The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
I. |
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND |
2. |
III. |
IV. |
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND
May ------ 1786.
I
I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend,A something to have sent you,
Tho' it should serve nae ither end
Than just a kind memento:
But how the subject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine:
Perhaps it may turn out a sang;
Perhaps, turn out a sermon.
II
Ye'll try the world soon, my lad;And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,
And muckle they may grieve ye:
141
Ev'n when your end's attainéd;
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where ev'ry nerve is strainéd.
III
I'll no say, men are villains a':The real, harden'd wicked,
Wha hae nae check but human law,
Are to a few restricked;
But, och! mankind are unco weak
An' little to be trusted;
If Self the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!
IV
Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife,Their fate we should na censure;
For still, th'important end of life
They equally may answer:
A man may hae an honest heart,
Tho' poortith hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neebor's part,
Yet hae nae cash to spare him.
V
Ay free, aff han', your story tell,When wi' a bosom cronie;
But still keep something to yoursel
Ye scarcely tell to onie:
142
Frae critical dissection:
But keek thro' ev'ry other man
Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection.
VI
The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th'illicit rove,
Tho' naething should divulge it:
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But, och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!
VII
To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justify'd by honor:
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train-attendant;
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.
VIII
The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whipTo haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that ay be your border:
143
Debar a' side-pretences;
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.
IX
The great Creator to revereMust sure become the creature;
But still the preaching cant forbear,
And ev'n the rigid feature:
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range
Be complaisance extended;
An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!
X
When ranting round in Pleasure's ring,Religion may be blinded;
Or if she gie a random sting,
It may be little minded;
But when on Life we're tempest-driv'n—
A conscience but a canker—
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n
Is sure a noble anchor!
XI
Adieu, dear, amiable youth!Your heart can ne'er be wanting!
May prudence, fortitude, and truth,
Erect your brow undaunting!
144
Still daily to grow wiser;
And may ye better reck the rede,
Than ever did th'adviser!
The Poetry of Robert Burns | ||