 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
139
THE RESOLVE.
“Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,
The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.”
—Beattie.
The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.”
—Beattie.
'Twas on a sunny Sabbath-day,
When wark-worn bodies get their play
(Thanks to the rulers o' the nation,
Wha gi'e us all a toleration,
To gang as best may please oursel's—
Some to the kirk, some to the fiel's),
I wander'd out, with serious look,
To read twa page on Nature's book;
For lang I 've thought, as little harm in
Hearing a lively out-field sermon,
Even though rowted by a stirk,
As that aft bawl'd in crowded kirk
By some proud, stern, polemic wight,
Wha cries, “My way alone is right!”
Wha lairs himself in controversy,
Then damns his neighbours without mercy,
As if the fewer that were spar'd,
These few would be the better ser'd.
When wark-worn bodies get their play
(Thanks to the rulers o' the nation,
Wha gi'e us all a toleration,
To gang as best may please oursel's—
Some to the kirk, some to the fiel's),
I wander'd out, with serious look,
To read twa page on Nature's book;
For lang I 've thought, as little harm in
Hearing a lively out-field sermon,
Even though rowted by a stirk,
As that aft bawl'd in crowded kirk
By some proud, stern, polemic wight,
Wha cries, “My way alone is right!”
Wha lairs himself in controversy,
Then damns his neighbours without mercy,
As if the fewer that were spar'd,
These few would be the better ser'd.
Now to my tale—digression o'er—
I wander'd out by Stanely tow'r;
The lang grass on its tap did wave,
Like weeds upon a warrior's grave,
Whilk seem'd to mock the bloody braggers,
And grow on theirs as rank 's on beggars'—
But hold—I 'm frae the point again:
I wander'd up Gleniffer glen;
There, leaning 'gainst a mossy rock,
I, musing, eyed the passing brook,
That in its murmurs seem'd to say,
“'Tis thus thy life glides fast away:
Observe the bubbles on my stream;
Like them, fame is an empty dream;
They blink a moment to the sun,
Then burst, and are for ever gone.
So fame 's a bubble of the mind;
Possess'd, 'tis nought but empty wind—
No courtly gem e'er purchas'd dearer,
And ne'er can satisfy the wearer.
Let them wha ha'e a bleezing share o 't
Confess the truth, they sigh for mair o 't.
Then let contentment be thy cheer,
And never soar aboon thy sphere:
Rude storms assail the mountain's brow
That lightly skiff the vale below.”
I wander'd out by Stanely tow'r;
The lang grass on its tap did wave,
Like weeds upon a warrior's grave,
Whilk seem'd to mock the bloody braggers,
And grow on theirs as rank 's on beggars'—
But hold—I 'm frae the point again:
I wander'd up Gleniffer glen;
There, leaning 'gainst a mossy rock,
I, musing, eyed the passing brook,
That in its murmurs seem'd to say,
“'Tis thus thy life glides fast away:
140
Like them, fame is an empty dream;
They blink a moment to the sun,
Then burst, and are for ever gone.
So fame 's a bubble of the mind;
Possess'd, 'tis nought but empty wind—
No courtly gem e'er purchas'd dearer,
And ne'er can satisfy the wearer.
Let them wha ha'e a bleezing share o 't
Confess the truth, they sigh for mair o 't.
Then let contentment be thy cheer,
And never soar aboon thy sphere:
Rude storms assail the mountain's brow
That lightly skiff the vale below.”
A gaudy rose was growing near,
Proud, tow'ring on its leafy brier;
In fancy's ear it seemed to say—
“Sir, have you seen a flow'r so gay?
The poets in my praise combine,
Comparing Chloe's charms to mine;
The sunbeams for my favour sue me,
And dark-brow'd Night comes down to woo me;
But when I shrink from his request,
He draps his tears upon my breast,
And in his misty cloud sits wae,
Till chased away by rival day.
That streamlet's grov'lling grunting fires me,
Since no ane sees me, but admires me.
See yon bit violet 'neath my view.
Wee sallow thing, its nose is blue!
And that bit primrose 'side the breckan,
Puir yellow ghaist, it seems forsaken!
The sun ne'er throws ae transient glow,
Unless when passing whether or no;
But wisely spurning ane so mean,
He blinks on me from morn till e'en.”
Proud, tow'ring on its leafy brier;
In fancy's ear it seemed to say—
“Sir, have you seen a flow'r so gay?
The poets in my praise combine,
Comparing Chloe's charms to mine;
The sunbeams for my favour sue me,
And dark-brow'd Night comes down to woo me;
But when I shrink from his request,
He draps his tears upon my breast,
And in his misty cloud sits wae,
Till chased away by rival day.
That streamlet's grov'lling grunting fires me,
Since no ane sees me, but admires me.
See yon bit violet 'neath my view.
Wee sallow thing, its nose is blue!
And that bit primrose 'side the breckan,
Puir yellow ghaist, it seems forsaken!
The sun ne'er throws ae transient glow,
Unless when passing whether or no;
141
He blinks on me from morn till e'en.”
To which the primrose calm replied:
“Poor gaudy gowk, suppress your pride,
For soon the strong flow'r-sweeping blast
Shall strew your honours in the dust;
While I, beneath my lowly bield,
Will live and bloom frae harm conceal'd;
And while the heavy raindrops pelt you,
You'll maybe think on what I 've tell't you.”
The rose, derisive, seem'd to sneer,
And wav'd upon its bonnie brier.
“Poor gaudy gowk, suppress your pride,
For soon the strong flow'r-sweeping blast
Shall strew your honours in the dust;
While I, beneath my lowly bield,
Will live and bloom frae harm conceal'd;
And while the heavy raindrops pelt you,
You'll maybe think on what I 've tell't you.”
The rose, derisive, seem'd to sneer,
And wav'd upon its bonnie brier.
Now dark'ning clouds began to gather,
Presaging sudden change of weather.
I wander'd hame by Stanely green,
Deep pond'ring what I 'd heard and seen,
Firmly resolv'd to shun from hence
The dangerous steeps of eminence;
To drop this rhyming trade for ever,
And creep through life a plain, day-plodding weaver.
Presaging sudden change of weather.
I wander'd hame by Stanely green,
Deep pond'ring what I 'd heard and seen,
Firmly resolv'd to shun from hence
The dangerous steeps of eminence;
To drop this rhyming trade for ever,
And creep through life a plain, day-plodding weaver.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |