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Now a' is done that men can do,

And a' is done in vain ;
My love and native land, farewell!
For I maun cross the main,
My dear-

For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore ;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With Adieu for evermore,
My dear-

With Adieu for evermore !

The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;

But I hae parted frae my love,

Never to meet again,

My dear

Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,

I think on him that 's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear-

The lee-lang night, and weep.

Old Song.*

64

There'll never be Peace

By

yon castle wa', at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey;

And as he was singing, the tears fast down came, There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. lee-lang] live-long.

main] the high sea.

The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars,
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars :

We darena weel say 't, tho' we ken wha 's to blameThere 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,

And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd. It brak the sweet heart of my faithful auld dameThere 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

Now life is a burden that bows me down,

Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ;
But till my last moments my words are the same—
There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

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66

Wee Willie Gray

WEE Willie Gray, and his leather wallet;

Peel a willow-wand to be him boots and jacket:
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet,
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet.

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ;

Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat :
Feathers of a flea wad feather up his bonnet,
Feathers of a flea wad feather up
his bonnet.

67

To a Mouse

WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic 's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa' sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion

Which mak's thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

Burns.

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave

'S a sma' request :

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,

And never miss 't!

sark] shirt.
pattle] plough-spade.
thrave] two dozen sheaves.

bickering brattle] scurrying rush. daimen-icker] odd ear of corn. lave] remainder.

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin',
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
An' weary winter comin' fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter pass'd
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain :
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain
For promis'd joy.

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, och! I backward cast my ee
On prospects drear!
An' forward tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

foggage] aftermath. hald] hold, shelter. thy lane] alone.

snell] biting.
thole] bear.
a-gley] awry.

Burns, 1785.

but] without. cranreuch] hoar-frost.

68

HERE's a health to them that's away,

Here's a health to them that 's away,

Here's a health to them that were here short syne,

But canna be here the day.

It's guid to be merry and wise,

It's guid to be honest and true ;
It 's guid to be aff wi' the auld luve
Before ye be on wi' the new.

69*

True Worth

Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Fortune in men has some small difference made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. 'What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl ? I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella.

"

Pope.

Old Song.*

short syne] a short time ago.
prunella] the stuff the parson's gown was made of.
Is there] Is there any one who hangs..

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70* A Man's a Man for a' that

Is there for honest poverty

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!

but] nothing but.

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