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Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as heart could wish: with him I am destined to go. Where I shall shelter I know not, but I hope to weather the storm.

On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven o'clock, I shall see you as I ride through to Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex! I feel there is still happiness for me among them:

Oh, woman, lovely woman! Heaven designed you

To temper man!-we had been brutes without you!

R. B.

It was in this extraordinary climax of circumstances-his mistress's father pursuing him at law, in order to extort from him the money received for his poems; himself skulking to preserve his liberty, that he might be enabled to embrace a miserable course of life offered to him in Jamaica-that Burns brought forth his wondrous volume. How impressively do the circumstances seem to verify the remark, that effusions of great genius ever tend to a connection with heart-break and humiliation! There is but one relieving fact—that the merits of the poor peasant of Mossgiel, and his generous social character, had, in spite of every drawback in his own follies, or rather sins, raised for him the friendship of many worthy people of his neighbourhood. Hamilton of Mauchline, Aiken and Ballantyne of Ayr, Muir and Parker of Kilmarnock, had all acted like true-hearted kindly men in giving and obtaining patronage to the poet. The last-mentioned person had put down his name for thirty-five copies. The volume appeared at the end of July, with the simple title, Poems, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, by Robert Burns, and the motto:

'The Simple Bard, unbroke to rules of art,

He pours the wild effusions of the heart.
And if inspired, 'tis Nature's powers inspire;

Hers all the melting thrill, and hers the kindling fire.'

ANONYMOUS.

It contained the following pieces:-The Twa Dogs-Scotch Drink -The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer-The Holy Fair-Address to the Deil-Mailie-To J. S**** [Smith]-A Dream-The Vision -Halloween-The Auld Farmer's New-year Morning's Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie-The Cotter's Saturday Night-To a Mouse-Epistle to Davie-The Lament-Despondency, an OdeMan was Made to Mourn-Winter, a Dirge-A Prayer in the Prospect of Death-To a Mountain Daisy-To Ruin-Epistle to a Young Friend-On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies

A Dedication to G**** H*******, Esq.-To a Louse-Epistle to J. L******, an old Scots Bard-To the Same-Epistle to W. S******, Ochiltree-Epistle to J. R******-Song, 'It was upon a Lammas Night'-Song, 'Now Westlin' Winds'-Song, 'From thee, Eliza, I must go '-The Farewell to the Brethren of St James's Lodge, Torbolton-Epitaphs and Epigrams-A Bard's Epitaph.

It was introduced by the following preface:

"The following trifles are not the production of the poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and perhaps amid the elegances and idlenesses of upper life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the author of this, these and other celebrated names, their countrymen, are, in their original languages, a fountain shut up, and a book sealed. Unacquainted with the necessary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him in his and their native language. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at least from the earliest impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very lately that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of friendship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him think anything of his worth shewing; and none of the following works were ever composed with a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast; to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind-these were his motives for courting the Muses, and in these he found poetry to be its own reward.

'Now that he appears in the public character of an author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as an impertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world; and because he can make a shift to jingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looks upon himself as a poet of no small consequence forsooth!

'It is an observation of that celebrated poet,' whose divine elegies do honour to our language, our nation, and our species, that "Humility has depressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame!" If any critic catches at the word genius, the author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he has done would be a manœuvre below the worst character which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the

1 Shenstone,

poor, unfortunate Fergusson, he, with equal unaffected sincerity, declares that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly admired Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in the following pieces, but rather with a view to kindle at their flame than for servile imitation.

To his subscribers, the author returns his most sincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, conscious how much he owes to benevolence and friendship for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom-to be distinguished. He begs his readers, particularly the learned and the polite, who may honour him with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for education and circumstances of life; but if, after a fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dulness and nonsense, let him be done by as he would in that case do by others-let him be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion.'

