Richard Gall

Verses Written on Visiting the House in Which the Celebrated Robert Burns Was Born, and the Surrounding Scenery, in Autumn 1799

O but it makes my heart fu’ sair, 
The lowly blast-worn bower to see, 
Whare infant Genius wont to smile, 
Whare brightened first the Poet’s e’e!

Burns, heavenly Bard! ’twas here thy mind 
Traced ilka object wildly grand; 
Here first thou caught dame Nature’s fire, 
An’ snatched the pencil from her hand.

Bleak Autumn now reigns o’er these scenes, 
The yellow leaves fa’ aff the tree; 
But never shall the laurel fade, 
That Scotia’s Muse has twined for thee.

O Doon! aft wad he tent thy stream, 
Whan roaming near thy flowery thorn, 
An’ sweetly sing “departed joys, 
“Departed, never to return!”

 An’ near thy bonny crystal wave, 
Reft o’ its rose we find the brier, 
Beneath whase shade he wont to lean, 
An’ press the cheek o’ Jeanie dear.

O’er yonder heights, in simmer tide, 
His canty whistle aften rang; 
An’ this the bank, an’ this the brae, 
That echoed back the Ploughman’s sang.

But whare is now his wonted glee, 
That sic enchanting pleasure gave? 
Ah me! cauld lies the Poet’s head; 
The wintry blast howls o’er his grave!

To ither lands the Poet’s gane, 
Frae which the traveller ne’er returns; 
While Nature lilts a waefu’ sang, 
An’ o’er her Shakspeare Scotia mourns.

English Poetry - E-mail