An' her kind stars hae airted till her Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, But to grant a maidenhead's the devil. An' steer you seven miles south o' hell: Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you: Ye'll fin' him just an honest man; Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, ROB THE RAnter. A NEW PSALM FOR THE CHAPEL OF KILMARNOCK On the Thanksgiving-Day for His Majesty's Recovery. O SING a new song to the Lord, A joyful noise, even for the King The sons of Belial in the land Did set their heads together; Come, let us sweep them off, said they, They set their heads together, I say, They set their heads together; On right, on left, on every hand, Thou madest strong two chosen ones The burden-bearing tribe. And him, among the Princes chief The judge that's mighty in thy law, Yet they, even they, with all their strength, Even as two howling, ravenous wolves Th' ungodly o'er the just prevail'd, That thou might'st greater glory give And now thou hast restored our State, Pity our Kirk also; For she by tribulations Is now brought very low. Consume that high-place, Patronage, From off thy holy hill; And in thy fury burn the book— Now hear our prayer, accept our song, We seek but little, Lord, from thee, Thou kens we get as little. 1 Dr. William M'Gill of Ayr, whose "Practical Essay on the Death of Jesus Christ" led to a charge of heresy against him. Burns took up his cause in "The Kirk of Scotland's Alarm" (p. 351).-Lang. SKETCH IN VERSE Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox. How Wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite, How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white, Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, I care not, not I-let the Critics go whistle! But now for a Patron whose name and whose glory, At once may illustrate and honour my story. Thou first of our orators, first of our wits; Good Lord, what is Man! for as simple he looks, With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labours, One trifling particular, Truth, should have miss'd him; Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, Have you found this, or t'other? There's more in the wind; But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, But truce with abstraction, and truce with a Muse Your courage, much more than your prudence, you show it: He'd up the back stairs, and by God, he would steal 'em, THE WOUNDED HARE INHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art, Go live, poor wand'rer of the wood and field! No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe; The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side; Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. DELIA, AN ODE "To the Editor of The Star.-Mr. Printer-If the productions of a simple ploughman can merit a place in the same paper with Sylvester Otway, and the other favourites of the Muses who illuminate the Star with the lustre of genius, your insertion of the enclosed trifle will be succeeded by future communications from-Yours, &c., R. BURNS. Ellisland, near Dumfries, 18th May, 1789." FAIR the face of orient day, Fair the tints of op'ning rose; Sweet the lark's wild warbled lay, The flower-enamour'd busy bee But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; O let me steal one liquid kiss, For Oh! my soul is parch'd with love. THE GARD'NER WI' HIS PAIDLE Tune "The Gardener's March." WHEN TOSY May comes in wi' flowers, The Gard'ner wi' his paidle. |