The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER |
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
139
TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER
I
My honor'd Colonel, deep I feelYour interest in the Poet's weal:
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel
The steep Parnassus,
Surrounded thus by bolus pill
And potion glasses.
II
O, what a canty warld were it,Would pain and care and sickness spare it,
And Fortune favor worth and merit
As they deserve,
And ay rowth—roast-beef and claret!—
Syne, wha wad starve?
III
Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,And in paste gems and frippery deck her,
Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker
I've found her still:
Ay wavering, like the willow-wicker,
'Tween good and ill!
140
IV
Then that curst carmagnole, Auld Satan,Watches, like baudrons by a ratton,
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on
Wi' felon ire;
Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on—
He's aff like fire.
V
Ah Nick! Ah Nick! it is na fair,First showing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonie lasses rare,
To put us daft;
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare
O' Hell's damned waft!
VI
Poor Man, the flie, aft bizzes by,And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh,
Thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi' joy
And hellish pleasure,
Already in thy fancy's eye
Thy sicker treasure!
VII
Soon, heels o'er gowdie, in he gangs,And, like a sheep-head on a tangs,
141
And murdering wrestle,
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs
A gibbet's tassle.
VIII
But lest you think I am uncivilTo plague you with this draunting drivel,
Abjuring a' intentions evil,
I quat my pen:
The Lord preserve us frae the Devil!
Amen! Amen!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |