The works of Allan Ramsay edited by Burns Martin ... and John W. Oliver [... and Alexander M. Kinghorn ... and Alexander Law] |
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To Mr. William Starrat, on receiving the above Epistle.
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 | The works of Allan Ramsay |  |
To Mr. William Starrat, on receiving the above Epistle.
Frae fertile Fields, where nae curs'd Ethers creep,
To stang the Herds that in Rash-busses sleep;
Frae where Saint Patrick's Blessing freed the Bogs
Frae Taids, and Asks, and ugly creeping Frogs;
Welcome to me's the Sound of STARRAT's Pipe,
Welcome, as Westlen Winds, or Berries ripe,
When speeling up the Hill, the Dog-days Heat
Gars a young thirsty Shepherd pant and sweat:
Thus while I climb the Muses Mount with Care,
Sic friendly Praises give refreshing Air.
O! may the Lasses loo thee for thy Pains,
And may thou lang breathe healsome o'er the Plains:
Lang mayst thou teach, with round and nooked Lines,
Substantial Skill, that's worth rich Siller Mines;
To shaw how Wheels can gang with greatest Ease,
And what Kind Barks sails smoothest o'er the Seas;
How Wind-mills shou'd be made,—and how they work
The Thumper that tells Hours upon the Kirk:
How Wedges rive the Aik:—How Pullieses
Can lift on highest Roofs the greatest Trees;
Rug frae its Roots the Craig of Edinburgh Castle,
As easily as I cou'd break my Whistle.—
What Pleughs fits a wet Soil, and whilk the dry;
And mony a thousand useful Things forby.
To stang the Herds that in Rash-busses sleep;
Frae where Saint Patrick's Blessing freed the Bogs
Frae Taids, and Asks, and ugly creeping Frogs;
Welcome to me's the Sound of STARRAT's Pipe,
Welcome, as Westlen Winds, or Berries ripe,
When speeling up the Hill, the Dog-days Heat
Gars a young thirsty Shepherd pant and sweat:
Thus while I climb the Muses Mount with Care,
Sic friendly Praises give refreshing Air.
O! may the Lasses loo thee for thy Pains,
And may thou lang breathe healsome o'er the Plains:
Lang mayst thou teach, with round and nooked Lines,
Substantial Skill, that's worth rich Siller Mines;
To shaw how Wheels can gang with greatest Ease,
And what Kind Barks sails smoothest o'er the Seas;
How Wind-mills shou'd be made,—and how they work
The Thumper that tells Hours upon the Kirk:
How Wedges rive the Aik:—How Pullieses
Can lift on highest Roofs the greatest Trees;
73
As easily as I cou'd break my Whistle.—
What Pleughs fits a wet Soil, and whilk the dry;
And mony a thousand useful Things forby.
I own 'tis cauld Encouragement to sing,
When round ane's Lugs the blatran Hailstanes ring;
But feckfu' Folk can front the bauldest Wind,
And slonk thro' Moors, and never fash their Mind.
Aft have I wid throu' Glens with chorking Feet,
When neither Plaid nor Kelt cou'd fend the Weet;
Yet blythly wald I bang out o'er the Brae,
And stend o'er Burns as light as ony Rae,
Hoping the Morn might prove a better Day.
Then let's to Lairds and Ladies leave the Spleen,
While we can dance and whistle o'er the Green.
Mankind's Account of Good and Ill's a Jest,
Fancy's the Rudder, and Content's a Feast.
When round ane's Lugs the blatran Hailstanes ring;
But feckfu' Folk can front the bauldest Wind,
And slonk thro' Moors, and never fash their Mind.
Aft have I wid throu' Glens with chorking Feet,
When neither Plaid nor Kelt cou'd fend the Weet;
Yet blythly wald I bang out o'er the Brae,
And stend o'er Burns as light as ony Rae,
Hoping the Morn might prove a better Day.
Then let's to Lairds and Ladies leave the Spleen,
While we can dance and whistle o'er the Green.
Mankind's Account of Good and Ill's a Jest,
Fancy's the Rudder, and Content's a Feast.
Dear Friend of mine, ye but o'er meikle roose
The lawly Mints of my poor moorland Muse,
Wha looks but blate, when even'd to either twa,
That lull'd the Deel, or bigg'd the Theban Wa';
But trowth 'tis natural for us a' to wink
At our ain Fauts, and Praises frankly drink:
Fair fa' ye then, and may your Flocks grow rife,
And may nae Elf twin Crummy of her Life.
The lawly Mints of my poor moorland Muse,
Wha looks but blate, when even'd to either twa,
That lull'd the Deel, or bigg'd the Theban Wa';
But trowth 'tis natural for us a' to wink
At our ain Fauts, and Praises frankly drink:
Fair fa' ye then, and may your Flocks grow rife,
And may nae Elf twin Crummy of her Life.
The Sun shines sweetly, a' the Lift looks blue,
O'er Glens hing hovering Clouds of rising Dew;
Maggy, the bonniest Lass of a' our Town,
Brent is her Brow, her Hair a curly brown,
I have a Tryst with her, and maun away,
Then ye'll excuse me till anither Day,
When I've mair Time; for shortly I'm to sing
Some dainty Sangs, that sall round Crochan ring.
O'er Glens hing hovering Clouds of rising Dew;
Maggy, the bonniest Lass of a' our Town,
Brent is her Brow, her Hair a curly brown,
I have a Tryst with her, and maun away,
Then ye'll excuse me till anither Day,
When I've mair Time; for shortly I'm to sing
Some dainty Sangs, that sall round Crochan ring.
| The works of Allan Ramsay | |