Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! At me, thy poor earthborn companion, An' forward, though I canna see, An' fellow-mortal! I guess an' fear. 40 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the parent earth The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, shield, But thou, beneath the random bield 2 O' clod or stane, 3 Adorns the histie stibble-field, There, in thy scanty mantle clad, But now the share uptears thy bed, Such is the fate of artless maid, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Such is the fate of simple bard, Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! 20 30 40 But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash 15 your head; Auld age ne'er mind a feg,19 Is only but to beg. 20 31 To lie in kilns an' barns at e'en, 4 hang fire ⚫ westerly 7 in 8 side of the fireplace 16 wealth 17 sound comfortable 10 heed 11 fellows 18 ask 19 fig (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, And flatt'ry I detest) This life has joys for you and I; There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, It warms me, it charms me, O all ye Pow'rs who rule above! O Thou whose very self art love! ΙΟΙ 110 |