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Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane,
Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane,

Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane,
But lordly stalks,

While caps and bonnets aff are taen,
As by he walks?

"O Thou wha gies us each guid gift! Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift,

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift,

Thro' Scotland wide;

Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift,

In a' their pride!”

Were this the charter of our state,
"On pain' o' hell be rich an' great,"
Damnation then would be our fate,

Beyond remead ;

But, thanks to Heav'n, that 's no the gate. We learn our creed.

For thus the royal mandate ran, When first the human race began, "The social, friendly, honest man,

Whate'er he be,

'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan,

An' none but he !"

O mandate, glorious and divine!
The followers o' the ragged Nine,

Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may shine
In glorious light,

While sordid sons o' Mammon's line

Are dark as night.

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl,
Their worthless nievfu' of a soul

May in some future carcase howl

The forest's fright;

Or in some day-detesting owl

May shun the light.

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise,
To reach their native kindred skies,
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys,

In some mild sphere,

Still closer knit in friendship's ties

Each passing year!

The reply of Lapraik has been recorded; it was in its nature pleasing, and drew from the Bard of Mossgiel this second epistle, in which he says much of his toils and his musings. I have heard one of our greatest English poets recite, with commendations, most of the stanzas, pointing out as he went the all but inimitable ease and happiness of thought and language. He re

marked, however, that Burns was either fond of out-ofthe-way sort of words, or that he made them occasionally in his fits of feeling and fancy.—" For instance, he calls his muse

The tapetless ramfeezled hizzie,'

and complains of being himself—

Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs.'

Now, I sorely suspect, that though forjesket may pass, both ‘tapetless' and 'ramfeezled' are new comers in to your dialect." To my friend I replied, that tapetless indicated want of strength; that forjesket was a word in common use, and meant worn-out with labour; and, with respect to ramfeezled, I could only quote the words of Cowper.-" Poor Burns loses much of his deserved praise in this country through our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting with any Englishman who will take the pains that I have taken to understand him. His candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible neighbour of mine; but his uncouth dialect spoiled all; and, before he had read him through, he was quite ramfeezled." This was written in August, 1787.

TO

WILLIAM SIMPSON,

OCHILTREE.

May, 1785.

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ;
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie;
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly,

An' unco vain,

Should I believe, my coaxin' billie,

Your flatterin' strain.

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it,

I sud be laith to think ye

hinted

Ironic satire, sidelins sklented

On my poor Musie;

Tho' in sic phraisin' terms ye've penn'd it,

I scarce excuse ye.

My senses wad be in a creel,

Should I but dare a hope to speel,

Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield,

The braes o' fame;

Or Fergusson, the writer chiel,

A deathless name.

(O Fergusson! thy glorious parts Ill suited law's dry, musty arts!

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, Ye Enbrugh gentry!

The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes

Wad stow'd his pantry!)

Yet when a tale comes i' my head,
Or lasses gie my heart a screed,

As whiles they're like to be my deed

(O sad disease!)

I kittle up my rustic reed;

It gies me ease.

Auld Coila, now, may fidge fu' fain,

She's gotten poets o' her ain,

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,

But tune their lays,

Till echoes a' resound again

Her weel-sung praise.

Nae poet thought her worth his while,
To set her name in measur'd stile ;
She lay like some unken'd-of isle

Beside New-Holland,

Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil

Besouth Magellan.

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