The Poetry of Robert Burns :: :: University of Virginia Library

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?
I kend it still, your wee bit jauntie
Wad bring ye to:
Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye,
And then ye'll do!

II

The Ill-Thief blaw the Heron south,
And never drink be near his drouth!

129

He tauld mysel by word o' mouth,
He'd tak my letter:
I lippen'd to the chiel in trowth,
And bade nae better.

III

But aiblins honest Master Heron
Had at the time some dainty fair one
To ware his theologic care on
And holy study,
And, tired o' sauls to waste his lear on,
E'en tried the body.

IV

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier?
I'm turned a gauger—Peace be here!
Parnassian queires, I fear, I fear,
Ye'll now disdain me,
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me!

V

Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
'Mang sons o' men.

130

VI

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies;
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies:
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is—
I need na vaunt—
But I'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.

VII

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
I'm weary—sick o't late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than monie ithers;
But why should ae man better fare,
And a' men brithers?

VIII

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair:
Wha does the utmost that he can
Will whyles do mair.

IX

But to conclude my silly rhyme
(I'm scant o' verse and scant o' time):

131

To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

X

My compliments to sister Beckie,
And eke the same to honest Lucky:
I wat she is a daintie chuckie
As e'er tread clay:
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,
I'm yours for ay.

Robert Burns.