Robert Burns: How To Know Him Part 24

Intended fraud or guile, However Fortune kick the ba', [ball]

Has aye some cause to smile: And mind still, you'll find still, A comfort this nae sma'; [not small]

Nae mair then, we'll care then, Nae farther can we fa'.

What tho' like commoners of air, We wander out, we know not where, But either house or hal'? [Without]

Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, Are free alike to all.

In days when daisies deck the ground, And blackbirds whistle clear, With honest joy our hearts will bound, To see the coming year: On braes when we please, then, [hill-sides]

We'll sit and sowth a tune [hum]

Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, [Then]

And sing't when we hae done.

It's no in t.i.tles nor in rank; It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, To purchase peace and rest; It's no in making muckle, mair: [much, more]

It's no in books, it's no in lear, [learning]

To make us truly blest: If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest: Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang; The heart aye's the part aye That makes us right or wrang.

Think ye, that sic as you and I, [such]

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, Wi' never-ceasing toil; Think ye, are we less blest than they, Wha scarcely tent us in their way, [note]

As hardly worth their while?

Alas! how oft in haughty mood, G.o.d's creatures they oppress!

Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, They riot in excess!

Baith careless, and fearless, Of either heav'n or h.e.l.l!

Esteeming, and deeming It's a' an idle tale!

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; Nor make our scanty pleasures less, By pining at our state; And, even should misfortunes come, I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, An's thankfu' for them yet. [And am]

They gie the wit of age to youth; They let us ken oursel; They mak us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill.

Tho' losses, and crosses, Be lessons right severe, There's wit there, ye'll get there, Ye'll find nae other where.

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! [note]

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, [cards]

And flatt'ry I detest) This life has joys for you and I; And joys that riches ne'er could buy; And joys the very best.

There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, The lover an' the frien'; Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, And I my darling Jean!

It warms me, it charms me, To mention but her name: It heats me, it beets me, [kindles]

And sets me a' on flame!

O all ye pow'rs who rule above!

O Thou, whose very self art love!

Thou know'st my words sincere!

The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, Or my more dear immortal part, Is not more fondly dear!

When heart-corroding care and grief Deprive my soul of rest, Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast.

Thou Being, All-seeing, O hear my fervent pray'r; Still take her, and make her Thy most peculiar care!

All hail, ye tender feelings dear!

The smile of love, the friendly tear, The sympathetic glow!

Long since this world's th.o.r.n.y ways Had number'd out my weary days, Had it not been for you!

Fate still has blest me with a friend, In every care and ill; And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still, It lightens, it brightens The tenebrific scene, To meet with, and greet with My Davie or my Jean.

O, how that name inspires my style!

The words come skelpin', rank and file, [spanking]

Amaist before I ken! [Almost]

The ready measure ring as fine As Phoebus and the famous Nine Were glowrin' owre my pen. [staring over]

My spavied Pegasus will limp, [spavined]

Till ance he's fairly het; [once, hot]

And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jump, [hobble, limp, jump]

An' rin an unco fit: [surprising spurt]

But lest then the beast then Should rue this hasty ride, I'll light now, and dight now [wipe]

His sweaty, wizen'd hide.

The didactic tendency reaches its height in the _Epistle to a Young Friend_. Here there is no personal confession, but a conscious and professed sermon, unrelated, as the last line shows, to the practise of the preacher. It is, of course, only poetry in the eighteenth-century sense--

What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed--

and as such it should be judged. The critics who have reacted most violently against the attempted canonization of Burns have been inclined to sneer at this admirable homily, and to insinuate insincerity. But human nature affords every-day examples of just such perfectly sincere inconsistency as we find between the sixth stanza and Burns's own conduct; while not inconsistency but a very genuine rhetoric inspires the characteristic quatrain which closes the seventh.

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND

I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you, Tho' it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind memento; [sort of]

But how the subject-theme may gang, Let time and chance determine; Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, And, Andrew dear, believe me, Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, [queer]

And muckle they may grieve ye: [much]

For care and trouble set your thought, Ev'n when your end's attained: And a' your views may come to nought, Where ev'ry nerve is strained.

I'll no say men are villains a'; The real harden'd wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law, Are to a few restricked; But och! mankind are unco weak, [extremely]

An' little to be trusted; If Self the wavering balance shake, It's rarely right adjusted!

Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife.

Their fate we shouldna censure; For still th' important end of life They equally may answer.

A man may hae an honest heart, Tho' poort.i.th hourly stare him; [poverty]

A man may tak a neibor's part, Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff han', your story tell, When wi' a bosom crony; But still keep something to yoursel Ye scarcely tell to ony.

Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can Frae critical dissection; But keek thro' ev'ry other man [pry]

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection.

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, [flame]

Luxuriantly indulge it; But never tempt th' illicit rove, [attempt, roving]

Tho' naething should divulge it: I waive the quantum o' the sin, The hazard of concealing; But och! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling!

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, a.s.siduous wait upon her; And gather gear by ev'ry wile That's justified by honour; Not for to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train-attendant; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent.

The fear o' h.e.l.l's a hangman's whip To haud the wretch in order; [hold]

But where ye feel your honour grip, Let that aye be your border: Its slightest touches, instant pause-- Debar a' side pretences; And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences.

The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature; But still the preaching cant forbear, And ev'n the rigid feature: Yet ne'er with wits profane to range Be complaisance extended; An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange For Deity offended.

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, [frolicking]

Religion may be blinded; Or, if she gie a random sting, It may be little minded; But when on life we're tempest-driv'n-- A conscience but a canker-- A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n Is sure a n.o.ble anchor.

Adieu, dear amiable youth!