Classic Poem

ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND ON RECEIVING FROM HIM A VOLUME OF " THE PARNASSUS JOURNAL. "

Owre a' Parnassus I hae wannert,
Wi' beuk in han' I slowly daunert,
An' aft baith hert an' een gaed dancin'
Abune some bricht rock-crystal glancin'
Amang the stanes or in the soil,
That weel repaid me for my toil.
To tell the truth I didna ettle
To fin' sae muckle bardic mettle,
Or pouch sae many bonny gems
Amang the heather cowes an' stems
That cleed oor Scotch Parnassian mountain,
Adoon whilk rins Castalia's fountain.
It's ca'd, ye ken, the Muse's Spring,
Whaur drouthy poets drink and sing,
Ere fame or fortune's haun' ye claucht,
Ye first maun tak' a waly-waucht
O' this same sang-inspirin' water —
An' syne ye'll rhyme, an' sing, an' clatter
A waly-waucht gat Ayrshire Rab —
It clear't his thrapple, cool't his gab,
An' syne sae' loud an' sweet he sang,
That a' the warl' wi' echoes rang,
Till on that kittle steed Pegasus
He wan the tap o' mount Parnassus;
An' there he sits, an' wha wull steer him?
Nae ither singer e'er cam' near him —
Frae neath the yirth, or on't abune,
Nane e'er could lilt to Rabbie's tune
For me I ne'er cou'd fill my caup
Oot o' the spring — a wee bit drap
Was a' that e'er gaed owre my weasan —
E'en noo my gab begins to geysan,
An' sae I fin it maist expedient
That I should say — yer maist obedient.