Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems By William Miller: Edited, with an Introduction by Robert Ford |
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Letter of Thanks to James Young, Esq., Kelly.
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 | Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems |  |
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Letter of Thanks to James Young, Esq., Kelly.
More gladd'ning 'tis for me to know,
Than all the gifts you can bestow,
Such men exist, and dare be good,
Even in this moral solitude,
And augurs of a better day.
When heart, not wealth, will bear the sway.
Than all the gifts you can bestow,
Such men exist, and dare be good,
Even in this moral solitude,
And augurs of a better day.
When heart, not wealth, will bear the sway.
Dear Sir,
I almost ca'd ye Jamie,
For which I hope ye will forgie me.
Mem'ries o' bygane days cam' o'er me,
And you a laddie stood afore me;
And then a youth, and I the same,
Hope painting each some fav'rite scheme
Haflins fulfill'd to me, to you
A reputation but your due;
Then men—of genius, let me say—
But mark the difference of to-day:
I gat my wish, an' am a rhymist,
An' you gat yours, an' are a chymist.
I sang, made poor an' rich to smile,
But still the bard is doom'd to toil;
You, wealth, besides a world wide fame,
Only to fade when fades thy name.
For which I hope ye will forgie me.
Mem'ries o' bygane days cam' o'er me,
And you a laddie stood afore me;
And then a youth, and I the same,
Hope painting each some fav'rite scheme
Haflins fulfill'd to me, to you
A reputation but your due;
Then men—of genius, let me say—
But mark the difference of to-day:
I gat my wish, an' am a rhymist,
An' you gat yours, an' are a chymist.
I sang, made poor an' rich to smile,
But still the bard is doom'd to toil;
You, wealth, besides a world wide fame,
Only to fade when fades thy name.
67
If e'er o' death ye gat a preein',
An' then assur'd ye're no yet deeing,
That a new tack o' life is lent ye—
Sic feelin' raised the word ye sent me.
To ken, till I am lyin' streekit,
I'm certain-sure my head is theekit.
An' yours the heart that kindly thocht o'
He whom the warl' seems to think nocht o'.
Sic news to hear did sae astoun' me,
I thocht the house was rinnin' roun' me!
An' then assur'd ye're no yet deeing,
That a new tack o' life is lent ye—
Sic feelin' raised the word ye sent me.
To ken, till I am lyin' streekit,
I'm certain-sure my head is theekit.
An' yours the heart that kindly thocht o'
He whom the warl' seems to think nocht o'.
Sic news to hear did sae astoun' me,
I thocht the house was rinnin' roun' me!
My hamely muse is no a gawkie,
A gigglin', glaikit, senseless taupie,
Wha vainly apes the tongue o' ithers,
Disdainin' her auld Scottish mither's,
But speaks our native language queenly,
On wha misca' her smiles serenely;
Draped in her short-gown an' her coatie,
Delighted e'es each lovely spottie
That Scotland owns; lo'es weans, an' flow'rs,
An' hearts that's warm an' kind as yours.
A gigglin', glaikit, senseless taupie,
Wha vainly apes the tongue o' ithers,
Disdainin' her auld Scottish mither's,
But speaks our native language queenly,
On wha misca' her smiles serenely;
Draped in her short-gown an' her coatie,
Delighted e'es each lovely spottie
That Scotland owns; lo'es weans, an' flow'rs,
An' hearts that's warm an' kind as yours.
Unskill'd in words, to thank you duly
She only say,
She only say,
Believe me truly,
As lang as I can wag a tongue,
'Twill be to laud an' sing James Young.
As lang as I can wag a tongue,
'Twill be to laud an' sing James Young.
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