Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald,LullabyPicture o' the great Clanronald;Brawlie kens our wanton chiefFinely knowsWha got my young Highland thief.Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie!Blessings on, throatAn thou live, thou'll steal a naigie:If, little nagTravel the country thro' and thro',And bring hame a Carlisle cow.Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border,Weel, my babie, may thou furder:succeedHerry the louns o' the laigh countree,Harry, rascals, lowSyne to the Highlands hame to me.Then
Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald,LullabyPicture o' the great Clanronald;Brawlie kens our wanton chiefFinely knowsWha got my young Highland thief.
Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald,Lullaby
Picture o' the great Clanronald;
Brawlie kens our wanton chiefFinely knows
Wha got my young Highland thief.
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie!Blessings on, throatAn thou live, thou'll steal a naigie:If, little nagTravel the country thro' and thro',And bring hame a Carlisle cow.
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie!Blessings on, throat
An thou live, thou'll steal a naigie:If, little nag
Travel the country thro' and thro',
And bring hame a Carlisle cow.
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border,Weel, my babie, may thou furder:succeedHerry the louns o' the laigh countree,Harry, rascals, lowSyne to the Highlands hame to me.Then
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border,
Weel, my babie, may thou furder:succeed
Herry the louns o' the laigh countree,Harry, rascals, low
Syne to the Highlands hame to me.Then
Distinct from either of the foregoing groups are several songs in narrative form, told as a rule from the point of view of an onlooker, but hardly inferior to the others in vitality. In them the personal or dramatic emotion is replaced by a keen sense of the humor of the situation.
Duncan Gray came here to woo,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,On blythe Yule night when we were fou,drunkHa, ha, the wooing o't.Maggie coost her head fu' heigh,cast, highLook'd asklent and unco skeigh,askance, very skittishGart poor Duncan stand abeigh;Made, aloofHa, ha, the wooing o't.Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;wheedledHa, ha, the wooing o't,Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',Wept, eyes bothSpak o' lowpin o'er a linn;leaping, waterfallHa, ha, the wooing o't.Time and chance are but a tide,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Slighted love is sair to bide,sore, endureHa, ha, the wooing o't.‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,‘For a naughty hizzie die?hussyShe may gae to—France for me!’Ha, ha, the wooing o'tHow it comes let doctors tell,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Meg grew sick as he grew haill,wholeHa, ha, the wooing o't.Something in her bosom wrings,For relief a sigh she brings;And O, her een they spak sic things!suchHa, ha, the wooing o't.Duncan was a lad o' grace,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Maggie's was a piteous case,Ha, ha, the wooing o't.Duncan could na be her death,Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;smotheredNow they're crouse and cantie baith!lively, cheerfulHa, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan Gray came here to woo,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,On blythe Yule night when we were fou,drunkHa, ha, the wooing o't.Maggie coost her head fu' heigh,cast, highLook'd asklent and unco skeigh,askance, very skittishGart poor Duncan stand abeigh;Made, aloofHa, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan Gray came here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
On blythe Yule night when we were fou,drunk
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Maggie coost her head fu' heigh,cast, high
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,askance, very skittish
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;Made, aloof
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;wheedledHa, ha, the wooing o't,Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',Wept, eyes bothSpak o' lowpin o'er a linn;leaping, waterfallHa, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;wheedled
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',Wept, eyes both
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;leaping, waterfall
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Time and chance are but a tide,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Slighted love is sair to bide,sore, endureHa, ha, the wooing o't.‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,‘For a naughty hizzie die?hussyShe may gae to—France for me!’Ha, ha, the wooing o't
Time and chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Slighted love is sair to bide,sore, endure
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,
‘For a naughty hizzie die?hussy
She may gae to—France for me!’
Ha, ha, the wooing o't
How it comes let doctors tell,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Meg grew sick as he grew haill,wholeHa, ha, the wooing o't.Something in her bosom wrings,For relief a sigh she brings;And O, her een they spak sic things!suchHa, ha, the wooing o't.
How it comes let doctors tell,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Meg grew sick as he grew haill,whole
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O, her een they spak sic things!such
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan was a lad o' grace,Ha, ha, the wooing o't,Maggie's was a piteous case,Ha, ha, the wooing o't.Duncan could na be her death,Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;smotheredNow they're crouse and cantie baith!lively, cheerfulHa, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan was a lad o' grace,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Maggie's was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;smothered
Now they're crouse and cantie baith!lively, cheerful
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,calledAnd she held o'er the moors to spin;There was a lad that follow'd her,They ca'd him Duncan Davison.The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh,dull, skittishHer favour Duncan could na win;For wi' the rock she wad him knock,distaffAnd ay she shook the temper-pin.regulating pin of the spinning-wheelAs o'er the moor they lightly foor,wentA burn was clear, a glen was green,Upon the banks they eased their shanks,And aye she set the wheel between:But Duncan swore a haly aith,holy oathThat Meg should be a bride the morn;Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,implementsAnd flung them a' out o'er the burn.acrossWe will big a wee, wee house,buildAnd we will live like King and Queen,Sae blythe and merry's we will beWhen ye set by the wheel at e'en,asideA man may drink and no be drunk;A man may fight and no be slain;A man may kiss a bonnie lass,And aye be welcome back again.
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,calledAnd she held o'er the moors to spin;There was a lad that follow'd her,They ca'd him Duncan Davison.The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh,dull, skittishHer favour Duncan could na win;For wi' the rock she wad him knock,distaffAnd ay she shook the temper-pin.regulating pin of the spinning-wheel
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,called
And she held o'er the moors to spin;
There was a lad that follow'd her,
They ca'd him Duncan Davison.
The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh,dull, skittish
Her favour Duncan could na win;
For wi' the rock she wad him knock,distaff
And ay she shook the temper-pin.regulating pin of the spinning-wheel
As o'er the moor they lightly foor,wentA burn was clear, a glen was green,Upon the banks they eased their shanks,And aye she set the wheel between:But Duncan swore a haly aith,holy oathThat Meg should be a bride the morn;Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,implementsAnd flung them a' out o'er the burn.across
As o'er the moor they lightly foor,went
A burn was clear, a glen was green,
Upon the banks they eased their shanks,
And aye she set the wheel between:
But Duncan swore a haly aith,holy oath
That Meg should be a bride the morn;
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,implements
And flung them a' out o'er the burn.across
We will big a wee, wee house,buildAnd we will live like King and Queen,Sae blythe and merry's we will beWhen ye set by the wheel at e'en,asideA man may drink and no be drunk;A man may fight and no be slain;A man may kiss a bonnie lass,And aye be welcome back again.
