham we deplore.
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow’r 55
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow’r,
What time the moon, wi’ silent glow’r,
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro’ the dreary midnight hour,
Till waukrife morn! 60
O rivers, forests, hills, and plains!
Oft have ye heard my canty strains;
But now, what else for me remains
But tales of woe;
And frae my een the drapping rains 65
Maun ever flow.
Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year!
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear:
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear
Shoots up its head, 70
Thy gay, green, flow’ry tresses shear,
For him that’s dead!
Thou, Autumn, wi’ thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, Winter, hurling thro’ the air 75
The roaring blast,
Wide o’er the naked world declare
The worth we’ve lost!
Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light!
Mourn, Empress of the silent night! 80
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright,
My Matthew mourn!
For through your orbs he’s ta’en his flight,
Ne’er to return.
O Henderson! the man! the brother! 85
And art thou gone, and gone for ever!
And hast thou crost that unknown river,
Life’s dreary bound!
Like thee, where shall I find another,
The world around! 90
Go to your sculptur’d tombs, ye Great,
In a’ the tinsel trash o’ state!
But by thy honest turf I’ll wait,
Thou man of worth!
And weep the ae best fellow’s fate 95
E’er lay in earth.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
308.
The Epitaph on Captain Matthew Henderson
STOP, passenger! my story’s brief,
And truth I shall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o’ grief,
For Matthew was a great man.
If thou uncommon merit hast, 5
Yet spurn’d at Fortune’s door, man;
A look of pity hither cast,
For Matthew was a poor man.
If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by this grave, man; 10
There moulders here a gallant heart,
For Matthew was a brave man.
If thou on men, their works and ways,
Canst throw uncommon light, man;
Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, 15
For Matthew was a bright man.
If thou, at Friendship’s sacred ca’,
Wad life itself resign, man:
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa’,
For Matthew was a kind man. 20
If thou art staunch, without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man;
This was a kinsman o’ thy ain,
For Matthew was a true man.
If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 25
And ne’er guid wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, and sire,
For Matthew was a queer man.
If ony whiggish, whingin’ sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man; 30
May dool and sorrow be his lot,
For Matthew was a rare man.
But now, his radiant course is run,
For Matthew’s was a bright one!
His soul was like the glorious sun, 35
A matchless, Heavenly light, man.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
309.
Verses on Captain Grose
Written on an Envelope, enclosing a Letter to Him.
KEN ye aught o’ Captain Grose? — Igo, and ago,
If he’s amang his friends or foes? — Iram, coram, dago.
Is he to Abra’m’s bosom gane? — Igo, and ago,
Or haudin Sarah by the wame? — Iram, coram dago.
Is he south or is he north? — Igo, and ago, 5
Or drowned in the river Forth? — Iram, coram dago.
Is he slain by Hielan’ bodies? — Igo, and ago,
And eaten like a wether haggis? — Iram, coram, dago.
Where’er he be, the Lord be near him! — Igo, and ago,
As for the deil, he daur na steer him. — Iram, coram, dago. 10
But please transmit th’ enclosed letter, — Igo, and ago,
Which will oblige your humble debtor. — Iram, coram, dago.
So may ye hae auld stanes in store, — Igo, and ago,
The very stanes that Adam bore. — Iram, coram, dago,
So may ye get in glad possession, — Igo, and ago, 15
The coins o’ Satan’s coronation! — Iram coram dago.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
310.
Tam o’ Shanter: A Tale
A Tale.
/> “Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke.”
GAWIN DOUGLAS.
Tam O’Shanter by Abraham Cooper
WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 5
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, 10
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest TAM O’ SHANTER,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses, 15
For honest men and bonie lasses).
O Tam! had’st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 20
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder wi’ the Miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on 25
The Smith and thee gat roarin’ fou on;
That at the L — d’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday,
She prophesied that late or soon,
Thou wad be found, deep drown’d in Doon, 30
Or catch’d wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld, haunted kirk.
