No More Learning

I'm weary sick o't late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than mony ithers:
But why should ae man better fare,
And a' men brithers?

Come, firm Resolve, take then the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint-heart ne'er wan
A lady fair:
Wha does the utmost that he can,
Will whyles do mair.

But to conclude my silly rhyme,
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,)
To make a happy fire-side clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

My compliments to sister Beckie;
And eke the same to honest Lucky,
I wat she is a dainty chuckie,
As e'er tread clay!
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,
I'm yours for ay,

ROBERT BURNS.

* * * * *




CIII.

DELIA.

AN ODE.

[These verses were first printed in the Star newspaper, in May, 1789.
It is said that one day a friend read to the poet some verses from the
Star, composed on the pattern of Pope's song, by a Person of Quality.
"These lines are beyond you," he added: "the muse of Kyle cannot match
the muse of London. " Burns mused a moment, then recited "Delia, an
Ode. "]


Fair the face of orient day,
Fair the tints of op'ning rose,
But fairer still my Delia dawns,
More lovely far her beauty blows.
Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay,
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
But, Delia, more delightful still
Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flow'r-enamoured busy bee
The rosy banquet loves to sip;
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip;--

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove!
O, let me steal one liquid kiss!
For, oh! my soul is parch'd with love.

* * * * *




CIV.

TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ.

[John M'Murdo, Esq. , one of the chamberlains of the Duke of
Queensberry, lived at Drumlanrig: he was a high-minded, warm-hearted
man, and much the friend of the poet. These lines accompanied a
present of books: others were added soon afterwards on a pane of glass
in Drumlanrig castle.

"Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day!
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.