We will big a wee, wee house,build
And we will live like King and Queen,
Sae blythe and merry's we will be
When ye set by the wheel at e'en,aside
A man may drink and no be drunk;
A man may fight and no be slain;
A man may kiss a bonnie lass,
And aye be welcome back again.
The De'il cam fiddling thro' the town.And danced awa wi' th' Exciseman;And ilka wife cried ‘Auld Mahoun,every, Mahomet (Devil)I wish you luck o' your prize, man.’We'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink,maltWe'll laugh, and sing, and rejoice, man;And mony braw thanks to the muckle black De'ilbigThat danced awa wi' th' Exciseman.There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;dance tunesBut the ae best dance e'er cam to the lan'.oneWas—The De'il's awa wi' th' Exciseman.
The De'il cam fiddling thro' the town.And danced awa wi' th' Exciseman;And ilka wife cried ‘Auld Mahoun,every, Mahomet (Devil)I wish you luck o' your prize, man.’
The De'il cam fiddling thro' the town.
And danced awa wi' th' Exciseman;
And ilka wife cried ‘Auld Mahoun,every, Mahomet (Devil)
I wish you luck o' your prize, man.’
We'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink,maltWe'll laugh, and sing, and rejoice, man;And mony braw thanks to the muckle black De'ilbigThat danced awa wi' th' Exciseman.
We'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink,malt
We'll laugh, and sing, and rejoice, man;
And mony braw thanks to the muckle black De'ilbig
That danced awa wi' th' Exciseman.
There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;dance tunesBut the ae best dance e'er cam to the lan'.oneWas—The De'il's awa wi' th' Exciseman.
There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;dance tunes
But the ae best dance e'er cam to the lan'.one
Was—The De'il's awa wi' th' Exciseman.
Comin' thro' the rye, poor body,Comin' thro' the rye,She draigl't a' her petticoatie,draggledComin' thro' the rye.Gin a body meet a bodyIfComin' thro' the rye;Gin a body kiss a body,Need a body cry?Gin a body meet a bodyComin' thro' the glen;Gin a body kiss a body,Need the warld ken?O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body;all wetJenny's seldom dry;She draigl't a' her petticoatie,Comin' thro' the rye.
Comin' thro' the rye, poor body,Comin' thro' the rye,She draigl't a' her petticoatie,draggledComin' thro' the rye.
Comin' thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin' thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,draggled
Comin' thro' the rye.
Gin a body meet a bodyIfComin' thro' the rye;Gin a body kiss a body,Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a bodyIf
Comin' thro' the rye;
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a bodyComin' thro' the glen;Gin a body kiss a body,Need the warld ken?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin' thro' the glen;
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warld ken?
O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body;all wetJenny's seldom dry;She draigl't a' her petticoatie,Comin' thro' the rye.
O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body;all wet
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin' thro' the rye.
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,children, surprisingThe deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O!duck has knockedThe fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife,devil may, lustyHe was but a paidlin body, O!tottering creatureHe paidles out, and he paidles in,An' he paidles late and early, O;This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O.pithless old fellowO, haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife,holdO, haud your tongue now, Nansie, O:I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,Ye wad na been sae donsie, O;would not have, testyI've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,oatmeal and hot waterAnd cuddl'd me late and earlie, O;But downa-do's come o'er me now,cannot-do isAnd, oh, I find it sairly, O!feel it sorely
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,children, surprisingThe deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O!duck has knockedThe fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife,devil may, lustyHe was but a paidlin body, O!tottering creatureHe paidles out, and he paidles in,An' he paidles late and early, O;This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O.pithless old fellow
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,children, surprising
The deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O!duck has knocked
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife,devil may, lusty
He was but a paidlin body, O!tottering creature
He paidles out, and he paidles in,
An' he paidles late and early, O;
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O.pithless old fellow
O, haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife,holdO, haud your tongue now, Nansie, O:I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,Ye wad na been sae donsie, O;would not have, testyI've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,oatmeal and hot waterAnd cuddl'd me late and earlie, O;But downa-do's come o'er me now,cannot-do isAnd, oh, I find it sairly, O!feel it sorely
O, haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife,hold
O, haud your tongue now, Nansie, O:
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wad na been sae donsie, O;would not have, testy
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,oatmeal and hot water
And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O;
But downa-do's come o'er me now,cannot-do is
And, oh, I find it sairly, O!feel it sorely
‘Wha is that at my bower door?’‘O wha is it but Findlay?’‘Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!’go, way, shall not‘Indeed maun I,’ quo' Findlay.must‘What mak ye, sae like a thief?’do‘O, come and see,’ quo' Findlay;‘Before the morn ye'll work mischief;’‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.‘Gif I rise and let you in—’If‘Let me in,’ quo' Findlay—‘Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;’awake‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.‘In my bower if ye should stay—’‘Let me stay,’ quo' Findlay—,‘I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;’‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.‘Here this night if ye remain—’‘I'll remain,’ quo' Findlay—,‘I dread ye'll learn the gate again;’way‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay,‘What may pass within this bower—’‘Let it pass,’ quo' Findlay—‘Ye maun conceal till your last hour;’must‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘Wha is that at my bower door?’‘O wha is it but Findlay?’‘Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!’go, way, shall not‘Indeed maun I,’ quo' Findlay.must‘What mak ye, sae like a thief?’do‘O, come and see,’ quo' Findlay;‘Before the morn ye'll work mischief;’‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘Wha is that at my bower door?’
‘O wha is it but Findlay?’
‘Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!’go, way, shall not
‘Indeed maun I,’ quo' Findlay.must
‘What mak ye, sae like a thief?’do
‘O, come and see,’ quo' Findlay;
‘Before the morn ye'll work mischief;’
‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘Gif I rise and let you in—’If‘Let me in,’ quo' Findlay—‘Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;’awake‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.‘In my bower if ye should stay—’‘Let me stay,’ quo' Findlay—,‘I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;’‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘Gif I rise and let you in—’If
‘Let me in,’ quo' Findlay—
‘Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;’awake
‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘In my bower if ye should stay—’
‘Let me stay,’ quo' Findlay—,
‘I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;’
‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘Here this night if ye remain—’‘I'll remain,’ quo' Findlay—,‘I dread ye'll learn the gate again;’way‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay,‘What may pass within this bower—’‘Let it pass,’ quo' Findlay—‘Ye maun conceal till your last hour;’must‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
‘Here this night if ye remain—’
‘I'll remain,’ quo' Findlay—,
‘I dread ye'll learn the gate again;’way
‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay,
‘What may pass within this bower—’
‘Let it pass,’ quo' Findlay—
‘Ye maun conceal till your last hour;’must
‘Indeed will I,’ quo' Findlay.
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;Willie was a wabster guid,weaver goodCou'd stown a clue wi' ony body.have stolenHe had a wife was dour and din,stubborn, sallowO, Tinkler Madgie was her mither;TinkerSic a wife as Willie had,SuchI wad na gie a button for her!She has an e'e, she has but ane,eyeThe cat has twa the very colour;Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,besidesA clapper tongue wad deave a miller;deafenA whiskin beard about her mou,mouthHer nose and chin they threaten ither;Sic a wife as Willie had,I wad na gie a button for her!She's bow-hough'd, she's hem-shinn'd,bandy, crookedAe limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;One, hand-breadthShe's twisted right, she's twisted left,To balance fair in ilka quarter:eitherShe has a hump upon her breast,The twin o' that upon her shouther;Sic a wife as Willie had,I wad na gie a button for her!Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,Old pussy, firesideAn' wi' her loof her face a-washin;palmBut Willie's wife is nae sae trig,trimShe dights her grunzie wi' a hushion;wipes, snout, stocking-legHer walie nieves like midden-creels,ample fists, dung basketsHer face wad fyle the Logan-water;dirtySic a wife as Willie had,I wad na gie a button for her!
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;Willie was a wabster guid,weaver goodCou'd stown a clue wi' ony body.have stolenHe had a wife was dour and din,stubborn, sallowO, Tinkler Madgie was her mither;TinkerSic a wife as Willie had,SuchI wad na gie a button for her!
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster guid,weaver good
Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony body.have stolen
He had a wife was dour and din,stubborn, sallow
O, Tinkler Madgie was her mither;Tinker
Sic a wife as Willie had,Such
I wad na gie a button for her!
She has an e'e, she has but ane,eyeThe cat has twa the very colour;Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,besidesA clapper tongue wad deave a miller;deafenA whiskin beard about her mou,mouthHer nose and chin they threaten ither;Sic a wife as Willie had,I wad na gie a button for her!
She has an e'e, she has but ane,eye
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,besides
A clapper tongue wad deave a miller;deafen
A whiskin beard about her mou,mouth
Her nose and chin they threaten ither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her!
She's bow-hough'd, she's hem-shinn'd,bandy, crookedAe limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;One, hand-breadthShe's twisted right, she's twisted left,To balance fair in ilka quarter:eitherShe has a hump upon her breast,The twin o' that upon her shouther;Sic a wife as Willie had,I wad na gie a button for her!
She's bow-hough'd, she's hem-shinn'd,bandy, crooked
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;One, hand-breadth
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:either
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her!
Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,Old pussy, firesideAn' wi' her loof her face a-washin;palmBut Willie's wife is nae sae trig,trimShe dights her grunzie wi' a hushion;wipes, snout, stocking-legHer walie nieves like midden-creels,ample fists, dung basketsHer face wad fyle the Logan-water;dirtySic a wife as Willie had,I wad na gie a button for her!
Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,Old pussy, fireside
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin;palm
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,trim
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion;wipes, snout, stocking-leg
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,ample fists, dung baskets
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water;dirty
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her!
The songs written by Burns in connection with politics are often lively and pointed, but they have little imagination, and the passing of the issues they dealt with has deprived them of general interest. Two classes of exceptions may be noted. He was, as we have seen, sympathetically interested in the French Revolution, and the fundamental doctrine of Liberty, Fraternity, Equality was cast by him into a poem which, he himself said, is “not really poetry,” but is admirably vigorous rhetoric in verse, and has become the classic utterance of the democratic faith.
Is there for honest povertyThat hings his head, an' a' that?hangsThe coward slave, we pass him by,We dare be poor for a' that!For a' that, an' a' that,Our toils obscure, an' a' that;The rank is but the guinea's stamp;The man's the gowd for a' that.goldWhat tho' on hamely fare we dine,Wear hodden-gray, and a' that;coarse grayGie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,GiveA man's a man for a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,Their tinsel show, an' a' that;The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,Is king o' men for a' that.Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,fellowWha struts, and stares, an' a' that;Tho' hundreds worship at his word,He's but a coof for a' that:doltFor a' that, an' a' that,His riband, star, and a' that,The man of independent mind,He looks and laughs at a' that.A prince can mak a belted knight,A marquis, duke, an' a' that;But an honest man's aboon his might,aboveGuid faith, he mauna fa' that!must not claimFor a' that, an' a' that,Their dignities, an' a' that,The pith o' sense an' pride o' worthAre higher rank than a' that.But let us pray that come it may,As come it will for a' that;That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,May bear the gree, an' a' that.first placeFor a' that, an' a' that,It's coming yet for a' that,That man to man the warld o'erShall brithers be for a' that.
Is there for honest povertyThat hings his head, an' a' that?hangsThe coward slave, we pass him by,We dare be poor for a' that!For a' that, an' a' that,Our toils obscure, an' a' that;The rank is but the guinea's stamp;The man's the gowd for a' that.gold
Is there for honest poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that?hangs
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toils obscure, an' a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.gold
What tho' on hamely fare we dine,Wear hodden-gray, and a' that;coarse grayGie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,GiveA man's a man for a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,Their tinsel show, an' a' that;The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,Is king o' men for a' that.
What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-gray, and a' that;coarse gray
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,Give
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,fellowWha struts, and stares, an' a' that;Tho' hundreds worship at his word,He's but a coof for a' that:doltFor a' that, an' a' that,His riband, star, and a' that,The man of independent mind,He looks and laughs at a' that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,fellow
Wha struts, and stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:dolt
For a' that, an' a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,A marquis, duke, an' a' that;But an honest man's aboon his might,aboveGuid faith, he mauna fa' that!must not claimFor a' that, an' a' that,Their dignities, an' a' that,The pith o' sense an' pride o' worthAre higher rank than a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,above
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!must not claim
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities, an' a' that,
The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth
Are higher rank than a' that.
