Poems and Songs of Robert Burns eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 836 pages of information about Poems and Songs of Robert Burns.
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Poems and Songs of Robert Burns eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 836 pages of information about Poems and Songs of Robert Burns.

     Ye’ll try the world soon, my lad;
     And, Andrew dear, believe me,
     Ye’ll find mankind an unco squad,
     And muckle they may grieve ye: 
     For care and trouble set your thought,
     Ev’n when your end’s attained;
     And a’ your views may come to nought,
     Where ev’ry nerve is strained.

     I’ll no say, men are villains a’;
     The real, harden’d wicked,
     Wha hae nae check but human law,
     Are to a few restricked;
     But, Och! mankind are unco weak,
     An’ little to be trusted;
     If self the wavering balance shake,
     It’s rarely right adjusted!

     Yet they wha fa’ in fortune’s strife,
     Their fate we shouldna censure;
     For still, th’ important end of life
     They equally may answer;
     A man may hae an honest heart,
     Tho’ poortith hourly stare him;
     A man may tak a neibor’s part,
     Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

     Aye free, aff-han’, your story tell,
     When wi’ a bosom crony;
     But still keep something to yoursel’,
     Ye scarcely tell to ony: 
     Conceal yoursel’ as weel’s ye can
     Frae critical dissection;
     But keek thro’ ev’ry other man,
     Wi’ sharpen’d, sly inspection.

     The sacred lowe o’ weel-plac’d love,
     Luxuriantly indulge it;
     But never tempt th’ illicit rove,
     Tho’ naething should divulge it: 
     I waive the quantum o’ the sin,
     The hazard of concealing;
     But, Och! it hardens a’ within,
     And petrifies the feeling!

     To catch dame Fortune’s golden smile,
     Assiduous wait upon her;
     And gather gear by ev’ry wile
     That’s justified by honour;
     Not for to hide it in a hedge,
     Nor for a train attendant;
     But for the glorious privilege
     Of being independent.

     The fear o’ hell’s a hangman’s whip,
     To haud the wretch in order;
     But where ye feel your honour grip,
     Let that aye be your border;
     Its slightest touches, instant pause—­
     Debar a’ side-pretences;
     And resolutely keep its laws,
     Uncaring consequences.

     The great Creator to revere,
     Must sure become the creature;
     But still the preaching cant forbear,
     And ev’n the rigid feature: 
     Yet ne’er with wits profane to range,
     Be complaisance extended;
     An atheist-laugh’s a poor exchange
     For Deity offended!

     When ranting round in pleasure’s ring,
     Religion may be blinded;
     Or if she gie a random sting,
     It may be little minded;
     But when on life we’re tempest driv’n—­
     A conscience but a canker—­
     A correspondence fix’d wi’ Heav’n,
     Is sure a noble anchor!

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.