Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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Hughie Celebrates his Fiftieth Year. |
 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
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Hughie Celebrates his Fiftieth Year.
“Festo quid potius die faciam?
Prome reconditum Cæcubum.”
—Car. iii. 28.
Prome reconditum Cæcubum.”
—Car. iii. 28.
This nicht I'm fifty,—fifty, Bess!
Gang ben the hoose an' ripe the press,
An', what ye find o' whisky, fess
Soberly oot:
This nicht we'll hae a social gless
An' sang aboot.
Gang ben the hoose an' ripe the press,
An', what ye find o' whisky, fess
Soberly oot:
This nicht we'll hae a social gless
An' sang aboot.
When I was twenty I was tauld
When I was fifty I was auld:
I'm fifty oot, yet I'll be bauld,
Laird o' the truth,
To swear I'm just as yap an' yauld
As e'er was youth.
When I was fifty I was auld:
I'm fifty oot, yet I'll be bauld,
Laird o' the truth,
To swear I'm just as yap an' yauld
As e'er was youth.
200
At fifty, wi' a conscience clear,
The man that sits, as I do here,
Hand-haill an' neither slow to steer
Nor quick to tire,
An' wi' that spark to poets dear
O' Nature's fire,—
The man that sits, as I do here,
Hand-haill an' neither slow to steer
Nor quick to tire,
An' wi' that spark to poets dear
O' Nature's fire,—
He's no' to maen! He's at the stage,
The table-land o' middle age;
Nae langer on life's pilgrimage
Grumblin' an' gropin',
But, backward, it's a pictured page,
Forward, it's open.
The table-land o' middle age;
Nae langer on life's pilgrimage
Grumblin' an' gropin',
But, backward, it's a pictured page,
Forward, it's open.
He's past the braes; he's at the bit
Where ane may ware his gaithered wit
And, though his daily burden's yet
A heavy load,
He travels on a surer fit
A smoother road.
Where ane may ware his gaithered wit
And, though his daily burden's yet
A heavy load,
He travels on a surer fit
A smoother road.
201
The fore-nicht flees—Time plies his saw;
See where he stoops against the wa',
Toilin' wi' measured rise an' fa'
In silent rage!
Thus eats he through life's seasons a',
Youth, manheid, age!
See where he stoops against the wa',
Toilin' wi' measured rise an' fa'
In silent rage!
Thus eats he through life's seasons a',
Youth, manheid, age!
Let's see! what's left fra last New Year?
Hand up the crock!—a chappin clear!
Gude luck an' luxury be here,
An' a side-saidle!
But this is mair than sober cheer,—
It means the ladle!
Hand up the crock!—a chappin clear!
Gude luck an' luxury be here,
An' a side-saidle!
But this is mair than sober cheer,—
It means the ladle!
And, efter a', the nicht's a youth!
Bring oot the bowl—we'll mak' the drouth!
But roar for help—there's Aury Struth
An' Davie Dinn—
Doun to the brae—head wi' your mouth
An' cry them in!
Bring oot the bowl—we'll mak' the drouth!
But roar for help—there's Aury Struth
An' Davie Dinn—
Doun to the brae—head wi' your mouth
An' cry them in!
202
Wi' the great enemy o' life
We'll wage this e'en a merry strife;
We mayna stop his nickit knife,
But there's the soond—
The deil be in my thrapple gif
We dinna droon'd!
We'll wage this e'en a merry strife;
We mayna stop his nickit knife,
But there's the soond—
The deil be in my thrapple gif
We dinna droon'd!
Wi' sowp an' sang we'se fill oor mouth,
The e'enin's only in its youth,—
It's only aucht o'clock in truth,
An' there it's chappin':
We'll drink according to our drouth—
Pour every drap in!
The e'enin's only in its youth,—
It's only aucht o'clock in truth,
An' there it's chappin':
We'll drink according to our drouth—
Pour every drap in!
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |