The Complete Works of Robert Burns - LightNovelsOnl.com
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LORD ADVOCATE.
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, 'Till in a declamation-mist His argument he tint it: He gaped for't, he grap'd for't, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short He eked out wi' law, man.
MR. ERSKINE.
Collected Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man: His lords.h.i.+p sat wi' rueful e'e, And ey'd the gathering storm, man; Like wind-driv'n hail it did a.s.sail, Or torrents owre a linn, man; The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.
XXIII.
THE HENPECKED HUSBAND.
[A lady who expressed herself with incivility about her husband's potations with Burns, was rewarded by these sharp lines.]
Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, The crouching va.s.sal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission; Who has not sixpence but in her possession; Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell; Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than h.e.l.l!
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart; I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b----h.
XXIV.
WRITTEN AT INVERARY.
[Neglected at the inn of Inverary, on account of the presence of some northern chiefs, and overlooked by his Grace of Argyll, the poet let loose his wrath and his rhyme: tradition speaks of a pursuit which took place on the part of the Campbell, when he was told of his mistake, and of a resolution not to be soothed on the part of the bard.]
Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, I pity much his case, Unless he's come to wait upon The Lord their G.o.d, his Grace.
There's naething here but Highland pride And Highland cauld and hunger; If Providence has sent me here, T'was surely in his anger.
XXV.
ON ELPHINSTON'S TRANSLATIONS.
OF
MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.
[Burns thus relates the origin of this sally:--"Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edinburgh, a friend of mine one day put Elphinston's Translation of Martial into my hand, and desired my opinion of it. I asked permission to write my opinion on a blank leaf of the book; which being granted, I wrote this epigram."]
O thou, whom poesy abhors, Whom prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan? proceed no further; 'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murther!
XXVI.
INSCRIPTION.
ON THE HEADSTONE OF FERGUSSON.
[Some social friends, whose good feelings were better than their taste, have ornamented with supplemental iron work the headstone which Burns erected, with this inscription to the memory of his brother bard, Fergusson.]
Here lies ROBERT FERGUSSON, Poet.
Born, September 5, 1751; Died, Oct. 15, 1774.
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, "No storied urn nor animated bust;"
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.
XXVII.
ON A SCHOOLMASTER.
[The Willie Michie of this epigram was, it is said, schoolmaster of the parish of Cleish, in Fifes.h.i.+re: he met Burns during his first visit to Edinburgh.]
Here lie Willie Michie's banes; O, Satan! when ye tak' him, Gi' him the schoolin' o' your weans, For clever de'ils he'll mak' them.
XXVIII.
A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.
