III. I'll no say men are villains a' ; But, och! mankind are unco weak, If self the wavering balance shake, It's rarely right adjusted! IV. Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, V. Ay free, aff han' your story tell, Frae critical dissection; But keek thro' ev'ry other man, Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. VI. The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, But never tempt th' illicit rove, Tho' naething should divulge it: But, och! it hardens a' within, VII. To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, And gather gear by ev'ry wile That's justified by honour; Nor for a train-attendant; VIII. The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip Let that Its slightest touches, instant pause— And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. IX. The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature ; Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, X. When ranting round in pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded; Or if she gie a random sting, It may be little minded; But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, A conscience but a canker— Is sure a noble anchor! XI. Adieu, dear, amiable youth! Your heart can ne'er be wanting! May prudence, fortitude, and truth Erect your brow undaunting! In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," Still daily to grow wiser: And may you better reck the rede Than ever did th' adviser! When Burns saw that "misfortune's cauld nor' west" was ready to burst upon him, and that labouring on his farm was not likely to avert it, he wooed the muse with redoubled ardour-perhaps from a feeling that the exertions of his genius, and not of his hands, would save him. During the latter half of the year 1785 and the spring and summer part of 1786, he produced a vast body of poems-one of them is "The Epistle to Andrew Aiken," son to Robert Aiken, writer, in Ayr, to whom "The Cotter's Saturday Night" is inscribed. A coldness seems to have arisen between Burns and Robert Aiken the former imagined that his friend, in his capacity of lawyer, had made himself more busy than necessary in the affair of the marriage contract between him and Jean Armour. Be that as it may, the name of Aiken all at once disappears from the Poet's correspondence. : The Epistle seems to have been addressed to one every way worthy of such a strain young Aiken entered into the service of his country, and rose to distinction and affluence. He obtained some notice, too, the other year, at the dinner celebrating the birth-day of the Ayrshire Ploughman, and that of the Ettrick Shepherd; nature having, it seems, out of a wondrous love for the 25th of January, produced both Poets on that day of the yearand produced them both in storms: the hail and the whirlwind were abroad when Burns was born; and Ettrick rose in flood as Ettrick never rose before, when Hogg appeared. TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH. HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie! Owre gauze and lace; Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, How dare you set your fit upon her, Sae fine a lady! Gae somewhere else, and seek your On some poor body. dinner Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, In shoals and nations ; Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle Your thick plantations. |