Classic Poem

THE SPRING AND THE SYKE .

Fed by a living Spring, a rill
Flow'd easily a-down a hill;
A thousand flowers upon its bank
Flourish'd fu' fair, and grew right rank.
Near to its course a Syke did lye,
Whilk was in summer aften dry,
And ne'er recover'd life again,
But after soaking showers of rain;
Then wad he swell, look big and sprush,
And o'er his margin proudly gush.
Ae day, after great waughts of wet,
He with the crystal current met,
And ran him down with unco' din.
Said he, " How poorly does thou rin!
" See with what state I dash the brae,
" Whilst thou canst hardly make thy way. "

The Spring, with a superior air,
Said, " Sir, your brag gives me nae care,
" For soon 's ye want your foreign aid,
" Your paughty cracks will soon be laid:
" Frae my ain head I have supply,
" But you must borrow, else rin dry. "