THE
HIGHLAND
WELCOME.
Robert Forst
* * * * *
XI.
ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE.
[Though satisfied with the severe satire of these lines, the poet made
a second attempt. ]
As father Adam first was fool'd,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd,
The devil rul'd the woman.
* * * * *
XII.
ON THE SAME.
[The second attempt did not in Burns's fancy exhaust this fruitful
subject: he tried his hand again. ]
O Death, hadst thou but spared his life,
Whom we this day lament,
We freely wad exchang'd the wife,
And a' been weel content!
Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff,
The swap we yet will do't;
Take thou the carlin's carcase aff,
Thou'se get the soul to boot.
* * * * *
XIII.
ON THE SAME.
[In these lines he bade farewell to the sordid dame, who lived, it is
said, in Netherplace, near Mauchline. ]
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her,
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder.
But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion,
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction,
Would have eat her dear lord, on a slender pretence,
Not to show her respect, but to save the expense.
* * * * *
XIV.
THE HIGHLAND WELCOME.
[Burns took farewell of the hospitalities of the Scottish Highlands in
these happy lines. ]
When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er,
A time that surely shall come;
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more
Than just a Highland welcome.
* * * * *
XV.
ON WILLIAM SMELLIE.
[Smellie, author of the Philosophy of History; a singular person, of
ready wit, and negligent in nothing save his dress. ]
Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came,
The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same;
His bristling beard just rising in its might,
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night:
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd:
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.
* * * * *
XVI.
VERSES
WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.
[These lines were written on receiving what the poet considered an
uncivil refusal to look at the works of the celebrated Carron
foundry. ]
We came na here to view your warks
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise:
For whan we tirl'd at your door,
Your porter dought na hear us;
Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come
Your billy Satan sair us!
* * * * *
XVII.
THE BOOK-WORMS.
[Burns wrote this reproof in a Shakspeare, which he found splendidly
bound and gilt, but unread and worm-eaten, in a noble person's
library. ]
Through and through the inspir'd leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But oh! respect his lordship's taste,
And spare his golden bindings.
