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What though, like commoners of air,
We wander out we know not where,

But either house or hall ?
Yet nature's charms--the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods-

Are free alike to all.
In days when daisies deck the ground,

And blackbirds whistle clear,
With honest joy our hearts will bound
To see the coming year:
On braes, when we please, then,

We'll sit and sowth a tune:
Syne rhyme till’t, we'll time till 't,

And sing 't when we hae dune.

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It's no in titles nor in rank,
It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank.

To purchase peace and rest :
It's no in making muckle mair;
It's no in books; it's no in lear;

To make us truly blést ;
If happiness hae not her seat

And centre in the breast,
We may be wise, or rich, or great,

, ,
But never can be blest :
Nae treasures, nor pleasures,

Could make us happy lang :
The heart aye's the part aye

That makes us right or wrang.

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Think ye that sic as you and I,
Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry,

Wi' never-ceasing toil;
Think ye, are we less blest than they
Wha scarcely tent us in their way,

As hardly worth their while ?
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood

God's creatures they oppress!
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid,
They riot in excess!
Baith careless and fearless

Of either heaven or hell!
Esteeming and deeming

It's a' an idle tale!

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ;
Nor make our scanty pleasures less,

By pining at our state ;
And, even should misfortunes come,
I here wha sit hae met wi' some,

An's thankful for them yet.
They gie the wit of age to youth ;

They let us ken oursel ;
They make us see the naked truth,
The real guid and ill.
Though losses and crosses

Be lessons right severe,
There's wit there, ye'll get there,

Ye'll find nae other where.

Epistle to Davie.

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts !

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,

And Hattery 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 and the frien';
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part,
And I my darling Jean!
It warms me, it charms me,

To mention but her name:
It heats me, it beets me,

And sets me a' on flame!

Oh, all ye powers who rule above!
O Thou, whose very self art love!

Thou know'st my words sincere!
The life-blood streaming through 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
And solace to my breast.
Thou Being, all-seeing,

Oh, hear my fervent prayer !
Still take her, and make her

Thy most peculiar care!

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Epistle to Davie.

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!


Oh, how that name inspires my style!
The words come skelpin', rank and file,

Amaist before I ken!
The ready measure rins as fine
As Phæbus and the famous Nine

Were glowerin' owre my pen.
My spaviet Pegasus will limp,

Till ance he's fairly het;
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

His sweaty, wizen'd hide.

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Why, ye tenants of the lake,
For me your watery haunts forsake ?
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys,
Parent, filial, kindred ties ?-
Common friend to you and me,
Nature's gifts to all are free:
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,
Busy feed, or wanton lave;
Or, beneath the sheltering rock,
Bide the surging billow's shock.

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