There, watching high the least alarms, Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold veteran, grey in arms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar: The pond'rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing war, With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, Fam'd heroes! had their royal home: Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam! Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar, All hail thy palaces and tow'rs; ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS FAIR fa' your honest, sonsie face, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o' a grace The groaning trencher there ye fill, In time o' need, While thro' your pores the dews distil His knife see rustic Labour dight, And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich! Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Is there that owre his French ragout Or fricassee wad make her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro' blody flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread. Clap in his walie nieve a blade, An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned, Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer Gie her a haggis! TO MISS LOGAN, WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS FOR A NEW-YEAR'S GIFT, JAN. 1, 1787. AGAIN the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driven, No gifts have I from Indian coasts I send you more than India boasts, Our sex with guile, and faithless love, But may, dear maid, each lover prove MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE-A SKETCH SHREWD Willie Smellie to Crochallan came; His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE' As I cam by Crochallan, Was sittin at yon boord-en'; And amang gude companie; You're welcome hame to me! SONG-BONIE DUNDEE My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, But I'll big a bow'r on yon bonie banks, And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION LORD ADVOCATE He clenched his pamphlet in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, Till, in a declamation-mist, His argument he tint it: He gaped for't, he grapèd for't, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short, He ekèd out wi' law, man. MR. ERSKINE Collected, Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man; 1 William Dunbar, W. S., of the Crochallan Fencibles, a convivial club. His Lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, And ey'd the gathering storm, man: Or torrents owre a lin, man: The BENCH sae wise, lift up their eyes, INSCRIPTION FOR THE HEADSTONE OF FERGUS- No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way, To pour ADDITIONAL STANZAS She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate; And, thankless, starv'd what they so much admired. This tribute, with a tear, now gives A brother Bard-he can no more bestow: A nobler monument than Art can shew. INSCRIBED UNDER FERGUSSON'S PORTRAIT CURSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleased, 1 The stone was erected at Burns's expense in February-March, 1789. |