The Brigs Of Ayr, A Poem, Inscribed To J. Ballantyne, Esq., Ayr. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDEEEEFFGHIIEEJJ KKLL MMNNOOPQQEEEERRIISST TTEEUVEEEEEEWWXXSSYY EEVVTTEEZZA2A2TTB2B2 EEEEC2D2SSE2F2 G2 H2H2SSSS G2 SSEEI2I2YJ2WW G2 EEF2F2K2K2SSSSSSSSEE SSSSEE G2 SSSSSSSSYJ2SSSSSSSF2 F2F2F2 G2 SSSL2SSF2F2SSSSF2F2S SSSSSSSSS G2 M2SSSSSSSSSSSSSN2N2A 2A2 SSSSSSSSO2O2P2P2P2SS SSSSSS SSSSQ2Q2R2EF2F2S2SSS SSSSNNNN

The simple Bard rough at the rustic ploughA
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry boughA
The chanting linnet or the mellow thrushB
Hailing the setting sun sweet in the green thorn bushC
The soaring lark the perching red breast shrillD
Or deep ton'd plovers gray wild whistling o'er the hillD
Shall he nurst in the peasant's lowly shedE
To hardy independence bravely bredE
By early poverty to hardship steel'dE
And train'd to arms in stern misfortune's fieldE
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimesF
The servile mercenary Swiss of rhymesF
Or labour hard the panegyric closeG
With all the venal soul of dedicating proseH
No though his artless strains he rudely singsI
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the stringsI
He glows with all the spirit of the BardE
Fame honest fame his great his dear rewardE
Still if some patron's gen'rous care he traceJ
Skill'd in the secret to bestow with graceJ
When Ballantyne befriends his humble nameK
And hands the rustic stranger up to fameK
With heart felt throes his grateful bosom swellsL
The godlike bliss to give alone excelsL
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'Twas when the stacks get on their winter hapM
And thack and rape secure the toil won crapM
Potato bings are snugged up frae skaithN
Of coming Winter's biting frosty breathN
The bees rejoicing o'er their summer toilsO
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs delicious spoilsO
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen pilesP
Are doom'd by man that tyrant o'er the weakQ
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reekQ
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry sideE
The wounded coveys reeling scatter wideE
The feather'd field mates bound by Nature's tieE
Sires mothers children in one carnage lieE
What warm poetic heart but inly bleedsR
And execrates man's savage ruthless deedsR
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springsI
Nae mair the grove with airy concert ringsI
Except perhaps the robin's whistling gleeS
Proud o' the height o' some bit half lang treeS
The hoary morns precede the sunny daysT
Mild calm serene wide spreads the noontide blazeT
While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the raysT
'Twas in that season when a simple bardE
Unknown and poor simplicity's rewardE
Ae night within the ancient brugh of AyrU
By whim inspired or haply prest wi' careV
He left his bed and took his wayward routE
And down by Simpson's wheel'd the left aboutE
Whether impell'd by all directing FateE
To witness what I after shall narrateE
Or whether rapt in meditation highE
He wander'd out he knew not where nor whyE
The drowsy Dungeon clock had number'd twoW
And Wallace Tow'r had sworn the fact was trueW
The tide swol'n Firth with sullen sounding roarX
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shoreX
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'eS
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and treeS
The chilly frost beneath the silver beamY
Crept gently crusting o'er the glittering streamY
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When lo on either hand the list'ning BardE
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heardE
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight airV
Swift as the gos drives on the wheeling hareV
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprearsT
The ither flutters o'er the rising piersT
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'dE
The Sprites that owre the brigs of Ayr presideE
That Bards are second sighted is nae jokeZ
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folkZ
Fays Spunkies Kelpies a' they can explain themA2
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken themA2
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish raceT
The very wrinkles gothic in his faceT
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd langB2
Yet teughly doure he bade an unco bangB2
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coatE
That he at Lon'on frae ane Adams gotE
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a beadE
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the headE
The Goth was stalking round with anxious searchC2
Spying the time worn flaws in ev'ry archD2
It chanc'd his new come neebor took his e'eS
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had heS
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mienE2
He down the water gies him this guid e'enF2
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Auld BrigG2
-
I doubt na' frien' ye'll think ye're nae sheep shankH2
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bankH2
But gin ye be a brig as auld as meS
Tho' faith that day I doubt ye'll never seeS
There'll be if that date come I'll wad a boddleS
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddleS
-
New BrigG2
-
Auld Vandal ye but show your little menseS
Just much about it wi' your scanty senseS
Will your poor narrow foot path of a streetE
Where twa wheel barrows tremble when they meetE
Your ruin'd formless bulk o' stane en' limeI2
Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern timeI2
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat streamY
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swimJ2
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the viewW
Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as youW
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Auld BrigG2
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Conceited gowk puff'd up wi' windy prideE
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tideE
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairnF2
I'll be a Brig when ye're a shapeless cairnF2
As yet ye little ken about the matterK2
But twa three winters will inform ye betterK2
When heavy dark continued a' day rainsS
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plainsS
When from the hills where springs the brawling CoilS
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boilS
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland courseS
Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble sourceS
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowesS
In mony a torrent down the snaw broo rowesS
While crashing ice born on the roaring speatE
Sweeps dams an' mills an' brigs a' to the gateE
And from Glenbuck down to the Ratton keyS
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling seaS
Then down ye'll hurl deil nor ye never riseS
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skiesS
A lesson sadly teaching to your costE
That Architecture's noble art is lostE
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New BrigG2
-
Fine Architecture trowth I needs must say't o'tS
The L d be thankit that we've tint the gate o'tS
Gaunt ghastly ghaist alluring edificesS
Hanging with threat'ning jut like precipicesS
O'er arching mouldy gloom inspiring covesS
Supporting roofs fantastic stony grovesS
Windows and doors in nameless sculpture drestS
With order symmetry or taste unblestS
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dreamY
The craz'd creations of misguided whimJ2
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended kneeS
And still the second dread command be freeS
Their likeness is not found on earth in air or seaS
Mansions that would disgrace the building tasteS
Of any mason reptile bird or beastS
Fit only for a doited monkish raceS
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embraceS
Or cuifs of later times wha held the notionF2
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotionF2
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protectionF2
And soon may they expire unblest with resurrectionF2
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Auld BrigG2
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O ye my dear remember'd ancient yealingsS
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelingsS
Ye worthy Proveses an' mony a BailieS
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ayL2
Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce ConveenersS
To whom our moderns are but causey cleanersS
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this townF2
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gownF2
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smitersS
And what would now be strange ye godly writersS
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the brooS
Were ye but here what would ye say or doS
How would your spirits groan in deep vexationF2
To see each melancholy alterationF2
And agonizing curse the time and placeS
When ye begat the base degen'rate raceS
Nae langer rev'rend men their country's gloryS
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid storyS
Nae langer thrifty citizens an' douceS
Meet owre a pint or in the council houseS
But staumrel corky headed graceless gentryS
The herryment and ruin of the countryS
Men three parts made by tailors and by barbersS
Wha waste your weel hain'd gear on d d new Brigs and HarboursS
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New BrigG2
-
Now haud you there for faith ye've said enoughM2
And muckle mair than ye can mak to throughS
As for your Priesthood I shall say but littleS
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittleS
But under favour o' your langer beardS
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'dS
To liken them to your auld warld squadS
I must needs say comparisons are oddS
In Ayr wag wits nae mair can have a handleS
To mouth 'a citizen ' a term o' scandalS
Nae mair the Council waddles down the streetS
In all the pomp of ignorant conceitS
Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' raisinsS
Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisinsS
If haply Knowledge on a random trampN2
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lampN2
And would to Common sense for once betray'd themA2
Plain dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid themA2
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What farther clishmaclaver might been saidS
What bloody wars if Spirites had blood to shedS
No man can tell but all before their sightS
A fairy train appear'd in order brightS
Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly danc'dS
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'dS
They footed owre the wat'ry glass so neatS
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feetS
While arts of minstrelsy among them rungO2
And soul ennobling bards heroic ditties sungO2
O had M'Lauchlan thairm inspiring SageP2
Been there to hear this heavenly band engageP2
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with highland rageP2
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airsS
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding caresS
How would his highland lug been nobler fir'dS
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'dS
No guess could tell what instrument appear'dS
But all the soul of Music's self was heardS
Harmonious concert rung in every partS
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heartS
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The Genius of the stream in front appearsS
A venerable Chief advanc'd in yearsS
His hoary head with water lilies crown'dS
His manly leg with garter tangle boundS
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ringQ2
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with SpringQ2
Then crown'd with flow'ry hay came Rural JoyR2
And Summer with his fervid beaming eyeE
All cheering Plenty with her flowing hornF2
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding cornF2
Then Winter's time bleach'd looks did hoary showS2
By Hospitality with cloudless browS
Next follow'd Courage with his martial strideS
From where the Feal wild woody coverts hideS
Benevolence with mild benignant airS
A female form came from the tow'rs of StairS
Learning and Worth in equal measures trodeS
From simple Catrine their long lov'd abodeS
Last white rob'd Peace crown'd with a hazel wreathN
To rustic Agriculture did bequeathN
The broken iron instruments of deathN
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrathN

Robert Burns



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