Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; Your mortal fae is now awa', Tam Samson's dead! That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd While pointers round impatient burn'd, Frae couples freed ; But, Och! he gaed and ne'er return'd! Tam Samson's dead! In vain auld age his body batters; Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin', clatters, Tam Samson's dead!" Owre many a weary hag he limpit, Wi' deadly feide; Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, When at his heart he felt the dagger, Wi' weel-aim'd heed; "L-d, five!" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger; Tam Samson's dead! Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, There low he lies, in lasting rest; Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, To hatch an' breed; Alas! nae mair he'll them molest! Tam Samson's dead! When August winds the heather wave, O' pouther an' lead, "Till Echo answer frae her cave Tam Samson's dead! Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be! Yet what remead? Ae social, honest man want we : Tam Samson's dead! EPITAPH. TAM SAMSON'S weel worn clay here lies, If honest worth in heaven rise, PER CONTRA. Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,* Tell ev'ry social, honest billie To cease his grievin', For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, "When this worthy old sportsman," says the Poet, in a note, “went out last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase the last of his fields,' and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the * Killie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for Kilmarnock. muirs. On this hint the Author composed his elegy and epitaph." No poet ever emblazoned fact with fiction more happily than Burns: the hero of this poem was a country sportsman, who loved curling on the ice in winter, and shooting on the moors in the season. no longer able to "Guard or draw a wick or bore, Or up the rink like Jehu roar or march over hill and hagg in quest of "Paitricks, teals, moor-pouts, and plivers," When he loved to lie on the lang-settle, and listen to the deeds of others on field and flood; and when a good tale was told, he would cry "Hech man! three at a shot; that was famous !" Some one informed Tam that Burns had written a poem-"a gay queer ane"-concerning him: he sent for the Bard, and in something like wrath, requested to hear it: he smiled grimly at the relation of his exploits, and then cried out, "I'm no dead yet, Robin -I'm worth ten dead fowk: wherefore should ye say that I am dead?" Burns took the hint, retired to the window for a minute's space or so, and coming back, recited the Per Contra, Go, fame, an' canter like a filly." Tam was so delighted that he rose unconsciously, rubbed his hands, and exclaimed, "That'll do-ha! ha!— that'll do!" The poetic epitaph is inscribed on his gravestone in the churchyard of Kilmarnock; he survived the writing of the elegy and—the hand that wrote it. 66 SECOND EPISTLE ΤΟ DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. AULD NIBOR, I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter; Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, Ye speak sae fair, For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter Some less maun sair Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle; Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Your auld, gray hairs. But DAVIE, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit; An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket Until ye fyke; Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket, Be hain't wha like. |