Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (38 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
177.
Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair
THE LAMP of day, with-ill presaging glare,
Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave;
Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’ the dark’ning air,
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.
Lone as I wander’d by each cliff and dell,
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Once the lov’d haunts of Scotia’s royal train;
Or mus’d where limpid streams, once hallow’d well,
Or mould’ring ruins mark the sacred fane.
Th’ increasing blast roar’d round the beetling rocks,
The clouds swift-wing’d flew o’er the starry sky,
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The groaning trees untimely shed their locks,
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye.
The paly moon rose in the livid east.
And ‘mong the cliffs disclos’d a stately form
In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast,
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And mix’d her wailings with the raving storm
Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,
‘Twas Caledonia’s trophied shield I view’d:
Her form majestic droop’d in pensive woe,
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued.
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Revers’d that spear, redoubtable in war,
Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl’d,
That like a deathful meteor gleam’d afar,
And brav’d the mighty monarchs of the world.
“My patriot son fills an untimely grave!”
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With accents wild and lifted arms — she cried;
“Low lies the hand oft was stretch’d to save,
Low lies the heart that swell’d with honest pride.
“A weeping country joins a widow’s tear;
The helpless poor mix with the orphan’s cry;
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The drooping arts surround their patron’s bier;
And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh!
“I saw my sons resume their ancient fire;
I saw fair Freedom’s blossoms richly blow:
But ah! how hope is born but to expire!
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Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.
“My patriot falls: but shall he lie unsung,
While empty greatness saves a worthless name?
No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue,
And future ages hear his growing fame.
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“And I will join a mother’s tender cares,
Thro’ future times to make his virtues last;
That distant years may boast of other Blairs!” —
She said, and vanish’d with the sweeping blast.
178.
Impromptu on Carron Iron Works
WE cam na here to view your warks,
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to hell,
It may be nae surprise:
But when we tirl’d at your door
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Your porter dought na hear us;
Sae may, shou’d we to Hell’s yetts come,
Your billy Satan sair us!
179.
To Miss Ferrier, enclosing Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair
Enclosing the Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair.
NAE heathen name shall I prefix,
Frae Pindus or Parnassus;
Auld Reekie dings them a’ to sticks,
For rhyme-inspiring lasses.
Jove’s tunefu’ dochters three times three
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Made Homer deep their debtor;
But, gien the body half an e’e,
Nine Ferriers wad done better!
Last day my mind was in a bog,
Down George’s Street I stoited;
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A creeping cauld prosaic fog
My very sense doited.
Do what I dought to set her free,
My saul lay in the mire;
Ye turned a neuk — I saw your e’e —
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She took the wing like fire!
The mournfu’ sang I here enclose,
In gratitude I send you,
And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose,
A’ gude things may attend you!
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180.
Written by Somebody on the Window of an Inn at Stirling
Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin.
HERE Stuarts once in glory reigned,
And laws for Scotland’s weal ordained;
But now unroof’d their palace stands,
Their sceptre’s sway’d by other hands;
Fallen indeed, and to the earth
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Whence groveling reptiles take their birth.
The injured Stuart line is gone,
A race outlandish fills their throne;
An idiot race, to honour lost;
Who know them best despise them most.
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181.
Reply to the Threat of a Censorious Critic
My imprudent lines were answered, very petulantly, by
somebody,
I believe, a Rev. Mr. Hamilton. In a MS., where I met the answer, I wrote below: —
WITH Esop’s lion, Burns says: Sore I feel
Each other’s scorn, but damn that ass’ heel!
182.
RASH
mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name
Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame;
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible,
Says, the more ‘tis a truth, sir, the more ‘tis a libel!
183.
Verses Written with a Pencil at the Inn at Kenmore
Over the Chimney-piece in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth.
ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O’er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th’ abodes of covey’d grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
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Till fam’d Breadalbane opens to my view. —
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,
The woods wild scatter’d, clothe their ample sides;
Th’ outstretching lake, imbosomed ‘mong the hills,
The eye with wonder and amazement fills;
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The Tay meand’ring sweet in infant pride,
The palace rising on his verdant side,
The lawns wood-fring’d in Nature’s native taste,
The hillocks dropt in Nature’s careless haste,
The arches striding o’er the new-born stream,
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The village glittering in the noontide beam —
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Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,
Lone wand’ring by the hermit’s mossy cell;
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods,
Th’ incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods —
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Here Poesy might wake her heav’n-taught lyre,
And look through Nature with creative fire;
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil’d,
Misfortunes lighten’d steps might wander wild;
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,
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Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds:
Here heart-struck Grief might heav’nward stretch her scan,
And injur’d Worth forget and pardon man.
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184.
Tune
— “The Birks of Abergeldie.”
Chorus.
— Bonie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldy!
NOW Simmer blinks on flowery braes,
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And o’er the crystal streamlets plays;
Come let us spend the lightsome days,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.
While o’er their heads the hazels hing,
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The little birdies blythely sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.
The braes ascend like lofty wa’s,
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The foaming stream deep-roaring fa’s,
O’erhung wi’ fragrant spreading shaws —
The birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.
The hoary cliffs are crown’d wi’ flowers,
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White o’er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi’ misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.
Let Fortune’s gifts at randoe flee,
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They ne’er shall draw a wish frae me;
Supremely blest wi’ love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonie lassie, &c.
