ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. [John M'Leod was of the ancient family of Raza, and brother to that Isabella M'Leod, for whom Burns, in his correspondence, expressed great regard. The little Poem, when first printed, consisted of six verses: I found a seventh in the M'Murdo Manuscripts, the fifth in this edition, along with an intimation in prose, that the M'Leod family had endured many unmerited misfortunes. I observe that Sir Harris Nicolas has rejected this new verse, because, he says, it repeats the same sentiment as the one which precedes it. I think differently, and have retained it.] SAD thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella's arms. Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew Fair on Isabella's morn The sun propitious smil'd; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Fate oft tears the bosom chords Were it in the poet's power, Dread Omnipotence, alone, Can heal the wound He gave; grave. Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, And fear no withering blast; There Isabella's spotless worth TO MISS LOGAN, WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS FOR A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. JAN. 1, 1787. [Burns was fond of writing compliments in books, and giving them in presents among his fair friends. Miss Logan, of Park House, was sister to Major Logan, of Camlarg, and the "sentimental sister Susie," of the Epistle to her brother. Both these names were early dropped out of the poet's correspondence.] [Dr. Blair said that the politics of Burns smelt of the smithy, which, interpreted, means, that they were unstatesman-like, and worthy of a country ale-house, and an audience of peasants. The Poem gives us a striking picture of the humorous and familiar way in which the hinds and husbandmen of Scotland handle national topics: the smithy is a favourite resort, during the winter evenings, of rustic politicians; and national affairs and parish scandal are alike discussed. Burns was in those days, and some time after, a vehement Tory: his admiration of "Chatham's Boy," called down on him the dusty indigna tion of the republican Ritson.] WHEN Guildford good our pilot stood, And did our hellim thraw, man, And in the sea did jaw, man; Than quite refuse our law, man. Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, I wat he was na slaw, man; And Carleton did ca', man; Montgomery-like did fa', man, Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Then Montague, an' Guilford, too, And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, Then Rockingham took up the game, Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, An' bore him to the wa', man. Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, Behind the throne then Greenville's gone, Wi' kindling eyes cry'd "Willie, rise! But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., An' Caledon threw by the drone, An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid To make it guid in law, man. THE DEAN OF FACULTY. A NEW BALLAD. [The Hal and Bob of these satiric lines were Henry Erskine, and Robert Dundas: and their contention was, as the verses intimate, for the place of Dean of the Faculty of Advocates: Erskine was successful. It is supposed that in characterizing Dundas, the poet remembered "the incurable wound which his pride had got" in the affair of the elegiac verses on the death of the elder Dundas. The poem first appeared in the Reliques of Burns.] DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw, That Scot to Scot did carry; For beauteous, hapless Mary: Or were more in fury seen, Sir, Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job- This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, And won his heart's desire; Which shows that heaven can boil the pot, Squire Hal besides had in this case For talents to deserve a place So, their worships of the Faculty, Quite sick of merit's rudeness, Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight So may be, on this Pisgah height, Bob's purblind, mental vision: And swear he has the angel met That met the Ass of Balaam. |