Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
350 . Epistle to John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughty
H
Health, aye unsour’d by care or grief:
Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl leaf,
This natal morn,
I see thy life is stuff o’ prief,
Scarce quite half-worn.
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven (The second-sight, ye ken, is given To ilka Poet) On thee a tack o’ seven times seven Will yet bestow it. Thy lengthen’d days on this blest morrow, May Desolation’s lang-teeth’d harrow, Nine miles an hour, Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, In brunstane stour. Baith honest men, and lassies bonie, May couthie Fortune, kind and cannie, In social glee, Wi’ mornings blythe, and e’enings funny, Bless them and thee! And then the deil, he daurna steer ye: Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye; For me, shame fa’ me, If neist my heart I dinna wear ye, While Burns they ca’ me.