But let us pray that come it may,As come it will for a' that;That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,May bear the gree, an' a' that.first placeFor a' that, an' a' that,It's coming yet for a' that,That man to man the warld o'erShall brithers be for a' that.
But let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that;
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, an' a' that.first place
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That man to man the warld o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.
Another, equally famous, sprang from his patriotic enthusiasm for the heroes of the Scottish war of independence, but was written with more than a slight consciousness of what seemed to him the similarity of the spirit then abroad in France.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,Welcome to your gory bedOr to victorie.Now's the day, and now's the hour;See the front o' battle lour!See approach proud Edward's power—Chains and slaverie!Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward's grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?Let him turn and flee!Wha for Scotland's King and lawFreedom's sword will strongly draw,Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?Let him follow me!By Oppression's woes and pains!By your sons in servile chains!We will drain our dearest veins,But they shall be free!Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty's in every blow!Let us do or die!
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,Welcome to your gory bedOr to victorie.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed
Or to victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour;See the front o' battle lour!See approach proud Edward's power—Chains and slaverie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour!
See approach proud Edward's power—
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward's grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?Let him turn and flee!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's King and lawFreedom's sword will strongly draw,Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?Let him follow me!
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Let him follow me!
By Oppression's woes and pains!By your sons in servile chains!We will drain our dearest veins,But they shall be free!
By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty's in every blow!Let us do or die!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or die!
The other class of exceptions is the group of songs on Jacobite themes. The rebellion led by Prince Charles Edward in 1745 had produced a considerable quantity of campaign verse, almost all without poetic value; but after the turmoil had died down and the Stuart cause was regarded as finally lost, there appeared in Scotland a peculiar sentimental tenderness for the picturesque and unfortunate family that had sunk from the splendors of a throne that had been theirs for centuries into the sordid misery of royal pauperism. Burns, whose ancestors had been “out” in the '45, shared this sentiment, as Walter Scott later shared it, both realizing that it had nothing to do with practical politics. Out of this feeling there grew a considerable body of poetry, a poetry full of idealism, touched with melancholy, and atoning for its lack of reality by a richnessof imaginative emotion. Burns led the way in this unique movement, and was worthily followed by such writers as Lady Nairne, James Hogg, and Sir Walter himself. He followed his usual custom of availing himself of fragments of the older lyrics, but as usual he polished the pebbles into jewels and set them in gold. Here are a few specimens of this poetry of a lost cause.
It was a' for our rightfu' King,We left fair Scotland's strand;It was a' for our rightfu' King,We e'er saw Irish land,My dear,We e'er saw Irish land.Now a' is done that men can do,And a' is done in vain;My love and native land farewell,For I maun cross the main,mustMy dear,For I maun cross the main.He turn'd him right and round aboutUpon the Irish shore;And gae his bridle-reins a shake,gaveWith adieu for evermore,My dear,Adieu for evermore.The sodger from the wars returns,soldierThe sailor frae the main;But I hae parted frae my love,Never to meet again,My dear,Never to meet again.When day is gane, and night is come,And a' folk bound to sleep,I think on him that's far awa',The lee-lang night, and weep,live-longMy dear,The lee-lang night, and weep.
It was a' for our rightfu' King,We left fair Scotland's strand;It was a' for our rightfu' King,We e'er saw Irish land,My dear,We e'er saw Irish land.
It was a' for our rightfu' King,
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' King,
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.
Now a' is done that men can do,And a' is done in vain;My love and native land farewell,For I maun cross the main,mustMy dear,For I maun cross the main.
Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain;
My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,must
My dear,
For I maun cross the main.
He turn'd him right and round aboutUpon the Irish shore;And gae his bridle-reins a shake,gaveWith adieu for evermore,My dear,Adieu for evermore.
He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,gave
With adieu for evermore,
My dear,
Adieu for evermore.
The sodger from the wars returns,soldierThe sailor frae the main;But I hae parted frae my love,Never to meet again,My dear,Never to meet again.
The sodger from the wars returns,soldier
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear,
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come,And a' folk bound to sleep,I think on him that's far awa',The lee-lang night, and weep,live-longMy dear,The lee-lang night, and weep.
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,live-long
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,Come boat me o'er to Charlie;I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,half-pennyTo boat me o'er to Charlie.We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,We'll o'er the water to Charlie;Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,And live or die wi' Charlie.I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,loveTho' some there be abhor him:But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,goingAnd Charlie's faes before him!foesI swear and vow by moon and stars,And sun that shines so clearly,If I had twenty thousand lives,I'd die as aft for Charlie.
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,Come boat me o'er to Charlie;I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,half-pennyTo boat me o'er to Charlie.
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie;
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,half-penny
To boat me o'er to Charlie.
We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,We'll o'er the water to Charlie;Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,And live or die wi' Charlie.
We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.
I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,loveTho' some there be abhor him:But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,goingAnd Charlie's faes before him!foes
I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,love
Tho' some there be abhor him:
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,going
And Charlie's faes before him!foes
I swear and vow by moon and stars,And sun that shines so clearly,If I had twenty thousand lives,I'd die as aft for Charlie.
I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines so clearly,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie.
The bonniest lad that e'er I saw,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,Wore a plaid and was fu' braw,gaily dressedBonnie Highland laddie.On his head a bonnet blue,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,His royal heart was firm and true,Bonnie Highland laddie.Trumpets sound and cannons roar,Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie,And a' the hills wi' echoes roar,Bonnie Lawland lassie.Glory, Honour, now invite,Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie,For Freedom and my King to fight,Bonnie Lawland lassie.The sun a backward course shall take,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,Ere aught thy manly courage shake,Bonnie Highland laddie.Go, for yoursel procure renown,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,And for your lawful King his crown,Bonnie Highland laddie!
The bonniest lad that e'er I saw,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,Wore a plaid and was fu' braw,gaily dressedBonnie Highland laddie.On his head a bonnet blue,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,His royal heart was firm and true,Bonnie Highland laddie.
The bonniest lad that e'er I saw,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
Wore a plaid and was fu' braw,gaily dressed
Bonnie Highland laddie.
On his head a bonnet blue,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
His royal heart was firm and true,
Bonnie Highland laddie.
