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At Wallace' name what Scottish blood
By Wallace' fide, Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,
Or glorious dy'd.
O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, When lintwhites chant amang the buds, And jinkin hares, in amorous whids,
Their loves enjoy,
While thro' the braes the cuíhat croods
With wailfu' cry!
Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me
When winds rave thro' the naked tree;
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree
Are hoary gray ; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,
Dark’ning the day!
O Nature! a' thy shew an' forms
Wi' life an' light,
The lang, dark night!
The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her, Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, Adown some trotting burn's meander,
An' no think lang ; O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder
A heart-felt fang!
The warly racę may drudge an' drive, Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive, Let me fair Nature's face descrive,
And I, wi' pleasure, Shall let the busy, grumbling hive
Bum owre their treasure.
Fareweel, . my rhyme-compofing brither! We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : Now let us lay our heads thegither,
In love fraternal : May Envy wallop in a tether,
Black fiend, infernal !
While Highlandmen hate tolls an’taxes ; While moorlan herds like guid, fat braxies; While Terra Firma, on her axis,
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice,
In Robert Burns,
My memory's no worth a preen; I had amaist forgotten clean,
Ye bade me write you what they mean
By this new-light*, 'Bout which our berds sae aft hae been
Maist like to fight.
In days when mankind were but callans At Grammar, Logic, an' sic talents, They took nae pains their speech to balance,
Or rules to gie, But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans,
Like you or me.
In thae auld times, they thought the Moon, Just like a fark, or pair o' fhoon, Wore by degrees, till her last roon,
Gaed past their viewing, An' shortly after she was done They gat a new one.
* See note, p. 914
This past for certain, undisputed ;
An' ca'd it wrang ;
Baith loud an' lang.
Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk; For 'twas the auld moon turn’d a neuk,
: An' out o'fight, An' backlins-comin, to the leuk,
She grew mair bright.
This was deny’d, it was affirm'd; The herds an' bisels were alarm’d : The rev’rend gray-beards rav’d an' storm'd,
That beardless laddies Should think they better were inform’d
Than their auld daddies.