SONG,

IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUINED FARMER.

TUNE-Go from my window, Love, do.

The sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retirèd to rest,
While here I sit all sore beset

With sorrow, grief, and wo;

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

The prosperous man is asleep,

Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;

But Misery and I must watch

The surly tempest blow:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear partner of my breast, Her cares for a moment at rest:

Must I see thee, my youthful pride,

Thus brought so very low!

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lie my sweet babies in her arms, No anxious fear their little heart alarms; But for their sake my heart doth ache, With many a bitter throe:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

I once was by Fortune carest,

I once could relieve the distrest:
Now, life's poor support hardly earned,
My fate will scarce bestow:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear,
O whither would they go?

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

O whither, O whither shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!
For in this world Rest or Peace

I never more shall know!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

END OF VOL L

ROBERT BURNS.

1759-1796.

THE HOLY FAIR.

'A robe of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty observation;

And secret hung, with poisoned crust,
The dirk of Defamation:

A mask that like the gorget showed,
Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt him in Religion."

Hypocrisy à-la-Mode.

The transactions described in this piece are those which attended a rural celebration of the communion in Scotland till a very recent period, if not till the present day. But it is important to notice that the rite itself, and even the place where it was administered, form no part of the picture. Burns limits himself to the assemblage, partly composed of parishioners and partly of strangers, which takes place on such occasions, in some open space near the church, where a Buccession of clergymen, usually from the neighboring parishes, give from a tent or movable pulpit a succession of services, while a lesser body are attending the more solemn ritual within doors. That Burns's de

scription is not exaggerated in any particular, is rendered certain by a passage which we shall take leave to adduce from a pamphlet published in the year of the poet's birth, under the title of A Letter from a Blacksmith to the Ministers and Elders of the Church of Scotland. "In Scotland." says this writer, “they run from kirk to kirk, and flock to see a sacrament, and make the same use of it that the papists do of their pilgrimages and processions; that is, indulge themselves in drunkenness, folly, and idleness. Most of the servants, when they agree to serve their masters in the western parts of the kingdom, make a special provision that they shall have liberty to go to a certain number of fairs, or to an equal number of sacraments; and as they consider a sacrament, or an occasion (as they call the administration of the Lord's Supper), in a neighboring parish in the same light in which they do at a fair, so they behave at it much in the same manner."

It may be added, that the Leith Races of Fergusson served Burns as a literary model. The Edinburgh poet is there conducted to the festive scene by an imaginary being, whom he names MIRTH, exactly as Burns is conducted to the Holy Fair by FUN; but the poetical painting of the Ayrshire bard far distances that of his predecessor.

UPON a simmer Sunday-morn,

When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,
And snuff the cauler air.
The rising sun o'er Galston muirs,

fresh

Wi' glorious light was glintin'; flashing

The hares were hirplin' down the
furs,

The lav'rocks they were chantin'
Fu' sweet that day.

limping

furrows

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,
To see a scene sae gay,

looked

Three hizzies, early at the road,

Wenches

walking along

Cam skelpin' up the way.

Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,

But ane wi' lyart lining;

The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,
Was in the fashion shining,

Fu' gay that day.

The twa appeared like sisters twin,
In feature, form, and claes;
Their visage withered, lang, and thin,
And sour as ony slaes.

The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,1

As light as ony lambie,

And wi' a curchie low did stoop,
As soon as e'er she saw me,.
Fu' kind that day.

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I: "Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to ken me;
I'm sure I've seen that bonny face,
But yet I canna name ye."

1 Hop-skip-and-leap.

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