For, poor things, tho' they're weak an' wee, I'm no the ane, wad dashin' gie them, That's ae thing I'm no sib to man in, Sklent, wi' unkindness, on a brither; Nature hae been mair kind to me.- We a' crap up the stair thegither, Whan there, ae wee bit hauf-starv'd elf - 1 An' stood abeigh': an' I was right, BROWNIE. Nor sal a trap do me a scaith While I hae e'en an' senses baith, An' sin' the dool an' pine we've dree't, We've learn'd a halsome lesson frae't. Lies the faut wi' oursel'? what than? We haena mense like cruel man ; Yet tho' he's paukier far than we, Whatreck, he gangs as aft aglee. Dangers, tho' gatherin' round his head, He recksna, till they're past remeid. See I nae better? what o' that? An' skep na free-I'm but a Rat. Guid sooth, our gumption's e'en but sma', But he has aften nane ava’: An' tho' we stownlins eat, yet man At theft an' robbing is na shan. In ither kintries far awa ; He think'st nae harm to rob ava: An' crush the freedom o' the brave; Wi' nae sic cause to plead for't either, We're ay fu' freck an' stark an' hale; Had I the power to change at will, An', tho' some piddlin' fauts demean us, The moral o' this tale is plain : Ne'er hazard life for greed o' gain ; Vain pleasure's fair deceits despise, As pain attends the path o' Vice. VERSES ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS. EREWHILE, by Cartha's flowery banks Youth's willing ear did tend the strain, And listen'd while I sung. Now, when the varied note I change To pity's tender lay; Ah! let them now these strains regard, That flow for Coila's sweetest Bard, Time saw the joyous spring succeed And Echo wake the gladsome reed, To hail her gentle form; But, who shall now these notes prolong, That Love delighted heard: Echo no more shall cheer the plain, Nor Beauty listen to the strain Of Coila's sweetest Bard. |