Poems, Songs, and Letters

CALEDONIA.

TUNE-Caledonian Hunt's delight.

THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young,
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,

From some of your northern deities sprung:

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?)
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would:
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign,

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good.

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew;
Her grandsire, old Odin triumphantly swore,

'Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!'
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,
To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn:
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort,
Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn.
Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand;
Repeated, successive, for many long years,
They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land.
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry,
They conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside;
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly,
The daring invaders they fled or they died.

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north,
The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore;
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore:

O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd,
No arts could appease them, no arms could repel
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd,

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose,
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose,

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life:
The Anglian lion, the terror of France,

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood;
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance,

He learned to fear in his own native wood.

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run :
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ;

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun :
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose,

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base;
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse;

Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always.

They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords clash'd,

And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,

Till fey men died awa, man.

But had you seen the philibegs,

And skyrin tartan trews, man,
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs,
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets oppos'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out of breath,

They fled like frighted doos, man.
'O how deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man:
I saw mysel, they did pursue

The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their
flight;

But, cursed lot! the gates were shut,
And monie a huntit, poor red-coat,

For fear amaist did swarf, man.'

O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;
O that's the queen o' womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her.

If thou shalt meet a lassie,
In grace and beauty charming,
That e'en thy chosen lassie,
Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
Had ne'er sic powers alarming;
O that's, &c.

If thou hadst heard her talking,
And thy attentions plighted,
That ilka body talking,

But her by thee is slighted,
And thou art all delighted;
O that's, &c.

If thou hast met this fair one;
When frae her thou hast parted,

If every other fair one,

But her, thou hast deserted,
And thou art broken-hearted,
O that's, &c.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonie Meg was nature's child—
Wiser men than me's beguil'd;—
Whistle owre the lave o't.
How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see-
Whistle owre the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle owre the lave o't.

O, ONCE I LOV'D A BONIE LASS.

TUNE-I am a Man unmarried.'

O, ONCE I lov'd a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still,

And whilst that virtue warms my breast
I'll love my handsome Nell.
Fal lal de ral, &c.

As bonie lasses I hae seen,
And monie full as braw,
But for a modest gracefu' mier
The like I never saw.

A bonie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the ee,
But without some better qualities
She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet,
And what is best of a',
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.

She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel :

And then there's something in her gait
Gars onie dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air

May slightly touch the heart, But it's innocence and modesty That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 'Tis this enchants my soul ! For absolutely in my breast She reigns without control.

Fal lal de ral, &c,

YOUNG JOCKEY.

YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad
In a' our town or here awa;
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha'!
He roos'd my een sae bonie blue,

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma'; An' aye my heart came to my mou, When ne'er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain, Thro' wind and weed, thro' frost and snaw;

And o'er the lea I look fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. An' aye the night comes round again,

When in his arms he takes me a'; An' aye he vows he'll be my ain

As lang's he has a breath to draw.

M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. FAREWELL,ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch's destinie: M'Pherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows tree.

CHORUS.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,

Below the gallows tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On monie a bloody plain
I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword!
And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
Sae rantingly, &c.

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart
And not avengèd be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.

A NEW BALLAD.

TUNE- The Dragon of Wantley.' DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw That Scot to Scot did carry ; And dire the discord Langside saw, For beauteous, hapless Mary: But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, Or were more in fury seen, Sir, Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. This Hal for genius, wi、 and lore,

Among the first was number'd; But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, Commandment the tenth remember'd. Yet simple Bob the victory got,

And won his heart's desire;
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot,
Though the devil piss in the fire.
Squire Hal besides had, in this case,
Pretensions rather brassy,

For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;
So their worships of the Faculty,
Quite sick of merit's rudeness,
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,

To their gratis grace and goodness. As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight Of a son of Circumcision,

So may be, on this Pisgah height,

Bob's purblind, mental vision; Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, Till for eloquence you hail him, And swear he has the Angel met

That met the Ass of Balaam.

In your heretic sins may ye live and die,
Ye heretic eight and thirty!
But accept, ye sublime Majority,

My congratulations hearty.
With your Honors and a certain King,
In your servants this is striking--
The more incapacity they bring,
The more they're to your liking.

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Poems, Songs, and Letters: Being the Complete Works of Robert Burns