Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/157

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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
103
Would then my nobie master pleaseTo grant my highest wishes,He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,And bonie spreading bushes.Delighted doubly, then, my Lord,You'll wander on my banks,And listen monie a grateful bird Return you tuneful thanks.
The sober laverock, warbling wild,Shall to the skies aspire;The gowdspink, Music's gayest child,Shall sweetly join the choir:The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,The mavis mild and mellow;The robin pensive Autumn cheer,In all her locks of yellow:This too, a covert shall ensure,To shield them from the storm;And coward maukin sleep secure,Low in her grassy form:
Here shall the shepherd make his seatTo weave his crown of flow'rs;Or find a sheltering safe retreat,From prone-descending show'rs.
And here, by sweet endearing stealth,Shall meet the loving pair,Despising worlds with all their wealthAs empty, idle care:
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charmsThe hour of heav'n to grace,And birks extend their fragrant arms,To screen the dear embrace.
Here haply too, at vernal dawn,Some musing bard may stray,And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,And misty mountain, grey;Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,Mild-chequering thro' the trees,Rave to my darkly dashing stream,Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,My lowly banks o'erspread,And view, deep-bending in the pool,Their shadows' wat'ry bed!Let fragrant birks in woodbines drestMy craggy cliffs adorn;And, for the little songster's nest,The close embow'ring thorn.
So may Old Scotia's darling hope,Your little angel band,Spring like their fathers, up to propTheir honour'd native land!So may thro' Albion's farthest ken,To social-flowing glassesThe grace be -"Athole's honest men,And Athole's bonie lasses!"


THE KIRK OF SCOTLAND'S ALARM.

A SATIRE.

A Ballad Tune-"Push About the brisk bowl."

Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox,Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:There's a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast, "That what is not sense must be nonsense."
Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack,To strike evil doers wi' terror;To join faith and sense upon onie pretence,Is heretic, damnable error.
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