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 refuses to Emigrate. |
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 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
4
Hughie refuses to Emigrate.
“Ibi tu calentem
Debita sparges lacrima favillam
Vatis amici.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Debita sparges lacrima favillam
Vatis amici.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Matthie, nae mair! Ye'se gang your lane!
Tak' my best wishes wi' ye,
An' may guid fortune owre the main
An' snugly settled see ye!
I wuss ye weel! The kintra's lairge,
An ye're but twa wi' Mary;
Ye'll shortly hae the owner's chairge,
Nae doot, o' half a prairie.
There's ample room in sic a park
To foond a score o' nations,
An' flourish like a patriarch
Amon' your generations.
Tak' my best wishes wi' ye,
An' may guid fortune owre the main
An' snugly settled see ye!
I wuss ye weel! The kintra's lairge,
An ye're but twa wi' Mary;
Ye'll shortly hae the owner's chairge,
Nae doot, o' half a prairie.
There's ample room in sic a park
To foond a score o' nations,
An' flourish like a patriarch
Amon' your generations.
7
But me may Scotland's bonnie hills
Maintain to utmost auld age,
Leadin' my flocks by quiet rills,
An' lingerin' thro' the gold age;
Untemptit wi' a foreign gain
That mak's ye merely laird o't,
An' thinkin' Scotland a' min' ain,
Tho' ownin' ne'er a yaird o't!
Maintain to utmost auld age,
Leadin' my flocks by quiet rills,
An' lingerin' thro' the gold age;
Untemptit wi' a foreign gain
That mak's ye merely laird o't,
An' thinkin' Scotland a' min' ain,
Tho' ownin' ne'er a yaird o't!
What hills are like the Ochil hills?
There's nane sae green, tho' grander;
What rills are like the Ochil rills?
Nane, nane on earth that wander!
There Spring returns amon' the sleet,
Ere Winter's tack be near thro';
There Spring an' Simmer fain wad meet
To tarry a' the year thro'!
There's nane sae green, tho' grander;
What rills are like the Ochil rills?
Nane, nane on earth that wander!
There Spring returns amon' the sleet,
Ere Winter's tack be near thro';
There Spring an' Simmer fain wad meet
To tarry a' the year thro'!
An' there in green Glendevon's shade
A grave at last be found me,
Wi' daisies growin' at my head
An' Devon lingerin' round me!
Nae stane disfigurement o' grief
Wi' lang narration rise there;
A line wad brawly serve, if brief,
To tell the lave wha lies there.
But ony sculptur'd wecht o' stane
Wad only overpow'r me;
A shepherd, musin' there his lane,
Were meeter bendin' owre me.
A grave at last be found me,
Wi' daisies growin' at my head
An' Devon lingerin' round me!
8
Wi' lang narration rise there;
A line wad brawly serve, if brief,
To tell the lave wha lies there.
But ony sculptur'd wecht o' stane
Wad only overpow'r me;
A shepherd, musin' there his lane,
Were meeter bendin' owre me.
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |