Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
520 . Ballad on Mr. Herons ElectionNo. 3
’T
O’ grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae’est man
Of ony man alive.
The sun raise clear an’ bright; But oh! I was a waefu’ man, Ere to-fa’ o’ the night. Wi’ equal right and fame, And thereto was his kinsmen join’d, The Murray’s noble name. And chief o’ Broughton’s host; So twa blind beggars, on a string, The faithfu’ tyke will trust. And Broughton’s wi’ the slain, And I my ancient craft may try, Sin’ honesty is gane. Beside Kirkcudbright’s towers, The Stewart and the Murray there, Did muster a’ their powers. Wi’ winged spurs did ride, That auld grey yaud a’ Nidsdale rade, He staw upon Nidside. O there had been nae play; But Garlies was to London gane, And sae the kye might stray. In front rank he wad shine; But Balmaghie had better been Drinkin’ Madeira wine. A chief o’ doughty deed; In case that worth should wanted be, O’ Kenmure we had need. And Buittle was na slack; Whase haly priesthood nane could stain, For wha could dye the black? Look’d on till a’ was done; Sae in the tower o’ Cardoness A howlet sits at noon. My gamesome billie, Will, And my son Maitland, wise as brave, My footsteps follow’d still. We set nought to their score; The Douglas and the Heron’s name, Had felt our weight before. The pair o’ lusty lairds, For building cot-houses sae fam’d, And christenin’ kail-yards. That ne’er was stain’d wi’ gore, Save on a wand’rer lame and blind, To drive him frae his door. Was mair in fear than wrath; Ae knave was constant in his mind— To keep that knave frae scaith.
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