Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (29 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
114.
Versified Note to Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline
FRIDAY first’s the day appointed
By the Right Worshipful anointed,
To hold our grand procession;
To get a blad o’ Johnie’s morals,
And taste a swatch o’ Manson’s barrels
5
I’ the way of our profession.
The Master and the Brotherhood
Would a’ be glad to see you;
For me I would be mair than proud
To share the mercies wi’ you.
10
If Death, then, wi’ skaith, then,
Some mortal heart is hechtin,
Inform him, and storm him,
That Saturday you’ll fecht him.
ROBERT BURNS.
Mossgiel, An. M.
5790.
115.
The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James’s Lodge, Tarbolton
To the Brethren of St. James’s Lodge, Tarbolton.
Tune
— “Guidnight, and joy be wi’ you a’.”
ADIEU! a heart-warm fond adieu;
Dear brothers of the
mystic tie!
Ye favourèd,
enlighten’d
few,
Companions of my social joy;
Tho’ I to foreign lands must hie,
5
Pursuing Fortune’s slidd’ry ba’;
With melting heart, and brimful eye,
I’ll mind you still, tho’ far awa.
Oft have I met your social band,
And spent the cheerful, festive night;
10
Oft, honour’d with supreme command,
Presided o’er the
sons of light:
And by that
hieroglyphic
bright,
Which none but
Craftsmen
ever saw
Strong Mem’ry on my heart shall write
15
Those happy scenes, when far awa.
May Freedom, Harmony, and Love,
Unite you in the
grand Design,
Beneath th’ Omniscient Eye above,
The glorious
Architect
Divine,
20
That you may keep th’
unerring line,
Still rising by the
plummet’s
law,
Till
Order
bright completely shine,
Shall be my pray’r when far awa.
And
you,
farewell! whose merits claim
25
Justly that
highest badge
to wear:
Heav’n bless your honour’d noble name,
To
Masonry
and
Scotia
dear!
A last request permit me here, —
When yearly ye assemble a’,
30
One
round,
I ask it with a
tear,
To him,
the Bard that’s far awa.
116.
On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies
Gone to the West Indies
A’ YE wha live by sowps o’ drink,
A’ ye wha live by crambo-clink,
A’ ye wha live and never think,
Come, mourn wi’ me!
Our billie ‘s gien us a’ a jink,
5
An’ owre the sea!
Lament him a’ ye rantin core,
Wha dearly like a random splore;
Nae mair he’ll join the merry roar;
In social key;
10
For now he’s taen anither shore.
An’ owre the sea!
The bonie lasses weel may wiss him,
And in their dear petitions place him:
The widows, wives, an’ a’ may bless him
15
Wi’ tearfu’ e’e;
For weel I wat they’ll sairly miss him
That’s owre the sea!
O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,
20
Wha can do nought but fyke an’ fumble,
‘Twad been nae plea;
But he was gleg as ony wumble,
That’s owre the sea!
Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,
25
An’ stain them wi’ the saut, saut tear;
‘Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,
In flinders flee:
He was her Laureat mony a year,
That’s owre the sea!
30
He saw Misfortune’s cauld nor-west
Lang mustering up a bitter blast;
A jillet brak his heart at last,
Ill may she be!
So, took a berth afore the mast,
35
An’ owre the sea.
To tremble under Fortune’s cummock,
On a scarce a bellyfu’ o’ drummock,
Wi’ his proud, independent stomach,
Could ill agree;
40
So, row’t his hurdies in a hammock,
An’ owre the sea.
He ne’er was gien to great misguidin,
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in;
Wi’ him it ne’er was under hiding;
45
He dealt it free:
The Muse was a’ that he took pride in,
That’s owre the sea.
Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
An’ hap him in cozie biel:
50
Ye’ll find him aye a dainty chiel,
An’ fou o’ glee:
He wad na wrang’d the vera deil,
That’s owre the sea.
Farewell, my rhyme-composing billie!
55
Your native soil was right ill-willie;
But may ye flourish like a lily,
Now bonilie!
I’ll toast you in my hindmost gillie,
Tho’ owre the sea!
60
117.
Tune
— “Gilderoy.”
FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore;
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean’s roar:
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
5
Between my love and me,
They never, never can divide
My heart and soul from thee.
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore!
10
A boding voice is in mine ear,
We part to meet no more!
But the latest throb that leaves my heart,
While Death stands victor by, —
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
15
And thine that latest sigh!
118.
IS there a whim-inspirèd 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,
5
And drap a tear.
Is there a bard of rustic song,
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,
O, pass not by!
10
But, with a frater-feeling strong,
Here, heave a sigh.
Is there a man, whose judgment clear
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life’s mad career,
15
Wild as the wave,
Here pause — and, thro’ the starting tear,
Survey this grave.
The poor inhabitant below
Was quick to learn the wise to know,
20
And keenly felt the friendly glow,
And softer flame;
But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stain’d his name!
Reader, attend! whether thy soul
25
Soars fancy’s flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit:
Know, prudent, cautious, self-control
Is wisdom’s root.
30
119.
Epitaph for Robert Aiken, Esq.
KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much lov’d, much honoured name!
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart death ne’er made cold.
120.
Epitaph for Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
THE POOR man weeps — here Gavin sleeps,
Whom canting wretches blam’d;
But with such as he, where’er he be,
May I be sav’d or d — d!
121.
Hic Jacet wee Johnie.
WHOE’ER thou art, O reader, know
That Death has murder’d Johnie;
An’ here his
body
lies fu’ low;
For
saul
he ne’er had ony.