The Complete Works. Robert Burns

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      I.

      I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend,

      A something to have sent you,

      Though it should serve nae ither end

      Than just a kind memento;

      But how the subject-theme may gang,

      Let time and chance determine;

      Perhaps it may turn out a sang,

      Perhaps, turn out a sermon.

      II.

      Ye’ll try the world soon, my lad,

      And, Andrew dear, believe me,

      Ye’ll find mankind an unco squad,

      And muckle they may grieve ye:

      For care and trouble set your thought,

      Ev’n when your end’s attain’d;

      And a’ your views may come to nought,

      Where ev’ry nerve is strained.

      III.

      I’ll no say men are villains a’;

      The real, harden’d wicked,

      Wha hae nae check but human law,

      Are to a few restricked;

      But, och! mankind are unco weak,

      An’ little to be trusted;

      If self the wavering balance shake,

      It’s rarely right adjusted!

      IV.

      Yet they wha fa’ in Fortune’s strife,

      Their fate we should na censure,

      For still th’ important end of life

      They equally may answer;

      A man may hae an honest heart,

      Tho’ poortith hourly stare him;

      A man may tak a neebor’s part,

      Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

      V.

      Ay free, aff han’ your story tell,

      When wi’ a bosom crony;

      But still keep something to yoursel’

      Ye scarcely tell to ony.

      Conceal yoursel’ as weel’s ye can

      Frae critical dissection;

      But keek thro’ ev’ry other man,

      Wi’ sharpen’d, sly inspection.

      VI.

      The sacred lowe o’ weel-plac’d love,

      Luxuriantly indulge it;

      But never tempt th’ illicit rove,

      Tho’ naething should divulge it:

      I waive the quantum o’ the sin,

      The hazard of concealing;

      But, och! it hardens a’ within,

      And petrifies the feeling!

      VII.

      To catch dame Fortune’s golden smile,

      Assiduous wait upon her;

      And gather gear by ev’ry wile

      That’s justified by honour;

      Not for to hide it in a hedge,

      Nor for a train-attendant;

      But for the glorious privilege

      Of being independent.

      VIII.

      The fear o’ Hell’s a hangman’s whip,

      To haud the wretch in order;

      But where ye feel your honour grip,

      Let that ay be your border:

      Its slightest touches, instant pause—

      Debar a’ side pretences;

      And resolutely keep its laws,

      Uncaring consequences.

      IX.

      The great Creator to revere

      Must sure become the creature;

      But still the preaching cant forbear,

      And ev’n the rigid feature:

      Yet ne’er with wits profane to range,

      Be complaisance extended;

      An Atheist laugh’s a poor exchange

      For Deity offended!

      X.

      When ranting round in pleasure’s ring,

      Religion may be blinded;

      Or if she gie a random sting,

      It may be little minded;

      But when on life we’re tempest-driv’n,

      A conscience but a canker—

      A correspondence fix’d wi’ Heav’n

      Is sure a noble anchor!

      XI.

      Adieu, dear, amiable youth!

      Your heart can ne’er be wanting!

      May prudence, fortitude, and truth

      Erect your brow undaunting!

      In ploughman phrase, ‘God send you speed,’

      Still daily to grow wiser:

      And may you better reck the rede

      Than ever did th’ adviser!

      Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!

      Your impudence protects you sairly:

      I canna say by ye strunt rarely,

      Owre gauze and lace;

      Tho’ faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely

      On sic a place.

      Ye ugly, creepin’, blastit wonner,

      Detested, shunn’d, by saunt an’ sinner,

      How dare you set your fit upon her,

      Sae fine a lady!

      Gae somewhere СКАЧАТЬ