Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane, As saft as ony flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine; There's some are fou o' brandy; And monie jobs that day begin May end in houghmagandy ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink, Come, mourn wi' me! Lament him a' ye rantin' core, For now he's ta'en anither shore, And owre the sea! 1 "Our brother has eluded us all." versifying frolic Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear, He was her laureate monie a year, He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west Ill may she be! So, took a berth afore the mast, And owre the sea. To tremble under Fortune's cummock, cheerful splinters 2 jilt rod On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, meal and water Wi' his proud, independent stomach, Could ill agree; So row't his hurdies in a hammock, rolled — loins And owre the sea. He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, The Muse was a' that he took pride in, Jamaica bodies, use him weel, And hap him in a cozie biel: wrap-snug shelter Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel, He wadna wranged the very deil, Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! comrade Your native soil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourish like a lily, Now bonnilie! I'll toast ye in my hinmost gillie, gill A BARD'S EPITAPH. In a different spirit, Burns wrote an epitaph for himself a confession of his errors so solemn and so touching, as to take the sting from every other comment on the subject. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. bashful succumb Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, Oh, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here heave a sigh. Is there a man, whose judgment clear, Here pause and, through the starting tear Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below, Was quick to learn, and wise to know, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, Reader, attend whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Know, prudent, cautious self-control Is wisdom's root. DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. In dedicating his Poems to Gavin Hamilton, Burns took the opportunity not merely to characterize that generous-natured man, but to throw out a few parting sarcasms at orthodoxy and her partisans. This poem, however, was not placed at the front of the volume, though included in its pages. EXPECT na, sir, in this narration, praise A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication, wheedling-flattering Then when I'm tired, and sae are ye, For fear your modesty be hurt. This may do maun do, sir, wi' them wha Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; belly-full For me! sae laigh I needna bow, For, L be thankit, I can plough; cannot |