Wi' never ceasing toil; Think ye, are we less blest than they, Baith careless, and fearless, It 's a' an idle tale! VII. Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; And, even should misfortunes come, They make us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill. Tho' losses and crosses, There's wit there, ye'll get there, VIII. But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, And flatt'ry I detest), This life has joys for you and I; And joys that riches ne'er could buy; And joys the very best. There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, The lover an' the frien'; Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, It warms me, it charms me, To mention but her name; It heats me, it beets me, And sets me a' on flame! IX. O, all ye Pow'rs who rule above! O Thou, whose very self art love! Thou know'st my words sincere! The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, Or my more dear immortal part, Is not more fondly dear! When heart-corroding care and grief Deprive my soul of rest, Her dear idea brings relief O hear my fervent prayer; X. All hail ye tender feelings dear! The smile of love, the friendly tear, The sympathetic glow : Long since, this world's thorny ways Had number'd out my weary days, Had it not been for you! Fate still has blest me with a friend, In every care and ill; And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens, The tenebrific scene, To meet with, and greet with My Davie or my Jean. O, how that name inspires my style! The words come skelpin, rank and file, The ready measure rins as fine, As Phoebus and the famous Nine And then he 'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, And rin an unco fit: But lest then, the beast then, Should rue this hasty ride, I'll light now, and dight now THE LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself! And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe. НОМЕ. I. O thou pale orb, that silent shines, While care-untroubled mortals sleep! Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep With woe I nightly vigils keep, Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream. ! |