ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, "Epistle to Mr. Robert Burns" 1792; Poems, on different Subjects, partly in the Scottish Dialect (1793) 85-89.
1786: Henry Mackenzie
1787: J. B.
1787: Helen Maria Williams
1787: William Cowper
1787: Anna Seward
1788: Gavin Turnbull
1788: J. J-n
1788: J. R-d
1788: James Maxwell
1788: James Macaulay
1789: Rev. Thomas Blacklock
1791: William Gifford
1791 ca.: James Graham
1791: Thomas Scotus
1791: Helen Maria Williams
1792: Samuel Thomson
1793: William Yates
1794: Rev. James Grahame
1796: William Roscoe
1796 ca.: Charlotte Smith
1796: J. H.
1796: Alexander Balfour
1796: W. B.
1796: E. Hyslop
1796: A Lady
1796: An Auld Fifeshire Ploughman
1797: A. W.
1797: William Hamilton Reid
1797: Edward Rushton
1797: William Roscoe
1797: A Mourner
1797: Thomas Mounsey Cunningham
1798: John Struthers
1798: David Crawford
1800: Charles Lamb
1800: William Roscoe
1800: J. F. D.
1800: Thomas Sanderson
1802: Leigh Hunt
1802: James Pace
1803: William Wordsworth
1804: David Irving
1805: Rev. Henry Boyd
1805: A. M. A.
1805: J. G. Bagshaw
1805: Thomas Stott
1806: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1806: John Struthers
1806: Alexander Wilson
1806: H. C.
1806: Hamilton Paul
1807: William Wordsworth
1807: Lady Anne Hamilton
1807: Robert Tannahill
1807: A. M. P.
1808: John-Henry Kenney
1808: A Young Lady of Sixteen
1809: A Caledonian
1810: Robert Tannahill
1812: George Dyer
1812: A. Kyne
1813: Mary Russell Mitford
1813: Lord Byron
1814: Earl of Buchan
1814: W. Jos. Walter
1815: William Henry Ireland
1816: George Colman the Younger
1816: Thomas Campbell
1816: John Mayne
1816: T. W. Lake
1816: An English Lady
1817: Hugh Campbell
1818: John Keats
1818: Charles Lamb
1818: John Keats
1818: S. A. N.
1818: A Lowland Laddie
1818: Richard Hatt
1819: John Wilson
1819: James Thomson of London
1819: A Literary Gentleman
1819: John Gibson Lockhart
1820: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1820: James Montgomery
1820: Nicholas Toms Carrington
1820: James Boswell the Younger
1820: W. G.
1821: Mary Leman Rede
1821: Anne Powell
1822: Fitz-Greene Halleck
1822: James B. Sheys
1822: J. D. C.
1823: Rev. William Gillespie
1824: William Hazlitt
1824: Allan Cunningham
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1825 ca.: Henry Mackenzie
1825: James B. Sheys
1825: Allan Cunningham
1826: Herbert Barton
1826: Richard Ryan
1827: Sir Walter Scott
1828: Walter Savage Landor
1828: Thomas Carlyle
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1829: J. S.
1830 ca.: Rev. Henry Francis Cary
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1831: John Wilson
1832: James Hogg
1833: James Montgomery
1836: L. L.
1840: Thomas Carlyle
1842: Robert Story
1842: C. H. Timperley
1843: John Holland
1844: John Wilson
1844: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1866: Bryan Waller Procter
1880: John Service
1882: Epes Sargent
1791: Robert Fergusson
1792: Robert Burns
Sweet Scottish Bard! still as I read
Thy bonie, quaint, harmonious lays,
I aft exulting bless thy head,
That weel deserves to wear the bays.
"'Tis long indeed since Scotia's plain
Cou'd boast of such melodious lays—"
'Twould take, O Burns! an able pen
To match thy merit and due praise.
Tho' Allan Ramsay blythly ranted,
An' tun'd his reed wi' merry glee;
Yet faith that something ay he wanted,
That makes my Burns sae dear to me.
Possest of sic uncommon skill,
Horatian fire at command;
Thou, easy can'st teach Dogs at will,
What's human life at ance to scan!
An' whan got in a merry vein,
Thou tun'st thy reed to auld Scotch drink:
I've aften lang'd, and lang'd again
To see my Burns's social wink.
L—d man, I aften think on you!
Whan to the kirk our saints forgather!
A hypocritic, senseless crew!
It puts ane mad to hear sic blether!
Likewise the Aesculapian rout,
Vile sinners! faith thou has na spar'd them:
I wish this fourscore years a' out,
Baith you an' I may disregard them.
Your bonie lines on Halloween,
I afaten read whan I'm at leisure;
The weel depicted, countra' scene
Affords to me, the greatest pleasure.
HOMER I've read, an' VIRGIL too,
With HORACE, MILTON, YOUNG, and GAY,
Auld SPENCER, POPE and DRYDEN thro',
Sweet THOMSON, SHENSTONE, GOLDSMITH, GRAY.
I've aften read their pages a'
An' monie mair o' deep ingine:
But frae a' the verses e'er I saw,
Your Cotter fairly takes the shine.
Your Dream and Vision mak me fistle:
Right monie a time I'm made to laugh
At the comic turn o' ilk epistle,
Likewise your ecclesiastic cawf.
And wha the devil wadna praise ye,
That has impartial, read ilk sonnet,
That ye hae sung to mouse an' daisy,
An' louse upon my lady's bonnet!
An whan ye bid farewell to Ayr,
Your wonted vales an' verdant hills,
An' to your brethren o' the square,
With warmest throws my bosom fills.
Than greening wife mair lang I think,
To get my e'en for ance upon ye,
To see ye smile an' laugh an' drink
Wi' you in antient Caledonia.
The road is lang an' unco dreigh,
And roaring seas do intervene;
And cauld-rife mountains, wild an' hiegh,
Erect their joyless brows atween.
But yet that hour may come to pass,
That in some thrang perchance I'll see ye,
An' hap'ly treat ye to a glass,
An' likely grow familiar wi' ye.
Farewell sweet bard! may Heavenly powers
Frae a' that's ill for ay deffend ye;
Health, joy an' peace be ever yours;
And happiness for ay attend ye.
And when your spirit quits her clay,
May angels be her dear convoy
To regions of eternal day—
To fountains of eternal joy.
WITH A BOUND OF SNUFF.
Take not, my dear Sir, my present amiss,
You may open at once and see what it is:
Or I'll tell you in short tho' I merit a cuff,
'Tis a pound of the best of old Lundy Foot's snuff;
'Tis B—d they call it, I'm told in the city,
'Mong people of fashion that fain wou'd be witty;
But here in the north, we call it Rappee:
D—l sniffle the odds! there's a pound o't to thee.
I sent for't to Dublin, an' mist it — at last
I heard that I might have a pound in Belfast:
I ask'd for a sample before that he weigh'd it,
The old fellow swore by the L—d he cou'd eat it!
I try'd it so rash, — set my opticks a springing:
It stichel'd me so that I straight fell a singing—
Here take it, an' use it, an G—d gie ye gude o't,
An' may it inspire your Muse, if it cou'd do't,
In bonie braid Scotch to sing me a sonnet,
On receipt of which, I would dance on my bonnet:
I'd rather I vow, than a ton o' sic priming,
That I had your musical talents for rhyming!
In the mean time gude night, an' may Providence bless ye,—
Ye'd no be ill-fair'd if as weel as I wiss ye.