He gaped wide, but naething spak. "O thou, whase lamentable face 66 An' ay was guid to me an' mine; 66 An' may they never learn the gaets5 To slink thro' slaps, an' reaves an' steal, An' bairns greet10 for them when they're dead. An' if he live to be a beast, To pit some havins12 in his breast! 66 O, may thou ne'er forgather up "And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, "Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, To tell my Master a' my tale; An' bid him burn this cursed tether, This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, An' clos'd her een amang the dead! POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Past a' remead; The last, sad cape-stane1 of his woes; Poor Mailie's dead! It's no the loss o' warl's gear, That could sae bitter draw the tear, The mourning weed: He's lost a friend and neebor dear, In Mailie dead. Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; I wat she was a sheep o' sense, I'll say't, she never brak a fence, Thro' thievish greed. Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence Nibble. Sin' Mailie's dead. 2 Meddle. 3 Bladder. ♦ Copestone. 6 Parlour. Or, if he wanders up the howe,1 Comes bleating to him owre the knowe,2 For bits o' bread; An' down the briny pearls rowe For Mailie dead. She was nae get o' moorland tips,3 Frae yont the Tweed: Wae worth the man wha first did shape Wi' chokin dread; An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, O, a'ye Bards on bonnie Doon ! O' Robin's reed! His heart will never get aboon His Mailie dead! 1 Dell. TO JAMES SMITH.10 Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! DEAR Smith, the sleest, paukie11 thief, Blair. Owre human hearts; Just gaun to see you; And ev'ry ither pair that's done, Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 2 Hillock. 5 Sheers. 9 Moan. 10 Smith kept a shop in Mauchline. 11 Cunning. 2 Wizard spell. 13 Proof That auld, capricious carlin,1 Nature, And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 66 The Man." Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, Wi' hasty summon : Hae ye a leisure moment's time To hear what's comin? Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; For me, an aim I never fash;4 I rhyme for fun. The star that rules my luckless lot, An' d-d my fortune to the groat; Has blest me wi' a random shot This while my notion's taen a sklent, Something cries, "Hoolie !5 Ye'll shaw your folly. "There's ither poets, much your betters, Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows! Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs Are whistling thrang, An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 1 Old woman. My rustic sang. 2 Scanty. 3 Lashed. Care for. 5 Gently. I warn you. I'll wander on, wi' tentless1 heed I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, But why o' Death begin a tale? And large, before Enjoyment's gale, This life, sae far's I understand,2 Is a' enchanted fairy-land, Where pleasure is the magic wand, That, wielded right, Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, Dance by fu' light. The magic-wand then let us wield; 4 Wi' wrinkl'd face, Comes hostin, hirplin5 owre the field, Wi' creepin pace. When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, An' social noise; An' fareweel dear deluding woman, The joy of joys! ; O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, 1 Heedless. 2 In your epistle to J. S., the stanzas, from that beginning with this line, "This life," &c., to that which ends with, " Short while it grieves,' are easy, flowing, gaily philosophical, and of Horatian elegance. The language is English, with a few Scottish words, and some of those so harmonious as to add to the beauty; for what poet would not prefer gloaming to twilight? -Dr. MOORE, June 10, 1789." 5 Limping. 3 Climbed. ♦ Coughing. |