Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 16
Or to the Netherton repair,
An’ turn a carpet weaver 80
Aff-hand this day.
Mu’trie and you were just a match,
We never had sic twa drones;
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch,
Just like a winkin baudrons, 85
And aye he catch’d the tither wretch,
To fry them in his caudrons;
But now his Honour maun detach,
Wi’ a’ his brimstone squadrons,
Fast, fast this day. 90
See, see auld Orthodoxy’s faes
She’s swingein thro’ the city!
Hark, how the nine-tail’d cat she plays!
I vow it’s unco pretty:
There, Learning, with his Greekish face, 95
Grunts out some Latin ditty;
And Common-sense is gaun, she says,
To mak to Jamie Beattie
Her plaint this day.
But there’s Morality himsel’, 100
Embracing all opinions;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Between his twa companions!
See, how she peels the skin an’ fell,
As ane were peelin onions! 105
Now there, they’re packed aff to hell,
An’ banish’d our dominions,
Henceforth this day.
O happy day! rejoice, rejoice!
Come bouse about the porter! 110
Morality’s demure decoys
Shall here nae mair find quarter:
Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys
That heresy can torture;
They’ll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 115
And cowe her measure shorter
By th’ head some day.
Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,
And here’s — for a conclusion —
To ev’ry New Light mother’s son, 120
From this time forth, Confusion!
If mair they deave us wi’ their din,
Or Patronage intrusion,
We’ll light a spunk, and ev’ry skin,
We’ll rin them aff in fusion 125
Like oil, some day.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
90.
Epistle to James Smith
“Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet’ner of Life, and solder of Society!
I owe thee much — — “ BLAIR.
DEAR SMITH, the slee’st, pawkie thief,
That e’er attempted stealth or rief!
Ye surely hae some warlock-brief
Owre human hearts;
For ne’er a bosom yet was prief 5
Against your arts.
For me, I swear by sun an’ moon,
An’ ev’ry star that blinks aboon,
Ye’ve cost me twenty pair o’ shoon,
Just gaun to see you; 10
An’ ev’ry ither pair that’s done,
Mair taen I’m wi’ you.
That auld, capricious carlin, Nature,
To mak amends for scrimpit stature,
She’s turn’d you off, a human creature 15
On her first plan,
And in her freaks, on ev’ry feature
She’s wrote the Man.
Just now I’ve ta’en the fit o’ rhyme,
My barmie noddle’s working prime. 20
My fancy yerkit up sublime,
Wi’ hasty summon;
Hae ye a leisure-moment’s time
To hear what’s comin?
Some rhyme a neibor’s name to lash; 25
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu’ cash;
Some rhyme to court the countra clash,
An’ raise a din;
For me, an aim I never fash;
I rhyme for fun. 30
The star that rules my luckless lot,
Has fated me the russet coat,
An’ damn’d my fortune to the groat;
But, in requit,
Has blest me with a random-shot 35
O’countra wit.
This while my notion’s taen a sklent,
To try my fate in guid, black prent;
But still the mair I’m that way bent,
Something cries “Hooklie!” 40
I red you, honest man, tak tent?
Ye’ll shaw your folly;
“There’s ither poets, much your betters,
Far seen in Greek, deep men o’ letters,
Hae thought they had ensur’d their debtors, 45
A’ future ages;
Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters,
Their unknown pages.”
Then farewell hopes of laurel-boughs,
To garland my poetic brows! 50
Henceforth I’ll rove where busy ploughs
Are whistlin’ thrang,
An’ teach the lanely heights an’ howes
My rustic sang.
I’ll wander on, wi’ tentless heed 55
How never-halting moments speed,
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;
Then, all unknown,
I’ll lay me with th’ inglorious dead
Forgot and gone! 60
But why o’ death being a tale?
Just now we’re living sound and hale;
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,
Heave Care o’er-side!
And large, before Enjoyment’s gale, 65
Let’s tak the tide.
This life, sae far’s I understand,
Is a’ enchanted fairy-land,
Where Pleasure is the magic-wand,
That, wielded right, 70
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand,
Dance by fu’ light.
