Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (24 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
“Thou canst not learn, nor I can show,
To paint with Thomson’s landscape glow;
Or wake the bosom-melting throe,
With Shenstone’s art;
250
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow
Warm on the heart.
“Yet, all beneath th’ unrivall’d rose,
T e lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Tho’ large the forest’s monarch throws
255
His army shade,
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,
Adown the glade.
“Then never murmur nor repine;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
260
And trust me, not Potosi’s mine,
Nor king’s regard,
Can give a bliss o’ermatching thine,
A rustic bard.
“To give my counsels all in one,
265
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan:
Preserve the dignity of Man,
With soul erect;
And trust the Universal Plan
Will all protect.
270
“And wear thou
this”
— she solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polish’d leaves and berries red
Did rustling play;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
275
In light away.
92.
Suppressed Stanzas of “The Vision”
After 18th stanza of the text (at “His native land”): —
WITH secret throes I marked that earth,
That cottage, witness of my birth;
And near I saw, bold issuing forth
In youthful pride,
A Lindsay race of noble worth,
5
Famed far and wide.
Where, hid behind a spreading wood,
An ancient Pict-built mansion stood,
I spied, among an angel brood,
A female pair;
10
Sweet shone their high maternal blood,
And father’s air.
An ancient tower
to memory brought
How Dettingen’s bold hero fought;
Still, far from sinking into nought,
15
It owns a lord
Who far in western climates fought,
With trusty sword.
Among the rest I well could spy
One gallant, graceful, martial boy,
20
The
soldier
sparkled in his eye,
A diamond water.
I blest that noble badge with joy,
That owned me frater.
After 20th stanza of the text (at “Dispensing good”): —
Near by arose a mansion fine
25
The seat of many a muse divine;
Not rustic muses such as mine,
With holly crown’d,
But th’ ancient, tuneful, laurell’d Nine,
From classic ground.
30
I mourn’d the card that Fortune dealt,
To see where bonie Whitefoords dwelt;
But other prospects made me melt,
That village near;
There Nature, Friendship, Love, I felt,
35
Fond-mingling, dear!
Hail! Nature’s pang, more strong than death!
Warm Friendship’s glow, like kindling wrath!
Love, dearer than the parting breath
Of dying friend!
40
Not ev’n with life’s wild devious path,
Your force shall end!
The Power that gave the soft alarms
In blooming Whitefoord’s rosy charms,
Still threats the tiny, feather’d arms,
45
The barbed dart,
While lovely Wilhelmina warms
The coldest heart.
After 21st stanza of the text (at “That, to adore”): —
Where Lugar leaves his moorland plaid,
Where lately Want was idly laid,
50
I markèd busy, bustling Trade,
In fervid flame,
Beneath a Patroness’ aid,
Of noble name.
Wild, countless hills I could survey,
55
And countless flocks as wild as they;
But other scenes did charms display,
That better please,
Where polish’d manners dwell with Gray,
In rural ease.
60
Where Cessnock pours with gurgling sound;
And Irwine, marking out the bound,
Enamour’d of the scenes around,
Slow runs his race,
A name I doubly honour’d found,
65
With knightly grace.
Brydon’s brave ward,
I saw him stand,
Fame humbly offering her hand,
And near, his kinsman’s rustic band,
With one accord,
70
Lamenting their late blessed land
Must change its lord.
The owner of a pleasant spot,
Near and sandy wilds, I last did note;
A heart too warm, a pulse too hot
75
At times, o’erran:
But large in ev’ry feature wrote,
Appear’d the Man.
93.
The Rantin Dog, the Daddie o’t
Tune
— “Whare’ll our guidman lie.”
O WHA my babie-clouts will buy?
O wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me where I lie?
The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
O wha will own he did the faut?
5
O wha will buy the groanin maut?
O wha will tell me how to ca’t?
The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
When I mount the creepie-chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
10
Gie me Rob, I’ll seek nae mair,
The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will mak me fidgin’ fain?
Wha will kiss me o’er again?
15
The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
94.
Tune
— “The Job of Journey-work.”
ALTHO’ my back be at the wa’,
And tho’ he be the fautor;
Altho’ my back be at the wa’,
Yet, here’s his health in water.
O wae gae by his wanton sides,
5
Sae brawlie’s he could flatter;
Till for his sake I’m slighted sair,
And dree the kintra clatter:
But tho’ my back be at the wa’,
And tho’ he be the fautor;
10
But tho’ my back be at the wa’,
Yet here’s his health in water!
95.
My Son, these maxims make a rule,
An’ lump them aye thegither;
The
Rigid Righteous
is a fool,
The Rigid Wise anither:
The cleanest corn that ere was dight
May hae some pyles o’ caff in;
So ne’er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o’ daffin.
SOLOMON. — Eccles. ch. vii. verse 16.
O YE wha are sae guid yoursel’,
Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye’ve nought to do but mark and tell
Your neibours’ fauts and folly!
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,
5
Supplied wi’ store o’ water;
The heaped happer’s ebbing still,
An’ still the clap plays clatter.
Hear me, ye venerable core,
As counsel for poor mortals
10
That frequent pass douce Wisdom’s door
For glaikit Folly’s portals:
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences —
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
15
Their failings and mischances.
Ye see your state wi’ theirs compared,
And shudder at the niffer;
But cast a moment’s fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ;
20
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in;
And (what’s aft mair than a’ the lave),
Your better art o’ hidin.
Think, when your castigated pulse
25
Gies now and then a wallop!
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop!
Wi’ wind and tide fair i’ your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
30
But in the teeth o’ baith to sail,
It maks a unco lee-way.
See Social Life and Glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrified, they’re grown
35
Debauchery and Drinking:
O would they stay to calculate
Th’ eternal consequences;
Or your more dreaded hell to state,
Damnation of expenses!
40
Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o’ cases;
A dear-lov’d lad, convenience snug,
45
A treach’rous inclination —
But let me whisper i’ your lug,
Ye’re aiblins nae temptation.
Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
50
Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark, —
The moving Why they do it;
And just as lamely can ye mark,
55
How far perhaps they rue it.
Who made the heart, ‘tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias:
60
Then at the balance let’s be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What’s done we partly may compute,
But know not what’s resisted.