The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 36

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair, And Honour safely back her, And Modesty a.s.sume your air, And ne'er a ane mistak' her: And sic twa love-inspiring een Might fire even holy Palmers; Nae wonder then they've fatal been To honest Willie Chalmers.

IV.

I doubt na fortune may you sh.o.r.e Some mim-mou'd pouthered priestie, Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, And band upon his breastie: But Oh! what signifies to you His lexicons and grammars; The feeling heart's the royal blue, And that's wi' Willie Chalmers.

V.

Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird, May warstle for your favour; May claw his lug, and straik his beard, And hoast up some palaver.

My bonnie maid, before ye wed Sic clumsy-witted hammers, Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers.

VI.

Forgive the Bard! my fond regard For ane that shares my bosom, Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, For de'il a hair I roose him.

May powers aboon unite you soon, And fructify your amours,-- And every year come in mair dear To you and Willie Chalmers.

LIX.

LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ON NIGHT,

THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING

VERSES

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT.

[Of the origin of those verses Gilbert Burns gives the following account. "The first time Robert heard the spinet played was at the house of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of Loudon, now in Glasgow. Dr. Lawrie has several daughters; one of them played; the father and the mother led down the dance; the rest of the sisters, the brother, the poet and the other guests mixed in it. It was a delightful family scene for our poet, then lately introduced to the world; his mind was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the stanzas were left in the room where he slept."]

I.

O thou dread Power, who reign'st above!

I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and love I make my prayer sincere.

II.

The h.o.a.ry sire--the mortal stroke, Long, long, be pleased to spare; To bless his filial little flock And show what good men are.

III.

She who her lovely offspring eyes With tender hopes and fears, O, bless her with a mother's joys, But spare a mother's tears!

IV.

Their hope--their stay--their darling youth, In manhood's dawning blush-- Bless him, thou G.o.d of love and truth, Up to a parent's wis.h.!.+

V.

The beauteous, seraph sister-band, With earnest tears I pray, Thous know'st the snares on ev'ry hand-- Guide Thou their steps alway.

VI.

When soon or late they reach that coast, O'er life's rough ocean driven, May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, A family in Heaven!

LX.

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.,

MAUCHLINE.

(RECOMMENDING A BOY.)

[Verse seems to have been the natural language of Burns. The Master Tootie whose skill he records, lived in Mauchline, and dealt in cows: he was an artful and contriving person, great in bargaining and intimate with all the professional tricks by which old cows are made to look young, and six-pint hawkies pa.s.s for those of twelve.]

_Mossgiel, May 3, 1786._

I.

I hold it, Sir, my bounden duty, To warn you how that Master Tootie, Alias, Laird M'Gaun, Was here to hire yon lad away 'Bout whom ye spak the t.i.ther day, An' wad ha'e done't aff han': But lest he learn the callan tricks, As, faith, I muckle doubt him, Like sc.r.a.pin' out auld Crummie's nicks, An' tellin' lies about them; As lieve then, I'd have then, Your clerks.h.i.+p he should sair, If sae be, ye may be Not fitted otherwhere.

II.

Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough, An' bout a house that's rude an' rough The boy might learn to swear; But then, wi' you, he'll be sae taught, An' get sic fair example straught, I havena ony fear.

Ye'll catechize him every quirk, An' sh.o.r.e him weel wi' h.e.l.l; An' gar him follow to the kirk-- --Ay when ye gang yoursel'.

If ye then, maun be then Frae hame this comin' Friday; Then please Sir, to lea'e Sir, The orders wi' your lady.

III.

My word of honour I hae gien, In Paisley John's, that night at e'n, To meet the Warld's worm; To try to get the twa to gree, An' name the airles[56] an' the fee, In legal mode an' form: I ken he weel a snick can draw, When simple bodies let him; An' if a Devil be at a', In faith he's sure to get him.

To phrase you, an' praise you, Ye ken your Laureat scorns: The pray'r still, you share still, Of grateful MINSTREL BURNS.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 56: The airles--earnest money.]