Classic Poem

How far frae hame my friend seeks fame!
And yet I canna wyte ye,
T' employ your fire, and still aspire
By virtues that delyte ye.

Shou'd fortune lour, 'tis in your power,
If heaven grant balmy health,
T' enjoy ilk hour a saul unsow'r;
Content 's nae bairn of wealth.

It is the mind that 's not confin'd
To passions mean and vile,
That 's never pin'd, while thoughts refin'd
Can gloomy cares beguile.

Then Donald may be e'en as gay
On Russia's distant shore,
As on the Tay, where usquebae
He us'd to drink before.

But howsoe'er, haste gather gear,
And syne pack up your treasure;
Then to Auld Reekie come and beek ye,
And close your days with pleasure.