He plainly announces here the consciousness of possessing some degree of ability. He told Dr Moore, a twelvemonth after, that he was pretty confident his poems would meet with some applause. I must own that there is something satisfactory in knowing that Burns perceived the superiority of his verses before the world had put its stamp upon them. It would have told as a blindness derogatory to the powers of his mind if he had not. Still, the great tribunal was to be passed, and he was justified in regarding its decision as doubtful. It was not long so, as far as Ayrshire and the adjacent districts were concerned. Robert Heron, then a young literary aspirant residing in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, relates that by old and young the volume of Burns's poems was everywhere received with delight and admiration. He himself got the book into his hands at night, and he slept not till he had read it through. Even ploughboys and maid-servants would have gladly bestowed the wages they earned most hardly, and which they required to purchase necessary clothing, if they might but procure the works of Burns.' The edition had been one of 600 copies, for 350 of which subscribers had been obtained before publication. It appears that there had been an immediate sale beyond that list, for in little more than two months a reprint was under discussion, and the impression thought of was 1000. The speculation, when all expenses were cleared, left about twenty pounds in Burns's pocket.'

1 See Appendix, No. 10.

TO MR JOHN KENNEDY.

KILMARNOCK [between 3d and 16th August], 1786.

MY DEAR SIR-Your truly facetious epistle of the 3d instant gave me much entertainment. I was only sorry I had not the pleasure of seeing you as I passed your way, but we shall bring up all our leeway on Wednesday the 16th current, when I hope to have it in my power to call on you, and take a kind, very probably a last adieu, before I go for Jamaica; and I expect orders to repair to Greenock every day. I have at last made my public appearance, and am solemnly inaugurated into the numerous class. Could I have got a carrier, you should have had a score of vouchers for my authorship; but, now you have them, let them speak for themselves.

Farewell, dear friend! may guid-luck hit you,

And 'mang her favourites admit you,
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him,

And ony deil that thinks to get you,
Good L-, deceive him.

threaten

R. B.

THE FAREWELL.

'The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?
Or what does he regard his single woes?
But when, alas! he multiplies himself,
To dearer selves, to the loved tender fair,

To those whose bliss, whose being hangs upon him,

To helpless children!-then, oh then! he feels

The point of misery festering in his heart,
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.
Such, such am I! undone !'

THомSON'S Edward and Eleanora.

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains,
Far dearer than the torrid plains
Where rich ananas blow!
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!
A brother's sigh! a sister's tear!
My Jean's heart-rending throe!
Farewell, my Bess! though thou'rt bereft
Of my parental care,

A faithful brother I have left,

My part in him thou 'lt share!
Adieu too, to you too,

My Smith, my bosom frien';
When kindly you mind me,
Oh then befriend my Jean!

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What bursting anguish tears my heart!
From thee, my Jeanie, must I part?

Thou, weeping, answ'rest 'No!'
Alas! misfortune stares my face,
And points to ruin and disgrace,
I for thy sake must go!
Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,
A grateful, warm adieu!
I, with a much-indebted tear,
Shall still remember you!
All-hail then, the gale then,

Wafts me from thee, dear shore!
It rustles, and whistles-

I'll never see thee more!

LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE.1

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf,
Fell source o' a' my wo and grief:
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass,
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass;
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy cursed restriction.
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile
Amid his hapless victim's spoil,
And, for thy potence, vainly wished
To crush the villain in the dust.

stint

For lack o' thee I leave this much-loved shore,
Never perhaps to greet old Scotland more.

R. B.-Kyle.

WRITTEN

ON A BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF THE POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD
SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED.

Once fondly loved, and still remembered dear:
Sweet early object of my youthful vows!
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere—
Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.

And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more,
Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes,

Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's roar.

The above verses, in the handwriting of Burns, are copied from a bank-note, in the possession of Mr James F. Gracie of Dumfries. The note is of the Bank of Scotland, and is dated so far back as 1st March 1780.'-MOTHERWELL.

* According to Dr Currie, this old sweetheart was the fillette whom the poet had seen at Kirkoswald, when he was attending school there. If so, she was a Mrs Neilson, living in Ayr.

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