And as each jarring, monster mass is past,
Fond recollect what once thou wast:
In manner due, beneath this sacred oak,
Hear, Spirit, hear! thy presence I invoke!

By a Monarch's heaven-struck fate!
By a disunited State!

By a GENEROUS PRINCE'S wrongs!
By a Senate's war of tongues!
By Opposition's eager hand,
Grasping at an airy wand!
By a PREMIER'S sullen pride,
Louring on the changing tide!
By dread Th-rl-w's powers to awe,
Rhetoric, Blasph-my, and Law!
By the turbulent ocean,
A Nation's commotion!
By the harlot caresses
Of Borough Addresses!
By days few and evil!

Thy portion, poor devil!

By Power, Wealth, Show! the gods by men adored:
By NAMELESS POVERTY! their hell abhorred:
By all they hope! By all they fear!

HEAR! AND APPEAR!

Stare not on me, thou ghostly Power!
Nor grim with chained defiance lour!
No Babel-structure would I build,

Where, Order exiled from his regal sway,
Confusion may the REGENT SCEPTRE wield,
While all would rule and none obey. -
Go! to the world of MAN relate

--

The story of thy strange, eventful fate:

And call presumptuous Hope to hear,
And bid him check his blind career;
And tell the sore-vexed sons of Care,
Never, never to despair!

Paint CHARLES's speed, on wings of fire,
The object of his fond desire

Beyond his boldest hopes at hand:

Paint all the triumph of the PRtl-nd-band;
Mark, how they seem to lift th' elated voice!

And who are these that in their joy rejoice?
Jews, Gentiles, what a motely crew!
Their iron tears of joy their flinty cheeks bedew;
See, how unfurled their parchment ensigns fly,
And, PRINCIPAL and INTEREST! all the cry. -
But just as hopes to warm enjoyment rise,
Cry, CONVALESCENCE! and the vision flies.-

-

Then next pourtray a darkening, twilight gloom,
Eclipsing, sad, a gay rejoicing morn,
While proud AMBITION to th' untimely tomb

By gnashing, grim, despairing fiends is borne!
Paint RUIN, in the shape of high DUND

Gaping with giddy terror o'er the brow:

In vain he struggles - the Fates behind him press,
And clamorous hell yawns for her prey below!

How fallen That, whose pride late scaled the skies!!!
And This, like Lucifer, no more to rise!!!

Again pronounce the powerful word:
See Day, triumphant from the night, restored.

Then know these truths, ye sons of men
(Thus end thy MORAL TALE).

Your darkest terrors may be vain,

Your brightest hopes may fail.

I have this moment an opportunity of sending this to Post, so can no more not even review the past. R. B.

In the collection of Mr. R. B. Adam of Buffalo, there is a MS. of this poem dated 17th March 1789. The Ode was published in the London Star of 17th April, dated Edinburgh the 7th, and signed "Agricola." Burns told Lady Harriet Don that it was

mangled in a newspaper." Probably Stuart, the

editor, struck out of the MS. sent him lines 59-62, "Jews, Gentiles," etc., modified the two preceding lines to cover the omission, and made verbal changes in lines 53 and 56. In the copy made for Captain Riddel lines 25 and 26 were omitted.

Ad. Mrs. DUNLOP of Dunlop,

Dunlop House, Stewarton.

knew you

ELLISLAND, 21st April 1789. MY HONORED FRIEND, - If my present hurry of building, planning, planting, ploughing, sowing, etc. etc., you would give me great credit for this sheet-ful, if I live in leisure to fill it. Every minute has five minutes' business to do, and every crown has a twenty-shilling errand to run. I have just got a reading of some books I wanted much; and a parcel of poems, now in the current of subscription, have given me, and daily give me, a world of trouble in revising them. They are hopeless trash; but the authoress is a poor young creature whose forefathers have seen better days; for which consideration I submit to the horrid drudgery. I have over and above, the 3d vol. of the Scots Songs [Museum] among my hands, among which will appear some delectable pieces of my Muse's dreams.

Two mornings ago as I was, at a very early hour, sowing in the fields, I heard a shot, and presently a poor little hare limped by me, apparently very much hurt. You will easily guess, this set my humanity in tears and my indignation in arms. The following was the result, which please read to the young ladies I believe you may include the Major, too; as whatever I have said of shooting hares, I have not spoken one irreverend word against coursing them. This is, according to your just right, the very first copy I wrote.

ON SEEING A FELLOW WOUND A HARE WITH

A SHOT 1

Inhuman man! curse on thy barbarous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye!
May never Pity soothe thee with a sigh,
Nor ever Pleasure glad thy cruel heart!

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,
The bitter little that of life remains :

No more the thickening brakes or verdant plains
To thee, or home, or food, or pastime yield.

Seek, mangled innocent, some wonted form;
That wonted form, alas! thy dying bed,

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,
The cold earth with thy blood-stained bosom warm.
Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe,

The playful Pair croud fondly by thy side;
Ah, little Nurslings! who will now provide

That life, a Mother only can bestow!

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait

The sober eve, or hail the chearful dawn,

I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,

And curse the ruthless wretch, and mourn thy hapless fate.

It would truly oblidge me, to have your opinion of the foregoing. I must take some other opportunity to answer the particulars of your last. I believe the Professorship you mention will be an idle project; but whatever it may be, I, or such as I, am quite out of the question. You are rather premature on me in expecting your namechild so soon. In about two months, I hope to tell you another story. By the way, should I have a boy, will you honor him with the appellation, or will you wait a girl? You see, I am set in for trade. I wish I had lived of Joktan,2 in whose days, says Moses, the earth was divided.

Then, a partriarchal fellow like me might have been the father of a nation.

But even in that case I should have been a loser if I had then been denied the happiness and honor of subscribing myself, Dr. Madam, your oblidged friend and humble ROBT. BURNS.

servt.

(1) The draft in the letter of 4th May to Alexander Cunningham is the earliest hitherto known. Both it and the version in the text differ in several places from, and have one verse more than the poem as it was adjusted to Dr. Gregory's criticism.

(2) Joktan was of the children of Shem, and begot thirteen sons. See Gen. x. 25.

Ad. Mr. Robert Burns,

Ellisland, Dumfries.

DR. SIR,

1

23rd April 1789.

[Franked by Kerr: Edinburgh, Sixth May 1789.]

This is the feast or fast for the recovery of our King. I say with all my heart - Thy will be done! For on this subject I have no will of my own; my very wishes are lost in immensity or buried in profound ignorance, and I am ready with the implicit faith of indifference to believe what is is best. But I am not well; my spirits are contracted, and everything around me on too large a scale for my present enjoyment. My house is so big I can see but one end of it; my company so numerous I can hear none of them for the noise of the rest; my very devotion, inadequate to the occasion, embraces only a very few friends, for whom indeed my sincere good wishes never fail to arise with the dawning light, and to contribute to their accomplishment would be all the Heaven I would ask upon earth. Yet it is more than I fear will ever be granted