Classic Poem

Herds , blythsome tune your canty reeds,
An' welcome to the gowany meads
The pride o' a' the insect thrang,
A stranger to the green sae lang;
Unfald ilk buss an' ilka brier,
The bounties o' the gleesome year,
To him whase voice delights the spring,
Whase soughs the saftest slumbers bring.
The trees in simmer-cleething drest,
The hillocks in their greenest vest,
The brawest flow'rs rejoic'd we see,
Disclose their sweets, and ca' on thee,
Blythely to skim on wanton wing,
Thro' a' the fairy haunts o' spring.
Whan fields hae gat their dewy gift,
An' dawnin breaks upon the lift,
Then gang your wa's thro' hight and how,
Seek caller haugh or sunny know,
Or ivy'd craig, or burn-bank ae,
Whare Industry shall bid you gae,
For hiney, or for waxen store,
To ding sad poortith frae the door.
Cou'd feckless creature, Man, be wise,
The simmer o' his life to prize,
In winter he might fend fu' bauld,
His eild unkend to nippin cauld,
Yet thir, alas! are antrin fock
That lade their scape wi' winter stock.
Auld age maist feckly glowrs right dour
Upo' the ailings o' the poor,
Wha hope for nae comforting, save
That dowie dismal house the grave.
Then feeble Man, be wise, tak tent
How Industry can fetch content:
Behad the bees whare'er they wing,
Or thro' the bonny bowers o' spring,
Whare vi'lets or whare roses blaw,
An' siller dew-draps nightly fa',
Or whan on open bent they're seen,
On hether hill or thristle green;
The hiney's still as sweet that flows
Frae thistle cauld, or kendling rose.
Frae this the human race may learn
Reflection's hiney'd draps to earn,
Whether they tramp life's thorny way,
Or thro' the sunny vineyard stray.
Instructive bee! attend me still,
Owr a' my labours sey your skill:
For thee shall hiney-suckles rise,
Wi' lading to your busy thighs,
An' ilka shrub surround my cell,
Whareon ye like to hum an' dwell:
My trees in bourachs owr my ground
Shall fend ye frae ilk blast o' wind:
Nor e'er shall herd, wi' ruthless spike,
Delve out the treasures frae your bike;
But in my fence be safe, an' free
To live, an' work, an' sing like me.
Like thee, by Fancy wing'd, the Muse
Scuds ear' an' heartsome owr the dews,
Fu' vogie, an' fu' blythe to crap
The winsome flow'rs frae Nature's lap,
Twining her living garlands there,
That lyart Time can ne'er impair.