But O, fell Death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly;
And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance.
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST, WITH THE PLOUGH

WEE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickerin brattle1!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle2!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,

An' justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave3

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 2 an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin' fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But 3 house or hald 4,

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

An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain
For promised joy.

Still, thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:

But, och! I backward cast my e'e

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' .I canna see,

I guess an' fear!

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO

JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent 1;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a cantie day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo!

O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt',"

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a Paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT

Is there for honest poverty

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

Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-grey1, and a' that?

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine-
A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that,

The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie2 ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that?

Tho' hundreds worship at his word,

He's but a cuif3 for a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man o' independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that!

1

coarse woollen cloth.

2 conceited fellow.

3 blockhead.

But an honest man's aboon1 his might
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities and a' that,

The pith o' sense and pride o' worth
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may
(As come it will for a' that)

That Sense and Worth o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree3 and a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man the world o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.

WILLIAM BLAKE [1757-1827]

TO THE MUSES

WHETHER on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun that now
From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the Earth,
Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove
Beneath the bosom of the sea,
Wandering in many a coral grove;
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry:

How have you left your ancient love
That bards of old enjoyed in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,
The sound is forced, the notes are few.
3 i. e., have the first place.

1 above.

2 claim.