40 Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; An' raise a din; For me, an aim I never fash; I rhyme for fun. The star that rules my luckless lot, An' damn'd my fortune to the groat; Has blest me with a random shot This while my notion's taen a sklent, Something cries Hoolie! Ye'll shaw your folly. 'There's ither poets, much your betters, Now moths deform in shapeless tatters Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows! Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs Are whistling thrang, An' teach the lanely heights an' howes I'll wander on, wi' tentless heed How never-halting moments speed, Till fate shall snap the brittle thread; Then, all unknown, I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 50 30 But why o' death begin a tale? And large, before Enjoyment's gale, This life, sae far's I understand, Where pleasure is the magic wand, That, wielded right, Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, The magic wand then let us wield: Wi' wrinkled face, Comes hoastin', hirplin' owre the field, When ance life's day draws near the gloamin', An' fareweel dear deluding woman, O life, how pleasant is thy morning, Like schoolboys, at th' expected warning, We wander there, we wander here, And tho' the puny wound appear, Short while it grieves. 70 80 90 Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, And, haply, eye the barren hut With high disdain. With steady aim, some Fortune chase; Then cannie, in some cozie place, They close the day. 100 And others, like your humble servan', They zig-zag on; Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin', Alas! what bitter toil an' straining- E'en let her gang! Beneath what light she has remaining, Let's sing our sang. 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, 'Gie dreeping roasts to country lairds, Until they sconner. 120 130 'A title, Dempster merits it; But gie me real, sterling wit, And I'm content. 'While ye are pleased to keep me hale, As lang's the Muses dinna fail To say the grace.' An anxious e'e I never throws Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, O ye douce folk, that live by rule, Nae hare-brain'd sentimental traces, Ye never stray, Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise; The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, The rattlin' squad: I see you upward cast your eyes Ye ken the road. 140 150 160 Whilst I-but I shall haud me there- But quat my sang, Content with You to mak a pair, TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., MAUCHLINE, RECOMMENDING A BOY. I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty, Was here to lure the lad away But lest he learn the callan tricks, Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, As lieve then I'd have then Not fitted otherwhere. Altho' I say 't, he's gleg enough, Ye'll catechize him every quirk, An' shore him weel wi' hell; 170 10 20 |