We may be poor-Robie and I, 40 MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border O, Then out into the world my course I did determine 0; Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming 0: My talents they were not the worst ; nor yet my education O ; Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation O. In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour 0 : Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour O; 10 Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by friends forsaken 0; And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken O. Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion 0, I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion O The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untried O; But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it O. No help, nor hope, nor view had I: nor person to befriend me 0; So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me 0; To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early 0; For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for fortune fairly O. 20 Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander O, Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber O; No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow O, I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow O. But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace O, Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice O; I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther O; But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her O. When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money O, Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon me OMischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly O; But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy O. All you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting ardour O, The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther O; Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you O, A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you O. THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld, By my good luck a maid I met, To walk into a chamber fair. I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, And thank'd her for her courtesie; I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, And bade her mak a bed to me. She made the bed baith large and wide, And drank, 'Young man, now sleep ye soun.' She snatch'd the candle in her hand, But I call'd her quickly back again A cod she laid below my head, I put my arms about her neck. 'Haud aff your hands, young man,' she says, Her hair was like the links o' gowd, Her teeth were like the ivorie; Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, Her bosom was the driven snaw, 10 20 30 I kiss'd her owre and owre again, And aye she wist na what to say; Upon the morrow when we rose, I thank'd her for her courtesie; I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, For ye aye shall make the bed to me.' She took her mither's Holland sheets, The lass that made the bed to me. The bonnie lass made the bed to me, I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, The lass that made the bed to me! 40 50 CALEDONIA. THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, From some of your northern deities sprung: To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew ; Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, ΙΟ 'Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!' With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand; They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land. The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: No arts could appease them, no arms could repel: But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life: Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood. Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse; 20 30 40 Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always. |