Classic Poem

Dear Willy, now I've ta'en the pen,
Wi' lightsome heart, to let you ken
I'm livin' yet and weel;
Tho' cuft and dauded gayan sair,
Since last I left that luckless A — ,
Thro' mony a moor an' fiel'.
Misfortunes, on ilk ithers backs,
Come roaring whyles aroun' me;
For comfort to the blue I rax,
Or ablins they might drown me,
What sights, man, what frights, man,
Are Pedlar's doom'd to thole,
Aye chaunerin an' daunerin'
In eager search for cole.

But let us cease this heartless sang,
An', gin ye binna unco thrang,
I'll here lay down my pack,
Tho' miles in scores atween us lie,
An' hills an' seas, yet haith we'll try
Out owre them a' to crack.
Dame Fortune, thou may hing thy brow,
An' girn wi' threat'nin' een;
I carena a' thy spite, since now,
At last, I've fun a frien'.
Let misers owre treasures
O' goud an' siller croon;
A blessing like this ane
Gangs never, never doon.

While youth and health inspires our blood,
In innocent and sprightly mood,
We'll cheat the cares of life;
By friendship sowthert into ane,
We'll be as firm, as stark again,
To stan' the warly strife;
An' when slee Love's endearing dart
Inflames our glowan veins,
We'll thowe the bonny Lasses heart
In saft complaining strains;
Nae sorrows, before us,
Sal drive us to despair,
Tho' carefu', yet chearfu'
We'll hug the smiling Fair.

But if, alas! it hap that e'er
A flaw in friendship shou'd appear,
Thro' Passion, or mistake,
Oh! never, never let us part,
Wi' hate or envy in our heart,
Curst, base revenge to take;
But strive, wi' kind relenting speech,
Upo' the vera spot,
To men' the mournfu' luckiess breach,
An' firm the slacken'd knot:
Then langer, an' stranger,
Our friendship shall remain,
Aye dowin, an' glowin,
Without a crack or stain.

An' when frail eild (if e'er we see't)
Sal gi'e us stilts instead o' feet,
An' shake our hingan pows,
We'll hotch awa' wi' friendly grane,
And soss down on yon sinny stane,
Amang the broomy knows;
An' soon's our hechs, an' heys are by,
An' baith our rungs laid down,
An' we twa streekit, beekin lie,
Auld, runkly-fac'd an' brown,
The sporting, the courting,
We had, when we war young,
An' wonders, in hunders,
Sal gallop frae our tongue.

Perhaps Rab G — — y's auld gray pate,
Of dark unfathom'd sense the seat,
May join the social gab;
Nae common stilt maun fill his nieve,
But, by his honour's size an' leave,
I'd here propose a stab,
His vera height, an' on the hilt,
A gawsy mason's mell,
To puzzle fouk, whilk is the stilt,
Or whilk is Rab himsel,
The Carle, I'm sure he'll
No hae his tale to seek,
Aye puffin, or stuffin,
Wi' ugsome chews, his cheek.

An epitaph I ance had made,
To put on Rab, whan he was dead,
But war't to do again,
His pardon begging, for sic fun,
This motto I'd hae neatly done,
Upon the waefu' stane:
" Here lies a corpse, that ance cou'd say,
(What seldom carcase can)
Tho' here I rot, pale stinking clay,
I ance contain'd a man,
Sae stern ey'd, sae learned,
That Death's arm switherin' hung,
Till chance by, he lanc'd my
Hale saul frae out my tongue. "

My frien', tho' fortune, partial slut!
Still holds you in a toilsome hut,
Yet, if I don't mistake,
Your modest merit will you raise,
An' fortune smile yet in your face,
Your tuneful pow'rs to wake.
How often hae I at yer feet,
In deepest silence lain,
While from the strings, harmonious sweet,
You sent the warbling strain;
Ev'n now man, I vow man,
I think I hear you singing,
The ferly, sae rarely,
Sets baith my lugs a ringing.

Adjeu, my kind, my wordy chield;
Lang may ye hae a cozie bield
To screen frae winter's cauld;
May time yet see you wi' a wame,
As fat as J — 's sonsy dame,
Till thretty year thrice tauld;
An' gin we live to see that date,
As, fegs, I hope we will,
Tho'ye, to gang, hae tint the gate,
Yet we sal hae a gill.
Fu' cheary, I'll rear ye,
And 'neath my burden bend,
And show fouk, without joke,
What its to hae a friend.