Nae hair-brained, sentimental traces,
In your unlettered, nameless faces;
In arioso trills and graces

Ye never stray,

But, gravissimo, solemn basses

Ye hum away.

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise;
Nae ferly though ye do despise
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,
The rattling squad:

I see you upward cast your eyes-
Ye ken the road.

Whilst I-but I shall haud me there-
Wi' you I'll scarce gang onywhere:
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,

But quit my sang,

Content wi' you to mak a pair,

Whare'er I gang.

TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGENGILLAN,

ON RECEIVING AN OBLIGING LETTER.

SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card,

I trow it made me proud;

'See wha taks notice o' the bard!'
I lap and cry fu' loud.

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,
The senseless, gawky million;
I'll cock my nose aboon them a'-
I'm roosed by Craigengillan!
'Twas noble, sir, 'twas like yoursel',
To grant your high protection:
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well,
Is aye a blest infection.

Though by his banes wha in a tub
Matched Macedonian Sandy!

On my ain legs, through dirt and dub,
I independent stand aye.

And when those legs to guid warm kail, Wi' welcome canna bear me;

A lee dike-side, a sybow tail,

And barley-scone shall cheer me.

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath O' mony flowery simmers!

And bless your bonny lasses baithI'm tauld they're lo'esome kimmers!

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, The blossom of our gentry!

And may he wear an auld man's beard, A credit to his country!

TO MAJOR LOGAN.

HAIL, thairm inspirin', rattlin' Willie! Though Fortune's road be rough and hilly, To every fiddling, rhyming billie,

We never heed,

But tak it like the unbacked filly,

Proud o' her speed.

When idly goavan whiles we saunter,
Yirr, Fancy barks, awa' we canter,
Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter,
Some black-bog-hole,
Arrests us, then the scaith and banter

We're forced to thole.

Hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle!
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle,
To cheer you through the weary widdle
O' this wild warl',

Until you on a cummock driddle

A grey-haired carl.

Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tune, And screw your temper-pins aboon,

A fifth or mair,

The melancholious, lazy croon

O' cankrie care!

May still your life from day to day
Nae lente largo in the play,

But allegretto forte gay

Harmonious flow:

A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey

Encore! Bravo!

A blessing on the cheery gang
Wha dearly like a jig or sang,
And never think o' right and wrang
By square and rule,

But as the clegs o' feeling stang

Are wise or fool!

My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase
The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race,
Wha count on poortith as disgrace-

Their tuneless hearts!

May fireside discords jar a bass

To a' their parts!