The Poetry of Robert Burns :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fintry, my stay in worldly strife,
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life,
Are ye as idle's I am?
Come then! Wi' uncouth kintra fleg
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,
And ye shall see me try him!

184

II

But where shall I gae rin or ride,
That I may splatter nane beside?
I wad na be uncivil:
In mankind's various paths and ways
There's ay some doytin body strays,
And I ride like a devil.

III

Thus I break aff wi' a' my birr,
An' down yon dark, deep alley spur,
Where Theologies dander:
Alas! curst wi' eternal fogs,
And damn'd in everlasting bogs,
As sure's the Creed I'll blunder!

IV

I'll stain a band, or jaup a gown,
Or rin my reckless, guilty crown
Against the haly door!
Sair do I rue my luckless fate,
When, as the Muse an' Deil wad hae't,
I rade that road before!

V

Suppose I take a spurt, and mix
Amang the wilds o' Politics—

185

Electors and elected—
Where dogs at Court (sad sons o' bitches!)
Septennially a madness touches,
Till all the land's infected?

VI

All hail, Drumlanrig's haughty Grace,
Discarded remnant of a race
Once godlike—great in story!
Thy fathers' virtues all contrasted,
The very name of Douglas blasted,
Thine that inverted glory!

VII

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore;
But thou hast superadded more,
And sunk them in contempt!
Follies and crimes have stain'd the name;
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim,
From aught that's good exempt!

VIII

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears,
Who left the all-important cares
Of fiddlers, whores, and hunters,
And, bent on buying Borough Towns,
Came shaking hands wi' wabster-loons,
And kissing barefit bunters.

186

IX

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode,
Whistling his roaring pack abroad
Of mad unmuzzled lions,
As Queensberry buff-and-blue unfurl'd,
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd
To every Whig defiance.

X

But cautious Queensberry left the war
(Th'unmanner'd dust might soil his star;
Besides, he hated bleeding),
But left behind him heroes bright,
Heroes in Cæsarean fight
Or Ciceronian pleading.

XI

O, for a throat like huge Mons-Meg,
To muster o'er each ardent Whig
Beneath Drumlanrig's banner!
Heroes and heroines commix,
All in the field of politics,
To win immortal honor!

XII

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse
(Th'enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!)

187

Led on the Loves and Graces:
She won each gaping burgess' heart,
While he, sub rosâ, played his part
Among their wives and lasses.

XIII

Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd core:
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,
Like Hecla streaming thunder.
Glenriddell, skill'd in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs
And bared the treason under.

XIV

In either wing two champions fought:
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought
The wildest savage Tory;
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
High-wav'd his magnum-bonum round
With Cyclopeian fury.

XV

Miller brought up th'artillery ranks,
The many-pounders of the Banks,
Resistless desolation!
While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold
And threaten'd worse damnation.

188

XVI

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd,
With these what Tory warriors clos'd,
Surpasses my descriving:
Squadrons, extended long and large,
With furious speed rush to the charge,
Like furious devils driving.

XVII

What verse can sing, what prose narrate
The butcher deeds of bloody Fate
Amid this mighty tulyie?
Grim Horror girn'd, pale Terror roar'd,
As Murther at his thrapple shor'd,
And Hell mix'd in the brulyie.

XVIII

As Highland craigs by thunder cleft,
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,
Hurl down with crashing rattle,
As flames among a hundred woods,
As headlong foam a hundred floods—
Such is the rage of Battle!

XIX

The stubborn Tories dare to die:
As soon the rooted oaks would fly

189

Before th'approaching fellers!
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,
When all his wintry billows pour
Against the Buchan Bullers.

XX

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,
And think on former daring!
The muffled murtherer of Charles
The Magna Charter flag unfurls,
All deadly gules its bearing.

XXI

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame:
Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham,
Auld Covenanters shiver . . .
Forgive! forgive! much-wrong'd Montrose!
Now Death and Hell engulph thy foes,
Thou liv'st on high for ever!

XXII

Still o'er the field the combat burns;
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;
But Fate the word has spoken;
For woman's wit and strength o' man,
Alas! can do but what they can:
The Tory ranks are broken.

190

XXIII

O, that my een were flowing burns!
My voice a lioness that mourns
Her darling cubs' undoing
That I might greet, that I might cry,
While Tories fall, while Tories fly
From furious Whigs pursuing!

XXIV

What Whig but melts for good Sir James,
Dear to his country by the names,
Friend, Patron, Benefactor?
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save;
And Hopeton falls—the generous, brave!—
And Stewart bold as Hector.

XXV

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow,
And Thurlow growl this curse of woe,
And Melville melt in wailing!
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice,
And Burke shall sing:—‘O Prince, arise!
Thy power is all prevailing!’

XXVI

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar
He sees and hears the distant war,

191

A cool spectator purely:
So, when the storm the forest rends,
The robin in the hedge descends,
And, patient, chirps securely.

XXVII

Now, for my friends' and brethren's sakes,
And for my dear-lov'd Land o' Cakes,
I pray with holy fire:—
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' Hell
O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell,
To grind them in the mire!