« PreviousContinue »
While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw,
And hing us owre the ingle,
I set me down to pass the time,
In hamely westlin jingle.
While frosty winds blaw in the drift,
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift,
I tent less, and want less
But hanker and canker,
To see their cursed pride.
It's hardly in a body's pow'r,
To keep, at times, frae being sour,
To see how things are shar'd;
As lang's we're hale and fier:
* David Sillar, one of the club at Tarbolton, and author of a volume of poems in the Scottish dialect.
"Mair spier na, no fear na","
To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, Is, doubtless, great distress!
Yet then content could make us blest; Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste Of truest happiness.
The honest heart that's free frae a'
Intended fraud or guile,
Has aye some cause to smile:
What tho', like commoners of air,
We wander out, we know not where,
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods,
In days when daisies deck the ground,
With honest joy our hearts will bound,
On braes when we please, then,
We'll sit and sowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't,
It's no in titles nor in rank;
It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank,
To purchase peace and rest;
Nae treasures, nor pleasures,
Think ye, that sic as you and I,
Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry,
Wi' never-ceasing toil;
Think ye, are we less blest than they,
Baith careless, and fearless
Esteeming, and deeming
It's a' an idle tale!
Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ;
And, even should misfortunes come,
They make us see the naked truth,
Tho' losses, and crosses,
Be lessons right severe,
There's wit there, ye'll get there,
But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts !
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,
And flatt'ry I detest),
This life has joys for you and I;
And joys that riches ne'er could buy;
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart,
e hae your Meg, your dearest part,
It warms me, it charms me,
It heats me, it beets me,
And sets me a' on flame!
'all ye pow'rs who rule above!
Her dear idea brings relief
O hear my fervent pray'r;
All hail, ye tender feelings dear!
The smile of love, the friendly tear,
The sympathetic glow;
Long since this world's thorny ways
Fate still has blest me with a friend
A tie more tender still.
It lightens, it brightens
To meet with, and greet with
O, how that name inspires my style!
The ready measure rins as fine,
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp,
But lest then, the beast then,
Should rue this hasty ride,
I'll light now, and dight now
Occasioned by the unfortunate issue
OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR.
Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself! And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe! Home.
O thou pale orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!