Robert Burns: How To Know Him Part 43

And hast thou crost that unknown river, Life's dreary bound?

Like thee, where shall I find another, The world around?

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, In a' the tinsel trash o' state!

But by thy honest turf I'll wait, Thou man of worth!

And weep the ae best fellow's fate E'er lay in earth.

SCOTCH DRINK

_Gie him strong drink, until he wink, That's sinking in despair; An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, That's prest wi' grief an' care;

There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, Wi' b.u.mpers flowing o'er, Till he forgets his loves or debts, An' minds his griefs no more._ SOLOMON (Proverbs x.x.xi. 6, 7).

Let other Poets raise a fracas 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, An' crabbed names an' stories wrack us, An' grate our lug; [ear]

I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, [barley]

In gla.s.s or jug.

O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch Drink, Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, [winding, dodge]

Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink, [cream]

In glorious faem, [foam]

Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, To sing thy name!

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, [flat river-lands]

An' aits set up their awnie horn, [oats, bearded]

An' pease an' beans at een or morn, Perfume the plain; Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, [Commend me to]

Thou King o' grain!

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, [chews, cud]

In souple scones, the wale o' food! [soft cakes, choice]

Or tumblin' in the boiling flood Wi' kail an' beef; But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, There thou shines chief.

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin'; [belly]

Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin', But, oil'd by thee, The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin' [careering]

Wi' rattlin' glee.

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear: [muddled Learning]

Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care; Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, At's weary toil: Thou even brightens dark Despair Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in ma.s.sy siller weed, Wi' gentles thou erects thy head; Yet humbly kind, in time o' need, The poor man's wine, His wee drap parritch, or his bread, Thou kitchens fine. [makest palatable]

Thou art the life o' public haunts; But thee, what were our fairs and rants? [Without, frolics]

Ev'n G.o.dly meetings o' the saunts, [saints]

By thee inspir'd, When gaping they besiege the tents, Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in!

O sweetly then thou reams the horn in! [foamest]

Or reekin' on a New-Year mornin' [smoking]

In cog or bicker, [bowl, cup]

An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, [whisky]

An' gusty sucker! [tasty sugar]

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, [implements]

O rare to see thee fizz an' freath [froth]

I' th' lugged caup! [two-eared cup]

Then Burnewin comes on like death [The Blacksmith]

At ev'ry chaup. [blow]

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; [iron]

The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel, [bony, fellow]

Brings hard owre-hip, wi' st.u.r.dy wheel, The strong forehammer, Till block an' studdie ring an' reel [anvil]

Wi' dinsome clamour.

When skirlin' weanies see the light, [squalling babies]

Thou maks the gossips clatter bright How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight-- [dolts]

Wae worth the name!

Nae Howdie gets a social night, [Midwife]

Or plack frae them. [small coin]

When neibors anger at a plea, [lawsuit]

An' just as wud as wud can be, [mad]

How easy can the barley-bree [-brew]

Cement the quarrel!

It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee To taste the barrel.

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason To wyte her countrymen wi' treason; [blame]

But mony daily weet their weasan' [throat]

Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter's season, E'er spier her price. [ask]

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash!

Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash? [illness]

Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash, [Robs, stupid, drunken oaf]

O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash To her warst faes.

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor plackless devils like mysel' [penniless]

It sets you ill, [becomes]

Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, [meddle]

Or foreign gill.

May gravels round his blather wrench, [ladder]

An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch [face, growl]

O' sour disdain, Out owre a gla.s.s o' whisky punch Wi' honest men!

O Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks!

Accept a bardie's gratefu' thanks!

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks [creakings]

Are my poor verses!

Thou comes--they rattle i' their ranks At ither's a.r.s.es!

Thee, Ferintosh![25] O sadly lost!