Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
A Winter NightRobert Burns (17591796)
W
Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r;
When Phœbus gies a short-liv’d glow’r
Far south the lift,
Dim dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r,
Or whirlin’ drift:
Poor labor sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi’ snawy wreaths upchocked,
Wild-eddying swirl,
Or thro’ the mining outlet bocked,
Down headlong hurl.
I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
O’ winter war,
And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing sprattle
Beneath a scar.
That, in the merry months o’ spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o’ thee?
Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chitt’ring wing,
An’ close thy e’e?
Lone from your savage homes exiled,
The blood-stained roost, and sheepcote spoiled,
My heart forgets,
While pitiless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats.
Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain;
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,
Rose in my soul,
While on my ear this plaintive strain,
Slow, solemn, stole:—
Feel not a want but what yourselves create,
Think for a moment on his wretched fate,
Whom friends and fortune quite disown!
Ill satisfied keen Nature’s clamorous call,
Stretched on his straw, he lays himself to sleep,
While thro’ the ragged roof and chinky wall,
Chill o’er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!”
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,
And hailed the morning with a cheer,—
A cottage-rousing craw!