The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill With biography, illustrations, and music |
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ODE. BURNS ANNIVERSARY MEETING.
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 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
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ODE. BURNS ANNIVERSARY MEETING.
Written for, and read at the Celebration of, Robert Burns' Birthday, Paisley, 1805.
Once on a time, almighty Jove
Invited all the minor gods above
To spend one day in social festive pleasure;
His regal robes were laid aside,
His crown, his sceptre, and his pride;
And, wing'd with joy,
The hours did fly,
The happiest ever Time did measure.
Invited all the minor gods above
To spend one day in social festive pleasure;
His regal robes were laid aside,
His crown, his sceptre, and his pride;
And, wing'd with joy,
The hours did fly,
The happiest ever Time did measure.
Of love and social harmony they sung,
Till Heav'n's high golden arches echoing rung;
And as they quaffed the nectar-flowing can,
Their toast was—
“Universal peace 'twixt man and man.”
Till Heav'n's high golden arches echoing rung;
And as they quaffed the nectar-flowing can,
Their toast was—
“Universal peace 'twixt man and man.”
Their godships' eyes beam'd gladness with the wish,
And Mars half reddened with a guilty blush;
Jove swore he 'd hurl each rascal to perdition
Who 'd dare deface his works with wild ambition;
But pour'd encomiums on each patriot band,
Who, hating conquest, guard their native land.
Loud, thund'ring plaudits shook the bright abodes,
Till Merc'ry, solemn-voiced, assail'd their ears,
Informing that a stranger, all in tears,
Weeping, implored an audience of the gods.
And Mars half reddened with a guilty blush;
Jove swore he 'd hurl each rascal to perdition
Who 'd dare deface his works with wild ambition;
But pour'd encomiums on each patriot band,
Who, hating conquest, guard their native land.
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Till Merc'ry, solemn-voiced, assail'd their ears,
Informing that a stranger, all in tears,
Weeping, implored an audience of the gods.
Jove, ever prone to succour the distrest,
A swell redressive glow'd within his breast,
He pitied much the stranger's sad condition,
And ordered his immediate admission.
A swell redressive glow'd within his breast,
He pitied much the stranger's sad condition,
And ordered his immediate admission.
The stranger enter'd, bowed respect to all;
Respectful silence reign'd throughout the hall.
His chequer'd robes excited their surprise,
Richly travers'd with various glowing dyes;
A target on his strong left arm he bore,
Broad as the shield the mighty Fingal wore;
The glowing landscape on its centre shin'd,
And massy thistles round the borders twin'd;
His brows were bound with yellow-blossom'd broom,
Green birch and roses blending in perfume;
His eyes beam'd honour, though all red with grief,
And thus Heaven's King spake comfort to the Chief:
“My son, let speech unfold thy cause of woe,
Say, why does melancholy cloud thy brow?
'Tis mine the wrongs of virtue to redress;
Speak, for 'tis time to succour deep distress.”
Respectful silence reign'd throughout the hall.
His chequer'd robes excited their surprise,
Richly travers'd with various glowing dyes;
A target on his strong left arm he bore,
Broad as the shield the mighty Fingal wore;
The glowing landscape on its centre shin'd,
And massy thistles round the borders twin'd;
His brows were bound with yellow-blossom'd broom,
Green birch and roses blending in perfume;
His eyes beam'd honour, though all red with grief,
And thus Heaven's King spake comfort to the Chief:
“My son, let speech unfold thy cause of woe,
Say, why does melancholy cloud thy brow?
'Tis mine the wrongs of virtue to redress;
Speak, for 'tis time to succour deep distress.”
Then thus he spake: “O King! by thy command,
I am the guardian of that far-fam'd land
Nam'd Caledonia, great in arts and arms,
And every worth that social fondness charms,
With every virtue that the heart approves,
Warm in their friendships, rapt'rous in their loves,
Profusely generous, obstinately just,
Inflexible as death their vows of trust;
For independence fires their noble minds,
Scorning deceit, as gods do scorn the fiends.
