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 birkie,' ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof 2 for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A king can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he mauna fa' 3 that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities and a' that,
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks 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,
May bear the gree, 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 brothers be for a' that.
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him on wi' me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do, or die!
THE MUSE OF SCOTLAND TO ROBERT BURNS.
ALL hail! my own inspirèd Bard?
In me thy native Muse regard!
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low!
I come to give thee such reward
As we bestow.
And careful note each opening grace,
A guide and guard.
Of these am I-Coila my name :
And this district as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
Held ruling pow'r :
I marked thy embryo tuneful flame,
With future hope, I oft would gaze,
Fond, on thy little early ways,
Thy rudely-carolled chiming phrase,
In uncouth rhymes,
Fired at the simple, artless lays
Of other times.
I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar ;
Or, when the North his fleecy store
Drove thro' the sky,
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar
Struck thy young eye.
Or when the deep green-mantled Earth
Warm-cherished every floweret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth
In every grove,
I saw thee eye the general mirth
With boundless love.
When ripened fields, and azure skies,
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their evening joys,
And lonely stalk,
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk.
When youthful Love, warm-blushing, strong,
Keen-shivering, shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored Name,
I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.
I saw thy pulse's maddening play,
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way,
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray,
By Passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray,
Was light from Heaven.
I taught thy manners-painting strains,
Thy loves, the ways of simple swains,
Till now, o'er all my wide domains
Thy fame extends;
And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
Become thy friends.
Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow;
Or wake the bosom's melting throe,
With Shenstone's art;
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow
Warm on the heart.
Yet, all beneath th' unrivalled rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
His army shade,
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows
Then never murmur nor repine;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
And trust me, not Potosi's mine,
Nor King's regard,
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine,
A rustic Bard.
To give my counsels all in one,-
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ;
Preserve the dignity of Man,
With soul erect;
And trust, the Universal Plan
Will all protect.
And wear thou this--she solemn said,
And bound the Holly round my head:
The polished leaves, and berries red,
Did rustling play ;
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.
TO THE EARL OF WARWICK, ON THE DEATH OF
ADDISON.
CAN I forget the dismal night, that gave My soul's best part for ever to the grave! *How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings!!
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire;
The pealing organ, and the passing choir;
The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid;
And the last words, that dust to dust conveyed!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend.
Oh, gone for ever, take this last adieu;
And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague!
To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy loved memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue,
My griefs be doubled, from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee.
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury to vulgar minds unknown,
Along the walls where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallowed mould below:
Proud names, who once the reins of empire held ;
In arms who triumphed, or in arts excelled;
Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood ;
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;
1 Addison was buried in Westminster Abbey, June, 1719.
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