Classic Poem

'T WAS on a sunny Sabbath day,
When wark-worn bodies get their play,
I wander'd out, with serious look,
To read twa page on Nature's book;
For lang I've thought as little harm in
Hearing a lively out-field sermon,
Even though rowted by a stirk,
As that aft bawl'd in crowded kirk,
By some proud, stern, polemic wight,
Wha cries, " My way alone is right! "
Wha lairs himself in controversy,
Then damns his neighbours without mercy;
As if the fewer that were spar'd,
These few would be the better ser'd.
Now to my tale — digression o'er —
I wander'd out by Stanely tower,
The lang grass on its tap did wave,
Like weeds upon a warrior's grave,
Whilk seem to mock the bloody braggers,
And grow on theirs as rank's on beggars —
But hold — I'm frae the point again. —
I wander'd up Gleniffer glen;
There, leaning 'gainst a mossy rock,
I, musing, ey'd the passing brook,
That in its murmurs seem'd to say,
" 'Tis thus thy life glides fast away:
Observe the bubbles on my stream;
Like them, fame is an empty dream.
They blink a moment to the sun,
Then burst, and are for ever gone:
So fame's a bubble of the mind;
Possess'd, 'tis nought but empty wind,
No courtly gem e'er purchas'd dearer,
And ne'er can satisfy the wearer.
Let them wha hae a bleezing share o't,
Confess the truth, they sigh for mair o't,
Then let contentment be thy cheer,
And never soar aboon thy sphere;
Rude storms assail the mountain's brow,
That lightly skiff the vale below. "

A gaudy rose was growing near,
Proud, towering on its leafy brier,
In fancy's ear it seem'd to say —
" Sir have you seen a flower so gay?
The poets in my praise combine,
Comparing Chloe's charms to mine;
The sun-beams for my favour sue me,
And dark-brow'd night comes down to woo me;
But when I shrink from his request,
He draps his tears upon my breast,
And in his misty cloud sits wae,
Till chas'd away by rival day —
That streamlet's grovelling grunting fires me,
Since no ane sees me but admires me:
See yon bit violet 'neath my view,
Wee sallow thing, its nose is blue!
And that bit primrose 'side the breckan,
Poor yellow ghaist, it seems forsaken!
The sun ne'er throws't ae transient glow,
Unless when passing whether or no;
But wisely spurning ane so mean,
He blinks on me from morn till e'en. "

To which the primrose calm replied, —
" Poor gaudy gowk, suppress your pride;
For soon the strong flower sweeping blast
Shall strew your honours in the dust;
While I, beneath my lowly bield,
Will live and bloom frae harm conceal'd;
And while the heavy rain-drops pelt you,
Ye'll may-be think on what I've tel't you. " —
The rose derisive seem'd to sneer,
And wav'd upon its bonny brier.

Now dark'ning clouds began to gather,
Presaging sudden change of weather;
I wander'd hame by Stanely green,
Deep pond'ring what I'd heard and seen,
Firmly resolv'd to shun from hence,
The dangerous steeps of eminence;
To drop this rhyming trade for ever,
And creep through life, a plain day-plodding weaver.