Classic Poem

Dost thou not rise, indignant Shade,
And smile wi' spurning scorn,
When they wha wad hae starv'd thy life,
Thy senseless turf adorn. —

They wha about thee mak sic fuss
Now thou art but a name,
Wad seen thee d-mn'd ere they had spar'd
Ae plack to fill thy wame. —

Helpless, alane, thou clamb the brae,
Wi' meikle, meikle toil,
And claught th' unfading garland there,
Thy sair-won, rightful spoil. —

And wear it there! and call aloud,
This axiom undoubted —
" Wouldst thou hae Nobles' patronage,
First learn to live without it!"

To whom hae much, shall yet be given,
Is every Great man's faith;
But he, the helpless, needful wretch,
Shall lose the mite he hath. —