Classic Poem

Weel done, auld friend! By Heaven's grace
Ye dinna lag, but gae the pace,
Haudin' your ain i' life's brave race,
Though years grow weighty;
I wonner, man, ye hae the face
To claim you're eighty!

Is it the calm o' solitude,
Is it the philosophic mood,
Or is't the drap o' Scottish bluid,
Gars ye sae youthfu'?
Nae bonny lass i' Clinton could
Believe Time truthfu'!

I hae mysel a wee sma' strain
O' Scotia's ichor i' my vein,
Or literary juice frae grain
Clerks ca' avena;
Wi' twa-three words o' classic gain:
Liber et penna .

Gie us your hand, and tell how gaes
The warld wi' you, this day o' days;
I've kend ye sin', frae public praise
And irksome burden,
Ye turned to win enduring bays,
The author's guerdon.

Weel done! ance mair I say, Weel done!
Guid store o' wisdom, wit, and fun,
Hae mony frae your volumes won,
My honored brither, —
" Sub-Coelum, " " Corwin, " " Club of One, "
And a' the ither.

Blessings on Russell and his house,
Be his baith meikle gear and brose,
His cronies leal, his neebors douce,
Himsel aye happy;
May, now and then, his heart grow crouse
Wi' Schuler's nappy!

By loved companions ne'er forsook,
(Rare keepsake, picture, missive, beuk,)
Oft in " My Corner, " cozy neuk,
May he tak' pleasure,
Muse, dream, or frae the winnock leuk,
At lazy leisure.

Eild saftly comes by slow degrees;
Let lee-lang joys o' tranquil ease,
Sweet hopes and cheerfu' memories,
Meet round his ingle;
Him, aiblins, shall my greeting please,
Wi' crambo-jingle.

His clear-eyed faith, which naught makes old,
Ayont life's gloamin' shall behold
A brighter glow than sunset gold
Melt on his vision —
The veil of mystery uprolled
Frae Fields Elysian.