Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 40

Lines To An Old Sweetheart

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, Sweet early object of my youthful vows, Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows.

And when you read the simple artless rhymes, One friendly sigh for him--he asks no more, Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes, Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar.

Motto Prefixed To The Author's First Publication

The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art, He pours the wild effusions of the heart; And if inspir'd 'tis Nature's pow'rs inspire; Her's all the melting thrill, and her's the kindling fire.

Lines To Mr. John Kennedy

Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you, And 'mang her favourites admit you: If e'er Detraction sh.o.r.e to smit you, May nane believe him, And ony deil that thinks to get you, Good Lord, deceive him!

Lines Written On A Banknote

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!

Fell source o' a' my woe and grief!

For lack o' thee I've lost my la.s.s!

For lack o' thee I scrimp my gla.s.s!

I see the children of affliction Unaided, through thy curst restriction: I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile Amid his hapless victim's spoil; And for thy potence vainly wished, To crush the villain in the dust: For lack o' thee, I leave this much-lov'd sh.o.r.e, Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.

R.B.

Stanzas On Naething

Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.

To you, sir, this summons I've sent, Pray, whip till the pownie is freathing; But if you demand what I want, I honestly answer you--naething.

Ne'er scorn a poor Poet like me, For idly just living and breathing, While people of every degree Are busy employed about--naething.

Poor Centum-per-centum may fast, And grumble his hurdies their claithing, He'll find, when the balance is cast, He's gane to the devil for-naething.

The courtier cringes and bows, Ambition has likewise its plaything; A coronet beams on his brows; And what is a coronet-naething.

Some quarrel the Presbyter gown, Some quarrel Episcopal graithing; But every good fellow will own Their quarrel is a' about--naething.

The lover may sparkle and glow, Approaching his bonie bit gay thing: But marriage will soon let him know He's gotten--a buskit up naething.

The Poet may jingle and rhyme, In hopes of a laureate wreathing, And when he has wasted his time, He's kindly rewarded wi'--naething.

The thundering bully may rage, And swagger and swear like a heathen; But collar him fast, I'll engage, You'll find that his courage is--naething.

Last night wi' a feminine whig-- A Poet she couldna put faith in; But soon we grew lovingly big, I taught her, her terrors were naething.

Her whigship was wonderful pleased, But charmingly tickled wi' ae thing, Her fingers I lovingly squeezed, And kissed her, and promised her--naething.

The priest anathemas may threat-- Predicament, sir, that we're baith in; But when honour's reveille is beat, The holy artillery's naething.

And now I must mount on the wave-- My voyage perhaps there is death in; But what is a watery grave?

The drowning a Poet is naething.

And now, as grim death's in my thought, To you, sir, I make this bequeathing; My service as long as ye've ought, And my friendship, by G.o.d, when ye've naething.

The Farewell

The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?

Or what does he regard his single woes?

But when, alas! he multiplies himself, To dearer serves, to the lov'd tender fair, To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him, To helpless children,--then, Oh then, he feels The point of misery festering in his heart, And weakly weeps his fortunes like a coward: Such, such am I!--undone!

Thomson's Edward and Eleanora.

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, Far dearer than the torrid plains, Where rich ananas blow!

Farewell, a mother's blessing dear!

A borther's sigh! a sister's tear!

My Jean's heart-rending throe!

Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft Of my paternal care.

A faithful brother I have left, My part in him thou'lt share!

Adieu, too, to you too, My Smith, my bosom frien'; When kindly you mind me, O then befriend my Jean!

What bursting anguish tears my heart; From thee, my Jeany, must I part!

Thou, weeping, answ'rest--"No!"

Alas! misfortune stares my face, And points to ruin and disgrace, I for thy sake must go!

Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear, A grateful, warm adieu: I, with a much-indebted tear, Shall still remember you!

All hail then, the gale then, Wafts me from thee, dear sh.o.r.e!

It rustles, and whistles I'll never see thee more!