Trumpets sound and cannons roar,Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie,And a' the hills wi' echoes roar,Bonnie Lawland lassie.Glory, Honour, now invite,Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie,For Freedom and my King to fight,Bonnie Lawland lassie.
Trumpets sound and cannons roar,
Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie,
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar,
Bonnie Lawland lassie.
Glory, Honour, now invite,
Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie,
For Freedom and my King to fight,
Bonnie Lawland lassie.
The sun a backward course shall take,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,Ere aught thy manly courage shake,Bonnie Highland laddie.Go, for yoursel procure renown,Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,And for your lawful King his crown,Bonnie Highland laddie!
The sun a backward course shall take,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
Ere aught thy manly courage shake,
Bonnie Highland laddie.
Go, for yoursel procure renown,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
And for your lawful King his crown,
Bonnie Highland laddie!
Bannocks o' bear meal,Cakes, barleyBannocks o' barley;Here's to the Highlandman'sBannocks o' barley.Wha in a brulziebroilWill first cry a parley?Never the lads wi'The bannocks o' barley.Bannocks o' bear meal,Bannocks o' barley;Here's to the lads wi'The bannocks o' barley;Wha in his wae-dayswoful-Were loyal to Charlie?Wha but the lads wi'The bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear meal,Cakes, barleyBannocks o' barley;Here's to the Highlandman'sBannocks o' barley.Wha in a brulziebroilWill first cry a parley?Never the lads wi'The bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear meal,Cakes, barley
Bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Highlandman's
Bannocks o' barley.
Wha in a brulziebroil
Will first cry a parley?
Never the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear meal,Bannocks o' barley;Here's to the lads wi'The bannocks o' barley;Wha in his wae-dayswoful-Were loyal to Charlie?Wha but the lads wi'The bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear meal,
Bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley;
Wha in his wae-dayswoful-
Were loyal to Charlie?
Wha but the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley.
O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!O, Kenmure's on and awa!And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lordThat ever Galloway saw.Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!Success to Kenmure's band;There's no a heart that fears a WhigThat rides by Kenmure's hand.Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!Here's Kenmure's health in wine;There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,bloodNor yet o' Gordon's line.O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!O, Kenmure's lads are men;Their hearts and swords are metal true,And that their faes shall ken.They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie!They'll live or die wi' fame;But soon, wi' sounding victorie,May Kenmure's lord come hame!Here's him that's far awa, Willie!Here's him that's far awa;And here's the flower that I lo'e best—The rose that's like the snaw!
O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!O, Kenmure's on and awa!And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lordThat ever Galloway saw.
O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!
O, Kenmure's on and awa!
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.
Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!Success to Kenmure's band;There's no a heart that fears a WhigThat rides by Kenmure's hand.
Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!
Success to Kenmure's band;
There's no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure's hand.
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!Here's Kenmure's health in wine;There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,bloodNor yet o' Gordon's line.
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,blood
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.
O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!O, Kenmure's lads are men;Their hearts and swords are metal true,And that their faes shall ken.
O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!
O, Kenmure's lads are men;
Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their faes shall ken.
They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie!They'll live or die wi' fame;But soon, wi' sounding victorie,May Kenmure's lord come hame!
They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie!
They'll live or die wi' fame;
But soon, wi' sounding victorie,
May Kenmure's lord come hame!
Here's him that's far awa, Willie!Here's him that's far awa;And here's the flower that I lo'e best—The rose that's like the snaw!
Here's him that's far awa, Willie!
Here's him that's far awa;
And here's the flower that I lo'e best—
The rose that's like the snaw!
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey:And as he was singing, the tears down came—‘There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.‘The church is in ruins, the state is in jars,Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars;We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame—There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.‘My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,handsomeAnd now I greet round their green beds in the yerd;weep, churchyardIt brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame—There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.‘Now life is a burden that bows me down,Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;lost, childrenBut till my last moment my words are the same—There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.’
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey:And as he was singing, the tears down came—‘There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey:
And as he was singing, the tears down came—
‘There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
‘The church is in ruins, the state is in jars,Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars;We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame—There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
‘The church is in ruins, the state is in jars,
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars;
We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame—
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
‘My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,handsomeAnd now I greet round their green beds in the yerd;weep, churchyardIt brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame—There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
‘My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,handsome
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd;weep, churchyard
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame—
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
‘Now life is a burden that bows me down,Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;lost, childrenBut till my last moment my words are the same—There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.’
‘Now life is a burden that bows me down,
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;lost, children
But till my last moment my words are the same—
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.’
I hae been at Crookieden—HellMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!Viewing Willie and his men—Duke of CumberlandMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!There our foes that burnt and slew—My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!There at last they gat their due—My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!Satan sits in his black neuk—cornerMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!Breaking sticks to roast the Duke—My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!The bloody monster gae a yell—gaveMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!And loud the laugh gaed round a' Hell—wentMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
I hae been at Crookieden—HellMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!Viewing Willie and his men—Duke of CumberlandMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!There our foes that burnt and slew—My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!There at last they gat their due—My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
I hae been at Crookieden—Hell
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
Viewing Willie and his men—Duke of Cumberland
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
There our foes that burnt and slew—
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
There at last they gat their due—
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
Satan sits in his black neuk—cornerMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!Breaking sticks to roast the Duke—My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!The bloody monster gae a yell—gaveMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!And loud the laugh gaed round a' Hell—wentMy bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
Satan sits in his black neuk—corner
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
Breaking sticks to roast the Duke—
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
The bloody monster gae a yell—gave
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
And loud the laugh gaed round a' Hell—went
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!
'Twas on a Monday morningRight early in the year,That Charlie came to our town—The Young Chevalier!chorusAn' Charlie he's my darling,My darling, my darling,Charlie he's my darling—The Young Chevalier!As he was walking up the streetThe city for to view,O, there he spied a bonie lassThe window looking thro!Sae light's he jumped up the stair,And tirl'd at the pin;rattledAnd wha sae ready as hersel'To let the laddie in!He set his Jenny on his knee,All in his Highland dress;And brawlie weel he kend the wayTo please a bonie lass.It's up yon heathery mountainAnd down yon scraggy glen,We daurna gang a-milkingFor Charlie and his men!
'Twas on a Monday morningRight early in the year,That Charlie came to our town—The Young Chevalier!
'Twas on a Monday morning
Right early in the year,
That Charlie came to our town—
The Young Chevalier!
chorus
chorus
An' Charlie he's my darling,My darling, my darling,Charlie he's my darling—The Young Chevalier!
An' Charlie he's my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie he's my darling—
The Young Chevalier!
As he was walking up the streetThe city for to view,O, there he spied a bonie lassThe window looking thro!
As he was walking up the street
The city for to view,
O, there he spied a bonie lass
The window looking thro!
Sae light's he jumped up the stair,And tirl'd at the pin;rattledAnd wha sae ready as hersel'To let the laddie in!
Sae light's he jumped up the stair,
And tirl'd at the pin;rattled
And wha sae ready as hersel'
To let the laddie in!
He set his Jenny on his knee,All in his Highland dress;And brawlie weel he kend the wayTo please a bonie lass.
He set his Jenny on his knee,
All in his Highland dress;
And brawlie weel he kend the way
To please a bonie lass.
It's up yon heathery mountainAnd down yon scraggy glen,We daurna gang a-milkingFor Charlie and his men!
It's up yon heathery mountain
And down yon scraggy glen,
We daurna gang a-milking
For Charlie and his men!
Such in nature and origin are the songs of Burns. Of some three hundred written or rewritten by him, a large number are negligible in estimating his poetical capacity. One cause lay in his unfortunate ambition to write in the style of his eighteenth-century predecessors in English, with the accompanying mythological allusions, personifications, and scraps of artificial diction. Another was his pathetic eagerness to supply Thomson with material in his undertaking to preserve the old melodies—an eagerness which often led him to send in verses of which he himself felt that their only defense was that they were better than none. Thus his collected works are burdened with a considerable mass of very indifferent stuff. But when this has all been removed, we have left a body of song such as probably no writer in any language has bequeathed to his country. It is marked, first of all, by its peculiar harmony of expression with the utterance of the common people. Direct and simple, its diction was still capable of carrying intense feeling, a humor incomparable in its archness and sly mirth, and a power of idealizing ordinary experience without effort or affectation. The union of these words with the traditional melodies, on which we have sostrongly insisted, gave them a superb singing quality, which has had as much to do with their popularity as their thought or their feeling. This union, however, has its drawbacks when we come to consider the songs as literature; for to present them as here in bare print without the living tune is to perpetuate a divorce which their author never contemplated. No editor of Burns can fail to feel a pang when he thinks that these words may be heard by ears that carry no echo of the airs to which they were born. Here lies the fundamental reason for what seems to outsiders the exaggerated estimate of Burns in the judgment of his countrymen. What they extol is not mere literature, but song, the combination of poetry and music; and it is only when Burns is judged as an artist in this double sense that he is judged fairly.
Fame first came to Burns through his satires. Before he had been recognized by the Edinburgh litterateurs, before he had written more than a handful of songs, he was known and feared on his own countryside as a formidable critic of ecclesiastical tyranny. It was this reputation that made possible the success of the subscription to the Kilmarnock volume, and so saved Burns to Scotland.
Two characteristics of the Kirk of Scotland had tended to prepare the people to welcome an attack on its authority: the severity with which the clergy administered discipline, and the extremes to which they had pushed their Calvinism.
In spite of the existence of dissenting bodies, the great mass of the population belonged to the established church, and both their spiritual privileges and their social standing were at the mercy of the Kirk session and the presiding minister.It is difficult for a Protestant community to-day to realize the extent to which the conduct of the individual and the family were controlled by the ecclesiastical authorities. Offenses which now would at most be the subject of private remonstrance were treated as public crimes and expiated in church before the whole parish. Gavin Hamilton, Burns's friend and landlord at Mossgiel, a liberal gentleman of means and standing, was prosecuted in the church courts for lax attendance at divine service, for traveling on Sabbath, for neglecting family worship, and for having had one of his servants dig new potatoes on the Lord's day. Burns's irregular relations with Jean Armour led to successive appearances by both him and Jean before the congregation, to receive open rebuke and to profess repentance. Further expiation was demanded in the form of a contribution for the poor.
Against the discipline which he himself had to suffer Burns seems to have made no protest, and probably thought it just enough; but what he considered the persecution of his friend roused his indignation. This was all the fiercer as he regarded some of the members of the session as hypocrites, whose own private morals would notstand examination. Chief among these was a certain William Fisher, immortalized in a satire the application of which was meant to extend to the whole class which he represented.
Thou, that in the Heavens does dwell,Wha, as it pleases best Thysel',Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell,A' for thy glory,And no for ony guid or illThey've done before thee!I bless and praise thy matchless might,Whan thousands thou hast left in night,That I am here before thy sight,For gifts an' graceA burning and a shining light,To a' this place.What was I, or my generation,That I should get sic exaltation?suchI, wha deserv'd most just damnation,For broken laws,Sax thousand years ere my creation,SixThro' Adam's cause.When from my mither's womb I fell,Thou might have plung'd me deep in hell,To gnash my gooms, and weep and wail,gumsIn burning lakes,Where damned devils roar and yell,Chain'd to their stakes;Yet I am here a chosen sample,To show Thy grace is great and ample;I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,Strong as a rock,A guide, a buckler, an exampleTo a' Thy flock.But yet, O Lord! confess I mustAt times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;troubledAn' sometimes too, in warldly trust,Vile self gets in;But Thou remembers we are dust,Defil'd wi' sin.O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg—Thy pardon I sincerely beg—O! may't ne'er be a living plagueTo my dishonour,An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless legAgain upon her.Besides I farther maun avow—mustWi' Leezie's lass, three times, I trow—But, Lord, that Friday I was fou,drunkWhen I cam near her,Or else, Thou kens, thy servant trueWad never steer her.meddle withMay be Thou lets this fleshly thornBeset Thy servant e'en and mornLest he owre high and proud should turn,tooThat he's sae gifted;If sae, Thy hand maun e'en be borne,Until thou lift it.Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,For here thou hast a chosen race;But God confound their stubborn face,And blast their name,Wha' bring Thy elders to disgraceAn' public shame.Lord, mind Gau'n Hamilton's deserts,He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,cardsYet has sae mony takin' artsWi' great an' sma',Frae God's ain priest the people's heartsHe steals awa'.An' when we chasten'd him therefor,Thou kens how he bred sic a sploreraised such a rowAs set the warld in a roarO' laughin' at us;Curse thou his basket and his store,Kail and potatoes!Lord hear my earnest cry an' pray'r,Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr;Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bareUpo' their heads;Lord, visit them, and dinna spare,do notFor their misdeeds.O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,My very heart and soul are quakin',To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',An' pish'd wi' dread,While he, wi' hingin' lips and snakin',sneeringHeld up his head.Lord, in Thy day of vengeance try him;Lord, visit him wha did employ him,And pass not in Thy mercy by them,Nor hear their pray'r:But, for Thy people's sake, destroy them,And dinna spare.But, Lord, remember me and mineWi' mercies temporal and divine,That I for grace and gear may shinewealthExcell'd by nane,And a' the glory shall be thine,Amen, Amen!
Thou, that in the Heavens does dwell,Wha, as it pleases best Thysel',Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell,A' for thy glory,And no for ony guid or illThey've done before thee!
Thou, that in the Heavens does dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best Thysel',
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell,
A' for thy glory,
And no for ony guid or ill
They've done before thee!
I bless and praise thy matchless might,Whan thousands thou hast left in night,That I am here before thy sight,For gifts an' graceA burning and a shining light,To a' this place.
I bless and praise thy matchless might,
Whan thousands thou hast left in night,
That I am here before thy sight,
For gifts an' grace
A burning and a shining light,
To a' this place.
What was I, or my generation,That I should get sic exaltation?suchI, wha deserv'd most just damnation,For broken laws,Sax thousand years ere my creation,SixThro' Adam's cause.
What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation?such
I, wha deserv'd most just damnation,
For broken laws,
Sax thousand years ere my creation,Six
Thro' Adam's cause.
When from my mither's womb I fell,Thou might have plung'd me deep in hell,To gnash my gooms, and weep and wail,gumsIn burning lakes,Where damned devils roar and yell,Chain'd to their stakes;
When from my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might have plung'd me deep in hell,
To gnash my gooms, and weep and wail,gums
In burning lakes,
Where damned devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to their stakes;
Yet I am here a chosen sample,To show Thy grace is great and ample;I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,Strong as a rock,A guide, a buckler, an exampleTo a' Thy flock.
Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show Thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, an example
To a' Thy flock.
But yet, O Lord! confess I mustAt times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;troubledAn' sometimes too, in warldly trust,Vile self gets in;But Thou remembers we are dust,Defil'd wi' sin.
But yet, O Lord! confess I must
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;troubled
An' sometimes too, in warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.
O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg—Thy pardon I sincerely beg—O! may't ne'er be a living plagueTo my dishonour,An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless legAgain upon her.
O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg—
Thy pardon I sincerely beg—
O! may't ne'er be a living plague
To my dishonour,
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.
Besides I farther maun avow—mustWi' Leezie's lass, three times, I trow—But, Lord, that Friday I was fou,drunkWhen I cam near her,Or else, Thou kens, thy servant trueWad never steer her.meddle with
Besides I farther maun avow—must
Wi' Leezie's lass, three times, I trow—
But, Lord, that Friday I was fou,drunk
When I cam near her,
Or else, Thou kens, thy servant true
Wad never steer her.meddle with
May be Thou lets this fleshly thornBeset Thy servant e'en and mornLest he owre high and proud should turn,tooThat he's sae gifted;If sae, Thy hand maun e'en be borne,Until thou lift it.
May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Beset Thy servant e'en and morn
Lest he owre high and proud should turn,too
That he's sae gifted;
If sae, Thy hand maun e'en be borne,
Until thou lift it.
Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,For here thou hast a chosen race;But God confound their stubborn face,And blast their name,Wha' bring Thy elders to disgraceAn' public shame.
Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here thou hast a chosen race;
But God confound their stubborn face,
And blast their name,
Wha' bring Thy elders to disgrace
An' public shame.
Lord, mind Gau'n Hamilton's deserts,He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,cardsYet has sae mony takin' artsWi' great an' sma',Frae God's ain priest the people's heartsHe steals awa'.
Lord, mind Gau'n Hamilton's deserts,
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,cards
Yet has sae mony takin' arts
Wi' great an' sma',
Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa'.
An' when we chasten'd him therefor,Thou kens how he bred sic a sploreraised such a rowAs set the warld in a roarO' laughin' at us;Curse thou his basket and his store,Kail and potatoes!
An' when we chasten'd him therefor,
Thou kens how he bred sic a sploreraised such a row
As set the warld in a roar
O' laughin' at us;
Curse thou his basket and his store,
Kail and potatoes!
Lord hear my earnest cry an' pray'r,Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr;Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bareUpo' their heads;Lord, visit them, and dinna spare,do notFor their misdeeds.
Lord hear my earnest cry an' pray'r,
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare
Upo' their heads;
Lord, visit them, and dinna spare,do not
For their misdeeds.
O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,My very heart and soul are quakin',To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',An' pish'd wi' dread,While he, wi' hingin' lips and snakin',sneeringHeld up his head.
O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
My very heart and soul are quakin',
To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',
An' pish'd wi' dread,
While he, wi' hingin' lips and snakin',sneering
Held up his head.
Lord, in Thy day of vengeance try him;Lord, visit him wha did employ him,And pass not in Thy mercy by them,Nor hear their pray'r:But, for Thy people's sake, destroy them,And dinna spare.
Lord, in Thy day of vengeance try him;
Lord, visit him wha did employ him,
And pass not in Thy mercy by them,
Nor hear their pray'r:
But, for Thy people's sake, destroy them,
And dinna spare.
But, Lord, remember me and mineWi' mercies temporal and divine,That I for grace and gear may shinewealthExcell'd by nane,And a' the glory shall be thine,Amen, Amen!
But, Lord, remember me and mine
Wi' mercies temporal and divine,
That I for grace and gear may shinewealth
Excell'd by nane,
And a' the glory shall be thine,
Amen, Amen!
Still more highly generalized is hisAddress to the Unco Guid, a plea for charity in judgment, kept from sentimentalism by its gleam of humor. It has perhaps the widest appeal of any of his poems of this class. One may note that as Burns passes from the satirical and humorous tone to the directly didactic, the dialect disappears, and the last two stanzas are practically pure English.
