September 5, 1750

Robert Fergusson, (September 5, 1750 to October 16, 1774) the Scottish poet, was born near Edinburgh, schooled at St. Andrews, and flourished at a time Scotland was in an intellectual ferment of global import. 

Here is an excerpt from "The Farmer's Ingle"
...
For weel she trows, that fiends an' fairies 'be
Sent frae the deil to fleetch us to our ill;
That ky'hae thit their milk wi' evil ee;
An' com been scowder'd on the glowin' kill.

O mock nae this, my friends! but rather mourn,
Ye in life's brawest spring wi' reason clear; Wi' eild our idle fancies a' return,
And dim our dolefu' days wi' baimly fear;
The mind's ay cradled whan the grave is near.

...
Where the gudeman aft streeks him at his ease; 

A warm and canny lean for weary banes

O' labourers doy'lt upo' the wintry leas. 

Round him will baudrins an' the collie come,
To wag their tail, and cast a thankfu' ee, 

To him wha kindly flings them mony a crum
....

The above word  Baudrins is the Scots for cat. At the time  Scots was not considered an appropriate language for art, and Fergusson also wrote in English. This deceptively simple verse, bears rereading.

"On Night"

Now murky shades surround the pole: 

Darkness lords without controll; 

To the notes of buzzing owl, 

Lions roar, and tygers howl.

Fright'ning from their azure shrine, 

Stars that wont in orbs to shine: 

Now the sailor's storm-tost bark 

Knows no blest celestial mark, 

While in the briny troubled deep, 

Dolphins change their sport for sleep: 

Ghosts and frightful spectres gaunt, 

Church-yards dreary footsteps haunt, 

And brush with wither'd arms the dews 

That fall upon the drooping yews.

Fergusson died very young, under circumstances which have never been clarified. His example of using his native tongue for art, was one thing that endeared him to Robert Burns. Fergusson was buried in an unmarked grave. Burns commissioned a special headstone and paid for its placement over the grave. This happened in 1787.