The Canongate Burns (100 page)

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,

        To follow the noble vocation;

Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another

        To sit in that honored station.

5
I've little to say, but only to pray,

        As praying's the ton of your fashion;

A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse,

        'Tis seldom her favourite passion.

Ye Powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide,

10
        Who marked each element's border;

Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,

        Whose sovereign statute is order;

Within this dear mansion may wayward contention

        Or withered envy ne'er enter;

15
May secrecy round be the mystical bound,

        And brotherly love be the centre.

Hail, thairm-inspirin, rattlin Willie!
fiddle string

Tho' Fortune's road be rough an' hilly

To every fiddling, rhyming billie,
fellow

        We never heed;

5
But take it like th' unback'd Fillie,
unbroken young horse

        Proud o' her speed.

When, idly goavin, whyles we saunter,
staring stupidly, wander

Yirr, Fancy barks, — awa we canter,
a growl, away

Up-hill, down-brae, till some mishanter,
hill-slope, mishap

10
        Some black Bog-hole,

Arreests us; then the scathe an' banter
harm

        We're forced to thole.

Hale be your HEART! Hale be your FIDDLE!
healthy/sound

Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle,
long, elbow, play

15
To cheer you through the weary widdle
trouble

        O this vile Warl:
world

Until you on a cummock dridle,
short stick, totter

        A gray-hair'd Carl!
old man

Come WEALTH, come POORTITH, late or soon,
poverty

20
Heaven send your HEART-STRINGS ay IN TUNE!

And screw your TEMPER-PINS aboon
fiddle-pegs, above

        A FIFTH or mair,
more

The melancholious, sairie croon
sad notes

        O' cankrie CARE!
ill-natured

25
May still your Life, from day to day

Nae LENTE LARGO, in the play,
no, slow/monotony

But ALLEGRETTO FORTE, gay,
lively/graceful

Harmonious flow:

A sweeping, kindling, bauld STRATHSPEY,
bold, fiddle tune

30
        Encore! Bravo!

A' blessings on the cheery
gang
folk

Wha dearly like a Jig or sang;
who, song

An' never think o RIGHT an WRANG
wrong

        By square and rule,

35
But as the CLEGS O' FEELING stang,
gadflies, sting

        Are wise or fool!

My hand-wal'd CURSE keep hard in chase
-chosen

The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud RACE,
crow-like/greedy

Wha count on POORTITH as disgrace!
who, poverty

40
        Their tuneless hearts,

May FIRE-SIDE DISCORDS jar a BASS

        To a' their PARTS!

But come — your hand — my careless brither —

I' th' tither WARLD, if there 's anither,
other, another

45
An' that there is, I've little swither
doubt

        About the matter;

We, cheek for-chow, shall jog thegither,
-jowl, together

        I'se ne'er bid better.

We've faults an' failins, — granted clearly:

50
We're frail, backsliding Mortals meerly:

Eve's bonie SQUAD, Priests wyte them sheerly
blame, entirely

        For our grand fa':
fall

But still — but still — I like them dearly;

        GOD bless them a'!

55
Ochon! for poor CASTALIAN DRINKERS,
alas, inspiration/poets

When they fa' foul o' earthly Jinkers!
sprightly women

The witching, curst, delicious blinkers
alluring girls

        Hae put me hyte;
have, daft

An' gart me weet my waukrife winkers
made, wet wakeful eyes

60
        Wi' girnan spite.
snarling

But by yon Moon! an' that's high swearin;

An' every Star within my hearin!

An' by her een! wha was a dear ane,
eyes, who, one

        I'll ne'er forget;

65
I hope to gie the JADS a clearin
give, wenches

        In fair play yet!

My loss I mourn, but not repent it:

I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it:
purse, lost

Ance to the Indies I were wonted,
once, destined

70
        Some cantraip hour,
magic

By some sweet Elf I'll yet be dinted,
enchanted

        Then, VIVE L'AMOUR!

Faites mes BAISSEMAINS respectueuse,
respectful greetings

To sentimental Sister Susie,

75
And honest LUCKY; no to roose you,
praise

        Ye may be proud,

That sic a couple Fate allows ye
such

        To grace your blood.

Nae mair at present can I measure;

80
An' trowth my rhymin ware's nae treasure;
truth, no

But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure,

        Be 't light, be 't dark,

Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure

        To call at PARK.

Sir,

Yours this moment I unseal,

        And faith! I'm gay and hearty!

To tell the truth and shame the deil,
devil

        I am as fou as Bartie:
drunk

But Foorsday, Sir, my promise leal,
Thursday, true

        Expect me o' your partie,

If on a beastie I can speel
horse, climb

        Or hurl in a cartie.
cart

                Yours, — Robert Burns.

        Mauchlin, Monday Night, 10 o'clock

The night was still, and o'er the hill

       The moon shone on the castle wa';
wall

The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang

       Around her on the castle wa'.

Sae merrily they danc'd the ring,
so

       Frae e'enin till the cocks did craw,
from, evening, crow

And aye the owerword o' the spring

       Was Irvine's bairns are bonie a'.
children

RUSTICITY'S ungainly form

        May cloud the highest mind;

But when the heart is nobly warm,

        The good excuse will find.

Propriety's cold cautious rules

        Warm Fervour may o'erlook;

But spare poor Sensibility

        The ungentle harsh rebuke.

WHOSE is that noble, dauntless brow?

        And whose that eye of fire?

And whose that generous, Princely mien,

        Ev'n rooted Foes admire?

Stranger, to justly show that brow,

        And mark that eye of fire,

Would take HIS hand, whose vernal tints,

        His other Works admire.

Bright as a cloudless Summer-sun,

        With stately port he moves;

His guardian Seraph eyes with awe

        The noble Ward he loves.

Among th' illustrious Scottish Sons

        That Chief thou may'st discern,

Mark Scotia's fond-returning eye,

        It dwells upon GLENCAIRN.

THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,
the parish name

        But what na day o' what na style,

I doubt it 's hardly worth the while

        To be sae nice wi'
Robin
.
so

Chorus

5
Robin
was a rovin' Boy,

        Rantin', rovin', rantin', rovin';

Robin
was a rovin' Boy,

        Rantin' rovin'
Robin
.

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
1759

10
        Was five-and-twenty days begun,

'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' Win'
1
January winds

        Blew hansel in on
Robin
.
A first gift

               
Robin
was &c.

The Gossip keekit in his loof,
glanced, face

        Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof,
quoth she, who

15
This waly boy will be nae coof,
sturdy, no fool

        I think we'll ca' him
Robin
.
call

               
Robin
was &c.

He'll hae misfortunes great an' sma',
have, small

But ay a heart aboon them a';
above

He'll be a credit 'till us a',
to

20
        We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

               
Robin
was &c.

But sure as three times three mak nine,

        I see by ilka score and line,
every

This chap will dearly like our kin',
kind

        So leeze me on thee,
Robin
.
commend

               
Robin
was &c.

25
Guid faith quo' scho I doubt you Stir,
good, she

        Ye'll gar the lasses lie aspar;
make, legs apart

But twenty fauts ye may hae waur —
faults, have worse

        So blessin's on thee,
Robin
.

               
Robin
was &c.