no horns, but those by luckless hymen worn,
and those, alas! not, amalthea's horn:
no nerves olfact'ry, mammon's trusty cur,
clad in rich dulness'fortable fur;
in naked feeling, and in aching pride,
he bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side:
vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart,
and scorpion critics cureless venom dart.
critics—appall'd, i venture on the name;
those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame:
bloody dissectors, worse than ten monroes;
he hacks to teach, they mangle to expose:
his heart by causeless wanton malice wrung,
by blockheads' daring into madness stung;
his well-won bays, than life itself more dear,
by miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear;
foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal strife,
the hapless poet flounders on thro' life:
till, fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd,
and fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd,
low sunk in squalid, unprotected age,
dead even resentment for his injur'd page,
he heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage!
so, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd,
for half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast;
by toil and famine wore to skin and bone,
lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son.
o dulness! portion of the truly blest!
calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest!
thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes
of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams.
if mantling high she fills the golden cup,
with sober selfish ease they sip it up;
conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve,
they only wonder “some folks” do not starve.
the grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog,
and thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog.
when disappointments snaps the clue of hope,
and thro' disastrous night they darkling grope,
with deaf endurance sluggishly they bear,
and just conclude that “fools are fortune's care.”
so, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks,
strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox.
not so the idle muses' mad-cap train,
not such the workings of their moon-struck brain;
in equanimity they never dwell,
by turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell.
i dread thee, fate, relentless and severe,
with all a poet's, husband's, father's fear!
already one strong hold of hope is lost—
glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust
(fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears,
and left us darkling in a world of tears);
o! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r!
fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare!
thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown,
and bright in cloudless skies his sun go down!
may bliss domestic smooth his private path;
give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath,
with many a filial tear circling the bed of death!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the song of death the song of death
tune—“oran an aoig.”
scene—a field of battle. time of the day—evening. the wounded
and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the
following song.
farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
now gay with the broad setting sun;
farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,
our race of existence is run!
thou grim king of terrors; thou life's gloomy foe!
go, frighten the coward and slave;
go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know
no terrors hast thou to the brave!
thou strik'st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark,
nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;
thou strik'st the young hero—a glorious mark;
he falls in the blaze of his fame!
in the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands,
our king and our country to save;
while victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,—
o! who would not die with the brave!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns poem on sensibility poem on sensibility
sensibility, how charming,
dearest nancy, thou canst tell;
but distress, with horrors arming,
thou alas! hast known too well!
fairest flower, behold the lily
blooming in the sunny ray:
let the blast sweep o'er the valley,
see it prostrate in the clay.
hear the wood lark charm the forest,
telling o'er his little joys;
but alas! a prey the surest
to each pirate of the skies.
dearly bought the hidden treasure
finer feelings can bestow:
chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure
thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the toadeater the toadeater
of lordly acquaintance you boast,
and the dukes that you dined wi' yestreen,
yet an insect's an insect at most,
tho' it crawl on the curl of a queen!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns divine service in the kirk of lamington divine service in the kirk of lamington
as cauld a wind as ever blew,
a cauld kirk, an in't but few:
as cauld a minister's e'er spak;
ye'se a' be het e'er ie back.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the keekin-glass the keekin'-glass
how daur ye ca' me howlet-face,
ye blear-e'ed, withered spectre?
ye only spied the keekin'-glass,
an' there ye saw your picture.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns a grace before dinner, extempore a grace before dinner, extempore
o thou who kindly dost provide
for every creature's want!
we bless thee, god of nature wide,
for all thy goodness lent:
and if it please thee, heavenly guide,
may never worse be sent;
but, whether granted, or denied,
lord, bless us with content. amen!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns a grace after dinner, extempore a grace after dinner, extempore
o thou, in whom we live and move—
who made the sea and shore;
thy goodness constantly we prove,
and grateful would adore;
and, if it please thee, power above!
still grant us, with such store,
the friend we trust, the fair we love—
and we desire no more. amen!
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns o may, thy morn o may, thy morn
o may, thy morn was ne'er so sweet
as the mirk night o' december!
for sparkling was the rosy wine,
and private was the chamber:
and dear was she i dare na name,
but i will aye remember:
and dear was she i dare na name,
but i will aye remember.
and here's to them that, like oursel,
can push about the jorum!
and here's to them that wish us weel,
may a' that's guid watch o'er 'em!
and here's to them, we dare na tell,
the dearest o' the quorum!
and here's to them, we dare na tell,
the dearest o' the quorum.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns ae fond kiss, and then we sever ae fond kiss, and then we sever
tune—“rory dall's port.”
ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
deep in heart-wrung tears i'll pledge thee,
warring sighs and groans i'll wage thee.
who shall say that fortune grieves him,
while the star of hope she leaves him?
me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;
dark despair around benights me.
i'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
naething could resist my nancy:
but to see her was to love her;
love but her, and love for ever.
had we never lov'd sae kindly,
had we never lov'd sae blindly,
never met—or never parted,
we had ne'er been broken-hearted.
fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
thine be ilka joy and treasure,
peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure!