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Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd,
Misfortunes lighten'd steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds:

Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch her scan,
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man.

Song. The Birks of Aberfeldy.1

Tune-"The Birks of Abergeldie."
Chorus.-Bonie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonie lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy !

Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlets plays;
Come let us spend the lightsome days,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonie lassie, &c.

The little birdies blythely sing,
While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.

The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,

O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws-
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonie lassie, &c.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonie lassie, &c.

1 Written on August 30, 1787.


Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me;
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water.

⚫ staring.

To the noble Duke of Athole.1

My lord, I know, your noble ear
Woe ne'er assails in vain ;
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
Your humble slave complain,
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
In flaming summer-pride,
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
And drink my crystal tide.2

The lightly-jumpin, glowrina trouts,
That thro' my waters play,
If, in their random, wanton spouts,
They near the margin stray;
If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
I'm scorching up so shallow,
They're left the whitening stanes amang,
In gasping death to wallow.

Last day I grat" wi' spite and teen,
As poet Burns came by,

That, to a bard, I should be seen
Wi' half my channel dry;
A panegyric rhyme, I ween,
Ev'n as I was, he shor❜dd me;
But had I in my glory been,
He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

1 Burns enjoyed himself extremely at Blair Castle, and sent these lines to his friend Walker, tutor to the family of the Duke of Athole.

c vexation.

d promised.

2 Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.-R. B.

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks,
In twisting strength I rin;

There, high my boiling torrent smokes,
Wild-roaring o'er a linn":
Enjoying each large spring and well,
As Nature gave them me,
I am, altho' I say't mysel',
Worth gaun a mile to see.

Would then my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,
And bonie spreading bushes.
Delighted doubly then, my lord,
You'll wander on my banks,
And listen mony a grateful bird
Return you tuneful thanks.

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire;

The gowdspink,d Music's gayest child,1
Shall sweetly join the choir;

The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis mild and mellow;
The robin pensive Autumn cheer,
In all her locks of yellow.

This too, a covert shall ensure,

To shield them from the storm;

And coward mauking sleep secure,

Low in her grassy form:

Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
To weave his crown of flow'rs;
Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat,
From prone-descending show'rs.

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And here, by sweet, endearing stealth,
Shall meet the loving pair,

Despising worlds, with all their wealth,
As empty idle care;

The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms,
The hour of heav'n to grace;
And birks extend their fragrant arms
To screen the dear embrace.

Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,
And misty mountain grey;
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
Mild-chequering thro' the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
My lowly banks o'erspread,
And view, deep-bending in the pool,
Their shadows' wat'ry bed:

Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest,
My craggy cliffs adorn;

And, for the little songster's nest,

The close embow'ring thorn.

So may, old Scotia's darling hope,
Your little angel band

Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
Their honour'd native land!
So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken,
To social-flowing glasses,

The grace be-"Athole's honest men,
And Athole's bonie lasses!"

Lines on the Fall of Fyers,

Near Loch-Ness.1

Written with a Pencil on the Spot.

AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds.
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,

As deep recoiling surges foam below,

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,
And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends.

Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding lours:
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils-

Epigram on Parting with a Kind Host
in the Highlands.2

WHEN Death's dark stream I ferry o'er,
(A time that surely shall come),
In Heav'n itself I'll ask no more,
Than just a Highland welcome.

Strathallan's Lament.3

THICKEST night, surround my dwelling!
Howling tempests, o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Roaring by my lonely cave!

1 Burns did not shine in English heroic verse. The Falls are threatened, or now, perhaps, destroyed, by a Company.

2 The occasion is unknown.

3 Burns confesses that his Jacobitism

was merely sentimental " except when my passions were heated by some

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