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Thou, amid the dirgeful sound,

Shed thy dying honours round,
And resign to parent earth

The loveliest form she e'er gave birth.

Burns often intimated his friendships-or attachments, tenderer still-in verse or prose, on the blank leaf of a favourite book, and then presented the volume to the object of his regard. I have seen several of those precious presents. It has been remarked that he was most attached to ladies whose voices were sweet and harmonious, or who excelled in music. Of the spell which music threw over him, Professor Walker gives a very graphic account:-" About the end of October, I called for him at the house of a friend, whose daughter, though not more than twelve, was a considerable proficient in music. I found him seated by the harpsichord of this young lady, listening with the keenest interest to his own verses, which she sang and accompanied, and adjusting them to the music by repeated trials of the effect. In this occupation he was totally absorbed ; and it was difficult to draw his attention from it for a moment; and it is to the enthusiasm which the nature of his undertaking inspired that the excellence of its execution must be ascribed. Had his ardour been less, I should probably have regretted to see his genius no longer left free to the impulse of inclination, and the excitement of interesting occurrences, but employed in amendment or imitation, and partly expended in overcoming the difficulties occasioned by an additional circumspection, both in subject and measure."

WILLIE CHALMERS.

1.

Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride,

And eke a braw new brechan,

My Pegasus I'm got astride,

And up Parnassus pechin;

Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush;

The doited beastie stammers;

Then up he gets and off he sets

For sake o' Willie Chalmers.

II.

I doubt na, lass, that weel kenn'd name

May cost a pair o' blushes;

I am nae stranger to your fare

Nor his warm urged wishes.
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet,

His honest heart enamours,
And faith ye'll no be lost a whit,

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers.

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Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair,

And honour safely back her,

And modesty assume your air,

And ne'er a ane mistak' her:

And sic twa love inspiring e'en
Might fire even holy Palmers;
Nae wonder then they've fatal been
To honest Willie Chalmers.

IV.

I doubt na fortune may you shore Some mim-mou'd pouthered priestie, up wi' Hebrew lore,

Fu' lifted

And band upon his breastie :

But Oh! what signifies to you,

His lexicons and grammars; The feeling hearts' the royal blue, And that's wi' Willie Chalmers.

V.

Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird,
May warsle for your favour;

May claw his lug, and straik his beard,

And host up some palaver.

My bonny maid, before ye wed

Sic clumsy-witted hammers,

Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers.

VI.

Forgive the Bard! my fond regard
For ane that shares my bosom,
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues,
For de'il a hair I roose him.

May powers aboon unite you soon,
And fructify your amours,—
And every year come in mair dear
and Willie Chalmers.

To you

:

The pen of the Poet was ever ready at the call of his friends. When a country squire fell in love, Burns supplied him with a song in praise of his mistress: when the minister of one parish doubted the scripture doctrine of the incumbent of another parish, he brought rhyme to his aid nay, on this occasion he forgets the duty of poetic "black-sole," and absolutely courts a young lady for a friend, in very persuasive rhyme. This poetic curiosity was first given to the world by Lockhart in his life of the bard: he copied it from a small collection of MSS. sent by Burns to Lady Harriet Don, accompanied by the following explanation: "W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows." William Chalmers was, in

those days, a writer in Ayr, and a staunch comrade of the Poet: he was his correspondent also: but only one of the letters of Burns has survived the change which time and death make. I have not heard that the lady yielded to the influence of verse: women are seldom rhymed into wedlock.

LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE night,

THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING

VERSES

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.

I.

O THOU dread Power, who reign'st above!
I know Thou wilt me hear,

When for this scene of peace and love

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The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,

Long, long, be pleased to spare ;

To bless his filial little flock

And show what good men are.

III.

She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O, bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

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