The magic-wand then let us wield;
For ance that five-an’-forty’s speel’d,
See, crazy, weary, joyless eild, 75
Wi’ wrinkl’d face,
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field,
We’ creepin pace.
When ance life’s day draws near the gloamin,
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin; 80
An’ fareweel cheerfu’ tankards foamin,
An’ social noise:
An’ fareweel dear, deluding woman,
The Joy of joys!
O Life! how pleasant, in thy morning, 85
Young Fancy’s rays the hills adorning!
Cold-pausing Caution’s lesson scorning,
We frisk away,
Like school-boys, at th’ expected warning,
To joy an’ play. 90
We wander there, we wander here,
We eye the rose upon the brier,
Unmindful that the thorn is near,
Among the leaves;
And tho’ the puny wound appear, 95
Short while it grieves.
Some, lucky, find a flow’ry spot,
For which they never toil’d nor swat;
They drink the sweet and eat the fat,
But care or pain; 100
And haply eye the barren hut
With high disdain.
With steady aim, some Fortune chase;
Keen hope does ev’ry sinew brace;
Thro’ fair, thro’ foul, they urge the race, 105
An’ seize the prey:
Then cannie, in some cozie place,
They close the day.
And others, like your humble servan’,
Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin, 110
To right or left eternal swervin,
They zig-zag on;
Till, curst with age, obscure an’ starvin,
They aften groan.
Alas! what bitter toil an’ straining — 115
But truce with peevish, poor complaining!
Is fortune’s fickle Luna waning?
E’n let her gang!
Beneath what light she has remaining,
Let’s sing our sang. 1
20
My pen I here fling to the door,
And kneel, ye Pow’rs! and warm implore,
“Tho’ I should wander Terra o’er,
In all her climes,
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 125
Aye rowth o’ rhymes.
“Gie dreepin roasts to countra lairds,
Till icicles hing frae their beards;
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards,
And maids of honour; 130
An’ yill an’ whisky gie to cairds,
Until they sconner.
“A title, Dempster merits it;
A garter gie to Willie Pitt;
Gie wealth to some be-ledger’d cit, 135
In cent. per cent.;
But give me real, sterling wit,
And I’m content.
“While ye are pleas’d to keep me hale,
I’ll sit down o’er my scanty meal, 140
Be’t water-brose or muslin-kail,
Wi’ cheerfu’ face,
As lang’s the Muses dinna fail
To say the grace.”
An anxious e’e I never throws 145
Behint my lug, or by my nose;
I jouk beneath Misfortune’s blows
As weel’s I may;
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose,
I rhyme away. 150
O ye douce folk that live by rule,
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm an’cool,
Compar’d wi’ you — O fool! fool! fool!
How much unlike!
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 155
Your lives, a dyke!
Nae hair-brain’d, sentimental traces
In your unletter’d, nameless faces!
In arioso trills and graces
Ye never stray; 160
But gravissimo, solemn basses
Ye hum away.
Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye’re wise;
Nae ferly tho’ ye do despise
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 165
The rattling squad:
I see ye upward cast your eyes —
Ye ken the road!
Whilst I — but I shall haud me there,
Wi’ you I’ll scarce gang ony where — 170
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,
But quat my sang,
Content wi’ you to mak a pair.
Whare’er I gang.
Chronological List of Poems
Alphabetical List of Poems
91.
The Vision
Duan First
THE SUN had clos’d the winter day,
The curless quat their roarin play,
And hunger’d maukin taen her way,
To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 5
Whare she has been.
The thresher’s weary flingin-tree,
The lee-lang day had tired me;
And when the day had clos’d his e’e,
Far i’ the west, 10
Ben i’ the spence, right pensivelie,
I gaed to rest.
There, lanely by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey’d the spewing reek,
That fill’d, wi’ hoast-provoking smeek, 15
The auld clay biggin;
An’ heard the restless rattons squeak
About the riggin.
All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mus’d on wasted time, 20
How I had spent my youthfu’ prime,
An’ done nae thing,
But stringing blethers up in rhyme,
For fools to sing.
Had I to guid advice but harkit, 25
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank and clarkit
My cash-account;
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit.
