The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 23

This past for certain--undisputed; It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 'Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, An' ca'd it wrang; An' muckle din there was about it, Baith loud an' lang.

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk; For 'twas the auld moon turned a neuk, An' out o' sight, An' backlins-comin', to the leuk, She grew mair bright.

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; The herds an' hissels were alarm'd: The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd and storm'd That beardless laddies Should think they better were inform'd Than their auld daddies.

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks, An' monie a fallow gat his licks, Wi' hearty crunt; An' some, to learn them for their tricks, Were hang'd an' brunt.

This game was play'd in monie lands, An' Auld Light caddies bure sic hands, That, faith, the youngsters took the sands Wi' nimble shanks, 'Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, Sic bluidy pranks.

But New Light herds gat sic a cowe, Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe, Till now amaist on every knowe, Ye'll find ane plac'd; An' some their New Light fair avow, Just quite barefac'd.

Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin'; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin': Mysel', I've even seen them greetin'

Wi' girnin' spite, To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on By word an' write.

But shortly they will cowe the loons; Some Auld Light herds in neibor towns Are mind't in things they ca' balloons, To tak a flight, An' stay ae month amang the moons And see them right.

Guid observation they will gie them: An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, Just i' their pouch, An' when the New Light billies see them, I think they'll crouch!

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter Is naething but a "moons.h.i.+ne matter;"

But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter In logic tulzie, I hope we bardies ken some better Than mind sic brulzie.

x.x.xIII.

ADDRESS

TO AN

ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.

[This hasty and not very decorous effusion, was originally ent.i.tled "The Poet's Welcome; or, Rab the Rhymer's Address to his b.a.s.t.a.r.d Child." A copy, with the more softened, but less expressive t.i.tle, was published by Stewart, in 1801, and is alluded to by Burns himself, in his biographical letter to Moore. "Bonnie Betty," the mother of the "sonsie-smirking, dear-bought Bess," of the Inventory, lived in Largieside: to support this daughter the poet made over the copyright of his works when he proposed to go to the West Indies. She lived to be a woman, and to marry one John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, where she died in 1817. It is said she resembled Burns quite as much as any of the rest of his children.]

Thou's welcome, wean, mischanter fa' me, If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, Shall ever daunton me, or awe me, My sweet wee lady, Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me t.i.t-ta or daddy.

Wee image of my bonny Betty, I, fatherly, will kiss and daut thee, As dear and near my heart I set thee Wi' as gude will As a' the priests had seen me get thee That's out o' h.e.l.l.

What tho' they ca' me fornicator, An' tease my name in kintry clatter: The mair they talk I'm kent the better, E'en let them clash; An auld wife's tongue's a f.e.c.kless matter To gie ane fash.

Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, My funny toil is now a' tint, Sin' thou came to the warl asklent, Which fools may scoff at; In my last plack thy part's be in't The better ha'f o't.

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, An' tak the counsel I sall gie thee, A lovin' father I'll be to thee, If thou be spar'd; Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, An' think't weel war'd.

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, Without his failins; 'Twill please me mair to hear an' see it Than stocket mailens.

x.x.xIV.

NATURE'S LAW.

A POEM HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO G. H. ESQ.

"Great nature spoke, observant man obey'd."

Pope.

[This Poem was written by Burns at Mossgiel, and "humbly inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, Esq." It is supposed to allude to his intercourse with Jean Armour, with the circ.u.mstances of which he seems to have made many of his comrades acquainted. These verses were well known to many of the admirers of the poet, but they remained in ma.n.u.script till given to the world by Sir Harris Nicolas, in Pickering's Aldine Edition of the British Poets.]

Let other heroes boast their scars, The marks of sturt and strife; And other poets sing of wars, The plagues of human life; Shame fa' the fun; wi' sword and gun To slap mankind like lumber!

I sing his name, and n.o.bler fame, Wha multiplies our number.

Great Nature spoke with air benign, "Go on, ye human race!

This lower world I you resign; Be fruitful and increase.

The liquid fire of strong desire I've pour'd it in each bosom; Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, And there, is beauty's blossom."

The hero of these artless strains, A lowly bard was he, Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains With meikle mirth an' glee; Kind Nature's care had given his share, Large, of the flaming current; And all devout, he never sought To stem the sacred torrent.

He felt the powerful, high behest, Thrill vital through and through; And sought a correspondent breast, To give obedience due: Propitious Powers screen'd the young flowers, From mildews of abortion; And lo! the bard, a great reward, Has got a double portion!

Auld cantie Coil may count the day, As annual it returns, The third of Libra's equal sway, That gave another B[urns], With future rhymes, an' other times, To emulate his sire; To sing auld Coil in n.o.bler style, With more poetic fire.

Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song, Look down with gracious eyes; And bless auld Coila, large and long, With multiplying joys: Lang may she stand to prop the land, The flow'r of ancient nations; And B[urns's] spring, her fame to sing, Thro' endless generations!

x.x.xV.

TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH.

[Poor M'Math was at the period of this epistle a.s.sistant to Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton: he was a good preacher, a moderate man in matters of discipline, and an intimate of the Coilsfield Montgomerys.

His dependent condition depressed his spirits: he grew dissipated; and finally, it is said, enlisted as a common soldier, and died in a foreign land.]

_Sept. 17th, 1785._

While at the stook the shearers cow'r To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, Or in gulravage rinnin' scow'r To pa.s.s the time, To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme.

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet On gown, an' ban', and douse black bonnet, Is grown right eerie now she's done it, Lest they should blame her, An' rouse their holy thunder on it And anathem her.