No More Learning

No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care,
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair!
O may no son the father's honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain. "

How fully the poet's wishes were fulfilled need not be told to any one
acquainted with the family. ]


O, could I give thee India's wealth,
As I this trifle send!
Because thy joy in both would be
To share them with a friend.

But golden sands did never grace
The Heliconian stream;
Then take what gold could never buy--
An honest Bard's esteem.

* * * * *




CV.

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES,

1 JAN. 1790.

[This prologue was written in December, 1789, for Mr. Sutherland, who
recited it with applause in the little theatre of Dumfries, on
new-year's night. Sir Harris Nicolas, however, has given to Ellisland
the benefit of a theatre! and to Burns the whole barony of Dalswinton
for a farm! ]


No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
That queens it o'er our taste--the more's the pity:
Tho', by-the-by, abroad why will you roam?
Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
But not for panegyric I appear,
I come to wish you all a good new year!
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say,
"You're one year older this important day. "
If wiser too--he hinted some suggestion,
But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
He bade me on you press this one word--"think! "

Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit,
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,
To you the dotard has a deal to say,
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way;
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
That the first blow is ever half the battle:
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him,
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by persevering.

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair,
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care!
To yon old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,
And humbly begs you'll mind the important NOW!
To crown your happiness he asks your leave,
And offers bliss to give and to receive.

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours,
With grateful pride we own your many favours,
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it,
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

* * * * *




CVI.

SCOTS PROLOGUE,

FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT NIGHT,

DUMFRIES.

[Burns did not shine in prologues: he produced some vigorous lines,
but they did not come in harmony from his tongue, like the songs in
which he recorded the loveliness of the dames of Caledonia. Sutherland
was manager of the theatre, and a writer of rhymes. --Burns said his
players were a very decent set: he had seen them an evening or two. ]


What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on,
How this new play an' that new sang is comin'?
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?
Does nonsense mend like whiskey, when imported?