Poem by David Sillar

Epistle to the Critics

Then know when I these pieces made, 
Was toiling for my daily bread;
A scanty learning I enjoy’d,
Sac judge how I hae it employed.
I ne’er depended for my knowledge
On school, academy, nor college;
I gat my learnin’ at the flail,
An’ some I catch’d at the plough-tail; 
Amang the brutes I own I’m bred, 
Since herding was my native trade.
Some twa-three books I read wi’ care, 
Which I had borrow’d here an’ there.
The actions an’ the ways o’ men, 
I took great pains an’ care to ken; 
Frae them, their manners, an’ their looks,
Their words, their actions, an’ frae books; 
On these for knowledge I relied,
Without anither for my guide.
Latin an’ Greek I never knew sic,
An’ sae how can my works be classic?

1. Verses, Occasioned by a Reply to Burns’ Calf by an Unco Calf
2. Epistle to J**N G****E, a Famous Theologist and Astronomer
3. Song IV
4. Money Makes the Mare to Go
5. Epistle to R. Burns

Print

1909 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version