Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (69 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
406.
Lines Inscribed in a Lady’s Pocket Almanack
GRANT me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live,
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures free as air,
Till Slave and Despot be but things that were.
407.
Epigram — Thanks for a National Victory
YE hypocrites! are these your pranks?
To murder men and give God thanks!
Desist, for shame! — proceed no further;
God won’t accept your thanks for MURTHER!
408.
Commemoration of Rodney’s Victory
INSTEAD of a Song, boy’s, I’ll give you a Toast;
Here’s to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost! —
That we
lost,
did I say? — nay, by Heav’n, that we
found;
For their fame it will last while the world goes round.
The next in succession I’ll give you’s THE KING!
5
Whoe’er would betray him, on high may he swing!
And here’s the grand fabric, our free CONSTITUTION,
As built on the base of our great Revolution!
And longer with Politics not to be cramm’d,
Be ANARCHY curs’d, and TYRANNY damn’d!
10
And who would to LIBERTY e’er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman — and he his first trial!
409.
Epigram — The Raptures of Folly
THOU greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures;
Give me with young Folly to live;
I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,
But Folly has raptures to give.
410.
Epigram — Kirk and State Excisemen
YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering
‘Gainst poor Excisemen? Give the cause a hearing:
What are your Landlord’s rent-rolls? — Taxing ledgers!
What Premiers? — What ev’n Monarchs? — Mighty Gaugers!
Nay, what are Priests? (those seeming godly wise-men,)
5
What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excisemen!
411.
Extempore Reply to an Invitation
THE KING’S most humble servant, I
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I’ll be wi’ you by an’ by;
Or else the Deil’s be in it.
412.
LORD, we thank, and thee adore,
For temporal gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more —
Let
William Hislop
give the spirit.
413.
O LORD, when hunger pinches sore,
Do thou stand us in stead,
And send us, from thy bounteous store,
A tup or wether head! Amen.
——
——
O Lord, since we have feasted thus,
5
Which we so little merit,
Let Meg now take away the flesh,
And Jock bring in the spirit! Amen.
414.
Impromptu on Dumourier’s Desertion of the French Republican Army
YOU’RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier;
You’re welcome to Despots, Dumourier:
How does Dampiere do?
Ay, and Bournonville too?
Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier?
5
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;
I will fight France with you,
I will take my chance with you;
By my soul, I’ll dance with you, Dumourier.
10
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,
Till Freedom’s spark be out,
Then we’ll be d — d, no doubt, Dumourier.
15
415.
The last time I cam o’er the Moor (Song)
THE LAST time I came o’er the moor,
And left Maria’s dwelling,
What throes, what tortures passing cure,
Were in my bosom swelling:
Condemn’d to see my rival’s reign,
5
While I in secret languish;
To feel a fire in every vein,
Yet dare not speak my anguish.
Love’s veriest wretch, despairing, I
Fain, fain, my crime would cover;
10
Th’ unweeting groan, the bursting sigh,
Betray the guilty lover.
I know my doom must be despair,
Thou wilt nor canst relieve me;
But oh, Maria, hear my prayer,
15
For Pity’s sake forgive me!
The music of thy tongue I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav’d me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear’d,
Till fear no more had sav’d me:
20
The unwary sailor thus, aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing,
‘Mid circling horrors yields at last
To overwhelming ruin.
416.
Tune
— “Logan Water.”
O LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide,
That day I was my Willie’s bride,
And years sin syne hae o’er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun:
But now thy flowery banks appear
5
Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Again the merry month of May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
10
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers;
Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye,
And Evening’s tears are tears o’ joy:
My soul, delightless a’ surveys,
15
While Willie’s far frae Logan braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush:
Her faithfu’ mate will share her toil,
Or wi’ his song her cares beguile;
20
But I wi’ my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow’d nights and joyless days,
While Willie’s far frae Logan braes.
O wae be to you, Men o’ State,
25
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow’s tear, the orphan’s cry?
30
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan braes!
417.
Blythe hae I been on yon hill (Song)
Tune
— “The Quaker’s Wife.”
BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o’er me;
Now nae langer sport and play,
5
Mirth or sang can please me;
LESLEY is sae fair and coy,
Care and anguish seize me.
Heavy, heavy is the task,
Hopeless love declaring;
10
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow’r,
Sighing, dumb despairing!
If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling,
Underneath the grass-green sod,
15
Soon maun be my dwelling.