But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And everything is blest but I.

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,1
And owre the moorland whistles shrill;
Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step,

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree:
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When Nature all is sad like me!

NOTE TO GAVIN HAMILTON.

The wretchedness breathed in the foregoing poems is of too extreme a character to have been long predominant, at least in all its force, in such a mind as that of Burns. At the beginning of May, he is found

1 Shuts the opening in his fold.

addressing Mr. Hamilton in playful terms respecting a servant-boy, whom that gentleman had talked of taking off his hands, and who in the mean time had been spoken to with a view to engagement by a person whom Burns did not so much esteem.

MOSGAVILLE, May 3,

I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty,
To warn you how that Master Tootie,
Alias, Laird M'Gaun,

Was here to hire yon lad away
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day,
And wad hae done't aff han':

But lest he learn the callan tricks,
As, faith, I muckle doubt him,

off-hand

Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,2

And tellin' lies about them;

As lieve then, I'd have then,

Your clerkship he should sair,

If sae be ye may be

Not fitted other where.

Although I say't, he's gleg enough,

willingly

serve

And 'bout a house that's rude and rough,

suited

sharp

1 Mossgavel is the proper appellation of the farm-shortened into Mossgiel.

The age

2 Tootie lived in Mauchline, and dealt in cows. of these animals is marked by rings on their horns, which may of course be cut and polished off, so as to cause the cow to appear younger than it is.

The boy might learn to swear;

But then wi' you he'll be sae taught,
And get sic fair example straught,

I havena ony fear.

Ye'll catechise him every quirk,

upright

threaten

And shore him weel wi' h—,
And gar him follow to the kirk
Aye when ye gang yoursel'.
If ye, then, maun be, then,
Frae hame this comin' Friday;
Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir,
The orders wi' your leddy.

My word of honour I hae gien,
In Paisley John's, that night at e'en,
To meet the warld's worm; 1
To try to get the twa to gree,
And name the airles2 and the fee,
In legal mode and form.

I ken he weel a sneck can draw,
When simple bodies let him;
And if a devil be at a',

In faith he's sure to get him.
To phrase you, and praise you,
Ye ken your Laureate scorns :
The prayer still, you share still,

Of grateful MINSTREL BURNS.

1 A term expressive of a mean, avaricious character. 2 The airles

earnest-money.

3 See note to the Address to the Deil, p. 156.

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND.

A poetical letter of sagacious advice to Andrew Aiken, son of his patron Robert Aiken, then about to launch out into the world.

May, 1786.

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to have sent you,
Though it should serve nae other end
Than just a kind memento;

But how the subject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

strange

Ye'll try the world fu' soon, my lad,
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,
And muckle they may grieve ye.
For care and trouble set your thought,

Even when your end's attained;

And a' your views may come to nought,
Where every nerve is strained.

I'll no say men are villains a';
The real, hardened wicked,

Wha hae nae check but human law,

Are to a few restricked:

But, och mankind are unco weak,

And little to be trusted;

If self the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife,
Their fate we should na censure,
For still th' important end of life
They equally may answer:
A man may hae an honest heart,
Though poor tith hourlystare him; poverty
A man may tak a neibor's part,
Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff han' your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel'
Ye scarcely tell to ony.

Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can

Frae critical dissection,

But keek through every other man
Wi' sharpened, sly inspection.

The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love,

Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th' illicit rove,
Though naething should divulge it.
I waive the quantum o' the sin,

look

flame