 | [J. G. Whittier to the "Rustic Bard", in] Incidental poems |  |
248
J. G. WHITTIER TO THE “RUSTIC BARD.”
Health to the hale auld “Rustic Bard!”
Gin ye a poet wad regard,
Who deems it honor to be ca'd
Yere rhymin' brither,
'Twould gie his muse a rich reward—
He asks nae ither.
Gin ye a poet wad regard,
Who deems it honor to be ca'd
Yere rhymin' brither,
'Twould gie his muse a rich reward—
He asks nae ither.
My muse, an inexperienced hizzie,
Wi' pride an' self-importance dizzy,
O' skill to rhyme it, free an' easy,
Is na possessor;
But yours has been a lang time busy—
An auld transgressor.
Wi' pride an' self-importance dizzy,
O' skill to rhyme it, free an' easy,
Is na possessor;
But yours has been a lang time busy—
An auld transgressor.
Yes, lang an' weel ye've held your way,
An' spite o' a' that critics say,
The memory of your rustic lay,
Shall still be dear;
And wi' yere name to latest day,
Be cherish'd here.
An' spite o' a' that critics say,
The memory of your rustic lay,
Shall still be dear;
And wi' yere name to latest day,
Be cherish'd here.
249
And though the cauld an' heartless sneer,
An' critics urge their wordy weir,
An' graceless scoundrels taunt an' jeer,
E'en let them do it;
They canna mak' the muse less dear,
To ony poet.
An' critics urge their wordy weir,
An' graceless scoundrels taunt an' jeer,
E'en let them do it;
They canna mak' the muse less dear,
To ony poet.
But why should poets “fash their thumb?”
E'en let the storms o' fortune come;
Maun they alane be left in gloom,
To grope an' stumble;
An' wear the garb, fate's partial loom
Has wove maist humble?
E'en let the storms o' fortune come;
Maun they alane be left in gloom,
To grope an' stumble;
An' wear the garb, fate's partial loom
Has wove maist humble?
No! up wi' pride—wha cares a feather
What fools may chance to say, or whether
They praise or spurn our rhymin' blether—
Laud, or abuse us;
While conscience keeps within fair weather,
An' wise men roose us.
What fools may chance to say, or whether
They praise or spurn our rhymin' blether—
Laud, or abuse us;
While conscience keeps within fair weather,
An' wise men roose us.
Then let us smile when fools assail us,
To answer them will not avail us;
Contempt alane should meet the railers—
It deals a blow,
When weapons like their ain, wad fail us,
To cower the foe.
To answer them will not avail us;
Contempt alane should meet the railers—
It deals a blow,
When weapons like their ain, wad fail us,
To cower the foe.
250
But whyles they need a castigation,
Shall either name, or rank, or station,
Protect them frae the flagellation,
Sae muckle needed?
Shall vice an' crimes that “taint the nation,”
Pass on unheeded?
Shall either name, or rank, or station,
Protect them frae the flagellation,
Sae muckle needed?
Shall vice an' crimes that “taint the nation,”
Pass on unheeded?
No! let the muse her trumpet take,
'Till auld offenders learn to shake,
An' tremble when they hear her wake
Her tones o' thunder;
'Till pride, an' bloated ignorance quake,
An' gawkies wonder.
'Till auld offenders learn to shake,
An' tremble when they hear her wake
Her tones o' thunder;
'Till pride, an' bloated ignorance quake,
An' gawkies wonder.
For ye, auld bard, though long ye've been
An actor in life's weary scene,
Wi' saul erect, an' fearless mein,
Ye've held your way;
An' O! may Heaven preserve serene,
Your closin' day.
An actor in life's weary scene,
Wi' saul erect, an' fearless mein,
Ye've held your way;
An' O! may Heaven preserve serene,
Your closin' day.
Farewell! the poet's hopes an' fears
May vanish frae this vale o' tears;
An' curtain'd wi' forgotten years,
His muse may lie;
But virtue's form, unscaith'd appears—
It canna die!
May vanish frae this vale o' tears;
An' curtain'd wi' forgotten years,
His muse may lie;
But virtue's form, unscaith'd appears—
It canna die!
Haverhill, 1st month, 1828.
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