My son, these maxims make a rule,And lump them aye thegither;togetherThe rigid righteous is a fool,The rigid wise anither;The cleanest corn that e'er was dight,siftedMay hae some pyles o' caff ingrains, chaffSo ne'er a fellow-creature slightFor random fits o' daffin.larkingSolomon(Eccles.vii. 16).O ye wha are sae guid yoursel,so goodSae pious and sae holy,Ye've nought to do but mark and tellYour neibour's fauts and folly!faultsWhase life is like a weel-gaun mill,well-goingSupplied wi' store o' water:The heapet happer's ebbing still,hopperAn' still the clap plays clatter!clapperHear me, ye venerable core,companyAs counsel for poor mortalsThat frequent pass douce Wisdom's door,sedateFor glaikit Folly's portals;giddyI, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,Would here propone defences,—put forthTheir donsie tricks, their black mistakes,restiveTheir failings and mischances.Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,And shudder at the niffer;exchangeBut cast a moment's fair regard—What makes the mighty differ?differenceDiscount what scant occasion gave,That purity ye pride in,And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)restYour better art o' hidin'.Think, when your castigated pulseGies now and then a wallop,GivesWhat ragings must his veins convulse,That still eternal gallop!Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,Right on ye scud your sea-way;But in the teeth o' baith to sail,It makes an unco leeway.uncommonSee Social life and Glee sit down,All joyous and unthinking,Till, quite transmogrified, they're grownDebauchery and Drinking:O would they stay to calculateTh' eternal consequences;Or—your more dreaded hell to state—Damnation of expenses!Ye high, exalted virtuous Dames,Tied up in godly laces,Before ye gie poor Frailty names,Suppose a change o' cases;A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,A treacherous inclination—But, let me whisper i' your lug,earYe're aiblins nae temptation.perhapsThen gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman;Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,trifleTo step aside is human.One point must still be greatly dark,The moving why they do it;And just as lamely can ye markHow far perhaps they rue it.Who made the heart, 'tis He aloneDecidedly can try us;He knows each chord, its various tone,Each spring, its various bias.Then at the balance let's be mute,We never can adjust it;What's done we partly may compute,But know not what's resisted.
My son, these maxims make a rule,And lump them aye thegither;togetherThe rigid righteous is a fool,The rigid wise anither;The cleanest corn that e'er was dight,siftedMay hae some pyles o' caff ingrains, chaffSo ne'er a fellow-creature slightFor random fits o' daffin.larking
My son, these maxims make a rule,
And lump them aye thegither;together
The rigid righteous is a fool,
The rigid wise anither;
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight,sifted
May hae some pyles o' caff ingrains, chaff
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o' daffin.larking
Solomon(Eccles.vii. 16).
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel,so goodSae pious and sae holy,Ye've nought to do but mark and tellYour neibour's fauts and folly!faultsWhase life is like a weel-gaun mill,well-goingSupplied wi' store o' water:The heapet happer's ebbing still,hopperAn' still the clap plays clatter!clapper
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel,so good
Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell
Your neibour's fauts and folly!faults
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,well-going
Supplied wi' store o' water:
The heapet happer's ebbing still,hopper
An' still the clap plays clatter!clapper
Hear me, ye venerable core,companyAs counsel for poor mortalsThat frequent pass douce Wisdom's door,sedateFor glaikit Folly's portals;giddyI, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,Would here propone defences,—put forthTheir donsie tricks, their black mistakes,restiveTheir failings and mischances.
Hear me, ye venerable core,company
As counsel for poor mortals
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door,sedate
For glaikit Folly's portals;giddy
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,—put forth
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,restive
Their failings and mischances.
Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,And shudder at the niffer;exchangeBut cast a moment's fair regard—What makes the mighty differ?differenceDiscount what scant occasion gave,That purity ye pride in,And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)restYour better art o' hidin'.
Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,
And shudder at the niffer;exchange
But cast a moment's fair regard—
What makes the mighty differ?difference
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in,
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)rest
Your better art o' hidin'.
Think, when your castigated pulseGies now and then a wallop,GivesWhat ragings must his veins convulse,That still eternal gallop!Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,Right on ye scud your sea-way;But in the teeth o' baith to sail,It makes an unco leeway.uncommon
Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,Gives
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop!
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
It makes an unco leeway.uncommon
See Social life and Glee sit down,All joyous and unthinking,Till, quite transmogrified, they're grownDebauchery and Drinking:O would they stay to calculateTh' eternal consequences;Or—your more dreaded hell to state—Damnation of expenses!
See Social life and Glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmogrified, they're grown
Debauchery and Drinking:
O would they stay to calculate
Th' eternal consequences;
Or—your more dreaded hell to state—
Damnation of expenses!
Ye high, exalted virtuous Dames,Tied up in godly laces,Before ye gie poor Frailty names,Suppose a change o' cases;A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,A treacherous inclination—But, let me whisper i' your lug,earYe're aiblins nae temptation.perhaps
Ye high, exalted virtuous Dames,
Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases;
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,
A treacherous inclination—
But, let me whisper i' your lug,ear
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.perhaps
Then gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman;Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,trifleTo step aside is human.One point must still be greatly dark,The moving why they do it;And just as lamely can ye markHow far perhaps they rue it.
Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,trifle
To step aside is human.
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do it;
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far perhaps they rue it.
Who made the heart, 'tis He aloneDecidedly can try us;He knows each chord, its various tone,Each spring, its various bias.Then at the balance let's be mute,We never can adjust it;What's done we partly may compute,But know not what's resisted.
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias.
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
As regards the questions of doctrine there were in the church two main parties, known as the Auld Lichts and the New Lichts. The former were high Calvinists, emphasizing the doctrines of election, predestination, original sin, and eternal punishment. The latter comprised many of the younger clergy who had been touched by the rationalistic tendencies of the century, and who were blamed for various heresies—notably Arminianism and Socinianism. Whatever their precise beliefs, they laid less stress than their opponents on dogma and more on benevolent conduct, and Burns had strong sympathy with their liberalism. He first appeared in their support in anEpistle to John Goldie, a Kilmarnock wine-merchant who had publishedEssays on Various Important Subjects, Moral and Divine. Though he does not explicitly accept the author's Arminianism, he makes it clear that he relished his attacks on orthodoxy. A quarrel between two prominent Auld Licht ministers gave him his next opportunity, and the circulation in manuscript ofThe Twa Herds: or, The Holy Tulyiemade him a personage in the district. With an irony more vigorous than delicate he affects to lament that