Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither To stan' or rin, Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a' throwther, To save their skin. But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, An' there's the foe, He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin' lea’es him Sages their solemn een may steek, An' physically causes seek, In clime an' season; But tell me whiskey's name in Greek, I'll tell the reason. Scotland, my auld, respected mither! Ye tine your dam ; Freedom and whiskey gang thegither! Tak aff your dram! "This poem was written," says Burns, before the act anent the Scotch Distilleries of Session 1786, for which Scotland and the author return their most grateful thanks." After the verse commencing— "Erskine, a spunkie Norlan' billie," there appears in Burns' book of manuscripts a verse which has occasioned some conjecture concerning the cause of its omission : "Thee, sodger Hugh, my watchman stented, If bardies e'er are represented: I ken if that yere sword were wanted, Ye'd lend your hand; But when there's aught to say anent it, Ye're at a stand." Perhaps the Poet reflected that the future Earl of Eglinton might dislike to be described as sharp of sword and slack of speech." Why this was left out in printing," says Gilbert Burns, "does not appear. The noble earl will not be sorry to see this notice of him, familiar though it be, by a bard whose genius he admired, and whose fate he lamented." The persons mentioned in the poem are common and popular." The "crankous mood" of old Scotland respecting her lost militia is well and truly described had the poet lived till 1798, he would have seen her in an equally crankous mood on obtaining her militia riots took place in several parts of the country : : houses were attacked, and the lives of the schoolmasters threatened, on whom government unwisely laid the duty of making out the list of persons eligible to serve. Two hundred rustics, with guns and pitckforks, marched against the house of Sir Robert Grierson: a detachment of volunteers hastened from Dumfries for its protection; nor did the besiegers disperse till one of the volunteers in a parley showed them four-and-twenty round of ball-cartridge, - and made one of them feel the balls with his finger.. On this one of the rustic leaders exclaimed, "G-d, lads, this is gaun to be serious," and dispersed his men. The sentiments of David Sillar on whiskey will show how much he differed in opinion, as well as in poetic power, with his brother bard :— "It taks the best bits o' the fiel; An' turns him aft a ne'er-do-weel "I've seen, an' aft my heart's been wae, By whiskey made a certain prey, Then led by bards the beaten way To their destruction. "O' a' ye lords wha rule the nation, Whene'er ye grant the distillation O' curst whiskie." ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make a rule, And lump them ay thegither; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither; The cleanest corn that e'er was dight SOLOMON.-Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. I. O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your neebours' fauts and folly! VOL. II. II. Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door For glaikit Folly's portals; I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Would here propone defences, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. III. Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, But cast a moment's fair regard, What maks the mighty differ? Discount what scant occasion gave, That purity ye pride in, And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) Your better art o' hiding. IV. Think, when your castigated pulse Gies now and then a wallop, What ragings must his veins convulse, That still eternal gallop : Wi' wind and tide fair i̇' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o' baith to sail, It makes an unco lee-way. |