Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
VI. Human ExperienceTo the Unco Guid
Robert Burns (17591796)O
Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye ’ve nought to do but mark and tell
Your neebor’s fauts and folly:—
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,
Supplied wi’ store o’ water,
The heapèt happer’s ebbing still,
And still the clap plays clatter.
As counsel for poor mortals,
That frequent pass douce Wisdom’s door,
For glaikit Folly’s portals!
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
Their failings and mischances.
And shudder at the niffer;
But cast a moment’s fair regard,
What makes the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave
That purity ye pride in,
And (what ’s aft mair than a’ the lave)
Your better art o’ hidin’.
Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop:
Wi’ wind and tide fair i’ your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o’ baith to sail,
It makes an unco leeway.
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrified, they’re grown
Debauchery and Drinking:
O, would they stay to calculate
The eternal consequences;
Or your mortal dreaded hell to state,
Damnation of expenses!
Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o’ cases;
A dear-loved lad, convenience snug,
A treacherous inclination,—
But, let me whisper i’ your lug,
Ye ’re aiblins nae temptation.
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin’ wrang,
To step aside is human.
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do it;
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far perhaps they rue it.
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord,—its various tone,
Each spring,—its various bias:
Then at the balance let ’s be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What ’s done we partly may compute,
But know not what’s resisted.