Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake
Robert Burns (17591796)Extract from The Epistle to Mrs. Scott of Wauchope
I
When I was beardless, young, and blate,
An’ first could thresh the barn,
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh,
An’ tho’ forfoughten sair eneugh,
Yet unco proud to learn:
When first amang the yellow corn
A man I reckon’d was,
And wi’ the lave ilk merry morn
Could rank my rig and lass,
Still shearing and clearing
The tither stooked raw,
Wi’ claivers, an’ haivers,
Wearing the day awa:
A wish that, to my latest hour,
Shall strongly heave my breast;
That I for poor auld Scotland’s sake,
Some usefu’ plan, or book could make,
Or sing a sang at least.
The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear,
I turned the weeding-hook aside,
An’ spared the symbol dear:
No nation, no station,
My envy e’er could raise;
A Scot still, but blot still,
I knew nae higher praise.
In formless jumble, right an’ wrang,
Wild floated in my brain;
’Till on that har’st I said before,
My partner in the merry core,
She roused the forming strain:
I see her yet, the sonsie quean,
That lighted up my jingle,
Her witching smile, her pauky een,
That gart my heart-strings tingle;
I fired, inspired,
At ev’ry kindling keek,
But bashing, and dashing,
I feared aye to speak.