But what avail the virtues of the north,
No patriot-bard to celebrate their worth,
No heav'n-taught minstrel, with the voice of song,
To hymn their deeds, and make their names live long!
And ah! should Luxury, with soft winning wiles,
Spread her contagion o'er my subject isles,
My hardy sons, no longer Valour's boast,
Would sink despis'd, their wonted greatness lost.
Forgive my wish, O King! I speak with awe,
Thy will is fate, thy word is sovereign law!
O! wouldst thou deign thy suppliant to regard,
And grant my country one true patriot-bard,
My sons would glory in the blessing given,
And virtuous deeds spring from the gift of Heaven!’
I am the guardian of that far-fam'd land
Nam'd Caledonia, great in arts and arms,
And every worth that social fondness charms,
With every virtue that the heart approves,
Warm in their friendships, rapt'rous in their loves,
Profusely generous, obstinately just,
Inflexible as death their vows of trust;
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Scorning deceit, as gods do scorn the fiends.
But what avail the virtues of the north,
No patriot-bard to celebrate their worth,
No heav'n-taught minstrel, with the voice of song,
To hymn their deeds, and make their names live long!
And ah! should Luxury, with soft winning wiles,
Spread her contagion o'er my subject isles,
My hardy sons, no longer Valour's boast,
Would sink despis'd, their wonted greatness lost.
Forgive my wish, O King! I speak with awe,
Thy will is fate, thy word is sovereign law!
O! wouldst thou deign thy suppliant to regard,
And grant my country one true patriot-bard,
My sons would glory in the blessing given,
And virtuous deeds spring from the gift of Heaven!’
To which the god: “My son, cease to deplore,
Thy name in song shall sound the world all o'er;
Thy bard shall rise full fraught with all the fire
That Heav'n and free-born nature can inspire.
Ye sacred Nine, your golden harps prepare
T' instruct the fav'rite of my special care,
That, whether the song be rais'd to war or love,
His soul-wing'd strains may equal those above.
Now, faithful to thy trust, from sorrow free,
Go, wait the issue of our high decree.”—
Speechless the Genius stood, in glad surprise,
Adoring gratitude beam'd in his eyes;
The promis'd bard his soul with transport fills,
And, light with joy, he sought his native hills.
Thy name in song shall sound the world all o'er;
Thy bard shall rise full fraught with all the fire
That Heav'n and free-born nature can inspire.
Ye sacred Nine, your golden harps prepare
T' instruct the fav'rite of my special care,
That, whether the song be rais'd to war or love,
His soul-wing'd strains may equal those above.
Now, faithful to thy trust, from sorrow free,
Go, wait the issue of our high decree.”—
Speechless the Genius stood, in glad surprise,
Adoring gratitude beam'd in his eyes;
The promis'd bard his soul with transport fills,
And, light with joy, he sought his native hills.
'Twas in regard of Wallace and his worth
Jove honour'd Coila with his birth;
And on that morn,
When Burns was born,
Each Muse with joy
Did hail the boy;
And Fame, on tiptoe, fain would blown her horn,
But Fate forbade the blast, so premature,
Till worth should sanction it beyond the critic's power.
Jove honour'd Coila with his birth;
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When Burns was born,
Each Muse with joy
Did hail the boy;
And Fame, on tiptoe, fain would blown her horn,
But Fate forbade the blast, so premature,
Till worth should sanction it beyond the critic's power.
His merits proven—Fame her blast hath blown,
Now Scotia's Bard o'er all the world is known;—
But trembling doubts here check my unpolished lays,
What can they add to a whole world's praise?
Yet, while revolving time this day returns,
Let Scotsmen glory in the name of Burns.
Now Scotia's Bard o'er all the world is known;—
But trembling doubts here check my unpolished lays,
What can they add to a whole world's praise?
Yet, while revolving time this day returns,
Let Scotsmen glory in the name of Burns.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |