Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 20

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell-- Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!

Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men Gang aft agley, An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!

Epitaph On John Dove, Innkeeper

Here lies Johnie Pigeon; What was his religion?

Whae'er desires to ken, To some other warl'

Maun follow the carl, For here Johnie Pigeon had nane!

Strong ale was ablution, Small beer persecution, A dram was memento mori; But a full-flowing bowl Was the saving his soul, And port was celestial glory.

Epitaph For James Smith

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', He aften did a.s.sist ye; For had ye staid hale weeks awa, Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye.

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press To school in bands thegither, O tread ye lightly on his gra.s.s,-- Perhaps he was your father!

Adam Armour's Prayer

Gude pity me, because I'm little!

For though I am an elf o' mettle, An' can, like ony wabster's shuttle, Jink there or here, Yet, scarce as lang's a gude kail-whittle, I'm unco queer.

An' now Thou kens our waefu' case; For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace, Because we stang'd her through the place, An' hurt her spleuchan; For whilk we daurna show our face Within the clachan.

An' now we're dern'd in dens and hollows, And hunted, as was William Wallace, Wi' constables-thae blackguard fallows, An' sodgers baith; But Gude preserve us frae the gallows, That shamefu' death!

Auld grim black-bearded Geordie's sel'-- O shake him owre the mouth o' h.e.l.l!

There let him hing, an' roar, an' yell Wi' hideous din, And if he offers to rebel, Then heave him in.

When Death comes in wi' glimmerin blink, An' tips auld drucken Nanse the wink, May Sautan gie her doup a clink Within his yett, An' fill her up wi' brimstone drink, Red-reekin het.

Though Jock an' hav'rel Jean are merry-- Some devil seize them in a hurry, An' waft them in th' infernal wherry Straught through the lake, An' gie their hides a n.o.ble curry Wi' oil of aik!

As for the jurr-puir worthless body!

She's got mischief enough already; Wi' stanged hips, and b.u.t.tocks bluidy She's suffer'd sair; But, may she wintle in a woody, If she wh-e mair!

The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata^1

[Footnote 1: Not published by Burns.]

Recitativo

When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, Or wavering like the bauckie-bird, Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, And infant frosts begin to bite, In h.o.a.ry cranreuch drest; Ae night at e'en a merry core O' randie, gangrel bodies, In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, To drink their orra duddies; Wi' quaffing an' laughing, They ranted an' they sang, Wi' jumping an' thumping, The vera girdle rang,

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,

And knapsack a' in order; His doxy lay within his arm; Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm She blinkit on her sodger; An' aye he gies the tozie drab The t.i.ther skelpin' kiss, While she held up her greedy gab, Just like an aumous dish; Ilk smack still, did crack still, Just like a cadger's whip; Then staggering an' swaggering He roar'd this ditty up--

Air

Tune--"Soldier's Joy."

I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.

Lal de daudle, &c.

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, When the b.l.o.o.d.y die was cast on the heights of Abram: and I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Morro low was laid at the sound of the drum.

I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.

And now tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my b.u.m, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum.

What tho' with h.o.a.ry locks, I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, I could meet a troop of h.e.l.l, at the sound of a drum.

Recitativo

He ended; and the kebars sheuk, Aboon the chorus roar; While frighted rattons backward leuk, An' seek the benmost bore: A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, He skirl'd out, encore!

But up arose the martial chuck, An' laid the loud uproar.

Air