Is a’ th’ amount. 30
I started, mutt’ring, “blockhead! coof!”
And heav’d on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a’ yon starry roof,
Or some rash aith,
That I henceforth wad be rhyme-proof 35
Till my last breath —
When click! the string the snick did draw;
An’ jee! the door gaed to the wa’;
An’ by my ingle-lowe I saw,
Now bleezin bright, 40
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw,
Come full in sight.
Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht;
The infant aith, half-form’d, was crusht
I glowr’d as eerie’s I’d been dusht 45
In some wild glen;
When sweet, like honest Worth, she blusht,
An’ steppèd ben.
Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted, gracefu’, round her brows; 50
I took her for some Scottish Muse,
By that same token;
And come to stop those reckless vows,
Would soon been broken.
A “hair-brain’d, sentimental trace” 55
Was strongly markèd in her face;
A wildly-witty, rustic grace
Shone full upon her;
Her eye, ev’n turn’d on empty space,
Beam’d keen with honour. 60
Down flow’d her robe, a tartan sheen,
Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
An’ such a leg! my bonie Jean
Could only peer it;
Sae straught, sae taper, tight an’ clean — 65
Nane else came near it.
Her mantle large, of greenish hue,
My gazing wonder chiefly drew:
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw
A lustre grand; 70
And seem’d, to my astonish’d view,
A well-known land.
Here, rivers in the sea were lost;
There, mountains to the skies were toss’t:
Here, tumbling billows mark’d the coast, 75
With surging foam;
There, distant shone Art’s lofty boast,
The lordly dome.
Here, Doon pour’d down his far-fetch’d floods;
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds: 80
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro’ his woods,
On to the shore;
And many a lesser torrent scuds,
With seeming roar.
Low, in a sandy valley spread, 85
An ancient borough rear’d her head;
Still, as in Scottish story read,
She boasts a race
To ev’ry nobler virtue bred,
And polish’d grace. 90
By stately tow’r, or palace fair,
Or ruins pendent in the air,
Bold stems of heroes, here and there,
I could discern;
Some seem’d to muse, some seem’d to dare, 95
With feature stern.
My heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a race heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dyed steel,
In sturdy blows; 100
While, back-recoiling, seem’d to reel
Their Suthron foes.
His Country’s Saviour, mark him well!
Bold Richardton’s heroic swell,;
The chief, on Sark who glorious fell, 105
In high command;
And he whom ruthless fates expel
His native land.
There, where a sceptr’d Pictish shade
Stalk’d round his ashes lowly laid, 110
I mark’d a martial race, pourtray’d
In colours strong:
Bold, soldier-featur’d, undismay’d,
They strode along.
Thro’ many a wild, romantic grove, 115
Near many a hermit-fancied cove
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,
In musing mood),
An aged Judge, I saw him rove,
Dispensing good. 120
With deep-struck, reverential awe,
The learned Sire and Son I saw:
To Nature’s God, and Nature’s law,
They gave their lore;
This, all its source and end to draw, 125
That, to adore.
Brydon’s brave ward I well could spy,
Beneath old Scotia’s smiling eye:
Who call’d on Fame, low standing by,
To hand him on, 130
Where many a patriot-name on high,
And hero shone.
DUAN SECOND
With musing-deep, astonish’d stare,
I view’d the heavenly-seeming Fair;
A whispering throb did witness bear 135
Of kindred sweet,
When with an elder sister’s air
She did me greet.
“All hail! my own inspired bard!
In me thy native Muse regard; 140
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low;
I come to give thee such reward,
As we bestow!
“Know, the great genius of this land 145
Has many a light aerial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,
As arts or arms they understand,
Their labours ply. 150
“They Scotia’s race among them share:
Some fire the soldier on to dare;
Some rouse the patriot up to bare
Corruption’s heart:
Some teach the bard — a darling care — 155
The tuneful art.
“‘Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour;
Or, ‘mid the venal senate’s roar,
They, sightless, stand, 160
To mend the honest patriot-lore,
And grace the hand.
“And when the bard, or hoary sage,
Charm or instruct the future age,
They bind the wild poetric rage 165
In energy,