The Complete Works. Robert Burns
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Название: The Complete Works

Автор: Robert Burns

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Зарубежная классика

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СКАЧАТЬ the seriousness of the confessional. He seems to have been fond of taking himself to task. It was written when “Hungry ruin had him in the wind,” and emigration to the West Indies was the only refuge which he could think of, or his friends suggest, from the persecutions of fortune.]

      A’ ye wha live by sowps o’ drink,

      A’ ye wha live by crambo-clink,

      A’ ye wha live and never think,

      Come, mourn wi’ me!

      Our billie’s gien us a’ a jink,

      An’ owre the sea.

      Lament him a’ ye rantin’ core,

      Wha dearly like a random-splore,

      Nae mair he’ll join the merry roar

      In social key;

      For now he’s taen anither shore,

      An’ owre the sea!

      The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him,

      And in their dear petitions place him;

      The widows, wives, an’ a’ may bless him,

      Wi’ tearfu’ e’e;

      For weel I wat they’ll sairly miss him

      That’s owre the sea!

      O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!

      Hadst thou taen’ aff some drowsy bummle

      Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble,

      ’Twad been nae plea,

      But he was gleg as onie wumble,

      That’s owre the sea!

      Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,

      An’ stain them wi’ the saut, saut tear;

      ’Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,

      In flinders flee;

      He was her laureate monie a year,

      That’s owre the sea!

      He saw Misfortune’s cauld nor-west

      Lang mustering up a bitter blast;

      A jillet brak his heart at last,

      Ill may she be!

      So, took a birth afore the mast,

      An’ owre the sea.

      To tremble under fortune’s cummock,

      On scarce a bellyfu’ o’ drummock,

      Wi’ his proud, independent stomach,

      Could ill agree;

      So, row’t his hurdies in a hammock,

      An’ owre the sea.

      He ne’er was gien to great misguiding,

      Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in;

      Wi’ him it ne’er was under hiding:

      He dealt it free;

      The muse was a’ that he took pride in,

      That’s owre the sea.

      Jamaica bodies, use him weel,

      An’ hap him in a cozie biel;

      Ye’ll find him ay a dainty chiel,

      And fou o’ glee;

      He wad na wrang’d the vera deil,

      That’s owre the sea.

      Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!

      Your native soil was right ill-willie;

      But may ye flourish like a lily,

      Now bonnilie!

      I’ll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,

      Tho’ owre the sea!

      LI. THE FAREWELL

      “The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?

      Or what does he regard his single woes?

      But when, alas! he multiplies himself,

      To dearer selves, to the lov’d tender fair,

      The those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,

      To helpless children! then, O then! he feels

      The point of misery fest’ring in his heart,

      And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward.

      Such, such am I! undone.”

Thomson.

      [In these serious stanzas, where the comic, as in the lines to the Scottish bard, are not permitted to mingle, Burns bids farewell to all on whom his heart had any claim. He seems to have looked on the sea as only a place of peril, and on the West Indies as a charnel-house.]

      I.

      Farewell, old Scotia’s bleak domains,

      Far dearer than the torrid plains

      Where rich ananas blow!

      Farewell, a mother’s blessing dear!

      A brother’s sigh! a sister’s tear!

      My Jean’s heart-rending throe!

      Farewell, my Bess! tho’ thou’rt bereft

      Of my parental care,

      A faithful brother I have left,

      My part in him thou’lt share!

      Adieu too, to you too,

      My Smith, my bosom frien’;

      When kindly you mind me,

      O then befriend my Jean!

      II.

      What bursting anguish tears my heart!

      From thee, my Jeany, must I part!

      Thou weeping answ’rest—“No!”

      Alas! misfortune stares my face,

      And points to ruin and disgrace,

      I for thy sake must go!

      Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,

      A grateful, warm adieu;

      I, with a much-indebted tear,

      Shall still remember you!

      All-hail then, the gale then,

      Wafts me from thee, dear shore!

      It rustles, and whistles

      I’ll never see thee more!

      LII. WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF MY POEMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED

      [This is another of the poet’s lamentations, at the prospect of “torrid climes” and the roars of the Atlantic. To Burns, Scotland was the land of promise, the west of Scotland his paradise; and the land of dread, Jamaica! I found these lines copied by the poet into a volume which he presented to Dr. Geddes: they were addressed, it is thought, to the “Dear E.” of his earliest correspondence.]

      Once fondly lov’d and still remember’d dear;

      Sweet early object of my youthful vows!

      Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,—

      Friendship! ’tis all cold duty now allows.

      And when you read the simple artless rhymes,

      One friendly sigh for him—he asks no more,—

      Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes,

      Or haply lies beneath th’ Atlantic roar.

      LIII. СКАЧАТЬ