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Poem by Robert Burns


To Terraughty, On His Birthday


HEALTH to the Maxwells veteran Chief!
Health, aye unsourd by care or grief:
Inspired, I turned Fates sibyl leaf
    This natal morn,
I see thy life is stuff o prief,
    Scarce quite half worn.

This day thou metes threescore eleven,
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given
    To ilka poet)
On thee a tack o seven times seven
    Will yet bestow it.

If envious buckies view wi sorrow
Thy lengthend days on this blest morrow,
May desolations lang-teethd harrow,
    Nine miles an hour,
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah,
    In brunstane stoure.

But for thy friends,-and they are mony,
Baith honest men and lassies bonnie,-
May couthie fortune, kind and cannie,
    In social glee,
Wi mornings blithe and eenings funny
    Bless them and thee!

Fareweel, auld birkie!  Lord be near ye,
And then the Deil he daurna steer ye:
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye;
    For me, shame fa me,
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye
    While BURNS they ca me.

[1791]

                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Mark Yonder Pomp
  2. By Allan Stream
  3. Theres News, Lasses
  4. Scroggam
  5. The First Psalm


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