 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
TO MISS FERRIER
I
Nae heathen name shall I prefixFrae Pindus or Parnassus;
Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks
For rhyme-inspiring lasses.
II
Jove's tunefu' dochters three times threeMade Homer deep their debtor;
But gien the body half an e'e,
Nine Ferriers wad done better!
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III
Last day my mind was in a bog;Down George's Street I stoited;
A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog
My very senses doited;
IV
Do what I dought to set her free,My saul lay in the mire:
Ye turned a neuk, I saw your e'e,
She took the wing like fire!
V
The mournfu' sang I here enclose,In gratitude I send you,
And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose,
A' guid things may attend you!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |