wind.' Burns gives an account of the writing of the
poem, which it is difficult to reconcile with Mr. Syme's sensational
details. It matters not, however, when or how it was written; we have it
now, one of the most martial and rousing odes ever penned. Not only has
it gripped the heart of Scotsmen, but it has taken the ear of the world;
its fire and vigour have inspired soldiers in the day of battle, and
consoled them in the hour of death. We are not forgetful of the fact
that Mrs. Hemans, who wrote some creditable verse, and the placid
Wordsworth, discussed this ode, and agreed that it was little else than
the rhodomontade of a schoolboy. It is a pity that such authorities
should have missed the charm of _Scots wha hae_. More than likely they
made up for the loss in a solitary appreciation of _Betty Foy_ or _The
Pilgrim Fathers_.

Another martial ode, composed in 1795, was called forth by the immediate
dangers of the time. The country was roused by the fear of foreign
invasion, and Burns, who had enrolled himself in the ranks of the
Dumfriesshire Volunteers, penned the patriotic song, _Does Haughty Gaul
Invasion threat?_ This song itself might have reinstalled him in public
favour, and dispelled all doubt as to his loyalty, had he cared again to
court the society of those who had dropped him from the list of their
acquaintance. But Burns had grown indifferent to any favour save the
favour of his Muse; besides, he was now shattered in health, and
assailed with gloomy forebodings of an early death. For himself he would
have faced death manfully, but again it was the thought of wife and
bairns that unmanned him.

Not content with supplying Thomson with songs, he wrote letters full of
hints and suggestions anent songs and song-making, and now and then he
gave a glimpse of himself at work. We see him sitting under the shade of
an old thorn crooning to himself until he gets a verse to suit the
measure he has in his mind; looking round for objects in nature that are
in unison and harmony with the cogitations of his fancy; humming every
now and then the air with the verses; retiring to his study to commit
his effusions to paper, and while he swings at intervals on the hind
legs of his elbow-chair, criticising what he has written. A common walk
of his when he was in the poetical vein was to the ruins of Lincluden
Abbey, whither he was often accompanied by his eldest boy; sometimes
towards Martingdon ford, on the north side of