 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
BURNS.
Time, paint him as he was among
His darling daisies at the plow,
With bonnet old and poor, but hung
Right bravely on his honest brow.
His darling daisies at the plow,
With bonnet old and poor, but hung
Right bravely on his honest brow.
Or better, with his plaidie wide
And unashamed of homespun gear,
Turning his weeding clips aside
To save old Scotia's emblem dear.
And unashamed of homespun gear,
Turning his weeding clips aside
To save old Scotia's emblem dear.
For idle, all, the strife to vamp
With gauds, great nature's simple plan;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The gold for a' that is the man.
With gauds, great nature's simple plan;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The gold for a' that is the man.
Ah, paint him as he was, nor seek
His life with alien grace to trim;
No look of scourging in his cheek,
No saintly chastity for him!
His life with alien grace to trim;
No look of scourging in his cheek,
No saintly chastity for him!
Paint him a lover—in his song
Catching all hearts, his own still light—
Not haggard, as he looked ere long,
Affronted at neglect and slight.
Catching all hearts, his own still light—
Not haggard, as he looked ere long,
Affronted at neglect and slight.
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Bravely against the fate foregone,
Striving some little good to win—
Not in that wave which on and on
Allured him, till it drew him in.
Striving some little good to win—
Not in that wave which on and on
Allured him, till it drew him in.
Paint the great soul that yet with cries
Must rend the clay, not wear it through,
Making within his wondrous eyes
Signs of the work it had to do.
Must rend the clay, not wear it through,
Making within his wondrous eyes
Signs of the work it had to do.
Alas, that wayward, wavering strife
Towards worthier living, but reveal
The war, the mystery of the life
That other men but half conceal.
Towards worthier living, but reveal
The war, the mystery of the life
That other men but half conceal.
Paint all the bonny braes and streams
That called his inspirations out;
Not the poor skeleton of dreams
He lived his after-life about.
That called his inspirations out;
Not the poor skeleton of dreams
He lived his after-life about.
Ah, Time, be gentle with his fame,
Nor let his frailties, judgment sway,
For when he seemed the most to blame
'T was nature having all her way.
Nor let his frailties, judgment sway,
For when he seemed the most to blame
'T was nature having all her way.
'T was love that was his law of right,
And spite of all he thus defied,
No life has a diviner light
Than his, upon the heavenly side.
And spite of all he thus defied,
No life has a diviner light
Than his, upon the heavenly side.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |