Читать книгу The Complete Works - Robert Burns - Страница 29

[In the summer of 1781, Burns, while at work in the garden, repeated this Epistle to his brother Gilbert, who was much pleased with the performance, which he considered equal if not superior to some of Allan Ramsay’s Epistles, and said if it were printed he had no doubt that it would be well received by people of taste.]

—January, [1784.]

I.

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw,

And bar the doors wi’ driving snaw,

And hing us owre the ingle,

I set me down to pass the time,

And spin a verse or twa o’ rhyme,

In hamely westlin jingle.

While frosty winds blaw in the drift,

Ben to the chimla lug,

I grudge a wee the great folks’ gift,

That live sae bien an’ snug:

I tent less and want less

Their roomy fire-side;

But hanker and canker

To see their cursed pride.

II.

It’s hardly in a body’s power

To keep, at times, frae being sour,

To see how things are shar’d;

How best o’ chiels are whiles in want.

While coofs on countless thousands rant,

And ken na how to wair’t;

But Davie, lad, ne’er fash your head,

Tho’ we hae little gear,

We’re fit to win our daily bread,

As lang’s we’re hale and fier:

“Muir spier na, nor fear na,”[4] Auld age ne’er mind a feg, The last o’t, the warst o’t, Is only but to beg.

III.