The Canongate Burns. Robert Burns

her for some SCOTTISH MUSE,

      By that same token;

      And come to stop those reckless vows,

      Would soon been broken.

      55 A ‘hair-brain’d, sentimental trace’

      Was strongly marked in her face;

      A wildly-witty, rustic grace

      Shone full upon her;

      Her eye, ev’n turn’d on empty space,

      60 Beam’d keen with Honor.

      Down flow’d her robe, a tartan sheen, bright

      Till half a leg was scrimply seen; barely

      And such a leg! my bonie JEAN

      Could only peer it; equal

      65 Sae straught, sae taper, tight an’ clean so, straight, so

      Nane else came near it. no-one

      Her Mantle large, of greenish hue,

      My gazing wonder chiefly drew;

      Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw

      70 A lustre grand;

      And seem’d, to my astonish’d view,

      A well-known Land.

      Here, rivers in the sea were lost;

      There, mountains to the skies were tosst;

      75 Here, tumbling billows mark’d the coast,

      With surging foam;

      There, distant shone Art’s lofty boast,

      The lordly dome.

      Here, DOON pour’d down his far-fetch’d floods;

      80 There, well-fed IRWINE stately thuds: beats/churns

      Auld hermit AIRE staw thro’ his woods, Ayr, stole/steals

      On to the shore;

      And many a lesser torrent scuds races along

      With seeming roar.

      85 Low, in a sandy valley spread,

      An ancient BOROUGH rear’d her head;

      Still, as in Scottish Story read,

      She boasts a Race

      To ev’ry nobler virtue bred,

      90 And polish’d grace.

      [By stately tow’r, or palace fair,

      Or ruins pendent in the air,

      Bold stems of Heroes, here and there,

      I could discern;

      95 Some seem’d to muse, some seem’d to dare,

      With feature stern.

      My heart did glowing transport feel,

To see a Race2 heroic wheel,

      And brandish round the deep-dy’d steel

      100 In sturdy blows;

      While, back-recoiling, seem’d to reel

      Their Suthron foes. English

His COUNTRY’S SAVIOUR,3 mark him well!

Bold RICHARDTON’S4 heroic swell;

105 The Chief on Sark5 who glorious fell

      In high command;

      And He whom ruthless Fates expel

      His native land.

There, where a sceptr’d Pictish6 shade

      110 Stalk’d round his ashes lowly laid,

      I mark’d a martial Race, pourtray’d

      In colours strong:

      Bold, soldier-featur’d, undismay’d,

      They strode along.

115 Thro’ many a wild, romantic grove,7

      Near many a hermit-fancy’d cove

      (Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love

      In musing mood),

      An aged Judge, I saw him rove,

      120 Dispensing good.

With deep-struck, reverential awe,8

      The learned Sire and Son I saw:

      To Nature’s God, and Nature’s law,

      They gave their lore;

      125 This, all its source and end to draw,

      That, to adore.

BRYDON’S brave Ward I well could spy,9

      Beneath old SCOTIA’S smiling eye;

      Who call’d on Fame, low standing by,

      130 To hand him on,

      Where many a Patriot-name on high,

      And Hero shone].

      The final seven stanzas, enclosed above in square brackets, were added in the Edinburgh edition, 1787.

      Duan Second

      With musing-deep, astonish’d stare,

      I view’d the heavenly-seeming Fair;

      A whisp’ring throb did witness bear

      Of kindred sweet,

      5 When with an elder Sister’s air

      She did me greet.

      ‘All hail! my own inspired Bard!

      In me thy native Muse regard!

      Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,

      10 Thus poorly low!

      I come to give thee such reward,

      As we bestow.’

      ‘Know, the great Genius of this land

      Has many a light, aerial band,

      15 Who, all beneath his high command,

      Harmoniously,

      As Arts or Arms they understand,

      Their labors ply.

      ‘They SCOTIA’S Race among them share:

      20 Some fire the Sodger on to dare;

      Some rouse the Patriot up to bare

      Corruption’s heart;

      Some teach the Bard, a darling care,

      The tuneful Art.

      25 ’Mong