Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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| I. |
| II. |
Hughie Directs the Rejoicings for the
Queen's Jubilee. |
 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
210
Hughie Directs the Rejoicings for the Queen's Jubilee.
“Sera in cœlum redeas diuque
Læta intersis populo Quirini!”
—Car. i. 2.
Læta intersis populo Quirini!”
—Car. i. 2.
Ye that are lords o' fixed degree,
Ye that are lords by whylies;
Ye proveses o' rank, an' ye
That are but baron-bailies;
Ye members o' the shires an' broughs,
Win up, an' haud ye ready
To boo your backs an' crook your houghs
Afore your sovran leddy!
Ye that are lords by whylies;
Ye proveses o' rank, an' ye
That are but baron-bailies;
Ye members o' the shires an' broughs,
Win up, an' haud ye ready
To boo your backs an' crook your houghs
Afore your sovran leddy!
Ye ministers; an' men o' weir—
Peace sodgers an' land sailors,
Auld warriors, to the service dear,
An' young anes, dear to tailors;
Ye new-made knichts an' nobles a',—
She made ye men o' honour,—
Weel may ye rank up in a raw,
An' shower your thanks upon her!
Peace sodgers an' land sailors,
Auld warriors, to the service dear,
An' young anes, dear to tailors;
211
She made ye men o' honour,—
Weel may ye rank up in a raw,
An' shower your thanks upon her!
Ye waiting dames, sae dink an' braw
Wi' lades o' costly claithing;
Ye bonnie lasses, best o' a'
Wi' just a flow'r—or naething;
Ye office wands; an' flunkey lords;
An' pages, pouthered meetly,
Noo hald a tight grip o' the cords,
An' guide the course discreetly!
Wi' lades o' costly claithing;
Ye bonnie lasses, best o' a'
Wi' just a flow'r—or naething;
Ye office wands; an' flunkey lords;
An' pages, pouthered meetly,
Noo hald a tight grip o' the cords,
An' guide the course discreetly!
Ye college dons, fra proctor doun
To him that but professes,
Noo, noo's the time to tuck your goun
An' draw up your addresses:
An' let your Latin be as snug
As if she kent the round o't,
For, by my faith, she'll lend a lug
An' judge ye by the sound o't!
To him that but professes,
Noo, noo's the time to tuck your goun
An' draw up your addresses:
An' let your Latin be as snug
As if she kent the round o't,
For, by my faith, she'll lend a lug
An' judge ye by the sound o't!
212
Ye parsons, groanin' aye wi' griefs,
The warld's maybe mendin';
Ye lawyers, lay aside your briefs,
Ill-named—they ne'er have endin';
An' tak' the hills or tak' the dales
As wide as e'er ye wandered,
Like laddies broken fra the schules,
An' free o' stripe an' standard!
The warld's maybe mendin';
Ye lawyers, lay aside your briefs,
Ill-named—they ne'er have endin';
An' tak' the hills or tak' the dales
As wide as e'er ye wandered,
Like laddies broken fra the schules,
An' free o' stripe an' standard!
An' lastly, ye that flood the street,
A roarin' spate o' people,
Splashed up to wa' an' window-seat,
To chimla-stack an' steeple,—
It sets ye weel to mak' the din
Ye may indulge the morn,
But dinna loup oot o' your skin,
And be content wi' roar'n'!
A roarin' spate o' people,
Splashed up to wa' an' window-seat,
To chimla-stack an' steeple,—
It sets ye weel to mak' the din
Ye may indulge the morn,
But dinna loup oot o' your skin,
And be content wi' roar'n'!
213
POSTSCRIPT.
Ye hills, sune to be blazin' hie,
As if by lightning smitten;
Ye countries, scattered owre the sea,
That mak' the Greater Britain,
Shout, and shine oot! tell a' that speir,
Wi' a' the speed ye may noo,
That, after towlin' fifty year,
Our Queen tak's holiday noo!
As if by lightning smitten;
Ye countries, scattered owre the sea,
That mak' the Greater Britain,
Shout, and shine oot! tell a' that speir,
Wi' a' the speed ye may noo,
That, after towlin' fifty year,
Our Queen tak's holiday noo!
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |