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's Invitation to a Friend in the City. |
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 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
148
Hughie's Invitation to a Friend in the City.
“Hic tibi copie
Manabit ad plenum benigno
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu.”
—Car. i. 17.
Manabit ad plenum benigno
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu.”
—Car. i. 17.
Noo Nature's wauken'd fra her trance,
An' sunbeams owre Lochleven glance,
An' soothlan' winds that blaw fra France
Bring soothlan' weather,
An' lambs like fairy pownies prance
Amang the heather.
An' sunbeams owre Lochleven glance,
An' soothlan' winds that blaw fra France
Bring soothlan' weather,
An' lambs like fairy pownies prance
Amang the heather.
Noo doun the rig the sawer swings,
An' Jock ahint the harrow sings;
Noo aff his plaid the shepherd flings
An' cracks to Rover,
While a' the open upland rings
To whaup and plover.
An' Jock ahint the harrow sings;
Noo aff his plaid the shepherd flings
An' cracks to Rover,
While a' the open upland rings
To whaup and plover.
149
This mornin' happy man is he
That on the Ochils rangin' free
Can thro' the blue lift send his ee
Owre to the Lomon',
An' a' the pleasant prospect see
An' envy no man.
That on the Ochils rangin' free
Can thro' the blue lift send his ee
Owre to the Lomon',
An' a' the pleasant prospect see
An' envy no man.
That happy man—he's no' to seek!
That happy man—ye hear him speak!
He stands upon an Ochil peak
An' looks wi' pity
On you that dwall amang the reek
Doun i' the city.
That happy man—ye hear him speak!
He stands upon an Ochil peak
An' looks wi' pity
On you that dwall amang the reek
Doun i' the city.
Nae doot it's there the race is run
For walth an' honours, but the fun
'S to them that win, an' tho' ye've won
Ye're apt to time them;
The glory o' the settin' sun
'Ill far ootshine them!
For walth an' honours, but the fun
'S to them that win, an' tho' ye've won
Ye're apt to time them;
The glory o' the settin' sun
'Ill far ootshine them!
150
Come, leave awhile the stoory toun,
The mill-horse track, the endless roun',
The jaded sicht, the jarrin' soun',
The haste an' hurry,
An' look fra pastoral summits doun
On Edinburgh.
The mill-horse track, the endless roun',
The jaded sicht, the jarrin' soun',
The haste an' hurry,
An' look fra pastoral summits doun
On Edinburgh.
Here a' your griefs to grund 'ill fa'
Like winter's blanket aff a wa'
When saft airs owre Damíat blaw,
An' skies are clearin'.
An' yellow whin-blumes thro' the snaw
Are blithely peerin'.
Like winter's blanket aff a wa'
When saft airs owre Damíat blaw,
An' skies are clearin'.
An' yellow whin-blumes thro' the snaw
Are blithely peerin'.
Or are ye shilpit, pale, an' sick?
Come up the brae an' bide a week,
An' drink the pure air at the peak
That's nearest heaven,
An' get a howp in ilka cheek
O' halesome livin'.
Come up the brae an' bide a week,
An' drink the pure air at the peak
That's nearest heaven,
An' get a howp in ilka cheek
O' halesome livin'.
151
For what's the worth o' warld's gain
Unless the joys o' health remain?
Yet there are folk that strive, an' strain
Their strength unduly—
Wi' puir return for a' their pain,
To speak it truly.
Unless the joys o' health remain?
Yet there are folk that strive, an' strain
Their strength unduly—
Wi' puir return for a' their pain,
To speak it truly.
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |