But luckless fortune's northern storms WH EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. HILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, And hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass the time, While frosty winds blaw in the drift, I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, I tent less, and want less But hanker and canker To see their cursed pride. It 's hardly in a body's power To see how things are shared; But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head; Though we hae little gear, Auld age ne'er mind a feg, To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, Yet then content could make us blest; The honest heart that's free frae a' Intended fraud or guile, However fortune kick the ba', Has aye some cause to smile: And mind still, you'll find still, What though, like commoners of air, Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, In days when daisies deck the ground, On braes when we please then, Syne rhyme till 't, we 'll time till 't, It 's no in titles nor in rank, It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, Nae treasures nor pleasures That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, Think ye, we are less blest than they, As hardly worth their while? Baith careless and fearless Of either heaven or hell! Esteeming and deeming Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; And even should misfortunes come, They make us see the naked truth, Though losses and crosses There 's wit there, ye 'll get there, 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, Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, It warms me, it charms me, It heats me, it beets me, And sets me a' on flame! Oh all ye powers who rule above! The life-blood streaming through my heart, Is not more fondly dear! Deprive my soul of rest, Her dear idea brings relief Oh hear my fervent prayer! All hail, ye tender feelings dear! Long since, this world's thorny ways Fate still has blest me with a friend, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens The tenebrific scene, To meet with, and greet with My Davie or my Jean! Oh how that name inspires my style! The ready measure rins as fine Were glowrin' owre my pen. |