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125. FROM THE ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE'

My curse upon your venomed stang,
That shoots my tortured gums alang,

And thro' my lugs gies monie a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance;

Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes;
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us,
Wi' pitying moan;

But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases!

Ay mocks our groan.

R. BURNS.

126. MY HEART 'S IN THE HIGHLANDS

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the_roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains, high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the_roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

R. BURNS.

127. MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED RED ROSE

My love is like a red red rose
That's newly sprung in June :
My love is like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

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Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun : And I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
R. BURNS.

MORISON

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,

And yon the toast of a' the town,

I sighed, and said among them a', 'Ye are na Mary Morison.'

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ?

Or canst thou break that heart of
his,

Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
R. BURNS.

129. BONNIE LESLEY

O SAW ye bonnie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border ?
She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And never made anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deit he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face, And say, 'I canna wrang thee.' |

130.

The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha'na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,
That ill they'll ne'er let near
thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.
R. BURNS.

A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH

O THOU unknown Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wandered in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;

As something, loudly in my breast,

Remonstrates I have done;

Thou know'st that Thou hast formèd me
With passions wild and strong;
And listening to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,

Do Thou, All-Good! for such Thou art,
In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

R. BURNS.

131. OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best:
There wild woods grow, and rivers

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I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair :

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There's not a bonnie flower that
springs

By fountain, shaw, or green; There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.
R. BURNS.

134.

132. AULD LANG SYNE

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,

From morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

133. THE SELKIRK GRACE
SOME hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.

R. BURNS.

R. BURNS.

THEN GENTLY SCAN YOUR BROTHER MAN

THEN gently scan your brother

man,

Still gentler sister woman;
Tho' they may gang a kennin
wrang,

To step aside is human.
One point must still be greatly dark,

The moving why they do it;
And just as lamely can ye mark,
How far perhaps they rue it.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;

He knows each chord, its various
tone,

Each spring, its various bias. Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute,

But know not what 's resisted. R. BURNS (Address to the Unco Guid.)

135. THE TRUE PATHOS

To make a happy fire-side clime
To weans and wife,

That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

R. BURNS (To Dr. Blacklock).

136. BONNIE DOON

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care?

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its love,

And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

R. BURNS.

137. THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS Save.

FOR his Religion, it was fit
To match his learning and his

wit;

Twas Presbyterian true blue;
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints, whom all men
grant

To be the true Church Militant;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun;
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery ;

And prove their doctrine orthodox
By apostolic blows and knocks;
Call fire and sword and desola-
tion,

A godly thorough Reformation;

D

on

Suvitaus

Compound for sins they are in

clined to,

By damning those they have no
mind to:

Still so perverse and opposite,
As if they worshipped God for
spite.

Rather than fail they will defy
That which they love most ten-

derly,

Quarrel with minced pies, and
disparage

Their best and dearest friend-
plum-porridge;

Fat pig or goose itself oppose
And blaspheme custard through

the nose.

S. BUTLER (Hudibras).

Intelted:

Sative.

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