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 Lectures the Local Editor, gone
abroad on Leave and enjoying himself. |
 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
214
Hughie Lectures the Local Editor, gone abroad on Leave and enjoying himself.
“Pollicitus meliora!”
—Car. i. 29.
—Car. i. 29.
Fra whaur, in search o' Simmer air,
Southward amang the frem'd ye fare,
Till in a sark, or little mair,
Ye gang stravaigin',—
Come hame an' fill your vacant chair,
Ye shameless pagan!
Southward amang the frem'd ye fare,
Till in a sark, or little mair,
Ye gang stravaigin',—
Come hame an' fill your vacant chair,
Ye shameless pagan!
We've traced ye to the banks o' Nile;
Our een's been on ye a' the while;
And, though at times ye've raised the smile,
We've thocht again—
“The dog!” we've said, “is this his style
When aff the chain?”
Our een's been on ye a' the while;
And, though at times ye've raised the smile,
We've thocht again—
“The dog!” we've said, “is this his style
When aff the chain?”
215
The ease of Eastern life, the bliss,
Ye've seen't: ye've said, “How fair it is!”
Ye've greetit Egypt wi' a kiss,
Voluptuous taed!
What saftenin' o' the heart was this?
And o' the heid?
Ye've seen't: ye've said, “How fair it is!”
Ye've greetit Egypt wi' a kiss,
Voluptuous taed!
What saftenin' o' the heart was this?
And o' the heid?
Her flowin' dress o' divers hue,
Her glowin' een, her meltin' mou'—
Hoo has the glamour o' the view
Played to befule ye!
A towmont o' the kilt, I troo,
Ye'll need to cule ye!
Her glowin' een, her meltin' mou'—
Hoo has the glamour o' the view
Played to befule ye!
A towmont o' the kilt, I troo,
Ye'll need to cule ye!
Come back, an' tak' a winter tour
Amang the snaws on Rannoch moor;
Or, better, listen for an 'oor
To John M'Caskill:
Ae dose o' him's the only cure
For you, ye rascal!
Amang the snaws on Rannoch moor;
Or, better, listen for an 'oor
To John M'Caskill:
Ae dose o' him's the only cure
For you, ye rascal!
216
He'll cure ye o' your rovin' een;
He'll tell ye whaur your thochts hae been;
He'll purge your mind an' morals clean,
An' scour your passions;
Till ye renounce the Egyptian queen
An' a' her fashions!
He'll tell ye whaur your thochts hae been;
He'll purge your mind an' morals clean,
An' scour your passions;
Till ye renounce the Egyptian queen
An' a' her fashions!
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |