Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/335

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
MR. WATSON'S PICTURE OF BURNS.
317
An' simmer suns maun gar that blaw     Which now is breerin',Ere autumn's yellowed leaf can shaw     Ought hae't for shearin'.
Nae learnèd Frenchifièd scrap,Through Mauchline's furrows ere could saep,Nor, winnowing i' your barn, escape     A bland o' Latin;Sae a' your wark's been put to gap—     Your bread's been baken.
You've yoked your horse ahint your cart,Sae tak' advice, its weel your pairtTo own what solid lore ye lear't     And whare were bred.There's nane now born maister o' art,     Or manna fed.
I'm no for riving aff your browThe laurel folks hae thocht your due,But gin a while you left the plough     T' 'tend the college,Why should you smore the thing that's true,     Wi' a' your knowledge? 1787.
On Seeing Mr. Stewart Watson's Picture of Burns.
Bard of our hearts, beheld again on earth! Not now, indeed, as oft through fancy's eye,Following the plough, or by the rustic hearth, Or 'mid the woods—warbling thy melody;But in the shrine of Ancient Masonry, Among "the favoured, the enlightened few,"Who, by its "hieroglyphic bright," descry The wisdom hidden from the world's dim view.
Oh, ever blessed be that art divine, Which, with creative power, can back restoreThe living look, each lineament and hue, Of loved familiar faces now no more!Honoured the pencil that hath traced before Our eyes the imaged presence of the Bard,Whose name and fame have filled all space, and o'er His brow renewed the wreath—fond Masonry's award.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.